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tundrainafrica · 4 years ago

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Title: Lovebug (13/14)

Summary:

“It might be a bug.”

“A bug?”

“Sometimes the developers of this application make mistakes. This is our first time meeting I’m sure so…Isn’t it a bit weird that we just met for the first time and it rings like this? And for two strangers to coincidentally ring each other’s alarms?“

Levi is the developer of the Love Alarm App and Hange is married to Zeke.

Link to cross-postings: AO3

Other Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12

Notes: Feedback is very much appreciated :D

With attire alone, Levi was already a fish out of water.

As the seconds ticked though, his self consciousness only grew.

It wasn’t just an issue of clothing. Too many things had been against him the whole way to the dinner room. The white and silver of the windows of the private dinner room in the hotel reflected the setting sun, the marble floors, the glass bridge, the carpeted floors.

The scenery was only half the battle though. The men and women strode in and out of the dinner room with attire much grander than is. There were leather bags, the jewelry and constantly hovering in the air were the business vernacular that fell into one ear and out the order.

There were too many conversations on mergers, acquisitions, business climates, market prices he could never be part of. And his own direct companions weren’t making it any better.

As Levi soon understood, it wasn’t their job to make him feel comfortable anyway.

“Yelena,” he repeated, a memory exercise for himself. The whole journey from the convention center on the first floor to one of the rooms in the mid floor of the hotel was silent and long. In the sea of business pleasantries though, it seemed ironic that the blonde had never even made conversation beyond her own name.

Even as she sat next to him on the dinner table, she didn’t speak, not even bothering to respond to her own name. She was too close though, only a few inches away that Levi swore she had heard it.

“That’s your name right?” Levi added. He couldn’t think of much else to say. After blurting her name mindlessly, with Porco and Pieck seated just in front of him, looking at him expectantly, he knew he had to continue with something.

“I introduced myself back in the lobby already,” Yelena finally responded.

“You did,” Levi said.

“Is there anything you want to ask?” Yelena asked, no hint of benevolence in her tone.

Levi had been rolling on the bed, in and out of sleep the whole day. He didn’t trust himself to say anything else. He didn’t trust himself to think.

Yelene had a knowing look on her face, as if she knew something he didn’t. And she seemed to be enjoying it. Since a while ago, she hadn’t at all been subtle with the fact that somehow, by just their first meeting, Levi had managed to rub her the wrong way. It wasn’t too radical of an idea, that she may enjoy his pain.

Levi’s mind was suddenly racing, reminding him why he had even considered going in the first place. Is there anything you wanna ask? Those words echoed for a while longer. The longer he sat there silently, the more restless he became. He avoided her gaze, looking behind her, then behind Porco and Pieck, taking in his surroundings again. He was observing mannerisms, branded bags, branded ties, branded purses and Zeke in the middle of all of it, going from one table to the other.

Eventually, after the discomfort settled, Levi realized he was torturing himself for a reason.

Hange wasn’t there. And he shouldn’t have needed that long look to notice it. But you’ve given up already? Right?

“You’re not going to eat?” Pieck was a lot more friendly. There was a huge difference between being polite and being friendly and Levi suspected, he was only seeing politeness as friendliness given the stark contrast of Yelena’s overall approach towards him

In the air, tension hung so thick. Levi didn’t notice a piece of bread and a bowl of soup had been served in front of him. “I will.” He immediately went for the spoon in front of him.

“That’s the spoon for the main course,” Yelena said.

“What?” By the second, Levi was starting to realize how disconnected he actually was. Around the soup, there were spoons, forks and knives in multiple sizes. In a panic, Levi had looked around to see it was the same for everyone else.

Yet, everyone else knew how to navigate such a complex design.

“The small one is the soup spoon.” Pieck was helpful at least. “No, that’s the tea spoon,” she added as she looked pointedly at the smallest one Levi had taken hold of.

Levi was familiar enough with tea to be familiar with the size of the teaspoon. At that point though, who cared what spoon he ate with? He wasn’t there to dine.

By some pride or just utter frustration at the whole situation, the spoon debacle was never solved and Levi never touched his soup that night. He closed himself off from everything else, keeping his world closed to anything but the entrance, Zeke, the crowds, and the one familiar face he wanted to see.

But Hange never showed up.

“She’s not coming. If that’s what you’re thinking.” Yelena could have been reading his mind.

“Who’s not coming?” Levi asked. He widened his eyes in mock surprise but he kept his voice toneless. In his mind, that seemed like a good balance to display both calm and disconnect.

Yelena never answered the question. Maybe she knew silence was the right answer, that is, if her attention had been to keep his insides boiling in frustration, his mind racing.

The grin on her face only proved it. Maybe that was her intention.

It only got worse though as the night dragged on and Levi noticed his own restlessness around the salad course that he could barely even look at.

He could barely coordinate his hands. His legs were trembling.

Those few moments he focused on evening out his breathing, he was able to grip the spoon, then the steak knife as the main course came in.

As if to add salt to whatever wound she had, Yelena commented abruptly. “It’s not everyday people like you will be able to get steak like this.”

The steak could have just been soft. Or Levi was recovering. One of those, he couldn’t be too sure. But it was a good steak. He could tell that much. It melted in his mouth and he had spent an inordinate amount of time contemplating how it was physically possible for steak to melt in his mouth.

Then suddenly the delectable steak rotted mid chew. “You look like you’re enjoying yourself.” It was as if Yelena was on a mission to be a total buzzkill. Maybe she was being paid by Zeke to do just that.

And she was doing a wonderful job. Levi almost choked on that last piece, his fork fell to his lap. In a bout of embarrassment, he stood up. “Toilet.”

Five minutes and an empty bladder later, whatever peace and calm he had managed to muster alone in the toilet completely dissipated. It seemed like that dinner was also on a mission to make him as miserable as possible even in a supposedly pleasant environment.

“Where’s my steak?” Levi put too much energy into keeping his tone as subdued as possible.

“Oh, you weren’t done?” Pieck asked, seeming genuinely curious.

He had only gotten two bites. Of course, he wouldn’t be done. He was close to raising his hand up to call the waiter until he was reminded, he didn’t even pay for the dinner. Did he even have the right to complain?

At that point, Levi was just a little ticked, his grumbling stomach at having missed three courses over his own discomfort and tense state was already catching up to him. “What made you think I was done?”

“You put your spoon and fork together, like this,” Pieck said. “That means you’re done with the course.” She organized her plate the same way Levi did, for just a second.

Maybe Levi had been too self conscious. In an attempt to seem more posh than he actually was, Levi had channeled his own fastidiousness into putting the utensils together before he left for the toilet.

“I would think someone who works in corporate would know this. This is standard fine dining,” Yelena said nonchalantly.

Fine dining for Levi meant a dinner at a cafe, or a sit down restaurant. The whole world that existed for the sake of fine dining, the course meals, the secret language he didn’t seem to understand felt completely unnecessary. And the longer they sat there as if deliberately keeping him in the dark while he starved, Levi only became more and more impatient.

“I’m sure you wouldn’t have known any better at first,” Levi said.

“I’ve been handling Zeke’s properties overseas for years so I’ve had my fair share of fine dining experience.” She then turned to Pieck and Porco who both nodded. “Even before that, my parents have taught me this. Have yours?”

Levi’s earliest memories of fine dining had been sit down restaurants, diners, nothing too fancy. He shook his head. “Well, I didn’t come here with the intention of dining. You put me on that list yourself, without even waiting for a reply.” He regretted it, as soon as he let it out. His grumbling stomach had him almost out of control.

Yelena raised one eyebrow. “Oh? Then why did you still come, Mr. Ackerman? The free food?”

Levi froze.

“The free food you barely even touched?” Yelena pressed.

And Levi stiffened up, much harder than he would have thought was ‘completely frozen.’

“You have some business to settle with Mr. Jaeger I’m guessing?”

“It’s none of your business.” Levi managed to say.

“I’ve been working for the Jaegers for years. I manage their overseas properties, a few apartments and houses here and there,” she said proudly.

“And?” Levi challenged. “Does that make you entitled to whatever other business Zeke has?”

That question was a response enough. Enough to get Yelena crack, her expression shifted from incredulous, to abrasive to subdued. One eyebrow raised, mouth twitching slightly. “I had to clean up the mess you two left behind.”

Mess? Levi had an inkling of an answer.

A clatter of metal on a plate. “Yelena! Not here,” Pieck said.

“Then we should talk outside then.” Yelena was half way to standing up, before she stopped herself.

Levi found himself following her gaze. The one view that had her frozen in her tracks had been Zeke and before Levi even knew it himself, he was just as surprised as Yelena.

“Should we retire early?” Zeke asked.

“Sir, you haven’t eaten yet,” Yelena argued.

Zeke shook his head. “I hold these dinners to find potential business partners, not to eat.” He turned to Pieck. “I think Pieck can take over from here. I’ll leave you to answer any questions about Jaeger healthcare holdings.”

Pieck nodded. “Yes sir, I’ll take over.”

“No hurry, everyone’s still busy with their meals…” Zeke looked pointedly at his surroundings at the other people. HIs staff table had been conveniently placed by the corner, and it didn’t seem at all like their conversation had been heard by everyone else.

Pieck and Porco were noticeably eating faster, seeming deep in thought. Back into business mode maybe, the caustic exchange of a while ago completely forgotten. Or at least they looked like they were attempting to forget it.

Not burdened with that same responsibility, Yelena didn’t seem to put up any facade. Her own antagonizing attitude towards Levi didn’t falter. Yet somehow, Zeke’s presence had kept her mum, subdued her to just venomous glares.

They exited the dinner hall and made their way out of the hallway, opening up to the open hotel lobby. “We can talk in my private suite,” Zeke said. “I don’t like having a lot of my conversations in public.”

Levi didn’t respond. The glances Yelena snuck him only made it harder to come up with anything more than a few mumbles which he was sure would only make him look pathetic in front of Zeke.

“Did you pay for the flight yourself?” Zeke asked.

Levi nodded. Where’s Hange? That thought tore into his mind so abruptly, Levi found himself having to clamp his mouth shut, much tighter than normal. He couldn’t trust himself to speak. God knows, he might end up asking just that cursed question.

“You’re quiet,” Zeke commented as they entered the elevator. “Did you enjoy dinner?”

Levi nodded and mumbled some hint of a yes.

Zeke raised his eyebrows. “Really what was your favorite course?”

The steak obviously. Even those words got caught somewhere in his throat, admitting to Zeke that he enjoyed the food seemed almost like flaunting himself naked.

Luckily—or unluckily, Zeke didn’t prod, instead going for another speech which made Levi regret keeping silent. “I hold dinners every night for PR, get the right potential partners to the same room, for my healthcare holdings, my supermarket holdings, my…” Zeke rattled on.

To Levi, it felt the blonde had just been jacking himself off instead of actually making conversation. Still, that gave Levi time to think.

Thinking turned out to be a bad thing.

Even before they arrived at the penthouse floor, Levi had to admit, the hotel was posh. The scent of new wood hung in the air, the marble finishings, the lamp made out of metals Levi suspected weren’t easy to acquire. And when they stepped from the elevator wing to the matted floor of the penthouse, whatever plush they used underneath greeted him in some strange manner.

Strangely, Levi felt guilty for dirtying something which he was completely aware was supposed to be dirtied anyway dealing with foot traffic everyday. Then the more they walked, the more self conscious he became of the way he was walking.

Zeke and Yelena both walked ahead with confident strides and Zeke never stopped talking. When Levi found himself listening, he noticed, Zeke's tirades only made the grand hall seem grander, a completely different world to Levi, something he wasn’t supposed to be in.

Was he a visitor. Hell, maybe not even a visitor. A slave? A serf?

“The convention is to attract potential resellers. We’re planning on reselling our research, our products, our technology, to this region...”

They walked towards the end of the hall, stopping in front of some fancy door only accentuated by the plush carpets and the decorative lamps.

“... And this city will be our hub…” It looked like Zeke had been too distracted by his own grand plans to even bother to open the door. It was fortunate then that Yelena had the key and that she knew her way into the presidential suite.

They settled on the sofa in the living rooms, the first room past the foyer.

“We’ll set up office space... Maybe a building...”

It was around then that Levi noticed he hadn’t been offered a seat but he didn’t mind it too much. The multiple sitting rooms, the wide window to one side that gave a good view of the infinity pool on the balcony, and beyond that, a view of the city.

Did Hange get to swim? Levi looked out for a while longer and he couldn’t look away. The longer he looked, the easier it became to imagine her leaning over the infinity pool in her purple bathing suit.

“It will cost a few million dollars…”

Just like in the country club.

“Levi, you want to go for a swim?”

Levi coughed, an instinctive movement. “Sorry… Excuse me, what?”

Zeke looked very unimpressed. It was obviously a joke. “For gods sake, sit down. It’s distracting just watching you stand awkwardly.”

“So why did you invite me here?” Levi asked. If not to listen to you ramble. He added silently to himself.

“I think I have a right to answer first,” Zeke said. He nodded to Yelena. The latter walked away and back to the kitchen. “Why are you here? Don’t tell me you’re here for the convention?”

“What if I am?”

Zeke spared a small grin. He leaned back on the sofa and looked to the side, as if sharing an inside joke with himself. “And do you have plans of investing?”

Millions of dollars. Those three words echoed in Levi’s head. He didn’t have that money and he most likely never would.

Zeke didn’t give him time to speak. “Figures,” he muttered. “So why did you come here?” He asked in a clearer voice.

“You invited m---”

“I wouldn’t have invited you if you weren’t here already,” Zeke said.

Yelena chose that moment to come in between them, a wine bottle on one hand, two wine glasses on the other. Her movements were too casual, the fine dining positions of a while ago seemed almost like a facade.

Zeke gave a nod in thanks. “Sit where you’re comfortable.”

Yelena didn’t hesitate. She settled on one of the sofa chairs, a comfortable distance between them. She mirrored Zeke’s own expression, a mix between mocking and expectant.

It only became harder to speak. When Levi was weighing between speaking up and staying mum, he found, as painful as it was to continue speaking, the outcome seemed more desirable.

At least in his head.

“What’s wrong? Can’t tell me why you visited my convention?” Zeke took a sip of the wine. “Unless it’s something… controversial? Embarrassing? Offensive?.”

Levi felt his skin crawl. Not completely in control of his body, he almost feared his facade cracking and not noticing it. He cleared his throat. “I was going to speak.” He paused, using that moment, to meet Zeke’s eyes. “It’s about Hange.”

“What about my Hange?” Zeke had put too much emphasis in those last two words, it seemed almost out of place. In one sleek movement, he straightened up on his seat and tightened his grip on his wine glass

It was as if Levi was walking on Zeke’s territory, completely unwelcome. And Levi was starting to notice that. He shook his head and softened his voice, a subtle peace offering. “I had plans for the emotion alarm, I wanted to discuss them with Hange, get her opinion---”

“Erwin hasn’t told you yet?” Zeke put down his wine glass. “We’re terminating the contract.

It was like a ton of bricks fell on him. His stomach followed suit. Levi went for his wine glass and took a long sip which quickly turned into a gulp then he let out a cough. Water would have done a much better job to clear the tickle in the throat, the pang in his chest and the hollowness in his chest that followed. But he wasn’t going to ask for water in Zeke’s territory yet.

A ninety five percent chance of termination. Erwin had said back in their meeting.

“So it’s final?” Levi asked. The crushing disappointment had been enough proof that Levi had been vouching on that five percent.

Zeke nodded once. “Hange won’t be bothering you anymore. We’ll find another developer for her to work with.”

“I was working on some plans. They’re suggestions I was hoping she’d consider. If I---”

“Levi, can you send it over through email? Do you have to talk to her?”

Levi felt the blood rush to his face. He bent his head down almost immediately, focused on his shaking hands that were only gripping his knees tighter. He dug his nails into his knees, as if that would be enough to stop the shaking. “No, I don’t need to.” It could have come out as an exhale or an actual response.

“Well, that makes things easier. You know, she doesn't want to see you.” Zeke’s voice was painfully casual.

Levi looked up again, regretting it almost immediately. Zeke had a look of triumph on his face. It had only served to piss Levi all the more that Zeke had tried to hide it behind a nonchalant face. Seeing the small smile that decorated his lips, Levi dug his nails deeper into his knees. “Then why?”

“Why what?” Zeke pressed. “Why doesn't she want to see you?” His voice was getting colder and colder with each word. They twisted into an almost malevolent sneer.

“Why invite me here?” Levi asked, his voice clipped. Grappling with both Zeke’s attitude and the revelation on Hange’s feeling, Levi was finding it harder to speak.

“So you came because you were invited then?” Zeke took another sip. “And how were you invited?”

Does he expose Hange? And maybe Levi had taken too long vacillating.

Zeke had ended up answering the question himself. “An email? A support ticket with a flyer? Spam mail?” He took another sip. “You and your company have your very techy love alarm. And I have my own version too, my very old fashioned love alarm.” He gestured in front of him, right at Levi. “And it’s ringing in front of me right now.”

It took a few more seconds for Levi to understand it.

Zeke was either impatient. Or probably he thought Levi was a total idiot. He bent forward, leaned his elbows on his knees and dropped his wine glass on the wooden table with a loud clack.“Tell me, why would you go all the way here, over a fake email?” he asked. “Her name really was enough for you to book a plane ticket and fly across the ocean?”

Levi didn’t respond.

And it looked like Zeke didn’t need an answer anyway. He waved one hand in front of him and rolled his eyes. “I’m sure you’ve been in the corporate world long enough to know, there are meetings that could have been emails yet you still chose to take a plane and come here.”

“Do you want me to write an email?” Levi asked.

Zeke shrugged. We don’t need your input. This project...it’s mine and Hange’s.”

Yours and Hange’s? He raised his eyebrows in mock surprise, as if that slow and subtle movement had been enough to quell the fire in his chest. “What makes you say that?”

“It’s our project. It’s my gift to Hange.”

What does that make me? Levi didn’t say it out loud. He didn’t even want that instinctive jaw drop, the twitch in his mouth that followed to expose what the hell he was thinking.

“You’re merely someone paid to do the work.” Zeke continued, as if he had heard Levi's silent question.

Levi didn’t even feel it. He wasn’t even completely aware it happened until Zeke’s eyes widened for a split second in surprise, then narrowed again, shifting instead to one could have been pure fury.

But Levi didn’t care. Even when looking down had revealed, he spilled wine all over the lush carpet. The wine glass had hit the table, scattering pieces of broken glass on the table and over the floor.

It would be a bitch to clean up. Levi didn’t care about that either, it wasn’t his mess. It wasn’t his fucking presidential suite.

Zeke just had more practice in the diplomacy department. “Why do you feel it necessary to stand up and cause such a ruckus?”

The calmness had Levi’s blood boiling more violently inside him. He could only be grateful that the breaking the wine glass had released some of that pent up energy.

Zeke was only making it harder and harder to stay still. “I’m only stating facts. The money I put into it makes it mine. The fact that you’re being paid to do it. The fact that you even signed an employment contract relinquishes all ownership you have of all the projects you do in the company. You of all people should know that. I can’t even believe I need to school someone like you on this. You can’t even keep yourself together.”

Levi looked away, back at the view of the balcony, the glowing city. How much of it was owned by people who knew nothing about construction, architecture or just the hard work that went into even making such a view possible? A tiny injustice that surfaced in Levi’s mind as he let Zeke’s words sink in. “With all due respect... ” His last few words came out softer than expected. But Levi had seemed almost confident with them. “...You know jackshit about coding or psychology.”

Soon, Levi gripped enough of that new found confidence to take control of the conversation. “You know nothing about how any of that shit works. You didn’t stay up all night working on that damn application. I’ll fucking bet my whole life savings you don’t even know how this application works.”

“Ackerman, watch your mouth!” It was Yelena who spoke, looking as if she had just recovered from shock, eyes wide, her own wine glass on the table.

Levi cleared his throat. “Once again, with all due respect.” He was mildly aware then, that he may have raised his voice. Zeke was surprisingly—almost admirably calm. He put one hand as if to stop Yelena and spoke up. “And does ‘knowing jackshit’ make me less of an owner?”

That was a question that Levi couldn’t answer. He regretted losing control. In shock, or in some punishment which only the inner workings of his mind understood, Levi could only stand still, unable to even sit back down.

Zeke stared at him accusingly. “Mr. Ackerman…” he started. “You don’t believe there’s any dignity in the labor of moving money around? Investing and reinvesting?”

Levi felt shame wash over him.

It was a strange state to be in. There was more than enough dignity in being a billionaire, in being one of the top one percent who just bought and sold whatever they got their hands on. It was an inarguable fact that society thought highly of the top one percent regardless of where they got their money. Yet Zeke had a way of speaking that made Levi reflect the validity of his own words, any disrespect or any backhanded insult he could have been sending to anyone else.

Levi knew he was being manipulated but he couldn’t seem to point out how.

Maybe it had been the way Zeke had opened his eyes, his face a mix of confusion, hurt, with a hint of derision. Or maybe everything had been Levi’s imagination and once again he was faced with the prospect that maybe he didn’t mean it.

“That…” That wasn’t what I meant.

At that point, Zeke had stood up and at that difference of height and difference of social status, Levi had to bite his tongue, not to lose his composure.

Zeke though seemed to know he had taken control of the conversation. “You’re trying to cover your ass?”

“Cover… my ass?” Levi said that last word with a little more venom in his mouth. Somehow, the eloquent Zeke suddenly putting so much force into one single curse only added to the tension of that moment.

“Trying to justify your own mistakes by emphasizing your own superiority. It’s a very common tactic. You’re not the first to employ it.”

“I never---”

“You should be thanking me. I’ve been treating you fairly, paying you for your hard work. And on top of that, I’ve tolerated the transgressions, even putting more money unnecessarily into covering this up.” Zeke said. He walked towards the kitchen island, pulling an envelope from next to the telephone and slamming it on the counter. He wasn’t motioning though for Levi to come.

Levi preferred to stay frozen, just standing between the sofa and the coffee table. But when Zeke opened the envelope, pulling out pictures, and a few pages which he waved on the air and slammed on the table, Levi’s curiosity peaked.

Levi covered the distance in so short an amount of time, he never figured out if he seemed too desperate.

In hindsight, it wasn’t important. The contents of the papers, the pictures bundled together by paper clips had only been a more pressing matter.

Zeke’s words only confirmed it. “You went on a road trip up north on Hange’s birthday?”

“We did,” Levi said. There wasn’t much else he could have said to deny it. The evidence was too overwhelming— blurred pictures, screenshots of comments online in threads, subthreads, all speculating Hange’s side relationship.

“No use denying it. Yelena made a call to our employees in our estate up north. They mentioned Hange’s companion when she visited.”

“But we didn’t do anything…”

Zeke raised one eyebrow as if he had caught them in the act. “I’m not accusing you of it. But what would you say in your defense? When the Love Alarm rings, when you book a double room in a motel and when you’re together, almost inseparable in all of these pictures,” Zeke spread the photos on the table, shots of them in the motel, in the train station, in Zeke's house. “Hange isn’t a high profile person. It never made the news, Yelena and I made sure of that but people talk, anyone familiar with the tech world and particularly interested in it, would know how our family looks like."

It was funny, how anger could so easily sour to shame. At that moment, Levi considered disappearing an almost welcome development. Zeke pushed the pictures nearer to him, in one messy pile, the screenshots on comments, mentioning words like ‘misters,’ ‘paramours,’ ‘who’s the man???’ “We purged the internet of all photos, no names. Some people repost but I have people watching and reporting. This isn’t cheap.”

I’m sorry. Levi’s first instinct was to apologize, the adamance of a while ago almost completely forgotten. But sorry’s wouldn't work. “How much? I’ll pay what I can.”

Zeke scoffed. “Can you?”

Levi couldn’t think up much to say. He scanned his eyes over the comments at first to feign business, an excuse not to speak up. The more he looked, the more engrossed he got at lines of comments. Others towards him, then as he turned the pages, they were all towards Hange.

Slut. Whore. Low life. Cheater.

“I’ll pay what I can,” Levi said.

“How much are you willing to shell out? A hundred grand?”

That was a huge chunk of Levi’s annual earnings already. He wasn’t one to disclose salary though. He kept his mouth a thin flat line and nodded.

Zeke shook his head. “I’ll be generous, considering all the inconvenience you’ve caused both of us. While you're here, humor me,” he said. “I may not be a coder or a psychologist but I’m sure, there are things I can teach you. If you’re willing to shell out a hundred grand, let’s gamble with it. I haven’t had a good game in a while.”

“A good game?”

Zeke turned to Yelena. “Can you be a dealer again?”

“You plan on playing heads up?” Yelena asked,

“We have a table in one of the private rooms, why not?”

“Heads-up poker?” Levi clarified. There was only one game heads up that the two could have been referring to, mentioning terms like ‘deal.’

Zeke didn’t even bother to answer the question either for lack of consideration for Levi or just an expectation that Levi may have understood.

Levi didn’t live under a rock and he was very much familiar with the game. He had played a few games on online poker sites back in college.

Still, he moved a little sluggishly behind his two companions. Levi could have just been a little too wary or Zeke could have been out for blood.

The stakes then and there were completely different. For one, he had never bet almost a year’s worth of his own salary on a single game. He had never played with anyone whose net worth was a thousand, or maybe even a million times his own.

At that moment, Levi felt like a total beginner and it was as if hesitation clipped every single moment he managed to pull out of himself. There wasn’t too much he was expected to do but watch as Yelena prepared a few playing cards then chips.

Zeke made himself comfortable right in front of Levi. “Willing to bet a hundred grand?” he said those last words with an ominous smile on his face.

Levi sensed danger, but he couldn’t sense any proper way out either. He owed Zeke, he knew that much, whether it be for the money or the utter disrespect he had been treating him with since a while ago. Maybe he owed Zeke for more than that, for any inconvenience Zeke may have experienced at Levi having gotten a little too close to Hange.

Levi admitted, even just to himself, he had been a little too close to Hange for either of them to have been comfortable. Guilt, a sense of duty or just hyper awareness of everything all at once had Levi conceding, “Do I pay now?”

“We play with chips first,” Zeke responded.

Yelena dropped colored stacks of chips in front of them. Levi counted reds, blues, yellows, browns.

“You should have a hundred thousand worth,” Yelena said. “Do you know the colors?”

“Yes, just a bit.” Dabbling into online poker for a few months at least, Levi had enough experience to tell the browns as five thousands, the light blues as two thousand and the rest had inferred for himself from the amount of chips in front of him. He looked up to see that Zeke had a noticeably larger stack. “That looks like a lot more than a hundred grand,” Levi noted.

Zeke didn’t answer immediately and the flicker of realization came quicker, quick enough to have Levi coughing in surprise. The odds were against him.

“It is,” Zeke said as he counted his own chips, as if it wasn’t plain and utter cheating or even deception that he had a glaringly higher amount of chips than Levi. He slipped the chips towards the side and looked questioningly at Levi.

What had Hange told him back then in the golf course?

Zeke likes winning...But the way he goes about winning is like...He’s always been smart about it, always playing safe.

And what a better way to play safe than to have a larger pile than your opponent.

Zeke spoke up. “Hange and I, we’d play games with business partners while talking contracts and logistics. And Hange always said this about games. They teach things and sometimes they expose parts of ourselves… And the more I played with Hange, whether it be mahjong, blackjack, golf, or chess, I started to notice something. Games are a mirror of life, almost a clear reflection of what you deal with in business and in relationships.”

Zeke paused for a second and closed his eyes as if deep in thought. The room filled with the sound of shuffling of cards, the sound of the clack of chips as Zeke ran his hand over the brown ones, tapping them over the wooden round table in stilted and deafening movements.

“Poker is one of my favorite games. Like business, you base your decision on three things… Tells, numbers and circumstances,” He paused for a few seconds longer and he could have been expecting Levi to speak.

Levi didn’t look up though, instead using the brief silence to make sense for himself the amount of chips on his side.

Zeke spoke again. “Yelena, shuffle up and deal. We’re playing heads up. Our small blind is five hundred dollars and our big blind is one thousand dollars,” he said coldly. “I hope that isn’t too much money.”

In truth, that was enough money to make Levi’s stomach turn. Zeke’s manner didn’t look like it welcomed any protest though, so Levi merely nodded as some weak reply.

A weak nod could have sufficed as a response. Zeke turned to Yelena. “Give our valued guest the dealer button.”

The dealer plays the small blind. Levi counted five hundred dollars worth of chips and pushed it in front of Zeke.

Two cards lay in front of him, care of Yelena. Levi had played before and he was familiar at least with what a good hand would have looked like. In one swift movement, he held the cards in front of him.

Ten of Clubs and Nine of Clubs. With just one look, he knew he could complete either a flush or a straight.

If the board plays to his advantage.

Zeke tutted. “It’s not considered good practice to lift the cards. Most poker players would just raise the corner just high enough to see their own cards.” He demonstrated that exact same movement, only raising high enough that he could get the contents cards with one glance. “You’ve never played on the board?”

“I’ve played for a few months online,” Levi muttered. He would look back at that experience with little animosity. After all, a few months dabbling with bets online and just applying what little he learned from his statistics class had seemed like an overall enriching experience at first. Then and there, on the board, with thousands of dollars at stake, Levi felt utterly vulnerable. Like a beginner. Maybe, in the grand scheme of things, someone with only months worth of casual experience was a beginner.

And Zeke held a glaring advantage, something Levi couldn’t so easily brush away. Levi’s own instinct, his own experience with odds had him considering raising. Just for a second. When Zeke was staring at him though, his own pile much bigger than Levi, Levi could only weigh between two decisions, fold and give up that hand or match Zeke’s bet.

It’s still a good hand anyway. “Call,” Levi said, matching Zeke’s bet.

By the way that Zeke was looking at him though, Levi knew he was probably not playing on the board properly. Zeke spoke up. “Tells. One important concept in both poker and business is tells,” he explained. “The way you carry yourself tells me you never played on the board. Am I correct?”

“Yes.” There was no use denying it but Levi didn't have to spare him a long answer.

Zeke dropped five purple chips on the table. “Raise to 2500.”

