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tippedbykreider · 3 years

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it’s all coming back to me | c. kreider (i)

Word Count: 8.2k Warnings: Slow burn, exes to friends to lovers, relationship breakdown, swearing, alcohol mention. Author’s Note: So many of you have been requesting for this to be brought back! The consensus was that you’d rather have it in smaller chunks so I’ll be posting each new part weekly and they’ll come in between 6 & 9k per chapter. Not only is it more manageable for you guys but it also gives me chance to keep writing new content for it 💖 There is a playlist for this fic which I posted separately, it gives a chronological feel for their relationship and their story. This has been a tonne of fun to write so far and I can’t wait to tell the rest of their story. Summary: Chris Kreider x Reader Insert. They say that all good things come to an end, that you can never have too much of a good thing, but when Chris decided to end your relationship you wondered how anything could ever be good again. A chance meeting 9 years later drags up all those feelings you both thought you were done with. Can you work through your hurt and pain to see what it is that Chris is trying to show you? Or are some things better left forgotten? Tagging: @danglesnipecelly - this girl deserves a writing credit on this thing because she’s pushed me to keep going with this and her input and advice has been invaluable. Thank you for all the support on this one, K 💖

*Italics indicates a flashback*

The notion of fresh starts is often something that is associated with the arrival of the New Year. People use the turning of the calendar to turn over a new leaf, to learn a new skill, to challenge themselves to be better than the year before and to let go of all that was and focus on all that will be. There’s something inherently magical about a new beginning, a fresh start; sometimes it’s the excitement of what might lie ahead and other times it’s the comfort in knowing that you can seize the opportunity be whoever you want to be and to reinvent yourself. It’s the line in the sand and the final full stop at the end of the chapter and it’s the anticipation of picking up the pen and writing those first few words on the new page.

For Chris Kreider this feeling wasn’t one that was brought about by the strike of the clock at midnight on New Year’s Eve because while the date on the calendar changed and while he still spent the next couple of weeks dating things with the wrong year just like everybody else, it still often felt like nothing really changed for him. Chris could only feel like the year was truly coming to an end when the first petals of spring exploded like fireworks in a symphony of technicolour blooms and he found himself giving the locker-room clearout interview. That was the end of the year, the full stop, the line and the warmer days and the balmy nights would give him the opportunity to decompress ready for the turning of the page come September when his focus would once again turn back to hockey.

Chris loved New York; that much was undeniably true. He loved the vibrancy of the city but he also loved the way that he could melt into the background or enjoy the feeling of quiet solace his apartment gave him. It was oftentimes a bolthole, an oasis of peace during an otherwise hectic few months between September and May but the end of the hockey season and the arrival of summer had him seeking the cry of gulls on the breath of a gentle breeze and that crisp, purifying sea air that always managed to fill his lungs differently. Rowayton wasn’t far, a little over an hour on a good day but with its coastal Connecticut charm, slower pace and pretty houses, especially the ones that overlooked the water, it was a world away from NYC and exactly what Chris needed to reset and recharge.

It was a Saturday morning in mid-July and for the first time in a long time, longer than Chris could recall, he allowed himself to sleep in. His bedroom window had been open all night and the welcome breeze snaked through the slats in the blinds and carried on it the faintest smell of salt and sunshine. Chris stretched his muscles in big pulls around the bed before he settled on his back and inhaled deeply, the fresh air clearing his mind and filling his body as the last remnants of sleep slipped away on the exhale of breath. Imbued with energy, he climbed out of bed and pulled the blinds all the way up, flooding the bedroom with beautiful incandescence born out of a cloudless sky. He didn’t make his bed though, not yet, because while he had left his room and was padding down the stairs, he had every intention of returning to the still warm sheets to read a chapter or two of the book on his nightstand with a fresh cup of coffee, a cinnamon and raisin bagel, that invigorating coastal air and the oceanscape outside as the soundtrack.

One chapter turned into two and two became three and before Chris knew it, the sun was high in the sky and lunchtime beckoned. It was shaping up to be a beautiful summer day in Rowayton and Chris thought it would be a crying shame to spend his time at home, even if the page-turner he’d held in his hands moments ago seemed incredibly appealing out on the back deck overlooking the water. It was then he decided to take advantage of that gorgeous sunshine, take in the scenery and stretch his legs by going for a walk into town to pick up a few essentials at Rowayton Market. For all it was a small, it contained everything he would need to keep him going for a few more days until he’d finally need to drive into Norwalk to do a more substantial grocery shop, something that he’d admittedly been putting off. The Market also had some of the best baked goods and fresh coffee in the village and if you asked Chris it would be pretty rude to not take advantage – it was right there, after all, and Chris never could say no to a still-warm Danish and Americano.

He walked slower than he usually would, a conscious effort on his part due to the fact that his legs seemed to want to go into an auto-pilot primed for life in New York City. He was in no rush though, he never was whenever he came here and even though it was a route he’d walked hundreds of times before, and one he would walk hundreds more, Chris still wanted to soak in all the pretty trees and shrubs that were nestled in amongst those classical New England style homes, all shingled exteriors and white, gridded windows in soft muted colours that mirrored the coastal landscape of the village. It was a world away from the brick and the concrete and the bright lights of the city and while Chris loved all of those things about New York and loved wandering through the streets of Tribeca and Soho, getting lost in bookstores and hole-in-the-wall cafes, he also loved the sand, shale and stars and those were things that he just couldn’t find in the city that never slept.

There were quite a few people out and about, Chris noted, most of them he recognised as being residents with their friendly smiles and waved greetings, but there were a handful of tourists too; there always was on weekends during the summer. Not that Chris minded, of course, because for all the village was a popular escape for those seeking a break from the metropolitan life of the nearby hub of cities, it never succumbed to the all-too-often inevitability of commercialisation and still managed to hold on to its peaceful charm, despite it not quite being the quaint fishing village it once was back in the days before the Civil War.

It was one of the reasons why Chris found himself retreating here in the summer and not making the trip back home to spend the off-season in Massachusetts. He would go back to Boxford for a couple of weeks, naturally, because family was something that had always been important to Chris and he would never miss an opportunity to spend time with his parents and sister, but if he had the choice between spending his entire summer being bitten to death by mosquitoes back home (his father always did say that they were the town bird, after all) or feeling the gentle kiss of the ocean breeze against his skin, there was no real contest. Rowayton would always win.

The main street through town was busier, which wasn’t exactly unexpected and if anything it only seemed to add to the charm of the village. Chris decided to head straight to the market to pick up his groceries, if only to facilitate the Danish eating in a more timely-fashion. He picked up a basket as he entered and proceeded to add only the essentials he’d need to get him through the next couple of days. He’d pay for his shopping before going to the coffee bar, because trying to pack his reusable grocery bag with a full takeout cup was a mistake he’d made once before and was sure to never repeat again.

With his groceries purchased and bags packed in such a way that the couple of bottles of wine he’d picked up wouldn’t clink together when he walked (it was three to be exact but after seeing the selection of cured meats, cheeses and olives available he thought it’d be a crime if they didn’t find their way into his basket to come home with him, and if there was cheese there had to be wine), Chris made his way to the coffee counter situated near the Market entrance.

You couldn’t remember the last time you’d taken a trip away without the company of anyone else but the last couple of months at work had been incredibly stressful, with projects seemingly coming out of your ears and while you knew your mother had been worried by your suggestion of taking off somewhere alone for the weekend, she also knew better than to fight you on something you’d quite clearly already set your mind to. If you were being completely honest, your plans for the first full weekend you’d had off in months would have consisted of not setting foot outside of your apartment or engaging in any kind of unnecessary conversation had you decided to stay home in Hartford, at least this way you’d be getting some fresh air and the sun on your face.

It was just shy of a two hour drive down to Rowayton, which had the dual benefit of being close enough to home that it didn’t feel like a huge trek just to get there, but also being far enough away that you would be a complete stranger in this town and could take the time to decompress and recharge while blending into the background, and the place was pretty to boot. You’d found a little studio Airbnb not too far away in South Norwalk, figuring that you’d only be using it as somewhere to sleep as you’d planned on spending as much of your time as possible being right by that ocean with the wind in your hair and the warm sun on your skin.

That’s how you’d planned on spending your Saturday afternoon, sat on the sand of Bayley Beach with a good book and a cup of coffee. It was set to be a balmy day, with temperatures sitting in the mid-eighties and the last thing you wanted to be doing in the heat was any amount of excessive walking. So with that in mind, you’d spent your morning exploring the village and taking in the sights and sounds. The gentle protest of your stomach told you it was lunchtime before you’d even taken the opportunity to glance down at your watch and a quick Google search pointed you in the direction of somewhere to get that all important cup of coffee and a small bite to eat.

Rowayton Market didn’t look like much from the outside in the sense that it was a little on the petite side, but the reviews were great and the coffee was allegedly some of the best in the village and that was good enough for you. You were greeted with the smell of freshly baked goods and ground coffee, which was welcoming enough before you even saw the bright smile of the girl behind the counter. Your eyes drifted over the selection of pastries, each one more delicious looking than the last and you knew that you were going to have a hard time choosing just one. You knew you’d have to make a decision, though, suddenly aware of the small line that had seemingly materialised right out of thin air behind you and while you were sure that these people were more accustomed to a slower pace of life, the city girl in you, who was so used to living life in the fast lane, didn’t want to keep these good people waiting while you deliberated. You’d go with your usual and that would be that.

Chris’s attention was fixed out of the large glass windows at the front of the shop, watching as people milled in the street and went about their daily business. It was something he quite often did, whether he was here or back home in New York. There was something oddly soothing about watching the world go by, he thought, and occasionally he’d catch something that would quirk his lips up into a smile, like the sight before him now of a rather large gull in the process of committing larceny against what he could only assume was an unsuspecting tourist. Their sandwich was held high above their head while their free hand attempted to shoo the bird away with little success. He chuckled quietly to himself then, not least because the gulls seemed to get more brazen with each year that passed and he was sure that one of these days he’d see someone’s lunch get snatched right out of their hand by the feathered menaces.

Chris had no reason at all to believe as he stood in that line that everything was about to change. Why would he? The day had started like any other. He’d picked up his groceries in this store more times than he could count, he’d waited in a line just like this one for his coffee and Danish and yet, in that moment, something as innocuous as a woman’s voice would bring feelings that he thought he was done with, and memories he thought had strayed out of his mind for good, flooding back to the surface. But it wasn’t just any woman’s voice, no, it wasn’t as detached and neutral as that. It was your voice; a voice he hadn’t heard in nine years and it was something as simple as a coffee order, an order that he now knew to have remained the same since the day you’d first met at Boston College all those years ago, that blew the dam wide open and every word the two of you had ever spoken, from day one to the last thing you ever said to him, came rushing back.

The sound of Chris’s voice calling your name was something you never thought you’d hear out loud again. It was a voice you’d only heard in your dreams for many years after he walked out of your life, but even that had faded beyond memory to where you weren’t a hundred percent certain that you’d be able to remember what it sounded like anymore. And yet, in the middle of a tiny supermarket in Rowayton, you heard him clear as day with his tongue rolling around the syllables of your name with the same fondness, even after all this time and it was like you’d never forgotten the sound at all.

Autumn was beginning to make her presence felt in Boston. The palette on campus had shifted from a spectrum of vivid greens to shades of deep russet, amber, ochre and vermillion; but even above the changing leaves, the turning of the calendar brought a slight chill to the air that had you reaching for your jacket on a morning as you left your dorm.

Today was no different. The temperature had dropped again overnight as November creeped ever closer and it was chilly enough that you had to draw your coat tighter around you as you walked across campus towards class. Your brisk pace had bought you enough time to make a stop at the coffee stand just outside of Campion where your first class of the day was being held. There was a decent selection on offer, but it wasn’t enough to sway you from ordering your usual.

You rooted around your backpack for your wallet while the barista prepared your coffee and grabbed you your cinnamon roll, unaware of the new presence to your right, before handing over the money and taking the coffee and pastry bag from the young man’s hands.

“Coffee and cinnamon roll, eh? Now that’s the breakfast of champions.”

You turned your head towards the source of the voice, lips quirking into a small smile at the sight of the stranger beside you who looked to be not much older than you were, incredibly tall and broad for his apparent age but not for his height. He was grinning at you with a fullness that made his eyes crinkle at the corners and gave him a unique kind of softness.

“My mom would disagree,” you replied with a smirk. “If she found out I was having this for breakfast she’d be in her car so fast and dragging my ass back to Hartford.”

He laughed at that, loud and bright with his head tipped back slightly before running a hand through his dark brown hair that was shorter on the sides but had the faintest hint of a curl at the longer strands on top.

“I won’t tell her if you don’t.”

“Oh, I’m definitely not telling her,” you grinned as you swung your backpack over one shoulder. “So looks like you’re sworn to secrecy.”

You studied him for a brief moment, with the way he was still grinning at you and his eyes that seemed to sparkle behind his dark lashes before your brain gently reminded you that you, in fact, had somewhere you needed to be. “Well, I hate to impose a vow of silence on you like some sort of mafia boss and then immediately split but I uh I gotta head to class.”

“No problem at all and hey, your secret is safe with me. In fact, I’ve forgotten already. What were we talking about?”

There it was again, that smile of his that made you want to stay rooted right where you were standing and look at it all day, but class beckoned and so you gave an awkward wave of your hand and a soft laugh before you turned and headed into the building behind you without another glance back. If you had you’d have seen the stranger from the coffee stand watch until you’d disappeared from view, with that smile still on his face.

This little routine of yours would continue over the course of the next few weeks. Every Tuesday morning, at around 8:45am, you’d find yourself stood at that coffee stand outside of Campion to get your coffee and cinnamon roll, and every Tuesday morning, at around 8:46am, the tall stranger would appear beside you with his kind eyes and his bright smile. You’d exchange a ‘hello’ and a friendly grin and you’d laugh more often than not too while you made pleasant small talk before you both said your goodbyes and went to your respective classes, though you would always leave first and he would watch you go until you’d disappeared into the building.

It was mid-November, now, and the campus of Boston College was firmly in autumn’s frigid grasp. The temperatures continued to drop, seemingly overnight, which had you bundled up in your hat and scarf and the trees had shed their branches of leaves, crunching underfoot with the slight frost as you made your way towards Campion. Your hands were shoved deep into your coat pockets to ward off the gnawing chill and you were looking forward to being able to warm them around your coffee cup.

You approached the stand as normal, rooting through your backpack for your wallet ready to order.

“Hey!”

You looked up, your features fixed in a state of mild confusion while you looked for the source of the voice you recognised but couldn’t quite place. It was then you saw him though, all bright eyed and bushy tailed with a medium coffee and pastry bag held up in one of his large hands as if on display. He was grinning at you and cocked his head, beckoning you over with the wordless gesture.

“Hey, yourself,” you smiled as you approached. “What’s this then?” You tilted your head slightly at the items in his hand as he offered them to you.

“Breakfast of champions.”

Your eyebrow quirked as you took the coffee from him before taking a tentative sip, smiling while the warm liquid slid down your throat.

“You got my coffee order right.”

“It wasn’t hard,” he smirked. “You order the same thing every week and if you open that little paper bag I think you’ll find a cinnamon roll in there.”

Sure enough, as you opened the bag you were greeted with the sight of a perfectly formed cinnamon roll and you couldn’t help the grin that sparked at your lips and spread the full width of your face.

“I don’t order the same thing every week.”

“You do,” he replied with a laugh. “Every Tuesday for the last 5 weeks you’ve come to this coffee stand and ordered a medium Americano with half and half and a cinnamon roll and every Tuesday for the last 5 weeks I’ve been meaning to ask you your name.”

Your face flushed warm at that, not only at his words but at the sure little smile he was giving you and the way his eyes were sparkling. In fact, now that you were really looking at him properly, you were knocked back a bit by the perpetual kindness that seemed to rest in them and you couldn’t help but notice how they really were the perfect shade of hazel, like a forest with a deep bark heart surrounded by leaves that were every shade of green. You’d been quiet a little too long though and so you took a settling sip of coffee to give you enough time to find your voice again and tell him your name.

“Nice to meet you,” he smiled as he offered you his hand, which was large and warm as you shook it.

“And who should I thank for the coffee?” you asked.

His smile grew into a grin then, the kind that you’d noticed over the course of the last few weeks that made his eyes crinkle and happiness radiate from him, before simply replying:

“Chris.”

“Chris?”

It was as if time had stood still in that little Market in Rowayton, where your surroundings become a still-frame and there’s nothing but static in your ears. You’d often thought about what it would have been like to see him again. Those first couple of years after he’d left Boston College had you imagining all kinds of scenarios, much like the one you were in right now where you’d bump into each other in a supermarket or a pharmacy, anywhere really, but now that you were living it, seeing it, breathing it, there was nothing you could have conjured up in your imagination that would have prepared you for what it would really feel like to see him again. If you were to be completely honest, you were glad that your coffee and cinnamon roll were still on the top of the counter because you were certain that they would have fallen right out of your hands and onto the Market floor.

He abandoned his position in the line then, as if you speaking his name was a call to him, and maybe it was, on some level, but the truth and simplicity of it was that you were suspended in a state of pure disbelief and even in the short time it took for him to close the distance between you both, you were still yet to move and fix your features to something more neutral.

“Hey.”

It was a simple greeting that he gave you and logically you knew that there wasn’t really any tangible meaning behind that single word he spoke and yet there was something about the look in his eyes and the warmth in the smile he gave you.

“It’s been a while.”

“It has,” you replied, finally finding your voice. “You look, you look good.”

It wasn’t a lie either, he did look good. The tall college boy you remembered, who was just a little too slight for his height, had filled out; you could tell that just from the way the fabric of his t-shirt stretched across the broad plains of his chest and strained around his biceps, and he was no longer clean shaven, which was something that had always made him look quite baby-faced. Instead he was sporting a neatly trimmed goatee and while he had kept his hair short on the sides, just like you’d remembered it, it was longer on the top than it had been in college and the curls were sweeping in a way that reminded you of the waves just beyond the Market door. He looked older, yes, which is exactly what you would have expected in the nine years since you’d last seen him but his eyes were still exactly the same, sparkling and full of mischief , yet still soft, perhaps even softer than before on account of the faint lines around them drawn by time’s fair hand.

“So do you,” he grinned. “You cut your hair.”

“I did,” you looked down as your face flushed with warmth, unsure exactly what you were supposed to say to him.

It was something you’d thought about during those imagined scenarios where you’d magically bump into each other again and you’d thought about all of the things that you would say to him. You would tell him about how much you’d cried when he left you behind to live out his boyhood dream and how angry you were that he didn’t want you to be a part of that, how it felt like all the plans you’d ever talked about were nothing more than empty words and how hurt that had made you feel. You felt like you at least deserved that, especially given that it was never just a casual fling between you both. After all, you’d been practically inseparable for two years. You’d been inseparable ever since he’d said those three words that mean so much. But now that he was here in front of you, all those words that had swirled around in your head and in your chest like a hurricane for so long, dissipated into nothing and you found yourself clutching at straws to find something, anything, to say.

Chris could sense this though. Of course he could because he was Chris and he had always been so in tune with you and your emotions and the fact that he was still able to read you so well was both a comfort and a knife in your chest, and while he internally grimaced at the fact he was having to fall back on using small talk between you both, he felt like it was what you needed in the moment. He wouldn’t expect things to go back to how they were after all this time, he couldn’t, and so he started with something simple, something he knew you would be able give him an answer to.

