#AT LEAST THERE IS SOME. BETTER THAN OTHER GAMES

[book-lore]

And because the Library Goblin in me has been summoned again, I will not only second the great wisdom of the original post, but also add the following:

Can't speak for outside systems to my own, but most libraries only really need a proof of address to get you that card and the access to all the goodies. You can even get the process started without any of that with the promise that they will work with you to get access before you've settled if you've just moved.

Don't have an address? You can still get a card! Again, this is subject to the library in your area, but you can indeed be of no fixed address, between homes or just straight up having a hard time and with no prospect of getting a permanent address and you can still get a library card or at least access to the collection. The library is indeed for everyone and it doesn't matter if you are couch surfing or if you are in a shelter for whatever reason, you too can still come there and use the collection.

And you should because the books are wonderful, and we have a lot of them, but we also have ways for you to access ebooks and audio books. There's Hoopla and Kanopy for your streaming needs and the former even has an insanely large music collection so you can stream a bunch of artists, including brand new albums. For gamers, you can access brand new games and play through them before you commit to buying them. I know that we all love the convenience of things like your streaming service providers but you can find others for free. You don't need a lot of those subscriptions because there is a resource that your tax dollars is already funding ready for you to access.

There are a lot of libraries out there and some can afford to offer more and others less but the more you use those resources, the better the services will get. And you would be shocked at how much you can get through your local library. Yes, even one you might think is small and with a garbage selection. You don't know how much the library can offer you until you go there and the more you use it, the more you value it and the more value it has, the better the argument to fund it. There are libraries out there that have full on Makerspaces where you can learn to sew and rent a machine. There are libraries where you can even take out kitchen materials for baking. There are seed libraries out there where you can get your garden started. This is a third space that people have slept on for years and the possibilities are endless.

I'll cap my ranting off by saying that right now, more than ever, you need to show your library how much you love it and how important a resource it is. There are lots of things you can do but the first and most important thing is getting the card. Having an active library card shows that the community cares and considers the services vital. Libraries have to fight for a lot of the funding that they receive and in recent times, people who would prefer you have nothing have attacked that funding in horrible ways. People who grow complacent when their libraries are under fire like this will end up losing them. And that loss will take decades to recover, if the community can even do it. Starting up a new library takes a lot of money and years to replace everything from books to space to programming. Keep those doors open and show up for the library and they won't be able to take it away from you. Start by getting that card!

YOOOOOO I JUST GOT MY FIRST LIBRARY CARD SINCE LIKE 2007 IT WAS SO EASY???

Like they literally just needed any photo ID with an address, I thought they needed like unopened mail and paperwork and crap, it took 5 goddamn minutes, I did it on my way home from work

And was NOBODY gonna tell me libraries have websites now with ebooks and audiobooks and documentaries and British TV and shit???

Why the FUCK have I been paying Netflix

GO GET A LIBRARY CARD

[bunny-jpeg]

virtual tracks

max verstappen

tags: smut/pwp, sim racing, oral sex/face sitting (reader receiving), masturbation, dirty talk, sub!max

you knew what you were getting into when you first saw the sim racing set up in his apartment. redline was a big part of his life, just like formula one. even when he wasn't streaming, it still meant a big deal to him.

and you were happy that he had a hobby! after all, it wasn't the worst video game to play. you were fine with him playing his silly little racing games and chit-chatting with friends and fans.

but sometimes, you wanted to break that set up with a hammer and toss it over the balcony.

how was this possible? you were standing there in nothing but blue lace panties and one of his redbull windbreakers, the zipper down enough to show your wonderful cleavage. you were inviting him for sex. and max was not paying an ounce of attention.

you were almost dumbfounded until you crossed your arms and said, "max."

"in a minute, my treasure. one second." he said, his eyes didn't peel away from the screen. he steered the virtual car around the curb on a virtual track. you pinched the bridge of your nose and zipped the windbreaker back up.

you went over and grasped the back of his chair and leaned, "max verstappen. for someone with sharp enough vision to win four championships. you are painfully blind." and placed another hand loosely at his neck.

"just let me finish this race and i swear i'll go down on you until you cum at least three times." he promised as he felt an uptick in his pulse. your engagement ring glimmered in the low light.

"you're picking a video game over me, max?" you leaned in a little closer, "thought i taught you better than that. i dressed up for you and you're too busy with your games." your hand lowered to his shorts where you got your hand under the waistband. you gave his cock a little attention, feeling him grow hard under your touch.

he instantly crashed the sim car into a wall and let out a sweet little moan. there was the max you knew and loved. the man who whimpered.

"please, my love." he shuddered, "i'm sorry."

"i understand, you boys love your silly little games. but, now that you're done with that level. why don't you keep your promise?" and played with his cock until he started to get up from his seat.

you knew that max was smart and to see him put that brain to use was always a good sign. you guided him to the bedroom. he let you lead him then pushed him onto the bed.

he reached for you and tried to grab you, but you swatted his hands away. your tone was stern as you said, "look, don't touch. got it?" he then put his hands back on the bed, but those blue eyes were trained on you as you stripped of your minimal clothes. if he had behaved, he would have been able to undress you like a present. he felt his cock twitch in his shorts.

"look at you, maxie." you purred as you got onto the bed, "aren't you the sweetest thing ever? mister big and tough on the track, but when it's just you and i, well, you're just a cute little kitten." you reached for him and kissed him firmly on the lips, "see you look better on your back than in front of a screen." you laid him out on the bed.

he shifted on the bed and felt his pulse spike once more. he could already feel the heat in his face, you stripped him of his black shirt and his shorts. you ran a finger up his hard cock and he almost came from that, you just giggled.

you licked your lips, "do your little racing friends know that you're such a good boy for me? so sweet and loved? does your teammate know? the other drivers on the grid? i bet everyone can see if on your face." your voice sounded nurturing, but your words were erotic.

it was no secret that you were more assertive, some would consider you a little brash. but max loved it. you were quite the pair. you were unlike anyone else he had ever been with.

"are you going to make me cum with that tongue of yours? you leaned in for a kiss before you got on top of him. when you broke the kiss, you got your knees planted on either side of his head.

he licked his lips and you pressed your wet cunt up against his mouth. he clenched onto the sheets as he rubbed his tongue against your pussy. he shuddered as his cock leaked pre-cum.

he was stupid for not focusing on you. you dressed up so nicely for him. racing should have been the last thing on his mind when he could be devouring your sweet, sweet cunt.

you reached down and held onto his shirt blond hair. you remarked with a small chuckle, "your hair is getting a little long, my dear. it feels nice, a good length to yank on."

he groaned, you weren't going to pull out the strands. but the small tug made him only further aroused.

maybe it was how good he made you feel, but you were feeling generous. you looked at him between your legs as you rocked your hips against him. you said softly, "max, my love. you must be so needy. you can touch yourself."

he mumbled a 'thank you' as he reached for his cock and he stroked himself. he made a blissed out noise as he feverishly pleasure you with his tongue. he swore under his breath as he felt the sexual pleasure grow.

max was so good for you, and you were so good for him. he moaned, as did you. you held onto the headboard and moved your hips further against his face. you clenched your thighs around his head.

he knew how to eat you out so well. he was talented with his tongue. he knew the pace that really got you going, the pressure to make you eager for more. his talent, to make you moan.

you groaned and pulled his hair a little more as you rubbed up against him further. you cursed under your breath.

"master with that tongue, max." you shakily exhaled as you moved further up against him, "look at you, fuck. you look good under me, max. you look better with my thighs crushing your skull." you looked as you felt the pleasure continue to course through you.

his tongue grazed across your clit, his licks were a little more heavy and it made your pulse jump as the heat coursed through you. fire in your blood as the hot blond between your legs made your cunt with sexual want.

"drive me crazy, honey." you purred, "you know what you do to me, is that why you were so focused on that stupid game because you are such a tease." you clenched your thighs a little tighter, he groaned as you said, "you're such a tease, max."

his thought were swamped, he could only think of you, you were intoxicating. alluring. you made his cock throb, even as he stroked himself. he could feel pre-cum slide down his knuckles. he breathed through his nose as he licked your beautiful cunt.

heaven.

that was all could be said about you. he needed you deeply, carnally. he yearned for you, in a certain way that he could only describe as being heavenly. is sang in his soul. he yearned for you, needed you. he loved you, even when your thighs were squishing his head. to die by them around be a noble death.

you moaned as you felt the pleasure brew in you. the intense feeling soon reached its peak and you held onto his hair tightly and continued to move against his face. it was an intense feeling as the warmth continued to flow through you.

max continued to jerk himself off, he needed his release soon. the pressure of erotic heat was far too much for him. everything in his body ran hot as he stroked himself quickly. his cock ached for you, when you moaned, he knew he was close. his pace was quick, matching with how he gorged himself on your cock. his dedicating to pleasing you.

you panted heavily, "fuck, fuck, yes. fuck, max. that's it." your noises got louder as you felt climax so close, like it was on the tip of your tongue.

as you came on his tongue, he came around his hand. you finished together. you slowed your ace to a stop and relaxed around him. you panted heavily and pushed hair out of your face to get some relief on your heated cheeks. you got off his face, your pussy was soaked.

you laid out next to him and let him catch his breath for a moment.

"fuck, you're so good to me." you said as you wiped your wetness from his mouth before you went in for a hot kiss.

he got the cum off his hand before he pulled you closer to him and kissed your sweaty forehead. he happily accepted your affection.

"this was amazing." he purred as he held you close to him. you felt good in his arms. he kissed you head and relaxed further into the bed.

you took him by the chin and made him look up at you. you said to him, "you said you were going to make me cum three times." then smiled, "time to get to work, max and then maybe you can go back to sim racing."

"yes, please." he said as he got back between your legs,. he was focused the same way he was when he raced.

you chuckled as he gripped your thigh, "good boy." <3

[puck-heaven-now]

From nhl.com:

The Dallas Stars were minutes from elimination Saturday when [Mikko Rantanen] exploded for three goals and an assist, leading his new team to a 4-2 win in Game 7 of the Western Conference First Round against the team that had traded him, the Colorado Avalanche.

The forward became the first player to record a hat trick in the third period of a Game 7 in the Stanley Cup Playoffs.

“Obviously, things happened not the way I expected to happen [with Colorado], but it’s business, like I’ve said many times,” Rantanen said. “I don’t know. Revenge? I’m just happy to win [against] another team in the playoffs. It doesn’t matter who it is. So, I’m just happy to be on the winning side and move on here.”

...

The Avalanche had to watch as crew members picked up all the hats the fans tossed onto the ice.

“It’s pretty shocking,” Avalanche center Nathan MacKinnon said. “I felt like we were in total control, and Mikko, credit to him, he made some amazing plays. He was the difference-maker. He took over. Yeah, I don’t know. I’m in shock, to be honest.”

...

Let’s be honest,” Stars coach Pete DeBoer said. “He took over the series the last three, four games. He just decided that we were not going to go home and we were not going to lose. I think it started then. But I mean, what you witnessed there was special. …

“This was Colorado and the team he had played for for a decade, and I don’t know all the behind the scenes, what went on there. But he was a motivated guy to make an impact in this series, and he just got better and better.”

There is no doubt Rantanen is one of the best playoff producers in NHL history. He entered this season averaging 1.25 points per game in the playoffs, tied with Mark Messier for sixth among players who had played at least 74 games. But people asked if that was because he had played with MacKinnon and Avalanche defenseman Cale Makar.

“I think he answered that question,” DeBoer said. “I’ve had a lot of playoff runs, and I know I haven’t had a player string together the three games he strung together -- 5, 6 and 7 -- how dominant he’s been shift to shift.”

The handshake line was emotional. Rantanen had gone through so much with so many of the guys on the other side, including winning the Stanley Cup in 2022. He called them his “brothers.” Present tense.

“I always love them off the ice,” Rantanen said. “It doesn’t matter if it was between games, the day off. I love every one of them. And then when we go on the ice, they’re enemies. That’s how it goes.

“Yeah, it’s emotional, for sure, because everything happened so quick. It’s only a couple months since I was still with them, playing with them and chasing a playoff spot and stuff, and now I’m, all of a sudden, a couple months later, playing against them in a Game 7, so emotional is the right word for sure.”

Surreal is another word. Rantanen was asked how he would have reacted had someone told him in training camp he’d have a hat trick for Dallas to defeat Colorado in a Game 7.

“I think I would have left the room in disbelief,” he said. “Yeah, for sure, would have not believed it if somebody told me that. Yeah, difficult year personally. Mentally tough overall, getting traded twice. It’s not fun ever to get traded even once, but twice in the season [is even harder].”

Rantanen thanked everyone in Dallas for welcoming him and helping him adapt.

“You can’t write it up any better than that -- guy comes over and knocks out his old team, puts the team on his back,” Stars goalie Jake Oettinger said. “One of the best individual performances I’ve seen in playoffs in my life, so just so happy for him.

“And it’s just the start.”

[full article]

[stardustbae]

LADS-High School AU//Headcanons

Pairings: Xavier, Zayne, Rafayel, Sylus and Caleb x Non-MC!Reader (Separate)

Genre: Slice of Life

Note: This is my first time ever writing, so please be nice!🖤✨️

Xavier

-The guy who slept in the back of class all the time yet still got excellent grades, so the teachers didn't care.

-Wore a jersey mostly since they were warm and cozy. Whenever he wore a blazer, he always had his white hoodie under it.

-Forever had a bedhead, but he looked cute with it. (Everyone also thought that was how his hair naturally looked since it was somehow still neat)

-Was definitely on the chess team and did athletics for a sport. He also has a certain interest in fencing.

-Barely spoke to anyone and minded his own business.

-Weird he somehow ended up becoming acquainted with you since he practically lived by "EAT. SLEEP. GAME. REPEAT" and was perfectly fine with that and no one else. (Except for maybe Jeremiah, who was his childhood friend?...acquaintance? He's not sure either)

-It all started when you sat next to him in class. You gave up one of the front seats for your friend with bad eyesight and took something at the back since it was full, which ended up being right next to him. It wasn't bad, to say the least. The silence that followed after you nodded each other a greeting was peaceful. You never cared much for attention or talking to people unless necessary... or you were close enough to info dump, so this was nice.

-He acknowledged your existence and thought you were cool.... then he ended up unintentionally keeping track of your mannerisms, from the way you brushed back your hair to the sounds of doodling on your notebook (which may have lulled him to sleep a few times). He was intrigued and kept watching, masking it with his folded hands on the desk, or quickly shutting his eyelids whenever you felt his gaze and turned towards him.

-Only managed to properly talk to each other once you two got assigned for a paired project, then learned that you two have a common interest in video games. Which led to game exchanges and eventual online matches as a team.

Zayne

-Quiet nerd who sat up front and never had time for BS or anything really.

-People were secretly scared of his icy nature.

-Every girl was after him because he was cool and... face card never declined. He absolutely hated the attention.

-Always in a blazer, no matter the temperature and his hair was perfectly neat all the time.

-Did Biology, Physics, Chemistry, Pure Math and Accounting - everyone's worst nightmare.

-You ended up sitting next to him up front because the teacher thought you were talking to your friend, so she just moved you next to him as if you were a delinquent who could be changed. You didn't argue since there'd be no point to, so you just accepted it and moved your stuff to the desk next to him. After a nodded greeting, you just sat down, checking your notes whilst waiting for lunchbreak.

-He didn't think much of you other than that you were attractive and noisy according to teacher, so he didn't bother.... was really surprised when he saw you open up your notes to find it incredibly neat and detailed.

-You two don't end up interacting much, even though you really would like to. It's just that you couldn't find an opening.

-One day, you did end up finding it - he was chomping on a literal bar of chocolate before class could start. To say you weren't taken aback would be an absolute lie. He whips his head back at your shaky form when he hears suppressed giggles to which you quickly recovered and apologized, saying that it was cute. His ears got red.... visibly red. He never ate chocolate around you again until you offered him some of your favorite, and you ended up bonding on sweets.

-Warms up to you and become friends(?), walks you to classes discussing schoolwork with you and branching off into study sessions.

-As he got comfortable with you and got to know you better, he realized that your slight upbeat energy is really nice, so he kept you around.

Rafayel

-Artist at the back of class who'd rather be anywhere but at school but goes since well... you have to.

-Always sketching when not actually putting effort into notes - which needs color and hand lettered headings.

-Had the best hair and customized uniform to his taste with pins and so on.

-Hated when anyone stared for too long at his sketchbook.

-Definitely took Technical Drawing and got bored but still kept doing it because he could draw. His favorite was English due to the creative and literary aspects.

-Excellent swimmer but never did it as a sport, preferred wandering instead.

-Has everyone's attention on him. Girls, guys, others... you name it, but he hated interacting with people too much - he is a social recluse after all.

-Likewise you didn't like attention at the front of the class so you sat in the back, in front of him and next to the window. You were getting stuff from your bag behind you, and then you noticed him sketching. As if in a trance, you rested your head on the back of your chair and continued watching the pencil strokes grazing against the paper. Snapping back to reality with a flick to the forehead from the artist, he looked rather displeased, so you apologized and complimented his technique before turning back around.

-Taken aback, he didn't expect you to know anything about art and thought you were going to bat your eyelashes at him and attempt to win his attention over by half-heartedly asking to see more of his sketchbook. Hesitantly, he taps on your shoulder, asking if you drew as well, to which you gave a soft nod. He considers getting your number and just asks to see your work at break instead.

-Never left your side ever since, not that you minded or anything. He was a good friend who was always there for you. You would never ask for anything else.

-On the other hand.... He. Was. Fucked. After the little while, you two had become friends, he couldn't help but find you as his muse (he had a crush on you but would never admit that)

Sylus

-"Bad boy" loner

-Everyone thought he was a delinquent because of his ear piercings and death glare. Not to mention the way his attire was: unbuttoned shirt, loose tie, random jacket, and messy hair.

-Did MMA out of school. In school, he didn't get along with many and preferred being on his own.

-Did the business course and added physics as an extra subject.

-Was put next to you because the teacher thought he'd absorb your goodness and become a good kid.

-You weren't intimidated by him. In fact, you could match his glare. Band for band? No. Glare for glare.

-There was a time in which he took your ruler to smack someone with.... you shot him a nasty glare, and he put it back quietly and apologized.... maybe the teacher was right about the good vibes?

-there were mostly short interactions between you two. He grew closer once he noticed the way other boys in class treated you. It wasn't the absolute worst thing, but he could tell you were ticked off, so he stood by as a safety net. Your guard dog. He never understood them for their actions since you were decent according to his standards.

-There was a shift after a while. People avoided you, which made little sense until sylus plopped down next to you, ah there's was your answer. You didn't mind, he was nice and pretty and tall- great, now you have a little crush.

-He could sense something was off about you. You were shy and never made eye contact with him. Oh? He sees it now.... and uses it to his full advantage. He can't tell when you're blushing despite hiding it well, but not well enough. He's officially your worst nightmare now with all the teasing. Good luck with that hun!

Caleb

-Popular kid who knows everyone to the point it's annoying.

-Played either soccer or basketball and did the thing where he lifted the front of his shirt to wipe the sweat off his face and flashed his abs, which made girls faint literally.

-Did similar subjects as Zayne except he swapped out accounting for Engineering, Graphics and Design.

-Was every teacher's favorite student. So neat and respectful, and he was perfect, if only they had another student like that. Y/n? Oh... yeah no

-Always with Gideon, occasionally meeting up with Zayne. Otherwise, he pesters you whilst your friend has heart eyes, and you aren't impressed in the slightest. He's too bright to the point that your eyelids might be burning off. You don't have the energy for this. You just want a nap.

-You never got the hype. His popularity pissed you off, not in a jealous way. It all just gave you a massive headache when you heard girls squealing. Very overstimulating when they cornered his table and knocked your stuff over whilst invading your space. Yes, you sat next to him in the middle of the class, sadly, and are now cornered.

-poking him on the side, you nonchalantly tell him to tell his fangirls to leave and then plop your head down due to your massive migraine. His expression turns from a sweatdrop to slight concern when he clears the area and asks if you're okay. You can't even hate your academic rival. He's too nice.... and cute... maybe you do get the hype... slightly.

-Irrespective of rivalry, you two hold a certain respect for each other. Maybe it's a little more than respect. You push each other to do your best and end up tying most of the time. Maybe you two are more in sync than you thought.

[banana-can-do-art]

Azul would probably have such a hard time walking in heels at least at first tho since he’s from the sea and he’s already constantly complaining about how hard it is for him to fly, and even in the stitches event my boi still can’t surf lol. Also yes Azul is such a boyfaure. I feel like the list of boyfailures in this series goes to Deuce, Idia, Azul, and like maaaaybeee Malleus and/or Sebek, and maaaaybeeer Kalim. Also though on the note of wearing heels I cannot judge at all. Like one time I had to wear not even heels but more of a wedge but they still feel like heels to me even though others (cough my mom who made me wear them) would beg to differ lol. And I had to wear them while standing for like an hour and when I tell u that starts to make your feet hurt like crazy. I can’t I can’t it’s painful. And that was just wedges I don’t understand how some of the characters in the game are wearing the highest heels known to man kind all day everyday like it’s nothing. Like Vil and Riddle pls calm tf down I beg you please wear slippers for once in your lives I beg you, you’re gonna break your toes! There is at the very least Riddle’s Halloween vignette where him and Vil talk about how back in Riddle’s first year he was in pain from the heels and Vil offered him a bandaid and then Riddle showed back up to replace it lol and Vil was like wow that boi is gonna crash and burn. And it’s like excuse me, sir? You’re right don’t get me wrong, but have you looked in the mirror recently?! I actually think it’s really interesting to think about how Riddle and Vil are actually really similar characters who had similar values enforced into them, but by different people. However, Vil is much better at masking his rage and appearing professional at all times and thus from the beginning most of his dorm has a deep respect for him. While on the other hand, Riddle’s emotional regulation skills are in the fiery pits of hell and he cannot manage his temper and looses it on the daily. So his dormates at the beginning have less respect for him and view him more so as an immature kid than a proper leader. But as he grows as a person and goes through his character arc throughout the story you can see his dormates, even Ace beginning to respect him, and I think that’s really great. Vil on the other hand completely shatters his pitch perfect image with his overblot and he has to accept that now the SDC participants know that he isn’t always as cool as he puts on, but that’s also good for him since while it would be bad to become the same way arc one Riddle was, Vil does seem to feel more comfortable with expressing his feeling around Rook and Epel as opposed to always maintaining his image as the cool campus celebrity who always looks perfect, although he certainly still does his fair share of that. It’s nice to see the gradual change in characters over the course of the game, no one does a complete personality shift post overblot. Although I still would love to see a bit more noticeable character development from some of these guys. Although it’s also fun to pick things apart by reading in between the lines.

Yeah as much as I love the goofy vingettes, like wouldn’t it be wild if they dropped a super serious one and it turned out to be like Jack’s or something.

Omg Ruggie needs to have an event that’s like where’s Waldo but it’s where’s Mr. Bucchi. The guy straight up pulled the left to get milk moves. At the very least tho I neeeeeed a canon Ruggie’s grandma design and I need to see what she’s like. Epel’s Meemaw was already such an icon, I need them to meet each other. Omg could you imagine Ruggie’s grandma and Epel’s Meemaw hitting it off and becoming besties. I could see that tbh. I mean while yes Ruggie’s financial situation in his town is much worse than Epel’s, they still do both come from small and lesser known areas and I feel like they could totally bond over that. They’d have cooky old lady chats. In a similar boat I know that Maleanor isn’t even alive but like I need her and Georgina to meet, and no it’s not just because I’m a simp, but daaaamn, but that’s not the only reason why okay. Like I just think they could have cool chats about being evil looking mothers and running very totally not whatsoever kingdoms/ the actual fish mafia

DJ RIDDLE DJ RIDDLE DJ RIDDLE

What I need to know tho is who Neigie’s number one fan is. Like Rook is the number two fan, which implies that there must be one person who is an even bigger fan. I asked my friend what he thought and he said maybe it was Vil out of spite to spy on him or something. Idk, it could also be Neige himself, self love lets go king, or it could be one of the dwarves, idk, but I’m so so so so curious. It would be rlly funny if we actually got some kind of plot twist reveal about it later lol.

You should watch inside job it’s pretty funny. Also Alex Hirsch creator of gravity falls and voice actor of Hooty and King from the owl house worked on it and you can very much tell through the style of comedy sooooo

Guys, I need to know who the housewarden before Riddle was. Like what freak of nature was so off the walls crazy, and so unbelievably lax with the rules that even though the students are upset with how strict Riddle is, they still don’t want that guy back or talk about how they wish he could be in charge again. Like who was this menace to society?

[poetry-protest-pornography]

Pit Babe 2 episode 1 yelling:

This is mostly just pulled from my chat with Mia as I watched, with a few additions. I usually break up liveblog posts for length, but I was too excited the vroom vroom show is back.

Onto the yelling!

Three minutes in, and Mama and Papa are back 😂 And they're still weird and very horny about each other. Good for them.

Looks like Charlie goes to the Leo DSN School of Helping Your BF With His Big Emotions. Which is to say "kiss/bang him about it"

They've managed to top season 1's NC scenes five minutes into episode 1. Bravo, team

KIM!

They're holding haaaands 😭

Kim, you're right, you would be number 1, Babe should kiss you in gratitude

I forgot what Charlie's powers were for a second and was like "how is he hearing this?" Lol

MY BOY NORTH! I MISSED HIM!

Of course the bad guy has an evil looking car. Perfect, no notes. It should have red under lighting to really sell it

I appreciate that they're doing the video game thing with the race position over the cars 😂 It's legit helpful but also just the right amount silly

This Willy kid is a dick. (Money on him being a Tony plant)

Alan swooping in to keep Babe from sticking his foot in it with the press, and the. Babe just does it anyway lol. And then North and Charlie double down 😆 I love my no chill sons

Uh oh, Babe is upset, better push him up against something and smooch him

The "Nu* pronoun Alan is using is so cute, and the soft way Jeff is saying "loong" is *adorable*

Jeff powers upgrade? I bet everyone thinks it's because he's pregnant and that boosts his powers

Charlie is trying to get rid of his powers-- or at least Babe's-- I forgot that was talked about last season.

Oh no, this experimental man is having a bad day

And first "Alpha" drop off the season. Idk how they even would've begun to un-omegaverse this show

Oh good, Charlie IS going to bang Babe about his feelings. Flowers and sexy role-play, The CharlieBabe special

Charlie: "he doesn't think my body can handle it"

Babe: "does he know how many times a day we fuck?"

If the living room car is a-rocking, don't come a-knocking

At least we know what the living room car is for!

Uh-oh, losing control of your powers, that's a sign of early pregnancy, for sure

Jeff, we know better than to lie to our partners by now, no?

KENTAAAAAA

You can shoot Dean, Mr Gangster guy he sucks. OH SHIT THEY REALLY SHOT HIM?! Is he actually not in this season?

There are some magical technologies in Thailand. I want a card I can put in the wall that turns all the lights on the way I like them

Not the drinking buddy post it 😭😭😭

SONIC IS HEEEEERE

North is just standing there like "please notice me please notice me please look at me"

Where is my boy's color? Why is Sonic in neutrals? Where are the silly prints?! 😭😭😭 North, kiss this man and give his color back!

Jeff: you playing matchmaker?

Alan: me? Those two are already dating, they just don't know it SO TRUE BESTIE

This conversation where Kim quits but him and Alan are both like "but we're still family tho" is so sweet. I love them a lot (what will X Hunter do when they're back down to the one braincell that Alan usually has? Kim is taking his braincell with him, how will they survive?)

Also, Kim is 1000% right, but I need him to visit often so he can do this with NorthSonic:

Alan, you are too young and child free (for now!) to worry about being an empty nester

Pete and his giant bouquet are here

Do they only have one picture of Way? @hotasfahrenheit decided this is the only picture of Way/Nut to ever been taken, and I think she's correct

Jeff can't take the skill erasing drugs, Charlie; they're not safe for the baby

It's okay, Babe, the zombies are going to be in a university bothering your friends, not in this lab

They have said "special alpha" so many times. Omegaverse erasure who?

Not!Way is about to have the weirdest first day of work in history

Pavel is so pretty, and Nut in those glasses is just so unfair. UGHHHH

PETE YOU CAN'T JUST TOUCH PEOPLE TO READ THEIR MINDS, THAT'S AN HR VIOLATION

I feel like I'm gonna flip flop on they're Chris is a different person, a clone, a robot, or Way with amnesia every episode

Related: I need The Prettiest Count to come out yesterday, I need Nut to have the twelve boyfriends he deserves

Kenta does not deserve to have to deal with Tony again. He looks terrified and it makes me v sad (that insanely tight T-shirt that is clinging to his tits is making me a lot less sad. If they hadn't planned away to Tony I would've missed him, I was struggling to look anywhere else 😆)

Ep 2 preview and Babe is already being a dick. Why is Babe already being a dick? Does the new mechanic have mind control powers and is influencing him, because that would be annoying. Alpha powers of Fuck Your Relationship Up

[silentsockfeet]

i’m so unbelievably pissed at this show for having the gall to make ellie and dina walk through the capitol hill bookstore and rather than have it be a moment of connection and discovery for the two of them - thinking specifically of dina saying “ellie look it’s us” when she found that lesbian pulp novel - they instead have them cracking jokes and making fun of it, with witty remarks about the “happy proud rainbow town” as if the decorations all came from some naive happy-go-lucky folk who had never known the hardships of the apocalypse

and then they turn around and give dina the same contrived sad homophobic parent origin story that every other queer character has. stripping away her confidence and her history and everything that made game dina stand out. dina, who not only was bisexual but was jewish, and therefore knows better than most about both the sadness and pride that comes with having faced the worst and come out the other side. and instead they made dina some scared, ashamed little girl too uncomfortable to even say the word “sex.” why does shame get to exist in your apocalyptic world but not pride. you have to be joking

the very least we expected of this show was to have respect for their queer characters in the same way the game did. and they can’t even do that. if you won’t respect me as a queer person then why should i respect your work. go fuck yourself

[starrythroat]

hard vs soft rant

So I had a big draft on my opinion on soft magic systems vs hard magic systems, but after giving it some time to breath I decided to make a shorter one instead

Disclaimer: I won't talk here about how I believe people should write their fictional settings or to behave with each other or what are the differences between writing for yourself vs writing for yourself and sharing vs writing for others or when criticism is appropriate etc etc. In general, I strongly believe that people should worldbuild the way they want

I don't go there, but i get this vibe from some worldbuilding communities that soft magic systems in tandem with high fantasy is for lazy or not intelligent enough people and is equal to avoiding research, because real chads do tectonic plates maps and plan out planetary system and every magic Is just a technology we don't understand etc

And I don't like this approach very much. As a person who does map plate tectonics for their settings, I'm not talking about lore writing mode itself, but rather about how it's presented to other people sometimes as something superior, especially in such discipline as writing magic systems

Yes, I agree that researching in general can make your setting more rich, because I believe the more interesting things you know the more you can share with people or ponder with yourself, and also as someone with very poor fantasy I have hard times imagining people being able to make up stuff without research. BUT i have some points of my opinion i want to share:

well-researched setting doesn't necessary mean natural sciences research or hard magic system presence. example: history of esotericism, sociology, psychology, history of sciences, religion etc etc

well-researched natural science does doesn't necessary mean this science is used as it is, for building a planet for example. instead it can be placed as a metaphor or subject of thoughts \ praise etc

hard-magic system are often praised for being more realistic, close to our universe. but in most cases i think it might feel realistic because of thought put into logic of it and because of familiar to audience pop science concepts. I don't believe something built on like university course number of hours in science research for a setting has high chances of being "realistic", especially when in final product you can see magic action and be able to immediately "understand" how It works from for example physics pov after reading only through few pages! If it was true, everyone could get up to date phd in all sciences in like one year of studies and you wouldn't need science communicators

or in other words: when you're able to explain to the reader your "science-based" magic system in a few pages of lore drop, any other fictional magic logic will do as well. yes, throwing in some stuff that reader might recognize might create a little bit of extra illusion of "ohh were speaking REAL research here" but you must realize that's a trick and not something that makes you better than other worldbuilders

humanity haven't deciphered how "our world works" if it's even possible. yet a lifetime of 24\7 studying won't be NEARLY enough for you to read about all the data we have gathered and what theories we have built, but some people believe that supplemental research for your fictional setting, often done not full-time, without doing math and studies, through pop science 20 min long videos, can somehow almost close the gap and elevate people who do that above people who spend time on other stuff in their setting

I might even argue that realistically all the "hard magic systems" should look like soft magic for at least in-universe non magic users, and for the readers themselves, unless you want to make magic manual from pov of learning wizard without any narrative, if we're playing the game at being very pedantic about this

It's not a new thought, but in my opinion, as in drawing, creating satisfying for brain magical system is about composition: harmony of order and disorder, actions with predictable outcome vs actions with unpredictable outcome in a nice proportion, weaved in narrative in a pleasing way in a same manner as any other possible event is treated in the story, because any magic will feel unnatural in the story if it's placed in a wrong place

[essycogany]

Sonic HATES Being Wrong

Like…to an extreme degree. Let me elaborate.