There was value in those chips, his lifestyle, his savings. And for a split second, he saw an abyss. He had spent too much on a flight ticket, a hotel room, just all the food he had been eating in that town. Then another year's worth of income on stake, reduced to chips.

By some strange instinct, by some adrenaline rush, Levi had managed to brush it away, reducing whatever stakes to the few chips on the board. And he was grateful for the power of delusion. By god, if he didn’t have at least a sliver of self-delusion, he could have folded right then.

“Call,” Levi said, once again matching Zeke’s bet. He needed to calm down. It wasn’t a loss yet, the game hadn’t even started.

There was hope in whatever cards Yelena was shuffling. She spread the first three on the table.

“We call that a flop,” Zeke said. “Just in case you didn’t know.” And of course Levi knew, he had played online long enough to pick up some terms. With the grin on Zeke’s face, a far cry from a face more appropriate for a game of poker, Levi was certain Zeke was provoking him. “I know what a flop is,” Levi said, running his eyes over the three cards.

Ace of clubs. Seven of Clubs. Eight of Hearts.

Levi started to calculate. He had 2500 dollars, a months worth of basic living expenses on the line. He wondered if it would have felt better just dropping the one hundred grand to Zeke from the start. There was something notably more painful and more terrifying about the possibility of watching his money whittle away slowly.

“During business meetings, I like to tell which topics, which specific products make my business partners uncomfortable, when dealing with stakeholders, with employees. I like to take a few quick guesses on the backgrounds of the people in front of me, to see whether they’re worth dealing with in the long term. ” Zeke explained. “How they handle pressure…”

Was that a threat? A challenge? Maybe it was. Levi was suddenly morbidly aware that he had licked his lips, that his hand shook as he took another peek at his cards.

He had a chance for a straight. But what would Zeke have? And Levi had made the mistake of looking at Zeke then.

“Another ‘tell’, your eyes widened just there. You have a pair? A potential straight? For someone who wears her heart on her sleeve, Hange does a much better time hiding than you do.” Zeke had deliberately put more emphasis on the word Hange.

If Levi hadn’t frozen solid, tensed up by the shoulders with Zeke’s almost accurate guess, the word Hange had done the trick to make Levi terribly, terribly self conscious. In an instinctive moment, Levi bent his head down, raised one hand in an attempt to cover his own eyes, only to realize a second later with his hand halfway to his eyes, that that had done worse to even show that he had something to hide.

“You don’t have to hide it. We all know already, you’re in love with Hange.”

Levi had accepted that part already. If he had been in complete denial at that moment, maybe he would have lost himself in Zeke’s accusing glare.

“Are you going to deny it?” Zeke dropped an alarming number of yellow and purple chips. “Raise to four thousand.”

Levi let out a sound, a combination between a no and a quiet huff and he matched Zeke’s bet.

“A month ago I heard from the staff in our summer house up north mentioning the man, who always followed closely behind Hange, the man who so willingly got a single bed hotel with her, the man in the train station who sat close to Hange Zoe,” Zeke said. “People talk, Levi. Did you consider that? And I thought to myself back then, maybe, it could have been a coincidence but Hange had her own tells as well. When Hange saved you from drowning, did you know she didn’t want to let go?”

Yelena put one more card down. Two of diamonds.

“This is a convenient turn card ,” Zeke commented. “If you have a nine, or a ten, you have a chance at a straight. Have you calculated?” He raised one eyebrow.

Levi didn’t answer. Hell, anything he did say could probably be taken against him.

“Hange would have. When we played, she would babble on about statistics. Everytime she held out a hand, completely beating me, she would babble all the calculations in her head. She has always been quick witted, intelligent, clever. That’s why I fell in love with her too.” He had said that part louder, more confidently and so matter-of-factly, and Levi was reminded he would never have that same confidence to say those words about Hange, even if he would have meant it.

There was a clack of poker chips. Four thousand dollars? Levi counted. He looked towards the pile next to Yelena. He had four thousand dollars there already. A total of eight thousand dollars on the table, months worth of rent for most.

From the expectant look on Zeke’s face, Levi was expecting he’d only go higher. Do I fold? But maybe with the excruciating mentions of Hange, that was something Zeke had wanted him to do. In a sliver of weak protest, Levi matched the bet, his own bet up to eight thousand dollars.

He needed a jack or a six for a straight. But why was Zeke easily dropping bets? Did he have something better?

“Let’s consider numbers in real life. Even with how you and Hange were acting, I thought I could give you the benefit of the doubt. When the alarm rang, when you and Hange accepted it as truth, I realized my suspicions might be right. Hange might actually be attracted to you, she might actually love you. So what does that mean for me?” Zeke was once again playing with his chips.

Five thousand dollars worth? Levi thought loudly to himself as he counted the chips.

A bluff? Levi’s mind was racing. Zeke’s own words were deliberately or even just half heartedly disturbing. But there wasn’t much else he could do, four thousand dollars were on the line. Zeke proved to be confident at least with his own hand.

Bluffs happened, Levi played enough to be aware that people did put more than enough money than necessary just to scare people into folding. Another surge of protest later, Levi had matched the bet, putting his total bet at eleven grand.

The final card on the board was a jack and Levi didn’t have to look back at his own cards to confirm it. He had a straight. When Zeke had bet ten grand in chips, it had been much easier to call.

Soon the cards were revealed, an Ace and a King. Zeke had the strongest pair.

But Levi had a straight. He took the pot, more than a total of twenty thousand dollars, more than enough to offset his whole trip. When Levi looked up at Zeke, he regretted it almost instantly.

The latter didn’t seem at all affected by losing over twenty thousand dollars. “Circumstances, the most powerful tool but the easiest to control with the right resources. ” Zeke said, as if that had been the explanation for his own strange behavior. “It’s only natural when the person I’m married to starts running off with another man, I’d feel threatened. When she started working on the love alarm and I noticed she was happier, happier than I’ve ever seen her before. Then she was crankier than I’ve ever seen her before, then sadder. I wondered, what was our head developer doing to make Hange like that.”

Nothing. Fall in love with her? There weren’t too many things which could have fit what was starting to seem like a redundant question, so once again, silence was the best response.

Yelena spread the deck of cards over the table and Levi instead focused on dropping the new blind and appreciating the deft manner at which Yelena ran her hands over the cards.

He wasn’t in any state to be mesmerized by cards though.

Zeke’s voice echoed in the room. “Levi, I asked you a question.”

“What did I do, you mean?” Levi asked. That was the last thing he remembered and it had seemed almost redundant, not worth an explanation. Zeke shook his head. “Do you think she’s in love with you?” A strange question to ask someone, too personal. Zeke had a way of speaking that demanded answers.

Levi’s mind was working faster, vacillating between answering or not. He thought back to the ringing of the love alarm, Hange’s words up in the tower. Hange seemed happier, then crankier, then sadder, than I’ve ever seen before. “That’s for Hange to decide, right?” Levi said.

Zeke’s voice was suddenly softer as if they had released a sigh with his words. “Considering circumstances though, I was assured Hange can’t just leave.”

That last word had peaked Levi’s interest. “Leave?” He repeated.

“Even if your love alarm is correct, even if by some chance she loved you, and she didn’t love me, Hange can’t leave. I made sure of that. I’ve covered my bases.”

Covered your bases? Levi bent his head down, hiding that incredulous look that forced itself out of him.

“I paid for her research. I paid for the emotion alarm. I paid for the media embargo so your photos wouldn’t get printed. I paid for everything, our home, our trips. Hange can’t just leave, after I put so much into this relationship right?”

Yelena dealt a new set of his cards and Levi pulled his new cards towards him and took a peak.

Eight of hearts. Three of hearts. Shitty hand with a potential for a flush.

Zeke slipped the new cards towards him. “She’s not going to leave. And the more I thought about it, the more I realized, why are you still hurting yourself over this. Why don’t you give up?”

“There’s nothing to give up. I wasn’t holding on to anything.” Those words had been surprisingly easy to say. “Hange married you. I went here to talk to her, nothing more than that.”

“You could have sent an email. You could have sent it through Erwin. Why come here yourself?” Zeke’s words were suddenly ringing through his ear.

“Why are you so bothered by me showing up? You didn’t have to invite me here,” Levi said, and somehow, a cathartic release that came with those words.

The shocked almost speechless expression on Zeke’s face, a far cry from the calm, poker face of a second ago, sent a rush of confidence over Levi

Maybe there were things he knew about Hange that Zeke didn’t. Levi continued “I don’t understand why you had to go through all this trouble, covering the embargo, sending Hange away, buying the emotion alarm. Even if you didn’t cover your bases, even if you give Hange all of that, she wouldn’t have left you. She really believes she’s in love with you.” She’s a prideful prick that way. He added silently to himself.

“What do you know about Hange? You only met her months ago.”

Long enough to feel like I’ve known her my whole life. If his words could have at least been enough to ensure some happiness for Hange in the future, it was worth a shot. “You should have just trusted her. You take in the most free-loving person I have ever met as your partner and you trap her by hanging all that over her head? That’s not how to love someone like Hange.”

“Who are you to tell me how to love the person I’m married to?”

This time, it was Levi’s turn to ask a question. “Do you love Hange?”

“More than you’re capable of understanding,” Zeke answered venomously, as if it was an attack on Levi.

Somehow, of all the things, an attack on his own ignorance didn’t feel like anything at all. Levi was confident, he wasn’t ignorant. “Hange really believes love is a choice, love is freedom. And you think the best way to love her is to tie her down with money and gifts? With circumstance?”

“You can’t assume that.”

“Then why do you have to make her feel guilty? Why do you give her everything just so she won’t leave? Why are you assuming she’ll leave the moment she gets the chance?”

One hand on the table, and the table rocked, the pile of chips Levi had meticulously organized fell in one crash, the few others as they slid amongst each other, colors mixing amongst one another.

Yelena was the first to speak. “Focus on the game, Ackerman.”

“Check.” He didn't have the best hand. As the river opened up to reveal a potential for a flush, he still thought it worth a shot.

Zeke pushed a huge pile of chips to the front. “Raise to a hundred thousand dollars.” Almost all of Levi’s available funds.”

“Fold,” Levi said.

The button switched. Levi and Zeke dealt their blinds again. Yelena dealt another two cards. And the game continued.

Carefully raising the corners of his pair, Levi noted a three of spades and a queen of hearts. Even before Yelena had dealt the river on the table, Zeke had already pushed his pile to the middle. “Raise to a hundred thousand dollars.”

Levi couldn’t win, and just like the hand before, he folded.

It continued with that same pattern for the next ten hands. Zeke started to bait him, going all in towards the fourth hand, enough for Levi to lose all his savings, and Levi would fold. Hands later, Levi had lost the winnings of the first hand, he had absorbed a net loss. Zeke’s large pile was starting to seem more ominous.

Circumstances. The word started to hold more gravity as Levi reflected the unfairness of it all. Zeke wouldn't have minded putting one year’s worth of Levi’s salary in a single round, he had more than enough to spare.

You can’t win against money. What the hell was he thinking, giving up his blinds every single time. Zeke obviously bluffed a few times. No one would be lucky enough to have a streak of good hands.

But which hand? Levi thought loudly to himself, as if by some miracle, a god-sent answer could echo in his head.

“We can do this all night,” Zeke said, his composure once again collected, the exchange of a while ago forgotten.

Levi lost track of the number of hands. A quick look at his chips only made him realize he had forty thousand dollars left. Did he lose that much by just folding?

He would lose a hundred dollars that night if he continued playing but when he willed it, he realized was ready to lose that money. But the more Zeke played, the more he spammed all ins, the more urgent the loss started to seem.

It took a few more handsfor Levi to gather the courage to play, even with the stakes completely against him. Levi spared some thought to calculation, taking from Zeke’s rulebook.

Tells.

Zeke wore a poker face...Nothing there.

Circumstances

He had to do something fast, or risk losing all his money.

Numbers

Most importantly, statistics were on his side. He had opened his new hand to find a pair of aces.

Ace of Clubs. Ace of Spades. Statistically, the best poker hand. He could easily win everything back.

Then came the first three cards.

Ace of Diamonds. Queen of Diamond. Nine of Clubs.

“Raise to ten thousand dollars,” Zeke said.

Three of a kind, with the strongest cards. “Call,” Levi responded.

The next card was dealt. Ten of diamonds.

“Bet twenty thousand dollars,” Zeke said.

“Call,” Levi said again, pushing his pile of chips to the middle of the world. He couldn’t be too sure how he looked then. Were his hands shaking? It wasn’t a graceful movement for sure. He had to push his pile to the middle with three clumsy movements while Zeke did it in one elegant push.

But Levi noted the subtle way at which Zeke raised his eyebrows before they met eyes. And for one second, Levi allowed himself a long stare, a slight movement of his lips, nothing close to a smile. If that one expression would be enough for Zeke to fold and give up everything, it was worth a try.

It wasn’t.

Yelena dropped the last card on the board. An Ace of hearts.

“Raise to one hundred thousand dollars,” Zeke said, notably louder than every other time before.

Enough to make Levi jump, enough for him to doubt. He snuck another look at his cards. Four of a kind. You’re fine. Why was his heart still beating wildly? Why was meeting Zeke’s eyes for a while longer such a harrowing experience?

It’s a poker face. People do this when they play poker. Levi told himself and the longer he was able to convince himself that Zeke knew what he was doing. And maybe it had always been good practice to stay calm, even when everything was stacked against you.

“Showdown,” Yelena said.

Or maybe Zeke just wasn't that connected, especially since nothing much was at stake for him.

It could have been all those guesses, or it could have been the ugly one that opened up in front of them right then and there.

And it looked like Zeke had figured it out first. “Have you heard of the term bad beat?”

Levi was taking longer than usual to make sense of the cards, much slower than usual and maybe it had been the exhaustion of calculating the past almost countless hands.

“There is roughly a four thousand to one chance of getting a four of a kind. But sometimes, people have something better than that… Not often but… It’s still worth considering.”

Something better. And when Levi was considering every hand better than a four of a kind, it became much easier to scan the river then Zeke’s hand for the answer.

Zeke had two cards: King of Diamonds and Jack of Diamonds. A Royal Flush.

“There’s a six hundred thousand to one chance of actually getting a royal flush. First one in my life.” Zeke could have been genuinely amazed, but that big ham reaction had been more than enough to piss Levi off.

It made it difficult to sit still.

“When you consider circumstances, you introspect, you strategize and you pray for a little luck,” Zeke said. “Believe me, you had every other chance to win before. I went all in with the worst cards and you folded every single time. Are you that terrified of losing a few thousand dollars?”

Hundreds of thousands of dollars. Levi corrected in his head. An annual salary’s worth. And maybe that was the point Zeke had wanted to make. By circumstances alone, Zeke had manipulated Levi's choice.

Zeke smirked. “Circumstances rely on luck too and luck is a funny thing. Even if you play everything correctly, you can still lose. Life’s unfair isn’t it.”

“You had less to lose than I did,” Levi said, his lip trembling. “That’s all there is to it. If you lost all the money, you would have put more in.”

“I would have,” Zeke admitted.

“I was playing a losing game.”

“At least you got the lesson. These are your circumstances. Every life lesson everyone should have learned from birth, life isn’t fair. I’m surprised you’re expecting that from a casual game.”

“I never said that. I knew I was playing a losing game and I expected that.” It had taken all his effort to keep his reaction unreadable, and god he wished he had managed it every other time before. “Thank you for the food. Thank you for the game. Thank you for covering for me and Hange.”

With the game over, it didn't look like he felt compelled to wipe that smug grin off his face. And there were things Levi wished he could tell Zeke, and maybe it was worth the risk. “One last thing, I don’t agree with you about relationships, businesses being like games. Loving isn’t a game. When you give all this money to Hange do you expect her to give back? You expect to be able to manipulate relationships through circumstance alone?"

“I told you Ackerman, don’t tell me how to love my partner.”

"I don't have enough fucks to give for every single person in this world. I’m not telling you how to love the person you married because I actually give a fuck about your love life. I’m only telling you how to love your partner because your partner just so happens to be Hange and Hange’s a free bird. She doesn't deserve at all to be loved like that. Don't cage her in with circumstances. Don’t tie her down with money, with a debt of gratitude.” He pushed his seat back and walked away.

“Where are you going?”

“I need some fresh air.”

The sliding door wasn’t locked. He forced it open gently then too hard, enough to make it rattle, He gave one was long look at the infinity pool then leaned his arms on the balcony railings. He took a deep breath.

And that reprieve was just a little too short. It turned out Yelena followed behind him, a piece of paper in hand. “Zeke’s bank details,” she said.

That had seemed too abrupt. But really, what was he supposed to expect, a consolation prize? Hange’s location?

“It would be much easier if you paid immediately,” Yelena said. “Do you have the money on hand?”

He didn’t have the credit rating to pay that in one go. He opened his own banking application and attempted to transfer that much in one go.

Bank error.

“We accept checks,” Yelena said.

Levi had never dealt with checks. His credit card limit was far less than how much he needed to pay. And a few exchanges later, a quick google search later, Levi had figured it out. He could pay by wire transfer but by god, and just the wire transfer would cost him more money than necessary.

Levi was a man of principle though. Slip of paper on hand, Yelena’s contact details on his phone he made his way out of Zeke’s presidential, without even bothering so much as a goodbye. It looked like Zeke had retired to his own private room or study anyway. Did he need that pleasantry from Levi of all people?

On the way back to his own hotel, he took a long cut, through the hotels that connected to one another through glass pathways, a few floors above ground. He made sure to take a longer time than usual, enough time to reflect on his own shitty luck.

A fruitless reflection with a very very repetitive and depressing conclusion. That’s just how life is?

If it hadn't been for those two who had talked a little too loudly by the side, maybe Levi would have deemed it fruitless.

If didn’t look to his right to see the entrance to the casino, if he didn’t walk quickly past the slot machines, taking in the red plush carpet, he would have said it was a total waste of time. The dim room only further accentuated the lights that never seemed to come from an exact same place. The casino had a way of just letting some strange feverish state, some illusion blanket his surroundings.

Hange Zoe. The man at the front had said her name, too proudly, as if in total amazement. For a while, the dazzling casino lights had him doubting that name clipped into one brief exchange. Others seemed to be talking about her too. Then he was following the crowd.

Murmurs of Hange Zoe, none of them demeaning or admonishing. Others seemed breathless, and Levi thought it worth his time, to tiptoe just to see a good look of what they were staring at.

Fruitless.

Levi dove into the crowd, slipping his way through, bending over, moving his hand through when necessary. He never made it to the front, but he did note the messy mop of brown hair, tied into a high ponytail, bent over the table. The autumn jacket, the side profile and the glimmer of some tight lips.

Hange was deep in thought in the middle of what looked to be some poker game. Her own pile of poker chips right next to her, much larger than everyone elses. He knew her enough to make that type of guess.

Circumstances.

Levi decided it would be a waste of time. Circumstances were never his to control anyway. They were Zeke’s, they were hers.

Hange Zoe’s win again.

How many hands had she played before that?

She’s cheating.

No, she’s just lucky.

I heard she calculates every single hand.

Levi felt some sense of superiority, knowing something the murmuring crowds didn’t.

All summarized into three things. Firstly, lady luck was probably on her side, it had always been as if making up a string of misfortunes in a previous life. Secondly, she probably calculated every single hand. Third, Hange would never ever cheat.

And those would be last few thing he would allow himself be proud of. That would be the last time he would think of Hange as someone remotely his.

As Levi turned the heel and walked back to his hotel, he decided, although it wasn’t too fruitless a detour, he still regretted making that quick trip into the casino.

***

If Levi knew he would have felt like shit as soon as he came back from vacation, maybe he never would have gone on that stupid vacation in the first place.

Monday. Monday morning. Those words managed to taste bitter, even when Levi was barely forcing it out of his mouth. It could have been the fact that he barely had time to get over the jet lag or it was just way too early in the morning. Scratch that, it wasn't any of that at all.

Zeke was sitting on the couch, seeming very much unaffected by what should have been transoceanic jet lag and very much unaffected by the words that came out of Erwins house just a second ago.

At first, Levi even doubted what I heard, attributing it to exhaustion. He turned back to Zeke, no sadistic grin, no furrowed brows. He was calm, unimpressed and all business.

"Sorry… it's too early in the morning… I don't think I heard you correctly,” Levi said, an attempt at professionalism even with the trappings of shock, disbelief and very inconvenient drowsiness.

“We don’t usually invite lower management to these types of meetings… But Mr. Jaeger requested you be here, to answer any questions that might pop up...” Erwin said apologetically.

“No. Not that… You mentioned it a while ago...Why is Mr. Jaeger here?”

"We’re making amendments to the contract," Erwin answered.

“And why do you need me here?”

“He’s here to buy the love alarm,” Erwin said so casually that Levi had to clear his throat, get rid of whatever popping sensation had been going on in his ears.

My love alarm. The love alarm he worked more than half a decade on. The love alarm which he knew like the back of his hand, from the backbone of the codes to the front end bugs.

"It's for sale?" Levi spat out. There were only so many ways he could speak and so many ways he could even articulate the emotions running through his head.

Erwin cleared his throat, seeming uncomfortable at such a simple question. "Initially no… we never considered selling it but when Zeke called about it last week, we thought it worth a conversation.” He turned to Zeke then back to Levi. “We were able to run through Zeke’s proposal with the higher ups last Friday, and given the generous proposal, we are more than willing to sell him the rights to the Love Alarm and the Emotions Alarm project.”

How much did he offer? Levi instinctively looked towards Zeke but he soon figured out that no matter what he said, Zeke probably would never disclose the final price. In some vague response, Zeke pulled the brown envelope on the table closer to himself. "Everything has a price,” he said matter-of-factly.

Erwin spoke up. "I did the calculations as soon as I received your call last Thursday and it looks like it would be more than enough to cover what potential earnings we expected within the next two years and more than enough for the development of another project.

Last Thursday night. The night they had met in Zeke’s penthouse suite. Was buying the love alarm an impulse decision on Zeke’s part? The timing just seemed too right.

And they only continued to talk about it, as if Levi wasn’t there. What did an engineer know about business though or about purchases as high volume as the rights to the love alarm?

For something that had taken countless all nighters over time and years of development, the process of selling it just seemed too easy. “Mr. Jaeger, if I may ask, what made you consider buying the love alarm?” Levi asked.

“Hange’s research,” Zeke said, as if it was the most obvious and the most noble reason in the world.

“And when you buy it, what then?” Levi challenged.

“I’ll work with Hange. We’ll hire new developers to fix the bugs you never fixed. We’ll further improve the product and the code and we’ll break the product down, see what else we can use to improve the emotions alarm project.” The answer was disappointing, a far cry from what Levi wanted to hear.

Your other plans with Hange. He had opened his mouth, ready to expound on the question.

Erwin though may have sensed the thick tension between them. "You have the contract?"

Zeke nodded. "I had our lawyer work on it over the weekend, a rush job. You can run through it with the higher ups and I'll have someone pick up a signed copy by this week"

"Believe me, we’re decided, you can even pick it up tomorrow," Erwin said as he opened the envelope, pulled out papers and flipped through the pages. For a second, he dropped the paperwork on the table then onto the page where the executives were expected to sign.

All familiar names from the big wigs all the way, down to Erwin. Levi's name wasn't there at all. Figures, Levi after all, was merely an engineer. He couldn't help but sense irony though in the fact that the one who knew the most about the product had no say in its actual fate.

Erwin's words only made the irony seem more glaring. “We'll use the next two weeks to do some clean up on our end, pack up the resources and work on data migration.”

By ‘we’, Levi knew Erwin would be ordering him to do that.. He couldn’t help but feel slightly cheated though. He would be basically ordered to take apart something he built from scratch, send it off and never see it again. And the longer he stared at the contract that would be ordering all that, the more desolate the air around him seemed to feel.

The product he had worked on for years, taking apart every now and then, breaking and putting back together to find even the smallest bugs, going on countless hours of overtime over, was like a child to him, a child he was unwillingly sending it away to some known.

Some masochistic part of him had him still staring at the contract, long enough still to remember his first contract when he first signed into the company, something that stayed snug into the back of his mind, unexpectedly kicking his arse then.

Ownership of Intellectual Property. Employee agrees that the Company shall own, and Employee shall (and hereby does) assign, all right, title and interest...

Everyone in the room seemed to have too much regard anyway for pleasantries anyway and never felt the need to clarify it. Levi had to rely on his own memory of Zeke saying it just a few days ago in his hotel room.

The company pays you. Any effort, ideas, projects you put into our product is company property.

And Zeke will be buying it so it will be his property.

Whether Zeke even knew how the alarm worked didn’t seem to matter to him though.“So, I guess in a matter two weeks, all server data and resources should be with Jaeger corporation.”

Erwin nodded. “We’d be happy to expedite the process. If all goes well, yes.”

When a huge sum of money was on the line, suddenly red tape was so easy to squeeze one’s way through. It took an enormous amount of effort to stay calm as they signed away the culmination of his own hard work, his countless hours of overtime, the blood, sweat and personal investment he put into that one application, all signed away in a brief second, all the red tape of a few weeks ago, non-existent.

Erwin turned to him, “If you can stay behind after the meeting, so we can discuss the logistics…”

Most days, Levi appreciated the manner at which Erwin spoke, the way he took some regard of Levi’s own time when giving orders. That day, there were too many things happening to even appreciate.

What else do you expect me to do? Say no? Hell, he had wanted to say no, but by the glaring lack of his own name on the contract, the glaring lack of regard for his own opinion on the matter, Levi could only seethe silently.

“Oh yeah,” Zeke snapped his fingers, loud enough to call Levi’s attention. “Hange sends her regards. She enjoyed working with your company a lot.” He turned to Levi and gave him a nod. “And to you too Ackerman, I just have to say we’re very grateful for your hard work and your generosity.”

What generosity? The implication that Levi had any say on commercial decisions seemed mocking.

“We’ll take good care of both applications,” Zeke continued. “And regards from Hange, she wishes you all the best with Petra.”

Petra. Levi let out a cough, letting out a subtle look at Erwin. If the latter did seem bothered, he didn’t show it.

With that, Zeke left the room, and Levi started to understand how someone could keep such a confident demeanor even with the slightest inconveniences. Somehow, having that many assets, wealth and power under one’s belt really had that paper.

The way he strode, embodied it, the way that in just a few phone calls, he had completely dismantled everything Levi had worked on, making it his own.

And when he closed the door gently behind him, leaving Levi and Erwin alone in the room, Levi was reminded once again, the love alarm, the emotion alarm, were never his, as much as he would have wanted to claim ownership.

They were never his, but suddenly they were Zeke’s. Levi turned to Erwin, narrowing his eyes, as he watched the blonde make his way to the desk. Erwin seemed uncomfortable as if he sensed the strange betrayal that something so standard as corporate procedure could bring. Then he cleared his throat and spoke up.

Two weeks. Levi was given two weeks to clean everything, migrate all data and vacate the office.

It was the company's project but it was Levi's responsibility. There was a broken partnership which somehow ended with two products sold. Yet even with all the damage dealt by that deal, the management needed some scapegoat from within the company.

Erwin had explained everything with as professional of a face as possible. With the tight lipped attempt at a grin that followed, the way he had avoided Levi’s eyes one too many times, Levi suspected Erwin knew more than he was letting on.

The photos maybe? The bug with Hange? The broken partnership? Of course someone would end up having to take the blame for giving Zeke a ‘bugged’ application.

Too many reasons, many among those rooted in some attempt to save face, in filthy office politics. And by then, Levi hadn’t been expecting too much.

That probably had been the reason that when Erwin looked back at him with a much softer expression, Levi couldn’t help but let out a long sigh, something to abate whatever emotion was threatening to let loose.

I didn’t think it was right for the mastermind behind the application to be terminated completely empty handed.

Erwin had arranged for some severance pay after the two weeks were over.

Enough to get out of the country, start somewhere else.

A job termination shouldn’t have been enough to be driven out of the country. Levi didn’t make too much sense of Erwin’s words until he had experienced it for himself a week later, through an empty email inbox after sending out the same resume to twenty companies for over thirty roles.

Have you heard of a no poach agreement? Erwin had asked back in the office.

A no poach agreement?

It’s technically illegal so this usually comes as a verbal agreement among companies. They’d note their best employees and if they have to let one go, all companies agree, they cannot hire them for a certain period of time, five to seven years. It's a 'scratch my back, I'll scratch yours' type of deal.

To keep company secrets apparently or to keep Levi from making a similar application in any other company.

If you want to continue working in the development industry, your best chance would be abroad.

Around one week left before his termination would become effective and Levi gave up on finding a development job in his city, hell even his country. Around that time he had started to clean up his studio apartment, throwing out whatever was needed.

He started looking through immigration laws, consulting when necessary. He looked through apartments in other cities, then labor laws. The severance pay was more than enough at least to get him out, and Erwin had been a big help in straightening other legalities out.

He had an extra few weeks to clean out his room, pack up his things, straighten out immigration issues and buy a damn ticket out of there.

In between, his final week at work. He had never considered leaving his job of over a decade to have ended such a long bittersweet moment. In reality, he never really had the time to appreciate normalcy and he felt some regret at that.

Migrating server data, resources, making sure everyone under him had straightened out their leaves, making sure they were assigned to new projects took time. Allowing himself reprieves in-between to just sit down, and stare at half filled boxes also took longer and more effort than he had expected it too.

He stared at the ever increasing boxes that lined his office walls for a while longer. Surprisingly, for someone so fastidious, he had a lot he needed to clean out, both inside the computer and outside.

You will lose all accesses, to emails, to chat accounts and to company property by end of day Friday. He got that same message, in different forms from human resources, from Erwin and Levi was on a strict time limit to get everything out.

In some protest, some act of empowering rebellion, Levi was taking his sweet time. He continued to reserve conference rooms, staying out of his own room as much as possible, going through each line of code slowly as if he they were all individuals all deserving of their own greeting.

He started with the backend, then went to the frontend. He looked through the pull requests and the merge requests and the fixes that would never make the next release.

And Friday couldn’t have come any faster. By then, Levi had ninety percent of his office space cleaned out. He entered the room to find his own team lugging out some of the boxes.

100 percent done then? Levi thought to himself.

Eld was the first one to speak up. “We thought you’d need some help. We heard you only had until five to vacate the room." Yet, he had the expression of a guilty child caught taking cookies from the cookie jar at midnight.

