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hero-deserves-to-be-happy · 11 months ago

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Under The Weather (A Hero-Centric Sick Fic)

When Hero has to cancel his visit home due to illness, Kel gets worried and calls in some reinforcements to take care of him. Kel knows there is nothing that upsets his brother more than being fussed over and worried about, but maybe he'll let himself be taken care of just this once...

Genre: Sick Fic, Slice of Life and Hurt/Comfort. Friendship and Kel & Hero's Brotherly Love. Post-Good Ending. Self-Indulgent. Hero Deserves To Be Happy.

Characters: Hero (POV Character), Kel (POV Character), and Zoey (OC). Sally and the parents make brief appearances. Mari and Sunny are mentioned.

Relationships: Hero and Kel's Brotherly Bond. Kel and Zoey (OC) Friendship. Hero and Zoey (OC) Friendship [Could be Hero/OC if you really wanted, but this story take place mid-extremely slow burn so they'd swear they're just friends here]. Past Hero/Mari is implied, referenced, and mentioned.

Word Count: 11,886

Rating: G

Warnings: Some hurt/comfort. Some mentions of grief. Mentioned flu and flu-like symptoms. Sick Character. Referenced Canonical Character Death. OMORI SPOILERS. There is a little angst, but it wraps up with brotherly love and Hero actually being happy and taken care of after the good ending (who knew we'd live to see the day...)

⛅This story is part of the "When Sun Shines Again" universe & includes specific references to "Am I Ready For Love? Or Maybe Just A Best Friend" but it should stand-alone and make sense without reading any of that.

A/N: It's my birthday and this is my (Acacia's) self-indulgent present to myself. 😁Thank you for indulging me!

Link to work on AO3. Full text below the cut.

Thank you for reading! 🧡💙☂️

Kel glanced over at the clock, watching as the second hand barely ticked away. He generally wasn’t this distracted or antsy at basketball practice, even when his coach called an emergency practice after school on a Friday when everyone was naturally jittery with anticipation for the weekend. But he couldn’t seem to focus on anything today—found himself zoning out until something collided with the back of his head.

“Ouch!” he yelped, rubbing his hand across the spot the basketball had just bounced off of him. That was definitely going to leave a mark. Some of his teammates snickered while a few offered shrugs of apologies. His coach huffed, crossing his arms clearly unamused.

“What is going on with you today?”

“Sorry, coach,” he mumbled sheepishly—scratching the back of his neck. “My brother’s coming home from college for the weekend, so I guess I’ve been a little distracted.”

His coach frowned. “Well you can run out that distraction by running laps around this gym. 10 laps—go!”

Kel sighed, but he sprinted off for his laps. If he was being perfectly honest, he didn’t mind. If he was lucky, maybe running laps would help time pass faster. He’d try anything that would help time pass faster. Hero was coming home, and he couldn’t wait to see him.

When practice finally wrapped up, he practically sprinted out to his car and, though it likely would have worried his mother, he sped home at, at least, a solid 10 mph above the speed limit. He hoped he hadn’t missed Hero’s arrival—though he knew he had a class this morning and wouldn’t have been able to leave until later in the day, then he had what was probably a 3-hour drive taking traffic into account, so maybe time was on his side.

When he pulled onto his street, he was relieved to see that Hero’s car was not in the driveway, and as he ran through the doorway into the house, he called, “Have you heard from Hero at all?” Do you know what time he’s coming?”

With an affectionate chuckle, his mom looked up from the block structure she had been building with Sally. “Well, welcome home to you too, Kel. Did you have a good day at school? How was basketball practice?”

“It was fine,” he said with a shrug, trying to ignore that lump on the back of his head. “But have you—?”

“Wanna play ‘zoo,’ Kel?” Sally interrupted with a bright smile as she held up some of the colorful, plastic animals he and Hero had bought her for her birthday. “You can have any ammimals you want.” She stared up at him with wide, expectant eyes as she handed him an elephant. Kel smiled, patting his little sister on the head.

“Thanks, Sally. We’ll play in a minute, okay?” He paused, turning back to his mother. “Mom—”

“I haven’t heard from him since this morning. He was supposed to call before he left, but maybe he got busy or forgot,” she cut him off with a slight shake of her head. “I hope he’ll make it back in time for dinner.”

“I’ll call him,” exclaimed Kel reaching for the telephone receiver. As Kel began to dial the number he knew by heart, he stopped—wondering if it would be better to call Hero’s cell phone. They were all still adjusting to the fact that he had gotten one. It made their mother feel safer and more secure, knowing that Hero had a way to call for help in an emergency, but since he had limited, prepaid minutes, they all still usually communicated with him by calling the landline at the fraternity house where he lived. In this case, however, Kel was hoping that Hero was already on his way, in which case, his cell phone would be the best way to get ahold of him.

“What if he’s driving?” sighed Mom as Kel began to flip through the address book they kept near the phone. When he found the number, Kel shrugged.

“Then he won’t answer, and I’ll just leave a message.”

“Tell him about my zoo,” giggled Sally, and Kel nodded. As he held the phone to his ear, the ringing of the telephone mingled with Sally’s best impression of a lion. A smile tugged at his mouth as he watched as his sister began to set her animal toys in the block zoo she had been building with their mother.

He was so distracted he almost didn’t hear the slow, heavy breath followed by a hoarse, groggy, “Hello?”

Kel’s brow furrowed. “Hero? Uh…it’s Kel…” He stumbled over his words, worried he had dialed the wrong number. The person on the other line barely sounded like his brother at all. There was more wheezy breathing as if Hero couldn’t catch his breath, followed by an audible gasp and a stumbling, almost panicky, “Kel? Oh my gosh—what time is it?”

“Um…around 6:00, I think.”

“I’m so sorry,” apologized Hero, sounding like himself again besides the hoarse breathiness of his voice. “I wasn’t feeling well so I lied down to take a nap before I left, and I must have completely lost track of time.” His voice cracked and hitched—raspy and wheezy before he finally burst into a fit of nasty, phlegmy coughing.

“You sound terrible. Are you sick?”

“He’s sick?” interjected their mother bustling around him in a fidgety panic. “What’s wrong? Did he see a doctor? Does he have a fever?”

“I don’t know, Mom,” huffed Kel, but he was promptly cut off by Hero.

“Mom’s there?” There was something concerned and guilty in his already weary voice. “Tell her not to worry. I’m fine. My friends have been passing this bug around. I’m the last one to catch it. I’ll probably be better in a couple days.”

Kel nodded before he realized his brother couldn’t see him; then, he turned to his mom giving her a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “He says all his friends have had this bug. It only lasts a day or two. He’s gonna be fine.”

“Tell him to take medicine, get lots of rest, and drink plenty of water and to keep checking his temperature,” his mother began rambling. “If it reaches 103, he needs to call a doctor or go to urgent care.”

“Mom,” sighed Kel. “Hero’s gonna be a doctor. I’m sure he knows all that.”

“You can hand the phone off to Mom If you want. I’ll talk to her,” Hero weakly interjected before he started coughing again. “I’m really sorry I’ll have to postpone my visit, but I’m not well enough to drive and I wouldn’t want to get you sick.”

“It’s fine, okay? Don’t worry about it. Are you sure you’re alright? That’s a really nasty cough.” Kel bit his lip, trying not to sound nearly as concerned as he felt. His fingers trembled as they gripped onto the receiver. As he looked in his mother’s face, he knew she was worried too and likely for the same reason: Hero never got sick.

“I’m fine,” he insisted but his raspy voice and coughing fit seemed to imply otherwise. “Don’t worry about me. I’m probably just going to make some instant ramen and go to bed.”

“But you hate instant ramen…”

“He’s making instant ramen,” interjected their mother. “Tell him to try to eat something healthier—more hearty like soup.”

“Mom—” Kel began to protest before Hero cut him off with a weary sigh.

“I just didn’t have the energy to make anything else…” Hero’s voice trailed, and Kel swallowed hard.

“Is there someone there who can take care of you?” he asked, and Hero sighed again.

“I don’t want to bother anyone or get them sick. Besides they’re all heading out to this party tonight.” He paused, coughing again. “But it’s fine. I’m really okay, Kel, just a little under the weather.”

Kel sighed heavily. He wished he could believe him, but Hero had always had this way of deflecting and belittling his own problems because he didn’t want people to worry. This had gotten especially bad over the past couple of years. Ever since their fight, it seemed like Hero would never tell him that anything was wrong ever again. Kel’s chest ached. His brother could be dying right now, and he’d have no idea.

“Hero—” He stopped abruptly, unsure of what he even wanted to say. It would probably just be the wrong thing anyway, so it might be better if he just didn’t say anything at all.

“I’m okay, Kel,” Hero gently insisted again. “And I’m sorry…but we’ll see each other another time. Maybe next weekend or the weekend after? Whenever I’m not contagious anymore.”

Kel sighed, but he finally answered, “Yeah…You just take care, okay? Do you want me to put Mom on now?”

Hero hummed, and Kel handed the phone off to their mother who started blustering and prattling away about cold medicine, sponge baths, and electrolytes. Kel didn’t catch most of it, but he did clearly hear, “I wish you had someone up there to take care of you.” Kel let out a long, heavy sigh. He certainly felt the same way, but that definitely wasn’t going to happen. Hero hated asking for help more than he hated instant ramen.

“Is Hero gonna be, okay?” asked Sally, tugging on his arm. Kel gave her a reassuring smile.

“Yeah. He’s just a little sick right now, but he’ll be fine. Then he’ll come visit and see your zoo.” He took Sally’s hand and led her back to the blocks and toys. “Here, I’ll help you with it.”

Helping Sally with her zoo project did not distract Kel nearly as much as he hoped. He was constantly distracted by worries about Hero and how bad his health was—if he was really telling them the whole story. He didn’t usually get sick after all, and he sounded horrible. What if he had a flu or something and needed medical attention? He could at least use someone who could check in on him and make sure he was getting water and enough to eat that wasn’t instant ramen. But Kel wasn’t sure who that would even be. Unless…

Impulsively, Kel raced upstairs to his room to grab the notecard where he had written Hero’s friend Zoey’s phone number after she had offered to let him call her whenever he got stuck on his math homework. Kel had used to call Hero with all his homework trouble, but after Hero himself was stumped by a particularly difficult math problem, his brother had suggested they ask his friend who was an engineering major and, Hero insisted, a math genius. Best of all, she had just so happened to be hanging out with him when Kel had called. Zoey had quickly solved and walked him through the problem, then several others. Then she generously offered that he could call her with any other questions—which he had multiple times. Honestly, he’d probably be failing math right now if it wasn’t for her.

He talked to her all the time, sometimes it seemed, even more than Hero, though Kel often thought he probably got a more accurate account of how Hero was actually doing from her than if he had just asked his brother himself. He could only be told ‘I’m fine, just busy’ so many times before it started sounding automatic and rehearsed. Zoey at least told him the truth: he’s stressed about upcoming exams, busy cooking food for a party his fraternity was hosting, or groggy from staying up all night studying. Kel sighed. He understood if his brother wanted to keep a lot of his life private, but, he’d be lying if he said it didn’t hurt a little to be cut off from his reality by dismissive ‘I’m fine’s. He knew Hero didn’t want him to worry and was likely just trying to protect him from that, but still…he couldn’t shake the feeling that it was his own fault. Hero probably didn’t want to tell him he was stressed out, overwhelmed, or sick because he was worried Kel would just say the wrong thing, just like he had when Hero had gotten so depressed after Mari had died.

