#[Red Check - COMPOSURE - 58% EVEN]

[simcardiac-arrested]

your ass on -5 composure rn

SHUT THE FUCK UPPPPPPP DON’T YOU LECTURE ME WITH YOUR DISCO ELYSIUM SKILL PNG

[outlawandlychgate]

Chapter 3-Funeral Procession of the Dead; Scene 2

Outlaw & Lychgate, pages 48-58

The land that had once been Retasan Fortress.

Seth and Lich spotted the crew of undead walking along in a procession nearby.

“…There they are. The Outlaws,” Lich murmured as he got down from the carriage alongside Seth.

Dead soldiers were largely beings without capacity for reason, yet the Outlaws appeared to be heading somewhere in a single-file line with distinctly organized movements.

“It’s like they’re a funeral procession.” After voicing his thoughts, Seth turned to look at Lich’s face. “I suppose I ought to ask what our resident expert thinks of this scene. Hey, Lich.”

“…Someone is controlling the Outlaws. At this point the only person who could make the dead soldiers move like that is Lady Banica, I would think—”

“But it isn’t her.”

“—Then there are two other possibilities I can think of. An ‘inheritor’ who has the power of ‘Gluttony’, or else…the ‘boy’ that you’ve spoken of.”

“An ‘inheritor’…It’s been a while since I’ve heard that term.”

By all rights, the only people who could wield a demon’s power were those who had contracted with that demon.

But in this world there was the rare person who would have demonic powers from birth.

In the days when the magic users of Levianta called these people “inheritors” they were worshipped, and still at times also feared and discriminated against.

For example, Irina Clockworker.

While being a clone of Seth, she was also an “inheritor” of the powers of “Greed”, and so was able to cast blue flames.

And then there was the people of the Loop Octopus clan.

The whole family line, such as the head of the Leviantan senate and his descendants, would periodically have prophetic dreams called “purple dreams”. This was because they were “inheritors” of “Envy”.

Other “inheritors” had shown up in history several times before, such as Mikhail Asayev, the instigator of the “New Four Horsemen Incident”.

But as for an “inheritor” with the power of “Gluttony”…

Seth had never so much as heard a rumor of one, in all the long years he’d wandered this world.

It was the same for Lich.

“Still…There may be someone who had the power of an ‘inheritor’ but went their whole lives without using it.”

There was something Seth found hard to grasp in Lich’s theory. “If that were the case…Why would they start using their power this late in the game?”

“Who knows…What do you think of the other candidate?”

“The ‘boy’?...” As far as Seth knew, he didn’t have that kind of power. “I don’t think so.”

“But do you think that he’s involved in this matter?”

“Yes. So it’s likely that the ‘boy’ and this person controlling the group—”

“Have joined forces?”

“It would appear so.”

There was no point in endlessly debating over it here.

Whatever the case, for now the two of them decided to tag along with the procession.

“Could you wait for us here?” Lich asked the coachman.

“Sure, I don’t mind.”

“I don’t think it’ll take very long, but…if we haven’t come back by sundown please head back to the palace by yourself and let the King know.”

“Understood—Well then, stay safe.”

.

It wasn’t clear if the Outlaws could see Lich and Seth or not, but at any rate they didn’t appear to pay them any particular mind, steadily moving on ahead.

Judging by their direction, their goal seemed to be the ruins of Retasan fortress.

“They’re quite slow…How about we try going ahead of the procession?”

Lich nodded at Seth’s suggestion. “There’s no need for us to tag along at the back of the line. And perhaps the person controlling the group is at the very front.”

The two of them slipped by the line, aiming for the head.

Midway there, Seth stopped and pointed at the procession.

“Hey, Lich, look there.”

Inside the line it seemed there were Outlaws carrying a long black box.

“It’s just big enough for someone to be inside—It looks like a coffin. I guess it really is a funeral procession.”

“I wonder whose corpse is…Actually, I suppose there’s not even necessarily a person in there.”

“Shall we take a peek? We may be souls but I’m sure we can at least move the lid a little.”

“…No way. We’re going to head to the front first without needlessly provoking them.”

“Alright, alright.”

Lich began to walk towards the front again, paying no mind to Seth’s apparent reluctance to leave.

.

They reached the head of the line, but the Outlaw walking at the front appeared no different from the rest.

“Doesn’t look much like the leader.” Lich appeared a bit disappointed, but when he turned to look at where the procession was going, the color of his expression changed. “That’s…”

He could see a mansion with red walls.

It looked like that was where they were headed.

“You recognize that building?” Seth asked.

“I’ve never been there myself. But it…looks very much like the mansion Lady Banica conjured with her imagination…based on the one she’d had in life.”

“My my—Then maybe Banica’s the ringleader of all this after all?”

“It can’t be…I never heard anything about it from her.”

“In that case maybe it’s just that she doesn’t have a lot of confidence in y—”

“Let’s check it out,” Lich interrupted, dashing off towards the mansion.

“Hey, I wouldn’t think you’re that sort of character…Well, this is fine too. This is Lich’s true self that only I know…Ha ha.”

Seth chased after Lich, a half smile on his face.

.

On first glance there was no one inside the mansion.

But given that the building existed like this—there must have been someone to have conjured it up.

Seth and Lich split up to search every room.

.

--In no time at all.

When Seth opened the door labeled “Head Chamberlain’s Quarters”, he spotted a single man quietly sitting inside.

He looked like a dead soldier, but had a slightly different atmosphere than the others.

“…What is it? I’m in the middle of my break right now,” he said, his eyes clearly carrying a spark of reason in them.

“Ho, so you can see me.”

“…I’m not sure I understand what you’re getting at.”

“Well, whatever—Hey, Lich!” Seth loudly called for Lich. “This way, he’s in here!”

.

Lich appeared after a few moments.

“This is—”

“Most likely the leader of the Outlaws.”

Lich stood before the dead soldier and asked, “What is your name?”

“Ron Grapple. I am a chamberlain who serves the Conchita family.”

“…Ah. But from what I can see, there’s no one in this mansion but you.”

“Indeed, it would appear so. Everyone else has already passed on, after all.”

“So then what exactly are you doing here?”

“I…must show my mourning. For the final owner of this mansion—Lady Banica.”

“--!?”

Lich’s eyes opened wide for a moment.

“By doing so, her spirit will be released…And the curse upon me will also be lifted.”

“Curse?”

“I was once cursed by two dreadful twins. A curse that means I can never die—Even if I become a dead soldier, and my body rots away…As time passes I am resurrected, again and again.”

“…”

“At first I lost my sanity, just like the others. But eventually, little by little, I regained the conscious mind I had in life…and became able to control the other dead soldiers.”

“Hmm, that’s quite interesting…But why were you cursed in the first place?”

“Curse…curse…” Ron suddenly covered his face with his hands, bending over. “The twins’ curse…No, much earlier than that…The curse of the Baemu—No! It all started…On that day. My father…Aybee, using his ‘inheritor’ powers, turned me into—I have always been his puppet! Without being conscious of it I hired those twins…And then the Baemu…I was forced to slip it in with the other gifts…Ohh…Ouuugh…”

Finally he started to sob, bursting into tears.

Seth stood before Lich and murmured, “He appears very distraught…Perhaps we ought to change the subject.”

“…Right.”

Lich crouched down and locked eyes with Ron. “—Are you alright?”

“Y…yes…I apologize. I lost my composure there.”

“Let’s not talk about the past, but rather what’s going on right now, shall we? Before we came here we saw a group of dead soldiers carrying a coffin…Are they yours?”

“—Yes. They are bringing it here under my instruction. To hold a funeral service for Lady Banica.”

“So then inside the coffin is—”

“Lady Banica’s corpse is laid out inside. It was recovered from the ground under the directions of another.”

--There was a massive flaw in his explanation.

As far as Seth knew (and Lich likely knew as well), before her death Banica’s last act had been to eat herself.

Her dead body couldn’t possibly still exist somewhere.

Someone had lied to this Ron.

And the true identity of the fiend deceiving him would be--

--The ‘boy’.

Seth cut in between Lich and Ron, “Where is the person who gave you those directions now?”

“He’s—”

In that moment.

The room was suddenly filled with a dazzling light.

“—You don’t need to say it, Ron.” A child’s voice came from within the light. “If you’re talking about me…I’m already here.”

Seth cried out to the light—to the ‘boy’, “So it’s you—Amostia!”

“…Well well, if it isn’t my dear father.”

“Indeed. But…You seem to have changed quite a bit, haven’t you.”

“I have, you are correct. I am no longer—the ‘boy’ that you once knew.”

.

--So it was true.

It was as he’d thought.

The theory that Seth had in his mind was becoming a conviction.

<<prev------directory------next>>

[wildshadowtamer]

A Different Path (What If?) Ch 5

Summary: Perry came back from a non-heinz-related mission, covered in soot and quite out of breath, he expected to just spend a few hours doing paperwork, but when he logged into his profile, he saw something sickening.

Here is the story of why Perry hates OWCA.

Tags (Chapter Specific): Violence, Attempted Murder, Attempted Child Murder, Blood

Tags (Fic General): Ducky Momo - Freeform, Implied/Referenced Character Death, car crash, burn scars, burn victim, Fluff and Angst, warning: this fic is dark, especially the first chapter, Inspired by Fanfiction, Based on a Tumblr Post, AU, what if au, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Mentions of car crashes, Past Child Abuse, mentions of child abuse, mentions of child abandonment, Family Fluff, Fluff, Violence, Attempted Murder, Attempted Child Murder, Blood

Notes: Credit to @woulddieforperrytheplatypus for encouraging me to write this fic! TW for violence, attempted murder, attempted child murder, and blood