This is a very interesting detail I’ve noticed ever since I made my Sonic’s Flaws post. Here, I’d like to talk about Sonic’s most fatal flaw because this conversation gets interesting. The flaw is one every variation of Sonic can be guilty of and one that causes the most damage to his world and even the people he cares about. If you disagree, I understand. Just hear me out and even if I don’t convince you, I hope this turns out to be a fun read regardless. Feel free to give me some context, correct me, or add information if you‘d like.

The Flaw

Sonic is terribly pertinacious and stubborn. Most people would think of Sonic Prime where he doesn’t listen to his friends warning him to not destroy the paradox prism, but when I think of Prime!Sonic I don't think of that. Especially since this version comes off more as an inexperienced teenager trying to figure things out. While in the games, he’s portrayed as rarely being wrong. Not because he’s perfect, but because Sonic never feels the need to change because of past victories. After all, if everything is going his way, why should he change, right? Well, this can be a problem. The scene in S3 ep3 where a few of the pirates were lost at sea, shows how truly stubborn Prime!Sonic (and Sonic in general), can be. He verbally refuses to take accountability for lost resources and unknowingly helps Nine have better predominance over them.

In this scene, No Place was decaying and Sonic finds out that the other pirate crew was stuck there. Everyone else, even the villains, reasonably says it’s too risky and he ignores them. Of course, he is within reason but if things went sour, it would’ve been his fault. Especially since that almost became a reality before the Chaos Council swooped in to help.

Near the end of the episode, Sonic says it’s a win for everyone, but Mr. Doc says, “Was it? Your little friends are safe, but at what cost? The fox can conjure up more minions with the snap of his fingers. Whereas our fleet is damaged, our troops are spent, and we’re almost out of time.” Surprisingly reasonable call out of the consequences of saving the pirates, if they don’t have enough resources, they were even more screwed than before. Then Sonic says, “I’m sorry but losing anyone is not an option.” While it’s warranted and makes sense for his character, it almost comes across as “We had to save them because I said so.” This is an example of Sonic not having a good argument by addressing the results of their battle. He does a lot more than you’d think. Despite Sonic not listening to people being a bigger staple of Prime, I personally think it’s never expanded upon or executed well. Not to me anyway, but I don’t mind anyone disagreeing.

In any case, Sonic, as a character in every continuity, tends to “follow by his own rules” but this can be perceived negatively as “doing whatever he wants no matter who argues with him.”

Examples

Sonic Boom Rise of Lyric tackles this too. This is probably the least serious example but still can be a problem sometimes. This is S2 Ep 19 when an Eggman robot Clone tries to break Team Sonic apart and almost succeeds too. It doesn’t have much to do with this topic but I do like how in this episode when the drama started happening, Sonic for once in his life tries to talk abohut his feelings with Tails who turned out to be Steve. Of course, he doesn’t apologize and I know this has nothing to do with this discussion, but I just thought it was a funny thing to point out. The one time Sonic tries to talk about his feelings, he gets the door slammed in his face. It’s so mean-spirited and stupid. I love Sonic Boom!

But yeah, Rise Of Lyric also shows how his stubbornness can end up with the world being at stake. Or in the case of this episode have your friends grow apart.

The Sonic Movies tackles his shortcomings perfectly. I think he's pretty impulsive in all 3 movies. Mixing his perniciousness doesn't create the greatest meal. He's younger, so that would be expected. This scene is the most recent example. Sonic as a character tends to live in the moment and here, Movie!Sonic is playing a huge role in this category. He’s not even trying to hear anyone out. He’s in a constant rage at this point and can’t think clearly. He wants revenge on Shadow so much he loses himself. His friends. His brothers are so loyal to still allow him to get the Master Emerald despite knowing he wants it for revenge. Sonic's so hurt, he loses himself and forgets what they originally were there for.

I'm sure if Sonic choose to let his feelings consume him, he probably wouldn’t have saved the world. Why? Let’s just say things would’ve went out of control without Shadow. Sonic dogged a big tangent bullet for having mercy on Shadow.

Yeah, Archie/Reboot Archie didn’t mess around either. I'd say it’s sometimes as tense and bit worse due to him having the biggest ego and ongoing trauma. I'm surprised he didn't go insane. Notice how harsh he is in these instances. He’s overly angry here. Luckily, he has a large group of friends to help him take things down a peg and reminds him how they have his back. Even when worst comes to worst (which is an understatement), his friends are able to get him out of that mindset and put him back in reality. Hunbel him to put it bluntly.

In a way, Sonic's flaws in the Archie comics make me think he feels so guilty that he pushes himself beyond his limits as a way to make up for his loudmouth. Like in other versions, he feels the need to take on more than he can physically handle. He strains his body, mind, and entire being to accomplish tasks on his own because he believes he deserves the punishment. Alternatively, he might just be exhausting himself and attempting to take on more than he can manage. It’s not surprising, really.

This panel is insane for letting Eggy make a valid point. You can tell by his ears how Sonic’s getting visibly irritated. By the end of the argument, he gets super mad and can’t even find a good quip to back himself up. Because in a way, he knows Eggman has a point. That’s how I interpret it anyway.

Game or IDW Sonic is usually in denial when it comes to being wrong. He doesn’t address the issues directly but the person who calls him out for it instead. He’s the most experienced Sonic. I know some people use “mature” but I think experience is a better term due to how he doesn’t have arcs or character growth like other characters. More so he’s used to this song and dance, so his hatred towards being wrong comes from a place of thinking he’s got everything under control. Until it bites him in the butt.

You notice in most of these Sonic’s pretty angry and isn’t the biggest fan of being told off. Even in different continuities, the guy cannot argue without not being self-aware most of the time. The funny thing is he isn’t doing it selfishly. At least not in a typical way. To me, Sonic is the least selfish character in the franchise for a good chunk of the series. He sacrifices himself, gives people more chances than they deserve, and even takes the time to stop his main goals if it means helping someone else. But the guy cannot take the time to admit he’s wrong or his morals have consequences. Not because Sonic thinks he’s better than anyone else. I don’t think Sonic sees himself in that way, but I do think he’s always in “I’ve done this thing plenty of times. As long as this thing works, I’ll keep doing it,” mode. Or in the case of Movie!Sonic, goes on instinct which is also a common part of his characterization.

Why Sonic Has This Flaw

Sonic never stops running; he charges head-first into any situation, always striving to do what's right. After all, he's the fastest thing alive. Sonic doesn't have the luxury of questioning himself or dwelling on doubts. While it's true that he has caused some issues, including in the games, he doesn't waste time feeling sorry for himself. The only times he's shown insecurity were during the Metal Virus arc, so interpret that as you wish.

This brings up another point. Crazy how much I didn’t notice, but most of the time, Sonic doesn’t like it when people disagree with him. Understandable, everyone doesn’t want to be wrong. But he takes it to the extreme at times. Like sometimes he's baffled when anyone challenges him. Sonic’s also never truly called out by the right people. I don’t mean Shadow, Espio, Knuckles, or the villains. I mean, Amy, Tails, Tangled, or other characters he’s inspired. People who look up to him. Sure, they try, but I can count on one hand how many times he actually listens. Sonic’s always so caught up in doing things his way that he disregards people who mean the most to him.

I mentioned this in my other post but he doesn't listen to Tails in Sonic 06 or Lost World, so the games count.

While Sonic often has valid points in his arguments with others, he frequently comes across as someone who needs to be right. He rarely allows others the opportunity to express their views or admits when he is wrong. This issue is often overlooked in stories where these conflicts arise, either because there isn't enough time to address them or they remain unanswered altogether. This makes sense, considering that Sonic typically doesn’t undergo character arcs canonically. However, I appreciate the presence of characters like Shadow, Knuckles, Surge, Kit, and certain Archie characters like Scurge. They serve to challenge Sonic’s morals and illustrate that he isn’t always correct. If Sonic isn’t going to evolve as a character, at least these figures can show that his sense of freedom and living by his own rules doesn’t work for everyone. They can be portrayed negatively and can challenge his viewpoints. They can be questioned. They can be challenged. Sonic isn’t always right.

His passion shows that he truly wants things to work for everyone. His stubbornness drives him to the point of frustration as he strives to help others to live according to his ideals. However, at times his approach isn’t the most effective. You can see that Sonic genuinely hates this, yet he continues to push forward to help those in need. There’s something both beautiful and heartbreaking about that.

Conclusion

What’s funny is that Sonic rarely gets angry, so you could say this could be one of his few triggers. Along with people being unjust and other such.

Overall, Sonic has good intentions but the results of those intentions are severe. None of this is to imply Sonic’s a terribly written character. It’s just a serious flaw he has. Though listening to his friends more would help.

I’d be lying if I said I wouldn’t like a moment of his friends noticing a constant pattern of him being pertinacious and not paying attention to anyone’s protest. I wouldn’t want it to come out of nowhere, but it’d be an issue that’d progress over a large amount of time and add up. It could be dramatic or constructive depending on the situation and execution. Whatever character does it, they’d either talk to him about it or physically show the outcomes of his actions. They do it all the time in other media but not canonically. This is just random speculation though. I don’t know if I’m in over my head but I hope someone got something out of this.

All of this is not to say Sonic never takes accountability or listens to his friends. SA1 scene with Amy, when he apologizes to Bell in IDW for being too standoffish, and plenty of other examples. Like the end of Sonic movie 3. That Sonic Boom episode where he apologized for not working with his team. And endless moments in Archie and Reboot Archie. Sonic isn’t unreasonable. Just 9 times out of 10 he can get a big head. That’s all.

Stay Creative! 💜

[tumbling-through-deepspace]

Becoming aware (Lyssa)

Breaking the fourth wall series. Previous >>> next

From the moment the customization page popped up, she knew.

Feeling the shifts on her face, seeing the hair options, the flashing colors, and limited critiques from her counterpart, Lyssa was aware she was apart of a game.

It could be worse. At least being the main character wasn't so bad. Who was she kidding? The last thing she wanted to be was the love interest to four guys.

One was cloaked in secrets and sleeping in random places. One was a sass mouth who had brat behavior. As the main story progressed, there was one who had henchmen and seemed to be the leader of a mafia group. The doctor was the only normal one, but even he was a workaholic.

As she sat in her apartment, Lyssa evaluated the situation she was in. It was nice knowing that she wasn't some kind of damsel in distress, but the job choice could have been better and her evol type.

Then there was her counterpart, Bree. It struck her odd that the woman spoke to and about each of them like they were alive. However, she appreciated it in some way. It was hard sometimes pretending and not responding when Bree asked questions or made comments.

Lyssa gets excited when it is time to take photos. She gets to see Bree clearer, her voice isn't muffled, and gets glimpses of the outside world.

"It would be nice if the game developers could give more hair choices, especially with hair texture; you wearing braids or having more curls would be wonderful. Clothes too that offered more pants, maybe some sandals for your feet. A girl can't always be in heels or combat boots."

Lyssa agreed with the commentary.

As time passed, she learned things about Bree. It was nice learning about the woman. She was a nursery school teacher who taught a class of seventeen children (battling wanderers sounded better), was the eldest daughter and sister to thirteen siblings; she couldn't drive any form of vehicle, was a mom to an energetic baby and had an obsession with watching Korean dramas.

The woman also tends to catch a cold quite often and stares off into space from time to time.

Bree also prefers to say home more than anything else. It was just work, home, and the occasional outing to the park or visiting her siblings. It worried Lyssa a bit.

Sometimes, she wished to just say hello but knew that would freak Bree out. It would be nice not being the only self-aware character. Was it possible to find a way out of the game?

"You're thinking so hard, I can almost hear your thoughts."

Blinking, she remembered where she was currently... having lunch with Zayne. He sat across from her eating macaroons.

"Sorry. I'm thinking about a friend of mine."

He looked at her calmly. "Anything I can offer assistance with? You looked troubled for a moment."

"I don't think you can help. Unless you know how to travel to another dimension..."

Zayne raised a brow. "Dimension travel has something to do with your friend?"

She shook her head, letting out a small chuckle, "Forget I said anything."

Zayne's ears picked up on the last sentence she whispered, "Can't get to her anyways. Bree doesn't even know I exist."

Lyssa jumped in fright at the breaking of porcelain, and the table suddenly covered in ice. Her head snapped up, making eye contact with a shocked Zayne.

Before she could ask what was wrong, he firmly grabbed her wrists. "Zayne! What the hell!"

"How do you know that name? No, wrong question... how do you know who she is?"

They stared at each other. Lyssa searched his face, trying to make sense of what was happening. Then it clicked.

"You know who I'm talking about. Oh my goodness, you know who Bree is! Oh, fuck how long have you know? How long have you been self-aware!?"

He let go of her and quickly reached for his phone, placing it on speaker after dialing a number.

She nearly choked when Sylus's voice filled the space.

"SYLUS KNOWS ABOUT BREE TOO!?"

"Well, this is interesting. Hello, kitten."

"How fast can you get here?"

"A few minutes. I have your location already, so just stay put... relax kitten, the doctor and I have a lot to discuss with you."

Not waiting for a response, he hung up, leaving her speechless. Well shit. It seems she wasn't alone in this anymore.

[whirlpool-blogs]

who are the smartest hockey players in your mind right now? whether that’s in an academic sense or hockey sense or both

hmm academic achievement is pretty straightforward, you could google which guys have college degrees and there’s some interesting stuff! in terms of hockey iq, all of these guys are pros. if anyone didn’t have genuinely elite, pro-level hockey sense, they’d get killed on the boards out there in a second.

but honestly my favorite kind of Smart is guy who understands how to play a complete game, and I am nawwwt talking academics or hockey. there’s a whole other game out there to be played - and won - and some guys understand that better than most!! and for that, the current leaderboard in my opinion:

#1 will smith hockey

#2 jack hughes

#3 nate bastian!!!

#1 Currently leading - Will Smith hockey

WSH is still new to the scene so who can say how long he can keep this intangible point streak going BUT:

every guy he rotated in and out of the sleepover room ended up surviving the trade deadline (he’d clearly clocked who would be worth investing into)

has endeared himself to not just every single teammate but is also allegedly quite beloved by the equipment guys and rink staff

plays along well with all the sharks social media tiktok trends, etc. he has excellent camera awareness, for example, some guys simply looked down at their end of year ‘awards’ but Will immediately made sure to face the certificate to the camera. (is aware of camera views on the ice, too)

has managed to remain a mystery to the dating gossip sphere, k-pop idol style

some good stuff in this post, namely the notetaking parts and preparing for the animal question in the draft

and of course, has made the highly talented but also windshield-punching future of the franchise entirely indebted to him in ways beyond mortal comprehension. what are you gonna do, send wsh down to the AHL? and leave his unhinged attack dog mack c out there to argue with teammates in practice and have meltdowns by himself on the bench? no way. wsh stays up, and everyone stays happy.

#2 Jack Hughes - perennially good, but has also fumbled a couple plays

part of it is just classic middle child ability to play both sides without ever actually committing to either, but that boy had everrrry single NTDP classmate eating out of his sweaty little palm (voted captain by unanimous vote!). he understands how to sprinkle sugar, jusssst right!

I do find it interesting when he accidentally overplays his hand. It perfectly mirrors his on-ice flaw of when he tries to do too much and then his game falls apart (as noted by hockey scouts & Sheldon Keefe alike). BUT I think the flops are important because unlike his subtle plays that might go entirely unnoticed, these give us a little more insight into how he does it - or at least, tries to set it up.

famously got the devils to draft his special little guy’s special little guy (trevor z’s billet brother) but then moynihan turned out to be basically nothing to the devils in the end (see: his Elite Prospects page)

tried to use 4 Nations as his and quinn’s personal olympics campaign (kept emphasizing how sooooo young he and quinn were, which was a complete turnaround from how he usually describes quinn as mature/experienced, or even himself as unphased/seen it all. kept referring to himself as an ‘01 birth year, and auston and eichel as ‘97s to really drive the point home!! god, you don’t want those old men born in the 1900s do you, USA hockey? I’m good for two, maybe even threeee Olympic cycles!) unfortunately quinn was too injured to play and jack flopped at 4 Nations

#3 Nate Bastian

Fourth line grinder (literally called the ‘Meat Line’) Nathan Bastian? yes, and I’m not even kidding. here’s the thing. there are four audiences for a pro athlete:

1. Your coach(ing staff) & GM

2. Your teammates

3. Sports reporters/PR Team

4. General audience / fans

When I say Nate Bastian plays a complete game, I do mean complete - he has a FULL SWEEP of all four audiences.

First Audience: he understands what role coaches see him as, and commits to it. doesn’t oversell himself. takes hits and gives hits without complaint.

Second Audience: top players automatically rank high in team social hierarchy, but less skilled players have to work for it. nate CLEARLY plays a great locker room game, to the point that he sits next to jack (and you knowww locker room seating has a ton of unspoken politics behind it) and is universally loved by his teammates.

Third Audience: this guy is so loved by Jersey beat reporters that they sought him out to interview while he was literally playing for a different team! the PR team sent him to the VMAs! also in this 2019 axe throwing video the producers/video editors clearly like him, even though he’s just another no-name grinder: they start the video with him, setting him up as the audience surrogate. they keep his self name-drop in the final edit, while literal jack hughes is in the video and HIS name is never said out loud. they kept in his funniest bits and edited out whatever was likely more boring filler commentary. (side note: you can also see Nate’s Second Audience work was already at play, because little pre-rookie Jack was already very aware and intrigued by Nate). By having video editors who love him, surely now you can see how that sways the…

Fourth Audience: how can you not love a guy that the coach commends! how can you not love a guy that his teammates adore! and how can you not love a guy who always gets the best possible edit from the producers! he’s literally made a clean sweep. all while just “being himself” seemingly effortlessly….

and that, my friends, is called playing smart.

[pendingnomdeplume]

Omg requests are open! Could I pretty please request hurt/comfort with a smedieum amount of angst and some smut after? i love ur writing so so much mwah

nothing's fair in love and war pairing: hozier/fem!reader rating: explicit (18+) tags: Enemies to Lovers, Denial of Feelings, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Idiots in Love, Love Confessions, Teasing, Banter, Vaginal Sex words: 21.4k (no i'm not kidding) author's note: UM. SO. This ended up being a lot?? Like, holy shit, the muses took me with this one. Sooo, I hope you enjoy! lmao (Also, sorry about the weird formatting, it looks better on AO3, unfortunately.)

[read it on AO3!]

[title from Love and War by Fleurie]

divider by: sylusz

If you’re certain of exactly one thing in this life, it’s that you will not make it to the end of the Unreal Unearth tour without attempting to throttle one Andrew Hozier-Byrne at least once.

When you signed on to be the Stage Manager for this godforsaken tour, you didn’t realize exactly what would be foisted upon you. Lighting, sound, equipment, props—all of these things are a breeze to handle with your experience and tenure in the industry.

What you weren’t prepared for is somehow becoming the de facto handler for the main act.

It’s barely the second month of the tour, and you find yourself outside of the dressing room, once again banging your fist against the wood impatiently as Hozier—or, Andrew, as he prefers from the crew—lags on his call time once again.

“Andrew, for fuck’s sake—!”

The door swings open, and Andrew glares down at you. “I heard you the first ten times you shouted at me.”

Irritation buzzes along your skin as you close your eyes and take a deep breath through your nose.

“And yet, you still don’t seem to have any sense of fuckin’ urgency about it.”

Andrew rolls his eyes, and it takes every bit of your willpower not to stick a foot out and trip him as you both jog towards the stage.

Your relationship to the man in question has been rocky from the jump. First impressions were…tedious, to say the least. Exhaustion made you grumpy and sour-faced, and the smile on Andrew’s face was merely a thinly-veiled grimace of exasperation, as though meeting any of the crew was simply a waste of his time. Andrew seemed less than impressed with you, his faux smile faltering and his brows furrowing as you flatly, silently shook his hand before turning away.

Your patience for primadonnas is at an all time low after coming off of a tour with a certain lead singer of a shitty band who doubles as a host for a televised singing competition. After dealing with that behaviour, you’re not exactly the most trusting of any talent, constantly expecting to be met with petty pushback at best and violent vitriol at worst. While you’ve never actually heard a single bad thing about Hozier, you know the game, know that these hot, talented, wealthy types are nothing more than snakes in the grass.

Alex and Larissa exchange glances as you stalk after Andrew with a clipboard tucked under your arm and a fist clenched at your side. You pretend not to notice their little snickers, but rage flares within you. Of course you’d get no back-up from the others. They simply find your bickering amusing, often stoking the flames with obnoxious quips to rile either Andrew or yourself up even further.

You come to a halt and turn back to point at them. “What are you two doing?! Fucking go!”

With another exchanged glance and a grimace of fear, the two hurry towards the stage while you pinch the bridge of your nose and take a slow, deep breath.

“You certainly have your hands full, don’t you?”

The only voice that can get a smile out of you these days belongs to Autumn Freeman, the assistant stage manager on the tour.

Autumn Freeman is a tour de force, not one to be fucked with despite her dimpled smile and pleasant demeanor. You’ve never seen anyone tell off another person with such an even, easy tone. She is quite possibly the most self-assured person you’ve ever met, and you wish you could hold a candle to her professionalism in the face of adversity.

“Hey, sorry, I’ll be right back, I have to deal with—”

Autumn holds her hands up to quiet your anxious words. “Hey, hey, don’t worry. I’ve got Emilio and Whitney getting everyone hooked up.”

You let out a relieved sigh as you rub your shoulder, a tension headache already blooming just behind your eyes.

“Thanks, Autumn. God, I don’t understand why they didn’t make you lead stage manager. I’m not cut out for this shit.”

“Nah, I’ve lived that life.” You watch as she pulls up salt and pepper box braids into a bundle on top of her head and secures them with the thick, elastic hair ties on her wrist. “I much prefer having a boss to being the boss. Too much stress and pressure, especially from little boys with too much money and no personality.”

“Yeah, no fucking kidding,” you scoff.

“Is he still giving you trouble?”

“Andrew? Of course he is! Jesus Christ, I’ve never seen a grown-ass man act like such a fucking brat—and I’ve worked with Adam Levine, for God’s sake!”

Autumn laughs—a rich, comforting sound that feels like a warm hug.

“Oh, baby, you never met my ex-husband. Couldn’t clean a damn dish or do a load of laundry to save his life, but Lord knows he expected me to take care of him like I was his mother. So, believe me, I understand immature men.”

“Yeah, well…I think Andrew’s just doing it out of spite at this point,” you grumble.

Autumn hums in displeasure, grimacing as she shakes her head. “Men and their bruised egos…though, I’m surprised it’s Andrew of all people. He’s always seemed like a kind, gentle type. I’ve never had any trouble with him.”

“Yeah, well, he’s kind and gentle to everyone else but me, apparently, and I’m sure he actually respects you.”

You decide to leave out some of the more tense moments between you—the staredowns, the passive-aggressive remarks, and pointedly ignoring the other’s presence outside of any work capacity.

Andrew is nothing if not tenacious, bucking against your authority with grumbled gripes and heavy, dramatic sighs to ensure that you know how unhappy he is having to listen to you.

The problem is you lack a level of patience that’s required to do a job like this. Or, perhaps that’s the asset that got you hired in the first place. Regardless, you’re sure Autumn wouldn’t be too thrilled to know you’ve taken to shouting to get the man to do anything while ignoring his existence otherwise.

She lets out a slow sigh, then presses her lips together as she shakes her head.  “Well, give him some time. Maybe he’ll come around.”

“Yeah, sure,” you snort ruefully.

The show goes off without a hitch that night, thankfully. No sound issues, no lighting issues, and no instruments falling from their dedicated straps. You’re thrilled, if exhausted, but the grimace on Andrew’s face as he exits the stage tells you that he’ll certainly have a complaint or two to lodge with you before the night ends.

The band is surely capable of handling themselves once the show is over without needing you to shepherd them further—a task that shouldn’t even belong to you when there’s a dedicated tour manager for all of this.

You’re not exactly excited to listen to Andrew’s incessant bitching about whatever it is you’ve done wrong. Really, it’s a conversation that can be left for the morning when you’ve both had a full night’s sleep and near-lethal amounts of caffeine.

You quickly pack up your belongings and duck out of the venue before anyone can say a word. The Lyft you surreptitiously ordered idles just outside the back entrance, and you rush towards the car hoping that nobody will spot you making your escape.

You climb in and shuttle yourself off to the hotel on your own dime, not wanting to share any space as you decompress from another show on the long, long list of shows still to be had on this never ending tour.

Thankfully, one of the perks of your title is private accommodations—a blessing that allows you to shower and get ready for bed in quiet solitude instead of battling two or three other people for a place in line. You’re surprised that management is willing to shell out the cash for a single room, but you figure it’s better to just accept it for what it is rather than question things and lose the privilege altogether.

The television is on at a low volume as a dated episode of Forensic Files drones in the background. You’re seated on the bed against the headboard, bundled in a white robe as you scrunch your dripping hair with a scratchy, over-bleached towel. Exhaustion consumes you, your muscles tense and aching, and you roll your shoulders and stretch your neck to find any sort of relief from this stupid fucking headache.

A knock at the door startles you, and you quickly hop up and rush over while hastily tying the belt on your robe. You’re surprised to find Andrew at the threshold of your room. He looks exhausted, but the look of annoyance is quickly replaced by one of surprise as he gives you a once-over.

“Oh, God, I didn’t—sorry, I didn’t realize—”

You roll your eyes and rest your head against the door frame with a heavy sigh. “What do you want, Andrew?”

Just like that, irritation consumes him once more.

“Can you at least say something before you disappear from the venue?”

You blink and lift your head in surprise. “That’s why you’re here? What are you, my fucking keeper?”

Andrew sighs heavily as he rubs at his eyes with his middle finger and thumb. “Last I checked, I’m your fucking boss.”

This startles a laugh out of you. “Last I checked, Caroline is the one signing my checks, babe. Good try with the whole intimidation angle, though. You’re about as fearsome as a puppy.”

There’s a pause as he studies you, head tilting to one side as he deliberates his next reply.

“I—”

“Next time,” you interrupt, “Just text like a normal person. I don’t need you showing up at my door unannounced unless it’s a dire fucking emergency.”

Andrew scoffs and throws his hands up in frustration. “Well, I just wanted to make sure you were okay, but fuck me, I guess!”

“Oh, what a gentleman. Thank you so much for your concern, but I managed to make it back on my own without Daddy holding my fucking hand. As you can see.”

“Jesus Christ,” he grumbles, pinching the bridge of his nose. You can make out the pink flush that creeps up his neck, angry and flustered. “Well, I’m so sorry for doubting your capabilities. I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me for such an egregious—”

Wordlessly, you close the door in his face, idling for only a moment to peek out of the peephole you should have used in the first place. Andrew stands outside looking stunned. He raises one arm as he deliberates knocking again. It seems he thinks better of it as he shoves his hands into his pockets, shakes his head, and turns to walk back down the hallway towards his room.

Once he’s out of sight, you move to plop down on the bed with a huff.

You have no time or energy to entertain a grown man’s weird power trip. What does he care if you leave the venue without notifying everyone and their fucking dog? It’s just a show of control; he feels he runs this entire circus when he’s merely the centerpiece—the lion in a cage, poked, prodded, and likely to snap at the first crack of his ringleader’s whip.

Whatever. It’s just another tally mark on the ‘Shitty Interactions’ list, you suppose. Maybe you should start marking them on a calendar as you count down the days until you’re done with this tour.

❤❤❤

In the few weeks following your charged interaction at your hotel door, both you and Andrew maintain a level of distance that’s likely noticeable to everyone else on the crew. Autumn certainly notices but is kind to leave well enough alone, mostly rolling her eyes at the dramatics of it all.

“Honey,” she says with a sense of patience that she’s surely digging down deep to find.  “Is this really the hill you’re going to die on? Fighting with this man instead of maintaining your peace?”

“My peace is fine, thank you.”

Autumn rolls her eyes again as she shakes her head.

“You certainly seem to stick to your guns, I’ll give you that.”

Awkward, stilted interactions with Andrew seem objectively better than constant bickering and passive-aggression. It’s easier this way, giving instruction from afar and staying out of his way—or, making sure he stays out of your way, as it were.

And, sure, okay, maybe the man is on your mind more often than not these days, but it doesn’t mean you care. He’s more of a nuisance, a fruit fly buzzing around your head that you bat away uselessly. Unfortunately, he’s also your boss to some degree, and you feel some sense of obligation towards him even if he drives you up a fucking wall

Today is a particularly stressful day.

The bus arrived to the venue later than expected after a battle with early morning traffic, and now the band and crew are zipping around you as everyone tries to make up for the time lost. You’re pulled in a million directions, questions thrown at you with desperation as you attempt to keep things in order.

A late start meant forgoing breakfast altogether, opting for iced coffee that you sucked down in record time.

By the time lunch rolled around, you were far too busy with the sound crew to break away for a snack, food being the furthest thing from your mind as stress made your stomach twist and spit acid.

Now, nausea sets in right before soundcheck. Sweat beads along your hairline as waves of nausea roll through you, and you squeeze your eyes shut as though it might somehow stop the feeling. You come to a halt in the empty hallway and move to lean back against a wall, sighing as you run a hand over your forehead to wipe away cold sweat.

Footsteps echo just down the hall, and you open your eyes to see Andrew approaching you with a determined stride. You grimace. Of course he’d choose this opportunity to break your weeks-long, silent truce, probably coming over just to be an asshole about something that you don’t have the patience or energy to care about.

“Here,” he says briskly as he shoves something solid into your hand. “You didn’t eat—and coffee does not count as a meal.”

You blink as you stare down at the protein bar in your palm, trying to ignore the lingering feeling of his fingers brushing against your hand.

“Mel also has some of that Blowfish stuff for hangovers. It might help if you feel—I mean, you kind of look like death warmed over.”

This pulls a surprised chuckle from you. “Wow. What a compliment.”

He looks just as surprised, the corner of his mouth lifting for only a moment before dropping just as quickly.

