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[ricketycr1cks]

And if I say Mac grew up equating love to cigarette burns and absent fathers and getting told to toughen up, that Mac doesn’t understand love that isn’t conditional, love without equal parts hate or distaste, that never in his life has Mac understood earnest love, that even though Dennis isn’t trying to, he often ends up re-confirming this idea in Macs head, that love is hatred, that-

[thesunisatangerine]

playing for keeps – chapter three

alexia putellas x barçakeeper!childhoodfriend!reader

warnings: coarse language, light angst

(a/n in the tags) [chapters: one, two, three, four]

word count: 8.8k

[1]

Just before you turned thirteen your body, finally, began to change. 

While Alexia’d gone ahead of you a year prior—with her limbs now lanky and sinewy, and her muscles stretched close to the newly grown bones—you were left behind. She’d grown taller, yes; not by much but the two-inch difference (two and a half, as Alexia was always inclined to remind you) felt like a foot to you. So the change was welcome when it finally started, and more importantly, it happened to coincide with something that completely altered the trajectory of your life.

During the spring after your birthday, your father got a promotion at work. To celebrate this milestone, he took you and your mother for a trip around Europe. And as a gift for your hard work and for getting into La Masia with Alexia just a few months before, your parents surprised you with tickets to at least one game in the country, or area, you were visiting. 

In Gelsenkirchen, Germany, you found your destiny. 

Or at least that was how you liked to look at it. 

Before seeing the match between Schalke 04 against Stuttgart, the idea of keeping never entered your mind; you’d played forward your whole life, and you thought that would be the position you’d play in professionally. But as you saw Manuel Neuer controlling the outcome of the game with his hands, a spark ignited within you—this overwhelming surge—and right there and then, you were enlightened to the art of keeping. That spark returned home with you and, playing into the hands of fate, your journey to keeping began.

[2]

The crescendo of the cicadas’ song was this close to lulling you to sleep. It didn’t help that Alexia’d curled herself up beside you in your bed, her head on your lap while her math notebook laid forgotten at the foot of the bed, and her eyes already closed. It was a rare occurrence for the both of you and even more so for Alexia to ‘slack off’—if you were to put it as Alexia had—but this afternoon was a particularly hot one. Summer had practically bled into spring, and even someone like Alexia clearly wasn’t immune to its soporific effect. 

The numbers from the homework you were working on began to blur when you heard a knock downstairs. Out of curiosity or just surprise, you snapped awake. And so did Alexia, apparently.

“You expecting someone?” Alexia yawned, stretching out her long limbs before settling over to her other side. The movement made a lock of hair fall to her cheek which you brushed away with the back of your finger.

“No, it’s probably Mamá’s.” You hummed in answer, relaxing down on your pillow to finally chase that nap that continued to tempt you.

But then came your mother’s voice, “Guille! Hello, my boy! How are you?”

Alexia let out a startled yelp when you jumped out of the bed, now fully awake, tripping on the rug as you rushed into the closet. 

“What the hell? What are you doing?!” Alexia hissed with annoyance but you were too busy trying to get changed to address it. 

You snatched the closest pair of shorts and jersey shirt, and began to shed the ones you had on before you slipped the fresh ones on in quick succession. 

As you did, you began to explain, “I completely forgot! I was supposed to meet up with Guille today!”

When your head popped out of your shirt, you found a deep crease between Alexia’s brows. She was sitting in the middle of your bed, cross-legged, looking very much like a disgruntled cat woken from a nap with the way her hair stuck out in odd places. 

She looked adorable. 

You bit your tongue before you could say it.

Crossing her arms, Alexia retorted, “Why? It’s Saturday.” 

The tone she used made it seem that today being a Saturday was a valid enough reason for you to not go. 

“And it is because it’s Saturday—and no training, Alexia—that I can go with him.” 

At that, her frown only seemed to deepen. You had half a mind to tease her but you knew that’d probably just piss her off even more, although if you were being honest, you didn’t understand just why this seemed to bother Alexia so much.  So instead of teasing, you tried a placating tone, “You could come with if you want?”

Alexia opened her mouth, “I—”

Your mother’s shout cut through the air. 

“Honey? Guille is here for you!” 

You sent Alexia one last apologetic glance. 

“I’m really sorry! Please stay for dinner! I’ll be quick!” 

And with a quick hug goodbye, you rushed out of your room and practically flew down the stairs. At the bottom, you found Guille leaning against the bannister, hands in his short pockets, with a small rucksack on his back who, upon seeing you, gave you a bright smile.

“Hey! You look—” He began but then suddenly, his eyes darkened and the quirk of his lips turned upside down, his tone flattening, “Oh. You’re here.”

In the same second you noticed Alexia beside you, Alexia’d slung an arm over your shoulders.

“Lovely to see you as always, Guille. And I could say the same about you.” Alexia deadpanned, flashing Guille a smile full of teeth, her eyes void of any warmth as she stared at him down her nose. Then she turned to you, her face lighting up as she asked with a little too much excitement, “So, are we going or not?”

“Wait, she’s coming with us?” Guille blurted out, but before you could even answer, Alexia left your side and ran down the steps. 

“Of course, Guille! Come on, keep up!” Alexia exclaimed on her way out of the door, tapping Guille’s stomach as she did—not without force apparently with the way Guille expelled air out harshly. 

When you got to him, you placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. 

“Are you okay?”

He let out a strained, “Yes.”

You gave Guille an apologetic look, grabbing your ball bag. 

“I’m really sorry for the last minute change. I’ll make it up to you.”

Still clutching his stomach, he said, “Don’t worry about it.”

The three of you got to the field near your place—which you were glad to find empty—without any more incidents. You were faced with another problem as it was only after you’d begun warming up that you realized that in your haste to leave, you forgot to bring water with you. When you told Alexia, she offered to go to the nearest corner store to buy some.

You stretched as you waited for Alexia’s return when Guille suddenly said behind you.

“Here.”

Turning, you found him holding a paper parcel bag. You considered his outstretched hand with curiosity before you met his eyes, taking the bag from him slowly. “What’s this?”

“Just a little something to get you started,” he answered, scratching the back of his head. “You said you wanted to keep, so I thought you’d need them.”

Peering into the bag, you gasped at what you found inside. 

A new pair of keeper gloves.

“Guille, you didn’t have to!”

He shrugged, smiling, “Yeah, but I wanted to anyway.”

“Thank you! Come here, you big baby!” You laughed, throwing your arms around him. Unlike Alexia, Guille was only taller than you by mere centimeters so it was relatively easy to ruffle his hair as you pulled away. 

“Mess up my hair again and I won’t teach you anything,” He threatened with a faux glare as he swept his fingers through his curling locks in an attempt to tame them. 

You rolled your eyes, grinning at him. “Okay, Antonio Banderas. So, what are the basics?”

He imitated you, rolling his eyes before he shook his head slightly, his smile never leaving his lips. Then he pointed to a spot by the goal line. “Put your gloves on and stand right there.”

You did, noting the way your new gloves fit perfectly over your hands and fingers. It felt different—stuffy—and you could already feel your palms beginning to sweat from the trapped heat. When you stood where Guille pointed, he walked around you all the while he instructed you to correct your posture: he told you keep your feet shoulder-width apart, to bend your legs slightly so that your chest was just past your knees, and to hold your palms facing out. 

“The main thing to worry about starting out is your stance. It will take time to get the balance right but once you get it down, you’re set.”

“Is this alright?” 

Guille took a step back and he gripped his chin as he hummed. After a moment of scrutiny, he nudged you back suddenly. It wasn’t quite forceful but it made you tumble down on your rear all the same. 

You smiled at him sheepishly, getting up. “I guess that’s a no?”

“Yep. It looks like you keep your weight on your heels too much.” He crouched down at your feet, drawing a square over the front half of your foot. “Keep your weight spread out around here and you should—”

Guille scrambled back suddenly, yelping as a football went flying past where he was just a second ago and into the net. Turning to the direction where the ball came from with your mouth agape, you found Alexia there with water bottles clasped to her chest, an eyebrow raised, while one corner of her mouth was set in a bemused droop, another ball rolling beneath her left foot.

“What the hell was that for, asshole?!” Guille shouted as he stormed his way over to Alexia. He was in front of her now, looking up at her with flame in his eyes but Alexia remained unfazed. She put the water bottles down before she settled her hands on her hips, cocking her head slightly to the side. 

“I’m sorry, Guille. I didn’t see you.” Alexia said flatly, “And aren’t you supposed to be playing keeper?”

“Really. You didn’t see me? Besides—”

“Ale, I asked Guille to teach me.” You huffed, running in between them and separating them with your arms before things got out of hand—again. 

This wasn’t the first time this… row between them happened. In fact, you noticed it’s been occurring more frequently lately. For all their similarities—the main one being their short tempers—the two never got on well together for reasons you never really understood and the only thread that tied them together was you. 

They weren’t always like this though; they were nice with each other the first time they’d met. Guille transferred to your school not long after you’d joined Sabadell, and if you and Alexia were inseparable there, it was always you and Guille at school. And when an opportunity arose for your two favorite persons to meet, you took it. It went well; they were friendly with each other. You only noticed things had changed after you and Guille’s school team started playing against Alexia’s so you were never sure when this all started, and by that point, the friction between them was too great to smoothen out which both saddened and disappointed you.

And it wasn’t like you never tried to get to the bottom of it. You’d asked them what happened, they both gave similar answers. By that, you meant completely avoiding answering. 

Guille’d assured you, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, we’re friends? Don’t worry.” 

While Alexia’d said with a confused frown, “What do you mean? Nothing happened.” 

And when you pestered her, asked her if the reason was because she liked Guille as a joke, she looked at you without reply, and when next practice came, she made a nuisance of herself enough to let you know the answer to your question and more. 

And here you were again, with them acting like this–always at each other’s throats. 

At your answer, Alexia looked at you, confused. “Why would you ask him to teach you how to keep?”

Your gaze lanced away as you bit your lip.

Maybe you should’ve told her after all… 

Mustering up the courage to meet her eye again, you replied, low and serious. “I want to start playing keeper, Alexia.” 

