#which ive already missed too much of because i can’t exist in the morning | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

warmau · 3 years

Text

not knowing what to say isn't a foreign feeling to you, yet when you come face to face with ten outside his apartment on this summer morning, you are almost too petrified to even string a sentence together

he's really just........leaving

ten shines a big smile and from the open door you hear kun's exasperated voice asking why in the world ten is packing up his entire existence for a program that's going to last two months

"you look nervous"

ten jokes first, running a hand through his dark hair which he's spent the colder months growing out

"im the one going to a different country and yet you look like you might turn green"

his laughter tickles you and you force yourself out of the weird, frozen feeling, for his sake

"im not nervous - it's just this is our first summer apart since what, highschool?"

ten leans against the frame of his door and lets kun scuttle past him with a scowl

yangyang and hendery bounce after him with ten's insane amount of luggage

"yeah but it's two months, not two decades. plus....you know how much ive always wanted to do this."

right. and here you are being selfish.

"of course, i mean it's literally the birthplace of ballet."

"technically that's italy, but france is a close second."

"i hate you"

ten pulls you into his arms before you register that this is your goodbye hug

"i'll miss you too."

kun drives everyone to the airport, he complains and cries the most.

sicheng gives you a knowing look when ten takes your wrist in his hand and tucks your arm between his.

you ignore the look, and focus on ten. on him. and then - when the switchboard pops up his flight info - he gives a bubbly and excited

"ive gotta go!"

and then summer starts, just as he's gone

"so when are you going to tell him you're in love with him."

sicheng brings the big gulp he stole from hendery up to his lips and you keep your eyes closed behind your sunglasses

"sorry, yukhei's not my type."

"you know im not talking about yukhei."

you dig your fingers into the sand beside your towel, the beach is already so noisy so you pretend you don't hear sicheng, but you still feel him looking.

you guess a part of it is true, you love ten. who doesn't?

is that the core of the issue then, that ten is so available and loveable and charming, that it makes him also unattainable?

or at least, unattainable to you.

you hear your phone buzz inside your bag and sicheng is being dragged into the water by the rowdy rest of your friend group

it could be a text from ten?

your mind excites, but you put out that fire

it's probably just spam.

ten does text and even video call the first two or so weeks while he's away

you get blurry photos of food at cafes and the eiffel tower, random fancy looking dogs being walked on the small, cramped streets

ten's connection is kind of bad - but he still gleams through the fuzzy facetime camera as he shows you around the room the dance academy has provided

pangs of his happiness and excitement seep into you

and then there's the first sign of worry comes knocking and twirling through his door

a group of other dancers, all beautiful and strong, asking ten - from the limited amount of french you catch - if he's done, they're waiting for him to go to a show with them

ten gives you a scattered, quick goodbye. he says he'll video call again.

all you get is an update text almost five days later that has no pictures attached just a;

im ok - by the way i totally miss eating hot chips with you at midnight. ive had like a banana smoothie and that's it.

sicheng and kun are the first to pick up on the shift, you are quietly withdrawing to yourself

nothing makes you laugh

ten doesn't reply to your question about what the paris metro looks like, actually he doesn't even read it

kun nearly tugs hendery's ear red when he shares a snap story of ten pressed cheek to cheek with his new dancer friends in front of the louvre when you're in the same room

the thing is you are not jealous of any of them.

you don't go around trying to find their facebooks, clicking on their instagram profiles, comparing you and them.

you are just sad to your bones that they will understand ten in such a way that no matter how long you two have been friends

you will never, truly know

"you're his best friend"

sicheng reasons on the phone as you stare up at the wall above your desk, littered in old pictures and clippings and your gaze catches on the ticket stub from ten's first-ever solo dance performance

it had been a talent show in highschool.

it had been the first time you saw ten perform outside the corner of his cramped bedroom or the glimpse you caught meeting up with him outside the dance academy

he's in paris, he's with people who love it so much more than i do - they love dancing like he loves dancing.

i cannot understand that.

"i think you were right sicheng."

"im always right."

i do love him. when am i going to tell him?

you hang up after sicheng has his i told you so moment and stare at your screen

a notification flashes across the screen and it's a text from ten

the trains here are blue. i miss you.

you want to reply right away, so you open the message and start typing

i miss you too. actually, i think i finally understand why people who are in love are so hurt when they're suddenly left without their other half and ten you are my o-

you delete the sentence and make a face

nice. i miss you too.

you don't send it - or at least you forget to because your fingers are shaking and you exit out of the messaging app before checking

abandoning your phone, you turn on your side and stretch your hand out to reach the edge of the bed

there's enough space between you and it for someone to fit, so you remember the countless times ten has laid there

smiling and laughing and tickling your face with his sleeping breath

you can't even recall a conversation because there have been hundreds

suddenly you feel a warmth creep up your skin

hundreds of opportunities to tell him - and each time i chose to be a coward.

"you should write him a letter."

"this isn't a movie, what - you think im going to write a letter and he'll jump on the first plane from france to come to my side?"

sicheng cocks an eyebrow as if to say it is a possibility

"no. im not writing a letter. i'll suck it up and confess when he comes back."

you somehow end up writing a letter.

maybe because you really do want to just send a long text spilling your mushy, soft, pink feelings

but you know that's just not what ten deserves

he deserves (and you do too, but you won't admit this) a face to face confession

so you start retelling the moments that flutter up in your heart whenever you think about him

how he makes the room brighter when he's in it, how he dances with every bone, joint, muscle in his body - how he approaches it with no inhibition and true devotion that paints its way across his face when he practices, how he fits perfectly into the hole that grows more massive every day you don't see him

standing there across the hall - coffee in hand, gym bag with his scuffed dance shoes

by the time you're finished - the letter is longer than you imagine. there are parts crossed and scribbled out, repetitive thoughts, and stupid little comments and metaphors that compare ten to flowers or clouds or anything else pretty in nature

you cringe at yourself, but you do feel better

it could be your outline for when the time to actually tell him comes.

you shove the papers into an envelope, write ten's name and the address of his parisian dance academy just for the irony

and then make the mistake of letting it sit on your desk

in a matter of days, it has been swallowed by a bunch of other papers and trinkets

and when you're rushing around your room trying to get ready for another adventure to the beach - sicheng clinks the lollipop against his teeth and fishes it out - curious at the stamp

"do you want me to mail this?"

he asks and you're trying to find those sunglasses you literally just bought and grumble that sure, whatever - you'll meet him out by kun's car.

halfway to the beach, you turn in horror from the passenger seat to look at sicheng in the back

your eyes like saucers and a tremor in a voice

"wait. what did you ask me back in my room?"

sicheng's big smile is red from the candy, "your letter to ten."

and there comes the second pang of dread and worry that takes the overwhelming shape of your summer

oh my god - oh my god - maybe the letter won't even make it. i mean it's a letter to france....it'll take at least a month to get there. wait - it probably didn't even have a stamp on it. oh god maybe the address was totally off and some poor stranger is about to be subjected to my very incoherent feelings.....

every day you look at your phone and there's no texts or emails or anything from ten

his social media has gone quiet too

you throw your dignity down a well and ask all your friends if they've heard from him and they all scratch their heads and say no, it's been maybe a week since they did

your stress then turns from your love letter to a possibility that ten is in trouble

he kind of thrives from attention so it is very weird that he's so off-grid

you decide finally, on the day that it's been exactly a month and one day since he was gone, to call

you hover over the facetime button - should i text him first?

with a yelp, you nearly drop and crack your screen when ten's name flashes across the screen

you settle your breathing and tell yourself he hasn't gotten the letter, there's no way - since when has snail mail been efficient?

you answer and are about to ask what's up when ten waves something into the camera

"i got your letter."

maybe you go into rigor. because ten's eyebrows knit and he asks if your connection is ok, you aren't saying anything

you don't know if it's just because you miss him so much that you're able to drag yourself back into consciousness or because you are curious, in the depths of your mind, what his reaction will be

"o-oh. right- i-"

ten frowns and you think it's coming. the rejection is coming.

"is that why you didn't answer my text? you sent the letter instead?"

"your text?"

"yeah, i said i missed you and you read it and never responded."

a peek of a smile stretches on his pretty, bare face

"i never thought you were so romantic to send a letter."

something burns on your skin but you just try to make sure your hand holding the phone doesn't shake

"im not - i just, it was dumb sicheng said i should write it because - i don't know. he's the romantic, blame him."

"you're the one that said i could make a shy tulip open its petals with my laughter."

"oh god"

that smile turns into a grin

"and that my dancing manages to cast a spell on you."

you hide your expression by turning your face

"are you going to re-read the whole thing to me?"

"should i, you're so poetic."

"don't make fun of me."

your voice is serious this time, small and huddled, because you mean it

worse than being told he doesn't feel the same is to be ridiculed for holding him in your heart like this for so long

"im not making fun of you, the letter is beautiful."

you still can't look at him, it's so ten to be kind before he's cruel

"i could never write something like that - so i thought i would just call you and say it."

you don't need to love song yourself into telling me you just see me as a friend

"i love you."

your head whips back so fast your phone drops and you curse and ten can't help but laugh

"sorry, sorry -what did you say?"

he runs a hand through his dark hair, the lighting in his room is dim and illuminates him perfectly

a large white t-shirt engulfs his slender shoulders as he sits up against the wall

"i love you. i know it's corny to confess over facetime, but im guessing it's more forgivable than text?"

a bubble bursts in your stomach and it makes you feel lightheaded and inhumanely blissful all at once

"i love you too."

"more then friends right, because your letter had this part about kissing im very interested in."

you bite back your lip and nod, both embarrassed that he'd bring that part up too but also seeing ten - your close friend, your secret love - talk about kissing you

makes some of the neurons in your body go haywire

"good, i seriously was scared you might have been pranking me with thi-"

"i would never. im not hendery."

"oh how are they, ive been super busy with the practice for a review so i haven't talked to anyone."

another thing you love about him, he keeps everyone in. he leaves none of his friends behind. he pretends like he couldn't have a care in the world, but he cares more than anyone else.

"he's ok, he almost crashed kun's car yesterday."

ten shrugs, "expected."

and like that - everything is still somehow the same. there is no awkward phase after you've talked about your feelings for each other at all.

because your love doesn't come as a one hit punch because ten is beautiful, although he is to an unfair degree

it comes from the experience of being around him. having so much of him. maybe even getting a little addicted.

you do talk more on the phone, no more long pauses even though ten's practices get more grueling and you tell him to take his time to rest

but he's sweaty on the practice room floor - texting you - telling you everything is sore but the thought of seeing you soon makes it all better

it's three days before ten is scheduled to fly back that he has his review and you are biting your fingernails waiting for him to tell you about it

when you get a youtube link at like three in the morning - you click it and someone has recorded ten's performance

somehow, he looks more graceful than you've ever seen him

a new text comes in when it's almost done

'i think i did well - can i get a reward?'

'you'll get a really good one when you're home'

he sends a winking emoji and you can't fall asleep after because you wonder what he's expecting, you'd meant a kiss - had he meant more?

you wouldn't mind that at all.

xiaojun is being pulled away from the conveyer belt by kun and hendery is asking sicheng for a sip of his starbucks as you all wait for ten's plane to land in the airport lobby

you two have not told anyone - mostly because you know there will be endless questions you won't have answers too and sicheng might literally never let you live it down

so you wait for ten to be here so you can suffer together

you see the gates from his flight open and sicheng mutters that you look like you're going to pop like a goddamn balloon

for once in your life, you don't snide back at him, folding your hands in front of you and tippy-toeing to see over the crowd

and then, like seeing him for the first time all the years ago when you first met, ten comes out

hendery and xiaojun try to go for a running jump, but the older members hold them back because everyone can sense whats coming

you dash toward him and ten doesn't stay still either - you two collide so hard it almost hurts, but you don't care at all

ten's duffel bag falls over his shoulder and your hands are wrapped around his neck before he can even say your name

it's a first kiss that couldn't be more characteristically fit for you

sweet, big smiles tasted on lips, and interrupted by none other than your group of friends gasping in a symphony of shock

except for sicheng - he knew

ten tastes like you imagine he would taste, maybe because in smaller ways you've already had doses of the sunshine that radiates off him before

he keeps his hands wrapped around your waist as he looks down into your eyes

"mon amour"

"is that really all you learned in france?"

"ummm yeah, i don't know how to say let's get out of here and back to my place even though im pretty sure someone said that to me at some point."

you pout, "don't try to make me jealous."

"never!"

ten chuckles as you press your face into his neck and hug him close

the only way you get pulled apart is because someone (kun) reminds you all you're still at the PUBLIC airport

the drive back is a frenzy and everyone wants to know everything and not about just you two - because you're "two" now - but about france and traveling and ten's dancing

like you'd sensed - nothing has really changed

just this time, your fingers are locked in tens. and the warmth you longed for in silence is suddenly all out in the open.

funnily enough, you and ten don't ever write letters to each other again.

ten just doesn't like writing - it takes too much sitting down

and you are horrified everytime he fishes your love confession out of the memory box and dangles it above your head as leverage

it's how he convinced you into adopting the first cat. now you two have three.

so when you and him are deciding the best way to let all your friends know about your upcoming event you cross out mailed invitations

"we can make an email list."

your legs are thrown over his thighs on the sofa and he's resting the laptop on you them

"let's just make an instagram post: wedding in our backyard on thursday - you're invited."

ten pinches his nose

"we are not having a backyard wedding. we could not fit everyone in my dance company into it anyway."

you play with your engagement band and sigh

"fine, fine. what about.....we just call everyone and tell them. if we call kun right now he'll let all of the world know by the end of the week."

ten agrees with a hum, but then starts typing and you lean over to see

"bulk wedding invites? you're giving in?"

he closes the laptop and tosses it to the side, easily and gently pushing you down onto your back to hover over you with a small content sound

"i am. but we don't even have to write the letters - some company will do it for us."

his lips are inches from yours and all of a sudden you're young again - waiting to kiss him for the first time at that airport

"you know we'll still have to write vows right."

he is about to kiss you, he's so close and your eyes are closing

"i'll just read your letter outl-"

"TEN NO!"

he laughs, laughs until he finally does kiss you and then laughs again when he pulls back - the overflowing amount of love that exists in that moment is potent

you tell him to get over that old thing, but he shakes his head

"never, when again in all the lives i live is someone going to say i could make a shy tulip open its petals with my laughter?"

#i know his bday was in february please im still working through them cries #ten au #ten imagines #ten scenarios #nct au #nct imagines #nct scenarios #wayv imagines #wayv au #wayv scenarios #sfw #nostolgic!au #ten #member: ten #im sicheng through all this

363 notes · View notes

kenmei · 3 years

Text

-ˏˋ FOREVER N THEN SOME! ˊˎ-

♡ gn!reader x kozume kenma

cw: pinch of angst (to fluff !!!), romance, slice of life, crying, established relationship!au, timeskip!au

synopsis: in which he’s actually more traditional than he leads on

wc: 2000+

notes from mei!

ive had this idea rattling around my skull for the longest time

sixteen and a handshake. a standard, normal handshake, but still awkward.

you remember how his hand perfectly fit with yours—how his palms were searing hot as they met with your much colder ones.

you remember him, as a second-year, as the setter for the team you cheered for from the stands. you remember his flushed cheeks when you kissed him on the cheek for a first time, watching as his brain malfunctioned as the rosy hues on his face spread to his neck and the tips of his ears.

you remember him, as the captain, worn out and exhausted at your doorstep.

you recall how he slumped onto you, making you somewhat drag him to your room. half because he really was that tired, and half for his own amusement.

you know him. you know him a bit too well and it’s both a blessing and curse.

because you wonder if he’s finally grown out of it—of this.

looking at the empty spot beside you, you think that, perhaps, he really has—the signs are staring right at you. lately, you’ve been sleeping in a cold bed, waking up to yet again another empty penthouse as you figure he’s at the office again.

(you hope he’s at the office, at least).

texts replies are always hours apart. it seems like he’s been doubling up on streams. friday’s that have always been reserved for two since forever, have only had one person attending these past few weeks.

this is sad, your chest clenches dejectedly at yet another morning where it’s only you. looking around, a part of you wishes that kenma’s actually here, that any second now, he’s going to emerge from his game room, rubbing his eyes tiredly as he scratches his tummy.

because even if you both don’t talk as much as you used to, it’s enough for you simply when he’s present. it’s enough for you when he mutters a good morning, waddling past you to go make his coffee before sitting on the couch.

it’s enough for you when he’s here.

the absolute bare minimum can make you the happiest, but you wonder if even that is too much.

twenty-four and you’re still overthinking.

“just talk to him!” your friends say, but truly it isn’t that easy. even if you’ve both promised to be better at communicating, something about this whole situation makes communication feel so much more difficult.

“you’ve been together for so long, you both still aren’t married?” if you’re being honest, it does bother you sometimes and you wonder if maybe, you should just get on one knee instead.

but you don’t. you don’t because you and kenma already both live(d) like you’re married. you both still share(d) that dynamic of being a laid-back couple who deals with problems as they come.

you don’t think about marriage with him because it already feels right. you don’t mind not getting married and honestly, you’re pretty sure kenma isn’t that kind of guy.

you’re startled by someone poking the side of your head.

your head turns to see kenma, brows slightly furrowed as he analyzes you.

you shake your head, sitting up straight on the couch. “’what’s u—wait, aren’t you supposed to be streaming right now?”

kenma nods his head, plopping into the spot next to you. “ended early. chat was being rude today.”

your head bobs in understanding as you try to find words to piece together. he must be frustrated, you know a little bit about how difficult it can get as a streamer and you also know him, that if he doesn’t want to be near you or hear you, he simply wouldn’t be.

you smile slightly, “t—”

“why are you so tense?” he questions, leaning back. his eyes study you and you feel like hiding.

“’m not.” you defend, shrinking.

“you are.” he replies, “what’s wrong?”

you hum, grabbing a throw pillow and falling onto your side, opposite from him. “class was hard today. your paparazzi found me at the grocery store—”

“that happened last week.”

you groan, because fuck, you really can’t lie to him. he’s too good at getting you to open up, no matter how hard you resist it.

“it’s stupid.” you pout, covering your face with the pillow, already feeling your wound up emotions spiraling back up to the surface.

kenma’s hand lands on your legs, situating them over his lap. he pats the side your calves, humming. “talk to me.”

“what about you?” genuinely, you feel like right now isn’t the best time to talk about this. “you were just telling me about how your chat was being rude!”

“that can wait.” he replies, patient, like he’s always been. “something’s been bothering you, no?”

yes. you think. but i don’t wanna talk to you about it ‘cuz i’m scared.

“are you tired...” fuck, you think, because once again, he’s getting you to talk. “of—of me?”

he’s always been good at this. somehow always getting you to say whatever’s clogging up your mind. he reads you like an open book and you hate it, because even after all these years, it’s still scary.

it’s daunting, because he knows so much about you. if he wanted to, he could pick you apart all too easily, knowing exactly what buttons to push to make you break and that’s scary. it’s terrifying, even.

you feel his hand, as warm as they’ve always been, slide under the bottom of your loose pajama pants, warming up your ice cold skin.

and the feeling is weird, because you feel like you’re on fire, yet his hand is still so much warmer than you.

it’s comforting. you’ve both always been touch-starved and kenma knows this, he knows this as he traces small shapes on your calves, the hem of your pants riding up a bit.

“why would i be tired of you?” he mumbles, eyes moving to see your face is still very much covered with the pillow.

you shrug, leg twitching under his feathery touch. “you’ve been distant and stuff... i dunno.”

and it feels like he’s back at square one with you. kenma feels like an idiot for not realizing sooner, cursing himself for being so caught up with work (and something else) that he’s been neglecting you.

you’ve always been a bit of a crybaby, only him and your close friends know this.

he notes that you tend to cry even when you both have the smallest fights, and it’s something he’s used to.

so to know that you’re holding everything in, it makes his chest tighten.

“i’m sorry, angel.” he says, quiet. “work’s been busy.”

yes, work is busy. even if he finds it enjoyable, it can get taxing sometimes. but he’s also been looking around for something, something that he needs perfect.

“‘s okay.” you mumble and he knows he’s fucking up even more. “i just miss you.”

he tugs on the bottom of your shirt, “c’mere.”

you shake your head and he ponders on what to do.

because even now, even though you’ve both been together for so long that existing with the other is literally needed, there are times when you both get stuck—where existing together feels more complex than it should ever be.

“please,” he pleads softly, “i miss you.”

and if you’re not gonna come to him, he’ll come to you.

so he leans down, forcing you to hold a bit of his weight as he lays atop you. he pulls the pillow away, wiping the few tears away with his thumb.

he kisses your cheek.

twenty-four, you let yourself cry because you’ve missed him so much. seeing other in the evenings or exchanging a few short words doesn’t do it for you anymore, it never will.

another kiss, but on the other cheek. i’m sorry.

another for your forehead, then one more on your nose. i love you.

your hands cling to him and he smiles, caressing your hair. his head lays in the juncture of your neck, frequently wiping your tears with his thumb.

he makes you sit up, only because he wants to hold you.

with your back to his chest, his warm hand envelopes yours. he doesn’t make you face him, because he knows that wouldn’t make you feel comfortable.

it’s only when he hears your crying subside, that he holds your chin, making you look him in the eyes.

“are we okay?” he mumbles, his lips so close to yours you can feel his breath.

it still gets to you. he still gets to you like you’re both still teenagers; your heart thumps in your ears, body burning because fuck, he’s really close to kissing your lips.

you nod, “’m sorry. didn’t wanna talk to you ‘cuz i was scared.”

his lips slot against yours and it’s gentle, your mind becomes fuzzy with a warmth only kenma can provide you. he chuckles when he pulls away, your lips chasing his.

“don’t worry about that,” he says softly, “i might’ve accidentally made it harder to approach me.”

you shake your head. “thought it was just my overthinking.” you fiddle with your fingers, “i didn’t wanna make a big deal out of it.”

“next time,” he says, “make a big deal out of it. you gotta talk to me, angel.”

you whine, feeling embarrassed because you’ve gotten this lecture from him so many times.

kenma sighs against your skin, wondering if now is the right time. it feels like a good time, but he doesn’t want to waste a special moment because of a good feeling.

“what’s wrong, ken?” you ask, tilting your head back onto his shoulder.

your eyes are red, you’re still sniffling every now and then.

he smiles, hand travelling to his pocket as he pulls out the ring, holding it in front of you. “this is why i was so busy. t—the box is in my gaming room, though, fuck—”

“is that—”

“w—wanna get married, y/n?” his whole face is red. you giggle at his shaking hand as you hold out your own (shaking) hand.

“yeah. i really wanna.”

and you’re crying again as he slips the ring on your finger. the diamonds sparkles at you and you can’t help but fawn over the ring as you sob.

“crybaby.” he mumbles, kissing your cheek. he nuzzles into your neck, arms wrapped tightly around your midsection. “i love you.”

and it’s here you realize that kenma is a lot more traditional than you thought. memories flood in of him always getting you to watch the first snow with him through his window, forcing you under the kotatsu with him as he shows you a new game he started playing.

eighteen. for your two year anniversary, he took you to a place with love locks. signing one off with you before throwing the key god knows where. and you remember thinking it’s weird, because the month before that, he was telling you stuff like that is kinda phony.

nineteen. you recall him grumbling about getting into a yukata for the festival, but grumbling even more when you gave in and said you’d both attend in normal clothing, because he’s already halfway in the yukata, why would he change? (he just wanted to wear one with you).

twenty-two. his persistence to keep you awake to watch the sun rise on new years.

you realize kenma follows traditions more than you do and you chuckle.

giggling, you hold your hand out where the diamonds on your left ring finger shine happily, tilting your head to kiss him yet another time.

“i love you.”

change. you know your daily lives aren’t going to be much different, but you both like how your last name will be the same as his.

twenty-four. he proposes to you so casually that some might find it weird. but you both aren’t ones for big gestures. you know kenma loves you, it’s in the way he moves your hair out of your face as he asks you if he can still make it up to you.

and he knows you love him, when you laugh and tell him he already has—when you intertwine your fingers with his and kiss the top of his hand, kenma knows and you know, too.

forever it is.

321 notes · View notes

liquorisce · 3 years

Text

reading between the lines (High School Years, Ch 2)

pairing: eren x mikasa (shingeki no kyojin) // mild erehisu, yumihisu

rating: t

summary: (modern au) Junior year is difficult, especially for Mikasa, because it turns out Eren’s decided to test the dating scene.

(banter, jealousy... and lots of feelings)

part 1 | read on ao3

A/N: this chapter has been a long time coming (5 years omg), and tbh I have a lovely anon to thank, who messaged me asking for a sequel to hsy, which made me actually want to put down my scrambled headcanons on paper. if you're reading this anon, i'm truly grateful for the push you gave me.

NOTE: although i intended a sequel, this is a COMPANION fic to chapter 1, it is meant to fill up the gaps in the story that the previous chapter didnt tell you. i hope you enjoy :)

Today was not one of Eren’s favourite days, for 2 reasons. For one, the day started off with … an encounter. Two, today they would be getting the results of their final trig assessment, which Eren knows perfectly well he didn’t have a chance of passing.

The ‘encounter’ happens pretty much without preamble.

…

“… Hey, it’s Eren, right?” He turns around from his conversation with Armin, to see the same guy from a couple of weeks ago, the one who was talking about Mikasa, and her pretty hair. (he wasn’t wrong)

“Yeah?” He does his best not to let the subconscious irritation seep into his tone.

“I think we got off on the wrong foot the other day,” the guy with the oddly horse-shaped face says, “… My name’s Jean.”

“… Nice to meet you,” he says awkwardly delivering his dishonest words.

“… So, I wanted to be straight up with you,” Jean says, cheeks oddly pink. “About Mikasa… and you. I’ve heard some rumours, and I thought it best to address it with you directly, because I really don’t want to cause any trouble.” Clearing his throat, he says, “Are you guys… y’know, together?”

It’s in the way Jean speaks, he thinks, or the way he talks about Mikasa (or even thinks of her?) - it makes him want to ram his fist right in the middle of his ugly face. And because he was too busy clenching his fists to actually respond, Armin says with a laugh, “… Ah, don’t worry, Mikasa is totally single.”

And then proceeds to wink at Jean.

Eren can barely believe his eyes and ears. And once Jean is out of earshot he hisses, “… what the fuck, Armin?”

Armin blinks up at him innocently. “What? Did I say something wrong?”

“… You didn’t have to encourage him,” Eren mumbles petulantly, when he admits to himself that Armin did, in fact, say nothing wrong.