Rating: Mature

Read It On Ao3

or

Read It Here!

~~~~

July 18th, 2006

Perry came back from a non-heinz-related mission, covered in soot and quite out of breath, his entire body aching from the fight against 4 goons at once. He stumbled into his lair below D.E.I and collapsed tiredly onto his chair in front of his giant movie-like monitor, he sighed with a chittering noise and pulled the chair closer to the keyboard.

Then he remembered that he would likely need to do paperwork for arresting the villain he was up against, and likely file a mission report and summarize everything that happened. He laid his head on the desk and silently wished for something to happen so he could avoid it, but he knew there was no escaping endless paperwork, and so he turned on his monitor and clicked into his agent file.

Just as he was about to make a new mission report, he spotted something unusual on his file, a hazard sign flickering on his boys’ family file. Thats strange, did something happen while he was at work?

He puts his phone back on noise, as its usually on silent when he’s on missions, and checks his texts. No recent texts from Heinz.

He clicked into Phineas and Ferb’s file warily, the boys, as of last year, had started making amazing inventions and fun creations near daily in the summer and winter, and working on simple projects in the school months. Recently they had been making some admittedly extreme projects, including 3d printing monkeys and teaching them how to ride a unicycle, Perry still isn’t too sure how they cleaned it up before Charlene, Heinz’ ex-wife, saw it.

However, what Perry saw in the files made his fur stand on end; Each of their inventions had been logged and dated, each with a threat level, ranging from safe green to deadly red.

Threat Level? Their not even double digits, how could they be a threat to anyone except the laws of reality!?

Perry quickly scrolled to the most recent addition, today’s creation, which was apparently an ice cream machine gone wrong, and a few wrong wires turned it into a death ray. Perry nervously glanced to the glaring red threat level on screen, he checked the notes to make sure nobody got hurt.

Notes:

Death Ray was set off and hit a tree close to the house, but no person or animal was harmed. However, I still believe these boys to be a threat, no matter their age. Villains only make more villains.

Perry chittered angrily to himself at the notes, his hands shaking as he checked who had been logging the inventions; an older agent Perry was close to, Dennis The Rabbit. He had actually been Perry’s mentor back when he was a pup. 

But, if he was so close to perry, why would he call Phineas and Ferb ‘threats’ and ‘villains’? Their just kids who made a harmless mistake!

He shook his head and took a breath, death rays are no harmless mistake, no matter the result. He’ll have to have a serious talk with the whole family about wiring safety and double checking their work.

As he mentally rehearsed his lecture, he spotted a note added to the main file of the boys, and his thoughts screeched to a terrified halt.

Set to be ‘silenced’ at 5:00pm sharp, on D.E.I balcony by Agent Dennis The Rabbit

‘Silenced’? That can’t be good. Perry’s heart raced as he checked the time; 4:58. He still had time. He didn’t bother shutting down his monitor as he ran from his lair and grabbed his jetpack, making a beeline for the balcony before Dennis could get there.

He saw the boys building on balcony, unharmed and safe, and perry nearly relaxed, but he noticed a red-band fedora peeking over the lip of the open roof, and time slowed significantly.

Perry had to choose an option fast, either tackle Dennis and risk hitting the boys, or grab the boys and risking getting hit with it himself. He made up his mind, and silently begged Heinz to forgive him. 

A bright laserbeam of light shot down from the roof, aiming right at the boys, but Perry swooped down and grabbed a sheet of metal, throwing himself infront of Phineas and Ferb to deflect the laser, which bounced back and narrowly missed Dennis’ hat.

“Perry?” Phineas asked, but Perry was too focused, he grabbed the two by the wrist and shoved them inside as Dennis parachuted down from the roof and glared at Perry.

Neither needed to talk in animal tounge to know the other’s intent, both wanted to harm, but wanted to harm very, very different people.

Dennis gave a cocky smile and took his parachute off, letting it fall to the balcony floor as the two agents sized eachother up, standing only 6 feet apart.

The distance was shortly broken as Dennis tackled Perry to the floor, punching him hard across the face as the platypus grabbed him by the neck and flipped them both over so Perry was pinning Dennis. 

It became a raging battle of tooth and claw, blood splattering on their furs as they wrestled on the ground, and Perry nearly caught Dennis with his ankle barbs, but restrained himself enough to throw the smaller agent across the balcony and through the glass windows seperating the balcony from the apartment.

Glass shattered everywhere, catching Perry in the arm as the entire window crumbled to the ground in shards, but Perry didn’t care. He was struggling to stay steady, he knew if he let go of his restraint that he would kill the admittedly weaker agent. His venom could kill a lot of animals, but he knews his family would miss him if he was sent to jail, or worse, the pound.

Still, he ran across the shattered glass, ignoring the pain in his webbed feet, and grabbed Dennis by the front of the scruff, punching him square in the face mid-action jump. Dennis went limp, knocked out cold from the punch.

“Perry the Platypus, what’s going on in here-” Heinz stopped in his tracks as he looked between the two bloody agents, one unconscious and the other wielding a near-murderous glare, and the shattered window behind them. 

Perry simply held up his clawed paws and signed “O-W-C-A”

Heinz pulled a notepad from his labcoat pocket and handed it to Perry “what did OWCA do? And why is an agent on my floor? The boys said you pushed them inside without a hello.” The scientist explained, rubbing the back of his neck anxiously

It took a few minutes, but Perry eventually shoved a series of notes into Heinz’s hands, and walked over to his jetpack on the balcony, which he had abandoned as he grabbed the metal sheet.

OWCA planned to ‘silence’ the boys with some sort of laser, they didn’t tell me. Dennis was the one to shoot them, but i got in the way and deflected it just in time. The -inator is on the roof. I’ll explain the rest later, right now i have someone to talk to.

“Someone to talk to? But perry, your inju-” Heinz stopped as he watched Perry fly away anyway, apparently uncaring of his injuries. Heinz was mad, thats for sure, but not just mad at OWCA. He was mad at, and quite disappointed in, himself.

If he had just kept an eye on the boys or brought them inside when he went to check on Candace & Vanessa, Perry wouldn’t have gotten hurt, and Perry wouldn’t be so mad. 

Perry came to a stop at OWCA HQ’s entrance, and, despite the searing pain in his feet and body, he couldn’t care less. He was infuriated, shaking with such anger he almost saw red. When he finds Monogram, he’s gonna give that monobrowed cheapskate liar a piece of his mind.

The automatic sliding doors of HQ opened as Perry was scanned by the facial recognition software, he stormed inside with a walk that Heinz once described as a “murder walk”, meaning with each minute Perry considers his option, jail seems increasingly preferred.

The other agents knew that walk, and all kept their distance from the top agent as he stormed past all of them, headed straight for the Major’s office.

“He’s definitely qutting today” Monty, the Major’s son, whispered to a human agent from canada, Lyla, Perry was sure her name was. Lyla glanced at Perry, then back to Monty, and nodded.

Like the controlled, trained agent Perry is, he kept his composure enough to only kick the door to monogram’s office off the hinges, and not throw it at him like he really wanted to. Carl recognised that enraged look in his eyes, and quickly left the room.

“Ah. Agent P. What’re you doing here?” Monogram asked warily, knowing full well, but trying to stall some time. All he got in response was an angry chitter, monogram sighed “I didn’t want to do it either, but when it comes down to the safety of the agency, we can’t have a pair of villains running around with a death ray!”

The word ‘villain’ echoed in perry’s head, his agent mind getting drowned out by pure anger as everything went red and Perry activated the chitter-to-speech translator built into his collar.

Monogram paled as he realised what he had just done.

And Perry snapped. 

Half an hour later,

Perry had left the door open, so everyone in view of the office, which would be half the agency as all of them wanted to hear this, could see and hear perry’s furious rant.

They collectively gasped as he grabbed his fedora and threw it down on the floor angrily “I’ve had enough of this agency, and i’ve had enough of YOU” Perry yelled “I QUIT.”

Monogram, pale in the face and speechless, spluttered “you- you can’t do that!”, Perry slammed a fist on the flipped office desk “well i just did.” he snarled, then turned on his heel and stormed out of the office, the agents parting like curtains to let Perry past without him hitting someone.

There was a dead silence as everyone watched their ex-best agent leave HQ for good, eventually, Monty spoke up

“Y’know,” he looks over to his father “you kinda had it coming.” he commented calmly,  hands in his hoodie pockets. He shrunk into his hood as his father glared at him, who then took a breath and flipped his table to the right way up

“Carl, get to work on Agent P’s termination paperwork. I don’t think we’re getting him back.” Monogram told the 16-year-old unpaid intern, who peeked his head through the doorway “a-alright sir, i’ll get right to it”

Heinz knew something was wrong from the moment Perry stepped foot back in the apartment, still bleeding and scratched up. 

“Perry? What did you do?” he asked his pet nervously, Perry gave a momentary glare before taking a breath and relaxing a bit, he turned off his translator in his collar and wrote something on the spare notepad he keeps next to the couch, sitting down

I quit.

Heinz spluttered “wh- you what?”, he couldn’t believe it! Perry The Platypus, his nemesis since the day perry could fight, quit his job at OWCA?

Perry tapped the same note in reiteration, then added another sentence

I quit.

Monogram tried to hurt my brothers, and i just can’t tolerate that. I was going to leave next summer anyway, he doesn’t even treat his agents with basic respect.

“Well- yeah i get that, i’d quit too if my boss tried to, y’know, kill my children and all” Heinz had calmed down from his internal rage at both OWCA and himself from almost an hour earlier, “but what are you going to do now? Being an agent was Your Thing, and who’s going to be my nemesis?” He asked, and Perry had no answer, except a helpless shrug

I’ll think about it. I need more time with the kids and you anyway, it’ll be good not to have work for a few weeks.

“Great idea! Maybe you can help out with their inventions! Oh and I know Phineas has been wanting to show you his and Ferb’s creations. Their getting very talented!” he gasped “Maybe take them to that Googleplex Mall and take them shopping, you need a new collar anyways” He suggested, and Perry thought about it for a minute, then smiled a bit and nodded

“Brilliant!” he pulls a blank calender from behind the couch, how did perry not spot that? “Here, i’ve been working on an Inator that works similarly to a time machine, it runs mostly on calendars so i went out when you were working and bought a bunch of them, i hope you don’t mind.” Heinz rambled, Perry smiled and took the calender, using his pen to plan some events him and the kids could do, he was really looking forward to this.

Leaving OWCA was the best thing Perry ever could’ve done.

[panic-and-procrastinate-writing]

Chapter 10: Weak Defence

The Red Hood left at 1 in the morning, leaving you time to actually get some sleep.

You didn’t plan it, you actually though you wouldn’t be able to sleep for a good few days, but apparently the vigilantes tender care made you feel a lot better, and safer, than you had thought possible.

You ended up sleeping well into the late morning, only waking up when the construction company finally got to work on the building next door.

Thankfully it wasn’t on your side of the building, but that didn’t make it any quieter.

You weren’t really sure what to do with yourself when you woke up.

You had cleaned the apartment a bit before bed, so you didn’t need to do any more.

The painting was probably dry, but it was fine sitting on the easel facing the wall, no need for it to be put away.

And you were tired of art, not fancying any more paints or sketches after your hectic night.

To be honest, you really just wanted to see the vigilante again.

He was so good to you last night, that just the thought made your face warm.

And you weren’t afraid to touch him anymore.

Well, you were still afraid of any type of vulnerability with another person, and touch was a big step in showing you trusted someone, but you had overcome it.

Mainly because if you didn’t let him touch you, you would have still been a crusty vomit covered trash bag, but still.

