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1dfangirls35 · 4 years ago

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The Language of Your Soul

An enemies to lovers ballet au in 5 acts

Masterlist // Tell Me What You Think

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Act II

Sorry for the intermission guys but I’m back!

Warnings: This story (and chapter) will contain language, mentions of emotional abuse from a parent and eating disorders. Please read at your own discretion.

Eight Weeks Until Opening Night

Giselle's left hand grips the cool metal of the bar, her legs shaking uncontrollably beneath her -a result no doubt, of her five mile run this morning before rehearsals. Maybe that hadn't been the best idea after all.

Giselle hears Teagan enter the studio after her, announcing her entrance with the loud thud of her duffle bag hitting the floor. Giselle watches as Teagan grabs her pointe shoes out of the bag, taking a seat on the floor a few feet away from Giselle.

Giselle hates that Teagan has to be here, taking part in Giselle's solo rehearsals. The role of Odette was challenging enough- a true feat of technical perfection and stamina. She didn't need Teagan, the person who could snatch her dream role out from under her with just a few missteps, to watch her struggle through her early rehearsals. It makes Giselle feel like she is the prey, and Teagan is lurking in the shadows simply waiting for a moment of weakness to swoop in and swallow her up.

"How are rehearsals with Harry going?" Teagan asks, breaking the silence.

"Fine," Giselle responds shortly. But rehearsals are not going fine. They are an all-out disaster.

In the week and a half since the cast list had been announced, Giselle and Harry had yet to practice beyond their scheduled company rehearsals and it was showing. Giselle had tried on numerous occasions to suggest they work on the basics on their own but Harry had pushed it aside saying, "You've just got to know the choreography better." Giselle left every rehearsal feeling like a complete and utter failure- unworthy of dancing with the likes of Harry Styles.

"A dancer like that can make anyone look good," Teagan says with a tone that implies that Giselle needs some help "looking good". Giselle ignores the comment, instead, mentally running through the choreography for the Act II variation.

Anna Elliot interrupts Giselle's mental rehearsal as she enters the room. It's strange to see Anna in a black tracksuit instead of a leotard and tights, her dark black hair falling around her shoulders instead of pulled back into its usually neat bun. Her face looks tired; her usual bright smile absent. Giselle supposes it can't be easy for her to be on the other side of the stage, leading the rehearsal instead of dancing it.

"Ladies," she announces. "We are going to run through the Act II variation today. Giselle, you'll go first."

Giselle nods, pulling up the waistband of her white practice tutu as she positions herself upstage center in the studio. She tries to ignore Teagan's narrow eyes staring at her as the pianist begins to play.

As she dances Giselle thinks through each and every movement. Smooth développé, lifted attitude, airy bourrées. When she finishes her chaîné turns at the end of the variation, she exhales deeply- not realizing how much she had been holding her breath.

She looks towards Anna for approval. "Nicely done Giselle. Now I'd like you to work on those chaînés at the end. Really make sure they are tight and quick."

Giselle nods in understanding.

"But overall, beautiful execution of the choreography. We really just need to fine tune."

Giselle smiles smugly, glancing at Teagan who stands with her arms crossed over her chest.

"Teagan," Anna announces, gesturing for the understudy to take her stab at the variation. Giselle watches as Teagan runs the variation, but mentally she's thinking about all the things she could have done better in her own.

"Well done, Teagan. Now your attitudes were a little sloppy, let's work on really lengthening that back leg and lifting your chest okay?" Teagan nods. "But I loved the emotion that you put into your dancing. Giselle?" Anna calls, grabbing her attention. "Did you notice the emotion that Teagan puts into her movements? It's something that I'd like you to work on incorporating into your variation. The audience needs to feel what Odette is feeling through you. Let's do it from the top."

Giselle runs the routine again. She tries to 'portray the emotion' like Anna wants, but instead her heads caught up in executing her turns and keeping her arms sharp. When she ends the variation, Anna looks over at her with disappointed eyes. "More" is all she says.

Giselle runs it again. And another time. And each time, Anna tells her it is not enough. That Giselle needs to embrace being Odette. That the audience needs to understand the pain of her being trapped in this body of a swan with no escape.

"Teagan, why don't you run again. Giselle pay close attention this time."

Giselle feels her frustration grow as she watches Teagan again. Teagan's movements are still sloppy, and she messes up the step-over turns at the end, but when she finishes Anna looks over at Giselle like they've just watched the most magnificent performance. "That is the emotion I need to see Giselle."

Anna looks down at her watch. "Well I think our rehearsal time is up for today. Keep working on that emotion Giselle, its a very important part of this ballet."

Giselle nods and smiles, but inside her guts are wrenching at the thought of this rehearsal getting back to her mother. She has to do better. She must.

******

If Harry had learned one thing in his time as a professional ballet dancer, it was that relationships and commitments were the hidden poison of a professional dancer's career. He'd watched many sets of partners fall in love, only to ruin their careers in the aftermath of their failed relationship.

That is why Harry chose to remain unattached. Well, the why he chose to accept anyway. He wasn't a man that ignored his needs, but a night with Harry Styles was just that- a night. No feelings and no attachments.

Take for example the girl he took home last week after the party for his addition to the company. What was her name again? Eliza, yes that's right. There was absolutely nothing wrong with Eliza. She was pretty, a fair conversationalist and perfectly good in bed. Harry had supposed she must even be a decent ballerina, considering she was a corps de ballet member at the American Ballet Theatre. But to Harry, Eliza had only been a nice shag and a body to fall asleep next to on a night when a bustling New York City felt a little too lonely.

Apparently, however, Harry had been less than clear with dear Eliza about this, because as Harry chats with the tall, auburn-haired dancer standing in front of him as they warm up for company class, he can see the daggers of jealousy emitting from Eliza's eyes. He doesn't know this girl's name, the new one, but he can already sense the desire wafting from her body. The way she's learning forward to be closer to him as she stretches. The way she's laughing theatrically with every word that Harry says. The way her eyes are lingering on his lips for just a second too long as he speaks. He's beginning to think she might be a little much for him and makes a mental note to choose a different spot at the barre for tomorrow's company class.

He knows he's in trouble when the second the reverence ends, Eliza rushes over to him with and without saying a word slaps him across the cheek with more force than he thought possible out of her thin little arms.

Harry's skin stings from the blow, the corner of his eye watering ever so slightly. He presses a hand to the injured tissue in response to the attack. But this is not the first time Harry's received such an offense, and it likely won't be the last.

"So what are you just jumping on to the next one?" she shrieks. Harry looks around the room, noticing that people have stopped packing up their things and are now staring at him like he's a caged animal at the zoo.

"I'm sorry love, I'm not sure what you mean," Harry says in a low voice, hoping to signal to this highly emotional girl that this was not the time nor the place to have a reaction like this.

His words, however, appear to have the opposite effect because he watches her eyes flair with a new burst of anguish.

"Rachel!" the girl shouts, as if Harry has the foggiest idea who Rachel is. "Everyone in the room could see how much she was flirting with you. Did last weekend mean nothing to you?!" Eliza's thrown her hands up now, gesturing wildly in a way that's anything but graceful. "You said you would call and you never did."

Harry glances at his audience. Mistress Ivanova is standing in the corner with her arms crossed, looking less than pleased. He grabs Eliza's arm, pulling her towards the door and into the hallway. "Let's take this outside."

When they stop in the hallway, dancers bustling past them on the way to their next rehearsal. Eliza looks up at him. Her brown eyes are tinged with red and Harry wonders if she's about to cry. He'd made a mistake with this one clearly. She was too emotional. Too clingy. Too easily attached. "I never said I would call." Harry says softly, trying to keep his voice calm but firm.

"But you said you had a 'lovely time last night. Thank you.' Eliza sniffles.

She isn't wrong about that. Harry thought. And he did have a lovely time. He usually had a lovely time. But that certainly didn't mean he planned to repeat it. "I did have a lovely time Eliza." he begins, watching as her eyes flicker with something resembling hope. "But that doesn't mean I was going to call."

"It doesn't?" the girl sniffed, bringing her hand up to wipe a stray tear from the corner of her eye.

"Listen, love. I don't do dating. I don't do commitments. I don't do relationships. It's nothing against you. I'm certain you're a lovely girl. It's just..." Harry pauses. "How I do things."

Eliza looks at him wide-eyed, like Harry has just burst her forty-eight hour fantasy that they were going to run away together and travel the world and fall in love.

"I'm sorry if you got the impression that that was simply more than a one night thing. That was never my intention."

"Okay," she says timidly, and he can tell she's embarrassed. She shouldn't be- she wasn't the first girl to react like this. Harry seemed to draw admirers to him like mosquitos to sitting water. Some knew it couldn't be more than a one-night stand, others, like Eliza, reveled in the fantasy that they were the one that would convert Harry Styles into a life of commitment. The later were always disappointed.

"Are we good then? This won't happen again?" Harry raises his eyebrow. He's already fearing the repercussions he may get from Eliza's little outburst. He is already on a short leash here at ABT, and this was surely not going to help matters.

"We're good," she replies softly, but her face is filled with defeat.

"Well then, off to rehearsals." Harry adjusts his duffle bag across his shoulder and makes his way towards his rehearsal studio.

Harry already knows he's late when he enters the rehearsal studio. Giselle's standing there with her arms crossed, tapping the tip of her pointe shoe against the floor with impatience. She doesn't scare him, but the face of Mistress Ivanova when he enters the room does.

"Mr. Styles," she announces with a voice that resembles that of a mother about to lecture her young child. "Let me be the first to say that I take little interest in who you choose to spend your personal time with. When the choices made in that personal time, however, disturb my class and my rehearsals, it becomes my business. What happened today was completely unacceptable. And it will not happen again. May I remind you that you are on a very short leash here at ABT. Another incident like today and you will be replaced."

Six months ago, when Harry was at the Royal, he might have argued back. Reminded this instructor that she could replace him all she wanted but that people had bought their season tickets to see HIM- not some understudy. Reminded Mistress Ivanova that he could have a spot at any company in the world, and that it was HER job to make sure he stayed. But that kind of reaction, that thought process, was exactly what had landed him in this position in the first place- half a world away from home. Alone and at risk of losing a career in dance. So he bites his tongue and simply replies, "I understand."

He glances over at Giselle, who has something resembling a smirk across her face. When his eyes meet hers she quickly turns away.

"Now, we are going to work on the Act II white adagio today. I presume you two have spent some time together working on partnering so this should go smoothly." Mistress Ivanova claps her hands and signals the pianist to begin playing the music.

The fact that they hadn't practiced quickly becomes apparent. Their timing is completely off, the promenades are wobbly, and the dancing seems forced and unfamiliar.

"Maybe if you weren't making your way through the entire corps de ballet we could actually rehearse together," Giselle mutters under her breath as Mistress Ivanova leaves the room with a face that looks less than pleased.

"Maybe if you didn't act like I was about to drop you every time we promenade..." Harry begins.

"How do I know you aren't going to drop me when we've barely danced together?!"

Harry laughs. "I'm Harry Styles. I don't drop my partners, no matter how...annoying I may find them."

"Oh please," Giselle rolls her eyes. "Are you trying to make everyone in this company hate you? I mean if you keep at it with the corps and you'll have to skip company class all together." Giselle preps for a pirouette then relevés, feeling Harry's firm grip on her waist as she turns and he stops her abruptly. "Although I don't know, I get the sense that you like all that attention."

"Believe me Giselle," he accentuates the end of her name like it's a bad sound. "The last thing I want is to get emotionally involved with any of these company members."

Giselle preps for a pirouette again, this time Harry stops her smoothly, and she comes to balance in passé before lowering herself back onto her heels.

"Seems like Eliza was emotionally involved this morning. Sex will do that to people."

"Sex is just dancing without clothes, love." Harry replies, and the way his eyes meet hers in the mirror while his hands are placed on her waist sends a shiver down Giselle's spine. "Haven't you ever spent the night with someone just to escape?"

"Of course." Giselle responds, stumbling in her words only slightly. "But I know the importance of keeping my career and my private life separate."

The truth of the matter was, of late, Giselle hadn't had much of a private life. It was ballet this, ballet that. Any hours not spent in the studio were spent icing her achying feet and tired muscles. Giselle had done it once, the whole relationship thing. He was a young businessman who she met at a fundraiser for the company and he had been wonderful. Until she began to spend time with him instead of in the studio, and her mother quickly noticed her regression of skills.

Natalia Korsakova had been quick to express her distaste in the relationship and the effect it was having on her daughter's dancing. But luckily (or unluckily) for Giselle, she didn't have to be the one to break it off. One night she was laying in bed, watching a movie with a man she thought she might be falling for. Two days later, he simply stopped answering her texts or picking up his phone. He simply dropped out of Giselle's life with no explanation.

After that, Giselle knew better then to get involved with anyone who might distract her from her career. She decided maybe it was for the better, after all if there was one theme to be taken from the world of ballet, it was that love rarely ended in happy endings. There were far too many leads who sacrificed their lives in the name of love and for what? A pretty pas de deux in a pancake tutu of the afterlife?

"Hmm," Harry replies, but by the way his lips have formed into a kind of half smirk Giselle doesn't think he believes her.

They run through the variation again. It's better, their timing not nearly as disasterous as it had been a half hour earlier, but it still feels off. Unfamiliar. Like they were two strangers dancing, which Giselle supposed they were.

Mistress Ivanova doesn't return to the studio. Instead, it's Viktor who appears, twisting his hands together in awkwardness as he steps towards the front of the room. "Mistress Ivanova sent me in to run you through the variation again. She says she doesn't want to see it again until it, and I quote," Viktor pauses for emphasis. "No longer looks like it's torture to dance with each other."

Giselle hears a low chuckle leave Harry's lips. Was he amused by this? The fact that his inability to do what was asked of him had pissed off Mistress Ivanova.

"Let's run it. From the top," Viktor gestures to the pianist that has also returned to the room.

Giselle sighs, taking a deep breath before making her way to the starting point. The run the piece once- Giselle falls from the promenade. A second time- Harry doesn't stop her on the last pirouette. The third time is less technically faulty, but when Viktor stops them again, his face looks less than thrilled.

"Look guys, I know it can't be easy, being thrown into rehearsals with someone you've never danced with before. All your issues can be fixed easily once you are more comfortable with each other. More familiar with each others movements. It's going to take time, and rehearsal. And that's going to have to be rehearsal outside of normal hours."

Giselle glances over at Harry. His lips are formed in a straight line- emotionless.

"Just please. Practice before next weeks rehearsal with her?" Viktor's eyes are pleading this time, like he doesn't want to have to be the bad guy in this situation anymore.

Giselle nods, but out of the corner of her eye she notices that Harry remains completely still.

"Well, that's all for today. Thanks guys." Viktor announces before leaving the studio.

Giselle sits down, untying the ribbon of her pointe shoes. "So when would you be available to practice?"

Harry scoffs. "Practice? I don't think I'm the one that needs to learn the fucking choreography."

Giselle is taken aback by Harry's harsh tone. But she wasn't going to put up with this. Like it or not she was Harry's partner. And like it or not, they were going to have to put in some time if they wanted to keep their roles as the stars of the show. Harry was simply going to have to realize that he had just as much to practice as she does.

"No one said anything about the choreography," Giselle replies, her voice strong. "This isn't the Royal, Harry you can't go walking around like you own the place."

"And you can?" Harry scoffs. "Just because your mother's got a spot on the board doesn't make you the star of the show, love."

The word love at the end of his sentence almost cushions the blow of his words. Almost.

"You don't know the first thing about my relationship with my mother," Giselle spit back.

"And you don't know anything about starring in a show-clearly."

Giselle doesn't respond to this one. Instead she just narrows her eyes. "Tomorrow night, after rehearsals. This studio. We have to practice Harry, I won't have Mistress Ivanova storm out of another one of our rehearsals."

"And what are you going to do if I don't show? Are you going to run and cry to your mummy?" Harry taunts.

Giselle stands, slinging her bag across her shoulder. "I'll see you tomorrow," she states firmly.

She can feel her blood boiling as she exits the studio and makes her way towards the staircase. If this was what it was like to be Odette, maybe she wasn't cut out for it. It was hard to imagine a scenario and which her and Harry's partnership would result in a magnificent performance.

"Giselle!" she turns and sees Viktor from the corner of eye, near the end of the hallway. He rushes towards her.

"Good job today. Harry may not be the most..." he stops, his mind searching for the word, "enthusiastic partner."

Giselle offers a weak smile. "You can say that again."

"If you ever want extra practice, I'd be more than happy to run through any of the variations with you. It may not be the solution to all your problems but..."

"Thank you Viktor, I appreciate it." She smiles and makes a step towards the door. "Sorry to hear about your retirement by the way, I'll really miss watching you on stage."

Viktor shrugs. "I guess sometimes it's just time to let one journey come to an end. You won't miss me too much though, I'm gonna be more involved with rehearsals." He smiles, but Giselle can see that behind his blue eyes, pain hides.

"Good. Well, I better go get some rest. Caleb has been texting me non-stop about our dinner plans for the evening," Giselle gestures towards the stairs.

"Better get on that then, don't want to keep the man waiting. Good night Giselle."

"Goodnight," she replies.

******************************

Giselle wishes she hadn't agreed on dinner with Caleb as she opens the door to her apartment. But Caleb was her best friend, and after a long day of rehearsals, his company was something that she desperately needed.

As Giselle sets her black duffle bag on the floor inside her bedroom, her phone begins to ring on the kitchen counter. She leaps across the floor to reach it, but when she glances down, the name on the screen makes her pulse quicken. Could this day get any worse?

"Hello mother," Giselle brings the phone to her ear, walking over to the couch and laying down, her feet up in the air.

"Giselle," her mother replies curtly. There's no darling at the end of her name. That's how Giselle knows this isn't a happy check-in motherly phone call. It's going to be the kind of phone call Giselle wishes she could mute. But then again, that's what everyone of mother's phone calls was.

"I ran into Mistress Ivanova this afternoon. I have to say Giselle, I was quite disappointed when I asked about rehearsals and she told me that she had to leave your pas de deux rehearsal because of how much work needed to be done. How many times have we discussed the importance of going into rehearsals prepared?"

Only a million times. Giselle responds in her head, but instead she remains silent.

"Now what on earth is going on between you and Harry Styles? Do you know how hard we worked to bring him here? I hope you are being a good partner. Have you been following that diet I sent you? Getting your extra mile in in the mornings?"

"Yes mother," she responds in monotone. She won't mention the street tacos Caleb is bringing over for dinner. She can't listen to that lecture tonight. "I've been trying to get Harry to put in the extra time, but he seems uninterested."

"Well try harder Giselle. You can't be the reason he doesn't stay at the company. Can you imagine the embarrassment I would get if my own daughter was the reason we lost out on one of the premier male ballet dancers of this generation? I don't know if I could show my face at a board meeting ever again."

Of course it was her own reputation her mother was concerned about. It didn't matter that Harry Styles might ruin Giselle's chances of every making principal. All that mattered was that Natalia Korsakova maintained her legacy.

Giselle hears a knock at the door. Caleb, thank god. She rises from the couch and makes her way to the door. "Find a way to get things going with Harry. Rehearse with him. Next time I speak with Mistress Ivanova I don't want to hear a negative thing about your performance." Giselle opens the door to see a smiling Caleb, brown paper bag in hand. "You have to do better Giselle, this may be your only opportunity to prove you can dance at a principal level."

Caleb mouths "Your mom?" and Giselle nods as he enters the apartment, setting the bag on the table and then making his way towards the white cupboards for plates.

"I know mom. It won't happen again. Listen, I've got to go. Caleb's going to run through Act II with me for a bit. Okay?"

"Okay," her mother sighs on the other line. Like it's a terrible inconvenience for her to have been on the phone for so long. "But don't forget to reach out to Harry about rehearsals too."

"I won't. Goodbye mom."

"Bye," Natalia responds, but Giselle barely hears her words before hanging up.

Giselle slams her phone down on the kitchen table which results in a raised eyebrow from Caleb "What'd she have to lecture you on today?"

"My disaster of a pas de deux rehearsal," Giselle shakes her head, making her way to the sink and filling a glass of water.

"And why was it such a disaster?" Caleb asks, setting a plate and napkin in front of Giselle's spot.

"Because Mistress Ivanova walked out on us,"

Giselle watches as shock fills her best friend's face. He stops what he is doing. "She what?"

"She walked out. And she won't rehearse with us again until we don't 'look like it's torture to dance with each other."

"It's that bad?" Caleb asks, now taking a bite of his taco.

"Worse. I mean it's been almost two weeks since cast posting and Harry has yet to agree to practice with me outside of rehearsals. I mean how our we ever going to dance with each other if we don't practice!"

Caleb opens his mouth to say something but Giselle continues. "I finally had enough today. I told him we are practicing tomorrow night. Doubt he shows though. And then what? My one chance to prove myself and it's a complete disaster."

"Gi," Caleb says, reaching for her hand across the table. "Take a deep breath."

She looks into his brown eyes and follows as they inhale and exhale in unison. It was an action they'd done a million times before, backstage awaiting their first performance as company members, when Caleb submitted his first choreographed routine to a local amateur dance company. It always seemed to bring them back to center, wherever they were, whatever the stressor, one deep breathe and things began to fall back into place.

Giselle would like to say that this worked a miracle. That the thought of failing her mother yet again wasn't racing through her mind. But it still was. Fainter, but still lingering.

"I just don't know what to do with him, Caleb. Harry Styles has to be the worst partner in the world."

"He's definitely proved why he got kicked out of the Royal. Guy's got an attitude."

"Why couldn't you be my partner?" Giselle sighed.

"Because, as Mistress Ivanova would say. I waste too much of my time on that choreography dream," Caleb sighs.

"It's not a waste of time, Caleb. You're choreography is groundbreaking."

