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lebrookestore · 3 years

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letters and sunflowers

Pairing: Lee Donghyuck x reader

Themes: heavy angst, college ish?, slight fluff

Warnings: major character death, angst, very sad, PG15

WC: 1.2k

Taglist: @danishmiilk @channoticedmeuwu @orange-nimon-cross @1-800-seo @sweetlyjaem

Author’s Note: this story was inspired by @moonttaeil Everything I never told you. I wrote this for fun in one of my study breaks so enjoy!

Dear Donghyuck,

English class taught us how to format letters properly. I am not going to follow that for two specific reasons: we never paid attention in that class, and you’re never going to see this anyways, I’ll simply never show you.

I met you in psych class, in our senior year, when you introduced yourself as Haechan, and to be honest? I hated your guts. You were annoying and irritated the fuck out of me, but I was stuck with you, and I would never admit it, but it was one of the best things to ever happen to me. I wish I hadn’t met you so late. I wish I met you sooner.

I got to know you better, and it was like seeing color for the first time. Bright oranges, soft mellow yellows, you made me laugh so hard I cried, you made me smile when I didn’t know who I was. You were a ray of sunshine cutting through the clouds.

I liked you.

You never failed to get in trouble and dragged me down with you, somehow convincing me to take part in your shenanigans with your pretty smiles and pleading eyes. How could I ever say no? I didn’t have a chance against that, I fell down your little rabbit hole, and I fell hard. It was like falling into a bottomless pit, with no way out, but that was okay, I didn’t want to get out.

I remember when you asked me on a date for the first time, and I don’t think I’ll ever forget. You walked into my house and barged into my room, looking at me, then dropped the flowers you had brought and ran out of the room. I remember sitting there wondering what the fuck you were planning now, picking up the sunflowers and inspecting them. You came back, grabbing the flowers from my hand, clearing your throat, and proceeded to hand them back to me, asking me on a date.

I slapped you, then agreed.

Our first date was in an arcade, where you lost against me in most of the games, insisting you let me win to be a ‘gentleman’. After that, you took me to dinner at Mcdonalds, and it felt so right like it was exactly where I was supposed to be.

Not in Mcdonalds, but with you.

You kissed me for the first time by mistake, accidentally giving me a peck like it was something you had done several times before and walking off to your next class, before running back to my shocked figure and apologizing profusely, before stating that you had to kiss me for real, and then promptly did so.

After that, you used to get me flowers every date we went on, specifically sunflowers. It became a sort of a tradition, and you would never forget it. I could always expect at least one of these yellow flowers waiting for me when you showed up at my doorstep to pick me up.

I loved you.

You let me in, and I learned about Donghyuck, the boy beneath Haechan, underneath the leather jackets and bad-boy facade, the boy who liked soft songs and being the little spoon. You were perfect.

We graduated, together and I got my first job as a journalist, while you went into music. Sometimes you would sing to me, and I loved those moments. You had your first performance, and though it was a small crowd, you looked the happiest you had ever been.

It happened so fast that day, you gave me a whole bouquet of sunflowers, which I placed in a vase, and then we went to the concert you had gotten tickets for. You told me you loved me for the first time then, in the middle of one of the slower songs, hugging me from behind and whispering it into my ear. I can’t even begin to explain how happy you made me, Hyuck. I told you the same, and the smile that graced your features was almost angelic.

Life was perfect.

You dropped me back home, kissing me goodnight and leaving. I remember feeling so content, so amazed by how I ended up with you, the annoying boy from psych class. You had become such a big part of my life.

I promised myself I would get through this letter, so I could give myself some closure. I said I wouldn’t show you this, because I can’t. You were a big part of my life-

And now, you’re not even there.

It’s almost surreal, one moment you were dropping me off, and the next morning I got the news of the accident. You were gone, utterly and completely. It seemed so cruel, just when your life had begun, it was ripped away from you. You had been hit by a car and had died almost immediately.

It was so abrupt, so sudden, and I think that’s what made it worse. It felt like you would drop by any moment, ready with sunflowers for me.

And all the color left. All the bright tones you brought had vanished, leaving an empty husk of a day. I couldn’t believe it, I was broken. The one boy I loved had gone and wasn’t coming back.

The funeral was short and sweet, I think you would’ve liked it. No one had much to say. I refused to speak, knowing I wouldn’t get through the first sentence. Mark was there, he looked like he was trying to hold it together for the rest of your group like he was trying to hold back his tears. I found him crying alone later, away from everyone, but I didn’t go and try to comfort him. I had a feeling he needed to cry.

Me? I cried several times, I lost count. Sometimes I wouldn’t even realize. Your sweatshirt stopped smelling like you, the sunflowers you gave me died, and no one sang to me anymore. You were gone, and no one, no one, could replace you. You were gone, and honestly? Sometimes I still don’t believe it.

We had so little time together, only a year, but that year was so colorful, so beautiful. I wish I met you sooner, I wish we never went to that concert, I wish-

I think I’ll love you forever like the stars miss the sun in the morning skies.

I planted a sunflower bush in our backyard. It hasn’t grown much, but yesterday, the first flower bloomed. Every time I miss you, I go out there and look at them, because even when you’re gone, you still give me your sunflowers. I took it and placed it in a vase, and smiled at the memory.

They sit there on the table, gleaming in the sunlight, little yellow hues shining through when the sun hits them, a small part of your color, of your love

Love,

Y/n

You placed the pen down, taking a sharp breath as you read over the letter, noticing some of the smudged words due to your tears. Wiping away the tears, you folded the letter, placing it into an envelope and placing it into the drawer underneath. You looked outside the window across you, eyes falling upon the single flower in the vase. Even though some of the petals were wilted slightly at the end, it stood proud and tall, causing you to smile softly.

Maybe, just maybe, Hyuck wasn’t completely gone.

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klaineownsmysoul · 3 years

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2 years and I still get goose bumps every time I watch end/game .. I still cry when I/Ron man ans b/lack w/idow die.. I still replay so many moments from this movie... What a movie! Still regret that the bowing scene at the end was cut that was such a beautiful scene.. you can actually correlate everyone's expression with their relationship to IM..

Same. 100% the same. Having to pull together 11 years of movies that were all tangentially related and built upon each other and actually pulling it off spectacularly is a feat of movie-making I don’t know when I’ll experience again. I actually went back yesterday and watched the clips of the audience reactions to Cap lifting Mjolnir and the portals opening because they’re both such surreal moments and they make me remember what it felt like to experience both of those for the first time along with the packed theater. I mean - come on. This? AMAZING and listening to everyone lose their collective shit over it will never ever get old.

And the portals scene? The way the music crests as more and more people who were snapped reappear and we finally get the Avengers Assemble line? All the chills.

Nat’s death followed by Tony’s death will never not make me cry. Never. Especially Tony’s. Watching him slowly fade as Rhodey loses his best friend, Peter loses his father figure, and Pepper loses her husband as she tells him that he can rest now is making me teary just typing this. The whole funeral that followed with everyone at their home and sweet little Morgan and the hologram of her father that looks right at her and tells her “I love you 300″? Sweet lord almighty. Thanks for breaking my heart, Marvel. I never anticipated sobbing over a superhero comic book movie but here we are. And as much I would love more Tony Stark because I can’t picture the MCU without him, I don’t want them to bring him back and cheapen his death. Don’t do it, please don’t do it.

I’m glad they included the head bowing scene as an extra on the Blu-Ray so we can at least see it. Its sad they decided to cut it, but I can understand having to make difficult choices about what to keep since the movie is more than 3 hours long as it is. Not that I think any of us would have decided not to go if the movie was longer, right? If you’re going to a movie event like this on the day it premieres, chances are you’re a pretty big fan. Even though I knew there was no post-credit scene, I stayed anyway and was treated to a fresh batch of tears when I recognized the banging at the very end was a callback to Tony creating his first Iron Man suit. What a fitting way to end the godfather of the MCU’s story.

#mcu #avengers: endgame #marvel trash table for one please #looking forward to phase 4 but these characters will always hold a special place for me #Anonymous

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dionysuscrysis · 4 years

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little update

Howdy! I’m not one for posting too much personal stuff here (OK, maybe that’s a lie), but I felt the need to give a little insight into what’s going on in my world right now.

If you’re following me for my fics, you probably noticed that I’m suddenly much slower at posting them. I’m not losing steam, and I don’t give up on projects. I am VERY excited about the direction “Every Star Another Sun” is taking and there are so many points in the outline that I’m psyched to share with you. But life in general has made it hard to focus on writing as much as I’d like.

A lot has been going on, but yesterday, something truly horrible happened. I’ll discuss it a little below the break in case any of you have helpful resources to share. But it’s heavy stuff, and if Covid and death are not things you can handle right now, do not read on.

Anyway. I wanted to reassure people that I’m still here, posting things that make me happy and hopefully make others happy too. I may just be a bit slower for a while. It’s a strange and terrible time. Please, PLEASE take care of yourselves. Please be mindful of others.

And please, for the love of humanity, WEAR YOUR FUCKING MASK.

So, details... Partially to get it off my chest, partially in the hopes that someone will have grief resources I can share with my partners or helpful words for this waking nightmare.

Yesterday morning, my partner’s mother - an otherwise healthy and vibrant middle-aged woman - was killed by Covid-19. She was diagnosed last week. She seemed to be improving and then, out of nowhere, she declined incredibly sharply, incredibly fast. Over the course of a few hours, she went from feeling miserable but still communicating to dead.

My partners are in absolute agony. I cannot comprehend the pain they are in, and I am relieved that they live together and can support each other, but am devastated that I don’t live with them, and am unable to be physically there for them in this time of immense loss. I am doing all I can to support them from afar, including making calls to funeral homes, which is an absolutely surreal experience. I want to do more, but I don’t even know where to start, and my heart feels hollowed out. I am shattered.

This woman - Dee - was a person of profound love and positivity. She was my friend, and she made me feel welcome in her family during a time of extreme personal suffering. Just weeks ago, she was sending me goofy memes on Facebook. I cannot comprehend that this incredible person is gone from the world. She had so many stories ahead of her. It is impossible to consider her absence.

And yet, here we are. This is the first person I’ve personally lost to the virus. I have always taken the threat seriously, but this tragedy makes it all the more real. I BEG you to be cautious, for your own health and for the well-being of others. I am not a praying person, but I pray you never experience something like this. It is Hell. I am afraid to ever visit my own parents again. I cannot imagine losing them to something theoretically preventable. It is truly a nightmare scenario.

I’ve gone on longer than I meant to... But please, if you’ve gone through something like this, I invite you to talk to me about it, if you’re able to. I want to know how to help my partners and the rest of their family.

One last time. Take this seriously. Cherish your people. Believe the fucking science. I don’t want this to happen to any other families.

#personal #update #talking to myself #covid #coronavirus #death #status updates #not IZ

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purplesurveys · 3 years

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1031

Do you usually take blame or blame others? Depends on the context, I guess? When things go wrong on a very deep and personal level between me and people I deeply care for, I usually try to find reasons to blame myself. But if it’s something superficial, like if someone messes up at work through no fault of my own, then I’m able to point my finger to whoever fucked up.

Have you ever been to a McDonald’s in another state? I’ve been to McDonald’s in different provinces and also in different countries. The McDonald’s we went to in Baguio was so surreal because we discovered that they were still using styrofoam containers that they had already phased out years ago everywhere else, and they also never changed the original spaghetti and chicken recipes I grew up with. It was such a blast from the past. As for other countries, I’ve tried out the McDonald’s in Malaysia, Indonesia, and China and made sure to order items that we didn’t have back home.

Have you ever seen 50 First Dates? Yeah, it’s one of my semi-guilty pleasures. It’s such a cheesy movie, but idk the concept is unique and the supporting characters made the whole movie enjoyable for me.

Do you like or hate the smell of fish? The fishy smell at the market can be pretty strong and bleck, but generally I don’t mind the smell of fish. I live in an archipelago, man. We live and breathe seafood. Idk anyone in real life who doesn’t like fish.

Have you ever been to Sea World? No.

Do you know someone who suffers from short term memory loss? I don’t think so, no.

Have you ever read any of John Green’s books? Yeah, but the only one I’ve gotten to read in full was The Fault In Our Stars. I also got to start on The Abundance of Katherines and Paper Towns, but because I only borrowed those copies from friends I never got to read either until the end. All were okay, but I don’t find John Green’s writing to be as great as it was once hyped up to be.

If so, which one is your favorite? I guess TFIOS, since that’s the only one I got to read through to the end.

Are you a protective person? With my loved ones and pets, yes.

Have you ever experienced an earthquake? Yeah I’ve felt a lot but fortunately it’s never been a severe one. Just super brief earthquakes where the most that happened to me was a little swaying.

Would you rather go to a beach or city for a vacation? I love beaches, but a change in scenery would also be nice because I already go to beaches for vacations fairly often. City.

Does your license plate number contain the number 8? I never actually memorized my plate number LOOOOOOL I think so? It’s either a 6 or 8.

Were you ever a ghost on Halloween? Nope.

Has someone ever held the door open for you? Yeah, security guards tend to do that for customers/guests. Sometimes, nice strangers that I enter a place with will do it for me too.

Are you a fan of penguins? I think fan is pushing it far lol. I like penguins, but I’m not obsessed.

Have you ever stayed up all night on a school night? Just a handful of times, and it was always as part of a groupwork. I’d never willingly go through an all-nighter for myself.

What’s your favorite brand of chips? Doritos or Pringles. We also have a local brand that makes these deeeeeelicious salted egg chips, but I’ve never actually taken note of what the brand is.

Has anyone ever sang to you? Not to me. But a lot of people have sung around me.

Are you a good painter? No. That’s why I opt for paint-by-number kits, because those come with a guide haha. I can’t actually craft images by myself – that skill belongs to my sister who has an insane talent for painting.

Before buying a car, do you usually test drive it? I’ve never bought a car by myself; my dad takes care of the car purchases. I know he test-drove the Vitara, but idk about the other cars we have.

Have you ever written a poem and then read it aloud? Hmm, I don’t write poems. I don’t find the vast majority of them appealing, and only once in a while will there be a poem that is able to speak to me.

Do you like pineapple? Nope.

Have you ever met your favorite author? I don’t have a favorite.

Do you look more like your mom or dad? Most comments point to my mom, but I’ll get the occasional remark that half of my face is my dad’s as well. I’m a good mix of both.

Have you and your best friend ever liked the same person? This hasn’t happened before.

When was the last time someone called you babe or baby? Maybe August? I’m not too sure. It’s been a few months.

Do you have an older brother? No. But I’m super close with my eldest cousin on my mom’s side and we grew up together and all that, and I pretty much consider him my older brother. He’s definitely more a brother than a cousin to me, and it has always felt and been that way.

Are you a fan of art? Yes, especially paintings and dioramas.

Did you get your mom or dad’s eyes? My mom’s, I think? I really don’t know, I’m bad at recognizing this kind of stuff. You’d have to ask people who actually see me on a daily basis.

Have you ever seen the movie My Girl? Is this the one with the really sad scene of a boy’s funeral and the girl’s like, “He can’t see without his glasses”? I haven’t seen the movie, but I’ve heard about that scene a million times.

Do you watch Teen Wolf on MTV? Ugh, MTV’s teen shows are such a cringefest to me. I never followed it, but I’ve had to watch a few eps back in high school when my friends would watch it while we were at someone’s place. Not my cup of tea.

When it was on, did you watch Cory In The House on Disney? I watched a few episodes, especially when it was still new. But we were also in the process of moving then and we didn’t have cable for a few years in our new house, so I had to miss out most of it.

Do you have any blackheads? I don’t.

Do you have any freckles? Nope.

Do you have a movie that you have to watch during the summer every year? No, but I have something similar. I like watching Love Actually at least once every year, during the Christmas season. I like watching Two for The Road once a year as well, regardless of the time of year.

Do you think that life isn’t fair sometimes? I mean yeah. It doesn’t revolve around me, so I know it won’t always be fair.

When was the last time someone bought you flowers? Valentine’s Day last year.

What was the last book you read? Midnight Sun. Haven’t touched it since September, though.

How many books do you plan to read this summer? It’s past summer, and I haven’t been doing a lot of reading in general.

Does your house have a dishwasher? No, not a common appliance here.

Do you know anyone who has a flower tattoo? I probably do. But I haven’t seen people outside of family for so long that I can barely remember who has which tattoos. I’m pretty sure I know someone who has flowers.

Do you like the name Carter? It just reminds me of the underwear brand honestly, so not a fan.

Have you ever had a secret admirer? No. Should there be one, they shouldn’t be having high hopes; I wouldn’t be interested in the least.

How many different languages can you say goodbye in? There’s English, Filipino, Korean, Spanish, German, French, Japanese – 7.

Agree or disagree: You like Adam Sandler movies. Disagree for the most part, but 50 First Dates is cute.

Did the last type of shoes you wore have laces? Yups. I wore sneakers when I went out to get Starbucks last Friday evening.

How much money did you spend yesterday? The charging cable that I ordered arrived yesterday, so I had to shell out ₱140 for that.

What genre is your favorite movie? It’s a romcom/drama. My other favorite is a drama.

Are you texting anybody right now? Nope. I’m all alone today, which is the way I want to be for this weekend.

Who was the last person you were in a car with? My parents.

Do you like the picture on your license/I.D. card? I really do, hahaha. I don’t know why the people at the LTO gave me a pass, but I had been allowed to smile with my teeth. That helped make my license photo turn out super well and I no longer feel embarrassed whenever I have to take it out and present it somewhere.

What’s your favorite thing to snack on while watching a movie? Potato Corner fries. Can’t be any other type of fries.

When was the last time somebody hit on you? July or August when this random guy slid into my PMs. I had never had so much fun blocking somebody so fast.

Was the last person you met a male or female? The last new person I met was male.

Which one of your friends do you feel most comfortable around? Angela or Andi.

Do you own a map of the world? I mean, I guess. I have a collection of the World Almanac for Kids books, and it had always included a world map in its Countries chapter every year.

What’s your favorite Thanksgiving food? We don’t celebrate Thanksgiving.

Is the light on in the room you’re in? No, doesn’t have to be as it’s bright out and I can see the sun from my window.

Who did you last spoon with? Gabie.

Are you currently watching TV? No.

Have you ever had surgery or stitches? Never. Hope I’ll never be needing one.

Do you own any clothing that has animal print? I have a tank top with cheetah print that I sometimes wear at home.

Does your family eat dinner together? Yes, every evening. We don’t eat together when my dad is working abroad, but since he has stayed home for all of 2020 because of Covid, we’ve gotten to eat together as a family all year.

Where do you work? Somewhere in Metro Manila; I’m not giving the city away.

Are you in high school? I got out of there nearly five years ago.

Do you have a TV in your room? I used to, but not anymore.

Are any of your electronics charging right now? My phone and laptop both are.

What was the last video game you played? Mario Kart 8.

Are you hungry?: I can def go for a snack, or maybe even a full meal. It’s taking everything in me not to order Popeye’s or Army Navy from Grab rn.

What color is the chair you’re sitting on?: I’m sitting up in bed; my sheets are blue with gold/yellow prints.

What did you buy last time you went to the store?: I got bottled coffee when I went to 7-Eleven a week ago.

Do you like salsa that has fruit in it?: ...Don’t all types of salsa have fruit in them though? It would be brand-new knowledge to me if I was told not all salsas have fruit.

Have you ever opened up your computer to clean the fan on the inside?: No. I’d rather have professionals do that.

Can you count in binary?: No, and I never even understood how it works.

Do you think stained glass windows are pretty?: No. Mostly because it reminds me of cathedrals.

Are you a chocoholic?: Nah. I like chocolate, but I can live without it.