Neither of them ever wanted that to happen again so they just didn’t really say much of anything anymore—at least not much of anything that mattered. Sure, they still talked—so much and so often that Kel knew the phone number to Hero’s fraternity house by heart, but it barely scratched the surface, never touched anything deep or meaningful. In a way, it felt hollow, distant—like Hero was only showing him a hazy impression of his life, enough to reassure Kel he was doing okay but not enough that he could feel like he actually knew him anymore, at least not like he had when they were younger and Hero had told him everything. It was getting better—had been over the past two years since they had learned the truth, but…Kel knew things would never go back to the way they were. He should probably be used to that by now. His brother was a very private person, and he probably always would be.

And by the time Kel had dialed the number and listened to two rings of the telephone, he realized with a somewhat sheepish sigh that he probably should have been a little more respectful of that. His hands began to tremble as he clutched onto the receiver—genuinely starting to worry he was crossing a line. Zoey was one of Hero’s best friends, and Hero might be embarrassed to know his younger brother had been calling her to ask if she’d check up on him.

Before he could even begin to consider hanging up, however, someone answered the phone with a “Hello?”

“Hey, uh, this is Kel. Is Zoey there?”

The young woman on the other line laughed. “Scotty, how are you?” she asked, and Kel’s mouth curved into a bright smile. He knew immediately it was her. She was the only person in the world who called him ‘Scotty.’ Zoey had explained to him once it had to do with his talent for fixing things, just like “Scotty the Miracle Man,” a reference to some old tv show Zoey said she had used to watch with her dad. It didn’t bother Kel that he didn’t get the reference. He was honestly just kind of excited to have a nickname. After all, he had never really had one besides ‘Kel’ before and that was just a shortened version of his name. He had always kind of wanted one, just like Hero, but he had never told anyone that before.

“I’m good,” he replied with a chuckle. “You?”

Zoey hummed. “I’m doing okay—been kind of busy. You stuck on your math homework again?”

“Well yeah,” Kel admitted with a shrug. “But that wasn’t why I was calling. Is this a bad time?”

“Nope. Most of my sorority sisters are headed out to this party, so that’s probably what you’re hearing in the background.”

Kel’s brow furrowed. He heard some background chatter and rustling noises, but it was all kind of faint—nothing he would have thought was worth mentioning if Zoey hadn’t brought it up herself. “You’re not going to the party?”

“I have a project due next week, and honestly, parties aren’t really my scene. Don’t tell your brother, but I really don’t think I’d have a good time without him there anyway. We’re usually the only sober ones, and drunk company’s really not all it’s cracked up to be,” she replied dryly, and Kel laughed but shrugged his shoulders.

“Have you talked to Hero at all?”

“Not since yesterday. Did he make it home okay?”

Kel sighed. “He’s not coming. He’s sick.” Kel paused—sighing again and trying not to sound too disappointed. “He called like 45 minutes ago—has this terrible cough. He says he caught some bug or something and isn’t well enough to drive.”

“I knew this would happen,” huffed Zoey though she sounded more guilty than upset. “We’ve all been passing this flu around, and Hero’s been trying to take care of everyone so, of course, he got sick himself.”

“A flu?” interrupted Kel. He shook his head. So Hero had been underexaggerating again…? He should’ve known.

“I’m sure he’s going to be okay,” Zoey reassured him. “He has a really strong immune system—barely ever gets sick. It’s one of the reasons he’s going to be a great doctor. Don’t worry. I had this flu too—got over it in a couple days.”

“He got it from you?” teased Kel, and Zoey laughed.

“Probably from Kyle. They are roommates. But we’ve all had it. Hero’s the last one.” Zoey paused, sighed. “We really didn’t think he was going to get sick.”

“Yeah he uh…usually doesn’t, but he sounded pretty miserable when I talked to him earlier today. Said the only thing he could eat was instant ramen.”

“He hates instant ramen,” Zoey interjected, and Kel shook his head with a sigh.

“I know.” He paused thoughtfully then tried to ask as nonchalantly as he could manage, “Hey…uh…do you think you could bring him over some food or something? Just so he wouldn’t have to keep eating instant ramen. I wouldn’t want you to get sick or anything, but since you already had it, maybe you could just drop it off and maybe check in to make sure he’s doing okay…?” His voice trailed, and he bit his lip as he waited for her answer.

“I’m not much of a cook, Scotty,” chuckled Zoey. “But I could stop by a restaurant or Other Mart to pick up a couple things and drop them off for him. You know it’s only going to make him feel guilty though. He’ll help anybody that needs him without batting an eye, but the minute you try to turn it around and return the favor, it’s suddenly a big deal.”

Shaking his head slightly, Kel sighed. “Yeah…that’s just Hero for you.”

When Zoey sighed herself, Kel imagined she was shaking her head with the same somewhat affectionate exasperation, but she hummed thoughtfully. “I’m sure he’s feeling pretty miserable right now, and not just because he’s sick. He’s been so excited to see you—talked about practically nothing else for the past couple weeks.”

“Really?” The question slipped out before Kel could stop it, and his face flushed. Luckily, she couldn’t see him.

“Yeah, of course,” Zoey chuckled like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I don’t know if I’ve ever known anyone who’s so excited to see his brother. I mean, I love my brother, but the way Hero talks about you—it’s like you’re the most important person in the whole world, his best friend.”

“I don’t think I’m his best friend anymore,” mumbled Kel without thinking.

“Hey…” Zoey’s tone of voice softened—something gentle and sympathetic in it. “If you’re talking about me or Kyle or Brandi, C.J., Lorraine, Tamra…yeah, we’re all Hero’s friends and we all care about him, but none of us are you. And we’re never going to be you, Scotty. You’ll always be number one.”

“I dunno,” sighed Kel. He was pretty sure he lost that spot when he was insensitive, said all the wrong things after Mari died—when he hurt his brother, broke him.

“I don’t really know if it’s my place to say but…” Zoey began tentatively, but she let out a conceding sigh. “You know the only time I ever really see Hero happy is when he talks about you—about how amazing you are and how proud he is. His face just lights up, and he smiles for real—it actually reaches his eyes.”

Kel’s face grew warm, but he stifled a chuckle. It was funny to hear her say that considering he would have said the exact same thing about her. They all would have. It was Sunny who had noticed it first, actually, on account of the fact he lived in the city and Hero often invited him to hang out with him and his friends. Kel would never forget how he had excitedly told him, Aubrey, and Basil all about what it had been like to see Hero smile again. They almost hadn’t believed him, but then Hero had come home on a break and told him about how he got caught in the rain with some friend of his, a spunky engineering major who thankfully had a red umbrella. In the middle of his story, Hero’s face had lit up and he had smiled just like Sunny had said, a real smile that actually reached his eyes. Kel’s chest ached just thinking about it—about how much he wished his brother would smile like that all time, about how much he wished he would be happy again.

Kel took a long, deep breath. Could it really be possible that Hero smiled like that when he talked about him too? He couldn’t really believe that. Not after everything that had happened.

“He really loves you, you know?” Zoey continued quietly, and Kel fidgeted. Could she read his mind or something? “If the situation was reversed and you were sick and he was hours away, he’d be calling your friends too—having Aubrey and Basil go check up on you and make sure you’re doing okay. He’d probably be calling your parents all the time for updates too. Everyone in Faraway Town would be keeping an eye on you for him.”

Something twisted in Kel’s chest, and his eyes fluttered closed as he took a deep breath. “Please don’t tell him I’m worried.” His voice hitched over his words—quiet, small, like he was that little boy cowering in the corner watching Hero break again.

“You can tell him yourself,” Zoey gently encouraged. “I’m sure he—”

“You know about our fight, right?” Kel interrupted without thinking. He swallowed hard—the only sound during the long, heavy pause which followed. It probably crossed a line to ask that. He didn’t even know if she knew, but Hero had told him he had told Zoey about Mari, had told her a lot of things that he didn’t think he’d ever tell anyone. It wouldn’t have surprised Kel if their fight was one of them.

“Yes,” Zoey finally admitted—quiet, matter-of-fact. “He told me.”

Kel huffed lightly, breathily almost a disbelieving laugh. “Then you know why I can’t just call him up and tell him I’m—” His voice hitched, and he stopped abruptly.

“Kel—” she began to protest, but he cut her off.

“And you also know that it’s all my fault that we’re not—” He stopped abruptly—the words getting caught in the back of his throat. He shut his eyes tightly and swallowed hard.

“That’s not the story he told me.”

Something twisted in Kel’s chest. He couldn’t imagine what else his brother could have possibly said. Even if Hero had tried his best to protect him with his account and paint him in a better light so Zoey wouldn’t hate him, he couldn’t change the fact that it was his pushy and insensitive words that had broken him, right? He was the one who had made him feel guilty, made him feel like it was his fault he was so depressed, like he could just snap out of it somehow, like he wasn’t doing enough, and worst of all, like he was disrespecting Mari. He was the one who had said all the wrong things, who hadn’t been sensitive or kind enough like Hero himself would have been if the situation had been reversed. He was the one who said this wasn’t what Mari would have wanted, and he was the one who watched while those words broke his brother. He was the one who had broken him.

No version of the story Hero could have possibly told anyone could have changed that, but he supposed it was really none of his business.

“You know, Kel,” Zoey continued with a heavy sigh. “Sometimes we put up walls between ourselves and the people we love because we’re afraid of hurting them. It doesn’t mean we don’t love them—it just means we don’t know how.”

Kel’s chest ached, but he swallowed hard. “And you’re saying Hero’s like that?” He paused, and the words slipped out before he could stop them. “With you?”

“With everyone.” She hadn’t missed a beat. Kel supposed he admired that about her. She could be so honest but so kind too, and she knew Hero so well. Kel could tell that she cared about him and was a good friend. Both she and Hero vehemently insisted they were nothing more than that, and Kel believed them—which is why his question probably crossed a line, why Zoey felt compelled to add, “Not just me. You know that we’re not—”

“Yeah, sorry,” stumbled Kel interrupting as he shifted and fumbled around with the phone in his hands. “I didn’t mean anything by that. I just—”

“It’s okay,” she thankfully cut him off. “Just wanted to make sure you weren’t getting the wrong idea. We get teased enough as it is by our friends—I can tell it bothers him. He won’t say, but I know it’s a touchy subject…”

“Do you think he’ll ever…uh…you know…?” he stumbled over the question, feeling guilty for even asking though he was desperate to hear another opinion that wasn’t the dismal ones he, Aubrey, Basil, and Sunny could generally come up with. Given the way he had tripped over his words, he wasn’t sure she’d even understand what he was trying to say, but she sighed.

“Honestly…I don’t know.” She paused thoughtfully. “But I do know that he’s not ready right now.”

Kel’s brow furrowed. That wasn’t exactly the answer he was expecting. “He told you that?” he asked before he could stop himself.

There was a long pause before Zoey answered, “Yes.” Her voice was matter-of-fact, pragmatic, and unreadable, but she sighed heavily. “Scotty, if you want to talk to Hero I feel like you should. He’s your brother. You should be hearing all this stuff from him—not me. It’s really none of my business.”