His whole team looked similar.

Levi shook his head. "No, this is much appreciated," he said. A stiff choice of words if he did say so himself but the last few hours of work weighed on him more heavily than the days leading up to it.

He only had two hours before he lost access to everything he had worked on for years.

He held his work laptop close to himself as he watched them lug box after box out of the room.

"Eld was suggesting we go get something to eat tonight," Gunther suggested.

"That depends…" Levi started. Definitely, whether he enjoyed it depended on how quickly he could brush off that weight then that tightening in his chest. "Have you talked to your new team leads? Your new managers?" he asked, an attempt at a light conversation. He wondered if his expression betrayed his words.

Maybe they did. "Or we could wait a few days," Eld said.

"We'll see. We have a few more hours before the end of day," Levi said. He slipped past them and walked back into his office.

Shelves empty, desk spotless and even the floor shone with some unsettling gleam. It had always been spotless, he made sure of it but there had always been something melancholic about rooms that had been full for years, suddenly empty.

And until a few weeks ago, the room had felt like Hange. He had deliberately left many of the crooked books on the shelf, the crooked documents, the titled reusable paper tray and the test devices messily lined up on the shelfs because Hange had left it that way.

And the whiteboard right next to his desk which Hange had failed to clean many weeks before was suddenly wiped clean. Levi didn't even noticed he let out a sound, a mix between a gasp and a whimper when he saw Hange's list of emails completely gone, erased over.

"You okay in there, boss?" Petra asked.

"Someone cleaned the whiteboard," Levi said.

"Oluo, I told you he'd point out your shitty job cleaning the board!" Petra said, from just outside.

Oluo responded. "Well, he's not going to be using it anymore so I though--- Ow!" Some silence followed, then approaching footsteps. "Sorry sir, I'll clean it again."

"No, it's fine," Levi said, he put his hand up, as if to stop Oluo from making that quick trek back to the white board. "I'll clean up the rest. Thanks for the help."

For once, he was grateful for someone's carelessness. The white board wasn't as clean as he thought it was a second ago and maybe because he would have rather it wasn't clean.

Hange wrote in crooked lines where ends hit one another, others fell and the fonts and sizes were never too similar from one line to the other. And the closer Levi came to the whiteboard, he noticed it, one email peeking out, spared by the shoddy erasing job.

Wingsoffreedom132

Hange had multiple emails she used for testing and when Levi opened his work laptop one last time, enjoying the last few hours of access as he cleaned up folders and code repositories, he found himself looking back at the email.

Does she still use it? He asked himself

Maybe. It was worth a try at least.

He looked once again around the room, the very empty room. Then he looked back at his screen, opened the repositories that were ready to be sent out to the point person from Jaeger corporation.

Then he opened his own personal folder, the unfinished codes from the love alarm then the mood alarm then the plans, the files and on the upper left of the file 'the Mood Alarm.'

To hell, with red tape, bureaucracy and all that shit. It was his project, right at his fingertips. It wasn’t Zeke’s nor was it management. The only reason they probably hadn’t sacked him on the spot was because he was the only one who could have so efficiently organized it before they sent it off to some poor sap who worked under Jaeger corporation.

He allowed himself one rebellion, or more specifically a string of rebellions.

If he were forced by some bureaucracy to send all the resources of the love alarm and the mood alarm to Hange, he would do it on his own terms.

He disconnected from the office wifi. He opened a hotspot then he opened his own personal email. Opening an incognito tab, he transferred all the codes and resources to his own personal repository, organizing it in a similar manner.

Then copied the link and started to compose an email.

To: [email protected]

All the codes for the love alarm

He pasted the link right below.

All codes for mood alarm.

And below it, he pasted another link.

He waited for a few more seconds as the email loaded the attachment, the file with all the plans he had for the mood alarm, allowing himself a small smile as he imagined Hange pondering the name 'mood alarm.'

He vacillated between writing a message under and keeping it brief. Then a second later, his fingers moved for him, he didn't even realize what he had been writing until it was on the page, ending on a period for finality.

“Dedicate your heart.” He read it out loud, then he felt a pang on his chest and a twist at his gut.

Dedicate your heart to what? He didn't want Hange dedicating her heart to anything. He wanted her free, flying high, doing whatever the hell she wanted to, bound by no role, no debt of gratitude, no excuse for love.

Reach for the sky? Hell, she could probably even make it to the stars.

So he went for something that left him cringing.

Reach for the stars (or anything higher than that).

Then he added something, collateral from that rush of indignance.

Don’t let anything stop you. Just remember, I would have given you all these damn codes for free.

After sending the email, he took a few precautions. He cleared his history, his cache, his browser and he deleted the rest of the files in his laptop. With one hour before the end of day, he turned off the laptop.

“Do you need any more help?” Petra had entered the room, hands behind her back in some very faux casual manner. And she seemed to be avoiding his gaze.

Levi used that moment to wipe that last line of Hange’s email, as if that could have been evidence to that bout of rebellion. “I’m done. Let’s leave the rest to whoever will be cleaning up the desk.”

Petra didn’t seem at all suspicious, or maybe she didn’t care. “That’s good. WIll you be joining us for dinner?”

Levi nodded. “Maybe my leaving is worth a dinner.”

“You’re really leaving?”

“Looks like it.”

“What are you gonna do?”

“I bought a plane ticket, secured a visa. I'll go somewhere, far from here, then find a job or maybe work freelance.

“I want you to stay here.”

“I wanna stay here too,” Levi admitted. “But I couldn’t even find a job.”

“I’ll miss having you here… And working with that love alarm. I really believed in the product and it made me realize my own feelings too,” Petra leaned by the window, looking worse for wear.

When Levi gave a long look, he noted maybe she had been crying. He almost felt guilty for not even struggling to fight back tears then.

Maybe his body had already reached the point of pure catatonic, pure acceptance at the hopelessness of the situation. “I’m sorry.” What was he saying sorry for? “I mean— I’m sorry I can’t stay.”

Petra took a deep breath. “This is probably the only time I can say something so I’ll say it now and you know, if you believe in your love alarm, you probably figured it out already,” Petra started. “I like you, I really like you. Actually you know what, it might be love. I don’t know if that would change anything—”

“It won’t.” Levi kept his voice firm. “I bought the ticket. I organized my papers and I have a place to stay. I’m leaving.”

“For good?” Petra had on a wounded look, her mouth twisted into something similar to a pout, by her eyes were elsewhere as if she knew there was a little too much vulnerability in her voice. “So, whatever I feel, it won’t change anything?”

Levi shook his head. “I don’t think it would be fair to you if I accept your feelings. I’m in no hurry to date.” He let out a clipped sardonic laugh. “At this point, I’ll probably die alone.”

“You deserve—”

“And you deserve someone who wouldn’t decide to date you for convenience.” Maybe Levi had been a little too frank at that moment.

Petra didn’t respond, her mouth frozen in a tight lipped line.

“The love alarm will be back so maybe you can use that to find someone else whose alarm rings with yours,” Levi continued, his voice deliberately gentler. “Or what about growing something organically, without the help of that stupid app. I honestly think, sometimes the love alarm causes more chaos than actually fixes things.” He shrugged. “It depends on the circumstances really.”

Circumstances he probably would never understand. He turned back to the black screen and reflected for a long painful moment about it. He was a slave to circumstance.

They were silent for a while longer and Levi used that time to recover, willing himself not to meet Petra's eyes.

She broke the silence a few seconds later. “We’ll meet you by the gate for dinner?”

“I’ll see you then, just give me an hour or so,” Levi said, checking the clock on his phone. He had a little more than an hour left before EOD. “Or just text me when you find a restaurant.”

It took a little longer to convince Petra to leave and it had ended with them having to text Levi a familiar restaurant name.

Levi had taken his time doing nothing at all, just sitting on his office chair in his bare office room. He counted down the minutes on his phone until five. A few times he had even stared at the seconds counting down on the digital clock view on his phone.

Around a minute past five. He booted his laptop again, typed out his email and password.

Access Denied. Please contact your IT Administrator.

At exactly five in the afternoon, he lost access to the system. He took a deep breath and let reality weigh him slowly, then sink deep into him in one swift sensation.

The love alarm and the mood alarm were never his. Any delusion that they were his had dissipated with all the company accesses.

***

In an airport, the point past immigration is international space.

Maybe that explained that strange liberation that came with getting past immigration and walking through the gates, searching for his own. Or it could have been many things at once. He was out of his old job, out of his old environment and somehow, in its own way, it symbolized a new beginning.

Even as an international space though, some things weren’t completely unavoidable. Settling on the departure gate, Levi went through some final checklists on his phone.

He had a new bank account. He had a place to stay as soon as he landed.

And his inbox was a confluence of unread mail. Many of them were goodbyes, from colleagues, some from finance, from human resources, from his own team and he wondered how the hell people found out and what they were thinking about his leaving.

Erwin sent a few tips on taxes and getting housing loans. Petra had sent a ‘safe flight’ message with the same pleasantries of meeting up when she gets to visit.

There was one message was avoiding and he decided to open it last. He spent the first few minutes before that spamming the same thank you message to every single goodbye message.

That one other message after all, was easy to ignore, just a bank notification that money had been wire transferred.

One hundred thousand dollars, the exact money he had lost and sent over to Yelena, he realized as he opened the message and put a little more thought into it.

You have two weeks to claim it. Two weeks? The countdown started a week ago and he only had a week to claim it.

Actually, not even a week. Looking up at the boarding time, he realized he only had an hour. He could probably organize something to have it sent over to his new account. Considering timing and the logistics though was stressful enough already. And besides, his mind found it more enticing to just indulge the context behind such a large sum of money.

It could have been a scam. The amount of money though had seemed too much of a coincidence and admittedly, Levi was a still lovesick.

Don’t send me money. Just fucking talk to me. Levi whispered to himself. Just in case, just in case that was Hange.

In some indignant response, he decided to delete the message and instead, spend last few hours going through some obscure threads on the industry. Something he had been actively avoiding.

Business Jaeger Zeke Jaeger acquires the love alarm… The mogul had found a fatal bug on the love alarm…

In a noble effort to improve the efficacy and accuracy of the product, he took it upon himself to oversee development….

Head developer behind the love alarm has been terminated....

Unnamed developer. He had at least been given that much. Levi let out a sigh. For a high profile application, no one really figured out the name of the head developer. It was a thankless job but Levi never thought too much about the glory of it.

And at that moment, he could only be grateful for the anonymity, whether or not Zeke had done it deliberately.

Plane ready for boarding.

They would be starting with first class passengers first and Levi knew he had more than enough time to take a trip, to the farthest trash can, yet still something near enough to catch the flight.

He unzipped the front pocket of his backpack, pulling out a small sim card pin. He poked it, pulling out the tray, noting the bronze sheen of the sim card. It had taken him a few tries to hold the small card between his fingers and a few more tries to bend it between his fingers, bend it to the point of unusable.

He pocketed his phone and quickly made his way back to the boarding gate.

No bank account. No phone number. He wondered why he went through that much of an effort to destroy everything.

Maybe just for an attempt for a new beginning. Or maybe because he didn’t want her to find him.

The more he thought about it though, the sooner he realized he wanted her to find him. He just thought it better to assume that she wouldn’t even try.

#levihan #levihan fanfiction

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bubonickitten · 4 years ago

Link

Summary: Jon goes back to before the world ended and tries to forge a different path.

Previous chapter: AO3 // tumblr

Chapter 15 full text & content warnings below the cut.

CWs for Chapter 15: mentions of Buried-related trauma (claustrophobia, etc.); a somewhat lengthy discussion of recurrent suicidal ideation (including some informal safety planning); panic/anxiety symptoms; mild self-harm (as a stim to distract from anxiety/intrusive thoughts); swears; mentions of starvation & restrictive behaviors re: Jon’s statement dependence (also some internalized ableism re: the substance dependence/addiction parallels); internalized victim blaming; post-traumatic stress reactions/flashbacks re: Jonah-typical awfulness. SPOILERS through Season 5.

Also, apologies in advance, but ADHD!Jon Went Off for several paragraphs at one point in this chapter and I (and by extension Martin) just let him run with it. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Chapter 15: What Comes After

Jon sits on the floor with his back to the wall, waiting as Basira helps Daisy wash away nearly eight months of grime. Through the closed door and underneath the rapid drumbeat of water, he can make out a steady stream of murmured conversation, punctuated by the occasional sob or bitten-back groan of pain. The words are indistinct, but Jon doesn’t need to Know what is being said to guess the gist of it.

Eventually, the shower turns off. It takes several more minutes before the door opens. Even though Jon knows what to expect, he has to suppress a sympathetic grimace when he lays eyes on Daisy.

She sits hunched forward on the closed toilet lid, damp hair hanging limp around her face and dripping onto the tile floor. There is a sickly pallor to her skin, mottled with bruising and scrubbed-raw patches of pink. The clothes she’s wearing are her own – Basira never could bring herself to discard her things – but they no longer fit. Her shirt practically drowns her emaciated frame now, hanging loose off of one shoulder and exposing the hollows of her collarbone. The dark shadows under her puffy, bloodshot eyes might just rival Jon’s.

“Better?” Jon gives her a weak half-smile.

“Cleaner,” Daisy says hoarsely, staring listlessly at the floor.

“Your turn,” Basira says, meeting Jon’s eyes and jerking her head back towards the shower. “Left the shower stool in there for you. Clean clothes are on the counter.”

“Thanks,” Jon says, but he doesn't move. Part of his brain is telling him to stand; another, more reasonable part is just now realizing that sitting on the floor in the first place was probably a bad idea.

“Do you, uh – need help?”

“No,” Jon says hurriedly, “that – won’t be necessary.”

“No, I wasn’t suggesting –” Basira sighs, flustered. “I just meant that maybe you want to wait until Georgie gets here?”

Now that the adrenaline is fading, Jon’s skin is crawling with every moment the Buried still clings to him. Every slight movement sends loose dirt raining down onto the floor. He needs a shower.

“If you could just help me stand up, I should be able to handle the rest.”

Basira gives a curt nod, quickly recovering from the awkward moment, and hauls him to his feet. Steadying himself against the wall with one hand, he tests putting weight on his bad leg.

“Daisy still needs to see a doctor, and –” Basira frowns, watching Jon wince as he takes a step forward. “Are you sure you’ll be alright? You’re not going to – pass out and drown in two inches of water, are you?”

It wouldn’t kill me, Jon tries to say, wry and only half-joking.

“Not enough to kill me outright,” he says instead. When he feels that familiar static-laden filter slide into place in his mind, he freezes. Before the fear can properly move in, though, Basira’s voice cuts through his stirring panic.

“You’re alright, Jon,” she says, authoritative but without heat. “Just breathe through it, remember?”

Jon nods distractedly, shutting his eyes and focusing on his own breathing. It takes a minute, but the pressure eventually eases enough for him to hear himself think again.

“Are you okay?” Daisy asks, brow furrowed.

“Yes. Sorry.” Just those two simple words are a struggle to vocalize, but once he manages, the rest of the weight lifts from his thoughts. He glances at Basira. “I’m sorry, it just – slipped out, and –”

“It’s fine.” Basira looks him up and down. “I think maybe you should wait for Georgie, though.”

“I’ll be fine. It’s just my leg, and I’m used to dealing with that on my own.”

“I thought you injured your ribs.”

“Archivist,” he says with a shrug – a mistake, he realizes a moment too late, as it disturbs his injuries. He just barely manages to avoid flinching. “I heal quickly.”

The truth is, his ribs are unlikely to fully heal until he gets a statement in him. In fact, the last time, his weakness only started to fade after he’d taken a live statement. He’d rather not dwell on that right now, though.

“Hm.” Basira fixes him with a skeptical look.

“I’ll be alright, I promise. You should see to Daisy.”

“No,” Daisy says. Both Basira and Jon glance over at her. A noticeable full-body shiver sweeps over her, and Basira grabs a dry towel from the small stack on the counter.

“You need professional medical attention,” Basira says firmly, wrapping the towel around Daisy and adjusting it to cover her bare arms. “I’m taking you to A&E.”

Daisy ignores her, raising her head to look at Jon instead.

“I was thinking I could – stay, if you want?” She casts her eyes down again and her voice drops to a low murmur. “It’s just – the shower, it’s – a tight space, and – and it might…”

Jon bites the inside of his cheek. It’s true: the shower stall is tiny. Claustrophobic. The room itself is small and poorly ventilated; steam builds up within a minute of the shower being turned on, turning the air thick and stifling with humidity. The single dim light in the ceiling has a tendency to flicker; the bulb has been known to come loose from time to time, plunging the area into near-darkness.

It isn’t the Buried, but there’s enough here to bring the Coffin to mind on a bad day – and especially right now, less than two hours out of the place.

The last time, Daisy never could manage to use the shower without someone else in the room to keep her company. When Basira was unavailable, she would turn to Jon. Eventually, he got comfortable with her returning the favor. It became a routine, but…

“I’ll be okay,” he says again. Unconvincingly, judging from the way Daisy’s eyes narrow at him.

“Do you really want to be alone right now?”

“I…”

No, I don’t. I really, really don’t.

“Look, I’m not trying to make it – weird,” Daisy continues, fiddling with one corner of her towel. “It’s not like I’ll see you through the curtain. I just thought – maybe you could use some company? Don’t say ‘I’m fine,’” she says as he opens his mouth to respond. “Just because you can deal with it alone doesn’t mean you should have to.”

“Well, yes, but –”

“Do you not want me here? Because if you really want me to leave, I will, but –”

“No, I wouldn’t mind the company, honestly, but –”

“Then I’ll stay.” She looks at Basira, as if daring her to object.

Last time, she did object, Jon remembers. Now, though… Basira simply sighs.

“Fine. But,” she adds emphatically, giving Daisy a severe look, “I’m taking you to A&E as soon as Georgie gets here, and you don’t get to argue.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Daisy says with a tired grin.

“Liar,” Basira says, shaking her head with a fond, amused sort of resignation. “I’ll be just outside if you need me.”

As Basira leaves, Jon catches Daisy’s eye.

“Thank you,” he murmurs.

“Thank you,” Daisy says at the exact same time. “For not leaving me.”

Their tentative, exhausted smiles are mirror images of one another as understanding passes between them.

Someone upstairs has a statement.

The Archivist Knew the moment she mounted the steps to the Institute. She was marked by the Spiral, the Hunt, and the Lonely in quick succession, but the Archivist can only barely make out the edges of the story: how she was pursued through a nonsensical, constantly-shifting maze of alleyways by a hulking thing that always stayed one step behind, never letting her escape but never deigning to actually catch her.

There was no one in that place to hear her screams. Now, all she wants is to be heard.

The Archivist can give that to her. It would be so easy, so right. She came to the Magnus Institute of her own volition, didn’t she? She’s here to give her statement. The Archivist can take it from her and preserve her voice and relive her story for the rest of –

Jon twists his fingers in his hair and pulls until it hurts.

“You need to sit down,” Georgie says for the third time in as many minutes.

“Just keeping warm.”

It’s not necessarily a lie. The perpetual damp chill of the tunnels seeps into Jon’s bones in spite of his three layers of clothing and Georgie’s scarf wrapped twice around his neck. Beyond that, though, fevered movement is the only thing keeping him from falling to pieces. If he stops or slows, it will become all the more obvious how badly he’s trembling and all the more difficult to ignore the hunger gnawing away at him.

“You’re not even pacing, you’re just – limping.” When he doesn’t reply, Georgie reaches out and touches his shoulder. “Sit. We have some time before Martin gets here.”

With a sigh, Jon finally capitulates, sinking into the nearest chair. Immediately, he starts to jiggle one leg, fingers tapping restlessly on his knees.

“Talk to me, Jon,” Georgie says, taking a seat opposite him. “What’s on your mind?”

“I… I don’t know. It’s – a lot, and…”

He trails off, unsettled at the sound of his own voice, shaking almost as badly as the rest of him. His mouth has gone too dry to comfortably swallow, and every passing thought feels blurry around the edges, too ephemeral to translate into the spoken word. The only thing coming through loud and clear is the need and the knowledge that he has the means to sate it, if he would only embrace it.

There are no words to describe the experience, nor does he wish to verbalize it in the first place. As for the rest of it…

“Of course now I can talk,” he says with a weak laugh, “I suddenly don’t know what to say.”

“Take your time.”

Jon hunches forward, allowing himself to rock back and forth in slight movements as he tries to gather his thoughts.

“I’m –” Hungry. Terrified. Exhausted. Weak. Hungry, craving, needing, wanting – “At a loss.”

“About why you can talk again?”

Yes. Sure. He can go with that. It isn’t a lie, and it feels like a safer topic than all the rest.

“In part. I don’t understand why I have my voice back, or what that means, and of course my mind is immediately going to the worst-case explanations, and” – now he’s started, he rapidly gains momentum, his speech growing pressured and frantic – “I should just be grateful that I can use my own words again, but I can’t just let it go, because when have I ever been able to just let something go, and –” He tugs on a lock of hair again, letting out a self-deprecating chuckle. “Unsurprisingly, I hate not knowing.”

“Well… how about starting with that? Give me some theories. Might help to get them out of your head for a minute.”

“Most of it comes down to… I don’t know – why now, I suppose? I don’t have an answer to that, which just makes me think – did I have a choice all along?” It’s a question that has been plaguing him for hours, sitting poised and ready to spring in the back of his mind, but as he finally speaks it aloud, a chill comes over him. His voice fractures like a crack spreading weblike through thin ice. “This whole time, was I just… not trying hard enough?”

“I don’t think –”

“It was the same with taking statements,” he blurts out, wide-eyed and wound taut. “When the others discovered what I was doing, I stopped, which means I – I could have done all along, and just – didn’t.”

“You implied before that you were sort of – influenced?” Georgie’s voice is thoughtful, not accusatory; her expression searching, but not judgmental. Jon can feel his shoulders relax just slightly.

“‘Influenced’ is one way to put it, yes. But not controlled, exactly – not quite. It was – instinctual, almost? And once a story starts, it’s sort of like – being in a trance, I suppose.”

“I remember you having a kind of… faraway look to you, when I was telling you my story.”

“It wasn’t like that in the very beginning,” he says, watching his fingers curl on his bouncing knees. “I don’t know when they started having that effect on me. I… didn’t even notice the change. Didn’t notice that I was physically dependent on them until I was traveling. Started to get sick the longer I went without them. And when I woke up… just reading statements wasn’t enough anymore.” He draws in a measured breath. Gathers his thoughts. Exhales slowly. “The first time, I was just shopping. I felt – unwell, hazy. Then he was there, and I just – Asked, before I even realized what was happening. The next time was just after Melanie stabbed me –”

“She what?”

“It was – sort of deserved,” Jon says, waving it off. He continues before Georgie can get another word in. “I felt – drained, after. Thought I just needed some air, so I went for a walk. Wasn’t long before I crossed paths with my next – victim. Didn’t realize until much later that I must have been… hunting, subconsciously. Like a fugue, almost. But just before I Asked, I had this moment where I – I knew what I was about to do, and I just – did it anyway. And then the third time was –”

“After the Coffin,” Georgie guesses. The look on her face is that mixture of sadness and pity that haunted Jon in their shared nightmares for so long.

“Yes.” Jon keeps his eyes downcast. “And the fourth time was after I – well, I tried too hard to Know something, and it sort of – took it out of me.”

“So the trigger is being injured, or weakened?”

“Maybe in the beginning. The last time, though… I was feeling weak, yes, but there was no specific incident that precipitated it. Basira needed me at full strength for a mission. So I Knew where I could find a statement, and I made sure to be in the right place at the right time.” He wrings his hands in his lap. “But the mission was just the way I rationalized it to myself. I was just hungry. I would’ve fed regardless, and reached for whatever excuse was closest to hand, and felt guilty later, and – well, rinse and repeat.”

“You didn’t quite answer when I asked before, but… is it an addiction, or is it sustenance?”

“It’s a… need.” Jon bites his lip in thought. “Feels like addiction sometimes, but the compulsion is worse than nicotine cravings ever were. And when I tried to stop, it – it wasn’t only withdrawal. I actually was starving. Still don’t know if it would have actually killed me, but…” He shrugs. “Suppose we’ll find out.”

“Jon –”

“But I – I need you to understand,” Jon says, jolting up straight in his seat. “I’m not making excuses. I’m done making excuses, there are no excuses, just – explanations. I was influenced, yes, and it often felt like being – enthralled, but I still… I knew that I was dangerous, that what I was doing was wrong. If I thought I couldn’t help myself, I should’ve told the others from the start and they would’ve done what was necessary. I always felt ashamed after, but I still – kept doing it, until I was forced to stop.”

He’s ranting at full-tilt now, breath quickening and heart stuttering in his throat.

“I didn’t just need it, Georgie, I wanted it. I – I liked it. It felt good. And I know for a fact that it still would, if I let myself do it again. I’ve seen the consequences of becoming – that, and I still…” His shoulders sag. “I miss it. I’m afraid I’ll never stop wanting it, I hate myself for that, and it changes nothing.”

“You’re hungry now, aren’t you?” Georgie asks gently.

Jon tsks and pinches the bridge of his nose. “That obvious, is it?”

“Mm.” She gives him a sympathetic smile. “You seem more jittery than usual. And you’re shaking.”

“Ravenous,” he says with a bitter laugh. “Worst I’ve been in – a long while, and it’s only going to get worse.”

He lets his gaze drift to the floor as he briefly debates whether to share the details. She should probably know what manner of monster she’s dealing with.

“Actually, ah – someone upstairs has a statement,” he says before he can lose his nerve. “She was writing it out just before we came down here, and I could See the shape of it, but not the whole story, and now I can’t See her anymore, and I – I need –” He runs a frustrated hand through his hair, scraping ragged fingernails against his scalp. “Christ, Georgie, it’s all I can do not to rush up there and rip it out of her.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault.”

“Not yours, either. Don’t,” Georgie says, cutting him off when he opens his mouth to launch into another tirade. “I’m not saying that you were justified in hurting people. But you didn’t choose to be… this.”

“I may not have wanted it,” he says flatly, “but I did choose it.”

“How so?”

She sounds genuinely curious, not confrontational, which keeps him from going on the defensive. Instead, the question gives Jon pause.

“I… I don’t know how to explain it,” he says slowly, frowning. “Just – something Jonah said to me, and it – feels right.”

“He said that to you?” Georgie’s eyes narrow as she watches him. “Those words?”

“Yes?” Jon squirms in his seat; sometimes, Georgie’s scrutiny is on par with that of the Beholding. “A long time ago. Before the Unknowing, even. When I realized that I was becoming something – not human, and confronted him about it.”

Georgie taps a knuckle against her lips, looking down at the floor in thought.

“Jon, I’m going to say something, and I want you to think about it – really think about it, don’t just discard it offhand. Alright?”

“Okay?” Jon says, apprehension flooding him.

Georgie takes a breath and looks him in the eye.

“Supernatural flavor aside, that’s just how abusers talk in order to groom their victims.”

Jon recoils as if struck and shoves the information away from him almost as soon as the words leave her mouth.

“Does it really matter?” It comes out far more harshly than he had intended, closer to a shout than a comment, and he cringes. “Sorry. It’s just – he had a point.”

“Jon –”

“No, I chose to keep looking for answers at every turn,” Jon says, gesticulating wildly. “I’ve never known when to just stop, no matter how many times people get hurt from it. I was a perfect fit for the Beholding, the perfect candidate for Jonah to do with what he will, and I – I still am. Doesn’t matter if I wanted this outcome. I still sought it out. Moth to a fucking flame.”

“Doesn’t mean you chose it, and it doesn’t mean you deserved what happened to you,” Georgie says. For some reason that Jon can’t quite pinpoint, the quiet confidence with which she speaks grates on his nerves. “And anyway, it seems to me you’re doing a decent job at controlling yourself now.”

“Yeah.” He huffs. “Only it took Basira threatening to kill me.”

“She what?”

“Not recently. In my future. It was warranted,” he says with a dismissive gesture. Then he sighs, slouching in his seat. “And I don’t know if even that threat would have stopped me forever. Didn’t have to find out. I managed to end the world first, and then I had all the fear I could ever want.”

The moment he stops speaking, his mind once again drifts to the statement ripe for the taking just upstairs. His bitter expression turns anguished and he buries his face in his hands.

“I want to kill the part of me that misses it. That might just kill all of me, but honestly, Georgie, I don’t – I don’t know if that would be such a bad thing –” He chokes on his words and looks up at her with wide, frantic eyes. “I – I’m sorry, I didn’t – I shouldn’t have said –” He takes a deep breath and forces assurance into his voice when he says, “I’m not suicidal.”

“I won’t be angry if you are,” Georgie says evenly, “if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I’m not suicidal,” he says again, but he looks away as he does, unable to meet her eyes. “I don’t – want to die. I just feel like as long as I’m around, everyone – everything is in danger, and – what right to I have to make that decision for the world? It’s – selfish, and – I really don’t deserve a second chance, especially when part of me still…”

Jon swallows hard. Once again, he wonders if the woman with the statement is still here. He pinches the skin of his arm and twists. Noticing the tic, Georgie frowns and opens her mouth to redirect him, but he carries on speaking, undeterred.

“I think the only reason I chose to wake up again is because I needed to help Daisy and Martin. I think the only reason I’m still alive now is because I don’t want to leave Martin alone. Or – no, that makes it sound out of obligation or – or guilt. It's not that. It's – I – I want to be with him, I do. I actively want to – to have a life with him, just – live, be. If not for that, though, I… I’m tired, Georgie.”

Tired of hurting and being hurt, of watching and being watched. Tired of hunger and want and an existence that hinges upon the misery of others. Tired loss and scars and nightmares. Tired of having to settle for not wanting to die instead of wanting to live. Tired of just surviving instead of actually living.

“I’m just tired,” he says, putting his head in his hands again. “I’m sorry. I know you don’t want to hear this.”

“I would rather you talk about it than keep it bottled up.”

“I just don’t want you to think that I’m not trying to get better.”