Are you scared of snakes?: I mean if they were venomous or obviously wanted to eat me whole, of course. But I’ve also already held a couple of snakes before.

Have you had your wisdom teeth removed?: No.

Do you like hard or soft pretzels better?: Soft all the way. I find the hard ones too salty.

What was the last magazine or catalog you looked through?: I don’t even remember. Maybe Tatler? My grandma has loads of those at her house.

When was the last time you wore a raincoat?: I don’t think I have ever worn a raincoat.

Have you ever been carded when buying something?: Idk what that is but nothing out of the ordinary has ever happened to me whenever I’ve made a purchase, so I’m gonna go ahead and say no.

Do you eat meat?: Yep.

Corn and mashed potatoes, or beans and rice?: Both pairings aren’t really a part of our cuisine, so neither sound appealing to be honest. As someone who thrives on rice, I hate the idea of eating beans with it; so I would go with corn and mashed potatoes even though I’m having a hard time imagining how it would work.

Can you sleep with the light on?: I probably can, but it would take me a lot longer to fall asleep.

What’s your operating system of choice?: Mac/iOS.

Have you ever broken a bone?: Never.

Do you have a favorite highlighter color?: I don’t have a favorite color to use, but I prefer pastel shades in general over neon.

Do you have a flashlight?: My phone has a built-in flashlight, but we also keep a couple of emergency flashlights at home in case of blackouts.

Do you like watermelon?: I like some watermelon-flavored stuff like candies, but I’m not fond of the fruit.

…Honeydew?: Hahahahahaha. BoJack Horseman, anyone? Anyway, I’ve never had honeydew and probably wouldn’t like it considering my established opinion on fruits.

Can you shoot a gun?: I’ve never tried, so I’ll say no. I’ve always been meaning to go to a shooting range though; I feel like it’ll be such a cool experience.

Do you like salad?: Not for the most part. The only kind I enjoy is spicy tuna salad, which only has lettuce in it alongside tuna sashimi and spicy mayonnaise.

When was the last time you smashed your finger?: I don’t know if I ever have? This doesn’t ring a bell to me.

What color is your computer?: Silver/gray.

Have you ever made ice cream in chemistry class?: No, my chemistry classes in high school and college were never that fun.

Has anyone ever walked in on you while you were on the toilet?: Sure.

What color hair do you have?: Black.

Do you use the microwave often?: I wouldn’t say so; just a couple of times a month.

Are you good at spelling?: Sure, I’d claim that. Thank the movie Akeelah and the Bee; that movie made me super passionate about spelling and dictionaries for a time. I can still feel its effects today because I’m still very much particular about spelling more so than any other kind of writing/language mechanic.

Have you ever petted a donkey?: I’ve never even seen one before :o but I’d love to have the chance to pet one, heh. It would make me so happy.

When was the last time you went to the doctor’s for a physical?: 2016.

Do you like a lot of ice in your drinks?: Sure.

Have you ever painted a room? Never have, but would like to give it a try.

#survey #surveys #multiple ones again so feel free to chop up #might make this a thing just because #we'll see!#but i most likely will

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avengerscompound · 5 years

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Snapshots - Three

Snapshots: A Bucky Barnes Fanfic

Series Masterlist PREVIOUS //

Buy me a ☕ Character Pairing: Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Word Count: 1897

Rating: M

Square filled: @buckybarnesbingo, C3 Free Space

Warnings: sex talk, smut on the series.

Synopsis: Before Bucky Barnes became the Winter Soldier he had a life and plans for the future. A lot of them involving you.

During an art lesson you, Bucky and Steve find out about the bombing of Pearl Harbor. Bucky and Steve go to enlist in the army.

Three

Bucky had been making faces at you for half the art class. It was distracting, to say the least. The little quirks of his eyebrow as he whispered to the boys around him. Occasionally he’d bite his bottom lip as he gazed in your direction and then start actually doing his work. You were about to start up an actual paint war in the classroom so you could cover that smug look on his face.

Only just when you were about to snap, a boy came in. “Japan just bombed Pearl Harbor!” He announced loudly.

The room broke out in chaos, everyone talking at once. Bucky and Steve huddled together whispering and when the teacher dismissed the class, they grabbed their stuff and rushed out. Normally it was impossible to get Steve or Bucky out of art class. Steve always had one more thing he wanted to add to whatever he was working on and Bucky would hang around flirting with any girls still around. Today they couldn’t get out of there fast enough.

You packed your bag and headed out. You expected to see them somewhere during your trip home but they were nowhere to be seen.

It wasn’t until the next day that you saw him again. He showed up at your apartment a little after midday, knocking on the door like the place was on fire.

“Is your dad here?” He asked when you opened the door to him.

“No. He’s gone out for the day.” You said.

“Can we talk?”

You nodded and led him down to the living room. He sat down on the sofa chair, perched on the edge and tapping his hands impatiently on his thighs. “What’s going on?” You asked as you took a seat.

“I enlisted in the army yesterday.” He said.

“You what? Why?” You said, shocked. There was so little time before the end of school, and he was smart. You’d gotten into Barnard and were starting the following year and he’d always had similar marks to you.

He sighed and collapsed back into the couch. “I kinda thought I might anyway. I got into college but… I can’t afford it. If I served then it’s a job, I might even be able to study.”

“There are other ways. Scholarships.” You said. “I have a scholarship.”

“I was looking into it. It was a long shot. I always knew that. That’s why I was boxin’. I was putting my winnings aside. But, darlin’,” He rubbed his eyes with the balls of his hands. “I can’t just sit here and do nothin’ while the world is falling apart. Steve and I went to enlist after school.”

“Steve enlisted?” You asked dumbfounded.

“Yeah. I mean… he tried. He was 4F. He was obviously going to be 4F.”

He sat up again and looked at you as you stared at him, not even sure what to say. You weren’t even sure exactly why he’d come to tell you. You were friends, but not exactly the closest of friends. You most just studied with him and Steve once a week and maybe you’d see them on weekends.

“I go on Monday.” He said. “They're sending me to Wisconsin.”

“James!” You gasped. “Why… why didn’t you wait until school ended?”

“It pretty much has.” He said with a shrug.

“Oh, James.” You sighed, patting your chest. “I don’t… I don’t know why you’d just put yourself in harm's way like this.”

He sat forward and put his hand on your knee. “Yes, you do.” He said.

You nodded and frowned a little. “I guess so.”

He moved beside you and took your hand, playing with your fingers, quietly while you leaned against him. Neither of you wanted to say it, but you knew you were both thinking about the fact that there was a strong chance he might never come back if they sent him overseas to fight. “I want you to do some things for me.” He said, finally breaking the silence.

“What are they?” You asked.

“Well, first, I don’t want you to let anyone stop you from doing something amazing with your life. Get your degree and do something with it. You were right not to ever say yes to me. Don’t get fooled by smarter boys because they have degrees or fancy cars.” He said.

You felt tears prick your eyes and you shook your head. “Don’t talk like this is going to be the last time you see me.”

He chuckled. “Don’t worry, darlin’.” He said, putting your hand against his chest. “I’ll be back. It’s just training first anyway. Besides, I told you I was gonna marry you. You gotta be my rich scientist wife so I can be your pretty toyboy, right?”

You snorted and he wrapped his arm around you. “In your dreams.”

“That’s right.” He said. “I will be dreaming about it.”

A tear escaped and he cupped your jaw and wiped it away with his thumb. “What else did you want me to do?”

“Keep an eye on Stevie. Since his ma died he only agreed to live with me and my folks ‘cause I begged him to. I don’t think he’ll stick around when I’m gone. He’s mad about being rejected by the army too. I know what he’s like and he’s gonna start picking fights with everyone. I know you’re going to be in Manhattan, but I don’t know. Just check up on him from time to time. Make sure he doesn’t do anything too dumb. He doesn’t have anyone else.” Bucky said.

You nodded. “I can try.”

“Thanks, doll.” He said. “My folks are having a going-away dinner, thing, tomorrow. Will you come?”

“Sure, Buck.” You said.

The following night you had dressed up. Putting on the nicest dress you owned and spending that little bit longer perfecting your hair and makeup.

The event was a strange and surreal mix of somber and excited. His dad was extremely proud of his boy and kept going on about how many of this or that person he was gonna end up killing while he ruffled Bucky’s hair and put him in a headlock. It was a little morbid how he kept going on about it.

His mother, on the other hand, looked like she was attending a funeral. She kept bursting into tears and needing to be reassured by Bucky that everything was going to be fine.

Despite the fact Bucky had been having dinner at your place every week for a year now, you’d actually never met his parents before. It was weird doing it under these circumstances. They both definitely seemed to be under the impression that you were dating or something. His mother kept telling you, that the two of you would have to look after each other while he was gone and his father had very quickly thrown out that there was a chance you could organize the wedding before he was deployed. You hadn’t wanted to argue with them. Not under the circumstances at the very least. Thankfully Bucky was at least smart enough to look embarrassed when it happened.

His siblings were mostly fine though his youngest sister, Rebecca wouldn’t let go of Bucky’s hand for anything and ended up falling asleep in his lap. Steve kept to himself most of the night and was a little surly when engaged.

“I just want a chance to do what everyone else gets to. People are out there risking their lives and I’m stuck here watching.” Steve scowled as you sat beside him. “Bucky taught me how to fight. I know how to fight.”

“I know, Steve. But it’s better this way. You don’t actually want to be there.” You said.

“Don’t tell me what I want!” Steve shouted.

Everyone turned and looked at him. He puffed out his chest and stood up storming off to the bedroom he shared with Bucky. Bucky sighed and went after him. You sat awkwardly with your drink. He emerged a little later and smiled at you. “That kinda put a damper on the whole thing.” He said. “It’s late, can I walk you home?”

You nodded and stood up. “Thank you for having me.” You said.

“Of course, dear. It was lovely to finally meet you.” His mother said getting up and coming over to hug you.

“Don’t smother her, ma.” Bucky teased.

“You’ll visit while James is away?” She asked.

“Of course, ma’am.” You said.

“Good. That’s good.” She said.

She followed you both to the door and you waved when you got to the bottom of the steps. When you were sure she was back inside you elbowed Bucky. “What have you been telling your family?”

“Just the truth.” He teased. “About how you were my future wife.”

You couldn’t help but laugh and you elbowed him again. “You are incorrigible.”

“Sorry about Steve.” He said.

You shrugged. “My fault. He obviously has strong feelings about going.”

Bucky nodded. “He doesn’t like bullies.” He said. “He’s gonna get in trouble.”

“Can’t be worse than the trouble you’ve gotten yourself into.” You said.

“No. You’re probably right about that.” He said. “I’ll be okay.”

You reached over and took his hand, linking your fingers with his. He looked over at you and smiled. “What’s this? Pity handhold.”

You shook your head but you wouldn’t look at him. The truth was, you had started to wonder why you had kept rejecting him. You weren’t some notch on his belt he was waiting to carve. You had been important to him. Why could you only just see that now?

He stopped walking and turned you to face him. “I will be okay.”

You nodded and his hand went to your chin, tilting your face up to look at him. “I will.”

“Yeah, you will.” You said. More for him than yourself.

“I’ll be back soon enough. We can explore whatever this is before I ship out if you like.” He said.

You let out a soft breath. “This is a momentary lapse of judgment.”

“Oh, I see,” Bucky said. “Well, I should take advantage while I can.”

He leaned into you, his lips slightly parted. You bridged the distance, bringing your lips to his. He kissed you slowly and tenderly. There was nothing lewd about it. He kept his hands on your arms, they didn’t roam or try to take any more from you. He pulled back slowly and you chased his lips for a moment before opening your eyes, to see his blue ones twinkling down at you.

“We’ll definitely explore that more when I get back.” He said.

You shook your head. “I’ll be in my right mind by then.”

He chuckled and put his arm around your waist and continued the short walk to your door. “Thanks for coming tonight, doll. I’m glad you were there.”

“Of course, Buck. Travel safe tomorrow.” You said.

“It’s not the travel I’m worried about.” He said and kissed your cheek. “If you wanted to wait for me, I’d be okay with that.”

You smiled and rubbed his arm. “Might have to if your ma is going to be planning our wedding.”

He chuckled and you headed inside, a tight feeling in your chest. You knew he’d be back, but nothing about this felt good to you at all.

// NEXT

#bucky barnes #buckybarnesbingo2019 #bucky barnes x reader #the winter soldier #the winter soldier fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #reader insert #snapshots

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lofiyeol · 5 years

Text

PAPERCUTS - CHAPTER 2

summary: After the sudden deaths of two of their friends, Chanyeol and Baekhyun try to piece together what happened and end up uncovering a tangled love story.

rating: R

genre: angst!!! a lot of it!!!

pairing: kyungsoo/jongin

length: chaptered

warning: suicide mentions throughout

READ ON AFF

He has dreams, extraordinarily vivid and yet bizarrely indescribable, containing the familiar soft visage of Kyungsoo and the jagged, squiggly one of Jongin, the unknown. Flitting in and out of sleep, each time he opens his eyes to the waking world he’s greeted with a different scene—Baekhyun alone, staring out the window, sitting cross legged on the floor, Minseok and Baekhyun talking in hushed tones over the coffee table, and then Jongdae on the phone, leaning against the wall, his usually happy face drawn into uncharacteristic grim lines. When he finally sits up, night has already fallen and he and Baekhyun are alone again. The television dances with bright colors, and Baekhyun’s attention is grasped by the videogame on the screen, sitting completely still other than his thumbs pressing combinations into the controller. Chanyeol watches him play for a little while as his consciousness slowly returns.

An evening breeze floats in through the cracked window, cutting icy cold across Chanyeol’s cheeks. The moon is especially bright tonight, the light of its pale face hitting the side of Baekhyun’s crouched form and casting a strange malformed shadow on the carpet. It triggers an image from Chanyeol’s dream: Jongin, dancing, face obscured, in some bizarre landscape of desert and tundra mixed together. As his feet swept through sand and snow, they had drawn a picture—a malformed figure, a hunched and fanged monster with clawed hands.

“Baekhyun,” Chanyeol says, voice barely a whisper from the day of disuse. Baekhyun immediately turns around, forgetting the game. “You’re awake.”

“Is there… food?”

“Yeah.” Baekhyun stands. “My mom made some for you before she went to bed for if you woke up in the middle of the night. I’ll get it.” He disappears from view for a few moments before returning with a tray of kimbap, which he places in Chanyeol’s blanketed lap.

“Thank you.”

Baekhyun sits down next to Chanyeol as he eats. They both watch the little character bouncing on the game’s home screen.

“Minseok and Jongdae came by. They got told the same as us. Jongdae went to Jongin’s house since he lives nearby but it was all taped off and nobody would let him inside. He ran into Jongin’s landlord who said Jongin lived there by himself, no mom or dad or siblings with him. Kyungsoo’s parents are going to have the funeral for him soon, but I don’t know what’s going to happen with Jongin. Jongdae seemed to think he had no family at all.”

The 8-bit theme song repeats and repeats in the background as Chanyeol chews slowly through his food. “Do you know… why?”

“No. Nobody does, except cops. Right now, at least.” Baekhyun steals a roll of kimbap off Chanyeol’s plate. “Jongdae told me both bodies were at Jongin’s but that’s all the information he got.”

The tremble in Baekhyun’s lower lip is just barely noticeable, but his emotions are betrayed by his breaking voice. “I-I didn’t even really know they were friends.”

This is the part that hurts Chanyeol the most, that will keep him up every night for the next few months: just how much he didn’t know.

Baekhyun eventually crashes in the early hours of the morning, falling asleep face down in the couch, wrinkled school uniform bunching at his knees. Chanyeol stays awake until the morning rolls in. The sky is as pleasant as the day before, swollen white clouds grazing past the bright sun. Not a spot of darkness to be seen. Chanyeol moves a cushion so that it blocks the light from Baekhyun’s sleeping eyes before he leaves.

The cold wind whips his body he walks out of Baekhyun’s apartment complex, and he pulls his scarf tighter around his neck. Suffocating himself, comforting himself—Chanyeol can’t be bothered to tell the difference. Today’s issue of the Seoul Herald is splayed open on the cobblestones of the driveway, pages fluttering in a desperate plea for attention. Chanyeol thinks the newspaper looks like a body, the white of bone and black of death open in a terrible perverted blossom. But everything is starting to look like bodies to him now, the flowers and ivy and cracked walls and trash bags lining the streets. He snatches the newspaper into his shaking hands as he begins to make his way to the bus stop.

SUCIDES IN SEODAEMUN-GU

He expected something, but the title displayed on the paper’s front page still makes him wince and his heart fall into his stomach. The outside of what he assumes is Jongin’s house is printed in vivid color, a small, unassuming apartment decked in caution tape like some twisted art installation.

The bus is full of morning commuters but Chanyeol squeezes in, folding into a corner and hiding himself behind the newspaper. Beneath his thick coat his insides feel like they’re wrapped up in some pressurized knot, only getting tighter and tighter as his eyes drink in the words.

Two bodies of teenaged boys were located yesterday in a Seodaemun-Gu apartment, dead of apparent suicide. Though motivations are still unknown, the fact remains that these are two additions to the record-breaking number of teen suicides this year. Teen suicide is becoming an undeniable epidemic in South Korea, one we as a society cannot ignore any longer.

Chanyeol flips angrily through the statistics and hotline numbers, looking desperately for more images, more details, names and times and reasons, but comes up empty handed. Gritting his teeth, he crunches the newspaper into a ball.

He feels wrong. Every limb in his body doesn’t work the way it should, his brain keeps misplacing thoughts and his tongue flops useless in his mouth. Chanyeol couldn’t care less about most things; he had never had a serious outlook on life and did fine for himself, armed with a flirtatious tongue and boyish good looks. With Baekhyun by his side, he was one half of an unstoppable dynamic duo, the both of them likeable for their own good. Now, Chanyeol can’t even remember what it felt like to smile, or to function properly at all. He stares at the blank ceiling trying to understand how it’s only been a day since he got the news—how will he last?

He manages to find his apartment through the thick fog filling his brain and buzzes himself in, slogging up a flight of stairs to his front door. His mother’s hair smells like flower perfume as she embraces him wordlessly into a hug.

“Did you eat? I made toast. Baekhyun’s mother called and told me you spent the day at their house. She said you looked really ill. Are you okay? Do you have a fever?”

“M’fine,” Chanyeol mutters as he pulls out of her embrace. “Really.”

“Well, if you need anything…” Chanyeol’s mother falters.

“I’m fine.” Chanyeol touches her shoulder as he walks to his room.

He has the wherewithal to pretend in front of his mother. But when he shuts the door behind him, he sinks to the ground, brow broken out in sweat. It’s hurting him more than he would have expected.

Not like Chanyeol had ever thought of a situation even remotely close to this one before—Kyungsoo was healthy, ostensibly happy, and had been a part of Chanyeol’s life since elementary school. They laughed and played almost every day; even when Baekhyun entered the picture at the beginning of middle school Kyungsoo didn’t take a backseat. They lived close to each other after all, and Chanyeol went to his house every week to do homework and watch television and drink when Kyungsoo’s mother was out. It was a normal life Kyungsoo had, and Chanyeol thought he knew a lot about it. His mind reels, attempting to reckon once more with the present situation. Again, he hits a wall. It’s too preposterous to comprehend.

Furiously he rummages through his backpack and fishes out his cellphone, which thankfully has ten percent of battery left, and scrolls quickly through his contacts. He has to hear it from the person who knows the most. Right now, that appears to be Jongdae.

His classmate picks up on the first ring. “Chanyeol?”

“Hey,” Chanyeol starts lamely. Jongdae cuts to the chase.