“He won’t talk to me.” Kel’s face flushed. He hadn’t meant to say that out loud. Zoey sighed.

“Kel…”

“It’s fine. It’s just…the way it is, you know?” he shrugged, swallowing hard. “He wouldn’t even tell me how sick he was.”

“He didn’t want you to worry.”

Kel huffed. “Well, I did anyway.”

“I’ll go check on him, okay?” Her voice softened—kind and sympathetic, almost reassuring. “But he’s going to be fine. Don’t worry. Then, I’ll call you later and tell you all about how he’s feeling better already.” She paused chuckling. “Okay?”

Kel sighed, but he shrugged his shoulders conceding, “Okay.”

“Good. Now what’s that math problem you’re stuck on?”

Kel snorted a laugh in spite of himself. “You think we have time for that?”

“Unless you want me to tell your brother you called specifically to ask me to check up on him, then yeah—I’m gonna have to actually help you with your homework,” she quipped dryly. “I think there’s a special place in hell for the kind of person who’d lie to Hero.”

Reaching for his math textbook, Kel laughed. “Alright…Well in that case, it’s another one of those functions…”

*-*-*

Wearily rubbing his eyes, Hero groaned. He was so exhausted it took all of his strength just to roll over onto his side so he could reach his bottle of water. He knew it was important for him to stay hydrated, even without his mother reminding him, and was truthfully desperate for something to drink given how hoarse and sore his throat was after he had just woken up.

Coughing, he managed to take a few sips before he sunk back down into his bed. Sunny had once rated it a 9 out of 10, but now Hero would probably rate it an 11, the most comfortable bed on earth. He never wanted to leave it ever, ever again—but that was probably just the flu talking.

Hero couldn’t remember the last time he had had the flu. He rarely ever got sick. Contracting what he had originally thought was a cold was a surprise enough, but he had just chalked it up to being a little under the weather and tried to push through it—until he had crashed that afternoon after a coughing fit—chilled, aching, and too tired to even move. By the time he woke up to answer Kel’s call, he was honestly miserable—phlegmy, wheezy, shivering, and so feverish he could barely put a sentence together. Even now, his head throbbed, and his thoughts were cloudy and muddled. He felt disoriented and too exhausted to even think too hard.

Hero sighed. He should probably take his temperature again—make sure it wasn’t too dangerously high. It barely took any time at all for the thermometer to ding—flashing a whopping 102.2 degrees Fahrenheit. Hero took a long, deep breath, or at least as deep as he could manage given his nasty cough. A fever that high certainly explained why he felt so crummy. He reached for some tissues and blew his nose before he coughed again. It would probably be best if he just went back to sleep.

His eyelids grew heavier and heavier until they finally started drooping closed, but Hero was distracted by rustling noises he heard downstairs. His brow furrowed. He thought his entire fraternity was out at a party. Had someone come back early?

The sound of footsteps walking up the stairs echoed through the hallway, followed by a knock on the door to his room.

“Uh…Come in…?” Hero mumbled unsurely in a hoarse voice before he coughed again. He tilted his head at the door as it swung open, and Zoey walked in with two bags—one paper, one plastic.

“You look terrible,” she teased dryly, but her freckled nose wrinkled as she smiled at him brightly enough that it reached her green eyes.

“Zoey?” Hero stumbled slowly, breathily. He rubbed his head—unsure if he was seeing things. “What are you doing here?”

“I heard you were sick so I brought you some soup and a Hero sandwich but I put that in the refrigerator since I thought you probably weren’t up for solid food yet.” She reached into the paper bag and took out a plastic spoon and a to-go container of soup from his favorite soup and sandwich place in the city.

“Thank you…” Hero’s voice trailed as he struggled to catch his breath.

“It was nothing, especially compared to the homemade soup you made me when I was sick.” With a thoughtful hum, she ran her hand through her short, red hair and began fumbling around in the plastic bag. “I’ve also got you some sports drinks, water, cough drops, tissues, tea, and VapoRub.”

“You really didn’t have to do that…” Hero insisted in a raspy whisper. “How much do I owe you?”

Zoey waved her hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about it. It’s my co-op semester so I’m basically rolling in money.” She chuckled lightly. “Plus, I wanted to do this for you. What are friends for, right? And I mean, I’m the reason you got sick.”

Hero shook his head weakly as he took a long breath. “No, you’re not.”

“Right. Sorry. It was all of us,” Zoey corrected with a lopsided twitch of her mouth. “And your lack of boundaries.”

Hero chuckled lightly in spite of himself, but it quickly turned into coughing. As Zoey scrambled to get him some water, he managed to choke out, “Sorry…”

Zoey tilted her head handing him the water to drink. “For what?”

Hero shrugged, but he took a few sips. “I don’t want to get you sick.”

“I’ve already had it. I’ll be fine.” She sighed with a pointed tilt of her head. “You take this ‘hero’ stuff way too seriously, you know? It’s not gonna kill you to let someone take care of you every once and awhile.” She pushed his desk chair next to his bedside and took a seat. “Now you just sit back, relax, and take easy, okay? Mama’s here.”

“I thought I was ‘Mama’,” he teased—dry and breathy. He wouldn’t have had the energy to argue with Zoey on the best day but especially not when he was so rundown and miserably ill like this, so instead he chose to banter. Mama was the nickname his roommate and Zoey’s long-time best friend Kyle had given him back in their freshman year, after all, so it seemed appropriate.

A smile tugged at Hero’s chapped lips as he watched Zoey laugh. Something warm spread through his aching chest knowing he had made her smile.

“Hey, I was ‘Mama’ before you were,” she bantered back. “But don’t worry I won’t tell Kyle.” She twisted her mouth to the side, but her expression softened as she reached out to take his hand. Frowning, she shook her head. “Your hands are so clammy.”

“Sorry…” mumbled Hero as she pushed some sweaty hair out of his face—pressing her palm to his forehead.

“You’re burning up. You have a thermometer?”

Hero nodded—then weaky motioned to his bedside table where his thermometer was sitting amongst a bunch of tissues. “I just took it. It’s 102.2.”

Zoey’s brow furrowed. “When do we call a doctor?”

Hero shrugged. “Probably if it’s over 103…” His breathy voice trailed wearily. “But there’s things you can try to bring it down before then.”

“Like a cold sponge bath like in a movie?” asked Zoey, her mouth quirking to the side. Hero shook his head.

“You want it lukewarm—not cold. If it’s cold, the blood vessels will constrict, and the body will hold onto heat…” He sighed then coughed into his elbow. After he managed to catch his breath, he added, “But tepid water is good. You can take a wet rag and use it to sponge the back of the neck or the forehead—the arms and torso would help too.”

“You want me to go get one?”

Hero’s face flushed, finally realizing what he had said and that it had come out in a way he hadn’t intended. “No, uh… I meant ‘you’ in the impersonal sense. I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

Her mouth curved into a slight smile. “I’m happy to help.”

“I know,” he said, but he fidgeted, something almost bashful in his expression. “But I uh…I wouldn’t want you to have to see me…uh…”—his voice cracked and he mumbled—“shirtless.”

Zoey chuckled. “You’re adorable, you know that?” she teased. “It’s nothing I haven’t seen before. We’ve been to the beach how many times and you’re a lifeguard for goodness sakes. You can’t possibly be that self-conscious.”

“That’s different. That was the beach or the pool—this is…” He could feel his ears burning. “my room. We’re alone here, and—”

“And you’re sick. It’s all medical. Surely, I don’t need to explain that to you, future doctor.” She crossed her arms with a pointed look, before she clicked her tongue and bantered, “Yes, we all know you’re very attractive, Mr. Prince, but you kind of look like death warmed over right now. It’s nothing to get worked up over.”

Hero choked, then coughed repeatedly—phlegmy and guttural, definitely not attractive in the slightest. As he hacked and lurched forward, Zoey patted him on the back, firm but gentle before she rubbed her hand across his shoulders.

“Woah. Woah. Take it easy. I was just teasing you.” Her voice was soft and kind, and there was something so gentle in her eyes as she met his and apologized. “Sorry.”

Hero’s insides twisted. He could tell he had worried her, and he couldn’t stand it. He never wanted anyone to worry about him—especially not his friends.

“No. It’s okay,” he insisted when he finally caught his breath, but his words got jumbled and muddled in his foggy brain and scratchy throat. “I…I know you were... It’s just…that’s not what I meant. I was just…embarrassed. I mean you’ve already had to see me in my pajamas.” Hero stared down at his pajama shirt and pulled on the collar as his face burned and not just from the fever.

“Your grandpa pajamas?” Zoey teased dryly. His face flushed, but he nodded. Chuckling lightly, Zoey shook her head. “You do realize I’ve seen Kyle in his underwear more times than I’d care to admit, right? This is nothing. And besides, I’ve already seen them before.”

“You’ve”—Hero’s voice cracked—“seen my pajamas?”

“Well not in person, but Sunny drew me a picture of you in them.”

“Sunny drew you a picture of me in my pajamas?” Hero repeated incredulously in a disbelieving, hoarse voice.

Zoey shrugged but answered matter-of-factly. “He only draws you in your pajamas. He draws everybody in pajamas. You know, the last time I saw him he asked me about my pajamas so he could draw me in pajamas too.”

“Why—?” Hero’s voice hitched—cut off by an awkward laugh and wheezy coughing. “Why would he do that?”

“No idea. You tell me.” She paused, but Hero could only shrug his shoulders. Sunny was a talented artist, but Hero would be lying if he said he understood a lot of his abstract pieces or the reasoning behind them. Zoey’s guess as to why Sunny wanted to draw everyone in pajamas was as good as his, he supposed. “But I’m pretty sure he always draws you in these exact pajamas—long sleeves, button down shirt, stripes. I remember thinking ‘why does Sunny think Hero wears grandpa pajamas?’ but clearly it’s because you do.”

Hero chuckled lightly but tilted his head at her. “What’s wrong with my pajamas?”

“Nothing—if you’re over the age of 70,” bantered Zoey. “If you’re not, I don’t think anyone’s worn pajamas like these since the 1950s, but I guess you were always a Wally Cleaver type, huh?”

As his face burned, Hero sighed. “I don’t think I’m as charming as Wally Cleaver, and I’m definitely not as athletic as him. And he had all those girlfriends…”

“That’s a moot point,” Zoey interrupted, waving her hand at him. “Wally wanted all those girlfriends—you don’t. If you did, you absolutely could have them.”

“I’m sure that’s not—” Hero began as his blush deepened, but Zoey cut him off again.

“No, it is. Every girl in my sorority house would date you in a heartbeat,” she replied bluntly—pragmatic as if it was a well-known fact, but her mouth curved into a lopsided grin as she dryly teased. “You are Mr. Prince, after all.”

“Tamra has a boyfriend…” Hero protested—weak but somewhat playful.

Zoey sighed, rolling her eyes. “Well okay…not Tamra then...”

“Or you,” he quietly added, but Zoey’s mouth twitched into a lopsided smile.

“I don’t know, Mr. Prince. If you were actually interested in me, I think I’d have to seriously consider it—especially now that I’ve seen you in your grandpa pajamas.” She beamed at him with a bright, teasing grin before she let out a short, playful whistle.