“Recovery isn’t linear. I’m not going to leave just because you have bad days. It would be different if you were closed off, denying you have a problem, but… you’re not.” When he doesn’t answer, her frown deepens. Her next words sound almost affronted. “I’ve been suicidal, Jon, you know that. Why do you think I’d hold it against you? I know you can’t just flip a switch to make it go away. Why are you so afraid –” Realization dawns on her face. “I left last time, didn’t I?”

“I never regained autonomy in the nightmares, so I didn’t get a chance to talk to you before I woke up.” Jon shrugs halfheartedly. “You didn’t expect me to wake up. Then I did, and I didn’t have any of the complications to be expected from a six-months coma. Not even a coma, really, just – everything but brain dead. A corpse coming back to life – I think it was too much for you. You told me I needed people to keep me human, and by the time I took that advice there was no one left to turn to, and now I wasn’t human anymore. It kept me from dying, but you didn’t think it was a second chance.”

“I said that to you?”

“The, uh, last bit,” he says reluctantly. He doesn’t blame Georgie for leaving, but he can’t deny that her parting words to him on that day still sting, even now – a resounding condemnation that he can’t quite shake. “But you weren’t wrong,” he says, rushing to reassure her when he sees the horrified look on her face. “It wasn’t a second chance, it was just… the next phase of the Archivist’s development. Anyway, you were tired of watching me self-destruct, you knew there was nothing you could to do change my trajectory, and you didn’t want me to drag you down with me. Or Melanie. Her life had – has, I suppose – been nothing but misery since the day she met me. She was trying to get out, to get better.”

“And you?”

“I wanted to, but I just… couldn’t see a way out. I couldn’t leave, but I…” He bites down hard on his lower lip, struggling with his next words. “I don’t think I was choosing to stay involved, either.”

“And I thought you were.”

“You weren’t the only one. And it wasn’t an unfair assumption. I was” – am, his brain corrects – “in too deep. I didn’t” – don’t, he reminds himself –“belong in normal life anymore. I couldn’t” – can’t, he does not say aloud – “reverse the change. Even when I found out how to quit… I couldn’t just leave Martin here alone. Also, I know now that it wouldn’t have worked for me anyway.”

“It would’ve killed you,” she guesses.

“No such luck,” he says with a short laugh, then feels his blood drain from his face. He looks up and fixes her with a panicked, apologetic look. “Sorry, I – that was in poor taste, it’s just – that was what went through my mind when I first realized it.”

“It’s alright.”

Jon clears his throat, still somewhat shamefaced.

“What I mean is that I, ah, tried to blind myself during the Ritual. Turns out I heal too quickly for it to have any effect on my connection with the Beholding. Otherwise I’d have tried it again the moment I woke up in the hospital.”

Georgie says nothing. When he chances a glimpse of her, he sees no judgment or anger, just more of that familiar, gentle sadness. He has to look away again.

“I don’t blame you for walking away back then. You didn’t have the whole picture. Neither did I, but even if I did, I probably wouldn’t have given you all the details, and you knew that. I can’t fault you for not wanting to stay involved when you didn’t know what being involved would actually entail.” He looks up and meets her eyes. “Honestly, Georgie, even if you’d stayed, I probably would have made all the same mistakes. I would have continued putting myself in danger and downplaying it. I would still have gone into the Coffin, and I wouldn’t have told you where I was going beforehand. I would likely have distanced myself from you on my own, because I’d have convinced myself it was in your best interests without asking you how you felt about it. I’ve… changed since then, but at the time, I probably would have continued retracing the same patterns. You would have only gotten hurt, even if it wasn’t my intention.”

“Maybe.” She frowns, chin propped on her fist as she considers. “I can’t speak for a version of me that doesn’t exist anymore. But for what it’s worth, I’m sorry you were alone.”

“And I’m sorry I didn’t realize how much I didn’t want to be alone until it was too late.”

“It’s not too late now, though,” she says with a cautious smile.

“No, I suppose not.” Jon’s answering smile fades as he gives her a serious look. “None of this obligates you to stick around, by the way.”

“I know.”

“I’m serious. I’m glad you’re here, but…” It’s more than I deserve, he almost says, but stops himself when he imagines Georgie’s reaction to that. “I don't want things to become – toxic, between us. If it gets to be too much, I’ll understand.”

“If it does, it won’t be just because you had a setback. Just – try not to wallow too much when you do, alright? You’re not good company for yourself when you’re like that.”

“Yeah,” Jon concedes on a long exhale.

Georgie sighs, a pensive look on her face.

“I think I may have given you the wrong impression before. When I made you promise that you didn’t have a death wish, it wasn’t because I was going to leave if you’re suicidal. It was because I don’t want to be lied to about it if you are. I don’t want to be blindsided by your self-destruction, or made complicit in it. It isn’t fair to me.”

“I don’t want that either,” he says softly. “And I – I wasn’t lying before, when I promised you that the Coffin wasn’t a death wish. I just… I thought…”

“You thought you could make the decision to live once and be done with it.”

“Sounds foolish when you put it like that, but… yes, I suppose so.”

“Would be nice if it worked like that,” Georgie says with a rueful smile. Then she sighs. “I’m not expecting you to get better overnight, and neither should you – especially when you’re still in the thick of it. I’m just expecting you to communicate when things get bad, rather than throwing yourself onto the nearest grenade as – atonement, or punishment, or some misguided belief that you have to earn the right to live. I won’t be a party to that. I can’t. I don’t… hold it against you personally, I get it, I’ve been there – but that’s why I can’t be around it. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“To be clear,” she says emphatically, waiting until he meets her eye before continuing, “I don’t mind hearing about those thoughts. I take issue with you acting on them with no regard for yourself or the people around you, and then minimizing the consequences. And that – that isn’t a value judgment. It’s just… watching you get trapped in that cycle, it takes me to a bad place.” Georgie chews on her lip for a moment, and then nods, as if coming to a conclusion. “If you were looking for a boundary, there it is. I know you can’t avoid danger entirely, but when you’re feeling like this, can you at least promise to talk to someone before making any drastic decisions? You have to let us know if you’re in a bad way, because it will affect your judgment.”

Jon lets out a long exhale. “I will.”

“Okay. I can live with that.”

“Thank you,” he murmurs, self-conscious.

“About your voice, though.” Jon gives her a quizzical look. “I thought it was wholly a supernatural thing, but…” She looks up at the ceiling, gathering her thoughts, and then adopts a delicate tone. “Have you considered that it might also be a – a trauma response?”

“I didn’t before.”

“And now?”

“I… I don’t know. It first started partway through the apocalypse. The more I experienced, the more the Archive asserted itself. I was still me, most of the time, but I was also – more, I suppose? It’s… complicated.” Jon rakes his fingers through his hair as he works on his phrasing. “The human mind was never meant to contain that… much. The Archive’s purpose is to – well, to archive. Every instance of fear and suffering in that place was a statement. Billions of them, every moment recorded live – and when I read or take a statement, I live it vicariously. My own experience of it is… an essential part of the recording process.” He blows out a puff of air. “So I had a lot going through my head at any given moment. The human in me couldn’t be conscious of all of it at the same time.”

“That’s… horrible.”

“Yes. And it felt right.” He rubs one arm absently, looking off to the side. “I don’t think I was meant to survive – the human part of me, that is. I was just one mind; I should have gotten lost in the multitude. And I did, sometimes, but… I always found my way back. Martin always called me back. If not for him…”

If not for him, Jon would have lost his sense of self in the Archive, given up and accepted the role assigned to him, much like he suspects Gertrude would have. When he lost Martin, Jon almost did lose himself as well.

“Either way, I was – above all else, I was still an Archive. I learned to compartmentalize, to an extent, but I was never meant to have my own voice. At some point, it got lost in all the noise. If I wanted to communicate, I could only use the stories hoarded away in the Archive.”

Jon frowns in consideration, actively weighing the most likely theories as he talks himself through the evidence.

“I… don’t think it was purely a psychological response,” he says slowly, gaining in confidence as he speaks the words. “I think it was a consequence of what I was in that place. The Archive was part of that world’s fabric, so to speak. But this reality operates differently than the one I came from. Its natural laws aren’t dictated by the Beholding. It has… less prominence here. Case in point, I’m significantly less powerful now than I was in my future.”

Georgie raises an eyebrow. “How powerful are we talking?”

“I was an apex predator among monsters. A direct conduit of the Ceaseless Watcher. Oh,” he adds offhandedly, “and I Knew everything.”

“What.”

“Well – almost everything. And not all at once. It was more that I – I was able to Know almost anything if I looked for the answer.” He allows himself a small grin. “Post-apocalyptic Google, so to speak.”

“Sounds… useful?”

“In some ways. It’s awful to say, but I miss it sometimes. Having control over it, mostly. I could stop myself from Knowing things about a person, give them more privacy. But I also couldn’t opt out of Knowing entirely. I just… had more control over what I Knew and when. And there were still things I couldn’t Know. The Beholding will hoard almost any scrap of information, but it has a clear preference for the horrific. It was utterly silent on anything related to an after – an afterlife, a reversal of the apocalypse, any sort of escape or release from the nightmare.”

“God,” Georgie murmurs, almost to herself.

“Jury’s out on that one, too.”

“No, I just meant –” Georgie pauses when she sees Jon smirk. “Oh, I see. You’re just being a smartass.” She shoots him a grin and nudges him with her foot. “What about now? Do you still –”

“I don’t have near as much control over it as I used to, no. I can remember the things that I consciously chose to Know then, but… that sea of knowledge, all those potential answers to any hypothetical questions – my access to it is limited now. And I’m Knowing things unintentionally again.”

“What about the Archive – the statements?”

“When I first woke up, it felt – the same as it did in the future. A sort of – wall of static that lowered whenever I tried to use my own words. It lifted in the Buried, because I was cut off from the Eye – from the Archive. I thought it would reassert itself when I came back – and it did for a minute – but now it’s…” Jon stares down at his hands, clenched tightly in his lap. “I still have recall of all the statements I already had archived. Not all at once, more like a – like a database, I suppose, but – they’re there if I look for them. The Archive is still there, and sometimes it slips through, but… it’s not as dominant as it was before. And seeing as I can speak at all, apparently state of mind is more of a factor than I thought. At least right now. Not sure about before.”

“Well,” Georgie says, “even if you have more control over it now, it doesn’t mean you always did. Sometimes circumstances change.”

“Maybe,” Jon says, his thoughts already beginning to stray.

Georgie sighs in exasperation.

“Just because there’s a future where things are better doesn’t mean you’re a failure for things being bad in the present. Jon, look at me.” He does, albeit reluctantly. “What you’ve gone through isn’t something that you just get over. It’s always going to be there. That doesn’t mean things will never get better. It just means that you need to make peace with the fact that you’ll have ups and downs. If you turn on yourself every time you’re struggling, you’ll never notice the moments of progress. And if you see every instance of progress as an opportunity to berate yourself for not achieving it sooner, then, well – I’m sorry, but things aren’t going to get better.”

“I – I know. It’s just…”

“Difficult. I know. I’ve been there.” Her expression softens. “I’m not trying to be harsh. I don’t expect one conversation to change the way you think. It takes years of practice to break that sort of pattern. But when you need reminders – and you will, and I won’t be disappointed when you do – I’m going to keep giving them to you. I’ll ask you to at least consider them each time before dismissing them outright. Does that sound fair?”

“More than,” Jon says, giving her a weak smile.

“Good, because I seem to recall you making the same request of me once upon a time.”

Did I? Jon thinks back and draws a blank. Not for the first time, he curses how unreliable his memory can be.

“Still,” he says, “I’m sorry to be such a –”

“If you say ‘burden’ or anything to that effect, I actually will be cross with you.”

“Noted,” Jon says with an embarrassed chuckle. “But – sincerely, I – I know that right now I’m –” Dead weight, he almost says. Volatile. Fragile. Tiresome. Untrustworthy. A walking doomsday button. Georgie gives him a warning look, silently urging him to consider his next words carefully. “Struggling,” he opts for. “But I do want to be there for you if you need me, in whatever way I can, so… open invitation to confide in me, or ask for help, or – or anything you need.”

“That was eloquent,” she replies with a teasing smirk. Jon rolls his eyes.

“Ironically, I think I was more eloquent when I was the Archive.”

“Eloquent in a poetic sense, maybe,” Georgie says with mock thoughtfulness, “but it didn’t lend itself to clarity.”

Another hunger pang rips through Jon's mind and he clenches his jaw, curling his shaking hands into fists.

“Hey.” Georgie prods his foot with hers again. “You ready to see Martin?”

“I, ah…” Jon gives a nervous laugh. “I want to see him more than anything, but I’m also – terrified? I know things won’t be how I remember them, I know I have to adjust my expectations, but I don’t know what to adjust them to, and I don’t know what to expect from myself, either, and…”

And the hunger is eating away at him from the inside out, an incessant undercurrent of need-want-feed running parallel with every other thought vying for his attention. He brings his hands to his face, puts pressure on his eyes, grounds himself in the ache. Almost immediately, his brain latches onto the words pressure and ground and suddenly he’s comparing the cravings to being buried alive, to drowning in noise, to being suffocated by the crush of stories that was – is – destined to comprise the entirety of his being. He’s being drawn over the threshold of that ubiquitous, baleful door in his mind: hated and feared, yes, but completing him all the same.

Guess that’s the thing about being the chosen one, Arthur Nolan’s words echo in the Archive’s halls. At the end of it, you’re always just the point of someone else’s story, everyone clamoring to say what you were, what you meant, and your thoughts on it all don’t mean nothing.

Jon tries to dislodge the statement, but there is no stop button to corral the Archive, and the story continues on: It seeds us with this… aching, impossible desire to change the world, to bring it to us.

There are hundreds of thousands of words pounding on the door now, none of them his own, an endless stream of them queuing up in his throat, cramming into his lungs – and with a painful lurch, he’s falling down, down, down –

Breathe, comes the familiar mantra.

On the one hand, he’s glad for how quickly and mindlessly that coping mechanism kicks in by now. On the other hand, he wishes he didn’t have so many opportunities to practice that it’s become so ingrained in the first place. There is something different about it this time, though. Usually, he imagines the command in his own voice, or occasionally Martin’s. Just now, he could pick out multiple tones, all overlapping: Martin. Georgie. Basira. Daisy. Himself.

The effect is potent. It allows him to walk himself back from the edge in record time. The hunger still scratches impatiently at the door, but he manages to tear his attention away from it long enough to remember where and when and who he is. When he glances back up, he realizes that only a few seconds have transpired – a storm so brief that apparently even Georgie didn’t register its passing. Instead, she’s staring over his shoulder. She catches his eye, raises her eyebrows, and nods, indicating something behind him.

“Well,” she says with a smile both amused and reassuring, “I think you’re about to find out.”

Another stab of panic shoots through him, shattering his momentary calm. Time stands still. When lightheadedness overtakes him and his vision starts to pixelate, he realizes that he’s been holding his breath. He lets out a juddering exhale, and turns around.

When he lays eyes on Martin, Jon is speechless all over again.

Martin startles when Jon’s eyes lock onto his, still unaccustomed to and unsettled by such direct eye contact. He immediately regrets that reaction when he watches Jon recoil and avert his eyes. The reflexive urge to vanish overtakes Martin then – and he feels himself begin to panic a little more when it yields no results. He had been accessing that power up until moments ago, when he dropped the veil; why is it out of reach now?

“Hi, Martin,” Georgie says, apparently unperturbed by the awkward atmosphere. “I was just keeping Jon company until you got here, but I’ll give you two some privacy now.” She stands, stretches, and brings one arm down to touch Jon’s shoulder. “I’ll be here for a while yet. If you need me, I’ll probably be in Melanie’s usual spot.”

Martin can see Jon incline his head slightly. If Jon sees her reassuring smile, he gives no indication. Georgie gives his shoulder another pat and starts to walk towards the ladder. Martin steps aside, giving her a wide berth – force of habit – and watches until the trapdoor closes behind her.

For what feels like an interminable moment, the stale air hangs heavy with silence. Martin stands rigid, mind drawing a blank. Could cut the tension in here with a bread knife, he thinks to himself, somewhat hysterically.

Jon, for his part, is staring steadfastly at the ground, utterly unmoving – and Martin’s heart wrenches painfully in his chest at the sight.

Of all the adjectives that could be used to describe Jonathan Sims, unmoving has never been one of them. When he’s not running his hands through his hair or scratching at his skin, he’s bouncing his legs, tapping his fingers, biting the insides of his cheeks, pacing, rocking in place – an endless rotation of fidgets and stims, flowing one into the next. When he’s excited, his eyes light up, intense and intelligent and impossible to break away from; he interrupts himself in his rush to translate his thoughts into speech before he loses them entirely; he’s a flurry of animated gestures and borderline manic pacing. Even at rest, his eyes are bright with questions and his hands flutter when he talks; even exhausted and lethargic, his mind is a hummingbird flitting from thought to thought with frantic abandon, eager to catalog every detail and cover every angle.

Sometimes, it’s vicariously exhausting to witness; most of the time, Martin is hopelessly endeared. In all the time that Martin has known him, the coma was the first time he ever saw Jon entirely still. Martin used to wish on occasion that he had more chances to just look at him. Up until that point, he’d had to make do with furtive glances and stolen moments when Jon was too engrossed in a task to notice Martin staring. In the hospital, Martin finally had a chance to really study him freely.

Stillness doesn’t suit him, Martin remembers thinking – and another piece of his heart chipped away.

Unconsciously, Martin finds himself studying Jon again now. He sits hunched forward with his arms folded tightly in front of him, a white-knuckled grip on each elbow, his narrow shoulders pulled in and forward. Judging from the predictably mussed state of his hair, he must have been combing his fingers through it nonstop recently. His lips are chapped and torn from chewing; the dark circles under his eyes seem to have shadows of their own. His multiple layers of clothing do nothing to hide the gauntness of his frame or the frailness of his wrists.

Jon is awake now, yes, but still he looks… distant. Listless. Too close to lifeless for comfort; too reminiscent of deathbeds and silent monitors and grey hospital linens. So Martin breaks the silence.

“Jon.”

He doesn’t raise his head, but his eyes flick upwards to gaze at Martin through his lashes. Sharp eyes, haunted eyes, more and more so with every passing day – and now, they’re downright bleak. Still, though, they’re beautiful: a rich brown, dark and deep enough to fall into, and Martin could lose himself in them gladly. Then, Jon breaks eye contact again, curling in on himself even further.

How is it that he manages to look more run down every time I see him? Martin thinks, and then he notices Jon’s hands, trembling in his lap now.

“You’re shaking.”

“Yes.” The word cracks on its way out, coming out as little more than a croak, and Jon clears his throat before trying again. “Just, ah – just hungry.”

“You’ve been back a few hours now, haven’t you eaten yet?” Martin replies automatically, the caretaker in him taking charge. “Jon, you were in there for over a week, you need to –”

“Not – not that kind of hunger.” Jon finally raises his head, but his eyes still dart away from Martin’s every few moments.

“Oh,” Martin says quietly. “Statements.”

“Yeah.” Jon scuffs one foot against the floor.

“W-well, I can wait, if you want to go record one?”

“No, I –” Jon clears his throat again, sitting up straighter in his seat. “I’d prefer to talk. If that’s alright with you. I’m – I’m sure you have questions for me.”

Martin considers. On the one hand, his instinct is to insist that Jon take care of himself first. On the other hand, he knows how stubborn Jon can be. Arguing about it wouldn’t change his mind, only waste time and ultimately leave him waiting longer for a meal.

“Yeah,” Martin says with a reluctant sigh, “I guess.”

“R-right. Well…” One end of Jon’s scarf trails in his lap, and he runs his fingertips over the weave, in the same way that one might pet a cat. “I – I’ll answer them as best I can.”

“Right,” Martin echoes.

“Would you like to sit?”

Martin nods wordlessly and takes a seat opposite Jon, but his mind goes blank again.

“Georgie said she explained things?” Jon tries tentatively.

“Sort of. She said she was working on an incomplete explanation herself.”

“Yes, that was – that was my fault. I was having some –”

“Speech difficulties, yeah. She said.”

“Which is also why my message to you was so…” Jon sighs. “I would have preferred to use my own words.”

“But did you mean it?” Martin blurts out. He feels his face heat in an instant and he has to look away.

“Yes,” Jon says quietly. Confidently, Martin notes privately, and blushes more deeply. “The sentiment was all mine. I know it may seem – out of the blue, from your perspective, but I – I meant it, all of it.” Jon ducks his head, but doesn’t look away. “I, uh – I still do.”

It’s Martin’s turn to break eye contact, keen to look anywhere other than into Jon’s eyes and the open, sincere warmth living there.

“I’m not the person you remember,” Martin says stiffly.

“Neither am I,” Jon replies, his voice softer than Martin has ever heard it.

Martin’s throat works as he swallows hard.

“I’m not the person you fell in love with.”

Jon’s expression softens and he gives Martin a beseeching look.

“I disagree,” he says, with more of his earlier assurance.

“I’m not,” Martin insists. “I don’t know what the me of the future was like, but I’m not – I’m not him. Whatever he did to make you fall for him, it’s – it’s not me.”

“Martin, I fell in love with this version of you,” Jon replies, his voice tremulous. “With every version of you.”

Martin just stares. Jon smiles at him: soft, sad, sorry, sincere.

“I – I know it’s difficult to believe. I treated you – horribly, and for so long. Took you for granted. Never gave you the respect or care you deserved. I… I don’t think I’ll ever stop being sorry for that.” He maintains eye contact, and Martin once again finds that he cannot look away. “I’ve never been… good at this sort of thing – putting words to how I feel. In retrospect, I was falling for you even before the Unknowing. I just – didn’t realize how much until I woke up and you weren’t there. There was a – an empty space where you used to be, and I couldn’t… I was almost too late. I almost lost you –”

His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. Martin is startled to see the sheen to his eyes.

“I… I did lose you, eventually, and it nearly…” His voice is rough with held back tears. He clears his throat, and when he speaks again, there’s an intensity to his voice that Martin just now realizes he’s missed. “But not – not until much later. Not here. Not now. Not to Peter fucking Lukas.”

Martin lets out an amused huff at the venom with which Jon says the name. Jon looks up, tilting his head slightly – and Martin can feel one corner of his mouth turning up ever so slightly at the familiar mannerism.

“Sorry,” he says. “Just – don’t hear you swear much.”

“Well, he deserves it,” Jon replies, half-scathing, half-embarrassed.

“Can’t say I disagree with you there,” Martin says with a tired chuckle.

“About – about Peter.” Once again, the name sounds poisonous on Jon’s tongue. “He’s lying to you –”

A bolt of annoyance shoots through Martin at that.

“I’m not an idiot, Jon.”

“No,” Jon says hurriedly, his hands fluttering in agitation, “I didn’t mean to imply –” He breathes a heavy sigh, flustered. “I know that I – I underestimated you for far too long. But you’re clever, and capable, and you understand people in a way that I find endlessly impressive.” To his chagrin, Martin can feel himself redden at the unexpected praise. “You’re not gullible enough to trust Peter for a moment. I know that. And” – Jon grins at him with such open affection that Martin wants to flee – “last time, you outmaneuvered him so seamlessly that I – after seeing the look on Peter’s face, I think I fell a little more in love with you, impossible as it seemed.”

Martin’s face is on fire now, must be.

“I trusted you then, wholeheartedly, and I still do,” Jon continues. “I… I’ll respect whatever decision you make going forward. Even if it means you continue working with Peter. But,” he adds, licking his lips nervously, “I have information now that we didn’t have the first time around, and I – I’d like you to know the whole story. It could have implications for whatever strategy you decide on.”

“You’re talking about the Extinction.”

“Among other things, yes.”

“Is it a real thing?”

Jon lets out a long exhale, looking off to the side with a pensive scowl. Martin can feel himself smile at the sight of that oh-so-familiar crease between his eyebrows, a telltale harbinger of a Jonathan Sims dissertation. Resting his chin in his hands and leaning forward, Martin settles in for an earful.

“Yes,” Jon says after a moment’s hesitation, “but – it’s more complicated than Peter assumes. It’s real insofar as it’s a pervasive terror for large swathes of the human population. Justifiably so, I think it’s fair to say. And it’s possible that, given existential threats like global climate change, nuclear weaponry proliferation, pandemics, war, artificial scarcity, structural oppression and inequality embedded in society worldwide…”

He counts off on his fingers, the line between his eyebrows deepening as he builds momentum.

“And of course we have a twenty-four-hour news cycle inundating us all with that reality, and – entire genres of literature and film utilizing those apocalyptic themes… well, suffice it to say, the fear of a world without us might eventually reach a point where it could be considered on par with Smirke’s Fourteen.

“But Smirke’s taxonomy is also an oversimplification. The human experience is far too varied and complex to be split into neat categories. The animal experience, rather. It’s likely that the Fears have existed since before the advent of modern Homo sapiens, and if we consider the origins of the Flesh – it would be anthropocentric to assume that only the human mind is subject to them, and” – Jon shakes his head – “I'm veering off topic. Point is, the Fears bleed into one another. It’s why a Ritual for a single power was never going to work, why Jonah – Elias’ Ritual was predicated on bringing through all Fourteen at once. Or, case in point, perhaps Fifteen. The Extinction did have a domain of its own after the change, it was just… less sprawling than the others, and there were fewer instances of it. And no Avatars dedicated to it, as far as I could tell.”

Jon taps two fingers against his lips, leg bouncing restlessly as he ponders his next words.

“As for an Emergence, though… I really don’t think there is such a thing as a grand birthing event. The Extinction is already here, in a way. Many of the statements feature more than one Fear at a time, precisely because the boundaries between them are so indistinct. Some of the statements that Adelard Dekker collected – I do think that they contain genuine examples of the Extinction as a coherent Fear of its own, just… mixed in with other Fears. I imagine the Extinction’s trajectory might be similar to that of the Flesh – arising as times change, as more and more minds collectively experience that flavor of fear.

“It might be a quick evolution – similar to how anthropogenic climate change has followed an exponential growth curve, aptly enough – but I don’t think that the Extinction is or – or will be somehow more formidable than the other Fourteen.” His speech turns rapid-fire as he bounces from one thought to the next. “It can’t exist independently of the other Fourteen any more than the others can, so a Ritual on its behalf would collapse under its own weight. If there is a grand extinction event – well, when, I suppose; nothing lasts forever, the End claims everything eventually, time continues its slow crawl towards the inevitable heat death of the universe, et cetera –”

Jon is counting off on his fingers again. Martin shakes his head fondly.

“But it won't occur because of an Extinction Ritual,” Jon goes on. “There was an apocalypse where I came from, and it had nothing to do with the Extinction. Just… a very human flavor of monstrosity: the pursuit of power and personal gain, even at the cost of unimaginable suffering for everyone else.” He gives a humorless laugh. “Fittingly enough, though, it all started from a place of fear – of mortality, of subjugation, of the unknown.” Jon’s expression falls, and his voice drops to a near whisper. “And – and my own fear led me to the eye of that storm, so to speak. All of it can be traced back to that foundational fear of the unknown, can't it? The roots just… branch outward from there.”

Jon’s already trembling hands twitch abruptly, as if snapping something in two. He doesn’t appear to notice the gesture, too lost in his own thoughts. Before Martin can voice his concern at the shift in demeanor, Jon shakes his head and forges onward. He reverts to his previous hyperfocused, almost academic manner, but an undercurrent of anxious energy lingers.

“Anyway, I actually suspect that, much like the End, the Extinction wouldn’t benefit from a Ritual even if one could work. It thrives on the potentiality of a mass extinction event, not the fulfillment of one. The Fears will cease to exist when there are no longer minds to fear them. Of course, it doesn’t have to be humans, or any creature currently living. If something does come after us, the Fears will likely survive and adapt, but otherwise –”

Jon finally makes eye contact with Martin for the first time in minutes and stops short.

“Oh,” he says, sounding mortified, “I’ve been… rambling, haven’t I.”

“I don’t mind,” Martin replies, unable to fight back a smile.

“W-well, anyway…” Jon rubs the back of his neck, looking thoroughly embarrassed. “I don’t believe that the Extinction is the world-ending threat that Peter claims, so if you were planning on continuing to work with him because of that…” He shrugs. “Also, his plan for you was never about the Extinction. Not really. He was – is – genuinely worried about the Extinction, but his plan to stop it is to have the Forsaken destroy the world first. But it hasn’t been long since his last Ritual failed; he knows it will be some time before he can try again. His immediate plan is all about one-upping Elias, taking control of the Panopticon, and accruing power in order to increase the chances of success for his next Ritual attempt.”

Jon exhales another humorless laugh, and his voice takes on an odd, breathless quality as he continues.

“Not all that different from Jonah Magnus, really. His allegiance to the Eye began when he realized that his peers would continue attempting their own Rituals. His solution was to destroy the world before they could. So afraid of his own mortality that he was willing to subjugate the entire human population for his own benefit.” Jon folds his arms again, tucking them against his middle and leaning forward, as if trying to make himself smaller. When he speaks again, there’s a noticeable waver in his voice. “Somewhere along the line, he went beyond justifying his actions – jumped right to taking pleasure in them.”

Jon’s sharp eyes go unfocused. The rise and fall of his chest quickens.

“I’m sorry,” Martin says gently. He doesn’t know what else he can say.

“For what?” Jon asks, coming back to himself after an overlong pause.

“Georgie told me what he did to you. I mean, she didn’t go into detail, but she mentioned that he possessed you and used you to –”

“It wasn’t possession,” Jon interrupts, a desperate edge to his tone. “Not in the conventional horror movie sense. It was the same compulsion that takes me when I start reading any statement, just – more intense. I couldn’t – couldn’t control my body, but he wasn’t actually in my head, it just – felt like it, like he’d crawled into my skin along with his words. Then again, I –” Jon laughs, gripping one wrist with his other hand, fingernails digging grooves into scarred skin. “I suppose I was possessed in a way, in the sense of being someone else’s possession. Have been for a long time – haven’t belonged to myself since the moment he chose me, still don’t –”

Jon’s gaze goes distant yet again, and Martin watches with burgeoning worry as his pupils dilate and constrict with the fluctuation of his voice.

“…he posited a future where – humanity was violently and utterly supplanted –”

“– marked me as a part of that, without my understanding. Or consent –”

“Jon?” Martin says, apprehensive.