"Maybe. Maybe not. But do you know what is groundbreaking? These tacos."

Giselle hasn't touched the fried, greasy mess wrapped in foil in front of her. To be honest, she isn't even hungry. If she had been alone in her apartment, she'd likely have opted for a salad, if anything at all. But Caleb was one of those people who believed food was the best cure after a long day. And Giselle needed his company more than anything, so she forces down the greasiness bite by bite.

Caleb begins to fill Giselle in on his own Swan Lake rehearsals. As well as the piece he is choreographing that he hopes Gregory, the artistic director will consider for the school showcase come spring. Then he updates her as always, on Finn, the coffee shop owner from down the street that he is infatuated with.

As they chat, Caleb's favorite street tacos grow heavy in Giselle's stomach.

Giselle makes her way to the bathroom, locking the door behind her with a click. She examines herself in the mirror, bringing a hand up to pull at her cheek. Her chin looks large, like she's had just a few too many street tacos, and her collarbones lack the definition that usually makes them stand out from her shoulders. Her mom's words echo through her mind. "Eat less Giselle. Exercise more Giselle. You need to be a good partner Giselle."

Giselle doesn't want to. She's been so good for so long, but yet- the urge is coming over her and it's so strong she can't ignore it, because she just knows that if she does this she will feel better. Just this once. Just until that heavy feeling of greasy street food is no longer lingering in her stomach.

She flips on the faucet, letting the sound of running water drum in the background.

She walks over to the toilet and kneels down, the gray ceramic tile of her bathroom floor is cold and hard, and her knees crack as she adjusts her weight. She leans over the toilet, her mouth open and her fingers nearby, willing up the strength to just do it. A few moments, and she could forget those tacos happened all together.

Giselle closes her eyes and executes and soon her dinner is staring back at her from the toilet bowl. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, reaching up and flushing the evidence. She then moves to the sink, cupping water into her hands until there's enough to gargle in her throat and rinse the sour taste from her mouth. She reaches for the pink toothbrush on the corner of the counter, applying a thin line of mint toothpaste before beginning to brush.

As she brushes, she tells herself this is just a one time thing. A solution to one poor dietary decision. She wasn't falling back into her old habits. This wouldn't happen again.

As she spit out the minty foam and looked in the mirror once more, Giselle told herself she felt better.

"Gi?" Caleb knocks on the door, bringing her out of her trance. "You alright in there?"

Giselle opens the door quickly, forcing a smile on her face. "Fine, tacos just didn't settle well." She pushes towards the couch, eager to get something else on her mind. "Shall we watch the next episode of The Crown?"

"Sounds perfect," Caleb replies, settling into the couch beside her.

**********************

Harry's not sure who is more surprised as he walks into the rehearsal studio later the next afternoon- Giselle or himself. He hadn't wanted to show up. But after the events with Eliza and the way rehearsal went, he knew he didn't have much choice. This didn't have to become a regular occurrence, just enough to get the Director off his back - and his obnoxious partner. Plus, dancing was better than sitting in his tiny New York City apartment alone, which seemed to have become even more lonely in recent weeks.

"Look who decided to make an appearance," Giselle says, hands on her hips as Harry slings his duffle bag to the side of the room.

"Yes I'm here. No need to gloat about it," Harry snaps. He wasn't sure what had come over him lately, this newfound bitterness. He supposed it had something to do with the fact that for the first time in his career, he was feeling the pressure of messing up. He could lose everything.

Harry had always been arrogant. He knew that about himself. It was the role he played to protect himself- from getting too close and getting hurt all over again. But as this personality trait slowly burned through his professional life, he began to wonder if it was doing more harm than good.

"Well then," he asks. "Shall we rehearse?" He looks at Giselle, who simply stares at him. The tip of her pointe shoe tapping against the Marley floor. What was she waiting for?

"Look Giselle, you don't like me. I get it. I'm not particularly fond of you either, but I showed up today and I'm ready to figure this out. This partnership. So can we please just rehearse?"

Giselle stares at him, slightly amused by the reversal of roles- the fact that for once Harry Styles was the one begging for her to practice with him. Her lips curve into a half smile. "Okay."

"I think we should go back to the basics. Finger pirouettes, whip turns, the whole lot." Giselle nods in agreement. Where had this Harry come from? She felt like at any moment she might jolt awake from her bed and realize this was all a dream, because this was certainly not the version of Harry Styles she had encountered during their first two weeks as partners. She wants to ask him about his sudden change of heart, but decides to bite her tongue. It didn't matter why Harry was here, just that he was.

Giselle stands in front of Harry her feet in relevé. She reaches for his hands, one above her and one beside her.

"How's that for grip?" Harry asks.

Giselle's startled that he's asking for her input. "Good...ya...let's just see..." She raises her leg to passé, then développé it to the front and turns. "Maybe bring my left arm a little more forward," she suggests, then turns again. "Yes that's better."

They continue this formula through the basics. Whip turns, fish dips, shoulder sits, promenades. Harry tells Giselle when she's not holding enough of her weight. Giselle tells Harry when his grip is too strong, too lose.

He's calmer today- more present. Giselle can see that he actually could be a very good partner- when he tries too. He's gentle with his lifts, steady with his balance, and although she doesn't trust him fully, she doesn't get the sense that he's going to purposefully let her fall on her face.

Giselle even thinks, that as she stares into Harry's eyes after a dip- that there's a glimmer of softness between the strong green hue. She sees why women find him attractive. Why girls in the corps fawn over him. His jawline was flawless- razor sharp. What are you thinking Giselle, she thinks to herself. All the beauty in the world can't hide his personality.

"Shall we run Act II?" Harry asks, and Giselle is shocked. She figured that she'd only be able to convince Harry to rehearse for an hour tops, and two had already passed.

"I think that would be good," she says.

Harry nods as they move to their places. Act II goes smoother than it has before. There's still hiccups. Giselle's body still feels unfamiliar in his hands and he can't anticipate her movements like he could Mia's- but Giselle's confidence has grown and he thinks there's a potential for this not to end in full on disaster.

She's quite good actually. Her technique is near flawless- no doubt due to the hours of late nights she spends in the studio. And Harry realizes that maybe he has been a bit unfair to her. She still was annoying, a perfectionist, too wrapped up in the movement instead of simply dancing- but she was a good dancer. She had potential.

"Think that's enough for tonight," Giselle pants, out of breath from their third run-through of the pas de deux. "Shall we do this again tomorrow?" After the words leave her mouth, she wonders if this is pushing it to far. Maybe she should have settled for one rehearsal with Harry. Getting him to show up for to rehearsals two nights in a row seemed highly unlikely.

"Okay," Harry responds, his answer shocking even himself. "I think we are getting somewhere. It just takes time." He makes his way over to the bar, leaning forward to stretch his hamstrings.

Giselle sits on the ground, unwrapping the silk ribbon of her pointe shoes.

"You know the steps Giselle and I'll make sure you look good out there. Promise," he says, and Giselle thinks that maybe she can see even a hint of a smile.

Giselle pulls her foot out of her shoe, folding her tights back to reveal her stinging blistered feet. She glances over at Harry, his face buried against his leg at the bar- his tights showing off his perfectly toned leg. It makes her think about him- the rumors about his arrival at ABT. She knows she shouldn't ruin the moment but she can't help herself. The words slip out.

"Did you do it?"

"Do what?" Harry asks, but the smirk on his face tells Giselle that he already knows exactly what she is about to ask about.

"Sleep with the director's wife."

"What's it to you?" Harry mutters, placing his other leg on the barre and stretching against it, the muscles of his back growing taunt beneath his white T-shirt.

Giselle shrugged. She didn't know why she was asking. She didn't care. Whatever had transpired at the Royal to bring Harry Styles into her studio was said and done. It's not like she could ship him back there, much to her dismay. "Just wanted to know if there was any fact behind the rumors."

"I could have," Harry says the sharp green of his eyes temporarily dimming. "There are countless women who have thrown themselves at my feet during my career, Mrs. Abbot included."

"But if you didn't... why'd you leave the Royal?"

"Now why would I tell you that when there's such a good story brewing in the company? I hate to kill a good rumor," He chuckles, his voice deep and velvety. He picks up his bag, sliding it across his body in one fluid movement. "Goodnight Giselle. I'll see you tomorrow."

And for the first time Giselle found herself not watching Harry Styles walk away with a feeling of distaste, but a feeling of curiosity.

Taglist:

@tpwkhoney , @swtxel , @stylessugarhigh

#loys #writingby1dfangirls35 #harry au #ballet au #ballet harry #hs #harry styles #1dff #harry fanfiction #harry fanfic #enemies to lovers #tw eating disorders

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anarmorofwords · 3 years ago

Note

I think what gets me in TLH is that the escalation through drama never feels…realistic. Which to be fair, I don’t think escalation was very well done in tda either. I think I’m tired of CC writing with the trilogy mindset, when if you split it into more books and give characters time to breathe than I feel like we wouldn’t have this issue. TMI isn’t a master piece but having recently reread it, what I was amazed by is that every twist and turn feels set up and the final book feels like a satisfying conclusion? Plus I find it kind of cool the third book feels like end of the FIRST arc rather than a total ending like it’s very anime in that sense

Idk if I’m making sense. I feel like tmi and tid all had reasonable character escalation while also keeping large casts? Like everyone had a relationship defined and shown on page even without getting their own POV (Jem my beloved—)

Idk, I’m just rambling. I miss the old style of tmi sometimes, I would rather take 6 books of developed characters of varying sizes over three huge books with sloppy story telling.

hi anon!!!

again super sorry for taking so long!!

You're totally right! And considering how big these books are anyway, it really would be a good idea. It would allow the abundance of storylines (especially the character and relationship arcs) to actually be handled well and done justice, instead of rushed or underdeveloped. They would have benefited from being differently paced.

I said it already today, but I think TMI is genuinely her best thought-out series plot-wise (though it's been years since I read it)

You absolutely have a point, even side characters and relationships got their time to shine and were properly addressed on these books, unlike TLH.

Because TLH has super weird jumps in pacing and time and everything. Like, the four months that passed between ChoG and ChoI when Lucie and Jesse supposedly fell in love? Jumps and inconsistencies between short stories and the main trilogy?!

It's just,,,, a mess.

#the last hours #tlh #chain of iron #shadowhunters #the shadowhunter chronicles #chain of gold #tmi #tsc #q

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thecasperanfamily · 4 years ago

Note

Can we get a sock monkey part two? Maybe taking place in the present?

(Link to Part One)