Hero blushed before he buried his burning face in his hands. “Zoey…”

Before either of them could say anything more, however, they were interrupted by a distant, shrill whistling sound.

“That’s the kettle,” said Zoey. “I’ll be right back with some tea for you.”

“You really don’t have to—” Hero began to weakly protest, but she cut him off with a pointed stare.

“I don’t want to hear it, Henry.”

Hero paused. It still caught him off guard every time she used his real name. It wasn’t too often that she did—only when she wanted to tell him to stop being a ‘hero.’ It was her way of reminding him to take care of himself, reminding him that it was okay if he was just ‘Henry’ for a while. If Hero was being honest, it meant a lot to him to know someone cared enough to tell him that. Zoey had been telling him that for years now, but she only started calling him ‘Henry’ to do it after he had told her about Mari.

To this day he wasn’t sure why exactly he had told her in the first place besides the fact she had sort of figured it out on her own, but he was grateful that he had told her the truth, had finally been able to share that with someone. He would never forget the way she had cried for him—held him, told him that she wished he and Mari had gotten their forever. He had been so stunned, so moved by her empathy and kindness, that he had just panicked—trying to apologize for making her sad, for making her cry. After a lot of back and forth of him apologizing profusely and her gentle reassurances that it was okay, she had finally just cut him off in that spunky little way of hers. “No. None of that, Henry,” she had said with a pointed emphasis on his real name, trying her best not to smile as she said it for possibly the first time. Even so, she had insisted, “I’m serious. I’m going to keep calling you that until you stop that. Stop being a ‘Hero’—stop worrying about everybody else for just a second. It won’t kill you to be a little selfish for once…and it’ll honestly make the rest of us look better.”

Hero chuckled lightly to himself just thinking about it. She certainly kept her word—pulled his real name out for that reason whenever she felt he needed reminding of that. There was always a certain warmth and a flutter in his chest whenever he heard her say it.

A smile tugged at his mouth as he stifled a laugh, and the way her lips twitched in the corners made him realize she was trying not to laugh now too. Could it be that even after all this time, it still felt a little unnatural, a little awkward for her to call him that? After all, she generally called him ‘Hero’ or if she was feeling playful or cheeky ‘Mr. Prince.’

Hero’s chuckling was soon drowned out by coughing again, and Zoey patted his back and handed him tissues, water, and a cough drop until he finally calmed again.

“Still think you don’t need me?” she quipped, quirking an eyebrow at him.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he admitted quietly.

Her smile widened before she gave him one final pat on the back then took off down the stairs. “I’ll be right back with the tea.”

Hero took a long, shaky breath, trying his best to stay awake as he waited for her to return. His mind was feeling hazy again—sluggish and foggy from fever and exhaustion, but a question nagged at him. How had Zoey known he was sick? Yes, she was very perceptive, and there had certainly been times he was almost convinced she had to be a mind reader but…he hadn’t been that ill when he talked to her last. He supposed Kyle could have said something, but as far as Hero knew, Kyle had just assumed he was napping not battling with a flu.

“Here’s your tea,” said Zoey, swiftly reappearing with a warm mug, a gift from his fraternity brothers that read ‘World’s Best Mama.’ Hero laughed every time he saw it, though this time it came out more like a breathy wheeze then a cough. “It’s lemon and echinacea since you’re sick. I put a little honey in it for you too.”

Hero smiled as she handed him the cup. He probably shouldn’t have been surprised. Zoey was one of his best friends. She probably knew more about him than anyone else—of course, that would extend to knowing how he took his tea. But it wouldn’t extend to knowing he was sick, would it?

“Thank you,” he mumbled, taking a sip of his cup of tea before he took a long, shaky breath. “Hey…Zoey?”

“Yeah?”

“How did you know I was sick?” Hero swallowed hard—then coughed again. Zoey tilted her head pointedly at him.

“It’s kind of obvious,” she quipped—deflecting. Hero sighed. He knew a lot about that himself.

“Yeah…but did someone tell you? Ask you to check up on me?”

Zoey sighed heavily, but she finally admitted. “Yes. Scotty mentioned it when he called me earlier. He said you were too sick to drive home this weekend so you had to cancel your trip.”

Hero blinked at her. It took a minute for the words she had said to register. Scotty was her nickname for Kel, some reference he had never quite gotten himself, but it seemed to make his brother happy to have a nickname. Hero’s head ached. His brother…? “Kel?” he asked in a weary confusion. “Kel called you?”

Zoey nodded. “I helped him with his math homework.”

Hero swallowed hard. Somehow he knew that wasn’t the entire truth. The thought made something twist in his chest. He bit his lip as he quietly asked, “Is he worried about me?”

“What do you think?” Zoey paused, but from the look she was giving him now, Hero knew the answer, if he hadn’t already. “You two are a lot alike you know—you both worry about each other but won’t really say.”

“I don’t want Kel to worry...” The words slipped out without him really thinking about them—honest, vulnerable, real. The feverish haze was loosening his tongue, it seemed. Hero’s brow furrowed. He didn’t like it for the same reasons he didn’t like drinking. It felt like losing control—only this time, he didn’t have the energy to care too much.

“Then I don’t think not telling him anything is the answer,” Zoey replied. “Kel’s pretty smart, you know? He knows something’s wrong even when you won’t say—knew you were way sicker than you let on. He asked if I could stop by and check on you.”

Hero’s face flushed. He couldn’t really process what she was saying, “Kel did that?”

“Why do you sound so surprised?”

Hero swallowed hard. He met her eyes—hoping the look in them would say louder than any words that she already knew why. Ever since their fight, he had felt Kel slipping away—walking on eggshells around him like he was scared he was fragile and would snap again. No matter what he did to try to reassure Kel that he was okay and that he would never lash out at him like that ever again, Hero couldn’t shake the feeling that he was losing his brother. He tried his best to stay connected—talking to him all the time, planning trips home to visit him, even letting him stay with him in the city, and even though things had been getting better since they had learned the truth two years ago, Hero knew that they would never be the same. They could never be the same, not anymore. Not after…

“I really hurt him…” Hero’s voice cracked—breathy, dazed, but heart-wrenchingly guilty even all these years later.

He hadn’t realized he had said that aloud, until Zoey gently reassured him, “And you apologized and moved on. That’s all, in the past now. I don’t think Kel holds it against you at all.” She paused, sighed. “What if he’s sitting around, saying the same thing—worrying the same thing…?”

Hero’s chest ached, but he shook his head. “No, I…”

“Hero,” Zoey sighed, cutting him off. “If there’s distance between you and Kel, it’s only because the two of you won’t just talk to each other. If you did, maybe you’d realize you’re both scared of the exact same thing, and that it’s not worth being worried about. You had one fight. It doesn’t mean your relationship is just broken forever.”

“It was a really big fight,” Hero gently protested, swallowing hard before he tried to catch his breath. “There are some things you just can’t come back from.”

“And I can promise you, this is not one of them.” She reached out and took his hand again, holding it tightly until he looked up at her and her reassuring green eyes. “You should hear the way Kel talks about you. It’s constant—all the time, no matter what we’re talking about. We’ll be working on polynomial functions and suddenly he’ll just start going on and on about how you always got all As on your report card or how you jumped into a lake to save Sunny and Basil or how you won some hot dog eating contest. He polishes all your trophies while you’re away at school. He’d be the first to tell you that you are the kindest, most amazing person he’s ever known, and he wants to be just like you. You’re his hero—no pun intended. And nothing you could possibly say could change that—could change how much he looks up to you.”

Hero’s face flushed red—he could feel the tips of his ears burning as he turned away from her staring down at his duvet. “He…he said all that?”

“He didn’t have to. Scotty wears his heart on his sleeve. It’s obvious, and honestly you only have to talk to him for five minutes to know how important you are to him. It honestly makes me wonder a little about what Jared and Lorraine say about me—probably nothing nice,” she chuckled teasingly with an affectionate roll of her eyes. “I can almost guarantee you; most people are not talking about their siblings like they’re actual saints behind their backs.”

Hero chuckled lightly, but his expression softened—something warm spreading through his chest as he thought about Kel. Could that really be true?

He sighed, pushing the thought away—grateful for the opportunity Zoey had given him to change the subject to her own family. Hero knew that wasn’t her intention, but he was taking the opportunity anyway. No matter how easy Zoey was to talk to and how many private and difficult things he had told her about himself, he still didn’t like to be the center of conversation and would never enjoy talking about himself. Zoey didn’t enjoy that either, so he wouldn’t want to put her on the spot, but this was about her siblings, right?

Hero didn’t know Zoey’s younger brother Jared very well, but he didn’t really seem like the type to have many nice things to say about anyone, but her twin sister, Lorraine, was also a good friend of his. They often knitted or did arts and crafts together during which time Lorraine tended to gush about her sister in a way Hero found very sweet and endearing. He hoped Lorraine wouldn’t mind if he told her that.

“Lorraine has nothing but nice things to say about you,” he admitted with a slight smile. “She’s always telling me how smart, driven, and beautiful you are. How you’re strong and honest but so kind, so much softer than you want people to know. She says you’d make a great girlfriend.” Hero blushed. That last part had just slipped out—he probably wouldn’t have said it, if he wasn’t so feverish, but Zoey just laughed.

“Lorraine said that to you?” She sighed, rolling her eyes somewhat affectionately but the look in them was genuinely guilty. “Sorry. I’ll talk to her.”

As he coughed, Hero shook his head. “No, it’s…it’s okay. She’s right…” His voice trailed, distant and breathy, but he couldn’t stop the words that tumbled out of his mouth, “You are all of those things, and if you did ever want to date someone, that person would be very lucky…”

“Not nearly as lucky as the person who gets your heart, Mr. Prince.”

Even though Hero was sure she was only teasing him, his face flushed anyway—burning to the tips of his ears. He pursed his lips together, then stared down at his hands on the duvet. “It’s pretty broken…I’m not sure it’s much of a prize anymore,” he mumbled, trying his best to play along despite the sadness that crept into his words.

He bit his lip, but he felt her warm, gentle hand reach out to take his. He couldn’t look at her face, but he felt her squeeze his hand, heard her voice—quiet but sincere. “I don’t think that’s true.”

As he took a long, shallow breath, Hero shivered, but he wasn’t sure it was from the fever. Zoey let go of his hand immediately.

“You’re trembling. Let’s get you another blanket,” she said, turning towards Kyle’s bed. “You can have Kyle’s. He won’t mind.”

“It’s okay. I have a quilt…It’s under the bed.” Hero struggled to catch his breath as he leaned forward, trying to pull himself out of bed to look for it, but Zoey gently reached out her hand to stop him.

“I’ll get it,” she insisted; then she pulled the quilt out of one of the plastic bins under Hero’s bed—unfurling it then tucking it around him, all the way up to his chin. With a sigh, she ran her hand across the carefully stitched pattern of bright orange and yellow marigolds. “It’s beautiful.”

“My Tía Gloria made it for me after Mari died.” The words just slipped out—automatic, unfiltered. Hero flushed. He hadn’t meant to say that—probably wouldn’t have to anyone else, maybe not even to her if he was a better state.

“Oh Hero…” Zoey began quietly, but Hero cut her off with a fit of coughing that upset his blankets. Zoey pat his back again, but he could feel her tender hand running across his shoulders long after he had stopped coughing.