You desperately needed him, and you trusted him.

And he didn’t break it.

He took care of you.

You had to stop thinking to squeal in your pillow.

Your face was boiling, as red as a traffic light, and your heart doing all sorts of funny little somersaults.

You hadn’t had this kind of care since you were a baby.

Calming down, you sighed and ran your hands down your face, tired from having emotions.

You finally got up from your bed to tread towards the bathroom, needing to pee and clean up a bit.

When you were done, feeling much fresher, you padded over to your kitchen to get some coffee.

After turning on the coffee machine, you opened your fridge to get out the other half of your jam sandwich.

You actually wanted to eat, which surprised you, but you didn’t want to think about it too much, otherwise her voice would pop up and remind you of the piece of shit you were.

When you finished munching on your sandwich, the coffee machine beeped, so you grabbed the pot and poured yourself some.

You were actually feeling great today.

As you sipped your coffee in the kitchen, the ping of your phone getting a message redirected your attention.

You looked at the clock on your wall, and saw the time was 11:58.

It was Thursday, so Nevaeh had work, but it was almost lunch time, so she was probably checking up on you.

Sighing, you trudged to your bedroom to look at her message.

- Hey girl x how you doing? –

The message glared at you on the screen, and you had this growing dread in your stomach.

After the last face to face conversation you and Nevaeh had, things had been, iffy, between the two of you.

You still messaged, was happy to see she texted you, still cared about you.

But you hadn’t worked up the confidence to call her.

How could you?

She betrayed you, sold you out, broke your trust.

Hearing her voice was a heavy reminder of the last time you talked, and the things she did.

It was easier for her. She got to come clean.

She got to tell you what she did, she got to feel bad about it and say sorry.

She got to move on.

But you couldn’t.

Because all it did was make the voice in your head seem more truthful. Made the anxieties and worries you had seem more realistic.

Because what you were always scared of happening, happened.

- I’m good x wbu? - You wrote back, sitting on the edge of your bed griping your coffee mug tightly.

- I’m good, at work at the moment, but we’ve gotten a new colleague who’s taking my shift after lunch, you free then? X -

Oh no.

She wanted to come over.

You sipped your coffee in thought as you bounced your leg, worry creeping up your spine.

What could you say? No? You had never told her she wasn’t welcome, doing so now would show that something was very, very wrong.

And you couldn’t very well ignore her or she would get worried and come over anyway.

But as you sat there, sipping your coffee, you thought of how she only wanted to help.

Obviously, what she did was a mistake, she didn’t mean to hurt you. She just wanted to make sure that no harm came to anyone else as well.

She put the means of the many over the means of the few.

Except you were her best friend. As cruel as it sounded, you felt that no matter the amount of the people who were in harm’s way shouldn’t have mattered.

All that should have mattered was you and her, as it always used to.

But thinking about it like that, made you think that maybe she was right.

It was always you and her, and you never got anywhere.

It made things ten times worse, and kept you that way.

Sighing, you walked back into the kitchen to put your mug into the sink, phone still in hand and the message still glaring.

That old life, that old you, were gone.

You still woke up and cried when the visions were particularly gory, you were still too scared to walk out the front door in case history repeated itself.

But life still happened.

A vigilante fell through your window and ended up showing you the beauty of helping people.

It didn’t matter how much you hid in your house, terrified of the outside world, you couldn’t escape change.

You were involved in a case to stop a psychopath with a plant fetish, and it felt good to do something.

You understood why she did it, because not doing anything felt like shit.

You tapped the kitchen counter as you stared at your phone, the little line still blinking, waiting for you to type a reply.

She was right to do what she did, and you couldn’t be angry at her forever.

Sighing, you typed out - Yeah, I’m always free, come over whenever x -

*

She came over at one, and you had done a little more cleaning to pass the time. Mainly the bathroom since it still smelled a lot like vomit.

You were sitting at the kitchen table when she finally unlocked the front door and came in.

“Hey babe, how you doing?” She asked as she sat some groceries down on the table.

“Ah, you know how it is, same old same old. What about you?” You answered, putting your phone down and watching as she put away the fresh fruit she bought you.

“I’m great actually! I managed to get that raise that I needed. With the new colleague we have it makes the work load ten times easier, so my boss was in happy enough mood to give it to me.”

You hummed as you listened, watching her and focusing on her aura.

You didn’t want to be angry anymore, but you couldn’t help being paranoid. Scanning her aura was good way to tell if she had made another mistake.

But she hadn’t. Her vibes were completely fine, and everything was going great with her.

You were just being an arsehole.

“That’s good.” You said, nodding your head. “Does that mean you will have more free time now?”

“Yep. More money and less work.” You both chuckled at that. “Have you eaten?” She asked, turning around and leaning on the counter once she was done.

“Uh, yeah, actually. I ate half a jam sandwich when I woke up.”

“Really? What happened to the other half?” She asked jokingly.

“I ate it yesterday.” You answered, jiggling your leg.

“Oh sweet.” She replied, sitting at the table, directly across from you. “You’ve been eating a lot better lately, any reason why?”

“I just keep getting hungry.” You said, not sure if you were lying or not. It wasn’t like you could say the vigilante forced you to eat, because he didn’t, but if he didn’t make you anything you probably would have just let yourself starve.

“Well, it’s good that you’re not ignoring your needs. How’s everything else been?”

You sighed as you leaned back in your chair, staring at the ceiling.

How could you tell her? Could you even tell her? She had kept your secret for so long, but ultimately told it.

Including her in the investigation, or even just letting her know of everything that had been going on, wasn’t okay.

Telling her about the Red Hood, especially when she still thought that he was the murderer, wasn’t going to go down well.

Lying was the only option.

“Things have been… up and down. Mostly down. I had another vision.”

“Oh. I see.” She said, staring at you, trying to figure out how messed up it made you feel.

If the vigilante hadn’t been there to clean you up and take care of you, then you probably would have been worse off, but he was.

So, because of your calm composure, she was assuming that it was okay.

It wasn’t, but she went ahead of with her questions anyway.

“How many victims are in it? Do you know who they are?”

You sighed, contemplating if you should tell her what you knew. She wasn’t going to get involved, you wouldn’t let her. But she was going to be persistent in getting her answers so… half-truths.

“There’s only one victim, I don’t know his name. I don’t know who the murderer is either, but he’s still covering the victims in plants. Its in the morning again, and on a tree.” You explained, not needing her to ask the rest of the questions as it was routine now.

You heard her hum, and then she got up to look at the painting.

“No!” You shouted and stood in her way, hating the surprised look on her face.

“It’s not pretty. You don’t want to see it.” You explained quickly, looking at her shoulder, not able to hold eye contact.

A couple seconds of silence passed, and you could feel her thinking.

“If it’s that bad then we should do something.” She said, causing you to look up and meet her eyes.

You didn’t like the look in them.

It was determination.

She was still so ready to help people.

And you hated that you couldn’t let her.

“No.”

You saw the determination waver a bit, and shock creeped in for a second.

She wasn’t expecting this.

She wasn’t expecting you to be stubborn about it.

She was expecting you to be scared, fragile, weak.

Not filled with burning determination that matched her own.

“(Y/n), this is people’s lives at stake. You can’t just say no to helping them!”

“I know.” You said weakly.

“So, let’s do something!” She was getting aggravated now, but you couldn’t back down. You had to find a way to get through to her.

“I can’t Nevaeh. You know I can’t.”

“Because you’re scared? I know you are, but how scared do you think those victims are when they’re getting taken?”

Shit, she made a good point.

But you were already helping people.

How could you say no to that, without either sounding like an arsehole or explaining the investigation you were wrapped up in?

And you couldn’t trust her with the investigation.

So, the only way out, was to be a dick.

“That’s their problem Nevaeh.” You said with clenched fists, hating the new role you had to play.

She stared at you in horror, appalled at the words that just left your mouth.

“You didn’t just say that. Tell me you didn’t just say that. Since when have you ever been so fucking selfish!” She was shouting now; furious you would even think that that was good reason to not help people.

“They’ve always managed fine on their own Nevaeh. I’ve painted mass murders and slaughter scenes before and Gotham has always been fine without me, we don’t need to get involved.” You shouted back, your chest tight and filled with fear.

This was awful.

You didn’t want to push her away.

But how else would you keep her from screwing everything up?

“That doesn’t mean it’s okay! How many people could you have saved if you had told someone about those paintings? How many people have died and been mourned because you didn’t say anything?!”

“I- I don’t know. A lot.” The words stumbled out; you were struggling to defend yourself now.

“Yeah, too many to count! Do you really think all those people who died, the people who lost them, are fine?!”

“No, but-”

“But nothing!” She screamed.

She was breathing heavily now, her face bright red and her fists clenched too. She was really mad.

And it was your fault.

She took a deep breath to calm herself and crossed her arms, still clearly pissed. “We can’t just not do anything (y/n). We’ve been doing that for too long, and lots of people have gotten hurt because of it.”

You listened as she tried to convince you, completely unaware that it didn’t matter what she said, you still wouldn’t help her.

“I know you’re scared, but I wouldn’t let anything happen to you, you know that. I would defend you till my last breath (y/n). Please, let me help you, help people.” She was gentle now, her voice soft and convincing, and you wanted to help. You really did.

But you already were.

And she couldn’t get involved.

“I want to, Nevaeh. I really do. But- but I can’t. I’m sorry.”

You could feel her eyes on you, and you could feel the rising anger that was consuming her.

But she was also disappointed. And that hurt more.

“Don’t apologise to me (y/n). Apologise to the people who are going to die, and to the people who will miss them.”

And with that she turned to the kitchen to pick up her things, and left, slamming the door behind her.

*

You weren’t really sure what to with yourself after that.

You had been flitting around the whole apartment for the rest of the day, putting more paintings up for sale, reorganising bookshelves and window sills, scrolling through social media and cleaning everything again.

You didn’t need to, but it kept your mind preoccupied and kept you from spiralling.

And considering the past two days and nights were the worst moments you had experienced in a while; you couldn’t bear to have another one.

But as time moved on, you had found yourself running out of things to do, and eventually on the brink of spiralling.

Socialising was a good way to ignore panic, but you didn’t really have anyone to socialise with.

Because Nevaeh was mad at you, and didn’t really want to speak to you.

And you couldn’t call the vigilante, because you had used the burner phone, so you had to wait for him to get you a new one.

Sighing, you picked up your laptop from the coffee table and brought it to the kitchen dining table.

You were going to talk to Oracle.

You were nervous, as you got for every new person you talked to, but you weren’t really going to meet her.

It was over text, so it was easier.

You typed in the passphrase, Oracle_1, and a chat box came up just like the Red Hood said it would.

It was a small black box with green text, and you suddenly felt really scared. You always were when you were trying things you had never done before.

Swallowing your fear, you typed in - Hello, am I talking to Oracle? -, before pressing enter with shaky fingers and sending it.

You cringed at how you awkward you sounded, but reasoned you couldn’t just type - what’s up bitch? It’s me ya psychic boi. -