“Erm, why not?” He sighs, “Look, I know you… worry about Mikasa,” Armin keeps his tone as neutral and veiled as possible, because worried is definitely not all Eren feels for Mikasa, “… but Jean is a good guy! And if anyone deserves attention from a good guy, it’s her.”

…

ii.

She finds him lurking near his locker, stuffing his crumpled papers in, probably wishing away their existence.

“That bad, huh?” She asks, hiding away her grin at his predictable reaction. Eren has always been predisposed too sulking - whether he was a 7-year-old who wasn’t the fastest on the field or 16-something and having just received his trigonometry results.

“… You look like you did just fine,” he mutters, not having to see the A+ on her paper to know that Mikasa had no problem acing the trig test (or any other test).

“You could just ask me for help, Eren. I could help you out for the retakes,” she offers softly, not for the first time.

He sighs. When he glances at her, dark eyes offering earnestly, he knows she means it without any pride or arrogance, but he isn’t able to suppress the prick of his own ego that has him mumbling, “… the mandatory remedial lessons should do just fine.”

…

iii.

When he shows up for class, he sees only a couple of others unfamiliar faces, so he curses under his breath at his own ineptitude towards mathematics for getting him in this situation and takes a spot at the back of the class.

The Support teacher - Erd, he calls himself, apparently too young to be addressed ‘Mr.’ or any of that - seems just as tired as the rest of them, sighing at the lack of answers, obviously frustrated at the complete lack of interest or gratitude of the teenagers in front of him.

So, 20 minutes into the 1-hour lesson, when the short blonde walks in, out-of-breath and apologetic, the sarcasm in his tone is biting. “You’ve already missed 1/3rd of this class, you might as well have stayed out entirely and practiced your cheer routines.”

Eren watches sympathetically at the visible cringe on Krista’s face and offers her an empathetic smile as she takes the seat next to him.

Later when they’ve been informed that the retake is just an assignment filled with proofs and average difficulty problems that they can do in pairs, he looks at Krista, the only known person in the room.

They weren’t that close, but they had quite a few mutual friends what with him playing basketball and her being part of the cheer team. So, when she says, “… see you at the library tomorrow evening?” with a pretty smile across her pretty features, he grins gratefully.

She doesn’t struggle with trig even half as much as he does. In fact, she seemed to be happy to do most of the work herself and explain her solutions - if he actually had the interest to understand them.

“I don’t understand,” he admits after she solves the 5th problem in a row effortlessly, “you seem to have everything down already. How come you didn’t pass the test?”

Her eyes skittered nervously away from him. “I was… sick,” she mutters. “I couldn’t really focus.”

He eyes her closely, observing the sudden change in her countenance. Usually Krista was all easy smiles, twinkle in her blue eyes. Now, she looks uneasy, unwell almost. Deciding it wasn’t his place to pry, “… Well, I guess I turned out to be the lucky one in all this,” he grins, “… I get to hang out with you and have you do my assignment.”

She rolls her eyes. To be honest, she’d enjoyed the past couple of evenings with him. Eren was easy to talk to, despite being somewhat of an airhead and being completely incapable of anything remotely math related. But regardless, he made her laugh and just about forget what happened the morning before she showed up for this test, with fresh tears choking her throat, and purpling bruises on her thighs.

“I guess you owe me then,” she quips back, smugly.

“… I definitely do,” he says smoothly, green eyes watching her in a way that makes her feel warm. “How can I make it up to you?”

Flustered, because she hadn’t expected his easy response, she mumbles, “… Dinner?” And with red cheeks hidden by her blonde bangs, she whispers, “I like pizza.”

…

iv.

She finds him at the end of the day, on one of the wooden tables outside the basketball court, chin resting in his hands, eyes glued to his laptop.

“… Hey,” she breathes, giggling when startled green eyes flash up to her, body jerking in surprise.

“Damn, you got me,” he grins, pushing his laptop away and leaning up for a brief kiss. She’s happy to return it, and she lets her fingers wind into his hair, enjoying it for a moment longer.

“Mmm,” she mumbles, “I saw you closing that browser window,” she teases, wrestling control of his laptop, “watcha lookin’ at?”

When she manages to open his browser history – much to Eren’s protest – her eyes widen. “Women’s dresses, spring collection??” She waggles her eyebrows at him.

“… It’s not for me,” he grumbles, deciding to make it painstakingly clear before Krista enthusiastically begins to tell him what dress would suit him the most – he knows his girlfriend, crossdressing would be absolutely acceptable, if not encouraged – and he watches her eyes feign disappointment.

“… Boring,” she sighs, rolling her pretty blue eyes, “I don’t see how you’re not curious about how you look in a dress,” – she gasps, hand flying over her mouth, “Wait… was that… a surprise… for me?”

“… Um,” Eren starts, intelligently, because the situation that was already awkward in his opinion, just became even more so. “Well,” he gulps, taking in the sparkle in her eyes, knowing fully well just how much she likes surprises, feeling guilty even thought he needn’t be, “itsformikasa.”

He hangs his head in apparent apology, but more so because he doesn’t want to see the disappointment flit across her features.

“… Oh.”

He chances a glance at her, and there’s no particular emotion per se, and it worries him, because she gets this faraway look in her eye sometimes, and he can’t really tell what’s going on, and they’ve only been together a few months and he’s not an expert in reading her silences –

“I see, is it for her birthday or something?” Her tone is measured, and she’s looking pointedly at the screen.

“Um… yeah.” Eren sighs, wondering what the hell was up with his own reaction. He had nothing to feel guilty about – where did that even come from anyway? – Mikasa’s his… family (or something). Shopping for her was normal. He did it every year. This isn’t something he needed to hide.

“Yeah, it’s next month,” he says, giving her a smile. There was no need for this to be awkward if he didn’t make it so. Besides, it wasn’t like he was buying her lingerie or something! (he brushed this thought aside faster than the red blush crept up his neck)

“Do you think, you could help me with it?” He blurts this out, partially in an attempt to distract the weird atmosphere, and also partially because he could really use the help.

Krista blinks. “Err, yeah. Sure.” She pulls up Mikasa’s profile on Instagram. “Let’s see,” she murmurs… Turtlenecks… Jeans… a ridiculously modest swimsuit that she wore to a pool party two years ago. The sexiest outfit on her entire profile was probably her in her tennis shorts and that had more to do with Mikasa’s undeniably ripped body than anything else.

She looks up at Eren, who’s still looking at her tentatively, green eyes unsure.

This whole thing was silly anyway, she thinks, offering him a genuine smile. He and Mikasa were close (and they lived together, which she did her best not to think about), but this wasn’t a surprise so it’s about time that it came up in some way in their relationship. In any case, she hadn’t felt any hostility from the raven-haired beauty and Eren was usually quite forthcoming about everything, so she didn’t really have anything to worry about.

“So, um, does she have a favourite colour or something?” She’s eager to kill the awkward mood and is grateful to see his shoulders visibly relax as he ponders.

“… Red, I think. Maybe, like, a darker shade. Sort of… maroon, y’know?” He thinks of the scarf he gave Mikasa when they were younger. It was a ratty, yet fluffy maroon thing which she was absolutely terrible at tying, but she wears it everywhere during the winter, even though his father had a bought her a better one at some point.

They peruse their options for a bit, and Krista picks out a deep red number, a shimmery satin one, with slinky straps and a slit that travels up an already high hemline. It wasn’t really a spring dress but more of a cocktail night outfit, and Eren is weirdly embarrassed thinking of Mikasa in it.

He eyes the screen incredulously. “… Somehow, I just can’t picture Mikasa wearing something like that.” He opens up another link, to a denim overall dress, “… now this, she would wear.”

“And that,” Krista retorts, “is why she’s still single. She has an amazing body; she should flaunt it.”

“… What would she wear it to?” Eren asks, unconvinced. (Also, what was wrong with Mikasa being single?) “… Student council meetings? Debate competitions?! I just,” –

“Parties, Eren,” she says, exasperated, “… it’s high school!”

“You know she doesn’t” –

“Drag her to some! C’mon, we’re going to be seniors soon. She’ll thank you for it!”

…

Six hours later, she’s closing up her shift at her part-time job. It’s a job she’d rather keep hidden – from her friends at school and the law – because she isn’t sure what the age policy was in these kinds of establishments. It worked out because it was close enough to home, and between her and the bartender, the tips compensated the poor wages. Plus, the bartender – a slightly older girl named Ymir with a pretty fringe and a sharp tongue – was genuinely fan to hang out with. And she was surprisingly protective of the small blonde, particularly with the rougher customers, whom Ymir scared off quite effectively with her glares.

“So,” she says, as she scrubs the counter clean, “… I helped my boyfriend buy a dress today.”

She doesn’t turn back to see her, but she can hear Ymir’s raised eyebrows as she says, cheekily, “… I didn’t realize you guys were into that stuff.”

Snorting, she replies, “Well that would be interesting. But no, it was for his, um, friend. Or something.” Or something, because sometimes Eren refers to Mikasa as his best friend, sometimes his family, and sometimes it just felt like… something else, basically.

She turns around to look at Ymir, who says nothing, continuing to rinse the rest of the glasses. “Her name’s Mikasa,” she continues, her voice getting oddly unsure, “They’ve known each other forever. They even… live together.”

“… What,” Ymir stares at her in disbelief.

“It’s not like that,” Krista finds herself sounding defensive, “Eren’s dad is her guardian… or something. Has been for some years. So, it’s not like they moved in together…”

She elects to skip the part where Eren’s dad is a doctor with Doctors without Borders and is barely home for more than a couple of months a year. She didn’t like the look Ymir was giving her anyway.

“So… they’re like brother-sister or what?”

“No,” she says, realizing that the word came out more vehement than she intended. But she knows that was definitely not the way Eren saw their relationship.

“… Krista,” Ymir starts, and the blonde can tell by the tone of her voice that she’s going to get all protective on her, “… I know you’re in high school, and… you’re dating – as you should – but you don’t have to waste your time on shady boys.”

At this she laughs because, “Eren’s not shady, he’s a nice guy,” –

“… You could get anyone you want; I mean look at you, you’re beautiful.”

The defense that was bubbling up in her throat suddenly stilled, because there’s something about the way Ymir just said that – called her beautiful – earnestly, quietly, and it made her feel funny. It took her breath away for a very brief second and replaced it with a warm flush that creeps up her neck.

It’s strange, she’s heard it before from so many boys with obvious motivations; Eren’s always calling her pretty, and complimenting her eyes or whatever… But when Ymir said it, and looked at her like that, honey brown eyes, deep with unnamed emotion, all she could do was avert her eyes.

…

vi.

It’s 7pm and the library’s home only to the nerds by now. The librarian is lax (and underpaid) enough to ignore the low buzz of two over-enthusiastic AP chemistry students that grates on Mikasa’s ears.

Ordinarily she’d just plug her earphones in and ignore the world to focus on the assignment at hand. But today she accepts anything to distract her from the scene earlier at home. And even though Armin’s sitting right next to her, supposedly doing his own thing, she doesn’t miss the worried glances he sends her every now and then, which she really doesn’t want to address.

Her feelings for Eren were a well-known secret by now, just as well-known as the fact that he clearly didn’t return those feelings, so she wasn’t particularly in the mood for Armin’s indulgent pity… regardless of how well-intentioned it was.

So, when its 8pm and the librarian is shooing them out, and she bumps into Jean, she’s grateful for the few extra minutes of conversation surrounding absolutely nothing important.

When they continue to the parking lot, their conversation having progressed from awkward conversation starters to an animated discussion on Jean’s tennis form, Armin’s well and truly realized that he has no place here.

After Armin’s said his goodbyes and Mikasa recognizes that she doesn’t mind staying away from home and possibly Eren and Krista in the middle of their 5th round, she asks Jean, “… so do you like Chinese food?”

…

When she walks in a little after 10 pm, cheeks cold from the night air, there’s a small grin on her cheeks, because she’s made a new friend today, whose company she genuinely enjoyed.

But when she enters the living room to see Eren fast asleep on the couch, she finds herself staring in the face of the reality she’d tried so hard to escape. It’s difficult to ignore the ruffled quality of his brown hair, mussed up in a way that could only have been achieved by someone (a very blonde, very beautiful someone) raking their hands through it.

She can’t help the wave of irritation that sweeps through her - so she doesn’t bother to soften her footsteps as she walks up the wooden stairs.

Minutes later, she hears his sleepy voice at her door. “Hey,” he says, and she can hear the smile in his voice, “you were out pretty late, so I left you some dinner. We made pasta, it’s not as good as yours but,” -

“… I ate already,” she says, tone clipped.

“Oh.” He’s quiet, just watching her put her things away, and there’s irrational tears pricking at her eyes, anger, and frustration that she knows she doesn’t have the right to, so she doesn’t turn to acknowledge him. “… Mikasa, are you…,” he clears his throat, “… is something wrong?”

When she says nothing, he sighs, turning, “… Well, if you want to talk about it, you know I’m always here,” -

“… Could you please go over to Krista’s house next time?”

She colours, surprised at herself for her outburst of honesty. But her blush pales in comparison to Eren’s as he processes what she’s saying. “… This is my house,” he sputters, “… I don’t think it’s unreasonable for me to want to bring my girlfriend over.”

“Well, it’s not just ‘bringing her over’, is it?”

His eyes widen in disbelief. “… What I do with Krista, in my personal space, is definitely not your business, Mikasa.”

“It is when I can hear it, Eren,” she retorts, as he shuts the door forcefully behind him.

…

vii.

It’s been two weeks since that… confrontation, and Mikasa’s barely spoken to him since.

She leaves before he does, makes sure dinner’s left out on the stove for him, whether he needs it or not, and locks her door when she’s done. And although he’s found himself staring awkwardly at that shut door multiple times, he’s never had the courage to actually knock.

He simply cannot comprehend this situation because despite the numerous arguments they’ve had in the past - it was always him, whining about something like a petty child and sulking till he got his way - she’d never truly been mad at him. And she’d never, ever, gone days without talking to him. And as he stares at the locker next to his (it was Mikasa’s) with a horrible ache in his chest, he is well and truly sure that he loathes this situation.

So, when small hands reach around his waist, enveloping him in a tight embrace, his subconscious reaction is to jerk back in annoyance. “I didn’t realise it was you,” he murmurs apologetically, rubbing her hands softly.

“… Who else would it be?” Krista asks, somewhat thrown off by this mood that had been festering for days now.

“You ask some very valid questions there, babe,” he mutters, a distracted half-smile on his face.

Taking a deep breath (determined to shake him out of his pensive aura), she whispers, “… You know, I don’t have work today.” She leans against him, reaching up to murmur in his ear, “we could hang out at yours for a while, if you want?”

She makes it clear what she means by “hanging out” by the way she presses up against him, and even though he’s responded with fervent enthusiasm to a similar invitation in the past, today he just averts his gaze, awkwardly.

Swallowing the rejection with a graceful exterior, she puts an arm’s length of distance between them. “… What’s going on, Eren? Your head’s been somewhere else all week.”

And before he starts to stay that it’s nothing, just that he has some stuff going on, she says, “… does this have something to do with Mikasa?”

His green gaze jerks up at her, startled with unfortunate honesty. “… I haven’t seen you talk to her all week.”

“…I,” he starts, but his throat closes up, for some reason, unsure whether he should really tell her what happened. He doesn’t want to put her in the middle of something that was clearly between him and Mikasa.

But with every passing second, the guilty look on his face only begins to feed the fears that she had successfully kept dormant all this while. “… Did something happen between the two of you?”

And when he looks into her eyes, bright blues seeping insecurity, he says, hurriedly, “… wait, I hope you aren’t thinking that we,” - he inhales sharply, wondering how he manages so successfully to upset the women in his life - “God, no. We had a misunderstanding, that’s all. She said something, I was pretty rude to her, and I shouldn’t have been.”

“And,” he murmurs, admitting it to himself, finally, “I’ve just taken too long to apologize.”

…

She’s barely finished washing the vegetables for dinner, when she hears the thud of the front door closing loudly.

(She remembers Carla reprimanding him every time, for not being gentler)

Mikasa has managed to avoid Eren successfully these past days, because she knows his schedule, knows that despite his complete lack of organization, he’s fairly predictable. And with his recent interest in a particular cheerleader, he almost invariably never comes home before 8.30 PM. So, when she hears him enter their kitchen at little over 7, she isn’t prepared.

She isn’t prepared because she’s been quite cowardly, saying things that she had no business saying, and then being unable to own up to it, unable to apologize to him. Because she knew that when she looks at him, she’ll feel the way she feels right now - taking in the sight of him, drizzle droplets fresh in his brown hair, as he runs a hand through it, his mouth twisting into an awkward grin. She knew she’d realize that her feelings for Eren were never really much of a choice, they just were.

“… I brought your favourite dumplings from Li’s,” he announces. “And I brought an extra serving of the spicy soy sauce so we don’t have to fight over who gets the last bit.”

…

He’s grateful for the small smile that forms on her face when she accepts the dumplings (the peace treaty as he calls it in his head), and for the small banter that she indulges him in as they eat.

After they’re stuffed with dumplings and inconsequential conversation, he clears his throat, because he remembers he came home early tonight with a certain conviction.

But as she does with most things, she beats him to it. “… Eren, about the other day,” she looks at him earnestly, “… I had no right to demand that of you. I’m sorry.”

And when he’s still quiet, she mumbles quickly, “I don’t know what got into me that day, honestly, I,” -

“Don’t apologise, Mikasa,” he says, a strange disquiet taking over him as he replays her words, “… the last thing I want, is to make you feel uncomfortable.” Or to make you feel like you can’t demand what you want from me.

This is the part that settles into him slowly, that somehow, the one person in his life that he’s always felt he could ask anything of, could demand anything of, and actually receive it without fail… she didn’t feel that she could count on the same from him. And it twisted painfully inside of him.

“I appreciate that, Eren. But honestly, I’ll get used to it… so don’t worry.” She smiles, in that genuine way of hers, small lips, curving shyly, “… and who knows, maybe someday I’ll want to ‘bring someone over’ too.”

She laughs as she does the air quotes and even though he manages a small grin in response, all he can say, without really meaning it, is –

“Yeah… Of course, yeah.”

…

viii.

She takes her frustration out on the cash register. “… Damn thing doesn’t open when I need it to, and doesn’t close when I want it to,” she mutters under her breath.

“You just need to show it some love,” Ymir says, amused, promptly closing the problematic register without any difficulty. “… Go sit, I’ll close up here.”

She does as she’s told, pouting slightly, but she’s grateful for the older girl’s help and understanding. “So… want a beer before I close the tap?” Ymir asks with a wink.

“You need to stop offering underage girls alcohol,” Krista whispers, scanning the room hastily.

The brunette rolls her eyes. “You need to stop with the innocent act every time. You’re a hot cheerleader for god’s sakes, everyone knows what goes on at your high school parties,” -

“Ok ok,” she acquiesces, suppressing the blush at Ymir’s offhanded compliment and deciding that that there was no point in panicking every time they did this, “… but only if you join me.”

“Cheers,” Ymir says, offering her glass to Krista’s and taking a generous gulp. “So, tell me. Boy trouble, again?”

Krista nurses her drink slowly before taking a sip.

To Krista, Eren was a breath of fresh air. He didn’t hover, he didn’t foam at the mouth every time she spoke to another guy, didn’t hound her if she didn’t pick up his phone call.

Does he even care? Ymir had asked her once scathingly, but she had disregarded it, grateful for the freedom she felt in his embrace. Freedom from toxic attachment, from past trauma or unresolved baggage like the one she was destined to carry. When she was around him, she had felt different. Lighter almost, as if this persona that she had created for herself could actually have a shot at happiness after all.

But lately she’d begun to wonder if she’d just been fooling herself… again. She’d begun to question if she had just convinced herself to see the promise of something that was never there.

“… I thought this guy was one of the good ones,” Ymir says, watching Krista closely.

“He is…” she sighs, “He is one of the good ones. It’s just…” she trails off, unsure if she should give voice to her thoughts. “Ah fuck it, I’m just feeling a little insecure, it’ll be fine…”

“… Is this about that sexy flatmate of his?”

She winces, feeling exposed. It often felt that way with Ymir. Like there was no point to any of the barriers she had worked so hard in constructing.

“She is attractive,” Krista admits, begrudgingly. “… I’m only surprised Eren hasn’t noticed that.”

“… But that’s what you’re worried about, aren’t you? That he has noticed that of late?” Ymir narrows her eyes at Krista. “You should just ask him about it!”

“I did,” she states defensively, “… and he said there was nothing,” -

“… Oh, sure there’s nothing. I can’t believe he thinks he can lie to you and get away with it,” -

“Ymir, I trust him, he’s my boyfriend,” -

“But that’s the problem with you. You just trust everyone, and you let them walk all over you. You did this with Reiner and now with,” -

“Ok,” she whispers, “Stop it, Ymir.”

“… Krista, you need to trust your gut about this sort of thing. If your gut is telling you that he’s a lying asshole, then you should just dump his ass and,” -

“… See this is why I didn’t want to tell you about this,” she cries, her voice rising In frustration. Because this is how it’s always been with Ymir, no one she dates is ever good enough, no decision she makes is ever smart enough.

“You’re always shitting on my boyfriends. And I know you were justified about the last one, but,” her voice cracks just a little bit, because at the end of it all, she just feels weak, “… it feels like you��re just taking a massive crap on me as well.”

“I didn’t mean,” Ymir starts apologetically, brown eyes remorseful, “… look, that wasn’t my intention.”

She takes her hand, slowly, lets her long fingers intertwine with Krista’s smaller, dainty ones. The crumpled expression on Krista’s features has her regretting ever opening her big mouth. But she was tired of seeing one person after another, enter her Krista’s life, and undo the progress she was trying so desperately to make.

“… The truth is,” she takes a deep breath, ready to unleash a truth that’s been stifled for so long, she can’t even remember when it first sprouted, “I think you’re pretty fucking amazing. And I see you wasting all your time and your feelings on these stupid boys who don’t deserve you.” The words come out quickly, rushed almost. A sharp contrast to how long they’ve festered in Ymir’s chest, growing and growing until these feelings knew no reason.

Ymir doesn’t look at her, she keeps her gaze focused on Krista’s hand, afraid of what might happen if Krista understands the depth of feeling behind her words. But more important than her feelings, there were some things she wanted Krista to see clearly.

“Did you tell him about your father, Krista? What he does to you when his wife isn’t looking?”

Krista tugs on her hand, a wave of unbridled panic spreading at the mention of her father. “I trusted you with that information, Ymir, you promised you’d never bring it up,” -

“… Did you tell him your real name?”

She can’t answer this question, even though she knows the answer, knows it’s an emphatic ‘no’ - but she cannot answer because there’s an overwhelming lump in her throat, and it’s taking everything from her to barely keep it together.

“… Let go of me, Ymir,” she pleads, and that’s when Ymir loosens her grip.

“… You trusted me to keep quiet about your secrets - and I’m fine with that. I’m fine with doing anything you ask of me,” her teeth grit together, because she doesn’t know, Krista doesn’t know just how much she would do.

“You asked me not to do anything about the fact that your father is hurting you, and it even though it kills me, I listened to you. But now I see you hurting yourself in this farcical relationship with fabricated feelings for some boy who doesn’t treat you the way you deserve, and I don’t know if I can be quiet about that anymore.”

And because it’s grown too large, too much to keep inside of her anymore, she whispers, “I love you, Historia. And if you want me to let go of you, I will. But,” she brushes her lips gently against Krista’s cheek, “… You can trust me with your secrets, and your heart, if you’d let me, because I could take care of you.” She feels a warm tear roll down Krista’s cheek and her heart clenches, “… I could make you happy.”

…

ix.

“… I really appreciate you making time for this,” she murmurs, as she watches him lay the white lilies at her parent’s grave.

He always remembers, without her prompting, because the first time he’d come with her, she’d spent hours crying at their gravestone, telling him tear-filled anecdotes of the dishes her Mama cooked, the bedtime stories her Papa told, the flowers that they used to grow in their garden together (white lilies).

“C’mon Mikasa,” he rolls his eyes at her, “… we do this every year. Why wouldn’t I make time for this?” And why the hell are you thanking me?

She can’t really explain it to him, the possibly childish notion that she thought he might be too busy with his girlfriend to remember the death anniversary of her parents. She regrets doubting him, regrets that of late she’s been so clouded by petty jealousy, that she hasn’t truly appreciated how little he’s changed around her.

“It’s ridiculous,” she confesses, softly, “… you’ve given me everything. A home… A family.” She smiles at him, somewhat blurry. “But I can’t help it, every year on this day, my mind always goes back to that… moment. I lost them… in what felt like the blink of an eye.”

He tenses, as he always does when he sees her upset, or shedding a tear. There is a fundamental part of him that deeply despises the sadness on her features; it makes him feel helpless. So, he does the only thing he can - he wraps an arm around her, tucking her face into his shoulder as she snuggles into him.

“I miss them every day. But you saved me, Eren,” she whispers, dark eyes looking up at him with a gratefulness that he has never known how to accept, and never felt worthy of. “… and now I have you.”

Her voice trails off, almost wistful. “… I guess the world really can be cruel but beautiful at the same time.”

…

When he stops to think about it, he supposes it really is ridiculous it took them so long to get here. And by here he means - Mikasa wrapped securely in his arms, in his lap, on their couch, taking advantage of the privacy they’ve had all along.

He feels her tongue flick against his - it makes him shiver - and he can do little more than just wrap himself around her tighter, and sigh into her kiss. Her fingers make their way into his hair, cradling his head, pressing sweet kisses on the side of his mouth, on his jaw, and on the sensitive spot beneath his ear.

And because Mikasa’s always been a quick study (she’s learnt what he likes, what he’s weak for), he stills her exploration (very reluctantly) before she goes too far.

“Are you okay…?” He whispers, rubbing a thumb along the dried tear stains on her cheek – a reminder of her tears, of knowing the pain that he’d caused her, bubbled quietly within him, having been quelled temporarily by the glorious feeling of having her in his arms.

She laughs, shaking her head, “… I love you. I can’t believe I finally get to say it.” She rests her forehead against his, a happy smile forming on her lips.

“… You could have said it ages ago; you know. No one asked you to keep it inside for this long.” Even though he teases her with his words, his lips drift back to hers, brushing softly, unable to stay away for too long.

“… Well, you never know, I actually might have said it. If it wasn’t for, you know, you having a girlfriend.” He senses the eye roll, the teasing lilt of her voice, but he can’t help but regret the time he wasted. Because even though Krista was a dear friend, and there were no ill intentions there, now that he is here, chest to chest with the girl he loves, he only wishes he’d been here sooner.