“Zoey…I…” he began, hoping the words would come to him if he just started talking, but thankfully she cut him off.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to explain anything—unless of course, you want to,” she paused, blinking at him with a soft expression in her eyes. “But I don’t need explanations, especially not now when you’re sick.”

Hero sighed in relief, and hoped the look in his eyes would convey the gratitude he didn’t quite have the strength to express at the moment. “Thank you...”

“Don’t mention it,” shrugged Zoey. “You look tired. You want me to go?”

“You can stay if you want—maybe watch a movie…?”

Zoey smiled, but as she glanced over at the tv and shelves of tapes which, naturally almost all belonged to Kyle, she teased. “Let me guess: the choices are raunchy comedy or sports biopic?”

Hero chuckled, lightly, breathily. Zoey certainly knew Kyle and his movie collection very well. He supposed he would expect that given how long the two of them had been friends. “We rented The Godfather from Blockbuster.”

“That’s not bad,” hummed Zoey. “But if we’re talking about Brando’s mob movies, On The Waterfront is better.”

A smile twitched in the corners of Hero’s mouth. “I have that one.”

“Really?” Zoey asked, her brow furrowing, and Hero nodded. “So you really do like old black-and-white movies after all, huh? Here I was thinking you were all talk.”

Hero let out a few chuckling heavy breaths, then swallowed hard. Finally, he took a sip of water trying to cool the burning of his hoarse throat. “I only have a few tapes. Most are in color, but I have some black-and-white.” He paused—shutting his eyes as he tried to clear his head—sifting through the fogginess to focus on his tape collection until he could picture it in the feverish haze of his mind. “Casablanca, Roman Holiday, It’s A Wonderful Life, 12 Angry Men, Christmas in Connecticut…”

“You do not have Christmas in Connecticut over there,” Zoey interrupted in disbelief.

Hero took a deep breath, but he nodded. “It’s on the bottom shelf.”

“I’ve never met another person who has even heard of that movie,” laughed Zoey, but Hero just shrugged, pulling the quilt up around his shoulders again.

“It’s one of my favorites. Always makes me laugh. I love the scene where she tries to flip the flapjacks and the pancake sticks to the ceiling.” Hero laughed then, par for the course, coughed.

“It’s one of my mom’s favorite movies too,” Zoey said as he handed him his water, giving him a firm but gentle pat on the back for good measure. “I used to wonder if that was because the main character falls in love with a navy guy.”

“Like your dad…?” asked Hero, worrying only after the fact that it was a prying question. He didn’t know much about Zoey’s father except that he was an admiral in the navy, and, according to Kyle, particularly stern, serious, and somewhat frightening. Zoey, however, only shrugged.

“I don’t know. I think my dad is a lot rougher around the edges than Jefferson Jones.” Her lips curved into a smile. “Jefferson’s pretty soft—quite the catch actually: sincere, generous, kind, domestic…and he can play piano.”

Hero’s brow furrowed, and he stumbled in confusion, “Is…that a…?”

“Perk?” Zoey finished for him. Then she chuckled dryly and nodded. “Yeah, I think so.”

“Are you just saying that because you know I can play?” asked Hero dryly, but his mouth twitched in the corners.

“You know I’ve never actually heard you play before,” she teased back. “You could be terrible. In which case, it wouldn’t be a perk at all—more like a deterrent.”

Hero chuckled lightly. “I probably am terrible. I’m really rusty, and out of practice.”

“Well, we’ll never know for sure will we.” Her mouth curved into a lopsided grin before her expression softened. “Though Scotty told me you used to be quite the pianist—had a lot of fun with it. What did you used to play when you were in practice?”

“Nothing too complicated. I…I think my favorite song to play was ‘Vienna.’”

“Billy Joel?” asked Zoey, and Hero hummed. “That has a great piano part.”

“Yeah it’s pretty fun. I’ve always been a fan.”

“I can see that…” teased Zoey glancing over at the stack of CDs on Hero’s bedside table. Cold Spring Harbor was on the top—probably because Hero had been listening to a particular song on it on repeat. His face flushed as he thought about why, but he swallowed hard and shrugged his shoulders, trying his best to push the thought away.

“I used to annoy Kel with it a little, I think,” he admitted. “I played it over and over. He once threw a pillow at me while I was practicing and yelled ‘Don’t you know any other songs?’” Hero chuckled breathily, and Zoey laughed.

“When was the last time you played it?”

“I dunno. It’s been years…had to have been before Mari died.” He paused—catching his breath, but he kept talking, almost like he couldn’t stop. “I haven’t really played anything since then. I played a few bars on her piano before her family moved away, but…” His voice hitched, and his chest ached—panging in that all too familiar space in his heart that Mari had left behind. “You know I…honestly I learned to play piano because she loved it. I enjoyed it sure—it was fun, but Mari…Mari was the one who had real passion for music and I guess…I just wanted to be part of that. After she died, I just…I didn’t want to play anymore—didn’t want to play without her.”

Hero stopped—his face flushing. He hadn’t meant to say all of that. Talking about Mari with Zoey was getting easier—clearly, but he wasn’t sure if that was a good thing, just like he wasn’t sure if he would have even said all of that if he hadn’t been sick or feverish. He couldn’t bring himself to look at her, to know that he made the smile disappear from her face, made something sad pass over her eyes.

“I’m sorry…” he began to apologize. “I keep talking about her…” Swallowing hard, he stared down intently at his quilt—running his hands over the thoughtfully embroidered orange and yellow marigolds—a symbol of hope, remembrance, a connection that endures even after death.

“It’s okay, Hero…” said Zoey, quiet, gentle as she reached out to pat his hand. “And it’s okay if you never want to play piano again either. You don’t have to. It’s nothing to feel guilty about.”

Hero took a long breath, watching as Zoey’s fingers slipped between his. He curled his hand catching hers—intertwining their fingers, holding on tightly to her. “I’d play for you if you wanted…”

“I know you would,” Zoey replied with a tilt of her head and a kind smile. “And as much as I would love to hear you play piano, I’d only want you to play because that’s what you wanted—not because you felt obligated. Someday if you see a piano and you just feel like playing, I hope you will and then you can call me and play for me, but don’t force yourself. It should be something that makes you happy, like it used to.”

Hero’s chest ached, but he managed the twitch of a bantering smile as he asked dryly, “How else will I pay you back for taking care of me when I was sick?”

“Oh, don’t worry about that. Our debts are paid,” she insisted with a dismissive wave of her hand. “You took care of me first remember, and besides I’ve already gotten my reward which is getting to see you in your grandpa pajamas,” she teased winking playfully at him.

“Zoey!” Hero burst into a fit of laughter mixed with intense, nasty coughing.

“If you’re going to have a coughing fit every time you laugh, do you really think we should watch this movie?” she quipped, but Hero shrugged.

“It’s fine. I’m probably just going to fall asleep anyway.”

Chuckling, Zoey got up from her seat and put the tape into the VCR with a “Okay. Whatever you say” then she curled up on the edge of Kyle’s bed—pulling her knees to her chest as she leaned back into his mountain of throw pillows.

Hero chuckled a little himself before his weary eyes started drooping again. He had been right, of course. He started nodding off during the opening credits and was sound asleep before he even got anywhere close to his favorite flapjack scene. He wasn’t sure if he had dreamed it or imagined it in a half-asleep daze, but he could have sworn that once the movie had ended, he had felt gentle fingers tangling in his hair as it was pushed out of his forehead and Zoey’s voice whispering, “C.J.’s back now and will keep an eye on you, so I’m going to head out. You take care of yourself, Henry…”

*-*-*

Two Weeks Later…

“You made it!” exclaimed Kel excitedly as Hero walked through the front door with his suitcase. Kel threw his arms around him, hugging him tightly.

“Sorry it took so long,” Hero chuckled lightly as he scratched the back of his neck somewhat sheepishly.

“Are you feeling better at least?” asked Kel with a kind smile, and Hero nodded.

“Yeah…I was only sick for a couple of days, and my friends looked after me.” Hero paused, meeting Kel’s eyes with an expression that said more than his words, “Thanks for that, Kel.”

Kel flushed a little, but he laughed. So Hero had figured that out after all? He should’ve expected that from his brother. He was always so smart. Luckily, he didn’t seem to mind too much that Kel had meddled, not that he’d really tell him if he had. Still Kel smiled and teased, “Hey, no problem. You’re lucky I didn’t drive up there myself.”

“Your father and I almost drove up too,” said their mom before she pulled Hero into another hug herself. “It was horrible thinking of you so sick in the city all alone.”

Hero’s face softened, as he pulled away from their mother to look her in the eyes. “I was fine, Mom. Please don’t worry.”

“Hero! Hero! Wanna play zoo?” exclaimed Sally, twirling around him with her favorite plastic animal toys until he scooped her up into a hug.

“Of course, Sally, but uh…”

“Give him a minute,” Kel interjected with a good-natured laugh. “He hasn’t even taken his coat off yet.

“Oh let me take that,” said their dad—patting Hero heartily on the back as he slipped his arms out of his coat. “It’s good to have you home.”

“Good to be home, Dad,” Hero replied with a kind smile.

“Let me take your bag upstairs,” exclaimed Kel reaching for the suitcase Hero had brought with him, but his brother reached out a hand to stop him.

“Oh…you don’t have to do that. I can get it.”

Kel waved his hand at him. “Don’t be silly. It’s just upstairs. Come on. You can freshen up for dinner too.”

“I made all your favorites,” said Mom. “And I even ordered a hero sandwich for you from Gino’s.”

Hero scratched the back of his neck—the slightest tint of pink in his cheeks. “Thanks, Mom, but you really didn’t have to go through all that trouble.”

Kel snickered and was still snickering as Hero followed him up the stairs. “You know Mom’s just going to make a big deal out of every time you visit even if you tell her not to, right?”

Hero sighed conceding, “Yeah…”

As Kel opened the door to their room, he set Hero’s suitcase down on his bed—still perfectly made from the last time he had visited, but as he turned back to his brother he paused, tilting his head curiously as he watched Hero staring wide-eyed at their old keyboard, pushed up against the wall next to the door.

“Oh uh…yeah…we found that when we were cleaning out the garage—” Kel shrugged, scratching the nape of his neck. “Thought we might as well set it up again.”

“Are you going to start playing again?” Hero asked, and Kel laughed.

“Nah. I don’t think I can even read music anymore, but maybe Sally will want to. She likes to come in here and bang on it sometimes—doesn’t sound much like music though.”

Hero chuckled, but before he could say anything, Kel said, “Or you could…if you wanted. I found a bunch of your old books and sheet music and stuff.” He motioned to a box on the ground near the keyboard, but he twisted his mouth to the side. He didn’t want to seem pushy. He knew Hero hadn’t played since Mari had died, and he probably wouldn’t want to ever again. Kel supposed, it was just one of those things his brother just couldn’t bring himself to do without Mari.

Kel sighed—blinking at Hero’s unreadable expression. Had it made him sad? He couldn’t tell. Maybe he should have given him a heads up about the keyboard or hidden it in the garage or something while he was visiting?

“Yeah. Thanks, Kel,” shrugged Hero, clearly putting this conversation to rest.

“Well uh…” Kel began to stumble before his mother’s voice called for him.

“Kel, can you come give me a hand for a minute?”