Soon enough she replied and had written, - Hello, this is Oracle. Is this (y/n) (l/n)? -

You stared at the screen in wonder. She actually replied. And it was her. And she knew your name?

- Uh, yeah. How do you know my name? - You wrote back in confusion, unsure how she could possibly know that.

You barely existed.

- I know everything. Are you okay? - You snorted at that. She wished.

- I bet you don’t know the future. -

- Touché. But are you okay? Is there a reason you wanted to talk? - She really wanted to know, didn’t she?

Sighing, you typed back - Everything’s okay, just feeling a little shaky but its chill. I just wanted to check up on the case and see if you made any progress. -

She took a little longer to reply, but when she did, she answered - Yes, we’ve made progress. We found the next victim, and he’s being questioned about any activities that could make him a target, but he’s not being very cooperative. -

You hummed at that, and was about to type back when another message popped up reading - Why are you shaky? Have you eaten? -

And that made you feel warm.

Jesus you had to get your shit under control.

It was just a question.

About you.

And if you were okay.

From a random person that you only started talking to 5 seconds ago…

Ugh, were all vigilantes this kind? It made you feel too much.

Sighing, you wrote back - I ate this morning, but I had a fight with my friend so I was feeling… sad, earlier. -

- You had a fight? - She typed back instantly, clearly wanting you to expand on it.

- An argument. She thinks I’m an arsehole because I won’t help anyone or tell anyone about my abilities or visions. -

- Hmm. I’m guessing she doesn’t know about us then? - She questioned.

- No, I can’t trust her with this. - You hated admitting it. Admitting it made it real, and that made it worse.

- You can’t trust her? -

- She found the first body. She got scared and told the police about me, even though she promised that she would never tell anyone about my abilities. - You sighed as you pressed enter and awaited her reply.

Despite feeling like shit because you were focusing on the bad stuff, it did feel good to tell somebody about your problems.

- Did the police believe her? -

- No. They though she was one of those charlatans. It’s the standard reaction to stuff like this. -

- Hmm, well at least the police won’t come knocking. And if they do, I’ll let you know. - You scoffed at that.

- With what? Your non-existent future vision? - You joked, having fun talking to her.  

- Haha, don’t you like to brag? I have sources in the precinct. They won’t come to you I promise. - You raised an eyebrow at that. Was that even legal?

You decided not to question it and typed back -Thanks. I appreciate you looking out for me. –

- It’s alright. You’re a good source. - You smiled at that. It was a strange compliment, but it made you feel good anyway.

It felt good to be useful.

- So, back to the case, have they asked him about bribes? It was a part of the message in my vision. - You asked, wanting to divert away from your problems. Dwelling on them too long would make you upset.

- They have, it’s what started making him uncooperative. He’s feeling threated and exposed, I don’t think that he thought he was going to get caught. -

You hummed as you contemplated that. He must have been a really stupid guy to think that, if a random murderer could pick up on his crimes, then how could his own precinct not?

You typed out your thoughts and sent them to her, not sure what else to say.

When she didn’t reply instantly, you sighed and ended up typing out - How’s Red Hood doing? -before you could think and sent it to her.

When you did you immediately regretted it.

God you sounded desperate. And rude.

It was so goddamn rude to ask about someone else when you were currently talking to somebody.

And you hadn’t even asked how she was doing!

‘Rude and inconsiderate!’

You whimpered as her voice popped up again, this time shouting at you.

But it was short lived when Oracle replied and said – He’s not here right now, he had some business to do, but he was fine earlier. I’ll let him know you asked for him. –

You squeaked at the idea of it and quickly replied -No! No, it’s okay, you don’t have to. I should have asked how you were doing, I’m sorry it was rude. How are you?  – You prayed that that made things better as you sent it.

- It’s alright, I understand. Red did say that you have gotten close. And I’m okay. –

You stared at the screen with some kind of emotion. You weren’t exactly sure what to call it.

Horror?

Excitement?

Panic?

All you could tell was that you were confused, and shocked.

- He said that? –

- Yeah, he said that your important. –

Important?

You continued to stare as your face got hotter and hotter the more the words sunk in.

- No. That can’t be right. I mean, sure he’s a friend, and he’s helped me a lot in the short time I’ve known him, but… he thinks I’m important? – You typed in a frenzy, desperate to make sense of this.

It took a while for her to reply, and you worried your lip in anxiety.  You weren’t really sure what to make of this conversation.

- Well, he said that you’re a good painter, and you have a strong eye for detail, even the most gruesome of ones. Your ability is accurate and strong, and you could be important in the case moving forward. –

You struggled to believe it, but you could feel it being the truth.

He really did compliment you that much when he wasn’t with you.

He really thought that high of you.

It made your heart beat even faster.

You weren’t sure how much more of this you could take.

All you could type back was – Oh. –

When she wrote back – What do you think of Red? – You struggled to form coherent thought.

What was that supposed to mean?

It felt like there were ulterior motives in her question, and you didn’t know how to make sense of it.

What did you think of him?

Nothing! Everything! Too much!

- Idk. – You didn’t press send yet though, as your answer didn’t feel complete enough.

You breathed to calm down, erased it and restarted.

- I’m not sure. He’s helped me a lot, when I’ve been scared and haven’t been able to calm down, and with the aftermath of my episodes. He’s also kept me company when I’ve had nothing better to do than talk to a stranger in a mask. I guess I would say he’s a just, a good guy. And I appreciate him. –

You were smiling when you hit send, unaware of how much feeling you were actually putting into your words.

But you frowned when she typed back – Good. He deserves more than what he gets. –

What was that supposed to mean? But before you could question her, she had typed another response, and it read – It was good getting to know you, but I do have cases to crack. Have a nice night. –

And with that the chat box had disappeared and so had all traces of your conversation.

He deserves more than what he gets.

You didn’t like how true that felt.

[mintaero]

I’LL SAVE HIM 

Listen to this fic’s playlist here 

Read it on Ao3!

“It’s your turn.” Simon’s voice is heavy. A chill runs through my spine. 

“My turn to do what?”

“To save me.”

first nova.

That’s it.

I’m going to have to spell this imbecile back to bed if it’s the last thing I do.

The digital clock on the nightstand reads 02:58, and I nearly groan. He’s been doing this twice as often lately; getting up at a ridiculous time and never coming back to bed. I’ll find him the next morning, sitting on the couch with a bowl full of butter in his lap and his eyes closed, head tipped back, snoring softly. Once, I even found him on the floor, on his stomach, listening to music in his earbuds so loudly that I could hear it from down the hall.

I wonder which it’s going to be tonight.

Simon hasn’t been sleeping well these past few weeks. I tried to get him to take some melatonin tablets, but he refused. He said he was “never taught how to swallow pills”. I told him we could buy the chewable kind, but he shook his head.

“It wouldn’t help, Baz.” He’d said, not meeting my eyes. That’s another thing he’s been doing often; not meeting my eyes.

“It’s better than restlessness. At least you’ll be able to relax, Snow.” I tried to say it gently, but it came out traced with accusation.

“It wouldn’t help, though.” He said again, crossing his arms. I didn’t respond, merely sighed and went to the bathroom for a shower.

It wouldn’t help, Baz.

Nothing ever seems to.

Grimacing, I swing my legs over the side of the bed and stand up, pulling back the curtains in front of the window. There’s no moon. There’s hardly ever a moon, it feels like, but I know that’s irrational. I know that’s irrational. I let the curtain fall back into place.

There’s no music blasting down the hall. Which is good, but also not. I might find him sprawled out on the on the loveseat with cereal crumbs in his hair, eyes darting around at every creak and groan the house makes. (I found him like that once. I had to step out for a few minutes and regain my composure.) (Seeing him like that was…too much.)

There’s no moon out, but there are stars. Brighter than city lights. There are three windows in the hall to our rooms, and each one of them has been opened by Snow and his constant need to have an outpouring of natural light. Tonight, I don’t mind. The windows are the only thing keeping me in the present instead of in that damned coffin.

I check everywhere. He isn’t in the living room. Or the family room. Or the dining room. I even think about going outside and looking for him, but it’s too bloody cold out for a “late-night stroll”, and I know that Simon hates being cold.

There’s rustling from the kitchen.

Fuck. How could I have forgotten about the kitchen?

I’m blaming it on being 3 in the morning.

“Snow?” I call, stopping in the doorway. It takes my eyes a moment to adjust, which is unusual since the kitchen normally has the most light coming through the windows above the stove. It’s just so abnormally dark in the flat. I’m used to waking up with Simon radiating warmth, to seeing him exude his magic without ever meaning to. To look at him smiling and feel the world around us glow.

It all got a bit more complicated when he gained his wings and lost his magic.

“Snow, are you—” Then, my eyes focus.

He’s a silhouette against the darkness. Hunched over the sink, hands clutching the rim like it’s the only thing tethering him to reality. He’s shirtless, as usual, but his skin doesn’t glow like it used to, and his wings dip further down with every breath he takes. He’s staring down at the garbage disposal.

Something’s not right.

“Simon,” It’s barely above a whisper. “What’s going on?” I step closer.

He looks at me with wide, wild eyes. His hair is parted in chunks where his fingers have raked through it, and his bottom lip looks dark. Bloodied, I realise, where he’s been biting it. He looks mental.

He blinks. Panicked. “Nothing.”  

Then I see it.

Red. Around his eyes. Brimming them.

He’s been crying.

I cross the kitchen in a flash. He’s backing himself into the wall, his arms outstretched to stop me from touching him.

Stopping me from touching him.

It hits me like a bullet train. I stop walking, the energy making me sway forward slightly. “It’s—It’s me?” Fuck. I don’t mean to say it like that. To sound…hurt. Even a little.

His eyes widen as it slowly dawns on him. “What?”

“It’s me,” I say slowly. Calculated. Careful not to tip the waters. “You’re afraid of me.”

“Baz,” He’s saying all of his words fervently like they hold a thousand meanings within themselves. “No. That’s—Crowley, Baz, no. It’s not about that. It’s not even about you, it’s—it’s—”

“Answer my question: are you afraid of me?” Fucking hell. My voice cracks.

“No,” He growls. It makes the hairs on my arms stand up. “Never. It’s in my head. It’s all in my head. It’s nothing, Baz. Just—” He rakes another hand through his hair, and his next words sound like someone took a butter knife and carved into his vocal chords. “—go back to sleep.”

Ouch. Another blow to the vampire with the stilled heart.

“What’s in your head, Snow?”  

“Nothing,” One word, two syllables. Vehemently. Desperate. Pleading. It’s horrible how it makes my heart go from already cracked to crumbled. Smashed. It’s too dark in the room to see him clearly, but I can see the slight twitch in his eyes, the small crease forming between his eyebrows. He looks dreadful.  “I’m serious.”

There’s no heat beneath his skin, no fire or match ready to be lit. No pulsing air around him. It’s quiet, now. Simon Snow is a bloody uncertainty, no matter how well you think you know him. A bomb that you can’t tell is defused or not.  

And suddenly the dark becomes all too real. Seeping into me like a sponge soaking up water.

Simon Snow, are you defused?

He stands there. He’d gradually regained his posture (although it’s horrid, it’s still better than a slump), and pressed his forehead against mine. (That means that I’m the one having to slump to meet his height.) I try to feel for any indication of a fever, but there’s none. His skin is nearly as cold as mine.

“You should go back to bed,” he breathes.

I close my eyes. Move my hands to cup his face. Wipe the wetness off his cheeks.

“Good-night, Simon.”

__

the morning

“Simon,”

There’s sunlight streaming through the window and blanketing itself over the sheets. Simon’s face is smushed into the pillow, his hair spread out, damp from sweating off his nightmares.