“I was at Baekhyun’s earlier, but you were asleep. I assume he told you some details.”

“Yeah, but I want to talk to you.” Chanyeol pulls off his jacket, tossing it onto his bed. The door is cool as he leans his back against it. “You know… something, right? More than anyone else?”

“I just live close to Jongin, that’s all. I went to his house and saw the outside of it. They wouldn’t let me in, obviously, but they told me to give them my name and they might be in contact if they needed anything.”

“Like what?”

“Actually…” Jongdae falters, and then clears his throat. “The police need a… second ID. On the bodies. Specifically Jongin’s. They want to be sure.”

It’s surreal. It’s so surreal that Chanyeol’s tongue is tied and his legs are locking and his arm is hanging limply by his side. Jongdae’s sigh crackles through the speaker. “I can’t believe this is fucking happening.”

“I can’t either,” Chanyeol manages through his lips that suddenly feel too thick.

They sit in each other’s silence for a moment. Chanyeol’s mind can’t create anything but the image of Kyungsoo’s eyes, forced perpetually open with death.

“You should come. I told Baekhyun and Minseok as well. You should come with me to the police station later today. We were Jongin’s closest friends. Kyungsoo’s mother is going to be there too and I think she’d like to see you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Chanyeol says faintly. “Yeah, I’ll… I want to see her… and Kyungsoo too. It’s just all happening so fast.”

“Take it easy. Just stay at home. Try to think about something else.” Jongdae’s sentence trails off, as if he knows his own advice is as good as impossible. “I’ll text you the time, okay? See you soon.”

“Okay,” Chanyeol says, and Jongdae hangs up. The sudden absence of his friend’s voice makes Chanyeol shiver.

His mother makes him hot cocoa, Chanyeol’s favorite childhood drink. He sits in his room, watching the sun move through the slats in his window shades, forgetting to blink for so long that it looks like a punctured orange egg yolk leaking out into the sky.

Chanyeol already knows he’s going to have to get used to waiting. For answers, for results, for reports, for closure. It feels like he’s just started a new life where suddenly nothing is about him anymore. The stupid petty problems he had when things were normal feel like hazy dots in his distant memory. Just things he wasted time focusing on while Kyungsoo was dying every day, right before his eyes. So fucking selfish…

Dying. The word rolls around in his brain, still so foreign. As much as he puts the name Kyungsoo and the word dead together, it doesn’t make any sense.

Him and Baekhyun and Jongdae and Minseok… all of them left behind in some split-off parallel universe that wasn’t supposed to exist. Chanyeol feels his lids begin to grow heavy with the haze of confusion and hurt and he crumples into sleep, slumping against the door.

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gwynne-fics · 6 years

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Pictures

welcome home p2

Hyo-Shin was a little surprised when he sat down in the visitor’s booth to wait for his guest. Normally, Rachel was already seated and waiting for him. He waited only a few minutes for her to come in with a stroller. His heart sped up as she placed the stroller next to her chair and lifted Hye-Rim out of it. She placed their daughter in her lap and smiled at him.

They matched, just like Rachel had wanted when he tried to comfort her that night. Hye-Rim had a pale yellow dress with purple ribbons and Rachel wore a sleek, lavender dress with dark purple accents and bright yellow shoes.

Hye-Rim stared at him and put her little fist against her chest before looking up at Rachel and back at him with surprise. “Yes, that’s Appa. Can you say hello?”

Hyo-Shin was mesmerized by her as Hye-Rim clapped her hands and giggled. She kicked her legs and babbled something that sounded happy. He put his hand against the glass as he leaned forward. He started crying when Hye-Rim did the same.

“I’m ready,” he heard himself say. “I want to come home.”

He looked up at Rachel and watched her smile fade into a more serious expression. “Are you sure? There are only two weeks left.”

“I’m sure. I want…I need to be with you. This is enough. I’ve punished myself enough. If you want me to stay the rest of the time, I will, but I’m ready to come home.”

“Give me two hours.” Rachel stood and placed Hye-Rim in her stroller. She walked out and an officer came to return him to his cell. Ninety minutes later, he was taken to the showers, and much like his leave for his father’s funeral, he was put into a tailored suit (cream with a light purple shirt) and escorted to the warden’s office. He spent about twenty minutes signing paperwork and having his blood drawn before Rachel entered, alone, and came to sit next to him.

Hyo-Shin didn’t hesitate to stand and pull her into a tight hug. Her arms came around him and he breathed in her perfume in an attempt not to start weeping. “Hye-Rim is with Go Nam-Il,” she murmured. “He is personally driving us to our new home.”

He squeezed his eyes shut. “Not the hotel?”

Rachel drew her fingers through his hair and pulled back to look at him. She tenderly wiped his cheeks and then kissed him. “Not the hotel. I moved us yesterday. It will be our home, not another prison.”

The tightness in his shoulders relaxed and he bowed his forehead to her shoulder. Rachel didn’t rush him. She only let go when he was ready to finish up whatever paperwork had to be signed. It was a testament to his exhaustion that he didn’t read everything as closely as he usually did because he just wanted to be with Rachel and Hye-Rim.

Rachel took his hand and placed a simple, white gold ring on his finger. She wore a matching one on her left hand. “If you don’t like it, we can pick something else when we get you fitted for new clothes. Let’s go.”

They were escorted to the lobby where Go Nam-Il stood, holding Hye-Rim, and bouncing her lightly. “She was upset I made her stay out here.”

“I’m sure she doesn’t want to be parted from you,” Hyo-Shin said right before Rachel had Go Nam-Il hand Hye-Rim to him. His arms full of his daughter while she looked at him with calm, beautiful, large eyes was not what he expected to happen so quickly. Hye-Rim blinked at him before giggling and laying her head on his shoulder. She reached out and pounded her little fist against his chest, right where his scar from Rachel sat. Then she did the same to herself before sighing happily.

“She’ll probably fall asleep like that. There are reporters outside. We’re just going to walk to the car. Nam-Il will keep them from bothering us. Take a deep breath.”

He did as she suggested and he held Hye-Rim tightly. “Why are there reporters?”

“It is a prison, there are always reporters. Some of them are wondering why I come here, once a week, to see you. That’s why I want to do the article. It will feed them long enough to forget us.”

“I trust you to do whatever is necessary to protect our family,” he said before he pressed his lips to the top of Hye-Rim’s head. She was both larger and smaller than he expected. Rachel smiled at him and took his hand. She waited until Go Nam-Il indicated that it was safe to walk out to the car. He was able to ignore the noise and shouting as they were rushed but the security team she brought with her, kept the reporters from shoving microphones in their faces.

Rachel took Hye-Rim from him when they reached the car and had Hyo-Shin get in first before she followed and expertly put their daughter in her car seat. Hye-Rim kept reaching for him so Rachel had him sit next to her and offer his fingers for her to play with. He fell into an odd silence with Rachel as she sat on the other side of Hye-Rim. She watched them and he couldn’t read her expression.

“That happened faster than I expected.”

“I’ve had it in place since your arrest,” Rachel said with a tight smile. “I’m glad you’ve agreed that we’re your home. I’m…I have no plan after this, Hyo-Shin. I don’t know what to do next.”

He felt a desperate laugh escape him. “That surprises me. You seem…you had a very clear opinion.”

“Yes, and we’re almost home. We will have to figure out what to do together.” She swallowed and didn’t look at him. It suddenly occurred to him that Rachel was afraid. He didn’t know how to answer her fears because he was afraid himself. What if she went to all of this effort and discovered she was wrong about them? “Hye-Rim will try to convince you she doesn’t need a nap but, if you would like, I can show you how to put her down.”

“Yes, I would like that. I would like to know everything about her routine so I can help you.” Hyo-Shin reached over Hye-Rim’s car seat took Rachel’s hand. “I’m sure you’re exhausted doing this on your own, even if it has been a few days.”

She smiled faintly and nodded. “I thought we might go shopping tomorrow. I have some of your clothing from your old apartment but it is clearly not going to fit you anymore. Too big in the waist and too tight in the shoulders.”

“We didn’t have a lot to do between meals and television privileges,” he admitted as the car came to a stop. “The gym was always open so I worked out a lot.”

“Young-Do has dragged me down to his gym ever since the doctor gave me a clean bill of health. Eun-Sang just encouraged him when she got back. If Hye-Rim cooperates, maybe we should do something together to keep it up.”

“I like that idea.” Her driver opened his door first and he was glad he could hurry to Rachel’s side of the car to help her and Hye-Rim out of the car. He took Hye-Rim’s carrier from Rachel and put his hand against the small of her back while she led him into a small, but lovely house. Go Nam-Il followed them inside and explained the security system to Hyo-Shin. He handed him a panic button, along with the code to unlock the front door. Then he bowed and left Hyo-Shin alone with his family. “That was abrupt.”

“It means he approves. He understands the reason you went to prison for me. I think he’s forgiven you for betraying me and Hye-Rim. He trusts my judgment. It means a lot to me that he came to help us today.” Rachel took his hand after he removed his shoes and led him further inside. “We have a cook who also is a maid. She lives in the building on the far side of this property so we can have the illusion of privacy,” she explained. “I give Eun-Sang and Young-Do two days before they come to visit. Bo-Na will restrain herself until tomorrow morning. Is there anyone you would like to come visit us?”

It was such an odd question and he almost didn’t have any answer for her. “I would like to see Chang-Soo,” he said after a moment. “He’s the only other person who acknowledged that I was in prison. He’s an ex but we remained friends after we broke up.”

“Then he is welcome here.” Rachel kissed his cheek and then showed him…their room. “Right now, Hye-Rim sleeps in here with me. When she can sleep through the night, we can move her into the nursery. Here, let’s put her down and then I’ll show you the rest of the house.”

Hyo-Shin tried not to break down into a weeping mess as he helped Rachel change Hye-Rim out of her cute dress and into a more comfortable onsie. Hye-Rim wrapped her little arms around his neck when he tried to put her in the bassinet. “Even her whines are adorable.”

Rachel snorted. “That will fade at three in the morning. Probably by the end of the week.”

“Never,” he said firmly and kissed her forehead. It was a struggle to pry Hye-Rim off of him, if only because he really didn’t want to let go of her, but Hyo-Shin laid her down after swaddling her and tried to smile.

“Will you sing one of your songs for her? Like you did when we were in the shower together?” Hyo-Shin blinked at her timid request before he cleared his throat and sang one of his favorite childhood lullabies. Hye-Rim grinned and wiggled free of her blankets as she reached her hand up. He let her grip his finger as he went through nearly all the short songs he knew.

Hye-Rim fell asleep clutching his finger and he had to work to get her to relax and let go of it. He didn’t realize he was alone with his daughter until he looked up to find Rachel gone. He left…their…room and found her sitting on the couch, staring off into space. She blinked when he sat down next to her.

“Are you alright?”

She nodded and put her hand on his knee. “Are you hungry? I can get Woo-Hee to make us dinner.”

He shook his head and took her hand. “This feels surreal. I didn’t expect this at all when I woke up this morning.”

“Neither did I. I…I was afraid when I brought Hye-Rim with me that it wouldn’t work. You surprised me today in the best way possible.” She stood. “Let me show you the rest of the house.”

Before she could turn away from him, Hyo-Shin wrapped his arms around her waist and held onto her tightly. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m sorry for what I did. I’m sorry that you had to be pregnant alone. I’m sorry I left you alone with Hye-Rim for so long. I hope you forgive me for wanting to come to you this way instead of shirking my responsibility as someone who wronged you. I will never leave you again. I don’t know what our future holds but I want to figure that out with you.”

Rachel leaned against him and buried her face in his shoulder as she began to cry. Hyo-Shin held her close and stroked her hair as he tried to comfort her. He hoped his apology was enough. He hoped it was what she wanted.

For the first time, in almost two years, he did not feel like trash.

“I love you,” he whispered. “I love you.”

“I needed that. Thank you.”

They didn’t move for a long time.

#pictures

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onkey-bedtime-stories · 6 years

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EUNOIA - chapter 3

Chapter 2

—————-

Though it is summer, the sky’s drawn saturated this morning. Away from coast-crowded situation and glowing skin under sunny day, someone’s already occupied in the kitchen. It’s not even seven in the morning more to surprise.

And what makes the whole scene is more surreal for Junghee when she got on the wooden floor of the living room is her eyes caught Kibum messing around between the stove and her favorite kitchen island. To reassure herself she’s one hundred percent awake and everything before her is not merely random mirage in her life, she checked the clock once again and the urge of pinching herself is undeniable.

Six fifty. Who woke up at six fifty?

Walking to the kitchen silently, she can’t help but gasp when colorful plates full of waffle chicken strips, and bacon lay on a checkered table cloth she just bought last week. Kibum is struggling squeezing some oranges near the sink when she darted her eyes in disbelief.

“Let me do that.”

She doesn’t need to observe too much when Kibum lifted his head. Definitely not even a minute he got to sleep the night before, those bloody eyes and dried skin tell everything. Without saying anything, Kibuk stepped aside, wiped his hand while Junghee easily got all the juice out with single hand.

Before the things became more awkward in the stillness of the air, he moved to the coffee maker to prepare some shot.

“I’m sorry.”

Kibum pretends he didn’t hear anything and chose to follow every single drip of the dark liquid in front of him.

“I just.. you know, very worried and overwhelmed with everything.”

He turned to his side after a deep breath. She looks even tinier with such level of anxiety all over her skin. At the end, his heart’s softened, simple arch formed on his tired face.

“I apologize for yelling to you, too.”

“She’s been through a lot and the fact I wasn’t there at the very second she needed me.. It broke my heart. Now she’s here, suddenly I just wanted to protect her with all my might. It scared me to death when I couldn’t reach her yesterday. All of the thoughts.. Her brother concerns.. for the sui—suicidal.. possibility.. I—I went cr—crazy right away.. I—“

Kibum’s unable to catch the rest since Junghee grabbed the edge of the counter, knuckles almost white, mewling as if someone kill her parents.

“Ssshh..” Kibum embraced her and let her leaned on him for consolation, “I know.. I told you I understand, right? And I’m sorry I’m supposed to text you anyway that Eunsook’s with me. Guess I’ve been selfish..”

“I’m the selfish one. I never asked her what she need because I’m afraid I’d hurt her more by mentioning something close to that topic and just doing whatever I thought the best for her without even care if she’s comfortable with that,” she peeled herself from Kibum, wiping her slightly swollen eyes with the back of her fore arms, “So, are we cool now?”

“We never not cool, Kim Junghee, you know that,” he messed with his friend hair which she replied with hugging Kibum torso in return, “But, you’d kill me if you’re like this.”

He acts like having difficulty in breathing but instead released him, she tighten her grip more as if she really wanted to choke him, “I will really kill you if you dare hurting my best friend, Kim Kibum.”

“I promise you I won’t.”

“Don’t ever think this is your pass! If this is an intersection, the red light is still on.”

He chuckles and gives her pats on the head, “Alright, Shorty! I told you before you’re kind of scary when you’re mad.”

“I told you not to flirt more than one girl under the same roof, Kim Kibum! This is second warning..”

Minho teased both of them while running down stairs, he feels contented with the view of make-up-friends greets him in the morning after last night he spent almost three hours listening slash consoling Junghee because half of the time she’s not only pissed off and ranted but also sobbed liked she was in her own funeral.

“Wait. What did you just said?”

The tall guy realized he slipped something he shouldn’t so he stretched awkwardly, “Good morning, baby.”

Minho kisses his wife passionately, what a view for sore eyes, Kibum mumbles something inaudibly, completely not pleased with them.

“Let’s have breakfast, people. I don’t like cold food. Choi Minho, enough snogging and bring the coffee,” Kibum tried to escape the crime scene as soon as possible before Junghee exploded again.

“Uh-oh! Not that quick, Choi Minho. Stop right there!”

Junghee entailed right behind Minho who just kept walking to join Kibum because at this moment some waffles would be super helpful.

“What exactly do you mean by flirt only at one? You’re kidding, right?”

“Eat, honey, you need it after the whole rounds we had last night,” he ended the morning drama with a wink.

Kibum rolled his eyes again then massaged his temple to ease his rage. But Junghee just cannot let it go after she smelled the big fish jumped out the can. She chewed the chicken strips furiously and gulped it down with tall glass of orange juice.

“Baby, I love you very much so let’s be honest. You knew this after all?”

“Knew what?”

It’s actually hard for Minho to act clueless with Junghee’s eyes caught drilling a hole through him from the corner of his own.

“That this idiot has a crush with Eunsook? With my best friend?”

Junghee put more strength on each syllables.

“Hmmm.. Kind of?”

Kibum quickly removed the knife from Junghee’s plate sensing his life is in a big threat.

“Kind of?! What the hell is kind of?!”

“Wow.. wow.. slow down, Junghee! It’s seven in the morning!”

“Shut up, you’re next!” she pointed her fork to Kibum which the latter instantly raised both his hands to the air then returned back to her husband, “Okay, tell me, what kind of ‘kind of’ is that? Since when?”

Minho purposely takes time to finish a bite of waffle, “Since the first time they met?”

“Excuse me?!”

Kibum slapped his forehead and glanced to the door of Eunsook’s room hoping Junghee’s loud voices not waking her up even if he’s pretty sure her voice can be heard up until the next two houses.

“You know that and you didn’t tell me? At all? Not even hint?!”

“Well, in my defense, honey, I’m still not sure back then but you know.. you got this hunch you cannot sleep on..”

She put down her fork when her consciousness told her to calm a little bit, “And you’re sure right now?”

“I was pretty sure when you rant last night about how Kibum took her here and there and didn’t text you or call you. By that, my dear wife, I will say, yes, he has a crush on our Lady Eunsook. Now can I get a peaceful breakfast I haven’t got since last week?”

“Lower your voice, will you?!”

Suddenly Kibum feels his seat is burning, it’s so hard to stay composed while he’s anxious as hell, because he knew his friends really well and they’re not that good at being quiet.

“I can’t believe it! You all team up behind my back so this jock over here can make his dirty move to my Eunsook?!”

“For the love of God, there’s nothing so called dirty with having a good talk in a café and shopping for some camera’s stuffs. Do you know that you sound like Mother Gothel now?” Kibum ignores Junghee’s unforgiving glare and took another round of piles of bacon, “Speaking of your beloved Rapunzel.. where is Eunsook? You should wake her up to have some breakfast, you evil host!”

“She’s not home.”

“Nonsense! She was there last night talking to me.”

Feeling annoyed Junghee grabbed her phone and shook it on the air, “She texted me she went for a run.”

“Run? When?”

“I don’t know.. around five?”

She went out at five while I’ve been awake the whole night in my room? Stupid headphones!!!

“Why? Why she went for a run?”

“What do you care? She can go running whenever she wants! Especially after she felt suffocated and almost had a heart attack when she woke up in the dark! Who’s the Mother Gothel now?!”

“What?!”

“Stop shouting at me!”

“No, argh, I’m sorry,” he gulped some coffee to tone him down, “Kim Junghee, what did you just say about this suffocated and dark?”

“Gosh, I cannot believe I said this to you.. Eunsook is a bit claustrophobic, that’s why she..”

“..kept the light on at night.”

Her ears suddenly perked up with what he said even though Kibum sounded like he murmured for himself, “How did you know?!”

“Shit shit shit!!! You’re an idiot, Kim Kibum!”

“Kim Kibum, look at me. How did you know?”

Kibum bites his lower lip, looking at Minho for any moral support but his best friend just put a cool expression also waiting for him to spill the bean. He’s contemplating whether he should tell her he turned off her light or just keep it in secret until he faced his death. Because once again, angry Kim Junghee is scarier than any slaughter house and no one under this roof want to deal with that.

“Good morning!”