Alexia blinked, and then she crossed her arms before she eyed Guille who was scowling at her in return. She looked at you again. 

“Have you told Alejandro about this?”

“Yes.” 

“Oh.” A pause. “What did he say?”

“I’ll still start as a forward. But he said he’ll put in some extra technical sessions for me starting next week which was why I asked Guille to help me get started. Alejandro said if I get good enough, he’ll see if I can start as keeper for the team.”

An uncomfortable silence settled over you three. 

You caught Guille’s eyes darting from you to Alexia and back again from the corner of your eyes but you remained focused on Alexia’s face. At a glance, Alexia might seem calm—impassive with the way all of her features remained flat. But her eyelids drooped just so they hid more than half of her pupils, how her lower lip was slightly concealed beneath the upper one; she was pissed and even worse, she was hurt. And knowing that you’d hurt her was enough to compel you to reach out and touch her arm, apologetic.

Alexia regarded you for a moment longer. Another word of apology was on the tip of your tongue when she finally sighed, the corner of her lips tilting up to a half-smile as she spoke softly. “Okay. How can I help?”

You couldn’t help yourself. You threw your arms around her and it felt like a weight was lifted from your chest upon hearing the chuckle she let out.

The next couple of hours were spent with the three of you working together: Guille by the goal who continuously gave you notes and instructions, while Alexia—upon Guille’s signal—would send some shots to the net so you could try and stop them. The first… fifty or so shots went right past you—going easy was never exactly Alexia’s strong suit—but the more you focused on getting the timing right and reading the language of Alexia’s body to anticipate the direction of the ball, you ended the session with a few decent saves. 

It was a rough start but you were satisfied with it.

You’d left to use the restroom but upon coming back, the two of them were bickering once more.

Oh, no. What was it now?

You heard more of their words the closer you got, but you didn’t have to move too close with the way they were shouting.

“Come on, dude! Please, don’t tell me you’re still pissed off about that? It was a fair match!”

“How was that fair, Alexia? The two of you playing together is never fair! You’re both in La Masia for crying out loud! And even more importantly, she was supposed to be on my team! That was the original plan, but you went ahead and took her away!”

“What made you think I took her away?” Alexia crossed her arms, scoffing. “Let’s face it. She likes to play with me more than you.”

“You don’t know that!”

That was the moment Alexia spotted you and before you could even get a word in, she said, “Why don’t we just ask her who she’d rather play with?”

Two sets of intense eyes looked your way and without meaning to, you gulped, taking a step back.

“So? Who would you rather play with: me or her?” Guille asked, eyes wide and pleading. 

Suddenly feeling like you were backed into a corner, you stammered in your panic, “Umm, I—”

[3]

Alexia stayed over for dinner that night. That was normal; what was unusual was she left you alone to do the dishes. You had a feeling where she might be, especially since she’d been mostly quiet throughout the whole evening.

After you put away the last dish in the cupboard, and when your arms were finally free from suds, you took a peek into the living room. She wasn’t there—a confirmation of her whereabouts.

Putting on your flip flops, you headed out of the back door. 

The light from the living room casted a faint glow that dissipated the darkness around the garden when you opened the door that led out to it, aiding you just enough to see Alexia on the swing, sitting still with her back hunched forward. Once you were just a few paces behind her, you saw the contours of her headset, but even with them on, there was no way she didn’t know you were there—the fact that your shadow stretched to reach her before you did was a dead give away. Yet still, she made no move to acknowledge your presence.

Okay. That was fair.

“Ale,” you said softly. 

She gave you a glance before she went back to looking down at her clasped hands. 

“Alexia, come on.” 

Still no response. You fiddled with your thumbs as the moment dragged on. 

You sighed, sitting down on your heels next to her.

“I should’ve told you about the keeper thing,” you muttered. “I wanted to get a feel for it first, to get a bit better at it before I told you. But I didn’t consider how that would make you feel… and I’m sorry. I’m sorry for making you feel that I didn’t want or need you by my side, Alexia. I wanted you to think I was good enough for this.” 

Finally, Alexia turned to you, taking her headset off, the movement barely above a whisper. And softly, she spoke, “What made you think that I’ll think you’re not good enough for anything?”

“I don’t know.” You admitted, pulling at the grass in front of you. Your mother would probably see the hole you’d made on the lawn and berate you for it in the morning but you needed something to keep your hands busy. “I just wanted to go through this without too many expectations. And it’s not like I don’t want to keep our dynamic going. I love playing forward with you, Alexia, but I think keeping is my calling, just like midfield is to you.”

“You don’t have to apologize. I completely understand. You didn’t want any added pressure. I’m not going to hold that against you.” 

“Thank you,” you smiled at her. Then, “So, tell me why are you sulking?”

“I’m not sulking!” Alexia huffed with indignation. Then she looked away again, working her lower lip between her teeth.

You put a hand on her knee. “Alexia, what is it?”

“I…” Alexia sighed, brushing the bridge of her nose with her thumb. You gave her another moment. She heaved another breath before she began.

“That thing you said… Did you really mean it when you said you’d rather play with him than me?”

Oh. So that was what this was about.

“Of course not. We both know it’s always going to be you, Alexia.”

“Then why did you tell him that?”

“I feel like if I didn’t, I’d lose him as a friend.”

“And you’re not worried about losing me?” Alexia cried out, her tone inflected while her eyes reflected her hurt.

You blinked at her. 

There were moments—just like now—where you’d feel a sudden urge to shake Alexia. For all her sharpness and unmatched awareness, she sometimes failed to see even the most obvious of things. Couldn’t she see that you loved her and that you’d follow her to the edge of the earth if she asked you to?

At the absurdity of her question, you really couldn’t help but laugh. You stood up and shuffled behind her before you threw your arms around Alexia’s neck, draping yourself over her broad back, which made the swing move forward. The dampness of her hair felt cool against your cheek, the scent of your shampoo that clung to them filled your senses as you chuckled into her ear. 

“Why are you laughing? I’m serious!”

“Because, Alexia, do you hear yourself? I love you, you idiot!” You giggled again. “I know our friendship isn’t that shallow that I’d lose you over this. Or am I wrong?”

Alexia turned her head and you saw a hint of a smile on her lips. “No, I suppose not.”

A pleasant silence blanketed you both. And then Alexia hummed.

“But if there was something that could break us, what do you think it would be?”

You stopped to ponder, twirling a lock of Alexia’s hair with your finger, noting her hair was nearly dry now. When your mind drew blank, you replied nonchalantly, “Honestly, I have no idea.”

“Good.” Alexia leaned away so she could give you a lopsided smile—an earnest one. “Because me neither.”

[4]

“—you okay?”

You blinked and turned to Alexia. “Hmm?”

She glanced at you for a moment before she turned back to what she was doing, sleeves rolled up as she scrubbed a plate in the soapy water in the sink.

“I said, are you okay? Is there something wrong? You’ve been out of it since practice.” When a moment of silence lapsed, Alexia added, “And don’t think I didn’t notice you on your swing the past few days, too, because I did.”

You looked out the window and watched how the rain sluiced down the glass pane. In the darkness behind the window, you saw glimpses of soaked, curly locks and heard the hasty confession all over again.

You sighed, blinking the memory away.

“Guille asked me out.”

The sound of glass shattering and metal clanging made you jump, and you watched as a casserole pot twirled like a top on the hard, kitchen floor, while fragments of a broken plate skittered out to different directions. 

“Oh, shit!” Alexia cursed, looking down at the mess, while a voice called out from the living room. 

“Alexia, is everything alright in there?'' Came Eli’s voice. A few seconds later, Jaume’s head popped into the kitchen. He glanced at you then his eyes settled on Alexia who was crouched down, looking up guiltily at her father.

“Are you okay, girls?”

“Yes, Papá. I just… dropped some stuff.” Alexia said. You crouched down, too, about to pick up a fragment when Jaume spoke.

“Don’t pick that up, love, you might cut yourself. I’ll do it.” 

Jaume shooed the two of you to a corner he deemed safe and the both of you watched as he picked up the pieces, throwing them in the bin by the back door. Afterwards, he gave Alexia a kiss on her temple, and you a hug and a ruffle to your hair, as he retired for the evening, leaving the two of you again in your own company. Alexia went back to the sink to finish up whatever was left, and you returned to your place on the counter beside her. 

The silence that intruded was cut short by Alexia when she cleared her throat, “So… what did you say?” 

“I haven’t said anything, yet,” you sighed again, looking back out the window, the questions coming back full force. In the eight years you’d known Guille, how long had he harbored those feelings for you? When did it happen? What did you do to make him feel that way?

“Do you like him?” Alexia’s question brought you back to the present.

“I don’t know.”

“Do you want him?”

“Isn’t that the same thing?” You laughed slightly, glancing back at Alexia who shrugged her shoulders in answer.

“No, I don’t think so. Desire is a drive, like it makes you want to act. Attraction is just… I don’t know how to explain it, but it’s a weaker feeling. And they complement each other but they’re not the same.”

“And you know this how exactly?” You asked her teasingly, a brow raised.

Alexia averted her eyes, and shrugged your question off with a laugh.

In the moment of silence that followed, you traced Alexia’s profile, and your gaze ended at the elegant curve of the bow of her lips. She looked so pretty casted in the candescent glow of the kitchen light that it made your chest ache just by looking at her. You dropped your eyes to your feet as your mind ran faster than before this entire conversation happened.

Clutching your arms tightly across your chest, you muttered, “I don’t know what I want.” 

[5]

Maybe hoping it would all turn out fine was a bit naive because naturally, Guille didn’t take your rejection well. It was your fault really for expecting otherwise but nevertheless, the inevitable discomfort of disappointment settled like lead in your gut. 

The thing was, you were ready to give Guille the space he needed to accept your boundaries—friends, or nothing at all—and to heal. But accusing Alexia of making you turn against him? Now, that was something you couldn’t let pass. 

He knew he’d crossed a line, too, with the way he kept avoiding you. At first, the silence didn’t bother you; he was hurt, after all. But when the apology never came, you understood that you’d be going through your last year of high school without your closest friend there by your side.