“So, what brings you to sunny Rowayton?”

“I could ask you the same question,” you replied.

“Ah,” Chris grinned, trying to keep the mood light. “See I asked you first and also, I live here so therefore the ‘question answering’ responsibility falls back to you.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at that, at both his words and the silly little expression he was wearing and despite all the years that sat between you both like a void and all of your hurt that was held within it, it all seemed to briefly melt away and in that moment it was like you were back at that little coffee stand outside of Campion.

“I didn’t realise this was an interrogation. Wait is this one of those little weird cult towns? Should I be worried?”

Chris knew by the little smirk you were wearing that you meant no malice behind your words and so he responded by sucking in air through his teeth before speaking again with one of those smiles that went all the way up to his eyes.

“Watch it, Pickle.”

Your stomach fell right into your shoes in that moment, that name he used only for you slipped from his lips like it was the easiest thing in the world for him to do, like he’d never stopped calling you it and like it hadn’t been nine years since you’d last spoke a word to one another. Chris knew all this of course and he didn’t need to rely on intuition either because he could see every emotion written all over your face.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly on the exhale of a breath. “I um.. Force of habit, I guess.”

“It’s okay,” you muttered, not quite meeting his eyes. “Although not exactly ‘habit’, it’s been how long?”

Chris winced at that, the reality of how he left things between you both slapping him in the face and he was filled with the guilt that he’d spent almost a decade pushing out of his chest and shoving into the darkest corner of his memory where he would hope it would rest undisturbed. He knew that you were angry at him for leaving things the way he did, how could you not be? After all, he was the one who had broken your heart and left you in Boston, but it was never as simple as that, even back then there was so much he should have said but that was something he wouldn’t realise until much later when it was too late to repair the damage. The thinly veiled hurt in your eyes and the way your mouth was downturned was demonstrative of that fact.

“I know,” he all but whispered. “It just-“

“It’s fine, Chris. Can we just forget about it? Please?”

He nodded, watching with a quiet kind of sadness on his features as you turned to finally pick your coffee and cinnamon roll up off the counter before he cleared his throat softly to continue speaking.

“You never did say what brought you into town.”

You took a sip of coffee to give yourself long enough to settle the thundering in your chest before answering him, because for all your heart felt like it was about to burst from all the hurt you’d managed to hide away up until now, there was also a weird sense of nostalgia that came with seeing him and hearing his voice again, and even though he’d shattered your heart completely when he decided he no longer wanted you in his life, your mother had raised you right and you knew the proper thing to do was to indulge him in a little small talk, even if for nothing more than old time’s sake.

“Just here for the weekend,” you replied. “Work has been nuts lately and I needed some time away from home.”

Chris shuffled on his feet for a moment as you spoke while his eyes darted between you and the door that would lead to the outside world and the possibility of the two of you parting once more. It was an unexpected pull that he felt in his chest at that thought, you reappearing in his life out of the blue only to slip out of it just as suddenly by doing something as simple as walking out of that supermarket back out into the wide world. For nine years he’d thought about where you were, what you were doing, if you were okay, if you were happy and with each year that passed without seeing your face or hearing your voice, he’d resigned himself to the fact that you were lost to him, drifting out there in the seas of life never to see you again. He didn’t know why you’d suddenly come back to him now, whether by some stroke of luck or twist of fate, although Chris couldn’t have cared less which one it was. All he cared about was the fact that you were here at all and it was an opportunity that he was sure he wasn’t going to waste. He didn’t even know for certain that you would want to give him any of your time after what had happened when he left Boston, but he wanted to at least give you what he should have all those years ago and that was an explanation and an opportunity for you to tell him how his actions had made you feel.

“Hey, what are you up to this afternoon?”

“Not much,” you shrugged. “I was just going to sit on Bayley Beach and enjoy the nice weather.”

“Would you mind some company? No pressure, of course, I understand if you… I understand if you’d rather not want to spend any time with me.”

You exhaled then and Chris’s shoulders visibly sagged, bracing himself for your polite refusal, but your response was not one that he was expecting and truthfully, it wasn’t one that you had expected either.

“Honestly?” you started, getting swept up in the nostalgia of seeing him again before the rational part of your brain could catch up. “That would be nice.”

“Great,” he smiled in what you could see was pure relief. “Do you mind if I grab a coffee before we head out?”

“Sure,” you replied. “I’ll wait outside for you.”

You headed out the door and were sure to stand where Chris could see you, knowing him well enough to realise that he’d be worrying, at least on some level, that you’d slip off into the crowd. You’d never do that to him, of course, even after everything, because while he had broken your heart, he was also the first person you’d ever truly loved and when you’d put the pieces back together, you couldn’t help but keep a part of him wrapped up amongst the tape and string holding those pieces together while you healed. It was in doing that that you understood that he would always have a special place in your heart and honestly? You were kind of okay with that because while the ending hadn’t exactly been perfect, the two years you’d spent together were and you wouldn’t have changed that time for anything.

You weren’t sure what exactly had possessed you to let Chris talk you into venturing off campus and out in the early-February snow to get burgers at Eagle’s Deli but you were cursing those sparkling eyes and that roguish grin of his for wearing down your sensibilities as you righted yourself after what felt like the hundredth near-fall. It was slushy underfoot, the kind that’s a twisted ankle or sprained knee waiting to happen and while you’d dressed weather appropriately in your winter boots and heavy parka, you were still very newborn lamb-like in your movements which was amusing Chris to no end.

“Come on, slowpoke,” he called from up ahead as he grinned at you over his shoulder.

“Not all of us can be hockey prodigies and thrive in this kind of inclement weather,” you grumbled, shuffling slowly so as not to slip.

Chris laughed as he came back towards you with confident and purposeful steps, surprising you when he offered his arm for you to loop yours through.

“Now, I’m no expert in geography or meteorology but it snows in Hartford, no?”

He was grinning at you, the kind of grin that you had to fight with every fibre of your being not to reciprocate because you’d already committed to your grumpy act and you couldn’t have him thinking he’d cracked you already, even if he, in fact, had.

“Yes,” you stressed. “But I don’t make a habit of going out in it to get burgers like a crazy person.”

The cackle you received from him in reply was loud and a little wild and you couldn’t help but be completely captivated by the way his cheeks were ruddy from the cold and the snowflakes clinging to the curls on top of his head and long eyelashes. Tuesday morning coffees with him outside of Campion before class had turned into coffees in actual cafes during free periods and getting lunch together. It was even dragging your body out into the cold to the Alumni Stadium with your blanket and your thermos to watch Chris play with the BC Eagles because you couldn’t say no to that damn smile and those damn eyes and even now, as you looked at him taking in the scenery along the Chestnut Hill Reservoir pathway, you knew that they were going to be the death of you.

“It’s really pretty along here,” he spoke, more quietly than before; softer too. “You wouldn’t think we were in the middle of Boston.”

“Yeah, it’s a nice walk,” you agreed before shooting him a smirk and a look. “Would be nice in the spring sunshine too.”

“Yeah, yeah. I get it, Little Miss Chilly.”

“I don’t know what you have against being warm, Kreider. Warm is good, warm is nice-“

You shrieked as your feet went out from under you, courtesy of a patch of black ice hidden under slushy snow and you squeezed your eyes shut in preparation for the impact of your ass hitting the cold, hard ground. But it never came.

“It’s okay,” Chris spoke reassuringly, one hand tight around your bicep while his other arm was curled around your waist, holding you upright. “I’ve got you.”

You opened your eyes then to be met with Chris’s looking right at you, all moss and bark and warm. He was smiling at you but it was different to the easy grin he usually wore around you, this was softer somehow and all rational thought was replaced by one of those monkeys playing the cymbals. For the briefest of seconds, and for reasons completely unknown to you, the monkey tried to take the wheel and the idea of kissing him right there, in the middle of the pathway that had made an attempt on your life, flashed into your head.

Maybe it was the snow and how perfect and picturesque the scene around you felt? Maybe it was the fact he’d just saved you from slipping? But the reality of it was that those eyes and that smile held some sort of power over you that you couldn’t yet fully understand. You shook your head quickly, if only to take back control of the situation before you did something more embarrassing than almost falling on your ass.

“Thanks,” you muttered as you regained your composure. “This damn pathway.”

“I’ve got an idea,” Chris grinned as he turned so his back was to you and stooped slightly. “Hop on.”

“You can’t be serious?”

“I never joke about piggy-backs,” he replied in a faux solemn tone with the face to match. “Come on, we’ll get you to the Deli in one piece one way or another.”

And that was how you ended up with your arms looped around Chris’s shoulders and his strong hands holding the backs of your legs as he carried you on his back to Eagle’s Deli.

Not twenty minutes later, the pair of you were shuffling into a booth as you shed your coats, gloves and scarves, Chris grinning at you while you blew on your fingers in an attempt to restore warmth into them.

“See, told you I’d get you here in one piece.”

You scoffed at him and shot a playful glance across the table separating you both.

“You’re not human, that is the only explanation for how you’re able to walk in that,” you nodded towards the window where the snow was still falling to illustrate your point before continuing, “and not fall flat on your face.”

“Or my ass,” he added with a grin.

“Hey, that never actually happened!”

Chris’s face split into an even bigger smile at your little protest and the pout that had formed on your lips and while the gentle teasing between you was simply a part of the dynamic of your friendship, Chris would have been lying if he didn’t admit that the reason he did it so often was because you always looked so adorable trying to rebut him.

“No, you’re right. It didn’t,” he mused with a smirk, not needing to remind you that it was him who had come to your rescue judging from the unimpressed look you were throwing his way.

“All I’m saying is that we could’ve just gone to Hillside for lunch.”

“But the burgers here are superior,” he countered, smiling at you. “And you got to enjoy a beautiful walk in the snow with me so who’s the real winner he- mmpf!”

Chris was cut off by your damp mitten hitting his face, brows knitting into a slight frown before laughing at the proud grin you wore at the accuracy of your throw.

“That wasn’t very nice,” he said with mock hurt.

“Maybe I’m not a very nice person.”

“I don’t believe that for one second,” he replied, but there was no teasing in his tone this time, only the kind of sincerity that had your face flushing warm and had you reaching for the menu to hide behind under the pretence of looking at the choices available.

He couldn’t help but smile at the awkwardness with which you were trying and failing to hide from him but soon joined you in picking up a menu and perusing it, despite already knowing what he was going to order.

It was a few moments before the waitress came over and while neither of you spoke the silence between you both wasn’t exactly awkward even though Chris knew there was something about his last words that had had some kind of effect on you. He was right, of course, because despite the fact that you’d had hold of this menu for a good couple of minutes already, you hadn’t actually looked at a single thing on it even though you’d made such a show of doing just that and now that Chris had ordered, a cheeseburger with fries and a chocolate milkshake, the waitress was looking at you expectantly. Unable to form any kind of rational thought under that kind of pressure, you found yourself simply saying “same” and soon enough it was just you and Chris at the table once more.

Chris was looking at you like he had something he wanted to say and the unreadable expression on his face had you feeling somewhat uneasy for reasons you hadn’t quite ascertained but probably understood on some level if you let yourself think about it for more than a second. He could feel the nervous energy radiating from you though and so rather than pursue his current train of thought, he picked a topic of conversation that was much safer and knew you’d be comfortable with: school.

You talked about your classes and upcoming assignments while he listened intently and you returned the favour while he spoke earnestly about hockey and his own academic workload. It was so easy to settle into a natural rhythm with Chris whenever you talked, as if you’d been having conversations like these for years when in fact it had only been a few months of knowing him and a few weeks of meeting up like this. None of that seemed to really matter though, not when the conversation was good and the chemistry felt right and especially not when it was clear that you were both on the same page when it came to your friendship. There was something else there though, something that was beyond being purely platonic, that much was becoming crystal clear and yet despite the ease in which it was to talk to him about literally anything else, there was something that had you stumbling over the thought of bringing it up.

You were saved from falling down that particular rabbit hole by the reappearance of the waitress, two burgers that were big enough to have your eyes popping out of your head in her hands. Chris chuckled from behind his milkshake at the look of disbelief on your face as your burger was set down in front of you before he reached for the bottle of ketchup between you both. You took the top of your burger bun off, nose immediately wrinkling at the sight of four pickle slices resting on top of the lettuce and tomato.

“Ugh, I forgot to ask for no pickles.”

Chris looked up from where he was squirting ketchup onto his bun, his eyes meeting yours briefly as his face split into a grin.

“You’re not one of those people, are you?”

“Shut up,” you grumbled as you began to pick the offensive green menaces off your food and set them at the edge of your plate. “I like what I like.”

Chris reached across and began to transfer the pickles from your plate to his burger, smiling widely at you as he did so.

“Well, I might have found a solution to this particular pickle you find yourself in,” he chuckled at the exaggerated groan and roll of your eyes at the expense of his joke. “You see, I love pickles.”

“You love anything,” you countered. “You’re like a human dumpster.”

“Hurtful,” he replied as he clutched at his chest. “But also true so I’ll allow it.”

You picked up a fry from your plate and threw it at him, immediately filled with equal parts surprise and a strange sense of awe as he reflexively moved and caught it in his mouth.

“You really are a dumpster,” you grinned as you shook your head at the proud little smile he was giving you.

“I am, so how about you don’t ask for no pickles on your burgers and you just give ‘em to me instead?”

It was easy to agree to his proposal, not least because his logic actually made a lot of sense when you thought about it, but mostly because of the way his eyes were sparkling and the way his smile made you feel warm all over, like the falling snow and freezing air outside didn’t exist, like your fingers and toes hadn’t been numbed by the biting cold during your walk here, like there had only ever been sunshine. It was also why you’d agreed to let him carry you back through the snow to your dorm, his large hands hooked around the backs of your thighs and your arms draped over his shoulders much like during the walk to the diner. You’d protested initially, of course, not wanting to burden Chris or put you both at risk of an injury due to the slippery conditions, but he wasn’t about to be convinced otherwise and remained unperturbed by the weather, gently reminding you that he had in fact got you to the diner in one piece in the first instance at your objections.

Truthfully, despite the mild embarrassment you felt at your complete ineptitude when it came to walking on ice, you couldn’t help but be more than a little impressed at Chris’s sheer strength. You wondered then, about how hard he must work in the gym to develop such a strong core because while you knew from first-hand experience how slippery it was underfoot, he didn’t falter once throughout the entire walk home and with the way he was talking amiably about his favourite places in the city he called home, and how his hands were holding your legs so surely and securely, you felt safe as houses with your chest pressed into his back – even with your thick coats and layers of winter clothing between you.

He walked with you on his back right up to the entrance of your dorm, setting you down carefully on the pathway that looked to have been newly shovelled before he turned to face you, his cheeks once again ruddy from the cold and your walk home.

“I don’t want to say ‘I told you so’ twice in one day,” he grinned, sucking air in through his teeth and shaking his head slightly. “But didn’t I say that I’d get you home safely?”

“So what if you were right twice?” you rebutted with a playful nudge. “It’s not like it’s ever gonna happen again.”

“Watch it, Pickle. I’ll have you know that I’m right about a lot of things.”

“Pickle?” you barked out a laugh, watching as Chris walked slowly backwards down the path away from you with that smile still on his face. “What kind of a name is that? I don’t even like pickles.”

“I know,” he called out into the growing distance between you both. “But I do, remember?”

You shook your head at him, chuckling to yourself with a smile on your lips that mirrored his as you watched him.

“See ya Tuesday then, Trash Can!” you hollered.

His raucous cackle cut through the silent flurry as he continued to walk slowly backwards, his grin clear as day even through the falling snowflakes.

“Trash Can! Fucking, Trash Can! Man, you got some serious chirps, Pickle. Can you throw hands too? I mean, I know you suck at keeping your balance on the ice but we could use an enforcer! I could push you around?”

“Anytime, anywhere!” you laughed, watching him with a grin until he had waved his goodbye and turned away before he retreated into the heavy snow.

Part ii

#it's all coming back to me fic #my writing #chris kreider #chris kreider fic #chris kreider x reader #nhl fic #nhl writing #nhl fanfic #nhl fanfiction #hockey fic #hockey fanfic #hockey fanfiction #hockey writing

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brawlingdiscontent · 3 years

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the men of metal, menacing with golden face, 3/?

a.k.a sequel to terrible with the brightness of gold

(cherik fic, viking au, subtle a/b/o, mature rating)

(part one) (part two)

Hi all, I am so sorry for the space between these updates! - I am so close to finishing my PhD (not in any history or medieval studies field, lol) and things are just really hectic with revisions, publications and syllabi, etc.

A reminder that the last chapter (from 5000 years ago) ended with Charles being graphically/violently threatened by a mysterious man. (See the link above if you’d like to re-read it.

Warnings: Slightly gory description, mentions/implications of violence and sexual assault, child death (not Charles’ kids)

----

In the end, they don't set off that afternoon.

It’s decided in a council, a strategy meeting that Charles is not invited to, and reported to him curtly by Lehnsherr later that day that if they start off early enough it’s only most of a day’s ride to Eoforowic, and is the preferable alternative to the vulnerability of camping overnight.

He sees almost no one before the Danish king returns to the tent bearing an evening meal.

The man in question has forgone the advisors and trailing pages, leaving his subordinates behind for the night, as no loud voices or other signs announce his arrival. The denizens of the camp are likely off savouring the hours of daylight that remain in varied nefarious ways. The long summer nights are not yet over, but in the tent it’s darker, shadowed but not yet dim enough to warrant a candle or fat lamp. The canvas walls seem to glow faintly with the strange quality of early evening light.

Charles has arranged himself in a defensive position, seated at the small table on the lone chair facing the tent flap. He took advantage of his time alone to redistribute a number of the furs from the main pile, making the corner where he intends once again to sleep more comfortable and well-padded. Together with the extra things Alex brought him--when, under the watchful eyes of the guards, they risked exchanging only a nod to confirm his task’s success--he fashioned a warm berth for himself. His current placement, with its slight chill, is a tactical necessity. He straightens in the hard, wooden seat. It’s best to avoid being caught in a prone position lest Lehnsherr take it as an invitation.

When he enters, Lehsherr carries in two rough-hewn, steaming wooden bowls balanced atop an extra stool.

“You must be hungry.”

Charles scans him for ulterior motives, finding none for now. He hasn’t eaten since the food that was left for him this morning, but can’t seem to muster up much of an appetite.

“Yes. Thank you,” he says anyway. He needs to keep his strength up.

Lehnsherr sets the bowls on the small table, nudging one slightly towards Charles, and the stool beside it. He then turns away, once again going through the routine of divesting himself of his gear. If he notices or has any feelings about Charles’ rearrangement of his space he says nothing, leaving Charles to return to his own thoughts.

That afternoon, after the monstrous man retreated, slinking off to some other part of the camp while Charles stood shaken, Charles’ guards had suddenly and conspicuously reappeared.

As he was escorted back to Lehnsherr’s tent, Charles had, briefly, turned over the possibility of telling him what happened. Of what could be construed as nothing other than a violent threat. But the man hadn’t actually done anything, hadn’t even touched Charles. And what, even, were the chances that Lehnsherr would believe him—or that he would care? In any case what exactly could he expect the Dane to do? The bear-man, whoever he is, must be powerful, as he contrived some way—whether by bribery or sheer command—to send the guards away from their positions outside the tent.