“– keep me in the dark just so I wouldn’t stop being useful – made me complicit in a thousand different nightmares, and lives ruined for the sick joy of some otherworldly voyeur –”

“– any future I might have had, sacrificed to his –”

“Jon, what’s –?”

There’s a singsong tenor to his voice and an intensity to his eyes now, reminiscent of the look he gets when he records –

Oh, Martin realizes. Statements.

“– I swear I could still feel those – eyes follow me – a grin of victory playing upon his lips –”

“Jon,” Martin says again, more insistently, reaching out on impulse to place a hand on Jon’s knee.

Cognizance flares to life in Jon’s eyes and his hands fly up to cover his mouth. He seems to struggle with himself for a minute, stolen words muffled beneath the hands pressed tight to his lips. He makes a noise that sounds almost like choking, or sobbing; he looks at Martin with wide, watery eyes, then takes a deep breath in. A quiet whimper chases the air out on his exhale, and Martin’s own breath catches in his throat. He’s seen Jon scared, but he’s never heard him make a sound quite like that – not while bleeding out from a fresh stab wound, not with a gash in his neck, not fumbling to apply ointment to a burned and peeling hand, not even with worms burrowing through his flesh and a corkscrew tearing through the tunnels they left behind.

“You’re okay,” Martin says, willing it to be true.

“I don’t – I don’t want to talk about him anymore,” Jon says abruptly, sharply. He winces and shoots Martin an apologetic look. “Sorry, that was – I didn’t mean to sound cross, I just –” He flaps his hands, lips moving wordlessly.

“It’s okay, I understand.”

Jon nods, but his breaths are still coming fast and shallow. One hand seeks out Martin’s, still resting on his knee; he grips it tight, fingers slotting between Martin’s like they belong there. The direct skin-to-skin contact sends pins and needles radiating up Martin’s arm, but he fights the impulse to draw back.

“We can talk about something else,” Martin says, forcing calm into his voice.

Jon inclines his head again, gulping down air. Even as his breathing begins to even out, the shivers coursing through him only grow more violent, the tremor in his hands becoming more and more pronounced.

“You need to eat something,” Martin says.

“N-no, I –”

“Yes, you do –”

“No!” The exclamation cracks like a whip and ricochets off the walls, echoing down the tunnel. Jon’s face crumples and he shrinks in on himself again. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to shout, I –”

“It’s fine –”

“It’s not.”

“We can argue about it when you’re not literally starving. I’ll go fetch a statement, and –”

“It won’t help.”

“What do you mean?”

Jon brings his free hand to his mouth and bites down on his knuckles.

“Jon?” Martin says again, more sternly. “What did you mean?”

“I’m – not just the Archivist, Martin, I’m the Archive. All of the statements stored upstairs, I already have them, every single one of them catalogued in my head, and – re-experiencing them takes the edge off while I’m reading, but as soon as the recording stops, the hunger comes back even stronger, and I want…” Jon gives him a pained look. “Did Georgie tell you about…?”

“She mentioned something about you putting yourself under house arrest because you’re afraid of hurting people.”

“It’s necessary,” Jon says, almost defensively.

“What will happen if you don’t take in new statements?” Jon says nothing, and Martin sighs. “Jon.”

“I don’t know.”

“Will you starve?”

“I don’t know.”

“Please don’t lie to me.”

“I don’t know,” Jon says, pulling his hand away from Martin’s and rubbing his eyes furiously. “It feels like starving, but I don’t know if it will actually kill me. But I don’t want to hurt people just to keep myself from hurting. I don’t want to be like –” He cuts himself off with a sharp intake of breath. “I’ve caused untold suffering as it is. I don’t want to hurt anyone else.”

“There was a woman giving a statement upstairs earlier –”

“I’m not taking her statement.” Jon’s reply is automatic, almost like a practiced line. It sounds as if he’s trying to convince himself more than Martin.

“I wasn’t suggesting –”

“Her name is Tricia Mallory,” Jon interjects. “It’s her birthday next week; she’ll be twenty-eight. She has two cats, and a parakeet, and a girlfriend named Shona, who has an engagement ring hidden in the bottom left drawer of her desk –”

“Why are you –”

“Because I’m so far removed from humanity at this point that I need to actively, continuously persuade myself not to see other people as cuts of meat.” Martin would have preferred snappish to the resigned, matter-of-fact, tired tone in which Jon gives that confession. “Her name is Tricia Mallory,” he recites again, in that same rehearsed manner. “She lost her voice in a minotaur’s labyrinth. She’s finding it again, slowly, but it will never be the same. Her nightmares are horrific enough without adding another monster to the mix. I’m not taking her statement.”

“What about just reading her written statement?” Martin asks. Jon blinks, slow and catlike, and Martin can see the uncanny glint of hunger in his eyes. “Have you already heard her story?”

“No,” Jon says after a sluggish pause. “I don’t think her statement ever made it down to the Archives the last time. And the knowledge of its content didn’t consciously come to me after the change. There were – so many other statements in progress by then. So much to See.”

“So it would be something new for you.” Jon is silent, staring off into the middle distance, unblinking, glassy eyes riveted on something only he can see. “Would that be enough to hold you over for now? It – it won’t be live and in person, but at least it won’t be… I don’t know, stale?”

“I…” Jon’s pupils dilate. Constrict. Dilate.

“She’s probably left by now,” Martin continues insistently. “I can go track down the statement and bring it back here.” Jon looks as if he’s warring with himself. “Please, Jon. It’s just a reading. You won’t hurt anyone.”

Blood wells up on Jon’s lip where he’s been biting it. Eventually, he gives a tiny nod, his shoulders going limp as if in defeat. Jon needs to eat, but Martin wishes it didn’t feel so much like pressuring someone to break sobriety.

“Okay,” Martin says, fighting back the surge of guilt, “I’ll be back as soon as I can. Please don’t go anywhere, alright?”

“Alright,” Jon replies in a nearly inaudible whisper.

Martin tosses a glance over his shoulder as he leaves. Jon is eerily still again but for the persistent shaking. He looks small, and haunted, and lost; fragile, precarious, with a posture that brings to mind something broken and taped back together in slapdash fashion.

First things first, Martin tells himself, and tries to focus on the task at hand.

Once the trapdoor closes behind Martin, Jon buries his face in his hands.

That wasn’t how he wanted this conversation to go. Just judging from his demeanor, Martin has shaken off the Lonely more than Jon had expected, but still, Jon should be the one comforting him. It took the Martin of the future ages to acclimate to the idea that he deserved to be cared for, too; to unlearn the reflex to reverse any attempt Jon made to take care of him for once. Right now, Martin needs to be shown that care, and yet Jon can’t manage to redirect his one-track mind away from his hunger for more than five minutes at a time. Selfish, selfish, selfish –

The slow creak of a door cuts through the silence, and Jon’s blood runs cold when Helen’s playful lilt rings out behind him.

“Archivist,” she says with unrestrained glee. “Long time no see.”

Jon had been dreading the Distortion’s inevitable reappearance. He should have known that she would make her entrance when he’s at his most vulnerable. Like a shark to blood, he thinks to himself, swallowing around the lump in his throat.

“Brooding, are we?”

“Hi, Helen,” he manages, struggling to stay impassive.

It doesn’t matter; he jumps anyway, when several long fingers – too many angles; too many joints – curl around his shoulder. As if her touch was an unpaid toll, she removes her hand once he provides payment in the form of that momentary burst of alarm. Her headache-inducing laugh is made all the worse by the acoustics of the tunnel.

“Now, then” – Jon doesn’t look around at her, but he can practically hear her lips curl in a grin – “pleasantries aside, I believe we’re due for a chat.”

End Notes:

Citations for Jon’s Archive-speak: MAG 010; 134/111; 154/144; 098. And Arthur Nolan’s statement is from MAG 145.

I’m hoping Jon’s ramble wasn’t Too Much lmao,,, it is admittedly part self-indulgence (read: shameless projection) on my part, but also: ADHD is just Like That sometimes. I’m still navigating how to strike a balance between having something like that flow well and be, well, readable from an audience perspective, while also trying to capture the reality of how an ADHD ramble often does lack coherence from an external POV, because so much of the associative reasoning never gets verbalized (Thought Train Goes Brrr from Point A to Point Q and Does Not Show Its Work). All this is to say: I know that whole section is meta-heavy NOW THAT’S WHAT I CALL TANGENTS. I don’t know if I achieved what I was aiming for, but it was fun practice. Hopefully the end result wasn’t too disjointed or too much of a slog. (I actually edited a lot out, believe it or not, lol.)

Also, in Jon's defense, he Really Needs A Snickers. And he hasn't been able to SPEAK FOR HIMSELF for months. He deserves a little infodumping, as a treat.

Thanks for sticking with me through the slower update schedule. We're back to full shifts at work now, so chapters are taking me longer to write. And apparently I've just decided all the chapters are gonna be 10k+ words now, whoops.

#tma #the magnus archives #tma fic

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antisociallilbrat · 5 years ago

Text

Defending Miles 3/5

Read on Ao3

Part 2

Part 4

Warnings: heavy use of the F-slur, descriptions of a mental break down, and internalized homophobia

A/N: This a real whump

“What the fuck man?!”

Shit oh shit oh shit oh shit

Jacob still has his fist raised in the air, right where it made an impact on Miles’s face. He can’t believe he just did that, what the fuck is wrong with him? Who punches their soulmate in the face? It’s not Miles’s fault that he’s boy, not his fault that Jacob’s a faggot. He feels like shit and already regrets it. His throat is closing up and he’s already sweating, fuck.

Miles is leaning against the counter, holding his already bruised face, muttering incoherent curse words under his breath. God, looking at him makes him feel even worse. There’s no way Miles is gonna love him now. Wait, love? Jacob feels like he’s going to be sick.

Miles looks up at Jacob, his face has an indescribable expression on it, but he can make out a look of hurt underneath the curly haired boy’s eyes. They both know Miles isn’t hurting from the physical pain, but the emotional one of his soulmate socking him in the face. His trance breaks and Jacob runs into the stall to throw up, sputtering out stomach bile and his breakfast into the toilet.

The words “fuck up” and “faggot” are ringing through his head and he can’t get his brain to be quiet, he’s already crying. Why is he like this? Suddenly a presence joins him in the stall, Miles crouching down to rub circles into his back. He’s too overwhelmed to fight him off but can’t help but flinch under his touch, which he knows Miles is choosing to ignore.

“Get it out, come on. It’s okay. Try to breathe for me.”

It’s most certainly not okay, as Jacob is literally sobbing into a dirty toilet seat on just his second day of school. “Le-leave me alone,” he tries to croak out between dry heaves. At this point there’s nothing coming out but drool and he doesn’t have the emotional capacity in this moment to feel embarrassed. A part of him really wishes he didn’t even have a soulmate, he can’t handle this emotional toll of being a faggot.

“You punch me in the face and you’re the one who tells me to leave you alone? That’s some shitty way to meet your soulmate man,” Miles says jokingly, it’s obvious he’s trying to make light of their predicament.

Jacob’s heart just clenches and he lets out another pathetic sob. Miles’s hand tenses on his back and for a moment he thinks he’s about to pull him in for a hug. He doesn’t know if that’ll make the situation better or worse.

“You didn’t eat today,” there’s a brief pause, “that’s bad with your medication. That shit will make you feel like actual shit if you don’t eat properly with it.”

He wants to ask how Miles even knows he’s on meds, but he knows it has something to do with their stupid soulmate connection. Just like how he doesn’t even have to ask but he knows Miles enjoying horseback riding and cold rooms. It’s like random tidbits of information of his soulmate is just downloaded into his brain. Though he’s starting to suspect that maybe he knew things like this all along, even before he met Miles. He knows for a fact that Miles knows about the trial, but that is literally the least of his worries right now.

As a response, Jacob just kinda groans. He didn’t eat lunch and he has yet to stock up on food in his room, there’s nothing he can do now. At least his dry heaving has stopped but he’s still crying. He reaches over to grab some toilet paper, to wipe his mouth and blow his nose. He feels so pathetic.

“Come on. I keep food stashed in my room. You can find something to eat there.” Miles stands and starts to pull Jacob to his feet, and he just lets him. He’s too weak to put up much of a fight right now, dulling noting that Miles towers at least four inches over him.

He finds he’s actually thankful when Miles pulls his arm around his shoulder to support most of his weight. His legs are shaky and he doesn’t know if he’d be able to stand without his help. He ignores how now he can feel the supernatural warmth radiating between them.

“What about class?” he asks, his voice still hoarse, finally getting some control over his crying. He missed his last class yesterday because of Miles and it looks like he’s about to miss them again over the boy. He weakly thinks about how his dad won’t be happy.

Miles laughs and Jacob hates how much he likes the sound, “The teachers don’t give a fuck about us. As long as we’re not ruining their coffee highs they don’t even pay attention to us. They’ll probably even mark you as here.”

That's enough to quell any arguments on the tip of his tongue and he lets Miles guide him back to his dorm.

In no time they make it to his dorm, not having to fight a crowd of kids since lunch is still going on. He’s thankful for small miracles that they didn’t encounter anyone, he knows he looks like shit.

Miles’s dorm is a floor below his own and he unlocks it, pulling Jacob in with him. He sets Jacob down on his bed, and stands back and stares at him. There’s a furrow in his eyebrows and Jacob feels like he wants to shrink up under his intense stare.

“You got vomit on your uniform.” It’s a statement, not a question. He’s learning that Miles talks a lot like that. Stating simple truths.

This simple truth causes him to look down at himself for the first time since the bathroom and his nose scrunches in disgust. He’s right. There’s a mixture of bile and snot on his shirt and tie and he looks as gross as he feels. A truly filthy faggot.

“Sorry, I didn’t realize.” What else is he supposed to say?

Miles just shrugs and doesn’t seem bothered at all by the dirty state Jacob is in. He turns and heads to his closest, appearing to dig for something.

Jacob’s eyes stray from him and to look around him. He always tends to want to take his new surroundings in quickly. Miles’s dorm setup is a lot like his own. Three doors, one leading out, one to a bathroom, and one to the closet. A desk, bed, dresser, and a tv set pretty much in the same places as the ones in his room. There's a bookshelf overflowing and he can’t make out the authors. The room seems to be dosed in the color black unlike his dorm, black bedspread and dark posters on the wall. There’s guitar in the corner and Jacob finds himself inexplicably yearning to hear Miles’s play.

His attention back on the dresser, he actually stands and wobbles over to get a better look, starting to feel a little more calm. There’s a huge terrarium and he can’t tell what's in it, though he knows it’s a tarantula. There’s also a framed photo, the only framed photo in the room, of Miles and a young girl who shares his same mischievous glint in the eyes.

“I see you’ve met Aranea.” Miles is beside him now, looking at the terrarium, “She’s sleeping right now or I’d get her out.”

“Is that the spider you always draw?” The question comes tumbling out his mouth before he can stop it.

Miles is staring at him intensely now, a look of smitteness, “Yeah that’s her. She’s the second most important girl in my life,” He’s nodding towards the girl in the photo now, “right behind Fl-”

“Flora.”

He already knows that, just like he knows the two are closer than most siblings are. Miles is smiling at him now, and the violent words of “faggot” swirling around his head are momentarily turned down. Almost.

“Soulmate bond thing is fucking weird right?”

“Yeah you can say that.” That causes Miles to let out a laugh and for a moment Jacob lets himself be proud of being the one who caused it. He notices that Miles is holding a big black hoodie in one of his hands.

He notices Jacob’s gaze on the object in question and holds it out to him, “It’s for you to wear if you want. Unless you like wearing a school uniform with vomit splatters on it, who am I to judge?”

Not being someone who enjoys that type of thing, he takes the hoodie from him, and looks at him expectantly. He’s not changing in front him, his face is already heating up just at the thought.

Miles finally takes the hint and turns around, not before complaining, “Really? Come on. Oh, fine whatever.”

He takes his tie and button up shirt off, leaving him in just his white undershirt. He decides to take that off too since he’d sweat through it in the bathroom. The hoodie is all black with a white font on the front saying, “Silence,” in bulky letters. Pulling it on, it completely smothers him and it’s kind of embarrassing how much he likes the smell. Weed and undertones of a musky cologne, just like how Miles’s smells. He really is a faggot and he feels tears momentarily threatening to break over again.

Instead he just says, “Okay you can look now.”

Miles turns around and with one look at Jacob he’s smiling his too big smile again. “It completely covers you, it’s cute.”

His face is heating up and he doesn't look Miles in the eye anymore. The first pulses of a headache vibrate in his head, no doubt a symptom from not eating and how emotional he got earlier. Would his mom believe him if he said he’s had two breakdowns in two days? Or is that too human of him for her to accept?

Seeming to remember the exact reason he brought Jacob here, Miles walks over to his desk and pulls out a bag of potato chips and Nutter Butters. “Here, it’s junk food but it’ll be better than nothing on your stomach. And you need to drink water too.” He goes to the minifridge to pull out two cold water bottles.

Miles sits on his bed and looks up at him when he’s made no move to join him, still standing awkwardly by the dresser. “You gonna just stand there or what? Come eat, Jacob.”

He hesitatingly makes his way to the bed, sitting as far as he can from Miles, grabbing a Nutter Butter. The sugar tastes good and hopefully it’ll help fight his growing headache.

“Those are your favorite right?”

Jacob merely shakes his head, he really doesn’t feel like small talk right now. Small talk will lead to them talking about the fact that they’re soulmates and ‘destined to be together’ and that’s a conversation he doesn’t feel like he’s in the right headspace for.

“It’s amusing. I don’t like them but the nanny sent me some in my last care package from home. I was gonna throw them out but something told me to think better of it.”

God, please don’t bring up the soulmate thing, is the only Jacob can think right now.

That must show on Jacob’s face because the next thing Miles says is, “Look man, I don’t understand your issue, and I’m not going to pretend to. All I know is that I met my soulmate and you fucking punched me in the face. We need to talk about this eventually because we can always go get unlinked.” He’s staring at Jacob, trying to read him, “But we don’t have to talk about it right now. But we will, you can’t avoid it.” There’s evident irritation in his voice.

Unlinked.

He was so caught up in the idea of him being his worst fear, a faggot, that he completely forgot about that. Being unlinked from your soulmate is so taboo and it hardly happens, most soulmates are truly perfect for each other. But in cases where a soulmate is abusive or a criminal or just because the universe fucked and made two people who should be soulmates, soulmates, you can get unlinked. It’s a difficult medical process that requires pills and can take a year to fully work, but once done you feel no romantic or sexual desire towards your soulmate. The downside is you don’t feel that towards anyone so people who get unlinked tend to live a lonely life. Would Jacob rather be lonely then be gay? He’s not sure.

“Okay. We will talk about it. Eventually.”

Miles perks up a little bit, “Cool.”

An awkward silence starts to feel the room and he thinks he can hear his own heart beating. The need to break the silence gets to Jacob first, “I have a therapist appointment after classes, I should go and head back to my dorm. My dad will be upset if I miss it again.”

“Because you locked yourself in your dorm yesterday. That’s why you missed it.” Jacob winces. “Yeah, you don’t want to miss it again.” He’s silent for a moment, “Do you want to come over after class tomorrow to play COD? I have it here and I know you missed hanging out with everyone because of me yesterday.” He sounds almost apologetic and Jacob hates it.

That leads him to what he says next, “Okay, that sounds good. I’d like that.” If Miles is his soulmate, he’s gotta get used to the guy.

Jacob gets off the bed and grabs his dirty top half of his school uniform, going to take off Miles’s hoodie.

“Don’t. Leave it on, I’ll get it back tomorrow.” He stops him.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, and like I said, you look cute in it.”

He’s blushing so he looks down at his feet.

“Hey by the way, Freddy and Richie know about us. They’re not gonna say anything, I’ve dealt with it. Just didn’t want you to be blindsided.”

Fucking great. He wants to ask how they know and he also wants to freak out over them knowing he’s a dirty fag. There’s no time really for either of those things so he puts it in the ‘deal with later’ file. “Thanks for letting me know.”

Going to the door his hand hesitates on the doorknob and looks back at Miles. He’s laid out on the bed now and he himself looks exhausted. And sad. Miles doesn’t see Jacob looking at him, he’s staring up at the ceiling, and he looks so fucking sad. Tears are stinging at the corner of Jacob’s eyes.

“I’m sorry.” He barely registers he’s said it and Miles looks at him confused.

Jacob bolts from the room before he has a chance to say anything.

A/N: I’m starting a tag list! If you wanna be tagged for my writing, just message or drop it in my inbox. Let me know what ships you wanna be tagged for !

#Defending Jacob #jacob barber #miles fairchild #The Turning #jacob barber x miles fairchild #miles fairchild x jacob barber

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chezgender · 5 years ago

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Permission

Hello everyone!

This fic is inspired by Angst prompt 5 of this post: “My heart tells me to kiss you, my head tells me to walk away.” The amazing @saint-of-los-angeles helped me with it and if you haven’t, go check her works because she’s amazing!

Pairing: Nikki x Tommy, Terrorcest Warnings: mention of drugs and lots of angst

Summary: It’s Tommy’s wedding and Nikki has to cope with the idea of losing the love of his life.

Tommy's wedding was, indeed, supposed to be a day of celebration.

But what's the point of celebrating the loss of the person you love the most in the world?

All dressed in white, Tommy Lee looked like the most beautiful creature Sixx had ever seen, an angel sent straight from heaven just for Nikki. Nikki knew every single inch of the skin underneath those clothes, the tattoos he loved to trace, the taste of the salt on Tommy's body. He knew the shades of Tommy's voice, the way they changed when he smiled, or when he cried.

Despite all of this, Nikki was there, in a stupid black and white tux that he hated, looking at his life-long love marrying another person.

It was no wonder he had injected all the shit that he could into his veins. He was outright wasted, devastated for a lack of a better term, and it was such a miserable scene.

He couldn't even fake happiness for Tommy, even though he should have.

Luckily the ceremony was over, everyone out there was having the time of their life, especially Tommy and Heather, flashing smiles like never before.

Nikki, instead, was sitting on the cold tiles the bathroom in the huge, painfully clean bathroom. The bassist felt like nothing more than a spot of dirt in there, he felt out of place in every sense of the word. He had barely managed to take a breath before another violent shiver hit him to the core, and he gagged again, his hand desperately gripping the toilet seat. He felt like shit, he knew he had done entirely too much, but no matter how hard he tried, the bassist could think of no other way of making it through that dreadful ceremony.

He could barely hear the knocking at the door through the ringing in his ears, and just let out a weak grunt, hoping the person would take the hint and go away. He grunted louder at the sound of a jiggling door handle as someone tried to open the door, and said a silent prayer of thanks that he at least had enough sense to lock the door.

Soon enough he was alone again, and focused on the goal of feeling at least slightly better than he currently was, pleading silently with his stomach to just stop lurching.

His pleas fell on dead ears, of course, as his body kept violently rejecting the goddamn drugs that were supposed to make him feel better, to help him get through this day. This was hell.

His skin was on fire, he felt himself sweating despite the constant chills and shivers that were making him shake like a leaf, and his throat was burning and raw.

"Nikki? Nikki, are you in there? Open the goddamn door!" a desperate, shaking voice cried out from the other side of the door, a voice Nikki would know anywhere.

There was Tommy, on the other side of the wooden barrier, with his forehead leaning on the door and wet eyes hidden by his long curls. His shaking hand held the handle in a life-like grip, he would've broken it if he had to. Luckily there was no one around, he had left the party with a poor excuse since Nikki was nowhere to be seen, and Tommy always worried about the bassist.

In the end Sixx opened the door, barely able to stand on his feet, looking dejected and broken, but somehow still beautiful despite the messed up hair, black eyeliner tracks down his cheeks, and the smell of vomit lingering in the air. He would always be beautiful to Tommy.

Tommy hugged him, trying to ignore the feeling of his bones through the clothes. He had lost so much weight since heroin became part of his daily routine. "Nikki... thank fucking god you're alive." He whispered, and felt the bassist shake in his arms. He closed the door and let Nikki sit again, only to follow him.

"How are you feeling?"

"I love you, you know that right?" Nikki whispered, and Tommy noticed he was barely holding back more fucking tears. "I want to be happy for you, you found love, you found all you were looking for with her…" Tommy remained silent, looking at the ground, unable to say anything. He knew what Nikki was going to say. "So yeah, I'm good really. I might have just.. overdone it with the junk, you know?"

"I'm glad you're here. I know it's hard for you."

"I'm fine, Tommy. Go out there, be with her, you deserve your happiness." Nikki smiled, the best he could. He meant it, in a way. He really wanted Tommy to be happy, even if it meant to lose him. He needed to adapt, adjust. Losing people had been a constant in his life, he was used to it, but somehow this stung more than the rest.

“My heart tells me to kiss you, my head tells me to walk away.” Tommy said in a hushed tone, his heart was as torn as Nikki's. "What the fuck am I supposed to do now?" He continued, and right there Nikki heard the crack in his voice. He lifted his eyes to find Tommy's full of tears, and Nikki's heart broke even more.

"Please, walk away. That's the best for both of us, I can't fuck up your life like I'm doing with mine." The bassist answered, those words hurt so much while being spoken, Nikki could barely hear himself. He whispered them, careful, careful not to say anything that could convince Tommy to kiss him, to cheat on his wife, to give a stupid glimpse of hope to himself when he was trying desperately to accept reality.

"I don't wanna ruin you. I would never forgive myself, Tommy..."

"But-" Tommy tried to say something, anything, but Nikki interrupted him: "Go, for real. They are waiting for you out there."

The drummer nodded, even if leaving Sixx there, in those conditions, hurt him like a knife straight to the heart.

"Let me at least walk you to the limousine, so you can go home. Rest, try to sleep and please take care." He proposed, helping Nikki to get up. He was still very weak, possibly even weaker than before, if that was possible. He washed his face with cold water and sipped a bit of it, it tasted amazing and felt so refreshing for his sore throat. He felt his heart seize up when he felt Tommy's warm hand resting on the small of his back, steadying the bassist and grounding him to Earth.

Tommy walked him to the car, dealing with the other guests so Nikki could stay quiet and just smile. He left him in the limo and said goodbye with wet eyes, said he was going to call him later.

Nikki knew Tommy wasn't going to call, he would be much too busy with his new bride and maybe that is for the best, anyway

He asked the driver to bring him home and, on the ride, he did what he knew he shouldn't and called Jason. He asked for more drugs, more substances to help him just forget, and Jason didn't disappoint. When Sixx walked through the garden of Van Nuys, his dealer was already there with the substances requested and waiting for the money.

He shot up again, indeed, because he felt he had no other choice. He needed to forget everything he had said to Tommy, because he regretted every single moment of that conversation.

*****

The drummer had to wait until the party was over and he and Heather were home. He called Nikki once, then twice, but nobody answered. Worry grew and rose in his chest, he was filled with bad thoughts and worst case scenarios.

Scenarios that involved the love of his life, dead alone on the floor with a needle in his arm.

"Babe, I'm really sorry but I need to go. It won't take long, I promise." He said, hurriedly grabbing his jacket and the keys to his Harley.

The blonde woman looked at him and raised her eyebrow: "Where are you going, to check up on your junkie friend? He can't do anything without you, right?" She sneered, crossing her arms and looking really annoyed.

Tommy walked closer to her, so he could kiss the tip of her nose. Like he always did with Nikki when he was angry for some stupid reason, and he couldn't help but think this felt so wrong with her, but he had to get out of there. "Honey, don't get mad. He needs me, I wanna be there for him. He's my best friend."

"Well then, you might stay at his place for the night then, since you seem to owe him some kind of help." She growled as she threw her nightgown on in a huff. "Why didn't you marry him, instead?"

Tommy snapped and took a couple of steps back, to avoid losing control of his actions. His fingers were twitching and he couldn't help but think: if I could have, I would have.

"Don't say shit like that ever again. Mind your own fucking business, and stay out of my relationship with Nikki." He spat through gritted teeth, pointing at her with shaking hands. She wasn't intimidated though, just angry, and she rolled her eyes at his obvious distress.

"Yeah sure, go. Go and take care of him. I'll see you tomorrow, maybe. Or maybe not, I might as well pack my shit and leave!"

"I told you it's just for tonight, he was really sick today."

"Whatever. Now get out." And Tommy did as he was told, running out and jumping on his motorcycle, and speeding his way to Van Nuys. He knew the road by heart then, since he had done it so many times, and luckily it didn't take long.

He had a copy of the keys, of course he did, so he basically ran through the garden and then entered the house. No sound was to be heard except the soft music on MTV, Nikki was probably on the first floor. Of course the place was completely messed up, and he wasn't surprised.

"Nikki? Are you here?" He called, and then clarified: "It's me, Tommy,'' knowing Nikki's mind spiraled downwards in paranoia, when he was high. He reached the bassist's bedroom and found Nikki sleeping on the bed. He was still fully dressed, and there was the wound of a very recent fix on his left hand.

At least he was alive, that was all that mattered. Everything else could wait. Tommy laid down next to him, ignoring the not so nice smell in the air, and listened to Nikki's deep breath like a sort of mantra. He was alive. He was alive.

He watched Sixx 's face and breathing for signs of distress the whole night, until the bassist woke up by himself around 4am.

"Tommy? Is that you or, am I hallucinating?"

The drummer shifted and went closer to Nikki's body: "It's Tommy. How are you?"

"Sleepy. What the fuck are you doing here?"

"I came to see if you were okay."

"And what about her?" Nikki enquired, scratching his forehead and then looking for a bottle of water on the drawer. He took a long sip, still looking at Tommy with half closed eyes.

"She's home, pretty mad, but I don't care."

"The fuck, Tommy, you should be there with her." The bassist put a hand to his forehead, his voice sounded tired and most of all, worried. "You shouldn't be here."

"I want to be here, that's the fucking point." Tommy said, and cupped Nikki’s face. The black haired man looked at him, tiredly. Why did Tommy have to do that to him? Hadn’t he endured enough pain yet? He was trying to get used to the idea of living without the love of his life, because Tommy himself said so, because he said they had to cut their relationship short, for their own good. And yet Tommy was there, taking care of him and ignoring all the things he said, all the things he promised. Tommy was there, and Nikki found it so hard to resist, to say no, because he didn't fucking want to.