I don’t remember him coming back to bed last night. He must’ve slipped in just after I had passed out.

I brush the pad of my thumb on his jaw. His eyelids flutter but don’t open.

It’s early. Not early enough for it to still be dark outside, but earlier than when I normally wake up. Simon’s usually up two hours from now, carrying a box of cereal and bumbling around the flat like a half-starved idiot.

“Love, wake up,” I say softly, tracing circles on his cheek.

“I don’t need to,” he replies, rolling his shoulders back, “there’s nothing waiting for me.”

I don’t know how to respond. That seems to happen more often; Simon will say something completely true and I just sit there, totally caught off-guard by his insensitivity.

He’s right. There is nothing waiting for him anymore. I don’t prepare extravagant Watford-esque breakfasts or send horrific dark creatures to greet him on his way out. We aren’t waiting for the day where we’re destined to be killed or kill each other, and I’m certainly not waiting for the day that he figures out that there’s nothing waiting for him anymore.

“I’m not a 1950’s housewife waiting at your beck and call, Snow,” I shift slightly away from him, shoving my pillow between us.

I had meant to be nicer this morning. Softer, because of what happened last night. I wanted to wake up and run my hands through his hair and kiss every part of his body except his lips just to remind him that I’ll always be hopelessly in love with him, but the truth is that I’ve never been good at comfort. I’m not accustomed to it. I aggravate. I’m used to aggravating people. I push people past the point of frustration to where they blow, and comfort isn’t one of my strong suits.

Comfort takes something else. It takes humility and understanding and everything I do have, but I’ve worked so hard to make it not visible on the surface.

“It’s a weakness,” Father would say, “and weaknesses have no place in the Grimm-Pitch family.”

Simon Snow is my weakness. Father knows that, of course, and even though he tries his hardest not to use it against me, I know he resents the fact that the Mage’s Heir has such power over me. But that's the way it goes with my family and the people we love, I think: my mother was his weakness.

“I know,” Simon says, rubbing his eyes open. “I don’t mean it like there will be nothing waiting for me, ever. I just mean—You know. Why wake up when there’s nothing waiting for me?”

“Because why would anyone wake up with that thought process?” I snap. “People can’t go around thinking, ‘I’m not going to do anything because there’s nothing worth my time’. Do you know how inhumane that is? Narcissistic?”

“I—I just—I didn’t mean it like that, I just meant—I just—Just—”

“Just what, Snow?”

“Came out wrong.”

“Actually,” I sit up and swing my legs over the side of the bed. “I think it came out the exact way you intended.”

I turn and almost make it off the bed before a solid arm snakes its way across my torso, holding me back.

Keeping me there.

Holding me.

He warm breath on my skin makes the hair on my arms stand up.

“I’m sorry,” I feel his face press into my lower back. After a few seconds, after I realise that he’s got me right where he wants me, he says, “You’re the only thing worth waiting for. I’ll wait for you.”

He should. I spent nearly half my life waiting for him, so the least he can give me is a few minutes wait. A few minutes where I get to see Simon pine. For me, no less. I wonder what he’d look like? He’s not much of a sulker, but I know he thinks a lot, even if he says he doesn’t. (I wonder if he said that just because he didn’t want me to ask what he thinks about.) (I wonder if it’s me.) I should make him wait.

I should.

But I won’t. (Can’t, rather, but I’d never properly admit it to myself.)

Making—Crowley, seeing—Simon wait would be like Watford years all over again. Silently pining and then scampering off. I can’t go through Watford like that again. Like a fucking damsel stuck in a tower and looking down at the world beneath, at everything they can’t touch.

I glance back and down at him. His legs are pulled up, his back straight, and he’s lying vertically across the bed to get to me. His eyes are closed, and I can feel his hot breath against my skin where my shirt had ridden up.

Merlin and Morgana, he shouldn’t have this kind of hold over me.

“You also wait for scones in the oven to bake,” I skin my fingertips over his curls, dragging until the base of his neck. “So, I don’t take that as a compliment.”

“Mm, s’pose I do,” I’m not sure he hasn’t fallen back asleep. It is devastatingly early for both of us, and I’m nearly positive he just wants me to stop talking and lie back down with him.

It’s a bit awkward, but I do. His arm is still wrapped around my waist and his head is directly behind me, so I have to twist uncomfortably to avoid crushing him. He rotates his body so that he’s lying parallel to me. I grab at the sheets and pull them over us. My pillow is still shoved between us, so I shove it back under our heads.

He’s practically snoring by the time I get situated across him. Mouth open, eyes still, face void of his usual creases.

I let myself look at him. I let myself enjoy it for a little bit, the way that he breathes like he’s trying to not take everyone’s breath away. I consider counting the moles on his face, and then I reconsider counting his freckles if that means I get to look at him longer. It almost feels like back in Watford when I would watch him needlessly when he was asleep, when I felt the most distanced from him.

“I’m always waiting for you, y’know,” Simon mumbles, bringing his arm over his head and letting it rest there. It scares the shit out of me because I’m not expecting it.  

“What do you mean by that?”

“I mean, like, waiting for you to stop feeling bad for me. Or leave. There’s nothing interesting that’s going to happen now, since I’m not the chosen one anymore. I’m just—Just a one.” His morning speech is slurred with sleep. He grazes over h’s and cuts of vowels when he’s tired.

I remember the night of our Leavers Ball when Simon had said the exact same thing.

“Hey,” I nudge his chin with my thumb. “Simon Snow, I chose you. I’m never going to stop choosing you. That isn’t how choice works. Or love, for Crowley’s sake. I’m with you, to have and hold, for richer and poorer, through thick and thin, in sickness and health, for better or worse.”

Simon cracks open an eye. “Are those wedding vows?”

I sneer halfheartedly. “Irrelevant.”

He’s grinning. It’s not the kind that you see when you’ve just won a football match, but rather the one that you do when you’re thinking about a bittersweet memory.

“It won’t be,” he mutters, lifting his arm from over his head and draping it around my waist, tugging me closer.

“For now, then,” I say.

“Hm?”

“For now. We’ll think about the now and leave the rest for later.” I press into him, feeling his hands skim over my skin. Tracing words I’ll never get to hear, patterns I’ll never get to see. It sends shivers down my spine.

He moves until we’re nose to nose, and I can feel his heart beating in my chest. “Tell me what we’ll do now.”

“Now?” I swallow, and it must be a whole scene because he glances down at my throat. “Now, we’ll kiss.”

He’s still grinning. It’s a marvellous sight. “Yeah?”

“Yes.”

And then I take him by the back of his neck.

__

second nova.

It’s a week later when the second nova happens. He’s sitting on the floor before the fireplace, staring at the dying embers. Looking. Searching.

I’ve just gotten back from a late-night business class Father is forcing me to undergo. It’s horribly tedious, and I know he only wants me to do it for bragging rights to the Old Families, but I do it anyways to take my mind off whatever funk Simon and I have been going through.

But, that also means that most days I’m up early and back home late. Out the door before dawn and back after nightfall. On the nights that I find Simon still awake on his phone in the middle of the loveseat, those are the nights that we sit together, not talking, and get as close together as we can. His hips on mine. My hands running down his back. His face in the crook of my neck. It’s never enough, though. No matter how close, it could always be closer. Could always be worse.

Not any worse than tonight.

“I can still smell the fire,” he says softly. Gently. Like it’s a weapon that he’s using to protect someone with. Like the wind blowing on your face. Simon never uses his words like this. Carefully.

It scares the shit out of me.

“It’s long died out.” A whisper.

I sit beside him and push the hair off of his forehead. His face is hot like he’s running a fever. There’re horrible bags under his eyes, and the shadows dancing on his face made it seem like they were bruised.

That’s the funny thing about shadows; everyone expects them to be cold, and when they aren’t, it isn’t really called a shadow, now is it?

“Your eyes look burnt,” And teary, I almost add, but I don’t. I don’t want to know why. The whole room smells like fire. “Simon. Look at me.” I don’t want him to look at me.

He looks at me.

Shell.

That’s what he is.

A shell. Nothing like the boy I knew days before, plagued with unrelenting paranoia. A desolate shell. The hollow remains of something once filled.

I can’t look him in the eye. Instead, I cup his cheeks in my palms and blink back the tears brimming my eyes and push down the tightness in my throat that’s threatening to suffocate me. Of all things, of course, it had to be my love for Simon Snow that would kill me.

“It’s your turn,” Simon says, closing his eyes and leaning his head into my palm.

“My turn to do what?”

“To save me.”

I sneer, but it’s useless. He can’t see me. This is what my walls coming down feels like.

The fire flickers and cracks, and in the silence, it sounds like far-off thunder on a calm night. Thunder that could shake the earth. His shadows grow more solemn with every second that passes when I don’t answer.

“We’re going to manage, Snow,” I never had this quite happen to me before. Where my voice sounds distant and unlike my own. Crowley, he’s really crawled beneath my skin. “Somehow. We’ve done it before and we can do it again.”

Simon nods his head slowly, and slowly his curls find their place back on his forehead. Everything finds it’s way back into its place.

“I’m not—I’m not a…--mage. There’s no reason for you to love me anymore.”

To fucking shit with that. I had heard that line so many times before, and never once did it cease to anger me. Stop loving Simon Snow? Simon fucking Snow? I couldn’t stop loving him even if I tried. To fucking shit with that.

“Simon,” I hold his jaw, just like the way he held mine when we were in the forest. There’s some jagged stubble scattered around his chin, and it rubs against my fingers like sandpaper. I don’t let go, though. “I chose you. I’m never going to stop choosing you. That isn’t how love works. And if it is—Well, if it is, then I’m going to change love.”

Simon opens his eyes. They’re full of blue and hurt and pain. If I were Simon, I’d growl. If I were Simon, I’d do something spontaneous and show him just how much I fell for him. If I were Simon…well, I’m not Simon.

“You can’t do that, Baz,” he says.

“I can.”

“You can’t.”

“I will.”

“You won’t.”

“I have.”

“How?”

I imagine telling him about the nights where I would lay in bed and watch him fall asleep and feel myself fall more in love. Or about the time when I figured out I loved him, and I knew it would end in some sort of catastrophe, but I couldn’t help it. For Crowley’s sake, I imagine telling him that my whole life is built off of me changing my love.

“Snow,” I say instead. (I never quite do what I imagine.)

“You’re going to be okay,” I say. “I’m…--" I choke out the word that’s been hardest to say, even think, with Simon around. “--sorry.”

I don’t know if I believe it.

I don’t know if he does, either.

“Don’t say sorry,” His breath is hot against my wrist, but it’s stabilising. It reminds me that he’s still alive, he’s still Simon Snow, he’s more than I’ll ever be.  

He leans his face into my hand and closes his eyes, swaying slightly. His hair is on fire tonight, burning with the inescapable capabilities that the night held, but I can see that it’s slowly flickering out. Just like the embers in the fireplace, Simon Snow is running out of ways to combust.

He, too, is steadily dying.

And that fact is burning me alive.

__

the violin.

“Darling,”

I stop cold, my bow hovering over the strings.

Simon Snow has never called me darling.  

I turn, and he’s right there behind me, a hesitant smile on his lips. I could drop my violin right now, watch it shatter on the ground as I pull him to me and kiss him senseless. Take him by the shoulders and never let go.

“Play me something.”

“What do you propose, Snow?”

He smiles, and I want to set the whole place on fire. “Something that only I’ll hear.”

My fingers are suspended in the air, waiting to start playing, but my mind’s drawing a blank. Any Sonata wouldn’t be enough. Kiddy songs? Simple lullabies, common melodies? Out of the question. I know that he’s never going to ask for this, for me like this, or to play him something that only he’ll hear. It has to be utterly perfect.