A fortnight passed without any word from him so it surprised you when he showed up at the local meetup that the three of you used to go to. He refused to meet your eyes but he had no problem leveling with the glares Alexia kept giving him. And when you ended up in Alexia’s team, the only sign of his distaste about it was the way his lips flattened to a line. He looked like he was about to say something, but with a slight shake of his head, he turned around and made his way to his teammates.

With one last look at Guille’s retreating back, you tuned back in your team’s conversation.

“—doesn’t need to play keeper. We need her more in the offensive.” Alexia said evenly but when you met her eyes, there was a clear question in them. 

You gave her a slight nod to let her know you were okay. 

She nodded back.

“How will that work? She’s the better keeper.” And then Marco added, “No offense, Julia.” 

Julia only shrugged carelessly, a gesture of nonchalance.

“Julia is perfectly fine and besides, with you, Benji, and Carmen, our backline is already strong. The four of you together lessens our chance of conceding.” Alexia paused, looking over her shoulder to the other team before she faced you all again, continuing, “Our priority is the offensive. What good is a strong backline if we can’t counterattack? That’s why I’m suggesting she play as forward in the meantime, while Martina and I will play as interiors. Does that make sense?”

A collective nodding occurred.

“So just to clarify, we’re playing three–two–one?” Benji asked.

Alexia hummed, nodding her head. “Mostly. If we find the space and some opportunities, we can easily do three–one–two.”

“No pressure on us defenders, right?” Carmen said with a laugh, if not with a hint of nerve. 

Everyone laughed but at the end of it, Alexia placed a hand on Carmen’s shoulder. “No pressure because you guys, as I said, are very strong. You got this.”

Carmen smiled at Alexia at that, nodding before she finally moved to her spot. As you and Alexia moved towards the middle of the pitch, Guille was introduced to your line of sight, and a weight pressed in your gut. Disappointment? Perhaps. Or maybe you just actually missed talking and hanging out with him.

Alexia’s teasing tone pulled away your attention from Guille.  “I hope you haven’t forgotten how to play forward from all the keeping you’ve been doing.”

“Four years of keeping against the five years of playing forward? You need to brush up on your math ‘cause I think you’ve forgotten how to count.” You said dryly, giving her a look so dirty that had her throwing her head back in laughter.

Alexia leveled you with an unimpressed look but her tone remained playful. “You are such a bitch sometimes. You know that, right?”

“Thank you. I do try, you know. It’s my only defense against your smart-mouth.”

“Stop denying you don’t like my teasing.” Alexia waggled her brows as she smirked. The way she looked just then—with both hands on her hips, the ball beneath her left boot—your throat dried, heart racing; a sensation that’d familiarized itself to you during its recurrent visits over the past few weeks. Your mind blanked out, clear as the white of Alexia’s shirt, and when no words came to you to retort back, you shook your head and just laughed. By the time the game started—or maybe it was because it started—the feeling finally went away, replaced by the adrenaline that shot through your veins the moment Alexia kicked the ball to you.

It proved to be a tight game. The main strategy of the opposition seemed to be to mark and shut you and Alexia down whenever the ball so much turned your way. Alexia was right to trust your backline: any counterattack from the other team was dealt with immediately, and Julia only needed to save a handful of shots that passed through your defense, which she handled well.

At last, your team finally made a breakthrough.

Alexia cut a diagonal through the box, taking two of the defenders as she did, freeing up the space just behind her. You knew what she was doing so you faked a sidestep, turning quickly to lose your marker, before you sprinted in towards the middle of the box. And as you anticipated, Alexia sent the ball back to you with a flick of her heel. Now, if you could just—

The ground tilted, and there was a moment where the whole world suspended. It lasted for less than a breath before everything—the sensations and sounds—came rushing back in.

You slammed to the ground. 

Air was squeezed out of your lungs from the impact, while your skull and teeth rattled within the confines of your skin; the taste of green, earth, and copper spread on your tongue. Muffled shouts and grunts filtered past the ringing in your ear but when you cupped a hand over your tender ribs, your resulting groan was all you could hear.

When you finally came to, Alexia’s face was over you, the doubled image of her finally merging into one. Her wide, hazel eyes looked on you with worry and you felt the warmth of her fingers as they grazed over your face: from your temples down to your cheeks which she took in a gentle cradle.

“Alexia?” You let out another groan as you turned on your back while Alexia helped you.

“Tell me where it hurts.”

There was a tension that constricted around the front part of your head, but you could feel the blood pulsing most on the side that collided with the ground. “My head… it hurts.”

“Okay, okay. Just lay down for now, I’ll get you…”

You seemed to have passed out after that because one moment you were lying on the fields, and the next you were beside Alexia on her living room couch. You had a vague recollection of being carried on Alexia’s back, but the feel of the strong plane of her shoulder against your cheek remained there, warm and comforting. 

And only then, after Eli gave you ice for your head, did you see the bruise that bloomed deep in the skin of Alexia’s jaw, just below her left cheek, and the scuffed knuckles of her right hand which were splotched with deep reds and purples.

You took her hand onto your lap, gently running over the ice for your head over her knuckles, while you looked at Eli sitting on the opposite couch with Jaume beside her. Eli’s face burnt redder than you’d ever seen before, while Jaume held onto her hand, circling his thumb over the top of it in an attempt to calm her down.

Alexia remained quiet the whole time, eyes casted down as she took her mother’s reprimanding words. There was the unmistakable shine of shame in them, her guilt, but also an unwavering quality that stood for what she did. At the end of it, Eli and Jaume hugged the both of you before letting you retreat into Alexia’s room as you waited for your parents to arrive.

Instead of getting on her bed with you, Alexia plopped down on the floor just by the foot of the bed, her back against the wooden bedframe. You regarded the back of her head, her neck curved downwards, and you suddenly felt the need to be close to her so you shuffled off her sheets, and got down beside her. 

“Thank you, but your mother was right, you know? You shouldn’t have done it, Alexia.” You mumbled, unfurling her fingers to rest on your knee so you could access more of her knuckles that way. Gently, you placed ice over it, but she still hissed in pain. “You shouldn’t have punched him.”

“Why not? He deserved it.” Alexia said evenly as she stared at the far corner of the room. “And before you start defending him, you didn’t see what I saw—what the rest of us saw. He didn’t even touch the ball—it was all feet. He meant to trip you up.” 

Warmth bloomed in your chest at her words—at how her action showed just how much you meant to her—but the discomfort in your gut marred the surge of your affection for her. 

You took a deep breath, sighed it out, and it tasted like disappointment. 

“Alexia, I appreciate the gesture, I do. But you can’t just hurt people just because they did something to me.” 

Alexia puffed her chest and proclaimed, “I can.”

“Stop that nonsense, Alexia. I mean it.” Firmer now, you said, and there was a hint of desperation in the intonation of your words. There was an urgent need to make Alexia understand the gravity of what she did, what future implications it held if what Eli and you told her didn’t sink in now. “Actions like this can jeopardize you, Alexia, and all the things you worked hard for. Do you understand that? What will Alejandro say when he sees you all bruised up next practice? And if I get tackled dirty during a game and I get hurt, would you risk a red card, or suspension, for behaving like this?”

Alexia became silent, the muscle in her jaw working, and when she turned to you with her mouth open and you spotted a defiant crease in her brows, you were quick to stop her.

“If the answer to that question isn’t no, Ale, I don’t want to hear it.” The sound of teeth clattering filled the air. She casted her gaze aside again, her cheeks growing a shade deeper. “Look at me, Alexia.”

When she kept her eyes glued to the floor, you dropped the ice pack to take her face in your hands. She flinched from the coldness of your fingers but as you looked into her eyes, rimmed with redness and framed by drooping eyelids, you found exhaustion and the shine of apology. You brushed away a matted lock of hair from the tail end of her brow.

“You have a good heart, Alexia, but you have to promise me. Please don’t do something like this again. Ever.” 

Alexia looked into your eyes, deeply as if in contemplation, and then she closed them. A moment later, she sighed, sagging into your touch as if a weight had left her shoulders, before she opened them again. 

“I promise.” 

This time, you believed her.

Smiling softly at her, you whispered, while you placed a light kiss on her cheek. “Thank you.”

Settling into the moment, you rested your head against Alexia’s shoulder, her bruised hand in yours. In the brief silence before your father arrived to pick you up, Alexia spoke in an earnest tone that made your stomach flutter.

“I know you can handle yourself, but that won’t stop me from having your back.”

At her words, your heart felt like it would burst your chest open. And you should’ve known that this was where you’d end up—with her, it seemed inevitable anyway—because the years of you’d known Alexia flashed quickly before your eyes, and the memory stopped to this person beside you, haloed golden by the warm glow of her bedside lamp, and you were hit with a realization that took what little breath you had away.

You liked Alexia.

And, even more importantly, you want her.

[6]

When you got on the field in a Barça jersey for the first time after your return, you didn’t expect to be welcomed like you did. Jona subbed you on after the first half and as you left the tunnel, you heard the crowd chanting your name. The cheers made you feel excited, accepted and seen, but you’d be lying if you said that it didn’t pressure you at all.

It was originally intended for you to come on during the last twenty minutes, but seeing as Caro, Patri, and Alexia gave the team a comfortable enough lead, Jona decided to sub you on ahead of schedule. You didn’t see much action on your end though, something that you didn’t mind at all—a quiet defensive-third was the best kind. The midfielders kept the midline high to sustain pressure in the offensive-third, while the defenders maintained such a tight backline that any loose through-balls sent to the opposing runners were called offside. Of course, there were a handful of times when you needed to get out of your box to ping the ball back into the offensive, but other than that, it was quiet. When the match ended, you were satisfied that Barça had another clean sheet and four goals to add to the season tally.

For the celebration, you moved with your teammates around Estadi Johan Cruyff, and during the procession, you spied your parents, Eli, and Alba who was talking to a raven-haired woman you’d never seen before, clapping and cheering. Warmth filled you upon seeing your family in the stands again—such a scene was a luxury when you were in the States because plane tickets weren’t exactly cheap—and when you felt the familiar weight of Alexia’s arm slung over your shoulders, the fabric of her captain armband against the skin of your neck, it felt like a perfect homecoming.

Well, almost.