—Or, the thought had occurred to him, both disturbing and the most plausible yet, perhaps Lehnsherr had sent the man to threaten him, to warn him off and keep him in line. It is this possibility that is nearest in his mind as Lehnsherr wanders the tent.

“I trust you found your men well?” Lehnsherr questions, not turning from where he is folding his gambeson.

Charles contemplates several responses. Acerbic: ‘Alive would be a more accurate understanding.’ Another part of him wants to respond in anger, Logan’s blackened eye, the morning’s events, urging him to confront and accuse Lehnsherr. It’s an urge he knows is at least partly the product of fear. He presses his palms flat against the wood of the table and feels its uneven surface press back. In the end, exhausted, and unwilling to cause a fuss, he settles on, “I did,” then turns towards the bowl before him.

The food is hot, rabbit this time. Likely commandeered from one of the many the braziers and fire pits that dot the camp as he doubts Lehnsherr has had time for hunting. It is good, and Charles feels some appetite flare again, even when Lehnsherr has divested enough weapons and layers and joins him at the table.

A silence falls between them, not exactly awkward, but not quite comfortable either. On Charles’ end, it stems from reservation. Lehnsherr, conversely, seems content not to speak.

Charles steals surreptitious glances between bites. He studies the lines of the other man’s face trying to puzzle him out as the shadows in the tent begin to lengthen.

He’s a man become even more confusing and inscrutable after the day’s events. If Lehnsherr had sent that beast of a man to threaten him in place of doing so himself, it speaks to a capacity for sophisticated psychological manipulation, one that goes beyond and complicates his reputation for sheer brutality. For all of Charles’ careful planning he hadn’t seriously considered the possibility that Lehnsherr might be worse than Shaw. He needs to know who he’s—getting into bed with, his mind supplies—getting involved with. Only then can he have any hope to defend himself. For who can say what will happen to whatever appeal he has—the tenuous sexual hold that had checked Lehnsherr the night before—once Lehnsherr finally gets what he wants and is sated. What then can Charles possibly do to hold him back, should he prove monstrous?

He must have been more transparent in his observation than he realized, an act which once again is misinterpreted.

“Relax, your Highness.” Lehnsherr says. “I’ll honour your wish to wait. I won’t touch you.”

“Until we are married,” Charles says aloud if only to remind himself, tracking with his eyes the slow advance of a line of shadow across the table.

“Until we are married,” Lehnsherr agrees, his voice carrying notes of something that has Charles turning back studiously to his food to avoid analyzing.

...

The sun is just ghosting above the horizon when they assemble to head off the next morning, gently bathing the plain in its orange-red glow. There’s a morning chill carried in the wind that batters at Charles’ cheeks. It wipes away the bleariness of the early hour, and makes him glad that extra furs were among the items that he’d requested Alex fetch. And yet the last edges of summer are holding on; it’s nothing compared to the winter they’ll face once the seasons change and even the memories of warmth fade.

Lehnsherr had woken him just before dawn, and they’d had a hurried breakfast in the tent by the light of a flickering taper. More of the flat, dry bread and some of the season’s last berries, foraged from a nearby bush.

They’ll be going overland to Eoforwic. It’s the slower route than sailing up the coast, which tells Charles that either Lehnsherr doesn’t want their journey observed or reported, or that he’s uncertain of what awaits them in Eoforwic.

Scanning the group, Charles counts about fifty gathered, all told. Enough to defend themselves if it came down to it, but still a small enough party to travel relatively unobtrusively.

His horse gives a restless shuffle, tugging gently on the reins in his hands. A nobleman's former mount, certainly. Fine little features stand out in the saddle, tack, and gear. The rivets in the saddle bags are detailed in a star motif, points radiating out in blades of light, as only the very wealthy could afford. It was probably scavenged from its slain owner, or, optimistically, was given up by a defeated city relinquishing its riches. Londres had given up several hundred horses in the surrender.

Lehnsherr, who’d gone off on an unnamed errand after seeing Charles matched with a horse, approaches once more. He’s leading not only a horse of his own, but a woman. Charles recognizes her dark eyes and small stature from the previous morning.

“Charles,” Lehnsherr says without ceremony, “this is Angel. She’s here to assist you.”

He looks back over at her, as she returns his gaze placidly. Assist him? The road, travelling rough as they are, is no place for an attendant. Then, focusing on her smooth expression, it all clicks into place.

Assist him. Ha. More like spy on him. He quickly re-assesses the meeting he interrupted yesterday as an intelligence report. Interesting. Sebastian, with his more traditionalist views, would likely not have thought to assign such a job to a beta or omega woman.

He manages, “a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Angel.” It’s a lie, of course, but Charles was raised with manners, and she can’t help the assignment she's been tasked with. While Charles is fairly confident in his charm, Angel proves just as enigmatic as her commander, offering merely a hint of a smile and a raised eyebrow before turning to see to her own mount.

With eyes on him secured, Lehnsherr seems relatively content to leave him alone, as he heads up towards the front of the column to rally the troops.

They set off, and Charles easily falls towards the back of the group, ghosted by Angel. If he had any remaining doubts about her occupation, they dissipate after watching her subte, silent moments, even on horseback.

Travelling en masse, they alternate bursts of speed with walking breaks to keep a sustainable pace for the horses.

He is content to pass the first canter course just relishing the abandon of the pace, the uneven terrain below the horses’ hooves. The sun gradually climbs higher until he can feel the warmth of it on his hair, and the wind blows across his face. He basks in the experience of being out in the open, running wild (if not free) after six months of siege.

The dusty roadside is lined here and there with dots of blue chicory, long stems stretching up tenaciously towards the sky. A flock of chaffinches, startled by their appearance, burst in flight. His spy, Angel, seems to have melted away into the group, perhaps prefering to operate in her usual mode when her targets don’t know she’s there. It is tempting to forget the circumstances and enjoy the moment.

But Charles is too pragmatic, hardened by bitter experience underlined by recent events, to let this lapse in Lehnsherr’s attention (Angel aside) go to waste.

In the first walking break, he looks around at the stragglers in the second half of the party for promising targets of some reconnaissance of his own. Just ahead and to his left are two burly men engaged in animated discussion. Inching subtly closer, he’s disappointed but not surprised to find that they’re speaking Danish. He has so little of the language, certainly not enough to make reliable sense of their discussion, but at the least perhaps listening might improve his facility. He listens amongst the glottal phrases for repeated sounds he might begin to decipher.

“It’s a blunt-tongued language, isn’t it?” a warm voice addresses Charles from slightly behind.

He starts and turns his body in the direction of the sound—as pleased to hear the softer tones of Saxon as he is startled at the sudden intrusion—to find another rider approaching on his right.

He’s a young man, a little younger than Charles from appearances, and clothed in unusual attire. A flat sort of cap, fashioned from a vibrant dark red material, adorns his head. His tunic, where it peeks through his furs, is woven of rich fabric: not over-ornamented, but of a quality far surpassing the coarse weaves and eclectic dress of the surrounding men. He carries himself with a cool confidence, perched lightly on his saddle, relaxed and much more poised than any other of Lehnsherr’s men.

Charles pulls gently at the reins, slowing his horse’s pace to allow the other man to draw even with him.

Even as he takes him in, the clothing stirs a memory at the back of his mind of a childhood long ago; Muslim traders at the Norman court. The memory is an old one; Sebastian’s kingdom was an insular one and didn’t get on with outsiders, let alone cultured guests from the learned centres of the world.

“Forgive me for startling you, Your Highness,” the man says. Despite Charles’ deliberate choice to leave his circlet behind at the tent, it seems that Lehnsherr’s scene in the banquet hall the other night has left him no chance of anonymity.

“That’s quite alright. Though, you seem to have me at a disadvantage.”

“The name’s Armando, sir.”

“Armando.” He says, rolling the name around in his mouth. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” It's the second time today he’s offered these words, but he finds he can be more sincere with them when not faced with a spy. “And what is your role here?” He’s a figure somewhat misplaced among the rough-and-tumble Danes.

“I’m a physician. Born in Cordoba, and trained in Alexandria.”

A frisson of excitement runs through Charles at this announcement. “You speak Saxon very well for an Andalusian. Better than myself, and I’ve been speaking it almost since birth.”

“Thank you. Once I had the first few, the next languages came easily enough.” He switches into Norman for the second part of explanation to demonstrate.

“How many others do you speak?”

“Fluently? I’d say seven--maybe eight.” He cracks a broad, warm smile at Charles’ astonishment. “What can I say? I’m adaptive.”

Mindful of his spy close at hand, Charles yet can’t hide his delight to be in the company of a fellow seeker in the pursuit of knowledge, one with personal experience of the madrasas of the learned world at that. Despite this, he tries to rein himself in before his enthusiasm overwhelms his caution. After all, no matter how much he may seem a kindred spirit, he doesn’t know Armando nor his agenda. And, after seeing firsthand the danger that lurks in the camp, he’d be a fool to count himself safe.

They settle into a comfortable rhythm. It’s in the next walking break that Charles, between probing questions about the scientific and medical developments out of Baghdad, catches sight of a head above the crowd. His heart stutters, and he almost jerks on the reins impulsively. Riding up at the front, near Lehnsherr, but a bit off to the side. He’s easy to spot, rising nearly head-and-shoulders above the men surrounding him, stature and bearskin robe unmistakable.

“Armando, what can you tell me about that man?”

Armando follows his gaze to the front of the party, and when he sees the man to whom Charles refers seems to hesitate.

“He goes by the name of Sabretooth. He leads one of the strongest factions among the Danish warriors.” He pauses so long that Charles thinks he might have to prompt again, before continuing. “He and his supporters are known for their unyielding savagery in battle. I’ve only ever seen the aftermath.” Armando looks towards the riders at the front, squinting into the midday sun at the outline of the man in question. His words seem improbably incongruous in the brightness of the day. “Going into battle they consume a potion to free them of inhibitions and drive away all traces of remorse. Many of his followers file their teeth, supposedly to more easily rend the flesh of their enemies. Except Sabretooth himself who they say likes the challenge of a duller edge.”

Charles masks his disquiet with a wry remark. “No doubt a firm favourite of his Grace.” He had heard tell of such stories, whispers of viking cannibals, but had always assumed them to be over-inflations of reality.

“You’re wrong about that, actually.”

He looks back over, surprised.

“I have the sense—mind you, this is just my perception—that His Grace dislikes him very much.”

Charles thinks on this. Armando’s explanation would seem to square with the disagreement he witnessed back at the camp. Furthermore, the man—Sabretooth—seems prone to unpredictable violence, of a sort that might irk someone as careful and controlled as Lehnsherr. And yet—

“If that's the case, why invite him on such a party?

Armando takes a moment to respond, looking between the two riders up ahead. “There’s a common saying in Alexandria. It translates roughly to: a wise man holds his enemies close to his breast but far from his heart.”

Charles nods in agreement as he notes the appropriateness of it, thinking of the justification he had used to convince Lehnsherr to take him along even as he once again reconfigures his knowledge of the man. He, too, is an enemy Lehnsherr has held close. But before he can take the train of thought much further, the low blast of a horn signals the return to a canter, and it’s lost in the clatter of advancing hooves.

…

In the late afternoon, the first sign of smoke on the horizon alerts them. It curls above the treetops a little ways off the road. Too dense and heavy to be from a cooking fire.

The nearby homestead is set back from the road, but after the party halts at another horn blast a few riders break away from the pack in its direction. Charles pulls his horse past the crowd of remaining men and follows after them.

It’s a desolate scene. What was formerly a cottage now smouldering ashes but for the charred edges of a door frame still standing. The field of crops outside is churned up and scattered. Crushed stalks of barley that were trodden under horses’ hooves are beaten into the mud. A handful of slaughtered animals lie along the path. But what is most evident is the woman crouched in front of the remains of the house, keening in grief. Her ragged dress is torn, at her side a small child with a soot in their hair and clothes.

Lehnsherr has already dismounted, handed off his reins to another rider in order to survey the scene. Charles follows suit without a thought, and once he gets closer, it unfolds before him tragic inevitability.

He sees the dead man lying a few feet away from the woman and child, his grotesquely splayed body telling the story of his violent end. Then, clutched in the woman’s arms, a boy. A mere child, perhaps thirteen summers. His small eyes are closed almost peacefully, his forehead smeared with clotted blood.

Armando, who has followed Charles from the road, is quick to be rallied to aid.

Insensible in grief, the woman seems to barely register their presence as they cautiously approach. The young child, likely too small to comprehend the events that have taken place, tugs on her dress to get her attention, until she at last looks up at them. Her gaze is empty as one beyond reach, already crossed over to the next world.

It strikes Charles deeply, who freezes, feeling her disconnection mirrored in his own. Dissociation is a strategy he’s used to make himself hard, hiding his emotions in a fortress to protect them from a scene that has and will continue to play out countless times across the countryside. Recognizing it now in this woman, he’s struck by its haunting unnaturalness, the hollowness it invokes.

Armando, who had gently nudged the woman aside to conduct an examination, looks up and shakes his head.

The young child shrieks suddenly, drawing back and cowering behind their mother, who, past caring, doesn’t noticeably react. The cause is soon clear: having finished attentively examining the scene and damage, Lehnsherr is making his way over. To his credit, in response to the child’s dismay he slows his approach and spreads his hands wide in the universal symbol of non-aggression. It’s the only reason that Charles makes no move to stop him as he nears the woman and child, and crouches down.

Charles watches as he starts a conversation in Saxon, gently asking a question or two. He thinks he hears Lehnsherr quietly mutter a few words following the woman’s stilted responses. Then the man pulls an aged leather drawstring pouch from somewhere on his person, and produces several small, glinting coins which he hands to the woman.

A weregild.

Blood price for so much death and evil, paid for with some mere pieces of metal. He rails internally at his own impotence, safe behind a palace wall while people are suffering; dying. And at the authors of the violence, as Lehnsherr’s actions here have surely confirmed, the very men he rides with.

He’s overwhelmed by a helpless rage that washes over him like a tide.

“A few coins” the words come out flat, subdued. “Do you think they can repair the loss of a husband, bring back her child?” It’s an accusation but empty, anger deserting him as quickly as it arrived for a dull hopelessness.

Lehnsherr turns to him, delayed. His gaze is a bit distant, as though he’d forgotten Charles was there.

“It will bring them food,” he says levelly, “buy them shelter for the winter. Nothing can bring back the dead.”

Charles stands there for an indeterminable span of time, consumed by the endless cruelties of men. By this tangible reminder of the pain caused and lives lost to men—no, not men, beasts, seeking only personal glory, an enrichment of power.

“You generals and your wars,” he says coldly and turns away, the smoke still stinging in his eyes.

#cherik #viking au #Charles Xavier #Erik Lehnsherr #x-men #subtle a/b/o #cherik fic #brawlingdiscontent #twtbog #encomium carolis regis

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atlanticcanada · 2 years

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"I can see myself living here": N.S. health-care recruitment attracting attention

Some Nova Scotia nurses say they're still being run off their feet, but help may be on the way.

The province's ongoing health-care recruitment program does seem to be getting some interest from professionals in other provinces, although other factors are helping.

Veteran Ontario nurse Sandra Dawson-Binger was exploring the Halifax waterfront with her husband, Shaun, Monday.

Long-time residents of Muskoka, Ont., Sandra is interested in exploring employment opportunities in Nova Scotia.

"Right now, they're offering a $10,000 signing-bonus for coming, if you stay for two years, and also up to $5000 for moving expenses," said Dawson-Binger.

Alerted to the opportunity by a friend, Dawson-Binger says 'lifestyle' is an important factor they're considering.

"It's a huge selling-point. Like, I'd like to be able to slow down a little bit. It's been a hazy, crazy, hectic two years for me," she says.

"I'm thrilled that she's considering moving here," said Nova Scotia Health Minister Michelle Thompson, a long-time RN herself.

"I want her to know, and any of her colleagues, or anyone else who's thinking about moving to Nova Scotia as health-care workers, that we're thrilled.”

“We’re thrilled to have people here, and we're working really, really hard to ensure that we have a welcoming and innovative health-care system for people to come and work in."

The government launched an extensive health-care recruitment campaign not long after the provincial election in August of 2021 — even establishing an entire department dedicated to the file, and there have been some successes.

"From April 2021 to January 2022, 108 physicians from outside of Nova Scotia have begun to practice in the province, or accepted an offer to start by April 2022," said Health Department spokesperson Marla MacInnis in an email to CTV News.

"In terms of nursing incentives, there are incentives for hard to recruit areas. Nova Scotia Health offers signing bonuses of up to $10,000, as well as relocation allowances of up to $5,000. Long term care offers signing bonuses of up to $7,500, as well as relocation assistance."

Fourty recent nursing grads from St. Francis Xavier University in N.S., also received job offers from the province.

"I'm hopeful. I'm just hopeful," said Nova Scotia Nurses' Union President Janet Hazelton, but noted there's still a lot of work to do.

"I'm optimistic that this is going to work, but it hasn't had much of an effect yet,” said Hazelton.

“Unfortunately, our nurses are still not getting vacations. They're not optimistic about getting vacations that they need this summer, which is really unfortunate.

"And we still have over a thousand registered nurse vacancies and 200 licenced practical nurse vacancies."

Hazelton says Covid-weariness might be another factor enticing nurses to Nova Scotia — especially from Alberta and Ontario.

"You know, in Ontario, nurses and physicians were having to decide who they would take off a ventilator, and who they leave on a ventilator, because of Covid,” said Hazelton.

“We didn't have those kind of issues in our province and that's mainly because we did a really good job of following the rules all through this.”

Still waiting for a formal offer, Dawson-Binger says she and her husband are leaning toward starting a new life on the province's south shore.

"I'm hoping for a little bit slower pace of life, and to eventually retire here," she said.

"This seems to be happening at the right time for me."

"I can see myself living here, yes. A lot of it reminds me of Muskoka where I come from."

"It's just got bigger hills."

from CTV News - Atlantic https://ift.tt/L1geGoQ

#new brunswick #prince edward island #nova scotia #news #politics #canada #CTVAtlantic

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celestialmark · 4 years

Text

Solitude - Part Two

Characters: Mark Lee x reader, members of nct

Genre: sniper!mark, mafia au

Word count: 10.4k

Warnings: mentions of death, cursing, hint of panic attack

Author’s note: after a gazillion years, part 2 is finally here. apologies for the wait! but I hope you enjoy! love you guys!!

“Donghyuck?”

Johnny is peeking out the door only to be greeted by Donghyuck who doesn’t greet him a usual mischievous grin. His eyes are hard, lines forming on his forehead and lips pursed together. “What brings you here?”

Johnny opens the door wider and Donghyuck takes this opportunity to push past him, barging into his place without a proper invitation. “Is Mark here?”

“Well hello to you too,” Johnny mumbles to himself as he closes the door behind him, disappearing inside to wherever Donghyuck was headed. “And no Mark isn’t here. Shouldn’t he be with you?”

Donghyuck stops in his tracks when he reaches the room you and Mark had just been in two minutes ago. Johnny scans the room with his eyes behind Donghyuck, looking to see if there are traces of your presence left behind.

“He’s not answering my calls,” Donghyuck turns to Johnny. “I haven’t seen him since yesterday’s shoot.”

Johnny raises a brow, ready to play innocent. “Oh? Y/n? It’s all over the news.”

Donghyuck nods but narrows his eyes at the older right after. “I’m almost sure he’d be here,” his tone is accusing and Johnny has to hold himself back not to lose his temper when he’s reminded that Donghyuck has every right to be that way and that everything he’s accusing him of was true. Donghyuck is pacing around the room, to find anything, to prove Johnny was lying.