“Didn’t mean it as an insult. You look—I mean, you’re still—you don’t look bad. Just tired.” A pause. “Anyway, I need to…sorry…”

He glances over his shoulder and points a thumb in that direction.

“Right,” you nod.

There’s another brief pause as you blink at him, and he shoves his hands into his trouser pockets before nodding once.

“Eat that, please,” he says as he begins backing away from you. “I don’t need my stage manager passing out in the middle of a show.”

Before you can respond, he turns and walks back in the direction he came, leaving you staring after him until he disappears around a corner.

You look back at the protein bar. It’s a chocolate cookie dough flavor, one of your favorites, and you unwrap it as you ponder the interaction.

How does he know you haven’t eaten? Hell, you barely realized that, and only at his prompting. Was your misery really that obvious? He did say you look like death warmed over. Even if it was meant in jest, it still meant that he’d been…paying attention?

The thought doesn’t disgust you the way you expect it to. In fact, there’s a certain fondness you feel in your chest at the prospect of Andrew actually worrying about you, of him calling you his stage manager in some claim of ownership.

You quickly shake your head as you attempt to squash the feeling. This is not the time to dig into the implications of anything—not when you’re running on caffeine and a fucking dream. Instead, you shove the bar into your mouth and take a bite before jogging down the hallway to find Melissa.

❤❤❤

Days later, it’s Larissa who narcs on Andrew in an early morning text on a day off in Chicago.

Larissa

Andrew is sick

Larissa

He doesn’t want you to know

You frown at the text.

You Is that so?

You Hm. Thanks for letting me know.

You I’ll go have a chat with him.

Larissa 🫡 Anytime

You throw on a hoodie and a pair of sandals before trudging across the parking lot towards the black and silver beast that houses the band. Larissa is already at the door when you arrive, ushering you in quietly as you climb the steps.

The rest of the band is awake, though only barely. Rory squints at you tiredly over a mug of coffee. Alex is stretched out along the couch with his eyes closed, uncaring as Larissa forces his knees up so they can sit. The others are missing, and Larissa confirms that they went out in search of food that doesn’t come from a small refrigerator on the bus.

You make your way towards the back of the bus and stop just in front of the dividing door. You knock tentatively and wait for a response.

“Yes?” The sound of his voice is cracked and feeble, making you frown in sympathy.

“It’s me. Can I come in?”

There’s a brief pause before he answers, “Sure.”

The room is dark when you enter, and you tentatively shut the door behind you to keep from blinding him with the early morning sun.

“My sources tell me that you’re sick and trying to hide it from me,” you say lightly as your eyes adjust to the dimness.

Andrew lets out a tired laugh. “I figured Larissa might say something.”

You can make out his form on the bed, curled beneath the blankets that are held tightly at his chin. His hair is thrown up and out of the way in a bundle on top of his head. You frown in concern as he snuffles into his pillow before turning to look at you with drooping eyes.

“I feel better than I look,” he croaks. “Just exhausted.”

You roll your eyes as you step forward to plop on the bed next to him. You place the back of your hand against his forehead and frown as heat radiates against your skin. Andrew doesn’t protest, doesn’t make a move when you feel his too-warm cheeks.

“Jesus, you’re burning up. Have you taken anything?”

Andrew nods. “I took nighttime cold medicine not too long ago to try and get some sleep.”

It takes a moment for you to realize that your hand is still resting against his skin. You pull it away quickly with a mumbled apology before declaring, “You are on vocal rest, effective immediately. I’ll grab you some pho and herbal tea at lunch, but you need to rest.”

He lets out a quiet hum and nods. “On it, boss.”

You bite your lower lip in an attempt to hide your traitorous budding smile.

“Wow. You’re so much more agreeable like this.”

“Don’t get used to it,” he sighs as his eyes flutter closed. “I’m too tired to pretend to fight you.”

“Pretend?”

You see his smile before he turns his face into his pillow. Andrew mumbles again, though you can’t make out what he says. When you ask him to repeat, he doesn’t respond. You watch the slow, steady rise and fall of his chest as the cold medicine pulls him under, and you smile to yourself and shake your head in amusement before opening the door and tiptoeing out of the room.

“I’m confident that he’ll make a full recovery,” you say seriously when Larissa looks towards you. “He’s passed out on NyQuil right now. I’ll be back to check on him later. He’s on vocal rest, too. If he makes a peep, let me know.”

Alex, who is now wearing a Snorlax sleep mask over his eyes, smiles and teases, “Aw, you do care about him.”

With a roll of your eyes, you reply, “Contrary to popular belief, yes, I do worry about you dipshits. That said, be sure to wash your hands and stay out of Andrew’s general vicinity. I’ll be back later to check in.”

Rory asks, “What about you? What if you get sick?”

You shake your head as you wave off his concerns. “Don’t worry, I never get sick. I’ve got an immune system made of steel.”

Three days later, you lie in your bunk with a low-grade fever and a black surgical mask covering your face as you wonder how your body could fail you like this.

You’re watching old episodes of Futurama to pass the time as you limit yourself to your small enclosure with the curtain drawn shut.

Autumn is covering tonight’s show for you—the second show in a row that you’ll miss due to whatever bullshit illness Andrew gave you. The bus is empty and eerily quiet without the shuffles and murmurs of your colleagues. A white noise app fills the gaps between episodes, its gentle tone lulling you into a fitful sleep that’s broken by the opening and closing of the bus door, followed by tentative footsteps that stop just in front of your bunk.

“Hey, are you awake?”

It’s Andrew’s hushed voice on the other side. You reach up to pull the curtain back with a confused frown.

“Andrew? What time is it? Aren’t you supposed to be—?”

“Don’t worry,” he interrupts with a wave of his hand. “Autumn is waiting outside. I just wanted to check on you. Make sure you’re still alive and such.”

It’s surprising given the animosity between you two, but…you have to admit, it’s a kind gesture to come check up on you when he’s the one who got you sick in the first place.

“Well, it’s the least you could do for giving me your germs.” You wince as you sniffle, mucus sliding down the back of your throat. “I demand reparations for this, Andrew.”

Andrew rolls his eyes, but his annoyance seems feigned, a hint of a smile betraying his enjoyment of your tired, raspy quips.

“All right, you seem just as obnoxious as you always are, so I think you’re fine. I’ve already got someone out getting soup and tea for you, so, y’know. Stay put, wash your hands, et cetera.”

You blink, taken aback by his straightforward kindness. “Oh. You didn’t have to—”

“I wanted to return the favor,” he says quickly. “Especially because I’m the one who got you sick in the first place. Something, something, quid pro quo.”

“Right,” you rasp, your mask hiding your smile. “This in no way implies that you might actually care about me.”

There’s a brief pause as he tilts his head at you, the same little gesture that he always does when he’s carefully choosing his next words.

After a beat, he replies, “Can I put you on vocal rest?”

“That’s not how this works.”

Just as he opens his mouth to reply, the bus door opens, and Autumn’s testy tone makes you giggle as she calls out, “Andrew…hurry it up, please...”

Andrew throws her a little smile before turning back to you. “See? See how nice Autumn is about—?”

“Andrew!”

You croak a laugh as he jumps and whips his head around to shout an apology to her. He gives you a small smile and a nod before shuffling off with a murmured, “Get some rest.”

15 minutes later, your phone buzzes beside your head, and you open up your messages to see a text from Autumn.

Autumn Andrew sure seems worried about you… 😉

You He feels bad for getting me sick.

You As any decent human should.

Autumn Right…

Autumn Even though he asked me to check in on you during the show… he definitely doesn’t care…

You lower your phone and stare into the beige wall at your feet. A million thoughts cross your mind at once, and you attempt to bury the feeling of tenderness that makes your chest feel tight.

Hours later, the vibration of your phone wakes you from a twilight sleep, pulls you from a dream of soft caresses and gentle kisses that taste of coffee and smoke. Of fingers threaded into frizzy curls and sweet words mumbled against flushed skin.

Dreams that slip through your fingers, lost within the void of unconsciousness the moment you open your eyes.

Andrew Checking in

Andrew You still with us?

You can’t help but smile at the message. It’s late, the bus already filled with soft murmurs and light footsteps as the crew tries their hardest not to wake you. Andrew should be asleep, but you know his penchant for bedtime procrastination all too well.

You Barely, yet I persist.

The chat bubble pops up and disappears several times in a row as Andrew seemingly types and erases every response that comes to mind. Finally, a text comes through that you read through bleary, drooping eyes.

Andrew Good. Let’s keep it that way.

❤❤❤

The last three weeks have been a complete turnaround for your relationship with Andrew. Where there was once fiery animosity, only soft irritation remains. You find yourself smiling more, feeling far more content with the circumstances than you have over the last few months. As much as you hate to admit it, it’s been…nice. Fun, even, as he opens up to you incrementally.

“You and Andrew seem to be getting along,” Autumn chirps after he stops by the bus to ask a question that you answer with a light tone and a smile.

You roll your eyes, but you can feel the blooming heat of a blush across your cheeks.

“More like we found a solid middle ground, but sure.”

Autumn smiles in that knowing way that makes your stomach squirm with giddy embarrassment. There’s no hiding anything from her—she’s nearly 60 and has had her fair share of relationships, experiences that have left an impact on her, for better or for worse. If anyone knows puppy love  when they see it, it’s probably her.

“Well, normally, I’d say you catch more bees with honey…”

You laugh quietly and ask, “Normally?”

She looks at you in her periphery as she smirks. “The boy seems to like the way you sass him. Almost like it’s a game for him.”

“Oh.” You laugh louder now, a touch hysterical as your embarrassment seeps through.

“Well, I appreciate the advice. But, I’m pretty sure Andrew tolerates me in the same way I tolerate him.”

Autumn smiles as she rolls her eyes. “Mmhm, I’m sure. All I’m saying is, whenever he confesses his love for you, I get to say I told you so.”

It’s something you ponder while waiting in the wings during soundcheck that afternoon.

The band is mostly just fucking around on stage, all still a little loopy from travel exhaustion. Andrew is mostly idling between different crew and producers discussing technical aspects of the show. It’s always interesting to watch him fidget and look around as though he has no clue where they are or what day it is. Honestly, you wouldn’t be surprised if that were true given his godawful sleep schedule.

You don’t realize you’re staring until he catches your eye. Andrew looks perplexed at first, brows furrowing as he expects you to say or do something that requires his attention. Instead, you look away quickly and busy your hands with the clipboard lying on an amp in front of you.

Your face is on fire as you sneak another glance. A squeak escapes you when you meet his pointed gaze and easy smile before he winks at you and turns his attention towards one of the crew members beside him.

You already have a headset on and can hear some of the chatter picked up by Alex’s talkback mic. It’s nothing you can make out, mostly garbled words between Rory’s random hitting of snares and cymbals.

Your attention is fixed on the setlist that Andrew switched up last minute to rearrange the order.

Did he run this decision by you? Of course not. In true Andrew fashion, he made the change on his own, his shitty handwriting serving as damning evidence.

As you frown at the list, a voice in your ear murmurs, “Sometimes, it’s better to ask for forgiveness rather than permission.”

Goosebumps raise in a wave along your skin as you jump and whip around to find Andrew hovering just behind you.

“Oh my God, don’t do that.”

His responding chuckle sends a tingle down your spine. You smack him gently with the clipboard before holding it up to him and pointing to his revisions.

“So, when do you start begging for forgiveness, exactly?”

There’s a pause as Andrew raises an eyebrow at you, his mouth twisted in wry amusement.

“Oh, did I say beg? Hm. I didn’t think I had. Slip of the tongue, I suppose. Or, maybe yours?”

Blood rushes to your face as you attempt not to splutter in reply. There’s a part of you that wants to grab him by the lapels of his stupid tweed jacket and shake him violently, as though he might reveal the truth about his own feelings like a piggy bank spitting out coins.

Instead, you merely tilt your head at him and smile politely. “Wishful thinking, perhaps.”

This seems to catch him off guard, both eyebrows flying up near his hairline as he blinks at you.

“Wishful…thinking?”

You shrug and try your best to look as casual as possible before responding, “Something about a man on his knees begging for my forgiveness really feeds my ego, y’know?”

There’s a swell of pride in your chest as you leave him speechless and spluttering for a response.

“I’m approving your changes,” you say flippantly as you begin walking backwards in the opposite direction, your stomach flip-flopping as you attempt to hide your own flustered expression. “Next time, though, run it by me first, please? So I can distribute a revised setlist that doesn’t look like it was written by an anxious chicken.”

“Oh, ehm—yes, yeah, right.” He clears his throat. “Sorry. I should’ve…I’ll ask next time.”

“Much appreciated,” you say easily as you turn on your heel. “Be ready by six at the latest, or I’m hunting you for sport.”

When you glance back at Andrew, he’s still staring, mouth slightly agape. You throw a cheeky wink his way before rushing off to find the nearest empty dressing room. Upon entering a deserted room, you gently shut the door, toss the clipboard onto the couch, and cover your face as you try to regulate your shallow breathing.

You’re not catching feelings. You’re not.

(You can’t.)

❤❤❤

“Psst, hey. Are you awake?”

You blink into the darkness of your bunk and rub roughly at your eyes. You’re not entirely sure what time it is, but the bus isn’t moving which tells you that you’ve probably arrived in Detroit.

“Oh, Jesus, fuck—!” You shriek as you pull back the curtain to find Andrew far closer than you had anticipated, hazel eyes wide and mere inches away. “Andrew, for the love of God—do you want to get punched? Because that’s how you get punched.”

Andrew laughs. You try to ignore the way your heart skips and chew at your lower lip through your budding smile.

“What do you want?” you ask in feigned annoyance.

Andrew rests his head on his arms that are perched on the edge of your bunk.

“We’re going to the Belle Isle Conservatory today. You should come with us.”

Wakefulness is barely catching up with you as you blink at him slowly. Andrew is…inviting you out. It’s not a date—not that you’d want it to be one, of course. It’s merely an invitation to hang out with the rest of the group in a friendly way, and perhaps this is Andrew’s way of continuing to bury the hatchet.

“Conservatory? Like a big greenhouse deal?”

Andrew smiles as he nods. “Mhm, a huge greenhouse on a little island-thing. It’s quite lovely, and I wanted to ask since…I mean, I assume you’ve never gone?”

You shake your head. “I haven’t, no. I’ve been to Kew Gardens, but nothing in the States.”

“Ah, Kew is lovely, as well. Belle Isle has the same kind of feel to it.”

After a beat, you joke, “I’m still confused as to why you don’t just text.”

Andrew turns his head as he laughs quietly, then turns back to you with slightly reddened cheeks and sparkling eyes.

“I’m a terrible texter. Besides, it’s more fun to scare you, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Oh, yes, of course, it’s my absolute favorite thing.” You roll your eyes, but you can’t hide your own gaiety as you smile at him. “Now, get off of my bus so I can get ready.”

Andrew perks up, and you imagine his proverbial tail wagging cautiously as he asks, “Does that mean you’re coming along?”

“Of course I am,” you say easily.

He steps back as you sit up and scooch yourself over the edge of the bunk until your feet safely hit the ground.

“What time are we heading out?”

A glance at his watch. “9:30, I think, so I’ll come get you just before that.”

“And they say chivalry is dead,” you chirp, and he shrugs in response. “All right, scoot along. I’ve got to get ready.”

Andrew opens his mouth to protest, but you shake your head and gently begin pushing him towards the front of the bus.

“You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here.”

“You know, that’s not the first time a woman has said that to me,” he muses, stopping just at the steps before turning to look at you. “The circumstances were a touch different, though.”

“Oh, yeah?” you snort.

“Mhm,” he nods. “More of a morning after situation, if you will.”

You freeze, your eyes meeting his own as he tilts his head and smiles cheekily. You decide it’s better not to comment. He’s just being a pill—knows he’s being a pill—and is simply trying to get a rise out of you. It’s been his MO since day one.

“Gross.” You huff a laugh and shake your head. “Thank you for that image. Now, get out.”

Andrew acts shocked by your response as you gently nudge him down the steps.

“Wow, okay, hurtful,” he quips just as he turns the handle for the door.

Both of you are startled when Autumn appears, staring up at the two of you in confusion. Confusion quickly gives way to sly amusement as she tilts her head and greets, “Well, good morning. Where are you two sneaking off to, hm?”

Andrew is left just as speechless as you, both of you sharing an alarmed glance before you finally find your voice.

“Hey, Autumn!” You wince at the way your voice cracks. “I’m just trying to get Andrew to vacate the premises so I can get ready.”

“Oh?” Autumn squints as she looks between the two of you.

Andrew is quick to divert the conversation. “We’re going to the Belle Isle Conservatory in a bit! Do you want to come with us?”

Autumn shakes her head as she meets your gaze with a raised eyebrow. “Oh, no. I wouldn’t want to be a third wheel…”

Thankfully, Andrew doesn’t look back at you as you give Autumn a narrow-eyed, contemptuous frown before mouthing, ‘Stop it.’

Andrew splutters, “It’s not a—! It’s a group outing! No third wheels here. No wheels to be a third of at all. Just regular friend activities.”

His response makes you smile, and you tease, “Oh, are we friends now?”

He throws a glance back at you and smirks as he clarifies, “More frenemies than anything.”

Autumn chuckles and shakes her head. “Jesus, you two are going to give me a hernia. But, anyway, I’m still going to say no on this one, unfortunately. I’m taking these braids out and doing a wash, and then I’ve got a prior commitment with some cable television and several room service mimosas. So, my schedule is booked out for today, I’m afraid. But, thank you for the invitation. You’re always such a darling, Andrew.”

After wishing her luck for both her arms and her sanity, Autumn shuffles back inside the bus to grab a bag before heading off towards the hotel you’re parked behind.

Andrew steps off the bus and turns to look at you with his hands shoved into his pockets.

“I’ll come get you in like an hour. Do you want coffee? I can grab you some. There’s a place called The Red Hook that serves Red Eyes and Nutella Scones that look like they’re way too sweet.”

Your stomach grumbles at the mere notion of food, and you find yourself nodding as you reply, “That sounds great, actually—the Red Eye and the scone. Thank you, Andrew. I do appreciate it.”

“It’s no trouble.” A pause. “Not for you.”

The words strike you directly in the heart, your pulse jumping and your face going hot as he quickly scurries away before you can collect yourself enough to ask a single question.

What the fuck does that mean? It doesn’t strike you as a particularly frenemies-style offer. Not if he’s willing to do it specifically for you.

Which…is that what he really means? There’s a part of you that wonders if the comment was meant in jest—as though the offer would never be extended to the likes of Alex or Rory, given the trio's long history.

It’s not worth reading into, you decide. Whatever it is that he means, you don’t have the energy or wherewithal to go digging for meaning where there is none. It’s simply another kind gesture in response to your previously negatively-charged encounters.

By 9:15 AM, Andrew reappears with two coffees and two scones held precariously in his hands as he approaches.

The coffee itself is delicious—nothing more than an Americano on steroids, but the roast itself is smooth and not nearly as burnt or acidic as chain shops. The scone is, in fact, far too sweet for an early morning pastry, and you decide to tuck away half for later.

By 9:30, you’re crammed into a van with members of the band, en route to Belle Isle. Andrew sits up front due to his stature, but he stays engaged in conversation and glances back at you every once in a while to show he’s paying attention. Larissa takes the middle seat next to you while Alex, Rory, and Kellen squish themselves into the back, jokingly bickering and whining about personal space while you threaten, “I will come back there, so help me God.”

The ferry ride provides a view of the city overshadowed by a blanket of gray clouds that threaten to fall at any moment. Andrew stands by quietly, hands shoved into his jacket pockets as he and Alex have a quiet conversation that you can’t make out from where you’re huddled with Larissa for warmth.

Whatever it is they’re discussing, you catch them as they both turn their heads to look directly at you. Alex looks away quickly, throwing a hand over his mouth to hide what looks like a smile. Andrew gives a stilted wave before turning to look in the opposite direction, back towards land.

Hm. Strange. Though, no stranger than Andrew typically acts, all things considered.

The conservatory itself is massive—a daunting structure standing tall, glass panels glittering in the bits of sun that peek through the gray veil.

You stick close to Larissa, arm-in-arm on their right side while Alex flanks their left. Andrew is shuffling behind, sticking close to Rory and Kellen who speak animatedly about something, though you’re not exactly sure what. When you glance back, you catch Andrew’s eye and give him a half-smile before turning away.

Humidity chokes you as you marvel at the sheer amount of greenery shoved into nearly every square inch of the greenhouse. The smell of damp earth is grounding, comforting, like the first clear day after heavy rainfall.

As the rest of the group forges ahead, you hang back to sit on a metal bench tucked away in the foliage, take a deep breath, and let your eyes flutter closed as you try to appreciate the moment. It’s rare that you get these sorts of opportunities, to enjoy peace and quiet, to pretend that the foreseeable future isn’t fraught with tireless work.

“Are you okay?”

Andrew’s voice, though quiet and soft, still startles you.

“Andrew! For God’s sake, stop doing that.”

He grins and shrugs, offering an apology that doesn’t seem very sincere. You smile and shake your head before scooting over and offering a seat next to you.

“It really is stunning,” you chirp as you stare up at the trees that nearly eclipse the ceiling. “I feel like I could live in here.”

Andrew hums in agreement, then muses, “You should move to Ireland, then. The weather is nearly always like this, and the countryside is greener than anything you’ve ever seen.”

You glance at him, but his attention is focused on scanning the room in admiration.

“It’s on my personal bucket list.”

“Wait, you’ve never—?”

You shake your head. “I’ve never visited, no. Always wanted to, but never really had the opportunity, I guess.”

Andrew is quiet, and you can make out his pensive frown in your periphery.

“Well, the city is…it’s a city. It’s where everything is, I know, but…I mean, if I were to recommend anything, it’d be to stay outside of the city. Enjoy the quiet of a more peaceful area. There are plenty of trains to bring you into Dublin if you really wanted.”

You smile to yourself. “Can I hire you as my personal travel consultant?”

His responding chuckle sends your stomach flip-flopping in delight.

“I don’t live too far out. If you ever stayed in—I mean, you wouldn’t be too far. There are definitely things I could show you.”

“Oh, are you a personal chauffeur, as well?”

A pause. “I’d say more like a personal tour guide. Though, only for a select few.”

You turn your head to look at him now, but he stares straight ahead. You can see the tips of his ears are bright red, unhidden with his hair thrown into a low bun.

“Are you saying I’m part of that special group, then?”

A nudge of your elbow against him makes him laugh, but he doesn’t reply. Andrew seems bashful now, hands shoved into his jacket pockets as one leg shakes anxiously. If there’s anything more to this conversation, it’s unlikely that you’ll pull it out of him right now.

Still, the thought is sweet—a native of the country showing you areas that are overlooked and underappreciated, at least in his neck of the woods. You wonder what it would be like, to sit next to him as he drives along quiet roads, or to try and keep up with his stride as walks you through a park or museum.

The flash of an image crosses your mind—of holding hands while walking along the pavement, of kissing under an awning during heavy rainfall.

“Hey.” Andrew bumps his knee against yours. “We should probably catch up with the group.”

With a heavy sigh, you stand and brush off invisible dirt before following him towards the other end of the building.

❤❤❤

“He won’t shut up about you, you know.”

Melissa’s voice breaks your reverie, pulling your thoughts from the Tecate bottle sitting on the table.

You’re sitting on the patio of a local Mexican restaurant somewhere in Middle America, though you’re not entirely sure where, nor are you certain of today’s date. A bowl of pozole rests in front of you along with a plate of accouterments to add into it. A basket of tortilla chips in the center is nearly empty now as the two of you munch on them between bits of conversation.

“Hm? What?”

“Andrew.” She takes a sip of her margarita before tilting her head. “He brings you up all the time. Like, every other sentence out of his mouth is about you.”

You blink, your pulse jumping at the mere mention of his name.

“Oh. What is he—I mean, like, what kind of stuff is he saying?”

“Just random stuff.” She shrugs before obnoxiously sucking down what remains of her drink, grinning when you give her a flat stare in response. “Stuff he knows about you, I guess? Like, when we were on the bus driving in this morning, he was looking outside and saw that field full of sheep we passed. Then, he told us he had to text you and ask if you saw the sheep, because he knows you love sheep. It was like he would be sad if you didn’t see them.”

“Oh. Well, I don’t see how that’s—”

“And, the other night! We were drinking this terrible red wine that tastes like gasoline, and then he says something about how much he likes a wine you recommended to him. It wasn’t even a red wine! It’s like he just wanted to say your name out loud again.”

A flush warms your cheeks as you process her words.

Andrew…talks about you? Not only that, he talks about you enough that it’s become obvious to the people surrounding him. But…that doesn’t mean anything. Right? If you’re becoming friendly, well, friends talk about friends. It’s not an indication of anything beyond his growing fondness of you and your working relationship.

When you say as much, Melissa smiles in that affectionate, knowing way and shrugs.

“If that’s how you want to interpret it, sure. All I’m saying is, you don’t see the way he looks at you when he thinks nobody’s watching.”

“And how does he look at me, exactly?”

“Like he fucking adores you.”

❤❤❤

The French Quarter of New Orleans is one of your favorite places to visit. You’ve been here several times in the past, either on tour or with your friends for a Mardi Gras celebration. This visit, however, is unique. Special in a way that you can’t—won’t voice.

You’re sitting under the awning at Cafe Du Monde, a steaming mug of coffee and a plate of generously powdered beignets placed in front of you. Across the table, Andrew sips from his own mug of black coffee, humming in pure delight before setting it down.

When Andrew invited you to see the French Quarter, you had assumed that it would be another field trip with the band members who were willing to get up early in spite of their exhaustion (and possible hangover, depending on the day). Upon arriving at the lobby, however, you found him sitting alone on a plush chair, fidgeting with his hands until he realized your presence. He was quick to stand, a genuine smile brightening his face and crinkling his eyes. You tried to ignore the butterflies, tried to ignore the nerves from the mere idea of spending time alone together.

The cafe had been your idea, mostly because you craved fried, sugary dough, and both of you were in desperate need of caffeine at such an asinine hour.

“If I knew how to make these, I’d be in major trouble,” Andrew muses.

“Oh, absolutely,” you nod. “I could eat these for every meal, probably, but my 30 year old body wouldn’t be able to handle that.”

An offhand conversation about donuts, pastries, and sweets eats an hour of your time before either of you have realized, and you decide to vacate the premises before the waiter (who has been giving both of you a hardened stare for the better part of that hour) decides to kick you out to free up the table.

“So,” you say as you follow his lead down the pavement. “To the museum?”

Andrew is excited to show you the Jazz Museum just down the road, especially after confirming that you had never actually been inside during previous visits. It was the first thing he’d suggested as you made your way to the cafe, eyes sparkling with childlike glee. Truly, who were you to say no to such a precious face?

The museum itself is smaller than you anticipated, each hall and room dedicated to art, sculptures, records, and instruments used by some of the greatest artists in the world who paved the way for jazz and its musical offshoots.

Andrew stops in every room to explain a piece of trivia he knows about this person or that performance, or to explain the personal significance of records his parents played when he was young. It’s endearing to watch him talk so excitedly, and you’re impressed by the information he keeps stored away.

“It’s not often I get to talk about this stuff.” He shrugs. “You’d think I’d remember more important things, like deadlines or what fucking time it is.”

You wave a hand as if to dismiss the notion. “As nice as that would be, I think your trivia is far more interesting.”

“Well, thank you,” he replies meekly, as though he hadn’t expected a compliment of all things. “It’s nice to have someone who seems…interested.”

There’s a pause as he seems to retreat into himself, a small frown forming as his brows furrow. It lasts for only a moment before he shakes his head and looks at you again, his smile looking much more apprehensive this time.

“Do you want to go down to the river with me?”

The sun is shining as you meander along the river walk, iced coffee in hand and sunglasses perched on your nose. The walk itself isn’t overcrowded as the city awaits its true tourist season in the form of Mardi Gras.

A few people recognize Andrew, stop him for a chat that he seems reluctant to engage in. Photos are snapped, but he remains mostly unsmiling save for the teen girl who asks him what his favorite Mavis Staples song is before declaring that hers is “Son of a Preacher Man,” which Andrew lauds as a wonderful choice.

“Are you okay?” You ask the question tentatively as you come to a stop and lean against the railing that separates you from the river.

Andrew sighs and shrugs despondently. “Yeah, I just…I have a call with Caroline later, and she won’t tell me what it’s about. Which is…never a good sign.”

“Oh.” You frown and reach up to rest a hand on his shoulder.

He turns his head quickly, eyes flicking down to where your hand rests before looking up to meet your gaze.

“I’m sorry for being so preoccupied.”

You shake your head. “You have nothing to apologize for. Shit, I’d feel the same way if I had to talk to her. Uh, no offense.”

The corner of his mouth curves in a half-smile as he replies, “No, I get it. She’s…well, she sure is Caroline. I’ll give her that.”

There’s a pause as you deliberate whether you should pry, whether he would even want to share the intimate details of his newfound apprehension towards his manager. The dislike from others is palpable, especially from Alex. Though you’ve never witnessed it, you’re well aware that a few confrontations with her have left Alex wondering if continuing with this job is even worth it. (It’s a question that Andrew isn’t aware of, divulged to you by Larissa who is saddened by such a development.)

Before you can ask a follow-up question, an alarm goes off on your phone—the alarm you set earlier today to remind both of you when it’s time to head back to the venue.

“Thank you for today,” you say upon arriving back at the bus lot after a quiet walk back. Crew members are already zipping around to prepare for their own call times while the band gets ready for sound check.

“Of course. Thank you for coming with me. I…I really enjoyed—I mean, it was nice to just…be there. With you.”

The words strike your heart as they tumble from his mouth, your pulse quickening as he awkwardly shifts his weight and glances over his shoulder.

“I…feel the same. It was nice that it was just, y’know. The two of us.”

In a moment of levity, Andrew gives you the most sincere smile you’ve seen in the last hour, then chirps, “Look at us. Burying the hatchet.”

You can’t help but laugh and roll your eyes. “I mean, usually people don’t acknowledge it out loud, but…yeah. It’s nice. I, uh…yeah.”

Andrew pauses as though waiting for something more, but you stay quiet and turn your gaze towards the ground as a blush makes blood rush in your ears.

“Well, I’ve got to…” He shakes his phone at you and nods his head in the opposite direction.

“Right, sorry! You go on ahead, and, uh—good luck with the call. I need to gather my crew and figure out what’s going on, anyway. But, if you’re not at sound check by three, I’m hunting you down and dragging you to that stage.”

This pulls a small laugh from him as he begins walking backwards towards the dressing rooms. “Duly noted. I’ll see you later.” 

❤❤❤

You’re not sure why, but something in Andrew’s demeanor shifts drastically.

Despite the check-ins, the light banter, and the moments of levity you’ve shared over the past few months, Andrew is quiet. Despondent. Avoidant once more as his goodwill seemingly slips through your fingers. You’re left puzzled and embarrassed by the sadness that echoes within you, unsure of what you’ve done to earn the cold shoulder again when you thought things were going well.

“I don’t know what’s crawled up his ass and died, but I’m super fucking over it,” you tell Autumn over coffee one morning after she confronts you about your own dour mood.

Autumn frowns as she stirs her rapidly cooling tea idly. There’s a tension in her own demeanor that tells you she knows something, but you’re hesitant to shake her down for information she’s not freely sharing.

After a few beats of silence, she sighs and lets her spoon clink against the side of the mug as she sits back and folds her arms over her chest.

“I may know why.”

You raise your brows in anticipation. “Did something happen?”