“Don’t ruin shit, dude.” Nikki growled then, getting up and taking the chance to change his clothes into something more comfortable. He could feel Tommy's sad eyes watching him during the whole process, without saying anything. "You fucking married her. You wanted this."

"I know... but-"

The black haired man looked at him, dead in the eye: "But what, you still love me or something?"

"...There's no way I could ever stop loving you."

"Then you shouldn't have married her." he said back, barely able to swallow the pain those words caused him. He needed to try to lie, to convince Tommy that this was the right decision. Giving up on Tommy, trying to put some distance between them, to save Tommy's marriage. He really wanted Tommy to be happy.

"You have no right to do this to her, and to me, because you know too damn well I can't fucking live like this."

The drummer sat on the edge of the bed and took Nikki's hands, they were kinda cold, but those long and rough fingers felt so familiar when they intertwined with his. "We always kept our relationship secret. What's different now?"

"Tommy, you chose her. You promised to stay next to her no matter what. You shouldn't cheat on her, and moreover, not with me. The difference is in the choice you made." Nikki’s voice was indeed petty strangled at that point, he couldn’t hold back the salty tears. Tommy pulled him closer and hugged his waist, leaning his head on his belly. They both sighed, while the bassist stroked the younger’s hair.

“I still love you anyway. I think that’s pretty clear, right?” Nikki whispered, and Tommy nodded silently as Nikki sat next to him. Shoulder to shoulder, they were looking at the floor with sad eyes. Everything was chaotic in that room: the bed was unmade, clothes and any kind of personal belongings were scattered all over the carpet, the smell of smoke and alcohol mixed with hairspray, the sound of cars passing by. Nikki’s mind drifted off: he couldn’t stay concentrated for too long. He was tired, and there still was the aftermath of drugs, hazing his mind.

Tommy’s voice brought him back to the harsh reality of things: “Can I kiss you one last time?” he asked, and Sixx couldn’t say no to that. Just one last kiss, he told himself, won’t kill anyone, right?

They were familiar with each other, yet, that kiss seemed full of brand new sensations. First the drummer caressed his cheek and then held up his chin, looking into those green eyes he was so hopelessly in love with. Their lips touched ever so softly, just a chaste contact, before Nikki would deepen the kiss by licking the other's lips. Tommy of course followed him, and kissed him in a desperate dance of feelings, almost crying, almost moaning his name so low it couldn't be heard.

"I love you, I love you so much…" the drummer whispered, stroking Nikki's tangled hair and kissing his jaw and neck, breathing hot against his skin, trying to savor every moment, every single sensation. Nikki bit his lip before lowering his head to kiss Tommy's hair.

"I love you too, Tommy. More than anything." he quietly murmured back, words they had chanted so many times. Sometimes between laughs, sometimes during sex, sometimes while fighting, but never like this. Tommy was crying: Nikki felt it by the way his back would slightly jolt and his breath kept on stopping. He couldn't do anything about it.

"Stay here tonight, okay? You’ll go home in the morning, I don’t want you driving like this.” Nikki proposed as he laid on the bed, pulling Tommy with him. The drummer remained silent for a while, until he stopped crying, and then nodded: "Okay."

So they fell asleep together, just by basking in the familiar sound of each other’s breath, so reassuring, and soaking in the comforting heat of their skin, tucked in the sheets together, as they were always meant to be.

But both of them knew that the daylight would come much, much too soon.

#terrorcest #nikki sixx x tommy lee #tommy lee x nikki sixx #tommy/nikki #motley crue fanfiction #motley crue

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voodoogryffindor · 4 years ago

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Wednesdays were her favorite.

The reveille rang loud for devotion. Definitive loud strikes of an iron rod on the rim of a car tyre by 5:30 every morning. The Christians amongst the girls had to fly out of bed and run out to the devotion ground for prayers. The matron, Mrs. Ajayi never missed the ringing of the reveille even by a minute and five minutes later, she would go around the dorm rooms waking with her switch those the reveille could not.

Ajoke was never a heavy sleeper. Most times, she woke up before the reveille sounded. She would say she was just wired that way but once or twice she had been awakened by the matron's switch.

Today, she was awake before the reveille sounded. She had had a nightmare. A hooded figure had tried to grab her. When it was time for devotion, she went out with the other light sleepers in her room to the devotion ground and sat on one of the pavements on the side of the ground before Mrs. Ajayi would come around with her switch. Her yawn was loud. She had not slept enough. Today was a Wednesday and she couldn't possibly go for Physical Education class feeling tired. She needed a cool bath.

Worship songs were led by two girls from SS2. Ajoke thought their singing was beautiful. Why not? They were both in the school choir. She sang along. Worship songs were the best thing about being a Christian in her opinion. She needed to pee. Her bladder was burning, but she could not bear to leave the singing behind.

The bathroom was dark and eerily quiet. The sound of her urine hitting the floor was like that of a broken tap. Ajoke kept looking downwards, her eyes following the trail of her urine flowing into the hole of the latrine. This kept the dream off her mind for a while. Strangely, she felt like eyes were focused on her neck. She looked up quickly. She saw the hem of a cloak float past the open door of the bathroom. She got up quickly to see whatever it was, but she saw nothing.

Back at the devotion ground, Ajoke was able to catch up with the last of the worship songs. Mrs. Ajayi then climbed the podium to pray. After the prayer, the reveille was struck again to signal that the few Muslim girls and those of other religions who would be through with their morning prayers, could join the others for announcements. All the girls would stand to face her to listen.

Mrs. Ajayi's announcement started with the usual "Girls of Imole Ayo Girls School, welcome to a new day. I hope you have all slept well? Today..."

The matron's voice became mute to Ajoke's ears. She had slapped a mosquito sucking blood from her calf and as she rose back up, she felt the urge to turn and look behind her. In the darkness, Ajoke saw a figure with a cloak that reached down to the ankles and a hood over its head, going into her dorm room. It looked very much like a human being, but she could not be sure.

Ajoke squeezed her way through the gathering and headed to her dorm room. "What could that be?" she said out loud to herself. "Is it the same thing I saw in the toilet?"

She entered the room, the pounding of her scared heart audibly echoing in it. Or was it just to her ears? The hooded figure was gone. Nowhere to be found.

She made the sign of the cross and began to pray. "Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil. For thou art with me, Thy rod and Thy staff, they comfort me..." As she turned to go back to the gathering of the girls, she heard her name. She turned sharply like a springbuck taking a bend to escape a cheetah hunting it. No one was there but she could swear she had heard her name. It was like whoever or whatever had called her name had put it on a zephyr and pushed it past her ear.

"Ajoke". She heard her name again. This time around, it was louder than the first and she could swear the voice came from her corner of the room. She walked quickly towards her bed and saw a person seated on her bed. The cloak on the person seemed like it was floating and the hood was floating too but it covered the person's face completely.

"Excuse me please", She said with uncertainty in her voice. The figure turned to face her but there was no face under the hood. Where there was supposed to be a face, there was an empty pitch black space like a moonless midnight sky. It did not talk, it did not move anymore, the hooded cloak on it kept rippling on it's human shaped body like it had its own wind around it. From beneath the hood shone two bright lights the size of human eyeballs, in the place where eyes should have been.

Her roommates returned to the room noisily. Startled by their chatter, Ajoke turned to see her classmates come in. When she turned back to face her bed, the figure was gone. Where had it gone to? What was it? Had anyone else seen it? Why did it vanish when others came into the room?

* * * *

Ajoke wore her sport wear shirt while gyrating her hips and singing along to Angelique Kidjo's "Agolo" with her roommates on top of her voice. Her red and silver sport wear complemented her espresso brown skin perfectly. Her head was clear. Music was her best medicine.

She was always the last to leave the room. She was the room head and had the key in her possession so she had to leave last in order to lock the door.

At 7:25, she was the only remaining person in the room. Ajoke sat on one of the beds in the center of the room to tie the lace of her sneakers. As she bent to stretch her fingers to the laces, from thin air appeared ten mangled skeleton fingers which grabbed them before she could. She was jolted by the sudden appearance and when she looked up, it was the figure again.

"Let me help you with this" it said in a most terrible voice. It tied the laces into a knot and two loops, exactly the way Ajoke tied her laces into bows. She could not place its voice. It sounded like a man or a woman, more like both and then neither at once. It was terrifying.

Ajoke drew back with a loud exhale. The thing she had seen in her dream, the thing in the bathroom, the thing on her bed, there it was right in front of her.

She stood up and the figure straightened up from its bent position. It looked a little over seven feet tall and the cloak and hood it wore rippled around it gently. Its feet were not touching the floor, they were floating three inches above it and when Ajoke looked closely, she saw mangled skeleton feet where flesh was supposed to be. It still had the pitch black space under the hood and two bright dots she assumed were its eyes.

It hovered in front of her like an helicopter performing a drop off of soldiers. She tried to speak but the words seized in her chest, held up by invisible hands. Her mind was swirling and working as fast as it could to try to understand what was going on. "What is this thing? Why have I been seeing it?" she asked in her mind, which seemed like the only place at the moment where her voice could function. Her throat was dry and itchy and no matter how much she tried, no sound came forth from it.

"I get that most times" said the figure to her. Her face looked even more bewildered to hear the unplaceable voice once again. "Yes that look on your face, I always get that wherever I go. I guess the Creator made me like this to highlight the situation of my appearance". Ajoke's mystified face deepened and her eyes began to water from the effort to force her throat to create sound. "Oh! Your voice. I can handle that".

The figure raised its hand up making its cloak to drop to its elbow. Where there would have been an arm, she saw bones wearing oddly grey and badly decayed flesh which kept falling off from the bones. The skin however fell off but hovered close to the bones, then reattached itself back and continued the cycle. It stretched the decaying hand which surprisingly had no smell at all, towards her throat and gave a gentle wave.

Ajoke felt a rush of wind leave her chest through her throat, forcibly escaping through her open mouth. Her chest was hot and she felt steam flowing up through her throat. She coughed as though to test her vocality and sound finally came forth loud and clear.

"What are you?" she asked. It was the first question she could find after vigorously searching her brain.

"It is a question of what or who" it said, making one of the dots beneath its hood seem to go a little bit higher and grow slightly bigger than the other. She had the feeling that this thing, whatever it was, had raised its eyebrow to her - if it had any.

"Who are you?" she then asked.

"I am a personification. I am what people of your tribe call Iku. I am the personification of death."

Ajoke's eyes rolled furiously in their sockets. She felt like her brain was short circuiting at hearing such an incredulous claim. She had read myths and legends of various cultures and loved them all. From reading these myths, she had come across several mythical beings in whose existence she believed and marveled about. But why was a figure that matched the description of the creature that she had read of called the grim reaper - except that this one did not have a scythe, a face and smooth bare bones under its cloak - doing in her dorm room?

She drew back from the figure once more and this time, it did not bother to close the gap. She looked at it and saw that the place where a head would have been was slighty bent to the side like that of a person having deep thoughts. She tried to think of what this thing in her presence could possibly be thinking of - if it had a mind at all.

"Have a seat, Ajoke Ojokogun Oluwadamida" the figure said, gently and with the voice of a lover whispering entreaties to his lover. Ajoke sat on the bed closest to her and stared intently at the figure floating towards her. It floated closer and then bent to sit on the bed opposite hers. It however did not touch the bed, but appeared to be in a sitting position, still hovering.

Ajoke opened her mouth to speak, but "I know you have questions. It's almost time so now is the only opportunity you have to ask" the figure said before she could produce sound. Its voice was soft and friendly and had a great effect on Ajoke's tense body, making her to become calm even if she was unwilling.

She drew a deep breath, squeezed her eyes shut and opened them again. "Tell me the truth of whom or what you are. Who are you?"

"I am death. The personification of the entire idea of death you humans hold in fearful sentiment. " It said in its still still voice, unmoved.

"But how? How are you that?"

"Ajoke why do I taste fear and a little disbelief in your voice? How have you believed the myths and legends of this world and now try hard to disbelief when the truth has appeared before you?"

"No. I just... But I..." she struggled to answer.

"You do not have to answer Ajoke. Your fear, your fight or flight response to try to disbelief, it is all part of your being human. You humans believe in the unbelievable to find escape, but when faced with the truth and you find the truth scary and hard, you try so hard to forget that you believe. I do not blame you Ajoke". It said in a reassuring voice, surprisingly even more gentle than how it had been speaking.

"I just can't bring myself to believe that you are real, that this, this is real. It's unnerving."

"I understand Ajoke, I do."

"What exactly are you even? A man? A woman? Just a soulless being?" She asked, feeling surprisingly freer as the minutes passed.

"I am without a soul, both a man and a woman and neither of both. Even I cannot explain how this works to you. Only the Creator can. He made me."

"So the Creator, when you say Creator do you mean God?"

"Yes! The Creator is the God and maker of this universe. He made me, you, and all things here, therein and without."

"So you are a being without a soul, made by the Creator and given form to what? Harvest souls? Announce date dates? Transport the dead to the hereafter?"

"Well, that sums it up when you say it like that."

She wiped her now sweating forehead with the back of her hand. This information she was getting was too much for her to take in. Why would death come to visit her now? She was just sixteen, she had not lived a life yet, she had had sex only about five times. Why now? Why this early? Life was not supposed to be this cruel. Was this why her mother named her Ojokogun; the day is not long?

"What are you thinking?" the figure's genteel voice spoke and snapped her from her thought.

"Let me ask you this straight. You are here to take me aren't you?" she asked in a voice that sounded calm but still showed obvious signs of terrible fear and disappointment.

"Yes."

"Is that why my family named me Ojokogun? They knew I wouldn't last long?"

"Yes. Ojokogun, meaning the day is not long. It was a very brave thing for your parents to do. At your birth there was a speculation that you would die when you are sixteen and they accepted their fate and gave you that name. Very brave people i tell you, even if they secretly hope that it won't stand."

"And you are here now for me?"

"Yes."

"But I could almost swear that you sound disappointed to take me. The way you talk about how brave my parents have been, your gentle disposition, do you really want to take me?"

"This is the hardest part of my being; taking the young. It's never easy taking a child's soul. They haven't had a life yet and their time is already up. I may be death in person but taking the life of children, children who haven't even lived life at all is hard."

Ajoke thought she heard pain in its voice. The heat in her chest cooled down almost immediately. It didn't mean to come for her. It wasn't its choice. It had come because it had to. Because fate, nature and the creator had made it so. She would die at sixteen, die without having lived a life, die a child.

There was no turning back. Except by some heavenly intervention, her time was up. She had to accept this. Had her parents not accepted her fate from the beginning? Nothing could be done. Not now. This was how it had been written that she'd go. Visited by death and told straight to her face 'you die now'. The only thing that could be done now was to accept. To go without resistance.

She drew a long deep breath and closed her eyes. "So, I die now. I die today. Will it at least be painless? Will it be quick?"

"Yours will be like a long long sleep. You would not even notice."

"I feel at peace. Am I already dead?"

"Not yet, but soon."

"Alright then."

* * * *

She was laid on a bed, white and soft like fresh bread from the oven. The window was slighty open and the curtain fluttered noiselessly on the wall. The sun had risen and a few rays fell on her face through the window. If this was the afterlife, it seemed peaceful enough. Dying was not too bad after all.

"How is she now Nurse Chisom?"

That was unmistakably Matron Ajayi's voice. What was she doing here too? Had she been visited by death and brought to the afterlife too? And did the afterlife need matrons to watch over the younger dead?

"She'll be fine. She has stopped muttering incoherently in her sleep for now at least. She should be up any moment from now. But we should give her time" She heard Nurse Chisom say and then heard feet leaving the room or wherever it was that she was.

What was happening? That was the school nurse, Nurse Chisom's voice. What was she also doing here? Dead too? How would the school handle three deaths in a single day? But she had heard Nurse Chisom say she was muttering in her sleep. Sleep? She can't have been sleeping. She was dead. Visited by death and...

Wait! What had happened after her conversation with Death? Everything went black and she didn't feel a thing. It had promised her that dying would be painless and she wouldn't even notice. But she truly didn't notice anything from the moment their conversation ended. It felt strange. The afterlife felt strange.

"Look she's stirring. I think she's awake." It was Nurse Chisom's voice still saying she was sleeping. Didn't she not know the difference between sleeping and death?

"Hello Ajoke, how are you? How are you feeling?" Nurse Chisom who now appeared beside her bed, asked gently.

Ajoke turned to look at the face speaking to her. It was Nurse Chisom's face she was looking at. Strange. Beyond the face was the exact replica of the school clinic; neatly laid beds, the smell of disinfectant, various charts on the walls, a cabinet that held medications, three chairs and a desk.

"Where am I? Is this the afterlife?" Ajoke asked dreamily.

"The afterlife? What are you talking about? This is the school clinic my love, not the afterlife. Why would you think it's the afterlife?" Nurse Chisom asked perplexed.

"How did I get here?"

"Your roommates rushed you here immediately after devotion this morning. Apparently you screamed words they couldn't understand just before you fell to the floor and fainted. On getting here you were very still, lifeless even. If it wasn't for a steady thumping of your heart in your chest, you could have passed for a dead person. Your skin later became hot like something on fire and you kept muttering incomprehensibly in your sleep. But you're fine now. I need to go and inform the matron, she has been very worried."

The nurse left the clinic and shut the door behind her. Ajoke was alone in the room. This all felt wrong. If the nurse was correct, she had fainted after seeing the figure on her bed and was interrupted by her returning roommates. But she had seen the figure again, talked to it even. It was real. It felt real without doubt. It had said she'd die today. But if this wasn't the afterlife what did it all mean?

She rose up to sit. As she straightened up and faced the opposite side of the bed, her heart almost failed her as shock engulfed her entire body, crippling her with fear where she sat. There it was, the figure was hovering by the bed opposite hers and the two bright dots under its hood stared at her intently. She knew it. She was dead and this was just a confirmation. The nurse was wrong.

"Hello again Ajoke."

"Hello. It is you again. Is this the afterlife?"

"No it isn't Ajoke. This is your school clinic and no place different."

"How is that possible?" she asked, forehead furrowed and truly confused. "We had a talk. You said I'd die, that my time was up. How come I am still here? Did I die?"

"You will die Ajoke, just not today anymore. A day will come inevitable and irrevocable when you will surely die but for today, you are not dead and will not die." It spoke in a reassuring voice.

"But you sounded sure about it before. You were sure you had come for me."

"Ajoke, the ways of the Creator is that of never ending surprises. He does what He wants, when He wants, because He can. And today, He doesn't want you to die no more. You will have a life and die at a different time. Just not today."

Ajoke's body relaxed. The fear was gone. She wasn't dead. The air she breathed in seemed to taste like pineapples at the back of her throat. Someone had increased the quality of her vision in that she saw everything around her more clearly, in higher resolution. She gripped the bed and her finger sunk into its softeness like a knife sliding into butter. Being alive was sweet and she was truly glad to be alive.

"So I was dreaming when we had that conversation?" she asked, breaking the silence.

"You were here and there; the in-between. You were not dreaming. You were in the space between here and the hereafter." it said matter-of-factly.

"So I get to live a life?"

"Yes, you do."

"I'd see you later then." She said in a thankful tone.

"Yes, we will see later."

It floated closer to her and stretched its hand towards her. The terrible motion of falling and reattaching dead skin on its bones was still happening but she wasn't scared this time. It put its hand on her head and ran its hand through her braids like one would do a child. Her eyes were closed while it ran its hand through her hair. It was soothing.

"I'll see you later Ajoke."

She felt its hand leave her head and when she opened her eyes, it was gone. She felt good. The world around her was brighter. She would die but not today. She had a chance to live a life. She would start it by changing that strange name her parents had given her. This day would be a long one. Her day would be long and full.

The rays of the sun were even more soothing now. She could hear the ringing of the bell for assembly from a distance. The smile on her face was as full as a clear star studded midnight sky. This life was her gift and she'd live it fully.

#voodoo #spirits #mythical beasts #limbo #yemoja

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mintseesaw · 6 years ago

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Perks and a Touch of Repercussion

Pairing: yoongi x reader

Genre: fluff, boyfriend!au

Word count: 2.6k

Warning: none

Summary: soft yoongi in a concept, that’s it.

“What the fuck—” that was the only thing he could utter under his breath after walking in inside their shared bedroom. His sleepy state courtesy of his boring classes was right away replaced by annoyance. Not again.

His eyes clenched shut after taking in the figuratively minimal but enormous in size alteration made in the room.

Just as he was about to growl out your name determined to locate you wherever you are in the apartment for a reprimanding session, you magically appeared from the closet holding a laundry basket in one hand as you seemed surprise by his presence. You were not expecting him to be home for about two hours more. His classes for today does not end until after 5.

“Oh, hey babe. You’re early...” From the looks of your features, you don't seem to notice his lingering irritation seeping through his sharp eyes.

“YN, what did you do to our bedroom?” He gritted monotonously, his eyes narrowing. His tone alone sparks a tiny fear in you.

It was only then recognition hit you like a bulb suddenly lighting up inside your brain. Scanning the room through your glasses that almost occupy half of your face, your cheeks suddenly flaring up at the sudden realization. You forgot to ask him, beforehand. “Uh… I changed the wallpaper?” You discreetly prodded, eyes going round innocently, hoping to get his support. In his expression alone, you gathered he didn’t.

“I can see that, baby. But—pink? Really?” He taunted, eyes narrowing in pure judgment of your deed. How did you even do it without his help? You’re tiny in comparison with his height.

“What’s wrong with the color?”

“Nothing, YN, if we didn’t agree not to put any color on the walls.” Oh. The talk must have slipped in your mind.

When you moved in together, the apartment was painted aesthetically in white and gray and Yoongi convinced you not to redecorate the interior design of the house without both your consents because knowing you, he wanted to guarantee you would not touch it unless it’s necessary. Guilt slowly creeping into you as your lips protrude unconsciously in pure embarrassment.

Now you’re looking so adorable, it didn’t go unnoticed from his observing eyes despite his never ending frustration from your unnecessary advances in the apartment. He would not fall for your charm, though.

Your head lowering when you mumbled, “But it’s cute, Yoongi.”

He groans audibly closing his eyes shut. Does he really not have a single ounce of strength in him to go against your little ministrations? He could only do so much as scold you every time you do something weird or strange. Last week, you just bought 10 pillows of different sizes and shapes like the whole apartment is in crisis of pillows. Not to mention that you’re supposed to be in a budget for you and Yoongi have yet to cover the unpaid balance of both your tuition fees as you manage all the bills because he couldn’t do it without losing his shit.

Recently, you just had enough of his drunk ass driving at night four times in a row so you put him in a liquor limit. Like, who ever does put someone in a liquor limit? Not even his parents did it to him. Apparently, only his girlfriend can and the sole witch who has the power over him because he obediently followed it anyway although he still thinks it’s ridiculous. Even so, you still stock a few bottles of soju and a bottle of wine or two for him to drink at home. And he loves the considerate side of you, even how crazy you get sometimes.

He sincerely appreciates how you expertly organize and handle everything that needs to be taken care of in your lives and he’s thankful for having you in his for you seemed to make it easier than how he handled it alone.

He is undoubtedly and hopelessly in love with you, but he swore you will be the death of him. He thought the day would never come when he would learn to shrug off your obsession with cleanliness. Hoarding toilet papers, tissues, wipes, disinfectant sprays, and antibacterial soaps, and especially your ridiculous house rules. Shoes off in the bedroom, bed sheets anew three times a week, mandatory hand sanitizing after bathroom breaks, clothes in neat folds and stacked by categories, and the most unforgiving one—no sex after taking a shower arguing that you do not want to perspire right after cleaning yourself. Although it’s the rule he gets to bend the most, alluring you in any way he can to make you submit to his bidding.

Despite catching your look of expectancy to his reply, he turns his back to you, walking out of the room, and occupied the cushioned seat in the living room with a displeased state. You were silently tailing behind him and as he took a seat in the sofa, you put the hamper down, the intention to do the laundry set aside temporarily as you have a sudden mission to get his permission although the deed was carried out in advance. There’s no way you would remove the new wallpaper. It’s not even cheap! It would be a waste of money to change it back again.

Sitting next to him as his arms crossed after turning the television off not letting you hold any of his hands. It’s a habit of yours to entwine your fingers with his and thumbs his knuckles when you try to console him. You scooted closer to his side, “Babe, are you mad?”

“I am, so are you gonna remove that now?” He retorted without even giving you a glance.

“It’s a pastel one, Yoongi.” You tried, but he only raised an eyebrow, titling his head to size you up. “So?”

Pouting in defeat, “It’s a soft shade and I’m sure it doesn’t strain your eyes.” Your eyebrows lifted in anticipation of a positive outcome from exerting a tiny effort.

“You still broke the agreement.”

You shook his arm lightly, trying to shift his attention back to you as he tries to avoid your presence, childishly.

Until you suggested something, “If you want, you get to choose for the movie later…” his eyes were instantly on yours, staring back at you with a knowing look, letting you know he’s attentive and urging you to continue. What else does he want?

Your eyebrows formed a straight line, pondering, “I’ll clean the dishes for a week?” You proposed mindlessly before even realizing what you just did.

“Two.” He quickly declared before you had the chance to take it back, smirking as victory is favoring his side. You’re about to protest, mouth wide open and ready to burst your argument but stopped yourself thinking he would ask for more privileges if you object to his demand.

Sulkily, you sighed while he finally let his arms rest on both his sides leaning his back against the cushioned backrest.

“Fine,” you uttered, finally accepting defeat. He chuckled at your adorable-looking sullen expression, planting a soft peck to the tip of your nose in pure adoration.

When night came, you peered in the screen in patience as he contemplates over selecting the first film of the night. He didn’t say anything, however, when he made up his mind, he straight away typed in the search bar through the remote control. Through your keen observation, you already knew what movie he’s selected after two letters appeared in the empty, horizontal bar in the screen.

“We’ve watched that for 21 times,” you slumped in the sofa, whining as if it would change Yoongi’s mind. He has the advantage tonight and he needs to utilize it well. Although you loved Black Panther, seeing it too many times already feels like a drag on to have it play for two hours. It’s the same reason he chose to play it this time. It could be his only chance to watch it again. Somehow, you always find a way of winning the privilege of selecting a movie during your movie nights.

“We’ll watch it, anyway.” His shoulders making a shrugging motion, a direct nonchalant response to your complaint.

“Just this once,” muttering under your breath and it didn’t reach his ears as you close the distance between your bodies to tuck in yourself to his side, snuggling the material of his hoodie on his chest. His left arm securing your body against his, instinctively. Yoongi left a quick kiss on the top of your head before completely turning his attention from the movie playing in front.

Not even 10 minutes after Yoongi pressed the movie play through the remote control, and you’re already dozed off comfortably on his side, face buried over the length of his neck. He didn’t seem to mind your constant breaths fanning softly against his skin and the numbing muscles of his arm wrapped over your back. His attention purely directed to his favorite Marvel movie.

He didn’t move in the duration of the movie playing, too comfortable in his seat plus your body heat feels good in contrast to the cold weather.

Movie night, huh. He shook his head as the interest to watch another film dissipating knowing that his date already fell asleep.

Before the credits even rolled through the screen and halfway through the last scene, he was already in his feet, your form securely gathered in his arms to tuck you in bed, careful not to wake you up. He places you on the mattress as gentle as possible knowing you’re a light sleeper. Yoongi stares at your figure as you unconsciously snuggle further on the fluffy pillow. You look so cute and tiny wearing his oversized sweater which looks even bigger now that you’re wearing it. He admits he’s not as tall as Namjoon, his bestfriend. And yet he’s still left astonished how he seems taller than his actual height when you stood next to him.

It’s so tempting to cuddle you with how comfortable you look but he has to clean up the little mess in the living room and wash the dishes. Your punishment. Shaking his head for in the end, he is still left to do your supposedly exclusive chore for the next two weeks.

“YN,” He whines but does not move an inch to swat your hand away from his chin. He has a fucking pimple on his right cheek which rarely ever happens. And now his girlfriend is treating it with something he forgot what it’s called.

“It does not hurt that much.” You responded as you recall how tea tree oil felt like when applied whenever you have a break out.

“It fucking stings.” He complained further, and as you dab another coat through the cotton bud, the stinging sensation only prolongs its existence. He winces helplessly, and you smacked his hand when you quickly processed his intention to touch the swelling, red blotch.

“Stop being a baby.” you scolded, and continued as he attempted to touch it again, “Hands off…” He disgruntledly obeyed your instruction.

Your soft chuckle echoed through the living room witnessing him in full anguish as if someone physically beat him up. He really has low tolerance of pain.

You kissed his forehead affectionately in an effort to redirect his attention. And when you pulled away to stare at him, his lips were slightly pushed forward in a pout, silently asking you for a kiss. You smiled before planting chaste kisses in his rosy lips. “Such a baby,” you mumbled in between the kisses against his plump ones.

“Make it up to me,” he gently commanded which sounded more likely as a whine than the intent itself.

You stared at him for a second, before replying, “Why? I didn’t cause that.”

“It doesn’t hurt until you put that mint something, are you sure it’s not a toothpaste?”

“Toothpaste?” You laughed at his remark, “It’s a tea tree oil, baby. It helps relieve swelling zits, I was only helping you and… oh don’t pop it. It would leave a scar on your skin.”

Like I can do that, you wouldn’t even let me touch my face, he argued back silently.

“Come here,” you made a gesture pointing on his face indicating for him to lean his face closer to yours. He scrunched up his face too lazy to move, but followed your command with an exasperating sigh. Cupping his face in discretion of the tender blotch of his cheek, tilted his face to the side so you can examine it, before softly blowing an air directly to it, soothing its tenderness.

“You okay, now?”

He sluggishly nodded. You rolled your eyes, used to his seemingly energy lacking response.

“Why don’t you relieve something else,” and the side of his mouth curling up in a suggestive grin.

Your eyes narrowing as you look at him in disbelief. “You whiny little baby, I just took a shower,” and threw him a look after, which he silently reads as ‘Are you serious?’

He nonchalantly shrugs his shoulders, “I don’t care, broke your little rule too many times.”