I am sooooo sorry about the delay on this one. First I had a solid week of ADHD Brain Doing Its Thing, then a dentist appointment, then my bedroom flooded, then a migraine...ANYWAYS I hope this was worth the wait!

~~~~~

They say that behind every great wizard, there is a great witch. Whether or not this was a universal truth or just a nice-sounding sentiment someone came up with to discourage squabbling between witches and wizards, Lin couldn’t be sure. But he did know that it was true in his father’s case, if nothing else. Hisirdoux Casperan was an immensely powerful wizard in his own right, capable of feats of magic unlike anything seen since the age of the great Merlin Ambrosius. But he was also what Lin’s mother liked to affectionately call “a mess. An absolute disaster. Gods, it’s a marvel you’ve survived this long.” To which Douxie would inevitably reply with, “The only marvel is you, my love.” And Lin would always immediately leave the room because he had no desire to witness whatever came after that. But Douxie did have a point, albeit one that felt a bit lost underneath all the sap and sentimentality. The fact of the matter was that Master Wizard Hisirdoux Casperan likely couldn’t be a Master Wizard without his wife. Archie could protect Douxie in battle, Nari could heal and encourage him, but Zoe was their last and strongest line of defense. Be it a desperate struggle against an ancient and horrifying monster or simply keeping the household running, when all others fell, she continued to stand, often pulling them back up and keeping them on their feet with her own strength. Douxie once said that he could face his own fears because he knew Zoe was standing fearless by his side.

In hindsight, he really should have chosen his words more carefully. Because when Lin handed his mother his oldest, most beloved toy from childhood and asked her to repair it, “fearless” certainly wasn’t what came to mind when beholding the look of intense discomfort on Zoe’s face as she eyed the offending object.

“...It looks normal to me,” she said stiffly.

“It....there’s a massive rip on her side?” Lin replied hesitantly. “That’s not supposed to be there. And Comet tore off one of her eyes, too.” The boy shifted awkwardly, still cradling the abomination in his hands, since Zoe had refused to touch it. “I-I mean, I know it’s stupid, but Georgina--uh, I mean, this old thing...it means a lot to me. Been with me for a long time, and all. I just--”

“Fine, fine, I’ll patch it up for you,” Zoe blurted, snatching the cursed thing from his hands. “Now go get ready for school. You’re running late as is.”

“...It’s Saturday,” Lin reminded her.

“Then go bother Archie or something. I can’t fix this thing if you’re breathing down my neck the whole time. Restorative magic requires concentration.”

“...I’ve seen you piece a broken mug back together in five seconds flat while also fighting the endgame boss of War Dudes 7.”

“Out, Lin.”

“Alright, alright!” He raised his hands placatingly and swept out of the kitchen, calling back over his shoulder “Thanks, Mom!”

The moment he was out of sight, Zoe pitched the sock monkey as hard as she could against the opposite wall. It landed on the counter with a sad little flop, looking no less abominable for its current state of disrepair.

“I hate you,” she told it quietly. “I know you know I do. I can see it in your one remaining eye. I’ve endured your mockery of me for the past seventeen years for Lin’s sake, but this...” She raked her fingers through her bangs furiously. “...Oh, get a grip, Zoe,” she muttered. “It’s just a stuffed animal. It’s only ever been a stuffed animal. It will never best me. I’m one of the greatest hedgewitches of my time. I am Zoe Casperan, I am she who remains when the masters have fallen, I am--”

“Introducing yourself to someone, are you?”

Douxie was very fortunate that he did not touch Zoe when he spoke up from behind her, because the pulse of electricity that surged through her veins would have certainly laid him flat on his back for at least a week. As it was, Zoe’s wand was pointed at his throat before he could so much as blink, a few angry pink sparks spitting from the end.

“Woah, woah, okay, nope, bad time for jokes, I got it! Take it easy, love.”

“Don’t do that!” Zoe hissed, stuffing her wand back into her belt as her cheeks warmed with embarrassment. “I could have hurt you.”

“Trust me, I’m well aware,” Douxie replied, taking one of her hands and pressing an apologetic kiss to her knuckles. “I didn’t mean to startle you, I’m sorry.”

“Stop being sweet.” Zoe grumbled. “It’s distracting.”

“Distracting you from what, exactly?”

“Lin wants me to patch up that...thing that Barbara gave him all those years ago.” She flapped a hand at the sock monkey sprawled pathetically across the counter.

“I didn’t even realize he still had that,” Douxie remarked, taking in the damage with a critical eye. “Mm. She’s certainly seen better days.”

“I want it to see worse,” Zoe seethed. “...But Lin still loves it, gods only know why.”

“Bit of a moral conundrum, eh? Take your vengeance on your worst enemy and break our son’s heart, or grant her mercy for Lin’s sake.”

“This isn’t funny, Douxie.”

“It is, just a little bit.”

“You know I can’t stand even looking at that reject voodoo doll. How am I supposed to cast a restoration spell when all I want to do is douse this thing in gasoline and throw it on a bonfire?”

“Attempting a restoration spell with that mindset would likely end very badly,” Douxie agreed. “My feelings towards the lady in question are far less hostile. Perhaps I should take this one for you.”

“No! No, I-I...” Zoe sighed and ran a hand through her bangs yet again. “...I don’t want this thing to get the better of me. I’ve never backed down from a challenge before, and I definitely don’t want this to be my first time. Besides, you’re pretty sloppy when it comes to restoration magic. Lin will know right away who performed the spell just by looking at it, and I don’t want him to feel like I let him down.”

“With the utmost respect, Zoe,” Douxie replied hesitantly. “I think Lin would prefer a messy patch job over the many ways this spell could backfire if you’re the one performing it. You do understand that swallowing your pride isn’t the same as cowardice, right?”

“Pride or not, I will not let my son experience the shame of knowing his mother was defeated by an ugly stuffed animal,” Zoe countered. She stalked up to the counter and arranged the bedraggled sock monkey carefully, nose wrinkling in disgust as she ran her fingers over the material.

“Zoe, darling--” Douxie tried to protest again.

“Shush. I need to concentrate.”

“I really think you ought to let me--”

“I said shush, Douxie. I know I can do this.” She brandished her wand and, with a few quick motions, guided her aura to surround the sock monkey, which began to float a few inches off the counter. She pushed back against the wave of revulsion that crashed over her as her spirit made contact with the cursed object, and managed to spit the spell out through clenched teeth. “Refectio.”

The moment the spell was activated, Zoe knew she had made a mistake. The feeling of disgust she had tried so hard to stifle refused to detach from her aura. Her magic flowed out of her in a hot, angry rush, and the sock monkey writhed and contorted as though possessed.

“Zoe!” Douxie pulled her back from the counter, arms wrapping around her as his own aura flared defensively. The sock monkey gave one final shudder, then flopped back onto the counter.

“It’s fine!” Zoe insisted. “Look, see? It’s fixed.” Indeed, the sock monkey appeared to have been restored to mint condition. The rip had closed, the missing eye had returned from wherever Comet had hidden it, and the old stuffing had softened and puffed out again. “I told you I could do it.”

“That could have been a disaster, Zoe,” Douxie scolded.

“Any spell has the potential to be a disaster,” she argued. “But I had to try. And I feel so much better now that--”

The sock monkey twitched.

Douxie’s arms tightened around her, and Zoe instinctively brandished her wand again. The toy twitched again. Then it shuddered. Then it flopped over. And then, like a phantom from a nightmare, rose to its feet and slowly turned to face them, black button eyes cold and lifeless.

“...Okay, yeah, this is a disaster,” Zoe breathed. The sock monkey hovered in place for a moment longer.

Then suddenly, it was zooming across the kitchen. Douxie shoved Zoe to the side, but the vengeful toy didn’t seem to notice her at all. It gleefully slammed into the Master Wizard’s head and began wrapping itself around his face. He stumbled back and fell against the counter, sending a few dirty dishes crashing to the floor as he clawed at the soft little demon that was attempting to suffocate him.

“NO!” Zoe screeched, and before she could think twice, there was a blinding flash of bright pink light and the crackling snap of a thunderbolt. The sock monkey exploded into a cloud of stuffing and fibers that fluttered to the floor and dissolved into ash.

Zoe dropped to her knees, wand still outstretched in her trembling hand. Douxie leaned back against the counter, sucking in huge gulps of air.

“...Well,” he wheezed. “At least you finally got your revenge.”

“...No. Oh, no no no,” Zoe whimpered, dropping her wand and burying her face in her hands. “Oh gods, what have I... Lin is going to... Gods, Douxie I’m so sorry. Are you alright?” She emerged from her hands to see him giving her a thumbs-up and a sympathetic smile.

“The only damage done was emotional,” he assured her. “...At least where I’m concerned.” His gaze drifted across the floor, taking in the ashes scattered all over it. Silence hung between them for a few long minutes. “...What do we do now?”

“...Do you have your phone on you?” Zoe asked. Douxie nodded. “Give it here.” He pulled the item in question out of his pocket and tossed it over to her. She scrolled through his contacts list until she found the name she was looking for, then pressed call. Douxie pulled himself to his feet and began searching for a broom. There was a click on the other end of the line.

“Barbara Lake speaking.”

“Hey, Barbara? It’s Zoe. ...Yeah, I’m using Douxie’s phone. Long story short, we’ve had a bit of an accident and I need to know where you got Lin’s sock monkey from...”

*****

“Hey, Lin.” Lin looked up from his sketchbook to find his mother standing in his bedroom doorway. “Catch.” She tossed a familiar grey and white figure at him.

“Wow. She looks like new,” he observed, turning the sock monkey over in his hands. “...Very new.”

“Yeah. That’s...why it took me longer than usual to fix her. Take good care of her, alright? I don’t want to have to fix her again any time soon.”

“Yep. Thanks, Mom.” He watched her leave, then looked back down at the toy. “...Huh. I don’t remember you ever having these tags, Georgina...” The sock monkey smiled up at him benignly. “Weird.” He shrugged and sat the stuffed animal up on his desk before bending over his sketchbook once more.

Meanwhile, Zoe went to brew herself a very strong cup of herbal tea.

A very special thanks to @poetryinmotion-author and @rikalovesrice for helping me with this one, and to @dreamsarelikedragonflies for beta reading. ✨

#tales of arcadia #toa #the casperan family #douxie #toa zoe #zouxie #lin casperan #fic #niki answers

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knight-queen · 4 years ago

Text

Lunatic Parade Yuma Mukami –(Chapter 4)

[Chapter O 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] [Chapter 4] [Final]

一

Place: Tart Tatan , Glimmer Street Restaurants

Yui: (For now, he told me to get something to eat as I got hungry but…)

Yuma: Ah...how shall we get staaart…

Yui: It was...the one who chased two rabbits didn’t get a single one.

Yuma: Aah...what’d ya mean?

Yui: I meant, it was impossible to get both heart and that giant cake at one shot.

Yuma: Tch...fuck. Don’t just decide the rare things or stuff all for yourself!

Aah, when I feel irritated, it gets on my nerves.

Yui: (I’m aware that I can’t have a gloomy mood but, it’s not impossible to...)

(get back my heart…)

*Running footsteps*

Yuma: Nh? That man is….

The fear store Manager: Ooh! You’re ‘re after all, I got you!!!

Yui: Good afternoon! Why are you in a hurry?

The fear shop Manager: Details explanation will be later! Anyway, I want you to come with me!

Yuma: Jeez...what’s now?

Place: サントノレパーク通り / Saint Honoré Park Street

Yui: (Shop Manager...he’s running surprisingly fast…!)

Yuma: I knew, the bakers were slow but steady...Yui! Have a look there!

Yui: Eh?

Place: サントノレパーク通り / Saint Honoré Park Street

Yui: (There’s a curtain in the giant cake’s space…?)

Yuma: Oi, that curtain, what’s that?

Shop Manager: I’ll have you to look at that no matter what. Come on, hold this rope?

Yui: Eh?

*Hold the rope*

Shop Manager: You too! Don’t pull it roughly, okay?

Yuma: Y- yeah…

Shop Manager: Aight, we’ll start counting. Hey, is everyone prepared?

Clown D: Of course!

Shop assistant: Same here, we’re ready!

Shop Manager: Okay then….One, two and ー!!

*Uncovers the cake*

Yui: This is...a new giant cake?

Shop Manager: Yeah, we ended up making one.

Yui: Eeh?

Yuma: However...isn’t it a little different though? It’s huge but the color is also different.

Shop Assistant: Fufu~ there was a lack of ingredients at last. So, we changed it’s usual design, therefore this time is a cheese-cake!

Clown D: For this, the rear car also smelled like cheese~!

Yui: (Wow…!)

Yuma: Heeh~ It means y'all did it.

Manager: Aah, that was the spirit. Since, it was stolen, so decided to rebake once ‘gain!

You taught us the lesson to never give up. Thanks alot for that.

Yui: No, we didn’t do any…

Manager: Nope, I’m sure, we couldn’t get stirred up all by ourselves like this.

You could face many dangers in order to bring back the cake, am I wrong?

Yuma: Aah? I don’t get it?

Clown D: Ms. Assistant, you can’t hide the truth!

Assistant: Yeah. When you were passing by through the garden shop street...you bought the seedling of the demon-world strawberry, right?

-> Spoiler! 魔界イチゴ means Demon world’s strawberry literally!

Yuma: Y- yeah, what’s wrong ‘bout that?

Manager: Demon world’s strawberry has a very complex color plus the taste is very luxurious...but you still wanted to plant it, which is pretty difficult to.

It’s bines completely move like a hitting whips and if the flower blooms, then the pollens are deadly poisoned, in some cases, it is also called devil strawberry.

Despite of these, you still thought you had to grow that...for the giant cake...uuuh *cries out*

Yuma: Tha- that’s right...if it’s me then, it’s a piece of cake...haha…*fake smile*

Yui: (...Does that mean he bought it without knowing anything…)

Manager: Anyways! As you showed up your stubborn side, we also couldn’t give up at all.

Me too, more, more, much more than before! I’ll have pledged to having a warming up passion for making cake!!

Assistant: Thanks to that, we’ve passed a wonderful time...really, thank you.

And also, could you concentrate on finding a rare thing for Earl Walter...for your heart?

Yui: Eh…?

Manager: You told us the time cake was stolen, no?

Clown D: We have been worried~ Could it be that you were putting off your own purposes for us.

Manager: Thank you for all of these feelings...and also you helped us, we were encouraged.

Yui: That’s….same here, thank you.

(The truth’s that….we were the one to break the cake from the very first...but still they cared about us)

Yui: Really, thank you so much.

Manager: It’s aight! You were also in trouble.

Assistant: If everything goes well, then come again for eating the cake. We’ll serve it.

Yui: Ah...yes…

( I see. Everyone’s taking me as a resident of demon-world, not a human)

(It hurts when I feel like I’m deceiving them…)

Selectionー

-> Tell them you are a human /人間だと言う

-> Be silent/ 黙っておく (+Correct)

Yui: (I want to say bit, but I’ll end up creating chaos for sure)

(There may be bad people out there and also I don’t want to pour water on this excitement)

*Yuma gets closer suddenly*

Yuma: Yui…

Yui: Eh..?

*Strokes her hair*

Yui: (He’s...stroking my hair…)

(Does he know that I’m being worried)

Yuma: ...You better not say extra words. You gotta lie at this point.

Yui: Yes...got it.

Yuma: Aah--, sorry for making worries! We’ll concentrate on getting heart from here on!

Clown D: Yup, yup, do your best~!!

*Yuma’s BGM*

Yuma: Aight, this time for sure! We’ll protect the cake!

Manager: But...didn’t you hear what we just said? Heart!?

Yuma: Kukuh….unfortunately, I’m not a kind man who’ll just act on protecting the cake, ya’know? Well, I’ll explain my plan.

Earl will be coming to steal this cheese-cake too. Hit it in all newspapers!!

Yui: Ah...I see…!

Clown D: But, will the cake get stolen again?

Yuma: Dumbass, we have no choice but to bring the same topic. This time I ain’t allowed to fall behind!

Protect the cake too and following that, I’ll get the heart back!...make sense?

Yui: yes…!

Assistant: If that’s the deal, then we’ll cooperate too!

We have business in the shop, so it’s impossible to help all the way but...after that, let’s have the vow and help them!

Yuma: Oh! My bad!....This girl looks so overwhelming, so I’ll count on you being super nice!!

Yui: It’s...shameless thing.

Yuma: It’s fine ‘cuz there’ll be our victory from ‘re on.

*After a while*

Yui: (It’s been a long time but…)

Yuma: He’s not showing an appearance. Where’s he, that bastaard Earl!

Yui: (The pedestrian traffic is also less than before)

(I can’t have a guess since the demon world is dark, but to its residents, this time is natural)

Sorry for having all of you gathered here. I’m sleepy for a while, is it okay to get a sleep?

Yuma: No, it’s fine. Same goes for you, are y’ feelin’ cold?

Yui: No, since you gave me a blanket, I’m fine.

Yuma: Noo, that one piece of close won’t work.

Yui: Not really, it’s fi一!

*Hugs her*

Yuma: Stop talking and cling onto me more.

Yui: ...Yes

Yuma: ...kuku, if you think about it deeply, this situation quite looks like a dream.

Yui: About what?

Yuma: Ya’ know...the atmosphere that everyone’s restless, I don’t hate it.

Perhaps it’s been so since I was a lil’ kid.

Yui: Eh? When you were a kid…?

Yuma: In the past...every single day I had to plow the field and that wasn’t fun at all.

The thing I remembered that sloppy circus used to come in the spring festival during the snow thaw time.

To a brat liked me, it was very interesting show...and I used to watch that like a stupid.

Yui: That’s how it was…

Yuma: It was like a provincial town, so I wouldn’t stay all the time there.

End of the day, that group used to leave, continuing to wave their backs.

“Don’t leave, do it more and more...continue creating this dreamy world…” I wished.

Those circuses always used to come in my dreams...Without even having any realization, I forgot ‘bout them.

For this, when I am in this parade with you, I am having a restless and a strange mood.

Yui: I see, thank you.

Yuma: Haa? Why give me thanks?

Yui: Because you shared an event about your childhood...it’s something to be happy about.

*Yuma blushed*

Yuma: Ha? That...not really, it wasn’t like that.

Yui: Nope, thank you for sharing that.

Yuma: Jeez...well, it’s fine. It’s your turn to share some of your past.

Yui: Yes...I want to share a lot.

Yuma: Kuku, is that so.

Yui, no matter what this place’s, if I am with you then一

Earl Walter: Hahahaha!! Conversations between lovers in one kind of beauty in a parade.

Yui: Kh!!

Yuma: Finally show up!!

Earl Walter: It’s useless if you just stand and watch. This elegant giant cheeze-cake will belong to me!!

Yuma: Wait ‘re!!

*Yuma runs off*

Yui: Yuma kun!?

Look here!! Don’t ya dare to think that you’ll fight the same thing as before!!

Yui: (He is holding a...mop?)

Earl Walter: Kh...don’t tell me this cake…

Yuma: yeah, I’ll make it into a brutal state in no time!

Yui: You...can’t!

Yuma: Shut up! Don’t split out anything!

Yui: ….!

Yuma: Oi, I’ll make you hear me! Give her heart back!

Earl Walter: Haah...that means you want to trade between the heart and the cake?

Yuma: The truth’s that i don’t wanna handle any of those! But...I am sure the guys of the shop will be convinced if I talk to them!

Yui: Yuma kun, but…!

Earl Walter: Pftt...Hahahah!!

Yuma: What’s so funny!!

Earl Walter: I’m apologizing for being soaked in this sentiment, however, there’s no way trade with that heart and just this cake.

Yui: Umm...then, what can we do so you can trade?

Earl Walter: In this area, a valuable thing is…

What about trading with this boy?

Yui: (Eh...?)

Yuma: Ha? Kh...me?

Earl Walter: Someone’s precious person, it has corresponding value right?

To you, he is precious, right?

Yui: …….

(What should I do...if I agree, then Yuma kun will...)

Yuma: Haa...if I go, then she will survive, right?

Yui: Kh...no!

Yuma: But, I’m not valuable at all. Are you targeting correctly?

Earl Walter: Aah, ofcourse. Human plus vampire...very interesting.

Since I haven’t gotten anything like this before...that’s it. I’ll decorate him like a stuffed animal.

Yui: Kh! That’s absolutely NO…!

Earl Walter: Then, will you give up on trading?

Yui: Then fine! I can’t hand over Yuma kun!

Earl Walter: Then, let’s break this conversation here.

Yui: …...Yes.

(It’s good...now)

Yuma: Wait...I get it. I’ll go with you.

Yui: Eh!?

Yuma: ...I can’t give up just for this.

*Yuma knocks out Yui*

Yui: Uuh….!

*Yui falls*

*Screen black*

Yuma: I’m sorry...Yui.

???: O~i! Are you okay!?

Yui: nh...I…

Clown D: What a relief, I was worried.

Yui: Ah...Where is...Yuma kun!?

(Not here...it means he went with Earl)

Clown D: When I rushed into here, I didn’t see him.

Yui: I see….

Clown D: Yes, I don’t know where did big bro go leaving you behind~

Yui: (He told that he will decorate with Yuma...it’s very awful)

(It can’t be…!)

I have to go there. Clown san, where’s the castle of Earl Walter?

Clown D: Bernstein castle? It’s that direction.

Yui: That way...I get it, thank you so much!

Clown D: No not at all~ By the way, *sniffs*...neh, I smell something good.

Yui: Eh?

Vampire Woman A: What is the smell? It’s so delicious…

Vampire Man E: Aah, I can smell too...hey, is this woman, a human?

Yui: Kh!?

(Smells good, does it mean me?)

(Oh...I get back my heart, by trading with Yuma)

Vampire Woman D: You, it smells so good...can I have a little?

Vampire Man B: No, I’ll be first. Come one, gimme your blood!!

Yui: Kyaa!!

(I gotta run…!)

*Runs off*

Place:ベルンシュタイン城城門前 / Bernstein Castle front of castle gate

Yui: Haah...haah…!

(This is bernstein castle…)

*knock*

Yui: Excuse me! Please open the gate!

Give back Yuma kun!!

(I gotta get their attention quickly or…!)

*Running footsteps*

Vampire Man A: Here she’s!! That woman!!

Vampire Woman A: Hey, lemme suck first!!

Vampire Man D: Nooo, me first! Hey you, come here!

Yui: Kh...No, don’t touch!!

*Knock*

(Please, open…!)

*Soaring*

Vampire Man C: Hm? Something’s flying? A giant bat…

Vampire Woman C: Hey, come here, won’t you!?

*Eagle’s flying*

Yui: (That’s...the egg we wanted to get in the mine, the giant mom eagle?)

Vampire Man A: Kh, this woman is a wild-...wild-animal-tamer!? Run!!

Vampire Woman D: Kyaa-!!

Yui: Why….

I wanted to do a terrible thing with you...but you helped me?

Thank you...kyaa!

(It’s rubbing my back...does she want me to ride?)

Vampire Man B: First of all, we have to deal with that eagle!

Vampire Woman D: Beat that at first!

Yui: Kh...please, fly away!!

(Let’s cling onto her...I’m sure it’s gonna be fine….!)

*Flies*

Yui: (Kh...I could be thrown off)

Vampire Man E: Oi, you can’t escape! Shoot it and make her fall!!

Yui: Fly higher…!

Place : Sky

Yui: ( Wow...she has reached higher in to time)

(It’s fine if she left me inside the castle)

(I don’t know she’ll understand my language, but let’s request)

Would you mind if I get off in that castle?

There’s a person there whom I can’t lose...please!

*Flying to that direction*

Yui: Kyaa!

(Diving down...I'll collide…!)

Place: ベルンシュタイン城バルコニー / Bernstein Castle Balcony

Yui: (...Huh? It doesn’t hurt?)

Waah, wait, I’ll get off.

*Gets off*

Thank you for helping...you can now go back to your eggs.

(Maybe that cake has already hatched out? It was good that I gave back the egg couragely)

(He forcefully stole my heart but now he simply exchanged it, how weird. So, I can’t give up at all.)

(So two of us can escape together...for now, I have to search him first.)

Place: ベルンシュタイン城宝物庫 / Treasure Room of Bernstein Castle

Yui: (Waah...wonderful, all of these are Earl’s collection?)

(Glittering stuffs and also slightly creepy things...there are so many)

(I’m sure each of the owners of these treasures cherished a lot….I can’t forgive him.)

*Foot steps*

Yui: Kh…!

(Looks like someone’s here...I have to hide!)

???: Who’s there?

Yui: (Eh...this voice)

Yuma...Kun?

Yuma: Yui…?

Yui: Yuma kun!

Yuma: Why are y’ ‘re? That’s even alone...it’s dangerous!

Yui: Giant mom eagle protected me all the way and brought me here.

Yuma kun, why’d you go all by yourself? It’s awful!

I couldn’t help it...even if I helped all the way, I won’t be satisfied at all.

Yuma: Haah...Not really, I just paid back everything you did, that was all.

I told you that if you cut out your own purposes and think only ‘bout others, it’s comeout like this!

Yui: Kh…

Yuma: Of course, I didn’t do it just with a single inference.

My real intention was to help you, no matter what happens to me.

I really don’t care about the strangers but if it’s you then I can’t lose.

