#And then Mike comes crawling back every time with hearts in his eyes. Get out of here

[dysfunctionalupsidedown]

I'm literally on the floor because how are "It's not my fault you don't like girls!" and "We're friends. We're. Friends." real lines said by Mike Wheeler? That's the funniest part of this whole thing to me. Are you even serious?

[ynisreal]

wires (1) - michael afton x reader

author´s note: i posted this on AO3 and thought, since i read a LOT of fanfiction in here as well, why not post here too? soooo here is my lil contribuition :D summary: A reader-insert in which you work as a security guard at Sister Location and you start to feel a little too drawn to the night security guard. Or Michael has already been scooped and can't get out of the establishment, becoming the night security guard. So the only entertainment he has is the cute daytime security guard who is a bit clumsy.

Chapter One

Since the incident that ended Michael's life, he hasn't been able to leave the same place where death found him. Fazbear Sister Location has become his home, not so comfortable, but it works for him. Michael knows that he won't be able to live a normal life in the state he's in, purple and ever-falling skin, exposed bones and black eyes. No longer alive. The animatronics who did this to him, including his sister, decided to let his body decompose in an alley, and he had no choice but to crawl to the place where he took his last breath.

He didn't blame his sister, far from it, he knew she was trying to protect herself and couldn't recognize her own brother's face. Imagine being so blinded by anger and fear that you can't recognize your sibling. Well, he knows he can blame the shitty father they both had for recent events. That was already a relief in his chest. Michael already carried a lot of guilt in his heart, he didn't need any more of it.

The days were monotonous. Henry came to visit one day or another, always with clothes in hand and a few items from Mike's place to comfort the undead. Michael was grateful for Henry, knowing that the poor man was still struggling with the grief of his own daughter, so he helped Michael in any way he could, welcoming him like the child he had lost. They talked, Henry hoping that he could build something to help Michael live normally again, which they both knew was unlikely. There was no going back, he had lost his life, now a ghost in his own rotting body.

Michael was now in charge of the establishment, forever a security guard who worked night and day shifts. Every hour of his day was spent walking the corridors, watching the same movies on the old television Henry had installed for him, cleaning the same toilets and reading any book or magazine he could find in the staff room.

"The other employees of the company are beginning to question why this establishment is still empty," Henry continues. Michael, who had been lost in his thoughts, returned to paying attention to what his father's former friend was saying. "Apparently, they want to start a bigger project on this site, and they need the place intact, so they're pressing to have a security guard here for when the construction company comes."

Oh yes, Michael wasn't officially the security guard. He was only officially dead.

"Create a false identity for me and I can take care of security," Michael shrugged, looking at the older man in front of him, "The establishment would be under observation all hours of the day, after all, I can't get out of here," he tried to make a joke, but neither he nor Henry seemed to find it funny.

"What about when the staff arrive to redesign the place during the day? Are you going to serve them little cups of coffee and cookies looking like that?" Henry says dryly. Ouch, that pained Michael. He knows what he was suggesting was a bit insane, the day shift would be impossible to avoid being spotted.

"Okay, so you're going to put a security guard on the day shift, and what about me? Am I going to beg him not to tell the others about me?" Michael replies in the same way, a little frustrated that the solution was so simple and yet so impossible at the same time: he just had to get out of here.

"No," Henry replies, "You stay hidden."

Michael doesn't answer the older man. He knows Henry is right, but it's so unfair to go through what he's been through and have to live in hiding. In the same shadows that those who killed him live in. His whole life was built on injustice, the death of his brother, the constant running away from his father, the terror the poor children suffered, his own death and what came after it. Injustice was no stranger to Michael, so he accepts what his reality will become in the coming days. Spending the day hiding in the small back room, locked up like an animal, until night comes and he is able to roam not so freely around the establishment where he died.

Great.

Henry gave Michael one last hug, saying he would be back in the next few days to bring the younger man some comfort items, promising to bring him some interesting new movies or books. Honestly, Henry knows that no movie or book would improve the situation of the man he considered his own son, but he had to play with the pieces he had.

The next two days passed in the same way as the others, Henry visiting, mopping the same floors, watching the same movies and reading the same magazines. On the third day, Henry had warned him that the new security guard would be arriving at 6 o'clock in the morning. She was apparently a woman a little younger than Mike, desperate to find a job to help support her younger sister. Henry described you as a sweet, quiet woman, who certainly won't bring any more problems into Michael's life. Mike sighed in relief.

The day began with Michael quickly locking the door to the room he was in. It was a spare back room used to store the remains of the animatronics that had escaped and other old things from other establishments, making it spacious enough for him to put a mattress on the floor and the small television that Henry had installed. Genuinely, it was the best Michael could ask for in this situation.

He hears you entering the main hall, the little-used doors making a loud noise down the corridors. He also hears that the sound of the doors startles you, causing you to let out a nervous yelp, which puts a small smile on Michael's face. If you are that easily frightened, perhaps it wasn't the best option to work in a place with a reputation as dirty and shady as Fazbear Entertainment's establishments.

You really had been startled by the loud noise from the doors, not expecting a noise assault at this time of the morning. It's 6 a.m. and you've barely slept, a little bit spooked by the rumors your little sister told you when you revealed where you were going to work. She was only 10, but she didn't seem to be afraid of anything, creating a hard shell after so many years of watching you deal with the difficulties of studying, working and looking after her at the same time. Your sister looked up to you, and wanted to help you in any way she could, so she didn't seem like a child at times. Some nights you were relieved that she was so mature, but soon you regretted it, feeling ignorant for not having been able to give her a normal childhood.

Your father threw your mother out of the house when he found out about her constant lovers, which led to you being thrown out too. You had nothing to do with what your mother did, you were just a child, which is why you loathe your father to this day. Your mother wasn't much help either, getting pregnant with your little sister a short time later, by a random man she met in the bar. She didn't make an effort to look after you or your sister, so it didn't surprise you to wake up one day and see her goodbye note with lunch money inside.

You walk through the main hall impressed by how clean it was. Oh well, the last security guard must have constantly cleaned everything. You think as you reach for the switch to turn on the lights, already reaching for the map you'd been given during your interview, explaining each room and what you had to do during your shift. It consisted of looking at the cameras to prevent intruders, keeping an eye on the employees who were going to redesign the establishment and locking the doors when either they or you leave, so that the night security guard could take over the next shift.

However, after looking at the clean and tidy state in which the last security guard left the corridors and rooms, you felt guilty for not keeping them clean too, wanting to maintain the hard work he had put in. As you sat down in the chair in the control room, you turned on the monitors to watch the cameras and wait for the architects who had said they would arrive today, placing a small napkin under your coffee cup to avoid staining the wood of the table. You´re welcome, last security.

The first few hours of your workday pass quietly, even a little tediously, as you stare at the screens in front of you, feeling your eyes burn at the image of empty corridors and stages just as blank. The sweet man who had interviewed you had told you about the transfer of the animatronics, but unfortunately for him, you had learned from a young age to spot when older people were lying to you. Whether it was intuition or pure coincidence, you had realized that he wasn't telling you the real reason why there were no animatronics on stage at the moment, and, combined with your sister's stories, you found yourself a little wary, not taking your eyes off the monitors.

"We're here, Y/n, open up here," you were startled by the sudden voice coming from the radio the company had given you, recognizing that it was the architects who had arrived on the scene. "Okay, I'll be right there," you reply almost immediately, getting up to walk to the main hall. The architects had already gone up the elevator and were standing behind the main door, waiting for you to unlock it.

"Wow, that door makes a loud fucking noise," the man wearing a suit and carrying a briefcase said when you opened the doors, his voice sounding frantic. You flinched at the sound of such a rude voice ruining the silence you'd been in for hours. He was accompanied by a shorter woman, who was in more casual clothes and carrying too many materials for her small arms to hold. "You must be the new security guard," the architect in the suit looked at you, his tone not at all inviting.

"Yes, my name is-" you stop your sentence when you see that he hasn't waited for your answer, and instead started walking down the hall with a small notebook now in hand, leaving the briefcase at your feet.

You allow your mouth to drop into an expression of surprise, looking down at the briefcase at your foot, waiting to be picked up in your arms. "Sorry, Mr. Noah had a bad day," the woman in front of you says, a nervous smile on her face, trying to make up for what her boss was doing, "My name is Alice." She tries to extend her hand to greet you, but some of the materials she was holding fall to the floor.

You bend down to pick up what had fallen and the briefcase that was still on your feet. "My name is Y/n," you reply, still incredulous at the whole situation, helping Alice carry the materials and the briefcase, realizing how difficult it was to keep everything in just two hands. Wow, this woman has been carrying this around all day?. Alice starts to follow her boss, Noah, when she hears him call out, a little annoyed that his things had fallen. You had no choice but to follow her, going after the man who was so caught up in his own ego to notice his own actions.

You showed the map to both of them, taking them to the rooms they wanted to see. The two of them worked in a frustrating dynamic, with Noah constantly making observations and critiques of the establishment's architecture, coming up with ideas for the new attraction and who they should call in to help with the redesign, and Alice writing down every word that came out of the rude man's big mouth. You grew increasingly tired of the architect's voice, already exhausted from going back and forth to the hall where they had left the materials to bring some item he needed.

Noah seemed satisfied with his ideas when it started to get dark, as he finally shut up and, without warning, started walking towards the exit of Ballora's Gallery, calling Alice to follow him. Once again, you had no choice but to go after them both, the stress and tiredness already getting to you, but relieved that they seemed to be leaving. You open the doors for both of them, returning the small nod and smile that Alice gave you before disappearing into the elevator.

When you lock the door, you pull up the sleeves of your uniform to check the time. It was 5 o'clock in the afternoon, one hour before your workday ended and that of the night security guard would begin. A tired sigh escapes your lips as you quickly close your eyes, imagining your warm bed and the plate of food waiting for you at home. Man, I just want this first day to be over. You've been on your nerves all day, with Noah's absurdly annoying voice and your fear of the stories you've heard, your body going rigid every time you heard some strange noise.

Your legs practically carry you into the control room, dumping you into the chair, feeling the relief of letting your leg muscles rest from having stood too long watching Alice and Noah work. You adjusted your spine to rest against the back of the uncomfortable chair, prepared to spend the final hour letting the monitor screens burn your retina once again. But your body seemed to have another idea: as soon as you leaned your head against the palm of your hand, your eyes began to feel heavy, and with every second that passed, they felt heavier and heavier. At some point, you blinked and didn't open your eyes again, letting your head fall into your own arms and falling asleep on the control desk.

It's already 6 o'clock, why hasn't she left yet? Michael wondered when he didn't hear your footsteps or the doors closing. He had learned your name today, Y/n, several times hearing a female voice, which sounded like one of the employees who had visited today, call you by it. Alice and Noah were the employees. The constant "Yes, Mr. Noah" in a shy, nervous tone still burned his ears. It felt strange to hear so much commotion in the place he had lived quietly for a while, at least he liked your voice. Michael could hear your brief explanations of the features of each room, a really sweet voice like Henry had described. You spoke politely, even though your tone seemed irritated when you answered the arrogant man, you still expressed yourself calmly and with good manners.

Michael kept wondering how you managed to behave so calmly even though there was clear irritation in your voice. He was always the opposite, letting his emotions get the better of him, getting into unnecessary fights as a teenager, and not improving much as a young adult. His investigation with Henry helped him create a focus in his life after his brother's death and his father's crimes, centering his anger and violence on avenging those who had suffered at the hands of his father. So if it were him in your shoes today, Noah would probably have left the establishment with more than a black eye.

It was close to 6:30 and he still hadn't heard any sign of your departure. Michael immediately began to worry: Had the animatronics come back? Had you hurt yourself on an exposed wire? Had you gotten lost in a random room? As the minutes ticked by, Michael's worries grew louder and louder; he genuinely couldn't bear another death on his hands due to carelessness or negligence. With anxiety almost making him deaf, once again letting his emotions take over his consciousness, Michael tucks the "Security" vest into his hoodie, pulling the hood over his head, and opens the door of the room where he was hiding. He had to make sure you were all right, not wanting another person to die for this miserable franchise. You were almost his age and your sister was waiting for you at home, so you needed to be okay.

Michael walked quickly through the corridors that he had memorized in his mind, heading for the control room, knowing that the security guards were tasked with looking at the same monitors he already looked at. To his surprise, you weren't dead or lost, in fact, you were asleep. Little sighs escaped your lips, showing how tiring your first day had been, which made Michael smile slightly. How he missed being able to meet up with other people, only having Henry's company. And he was grateful that this lack of contact was broken by the sight of you lying on the control desk, a few strands of hair scattered over the controls, leaving your face visible to Michael's eyes. You were beautiful, Michael noticed, young and pretty, some features tired by the probable weight of looking after your sister alone. Perhaps in another life, he would have asked for your number in a bar or asked you out on a date. In another life, he wouldn't be cursed by his father's crimes and still alive. This last thought seemed to wake Michael from his daydream, and he quietly stepped away from the chair, going to hide behind the shadows that the corridors were creating, not wanting to be seen.

"Good night," he says in a loud, hoarse tone. This seems to surprise you, as you stand up wide-eyed and in a defensive position, letting a small yelp come out of your mouth. You rub your eyes, your tiredness immediately leaving your body to answer whoever was calling you. Your eyes scan the control room, finding no one, until your gaze meets the tall figure at the door. It was a man, tall and broad-shouldered, his hood hid his face and his hands were in his pockets. You couldn't make out who he was or any trace of him, only the silhouette of a stranger in the shadows. From his voice and what the shadows let you see of his body, he seemed to be about your age, his shoulders broad and the sleeves of his jacket a little too tight around his biceps.

"Your shift is over," the man's shadow speaks again. You roll up the sleeves of your uniform to look at the time. Shit, it's almost 7 o'clock at night. Your eyes widen and your cheeks turn red, embarrassed at being caught sleeping on the job. Michael had to hold back the smile that wanted to grow, finding your reaction incredibly cute. You really were very beautiful, it was nice to see someone so beautiful after so long looking only at the floorboards and the cleaning products. If this was the last time he would have human contact, he was more than satisfied.

"Shit, I'm so sorry-" You quickly say, collecting your things from the table and tossing them rapidly into your backpack, which was leaning against the corner of the room. "I'm leaving, I'm really sorry," you repeated as you slipped the straps over your shoulders and walked towards the door. Michael sank a little further into the shadows, letting you pass him and start walking towards the front door. Although your steps were quick, you noticed as you passed him the difference in height that was made, the man had a remarkable presence, being much taller than you, with wide arms and a thick voice. You blushed a little more.

Michael wanted to follow you, take you to the door and extend the moment a little longer, not wanting the first human contact he had after such a long time to be so brief. He wanted more time to engrave your face. But he didn't follow you, he didn't want to risk being seen. He wasn't expecting you to suddenly stop in your tracks, turning your body towards him, with a shy smile on your face.

"Hm, good evening and good work..." You waited for the man in the shadows to respond with his name. Michael let his eyes wander down your body, the security uniform fitting your curves beautifully. Thank you for this last gift, whatever entity is up there listening to me.

"Michael," he replied, his voice a little less dry, a smile invisible to you taking over the man's features. You really wouldn't be any trouble for him, as Henry had said.

You crack a smile, raising your hand to wave goodbye to the night security guard.

"Y/n," you respond.

[phallicide]

(Retrospectively, I realized I misinterpreted the prompt slightly. Oh well. Spider cuddles are best cuddles.)

"You can't walk on the ceiling." I craned my neck upward toward Rachel as I re-explained to her for the umpteenth time that day. "If you're going to be coming to my family reunion, you have to be where people can see you. Humans get freaked out by spiders, sure, but especially if they come out of nowhere!"

The spider clicked her mandibles at me as she descended on a slick, wet strand of silk. "It's unfair!" She alighted on the floor and turned around to look at me. "I'm a spider, I was meant to walk on the ceiling. I don't want to get kicked or stepped on." I rolled my eyes. "For the last time, babe. You are staying where people can see you until I've managed to explain to everyone why my girlfriend is a spider."

Her eyes twinkled. "Is that not normal?" she muttered, knowing I would take the bait. "For humans to date spiders?" I took a deep breath, and with every amount of restraint I could muster said "No. It was one thing for them to accept I was gay. Some of them still haven't. This, though? I think Nana's going to have a fucking heart attack."

"Because I'm a spider or because you're dating a woman? Or is it because you're doing both? Or maybe it's because of the witch's curse? All three?" I chuckled, and motioned for her to slow down as I ran the curler through my hair. "Sometimes old people are just allergic to change." We had to leave in about fifteen minutes. I wanted to get there early so that I'd have some people there who'd seen Rachel before the main group did. Having to explain this to everyone singlehandedly was a tall order, after all, and I wanted help. Uncle Larry would probably get it. Uncle Mike, too, but not his wife. Cathy has arachnophobia, and George...

"Babe."

I turned my neck quickly toward her. "Huh? What's up?"

Rachel motioned for me to bend down. She crawled onto my back and hugged me with seven legs, saving one to stroke my hair with. "I can see it in your eyes. You're catastrophizing again. Arachnophizing? Whatever the word is, I don't fucking remember. You're worried and I can see it." I put a hand on her head and gave her a gentle pat, making sure not to hit her eyes. "I'm just worried I'll have to do all the talking. Our situation isn't... common. I'm worried they won't listen to you, or worse, they won't see you as a person and will try to hurt you somehow. Most people are afraid of spiders. There's no telling-"

I was interrupted by one of Rachel's legs being pressed into my lips in a shushing gesture. "Babe. It's okay. It's gonna be ok. If they give us shit, they can be idiots and we can go to dinner ourselves. I'm going because I wanna spend time with you! Who cares what they think?" My girlfriend leapt off my back and onto the floor again. The force was almost enough to make me drop my curling iron. "Watch it!" I half-laughed as I regained my balance. "We've gotta leave soon. You mind starting the car? It's a bit chilly."

As Rachel left the room to go start the car, I took a deep breath. My makeup was pretty much perfect, my hair was just about done, and my outfit would ordinarily be a show-stopper.

Despite all of that, the thing I wanted most in that very moment was to be in sweatpants watching Initial D with eight loving arms wrapped around me at once.

"Fuck expectations. We've got this." I said to my reflection, and turned toward the front door.

She’s been your best friend for years, she’s funny and intelligent, and has great legs and gorgeous eyes (and you’ve told her this too). She’s also a sapient spider the size of a mastiff and really can’t understand why that’s the sticking point to a relationship with her.

[sp0o0kylights]

“Oh god it’s covered in hearts.” Gareth says, staring horrified at the stage that’s been set up in the cafeteria. Grant and Jeff stand next to him, eyeing the abomination of glitter, paper, and tinsel that’s been shaped into pink and red hearts with a microphone standing proud in the middle.

Several of Hawkin’s jocks are standing to the side, talking amongst themselves, but worse is the crowd of students accumulating in front of the stage.

“You don’t think they’re gonna serenade us for Valentine's Day, do you?” Jeff asks in a similar tone of horror.

Grant makes a disgusted face at the very thought.

“It’s about time they gave me my own mic!” Eddie cackles, slamming his hands down on Gareth and Jeff’s shoulders for leverage, jumping up for a better look (Grant smartly ducked away before his friend can crawl all over him too), “I’ve only been going on about the capitalistic horrors of Valentine's Day since middle school!”

They groan in unison..

Eddie’s got a look on his face that says he’s about to vault up on stage and do this year's rant in style; Gareth will be damned if he lets Eddie get detention on a Hellfire campaign night.

“Eddie, no.” Gareth warns, as his best friend tries to worm his way past them.

“Eddie, yes.” He grins, bolting forward even as multiple hands reach out to yank him back.

“Whatever they’re doing we do not want to get in the middle!” Jeff hisses in his ear as Grant reaches for his middle (already once tricked by grabbing Eddie’s jacket, which he simply shrugged out of). Gareth does his part, holding firmly onto one of Eddie’s hands. Eddie bravely tries to stagger forward, despite the efforts of what looks like some kind of mutant tangle of human limbs.

“Come here microphone, my beloved!” He pants, comically reaching his arms out towards the stage, before Grant promptly stops fooling around and hefts him into the air.

“Nooo--the people need to hear me!” Eddie wails, thrashing.

Gareth rolls his eyes and spots three familiar faces in doing so. Freezes so abruptly that the arm he was holding onto slips out of his grip, allowing Eddie to deploy a tickle attack.

The result is Grant almost throwing him to the floor, with Jeff forced to let go or fall.

Free to cause chaos, Eddie throws his hands in the air, grinning widely.

“Is that…the freshman, up there?” Gareth asks before his best friend can crow victory.

“I’m sure there’s many freshmen up there, buddy.” Grant says with false sincerity as he regains his breath.

“No, not--I mean our freshmen! Henderson, Wheeler, and Sinclair!” He points, and sure enough, on the side of the crowd opposite the jocks, there stood Hellfire’s youngest with their heads put together.

“Now just what are they up to, I wonder?” Eddie ponders aloud, before shrugging his jacket back in place and strutting forward.

Trading uneasy looks with each other, his friends follow.

xXx

“The auction isn’t kicking off until 6 pm.” Henderson says, as he carefully counts the individual bills in his hand. “We know that besides the basketball team and the cheerleading team, they’ve got like, the Mayor involved, and the fire department, which means--”

“A lot of people are going to be there.” Mike interrupts, arms crossed over his arms. “That’s what it means, Dustin. What’s the point if every girl there is going to be bidding on him?”

“Were you even listening, Mike? I just said there’s a bunch of other people they’re auctioning off!”

Wheeler Jr. pulls a face that nearly makes Eddie laugh (and thus give up the fact he was slowly sneaking up on them) before the kid shoots back, “We have five dollars total Dustin. I don’t think that’s going to be enough.”

“Not to buy a whole person.” Eddie says, voice dropping to imitate the current big bad in their D&D campaign, “But five dollars is a fair price for a body part I’d say…”

He trails off with a cackle as the three freshmen startle away from him like spooked horses. “Now what--or who--are you buying?”

“They’re gonna explain it here in a minute,” Dustin says after he recovers, waving at the girls in front of the stage with a hand. “But there’s some big charity fundraiser happening tonight. Right now they’re voting one guy from the basketball team and one girl from the cheerleading squad to represent the school, but they’re auctioning off a bunch of people.” Dustin explains, holding up his fistful of dollars with a wild grin.

“If you’re the highest bidder, you get to spend the day with the person you bid on.” Lucas adds, because Dustin skipped right over that part. “Since it’s Valentine's Day themed, they’re referring to them as “winning a date”.

Well that explained all the giggling cheerleaders.

Eddie raises an eyebrow, “I’d ask if this is Sinclair’s bail money, but as my last two years remind me, it’s only for juniors and seniors. Not--” He playfully slings an arm around Lucas’s shoulders, “--for the darkside’s newest recruits.”

The uncomfortable look Lucas gives him is almost enough to make Eddie feel bad, but it’s not his fault Lucas was tempted by the evils of highschool sportsball. He figures the kid will come to his senses soon enough, and considering how awful the jocks are, it won’t be too long before Sinclair is 100% a Hellfire club member again.

“Which begs the question.” Eddie continues, slinging an arm over Mike’s shoulder as well. “What are you scheming? I’d ask if you’re buying me a date, but,'' He gives an over-dramatic sigh,” alas, no one can survive the charms of Eddie the Banished.”

“Charm is one word for it.” Jeff says, as the rest of Hellfire finally catches up. Gareth and Grant roll their eyes as Mike and Lucas chuckle weakly at Eddie’s exaggerated pout.

He drops his arms from his little lamb’s shoulders, taking a step back and looking around at the growing crowd.

“Hush Jeff. Let’s see if ol’ Eddie can guess who our brethren here have their eyes on. I wonder if…” He trails off, dragging out the last word as he does so before a bright, teasing smile lights up his face. “Aha! I see one Miss Cunningham. Are we bidding on her for Sir Gareth?”

A sputtering noise erupts behind him, as Eddie turns with glee to watch Gareth practically choke on soda he’d just taken a sip of, Grant thumping him on the back.

“Eddie.” Gareth hisses, and somehow it sounds like a warning even if his voice has a slight wheeze to it.

“What?” Eddie says, full of faux innocence. “We all know the lengths you’ve gone to get her attention recently.”

Gareth’s gone bright red, a testament to the fact that he’s been mooning over Chrissy Cunningham since the day she complimented one of his drawings.

His over-the-top moaning of how to woo her away from Jason is a prospect Eddie tolerates only because he himself has gone through great lengths to impress men that will never once look his way, let alone consider him as a romantic option.

(And also because Gareth, as Eddie’s best friend and confidant, was well aware of Eddie’s own crush on one Steve Harrington.

Apparently, Hellfire’s members were just cursed to fall for jocks.)

“They want to bet on Steve.” Mike says with an eye roll, apparently done with this entire charade.

For two seconds Eddie thinks that he’s somehow spoken the part about Steve aloud and that Mike is somehow echoing his deepest, innermost thoughts but is saved from panicking further by Dustin adding;

“We’re gonna make him play a campaign with us.”

The kid’s grin makes his eyes sparkle, which is completely at odds with the way Eddie’s stomach plummets.

“He played D&D with my sister, Eddie.” Lucas says, feigning a hurt look. “My kid sister, but not me?”

“Harrington played D&D?” Gareth’s voice implies he doesn’t believe it, and honestly? Had it not been for the freshmen, he wouldn’t have believed anything that was said about Harrington. He was on the verge of tears with laughter when they told him that the almighty King Steve was their chauffeur. They had to be lying about how often they hung out with Steve to begin with, right? Because there was just no way.

Except they weren’t. They really, really, weren’t.

It only took a handful of times of watching Steve pick them up from Hellfire, and then seeing the entire extended group (including Sinclair’s on-again-off-again girlfriend and Robin Buckley of all people) bouncing around Harrington like over excited puppies all over town.

The arcade. Downtown Hawkins. The local milkshake diner and the stupid movie theater.

Literally.

Everywhere.

“You guys are going to bid on Steve Harrington and make him play D&D.” Jeff clarifies, and Eddie doesn’t blame him for doing that either.

It’s the stupidest thing he’s heard all day, and he spent the last hour and a half listening to Mr. Rulf yawn on about parallelograms.

“Yeah! You guys wanna pitch in and help?”

“Absolutely not.” Eddie sneers. He can’t help himself--this is against everything he’s ever stood for.

Stupid thoughts of stupid Steve going on a stupid date with him, aside.

“Yeah guys, I think we’re gonna eat outside today. If you wanna listen to…whatever,” Jeff casts his eyes towards the cheerleader that’s bounding up the steps of the stage, ponytail bouncing, “ then go right ahead.”

“Oh we don’t need to listen to this.” Dustin dismisses the entire thing with a wave of his hand, making Mike roll his eyes again.

Somewhere in his campaign notes there’s a joke written about Wheeler Jr’s eyes getting stuck like that. Eddie hadn’t planned on bringing it out tonight, but a part of him really wants to.

Maybe if he can talk the freshman out of their idiotic idea, he’ll reward himself and do it tonight anyways.

….Or he could still steal that microphone.

xXx Steve xXx

Steve has no idea how he got talked into this.

Actually, that’s a lie, he knows how it started: a phone call, his mother, and a sudden way for her to be in the spotlight for her yearly fifteen minutes of Hawkins fame. He just can’t recall why he agreed to it.

“It's an opportunity, Steven." She says, heels clicking against the department store tile.

An embarrassment is what it was, but Steve knew better than to tell his mother that.

"You should be honored that Wendy--that’s the head chair of the charity board, you remember her don't you? She used to attend your piano recitals--she asked for you personally." His mother expertly plucked a shirt from the rack, holding it up to the light.

"Those were your parties mom, not my piano recitals." Steve reminds her as she holds the shirt out to him. He took it, adding it to the stack he had in his hands.

The parties were the exact same kind of shit this as this “Valentine's Day Fundraiser” a way for rich people to celebrate themselves by making others uncomfortable.

Only instead of being forced to play piano so his mothers friends could wine and dine with the famous Harrington's, he was being hauled up in front of the entire town (or whoever was attending this stupid event) and auctioned off as a “date” to the highest bidder.

(“It’s for one day, Steven, don’t be so dramatic. Why is your generation entirely incapable of taking a joke and having fun?” His mother had said, when he tried to tell her he wasn’t comfortable with the idea.

Of course there was no answer that would please her; soon enough, Steve found himself dragged about town as his mother played dress up.)

"You'll be standing alongside the Mayor, the fire department, even that idiot, Mary Marie--"

She stops for a moment, eyeing a jacket with a critical eye.

Just as quickly she dismisses it with a hum, prowling on to the next section.

"--the point is that there will be plenty of candidates for the children to pick from, but you’ll be the only hero up there."

That same critical eye turns on him, appraising him like he was no more than a horse in her stable, adding up imperfections and dividing amongst his best qualities.

(Despite a lifetime of training, it still takes everything in him not to squirm.)

"Not to mention a Harrington.” She purrs, taking a step closer to run a manicured hand down the front of his shirt, smoothing away a stray crease. “Women will be throwing money to win a day with you."