Despite establishing that rule, nothing can ever stop you from desiring your attractive and enchanting boyfriend. It’s always a constant battle against yourself when it comes to wanting Yoongi. Like now, you didn’t directly turn his proposition down when you suggested, “Later?”

Shaking his head in stark disagreement, delaying it would only cause him another ache. “Now.”

“Yoongi, I’m too lazy to shower again.”

Rolling his eyes, he tauntingly answered back, “Then don’t. Why do you even bother taking a shower twice? Once is enough.”

“I feel sticky after doing...it”

“Never fucking mind.” He curses crossing his arms out his frustration clearly seeping through his tone.

“What about making out?” You offered all of a sudden like it’s a normal thing to suggest a make-out session just to avoid sex. Besides, kissing you does nothing but arouses and intensifies his need for you.

He tilted his head in question. “Isn’t that the same thing?”

“No? It only requires kissing.”

“Pfft, I’m telling you it would inevitably lead to some action-packed that would cause us to sweat a lot. You wouldn’t like that now, would you, baby?” He mockingly said, giving a hard emphasis on the part which you try so hard to elude of, like sweating is deadly or something.

You’re not that feeble with his advances to let him have his control over you through his kisses, are you? You don’t think so. “Wanna test the theory?” You probed.

“Sure.” He smugly answered like he already knows what would happen.

And even before you had the chance to prepare yourself from the impending make out session, Yoongi already pulled you closer giving you no room to back out, crashing his lips to yours and winces against the plump pair of your lips every now and then when you accidentally touch the sensitive spot of his right cheek.

Soon after the little experiment, Yoongi has finally debunked your argument now that you’re lying naked beneath him, you caught a smug look on his face before he dips his head to claim what truly belongs to him.

He had to savor and enjoy this moment while it lasts especially now that you’re in a state of euphoric bliss, barely moving to stop his advances. Because he’s sure when you both are done catching your breaths and covered with sweat, he probably wouldn’t hear the end of it.

Until then, he has to make the two of you temporarily satiated from the prolonged and leaking mutual need that.

⇀

an: something light and short which I came up with this after starting an ex-lover au three days ago but was not in the mood to finish something angsty at the moment

#yoongi x reader #yoongi fluff #daeguboynet #hyunglinenetwork #yoongi fanfic #yoongi scenarios #yoongi imagines #yoongi!boyfriend #yoongi one shot #yoongi drabble #boyfriend au #bts x reader #bts fanfic #bts fluff #bts au fanfic #bts imagines #bts scenarios

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mothahustla-blog1 · 5 years ago

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“Millennial” AF

Remember playing Barbies, when you were young? Decorating every inch of your room into a little town, having a section for your house. You had to sweet talk your parents into getting all the accessories to complete your fairy-tale. Then all of a sudden, you’re fantasizing about this life you were destined to have as an adult. I couldn’t wait to grow up, to get married, have babies, a beautiful home… you know, just live the ‘dream’! PLOT TWIST! Here I am 5 years shy of throwing myself a “funeral for my youth” themed 30th birthday and I am most certain ALL of that is bullshit… Yeah, I shot a kid out my cooter, spent my entire life savings on a home, I said I do to the man who was my “Prince Charming”… but it’s all a big steaming pile of shit. Now I don’t wanna say I was lied to, but some important facts were left out of…

#1- Marriage…. is a beautiful way of saying “I’m going to use you and you’re going to use me for the rest of our lives, promise?” I mean really, people their wants/needs/ goals and situations are constantly changing. As women, we are held to the standard of being “domesticated”, like were fucking animals. We are to run the household (cooking, cleaning, raising children & making sure grown ass men have clean panties), which probably worked back in 1950 when a family of 6 could live off $50,000 a year. Hello! It’s 2019 majority of women have to work full-time jobs on top of doing all of these mandated chores. (Side note- I am not knocking stay-at-home mothers AT ALL, if I had to stay at home with my one heathen, I would probably lose my mind.) Don’t get me wrong, I love my future ex-husband... but I mean c’mon dude learn how to wash your shit stained panties your damn self! I just got home from work too, I also cleaned house, defused a toddler temper tantrum, cooked the food you’re eating, bathed our child & put him to bed, on top of various other things (i.e., putting the toilet seat down, walking your pile of clothes an extra 2 steps to put them in the hamper) turn them panties inside out, throw some Febreze on em’. Sorry not sorry, I’m not doing laundry again tonight. I’m going to drink a glass of wine or 4, in a bubble bath while online shopping at Target (I’ll order you more panties 😉). Marriage is great, I am honestly impressed when couple’s make things work. When I get asked “how is the married life?” by older people they look at me like I’m an alien when they hear my response. “Well Karen, there’s lots of chores, its sexless, I haven’t shaved since my honeymoon… honestly if I could do it again, I wouldn’t.” To each their own, but I’d rather do all my “domesticated” shit as a single woman, and not have to explain to my husband why I spent $200 at Target! “Fuck off, it was your damn Febreze & panties Bryan!”

#2- Kids… ARE. WEIRD. I am a “boy mom” or whatever and let me just say not only boys are fucking gross, but the little heathens have no fear whatsoever. Picture this, you’re sitting outside on the back porch, painting your toenails while your son is running around the yard playing. Ten minutes go by, your done painting your nails, you look up and your child is running at you full speed with a DEAD OPOSUM in his hands... “MOMMY LOOK! Issa bear!” What do you even do in that situation? Me? I hop up start running, screaming “NOOOO put it down, that’s gross PUT. IT. DOWN” now my child is chasing me across the yard laughing… needless to say my toenails were ruined. They could’ve warned us. Potty Training. That shit requires a damn “how-to” manual.. so you think your kiddo has it down, he goes in and out handling his business like a pro... then you walk into the bathroom and the walls are painted with shit. Your child knows he’s in trouble and gets startled upon your entrance... he looks at you, you look at him.. he laughs “Mommy, ew shit!” now you’re laughing and sobbing while Cloroxing your whole bathroom. THEY COULD'VE FUCKING WARNED US.

#marriage millennial momlife madwife mom parenting clueless couldvewarnedus beware reallife life boymom wife wifey parent son

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omgseatriseruniverse-blog · 6 years ago

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9 Best Toilet Seat Risers 2019

Individuals, particularly ones of seniority, experience various sorts of bone issues, one of which is joint torments. Basic day by day exercises can trigger joint and other body torments, constraining an individual's capacity to do things themselves, bringing about their necessities of having help to have the option to get things done.

Today, exceptional advancements are made explicitly for this sort of basic ailment among maturing people. One of these developments as of now accessible in the market is latrine situate riser. These are therapeutic gadgets intended for permitting a person with more seasoned age and constrained portability to securely utilize the bathroom with the nonattendance of help and the reduced torment. Raised latrine seats make it simpler for individuals to plunk down and utilize the can as it expands the can's tallness and keeps them from falling. It is additionally an incredible assistance, particularly for those individuals who are experiencing considerable difficulties whether they are twisting down or getting up. These additionally come in two shapes: round and oval; and has different statures: from a 2-inch latrine situate riser to a 5-inch can situate riser.

There are a great deal of latrine situate risers to browse, be that as it may, it is somewhat hard which one is appropriate for your utilization. Dread not, this article recovered your as we talk about the things you ought to consider before going to buy one.

Purchasing Guide

Realizing which raised latrine seat to pick is much trickier than what the vast majority think. Obviously, to get the most reasonable one for the client, the person in question must know Elongated Toilet Seat Riser about the various particulars, properties or highlights of a latrine situate riser. It is critical to know these as these things are the one that will in all probability disclose to you the decisions you have from picking the correct item for you. To control you with the things you should pay special mind to when purchasing a latrine situate riser, we have assembled a couple of highlights for you to keep an eye on.

Stature

Most can seats are 2 inch raised latrine seats while others are 5 inch raised can seats. You should take note of that the measure of rise you required your seat to have for your solace and accommodation ought to be considered. Higher seats decline the separation among you and the latrine, diminishing the strain on the hips and knees when sitting and standing.

Soundness

There are a great deal of approaches to make can situate risers secure for anybody's utilization. Some are thick and stable, having arms and bolting cinches, intended for clients with a frail feeling of parity, while others have basic or non-slip cushions or are verified with Velcro ties. Your equalization and strength are what decide the fundamental steadiness of the seat riser as these conditions may fluctuate a great deal (from the diverse style and security that makers make) and rely upon how the client handles himself.

Weight

The standard weight limit of a normal latrine situate lift is as much as 250 pounds. Remember that weight of the client confirms that best choice for the seat riser. The heavier the client is, the higher weight limit is required for the seat to have.

Conveyability

A perfect latrine situate riser ought to be anything but difficult to put on and off the can bowl as not every person in the house will discover comfort when utilizing the bathroom with the raised seat. It ought to likewise weight in any event 4 pounds or underneath for simpler use in both indoor and open air toilets.

Since you have a couple of thoughts for picking the correct item for you, here are the main 9 latrine seat risers that are certain to enable you to choose.

The seat gives you the height you're agreeable at while utilizing your very own can situate as it tends to be introduced effectively under your current can situate with the gave long screws. It is additionally intended to fit a standard latrine bowl and gives the client a rise of 3.5 inches.

Stars

The brand is outstanding for its quality medicinal and wellbeing related items.

The seat will fit standard can seats.

It can bolster the weight limit of as much as 250 pounds.

This hoists the seat 3.5 inches high.

Cons

The seat collapses an inch or two when you sit on I

This versatile raised seat riser is intended to furnish its clients without breaking a sweat of utilization. The additional thick can seat radiates a height of 5 creeps to make it less complex for the Elongated Toilet Seat Riser client to jump on and off the can. Beside the lightweight property of the item, it additionally has a solid shaped plastic edge that gives additional soundness and security to its clients.

Masters

This impairment latrine seat is planned for the most part for the clients' solace and accommodation.

It accompanies cushioned handles.

This gives the client additional 5 creeps of rise.

Its quality materials radiate strength and security for its clients.

The organization ensures individuals cash back for individuals who are not exactly happy with their item.

Cons

The opening of the can seat is in reality little.

This additional thick can seat gives you an extra of 3.5 creeps to your can seat to decrease the battle of twisting to sit and get up. This is explicitly intended for its clients who have issues with regards to plunking down and getting up from the can. It accompanies a separable and cushioned armrest with a simple push catch for clients to have the option to discharge it effectively.

Aces

This raised can seat can be effectively introduced without the utilization of apparatuses.

It is lightweight and compact.

This can base riser can be effectively appended to the latrine bowl.

It is anything but difficult to clean.

The item likewise has a lifetime guarantee.

Cons

The item needs strength.

The jolts that accompany the bundle are excessively thick.

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averageapplepie · 6 years ago

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Sometimes being a nurse is just... customer service from hell.

I gave a patient his night time medications, gave him pain medication, and helped him walk to the bathroom. I put the bedside commode over the toilet and took the bucket part out so that it was essentially just a raised toilet seat with handles, in order to make it easier for the patient to get up and down. Okay cool no problems, he was super pleasant the whole time, understood the toilet thing, went to sleep for the night pretty much right after all this.

He goes all night without calling me, I even poked my head in the room a couple of times to make sure he was really asleep (he was).

Then at 5 am, he calls the nurse’s station and I answer, asking if I can help him with something. “Well I wish SOMEONE would!”

.....

????????

I go in there to check on him and he proceeds to yell at me for a good 15-20 minutes about how people keep promising to do things for him and they’ll be “right back!” and never come back. and that he’s also been trying to have a bowel movement for two days but if we take too long the urge passes and he can’t poop??!

Bitch what???? the only time I ever said that was when I went to get ice at the beginning of the night and I walked down the hall to the ice machine and walked back?? (but pointing out that he hadn’t called us for any help was apparently the WRONG thing to say) Finally I had enough and I said, “SIR, I understand that you’re frustrated and in pain, but there are only 2 nurses and 1 aid here tonight and we are responsible for every single need for those 10 people, while every person in my care is important to me, sometimes i have to prioritize and put others first. I will get to you as soon as I possibly can in the future and I will relay this conversation to the day shift so that they will as well.” (Even though he has NOT called for me once and I don’t know what in the everloving fuck he’s goin on about).

so 30 min later he calls again and I asked the aid to go down there and take him to the bathroom bc I’m in the process of changing out wound vacs for a patient and i’m the only one who can do that.

So she goes and when she comes back to update me on the whole thing, the patient has ratcheted up his bullshit even further. He’d already started to get up on his own with his broken pelvis and ribs and shit, so she helps him into the bathroom and he throws the potty chair into the shower bc “the bucket ain’t big enough” (the bucket isn’t EVEN ON) and proceeds to be in excruciating pain as he has to struggle to lower himself all the way down onto the toilet without any handles to hold to ease himself down, eventually just dropping the last few inches (which i’m sure REALLY fucking hurt, bc broke pelvis and shit).

So i’m done with this motherfucker at this point. if he calls me again he’s shit out of luck. But i do have to go back one more time to introduce the day shift nurse to him. So we go in there and he’s back to acting like he was when I first saw him last night.

???????

????????????

i’m so over all of this. but the ultimate cherry on top is when i’m about to leave and he calls, “Oh, by the way darlin, i’m sorry about this morning.”

oh you motherfucker

outwardly, I smile and I say, “oh don’t even worry about it, I know you’re in pain and that sometimes pain makes us say things we wouldn’t normally say.”

inwardly i’m saying, “you take that apology, wad it up into a ball, and stuff it up your ass, past that bowel movement you’re so suddenly concerned about, and choke on it. Fuck off.”

#this week has been the week from hell already but that night was particularly awful #for reasons beyond this motherfucker #life of a tired nurse #life of apple pie

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kt041978 · 3 years ago

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The Complete Guide to Buying Medical Equipment for Home | US 2022

Introduction: Why Should You Buy Medical Equipment for Home?

Medical equipment is a must-have for those who are living at home. If you’re looking for the best medical equipment for your home, then there are a few things that you should know. First of all, it is important to understand the difference between medical equipment and medical devices. Medical devices used in hospitals, clinics and at homes. Medical equipment is used in hospitals and clinics only. Second of all, it is important to know what kind of medical device or equipment you need. For example, if you need a blood pressure monitor or an oxygen concentrator, then these devices will be more expensive. Products like a bedside commode or an electric wheelchair which are less expensive. Finally, it is important to consider the cost of the device and its suitability for the tasks that it will handle.

What is the Difference Between Hospital Grade & Home Use Medical Equipment?

The difference between hospital grade and home use medical equipment is the quality of the product. Hospital grade equipment is typically more expensive and made to use in a hospital setting. Home use equipment, on the other hand, is cheaper and designed to use in a home setting. Home use medical equipment is what most people are accustomed to seeing. It is used in the home, but not made for an institutional setting. The quality of this type of equipment varies greatly. There are many different types of medical equipment for home use. Some of these include: - Blood pressure monitors - Oxygen tanks - Wheelchairs - Walkers - Beds What are the Best Medical Equipment Brands on the Market? The market for medical equipment is huge. There are many brands that offer great quality to their customers. It is very difficult to find the best medical supplies when one has not done the proper research. We provide you with a list of top 10 brands of medical equipment in the market right now. The 10 best-selling brands in medical equipment for home are: 1. Carex Health Brands 2. Mabis 3. Medline Industries, Inc. 4. Convatec 5. OOLER 6. Coloplast 7. Smith & Nephew 8. Kendall Healthcare 9. Oasis Space 10. Apex Medical

Top 5 Medical Innovations to look for in 2022

Who Really Use Medical Equipment for Homes

The use of medical equipment for homes has increased in the last decade. The use of these devices has helped people with disabilities to live independently. It has given them an opportunity to lead a normal life. There are many reasons why people choose to get home medical equipment. One of the most common ones is that they want to avoid hospital visits and do not want to go through the hassle of commuting back and forth from their home to a hospital or clinic for treatment. Some people choose this option because they want to avoid the stigma that comes with being in a hospital or clinic environment, or because they do not have any other option available when it comes to receiving healthcare services closer than their local hospital or clinic. The most common devices used at home are oxygen concentrators, wheelchairs, and other mobility aids.

Medical Equipment for Home Use Bestsellers Products

Medical equipment for homes is an important part of the healthcare system. The medical equipment for homes bestsellers products are designed to make it easier and more comfortable for patients to recover at home. The medical equipment bestsellers products are designed to make it easier and more comfortable for patients to recover at home. Its difficult to know which product is right for you, There are some general guidelines that can help you decide. For example, if you have a chronic illness or need assistance with daily living tasks, then you may want to consider a wheelchair ramp or adjustable bed. If your mobility is limited due to age or injury, then a walker might be the best option. Below are 10 bestsellers products of Medical Equipment for Homes available at Amazon.com 1. Carex Health Brands 3.5 Inch Raised Toilet Seat with Arms - For Elongated Toilets, Elevated Toilet Riser with Removable Padded Handles, Easy On and Off, Support 250 lbs, White

Carex Health Brands The Carex Health Brands 3.5 Inch Raised Toilet Seat with Arms - For Elongated Toilets, Elevated Toilet Riser with Removable Padde is a product that can be purchased from Walmart. It has been designed to provide the user with a comfortable toilet seat that is easier to get on and off of. This product is designed for elongated toilets and features a raised height of 3.5 inches. The seat itself has an armrest which provides additional support for those who need it and the toilet seat can be removed if it is needed for cleaning purposes. - Color - White - Brand - Carex Health Brands - Material - Plastic - Shape - Oval - Item Dimensions LxWxH - 13.5 x 18.9 x 3.5 inches - Item Weight - 3.9 Pounds Buy Now On Amazon 2. MABIS Medic-Kit5 EMT and Paramedic First Aid Kit with 5 Calibrated Nylon Blood Pressure Cuffs, Sizes Included: Large Adult, Adult, Child, Infant and Thigh, Blue

MABIS Medic-Kit5 The MABIS Medic-Kit5 EMT and Paramedic First Aid Kit with 5 Calibrated Nylon Blood Pressure Cuffs, Sizes Included: Large Adult, A is a great kit for any first aid kit. It has everything you need to make sure you can take care of your patients in the field. This kit includes five calibrated nylon blood pressure cuffs that come in different sizes to fit everyone from children to adults. This is a great feature as it ensures that you will always have the right size cuff to use on your patient. The MABIS Medic-Kit5 EMT and Paramedic First Aid Kit with 5 Calibrated Nylon Blood Pressure Cuffs, Sizes Included: Large Adult, includes a stethoscope as well. - Brand - Mabis - Item Dimensions LxWxH - 15.8 x 4.2 x 11.7 inches - Item Weight - 3 Pounds Buy Now On Amazon 3. Medline FitRight Super Adult Incontinence Underwear, Maximum Absorbency, Large, 40"-56", 4 Packs of 20 (80 Total) FIT33505A

Medline FitRight Super Adult Incontinence Underwear, Maximum Absorbency The Medline FitRight Super Adult Incontinence Underwear, Maximum Absorbency, Large, 40"-56", 4 Packs of 20 (80 Total) FIT33505A are a good buy for those who need a product that is durable and reliable. These are made with strong materials to ensure that they will not break easily. The products are designed to be comfortable and absorbent so they will not fail when put into use. This product is ideal for those who need a reliable and durable product that can handle any task thrown at it. - Soft, flexible anti-leak guards - Sensisoft fabric is silky soft and very comfortable - Linear Embossed core with odor control - Inner absorbent layer wicks moisture away from skin - Trim, body-contoured design Buy Now On Amazon 4. ConvaTec Aloe Vesta Cleansing Foam 8 oz (Pack of 3)

ConvaTec Aloe Vesta Cleansing Foam from ConvaTec is a gentle, fragrance-free, and soap-free cleanser that is specially formulated to clean and moisturize the skin. The foam has a rich lather that leaves the skin feeling clean and fresh. The product can be used on sensitive skin or as a hand soap. The cleanser contains colloidal oatmeal which provides relief from itching due to dryness or contact with irritating substances. It contains Aloe Vera which soothes irritated skin and calms down any redness or inflammation. It contains glycerin which moisturizes the skin for up to 24 hours after use. - Item Form - Foam - Use for - Face - Brand - ConvaTec - Recommended Uses For Product - Cleansing - Special Ingredients - Collagen, Aloe Vera Buy Now On Amazon 5. ChiliSleep OOLER Sleep System – Cooling and Heating Mattress Pad – Precise Temperature Control, Perfect Sleep Regulation, App and Sleep Schedule Integration ChiliSleep OOLER Sleep System The ChiliSleep Mattress Pad from Ooler is a cooling and heating mattress pad which is designed to regulate the temperature of your bed, making sure that you sleep comfortably. It has the ability to cool or heat depending on what you need to get a good night's sleep. The ChiliSleep Mattress Pad will fit any size bed and comes with two wireless controllers. You can have one by your side. This mattress pad has a temperature control system which helps you regulate your sleeping temperature to give you the perfect level of warmth. You can use it with an app on your phone to remotely control the temperature of your bed. - Size - Half Queen (80" L x 30" W) - Material - Polyester, Polyester Blend - Brand - OOLER - Closure Type - Pull On - Fabric Type - Includes New Chilipad Cool Mesh Pad Buy Now On Amazon 6. Coloplast Critic-Aid Clear Moisture Barrier Ointment - 6 Ounce Tube - Pack of 2

The Coloplast Critic-Aid Clear Moisture Barrier Ointment Coloplast Critic-Aid Clear Moisture Barrier Ointment is a clear, fragrance-free ointment that provides protection to sensitive skin. It is formulate to keep the skin moist and comfortable. This product is for people with sensitive skin, who need protection from moisture and irritation. It helps in protecting against bacteria, viruses, allergens and irritants. - Brand - Coloplast - Specific Uses For Product - Diarrhea - Item Form - Cream, Ointment - Product Benefits - Moisturizing - Unit Count - 2 Count Buy Now On Amazon 7. Smith & Nephew CICA-Care Self-Adhesive Silicone Gel Sheet for Scar Management, Wound Care Product, 5 inches x 6 inches (Box of 10 Sheets)

The Smith Nephew CICA Smith & Nephew CICA-Care Self-Adhesive Silicone Gel Sheet for Scar Management, Wound Care Product, 5 inches x 6 inches (Box of 10) is a product that provides a protective cover for wounds and scars. It is made from medical grade silicone gel which is hypoallergenic and non-irritating. The Smith & Nephew CICA-Care Self-Adhesive Silicone Gel Sheet for Scar Management, Wound Care Product, 5 inches x 6 inches (Box of 10) used to protect wounds and scars from dirt and other contaminants. The product helps in the healing process by providing a moist wound environment which helps in the regeneration of tissues. - SILICONE GEL SHEET FOR SCAR MANAGEMENT - FLEXIBLE USE & EASY REMOVAL - SELF-ADHESIVE & REUSABLE - Brand Name - Smith & Nephew Buy Now On Amazon 8. Kendall Healthcare Telfa Adhesive Island Dressing 4" W x 14" L (Box of 25 Each)

The Kendall Healthcare Kendall Healthcare Telfa Adhesive Island Dressing is a sterile, non-adherent, semi-occlusive, pressure-relieving wound dressing. Design is to provide an airtight seal over the wound with a secure adhesive border. This dressing is contraindicate for wounds that require exudate or drainage management and wounds that are infected or irritated. - Box of 25 Each - gauze - HCPCS: A6220 Buy Now On Amazon 9. Oasis Space Aluminum Rollator Walker, with 10'' Wheels and Seat Compact Folding Design Lightweight Baking (Blue)

The OasisSpace Aluminum Rollator Walker Oasis Space Aluminum Rollator Walker, with 10'' Wheels and Seat Compact Folding Design Lightweight Baking (Blue) is a product that can be used to provide mobility for people who are limited in their ability to walk. The product has a lightweight design and features 10 inch wheels. It has a seat that folded for easy storage. This product design for people who need the ability to move around but with limited mobility. It is lightweight and compact. That make it easy to store when not in use. Read the full article

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substarshine · 7 years ago

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Ketch is My Kink

Chapter 5 pt.1

Chapter Text

'Punishment? What the hell have I gotten myself into?' I think as I rush through the halls. This is all new to me. He's an enigma this Mr. Ketch, and I'm realizing I am too. I've never been one to seek out pain or punishment, but here I am, power walking to my office - to him.

I'm nervous and confused by this whole situation. No man has ever consistently occupied my waking thoughts and my sleeping dreams. No man has ever made my body sing and scream at the same time. Until now. Until him.

I'm unsure of myself. I want him. I need what he gives me. But this is all new to me. I've never been with someone that gives orders and hands out punishments like candy on Halloween. As strange as this all is to me, it also feels...familiar? No, that's not the right word. It feels like it's where I belong. It feels like home, but like no home I've ever known before.

I finally arrive at my office door and take a deep breathe before entering. The room is empty and everything appears to be just as I left it. I check behind the door. Nope, he's not there. I sigh and walk to my desk. It's one of those solid mahogany desks that probably weighs the same as a small vehicle. I pull my chair out to sit, but stop myself because there is something on my seat. It's silver and about 18 inches long from the handle to the tip of the wicked looking triangular blade. I pick it up and sit down while studying it. I'm not a field agent yet, but I know enough to know what this is and how dangerous it is.

"Are you ready?"

His voice comes from directly behind me. The blade falls from my hands as I spin around in my chair and see him towering over me. I notice that the door to my private washroom is now open and it explains his sudden appearance. He has a very stern look upon his face as he reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a pair of black leather gloves.

"I assume that you know what that is and what it can do?" he asks while slipping the gloves onto his hands.

"Yes." I answer.

"You will address me as Sir or Mr. Ketch from this moment on. Is that clear?"

"Y-Yes, Sir."

"I know you've been trained to recognize it, but our research department has, quite recently, made some very interesting discoveries concerning how it functions. Are you privy to this information?"

"No, Sir."

"We've always known that this is more than a mere piece of metal. It has a power all it's own contained within it. This energy is released when the blade becomes immersed in the flesh and blood of any angel, demon, human, or other variety of creature. This power has been given the moniker "antigrace". This antigrace is so potent that it expels grace from angels and forces demons out of their host bodies before taking their lives. It's like a fire hose, with the blade acting as the nozzle for the blast of power to burst forth and fill a vessel so fully that whatever grace, soul, or demon essence currently resides in said vessel has nowhere else to go but out." he pauses his lecture with a small, smug little grin as he studies my face.

"Think of the blade as a gun, but unlike a gun, every molecule of an angel blade is imbibed with antigrace. If it is cut into pieces each piece becomes a weapon, and this is not so with a gun. But like a gun, when fired, the power can be felt in the handle in the form of recoil. The handle of the blade also reacts when immersed into a body. This is a reaction you are about to experience first hand."

The realization of what he's saying hits me like a punch in the gut. 'Oh God no!' I scream inside my mind as my heartbeat quickens.

"Stand up and sit on the desk."

My legs shake as I rise from my chair and sit on the desk as instructed. He steps forward and leans his face in close, his eyes staring into mine with no trace of emotion.

"Don't move until I command you to do so."

Leaning in closer, he runs his tongue first over my top lip and then the bottom. He places one hand behind my neck and uses the other to bring the handle of the angel blade close to my lips. Slowly, he waves it back and forth in front of my face as a small smile curls at the edges of his mouth. I watch as he aims the handle at my mouth and then pushes it through my lips until it taps to a stop against my teeth. My head attempts to jerk back, but his iron grip on the back of my neck prevents it. The sensation I am experiencing can only be compared to an electric shock. It reminds me of a game we used to play as children. Daring each other to stick our tongue on the contact points of a 9 volt battery, but this is stronger and accompanied by a strange warmth. He removes the handle, but keeps it close to my face.

"Open your mouth."

I hesitate and he moves his hand from the back of my neck up to my hair. Grabbing a handful, he pulls until my head turns and my ear is in front of his mouth.

"I apologize if that sounded like a request. It wasn't. Open your fucking mouth, now."

He releases my hair and grabs my bottom jaw, his fingers spread on my cheeks. They curl inward and force themselves between my teeth, causing my mouth to open. I stop fighting and let my jaw hang slack as I shut my eyes tight.

"No. Do not shut down. Do not try to escape this by retreating to the inner corners of your mind. Be here. Be present in the moment...with me." He says as he runs his free hand down my cheek.

I open my eyes and see the handle of the blade in front of my mouth. I raise my eyes from the blade and stare straight into his as I move my head forward and take the handle into my mouth. I flinch at the initial touch and the alien sting of power and heat emanating from it. I move my head further down until the entire handle is engulfed in my mouth. The feeling is uncomfortable and painful, but not unbearable. I imagine that my mouth surrounds his cock and begin to slide my tongue around it as I bob my head back and forth. Again and again and again. As he watches me suckle, his mouth has opened slightly and I see his tongue clamped between his teeth. I release the handle from my mouth and run my tongue up and down the length of it. His teeth click together as he snaps his mouth closed. The blade is taken away from my face and placed on the desk next to me. His hands are on either side of my face and he looks at me for a moment, his jaw clenched. I notice his cock is straining against his zipper. as he grabs one of my hands and places it on his chest, beneath his jacket. I can feel his erect nipple through the crisp fabric of his shirt. This is the first time I've been allowed to touch him and I have to fight the urge to explore.

"Pinch. Hard." he growls.

I do as he commands and he sucks his breath in through his teeth. Eyes hooded as his head falls back for just a moment. He quickly regains his composure and says, "Right then, let's get to your punishment."

'What?' I think as he takes my hand from his chest and pushes me back on the desk until I'm lying across it , my legs hanging over the side. He lifts my skirt and runs one gloved hand over my wet pussy, giving my clit a few circular rubs while picking up the angel blade with his other hand. My eyes widen and my mouth opens, a small panicked sound escapes my throat. I feel my body's fight or flight response triggered and I begin to squirm under him. He stops rubbing me and places his hand on my chest and pressing down hard to prevent my escape. I grab his wrist with both of my hands but his arm is like steel and doesn't move an inch. I watch, as if in slow motion, as he steps between my legs to prevent them from closing and points the handle of the angel blade at my exposed sex. His left eyebrow is raised and a smile plays on his lips as he touches the outside of my entrance with the weapon.

And then suddenly there's a knock at the door.