“You’re going to use that against me forever, aren’t you?”

She grins in response. “… I have a question though.”

“Shoot,” he murmurs, nibbling against her lower lip.

“… Why’d you guys break up?”

He groans, kissing her jaw testily. “… Do you really want to go into that right now?”

She hesitates, torn between potentially ruining the mood and needing to know what happened. God knows, she had spent countless nights losing sleep over the details anyway. “If you don’t want to talk about it, it’s okay, I guess…”

“It’s fine,” he says quickly, realising that if he wanted to set a precedent where she could ask him anything, then it‘s best he starts now, “… She’s in love with someone else. A girl, actually.”

Her eyes widen, not having expected that turn of events. “… Please tell me you didn’t ask for a threesome.”

“What the fuck, Mikasa, of course not!” He pulls back, offended.

“Good,” she murmurs cheekily, “I’ve raised you well.”

“Hmm,” he hums, “Speaking of ‘raising me’, you should probably stop saying stuff like that. Do you know that Connie asked if you were like a ’sister’ to me?”

He grins, seeing the shocked expression on her face. That’s exactly how he had felt when he was posed that question, with a little mortification added to the mix. “… Is that really how everyone sees our… relationship?”

His fingers drift to hers, where they rest on his chest. “We’ve been living together for a while now,” he caresses her knuckles absentmindedly, “Kids our age… they don’t really understand it, I guess. Anyway, it doesn’t matter.”

“My turn: I have a question for you,” he murmurs. This is a question he’s long considered, stopped only by his embarrassment, fielding it from others only to put the vaguest labels on it.

“… What am I to you, Mikasa?”

The question throws her, because even though she’s told him candidly how she feels, that she loves him, she always has, he is asking her, right now, to define their relationship.

The very notion, the expression that flits on her tongue, bubbles up in her heart with an exciting warmth, even though she hopes this is just temporary, that it will grow, that Eren is so many things and will be so many things to her that she cannot possibly define right now - “… My boyfriend, of course.”

- fin -

A/N: i've been really nervous to post em, because its just been so long, and the writer that wrote chap 1 is different from the one that wrote chap 2, and honestly i dont even know if there are inconsistencies. so my request to you, dear reader, is to please let me know if i have made any fuck ups in writing this - or if you have any ideas for pacing, or storytelling that could possibly help me improve.

also there will be a chapter 3 focusing on eremika’s sexual exploration~

#eremika #erehisu #yumihisu #eren jaeger #mikasa ackerman #shingeki no kyojin #liquorisce fanfiction

33 notes · View notes

alexhandersen-marcoilsoe-fandom · 3 years

Text

Chapter V : Inopportune moment

This moodboard is just wow. Thank you so much @flowers-in-your-hayr, you are such a talent!!

a/n: After a lot of smut and a bit BDSM from the last chapter, I wanted a little more drama and fluff. This chapter was the result. I hope you like it, like I do. Sorry for mistakes, English is not my first language.

Pairing: ALEX x Reader X MARCO

Word: 2758

Spotify: Kiana Ledé & Jacquees - Only Fan

Warning: more fluff than the other chapters and always a bit of smut, +18

Chapter I Chapter II Chapter III Chapter IV

Summary: Something is bothering you, but you don't know how to address it. Your relationship is being tested, maybe unfounded?!

You've been working a lot lately. Also had a lot of night shifts, so you didn't see the guys very often. During the day you always slept and in the evening before work you attended the Danish course. Your Danish was pretty good by now. Nevertheless, Alex and Marco were still joking about your pronunciation, which wasn't very good.

"When are you coming to the pub tonight? You know we're all going.’’ asked Marco. You had to work in the evening, so you planned to go after that.

‘’Without overtime I should be there at 11pm.’’ You ran through the apartment and quickly put on your shoes. You were a little late and had to hurry. Marco packed the prepared food for you and and gave you a little kiss.

“Thank you, baby. See you Alex, byee’’. You called stressed and closed the door behind you.

“She's so cute when she's in a hurry’’ commented Alex.

******

After work you took a detour and stopped at home to freshen up before going to the pub. You walked into the pub and it already smelled strongly of beer and a few were already slightly drunk. You took off your coat and looked out for your boys. In one corner you recognized Marco between the flashing lights, who was playing beer pong with Jordan. You already knew most of their friends, but they didn't know that you also had a relationship with Marco. You pushed yourself through the crowd until you got to him and covered his eyes with your cold hands. Marco had his back to you, so he couldn’t see you

"Hey baby, how's the party going?" You said in an erotic tone. He turned around and hugged you tightly.

“Hey baby, I thought you'd never come. Should I get you a Martini or do you want a beer too?” He didn't want to let go of you anymore and was still holding you by the waist. It was always very hard for him not to kiss you.

“I'll have your beer. We always share everything, don't we? '' You winked at him.

"You look so sexy tonight baby; dark blue looks great on you. I actually have a couple of kisses; I want to give you after the party.’’ Jordan came back from the bar bringing more beer, so that Marco couldn't answer.

"Hey Jordan, how are you? Haven't seen you in a long time.'' He was so drunk that he stepped on your feet when he greeted you.

"Where's Alex actually?" You asked curiously.

"He's over there," Jordan pointed to a corner. You saw Alicia, Clara and Georgia dancing around him.

"Marco, what the hell is Clara doing here?" You looked at him angrily.

"She's the best friend of Georgia, what am I supposed to do?" You were really pissed off because he didn't tell you everything about her, but you couldn't show it openly. Out of frustration you tore his beer out of your hand and drank it all at once.

“Damn, this girl is tougher than you Marco. I would like Georgia to be like that too.'' Jordan chuckled.

After a while, Alex noticed that you were in the pub too. He moved away from Alicia and came towards you with a smile on his face.

“Elskede, where have you been for so long?” He kissed you, but you didn't return the kiss.

“I missed you so much. I worry every time you're in this big hospital. You should stop working there. You don't even have to go to work. We can take care of you.''

You put your hands on his cheeks and smiled at him. “Aleex, what’s the matter with you, suddenly so worried. I like my work and our team is great, you know it. So do not worry.'' His reaction surprised you. He never had any problems with your work. He even found it attractive to have a nurse as a girlfriend.

“Do you feel good? Don't you want to sit down? Should I get you something to drink?'' You denied, because you recently drank Marco's beer.

“What are you drinking there? Beer? You shouldn't drink beer! '' He took the empty glass out of your hand and put it on the counter.

"Can I get a juice please?" He ordered from the bartender.

"Alex, what's wrong with you? What are you doing? I don't want any juice, let that be '' He pressed the orange juice into your hand.

"Take this, this is healthier". You put the juice back on the counter and were annoyed by his behavior.

,,What has come over you, Alex? I was so happy to see you, and you act so childish.’’ He just said something, but you didn't want to hear anymore. You turned back to Marco and tapped him on the shoulder.

"Marco, can we go somewhere else please, Alex is going crazy." You rolled your eyes and hoped he would go with you.

,,Sure’’ He said goodbye to Jordan, put the coat over your shoulders and opened the door for you.

"Is everything ok baby?" He put his arm around you and you walked down the street. You just nodded.

“I know where we could go. Do you remember Mermaid's pub? It's near here.’’ You looked at him and waited for his reaction.

“I should have spoken to you first instead of Alex. I still regret it today.'’

You didn't know what to say, so you kept quiet. You knew he had feelings for you, but you didn't expect him to be so open about it. You have never spoken directly about your feelings or your relationship. It was never clearly defined who is with whom. Nobody complained about the situation, so you left it that way.

******

As always, it was full of people. Marco took you by the hand so as not to lose you

and pulled you through the crowd. He is taller than you, so you couldn't see where he was going. Finally, you found one free bar stool.

,, The seat is for you, you can sit down.” You were so happy about the seat, your feet were already aching from your high heels. He ordered a beer and a Martini for you.

“I don't know what's wrong with him either. But let's forget about that now. Let's enjoy the time together.'' Commented Marco after you told him what happened.

Marco stood next to you and had his hand on your thigh and was stroking you. He kissed you on the cheek near your lips. You closed your eyes and felt how he hid your hair back with his nose. "You're so beautiful." He said in a hushed tone while his hand squeezed your inner thigh.You held you onto his arm and tugged at him, so that he couldn't go away.

,, What do you think if we stay the night away today? We could go to the hotel where I stayed with Janina last time. I don't feel like going home. ''

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see he was smiling. He put his hands on your hips drawing you closer.

"I would even kidnap you and go very far away, where only the two of us exist ". He couldn't take it anymore and kissed you passionately. Marco gave you his hand and helped you get up from the chair. There weren't that many people in the pub anymore, so you could easily walk out. He held you by the waist and followed you.

Your feet hurt so much that the short walk to the hotel seemed like an eternity. You stopped, leaned against a cold wall and took off your high heels; the party was over anyway.

"Baby are you serious? It's so cold and you want to walk barefoot."

"My feet hurt so much; I hardly feel them anymore."

,,I’ll carry you''. Marco held one hand on your upper body and the other on the back of your knee and picked you up.

********

Marco took the most beautiful room of the whole hotel and it was breathtaking. The large bed was covered by many fluffy pillows, just as you liked. In the middle was a bouquet of aquamarine colored flowers.

"They're at least as beautiful as you baby" you blushed.

"Thank you" you mumble and smell the flowers. You were so ashamed that you didn't dare look him in the eyes.

The bathroom was huge and had a rain shower. You took off your gray velvet dress and put it on the sink, your underwear lay on the floor. You did not pay attention to what Marco was doing or thinking.

The thin, gentle jets of water slowly wet your skin. Your lipstick was washed away by the warm water. Your wet hair defined the contours of your face. It sensitized your senses. You closed your eyes and heard the water running down your body.

"Are you ok baby?" Murmured Marco and embraced you.

You turned around and kissed him without saying anything. His lips were made for kissing. You felt a deep love. You didn't miss anything and could let yourself go completely. His kisses and touches made you feel like a feather. His tongue slid over your neck, down over your breasts. He caressed your curves symmetrically with both hands. He wasn't pushy at all and made sure you liked it too. You lifted your leg up and then the other so that you wrapped them around his hips.He propped you up against the shower wall. You pushed him closer to you, because you wanted to feel his cock deeper. He moaned lightly in your mouth. Marco gave you the time and you felt your slowgasm coming closer. A wave of heat flowed all over your body, causing your nails to sink into his skin and bite into his lip. He twitched slightly. It was an uncontrollable urge, you just had to do it.

******

It was morning and Marco woke you up. You lay on your side and he gently stroked your shoulder. "Hey baby, they brought breakfast."

You were so tired that you couldn't give a clear answer. He took your hair off your face and caressed your cheek.

"Baby! Look at your back, what have I done to you!" You were scared, ran to the mirror and saw a lot of bruises.

"It's not that bad, nobody can't see it." You giggled. The serving trolley was standing right next to you and smelled wonderfully. You grabbed the serving tray and took it back to bed.

Do you love me baby? " you asked with coffee in hand.

"Yes of course".

“And will you always stay with me? "

,,Yes of course." He replied confidently.

"No matter what happens?"

"No matter what!"

,,Are you sure?"

“I'm absolutely sure. You are the first woman I feel loved by. You won't get rid of me, don't be afraid "

,,I have to tell you something..." He dropped the bread and looked at you.

"Tell me!" He realized it was something serious and got nervous. You played with the coffee spoon and didn't have the courage to say it.

"I haven't got my period yet" You said the sentence very quickly and mumbling, but Marco understood it very clearly.

“What does that mean you haven't got your period yet? Are you pregnant?” He took your hand and looked at you.

"Hey baby talk to me!" He grabbed your chin. You saw his worried face and you started crying. He got up and took you in his arms.

" Let's sit down over there.” He held your hands.

,, So tell me everything from the beginning now. I won't leave you no matter what, I promise."

,, I’m waiting for my period for five days. I made a pregnancy test two days ago and it was negative. But the period is still not here and that worries me so much. I don't know what to do now…I have started a new job; I am in a foreign country and I don't even know who the father is. You both have your career too, and definitely no time for a baby…“ Tears ran down your cheeks while telling the story.

,,But you said that the test was negative, then it is negative. And above all you had a lot of night shifts. You just need a little more patience baby. But if you want, we can do another test together.” He gave you a kiss on the forehead hoping that it would make you feel better.

Your things were packed, and you were ready to go when your cell phone vibrated.

“Elskede, where are you? Is Marco with you? please call me back!” That was one of 6 messages and 8 calls you had from Alex. You showed Marco the text messages.

“I told you, Alex is going completely crazy’’

"Let's go and do the things we wanted to do, then we'll go home, and I'll talk to him." He placed his hand your ass cheek and led you out of the room.

********

You didn't want to see the result first, so you gave it to Marco straight away. You were so tense that you could feel your heart beating in your throat.

You finished getting dressed again when he called: "Baby, it's negative." He knocked on the bathroom door. You were speechless and did not know whether you heard him correctly.

"Baby do you hear me? It's negative. I said it'll be all right. ''

You came out and were relieved "I want to go shopping now."

"Although a baby would have made me happy.’’ chuckled Marco. You punched him in the chest.

,,Marco, shut up'' you giggled. "I need new high heels. Let’s go!"

********

In the afternoon you arrived at home and opened the door. Alex ran to you.

"Where have you been?" He kissed you and hugged you, but you weren't that emotional as he'd hoped.

"We went to another pub, slept in a hotel and Marco bought me new high heels."

"I said you shouldn't drink alcohol." You immediately got mad again.

“Are you starting again with that drama? Really?! You're annoying me!''

You went to your room. But you couldn't close the door, because he placed his foot in the door gap. "Come here we have to talk."He said briskly.

"No, we don't! Go away Alex!"

"Hey Alex, stop, leave her alone." You heard Marco trying to calm Alex down. They discussed in Danish and the situation did not seem to ease.

,, Y / N, I know you are pregnant. I found an empty pack from a pregnancy test in the trash can.'' He yelled and knocked at your door.

"No, she isn’t" Marco replied totally relaxed and has to pull him away.

"You cannot know it Marco, so let me talk to her." He insisted.

,, I know it, believe me, she is not pregnant,… '' Marco wanted to continue but you came out of your room. You wanted to explain yourself. Alex looked very desperate. His elbows resting on the table and his hands were clenched in front of his face. You sat down next to him and took his hand.

“Hey! I'm not pregnant, I did two tests because I haven't got my period yet. The pack you found was the first test and I did the second test today with Marco and both were negative. So, you can calm down! '' You noticed how his mood relaxed and looked at you confused.

,, Is that why you were so anxious about me?’’

,, Elskede, I'm so sorry, I just ... ''

,,I wanted to tell you, but you became so intrusive and I felt so patronized.’’ He showed remorse and knew exactly that he had exaggerated.

"Do you accept my apology?" He felt ashamed. You looked straight into his deep blue eyes .

"Yes I do. You have to trust me more. I would’ve told you, but it was an inopportune moment. ‘’ You kissed him and everything was forgotten again.

Chapter VII: Blurry truth

#vikings #ivar the boneless #alex hogh andersen #alex&marco #alex x reader #hvitserk #hvitserk ragnarsson #hvitserk x reader #marco ilsø #marco x reader #alex x reader x marco #fanfiction #hbovikings #vikings cast #alex høgh #alex høgh andersen #marco

46 notes · View notes

asleepycoyote · 3 years

Text

My prompts

So I have written some prompts that you can ask to use. I will continue to add more. The ones that have italics or look like 'this' can be anyone's dialogue. I just added it so you know it's not only one person talking. To ask, you can just request the number of the prompt/s you can ask for multiple prompts, but please don't add too many. The ones that have a period at the end of the numbers, don't mind that. That's for me to remember something. Okay, anywho, take your pick :D. Remember you don't have to request one of these, you have your own idea, that's good! I'll be happy to write it! If you have a certain gender you want the reader to be don't forget to ask! You can also request me to add prompts to the list too! Okay so here's the prompts :)

1 "Oh no."

"What is it? What happened? Who died?"

"I think I just felt an emotion."

"You have GOT to be kidding me."

2 "Excuse me. I have to go make a scene."

3 "They're like a hurricane in human form."

4 "Fix it."

"It's a ransom note: I don't care about grammar!"

"There is no excuse for bad grammar."

5 "What does the little blinking light mean?"

"It means... wait blinking light?"

6 "What letter comes after 's' in the alphabet?

"T?"

"Ooh, yes please!"

7 "Why is there a magical portal in the bathtub?!"

8 "I love you from the bottom of my heart, but I don't trust your cooking. Stay out of my kitchen."

9 "We can't have a crisis- my schedule is already full..

10 "How long have you been standing there?

"Longer than you'd like."

11 "Small fire! I said to set a small fire! This is not small!"

12 "I want to go home."

"And I want to go to the moon. It ain't happening, sweetheart. Time to accept that."

13 "It's really not that complicated."

14 "Close the door."

15 "It's three in the morning."

16 "Why are you helping me?"

17 "Just trust me."

18 "What are you thinking about?"

19 "Someday you'll thank me for kidnapping you?"

20 "Who sent you here?"

"I wasn't sent here... if anything, it was an accident."

"Made by whom?"

"Myself, I suppose."

"You sent yourself here on accident?"

"Well, I certainly didn't come here on purpose..."

21 "I just want to be happy."

22 "Can I sleep over? My parents are fighting again."

23 "Why won't you let me help you?!"

24 "You know we make a pretty good team."

25 "You're a horrible liar."

26 "You're freezing. Come here."

27 "I'm saying that because I care about you!

28 "Sing me a song please.

29 "I can explain./!"

30 "Come here."

31 "The real treasure was the memories we made along the way."

"I almost died!"

"Ah yes, that was my fondest memory."

32 "They're crying, what do I do?"

"Go comfort them."

"How do I do that?"

"Start with hugs."

"With what?"

33 "Somehow you don't even have to open your mouth to make my head hurt."

34 "Stop waking me up in the middle of the night."

35 "Any shorter and you'd probably fade out of existence."

36 "I fixed you breakfast. I know it's just a bowl of cereal, but it's the only thing I can't burn."

37 "You just gave off the impression that you want to murder everyone you look at."

38 "It's not my birthday."

"It's definitely your birthday."

"Give me a calendar and I will prove it to—oh. Never mind. Happy birthday to me."

39 "Bold of you to assume I wouldn't just summon a trans-dimensional entity to help me avoid all my problems."

40 "I'm not human. I never was. So, why are you expecting me to act like one?

41 "Everything here can kill you, but I can do it most efficiently."

42 "They took my wallet. Yes, just my wallet. Well.... maybe my passport too."

43 "I don't think of you as a protector. More like a friend."

44 "You deserved that."

45 "Shh, shh. You were dreaming."

46 "I won't leave you behind."

47 "You should be in bed."

48 "What's our exit strategy?"

"Our what?"

"Oh my god, we are all going to die."

49 "Oh my god, you're taking up the whole bed."

50 "I could keep you safe, they're all afraid of me."

51 "I trusted you!"

52 "I know your secret."

"You're gonna have to be more specific there, buddy. Which one? I have a lot of skeletons in my closet."

53 "Who gave you that black eye?!"

54 "Everyone keeps telling me your bad guy."

55 "Why? Because I don't want you to get hurt, that's why!"

56 "You're scared of that, aren't you?"

57 "Come on, when have my calculations ever been wrong?"

"Well-"

"Shut up, that was one time."

58 "Enjoying the view, sunshine?"

59 "While I do enjoy the silent treatment, I wasn't aware I had done anything to you."

60 "I think that's enough."

61 "They deserved it."

62 "What... is this?"

63 "You can't be serious!"

64 "I'm not sorry!"

65 "Who are you?"

"Oh sweetheart, I'm your worst nightmare."

"Wait a minute. Your that guy that tripped over my shoes on the bus this morning and said thank you-"

66 "Just because I'm helping you doesn't mean I care, your death would be a minor inconvenience. That's all."

67 "You owe me."

68 "Don't make me come in there."

69 "Don't touch me."

70 "That wasn't funny."

71 "I am fully convinced you never graduated kindergarten."

72 "Am I doing it right?"

73 "For God's sake! Who have you killed now?"

74 "Do you even know how to fly this thing?"

"Normally, I'd lie and say yes, but considering the fact that I almost flew us into that building, I'm going to assume you know the answer."

75 "What are you doing?! Don't eat it!"

76 "Feel free to admire me."

77 "You're insane!"

"I know! Isn't it great?"

78 "You don't know a thing."

79 "The truth is I never loved you."

80 "Is this a game to you?"

81 "Stop yelling at me."

"I'm not yelling at you! I'm just... being abnormally projective in the vocal region!"

"Otherwise known as yelling..."

82 "Don't ever forget me. Please?"

83 "I screwed up."

84 "You're my regret."

85 "No, sir. I am not underestimating the kidnappers. YOU are understanding my grandmother."

86 "Stay away from the llama."

87 "No one visits my grave anymore... wait. I don't even have a grave!"

88 "Tuna shamed."

89 "Well, I can scratch that off my bucket list."

"Who puts getting arrested on their bucket list?!"

90 "I-I can't stop it. I'm sorry..."

"It's okay, it's okay. Just breathe. You don't have to be sorry for anything. I got you."

91 "What am I supposed to tell my parents? 'Hi mom and dad, I ,snuck out past curfew, almost died, discovered I can teleport, and now I'm joining a gang of superheroes.'"

"Maybe don't use the word 'gang'."

"You think that's the part they'll have the most trouble with?!"

92 "Give me the wallet or I shoot."

"No."

"What do you mean no? I'm serious, I will shoot you."

"Let me repeat myself. No."

"Um... okay I guess."

"Aren't you going to shoot me?"

"I don't know. This hasn't happened before."

"Well, until you do, wanna grab a bite to eat? I'm starving."

93 "Watch me."

94 "I thought you were dead."

95 "You're never going to let that go, are you?"

96 "Was that supposed to hurt?"

97 "You have to leave right now."

"I love you."

99 "I hate you.

100 "I didn't catch your name."

"I didn't throw it."

101 "How long has it been since you last ate something?"

102. "No, don't look at me!"

103. "How many marshmallows can you eat?"

104 "Why did you kick so much in your sleep? Are you constantly dreaming about soccer?"

105 "Destroying lives, one person at a time."

106 "Why exactly do you need chloroform at 2am.

107 "Just breathe."

108. "STOP EATING MY LASAGNA FOR CRYING OUT LOUD!"

109. "I don't understand why you should feel the urge to do that."

110. "I trust you."

"Wow, that incredibly... stupid of you."

111 "You broke my heart and all you can say is sorry?"

112 "You can't really blame me can you? You can only blame yourself."

113. "You keep painting me as the villain."

"Because you are the villain."

114. "Who could ever love someone like you?"

115 "I never stood a chance, did I?"

"That's the sad part - you did once."

116 "I've missed this."

117. "Who are you to tell me how to live my life?"

118. "Are you going to yell at me too? I guess I do deserve it."

119 "I don't want to have another surgery."

120. "Quit touching the IV."

121 "I was going to say something mean about them, but decided against it."

122 "How do you like raisins? How do you feel about a date?"

123. "Are you going to stand there or are you going to kiss me? I'm tired of lying to my diary."

#my writing prompts #dialogue prompt

9 notes · View notes

lilikags · 3 years

Text

Aluxia Fanris OC Voicelines

Disclaimer: we don’t know much about fontaine so I’ll scrap her if canon makes it difficult for her to exist Q_Q

I’ve written a lot for her, so this’ll be broken into many different parts [see links to other parts below!!]

link to picrew

Hello: Hello there! I’m Aluxia, though if you’ve talked to people around, you might’ve heard of me. I’m a magic performer and singer. If you’d like, I can show you around town if you’d like.

Chat- Occupation: Being a celebrity is much harder than one would think. It’s not talent that got me here, it’s hard work. (soft giggle)

Chat- Fontaine: Fontaine’s a beautiful place; I wouldn’t live anywhere else.

Chat- Magic Trick: Take a card, and don’t show me. I’ll show you the other half of the pair.

When it rains: Oh gosh, it’s raining. Let’s get inside.

After the rain: It finally stopped raining… (relieved sigh)

When it snows: It’s so cold; gosh I should’ve brought a jacket. I’m so glad I convinced Mama not to go outside.

When it’s windy: Gosh, at this rate, my hair’s going to be carried off into the distance.

Good morning: Morning, I’m going to prepare breakfast shortly.

Good afternoon: If there’s anything you need me to do, just let me know.

Good evening: Hmm… I wonder what Mama’s going to make for dinner.

Good night: (yawns) Night, see you in the morning.

About Aluxia Fanris- trust: W-well, I don’t just trust anyone you know. They’ve gotta earn it; good job on doing that well.

About Aluxia Fanris- singing: I’ve always liked to sing, ever since I was little. (sigh) I still do now, on the stage. It’s different, when there are many people watching. It’s easy to worry if they’ll hate you afterwards, but when you hear their cheers and see their smiles, it’s something to never forget.

About Aluxia Fanris I: My mother’s family used to be well-known. Now, our family name has no longer been continued. It’s still in the history books, so that’s all that matters. After all, it’s my ancestors that are to be celebrated, not our family name. They’re the ones who worked hard, so they should get all the credit and perks.

About Aluxia Fanris II: My father’s side? Well, (nervous laugh) they’re not the best of people. A lot has happened; I’d do anything to be less affiliated with them. I’d change my surname too, but Mama would be sad that I wouldn’t identify as my father’s daughter anymore.

About Aluxia Fanris III: I spend most of my time in the library. Everything’s accessible there. After all, what is time for if it isn’t used to better oneself or to spend time with those close to you? Otherwise, it’d just be a waste. We had a lifespan given to us, so it is our duty to spend it to our fullest.

About Aluxia Fanris IV: Mama’s always so gullible. (sigh) I wish she’d learn how to be wary of people. I know she just wants to be nice, but not everyone is nice back. Just look at all the times she’s been wronged because she’s easy to trick.

About Aluxia Fanris V: Do I look tired? I probably am. Last night I had a hard time sleeping; I’m impatient when it comes to falling asleep. (sigh) If only I could sleep as soon as I wished to...

About us- the market: Oh, oh! I have to take you out to the market soon. They have all the best stuff, from fresh vegetables to even kameras! I know everyone there and the ins and outs of their products, hehe.