After you’d showered and changed to your casuals, most of the crowd had gone while some lounged about, one of which was the raven-haired woman Alba was talking to. When Alexia took her hand, you knew instantly, and your heart—damn your heart—dropped.

“This is Diana,” Alexia said after the both of them made their way to you. And if it wasn’t their intertwined hands that revealed what they were to each other, their gaze—saccharine when they met—made it all the more clear the nature of their relationship long before Alexia said the words, “my girlfriend.”

Diana beamed up at Alexia, her cheeks deepening in color before she regarded you again, sticking her hand out towards you to shake. Preceding the intention, you took her hand and when you did, Diana placed her other hand over yours, clasping your hand between her warm palms.

“It’s so nice to finally meet you. Alexia’s talked so much about you.” 

She did? Your eyes flitted to Alexia but when she shied away from that, you focused back on Diana’s face. She was stunning: with her high cheekbones carved to elegance, her brows following the perfect line of her temple, her full lips painted with a terracotta shade made deeper by the bronze of her skin, while her loose, straight, raven hair framed her face in such a way that accentuated the sharpness of her jaws. Her eyes were dark but still light enough to see the outline of her pupils, and they had an amiable shape that reflected her warm nature. And for some reason, her light brown eyes looked really familiar—

“Ah! My favorite cousin made it, after all! Although I’m not sure it was me you went to the game for!” Tori’s playful voice resonated in the near-barren corridor. Diana’s eyes flicked somewhere behind you—to Tori, you supposed.

“Don’t be like that, Tori, of course I came to see you, too!”

“Lies!”

Diana shook her head, laughing, as she took Tori in her arms. “Come here, you!”

In response, Tori said something in Portuguese that made Diana laugh. When they broke apart, Diana said, “Forget you? Never. Especially when I owe you one.”

“Owe her what?” Alexia asked with her brows creased with curiosity.

Diana took Alexia’s hand and squeezed it, looking up at Alexia with a gentle expression. “For giving us the chance to meet.”

“Damn right!” Tori exclaimed, putting both hands on her hips, as she grinned so wide that her dimple showed. Tori must’ve seen your confusion because she leaned in to whisper, “I brought Diana as my plus one for last year’s Ballon D’Or ceremony.”

You allowed your mouth to drop open before you smiled, letting out a small laugh that made your chest ache. “Ah, I see.”

“She kept complaining about going but now, aren’t you grateful I took you away from your precinct, Detective Beauregard?” Tori teased.

“She’s never going to let us live this down, will she?” Diana muttered dryly to Alexia but it was deliberately loud enough for all of you to hear. In response, Alexia threw her head back laughing. 

“You’re a detective? That’s amazing!” You said, impressed.

“Please, Tori’s exaggerating. I work in forensics. DNA analyst is the correct title.” Diana threw Tori a dirty look to which the other woman raised her shoulders in response. “It’s a whole different world compared to yours so—and please don’t let this get to your head, Tori—I am grateful I was able to step into it.”

Her eyes, still locked with Alexia’s, grew all the more soft.

“Get a room, you guys,” Tori said with a mock sound of disgust, and then she continued to mutter, “And to think that you’ve only been going out for four months… I don’t even want to think about how it will be like in another three months.”

At that, Alexia raised a brow and then, “Want to do some extra laps tomorrow?”

You and Tori knew Alexia was joking, but Tori being Tori, she spluttered, “That would be a hard no, Captain. I’ll just—Have a great night!” 

With that, she ran away, arms flailing behind her in an exaggerated manner as she hastily made her exit. The sight drew laughter from the three of you.

“We’re having dinner at Mamá’s, want to come over?” Alexia asked.

You shook your head, flashing a look at Diana, before you told Alexia,“Not tonight. I’m just about to head over to my parents’ as well.”

“Alright. But Alba’s going to ask about you, you know? I think she wants to hang  out with you.”

You laughed. “Tell her to text me. She’ll know what that means.”

“Is that something I should know about?” Alexia smirked.

Flatly, you retorted, “If it’s something that concerns you, I’d be telling you by now, right?” 

“You see what I have to deal with?” Alexia told Diana, almost whining.

Inching backwards, you said as dry as you could manage, “I’ll take that as my queue to leave, Alexia might start crying. She’s a crybaby, you know?” 

“Hey! I’m not—”

“No need to be embarrassed about it, Alexia. Be proud!”

Diana only laughed, saying, “Alright, kids, I think that’s enough for tonight.”

Nodding, you grinned at Alexia while she mouthed the word ‘bitch’ to you. In kind, you mouthed ‘smartmouth’ back. With a shake of her head and a smile, she gave you one last hug, and after a pleasant goodnight from Diana, the three of you parted ways.

You sent them a look over your shoulder, catching a glimpse of the watch around Alexia’s left wrist. It glinted as they walked together down the corridor, hand in hand, looking as in love as any new couple would. 

The sight made you smile, but it felt heavy, and as if the universe wanted to rub salt to the wound, you found Patri outside the locker room when you turned around with a look akin to pity in her eyes.

[7]

The next day, Guille stopped by at your place. He’d given you notice a few days prior but even still, the moment you saw him behind the door, you squealed like you were ten again from your excitement. After you hugged him tight—he made a choking noise when you did to tease you—you held him at arm’s length to see what changes the last few months had done to him.

He looked different. Gone were the long, dark curls; now sheared close to his scalp that left only about an inch of length, his hair retained their luscious shine, their color still as dark as night. 

His scar—the one just by the tail end of his left brow—that used to see little light from the obstruction of his hair, now stood apparent and without meaning to, the day he got it came back to you: the bruised knuckles, ice-cold fingers, and the warm blush of a lamplight.

 And your chest ached a little.

Leading the conversation to the living room, the two of you ended up ordering takeaways—mostly for Guille’s benefit because you weren’t about to subject him to your football diet—and as you ate, the two of you caught up.

Guille was close to finishing his dissertation—the biomechanics of concussion in sport and its neurocognitive implications—and he was both excited and fearful about what would come next. He then talked about his girlfriend, Iris, smittenly if you might add. She was actually with him in the city, but his mother insisted she steal Iris for the day for some quality bonding, and you laughed at the repertoire of stories he’d relayed in great detail about his mother’s teasing of their relationship.

“When am I going to meet Iris?” You asked with a teasing tone.

He rolled his eyes, “Well, since you’re actually staying in Barcelona this time, we can arrange that.”

A pause, and then, “Is Alexia staying here, too, or are you here by yourself?”

“No, it’s just me here.”

“Oh. I thought the two of you’d be rooming again like—” Probably seeing your change in demeanor, Guille cleared his throat as he ate his pasta a bit too eagerly. “Speaking of, how is she?”

The question was casual but you knew it was anything but.

“She’s doing good, if not a little stressed. Our first Champions League game is just around the corner after all and it’s against Chelsea, so.” You shrugged to complete your thought. You knew what he was asking but you’d rather not talk about that.

His eyes could burn a hole on the side of your head by the way he stared at you in the silence that followed. Then he sighed deeply.

“She still doesn’t know.”

Tension filled every inch of your body and you shrank tight as a coiled spring. You stood up as you felt a sudden urge to get away from him, taking the used plates on the coffee table as a pretense to move from the couch to the sink.

“What’s it to you if she doesn’t know, Guille?” You asked flatly, rolling up your sleeves after you turned the tap on.

“I just want you to be happy. Is that so wrong?”

“And who says I’m not?” Your tone was flat and when you glanced at him over your shoulder, Guille only gave you a pointed look.

Then he said softly, “She could make you happier and you know it.”

And there it was again, that look in his eyes that you just couldn’t stand. Gritting your teeth, you gripped the edge of the sink and your voice quaked when you spoke. “Please stop talking like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like,” you tried to find the words but when they evaded you, you huffed and threw your hands up in the air. “Why are you making it sound like I have a chance?”

“Because you do! You’re the one who’s not giving Alexia a chance by not telling her.”

“Give me one good reason why I should.”

“She loves you.”

A pause.

“That’s bullshit.” You shook your head, letting out a small, disbelieving laugh. As much as your heart wanted that to be true, you knew otherwise.

“It’s really fucking not.” Guille countered.

“If she did, she wouldn’t have said what she did.” 

“People say stupid shit when they’re drunk.”

“That can go the other way, too. Alcohol has a way of loosening what’s been bottled.”

“Oh, come on!” Guille scoffed. “You’ve known her since you were eight. You’ve been through thick and thin together! Do you really think she wanted you to leave?”

With the reminder, the memory sprung up on you and you could hear Alexia’s voice, grating and wrenching your heart raw again when you heard the words from her lips. You whirled around to face him, eyes burning.

“You weren’t there when she told me, Guille!” You breathed out sharply and then you continued, in a lower tone filled with resignation, you whispered as you buried your face in your palms. “You didn’t hear the way she said it. You didn’t—”

You choked on your words. 

After all this time, it was still too painful.

Darkness filled your vision but the tears escaped nonetheless, branding tracks down your cheeks. You heard the rustling of clothes followed by soft footsteps. Before you knew it, Guille’s arms wrapped around your shoulders and his familiar, comforting scent made you sink into the embrace.

“You’re right. I wasn’t there. But if you could forgive me for being an asshole and what I did to you, why can’t you do the same with her?”

You didn’t say anything after that, only clutched at his shirt a little tighter.

Guille kept quiet, too.

The both of you knew just the reason why.

[8]

“Did you see the news?” Jona asked as he kept the door open for you to an empty meeting room, closing it as soon as you’d gone in. 

Sitting down on one of the cushioned chairs, you said, “I did.”

You saw it this morning and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t faze you. 

Jona nodded, taking the chair across the table from you. He put his clasped hands on the wooden surface and the way he tapped an erratic rhythm with his thumbs didn’t help your nerves.

“Lyon paid a hefty transfer fee for her and that makes me worried. I don’t know what Bompastor is planning to do with her but her transfer to the European league will be a concern for the club.” With a pensive crease appearing between his brows, he continued. “You probably know why I asked you to come in.”

“You want me to tell you what I know about her.”

He nodded, leaning forward as if to emphasize his point. “She’s a lethal forward and you’re the only one in the club who’s ever played with her. In fact, you two seemed very close during your time in Angel City.”