“More like something is going to happen. I heard that a few of our guys are getting cut for the 2024 leg of the tour. More than a few, actually.”

Your blood feels like ice in your veins, your hackles raising at her words. “What?”

“It’s not confirmed, but…I don’t know. Given how much management has scaled back recently, I wouldn’t be surprised. More shows, less staff. For whatever fucking sense that makes.”

You blink at her, head tilted in confusion as upset bubbles up within you.

“They’re going to make staff cuts? What, are we just supposed to make due with a skeleton crew for one of the biggest fucking musicians in the world right now? These are arena shows, Autumn!”

“Baby, you’re preaching to the choir on this one. I don’t understand it, either, but I don’t think management will know what they’ve done until shit hits the fan at that first show.”

How could a decision like this be made without even consulting you as the stage manager? The crew is an invaluable part of this process, and cutting 25% of your team is like chopping at them at the knees while simultaneously crippling the remaining staff by forcing them to work even harder for the same amount of pay—or, at least, that’s what you assume given all of management’s other cuts were replaced by absolutely nothing.

A thought crosses your mind, one that has you pulling out your phone to double-check the date. It’s been nearly a week since your outing with Andrew in New Orleans, nearly a week of this complete regression in agreeableness until you’ve found yourself back at square one.

Nearly a week since his dreaded phone call with Caroline.

Understanding hits you all at once—this is what Caroline wanted to discuss with him. This is why he’s flipped on you again. To keep you at a distance. To keep himself safe from delivering terrible news to you directly.

“Motherfucker,” you yell, banging your fists on the table before standing up abruptly.

“Wait, don’t—where are you going?!” Autumn shouts after you as you stomp down the stairs of the bus before slamming the door shut behind you.

A fist against the metal of the bus door alerts the entire band of your presence, and Rory opens it with a puzzled, nervous look. The expression on your face must tell him everything he needs to know as he swallows and glances nervously towards whoever might be sitting in the front lounge with him.

“Where is he?”

“Who do you—?”

“Andrew,” you answer brusquely. “Where the fuck is he?”

“He’s…” Rory leans back again and says, “Andrew. It’s for you.”

He’s quick to scurry away as Andrew slowly steps down and idles in the doorway, gaze carefully averted from yours as he grumbles, “What do you want?”

Anger grips your throat as you manage to spit out, “We need to talk. Now.”

“Look, I don’t have time for—”

You cut him off with a tense wave of your hand. “I wasn’t. Fucking. Asking.”

This is enough to get him out of the bus, though he keeps a reasonable distance from you as you try to keep this conversation—this fight—out of earshot from everyone else.

You come upon an empty portion of the parking lot, illuminated in the warm light of a dying street lamp. The buses are a reasonable distance away now, and you stop abruptly to round on him with a finger pointed at him accusingly.

“You. Start talking. Now.”

Andrew blinks, hands immediately going into his pockets as his shoulders come up to his ears.

Tense, short, he asks, “What is this about?”

“You know damn well what this is about.”

It’s maddening when he goes quiet, looks up at the stars that are visible despite the lights of the city polluting the sky. His hesitation is palpable as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other while chewing his lower lip. The idea that he might even consider playing dumb with you, that he might try to lie to your face already has you choking back tears.

“Don’t you dare try to run away from this, Andrew,” you say tightly. “Don’t you fucking dare.”

Exasperation is evident in his posture, in his face as his expression twists.

“Jesus Christ, what do you want from me?” he asks, his voice going much louder than you’ve ever heard before.

It sets you on edge, your fingers twitching until you curl your hands into fists at your side. The heat of rage quickly spirals into despair as a gaping maw opens in your chest.

Fuck, you can’t do this now, can’t break down in front of the man who has only seen you as his adversary for the better part of six months—who fucking conned you into thinking he actually cared for even a moment.

You aggressively scrub at the tears that well in your eyes and turn your back to him as you decide where you can run off to before you start fully sobbing.

“Why can’t you just be fucking honest?” you ask, laughing harshly, indignantly. “Fuck me, why can’t you—”

It’s too late to seek sanctuary now as a lump rises in your throat, hot tears spilling down your cheeks as you crumple onto the pavement.

“I…” Andrew’s voice dies in his throat, concern etched into his expression when you manage a glance at him.

With another exasperated laugh, you reply, “Fuck me. You’re cut from the same cloth as every other wealthy, privileged white man I’ve ever met. The star of the show, here to waste my fucking time by approving every new show your bitch of a manager wants to add despite knowing damn well that she’s going to cut a quarter of my fucking team next year.”

An inferno rages inside of you as his face drops, as he looks to his shoes to hide his guilty expression—an answer to your unasked question: Did you know?

“Jesus fucking Christ, Andrew, how long were you going to wait to spring that shit on me? Or, were you going to let Caroline tell me over a fucking Zoom call because you’re too much of a coward to say it to my face?”

Muffled sobs break the silence between you as you squeeze your eyes shut and try to regain some level of composure. A hand at your shoulder startles you. You spring up and quickly shuffle back from him as he stares at you, hand still hovering over where you were just sitting.

“Don’t fucking touch me.”

You expect anger. You expect a fight.

You don’t expect red, watery eyes as he sucks in a deep breath and looks towards the ground.

“Oh, did I strike a nerve?” you spit, rage eclipsing any shred of compassion or pity you have.

“Oh, fuck you,” Andrew snaps. “You don’t get to sit on your fucking high horse when you’ve done nothing but antagonize me from the start!”

“Me? Oh, that’s rich. All I’ve done is try to get you to do your fucking job on time, you twat!”

He scoffs and rolls his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest as he tilts his head at you. “Right, and the best way to do that is by shouting at me and being the most passive-aggressive geebag I’ve ever fucking met.”

“Well, maybe if every word out of your mouth wasn’t announcing another fucking show, or another fucking cut that your shitty manager is making just to pad out her own pockets—and, by proxy, your fucking pockets.

“I mean, Jesus, Andrew. Do you not see the fucking optics here? Do you not see how all of this lands squarely on you in the eyes of every fucking person here? I won’t shield you from the valid criticisms over management’s choices—and management includes you, Boss Man.”

Andrew snorts ruefully and shakes his head. “The band knows they can talk to me, and the crew knows they’re more than welcome to voice their concerns. You don’t have to shield me from shit.”

“My God, you really don’t get it, do you? You look like the fucking asshole here, Andrew. You. The crew doesn’t know that layoffs are coming, so of course they’d fucking trust you! Believe me, if Caroline were here right now, I’d be ripping into her ass just as hard for being so fucking shady!”

You throw your hands in the air with a frustrated huff.

“But, fuck me, right? What the fuck do I know about this business outside of the twelve years I’ve been doing this fucking job? What do I know about predatory, money-grabbing, narcissistic managers with no regard for the people who suffer beneath them? But, go on ahead and release another vinyl pressing of everything you left on the cutting room floor, Andrew. Go ahead, so that you and her can make a few more bucks off the backs of your fucking fans and that single you wish you’d never released.”

Andrew blanches, mouth opening and closing like a fish gasping for air.

A smug sense of satisfaction fills you as he’s left scrambling for a response. Good. He knows you’re right, knows he can’t fight back against anything when the truth is plain as day—the good will of his sophomore album and tour has evaporated with every additional stadium he’s approved, with every cut to catering, with every rollback of amenities provided in tours past, with every brushed off concern from the mouths of people he calls friends.

Your victory is short-lived as his eyes go glassy once more; a stray tear slips free and rolls down his cheek before he roughly wipes it away with the sleeve of his jacket. Your smugness quickly dissolves into guilt as he gives you a curt nod before turning to walk away.

“Fuck…” you whisper to yourself before exhaling sharply and shouting after him, “Andrew, wait!”

He stops but doesn’t turn to look at you as you jog the distance he’s covered with his impossible stride.

“Did you have something else you wanted to say?” His voice is flat, his shoulders still tense and raised to his ears.

After a beat, he still doesn’t look at you, and you sigh as you run a hand through your hair.

“Look, I’m—I’m sorry. I’m just fucking blindsided by all of this, and I—”

Andrew whirls around on you so quickly that you stumble back in surprise. You’ve never seen him so angry, tears freely flowing now as he jabs a finger in your direction.

“Do you think I fucking wanted this? Do you truly, sincerely believe that I’m out to fuck everyone over for my own personal agenda? Of course I’m aware of the optics, but that doesn’t mean a fucking thing when you’re locked into a long-term contract with the ring leader of this entire fucking circus.”

“And, what?” you spit. “You can’t just buy your way out of it?”

There’s a long pause as Andrew levels your stare, his eyes searching your face as he processes your question. Finally, he sighs defeatedly and scrubs at his face with his hands.

“It’s not that simple! Because it’s not just her. It’s the label. It’s the rights to my music. It’s—it’s all of it. Believe me, it’s not for lack of trying. I’ve reached out to lawyers, and there’s…there’s nothing. No loopholes. No gaps. Iron-fucking-clad. My soul belongs to this woman through the next two years, and she’s prepared to wring me dry through the final day.”

Shit. You hadn’t really thought about it from that angle. Despite how long you’ve existed in the music world, talent contracts have never mattered much to you. As long as you’re getting paid fairly, you really can’t be fucked to care about the outrageous salaries of world-famous musicians, nor the percentage their managers receive.

“Even if I could break it…I have to think about my parents. I want to make sure they’re taken care of when—” Andrew looks up at the night sky as he takes a deep breath, voice cracking lightly as he continues, “When I’m not around to help. When my brother’s not around to help. I can’t just walk away.”

When he looks at you again, his brows furrow once more, as though he’s just remembered he’s supposed to be upset with you.

“Andrew…” You take a step closer to him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

He holds up a hand to cut you off, shaking his head with a soft sniffle. “Yes, you did. Whatever it is you’re going to say, you absolutely did mean to. And you have. So…well done, I suppose.”

It shatters your heart, the guilt of hurting him swallowing you whole. Because you had meant it, meant to hurt him with your barbed words in an effort to get him to open his eyes.

But, the truth is so much messier, bound by legal jargon and the duty of a loving son. As much as Andrew wears his heart on his sleeve, you’re still surprised by the little things that slip through his veneer, the things meant to stay within his own mind, body, and soul regardless of the pain.

“I…” What can you even say? What can you even do except apologize and hope the man you’ve once disliked based on assumptions and childish principles will forgive you for this transgression.

“It’s an early day tomorrow,” he says hollowly. “You should get some sleep. Goodnight.”

“Please…” The word comes out hoarse and broken as you try to think of anything to say to fix this.

Tears well up as he turns his back to you again and heads off towards the fleet of buses parked across the lot. You don’t call after him, nor shout any further apologies. The lump in your throat is too painful to swallow down.

Seated on the pavement, you draw your knees up and hug them tightly before burying your face into the sleeves of your hoodie and letting out a choked sob.

❤❤❤

The next morning, you wake up feeling like you got hit and backed over by a city bus. Your jaw aches from the tension of clenching the whole night, your head pounding from a teary hangover. Leftover makeup coats your puffy, reddened eyes. Your throat screams for ice cold water, and you figure it’s probably best to chase a handful of ibuprofen with a full glass before facing the day.

“Jesus, what happened to you?” Autumn’s tone is light in comparison to her worried expression as she brings a hand up to cup your chin. She tilts your head from one side to the other, inspecting the remnants of your breakdown in search of foul play.

You know better than to lie to Autumn’s face, and you can’t muster the energy to care about obscuring the truth of the matter.

“I got into it with Andrew last night,” you sigh. “I said some really mean, hurtful shit, and now he hates me even more than he already did.” 

Autumn scoffs as she fills an electric kettle with water for her morning tea.

“You think that man hates you? I don’t think he’s capable of hating anyone outside of politicians and cops.”

“No, I know he hates me. Like, properly hates me now that I’ve insulted him directly to his face.”

“Oh, God.” Autumn turns to you with a wary look. “What did you say?”

As you recount the events of the previous night, Autumn’s face goes from surprise, to concern, to pity. You wish that she wouldn’t turn that look on you when you’re already feeling small and defeated, but you know she means well, that her expression comes from a place of empathy and concern.

She stops what she’s doing and sits beside you before wrapping her arms around you in a tight hug. It feels nice, comforting, and you bite your quivering lower lip as you blink back tears.

“Oh, sugar…listen to me, okay? You are not a terrible person for feeling frustrated. You lashed out at Andrew because of the news about the staff cuts, and while it makes sense, it doesn’t make it right.”

“I know.” You wince as your whispered voice cracks.

“I think you should talk to him and properly apologize. Don’t ambush him. Just ask if he’s willing to talk and hear you out.”

You sigh as you rest your head on Autumn’s shoulder. “What if he won’t?”

A pause. “He will,” she replies quietly. “I know he will.”

After a cup of coffee and an ice cube rubbed against your swollen eyes, you decide to forgo makeup entirely. A hoodie drawn over your head and a pair of baggy sweatpants will be your self-loathing uniform for the day. If anyone has any shitty comments to make, you’re primed and ready to jump down their throat.

A few members of the crew hop back onto the bus with bags of breakfast sandwiches, and the smell of eggs and sausage makes you nauseous. With a disgusted face, you mumble, “I’m going for a walk,” before pushing yourself from your seat and trudging down the steps.

It’s an overcast day, but the clouds don’t look too angry. You hope that rainfall won’t be an issue, making a mental note to keep an eye on the forecast for the evening. A glance at your phone tells you that it’s far too early to bother the ladies and Larissa for company, so you shove your hands into your pockets and set off to walk the perimeter of the venue lot’s fencing.

As you walk, gravel crunches softly behind you—footsteps that are out of sync with your stride. You spin around and are startled to find Andrew approaching, a baseball cap affixed to his head and kept in place by a haphazardly thrown up bun sticking out the back. He’s in his traditional garb—a t-shirt covered by a navy blue mechanics jacket, dark trousers, and the same white Converse that probably need a few cycles in the washing machine to look even remotely clean again.

The bags under his eyes seem darker, more pronounced. He doesn’t smile at you, but he doesn’t look ready to shout abuse at you, either. He mostly looks…sad. Apprehensive. Exhausted.

“Hey,” you say lamely, unsure of how to address him after yesterday’s argument.

“Hey,” he says flatly.

There’s a pause as he hesitates, shifting his weight from one foot to the other as he avoids your befuddled stare.

“Did you…need something, or…?” The question is asked in earnest, your heart pounding wildly in your chest as you wait for his next response.

Finally, he sighs and shrugs his shoulders. “There’s a coffee place nearby that I wanted to check out. You should come with me. So we can talk.”

Anxiety washes over you like a crashing wave, buzzing in your fingertips as you stretch your hands against the feeling.

“Right, um…if this is your way of firing me, I’d rather you just do it now. No sense in drawing it out.”

Andrew frowns, puzzled. “Fire you? No, no, no, that’s not—I’m not firing you. Jesus, I think the entire tour would fall apart if you weren’t here.”

It’s surprisingly kind of him to say, though, you don’t necessarily agree. There are a million other prospective stage managers who’d swoop in and probably do a far better job of handling things. Managers who aren’t jaded and won’t antagonize the talent.

“I wanted to talk about yesterday,” he says quietly. “I…wanted to apologize for being…reactive? Or, defensive, rather.”

You blink.

Andrew is apologizing to you?

As other crew members begin to spill out of their respective buses, you nod your head in the opposite direction and ask, “Do you know which way the shop is?”

The coffee shop itself isn’t far, and it’s quiet and relatively empty given that it’s a Sunday. A few guys from the lighting crew are lined up at the counter for their multiple morning espresso shots that will carry them to their afternoon, pre-show energy drinks. They greet you with tired mumbles and little waves, uncaring that the two of you are here together and alone.

Andrew is kind enough to pay for your coffee, and you take a seat at a table in the furthest corner of the room.

“So…” you start as you play with the off-white diner mug in your hands.

“So…” he echoes, folding his hands on the table as he watches you. “About yesterday—”

“Andrew, I’m so sorry,” you interrupt quickly. “I don’t understand why you feel compelled to apologize to me when you were right. I meant to hurt you, and I did. And, I’m so fucking sorry for doing that. I should have just walked away, or cut the conversation short so we could both cool down. That’s on me, and if you hate me after all of that, I understand and absolutely deserve it.”

You suck in a deep breath before bringing the mug up to your lips to sip your too-hot drink.

Andrew is quiet as he mulls over your apology. His silence makes you squirm, so you follow up your statement with, “You are in no way obligated to accept my apology or like me in any capacity, by the way. I just…I was up all night feeling absolutely awful about how I left everything, but it seemed wrong to text you about it.”

After a few more beats of silence, Andrew nods as he plays with his own mug. It looks so much smaller in his massive hands, and you briefly imagine those hands circling your wrists, pinning them above your head—

You shake the thought away as your face begins to burn. Not the time, not the place, and certainly not the man to continue lusting over.

“I appreciate your apology,” he says finally. “I wanted to apologize, too. What you said was hurtful, but…I mean, there’s merit to it all, yeah? I am considered the boss despite not feeling like one, and I certainly don’t want to be one. But, that doesn’t absolve me of responsibility, and I do have a responsibility towards everyone who works on this tour.”

You didn’t expect him to agree with you, and you certainly didn’t expect him to seem so guilty for not upholding his crew the way he should. Perhaps he’s never been called on it so forthrightly, or perhaps it comes off as a more serious issue when not coming from the mouth of a friend—namely, Alex, who has also come to you to commiserate about some of the choices that have been nothing but a detriment to the band’s mental health.

“Also…you were right. I haven’t…I don’t think I considered how comfortable I’ve been with…I don’t know. Money? Recognition? Not that I want to be recognized, but…”

“But the perks of recognition outweigh the negatives?”

Andrew glances up, then sighs. “Sometimes, yeah. I hadn’t really thought about the privilege of it all. Or, I had, sort of, but I didn’t give it much thought until you ripped into me.”

You nod in reply. “I mean, it’s been what? Ten years? It makes sense why you would grow accustomed to it. It makes sense that your brain would put on the blinders to the cognitive dissonance of it all. Doesn’t make you a bad person. It just makes you human.”

Andrew’s mouth lifts in a half-smile. “You don’t have to do that.”

You blink. “Do what?”

“Make excuses for me. Protect me.”

“I am not making excuses for you. I brought all of this shit up in a massive rage last night, and you still took it to heart.”

Andrew had actually thought about what you said instead of stewing in the anger of being called out. He could have remained upset and defensive over your words, but he chose instead to consider your point of view. Something about that makes your chest feel warm.

“Hard not to when all of the things you said have been anxieties of mine for a long time.”

“What do you mean?”

He turns his head to look out the window towards the road. “This…has become so much bigger than I ever thought it would. I never wanted to become a household name or face. I just wanted to put my music out there to see what would happen. But, I didn’t want all of this.”

This—the celebrity of it all. The parties, the events, the boozing and schmoozing required of any star with influence. You’ve seen him on those nights as he staggers back into the hotel lobby looking drunk, haggard, and absolutely miserable.

Despite your ill feelings towards the man at the beginning, you don’t wish this kind of exhausting lifestyle on him. As a fellow introvert and a stage manager, you can empathize with the anxiety of having to be forward-facing and on when you’re already on the verge of collapse.

“If I seem ungrateful for the position I’m in, I’m not trying to be. I’ve become so disillusioned with all of this that I’ve been…I don’t know, checking out when I don’t have to think, I suppose?”

It would explain the curtness, the increased consumption of weed and alcohol where he can, the withdrawn nature of his personality that he’s insisted is just a symptom of his age.

“But, again, not wanting to be in this circumstance doesn’t change anything. I’m still responsible for what happens here, and you were right. The optics don’t look great when I’m not fighting for my fucking team.”

You’re unsure how to respond as he stirs his black coffee with a spoon, careful not to hit the walls of the mug.

“What do you need from me, then?” He looks up, confused. “I mean, how can I help you with all of this?”

“I…I don’t think there’s anything that you can do. I just appreciate that you said something at all so I could get my head out of my arse long enough to realize how fucked it’s all been.”

You crack a smile at this, your heart skipping when he smiles back. Then, his smile falls again, his brows furrowing once more as he stares down at his drink and fidgets with his hands.

“I don’t know if…I mean, this is going to sound really fucking stupid, so please bear with me. You’ve shown more fortitude in the last few months than I have in the last few…” He checks his watch. “Years? You’re the only person in my life right now willing to slap me across the face—figuratively, of course—but, you’re the only person who I can trust to be completely honest with me right now. And, if the biggest problem in my life is being shouted at by a gorgeous lass with a hot temper, then I consider myself extremely lucky.”

Oh. That’s…

Huh.

You blink at him, searching his face for any semblance of insincerity.

“Oh, uh…thanks—thank you. That’s…you’re very kind.”

Andrew stares as though he expects something more, but you’re not sure how to respond. It’s a nice thing to say, certainly. Is this his way of extending another olive branch? Compliments have always made you mildly uncomfortable, but is this his way of working himself back into your good graces?

After a few more seconds of tense silence, Andrew finally knocks on the table once and nods.

“Right, well…we should probably get back then. Long day ahead, and all that.” He stands abruptly, unfinished coffee splashing over the rim of his mug as the table shakes.

“Wait, what—?”

“Thanks for agreeing to talk with me. I appreciate it.”

As he speed walks away from the table, you scramble to grab your things before popping up and rushing after him. His long legs have carried him much further than you anticipated, and you find yourself once again having to jog to catch up with him.

“Andrew, what the fuck?” You round him as you shout, forcing him to stop in his tracks before he collides with you.

“What?” His tone betrays nothing, but exasperation is clear in his expression.

You scoff and laugh incredulously. “Oh no, no, no. You’re not going to weasel your way out of this. What the fuck was that just now?”

Andrew blinks, clearly weighing the pros and cons of lying about whatever is running through his head.

“It’s…almost call time…for a media thing...”

It’s a weak excuse, but you can’t help the startled laugh that escapes you as you ask, “Oh? And when did you suddenly start caring about being on time for literally anything?”

The corner of his mouth lifts just slightly. “Well, a very pretty and very confrontational woman has torn me apart about it multiple times now, you see...”

You can feel the heat of a blush that you attempt to downplay with a cheeky shrug. 

“Hm. She sounds smart. And hot. You should listen to her more often.”

The sound of Andrew’s chuckle makes your heart flutter. You swallow down the delight of making him laugh, press your lips together to hide the smile that wants to break free.

“I probably should, yeah. I’m honestly terrified of what might happen if I don’t.”

A glance at your watch makes you frown, and you clap at Andrew like he’s an animal in need of shepherding. “Oh, shit, it’s—fuck’s sake, go, go, go, you’ve got somewhere to be!”

Instead of the usual annoyed response to your rushing, Andrew merely chuckles again and throws his hands up in acquiescence.

“All right, fine! Jesus, I’m going.”

With a short wave and a little smile, he turns on his heel and rushes back into the venue, and you’re fairly certain you’ve never seen him rush anywhere so quickly, especially at your behest.

You’re floored by his response. There’s a part of you that wonders if his compliments were meant to be taken more…

Well, no. That’s just wishful thinking on your part. The idea of him having any inkling of affection towards you is laughable. This was a one-off, a way to relieve some of the tension from last night’s argument with softened language and compliments of questionable sincerity.

Still…it was nice to hear him laugh. Butterflies in your stomach remind you that, despite his kindness, you’re not meant to feel things for the fucking main act of anything, let alone a world-famous musician.

The rumor mill on tour is always churning out something, and rumors about the stage manager making heart eyes at Andrew is the last thing that you need right now. Jesus, if Caroline caught wind of it, you’d be out on your ass in a second.

It’s best to let sleeping dogs lie, let the crush run its course. Then, you two will part ways, unlikely to ever see each other again. The thought is painful, but it’s the only way you’ll manage to survive the rest of this tour—keep your head down and your mouth shut.

❤❤❤

The next hotel night is a much-needed break from the confines of a bunk and the crew crammed into a moving tin can like a bunch of sardines.

Autumn comes up to your room to watch re-runs of NCIS on cable television while sharing a bottle of the sweetest wine you’ve ever had, occasionally making inappropriate comments about Mark Harmon before muttering, “If he wasn’t a fucking Republican…”

The rest of the crew are all scattered about, some in their hotel rooms while others go out for dinner, drinks, and a bit of the Seattle nightlife. (Whatever that entails.)

Larissa texted you an invitation to dinner, but you feel you’re better off not spending as much time around Andrew. Despite being friendly once again, you can’t shake the unease of your more romantic desires—emotional and physical.

You don’t talk about it with Autumn, and she hasn’t pried, thankfully. She’s already dealt with enough of your bullshit with Andrew, she certainly doesn’t need the intimate details of your daydreams and late-night fantasies.

You’re already two generously poured glasses deep when Autumn decides to turn in for the evening. She shuffles off to her room, laughing to herself as she mentions something about calling her sister, April.

Somewhere on the nightstand, your phone buzzes with a text. You giggle as you toss yourself onto the mattress and roll to the other side to grab it from the charger.

The screen flashes Andrew’s name, and your heart stutters as you read his message.

Andrew Can I see you?

Andrew Please?

What could he possibly want? Especially right now? Isn’t he supposed to be out to dinner? A part of you worries that maybe something happened, either to him or to another band member, but that isn’t your jurisdiction. That’s the tour manager’s problem. Still, you respond fervently in concern.

You What happened? Is something wrong??

The chat bubble pops up immediately, as though he’d been waiting for your reply.

Andrew I just need to see you

You blink, puzzled. At least nobody’s dead, you suppose. But what does Andrew want?

You Why? You’re worrying me now.

Andrew Please don’t make me beg

Oh.

That’s…that can’t be a coincidence. It’s probably the wine that has you reading into things that aren’t there. Though, you hear Melissa’s voice somewhere in the back of your mind, her words playing on a loop as you stare at the screen.

Like he fucking adores you.

It is almost certainly the wine that has you feeling bold enough to text back. You nod to yourself in reassurance before shakily typing out a response.

You What if I want you to beg?

You’re biting at your fingernails as you watch the chat bubble appear and disappear in varying intervals. Anxiety churns in your gut, your brain screaming at you to apologize, to blame the wine for a text that was far too inappropriate for the circumstances. Your thumbs hover over the keyboard as your phone buzzes again.

Andrew I’m coming over

“Oh, shit.” The words slip from your mouth as you throw the phone onto the bed like the damn thing has scalded you.

What have you done? What is he going to say? Sure, he may not have fired you for tearing into him, but this? Suggestive flirting? That’s a whole other line to cross, especially when you’ve been trying to shove away your feelings otherwise.

You’re pacing the length of your room as you try to come up with an apology that covers such an egregious overstep of boundaries when you hear a soft knock at the door. A nervous swallow feels like knives down your throat, and you timidly approach before turning the knob and opening the door.

As expected, Andrew is there, though he looks far more disheveled than usual. His hair is thrown up in the half-up, half-down style that Joy taught him, though tendrils have come loose and fall around his face. He’s wearing an outfit normally reserved for the stage—the dark denim combo with a black button-up shirt beneath.

“Hey,” you greet as casually as you can. “What’s up?”

Andrew tilts his head to one side, studying you for a moment before asking quietly, “May I come in?”

“Uh, yeah, of course,” you mumble as you step aside to let him into the room before closing the door softly behind him.

You whirl around and press your back against the door, eyeing him as he glances around the room.

Before you can form a reasonable question, he looks back at you and holds both hands up as he explains, “Before I launch into my—I mean, full disclosure: I’ve had three beers in the last hour and some.”

Ah, you think to yourself. Liquid courage.

In vino veritas.

“Okay,” you say slowly. “Um…also for the sake of disclosure, I’ve had a few glasses of wine. If that matters.”

Andrew nods, seeming almost relieved that you’re also not fully sober for this—whatever this is.

“Right, okay. Good. I mean, not good, like—” He stops himself mid-sentence and closes his eyes before taking a deep breath and clapping his hands together. “Okay, where do I even start with this?”

You blink, anxiety creeping along your spine and prickling your skin.

“Andrew, what is this about?”

When he opens his eyes again, you can make out the light pink tinge that colors the whites of his eyes along with a fierce flush that brightens his pale skin.

“I think you know exactly what this is about.”

You shake your head. “I don’t think...”

There’s a pause as he averts his gaze to the floor, brows furrowing in thought. His silence feels like it stretches for a lifetime as you await whatever it is he’s about to drop on you.

Finally, he takes a breath. “The other night, when we had that fight…you wanted me to be honest with you when I wasn’t. I know it’s unfair, but I’m going to ask the same from you now.”

“Andrew…”

“Please,” he pleads.

After a beat, you nod and whisper, “Of course.”

“Promise me.”

“Yes, okay, fine. I promise I will be honest with you.”

“Right, good. Grand. Okay.” He smooths an agitated hand over his hair. “I suppose there’s no point in mincing words. Tell me if I’m mistaken, or misunderstanding, or—shit, tell me to fuck off if necessary.”

You chew on your lower lip and nod tightly.

“There’s…I mean, there’s something here, right? Because, I don’t think I’m going mad, and I don’t think you would have responded to my text the way you did if…I mean, stranger things have happened, but this?” He holds up his phone and points at your last text. “This doesn’t feel like a coincidence.”

A million thoughts run through your head at once. You consider lying to him, consider telling him that it’s merely a throwaway joke to reference that conversation from months ago. But, he asked for honesty, and honesty he shall receive…for better or for worse.

“It’s…it’s not. A coincidence, I mean.”

Andrew’s face stays carefully neutral as he takes a step forward, a step closer to where you’re still pressed against the door.

“You hated me until you didn’t. What changed?” he asks.

There’s a part of you that wants to shoot the question right back at him in a deflection of your answer, but you bite back the words before they can escape.

Instead, you’re honest.

“You paid attention,” you say meekly. When he tilts his head in confusion, you continue, “You knew I hadn’t eaten anything that day. I don’t know how you knew, but you did. You gave me a stupid protein bar and scolded me for not eating, and I…fuck. I thought I could just ignore it until all of this was over.”

“Ignore what?”

“Ignore you. Ignore my feelings.”

Andrew goes quiet as he considers your answer, but the silence makes you nervous. This time, you can’t bite your tongue, can’t hold back as you parrot his question.

“Quid pro quo, Andrew. Same question. What changed?”

He shakes his head. “That night early on…when you left the venue early. I don’t know how you got back to the hotel, exactly, but…you were gone, and nobody knew where you went…I asked around, but nobody had heard from you.”

He trails off, as though nervous to continue the story and vocalize this shared feeling, afraid of solidifying it, of making it whole and real in the space between you.

“So, you came to my door to check on me,” you say quietly. “I was awful to you that night.”

For the first time this evening, Andrew cracks a smile that he hides by looking down at his feet.

“Well, I’d been awful to you up to that point, as well. And after, probably.”

The corner of your mouth lifts in a half-smile, and you shrug. “A little bit, yeah.”

Andrew takes another step closer, slowly closing the distance between you. Your face burns with a blush that spreads over your chest and to the tips of your ears as he hovers over you, one hand coming to rest on the doorframe, right beside your head.

“You are the most stubborn, willful man I’ve ever met,” you muse.

“And you are the most headstrong, obstinate woman I’ve ever met,” he responds with a smile.

You hum in amusement, unable to maintain his gaze. Just as you’re running through a rolodex of quips and replies that might be appropriate in the most inappropriate of situations, a gentle hand cups your face and pulls your focus back to him.

Tension has you rooted to the spot. His hand is still there, warm and surprisingly soft against your skin. You slowly let out the breath you’ve been holding in an attempt to calm your nerves.

Carefully, you reach up to place a featherlight hand on his chest.