Johnny only forces a low chuckle, eyeing your blood-stained clothed tossed away in a corner. “Why would you think that? I haven’t seen Mark since.”

“Since you left?” Donghyuck asks, pausing in his steps, his voice low and somber. He turns to Johnny again, a sad hint flashing across his eyes when he remembers what had happened a little over two years ago.

Johnny falls silent, his gaze darting to the ground, memories still fresh in his head. “Y-yeah. Since that.”

Silence clouds over the atmosphere and for a moment, Johnny becomes distracted, getting lost in his own thoughts. It isn’t until Donghyuck is reaching for him and tapping his shoulder with his palm that he looks up. Donghyuck is giving him a smile, a sad one, “Sorry for barging in here. I’ll- I’ll get going now.”

Johnny reciprocates the smile with a nod. He follows Donghyuck out the door and just when he’s about to get into his car, he looks back at Johnny. “We can still come here, right? I don’t think we’ll ever stop getting into fights and the boys don’t know anyone who can treat them as good as you do.”

Johnny smiles, genuinely for the first time in Donghyuck’s presence, the sense of brotherhood coming back to life again. “Of course Hyuck. This place will always be open for you.”

Mark is quiet when he watches you curiously take in your new surroundings of his humble abode, a loft in the middle of somewhere you’ve never been to. There’s a staircase to your right, leading to what you can make out as the bedroom, from its lack of walls surrounding the area, and probably the only bedroom in the building. The living room is in the middle of the first floor, two sets of sofas with a coffee table situated in the middle, on an area of the floor that dips down slightly, elevating everything else little. The small kitchen’s on the left, the kitchen counter serving as the dining table accompanied with two high swivel chairs.

It’s neat and clean, quaint and cozy.

“Is this where you live?” You ask curiously, eyes studying every nook and cranny.

Mark, who’s behind you, mirrors your actions, “When I get the chance to come home, yeah.”

“Oh?” You inquire, turning to him only to find him examining his own place in the same manner you did, if not in an even more intense way. The sight makes you think it’s a foreign place to him just as it is to you. “Your job requires you to travel often?”

You realise it’s the first ever question you’ve asked about Mark and you hope you’re not crossing over the line too soon. Mark looks at you, his expression shifting from confused to understanding, “Y-yeah. Something like that.”

Before you can ask anymore questions, Mark beats you to it, “Hey, are you hungry? You haven’t eaten for over twenty four hours now.”

On the realisation, your stomach growls lowly, having forgotten about the hunger from the hectic escape earlier. You smile bashfully, suddenly growing shy at the possibility of Mark hearing your stomach. “You’re cooking?”

Mark tries to suppress a smile, his features softening, a sight you wouldn’t mind seeing a lot more. “No. I can’t cook. But I was thinking pizza? That sound okay?”

You smile a grateful one and nod. “That would be great, yeah.”

Mark can’t help but notice your lack of questions, your behaviour painfully similar to Johnny’s. Out of all people, it should be you asking a gazillion questions, after all, you were the one who had been shot. He’s expected you to ask him about the culprit to the occasional pain shooting up your chest, why he saved your life, and anything about him at all. But there’s none of that, only you munching away on pizza with a satisfied grin on your face. He doesn’t know if he should be thankful you’re not asking questions about what had happened, or worried because of the exact same reason.

“Quit staring already and eat, Mark,” you say, pausing from your bites to point out he hasn’t eaten since the pizza had arrived. “Is there something on my face?”

Mark shakes his head after blinking himself out of his trance. “N-no. There’s nothing there.” He finally reaches for a pizza slice and you resume on satisfying your crying belly. “How’s the pain?”

“Really bad when I move around,” you admit, swallowing your last bite. “But okay if I stay still.”

“I have some painkillers if you want,” Mark replies. “They’re not as strong as the ones Johnny gave you but hopefully it’ll help.”

You nod and smile again, a gesture that has Mark staring at you for a second too long. “I’ll take whatever you have,” you say.

You continue to munch on your food, the fatigue and the pain combined lulling you into exhaustion some time after you talk about random things with Mark. You ask him about his loft, the weather, the guitar tucked away in the corner of the living room but never anything about your situation, about who’s behind your shooting, about who’s out for your life, about who he is. You believe trusting Mark is enough for now and the way his lips curl into a small smile whenever you say something irrelevant and random, makes you feel content despite the lingering questions in your head.

“Tired?” Mark asks when you try hard to suppress a yawn, not wanting to be rude in front of him.

You give him a sheepish smile with a nod of your head. “What time is it?”

Mark pulls his sleeve up slightly, revealing the watch wrapped around his wrist, “A little over four in the afternoon.” He’s already getting up from his seat on the couch opposite yours and you watch him curiously, your eyes trailing on him until you find him standing in front of you in no time. A soft expression adorning his features, he holds out his hand to you, “Come, you must be exhausted.”

Your eyes fly to his hand and then back up to his face. Then you remember how he practically carried you almost all morning, desperate to get away from whoever came uninvited. You take his hand anyway, realising just why you needed assistance once he pulls you up; it still hurt to move. Mark moves his body so that he’s standing right behind you, his shoulder touching yours and his free hand landing on the small of your back to steady you. A huff leaves your mouth, inhaling deep breaths until the ache settles ever so slightly.

“I think I’m gonna need that painkiller,” you mutter, gripping his hand tight.

Mark nods behind you, letting you lead the way to somewhere you don’t even know, “Okay, I’ll get it after I send you up to bed.”

You pause in your shuffling, looking back at him, “Oh? You said there’s only one bed. Where will you sleep?”

“I can stay down here.”

“But it’s cold down here.”

“No it’s alright.”

“Mark—“

“I need to watch the door too. Staying down here will make that easier.”

You fall in silence, Mark’s jaw rigid and eyes hardening at the thought of an intruder coming for you. You blink three times, pursing your lips shut and look away, no longer pressing on the matter, realising you didn’t have a better idea anyway.

Mark is patient with your slow steps, and even slower steps as you climb the stairs. Once you’re settled on the bed, you watch him walk over to what you presume to be his wardrobe, coming back to you a second later with a fresh white shirt in his hand.

“Here, change into this,” he instructs as you retrieve it from him, noticing the way the shirt Johnny had clothed you in, sustained small stains of blood here and there. Mark doesn’t spare you a glance before he’s leaving to go downstairs again and you take his absence as an opportunity to change into his shirt.

The first thing you realise is Mark’s scent, the moment the clothing is on your body fully, its size making it cling onto your body loosely, stopping just above your knees. He smells good; of summer, of warm happy days. It’s a scent that calms your senses, especially from being on edge for so long. And for the first time, you feel at peace, your shoulders drooping at the relief, your aching muscles suddenly untying their own respective knots. All merely because of Mark’s scent.

Mark catches you standing by the edge of the bed, playing with the soft material of his shirt. He’s about to climb the last stair when he stops to revel in the sight. You’re catching him off guard for the second time today and he’s unsure how many more times he has to make himself stop and stare before he’s finally able to train himself to look away because in his eyes, you were beautiful. And that’s you not even doing anything. He regains his composure when you look up and find him, forcing his limbs to move.

“Your painkiller,” he mumbles, setting a tablet by the bedside table with a glass of water. “Have a good rest, I’ll be downstairs if you need me.”

Mark is about to leave just as fast as he came, his slight change in demeanour grabbing your attention when he doesn’t look your way.

“Mark?” You call out, his figure freezing. You see him turn his body, his eyebrows shooting upwards and a forced smile plastered on his face. You smile at him, suddenly second-guessing yourself but push through anyway.

“Thank you.”

“Where have you been!”

Jaemin is quick to almost yell when Mark enters through the door, catching everyone’s attention, heads snapping towards the door.

“Mark what the fuck!” Donghyuck shouts, getting up from his seat, immediately scowling at Mark. “Why haven’t you answered your bloody phone for the past two days?”

“Sorry,” is all Mark could say, avoiding all of their gazes while he holds his head high, walking over to the kitchen to grab a bottle of water in a manner that makes it seem he hadn’t just left his comrades in the dark.

There’s an incredulous look on Donghyuck’s face as he waits for Mark to re-emerge from the kitchen and we he appears, he crosses his arms across his chest, “Well? Where the hell have you been?”

“Sleeping,” Mark replies, unbothered, though nervous inside.

“See?” Renjun reiterates, mostly at Donghyuck, trying to prove a point.

“For two days?” Donghyuck mocks, still glaring at Mark.

“For two days,” Mark confirms.

Jaemin and Renjun exchange glances, Jeno continues to stare at Mark in silence while Donghyuck exhales a frustrated sigh. “And what about y/n’s body?” Donghyuck asks, his tone dripping with accusation.

Mark’s grip on his bottle tightens a little bit, the thought of you in his loft all alone suddenly making him anxious, “Gone.”

“See?” Renjun repeats again, his voice raising in pitch to emphasise Donghyuck’s unnecessary worry.

Donghyuck only rolls his eyes, trying to mask his defeat, his mere assumptions finally coming to rest with Mark’s presence. Renjun smirks at the sight, somehow satisfied for proving Donghyuck wrong and for justifying his adamant beliefs through Mark’s consistent laid back behaviour after every one of his shoot.

Donghyuck suddenly tosses a duffle bag towards Mark to which he catches skilfully with the help of his reflexes. “Delivery to Japan in two weeks. Taeyong wants you and Jeno to go.”

Mark glances at Jeno who’s looking up at him from the couch. Jeno nods at Mark, the gesture bringing Mark to two days ago before driving away from the scene of the shooting. Judging by the weight of the duffel bag, Mark can already pinpoint the contents he’ll be expecting to find inside.

“Nakamoto Yuta is his name,” Donghyuck says, finally tearing his eyes off of Mark and onto the laptop that’s resting in front of Jeno on the table. Jeno slides the laptop so that it faces towards Mark, a picture of a man, who Mark presumes to be the one Donghyuck has just mentioned, displayed on the screen. “Leader of Japan’s biggest mafia. Jeno’s done some research and from what Taeyong has said, this won’t be a straightforward transaction.”

Mark sets the duffel bag onto the floor, his interest peaking when he studies the man in question’s picture. Jaemin and Renjun have already huddled around Jeno, examining the screen of his laptop. “How come?” Mark asks curiously, hands resting on either sides of his hips.

“Yuta has a lot of men. And connections. And drugs. You name it. And he’s notorious for blackmailing. A lot of people he’s dealt with have lost far more than what they’ve signed up to gain,” Donghyuck explains, the atmosphere immediately shifting into a chilling one. “He doesn’t hesitate to kill either. You offend him even in the slightest, he won’t think twice of shooting you on the spot.”

Mark raises a brow, “Sounds like every single guy we come across.”

Donghyuck shakes his head as Jeno presses on a button on a keyboard, revealing another page. “No, Yuta is the worst. You’d think that with the severity of his crimes that public people actually know about, he’d be in jail. But no. Jeno reckons he has connections within the police that’s why he’s never been caught.”

“He probably has ties with politicians too,” Jaemin suggest, earning a nod from Jeno.

“He’s a drug lord,” Renjun points out, scanning the screen. “Man, this guy is filthy rich.”

“Then what does he want from us if he’s already that powerful?” Mark inquires.

“Yuta is looking to expand overseas. He has no links with Korea yet and he’s looking into building connections with us,” Donghyuck starts. “But of course, not without testing the waters first. So he’s asked Taeyong to send a couple of his men to bring what we could potentially offer.”

Jaemin tears his eyes off the laptop and gazes at Donghyuck with a confused glint, “And Taeyong wants to bet his entire mafia on this guy? Sounds like a death wish to me.”

“Because of money,” Donghyuck says flatly. “A lot of money.”

Renjun runs a hand through his hair out of frustration. “And I thought killing y/n was the hardest task yet.”

Mark’s ears perk up at the mention of your name but does a good job of hiding his interest.

Jaemin shrugs his shoulders, “Guess not.”

What you planned as a nap lasting an hour or two, ends up stretching to the next day. With the sun’s rays gently shining on your face, it brings you awake, shuffling around the bed until you freeze in your spot when you feel pain, a gentle yet prominent reminder of the recent events. Carefully and with much caution, you leave the bed, taking extra precautions when you slowly descend the stairs. The house is quiet and within your area of vision, you don’t see Mark anywhere, even from an elevated height.

“Mark?”

The clock on the wall reads eight and when you don’t hear any footsteps or Mark answering your call when you reach the last step, you begin to ponder his whereabouts. There’s a blanket neatly folded on one end of the couch on top of a pillow, but it looks as if it hadn’t been touched at all.

Your ears perk up to the sound of the lock in the distance, the tingling of keys being muffled on the other side of the door. You freeze for the second time in a span of five minutes, your feet firmly planting themselves onto the cold marble floor, an icy chill running up your spine, making the hairs on your skin stand eerily fast. You wearily turn, to the direction of the door, a heavy flood of memories suddenly crashing into you like turbulent waves on a stormy night. The overwhelming train of thoughts sends you into a shaking panic, your pulse picking up its pace, your breaths becoming short and uneven. You shut your eyes closed in dire attempts of ridding the ugly images in your head, your hands unknowingly balling into fists until your knuckles are turning white.

The seconds seem long and unending, the quiet ringing of keys and the low echo of the doorknob turning gradually ringing frantically in your ears. You’re sure you’re going to pass out. But the worst doesn’t come when you hear a familiar voice.

“Y/n?”

A series of hurried steps resonate throughout the loft after. And in no time, there’s palms on either side of your arms, gripping you firmly.

“Y/n?”

It’s Johnny.

And his voice along with his touch calms everything that you’ve sent into overdrive not too long ago. You open your eyes finally, the shaking of your body beginning to cease, finding Johnny with raised brows and eyes wide.

“What happened?” Johnny asks, his shoulders falling in relief when your eyes soften at the sight of him. He’s pulling on you weakly to sit you down on the couch behind you and you comply without resisting.

You stay silent for a while, trying to conjure up words that could possibly make sense to describe your panic. Johnny’s fingers are grazing your wrist as he examines you from head to toe. “Your heart’s racing. Did something happen?”

Johnny’s comforting presence and patience calms you down completely until you’re able to come back to the world. “Y-yeah. I uhh.. I think I just panicked a little.”

“Oh okay,” Johnny nods, understanding. “Do you want to talk about it?”

You’re quick to shake your head and Johnny is even quicker to get up and pretend like nothing had happened once he’s sure you’re okay. He’s heading over to the kitchen and that’s when you realise a brown paper bag is sitting on the counter, one that he had probably brought with him.

“Mark asked me to come over and keep you company,” Johnny says, his tone friendly. “And knowing Mark, he doesn’t— no he can’t cook. I hope pancakes and a little bit of maple syrup is okay?”

You nod, rising from the couch slowly and making your way towards him. “That’d be lovely.”

Johnny grins and puts on an apron, “Prepare to be blown away.”

You don’t remember the last time a stranger has made you feel comfortable and that’s probably because you’ve never come across one. It’s only been a short hour with Johnny, yet you’ve lost count of the amount of times you’ve broken out into a laugh, occasionally having to suppress it inside when you feel your wound cause you discomfort. His good nature oozes in the way he smiles and in the way his eyes smile along with the curve of his pretty lips. Johnny’s black hair falls onto his eyes occasionally when a laugh bubbles through his chest, the thought of your jokes being the very cause, making you feel good about yourself.

“I’m taking it that you enjoyed your breakfast then?” He asks, as if it wasn’t already obvious.

You nod with a grin, “I did. Very much. Best pancakes I’ve ever had.”

Johnny smiles, pleased with himself as he collects the empty plates to put in the sink. “Glad to hear.” He wipes his hands on his apron and turns to you, “What did Mark even feed you last night? His utentils look like they haven’t been used in years.

You chuckle, your memories coming back to yesterday, “Is he that bad?” The question earns a nod from Johnny, exaggerating the severity of the fact with eyes as big as saucers, as if you had just asked the most ridiculous question ever. You chuckle again, “Pizza. We had pizza.”

Johnny begins on the dishes, turning his back to you, making you hop off the swivel chair. You’re beside him in seconds and he abruptly stops the motions of his hands, “What are you doing?”

“Helping you with dishes,” you reply innocently.

“No it’s fine,” Johnny prods, shaking his head. “Go back and sit down, you’re injured.”

You shoot him an are-you-serious look, “Johnny I’m pretty sure I can do this much. Let me help. I want to be useful.”

Johnny blinks at you a few times before finally dropping the matter when he sees you grabbing a nearby towel so that you can dry the dishes he’s washed. “Speaking of Mark, where is he?”

“Oh. He didn’t tell you where he was going?” Johnny asks in return, eyes glued on the dishes.

You shake your head, “No. He wasn't here when I woke up.”

“He had some business to attend to,” Johnny says indiferrently. “He should be back soon.”

“What does Mark do?” You ask too quickly, without really thinking about it, your whole attention trained on drying the last plate Johnny had just handed you.

Johnny turns the tap off, dries his hands by patting them dry in his apron and hangs it into the hook he had found it on earlier, “I’m not the right person to ask.”

“What—“

“Come on, I’ll check your wound.”

Mark comes back early evening, sporting a white shirt underneath a black leather jacket. Johnny’s sitting idly on the couch, reading a newspaper he picked up from the coffee table. Mark’s eyes immediately dart around the place, but find you nowhere in sight.

“She’s showering,” Johnny says, without even looking up, seemingly reading the boy’s actions from the corner of his eyes.

Mark slumps on the couch beside the elder and runs a hand through his hair, exhausted and drained from the occurrences of his day, “How is she?”

“Pain wise, good. She’s tolerating well, but I left her regular painkillers just so she’s comfortable,” Johnny sets the newspaper back on the table and leans both of his elbows on his knees, craning his neck to look at Mark. “Her wound is okay, healing. Changed her dressing and fed her too.”

Mark lets out a quiet chuckle, “So you worked your charms on her.”

Johnny grins, leaning back on the sofa, “So you finally acknowledge it, that I’m charming.”

Mark rolls his eyes, a crooked smile painting on his lips, “Whatever you say.”

Johnny nudges Mark’s side with his elbow, Mark shifting in his seat to dodge his continuous jabs, “Come on! Admit it! Tell me I’m charming!”

Mark laughs, the melodious sound bouncing off the walls, the stresses of the day slowly becoming drowned out by Johnny’s antics. “Come on Mark!”

Mark laughs some more, using both his arms to shield himself from Johnny who’s tickling him in all parts his hands could get to, “Well Ari seemed pretty smitten—“

Johnny immediately stops, his hands freezing mid-air, just about to attack Mark once again. Mark realises a second too late, his eyes widening at the recognition, the name slipping past his mouth too easily, “Oh shit— sorry. I’m sorry.”

Johnny settles back in his seat, sinking in the comfort of the couch. “No, don’t be. It’s okay.”

Mark is about to say something but chooses to drop the subject instead, knowing Johnny wouldn’t want to talk about it further. So he changes the topic, falling into conversation about what Johnny had to say about spending the day with you. Their exchange of words last for a good half an hour before Johnny takes his leave and calls it a day, just the same time you come out of the bathroom, towel resting on your shoulders, hair still damp.