You crossed your arms, leaning back into your chair, frowning slightly. “I don’t know what you’re trying to say.”

Jona blinked at you.

Then slowly, “Surely you must’ve trained closely together considering she’s a forward and you’re a keeper? Unless training was vastly different in Angel City, then I’m sorry for the assumption.”

“O–Oh, I thought you were implying—” You shook your head, uncrossing your arms as you waved the rest of your sentence away. “Never mind. But yes, that’s right.”

Jona gave you another questioning look before speaking again. 

“She’s going to be a big problem. And that’s why I’m going to change things up a bit. I want to put you in the starting lineup as soon as possible—put as many games with our current team under your belt. We’ll most likely face Lyon in the Quarters and that’s unfortunate but what is great is that you’re here: the best counter to what Lyon acquired. If we could eliminate Lyon early, we have a higher chance of winning this year’s Champions League. The question is, are you ready for it?”

“That’s what I’m here for, Jona.” You said seriously, ignoring the pressure that pressed in the periphery of your mind.

“Use me.”

[illogicalvulcans]

[Fic Book Covers 11+12/?] Integrative Approaches by Nnm / @mouseonamoose

Demonology and the Tri-Phasic Model of Trauma

As soon as Aubrey Thyme, psychotherapist, had opened her office door and seen her new client, Anthony J. Crowley, sitting in her waiting area, she was observing and assessing him. At first glance, she paid attention to the following: --His clothing was expensive and stylish; --He wore very strange but noticeable cologne; --His relationship to the seat he occupied could only, very loosely, be described as “sitting;” --He looked angry; --He was wearing sunglasses. What Aubrey Thyme, a professional, thought, upon first seeing her new client was: you’re going to be a fun one, aren’t you?

Angel-Centered Therapy Through A Multicultural Lens

“I’d love to meet with you,” Davey said, apologetically, when he had been called up by a fellow looking to initiate therapy, “but I’m all booked up for months.” “Are you sure?” The fellow said, through a poor connection that crackled. Davey had been sure. And yet. Right there in his calendar was a blank spot, just a few days away, which he had somehow completely overlooked before. “How about that…I’ve got Wednesday at eleven, if you can make that work.” “What a miracle,” the fellow said, “that would be just the perfect time.”

[jadecantcreate]

i wanted to write a quick 3-chapter fic for day 4 of loa shiptober (how they met i think) and i (a fool) was like. yeah. i could totally write 3 chapters in a few hours. i was wrong. SO wrong. haven’t even finished kremy’s (the first one).

so instead have a maybe-past-kremy design that im conflicted about compared to his current design, as a peace offering

[thelassoway]

Jason Sudeikis as Ted Lasso Season 3 » Casual Sweaters/Jumpers

[clockwork-ashes]

All You Have Is Your Fire - Part XX

Find all previous parts on Ao3 :)

Summary: 'I can hear your heart beating through the stone.' For the briefest of moments, Lucien wondered if his mate would know exactly when his heart’s steady rhythm came to a sudden stop.

Note: A huge thank you to the lovely @sad-scarred-sassy who deserves all the credit for the post that inspired me to start writing this :) Another huge thank you to everyone reading! ALSO please look at this post, I gasped it's so lovely. All of @teddyhoneybear's moodboards are stunning <3

Tag List: @anishake / @nocasdatsgay / @mybestfriendmademe / @talibunny30 / @halfbutneverwhole / @wishfulimaginings / @goldenmagnolias / @emmers-bens123 / @cauldronblssd / @xirose / @rarephloxes / @thehighlordishere / @the-darkestminds /

The lovely hand-held mirror fell from Lucien’s small fingers, the emeralds on the hilt flashing in the torchlight as it crashed to the stone floors. 

Shattered. 

The pieces of glass around his booted feet winked as he looked down at them. He felt tears burning suddenly behind his eyes, and he swallowed, fighting back a sob with great effort. 

Lucien might have been young, but he knew what it meant to break a mirror. Seventy years of misfortune, he recalled, breathing in sharply at the memory of his older brothers telling him as much. 

He took a quick step back, hearing a crunch that set his heart beating at a faster pace. His parents would not be happy with him, he thought, his father most of all. He had been strictly forbidden from going into their shared chambers, but Lucien cared very little for rules, especially as they usually did not apply to him. 

Some of his older brothers called him spoiled, mother’s favourite, without responsibilities. His other brothers called him lucky, allowed to do as he pleased, and able to get out of trouble and avoid father’s moods with the flash of an embarrassed smile. 

Small for his age, and mostly left alone, Lucien found himself panicking at the thought that either of his parents might be disappointed. 

He focused on the mess he had made, pushing all thoughts of misfortune from his mind and bringing his magic to the tips of his fingers. A flash of golden light cleaned up all the small pieces, the dusting of crushed mirror around his feet disappearing quickly, but he struggled to do the same with the large shards of glass. 

Lucien rushed to pick them up, carelessly grabbing the last one, hissing in pain and nearly dropping it. He had cut his hand, feeling as though his bad luck had already begun. 

Lucien’s hand was still bleeding, tears streaking down his face, as he knocked frantically on his eldest brother’s bedroom door. He had managed to clean up all the mirror pieces, had thrown away all the glass and taken the frame to hide in his closet, but the handkerchief he held to his palm had turned scarlet. 

Lucien heard footsteps on the other side of the oak door and sighed in relief knowing that Eris was home. He trusted his eldest brother more than anyone and knew that he would not tell the others about the broken mirror. 

As the door swung open, the hinges screaming, Lucien threw himself into the room. Clinging to Eris’ leg, he sobbed once and choked as he held back more tears.

“What’s happened?” Eris snapped, voice angry, a concerned edge to it. He placed a gentle hand on his younger brother’s shoulder, a sharp contrast to the tone he used. “Lucien, what’s wrong?” 

With wide eyes, Lucien tilted his neck all the way back to look up at him. “I broke mama’s mirror,” he admitted. He held tightly to the fabric he had quickly wrapped around his palm, pulling away from Eris to show him the blood. 

Eris seemed to relax slightly, shoulders no longer tense, as he knelt down to Lucien’s height. He hummed in response, “Causing trouble now that mother and father are in Spring?” 

“I didn’t mean to,” Lucien rushed to explain as Eris used magic effortlessly to have a damp cloth appear in his large hand. “I was just—”

Eris wiped the tears from Lucien’s cheeks gently, pushing back loose curls as he did so. “You’re not supposed to go in there,” he interrupted.

“I know, I know,” Lucien hoped Eris was not disappointed. “I was just so bored and didn’t want to bother the others,” he admitted in a mumble. 

Eris sighed, the torches growing brighter. “Let me see the cut.” 

Lucien placed his small hand into Eris’s much larger one. Cringing as his older brother pulled away the fabric, clenching his eyes shut tightly in worry. 

“Open your eyes, Lucien,” Eris said, amusement lining the words. When he was met with a nervous shake of Lucien’s head, he repeated himself, tone softer this time. 

Lucien opened one, just a slit to peek through. He saw Eris raise an auburn brow, encouraging him to look at the cut. “Oh,” he breathed, witnessing with great interest as the skin knit itself back together. 

“Grandmother was from Xian before she came to Autumn,” Eris said, and Lucien wondered if he was about to tell a story. Eris was not the best storyteller in their family, but with the Lady of Autumn in Spring and Callum at the war camps near the Winter border, Lucien figured Eris would be good enough in their absence. “Faeries would arrive to her on death’s door, and with a small wave of her hand she would send them on their way, better than before,” he continued. “She could heal anything.”

“Anything?” Lucien asked rather sceptically. He was finding it hard to believe since he had never met the female. The Lady of Autumn had no family, and he knew from those at court that they had all been killed in the war with Hybern. 

Eris nodded, the short strands of hair by his shoulders looking like copper in the dim light of the room. “Anything but a broken heart, they say.” 

At his older brother’s words, Lucien remembered the mirror. “Eris, I’ve been cursed,” he felt his lip quivering and he bit the inside of his cheek to make it stop. He tugged on the expensive fabric of Eris’ coat with his healed hand.

“By who?” Eris asked, although Lucien could tell he did not quite believe his claim. 

“I broke a mirror,” he said softly. “That’s seventy years of misfortune, remember?” 

He watched as Eris flashed him a small smile. Rare as a red moon, Lucien always felt a strange sense of triumph when he got his eldest brother to smile. Ruffling his hair, Eris reassured him. “Those are just ridiculous stories that mothers tell their sons so they won’t go on breaking their mirrors.” 

When Jesminda had been killed, Lucien’s thoughts had returned to that day. For whatever reason, he continued to reflect on the distant memory as he walked towards his father’s study. 

Lucien had woken up to find Elain pressed against him, and when he went to move, it only seemed to encourage her to hold onto his arm. Her hair had been fanned across the pillows, curls covering her eyes. She had made a soft noise as he had shifted. He had been torn between staying with her, or obeying his father’s order from the day before. 

In the end, he had simply left Elain a note, the pull of the bond a steady ache as he had cast a final glance in her direction and had shut the door to their shared suite. 

Lucien was dragged out of his memories and any thoughts of his mate by the sound of wood crashing against stone. He had been so absorbed by his own past, that he failed to realise just how close he had gotten to the High Lord’s study. 

Lucien paused as Eris walked past the stone arch, slamming the door behind him, embers falling to the ground like leaves on a rough wind. He leaned heavily against the wall for a moment in defeat, and Lucien thought he must be truly distracted to have not yet noticed a grown male standing mere steps away. 

The iron scent of blood had Lucien wincing as he watched Eris drag a beringed hand across his mouth, a scarlet streak cutting across the pale skin of his cheek. 

“Eris, what happened?” Lucien asked softly, not wanting to draw their father’s attention. 

At the question, Eris stiffened, shoulders drawn back, he shook his head. “Nothing,” he snapped. 

Lucien waved a hand in his brother’s direction, raising a sarcastic brow in response. “Really?”

“Nothing that concerns you,” Eris said with a scowl as blood dripped from the corner of his mouth, staining the white collar of his shirt. He moved to shove past Lucien, but was met with an arm blocking his path. 