He pulls back as his head pops up to look at the door. I know who it is because he told me he was coming. "It's Mr. Davies. He said he needed to speak to me privately." I whisper quickly. Pulling me up, he pushes me toward the washroom. "Go in, shut the door, flush the toilet, run the water, come out. Hurry!" he hisses. "But you..." I start to say but he cuts me off. "GO!"

I do as he instructs. I walk out of the restroom to an empty office. Mr. Davies has his face just inside the door,"Is this a bad time?" he asks.

"Not at all. Please come in, Mr. Davies. Take a seat." I say as I sit down in my chair and wonder where Mr. Ketch disappeared to.

"Please, call me Mick."

"Alright, M-ick." My voice cracks at the end of his name as I feel a gloved hand grip my calf. Jesus Christ! He's under the fucking desk!

I put on my best poker face and ask,"What do you need to speak to me about?"

Mick grabs a pen from his pocket and begins twirling it in his fingers.

I feel one hand on each calf pushing my legs apart.

"I uh, well." Mick clears his throat.

My skirt is being pushed up to my hips. I feel his hair tickle my thighs and his hot breath between my legs.

"You've been here a few months and I..."

He's rubbing his face on my thighs. I can feel the hint of stubble on his cheeks. I slide my hand off the desk and try to push his face away.

"am very impressed with your job performance."

He grabs my hand and I feel the tip of his tongue trace a line from my inner wrist to the end of my middle finger. He pushes my hand to my clit and moves it around in a circle several times. He removes his hand from mine and I continue to circle my clit with my fingers.

"And there's something I've been meaning to ask you, but it's a little um..."

He places his hand behind my ankle and straightens my leg out. I feel him touch the top of my foot with one finger and slowly drag it upwards. It passes my knee before I realize it's not his finger. It's the blade. Halfway up my thigh I clamp my hand down over my entrance.

"Did you hear me?" Mick asks.

"I'm sorry, I didn't." I reply.

"Would you care to join me for dinner this evening?"

A sudden pain on my hand forces me to remove it. It feels like he just jabbed my knuckle with the point of the blade. Not hard enough to break the skin, but hard enough to get his message across,'Move or I'll hurt you.'

I sit on my hand and spread my legs as wide as I can. He shows his approval by planting a soft bite on my inner thigh. Oh damn, Mick is still waiting for an answer.

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detective-rysposito-blog · 8 years ago

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tough little boys

5 times Kevin Ryan never cried and 1 time he did. (ao3)

Kevin knew it was stupid. He knew it was stupid before he was in danger. He knew it was stupid the second that Aiden suggested the idea.

But he was just a kid. Kids were allowed to do stupid things so they could laugh about it years later and say, "What did I know? I was a dumb kid!"

In his apartment, playing on the fire escape was forbidden. His Ma always told him that a fall from 8 stories high would kill him. Or leave him wishing it did. So he never stepped foot on their fire escape at home.

But Aiden's was only a story high. And the railings made the perfect track for their racecars. It should have been perfectly safe for him and Aiden to race their cars for a few minutes, comes inside eat dinner and then he would head back home. His ma would never even know.

So they played around for a few minutes and nothing went wrong. Kevin took this as a sign that if nothing bad had happened yet, nothing would ever happen.

Again, he was a pretty dumb kid.

"Aiden," he said to his friend. "You wanna race our cars down the steps? Winner gets the bigger piece of cake."

Aiden grinned right back and nodded his head. Both little boys grabbed their cars and started to climb up the stairs that would eventually lead to the upstairs neighbor's escape. They stopped halfway and placed their cars on opposite railings.

"Ready," Kevin started.

"Set," Aiden said next.

"Go!" Both boys exclaimed at once. And they let go of their cars.

Unfortunately, the cars didn't want to stay on the track. After a second, Kevin noticed his car was bound to fall off and would crash to the ground below. So he ran down the stairs to catch it before it fell.

His car fell before Kevin was even close to reaching it but Kevin wasn't worried about that. He was more worried about himself after his foot tripped on one of the stairs and went flying over the side of the fire escape.

He tried to grab at the railing but his arms were too short. He screamed out for Aiden to help but his friend's arms were just as little and no matter how far he stretched, he couldn't reach. "Kevin!" He screeched loudly.

A second later, Kevin smacked hard into the metal top of a dumpster. The first thing he noticed was a roar of pain from the arm he landed on. It hurt more than anything Kevin had ever felt before. Even more than the time Kevin needed stitches after jumping on his bed and falling into the corner of his dresser.

All the screaming caught the attention of Aiden's mother and she rushed out the window yelling her son's name. She grabbed him by the shoulders when he was practically leaning over the edge. She pushed him back and then looked down at Kevin.

"Kevin!" She sounded frantic. "It's okay, baby, I'm coming!" She was immediately climbing down the steep stairs and rushing to his aid. She jumped onto the dumpster and pulled him into her arms.

She was cradling him and whispering softly that it was going to be okay.

But he wasn't crying. It was only a little bit of pain that he could handle. If his dad had been here, he'd say, "You're still breathing, boy. Stand up and walk it off!"

Crying wouldn't take away any of the pain.

So he held his arm close to his chest, trying not to look at how it was bent at a weird angle. Aiden's mom never let go of him, crying steadily, until they reached the hospital.

His dad was there by the time the doctor had fit him for a cast. It was a dark blue and looked pretty cool. When he went back to school, he could show all of his friends and show them how he'd fallen off the fire escape and lived to tell the tale.

"I heard you were playing on the escape," his father said, looking his son up and down.

Kevin frowned and shrunk his shoulders. "Sorry, Da."

His father sat down on the hospital bed and said, "Maybe next time you'll listen to your mother, huh?"

Kevin nodded his head quietly, knowing he had disappointed his dad. He looked back up at him and whispered, "I won't do it again."

His father pulled him into a one-armed hug and rubbed his good arm. "We all gotta learn our lessons somehow, son." He pulled away and looked down at him. "Besides, I heard you didn't even shed one tear."

Kevin shook his head and watched his father smile.

"That's my boy." He ruffled his hair. "I didn't raise a little baby. My son is a man, as tough as they come."

Kevin found himself smiling, not sure why his dad was proud that he hadn't cried. He didn't want to point out that he technically wasn't a man. He was only 8 years old.

"Are you proud of me, Da?" Kevin asked in a small voice.

"'Course I am, Kev. I don't know many boys that could take a fall like that without crying even a bit."

"But I didn't," Kevin insisted proudly. If only he'd always known how easy it was to please his father.

"No, you didn't. Men don't cry."

"Hey, fag, I'm talking to you!"

Kevin paid no attention to Jason as he continued down the hall. There were enough kids walking to their classes that he could hopefully get lost in the crowd.

But before he could make it, there was a hand grabbing his shoulder roughly. He was spun around to face his brute of a bully. Jason had chosen to pick on Kevin exclusively after he stopped him from shoving a tiny freshman into a garbage can last month.

"When I'm talkin' to you, don't fucking walk away from me," Jason snarled, grabbing the collar of Kevin's sweater and pulling him close.

Kevin rolled his eyes. Typical bully. Using his bigger body and foul language to try and seem tough.

"You think you're such a tough guy, huh?" Jason shook him slightly. "Maybe we need to take another visit to the dumpster again."

"There's a clogged toilet up on the second floor with his name on it," Daniel, one of Jason's little friends, piped in.

Jason smirked and said, "I think that's exactly what he needs."

Then Jason was gripping one arm tightly and Daniel had the other. Kevin struggled to get out of their grip, hoping someone would notice and help him. But either they didn't see or they learned from Kevin's mistake and knew not to get between Jason and one of beatings.

As they ascended the stairs, Kevin tried to make himself a dead weight between the two. But they were both on the Varsity Wrestling team. They easily lifted him so his feet dragged on the floor.

When they were in the dirty restroom, Kevin planted his feet on the tiled floor, trying to stop them from shoving him close to the stall. "Jason, c'mon," he said between gasps of breath as he struggled. "You don't have to do this. Please."

Jason laughed above him as he shoved him to his knees in front of the toilet. He winced at the pain but continued to give Jason and Daniel a hard time. When his head got close to the bowl, he shot his hands out to grab the seat to push back.

Jason was behind him, his knees around Kevin's back to keep him from moving anymore. He paused his shoving and said, "I think I like hearing you beg. Do it again and maybe I'll stop."

Kevin took a deep breath but didn't say a word. He pushed back on Jason's grip.

Jason moved a hand into his hair and growled into his ear. "Beg or else when you go under, you won't come back up."

Kevin gritted his teeth but said, "Please let me go, Jason."

Jason paused and for a moment, Kevin thought he was going to listen. But he was just as stupid as he was as a kid and Jason only laughed louder. "Nah."

And as the rough hand in his hair went back to shoving his face dangerously close to the dirty water, Kevin realized something. No matter what Jason was doing to him, he always reacted the same way: with a laugh. He'd stare down at Kevin, laugh and then walk away.

All Jason ever really wanted was for Kevin to be humiliated and get a good laugh from it. And if Kevin continued to let Jason push him around and shove his head in pissy toilets, he'd never get rid of him.

He needed to be the one to end it.

"Fuck you, you fucking coward," he grunted with an inch left before his head was submerged underwater.

The pushing stopped immediately. "What'd you just say?"

Kevin smirked. "You heard me."

Jason whirled him around and lifted them up to their feet. Kevin didn't like being shoved against the stall wall, his feet a few inches off the ground, but it was better than swimming in pee.

"You think you're funny?" Jason slammed him against the wall.

Kevin just smiled at him, loving the way it angered Jason.

"You little pussy, I'm gonna kill you." He threw Kevin out of the stall and he crashed into the bathroom wall. Jason stalked over to him and leaned over him. "Daniel, shut the fucking door."

As scared as Kevin was, he just kept grinning right back. He wouldn't let Jason see how he got to him. "What's wrong, Jason? You look a little upset. Did you fail another math test? I heard if you fail too many of those, you're off the wrestling--."

That's when the beating started. It started with just a few punches but the more sarcastic comments Kevin gave him, the more punches he received. He stopped after a dozen more to catch his breath.

Kevin's head fell into a suspicious looking puddle as Jason let go of his collar. Kevin felt one eye already swelling up and he spit out a wad of blood. "Is this how you get your rocks off?" Kevin asked, his voice weak. "By picking on the little guys? Hey, at least you know you can win these fights unlike when you're in the ring. So you win, is that what you want? You want to at least beat up someone without getting your ass handed right back to you?"

Jason glared down at him. "You don't know shit."

"I like to think I do know a little more than shit," Kevin replied, pushing himself up to his elbows. "Now, if you're done with your tantrum, I have a class to get to." Kevin shoved the stunned teen off him.

"Wait, you can't just walk away from me, you fucking piece of shit!" Jason yelled but he didn't make a move to get up.

"But it looks like I am." Kevin winked at him and then when Daniel went to jump him, he shoved him against the door. "Touch me and you'll be the one in the toilet."

Kevin knew he had to have looked half insane as growled at him. His face all bloody and swollen. Daniel backed away from him without a word. He grinned smugly and walked out of the bathroom, ignoring the threats from Jason about how he was really going to get it later.

The minute he was out in the hall and the door was shut behind him, he let his shoulders sag. He face was just a mess of pain. From his split lip to his swollen eye. He was going to look like Hulk Hogan's personal punching bag for the next few weeks.

But no matter how much it hurt to even blink or move his lips, he didn't let a tear fall.

And he told his dad as much when he got home. His mother didn't like to see her son beaten up so badly but his father was proud to know he didn't let the bully knock him around and make him cry.

"He's our boy, Clara. Our boy is one tough man. He can take a few punches, ain't that right, Kev?"

Kevin smiled proudly at him, his white teeth stained with his blood. "Right, Da."

As the next few years of high school passed, Kevin found himself on the wrong end of a bully's fist a plenty of times. But no matter how much it ever hurt, he took it and only gave them a grin back.

Bullies didn't have the strength to make him cry, no matter how strong they liked to show Kevin they were.

Kevin heard the knock at his door but he chose to ignore it. He wasn't in the mood to speak to anyone for the rest of his stupid life.

"Kevin," his father called in after he opened the door anyway.

Kevin didn't move from his spot on his bed. He continued to stare at the wall and hope his dad left him alone. But of course, he didn't.

"What happened?" He asked, his voice low but strong.

"I broke up with Marissa," he mumbled, not turning to face his father.

"I thought you were going to ask her to prom?" His father asked, a frown evident in his voice.

"Yeah, I was. Until I found out she was seeing someone on the side." Kevin felt ashamed to even admit it to his father

"Hey, now, come on." He put a hand on his shoulder. "Girl like that ain't nothing to get upset over."

"Da, you don't understand. We were together for seven months...I thought maybe we had something special." Kevin rolled over to meet his father's eyes, hoping he wouldn't be disappointed in him. He could expect him to be upset that his son had let his girlfriend cheat on him.

"You're gonna have to suffer through a few heartbreaks before you find your one great love, kid."

"I know, but I didn't think it would hurt like this…" He trailed off, staring up at his father.

"She ain't worth crying over. None of them are, Kevin."

Kevin let his eyes fall shut.

"Don't ever cry over a girl. No matter how much you think you love her or how blue her eyes or how blonde her curls are."

"I'm not crying," Kevin sighed, knowing his father meant well but didn't really want to deal with it right now.

"I know. I'm just saying so," he said. "Sit up and call one of your friends. Go see a movie, get your mind off her."

"I just want to be left alone. Can you please go?"

"You're not going to get over her by laying on your bed, moping like a baby." He gave Kevin's arm a firm pat.

"Da," Kevin said, his voice held warning to drop it.

"Fine, I understand." His father sighed and stood up. He walked back towards the door and said hesitantly, "Kevin."

Kevin turned his head until his cheek was pressed against the pillow. "Yeah?"

"Feel better, will ya', kid," he said in a voice softer than he'd heard his dad use a while.

Kevin smiled at him. "Of course, Da, I'm as tough as they come."

So apparently, Kevin wasn't only stupid as a kid but he was stupid as an adult too.

He and Esposito were only supposed to be looking into a lead and Castle thought it would be fun to tag along because this case was interesting to him.

It was only interesting because of the way the victims were killed. They were tortured in a way that usually meant a crime of passion but there was a string of random people.

Of course, Castle got himself excited over the serial killers.

The excitement died away when they came face to face with their serial killer. And they found out there was no rhyme or reason to his victims. He was just a good old fashioned case of insane.

And he'd chosen his next victim to be the youngest member of their team.

They'd been tied up for at least two hours. Castle and Esposito were well past yelling, now pleading and begging.

Kevin was taking it all. He wouldn't give this man any satisfaction.

He was dangling from the ceiling with only the chains around his wrists keeping him up. There was blood covering him from head to toe with a lot of bruises to match.

The scary part was that this man didn't want anything from them. He wouldn't stop after they told him information he needed to know or after they promised to give something he wanted.

No, he was going to town on Kevin just because he liked to inflict pain.

"Isn't this so much fun?" He cackled, dragging his bloody knuckles across Castle's cheek.

"You're stupid. You must be," Castle said, pulling away from his touch. "There's no other good explanation for hurting him like this in front of his partner. I mean, maybe if you kept yourself masked or something so he wouldn't be able to find you as easily. But you're actually showing your face and I can promise when we get out, this guy over here, the one growling, is going to kill you. He'd wrestle blindfolded with a tiger for his partner. And you're just a weak little man. No chance."

The man laughed hysterically. "Me, weak?" He shook his head. "No, no, no. Irish is the weak one. I'm doing you both a favor. Now you won't have him holding you back all the time! De nada!"

"Have you ever wondered what your insides look like because soon I'm going to be ripping them out," Esposito jerked on the chains tying him to the chair.

The man turned away from them like he hadn't even heard him. He picked up things from his pile of torture instruments and said, "Bat or torch?"

Kevin was happy he threw the torch down and stepped forward with the bat. He'd take broken bones over fire to his skin any day.

"You think he's like a piñata? Wonder if he's full of candy." He pulled the bat back and swung forward with a whoosh. It was hardly a second before the bat connected to his stomach with a sickening crunch.

Ryan gasped in pain. He probably would have yelled if the wind wasn't knocked out of him.

"Stop it, you sick fuck!" Esposito screamed, his eyes wild as they looked at him.

The only time Kevin had seen him like this was with Lockwood. While Kevin was being tortured and Esposito forced to watch.

Except for this time, at least to Kevin, was more painful.

Castle was screaming as well, his voice pained Kevin to hear since the writer was usually so strong. Esposito had trusted Kevin enough to break down a few times in front of him. But not Castle.

"S'okay, Castle," Kevin mumbled. "I'm-." He was cut off when the bat smashed his ribs once, twice, three times.

The force of the bat had him spinning in small circles and he felt close to throwing up. Maybe the next time that creep came close to him.

"You have to want something," Castle yelled. "Everyone wants something. Just tell us. I have money," he said frantically, "Lots of money. And it's all yours if you just stop hurting him."

He lowered the bat and pouted. "Aw, but where's the fun in that? Maybe if you give me enough, I'll let you pick which finger he can keep."

Esposito screamed out a few words in Spanish that he always refused to translate for Kevin.

"You're so adorable," was all he said back. Then he turned and picked up the torch he dropped minutes earlier. Kevin silently begged him to pick the bat back up.

"An' I thought I was the dumb one," Kevin mumbled, his speech slightly slurred from a probable concussion. "My par'ner is gonna kill you. Cas'le pretty scary too. I'm his shadow. Cas'le Jr." Kevin wasn't sure why he was sharing this with the crazed man but it felt like the right thing to say.

"I think your little friends just wanna see you dance." He kneeled down and started to untie his shoes. He threw them to the wall and pulled off his socks as well. Kevin kicked him in the face the moment he could.

The man fell over but came right back up looking angry. He was mumbling under his breath as he flicked on the torch, a blue flame now coming out.

"Dance, baby, dance," he sang bringing the fire closer to his foot.

There was a searing hot pain immediately but Kevin didn't move. He wouldn't give this guy want he wanted. He'd held out the entire night, he wouldn't start giving up now.

"Move your damn feet!" Esposito yelled at him in a pleading voice.

Kevin shook his head.

The pain moved from one foot to the next as the torch was moved around. The smell of burning flesh had him gagging.

"Kevin!" Now Castle was begging him to do something.

Kevin shook his head again.

"I'll get you to dance for us one way or another," he said below him. He kept the torch still, so the pain stayed in one spot and offered him no relief.

Kevin stayed still as long as possible but before long, he was jerking his foot away from the flame. And once he started, he couldn't stop.

The insane man had put the torch away and Kevin was still bending his feet against his bottom. He laughed at him again.

"Alright, alright, no more." He searched around his pocket. "Let's see what fun can come next." He pulled out a pair of pliers and grinned. Like he was playing some sort of carnival game.

He twirled them in his bloody fingers and said, "Ooh, this will be fun." He straightened up again and roughly grabbed Kevin's cheeks.

Kevin struggled but his face was already hurt enough that he couldn't fight as hard as he'd like to. The man pried open his jaw and wedged the the pliers in his mouth.

Kevin grunted and kicked his feet, desperately trying to get him away. But he was already close to unconsciousness.

"Shh, shh, it's okay, boy. It won't take long. Maybe I'll even let you keep a few." He cooed as he grabbed onto one of his teeth with the pliers.

Castle and Esposito were both screaming wildly and even Kevin was yelling at him, not caring about 'giving in' when he was seconds from getting his teeth ripped from his gum.

"1, 2, 3…" Kevin flinched, ready for even more pain but a round of bullets in the air saved him. The man crumpled to his knees in front of Kevin, holding a hand to his stomach. "Wha-?"

"NYPD!" A familiar voice screamed, sounding like an angel walking on earth. Behind Beckett, a few SWAT members came rushing in. They ran to the crumpled form of their perp.

Two men untied the knots on Castle and Esposito's wrists so they could jump to their feet and rush to Kevin. Beckett was already there, asking to see if he was okay.

Esposito grabbed his gun that had landed on the floor in their earlier scuffle and shot up at the chain attached to the ceiling. It fell down and Castle was quick to catch Ryan before he did too.

"Ow," Kevin moaned as Castle grabbed him.

"I'm sorry," Castle apologized.

Esposito turned to the man that had been torturing his partner for hours and grinned down at him. "Told you we'd win. We always do."

Before the SWAT members hauled him to his feet, Esposito pressed his feet boot to his gunshot wound, enjoying the cry of pain it elicited from the from the man.

Esposito then turned back to Ryan just as Castle was settling him on his feet. "Ow, ow, ow," he said the moment his feet touched the floor.

"Shit," Castle cursed, remembering the burns on the bottoms of Ryan's feet. He pulled Ryan up and supported most his weight.

Esposito hurried over and grabbed the other side of Ryan. Ryan breathed a little easier was they kept him suspended between them.

"Let's get you outta here, partner."

Kevin nodded his head immediately. As they were walking towards the door, Kevin spoke before he was afraid of passing out, "He was wrong."

"Hmm?" Esposito grunted as he continued to half carry Kevin.

"He was wrong 'bout me," Kevin clarified. "I'm not weak. Didn't cry once. I'm pre'y damn tough."

Esposito laughed in surprise. "Yeah, partner, you're pretty damn tough."

It all started the night when Kevin got the phone call. It was past the end of their shift but the particular case they were working on needed extra hours to get finished. So the team was packed around a table sharing two pizzas.

Kevin's phone rang when he was in the middle of laughing at something Castle was saying. He pulled out his phone, saying maybe it had something to do with the case and answered it.

Javier watched as his partner listened to the voice on the other end say something that wiped the smile right off Kevin's face.

"Um, yeah, sure," Kevin said, a few long seconds later. "Can you give me the date and time?"

Esposito shoved over a paper and pen for his partner. He picked up the pen and started to scribble down words.

"And it's being held at Redden's, correct?" His pen paused briefly over the paper. He nodded and then wrote that down.

Javier frowned. The only Redden's he knew about was Redden's Funeral Home.

Kevin hung up his phone and dropped his phone on the table. He ran a tired hand through his hair and went quiet.

Javier reached out to rub his back softly. "It's, uh, my Da… he passed away this afternoon."

Javier kept an eye on him the next few days. He stayed in closer touch with Jenny than usual to see how he was doing.

He hadn't seen Kevin break down at the news yet but he could imagine it had to be coming soon.

Two days after he got the call, they had the service early in the morning. Esposito, Castle, and Beckett walked in looking for Kevin. He was sitting up front with Jenny but wasn't near the casket.

They approached him and offered him big hugs that, just like they knew he would, he held onto tightly. "Thanks for coming," he mumbled after he had gotten his three hugs.

"Of course, Kevin," Beckett said softly, rubbing his arm.

"Is your Ma around?" Castle asked.

Kevin nodded, pointing towards the collage of pictures in the front of the room. Castle and Beckett gave Kevin one more hug before they left to see his mother.

Esposito knew his partner well enough to know he didn't want to talk. So he took a seat on the other side of him and waited until Kevin needed him.

Ryan hardly moved unless family came over to offer their condolences. Some Esposito knew and others he had never seen. But they acted like they were best buds with Ryan and his family.

Esposito saw Kevin's sisters and gave them big hugs. Colleen held onto him tightly and whispered in his ear before letting go, "Please keep an eye on him, Javi."

Esposito nodded and would keep that promise. He sat by Kevin's side all night long as he remained uncharacteristically silent.

Finally, when just about everyone except for Kevin's immediate families (by blood and from the 12th) had gone, Esposito asked him quietly, "You wanna go say something before we have to leave."

Ryan hesitated but nodded his head. Esposito looked over at Jenny and she gave a short nod. He turned back to Ryan and kept a hand on his elbow as he led him to the casket.

Esposito kept an eye on Kevin's face as they got closer. His blue eyes were wide and once they saw his father, he let out a shaky breath.

Esposito squeezed his arm to show he was here and then turned to look at the elder Ryan himself. He had met the man plenty of times before. He wasn't cruel but if it weren't for the blue eyes and the same facial features, Esposito would have never guessed he was his partner's dad.

Kevin was a big ball of sunshine. He was hugs and laughs and smiles and dorky jokes and nerdy trivia and ugly ties.

Kevin's father was cold and closed off.

Esposito always knew Kevin had a mixed relationship with his father. From the stories Kevin had told him for his childhood, Esposito would have guessed that over time he would have grown to hate the man. But the hatred never came. Kevin always spoke proudly of his father.

"He looks so different," Kevin spoke for the first time that night.

Esposito wasn't sure what to say but he knew his partner appreciated physical contact as a way of comfort more than words so he kept himself pressed against his shoulder.

Kevin shut his eyes a few seconds later and started to whisper words under his breath. After a few seconds, Esposito realized he was praying.

Esposito let his partner speak softly to God and then his father before saying his own goodbyes. "We didn't talk a lot but I never got the chance to thank you for raising such an incredible man."

Kevin smiled up at him and by now, Esposito expected a few tears to fall but his eyes were dry. In a small whisper, Esposito said, "It's okay to cry, you know. He's your dad."

Kevin's smile faltered slightly and he looked down at his father. He shook his head. "Men don't cry. It's okay, it's what he would have wanted."

Esposito frowned at his partner. Kevin always went on about being "tough" in front of his dad and somehow Kevin thought the logic of that was to simply not cry.

Usually, Esposito humored him but now he couldn't let it go. If Kevin wanted to cry at his father's funeral, then he should be allowed to.

"Kev, no one's going to shun you if a few tears fall. Hell, if this were anyone else in your family, I'd be balling like a baby. No offense," he added quickly, looking down at Ryan's father.

"I just don't need to cry," Kevin said. "Not because I can't but because I just don't feel it." Placing a hand on his dad's arm, he said, "He knows I love him."

Esposito didn't say anything and Kevin patted his hand. "I'm okay, Javi. Really."

Of course, his partner was okay. No matter how much honey-milk he drank snuggling with his wife, Kevin was one tough cookie.

The moment Kevin saw their red Charger pull up, he jumped into the car. "Hurry, go down this block and take a left."

Esposito, being the great partner he was, didn't ask any questions before he sped down the street. But that didn't mean he stayed silent the entire time. "Bro, what's wrong? Who are we chasing?"

Kevin was staring out the window, keeping his eyes peeled in front of him. He didn't say anything.

"Kev, seriously, is everything okay?" He stole a quick glance at him as he turned the car. "Should I be looking for something?"

"Yeah, a big yellow bus."

Esposito sputtered as he slowed down back under the speed limit. "Dude, we better not be chasing your daughter's school bus."

"Javi," Kevin said.

Esposito pulled over and turned to face him. "Don't 'Javi' me with those puppy dog eyes. You and Jenny agreed to let Sarah take the bus so something like this didn't happen."

"Please, Jen won't know. I just need to see her one last time. She's my baby girl."

Esposito rolled his eyes. "C'mon, stop being so dramatic. She's going to kindergarten, not hell."

"It'll only take a few minutes, Javi, and then we can head to work."

Esposito sighed and started the car back up. "Fine. But if your wife finds out, I'm telling her you held me hostage."

"That's fair. Now hurry up before we lose her."

Esposito drove towards the school and when they couldn't find the bus, Kevin thought they'd lost it along its route. But then, they saw a bus pulling out from a side street in front of them.

"Bus 611, that's her!" Kevin said, leaning forward.

Esposito nodded and pressed a little harder on the accelerator. They followed the bus all the way to the front of her school. It pulled up in front and Esposito pulled up just behind it, hoping no other buses would be pulling in soon.

"You have 5 minutes, Daddy," Esposito said.

Kevin nodded and jumped out the car. He watched as the toddlers all hesitantly stepped out off of the bus. He didn't run forward until he saw a familiar blonde head of hair.

A bus monitor grabbed his arm but he quickly explained himself, "My daughter. She's my daughter."

Sarah Grace heard her father's voice and her head whipped to face him. "Daddy!" She called, running out of line.

Kevin caught her in his arms and pulled her in for a hug. "Hey, SG."

"What are you doing here? Are you coming to school with me?" She asked softly.

He cupped her cheeks in his hands and said, "No, baby, I just had to say goodbye again and get another kiss."

She smiled and pecked his lips. "I'll miss you, too, Daddy."

Kevin smiled at her, feeling his eyes burn slightly. "I'm going to see you soon. Before you know it, you'll be back on the bus coming home to Mommy and Daddy."

Sarah smiled with a nod. "I know, Daddy." She paused to use her little thumbs to wipe under his eyes. "You're the one crying."

Kevin used his own hand to feel his wet cheeks. He hadn't even realized the tears had started to fall. He could practically hear his father's voice in his head. "Don't ever cry over a girl. No matter how much you think you love her or how blue her eyes or how blonde her curls are."

Kevin smiled. Oh, Da, if you ever had the chance to meet my little girl, you'd be crying over her too.

Sarah looked over his shoulder and asked, "Is that Uncle Javi?"

Kevin nodded, sniffling softly. "Yeah, we're heading to work now."

"He's gonna see you crying," she said, seriously.

Kevin gave her one more hug and said, "It's okay. Sometimes Daddy just needs to cry. I think Uncle Javi will understand."

She was happy with that answer and gave him another kiss before saying goodbye. "I have to catch up with the line. I'll see you after school. Bye, Daddy."

"See you soon, baby girl." Kevin stood up and watched her run off. She turned back before disappearing through the gates to blow him a kiss. He caught it with one hand and brought it close to his heart.

When Kevin sat back in the car, Esposito looked at him with a smirk. "Are you crying?"

He wiped at his eyes with the back of his hands. "Don't start anything, you'd be crying too if you were out there."

"Which is why I'm in here," Esposito said with a soft smile. "Now, c'mon, we'll take the long way to the precinct so Castle won't know you cried in your Cheerios this morning."

"Shut up," Kevin said, although he was smiling.

"Dude, by the way, next time, I don't suggest running into a group of kids looking like a crazy man. You're lucky that bus monitor didn't pull a knife on you. Then you'd definitely be crying."

Kevin smack his arm lightly. "Shut up, I'm not a baby."

"Nope," Esposito agreed. "You're only a baby when it comes to your baby."

"When tough little boys grow up to be dads,

they turn into big babies again..."

#castle fanfiction #kevin ryan #Javier Esposito #sarah grace ryan #castle #myrfic

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