Kibum about to open his mouth when a beautiful voice‘s chirping from the front door followed by glowing face popped out the front door. Both Junghee and Kibum immediately turned pale.

“Good morning! Right on time, Eunsook-ah! Come join breakfast!”

Minho who senses something is wrong took the lead to greet Eunsook. She smiled so wide, almost blinding in Kibum’s opinion, walked to the other three while still wiping the sweat dripping on her forehead.

“Wow! What a feast!” she received the orange juice from Minho and naturally took the empty chair next to Kibum, “Thank you!”

“Do you like waffles? Kibum made this!”

“Really?! That’s why the chicken strips look so beautiful! Tell me what you cannot do, Kibum!”

She rested her hand on his shoulder unexpectedly. Frenzy pink, Kibum jolted from his chair snatching the coffee pitcher, “We need more coffee!”

“Gosh, I don’t know it’s because I’m starving or he put something here, but this waffle is bomb! Let alone the chicken strips!”

Eunsook looks like someone just had been saved from an apocalyptic bunker and saw real food for the first time, she cannot stop picking the pieces from the plates.

“Well, just so you know, my friend over there had a great cooking skill since middle school.”

“Ah, no wonder. You should make me dinner sometimes!”

“Ugh, yeah, I will..,” then he saw the look at Junghee eyes, “If I have time. I will!”

“That would be so amazing!” she scoops more chicken strips and moved it to her plate, “What’s the point of working out if I ate like a monster? I think this is what I need, Junghee-ah! A man who can cook! What a perfect life, no? Choi Minho! You should start learning to cook! I told you, women love you more if you know how to move in the kitchen!”

Minho just laughs out loud knowing what she said might kill two birds at a time. On the other hand, Kibum wants to grab the nearest knife and stab himself on the chest.

***

“What?! Did you steal some weeds when I’m not around?” when the scent of Eunsook’s perfume brushed his respiratory system lightly, Kibum realized he’s too closed with the woman and quickly stepped back, elbow painfully bumped into the door knob, “The infinity room is the best!”

Eunsook put her shoes quickly and grabbed the slippers in a blink of an eye started feeling suffocated in the limited space of the foyer, plus Kibum is kind of trapped with her making it harder for her to control her breathe.

“I know. But don’t you think the part when we’re laying around on the net, almost twenty feet above the ground is amazing?”

He shook his head so hard when he pushed the next door, “Excuse me, Miss, no one messing around with Kusama.”

“Just saying, you know.. She is amazing, no doubt, but still..”

“Still the best charm in the museum. Period.”

“Is Kibum being stubborn again?”

They forgot they reached the living room already. The sight in front of them is Kibum’s usual view on the other night, Minho’s chilling on the couch after work, beer on the table, and some football on the huge screen on the wall.

“I just found out today,” Eunsook shrugged and dropped herself on the couch next to Minho while Kibum went straight to the kitchen.

“Welcome to the family, Lee Eunsook. He has a huge tendency to be a bit pushy sometimes.”

“Well, at least I’m not handsy like that guy who tried to grope Eunsook’s tight when we’re waiting on the line on the food truck festival.”

He handed the beer to Eunsook while the latter turned pink while she put the pouty mouth, instantly sending goosebumps along Kibum’s spine.

“Really? Did he mana—“

“Nope,” Kibum lifted his legs to the table proudly, “I kicked his shin before those filthy hands landed on her.”

“What a news. Wait until Junghee heard about this. I think she would definitely make up some curfew for the rest of your life.”

“Speaking of the devil, where’s my favorite witch?”

“That witch you’re talking about is my best friend, you know!”

“And my wife!”

“Well, doesn’t change the fact that she might do a spell of unbreakable curse on us or turn us into an ugly frog if we didn’t please her.”

“Good point.”

Minho and Eunsook said and unison, they laughed right away the next second then followed with a beautiful clink when their bottles met for a celebratory buddy-toast.

“I haven’t thanked you enough for that.”

“What are you saying? Anyone should do that whenever they saw some shit about to happen. It’s called common sense.”

“Got a good reflex. He almost joined the baseball team if he’s not collapsed on the field after only two rounds of running track.”

“Shut the front door, Choi Minho!”

“Oh, that attitude! Is this supposed to make my heart flutter?”

Eunsook teased him and Minho almost spurt the beer inside his mouth for laughing hard before he covered it. On the other side, Kibum regret whatever he had said earlier.

“But come on, really. Is that what’s supposed to? Because, let me tell you gentlemen, it wo—“

Her words hanging on the air when she felt her phone vibrates furiously on her purse. She bites her lip after quick glance to its screen.

“Sorry, I need to take this.”

Kibum can’t take his eyes off of her until her silhouette disappeared behind her room door. He tried to ignore Minho who’s clearly waiting for him to say something. After downed his beer, he casually turned his head to his right, unfortunately only to find his best friend immersed back to the game already.

“It’s him, isn’t it?”

“Could be his brother.”

“She didn’t need to hide inside her room if it said so,” now it’s Minho’s turn to cock his head, “Taemin called during lunch and she talked to him comfortably in front of me.”

“Then why did you ask?”

“I don’t know.. maybe trying to convince myself not to dive deeper than I’m allowed? Or waiting for you to lecture me about stuff?”

“You know that I’m not my wife, right?”

“Hmmm.”

Sound of the commentator indicates the game is getting interesting but Minho is not amused anymore. Ten years of friendship shows him that when Kibum started to peel the bottle label it means he’s in big trouble. Like now.

However, he doesn’t feel to say more for he’s afraid of interfering his personal space.

“Looks like we don’t need to wait for her to be back right?” Kibum grabbed his bag and unzipped the front pocket, “I forgot to give this to her. Can you do that for me? I better hit the bed now or I’ll miss the first train tomorrow morning.”

Minho looked at the Polaroid pictures landed on the cushion near his knee and sighed.

“It’s really happening, isn’t it?”

The latter kept his mouth shut until he safely slides under the blanket.

***

“I don’t know.. I haven’t bought my return ticket yet..,” she opened the window as the room’s temperature seemed raised since they began talking.

“But you’re going back to Paris right?”

“Of course.. who will take care my stuffs then?”

“Wow.. wow, easy there, tiger!”

“Hahaha! You know I’m sensitive when it came for my belonging.”

“I know. I know it too well. I still remember when Taemin broke your bag. It’s not that visible, though I found it necessary to take you eating ice cream for two hours to calm down your nerves.”

“Who will teach him a lesson if it’s not his own sister? It’s a rule, you have to return things you borrowed in the same condition.”

“Anyone barely can see it. Would it make different when only one thread a bit loose on the strap?”

Eunsook just chuckled when she remember how outrageous she was when Taemin gave her rucksack back after two weeks road trip. It was quite silly actually but that bag was first month anniversary gift from Jungsoo after she mentioned she likes it when they saw it on the window display they passed.

It’s not about the anniversary gift she cared about. It’s the fact that Park Jungsoo, the most ignorance human being she knew, remembered her unconscious random comment about the design of the bag.

“You haven’t thrown it out, have you?”

“Are you being serious right now? How can I throw away something important? I keep it safe and sound in my wardrobe in Paris.”

“Glad to know that I’m still considered important.”

An invisible fist stuck in Eunsook’s throat, blocking the airway she became speechless in no time.

“Are you okay, Sookie?”

“Ugh, yeah.. why not? For your information, it’s the bag that’s important.”

Jungsoo bursts into huge laughter in the other line, sending comforting breeze to Eunsook who naturally close her eyes.

Ah, those sound.

Eunsook kept her sentiment sealed, not any single soul out there knows how much she missed all of those, the giggles, the suppressed laughter when he’s not supposed to laugh, the rhythm of his breath. Anything she can hear clearly through the phone that convinced her he is real, not only an imaginary figure she created to fix her hectic life.

“Go get some rest. You must be exhausted.”

No. I don’t care. I’ll trade all the time I have in the world to sleep for ten more minutes talking to you if it’s even make sense.

But deep in her heart she knows she is quite crazy to even think about that.

“Not really, but if you’re tired listen to me rambling about how colder here compare to the weather in Paris or Italy, it’s okay. You can hang up.”

“That’s the thing I’m billion percent sure it’s not going to happen in my existence.”

“Park Jungsoo, my favorite sweet talker, everyone.”

“Your favorite?”

Her heart skipped a bit by the simple question, “Yeah. Haven’t you heard about that?”

“Lee Eunsook, my favorite tease, everyone.”

“Don’t copy me.”

“I didn’t.”

“And what did you just do?”

“Telling you some fact?”

“Ugh, how lame.”

“You know I would be lame just for you?”

The words ‘I miss you’ are hanging dangerously on the tip of Eunsook’s tongue. She clutched the nearest piece of sheet she can reach to control herself.

“How thoughtful of you.”

“I’m always, ain’t I?” he’s pretty sure he can see her tiny smile right now, “Look what you’ve done. You should have gone to bed five minutes ago.”

“I told you I don’t mind.”

“And that’s how thoughtful of you. Go shower, get some rest. Let me know when you’re back to Paris, okay?”

“Stop telling me what to do, I’m not a baby, Park Jungsoo.”

“You’re always my baby, Lee Eunsook.”

At this rate, she wants to scream her lungs out and cry at the same time because she can tell it would be nothing but memories by the second their conversation ended.

“We’re only four years apart.”

“Doesn’t change the fact of the first clause.”

“This is why I hate you.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Yeah, you right.”

She tossed her phone aside after Jungsoo bid his farewell. Something weighed her down inside her chest.

It feels alright. It feels like the other day. But why I don’t feel good?

She turned to the left, looking forlornly to her phone, hoping it would ring once again. Nevertheless, Taemin’s voice is banging uncontrollably on her ear drums, instead.

‘You know yourself better than anyone. I really wanted say I know you better, but there’s a chance you’d slap me hard on the back of my head so, no. If you know your heart is not that ready to forget him, then don’t. People sometimes had mistaken letting go for forgetting. It’s forgiving, honey. And forgiving is way more liberating than trying so hard to bury all those you’ve been called memories.’

Her lips went dried when bunch of memory explosion appear like a long wild commercial before the movie started. She’s almost grateful for the conversation between her and Jungsoo not that changed so much. It did seem like nothing happened, like they never call it quits. But what’s so great figuring you grew sort of false hope in your yard of feeling? Like all the efforts would be in vain at the end once the flower is withered day by day as a replacement for blooming?

“Oh. Where’s Kibum?”

Minho already changed the channel into some old movie while the present of Kibum is changed with Junghee cuddled close to her husband.

“He went to his room already,” Minho bends to the table a little bit making annoyed face appeared on Junghee who already half in dreamland, “He wanted to give this to you.”

Am I that sad?

It’s a candid Kibum took of her while she’s daydreaming again for the hundred times. Her eyes are somewhere else, searching for something she can hold for dear life. The next one captured her silly face when he out of the blue said to her to look pretty behind his camera. Subtle warmth enveloped her heart when she saw herself on the last one, laughing like there’s no tomorrow for the first time since her breakup.

“I think he’s already in slumber. Got an early train tomorrow, he said.”

Minho calm words stopped her in the middle of her way to his doorstep. She looked Junghee’s eyes closed already. When she moved her sight to Minho, he just smiled. Smiled like he understands her whole circumstance. Smiled like he pleading her not to involve his best friend in her heart situation.

Bucket of guilty poured down from her head to toe. She sent Minho bitter smile and quietly left to her sanctuary.

Suddenly she doesn’t feel thirsty anymore.

***

No one can help it if we engrossed too much in our pool of regrets. On the other hand, we ourselves also cannot help but to fall into those pits while busy recalling the good times and refused to be saved? But one thing we should keep in mind even though we are too exhausted to try, some moments, some things, they’re meant to be forgotten. To keep us sane. To keep us living our life. To keep us reminded how precious we are :)

#onkey #jinkibum #eunsook #onew #key #kibum #jinki #shinee scenario #shinee fiction #shinee fanfic #onkey fanfic #onkey fiction #onkey scenario #shinee #eunsook fiction #eunsook fanfic #bumsook #bumsook fanfic

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rilenerocks · 5 years

Text

I know that the deepest part of the ocean is the Marianas trench. I learned from a brilliant scientist who taught a class called Emergence of Life that water in the takes up between 50-70% of a human body.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve spent time submerged in the liquidy depths of me. While out in the world, doing the average activities that people do, I know I appear to be just like anyone else. I pass for normal. But I don’t really think I am and I never have. While lots of people seem just fine skimming along on the surface of daily life, I was always digging and probing and pondering. I rarely had a conversation with anyone that I didn’t rerun in my head, dissecting it, trying to figure out what else was there that didn’t show up on the first cursory pass. I always thought there was something else below the surface. Additionally I generally seemed to remember a lot more than other people. For example, I’d remember an incident or a series of them which I’d try to recall with someone. I received a lot of blank looks and comments stating that they had no idea what I was talking about. I realized that while it’s impossible to access all of our memories, some people actually do what I call “papering over” the things they’d prefer to forget.

While I was growing up I learned that my constant analyzing and revisiting certain topics was not popular with my family and friends. I heard “let it go,” plenty of times. But I didn’t want to and really couldn’t, until I’d exhausted every single possible interpretation of the smallest event to the largest, I couldn’t be satisfied. I think most people just wanted me to shut my mouth. That’s still true today. When I was young and sensed that I’d pushed the limits of patience with people, I’d back away from what I really wanted to do with them. It felt like dancing without a partner. I made people impatient. Always talking too much, digging too much and not leaving well enough alone. I got it then and I get it now. I don’t know if I was born this way or if I developed this trait to try protecting myself from all the uncertainties and fearful events in my childhood. At this point it doesn’t matter. I wish people were more understanding and patient with me.

From my standpoint I think patience is an underrated quality. For the most part, I don’t think people are patient enough. And as our culture becomes more of a pressure cooker, I don’t expect that to improve. Long ago, to help myself survive the rejection of my individual style. I’d turn inward. Withdrawal. I could seem present in a moment but I was actually away, submerged in myself. I don’t think I’ll ever get to the bottom of me. I can swim around my interior for long periods of time, trying to get to some point in my self-discovery that feels complete. I have an anecdote about that. I was mentioning a story to my son the other day and he said, “I know, I know, I’ve heard this a thousand times.” That might be right. But the story was a seminal moment for me, the moment when I found Michael, my best friend and the only person I knew who was willing to go with me deep under, even when it drove him crazy and when he wished I could just be, instead of working everything to the bone. It was the morning after we first met at a wedding and had spent the entire night before, hanging out together and feeling what for me is still hard to describe, an electrifying fitting together that was outside my previous experience. There was nothing cerebral about it. This was a strange sensory phenomenon that we both recognized and were eager to keep. I was leaving for Chicago the next day and we went to the home of my ride where a number of mutual friends were gathered. There were people struggling emotionally with their relationships, including Michael’s girlfriend who wasn’t thrilled by his lack of attention to her the evening before. Always a helper, I plunged into all the dynamics around me, trying to smooth things over and make some sort of peace that jangly morning. Michael sat silent, stonily staring straight ahead and after awhile, I realized I was getting nowhere with anyone. So I announced my apparent failure and said, “now I’m going to withdraw.” That drew Michael’s only response, one word – “don’t.”

That was a stunner that changed my life. When I returned from my trip home, I found Michael and asked him to come to my house so that we could continue to build whatever this thing was between us. After some months of deepening our friendship, I realized that I’d found my spot, my safe place, my best friend, my life partner. And luckily for me, he felt the same way. I was twenty years old. During our forty five years together, we had our issues like everyone else. But in the worst of times, our powerful friendship and the way we fit together carried us through everything. When he died, I knew that kind of steady backup and trust through anything was over for me. A part of me has been deeply immersed in myself with the years of our bond still helping me navigate my new daily life. But I’ve recognized that his steady presence in my life lent me the ability to be patient and understanding out there in the big world. After all the juggling of my younger days, trying to negotiate the relationships of people around me, I no longer have the impetus to absorb the parts of others that don’t satisfy who I am and how I feel. I am a different version of myself.

I am more than ever likely to withdraw now to my go-to place, internal pool that existed before Michael, that was still in me when he was here, and that is now where I feel my only true fit. He was always sensitive to my departures whereas others had no clue that I was actually totally detached and absent from whatever was happening in front of me. Much of my external behavior is performance. I am lurking below the surface because I truly don’t believe that most people want to be a part of me in the ways that work best for me. They like my parts that work best for them. Some think that having family and good friends is enough to breach the gap I created to process hard times long ago. My experience tells me otherwise. So I’m trying to find ways to survive this life with myself as my only anchor. I still have the strength of what existed in that magical way between Michael and me. I have skills. I’m strong. But I’m tired too. And holding on to what was isn’t an easy thing to do every day. I’m thinking about what I’ve taught myself to try to stay balanced while struggling.

I remember the day of my dad’s funeral. A September morning 30 years ago, cool and sunny. I was driving by Mt. Hope cemetery to the bakery to pick up cakes and pastries that family and friends would share at my mom’s place after a graveside service. As I drove along, feeling surreal, I found myself thinking what I’d thought so many times before and so many times since. Out there in the world, while I’m engulfed in grief or whatever other feelings of the moment, people are running. They’re playing sports or going for walks. They’re sleeping, making love, birthing babies, dying, crying, working, hiding and virtually any other verb you may want to insert here. Living their lives, dying their deaths, feeling their feels. You have no idea what those outside appearances are concealing. Sometimes they don’t know either. All over the world, life and death go on, and no matter how important your own particular event feels, there is always someone else’s that’s worse. That’s one of my most successful go-to strategies for coping with life, realistic thinking. Sometimes I can make a small event feel like it may have long-range positive consequences to help myself cope with staying balanced.

I was working out in my garden in late August. School was back in session and my house is on a pathway home for lots of kids who come rushing by at the end of their day. Two middle school-aged boys were riding their bikes down the street when the smaller one of the two screeched on his brakes and careened over to the sidewalk in front of my house yelling, “dude, you have to see this giant flower!” He’d spied one of my massive hydrangeas and was knocked out by it. I smiled and said, “pretty cool, right? I think you guys are very special for paying attention to nature. Lots of kids wouldn’t have noticed.” They smiled and rode away. I saw them in a different place about two weeks later and recognized them. I said, “hey, aren’t you those smart guys who stopped to look at my garden?” They looked surprised but pleased. Yesterday, I was out again and they were going by the house, dressed in pajamas for what I surmised was a special day at school. I hadn’t noticed them but the small one said hi and waved as he went by. I hope what I said to them and my presence during their time going up and back to school will stick with them, both in regard to the nature stuff and in the fact that an old lady can be someone worth engaging. I draw energy from stuff like that.

As my dive goes further, I find I’m trying to work things out in my dreams. I don’t know a lot about how the subconscious functions but in recent days I’ve dreamed that Michael was just outside, mowing the lawn. Then I dreamed that though I knew he was dead, I also knew part of him was alive and living with another family. So I went to retrieve him. As I approached where he lived, he appeared, looking wonderful and accompanied by our beloved collie Flash who looked like he did at six months old. That dream woke me from the sheer joy of it. I also dreamed of my dear friend Julie who’s in hospice now. I had driven back to her home for a second visit and she answered the door looking healthy, feeling stronger, and again I felt relief and delight. My sleeping mind is swimming with with these images which are wishes and small comforts compared to reality. I don’t pretend to get it but the days following these nighttime interludes start better than the ones that have no evening respite from reality. And then there are my daydreams usually brought on my music or activities that remind me of old times or a surprise photo that can elicit powerful surges of desire and ache.