“This is my favorite outfit of yours, the Man in Black look…” you murmur.

He raises an eyebrow in response. “Oh?”

“Mmhm,” you hum, letting your fingers brush against the fabric of his shirt as it travels downward.

Your fingers stop just short of the silver belt buckle that shines even in the low lighting of the room. Your heart is pounding in your chest, a cold sweat beginning to develop along your hairline as anxiety grips your throat. The sound of Andrew’s responding chuckle in your ear is both comforting and titillating as you lay your proverbial cards on the table.

After a few seconds of silence, he looks up towards the ceiling and sighs before looking back at you with a wry smile.

“May I kiss you? Or, are you going to make me beg?”

You’re not sure how you’re still coherent or standing when all of your blood seems to have rushed to your face or between your legs.

All sense of smug coolness evaporates as you nod frantically and whisper, “Please,” in response.

The first brush of his lips against yours is tentative, restrained. You can smell the hops on his breath, the earthy scent of his cologne, the remnants of smoke from cigarettes he’ll regret come morning.

When he pulls away, you’re left leaning back against the door, breathing shallowly as you swallow down your excited nerves.

“Are you sure you want this?” he breathes, searching for any shred of regret or apprehension in your expression despite everything you’ve just said to the contrary. Still, it’s sweet of him to ask no matter how moot the question is in this circumstance.

Your response comes in the form of another kiss, messier and more frantic this time as you throw your arms around his neck to keep him close. The hand by your head has slipped down to rest on your hips, fingers digging into your skin but not daring to move any further.

Kisses to your neck are punctuated with nibbles that make you squirm in his grip while attempting to swallow down the whimpers and whines that inevitably escape you.

You’re both in your 30s and far too old to be sporting hickies in places that can’t be covered, but the feeling of his teeth grazing your skin, the mere idea of being marked so publicly as his makes you not care quite as much about judgement.

With a huffed laugh and panting breaths, you press gently against his chest while murmuring, “Bed.”

This pulls a genuine laugh from him, and he shakes his head as he smiles down at you.

“My God, you’re demanding even now? I’m going to have my hands full with you, aren’t I?”

The question is startling—an implicit promise that this isn’t just a hook-up or a one night situation. Not that you had expected so, but the confirmation of his own excitement over such a prospect warms your heart.

“You say that like I haven’t been a pain in your ass from day one.”

Andrew shrugs, brings his hand up to cup your face again. “Well, yeah…but this is different.”

“How exactly is it different?” you snort.

“I get to kiss you now which makes up for your bratty attitude. For the most part, anyway.”

The word is a sucker punch, knocking the wind out of you as heat pools low in your belly. It seems your silence speaks volumes as his expression changes from jokingly irritated to slyly amused.

“Oh? Suddenly, you have nothing to say?”

With a lopsided grin and a blush, you reply, “I have plenty to say. You, of all people, should know that.”

You slip away from the door with your grip on his jacket sleeve, lightly tugging him along as you slowly walk backwards towards the bed. Your hold on him keeps you upright even as you move to push the denim from his shoulders in a bid to get it off. Thankfully, he takes the hint as he pulls it off and tosses it gently to the ground. 

“I’m well aware, yes,” he laughs. “Fortunately for you, I happen to like bratty women.”

There’s that word again, the one that makes your pulse jump and knees wobble. Despite your fiery, demanding exterior professionally, your proclivities in the bedroom lean more towards…well, submission isn’t a word you want to say out loud. Rather, you’re more open to following directions. Especially from a man like him.

He tucks a stray piece of hair behind your ear as he murmurs, “It doesn’t seem like that will be an issue right now, will it?”

You shake your head quickly, earning another little chuckle from him that makes your stomach flip.

“Are you going to behave?”

The question makes you shiver as electricity shoots up your spine, your skin prickling with goosebumps as your breathing goes shallow.

“Yes,” you whisper, wide eyes turned upwards to stare at him.

“God, you’re so much more agreeable like this,” he says with a smirk.

You grin in return as you shrug and reply, “Don’t get used to it.”

His responding kiss feels different—softer, sweeter, and far more romantic than the particular circumstance would imply. Your hands wander, fumbling with buttons that reveal the black undershirt he wears beneath. The sight makes you giggle as you press your forehead lightly against his chest.

“How do you have more clothes under here? Jesus Christ.”

You can feel him shake with quiet laughter, his chest vibrating as he responds, “It’s layering.”

“It’s impeding my work,” you shoot back.

Finally, he bats your hands away and quickly unbuttons the garment before removing it and tossing it into a heap with his jacket.

It’s rare to see him so undressed, thin arms exposing his singular tattoo done by a friend years ago while under the influence of multiple substances. Veins run like rivers down pale skin, arms flecked with freckles and light, fine hair. They’re more toned than you would have thought, years of lifting heavy equipment showing in the shadows that reveal hints of built muscle.

He allows you to marvel, allows you to brush your fingers along the dip of his collarbone before he gently takes your hand and pulls it away.

He’s hesitant to allow you to continue undressing him, self-consciousness written all over his face despite his best efforts to conceal it. You’re not entirely sure how to express just how much you want to see him, how many times you’ve fantasized about this exact scenario.

“Please,” you whisper, peering up at him from beneath your lashes as you begin pulling at the hem.

There’s a pause as he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath before nodding.

He keeps his eyes closed as he helps you lift the undershirt off, flinching when your fingers touch the bare skin of his chest, letting them run down along a trail of hair that makes you feel lightheaded and giddy. You’re drawn to the softness of him, compelled to lean in and press soft kisses just below his collarbone.

You push him gently until he takes two steps back, head tilted in confusion as you beckon him to switch places with you. Another nudge has him sitting on the bed, leaning back with his hands braced against the mattress as he watches you slowly drop to your knees.

“Oh,” he breathes as you begin pulling at the leather of his belt. His following chuckle pulls your attention back to him, leaving you flustered and speechless as he reaches out, cups your cheek, and murmurs, “You look so pretty on your knees for me.”

This man is going to kill you before the night is over, you’re sure of it.

“Shush,” you mumble as you attempt to avert your gaze. But, the hand still caressing your face forces you to look at him once again.

His expression shifts, eyes seeming much darker now as he levels your stare. He’s still blushing, obviously still flustered by this entire situation. The alcohol still has a hold on him, however, providing a level of confidence that you’ve rarely seen from him.

“I’ve half a mind to make you beg for this, you know.”

Your breath catches in your throat as he pulls his hand away to unbutton his jeans, and you jump at the opportunity to tug them down until they crumple to the floor. A few awkward kicks and quiet giggles, and soon he’s left in only a pair of black boxer-briefs as he quickly rids himself of his black socks with a laugh.

You’re trying not to stare. But, the tent in his boxers is intimidating, and you reach out with a trembling hand to rest it gently over his clothed cock. Andrew’s grip on the edge of the mattress noticeably tightens, his lower lip slipping through his teeth as he carefully watches your movements.

A light squeeze of your hand makes him hiss quietly. When he reaches out, you expect him to pull your hand away, expect him to say something or give you direction. Instead, he merely rests his hand atop yours, pressing down as he ruts up against your palm with a soft groan.

Your fingers itch for more, that emptiness within you aching to be filled. There are so many things you want to do, want to try, but time and stamina won’t allow for it all. But, there is a future of opportunities, and right now, you want nothing more than to please him until he’s seeing stars.

“Andrew, please,” you whine as the fingers of your free hand slip beneath the waistband of his boxers. “Please, can I…?”

“Wow,” he hums sweetly. “Begging all on your own? You are a fascinating creature, darling.”

The words stun you, your mouth dropping open for a brief moment before you snap it shut.

“Jesus, do you want me to blow you, or not?” you huff as you hide your smiling, embarrassed expression.

“Tempting as that is…I have other ideas. And, you are still wearing far too much.”

At his prompting, you stand and allow him to pull you into his arms where he sits, leaning in for another kiss as his fingers slip beneath the hem of your too-large sleep shirt. You pull away to raise your arms and allow him to slip the shirt off of you entirely, shivering as he begins to kiss along newly exposed skin. Wandering hands cup your breasts, warm fingers rolling your nipples before he leans in to run his tongue over one hardened bud.

Two fingers hook into the waistband of your shorts, tugging slowly as he kisses along your chest. You allow the garment to fall to your feet before stepping out of them and kicking them away, left only in a pair of plain black panties.

“Gorgeous,” he murmurs against your skin. “Absolutely stunning.”

It’s almost a compulsion to roll your eyes at his compliments, but you smile all the same, embarrassed yet delighted by his response.

Andrew punctuates his compliments with a few more kisses before mumbling, “Into bed with ye.”

As you crawl in and settle into bed, he fishes around the floor for something unseen. Then, with a triumphant sound, he holds up a square of gold foil like a prize.

“I’m so sorry,” you say through a fit of laughter. “Were you expecting this to happen? Or, do you carry that around with you just in case?”

“It wasn’t an expectation.” Andrew shrugs before falling into bed next to you. “More like…wishful thinking.”

It’s an earnest answer, and one you certainly didn’t expect. Before you can respond in kind, he wraps his arms around your waist and rolls until you’re beneath him.

Kisses trail along your neck, down your chest, before stopping at your hips. Your heart races as he slides his fingers beneath black fabric, and he glances up at you in surprise as he finds you already wet and soaking through your panties. You only shrug, unable to form a coherent response as his fingers press into you easily. It’s not enough, but it’s something, and you can’t help but press back against the feeling.

He tugs the fabric down slowly, as though opening a birthday gift. When you’re finally revealed to him entirely, he kisses along your hips and down your thighs, leaving little bites that will almost certainly bruise.

What a strange feeling to be laid out before him like a feast after months of animosity, months of clandestine desire shrouded in antipathy. Even stranger is the way he’s so tender with you, leaning up to kiss you gently while you try to ground yourself by cupping his face and tangling your hands into his hair.

His body is flush against yours, hips rolling as he absentmindedly seeks friction that you provide as you press back against each movement.

You’re breaking down fast, desire and need coursing through you as your body clenches around nothing but the continued dull, yearning ache.

“Fuck, please, I need…” you whimper against his neck.

“Tell me what you need,” he murmurs. “Use your words, darling.”

You’re well beyond the point of embarrassment, well beyond caring about seeming desperate because you are desperate.

“Andrew, for the love of God, please just—” you laugh to yourself and shake your head. “Please fuck me, or I’ll kick you out of my room.”

This pulls another genuine laugh from him as he hides his face against your neck before pressing a few more soft kisses along your jaw.

“You know what? I’ll accept that. Though, we may have to work on the attitude a little bit.”

There’s little time to respond as his own desperation slips through. He pushes himself up and away from you, sitting up to allow more room to slip your underwear down and over your knees before tossing them into the growing pile of clothing on the floor.

Andrew’s stare makes you self-conscious, and you quickly close your legs and turn your bashful, grinning face until it’s half-concealed by a pillow. He takes the opportunity to twist around and shuck off his boxers, but you keep your gaze fixed on the lamp sitting on the nightstand, arousal and nerves igniting like a current beneath your skin.

The crinkle and tear of the condom wrapper draws your attention, and—oh.

“Oh, my God…”

Andrew blinks at you, brows furrowing in an unspoken question that makes you laugh a little hysterically. You reach out and lay a hand on his shoulder as he hovers over you again.

“Please be gentle,” you say meekly. “I might need…time…to adjust…”

His face is already bright red, but you’re certain your request might make him spontaneously combust. As if he doesn’t know how blessed he is, but you refuse to say it aloud anyway, mostly because you don’t want to fuel whatever ego he may already have about it.

It’s no surprise that he’s a gentleman wanting to look out for your own comfort and pleasure. He grabs two of the unused pillows to shove beneath your hips, a more comfortable angle for both of you in this circumstance.

“Are you okay?”

The question is so sincere despite his previous teasing, and you nod quickly as you hum in the affirmative. With a soft smile and a nod of understanding, he leans down to kiss you again before pressing the head of his cock against your entrance.

His movements are slow and shallow, allowing you to get used to the stretch and size of him as he presses into you. Sweet words and soft questions are whispered in your ear, consistently checking in to ensure your comfort despite the strain of his voice revealing his own self-control. Every inch forward leaves you teary-eyed and whining as you’re filled beyond your limits.

As his hips sit flush against yours, you become hyper-aware of every twitch and slight adjustment as he waits for your permission to continue.

The reality of the situation hits you all at once: You’ve quite literally dreamt of this, always thought you’d part ways with this infuriating, wonderful man with a covertly broken heart. Instead, he’s here, and he’s real, and he’s wanted you just as badly as you want him.

“Can you—? I think I’m—God, please, you can—”

Despite your breathless, broken words, Andrew gets the idea. He’s still careful as he pulls back, slowly pressing into you again as you tilt your head back and let out a quiet moan. He uses the opportunity to lean his head forward until it rests in the crook of your shoulder.

“Fuck, I—” he laughs, warm air brushing against your skin. “I may need a moment.”

After a few seconds of deep breathing, he finally begins to move at a snail’s pace, allowing you to further adjust before finding a rhythm that both of you seem to enjoy.

You can’t control your sounds now, each moan, whine, and whimper increasing in volume as he fucks you, fills you to the brim in a way that teeters on painful pleasure. Silence is broken by the sound of your arousal, of skin against skin, making your face burn as you briefly wonder how audible this all might be to whoever resides next door.

The angle allows for him to rub against a spot inside of you that adds a strangely pleasurable pressure. Your eyes water with every pass as you cling to him, arms securely around his neck as you attempt to muffle your incoherent words mixed with his name.

The headboard of the bed bumps against the wall now, but neither of you really care. All you can think about is your impending climax as you slip a hand between you to press against your swollen, aching clit.

“Close,” he gasps quietly, only spurring your own pleasure as you imagine what it might be like to do this unprotected, to feel him twitch and fill you until come is dripping down your thighs.

With a sharp gasp, you clench around him, fingers working yourself solidly, evenly between whimpers that you muffle by biting gently on his shoulder. Pleasure quickly begins to mount as you dig your blunt fingernails into his back, earning a louder groan from him that clues you in on other proclivities he may have—a mental note to make for later.

“Pleasepleaseplease, it’s so good, ‘m so fucking close...”  Your voice cracks and breaks into a soft groan as a slight adjustment of his hips has you barreling towards your own climax.

“I know, baby, I know,” he huffs, and, fuck, he’s already calling you sweet names that will echo in your mind for the next calendar year, at least.

Another whisper of his name, and he murmurs, “I’ve got you, it’s okay…you’re okay…”

There’s something about the tenderness of his words that sends you reeling, choking out quiet moans and prayers as you clench around him in waves.

It’s your climax that finishes him as he grips your hips and lets out a harsh sigh before his moves still. You can feel him then, can feel the pulsing of his release as he presses his forehead to yours before stealing a kiss that leaves you breathless.

The two of you lie in a sweaty, panting heap as you nuzzle him. A blissed-out giggle against him makes him laugh in return, pulling back once more to look at you with a smile before he presses kisses to your face.

You’re reluctant to let him go when he mumbles about cleaning up, but you finally release him when he promises to come back with a glass of water for you.

You sit up in bed and try to avoid staring when he returns. You’re surprised when he crawls into bed without pulling on any form of clothing, floored when he collects you to cuddle once you’ve downed the glass he handed you.

“So…”

“So…” you parrot, tilting your head to look at him.

There’s a pause before he meets your gaze and asks, “Good?”

With a scoff and a giggle, you smack his shoulder lightly as he grins at you.

“Well, certainly Top Five.”

Andrew gasps in feigned shock. “Five? Not even Top Three? Wow…”

“I didn’t say where you land on the list.” You poke his ribs. “Gotta keep you humble.”

You squawk when he attacks you with rapidfire kisses anywhere he can reach. His arms tighten around you when you try to squirm away, giggling when you relent and turn to catch him in another kiss before resting your head against him. The silence between you is laced with exhausted comfort, merely enjoying the peace and quiet of a shared room, of warmth as you envelop each other.

It’s you who breaks the silence first, compelled by safety you feel in the moment to be vulnerable.

“I really fucking like you, you know,” you murmur. “Like, a whole lot.”

His chest moves with a silent laugh as a hand smooths over your hair.

“I know,” he replies. “I really fucking like you, too.”

After a few minutes, Andrew nudges you, and you realize you’d been nearly asleep in his arms. Slowly, crankily, you slip beneath the covers and wait for him to lie down next to you. The lights go out, and an arm rests around your waist and tugs you closer until your back is flush against his chest.

“We’re going to have a lot to answer for in the morning, huh?” you mumble into the darkness.

Andrew hums in reply. “Probably. Also, we may have to apologize to Joy for the, ehm…you know, the noise.”

Oh, right. It’s Joy who’s next door, possibly traumatized if she hasn’t been wearing headphones for the last hour. You’re too tired to look at your texts, though, and you figure you’ll buy her next few meals to make up for the whole ordeal.

“We’ll deal with it tomorrow,” you say through a yawn.

You feel him nod behind you before he presses a kiss to your head.

“Tomorrow,” he mumbles. “Tomorrow, we handle it. Sleep now…”

You smile in the darkness and wiggle against him. “Goodnight.”

He snuffles into the pillow, clearly losing the battle against sleep as he replies, “Goodnight, love…”

❤❤❤

Epilogue

You’re still waiting on the tarmac when you finally turn off airplane mode on your phone after an 11-hour flight, anxiety and excitement making you buzz with anticipation as folks around you begin to rustle around for their bags.

Andrew I may have gotten too excited

Andrew And I may be here far too early

The texts come through in rapid succession, sent about 20 minutes ago based on the timestamps. You smile at his messages, your heart nearly bursting at his early morning earnestness.

You Thank you for picking me up ❤️

You And sorry for picking the 7 AM flight!!

You I’ll buy you coffee for the trouble

You Also can we get coffee? I think I’m dying

Andrew Of course we can

Andrew It’s the least you could do honestly

Andrew 7 AM is fucking ridiculous

Andrew People choose to live like this??

Andrew I’ll see you in a bit ❤️

It’s not hard to spot him as he idles near the terminal entrance, messy hair hidden by a baseball cap, tired eyes shielded by dark sunglasses. You can tell he’s scanning the crowd for you as his head turns slowly. He breaks out into a grin once he sees you, making your heart stutter as you race over to him.

You drop your bags before throwing your arms around him, burying your face into his chest as he envelops you in a tight hug.

“Hi, hi, hi, I missed you!” you chirp. “Longest three days of my life.”

It’s ridiculous, you know, but you were so sad to see him go days before your departure. Ryan called it sappy, Larissa called it cute. Autumn called it puppy love before walking away crooning to Paul Anka.

“I missed you, too,” he murmurs before pressing a few kisses to your head. “C’mon, let’s head to the car.”

Andrew insists on taking your bags to his car on the fourth level of the parking structure. You’re both exhausted, your miscalculations putting your arrival time in Dublin at just past 7:10 AM. You hadn’t realized before double-checking the evening before your flight. Andrew, gracious thing he is, still volunteered to pick you up despite your offer of getting an Uber instead.

It’s nearly 7:45 AM when you settle into the passenger seat of his car, and you quietly watch the world whizz past the windows as he follows the surprisingly clear M50 southbound towards Wicklow.

“I’m sorry we can’t drive along the coast,” he says as you marvel at the greenery that flanks the outskirts of Carrickmines. “The train runs along that way, though, so if you wanted to go into the city and see the ocean…”

It’s an hour before you’re slowly rolling through the backroads of County Wicklow, further south in the outskirts where civilization dwindles. It makes sense for him, a little hovel he can escape to without fear of prying from nosy neighbors. (Also, cutting down on the noise complaints lodged by said nosy neighbors who don’t appreciate his late night wailing.)

You blink in surprise as he pulls onto a private path that leads into his driveway.

The property itself isn’t massive or sprawling the way you might expect from someone with his net worth. It’s far more quaint, averaging the size of a typical suburban home encountered in the United States with a plethora of vacant land surrounding it.

He walks you through the stone path amidst the foliage of his garden—less a garden and more a wild landscape of native plants for the local bees to thrive on.

The inside of his home is just as quaint, looking similar to your own apartment in terms of cleanliness and coziness. (Which is to say, lots of clutter and too many mismatched pillows piled on the couch.) It’s almost surreal to be here after weeks of planning, weeks of waiting until the coveted three-week break between legs of the tour.

Not that the break really matters to you anymore, you suppose. After a few conversations with Andrew and some uncomfortable Zoom calls with Caroline, it was decided that you could not continue on the tour as stage manager due to conflict of interest.

While you were sad to resign from your position, it was a simultaneously freeing feeling. The relationship you and Andrew had hidden from everyone else for weeks was finally out in the open. You were finally allowed to touch him, hug him, and kiss him in more public areas (within reason) without fear of recourse.

The band had been delighted by the news; you were not thrilled by the quiet grumbles and money that exchanged hands between them as you realized they’d placed bets on your relationship timeline.

Autumn was excited when you relayed the news, proudly shouting her well-earned I told you so across a parking lot at an unreasonable hour; however, she was less-than-enthused at her impromptu promotion to lead stage manager at the behest of management.

“I guess that means you’re leaving altogether?”

“Well…actually…”

Strings were pulled, arrangements were made, and Andrew presented a plan he knew you might try to refuse: Stay with him for the duration of the tour, and he’d take care of everything. Everything holds a much heftier connotation, one that still makes you nervous despite. To not work is one thing, but to have him pay your way? That just felt gross.

In the end, you agreed to the arrangement with the caveat that you would pay for some things here and there to feel like less of a parasite. Andrew begrudgingly agreed despite continuing to argue with you about how unnecessary all of it was, that he was more than happy to handle expenses so you didn’t have to worry.

His continued insistence about taking care of you still warms your heart despite the anxiety that comes with it. A conversation about the long-term has been shelved for now, but Andrew is quick to do anything and everything to ensure your comfort.

Andrew rests your bags on the floor in the entryway before reaching up to stretch and yawn.

“C’mon,” he murmurs as he takes your hand to lead you down the hallway towards the master bedroom. “I’ve only had a few hours of sleep, and I’m sure you’re exhausted.”

The coffee you’d picked up at a local shop on the way to his place does absolutely nothing for you, somehow making you even more tired than when you’d landed. Perhaps it’s the nerves and giddiness wearing off, allowing your body to finally relax enough for some semblance of rest. Perhaps it’s the jetlag finally catching up to you.

Regardless, you feel as though you’re five seconds away from collapsing from exhaustion.

You strip out of your dirty airport clothes and kick them towards where some of his clothing lays in a heap. It requires far too much energy to dig through your bags for any kind of loose-fitting loungewear or pajamas, so you opt to slide into bed in only a pair of dark underwear.

Andrew seems to take this as an invitation as he strips himself of his own clothes, slips beneath the covers, and pulls you close to cuddle against his side.

The blackout curtains plunge the bedroom into darkness once he turns out the lights. You suddenly find it nearly impossible to keep your drooping eyes open as you settle your head into the crook of his shoulder, one leg resting over his own. The smell of the pillows and sheets is comforting, so distinctly him that you can’t help but smile.

“Don’t forget,” he says through another yawn. “Dinner with my folks tonight…”

How could you forget? It will be your first time meeting his family in person, and the thought makes your stomach roll with nervous anticipation. You hope they like you, hope that you make a good enough impression that you’ll be accepted into the fold. Despite Andrew attempting to assuage many of your fears, you’re still worried about fucking it all up.

“I can hear you thinking,” he hums. “It’ll be fine, darling. They’re going to love you.”

You lift your head to catch him in a kiss that lingers until you’re smiling against his lips and pulling away.

“I know,” you say quietly as you settle. You rub light circles along his chest with your fingers. “It’s still daunting, though, meeting the parents. I guess that never really changes, does it?”

“In my experience? No, not really.” You can feel him shake his head. “I know I’ll be a nervous wreck when I meet your family.”

The breeze outside rustles twinkling chimes that hang just outside the open window. It’s soothing, a wonderful background noise as you relax in his arms.

After a few beats of silence, Andrew says quietly, “I’m so happy you’re here.”

“I’m happy I’m here, too,” you say with a huffed laugh. Then, with a content sigh, you murmur against his skin, “I love you.”

“I love you, too, darling,” he mumbles before pressing another kiss to your head. “Sleep now. You got me up far too early, and this is your recompense.”

“Oh nooo,” you say flatly as you tug the covers up to your chin. “I can’t believe you would do this to me…”

The words die in your throat as your eyes slip closed, the whistle of wind and the rustling of trees, the warmth of his body pressed against yours lulling you into a deep, dreamless sleep.

[kawacake]

OFFSIDE CRUSH | “WE OUTSIDEEEEEE!”

Masterlist, prev, next

You had threw on a simple but cute outfit because it was going to be hot during the day and cold by night. You slipped your phone into your bag and made your way down the elevator to the first floor where most of the team was already gathered, buzzing with energy like a bunch of unsupervised kids.

“You gotta be fucking kidding me..” You say looking over at Bachira who had on a cow suit with some converse on. Reo turned around just in time to hear you. “Don’t even ask but he has an extra outfit inside the cow suit.” he said, already defeated.

“I stand by my fashion choices.” Bachira beamed, throwing up a peace sign with his tongue out. “Where the hell did you even get a cow suit?” Isagi asked, genuinely disturbed Bachira shrugged “Amazon Prime shipping.” You shook your head and squeezed your way into the group, standing between Nagi who looked half asleep and Chigiri, who was already scrolling through the fair’s ride list like it was a mission briefing.

“Can’t believe Ego actually let us out,” you muttered under your breath. “Don’t remind me,” Nagi said. “It already feels illegal.” Soon enough, a bus pulled up and the entire group practically sprinted to get on, like they hadn’t seen daylight in years.

You sat next to Nagi, and the second he leaned his head on your shoulder, the whole back of the bus lost their minds. “Y/N and Nagi, sitting in a tree!..” “Shut up, Bachira!” You shouted.

When you finally arrived, the smell of funnel cake, popcorn, and overpriced fun hit you in the face. The sun was still out, casting everything in a golden haze. The boys scattered instantly like it was Blue Lock Hunger Games. “Hey,” Nagi said, suddenly beside you again, his hand brushing yours. “Stick with me. You’re better than a map.”

You blinked. “You just don’t wanna get lost, huh?”“...Yeah. That. Totally.” He said as you grabbed his hand and dragged him towards the swings as he looked up at how high it went and fear covered his face.

“That thing looks like a death trap.” You laughed, already stepping into line. “You face penalty kicks with no fear but this is where you draw the line?” “Yeah,” he mumbled. “At least the ball doesn’t dangle me 100 feet in the air.” Still, when it was your turn, he followed you. Begrudgingly. With a suspicious side-eye to the swing’s metal chains.

Once you were both buckled in, the ride jolted to life. Wind whipped through your hair as the swings lifted into the sky. You couldn’t help but let out a small scream not out of fear, but from the rush of it all. Next to you, Nagi’s knuckles were white from gripping the chain. “I hate this,” he said, monotone, eyes shut.

You burst out laughing. “You look like you’re about to cry.” He peeked one eye open, side-eyeing you. “If I survive this, you owe me cotton candy.” “Deal.” And as you promised you gave bought him the cotton candy like you promised and that was just the start of the night you were about to have.

yourinstagram

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yourinstagram THE NIGHT HAS JUST STARTED BUT BACHIRA HAS TAKEN 100+ PICTURES WITH STRANGERS JUST CAUSE HE HAD A COW SUIT ON…(I literally love bachira)

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ChigiriH girl where are you…

yourinstagram me and Nagi went looking for you and the rest but then ended up on the Ferris wheel idk how that happened 🤷‍♀️

user229 me when I lie 😭✌️

megumonster SHAWTY WYAAAA THESE PEOPLE SCARING ME IM FINNA CHANGE OUT OF THIS THING…

yourinstagram give me 10 minutes or less and I’ll be there

sleepyseishiro she’s lying.

reoofficial Wait…YAWL…NAGI…😝

rinwrecks what the actual fuck is that supposed to mean…

reoofficial exactly what it says 😒 now push off

-

“This is so relaxing.” You say as the lights from the rides lit up the sky and the wind blew through your hair Nagi nodded, his head resting against the side of the Ferris wheel cart, eyes half-lidded as he looked out at the fair below. “Yeah… it’s nice.” He glanced at you for a second before quickly looking away, his voice quieter. “I get why people like this stuff.” You turned your head to him, brow raised. “You mean being outside?” He huffed a soft laugh. “Yeah. But also… being with you.”

Your smile faltered just a bit, heart thudding in your chest. “What do you mean?” Nagi was quiet for a moment, as if the words were buffering in his mind. Then he turned toward you, expression soft but serious. “I like you, Y/n. More than I probably should. And I know we’re supposed to keep everything quiet and professional and all that crap but… it’s hard. You make it hard.”

Your eyes widened slightly, unsure if you heard him right. “Wait… like like-like me?” Nagi blinked. “Yeah. That’s what I just said.” You laughed a little, breathless. “You could’ve picked anywhere to say this and you picked a tiny box suspended in the air?” He shrugged, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. “Figured you couldn’t run away up here.”

You nudged him with your shoulder, “That’s so dumb.” “Maybe,” he said, “but I meant it.” “It’s okay if you don’t feel the same. I just didn’t want to keep it in anymore.” You blinked, then smiled soft and warm. “No, idiot. I do feel the same.” Now he blinked, caught off guard for once.

You leaned in a little closer, your knee bumping his. “And if it’s gonna be hard either way… then fuck it. I’ll be your girlfriend.” His eyes widened slightly, his face still unreadable for a second then a small, real smile tugged at his lips. “Cool.” You rolled your eyes, laughing. “That’s all you have to say?”

He shrugged, leaning his head against your shoulder this time. “Told you… this is nice.” And just like that, the ride kept moving but the moment stayed suspended, like your little cart floating above the chaos of everything else.

sleepyseishiro

Liked by, yourinstagram, clutchyoichi, reoofficial, and 8,052,169 others

sleepyseishiro she’ll make you think you’re dreamin’ you’ll fall in love and you’ll be screaming demon

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reoofficial YAWL MY BSF FINALLY GOT THE GIRL😛

officialraichi honestly so surprised

clutchyoichi nah y/n is more like “MISS HER KISS HER LOVE HER THAT GIRL IS POISON”

megumonster MOST ACCURATE

user194 I love how they’re giving y/n lines from poison

user707 LITERALLY LIKE THEYRE ALL ICONIC

megumonster LITERALLY MY FAVORITE COUPLE

yourinstagram I’m going to eat you😛

rinwrecks FUCKING FINALLY

yourinstagram YOU’RE SECRETLY MY BIGGEST SUPPORTER

rinwrecks I’ll give you that one

user229 EGO GON GET YALL����

megumonster

Liked by, sleepyseishiro, yourinstagram, clutchyoichi, and 5,290,992 others

megumonster fair day >>> real life i was the cutest cow there, no debate

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clutchyoichi You literally screamed on the kiddie ride

megumonster STAWP

reoofficial Y/N had to hold your hand the whole time.

megumonster WHY ARE YALL OPENLY HATING

sleepyseishiro he cried in the funhouse mirror room

megumonster YAWL THIS GOTTA BE SOME KIND OF BULLYING🥀ALSO IT WAS DISTORTING MY ESSENCE OKAY

yourinstagram twin next time I’m not saving you from a mechanical duck ride

user338 Cow suit = peak performance. 10/10

user707 The way he looks so happy with her!!! THEY ALL DO ACTUALLY

aryu_jou Why did you choose a cow the least fashionable animal

megumonster only a hater would say that

ChigiriH This feels like an episode of a very unhinged anime

FUN FACTS🎡:

Someone in the crowd recognized the Blue Lock boys and asked if Nagi and Y/n were dating Y/n panicked and said she was his cousin It did not help

They all ended the night with funnel cake and sticky fingers

Reo won the biggest prize at a booth but gave it to Isagi because “it clashed with his outfit.”