Steve has to fight not to outright shudder.

"Which means you have to look your best. Now stop whining, we’re almost done.”

Steve doubts that, but it doesn’t matter; he never had a choice to begin with.

xXx

Four hours, one shower, and several rounds of his mother’s nagging and meticulous styling, ,Steve finds himself back in Hawkin’s High, staring at the gym.

His mother had long swept past him, having spotted some high school friends and gone over to lord her lifestyle and general wealth over them.

For a fundraiser, the charity board in charge had spared no expense in dressing the gym up. Red, pink and white balloons decorated the doorways and a large stage hauled to one end.

Tables with thick, white table cloth are artfully arranged about the floor, caterers swiftly moving between them.

This is probably the fanciest this gym has ever looked, and Steve wants to be anywhere but inside it.

“Oh--Steve.” A gentle voice says next to him, and Steve turns his head in surprise to see Chrissy Cunningham look nervously up at him. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”

“Me neither honestly.” He tells her, watching the way that makes the younger woman smile. “But I’ve been volun-told to be auctioned off. What about yourself?”

Chrissy runs her hands down her dress, a modest if not beautiful blue halter dress , wincing as she snags a nail on it. “The school held a vote at lunch about who would represent the school tonight. All of the varsity cheerleaders and basketball players were involved.”

“I see.” Steve says, keeping his voice gentle and playful. There had always been a part of Chrissy that had reminded him of El. Someone who needed kind words in their life. “You got voted as tonight’s sacrifice, huh?”

Chrissy laughs at that, hand flying to cover her mouth. “I guess you could say that.” She says, and seems surprised at herself for it.

“Did Jason get picked too?” Steve asks. It would make sense if he was, the guy was the basketball Captain after all.

Chrissy nods, then chews on her lip. “Yes but--he’s not happy about it,”

Steve snorts and tries to cover it with a cough. “None of us are.”

“It’s more that I’m being auctioned off.”

Chrissy must catch the look on his face because she rushes to add; “You know, like any boyfriend would be! I know it’s just supposed to be a fun silly thing and they’re not really dates but…” She trails off, voice growing quieter at the end. “He worries.”

The word “worry” sounds like it means something else entirely.

Steve feels for her.

“Hey, if Jason’s an ass about it, let me know.” Steve says after a moment of shared silence. “You don’t deserve to deal with him being a kid about this shit.”

Chrissy blinks up at him at that, hand almost to her mouth as though she’d subconsciously raised them up to chew on her nails. “Thanks Steve. That’s nice of you.” She whispers it, and Steve nods and smiles at her.

“There you two are!” A woman says, rushing over with a clipboard. “Steve Harrington and Chrissy Cunningham, right? We’re gathering all the dates behind those doors.” She turns and points to the opposite end of the gym. “If you both would follow me please?”

Steve motions for Chrissy to go first, and moves to follow her when a flash of curls crushed down by a blur of white, blue and electric yellow catches his eye.

He turns automatically, seeking it out and sure enough, ducking down the hall is Henderson, Sinclair hot on his heels.

A familiar mixture of emotions lights up Steve’s spine, and he knows immediately he won’t be able to rest until he figures out what the gremlins are up to--because their Hellfire Club was supposedly canceled today on grounds that Munson had stolen a microphone, or some other crap.

“I’m really sorry, I’ll join you in a second!” Steve calls, before darting down the hall, after them.

[c-is-for-circinate]

But anyway, Stranger Things Steve and Robin story where things are Pretty Bad in Hawkins for a while after season 4, to the tune of regular monster incursions and more bumps and bruises and stitches and possible concussions than generally standard

and maybe six months in, after graduation, as Hawkins has come up with more and more unlikely stories to try and pretend that they're not sitting athwart a rising apocalypse, after Robin has deferred college for a year, if they all even live that long, because she loves Steve with every last corner of her heart and she won't, can't leave him here

and it's been another bumpy week in a string of bumpy weeks, and Steve doesn't have another concussion, thank god, but Mike needed seventeen stitches and Nancy has a new burn scar curling up over her left shoulder--

Robin goes to find Steve somewhere in the middle of the third load of laundry in the house where his parents haven't set foot since the "earthquakes" happened. Where she has her own permanent guest room, but just crawls in with Steve most nights anyway, because she cannot handle going home to face her own parents and their questions and their 'constructive criticism' and their attempts to be helpful any more.

And she just immediately starts pacing, back and forth across the basement while Steve tries to fold yet another fitted sheet that she could definitely be helping him with, and she says,

"So look, I have been having this really crazy idea, and I need you to tell me that it's a crazy idea, and I should just forget it, except that every time I try to think down that path I keep thinking of reasons that it's not a crazy idea, and it's actually a really good idea with very minimal drawbacks, at least in the near or foreseeable future, and if it ever does start to have drawbacks we can just undo it, because Indiana's had a no-fault divorce law since 1973, and all we'd have to do would be filing some paperwork, and you're just looking at me like I'm babbling again."

"Just like it, huh?" Steve asks, eyebrows raised with a little bit of 'really?' and all the affection of his heart, and when she stops, giving him that slightly-desperate look, he adds, "So, who's getting a divorce?"

"Us," Robin says, planting her feet and looking straight at him. "Eventually. Hopefully. Someday."

"Ooookay, kinda worried you're already planning my eventual divorce when I haven't had sex since Vecna showed up," Steve says, still not really sure where this is going but willing to follow the train at least a little farther, and Robin just shakes her head, eyes wide and focused.

"No," she says. "I mean you and me. I think we should get married."

Yeah, that makes about as much sense as anybody's crazy plans these days. Steve misses the days when he would have been too confused to keep up. He's still confused, he just so rarely expects to be anything else any more that it doesn't really make that much of a difference.

"Robin," he says, a whole sentence in one word, and then she's pacing again.

"Look," she says, wringing her hands the way she does when she's actually pretty upset about something. "Look, I know it's a stupid, crazy, stupid idea, and this isn't me coming on to you, you know this isn't me coming on to you, this is actually a really hard and scary thing for me to think about asking, but it's still like fifty times less hard and scary than what we do every week just living in this town and knowing what we know, because one of the things we know about living in this town is how dangerous it is, how many bad things could happen at any time, and-- and-- and--"

"Robin," Steve says again, and puts down the sheet in a heap to get in her path. He doesn't usually cut her off, but when she gets so worked up she runs out of words, that's when it's time to help Robin get back out of her own way. She lowers her hands into his and Steve squeezes them. "Hey. What's going on?"

"I'm scared," Robin says.

"Yeah, me too," Steve agrees, easily, because the sky outside is a hazy sort of blue-green that goes red-purple at night when it's not black, and when rain falls it sometimes leaves streaks of slick grime on everything it touches, and there are bludgeoning weapons and loaded firearms tucked into corners all over this house. He's been scared more on than off since 1983, and he hasn't bothered pretending not know it since '85.

"I'm scared for you," she says. "And I'm scared for me. I'm scared that none of us knew what was up with Nancy at the hospital for two hours the other day, because her mom showed up for Mike and they told her everything and Karen Wheeler hates us."

"Nancy's fine," Steve promises; her left arm's gonna be bandaged for a while, but she can still steady a rifle, and sometimes he thinks that's two-thirds of all Nancy really cares about any more. It's probably close to half of what all any of them have time and space to care about these days, which is a pretty depressing thought. But that's not a forever state of events, right? "She just got a little banged up. She's okay."

"Steve, what happens if you get hurt?" Robin asks. "Like, really hurt? If you get sick, or concussed again, or you need surgery like Max or Eddie, and you're not conscious enough to make your own medical decisions?"

"I don't know, I guess they call my parents, don't get an answer, and then operate anyway," Steve says, blowing it off like he always does. "Robin, I'm fine."

She's shaking her head, though, no, "I've just, I've been thinking, and I've been reading, and you know how hospitals are, it's been happening all over where people get sick and their friends, partners, can't even get in to see them, and families they haven't even talked to in years get to make medical decisions, because they're not married."

And Steve's not exactly smart but he's not completely dumb. Robin leaves absolutely anything that might even suggest she's a lesbian at Steve's house so her parents won't find it at home, which means there's a whole pile of blurry xeroxed zines and pamphlets and gay newsletters on his once-unused bedroom desk, shoved under a Russian-English dictionary, three spiral notebooks, and a book by some guy called Jung-pronounced-Young. Steve isn't really sure where they come from, because they only make maybe one supply run to Indianapolis a week between the whole group of them and Robin doesn't even usually go, but the newsletters keep multiplying. He's glanced at them before. He's heard Robin talk. He knows what she's thinking about.

"That's not what's happening here," Steve says, promises. "You know that's not the same thing. Nobody's getting sick."

"No, just...torn up by demobats, or haunted, or possessed, or who knows what else," Robin says. "Steve, I don't want my parents to be the ones visiting me if I'm in the hospital. I don't want them to be the ones in charge of deciding what happens to me. I don't want to wake up from a coma one day to find out I've been transferred to some hospital in another state because they decided Hawkins was too dangerous and now I never get to see you again."

"So you want me to be the one doing that?" Steve asks, and Robin looks up at him, hands still tight in his, and she says,

"Yes," like it's obvious. Like it's everything.

For one brief, bright-aching moment, Steve lets himself regret. He's not in love with Robin. Not like that, never like that, but -- there was a minute, once, where it could've been, for him. And it never could have been, for her, he knows that, and that's fine, that's great, because Robin still loves him more than anybody else in his entire life has ever loved him. And it is everything, and it's never going to be like that, and probably nobody is ever going to love him like that even half as much as Robin loves him like this.

"Sure," Steve says.

"And -- and look, it's selfish, and it's stupid, and it's terrible and I hate myself for thinking it, but if you die out there, and half of us are basically living in your house, and I know your parents don't want this house but they can't sell it because it's Hawkins and the housing market sucks, and you don't technically own it but it's all tied up in your trust fund, and if we were married that would give us at least the length of a court case to figure out where else to go, and we'd be able to take care of Max, and--"

"Robin, yeah," Steve says. "I'll do it. Sure, let's get married."

"Wait, really?" Steve doesn't know why she sounds so startled when it was her insane idea, unless she really did want to be talked out of it, but if she'd actually wanted to be talked out of it she should've gone to Nancy. Steve's not the guy who talks Robin out of things. He's the guy who talks Robin into her own brilliant ideas and all the things she desperately wants and doesn't think she can have. "Like, really?"

"Yeah, sure, let's go tomorrow," Steve says. It's a Tuesday, the little gremlins'll all be in school and their shift at Family Video doesn't start until five. "Do we need to get, like, a license or something?"

It's not like Steve doesn't get that this is a weird thing to do, and not a thing that most people would do with their platonic lesbian best friends, but honestly...like, Robin hadn't wanted to say it, but Steve knows he's probably more likely to die in the next couple of years than most other people they know. Doesn't matter how much he plays it off, Steve's always going to be there sticking his body between whichever kid or girl or random civilian and the danger of the day. He's not always there, which is how Mike ends up with a gash up his arm that better not be getting infected with Upside Down rot while Karen Wheeler is too busy pretending that Hawkins is still a normal town, how Nancy gets caught in the blowback from a molotov cocktail thrown just a little too short. Sometimes it feels like Steve's blaming himself in the middle of the night for not being there a little more every year. But he tries.

And if it gets him killed, the least he can do is make sure his stupid trust fund goes to Robin instead of back to his fucking parents. He's not dumb enough to think him dying wouldn't wreck at least Robin, at least for a little while, but he has to figure a pile of cash would make it a little better. He doesn't think it would make things worse.

Besides, Steve lets him think for just a second, what if they do actually figure out how to stop Henry Creel and all his Upside Down bullshit? If they find a way out of Hawkins without leaving the kids behind to die, and move on with their lives? Would being super-platonically married to Robin actually be that bad? He could put her through college with that stupid fucking trust fund while she got whatever genius degree she wanted, maybe end up her slacker house husband and fold all the goddamn fitted sheets by himself while she's off at work. Adopt a couple of kids, maybe, if he could talk her into it. Road trip over the summer in that Winnebago.

Not like Robin could marry someone she's actually in love with. He'd make it clear to whatever girlfriend she gets in the future that he's just there as window dressing and live-in laundry service. Not like Steve's ever going to find a girl who loves him half as much as Robin does, who gets it when the nightmares jolt him awake at three in the morning, who'll believe a single thing he says about the waking nightmare that is Hawkins, Indiana.

Really, it just means that Robin can't leave him behind. Which isn't fair to her, maybe, but it's her idea. She'll be the one slapping divorce papers down in front of him if she ever gets tired of it.

"Um, yeah," Robin says, still a little surprised for some fucking reason, but starting to soften into that smile she sometimes gets when they're being sincere, every once in a while. "Yeah, we just need birth certificates and ID, and like ten dollars for the license fee, and we can go right down to the courthouse tomorrow. Be done in time for work."

"Honeymoon at Family Video?" Steve asks, and yeah, maybe it's not the wedding he once would've pictured for himself, but fuck that guy anyway. This is Robin.

"We'll put on Back To The Future and actually watch it this time," Robin says, and she's grinning now, and Steve is starting to grin too, thinking about the bright hazy beautiful parts of a godawful night, the worst best bathroom floor in Indiana, about marrying the who-the-fuck-cares-if-it's-not-actually-romantic love of his life.

"Throw in some popcorn and you've got yourself a deal, Buckley," he says, and Robin lunges forward into him, wrapping her arms around him. Steve's arms fold around her shoulders like she belongs there.

He's almost not even annoyed that they kick over the laundry basket and send the goddamn sheets spilling out over the floor in the process.

[eddiesbug]

YOU WRITE EDDIE SO WELL! Could you write something about him with a reader who gets awful headaches all the time? - and him just being a super respectful and caring boyfriend,also literally ready to murder anyone who raises their voice around the reader when they have a headache

thank you ml!! i love this hehe

The pain is bad today. Worse than usual; it feels like someone’s taken a jackhammer to your skull, and you’re stuck with this pounding vibration bouncing around the inside of your head. You play it off as nothing when Eddie takes a sidelong look at you, smiling and knocking into his side playfully, but your expression gives you away. You get this look about you when a headache comes on; your eyes scrunch and your lips pull tight into an unconscious grimace. You resist the urge to clasp your aching head in your hands.

“Come here, princess,” Eddie murmurs, keeping his voice low even as Dustin and Mike guffaw over something or other. You oblige him, clambering into his lap with as much grace as a newborn deer and pressing your face to his chest. He cradles the back of your head like you’re made of glass.

Tonight is Hellfire - obviously a perfect time for a flare up - but Eddie’s already on the verge of sending everybody home just from catching one glimpse of your pained face.

“It hurts,” you moan, mostly to yourself. He shushes soothingly.

“I know, babe. ‘m sorry.”

“‘s not your fault,” you chide, smiling through the pain; he can feel the imprint of your little smile - the slight upturning of your lips that you can’t hold in despite your throbbing temples - against his shirt and he exhales amusedly. You’ve gotten pretty good at disguising the sheer amount of turmoil these headaches cause you, but Eddie knows - he always knows. You hiccup into his chest, the beginnings of tears only serving to amplify the ache and the ringing in your ears that increases with every loud noise in the cramped caravan.

Mike shouts something at Dustin particularly loudly and Eddie shoots him daggers.

“Everyone out!” he declares. “We’re not doing this tonight.”

“What?” Dustin yells in that high pitched voice he gets when he’s shocked; you wince, pressing cold fingers to your forehead, “We’ve been planning this for weeks!”

“I said out, Henderson.” Eddie grits out.

“No, he’s right,” you grumble, voice croaking as you hold in painful tears, “Can’t cancel the whole campaign cos of me.”

“Baby girl, I don’t care about the campaign. I need you to feel better first.” You don’t have time to complain before his hands are on your head, rubbing the gentlest circles into your sore spots. You close your eyes, stretching until your limbs are squeezed underneath his.

Everybody shuffles out reluctantly with one more piercing look from him and then it’s quiet.

So blissfully quiet.

Eddie reluctantly lifts you from his lap, opting to lay you on his bed in the next room instead. He fetches you a cold, wet flannel to press to your head, one hand holding it still and the other traversing your face, tiny droplets of water settling themselves in your dimples as you smile gratefully to your boyfriend.

“Good girl, princess. I know this is the worst, but you’re doing so well.”

“Cuddle me?” you murmur, eyes screwing shut from the glaring lightbulb. He immediately catches it, rushing to switch it off and instead use the dimmer lamp to illuminate the room.

“Yeah, ‘ve got ya.” He bundles you into his arms, mindful of your head as he waits for you to position yourself comfortably; the last thing he wants is to accidentally exacerbate your pain. You peel the flannel from your face and settle yourself in the juncture of his neck, kissing his jaw. His heart melts a little - even when you’re in excruciating pain, all you want to do is love on him.

“Didn’t have to throw everyone out, Eds. I feel bad,” you croak, slipping your arms beneath his shirt. You’re almost trying to crawl into his skin, needing to be as close as possible as your fingers draw soft circles into his back.

“I wanted to, babe. My girl comes first. Always,” his voice rumbles, “I want to be here to take care of you when you’re feeling like this, you do it for me.”

“Love you, Eddie,” you tell him, humming as he pulls the covers over you.

“Love you more.” He tucks the pair of you in, holding you tight to his side. “Go to sleep, see if you feel any better when you wake up, alright?”

“‘kay.”

[grievedeeply]

*slams down $20* I love your writing, can I ask for a fluffy oneshot post scooper-michael afton x reader where he comes home after vomiting up ennard and thinks the reader won't love him any more but she cleans him up comforts him OwO

OH MY GOD ANON YOURE A GENUIS!! the physical reaction i had while reading this. you can keep your money my payment is getting to do this incredible request omfg thank you

gn!reader, post-scooping michael

tws: kinda g0r3y because michael is yk.. dead. angst. a lot of self depreciation and mike thinking he isn't worthy. very sad until the end but it's worth it i promise!

always and forever — michael afton

almost a week had passed since you last saw michael.

he was your boyfriend, and the only person you ever truly loved in a romantic sense. sure, there were high school sweethearts, but as soon as he stepped into your life thoughts of anyone else faded and he took over your mind and heart immediately.

you'd been dating for a year, and with michael's new job, he worked nights. much to your dismay, since you had to wake up at 6:00AM to be sure you were awake to greet him when he came home.

though, it had been a few days without him showing up and it worried you.

you were aware of the circumstances he worked under, and the reasons. to put his little sister back together again. it was very vague, but you didn't want to pry or ask any more of him. anything involving his family was a sensitive subject and you knew it pained him to talk about it.

it wasn't uncommon for him to disappear for a day or two, telling you he needed to run an errand and that'd he'd be gone for a few days, but this time was different. he went to work and just.. never came back.

you began to fear for the worst, but you still hope that he would come home. though as the days passed, you became more and more tempted to file a missing persons report, and the first place you would check was his place of employment.

the place always scared you. michael had told you about it a few times and from what he had said it was an unpleasant, uncomfortable place. he had to crawl through the vents to get to other sections of the building. the things that lurked in the shadows there worried you, making you fear for the safety of your boyfriend, but you knew he could handle it. he was strong, he proved that with every day he came home.

he barely got any sleep, even from the first day you moved in together. he has at least 4 locks on the front door of your shared home, and you'd never asked about it. you assumed it was his paranoia that someone was out to get him for what his father had done.

you had begun watching the new episodes of his favorite tv show, 'the immortal and the restless,' to update him on when he got back.

if he ever did.

michael was confused at what had happened to him. he was so close, saving his sister was just out of reach. he was manipulated. no, she was manipulated. elizabeth, his sweet and innocent little sister, manipulated into a monster. he didn't even recognize her anymore.

a few low, but surprisingly loud beeps came from the scooper, and then it hit him. it wasn't painful at first. the feeling of death almost peaceful, until he opened his eyes again, laying on the sidewalk. he recognized his surroundings, but just barely.

he stood up. pain moved through his bones and his joints, and he looked down at his hands. he was purple. he looked down, at his body. more purple.

he wanted to wake up. all of this was just another nightmare.

quickly realizing he was in public in front of a bunch of strangers, he thought of the quickest way home. back home to you.

he cringed at the thought. you'd certainly leave him after seeing him like this. after his body was inhabited by that.. thing. giving a name for it would humanize it. but that thing had his sister, and he wouldn't stop until he was able to free her from it's clutches.

he limped down the road, turning down an alleyway to use the backroads preventing more people from seeing him. his mind lingered on you. he knew you wouldn't love him anymore. he didn't deserve you after this. he never deserved you at all.

he thought back to how you reacted when he told you about his family. his father, the serial killer and child murderer, responsible for all of those deaths at the freddy fazbear's pizza locations. his little brother, who's death he felt guilty for. the guilt often weighed him down, resting on his shoulders and never leaving. and his sister. he was told she disappeared, and he assumed that's all it was. until relatively recently.

you were so kind. you held him when he cried, encouraged him when he was down. you smiled at him, told him that you loved him.

"i will love you, always and forever."

the first time you said that to him was when he told you about his past. he didn't know how to react to it, his body tensing up as you wrapped your arms around his neck, hands tangling in his hair. he froze in your touch, before relaxing, his arms tightly wrapped around your middle.

and he thought about it again.

'i will love you, always and forever.'

he knew you meant it back then, but he didn't think you would anymore. he hadn't even seen himself in a mirror but he knew he was hideous. he knew he was practically just skin and bones now, his hair almost completely gone. he lifted a hand to his cheek.

he didn't know how he was even still alive.

maybe it was for his sister. to truly save her and free her from the hell she'd been trapped in.

maybe it was for you. the one who'd loved him through everything. the person he always knew he could count on. he smiled, thinking of you.

he turned a corner, his shared home with you now in his line of sight. should he even bother coming home? what was there, other than you, that was important to him at all? he thought for a moment. there was nothing.

but then he thought of you. he knew you were worried. you had to be. you worried whenever he went out to the grocery store. he thought about you crying because of his disappearance. he thought about you thinking that he was dead.

he tried to take a breath, and then realized he couldn't.

he looked over to another road. he could turn away now, leaving you without answers forever. he looked back at your home, the one you'd bought together. the one you shared memories in together. he could continue his path and face you, knowing you wouldn't love him anymore.

both were painful options, but he knew he had to see you. he couldn't leave you worried about him for the rest of your life. he knew you were still holding onto hope that he was alive. you always did. whenever some's pet went missing in your neighborhood you always held faith that it would return. he knew you were feeling that way about him.

he was slower now. he didn't walk like a stereotypical zombie that came out of a horror movie. his back still stood up straight. he still had his spine, at least. he hesitated a few times, going back to deliberate his options again and again, too afraid to face you, fearful of what you would think of him.

he passed a dumpster, a large, oversized hoodie sticking out of it. it smelt horrible, but he put it on, desperately trying to cover himself up from the prying eyes of the world. it was simple, a plain, black sweatshirt. no designs, nothing. it wasn't special, and he wasn't either.

after he left, you would surely find someone else. you would move on and forget that you ever dated him in the first place. a pang struck his heart. he didn't want you to leave him. 

he walked up the steps, finally standing at the front door. he looked around. the shutters on the windows, he remembered, you picked out. he shut his eyes. he could turn back now and you would never know he was even there.

he couldn't do that, though. not to you.

he reached into his pocket, bony fingers searching for his keys. he pulled them out, looking down at them. he found the key to the door. it had a cat on it. you picked it out. it's bright, green eyes, stared back at him, and he thought of you.

he thought of all the times you'd been there for him. every time he shed a tear, you were there. every time he woke up from a nightmare, sobbing so hard he couldn't breathe, you were there. you always were.

he put the key in the lot, wiggling it as he turned it so it would work. it didn't sometimes. you'd laugh whenever it failed on him. his hands were shaky as he unlocked the door and it swung open. you were nowhere to be seen, but he was only in the foyer. you weren't going to be standing right in front of the door waiting for his return forever.

he took a step inside. would you even recognize him at all? would you panic at the sight of a walking corpse in your home? the home you once shared with the man you called the love of your life? 'maybe.' he thought. his features were only slightly distorted from the decomposition. he wondered how long it had been since the scooping. he didn't want to think about it, anymore. he shook the thought out of his head, taking another few steps inside.

he turned, looking down the hallway. the hallway led to your shared bedroom and a bathroom, as well as a spare room you'd been using for storage. there were a few things you could never bring yourself to get rid of, and he loved that about you.

sometimes you would joke about that spare room being a child's. a child that you would have with michael. he'd brush away the idea. having a family was never on his mind, too afraid of turning into a spitting image of his father. after all, he already looked almost exactly like him physically. he couldn't become more similar to him than he already was.

michael's search got more frantic, suddenly desperate to see you as his pace quickened. he turned a corner to the living room. then he saw you.

sitting on the couch, watching 'the immortal and the restless'.

his chest suddenly felt heavy. you hated that show, but you watched it so intently, your face glued onto the screen. he could only see the back of your head and he was almost afraid to step into your field of view. you wouldn't love him anymore. he knew it.

you must not have noticed the door open. you were relaxed into the couch. he noticed his favorite drink sitting next to yours on the coffee table. it was untouched, unopened.

you'd been saving it for him, in hopes that he would come home.

he couldn't handle it anymore, and he walked a few paces forwards, body language non threatening. you didn't notice him at first, but you clearly tensed when you did. "who are you?" you asked, your voice shaky as you did so. you leaned against the arm of the couch, as far away from michael as you could be.

he didn't realize he had the hood up on the sweatshirt. he pulled it down, and your face softened. "mikey?" you asked, standing up and taking a few steps towards him.

he felt a twinge in his heart at the nickname. he'd hated it growing up, his father frequently using during his childhood. then he met you, who used it. and he was comfortable hearing it, only if it came from your lips.

he didn't even look up at you. he didn't want you to see him like this. you took another step forward, almost falling into his arms, "oh, mikey.." you muttered into the sweatshirt, your voice muffled but just loud enough to where he could hear you. he was weak, his muscles withering away. "i was so worried about you.." you spoke, more to yourself than to him.

his arms hung at his sides, too shocked to move. he thought you wouldn't love him anymore, but here you were, holding him as if nothing had changed. "you.. you still love me?" he croaked out. he hadn't spoken since the scooping.

"of course i do. i could never stop loving you." you said, pulling away from the hug. he finally made eye contact with you, and you smiled. you lifted a hand to his cheek. your touch was so warm. he hadn't realized how cold he'd been feeling until he felt your hand on his skin.

"what happened to you..?" you asked, letting yourself examine all of his features. michael still looked like him, the same man you woke up to see every day, albeit his skin was more gray now than before. his eyes were sunken in and his cheekbones hollowed out. you were worried about him standing, worried that his bones would give out.

he didn't answer, and you didn't care. he could talk about it when he was ready, the only thing that truly mattered was that he was back at home with you, and safe. you grabbed his hand, leading him to the couch. he sat down, and you followed.

he was truly so tiny. his height still remained the same, but he was noticeably smaller. you wanted to hug him so much tighter, but you didn't want to hurt him. "i missed you." you mumbled. it was so quiet you swore you'd be able to hear a pin drop.

you couldn't help but notice that the only breathing you were hearing was yours.

was michael.. dead? it seemed impossible, but knowing what he worked with, it wouldn't be out of the realm of possibility. you didn't care. he was here, alive, in some way, and sitting right next to you.

you laid down on the couch, your arms extended out to him. he had a sad expression on his face. he noticed your gesture and moved closer to you, laying his head down on your chest.

he could hear how fast your heart was beating. did you really miss him that much? he noticed the huge smile on your face as soon as you realized it was him. he didn't think he had this much of an affect on you.

the episode of 'the immortal and the restless' continued on, but he couldn't even focus on it. he couldn't believe he was here with you again, curled up in your arms. he knew you could sense whenever something was bothering him, and the way you reacted was exactly what he needed.

"you still love me?" he asked again, his voice splitting the silence.

"i will love you. always and forever."

he looked up at you, and you looked down at him, your head angled in a way that looked incredibly uncomfortable but it didn't seem like you minded at all, your brain too focused on the man you loved.

"no matter what, okay? nothing is separating the two of us." you chuckled, running a hand through his hair. when you pulled your hand away, a few strands were stuck in between your fingers.

he relaxed. he loved whenever you played with his hair.

"always and forever?"

"always and forever."

[steventhusiast]

What if Steve and Eddie knew each other and were dating before everything happened with the Upside Down, but no one knew? What would the aftermath of Eddie’s death look like for Steve?

Also on AO3

It had been two days since their fight with Vecna. The fight that they’d won. But Steve didn’t feel like he’d won.

He felt like he’d lost everything.

“This is Slingshot. Come in, Babysitter, are you still driving us to the school today? over.”

“I don’t think Steve’s on the supercoms right now, Lucas… Over.”

“Hey! You were the one who said we had to use codenames, use your codename, Gold Leader! Babysitter, do you copy? Over.”

“Right… This is Gold Leader. I haven’t heard from Babysitter in a few days. Over.”

“What crawled up your ass, man? Over.”