Something to share- fans: I love my fans- for the most part. They give me so much support, and they’re the entire reason for my success. Though, I do wish they could just calm down a little sometimes. I’ve gotten confessions over mail, during meets, and even from stalkers I’ve had to fish out near my home. (sigh) Can people just have some common sense and respect?

Something to share- scent: I like it when I smell good. Not that I just smell clean, but I also smell sweet. People like sweet things; why not smell sweet too? Of course, it should be taken into moderation as well, but just a little can boost sales up.

Interesting things: I always said that the things I did were all for the family. After all, my work gave them food on the table and a roof over their heads, but perhaps, did they want something else? Something more? Perhaps spending all my time working is more selfish than anything...

[ about {character} lines will be added in the future]

Aluxia’s hobbies: My hobbies, huh… would my work be considered a hobby? I enjoy singing and dancing and doing magic tricks quite a lot...

Aluxia’s troubles: Oh, gosh, Elma and Ainos are fighting and Mama’s not hearing them. (sigh) These two never stop.

Favorite food: Mama’s chicken fricassee is the absolute best. I can make it, but it’s just not the same. It’s perhaps the only food I’d miss if I were to go far from here...

Least favorite food: Peppers… if possible, I’d rather not eat those. (nervous laughter)

Birthday: Happy birthday to you~ Happy birthday to you~ Happy birthday happy birthday~ Happy birthday to you~ Yay!! You’re now one year wiser, I suppose. I wish you a year of prosperity and mora, hehe.

Feelings about ascension Intro: It’s only the beginning. Let’s keep going.

Feelings about ascension Building up: Ouah, it seems the hard work is finally starting to pay off, huh?

Feelings about ascension Climax: There’s nothing practice can’t do. Practice makes perfect, they say. True, in a general statement, though there isn’t a perfect; there is only better.

Feelings about ascension Conclusion: Perhaps it’s time for me to move onto something else, something new to improve on. But thank you, I will never forget the time we spent training together.

Added to party:

Already need my help?

Ready to go.

Let’s go, time’s passing already.

Elemental Skill:

Feel the wind!

Tread carefully now.

Elemental burst:

There are no exceptions.

You cannot hide from the sound which travels in the wind.

0 HP:

I- I wasn’t done… yet…

Perhaps… it’s time for me… to rest...

Gliding:

Whoo!

Heavy hit:

Augh, stay back!

Sprint:

No time to waste here. We’re moving quickly.

#genshin #genshin oc #genshin impact #aluxia

5 notes · View notes

blahblahwritings · 4 years

Text

Contracts and Captains. - IV

A/N: Remember how I posted something before one of my other fics saying that I had been consistently updating for weeks? Neither do I lmao who was she? Don’t know her anyway heres the fourth chapter of this black sails fic.

Words: 1823. Honestly I’ve been writing this since about 12pm I don’t know how its so short and its probably shit bc I haven’t written anything in months.

Warnings: Mentions of vomit as per the last chapter. Think thats it lmao. See you in three months.

As your eyes opened, there were a blissful couple of seconds where the previous night’s encounter didn’t exist in your memory. But, just like the sun flooding the room, unwanted flashes of vomit and slurred words rose like a tidal wave in your minds eye. You rolled over, burying your face and groaning into the pillow out of sheer embarrassment as a dull throbbing started in the depths of your skull.

Why did you keep drinking? You could’ve simply had one or two before retiring for the night and you wouldn’t have met that boatswain or thrown up on your own boots. What was his name again? Ben? Boyd? No, they weren’t quite right. Either way you made a mental note to apologise again whenever you next saw him.

Slowly, you tugged your still clothed limbs from the thin sheets, trying not to jostle your stomach too much for fear of whatever was left in there making an unwelcome appearance. Your pants were scuffed from where you took a tumble outside the tavern, your shirt was half undone, probably from a failed attempt to undress before not-so-gracefully falling into bed. A single boot was thrown on the floor alongside your coat, the other still stuck on your foot. What a mess.

A hot bath, that's what you needed, and a hearty breakfast if your insides don’t bring it back up. Pulling on the other boot, you made your way to one of the girls working downstairs, trading her coin to fill the tub in your room. You must’ve looked rough as you passed her to get to the man at the bar because when he turned to look at you, his brows shot up, disappearing behind his hair.

“You look like you could use a little hair of the dog, love.” He chuckled, eyes scanning your disheveled form. A grimace was your immediate response. “Some food then.” He offered, filling a bowl with something that you didn’t stop to look at as you practically inhaled it. The man watched you with a knowing smirk and had you not felt so terrible you’d have spat out a snarky comment. You chose to gulp down your water instead.

“Thank you.” You huffed with a small nod, tossing some money on the counter before you headed back upstairs. The state you were in just added to this morning's growing list of regrets but you weren’t quite sure if you cared how you looked to anyone else right now. All that was on your mind was a piercing headache and a good soak.

Stripping off, you stepped into the water, sinking down slowly as your body got used to the heat. Finally, with a heavy sigh, you rested your head on the back of the tub, your aching muscles beginning to relax. Scented oils and soaps were left on a stand by the bath. Working a generous amount between your palms, you massaged your limbs and torso getting rid of any tension and purging the memories of last night’s… festivities. In the quiet of your room, you took a moment to trace the small scars that littered your form, fingers landing at last on the freshly healed knife wound from only a few weeks ago. The soft pink flesh was still tender, and if you moved the wrong way it would ache. It was dangerous to be alone on this island, in this line of work. You needed friends, not just contacts. A crew, perhaps.

Letting your mind wander, you thought about your new found place among Flint’s men. You had to keep bringing in leads to be of any value to him, lest you risk being tossed aside and left in the dirt. He and his crew were among the most revered on the island, therefore cementing your part in that would bring security. It would ensure that other crews would leave you alone, as you were important to someone they feared and the consequences of harming you could be severe.

Then again, there was a little more than security on your list of perks as you thought more about the taller man from last night. He was kind to you, not that the others weren’t having bought your drinks and all, but, he made sure you were safe and fed. Billy Bones. You recalled. Replaying the meeting in your head, you winced at the slurred introduction and the puking soon after. Why did you care about how he saw you? Was it because he was the crew’s boatswain or because he was handsome and softer than most pirates you’d met.

Catching that last thought, you shook it from your head, refusing to let it take root in your brain. Attachments like that are a weakness here and you cannot afford to have those. You’d only met the guy once and he probably didn’t want anything to do with you anyway, especially after that drunken show you gave him. Cupping a handful of water, you splashed your face, scrubbing any further thoughts of the man from your head, instead, choosing to focus on finding a new lead for Flint.

They would be leaving to chase down the details you gave him yesterday in a couple of days, if not sooner, which meant you probably had around two weeks to find something of substance upon their return. You’d struggled last time but after sending out letters to old friends in neighbouring ports, you were hopeful something would turn up.

Padding your way to the dresser, you pulled out some fresh clothes and got ready, feeling much better than you did even an hour before. The food had settled your stomach and the water you guzzled seemed to bring some life back into your face as when you left to go hunt down some work, the barman from earlier spouted something along the lines of ‘A whole other woman’ when you walked by.

---

An uneventful morning led to an uneventful afternoon. There were no new letters or leads and the streets were pleasantly calm compared to usual. You certainly weren’t complaining, you had been feeling better since this morning but your body was still recovering. The easy day was probably just what you needed. You were sat on the beach, sipping some water and watching passersby as you sketched in the journal you kept.

It was something you’d taken to keeping since arriving in Nassau just over two years ago. A small leather book to help keep track of potential jobs and record anything interesting that happened. Really, though, you just loved to draw. You’d already filled a couple just like it with sketches of people, ships and landscapes that caught your eye, often accompanied by your messy scrawl. You were just about satisfied with your latest addition when Mr Gates clapped you on the shoulder making you jump and slam the journal closed. You’d never shown anyone the contents before.

“Sorry, Miss Devereux, didn’t mean to startle you.” He began, chuckling lightly at your reaction. “I heard you and the lads had quite the night..” He moved to stand by you as you got to your feet, dusting the sand from your pants. Tucking away the book, an amused smirk finds its way to your face as you look at him.

“Depends on who you ask.” You replied. “How were they this morning? Feeling sorry for themselves?” Your brows raised in question as you both started aimlessly wandering along the shore. A snort met your ears as his head fell forwards, looking at the ground then back at you. “I didn’t see the majority of them until at least noon and they were still in a sorry state, although I wonder how you must’ve been. I heard that you hurled your guts up right after meeting our boatswain.” Gates mused, eyes crinkling as he watched your entire face turn a lovely shade of red. You tried to keep your cool but your expression faltered into one of sheer embarrassment. Apparently, this was hilarious as Mr Gates exploded into a fit of hearty laughter, and as much as you told him to stop you couldn’t help but have a good chuckle yourself as you covered your face with a half-sandy palm at the thought.

When you both regain your composure, he gives you a reassuring pat on the back.

“Don’t worry, the only people who know are Billy and myself, the men still think you can hold your drink.” He winked. You made a move to argue that you could in fact hold your drink but he began talking about the plan to set sail the day after tomorrow. You listened intently and explained that you were awaiting correspondence from friends in other ports to supply more promising leads upon their return.

---

It had been four days since the crew left in search of another haul using your most recent information. Nothing out of the ordinary had happened, you’d made some money here and there through smaller jobs and pickpocketing but overall, there was nothing of real interest. You spent the days reading anything you could get your hands on or drawing and you’d even had your eye on some paints in one of the markets, but all you could do was wait. Checking for mail at the front desk of the inn you were staying at every morning had become a routine, desperate for any work or ships that you could relay to Flint. It was on the fifth day that you had gotten a response from someone in Port Royal.

As you read over the letter for the third time, you could feel your eyes widen in disbelief, your heart hammered in your chest and you released a breath you didn’t know you were holding. This was far too good to be true. Surely this was a myth. A prize of this magnitude was simply unheard of. Your eyes scanned over the paper again, barely able to focus on the words because your hands were trembling so violently. Calm down. You told yourself. It can’t be the truth. You thought as you stared at the other envelope that had arrived alongside it. At the bottom of the letter it read:

“P.S

Should you doubt my information, I sent you the correspondence shared between the dead man and the merchant with evidence pertaining to this gold. Best not ask how it came into my possession.

Your dear friend,

Josiah.”

You ran to shut the windows to your room and close the drapes. If anyone found out you had this information and the evidence to go with it, you would surely be killed for it. Tearing open the paper, you unfolded its contents. It was all here. The initials of the merchant, R.P., details alluding to the existence of this gold and the name of the dead man involved in plotting the course it would be on.

Vasquez.

#Black Sails #black sails imagine #Billy Bones #billy bones x reader #multi chapter #Captain Flint #mr gates

36 notes · View notes

houseki-no-suffering · 5 years

Note

Pssst.... gush about some thing you’ve wanted to for so long but haven’t found the ask to do so! I really like reading your metas or off-the-wall posts.

aw ty!

mmmh usually i just crank out a random meta when i feel like it, which i havent had the energy to do in a while. so have a lot of hcs about gem language, gem society and how it resembles a totalitarian system cause why not, this is already a dystopia.

goes from cute to shady real quick, have fun

Gem Vocabulary

gems have no gender, they dont age, they dont reproduce. the whole vocabulary about relationships, aging and sex must be completely different in gem language. they probably lack a lot of words we commonly use, and have unique words for things we dont have (like winter duty, patrol duty... i wouldnt be surprised if gem language had unique grammatical features for those)

this is one of the reasons why its so unfair of aechmea to call cairn ‘wife’ and ‘princess.’ the gems have no concept of wife-ness, we dont know if a gem equivalent of marriage exists, but its definitely much, much different from what the lunarians (and us) perceive as one.

do gems have anything akin coming of age? this could be weird bc gems can potentially live forever, but they can also be abducted by the lunarians at any time, so who’s to say how long a lustrous will live? how do you calculate being ‘of age’? is it by calculating the average life-span of a gem?

how do they measure time and seasons? we know they have winter and summer and phos mentions ‘spring’ in chapter 20, but what about months and lunar phases? do they have words for that or are months just too small a timeframe for the immortal lustrous to utilize? how do they measure time? in hours and seconds? weeks? different units altogether?

Gem Relationships

similarly, gem relationships are codified in a completely different way. we know they have a concept of romance bc dia ships phos and shinsha and makes comments here and there about other gems being in love.

at the same time, the relationships btw alexandrite and chrysoberyl, padpa and rutile, ghost/cairn and lapis etc are little different from ‘pure’ sibling/sibling relationships or senpai/kohai relationships.

this is not to say that they’re all romantic in nature, but the way they’re codified in canon (especially in the way the characters grief for their partner) makes me think that even if the gems have no blood/physical kinship with one another they have a very articulated system of establishing family bonds.

dia and bort are clearly siblings, but the same can’t be said, for example, for rutile and padpa, even if they were partners and even if they display a similar junior/senior relationship. this means that relationships are predicated on something else in hnk, and kinship, family and romance are all codified in a different way.

think of vulcans in star trek: physical contact such as two fingers touching, holding hands and kissing is unknown of (save for very specific circumstances). and vulcan people have a completely different way of expressing intimacy and romance than humans.

this makes me think: just how many canonically romantic relationships are there in hnk (if any) that we’re simply unaware of bc the way gems codify and express romance is so different from ours? is romance even common? rare? perceived as weird? useless?

what about other relationships? the gems use ‘little brother/ older brother’ but what if this is just japanese approximations? what kind of relationships can lustrous language really express and how different are they from ours?

Imagination

as @ruddy-rutile pointed out some time ago, the gems lack a concept of fantasy. thats why i posted that panel about alex’s original lunarian designs. sure, it’s funny, but it also makes you think: these gems are not raised to think outside the box and they can do it without being told so only under exceptional circumstances.

of the vast library of texts that ghost (and lapis) used to take care of, just how many are novels and fiction? none of them? a small amount? a decent amount? in a society thats as focused on practicality, efficiency and conservatism as the lustrous’, how is fiction perceived if perceived at all?

is there art? red beryl’s craft comes very close to art when they express their feelings about ‘fashion for fashion’s sake,’ but it’s an exception that the other gems find hard to grasp.

phos is often told to stop fantasizing about the world and get things done, the only tale we know the gems are told is the actual story of how their world came to be. the gems always talk about real things, stuff that happened, and make and do things that have a practical use.

even bort’s jellyfish diary is just made up of a recollection of what happened when they tried to feed them. still, the fact that bort names the jellyfish makes you think that these rocks do have potential for fantasy, theyre just not used to it

Totalitarianism and Privacy

to make this even more shady, here’s your gentle reminder that:

- gems’ rooms have no doors. the only door ive been able to find is the one in shinsha’s room (ch 2) and that is because shinsha’s room is closed off to other people and full of mercury. its like putting a patch on smth you dont want to deal with (much like shinsha’s whole character arc tbh)

- the gems have little to no free time. or their free time can be revoked any time in case an emergency occurs, sensei is napping etc. the gems’ time is rigorously managed by jade, euc and sensei. each gem has a place to be and a time to be.

this means that a missing gem can be found at all times and slackers can be identified very easily. they all have a job and they have to follow it. this is not to say that they have no fun ever, but leisure time is rare and (at least as far as we know) its not contemplated when tasks are assigned each day.

the mere fact that there is a morning assembly and tasks are assigned each day makes you think. is this communism? is this totalitarianism? but most importantly, is this a scary dystopia that hits you in the face like a brick the third time you reread ch 2?

- sameness > equality. i already went over this in the past. gems society underlines sameness and conformity over anything else. the gems think theyre equal but theyre actually ‘similar.’

a system based on equality emphasizes differences so that every individual can do the best with what they have got and get back what they need, according to their personal needs.

these gems emphasize sameness: everyone is upheld to the same standards, even when those standards dont match with a gem’s unique characteristics (ie phos cannot be a fighter, no reason to keep saying stuff like ‘if only you were stronger/you’re useless’ etc. they’re a rock with an imagination in a world where dull reality is the rule. just make them write theater plays and play with slugs with shinsha, wth)

It’s real 1984 hours:

all of the above means that:

- your sense of self is subordinated to the group. if you dont belong you’re simply a nothing. at times, the gems almost display a collective consciousness (a pretty hostile one too): everything must be decided together and done together

- you are what you do. gems identify completely with their job. thats why a job is so important, thats why this system is so fucked up. self worth is not inherent, it depends on what you can do. talk about a breeding ground for mental health issues

- you dont have a saying in picking your career or deciding for you future. thats up to sensei (and maybe euc and jade). unless you have a very strong affinity with a certain task (like red beryl and alex)

- youre expected to follow orders all the damn time. no matter how much sensei wants his gems to exert free will, they still prefer to do what theyre told. ill admit, its much easier than taking your life in your hands and decide what youre gonna do with it, but damn if it isnt depressing. and childish

- euclase and sensei are the authority. sensei and euc are the powers that be. in the sense that they assign tasks, they decide on times and battle plans, on purpose etc. lets not forget that euc was the one to take on sensei’s role after he ‘resigned.’

i wonder what would happen if euc were abducted and the gems had no one to follow anymore, no orders. who’d be the new leader? would there be one? lets not forget that no matter how gentle euc is, phos is shit scared of them.

- thought police is a thing. to end this meta on what is probably the shadiest note: surveillance is a thing. the gems report on each other, it’s thought police, no sugarcoating this.

there’s no privacy, no secrets. even antarc reads rutile’s diary. this goes from cute and childish (’you did this one wrong thing, im gonna tell sensei’) to absolutely fucked up (’you did this one wrong thing, im gonna tell sensei’)

#houseki no kuni #land of the lustrous #hnk #meta #best #im a sociologist what did ya expect #pls feel free to add on this

309 notes · View notes

chickensarentcheap · 4 years

Text

Best Part of Me -Chapter 88

Warnings: none

Tagging: @tragiclyhip, @innerpaperexpertcloud, @c-a-v-a-l-r-y, @alievans007

The final attempt at sleep had been successful. Although the road ahead of him is destined to be long and extremely difficult -and no doubt agonizing- his brief moment of wakefulness had done wonders to life Esme’s spirits. That chance to speak to him; to see him open his eyes and know -with one hundred percent certainty- that he was able to acknowledge her. It wasn’t a drug induced incoherent rambling or hallucination. He actually saw her and was able to engage; giving appropriate responses and showing concern for her and the baby. Able to express how he was feeling and that telling her he loved her. No one could ever possibly understand how just incredible that small moment was, or what an enormous impact it had on her state of mind. She knows it won’t be easy. There will be weeks, even months, of healing; tremendous pain and more hard times than easy ones. A full recovery could take as long as a couple of years; countless rounds of physical rehab will be needed and most likely therapy for mental health and addiction issues. But he’s already shown just how tenacious and strong he actually is; his will to live a lot more powerful than the agony he’s experiencing. With so much to live for, his desire to be with his family again is his main driving force, and she knows he’ll be willing to do whatever it takes to get back on his feet again.

Nathan may have been able to break his body, but he hadn’t made a dent in his spirit.

The burden she’s been carrying -the fear, worry, and uncertainty- had been lessened, and she’d been able to drift off; both body and mind allowing her to rest. So soundly in fact, that she’d only briefly stirred in the wee hours of the morning when Julie had come in while on her rounds. Merely lifting her head from the pillow; quietly observing as the nurse switched empty IV and medicine bags with full ones. Then she’d simply rolled over, pulled the blankets over her head, and easily drifted off.

Her sleep once again had been filled with dreams of the past. Millie’s first steps and how ecstatic and proud Tyler had been; never getting to experience many of Austin’s milestones because of deployments. How tearful he’d been the morning he’d walked into her room and Millie -who’d been standing up in her crib, excitedly bouncing up and down at the mere sight of him- had called him ‘daddy’ for the very first time. And the way he’d broken down in the delivery room when the twins had been born -even harder than he had when his daughter came into the world- and the nurse had given him TJ and said “Here’s your son”. He’d lost his first, and getting that moment again -a baby boy presented to him- had profoundly affected him A man that rightfully shouldn’t even have been alive. Who’d been given a second chance and at times didn’t feel as if he deserved it. There are still times he thinks that way. When the demons of the past resurface and play havoc on his brain; convincing him that the mistakes of a younger man and the amount of blood on his hands has turned him into a monster. It’s the nightmare of living with mental health issues and PTSD; those dark moments where he questions his mere existence and openly states that he doesn’t deserve the life he has now; a wife and children that love and accept him unconditionally.

It’s hard for people to understand. How a man that is so big and so strong -and often intimidating- can have those kinds of thoughts and vulnerable moments. But they don’t know everything that he’s battled. His childhood is one of his best kept secrets; only her and Koen know the full extent of his father’s behaviour, the abuse inflicted, and the long term damage it has caused. It’s not something he readily talks about; even with her. That toxic masculinity still gets the better of him at times. His father’s attempts at beating into him that a man -a REAL MAN- doesn’t show emotion; it means that he’s weak and there’s nothing more pathetic than being weak. And she’s tried to break him of it; years spent assuring him that he isn’t a weak man. A weak man would have given up in that storage facility. In the same way he would have given up on the Sultana Kamal Bridge seven years ago. And he certainly never would have survived the nightmare of his upbringing. Nor would he be so determined to be a better man; the kind of husband and father that a wife and kids can brag about and proud of. Who never have to live in fear of him ; cowering every time he raises his voice or even comes too close to them. Who know -beyond the shadow of a doubt- how much he loves him.

Tyler Rake is anything BUT weak. And he’d shown that the night before. Somehow finding a way to battle his way through this thick haze of multiple medications; gathering the strength to not only open his eyes, but actually think coherently and communicate. He was right. He DOES do whatever he wants.

When she finally wakes, it’s to the patter of rain against the window and the sounds of hospital life trickling through the half open door. Doctors being paged, the shrill ring of patients’ using their call buttons to summon for help, the loud rattle of gurneys being pushed through the halls. It’s a harsh reminder of her current situation; stuck in the ICU of a private hospital in Dhaka, thousands of miles away from her children and the comforts and security of her own home. She misses it. The sound and the smell of the ocean. The morning breeze and sunshine as she stands out on the back deck enjoying that first cup of tea, watching her husband as he helps Millie and the twins search -and dig, at times- for shells, rocks, and beach glass. Often wondering who is enjoying the quality time more; father or children. The dinners cooked on an open fire down by the water; the smiles brought to their faces -and that unconditional love and immense pride in his eyes- as they watch their children play and listen to those little voices and musical giggles floating on the air. And those strong, protective arms wrapped around her from behind as she sits between his legs. Her head resting against his chest as they quietly marvel at the sky; painted vivid shades of orange and pink as the sun sets.

It’s a life she had never even dared to dream about; a beautiful home in an even more even more beautiful place, amazing children and a husband that is faithful and loyal and only has eyes for her. All those things that she’d come to believe SHE didn’t deserve and had long ago given up on finding. How poetic in a way; two broken people coming together to make a slightly dented whole.

Sighing heavily, she rolls from side to back; eyes closed as she stretches and yawns The morning sickness has returned. With a vengeance. More than likely made worse by lack of food and the stress and worry that have accompanied the last twenty four hours. When she manages to quell the threatening nausea and brief spell of dizziness, she opens her eyes and sits up, finding a small paper bag sitting on the extra pillow beside her; name written on the front of it in black marker. And the contents bring the first genuine smile since yesterday morning; aside from Tyler’s brief period of consciousness. A bottle of prenatal vitamins, a small carton of chocolate milk, and an enormous blueberry muffin. Accompanied by a handwritten note from Julie; asking Esme to promise she’ll look after herself AND the baby, assurance that she’ll be back on in the evening, and her home phone number. The latter being offered as not only a ‘helpline’ if she feels overwhelmed and scared and needs someone to vent and cry to, but so she can give the nurse a list of some of her favorite foods. Julie vowing to bring a selection when she clocks in for her shift. It’s refreshing; having someone WANT to take care of her in that motherly fashion. Especially when her own has been anything but.

She shoves her feet into her sandals and climbs off the bed; returning it to its couch form. “Hey baby,” she greets as she stands at the side of Tyler’s bed; combing her fingers through his hair and pressing her lips to his temple. “Good morning. I hope you slept god. You didn’t snore, I know that much. That’s a first, huh? Me not complaining about your snoring? Must have been a really good sleep for you to be THAT quiet. You deserve it; that kind of sleep. Your face looks a little better, I think. Not as swollen. Pretty bruised though. And you’re going to have a couple wicked scars at the end of this.”

Her fingers gently touch the stitches below and above his eye.

“You’d probably joke about how it balances your face out; the right catching up with the left in the scar department. I think they’re going to make you even sexier. Which should be illegal, if you ask me. One man being that sexy? No wonder you’re a DILF. The thirsty ladies may drive me crazy, but I can’t really blame them. Right now I’m kind of mad at you though. I am so nauseous. And I swear, the bump is even bigger this morning...look…” she pushes her fingers through his, then draws their joined hands through the safety railing and places them on her stomach. “...bigger, right? You can’t tell me this is normal. None of the other ones were this size so soon. Not even Declan, and he was over ten pounds when he was born. And you better not be thinking multiples; one is all we can handle right about now. Let’s not bite off more than we can chew, alright? Six is more than enough. And speaking of babies, I’m going to ask Ovi to bring Addie here. She’s tiny still, Tyler. She shouldn’t be away from us this long. Especially me. She needs to be with her momma. And I think it would do you some good, too; having at least one of them here. So that’s my decision and you’re just going to have to live with it.”

She moves his hand back inside the confines of the bed, gently setting it on the mattress

“I love you,” she says, and presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “You keep sleeping, okay? And I hope if you’re dreaming, it’s good things for a change.”

****

She gives a small start when she exits the bathroom and finds Koen sitting in the bedside chair. Sipping from a take out cup of coffee and freshly shaven; his face bearing its own fair share of bruises and a handful of butterfly bandages keeping small, superficial wounds closed.

“Morning, sunshine!” He cheerfully greets, and nods to the cup of tea and a bag of fast food breakfast sitting on the window ledge. “I finally get to see you in your sexy jammies.”

Esme gives a derisive snort. “You DO have issues if you find sweatpants and an oversized shirt sexy,” she says as she journeys over to the window “I was going to give you shit for scaring the crap out of me, but seeing as you come bearing gifts, I’ll let it slide.” She peers into the bag, a grin tugging at her lips. “Either it was just a lucky guess, or you somehow know that when I’m pregnant, I always crave breakfast burritos.”

“There’s a lot I know about you. Someone talks about you. All the time. Mostly about shit I don’t need to know.”