Nagi had told Reo he was going to confess on the Ferris wheel but Reo thought he was just all talk

The title name was inspired by me texting my insta moot that “WE OUTSIDEEEEE SHAKING ASSSSSSS” then I remembered sexyy red said something similar 😛

Taglist🎟️🎠: @inojinieeee @amterasuu @frootloopscos @irethepotato @thatmf-jay @mwezieclipze @hi-itsmee28 @jxp1-t3r @meikstv

[bvnneyrabbet]

Since I'm seeing so much content revolving around people dunking on Forsaken for it's fandom, I am hoping SO HARD that the Forsaken fandom gets outta the trenches.

I am hoping SO HARD that the Forsaken fandom becomes better in the eyes of outsiders.

From what I can see, it's largely due to the amount of suggestive, sexual, and disturbing content revolving it. I'm not talking about disturbing as in horror, I mean disturbing as in "what the fuck is WRONG WITH YOU?!" But even so, the amount of disturbing content is small in numbers, but the sexual stuff isn't so small.

And this problem is not a Forsaken exclusive problem, it's a problem in the Phighting and Regretevator fandoms too, it's just that while Regretevator and Phighting have died down a bit Forsaken is extremely popular as of now, and as well as how stereotypes often get applied to fandoms.

For example, the Regretevator fandom is stereotyped to be "uwu cutesy kawaii fujoshi," and it has an entire stereotypical "style" named after it, referred to as "Regretevator avatars." Regretevator avatars are just stylized, often cutesy but not always applied, cosplays, and most of the time aren't even related to Regretevator. Anything that people deem too different in a cosplay is basically a Regretevator avatar.

The Forsaken fandom is stereotyped to be full of creeps, hypersexualizers, idiots, and mentally deranged folk, as those types of people are often the loudest. But I think we need to remember that Forsaken has almost 450 million visits and has a giant fandom, some of which don't even PLAY the game.

And as for the Spawn Cult IRL thing... Barely anyone in the fandom supports it other than the people participating in it. The developers of Forsaken itself don't support it nor do they want it to happen. From my own guesses, the Spawn Cult IRL is likely very small, probably being under 50 in members, hopefully less.

I genuinely hope that nobody in that Spawn Cult actually do such things regarding it, whether being hurting themselves or hurting others. We cannot have another Slenderman Stabbing situation.

In my eyes, the smut in Forsaken isn't a problem as long as it's kept in private and consenting adult spaces, it's only a problem when it gets pushed into public view with no warnings.

If you open the fridge to find a bag with a very obvious warning on it saying "dead dove: do not eat" you do not have to look inside, you can throw it away, and it's understandable. But if there's just a rotten dove carcass in your fridge with zero warnings, just a plain ol' dead dove laying on the shelf, it's understandable too. Who wouldn't be shocked and disgusted?

And no, I do not mean this in a "ignore those disturbing freaks," I am very much against things such as that, and even if I'm super desensitized to smut content I can see why other people do not like it especially if it's smut in plain public with no warnings.

Fandom is not pretty. Fandom is not as sweet and clean as you want it to be. All fandoms are messy, and if they don't look like it on the outside, you're bound to find it on the inside.

As a mutual of mine said, "purity culture in fandom is also ruining so much." And I agree with that completely, it's like having someone barge into your kitchen and berate you on how you cook. But in my eyes it goes to an extent to where things are acceptable and where things aren't.

But things like that are subjective, and everyone's moral compass is different. But I think we can all agree that having smut out in the open for everyone to see is not okay, especially genuinely traumatizing shit. I've been heavily effected by sexual content as a child, and I do not want anyone, especially minors to become hypersexual like I am. It ruins you, it really does.

I think a way to at least make the Forsaken fandom "better" is making your own rules on what one could and could not do, and having others apply to them if they want, not forcing but a mere suggestion. One of the things I often do is, mostly by accident, make my own little circle within fandom with people of the same interests, and over time it builds up and more people will follow those same rules.

Another thing I could suggest is changing yourself and the things you do. Do you post suggestive content? Try to keep them to yourself and consenting friends of the same age. Wanna post something suggestive? Put obvious warnings and try keep it away from where minors can view.

It's really easy, truly.

The Forsaken fandom is still growing in culture and in-fandom rules, even if it's super popular as of now, so of course it's gonna be haywire for a while. But it can indeed change, but you need to do it yourself if you want to see it happen.

[shatcey]

Hi!! So there's something that make me confuse about ikevil and you're the only one on my mind where I should go (actually sometimes I've been sent asks to you anon but now I'll reveal myself🫢)

What is the canon route in Ikevil?

In Ikepri, romantic route is the canon one and the events always followed after that route. But in Ikevil..... I don't know. When I just started playing Ikevil last November, my friend told me that both of the ending are canon. But after I finished Harri's both ending today, it confused me because both of the ending are so different??? And how's that both of them are canon? Or maybe I skipped an event where MC come back to the castle?

note: I only finished Harri's both ending, so I don't know about the others, is there a route (except Harri) where the MC leaves the castle after her contract finished?

Hi, dear. I'm glad you feel comfortable enough with me to tell me your name. There weren't many people who had written to me before without having to hide by anon. I hope that there will be even more such people. I said… I'm nice… I'm always happy to talk to people who want to share their thoughts about the games we like. So thank you. It's a nice change. I'm really happy.

Thanks for the question. That's a good one.

Recently, I've been reading a lot and thinking a lot about Ally and Vivi's routes, so I'll give you an examples from them. Don't worry, no spoilers. And a little bit from other games (something that for some reason I still remember). To be honest, I don't remember many endings very well, so I can't be sure that I'm completely right.

As usual I talk a lot...

Oh, Harry…. Harry…. Harry…. Harry…. Harry… He's so unique. The one and only, with a completely different ending, and probably because of his uniqueness, devs constantly forget about it. None of the events were a continuation of his romantic BLE. None of them. This is most palpable in the first anniversary event, where Harry has to decide whether Kate should continue being a Fairytale keeper. Harry. That's the most hilarious. He was against it from the very beginning. But I like this story, so I have nothing to complain about.

Difference in endings

In my opinion, the dramatic endings in the Princes are much better. They are usually more passionate, they have more action. There's always something fun and exciting about them. They are not boring… The only thing they usually lack is… confessions. The main character doesn't say "I love you" out loud. He can say it any other way, but not in words. But that's not enough to make me like romantic endings more.

In Villains, I didn't notice a tendency for me to like only one of the endings, at least in the main routes. In events, I like more bitter endings, they're about boys… and I'm dying to know more about them.

But there are exceptions. I think that Ally's BLE is much better than MLE. And vice versa… I prefer Harry and Vivi's MLEs. They should be in the same boat again. I'm sorry, Harry. I like Vivi's MLE much more than BLE. And you'll understand what I'm getting at in a few days, when I start talking about this ending.

I like both endings in Sengoku. If you start out with a romantic one, you're always surprised… is this the lite version? But then you read the dramatic ending… you can see why the romantic one was a lite version. And I find that this reaction says a lot about the story.

I can't say anything about Vampires or Genjiden. Their endings are just one chapter. So there wasn't much there from the beginning. In fact, they just seem to be extensions of each other. At least… that's how I see it.

So… the endings are different. But how much depends on the game. And based on that… there must be a canon. They have to based on something to writing the continuation of the story… events and sequels.

Why don't I think MLE is canon in Villains?

Cybird follow the same rule in each of their games. Romantic ending… or any other name they came up with, but that doesn't change the fact… is canonical, and every story that appears after main route is a continuation of that ending. There are no exceptions.

Luke is still in the castle in all his events, despite being exiled in the dramatic ending. Belle is the future queen in Chev's sequel and events, even so in the dramatic ending she became his mistress. Etc. This is pretty obvious in this game, where the difference between the endings is quite noticeable.

But I don't see any significant difference in the endings of the Villains (with the exception of Harry). So I can't be sure which one is canonical. But…

Ally is softer in BLE, he is more… open to her suggestions and allows her to lead. It really gives the impression that he has changed. In MLE, he is still the same, manipulative and teasing as before. He hasn't changed at all.

In the two endings epilogue, in my opinion, Ally is more… soft. And this makes me think that this story takes place after BLE. But maybe that's just my impression.

Vivi's two endings epilogue is very difficult to include in any ending. For a simple reason… there is not much information. Even the fact that Kate knows Vivi's secrets didn't help, they gave the same information in both endings. So… they tricked us. Bad, very bad Cybird!

So I do understand the opinion that there is no canonical ending in this game. To begin with, they don't differ much from each other… They look more like Vampires or Genidens… they just complement each other… They give you different information, but I can't say that they replace each other in any way.

As in the case of Vivi, at BLE we only work with Vivi… that's why we only see the scenes from this side, at MLE we work with all the boys… so we see more scenes. But it's the same story, but from different perspectives. And a slightly different bad guy.

If anyone noticed any significant differences between the endings and saw how they mentioned in the two endings epilogue or in the following events, let me know. I'm really curious.

Community opinion

I've heard that opinion and I agree with it. We just don't like some of the stories… we cannot accept such an ending, so we completely ignore it.

Like Harry's BLE.

Logically, she made a decision based on his desires. And I can't say that this is a bad decision. More so, there was NO right or wrong decision, it's all blurry… The concept of the game itself is very vague. To begin with, we're on some kind of gray border between good and bad, so… no wonder Kate has to make very difficult decisions. And Harry is probably the most vivid example of this.

On the one hand, this is what he wants, and she must respect his wishes, but on the other hand… would that really make him happy? Will separation from a loved one benefit them both in the long run? Questionable.

And… the community doesn't like the idea of being separated with a guy. We don't know how long he will live. The Crown is constantly in danger, not only because they have to face many enemies, but because of their own fates. Who knows when he might disappear because of his curse. And because of that… it seems more desirable to spend all possible time with him, rather than just doing what's best for her. It's too frustrating… It doesn't seem right. It seems… selfish. So… for the community, Harry's canonical ending is MLE. And… maybe the developers follow to our opinion, or they just agree with us, or… as I said at the beginning… they just forgot… But the events with Harry are always continuation of MLE.

Overall

I recently read Keiji's event story and… was surprised to see him and Mai in the Oda castle. As far as I remember, they're ended up in Kenshin's castle in the Romantic ending…

So… perhaps my thought "the developers just forgot" is not as rare as I think. It's just that there aren't many differences in the endings to notice it.

dividers @.fanguro

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🔝 𝕊𝕋𝔸ℝ𝕋 ℙ𝔸𝔾𝔼 🔝

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[obamas-eyebrow]

Eclipse

Sejanus plinth x Tribute! Reader(f)

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Warnings; No reader body/race descriptions (if any pls lmk) A little ooc. NO USE OF Y/N. English is not my first language. Anything that applies to thg, mentions of kys. Flashbacks in italics. Not proofread.

A/N: dk. Bro just re-wrote the 10th hg as a reader insert lol.

Wc: I was bored, 18.6K

Summary; childhood best friends/tribute au 

He was silent, unmoving, watching your poker face on the screen, while he was frozen with helplessness. You didn’t look that different, still the same kind eyes despite your best effort to look intimidating. You were still the girl who came up to him that night in the shelter, taking his mind off of the sound of bombs. The scarf on your head was the same one he recalled your mother would wear, for good luck, not that it helped today. A voice called out to you from the crowd, your sister, he presumed. You didn’t even spare her a glance lest it be your breaking point. The scar by your brow was now only a faint white line he wouldn’t have caught had he not been there when it was fresh and red, a testament to how much you’ve changed since you last saw each other. 

To be assigned one of the district 2 tributes was one thing, to have to mentor the only person he felt was ever his friend was another. Sejanus would’ve liked to crawl into some small hole somewhere to rot in this very moment, rather than even think about the task to come. Oftentimes, he finds himself thinking about the war, how relieved he would’ve been had he been killed by a bomb rather than live in shame of his family name. 

Marcus, the male tribute. 

Fate couldn’t have planned it any better. 

At the call of his name, you let out a sound somewhere between a gasp and a scream, bringing your hands to your head, rubbing your temple as if ridding yourself of a headache. Marcus all but marched up onto the podium, a woman’s wails serving as his soundtrack. You two stood side by side, intertwining your hands gently with his as you observed his face, but he only had his eyes fixed on the distance horizon. 

And then the broadcast cut to the next set of tributes. 

He didn’t know whether to scream or cry, what good would either do, anyway? 

He wondered if either of you would even recognise him, unsure of how much he’d changed here in the Capitol. He wasn’t even sure if he’d be able to face you. 

…

The ride to the Capitol was unfitting for how glorious you’d thought the place would be, unable to even spare a proper train for the condemned. Your head hurt, and you were so so tired. Marcus hadn’t bothered to speak a single word to you the whole way here and you didn’t push it. He’d helped you down from the stinky train cart onto the station floor, nodding over to a boy- no older than you- in a ridiculous red uniform. He was chatting with one of the female tributes from the other cart, a rose in his hand. You couldn’t even begin to attempt to guess what the hell he was here for. 

You found out soon enough, though, as you were herded like cattle into a small car made for zoo animals. Mentors, whatever that meant. You were not really interested in the coup against the schoolboy, nor his explanations of what the games will be like, too focused on observing the place you’d heard so much about growing up. 

Disappointing, to say the least. 

You’d expected streets lined with gold and diamond encrusted statues all around, not this sea of greys and blacks. You hadn’t really thought about how the war must’ve affected the Capitol, clearly, they’ve taken quite the hit as well. The cool metal of the car’s bars served only as a temporary relief to the scorching summer sun, heat you were not used to, having lived in the mountain shade your whole life. The Capitolites that you’d spotted on the way to your destination looked sickly, malnourished, much like the boy in the car with you. You bit back a smile, they ain’t as high and mighty as they would like the districts to believe. 

They’re just as hungry as you are. 

Good. 

By the time they’d finally dumped you at your destination, your muscles were sore and achy, having been used to some form of a soft mattress for bed. A luxury most couldn’t afford. Your throat was dry, stomach grumbling as you sat back by Marcus, watching the district 12 girl and her mentor. She was a natural born star, you’ll give her that. Your eyelids felt droopy at the feeling of soft hay on your back, it’ll do. Marcus was still sat rigid as a soldier, eyes fixed on the zoo’s entrance. There were a few watchers around the cage, along with a camera crew that was fixated on any tribute willing to talk. 

“You remember when the tributes usually go into the arena?” 

“Ain’t it the next morning?” 

You felt sick. Of course it was. You’d forgotten, having spent years blocking out the noise from these things. Your death was sooner than you’d anticipated, though it makes no difference. 

“I’m going to sleep.”

Marcus nodded as you settled down by him, the buzz of the zoo goers serving as less than ideal white noise, but you’ve slept through worse. 

Your own body woke you up, stomach aching for a morsel of food, anything to quieten the groaning. You didn’t bother getting up, your eyes finding that it had gotten a lot busier than it was earlier. It was late, do these people have nothing better to do than gawk at you like some spectacle? Do they not have jobs? 

You rolled your eyes, surveying how the other tributes were adjusting, when you realised that they all now had some food in their hands. Marcus, who had remained in the position you left him in, sat empty handed. 

“Where’s our share?” You sat up, worry filling you that you might have missed an important event or something. Marcus only shrugged. 

“What the hell Marcus? When did they give food out?”

He sighed, finally turning his head to look at you. He nodded his head slightly to a figure standing by the bars as close as he could get to the two of you. The boy had his head rested between two bars with his eyes shut in desperation. Marcus had waited for recognition to dawn on you, but it was clearly taking a while. You furrowed your brows in confusion, shaking your head at him. 

“How many capitolites do you know, genius?”

For a second, you attempted to jog your memory as to who he could be referring to, biting your lip in concentration. When it hit you, your eyes widened in surprise.

“Plinth?” You half exclaimed, half giggled, so giddy at the familiar face. 

“In. The. Flesh.” Marcus crossed his arms against his chest, tongue hitting the side of his teeth to control his anger. 

“So, you didn’t get us any food, cause Sejanus was the one giving it out?”

He nodded and you hit his arm, earning an exaggerated ‘ow!’ from him, “I’m starving, Marcus!”

“Doesn’t matter, don’t think he’s got any more, so don’t bother.”

“You’d seriously rather starve than swallow your pride?”

“Look at him! He looks ridiculous!”

“Bein’ angry at him won’t change your fate. Ain’t like it’s his fault!”

“You were always sweet on him,” He rolled his eyes. “By your logic, we should forgive every single Capitolite but some, since all of em are so ‘blameless’.”

You ignored his words, dusting yourself off and getting up to approach a still distressed Sejanus, lost in thought with his head down, on hand rested on the bar. It was a dizzying sight, knowing that, had it been a different roll of dice, he might have been in the cage with you, rather than on the opposite side. As you approached his position, you took a moment to compare his features to those of the boy you last saw him as. 

“Plinth?” 

His ma’s head jerked up at the call of her name, previously having been lost in worry. Your ma stood firm, but apologetic. His father had not made it to this shelter, but they’d received news that he was at another one close by. It was quiet in there, save for some whispered prayers. His ma’s hands were trembling, fearsome that she’d be left alone if his father didn’t survive. She was trying to slow her breathing down, keep it together for her boy, who was bundled under her arm, face red with tears. He hated loud sounds, hated the bombs. The shelter was so stuffy, despite being one of the nicer ones, making it difficult to take a proper breath in. 

The alarms, his ma’s panic, it all got to him. He must’ve been sobbing for close to an hour now, his ma too nervous to even attempt to comfort him. She took a spot in the corner, walking with her head held down, hoping her boy won’t hear the sly comments or see the side eyes they get. They gave out food and water, but she was too frozen with fear to get up to collect their share, and no one would extend a helping hand to the Plinths. After all, they’re well fed and heavy rested, so why should they? 

It was cold that night, people huddling for as much warmth as their shared bodies could put together. He began to shiver, despite being so tucked into her warmth, but the cold wall on his back had stripped him of most of his body heat, with his nervous system so dysregulated, it was only inevitable. His ma looked at her boy, biting her lip in an attempt to keep her own tears at bay. Surely, someone here has got a spare blanket, but who would offer it up to them? She’d pulled him in ever closer, rubbing his back for some heat, when your ma took initiative and approached her. 

His ma looked at her warily, unsure of whether there was an ulterior motive to this kindness she was showing her, hand extended out with a blanket and some food, the other supporting a tightly wrapped bundle to her shoulder, a warm smile on her face. As soon as his ma accepted her generosity, she lowered herself slowly to sit by her, which was a difficult feat to do for a woman who’d just recently had a baby. Sejanus watched the woman from behind his ma’s clothes, observing as she repositioned the small gray roll onto her lap. Not a roll, a newborn. The whole gesture was as if they had been friends forever. 

“They told me your sister is fine, Marjorie. Don’t fret.” Your ma put a comforting hand on her knee. Of course, your ma had worked with his aunt.

His ma let out a sigh of relief, “Thank you,”

Tears sprung up into her eyes, overwhelmed with your ma’s kindness. Though it wasn’t grand, it was rare. Sensing his ma’s emotion, his own lips began to tremble once more. She undid the blanket, bringing it over him, as your ma leaned a bit so that she could see him. 

“Your boy?” Your ma smiled, “Think my girl goes to the same school, Sejanus, right?” 

He nodded, “Yes, ma’am.”

“Oh you are just as sweet as your aunt says,” She reached her hand across to squish his chubby cheek, chuckling a little. The action allowed his ma a moment of grace to collect herself. 

“And where is your girl?” 

Your ma opened her mouth to reply, but, seemingly on cue, a loud ‘roar!’ echoed across the room. Not that of a bomb, but that of a rowdy child. She then pressed her lips into a thin line, dropping her head down with laughter as she held his ma’s gaze. 

The sound of your giggles from around the corner became louder, causing some people to tsk and grumble. When you finally came into view, you’d jumped up above a person’s leg, parkouring and dodging across the sea of bodies. Only a few paces behind you was one of the peacekeepers, bringing his hands together multiple times in an attempt to catch you. But alas, you were too quick. You sprinted the final distance to half hide yourself behind your ma’s body, just as the officer had caught up to you. 

“This your kid?” He said angrily. 

“I have never met this child in my life.” Your ma said with so much seriousness that, had he not just spoken to her earlier, he would’ve believed her. 

You slapped her shoulder playfully, your voice still laced with giggles, “Ma!”

She suddenly grabbed your shoulders and pulled you infront of her. 

“I don’t know you! Officer, please take her away!” She shook you, only earning more laughs from you. 

“Ma’am, we are trying to get our job done, please keep her under control.”

You turned around to face the tall guard, and with a mean furrow of your brow and a quick salute, you gave him a “Yes sir, officer, sir!” Mocking the way they spoke. The peacekeeper marched away as you turned back to your ma. He took a chance to observe you from his hiding spot, finding that, despite it being well below freezing, you had sweat beaded on your forehead and were panting like a wild dog. You leaned down, giving your baby sister a soft kiss so as to not awaken her. Your ma grabbed the end of her top, her other hand holding your head in place as you struggled against her wiping your face clean. 

“I was playin’ with Mr. Crow's cat, and then it led me to where the peacekeepers stayed! I snuck into the room, they had soooooo much stuff in there, but then the cat slipped out of my hand and and I chased after it, then the officer saw me, then he chased me, then Mr. Crow yelled at me cause I lost his cat then I came here so I can hide.” About two words into your little ramble, your ma had turned slowly to face his ma with a ‘this is my girl, yeah.’ expression on her face, which caused her to laugh a little. 

“Anyway, I have to go now! I have to find whispers!”

“Whiskers, sweatpea.”

“Yes, whiskers. Bye, ma!”

“Ah ah ah,” She tsked, causing you to straighten up immediately, “Say hello to Ms. Plinth, first.”

You sprung into action immediately, grabbing his ma’s hand and shaking it with heavy force for a small frame. “Hello, Ms.Plinth! Bye, Ms. Plinth!”

His ma chuckled, “Please, call me Marjorie.”

“Okay, bye Marjorie-” “No-”

But you had turned on your heel to embark on your next adventure. As you were turning, however, your eyes met his for a split second, which is what caused you to turn back around. You looked at him with excitement, seemingly recognising him from class. To you, it just meant someone to play with. At the sight of your wild eyes, Sejanus hid himself further behind his ma. You stepped closer, cocking your head with exaggeration, so he pushed his face into her clothes. His ma’s shoulders dropped, recalling her husbands words of,

“You made the boy too soft!”

That’s how he winded up learning how to handle a gun so young, but anyway. She turned to look at your ma, who gave her a knowing look. 

“Why are you hiding?” You dropped to your knees in front of him. 

“I’m scared.” He didn’t bother moving. 

“Of what?”

Of what? Of what? What do you think?

“Of the bombs.”

“Where are they?” You looked around, not mockingly, but reassuringly. 

His ma pulled him away from herself, forcing him to face you. His face was probably pathetic, but you didn’t comment, much to the relief of his ma. He pouted, crossing his arms angrily over his chest. You made it sound like he was just being ridiculous. 

“We’re safe here, sweetheart.” His ma soothed. 

You had a sickeningly beaming smile on your face, “Plus, if a bomb comes, I doubt your ma’s body could give you much protection..” Your ma glared at you, “..I mean..Wanna help me find whispers?”

“Whiskers, sweatpea.”

“Whiskers, yes.” You got up, extending a hand down to him, which he eventually took you up on. 

You kept your tight grip on him as you pulled him through the crowds to where you’d last seen the cat. 

“Just so I’m sure, could you remind me of your name? I mean, I know it, I just want to be sure.” You tried to sound convincing. 

His nerves were a lot more at ease now, allowing him to giggle at your ramble. 

“It’s-”

“Sejanus?” 

You placed your hand gently on his, pulling him out of his spiral. His head snapped up, having been previously oblivious to your approach. “Hey, stranger.”

He smiled, and it was one of the things that had stayed the same, though his eyes seemed to have gotten more sad. He had changed quite a bit from that teary eyed chubby kid you last saw, growing into his features. He looked a lot more like a man now, standing a palpable height above you. But that’s what happens when you have the money to get enough nutrients. 

“Hi,”

“Almost didn’t recognise ya,”

He tried to find something to say, unable to come up with words to express how happy he was to see you again, even with the given circumstances. But it was easy for him to say, being the one not on deathrow. He couldn’t tell you how refreshing it is to hear his own accent spoken back to him, though he’s sure it has been diluted by now.

“Are you goin’ to say somethin’ or are you gonna js stare at me like that?”

He let out a small laugh. To you, he must’ve been stuck with a giddy face as he studied your features, mouth opening and closing like a fish.

“Sorry- I just-” He leaned his cheek against the cool bar, “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too, Sej.” You poked his side playfully. 

You two stood there for a moment, watching eachother with stupid smiles on your faces. 

“You hungry?” He straightened up at his own words, crouching down to rummage through his backpack. “My ma made these, fresh this mornin” He grabbed two carefully wrapped sandwiches and a matching pair of plums, holding them out to you. 

You were starving, but now, faced with this choice, you hesitated. Sejanus saw this uncertainty, recalling how stubborn your mother was back in 2, taking offence when his ma would offer her help in terms of money. 

“We ain’t a charity case, Plinth, put your money away.”

It was the only time he’d ever seen you cry, trembling lips and arms across your own frame for comfort. The room smelled sterile, a variety of medical equipment neatly labeled across the room. The bed was too high up, making you swing your legs out of habit. In terms of lighting, it was one of the only spots in 2 that had the luxury of strong bulbs that didn’t depend on a generator, so that it can function continuously, but the bright white light was giving both of you a headache. No kid likes the clinic, doesn’t take a genius to make a statement like that, the fact that the professional on sight was your ma didn’t help it either. A retired war medic, she was. Not exactly the most gentle hands, but they did the job right. 

You two had been playing together when you tripped, hitting your head on the edge of a stray brick out by his house. It lodged itself in, forming a ragged cut that extended a centimetre above the mid part of your brow. You checked your reflection in the window, turning to him in fear. 

“I think I’m gonna need stitches.” 

He scurried in to inform his ma, who rushed you both to the little clinic where your ma worked. She looked tired, already upset about some other altercation that happened earlier. When she saw your injury, she only sighed and motioned for you to hop up onto the table. 

“Are you going to keep still, or should I call her in?”

You were still trembling, having not even processed the question. Your ma wasn’t mean, she just had limited resources, that's all, so she couldn’t waste them. 

“Sweetpea,” She tapped your knee, pulling your attention to her as she leaned down to meet you eye to eye. “Want me to call her in?”

“No…I’ll keep still mama.”

Your ma turned to the supply closet, pulling out the stuff she needs. Sejanus couldn’t tear his eyes off your frame, so small and defeated, unlike he’d ever seen you before. He didn’t understand anything, only that, the bravest person he knew, was terrified. 

“You..ain’t gonna use painkillers?” His ma whispered, causing your ma’s hands to still with the supplies. 

“Not all of us have that luxury, Marjorie.” 

“Haven't you got any to spare?” 

“No, only for the important cases.” 

“This is your girl-”

Your ma turned to her abruptly, tears brimming in her eyes. They looked at each other, the only sounds in the room being your quiet sobs. 

“If this is about money, I could-” his ma reached into her purse to offer it up. 

“We ain’t a charity case, Plinth, put your money away.”

“It’s ain’t like that!” His ma pleaded. “Don’t let your pride hurt your girl, please-”

“If you’re going to be a bother, I suggest you step out. Especially if you don’t want to scare your boy.” Your ma deadpanned, causing his ma to wince. Ultimately, it was you or her son, and the choice was obvious. She tugged on his arm, motioning for him to step away with her out of the room. Your eyes were fixed on the floor, fingers softly rubbing your arms. You couldn’t even look at him as he walked out, eyebrows furrowed with concern as the room door shut softly, isolating you. He was none the wiser as to what the whole situation was as he headed for the clinic doors with his ma, but you’d been here before, owing to your clumsiness. He was almost at the exit when he heard it, a sound so unfamiliar that it sent chills down his spine. 

Your scream. 

It was short and faint, given how far away he was from the room, but he recognised your voice, forcing him to turn around to the source. He froze there, grip on his ma’s hand weakening as he stepped back. She pulled on him gently, but another sharp yell gave him the push he needed to let go of his ma’s hand, rushing back to your room. He all but burst the door open with as much might as a 7 year old could have. He kept up the pace until he was by your side. You were sat up with your eyes shut as your ma worked the first suture closed. He climbed up next to you, putting his hand on top of your which had a tight grip on the white sheet. His ma made it into the room shortly after, but he paid her no mind. 

You hadn’t really noticed before how much his presence would comfort you. And he stayed there, warm hand on your trembling one as your ma worked 3 more stitches by your brow. Tears were streaming freely down your cheeks, and you felt so embarrassed to have been crying like this in front of him. His warmth kept your screams at bay at least. 

With the final tug, your ma let out a sigh, placing the needle down by her side. You have her no chance to dress nor clean the stray blood before you bolted out of the place, Sejanus springing to his feet a few seconds behind you. He heard his ma start something with yours, but he was too determined to find you to stop and listen. You manoeuvred through maintenance doors and dull corridors from memory, having spent summers here assisting your ma, making it up a flight of stairs then into a small storage closet that hadn’t been used in ages. Even back then, when the sounds of sickness got too much, you’d hide up there for hours. He almost missed your little detour, ready to continue out into the sickrooms had he not heard the soft click of the door. 

Without much thought, he opened the door following you in. 

It was stuffy in there, dim, and no place for a child, let alone two. You had your back to the wall with your head on your knees, crying quietly. He inched towards you carefully, plopping down and sprawling his legs out by your side. Whenever he was in pain, or sad, his ma would always find the right thing to say to make it all better. But it seems like that was not a trait he inherited. Instead, he pulled you in, rubbing your back softly. Who knows how long you two stayed like that, until all your tears were dried up. 

When you lifted your head to look at him, he noticed a bit of dried blood on your lid below the wound. He pushed himself off of the floor, quickly popping out to grab some wipes from a nearby cart, before making his way back in. He held your face softly, tongue sticking out a little as he focused on keeping the swab away from the open tissue. You sighed, pulling him into a tight hug. There were not many words exchanged between the two of you that night, but something had changed.

It would be the last time he saw you cry, because it would be a few short months before he left for the capitol. 

And here you were, faced with a decision of whether to swallow your pride or hold onto it. You bit your lip as you ultimately took the food from his hands, your head hung low in shame. You tried to pace yourself as you carefully unwrapped one of the sandwiches, bringing the delicacy to your lips. Meat was a luxury, even back in 2, even when you weren’t doin so bad for yourself. It wasn’t something you could just buy according to your desire. Had it been up to you, you'd’ve cut it out of your diet ages ago, saving money, but you needed the iron. And here he was, giving it out for free. You tried to savor the bite you took, evening your breaths out so as to not let resentment towards Sejanus bubble through. 

It ain’t his fault. 

“Marcus…wouldn’t take it from me.”

You looked over to where your friend sat, unmoving from the position you’d left him in. “He’s…goin through alot. Needed someone to blame, you fit the right criteria. Nothin’ personal.”

Sejanus nodded, eyes still watching you attempt to consume the food slowly. He often

wondered how different his life would’ve been, had he had the option to stay back in 2. 