The kids had been a source of non-stop chatter on the supercoms pretty much from the moment everyone had separated a day and a half ago. Dustin was definitely more subdued than usual, but Steve understood that on a level none of the kids were aware of. He knew he should reply, let them know he was in fact alive and ready for their plans later in the day, but he just couldn’t.

For the past twelve hours he hadn’t moved from his spot in bed; he lay on top of his sheets, still topless and coated in grime and bandages and dried blood, curled in on himself in an attempt to find comfort in the fetal position. In his hands, he gripped onto bloodied denim that he knew well. He hadn’t actually managed to let go of the denim vest since everything happened. It was either being worn, or being caressed, or being cuddled, or just held.

There was familiarity in holding it, even when its owner was nowhere to be found. Steve found himself thumbing over the uneven stitches at the edge of patches, just letting his hands fidget with what used to be his favourite piece of clothing Eddie owned. It just had so much of him in it. It was haphazard and rushed and focused more on cramming as many pins, cutouts and patches on as possible than on laying things out nicely. It was a little much, just like Eddie was. Steve didn’t like the addition of blood to it.

With a sigh, Steve closed his eyes, let his grip on the jacket tighten slightly, and imagined Eddie was still there, still wearing it. In his imagination all the dried blood was gone, and the only grime to be found were sauce stains. He imagined that Eddie was lying opposite him, curled onto his side too, hair splayed out on the pillow under his head and his arms curled up to his chest. Eddie would always lay like that, letting his eyes drink up Steve’s appearance every time like he’d never seen him before, occasionally ring-covered fingers coming up to trace over the freckles and moles that littered Steve’s face. But Eddie would never do that again.

Steve’s lips, that had slowly formed into a ghost of a smile, dipped into a frown again. His lips pursed without his permission, and he felt the traitorous stinging behind his eyes again. He told Eddie not to be a hero.

He opened his eyes, and slowly dragged his line of sight to the left pocket. His hands shook a bit, and his eyes started to blur, but he didn’t pay that any mind as he fumbled with the jacket to look at the inside of it, fingers searching for the back of where that left breast pocket was. Where he knew there was pink thread embroidered, the outline of a heart with a little ‘S’ in the centre– his pointer finger found it, and his vision blurred even more as a tear escaped. (“Gotta put the key to my heart over my heart, Stevie.” Eddie had said when he’d first shown Steve the messy stitches. He’d been smirking proudly, even as Steve rolled his eyes. “Okay, milady. Pretend you hate it, I see that blush.”).

Steve sniffed harshly, and let one hand come away from the denim to wipe at his face.

He had two hours before he had to leave to pick up Dustin, Lucas, Mike and Will. He hoped they would be fine cramming themselves in the backseat, because Robin was coming with them too. No way would Steve be able to get through the day without his birdie there at least.

She had a way of just knowing when he needed her unwavering support. She’d be there for him, and not ask questions if he told her not. Even if she didn’t know what was going on, or why he was being the way he was.

None of them knew, really.

As far as the party was concerned, Steve Harrington and Eddie Munson first officially met that night in the boathouse, when Eddie held a broken bottle up to Steve’s neck. They’d never had a chance to really become friends. But that wasn’t the truth.

The truth was Steve and Eddie had properly known each other for about a year.

(Steve’s hands shook slightly as he drove toward the quarry. After a gruelling nightmare that left him feeling wide awake and wired, he gave up entirely on sleep and decided to go and watch the night sky until the sun rose.

The quarry and its quietness had always been a source of peace for him, and at—he glanced at his watch for a split second—three in the morning, he didn’t expect anyone else to be at the quarry.

So imagine his surprise when he pulled up next to a beat up van, and glanced out toward the cliff’s edge to see someone laying back with his legs carelessly hanging over the edge, a half-smoked joint in hand.

He sighed, but got out of the car anyway. Those moonlit dark curls looked somewhat familiar, so he felt safe doing so despite the time. He always had the nail bat in his car if the person ended up being not so friendly.

The sound of his car door shutting meant suddenly there were eyes on him, the curly haired man tilting his head back on the ground so he could squint at him.

“Harrington..?” The figure mumbled, squinting a little harder, “Why’re you upside down, man?”

Steve couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped him, and he walked closer to sit down cross legged by the stranger. He finally got a better look at him, the moonlight and lit spliff held up to the man’s face letting him recognise him. Not a stranger after all, but Eddie Munson, the school’s resident drug dealer.

“Ohhh you’re rightside up again, haha..” Eddie spoke to himself, relaxing back into the ground and letting his eyes go back to the sky.

“Munson, right?” Steve checked. He got a half smirk in response, and a raised eyebrow.

“The king knows who I am? Colour me flattered.”

Steve scoffed.

“Hardly a king anymore.”)

Talking to Eddie was easy, especially at night with the help of some weed. They were fast friends. And for about six months, Steve and Eddie had been more than friends. They became SteveandEddie. Inseparable. But different to how Steve and Robin were SteveandRobin. In his head, Steve had started to call Eddie his soulmate. He didn’t even think he believed in that kind of stuff, but he felt it deep within himself that he and Eddie were meant to know each other. Had always been fated to know each other like that.To love each other.

He wished he’d gotten over himself and told all his friends. Wished the new, tentative part of himself he’d discovered eight months ago hadn’t terrified him so deeply he couldn’t even talk about it with his platonic other half. Robin didn’t even know he’d had a sexuality crisis, let alone that he was mooning over Eddie Munson. She didn’t even know Steve knew Eddie Munson! But Steve wished Robin got to see his goofy smile that was strictly reserved for Eddie, wished she’d gotten to know Eddie because he just knew in his heart they’d be great friends. Just like how he knew in his heart that none of the party would care that he was dating a boy, and hadn’t told them anyway.

And now he was well and truly alone. No one knew he and Eddie had been together, no one knew they’d been friends, no one knew Steve was being eaten alive by grief. They all just wanted him to continue on, business as usual. Didn’t and wouldn’t understand that he wasn’t doing okay.

He huffed as his two-way radio came to life again.

“This is Birdie, I’m on my way to Babysitter HQ. You better not leave me hanging, dingus. Over.”

At least it was Robin this time, not one of the kids. He willed himself to sit up and reach over for the device.

“This is Babysitter. I copy, Birdie. See you soon.” His voice sounded rough and dull to his own ears, but as soon as he stopped sending, the radio lit up with noise again, so he held the push-to-talk button down again for a moment, “Over and out.”

And then he turned the radio off, because he had about twenty minutes before Robin got there, and his room and his person was a mess. He glanced down at the vest he still held with one hand and wondered if he could shower without letting go of his piece of Eddie.

(He couldn’t, not if he wanted to keep Eddie’s smell on the fabric, but he could keep it in his sight the whole time.)

-

Tap. Tap. Tap-tap. Tap.

Robin did their stupid secret knock on the front door just as Steve decided he didn’t have the energy to go through his hair care routine. He ran a hand through it, sighed, and went downstairs, vest in hand still.

As he got to the bottom of the stairs, Robin started up again, harsher this time.

Knock. Knock. Knock-knock–

He narrowly avoided getting punched in the face as Robin went to finish the knocking pattern. She blinked at him, taking in his appearance, and then promptly squinted at him in suspicion.

“What gives?” She asked, gently pushing on his chest so that he walked backwards and she could enter the Harrington household.

“What?” Steve frowned at her. He hadn’t even said anything to her yet, and she was already asking questions.

“Your face is all-” She gestured at him nonsensically, “-wrong.”

With a sniff, Steve shrugged and attempted to stand a little taller, hoping she hadn’t noticed the bundle of denim hanging from one hand.

“Trauma response, or whatever.” He explained half-heartedly, but Robin just levelled him with a look that said ‘I see through whatever you’re trying to do right now’.

“Even after being tortured by Russians you still did your hair everyday. What, now you’ve been… Now you’ve been attacked by a couple of bats, you can’t do your hair anymore? This was like, way less individually traumatising than last time. And you’re not even concussed this time! So what gives?”

He looked at the floor, shifted his grip on the battle vest in his left hand, and motioned with his head toward the living room.

“Hey, is that Eddie’s–”

“Sit down, Robbie.” Steve cut her off, sitting on the loveseat couch stiffly and gesturing next to him. He didn’t want her to ask like that, wanted to tell her instead.

Evidently, he wasn’t going to get through the day without anyone knowing what was going on. And Robin should have known long ago.

“I’m bisexual.” He blurted out, his thumb finding the sewn on heart again in the fabric.

“Okay.” Robin drew out the word, looking at him as she clearly tried to figure out why he looked so broken up about it, “Did you discover that over this last week or something? You look like you’re not doing so hot. You know that being bi is, like, fine, right? I can find you some zines if you drive me to Indi some time, there’s a bunch of these little stores that sell–”

The tiniest hint of a smile tugged at the corners of Steve’s mouth. He loved Robin’s rambles. But he had to cut her off before she talked herself into a whole new conversation.

“I.. Figured it out about,” He paused, thinking back to when he first had a breakdown over the fact he wanted to kiss Eddie, “Eight months ago.”

It was quiet for a moment, and then Robin made an offended noise.

“You didn’t think you could talk to me about it?” Her voice was quiet, and she leaned into his side a little as his expression stayed somber.

“No, I just.. I don’t know. It was new. We were gonna tell you eventually, but…” He trailed off, and Robin raised her eyebrows.

“We?” She parrotted. “Who’s ‘we’?”

“Me and Eddie.” His voice had practically reached a whisper at that point, and his grip on the denim tightened as he looked down at it. The Motörhead patch was suddenly a lot more interesting to look at than Robin’s face was.

He didn’t even need to look at her to know the expressions she was going through as she processed his words and what they meant.

“You two were…?” She hesitated to ask, and Steve’s throat suddenly felt extremely tight. Like if he tried to get a word out, a scream would escape instead. He nodded.

“Oh Stevie,” Finally, she fully leaned into him and wrapped both arms around him from the side, “I’m so sorry.”

She was whispering, but it didn’t matter. Because his birdie was there, not asking any more questions because she knew it would break him. Because her head was on his shoulder, and she was rubbing circles into him the way she always did when they hugged, and Steve finally found it easy to let himself feel the emotions he’d been pushing back since he saw Dustin crying over his boyfriend’s body and gripping onto his guitar pick necklace. His vision was blurring again, and his throat felt unbelievably tight, but Robin was there to hold him together as he broke apart.

He just wanted his Eddie.

He finally let go of the vest to wrap his arms around his best friend and grip on for dear life. He finally let himself cry.

[eufezco]

Helloooo. I have the most angsty heart wrenching billy fic idea.

So, you know when he’s about to sacrifice El in season 3 and then she brings up that one memory with his mom. Can you replace El with the reader in that scene. Like she knows this Bc he trusted her so much to the point that he told her everything ab his childhood and she just brings him back to reality. Then he sacrifices himself Bc he loves the reader?

This has been making me sob if you can write this I would totally appreciate it. If not no worries! Have a great rest of your day/night!

SUMMERTIME SADNESS - B.H. x FEM!READER

Billy held you in his arms like you were nothing, and you were too dazed to realize what was going on. Blood was coming out of your forehead and your nose, the metallic taste of it quickly getting to your lips and your taste buds as you started to remember how you ended up half unconscious in Billy's arms.

You were trying to escape from him with Mike, Max and El. The three kids were trying his hardest to keep you away from him, knowing that you were his main objective and that these past days he had been looking for you in every corner of Hawkins. Mike and El were trying to unlock the door that would have gotten you out of the situation you were in now when Billy found you. He kicked down the door that Max closed trying to gain more time as El and Mike struggled with the exit lock. Billy walked down the corridor, approaching his stepsister that seemed to be the last obstacle between you and him.

"Billy, you don't have to do this. Your name's Billy, Billy Hargrove. You live on 4819 Cherry Lane. The girl you're looking for is your girlfriend she's the only one–" And you saw how he slapped Max and the girl fell unconscious. You gasped after seeing your friend bleeding on the floor, taking a few steps backwards until your back found the corner of the room. El stood in front of you as Mike tried to reach Max but Billy slammed his head against the wall and Mike fell unconscious to the floor too. You tried to move El from your way, scared that the same fate awaited her as the girl stood stiffly on her feet, not listening to your cries and pleas for her to move. She tried to use her powers against him but he was quicker and stronger. He grabbed the girl's arm and put it down, and using his other hand he hit her head against the wall. Your breathing was quick and heavy, you didn't realize how dizzy it was making you feel until now. Until you were left unprotected with your boyfriend.

"You're coming with me." Billy stated. His voice was rougher than usual. Dark and thick veins were running through his whole body and he had his tank top stained with blood. You shook your head to his statement.

"No, Billy, I–" There were no 'no's for him and suddenly everything was dark.

You felt a sharp pain in your temples when you started to wake up in his arms. He was carrying you bride style but there was nothing romantic about the way he was doing it. Billy carefully left you on the floor and knelt beside you. Your vision was blurry, and you blinked slowly, trying to get used to the light of the place but you still could notice how both of his landed on both sides of your head, holding his body on top of yours as his face went to the crook of your neck. His lips brushed against your ear as he talked.

"Don't be afraid. It'll be over soon." You tried to keep your eyes from rolling into the back of your head, trying as hard as you could to not faint again. "Just try and stay... very still." Billy looked at the large hole in the roof of the mall. Your eyes hardly followed his and you gasped when you saw that big creature coming out of it and standing on its big legs in the middle of the mall, a few meters away from where you were laying. Billy stood up and faced the beast like a servant looking up at his master after having carried out his orders. awaiting for his master to give him some new ones. You crawled back, your eyes focused on the big monster and every move it made, scared that it could get you at any moment.

Billy was standing in front of the Mindflayer that had one arm coming out of its mouth in your direction when a firework hit its body and it let out a terrifying screech. You noticed how Billy writhed in pain after your friends started attacking the Mindflayer with the fireworks. Every time one of them collided with its body, your boyfriend squirmed in pain. He was on his four by your side, his back arching and grunts coming directly from his chest.

"Hey, Billy, baby, you're going to be okay." You held back your tears. One of your hands rubbing up and down his back. You looked up to the floor above, trying to find someone that could help you to get your boyfriend out of there. You couldn't say that you weren't looking for a specific person. After everything that happened between him and Billy, after nearly beating each other's asses to death, you knew that he would help you without thinking about it. You felt a strong relief as your eyes found Steve, one of his arms up in the air ready to throw another firework at the beast. He could help you. He would help you. Yeah, he was strong, you and he could lift Billy and walk him out. You started crawling your way out of there, calling your friend's name and getting his attention. You were using your hands and your knees to leave as fast as you could when Billy pulled from one of your legs, rough and with such extraordinary strength, and dragged you back to where you were before. He sat on top of you, raising your upper body from the floor by grabbing you by your t-shirt and then slamming your back against the floor and making you whine in pain.

Your friends didn't stop attacking the Mindflayer so Billy began to writhe again on top of you. The black veins on his face started to get thicker as you called his name multiple times and begged for him to let you go and let you help him. "I love you and I need you to let me go, Billy." You cried out. His hands stopped squeezing your arms that tightly after hearing you, but then again his grip tightened again. "I know that- I know that the Billy that loves me is somewhere in there." He turned his head and closed his eyes. You didn't know how nor in what way but where you were saying to him it was helping. "You remember– You remember when we went to California last month? It was so good. The best part of my summer. I told you that we could take a plane but you insisted on driving, and– and you took me to that beach and the sunset was so pretty. I told you that the sea reminded me of your eyes and you just made an annoying sound but I knew that you liked me saying that." Billy panted, wincing as his whole body continued to spasm but his hands on you loosened his grip. His eyes were glossy, probably because of all the pain he was going through as the Mindflayer tried to get out of him. "And we ate pizza on the beach and for the first time, you talked about yourself. You talked about the things you enjoy, about how your life used to be in California, about Max, about why you hate your father that much, about your mom. You told me that was the beach she used to take you when you were little." Billy's eyes connected with yours for the first time after you mentioned his mom. "You told me how caring she was, you told me about how she looked, and then you showed me that photo of her you always carry in your wallet. She was really pretty, Billy." One of your hands went to caress his cheeks. "And when you thought I was asleep I heard the things you said to me because I wasn't sleeping and I heard you telling me how much she would've loved me and I'm sure that I'd have loved her too." You sniffled, Billy's lips trembling as he closed his eyes, allowing some hot tears to roll down his cheeks as he enjoyed your hand cupping his cheek. The black veins on his face retracted and you knew that your boyfriend was back.

"We need to go, Billy." You said before he stood on his feet, freeing your body from his legs that were trapping it against the floor. You stood as well, still feeling dizzy and having to take a few seconds to focus on not falling. Once you turned to Billy you noticed how close the Mindflayer was getting, the long arm coming out of its mouth again in your direction. "Please, Billy, come on." You hugged him from the back and began to pull his body to you, trying to get him out of there but your efforts meant nothing to him who was determined to not leave.

"Hey, guys. We gotta go." Steve said behind you. You turned to look at him, your arms still around Billy as you shook your head. Steve pressed his lips together and before your friend could complain about the situation, Billy's sudden movement made his body push you and Steve to the floor.

"No, no, no, no." You mumbled, getting up as fast as you could to approach him again but Steve was faster than you, and before your feet could process the orders from your brain of running to Billy, Steve already had you trapped between his arms as your eyes stared at your boyfriend, perplex and feeling tears forming again. Steve didn't care about how much you tried to escape him, about how much you shook your body trying to free you from his arms, about how desperate and broken your screams sounded, about the tears coming out of your eyes, he couldn't let you go.

You saw more vines coming out of the Mindflayer and stabbing Billy's body and you squirmed listening to his screams, and then one of them went directly into his chest, your throat was dry and your mouth tasted like blood from screaming, and Steve's arms felt tighter around you.

His white tank top was soaked with blood, his eyes were almost closed shut and his face was stained with a black liquid that had come out straight out of his mouth when you knelt by his side. You placed his head on your knees, stroking his hair and hugging his immobile body closer to you, wanting to keep the warmth of it for as long as you could. You kissed his forehead, tasting your own tears as your lips were pressed against his skin, at first, begging him to hold on a little longer until the ambulance arrived, apologizing and saying your last 'i love you's to him as his eyes closed.

masterlist

[aloneinthehellfire]

Chapter 14: Part 2: The Battle Of Starcourt

Season One | Season Two | Season Three

[Raining Hellfire Season Three]

Word Count: 2291 words

Warnings: swearing, attacks, use of knife, mentions of blood, death, powers, sad confessions, fire, guilt, mentions of possession

[A/N: It just got a whole lot more interesting. And depressing. Mostly interesting. Can't believe there's just one more chapter until the end of this season]

The Battle Of Starcourt

You ran into the Starcourt Mall just in time to see an epic display of fireworks.

The others had come back, bringing unexpected ammo with them as they blasted the streams of light towards the giant monster, it screeching out in pain. But they would have to run out eventually.

In front of the Mind Flayer, you see a struggle and immediately stagger towards it. Your eyes widen when you see Billy pinning El down, smashing her against the floor.

“NO!” You scream and you dive at Billy, hooking your arm around his body and pulling him down to the floor with you.

El coughs for air, scrambling away from Billy and the Mind Flayer while looking to you with a panicked expression.

Billy writhed in pain as Robin threw a firework bomb at the monster, their connection allowing the others to hit two birds with one stone.

But Billy was determined. He pounced at you, grabbing you by the throat and lifting you with strength no human should have.

“Y/N!” You heard Robin and Steve yell. They had no more ammo left to rid the monsters of their strength.

“Billy…” You struggled to speak, clawing at his hands around your neck as you aimlessly kick your legs. His dark eyes stared into yours, any soul they had gone forever.

You reach down into your pocket, feeling the familiar glint of metal brush against your fingers and you grasp the handle tightly. With one swift swing of the scalpel, you cut across Billy’s arm, causing him to hiss and drop you to the floor in pain and surprise.

You choke for air, crawling away.

“Let us finish this, Y/n” Billy stalked closer to you, a deep voice striking every nerve, “Once and for all”

You turn onto your back just as Billy reached down and brought up the scalpel again. But he was prepared this time. He grabbed your wrist and twisted it, hard, causing you to drop the small knife onto the floor.

He took the opportunity and straddled you, pinning you down, as he wrapped his hands around your head and smashed it against the floor. You cry out in pain as your skull made contact with the hard surface, eyes blinded by white spots in your vision.

“Y/N!” Max’s voice rang out as she and Mike ran into the mall.

You simply hold your hand out, stopping her from getting any closer. You bring your eyes to meet Billy’s as he lifts your head once again. Before he can repeat his past action, you delicately place your hand on his cheek and his movements still.

“Billy… it’s me. It’s me.” You whisper repetitively, eyes never leaving his.

His eyes seem to regain emotion, eyelids flickering slightly as he fought against himself.

“I’m the girl you saved at the beach, remember?” You try, breathing heavily, “I swam too far into the waves and you came out and saved me.”

Billy’s face flashes with memories, his gaze set on yours.

“You were with your mom. She wore a hat. With a blue ribbon.”

His eyes start to pool with tears, his breathing becoming shallower.

“You… you brought me to her.” You nod, tears slipping down your cheeks, “You didn’t even know me but you told her I was your new best friend.”

“I wanted to teach you how to surf.” He whispers and your heart breaks. Billy was still in there.

“Remember how happy we were?”

Billy squeezes his eyes shut, nodding slowly as the rush of tears finally streamed down his face.

“I’m so so sorry, Billy.”

You cried, staring at the boy you shared so many memories with. The boy that had come into your life when you both needed someone. The boy you shared your first kiss with. The boy you could never not love. The boy you had cursed.

The Mind Flayer lets out a terrifying screech, quickly recovering from the blasts.

“Kill her”

Billy’s eyes widen as he hears the same echo, glancing up at the creature above you. Something flashes across his eyes before he looks back to you, lips quivering into a hint of a sad smile.

Suddenly, the Mind Flayer roars, opening it’s mouth and revealing rows of sharp teeth. A tentacle shoots out, opening up and aiming straight for you.

It never reached you.

Billy caught the tentacle with both hands, straining against its force as he stood above you. Protecting you.

You struggle to stand, trying to prop yourself up on your elbow before falling back down. Another tentacle shoots out. Billy shifts his body and it bites into his left side.

You watch in horror and regret as your childhood friend sacrifices his life for yours. The Mind Flayer has no choice but to eliminate him now. Another tentacle, another bite. And again, and again, and again…

Billy drops to his knees, the tentacle from the monster’s mouth retreats as he screams out in pain.

Billy shifts his gaze to you and you lock eyes. You stay paralysed, shaking your head. He was going to die. And he knew it.

He smiles, reassuring you just before the Mind Flayer shoots its tentacle straight through Billy’s chest.

“BILLY!” Max screams as you sob on the floor, watching the Mind Flayer take his life.

After a moment, the tentacles release him and he drops to the floor. Max immediately runs over, eyes set with panic as she stares down at her brother.

You slowly stand, head throbbing as you make your way over to them both. As you do, you feel something shift behind you and your arms trail with goosebumps.

“LOOK OUT!” Mike yells and you spin around just as the Mind Flayer shoots out more tentacles.

You didn’t know how it happened. In fact, it all happened so fast that you didn’t think anything through.

Your hands raised in front of you, reaching out as you felt a powerful rage build up inside of you. The corners of your vision darkened as you focused your anger on the rows of teeth in front of you. You screamed.

The tentacles suddenly froze in the air, barely inches away from your face as you stood in front of the kids. They squirmed and struggled with such force that they should have moved. It shouldn’t have been possible, not since El had lost her powers. But it wasn’t El doing this.

It was you.

You felt a darkness creeping through your spine and into your arms, faint black lines covering the skin. With a yell, you push your arms out and the tentacles stabbed straight into the Mind Flayer so quickly you almost missed it.

You stand your ground. The Mind Flayer struggled against itself, slowly pulling away each tentacle before roaring at you.

But its action caused it to start bleeding out from every wound you had caused. And that wasn’t the end.

A chill crept up your spine before your mind suddenly flooded with a high pitched scream. You wince, collapsing to the floor as the Mind Flayer screeches out in pain. It becomes unsteady on its legs; rocking back and forth as it struggles to stand. Stumbling, it crashes into a column.

You feel its life draining before it finally collapses to the floor and lays there, motionless. You breathe out as the static in your mind calms, air leaving your lips shakily.

They had done it. They had closed the gate.

Everyone stares at the dead creature from where they stand, relief coursing through them. And then they look to you... and you couldn't even begin to imagine what they were thinking.

“Billy?”

Max’s voice snapped you out of your trance and you turn your head to see her kneeling down beside him. Behind her, Mike held El as she cried.

“Billy.” Max continues, shaking her head as he struggles to breathe. “Billy. Get up, please. Billy, get up, please, please.”

You pull your body across the floor towards them, reaching him just in time for Billy whisper into the air.

“I’m sorry.”

You reach out to grab his hand and his eyes find yours, a tear rolling down.

He takes his final breath.

“Billy!” Max sobs, shaking his shoulders, “Billy, wake up. Please.”

You watch as your sister breaks down, sobbing uncontrollably. El takes her into her arms, rocking her back and forth.

“It’s okay.” She whispers and tears your heart apart, “It’s okay.”

The next hour felt like torture.

Military helicopters had shown up in the parking lot, a man in a lab coat leading them into the mall.

“I’m Dr. Owens.” He had said to you as the soldiers cleared out the mall. The way he looked at you was curious, like he had seen you before.

Outside, fire trucks and ambulances lined the Starcourt Mall. There wasn’t originally a fire in the building but now it was covered in flames. Just another cover up in Hawkins.

They even covered your father’s death with the flames.

You sat in the back of an ambulance, watching as your friends reunite with their families, crying and holding eachother. It was a numb feeling for you to be seeing that.

Susan and Neil had even appeared, pulling Max into a hug as Susan stared at the flames with a horrified expression. Neil didn’t even seem like he cared his own son had died.

El never reunited with Hopper. She had lost him just like you lost Jack. But she had Joyce, a woman who always saw the girl as her daughter ever since the night they met. She had a family, even with him gone.

And the last time you saw either Jack or Hopper was in the mall that was burning to the ground.

“Hey.”

Steve sits down next to you, wrapped in a blanket similar to your own. You smile at him before frowning, looking out into the crowds of people.

“Where are your parents?”

He let out a cold laugh, shaking his head. “Out of town. Probably won’t find out about any of this until they’re back. Not like they ever answer their damn phones.”

“I’m sorry.” You whisper, offering a smile.

Steve looks at you as your eyes are drawn back to the parking lot. Lucas’ mother was smothering him and Erica in kisses whilst their father held on to them.

“Are you okay?” Steve asks and you tear your eyes away from the Sinclairs. His eyes widen. “Shit, sorry. That’s a stupid question. I’m sorry.”

“I just-” You start, taking a breath. “I just wish I could go back in time. Do things differently. Maybe… maybe they’d still be alive.”

“None of us could have seen that coming.” Steve tries and you laugh bitterly.

“I should have. I mean, it shouldn’t have been a surprise that they died after I was told that everyone I loved would be taken away from me, you know? And what did I do? I dragged them into it anyway.”

“How can you blame yourself?” Steve furrows his brows, “You couldn’t have done anything.”

“But I did.” You say quietly, thinking back, “I stopped it. I- I don’t know how but I stopped it from attacking. I had that the whole time and I didn’t use it until it was too late.”

“I should have let it take me.” You add with the quietest whisper. Steve raised his eyebrow, clearly not hearing your last statement.

“How could you have known?” He offered. “You looked just as shocked as the rest of us.”

“I know.” You slowly nod, trying to convince yourself. “You’re right. I just… a lot happened.”

He reaches between the blankets and grabs your hand, squeezing it. “We’ll get through it. All of us.”

You look down at your hands with a gentle smile. You frown, remembering. “About-”

“It’s okay.” He whispers, planting a kiss on your temple. “I know what you’re gonna say.”

You squeeze your eyes shut at his touch, wanting nothing more than to give in.

“I don’t think either of us are ready.” You look up at him. “I was told once that… that time doesn’t heal by itself. I know you and Nancy didn’t work out but you loved her. And… and I know first hand that those feelings just don’t disappear in a couple of months.”

He nods along, glancing over at the Wheeler family reuniting.

“I know.” He smiles down at you, a laugh escaping him. “Why are we like this?”

“Hopeless?” You laugh, resting your head on his shoulder. “I have no idea.”

Another kiss to your forehead and you close your eyes.

Just for now, in this moment, you wanted to pretend. Pretend like nothing ever happened.

The Russians didn’t try to open another gate. It didn’t lead to an investigation that got you and your friends kidnapped and tortured, not knowing if you’d make it out alive.

Billy was never possessed. It didn’t lead to him sacrificing himself for you. You were going to attend work tomorrow and roll your eyes at Billy’s dramatic entrance from the pool house. And Heather would be there too, fussing over colour-coded whistles.

Hopper didn’t go down into the Russian base. It didn’t lead him to getting caught in the blast as they shut the gate. He would come home, grumbling about Mike and El, making you laugh with his poor attempts at dad jokes.

Jack never came looking for you. He was going to be there waiting for you, in the house you shared as a family.