“You alright?” Lucien questioned, frowning at the shock that briefly flashed in his brother’s eyes. He wondered at the last time someone had cared to ask Eris such a thing. 

Lucien felt as the tense muscles beneath his grip loosened at the words. Their eyes met, and golden flames dimmed, returning to a sharp amber. The loud click his own eye made was thunderous in the heavy silence. 

Eris nodded once, dipping his chin, gazes locked. “I’m fine,” he offered. “Nothing you need to worry about.” He had never sounded more ancient. 

Lucien did not believe him, but he was not going to argue. Letting his hand fall to the side, Lucien turned to watch Eris walk away, but his older brother did not look back before he winnowed from the hall, the torches flaring with the burst of magic. 

Lucien stared at the empty space for a moment, deciding he would ask Elain to check on him. They seemed to be getting along well, and he figured she might have an easier time pulling the truth from him. He quickly pushed all thoughts of Eris aside and focused once more on the task at hand. 

As he approached the door to his father’s study, Lucien took a steadying breath. Just as he could feel panic crawling up his spine, he was surprised at the wave of calm that crashed over him. From the golden thread at his rib, it slowly fanned outwards, a comfort. 

Lucien raised his fist, knocking three times, listening carefully for the response on the other side. 

“Come,” his father’s low voice responded, muffled by the thick oak. The door opened easily on a phantom wind, noiseless. 

Lucien bowed at the waist as soon he entered, the movement practised, respect in the face of the High Lord before him. Beron nodded in acceptance, setting aside the old looking parchment in his hands. He took off a pair of gold rimmed glasses and placed them on the hand drawn maps he had laid out on the desk. 

“Good morning, Lucien.” He tilted his head to the chair on the other side of the large desk. 

Lucien was glad for the obstacle between them, the little bit of distance. “Father,” he said, watching for any reaction from the male in front of him. 

“I hope the time you and your mate have spent in our court has been enjoyable.” His expression was serious, a neutral mask with no cracks. 

Lucien nodded, keeping his answer short. “Yes, thank you.” 

Beron hummed in response. “I have not seen your mate in the gardens again,” he observed. 

Lucien nearly snarled that Elain would not be returning to the courtyard, but he pushed down the initial instinct. Instead he frowned, “I asked her not to go again, so as not to disturb you, father.” The last word fell like a stone between them, accusing. 

An emotion flashed in Beron’s dark eyes, looking to Lucien very much like regret. “She’s a nice girl,” he shrugged, the action smooth. “You and Elain Archeron are a good match.” 

Perhaps if his father had suggested as much a few days ago, Lucien would have had to fight back a wince. Now that trust had slowly bloomed between Elain and him, an honest friendship growing, he could only nod. 

They looked at each other a moment, Lucien searching the harsh lines of his father’s face as he had done countless times as a child. They had not looked alike then, his mother’s son in appearance and never in a position to contend for Autumn’s throne. 

Beron sighed as his eyes fell to the scar that slashed across Lucien’s face. “I had wanted to go over some of the wedding preparations with you, but I will unfortunately be occupied for the rest of the day.” Waving a hand in dismissal, he ended their conversation. “Find your mother, she can finalise everything with your mate.” 

Lucien felt numb, as though he had fallen through ice and been plunged into the waters beneath. There was one more week left before the wedding ceremony. He left the room, bowing slightly, mind elsewhere. He walked with slow steps back to the chambers he and Elain shared. 

Lucien turned his father’s words over and over in his mind, that Elain and him made a good match. He felt a pull towards her, wanted to be near her, and he wondered if it was the effects of the bond, or simply because he was drawn to Elain. 

You are mine, and I am yours. 

Lucien decided he needed a break from the Forest House, and he would ask to see if Elain would like to come with him. 

[mistmarigold]

What if Sunjae doesn’t die the night before? (Lovely runner au) / Part 7

All other parts here.

—

Sunjae wakes up with a start.

With breaths coming out in gasps and sweat beading on his face, Sunjae grabs his heart, gently caressing it almost as if rubbing away the pain. He picks his phone and finds Sol’s contact, almost calling her before seeing that it was midnight.

Sunjae heads out of his room and pours himself a glass of water, his hand shaking to the point that he had to grab it with his other hand to settle somehow.

He walks to his balcony and steps out, breathing in the chilly air, the harsh wind slapping him back to reality. Sunjae sits on the bench and leans against the glass door, closing his eyes and trying to take deep breaths.

For a moment, he wonders if it happened because he stopped taking his pills - any pills. It had been some time since he stopped, it wasn’t an intentional decision and he didn’t even realise it until a week had already passed. So he never went back on them. He was sleeping better, eating better, and he was writing again. All three of those things he hadn’t been able to do without medication since his insomnia kept getting worse by the year.

It’s been so many years and yet it felt like everything happened yesterday. His nightmare was too real, with varied details but it all ended with the same outcome: Sol unconscious and bleeding while he’s helpless.

Sunjae shakes his head, trying to shake away the images even if his heart raged in his chest. He desperately wanted to call her. But it was far too late and she was probably fast asleep.

Lately, Sol had been working with Hyunwoo on their film and was quite busy. He heard a lot from Hyunwoo but rarely ever from Sol. They weren’t friends so it made sense especially with Sol so frustratingly adamant about their idol-fan relationship / neighbours that never met (as per her).

Last night, Hyunwoo had called him up just to sing praises about Sol. He talked less about work and more about how Sol had been a godsend for their project - it made him smile.

He realised he was smiling now too, his heart calming down gradually.

Sol had been the greatest mystery of his life. He felt strange thinking about her in those terms even though it was the truth. He knew her long before she ever knew him. Back then, he had known her schedule, her friends and even her crush. He knew the routes she used to take and where she worked. At one point, he was the human pillow for her even if it gave him cramps and ended up with renting a movie he had no business renting (as a teenager).

He was there for her in her most vulnerable moment.

But that’s where it ends. He had no idea how she spent all these years since then. He couldn’t tell her that she made his life better by coming back into it.

He couldn’t tell her that he had loved her since they were in school. Or that he was the one who had ruined and saved her life back then.

That he still gets nightmares of her accident, always ending with him losing her (before he even had her).

Sunjae sighs, his body still, even if frustration and yearning courses through him.

Sol was the greatest mystery of his life because he was never really sure about anything when it was about her. She turned him into a ball of knotted, conflicting emotions that had nowhere to go.

Sunjae knew sooner or later, they’d have to talk it all out. It was selfish. Because she didn’t need to revisit her past and why should she go through it just because he wanted her to know where it all began? Wasn’t it enough that he didn’t wake her up in the bus back then because he was a lovesick coward and ended up destroying her life?

There was never any clear direction or answer. He wanted to lay it all out so they can move forward, whatever it may be. But then, a part of him also feared losing her all over again. Yet, keeping all of this from her felt like a betrayal.

He didn’t think that way before but the more he got to know Sol, and vice versa, he constantly felt like he was betraying her by not telling her the truth. The entire truth, not half-baked story about being neighbours. She deserved to know the truth.

He just wished he knew if she wanted that. She seemed happy and settled with her life, even if there were a lot of struggles. She always puts on her optimistic, brave face with that signature beaming smile.

He didn’t want to do any damage, not any longer. Once was enough. If they hadn’t met again on that bridge that night, maybe it would’ve all been better for everyone.

*

Half an hour later, Sunjae found himself standing at the same spot they had met that night. The temperature had dropped more and the wind had picked up. He was chilled to the bone but he couldn’t find it in himself to go home.

He truly felt like his heart would burst open but his mind remained clinically empty.

“Sunjae?”

He really thought he hallucinated that voice. Given how his night was going, he wouldn’t be shocked.

Sunjae turned to the side to see Sol with her friend farther behind, talking on call.

“What’re you doing here?” Sol asked.

He gave her a small smile, “I was just getting some air.”

She looked around, “it’s a bit too chilly to do that, no?”

A pause.

“Are you okay?” She asked at last.

He nodded at her, with a reassuring smile, “everything is fine. Why are you out at this time?”

Sol got confused for a second, “oh, we were just walking back to Hyunjoo’s car where it’s parked. It was a lot of traffic earlier so we decided to walk to the festival and well let’s just say we got carried away.”

“Would you like me to drop you?”

She shook her head, “no need, it’s right around the corner!”

“It’s getting colder by the minute. Let me drop you. Maybe I was supposed to be here so I could do this,” he suggested, looking over at her friend who was finishing her call and walking towards them.

Sol chuckled, “interesting hypothesis but really, we’ll be fine.”

Sunjae looked over at Hyunjoo and asked, “can I drop you to your car?”

She spared a moment to Sol, hesitated, almost pleaded with her eyes before muttering a soft, “yes please, it’s too cold.”

“Sure, come on in,” the three of them walked to Sunjae’s car while Sol and Hyunjoo argued in hushed tones.

Sunjae opened the passenger door for Sol as Hyunjoo helped her in the car, Sunjae packing away the wheelchair and putting it in the trunk while Hyunjoo settled in.

Their car wasn’t parked too far and what would’ve taken them 15 mins to walk, they reached in 5.

“Thank you so much, Sunjae-ssi. I’m sorry for bothering you but I am very grateful - the cold was too much,” Hyunjoo said, about to get out of the car.

He looked at Sol, “is it fine if I drop you? It’s late already so Hyunjoo can go home and I can drop you?”

Sol looked at the time.

“Oh no, I’ll drop her. I got my car for her so it’s basically hers anyway. Don’t worry, thank you-“

“Sunjae can drop me. It’s fine, Hyunjoo. He’s right, it’s getting late and you live far from me,” Sol twisted around to say it to her.

“No, but-“

“It’s okay, really. I don’t mind,” Sunjae affirmed.

Hyunjoo looked at Sol, gauging her reaction. Whatever she saw on her face assured her enough that she said bye and went to her car.

“I’m sorry for bothering you, Sunjae,” Sol said.

He shook his head, “no, you aren’t. I offered.”

She gave him a small smile while he looked ahead, focusing on the road.

The silence was neither uncomfortable nor awkward. It was just there, existing between them.