“Sure, Mom!” he yelled before turning back to Hero with a somewhat helpless shrug of his shoulders. “Hey, uh…I’ll be right back okay?”

Hero nodded, and Kel disappeared through the doorway. He shook his head. Why did everything have to be so awkward?

Kel sighed, and his chest ached. He knew why. But he swallowed hard—pushing the thought away, focusing instead on helping his mom set the table. As he was setting out some silverware, he stopped abruptly—his ears perking up at the sound of distant music, a familiar progression of notes he recognized.

“Do you hear that?” gasped Kel in disbelief, but it seemed his mom could only blink at him with wide, surprised eyes as Sally gushed and giggled.

“So pretty!”

Kel nearly dropped the silverware he was holding—fumbling around with the forks and spoons until he finally dropped them in a disorganized heap on the table and raced up the stairs—that all-too-familiar song growing louder and louder. As he burst through the door of his room, he could scarcely believe his eyes. Hero was sitting at the keyboard—his hands gliding across the keys playing music again.

“Hero?” Kel choked in a breathy disbelief which must have startled his brother because he stopped playing abruptly—clearly bumping the wrong keys in surprise creating a dissonant chord.

“Oh uh…sorry…” he mumbled, his face flushing somewhat sheepishly as he fidgeted—recoiling his hands away from the keyboard. “I just uh…I saw the keyboard and…wanted to play…”

Kel could only blink at him with wide, dark eyes. “You wanted to play piano?”

Hero’s blush deepened, but he nodded. “Yeah…uh…” He scratched the back of his neck. “I know you don’t really like that song but the music was on the top of the stack and…”

His voice trailed, and Kel’s expression softened, brightening into a wide smile. He supposed Hero was right. Once, what felt like a lifetime ago, he had given his brother all kinds of grief for playing that particular song over and over, but in the years that had followed, he would have given anything to hear him play it one more time, would have given anything to hear him play again. And now that he hadn’t heard it in so long—now that their room, their home had been quiet and empty for so long…

“I…I can try to play something else…” Hero chuckled awkwardly, but Kel cut him off.

“No, I’ve never been happier to hear anything in my whole life.”

Hero laughed lightly, and his mouth curved into a smile—a real one that reached his eyes.

Kel’s chest ached. He had missed that even more than the music. He rushed forward—throwing his arms around his brother and hugging him tightly, hoping that gesture would say more than his words ever could.

“Kel!” Hero gasped quietly, leaning backward in surprise, his shoulders stiffening a little before he relaxed. He wrapped his arms around his brother, running his hand across his back as Kel pressed his chin to his shoulder.

Kel shut his eyes tightly, but he whispered with the brightest smile on his face, “It’s so good to have you back.”

He could feel the chuckle reverberating in Hero’s chest before his brother patted him on the head and whispered, “It’s good to be back.”

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djarins-cyare · 8 months ago

Text

Never Look Down

Part 1: Din’s Evening

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Prompt: “I don’t know what’s happening but I love it.”

Summary: Din has been ignoring his crush on Grogu’s babysitter for a while now, with varying degrees of success. But after a misunderstanding leads to some revelations, there’s no denying things any longer. Sometimes you just need to look at things from a different perspective.

Rating: Mature (18+) with a smidge of explicit

Pairing: Din Djarin x Original Female Character (for his POV scenes) / Din Djarin x Reader (for her POV scenes)

Word count: 5,330

Tags/warnings: alcohol, drunkenness, vomit (no description), numerous references to erections, some swearing, references to sex, non-explicit smutty thots, Din carries OFC a short distance, masturbation (male, semi-explicit, but I don’t think enough to push up the rating), 3rd person POV (part 2 will be 2nd person POV and OFC will become reader/you).

Author’s note: This was originally supposed to be for @beskarandblasters’ Din Djarin Fic Club Drabble Event, although drabble this is not! Kel said there was no word limit, but it grew so long that I couldn’t even call it a one-shot anymore, so I’m uploading it in two parts to make it easier to read and I think that probably disqualifies it from the Drabble Event. But Kel, thank you so much anyway for the prompt – it resulted in me finally pushing through my writer’s block and finishing/uploading something new, so I’m eternally grateful!

READ ON AO3 (author’s preference)

Tumblr version ahead if you prefer…

He’s panicking. It’s stupid, really – he’s been in situations far trickier and more critical than this. But Karga said he needed help urgently, and now his babysitter isn’t answering her comlink.

Should he just go and leave Grogu here? It’s not like he never left him alone on the ship.

Except… something’s changed since the adoption. Din has started to care what others think of his parenting style. He hears people whisper that fatherhood clearly isn’t coming easily to him (he thought he was doing alright). He watches how his babysitter closely monitors every move the kid makes (the Mandalorians never watched him that closely). He listens when people talk about how they raise their own children (he hadn’t realised it was such hard work). And it’s made him feel as if he’s… lacking.

He hates feeling less than adequate in any area of his life, but somehow, failing as a father cuts deep. Perhaps it’s because he grew up without one. Plus, that scolding Peli gave him after she found Grogu alone on the Razor Crest still haunts him.

Although the Mandalorian method of letting them learn from their mistakes has merit (and it never did him any harm), he wants to be there for his son. So, no. He won’t leave Grogu here alone. He can’t risk him waking up and wondering why nobody comes if he calls. The kid has probably had enough of that in his past.

Why isn’t Maia picking up?

Din paces the cabin’s length, listening to the gentle ping of the comlink as it tries to connect with the one he gave her. Even the soothing pulse doesn’t ease his frustration. Diligent parenting is hard.

Just as he’s wondering if he can wake the kid and bring him along, the comlink crackles to life.

“—know what the stinking stang is wrong with it! Ah, frotz! Hello? Is this thing totally borked?”

For a baffling moment, he can’t work out whether he’s shocked or thrilled. She certainly doesn’t use that type of language around the kid, but he’s delighted to hear her voice nonetheless.

“Maia!” He interrupts her frustrated confusion as loud as he dares, lest he wake the sleeping child downstairs.

“Shiny, hi! It works! What’s up, my metal man? It’s late… is this a booty call?”

Once again, Din can’t decide if he’s shocked or thrilled. However, his dick’s instant twitch of interest proves that it, at least, is clearly siding with the latter. Dank farrik, he wishes it were a booty call. “No, Maia, I need—”

“Course it’s not!” she interrupts, giggling inanely. “Sorry, that was ridiculous, ignore me. Go on, you were saying?”

He takes a deep breath and tries to push past the stab of dismay at her labelling the idea of a booty call as ridiculous. At least she sounds in a happy mood.

“I’m sorry to contact you so late, but Karga has some kind of crisis. IG-11 is still with the Anzellans for repairs after the last crisis, so he’s asked for my help. Grogu’s asleep, but I’m gonna need you to come over and wait at the cabin until I return. I’ll pay you double your usual rate. I just don’t wanna leave him here alone.”

“Suuure! I’ll haul my jets over to you now. Five, ten minutes, tops. If you wanna take off now, I know your door code. I’ll check on the li’l bug as soon as I arrive.”

Din breathes a relieved sigh. “Thank you, I owe you. I shouldn’t be long.”

“Happy hunting, Beskar Boy! Or happy dispute settling!” Maia signs off with a melodic laugh that instantly makes him grin beneath his helmet, despite the stupid nickname.

The grin fades as he processes the meaning of the words preceding her addictive laughter, and he sighs. She’s probably right, although he hopes he’ll at least need his blaster for whatever mess the High Magistrate wants him to clean up.

Karga was once able to intimidate the townsfolk, but these days, they see him as purely a leader and captain of industry. They respect his ability to govern and improve the town – he’s more than proven himself capable in those roles. But whipping out a blaster from beneath those ridiculous robes now gains him little more than dubious raised eyebrows. By contrast, Cara was a fearsome and capable law enforcer, and now IG-11 keeps the citizens in line.

Except a reptavian tore off both of IG’s legs a few nights ago. Apparently, whatever the droid equivalent of ‘sick leave’ is, he’s taking it.

Din doesn’t mind helping out when he’s not on jobs for Carson. As long as Karga doesn’t solicit his help too often, it’s an easy way to make a few extra credits. He supposes that kind of makes him a part-time deputy, though he’ll never accept a title or a contract. But if tonight’s job is nothing more than a neighbour dispute, he’ll be a little peeved. His friend is aware of his skillset and wouldn’t contact him unless it required weapons and armour. He hopes.

He checks on Grogu once more, then equips himself with his usual arsenal, making sure to lock the weapons cabinet behind him. For some reason, his blasters fascinate Maia. He’s given her several shooting lessons, and she always asks to hold them whenever the cabinet’s unlocked. Although he doubts she’d handle them without his permission, he’d rather be present if she’s caressing his things.

Truthfully, he’d prefer it if she handled and caressed something else entirely, though he buries that thought for now. He has work to do, and an ill-timed hard-on would be awkward at best, if not downright perverse. He can torture himself later.

Din wraps up the problem in less than an hour. It does require his blaster, in fact, and he does have to shoot someone. Okay, it’s in the shoulder to disarm him, but the guy is only on his drunken vendetta because he’s heartbroken. He doesn’t deserve to die.

A year ago, he would’ve just shot him in the head and gone home. But he’s lived among the citizens of Nevarro for several months now, and he’s almost starting to feel like part of the community. Passing through it to visit the old covert was different. The Mandalorians were a separate (secret) colony, and he was merely a visitor who lived on his ship. Even though his new home is still on the outskirts, Grogu attends the school in town, and he already knows many of the other parents by name. These days, the market stall owners try to chat with him instead of looking away in fear as they used to.

The guy standing on a table in the cantina tonight with a blaster trained on his ex and her new flame is someone Din recognises. He can’t recall from where, but disarming rather than killing him feels like the right thing to do.

Once he has him in binders, he delivers him to Karga and hurries straight home. The lava flats are quiet and peaceful this time of night, free from the nocturnal bustle of the town and lit only by the celestial display above. There’s no sulphur fog tonight, and the air smells fresh.

But as pleasant as it is, he doesn’t dawdle. Just like every other time he’s left Maia in charge, he relishes the chance to walk into his home and see her there. As if she belongs. He finds that image far more dazzling than the constellations sparkling above him. It’s far sweeter than the fresh air he inhales through his helmet filters as he hastens toward his cabin.

He can’t pinpoint when his interest in her changed from professional to passionate. Grogu made it clear that he liked her best out of the several childminders they auditioned, so he gave her the job. At some point between then and now, he became enamoured with her.

But he can’t do anything about it.

His loyalty to his son means he can’t fuck the babysitter, so for now, Maia belongs to the kid, and Din sleeps alone.

Even though he’s had no serious relationships in the past, he imagines he’d be willing to try it with her. But since it’ll never happen, it’s not worth dwelling on. He’s noticed a few locals checking him out, so he can always approach them if he’s looking to get laid. He’s much more used to casual encounters.

But none of that stops Din from thinking his babysitter is beautiful. It doesn’t stop him from wishing he could run his hands over her welcoming body, indulge in her tender touch and heady scent, sink into her depths over and over until she’s crying out his name as they shatter together in ecstasy….