The black dust never possessed you on the eve of your 14th birthday.

You weren’t cursed.

You just wished you weren’t destined to live out your greatest fear...

Being alone.

Chapter 15: This Is Just The Beginning ->

taglist: @gnnnne / @beepisbeep / @paintballkid711/ @eddiesbirdie/ @livasaurasrex/ @darktimelegends / @jackierose902109 / @mvrylee / @chervbs/ @eternallyvenus / @nervouscatsuit / @f1nn-wolfhard / @hereiamhereigo / @ladybug0095 / @fangirling-4-ever / @astrolockley

[animatronicbutters]

Chapter 2 - Mike's Security Desk

Mike Schmidt's job is both extremely stressful and incredibly boring. On one hand, if he fails to properly guard the facility, four horrific monsters could escape and wreak havoc on society. On the other hand, all those said monsters do is play guitar and eat pizza all day. It was fascinating to watch them at first, seeing how realistic they look, despite being robotic, but now it's mind-numbing. 

"You know, this job would be a lot more engaging if we could hear what they're saying in there." Mike says, "I wonder what they talk about."

"There is a very good reason why you're not allowed audio." His manager, speaking through the phone tells him, "We can't risk anyone getting attached. Some of the things they say have been described as 'cute' or 'endearing'. Even 'humanizing'. Please remember that these animatronic characters are not human and will happily kill you if they see you."

Mike nods, "I know, I know. Just a bit boring. And what if they're planning something in there and we can't hear it?"

"It's your job to make sure they aren't doing anything that looks suspicious. If they're making plans, you need to be able to tell without audio. Now, I've still got to have calls with the other guards. Is there anything you need before I hang up?"

"I don't think so." Mike says, "Just another day at Freddy Fazbear's Pi-"

His monitors go black and the lights turn off. The entire facility is dark.

"The power's out." 

The phone line is dead.

"No! Come back! The power is-" Mike jumps to his feet. The doors to the facility have a power lock on them. Without the power, the animatronics can just pry them open! And he can't use the cameras to see where they are!

Mike runs through the dark hallways of the facility, his flashlight on. He just needs to get to the emergency generator. It'll be fine if he works quickly. Nothing to worry about.

The halls are dark and hostile, the low ceiling giving a feeling of claustrophobia, despite how far they stretch. Where is everyone? The researchers must be on break or something. Where are the other guards? Somebody should be here!

Mike turns into the main research room, looking for any sign of human life. His heart climbs up his throat as he sees bodies covering the checkered floor. Are they… dead?!

Mike rushes to one of the researchers and kneels down to feel her pulse. She's breathing. She seems to be asleep. 

"You should join the others." A voice stabs the back of his mind, speaking from inside his thoughts.

Mike stands up and whirls around, nearly tripping over the researcher's body. A Freddy Fazbear animatronic stands in the door. It is golden and translucent, appearing as some sort of ghost. The vision triggers a memory in Mike's mind, but he struggles to pin it down.

"Sleep." The ghost bear commands.

Mike feels exhaustion press down on his eyes, but he fights it, gritting his teeth.

"You should just let this happen, Michael." The bear says, "Sleep."

"No!" Mike breaks out of the influence of the monster and runs for the exit on the other side of the room.

"Michael. It's me."

Blood stains Mike's vision and he trips, slamming his head into the door just as he reaches it. He groans and pulls himself back to his feet. The memories in the back of his mind are crawling forward, demanding to be seen, but he pushes them away and shoves the door open. 

He has a job to do. 

The back halls on the way to the generator are even more cramped than before. Mike shines his flashlight at every shadow, terrified that something might be hiding within.

His footsteps echo as he walks, but the sound is interrupted by a loud screech as metal is dragged against metal. The security doors! Mike's stomach churns. He's running out of time. He needs to restore the power before the main facility doors are opened. Then he can initiate a lockdown and nobody will be able to get out.

He'll be trapped inside with them.

Mike forges ahead. He knew the risk when he signed up for this position. This is his job. 

He stops at a crossroads, suddenly fighting to remember which way to go. Did he hit his head too hard earlier? He tries to remember. The generator is in a supply room. It's like a glorified closet. It's at the end of one of these hallways. However, on the end of the other hallway is an actual supply closet. Mike can't remember which closet is where.

He glances up and down each hall, but comes to the conclusion that he can't spend too much time debating. He heads down the left hall. 

There are boxes crowding the hallway, leftovers from the researcher's new equipment. He told them several times to clean up after themselves, but that doesn't seem to have happened. 

He tiptoes around a stack of boxes, having to flatten himself against the wall to keep from knocking it over. In his awkward position, he hears a soft footstep. Another guard?

Mike awkwardly positions his flashlight toward the sound and bites back a scream as two red eyes emerge from the darkness. An indigo beast stands in the hall, only a few feet away from him. Bonnie looks so much bigger than he does on the cameras. 

Mike throws himself backward, but trips on the boxes, falling down. Bonnie stares down at him, his ears twitching. The animatronic seems surprised as well and after a moment of watching, bounds away into the darkness, disappearing from sight. 

Mike's heart pounds in his chest. Why didn't it kill him? Is it telling the others so they can all gang up on him? He scrambles to his feet and runs down the hall in the opposite direction.

A voice calls from behind, "Foxy, the plan!"

Fast footsteps echo through the hall. Mike can hear boxes being knocked to the side as something barrels through them. Mike glances behind him for a split second, only able to see the shine of a yellow eye directly behind him. 

"So, uh- if any of the animatronics escape, you should probably hide." 

Mike remembers the training from his first week on the job. His manager did nothing but lecture him with pre-recorded voice messages, not even giving him personalized advice.

"After you've locked down the facility, of course, the best thing to do is find a secure place to hunker down until help arrives." The voice on the phone directs, "Your security office is the best place for that, actually. Um- under no circumstances should you try to run from or fight the animatronics. I mean- you can try, but you're just going to get killed and that's a lot of paperwork. Not to mention the cleanup…"

"Just- keep in mind you can't outrun an animatronic. Especially not Foxy. Although, now that I think about it- Foxy has really sensitive eyes! He's got special sensors built in that help him see electric signals and magnetic waves and a lot of other stuff. Maybe if you have a bright light or something you could stun him with it. Or not… he might just kill you anyway. Forget it, just hide."

The memory gives Mike the only idea he can think of. He whirls around, shining the flashlight in Foxy's face, surprising himself with how close the animatronic's deadly teeth are already. 

Foxy makes a sound like a dog in pain and stumbles to the side, running past Mike. Mike watches as Foxy clutches his face and howls.

"Foxy?"

Mike shines his light back up the hall. Freddy Fazbear himself stares back at him. Behind him, Chica stares, her beak partially open as if she wants to devour Mike whole.

"What did you do to Foxy?" Freddy's eyes narrow and his fingers clench around his microphone. 

Mike tries flashing the light at Freddy, but can't replicate the same effect, "L-leave me alone! Or I'll- I'll do the same thing to you!"

He keeps flashing the light as he backs away slowly. Freddy moves as he does. One moment the bear is holding a mic. The next he isn't. 

The microphone smacks straight into Mike's nose, knocking him to the floor. He isn't sure if he is blacking out or if the hallway is just dark. 

"Foxy, are you okay?" He hears Freddy say.

"He- he blinded me! That nasty son of a-" 

"Take my paw. I'll lead you."

"I don't need a seeing-eye bear! I need to rip that human's eyes out of their sockets!"

"Uh- he… he disappeared. Sorry. Maybe next time." 

Mike hears the animatronics head back down the hall, leaving him alone on the floor. He breathes a sigh of relief through his broken nose. They're leaving.

His eyes open wide in horror. They're leaving.

"Sleep."

Mike scrambles to his feet. His head feels like a block of cement. He squints in the light, determined to power through and stop the animatronics.

Wait. The light?

"Michael Schmidt?" 

He focuses his eyes and sees a woman in a suit walking toward him. She does not look happy.

"Uh- it's just Mike, actually."

"Well, Mike, do you know what just happened at this facility?"

Mike groans, "Four killer animatronics just escaped?"

"So you are aware of the situation. Fantastic. And tell me, what is your job here?"

"I'm going to make a guess and say I don't have one anymore." 

"Not at this facility, no." She pinches the bridge of her nose, "But you owe the company. So you and I? We're going to track them down and bring them back."

"That's not what I signed up to do." Mike says, "I don't know the first thing about field work."

"Oh, trust me. I know." She says, "But there just so happens to be a situation at another location, so all of our normal Nightguards are disposed." 

"... Nightguards?"

The woman gives a dry smirk, "That's their name for us. Special agents who protect the world from animatronics under the cover of darkness. Nightguards."

"So you want me to be a… 'Nightguard', despite the fact that I failed and let four animatronics escape?"

She nods, "Everyone else in this facility was knocked unconscious by some kind of attack. Probably a feature of one of the animatronics that we don't have recorded. You seem to be the only person they had to physically incapacitate."

"Oh, the sleep thing?" Mike's memory of the event is already blurry, "Yeah, I have insomnia, so maybe that helped."

"Maybe." She shrugs, "Either way, you'll be helping me until we can get some real Nightguards on the case."

Mike nods, then tilts his head, "... Are you a real Nightguard?"

She pauses, but then nods, "I'm in charge of them, actually. I'm Vanessa, by the way."

Mike wonders why she hesitated to answer such a simple question, but he doesn't question it. 

"Now come on, Mikey. We have some monsters to find." 

"Just Mike."

"Michelangelo."

"Can I just be fired?"

"You're under contract."

[titan-fodder]

Prima Vista Part VII

[ previous ]

Rating: E (explicit; mdni)

Warnings: dramatics, gaslighting, pining pining pining, drinking, attempted drugging, blacking out, vomiting, Nile and Hitch hook up, did I mention pining, one Greek word (thank you again, @cynnyc .)

It’s nearly ten PM as you climb the steps to the PKA house. The brisk October air makes you pull your jacket tighter around yourself and move toward the door faster. You probably should’ve texted your target first, checked to see if he’s even here, but you’re not about to stand outside and wait for a reply, not when you can just knock and ask a living soul.

 It’s Reiner who answers, looking extremely tired with dark circles under his eyes. You idly wonder if he and the other new kids are being kept awake as another stupid fucking hazing ritual, but you don’t really have the time for small talk. 

 “Erwin here?”

 The blond nods and steps out of the way. “His room. Might already be asleep.”

 Shrugging, you walk inside, mumbling, “Just gonna have to wake his ass up then.”

 Which you do, climbing up to the third story after Reiner tells you which room he’s in now. You knock on the door a couple times and almost feel bad when Erwin answers, clearly rumpled in pajama pants and bedhead. 

 He squints at you, and you snort. “Sleep before ten? You some kinda nerd or somethin’?”

 “What do you want?” He gruffs, voice a little scratchy. 

 You can see part of the room behind him, looks pretty similar to the one from last year. That had been the only time you’d really gotten a close look into his space, and it had not ended well. You hope this time will be different. 

 “I needed to talk to you about something.”

 Erwin scrubs a hand down his face then rests his head against his doorframe. “I’ll take a wild guess and say this is about Mike.”

 You push your lips out in a pout and respond, “Maybe.”

 He lets you into his room, catches you off guard when he asks, “Door open or closed?” 

 “Depends. You gonna come onto me again?”

 He chuckles and shakes his head. “I learned my lesson last time.”

 “You can shut it then.”

 Taking up the chair at his desk, you watch as Erwin just crawls back under his covers and fixes cerulean eyes on you. 

 “Why haven’t you been talking to him?”

 Something in your stomach flips, eyes growing as you splutter, “I haven’t been talking to him? He hasn’t been talking to me!” 

 Erwin frowns. “What? He’s been bitching to me incessantly.”

 “And, I’ve been bitching to Hitch incessantly.”

 Groaning into his pillow, Erwin holds out his hand, and you hear a muffled command, “Give me your phone.”

 You do without hesitation, rattle off the passcode then sit and wait as Erwin scrolls through what you assume to be your settings or contacts. The thought that you should be a little scared crosses your mind—you do have some compromising photos in an unlocked folder—but judging by Erwin’s current mood, he doesn’t seem interested in anything except sleeping. 

 “That motherfucker,” he grunts.

 “What?”

 “You blocked his number.”

 “What?” This time is much louder and panicked. “No, I didn’t! I swear I didn’t.”

 He tosses you the device back and gestures in a ‘see for yourself’ manner. “Someone did.”

 Your blood begins to boil as you stare down at your short list of blocked contacts, Mike’s name right on top.

 “Are you fucking kidding me?” You quickly tap to remedy the problem, hands beginning to shake. “I don’t even know how—”

 “My money’s on the shitty boyfriend,” Erwin mumbles.

 You want to text Mike, but you have no idea what to say. Sorry we haven’t talked in over a month. Zeke figured out my phone password and blocked your number haha. You doubt that would fly.

 If you had just come to Erwin sooner, most of this could have been avoided. You don’t know if you’re more upset at Zeke or at yourself.

 Zeke. Definitely Zeke. That is some wildly possessive behavior. That’s isolation. The idea makes you nauseous. This is just another instance of him showing what you believe to be his true self. Between all the fighting and grudges, you’re at your wit’s end. Just the other day, the two of you had gotten into yet another argument when you happened to get a glance at the Tinder icon in his app list. 

 “Why do you still have that?” You’d asked with a frown. You really hadn’t planned on it turning into an ordeal. 

 “Have what?”

 “Tinder.”

 “What are you talking about?”

 Then, right in front of your eyes, he had deleted the app. You saw it, but that didn’t stop Zeke from looking at you with a straight face and telling you, “I think you’re just confused, babe.”

 That’s when it turned into an ordeal. That’s when you got defensive and incredulous. That’s when he just kept telling you that you were wrong, that you were just seeing things, and after a good thirty minutes once you were nice and high strung, he actually had you halfway convinced. 

 Because he always sounds so sure of himself, always makes it so that his word is law. You had doubted yourself—you’re still doubting yourself. 

 “Jesus, I can’t believe this,” you breathe, leaning back in the rolling chair and staring up at the ceiling. You can believe it, actually, you just hadn’t expected him to sink that low. “What do I even say to Mike?”

 Erwin finally pushes himself into a sitting position and stretches. Seems like he’s just resigning himself to being awake. “Whatever it is, you should probably talk it out in person.”

 “Probably.”

 “Might be a little difficult now, though.”

 Heaving a sigh, you mutter, “Yeah, I assume he's pretty pissed at me.”

 Erwin hums, but his voice comes out a little unsure when he says, “Well, that, but also…”

 You're suddenly sitting straight up. “Also what?”

 Making a face, the man across from you enlightens you to the fact that, “Mike is kind of seeing someone. I think.”

 You blink at him, trying to process what he’s telling you. Mike is… With someone? You feel sick.

 But, you shouldn’t because he’s allowed to branch out. You surely did, and you hurt him in the process. 

 “It, uh… It gets worse.”

 Swallowing, you try to hide the lump in your throat when you rasp, “How?”

 Don’t cry. Do not cry. You have no right to cry. 

 “I’m about ninety-nine percent positive it’s Zeke’s ex.”

 Every muscle in your face suddenly relaxes, but it isn’t in a good way. Instead of frowning, your brow softens into its normal position. You release the tension in your jaw, the teeth that were just clenched falling away from each other as your lips part. Erwin moves in and out of focus as your gaze becomes blurry, hot tears gathering at your waterline, and now you don’t even try to stop them from falling. 

 Fucking Rhi. She had been nothing more than an annoyance before, a peppy little annoyance trying to grab your boyfriend’s attention. But, now… Now, you’re ready to fight. Parking lot brawl, throwing fists and pulling hair, and screeching—you want to destroy her. 

 “Oh.” You sniffle then wipe your nose with the back of your hand. “That’s good. I mean—” a quiet cough, “—that’s good for him. I’m glad.”

 Erwin snorts. “No, you’re not,” his volume rises a bit. “So, don’t pretend like you are. God, why are you guys so bad at this?”

 You let out a humorless laugh and shrug. “‘Cause I have shitty timing, I guess.” You bite your lip and look back to the ceiling, trying not to weep too openly, but your lungs are burning, preventing you from breathing, and your heart is bruising your ribcage, and you think your bones just might shatter inside of your chest. 

 There’s a rustling on the bed, and when you look back at Erwin, you find him laying down again but holding the blankets up in front of him. 

 “Come on.”

 “W-what? Erwin, that is literally the last thing we—”

 “I’m not trying to fuck,” he says, eyes heavy as he stares at you. “You need to relax, and I need to sleep, so just come on."

 You consider for a while, looking from Erwin to the mattress. You’re really not that close, would barely even call him your friend, but you did come to him tonight. You had chosen to confide in him. He makes some pretty questionable decisions sometimes, but you still believe that ultimately he’s a good person. 

 “Fine, but put a shirt on.”

 “Then, grab one. Second drawer. Make sure it’s soft.”

 You roll your eyes but do as you're told, running your hands over a few t-shirts until you find one that he should be pleased enough with. He tugs it on then collapses back on the bed, and you kick your shoes off then slip out of your jacket and under the covers.

 You’re facing him, trying to keep a few inches between yourself and his chest, but as you think about the position you’re in—why you’re in it, the tears start flowing freely again, and you’re holding back little whimpers, shoulders shaking at the effort. Erwin breathes in deeply then uses the arm he isn’t laying on to pull you to him, shushing you as he rubs the space between your shoulder blades with a warm hand. 

 “We’ll get it sorted out,” he promises, voice quiet as he starts to doze. 

 It’s not how you expected to end the night, but you suppose there are worse ways.

*

 Mike learns a lot of information in a very short amount of time. Nile meets him outside of the fitness center to give him the scoop, trying to look casual as he walks, but Mike can tell he's nervous. 

 He starts by asking if Mike has talked to you at all recently, and no, he has not. So, Nile tells him that you broke things off with Zeke and apparently it got messy. 

 "Something about him being a manipulative bastard," Nile waves a hand. 

 "Doesn’t surprise me. Took her long enough."

 You've been hanging around the Pike house again, sometimes by yourself and sometimes with Hitch—"Who's really fucking cute, by the way." Obviously Nile and Marie are in the 'off' portion of their relationship cycle. "And, you would know all this if you would just start coming around again. It's stupid to pay dues and not actually engage with the frat, dude."

 "I've just been busy with school," Mike tells him. It's only a half lie. His senior courses are kind of kicking his ass, but he's also been busying himself with Rhi who is… tolerable. 

 "Whatever. Halloween party is in, like, a week. If you don't show up, I'm gonna be real pissed."

 "I'll be there, Nile."

 "Okay, then lemme prepare you for one more thing."

 Mike stops walking and looks at the smaller man who inhales deeply then blows air out through his teeth. 

 "So, uh, she's hanging around again, right? And, you're not there, so it seems like she's sort of, uh, latched onto…" He makes a face, and Mike leans back. 

 "Don't fucking tell me."

 Nile cringes. "Yeah. I don't think they're fucking or anything. I haven't heard them in his room like I used to hear the two of you."

 "She goes into his room?" Mike has to flex his hand by his side, but the brick wall of the library they've stopped in front of is looking mighty nice. Break a few bones, bleed a little, it'll feel good. 

 "Yeah, but, like, they're nowhere near as close as you and her."

 "How close we used to be. It's been so fucking long since we've even talked, dude. And, any time I try to catch her on campus, the dickbag is with her—"

 "Well, at least you don't have to worry about that anymore."

 "Yeah, now I just have to worry about her fucking my best friend. Fuck, she just—" Mike growls in his throat, contemplates turning to go back to the gym because he needs to get this energy out somehow. "She drives me fucking crazy."

 "Yeah, I know, man. I just didn't want you to be surprised at the party when you see 'em all buddy-buddy."

 "I'm gonna punch him," Mike states. "Just lay him out in front of everyone."

 "Please don't," Nile sounds genuinely worried. "Maybe use the party as a way to, I don't know, talk to your girl? Like an adult?" 

 "Obviously not my girl, and I've been screwing around with Rhi anyway. Maybe it's just time we went our separate ways or whatever." 

 It physically hurts to even suggest, but he's trying to put on a brave face for his friend—act annoyed rather than fucking crushed, but god, he is aching. His stomach has opened up into nothing, his chest feels void of everything that was once inside, and he knows he's being dramatic, but fuck fuck fuck, first Zeke and now Erwin? What is it that Mike doesn't have? What can't he provide you with that they can? Just tell him, and he'll fucking fix it. 

 "Yeah, I think we both know that's not gonna happen. Plus, you do realize Rhi is probably just using you to make Zeke jealous."

 "I'm not fucking stupid, Nile, of course I know that." But, Mike is really tired of his love life revolving around that asshole, like he has to wait for Zeke to call all the shots. "I'm using her as much as she's using me, so—"

 "As a distraction?" 

 Mike lets his head loll to the side, peering down at Nile from the corner of his eyes. "What do you think?" 

 The other man gives him a light punch to the shoulder and once again suggests, "Talk things out. Just pull her aside at the party." 

 It's easier said than done. When Halloween rolls around, it's a little insane. It's too big and too loud with a flashing strobe that hurts Mike’s eyes. There are all sorts of costumes, making it hard to recognize anyone. The jungle juice is a mystery, one Mike doesn't plan on touching but that many people will. He has a feeling that more than a few party-goers are gonna end up sick, probably passing out in various locations of the house. 

 Mike has opted for an easy costume, the tacky tourist complete with his pink Hawaiian shirt, a straw hat, sunglasses, and a fanny pack. It's so awful, it actually made him laugh, but Rhi, clad in a spandex tiger suit, is not nearly as amused. She probably wanted him to go the sexy cop route or something equally as cringey, but Mike just doesn't have it in him tonight. 

 Nile is a shirtless cowboy, Hitch is a Catholic schoolgirl, Gelgar is Freddy Krueger with a pompadour, Reiner is a werewolf, the list goes on and on. Sexy, bloody nurses, superheroes, Harry Potter, and so on. 

 When his eyes land on you for the first time that night, Mike comes close to drooling his drink. Lola Bunny in her skimpy basketball uniform and a rabbit ear headband. Your face is painted, and you're carrying around one of those foam balls kids use to dunk into Fisher Price hoops, and he has no doubt the prop will be lost by the end of the party. 

 Mike thinks back to Spring Break, to you wincing at his movie choice then trying to sleep through it. You had woken up to him flipping through the photo album, then chose to finally open up to him. 

 So, why this costume? Why "torture" yourself like this? 

 And, speaking of torture, you're sticking to Erwin just like Nile said you would. The blond is in a tailored suit, his face painted like a skull. It's both classy and creepy, and Mike hates him for it. In fact, it calls for another drink. 

 Rhi finds him in the kitchen after making her rounds, taking up her former place on Mike's arm as he uses the counter to pop the lid off a fresh bottle. They watch the game of beer pong playing out in front of them, but Rhi doesn't seem content to just sit. 

 She has to stand on her tip-toes and shout into his ear, "Wanna walk around some?" 

 No. He really doesn't, but he can placate her, especially if it means getting laid later tonight. 

 They trek back to the main room, observing the debauchery taking place. People are grinding and stripping to Monster Mash. Several couples are spread out in the chairs or up against the wall getting pretty close to full on exhibitionism. 

 They stop to talk to "Officer" Marie for a while then move on to Nile and Hitch to whom Rhi spills everything she just heard from the busty redhead. They joke with Gelgar and his catch of the day, some of the pledges—Jean, Reiner, and Eren—who are just trying to survive, and then at last… you and Erwin. 

 Mike sees the way your chest rises with a deep breath, how your fingers tighten around the little basketball. Your eyes flit from Rhi to Mike, flashing when Rhi greets you. 

 Oh, you don't like her. 

 "Love the costume," she tells you. "Who are you supposed to be again?" 

 Mike chokes on his drink, and you suck your teeth before replying, "Lola Bunny. The Loony Toon."

 "Oh, is that, like, Bugs Bunny's girlfriend?"

 "Kind of?" You try. 

 Rhi looks to Erwin who visibly cringes when she asks, "Why aren't you dressed as Bugs then?" 

 Mike wants to turn around, to put as much distance between all of you as possible. 

 Erwin clears his throat. "Because that would be a couple's costume, and we're not…"

 Mike knows his expression is skeptical, cold even, and when he settles it on you, you give him a little shake of your head that he doesn't really believe. 

 "Oh, alright," Rhi concedes only to chime, "'Cause I heard—"

 "Wrong," Erwin cuts her off. "You heard wrong, Rhi." A hard, blue stare lands on Mike, unforgiving when he tells him, "I think it's time you two talked."

 "I don't think that's really—"

 "Oh, fuck," your swear gets everyone's attention, and Mike takes in the shock written all over your face then follows your line of sight to the entry way where Zeke god damn Jaeger is making his way through the crowd. 

 "What the hell is he doing here?" Erwin spits. 

 "You and Nile decided this should be an open party, dumbass," Mike reminds him with a roll of his eyes. 

 "Oh, so we're name-calling now? Jesus Mike, grow up. You're just assuming shit!" As he rants, Erwin takes hold of one of your arms and pulls you behind him, snatching the furry headband from you so the ears don't stick out. 

 For a split second, Mike thinks he's trying to protect you from him, but then he nods to bring Mike's attention to the approaching figure behind him, and Mike understands. 

 He turns his body to face Zeke who's walking over, fragmented by the strobe, his icy eyes piercing straight through his glasses. Mike, despite his anger toward you, feels the primal urge to protect you. 

 "The fuck do you want, Jaeger?" 

 "Woah, calm down, bud. Just looking for a brat—about yea high, spreads her legs for any athlete she comes in contact with. You guys seen her?" 

 Mike steps toward him, but he's stopped by a hand that fists in the back of his shirt. 

 "Ah, there she is," Zeke smirks, and Mike looks over his shoulder to see you now in front of Erwin with your fingers clutching the pink material across his back. 

 "He's not worth it, Mike."

 Mike thinks he is, though. He feels like he keeps getting whiplash, going back and forth between who he wants to hit at any given moment because it seems to change by the second.

 He's just been so incredibly frustrated for the past few months. Lacrosse doesn't help, and  the gym doesn't help, and fucking Rhi doesn't help. Mike has just been stewing, letting everything fester during the radio silence between the two of you. He's mad at so many people including himself, and all he wants to do is shove his way out of this stupid fucking party and take off his stupid fucking fanny pack and be alone in his apartment under his dumb fairy lights. 

 He shrugs out of your grip, figures the best thing he can do right now is get away from all of you. Zeke stumbles when Mike shoulders into him forcefully. He's not even a little surprised when Rhi doesn't follow him, choosing to vie for Zeke's attention instead. 

 It doesn't matter. All that matters is that Mike gets another drink in him. 

 He tries not to watch the way the heated conversation turns out, the way you bow up to Zeke and Erwin has to once again put himself in between you and the other blond. He tries not to smile at the fire in your eyes, that blaze he's seen so many times (usually when you're annoyed at him), and yes, there's that pain again, barely overshadowing Mike's anger. 

 You yell something at Zeke. He yells back. Erwin feels the need to add his own opinion, but the music is too loud for Mike to be able to make any of it out. Whatever is shouted makes Zeke huff and walk away. Rhi prances after him, and Mike resigns himself to the fact that he probably will not be fucking her after this shit show. He could always find someone else, but that takes effort (not much, but still), and then they usually get clingy afterward, and he just can't be bothered with all that right now. Mike can't be bothered with anything right now. 

 So he drinks. 

 He keeps an eye on Zeke who doesn't actually leave the party, and he drinks. He stares at you from across the room, bunny ears back in place, and he drinks. Somewhere between Boom and Beer Pong, he loses the fanny pack, looks down at some point and finds that it's just no longer there. All he had in there was a lighter and a couple condoms, so he isn't too broken up about it, but he does wonder—

 Mike isn't sure what makes him look over at the counter where all the different drinks are set out, but he does, and it's just in time to see Eren hunching over the bowl of jungle juice like some shady motherfucker, and when Mike makes his way over, world spinning just a little bit, he sees the younger Jaeger brother emptying a little plastic bag of green pills into the punch. 

 "What the fu—" Mike has him by the collar before he can even finish his own question, tosses the kid away from the counter so that he actually falls to the floor. It causes a few people to hop out of the way, their drinks sloshing and spilling on the tile. "What the fuck are you doing?" 

 Eren looks up at Mike with wide, panicked eyes, like he's scared and waiting for someone to save him. 

 "I—I don't know what you think you saw, man—"

 "I know exactly what I saw, you little creep!" 

 Everyone in the kitchen is looking at the two of them as more people trickle in. 

 "What even was that? You trying to roofie the whole fucking party or something?" 

 "No!" 

 "Just one person, then? That one special girl," Mike hisses.

 He walks back to the counter and grabs the large bowl of juice, carrying it over to Eren who's still on the ground. The kid covers his face just in time for Mike to empty the contents over his head, drenching him so that red drips from his hair and trickles down his arms. 

 "Drink up, bitch," Mike snarls before throwing the bowl so that it bounces off Eren's head. 