I remember a song from my childhood. It was my grandfather’s before he passed away. He would take me into the library and teach me each measure of each line, day after day, no matter how beyond my experience level it was, until it was burned into my brain. He taught me how to play. He let me fall in love with the instrument and the pain of playing it. My grandfather was a worn, exuberant person who loved ideas and concepts much more than reality itself. He told me that I was his confidant.

“Tyrannus, you’re my confidant. When you’re old enough, you’ll give this song to your own confidant. Share it with them as though you would a secret because that’s what this song is, Tyrannus; a secret.”

I played it at his funeral.

I haven’t played that song in years. I wouldn’t be surprised if most of it was from muscle memory, from all the times I had stayed up past my bedtime practising. Practising until the tips of my fingers were bleeding and my wrist felt fragile enough to snap off with one wrong move.

It’s a lovely song, one that I would have more confidence in playing if he had given me a warning beforehand. I’m not quite there with the vibrato, so I try to accentuate each note with the sudden fortissimos or pianissimos.

And all throughout, I’m looking at him. Gauging his reaction. Taking in how his eyes dip when there’s a lull and then opening suddenly when I press down harder on my strings. I relish the feeling.

When the last note sounds, I make sure to hold my bow far over the fingerboard for a dream-like sound and lift up slowly so that the note resonates in the air for a few more seconds.

I make sure to pronounce my words carefully, “I haven’t played that song in years.”

“It sounded…great.”

“Glad to know that I pass as mediocre.”

Crowley, I’ve never seen Snow transfixed before. He’s actually gawking at me. Mouth open, wandering type of look in his eyes. I could do it. I could lose all inhabitants and kiss him right here and make an utter buffoon of myself.

“No, not—not great great. Brilliant. You’re brilliant,” he breathes, saying the words as if he can’t help it. “Do you play like that all the time?”

“No, Simon,” I drop my violin from my chin. “Just when you ask me to.”

“I’m being serious.” The right and foul git. I think he means it. He shakes his head, his curls shaking along with him. “That was brilliant.”

It wasn’t, not really. I nearly went sharp a few notes, and I rushed an entire section. Simon will never know that, of course, but I’ll have to live with the fact that I didn’t play as well as I could have. “Thank you.”

I set my violin back in its case and begin to untighten the bowhairs from my bow.

He walks over to me and pushes the bow down lower and lower until I’m forced to look at him.

“Baz,” I meet his eyes. “I mean it. You’re completely wicked.”

“Plotting vampire, is it?” I cock an eyebrow. His hands are still on mine, and they’re not as warm as they were before.

“What? No. You’re just—Just simply brilliant.” And then he gives me one of his sincere, toothy grins that pushes his cheeks up all the way to the crinkles around his eyes. “I’m speechless.”

“That isn’t far from usual.”

“Sod off,” he lightly shoves my shoulder. “I’m trying to give you a compliment.”

I fall towards him, my eyes dipping.

“I know,” Softer than I intended. Sweeter than I knew I could be. “I know. It’s a bit hard to take a compliment from the only person who gives you feedback.”

“Everyone should hear that song.”

“Maybe they will.”

“They should.”

“They won’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because, my love,” I dip forwards, my lips brushing the shell of his ear, whispering, “You’re my confidant.”

__

third nova.

“He wasn’t in the apartment when I came home,” I switch the phone to my other ear and hold it there with my shoulder, typing furiously on the computer about what to do about a missing person.

“He’s not a child, Baz. He’s probably just gone out for a meal or a drink or something.” Bunce’s voice rings through the receiver, raspy and thick with sleep. I feel a bit guilty, then, for waking her up, but it’s an emergency. Penelope Bunce has dealt with worse matters.

“He would’ve told me. Left a note or sent a text. He wouldn’t just leave.” All the Google searches say the same thing: it isn’t considered a “missing person case” until after 48 hours, and it’s only been a few minutes. But none of the Google searches knows Simon like I do, they don’t know that this isn’t something he would do.

“Have you tried calling him? He’s not the best with answering but he’ll pick up if it’s you.”

His phone was in the bowl by the front door, piled underneath other things like car keys, keychains, gum wrappers. I saw it right when I came in. That’s when I knew something was wrong. “Do not categorise me as an imbecile.”

“Maybe he was summoned by the Humdrum,” Bunce teases, and I nearly chuck my phone at the wall.

“Bunce,” I say through gritted teeth, “not the time for insensitive jokes.”

She sighs, and I can almost see her condescending face right now. You’re being paranoid. “I wasn’t being insensitive, Baz. I’m sure he’s fine. Cast Scooby-Doo, where are you if you’re so worried.”

“I can’t. You know that that spell always leaves a trail.” I consider it, though. Following the trail of magic to him. It’s tempting but highly dangerous and almost 100 per cent certain to expose the magick world to the Normals. I can’t risk it.

“Well,” Penelope says now, her voice cutting through my thoughts. “There are other spells than that one that don’t leave trails. There’s probably something in Spanish that Micah taught me that could help. I could teach you some Spanish spells if you’d like—”

“Penelope,” All four syllables. I don’t mean to sound so desperate, so needy, but—as much as I hate to admit it—I need help. And I’m willing to stoop so low as to ask for it from Penelope Bunce. “Please.” I glance out the window across the room, silently pleading to see Snow walking outside, coming to tell me that he’s okay, he’s okay, there’s nothing wrong, he’s okay.

“Okay, Baz, fine.” I can practically hear her thinking out loud, mutter possibilities about where he might be. I catch words like “park” or “a few miles”, but she doesn’t continue onto a sentence with them. “I don’t know. I haven’t seen him often. We Skype and text, but I don’t know about him anymore. You’re his boyfriend, shouldn’t you know where he’s most likely to run off to?”

I stay silent. I don’t have enough time to explain to her about the novas, or how Simon’s been increasingly worrisome the past few weeks. Telling her about Simon’s recent insomnia and mild PTSD episodes would only make her panic, and two people panicking in this situation wouldn’t result in progress being made.

“Baz? Are you still there?”

“Unfortunately.”

“Where do you think he could be?”

“Crowley, Bunce. If I knew, I wouldn’t be calling you, now would I?”

“Think, Baz.” She says. As if I haven’t been thinking the whole time we’ve been talking.

Simon’s mentioned that we’re only a few miles from his last home, and that passing by there makes his chest feel hollow. (He’s never said that, but the look on his face tells me more than I need to know.) There’s a park next to our flat, but I would’ve seen him out the window. Down the street, there’s an Indian place that he seems to enjoy thoroughly, but I severely doubt he’s gone at 01:47 for a late-night curry. A year ago, when I was visiting Bunce and him in their flat, he had taken me around the city for a “touring date”. He told me that sometimes he just liked to walk around and look at all the places he’ll never know.

“Bunce, I’ve got it.” Before she can say anything that’ll mess with my train of thought, I hang up, discarding my phone on the couch beside me.

I push my computer off my lap, distantly aware of it crashing to the floor, and narrowly avoid hitting my shin on the corner of the coffee table as I jump up and start rushing out the door, hastily slamming it behind me, and trying to let my mind catch up with the rest of my body.

The night is cold with ghosts deep in the shadows. I should tell them to fuck off. Or ask them to help me find Simon. (I wouldn’t, though. Ghosts are dodgy in the best of times.) I don’t bother going back and grabbing my jacket.

Nothing could warm me up now.

I walk along the abandoned pavement, watching the lamplight brighten and dim every time I pass underneath. There’s no breeze, nothing besides the ambivalent snow falling on the road. Christ, is it so cold that snow is able to fall? I hadn’t noticed.

I turn a corner into a dark alleyway, pausing to listen. It’s quiet. Simon once told me to never walk down an alley with noises I couldn’t explain, or little pinpricks of light that I didn’t know where they ended.

“You don’t want to meet the end of that cigar, Baz. And you definitely don’t want to know what’s behind those noises. Just—Just listen for a second.” He’d said.

Just listen for a second.

I keep walking, sure to keep looking over my shoulder. The floor is grimy and probably mucked up with whatever discards people have thrown out their windows, and my shoes keep making squelching noises whenever I lift my feet up. The two buildings beside me seem to be hunching towards each other, sagging with the weight of time. (Or the weight of the snow. The downfall has gotten increasingly substantial.)

I round out of the alley, turning a hard left and continuing down the street. There’s a woman sitting on the curb, either intoxicated or high, rocking back and forth and muttering things too low and too diluted for me to compartmentalise.

She looks up when I pass, fazed, but I’m already looking away.

I walk until the pavement starts to narrow and the windows on the buildings are shattered and boarded up with plywood, until the snowfall overhead coats my hair and eyelashes, until my thighs feel numb from the cold.

I tell myself that I’ll stop at the next bend of the road; the next lamppost; the next alleyway. I could have stopped at all of those places, but I don’t. I keep walking. Past a telephone booth with weeds growing in the inside. Past a traffic circle.

Then I stop.

And that’s when I see him.

Sitting in an abandoned bus stop, elbows on his knees and head in his hands. He’s wearing three layers of sweatshirts, but from here I can see him shivering. His bony wings still stick out beneath all those layers, outlining them against his back, making him seem less like a human and more of a hastily put back together Frankenstein.

He’s okay, he’s okay, there’s nothing wrong, he’s okay.

He ducks his head and lets his fingers run through his hair.

He’s not okay.

“I don’t think this bus stop is in service anymore,” I say. Loud enough for him to hear, but not be startled by.

He jerks his head up, hands still in his hair. “I’m not planning on going anywhere.”

“That’s very counterproductive for the bus stop,” I hug my arms around myself; it feels like it’s just plummeted 20 degrees. ���Snow.”

“Not if it’s not in service.” He drops his head back down. I take that as an invitation to join him on the bench, wiping the snow off the top of my head, and then his. His hair is deeply wet, probably with melted snow, and colder than the air around us.

The wind has picked up around us, though we can’t feel it. I can. Cutting through my clothes like a knife, pressing the blade against my throat. There’s a lamppost above the bus stop—how convenient—and it’s casting eerie yellow light through the transparent glass onto us.

“You could’ve been mugged, you know.”

He’s completely folded over on himself now, his curls nearly touching his knees. “Didn’t bring anything with me.”

“Killed, then.”

“I’m used to the risk.”

I sigh. It’s involuntary, obviously, but Simon doesn’t seem to know that. He turns his head to the side and glares at me. (Half-heartedly, but still. The intent is clear.) The yellow light makes his eyes turn a murky, underwater-type colour.

“Come home with me,” I say. I’m trying not to plead, but just a few minutes ago I thought that he was a candidate for a missing person case. “We can stop for something on the way back.”  

He sits up and rests his back, neck, head on the glass behind him. I want to reach over and run my thumb over his cheekbone, to press my nail into his skin until it leaves an indent of a crescent moon. To smooth the side of his hair down and let the snowflakes melt on my fingers.

“You don’t have to talk,” I say softly, watching him closely. He scowls. Either to me or the world, and I’m not sure they’re any different to him. It’s a horrible look on him. All dark shadows and sharp angles. “I’m not going to make you. If you don’t want to talk about it, we won’t talk about it. Crowley, I’ll leave if you want me to leave.”

There’s a silence that falls over us. I’m not unaccustomed to silences with Simon; they happen more often than not. I’ve learnt to find solace in these silences, the kind that you look for within grief and mourning to comfort your pain.

I let my palm rest on his thigh.

He stares at it, unflinching. A curl escapes his fingers and falls ever so elegantly on his forehead, springing back and forth for a moment before settling.

One second passes.

Five more.

Ten.

Slowly, he turns his head to look at me, not blinking and lets his own hand fall on top of mine. If anyone were watching, they’d be so curious as to why these two boys were doing everything in slow motion, handling each other like they’re fragile China.

He still isn’t blinking, and his neck has gone rather stiff. At first, I think it’s because of the cold, but if anything, the cold would only make him blink more.