Dank farrik, he’d better quit thinking like that. He has enough trouble controlling his physical urges around her as it is. In fact, it’s starting to become a problem. He’s lost count of how many times he’s had to dash off and furtively rearrange himself so his stomach padding hides his boner. He can’t wear the flight suits with the tight pants around her anymore, so the looser-fitting ones are getting much more use. In fact, he’s wearing his last pair. (That reminds him: he needs to do laundry tomorrow.)

Maia teases him whenever she can, but it’s always friendly, not flirty, and it doesn’t come close to being sexual. He’s never caught her looking anywhere other than directly at his visor. Still, he can’t help feeling embarrassed whenever something she says or does causes his cock to harden. He simply can’t control it.

Din reaches the cabin and punches in the door code, happy to note that his guest has locked it from inside. Her diligence and attention to detail certainly helped him trust her in his home from the outset of her employment.

Stepping across the threshold, he notices all the lights are out except for the one above the kitchen sink, which is unusual. Stranger still, all it illuminates is a near-full cup of water standing in a pool of condensation.

Nonetheless, it’s bright enough for him to survey the rest of the room cast in shadowed shades of grey.

He can’t see Maia.

Instantly, his heart rate rises, although he doesn’t panic. She’s probably just in the refresher or the kid’s bedroom with him. But the amount of moisture surrounding that cup shows it’s been sitting there almost as long as he was gone, which is curious. And there’s no light coming from downstairs either.

The cabin is small, with an open-plan kitchen and living space, and a staircase leading down to two bedrooms and the refresher. Din’s priority is his son, so he creeps down the ferrocrete steps, well-practised at following the route silently. With his night vision on, he can see that Grogu’s door is open a crack, and he pushes it wider. Little purring snores verify that the kid is sleeping soundly, and he slides the door fully closed to ensure he stays that way. Good.

Since his babysitter wasn’t in that room, and she wouldn’t invade his private space without permission, there’s only one other option. He bypasses his own bedroom opposite Grogu’s and heads to the door facing him – the refresher. He can’t pick up any sounds from within, but he’s not about to invade her privacy by listening too intently. The door is fully shut, but there’s a faint glow through the ventilation grill at the bottom, too weak to be the usual lights. A glowrod?

That’s rather odd. He’s grateful that Maia avoided putting on the hall lights while Grogu’s door was ajar, but she could’ve switched on the refresher lights once inside.

For an unsettling moment, Din isn’t sure how to proceed. He really doesn’t want to interrupt her if she’s busy. But… his instincts are telling him something is off, and he wants to know she’s okay.

He’ll give her a little longer. He’d rather be cautious than a perv.

He retreats upstairs again, conducting a thorough check of the living space and kitchen but finding nothing abnormal or suspicious. Nothing besides that abandoned cup of water, at least. Next comes his nightly check of the cabin’s weak points – the windows and entryway. He secures them all, figuring he can escort Maia out when she’s ready. Tipping away the water, he runs a fresh cup, turns his back to the stairs to lift his helmet and drink, and refills it. Finally, he disarms himself of most of his weapons, leaving one blaster in its holster and his vibroblade in his boot. He likes to bring some of his usual arsenal downstairs with him, even though he has multiple spares in a secure cabinet near his bed.

Which is where he’s headed now. Din sets the drink on his nightstand, switches off his night vision, and switches on the dim bedside light. His guest has seen him armourless a few times before, so he begins removing his beskar and the rest of his kit. He’s almost finished – just his armourweave stomach padding to go – when he hears a thump from the refresher.

In seconds, he’s outside it again, listening intently for any further clues. He’s been in the business of handling unconscious bodies for decades, and that sounded like an unconscious body.

“Maia?” he tries, keeping his voice low to ensure he won’t disturb the kid.

Nothing.

He knocks gently, giving it a few moments.

Still nothing.

Okay, now he’s really starting to worry. He returns to his bedroom, grabs his vambrace, and flicks through his visual settings until he’s replaced his night vision with the thermal overlay. He hopes he isn’t crossing a line here, but what else can he do? Walking to his doorway, he takes a deep breath… and directs his visor at the refresher.

Dank farrik, she’s on the fucking floor. Why didn’t he check sooner?

Jabbing off the thermal overlay, Din throws his vambrace on the bed, then rushes to the refresher door. He keeps his voice low in case he wakes Grogu, hoping it reaches her anyway. “Maia, I don’t know if you can hear me, but I hope you’re decent because I’m coming in.”

He gives her five torturous seconds to respond or get decent if she isn’t already, and then he keys in the override code. The door slides open, revealing his unconscious (but blessedly fully clothed) babysitter slumped near the toilet, lit by a glowrod on the floor next to her. He can now hear her breathing heavily, though it doesn’t sound laboured, just a deep state of sleep.

His helmet isn’t sealed, so straight away, he’s able to detect the lingering smell of vomit. A somewhat grim consequence of being both a bounty hunter and a father means Din can also distinguish types of vomit. Although she has flushed, there’s no air filtration with the lights off, and the residual odour tells him that Maia has been drinking alcohol.

It also explains her unconscious state, so his worry dissipates a little, and mild annoyance starts to creep in.

She agreed to look after his son when she’d been drinking?

He kneels down next to her, laying a hand on her shoulder. “Maia. Wake up.” He shakes her, but she doesn’t stir.

He assumes she slipped from a propped-up position against the toilet, and the thud he heard was her slumping onto the ferrocrete floor. Did she bang her head? If that didn’t wake her… shit.

He tries shaking her again with as much force as he dares, and she groans and curls up even more. She’s fighting it, but he sees consciousness sluggishly returning.

“Maia, it’s Din. Can you sit up?”

“… y’can’t make me sing for the cup….” She’s still half asleep and confused, but that’s not surprising. A few seconds later, she cracks open her eyes, becomes aware of her situation, and slams them shut again. “Oh… fuuuck… no no, m’sorry… so so so s-sorry… please don’t be mad at meee….” She’s tearful and rambling but mostly coherent, even though she’s still curled on the floor with her eyes squeezed closed.

“What happened?” He can’t think of anything else to say until he’s established her culpability. He knows she wouldn’t drink on the job, so she must’ve been drinking earlier this evening. It certainly explains her overzealous response on the comlink. Dank farrik, he should’ve realised. But, no, he was busy revelling in his own drunken high from her joke about it being a booty call. Idiot.

“It was accidet— ac-ci-den-tal,” she continues from her foetal position. “Tried to call you back, but m’comlink’s busted… figured better I’m here drunk than not at all… ’m sorry sorry sorry, kark, pleeease don’t hate me. I jus’ wanted to make sure the li’l man was okay. I didn’t realise how much I’d had till I stood up, n’ it hit me worse on the way over. But Grogu’s fine, I checked. But I’ve grossed up your ’fresher, ’m sorry…”

Din sighs. In the scheme of things, Maia did the right thing. He’d rather she was here puking in his refresher than risk his child waking up alone. And it occurs to him that she achieved a surprising amount while seemingly drunk as a pirate. She secured the cabin, poured herself some water, stomached a few sips, managed to descend the stairs unscathed, and checked on the kid. Then she sealed herself inside the refresher and threw up neatly into the toilet bowl with no spills, even managing to flush before she passed out. And she did all that by the light of a glowrod so she wouldn’t wake Grogu.

In many ways, his babysitter’s actions tonight were more responsible than some of his own questionable choices regarding his son’s safety. He can’t be mad at her.

He tells her so. “I’m not mad, Maia. Thank you for coming over anyway. Can you sit up? I need to know you’re okay.”

Her eyes are still clamped shut, but she cracks them slightly as she tries to push herself off the floor. It doesn’t go well, so Din reaches forward to help, and together, they get her into a stable sitting position. Nevarro’s volcanic environment means the basement maintains a cosy warmth, so he’s not surprised she passed out down here. It’s not exactly soft, but those who grow up in the Outer Rim spend their lives making do. He likes that she’s a survivor. Like him.

“Everything’s s-spinning,” she groans. “N’ my mouth tastes like bantha balls.”

Din suppresses a snort. “Hold on.” He climbs to his feet, retrieves the cup of water from his bedroom, and then passes it to her. “Here, sip.”

After she’s taken a few delicate sips, Maia gives him back the cup. “Don’t wanna puke again.”

“You won’t,” he assures, placing it in her hands again. “Pretty sure you got all the alcohol out of your system already. You gotta rehydrate, or you’ll feel worse.”

Kneeling down next to her again, he watches her try to follow his instruction, pleased she trusts him. He can’t help but admire how adorably dishevelled she is. Her hair is mussed, her clothes are wrinkled, and she keeps pouting between sips… but it’s all so… cute.

Once she’s had half the cup, he accepts it back, though she follows it up with more apologies. “M’so sorry… , m’such a karkin’ idiot… I get it if you don’t want me to look after Grogu anym—”

“Stop,” Din interrupts sharply, unwilling to let her beat herself up. “This is as much on me as it is on you. I didn’t ask you if you were busy. I demanded you come over and bribed you with extra credits. I didn’t question why you sounded different on the comlink. And I didn’t wait for you to arrive. If I’d done any of those things differently, you might not have ended up on my ’fresher floor. So I’m sorry too.” Maia doesn’t reply besides blinking at him a few times, so he asks, “What was the occasion? For the drinking, I mean.”

“One year of freedom from a terrible relationship,” she states resolutely, and for a moment, she seems a little more sober. “Me n’ Zandi, we were both in deep with some mudscuffers who locked us in when we were too young to know any better. But we got lucky. Marshal Dune caught them dealing spice, and now they’re spending a decade mining the asteroid field at the edge of the system. The Nevarran tribunal sentenced them a year ago today, so we drank to celebrate our freedom.”

Din doesn’t really know how to respond. She’s made some previous passing remarks about the toxic relationships she and her friend escaped from, which he’s always taken as hints of her wish to remain unattached. It’s yet another reason he wouldn’t feel right about making any sort of move on her. He settles on, “You… deserve to celebrate.”

“Thanks, Shiny.” He bristles at the nickname out of habit, but he secretly likes that Maia has numerous nicknames for him. “N’ you deserve a ’fresher without a woman on the floor. I should get outta your way, Beskar Boy.”

She tries pushing herself up but instantly becomes dizzy and topples to the side. Din’s naturally quick reflexes kick in, and he positions himself to catch her, letting her fall into his chest as his arm snakes around her back. Before he can even process what he’s doing, he’s slipping his other arm beneath her knees and lifting her up.

“Whoa!” she exclaims, grabbing onto his flight suit with one hand while the other flies to grasp his neck. He almost shivers from feeling her clutch at him so keenly. “I don’t know what’s happening, but I love it! Thanks for the lift, muscles!”

He’s glad his bold move has amused rather than perturbed her, so he doesn’t answer, too busy willing his cock to remain unreactive to this sudden closeness. His main goal is to get her off the ferrocrete floor and put her down somewhere softer as fast as possible. As he elbows open the door and navigates out of the refresher, he makes a split-second decision. His bed is closer than the couch.

“Shiny! This is your bedroom!” Maia whisper-shouts as he steps through the door. At least she’s lucid enough to keep her voice low in case Grogu hears across the hall.

Din grunts in agreement as he approaches his bed and starts carefully lowering her onto it.

She keeps going in a gleeful whisper. “Is this…? Are we…? Kriff, I never thought I’d actually end up in your bed, metal man! I mean, it’s been a dream, sure, but I figured your creed thing meant, like, no sex or whatever. But holy frotz, I guess tonight really was a booty call! Count me the fuck in!”