“Mark,” you say, taking in the sight of him in today’s clothes. You quietly admit to yourself just how good he looks in that leather jacket. But you don’t notice the way Mark’s eyes fall on your entire figure until there’s noting but silence for what feels like minutes. “Oh— I borrowed your shirt again,” you look down and tug at the black shirt, the size hanging onto you like a dress just like the one from last night. “Sorry I should have asked.”

Mark shakes his head, “No. It’s okay.”

He’s contemplating again, wanting to tell you that you can borrow as many of his shirts as you want, that they suit you way better anyways. But he lets the silence stretch on instead.

“Johnny told me something earlier...” Mark says after a while, breaking your trance. “Could we maybe umm, talk?” Mark feels nervous all of a sudden because he’s convinced the impending conversation will only turn out for the worst and though he needed a little extra time to prepare himself, the unspoken things needed to be addressed now. Before it’s too late.

You catch your lower lip between your teeth, the shift in the atmosphere making your heart drop a little. “Yes. Of course, sure.”

Mark reassures you with a smile before he’s walking away, gesturing you with a nod of his head to follow him. He brings you to a part of the loft you haven’t ventured to, a secluded corner that leads to a place you didn’t expect would exist in a place like this; a conservatory encased in glass, giving you access to the view of the moon and the stars. You lose yourself for a while, taken aback by the simple magnificence of the cloudless sky. Living in the city all your life, there were never views like this.

From the corner of your vision, you see Mark take a seat on what appears to be a couch, the only furniture you notice in the room and you follow suit, eyes never leaving the stars. You don’t get the chance to comment on how beautiful this part of Mark’s loft is when he breaks the silence first.

“This morning, y/n,” Mark starts carefully so that he doesn’t scare you. “Johnny mentioned something about you having a panic?”

You nod nonetheless, knowing all too well questions needed to be addressed in this conversation. “Yeah. I did.”

Mark glances at you, “Can I ask why?”

You realise no one really ever knows about what you’re about to share, and never in your wildest dreams did you even think you’d be telling someone you barely even knew. But you were sure, deep in your heart, that you trusted Mark, him saving your life more than enough reason for you to believe so.

You fiddle with your fingers and keep your eyes to the distance, recalling the memories you wanted to so erase from your brain. “Years ago, I was in my apartment waiting for my parents who were supposed to visit me that weekend. They have their own keys to my place since there were times they’d come briefly to leave me food,” you lower your head, swallowing thickly before continuing.

Noticing your behaviour, Mark leans forward, trying to search for your expression, “Y/n, if it’s too hard, you don’t have to—“

You shake your head, reassuring him with eye contact and a small smile, “No. It’s alright.” Taking a deep breath, you look away again, the ministrations of your fingers never stopping. “I heard the keys on the other side and eventually the lock turning and I waited by the hallway to greet them. But it wasn’t them.. It turned out to be someone else, someone I didn’t know and.. he had a knife with him. I was so sure I was going to die that day. If it wasn’t for Taeil.”

Mark’s fingers have a mind of their own when they come together to form a fist. He bites down hard, his jaw becoming taught, “Someone was out to kill you?”

You nod, “Yeah. The death threats came after that too in letters.. Sometimes in calls and texts from unknown numbers.”

“The police weren’t involved?”

“At some point they were. But there was never enough information to track the sender down. And I don’t remember much of what that person looked like, his cap was covering his face.” You pause for a second, recalling all the failed attempts of putting a stop to your worries concerning your safety. “My parents eventually hired a personal guard to keep me safe. Wasn’t pleasant.”

Mark doesn’t say anything, silently trying to pull the pieces together, coming to a conclusion that there were other people out for your life other than them.

“My guess is that it’s the same person who shot me,” you suddenly say, interrupting his chain of thought.

Mark’s stomach lurches.

“I watched the news with Johnny on the television earlier and people do really think I’m dead.” There’s a slight pang in your chest when you remember how real those articles looked. “And I guess– I’m somehow kind of relieved they think so.”

Your words catch Mark by surprise, highly convinced you’d be out to seek revenge and justice for what you had suffered. “How come?”

You exhale a breath and shrug your shoulders afterwards, tilting your head upwards to gaze at the stars, “Ever since my parents were killed a year ago, I was dumped with responsibilities I didn’t want. I didn’t know anything about running a business and the people around me weren’t so willing to help either. They all thought I wasn’t fit to be CEO especially since I was appointed overnight. And I agree with that, just wished they gave me more time to learn. The death threats didn’t stop either. They became more frequent and I was always on edge being in public and at home since I never really felt safe anywhere anymore.”

A sad smile creeps on your face and Mark sees a part of it from staring at your side profile. “I guess you could say it’s been tiring. But I feel like it’s finally over. Only I get to live in peace now. No one to follow me around, no one threatening to kill me, no one to try and please,” you turn to Mark, a full smile now grazing your features. “I’ve felt the most calm in the last twenty four hours than I ever have in years. Though it would have been better without the pain but hey, I shouldn’t complain.”

Mark’s heart shatters but his blank expression doesn’t give him away. “So what’s your plan?”

Mark can literally see your eyes light up as you turn your whole body towards him, clasping your hands together, “Well, I was hoping you’d let me stay here for a while just until I’m finally not the headlines of the news anymore and until people forget about this whole fiasco. And then I’ll find a place and move out eventually. I’m thinking going to this house my parents bought that no one knows about.”

Mark loses track of your words when he becomes absorbed completely with how excited you look and sound, loving the way your eyes twinkled with delight. He knows he has to tell you the truth. But the thought of taking away your tiny hint of happiness after being put through so much for so long changes his mind. You’re smiling at him right now and he didn’t have the heart to rob that from you.

“You, you.. trust me?”

Your smile falters slightly but a nod follows after giving his question a ponder.

“Of course. You saved my life.”

When the sun’s rays runs past through the glass of the windows in Mark’s loft, you find him downstairs by the kitchen, his back facing you. He’s scatching his head eyes fixated on the stove below him. There’s a faint smell of burnt food lingering in the air and you chuckle at the thought of Mark’s attempts at breakfast. The sound you make catches his attention, making him turn immediately, greeted by the sight of you trying to suppress a laugh.

“Good morning,” you greet and make your way beside him to examine the damage. You raise a brow when you fail to determine what dish he was trying to make.

“Nothing good about this morning, no,” Mark grumbles and studies the mess he’s made once again. “Eggs. How does one even burn eggs?”

“How does one manage to break the yolk too?” You add playfully, earning a slight scowl from Mark.

“Not helping,” he says lowly.

You laugh, “Mark, did you put oil before cracking the egg onto the pan?”

The silence answers your question.

“That’s why.”

“I forgot. And then I realised halfway,” Mark defends. “But by the time I realised, it was too late, the egg was already on the pan.”

You bump your hips with his to scoot him away, intending to take over his unfinished job. “Grab me the ingredients, I’ll make breakfast.”

Another silence. And it makes you halt cleaning the mess. You look at him inquisitively only to find him scratcing the back of his head again.

“Well.. That wasn’t exactly my first attempt.”

“What?”

Mark gestures to the bin not too far from where you both stood and there your eyes take in the endless egg shells threatening to gush out of the metal cylinder.

“Yeah there’s none left,” Mark finally admits, although with shame dripping his words.

You stifle a laugh. Seeing Mark still eye the bin that’s close to overflowing with his futile attempts at breakfast, a thought comes across your mind; Mark was cute. Endearing. Silly.

You lean against the stove, a teasing smile permanently etching on your face. “Well I guess we’re both starving then.”

Mark turns to you with raised brows. “No. Johnny said that the better you eat, the faster your wound heals.” You purse your lips together at his inability to see through your sarcasm, responding all too seriously at something so small. “You’re okay to walk right?”

You momentarily look down to your legs and feet and then back up at Mark, “Yes I’m pretty sure I can.”

“Let’s get breakfast outside. There’s nearby markets around and we need to get you clothes too,” he replies. “Also, Johnny mentioned that getting fresh air and walking about is good for healing too.”

“Is that a good idea?” You ask, suddenly worried. “I mean, going outside in broad daylight? What if someone sees me?”

Mark contemplates for a second, blinking once or twice before finally shaking his head. “It’ll be okay. We’ll just have to be careful.”

“You sound unsure.”

Mark looks at you square in the eye, the firmness in his orbs leaving no room for second guesses, making all your doubts go away all at once

“Trust me. I’ll make sure no one sees you, okay?”

You find yourself traipsing along the markets beside Mark, your shoulder touching with his upper arm, the mere contact making you feel a little safer. You’re glad Mark had convinced you to venture outside; you’d almost forgotten what the outside world really looked like, despite only having been cooped indoors for a few days. Today felt different to all the other times, even compared to all those times before the shooting happened. You remember always feeling on edge stepping outside, security always following your every move. And even though now would be a time where you’d be fearing for your life more than ever, you feel oddly placid, in serenity. And you marvel in the way the air feels fresh under your nostrils, the way the rays hit your skin, the way the distant mumbles of people selling their products fill the atmosphere in a cozy way. You’ve never been to this place yet you feel good. Maybe because Mark is right beside you, keeping an eye on everything when you unconsciously get distracted by your surroundings every now and again.

Mark’s hiding under a cap just like you and you can’t help but feel not so alone for the first time. Because Mark didn’t have to hide himself the way you did. You think you’re thinking too deeply into it, but the possibility of the thought he’s keeping himself hidden to make you feel even an ounce of normalcy, makes your insides warm.

“Craving anything?” Mark asks lowly, his eyes darting around the different stalls you encounter along the way.

Your eyes scrutinise the area, the aroma of fresh bread being made attracting your senses. Once you spot the stall responsible for the churn of your stomach, the excitement pushes you to jog towards the end of the rows, catching Mark offguard but catching up to you nonetheless in no time.

“This one,” you say, without even looking at Mark, your eyes completely enamoured by the countless types of bread.

The two of you sit yourselves by the tables beside the bread stall after choosing your breads with much debate with yourself on your end, the variety of delicious looking baked goods taking up so much time for you to finally make up your mind while Mark settles with one in no longer than a second. You devour your food, your eyes almost rolling back when you realise how heavenly it tastes, coming to a conclusion that it’s the best bread you’ve had in your whole life ever. And Mark watches you while he munches on his, secretly enjoying you bask in the little joys of life.

“Holy— this is so good!” You exclaim, pausing for a while to swallow and gulp some water after having eaten too fast. “Mark we need to come here more often!”

The word “we” shouldn’t have as much effect on Mark at it should right now, but it does, the short one syllable word inevitably colouring his ears a tint of red. “S-sure,” he stutters before bringing his head lower, his cap completely hiding his face now.

The rest of the morning passes by like that, consisting of you pulling Mark to various different stalls to explore things you wouldn’t usually see on a daily basis. The sense of community you feel from being around vendors who more or less know each other, elicits a homey feeling in you even when technically this wasn’t even your home in the first place. Though, this place felt the closest thing to home ever since you lost your parents.

Mark notices your sudden change in demeanour, tilting his head towards you only to see your eyes distant. “Everything okay?”

Mark’s voice brings you back, “Yeah. Just remembered my parents..” You smile at him to push away the sodden atmosphere. “I think we have everything. Should we get going back?”

Mark wants to ask if you’re really okay, but nods instead, seeing how you’ve changed the topic so quick. “Okay.”

You’re about to turn away from the last stall you and Mark visit when you feel his strong arm suddenly land across your shoulder to pull you into him in the process. You crash into Mark’s chest, the unexpected manoeuvre raising your pulse and provoking an uncalled for pain from your wound. Mark’s arm travels from your shoulder to the top of your head, gently pushing it lower, your face completely hidden in his chest.

“Keep still. Don’t say anything,” Mark warns lowly.

You calm your fears by focusing on Mark’s scent; the very scent you’ve been drowning in the past couple of days from having worn his shirts. You hear a group of people conversing in a rather boisterous manner as they walk past where you’re both rooted and only when they’re out of earshot does Mark loosen his grip on you until you’re no longer in his hold.

“You okay?” He asks, searching your face.

“Y-yeah,” you answer weakly, still stunned.

Mark prepares himself to answer your impending questions but he doesn’t get any of that even today.

“Coast clear?” You ask calmly, as if that thing didn’t just happen.

Mark is caught by surprise again.

“Coast clear. Let’s get you back.”

In the next coming days, you see Johnny a lot more often than you see Mark, waking up to an empty loft and falling asleep without seeing even his shadow. Today, Johnny cooks pasta for lunch and the two of you converse over the kitcehn counter about trivial things. You liked Johnny’s company. He had a great ability in making you laugh and teased your small personal habits in a way a big brother would to his younger sister.

“So Johnny, do you believe in soulmates?” You ask out of the blue when the evening comes, the television playing in the background. The two of you are seated on the couch as Johnny carelessly switches from one channel to the next.

“Mhm,” he hums, continuing his pursuit of landing on a perfect channel with somewhat a good enough show to watch for the night.

“Oh?” You confirm. “Really?”

Johnny sighs and sets down the remote, giving up eventually when his search is unsuccessful. “Why is that hard to believe?”

You shrug your shoulders, “It’s not. It’s just that you’re the first person I know who believes it them.”

Johnny’s brow shoots up, leaning back on the couch, “Well who have you asked?”

“A couple of my friends from before, they all said no,” you reply.

“That’s probably because they haven’t met their soulmate, no?” Johnny asks.

You nod.

“Ah, exactly.”

Your brows furrow, almost meeting in the middle. “I don’t know if I believe in it or not. I haven’t heard of anyone who’s met theirs.”

“What about your parents?”

You shake your head. “Nope. My dad’s soulmate is someone else that’s not my mum. I can’t remember what exactly happened but the mark on my dad’s ankle didn’t match with my mom’s. My mum’s was on her wrist and their illustrations were completely different. My dad’s was a tree while my mum’s was a cloud.”

Johnny nods slowly, narrowing his eyes. “Wow, I’ve never heard of anything like that before.”

You purse your lips together, “Yeah. Though they loved each other, just goes to show how sometimes you don’t really end up with your soulmate.” A chuckle from your lips follows after that, “If they really do exist.”

Johnny smiles a small one, diverting his eyes downward to the floor.

“They do exist. I met mine.”

Your eyes widen, growing all too excited at the new discovery. “Really?! No way!”

Johnny lifts his head and meets your eyes, “Yeah. Two years ago.”

“Oh my god!” You half exclaim, jumping on the couch and lifting your legs so that you can fold them in a comfortable position. You twist your body so that you’re facing Johnny completely, standing your elbows on your thighs, resting your chin on your hands. “Tell me more about it!”

Johnny chuckles at your behaviour. You’re too adamant to know his story to even notice the sadness in his eyes. And Johnny almost doesn’t want to share the story he’s been stowing away since forever but the way your eyes are literally oozing with excitement makes him feel guilty for even considering saying no to you.

So he takes a deep breath and prepares for whatever bits of the past wounds him this time. “I met her during Spring, purely by chance, in a coffee shop I frequented. She was in a hurry and I’d just come in. She ended up spilling scalding hot coffee on me as she was trying to run out. I think she was late for something.”

“How romantic,” you murmur.

“Being burned and sustaining second degree burn injuries? No not really,” Johnny laughs. “But that’s how we met. She happened to be wearing a dress that day and I got a glimpse of her mark which was just below her collarbone, right where mine is.” Johnny tugs at the collar of his shirt and pulls it down, revealing a small mark of what appears to be a tulip. “Her one was exactly like this.”

“Woah. It’s so beautiful,” you coo. “And then?”

Johnny chuckles. “Someone’s too eager.”

“Tell me!”

“Alright alright. I just kinda blurted out she was soulmate then, even though I was basically hissing in pain and she wouldn’t stop apologising about her spilled coffee. At first, she didn’t believe me. But then I showed her my mark. And she smiled at me. God— that was the most beautiful smile I have ever seen in my whole life.”

“Naawwww!”

“We began spending time with each other then, going back to that exact café again and again and getting to know each other. We’d sit in that café for hours on end until the employees eventually had to kick us out because they were closing,” Johnny smiles at the memory and pauses to think of what to say next. “She.. she was just the most beautiful person inside and out you know? There was always something to learn about her and from her everyday and it never ceased to amaze me.”

“Well when can I meet her? She sounds so lovely,” you coo again, tilting your head to the side at the sight of a smitten Johnny.

Johnny catches his lower lip in between his teeth, darting his eyes to the floor again. He’s fiddling with his fingers, lying on his lap. And a sick feeling takes over your stomach in the way his smile disappears so fast.

“She- she uhm,” Johnny pauses, blinks once and continues, “She passed a year ago.”

Your heart drops. Johnny, the nicest person you know, his soulmate, is gone forever. “I’m so sorry..” are the words that leave your mouth, the syllables dragging, though you know they won’t offer much comfort to him. After all, you’d imagine nothing would ever compare to the feeling of losing the person you were fated to spend the rest of your life with.

But Johnny smiles at you gratefully. And now that you’ve taken a closer look and with the knowledge of his story, you begin to see the sadness in his eyes, hidden so well beneath his smiling orbs when he laughed. You feel it’s something you can’t ever unsee now.

It’s been so long, Johnny realises, since the last time he’s ever talked about the love of his life. All the seasons that’s passed should have been enough time for him to heal, yet the scar was still so raw, still so delicate, threatening to give way any minute. Johnny hasn’t cried since she left for good and he thinks that maybe tonight would be a testimony of everything he’s repressed inside all those years. He can feel his vision blur and he tilts his head upwards in futile attempts to prevent the tears from falling.

He just really missed her extra hard today.

The sight breaks you, and so you consciously scoot closer to Johnny. You slowly lean towards him, until your head’s resting on his shoulder, until you’re close enough to bring a hand to rub his arm. Out of all people, you knew best how it felt to lose someone so close to your heart, having lost both your parents in a day and though Johnny’s situation was slightly different, two things were still there: grief and loss.

“You would’ve gotten along with her really well y/n,” Johnny mumbles. “She’s similar to you in a lot of ways.”

You smile, continuing the motions of your palm on Johnny’s sleeved arm. “It would’ve been like meeting my sister in law.”

“Sister in law?” Johnny quirks.

You nod your head against his shoulder, staring into blank television screen. “Yeah, you’re like the brother I never had, John.”

“John?”

You laugh. And so does he.

“Feels nice to have a brother,” you say, peeling yourself off Johnny and meeting his eyes. “You cook for me, treat my wounds, make fun of me too. That’s what siblings do right? I wouldn’t quite know since I don’t have any.”

Johnny melts and reaches his arm out to ruffle your hair, messing it up in the process, “Especially the last one.”

You roll your eyes playfully but silently feel grateful nonetheless at his indirect acknowledgement of your claim. The atmosphere shifts then, to a lighter one and in no time, Johnny’s cracking jokes again, both of your laughs bouncing off the walls of the loft. You momentarily forget about Mark when Johnny begins to talk about his life, his mom and the little house they both live in by the beach. His life sounds like the ideal one you would’ve wanted to live yourself; normal, quiet and happy. Johnny finishes the conversation by promising to take you to his house one day when you admit you haven’t visited the beach in years, the last recollection of dipping your feet in the waves going back to when you were just a child.

You’re expressing your excitement at the thought of visiting the beach soon when Mark enters the loft, the sound of the door shutting close echoing through the place. Your head snaps towards the door as Johnny does the same and you get the fright of your life when you take in the sight of Mark; bruises on every inch of skin possible, a busted and bleeding lip and an open slash to his eyebrow. Your eyes widen and you’re quick to jump to your feet, jogging over to him in a hurry, ignoring the sting in your chest.