 Naturally, a bigger crowd has gathered, and Nile shoves his way through, shouting over the music, "What is happening?" 

 Mike leans over to yell in his ear, "Saw him pouring pills into the punch."

 "Are you serious?" 

 Mike nods but steps away when Eren pushes himself off the wet floor and nearly throws himself at Nile. 

 "I didn't do it! I don't know what the fuck he's talking about!" 

 Nile arm-bars Mike when he tries to move toward the little twerp, lips pulling back from his teeth because it has been a shitty night. A shitty week. Shitty month. And, now his fury has shifted yet again. 

 "Did anyone else see it, Mike?" Nile asks. 

 "Probably not since everyone is fucked up—"

 "Including you."

 Mike looks over at his friend in genuine surprise because it's starting to sound like Nile doesn't believe him. 

 "Why the fuck would I lie about something like this?" 

 "Maybe because he's Zeke's brother," Nile suggests. 

 Mike is heated. He can feel the blood underneath his skin cooking his god damn insides, frying his brain so that all he can think about is throwing a punch or two (or twenty). 

 Jaw sliding, Mike shuts his eyes, takes a deep breath to steady himself, to stop his hands from shaking as he tries to figure out when his friends started looking at him as some unhinged freak. 

 "What are you doing—the fu—dude, stop!"

 Opening his eyes again, Mike sees that Gelgar has inserted himself into the situation and has Eren pinned against the counter as he shoves his hands in every one of his pockets. He's growling something at the younger man, keeps shoving his face down against the linoleum any time Eren squirms, and after about a minute of people watching and gasping and making crude remarks about the position the two are in, Gelgar straightens up with a plastic bag identical to the one Mike saw Eren emptying into the jungle juice. 

 "It's just Adderall, I swear!"

 Gelgar scoffs. "This is definitely not Adderall. Believe me, I'd know." He tosses the pills to Nile who takes a long look at them before glaring at Eren. 

 "Get the fuck out before I call the cops."

 He should call them anyway, Mike thinks, but he understands Nile's hesitance. There's a lot going on at the party—underage drinking, party drugs in various rooms, etc. Eren wouldn't be the only one taken into custody if the police showed up. 

 Another voice rings out, asking the same question everyone else has, "What the hell is going on?" and Mike comes close to hurling the closest bottle at Zeke as he makes his way to his brother. "Why are you…" He gestures nebulously as his eyebrows pull together. Rhi is close behind him, and further still, you and Erwin are peeking into the kitchen. 

 "They think I drugged the jungle juice!" Eren looks at Zeke with puppy eyes that probably worked when he was a kid, might still work judging by the way the blond whirls around to face Mike and Nile. 

 "Have any proof, or are you just trying to—"

 "Pipe down, Jaeger," Nile cuts him off, holding up the bag and explaining, "Mike saw him dropping these in the punch."

 Zeke is silent for a few solid seconds before rounding on his brother again and grabbing him by the shirt right where Mike had previously held him, and everyone watches in rapt attention as he steers Eren through the crowd, shouting at him the entire time. 

 Having both of them leave is a relief, but Mike is a little disappointed that he didn't get to fight either of them. It would have been nice to feel a nose break under his fist, but he supposed it's better this way. 

 "Hey, thanks for catching that, dude," Nile says, slapping Mike's back. 

 It doesn't make him feel good. If anything, it pisses him off. Mike would understand if his friend had been skeptical of one of the pledges or second years making the accusation he had, but Nile is one of his best friends. They were inducted at the same time, were hazed side by side. Mike never would have thought Nile had such a low opinion of him, that he’d believe Mike’s little broken heart would cloud his judgement to the point of slandering someone without cause. 

 "Whatever," he shrugs before grabbing another drink. 

 He should just go back home. He isn't having a good time. He's angry at just about everyone he looks at. When Rhi decides he's worth her time again, Mike actually tells her to fuck off. He's lost the accessories to his costume, and he's about to lose his mind. 

 It's getting late. Mike isn't sure how late because as the night progresses, he gets steadily inebriated. He tries to avoid anyone and everyone in his fraternity, hanging out with people he knows from lacrosse or his classes instead. They play a few drinking games, take body shots off some sorority girls (or maybe it's the same one, he can't tell anymore). The music becomes bearable, and the strobe light stops hurting his head, and eventually, Mike just… forgets. 

 He forgets about Nile's lack of faith. He forgets about the fuckhead Jaeger brothers. He forgets about you and Erwin walking around and laughing together oh, ha ha we're so close now. He is finally spared from all of his negative thoughts. 

 Mostly because somewhere between shot number seven and beer number who knows what, Mike pukes into a plant (maybe?) and blacks out.

 *

 "God dammit. Erwin," you tug on his jacket sleeve and point to the corner that is home to a fake ficus that Mike is currently throwing up in. 

 Erwin groans, "Oh, Jesus Christ," and starts making his way over with you hot on his heels. 

 A few people are making faces as they glance at Mike, moving away as he coughs, straightens, then bends over again. 

 "Mike, come on, buddy," Erwin pats his back, waiting for Mike to pause in his retching so that he can duck under his arm and support him. "Gotta get you to a bathroom."

 "No bath," Mike snorts. "No green there, no…"

 You take a place on his other side, not that you can help much in getting him down the hall and in one of the downstairs restrooms, but you at least support his other arm and steer him in the right direction. 

 "Why is he talking about green?" Erwin grumbles as you both lower Mike to the tiled floor in front of the toilet where he promptly pukes again. 

 "The leaves maybe? I don't know, dude. Just…" You cringe as you notice the way Mike's shaggy hair hangs down into the toilet bowl, subject to all kinds of splash back. "Do you have a hair tie on you?" 

 "Literally why in the fuck would I have a hair tie on me?" Erwin asks incredulously, and you laugh because a couple weeks ago, he never would have used that word in this context since it's wrong, but the more you spend time with him, the more he picks up on your vernacular, and that really doesn't matter right now because—

 "Water," Mike croaks, voice echoing off the ceramic. 

 "I don't think you'll be able to drink any right this second, man," Erwin tells him, squatting beside him. 

 Mike shakes his head. "Wanna feel—feel water. Cold."

 "He sounds like a fucking caveman," you snicker. 

 You're really just trying to stay calm, masking the sick feeling in your stomach with amusement, but you've been watching Mike all night as he downed beer after beer, mixing various liquors as he took shots and licked salt off some chick's stomach. You figured he would get sick, but there wasn't really much you could do about it. He had made it pretty clear he isn’t interested in speaking to you. Still, you had purposely remained mostly sober just in case something like this happened (also because you make bad decisions when you get fucked up at frat parties).

 "Yeah, he definitely won't remember any of this."

 "Waterrr," Mike tries again, and you look at the way his arm is dangling over the side of the tub, the faucet on the opposite side, and glance at Erwin at a loss. 

 He shrugs, eyes darting around until he sees the plastic cup upside down on the shower rack. He grabs it, turns the water on and fills the cup, then dumps it over Mike's hand. 

 Mike groans, slowly wriggles his fingers under the stream, and drawls, "Thaaaank."

 You shake your head and motion for the cup, talk loud enough to be heard over the faucet, "I can handle this. You go back outside."

 "What? No."

 "There's no reason both of us have to be in here. He's just gonna puke his guts out for a few hours and then pass out." 

 Erwin doesn't seem sold on the idea. 

 "Come on. You've gotta go back. You're vice president or whatever."

 "So?" 

 "Erwin."

 He stares at you for a while then deflates. "Fine. Do you have your phone on you?" 

 "Always." You gesture to the elastic waistband of your shorts, phone pressed to your hip as it hangs on the inside of the material.

 "Text me if you need help, alright?" 

 "You got it, boss."

 He leaves just in time for Mike to violently retch into the toilet, one hand clutching the bowl as his spine curves. You fill the cup back up, pour it over his hand once again, and repeat the action over… and over… and over.

 His face and hair are gonna be a mess, probably his shirt too which is actually a blessing because you'll finally have a legitimate reason to burn it. Pepto Bismol pink and sketched palm trees stare at you as you sit on the edge of the tub, and all you can think of is the first time you saw Mike wearing the terrible shirt, how that had ended up, how you left with it the following morning. 

 How had the two of you gone from that to this? Sure, you weren't super fond of him at the beginning of it all, but he grew on you. A lot. He's your best fucking friend. Through the last couple months, through this weird fight you're having, he is your best friend. It's why you're here right now taking care of his drunk ass. 

 It'll pass. This phase will pass, and you'll make up, and you'll get your chance to be honest with him, to tell him how you feel about him. It may have taken you a little too long to arrive at your destination, so to speak, but better late than never. Soon, you'll both be able to look back on this and laugh. 

 People knock on the door here and there, and you scream at them to go away, eventually getting tired of it and just clicking the lock into place. 

 Any time you stop pouring water over his hand, Mike whines and attempts to say something, choppy words that don't make a ton of sense. You wonder if you need to call an ambulance, look for the signs of alcohol poisoning, but he doesn't feel cold, his breathing is even between bouts of vomiting, and his arms aren't curling in that tell-tale way. 

 More than likely, he just made himself sick. He knows better, too. He's been partying for a long enough time to be well aware of the mixing rules. Beer before liquor and all that shit. He may have just not cared tonight, though. From what Erwin has told you, Mike has just been in a generally bad mood for a while now (and Erwin has not tried to be subtle about why). He's barely around the Pike house anymore, he keeps getting called for personal fouls in lacrosse, and he's sleeping with Rhi which is nobody's business but is also strange considering her history—some kind of mutualistic symbiotic relationship that nobody is a real fan of. 

 Not my circus, not my monkeys, you think to yourself, emptying another cup from your place on the floor now. The ceramic was starting to hurt your ass, and you know your arm will probably be a little sore tomorrow, or later today since it's nearing three. 

 Fatigue is beginning to set in, and you know Mike is exhausted because he keeps dozing off on the toilet seat so that you have to nudge him back awake. Until he can speak in mostly coherent sentences, he's not allowed to sleep. 

 Sitting in the bathroom gives you ample amount of time to think. You go over some mental flashcards for a while, notes you took with the help of Mike's magic textbook. Then you think about going to your mom's for Thanksgiving and how much you aren't looking forward to it. Then you think about Zeke showing up only to have to escort his shady brother from the house. God, you had not been happy to see him. You'd been a little afraid, if you're being honest. 

 After figuring out that he had, in fact, blocked Mike's number on your phone, you had stomped into his apartment and initiated a screaming match. You got loud, he got louder, called you a stupid bitch and punched a hole in the drywall. You had decided that was a pretty good time to leave, both the apartment and the relationship. He's been lurking on campus around your most frequented spots—the science building, the library, but you've been doing a good job of camouflaging yourself in groups of other students. Even if he can see you, he can't do much about it. 

 You've thought about reporting him to campus police, but you know nothing will come of it. The golden boy can do no wrong. It's why you've been spending so much time at the PKA house again. You know most of them have your back, and you are absolutely not above asking any of them to walk somewhere with you to fend off your angry ex. 

 You can't wrap your head around what his fucking deal is. Surely he didn't treat Rhi like this after they split. There's no way she would still be so infatuated with him if he had. Is it just because you're the one who dumped him? He had to have seen it coming once you started putting the pieces together, the way he constantly tried to make you feel guilty, isolating you from your friends, invading the privacy of your phone to not only block Mike but also to turn your fucking location on so he could track you (you had found that out after that first trip back to the frat house to talk with Erwin. It had not been pretty).

 It's hard to believe you put up with it for as long as you did. It was only five months, but that's still five months too long. 

 Mike is quiet for several minutes, and you sigh when you see that his eyes are closed once again. He makes a noise of displeasure when you use your foot to gently shake him, grumbling, "Sto-o-op."

 "Nope. Gotta stay awake, Miche. Can't have you fallin' into a coma or something'."

 "Nooo. No Miche."

 "Yes, Miche," you laugh. 

 He scrunches his face up, shakes his head, but the motion seems to make him sick again. 

 When he finishes gagging into the toilet, he lets out a deep, "Gu-uuh," then sniffs. "No Miche. Jus' she—she—...Jus' her."

 You can figure out the rest, but you can't decide if you want to smile or cry. Only you can call him that. Well, you and his mom. You miss her. And his dad. And Scout. You hope to see them again. 

 "Okay. Just Mike then."

 He hums in confirmation then shakes his hand in the tub so that you'll douse it once again. 

 "You're a needy drunk, you know that?" 

 Mike doesn't respond to that, just takes a few deep breaths as his eyes close yet again. 

 "Sleep now," he mumbles. 

 "No, no sleep now."

 "Sleep now."

 "Oh my fucking god."

 His mouth drops open a little, and the first thing you think to do is splash him in the face with the cup of water. 

 He spits and splutters but doesn't shift much, still wrapped around the toilet. You try not to look inside when you stand and reach to flush what's already gathered, trying to shield some of Mike's face from any flying droplets. Then you wash your hands and sit back down. You figure you'll be here for at least another couple of hours. The sun will be coming up soon. Thank god it's a Saturday. 

 Both Erwin and Nile knock on the door for an update, and you yell that you're okay. Mike isn't throwing up as often, and when he does, nothing is coming up anymore. He's gonna be in a world of pain when he returns to his normal self. 

 So fucking stupid. He's so fucking stupid. 

 He mutters nonsense on and off. Sometimes you can translate what he's trying to say, but other times not so much. 

 "President… dumb boyyy."

 "Hy-poc-risy an' jealous… Hypocrite… I…"

 "Hand… wanna hold…" but when you grab it, he just gurgles, "Waterrr." 

 There's really no pleasing him. 

 "Why-y-y… dick… Erwin."

 "Volcano books… n' space jam… come an' sam… an'... to the jam."

 You laugh too loudly, and Mike cringes at the noise, but the corner of his mouth still lifts. You don't think he knows what he's doing or saying yet—isn't downloading any new memories—it doesn't matter because you will remember this for the both of you. 

 "You're fucking ridiculous."

 Mike pushes himself back from the toilet to sit against the wall, hissing and clumsily rubbing his chest. His shirt is wet and disgusting, and he must know on some level because he says, "Shower," and starts pulling himself over the tub. 

 "Jesus Christ, Mike."

 He's too tall, dangling an arm and a leg over the side and sinking lower. 

 "Water, pleeeease."

 He apparently isn't aware of the faucet that is still on. Whoever has to pay these bills… You feel sorry for them. 

 "No, dude. I am not letting you drown."

 Mike fucking giggles, "Lifeguard," then tries to take his shirt off. He doesn't have the motor skills to handle buttons and looks to be confused by them anyway, so his next solution is to just rip the material down the middle. 

 "Yeah, okay, I guess that works."

 The showerhead is turned on, and you sit on the edge of the tub again, shivering when the cool spray blows toward you while keeping an eye on Mike. Reaching over, you turn the temperature up a little, knowing that the alcohol has dropped his body temperature some. You're almost tempted to slide under the water with him, but there's no room, and you're not about to just make yourself comfortable on top of him.

 So, you just sit and stare and think about how tired you are. Physically and mentally and spiritually tired. You just need some time to not exist—just a few days. It feels like this semester has been nothing but drama so far, and it is exhausting. Maybe that's why Mike did this to himself. Maybe he just needed to not exist. 

 He starts to sit up a little in the tub, but his hand falters and sends him sliding back down. "Fuck."

 Not caring about getting wet at this point, you simply stand up between his spread legs, the shower drenching you immediately, and grab his hands to tug him upright. 

 "ευχαριστώ."

 "Come again?"

 "Means thanks," he mumbles, slumping forward. 

 You think of his family again, how he and his mother had just fallen into Greek as soon as you'd stepped into the house, leaving you surprised and impressed and warm in several different ways. 

 Squatting, you tilt your head to catch his half-lidded gaze. 

 "You back with me yet?" It's been nearly four hours—Fuck, why is there music playing still—but he might need more time. 

 "Dunno."

 "Can you tell who I am?" 

 Mike does his best to roll his eyes. "'m drunk, not a amnes—amnesic—"

 "Amnesiac," you supply with a smirk. Smartass.

 "That," he nods, pointing at you with a finger gun. 

 He can actually understand you now, so that's good, don't have to worry about him dying anymore since he's making progress. 

 Opening his mouth, Mike catches some water in it, swishes and spits. You expect him to tell you that you can leave. He can take care of himself, doesn't want to see you, all manner of hurtful things he has every reason to feel. 

 Instead, he blinks at you, extends his arms, and makes grabby hands. 

 "Can I help you?" 

 He doesn't say anything, just keeps reaching for you. He could grab you without issue. His fingers are already brushing your knees, but he either doesn't notice or wants to wait for you. 

 "Mike, I can't get any closer," you laugh. 

 Switching tactics, he pats his chest. 

 "Oh, no. I am but about to put myself in the line of vom just 'cause you wanna cuddle or some shit."

 Truthfully, you would also like to cuddle, to feel Mike's body against yours again, trace your fingers over his skin and listen to his heartbeat, but…

 Not like this. 

 "Please. No more vom. Promise."

 "I don't think you're in a state to make promises like that."

 He says your name followed by one more, "Please," and you give in, letting out a long breath and grunting as you find a way to lay between his legs with your head on the lower part of his sternum. You're curled a little awkwardly, one foot up against the ceramic while the other is curled beneath you. It is not by any means a comfortable position, but it's what Mike wants. 

 A few months ago, laying like this would inevitably lead to other things. Talking and joking would lead to giggling, maybe some well aimed prods to your ribs. You would bite in retaliation, his shoulder or, if the angle was right, his nipple, until he pulled you up further to sit in his lap, hot mouth finding yours, and so on and so forth. 

 This is different on every possible level. Neither of you are speaking. Your hands are unmoving on each other's bodies. There's no heat save for the water that's pouring down on both of you, plastering your silky costume to your skin. 

 Still, it's enough to lull you into a drowsy state, the ache in your eyes urging you to close them, but as soon as you do, Mike speaks. 

 "'m mad at you."

 Your stomach drops. His words don't come as a surprise, but they still sting. 

 "I know," you sigh. "I'm mad at me too."

 Your head moves with his chest, a gentle up and down that could—and has—put you to sleep. 

 "Still love you."

 You bite your lip, fingers lightly digging into Mike's warm skin as you remind yourself that he's drunk, and he hates you, and he probably won't remember any of this when he wakes up anyway. There's no reason to get emotional over it. No reason. 

 "I love you too, Miche."

 Silence closes in around you once more. You drift in and out for about half an hour until a loud knock jolts you awake. 

 You scramble off of Mike and hop to the door, leaving puddles and drops behind you. Both Nile and Erwin look panicked in the hallway, the shorter man nearly shouting, "Is he fucking dead in there?" 

 "Not deeeead," Mike calls from the tub. 

 Erwin peers over your shoulder at him, then at you, then takes on a disappointed expression. "You didn't. Come on, he's so drunk."

 "What do you—" You frown as you piece together his implication, then squawk and shove Erwin with two wet hands. "I didn't fuck him, you perv! What is wrong with you?" 

 He chuckles and bats away your hands. "I never know with you two! You can't blame me!" 

 "You're disgusting."

 "Look who's talking. Have you seen yourself in the mirror?" Erwin raises his eyebrows. "Less bunny and more… I don't know, ghoul?"

 God, you had completely forgotten about the face paint. 

 "Shut up, yours isn't much better." His black and white paint is smeared in several places like someone ran their fingers through it. The collar of his shirt is stained, and his hair is tousled. You can't tell if it's the result of getting frisky or falling asleep. 

 "Stop flirting in front of meeee," Mike whines loudly, sitting up and pushing the shower knob a little too hard to shut the water off. 

 "We're not—" You and Erwin start at the same time.

 Nile interrupts with a drawn out, unconvinced little note and informs both of you, "You guys get a little flirty sometimes. Sorry to break it to you."

 You frown at the blond and he frowns back, then you both frown at Nile who shrugs. "I'm just saying. There's a reason people are thinking things."

 It's not important, and you'd rather not dwell on it because you know the truth, and Erwin knows the truth, and Mike will if he'll just fucking listen, but he's fucked up right now, so that's a problem for another day. 

 "Whatever, we'll work on it, but for now…" You watch as Mike tries and fails to pull himself out of the tub. 

 "He looks like the girl from The Ring," Erwin snorts. 

 "Yeah, if she was giant. And, a guy," you add. 

 Wet hair is hanging over Mike's eyes, still sopping wet and dripping. He's all awkward angles as he hoists himself up, kicking a leg over and swearing. 

 "We should probably help him," Nile says, fighting his own smile. 

 "Probably."

 Between the three of you, you manage to transport Mike from the bathroom to Erwin's room on the third fucking floor which is no easy feat. Nile waits for his friend to be dumped onto the mattress, then announces that Hitch is waiting for him to come back to bed. You don't know how long that will last, but your friend falling into the same frat boy trap you did is mildly hilarious. 

 It leaves you and Erwin to make Mike comfortable. You wrap his head in a towel you found poking out of the hamper, murmur, "Hope this doesn't have anything gross on it," to which Erwin responds with an unamused look. 

 You peel the ruined, tacky shirt from Mike’s shoulders and toss it into a corner but you let Erwin take care of the rest. You've seen everything Mike has to offer, but that doesn't stop you from feeling weird about seeing his dick when he can't really stop you. So, like Mike did last year when he spilled water on your shirt, you turn your back to allow him some privacy. 

 There's some rustling and grunting, but when Erwin tells you it's safe, you look to find Mike in a pair of gym shorts, hair still wrapped, looking more disgruntled than you've ever seen him. 

 "'m still wet."

 "You sure are, big guy," Erwin agrees, slowly guiding him to lay down on his side and explaining, "You need to sleep like this, alright? Otherwise you might choke and die."

 "Erwin!" You throw your hands up in the air. "Why would you even—?"

 "Know how it works, dumb… butt."

 "Oh, dumb butt. That's a good one," Erwin grins. "Very creative."

 "Don't panotrize me!" 

 You have to cover your mouth to keep from cackling, and Erwin shakes his head, corrects, "Patronize, Mike. Patronize."

 "That's what I said!" 

 It takes a while to get him relaxed again. Apparently, Mike's favorite thing to do while drunk is run his mouth to Erwin, so while he's busy dealing with that, you raid Erwin's closet for a shirt and then his dresser for boxers. Once you are mostly dry, you snatch the towel from Mike's hair to wipe your face and toss it away, then step up onto the bed near the pillows, urging Mike to shift so that you can sit against the headboard. 

 He immediately rests his stubbled cheek on one of your thighs, then wraps both arms around the other, his fingers melting into the fat just below your ass as he grunts, "Mine."

 "All yours, buddy," Erwin assures with a grin before glancing at you. "I'm gonna pass out in the chair—" he gestures to the one in the corner of the room, "—if you need me for anything, just wake me up, okay?" 

 "Yeah, thanks." Then, "Hey, Erwin?" He hums in response. "Don't tell him about tonight, like, me staying with him."

 "Why?" 

 "I don't want him to stress out about what he may have said or done. 'Cause I know he will."

 "Whatever you say," Erwin shrugs, collapsing in the chair without even changing or washing his face. All three of you are gonna look like characters from a horror movie whenever you wake up, and the thought makes you smirk as you card your fingers through Mike's damp hair. 

 It's getting longer. He could probably put it up if he wanted to. He's been letting his beard grow a little too. You aren't sure if it's laziness or just trying a slightly different look, but whatever the case, it's hot. 

 He keeps your leg clutched tightly to him like some kind of stuffed animal until he drifts off to sleep. It's nearing five, and you know you probably won't get any quality rest while you're here, so you figure you'll just doze for a while until you can safely extract yourself from Mike's grip. He probably won't appreciate waking up like this anyway. No matter what he's said to you and Erwin—declarations and staked claims—it'll all be worthless in just a few hours. 

 A symphony of snores plays through the room, Erwin splayed out in his chair like he's passed out in a cheap Vegas hotel while Mike drools on your thigh, and if it was anyone else, you'd be disgusted and shove him away, but since it’s Mike, it’s weirdly endearing. He can slobber on you all he wants, it won’t bother you in the slightest. 

 Eventually, the sun shining through the window becomes too bright for you to even fall into a light sleep, so just as you planned, you gently untangle yourself from Mike, pausing when he grunts and frowns, but when he doesn’t stir any more than that, you manage to slip out of the bed. 

 Grabbing your phone and costume, still a little wet and cold because of it, you leave as quietly as you can. Your shoes are still in the downstairs bathroom along with Mike’s shirt, and you have a legitimate mental debate over whether you really should just toss it, but as much as you hate it, you decide against it. 

 You have to step over several bodies to get to the front door, more than usual which is concerning since the punch Eren spiked was thrown out (or really, thrown all over him), but you’re able to make it out without tripping.

 The drive to your dorm feels too long, sun beaming right into your itchy eyes the entire way. You nearly cry in relief when you finally fall onto your mattress, already well aware that most, if not all, of your day will be spent under the covers. You’re more than fine with it, allowing yourself to just not exist for several hours exactly how you wanted to.

[missmewts]

tunnel of love//stan uris

"requested" by @ella-loves-handsome-warren // sort of based off a conversation we had.

pairings; stanley uris, gender neutral reader

rating; pg

warnings; a depiction of pennywise, that's it

.

i altered it a bit, sort of near the end of the movie is where this'll take place. also?? i know this isn't stan, or at least the correct one, but there's no gifs?? of him? so. yk. at least it's wyatt!

.

stan had to cover his mouth. it smelled so bad. like death. romping around in a place he wasn't sure he would be able to get out of scared him to nausea, but the smell furthered his feelings. his legs trembled, he could feel his socks soaking through. every few seconds, his eyes cast upwards to check on you. though you walked securely between mike and richie, behind bill and in front of bev, he still got nervous. you had protection at every angle, but he still felt the need to hold you. but he couldn't.

with the soft bickering, and the insects crawling in every corner, he was uncomfortably aware of his surroundings. so, when he saw a figure venturing off alone, he looked back at the group. you weren't there. in a panic, he stalked from the group. followed you.

off into a circular room is where you went. engravings over the walls, top to bottom. the room resembled a "tunnel of love" type of ride. neon pink lights forming a heart around a divet in the floor. inside that verticle hole, roughly four feet wide, was a log-type boat, painted with chipping red paint. and you stood in the center, in front of it. so he looked back at the entrance, and jogged forward.

"hey." he said, watching you place your hands on the thin railing and lean forward. you didn't respond. so, he placed his hand on your shoulder and repeated your name. you glanced at him. the lights illuminated your eyes, turning them a milky red color. his heart quickened. "what's going on?" he asked.

you smiled at him. he felt uneasy. it didn't seem right. he said your name again. "stan," you whispered, your smile altering the tone it came out in. if his eyes were closed, he would be able to hear the smile.

he nodded. "i've been wanting to talk to you for a while. alone." you told him. he froze when your hand grasped his, of which laid on the railing over the water. was that water? it seemed much too dark to be water.

"is.. is this really the best time?" he whispered back. you tilted your head, your smile receding to one of comfort. "stan, either one of us could die at any moment. there isn't a better time than this." stan nodded his understanding, slowly turning his hand over into its back. you intertwined your fingers with his.

"it's been so long, stan. since fourth grade, when you yelled at richie for making a dumb joke about me. do you remember that?" stan swallowed, pressing his hip against the metal, of which was a red color. stan nodded gently, enjoying the way his thin, timid hand for inside yours. "yeah." he said, barely audible over the rushing water.

"stan, i like you. a lot. i always have." you said. your free hand found his chest. his back straightened, and his shoulders tensed as your hands slid down to his tummy. "come with me." you said, glancing back at the love tunnel. when you looked back at him, his green eyes studied yours with an intensity.

it was then that he realized that light doesn't reflect like that. your eyes weren't reflecting; in fact, they were fading to something else.

"you're.." he began, stammering. you let go of the railing, your fingers coming up to grasp the curls atop his head. "come with me, stanley." you whispered, coming uncomfortably close. your chest pressed against his.

he watched your eyes turn blue. one of them turned yellow. both of them unfocused.

he slammed his hands against you, as hard as he possibly could. his hands ached. it felt like he dislocated his shoulder. he cried your name, though it was no use as you seemed to grow an extra three feet, and your skin paled to a paper white. stan stumbled back, running back toward the entrance before the clown had the time to finish their shifting process. dirty water splashed up his shoes. he could hear a machine whirring; then, music began. glancing back, the clown stood well over five feet taller than the ride. they stood hunched, a wide grin spread from cheek to cheek. literally. they kicked their lips, and drool seeped down their chin. the boat began moving.

and inside laid you.

[songbirdstyles]

sparks

summary: you’re a music journalist assigned to covering one of harry styles’ gigs, and he’s absolutely smitten with you. (part one.)

warnings: slight fluff, excessive liberties taken about music journalism; smut in later chapters, angst in later chapters

word count: 8.2k

inspo.: almost famous - cameron crowe; sparks - the who; hello, i love you - the doors

You’d never truly gotten a big assignment before - sure, you’d gotten a few pieces here and there detailing local LA bands that you knew would never live to see more than 100,000 monthly listeners on Spotify, and they mostly ended up buried by your higher-ranking coworker’s higher end stories on the front covers - and, for the most part, you’d honestly been fine with it. You’re fresh out of college, the newest recruit to your company and your colleagues who are sent out to tour with big bands and artists have been here for years, some even decades, and you suppose they deserve the opportunities more than you, don’t they?