While preparing a sizable family meal which I’d done so often in the past, my day was infused with essence of Michael, to the point when I stopped to write him this letter: Dear Michael,

I’ve spent the day chopping and mixing and cooking all the food that goes along with preparing for company and a festive holiday meal. So that means you are huge in both your absence and your presence. I wish I could talk to you about what this feels like and have you answer me in real time. Maybe you are. The other day I realized that I hadn’t seen monarchs in a few days so I made a note for my records that they’d departed for the year. When I peeked out into the back yard this morning, the white butterfly bush was alive with them in addition to the painted ladies and the sulphurs that are still hanging around. That bush is smack in the middle of what was your tomato garden and I’m not kidding, that shrub is massive and still producing new blooms that I’ve coaxed along by diligent deadheading. But the ground is full of your sweat and love and I don’t give a flying fuck about how mystical and bizarre it all seems – I know you’re in there. One day we both will be because when I finally become ash and am rejoined with yours I want the kids to dump at least part of us there. Part amongst my flowers too and the rest? Apparently we’ll become some piece of glass art, showing up as silvery streaks in the middle of our colors which you know will be red and black. Maybe a little green for depth but definitely our political colors. In any case, when the monarchs were there this morning, was I wrong to feel you’d sent a few back my way? But no more. Those guys need to get out of Dodge because it’s getting chilly. Thanks, though. So back to the kitchen. It’s about a thousand degrees in there and I’m at the sink, cleaning carrots and you come in and I say, “man, I’m really hot,” and you say, “you’re telling me.” That same old line which I pretend I don’t like but of course I love it. Then you come up behind me and grab some random body part and move suggestively and I say, “go on, you perverse old man, get out of here so I can finish up.” I smirk and make some wisecrack but I adore the familiar intimacy. And then you stick your finger into a bowl for a taste and I tell you it’s unsanitary and you laugh and drift into the living room. You have the day off when I’m cooking because you do so much of it in daily life. But you don’t get a pass on the cleanup. I shimmer through these daydreams like an apparition with you and they cloak me in a happiness that’s so transient and ephemeral. I’d love to catch up with a wavelength in time where we are solid and physical instead of the myth we’ve become. My precious boy.

So there that is. I am away for large swaths of time in this watery internal cave because I don’t like a lot of what’s going on in reality. As I slide through my days in real time, I remembered when I read The English Patient back in the early ‘90’s. It was one of those rare films that wasn’t a disappointment to me as so many films based on books can be. Sweeping, beautiful, romantic, passionate and ultimately sad.

I’ve been taking a class on Persia and Greece and there has been mention of Herodotus and his histories. In the movie, a tragic plane crash in the Egyptian desert leaves the wounded heroine in need of medical attention. Her lover carries into a cave where the walls are filled with petroglyphs that include swimmers. As he leaves her with food and water, he also gives her his copy of Herodotus, a “good read” as she awaits his return with aid. That’s how I feel now, swimming in a my interior cave with a good read for company hidden away from the rest of the world. Wondering when I’ll come to the surface.

Withdrawn in the Depths I know that the deepest part of the ocean is the Marianas trench. I learned from a brilliant scientist who taught a class called Emergence of Life that water in the takes up between 50-70% of a human body.

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khelinski · 5 years

Photo

That Day

I was a naïve 16-year-old when it happened on that day. That day that changed my life. It changed a lot of people's lives. Perceptions were altered. This belief everyone had that life is just so gosh darn dandy became lifeless with just a few last remaining gasps of breath. All that was left that day was tear-stained faces staring at a television screen. Everyone, regardless of his or her age, had that same puzzled look. Not many conversations flowed that day. What was there to say, really? It was like having a conversation of the previous weekend's party during a relative's funeral.

Days and weeks after that day, everyone reflected on what was happening. Everyone who was everyone could not get those images out of their head from the TV. Ten years later, it was still permanently burned into my memories. As the cliché goes, I remember that day like it was yesterday…

I was in 11th grade at Stevenson High School. It was a typical September day. The weather was to be expected for the fall in Michigan. Was not too warm. Was not too cold. The leaves were just starting to fall from the trees.

I woke up around 6 in the morning, getting ready for another glorious day at school. Boy, did I hate school!

It was a Tuesday morning, and I was already counting down the week's remaining days I had to go to school. I was also counting down the days till I get to work at Showcase again. At that time in my young life, I already felt like I was on top of the world, working at a movie theater.

Pathetic, I know!

I waited there at the end of my street for the bus, got on, and already started cringing over what I was about to endure during the day. It was amazing the emotions a person went through before real tragedy would hit. In my naïve sensibility, I was dreading high school; being around the kids that hated me (and the feeling was mutual), the endless boring lessons teachers preached, and the lonely feeling of not having a girlfriend. I was a teenager, caught up with my own dramas in life that I rarely looked around me. And beyond that, I was a typical American; entitled with the feeling that I was all-important in this mad, mad, world. I, like many people, was in for a very rude awakening before the end of the day.

That day.

I got off the bus, and walked slowly, dreading every moment of it. Through the hallways, my peers flooded every which-way with their self-important lives. Some were talking about their boyfriends/girlfriends. Some were talking about how the school's football team, the Titans, was doing. And some were just in their own little world: like me. I walked to my locker, got my Sociology book, and headed to my first hour class. For the life of me, I do not recall that class that day.

Second hour, I had Earth Science. Mr. M taught it. He looked like a combination of Stone Cold Steve Austin and Bill Goldberg. He had a sense of humor too. While Mr. M was teaching (and for the life of me, I also do not remember), a tragedy occurred elsewhere…

It was not until third hour, Geometry, that I got a shock of my lifetime. The TV was on, which was very rare in that class. Ms. C was hysterical, saying over and over:

"This was no accident, this was deliberate."

What I found out then, a plane hit one of the World Trade Center towers in New York while I was in Earth Science. A second plane hit the second tower right before Geometry started. I would never forget the first image of that tall building with smoke coming out of it. Everyone in that class was in disbelief. No one said a word. There was no lesson in that class that day. Just kids and a frantic woman, watching history unfold on TV.

After third hour, I had lunch. By that time, the first tower collapsed to the ground. A smoke-covered New York City filled the television screen. Confusion invaded the cafeteria. Everyone was glued to the TV. Hardly anyone was talking to one another. It was such a weird vibe being in that lunchroom, stuffing my face, watching people die as if it was entertainment. Everyone felt it…that vibe: a vibe I hope I do not ever have to repeat in my lifetime again.

I was glued to the TV once again in fifth hour. I had Theater Arts II with Ms. B. She hardly said a word. Her eyes were cemented to the TV as well. A few of my classmates filled me in with what was going on, since none of the teachers really had a clue (or really wanted to talk about it).

I got the news that a third plane hit the Pentagon in Washington D.C. and a fourth plane crashed in Shanksville, Pennsylvania (days later, it was revealed that it was targeting the White House). America was under attack.

The TV was off in my English class, sixth period. Mr. W was either in denial with what was going on, or did not want to increase the high anxiety everyone was feeling. That class was a blur, even then. My mind was not focused with what he was teaching. My mind was in-tune with the day's events.

Seventh hour was the weirdest moment of the entire day (maybe my entire life). The TV was on, and the volume was high. I was sitting in Journalism. One of my favorite teachers, Ms. F, was very excited.

Now, before you jump to conclusion right now: I do not want to say that she was excited that thousands of people were dying on the television screen.

No.

She was excited that the very subject of the class, journalism, was present. Ms. F hardly said anything, just wanted everyone to absorb what the journalists were doing on CNN that day.

Days/weeks later, Ms. F was the only teacher I had that kept on talking about that day. She even brought in newspaper headlines of that day. One reason why Ms. F was one of my favorites was she’s real, raw, and never sugarcoated her teachings. She did not talk to her students like they were kids. She talked to her students like young adults, willing to learn. One prime example, she held one newspaper with BASTARDS as the headline. I cannot think of any other teacher that would be that bold.

By eighth hour, I was in complete and utter distraught. I had Creative Writing with Ms. Z. I could not concentrate with the writing assignment.

The assignment was to write a story, inspired by two pictures Ms. Z handed out to the class. The first picture was a room. I believe it was a living room. The second picture was the same room completely destroyed. Everything was on the ground. The assignment was to incorporate both pictures into a story of some sort. I cannot remember off hand what I had in mind before that day, but I am pretty sure it had something to do with Evil Dead. I think I even started writing it.

But then, that day happened. What should be known as any other day became known as that day. I could not focus on writing. My eyes just stared at the TV screen mounted on the wall. And I felt guilty for that, using what was going on as a copout to get away from writing my assignment (though, that was not how I felt). Ms. Z understood. And a good majority of the student's in my class felt what I was feeling. At the end of the day, the school principal announced on the P.A. that all after school activities would be canceled.

The bus ride home was surreal. The beginning of the day on that bus, I was dreading going to school. Now I was dreading going home. In a sense, I wanted to rewind that day to the beginning without going forward, feeling the way I did eight hours prior. But there was no going back. I, like many people on that bus ride home, was in pieces. There was so much promise with what we all thought life could be. And there was so much pride in our country. We had that cocky, "America: fuck yeah," attitude.

I came home, finding my mom in front of the computer screen. She was on her popular online hangout at that time: the eBay boards. CNN was on in the background. I asked her just a simple question, if she knew what was going on? It was a stupid question, really. But what else was there to say? She looked at me, nodded her head, and went back to the computer screen. She really had nothing to say either. What can a parent say to a distraught kid regarding that day?

"Guess what son? Thousands of people died today and the world is fucked up!"

My sister came home an hour later (she was a few grades below me in jr. high), and was just as distraught (and even more confused). There were no answers given. And I felt really bad for her. I kind of knew the world was fucked up. That the great reality-check in life is: shit happens. I learned that a few years prior given the Columbine High school shooting, and the residue of bomb threats that followed.

But my sister.

She was still innocent, unknowing to the real world. She did not even cover the Holocaust in school yet. And she was witnessing tragic history with me. We both sat on the couch, confused, eyes glued to CNN. I think that was the first time I was watching CNN in this length before. After a while, I got up and went to my room.

I lay in bed; just…I cannot even describe the words. I was in tears. I was crushed. I was confused. I was beat up. I was experiencing the reality TV version of the Die Hard series. The planes. The tall building. The terrorists. New York. Only thing missing was a smart-ass Bruce Willis, saving the day, one-liner at a time.

But no one could save that day.

No one.

This was real.

I could not even imagine what it would be like being on that plane as it collided into the towers.

I could not even imagine what it would be like being in that tower and watching the plane approach and crash without warning.

I could not even imagine what it would be like to be in the tenth level of hell where the only way to escape was to jump from the tower to my death.

I could not even imagine what it would be like to be on the other two planes, learning the events that occurred in New York and knowing what my future entailed.

My naïve 16-year-old mind could not fathom the hell others were going through. And the families of these victims and the pain they will go through for many, many years to come.

It was all-unreal.

Except, it was all-real.

My dad came home, and my family had an uncomfortable quiet dinner together. CNN was on in the background. Aaron Brown was talking. By this point of that day, the second building collapsed.

After a few more hours of distraught people sharing their personal tales that day, President George W. Bush made an announcement. It was one of those Captain Obvious moments, but a historical moment nonetheless. He soothed everyone's confusion with the inevitable truth. There were no left/right debacles. Just the plain truth.

America was brutally attacked. Thousands of people lost lives.

There was this cocky unspoken feeling that no one could touch America. And I represented what American's stood for before that day. I thought I was the shit, an 11th grader with one of the greatest jobs ever! The embodiment of America sums up that simplistic thought process, in which the United States of America was top of the world, the best in the land; and that no one, could ever touch us.

I guess the same could be said about religion. That people were safe within the confines of their own God's plan.

Terrorists hijacking planes and crashing them into buildings were only thought of in action movies by unoriginal studio execs.

Before that day, who knew, right?

The why's/how's came into focus days/weeks/months/and years after. Before that day, I was not accustomed to the name, Osama bin Laden. Before that day, I was not aware of century’s worth of disagreements in the Middle East. Before that day, I never questioned faith. Before that day, I was just living my own naïve life with blinders on to the world. It never occurred to me until that day: this was the real world. All those years of hiding behind Steven Spielberg movies and dwelling over my trivial crushes with girls I had no chance with, seemed insignificant.

Days after that day, I still had no idea what I was going to do with my Creative Writing assignment. Then it hit me that weekend. I was still glued to CNN, and watched a woman in tears, talking about her husband that was on one of the planes that crashed into the towers. I was so taken by her story, I felt compelled to write about it. So that night, I typed it out. I wrote it in script form (I was into writing short screenplays at the time).

Monday came, almost a week after that day, and I turned in my assignment. In a sense, I felt that I needed to express myself about what happened that day. Once it was written, and once I turned it in, I felt a little at ease. To my surprise, Ms. Z loved it, and as a result, I received an A+. She even wrote a nice little comment before the red-ink A+:

"Good plot-line, screenplays are a lot of work & you did a nice job with developing characters & setting."

But I did not write it to score a good grade or impress the teacher in any way. Like any writer that proclaims themselves as writers: I wrote it, because I felt compelled to write it. It was itching inside of me. It was my own therapy over what was going on around me. It was my way of finally realizing the big reality check in life: there was so much more out there than me!

That lady, for a good example, lost her husband. And it was not even for any justified cause or reason.

In memory of the 2,996 lives lost that day.

K.H.; August 2, 2011.

#that day #9/11 #black clouds & silver linings

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honeybeebetty · 7 years

Text

There's no magic pill

The thing about depression is that there is no magic pill to fix it; even after 2 years of therapy, it still comes back to me, though perhaps a bit weaker and wounded than it used to. What people often fail to understand is that there are so many different reasons for depression; it can be trauma induced, medication triggered, it can be loneliness manifested into something greater, it can be the chemicals in your head, the food you eat, the drugs you take, and a combination of the lot. Although there are certain symptoms that categorise it, there are also categories of depression, like a sliding scale. Not everyone who is depressed is suicidal, so talking to them as if you need to encourage them to live is often unhelpful.

Years ago I named mine after a japanese mythological creature, Ashi-magari; it never was something that I just suddenly woke up with, though it could feel like that. It would ever so carefully start to creep into my life, tripping me up, stealing light, and covering my path. I’d awake to find its tentacle wrapped around my ankles, unable to move. If it came alone, without anxiety, I would feel nothing. That nothingness is the most horrifying thing in the world.

Have you ever been around people you love unable to feel their love, nor your feelings of love towards them? There is no love, no sadness, no loss; there is only an absence of everything. You feel no sadness towards the emptiness because you don’t remember how to feel sad. You don’t remember how to feel anything, and so you begin to sink down to the floor. Time changes; you are in one time zone, while the rest of the world is in another. If there is someone who helps you to feel it can be all you cling to, but you fear damaging them too, especially if this is not your first round with the monster and you know what is to come. As for the others, the ones who care for you and know your monster too, they will know very quickly because of this absence of feeling. The ones who know you and your creature will have also come to learn your cycles, your signals, and your needs.

I know this round will be short lived, but it is still the same monster; it is not weaker, I just have more armor and weaponry. Yesterday I could barely utter more than a few words, and could feel nothing. I worked for a few hours and then went home, cocooning myself in bed. The moment my husband came home and touched my hand I was flooded with feeling, which is something I have never experienced before. I clung to him for the rest of the night, even in our sleep. This morning I feel a little less absent, but I won’t truly know until I get into work as I am always alone in the mornings. I’m one train stop away and I don’t really know what to expect. There is no apprehension, no fear, nothing really. All I know for certain is that I need to stop soon. Stop everything. Not die, just withdraw and recuperate.

As it turns out, I wasn’t ready to be back at work just yet. I was there for less than half an hour and ended up going home again. My colleague suggested it would be better to take one more day. The problem with that is the words she uttered were “It’s not fair on everyone around you”. If I had any sense of emotion I know I would feel sad and angry about that statement. Even if it is true, it is possibly one of the worst things you can say to someone who is struggling with their own existence. On Monday I had the old compulsions to walk quietly in front of moving vehicles (cars, busses, trucks, trains). Again, it’s not that I wanted to die; it is a compulsion I have lived with for a very long time. I don’t imagine people crying for me afterwards, whether in hospital or at my funeral. All I see and feel is myself walking into the path of that vehicle. I see, hear, and feel only silence, and so to be told my existence is not fair on those around me, well I’m just glad my feelings didn’t come back.

This experience has been quite surreal. I don’t feel like I am anywhere, nor am I anything. I don’t feel like I have a specific place in this world, but I am not saddened nor angered by it. There are no monsters telling me terrible things like they used to; There is just nothingness. I can laugh, and I can smile, but I don’t feel the emotions connected to the reactions. It’s like my body knows the reactions to have, and my mind understands the logical next step of what is right, and what is wrong (to a degree), but any emotional compulsion that would normally carry across has vanished. I’ve tried to make myself cry, thinking horrible things and focussing on a pet who I normally miss so dearly I cry at the thought of… but nothing happens. I have mild anxiety about work, but only at the unknown of how people will treat me. The thing is, even though I want to just be alone at home, the best thing for me is to just get back to work and be around people.

If you’re ever curious to learn what depression is like, and can’t quite understand it from what I have written or what people have told you, I strongly suggest watching the movie Melancholia. I watched it at a very low point before starting medication and therapy and I grieved for days due to the way it so perfectly portrayed the disease. My husband felt terrible for showing it to me, but it was also possibly the first step towards him being able to reach me in the place I was living at the time.

Today is day four, and I am beginning to feel better and more present. Last night I was able to reach out to a couple of my support network and begin engaging with people in a fun manner, even if I didn’t fully feel much. It is a strange sensation to laugh but not feel happiness. Work was a struggle, and I hit a wall halfway through the day almost falling asleep at my desk. I was adamant that no one was to tiptoe around me, particularly after that comment on day two. I made myself go to the gym in the hope that some endorphins would be released. Eating is still a struggle, with textures and aromas making me gag. As for sleep, dreams were coming thick and fast last night, so I believe part of my brain must be waking up again.

Returning to work after an episode, or towards the tail end of an episode, is such an awkward experience. There will be those who understand, those who really don’t, and those who don’t need to know why you were off “sick”. I’ve also worked through much worse episodes than this, so it is strange to even take leave at such a mild experience. Those words keep playing in my head though, “it’s not fair on everyone else”. The words of someone who has absolutely no idea. And then there’s my boss, who returned from a holiday while this was happening. As always, she knew what to say, how to treat me, and what my boundaries are. She saw me through the worst of it and has seen my growth, and my strength. Be gentle, be encouraging, but don’t tiptoe; the world still goes on around you.

My husband and I had a therapy session last night, which was excellent timing as it turned out to be a longer session. We’re working on conflict management skills, as two sensitive and strongly opinionated people. Plus it really helps with my background as I wasn’t taught how to manage conflict...or anything really. Anyway, at the beginning of the session I explained to our therapist what happened this week, how there was no catalyst, and that I just woke up one day and everything was gone; no good, no bad, just nothing. We talked through it, he probed a little checking that I wasn’t a suicide risk, and he was satisfied that it was simply my depression cycle breaking through and asked my other half to keep an eye on it. He was pleased with how I identified my risk factors and took the time to care for myself. It was actually quite a relief to hear him say that it was just my depression cycle as I’ve recently been wondering how it fits into my life now, after years of therapy and medication. It was a comfort to know that it will still be a part of my life, and that I haven’t failed because it visits from time to time.