If it means to help you then I’ll overwhelmingly put myself into a fire...even though you’ll be sad.

Yui: (I can’t say anything back...he was always holding sorrowful feelings for me)

(Despite of then, I... was just acting on my own)

Yuma: Did you understand the feelings of the guys you left behind?

Yui: Kh…

Yuma: I’m asking if you understand their feelings when they were chasing after the person who was risky flying!?

*Yui cries*

Yuma: ….Now, crying out will be a foul game.

Yui: Because….uuh…

Yuma: If you’ve learned by this experience, don’t you ever throw out your life away, got it?

Yui: ….Yes...uuuh….

Yuma: Aah, you’re making an ugly face. Don’t just stand, c’mere.

Yui: Eeh…?

Yuma: You come to steal me from Earl, no? ...Kukuh, what ‘bout catching me then?

*Yui blushed and then laughs*

Yui: ...Yuma kun!

*Runs off*

*Fades to CG*

Yui: I’m sorry…

Yuma: I’m tired of hearing your “Gomennasai” Say something different.

For example “As a punishment for acting on my own, I’ll let you suck blood as much as you can” etc.

Yui: Yes...I’ll let you, no matter what’s the amount.

Yuma: heeh? You say it after all.

Yui: Because I got my heart back, and sure my blood will taste ー

Yuma: Haah...Stoppu! I told you that I don’t care ‘bout the taste. Don’t go against it.

Yui: But...you were the 1st one to say that “I want to suck your blood”

Yuma: Oh, well...I didn’t say for it’s yummy taste...I want it, because it’s your blood.

Don’t misunderstand.

Yui: Yes…!

Yuma: Kukuh...you’re finally making such a happy face just ‘cuz I’ll drink your blood. You can’t escape from these fangs anymore.

Yui: ...I don’t want the fangs, what I want is just to stay by your side.

Yuma: Haah? You also said it before…

Yui: It’s something to give back.

Fufu

Yuma: Well, I’ll forgive today.

Yui...let’s stay together forever.

Yui: (These gentle eyes...put me at ease)

(Stay with me all the time, Yuma kun)

*CG Fades*

*Claps, Claps*

Yuma: You dumbass!

Yui: Earl Walter!?

Earl Walter: Hahahah, you did really wonderful.

Yuma: Haa? What are ya’ saying?

Earl Walter: I thought you guys will be the perfect to possess the treasure.but...I didn’t think you’d do that far.

Yui: What do you mean?

Earl Walter: Sometimes it’s charm confuses humans and leads to misery.

...Vampires are deceived and end up going to a wrong path, the same goes with your heart.

So you and your partner are the appropriate owners of this heart. I was the judge.

But, it was needless to be worried. If your mutual bond continues like this, it’ll be fine.

Yuma: Tch...Without even yer words, it’s obvious to be fine!!

I mean, it’s still fishy. You make everyone unhappy for that cake.

Yui: (Certainly...everyone was having a smiling face…)

Earl Walter: Aah, I ate that cake as much as I could.

Yuma: Haaah!?

Earl Walter: I lost my interest in the cake so I returned it back to the forum. As I thought, a suitable amount is important.

Yui: (So that was his purpose….I’m somehow disappointed.)

Yuma: I get it but not get it. When I speak with bastards like you, I wanna hit so bad. Anyway...see ya.

Yui: But, how can we get back…

Yuma: We’ll fly from the balcony...I want to have you in my arms for a while.

Ya’ can’t get separated.

Yui: ...Yes!

-> Continue

一 The end of Chapter O 4

#diabolik lovers lunatic parade #lunatic parade yuma mukami chapter 4 #chapter 4 #lunatic parade #diabolik lovers #yuma mukami #x #yui komori #yumayui #diabolik lovers translations #lunatic parade yuma mukami translations #sub-scenarios #chapter 3 #chapter 2 #chapter 1 #final #chapter O 4

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angst-for-the-angst-queen · 4 years ago

Text

Getting Permission

Jacksepticeye Egos Fanfic

Originally posted on Wattpad on November 27th, 2019.

Summary: Seán McLoughlin has a very special video ready to be posted on Halloween of 2019. Now all he has to do is ask for Jameson Jackson’s permission to post it.

Warning(s): Angst.

Seán sat on his couch, scrolling through Tumblr while anxiously waiting for a sign that someone was at his front door. When he heard the doorbell ring through his home, he called upstairs to Evelien “I’ll get it!” before rushing to open it. After fumbling with the lock for a second, the door swung open to reveal a well dressed man. This man’s appearance would’ve been relatively ordinary if he didn’t look like he was Seán’s identical twin who just stepped out of the 1920s.

“Hey Jameson!” Seán greeted with a nervous smile. JJ replied with a huge grin and wave, followed by a hug.

Seán hesitated for a second before his smile became more genuine, hugging the dapper ego back. “That was a very enthusiastic greeting. Why’s that?”

Jameson pointed at his mouth, opening and closing it, before gesturing towards himself and Seán. “You’re happy because we’re getting to talk and hang out one on one?” Seán guessed. He had been getting better at understanding Jameson’s movements, but he still had trouble every so often. Jameson nodded happily in confirmation.

“I’ll do my best to find the time to hang out together more,” Seán promised. Jameson beamed before gesturing inside. “Oh, yeah! Come on in!”

Seán stepped out of the doorway and walked inside, Jameson trailing in after him. He sat down on his couch and motioned for his ego to do the same. “Do you want anything to drink?” Jameson shook his head and then tilted his head slightly to the side, waiting for his creator to begin speaking.

“So, I bet you’re wondering why I wanted to talk to you today,” Seán began. Jameson nodded.

“Well, as you know, Halloween is in a few days. Oh, happy early birthday, by the way!” Jameson gave Seán a broad smile before doing a little half bow of gratitude.

“Marvin’s throwing the party at his house, right?” Jameson hesitated, nodding his head slowly, as if he was unsure of the exact location. “Wherever it is, I’ll be sure to be there. Anyways, you know how I usually do a spooky ego related video for Halloween. There’s one video that’s very important to the plot that I think would make for a good video to post on the thirty-first. You would be the main character but...”

Seán was interrupted by Jameson, whose face lit up with happiness. “Hold on. Before you start celebrating, there’s a catch. A very big catch.” Jameson settled back down and waited patiently.

Seán hesitated. There was no way to sugar coat his next few words, so he decided to just rip the bandaid off. “The video would end with you as Anti’s puppet.”

He glanced at Jameson to see his reaction. To his credit, he looked thoughtful, his finger tapping on his chin. After a few seconds of that, his face lit up and he pantomimed writing on his hand.

“Oh, you need some paper! I’m sorry, I should have thought of that before.” Seán shot up from his couch and went into the next room, grabbing a pad of paper and a pen before returning to the living room. He handed it to his ego, who began scribbling his thoughts down. After he was done, JJ presented the paper to Seán.

You mean puppet as in temporary control, right? Like what happened to Schneeplestein at the end of “Kill Jacksepticeye” and me at the end of my first video? That’s alright with me, chap!

Seán winced. “No. I mean a legitimate puppet. With strings and everything.” He examined Jameson’s reaction. It was the most serious he had ever seen the dapper ego. JJ was usually very animated and was always either moving his hands or doing some sort of exaggerated facial expression. But now he was just sitting there, eyes vacant, lost in thought.

There was an uncomfortable silence permeating throughout the room. Jameson reached for the notepad and pen he left beside himself on the sofa, hesitated, and then reached out again. The sound of pen scratching on paper reverberated throughout the area and then Jameson presented his paper again.

Do you have to do this video, or is there something else that you could post for Halloween?

Seán sighed. “I probably could film some other video for the thirty-first, there’s other plot points I could use.” He began muttering, more to himself than to his guest. “But I’d have to rewrite large sections of the story, and I don’t know how doable that is...”

More scratching on paper.

Rewrite the story? How much would you have to change?

“A lot. Everyone knows about Anti’s obsession with puppets, that’s such a big part of who he is and how he achieves his goals. You becoming his puppet is a huge catalyst for so many different plot points, and I don’t know how I would get to them otherwise.

“I came up with the idea for this story long before I ever knew that the characters I created could come to life and be impacted by what I came up with. And now all of you are real, and it’s such a huge responsibility. It’s my job to keep all of my egos safe, which is really hard to do when the story that created you all in the first place is also going to hurt you!”

I’ll do it.

The words on the paper didn’t register for a little bit in Seán’s mind. “You’ll what?”

I’ll do it. The video. It’s fine with me.

Seán began shaking his head. “No, you can’t be fine with it, Jameson. I don’t know how it would impact you! It’s been proven that the new videos I put up impact the other egos in real time. Anti, Schneep, and Chase all have more prominent facial hair and brown hair now, much to Anti’s disappointment and disgust. Schneep’s become more tech savvy and Chase has somehow become even more depressed than he already was. But those are just minor changes. We’re talking about possibly turning you into a f***ing puppet!”

Jameson pouted and shook his finger at Seán, who sighed. “No swearing? Fine... You might turn into one of Anti’s hecking Minecrafts in real life!”

Then that’s just a risk I’ll have to take.

Seán stood up abruptly and began pacing around his living room. “You can’t take that risk! Your entire life could be ruined! Your free will could be gone in a split second! And even with all these risks, you still want me to go through with the video?!”

You started up this ego story for your community, to give them interesting characters to fall in love with and hints that they could theorize about. This means that I was created for the community, and I’m not going to get in the way of that. This is my purpose, what I was made to do.

Seán turned away from the paper. “But I can change the story! I can make it so you don’t actually need to suffer!”

Jameson’s eyes narrowed as he wrote furiously on his paper, his handwriting becoming sloppy. What’s so special about me? Isn’t Chase suffering right now because of you?

Seán stopped in his tracks. “That’s different...”

How is that different?! He didn’t choose to be depressed. He didn’t choose to have his wife take the kids. He didn’t choose to have that scar on his temple! That was all you! Why are you giving me a choice and not him?!

“Because it was too late!” Seán blurted out. “All of that happened in his first ever appearance. He didn’t get a choice because I was naive. I thought that it would be fine, that he would be fine. I was wrong, and by the time I realized my mistake, it was too late to save him. But it’s not too late to save you.”

Jameson let out a silent sigh. I still want you to post the video. You’ve been working on this story for years. You’ve known about my existence for two. If you couldn’t think of an alternate storyline in all that time, you never will.

It was quiet while Seán read over this latest paragraph. He opened his mouth to respond but Jameson shook his head, writing more.

I’ve seen it. The fanfiction. About us getting turned into puppets. Most of them are about me. Jameson’s hand trembled, causing the next few sentences to look a bit more messy than his usual neat handwriting permitted. It couldn’t possibly be that bad, could it? I mean, Anti isn’t as nice as some fanfictions portray him to be, but he also isn’t the devil incarnate he is in others. And if anything does go wrong, I still have you and all the other egos.

Seán began giving up on possibly convincing Jameson otherwise. “Jamie…”

Jameson held up his index finger, making the YouTuber pause. Nothing will change my mind. And if you don’t post the video, I’ll go make my own video and post it on the channel. It’s for the good of the community.

Seán sighed defeatedly. “Okay, fine. You win. I’ll post the video. But we need to put a few rules in place and let the other egos know, excluding Anti.” Jameson smiled, bouncing slightly on the couch, though his grin wasn’t as broad as normal.

“Do you want to watch the video? I’ve already filmed it and everything.” Jameson nodded and followed his creator upstairs to his recording office.

This is going to have a second part, so please let me know if you want to be tagged in it when it’s released!

#jameson jackson #jjjj #jacksepticeye #jacksepticeye egos #writersofjack #jacksepticeye fanfiction #angst #my writing

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oghoneytryst · 6 years ago

Text

wild card.

request: best friend!harry and y/n are drunk one night and stuff gets spilled where they’re both in love with each other

where an innocent game of UNO with tequila and a twist makes harry and y/n’s night go wrong

a/n: hi. this is my baby. i love her a lot. pls treat her well.

this is also quite long, so I guess save this for later and read during that sweet spot in your life where you have all the time in the world. thank u enjoy.

----------

Insensible to how the night will progress, y/n admits that the aftereffects quickly following a tequila shot’s persuasive innocence rather impresses her.

“That,” she blurts out, “looks downright disgusting.”

Y/n breathes in the retched smell, leaning on the cheap granite with her weight pressing down on her forearms. Her eyes wander over the islands of accidental spills scattering across her kitchen counter – alcoholic puddles have gone to waste. Harry, positioned over his mess of a workspace, stands confidently tall on the opposite side.

“Oh, shut up!” he retaliates, throwing half of a lime at her ebullient figure.

The citrus bounces against y/n’s skin, right beneath her collarbone. She emits a gasp of shock from the cool sensation, but still manages to trap the small fruit to chuck it back at her best friend.

“Asshole!” she laughs. Never should she have teased Harry over his ability to recreate the infamous drinks he has downed in foreign countries. Peering down at the failed concoction before her, y/n bites down on her tongue and prevents any smartass remarks from sliding right off.

Well, alright, one more can’t hurt.

“I don’t think you’re making this right,” she says, ignoring whatever metaphorical daggers might possibly impale her best friend’s fragile ego.

Harry, in turn, sticks out his tongue. “You don’t even know what I’m making,” he remarks, picking up the blender to examine the poison inside.

“Sure, I do. It’s some drink you had in . . . Belgium.”

“Brazil,” he corrects, “but close. Your geography skills are truly remarkable, d’ya know that?”

“Well, I’m sorry, Mr. I-Have-A-Net-Worth-of-70-Million, but we don’t all have the privilege of expanding our education through continent-hopping on our private jets.”

Harry lowers the blender. His brow furrows, staring quizzically at his friend, then asks, “70 million? Really? Is it really that low?”

The two share an instant look of amusement; sparkling eyes and wide-open mouths. The kitchen walls echo with their wasted laughter. A drawn-out “Wowww” vibrates from y/n as she soaks in the Cheshire man’s conceited joke. Harry has to assure her over and over that “I’m joking, I’m joking!”

A couple minutes pass by. “You’re making a right mess of my kitchen,” y/n points out. “Are you planning on cleaning all of this up?”

“Of course,” he promises, then mirrors her position: leaning on the cheap granite, weight pressing down on his forearms. With a wide countertop anchoring right between them, Harry inches closer, cautious with his effect. “You don’t peg me as some sort of animal, do you?”

His beautiful features are even more inviting up close. Despite the friendship that blossoms through every year, y/n finds that Harry evolves with intimidation. Perhaps it is that charming charisma of his that grows with his every new love affair; either way, the stench of his alcoholic breath and the dirty stubble of his chiseled face – it has her drooling at every reunion.

“Of course not,” she breathes out, instantly catching onto her mistake when Harry’s face scrunches from the smell. “Ah . . . shit, sorry.” She laughs. Yet another invisible cloud of stench attacks her best friend, and all that she can do is cower behind the shelter of her hand in embarrassment.

Harry chuckles. “It’s alright. My breath is just as retched.”

Her hand pulls away from her toxic mouth with his assistance. His thumb finds leisure and softly caresses her knuckles. Y/n is almost dumbfounding in her lost stare, but her brain throbs from the bewildering thoughts nesting inside.

For one, she admires the way her hand disappears in his own; the inked cross sways back and forth to a calming rhythm on his soft skin.

Furthermore, there is a glimmer always present in his green eyes; kindness and serenity and comfort interconnects to craft the universe within.

Finally, his trademark that mesmerizes this lifetime and the next to come. She falls in love with his silent smirk, drowns in his prominent dimples that she imagines has captivated the world.

It is this and a plethora of other wonders that has her lost amongst a sea of hopefuls. There are a countless number of hearts that beat for him: a simple, extraordinary man. Unlike them, she will never be brave enough to tell him so.

It can’t be more of a clichéd nightmare to live in: reserving her most passionate desires and suffering in the presence of her unattainable best friend. A tragic fate, she admits, that graces her in the most torturous way.

“Um...” y/n blinks, settling back into the reality of the night. “So, are you going to finish whatever it is you’re making, or what?”

Harry chuckles, releases her hand and straightens up. “It’s already done. Besides, I thought you said it looked downright disgusting.” He puts his long legs to use and takes a single step toward the kitchen sink. From a rack adjacent to it, he pulls two wet glasses left to dry and returns to set them down on the counter.

“Oh, well I did, but that just makes it all the more interesting! Plus, you’ve wasted about half of my liquor cabinet, so I’m hoping that this will at least make for a memorable experience.”

“Well, in that case,” Harry, proud and tall, pours even portions of his concoction into their respective glasses, “bottoms up!”

Y/n smiles and accepts the glass from her cheerful friend who radiates with self-fulfillment. She normally doesn’t take risks with strange potions, knowing that the contents can very well end up surging back up her stomach and on her living room floor. Be that as it may, she knows that harry is prideful. She will do anything to see that charming smile of his, even if the painful realization hits her: a smile is all that she can wheedle out of him, despite wanting so much more.

With a delicate shake of her head, she raises the glass in sync with her eyebrows as to say cheers! The drink burns in her throat, but she downs it in a rush, hoping that it will loosen her up for the long night to come.

“No, you fucking didn’t!” Harry exclaims, 67 minutes having happily ticked away. Joyous tears pool in his eyes, fits of giggles bouncing off the living room walls.

“I swear, I’m not kidding,” y/n chimes in, downing another swig of her beer.

Needless to say, Harry’s magic potion did not sit well with her. As deliciously relieving as it had been, y/n had been wary of its powerful effects. Like creator, like creation, she had recited in her hidden thoughts prior to Harry suggesting the two relocate to the couch in the living room.

Since then, there have been silly story exchanges, and one of y/n’s has brought Harry to the brink of amusing insanity.

Y/n leans an elbow against the back of the couch and elaborates. “In my defense, I had a lot to drink that night. We had planned to go out and celebrate, but most of us ended up getting plastered at the pre-drink, so we just stayed at Sophia’s place. I think she was a little pissed at us, though. She really wanted to shag someone that night.”

“Not like you would’ve let that happen anyway,” Harry accuses, grinning at his friend’s shock and confusion. He licks the taste of retched beer from his lips and explains. “C’mon, we both know you’re incredibly clingy when you’re wasted. One second apart from Sophia and you would’ve cried more than when you’d thrown your phone out the window.”

“Hey!”

“I mean, seriously, y/n? Airplane mode? How do you manage to come up with that logic?”

Y/n simpers and sinks deeper into the cushions. “I was drunk!”

“All I’m saying is,” Harry laughs, blanketing a single hand over his squinty jaded eyes, “I’ve had my fair share of drunken mishaps, and never once did I think to throw my phone out the window with the intent of having it turn into an airplane.”

“Hmm. Then I suppose you’re not as imaginative as moi,” y/n teases, raising her shoulder to meet with her chin.

“I’m sure that’s the word you’re looking for.”

“It is. And also!” Y/n pauses, forcing her mouth to keep closed as a hiccup ripples through her body. “I’m not clingy! I may be affectionate sometimes, but as far as I’m concerned, I am currently riding on Shit-Face Avenue and have not clung to you once. Have I?” She shakes her head. “No, I haven’t.”

“You haven’t.” Harry shrugs, leaning against the back of the couch. “You could though, if you wanted to.”

Y/n stiffens. She blinks away the images that rise to the surface of her lingering eyes. As intoxicated as she currently is, the suggestive remark does not go unnoticed. In fact, if she doesn’t know any better, she can be right to assume that her best friend is implying a dangerous journey into uncharted territories.

Yet, having been friends with him for so long, she has caught onto his antics, especially those deriving from alcohol consumption. He claims her to be the clingy one, but there is no denying the overly affectionate, touchy man that overpowers him in such powerless situations. She has experienced it before, although it has never gone farther than his arms around her, and a sloppy peck on her face.

She’s never allowed it to go further.

“Anyway,” she trails off, breaking through the creeping silence that she isn’t aware had sneaked its way in. “I didn’t realize my mistake until the next morning, when my phone was already shattered and the damage had been done. So, it goes without saying that I’ve learned my lesson. Don’t get super wasted and expect your equally intoxicated friends to stop you from throwing your phone out the window.”

Harry laughs. “Y’know, if you didn’t want your drunk alter ego to post anything embarrassing on your social media, you could’ve just deleted the apps altogether,” he suggests. “Join me on my cleanse.”

“Oh, please.” y/n scoffs. “You’re acting all high and mighty as if you’ve deleted Twitter off of your phone.”

“Alright.” Harry raises his hands in surrender. “Sometimes I’m curious as to what’s going on in the world. Sue me.”

“For all of your 70 million? Don’t have to tell me twice.”

“Oi!” Harry giggles. He takes out the pillow supporting his back and chucks it at his best friend. “Alright now.”

“Seriously though.” Y/n shoves the pillow back into his grinning face. “That would’ve been good money to have when trying to get my phone fixed. Damned thing was so expensive in repairs that I couldn’t even afford it.”

“Then how’d you get it fixed?”

“I didn’t. It cost less to just replace it. Or rather, pretend that it had been stolen so that my phone company could replace it for a lower price.”

For such a casual conversation, Harry’s sudden intrigue grows with this new information. He sits upright, tucks the decorative plush pillow behind his back, but never leans against it. Instead, he faces y/n with a single beer bottle in his hand and an expression that depicts the rusting gears turning in his brain.

“Wait, so...” Harry pauses. He points at the slim device laying face-down on the coffee table. “That’s an entirely different phone?”

“Yeah?”

“But it’s the same number.”

“Right.”

“But then...” Another insightful pause. Harry licks his lips and continues, “Your messages and stuff. From your other phone. Did they transfer or are they—”

“Gone,” y/n finishes for him, perplexed at his perplexity. He is behaving rather strangely, almost as if he has hesitance – as though he will say too much. She’s not too sure what exactly it is about her phone that stirs so many questions out of him.

“Pictures, messages, even my contacts. My phone company deactivated the other phone, but everything on it is inaccessible anyway. They said that it’s possible to just take out the SIM card and put it in a new phone, but since I already went along with my stolen-phone plan, that solution is out of the picture. So, I’m just taking the blow, but it all works out. I had gotten rid of contacts that I don’t talk to anymore, and I got my old contacts from other people – I got yours from Sophia – and I felt very refreshed overall. There’s a lot of losses though. Lots of memes that I have to scour the internet to find again.”

“But . . . but like, you’re still receiving messages and stuff, right? After switching phones?”

“Well, yeah, I hope so. That’s the whole point. Why?”

Harry shakes his head dismissively. “Jus’ wondering.”

It is a very casual way for him to disregard the curiosity brewing in the air. It has potential for success, if not for y/n’s investment in his every thought, especially with those that concern her.