For a moment, Sunjae thought it reflected all the years that went by between them, without Sol knowing anything. There was nothing to be said or done, time went by as it was supposed to. Neither was he waiting for her or expecting anything from her. Some days, he wondered if seeing Sol that night at the bridge was a fluke. A hallucination or a long dream that he’s supposed to wake up from.

“Thank you,” Sol whispered, fiddling with her hands.

“You’re welcome, it isn’t a big deal,” he took a quick look at her.

A pause.

“No, I- thank you for dropping me. But I meant to thank you more for introducing me to Hyunwoo. I’ve been working with him and it feels like a distant dream is finally taking shape.”

Sunjae could hear the wistfulness in her voice. He turned to find her smiling at her hands before looking up at him.

“I know I said things that day, and I just realised I never properly told you or thanked you about it.”

Sunjae smiled at her, “you don’t need to thank me, I just connected you both. Everything else took shape on its own. You are doing things yourself, Sol.”

She nodded, “perhaps. But still, thank you for trusting me enough to do this for me.”

Sunjae shakes his head, unsure how to respond. There was so much unsaid between them and he wasn’t sure how to say that trusting her was the easiest thing he has ever done in his life, without freaking her out.

So he let the silence be, basking in knowing that Im Sol was in his life, in his car, right next to him. And she was smiling.

As they rounded the corner to Sol’s apartment, her bag fell off her lap and on the floor of the car.

“Hold on, I’ll pick it up. I don’t want you to hit your head,” Sunjae brings the car to a stop.

“I can pick a bag, you don’t have to do that,” Sol replied in a small voice.

She bent down with her arm stretched, seat belt stretching against her, when Sunjae gently pulled her back.

Sol didn’t look at him.

Sunjae began, “Sol, I didn’t say that because I thought you couldn’t do it on your own. Of course, you can pick up the bag, what’s the big deal about that?”

Sol didn’t say anything.

“Can you please look at me?”

Sol closes her eyes for a moment before turning towards him.

“You’ve been following Eclipse for a long time, right? So I’m sure you know a lot about me. For instance, my love language-“

Sunjae realised his error a bit too late.

“I mean to say, every time I offer to do something for you, I’m not saying it because you can’t do it yourself or because I’m pitying you, or any such thing. I’m doing it because I consider you-“ Sunjae trailed off.

“Because you consider me?” Sol probed.

His hand clenches by his side, “Important. It’s because I consider you important to me. And I like doing things for important people in my life - that’s it. I know we’ve had this conversation before but I want to say it again: please don’t think I’m ever pitying you just because you use a wheelchair. You’re still you even if things were different.”

Sunjae opened his seat belt before leaning over to Sol, doing the same for her and gently putting the belt back in place to prevent it from snapping against her.

Next, he bends and stretches his arm to grab her bag near her legs. His thumb grazes against her leg and Sol moves a bit.

“Here you go, it wasn’t so hard, was it?” Sunjae teases.

“Still, I’d rather you don’t do this. I don’t want to keep owing you favours or bothering you or thanking you. It feels weird,” Sol bites her lower lip.

“What exactly?”

Sol takes a moment to answer.

“I know we were neighbours and everything but I’ve always seen you as a …star, far away in the sky. Someone unreachable, almost fictional. And then one night, magically, you are walking towards me with an umbrella and it feels like a dream.”

She chuckles, “You see, if you walk into my bedroom right now, you’d realise how truly …far you are from me. I literally have posters of you, Sunjae!”

“Strangely, I’m confused if I should be flattered or creeped out.”

(He couldn’t care less.)

“Exactly, exactly! I feel way out of my depth sometimes. Like it’s all happening to someone else and I don’t personally know Ryu Sunjae. I know you used to go to the school across from me but it is a different thing to know that as a fan, and different to know while you’re right across me. You’ve never really existed in my orbit until that day-“

“What day?” Sunjae interrupts.

“Huh? Oh, I don’t think you’ll remember but this one time you guys went for a radio show and I got a call from you,” Sol recalls, cringing in the process, “actually it’s good that you don’t remember because I was really out of it and super rude.”

That day never really left Sunjae, much like everything else when it came to Sol.

“And you basically…. made me want to live again,” Sol gives him a soft yet wide smile.

“I remember that day.”

It slipped out before Sunjae registered. Sol’s smile dimmed a bit.

“You do? But it’s been so many years…?”

He shrugs, “I guess some things stay with you.”

Hesitantly, she asked, “did you know it was me before this conversation?”

He wanted to deny - let the past remain where it was. They weren’t ready to go there yet. But he owed her truth.

“I did.”

“How did you know that?” She turned more fully towards him.

It was Sunjae’s turn to look away and stare ahead.

“You said I’ve never existed in your orbit. What if I tell you that you’ve always been in mine? I knew you since we were in school. Since before I was a singer, writer or or a celebrity - when I was a swimmer.”

Sol’s eyes widened a fraction.

“All these years later, I don’t know how or why we met again. But that night at the bridge, I knew who you were, Sol. You were in my life before I had anything at all. You even attended one of my performances back in high school. So you literally have been there all along, forever existing in my orbit.”

Silence stretched between them, with both lost in thoughts (Sol) and memories (Sunjae).

Sol’s phone buzzing in her lap got their attention as she says, “it’s getting late, I should leave.”

Sunjae nods and turns to open his door, Sol’s hand on his shoulder pauses him.

He looks at her hand first and then at Sol who was looking down.

“There’s a lot I don’t …remember from back then. Maybe I saw you and met you as well? Just like you knew about me, perhaps I did as well? We might not have been friends, sure. I know as a fan I would’ve loved to say that if I knew Ryu Sunjae back then, there’s no way I would’ve forgotten him!” Sol chuckled up at him. “But the truth is there’s a big period that I don’t remember at all.”

“Is there a reason?”

She shrugs, “I suppose there is, yes. A part of me wants to remember everything but the other part is fairly …scared even though I’m sure it wouldn’t be the same. Secondly, it isn’t that out of the blue I mean I’m in my 30s, surely it’s okay to not remember your high school stuff?”

Sunjae laughs and nods at her, “it’s okay, you don’t need to remember. You’re fine as it is.”

Sol smiles widely at him.

Sunjae gets out of the car and opens her door first before going to grab her wheelchair from the trunk. Once he was back by her side, Sol was ready to go with her legs on the side.

Sunjae holds out his hand that Sol wonders about for a second before grabbing it and clutching it tightly. With her other hand, she holds on to the car.

As she puts her body weight to shift to her chair, her coat gets snagged on something at the console, pulling back Sol and making her stumble. Sunjae’s arm instantly goes around her waist holding her up before helping her settle back in the passenger seat.

“Are you okay?” He asks, leaning over her with his arm still around her waist.

Sol nods at him, attempting to give him a small reassuring smile before saying, “it’s okay, it’s okay, don’t worry.”

Her death grip on his other hand was saying otherwise but Sunjae decided to keep that to himself instead.

“Okay, let’s do this again then?”

Sol nods at him.

“At the count of 3, 2, ..1.”

Before Sol had even registered properly, Sunjae had boosted her up with his arm by her waist and shifted Sol to her chair.

She blinked and shook her head lightly, still gripping his hand. Sunjae smiled down at her, leaning a bit over her while waiting for her to let go (but not wanting it one bit).

When Sol finally realises, she abruptly lets go and clears her throat, looking away. Sunjae wanted to laugh so bad but instead he picks up her bag from the car and hands it to her, their fingers brushing ever so lightly that he really thought it was his imagination. It was Sol’s instant gaze up at him for a breath of a second that assured him that it did happen.

“Thank you for dropping me,” Sol whispered.

“No problem, let me-“

She interrupted, “you don’t have to walk me to my door. It’s already super late and I don’t want anyone seeing you here and troubling you even more. Please, Sunjae.”

He was about to protest but sighed and gave in, nodding at her.

“Goodbye and get home safe,” Sol does a tiny wave before turning around to leave.

“Sol!”

She turned again to face him, her brows furrowed in question.

Sunjae takes a deep breath and goes for it, “trusting you was the easiest thing I’ve ever done in my life, I wanted you to know that.”

[nervousdemeanor7]

there was a post i saw on here a WHILE ago about how they (op) loved reading andreil fics because they loved seeing what parts of their relationship the writer focuses on, and how it was telling of what was important to them.

And I think about that post a ton. Especially when i was actively writing my andreil fics, i thought about how i wrote them and what aspect of their relationship meant a lot to me. And very obviously it was their communication. That despite how they said it, the other understood what they meant. Because they tried hard to learn how to understand each other and are attentive enough to read all aspects of each other now.

[tender-traps]

an alchemist who makes homunculi for companionship. her favorites are subject to frequent "remodeling"

[baby-yongbok]

will you PLEASE write a poly!skz reaction to waxing rachas new hairstyles 🙏🙏🙏 i offer my first born

You actually read my mind 😭 Just posted it -> Here 💗

[jennyfromthebes]

Jam Eater Blues (partial) - 07-13-2023 at The Vanguard, Tulsa OK (volume warning/shaky camera warning)

one year ago today: i went to my first concert ever. in the twelve months since that, i've travelled to 10 more tMG shows across 8 states, met some of the coolest people i've ever had the delight of sharing a conversation with, and done my best to give back a fraction of the joy that i've found in this community. thank you for existing.

[suddencolds]

Fool Me Twice [4/?]

After more than a month, I'm back with this update which is... not extremely long, but I figured I would post it before I lose confidence :')

Part 4 ft. (the aftermaths of) fake dating, a cold, and an office conversation

You can read part 1 [here]! (No additional context is needed aside from the previous 3 parts.)

—

Work resumes on the 3rd. Yves thinks of all the ways he might thank Vincent for all the trouble—a late New Year’s gift? (But he doesn’t know what Vincent would like, except presumably useful things, but if they’re useful, shouldn’t Vincent have them already?) An invitation to dinner at some nice restaurant? (But what if Vincent sees it as another inconvenient proposition—as more time outside of work which he’ll be obligated to spend with someone he doesn’t even know that well?) A gift card to a nice restaurant? (But would that not come across wrong—presumptuous at best, condescending at worst?)