“Mark! What happened!” You exclaim, your arms landing on his upper body to assist him in stabilising himself when you realise he’s limping.

There’s a pained expression on Mark’s face with every step he musters, “It’s nothing.”

“Doesn’t look like nothing to me,” you snap, examining everywhere else for any signs of injuries. You think back to the day in the markets, to the exact moment Mark hid you in his arms from a bunch of people. Could they have been behind this? Or?

Johnny looks unfazed at the sight of Mark, standing by the couch, patiently waiting for the two of you with his arms crossed across his chest. You help Mark carefully sit himself on the couch to which he does with a low groan. You stand beside Johnny and there’s a moment of silence when Mark shifts in his seat under your gazes and Johnny decides to break it.

“You good?” Johnny asks nonchalantly, his voice indifferent yet stern.

Your eyes dart to Johnny, an incredulous look grazing your face at how uninterested he sounded. “Johnny, he doesn’t look good!”

But from the corner of your eye, Mark nods.

“Johnny you need to check and treat him! What if he’s bleeding internally somewhere or—“

“Y/n, can you ge me the first aid kit,” Johnny cuts you off, eyes still trained on Mark who has his arm draped across his stomach.

“In the kitchen,” Mark mumbles, his eyes closing when he leans back on the couch, a heavy breath leaving his lips.

You don’t waste a second longer, dragging your feet towards the kitchen as fast as you could. You search the area in a frantic, closing and opening drawers, wishing the next one you’d open would contain whatever you were looking for. You’re panicking and you hated it because you couldn’t focus on whatever task that was asked of you, no matter how simple. And you didn't even know why you were panicking.

“I’m okay— but the others..” you hear Mark in the distance as you continue to frantically rummage for the first aid kit. “Johnny, you need to help them. I— Renjun and Jeno— they’re hurt.”

You finally find what you’re looking for when you open a cupboard in the corner. But Mark’s words linger in your ear.

The name resonates in your mind, searching the depths of every crevice in hopes of even a tiny memory of the name that sounds unfamiliar yet familiar at the same time.

Then it clicks.

Jeno?

Your security Jeno?

The day of the shooting Jeno?

When you return to Mark, Johnny is nowhere in sight. You crouch down, your knees hitting the carpeted floor in front of Mark, setting the first aid kit on the couch. “Where’s Johnny?”

“He left, just now,” Mark mutters.

You barely hear Mark’s reply when you focus on picking out the necessary items to treat Mark’s wounds. When everything’s set and ready, you tug on Mark’s arm, pulling him forward so that you have easier access to his face. Your actions startle him, his face ending up way too close to yours, his eyes widening in the process.

“I— I can do it myself,” he tries to protest quietly, pulling his head back slightly.

You stop him midway, landing a palm on the back of his head, his hair under your fingertips for the first time. Soft, his hair is soft. You cluck your tongue and frown at him, “Stay still.”

And you begin to work away, tending to each and every cut you come across, gently and skilfully cleaning and applying cream onto it before covering it with plasters you’ve cut into smaller pieces to accommodate their sizes. Mark avoids your eyes, focusing on anything that isn’t you and you’re too concentrated to even notice his desperate attempts of not giving into the want of staring at you. He doesn’t even hiss in pain when you apply a little extra pressure by accident, all too distracted by the heat creeping on his ears.

“Johnny told me about his soulmate today,” you say to break the ice and to divert your thoughts away from Jeno’s name.

“Yeah?” Mark repeats.

You nod, applying an ice pack you had picked up on the way, on a bruised area on Mark’s forehead, “I didn’t believe in soulmates at first since I’d never heard of anyone meeting theirs. But—“ you pause, meeting Mark’s eyes halfway your sentence. “I think I’m starting to believe in them after hearing Johnny’s story.”

Mark blinks and you take note of the shine in his eyes. Even with all the bruises peperring his skin, his eyes still stood out best. “Yeah?” he utters quietly, at a loss for words.

“Mhm,” you hum, staring way too long, growing too fascinated with the way his eyes held way too much depths. “I— I think so.”

Mark holds your gaze and you don’t look away.

Not until the ringing of Mark’s phone startles the both of you back to reality. In an instant, you’re leaning away from Mark, clearing your throat and looking elsewhere that happens to be his phone lying just beside where he’s seated

Donghyuck, the name ID reads, alerting an incoming call.

Mark snatches his phone away quickly, but not quick enough that you don’t see the name. He’s off the couch in seconds and leaving you alone to go off somewhere so that he can answer the call.

Donghyuck? Your security Donghyuck? That day before you passed out Donghyuck?

Your skin grows cold and your head begins to spin. Jeno and Donghyuck. The names repeat in your head like a broken record, prompting you to close your eyes to collect yourself, to calm yourself hopefully.

A sick thought forms in your mind and you hope with all your might that it’s not true.

When Mark comes back a few minutes later, his eyes are masked with worry with a tinge of nerves, brows raising upwards in preparation for whatever you were to say next. He knows you saw Donghyuck’s name and he knows there’s questions burning at the back of your mind. But he finds you calmly putting away the first aid kid instead.

“Mark you’re sleeping upstairs.”

“Huh? No— I’m okay down here.”

“No, you’re taking the bed.”

“But—“

Mark stops mid sentence when you rise from the ground, eyeing him from head to toe. He could barely stand, judging by the way he’s uncomfortably shifting his weight on his right foot.

“You’re hurt and the bed is way comfier than this couch,” you reply firmly. “I won’t take no for an answer.”

And that’s how Mark finds himself being wedged under the warm sheets of his bed with you taking the time to ensure his comfort by shifting the sheets in the way he seemed to like. He’s watching you again silently, enthralled yet worried by how unhealthy it’s been for you not to be asking questions.

Mark’s fatigue lulls him into sleep in the midst of watching you still. When you notice his eyes shutting to a close, you pause in your movements and take in his bruised features. You recall the sheer worry taking over you when he set foot through that door earlier, the way your heart dropped at the sight of him in pain and the fear you felt when the worst case scenario somehow formed in your head. You think Mark is way stronger than he seems and that there’s a lot more things hidden under what he shows you, way more things left to be discovered.

You didn’t know Mark at all.

You lower yourself on the floor beside his bed, silently allowing your eyes graze the sight of him in his most peaceful state and begin to wonder what Mark really was like. What he does, where he goes when you don’t find him in the morning, who he talks to on the phone in a hushed voice. But more importantly, you wanted to know what Mark was really like. His hobbies, his favourite food, if he believed in soulmates or not.

Leaning your chin on your arms that’s somehow found their way to rest on the bed, all the wonderings of Mark pulls you to sleep, slowly fluttering your eyelids close, the thought of getting to know Mark being the last thought in your mind.

Mark awakes some time after midnight. He stirs and halts when he finds you beside him, soundly asleep in a position that seemed uncomfortable to him. But nonetheless, he makes no haste movements just so you don’t wake. Studying your features secretly, he swipes a strand of hair away from your face as gently as he could. His mind’s blank, utterly enthralled by your beauty. And right then and there he wishes things didn’t have to he so complicated— but that’s how his life always was, complicated and messy, everything he wishes it wasn’t.

He’s careful when he gets up from the bed after a while, biting his lower lip to suppress a groan when he feels an ache in his abdomen. When he’s off the bed, the soles of his feet meeting the wooden floor, he pads over to where you’re sleeping, pushing aside all of the discomfort surging through his body when he bends down to pull you into his arms. When he’s sure you’re secure in his hold, he stands, lifting you up with him. He feels you stiffen briefly, your eyes shooting open in alarm.

“It’s just me,” Mark whispers softly.

You relax then, his face coming into your view before closing your eyes again, reaching upwards to circle your arms around his neck. The gesture makes Mark freeze for a moment, realising how close you were to him for the second time tonight and he has the urge to pull you even closer but he decides against it when he places your sleeping figure gently on the bed. He tucks you in, in the same manner you did to him earlier and he’s about to leave when you stretch your arm to grab his.

“Sleep here,” you call out through closed eyes. “It’s cold downstairs.”

Mark should protest, he wants to protest. But the desire to stay with you tonight was bigger than what his conscience was screaming. His eyes falls on your hand and then at you and then makes the conscious decision to settle back into bed beside you, but not before making sure there was a safe distance between the two of you. There’s a smile playing on your lips, in your half-awake state, when you feel the bed sink beside you, content that Mark had agreed.

Mark does what he does best for the last time tonight and that’s to stare at you without your knowledge. It seemed as if there was always something new to be mesmerised with even when he’s gazing at the same features of your face.

“Y/n?”

“Mhm?”

“Why, why— have you not asked me questions?”

You open your eyes then, Mark’s inquiring ones greeting you. He’s genuinely curious, eyes imploring yours but never in a way that pressures you to respond. You’re not sure what takes over you then, maybe the stillness of the night or the fact that Mark’s here with you for the first time in days, but you suddenly feel compelled to let your vulnerability show.

“I’m scared, that’s why.”

It takes a few seconds for Mark to reply, your words registering in his head a little too slowly for him to form a coherent response.

“Of what?”

Mark’s voice is low and velvety, warm and reassuring.

You close your eyes again, letting sleep take over your senses, shifting in your spot until you find yourself in your most comfortable position.

“Of finding out you might be someone I thought you wouldn’t be,” your voice has come down to a whisper now, your words expressing what’s been lingering in your mind for all the times he’s been gone. “That, you might be one of them too.”

Silence.

“You saved my life—And I, I want to hold onto that for now.”

513 notes · View notes

formula-one-thoughts · 4 years

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F1 2020 - What Can We Expect?

After what feels like a lifetime of waiting, Formula 1 is officially back. Rather than the intended shortest gap between seasons ever, the winter break has become both a spring and summer break, at 217 days. My excitement levels are so high I’m genuinely concerned for how I'm going to react once I hear the words ‘Its lights out and away we go’ on Sunday. Though the season is taking a dramatically different form to the record breaking 22 races we were promised, I expect it to be filled excitement and upsets a plenty.

Mercedes are (shocker) the clear frontrunners, as per usual, and their reign could now be extended even longer due to the push back of regulation changes to 2022. This throws a spanner in the works somewhat, as it was a possibility some teams (maybe Ferrari and Renault) would have been focusing more on perfecting a car for the 2021 season than performance during the 2020 season. Hence, maybe we will see an improvement in form coming from Maranello, the Italian team realising a chaotic season could throw up an opportunity for them to bring the fight to the Mercs? We can’t forget their assertion during testing though that they were not sandbagging (purposefully making their car appear slower than it is), a rather humbling and depressing thing to have to admit. I still believe though that the future is not all doom and gloom for Ferrari. With the announcement of Sebastian Vettel’s departure from the team for 2021, (more on that another time) I anticipate Charles Leclerc emerging as a true force to be reckoned with. He well and truly earned his place as the team’s number one driver by the end of last season, and whilst I don’t expect Seb to throw the towel in and give up, his lack of commitment to the team will surely be advantageous to Charles. Then again, Seb may just think ‘fuck it’, throw caution to the wind and put everything into a final push to be a Ferrari world champion! We’ll have to wait and see.

Following the pattern of the last couple of seasons, there is much excitement surrounding Red Bull’s chances at challenging for the top spot. If the momentum they have acquired over the last few years continues (as testing suggested), and their partnership with Honda goes from strength to strength, I would expect Max Verstappen to have his first real chance at challenging Lewis Hamilton for the World Driver’s Championship. He has matured considerably since the turning point of his crash during practice for the 2018 Monaco Grand Prix, and his willingness to take well-calculated risks may serve him well in what looks to be hectic season of racing, full of unknowns. Alex Albon also appears as the perfect teammate. Fast, talented and reliable, he now looks to have fully settled into the team, and whilst he will surely want to prove himself to Horner and Marko, I don’t anticipate the inter-teammate tensions that existed in the Daniel Ricciardo-Verstappen era.

Beyond the top three there is lots to suggest that the mid-field battle will be just as, if not more thrilling, than the action at the front. McLaren will be hoping to continue their success of last season and make it a top four. Sainz should be filled with confidence following his Brazil podium, 6th place in the driver’s championship and promotion to Ferrari for 2021, whilst Norris can fully unlock his potential having shaken off his rookie season nerves. They will have to watch out for the Racing Point boys though, who have certainly been talking the talk and seem to have a lot of confidence in their car. This is no surprise, seeing as in many ways it is essentially a replica of last years Mercedes W10. If they do live up to the high standards they have set for themselves I think this will be a strong year for Sergio Perez, in which he can make the move out of the underrated driver category and into the great driver category. The return of Esteban Ocon to the grid is great news, and I’m intrigued to see how the dynamic between him and Ricciardo plays out; going by the drama of the Ocon/Perez and Verstappen/Ricciardo pairings I’m expecting it will not be all plain sailing. The pressure is on for Cyril Abiteboul: will his team be able to claw their way back to the top of the midfield, or sink further down it? The newly (and confusingly) named Alpha Tauri team had a solid showing last season, and with Pierre Gasly firmly back in a team he feels comfortable in it should be interesting to see what they can achieve.

This may be Kimi Raikonnen’s last year in Formula 1 so I’m hoping the Alfa Romeo is a strong car capable of earning him a good handful of points and seeing him out of the sport on a high. One can only hope that the fortunes of both Haas and Williams see an improvement. Whilst the outbursts of Gunther Steiner were undoubtedly hilarious to watch on Netflix’s Drive To Survive, it’s difficult to watch the team struggle so much. They completed the least amount of miles by some stretch during pre season and the drivers were reluctant to comment much on the car, so we will have to wait and see. Pre season started on a much better note for Williams than last year, though being ready for the first day isn’t exactly a monumental achievement. I so want them to do well, as do many other fans, but their current financial and sponsorship difficulties are troubling to say the least. Nicholas Latifi is the only rookie on the grid, positioning George Russell as de facto team leader; hopefully he can finally achieve that long awaited points finish!

Whilst it’s difficult to truly gauge a team’s potential and race pace from testing alone, here is my prediction for how the top ten drivers and the constructor’s championship might shape up come the end of the season. Lets hope it's a good one!

Drivers

1. Hamilton

2. Verstappen

3. Bottas

4. Leclerc

5. Albon

6. Vettel

7. Sainz

8. Perez

9. Ricciardo

10. Norris

Constructors

1. Mercedes

2. Red Bull

3. Ferrari

4. McLaren

5. Racing Point

6. Renault

7. Alpha Tauri

8. Alfa Romeo

9. Haas

10. Williams

#f1 #formula 1 #formula one #lewis hamilton #charles leclerc #max verstappen #daniel ricciardo #lando norris #carlos sainz #george russell #motorsport

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jennamustafa267 · 4 years

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Creative Non-Fiction 1st Draft

Jenna Mustafa

English 267

Professor Reiter

Creative Nonfiction

February 10, 2020

Secrets Of The CobbleStone Streets

In the summer of July 2016, I took a rather interesting trip to Italy with my grandma (Tata), my Uncle, my Aunt, two baby cousins and my uncles’ mother in law. We traveled to three different places. First Venice, then Florence, then Rome. Out of three Florence was my favorite. The days would get pretty hectic trying to balance out two grandmas and two children. Regardless it was still a trip that I cherish deeply.

One night, in particular, my aunt and uncle went out to dinner and left the kids with me and their grandmas. However, my grandma and I did NOT feel like being confined to the hotel to stay and babysit. We were in freaking Florence for crying out loud! As evil as it may sound, my grandma and I conceived a plan to pretend that I- was the one that wanted to go out but my “Grandma didn’t want me to go alone.” So, we made sure Carla (My aunts’ mom) was all set with the kids and we left to venture out. We did not tell my uncle that we were leaving simply because he would have told us “No.” Yes, I know what you're thinking “How can a son tell his mother she can't do something?” Well, he would have just been worried about us being alone in a foreign atmosphere alone at night. Which makes sense...we did it anyways.

Our hotel was right next to the long, calm, glistening Arno river. The night was that perfect cool after a hot summer day, you're not really sweating but there is no breeze. The streets were anything but quiet. Every corner had a musician, every restaurant had a couple, and every street flourished with tourists. My grandma and I are two of them. Stopping at every storefront to admire the merchandise inside like the jewelry made out of Murano glass, vintage clocks or your classic “I LOVE ITALY” sweatshirts. There was a violinist playing his own rendition of an American classic “Sweet Caroline” by Neil Diamond. We stopped to watch some street performers dancing to an unfamiliar Italian hip hop song. We stopped to watch them for a minute and gave them a few Euros to respect their grind and display our appreciation.

To be completely honest, there was very little conversation exchanged between me and my grandma. We were just taking everything in while we could. We walked at a slow pace, arm in arm. It wasn’t until I asked her to tell me stories, that we could not stop talking. She shared with my things my mother used to do when she was my age, like how she would impersonate Steve Urcle or play as The Little Mermaid in the pool. We shared laughs over the memories we had when she used to visit me when I was younger and I acted like a complete brat. She told me how one time she wanted to sleep in my bed but I put up the biggest fit and refused to give up my bed for anyone. My grandma also explained some Islamic teachings to me and made certain situations easier to understand. Such as stories about Prophets and their wives. The feel of the cobblestone streets made it fun to walk slower. Something about the round feeling on your feet is so satisfying.

We walked past this gelato place, the gelato in Italy was the richest, sweetest, creamiest and dreamiest gelato in the world. But for some reason I did not want it nor did my grandma. Instead, I treated us both to a cup of fresh, juicy watermelon. Nothing like the fruit back home in America. Everything in Italy seemed better. The food is more organic and flavorful. The people are calmer than New York. No one was rushing or shoving you. They all just mind their own business and go about their day.

That night I realized how truly strong-spirited, faithful and exceptional my grandmother is. She is my ultimate role model and how badly I hope to grow to be just like her. Tata’s knees started hurting her (which was typical due to her age) so we snapped some pictures and took a rest sitting on a bridge above the Arno river. There were a few people also sitting on the bridge. This one lady next to us noticed our hijabs (Headscarf) and asked us where we were from. When we told her Palestine, she excitedly told us she was from there too. Her name was Salam and she was with her husband, they both are from a town right next to ours in Palestine called Beit Hanina, and lived in Brooklyn. It was the strangest thing. All four of us agreed that the world was extremely small. The fact that we never ran into each other in New York, yet we so happened to be sitting on a bridge at the same time in Italy. We let them go on their way, being that they were on their honeymoon and wanted to enjoy each other's company.

There was a small moment of silence as I pondered about how strange things (like meeting that couple) happen and how it was all meant to be. And it drew me back to how this moment of being alone with my grandma in Europe was meant to be and how it will most likely never happen again. This is an opportunity to just have a deep conversation with her and speak to her about anything I wanted to know,

“Tata, how were you able to handle the grief of momma?” I asked her with apprehension not wanting to make her upset. My mother passed away in August 2015; it would only be a year. We were on our way back home from Palestine and she had a stroke on the plane. She was only 43 years old, and it was completely unexpected. Everytime someone would try to talk to me, I would never listen. My grandma was the one my mother always went to, so I felt it fitting to ask her, even if I was weary that it would make her upset. But to my surprise she answered,

“When you have a strong trust in Allah (God) plans, you will understand that this was always meant to happen. He will not give us anything that we can not endure. You must have patience and trust to be able to get through anything. Thank Allah for everything.” I looked at her completely in awe. There were no tears building up in her eyes or even a crack in her voice. And this was a woman who was talking about her own daughters’ death. It is her faith that is helping her push through this. I, however, could not respond. I knew if I spoke it would just drown in tears. The lump in my throat was too large to let anything out.