I don’t really think there was any particular trigger to this episode; it’s the middle of the year and I’m a little burned out, with a couple of weeks until I have a full week off work, which I promised my therapist I would do. My body has been putting up a glorious fight with CFS/ME this year, and is winning more than it has for six years. I’m learning new skills at therapy that are really stretching my brain, and strengthening my marriage. I’m working at a higher intensity that I have for a long time as well, all while keeping my usual roadblocks at bay. The thing is, I’ve always had a lot going on so does this count as a trigger for me, or is it just my life? I don’t really think it is too important. There is never just one single element in anything, and just as there is no single magic pill to make my mind better, there is no single thing that makes my mind worse. This is my life, and I’m fighting to keep it.

#depression #therapy #mental health #mental illness

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nol-overwatch · 3 years

Text

Writer’s Callus, Chapter Two

Fandom: Durarara!!, Baccano

Pairing: Shizuo Heiwajima / Original Female Character

Tags: Mystery, Romance, Drama, Slow Burn, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, not too sure what else to put without it spoiling too much.

Synopsis: A foreigner visits Ikebukuro for the first time. She’s only supposed to be there for a few days and then return home, but this is Ikebukuro after all. The city of gang violence, flying sign posts, and unorthodox sushi. Those aren’t the only things keeping her entranced; it’s when she met a certain blond in a bartender’s outfit, that she started wanting more out of her mundane life.

You can read it here on AO3 and FanFiction.

—

‘My memory is not like the other one

Turn to strike my face

Always second place’

The young woman calmly turned off the alarm clock. She would’ve let it play for a bit longer, but the events of yesterday came rushing back at her, and she smiled at that.

She slowly sat up, her green eyes blinking slowly as she surveyed the hotel room she’s staying in. Her hotel, Sunshine City Prince, was a little too fancy for her tastes, despite it being a 3-star hotel. She very much preferred staying at a local bed and breakfast, but of course, her family wouldn’t allow it.

The sky outside her window was a pale blue color, with a slight pink tint and light gray clouds dotting the distance. ‘It’s a nice day to go out exploring,’ She thought as she carded fingers over her messy auburn locks. As she stretched her limbs, her hand landed on the familiar leather bound journal she kept at her side.

Her fingers skimmed the surface; the large print on the cover read ‘READ THIS’ and she figured ‘no, there’s no need this time’. Not with how the day started like this. With a satisfied sigh, she picked up the book and set it aside on the table next to her bed.The time on the clock read 7:03 am. She can grab her breakfast at the convenience store by the park, as she wanted to eat while watching the people of this city.

Ren turned on the TV, managing to catch up to a local morning show, while she washed up, changed out of her negligee and into her usual shirt and slacks. She packed light, knowing her family would provide her some appropriate clothes for the funeral, but she also thought of shopping for clothes here, as well as the souvenirs she’s bound to bring home.

“...the Slasher has claimed two more victims—”

The young woman looked up from the sink just in time to see a glimpse of the TV through the bathroom mirror. ‘A slasher? In a place like this?’ She wondered as she dried her face and let the towel rest on her neck. She then leaned on the doorway of her bathroom and watched the news.

What looked like a pixelated mess was first shown on the screen, until Ren realized it was just a close-up shot of the victim’s bodies. “I’m here at the west entrance to Ikebukuro Station where the crime happened.” There was a reporter in front of the ambulance, and behind her was a haphazard mess of yellow tape and police officers. It might be the camera angle, but Ren knew the place must be swamped with commuters and onlookers, especially since it’s situated at one of the busiest subways in the country. Traffic must be a pain in the ass right now.

She sat back on the bed and picked up her journal out of reflex. She was already rifling through the pages when a frown creased her face. The news of a slasher in the area worries her a lot. Should she write that down, just in case? ‘Might be a good idea. Who knows, it might save my life.’ She thought as she reached over her bedside table for a pen, when the telephone rang.

She tilted her head, curious as to who would call her at this time, and reached for the phone instead. “Hello?” Ren said, then realized she spoke in English rather than in Japanese. She coughed awkwardly and apologized in the appropriate language. “Sorry, do you need something?”

“Good morning, Miss Shiori. This is the reception desk of Sunshine City Prince. We hope you’re having a wonderful stay.”

“G’morning. You have something for me?”

“Yes, you have a call from Mr. Masa Shiori, shall I refer the line to you?” Ren suddenly gripped the phone a little too tightly. ‘To think he would be calling already.’ Her eyes narrowed as she resisted grinding her teeth. Right, this is something she’s bound to face since coming here anyway.

“Miss?” She clicked her tongue and forced herself to smile. Yeah, it’s inevitable, but that doesn’t mean she has to face them right away. “...No, tell him I went out.”

“Understood, miss. Have a pleasant day.” There was a soft click, and the call ended. Ren then threw the phone on the bed with more force than necessary and massaged her temple. What an awful start to what should be a nice day. The family meeting’s not until the day after tomorrow, but not even a full day has passed and that annoying miscreant of a brother of hers is already ruining it for her. She wanted at least a few days to herself, but now she has to figure out a way to avoid him until then.

“Okay, first things first.” She said as she grabbed her journal once again. It’s imperative that she must write this down. At least, she was about to, when a loud growling sound from her stomach distracted her thoughts. Ren sheepishly smiled to herself; weirdly enough, that seemed to calm her nerves a bit.

“First things first,” She instead grabbed her coat, her wallet, and most importantly, her journal, and strode out of her hotel room. “Let’s get some breakfast.”

—

It didn’t matter that he turned in early, Shizuo was still late for his job.

He chanted a mantra in his head, urging himself to calm down before he’d get infuriated over something as trivial as a delayed train. Honestly, he should’ve just walked in the first place. Then he wouldn’t have to think of turning the place upside down, that would make things a whole lot worse.

Shizuo stalked the streets with a half-lit cigarette, his hands stuffed deep into his pockets. He already texted Tom, but even that guy’s also late because of the delayed trains. ‘What a shitty day.’ He bitterly thought as he impatiently waited for the pedestrian light to turn green.

Sunshine 60 shopping street is just as busy as it usually is. The morning rush was starting to die down, despite the chaos that happened this morning regarding the Slasher. Shizuo thought, since it’ll be awhile til Tom-san meets up with him, he might as well get something to drink. Ah, right, he should stock up on his cigarettes. A few nights ago, he once smoked through a whole pack after chasing a certain flea out of the city. That really stressed the hell out of him.

Shizuo slipped into the first convenience store he saw, right across the usual place he and Tom would often meet. “Welcome,” The store clerk greeted him just as the blond nodded and immediately headed over towards the vending machines selling his favorite brand.

It was then he saw that person again, his whole world slowing to a momentary pause.

They were still wearing the same outfit as yesterday, though it looks like they didn’t style their hair properly; it was tousled to the side revealing more of their face. Now that he’s standing so close, he can see that they’re probably a young woman, around his age. She looked as if she was contemplating something, and stood in front of the vending machine he was aiming for.

‘Her eyes are closed again.’ Thought Shizuo, and immediately he shook his head. The hell was he thinking all of a sudden? Who gives a damn whether he can see her eyes or not. He sighed loudly, moving to the next vending machine so he could get his cigs then get out. This day’s not going into his favor, huh.

He started punching in buttons, when suddenly, he heard her speak up. “...Blue American Spirit.”

“Ah?”

He swiveled his head to her side, and he was shell-shocked once again. Frankly, she wasn’t even looking at him, but at the vending machine he was using. And it was only then he got a clear view of those pale green eyes of hers, ones that continue to stop him in his tracks for god-knows-why.

It really was a question that has plagued him since last night. Why? Why is he acting like this towards a complete stranger? It was a surreal, almost familiar feeling.

Kinda like...the first time he met Celty, his mysterious transporter friend. No, he’s quite sure, it felt exactly like that feeling.

Unaware of the emotional turmoil brewing at this guy’s head, the young woman tapped her chin and continued to stare at the row of different cigarette brands in the machine with remarkable interest. “That brand seems to be incredibly popular here. That must mean their investment would do well then.” She said quietly, her gaze unmoving.

‘What a weird woman.’ Shizuo concluded. This city is full of strangers and weirdos, and this one didn’t seem to be an exception. “Lady, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” He grumbled as he adjusted his blue sunglasses. “But lemme just buy my shit, alright?” He turned to face her, but suddenly flinched when he found her looking at him directly.

What, did he assume wrong? Is she actually a pretty boy? He mentally shuddered. Tom, and even that oddball Shinra, did tell him to be careful when addressing someone based on their looks. A lot of people would take offense if they were addressed wrongly, however this one didn’t seem the slightest bit offended. Rather, her lip curled into an apologetic smile as she slowly shook her head.

“Mhm, go ahead then. Please excuse my rambling.” She bowed politely and walked off to another aisle. Shizuo slowly went back to buying his pack, his mind rewinding back to what just happened. That was definitely a foreigner; her Japanese is perfect but there’s an underlying accent there that he can’t quite place. Unlike Simon, his Russian friend who works at a sushi place and has a distinct accent, she sounded American.

His brow ticked in annoyance. There he goes again, thinking about this stranger. He should tell Tom when they meet up, ask for his advice on what to do before this becomes a problem. Shizuo finally got his pack, and went towards the back where the refrigerated drinks were kept. He grabbed a carton of milk, and sauntered over to the counter to pay for it.

That auburn-haired woman was there too, having her items checked out. She got a carton of milk as well, albeit it’s the fruity one, and three spicy tuna onigiris. It also looked like she was rummaging wildly into her pockets, “That’s odd. I swear I brought it along with me…” She muttered to herself as she started emptying her pockets. Both Shizuo and the store clerk deadpanned at the stuff she was placing on the counter: candy wrappers, spare change, a book, a brochure for a museum, two subway maps, and what looked like hotel keys.

‘Why can’t she just use a bag to hold her stuff?!’ The both of them had the same thought.

“Ah! Here we go.” Finally, she procured a small, colorful card with a flourish. “I can use this point card here, right?” She beamed as the clerk hesitantly separated her stuff from the food on the counter.

“Y-yes, miss…”

The cashier started putting her items in a plastic bag just as she began cleaning up the mess she made. If Shizuo didn’t think she was unusual before, now he thinks she’s got a few screws loose. ‘Not the first time I met someone like that. ’ He thought as he silently watched their exchange with a bored expression.

“Here you go, miss. Please come again.”

Plastic bag in hand, she thanked the cashier and, to the blond’s surprise, tilted her head to face him once again. Still that apologetic smile on her face, but a little wider and much more relaxed, she gave him a small, informal salute. “Sorry to keep the line waiting!” She chuckled before quickly leaving the store. The man stared after her, eyes blinking in confusion.

‘That a tourist thing?’ He wondered as he paid for his pack of cancer sticks and his milk. He declined the plastic bag, deciding to consume it immediately after buying it. That, and Tom must be waiting for him at the usual place.

“Oh,” The voice of the cashier snapped Shizuo from his thoughts. “That woman forgot this.” He said, holding up a worn-out, leather bound book. The blond recognized it as the one she was digging out from her pockets, and it looked like the same one she was reading last night too.

Without thinking, he grabbed the book out of the cashier’s hands and bolted out of the store. He almost bumped into someone in his hurry, but Shizuo didn’t give it any thought as his gaze swiveled up and down the shopping street, looking for that particular auburn head. He’s tall enough to look over the heads of the average person, but damn, there’s still so many people walking by this way. “Damn it…” He cursed as he squinted at the distance. She can’t have gone too far, but…

“Huh, Shizuo?” He heard a familiar voice and he followed it to one Tom Tanaka, who was curiously looking at him in front of the store. “What’s up? What are you—”

Shizuo interrupted him. “Tom-san, did you see someone walk out just now?” His sudden question made the man in the dreads scratch his chin in contemplation. “Huh? No, not really. I just got here myself.” He replied as Shizuo continued to look up and down the street. No good. There really is no sign of her. Usually by now he would have noticed that certain hair color, or that mysterious aura of hers.

Or even just the uncanny way her eyes would stare, as if she’s seeing the depths of his soul.

Sighing, his shoulders drooped while he rubbed the back of his head. Tom frowned at him, then looked down towards the book he’s holding. “Does that...belong to them or something?”

“Yeah...idiot forgot it on the counter.” He clicked his tongue as he tucked the book under his armpit. He and Tom stood by the shade of a newspaper kiosk as the blond explained the situation to his boss.

Now, he’s stuck with that person’s possession. Should he return it to the store and have them take care of it? He pondered over the thought until the older man spoke up, “Well, if it bothers you so much, why not try and read it? Their name might be in there, or maybe an address.”

“Oh, yeah. You might be right.” Said Shizuo, who grasped it on hand again and rifled through the pages. His eyebrows then shot up above his glasses, and the next, frowned deeply. Tom was in the middle of checking out a magazine from the kiosk stand when he noticed his bodyguard’s alternating expressions.

“What’s wrong? Is it not there?”

“...No, it’s just...” The blond then held the book wide open and showed it to him, who peered at it carefully then did a double take.

“Don’t suppose you can read english, Tom-san?”

“Hell no, I didn’t even take it seriously during high school.”

“Me neither.”

He forgot he was dealing with a foreigner here. He sighed as he gingerly flipped through the pages. Even though it’s written entirely in english, what surprised him the most was the content of this book. He couldn’t understand a single word, but every page, every line, it’s written and filled completely to the point that the page started thinning under the weight of the ink. He figured, that person must’ve cared for this book a lot. She’s written on it so often to the point that it's sagging under the weight of overuse. When she finds out it’s missing, would she remember that she left it here? Is it actually a good idea just to leave it to the convenience store staff then?

Shizuo reached the last page, or what he thinks is the first page considering it’s a western book, and there on the very bottom of the page was a single line, two words. This must be her name, and he racked his brain trying to remember how to fucking read it.

Tom watched him glare at the page with intense concentration and sighed. He tried hiding an incoming smile, so as not to embarrass his subordinate. “We’re gonna be in Sunshine 60 for the whole day, so when they come back looking for it, you’ll spot them right away. Sound good?” He said in a reassuring tone, causing the other to finally calm down. Some of the tension left Shizuo’s face as he looked away and awkwardly adjusted his glasses.

“...Sounds good.”

—

It did sound like a good idea, until the sky darkened to a burgundy orange, and soon night would fall over the city of Ikebukuro.

And there’s still no sign of that weird foreigner lady.

He and Tom went through their usual routes. The pachinko parlors, the manga cafes, nondescript bars and clubs, each time had the same situation as the last. His boss would inform their clients of their debt, they’d bargain for another day or two, Tom would persist, and they would bring out some sob story explaining why they couldn’t pay today. And that’s where Shizuo would finally step up, at least, Tom would mention his name first, and if they didn’t budge, then yeah, he would step in and wreak havoc. He always hoped their clients would finally start thinking with their brains first and just pay up front already, but then again if they keep doing that, he might not have a job anymore.

Anyway, it was only after Tom told him it was the last client of the day that Shizuo then noticed the setting sun. He stopped by the same convenience store for the 5th time, and asked the clerk if she’s dropped by already. And every time, he received the same answer, “No, sorry she hasn't come back yet.”

Now he and Tom were having a late afternoon snack in front of the very same convenience store he kept visiting. Tom got himself a hot cup of coffee, and Shizuo with his usual bottle of cold milk.

He didn’t think this would already be a pain in the ass. Lugging it around was okay, but keeping an eye on it, making sure it doesn’t get lost, during their rounds, was something else entirely. Maybe he should’ve looked for someone who could understand the language. “Mhm,” Shizuo took a long drag out of the fifth cigarette he’s smoking today. “Does Celty know english..?” He contemplated out loud, as Tom started lighting his own after finishing his coffee.

“Why not try contacting her? As for me, I’ll see if anyone at the office knows the language.” The man in the dreads said as flipped open his phone, already typing in a text. Shizuo’s relieved that Tom’s on the same page as him; he didn’t even need to explain much. This is why he’s one of his few friends in this city.

The blond unflipped his phone, ready to text the Urban Legend herself when, just as quickly as the thought crossed his mind, he heard it. It’s the rush hour; people are coming home after a full day of work, or at least, hitting up Sunshine street. One would be hearing all sorts of things at this hour, the general conundrum’s almost deafening. However, he heard it immediately, the separate sound of running footsteps, light but hurried and obviously in a panic. Shizuo inclined his head towards that sound, and sure enough, it’s that woman again.

Her hair askew and matted with sweat, her green eyes were wildly looking around until she caught sight of the convenience store she stopped by earlier. She was about to run inside, when she realized too late she was going to crash into someone. “A-ah!” She gasped, stumbling over her feet as if she tried to stop herself, but in the end that person’s body’s becoming closer and closer she’s going to crash—

“Whoa, there.”

The woman blinked. For some reason, she was completely halted. She didn’t fall over too. What on earth..? “Hey, you okay?”

Shizuo gripped her shoulder, easily stopping her from crashing onto him. He crossed the street as soon as he saw that familiar auburn head, intending to call her out as soon as she’s within earshot, but saw instead that she might get into an accident with that kind of speed. Good thinking on him, to use his own body as some sort of wall.

Tom put down his phone, his bespectacled face surprised to see that the owner of that book is a woman, and a woman that seemed to make an impression on the blond as well.

She was panting, clearly out of breath from running, but she stared up at Shizuo with the mildest surprise. “Y-yeah, thank you…” She slowly said, finally standing up straight to look at him properly. The blond could see that she was scrutinizing every detail on him, and that drew a frown out of him. “Something on me?” He didn’t intend for it to sound menacing, but it did anyway, causing her to shake her head hurriedly.

“N-no, that’s not it! It’s just that….If I remember correctly, you’re that guy from this morning, right? Buying cigarettes at this store?” She gestured to the shop while he nodded along. “I know it’s far-fetched but have you seen a journal around here? It’s leatherbound, it has some printed letters at the front—” She went on to describe the appearance of the book, the very same book still tucked under his arm, and he wondered if she ever spotted it on his person.

She was still explaining, her voice growing frantic and weary. Doubts and hopeless thoughts were filling up her head, prompting her to trail away in her words. She looked as if she was on the verge of breaking down right in front of him.

Without another word, Shizuo handed her the book. She had stopped talking then, the mere appearance of the book sent her mouth agape, her lower lip quivering as she gripped it a little too tightly. “This...this is…” She started as she visibly shook.

The blond blinked. ‘Is she going to cry? Over this book of hers?’ He put up his hands, as if to calm down whatever’s coming, but then she looked up at him with a wide smile, tears pin pricking her viridescent orbs. “Thank you! Thank you so much..!” She exclaimed.

“Uh, I—”

“You have no idea…” He paused. “You have no idea how important this is to me…” She uttered as she brought the book closer to her chest. Shizuo rubbed the back of his neck. He always seemed to be tongue-tied around this woman. Not that she was a difficult person to deal with, rather it was as if he didn’t know how to interact with her. He looked at Tom for advice, but for some reason the dreadlocked man was looking away, his back turned on them while looking at some magazines on a nearby kiosk.

“Uh,” He awkwardly began. ‘If Tom won’t help me, then I might as well finish this on my own terms.’ “Sorry, I tried going through it.” She tilted her head at him, as he explained further. “I was looking for a name, or at least, an address, but then I couldn’t read english.”

She hummed thoughtfully at that. “Mhm, that’s okay. I know you’re only trying to help.”

She then rummaged into her pockets and procured a pen. Stepping closer to him, she opened the book right on the first page, where he thought the only two words there were her name. She calmly smiled at him, her otherwise spent appearance looking quite serene right now. “My name is…” On top of those two words, she wrote her own name in kanji.

Ren Shiori.

Shizuo read it over and over again. He thought that name fits her so well. “And you are?”

“The name’s Shizuo Heiwajima.” He replied bluntly. It’s been a while since he had to introduce himself, usually people in this city knew his name before he even got to do normal introductions. His name became a warning to those who are new to Ikebukuro, a warning to stay away from him.