“Harry,” she warns. In a split second, she imagines herself handling the glass bottle by its neck, sticking the other end in his face as a threat. She fortunately resists to do so when picturing the toxic-liquid spilling out and infesting her couch cushions.

Y/n squints her eyes. “Why are you so interested in the pivotal and precise details of my phone?” She leans closer to him, fighting the grin that tickles her lips. She tilts her head and executes a strange yet inquisitive expression. “What are you hiding?”

Harry can’t withstand the giggles from bubbling out his throat. He brings his hand up to y/n’s nose, and pinches it between his index finger and thumb.

“Squish.” He chuckles, which causes y/n to let out a symphony of snickers, and soon he finds his own face heating up with vivacious amusement.

“No, but really,” says y/n after composing herself. “What’s up?”

Harry prims his smiley lips and blinks up at the pasty ceiling. “The sky.”

“Harry!” y/n laughs. It swells her heart to hear him so happy and entertained; his glee multiplies alongside his hyena laughter. Yet, she’s impatiently itching under her skin, desperate to know whatever secret it is that he is hiding.

It takes a few ticklish kicks of her sock-clad feet rumbling against the side of his legs for him to raise his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright!” he gives in, and traps her impatient ankles with his large hands. Her limp legs settle over his thighs, one of his arms drapes over her shins. “I was jus’ wondering cos’ I might have gotten drunk one night and I might have called some people on my contacts list.”

Y/n raises her eyebrows. “Did you call me?”

Her best friend thinks on it for a short moment. He chews at the inside of his cheek, tips his head from side-to-side, internally at war with himself. “I don’t know. Maybe. I don’t remember. Did you get a call from me?”

“I don’t know. It depends. When did you get drunk?”

“Erm . . . that night it had been August. Nick’s birthday party. What ‘bout you?”

Y/n allows a few seconds to pass for the information to absorb. She then sinks further into the cushions and slaps a hand over her eyes in realization. “August. Sophia’s actual birthday.”

“Oh. How unfortunate,” Harry monotonously replies, but the infliction of his tone near the end of his sentence gives him away. There is a laughter that he is trying to suppress.

“No, you’ve got to be joking!” y/n groans, unveiling her face. “You’re telling me that you drunk called people and I missed it?”

“No. I mean, I might not have even called you that night. As far as I’m concerned, Mitch might have been the only one who received a voicemail.”

“There were voicemails?”

“Not really. Mitchell’s the only one who didn’t pick up.”

“This sucks.” Y/n pouts, chugging down the small amount of beer left in her bottle, and discards the glass vessel on the coffee table.

“Aw, lovie, it wasn’t anything. Just a drunken mistake. It’s just me slurrin’ on some words that don’t make sense.”

Y/n smiles. She rubs at her left eye as her right hand sluggishly points in his general direction. “Not your lovie,” she mumbles, and reaches out her arms to him. He doesn’t react to her response, but complies with her affection and scoots closer. Her legs bunch up to her chest, his left arm encircling halfway across her waist. She wraps her flimsy arms around his broad shoulders, and loudly whispers into his ear, “And any entertainment is funny entertainment,” then snuggles her head into his left shoulder.

Harry laughs at the sudden shift in ambience. He’s not sure if her statement has made sense, but he’s not sober enough to puzzle over it. “Remember when you said you weren’t clingy?” he whispers, presses his cheek on the top of her head, with little fuzzes of her hair sticking to his skin.

“Shut up,” she grumbles, scratching at his belly. His stomach instinctively shrivels up from the tickling sensation, but following his short fit of giggles, he settles back into the moment. Limbs entangle, hearts softly beat next to each other, and a million unspoken words paint the entire room.

She wants to stay here forever. She knows very well that once the moment is over, he will be off to another place, somewhere lightyears away. It’s like a nervous tick of his: never being able to stay still. Touring nonstop for five years most likely encourages this behavior, and he’s lucky enough to have the money to escape whenever he wants.

And though it is a blessing – to have so much control over his life – she can’t help but feel sad for him. She doesn’t know if he ever thinks years ahead into his future, but in case he doesn’t, she does it for him. She imagines him falling in love with his one; the person that he will share his private stories with and create a new life with. Whoever it is that earns his devotion is who y/n empathizes for, because certainty is not always in Harry’s vocabulary.

Commitment and settling down is not something of ease for him when considering all that he has been through. The heartache. The pressure of a million watching eyes. The loneliness. He’s not the same boy he used to be – he even said so himself. Though he is who he is for the better, y/n still mourns for that lost part of him. She wonders if he will ever settle down, or if he will continue to move at a pace that is impossible for anyone to keep up with.

Any moment longer and y/n will begin to tear up from her own overthinking. She’s grateful for the scare that Harry gives her when he spots a small red packaging on the coffee table.

“Ah, sick!” he exclaims. He snakes his arm from around her waist, discards his beer bottle on the coffee table, and reaches for the card game. “You had Uno this entire time and didn’t think to tell me?”

Y/n loosens her own grip as he takes the cards out of their packaging. Her arms slip from shoulders and rest on her lap. “I didn’t peg you as an Uno enthusiast.”

“Of course. Bet I’d kick your arse,” he says, winking at her deviously.

“Oh, I bet you could.”

Harry whines while shuffling the cards in his hands. “C’mon, y/n! Just a couple games.”

“It just seems incredibly underwhelming right now.” She shrugs.

Harry doesn’t response right away. Instead, he sifts through the deck, and mischievously smiles. Suddenly, y/n is worried.

“Let’s make it more interesting then,” he suggests.

“...Interesting how?”

“We play as normal,” he explains slowly; his thumb slides the cards into his opposite hand one-by-one. “Except when one of us puts down a wild card,” Harry slaps the distinctive black card face-up on the table, “the other person has to answer a question.”

“A question?”

“Yeah, and not some bullshit question like what’d you have for breakfast? No, it’s got to be a question asked with the intention of spilling a secret.”

Y/n’s eyes pry open a little more at this. She sits up straighter, tucks her legs under her weight, and shifts uncomfortably. As close as she is with Harry, there are still many things that he does not know about her. It all ranges from simple adolescent mistakes, quarter-life crisis thoughts, and of course, the big lottery secret.

“I’m definitely not drunk enough for that.”

“Then we’ll spice it up some more,” Harry offers with persistence and determination. “Every time you have to pick up from the deck, you have to drink. It’ll loosen you up. Sound good?”

No. It doesn’t sound good to her. It sounds like an extremely messy route to a destination undiscovered, one that y/n fears will have the potential to damage their friendship. It isn’t so much for the mere possibility that she will slip up and admit her admirable feelings for him. Rather, it is for the truly riveting secrets that he threatens to get her to confess. Everything and anything that he feels curious enough to ask about will be available to him with just the slap of a single playing card.

As incriminatingly frightening as this is, y/n can’t help but wonder about his own little devious secrets. There is no dismissal of the mysterious aura that crowns over his cryptic mind. Harry is the single most unreadable person that she has ever met. As much as she knows him, she doesn’t. He keeps as much of his life as private as can be, and for good reason. He’s a clever man, one that can be described as a great, undefined question mark.

It is all so tempting. How is she to possibly say no to a peak into his baffling mind?

Once she mumbles out a quick “Sure” in confirmation to his twist, the two set out an agreement of rules: only pick up once from the deck to save a few brain cells, dropping a plus two on top of another plus two creates a plus four and so forth, a reverse is basically like a skip, and please, no fucking train.

“And whoever gets Uno, the other person finishes their drink,” y/n announces. She grows giddier over the game by the second.

Harry smugly grins at her. He shuffles the deck to make sure the colors rightfully scramble from the last game that y/n and her guests have played. “For someone who wasn’t too sure about the game,” he deals out two hands of seven cards respectively, “you sure are getting a little cheeky.”

Y/n innocently shrugs. She scoops up her cards and faces away from Harry to keep him from cheating. She deflates at the sight of her hand – a few green, a couple blue, some action cards here and there – nothing entirely exciting. In other words, no wild card. She masks her disappointment with her most impressive poke face, and challenges Harry by raising her chin up confidently. “What can I say? I might get a little competitive when I’ve had a few drinks in me.”

By the time that Harry gathers up his own cards, he reaches and flips over the card at the top of the deck. A yellow 0. “Is that right?” he wonders aloud. He has already caught a glimpse of his hand and has the seven cards neatly compiled into a small deck in his hands.

“Most certainly.”

“Well then, Ms. Competitive, would you fancy starting us off?”

Y/n narrows her eyes. “Does that mean that you don’t have anything to play?” she asks, placing down a yellow 2.

“It means that I’m trying to be a gentleman and let you start the game.” Harry puts down his own card – a red 2. He smiles cheekily. “But I guess you’ll never know now, huh lovie?”

Y/n searches her hand and grumbles. “Damn it,” she whispers under her breath. She grabs ahold of her choice of drink while hugging her cards protectively to her chest. She takes a good and lasting sip. It burns terribly, almost hard to swallow, which makes her wonder if perhaps this game isn’t going to be as enjoyable as she once believed. She can, however, feel a stiffness in her shoulders relieve itself. She trudges on, one arm stretches out to grab from the deck. When she peers at her new addition, she involuntarily lets out a cheer. “Aha!” her hand slams down a vindictive red +2.

Harry locks his jaw, his tongue swipes amongst the inside of his bottom lip. He nods understandingly, a crooked smile stretching unevenly on his face. “So that’s how it’s gonna be, eh?” he asks rhetorically, all set to pick his poison from the table.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” y/n replies, watching him suffer as he downs his drink, a few seconds longer than hers in celebration of the double pick-up. “I’m only playing the game.”

“Yeah, right. ‘f course.” Harry sets his glass down and picks up two cards. Y/n is about to make another smart remark, but she misses the twinkle in his green eyes prior to him smacking down his choice of card.

The first wild card of the night.

Y/n freezes. Her jaw slowly unhinges; she blinks at the black card practically sparkling in the dim lighting. She must be color blind. It must be another red card, or maybe it is a misplaced blue, but the oval shape divided into quadrants is a little harder to ignore.

“What the fuck?” she exclaims, glares at Harry, who sits with his shoulders raised to his ears, a shit-eating smirk plasters his not-so-innocent face. “No way,” y/n shakes her head, “you cheated.”

Harry’s shoulders drop. His mouth squishes a U-shape. “Wh – how would I cheat? I’m only playing the game.”

Y/n rolls her eyes when he throws her own words back at her. “Yeah, well, your strategy is shit.”

It’s true to her, at least. As the owner of the card game, she has played a handful of times. She has figured out her own strategy to success. To her, playing the wild card is the last move a player should do to ensure victory. However, in this moment, this ideal might not entirely work out in her favor. There is nothing more that can confirm that than when she finds herself in defeat, awaiting Harry’s torture.

Harry takes a moment to ponder, strokes his chin in an evil manner before coming to a halt. From the low chuckle that escapes him, y/n knows that it cannot be good for her.

“Y/n,” Harry declares, savoring the syllables on his tongue. “Which one of my exes did you like the least?”

It takes a second for the question to seep through to her brain. Her thoughts already cloud, so she’s uncertain if the inquiry is entirely terrible. “Are you serious?” she retaliates, corking up a single eyebrow at him. “Out of all the questions that you’re dying to ask me, that’s your most pressing one?”

Harry chuckles with mock amusement. “We’re starting off easy, baby. I hope you know that this isn’t the last confession I’m getting out of you tonight.”

Y/n shakes away the flutter in her heart from his endearing pet name. It is quite easy to pretend that he says it with significance – that it is real. “If it’s so easy, then don’t you think you could have asked me this whenever? Not through a conniving card game?”

Harry scoffs. “Sure, like you would’ve told me the truth. You’re always on about Harry, as long as you’re happy, I’m happy. Bullshit. It’s just the two of us singles now, spill the tea, sista!”

More giggles erupt from y/n. It’s hard to concentrate and Harry’s subtle slang doesn’t make it easier to focus. Before she knows it, the name, “Kendall” is running off her tongue.

“Kendall?” Harry repeats, sinking the information into his brain. “Why?”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Oh, c’mon, y/n! You have to elaborate on it! You didn’t think much about it. Why her, eh?”

“I don’t know,” she answers. “She’s just the first one who came to me.”

“This game isn’t fun if you lie, y/n.”

“But I’m not—” Y/n pauses. She catches the knowing and burning look on his face. Her act isn’t fooling him, so she sighs, and proceeds to create a quick web of reasons as to why this ex disinterests her from the rest.

In her brain, it is simple, but when she tries to string it into comprehensible sentences, she finds it a little more complex.

Maybe it is because Kendall makes her feel inferior with her high-class model status. Of course, that doesn’t entirely separate her from his other model exes. It has to be because of something in association with that: her undeniable beauty and impossibly unmatchable body type. The way her waist pinches effortlessly, her long legs that can stretch for miles. Y/n has seen the orange boots of hers that fit right over her entire leg, the same ones that she imagines herself uncomfortably drowning in.

Maybe it is the on-and-off relationship that she’s had with Harry. It is an unexpected romance that begins in 2013 and randomly pops up every other year. She remembers his trip to St. Barts, as well as the pictures from the yacht that had been leaked. They cling onto each other, groping, touching, kissing – an intimacy that strains her. He’s introduced her to his mother, perhaps as his girlfriend, when he’s only ever introduced y/n as a friend. Despite their relationship not working out, the two still get along. Their friendship remains.

And maybe, just maybe, it is because she can’t seem to find any sensible reason to dislike her at all. There must be a reason Harry remains her close friend. It may be that one has to know Kendall to understand Kendall, and though y/n hasn’t dug into the depths of her mind, she has met her once or twice. And once or twice, she had been kind, she had been cool, and she had been distastefully perfect.

“I don’t know. I guess it’s because you two seem kind of different.” Y/n shrugs. She nests the sharp branches of her thoughts back into the shadows of her mind. “Just a weird pair, is all. Satisfied?”

“Sure.” Harry nods. He has the faintest ghost of a smile. “Blue,” he says, continuing on with the game as though the tension in the air is unnoticeable.

A couple more rounds pass them by. Though y/n manages to win both games, she declares it a loss seeing as though she hasn’t been able to cop the holy grail wild card. Harry, on the other hand, has tested their friendship with a lucky +4.

It is clear that Harry is using this game for his own personal and informative gain. He pries for answers that always linger in his head, ones that he assures y/n are normal for best friends to share, but never once has she given him the satisfaction.

That is, until now.

“What’s your biggest kink?”

It throws y/n off for a second, especially when the tequila shot is slicing down her sensitive throat. It is an invasive question that not many expect from him, but it’s obvious that alcohol clouds his better judgement. “Excuse me?” she remarks, blinking profusely. “So much for being a gentleman.”

He can’t seem to keep a straight face. His cocky energy radiates at her fluster, so what can she do but get it over with and answer his question?

She begins rather shyly, knowing right away which specific sexual pleasure it is that drives her over the edge. She then learns to embrace her driven taste that, to her dismay, has not yet occurred. In her head, she can’t control the images from sneaking up on her, pushing her straight off the cliff. She can’t tell if the incredulous smirk that Harry has on is due to his shock and satisfaction from her confession, or because he can also imagine himself in such a fantasy with his own partner of choice.

Despite how in-depth and personal y/n goes on about the fiery flare that burns in her stomach, she will never tell him that it is him and his body that she imagines discovering hers, and that it has never been easier to fantasize than with her personal choice physically in front of her.

Even now, as they start a new game, the obvious shift of tension does not dissipate. A hotness still lingers in the air, but the two friends pretend to be fools for the sake of their friendship. Whether the cracks are crumbling or the cement is stiffening, neither are too sure of.

Y/n picks up her cards, prepares herself for disappointment despite her latest victory. What calls attention to her dull eyes ignites a sudden spark that has been missing. The wild card stuffs between her red 7 and red skip, and it parallels the most beautiful sight that she can ever recall envisioning in her short and simple life.

She can’t let the opportunity slip away. It no longer matters to her whether she is the one who calls the infamous Uno phrase at the end of this round to claim another reign. Harry cannot slither his charismatic magic to the deck any longer, as she assumes he’s been doing considering his unfathomable luck with wild cards.

She is the one with the power of the first turn. She is the one who isn’t thinking clearly, slaps down the familiar black card in all of its glory, and cheers to herself with a silent seizure of celebration.

And Harry is the one who stares in shock, baffled by the turn of events.

“Hmph.” His lips purse to the side in an awkward manner. He wonders how he can swivel his way around this predicament. “Right, and I’m the one with the shit strategy?”

His comment on her impulsive play does not rain on her gloating parade. Instead, she bounces her leg up and down, scouring for a question that will leave him with nothing but his vulnerability. Harry has accepted his fate; he leans back on the couch in anticipation. He eyes the vodka bottle on the table and wonders if it will do him any favors.

Y/n takes some time to scheme. With her prior hand of colorful cards, she had a million questions storming in her brain at lightning speed. Now, she draws a complete blank, with the towering beanstalks and sunflowers mowing down to an empty, dying field.

In such a desperate time of need, a single question rises. She hesitates and wonders if she really wants to know the answer. She wonders if her goal is to inflict pain upon herself – is it a pleasure that she cannot control? It is the only solution in the midst of seconds ticking away, Harry’s impatience growing.

Harry. He sits and basks in the glory of her uncertainty. Chances are that he anticipates a seductive retaliation to his over-the-line inquiries. This possibility might be more fun since that is what he is trying to get out of this game: fun; enjoyment; entertainment. A good story to reminisce, but nothing more.

“Are you in love with someone?”

If there has ever been a person capable of flustering Harry up to the point of complete bewilderment, y/n effortlessly earns that title. No promotional interview has ever stumped him as much as this single moment does now. Though he usually stutters and responds to questions vaguely without even really answering them at all, he knows the solution to all of the media’s curiosity. He is careful to not reveal too much, as some things are meant solely for his knowledge. He holds no obligations to share his secrets, and he holds no true obligations to spare y/n an answer. It is easy for him to simply walk out of the game as a sore loser; a coward of a man whose word holds empty.

The reality of it is that he does have an answer. He’s sure that he does, but there is a hesitance that lingers when he considers if he is truly being honest with himself. For once, he does not know himself as well as he thinks he does.

“Don’t answer rhetorically,” y/n adds, pressing on amid the silence she causes. “Don’t say your mother. Or Mitch or Stevie Nicks or something like that. Just . . . do you love someone?”

Harry’s smile diminishes. In its place: a hauntingly emotionless appearance. He is far gone in his own thoughts, and y/n worries that she has broken him. “What’s the question then?” he asks, allowing y/n to breathe and choke all at once. “Do I love someone, or I am I in love with someone?”

His allusion to the contrast quite honestly fazes her. She doesn’t bother to notice the divided significance that the two phrases have. Pining the two under the perfect spotlight unveils a stark perspective that makes her question her own emotions. Does she love? Or does she fall in love, down a smothering abyss that reaches no definite end? Is she sunbathing on the moon, or is she hurtling through the infinite depths of space?

It is a simple request for clarification, but she wonders if Harry tortures himself enough with notions of love to make such a separation between two very similar things.

“Um,” y/n pauses – this is a second chance. She can retract her statement and avoid the heartbreak that may follow one of his answers. “In love,” she answers instead. “Are you in love with someone?”

She expects him to think on it. She expects the pressure to deflate from his lungs in a shaky breath. She does not expect him to be so certain over something so confusing and undefinable.

“Yeah,” he answers, tops his sentence off with a nonchalant, cherry-sparkling shrug.

“Who is it?” she presses on, already accepting the discomforting ache.

“I’m not telling,” he says. There is no offense to his tone, but she knows that there is a secret he is protecting. She does not know why he is protecting it from her.

“Well, you have to give some kind of an elaboration,” she persists, and subtly clears her throat. It burns with the sensation of emotions closing it up. “Is it . . . are they like,” y/n exasperatingly exhales. She slumps her shoulders in defeat. “This person . . . are you sure?”

“Pretty sure.”

“But not entirely?”

“It’d be pretty embarrassing to be entirely in love with someone who I’m not even sure is in love with me back.”

Y/n grimaces. How can they not?

“Okay, so, you’re in love with this person, but do you think . . . y’think you would ever stop everything for them?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean like . . . slow down. You’re young, H, and you’re just starting to reach the peak of the mountain. And once you’re at the peak, there goes the stars. Who knows what else after that? You can’t see it yet because maybe you don’t want to, maybe you like not knowing what’s next. But that person that you love, or are in love with, or whatever it is, do you love them enough that you’ll settle for just the clouds? And not the high ones, I’m talking about the really low ones that few people get to touch and maybe even die trying to—”

“Y/n,” Harry whispers. He leans closer to her trembling, broken down frame. “Why are you crying?”

His firm hands grip onto her shoulders. He tries to comfort her, concern sketches into every precise detail on his face. He has momentarily forgotten about the game; his cards are discarded, facing up on the coffee table for any prying eyes to see. He’s not sure where everything went wrong, but the puzzle is the least of his worries if he cannot get this single piece to fit.

Y/n sniffles, absolutely humiliated by her own pity party. Once so optimistic, she blames the alcohol that drowns her in unexplainable sorrow. “You can’t ask me that,” she replies and wipes away at her eyes. “I’m the one with the wild card.”

“Y/n—”

“Just answer the question so we can finish this stupid game, Harry.”