“Well I’m glad you listened. Because this is a very nice surprise. Thank you,” she lays a hand on his shoulder and presses a kiss to his cheek. “And what’s up with this?” She lightly taps a hand against the side of his face. “All cleaned up. Smooth like a baby’s bum.”

“I thought there might be some hot nurses walking around. Want to put my best foot forward. Maybe you can hook me up; put in a good word for me.”

“Why would you want to hook with someone here? You’ll be going home soon.”

“Exactly.”

“Ewww…” she grimaces. “...I don’t need to know that you’re a ‘pump and dump’.”

“Considering the things I’ve had to hear from you and him?” Koen nods in Tyler’s direction. “What I said is tame. I’ve actually had to listen to you two….”

“I thought you were moving on from random hookups?” Esme remarks, and she perches on the arm of his chair and delves into one of the burritos. “I thought you were getting too old for that shit?”

“Excuse me, who are you calling old?”

“I thought Tyler was rubbing off on you. That he was some sort of inspiration to you and Rata; convincing you two it was time to stop sowing your wild oats and settle down once and for all. Didn’t you say it gave you hope? That if...and I quote…’someone can put up with the likes of him, that’s proof there IS someone out there for everyone’.”

“I did say that.”

“So what gives? Why are you looking for a random? You deserve more than that”

“Well if he was awake and could tell me where to find another one of you, I’d be all set.”

“Sorry. I’m limited edition. And I’ve already been claimed. A couple breakfast burritos just aren’t enough to make me divorce my husband and run away with you. It definitely takes more than that.”

“I knew I should have gotten you hash browns too.”

“That would have done it! Boy, did you ever blow that. I would have for sure ran away with you. Right this very second.”

“You know, as much as I enjoy our little banter, I don’t think I could handle you.”

“Oh, you definitely couldn’t. It takes a special breed of man, believe me. And I’m serious; aren’t you tired of NOT having someone to call your own? Someone to go home to at the end of the day? Someone that is your ‘be and end all’? Your ‘ride or die’?. You deserve to be happy. I WANT you to be happy.”

“I think Tyler took all the happy and didn’t leave any for anyone else.”

“When we get home, I am finding someone for you. I don’t care what it takes; I will put you on every dating site out there.”

“What about your sister? Or step sister. Whatever she is.”

“Riley? Are you serious? She’s twenty three!”

“And?”

“And you’re thirty years older than she is!”

“How old do you think I am?”

“I know you’re eight years older than Tyler. He’s almost forty two. So I lied; you’re only twenty seven years old than she is.”

“And?”

“And that’s fucking disturbing!”

Koen shrugs. “She’s cute”

“She is. You know who else finds her cute? Women. Who she is into. And she’s not a switch hitter.”

“Doesn’t take after her older sister, huh?”

Esme frowns. “He told you THAT, too?”

“He’s told me a lot of things, sunshine. You forget; he’s a chatty drunk. Until he’s a depressed and weepy drunk, that is.”

“There are many sides to him you don’t get to see. Sober sides. And don’t worry; my sister isn’t in contention, but I WILL find someone for you. And speaking of someone, where’s your sidekick?”

“He saw something downstairs he liked.”

“Really…” she playfully wriggles her eyebrows. “...blond or brunette?”

“Something in the gift shop. For the baby.”

“He knows?”

“EVERYONE knows.”

“Yaz has a big mouth,” Esme grumbles. “We weren’t going to tell anyone until we got home and found how far along I am. It’s what Tyler and I wanted.”

“I could gather a guess. About how far.”

“Sure you could,” she mutters. “And why do you keep looking at me like that? Why do you keep staring at my crotch?”

“I’m looking at your stomach. Where’d that come from?”

“It’s been there. I’ve just been hiding it because no one was supposed to know! Now that everyone does, I guess I don’t have to wear baggy clothes anymore. And it’s big, right? The bump? Bigger than any of the others?”

“How should I know? I only saw you pregnant with Millie and Addie. Never saw you with any of the boys.”

“It’s never been like this so soon! How big IS this baby?”

“Look at the size of the kid’s father. Maybe it’s taking after him. Or maybe there’s more than one.”

“Why would you do that? Why would you think it? Don’t put that out into the universe. There’s just one. That’s it. That will make it six. A nice even number.”

“Number six must be pretty damn big then.”

“You know what? You’re off my Christmas card list. There’s no way we’re running away together. You totally shit the bed. No second chances for you.

“What if I bring you chocolate?”

“Not even then. You just had to jinx the entire thing.”

Koen gives an over dramatic pout.

“Buddy, I have seen better pouts on a much bigger man. That won’t work on me. You have nothing on Tyler’s pout.”

“He doesn’t pout.”

“He sure as shit does. I’m going to prove it one day. I’m going to catch him doing it and take a picture. Then I’ll have the evidence. Tanner has the EXACT same pout; he mostly does it when he’s sleeping.”

“Speaking of pictures, I’ve got a little something for ya.” Koen reaches into the side pocket of his cargo pants, pulling out his cell and then thumbing through the gallery; choosing the image he wants and offering the phone to her. “Thought it would make you smile. The world’s a shitty place when you don’t. You got yourself a pretty nice smile.”

“You’ve been taking ass kissing lessons from the best, haven’t you,” she chides, then pops the last of her breakfast into her mouth and wipes her hands on her thighs. “Oh...my...god…” she breathes, and almost squeals in delight at the sight before her. Her husband long before the hardness and weariness brought on by his time in the military, substance abuse issues, and the dangers of the job. Before all of those demons took hold of him and he’d yet to go under a tattoo artist’s needle and no scars marred his body. Tall and lean; broad shouldered and bearing the start of the strong and solid physique of a soldier. A brush cut and a smooth, clean face; the smile -genuine and pure- making his eyes crinkle and sparkle.

“Back when he couldn’t even grow a proper beard yet,” Koen muses. “When he was still wet behind the ears. Nothing hard ass about that bloke in the picture, is there.”

“Where did you get this?” Esme can’t explain it; the tug at her heart and the emotion choking at her and the tears that well in her eyes. There’s something so surreal about it; seeing the person you love long before a hard and unpredictable life got a hold of them.

“Found a box of old pictures when I was going through some stuff back home. Meant to show it to him, but never got around to it. You mentioned before that you’ve never seen what he looked like before...well...before all of this.”

“I’ve only ever ever seen one picture of him. When he was five; with his mom on his first day of kindergarten. He doesn’t have any other ones; he says it’s not worth the grief he’ll get if he asks his dad if he has any. This is…I don’t know...it’s amazing. You have no idea what this means to me; seeing this. ESPECIALLY right now. This is everything. You can’t possibly understand what this does for me.”

“I think I do. I know how you feel about him. That you’re just as much a fool in love as he is.”

“I certainly am,” she smiles. “How old is he here?”

“Nineteen. Hadn’t been out of basic long; a couple weeks maybe. When he was a cocky little shit and as green as fresh baby shit. Cute, ain’t he?”

“Very cute. It’s weird seeing him like this. I’ve only seen MY Tyler. The one I’ve spent seven years with. I’ve never seen THIS Tyler. I know that sounds strange.”

“I’ve heard stranger.”

“Fourteen year old me would have had a huge crush on him.”

“What was fourteen year old Esme like?”

“Awkward. Geeky. Short as fuck and chubby. I had braces and jet black hair and I dressed like a goth. Big old Doc Marten boots that went up to my knees and everything.”

“Now THAT I’d like to see.”

“I don’t even have pictures of ME when I was that young. Tyler’s never seen old photos of me, either. I think the youngest he’s ever seen me was when I was twenty-three and just got into the Corps. It’s what happens; when your family is toxic and you’d rather not deal with them. Can you send this to me? I’d love to have this. And I’d love to show the kids. Especially Millie. She’d like to see her daddy when he was young and cute.”

“I’ll send it to ya. And when we get home, I’ll bring that box down and we can go through it. I’m sure there’s more you’d love to have. “

“Thank you.” She can’t hold back the tears. “You have no idea what it means to me. Even just having one picture. And I’m sorry; that I’m a whiny bitch baby. I would like to be able to blame it on the baby and my hormones, but it’s not those things. It’s just me. I’m not exactly having the best twenty four hours. I miss my kids. I hate being so far away from them. Especially Addie. But I can’t leave Tyler here. I just can’t.”

“I could stay,” Koen offers. “He wouldn’t be alone, you know that.”

“And I appreciate it, I do. But I need to be here with him. I didn’t leave him seven years ago, and I’m sure as hell not leaving him now. It’ll be better; when he gets sent to a hospital back home. Closest one is an hour from the house. It’ll be better than.”

“Well I’ll stick around as long as you need me to. Sort of made a promise that I’d take care of ya. I ain’t breaking it.”

“You’re all heart, Koen. You can pretend to be surly and hard ass all you want. I’m onto you.”

“Yeah, well I kind of like that giant, dumb ass bloke you’re married to. And you’re growing on me. So I figure I might as well step up and take his spot and treat like you like the queen you are.”

“You smooth talker,” she teases, ruffling his hair and pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Thank you. For the picture. You really don’t know how grateful I am for it. And thanks for being here; for both of us.”

“Anytime, sunshine.”

“And thank you for being with him yesterday. I could tell he was scared and in pain, and when I think what would have happened if he’d been alone…”

“Well he wasn’t. Alone. So don’t even think about that.”

“Thank you for getting him out of there. At least if he DID die, he wouldn’t have been left there. I don’t think I’d ever get over that; if I had to leave him here. I couldn’t cope with that.”

“Let’s not think about that, yeah? He got through it. He got out of there and it’s only uphill from here.”

“He really thought he was going to die, didn’t he.”

“Honestly? We all thought he was going to die.”

She releases a long, shaky sigh and blinks back tears. “I’m glad you were there with him. At least if the worst happened, he wouldn’t have been by himself. That is my biggest fear when it comes to the job; that if it DOES happen, he’ll be alone. I don’t know why it bothers me as much as it does. I just don’t want him to be alone...you know...IF…”

“Can’t dwell on stuff like that. You’ll drive yourself insane. Or give yourself gray hair.”

“Bold of you to assume I don’t already HAVE gray hair.”

“I don’t see anything.”

“I appreciate you feeding my ego, but I know you can see it. And believe, every one of my gray hairs has Tyler’s name on them. Maybe TJ too. Go figure; the junior being a TRUE junior.”

“That kid is his dad through and through. Tough on the outside, all heart on the inside. And that Millie…”

“Female version of him.”

“Exactly. It’s fitting if you ask me; him having a girl first and her being just like him. Gonna have his hands full with her.”

“She called last night. Wanting to talk to him. She had a bad dream and he always makes her feel better after a bad dream. Daddy’s the one that chases all the monsters away. She has so much faith in him; she knows he’d never ignore her. She’s already questioning why she can’t get a hold of him. I have to tell them; I can’t keep lying to them. And I’d rather they hear it from me than someone else. They’ll take it better if it comes from me, I think.”

Koen nods in agreement.

“But on the bright side, he had a really good night. An amazing night, actually. He woke up. Twice. Once for the nurse, once for me.”

Koen frowns.

“What?”

“He woke up?”

Esme nods. “The first time, Julie...his night nurse…said he woke up and wanted to know who the hell she was and that he asked for me. And he even told her he was feeling sick and she gave him some meds for it.”

“Hmm…”

“Second time, he opened his eyes and looked right at me. Told me to not cry. He said he wasn’t in any pain and that he was just tired. And he asked if the baby was okay and he said he loved me. It was amazing; to see him open his eyes and hear his voice.”

“Are you sure? That this happened?”

“What do you mean am I sure? Of course I’m sure. Why wouldn't I be?”

“Thought the doctor said they weren’t going to bring him out sedation for a few days? At least.”

“Julie said it isn’t uncommon; moments of wakefulness and some lucidity. It’s just sedation, it’s not a medically induced coma like last time.”

“He actually woke up? After everything he went through during the day? All the surgeries, the amount of meds they’re pushing into him? He opened his eyes and talked to you?”

“That’s exactly what happened. Why are you questioning it? I wouldn’t lie about this.”

“I’m not saying you’re lying. Maybe you were dreaming. Maybe you were hallucinating from lack of sleep.”

“I wasn’t dreaming and I wasn’t seeing things. He woke up, looked at me, and talked to me. It happened. It was real.”

“Esme, don’t take this the wrong way, but maybe it was wishful thinking on your part and…”

“It happened,” she insists. “I was there. I witnessed it.”

“And I was there in that storage and in that van. I know what kind of shape he was in; I know how close he was to lights out. Permanently. And you’re telling me, after all the injuries, all the surgeries, all the meds, he just woke up? The same day?”

“I know it sounds crazy. And I wouldn’t believe it if someone told me either. But I SAW it. With my own two eyes. And you know how tough he is; how damn stubborn he is. Does it really surprise you that of all the people who would fight THIS hard, it’s Tyler? You know him; you know how strong he is. You know he’d do anything for me and the kids. So is that big of a stretch that he’d wake up like that? Even if it was just to give me some hope?”

Koen sighs.

“He woke up AND he talked to me. And you know what? It was incredible and made me feel better; to know his brain is working and that he’s not giving up. I needed that; some kind of sign that he’s going to be okay And he gave it to me.”

“So why isn’t he awake now?” Koen challenges.

“Maybe he used up all his energy last night and he needs to build it back up again.”

“If he’s got it in him to wake up last night, he should be awake right now. I’ve got some shit to say to him for scaring me as bad as he did. How come he’s not up now and talking to me?”

“I don’t know. I only know what happened last night. I only know…”

“Maybe I don’t want to talk to you,” Tyler’s voice -weak, groggy, and slightly slurred by the effects of medication- pipes up. “Now shut the fuck up. You’re given me a headache.”

“See!” Esme smiles triumphantly. “I told you.”

****

When she returns from taking a much needed shower, she finds Rata outside Tyler’s room tightly clutching a gift bag from the shop in the front lobby and pacing at a near frantic rate. It’s odd to see him this way, clearly frazzled and nervous shoulders tense; chewing on his bottom lip and occasionally stopping and peering into the room. Normally he’s the ‘life of the party’; clueless in an adorable way, always acting far less intelligent than he actually is just to get a laugh. Possessing an air of confidence without an ounce of cockiness; quick with sarcastic comments and witty comebacks. The ‘uncle’ that always sits at the kids’ tables during Christmas dinner and then helps build lego sets and put together toy car race tracks instead of socializing with the adults.

“Hey you,” she warmly greets, and lays a comforting hand on his back. “You okay?”

He responds by wrapping her in a huge; strong, muscular arms noticeably trembling.

“You alright?” Esme asks, as she runs her hands up and down his biceps. “You don’t look so good. What’s going on?”

“I don’t like hospitals much. Especially a place like THIS in a hospital. Where people are really bad. EXTRA bad.”

“He’s a lot better than anyone thought he would be. Especially so soon And he doesn’t look THAT awful, I swear. He’s even waking up for a little bits at a time. A person who is ‘extra bad’, wouldn't be doing that, would they?”

“I just don’t know if I can go in there just yet. I mean, I was there. Yesterday. In the van. I saw what he was like; how bad he was. And I’ve never seen Tyler like that. I’ve seen him shot a couple times during our tours in the Middle East, but those were nothing. Just flesh wounds, you know? But that? Yesterday? Those weren’t just flesh wounds. And by the time he got back home seven years ago…”

“He was already somewhat on his feet and in rehab.”

Rata nods. “He was almost back to himself. It’s going to be a long while before he gets back to himself this time.”

“Yesterday was pretty awful, huh?

He releases a small, shaky sigh. “Wasn’t so much how he looked. All the blood and what not. I mean, that was bad, don’t get me wrong. It was fucking awful. Pardon my language.”

“I hear and say worse all the time. You don’t have to filter yourself around me. You’ve met my husband, right? You can’t be easily offended AND stay married to him. It just won’t work.”

“It was terrible. A fucking nightmare. To see a friend of yours THAT messed up. But the worst part? It was what he SOUNDED like. When he was talking to you. I’ve never heard him sound like that. Ever.”

“Neither have I,” she admits. “Not seven years ago, not even the two times he tried to...well, you know. He never sounded like THAT.”

“Like he was going to die.”

“Yesterday I tried telling myself he didn’t sound that way. That he was just tired and scared and in pain and he just needed it to end. I convinced myself that he didn’t sound THAT bad. Near death. Now I realize I was just trying to make myself feel better, know what I mean?”

Rata nods.

“He was a lot closer to it than I want to admit. I thought nothing could be worse than seven years ago. I was so wrong.”

“It was what he said to you. How he said it. He was pretty sure he was never going to see you again. That’s the only thing he was really scared of; the thought of not getting to be with you anymore. You and the kids. You’re his entire world. I didn’t think I realized how much he loves you all until I heard the things that came out of his mouth. Opened my eyes; made me see him a different way. A good way, just different. He’s lucky. He’s got someone that loves him as much as he loves them. That’s something I think we all want but never seem to find.”

“Sometimes I wonder what I ever did right to deserve him,” she confesses. “And he’s here because of you guys. You and Koen. You did whatever you had to go get him here alive. So thank you. I know it wasn’t easy; what you had to see and do. I was there myself. Seven years ago. I know how hard it is.”

“I feel like such a dick. For not being able to go in there. Like a total pussy.”

“You’re not any of those things. People handle stuff like this in different ways. But you should go in there. He’s really not that bad. And he was awake and talking a bit to Koen. I don’t know if he still is, but I do know he’d like to see you. I know how much he appreciates what you did to help him. I’ll go in with you if that would help.”

“It would. A bit. But first,” he offers the gift bag. “ I have something for you. And the baby.”

“The baby won’t be here for months. You didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to. Just a little something.”

She reaches into the bag, smiling at the stuffed tiger that she pulls out of its confines. “How did you remember the tradition? Every Rake baby gets a stuffed animal?”

“Just something that stuck with me, I guess.”

“It’s adorable. Thank you. Better not let Millie get a hold of it. That girl and her stuffed animals, I swear. You didn't have to do this. You didn’t…” her voice trails off, fingers reaching for the familiar object tied to the ribbon around the tiger’s neck. Eyes narrowed at first, then slowly widening when the realization sets in it. “Where did you find this? Where…?”

“I didn’t find it. Tyler gave it to me. Before we got to the storage place. He asked me to give it to you if something went wrong.”

“He did?” Esme unties the thin piece of fabric, sliding the ring off of it and then cradling it in her palm.

“He wanted me to make sure you got it. If he didn’t make it. Said it was important that you got it.”

“I thought it was lost,” her voice cracks with emotion. “I thought maybe he took it off beforehand and put it in his pocket and it fell out. Or that the ER staff misplaced it. I didn’t think I’d ever see it again.”

“I should have given it to you right away. Yesterday. Please don’t cry.”

“I’m not crying because of what you did or didn’t do. I thought it was gone. Forever. And I know it’s not much; it’s not expensive or fancy or anything like that. But it’s his. All the dents and scratches that he’s on it over the years. Sounds weird, but they all mean something. I really thought I’d never see it again. And I didn’t think I’d be as torn about it as I was. But it killed me inside; when I couldn’t find it. It felt like a piece of him was gone and I was just waiting for all the other pieces to disappear too. Thank you; you have no idea how much this means to me. To have this back.”

She hooks the handle of the bag around her wrist, then reaches around to the nape of her neck and removes the necklace -the custom made piece with the beach glass Millie had found- and slips the ring onto the chain.

“I’ll do it,” Rata offers, and steps behind her. Large fingers clumsy and struggling at first, but then manage to secure the clasp.

Esme lays a palm over the ring, firmly pressing it into her chest. Feeling the smooth, cool metal with its many imperfections, the familiar weight of it against her. And the relief that simple piece of jewellery brings is profound, stifling sobs with both of her hands as she turns and tightly embraces her friend.

#Tyler Rake #Tyler Rake fan fiction #Tyler Rake fan fic #Extraction fan fiction

6 notes · View notes

p-artsypants · 4 years

Text

Longest Night (36) Visiting

Ao3 | FF.net

Waking up was slowly becoming Adrien’s least favorite activity. Of course, that was shortly followed by falling back to sleep. He was in a state of barely wakefulness, while also being too tired to sleep. His mouth was dried out and scratchy, and the tingling sensation of numbness had settled into his limbs.

Breathing was still difficult. He knew that the tube in his throat was supposed to be helping with that, but it just sucked. It all sucked. Everything hurt, and he felt disgusting, and his nose itched.

Was this his existence from now on? He didn’t know if he could bare it.

The doctor was standing in front of him. “Hi Adrien, how are you feeling today?”

How was he supposed to answer that? With a moan? A smile?

“Wink once for yes, and twice for no.”

Wink.

“Excellent. Now I know you’re uncomfortable, but we need to wake you up for a little bit. In about an hour, we’ll sedate you again.”

Oh so he wasn’t even sleeping on his own? Damn.

“Are you warm enough?”

Wink.

“Are you thirsty?”

Wink.

“Yeah, I’m sure your mouth is dry too. But you can’t take any fluids by mouth right now. You have a feeding tube in your mouth, and a nasotracheal tube in your nose so you can breathe. Then we have an IV for fluids. Because you’re thirsty, that’s a sign that I can up your fluid intake.”

Adrien closed his eyes, emotion building behind his eyelids.

He didn’t want this.

“We’re going to get some food in you too, while you’re awake. It might feel a little awkward because you won’t be swallowing on your own, but you have to eat.”

It not like Adrien could protest.

So food was forced down the tube in his throat by a pump. It wasn’t a lot, but it helped to ease the pain in his stomach.

“There’s someone who’s been dying to see you. Well, he’s been here for a while, but he wants you to see him,” Said the doctor. “Are you up for a guest?”

No. He wasn’t. He didn’t want anyone to see him.

Unless it was Marinette. In which case, yes.

Wink.

Instead, a black blur floated in front of his face. “Hey kid,” Plagg greeted, with a soft voice full of affection.

Looking into Plagg’s infinite green eyes, Adrien felt a hurricane of emotions. Feelings of abandonment, betrayal, grief, and failure. Of sorrow and anger, confusion and hatred.

It was awful and unfair. Plagg hadn’t done anything wrong, and Adrien knew that in his head.

But trauma messes with the brain.

Adrien clenched his eyes shut, as tears leaked out.

“I missed you,” Plagg said, nuzzling against his cheek.

Where were you?! Adrien screamed in his head, I needed you!

“You’re so brave, Adrien.”

But Adrien didn’t want to hear it. He was so lost in his hurt, he couldn’t bare it. He swatted Plagg away, feebly.

The Kwami sunk to the mattress, staring at his charge. This was not the tearful reunion he expected. “Adrien?” He whispered.

The boy kept his eyes shut as tears continued to slip out.

The doctor carefully wiped his face. “Alright, that’s enough for today.” He urged.

Plagg disappeared, hiding somewhere out of sight, and that was just fine with Adrien.

“That wasn’t very nice, Adrien.” Gabriel scolded.

Ugh. He wanted to talk to his father even less. Especially right now. Why was he even here? Wasn’t he profoundly disappointed in him already? Was he a glutton for punishment?

“Plagg has been here all along. He’s been worried sick. I’ve been worried sick.”

Yeah right.

Adrien rolled his eyes and turned his face towards his pillow. This was unfair, having to listen to this, not being allowed to leave. Not being able to defend himself.

“Mr. Agreste,” the doctor interrupted. “Adrien’s heart rate is accelerating. We’re trying to keep him calm. Perhaps now is not the time for a lecture.”

“Of course. I’m sure he’s just confused.”

Confused? No, he was perfectly aware of what was going on. He was in a hospital, bound to a bed, and being prepared to fit right back into the peg he didn’t fit anymore. He could see it unfolding around him.

And it was maddening.

“I can see you’re feeling tired. Ready to go back to sleep?”

Please. Please for the love of God.

Wink.

“Alright. Just try to relax and take a deep breath, counting down from ten.

1…

2…

3…

Well it didn’t work, because here he was awake again.

“Good morning Adrien, how are you today?”

Again, he couldn’t talk. Hadn’t they just had this conversation? Perhaps not, considering the doctor had been wearing a blue shirt yesterday, and today he was wearing a red one.

Had he slept that hard?

“Are you cold?”

Wink wink.

“Are you hot?”

Now that he thought about it, he was stifling under these blankets.

Wink.

The doctor rolled back the top layer.

Again, he was force fed some unidentifiable substance through a feeding tube, and he was asked a dozen yes or no questions.

“I have some more visitors for you. If you’re up for it.”

Why not? It’s not like he was really given a choice.

But when Tom Dupain came into view, with a warm and tender smile on his lips, Adrien relaxed.

“Hey kiddo, look at you! You’ve got some color in your cheeks!” He said softly, brushing his thumb over his forehead.

That felt nice.

Sabine was up further by his head. “We’ve been with Marinette most of the time, but when the doctor said you were going to wake up for a little bit, we just had to come say hi!” She was lightly scratching his scalp.

That felt really nice.

Now these were parents. Always a warm welcome, full of hugs, ready to stuff him full of carbs. Whenever he had come over to Marinette’s house, they had both asked about his day, his well-being. It was everything he craved in his own father.

They were a comfort. The comfort of having a mom and dad around when you didn’t feel well. Though they couldn’t necessarily make the pain go away, the kiss on the head was soothing.

“Marinette’s sitting up now and eating on her own.” Sabine said, as she squeezed his hand. “Isn’t that just wonderful? She still sleeps most of the time, but that’s really good.”

It hurt to hear about his lady. Hurt to hear and not see.

“She came to see you a few days ago,” said Tom. “When you were severely unstable instead of mostly unstable.” He joked. “She really misses you.”

And he missed her. Even though they were mostly separated in the catacombs, she was still with him in experience. The fear for her safety, wondering if she was safe, it kept her close when he couldn’t be with her. Her voice from the adjacent cell, her hand in his...

What a horrible thing to bond over.

“She’d come see you every day if she could.” Tom insisted, “but the doctors want you both to stay as calm as possible. Especially you. But it won’t be long until we move you into the same room.”

Sabine swept the bangs from his forehead. “And Marinette is really looking forward to spending the Christmas season with you. Hot cocoa, cookies, evenings in front of the fire and watching the snow fall...”

All things he had seen in movies, but nothing he had emotional attachment to. Maybe having them around for the season would make things more bearable, but he doubted Sabine had any idea how unmotivated the holiday made him.

“You’re so strong.” Sabine whispered, before kissing his forehead. “You’re fading fast, but just know that we’ll be checking in on you when we can.”

Adrien felt a tear run down his cheek.

What did he do to deserve such love? Did they just love Marinette so much that it overflowed onto the people she loved? Was that what a parent’s love was like? Or what it should be like?