You work your way up, your boss had told you the first day you’d started working, following him around like an eager puppy as he showed you the office. Eventually - if I’m impressed with you - you’ll get something big.

It’s enough for you. Small bands playing in hole-in-the-wall clubs and restaurants may not be the exact thing you’d envisioned when you’d set your sights on being a music journalist but it’s worked out well for you so far, hasn’t it? You’ve made friends - even dated the lead singer of an underground rock band who cheated on you hardly two weeks into the relationship - and your portfolio is slowly building, stacked with exposés and detailed recounts of small gigs that you’d watched from backstage. Eventually, you’ll leave this company and move on to something bigger, like Rolling Stone, and your career will take off until you’re practically the face of music journalism.

And, really, those dreams have carried you through college and the first year of your career, putting your all into every article and every piece just so your boss can tug you into his office one day with a rarely-seen grin to finally tell you -

“I want you to write an article on Harry Styles.”

You furrow your eyebrows, shifting in the cushy office seat that your boss has for guests in his office. It’s a facade that you’ve learned to acknowledge, because, no matter how much he makes it look like he appreciates guests in his office, you know he regards you as nothing more than an interloper, even if he’d invited you there to begin with. “Harry Styles?”

“You’ve heard of him, haven’t you?” Mike asks, light shining off his bald head, and your mouth opens and closes a few times uselessly. 

“Of course I have!” You push yourself to sit up straighter in your seat, staring up at your boss with shock written in every feature of your face. You, writing about Harry Styles? God, you nearly want to pinch yourself to see if you’re dreaming. “Write an article about - about what?”

Mike scoffs in that pretentious way that makes you hate ever having to talk to him, and you resist the urge to roll your eyes at him. “He’s coming to do a few shows along the West Coast. You can go to one or two - talk to him a bit, talk to his band - you’ve done this before, haven’t you?”

“With small bands, sure - Tacocat and - and the Mystery Lights -” You swallow thickly, and Mike stares down at you in your seat like he’s unimpressed with your enthusiasm, or lack thereof. And it’s not that you aren’t executed - but, Christ. Going from bands performing in underground clubs to Harry Styles is like going straight from crawling to flying a fucking plane and you’re not sure if any of your experience with the musical locality in LA could prepare you for that. “I mean, that’s huge, Mike.”

“It is huge,” Mike confirms, crossing his thick arms over his chest, leaning against the desk before you as though he’s immune to sitting in his seat behind his desk like a normal boss. “Do you not want to do it? Because Melissa, you know - she’d love to, was going on and on about it last week -”

“No!” Your cheeks flush at the volume your voice raises to, and if you didn’t know better you could swear you see the ghost of a grin on Mike’s face. “I want to, Mike, I really want to - it’s just crazy.” There’s a pregnant pause between the two of you, your boss nodding smugly down at you as you struggle for words, before you ask the question burning the tip of your tongue with its desire to be heard. “But - why me? I’m sure you have people more qualified for it -”

“Easy,” Mike says, cutting you off and you’d be annoyed in any other instance but you’re too desperate to hear his answer. “Look, Harry’s a young guy. Younger than anyone else our people have interviewed - I think he’ll respond more to a young, pretty girl like yourself than someone older than him.”

Well, that makes sense, you suppose. The only coworker even close to you in age is Melissa, and she’s pushing 30 as it is. You’re 23 - graduated college just over a year ago, and by far the newest recruit this company has taken in years - but you had always imagined that was the main reason you wouldn’t get many big articles, and here it’s the main factor in you getting what will surely be the highlight of your portfolio once you apply to Rolling Stone. An interview with Harry Styles - God, they’ll probably foam at the mouth when they see it, and a grin spreads across your face as you think of it.

“Is that a yes?” Mike questions, blonde eyebrows raised high and nearly disappearing into his scalp. 

“Of course,” you respond without another moment of hesitation, and you push yourself to stand, office chair rolling behind you with the force, and it hits the wall behind you with a soft thump. “Yes - of course - of course.”

“Great.” And he crosses to the other side of his desk, pushing aside a few loose papers and folders on his desk, and you clutch your hands in front of your stomach as you watch him, practically bouncing up and down with uncontained joy and fear bubbling inside of you. The last time you’d felt like this was the first time you got a real assignment - more than just ranking songs and discussing new album releases - and you’d been sent to a strip club to cover a gig from an up-and-coming band. Back then, you’d never expected to ever feel more excited over anything in your life, and yet, here you are, eight months later, fighting back the urge to burst into joyful tears. “They come in a week - I’ll send you the address - if you need help with your questions -”

“I’ll ask Francine,” you finish the same advice he gives you every time you’re assigned an article, referring to your oldest coworker - a little old woman who’s been with the company since the 70s. She’s always been more than willing to help you with your assignments but this - you need to do this by yourself. “Thank you so much, Mike, this is - this is great.”

“Don’t let me down,” he says, pointing his finger at you, and you nod furiously. “I’m trusting you on this - it’s a big opportunity.”

“I won’t disappoint you,” you promise, holding up your crossed fingers just to show him how much you mean it, and you know it’s the truth - you’ll make this piece the best damn one this company has ever seen if it’s the last thing you ever do. 

 ~~

 The night begins a bit - rocky, to say the least.

For one, you couldn’t decide what to wear, even after spending nearly a half hour trying on every variation of clothes in your closet and tossing them onto the floor of your studio apartment when they didn’t satisfy your needs. In the past you’d worn to gigs what you’d wear if you were a simple concertgoer, albeit a bit more modestly, but you can’t decide what you would wear to a Harry Styles concert if you got the regular chance to - and you’d never even dreamt that it would happen in the first place -

Well, you peruse your closet intently and land on a pair of patterned flare pants and a long sleeve sweater. It only seems fitting for the chilly weather outside, and you fold a shirt into your bag in case you need to change if it gets hot backstage. You’re not dressed to impress, necessarily - you’re dressed to get a job done, as Mike would always say, but how could you be expected to not attempt to impress Harry Styles? It’s a preposterous idea. You’re sure anyone would understand.

Journalism pass - phone - keys - deodorant - when you’ve checked your bag over three times to ensure you have everything necessary you finally leave, locking your door shut behind you and ordering an Uber to take you to the concert.

You hadn’t anticipated Uber and Lyft being absolutely overloaded with patrons due to the concert just a half hour away and you need to be there by 6:30 at the very latest to ensure you get in and can at least talk to Harry before he goes on - a quarter of your questions are geared towards how he feels pre show and you can’t get pre show questions after the show - that’s barbaric. But the minutes inch closer to 5:30 and your Uber driver is still ten minutes away and your heart beats so fast against your chest you think you might vomit right into the street in front of your building -

You’re in the car by 5:45. It’s not ideal, and you know you’re cutting it close, but hopefully you’ll be there before the soundcheck ends. It’s always an ideal time to take photos, watching the band warm up and check mics, and with a piece like this, you need all the opportunities for pictures you can get.

And traffic is horrible - you suppose that’s also to be expected, and your Uber driver curses in a language you can’t recognize as cars cut him off on the highway and if you were a different person, you’d recommend a shortcut he takes, but he doesn’t look like he wants to hear a single word come from your mouth. He had given you a dirty look when you entered the car, and that’s enough to make you shut up and pray for the entire car ride that you make it on time.

6:27. Mike would piss himself if he knew how close you cut it, and you hop out of the car with a speed you didn’t even know you could muster, pushing past the buzzing crowd standing in front of the main entrance. The hoard of people seems to have a steady heartbeat, pulsing with excitement much like your own, and you can’t help but smile as you make your way around the group, goosebumps cropping up over your skin as your teeth chatter in the coldness. For a moment you fear that the directions to the backstage entrance that Mike had given you were total bullshit - but then you see the door, blocked by a burly security guard that glowers at you as you walk up to him like you’re something sticky beneath his shoe.

“Hi!” you call, breath exploding in a white cloud in front of you in the cool night air. The security guard smells so strongly of booze that you need to try harder than you’d care to admit not to scrunch your nose - you cough softly. “Let me - um - find my pass - I’m with Autoamerican, the magazine?”

Fingers grab onto your journalism pass, deep within your bag, and you tug it out, flashing it to the security guard with a slightly nervous grin. All of the gigs you’d been to before hadn’t even had backstage doors - to get backstage, you just had to climb onto the stage and walk behind the wings - but this is a fucking stadium, not just a measly club, and a big one, at that. In your youth you’re sure you could recall your dad watching a football game that occurred in this very stadium - funny how life turns out, sometimes.

“Autoamerican?” the security guard questions, bringing his face closer to your badge as the wafting smell of alcohol increases, and he raises his eyebrows with a scoff. “Never heard of it.”

“Oh.” you pause, feeling your teeth beginning to chatter in the cool February air. You’re not quite sure what to say - you’d assumed Mike had called to arrange the entire thing, hadn’t he? And this is the time you’re supposed to be here - “well, we’re not as big as Rolling Stone magazine, but - we’ve done interviews with The Cure, The Smiths - even Zeppelin, at one point -”

Your voice trails off into silence. He doesn’t care. He’s looking at you like you’re some innocent teenage girl, trying to bribe your way backstage so you can bombard the artist and not a fully grown woman here on business, goddammit. And you’re not sure what to say - he doesn’t believe you, clearly, and you hadn’t anticipated that even as you listed all the ways tonight could go wrong.

“Look, kid,” he begins, and that really has your blood boiling, eyes narrowing to glare at him. “We get this all the time. I’m a journalist - I’m with the crew - it’s a bunch of bullshit. Now go to the front with your general admission tickets like the rest of them -”

“I have a pass - I’m a journalist!”

“Sure -”

“I can call my boss if you want proof!”

And before you can reach into your bag to search relentlessly for your phone to follow through on the promise like you intend to, the door the man is guarding suddenly swings open, nearly hitting the guard in the ass as it opens out. You take a step back as dim light from inside floods the darkness, and a man steps out of the doorway, his eyes darting between you and the security guard.

“Are you with Autoamerican?” the man questions, raising his finger to point at you as though he could be speaking to anyone else. You nod furiously, and you hold up your journalism pass again just to prove it. “You can come inside, then - c’mon, Steve, she’s got a pass, for God’s sake -”

And you can’t resist flashing the guard a smug smile as he steps to the side to let you inside, rolling his eyes so far back into his head that all you can see is a strip of white.

The man lets you inside and the door shuts behind you, and you nearly knock straight into a second security guard standing by the door inside, as though trying to stop people from going out. And, well - you’ve been backstage at more concerts than you could count but this is certainly bigger, better, bustling with people carrying equipment and makeup artists and more people you couldn’t possibly identify. You’re half inclined to reach into your bag and grab your notebook to jot down exactly what you’re seeing so you can make sure to include it in the article, but you have a distinct feeling you’ll never forget it.

“I’m Jeff,” the man tells you, already setting off through the people, and you’re quick to follow, trying to maintain your pace beside him. After a second of walking in silence you realize he’s waiting for you to say yours - you clear your throat and introduce yourself, and he sends you a smile. “The band just finished their soundcheck, if you’d like to have a word with them before they go on - what’s the article about, anyway?”

Jeff shoulders the two of you through lingering groups of people until you emerge into a small hallway lined with doors, and you can hear bustling noise coming from the one closest to you - holy shit, is that Harry? 

“Um - just about the shows, the tour, how everything’s going. My boss basically told me to do what I want with it, so I’ll have a better idea once I speak to the band.” It’s the loosest instruction you’ve ever been given for a piece - you’d expected a clear cut outline - but perhaps with an artist this big, Mike trusts you to know what to write. “It likely won’t be anything too personal, but I’d love to get a chance to speak with Harry before and after.”

“Sounds great,” and you can tell he’s stressed - you wonder if he’s always anxious before his client’s shows, or if there’s something special about tonight that has him worried - and then he reaches past you, twisting the doorknob closest to you and holding the door open for you to enter before him, and you give him a gracious smile before walking in.

The room isn’t as crowded with people as you’d expected but they’re bustling with energy - a woman and a man, holding a guitar, lean against the wall with each other - two other women sip water bottles, laughing loudly amongst each other - another woman leans above someone, their body hidden from view except for their legs, covered in silk, floral printed pants -

Your breath catches in your throat as Jeff shuts the door behind you both, and the sound of the door clicking shut draws far more attention to yourself than you’d expected - it seems like every pair of eyes lands on you and Jeff, and you’d decided on being a music journalist to keep away from being the center of attention. You’ve always preferred being behind the scenes, a bit, at least until your career progresses until you’re a household name for music journalism, and now -

You feel very much in the scenes, eyes on you as Rhiannon plays in the background.

And then Jeff is tapping you on your shoulder, leading you around the room to the small groups of people lingering - you shake hands with Mitch and Sarah, the couple against the wall, and the rest of his band, and they’re so nice your smile feels like it’s going to break your face in half. You’ll need to interview them at some point - nothing too intense, and you may not even need to, if Harry’s answers are satisfactory enough - and you can already feel yourself building a strange sort of rapport with the band, their kindness rubbing off on you until you practically glide beside Jeff to the woman bent over Mr. Floral Pants, whose identity you’re fairly certain you’ve already deduced.

It doesn’t make it any more surprising when the woman steps aside where she’s carefully applying powder to the man’s face, and then Harry fucking Styles is staring up at her with a smile and an outstretched hand, suit jacket matching the floral pattern of his pants. His curls are carefully slicked back from his face, skin matte with the powder the woman resumes applying to the side of his face that isn’t turned to you, and you swallow your shock before reaching to shake his hand, Rhiannon turning into Hello, I Love You, playing from a source you can’t identify.

“Nice t’meet you,” Harry says when you’ve told him your name and the magazine you work for - Jeff had already mentioned it, but it is customary to repeat it to whomever you may have to interview. “Y’know, I love Autoamerican - told Jeff, s’the only magazine I’d let interview me backstage. Don’t usually allow it.”

“Really?” your stomach flips as Harry stops bouncing his arm, but it takes just another half second for him to untwine his hand from yours - you’re sure it’s because the makeup artist fretting above him is using her thumb to wipe off powder from his nose, but it still makes your heart thump faster against your chest. “I assumed most people haven’t heard of it - it’s nowhere near Rolling Stone.”

“I love it,” he insists, dropping your hand, and he looks so casual, as if this interaction isn’t blowing up your entire life, and you’re brought back to the many moments you’d spent as a teenager fawning over him in his One Direction days - God, this feels like a dream, and you’re half inclined to pinch yourself in case it is. Maybe you’ll wake up in Mike’s office to him giving you another shitty underground LA band to interview. “The interview with Sublime s’great - read it all the time.”

You swallow thickly, grin spreading wider across your face, and before you can open your mouth to tell him about Francine’s go-to story about how Eric Wilson had flirted with her while she interviewed them for the story, Jeff interjects - “Steve hadn’t even heard of it.”

“Steve’s an idiot,” Harry starts, and you giggle - his lips lilt upwards just a bit. “Hope he wasn’t hasslin’ you ‘bout it.”

“Just a little,” you say, hoisting your bag further up your shoulder just as the makeup artist drops the powder back into the apron slung around her waist, and her manicured nails tilt Harry’s head around for a moment before she seemingly deems his makeup satisfactory before leaving, sending you a tight lipped smile as she goes. “I’d love to ask you a few questions before the show - nothing too heavy - and then I’ll observe the concert and how everything goes, ask a few questions after.”

“Sounds great,” Harry responds, lifting his fist with his thumb up and you didn’t think your heartbeat could grow any faster or louder but you suppose today is just proving you wrong time and time again. “D’you need t’record m’answers? S’a bit loud in here.”

The truth is, you’re sure you’ll have this entire experience engraved in your brain for years to come - you’ll remember every word he utters for you until your dying days - but it is more practical to have a recording. You swing your bag off your arm and open it, digging through the jumbled mess of items inside until you find your phone, and you hold it up with a nod. “Yeah - there isn’t anywhere a bit quieter, is there?”

It takes a minute of bustling - Jeff tells you two instructions to go down the hall into another room where you may find more silence - and Harry promises, accent thick and eyes rolling, to be back in twenty minutes or less, if tha’s enough time for you, ma’am, and you try to trick yourself into thinking the burn flushing up your cheeks is due to the heat of the room.

Down the hall is another door that Harry opens for you, letting you walk in first. It’s a small room, clearly meant for storage, and he shuts the door behind the pair of you. There’s - luckily, or perhaps unluckily - just enough room for you two have at least a few feet between you, and he leans against the wall with an air of casual elegance you couldn’t hope to achieve as you scroll through your phone to search for the voice recorder app.

“Hope this s’good enough - is it?” Harry inquires, leaning his head closer to yours, and you nod. “Good - wish there was a nicer spot for you, but -”

“Don’t worry about it,” you interject, smiling up at him, and he grins back, and your stomach churns violently. You almost feel like you could vomit - when he goes on, you’ll go and have a bit to eat at the table set up with foods that Jeff had wheeled you past when you arrived. Eating seems to solve more of your nerves than you’d care to admit, and you feel like you’re nearly 95% nerves right now. Your fingers fiddle with the voice recorder app, adding a title to the recording while entirely too focused on the sounds of Harry’s breathing above you, and you can practically fear his eyes boring into your face before you press record. 

And, for the most part, it does go smoothly. Harry introduces himself with an ease that only comes with years of practice, so much time spent being interviewed that it must feel like as much of a second nature to him as interviewing is to you. He’s charming and charismatic - flirtatious, even - making jokes and adding lines that you make a mental note to be sure to include in your final piece - whatever direction you go - and you can’t say you’re bothered by the way he leans closer to the phone, and thus closer to you, in order for his voice to be heard more on the recording when occasional noise bustles in from outside.

You don’t need to look at the questions you’d spent weeks laboring over - every question you inquire derives directly from his answers like he’s practically feeding them to you, and then you’re interviewing him so naturally, you could nearly fool yourself into thinking it’s an organic conversation between friends. 

What’s his process to prepare for shows? Well, listening to Fleetwood Mac and eating finger foods, of course - he loves mozzarella sticks. Does Fleetwood Mac make you less nervous for shows? No, he doesn’t get too anxious before shows, now that he’s out of the band. He just loves Fleetwood Mac - he could listen to them at any time of the day. What do you think makes your solo career less anxiety-inducing than being in the band? Different fans let him be himself more. There’s less pressure to be someone he isn’t - do you think he could’ve worn a floral printed suit at a One Direction concert?

And, in the end, twenty minutes hardly feels like it, and by the time Harry tilts his head over the screen of your phone to check the time, you could nearly convince yourself that you’d merely spent a minute with the heartthrob, and it pains you to stop the recording.

“How’d I do?” he questions, cheeky smile indenting the dimple in his cheek, and you feel like you need to dip your face in ice once he goes on stage - your face hasn’t felt anything less than piping hot since the first moment he rested eyes on you, and his kind-bordering-on-flirtatious nature only makes your skin heat more under his gaze.

It isn’t as though you’d have it any other way, though.

“Perfect,” and you send him a smile. “I’ll watch the show - probably eat a bit, too, if I’m being honest - and maybe ask you a few questions. How many shows are you doing in LA?”

Harry reaches past you, grabbing the doorknob and opening the door for you once more, and you slip out with a small smile as he follows, face twisted in what’s clearly a show of being in deep thought. “Four. An’ a few more on the West Coast ‘fore we move out - reckon you’ll need t’come t’a few more?”

“Depends.” He looks at you curiously as the two of you make your way back to the room you’d been in before, and when you enter, it’s clearly in a more prominent state of preparation for the show - there’s more bustle and movement between every band member and Jeff, who looks entirely relieved to see you two come in as She’s a Rainbow thumps softly, volume clearly turned down on whatever produces the music. “If I feel like I’ve got enough material from this show, then that’ll be it - I usually just do reviews of specific gigs, and this is a lot broader - so I really don’t know.”

Harry nods, and you feel a flutter in your heart at how intently he seems to be listening to you, like he really cares, and you’re sure it’s a facade - he probably has a million other things on his mind as Jeff descends upon the both of you, whisking him away as he calls goodbye! to you - but still. When was the last time you’d felt listened to? By Mike, or by the security guard outside, or even from your own parents when you try to convince them over and over that you have a plan, that your degree wasn’t a waste of time when you could’ve been a doctor -

Well, Harry’s a gentleman, you decide, sliding your phone into the back pocket of your flares as you reach in your bag for your notepad. You can tell they’re preparing to go on soon and so you descend against the wall, grabbing your pen from deep inside the confines of your bag to scribble the essential notes of what you’ll need - it’ll make it easier when it’s time to write, rather than listening to the entire 20 minute interview again to try and find the important sections to include.

His responses to your question still burn fresh in your mind, and you began scribbling your bullet points on the small notepad in your hands. It’s decently easy to block out the chatter of the room you’re in along with its music, volume turned down further until it’s hardly audible, and it really is a skill you’ve mastered, though you suppose you’ve had to - trying to take notes for articles about gigs occurring in buildings so small that their noise reverberates off of every surface has made you a master in tuning out noise surrounding you.

You are aware, and acutely, at that, when the band starts exiting through the door beside you. They don’t look nervous, returning your encouraging smiles with ones of their own, and you watch them pour out the door with confidence practically radiating off of them. Well, that’s something to mention, isn’t it? Most of the bands you’d interviewed were practically vomiting with nerves -

Harry takes up the rear, fingers running through his slicked back hair, and you can’t tell if it’s a nervous habit or if he’s simply trying to let his curls fall in front of his eyes more. Jeff walks in front of him, giving you a smile as he leaves, and the singer stops beside you.

Your breath just about catches in your throat as you look up at him, and he’s staring down at you with a decidedly ambiguous look in his eyes, and you smile at him. “Good luck out there.”

“You’re gonna come and watch?”

You nod. “Eventually - I’m gonna eat something first, finish my notes. Maybe give myself a tour of the backstage in case I decide to include it.”

“Sounds good t’me,” Harry says, but he doesn’t make a motion to leave, and then his eyes roll down your body and is he fucking checking you out? Because - no - that’s crazy. That would cement into your brain the knowledge that this is a dream, and not reality, because there’s no fucking way Harry Styles is checking you out, eyes roaming from your eyes to your stomach to your - “I like your pants. Where’d you get ‘em?”

Ah. Of course. Fashion icon, he is, inquiring about the pants you’d chosen specifically because they looked like something he may like. “These?” You glance down as though you’d forgotten what pants you’d donned, as though you hadn’t spent hours in front of your closet envisioning what outfit you could wear to impress him. “I think they’re from Zara. Got them a couple years back.”

“They’re pretty.”

“Why, thank you -”

“Harry!”

Jeff’s voice calling from outside the room snaps you both out of your conversation, a slightly embarrassed grin spreading across Harry’s face that you’re sure is mirroring your own. His cheeks are tinged pink and he clears his throat.

“Sorry - gotta go - make sure y’try the mozzarella sticks, ‘kay? They’re good,” Harry tells you, and you grin, drumming the pen clutched between your fingers against the notepad in your hands.

“Will do,” you reply, and then you lift your hand and point to the door, raising your eyebrows with a smile. “Go break a leg - and then be ready to talk about it when you’re done!”

He doesn’t say anything else - just gives you a thumbs up and slips out the door, and you can hear his frenzied apologies to Jeff as their voices fade away, surely preparing to get on stage and sing his heart out and blow the fucking stadium away, but you can hardly focus on it. Because - God, you really don’t want to sound like a narcissist - but he was joking around with you, complimented your pants, and he did technically check you out, even if it was just to see your pants. 

Was he flirting with you?

Surely not. No, that would be absurd. He’s probably just bored - maybe entertaining random people backstage is his way of dealing with his nerves.

That makes a bit more sense.

When you glance back down at your notepad, the page half filled with scribbled bullet points of things you’d sworn to remember, and when you click your pen open to continue your list, you find that you can’t quite think of anything else to write. All you can think about is the mozzarella sticks waiting for you, and then standing in the wings to watch him sing his heart out to a crowd of adoring fans that you, at one point, would have killed to be apart of -