Harry frowns. This poor construction of a façade that y/n hides behind is so heartbreaking. She forces a brave face, but he knows now more than ever that she wants to fall apart. Maybe if he weren’t here, she actually would – but in his presence, she keeps her chin up, lips pursing, and awaits an answer to spite the wetness on her cheeks.

“It’s hard to answer,” he says quietly, never once breaking the contact with her glass eyes. “I don’t think I can know until it happens. You know that looking too into the future is hard for me.” Y/n nods and absorbs every single word. “I don’t think you’re supposed to know when you’re in love. But this is my life, y/n. I can’t slow down. I can’t run away. It’s different for me.”

“So, you wouldn’t try?” she asks, which coaxes a shrug out of him. “Not even for the person that you’re in love with?”

There’s no response from him, but that alone is enough of an answer.

“Okay,” y/n croaks out, settling back into her gaming stance. “Green.”

To their sharing dismay, the game continues. Harry drops a green 4, y/n combines a green skip with a red skip and a red 0. While her sniffles resemble torpedoes to his ears, he feels powerless to do anything about it. He feels worthless, and sort of dirty, sitting on her couch, pretending as though she isn’t having the absolute worst time of her life, all because of him.

It’s uncomforting. It’s wrong. She has this pain and it is strong, so strong that it impacts him severely. He senses a burn in his nose. He tries to focus on the numbers and figures on his cards, but his vision blurs. He dabs at his jaded eyes, clears his throat, shakes his head, but all of his thoughts revolve around her distress.

“Uno,” she calls in a rush, impatient for the game to end. She imagines the following events to transpire: she excuses herself and goes to bed; Harry lets himself out, locks the door with the key hidden not-so-cleverly under her doormat; he climbs onto a plane and leaves for somewhere far, far away, in another part of the world where the beauty of torturous pain cannot follow him; they remain friends, but there is something different between them, something unspoken, something that just cannot be fixed. They are friends, but they are not the same friends as before.

She can’t possibly imagine the +4 that he smacks down over her discarded yellow 6 after downing the rest of his drink. It’s impossible – how does he win so much in life and in a silly game?

“Fucking plus four,” y/n whispers under her breath. She sets her cards down with her bottom lip quivering as she reaches for another choice of poison. What stops her hand right over the glass bottle is Harry’s own devouring hers. He puts her actions to rest as the world, for one miniscule moment, stops entirely.

“What do you,” Harry pauses, searches for her eyes. He’s begging for some compliance; his universe collides with hers. “Do you have feelings for me?”

Y/n closes her eyes. She shuts them tight, pulls her hand away from his protection, and wishes that he wouldn’t touch her again. “You can’t ask me that.” Her lip curls as she refuses to answer.

“Wh – what do you mean I can’t? It’s my turn—”

“No,” she argues. She blinks her eyes open and roughly brushes the tears away with the back of her hand. “You can’t ask me that, please, don’t ask me that.”

Harry wants to retaliate. He almost demands an answer from her, but one sight at her in ruins, and he has no choice but to back off. “Fine,” he says, “but I still get to ask a question.”

Y/n sits up straighter. The frown on her face transforms into a cold, hard stare. “Fine.”

“Would you kiss me right now if you had the chance?”

Y/n seems to have a lack of concern for his question, but her interior screams in agony. Oh, how the night has progressed, but one ounce of courage intertwines her vision with his, and her answer is very clear.

“No,” she answers honestly. It isn’t the response that he expects.

Still, he keeps his ground. “Why not?”

“Because I don’t want to be another drunken mistake that you regret in the morning.”

Before he has the chance to react, y/n is already reaching for her drink, and sips it straight from the bottle.

“You wouldn’t be,” he musters out after she licks the remnants of alcohol from her lips. “I’d still remember it in the morning, and I wouldn’t regret it. And I wouldn’t regret anything that happened after that, too.”

She doesn’t know what he wants from her. She’s damaged beyond repair, and quite frankly, she’ll never look at her beloved Uno the same way again. This isn’t how she once pictured her night to turn out, and now she wants nothing but for it to end.

Y/n swallows. She picks up her cards, then counts four from the deck to add to her hand. “What color?” she asks, and leans down on her nervous knees that bounce up and down.

“Y/n, can you stop this for a second? Can we just talk? Please?”

Y/n doesn’t want to talk. In fact, the plea makes her brain pound again the confinements of her skull. “You know,” she rubs her eyes, and throws her card across the table, “I quit. I’m tired. I’m going to bed.”

She stands up from the couch and faces away from Harry so that his eyes can burn into her back. She increases the distance between them, preparing herself to fall apart once she makes it to her bedroom.

“Wait,” Harry says, standing up with her discarded pile. “But you picked up a wild card.”

“Harry, I’m done playing.” She waves her hand, not bothering to spare him a glance.

“Alright, then just ask me!”

“What—”

Y/n emits a gasp when her whole body forcefully turns around, pressing gently against the wall. She feels his hot and toxic breath hugging her skin, two hands firm on her shoulders.

“What the hell?” she asks, struggling to push him away.

“You don’t need a stupid card game to ask me what the voicemail said, so just ask me.”

Y/n stops her movements. Her puffy eyes stare up at desperation in its purest form. “Voicemail? But you . . . you remember calling me?” she asks, thinking back to their earlier conversation about his drunk antic. “You left me a voicemail?”

“Ask me what the voicemail said, y/n. And I’ll tell you.”

She’s at a loss for words. Her mind feels as though it cannot comprehend a single thing that swims through her eyes and ears. His face, so marvelously structured, the most beautiful face she’s seen. He’s so pretty and he’s so vulnerable to her, but she’s not sure if she wants him to be.

“What did the voicemail say, Harry?”

Her best friend huffs. This is the point of no return. “From what I can remember, it erm, it went something like, hey y/n...”

“Hope you’re having a good time, wherever you are, not too sure, doesn’t really matter. I’m on a . . . I don’t know, a roof, sort of? A balcony, sorry, I’m safe, don’t worry. Um, I’m pretty drunk right now. Nick doesn’t know when to stop with the tequila shots. Anyways, yeah, I’m plastered. And on a balcony. And I’m looking at the stars, and the moon, wow, it’s like so bright. And I’m looking and I’m thinking where is y/n? Why isn’t she looking at the moon? Then I say to myself, oh, right, she’s not here. And I dunno, that sucks. It sucks when I realize that and it sucks that you didn’t pick up your phone.

I don’t know. This is just . . . ergh. I don’t know even know what ‘m saying anymore. I can’t think right now, all of this is coming off as word vomit, but I can’t think, but I’m still thinking. And I’m wondering why do I feel so sad that she’s not here? Then I tell myself, you stupid bloke, it’s cos’ you love her. And then I remember. Right, that’s right, I love her. I love you. In love with you, I mean, cos’ I’ve always loved you, even when you’re being annoying and even when you don’t pick up your phone.

...Ah, shit. I just . . . I just realized what I’ve done. Shit. That’s not good. If you can just . . . ignore that last part, please, I’d really owe you one. But um . . . I know I’m drunk, but the tequila is dissolving the gate in my brain and it’s letting all of this stuff out. So, the stuff’s been there, it’s just . . . yeah, it’s not cos’ I’m drunk. I’ve always wanted to kiss you and stuff. But, if you uh, if you listen to this, maybe we can talk about it. If you want. But if you don’t, then just, I don’t know. Ignore me, I guess. Pretend it never happened? Sounds good. Alright. Shit. Goodnight, lovie.”

Harry paraphrases his drunk rant as much as he can. He leaves out the pauses of hiccups and laughter, the um’s and erm’s, the spontaneous profanity. He recites to her the most important parts, she ones that she needs to hear. Or rather, the ones he needs her to hear. By the time that his revelation comes up, y/n already has hot tears streaming down her sensitive cheeks.

“So . . . it was you,” he says, bold enough to reach up and wipe away the tear that drips under her eye. His hand hovers over the side of her face, cupping her there soft and tender. “That was your question. I remembered everything I had done in the morning. I didn’t regret it, cos’ at least then I knew whether or not I was embarrassing enough to be in love with someone that didn’t see me the same way.”

Harry bites his lip. For the longest time, he had reason to believe that she had rejected him. She had ignored something that she hadn’t even known she had been ignoring. Time is now incomprehensible. It feels to him like a Mardi Gras parade of flinging daggers, striking him from every different direction.

“I’m tired,” y/n says. In the most delicate way, she reaches into the space between them and pushes his arm away. The bubble that encloses their innocence for each other now shatters, shards of memories and confessions prickling the very air they breathe, suffocating their lungs until there is nothing more to suffer over.

He stands frozen. He watches her trudge away, inching farther and farther, and he knows that it will be over. Because of him, there is a possibility that even something as simple as friends is off the table.

“Stop walking away from me,” he demands. She hears the strain in his voice, the perfect crack that, if pushed any further, can temporarily damage his vocal cords. He’s tired. He needs rest; she doesn’t know what she needs, but of course, she puts him first. She puts his health over her own, his wellness over anyone else’s. He doesn’t want to leave, but he has to. He has reached the end of the sentence – the very period that no comma, no semicolon, no pause or break or continuation can ever overpower.

“Goodnight, Harry,” she says, not bothering to wipe away the sorrow fallen on her cheeks. She can’t hear him – almost as if he doesn’t exist and never has. It is so easy to pretend, so that’s what she does. It makes the rest of her journey to her bedroom that much simpler; it also makes it that much harder to ignore the sound of her front door opening and closing, fumbling and locking, until a sonder silence snuggles next to her for the hours to come.

part two

#honeytryst

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welcometothepenumbra · 6 years ago

Text

JUNO STEEL AND THE LONG WAY HOME (PART TWO)

SOUND: RAIN. TRAIN ARRIVES, CREAKS TO A STOP. DOOR CLANKS OPEN.

CONDUCTOR: Ah, good evening, Traveler. And welcome… to The Penumbra.

SOUND: DOOR CLANKS SHUT.

Take your seat, please, take your seat.

MUSIC: STARTS.

The junction lies ahead, so if you’ll allow me just a moment.

SOUND: TRAIN WHISTLE.

We are now passing through Hyperion City.

SOUND: TRAIN MOVING.

Our next stop?

SOUND: TRAIN BRAKES.

Juno Steel and the Long Way Home.

SOUND: DOOR CLANKS OPEN, RAIN.

ALL SOUNDS: FADE OUT.

***

SOUND: WATER DRIPPING, RIPPLING.

THEIA: (DISTANT, OVERLAPPING) Target located. Alerting central office. Exchanging map data. Sector is clear. Recharging. Recharging.

JUNO (NARRATOR): Here’s a lesson that never sticks, no matter how many times you learn it: even when you’re not around, the world keeps movin’ without you. Never feels that way. When you leave, you take a frozen version of the place with you in your head, and that feels real, but… then you get back and find the place is melting right in front of you.

SMALL FRY: (WHIMPERS, QUIET BARKS)

JUNO: Yep, I’m pretty wiped too, Small Fry. How ‘bout a snack break?

SOUND: SPLASH.

JUNO (NARRATOR): I remember these sewers as an escape, if you can believe it. When things got too rough topside I would lose myself down here, where things were simple. Where the monsters looked like monsters, big furry ones with long teeth and mean eyes. They were scary, but… that was part of the escape.

SMALL FRY: (IN BACKGROUND) (BARKS)

JUNO (NARRATOR): When you’re so young you think monsters are the scariest things out there… what could feel better than teaching the boogeyman to eat out of the palm of your hand?

SMALL FRY: (BARK!)

JUNO: Whatsamatter? You don’t like salmon chips?

SMALL FRY: (YIP!)

JUNO: Don’t tell me you’re picky.

SOUND: CRUNCHING, CHEWING.

(GARBLED, MOUTH FULL) Aw, man, these’ve got the freeze-dried soy dust and everything! You’re outta your mind, Small Fry.

SMALL FRY: (SNIFFS & SNORTS)

JUNO: Oh, what’s that? Now you want one?

SMALL FRY: (SNORTS)

JUNO: That’s what I thought. Take the bag, it’s yours.

SMALL FRY: (GRRRR)

JUNO: (SIGHS)

SOUND: CRUNCHING, CHEWING.

JUNO (NARRATOR): I wonder sometimes if having that escape as a kid felt a little too good. Like I’d go underground and feel like all the world’s horrors could be tamed, then, come back up and think that feeling should last forever. It felt like I could make it last forever if I tried. But, things change.

SMALL FRY: (BARK!)

SOUND: CREAKING.

JUNO: What’s the matter, Small Fry? You hear some… thing…?

THEIA: Target sighted.

JUNO: Damn it! Get in…

…that pipe, quickly! Hide under my coat!

SMALL FRY: (SNUFFLES)

THEIA: Target recognized. Target is—

JUNO: (OVER THE BELOW) Juno Steel, yeah.

THEIA: —Juno Steel. Directive: do no—

JUNO: (OVER THE ABOVE) Do no harm, Mayor O’Flaherty requests my presence, you can’t capture me nonviolently so I’m supposed to go there on my own, that it?

THEIA: (AFTER A PAUSE) This is your only—

JUNO: Right, thanks, almost forgot, this is my only warning. I’m workin’ on it now, but thanks for the reminder, bye!

THEIA: Farewell. Juno Steel.

SOUND: CREAKING FADES OUT.

JUNO: (QUIETLY) Going… going, aaaaaand gone. Psst!

Hey kid! Coast is clear!

SOUND: HEAVY CREAK.

Small Fry?

SOUND: SPLASHING.

…The hell is this?

SOUND: SPLASHING FOOTSTEPS.

Another room?

SMALL FRY: (SNORES)

JUNO: (GASPS)

SOUND: GUN COCKING.

…Oh.

JUNO (NARRATOR): The rabbit was asleep. Just… tuckered out.

Then I felt the exhaustion piling on me too, so I sat and let her nap awhile. And if I got some rest out of the bargain, so be it.

Small Fry had found a good hiding spot. The pipe I’d shoved her into led through a shattered wall, which opened up into another one of the sewer’s old chambers. Must have been a false start from some earlier construction job, walled-up so it’d just go away, but… that never kept anything hidden forever, did it?

The Theia bots were tearing this place apart, and soon one would find Small Fry. But even if they did clear out and we did get outta here, what the hell was I gonna do with her?

MUSIC: STARTS.

My name’s Juno Steel. I’m a private eye, and that means I’m supposed to reserve my blaster for whoever pays my bills. Money hasn’t mattered to me for years, but even so, it… was a rule, and rules are comfortable.

I keep feeling like I don’t know any of the rules anymore, but… I need ‘em. Because if you try to save every sorry soul who hops into your life…

…that might make you a hero, and… right now I’m not sure there’s anything worse.

MUSIC: ENDS. STARTS (FROM COMMS).

HAWK (FROM COMMS): Welcome back to Questions Unanswered: Where is Jack Takano? Tonight’s episode: Part 11 – “The Mask.”

Jack Takano was famously a very private man: until the end of his time at Northstar, he never kept a home address on file, or spoke to anyone about his friends and family outside the company. Even his face was private, as Founder and CEO of Northstar Miranda Fairbanks wrote:

FAIRBANKS ACTOR (FROM COMMS): It was known around the office that Jack daily wore makeup thick even by Hyperion’s standards… I once came into the office quite early to find that he had fallen asleep, drooling, onto his desk and hand. It was almost sweet… until he moved that hand and a layer of skin peeled off his face, only to reveal another, much paler skin beneath. Or so it seemed, until I saw the foundation smudges on the table. When I woke him, he covered his face, mumbled something about not looking decent, and ran off to reapply. A skin condition, he told me later. I never bought it. The difference between the skin beneath and the mask over it was so extreme that it seemed like there was another man under there, buried alive.

HAWK (FROM COMMS): But even a man with a hidden face can’t hide everything. Takano may not have left an explanation for his disappearance in his famous farewell note, but his coworkers did notice a change.

VEGA (FROM COMMS): Well, we all expected something was going to happen. Just not… something that extreme.

HAWK (FROM COMMS): What about his behavior seemed like the first sign, Dr. Vega?

VEGA (FROM COMMS): Isolation, first. Irritability, some days, although he’d always apologize soon after. But I think the first unquestionable sign for me was Andromeda 3.

HAWK (FROM COMMS): If you didn’t see Andromeda 3 at release, it’s unlikely you ever will: the film was panned so universally that Northstar established an Anti-Informations Department just to erase every copy they could find. Or as one reviewer put it:

VOICE 6 (FROM COMMS): Schlock and drivel. Its characterization is so flat it approaches concave. Its pacing makes death seem a fond alternative. And worst of all, it appears Takano has no idea what made Andromeda so compelling in the first place, and what remains are only echoes of the Turbo nonsense that nearly put Northstar into its early, and perhaps deserved, grave. Takano needs to get his head out of building tourist traps and back into telling stories, because this was clearly rushed.

HAWK (FROM COMMS): The only thing atypical of this review is its lenience: the reviewer gave Andromeda 3 the highest rating we could find. But that last sentiment, that the film was rushed, is repeated by nearly every review on record, despite the fact that it is completely untrue.

CHEN (FROM COMMS): I don’t think I ever saw Jack work harder on a project. Besides the park, obviously.

HAWK (FROM COMMS): That’s Jocelyn Chen, former Head of Animation at Northstar.

MUSIC: ENDS.

CHEN (FROM COMMS): I remember seeing pages of script and sketches of Andromeda 3 a few weeks before the first film came out, but he was never satisfied. It was just rewrite after rewrite with him.

HAWK (FROM COMMS): Was his process similar for Chainmail Warrior Andromeda or Sea of Sinners?

CHEN (FROM COMMS): Not at all. He had full storyboards for both ready when he first pitched the project, and he only had a month on those. But the third one… I don’t know. He kept talking about the responsibility, and… I tried to help, but, the pressure must’ve gotten to him.

HAWK (FROM COMMS): You came under fire for that film, too.

CHEN (FROM COMMS): I did.

I– I wasn’t mad at him for having writer’s block. I was mad at him for not listening earlier, for not giving us something, anyway. I had to steal his notes just so we could start work on time for a sloppy release, and… that was the only time I’ve ever heard him get angry.

HAWK (FROM COMMS): A recording of Takano’s tirade was leaked a few months after Andromeda 3’s release:

SOUND: BACKGROUND STATIC.

JACK (FROM COMMS): We are doing something important here. Am I the only one who sees that? Am I?!

CHEN (FROM COMMS): Jack, we have a deadline—

JACK (FROM COMMS): Damn the deadline! You’re exactly the problem, Jocelyn, focusing on the smallest issues when you should be solving the big ones, taking the solution now over the solution that works– DO NOT SPEAK while I am speaking!

No. Keep the damn notes. It’s too late already.

SOUND: STATIC FADES OUT.

HAWK (FROM COMMS): The company could have scrubbed this leak like they erased the film, had Takano himself not acknowledged it, in a press conference the day after it spread:

JACK (FROM COMMS): …I would like to apologize, of course. I’ve already apologized to Jocelyn, but, like it or not I’ve been thrust into the public eye; and as a result, my responsibility extends to each and every one of you.

SMALL FRY: (SNUFFLES & SNORTS)

JUNO: Mmm… quit it.

SOUND: WATER DRIPPING, BUBBLING.

JACK (FROM COMMS): Three years is not a very long time to grow old, and, yet I find that, compared to the early days of Andromeda, I feel precisely—

JUNO: (OVER THE BELOW) I said quit it!

JACK (FROM COMMS): (OVER THE ABOVE) —how I expected an old man must: very tired, and only slightly more wise.

SMALL FRY: (BARKS)

JACK (FROM COMMS): What strikes me as most beautiful about Andromeda is how she works not just on the world, but also on herself. Tirelessly. When Andromeda discovers that her magic chainmail is empowered by the suffering of others, she sees immediately how this might corrupt her… and she steels herself against it.

I see now the power I have in Northstar. And I see the heavy responsibility that power bestows upon me. We will use it for good, from here out. For Polaris.

SMALL FRY: (BARK!)

SOUND: SLAP.

JUNO: (OVER THE BELOW) Damn it, Rita, I’m taking a nap, you—!

SMALL FRY: (BARKS)

HAWK (FROM COMMS): (OVER THE ABOVE) Takano’s apology was very well received—

JUNO: …Oh.

HAWK (FROM COMMS): (OVER THE BELOW) —as Jocelyn Chen recalls.

JUNO: (OVER THE ABOVE) Small Fry. Right.

SMALL FRY: (GROWLS)

CHEN (FROM COMMS): (OVER THE BELOW) He could do that, apologize and have all forgiven—

JUNO: (OVER THE ABOVE) What’s the matter, kid, you hungry?

SMALL FRY: (BARKS)

JUNO: What the hell? Get off me!

CHEN (FROM COMMS): —really forgiven. You could always tell he meant it, that it really had eaten him up inside. He—

SMALL FRY: (BARKS)

SOUND: CLICK, COMMS CUTS OFF.

JUNO: The hell?

Did you… take my comms? Out of my ear?

SMALL FRY: (BARKS, GROWLS)

JUNO: Don’t eat it!

Well, looks like we’re awake now, doesn’t it? Here, come close. You just put it up to your ear like this, and—

SOUND: FEEDBACK SCREECH.

JUNO & SMALL FRY: (PAINED YELLS)

JUNO: God dammit, what did you do?

SMALL FRY: (WHIMPERING)

JUNO: You know how long it took me to figure that thing out? Now look, it’s wet and it stinks and I can’t even listen to it and I don’t know where anybody is or what the hell I’m gonna do to keep you safe and—

SOUND: PLOP, SPLASH.

There. It’s trash now. Just like this whole stupid idea. Whatever.

SOUND: SPLASHES. DISTANT FEEDBACK.

SMALL FRY: (BARK!)

JUNO: I told you, the comms is broken.

SOUND: FEEDBACK STOPS. ELECTRONIC SCROLLING.

JUNO: You’re just gonna hurt yourself. Make it explode or something.

SMALL FRY: (GROWLS)

SOUND: BEEPS.

JUNO: Damn it, don’t you listen?

SOUND: ALARM BEEPS.

It’s busted. See?

SOUND: JINGLE (FROM COMMS).

VOICE 7 (FROM COMMS): Welcome to your comms. Please enter your name.

JUNO: Wait, what?

SMALL FRY: (GROWLS)

JUNO: You… there’s no way you know how to use this. You can’t.

SMALL FRY: (YIPS)

JUNO: Alright, take it.

SMALL FRY: (RRRRR!)

SOUND: BEEPS.

JUNO: No. Way.

SMALL FRY: (GRRRS, YIP!)

SOUND: LOUD JINGLE (FROM COMMS).

VOICE 7 (FROM COMMS): (VERY LOUD) Bienvenue à votre comms.

JUNO: (HISS OF PAIN) Nevermind! (SIGHS)

SMALL FRY: (BARK!)

JUNO: But… you did have it for a second.

SOUND: BEEPS.

SMALL FRY: (SNUFFLE, GROWLS)

JUNO: No, no, I’m gonna try this time.

SMALL FRY: (BARK!)

JUNO: And, uh… thanks, Small Fry. I needed that.

SMALL FRY: (BARK!)

JUNO (NARRATOR): While I messed with that comms I couldn’t stop thinkin’ about Rita. She’d been telling me what Small Fry just had for years – that I didn’t need her to set everything up, that I wasn’t even trying, and… I’d yell at her that I got it, but I was just busy. And then sit alone, like an idiot, while she set up my comms, my monitor, everything.

Ma never let us have that stuff. And then I just got too proud to admit I didn’t get it, and… I got better and better at asking other people to work around me, I guess. Anyway, I… had the thing up and running again soon.

SOUND: BLIP.

JACKET (FROM COMMS): We may look backward only to ensure we have not walked this path before.

JUNO: Yeah, thanks, big guy.

SMALL FRY: (BARK!)

JUNO: Just… give me one more minute.

JUNO (NARRATOR): Maybe I’d gone mad with power, but… I had an idea, and I was hungry for another win. I knew the comms could get on the net, and I knew the sewer system’s layout was a public document. The rest was just guesswork. Learning and mistakes.

SOUND: ERROR BEEP.

JUNO: (GROWLS)

SOUND: ERROR BEEP.

Aghhhh!

SMALL FRY: (BARKS)

JUNO (NARRATOR): …a whole lot of mistakes. But, still.

It took me an hour to do what Rita could’ve done in two seconds, but, I was proud of it.

SOUND: BEEP.

JUNO: Ha! Got it! Look, it’s a map, and I think I found a manhole that’ll take us…

SMALL FRY: (SNORES)

JUNO: …out of the… sewer.

Hey. Hey, c’mon, Small Fry. C’mon.

SMALL FRY: (SNUFFLES AWAKE)

JUNO: We gotta go, kid. I think I found a way out of here. And after that…

We’ll have to figure that out together, I guess.

SMALL FRY: (MEWLS)

JUNO (NARRATOR): I split the comms so I could carry it in my hand and my ear at the same time. It was gonna be a hike to get to that manhole leading out of the sewer, and… to Oldtown.

HAWK (FROM COMMS): (FADING IN) The year between Andromeda 3’s release and the opening of Polaris Park marked a shift in how Northstar was run. Takano removed himself from the film production process completely, hiring previously-terminated Northstar writer Kenni Okombe and rock-star-slash-poet Rajavi to co-write Andromeda and the Dragon’s Peak, based on some of Takano’s early sketches. In the meantime, Jack Takano redoubled his efforts on Polaris Park, and though he spent many, many hours in that office – staying for days or weeks on end, according to some – his coworkers saw him less than ever.