With one last squeeze to his hand, they left. Their departure was foggy, as the drugs started to kick in again.

“Just sleep Adrien, you’re doing so well,” praised the doctor.

1…

2…

3…

And then he was awake again. And the process repeated himself. Hot? Wink wink. Cold? Wink. Blankets. Food.

Guest?

Wink.

This time, it was someone he was unfamiliar with. A woman with short gray hair, stout, Coke-bottle glasses.

“Well hello there, Adrien. Adrien Agreste, the one and only! How’re you feeling sweetie?”

Oh, so this was a fan then? Or perhaps another nurse?

“My name is Dr. Robin Zollar, I’m a board certified clinical psychologist, and I specialize in the treatment of physical and emotional trauma in youth. I’m going to be working with you and Marinette going forward.”

Her voice sounded so familiar to him. Who did she remind him of?

“I know it’s kind of a kick in the pants not being able to talk things out right now, but I just came to introduce myself and let you know I’m here for you.”

It was a cartoon character, for sure. An older woman in a cartoon...

“I’ll be keeping an eye on your recovery, and when you can talk, I’ll be right here to listen. And if you don’t want to talk about it right away, you don’t have to. I won’t judge, I’m just here to help.”

Ah yes. The fairy godmother from Cinderella. An odd connection, but it felt accurate.

“What you’ve both been through is extremely traumatic, and it’s one that no one else can sympathize with. From here on out, you’re going to have to learn what your new normal is. Don’t expect to get right back to where you were. You need to be patient with yourself and know your limits. Most of all, I want you to talk out what you’re feeling. Don’t bottle stuff up, though it might be easy to do so.”

What, no bippity boppity boo?

“You have a great support network here. It’ll be really easy to shut everyone out, but I recommend against that.”

A strong support network? Where was that network the rest of his life? When his mother died? Through all those years of grieving and neglect? When he asked for therapy?

Where was the comfort then? He had asked for help. And he had been told he didn’t need it. It took the trauma to be public to get help.

And that was bullshit.

“Is that something you’re interested in? Wink once for yes, twice for no.”

Wink wink.

The woman nodded. “Okay. Well, if you change your mind, your father will get in touch with me.”

Yeah right. If he changed his mind, his father will ridicule him for it. ‘Why didn’t you take it before?’ He’d ask, ‘it’s been long enough now. You don’t need it anymore.’

But it’s not like it would help anyway.

The psychologist bid him farewell while he was lost in his thoughts, and soon he was put back to sleep again.

The next morning, while felt like a minute later, Adrien blinked his eyes open, seeing Doctor Boucher nearby.

But there was someone else too. A warm, familiar face that he hadn’t expected to see.

Nino.

Nino was smiling at him. Just a patient, friendly smile.

Adrien hated it. And he hated that he didn’t know why.

Nino rested a hand on his shoulder, rubbing a thumb back and forth over his collarbone. He comforted him while he was fed, and all his vitals were checked. Then the doctor backed off.

“Hey bro, you look like death.” He said it with a laugh, trying to make a joke. To loosen him up as always. To bring laughter and happiness to his dull, gray, lonely life.

“I mean, you look better than when you were brought here. Got a little color in your cheeks. Well, your face in general, I can’t really see your cheeks.”

Right.

“Chloe really wanted to come, but your dad was afraid she would jump on you in her excitement.”

That was probably true. He didn’t really want to face Chloe right now anyway.

Nino swallowed thickly, and when he spoke, his voice was filled with emotion. “I really missed you, Adrien. You’re my best friend, my brother…the best person I know.” He sniffed. “I want you to be happy, you know? I want…to help you. And I’ll do anything for you. You know that, right?”

There was a tickle on the back on his head. A memory locked away that was demanding to be recalled. A moment on a rooftop, standing in the drizzling rain. Nino on the ground, terrified, staring up at him with nothing but fear.

“Hey, hey dude…come on man…you didn’t know.”

Shame. That’s what he felt. He had hurt his best friend, though he couldn’t remember the specifics. But why wouldn’t be feel shame? The whole world saw him naked, crawling on the ground, wallowing in his filth and crying crying crying…

Wasn’t Nino embarrassed by him? Wasn’t he disgusted? Everyone else was.

He had to be faking it. Cutting him off like he wanted to would make him feel too guilty. That had to be it.

Who would want to be friends with him?

Nino kept talking, but Adrien didn’t want to hear anymore. So he closed his eyes and pretended to fall asleep.

Eventually he left, by suggestion of the doctor, and the room went quiet.

Every once in a while, he’d hear the flip of a piece of paper, and the beep of a machine. Cracking one eye open, he saw his father reading a magazine. The lights were dimmed, and they were alone.

The doctor hadn’t put him back under for sedation.

Which meant he could finally rest without the jarring sensation of the scene changing every hour, but it also meant he had to fall asleep on his own. It also meant he had time to think. And only think.

His pain was low, but with each passing minute, it was starting to rise again.

It would be really nice to lay on his other side. Ugh, but he was too weak to even try.

God his throat was dry.

His father flipped another page. Why wouldn’t he just go home? Why was he here? Pretending to care?

A throat cleared, but it wasn’t Gabriel’s.

Adrien raised his eyes to the door, where a figure in black leather stood.

Adrien’s throat was already dry, and he almost gagged on his feeding tube.

“Relax, it’s just me.” Said the figure, becoming more visible.

Chat Noir had come to visit him.

Wait.

He rubbed his thumb over his ring finger, not feeling his Miraculous.

“Nah, don’t worry. I’m a hallucination born of a lot of pain meds and trauma. I don’t think the doc ever had a time to explain that to you.”

So he was crazy now?

“No, you’re not crazy. My visits will fade with time. But you have to talk somehow.”

To who? Himself?

“Yeah. Better than no one. Now, I know what you’re thinking. Why Chat? Why not regular Adrien? It’s because you don’t want to be Adrien right now.”

True.

“But Chat’s always been your creative outlet. Your source of bravery, your fun side. Maybe you’ll listen to me better.”

Listen to him? What did he have to listen to?

“Your attitude stinks,” Chat said fiercely. “How dare you. You should be glad they can’t see your facial expressions. Nino was so worried about you, and you tuned him out! Tom and Sabine? They took time away from their own daughter, who’s hurt just as bad as you are, to come see you and to love on you, and you doubted them! Your own father, who has never showed an ounce of care for you in years, is here, right here!” He gestured to the man who was oblivious to the exchange. “He’s left his house, he appeared in public, and he looks like a hobo! Because of you! I know this isn’t going to undo all those years of hurt, but you have to acknowledge him. It’s not fair to him, and it’s not fair to you if you don’t.”

And when he wasn’t dying in a hospital? When Gabriel decides everything is fine now, and turns back into a robot?

“Then that’s his problem. Then you can say ‘screw it’ and be with Marinette.” He took a few steps closer and loomed over him, threateningly. Though he was a hallucination, Adrien feared he might actually get hurt.

“More than anything, you need to apologize to Plagg.”

Plagg abandoned him. No matter how many times he called for him, he never came. Not in the darkest places, in the longest nights…

“He was asleep in the ring! You can’t blame him for that! Don’t you know how much he loves you? He’s been with you every moment since you got the ring. He’s your constant companion, and he knows how to make you feel better. Why would you push him away?”

He promised never to leave Adrien alone ever again.

“That wasn’t his fault. You know that. I’m right here, telling you. And I am you. That part of you that Salo tried so damn hard to stamp out. That part of you that loves unconditionally, that gives second chances to those that don’t deserve it. The part of you that made you worthy of the Miraculous.”

Well, Adrien was tired of that part of him. It only lead to trouble.

“Deny me all you want, but I’m the foundation to your very being. I’m not going anywhere. This is who you are, Adrien. Accept it, or spend the rest of your life in denial and misery.”

“Adrien?” The small, timid voice of Plagg spoke up. “Are you still awake?”

The kwami floated into his vision, his limbs limp, his ears drooped, and eyes downcast. “Listen…I know…I know you feel like…” He sighed, unable to find the words. Adrien knew he was always bad with feelings. “I love you, Adrien,” he said finally. “You’re my favorite holder I’ve ever had. I would never, ever intentionally abandon you. When Salo took off the ring…I felt ripped away from you. I felt it. It was the worst feeling ever. Then I was alone in the ring, waiting. I didn’t know if you were killed or—“ Fat tears fell from his eyes as he struggled to continue. “And then I woke up, and I found you…and you were in surgery and there was all that blood—“ he dissolved into quiet sobbing.

Maybe Chat Noir had a point. Maybe everyone was right. Even if the only person, or kwami, gunning for him was Plagg, he would be unstoppable.

It took great effort, but Adrien raised his hand and wrapped his fingers around Plagg’s small body, stroking his head with his thumb.

“Are…are you still mad at me? Wink once for yes, and twice for no.”

Wink wink.

#longest night #ml #miraculous ladybug #fanfiction #adrien agreste #chat noir

35 notes · View notes

yeoldontknow · 5 years

Text

As Still As Sound: 4

Author’s Note: thank you to everyone who has patiently waited for this update. ive been waiting for it too. ily so much. i hope you enjoy <3 Pairing: Chanyeol x Reader (oc; female) Songs Mentioned: From Her To Eternity - Nick Cave and The Badseeds / Cry To Me - Solomon Burke Genre: soulmate!au; angst; fluff; romance Rating (this chapter): R Warnings: some mature sexual themes; explicit language Word Count: 9K

masterlist

Months ago, the concert was your idea, a thing you suggested with fire behind your teeth and adrenaline in your veins.

You remember, now, the way your hands rushed to buy the tickets, typing passwords and entering pre-sale codes, telling Kate over and over down the phone that you’d pay for hers if you got in, that this was a once in a lifetime opportunity - that Nick Cave, more than anyone, had constructed your adulthood. In your heart, you carried him, the sound of his voice, and the words from his lips - a soundtrack of misery, anguish, and the fleeting experience of contentment that painted your journey into maturity red and red and red.

Months ago, Kate agreed, her excitement at the prospect of joining you almost wild and ravenous. Together, you’d looked forward to this, marked days on calendars and held the tickets in your hands in the morning before work, disbelieving and somewhat overwhelmed.

Today, the concert is her idea, a suggestion born purely from kindness; a friendly reminder you need to go out, away from your home and away from your constant, desperate soundtrack - released, finally, from your state of entrapment.

It is not, you imagine, that your anticipation of the show has ceased - far from it - merely that your anticipation and excitement has been redirected to a man whose voice is just as low, just as effective, and meant for your ears alone. The gravel nestled within Chanyeol’s voice is a chocolate honeycomb of affection, putting syrup and sweetness and devotion into your blood - a sugar rush upon which you get high; where Nick’s lyrics remind you of the heartbreak so unilaterally partnered with the act of living, Chanyeol’s words - simple and unpoetic as they often are - ignite the hope you had scorned and turned away, putting the thrill of living back into your lungs.

For weeks you have wondered if this is how people live now, if this is how people had been living long before the solar flare - endlessly searching and seeking, restless and waiting for the vibrancy of an overeager heartbeat; hoping and hoping and hoping to be touched and felt and needed.

Until Chanyeol, this was not you. These types of deep rooted, tenacious emotions carried with them an unprecedented sense of repulsion - not to the person, but to the intensity, and to, more than anything, the incomprehensible notion that you needed another person to feel whole.

Finding romance, for you, was a pleasure, and seeking pleasure in another person was a brief, impermanent adventure, something only slightly more transient than a roller coaster. Did people always crave like this? Did your parents want and need and yearn for one another long before they had confirmation they could? Was it not existentially exhausting to want and pine and wish, almost as compulsively as breathing, for the arms of another?

Would you, had you met Chanyeol on the street and not entwined or laced between your music, have felt such pining and longing for his hands, his voice, his breath as you do now? Would you, had you seen him at the shop, buying records and buying albums, unknowingly sharing his music taste with your cash register, have listened to all the same things, hoping to share a part of him as you do now?

In the end, it does not matter.

These questions do not matter because the cosmos has built itself around you and around him, twining your hearts together until the days have started to blur into one half formed and hardly tangible rise and set of the sun. In your efforts of hearing him once more, the play count and hours logged on your last.fm have reached new highs, an almost constant list of songs based on genres, artists, and decades you imagine he would like growing and growing until, for several hours, it stopped counting altogether, seemingly overwhelmed. Where before you listened to only one album, playing through enough Neil Diamond to feel as though his lyrics are the lexicon of your speech, now you have knowledge of a science and a pattern, but no element of control to manage your testing.

All you know is that you will meet him when you play the same song, and you have, and will and are, pushed yourself into obsession in the effort of meeting him again.

And so it is not that you do not want to go to the show any longer.

On the contrary, you find, as you tie the laces of your combat boots and check - twice before you leave and once after the tube carriage doors close - for your tickets, you are craving the thunder and violence of live music. Lately, you have needed to be rattled - shaken down to your core by something familiar, not something cosmic. Live music builds the person you are back up from nothing, the person you have lost after days and weeks and months of work, and family, and responsibility structured through a sound wave.

In losing yourself completely, surrendering to the passion and the energy and the noise until your mind is full of nothing else, do you find your true soul, remember who you are and what you are, someone who survives on the edge of existence and with a smile wide enough to hurt.

And so, it is not that you don't want to go to the show. You are adamant about this, reminding yourself that you need the emotional rest and that you crave this as you stand on the tube platform. An approaching train puts a warm breeze through your hair, the unprecedented loudness drowning out all other sounds and leaving you, momentarily, in a dull roar of silence. Grimacing, you step on the train, frustrated with the noise of the tube and the sense that you lose time every time you take a journey.

Time you could have spent finding Chanyeol.

Annoyed with yourself, you release a chastising laugh. It is not that you don’t want to go to the show, it is simply the hours with live music are hours without him, without an opportunity to find him, have him, hold him - three minutes amongst hours that slip through your fingers. Pressing your back against rough cushion of the tube seat, you raise the volume of the music in your headphones, hoping the sound of Etta James can slow your rapid thoughts into silence, a pout pushing at your lips in disdain.

You only ever have three minutes with Chanyeol, three minutes which seem to pass in seconds, time slipping through and around you as though you are both simultaneously part of the natural order of the earth and separate from it altogether. His voice alone renders time meaningless, a concept the air in his lungs blows to dust, lips kissing at words that become stars in your eyes and held together by the fabric of your ardor. Three minutes and endless seconds, hours missed and hours lost, and it is all completely unequivocally unfair.

Tonight, the tube carriage is full of people and strangers, some bonded, some free; some headed to the same show as you, evidenced by their band tee shirts and their jittery, shaking legs, and all, most likely, will get to experience the slow descent into love at a pace they have chosen to set. Chewing at the inside of your cheek, you bite back a frustrated sigh, willing your mouth to suck the bitterness from your tongue. The envy of their supposed simplicity sends your heart sinking, resentful and aware that you deserve nothing less than what you have been given.

Gifted to you, somewhat cruelly, is a love that appears only when you least expect it and always when you imagine it has departed from you entirely, a fluke or trick of the imagination brought forward by the human instinct to want a partner. Once more, you are reminded of Kate's words, her small laugh and the acknowledgement that this sort of connection is so like you, your inherent distrust of love resulting in a connection that feels incredible but seems to distrust if you were worthy of it.

But still, your hand grips your phone tightly, hoping that maybe Chanyeol is listening to Etta James too and that, even if you do not meet in these songs, he wants you, through and beyond time, and down to his very core.

Kate is waiting for you at the front entry of the Eventim Apollo, a delicate flush painted on her cheeks from the uncharacteristically cool night and a bounce in her knees, unable to keep still. A smile is tucked into the corner of her lips as she speaks on the phone, a secret affection given away by the glimmer of joy in her eyes. The surrounding city lights are eaten by the matte fabric of her burgundy coat, as though she absorbs the world and glows on her own. Hurrying through her conversation as you approach, she laughs, the sound adopting a musical cadence she only ever exudes when she is blissfully happy.

'Yes, I'll text when it's over and we're leaving,' she says, rushing through the words as she waves you over. 'Do you want me to call if they play Jesus of the Moon? Okay, love you too. Bye.'

Coming to stand at her side, you dig through your bag, smiling to yourself. 'Baekhyun couldn't make it?'

She slips her phone into her pocket, taking the ticket you hand her with a small pout. 'No, he couldn't find any tickets on StubHub or the forums. The prices were astronomical.'

Nodding, you walk with her to the queue, which has already begun to shrink. Doors opened twenty minutes ago, and while you both have standing stall tickets, neither of you had the energy to queue. It will be just as magical, you know, standing towards the back and letting the light in.

'I can't imagine the fans would be selling,' you muse, opening your bag for checking and offering a polite smile to the security guard who nods mutely in gratitude. 'I'm disappointed, though. I was looking forward to meeting him.'

'You'll meet him soon enough,’ she replies offhandedly, muttering a gentle thank you as security waves her forward. 'I'm impressed by you, though.'

Walking through the entry, you hand your ticket for scanning and cock a quizzical brow in her direction. 'How do you mean?'

Ticket scanned, she pushes it into her bag before gesturing her hands over her ears, giving the impression of ear muffs. 'You brought the small earbuds and not your big clunkers.'

Rolling your eyes, you purse your lips. 'I hate that you call them that.’

The slight irritation in your voice is undercut by the hum of people within the venue, some at the bar and others heading towards coat check. Glancing in Kate's direction, you find her eyes remain locked on the entryway to the stage floor, expression unfazed and unmarred by your displeasure. It does not matter if she heard you or not, she's had this conversation enough to know your opinion.

'They're studio headphones,’ you finish, unbothered by the petulant tone you’ve adopted.

She laughs, nodding at your clarification while she trains a focused stare on the sound booth and the surrounding barrier.

'There good?' she asks, pointing to the section just in front of the sound desk - a place for you to stand and lean if you grow tired. At your hum of approval, she beelines with you in tow, and continues where your conversation left off.

'Precisely zero people walk around the tube with those,’ she says, pride overtaking an edge to her voice, pleased by her success of finding a good spot.

'Fuck off,' you murmur, leaning back against the barrier and assessing your view of the stage. 'I just didn't want to bring a big bag. And,' you emphasize, turning to finally look at her once more, 'I'll have you know those headphones have incredible audio quality.'

'For music?' Kate's lip curls in a mischievous smirk, and your mouth runs dry in anticipation. 'Or for a certain someone?'

A small hiss of air escapes your teeth, bemused but unsurprised. For a moment, you let your eyes wander around the room, battling with yourself as you decide just how much you want to give away.

'And if I said both?' you counter eventually, voice bold and unflinchingly honest as you watch her expression immediately softens.

'Any luck the last few days, then?'

You shake your head, spine straightening as you roll your shoulders back, determined to appear decidedly okay. 'No.'

‘Are you certain he’s your soulmate?’

It is neither an insult nor an accusation, but still the air escapes your lungs, chest winded and pained by the unintended cruelty of her question. But then, you quickly realize the last she's heard is that you were uncertain - that you had no idea about him at all, meeting with her at the pub only to disappear for weeks, responding here and there through text. To her, your relationship with Chanyeol is as good as a science experiment. While you know for a fact you had lied, unwilling to admit, then, that you knew from the moment his first breath reached your ears he was yours, now she simply questions your diligence in an act of concern for her closest friend.

And so you smile, aware that the expression looks sad, unmoved in your effort to make someone else feel comfortable when discussing this topic.

‘I’m confident it’s him.’

The firmness in your tone as you say the words does not make up for the pain your muscles had taken on after you lied, but at least, in this moment, the weightlessness of such a melancholy statement gives your heart the sensation of floating beneath your sternum.

It feels good to say it, to admit it. It feels good to be claimed by him.

Warmth floods her irises, one of her hands coming to hold your arm in gentle reassurance. Empathy mixes with sympathy, shades of the Kate you remember pre-Baekhyun glossing over her current visage in a sort of time slip. It hits you, then, that she had felt this way, once. While she had a clear marker for her connection, a clock beneath her skin stopping the moment she came into contact with her soulmate, the confidence that she would ever be released from her own prison had never once been something she believed she could touch.

All at once, you are reminded of the months she said she wanted to bond even if she didn’t like it, just so that it could be over.

'You'll figure it out soon,' she affirms, the softness in her voice mixing with her stubborn determination. 'On the bright side, this is a vast improvement from believing you don't have anyone at all.'

'Is it though?' You don't mean for it to sound pleading, but the ferocity of your affection has taken hold of pieces within your soul you did not know existed. And, while you are confident you don’t wish to be freed from this new, uncharted intensity, you simply wish there was a logic to make the pain a little more bearable. 'Or am I simply driving myself mad, thinking and overthinking?'

'You do that anyway,' she counters, playfully, 'so I'm not sure the bond is to blame.'

Laughing, you nudge your shoulder into hers and release a groan of agreement, jostled by her honesty. Regardless if you had bonded with Chanyeol or not, your mind would have raced towards an infinite number of conclusions, exhausting your heart into a state of paralysis. Bond or no bond, your mind was never one to allow itself a moment of reprieve.

'Look,' she continues, cocking her head towards the stage in encouragement. 'Just forget about it for tonight. You need a break. No bonds. Just us and our first boyfriend.'

Kate’s advice is sound, and it works for a while. For a time, you are tethered to the moment by the strength in the hold of her hand, the way she holds you to her side and shares, with all of herself, the light and the sound and the feeling. But soon, her grasp on your hand turns your thoughts inward, in that purgatory of time between the opener and the main act, when there is little to do apart from buy another pint of cider, feeling the thrum of excitement down into your bones.

While she checks her phone for texts from Baekhyun, you wonder if Chanyeol is here, sharing this moment with you the same way you have been sharing songs. It would not be preposterous to assume he would be, the majority of London’s rock scene gathered to get high and get wrecked by a sonic release that will likely feel akin to something biblical. Craning your neck, you glance around the venue, hoping to be struck by him as if by lightning.

For weeks, you’ve wondered if you’ve passed him, shared a tube with him - if he’s even in London at all. Being separated by miles and seas from your soulmate is not uncommon; you would not be the first instance of such a curse, but still those couples found one another, and so you have not given up the waxy sensation of hope as it glides over your fingers.

But still, you may be the first instance of couple sharing song and sharing sound, only having minutes - perhaps less - to glean as much information from one another as you can. Those who hear one another’s thoughts coordinate meeting places, already knowing what and who they should be looking for; those with sensory loss and clocks have concise ways of knowing when and how to find their person, the earthquake of first contact partnered with a monumental change. Yet, there is no guarantee you would find Chanyeol even if he were here, no promise that you would feel him even if he were rows behind or in front of you.

And so you cling, in the end, to the prayer that tonight, even if he is not here, he finds his way to any of the twenty-six songs on the setlist.

The lights dim at nine on the dot, carrying with it the familiar sensation of floating, the yells from the crowd swiftly wiping any further thought from your mind. You smile - you feel yourself smiling, and you are unsure when your cheeks had pulled back to reveal your teeth, but you do not mind. At once, the hairs on your arms stand on end, brought to life by the strength of adrenaline alone, the gooseflesh along your skin and sending a shiver down your spine. Kate’s hand squeezes yours, a touch and a hold that feels to you like a liveware, and you lift yourself taller, back straightening as though boosted by the roar of the speaker feedback.

The first notes hit you in the center of your chest, the kind of eruption that could leave a person winded, and the force of it does not seem to stop throughout the night. Eyes closed, mouth screaming the words, the only tether you have to the earth is Kate’s hand, rooting you to gravity. Tension leaves your jaw, the stress of existence seeping from your bones and leaving you weightless, skin tingling from the sudden relaxation. Throughout the night, Kate’s hand in yours becomes a comfort, a familiar sensation you do not need to focus on but recognize just the same, feeling safe simply because her own fingers press into your knuckles in delight.

And it is then, in the middle of From Her To Eternity, when you realize touch and contact carries with it its own set of rules, a logic and an understanding that goes far beyond conscious conception; a logic that need not be experienced in order to be conceived - you can feel the texture of silk just by thinking of the word; you can feel, rather easily, the cool clasp of a leather jacket, just by picturing the silver.

And it is then, in the middle of From Her To Eternity, that you think on Chanyeol, on the way he pulls at you and your soul, and suddenly, all at once, as if he had never been departed from you at all, feel him over and inside of you.

From out of the black, his hands tug at your waist, aching to press you flush against his body - seemingly disdainful of any separation. During the guitar riff before the chorus, you can almost hear him, cheering and singing along to the notes with an ecstatic sort of howl - one hand fisting in your shirt in an effort to make sure you experience him at the same time. Heart racing and blood rushing beneath your skin, you lean back into where you imagine his chest would be, careful not to fall or pull Kate with you. You take luxury in the peculiarity of this sensation, at a body without a body being at once behind and a part of yours. Almost instantly, you open for and open to him, begging him to stay, to never leave, to make a home of you, and you spread your legs a little wider hoping to feel his leg press against your thighs, encouraging him to bind his bones with yours.

A shiver walks along your nerves as his other hand glides up your extended arm, carding your fingers together as he sings - rich, and full voiced, and transcendent - all the lyrics you echo back to him, to Nick, to the atmosphere. The warmth of his aura floods your muscles, a small moan escaping your lips in the middle your favourite lyric, words garbled by the sudden overwhelm of heat. As badly as you want Chanyeol, so too does he want your skin, wants the prints of your fingertips smeared all over him, bodies thrumming from passion, adrenaline, and delirium.

The fabric of your clothes becomes tight, the denim of your black jeans feeling thin and damp around the curve of your ass; your shirt, wrapped in his grip and rubbing against your waist, is moist at the base of your spine, the heat from the crowd and the heat from Chanyeol pulling the wetness from your pores. His long fingers extend upward against your stomach, grazing the soft fabric of your bra with his nails - a sensation that tickles you, barely there and barely tangible, but felt all the same.

Looking up at your hand, vision blurred and lips pulled into a messy, lopsided smile, you suddenly feel dizzy.

This hand is empty. You know and can see that it is empty. Part of you does not question this because if he were here, if he were truly with you, the roughness of his skin would ignite the chemistry of your molecules, transforming you into something Other and something Unknown. You know your hand is empty, but still the haze of fingers and knuckles and the pink redness of blood at the fingertips takes shape. The blurred edges of this image make you feel motion sick, bewildered by the sudden trick of the light and the trick of your heart, blinking once and twice before it is gone altogether.

There is no hand holding yours, no fingers pressing hungrily at your breast, but you feel them - you still feel him, as though the seismic weight of your wishing has brought him forth, brought the memory of every other contact you’ve felt into the nerves of your palm and married it, desperately, with the malformed shadow of Chanyeol.