He wondered what you two could’ve been. 

“The zoo will be closing in 10 minutes.”

A big voice boomed over the speakers, rattling the bars. Sejanus placed a hand on your shoulder. 

“I’ve got to go, I’ll see you tomorrow, though.” He nodded. 

“Tomorrow? Won’t we begin the games tomorrow?” You furrowed your brows. 

“No- they changed it. Trying to get more people interested. I’m, uhm. Your mentor, I’m your mentor.”

You looked past him into the distance, seemingly trying to figure out what he meant, before meeting his eyes once more, “Don’t know what that is.”

“I’m supposed to-” 

What is the nicest way to tell someone that you’re tasked with marketing them to a group of stuck up, wanna-be rich folks so that they can bet on them with money he could use to deliver you sustenance to delay your death in the upcoming battle royale. All for a number on a paper for his final school project. 

Asking for a friend. 

“I’m supposed to help you win, one way or another.”

“Sounds important.”

“It is.”

“You have to wear those hideous colours for it?”

Your quip caught him off guard, having been previously wallowing in self pity. It’s great to see that the days have not stripped you of your sense of humour. 

“No, this is a fashion choice actually.”

“What? Skirts for men?”

“It ain’t a skirt!”

“Sure looks like it.”

He licked his lips, biting them to prevent a laugh from slipping out of him, which would give you the satisfaction. “You’re still such a bully.”

“Sir, the zoo is closing, you need to leave.”

He sighed, swinging the limp backpack over his shoulder. 

“I’ll miss you,” You cocked your head, smiling shyly.

Sejanus mirrored your expression, “I’ll miss you too.”

With that, he was escorted out by a peacekeeper, having been one of the last people at the zoo. You watched as he walked in step with that repulsive boy from earlier. Rain, or whatever his name was. You almost laughed out loud at the height difference between them as you walked back to Marcus. 

“I bring a feast, one sandwich and one plum. Can’t get any fancier!”

Marcus made no move to take the food from you as he watched Sejanus’ retreating figure.

“He ain’t around, Marcus, you can eat it, he won’t know. It won’t make a difference anyway.”

Still, nothing. 

“You have 3 seconds to take it or I’m rubbing my spit all over it- one…, tw-”

“Fine! Fine!” He grabbed his share from your palm as you settled by him once more. “What were you talkin’ bout?”

“Just…catching up,” 

“You seemed very…dotty with him.”

“Dotty?”

“Yes,”

“Don’t you got a wife? Why’re you worried about me?”

“Don’t like what you’re implying there. But I just mean- don’t you think we’ve got bigger problems on our hands?”

“Than what?”

“Than your little crush,”

“Oh it ain’t little,”

“Gross.”

You laughed, “Why does it bother you? We’re both dead anyway, let me have some fun!”

“Oh, I plan on makin’ it out. Just don’t like seein you with a capitol boy.”

“And I’m makin’ sure you will, Marcus, but please take one good look at him and tell me which part of him looks capitol.”

“He’s been here a decade, you don’t think it got to him? Even a little? All that food, warmth. Things that not even the richest man in 2 could afford; freedom?”

You sighed, unsure what you could say to that. 

“You could keep grumbling on about Sejanus all you want, but I’m going to bed.”

“Again?”

“Do you have something against me enjoying my final nights alive?”

“By sleeping?”

“I don’t get much of it back home, plus, why do you care- you know what? If you don’t die in that arena, Marcus, I’m killin’ you myself.”

“You won’t be able to.”

“Okay I’ll reincarnate as your son and make your life hell.”

“He’s already been born, I’m pretty sure that his soul is already determined.”

“Fine, I’ll just haunt you the old fashioned way then.”

“How terrifying.”

“Goodnight.”

…

They herded you off the following morning, and for a second, you thought Sejanus might have made some mistake. But instead of an arena, you were brought into a large hall with neatly arranged tables. 

You watched him march in with the rest of his peers, sticking out like a sore thumb. He had a bag on him that you could only guess was likely more food. Some of the other students had bright smiles and a skip in their step, not him though, he looked like he’d been reaped with you. 

He plopped down in the seat opposite to you and you straightened your posture, ready for your close up. He then placed a neatly wrapped sandwich in front of you as he readied the papers.

“Ready to start?”

“Well, good morning to you too.”

“Sorry,” He bit his lip. “Nervous.���

“Why? S’ just me.”

Yeah, alright.

“Okay, I’m just gonna fill out everything I already know then-” He scribbled on the blank lines before bringing the sheet up to his face to inspect.

“How’s your family?” He looked up at you from behind the paper. 

You chuckled softly, leaning back and crossing your arms across your abdomen. Or at least attempted to, the chains hindering your movement. He lifted his head back up to look at you, finding you staring at him with a warm smile on your lips. 

“They’re as fine as they could be,” you tore your gaze away from his face, hoping that your expressions don’t give too much away. Life is tough in the district, and you bore first hand witness to what it could do to people, but you opted to not pour your heart out to him in the short time you’re spending together. “My ma says hi.”

He knew she didn’t really, it was a saying they used when they meant someone missed another. Thoughts of your ma came rushing back to him, the sweet, determined woman she was and her quick healing hands. As far as his memory serves, she was wonderful. A woman that saw his ma; a frazzled young mother who’s district shut her and her son out like a witch on trial for her husband’s actions, and opted to give her a shoulder to cry on instead. She kept by her side, blocked both of their ears to the nasty words people threw at them and shooed hecklers away for years. She stayed despite the nonstop news of his father’s company and their work, only turning her back once word of their impending move to the capitol got out. 

He doesn’t really know why he remembers that particular night so well, the way your face dropped when he told you he was moving, the chill in the air as you two attempted to eavesdrop from behind the thin door. Your ma’s face, red and hurt, as she ordered you to bid your last goodbye. Even in her final moments, she allowed him the grace of innocence and spared him from any blame. He remembers watching his ma watch you two walk away, no slammed doors or shattered glass, just a quiet exit. He could still feel the wetness of his sweater as her tears stained his shoulder, inconsolable, beaten to her very weakest. 

He swore he’d grow up then, for her. 

He shut his eyes, trying to regain his bearings, the smile still present on your face. “I’ll tell ma she did.”

You nodded slightly, eyes going quickly down to the paper on the desk then back to him. 

Right, the interview, or whatever this was. 

“Do you work?”

“Yes!” That seemed to get you excited, “I work at the clinic. Of course- no degree so not a Physician per se, but close enough. I’m still train’ though.” 

You were beaming with pride, Sejanus couldn’t help but mirror your wide smile. 

“And how is it?” 

“S’ fine, nothin’ fancy but it’s honest work. Marcus said it must be awful, for me to be the last thing a person sees.” At the mention of Marcus, you turned your face to look at where he was being interviewed. Or refusing to. “Your friend ain’t having much luck with him.” 

Your face held a pained expression towards Marcus, knowing exactly what the kind of things going through his head at the moment. 

“You two together?” 

You raised an amused eyebrow at the question, watching Sejanus’ eyes look anywhere but your face. “Js’ askin about marital status, s’all..”

“No, can’t stand him.” You chuckled, sensing the relief in Sejanus’ shoulders as he looked at you once more.

“Really? Last I saw you, you were practically head over heels ready to have his children.”

“We were 6 and he was the fastest boy on the playground, I think we all had a crush on Marcus.”

“And now?” 

You weren’t ever going to deny that Marcus was good looking. Strong, tall for someone so under-fed, too. It was no secret that most of the women back in 2 would give their finest possessions for a chance with him. But it wasn’t even that his eyes were solely for another that killed your crush on him, it was because he will always be the Marcus that chased you around with a beetle when you were kids, scaring you to tears. 

Sure, he was a gentleman and any girl would be lucky to have him, but to you, he was still that kid snacking on his boogers, but even he doesn’t know you’ve seen him do that. Plus, you were quite fond of his wife. 

As if this point made a difference in anything, anyway.  As if Marcus was the last barrier standing between the two of you, and not the impending games of certain death. You shook your head.

“He…uh. He leaves behind a wife an’ kid. Newborn. Don’ think they even named ‘em yet. He begged me to be the one to deliver it, most folks can’t afford a professional at the birth. Hell- I can’t even afford my own services. He told me he’d pay me back eventually. I told him that all I request is for the baby to be named after me, even if it’s a boy. He told me he’d rather die.” You laughed to yourself, “Look at us now.”  

Sejanus looked over to Marcus, who was deep in thought. 

“I don’t know how she’ll get by without him.” You sighed, realising exactly what Marcus had lost out on, his family. 

“I’ll…see if there’s anything I can help with.” He swallowed thickly, hoping he wasn’t promising on something he couldn’t deliver. “Right. Any talents?” 

“Talent?” 

“I don’t know, anythin’ you could do? Anythin’ that could help you in the arena? Anythin’ to make the Capitol love ya’?”

“Sorry, I ain’t much a performer.” You shrugged, eyes falling on the district 12 girl.

“S’alright, I’ll figure somethin’ out.”

“What’s the point, m’ dead anyway.” 

The light atmosphere from earlier had suddenly shifted, weight and discomfort raining down on either of you. Sejanus tried to come up with anything of comfort, anything at all, but turned up empty handed. 

“It gets ya’ sponsors, so I can send ya food and water in there.”

“That’s only delaying the inevitable, why bother?”

“Don’t lose faith so easily,”

“Sej, the truth ain’t pretty,.” 

“You’ve got Marcus, that’s somethin’. A lot of em are afraid of him.” 

“It’s because of Marcus that I’m not making it out.”

“What?”

You sighed, “All I want in there is to make sure he makes it home. Simple enough, two minds protecting him instead of half of one. Anyway, it’s easier for me this way, keeps my head straight, keeps me from going crazy.”

He paused for a moment, taken aback by your complete willingness to lay down and die. 

“What about your family?” What about me?

“You’re only twistin’ the knife-”

“You need to understand that it ain’t your fault he got reaped, so this pacifist route you’re goin for won’t get you nowhere. Inside, it’s different.”

“I’m not a killer Sejanus, with or without Marcus, I’m dead. Might as well reunite a family in the process. Die a hero.”

He shut his eyes, shaking his head dismissively at your words. You leaned forward, and he looked at you with sorrowful eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

He curled in on himself, as if trying to appear smaller, which proved difficult, giving his build. Suddenly, the air between you two felt heavy, something so bittersweet about reuniting with your childhood friend in your final days alive. And not only that, he was also basically to see your execution. If you were in his shoes, especially knowing how sensitive he is, you would’ve lost your mind. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that he hadn't really found his people here. 

“How are you liking it here?” You asked with genuine curiosity. There was nothing else to talk about for the interview, so why not catch up?

“What do you think? They hate me here just as much as they hated me back home.”

Poor Sejanus, always alone.

You spent the rest of your allocated time exchanging stories of your adolescence, with him telling you of what the capitolites were like and you telling him about how much 2 has changed since he left. It all flowed so naturally, like you two were just conversing over dinner. 

“I just want to go back.”

“You probably could, with all that money of yours.”

“But there would be nothing left for me, no one waiting for me to come home.”

You knew what he was implying, so you looked away to keep your sadness from showing. 

He placed a gentle hand onto yours “Please- just think about it, you could make it if you try. I want to go home, and I can only do that if you’re there.”

These were pretty big confessions, even for him, but it was nothing either of you didn’t already know. “I’m begging you- for once, think about your own self-”

“Sej-”

“Times up!”

Within less than  a few seconds, the peacekeepers that had been lining the room sprung to action, undoing the chain that kept you in place and beginning to line you up to go back to the zoo. 

… 

It was later in the evening when the visitor count rose again, most bearing some form of food for the tributes, though they were often too afraid to step closer to give it to them. The 12 girl and her mentor seemed to be doing great work with the crowd, reeling them in. It did everyone a favour, allowing the others to juggle and flip for their share. 

It made you sick. 

You hung back by Marcus, watching as a tribute pulled off some impressive moves for an apple from a watcher, earning a round of applause with it. You kept a permanent face of disgust as you watched how the Capitol was treating you. Animals. Circus animals, you were. Your jaw was clenched so tightly that you thought it might pop out of the joint socket, stomach rumbling but too proud to sing and dance for your food. 

“Hey! Psst!” 

Your position by the back gave you some protection from the observers, barriers making it impossible to get too close to you, though some did try. You two were likely the oldest tributes inside, along with some sporadic ones from other districts. You looked over to the source of the sound, a boy, no older than 14, standing with his face squished into the cage as his friends hung back a step behind him. He was waving some sweet around, it looked fancy, pricey, begging for you to take it. Something about the mischievous smile on his face had you thinking there were some ulterior motives, so you ignored him to look at Marcus. 

“I keep thinking- this whole thing is filmed, no? I keep thinking, what would he think when he grows up, sees his pa so pathetic like this.” 

“Don’t-”

Your words were cut off by a sticky substance hitting your leg, the stupid kid had thrown a chunk of the desert at you to get your attention. You grimaced, fighting the urge to scream, opting only to shoot a pointed look at him, but it only caused him and his friends to dub over in laughter.

The other tributes’ attention was suddenly grabbed by a new attendee, Sejanus, who, as usual, came bearing bags full of food, no performance needed. He caught sight of you hanging back, not attempting to get up to talk to him again, and tried not to let his disappointment show. You were still a little weary from your previous conversation, not wanting to get another lecture on survival. He hoped you’d come around eventually. You turned back to Marcus. 

“Don’t think they show em this part, only the games.”

He sighed, nodding a little. 

“Have you picked a name-”

This time, the sweet hit you straight in the face, a little bit sneaking into your eye. You could see Marcus seething, but not more than you were. With everyone's attention on Sejanus, you stood up abruptly, wiping your face as you stomped over to the boy, who was too deep in his laughter to notice your approach. You stuck your hand out, grabbing him by the collar. He was shorter than you, which made this a lot more intimidating. 

“What? Ain’t laughing now?” You spat at him, though his eyes were frantic and fearful. He tugged on your grip, but you were no stranger to holding down stubborn patients. 

“They ain’t teach you manners here, boy? Want me to teach em’ to you?” 

You sounded more threatening than you intended, reveling in the feeling of having him so under your mercy. You hadn’t noticed that the zoo went quiet, or that everyone was watching your every move. Or sejanus rushing to where you were to attempt to preserve your image. Or the peacekeeper who was matching towards you. Or Marcus, who was trying to make it there first to keep you from getting hurt. 

Not until the gun was pushed into your side. 

“Put the boy down.” 

Time stood still, you looked at the soldier from the corner of your eye that still had some frosting on it, then at Sejanus whose jaw was clenched in worry. He gave you a sympathetic look, hoping you’d let go of the boy. 

And so you did, your hands unclenched from around his shirt and he dropped the short distance to the floor and you remained in position, moving backwards slowly so as to not startle anyone. Marcus’ hand was around your arm, guiding you away. 

But teenage boys never know when to quit it, do they?

As one final act of defiance, the boy spat at you, landing hot saliva to be mixed in with the cream. And that was it for you. 

All it took for you to lunge forward, landing a quick punch on him through the cage. 

But no good deed goes unpunished. 

Before Marcus could pull you away, the peacekeeper slammed the end of his gun into your face, drawing blood from your lip. He would’ve landed a second one had it not been for Marcus’ quick, strong hands pulling you away behind him. 

“Step. Away.”

Didn’t look like it was going to end well for you, but you didn’t want him to get caught up in your mess. 

“Was just a misunderstanding, she won’t do it again.” He bargained. 

Like hell you won’t. You’d do it a thousand times over just to wipe that smile off his face. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Sejanus rushing over to some higher up, whispering something to them. Trying to diffuse the situation. 

The soldier in front of you received some orders through their earpiece, circling around you before making his way back to his post by the side of the cage. You hate to admit it, but if it weren’t for him, you’d probably be dead. The girl from 12 began singing, then, re-drawing the attention back to her. It gave you the grace of finally being out of the limelight. You puffed, pushing Marcus’ hand off you to head for the small water faucet to clean yourself, earning angry looks from the other tributes on the way. Likely for killing their chance at more food, at least for the night. 

Your face burned, half from frustration the other from the impact of the gun. You were sure there were angry red scrapes all over your jaw. Having an open wound, no matter how small, isn’t an advantage in this situation. You preferred to keep things sterile. 

You saw his shoes first, polished and new. Some of you were in here barefoot. You didn’t bother looking up, deciding whether you wanted to hear whatever speech he had planned out for your little stunt or just make your way back. 

“You looked like your ma just then, for a second.” 

You coughed out a laugh, having not expected him to say anything like that at all. 

“Scary woman, she was. I remember when she used to keep me still, for the vaccines. She had that same look in her eyes.” 

Your hand came up to cover your mouth to attempt to stifle the laugh, he sounded so serious. You cleared your throat, trying to remain neutral. You looked up to where he was, finding a small first aid kit in his hand. He nodded over to where you two could be more at eye level so that he could clean the mess you made. 

“You’re much better at this than I am.” 

He held your chin softly with one hand, angling your face away as he tried to soldier on through your hisses and twitches as he disinfected your skin.  

“You’re doin’ fine…you won’t tell me off?”

“I’m not your father, so probably not. But you ought to be careful, trust that they’ll kill you if they want to.” 

He pulled your face back to him, grabbing a fresh wipe to dab away at your lip. He was crouched down, leaned in with trust way too close to the cage. Had you been anyone else, they would’ve probably torn him apart. 

“You won’t tell me I ruined my image for sponsors, or whatever?” 

“If anything, people think you’re tougher than you look now, so they’re more willing to take a chance on you.” He sighed, aware that you won’t like how your rebellion was taken. “You were always the brave one, anyway. So I wasn’t really surprised. He had it coming.”

He put the swabs away, digging into his bag to grab a special container out. Inside, a small slice of his ma’s peach pie. 

“She saw you on tv. Said you looked like a woman now, reminded her of home. She made this specially for you.” 

Fruit was a delicacy back in 2, especially the nicer ones, like peach. The first time you’d tried it at his house, you loved it so much you ended up eating almost the whole tray with no regard for anyone’s feelings. Shortly after, your mouth began swelling up and your body became itchy. That’s when you found out you were allergic to peaches, but only mildly. The symptoms were just annoying, not grave, and they were definitely not going to keep your grimy hands away from the fruit whenever it was offered to you. 

The fear that had overtaken the place was now long gone, other mentors showing up to chat with their tributes. One particular one having a picnic in front of the cameras with hers. It gave you a moment of privacy within the open air to observe Sejanus freely. 

“Your ma said anything else?” You took a small bite, making sure to keep the fruit away from your open lip so that the inevitable allergy doesn’t drive you insane. 

“Yeah,” he laughed a little. “She said if I keep looking for Capitol girls that are like you she won’t end up with any grandkids.” 

“Like me?”

“You’re tough competition to beat, unfortunately. Beauty, brains and brawns. Triple threat.” 

You giggled at his shameless flirt. “I’d kiss you, but then you’d get peaches all over my skin and I don’t want to itch.”

He tried not to show his fluster at your words, the comment about the kiss playing in his mind, the way you slipped it in so casually, like you two had ever kissed before. He bit his lip at the thought, smiling like an idiot as he watched you eat. 

He was about to say something else, when his thoughts were cut off by loud shrieks from the crowd, his classmate fell over with blood pouring out of her neck.

It all happened so fast, the screams, the bullets, Coriolanus’ run and your spring to action. 

You made your way across the cage, ignoring the protests from both Sejanus and Marcus, asking you to keep away from the trouble, but it was muscle memory. The blond had his classmate clutched in his arms dramatically, like some hero, your calls out to him fruitless as you stepped beside the girl from 10. Nothing you could do for her now. 

“Lean her forward! Lean her forward!” 

If he’d listened, it may have given the girl some time whilst the medics arrived, but he didn’t respond to you, too stunned to actually take any action but making himself a martyr. But you could tell it was already too late. 

The peacekeepers yanked you away from the bars, lining you up with the rest of the tributes in the back. You were shacked, faced to the wall with your knees kicked in so that you were on the floor. You heard them over by the other side pulling the mentors out of the zoo, which meant Sejanus was likely now gone, and, despite everything, his absence made you feel vulnerable. 

…

You watched as the hook dug into her flesh, watched as they hoisted her up high for everyone to see. You couldn’t take your eyes off of her as you were shackled tightly once and ushered into yet another uncomfortable position. Her blood dripped slowly onto the ground below as the car moved at a snail’s pace. 

If you were in her position, you aren’t sure if you wouldn’t have done the same thing, put that girl back in her place. It was people like her that kept the divide between you so drastic, people who were adamant on displaying their superiority based on where they’re from. Had things been any different, you would have been hanging up there. In death, she looked very peaceful, just a child. Just a hungry, angry child. You all were, in one way or another. She had a family back home, dreams, aspirations, no matter how small. She didn’t even get to try. 

It was subconscious, the way the tears began flowing down your cheeks as you watched her body sway with the movement. So weightless, her presence extinguished within seconds. Sure, the Capitol girl died as well, but you couldn’t even bring yourself to care.

Oftentimes, in the medical field, you find yourself absolving yourself of any biases when treating a patient, no matter how often they throw insults at you. At the end of the day, they were scared and in pain, and you were their lifeline.

You feel guilty for not caring about this girl, your morals having been so cemented in for so long. But the way she gets a parade in her honour whilst the other girl’s body gets disrespected like that…maybe she deserved it. 

Sejanus caught sight of your face on the screen, bruised and tired with tear stained cheeks. It was an awful sight, all of it. He stood a bit further back in the crowd, having not been that close to -nor liked by- Arachne, as he cast his eyes to the tribute at the top. That could’ve been you, with your sudden movements and fistfights. Maybe he should tell you off. 

…

You spent the next few days in the same routine of seeing each other through the bars, with him desperately trying to convince you to keep hope and you pretending his words don’t cut straight through you. At least they fed you, but you wished they just got things over with already, the anticipation of your death was almost enough to kill you. 

Almost. 

But on the whateverth day, they once again herded you away, with the plan of giving a tour of the arena…?

What good does that do? Intimidate you, definitely. When you arrived, they had already been waiting on you in the scorching sun. Sejanus wore the same strained expression that he had on since he greeted you first, sweat beaded on his forehead. He wasn’t as talkative as he usually was, walking in step with you through the rubble of the arena in uncomfortable silence. You were each in your own world, but you were reeling from the feeling of being inside, in person. It was much, much more intimidating than the clips you saw in passing. Something about not being able to see everything from a wide-shot view, made your fate much more real. All you could think about, is with how small the place was, you were going to tear eachother apart within minutes. You hoped that you would just find a peaceful passing. Sejanus looked equally distressed, and it was always nicer to focus on others' discomfort, which often made you forget your own momentarily.

“You okay?”

It was ironic, touring the place you were going to die in a few days time and asking him if he was okay.

“Yeah” He sighed. “I’m sorry, this is all awful.” He was uneasy, looking around for any out or hiding spot you could wiggle your way into.  He stuffed some food into your pocket, ignoring your protests as you tried to form a plan for the games. It had all gotten too real, too suddenly.

Though your hands were shackled, you managed to grab his arm, exchanging solemn looks before your moment was cut off by a loud explosion. 

You were far enough away to not be seriously injured by the initial impact, but the rubble that scattered afterwards managed to knock you off your feet. A large rock landed on top of your foot, it was heavy enough that you weren’t able to move it due to your recent weakness, but not disabling enough to cause you any permanent damage. Sejanus rushed over to you, helping you up to your limping feet. Your ears were ringing as you held onto his upper arm for support, he was shaking you, trying to get your attention with words that you could not hear. He was pointing over to where Marcus had made his way out of the arena into the arms of freedom. You were coughing, watching his figure speed away from the peacekeepers attempting to catch him. You smiled, fastest boy on the playground. 

Sejanus grabbed your face once more, speaking with urgency that you could not place. Run, he wanted you to run. 

You looked back over to where Marcus and a few other tributes had managed to reach a fence, before two of them were shot down with way too many bullets for a single body. Your feet were frozen in place, whatever bravery you held before was now long gone.

But just as fast as you’d gotten to your feet, you were knocked back down, dirt and dust making its way into your eyes. The peacekeepers dragged a protesting Sejanus away from you as they cuffed your hands behind you.

Once you were back at the zoo, the pounding in your head didn’t stop, made worse by the hits you received from the peacemakers for resisting. They dumped you all back in the cage with no regard for those who were injured or even dead. Your ankle hurt, but it was only just a sprain to go with the miscellaneous bruises and cuts all over, others weren’t so lucky. 

You tried not to think of the fact that Marcus was gone, that you were now completely on your own. You’d hate to admit it, but Sejanus was right. Even if you didn’t expect Marcus to lay his life down for you, just his presence kept you shielded from any stray thoughts the tributes may have. You were the only woman here alone. You just hoped that, when you died, you’d have a dignified death in some way. You weren’t mad at him for not looking back, you just wished you would’ve gathered your thoughts a little faster, maybe having a chance to actually make it. Now, in a day or two, you will be entering the games all on your own. 

And it was only then you realised that you were terrified. 

Marcus’ presence was quietly comforting, it meant you had someone to watch your back, someone to rely on, someone to ask how you were doing, but his absence opened the possibility of making it out alive without guilt. 

You had a chance to live, and that thought filled you with even more fear, because now, death wasn’t as inevitable as it was before. Now, survival was an option, and it seemed more difficult than to just lay down and die.

…

The zoo must’ve been closed off to the general public for these 2 days, since Sejanus didn’t come to visit you, and you only saw him again at one of those stupid mentor-tribute meetings.

“Are you okay? Are you hurt?” Sejanus placed a comforting hand on your shoulder, knowing that it was unlikely that anyone else had asked you that question yet. 

“Fine. Just a sprained ankle, I’ve been through worse.” You huffed. “Have you heard anything about Marcus?”

He sighed, “No. They can’t find him, which is good. But I doubt they’d tell me anything.”

He watched as your eyes went off him, going out of focus as you began to think of Marcus again, or at least his absence. 

There was an uncomfortable beat of silence.

“Why didn’t you run?” He clenched his jaw, and you could feel your composure slipping away. 

“I don’t know.” 

“What do you mean you don’t know, why didn’t you run?!”

“Sejanus, please.”

“The opening was right there, you could have made it!” 

“Stop.”

“What are you going to do now that he’s gone, huh? You got what you wanted. Now what?”

“I don’t know!” You yelled, not a care in the world for anyone who might hear.  “I was frozen, I couldn’t move, I don’t know why.”

“Okay,” his voice was calm, an attempt to bring you back down to his level. “What do you plan on doing in there because- being alone ain’t an advantage. I’m sure their might be others but-”

His insistence on repeating your most awful thoughts back to you over and over again got to you, bringing your hands up to cover your face as your body was overcome with sobs.

For a second, you looked like you were that girl in the storage closet again, breaths out of control as you thought about your coming fate. 

“Hey, hey- I’m sorry- I didn’t mean to upset you.” He moved to crouch at your side.

He stayed there, like he did the first time, unable to grant you any comfort but his hand on your back. He spent a minute or so trying to coax you to look at him, knowing that you two only had a limited time slot at the moment, and who knows if they’ll re-open the zoo.

Eventually, after who knows how long, you lifted your head up, looking over to him with teary eyes.

“Sejanus?” Your voice was hoarse. 

“Yeah?”

“I’m scared.” The tears began flowing again. “I’m so, so scared. I don’t know what to do, I don’t know how the hell I'm supposed to even try to survive in there. I’m scared I’ll die, or worse-”

You cleared your throat, “I’ll be torn apart. I’d ask you to put a bullet in my skull right now, had I not been more scared of death in general.” 

He would have asked you what happened to the original plan, had he not put it together himself. 

“Hide.” He spoke with much more seriousness and authority than you’d ever seen him muster up. “Hide, don’t let them see you, don’t try to fight. Run and hide. If you need something, find a camera, I’ll know.”

“That doesn’t sound like advice that would last very long.”

“Trust me.”

You sniffed, wiping your face with shaky hands, “I wanna see my sister again, Sej. I miss her so much. I miss my ma.” You began sobbing again, head in your hands as you struggled to pull yourself together.

He could hear your muttering between sobs, I want my ma, over and over again, and he was struggling to keep his own tears at bay. 

“You will, I promise you, you will. You won’t be alone in there-okay? I’ll be watching your every move and I’ll be doing everything I can to keep you safe. I promise.” He knew his words likely meant nothing to you, remorse making its way onto his face. He wished he could do more. 

You looked at him, his brown teary eyes meeting yours. He looked so guilty, so unsure of his own words while he begged you to trust him.

“And if that doesn’t work? And if I get cornered?”

“You’ll figure it out, you’re smarter than you give yourself credit for. More clever. Pretty quick on your feet, too. Just keep that in mind. Trust me.”

You chuckled at his seriousness. “You remember what happened last time I trusted you?”

A small smile broke through both of your features.

“I can’t believe you’re still holding that over me.” He shook his head.

“I really liked that necklace!”

“I replaced it though, didn’t I?”

“That’s not what trust is about.” You sniffed, looking over to where some of the other tributes were-namely reaper, who had such a threatening presence in context.

“Do you…still have the one I got you?”

He tried not to let the smile grow, remembering how upset he was when he ran to his ma, distressed that he’d lost your property. He only borrowed it from you so that he could see it for a second, but it dropped from his hands into the rushing drain water, gone forever.  She turned it into a little outing for him, taking him to the finest jeweler that remained open in 2. He spent hours picking out something that both replaced the one he lost and reimbursed you for your troubles, eventually settling on one with a small precious stone in the front, with both your initials engraved in neat handwriting in the back. 

“What? Of course I kept it! It’s not everyday your crush gets his name permanently engraved next to yours.”

“Your… crush?”

“I think the whole town knew.”

“Wasn’t it Marcus?”

“Again with- Sej. I only very briefly had a crush on Marcus when we were 6, otherwise it was you.”

This was all news to him, “I had a crush on you too!”

“I knew,” You snorted. 

“Hey! Why didn’t you say anything then?”

“We were 7, what did you want me to do? Ask you out?”

“Fair.”

What were you two even talking about in the first place?

“It’s in a small box, under my bed, along with other scraps I collected from our time together.” You didn't know why these confessions were coming out now, but it all felt so natural. Like you two were just two friends catching up. “I used to-” You giggled, “I used to bring it out on your birthday, after you left. Wear it the whole day and pretend we were celebratin’. Till I got old enough to get reaped, then I had bigger things to worry about….” 

You trailed off, unsure where these confessions were coming from. He looked at you, an unreadable look on his face, but it mirrored yours, neither of you sure of what it meant.

In another life, that’s what it meant.

He got back into his seat.

“The interviews they wanted to do are now on a voluntary basis, would you..?”

“No.”

He sighed, having already anticipated that answer. 

“Well, with the zoo closed indefinitely, I won’t be able to see you again until just before your games. If you agree to the interview, we’ll see each other basically daily for the week.”

That was a tempting offer, but you couldn’t picture yourself at the end of that week, standing in front of a live audience while your opponents sing and flex for them. You also didn’t have anything to show, and it’s doubtful that any of the viewers would care about your job or desire to live if you couldn’t put on a show. 

On the other hand, the very real fact of only seeing him one more time didn’t sound pleasant. Even if he couldn’t really do anything for you, your short chats brought you comfort. When he was around you could close your eyes for ten minutes and pretend that there was a possibility of seeing him again on the other side.

But if you were going to die, you wanted to do it with dignity, not after begging people to take a chance on you, however indirect.

“I’m sorry, I won’t do it.”

He nodded softly, shoulders dropping in defeat as he came to terms with the fact that he’ll only see you one more time. 