VEGA (FROM COMMS): Always in his office. It was as though we’d taken on a staff hermit. (LAUGHS) Not that it was a funny situation, of course, Jack was clearly troubled. But, well… we all just thought that if the tortured genius needs his space, give him his space.

HAWK (FROM COMMS): Many of Takano’s former coworkers expressed similar sentiments. But not Jocelyn Chen.

CHEN (FROM COMMS): Everyone always said yes to Jack, and it wasn’t good for him. So when he started hiding, working himself sick, all that… I wasn’t having it, and I said so.

He gave me some line… something about how he had to figure out the problem by himself, that he couldn’t compromise on the park any more than he already had. And I said, “Jack, you can take all your toys, and go hide in your room if you want. But if you keep working like this, you’re going to get yourself killed, and—”

After that… after I said that, he just… looked at me and waited. Like I hadn’t gotten to my point yet. Like that wasn’t even enough reason t—

Anyway. I ended the conversation there, because I wasn’t getting anywhere. But clearly he wasn’t done.

HAWK (FROM COMMS): Ms. Chen is referring to a public charity event at which Takano spoke to raise funds for Martian fire departments. Though the speech was largely typical of his optimistic oratory, there was a tangent that was met with confusion in the press:

JACK (FROM COMMS): But the most beautiful thing about Andromeda, I think, is… that she always goes it alone. She recognizes that heroism is a blessing for the world and a curse for the hero, who must live with the weight of every decision they make, the pain of every loss they fail to prevent. And yet she never stops. And she never shares this burden with another, because she knows it is better for one to suffer than two. Goodness is her charge. And she lives up to it alone.

CHEN (FROM COMMS): Which isn’t even true. Aries, the Ramblers, Captain Cancer, Queen Pisces – by that point, Andromeda had relied on others twice a movie! Well, minus Andromeda 3, but… (SIGHS)

VEGA (FROM COMMS): Jack never spoke to me directly about his design problem, but I could see it amongst the lines, as it were. Something at the core of Polaris Park had gone wrong for him, somewhere. Some of his work orders implied that the problem had come from compromises he’d made, and so he tried hiding the gift shops, changing the logo so that ‘Polaris’ was much larger than ‘Park,’ that kind of thing. Then a week later, all those orders would be undone, and he clearly felt that the problem came earlier than his compromises… from the park’s initial contraception, perhaps.

I knew that he expected me to decode that subtext. I like to think I was rather a confidant for him in that way – the only one he could undress even part of his heart to.

SOUND: WATER DRIPPING, RIPPLING FADES IN. DISTANT BOOM.

SMALL FRY: (BARK BARK!)

JUNO: Huh?

HAWK (FROM COMMS): Despite Dr. Vega’s claims, the work orders we’ve unearthed state Takano’s frustrations directly to every head of every department. Polaris Park was not doing what it was supposed to – though Takano was never clear about what its actual purpose was.

SOUND: DISTANT BOOM.

JUNO: What the hell was—

SMALL FRY: (BARK!)

HAWK (FROM COMMS): And as Takano tried to solve it—

SOUND: DISTANT BOOM.

—the days to Polaris Park’s opening – and the man’s disappearance—

SOUND: TWO DISTANT BOOMS.

—drew closer and closer.

SMALL FRY: (BARK BARK!)

SOUND: CLICK, COMMS CUTS OFF.

JUNO: Shhh!

JUNO (NARRATOR): We were close to the exit by then. There was just one last pipe we had to pass through, one big enough to stand and walk in. We hadn’t heard a Theia bot in half an hour; it was quiet here.

Until that thumping started, down at the end of the pipe.

SOUND: DISTANT BOOMS.

As quickly as I could I searched the wall around me for weak spots – cracks, openings, anywhere at all to hide – but there were none. This thing had picked the one solid spot left in the entire Oldtown sewer system to corner us.

SMALL FRY: (WHIMPERS)

SOUND: DISTANT BOOM.

JUNO: (QUIETLY) Get behind me, kid, it’s alright. You’re gonna be alright.

JUNO (NARRATOR): The noise kept coming. I tried to make a plan: hide Small Fry in the sludge and try to talk my way out? No, the Theia bots were chatty, and she couldn’t hold her breath that long. Take a shot at it before it saw us? Maybe, but I doubted I could connect without a Theia on my side.

It got closer.

SOUND: SPLASH.

And closer. And then it rounded the corner.

SOUND: SPLASH.

?????: (GROWLS, PANTING)

SMALL FRY: (YIPS & BARKS)

JUNO: A rabbit…? Alive?

SMALL FRY: (BARKS)

RABBIT: (GROWL-BARKS)

JUNO: You know him. You know that rabbit, don’t you?

SMALL FRY: (YIPS)

JUNO (NARRATOR): So, that was it, then. Some of the rabbits were alive. I’d brought Small Fry home, and… I felt just… awful.

Looking into her big black eyes, one hand on her matted fur, I realized I already cared about this little rabbit. Protecting her made me feel useful, and loved, and… it was hard to put that away.

I let myself live in maybes for a second. A little rabbit munching snack food under my desk. A big one asleep in the corner of my office – ‘the muscle,’ I’d call her, but really… her name would be Small Fry. Even when she got huge.

I never really would’ve taken her, not really; but… it was nice to pretend, for a second.

JUNO: You can trust that big fella over there?

SMALL FRY: (BARK!)

JUNO: Then go home, kid.

Go home.

SOUND: SPLASHING.

JUNO (NARRATOR): So I watched her hop away. She seemed… happy.

RABBIT: (IN BACKGROUND) (GROWLS)

JUNO (NARRATOR): And that’s when the big rabbit ran over and socked me in the face.

RABBIT: (ROARS)

SOUND: PUNCH.

JUNO: Oof!

SOUND: BIG SPLASH.

H-hey, come on! I know you were scared, but—

SOUND: PUNCH, SPLASH.

Oof!

The hell do you want from me? Money? I got creds, but you have to get off me—

RABBIT: (ROARS, GROWLS)

SOUND: PUNCHES.

JUNO (NARRATOR): This wasn’t right. This wasn’t how the rabbits were. They’d never turn down creds and they never made those noises and they were never… this angry.

I reached for my blaster. But the rabbit had a desperate quickness I’d never seen before and in a second my gun was spinning over his shoulder.

RABBIT: (ROARRRRRR)

SOUND: PUNCH. PLOP.

JUNO (NARRATOR): The rabbit reared back to howl. He still had crumbs and frosting in his fur, big soft belly for scratching, just like all the rabbits I knew. But this one was burned, too. Charred trenches of fur and skin running along his sides, part of one ear gone.

And he looked… so scared. Pissed-off and powerless; like if he couldn’t pin down and punch all those Theia bots, or the human race, or death itself… he was ready to settle for me.

I still had my plasma knife, but I couldn’t stab him. I couldn’t let Ramses make me kill again.

RABBIT: (ROARS)

SMALL FRY: (SQUEAKING)

JUNO (NARRATOR): Small Fry ran up to the rabbit and tugged on his tail. The rabbit nearly jumped out of his fur, and didn’t even look behind him before he kicked one of those huge legs back at the kid.

RABBIT: (RAHHH!)

SOUND: PUNCH. PLOP, SPLASH.

SMALL FRY: (WHIMPERING)

JUNO (NARRATOR): I’ve never seen a rabbit do that. This rabbit had never seen it, either. Looked like he’d spend the rest of his life wishing he hadn’t. Then he turned, and I saw that he was ready to blame it all on me.

RABBIT: (PANTING, BIG HOWL)

JUNO (NARRATOR): A few months ago I might’ve let him, too. That’s what a hero’s for, right? Taking all the hits so the innocent don’t have to, while the ones causing all the pain sit in the stands and watch, blood and popcorn butter sticky on their fingertips.

I was done with that. Instead, I was gonna give the rabbit some advice. So I turned the volume on my comms all the way up.

SOUND: INCREASINGLY LOUDER BEEPS.

RABBIT: (ROARRRR)

JUNO (NARRATOR): And right when he was about to crush my skull… I jammed my comms into his ear and pressed play.

SOUND: FEEDBACK SCREECH. BLIP.

JACKET (FROM COMMS): (VERY LOUD, OVER THE BELOW) We may look backward only to ensure we have not walked this path before.

RABBIT: (OVER THE ABOVE) (HOWL OF PAIN)

SOUND: BLIP. SPLASH.

JUNO: Whaddaya know? Looks like that advice just saved my life, too.

SOUND: SPLASHING FOOTSTEPS.

Stay down, cottontail. I’m not kidding.

SOUND: LOW ELECTRIC HUM.

(OVER THE BELOW) See this? Plasma knife. Real hot; real sharp. I don’t want to hurt you, but if you come any closer, I’ll have to.

RABBIT: (OVER THE ABOVE) (GROWLS)

JUNO: Take the kid and go. This’ll kill you, you understand? Dead.

Stop! Neither one of us wants this!

RABBIT: (BIG GROWL)

JUNO (NARRATOR): But he kept running towards me. And he knew he wouldn’t win. I’m just not sure he cared.

He was almost on top of me. I knew I’d do it if I had to, and… that’s when I heard the first shot.

SOUND: BIG BLASTER SHOT. ELECTRIC WHIR.

THEIA: (AFTER A PAUSE) Targets detected.

SOUND: CREAKING.

JUNO (NARRATOR): A big Theia bot stood in front of me and its first laser sizzled in the wall behind.

The bot had Small Fry pinned between a wall and the end of its cannon.

SMALL FRY: (BARKING)

JUNO: Dammit, no, no, no…!

RABBIT: (GROWLS)

THEIA: Come closer. Rabbit.

JUNO: …What?

RABBIT: (GROWL?)

THEIA: Come closer. I will tell you. When. To stop.

SOUND: SPLASHING FOOTSTEPS.

Closer. Just. A little closer. Real close. There.

SMALL FRY: (YIP!)

SOUND: PLOP.

THEIA: Your little one.

SMALL FRY: (BARKS, MEWLS)

RABBIT: (GRRRRRR)

THEIA: Now please leave. And be careful. Bunnies.

SMALL FRY: (BARKS)

SOUND: SPLASHING FOOTSTEPS FADE.

JUNO (NARRATOR): The two ran, and Small Fry never looked back. I was proud of her. We may look backward only to ensure we have not walked this path before, right? Wherever those rabbits were going, whatever home awaited them… they’d definitely never been there before.

THEIA: You. Stay there.

SOUND: CREAKING.

JUNO: (HEAVY BREATHING)

SOUND: CREAKING STOPS. HISS OF STEAM.

THEIA: Are you injured. User. Mista Steel.

JUNO: Mista…

(STARTS LAUGHING, OVER THE BELOW)

THEIA: Because. Um. Ramses wants to see you aboveground. And. Somethin’ somethin’. No. Don’t say. Somethin’ somethin’. Say—

JUNO: Rita?!

THEIA: —somethin’, you—

JUNO: Rita, is that really you?

THEIA: No. I’m. Um. What’s this thing called. Tara. Teyona. Let me. Look it up.

JUNO: Rita! God, I am glad to see… whatever the hell robot this is.

THEIA: This is. The Theo’s Spectacles.

JUNO: Wait– you yelled at the bot for saying “somethin’ somethin’,” which means you must be able to hear it.

THEIA: Nuh-uh.

JUNO: Rita…

THEIA: Who’s that. She sounds nice.

JUNO: Just drop the joke, alright? I’ve been looking for you for days, I’m filthy, I’m tired, so just tell me where the hell you are!

THEIA: Oh. Does it make you worried. Not knowing. Where very pretty user. Rita is?

JUNO: Rita, I said—

THEIA: ‘Cause maybe. Then. She should disappear for weeks instead. Not say anything. ‘Cause that would definitely make you. Less worried. And not way more worried. Ain’t that right. Boss?

JUNO: (AFTER A PAUSE) Oh, I…

(QUIETLY) What did I do?

Rita, I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.

…Rita?

THEIA: The Theia Order. Is shutting. Down.

SOUND: POWERING DOWN.

JUNO: Rita? Rita?!

…No.

Please…

SOUND: THUMPING ON METAL.

No! Damn it, no! No!

I’m sorry! I’m so sorry, Rita; and, I know that’s not enough. I know how sour a sorry tastes when it comes from someone who’s apologized before and never changed a thing. I know you’ve got no reason to believe me, but…

SOUND: METAL CLUNK.

Please don’t leave me here, Rita. You’ve got every reason to, but… I’m tryin’ to get better. I really want to get better, maybe for the first time in my life since the HCPD, and… I’m just so scared that it’s too late, and everybody’s already smartened up and gone, and maybe you should, but please, please—

RITA: Hi Mista Steel.

JUNO: (YELPS, PANTING) How long were you behind me?

RITA: Just for the last ‘please please.’ I miss anything you wanna say again?

JUNO: I, uh…

I’m sorry, Rita. I’m just… so sorry. It won’t happen again.

…Rita?

SOUND: THWUMP.

Oof!

RITA: I missed you, boss. I was real worried.

JUNO: I know. I hear you. For once. (DEEP BREATH) And I missed you too, Rita. Really.

RITA: (SNIFFLING)

JUNO: What? What’s the matter?

RITA: (SNIFFING/CHOKING BACK TEARS) We just… ain’t never hugged this long before, boss. (SWALLOWS) It’s nice.

JUNO: Oh. Yeah, it’s…

(CLEARS THROAT) Anyway, uh… I got a map, and it says there should be a way out just over—

RITA: Oh, yeah. The whole system’s bein’ shifted around, boss. None’a your maps are gonna work anymore.

JUNO: Shifted around for what?

RITA: Oldtown, I guess. But anyway, I figured out the way up before I even came down here because you know me, Mista Steel, I’m all for an adventure but as soon as it’s one that might get one’a my three S’s wet, I gotta get in and out. That’s right, my shoes, snacks, and salmon sausage snacks, so—

JUNO: You know a way up?

RITA: I do! Wanna go see? I was hopin’ we’d be able to bring that big puppet I hacked into with us, but it ain’t exactly gonna fit through the manhole. Or up the ladder, which I learned ‘cause at first I had two ways out but then I broke one, you’re never gonna believe how, boss, it was—

JUNO: With the big robot, right. Listen, Rita, I want to hear that whole story, I really do, but can we do it someplace we’re not covered in slime?

RITA: That’s a great idea, boss. This way.

SOUND: SPLASHING FOOTSTEPS.

HAWK (FROM COMMS): (FADING IN) …let’s look at that moment one more time. Opening day at Polaris Park. Moments after Takano’s last employee check-in. The silent, solitary moment in which his departure flipped from an idea to an action.

We can’t know what he was thinking in those moments. And in the end, trying to understand every minute detail of the departed’s psyche tells us more about ourselves, in many ways, than about them. Just ask Lorenzo Vega:

VEGA (FROM COMMS): Jack was… a perfectionist. He’d made so many compromises with his park, had seen his vision so diluted. One can only conclude that the sight of it, his creation so malformed… who wouldn’t leave?

HAWK (FROM COMMS): Or Jocelyn Chen:

CHEN (FROM COMMS): He was a visionary, and that meant he had no idea what he was doing. He could help us up to greatness, but him? His sights were always going to be aimed up about a dozen feet over where he ended up, and he was always going to be bored by whatever he made. Always.

HAWK (FROM COMMS): Or Miranda Fairbanks, who wrote in her memoir:

FAIRBANKS ACTOR (FROM COMMS): Humanity needs people like Jack, I think. People who can just see how things should be, without the reality of what they are getting in the way. That’s how progress happens. And so I assume he must have seen the true way forward somewhere other than us… and run towards it.

JUNO: This ladder?

RITA: Mm-hmm.

SOUND: GRUNTS, METAL CLANKING.

HAWK (FROM COMMS): We’ve presented you with theories over these many hours, but we will probably never know why Jack Takano left us behind. The only clue we have is the audio note found in his office, once he was gone. And to conclude our program, we will play it in full.

MUSIC: STARTS (FROM COMMS).

JACK (FROM COMMS): The thing I find most beautiful about Andromeda, in the end, is this: that she can never be satisfied. I wonder now, if Orion’s curse wasn’t really a blessing for our Homeless Hero. He turned her from a protector of one city, to an active force of good the world over.

RITA: (OVERLAPPING WITH THE END OF ABOVE) What’s the holdup, boss?

JUNO: Found the manhole cover.

JACK (FROM COMMS): To find home—

JUNO: (GRUNTS)

SOUND: METAL SCRAPING.

JACK (FROM COMMS): (OVER THE ABOVE) —Andromeda always looks backwards. Polaris. Nostalgia. The paradise left behind. And this works in our stories, when we only show the shining city for a few seconds at a time. But in life, no such place exists.

RITA: Mista Steel?

JACK (FROM COMMS): If it did—

RITA: Mista Steel?

JACK (FROM COMMS): —we would already live there.

JUNO: This… this isn’t Oldtown.

RITA: I’m pretty sure it is, boss. I counted paces an’ everything.

JUNO: No. The map’s right. I’m happy to explain in a minute, Rita, just as soon as I get this cannon out of my face.

THEIA: Remove yourselves. From. The sewer. Help. Is on the way.

JACK (FROM COMMS): But there may yet be such a home. I believe we can find it. But we cannot turn our heads if it is not what we expected, or if we fear what we see when it opens its gates.

RITA: Oh no oh no oh no—

THEIA: Now put your hands up. Please.

JACK (FROM COMMS): Home is not in the past. It can’t be. And that means when we find home, when we find the perfect place we yearn for… I doubt we will even recognize it.

RITA: What is this place? What happened to Oldtown?

JUNO: Says it right there on the sign, Rita.

“Welcome to Newtown: The City of the Future.”

JACK (FROM COMMS): And so now I leave. I go now to seek the true way home, as any hero should. And I urge you to do the same. Or, at least, to accept it when it comes. I look forward to meeting you there. Jack Takano.

ALL SOUNDS: FADE OUT.

***

SOUND: TRAIN MOVING, MUSIC.

CONDUCTOR: If you’ve enjoyed this tale, please consider donating to The Penumbra on Patreon. Our artists work tirelessly to bring you these stories, and if you have the means, we hope you will support our efforts. Every dollar helps. You can find that page at patreon.com/thepenumbrapodcast. If you support us on Patreon at the $10 level or higher, you’ll receive access to commentary tracks like this one, from actor Matthew Zahnzinger and co-creators Sophie Kaner and Kevin Vibert:

SOUND: TRAIN STOPS, DOOR SLIDES OPEN, RAIN.

SOPHIE: …There’s not anything more to it than it’s like, yeah, well I thought of it, and I’m smart, and how do I know that? Well, ‘cause I’m me, I just know.

KEVIN: Mmhmm.

SOPHIE: And there’s nobody… above him to tell him, y’know. And there’s no way of knowing for sure… what is good.

MATTHEW: Although to that point, and, to get… back on my bandwagon of every commentary complimenting Kevin’s writing, um—

SOPHIE: Could you compliment me a little bit, for once?

MATTHEW: (LAUGHING)

SOPHIE: What is this?!

SOUND: DOOR SLIDES SHUT.

CONDUCTOR: You can also support The Penumbra by liking us on Facebook, following us on Twitter @thepenumbrapod, following us on Tumblr @thepenumbrapodcast, telling your friends about us, telling your friends to tell their friends about us, and especially by rating and reviewing our podcast on iTunes. Every rating, comment, and kind word spreads our stories further and inspires us to keep creating more and better tales to come.

We would like to give special thanks to all who support us on Patreon, but especially to Minchowski, Camille Blanton, Christine Kim, Rowan Collins, Garrett M, Jay Iannuzzelli, Karin Z-H, Canteloupe, Fiona Parker, Regan, Ko, Kim Zeugin, Atha Lang, Vron, Charlie Spiegel, and Jaimie Gunter for their incredibly generous contributions per episode. Thank you.

Did you know that The Penumbra has merchandise for sale? It’s true! The Penumbra has partnered with DFTBA to bring you the posters, shirts, and pins your heart desires. Just go to dftba.com and search for The Penumbra Podcast.

This tale, Juno Steel and the Long Way Home, was told by the following people: Joshua Ilon as Juno Steel, Matthew Zahnzinger as Jack Takano and Ramses O’Flaherty, Marge Dunn as Hawk Hackett, Bob Mussett as Lorenzo Vega, Melissa Barker as Jocelyn Chen, Allison Choat as the Miranda Fairbanks reader, Sophie Kaner as the Theia and Small Fry, and Kate Jones as Rita.

The Penumbra is created and produced by Sophie Kaner and Kevin Vibert. If you wish to know more about our ever-expanding, infinitely-creative team of artists, musicians, editors, designers, and managers, you can read about them in the show notes of this episode.

I’m afraid this is the end of the line for today, dear Traveler. We hope you will ride with The Penumbra again soon.

ALL SOUNDS: FADE OUT.

#juno steel #i miss small fry

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martini-shaken-not-stirred · 7 years ago

Text

Hybrid AU (Yoonseok/ Sope) Part 3

//Part 1//Part 2//Part 4// Part 5//

Genre: Fluff

Ship: Hoseok x Yoongi

Warnings: Mild mention of sexual abuse

Words: 2014

“Get up, Mutt.” Yoongi hissed as he got splashed with numbingly cold water. The man stood over him, “I’m going to work, you need to clean the house before i get home.” Yoongi laid huddled in a ball as he weakly nodded. A month he had been in this younger man’s care. No, not care, enslaved. He started off as “caring”, he allowed Yoongi to grow comfortable around him, Yoongi trusted him. Then he turned. He saw it coming, they always do, why should this time be different? Yoongi dragged himself across the room and picked up the cleaning supplies and started on the house. Although being a long and tedious job, Yoongi liked the time to himself, it gave him time to think. He thought about the forest, the element of running around completely free in his own little world brightened even his most darkest days. Days where he felt like he deserved to be treated poorly as he was different, too different to be treated as a human. Days where he felt like giving up and ending everything because it seemed simpler than living a life where he couldn’t be seen out in public, without being abused. On those days, the tall, evergreen forest imagery is his escape, the one reason he makes it through those days in hope that one day he’ll get that freedom. To feel the wind brushing over his face as he ran through the trees. But that wasn’t reality.

The door slammed open and Yoongi awoke startled looking at the time. 2:34am. He heard groaning and cussing and was assuming that his owner had returned home drunk, again. This terrified Yoongi to his core, his owner was a very aggressive drunk. He ran a check-list in his mind of the tasks he had completed, hoping that he hadn’t missed anything and could avoid a beating. But his prayer was left unanswered, as the door to his room opened with such power that books fell off his shelf. A strong stench of liquor filled the room as his owner stumbled onto Yoongi’s bed hovering over him. “Submit to me, you animal.” He said slurred. Yoongi covered his face and attempted to make himself smaller. His owner laughed at the helpless boy and started ripping at his clothes. “We’ll do this the hard way then.” Rough hands roamed Yoongi’s small body and sloppy bites were left on his neck. The man pushed him onto his knees and-

Yoongi woke up breathing heavily, and his heart racing. The dream had so felt real, he shivered at the memory of the man’s calloused hands touching him. He wrapped himself in a blanket and quietly opened his door, trying not to wake Hoseok. He successfully crept down the hallway and into the kitchen where he poured himself a glass of water. Yoongi sat himself on the sofa and starred into the blackness of Hoseok’s apartment, he’d lived in bigger, but he felt more at home here, Hoseok’s apartment was very modern looking, with black furnishing and white walls, but the rooms weren’t particularly big, yet it gave off a sense of coziness. He pulled himself up to the large window that took over a whole wall looking over the streets of Seoul. Despite being late at night, the roads had cars passing through in a rushed fashion. The city was still roaring with life.

Hoseok lay awake in his bed tossing and turning trying to get to sleep, but the thought of Yoongi wouldn’t escape his mind. He remembered his scared expression after seeing the pictures of himself on the floor, exposing his past rather abruptly, his tense body as Hoseok carelessly hugged him. All these thoughts kept bouncing through his mind, but he was determined to help Yoongi. To turn those scared expressions into softer ones, to not be tense under every touch, it would take time, sure, but it would be worth it. Hoseok slowly sat up as he heard a door opposite his room click open, and quiet footsteps trudged further away from his room. Hoseok assumed that Yoongi couldn’t sleep either, he was tempted to get up and join the hybrid, maybe comfort him, but decided against it, knowing it might make Yoongi uncomfortable. He laid back down and tried to sleep once again. He sighed and got out of bed to look for his hyung.

Although, as he walked into the living room, he wasn’t expecting the sight before him. Yoongi was laying on his back infront of the wall window, asleep. He furrowed his eyebrows and carefully stepped towards him. He looked peaceful as he slept and Hoseok fought the urge to bend down and hug him tightly. Instead, he cautiously lifted Yoongi into his arms, the ground wouldn’t be a comfortable place to sleep and he didn’t want Yoongi to get back ache. Hoseok’s eyes widened as he felt Yoongi snuggle into his neck and a soft noise erupted from his throat. He stopped walking and listened, it sounded like the sound was coming from Yoongi, he was certain it was his lack of sleep messing with him so he carried on and gently placed Yoongi down into his bed, making sure he was warm enough and covered him. He smiled as Yoongi stretched but settled down and curled up into his bed. Hoseok left and went back to his room, his heart fluttered knowing Yoongi was finally asleep and comfortable in his room.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hoseok rubbed his eyes and yawned, he wondered why he had suddenly woken up until he heard a voice from the other side of his door. “Hoseok?” Yoongi half- whispered. “You can come in Yoongi-hyung.” Hoseok said huskily whilst clearing his throat. The door opened and Yoongi stepped in, “Did you bring me to my room last night?” Hoseok looked confused until memories of the previous few hours sunk in. “Oh yeah, i heard you got up and when i got up to check on you, you were asleep infront of the window, it wouldn’t have been comfortable so i took you to your room.” He said sitting up running a hand through his hair. “Oh, you uh, carried me?” Yoongi suddenly felt self-conscious at the thought of Hoseok carrying him. “Well yeah, i’m sorry if you’re now uncomfortable, i just didn’t want to wake you.” Yoongi nodded. “Also, Yoongi-hyung you uh made a noise last night when i carried you,” Yoongi’s cheeks became pink-tinted. “Can you purr?” Yoongi’s face was now a shade of red, he coughed and changed the subject. “Can you make breakfast? I’m hungry.” Hoseok smiled knowingly and got up to go to the kitchen with Yoongi trailing behind.