You shove your pen and pad back into your bag with a determined spin of your heels. Food first - contemplation second.

 ~~~

 The show is - needless to say - amazing.

You’d feasted on slightly-cold mozzarella sticks that were, even in their lowered temperatures, immensely good, and clearly garnered all the affection Harry had for them. The food table was nearly completely empty, crew members repeatedly coming up to fill plates with vegetables and snacks, and so you simply gathered the last three sticks of celery once you were done with your sticks before taking a leisurely stroll along the backstage area. Celery firm between your teeth, you pulled out your notepad and your pen once more and jotted notes of what you could possibly include in the article to jog your memory later -

It takes a while, admittedly. You don’t want to leave anything out, and eventually you have two pages filled with notes in your handwriting that would surely be illegible to anyone else who happened upon them - and, sure, your pages are small, but still. Two pages is a lot, and you’re sure most of it won’t even make it into the article but you don’t want to risk forgetting any important information.

A trip to the bathroom - perusing the food table again to pick up the last few carrot sticks - and the show is nearly halfway over, so you decide it may be time to slip into the wings and watch. Take notes, possibly, but mainly just listen and absorb the music and the atmosphere and exactly how the fans react to his every move. That’s what the people want to know, isn’t it? It’s what you would want to know - so you slip past the lingering groups of people into the wings of the stage, where you get a clear view of Harry and his band, singing his heart out to a tune you know to be Kiwi.

It’s ear splitting, truly, in a way that none of the other gigs you’d witnessed had been. But it sounds good - better than good - and he’s as charismatic on stage as he is off,  waggling his eyebrows during the more suggestive lines and undoing the button of his suit jacket, and the latter garners a deafening scream from the adoring fans in the crowd. 

No, you won’t need to take notes, at least not yet. You’ll remember this forever, won’t you? Watching him work the crowd like he was born to do it, like it’s a second nature and you’re sure it is, at this point. It’s all you can do to stand there, watching him, and you’re sure you look no different from the other fans in the crowd, your eyes wide and lips parted in absolute awe of him -

His head turns to the side, briefly, as if he can sense your eyes on him above anyone else’s. In reality you’re sure he’d simply turned his head to flick a sweaty curl out of his face but it’s never a bad thing to dream right? And your gaze locks for just a moment, his eyebrows raising when he sees your face, and heat burns at your cheeks before his tongue darts out to wet his lips, and his right eye shuts in a quick wink before he’s turning back to the crowd as if his attention had never left them.

Shit. You nearly drop your damn carrot. God, he’s a fucking tease, and you’re not even sure he knows it - that this experience will never leave your brain for as long as you walk this Earth, watching him wink as he stared into the depths of your fucking soul, clad in a gorgeous suit with his gorgeous hair and -

Harry truly is a sight to behold, and you’re more than content to watch him forever.

Forever ends up being another half hour or so before you’re made entirely too aware of the fact that you have to pee - not insanely bad, but enough to make you shift uncomfortably from side to side before sighing, turning and making your way further backstage in your search for the bathroom. In your determined tour of the backstage you’d forgotten to search for the restroom, and you wander about for nearly five whole minutes before getting to it -

You do your business. There’s not much more explanation needed.

It’s when your washing your hands, though, water freezing cold against your palms, that you become slightly aware of a myriad of noises occurring outside the restroom. At first you choose not to focus on it, shoving your hands beneath the air dryer to ease your soaking, cold hands, and the noise of violent air assaulting your palms drowns out the scuffling sounds from outside.

When the dryer turns off, and you reach down to wipe your damp hands on your pants, the noises haven’t stopped. And, sure, no one could expect it to be completely silent backstage, but whatever you’re hearing isn’t the normal laughter and chatter and muffled music that you’re used to hearing -

It sounds like someone is fighting, and your hand freezes in its place on the cool metal doorknob. You lean forward, scrunching your nose as you plainly try harder to hear what’s happening -

But, Hell. You have a job to do - you need to get back to the wings to watch the remaining few minutes of the set before Harry leaves and, subsequently, returns for the encore, and you’d intended to write with detail about his closing repetition of Kiwi. So you grab the doorknob, swing the door open and step out, and freeze nearly immediately once you’ve exited.

There is a fight - not as violent as you’d expected - as the security guard from inside scuffles with Steve, who looks positively wasted in a way you’ve come to know all too well, doing gigs in LA. His face shines with a sheen layer of sweat, skin glowing in the artificial light, and his fists move slowly to pummel into the other security guard’s back. It’s, truthfully, a bit pathetic to watch - he isn’t putting up much of a fight against the guard trying to hold him, and your mouth parts with poorly-concealed confusion at the display in front of you.

You’re not sure what to say - or do - or think - standing in the doorway of the bathroom as you watch the poor excuse of a fight, Steve nearly toppling to the ground as the other guard tries to contain him.

“Come on, Steve - don’t be like this -”

Then the other security guard looks up and sees you, and the expression on his face nearly makes you burst into laughter, but you contain it with a bit more difficulty than you’d like to admit. He looks annoyed, like he’s absolutely done with his coworker, and also slightly embarrassed. Clearly, he’d dragged Steve into the hallway containing the bathrooms with the hopes of nobody seeing either of them, and you’ve interrupted his bid for privacy desperately. “Sorry, ma’am,” the guard says, grabbing one of Steve’s flailing fists in his hands. “Don’t mind us - he’s drunk - just trying to contain him.”

You’re doing a damn good job, you want to say, but you bite back the retort with a small nod and a whisper of a smile on your face, walking with your back to the wall past their display in the hopes of Steve not seeing you. He hadn’t been particularly nice to you when you’d first seen him and you can tell he’s in a much more heightened state, now - he’d been drunk when you’d seen him before and you can tell it’s only gotten worse.

Maybe you should’ve told Jeff the guard was drunk?

Well, it’s counterproductive to dwell on the past.

You’re not so lucky, though - you’ve barely made it down five steps down the hallway before Steve lifts his head, pupils blown and skin even stickier looking than before, and he gives you the same disgusted look as though you’re something his dog had left on the grass. “Hey - hey - Jim - do you know who that is?”

And the other security guard - Jim - just rolls his eyes. “No, Steve, I don’t - stop making a fool out of yourself.”

“She works at - at - Eat to the Beat - Parallel Lines - what is it?”

Do you answer him? You don’t quite know. You just swallow thickly, forcing yourself not to don the smile that’s urging its way onto your lips as you hear roaring screams from the crowd that alerts you to the fact that, if Harry isn’t done with his set yet, he’s close, and you need to watch the end. “Autoamerican. Those are all good albums, though.”

“She’s snarky - get off of me, Jim -”

In Steve’s final bid for freedom his legs kick out, and his sneakered foot knocks into your ankle, and it’s certainly not hard by any stretch of the definition but it’s enough to catch you off balance, his toe hooking into the loose fabric around your ankles as he brings his foot back to kick again. One kick did it, though - you tumble to the ground, legs flying out from under you until you land on your ass on the hard floor, your bag slipping off your shoulder, and its contents scatter across the ground.

Fuck. That hurt, more than you’d care to admit, as you brace your elbows behind you to stop your head from knocking into the ground. Your ass hurts and you can see Steve’s leg bracing backwards for another kick, and you push yourself backwards so his foot merely pushes against the air.

You can already see Jim opening his mouth to desperately say sorry when a set of footsteps interrupts his apology - you don’t have to look to your side to see who it is, the smell of expensive cologne wafting before him like an introduction. You practically feel him before you see him.

Your name falls off Harry’s lips entirely too easily, like he’d been looking for you in the overtly small window of space he has before he has to go back on stage - his hair is messy and his skin is sweaty and he bends down next to you with such sentimentality in his eyes - you almost feel like a child again.

“Are y’okay?” Harry questions, and his hand rests on the small of your back and warmth seems to seep through your body from its spawning point, palm moving in circles against your sweater so gently you can tell he’s scared to go much harder. “Wha’ -?”

For his eyes had just landed on the sight in front of you - Jim managed to pull Steve up, the latter clearly coming to his senses at least a little bit, and his eyes narrow at the sight of you on the floor and subsequently widen as he sees Harry next to you.

“Wha’ happened?” And you can hear anger quivering under his voice like boiling water, ready to overflow, and you instinctively reach up to press your hand against his forearm - you do it to your niece all the time when you can tell she’s on the verge of a tantrum and it always works on her - but she is five, and Harry’s twenty years her senior, so, needless to say, the motion doesn’t do much to soothe him. “Fightin’ back here, kickin’ her - you’re s’posed t’be security guards!”

“It’s okay, Harry -”

“S’not okay -”

And then there’s another set of footsteps jogging over to you, and you look up to see Jeff -

“Har, you need to get back out -” but you can see the confusion set into his features as he stands over the scene, eyes flickering to you and Harry on the floor to Jim and Steve, the former having settled the latter into a fairly calm position. The scent of alcohol is strong and you can practically watch as Jeff smells it, his nose crinkling. “Is he drunk?”

“He is drunk, an’ got into a fight wit’ -”

“Okay, okay,” you interrupt, squeezing Harry’s arm again as you push yourself to stand, attempting not to wince at the pain in your ass as your muscles tense. He’s looking at you like you’ve just been hit by a car instead of having a mild scuffle with a security guard, eyes wide and concerned, and you shake your head at him. “Didn’t get into a fight, Harry - he accidentally kicked me. It’s really fine - you need to go back out, anyway.”

“She’s right,” Jeff insists, reaching down to tug Harry up as his eyes bore into the sight in front of you, Steve slowly calming himself down until he’s simply red in the face and reeking of booze. “Come on, Har - you need to get on.”

But Harry’s already bending down again, grabbing your pen and your notebook and your phone (you can see a crack in the screen that most certainly hadn’t been there just a mere ten minutes ago) and you could nearly laugh at the display he’s putting on, shoving your items back into your back, if Jeff’s demeanor wasn’t bordering on murderous as he drags Harry up again. You reach down and grab your bag, now fully stocked again with all of the items that had clattered out, and you give the tussling security guards one final fleeting look before following Jeff and Harry as they make their way down the hall.

“Y’sure you’re okay?” Harry questions, slowing his pace so you can jog beside him, much to Jeff’s lingering annoyance as he brings his fingers up to rub at the space between his eyes. “Y’should know - tha’ doesn’t usually happen -”

“I get it,” you tell him.

“No, really.” You’ve reached the wings of the stage, and Jeff leaves the pair of you alone to descend on to where the band stands, clearly waiting for the cue to go on. Harry runs a hand through his hair, and he looks oddly exasperated and you wish you could get it through his head that it really isn’t a big deal - “Someone will take care of the guards, okay?”

“Don’t fire them,” you insist, even though you’re sure he has no say in it. “Not Jim, at least.”

“Jim -?”

“The sober one.”

“Oh.” He pauses, dropping his hands to his sides. “I can’t make any promises.”

“Just try.”

“Will do.”

There’s another brief second of silence before you nod towards the stage where he’s needed - the few lowly minutes between the end of the show and the encore has come to an end, and you’re sure people are beginning to wonder if he’s not coming back. “Go on, Har. There’s people waiting for you.”

“M’going!” And he isn’t going, just staring at you with his brows furrowed, and you raise your own with a confused stare. “Are y’gonna come t’any more shows?”

You pause, nibbling on your bottom lip as you contemplate your answer. “Well - maybe. If I need more information.” “You should,” he tells you, and you tilt your head to the side. “Look, I don’t want your only impression of m’shows t’be that they’re violent an’ crazy.”

“I don’t think -”

“Jus’ one more? In two days. I’ll send you th’address. I really want you t’come -”

Before you can process the request Jeff has stepped forward, hooking his arm in Harry’s and practically dragging him towards the stage, and you watch him prance back in front of the audience like it’s his God given purpose and perhaps it is. You’ve never quite met anyone like him, you don’t think, and you’d certainly had a perception of what you’d imagined him to be like based on the insane amount of time you’d spent obsessing over his band when you were younger -

Your mouth feels suddenly dry as you watch him begin, and the music seems to reverberate beneath your skin, and suddenly - without having to think about it much at all, really - you know it won’t take much convincing on his part to get you back for a second night.

[lobakmerahs]

Tiny Titans

Summary: A day with Levi and his twins who don’t know when to stop eating. 

Levi walked calmly into the mess hall that morning with his twins walking by his sides, their small hands grabbing Levi’s 2 fingers on each hands and thomping their baby steps on the floor. The twins were now able to walk and run on their own but still needed you and Levi’s guards on them because they tended to run or walk carelessly which ended up having them bumping on people or stumbling upon their legs which caused them to kiss the earth sometimes. Another reason was that they were never full, never wanted to stop eating so both you and Levi had to make sure they didn’t steal other people’s food or force people to share their food with them.

You had to leave the twins under Levi’s care as you and Hange had a mission at the other part of the wall a few days ago where you were supposed to arrive at the headquarter today. Levi sat at the table and put the twins on the table before Mikasa came and placed the food tray on the table which consisted of a bowl of porridge for the babies and Levi’s simple breakfast, as he asked for her help earlier to take the said porridge. Then, she moved to the other table where all Levi’s squad took their seats. Not long after that, Erwin arrived at the mess hall to have his breakfast while sharing the table with Levi and his twins.

Levi carefully brought the spoon to his twins' mouth, alternately feeding his son and daughter until the last drop of the porridge before feeding them with milk from their baby bottles. He took the chance to eat his breakfast as the twins were drinking their milk while sitting on the table, short chubby legs hanging from it. Then, his son approached Levi, one hand was holding the bottle while his other hand tried to reach Levi’s bread. Levi quickly moved his hand away, and looked at his son intensely as a sign of warning, not that his son gave any care about that sharp look anyway. Meanwhile, his daughter was crawling to Erwin’s direction, eyes glued to the Commander's bread as well. Erwin, who always had a soft spot for the twins, voluntarily gave his bread to the little girl.

“Erwin, don’t. She just had her porridge and milk. She's not hungry at all.” Levi immediately stopped Erwin and his daughter as if she understood Levi’s words, instantly dropped her bum on the table and lowered her head showing how sad she was for not being able to get the desired bread. Erwin chuckled as he saw Levi’s daughter reaction and tore the bread but failed to make it into equal halves. The bread was now into one small portion and another one was slightly bigger, Erwin brought his hand that held the small bread to the little girl, she looked up at Erwin with her cute smile but then she pointed at the other hand, demanding to have the bigger part which Erwin complied without any hesitation. Levi shook his head slowly followed by a sigh, then he tore a big chunk of his bread to give it to his son as the little boy started to get jealous with his sister who successfully got her bread from the Commander of the Scout Regiment. Now, the twins ate their second breakfast happily while sitting on the table and Levi could finally had his breakfast peacefully, or at least that was what he thought.

After a few moments, Levi was sipping his tea when his son was climbing down from the table to the bench and slowly getting his feet on the floor of the mess hall which was followed suit by his twin sister. Levi quickly grabbed the twins and brought them to his chest, not wanting them to go anywhere much to their dismay. His son started to grabbed and pulled Levi’s hair and his daughter started to stretched her body just to break way from her father’s strong grip. Erwin watched in amusement while smiling warmly.

“Levi, why don’t you let them go? I don’t think they would get lost in this mess hall, it’s not even that big anyway.” Erwin tried to persuade Levi to let the poor children ran freely.

“It’s not about them getting lost, I just don’t want them to steal people’s food or anything.”

“They ate a lot already just now didn’t they? Maybe they just wanted to walk to your squad.” Levi sighed upon Erwin’s words but gave in nevertheless. He carefully let his kids stood on the floor and warned them to behave before they walked off happily and Levi could continue drinking his unfinished tea. The twins quickly went to the table where Levi’s squad sat and was greeted by Armin. Armin carried the little girl to sit next to him as she was stretching her arms at his direction, wanting her to be lifted. Her twin brother went to Jean and tapped the man’s hips with his small palms, demanding him to carry his little body probably too lazy to climb the bench by himself. The twins then climbed on top of the table and crawled towards Sasha, who was no doubt had the biggest food portion among the soldiers at that table. Levi's twins had their eyes followed every movement of her hands, when Sasha opened her mouth, Levi's daughter opened her mouth as well as if she had food coming into her direction and moving her empty mouth in a munching action while Levi's son had his hand tried to reach Sasha's spoon but failed. Their continuous attempts to steal food made Sasha reluctantly gave up and shared some of her soup that morning with Levi's naughty twins perhaps because she couldn't handle those cute pair of eyes that stared at her or maybe because they were her Captain's children.

After the twins started to get bored, they climbed down to the floor and walked from one table to the next, greeting people or to be precise taxing people for their food. Then, the twins stumbled upon a middle aged man who was the head of the kitchen. He was carrying a box packed with bananas when he kindly greeted the twin. Noticing the twins’ stare that was directed to the bananas, he took two bananas and gave one to each of them. The twins held the banana with one hand then they showed their empty hands towards the kind man as a signal to want another one.

At the same time, Levi let his eyes wandered at the mess hall, trying to find his little twin. That was when he saw the two little creatures trying to demand more bananas at the man who was incharge for the kitchen. He stood up and walked towards their direction with eyebrows twitched with annoyance, but was a little too late because the twins saw their father and were smart enough to know that their father won't let them had those bananas. So, they quickly shoved the bananas under their clothes and slowly took a few steps back before they ran away from their father using their tiny plumpy legs. They were spurting while hands were glued to their clothes not wanting their precious fruit to fall off. Their chubby cheeks and shiny black hair were bouncing as they were running while giggling. All of a sudden, the mess hall was filled with the cackles from the twin and everyone watched with amusement as Levi chased his twins around the mess hall.

As the twins were running away, Levi's daughter suddenly stumbled upon her own legs, fell on the ground and had her banana rolled out from her cloth. She quickly got up and picked up her precious banana, and her brother who was ahead of her, turned around and took her hand to help her get on her feet again. Noticing their father who was getting close, they quickly crawled under the table and hid there, hoping that their father won't be able to catch them.

Levi didn't know whether it was the Ackermann blood that was running inside his kids or the fact that babies who took something that they shouldn't-were just able run really fast. He had his eyes followed his twins until they decided to hide under the table which made him stopped running as he approached the table. Slowly, Levi lowered his body then kneeled before he showed his face under table which caused the twins to shriek with laughter and quickly ran away. This time, they didn't run between tables, but instead they went under one table to another not caring whether the tables had people sitting around them or not.

After some time of running, the twins’ fatigues started to kick into their tiny bodies. So, they rested under the table where Mike sat with Nanaba and the other soldiers in his squad. Mike signalled at Levi whose eyes were wandering around. Levi nodded and quickly caught the tired twins into his arms and brought them to the head of the kitchen so that they could return the bananas.

"Come on, brats. Give back those bananas, you had enough breakfast today, you know," Levi asked while looking at his kids who had their lips curled down, showing such a sad expression to be separated from the bananas.

"Bana bana...," his daughter softly said but still reluctantly handed out her banana to the head of kitchen. At the same time her brother was hugging the banana close to his chest, pretending not to hear a words from his father.

"It's okay, Captain. They can keep it, I really wanted to give them those bananas." The man said.

"Really? Don’t just give them whatever they want because they’re my children."

"No, Captain. It's fine, really. I do want them to have it." He convinced the father of the twins. Levi was not someone who would push and pull so he decided to let go of the case but he did plan to return the favour.

"Alright then. Brats, what do you need to say?," he tapped his kids' thighs while looking at them.

" -ankyouu ~", the twins said in unison with sweet smiles which melted the head of kitchen's heart causing him to eagerly responded with a warm "you're most welcome little ones".

~🍌

You gave the door two knocks before you twisted the knob and opened it. It was Levi's office door and it was the first place you went to as you arrived at the headquarters. As you opened the door, your eyes were greeted by your twin who were wiggling their plumpy little bodies while holding a banana in one of their hands.

"Mommmmy!," your son and daughter yelled your name as they saw you entered the room while showing the bananas in their hands. You hugged both of them followed by some kisses on their heads. Being separated from them for a few days had made you missed them so much. The same goes to the man that you were walking towards to, whose eyes were staring deeply at you while waiting for you to arrive in front of him.

Levi stood up as you were slowly getting close to him to embrace you tightly to his warm body. As he was hugging you closed his eyes, inhaling your scent as he was relieved to have you safe and sound in his arms. 

"How are you?," you whispered to him while still being hugged.

"Never been better." Levi answered which caused you to smile and buried your face deeper into his muscular chest. After some time of hugging, Levi sat back on his chair while bringing you to sit on his lap.

"Did you buy those bananas?," you asked since you had been curious about it but chose to greet all of them first before you asked anything.

"Nope. Those belonged to the kitchen but the head of the kitchen gave them. I actually saw them asking for more but they saw me coming to get them so they quickly ran away." And so Levi told you how the kids were just never get full. They finished off their porridge and milk yet asked for Erwin's bread and forced Sasha to share her meal and used their cute faces to get free bananas from the head of the kitchen.

"They are such a tiny titans, aren't they?," you sighed while smiling after hearing Levi's story and rested your head at Levi's chest. His chest vibrated with his deep chuckles upon hearing your words.

"Hmm. Our tiny titans." He admitted, his arms held you tighter and pressing your body on him even closer. Levi looked down to watch your face who was smiling, he gladly return the smile with a soft kiss on the bridge of your nose. 

Then, your daughter walked towards you with her twin brother by her side, handing you her banana for you to feed her. You took the yellow fruit and peeled its skin, then you purposely brought the peeled banana closer to your mouth, acting like you wanted to eat your daughter's fruit.

"NOooo! Mommmy! That's mineeee," your daughter screamed dramatically at you while she stood on her toes and had her hands tried to grab back her banana from you. You laughed at her reaction and proceeded to feed her.

"Didddyy....", your son softly called his father and handed his banana also expecting his father to feed him. Levi obliged at his son's request and calmly fed his always-hungry little boy.

"Is it nice?," he asked his son. The little boy nodded his head instantly while his round cheeks became rounder due to being filled with the fruit while his mouth was busy munching it.

"Yuummmmy~," he finally spoke, licked his lips and opened his small mouth again as a signal for Levi to feed him some more of his banana. Levi chuckled as he watched his son getting so ecstatic just from eating his stolen fruit. 

As the time passed by, you and Levi spent afternoon to feed your children bananas while they turned around, hands flapping and wiggled their waists and chanting "bana bana" probably feeling so happy for being able to eat bananas with their parents. You comfortably sat on Levi's lap while having one of his hands lingered around your waist at the same time he fed your son. And no, you didn't even get a bite of the banana, your children won't let you because it's their bana bana not yours.

[fanmoose12]

catch me if you can

Сharacters: Hange Zoe, Levi, Erwin Smith, Kenny Ackerman

Genres: Mystery / Romance

Summary: The Ackerman duo. Just the mention of this name filled Hange with so many feelings. Mostly, when she reread the files of their cases over and over, until her eyes watered, she felt pricking annoyance. Sometimes, when she stared at the dead bodies of those scarce unfortunates who stumbled upon their crimes, she was filled with hatred and a pushing need for revenge. Hange couldn’t deny, however, there were times when she marveled at the impudence of their crimes. And, when she was investigating the Ackerman’s cases and saw just how meticulously planned they all were, she couldn’t help but feel something close to fascination.No one knew who they were. No one had seen their faces, no one knew their true names. Almost everyone knew of their crimes.Hange was determined to unravel every last one of their secrets. She will put an end to their crimes and then she will get the elusive Ackermans behind bars.

Chapter 6/?

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

The sirens were still screeching, the bright lights of police cars still moving from one neighborhood to the other and Levi’s heart still drumming in his chest when Kenny had grabbed him, pushing him into the dark, empty alleyway.

“What the fuck was that?” he hissed, as he pressed Levi against the rough surface of a brick wall. Even with his mask still on, Kenny’s rage was perfectly visible, his eyes a burning fire.

If he wasn’t so out of it, if he could have shaken off the image of Hange, covered in blood, if he could have heard something rather than her pained scream, the hatred that was radiating from Kenny would have probably scared him.

But now it had a diametrically opposite effect.

“I should be the one asking you that,” Levi roughly threw Kenny’s hands off him. He was shaking, the adrenaline, frustration and fear he had experienced just half an hour ago making an utter mess out of him. He wanted, needed to get it all out of his system. And Kenny’s outrage could be the perfect remedy. “What the fuck were you thinking when you had pointed that gun? Did you want to kill a cop? Do you know what they would have done to us if you got one of their own?”

Kenny’s demeanor changed in a flash – his shoulders relaxed, his breathing slowed down. Patting Levi’s shoulder, he took a step back. With a low hum, Kenny threw away his mask, pulling out a pack of cigarettes.

Lightening one up, he looked at Levi, revealing to him a narrow, foxy smirk. "You're so calm, Levi, so rational. Always know better than your uncle. But when I had that pointed that gun," he pressed a point finger to Levi's forehead, his palm imitating the pistol. "Were you just as rational? Because I swear – your eyes showed the exact opposite."

Levi held Kenny’s gaze steadily, refusing to be intimidated. "I was trying to get our asses out of here."

"Could have fooled me," Kenny chuckled, taking a drag of his cigarette and then blowing the smoke right in Levi's face. "I thought you were distracted by the pretty face of that cop," he looked Levi up and down, his smirk growing wider. His eyes filling with something darker.

"Need I to remind you," Levi waved his hand, getting rid of the smoke. "That we're in this mess only because you were distracted by a pretty face. Or you think that cops busting us was a coincidence?"

"No," Kenny lifted his head, releasing another ring of smoke into the air. The momentary silence was interrupted by return of the sirens. The police was getting closer. And that meant they had to run faster. "Traute will get what she deserves, don't you worry. And I hope, Levi," Kenny put his cigarette out, pressing it against the wall. He gave Levi a heavy, loaded look. "That you won't give me a reason to do the same to you."

***

Levi was a bad person. He held no other illusions regarding that matter.

Thief and liar, he wasn't blind or naive enough to pretend he was anything more.

If he was a good person, he'd surrender to police, confess his and Kenny's crimes and serve his time in prison.

If he was a mediocre person, he'd get on a first plane to somewhere far away and never show his face in this city again.

If he, at least, wasn't a complete piece of shit, he'd leave Hange alone and stop lying to her.

Alas..

Lying to her became surprisingly easy. And a sort of necessity too.

This is the last time, he told himself. The last time. I just need to make sure that Hange is alright.

Alas… Lying to himself was becoming surprisingly easy too.

***

Contacting Hange was even less difficult than he had expected to.

Her face was all over the news, the brave detective injured during a mission – there was no shortage of praise to her dedication and courage.

Something warmed in his chest at hearing these praises.

The feeling was almost enough to make him panic. It was one thing when his heart sped up in Hange’s presence. But now he was proud of her achievements as well? A sure sign that he was getting in too deep.

A sure sign that he had to leave.

The last time, he repeated, as he sent a text to Hange.

saw your sad face on tv. are you alright?

Turned out, it was everything he had to do to receive a photo of Hange, grinning at him from a hospital bed, along with an invitation to visit her.

Levi didn’t allow doubts to take hold of him. Before a logical part of him raised its voice and started screaming at him, he grabbed his jacket and left the house. Thankfully, Kenny was out, probably looking for ways to get his revenge.

Levi didn’t care enough to ask him where he was going. After their last fight, they didn’t talk at all. And Levi was more than okay with it. The lesser they interacted, the lesser chances were of them getting into another fight and possibly reaping each other’s heads off.

If Kenny was busy with getting even with Traute, Levi could take a moment to say a proper goodbye to Hange.

Then, he’d leave the city. For good this time.

***

The hospital – when Levi had entered it – was bustling with police officers.

At first, he almost bolted back home. There were too many of them, and the surge of panic he felt was almost too much.

What if Hange knew the truth about him? Her plan with Traute had failed, but what if she had tried to lure him out here? What if she set another – unescapable – trap for him?

But the police officers didn’t look intimidating. Almost all of them seemed tense – exhausted and worried. But no one had spared him another glance.

And when he told that he was Levi and he came to see Hange, some of them actually smiled.

The blonde woman, the one Levi vaguely remembered seeing in the precinct before, even squeezed his shoulder, as he passed her by. She thanked him for being there for Hange and told him he was a real sweetheart.

Levi didn’t think it was possible to feel embarrassed, ashamed and guilty at the same time.

These feeling grew as he met the tall sniffing giant from before. Was his name Mike? Levi was pretty sure it was. At least, he definitely remembered Hange mentioning some Mike. Most probably it was the exact Mike that was standing before him now. He beamed as he saw Levi approach, beckoning him to come closer.

“Man, it’s so good to have you here,” he said, and the sincerity in his tone almost made Levi wince. He was such an asshole… “Hange had been crawling up the walls ever since she was brought here,” the man appeared to be tired, visibly drained, but beneath the face of exhaustion, it was easy to see the genuine concern. Seemed, like Hange was extremely well-loved amongst her colleagues. “Our sweet Han is terrifying in her anger, but maybe…” he tilted his head, scanning Levi from head to toe. “Maybe, you’ll cheer her up.”

“That’s…” Levi cleared his throat, struggling not to fidget under Mike’s hopeful gaze. God, perhaps it’d be better if they just caught him there. It certainly wouldn’t make him feel so awful about himself. “That’s what I’m here for. Can I come in?”

“Sure!” Mike gave him thumbs-up, smiling in relief. “Hange is just behind that door. I’m not sure if she’s alone, I left her side to get some coffee, but…”

Levi was already on a move, already opening the door to Hange’s ward, and, naturally, he ignored the end of that sentence.

Big mistake on his part.

Because Hange, who was half-sitting on the white hospital bed with a bandage on her right shoulder… Hange certainly wasn’t alone. There was a man beside her, and when he shifted in his seat to glance at Levi, Levi recognized him immediately.

Admittedly, he had never met him in person, all communication was performed by Kenny, but that cropped brown hair, those vibrant blue eyes and stupid, ugly moustache… it was very hard to mistake Rod Reiss for anyone else.

Levi froze, heart in his throat. What was Reiss doing here? Did he know who Levi was? Did he recognize him? The slight uplift of his mouth said that he did.

But, thankfully… Reiss said nothing about it.

Instead, he turned back to Hange, a small smile on his thin lips and his hand pointing at Levi. “Is that your young man, detective Zoe? Didn’t know you were spoken for.”

“I’m not—” Hange flashed, shaking her head rapidly. Despite the tense moment, Levi stole a second to admire Hange’s embarrassed expression. She looked utterly ridiculous, and that served her right, a payback for all the times she was the one to embarrass him. “I’m not spoken for, mister Reiss. Yet, at least.”

Yet, at least.

These words sent a pang straight to Levi’s heart. If only… if only he wasn’t himself, and Hange wasn’t Hange, if only they met at the different time, in different place.