That’s when I notice it.

There are tears in his eyes. Brimming his bottom eyelashes.

I’ve never seen Simon cry before, not when it’s really mattered. Not when it wasn’t an effect of something I had done. There used to be a time when one of my main intentions was to make Simon cry. To respond to him with sharp-edged comebacks that made him either tremble with anger or sob with hurt.

It always felt like a sucker-punch to the chest.

Now, it feels like a bullet to the gut.

“Snow,” It comes out harsher than I intend, but I move my hand out from under his and cup the side of his face. The skin is colder than my hands have ever been, but there’s a deeper sort of heat within. If I were to strip the first layer of his skin off, I wouldn’t be surprised to see his blood boiling underneath.

He leans his head into my palm, letting his eyes flutter shut.

‘It’s your turn.’

‘My turn to do what?’

‘To save me.’

“Snow,” I say, slightly more vehemently.

His eyebrows knit together, a seeming look of suppression. He still doesn’t open his eyes. “Stop reminding me.”

“Reminding you of what?”

He looks pinched, like those rats I drain late at night. “Who I am. Who I’m supposed to be.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” I sneer, jerking my hand away. He flinches and opens his eyes. “You’re Simon bloody Snow. That’s your name. You’re not supposed to be anything besides Simon Snow.”

He growls. “But that’s just it!” A tear falls from his eye and trails down his cheek, stopping to hang from his chin. He doesn’t wipe it away. “I’m tied to it. Every prophecy was talking about me, Simon Snow, the saviour of the World of Mages. And I failed, Baz. I failed the only thing I was destined not to fail.” His voice breaks on the last word.

Yet again, he’s caught me off-guard.

I let my mouth hang open, breathing in the chilled air. A car drives past us on the road; I follow it with my eyes. It’s so bloody cold tonight, I’m not even sure why people would want to be driving in this kind of weather.

“You’re not a bloody prophecy, Simon,” I spit, suddenly coming to my senses. “You’re not a concept that has to be fulfilled. Merlin and Morgana, when did existing become too mundane? You stopped the Humdrum. You saved people from losing everything. You sacrificed your magic for the World of Mages. You did everything that was expected of you. What more do you have to prove?”

He looks at me, all heavy-lidded eyes and lips trembling from the cold.

He looks at me, and he doesn’t glow.

He looks at me, and I look back.  

And I nearly shatter from the weight of it.

Then it’s all happening in a blur: Simon’s in my lap, straddling me, nudging his face in the crook my neck; me, wrapping my arms around his waist and holding onto his shoulder blades; the world, trying to be still. A shudder racks through his body, so strong that it shakes mine along with him.

I run my hands up and down his back, to his shoulders down to his hips. It’s useless, though. It’s not like I can warm him up. His hands are clutching my shoulders, tangling in my hair, desperately trying to ground himself. He shivers, and I pull him closer to me. Every time he breathes, his chest pushes into mine. His breath gets in my mouth.

“It’s okay,” I rub my thumbs in little circles at the joints of his wings. He hasn’t stopped shaking, and there’s a wet patch where he’s sobbed into my shirt. I can clean it later. “Love, it’s alright. Somehow. You’ll be alright.”

I can’t tell who I’m telling that to.

Simon doesn’t respond, but I know it’s more of a can’t instead of won’t. I know that if he still had his magic, he’d be going off by now. Taking the whole town by storm. Obliterating everything in a five-yard radius except me and this bus stop.

It seems to stay like that for a while. His shaking dims to an occasional tremble, but I don’t trust myself to let go quite yet. This is the closest I’ve gotten to him in weeks—possibly even months, and I’m too vain to let him go. He used to tell me that he likes this, right here, right where he knows I’m not hurting anyone and no one is hurting me. (He told me that after a few drinks, the night after going to a gay bar. These pricks were staring at us—me—the whole night, and I couldn’t stop smelling Simon’s residual “about to go off” smell in the air.)

He’s staring at me.

He’s lifted his head from my neck, and now he’s staring at me. His eyes are rimmed with redness—either from his crying or the dry air—and he still looks pinched. Something in my stomach twists. It’s a long, slow twist, like my body thinks the pain is pleasurable when it’s really, really not.

“Baz,” He breathes. Like it pains him. “This isn’t—I’m not.” Exhale. “I’m sor—"

“Shh,” I move my arm, tugging the hair at the base of his neck.

“I just—” He rasps.

“Hush.”

“I worry—”

“Don’t.”

“But—”

“Simon,” I hold his chin. “Look at me.”

“Baz?”

“Here.”

I’ll save him.

[dawon]

Cruel Love (3)

Pairing: Hyuk(VIXX) x Reader x Hoseok(BTS)

Genre: gang au

Length: 4,018 words

Part: 3 / ?

Summary: “I’m sorry you were not truly loved and that it made you cruel.”  — Warsan Shire

part 2 | part 4

Somewhere else in the warehouse

Hope takes a seat on the couch in the main living room where Jimin and V play some video game on the new big screen TV they bought.  He hasn't been at the warehouse for very long but he already has some friends including the two in front of him.  “Jimin.”  Hope calls.  

“Hmmm”  He hums back not taking his eyes away from the TV.  He looks down to his hands that are doing a nervous dance in his lap before he asks, “Can you tell me some stuff about Y/n..”  

Jimin pauses the game and turns to look at him.  “Like what?”  He asks a little confused at the older’s question.  “Did you know her before she became the Boss?”  

V looks at Jimin as he speaks.  “We went to school with her.”  He says looking back at V.  Hope nods and is about to ask something else when a voice makes him jump.  “Not a lot of people knew Y/n before she took over.”  

Jimin and V quickly turned around and unpause their video game.  Hope looks over at the voice to see Ken standing there.  “Her father didn't want her to be a possible target before she graduated.”  

“I'm sorry i shouldn’t have been asking around..”  Hope started.  “Don't be.  Come with me.  I’ll see how much I can tell you about Y/n.”  Ken starts walking and Hope quickly follows.  They move to the outside patio and Ken sits on the swinging bench patting the seat next to him.  

They sit, listening to the sound of the crickets and leaves rustling in the wind before Ken speaks up.  “Y/n wis a sweet girl.  Never wanted to take over the gang, but being the only child it was her destiny.  We were friends when we were younger since the first grade if I recall right.  My parents were killed and I was brought here to live as Y/n’s designated friend.”  He laughs.  

“Now look at me, second in command.”  He looks over to Hope.  “She isn't cut out for this business, as you probably have figured out.  I hate to say this but she is on the brink of insanity.”  

Hope looks at him.  “Insanity?”  Ken nods.  “She is losing her mind.  She hates herself.  She puts up a tough front, but she is soft.  She is sweet, patient and loving.  Have you ever heard the name Hyuk around here?”  Hope thinks and recalls the interrogation room incident.  

“The men in the interrogation room!  They were talking about him.  How he died.  That's why she shot them.”  Ken nods his head.  “Hyuk is kinda like her achilles heel.  She blames herself.  Always talking about how she should have listened to her father.  Everything happens for a reason though, that’s what I tell her anyways.”

He sighs, “Are you perhaps interested in Y/n?”  Hope’s smile falters and the tips of his ears turn red.  “I- uh- I, a little bit.”  Ken smiles at the younger before getting up.  

“Well I gotta get to bed.  Long day tomorrow.”  He waves at Hope and walks inside.  “Wait Ken?”  Hope yells with a growing smile on his face.  Ken pokes his head back out.  “What does she like?”  

Ken smiles.  “Chocolate cake and coffee.”  Then Ken is gone.  Leaving a smiling Hope thinking about cake and coffee.

Your pov

‘Riiiiingg riiiiingg’  You roll over in your bed at the shrill sound shattering the peaceful silence in your room.  ‘Riiinngg riiinngg’  You groan and turn your body to face the window thanking your interior designer for putting in blackout curtains.  You pull the ends of your pillows up around your head covering your ears praying for the sound to stop.  ‘Rinnnggg riiinggg’  

“Oh my hell!”  You sit up straight in your bed grabbing the phone and pressing the green button on the screen.  “What the hell do you want?”  You rudely spit into the phone.  ‘Uhhmm… Good Morning Y/n…”  Your expression softens at the voice of Hoseok and instantly you feel bad.  

“I didn't mean to yell at you like that… I had a rough night..”  You say.  “It’s ok.  I just didn't think you would still be sleeping at noon…”  You check the clock and your jaw drops.  “It's already noon?”  You laugh.  “Wow I haven't slept that long in months!”  

You hear Hope chuckle and you can't help but smile.  “Do you have any plans for today?”  He asks.  You quickly rack your brain.  “No I don't.  Why?”  You hear him gulp loudly before responding.  “Do you want to maybe.. I don't know… Hang out with me today?”  Before you can even think about it an answer flies from your mouth.  “Yeah.  I would love to.”  You pull a shocked face at your own quick action.  “Okay.  Meet me in the garage at one and we will go.  Is that enough time for you to get ready?”  You smile at his concern.  “I’ll see you at one.”  You laugh before hanging up the phone.  

You can't wipe the smile off your face as you get up to get ready.  You settle for a white tee with some black ripped skinny jeans paired with a white pair of vans.  You check your phone.  12:58.  ‘Crap’  You quickly grab your bag off your bed and run to the door.  

You open the door and run out quickly hitting a solid wall of man in front of you.  ‘Ouch”  You look up into the face of N who looks confused as to why you are in such a hurry.  “Where are you going?”  He asks as he picks up a piece of your loosely curled hair.  You swat his hand away.  

“On a date.”  You say shrugging your shoulders.  “A date?”  He asks.  You look at his face and see a little anger pass through before he regains his composure.  “With who?”  “Hoseok.”  You say ‘Oh shit Hoseok’  “Hope?”  N asks.  “I’ll tell you more later.  I'm late.”  You yell over your shoulder already halfway down the hall.  

You hate being late.  Nothing good is ever the reason someone is late.  It always means something bad.  They forgot about you or something happened to them.  

‘Damn why does this place have to be so big?’  you grumble to yourself.  You look up and quickly run around the corner.  You immediately lock eyes with Hope.  “Sorry i'm late!”  You call out stopping in front of him.  He smiles at you mumbling ‘It’s okay..’  

You hear someone clear their throat from behind you.  “Have fun and be safe kids.”  You turn to see Ken smiling at you and Hope.  “Oh get lost.”  You say to him walking into the garage followed closely by Hope.  “Hope”  Ken calls. “Don't take advantage of our leader.”  

You can hear his loud laughter and roll your eyes.  Hope leads you to the black hummer and opens the passenger side door for you.  He closes the door and runs to the driver’s side and hops in.  “Where are we going?”  You ask while buckling your seatbelt.  “Surprise.”  He smiles.  

“Do you even know how to drive!?”  You yell at him.  Your right hand death gripping the handle over the window and your left hand wrapped around the arm rest.  You watch as the cars all zoom by and the buildings become one long colorful blur.  “Ahhhh Hope”  You screech as he cuts off a red toyota.  “OH my hell are you trying to kill me!”  His smile only gets wider as your complaints become more frequent.  

“This isn't funny!”  You slap his arm.  “Didn’t I tell you to call me Hoseok?”  He smiles over at you, his eyes crinkling at the corners before jerking a hard right cutting off another car.  “Are you kidding me?”  You scoff in his direction.  “Just call me by my real name and i’ll slow down I promise.”  He speeds up as the light turns yellow.  

“Hope!”  You grab onto the seat, bracing yourself for death.  “That’s not my name boss.”  He ruffles your hair.  “Both hands on the wheel.”  You yell, cheeks throbbing from screaming.  He takes both hands off and you feel like you are about to pass out.  “Hoseok!  Put your damn hands on the wheel.”

He smiles brightly at you, throwing one arm across your torso as he slams down on the brakes and makes a sharp right into a parking lot.

He pulls into a spot next to a large building.  The building is all black and probably almost as big as the warehouse.  “Where are we?”  You ask glancing over at Hoseok.  “Can't you read?”  He asks pointing towards the building where there were large white letters.  

The letters read, ‘Laser Tag.’  “Laser Tag?”  You raise an eyebrow.  “You don't like laser tag?”  He asks nervously rubbing the back of his neck.  You let out a low laugh.  “I hope you like getting your butt kicked.”  You call over your shoulder as you walk towards the building.  “We will see.”  You hear him retort.  