She continued, “You know, she was too good for this world. We did not deserve her. She’s right where she belongs now. And one day we will all be reunited.” she continued. When she said “We will be reunited” it really made me think that I need to remain the proper Muslim girl that my mother would want me to be.

I just admired her as she spoke and gave her a big hug. She was right. Completely and truly right. It put everything in perspective for me. It made the anger I had built up after losing my mother disappear. It made the world make sense again. My grandma had an answer for everything. No wonder my mom was as perfect as she was. She had a great mother to look up too. And how lucky am I to have these two women in my life.

“This means so much to me,” I expressed to Tata, “You are so strong and so brave to be able to handle all of this and I love you.” I gave her a kiss on the cheek, “I love you too” she said.

When I first lost my mother I didn’t quite understand why it happened or how I would ever be able to get over. The entire trip me and my uncle (My moms’ brother) were talking about how much she would have loved Italy. Everything from the chic boutiques to the savory pasta. Nonetheless, we were together enjoying it for her and to honor her. My mother was the perfect daughter and sister. The majority of my upbringing, I was surrounded by my father’s family. My maternal aunts and uncles all lived in different states and my grandparents lived in Jordan. The only times we got together were only for short periods of time during family weddings. It was refreshing to be able to spend some time with them as they continued to tell me stories and little things about my mom as we toured the city.

We watched the amber color river flow. At that moment I knew this was going to be a night I’d never forget. Tata started to tell me about how she grew up. Living in Palestine at the start of the war was a very disquieting time for her. She explained to me how she practically had to escape from her home and keep moving from village to village in Palestine until she reached a place where the Isreali army would not be able to harm her and her family anymore. She even explained to me that she lost her newborn baby sister on the way. Yet another thing that is so admirable about her. Before we knew it the streets slowly became more quiet and less busy. After we both yawned, we hugged again and made our way back to the hotel, right before my uncle came back.

Overall we should all learn to appreciate our family while they are around. I understood my whole family was hurting after the passing of my mother, but I was so worried about everyone else I forgot to try and deal with the grief myself. People would just talk to me and it would go in one ear and out the other. I was too busy thinking about if my brothers and my father are okay. I’m so beyond grateful to have had this walk with my grandma and for her to have been able to explain to me her grief. But it had to take us venturing off on our own to fully connect and help me grieve better.

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lawrencedienerthings · 4 years

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A summer gone sideways: Coronavirus upended the big plans Colorado teens had for their break

get headlines https://thecherrycreeknews.com

For many teenagers, the start of summer offers all kinds of promises and a new taste of freedom.

Beyond a much-needed study break and time to exhale, it opens students up to travel opportunities, jobs to rake in extra money or the chance to brush up on skills in sports, science and arts camps.

As students have eased into the first month of summer this year, many of those promises and part of that freedom have evaporated with the coronavirus still crawling through Colorado. Even as the number of cases has dropped significantly, the pandemic still poses a threat.

For teens in particular, that means summer days are often unfolding at a slower pace. Some are finding themselves spending a lot more time at home than anticipated, which also has them in close quarters with their families (for better or worse). Some are getting creative and not letting the coronavirus stop them from the sports and projects that feed their passions. And some are bound and determined to still have a good summer, even if their plans have crumbled.

The Colorado Sun interviewed a handful of teens throughout the state to capture a snapshot of how their lives have changed and what summer looks like in the midst of a pandemic.

A slow summer marked by “semi-secret” football practices

Garett Lopez, 18, meets up with teammates from his high school football team for “semi-secret” football practices usually six days a week. (Garett Lopez, Special to The Colorado Sun)

Last summer was a whirlwind of international travel followed by an internship for Garett Lopez.

The 18-year-old wanted to dial this summer down to be more “average,” but it’s been even slower than he bargained for, thanks to the coronavirus.

While the rising Cañon City High School senior imagined his early summer days would be consumed by work shifts and football practice, he has yet to do either. He wakes up later than he’d like to and occasionally studies for the ACT and the SAT.

His days will soon start to accelerate, at least a little, as he begins a job on the grounds crew at Echo Canyon River Expeditions near the Royal Gorge.

As for football, Lopez has found a way to improvise while he and his teammates wait for official practice to start this summer. A group of eight or so players, mostly incoming seniors, gathers for “semi-secret” football practices usually six days a week, focusing on route-running skills and capping some of the practice sessions with a competitive game.

Lopez, a lineman, said he and his teammates share a love of the sport along with a competitive streak and they all want to stick with the sport and get stronger and faster. They created their own practice schedule when it looked like official practice might be off for the whole summer break.

The first few covert practices Lopez attended were almost liberating, reuniting him with peers he enjoys being around for exercise and competition.

“It’s really energizing and it’s a lot of fun,” he said.

Lopez said he understands the need to curb the coronavirus, though with few cases in Fremont County, it’s challenging to be sidelined. He noted that people aren’t seeing the need to take necessary precautions against the pandemic, and as cases remain low even as they don’t follow through with precautions, those precautions feel pointless.

Lopez, who hopes to study engineering at the Colorado School of Mines, is trying to make the most of the extraordinary summer.

“I don’t want to sit at home doing nothing,” he said. “I really want to make the best of it. Memories can be made in tough situations, and so I’m just trying to do my best to make a little money right now and have a good time on the side.”

And, after a stressful few months of remote learning and anticipating a hectic fall, he’s grateful for the chance to coast this summer.

“I really needed a break, so to me this summer has kind of been my own blessing,” Lopez said. “I had a pretty long, strenuous school year, so although it’s admittedly far less exciting than last summer it’s exactly what I wanted.”

Trading in family trips for boredom

Simone Heath, 16, dribbles a basketball. Simone, who had hoped to visit family across the country this summer, has spent part of break playing volleyball and basketball with friends at the park. She also planned to practice basketball and play games through her school this summer. That wasn’t possible in May because of the coronavirus, but players will be able to get back into the gym this month in small groups. (Valencia Heath, Special to The Colorado Sun)

Simone Heath was eyeing summer as a time to make more memories with family members who live across the country from her home in Colorado Springs.

The 16-year-old, who will be a junior at Sierra High School this fall, was ready to jet to Las Vegas in May and Virginia in July to visit family. With the coronavirus continuing to rage across the country, Simone stayed put in May. She may have to again next month, depending on the severity of the pandemic.

“Now that (COVID-19) is here, social distancing is getting more important, and I don’t want to risk my family members and their kids getting sick so I’m going to just stay home until we’re clear,” she said.

One trip canceled and another hanging in the balance are part of a string of disappointments for Simone, who also missed out on a spring break cruise in April thanks to the coronavirus.

The Colorado Springs native has devoted about a month of previous summers to visiting aunts, uncles and cousins who live there.

“It’s like going home,” she said.

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The coronavirus also has delayed getting her driver’s permit — though that hasn’t fazed her — and crushed her plans to play basketball over the summer so far. Typically, she takes part in summer workouts, basketball practices and games against other schools. None of that has been possible this summer, though players will be able to start going back into the gym this month in small groups.

All the letdowns have added up to a somewhat boring summer.

“I’m just trying to figure out what to do at home, just keeping myself occupied,” Simone said. That includes cleaning and drawing — doing her part to social distance — or venturing to the park to play volleyball or basketball mostly with friends.

Apart from also going to amusement parks, Simone’s day-to-day activities aren’t all that different from how she’s spent her time over past summers while at home.

Still, she’s sad the coronavirus has thwarted her summer plans, especially her chances to see family. But sticking close to home has allowed her to spend more time with her mother, and she’s trying to keep a sunny outlook on the rest of her break.

“As long as I keep believing that (coronavirus) will get better and people will start healing, then our summer can get better.”

Canceled fairs, college visits dampen summer fun

Brinn Thomas, 17, has been fishing with her family in the mountains this summer in the midst of the coronavirus. (Brinn Thomas, Special to The Colorado Sun)

Two high points of Brinn Thomas’ summers revolve around crowds of people.

The rising Centauri High School senior anxiously awaits Manassa Pioneer Days and the Ski-Hi Stampede, a rodeo in Monte Vista, each July.

She doesn’t recall having missed a Pioneer Days celebration in her life and bets she’s been to about a dozen Stampede events in her 17 years.

“Both of the big celebrations are, like, really important to our community,” she said.

But with the coronavirus continuing to put lives in danger across Colorado communities, both have been erased from the calendar.

That means there will be no no food, no carnival, no parade, no rodeo and no demolition derby at Pioneer Days and no carnival, no rodeo and no concert with a headlining country artist at the Stampede.

Brinn, who lives in La Jara, understands why neither event can be held this year.

“It’s just sad, but we’ll all get through it,” she said.

On the upside, Brinn is spending more time with her parents and younger brother.

“I’ve realized that I didn’t get to spend as much time with them as I do now, which is really nice,” she said.

The four often head to the mountains, where they fish and ride on four-wheelers — what’s become their “main source of entertainment,” Brinn said.

The coronavirus has also snagged plans with the teenager’s friends, whom she normally hangs out with at a community pool or the movies. While one community pool requires making a reservation, the other hasn’t yet opened, she said.

Come later this month, Brinn will be busier as she starts two English classes through Adams State University.

She’s also trying to dive deeper into exploring colleges to get a better sense of what direction she wants to take after graduation. The pandemic hasn’t made that process any easier.

Brinn and her parents were planning to visit in-state college campuses this summer, including Colorado State University, Fort Collins; University of Colorado, Colorado Springs; CSU-Pueblo; and CU Denver. Because of the coronavirus, in-person campus tours have been converted to virtual ones, which leaves students like Brinn hanging.

Without being able to get a feel for the campuses, Brinn said she’ll have a harder time determining what kind of school she wants to attend.

But she recognizes that her attitude about the summer will define it.

“We’re all stuck at home, but if you have a good attitude about it I feel like you’ll be fine.”

Life in the fields disrupted

Malcom Lovejoy, 16, helps cut wheat during harvest. Malcom said that as the coronavirus has affected farmers and altered the prices of wheat and other grains, one consequence will be less for his employer to cut and less profit. (Malcom Lovejoy, Special to The Colorado Sun)

Last June, Malcom Lovejoy’s job at DLT Harvesting and Hauling planted him in wheat fields, where about all his waking hours were consumed by cutting wheat.

During harvest that month, he would wander out into the fields at about 7 a.m., working with crews harvesting until 11 p.m., seven days a week.

Malcom, 16, is back in the same fields this summer. He typically continues working for DLP — which has two components, one in harvesting and another in hauling — throughout the school year, when he has time on weekends.

The student, who will be a junior at Campo High School this fall, returned to his job in May, after his boss wanted to limit the number of people coming to work when the pandemic hit.

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Much of his job now looks the same as it did last year, though it likely won’t throughout the summer. Malcom said that as the coronavirus has affected farmers and altered the prices of wheat and other grains, many farmers will bring in a lot less than they normally would and many won’t bring in anything this harvest. They won’t necessarily be able to pay to have wheat cut and instead might just bale it.

He said that means the business will be cutting a lot less and losing profit.

Work is a priority for Malcom, but he also had plans to attend sports camps for football and potentially track, shotput and discus — which have been canceled. Additionally, he had a 4-H camp lined up and was going to continue the tradition of showing animals in the Baca County Fair. The coronavirus has put an end to the camp and will likely jeopardize the fair, which draws the county together, he said, with most kids in the southeast Colorado county showing livestock.

Most of the children who would regularly show livestock have already purchased their animals and equipment, he said, but without a fair, there won’t be a sale at which kids have the opportunity to make money.

“And without that, it’s a big loss on a lot of families,” he said.

Malcom’s family also is struggling with the prospect of a canceled county fair. They raise show sheep and had 11 lambs this year. Typically, they would sell the animals that Malcolm and his brothers did not plan to show, but other families have decided not to purchase show animals considering how tentative the fair remains.

The county could still hold a smaller livestock show, Malcom said, but the auction afterwards would attract a lot fewer people.

Even as the coronavirus has disrupted Malcom’s summer routine, the season doesn’t feel much different from years past.

“Us living all the way out here, I already don’t see a lot of people so not a lot’s changed with all of this,” he said.

After high school, Malcom is leaning toward a career in the military. He was slated to visit a few colleges during the school year, but the coronavirus interfered with his trip. It’s also, however, gifted him more time.

“And if anything, it’s just given me more time to kind of do my own research as to career paths,” he said

An anxiety-filled transition to college

Haley Valdez, 18, is spending the summer working on a project designed to teach high school and middle school students more about climate change and organizing an initiative around the Black Lives Matter movement. Valdez will attend the University of Southern California, where she wants to study public policy, in the fall. (Haley Valdez, Special to The Colorado Sun)

Haley Valdez graduated from STRIVE Prep – RISE in Denver last month and is looking ahead to her next chapter with a mixture of anxiety and excitement.

Valdez, 18, aimed to get a job this summer at Amazon’s Aurora warehouse, but abandoned that plan when some employees became infected with the coronavirus.

“I don’t want to put myself at risk and I don’t want to put my family members at risk, especially after all the precautions we’ve taken these last few months,” she said.

Instead, she’s now focused on her work as a student adviser for Colorado Environmental Science and Climate Institute on a project designed to teach high school and middle school students more about climate change.

Valdez has also helped take charge of organizing a youth-led protest for the Black Lives Matter movement, building on the momentum of other demonstrations throughout Denver and across the country in the past week, following the death of George Floyd in Minneapolis.

Alongside some other recent graduates, Valdez created an initiative called Denver Metro BLM, with an initial protest held on Saturday. Valdez and her peers are passionate about social justice issues and want to show community members that there are a lot of young people in the area who really care.

Valdez is trying to stay optimistic as she sets out to have a productive summer before she leaves for the University of Southern California, where she wants to study public policy.

USC will offer in-person classes this fall, she said. She’s preparing to move to campus and feeling anxious along the way.

Valdez has been keeping up with the university’s social media and watching videos about what orientation and the first day of classes will look like. There’s so much school spirit, but she doesn’t know how that will play out this coming year.

“I was excited for that aspect of coming into school, but I’m just wondering what that’s going to look like when there’s so much darkness in the world right now,” Valdez said.

A small part of her is eager for a change of scenery after being locked in a house the past couple of months.

But her anxiety overshadows her enthusiasm. Even before the coronavirus, the idea of moving away from home to a new place was daunting, she said.

“There’s an entire pandemic happening and that makes it 10 times worse,” she said.

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itsyourturnblog · 4 years

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What I’ve learned: running during quarantine

Three lessons from running and using guided run coaching as a way to think about life in general

Photo by Jenny Hill on Unsplash

There’s a Chinese proverb that asks the question, When’s the best time to plant a tree? And there are two answers — the first one, Twenty years ago. The second one, If not 20 years ago, then today. Today’s the best time to plant a tree.

Thinking about that, I’ve run on and off my whole adult life — and over the past few years, I’ve fallen away from it. A couple of years ago, I won a coveted spot in the New York City Marathon lottery but I didn’t run the qualifying races or volunteer to help because my life felt too busy. My life was happening all around me, happening to me. I didn’t have time. I wanted to but… Always that pesky but. I didn’t make the space and that opportunity went unused.

Then, last year my family moved to San Francisco from NYC in late summer — which seemed like a good time as any to make other life changes. Weather permitting, I would ride a bike (some of the way) to work in SoMa, we took regular family walks, I even meditated here and there. And then, the novel coronavirus comes on the scene earlier this year. COVID-19 and quarantine ensue, causing everything to be thrown into a swirl, including work, school, habits, even the construct of time itself.

And so what to do in a time of great change and uncertainty? You guessed it, plant a tree. I planted a tree two months ago. I started running again. I mean, why not? And I began with the Nike+ Run Club app using the guided runs feature.

I promise this isn’t a commercial for Nike, I only own one pair of Nike shoes, but the guided runs really have been a lifesaver for me. Previously, when I would run, I would have company — friends, family, and people who might have signed up for the same race later in the year, my dog, some other kind of motivation — but nowadays, these things are near impossible. And so this is how coach Chris Bennett, NRC Global Head Coach, and others — including Sally McCrae, Cory Wharton-Malcolm, Shalane Flanagan — inhabited my headphones as I ran 50,000 meters (a bit over 31 miles) this month. And here’s the evidence:

Screenshots from my Strava (left) and Nike+ Run Club (right) apps — Strava’s a bit lower than NRC because some of the segments I initially logged as hikes so they don’t count as run distances

🎉🙌 🎉🙌 🎉🙌 🎉🙌 🎉🙌 🎉🙌 🎉🙌 🎉🙌 🎉🙌 🎉🙌 🎉🙌 🎉🙌 🎉🙌 🎉🙌

So, let’s get into it. Let’s cross that proverbial starting line and get going. What are three things that I’ve learned from my time running that can apply more broadly to my life and my work?

Start slowly, or go slowly

We’re all in a hurry — we’ve all got to-do lists a mile long, someone’s waiting on something, there’s that email, has the kid eaten lunch?, that thing took longer than we thought and now we’re behind, has the dog been fed?, did you reply to that message from your uncle?— but we all have time. It is something that exists for all of us. Though it does have value, it doesn’t cost any money. And whether it feels like it or not, you are in control of the next 30 minutes, the next hour, all of it. You are in control. And whether you’re running on a trail or you’re staring down a deadline or about ready to begin a design sprint with a client team, you control the cadence. You don’t have to drink from a firehose. And in order to not drive yourself into the ground, you need to start slow. It’s easy to get caught up in the excitement, heart-pounding, trip over the hype, the blood rushing in our ears, to say yes, and jump in.

On the flip side, it takes strength, resolve, and focus to start slow. Because it’s tough to sit in that tension, it’s hard to say no, to really consider the whole effort — especially when it’s in-flight, you don’t know exactly what that entails. How can you know how much fuel you’ll use if you don’t know everything about the journey of which you’re in the middle?

True, you can pick up the pace later, that’s always an option but warm up first. Prep as much as you can. Stretch. Shake it out. Keep your arms loose, keep your legs limber. Then, do the icebreaker before you plow straight in. Start smart. And start slow.

Recovery is important, be easy

Be easy on yourself, even in the middle of a run. That goes for after a run, between runs, before a run. The same goes for life. Life can be hard, it will get hectic, it is crazy at times so be easy on yourself. Being easy doesn’t mean lowering your standards, it doesn’t always mean running slow. But set those things for what you need. There’s a guided run on NRC called Tough Day, Easy Run, it’s been one of my favorites because it speaks to that.

During a speed run, you may run fast, but not too fast. Or try to be the fastest. If you’re running with someone, how are they doing? Are they able to answer simple questions, maintain a conversation? Are you trying to run faster than they are? Are they trying to run faster than you? Are you able to talk to them? How are you feeling? You should feel good. If you’re feeling something else, you’re not being easy. Running should feel good.

Coach Bennett talks about how an easy run should feel, how a recovery run should feel. He says something like:

And easy doesn’t mean slow; it means just that — easy. And easy, when it comes to running, easy doesn’t mean slow. And remember we talked about slow — starting slow doesn’t mean that that’s the pace for the whole route. Taking something easy isn’t a slow run. It’s an easy run. It’s your normal, everyday run. Because if it’s not an interval run, a long run, or a speed run, it’s an easy run. It’s a recovery run. Easy is not a pace or a distance; easy is a level of effort. So go easy.