It’s difficult, you find, building a person around a voice or building a heart around sound, but then - isn’t that what a heartbeat is? A constant rhythm keeping space and keeping time, pulling you close and close and close, able to be recognized regardless of the cartilage that separates you from it.

Chanyeol holds you close, curled into you from fear that you will leave him, rocking into your back and pressing a smile into the skin of your neck as he sings and sings and sings. You’re vibrating, holding onto nothing at the same time as you hold onto Kate, feeling wetness pool between your thighs from the sheer magnitude of wanting without having, knowing how it feels to be pressed close to a body, the hardness of a person grazing your back and ass, and allow your mind to fill the missing pieces in on your behalf. The sound of his voice travels through your ears, your mind, and into your open mouth, tongue going dry from the sheer force of him.

Like always, he is a flood, a force of nature you absolutely cannot resist, soul surrendering, almost immediately, to the magic of his existence.

It could be the cider, you think, that elevates your heart rate and puts a rush of blood into your lips that makes them feel swollen, and full, begging to be kissed or bitten. It could be the crowd and their energy making you wish and crave for someone to share this intimacy with, the energy of the room pushed flush the chambers of your heart, and your brain ensuring the hazy outline of Chanyeol be there to deliver you to paradise. In the end, you decide it does not matter, the answers to these questions are not nearly as meaningful as the way he tells you this is his favourite song too, and you cling to the way he speaks and breathes; mostly, you cling to the way his lips seem to press against your ear, demanding you hear him and you do not forget.

And just as swiftly as the song started, just as quickly as the feeling came, it leaves you, the red flush on your chest lingering even after he is gone. The heat from the room sticks to your skin, much the same way Kate’s eyes burn into your profile. With vigor, she pulls her hand from yours, tugging it from your grip. In your peripheral, you watch the way she stretches out her hand and fingers, massaging the bones and regards you with wide, worried eyes that demand an explanation. Unsure what to say and unprepared to speak at all, you keep your eyes trained on the stage, watching the stage as it goes dark and waiting for the sadness of your loss to creep back in as it always does.

But this time, there is change. This time, you are left with a tangible residue to mark his presence, a sign that your overactive imagination was not alone in its efforts.

This time, instead of the loss and the torment of separation, you focus on the sensation of your wet underwear, a pulsing vibration from inside your core reminding you this was real.

This was real.

The deep flush of your cheeks and the dry skin of your lips is grateful for the chilly night air as you exit the venue after the show. Tonight, the sky of London is clear and black, stars swallowed by the street lights with only the glow of the full moon reminding you there exists a world beyond this, beyond the world you've fallen into with Chanyeol. Breathless, you stand outside and check the time, hands shaking from both adrenaline and memory. This late at night, the tube is still running, but you crave the open expanse of the world, synapses too flooded with desire to handle the closed tunnels of the underground.

Close quarters and tight seats would only make you yearn for the press of his hands and his groin into your lap, the longing to be handled brimming over in the heat of your blood.

‘What the fuck was that?’ Kate asks, the disbelieving nature of her voice breaking your thoughts.

Tearing your eyes away from the sky, you regard her, wide eyed and breathless. Shadows have been carved into her features from the Eventim Apollo marquee sign and the silver glimmers of moonlight, a darkness under her eyes and cheekbones making her look severe and unnerved.

‘What?’ The small, thinness to your voice gives away you know precisely to what she is referring, but you need her to say it.

You need her to say it and to confirm it.

‘You nearly broke my hand during that song.’ Neither angry nor upset, she simply massages her hand in concern, easing the lingering soreness. ‘I know its your favourite, but have some consideration for my joints, yeah?’

Looking down at your feet, your mind empties, mouth giving shape to apologies before your mind can properly form them. ‘Sorry,' you mutter, 'I didn’t realize I was squeezing you so tightly.’

Kate steps closer to you, bending down to study your face with a furrowed brow. ‘You’re all flushed, too. Are you drunk?’

You laugh, but you're not sure why. The sound is a faint whisper of humour carrying with it the turmoil of confusion, sounding, altogether, like you could be drunk. You might be, you think. He makes your skin feel just as edgeless as when you are too many ciders deep and telling London it is your only true, passionate love affair.

‘Maybe?’ you manage, the words little more than a noise of delirium.

‘You only had three ciders,’ she chuckles, yet her eyes remain guarded.

‘Well,’ you shrug, turning in the direction of the night bus. Your feet move of their own accord, not bothering to see if she follows. ‘Nick will do that to you.’

Pulling out her phone to presumably text Baekhyun, she hums in agreement, but still you feel her eyes bore into your back as you walk away, watching and watching, almost certain you might disappear.

You realize you never said goodbye.

The night bus home is difficult.

Normally, you relish this journey, take your time savoring the top level of the bus which somehow always feels reserved for concert goers. This late at night, their voices carry, domed around you as they discuss the show, the highlights, or, conversely, simply not talking at all, choosing instead to relive the show through their headphones. Tonight you join them, settling in an open row of seats next to the window and resting your head against the glass, seeking the refreshing texture in the hopes that it will cool your skin.

Tonight should be no different from all your other post-gig journeys home, excitement palpable in the almost thick heat of the bus and the way there’s a rush of emotion as the bus pulls away from the stop. This is when you’d smile, take your headphones out and play your way through the setlist; other times, you’d eavesdrop on the other conversations, smiling at their reactions and responses, turning inward and tuning out only after you cross the bridge over the Thames and the conversation turns a bit quiet, and a bit personal.

But tonight, the difference is in you - in the way you still cannot shake the feeling of Chanyeol’s strong hands and the thick cream of his voice, the memory of him seeming to overtake the memory of the show altogether.

Headphones wound in your lap, you regard them with a small pout. The ringing in your ears will do you no favors should you listen to any music, but your hesitation to touch and to use them runs deeper than the usual post-gig tinnitus. Even now, you can still feel him, the paradoxically smooth roughness of his palms as they moved over your skin, and the way his voice made you vibrate, trembling into nothingness in the effort of seeking more. Now, the white wires of your headphones pose an element of distrust and betrayal, the ground rules of your connection seeming to change just as soon as you understand them, and you wonder if you’re ready to feel him again, if you could, or if you’ve even stopped.

Turning to glance out the window, London seems to pass in a crystal haze, the lights from the city dotting the river like miniature spotlights, the city still alive and glittering. The vibrancy of London puts a smile on your face, the memory of the last time you rode a bus mixing with the memories of all the times before you’ve looked out at the skyline and wondered who was living, who was dying, and how many stories could be contained beneath just one streetlight. These idle thoughts always compelled you, your love for London and for the heartbeat of the city always overtaking your thoughts once the bus grew quiet.

Now, your imagination has become consumed with a man and the frequency of a voice that haunts you. Staring down at your hands, you study the lines in your skin and wonder what you felt - if you truly were feeling. Already a naturally warm person, the tender hold of his hand in yours put a rush of blood in your fingers, making them appear swollen and pink. And while you could see through and beyond him, as though he were an ephemeral mirage comprised of a longing that reached down into the chasm of your essence, for one moment you swore you could see the pink of his knuckles as he held you, clutching at your bones in an effort to stitch your bodies together.

Tonight, too, the steps up to your door feel endless, walls of the stairway closing in and becoming tight, compressed. Laughter echoes around you, strange for this hour of the night when your neighbors are usually asleep or out even later than you. It doesn’t sound familiar but it doesn’t sound foreign, the richness of the tone giving way to a younger Mr. Kim and a female voice you place as his wife, Aki. How many times had they walked these stairs, holding hands and kissing wrists, laughing and laughing until they silenced one another with kisses that seared against their smiles? How many times had they pressed one another against these walls, pressing fingers to lips to keep quiet only to fall into one another instead?

Were they soulmates, too, long before the world allowed for such a love?

The nostalgia of these unlived experiences burns against your throat, a lump forming that seems out of place and altogether irrational. A missing has taken root within you, deep down and all over again, though this time it is not for Chanyeol but for a future and a past running in beside one another in tandem. Do you miss the idea of youth, spending too much time with Mr. Kim and watching the way time eats at a heart and at a person? Do you miss the connection that comes from bodies? Your last boyfriend was years ago, just before the solar flare, and even then you had stopped connecting long before you called the relationship off. Even when you were together, pressed against one another in bed and sharing breaths, you weren’t really there, heart and mind going elsewhere to find pleasure.

Perhaps, in the end, you simply miss the happiness of coming home to someone, coming home to Chanyeol, or, most likely, coming home at all. Pushing through your door, the silence seems to swallow you, the quietness of your flat unfit for the energy pooling at your fingertips. Home hasn't felt like home for months, not since you first played Neil Diamond on repeat for days. Something about your flat has felt off, right in the ways that are familiar and wrong as thought something terribly important had been lost, or never found at all. Tonight, the quiet of it all eats at you, skin still stinging with the strength of Chanyeol's touch, and you find you need sound to drown out this loneliness.

Stripping off your clothes, the freedom of your removed bra makes you smile, suddenly hyper aware of the curves of your body. Embodied as you are, you find you need music to hold you together, to press against you the way hands should be - the way Chanyeol's hands would.

Solomon Burke's record is torn at the sides, the edges fraying and taped too many times for you to count. It should never have been left in a charity shop, but then, if it hadn't you never would have come to own it. Faded and worn as its sleeve may be, the record still rings clean and true, the pressed black vinyl glossy and glimmering in the low light of your flat. Uncorking a bottle of wine, your lips go numb as your heart begins to race, head tilting to the side in the expectation of a mouth gliding along your neck. The hair on your arms stands on end, the atmosphere suddenly full of static, electric as it kisses against your skin.

The world fades, the familiarity of this comforting and so unlike the illusion of his touch at the concert. In this, you ground, the world around you silenced except for the music and for him.

‘God, I’ve missed you,' you mumble, knowing he can hear you just fine.

Redness spreads across your chest, a flush of embarrassment at your admission painting you pink and pink. Silly, you think, for there was nothing to miss. You're certain he had never left you.

Chanyeol's laugh is low, a thunder roll easily missed if one is not hanging on every sound he makes. ‘I can still feel you,' he says, though the words come together behind a soft, impatient whine. ‘You’re driving me wild.’

‘Speak for yourself,' you snort, watching the wine as you pour it through half lidded eyes. ‘You’re the one that found me, and now I’m wearing you. I didn’t think we’d be able to...do that.’

He hums in agreement, pride evident in the smile you can almost hear him wear. ‘This, too.’

You knit your brows together, corking the bottle as you glance around your flat, confused. ‘What do you mean?’

‘It’s the first time I’m hearing you without headphones.'

Eyes widening, your gaze lands on the record as it turns and turns, the glimmers of light swirling over the record as it plays. Your headphones, earbuds and studio over-ear alike, are in your bedroom, packed away for their use tomorrow when you'll need them for your commute. Out of habit and the inherent human need for rationality, you look around your flat, feeling him close and hearing his breath as falls in a rushed, excited rhythm. Outside your window, the streetlights take on an otherworldly glow, the fabric of your couches, chairs, and curtains suddenly richer, deeper, your world coloured entirely by his presence.

Overwhelmed, you find all you can manage is the painfully simple, whispered exclamation, 'Oh, my god.'

He moves, that much is evident by the sound of his rustling clothes, and you turn around, looking for his shadow.

‘It’s the clearest you’ve ever been,' he says, sounding pleased. The joy of it, the joy and the shock and the clarity of him is heady, and you reach a hand out, gripping your counter. 'You’re surrounding me.’

Once again, he is not wrong, the sound of his voice seeming to fill the empty corners of your house and mind. Your grip on the counter tightens, joints aching from the effort of keeping still. If he were here, you'd reach for him, pull him to you and kiss him until your lungs hurt from lack of breath. If he were just as needy, maybe he'd place you on the counter top, spilling your wine as his hands massaged bruises into your thighs, leaving marks on your neck for the world to see.

It's shocking, you realize, what the sound of his voice can do. Just one laugh and already he stains the walls.

Swallowing thickly, you take in a long inhale, hoping to clear your mind and focus. ‘So you were at the show.’

It is not a question, just a statement of fact.

Chanyeol's laugh is one of disbelief and one of comfort, an odd mix of emotions you read so easily and find yourself getting drunk on just the same. Glancing down, you see the wine, untouched. ‘It’s so bizarre you just know it,' he says, breathless in his delight. ‘It’s like continuing a conversation we never started.’

‘So you were there tonight?’ you repeat, needing to hear his confirmation and refusing to let yourself run wild with the sheer magnitude of him.

‘Yeah, I was,' he admits. ‘I started feeling like you were there and...I don’t know.’ Chanyeol falls silent, but just as clearly as you can hear him, so too does your mind see him. He blushes, looking down at his hands and standing in the same place as you, sleeveless grey shirt revealing the muscles in his arms as he holds onto the counter. ‘I couldn’t help myself.’

The sound of your heartbeat fills your ears, and while you want to rush forward and talk and talk, for a moment you are speechless.

Chanyeol is in London.

There are no seas separating you.

Tonight, he was at the concert and just as easily as sharing a song, so too can you share the city. This kind of confirmation is worthy of a celebration, a late night phone call or text message to give an address, a number, a cab ride to a doorstep so hands and mouths can finally meet. But you don't mention it or expand on it, biting the side of your tongue in hesitation instead. Blood rushing in your ears interrupts all your fantasies, mouth unsure you're ready for your own admission to make it real.

When it's real, it breaks, and you're still unsure you're ready to be moved beyond the confines of the earth.

Blinking slowly, you ground yourself back in the deep breaths he takes to keep himself calm, and smile. 'I'm glad you didn't.' Once more, your eyes find your wine glass, hand reaching for the stem to swirl it around and around. 'It's been a long time since I've felt someone hold me so close at a concert. You were keeping me warm.'

Almost immediately, he replies. ‘Don’t talk about someone else's hands on you.' It is neither a demand not a command, but a plea. ‘I don’t like picturing it.’

Smirking, you cock your head to the side, the honey sweet drip of arousal running down your spine. ‘Possessive already?’

‘Yes,' comes his quick, unashamed reply. ‘Everyone before doesn’t matter,' he clarifies, eyes falling closed to keep himself calm, 'but I still can’t help it. My hands have been aching all night. I'll never have my fill of you.'

Uncertain how to reply, you simply smile. You smile straight ahead and at nothing at all, knowing that he can feel it. Nothing matters anymore, so long as he can feel it.

‘I wouldn’t have expected you to be there,' he says, words falling quickly in an effort of making the most of your time together. 'There weren’t many women, especially towards the front.’

Rolling your eyes, you sigh, tired of these types of gendered comments men so easily make when it comes to rock music. ‘Then you weren’t looking hard enough.’

Chanyeol, however, acquiesces easily. ‘True,' he affirms. ‘Though, to be fair, I was really only looking for you.’ You both fall into the memory, of the way you found one another in the breadth of a moment, in a setlist, and in the all encompassing ecstasy that comes from live music. ‘That’s my favourite song of his,' Chanyeol shares, sounding almost shy. 'From Her To Eternity is so powerful.'

Something about this makes you feel young, impossibly young and carefree, like your longtime crush has just admitted he likes the same things as you, and therefore it must be destiny. You laugh, feeling yourself go light headed from the force of it, and remind yourself that it is. It is actually destiny.

‘Mine too,' you agree, giggling. ‘It’s funny, people don’t mention that deep cut.’

‘Deep cut?’ he questions, and you have to stop yourself from sighing in deep affection at the image of his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. ‘Do you know something I don’t?’

‘No...just…’ Your words die, backtracking from your blanket statement. ‘It doesn’t get chosen very often as a favourite, is all.’

Seeming to realize that your time together is coming short, the end of side A looming closer, Chanyeol changes the subject. ‘I didn’t think I’d find you in this record.’

Humming, you look back at the record, and the torn somewhat bent edges of the sleeve. 'That's true,' you nod at no one in particular. 'It's a hard record to find, which is a shame because Cry To Me is the best part of Dirty Dancing.’

A small noise of uncertainty blooms from Chanyeol's chest, curiosity and interest blending together in one small, magical sound. ‘I don’t know what that is.'

Baffled and overtaken by skepticism, you laugh. Normally, such statements make you roll your eyes in disgust but there is something so wonderfully endearing about his joke you cannot help but smile. ‘That’s literally impossible. You’re such a guy.’

A low, slow rumble quakes in his chest, your eyes falling shut in preparation of the thickness of pleasure you know he is about to adopt. ‘If dirty dancing is what you want…’

‘Don’t start,' you whisper, mind replaying the sound over and over, addicted. ‘You’ve got me drunk on you.’

‘Speak for yourself,' he teases, mirroring your earlier statement.

For a brief moment, you can almost see him. Bottom lip caught between his teeth, his wide eyes look longing through you, hoping to find and touch and hold whatever part of you he can access. Like this, you both fall quiet, looking everywhere and nowhere for one another, and eventually, the shift of the earth on its axis makes your body sway, overcome by your unintentional stillness. Just like you could at the concert, you feel his hand reach for your waist, catching you, and it is this contact that makes you understand the difference between imagination and connection.

Where imagination is distant and feather light, a super imposition of assumption onto expectation, this is is a cosmic wave in which your drown, skin and soul and heart rattled by the impossibility and intensity of him. Neither fictional nor imagined, he is hyper-present and he is cosmic, a sunbeam trick that runs along the endings of your nerves.

‘So, do you like soul music, then?’ he asks, breaking your silence with an anxious tension at the back of his throat. His words are thick, heavy things that weigh against you, and you know he too is struggling to hold himself together.

A slow smile tugs at your lips, a lopsided grin of adoration. ‘I love it,’ you begin, pressing your tongue against your teeth unsure if you should continue. There’s so much on this you want to say, so much you normally give to other people with little passion returned. But he’s your soulmate, and if he’s really yours he will give back in spades. ‘Most days, I think it’s my favourite genre. It’s speaks of human connection in a way that I think other genres just can’t comprehend.’

‘Absolutely,’ he agrees, enthusiasm palpable in every syllable. ‘Their voices are full of the full spectrum of human emotion...it’s like they’ve felt so much more than I ever could. Every lyric is a love letter.’

Silently, you chuckle to yourself, eyes roaming up towards your ceiling in thanks to a God you never really had faith in. ‘Every time I listen to it, especially to an Otis song -’

‘God, I love Otis,’ he interrupts, over eager. ‘Sorry,’ comes his rushed apology, bemused by his excitement. ‘It’s just good to talk about it with someone.’

‘It’s okay.’

You want to reassure him everything he will ever say, every interruption is fine and good and gold, because you want, more than anything, to listen to him speak until the sun goes black. But Chanyeol remains quiet, impatiently waiting for you to continue, and you are so willing to give him absolutely everything he desires.

‘It’s so hard to explain…’ Your words fade, mind struggling to form a sentence that could convey the depth of your emotion. ‘He moves me,’ you finally announce, uncertain anything further needs to be said.

You have said this before. This thought and opinion is not unfamiliar or new. You have said as much to countless other people, people who simply laugh and tell you this thought is incomplete. Movement is born from a moment of pleasure, a spark and release of joy, and rarely is such a feeling understood outside of the moment in which it exists. To everyone else, this thought is illogical - not impossible, just unusual.

But Chanyeol sighs, a long exclamation of understanding, his heart and soul wilting directly into yours, finally witnessed. ‘Yeah?’ he swoons, urging you to continue with the force of his ardor.

Turning, you lean back against the counter, tilting your head upwards as though anticipating a kiss. ‘He was so young,’ you continue, voice small and distant, longing tracing every word on your tongue, ;but the way he spoke and the way he sang…’ You drift, trembling at the sudden sensation of a light touch ghosting along your cheek. You think it might be his nose as he runs it along your skin, breathing you in. ‘His music always feels like he’s lived three lifetimes, and loved, intensely, his way through each of them. I think I’d like to live like that.’

With his hands on you, you don’t even apologize for the slight stutter to your speech, affected.

‘Intensely in love?’ he whispers, and you lean into the sound, wanting.

‘Yeah.’

The sensation shifts to your other cheek, and you tilt your head in the mime of granting permission. Barely there grazes move along the edge of your cheekbone, tickling a phantom of wave of affection in its wake. But he remains silent, expecting and yearning for more.

‘For a long time,’ you manage, voice strained against your tight throat, ‘it was something I thought I’d ever want or need, that feeling of being loved through your humanity and into your spirit. I never thought I’d want it, because it couldn’t exist or, if it did, it was rare enough most of humanity shouldn’t bother trying to find it.’

‘A losing game,’ he clarifies, wistful and longing in his agreement.

Briefly reminded of Amy Winehouse, the distant melody plays in your mind. You wonder if he likes her as much as you. ‘But now -’ you raise your hands, curling your fingers and almost feeling the hard muscles of his hips as you pull him into you, ‘it’s like unlocking a door, you know? Stepping through to the other side and realizing, finally, what everyone had been singing about. I want that...to be loved so intensely, so in love, that it becomes the one thing I never question.’

Drowning in one another, you let yourself be held, body warming to a temperature that makes you crave the refreshment of air conditioning. Your skin is flushed, cheeks and neck and knuckles a reddish pink from both heat and desire, the rhythm of your heart putting a sheen of sweat at your brow. You don’t know when you got so warm, when he became a fire for your hands alone, but you don’t mind. If having him means burning, you don’t ever want to be cooled.

‘I want that, too.’ His forehead rests against yours, the last force of a touch you know is about to fade. ‘I want to give that to you.’

And with that, he is gone. The record stops, apartment quiet enough to make your teeth and ears ache, Side A complete. Normally, you’d whine and let yourself grieve, screaming to yourself that you want it, god how you want that, too, but tonight, for some reason, there is no place for such woe.

Chanyeol is in London.

Chanyeol is in London and now you have both heard and felt and learned him.

Chanyeol is in London.

It won’t be long now.

#chanyeol x reader #chanyeol fanfic #exosnet #kpopwonderlandtag #prettyboysnetwork #chanyeol scenario #chanyeol au #chanyeol fanfiction #exo au #exo scenario #exo fanfic #exo fanfiction #chanyeol fluff #chanyeol romance #park chanyeol

219 notes · View notes

bastillewolf · 4 years

Text

The Grand Tranquility Hotel (IV)

Pairing: Alex Turner/Reader

Summary: An eccentric hotel owner and an inquisitive writer find solace in each other when they both seemed to be at the edge of rock bottom.

Notes: Continuous angst and drama, but I promise next chapter Alex will show some of his better side. Love you lots for the wonderful feedback!

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list.

Chapter IV - Four Out Of Five

“Today is not just a day of celebration. It’s a day of gratitude. It’s a day where we realize our accomplishments were not only made by ourselves, but through the support of the people around us. When I built this hotel, I vowed to each of my guests that they would always have a room here, that they could place their trust in me. And in turn, I placed my trust in them. Without you, my guests, my friends, my family, I wouldn’t have been able to host this gathering. Because of you, this hotel got an exceptional rating that made not only our staff proud, but the entire country.”

There was a round of applause echoing through the large room, while a few local reporters took the moment to snap a few pictures. It quieted down again when Alex cleared his throat and raised his hand.

“I especially wanted to thank someone in particular. She is unfortunately no longer with us, but we will always remember her as one of our most esteemed guests who visited this hotel since it first opened. She’d written me a personal letter saying she had this wonderful young man who was very willing to come and work for me, who I now see as one of my most trusted employees. I am so grateful to have known her and am honoured to have her daughter remembering her amongst us tonight.”

He raised his glass, along with everyone else in the room, and held a toast to her mother’s name. All she could do was play along with a frown. Alex Turner was not the man she’d expected him to be. It all felt very forced.

“This hotel… It might hibernate from time to time, sink back into the swamp. I think the cyclical nature of the universe in which it exists demands that acquiesce to some of its rules. But we’re always waiting there, just around the corner, ready to make our way back through the sludge and smash through the glass ceiling, looking better than ever. And there’s nothing you can do about it. Have a nice night, cheers.”

The last part of his speech seemed oddly specific and she could tell it was a pointed remark. She just wasn’t sure who it was directed towards. Turner didn’t wait for the second round of applause to get off the stage, instead opting to immediately grab a flute of champagne from a tray one of the waiters was holding. “He can be so dramatic sometimes,” someone to her right chuckled.

Glancing over, her eyes found the face of a man she’d probably describe to have the most British face ever. Not unattractive in any way, his hair cut short and his hazel eyes locking hers in a warm and kind-hearted sort of embrace that made her feel immediately at ease. “You’re Miles Kane,” she blurted out. He smiled, “Correct. And you must be the ‘honoured’ guest I’ve been hearing so much about.”

“Only good things, I hope,” she said with a strained chuckle. “Only good things,” he winked. The corners of her mouth quirked up. She now understood why people chose him to be mayor, even if it was only because of his charisma. “I presume you already knew about the hotel review as well?” she continued curiously. He nodded, “They asked me to give a bit of a statement for the papers. Alex told me beforehand, though.” She hummed in interest, while her thoughts wandered back to that morning where she’d only then found out about the cause of the night’s celebration.

She’d casually strolled into the dining hall where most tables had either been removed or pushed against the walls of the room. At the back, the big stage had been cleared out and now only held a microphone and a few chairs. “You look happy today,” she commented, taking a seat at their usual spot. Matt looked up at her, silently sipping his coffee as he slid a newspaper towards her.

‘The Grand Tranquility Hotel was well reviewed; rated an exemplary four stars out of five. Mayor Kane states his joy, proclaiming “it’s unheard of.”’

She smiled, “That’s fantastic! Congratulations, Matthew.” Matt waved his hand bashfully at her. “So, that’s what the whole ‘gathering’ is about. Did you already know about all of this?” “I did,” he answered, “I’m sorry we didn’t tell you, miss. Mister Turner was pretty set on keeping things private until everything was set to go.” “That’s quite alright,” she replied. However, deep down she knew the predominant reason why no one had told her, thinking back to the argument she’d had with the hotel owner just the night before. They didn’t trust her, no matter how kind they were being.

“Speaking of, how are the preparations getting along?” she wondered. Matt sighed and set his fork which was still piercing a heaping amount of eggs back down on his plate. “In all honesty, miss, there’s still so much that has to be done. Nick is out looking for more temporary personnel after some cancelled at the last minute, Jamie’s preparing everything in the kitchen and you already know what kind of chaos it’s like when he’s stressed and I’m just making a list of the things I still need to figure out before the gathering. We’re not used to doing this sort of thing with a limited amount of staff, so we’re all a bit disconcerted.”