So was it okay? For a foreigner or a tourist, to know his name so casually? That looks to be the case because Ren nodded at him with a tiny grin, the barest signs of apprehension visible on her face. “It’s nice to meet you, Shizuo.”

And in turn, she thought that name suited him well.

#durarara #shizuo heiwajima #shizuo x oc

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gruumpy-cat · 6 years

Text

The Art of Being Nonchalant (Or Not) / Chapter Three

It seemed that waking up in the middle of the night, or not even falling asleep, has turned into the new normal for me. I was lying down in my bed, staring at the moon through a crack in the drapes and listening to the first Sons of Tyr record I ever bought, Season of Bitterness. It fit my current mood. Which was dark. I couldn’t pinpoint what my problem was but even trying to decipher my own feelings made me frustrated. Especially since I didn’t quite know what in the seven hells was bothering me.

My thoughts wandered off to grandad. Today was the anniversary of grandma Olivia’s death. Even years after her death, he still spent days like these holed up in his study with a bottle of aged Firewhisky and his pipe. Not even dad, who suffered just as much, has ever managed to lure him out. After a couple of years, he stopped trying. I have no clue what he does every year, I just know he’s never home. There is no grave to be visited, no flowers to be left anywhere. Her grave is literally in the wind. Just as she wanted it.

I wasn’t sure if James remembered what day it was, and knew I needed a distraction, or whether it was just coincidence that he wanted to get together with the rest of our friends (and his family) in Diagon Alley today of all days. But I was certainly glad when yesterday I heard my name coming from the two-way mirror James gave me when we were fourteen and he found it hidden in his father’s study. We were supposed to meet at the Leaky Cauldron around noon. Realising I haven’t sent a letter to Ash asking her to come with us, I got up from the bed, turned off the music, picked up a bit of parchment and a quill and went to the kitchen where grandad’s barn owl Odin was munching on some treats he presumably left for him before going to bed.

Besides Odin, I also found Ziggy unsuccessfully trying to steal the owl treats. Odin would try pecking him every time he came near. Ziggy will doubtlessly be plotting his revenge during the next few days. The two of them had some kind of frenemy thing going for them. For two very solitary and sometimes difficult creatures, you could occasionally find them, for lack of a better expression, hanging out. If you call Ziggy lounging and Odin sleeping with his head under his wing next to him hanging out.

Scrawling a few sentences together, I tried giving the letter to Odin. He looked at it like he was outraged by the idea I would interrupt him in his munching with such a lowly task as delivering a letter.

“Come on, Odin, I’ll give Ziggy all your treats if you don’t take the letter,” I whispered to him as I stroked his head. Now he stared at me with an outraged look and hooted, letting me know in no uncertain terms he wouldn’t negotiate with terrorists. Why does my family only have pets with an anarchistic streak?

I rummaged through the kitchen cupboards searching for the special treats he wasn’t supposed to eat more than once daily. We used them to bribe him into doing what he was supposed to do. I found them stashed behind a stack of fancy looking plates we never used. As soon as I opened the box, Odin shifted a bit closer to me and nibbled my ear. At that moment, Ziggy finally snatched one of Odin’s treats and ran away with his bounty. Odin made a disgruntled sound, but was soon placated by the Eeylops Premium Owl Treats. He ate them all up with lightning speed, gave me another hoot, took the letter from my hands and flew off into the night through an open window.

After a few minutes of looking out the kitchen window, I went back upstairs, opened the door to my room and nearly had a heart attack.

“Hey,” James said with a massive grin. He was sitting in the brown leather bean bag chair next to the window, his face illuminated by the early dawn.

“It’s the middle of the night!”

He had a confused expression on his face, “It’s not, actually, but so what?”

I closed the door behind me as I came in the room and leaned on the windowsill. “So, you’re lucky I didn’t have my wand on me. Or my bat. What, in the name of Merlin, are you doing here? Did someone die?” I really hoped someone didn’t die. I hated the idea of funerals. They sounded dreadfully sad and boring and I didn’t want to take part in that.

He casually put his hands behind his head and leaned back, “Nobody died. Would you have really hexed me?”

“I would’ve both hexed you and beat you with a bat. Why are you here?” I started pacing around the room until I eventually settled on the bed, my head in my hands as I stared at James.

“You sounded off yesterday. I wanted to cheer you up!” James said and got up from the chair. He sat down next to me, “Besides, I didn’t come empty-handed.” He took out a bottle from his backpack and handed it over for inspection. It was a ten-year-old bottle of Ogden’s Old Firewhisky.

I frowned and said, “I don’t need cheering up.” I wouldn’t admit I did need a distraction if not cheering up.

James put an arm around my shoulders and with his other hand tenderly turned my chin to face him. The sun was slowly rising, causing the whole moment to feel surreal, both of us bathed in faint sunlight. We were too close, his hazel eyes too understanding, his breathing even while I felt my heart hammering in my chest and being unable to breathe in. I had to stand up and get away so I could catch my breath.

What the fuck just happened?

He was messing up his hair. I looked out the window just so I didn’t have to look at him. And possibly stop breathing again. I didn’t want to die. Obviously.

“Listen, Quinn,” he started, “your family is fucked up,” I looked at him sharply as he said this, but he continued, “and they pretty much abandon you the one day in the year you’re supposed to deal with a grandfather who doesn’t even want to leave his room. So, you don’t get to mope around on your own this year. I’m not letting you.” He peered at me and made a funny face, trying to make me laugh. It didn’t succeed, but at least I wasn’t frowning anymore.

I leaned out the window, breathing in the fresh air. I could feel James standing behind me, he had that specifically James scent, a mix of mint and something else I couldn’t define but I’ve grown familiar to over the years. It was a strange feeling, wanting to be alone and, at the same time, being glad he was here.

“Have I ever told you that grandad, during one of his rare reflective moments, said I remind him of grandma?” I asked.

“No. Is that a bad thing?”

“I don’t think it’s good or bad. But I sometimes wish it were true,” I sighed and turned around. “Are you ever going to open that bottle?” I nodded towards the Firewhisky I left on my bed before I got up.

James grinned and took the bottle, opening it. He stopped before drinking and looked at me with an amused look. “You think we drink too much? It’s not even ten in the morning yet.”

I shrugged my shoulders, “We can say it’s not even morning so we’re fine, everyone drinks at night. Besides, we’re still on holidays so it doesn’t count.”

He offered me the bottle and I took it. Sitting down next to him I swallowed a bit of the Firewhisky and it seared my throat. A feeling I was used to. We drank in companionable silence.

The sun was up by the time one of us said anything.

“Quinn?” James said in a low voice, nudging my shoulder.

“Yeah?”

He seemed like he was contemplating if he should continue, but I was curious, so I said, “What is it?”

“Why did you say that before,” he quickly added, “about your grandmother, I mean?”

I thought about what I should say. Or even if I should say anything. I decided on the truth because it was James and he didn’t judge me.

“Because I’m nothing like her,” I rolled my eyes and continued, “she had a huge heart and felt everything. Too much at times. I don’t think I feel enough.”

James was silent for a while. I didn’t want to look at him and see the truth behind my words on his face.

“I think you’re wrong,” he muttered.

I grinned at him, the warm and fuzzy feeling caused by the Firewhisky making me feel better.

“You have to say that because you’re my best friend,” I hugged him and he gave me an intense smile, hugging me back.

Someone should’ve probably told James that Apparating while buzzed wasn’t the greatest idea. Right now we were both lying on two benches in the Leaky Cauldron, surrounded by Fred, Lily, Al and Ash. They were yelling around us, but while James was laughing his ass off, I was trying to stop my head from spinning too much.

“Look at them! They’re wasted!”

“Naah, they’re just –”

“Fred, you can’t really defend them!”

“What? Why not?”

“Are they crazy?”

“Well, Quinn –”

“It was a rhetorical question!”

“I think we should –”

“Shut up, Al! It’s all your fault, anyway!”

“How is it my –”

“If you weren’t so slow in getting ready because you had this crazy idea of winning one of these idiots back we could’ve borrowed grandad’s car and got them!”

“Scorpius said I needed to –”

“Enough!” Ash was probably staring them all down. She was a master at that sort of thing. My eyes were still closed, but I could guess.

“Quinn?” I cracked one eye open and saw Ash’s face, framed by her signature, almost untameable, curls, hovering above me with a deep frown.

I tried to sound normal, “Yeah?” James got into another laughing fit at my tone. I could even hear Al snickering, but he stopped as soon as I caught his eye and turned an embarrassing shade of red. Lily was throwing me dirty looks like it was all my fault when really, it was James who brought the Firewhisky. And we honestly weren’t wasted. I ignored her.

Ash was still frowning at me. “You okay?” she asked.

“Fantastic! Never felt better!” I sat up since I wasn’t feeling like I was in a vortex anymore. Looking around me, I could see that the Leaky Cauldron hasn’t changed at all since the last time I was here.

“You got my letter then?” I asked Ash as I dusted myself off.

“You mean the few scribbles that woke me up in the middle of the night? I did. Why can’t you be a normal person who sends letters at a normal time?”

“You’re lucky I wasn’t too lazy to send even that,” I made a face at her, “or you wouldn’t have the wonderful opportunity to hang out with us today.”

“Oh, the horror!” She was grinning, “By the way, Odin refused to leave until I petted him for almost ten minutes and gave him chocolate.” That did sound like something Odin would do.

Al thrust his hand towards me and gave me one of his smirks, “Let me help you get up.” He was still hot and his green eyes were still the same fuck-me eyes I was used to seeing on him. So I took his hand and let him help me. He turned the same shade of red as before. Shame about his feelings or we could’ve been having a lot of fun right about now.

“Mate, I think you can let go of her hand,” James said, putting an arm around his brother and awkwardly patting him on the back.

“Right, sorry, um…,” he trailed off, but then he looked me in the eyes with a wistful expression, “Can we talk? In private?”

Fred shook his head at that and Lily looked ready to hex me. James opened his mouth to say something, but I cut him off, “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Al.”

Al looked ready to try another tactic, possibly one that involved snogging, he had that look about him, but Lily jumped in, “Are we going to stand here all day while Al brings awkward to a whole new level, or are we actually going to Diagon Alley?”

James gave her a small smile. She squinted her eyes at him and said, “You’re an idiot.” She turned towards Ash and took her hand, “Let’s go!” Little Potter was bossy. Ash gave me an apologetic look, but went off with Lily, Fred and Al following close behind them. James fell into step with me.

“Where’s Dom? Don’t tell me she blew us off!” I exclaimed, “Did anyone even ask her? I mean, I just assumed her actual family would –”

Ash interrupted before I could continue, “She’s meeting us for dinner later.”

“Dinner?” I asked, “But what about lunch? Are we having lunch?”

Lily whipped her head around, her long auburn hair hitting Ash in the face, as the brick wall formed the archway in front of her, “Some of us already had lunch while we waited two hours for some people to grace us with their presence.”

I rolled my eyes at the back of her head, Fred saw me and sniggered. Al was avoiding having to look at me.

“I think,” I said in a conspiratorial tone to James, “that we, good sir, are on your sister’s hate list right now.”

James laughed at that and threw a hand around my shoulders, “Only because we didn’t share!” he said with a wink.

In the hustle and bustle of Diagon Alley, with James and the rest of our friends and a tiny bit of liquid happiness, I almost managed to forget my mournful grandad, drinking his sadness away. And the fact that my family was extremely good at avoidance. I refocused my attention back to what Fred was saying.

“We can go to Flourish and Blotts first? Professor Thomas wrote the new DADA textbook! I bet it’s loads better than the old one…” I was more interested in Transfiguration than DADA but Dean Thomas was one of the most favourite teachers at Hogwarts. He used to tell us about how he went into the Battle of Hogwarts without a wand, succeeded in tackling a Death Eater, punched him in the face so hard he knocked him out and won his wand the Muggle way. He was big on the practical side of things.

“But, Fred, Quidditch! It’s more important than school books!” James whined and even made Al laugh.

Ash rolled her eyes and said in a mocking tone, “Is there anything more important than Quidditch?”

James pretended to think hard before answering, “I could think of one or two things,” he had a sly smile on his face.

“Please don’t tell me you’re talking about sex!” Lily said in a horrified voice, “I don’t want to hear about your sex life.”

“How can you not hear about his sex life, little Potter?” I teased, “I think all of Gryffindor Tower hears about it on a regular basis. James, maybe you should stop hooking up with screamers.”

“If I stop hooking up with screamers, which I’m not inclined to do, you have to stop hooking up, period.”

“What kind of a stupid deal is that? You still get to shag but I don’t?” I asked, glad to see Lily getting redder and redder. I don’t know what her deal was, it’s not like she hasn’t had boyfriends. And they talked. And James and Al heard them. And I was the one who pretty much stopped Al from literally killing her last boyfriend. James was much more relaxed because he was certain Lily could take care of herself. Of course, he spent a lot of time teaching her useful curses she didn’t yet get to in class.

James squeezed my shoulder, “Well, from what Al tells me, you can get pretty loud, too. So that’s the deal,” he smirked at Al above my head.

“Maybe I should start talking about Al’s manly parts…” I mused.

“Wha—He’s lying, I never!” Al sputtered and glared at James.

“Can you all please stop talking about your sex lives so we can go buy books?” Fred asked, waving his hands around looking like an old lady while doing it. Ash had a smile playing on her lips when she saw him, but she stopped herself from laughing at him.

“But I want to go to Quality Quidditch Supplies first!” James was stubborn as a mule when he set his mind to something. In this case, Quidditch supplies.

“We’ll split up then, okay? So everyone can go wherever,” you could count on Ash to be the problem solver. Lily was nodding her head at that.

“I have to go meet Scorpius anyway,” she said and Al looked at her suspiciously while Ash perked up at the mention of her cousin.

“Scorpius? Why?”

“No reason,” she answered him, but to the rest of us, she gave a meaningful look towards Al. I interpreted it that she was meeting Scorpius to talk about an intervention for Al. But who knows what she wanted to say, I’m not a Legilimens. Everyone else was also nodding along.

“I’ll go to Flourish and Blotts with you, Fred. I need new quills, too,” Ash said, her and Fred waving goodbye to the rest of us. Lily went off in the direction of Pluto’s Planetarium before Al could interrogate her more.

“Al, you coming with us?” James asked him. Al looked awkward which was an unusual look for someone who was usually so cocky.

“Er, I don’t –”

“Of course he’s coming with us, we won’t leave him all alone,” I said before Al could get even more embarrassed. I didn’t want our friendship to be completely ruined. He smiled at my words. “This doesn’t mean we’re getting back together. Just so we’re clear.”

Al nodded, “Okay. But we’ll see about that,” he said with a smirk. James didn’t say anything, though his face had a weird expression. We started walking towards Quality Quidditch Supplies, the guys on each side of me.

“Where are we meeting Dom?” James asked.

“The Sleeping Dragon Inn,” Al said. I tried remembering if I ever heard of it before but drew a blank.

“Never heard of it.” I looked at James to see if he had any idea but he just shrugged his shoulders.

Al opened the door to Quality Quidditch Supplies and said, “It’s near Gringotts, though I’ve never been, I’ve heard about it.”

We browsed through the busy shop. A crowd was forming near one of the windows where a small stage was set up. I noticed a poster Spellotaped near the cashier’s desk and saw that today they were getting the first shipment of the Stormwind with Riz Khan as a special guest. I hoped we would be gone by the time the event started. I didn’t want to be stuck in a crowd of Quidditch fans and journalists.

James was casually strolling around, not looking like he planned to buy anything. “Do you actually need anything from here?” I asked him.

“Nope.”

“Then why did you insist we went here first?”

“Because he’s a crazy Quidditch Captain who likes to hang around in here, why else?” Al quipped in a teasing tone, “And he likes to be contrary.”

“Actually, no. We,” he gestured to the two of us, “need to select new robes for the Gryffindor team. McGonagall sent me a letter.” I wasn’t aware of this until just now but okay.

“You don’t have a team!”

James ran his fingers through his hair, “But we will, baby brother, we will. And we’ll win every game this season. And we’ll do it in new robes.”

Al rubbed his chin in thought, “Want to bet on that?” he asked. I felt left out of the conversation so I drifted off towards the part of the shop where all the Beater gear was displayed. There wasn’t anything that I needed but it was nice to look at all the merchandise on offer.

By the time we selected the new robes, with Al’s silly remarks about the possible designs, most of them offensive to Gryffindor, and buying all the other school stuff, I was so hungry my head started hurting. Or maybe it hurt because of a slight hangover. Who knows? Though I hoped this Sleeping Dragon did not have a sleeping chef.

The inn was nestled between Herman’s Herbarium, a quaint-looking shop overflowing with various plants which looked to be in the process of taking over the place, and Solomon’s Snakes, which, true to its name, sold snakes. I nudged Al towards it so he could greet his fellow snakes. He didn’t look amused. Maybe he was secretly afraid of them. Scorpius would have a laugh at that since that guy actually owned a pet snake. He named her Solaris. Sol for short. Ash told me he sometimes talked with Sol about the meaning of life. I wasn’t concerned with such a philosophical question, but if I was, I doubt I would talk to Ziggy about it.

The Sleeping Dragon Inn had a sign above the entrance of a sleeping, unfriendly-looking dragon and a wizard with a death wish trying to poke it. When James opened the door, the dragon woke up and burnt the wizard to ashes. After Al closed the door behind us, both the dragon and the wizard went back to how they were. The interior looked like a cave, the only light came from the small fire pits on top of the tables. Almost all of them were taken, so I decided to take that as a good sign with regards to the quality of the food.

James was the tallest out of the three of us so he was the first to spot our friends at a table some ways back, near what looked like a real dragon sleeping, but I assumed it wasn’t real. That would be illegal. Not to mention dangerous.

I could see Dom, her silvery hair a stark contrast to the dark cave. She had a sneaky look to her, and my suspicion of something sneaky afoot was only confirmed when I saw Lily trying to inconspicuously spy on someone sitting alone at a nearby table. Ash and Fred were in deep conversation, but I was too far away to hear anything they might’ve said. Scorpius was there as well, looking his usual moodyhot self. I had to invent a new word for his particular brand of hotness.

“Who are we spying on?” I said as I sat down next to Dom, James and Al following. She shushed me. Scorpius snorted.

“We are not spying on anyone,” he said with a significant look thrown Dom’s way, “But Dominique is stalking Teddy Lupin.”

“Teddy is here?” James asked as he turned around and saw the guy sitting alone at the table. I presumed that was Teddy, but his back was turned towards us so I couldn’t tell.

“Don’t draw his attention!” Dom whispered but it was futile. James was already up and walking towards Teddy. “I’m not stalking him,” she huffed, “I just happen to know he always goes for dinner here after work.” Teddy Lupin worked at Gringotts, but the exact nature of his job was secret. The Goblins liked their secrets.

“That is practically the definition of stalking!” Ash said before she waved her hand at a waiter.

“It’s not stalking if he told me!”

“Dom, you’re my cousin and I love you, but isn’t Teddy pretty much out of bounds? He’s with Victoire,” Fred had a concerned expression on his face. He most likely thought Victoire would kill Dom. She was currently not working anywhere due to her anger management issues. It seems that hexing a parent for, and I quote, ‘being a fucking Devil’s Snare of a parent’ is frowned upon.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Freddie. Just leave it, okay?” Dom was nervous, I could tell by the way she twirled her hair around her finger, untwirled it and then twirled it again. James was coming over with Teddy, who was sporting spiky platinum blonde hair today. He looked like an older Scorpius. Which made sense since they were related. Dom grabbed Scorpius’ hand, I guess for show because they sure as hell weren’t together, and threw him a silencing look just before James and Teddy joined us.