Normally, Yves would ask Margot—ever the voice of reason—for advice, but it occurs to him, now, that he won’t be able to consult any of his college friends about this if he intends to keep up the lie.

And there’s that, too. If he intends on going to any future events that Margot—or any of his other college friends, at that—will host, he’ll have to tell them that he and Vincent have broken up since (which will only serve to prove Erika’s point that Yves isn’t everything he’s made himself out to be—at least, when it comes to relationships), or think of some sort of way to excuse Vincent’s continued absences.

If one thing’s for sure, it’s that asking any more of Vincent than he’s already asked is entirely out of the question.

Yves drives himself to work on Tuesday morning, gets to his office earlier than most, says hi to Cara and Laurent, and gets to work. It’s easy enough to settle into work again, to a 10am meeting with the team and another couple calls with clients, to all the paperwork and data analysis he’d for himself before the winter holidays.

Vincent usually gets to work early—he’s always there when Yves gets to the office—and stays late. He’s usually at the break room at 10:15, unless he has a meeting of some sort, for his usual morning coffee. He works on the same floor, but his cubicle is far enough away that Yves can’t see him from where he sits. 

Yves doesn’t look for him. Better to catch him in the morning in the break room or at lunch in the company cafeteria, Yves thinks, as to not risk interrupting him in the middle of something important.

But Vincent—despite showing up to a morning conference with the team—is surprisingly absent from the break room at 10:15. And then Yves ends up working with Cara on an upcoming presentation until 1, and when he gets to the cafeteria, Vincent isn’t there, either.

It’s unfortunate timing, or perhaps Vincent is just unusually busy. Yves knows he does a lot of work behind the scenes, from the few times he’s asked him what he was working on and gotten an intimidating list of projects in response. When he passes Vincent’s desk in the early afternoon—more precisely, when he decides to take the long way to the break room—he finds Vincent speaking with Angelie, one of the new hires, their heads ducked together over the harsh glow of Angelie’s laptop screen. He watches as Vincent gestures to something on the screen and says something too quiet to make out from this distance, and Angelie nods, jotting something down onto a notepad she’s holding.

How formal, Yves thinks. It isn’t long ago that he was in her shoes, new and intimidated by the formality of the workplace, asking Vincent for help and tabling everything he thought might be of note.

He doesn’t think much of it—only that of course Vincent is busy; Angelie is right to think that Vincent has the kind of expertise that will really be useful to her, and the patience to walk her through it with a level of thoroughness Yves is frequently impressed by, or else she’s just gotten very lucky.

The afternoon passes quickly enough. All of a sudden, it’s 5, which is around the time when Yves usually leaves, and he still hasn’t spoken a word to Vincent all day.

Against better judgment, he takes his briefcase with him, heads toward the sector of the building that Vincent works in. Tells himself it’s just on the way to the back door exit. Tells himself a short exchange wouldn’t hurt—would it really be so wrong to invite Vincent out to dinner, or at the very least, to offer him the thank you he so unquestionably deserves?

He half expects Vincent to be gone already, considering that he’s probably been here since 7:30. But when he gets there, Vincent is at his desk, as usual, cross-checking several documents he’s printed out.

“Hard at work, as always,” Yves says, stopping just short of his cubicle.

“Yves,” Vincent says, though he doesn’t offer any further note of acknowledgment. He looks tired, Yves realizes, from the slight tension to his posture, the way he blinks hard behind his glasses, his eyebrows furrowing slightly. But of course he’s tired—he’s been here for almost ten hours already.

Yves waits for him to finish what he’s doing—to look away from the monitor screen, even just for a moment—but he doesn’t.

“Are you planning to stay much later?” Yves asks, at last, though he gets the feeling that he should leave.

“Most likely,” Vincent says. “Is there something you need me to look over?”

“No,” Yves says. “But I was wondering—”

“I’m very busy today,” Vincent cuts him off, paging through one of the documents that’s laid out over his desk. “So if it’s not work related, now’s not a good time.”

It’s then that Yves realizes—Vincent must think he’s about to drag him into another one of his fake-relationship arrangements. 

“I don’t need anything from you,” Yves says, faltering. “I’m just—it’s getting late, and you’ve been here all day.”

“Yes,” Vincent says. “Like I said, I’m very busy.” He pauses to highlight a line of numbers, scribble something into the margins. How he can concentrate on his work and the conversation simultaneously, Yves doesn’t know. “If you have work for me, feel free to leave it on my desk, I’ll get to it tonight. Otherwise, I’d appreciate it if we had this conversation later.”

“Noted,” Yves says. He tables the dinner conversation for later, sets his briefcase down on the floor so that it leans up against the wall. “Let me help.”

Vincent frowns, his eyebrows furrowing. “It would take longer for me to explain this to you.”

“You don’t need to explain anything,” Yves says. “I can look over the documents myself.” He takes a step closer, peers down at the papers strewn across Vincent’s desk—earnings reports and expense reports, mostly, and a couple marketing proposals.

Vincent reaches up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “That would require you to know the context.”

“I’ve dealt with a hundred of these in my life. I promise you I know what I’m doing.”

“Then you’ll have to spend more time telling me your findings,” Vincent says. “Better to not split up the work at all.”

“It would still be faster than going through them yourself.” 

“Hardly.”

Perhaps Vincent doesn’t trust Yves to get things done to the standard that he expects, then. Yves thinks he’s worked here long enough to consider himself decently qualified, but they haven’t worked together closely on anything since Yves’s first couple months at Evertech, and so he doesn’t fault Vincent for being wary.

Still, Yves thinks he can be useful here. And maybe there is something selfish to it, too—to wanting to be as useful to Vincent as Vincent had been to him, to wanting to prove that he is capable of helping in the first place, of offering something of value—but even aside from that, he’s worried that if he doesn’t step in, Vincent might be here all night. It doesn’t seem like much of an impossibility, considering who he’s talking to.

“You’ve been here for hours,” Yves tries. “It’s only our first day back.” He looks around—perhaps there’s someone else here that could help, someone who’s worked here longer than Yves, who Vincent trusts. “You don’t have to let me help. But at least hand some of it off to someone you actually trust, or tell Charlene that she’s given you too much work this week, or both.”

“It’s no more work than usual,” Vincent says, with a sigh.

“And yet, you’re planning on staying late.”

Vincent looks up at him, at last, his expression unreadable. “I’m capable of doing my own job, Yves.” His voice is curt, almost snappish. “I really don’t have time to argue with you right now.”

Yves wants to say, of course I know that. Vincent is nothing if not qualified—Yves has never doubted that for a moment. He wants to say, I want to help you regardless.

But that would only be presumptuous. He doesn’t know Vincent that well. Besides, it’s really none of his business—they’re coworkers, not friends. Vincent knows what’s best for himself. The best thing Yves can do right now is to stay out of his way.

“Okay,” Yves says, a little defeated. “Good luck on your work. Make sure you get some sleep.”

There’s no response to that—no acknowledgement that Vincent has heard him at all, even though it’s quiet enough in the room that he must have. Yves turns to get his briefcase. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Vincent jerk forward suddenly, his shoulders tensing with a near-silent—

“HhH’Gkt-!”

Yves bites back a reflexive bless you. It’s just one sneeze. It doesn’t have to mean anything. But Vincent sniffles, pressing his knuckles up to the underside of his nose, to stifle another—

“HhH’NgkT-!”His breath hitches again, his eyebrows drawing together as he jerks forward again, with a quiet but painfully forceful, “Hh… hEH’NGXt!”, crushed into his fist.

He sniffles again, reaching across the desk to snag a tissue from the tissue box that, Yves realizes with a jolt, is usually not present on his desk. He sighs quietly—the sort of tired, drawn out exhale that leaves no question about how tired he is—and reaches up with a hand to gingerly massage his temples. The slight grimace that follows is almost certainly indicative of a headache. 

Yves considers asking Vincent how he’s feeling for all of two seconds before he remembers the almost-hostility with which he was just faced. Perhaps it would be better if he pretends to not have heard. Briefcase in hand, he quickens his pace, ducks out of the exit, and heads down the stairs. 

Vincent spent his New Year’s Eve with him, at a party surrounded by strangers—even though Vincent dislikes parties and probably dislikes strangers—he’d put up an immaculate act, played along even through Yves’s slight intoxication, and driven him home—and in turn, Yves has repaid him by... 

God. Yves shouldn’t have asked to kiss him. The guilt settles heavy in his stomach.

Yves really, really owes him.

He heads down several flights of stairs and ducks outside to the parking garage. It’s even colder today than it had been on New Year’s—perhaps indicative of a colder winter to come—and though the parking garage is sealed off, when he’d looked out from the office windows upstairs, it had been starting to snow.

The cafeteria at their workplace is closed for dinner, and it’s a half hour drive home from here through rush hour traffic—maybe a little longer in the snow, and longer still if he stops to get something to eat.

He’s in the process of unlocking the car, setting his briefcase at his feet, and inserting the keys into the ignition when the idea occurs to him.

It’s an irrational idea, probably.

[Part 5]

[codecicle]

tu parles???? français???

un peu!! j'ai dans le classe de français à l'ecole pour deux ans, et je regarde baghera et etoiles pour pratiquer l'écoute. je ne pas super a parle français, je suis boucoup mieux à l'écoute LMAO. mais! j'essaie mon meilleur.

[sexynetra]

i hope it isn't rude to ask (i just really love your work) but would we be getting a rawnsyf chapter 8

Not rude at all!! I am slowly plugging away at chapter 8 it will absolutely be coming I refuse to abandon a work fully 😂

[glngrbred]

One time, when I was going through my

✿⋆.˚⋆₊ ⊹ trial of faith ✿⋆.˚⋆₊ ⊹

my mom was doing compression on my in her room, because mental health, and i was like "I really want to chug the nailpolish remover." and she was like "What? first of all that wouldn't work. also EW GROSS." and then I started giggling and we were good.

[secondpersonpoetry]

you’ve probably already read it before, but the poem Party by Kim Addonizio really got me tonight. first thought was “oh man. yeah” and then my second thought was “how can i make this about my hockey guys somehow………..”anyway! have a good one! 

oh. oh.

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