If only. A cruel, painful truth.

“Well, either way, it’s good to know that you have someone who cares about you,” Reiss reached out, squeezing Hange’s healthy shoulder. “Even heroes need that.”

“I’m not a hero.” Hange mumbled, utterly bashful. Levi rather liked that side of hers, he decided he wanted to see more of it. So…

“Don’t sell yourself short,” he grumbled, revealing in a vicious glare Hange sent him. It suited to her red cheeks perfectly. “Your heroic deed is all over the news. Certainly, the news wouldn’t lie?”

Hange’s face screamed ‘stop embarrassing me, you asshole’, but in the presence of Reiss, the only thing she could do was smile and grip the edge of a bed with her healthy hand a little too tightly. Perhaps, Reiss was the only obstacle between him and Hange’s proverbial fury. Still, Levi preferred the old bastard would just fuck off already. And— that he wouldn’t tell Kenny where he had met his nephew.

“It’s time for me to leave,” Reiss stood up, as though he heard Levi’s thoughts. “But hopefully we’ll meet again, detective.”

“Thank you for your visit and your help, sir. I’m sure that once we combine our forces, we’ll catch those Ackermans in no time.”

Levi had caught himself, before his jaw had met the floor. What were they talking about? Catching… Ackermans? Was it another one of Reiss’ schemes? Was it a careful move to boost his reputation? A way to protect him and Kenny? Or… was he covering up his traces? If so, how far was he ready to go to do it? He couldn’t betray Kenny, could he?

“It was nice meeting you,” Levi was so lost in his head, he missed the moment when Reiss approached him. Now he stood right before him, his hand outstretched towards him. Reiss was slightly shorter than Levi, which – in that moment – offered little comfort. “Mister?”

“Levi,” he schooled his expression into something polite and, more importantly, neutral.

“Levi,” Reiss hummed, his eyes narrowing just a fraction. “The name seems familiar. But…” he curled his lips in a smile for no more than a second. It was enough to induce a shiver from Levi. “That’s probably just a coincidence. Have a good night, Levi, and take care of our hero, please.”

“Will do, sir,” Levi promised, squeezing the offered hand just a little too tightly.

He watched Reiss walk to the door, then turn the doorknob, push the door open and then – finally - closed. Only when his short, round stature disappeared, did Levi allow himself to breathe out in relief. He moved a hand through his hair, shaking off the last bits of nervousness. With his heart beating that much slower, he turned back to Hange.

“Is that your new friend?” he asked as he plopped down on a chair Reiss had just vacated.

“Friend?” Hange scoffed. “A rich snob who thinks that money solves any problem.”

“Isn’t he right, though?”

“We’ll see about that, I guess,” Hange lifted her shoulders in attempt to shrug, her face contorting in pain as soon as she moved her injured extremity. Levi swallowed, as he watched her rub the wound gently.

“Does it—” his voice betrayed him, breaking right at the beginning. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Does it hurt?”

“Like bitch,” Hange confessed with a bitter smile. “They give me painkillers, and they help, but… I guess I’ll be away from active duty for a while.”

What happened was the next expected question, a friend ought to ask about that, right? However… Levi wasn’t too keen to hear the answer.

“Your friends are worried about you,” he said instead. He was worried about Hange too, but did he even have the right to be? Even if partially, but he was the reason she had been shot. And he was the reason she was now moping in a hospital.

“Sometimes, they worry too much,” Hange complained. “They don’t even let me work. Mike took my laptop away, and Erwin returned my notebook back to the precinct. I’m dying of boredom here, Levi!” she whined, accompanying that pathetic sound by a petulant kick.

“I’m sure they have your best interests at heart,” he reasoned, doing his best not to laugh. It was his fault Hange was like that, but even so, he couldn’t deny that she looked almost unbelievably ridiculous. And cute, really, really cute.

And… that was another sign that he needed to get out of this city as soon as possible.

“Rest may be good for my body, but it’s bad for my brain.”

Hange fell silent after that. With the thumb of her healthy hand raised to her lips, she stared into nothing. Levi could practically hear the sound of gears turning in her head.

He didn’t like where this was going.

“I know I’m asking a lot…” Hange mumbled, suspiciously avoiding his eyes. “And I’ll understand if you decide to refuse…”

Levi tsked and rolled his eyes. All these dramatics… “Just say what you want from me.”

“Like I said it’s a bit too much,” she began slowly, still unsure. Levi kicked the leg of the hospital bed to speed up the process. It seemed to have a rather positive effect. “But since you’ve already been there and I have the key, could you…”

“Steal your damned notebook for you?”

Hange’s face lightened up as she nodded, and, met with that delighted expression, Levi could only sigh. He already hated himself for it, but… he was a reason Hange was here in the first place, right? He might as well do something to make up for it.

Besides… he really liked that happy smile.

“I’m not asking you to steal!” Hange ardently assured. “You’re not a thief, after all,” she laughed at her own joke, while Levi tried very hard not to cringe. “I’m asking you to deliver my notebook from my office.”

Levi didn’t answer right away, and Hange, probably sensing his doubt, continued, “The precinct is almost empty, since it’s Saturday, and everyone is either here or at home. And even if you do run into someone, just tell them you’re running an errand for me.”

“You make it sound so easy,” he said, shaking his head. He had already decided he was going to help Hange out, but there was nothing wrong with playing a little too hard to get.

“It’ll be easy, I swear! And if you bring me the notebook…”

Hange winked, her smile enigmatic. Levi couldn’t deny, that smile had him intrigued. “If I bring the notebook?”

“I’ll think of a way to thank you for that! Perhaps, when we go on that date you promised me…”

The date on a skating rink, Levi almost forgot about it. But as Hange reminded him, the feeling of regret returned. He wanted to go there with Hange, wanted to hold her hand as they glide through the rink, wanted to see her spin around effortlessly, wanted her to teach him how to do the same, as pathetic as it sounded, even the idea of falling down and freezing his ass didn’t disgust him, if Hange were there with him, laughing her heart out, he probably would forget about the pain and cold. If Hange were with him, perhaps, he’d be able to forget about many things.

And that’s why he had to leave.

“Alright, I’ll bring your stupid notebook,” he conceded, getting to his feet just a little too quickly. Hange’s warm gaze was too hypnotizing. It was dangerous, it was doing something to him, and that something was making it very hard for him to leave her side. “I’ll be right back, just…”

“Stay here?” Hange snickered. “I can’t exactly run away right now, Levi.”

“Right, right,” he nodded, and then, because he was going to enter the police precinct on his volition, because he was doing this for Hange’s sake, because he was the most despicable human being in the world, he reached out and pressed her head to his chest. Hange could probably hear how loud and quick his heart was beating, Hange’s heart – if he deciphered the beeping of medical equipment correctly – was beating almost just as fast. “See you, Hange.”

The softness of her hair was surprising, the warmth of her body was so pleasant, the desire to kiss the crown of her head was almost irresistible, but…

Apparently, he wasn’t a complete asshole.

The hug lasted for no more than a second, but for Levi it seemed like hours had passed. And still, it wasn’t nearly enough.

That step back felt like the hardest thing Levi had ever done. As soon as Hange’s warmth had disappeared, he started to miss it.

“I’ll be waiting,” Hange promised with a smile so gentle, it was…

No. He had already done enough, far more than he should have.

If he did something more, if he kissed her, would he really be able to leave? Levi didn’t want to know the answer to that question. He wasn’t sure he’d like it.

He forced himself to walk away, his stride much swifter than usual. He hoped that breathing would be come to him much easier, when the distance between him and Hange grows bigger.

But apparently… he wasn’t lucky enough.

***

Getting inside the precinct was laughably easy.

The security guy at the entrance had attempted to stop him, but let him pass as soon as Levi mentioned that he was running an errand for detective Hange Zoe.

Either Hange’s name held a pretty significant value around here, or, more probably, the police was full of incompetent, lazy pigs.

Honestly, a middle schooler could infiltrate this place.

Not that Levi looked like a middle schooler. His face was much more mature. If he scowled hard enough. He hoped so, at least.

Just as Hange had predicted, the precinct was mostly empty. He passed a few closed doors that had a narrow ray of light coming underneath, but as he repeated the path Mike had showed him before, Levi didn’t meet a single soul.

The long hallways were scarcely illuminated, and some lightbulbs were flicking in and out, creating an almost eerie atmosphere. The tension in his shoulders grew bigger as he moved further and further... right inside the lion’s den.

Kenny would have called him a fool. Kenny would have called him shit-for-brains, a fucking idiot, a stupid fucker. Kenny, if he had known where Levi went, would have hit him until all his idiocy disappeared.

Although… the idiocy was too deep inside him now, Levi wasn’t sure that even Kenny was up to task of getting rid of it.

Perhaps, if he’d leave… Perhaps, perhaps. He’d had to leave the city first.

He had to leave the city, Levi decided and as he got inside the elevator that would take him to Hange’s office, he took out his phone and booked the closest flight available.

Singapore, awesome. He always wanted to visit.

The floor, where Hange’s office was located, was just as lifeless. All cubicles stood vacant and the rest of the offices were empty too. Perhaps, most of the officers were back at the hospital, watching over Hange. It was a good thing that she had someone to care about her. Hange deserved that, maybe, even needed that. Especially after dealing with asshole like him.

Just before entering the door, Levi paused with his hand on a doorknob. That tense feeling, that premonition returned and intensified. His stomach was in knots, making him almost nauseous.

It was ridiculous, stupid, the whole precinct was empty, he had seen so himself, but… the alarms in his mind were ringing, begging him to reconsider and go back before it was too late. Before it was too late for… what?

Levi couldn’t answer that question, meaning his sudden panic was stupid, and he himself was stupid for being a scaredy cat. It was so unlike him, and it was foolish, the last couple of days were probably just getting to him, making him more paranoid than usual.

Stop acting like an idiot, he chided himself, swallowing all of his worry down. He exhaled, relaxing the tense muscles of his back. With another mental kick, he pressed on a doorknob and opened the door, doing so unnecessarily slowly.

Just as he knew it would be, the office stood empty.

Levi didn’t waste another moment by being a damn idiot, and walked inside, heading to the desk Hange was occupying back when he had visited her that one time. The mess of paperwork, pens, paper cups and empty boxes from takeout food that had accumulated on the desk was a proof enough that this work space had really belonged to Hange.

Now, if only there was just a little more light… Levi located the desk lamp fairly quickly, but where was a switch to that fucking thing? He moved his hand up and down, his fingers searching and searching…

The light turned on before he found the switch.

It wasn’t the desk lamp though, it was a luster right above his head.

Levi jerked, whirling around, to the door behind him.

As it turned out, he wasn’t completely alone in the office. Hange’s boss, Captain Erwin Smith was still at work, despite the late hour.

“Levi,” he started to approach him, slowly at first. But the office was rather small, and, despite a step that Levi had taken back, despite his thigh pressing into the edge of the desk, the distance between them was shortening at a speed he wasn’t completely comfortable with. “I was waiting for you.”

He was? Why? Did Hange tell him something? Did she warn her boss about his visit? Why would she, if Erwin was the one who had taken her notebook in the first place? Something wasn’t adding up, and Erwin’s guarded face, damn that stoic man, wasn’t helping him solve that riddle.

“Sit down,” Erwin walked just a little too close to Levi, and then turned, taking a seat at Hange’s desk. Awkwardly, with his legs refusing to cooperate properly, Levi sat down at the opposite side. “Do you want some coffee? Or tea? Hange mentioned you like it a lot.”

“I’m fine, thank you.”

What was he going? What was Erwin doing here, why was he looking at him like that – like Levi was a test subject and Erwin was watching his every move behind the lens of a microscope. The comparison almost made him squirm.

“I’m glad you showed up,” Erwin had his hands folded under his chin, his eyes never leaving Levi’s face. His gaze seemed just as neutral as his expression, perhaps, even a little friendly, but the premonition had returned, so much stronger than before.

“I’m here because Hange asked me to,” he said, wondering why his voice sounded so quiet, almost shaky. Levi straightened in his seat, meeting Erwin’s gaze squarely. He wouldn’t let this man intimidate him. Unless, of course, Erwin gives him a reason to be intimidated. “She wanted—”

“Her notebook, yes,” Erwin nodded. “I guessed already. And I’m sure you’ve jumped at the opportunity to get inside her office. Isn’t that right, Levi? Or,” he paused, but Levi knew what he was going to say, knew what Erwin knew, could see it in his eyes that now had betrayed his true feelings and looked more like two icy shards. These eyes, they pinned Levi down, he helplessly stared into them, seeing nothing but hatred and disgust. “Or, perhaps, you’d prefer if I called you Mister Ackerman instead?”

Levi knew what was coming, and, still, his stomach fell. Millions of question swirled around in his head, and that was the only thing that kept him from bolting out of his seat.

How did Erwin find out? When did he find out? And most importantly, did he tell Hange? Or… was the she the one who discovered the truth?

All these questions had Levi on edge, but Erwin… Erwin didn’t seem too keen to answer any of them.

“Did you know there are only four men named Levi in this city?” Levi didn’t know if the answer was expected of him, but Erwin didn’t seem too interested in what he had to say, because after a brief pause, he continued, “One of them is a teenager boy, he’s an athlete, who is raised by a single mother. Another one is a middle-aged, bald man with three kids and a wife, the other is an eighty-year old man, who lives alone on the edge of the city. The last one,” Erwin’s eyes flashed, and Levi swallowed. Just like before, he knew damn well what was coming. “Doesn’t really count, I guess. He had died some twenty years ago, along with his mother. Do you, by any chance, know the name of his mother?”

There was a lump in his throat, one that appeared each time his mother was mentioned, one that made it hard to breathe and pressed on his chest, heavy enough to hurt. But Erwin looked at him expectantly, like his question was a test. A test of what, Levi wasn’t sure, but he wasn’t going to show his weakness, not in front of this particular man.

“Kuchel,” he said, his voice as steady as it could be, considering he was shaking from inside. “Her name was Kuchel Ackerman.”

Erwin nodded, his features sharpening even further, turning into a stone mask. “I refused to believe it at first, when I first looked you up after meeting you right in that office. It appeared to be a horrible coincidence, a weird conjunction. You seemed genuinely interested in Hange, not in her work, and I was ready to give you the benefit of the doubt, waiting for a sign that would support or destroy my finding. But last night was enough of a proof.”

Was it? How so? Did Levi make a mistake? If so, then were? And how did Erwin see it?

“Last night Hange was shot,” yeah, Levi was there, and Erwin knew that. What importance did it have now? “But she isn’t dead, not like that politician from a week ago. Your partner in crime,” ah, so Kenny wasn’t yet discovered. Apparently, he wiped the traces of his existence much better than Levi did. “I guess he is the one who usually dirties his hands, and that means he was the one who killed that man. Hange was supposed to die that night too, right? And you were the one who prevented it."

Having said everything he needed, Erwin fell silent. For a long moment, there was no sound, except the tick of a clock, Erwin's calm breathing and Levi's much frantic one.

"So, is my assertion correct?"

Levi said nothing. What was there to say? Say yes and stroke Erwin's ego? Or deny it and look like a fool?

"I'll take your silence as a yes."

His cockiness was irritating, despite it being very much deserved. Still, to be caught by a guy he had seen only once... Levi knew there was a possibility that his involvement with Hange may end with him in prison. He just never imagined that her overprotective boss would be the one to blame for his fall.

"Did you already tell Hange?" he asked quietly, admitting his defeat.

His heart was aching, as he thought of what was awaiting for him next. Was Hange going to be the one to put handcuffs on him? What her reaction would be - would she be gleeful about her victory? Or would that joy be overridden by disgust she felt for him?

"I didn't tell her. She won't know the truth about you. Not from me, at least."

Levi widened his eyes, staring at the man in front of him with shock and incomprehension. Was he... telling the truth? But why?

"Hange would be dead, if it wasn't for you. That's why I'm inclined to give you another chance. Leave this city, Levi Ackerman, and don't come back. Stop toying with Hange's feelings and don’t you dare contact her ever again. She deserves someone much better than you."

Well, in that aspect, Levi agreed with Erwin completely.

"You may bring the notebook to her, but that's it. I'm letting you go not out of kindness, but out of gratitude. Don't make me regret it."

"I'm leaving the city tonight." He promised to Erwin, as he stood up, Hange's notebook secured in his right hand.

Not that Erwin needed to know about it, but he was going to leave anyway. Just in two hours, he'd be on his way to Singapore. If he hurried, he might get just enough time to say goodbye to Hange.

A proper goodbye. He ought to give her at least that much.

He left the office swiftly, before Erwin could change his mind. With his heart still racing after a tense encounter, he ran to the hospital.

***

When he arrived inside, the hospital was much less crowded than before. There was a fewer number of patients and visitors in the main hall, and those who still were present, were much quieter, subdued and exhausted. There were only a few doctors around, and their faces were pale, eyes blinking tiredly, shoulders slumped after a long shift. The only ones who still kept their energy were nurses, who ran from one side of a hospital to the other, calling out to doctors or carrying the needed medicine.

Still shaken after his encounter with Erwin, Levi used that semi-calm atmosphere to take a deep breath and put his thoughts into order. He had – for the lack of better word – an eventful day, and who knew what would happen tomorrow? Perhaps, it was the last moment of peace he would have in a while.

He was starting a new life, but the prospect wasn’t thrilling or exhilarating. The only feelings it provoked was dread. And a bone-deep exhaustion.

No rest for the wicked, or so Kenny liked to say. It was one of the few things he and Levi agreed upon.

The hospital hallways seemed deserted too, only doctors and nurses still roaming the place. The visiting hours were already over, but Hange’s status as a new city hero allowed Levi to convince them to overlook that small detail. He had to lie and say he was detective Zoe’s boyfriend, but well… Hange wouldn’t know about this. Even if she did, Levi was going to be on another side of the world in just a few hours.

However, he had to admit… saying this out loud felt good. Unreasonably so.

Hange’s boyfriend… it had a nice ring to it. Perhaps, in another life…

The ridiculousness of that thought was almost enough to make him chuckle. Clearly, it was the long couple of days getting the best of him. He needed to rest, get his head cleared up, leave this city once and for all.

The hallway that led to Hange’s ward was almost as deserted as the rest of the hospital. The number of police officers patrolling her had diminished significantly, only two of them still present.

Levi was not at all surprised to see that tall weirdo, Mike, slumped down in the uncomfortable hospital chair with his hands folded beneath his head. Clearly, he was one of Hange’s closest friends. Levi took a mental note of that, storing that information in that corner of his mind that was dedicated solely to Hange. That corner was growing bigger, and that was another reason why he had to leave, disappear from her life. Hopefully, then Hange would disappear from his life and his mind too.

Next to Mike sat a thin blonde woman, whose name stubbornly eluded Levi. Nana… something. It didn’t really matter. The woman was asleep, her face pressed into Mike’s big shoulder. The scene was adorable, Levi thought detachedly. These people weren’t his friends, they didn’t provoke an emotional response from him, however… Hange would probably like to hear about them snuggling together outside her ward. Maybe, that would make her smile. Levi liked her smile, along with her deep, strangely alluring voice and big, look-inside-them-for-too-long-and-you’ll-drown brown eyes, her smile took the most of that special mind corner of his.

The first thing he saw upon entering the ward was the sight of Hange’s peaceful, relaxed face. Be it the exhaustion from last few days, the pain from injury or a simple, soothing atmosphere of the hospital, but Hange was asleep, her mouth slightly open in an expression that could be described as ridiculous if it weren’t so endearing. Without the ever present glasses, she looked much younger than she actually was, fragile almost.

The second thing Levi was saw the dusty black coat and the stupid bowler hat. The start contrast between white ceilings, blue walls, Hange’s still pale body and that black form was striking enough to make Levi wonder if what he was seeing was actually true. It was easier to write it off as a visage, an image of his biggest nightmare that was conjured by an exhausted mind.

Kenny shouldn’t, couldn’t be here. But he was. Sitting dangerously close next to Hange, his lips spread into a wide, bloodthirsty smirk, he stared at her sleeping form like it was the most interesting thing in the world.

Levi’s blood turned to ice, his insides twisting painfully. He still couldn’t quite believe it.

Kenny was here.

How did he find out about Hange? Why did he come? What did he want? What was he going to do?

There were so many questions, Levi wasn’t sure the answer to which one would be the scariest.

“You know there are over a million people in this city?” Kenny’s voice was quiet, no louder than a machine that counted Hange’s heartbeats. It wasn’t nearly loud enough to disturb her sleep. “And out of that million you had to choose a fucking cop. Is she that special?” Kenny looked him in the eyes, seeming genuinely curious in his answer. “Or are you just that dumb?”

“Both, probably,” Levi shrugged, marveling at how calm, almost bored his voice sounded. Inside, he was anything but.

Kenny hummed, nodded, expressing his agreement, and stood up, popping the collar of his coat. “Let’s not disturb your sleeping beauty then. Follow me, Levi.”

It wasn’t a suggestion or a request, it was an order, and a clear one at that. Levi gladly obeyed it, because the alternative – whatever it would be – was much, much worse.

Kenny led him out of the ward, they passed through Mike and his friend, who were still sleeping, walked through a long hallway, arrived at the stairwell and then went up to the roof.

Once they were there, underneath pale moonlight and surrounded by bright neon lights of a nearby night club, Kenny punched him.

Levi didn’t even stagger, more than expecting that. He didn’t punch back and didn’t defend himself, knowing that he more than deserved that.

Clearly not satisfied yet, Kenny punched him again, then again, until Levi did stagger and fell on his ass. A thin drip of blood dripped from his lip. Levi wiped it off with a sleeve, briefly wondering if the ache on his cheek would turn into a bruise or not.

Kenny stood above him, his face darker than Levi had ever remembered seeing, his fists trembling from either cold or rage.

“You’re a fucking idiot, Levi,” he spat out, kicking his leg. The kick was light, born more out of frustration than anything else. Levi barely felt it. “What the fuck were you thinking? What the fuck were you doing with that damn cop? Have you lost your mind? Have you forgotten who you are?”

Maybe, Kenny was right, maybe, he did forget about it. Or, maybe, he pretended to forget, letting his heart have what it so ardently desired. But today he was reminded of his place. Several times already.

And he was an idiot, Kenny wasn’t wrong about that too.

He was an idiot, who followed his heart, who chose the one person he absolutely couldn’t have. That choice, although it was only his to carry, wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair to Hange and it wasn’t fair to Kenny, to him especially so.

Levi knew about possible consequences, had expected them, but what about Kenny? Had Levi been caught, had Kenny been caught alongside him, his life would have been ruined too. And if Levi made that choice, consciously, Kenny – didn’t. He would never make a choice like that, one that would jeopardize Levi. Kenny was an asshole, a scoundrel, a thief and a liar, but if there was one thing he treasured, it was his family.

He treasured his sister, and after her death, he treasured her son, even if he never actually showed that.

And Levi had betrayed him.

All this time, he was worried, afraid that Hange would learn about his betrayal and grow to despise him, but he had never even thought that he was also lying to the only person in this world, who actually gave a damn about him, to the last part of his family.

Perhaps, Kenny should have punched him a couple of times more.

“You look like a kicked dog,” Kenny rolled his eyes in exasperation, grudgingly offering Levi to take his hand. “Get up, before you catch some shit from this fucking cold. Doubt they’ll let you stay with that officer sweetheart of yours if you start coughing your lungs out.”

“Fuck off,” Levi grunted, but accepted the offered hand and let Kenny hoist him up. “You were the one to punch me.”

“Was hoping I’d knock out that shit out of you,” Kenny briefly glanced at him before burying his head into the inside of his coat to look for the pack of cigarettes, no doubt. One day, the constant smoking would kill him. Then again – with their line of job – they could die at any moment, anyway. Criminals like them had to treasure every second, before they end up in a ditch or in prison. Wasn’t he doing the same, wasn’t he treasuring every second he had with Hange? Perhaps, he was. And now, it came to an end, disappointingly abrupt. “Did I, by the way? Manage to knock some sense into you?”

Levi thought about a notebook, hidden inside his pocket, close to his heart. He remembered how good it felt to hold Hange in his arms, remembered how light her laughter made him feel.

“I think you didn’t punch me hard enough.”

Kenny didn’t hit him again, didn’t even scold him. It seemed like he didn’t have energy for either. He just shook his head - slowly, wearily, and sighed – in disappointment, not surprise.

He walked to the edge of the roof and sat down, his long legs dangling in the air. Kenny seemed spent, defeated, Kenny looked tired and unexpectedly old, like the weight of his years had finally caught up to him. Levi didn’t quite know how to act around him in that state.

Tentatively, staggering slightly, he approached his uncle and joined him at the edge of the roof.

Kenny wordlessly offered him a cigarette, and Levi took it, thanking him with a subtle nod.

The silence fell over them as they both smoked, their eyes glued to the sky above. It was comfortable, this silence. Levi hated to break it, but there were things he needed to say.

“I’m leaving tonight.”

Kenny didn’t ask where, didn’t ask why, he didn’t seem to care at all. Unfortunately, Levi did care.

“Do you want to leave with me?”

Kenny put a cigarette to his lips, took a long, deep drag, released a fat ring of smoke, watched it disappear into the night. He met Levi’s eyes – for a single moment – and then returned to gazing up at the sky.

“Sorry, kid. Still have some stuff I need to finish.”

Levi didn’t ask Kenny to reconsider, didn’t ask what stuff he was talking about. If there was one thing he knew for certain, it was a fact that Kenny had a lot on his hands – Traute and her betrayal, Reiss and whatever he was planning to do. Levi had a lot on his hands too, and the only way to deal with all of it was to leave.

Kenny obviously had a different opinion. Nothing surprising, there were lots of things they had different opinions about.

“That cop of yours,” Kenny put his cigarette out, flicking the butt down below, and took a new one. He lightened it up, the lighter briefly illuminating his grim features. The shadows on his face were almost frightening. “Does she know who you are?”

“No,” the word came out a little bit harsher, gruffer than he intended. Levi wondered what the cause of it was – shame or regret. “But she’ll find out someday, I’m sure. She’s more than sharp enough.”

“You got lucky then, if she doesn’t know yet.”

Lucky? Perhaps he truly was. Was he lucky because he was leaving before Hange discovered the truth? Was he lucky because earlier that day she was still looking at him with stars in her eyes? Or, maybe, he was lucky because he wouldn’t get to see how those starts turn to disgust and hatred?

“Her boss knows, though. He searched my name after Hange introduced us. Did you know there are only four Levis in this city?”

“Your mother’s fault, not mine,” Kenny shrugged. “I wanted to name you Bob.”

Levi choked, shock and laughter constricting his throat. “Bob?” he hoarsely croaked.

“Bob Ackerman,” Kenny smirked, taking off his hat and putting it on Levi’s head. It fell down, obscuring half of his face. “It has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”

“No.”

Kenny chortled, and Levi couldn’t keep a smile off his face. It seemed like things between them were returning to normal. Levi was relieved.

And at the same, he was sad. Most of the time Kenny got on his nerves, he constantly pushed all of his buttons, but Levi still loved him. In a strange, bizarre sense, he was the only Levi could look up to. And the only one he could trust.

Levi didn’t want to leave him behind, wanted to listen to his stupid jokes while rolling his eyes and calling him an asshole just for a little longer.

But his plane was taking off in an hour. And there was one thing Levi wanted to do, before he gets out of this city for good.

“Kenny, I—”

“I know,” he cut him off. Kenny looked him in the eyes, and if Levi didn’t know him better, he’d say that the smile on his face was sad. “Young love and all that, right? Go, Romeo. Make sure your Juliette doesn’t put handcuffs on you.”

Levi stood up, hovering over Kenny awkwardly. They never, ever hugged. But in this moment, it seemed appropriate. People did hug, when saying goodbye to your loved ones. It was a totally normal thing. Could he and Kenny be like normal people too?

Bracing himself, Levi turned to face his uncle. He only started raising his arms, when Kenny snorted.

“Don’t make this weird, Levi.”

Apparently, they couldn’t even pretend to be normal.

“And you can keep my hat.”

Levi scoffed. “Now you’re the one making this weird.”

“It’s my old age, I guess,” he said. “Now shoo, kid, you don’t have much time. And remember - whenever you go…” Kenny paused, winking conspicuously. “Stir up some trouble, alright?”

Despite himself, Levi chuckled. “Don’t go around being boring too, old man.”

“That you can be sure of,” Kenny tilted his head, at the last moment remembering that his loyal hat wasn’t with him anymore. “And if you go into hiding, make sure you don’t go too deep.”

“So you’ll be able to find and pester me?”

“You know me so well.”

Levi did. And he was going to miss his nuisance of an uncle. “Thank you,” he said sincerely. “For everything, for—”

“Yeah, yeah, for raising you and teaching how to be so damn good at stealing stuff. I know you love me more than anything and you think I’m the coolest guy ever, Levi. Now stop being an embarrassment and leave me alone already.”

Hiding another smile, lest Kenny would think that his words were actually not so far from the truth and Levi did like him so much, Levi threw another glance at the night city, briefly squeezed Kenny’s shoulder and headed back inside.

The hat kept falling on his eyes, it was clearly a size or two too big, and Levi was sure he looked absolutely ridiculous, but… it brought along a sense of comfort.

When he came back to Hange, two police officers by her door were still sleeping. Levi passed them without a second glance.

Inside the ward, Hange continued to snore too. He had to hurry to the airport, his time was running out, yet Levi sparred a long moment to commit her face to his memory.

His eyes traced every feature – from the wide forehead and closed eyes with long dark eyelashes that fell elegantly on her cheeks, to the curve of her nose that had small dots of freckles and her rosy lips that were slightly curled upwards.

She was probably dreaming of something so pleasant. Levi wondered what that dream was about.

The only imperfection on her face, the one thing he resolutely didn’t like was a lock of hair that fell just over the tip of her nose.

With a feather light touch, Levi brushed the offending lock away, holding it between his fingers just a little too long.

You’re acting like a creep, he chided himself. Besides, he was going to be late to his flight.

With a heavy sigh and lots of effort, Levi took a step back. He put the notebook on the table next to her bed, briefly marveling at the amount of gifts that had already accumulated there.

Apparently, Hange was very well-loved.

Just at the edge of a small table, he saw a pen that was probably forgotten by the hospital stuff.

Overcome with a sudden impulse, Levi grabbed that pen and opened the notebook on the last page.

Since he couldn’t actually say goodbye, he should write a small note. Whether Hange would even see it or not, whether she would understand who he truly was or not… he wouldn’t be there to witness the result, right?

Right, he decided and started writing.

Too bad I couldn’t make it to that skating rink date. But we still had lots of fun, right? At least, I did.

Be good and kick all of their asses. I know you have it in you, four-eyes.

Whether his abrupt leave, the absence of any kind of conclusion was a good thing or bad, Levi couldn’t quite decide yet.

It left a bitter taste in his mouth, made him feel melancholic, lonelier than ever, but… maybe, it was for the best. Levi didn’t like goodbyes, avoided them at all costs. There was only one person he had ever said goodbye to, and his mother never returned.

He hadn’t said a proper goodbye to Hange, didn’t really say it to Kenny too, and perhaps… Perhaps.

As he left the ward, Levi didn’t look at Hange even once. He tried to pretend that he didn’t care, but the truth was he was afraid that so much as a glance would make it impossible for him to leave that what could have been behind.

He made sure to close the door quietly, but somehow the sound managed to wake up Mike.

He slowly sat up, rubbing his eyes and blinking owlishly. “Levi?” he mumbled sleepily. “Are… you wearing a hat?”

Levi had forgotten about that thing entirely. But after Mike had mentioned it, he took it off, hiding it behind his back.

Once that embarrassment was dealt with, he cleared his throat. “Hange is sleeping. She’s fine, as far as I could tell.”

“You’re leaving already? Well, make sure to come back soon. Hange will be so happy to see you again.”

“Yeah,” Levi swallowed, the lump in his throat suddenly becoming too big. “I’d be happy to see her too.”

And at the same time he knew, it’d be best for both of them, if their paths never cross again.

“Tell Hange I said hi. And… that I’m going to miss her.”

Levi ignored Mike’s confused question, he ignored his insistent calls. He took one brisk step after another, resolute and determined.

He had done everything he wanted to. And now it was time to leave this city behind.

Once and for all.