Lily beamed at them, “Teddy! We didn’t see you over there! Want to join us?” He sat down opposite Dom, James next to him, and the table expanded so we could all fit without anyone getting an elbow to the head. Before Teddy could say anything, the waiter came over, a hipster with a beard and slicked backed hair. He had a moving dragon tattoo on his neck, but when the tattooed dragon saw us, it hid under the waiter’s shirt, just the eyes remaining visible. It must’ve been a scaredy-dragon.

“I’ll have a cider and – What?” Ash was looking at me with a disapproving look, “The Firewhisky wore off, so I’m going to ignore your looks.” I looked at the menu but there was just too much stuff on offer and I was dying from hunger, my stomach making uncomfortable sounds, “Just give me the largest meal you have,” I told the waiter. He looked like he was about to laugh at me but he stopped himself. Everyone else placed their orders, and all of them ordered some kind of alcohol so I don’t get why I was the only one that got a judging look from Ash, but okay.

“What are you lot up to?” Teddy asked though he was only looking at Dom. And at her hand still covering Scorpius’. Something was going on that I wasn’t aware of. That was fine with me, I wasn’t interested in other people’s drama. Apparently, some people, like Fred, were very interested.

“What’s up with you and Victoire? Are you still together? Are you getting married? Or maybe you’re getting a dog together?” Fred bombarded Teddy with questions, not even Dom kicking him under the table helped stop him.

“We’re going to The Howler after dinner. You should go with us, Teddy!” Dom said and winked at him. Teddy blushed. I stopped paying attention and started fidgeting around, trying not to think about food and ignoring the tasty smells from nearby tables. Where in the seven hells was that waiter? James grinned at me and offered me a chocolate bar. I devoured it.

“You could’ve given me this sooner! I almost died,” I said as I chewed.

“Should we start carrying around bits of food so you don’t go mental when you get hungry?”

Crumpling the wrapper and burning it above our table’s fire pit, I grumbled, “Is that even a real question?”

When the waiter finally came, it became apparent that their largest meal was something I was right to order because everyone else got the tiniest portions imaginable. Who spends time making food only for it to be tiny and eaten in two bites? I got some kind of a hipster burger that was popular these days. It was tasty but I think I would’ve found everything tasty by this point.

Teddy looked at his wristwatch and made a face, “So, The Howler? I don’t think I can go with you. Victoire is probably waiting for me at home and I’ve got work tomorrow –”

“Fuck work!” Surprisingly, this came from Fred.

“Live a little, Teddy!” Ash said and poked him.

I got up from the table, cast a shrinking spell on my shopping bags and stuffed them into my small going-out-bag. “I don’t care what you do, Teddy, but we’re going now because I’m in the mood for drinking and dancing like a Hippogriff and not giving a fuck about anything, so get moving! Dinner parties are boring.”

Dom shot up like a spring, dragging Scorpius behind her. That seemed to do the trick in convincing Teddy because he spiked up his hair even more and followed them. I stopped by the bar to order a round of Serpentgin shots for everyone to start us off before we left.

The Howler was a popular nightclub, settled in what used to be a warehouse, at a corner where Diagon Alley meets Knockturn Alley. It was packed all the time, regardless of the time of day. Often, there would be concerts by famous groups like the Eclipse or The Wayward Wyverns, but I preferred it on nights like these, with a DJ and the mood-enhancing fog it was famous, and loved, for. The Howler was owned by an enigmatic Potions Master who perfected the fog and had an appreciation for good music. She saw it as a great way to combine both of her passions.

In the half-darkness of the club, with the beat of the music making my body move to the tune, and the red lights, it was easy to let myself go. We were dancing in a loosely formed circle but I soon noticed both Dom and Teddy were missing from the group, Fred and Ash were in one of the booths nursing beers and looking sulky for some reason and James went off in the direction of the bar to get us more drinks.

With the lights pulsing everything looked like it was happening in slow motion or my head was just hazy but I could’ve sworn I saw Lily snogging Scorpius in front of me but she was now walking away so I had no idea what I saw. I locked eyes with Al, his green ones giving me a piercing stare that made me remember how good we were together and I felt myself letting even more go.

It was just me on the dance floor, my eyes closed now, bumping into other people and dancing. Soon, I felt a familiar set of arms around my waist, making me tingle, knowing all the spots they needed to press. I turned my head around and half opened my eyes, green ones meeting mine, our heads moving closer, still in slow motion, and lips finally meeting. He was rushing now, like I was air and he needed to breathe, his tongue parting my lips, dancing around my mouth in a way he knew made me weak. We parted, his soft lips travelling down my neck, teasing, probing, making me crazy.

Opening my eyes fully, I saw James standing next to us with drinks levitating in front of him with a look I couldn’t read through the haze. I disentangled myself from Al, rolled my eyes and laughed everything off.

Stumbling a bit because of the crowd, I took a drink from James, standing on my toes so I could shout in his ear above the music, “A moment of weakness!” He smiled at that, a weird smile I couldn’t decipher, moving his head closer to me, he nodded and said, “You’re corrupting my brother!” With that, he moved over to Al, who looked like he was high and they talked about something I couldn’t hear. Most likely me.

I wanted another drink so I went to the bar, a piece of rock that glowed from within. While I waited for the barman to notice me, someone slithered in beside me.

A husky voice I hadn’t expected to hear so soon drawled, “Are you stalking me, Quinn Jones?” Logan Anderson was standing next to me, in all his hot badassery, casually leaning on the bar, smoking a cigarette.

I raised my eyebrows at him, “I could ask you the same question, Logan Anderson.”

He smirked as he took a drag from his cigarette, “You look particularly hot tonight.” I laughed at that because I was in my usual black jeans and a black T-shirt.

“I look hot all the time,” I said winking at him. The barman noticed me and I ordered another shot.

“Make that two,” Logan said and threw a Galleon at the bar to pay. I noticed he had nice, long fingers that looked nimble. The barman nodded, pushing two shots towards us. We clanked our glasses and drank them.

Logan moved even closer to me, his arm around my waist now, and asked, “So, how about that dance?”

“Actually –,” I wanted to tell him I was here with my friends so I turned around to point at them and saw no one was there except James grinding against a girl, looking like he was about to shag her in the middle of the club.

I took Logan’s arm and led him to the dance floor. He was quick to pull me closer to him, dancing with me, my arms around his neck and I was taken over by the beat. His dark blond bangs were in his eyes and I moved them away. I felt light and alive with someone so different. He smelled like smoke and tasted like tequila. His lips were rough, the slight stubble brushing against my cheek and I traced my finger along his scar. A tantalising song came on and I turned around, my back to him, his arms all over me. I could feel him through my clothes, he was kissing my ear and I had to turn around and crash my lips to his. I bit him and he bit back. I could taste blood and it was enough to make me go crazy.

“Let's go to your place,” I whispered to his ear and I didn’t have to repeat myself. He took my hand and we exited the club, my friends forgotten. When we were outside, he started kissing me again, my back against the wall of the club. I put my hand on his chest and stopped him, “Your place, now.” Without anything further, I could feel the pull of Apparation and we were inside what I presumed was his flat.

I woke up, my head feeling like it was trampled on by a horse. The unfamiliar grey sheets were tangled around me, Logan lying next to me, smoking another cigarette.

“Hey.”

I threw him a look and started laughing, “Hey? That’s all? While I’m naked in your bed? You’re hilarious!”

He didn’t say anything to that, his eyes clouded over, and he sat up, leaned down above me, getting close and hovering, looking at me with dark eyes, and it was enough that I tangled my fingers in his hair and kissed him, not being able to wait until he made the first move.

Later, I got up and realised it was the afternoon. Throwing on his shirt, I went to the kitchen. Logan followed me, naked, his muscles rippling as he walked. He was distracting and a smile tugged at my lips as I remembered the night before.

“You want breakfast?”

“You mean, lunch? Definitely.”

He opened his fridge and turned around, “I only have cereal and tequila,” he said with a frown. I shrugged my shoulders.

“Cereal is fine.”

We ate in silence. When we finished he looked at me and I could see a faint blush in his cheeks.

“Er, you want to hang out? Or, I mean, not hang out, like, go on a date?”

He just couldn’t leave it at a fun one night stand, could he?

I moved closer, kissed him, “This was awesome, but no.”

He looked confused, “But, I… We had fun, right? It was good for you?”

Rolling my eyes, I started dressing myself, “It was great, but I don’t want to go on a date with you, sorry.”

He smirked, “Okay. But maybe we could do this again?”

I winked at him, “Maybe,” and with that, I left his flat and exited his building. I was somewhere in London. I waved my wand and the Knight Bus appeared. I sat by the front entrance and closed my eyes until we came to my house.

It was almost getting dark by now and I could see there was a light on in the living room. I opened the door and was met by three angry voices.

“Where –”

“With whom –”

“What the hell!”

Ethan, James and grandad were staring at me like I grew a third head.

“Where the fuck were you?” grandad yelled. Ethan was looking murderous. James was frowning.

“Er –”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were going off with someone?” it was James’ turn to yell.

“Well, you were kind of busy, you know, practically shagging in the middle of the club so I didn’t want to intrude!”

“Damn it, Quinn! You can’t just go off like that,” Ethan said.

Grandad waved his hands around and said, “Enough! So where were you?”

“I was with Logan Anderson,” as I said this Ethan looked like he was about to throw up, “Ethan’s friend, you know? He introduced us the other day.” I couldn’t stop grinning even with all the yelling.

As I took off my Converse, I nodded to James, “Come on, let's go hang out.” We went to my room and lay on my bed. He was silent.

“So, you were worried about little old me?” I teased him to break the silence.

“A little,” he admitted. I turned on my side so I could look at him.

“Aww, that’s cute. You can’t take it back, you know?”

He grinned, “Actually, I wasn’t –”

I poked him and interrupted before he could finish the sentence, “No takebacks!”

#fanfic #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter #james potter #next gen #the art of being nonchalant

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letterstochristopher · 7 years

Text

Letters to Chris. April 16th. Day 8.

Hey Buddy,

I made it to Jeff City yesterday. It feels so good to be home. Yet it hurts like hell to be home. You’re everywhere. Nikea and I slept in your old room. Used your old bathroom. I’m sitting in your chair at the table right now. Your pictures surround me. I can see exactly where you sat the last time you were home and sent me a pic of Carter playing with his toys. Everywhere I look holds a memory. I ache. I feel numb. I feel empty. I feel lost. I feel hopeless.

I felt semi-normal yesterday. The morning was rough (lets just say airports are the worst place to be when you’re constantly on the verge of tears), but the second I saw my friend Courtney during my brief stop in Kansas City, I felt better. She took me out to lunch. We talked about you and I cried, but then I was able to laugh. And I actually laughed a lot for a few short hours. We ran errands together in Leawood before she dropped me off at Union Station to take the train to Jeff City. It was easy to pretend it was a normal day, that you were still here and I had never moved away. That the last week had just been a terrible dream. I can’t tell you how good it was to feel normal, even though I knew it wouldn’t last. It is so wonderful to be back in Missouri, and at the moment I cannot imagine going back to Denver, away from everyone, to the apartment where I found out you died.

Dad left for Minnesota this morning. He met up with Katrina and together they called Mom, Nikea and me. It was so great to talk to her, and she was so happy to meet Dad. Mom has talked to her several times since Saturday, and I reached out to her last night and we texted back and forth for hours. We adore her, Chris. She loves you so much, and we are so grateful she was there for you. Someone to love you the way you deserved. To make you laugh, even though your heart was broken. To go see movies with you (she told us how you went to see “Logan”) and buy you birthday gifts. To go hiking with you, cook for you, make plans with you. Katrina’s struggling so much. I mean, she didn’t even know what happened to you until Mom called her Sunday afternoon. The cops couldn’t tell her anything. So she waited. And waited. Until the police department told Mom how she had called saying you had sent her that goodbye text while she was driving to you, and how they advised her to not go to your apartment. I hate to know she hurts, but everything I’ve learned proves grief takes residence where love lived. She grieves because she loves you. We grieve because we love you. Love you. Present tense. We loved you before you were born. We loved you all of your life. And we will love you all of ours.

You’re sitting here to my left. Not you. Your ashes. All that is left of my baby brother’s body. I never understood ashes. The desire to have them close was just weird to me. “It’s not them,” I’d say. “We aren’t our bodies.” I just never got the need to keep them. But now I can’t let you out of my sight. I keep hugging the box, squeezing it close to me. I can’t hold you, so it’s all I have. Mom said we should get an artillery box to keep your ashes in. You wouldn’t have wanted an urn, but we think you would like an artillery box. You arrived home before I did. As we talked with Dad and Katrina on speakerphone, I asked if he was picking up your ashes. I know he’s going to your apartment to get your things tomorrow morning, and meet up with your old coworkers in the afternoon, but I wasn’t sure if he was going grab you, as well, or if they were still mailing you since the Funeral Home was not in Alexandria. Mom looked up at me, and told me you were already here. I broke down, Chris. Mom walked over and we held each other while Nikea took the phone into another room as my body racked with sobs. Mom hadn’t told me you are here because she knew it would hurt. She didn’t think I’d want to know, that I wasn’t ready to see it. But I needed to see you, to hold you. It’s odd how comforting I find your ashes. Seeing your name on the box destroys me, along with your drivers license they sent. It makes me nauseous to think of you in this box. You’re not supposed to fit into a little box. You’re taller than me. But I can’t let it go. I can’t stop holding you. Poor Mom. When it was delivered, she had no idea what it was. The name of the cremation place is “Forest Lawn,” so she thought Dad had bought something heavy for the garden. Then she saw “cremains” and for a split second thought they were someone’s pet’s remains delivered to the wrong address. Then it hit her, and she shattered. Dad wasn’t here, so the UPS woman hugged Mom as she sobbed. She just didn’t realize your ashes were going to be here so soon. I don’t obviously know the UPS woman, but I’m so grateful for her, that she was there to hold Mom when Dad couldn’t. But now you’re here, sitting by me again. It’s not your tall, lanky, warm frame that I can wrap my arms around, but it’s all we have. We were going to spread your ashes, but I can’t bear the thought of not having you here. You’re home. I need you to stay home. This is where you belong. With us.

I read through all the texts you sent to Mom. It was hard reading your last one. Surreal. Mom’s response was just as heartbreaking, begging you to call her back, that everything will get better. She promised. I can’t imagine her panic. But by that time you were already gone. I forwarded the pictures you sent her to my phone. One is my wallpaper. It’s a selfie you took with Carter on your couch. You look so happy. You were obviously laughing. It looks like you were wearing a sweatshirt that said, “Breckendrige.” So I texted you last night to ask if you got it from Colorado. I know you’ll never respond. I’m not sure why I did it. I just need to be able to text you. And I kept looking at the couch you were sitting on. It was the couch you took your life on. The couch they found you laying on. Mom said the landlord removed it so Dad wouldn’t have to see it, and that thought ripped my insides into shreds. Why did they need to remove it? I know why, but I can’t live with that thought…the thought of you hurt. After all, it was me that kissed your boo boos when you were a baby. In your other texts, you were cracking jokes. When Mom had asked how Carter was a couple weeks back, you responded, “Oh just peachy. Someone found the Oreos.” Peachy? I had never heard you use that word. It almost made me laugh.

I even went through your Facebook. So, so many people have posted on your wall. Heartache. Disbelief. It makes us so happy to know how loved you were by people we didn’t even know. Did you realizenhow many people loved you, Chris?? Would it have even mattered? The thing that messes with me the most is your status you posted right before you sent the goodbye text to Mom. A funny observation about Ford’s logo:

April 8 at 6:18pm "Anybody ever notice that the “f” has an “e”… periodical table of elements “Fe” is iron…. clever ford.. built tough. And yes I’m bored!!!“

What the hell happened in the span of a few minutes? How could you be posting a lighthearted Facebook status one minute, and kill yourself the next? I just can’t understand. I keep staring at that photo you posted with the status. Of your hand, holding the logo. That huge hand of yours. Your long, skinny legs. I don’t fucking get it, Chris. And I know I never will. I will always wonder why. The frustration, the anger, the agony make me need to scream. I sat here and screamed, just because I didn’t know what else to do. Like all suicide survivors do when we are left to pick up the pieces when you leave. You know that’s what we are called, right? Suicide survivors. You’d think that would be the name of someone who attempted suicide and failed. But no. That’s us who you left behind. We are forever a part of that category now. You chose to end your pain, and left us with even worse. A box of ashes. Endless questions and regrets. All of your things we have to go through. The memory of that night. The thoughts of your final moments. Chris, did you even begin to realize how much this would hurt us??

Obviously I lied the other day, when I said I wasn’t angry with you. I didn’t think I was. But I am. You left us. You abandoned me, when I promised I would never abandon you. Your big sister. Who held you when you were a baby. Who changed your diapers, wiped away your tears, held you when you cried. Who always believed in you, rooted for you, protected you when you were too little to care for yourself and tried to protect you when you grew up. You left us all. We understand why. I myself understand the darkness, the fear, the heartache. But I’m still angry. You’re supposed to stay with your sisters. With your Mom and Dad. To love us until the end of our lives. To be at Nikea’s wedding next year. To watch Carter grow up. To share our joy when we have children, to laugh at Dad’s awful jokes, to be here when we cry. To tease Mom when she picks a bad movie for us to watch just because she likes the actors in it. To open Christmas gifts one by one, taking hours. Celebrating birthdays. Visiting me in Colorado like you promised so we could teach you to snowboard. You left us with this huge hole in our hearts that we can’t even begin to heal. Now our lives will forever be divided into “before” and “after.” Who are we going to be after? How will this define us? Will we find a new normal? Will I wake up one day and not feel like I want to die, too? You forced us into this. When you decided you couldn’t live with pain anymore, you didn’t think about the pain you’d give us. And Chris, this pain is too much. I don’t know to survive. But I have to for Mom. And Nikea. And Dad. And Bethany. And Clay. And Katrina. So I don’t have a choice but to keep breathing. We have to stay together so we can help each other pick up the pieces. But did you know that siblings of suicide victims are up to 400 times more likely to commit suicide, as well? Did you know that? Of course Nikea and I won’t do that. But that just shows the intensity of the pain you leave us with.

But somehow I still am breathing. I didn’t think I could get through Saturday night, but I somehow woke up Sunday morning. I didn’t think I could ever look at pictures of you. But now I can, even if it hurts. I didn’t think I could look at your Facebook. But I did. I didn’t think I could see your ashes. But they are tucked here by my side. I didn’t think I could read your obituary. But I did. I didn’t think I would still be breathing a week later, but I still am. It hurts. It hurts. I’m still here. But it hurts. I’ve never had to fight so hard.

But…I see glimpses of you everywhere. That day when you told me to look after Mom. The songs on the radio when Clay randomly switched off NPR (which we literally never do) about holding on when times were tough. Seriously, two songs in a row about holding on. My British Uber drivers…I’ve never had an Uber driver from the UK, and since you’ve passed I’ve had two. You knew how much I love the UK. I think this was your looking out when you knew I didn’t want to be stuck in the car with a stranger. Talking about my favorite country to these two helped brighten my day for just a few minutes. Some people may think it’s silly that I think that you arranged that. But I don’t care. Then last night, while browsing Reddit, I just randomly decided to look at someone’s post history, and a tattoo saying “You will join me in paradise,” popped up. So I hear you, Little Brother. Thank you, thank you, for all the little signs you give me that you’re okay. More than okay. And that you’re still here with us. I don’t know how to get through. I don’t know if I’ll ever be the same. But I do know you are with me. And that keeps me breathing.

Love you, Buddy.

#love #suicide #survival #siblings #grief #death #hope #heaven #god

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