He’s already laid her down by the time he fully processes her words.

Dank farrik, he’s a fucking idiot.

He will never have sex with any woman in this state. He’s not that kind of guy. The fact that being with Maia is a dream for him too is meaningless, and so is the possibility that she might actually want him. Because does she really? Maybe this is still the alcohol talking. It has to be. Right?

It doesn’t even matter. All Din needs to do is extract himself from this situation in the least awkward way possible and without having to reject her verbally.

But how?

He points a finger at her. “Stay put.” She bites her bottom lip and acknowledges his order with a sloppy salute.

Damn it, the image of her lip caught between her teeth is now burned into his brain, haunting him with forbidden promise.

He pads back to the refresher in his socks and closes the door, relieving himself, flushing, and then pouring some cleaner down the toilet to sit overnight. He then washes up at the sink as fast as possible and refills the cup of water. Returning to his bedroom, Din places the cup on the nightstand along with the glowrod that belongs to his guest.

Speaking of whom…

In his brief absence, Maia has toed off her shoes, stripped naked and strewn her clothes across the floor, and burrowed under his covers. She’s still bleary from the booze, but he sees fire and lust behind her hopeful gaze as she blinks up at him.

It kills him.

He remembers he never finished removing his armour, so he retrieves the vambrace from where he threw it and places it on its shelf. Then he finally removes his stomach padding and puts that away too, directing his visor anywhere except at the naked woman in his bed. He’s doing everything possible to deny the physical reaction her presence is giving rise to.

When he’s done, Din approaches the bed again, acutely aware that she’s tracking him with a hunger he shares but can do nothing about.

Fuck, this is torture. The blanket has slipped down (or maybe Maia has arranged it) so low that it’s daringly close to exposing her nipples. She’s right there, waiting for him. Wanting him.

But she’s drunk. And she’s his kid’s babysitter. He tries to quell his ache by thinking about how she’s thrown up this evening, which would make kissing gross. It helps for a second, although the idea of kissing her at all ends up eclipsing the negatives, and he hardens even more.

Shit, he cannot think about kissing her. Or how naked she is. Or anything like that. Vomit. He should focus on vomit.

Okay. Din taps off the bedside light and picks up the glowrod, then heads to the door in the dark, stumbling over her clothes strewn on the floor. He can’t activate his helmet’s night vision without his vambrace control, but he won’t put it back on just to navigate his escape. Nor will he switch on the glowrod yet because he doesn’t want to see any dismay or regret in her eyes as he leaves her. He wants to remember the hunger he witnessed there.

Hazardous garments notwithstanding, he finds his way to the exit.

Crossing the darkened doorway’s threshold, he whispers, “Get some rest, Maia.” Then he fumbles for the control and taps the door close button, releasing a sigh as it swishes shut behind him.

Switching on the dim glowrod, he traipses upstairs. It’s going to be so kriffing awkward in the morning. Nonetheless, one thought keeps repeating itself to him above all others, one he can no longer prevent his dick from swelling at the prospect of.

Is she really attracted to him?

He has to know.

Din extracts another blaster from his cabinet, knowing he won’t sleep without one beside him. Then he sits heavily on the couch, thinking about how often he used to sleep in his helmet before this cabin became his home. It’s the first place he’s felt secure enough to remove it at night, so he’s no stranger to sleeping beneath his beskar mask. It’s almost a comfort in a way.

With his face covered in a darkened room lit by nothing but a glowrod while those he cares for slumber downstairs, more memories return…

Sitting in the Crest’s darkened cockpit, fucking his fist by the swirling glow of hyperspace, chasing a release during those first stressful days as a fugitive. In theory, if something had pulled him out of hyperspace, someone could’ve quite literally caught him with his dick in his hand. But the odds of anyone being close enough to peer in through the transparisteel at that very moment and notice his furtive actions were slim. Back then, he was so untethered that in his weaker moments, he desperately sought anything that made him feel good. Fleeting moments when he could pretend his life wasn’t falling apart yet again. The risk was worth it.

Here, too, although he’s locked up the cabin and closed the shutters, there’s a risk of Maia sneaking up the stairs and finding him. But a similar desperation fills him now – the utter frustration of loss. Back then, it was the loss of a stable income, the loss of his covert. Now, it’s his missed chance – the loss of what could’ve been with the woman downstairs. And maybe even the total loss of her in his life. Perhaps she’ll be too embarrassed about this evening’s events and quit. Din couldn’t take that, nor could Grogu. It’s why he tried to avoid this.

Can they get past this? Maybe he ought to find someone else to care for the kid. Would that be best? This is getting too complicated. He doesn’t want to think about it anymore.

So, right now, he’ll imagine the positive and lose himself in the fantasy, just like he used to. He’ll think about the hunger he saw in her eyes and let himself believe it wasn’t merely the alcohol. Just for tonight, he’ll believe it’s the truth. The risk, once again, is worth it.

He’s already tenting his loose flight suit pants, so he fumbles to expose himself and relaxes against the couch cushions behind him. The wet spot on his underwear displays just how profoundly turned on he is simply by the idea of being with Maia.

After all the temptation it’s endured this evening, his cock is extra sensitive, so he begins with measured, lazy strokes. Whilst he’d love to revel in the fantasy, he knows he won’t last long. As he imagines joining her in his bed, filling his palms with those half-exposed breasts he saw, pressing his naked body against her, his movements begin to speed up and his pressure increases. Very soon, he’s plummeting toward the edge of ecstasy like a podracer pilot with the finish line in sight.

His helmet tips back to stare at the ceiling as he pictures how it would feel to sink into her warm depths, and the notion ignites his fuse, burning rapidly. It only takes a few more strokes before the powder keg within him explodes into a million tiny raptures. His hips stutter, his muscles clench, and his orgasm tears through his body. He comes hard, and a fractured groan far louder than he’d intended escapes through the modulator as he spills forth his pleasure…

Fucking. Bliss.

Din’s mind is blank for some time, just a sense of fulfilment and contentment gently rippling throughout his relaxed form.

As the real world filters back in, he’s able to think clearly, and he now knows what he has to do. He doesn’t like it, but it’s the mature and sensible option. It’s also a fucking daunting prospect, but he’s faced worse. Has he? Yes, he has. He can do it.

He tucks himself away and finds a cloth to wipe down the mess on his flight suit. That task makes him realise he’ll have to sneak into his bedroom tomorrow without waking Maia to grab his armour and some fresh clothes. And now he really needs to do laundry tomorrow. The only pants he has left are the tighter ones, which he tries to avoid wearing around her. Great, there’s another reason to dread the morning. Although it’s not as if he’s ever caught her checking out his package – she may tease him verbally, but her gaze is always polite.

For now, he’ll enjoy the security of darkness and the lingering swirl of happy chemicals in his brain.

Din lays down on the couch and switches off the glowrod. With a deep sigh, he surrenders to the relaxing state of comfort brought on by his orgasm, letting himself fall into a contented sleep. Before he drifts off, his last thought is of Maia’s beautiful lips… leaning in for a kiss….

If only.

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Part 2 →

Those of you who've read my work before will be familiar with my copious end notes:

As usual, it’s British spellings I’m afraid. Demographic stats say about 60% of you are American, but I can’t help where I was born, so sorry about all the extra ‘u’s and ‘l’s and for using ‘s’ where you would expect ‘z’. However, I’ve channelled my inner linguist and used American language and speech patterns since the show is filmed in the US and Din’s accent is American. All other wording is internationally neutral, including Maia’s dialogue (since the next chapter is written from her POV and I’ll be switching to second person reader insert for that, e.g. you/your pronouns). I’m a little sad I didn’t get to include any Mando’a linguistics in this fic tbh. Maybe another time.

The cabin’s layout is inspired by the concept art by Christian Alzmann that appeared in the closing credits of s3e8, in which there appears to be a staircase leading down to a lower level. That makes sense to me, as Din would need total security to sleep without his armour on, and a windowless underground room seemed appropriate. I also like the parallel that on the Razor Crest he used to sleep on the lower level in a windowless room too.

I know Carl’s absence is going to be felt when we finally get the movie, so I wanted to write something where Karga is still around. If this had been a longer piece, I would’ve had him actually featuring in it instead of being in the background, but in any case, Karga lives forever in the universes I write.

The reference to Din wearing looser pants is, weirdly, Canon. One of the ways you can tell it’s Brendan Wayne in the suit is because he seems to prefer these weird baggy clown pants. Contrast to Pedro who likes them tight (Din Peña?), as does Lateef Crowder, and as did Barry Lowin in season 2. Since Brendan did the majority of season 3, we saw Din in the loose-fitting style a lot more, so I decided to write in a reason for that beyond actor preference.

Though we have no information on Nevarro’s judiciary system, they’re an independent world who have a marshal and a magistrate, so my guess is they’d adopt the New Republic’s system of having a tribunal. Generally, group decision-making is favoured during this era, in contrast to the single-judge system of the Imperial era, so it seems more likely that Karga would encourage citizens to serve on a tribunal rather than unilaterally passing judgments himself.

Apologies to @the-mandawhor1an for using the name of your longtime established OC – it was coincidental, I promise! I chose it after looking up the most common female names in the world, one of which is Maria, and I settled on the variant Maia because it sounded like a more Star Wars-y version (and for another reason which you’ll see in part 2). I only realised when you reblogged my WIP Wednesday snippet, and it was a bit late to change it by then. I guess it’s a common name in the SWU too! But I’m sorry and I hope you don’t feel like I’m muscling in on your domain. Your Maia is of course the original Maia 💖

I made the GIF myself. Sorry it’s a bit blurry, I’m not very good at making them yet. I tried to use Tumblr’s GIF-making function, but it wouldn’t let me crop out Grogu’s ears, so this was my alternative attempt. It’ll have to do.

Definitions: Comlinks are those little cylinder comms they all use. Glowrod is a catch-all term for anything portable that produces light. All the swears/insults (stinking stang, frotz, borked, kriff, kark) are from the Legends list of phrases and slang this time (it’s longer than Canon). Nevarran reptavians are the ones that Grogu saved Karga from in s1e7 and that the Mandalorians were roasting in s3e7. Ferrocrete is a compound building material (Canon and Legends) made from concrete and iron, used in roads, reinforced bunkers and building foundations. I figured Din would only be happy with something strong and defensible, so Karga had the cabin built with it. Transparisteel is used for windows and ship viewports, as well as helmet visors.

Part 2 is written and will be uploaded next weekend once proofing/editing is complete. What do we think? Is Din gonna be dumb and tell her she can’t babysit Grogu anymore? Deny himself what he wants for Maia’s own good?

Tags requested…

@aheadfullofsteverogers @alltheotps @axolotllover225 @burntheedges @copperhalfcent

@foomoosworld @jude77 @secretelephanttattoo @stagerightlauren @the-mandawhor1an

Those tagged below showed interest in my masterlist and WIP snippets (comments/reblogs), so I thought I’d sneak in some extra tags. Apologies if it’s too forward, if you’d prefer I didn’t tag you in part 2 just let me know…

@604to647 @cheekychaos28 @djarinmuse @gingerlurk

@joelalorian @kyberblade @readingupsidedown @sunflowersunlight7-blog

@thefrogdalorian @whataenginerd @wrathkitty

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