I remember one of the NRC trainers pointed out — don’t recall who it was— that runners typically have slower paces the third and last quarter of a run. And that’s not necessarily a good thing, it probably means that runner has exhausted themselves — it means I’ve been running too hard for the first half. That means I wasn’t running slow, really pacing myself, and I didn’t make it easy for myself. I’m making it harder than it needs to be. That’s me, making it hard.

How many times have we complicated something in our lives? If you’re anything like me, a lot. Whew, it’s easy to lose count. And many times, I make things in my life and my family’s life a lot harder. Why? Any number of reasons — pride, ego, stubbornness, some rigid idea that something has to be a very specific way, not accepting help, not asking for help, all sorts of reasons. If we’re easy about these things, even just a bit more, it won’t be so hard.

It’s okay to fail

The intention at the start of the run isn’t always how it plays out. Like how the best-laid plans for some Tuesday lunch or a family bingo game night or a client retro not turning out the way it was intended. What is the joke — do you want proof that god/God has a sense of humor? Make a plan.

You might start out on a run and think, I’m going to run 10K today and I’m going to crush it, but if you listen to your body and listen to what’s going on with you, that may not be the best way to run. Sure, you can dig deep and pull something out in the last quarter and thug it out but you should still start slow and be easy with yourself. Digging out that low gear, keep that in your back pocket. There’s always time for that.

In 2007, Arianna Huffington woke up in a pool of blood with a broken cheekbone and a cut over her eye. She had been at home on the phone and was checking emails when she passed out and fell. Huffington had been working 18-hour days building the Huffington Post website. She didn’t know what had happened and after weeks of medical tests, doctors came back with a simple answer: she was exhausted.

Arianna Huffington attending the premiere of The Union at the 2011 Tribeca Film Festival, photo by David Shankbone

Huffington took personal steps to stop this from happening again in her own life. And then, she became a champion for getting more sleep, urging others that instead of bragging about our sleep deficits to see how we can do more with more sleep. She did one of the most popular TED talks in 2010 on the subject— it’s been watched over 5 million times — and wrote Sleep Revolution in 2017.

I say all of that as an example of what it means to reset your expectations. Listen to yourself, listen to others, the thing that you had in mind might not be the best thing or the right thing to do just now.

There’s a ton more I could say. There are things I’ve missed, sure— running on narrow trails in this time of COVID-19 precautions puts a whole new spin on politeness, how, and when to yield (bikes, runners, walkers, horses, etc.), a lesson is there to be learned in kindness. For sure. Or staying focused on the path in front of you as a metaphor for remaining present. Because there’s always a crack in the sidewalk or an exposed root that’s visible after the fact. But I’ll stop here and appreciate the fledgling tree.

Thanks for reading. Let me know what you think.

You can find the Strava and the Nike+ Run Club app on the web, in the iOS store, and in the Android store. Maybe other platforms, though I couldn’t find any others. You can find Arianna Huffington’s book, Sleep Revolution, in any major book retailer, but I would suggest getting it from your favorite local bookstore.

What I’ve Learned: Running During Quarantine was originally published in It's Your Turn on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

by Skipper Chong Warson via It's Your Turn - Medium #itsyourturn #altMBA #SethGodin #quotes #inspiration #stories #change #transformation #writers #writing #self #shipping #personaldevelopment #growth #education #marketing #entrepreneurship #leadership #personaldev #wellness #medium #blogging #quoteoftheday #inspirationoftheday

#ItsYourTurn #It's Your Turn #IYT #altMBA #Seth Godin #Inspiration #Stories #Change #Transformation #Blog #Medi

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vacationsoup · 5 years

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New Post has been published on https://vacationsoup.com/5-reasons-to-choose-nice-for-your-winter-getaway/

5 Reasons to Choose Nice for your Winter Getaway

While no one would deny that Nice is a great choice for a summer vacation —after all, it’s a famed retreat for celebrities, supermodels and well-to-do Parisian families on holiday. However, this lovely seaside town on the Cote d’Azur offers something truly special in the winter months. As anyone who has wintered in the French Riviera knows, there’s a certain charm to Nice in its slower-paced off-season. Aside from a more tranquil atmosphere and more personal space, the town also guarantees a refreshing, cool climate and more availability for accommodations.

1. The French Riviera has a pleasantly warm (and sunny) climate

Nice water park

Some European destinations, especially those in the north, experience cold, damp winters with grey skies and regular snowfall.

In the French Riviera, however, daily temperatures in winter can reach into the mid-50s, and clear, blue skies are the norm. Forget the hat and gloves — all you’ll need is a light jacket or heavy sweater. But since the region is more likely to experience rain than snow in the winter months, it’s a good idea to carry an umbrella with you, just in case.

Nice’s Mediterranean climate also ensures that the town’s lush flora doesn’t wither and fade away. Strolling along the fabled Promenade des Anglais, which stretches almost five miles along the coast, you’ll see rows of healthy palm trees. The Promenade du Paillon, too, features dozens of mature palms and beautiful flowering shrubs. The region is home to olive, lemon and orange trees as well. Enjoy year-round greenery in public spots located throughout the city, including the Jardin Alsace-Lorraine, Parc Vigier near the Old Port and the sprawling Parc du Mont Boron.

2. The low season means less competition for space on the beachfront.

Nice beach in Winter

Nice’s distinctive pebbled beaches draw thousands of sunseekers in July and August, the high season for tourism. During these hectic months, finding a spot to lie out can be a challenge, as almost all of the space on the beachfront is claimed. But once temperatures drop and vacationers return to their big city lives, the beaches clear out and transform into a serene place to stroll and take in salty breezes and the soothing sound of waves washing over rocks. Small groups of friends gather along the beachfront to enjoy the ocean views. It’s not uncommon to see winter sunbathers lying out to catch some rays.

Wake up early to watch the spectacular sunrise, or enjoy the magic of sunset, when hillside dwellings twinkle off in the distance.

3.There’s more availability for accommodations.

Those who venture to Nice in the winter months are in luck. Because this is considered the off-season, there’s not as much competition for rooms as there is in the busy summer months, driving nightly rates down considerably. For those who want to have their pick of accommodations and save a few bucks, the winter months are hands-down the best time to visit.

Consider making this well-appointed one-bedroom apartment your home away from home in February or March. In addition to a remodeled kitchen with Italian touches and a comfortable bedroom with luxury linens, the apartment boasts two balconies with sweeping views of the city and the Mediterranean Sea. And the best part? This updated dwelling is located just 10 minutes on foot from the beach (or a five-minute bus ride).

For something slightly larger, make this sumptuous two-bedroom, first-floor apartment your vacation pad — it features a queen bed and two twins, plus sliding glass doors that let in the sights and sounds of the city. The beach is just 10 minutes away, and restaurants and shops are easily accessible on foot.

4. Nice is a jumping off point for some of the season’s best events and activities.

Nice serves as the perfect base for events and activities taking in and near the city in wintertime.

The snowcapped French Alps and the ski resorts that occupy their slopes are within just a few hours by car. Chief among the resorts are Isola 2000, one of the highest within the mountain range; Auron, featuring 135 kilometers of ski runs; and Valberg/Beuil, with a historic trail highlighting the fascinating history of the town. Smaller, more intimate resorts are scattered throughout the region, many of which offer well-priced lift passes. All in all, the region lays claim to 465 peaks reaching 2,000 meters and six soaring up to 3,000 meters — quite a selection for ski fans. It’s even possible to skip the rental car and arrive by bus. Check with local bus companies for their special winter ski routes.

In January, join excited spectators in nearby Monaco for the Monte Carlo Rally, a must-do for lovers of high-speed races.

Every February, revelers gather for the Nice’s most beloved and publicized event: Carnival. This historic pre-Lenten celebration has been taking place for hundreds of years — in fact, it is believed to be the one of the earliest recorded Carnivals, harking back to the year 1294. Nowadays, the two-week event boasts flower-filled processions with a whimsical, playful vibe. Those who purchase tickets to watch the parades from the Place Massena will have a front-row view of the over-the-top floats, which follow a new theme every year.

Nice Carneval Wheel

Head to nearby Menton (less than an hour from Nice by car) for the Lemon Festival, taking place each year in February/March. Created in 1935, the event dazzles with parades and eye-popping displays composed entirely of the citrus fruit. Think ornate sculptures and recreations of historic buildings, all in various shades of yellow and orange.Winter is perfect for romantic evenings in cafes and clubs.

5. Winter is perfect for romantic evenings in cafes and clubs

Fewer tourists, a cooler climate and a more subdued atmosphere make Nice an undeniably romantic place to vacation in the wintertime. Set out every evening on foot and soak in the marvelous architecture, music and culture of the town.

Stop in at jazz clubs like Le Shapko or Le Cave Romagnon to hear live music and sip cocktails by candlelight. Venture to pedestrian-friendly Rue Massena and take your pick of covered sidewalk eateries, complete with quintessential Parisian cafe chairs (unlike in North America, locals here aren’t deterred by cooler climates — they embrace outdoor dining any time of year).

Window shop at high-end boutiques, or simply stop for coffee and a savory crepe. Away from the commercial strip, the seafront promenade ensures an idyllic experience, especially at dusk, when historic hotels like Le Negresco glow against the darkening sky.

Book that trip now - weather is good, eat wonderful food inside or out and enjoy a glass of wine or cocktail while watching the sunset.

#holidayinNice #vacationinNice #CôteDAzure #France #Nice #VacationSoup

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torentialtribute · 5 years

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MARTIN SAMUEL: Confounding and thrilling… why a Test on the final day has no equal

So what's your favorite sport? In this position you lose the number of times you are asked that question. And most people who broach the subject probably feel the answer. You are going to say soccer. And I love soccer.

Always different, always the same, as John Peel said about The Fall. But I also like rugby and hockey and baseball and a good fight. I love everything well done. I was even dragged by the weightlifting at the Olympic Games.

Still nothing matches Test cricket – or let me reformulate it. None of this is Test cricket on the last day, perhaps the last session, when the best part of your week is invested in the competition. Nothing is Headingley 2019 or Adelaide 2010 or Edgbaston 2005. Or even Karachi in 2000.

England duo Nasser Hussain (right) and Graham Thorpe (left) celebrate their victory over Pakistan

Let me tell you about Karachi, because it explains a lot. I was the lead sports writer of the Daily Express, not long-termed, and flew away hoping to get an interview with the English captain, Nasser Hussain. He wouldn't do it. He was a miserable beggar then, much nicer now.

The series was also right after two draws, so it was all on the last. Pakistan kneaded a first inning of 405 in total and on the second day, England came in and Mike Atherton started to hit. And bat And bat He was not close, with Hussain, who played a little slower than milking.

Michael Henderson, a brilliant cricket correspondent for the Daily Telegraph, among others, knew Atherton well enough for a rather surprising intervention. He drafted a letter that he poked under Atherton & # 39; s door in the hotel of England.

It was announced that Saturday was Henderson's day off and planned to visit Karachi & # 39; s market that morning looking for carpets.

However, he would sit in the press box after lunch and if Atherton was still beating and batting the way he made his night, he would stand and loudly boo him from the front of the stand all afternoon.

There were not many in the National Stadium that week. Any expression of dissatisfaction would certainly be heard.

The response to this ultimatum was a call from bluff. Not only did Atherton not change pace, Hussain became slower. Atherton & # 39; s 50 lasted three hours and two minutes, Hussain & # 39; s four hours and 17 minutes.

Close by, England had made 198 more runs. No one even wanted to go boo. This would complete the boring draws.

One family correspondent had to fly home prematurely for family reasons and no substitute was sent in his place. The guy from a Sunday newspaper packed himself to return home for Christmas at the office. At the end of a stunning day four, I had no idea what to write.

The cricket correspondent would record the match as it was. My task was to find a theme, a problem, a point of discussion. There were none. There was an available flight mid-morning on the last day.

I took a quick vox doll from colleagues & # 39; s. Is there a chance of a result? Is there a chance of a change? For a man, the best observers of the game advised me to save myself. Nothing would happen in Karachi on day 5.

I stayed because you never know. And at lunch, when the game got closer, there was a lot of fun at my expense. I could have broken out. I could have been on my way. Instead, I was watching here – wait a minute, what am I watching?

For those last hours, the most amazing thing happened. The game has shifted from this swamp of everyday life. There was a small chance that England would win. Ashley Giles and Darren Gough skimmed Pakistan, and England were set at 176 at a speed of four per lake, given the time remaining.

Pakistan then went on a go-slow match throttling. Saqlain Mushtaq took eight minutes to throw one, Waqar Younis took four minutes to settle the field. The hero of the hour was referee Ranjan Madugalle, who used the tea break to emphatically inform Pakistani captain Moin Khan that these overs would be completed, whatever.

Towards the end, Pakistani field players complained that they turned down the winning points in almost darkness when Graham Thorpe. It was the kind of light that you only played as a child in the backyard. Five more minutes and they should interrupt the game.

And against this bleak pressure, England won their first series in Pakistan for 39 years. Of course Atherton & # 39; s 125 in nine hours and 39 minutes earned him the man of the match. It was completely compelling, completely exciting. It was one of the biggest things I saw on a sports field.

However, in the near darkness England changed the game and won in the most compelling fashion

Why? Because so much was invested in it at the time. Just as much was invested in Headingley in 2019 or 1981, or when a test competition reached an insane conclusion.

There are so many moments when a game is ebbing and flowing in one of three directions, so many nuances, passages of complete boredom, followed by sparks of a wonderful life.

You would think a certain session contains the key to the whole game, only to discover a red herring. For example, who would have thought that Friday morning and England & # 39; s 67 all-in this week would not be the most important phase of the game?

Who would have thought that Jofra Archer & # 39; s six for 45 would not be the highlight of England's performance?

For five days, Test cricket has many more options for confusing, wrong footing and surprising. It is a sports team that exerts great pressure on individuals.

Football analysts talk about players hiding & # 39; hiding & # 39 ;. There is nowhere to hide in cricket. Nowhere to hide, even to the greatest test batsman in the world, Steve Smith, nowhere to hide when he threw the ball at Ben Stokes.

Cricket rewards the strictest technology, but also the most casual flair. It has elements of grace and beauty, but also shocking, visceral danger. It rejoices in softness and deception, but also in energy and brute force. And those who play it also love it.

Even in a numb defeat on Sunday, there was a feeling that the Australian players knew they were 50 percent of one of the biggest matches the sport had witnessed. That bowling from England for 67 was an achievement, and one that increased Stokes' performance, and therefore the story.

Players who also invest in the test arena. The white ball game, the Cricket World Cup, can be great, but it can never match the required concentration as the long form unfolds.

Perhaps, with football, familiarity disregards. There is so much of it, and at elite level, so much that it is good that we are almost full.

Ben Stokes again the star of the show in another stunning win for England this summer

Tottenham defeated Ajax in the final minute of a Champions League semi-final and it was the biggest comeback since – well, the night before when Liverpool faced withdrew a deficit of 3-0 against Barcelona, with 4-0.

Then there are deadlines from a personal perspective. Most of the best memories – the 2003 Rugby World Cup final, Andy Murray & # 39; s first Wimbledon victory, Stokes at Headingley, the squares without squares that protrude Canada eight hundredths of a second in Athens – have time by their side .

Football has Lionel Messi and Cristiano Ronaldo and Leicester and the Nou Camp in 1999, but it is also loaded with late kick-offs and hectic rewrites. Too busy to report it to view it is no joke.

I was present for the Miracle of Medina in the Ryder Cup, which took place after midnight British time. One day it would be nice to find out what the hell happened there.

Cricket test is different. It can be inhaled, luxuriously consumed during the best part of a week.

So when after all this time it comes down to one session, or one over, or one wicket or like on Sunday – one man, makes the difficult progress on that point all the more exciting.

So, as an answer to the question, my favorite sport is Test cricket. Some people find it boring. And sometimes it is. But that is also a bit of the point.

Poch refuses to face facts

Mauricio Pochettino is an intelligent man. So it always seems bizarre that he is neat when he is examined for team selection in the aftermath of the defeat.

& # 39; If the score was 3-0, you wouldn't ask me, & # 39; he said Sunday, he asked why Christian Eriksen did not start. And yes, when a manager wins 3-0, every call is justified.

But the score was not 3-0.

It was 1-0 for Newcastle and Tottenham had no creativity. So, does Pochettino no longer judge Eriksen? Does he want to sell Eriksen? Is he trying to make the player unhappy so that he makes a bid for the European transfer window deadline?

And what advantage would that be for Pochettino, given that he cannot recruit a replacement with the money? It makes no sense – although it does not fail to equate results and talks.

Christian Eriksen shows his frustration during Tottenham & # 39 ; s shock 1-0 defeat by Newcastle

Game passes through Wilshere with

It is no pleasure to report that West Ham will not play for the second consecutive season. competition match won until Jack Wilshere was absent from the starting line-

Both times, the club won its first appearance without Wilshere scoring three goals. Manuel Pellegrini has faith, but Premier League football is steadily passing Wilshere.

It seems that he needs months more than weeks to make a match and no club can afford to wait that long.

] Aluko story has yet to be fully told

Eni Aluko says that many of his English teammates have never apologized for not supporting his claim of racism against Mark Sampson and his treatment by the football association.

She has written an autobiography and says it was low to see her former colleagues race to celebrate a goal with Sampson when the accusations were at their peak.

There is never a convincing explanation for that given public support. Why were the players still behind their manager? And why, even now, don't they support Aluko?

Perhaps more than one book on this subject is needed to make both sides of that story come true.

Eni Aluko & # 39; s autobiography includes his claim to racism against former coach Mark Sampson

Maxine Blythin, the transgender cricket player with ambitions to represent the women of England, also plays at club level for a local men's team.

For Chesham second XI she has an average of 15. For her ladies team, St. Lawrence and Highland Court, her average is 129.

On the weekend, Blythin did not make 145 against Ansty, who all 155 were out. Her figures in the 2nd XI cricket for men suggest a clear average talent. Transported to the Women & # 39; s Southern League Premiership, however, she becomes a star and a county player for Kent.

Blythin identifies a woman, which is her right. However, only those in complete denial would refuse to grant these serious problems around the future of women's sport.

Right to Separate Serena and Ramos

It is very understandable that Referee Carlos Ramos and Serena Williams were held apart this year during the US Open.

It was Ramos who provoked Williams there spectacular loss of control there last season when he dared to treat her like any other player. "You will never, never be to another court of mine, as long as you live," Williams raged.

And not Ramos. Some think the United States Tennis Association has been swept away, but a Williams game with Ramos in charge would have become a circus. To be honest about her, the referee and the opponent, it was best to lie.

As long as it is remembered who was responsible for this unfortunate state of affairs.

was not a Ramos.

Serena Williams (right) argued infamous with referee at Carlos Open

Are EFL after an expert in failure?

The favorite for the football league's chief executive is Jez Moxey, now CEO of Burton Albion, but best remembered for his time in a similar role with wolves.

As such, he helped bring the club to League One with a £ 25m payroll bill because it was not expected that players' contracts would have to be cut in the event of relegation.

It was also Moxey who spoke about establishing Wolves in the Premier League as a priority, in the same season that they fell out.

Yet at least he appointed the man who started to change the club, Kenny Jackett – even though he was Wolves' fifth manager in 16 months at that time. These are difficult times for the Football League and understanding why some clubs turn into absolute disaster areas would come in handy.

Maybe this is what makes Moxey the front runner, it is a subject that he is certainly well versed in.

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