“Y/n.”  You turn around to face him as he throws a brown bag to you.  The bag bounces off your hands and hits the ground.  You stare at each other awkwardly before you bend down to pick it up.  

You open the bag and see a little bottle of apple juice and a small chocolate cake.  “I figured you wouldn't have time to eat so I packed you a little something and,”  He brushes past you and you smile.  “I don't want you to use being hungry as an excuse when I beat you.”  He calls and you chase after him into the building thinking about how much you like this playful side of Hoseok.  

You knew you were decent with a gun.  All the years of classes your father put you through were proof of that.  What you didn't know was that Hope was just as good if not better than you.  You didn't worry when you were suited up and sent to your designated start stop.  

You didn't worry when they announced that it was a ‘every man for themselves’ round.  You knew you could handle yourself.  What you didn't expect was that as soon as the start buzzer rang to hear ‘point player Hope’  every couple of seconds.  

You mentally noted there was about twelve players including you and Hope.  You counted about seven players eliminated.  Half of those by Hope himself.  Which leaves about five players left.  ‘Point player Hope’  You roll your eyes.  You continue walking and see movement out of the corner of your eye.  

You run in that direction and come across a man crouched down with his gun poking out of a window.  ‘Stupid’  You think as you shoot his sensor.  You hear a voice over the loudspeaker.  ‘Only three players left’  You sigh and continue walking until you hear voices around the corner.  

“Do you know if the girl is still in the match?”  You recognize Hope’s voice.  “I don't know man.  Just don't shoot me.”  You laugh at the pleading voice of the man.  The irony.  “You do realize this is a game right?”  You hear Hope ask.  

“Yeah man.”  the boy responds.  “I'm just trying to get into the game alright.”  Hope laughs.  “I'll give you three seconds.”  Hope says.  “Whaa?”  “one.. Two.. “  You hear footsteps coming towards you and you step back as a boy runs around the corner and you hear Hoseok say three.  The boy's vest lights up indicating he was shot.  

The voice announcing two final players.  The boy sighs before walking towards the exit.  You hold your breath.  ‘Please let Hope go the other way. Please please please.’  “Oh Y/nn..”  You turn around at the sound of his voice.  “Hope.’’ You greet.  He raises his hands up over his head.  “Let's take a time out and chat a little?”  He suggest.  

You laugh and lower your gun.  He walks towards you and puts his hand on the side of your face and you shiver.  “Are you scared Y/n..”  You shake your head ‘no’ and he pushes you, your back hitting the soft arena wall with a little too much force.  “Thank you for coming here with me.”  He whispers.  

You smile looking up at him.  “I’m having lots of fun.  So I should be thanking you.”  A smile quickly takes over his face and just as quickly leaves.  He starts to lean in towards you his eyes drifting close and soft pink lips puckered.  You close your eyes waiting for his lips to meet yours.  You feel your noses touch, the butterflies going crazy in your stomach, heart beating out of control.  

You wait, but the kiss never comes.  You open your eyes to look into his chocolate browns ones, the corners crinkling up.  “You have chocolate in your teeth.”  He says as he pulls the trigger, sending your vest into a flashing mess of color.  You stand there in shock as you hear the voice announce Hope as the winner.  You stand there mouth wide open as his laughter gets softer the further he runs away.  “Juuuuunnggg  Hooooosseeeookkkk!!”  You scream running after him.  “I’m going to get you!!”

You didn't say anything the whole way back to the warehouse.  Not because you were mad more like you couldn't get the thought of almost kissing Hoseok out of your head.  You couldn't stop thinking about how handsome he looked leaning in towards you.  

How bright his eyes were when he tricked you.  You couldn't stop thinking about the butterflies in your stomach and how much you wanted to kiss him.  You wanted to feel his lips on yours.  The ride back felt 10x longer than the ride there.  Mostly because he was driving the speed limit this time around.  

You finally made it to the warehouse and as soon as the car stopped you hopped out and started walking to the door.  Hoping to put as much space between you and him until you could sort out these.. feelings?  You were almost to the door when a hand wrapped around you wrist pulling you back around.  “I'm sorry.”  He says.  

You look up into his eyes, quickly realising your mistake.  He looked genuinely sorry.  “I'm not mad.”  You say looking down to your feet.  “Just a little confused.”  You mumble.  Moving the dirt around with your feet.  “Confused?”  He asks with a smile.  

“Did you want me to kiss you?”  You look up at his question and swallow hard.  “No..”  You mumble.  Before you can respond to his statement he pulls you hard against him.  Wrapping one arm around your waist and the other cupping your face.  Deja-vu.  You can't help but think.  “If you don't want it tell me to stop.”  

You look at him and watch as his eyes close, his long eyelashes casting shadows on his cheeks.  You feel your eyes flutter shut in anticipation and you feel his nose, once again brush yours.  He is so close you can feel his hot breath against your lips.  

“Y/n!  What is going on out here?”  You open your eyes and look towards the door where N is standing, pure anger contorting his handsome features.  “Hope”  He turns his glare away from you landing on the hand that was still on your waist.  Hope immediately drops his hand after sensing where the elders gaze had landed.  

“I was just thanking Hope for the date.”  You cut in before he starts yelling at him.  “Is that how you thank all boys who take you on dates?”  N yells.  “You”  He says pointing to Hope.  “Don't you ever think about touching her again.  You will regret it.”  Hope nods his head and walks back down the driveway.  He hops into his hummer and starts to pull away.  

“Hope”  You yell.  Chasing after his speeding car.  You know he sees you.  You locked eyes with him through the rearview mirror.  You turn around fuming.  

“What the hell N!”  You shriek.  “What makes you think you can talk to people like that?”  He looks sad. “I just wanted to protect you.”  You scoff.  “From what?  A sweet boy?  A kiss?”  He groans and runs a hand through his hair.  

“You just don't see it do you?”  You give him a confused face.  “See what?”  He walks closer to you and grabs one of your hands.  “Go on a date with me.”  He says.  “Let's go to dinner.  Just you and me.  Not hanging out.  A date.  A real date.”  

Your mouth drops open at his request.  “Just give me a chance.”  You look away from him.  “Please Y/n.”  You can't date him Y/n…  You can't date Hyuk’s best friend.  “Ok”  You whisper.  “On one condition.”  He looks at you hopefully.  

“If I don't want a second date there will be no hard feelings.”  He nods his head and brings your hand up to his mouth placing a soft kiss to your skin.  “I’ll meet you here at seven.”  He releases your hand and walks back inside the house.  You check your phone.  5:27pm.  You quickly send a text to Hope.

You: When will you be back?  I have something to tell you.

You checked your phone every ten minutes waiting for a reply. Minutes turned into an hour and soon you found yourself waiting on the porch at 6:58pm in a black t shirt dress for N.  You pull out your phone checking one more time before angrily shoving it back inside your bag.  

“Hello gorgeous.”  You turn around and shoot a small smile at N as he leads you to his sleek black sports car.  He opens the door for you and shuffles to the other side before getting in.  “Have you ever been to ‘el restaurante de la manzana?”  He asks.  You shake your head.  “Good because that is where I have made reservations for tonight.”  

He continues to ramble about the restaurant and you nod every so often staring out the window at the city lights.  Night time in the city was always your favorite time to be outside even though it was extremely dangerous.  The car stops and the door is opened from the outside and you look up to meet the face of the valet.  

You unbuckle and grab onto the man's outstretched hand.  He closes the door and escorts you over to N and you hook your arm through his.  This restaurant was beautiful.  Red velvet curtains and table cloths.  You couldn't help stare at all the paintings and the beautiful fountain in the middle of the room.  “Reservation for N please.”  The lady at the table nods and stands.  “Right this way.”  

You silently follow her to a table that is quite secluded.  You wait for N to pull your chair out for you which he quickly obliges. The lady leaves and you look to N.  “This place is amazing!”  He smiles and watches you glance around.  “I’m glad you like it.”  

Just then a familiar face comes to your table.  “Welcome.”  He says.  You look up and your jaw drops.  “Johnny?”  You smile even wider.  “Is that you Johnny!”  

“No way.”  He says.  “Y/n! Look at you!  You are even more beautiful than I remember!”  You hit his arm lightly.  “Will you shut up!”  You laugh.  “Oh yes.  This is N.”  You say motioning to the man in front of you.  

Johnny reaches out to shake N’s hand.  N nods his head in Johnny's direction before sighing loudly and looking down at his menu.  Johnny slowly retracts his hand and quickly remembers he is supposed to be working.  “What can I get you two to drink?”  He asks.  “I’ll have a water.”  You smile at Johnny and turn your gaze to N.  “I'll have water as well.”  He answers placing the menu onto the table. Johnny winks at you before he walks away to fetch the drinks.  

Your table was silent when Johnny came back placing the drinks on the table and taking your orders.  You stared at N for a couple minutes after Johnny left, studying his cold eyes before speaking up.  “What's wrong?”  He laughs.  “Really.  You don't even know what you did?”  

What I did?  “What did I do?”  You ask.  He studies your eyes for a couple more seconds.  “You were flirting with the waiter.  This night is supposed to be about you and I.  Not the two of us and ‘Johnny’.”  

You can't help the giggle that escapes your lips.  “Are you jealous N?”  His cheeks turn a light shade of pink and he turns his head away from you.  “Aww N.  You shouldn't be jealous.  Johnny..”  

“You called?”   You watch as N rolls his eyes at the waiter and grabs his napkin placing it onto his lap and you mirror the action.  “Finally Johnny boy i'm starving”  You say as he places your steak on the placemat in front of you.  He places N’s meal in front of him and starts to walk away.  “Oh Y/n.. I almost forgot!”  He turns around and places a piece of paper on the table next to you.  “Call me for a good time.”  He winks at you and turns to walk away again.  

Before he can get too far the man in front of you abruptly stands up.  Chair scraping the ground making a horrible sound.  “Are you kidding me!”  He yells.  Johnny turns around and looks at N.  “Is something wrong sir?”  He asks.  

“Is something wrong sir?”  N mocks.  “Yes something is wrong.  Here I am on a date with a lovely lady and all she can do is flirt with the waiter.  Not to mention the waiter is also flirting back.”  He is fuming.  

“Does he know?”  Johnny asks you.  You shake your head and stand up.  “N… You are misunderstanding..”  

“Shut up!”  He yells at you.  “Dude dont yell at her!  She didn't do anything wrong.”  Johnny says.  N looks over at Johnny.  “You need to learn your place.”  And before you can say anything else N lunges forward punching Johnny in the jaw.  

You hear the sickening crack of broken bones and the pain filled moans of the man on the floor.  “That will teach you.”  N says kicking Johnny in the side.  You hear the fast approaching click of heels on the ground.  “Johnny?”  A woman calls kneeling down by his body.  The woman looks up and the two of you.  “You two need to leave.  Right now.”  

You grab N’s hand chanting sorry over and over again.  You pull N outside and turn him to face you.  “N.. Why did you do that?”  He hands the valet his ticket.  “Isn’t it obvious?”  He mumbles.  “He deserved it.”  You can't stop yourself.  Your hand comes up and you hear the echo of your hand hitting his face hard.  

He looks shocked as he turns his head back in your direction.  “You should be ashamed.”  You yell.  “Johnny is naturally a flirtatious person.  We were really close in High School.”  He is about to speak back but you cut him off.  “Not the close you are thinking.  Johnny is married now anyways.”  You say.  

He opens and closes his mouth a couple of times before just staying silent.  You open your own door and hop in.  Not uttering a single word the whole drive home.  

When the car pulls into the driveway you get out before the car stops and run to the door.  Swinging the door open you move quickly down the long halls when you hear N chasing after you.  You run straight into your office and lock the door.  “Y/n.. I'm sorry.”  He calls through the thick wooden door.  You ignore his desperate pleas of forgiveness grabbing the spare blanket and pillow from the closet you lay down on the couch and put your headphones in.  Checking your phone once more before closing your eyes and going to sleep.

part 2 | part 4