The week went by quicker than he hoped, with no new mentor tasks and the lack of other significant assignments, he spent the better part of those days rotting in his room, high on sleep meds and antidepressants prescribed to him by the therapist his ma insists he sees. It was futile, talking to someone who couldn’t grasp why you were the way that you are, but he soldiered through the sessions for her own peace of mind. The pills helped, more than he would openly admit. They kept all thoughts -good or bad- far, far away. He didn’t want to think about the countdown to your likely demise. Truth was, he didn’t have much faith in your survival, the competition far too nasty, but he had to keep up appearances for you. He spent all those years away from home fantasizing about the moment he came back, about how you’d react to seeing him again, but that seemed so impossible now. And no matter how much he pleaded, begged, or even bribed the zoo security they wouldn’t let him in. You mentioned that they had been feeding you, which kept that part of him at ease. Family dinners had become strained, and his appetite had basically nonexistent, he couldn’t stomach a single bite of food, no matter how much ma insisted. It was a miracle his father hadn’t found a reason to lecture him yet, maybe he felt bad. But all his anger was bound to bubble through the surface at some point. 

On the rare occasion where they huddled around the tv as a family, they watched the tribute interviews from the comfort of the couch. Some gave a convincing performance, others struggled through basic information that definitely didn’t interest the audience. His peers gave some performances as well, putting on confident voices for even the meekest of contestants. Snow’s girl, Lucy Gray, was obviously the night’s winner, with her heartfelt melody and honey laced voice, no wonder he had been parading her around.  

The only reason he got any form of sleep was those pills, the same ones he was cursing at for making him doze off the morning of your final meeting. He was only a few minutes late, but every second counted when he wasn’t sure if he’ll see you again. 

He caught a glimpse of you as they authorized his entry, clearly hurt by his apparent abandonment. 

You were curled in on yourself, heart heavy as you tried not to let the idea of Sejanus being unable to face you one last time get to you. All the other mentors were present, but your hope was dwindling with every tick of the clock. But then, the call of your name, frantic and guilty, made your head shoot up. 

He rushed to his seat, a string of sincere apologies and excuses spilling from his lips. 

“It’s okay, I’m glad you’re here.”

He tried to catch his breath, wiping a hand over his face to regain composure. 

“How are you feeling?” Great, now he’s starting to sound like his therapist. 

You couldn't spare him even a fake chuckle, mind too preoccupied with the feeling of fear.

“What’s our task for today?” You peeped, trying to steer the conversation away from your thoughts. 

“Nothing, just final advice, I guess.”

“Okay. Anything for me then?”

“You’ll be okay.”

Now that made you chuckle, but you knew there wasn’t anything he could add to be of use. If he was worried for you, if he had no faith in your survival, he definitely kept it hidden, remaining as stoic as he could be. The silence was uncomfortable, and there really was nothing to say at this point, other than tearful goodbyes.

“Did they show you the interviews? If you manage to find a good spot, you could outlast most of the others. You know like-”

“Sejanus?”

“Yeah?”

“I’ve got a necklace on, could you take it off me?”

“Right now?”

“Yes please.”

He didn’t question it much, getting up to fulfill your request. His hands were gentle on the back of your neck as he undid the worn clasp, pulling the piece off and placing it in front of you before he returned to his seat. 

“Will you give it to my ma?”

Now he understood what this was. 

“You’ll give it to her yourself.” He sighed.

“Don’t be cheesy, Sej. Please, could you see to it?”

His eyes traveled down to the pendant, a locket. Curiosity got the better of him, his hands softly wrapping around it to pop it open. He took a second first to wipe his thumb over the engraving on the front which read dearest in fine cursive. Inside, a picture of your family, small and the details were beginning to get lost to time, but it was endearing. He felt his calm start to fade, the realisation that this was the last time he’ll see you pushing to the front of his brain. 

“I can’t promise you that, you have to come back. Make sure I did it.” He placed a comforting hand onto your trembling, cuffed ones. “Hungry?” He always had snacks for you, just in case, but you shook your head. 

“Hey-” He urged you to look at him. “You’ll be okay, and this will be some story you tell people, I promise okay? Eyes on the prize.”

You nodded wordlessly, eyes drifting up to him. His eyes gave him away, gave his worry away, but you two had no other option but to pretend. The minutes were up before either of you would’ve hoped, and he pulled you in for a tight hug as the peacekeepers urged him to let you go. His shoulder felt like a safe space, a bubble no one could hurt you in. But it was all over as quickly as it began. 

He watched your retreating form, all other tributes also walking with their heads hung low. His classmates were whispering about some goodbye; a kiss Coriolanus had exchanged with Lucy Gray, and all he could think about was the possibility of not having a chance of doing that, too. 

…

Lucky tried to get some final comments from the mentors, which made him grateful to arrive so last-minute, intentionally of course. He couldn’t keep anything down that morning, and the only reason he slept the night before was those wretched meds.  They were asked to be there early to kick off the 10th games with as much mentor-tribute coverage they could milk out of them. He decided he’d hang back a little, only arriving at the last moments so he wouldn’t see the excitement in the hall. Starting today, it’s mostly up to how the dice roll, and the odds weren’t often in his favour. They took their seats, and the discomfort among the mentors was palpable. Whether it be in competition or fear, he wasn’t sure. The lights dimmed and the broadcast started, opening with a wide shot of the arena, before the camera zoomed in on tribute after tribute. You were in frame last, and by that time he had gathered that something wasn’t right. Some of the other tributes were distressed, more than the expected amount. 

And then, there you were. 

Hunched over yourself, clutching your stomach with your face contorted in pain. Tears. You were crying, but he still wasn’t able to figure out what was paining you this much. The countdown ended, and most tributes, including you, managed to scurry away into the tunnels.

He wasn’t left to wonder for long. 

With no tributes in the visible arena, the camera panned out to the gruesome scene, and audible gasps washed over the hall. 

Marcus was caught. But not just that, it looked like they took all their fear out on him, his body battered and bruised and clearly barely functioning, if at all. Had it not been for the slight movement of his lips, Sejanus would have thought him long gone.

He was struggling to keep it together, and by the time the camera found its way back to the weapon cornucopia, you were back in the daylight, surveying the leftover bounty quickly.

He watched you, rage still coursing through his veins as you picked up a small knife and some other weapon he couldn’t make out. Then you jogged over to the beam where Marcus was still being tortured as an example. 

You don’t know whether it was sheer determination or the strength you’d built up from moving heavy patients around, but you made your way to the very top, leaning over to talk to Marcus.

He couldn’t hear you, but your lip movements were obvious enough.

Marcus! 

He moved his lips, but Sejanus couldn’t figure out what he was saying. 

I’m getting you down…I’ll- figure something-No! Please Marcus- don’t…

Overwhelm had taken you once more, the cameras fixed on the scene with nothing better to show. You began sobbing, then screaming, both falling on deaf ears. 

I can’t, I Can’t!

Then, more things were said that he could not figure out.

I’m Sorry, 

I’m Sorry, 

I’m Sorry, 

I’m Sorry, 

You repeated, bringing the knife to end Marcus’ torment in one swift motion. Your hands were stained, his blood, made worse by your muscle memory bringing them over your face. Your choked on your breath, beating yourself up for not doing more, trying harder to save him. Eventually, you leaned over his suspended body, ugly crying at the death of your long term friend. You wanted to leave this arena clean, should you leave it. But now, dead or alive, his blood was caked beneath your fingernails. 

The scene was filled with emotion, just what the capitol craved. The screen cut over to Flickerman, celebrating the first kill of the games. It left a sour taste on his tongue. He wanted  to yell again, to fight with everyone entertained by your weakness, but he didn’t want to risk causing more trouble lest he get kicked out of the program, then he’d be leaving you to fate, and he would hate that. Lucky commented on the obvious connection you and Marcus had, reducing you to a pair of unfortunate lovers. Sejanus knew they’d cut to him the minute they got done with his classmate’s comment on Marcus’ death. He looked over to his communicuff, finding a grand total of 0 gifts you’d received. 

The first kill, no matter how passive, was still something. He could play it up, pimp you out to sponsors so that he could send you water to wash your hands clean, or some food-who knows when you ate last. Maybe even some bread to sprinkle on Marcus, something you’d likely be very upset you couldn’t do at the moment. 

It would be in ill faith- no doubt.

 In fact, if you knew he did that, you’d hate him forever, but you'd starve if he wasn’t able to scrape something up. Then again, he watched you, still on that screen, your body shaking with guilt for blood that wasn’t-isn’t on your hands, not that you’d ever swallow that, and he knew you would prefer he tell them exactly who you two were. Neither of you had interacted with the general public, this was his moment to let them see you.

“Mr. Plinth- any comments on this surge of emotion we have flowing? Seems our two lovebirds were-”

As he expected, the feed cut to his poignant face. 

“They were not together.”

The silence in the hall meant everyone wanted to hear what he had to say.

“They were friends, back in 2. My friends. Marcus leaves behind a son, whom she delivered as a favour. She’s a physician, she left so much back home, but she was ready to give it all up if it meant Marcus made it back to his newborn. He and his wife had not even named him yet. Tell me Lucky, what was his crime? Hoping he sees his wife and child once more? Trying not to end up a distant memory in his son’s life? Is that worthy of crucifixion?”

His own words had brought his anger back up, 

“Marcus had not taken a life, had not terrorised a citizen, all he wanted was to go home.”

His voice was getting louder for every word he punctuated. 

“Monsters!”

He rose suddenly, grabbing a chair and tossing it and the screen.

“You’re all monsters here!”

He marched out of the hall, gasps and whispers all around him at his blatant display of disrespect, live for all the viewers at home. No doubt, word would get to his father, and there’s nowhere in the world he’d rather be less than at home. At home in his luxury apartment with enough food to feed a district and more indulgences than you would ever get to see. He felt like he was choking on the fresh air around him, marching angrily with no destination in mind. 

Not only was Marcus’ death unjustified and exaggerated, but it will most definitely throw you off your game, cloud your vision, at least for the night. But you had no support in there, you were going to have to wobble back upright all on your own. And here he was, outside in the arms of safety, unable to come up with a single angle to help you in there. Out here, with all the freedom to run anywhere, his hands were tied. 

Or were they?

…

Your hands tightened around the knife, trembling in fear. Whoever it was hadn’t spotted you yet, but your spot had no other exits, which made you cornered. Just as you’d feared. 

Your eyes were swollen from the amount of crying you’d done. You had no doubt that your weakest moment had been at the centre stage for the capitol, the thought making you want to end it all with a show for the cameras, give em something to remember. The stranger kneeled down by Marcus, attempting to cross his arms for a more peaceful rest, but rigor mortis had already set in. The actions brought a furrow to your brow, not recalling any friends that Marcus had made in your time here. Then, he pulled out a small satchel, sprinkling what looked like-breadcrumbs!

You let out a reflex gasp which caused the figure to turn to look at you. Unmistakable, even in this darkness. A faint ray of a distant bulb illuminated the face that you’d been searching for in every crowd since you were 6. 

“Sejanus!” You whisper-yelled, crawling out from behind the debris before crashing into him as his arms came around you to steady you. The arena was colder than the capitol, and his warmth brought a much needed reprieve from that. This would be the first time since you were kids that you’d managed to embrace so freely, no restraints, no peacekeepers. 

And then the tears came again.

“Sejanus, Marcus! He…he wanted me to, I…” You could barely get any words out, sobs too strong for you to fight against them. 

“I know, I know.” He comforted, rubbing your back softly as you cried into his chest. 

When you finally calmed down a little, you pulled back, realising the oddness of the situation. He reached into his bag, pulling out some wipes that he began using on your bloody hands. 

“What are you doing here?” you sniffed.

“What I promised you.” To keep you safe. 

“Does anyone know you’re here?”

“No.”

“Not even your ma?”

“...No.”

You smacked him with your freshly cleaned hand. “What the hell, Sejanus! You need to get out!”

He ignored your protest, hands continuing their work on your other palm. 

“What good am I out there?”

“Alive! You can’t have me worry about you in here!”

“You don’t have to worry about me, m’ just making sure you get home.”

“Sej…please…”

His hands stilled as he shut his eyes softly, your pleading tearing away at his defences. But outside, where he is safe, he’d been utterly useless, unable to deliver you neither food nor comfort. 

“You’ve got…zero sponsors.”

“I don’t care.”

“I know you don’t, I do. Because I wanted to send you a water bottle to wash your hands clean, or breadcrumbs to sprinkle, both of which I couldn’t do! And- and then I kept thinking, how the hell is she going to sleep with no one keeping watch?”

That caught you off guard, it had been weighing on you since Marcus’ disappearance. The thought of being so entirely vulnerable like that didn’t sound great, and it didn’t help that your head was pounding from dehydration, and here he was, with all the solutions. Water, food, safety.

You cupped his face gently as he leaned into your touch.

“You have to be out there Sej, its where changes happen. In here, theres only one outcome but you’ve got money, influence, wether people stomach it or not. In here, you’re killing everyone’s chance of finally having someone on the inside.”

He smiled “You want me to lead the rebellion?”

“No. I just want you to live long enough to inspire someone to.”

He sighed, taking in the weight of your words. You were right, as usual, but the dark circles under your eyes made this decision harder. 

“Fine I’ll leave, but not until you rest a little.”

“Sej-”

“I’m not debating. The sooner you sleep the sooner I leave.”

You wanted to protest, but your muscles were so weary, and sleeping in his comfort didn’t sound so bad. 

“Fine. But not for long, and wake me up if anything happens, please.”

You shuffled to a nearby wall where you were able to keep your faces towards any entryway for danger. It didn’t take long for you to doze off, his shoulder making a surprisingly comfortable pillow as he sat silently listening to your breaths. 

You weren’t sure how long you’d been out, but it definitely did some replenishing on your energy. You were woken up by a quiet conversation between Sejanus and the other mentor you’d seen around. 

How many capitol kids are they letting in here?

You shot up in confusion, their conversation pausing as you rubbed the sleep out of your eyes. Your gaze fell on Sejanus first. 

“Okay. Your turn.”

He sighed, shoulders slouching in defeat. He wobbled up from his stiff position on the ground then helped you do the same. 

“Okay. But I want to take Marcus out of here.”

His friend did not hesitate to support him, his fear showing through the full suit of armor he had on. Before they went on their way, he pulled you in for a tight bear hug. 

“Take care, please.” 

If you shut your eyes hard enough, you could imagine a different scenario in place of where you were now, a different life. You could even allow his words to bring you comfort, peace, as if nothing in the world could reach you here. You hugged him back, squeezing as tight as your body would allow. Who knows when you’d see each other again? Who knows if.

They grabbed the corpse carefully, one at the foot and another at the shoulders, the stiffness in the muscles making it a difficult task. They had just about gotten to the end of the tunnel, just about to leave your line of sight when Sejanus mumbled something to his friend, placing the body softly down before running back to you. 

He all but crashed into you, cupping your cheek to bring you in for one hell of a goodbye kiss. Here, away from all the watchful eyes and the fake tears. You were both out of breath, and you hadn’t even noticed that he’d started to cry. Some pair of unfortunate lovers you two were. He kept his hold when he pulled back a little, both of you unable to find the words to say. You only stared into his eyes, mesmerised by the emotion he always seemed to bottle up in them. He gave you one more quick peck to the forehead before letting go. 

No words were exchanged, there were no more to be said anyway. 

He marched over back to where his buddy was very clearly irritated up to his knees.. 

And that's when you saw them. 

The tribute pack that had formed unexpectedly, closing in on your position. They had seen you, seen them, too. You all looked like easy prey. You didn’t give much thought as you bolted to where they were still carrying Marcus, yelling.

“Run!”

But the pack was a lot faster than you’d expected, with impeccable aim. One of them had managed to throw an axe that sliced Sejanus’ calf, causing him to lose his balance, dropping the body. Another was able to slice the blonde’s shoulder, making them both liabilities in this moment.

“Come on!”

You pulled Sejanus up first, habits. Then moved to his friend quickly as you all got to your feet, scurrying through the dim tunnels as you mindlessly followed the blonde, who seemed to know the way to the exit. One of the pack had managed to find a different way through, lunging on top of Snow while he attempted to kill him. Instead, the blond flipped the table around, grabbing a nearby brick and smashing the young tribute’s face to irrecognizability. You watched in horror from over Sejanus’ shoulder as he brought the brick down, time and time again. All you kept thinking of, was that that could be you, with any other tribute around. Your hands shook as his eye popped out of its socket before Sejanus was able to pull his friend off the kid. They both stumbled towards the final stretch, but you were frozen by the body. You then realized, if you made it all the way to the exit with them, there would be no escape for you. You’d be backed up against a wall, but there was no time to discuss this with them.  

Without a final goodbye, you wordlessly bolted into a different tunnel. 

They made it out safely, well, as safe as they could have been anyway, and laid there for who knows how long. He watched the pack bang and bite at the barbed wire, your absence only now registering. You must’ve parted ways with them in the rush of it all, which would’ve comforted him, had the tributes not pointed in the only direction you could have went in, sprinting to catch up with you. 

The blood drained from his face, they were going after you, and it was all his fault. They wouldn’t have found you if he wasn’t in there, you would’ve been able to hide it out. Instead, he brought you to death’s door. Who knows if you’d be able to outrun them? Oh, he wouldn’t be able to sleep tonight, you were all he’d be thinking of. 

They wheeled him into the ambulance. 

She could be dead.

Then they stitched up his calf.

She could be dead.

He rode home in silence. 

She could be dead. My fault.

He didn’t know which was worse, the thought of your final moments being of his own doing or the fact that he may not know whether you were alive or not for a very long time. Would the game makers know if your last breath was taken in complete darkness? Oh, he was so stupid. Emotional. Some hero he is, showing up to-what? Clean your hands and give you food? He had not even thought to bring you anything of use, a better weapon, a warm jacket, anything that will last. No, he went in there, selfishly wanting to see you once more, mourn with you. And now he may have led them right to you. 

He opened the house door hesitantly, unsure if he was quite ready to face his parents. The living room was dark, save for his ma rocking herself softly by the phone in front of the television. His father sat by her, not comforting her but with his head in his hands in shame. 

Shame, that’s all he ever brought home. 

She heard the door shut softly behind him, which caused her to jump up, rushing towards him. She pulled him into a wobbly hug, and he tried to keep himself together as she rambled into his shirt. 

“I was so worried! What were you thinking?! You could have gotten hurt!” She pulled back, grabbing his face into her hands.

“I’m sorry, ma.” He really was, for causing her so much distress. 

“Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

“Just my leg.”

“Oh my. Oh! I can not believe you, Sejanus, what has gotten into you-”

“M’ tired ma. I’m sorry. M’ goin to bed.” He cut her off, too tired to hear her attempt at disciplining him at the moment. 

She stuttered, watching as he limped away towards his room. His father didn’t look at him, didn’t spare him a glance as he walked past him. No lecture, no screaming match, nothing. Just disappointment. 

He won’t hear the end of it, he was sure. He would need to come up with something to reimburse the capitol for their troubles of seeing him lash out that morning, and buy the academy’s silence about his little adventure, no doubt. 

Money, money, money. That’s all his father talked about. Money and status and image and pretending they were something they were not. He sees the way they look at his father, roll their eyes, clutch their pearls at his very presence, and if his father doesn’t mind, then he does. What could he have possibly done in his life to deserve treatment like this, and what could possibly convince him to long to fit in with people like that. 

Doesn’t matter, this is an argument they’ve had more times than he would care to count. And they will have it again, definitely before he leaves for the mentorship in the morning. But his father’s lack of anger could only mean one thing. 

He was scared, even relieved at Sejanus’ return, even if he would rather die than embrace his boy. 

He made his way into his room, shutting the door behind him before collapsing face-first on the plush bedding. Sleep would not be finding him anytime soon, despite how tired he was. Silent tears stained the pristine sheets beneath him, his head more pounding than ever. 

This was not the life he’d pictured for himself, not at 8 years old and definitely not now. Which is why he walked into that arena with no intention of making it out, ready to end it all there and then, make a statement. You convinced him to try again, to walk back out. You'd never know it, how you’d saved him tonight, in more ways than one. He felt as though he’d owe you forever.

He told himself, no matter the games’ outcome, that he would not be in the capitol by the end of the month. Whether it be in 2 or 6 feet under, that depends on what happens to you, but all he knew is that he was done with trying to make it here.

It was a little before dawn before he was finally able to muster up the energy to shower, warm water washing away all evidence of the night’s activities along with the soreness of his muscles. He stayed beneath the stream for some time, allowing the pressure to keep his thoughts quiet for once. 

He inspected his face in the foggy mirror, a few bruises here and there with a cut on his nose, nothing major, but it was eye catching. He wouldn’t attempt to cover it, let them know. Who cares anyway. He got dressed in a clean uniform before making his way to his parents’ room. The door was opened only a little, allowing him to watch his ma’s sleeping figure. Even in rest she looked worried about him. His father was nowhere to be seen, so he tiptoed in to place a gentle kiss on her forehead, a token of his appreciation for her, which would never be enough.

The fridges were always stocked full with food, both home cooked and easy meals. His father would sometimes scrutinize his ma’s cooking. Not the taste but it’s frequency, and the lack of necessity, considering they had avoxes to prepare meals on her behalf. He was usual joking, in his own weird way, but Sejanus never liked these jokes. If cooking is what keeps his ma’s thoughts at bay, then so be it. He’ll eat all she makes even if his waistbands keep getting tighter and his pants shrinking. He served himself some pastries for breakfast, settling down in front of the T.V. to watch the games while he ate, in case you made an appearance. 

He didn’t dare tear his eyes off the screen, not all morning, not back at the academy either. The only casualty announcement that day morning was bobbin, who was killed at the hands of Coryo. Not much else happened for most of that day aside from Reaper patrolling the stands from time to time. He thought that would surely be it, that you’re dead somewhere in there, cold and alone. 

It wasn’t until late in the evening, when the sun had begun to set and the student body was gradually thinning out, that you made your appearance. He let out a shaky breath of relief, attempting to be as quiet as he could in his thankfulness. You were moving stealthily, having spotted a snoozing Reaper up in the stands. He then noticed the blood on your clothes that definitely wasn’t there when he last saw you. Whatever happened during the night, in those tunnels, he was just glad you were able to wiggle yourself out. Lucky made the passing connection between the blood and the mysterious kill, wondering if it could be pinned on you. He quietened again, the screen zooming in on your exhausted face as you selected a new weapon from the centre, having seemingly lost the ones you had already. Once you had a steady grip on a bat, you rose slowly, glancing over to where Reaper was. For a second, he thought you might go for that kill, resentment towards the sleeping tribute for his mind games back in the cage bubbling through. 

“So- Mr. Plinth, could your tribute really have been the mysterious killer all along?”

He stared off into the distance beyond the camera, weighing his options carefully. Last he checked, his cuff still indicated no gifts, and he needed to get you something, anything. There was no one willing to take a chance on someone who’d opened up her games with such raw vulnerability. 

“That’s the only feasible story, isn’t it?”

So what’s a little white lie?

“Riveting! Did you know she could do something like that?”

“What?...Kill?”

“I suppose, yes.”

“I doubt….that that was her first time, so…yes.”

Kill…fail to resuscitate…all synonyms, no?

“Woah, the field is on fire! What could you possibly be implying here?”

“Oh, no. I mustn't incriminate her now.” He shrugged with a laugh, sauntering off back to his seat before the interview could go on any further. Coryo watched him as he settled into his seat,  side-eying him for that insane play he just made, taking credit for something like that. But he could only laugh at his audacity. 

Just as he’d hoped, his cuff pinged with a few sponsors, which he wasted no time in putting to good use. Some bread and a nice bottle of water to keep you company. You almost missed their arrival, having satisfied whatever goal you had of stepping out into the fresh air momentarily. And when you received them graciously, you stood for a minute with a huge smile on your face, waving to the drones as they disappeared from view. 

You were waving to him. 

 He adjusted in his seat, contempt with the gifts he delivered you and comforted by the fact that you were still alive. 

These were the longest games to date, and the game of grim musical chairs wasn’t helping. Every morning, with the announcements of any deaths and the absence of your name, he would let out an unsure sigh of relief. The numbers dwindled down, leaving only him and Clemensia, who did not look well herself. But it meant that the final match was you against Reaper. 

Dawn of the final day. 

The lack of action in the tunnels was likely what drew you out of your hiding spot. You looked paler, your skin having missed the warm sunlight. Reaper was asleep up in the stands, giving you the ability to survey the area freely. You inched towards his makeshift graveyard, counting the tributes carefully to come to the same conclusion that Sejanus already knew. 

You took in a deep breath, looking back to the one thing standing between you and freedom. All in all, he was not a bad person, just as frightened as you were. All in all, you were not a killer, so you had no idea where to go from here. But you had to make a decision fast, since your opponent was now waking up. 

“Just us, doc?” Reaper’s voice was faint due to his distance from the mic, which only picked up his words because he yelled them to you. 

“Looks like it.” Your voice was a lot more clear, but also more shaky. “You don’t have to do this, you know?”

“What other choice do I have?”

You didn’t have an answer to that as he inched closer to you, and Sejanus had to hold himself back from screaming at you to run. 

“I don’t want to die here.”

“Did any of them?” Reaper shrugged solemnly and you could tell that he was a good man back home. “I promise, I’ll make it quick.”

You shook your head, not good enough. ANd before any other conversation was made, you bolted back into the tunnels with him hot on your tail. 

The final battle will be taking place away from the cameras, and the whole hall was silent. The cameras were now fixed on his and Clemensia’s faces, him more tense than she was. He tried to keep two things at the forefront of his mind. 

You knew the tunnels better, since Reaper resided outside most of the games. 

You were better fed, Reaper was essentially surviving on the fat on his body this whole time.

But it didn’t really ease his nerves. A whole minute had passed. Then three. Now five. Nothing, not a peep, not a victor nor loser. He doubted it would last that long, which caused the gamemakers to send in peacekeepers to extract the winner. 

Heavy boots emerged first from the tunnels, shortly after, the body of the tall tribute was deposited for the cameras, and you wobbled out of the shadows, victorious. 

The capitol celebrated with him that day, your unexpected win. 

He didn’t even bother going home, rushing straight to the medwing where they kept you. But they wouldn’t let him see you, however much he begged. He could hear your cries and protests as they tried to manage your injuries, and he all but broke the doors down to reach you, before he was escorted away and banished to his house. 

…

One of the many things people hated about this job was how packed the clinics were on most days. You did too, at some point, but you were now a changed woman and the steady, heavy flow of patients kept your mind off of the previous events. Your family gave you a tearful welcome back, of course, even celebrating with some fresh meat for dinner. But all you wanted to do was curl up into a ball and bask in the sun for the next 5 years or so. You didn’t talk it out with anyone, but the threat of the hunger games had now become way too close to home. Oftentimes, the unlucky families think that the chances of it being them is slim to none. You know, because you were one of them, and all you could think about now were the odds of your sister following in your footsteps. 

Every night you closed your eyes to find yourself back in the endless maze of damp tunnels, air so humid you could barely take in a full breath. And every night, without fail, you woke up hourly to your own screams. The more you stayed home, the worse it became, so the clinic had basically become your reprieve from that cycle. 

“..and there’s a new peacekeeper, need you to do his eval, okay?” Your ma handed you the papers without giving you a second to process 

“What?”

“Peacekeeper eval, bed 3, any questions?”

“Yes! This is lackey work, why am I assigned to this?”

She sighed, rubbing her temples. “Because I said so,”

“But-”

“Didn’t you want more cases?”

“Yes, real cases, not paperwork!”

“Well it’s already been assigned to you, see to it. And since you’re so on edge today you have the rest of the day off.”

This was very odd behaviour, especially for your ma, who promptly rounded the corner without giving you a chance to protest any further. 

You were practically stomping through the halls, huffing and puffing as the familiar sterile smell made its way into your angry lungs. You whizzed past trains of blurry faces in white coats, hoping to get this out of the way so that you could fill your time with something more useful. The clinic’s bottom floor was always busy, always wreaked of sickness and asepsis, but it was the most convenient for quick cases. You rummaged carefuly through the stacks of different forms to find the peacekeeper eval, pushing it into place on your clipboard as you made your way to the bed. It was rare to not have at least an 80 percent occupancy rate for the triage beds, which kept most of the staff busy with quick assessments. 

You pulled the curtain open slightly to allow entry, pulling it closed right behind you. The man shifted from his comfortable lay on the bed to swing his legs over the side, but you still had your eyes on the empty paper infront of you, trying to recall the procedure you hadn’t done for years. 

“I will be your evaluator for this evening, first and last name?”

“Sejanus Plinth.”

The voice sounded like him, but you still didn’t believe it. 

“Real funny, I’ll ask again, f-” You lifted your head up to your patient, the words getting caught in your throat.

Sure enough, there he was, buzzed hair and a fresh set of uniform. There was a surprisingly large grin on his face, one that most peacekeepers don’t ever seem to posses. 

“Sejanus!” 

You dropped the stupid clipboard, abandoning all codes of conduct as you basically threw yourself onto him, wrapping your arms tightly around his neck. Strong arms wrapped back around you, rubbing your back comfortingly. You squeezed him so tight, afraid that when you let go he’d be gone. 

Again. 

“You’re back!” You were getting tearful, head still snug in his shoulder. “You’re back! What happened?”

“A long list of things actually. But, to sum it up, I am officially a capitol traitor.”

Both of you were pressed up against the room door, trying to decipher the argument outside. 

The last night he saw you. 

When it proved futile, you perched onto the little window ledge, watching the rain pour down the glass. 

“When are you going to be back?”

“Probably never.”

Your shoulders dropped in defeat. Back then, you really didn’t quite believe it, the idea  of never seeing him again, it never clicked. 

“Do you think they’ll like me there?” He picked at his nails. 

“Why wouldn’t they?”

He shrugged, “I don’t know.”

“Do you want to go?”

“No.”

“Why are you going then?”

“Ma says that things will get worse here now that the war is over. Because of them, because of the capitol.”

You sighed, recalling your parents’ endless rants as they listened in on the radio news reports.“I hate the capitol,” It was taking away your closest friend, and crush. “Sejanus, you have to promise me you won’t be like them, okay?”

He shook his head in confusion, “What do you mean?”

“You have to promise you won’t be stuck up like them, you know, like we hear on the transmissions, the threats they make.”

He didn’t know at all, actually. His parents did a very efficient job of sheltering him from the world around him, and the war was just bombs dropped by ‘bad guys’ as far as he was told. Your words meant nothing to him, not in that moment, but your time together was cut off by your maforcing the door open and ordering your last goodbye. 

So you hugged him, pulled him tight because it would be the last time, whispering “Promise me,” in his ear. So he promised, unsure of what exactly tht entailed, and bid you farewell as your ma ushered you away. That night ended with his mother’s head on his shoulder, begging him for forgiveness, repeating apologies he did not know the reason for yet. 

She always had a feeling. 

You pulled your head away from him, “How long are you staying here for?”

You knew the answer, you just wanted to hear it.

“For good, I hope. Wanted to give this back,” He fished into his pocket to return the locket around your neck, clasping it too quickly for you to react. You stepped away, clutching the pendant in overwhelm. “Are you okay? I watched everything, every moment you were in there I could barely function, you have no ide-”

You cut him off by grabbing fisfuls of his collar harshly, pulling him in for a kiss. It caught him by surprise, but he matched your desperation quickly. 

“Wait-” You pulled apart slightly, looking at his eyes. “Did you put my ma up to this?”

“Yes” He chuckled.