She glanced down at the notepad he had been scribbling on. “Then allow me to help. I might not be an expert party planner, but half of the things you’ve mentioned on there I can manage.” Matt shook his head, but before he could protest, she shot him a strict look. “Look, I’m offering you my services here, like you offered yours. I won’t tell mister Turner a thing and if he does find out for some reason, I’ll just tell him I was helping a friend out.” He smiled at that. “Alright then,” he finally agreed, “But you’ll have to promise me Alex doesn’t notice anything.”

And with that, she spent the afternoon moving furniture, decorating, dusting, vacuuming, tidying and all the works. She’d even aided Jamie after he’d had a breakdown over accidentally burning the cake that was sitting in the smoking oven. Using one of her mother’s trusted recipes, she’d baked him a new one that had tiers, icing and everything while he continued working on the appetizers. It resulted in him spinning her around and giving her a big kiss on the cheek.

She glanced over where her creation now stood proud and tall on a pedestal. Well, proud and tall with heaping chunks missing from it. “Jamie really outdid himself this time,” Miles commented, taking a bite of the sponge on his plate, “This cake is the best I’ve ever had.” She didn’t argue with him, because she felt Jamie deserved more credit for his work. Even if it wasn’t exactly his.

Her eyes roamed over the assorted crowd. They were what she’d expected them to be; stereotypically ritzy and exuding money. She wondered if that’s why Matt, Nick and Jamie were so adamant on letting her know she was too kind to them, because all other folks they had to deal with were like these. They weren’t the type of people to have a normal chat. Oh no, these were the personas who whispered and were opinionated about everything. When you’re so filthy rich you only hang out with the wealthy who are as impeccable as you, all forms of judgement you’ve got left is directed nit-picking and slanderous gossip.

She heard people comment on her dress, hair, makeup, she could name it all. But none who reported it directly to her. It was just loud enough so she would think it was a whisper and she wouldn’t be sure who it was from.

It was while wandering around when she finally heard comments that weren’t being made about her, but about something that most definitely interested her.

She reached for a glass from a waiter and smiled to him in thanks as she casually pretended to look for someone in the crowd while her ears picked up the conversation happening behind her.

“You know what I think?” A woman muttered, “I think this whole night is just a charity cause. He’s trying to petty us into giving him funds so he can continue his bland excuse of a hotel.” Another man joined in, “I don’t think that’s true. Did you hear his speech? He’s trying to cover up the fact he’s going bankrupt. His little act of intimidation was rather mournful, though.”

“He’s trying to cover up a lot of things, from what I’ve heard,” the same woman stated as a matter-of-factly. She let a short, yet effective pause draw out to spark their interest, before she continued. “A little birdie told me that the poor fellow got his heart broken. Got addicted to gambling because of it, lost all his funding and then some in one night.” They gasped dramatically, and she’d heard enough.

Like the person who had been observing her from across the room, had seen enough.

She came across Matt as she moved towards the exit, who gave her a questioning look, to which she simply responded that she was tired from everything the day had brought her. “I understand, ma’am,” he said, before he gave a small smile, “I can’t explain how grateful I am-“ “Don’t worry,” she interrupted him, “Like I said, I was just helping out a friend.” She gave his arm a kind squeeze.

He called after her, “Oh, if you see Alex, tell him I’m looking for him! I’ve been finding too many empty glasses where I’ve seen him.”

As she closed the door of the hall behind her, a wave of silence washed over her like a cold breeze. She had a headache and she was sure it wasn’t because of the champagne. A walk would do her some good.

It was as if her feet had known what she was thinking, because she found herself in front of the picture with her mother in it. She actually found some of the faces to be familiar now, probably through having passed them during the party. Her eyes moved back to inspect the man between Matt and Jamie. It was a gut feeling that told her she should find out more about this particular person.

She heard the shuffling of feet beside her, but she’d half-expected the noise so she didn’t even flinch. “Got enough material for your book?” He slurred.

She blinked at Alex, the little respect she’d held for him slowly but surely dripping away like water from a tap that’s been leaking. “How could I have enough material when you won’t even tell me anything about your bloody hotel?” she shot back.

He scoffed, leaning against the wall. He clearly wasn’t sober enough to keep his balance. “You don’t need me to find out about all the details now, do you? You’ve clearly been making your own assumptions through the stories from my loyal guests.”

She raised her brows in surprise as she took a daring step towards him. “Have you been spying on me?”

“Being able to observe people is a real writer’s trait, is it not? Always keen on finding the truth, even when it’s been covered by decades of dust and grime. It’s what makes for a good book.” He pushed himself forward until he was directly in front of her. He smelled like cigarettes and expensive whiskey. “The only thing you’ve done so far is brush the surface of that grave. You’re just another cheap journalist looking for a good story to get your job back.”

His words stung and before she knew it, so did her hand.

She really hadn’t meant to slap him. She wasn’t one to slap people. Yet, it had been her body’s first instinct. It was as if a gravitational force had pulled her palm to his cheek in a very violent way. She could’ve just held his face for all she knew, if it hadn’t been for the anger rushing through her in that particular moment, inducing her decision-making to be more erratic.

He almost didn’t seem fazed at all. He just looked at her. And in the flicker of a moment, she thought she’d seen an ounce of remorse in his eyes. It was right before they turned stone cold again.

“Leave,” he hissed. She was at a loss for words. When he got no response, he audibly made his request clearer. “Leave. You’ll pack your things. And you’ll be leaving, tonight.”

“She’s not going anywhere,” a voice proclaimed from behind him. She turned to look at Matthew, who was joined by Jamie and a distressed-looking Nick. Miles stepped out from the hall as well, closing the doors behind him to give them some form of privacy.

“Our guest has decided to shorten her stay with us,” Alex stated, his eyes not leaving hers, “If you could take her to the train station in a bit, Matthew.”

“The hour is late, Alex. There won’t be a train till morning,” Matt simply replied. “Then you can drive her all the way back home, if you must,” Alex snarled, while running a hand through his dark hair.

“I’m sorry, Alex. But she’s staying.”

Matt didn’t hold his usual backtalk. It seemed he was more tired and disappointed than angry. When Alex realized none of his friends were going to take his side, - not even Miles made a comment - he stormed back into the dining hall and slammed the door. She could distantly hear him yelling, telling everyone the party’s over. When he was done and people started shuffling out, he disappeared around a corner.

She noticed Matt’s jaw clench as Miles let out a deep sigh. “I think it’s best if I stay around for a while,” he simply said. As Nick led him to the front desk to hand him a key, Matt placed an arm around her shoulder while his eyes remained directed towards the same hallway Alex had drunkenly stumbled off through. “Come on, miss. Let’s get you back to your room. It’s been a long night.”

#Alex Turner x reader #Arctic Monkeys #tbhc #The Last Shadow Puppets #TLSP #AM #Wpsiatwin #Matt Helders #Jamie Cook #Nick O'Malley #Miles Kane #Reader Insert #Fanfiction #Romance #Tranquility Base Hotel & Casino

49 notes · View notes

curioussubjects · 4 years

Text

now speak of ruin

Pairing: dean/cas

Rating: T

Words: 4150

Notes: all i have to say for myself is that the divorce narrative these past episodes didn’t have to be so deliciously understated, so here’s something to fill that negative space. section I has been posted before (x)(x)(x), but i just couldn’t stop there. here’s the result; enjoy! title and outro are both by carl phillips, respectively “directions from here” and “detachment.”

(ao3)

The sound of the bunker's front door closing hits Castiel like a death knell. He sighs at the thought; such dramatics are entirely too human. Some 10 years ago, barely a blink in time, the thought would have been, well, unthinkable. It's a messy thing to walk away. To know that there is no such thing as closure.

Humans heal with time, Castiel knows this. But angels are creatures of permanence. Eternal. They were not made for changing. He has been angel and human alike; thinks he has landed somewhere in between. What is healing then, for a creature like Castiel? When will Jack's loss be less like a hemorrhaging? When will it feel like an ache, persistent and manageable? There are books for this, but Castiel isn't sure they are meant for him.

There are books about heartbreak, too. Books, and movies, and music, so much music. Castiel knows them. Minutely. He knows the stories humans have told about love and lust. Love and redemption. Forgiveness. Love at the right time. Love at the wrong time. Metatron made sure he knew all of it. Minutely. But Castiel doesn't know if there are lessons for him there. Much less companionship. He knows there's a space in his heart Dean lives in. Has always already lived in. It's a messy thing to walk away. Untidy. There's no such thing as closure.

These things were not made for him, but they are his nonetheless. Castiel feels immensely, minutely, human.

Castiel walks to his car, and his his footsteps are heavy, sorrowful. His muscles are tight, his grace contained, yet he feels he is falling apart. Very human, that. Feeling had become second nature. Effortless and inescapable. Leaving the bunker, leaving Sam, leaving Dean had not. Inevitable, maybe, though to think it causes a cold panic to wash over him.

And it's fascinating how human emotion comes in contradictions: hot tears and cold dread. All things Castiel thought were not made for him. How monumental that he's here now sitting frozen in his car with his thoughts racing. To think he didn't know how, before. Before Dean. Before.

But maybe Castiel has finally learned a lesson, if only just the one: to know when, if not how, to leave. Another change, then, the after. Whatever that is. Whatever that feels like.

The sound of the bunker's door closing hits Dean like a death knell. And then silence.

The door closes with a heavy thud, and for a second, two, a heartbeat, everything quiets. The hush feels like cotton in his ears. Or water, maybe. Thick until it pops. Rings. But until then there's silence. Time ticks a little slower, imperceptibly so-- or just enough to be unsettling.

The door closes with a heavy thud that drowns everything else, until Dean hears the bunker come alive around him. Quietly, at first, then insistent. The refrigerator hums, and the bunker itself hums with old static. The pipes settle, and Sam's mattress creaks, his chair drags on the floor. Dean can hear the false starts of his breathing, the shallowness of it. The tight noise of his hands holding the table. The ringing in his ears, the echo of the door closing with a heavy thud and the quiet the quiet-

But the bunker is not quiet. Not ever, not even after the door closes with a heavy thud. The sounds of the bunker become jumbled and undifferentiated. They buzz and buzz until Dean can't tell each sound apart anymore: his breathing and his hands, Sam in his room, the door, the door, the do-

It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter. It doesn't.

It's the absence of sound. Of words Dean could ever only say to himself. Words Dean could barely say to himself. Words like: Stay. And: I'm sorry, and I think I hate you a little. But I don't I don't you just scare me. Or maybe: You're wrong. You got it all miserably wrong and Stay. But Dean doesn't know how to be honest without spilling his guts on the floor. He never learned how to say these things without love turning into a length of rope. Love that doesn't hurt. Love that doesn't sound like light extinguishing and ashes on sand. Love that doesn't sound like a door closing.

So silence. So the door closes with a heavy thud.

II.

When Sam asks after Cas, Dean doesn’t say much of anything. He shrugs, says he’s gone. He doesn’t know where. He lets Sam fill in the blanks. It’s Cas, after all. He’s left before; nothing unusual. Sam frowns, and Dean goes to his room. The silence follows.

Later, there’s a case, and it’s like old times. Sam is quiet, but it’s okay because Sam’s still shaken up about Rowena and God and Jack and Mom. It’s understandable. They’ll work the case; it’ll help. It has to. So they drive. Sam looks out the window, naps, and hums, distractedly, along to the radio. Dean pays close attention to the highway, to the feel of the steering wheel, the hum of the engine, and the music playing. He doesn’t glance at the backseat through the rear view mirror. He doesn’t. Not once.

There’s a case, and Dean is fine. They’re getting back in the game. Moving on.

They find the monster, a vampire –a kid. Dean does what needs to be done. It’s the job, and he doesn’t hesitate. He doesn’t think about the kid kneeling down in front of him. Resigned. Doesn’t think about the blade in his hand, or the gun, or the cemetery. Another kid on their knees. Resigned.

On the drive back to the bunker, Sam isn’t quiet anymore. Dean tries to be reassuring. God is gone, they have their freedom. For everyone they lost, they have to keep going. He talks more than he has in days. Sam’s weariness and grief is a palpable thing in the soft light of the road. The case was supposed to help. Dean’s words were supposed to help. Yet, Sam can only offer the possibility of a better tomorrow. It should be enough, Dean thinks, but there’s that hush that has been plaguing him for days and days. The echo of footsteps. The sound of silence a heavy thud.

What if you don’t feel better in the morning?

Sam doesn’t know. Dean drives.

III.

So God wasn’t gone, and it’s too much. Dean wonders over and over again about what in his life has ever been real. His body tenses, and Dean can feel anxiety flutter in his chest. It’s not restlessness, though. Dean exists in static, which is better than allowing his thoughts to take over. It’s tenuous, and won’t last. He’s too aware of the hints of Has anything mattered? Was there a point to all the pain, the hurt...fuck, the joy? floating around in his brain.

Dean has been staring at his bedroom wall for hours. The beer bottles pile up beyond his notice; the drinking mechanical and ineffective. It’s exhausting, this stillness. He’s just waiting for something to happen, for him to lose it. He finds himself, suddenly, thinking of last year when him and Sam accidentally summoned their father. The happiness that soon gave way to grim acceptance that John couldn’t stay. Dean had felt guilty that he desperately wanted things to go back to normal. And he felt proud that he built a life he could own. Could tell John he had a family. Had people to love. To care for. Dean had a home. Now, the memory is bitter. Neither life was more real than the other. It was a puppet show, all of it.

He wants to break something. To rage and yell. But he doesn’t; he stares at the wall. Drinks. He hasn’t been sleeping. Before Lilith, Dean dreamed of the vastness of the bunker’s rooms. All empty. Silent. Still. Sometimes, he woke up with a voice in the back of his head echoing in a relentless refrain: We are. We are. We are. The sound had been so comforting it had hurt more than it had helped, but it was better than the alternative: the empty spaces Cas left behind. It’s insane, but Dean misses dreaming of that kind of heartbreak. The naive ignorance of it. Ignorance of still being trapped in Chuck’s story. Dean had felt like hammered crap, but at least he had been free. Finally. Except. Except: God wasn’t gone. He and Sam hadn’t been free at all. There’s a secret and selfish part of him that wished he had never known about Chuck and his obsession with them. That he could keep the happiness he carved out of an astounding amount of suffering.

We are. We are. We are.

IV.

Castiel had never remained human for long stretches of time, but he came to understand dreams. They were largely simulations, expressions of intense emotion, or an aspect of trauma. His time with the Winchesters could easily be comprised of all three. In all, Castiel would never call his time with Dean, Sam, Jack, and everyone else a nightmare. There had been nightmare enough in the past years, but knowing he wasn’t alone was a comfort. Castiel felt safe with the Winchesters, even if he often doubted his value as part of their family. In his car, watching the sun set in the horizon, Castiel misses them. But that’s done now. It was a good dream. Extraordinary. Yet, a dream, nonetheless. And if Castiel knows anything of dreams, is that no matter how much they linger, they eventually end and fade away.

The bunker is days behind him. Castiel had been driving with little purpose; his only interest outrunning everything he left behind. Driving really was distracting, he has come to understand. Soothing in its constancy. However, Castiel wasn’t built for idleness, he needs some kind of goal. He’s not too sure what people do when they get away from their lives. Where do they go to hide, but not lose themselves? Castiel has no desire to go to Vegas or sit around in a motel watching daytime television – not that he minds daytime television, of course. Castiel needs a bit of peace, and just like that he has something of an answer.

There was a dream once. Not his, obviously, as he was still fully an angel at the time. But in his memory, now, it feels like the dream was his, too. If only for a little while. Castiel thinks of a quiet pier on a lake. The air smells like early Fall – notes of Summer still lingering here and there. There was a breeze, he thinks. Just enough that the water wasn’t still and eerie. The lake had been beautiful even to his detached eyes. His purpose then was to deliver a warning to the dreamer. Castiel remembered looking at Dean while he fished, content in a way Castiel had never seen him be before. Despite the years since that dream, Castiel still knew very little about fishing, but he knows it must be remarkably peaceful.

With a decision made, Castiel takes the next exit and parks at a convenience store, so he can find the nearest lake. Maybe he could rent a cabin. He’s not very good at this, he realizes as he scrolls through his phone. The leaving things behind. The letting things go. Mostly, Castiel doesn’t want to be here in front of a Flying J looking for a cabin by a lake. He wants to be home. He wants his son to be alive. Castiel wants his family, to love and care for them and to be loved and cared by them in return. But that was done now. Faded like ripples in water and a dream almost forgotten.

When Dean hears Cas’s voice over the phone, the sudden jolt of irritation surprises him. It hadn’t occurred to him that Cas would keep hunting – though he knows it should have – and it certainly hadn’t occurred to him that Cas would use the FBI line. Not when he had been ignoring Sam’s texts and voice messages. Cas can be pissed at Dean all he wants, but Sam is still his best friend, and Sam worries. So, yeah, Dean is pretty damn irritated.

Cas’s clipped tone doesn’t help. Cas had been perfectly capable of contacting them, willing even. Just not enough to let them know he was fine. Fuck, that he was alive. That he hadn’t somehow been caught in Chuck’s crosshairs. That he had gotten their warning about Chuck still being around.

Well, Dean has Cas on the phone now, and clipped tone be damned he was going to say something. Tell him to stop ignoring his fucking phone. He does, and immediately hangs up. That’s that. Cas knows. Dean doesn’t feel much better, but he did his job.

And Sam can stop worrying.

Swayze’s goes up in flames in the Impala’s rearview mirror. Dean grips the steering wheel and drives until he doesn’t feel like he’s going to be sick. It takes a while, but he settles enough to see the tank is close to empty. Soon after, while Dean waits for the tank to fill, he checks his phone. He barely has time to register his heart skipping at seeing Cas’s name pop up several times in his notifications before he’s getting back into his car and driving home.

Much later, Dean drops heavily onto his bed sighing the sigh of the drained. It had been a long day. Hell, a long week. Month, even, probably more. Dean, not for the first time that day, thinks he should’ve stayed home. Shouldn’t have jumped at the first case that caught his eye and left Sam alone. Except...Sam hadn’t been alone. It’s why he wanted to find an excuse, any excuse, to get far away from the bunker. Not that Dean wasn’t happy for his brother, or happy that Eileen was back. He was pretty damn happy. Eileen’s return had been their first win in a long time. So, yeah, Dean was grateful that his brother had gained some of his cheer back. But Dean was having a hard time being around Sam and Eileen without wanting to crawl out of his skin. Every time they’d throw little smiles at each other or stare just a beat too long, it left Dean feeling raw and unsettled. He needed some air, some space from the thing between Sam and Eileen, and the empty chair next to his.

Seeing Lee again had been thrilling, a reminder of some of the few moments Dean had been truly carefree. He felt it again that night at Swayze’s, and the tension between him and Lee was easy. Fun. Dean hadn’t know how much he needed that. For the first time in weeks he let himself forget about Chuck and his games. About mom and Jack and Rowena getting caught in the crossfire. About Cas. Dean desperately wanted to forget about Cas, at least for a while because he couldn’t stop thinking that nothing they’d been through mattered, that what he and Cas were to each other was probably some B plot Chuck came up with for his own amusement. Either that or Chuck didn’t care about anything past rebooting his greatest hits through him and Sam...and if that was the case, then Dean had let one of the few real things he had slip through his fingers. It was overwhelming to think about. A weight he couldn’t shake off.

Lee’s easy smiles had been a welcome relief. Not that the night could’ve remained an uncomplicated and fun time with an old friend, a night reminiscing their dumbest and best decisions. Laughing about the time John had almost caught them in the middle of a drunken make-out. Or hunts that left them feeling on top of the world with purpose. No, it ended with Dean having to put down someone he cared for, someone he had been half in love with years ago. Yeah, part of Dean wished he hadn’t ended up at Swayze’s. He wished he had stayed home because Sam would need him. That he could’ve kept the rosy image of Lee intact in his mind. But another, larger, part of him knew that Lee needed to be stopped, and Dean needed to remember why he had to stop him. He had needed the harsh reminder that Chuck or no Chuck, he wouldn’t stop doing his job, and making sure the world was a little bit safer on the off-chance it was all part of a show. What he and Sam did had to matter because the people they saved mattered.

Dean had wanted to tell Cas all of this once he knew Sam was okay, but Cas had walked out before he had done more than take a steadying breath. Dean figured he’d deserved it; Cas had tried talking to him too, before. So the words rot and die in his throat before Dean even knew exactly how to put his thoughts into words. How to explain the anger and hurt than clung to him as well as the love and the fear. The fucking guilt and regret, too. But Cas didn’t want to hear it, and that was fair. And for all that Dean knew why Cas could barely stay in the same room as him, knew he owed Cas an apology, Dean was still so angry at him for leaving. Always leaving, and damn the consequences. Even if it got people killed (and his grief for Mary is still so fresh months later), even if it got him killed. And that’s the kicker, isn’t it? Cas walking into a lake, Cas’s wings burned to ash. And it’s Dean who has to deal with the aftermath. Dean is the one building funeral pyres, or carrying an old trench coat and waiting to be haunted, or drinking alone in his bedroom wondering what he’s supposed to do when morning comes and he still feels like he has a hole in his chest. He had also wanted to tell Cas that because maybe Cas would finally get it and just stop. And maybe he’d stay with them. With Dean.

Dean rubs his eyes, turns on his side to face his bedroom door. He can see the faint sliver of light coming from the library from under the door. Dean knows Cas is probably sitting in the library, reading in his chair. Or doing god knows what on his phone. Texting Claire, probably, regardless of the late hour. He should go to him. They should talk; they wouldn’t be interrupted with Sam and Eileen fast asleep. They could talk quietly in the night, they could listen to each other, if only Dean could figure out how to get up and do it. He can’t, but he stares at that sliver of light until he falls asleep.

Castiel feels at ease for the first time in weeks. It should be strange that he does, he has very little reason to, the only improvement since the last time he had been at the bunker being that maybe they had a way to neutralize Chuck. Yet the bunker is familiar in a way no other place on Earth is to him, especially when it’s just him and everyone is asleep. The bunker was always his in the small hours of the night. It’s very human, he thinks, to be attached to a building. To the smell of old books and home-cooked meals he can’t even taste properly, to the sounds of familiar footsteps and the hum of the television. The clacking of keyboards. Castiel suspects he feels like this only partly because of his failing Grace. He knows he’s too sentimental for an angel, and has somewhat learned to embrace it. Humanity is burdensome and uncomfortable, but it has its advantages. So Castiel accepts the simple contentment of being home.

It’s all far from ideal, regardless. He hadn’t felt comforted while everyone was awake. Not since Dean had returned, anyway. Seeing Dean again had been...its own challenge. It shouldn’t have been surprising to him to be unnerved at Dean’s presence; talking to him on the phone had been difficult enough. Castiel could barely look at him much less stay in his presence, so he fled before Dean could say anything else. Or say nothing. Castiel isn’t sure which would’ve been worse. He tries not to dwell on things he can’t change – another lesson long overdue – but Dean is vexing in a way nothing else has ever been. And for all of Castiel’s sentimentality, he still can’t even think of Dean without hurt and anger rising in his throat desperate to get out.

Castiel wonders, in the silence of the library, if the strain will eventually lead him to leave the bunker behind again. After Chuck. If they make it. He feels a little guilty on behalf of Sam. Castiel had read the texts, and he’ll do better by him. Sam is a good friend, but Dean is something else entirely. They hurt each other more than they don’t, but when they don’t….Well. It’s everything. Castiel knows how easy things can be between him and Dean. Knows the simple joy of watching television together and laughing about things that hadn’t been particularly funny. They could sit quietly. They could create happiness out of nothing and have it feel effortless. If only they let themselves do it. If only.

If he were ever asked, Castiel would say that one of the cruelest lessons humanity has to teach is that, sometimes, love simply isn’t enough.

Sitting alone in the dim lights of the library, Castiel feels incredibly and terrifyingly human. He finds himself trying to parse out the significance of being back in the bunker after leaving for good. Castiel has left before many times without meaning or wanting to. The last time he meant it. Yet here he is. Castiel never quite manages to leave the Winchesters. He glances at the hallway, in the direction of the bedrooms, where he knows Dean isn’t actually asleep. It tugs at him, his awareness of Dean. Distracts him from his thoughts and leads them astray. In the end, it’s human foolishness that allows him to entertain the idea that maybe if Chuck can be defeated, there can be room for him here still.

Another human lesson, then: there’s nothing so miserable that hope can’t salvage.

VI.

The hush sound of voices drifts from the kitchen to greet Dean good morning. He stops before he reaches it, letting the sound of breakfast and conversation fill in some of the corners of the bunker. It’s good to have sound and people around, all things considered.

Dean lets it simmer, and closes his eyes. Just for a minute. Just enough to pretend it’s any other day, before Mom and Jack were gone, when Dean wasn’t so strung out: He’d walk into the kitchen and mumble good morning to his family. Sam and Cas would turn to him and smile; they’d carry on their conversation. Dean would fill his mug with coffee before joining them at the table. Despite still being far too sleepy to follow their discussion, Sam would try to include Dean just the same, with fondness in his eyes. Cas wouldn’t try, choosing instead to move closer to Dean until their shoulders and knees bumped. Dean would smile into his coffee, feeling warm inside and out.

When Dean opens his eyes, the daydream fades, and the bunker looks a little dimmer than it had before. There are still voices coming from the kitchen. There’s coffee and those he loves. Safe, for now. He’ll take what he can get.

It’s a chilly morning. Dean squares his shoulders, and walks in.

The irony of returning to purgatory isn’t lost on Castiel. He wants to laugh, absurdly, as he faces the rift. They have to prepare before entering, which causes the simmering hysteria in his stomach to morph into dread. Nothing good can come of this expedition. Dean knows it as well as he does, but here they are filling duffel bags with supplies.

The pull of purgatory feels inevitable, somehow. Not unlike a wound poorly healed. A jagged scar that is always more tender than the skin around it; a place you can’t help but worry repeatedly, or brush against without meaning to. Castiel remembers that about being human: the way fresh wounds would close and change his body irrevocably.

They don’t talk about purgatory, not since the first few days after Castiel came back. They still don’t talk about purgatory, even as they ready themselves to return to it. However, Castiel notices the distance between him and Dean diminish incrementally.

They don’t talk about purgatory, but they haven’t, by any means, forgotten it.

“it was lonely

though we did not say so”

#destiel #deancas #deancasfanficnet #supernatural #spn #canon verse #mutual pining #s15 coda #word count: 4k #my writing

28 notes · View notes