“Do you know how to cook, Yoongi-hyung?” Hoseok said whilst handing Yoongi some pancakes and a glass of milk. He dived straight into the glass of milk and started to lap it up happily, surprisingly, much like a cat. He finished his drink and turned back to Hoseok, “Yes i can cook well, my previous owners often made me cook for them so over the years i learnt to get good at it so i didn’t get punished if the food was bad.” Yoongi picked up his plate of food and started to dig in, Hoseok didn’t want to press, “I was just thinking about my work, i often finish late and wouldn’t be able to cook for you every night, i wouldn’t want you going hungry.” Yoongi stopped eating and looked at Hoseok. “It’s fine, i can cater for myself, you’re not the best cook anyway, so i won’t be missing out.” Yoongi said with a straight face and continued eating. “HEY! That was so uncalled for!” Hoseok half shouted, half laughed. Yoongi felt a small smile crack on his face but he quickly composed himself and inwardly sighed at himself for falling for the younger one’s antics. The two sat in a comfortable silence, just enjoying their breakfast. Despite Yoongi’s earlier comment, he was enjoying Hoseok’s cooking and would easily eat anything the younger man had made for him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“So, what kind of things do you like doing, hyung?” Hoseok asked after coming back from taking the empty plates into the kitchen. Yoongi froze and couldn’t think of am answer. What would he like to do? No one had ever bothered to ask him, so he was stuck for a reply. Hoseok sensed his distress with the question and tried to make it simpler. “Okay any hobbies? Reading? Drawing? Anything musical?” Yoongi ran the ideas through his head. “I haven’t been able to read or draw things whilst i lived with bad owners, they wouldn’t let me so i haven’t done it for years. And musical, i don’t know if the radio ever came on I’d sing, maybe rap along, nothing special.” Yoongi got quiet at the end. “I always wanted to do something in the music career, but my parents told me i would benefit more if i studied academic subjects and some day created a business.” Yoongi nodded shyly, “So, if you had the chance to drop it and become successful as a musician, would you?” Hoseok opened his mouth to reply, but was stuck for words. “No, i’ve worked hard to get to where i am, i can’t drop it now, i’m successful and i’m happy.” He said trying to make it sound positive. “Are you?” Yoongi asked, from the little he had already seen of Hoseok, he could tell that he was a workaholic and a perfectionist, but all that this job had managed to achieve was making him stressed. Hoseok was again left stunned. Yoongi knew exactly what was going on in Hoseok’s mind, he knew exactly what to say. “Yes, i have you now."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"How about I take you to the arcade?” Hoseok was trying to come up with something for the two of them to do, to hopefully bond and break more into Yoongi’s tough exterior. Yoongi hummed in approval. “Okay, let’s go! It’ll be fun!” Hoseok grinned, it made Yoongi’s heart leap, but he turned away before Hoseok could see his change of expression.

“I can’t believe you’ve never been to an arcade before.” Hoseok said lightly laughing at the seemingly small hybrid clutching onto his arm in fear. The noise of coins and loudly obnoxious games was overwhelming, and drove Yoongi’s sense of hearing crazy. “Yeah well, my previous owners weren’t exactly the fun types.” He mumbled into Hoseok’s shoulder. Hoseok studied Yoongi’s startled face, as his eyes dotted all around the room looking for potential threats, he was starting to wonder if bringing Yoongi here was a bad idea. Until, Yoongi’s eyes widened as his gaze fell upon a certain toy inside a claw machine. “How do you play that?” Yoongi pointed at the claw machine and Hoseok dragged him over, “You put money in and you have to guide that metal claw over the toy you want,” Yoongi’s eyes stayed fixed on that certain toy. “You want me to win you Kumamon?” Hoseok smirked as Yoongi blushed, “I mean if you want to…” Yoongi scratched his neck, trying to not look bothered by the thought of owning a Kumamon toy. Hoseok inserted the money and gently guided the claw over Kumamon. It missed by a fraction, Hoseok put more money into the machine and was more determined to win him the toy, he couldn’t wait to see his face light up and maybe finally get to see Yoongi smile.

The claw grabbed onto Kumamon and swiftly moved it over to the drop-zone. Hoseok cockily picked up the toy and held it to Yoongi. The hybrid shyly took it out of his hands and let out a small gummy smile, “Thank you Hoseok, it means a lot.” The way Yoongi looked at the stuffed toy made Hoseok want to question it’s meaning in Yoongi’s life, but he didn’t want to make him feel uncomfortable and ruin this moment. The moment in which Hoseok got to see this once broken and fraile hybrid, smile.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thank you so much for all the positive responses on this 😁❤️ I’ve also decided that I’m going to make this into a 5 part story, so stay tuned for the next two chapters ❤️

#bts fanfction #sope #yoonseok #yoongi #hoseok #jhope #suga #yoongi!hybrid #bts!hybrid #hybrid!au #jungkook #jimin #taehyung #namjoon #seokjin

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m0onbean · 8 years ago

Text

A+ (High School AU!) Chapter 11

category: angst

pairing: eunwoo X reader

note: 2.4k words! long chapter tomorrow :)

Thankfully, Jiyoon let you stay at her house for a night. It was a convenient situation since at that time you really wanted to get away from Eunwoo. There was no way you were going back to his house.

You took this opportunity to start searching for your own place. After staying locked in Jiyoon's room and calculating fees, salaries, and searching for different apartments, you were pooped. You had already ranted about everything to Jiyoon and cried your eyes out in front of her. Your sad state faded into a mad one, then faded into emptiness now.

Sighing in boredom, you opened up your new phone and searched for notifications. Rocky told you that he would text you the moment he got his new phone, so you were anxiously waiting for his message. Since Jiyoon had been your only friend your whole life, acquiring a new one was exciting.

You tried to kill time by playing the apps Rocky had already installed onto his phone which included those bubble pop games and this strange dancing game. As you tried to beat his high score, you knew that you were only playing those apps since you wanted to leave your other thoughts alone. The thoughts about Eunwoo.

Numerous mysterious questions roamed around your brain which you wanted to know the answers to, but could only be answered by Eunwoo himself. You decided that you should just forgive and forget Eunwoo like how you did with your father. After all, he must have his own rational reasoning... right? He must feel a little guilty... correct?

Sighing out of frustration, you shut the phone off and flopped on Jiyoon's bed. It wasn't as luxurious and nice as Eunwoo's was.

After waking up snuggled in Jiyoon's familiar pillows, you were at school in about an hour since her house wasn't close. As you walked through the school, you tried your very best to not be seen by Eunwoo. You strategically hid behind people's backs and walked quickly around any groups of friends.

You hadn't realized that meeting him was inevitable since you two shared the same science class. Not to mention, he was your freaking partner. While you worked at Jiyoon's place, you were able to complete the poster and memorize your lines for the presentation.

Something else you did not realize was that you had to present your project. On that day. With him.

Now that those thoughts had striked you on the back of your head, you were cringing and covering your face on your way to science class. Presenting with him wasn't the key issue, it was that you felt like Eunwoo didn't do his required work. Most of the time he was talking to you or on his phone while you worked your ass off typing up slides and writing down notes.

You couldn't risk getting an F on this critical project that the teacher would grade strictly on. As you slapped your forehead repeatedly for the inconvenient timing, you finally decided to talk to the teacher afterwards and explain to him your situation.

When you walked into the classroom, your eyes searched for Eunwoo. You found him, sitting at his own desk. Although your heart sort of hurt since he wasn't sitting at your desk like he always did, you quickly pushed those thoughts away and approached him.

"Eunwoo." His eyes flickered up to yours. Your heart was beating already upon the way he looked at you.

"(Y/N)."

You cleared your throat and opened your mouth, "We have to present today. I hope-"

"I understand. After our presentation we need to talk."

Just when you were about to protest, the teacher walked in and the whole class stood up and bowed. You sighed and walked to your seat. When you sat down, you saw that Eunwoo was holding the poster you had forgotten about and left at his house.

"Okay class, today is the big day of your presentations. When I call up your group please come up and present your slideshow and your posters. I better expect some good shit or else what will happen class?"

"You will fail us," The class harmoniously said and immediately groaned afterwards.

The malicious teacher greedily smiled and called up groups ne by one. As each group went up and presented, you could tell that the majority of them didn't do so well and put zero to nothing effort on their work. It wasn't too surprising considering how they didn't even NEED to care since they were all filthy rich and relied on their families to earn money and find jobs.

It made you feel extremely envious of them. Some of them even went up with a one slide presentation and a sloppy drawing on their posters.

Finally, the teacher called up you and Eunwoo. Everybody swilveled their heads to watch you two stand up and walk to the front. Of course everyone would be shocked at the awkward pairing. Sexy, popular guy Eunwoo partnered with Poor, lonely (Y/N). What a sight to behold!

As you stood at the front, panic that you had previously ignored completely rushed over your body. You strongly felt like Eunwoo wouldn't know anything and would not know what to say or what to do. You made quick eye contact with him, but he just gave you a tiny grin. It wasn't too reassuring.

When the teacher started up your slideshow, you projected your voice. "Today we will be presenting our chosen topic, Biomes."

The slide changed. Just when you were about to open your mouth, Eunwoo cut you off.

"Biomes are unique communities that consist of a variety of vegetation and animals. These regions also maintain their own adaptable climate which the life there have adapted to. There are only five major types of biomes that can be split off into numerous specific ones. These are aquatic, desert, forest, grassland, and tundra."

Your jaw dropped at his knowledge of the topic. All this time you felt that he was an undedicated student because of how rich he was.

After he finished talking, he turned to you and shrugged with a “that was nothing” look on his face. You widened your eyes at him and quickly riveted your attention back to the crowd and announced your own lines.

As the two of you presented clearly and displayed your poster, the teacher smiled at the teamwork and nodded his head whenever one of you made a significant point.

At the end, the whole class applauded you for your outstanding presentation and the teacher complimented you two. You couldn't stop yourself from smiling at how well you two pulled it off. All of your anxiety and nervousness were cleaned off.

Suddenly, Eunwoo dragged you outside and closed the classroom door behind him.

"Eunwoo! You studied!" You cheered and gave him a mini praise.

"Of course, didn't I tell you that I cared about my grades?" His happy expression quickly shifted into a sincere one. "(Y/N). We seriously need to talk about yesterday."

When the memory came back, you felt a headache sprout inside of your head.

"You're right we do." You bravely stated and looked up to his eyes. "We can still be friends. I forgive you, it's better than to be salty about it." A fake smile was plastered across your face.

Eunwoo crooked his eyebrow up suspiciously. "What are you talking about?"

"That girl you made out with. You two are better off together." You chuckled and looked down to your feet and muttered, "I was being ridiculous... thinking that we could be together and have everything be smooth and not rocky at all."

He put his hand on your shoulder which you preferred that he didn't do. "(Y/N). I don't like her. I don't feel anything for her. It's different when I'm with you. Anything you do makes me go mental. The way you stare at me too makes me go wild. Can't you see that-"

Your phone hindered his speech when it started playing your ringtone loudly from your pocket. Apologetically, you bowed at him and walked away from him to take the call. He shut his eyes closed and loudly groaned and punched the wall behind you.

As you quickly walked away from him you looked down at your phone to see that an unknown number was calling. You hesitantly pressed the answer button and put it up to your ear.

"Hello?" You hissed.

"Hey (Y/N)! It's Rocky, remember me?"

Your lips curled up gratefully. "Oh, hey there!"

"Sorry for abruptly calling, I just wanted to let you know that I got my phone! How is my old one working for you?"

"Ah... It's perfect. Thank you so much for letting me have yours."

You heard laughter on the other line. "Don't worry about it. Were you in the middle of something just now?"

"Oh, I was just talking to somebody. It's fine though."

"Whoops, sorry. Anyways how is that jerk going for you?"

"Oh... well... he was that somebody I was talking to."

"Oh shit! Did I save you from him or..."

"Nah, I... I don't know." You nibbled on your lip. "Hey I'm in school currently, I'll text you."

"Alright. See you!"

You hung up the call and shoved it back into your pocket. When you were about to turn around to head back to class, you were met with Eunwoo who had his arms crossed against his chest.

"Was I that 'somebody' you were talking about?" He coldly confronted while boring his eyes into yours. The weather this time in his eyes was a ferocious snowstorm. Snow was thrown around violently and the wind was giving no mercy while blowing onto the trees that were hanging on the brink of their roots. The look in his eyes was cold, unwelcoming.

"Uh..." You had no idea what you could say to make it better.

"Who were you calling? By the looks of it, you weren't calling Jiyoon. So it has to be somebody else..." He sarcastically scratched his chin.

"It was just a friend that I met recently." You answered while waving it off.

"A friend? Boy or girl?" He asked while leaning into you to hear you carefully.

"Boy..." you grunted. Eunwoo then laughed powerfully and cracked his knuckles which intimidated you.

"Is he cute? Handsome? Rich?" He asked with an emotionless tone.

"I don't see him like that," you denied. Your expression turned stingy when you realized something. "Why does it matter to you though? It’s not like I matter to you anymore. Go find Min Na and have sex with her in the restrooms again, why don't you?" Your words bit him as you pushed past him and stepped back into the classroom.

It aggravated you how Eunwoo could get mad at you for calling a boy on the phone and how it wasn't understandable how you could get mad at him for freaking making out with another girl. As you went back into the room and took your bags, you immediately headed back out. The teacher let you guys off early so you took advantage to that and exited the school grounds.

Although you felt like you were finally able to successfully avoid Eunwoo, your relief was thrown out the window upon feeling him grab your hand from behind.

"(Y/N). Let me explain, please."

You stopped walking and turned to him reluctantly. He was panting from running and had a desperate glow in his eyes.

"Fine."

"Thank you," he took a huge breath, "I know. I'm a complete douchebag and I deserve an enormous slap from you. But trust me, I regretted everything the minute I entered the restroom with her. It's just that you were ignoring me the whole day. You acted like I was a stranger. That made me angry... more than angry. It made me feel disheartened."

You blinked at his words. It made you feel weird. Such a feeling couldn't be descriptively explained without having the experience yourself.

"I wanted to know what was wrong. I desperately wanted you to tell me why you were acting weirdly, I wanted to help you. But I couldn't. You distanced us."

"I have my own reasons," you sighed and closed your eyes. "I don't need your help Eunwoo."

"Well, since you were giving me the cold shoulder, I felt stressed. And that's where things crashed. That girl flirted with me and I agreed to make out with her since I felt like relieving all of my pain. But the minute we were both alone it felt wrong. I tried to push her away but she threw herself on me."

Relief washed over you to know that he didn't actually want to makeout with Min Na. It made you feel like you were somewhat important to him. But you still felt a little bitter that he would even think of continuing his old ways.

"I wanted to leave her so badly and go back to you. She kept kissing me and trying to get me to comply, which I swear to god I did not. And when you came in and saw us, it was just all wrong timing." It felt like a hallucination when you saw a quick tear escape from his eyes. You wanted to hug him and let him know you forgave him. But you still felt like there was a barrier between you two, and you weren't ready to cross it.

Several other tears dropped as he rapidly wiped them with his sleeve. "I'm so fucking sorry. After you left me like that I felt horrible. I never had to beg for a girl before, now I understand how fucking awful it is. And now I understand how much I seriously fucked up. I don't want you to ignore me and pretend like I'm not there."

Your hand shaked when you caressed his cheek and helped him wipe away his hot tears. "Eunwoo... I'm sorry too. I just... I just don't want your help. To you it feels like you are benefitting my life, but to me, it feels like you're just offering me pity."

He looks up into your eyes and you can see his glossy eyeballs reflecting yours. "(Y/N)... you're not pitiful to me. I don't want to only be with you to protect you."

"I understand... but right now... It's just not good for me right now. Please give me time, I just, I need a breath."

His voice wavers, "W-what are you suggesting?"

"Everything is just jumbled. I just don't know how I feel. I just don't want or need your help."

He lets out a long breath and lets go of your hand regretetfully. "Alright. I'll wait for you. I'll stop caring about you, I'll stop worrying. I won't be a nuisance to you and won't make you feel helpless."

You swallowed the lump in your throat. After giving you a lasting look, he goes off in his own way and forces his hands into his pocket. Emptiness filled your heart. An A+ on a project suddenly felt like nothing to you.

Chapter 10 Chapter 12

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akumastrife · 8 years ago

Text

“Falling Blind” // Courferre

Rating: T Pairing: Combeferre/Courfeyrac Fandom: Les Mis Word Count: 2.2k [Also on AO3]

Summary: Combeferre doesn't often agree to being set up on blind dates, but when he does they generally go poorly. But being set up with the WRONG blind date is certainly new. For @courfalicious, who’s birthday is today, and is also lovely and sweet as spun sugar and infinitely patient <3333 hope you enjoy boo

Combeferre should’ve never agreed to this. He feels stupid sitting alone, dressed up (if you could even call it dressed up when it’s only a crisp button up under a new sweater vest. The excuse to buy a new sweater vest is the only part about this whole charade he likes,) and picking at the bread basket nervously. He doesn’t even know why he’s nervous. It’s only been… well, a while, since he’s been on a proper date; let alone a date he’s actually aware he’s on—Bahorel might never let that go. That sort of thing could happen to anyone!

He checks his watch again, folding up his sleeves in the process because nerves always make his clothes feel a bit stuffy. His date is late. Very late. Of course he is. This is what happens when he lets his friends set him up on blind dates and he doesn’t know why he allows it. Knowing his luck, the guy might not even show up. He texts Enjolras as much, frowning when Enjolras has little in the way of encouragement. He’s not even sure why he’d texted Enjolras with this. Feuilly would’ve been a better choice.

He’s just about to when the door to the little restaurant flies open, bringing the late February breeze with it and… a rumpled young man. He has rosy cheeks, his curls askew, and grins two parts frazzled and one part apologetic at the Host. The young man’s coat is undone and his scarf looped incorrectly.

Combeferre is a little charmed. In a detached, uninvested sort of way.

He’s still looking, completely uninterested of course in this whirl-wind of a human being, when the man looks around and locks eyes with him. A mistake, because then he makes his way over to Combeferre’s table with a careful smile and says, “Sorry, but I’m supposed to be meeting someone? I’m Courfeyrac?” as he offers his hand.

Combeferre takes it because he’s not sure what else to do. Courfeyrac looks so hopeful, and the name is ringing a vague bell, so maybe…

“Combeferre,” he replies, offering a polite smile in return and gestures to the other chair. So his blind date isn’t so bad looking; objectively, of course.

There’s a curious look in Courfeyrac’s eye, a tilt to his head that seems befuddled by something, but in the end just says, “I’m late,” cowed and somehow not at all as he finally settles with great fanfare.

“Very,” Combeferre confirms. But his smile turns a little more genuine and doesn’t apologize about the empty break basket. Courfeyrac doesn’t mention it. “So, our meddling friends. What did they promise you with to come?”

“Nothing, actually. Thought it’d be fun.” Courfeyrac grins cheeky, leaning across the table. “I’m offended you were forced here. My company and radiant visage not enough?”

Combeferre leans across to meet him and plucks a dead leaf from his hair, showing it to Courfeyrac, who shows off a set of dimples. “I’m not usually fond of blind dates, you’ll have to forgive me. They never work out.”

Courfeyrac hums and picks up his menu, pretending to give it great consideration before peering over the top. “Usually?”

Combeferre shrugs one shoulder and doesn’t answer. No sense getting ahead of himself. This is far less awkward than he’d expected, much less than any of the ones Jehan’s set him up with before. In fact, Courfeyrac is nothing like Jehan described; much more open and light, taller than anticipated, and his skin has the warmth he sees mainly when visiting Spain. But this… might be fun, if nothing else.

And it is. They order, and then Courfeyrac is leaning close again, fascinated with his tattoos of the solar system up one arm. He pokes and prods certain lines, asking questions and nothing less than fawning, honestly. They sip wine and pick at their dinner, more focused on talking about classes and interests and their friends.

“Bossuet is my matchmaker, so that’s why I was late,” Courfeyrac says around his bite, gesturing wildly with his fork. As if that means anything, and at Combeferre lifting an eyebrow, he elaborates, “He gave me the wrong address and then got your name wrong, too. But that may be error in translation from… Jehan, you said?”

And then later, Combeferre asking, “Wait so… you’re not studying particle physics?”

“God no,” Courfeyrac answers, hand to his chest like the thought has frightened him half to death. “What on earth would give you that idea? I’m in the arts.”

“Oh. It’s just… Jehan said… never mind,” Combeferre says. He’s got a rising suspicion about all this, but is having too nice of a time to think too hard about it. He asks instead what section of the arts Courfeyrac is interested in and what he’s been doing with it thus far.

He was never planning on staying too long, wasn’t planning on getting so caught up in Courfeyrac’s sparkling eyes and the animated way he tells stores and often peppers speech with little, casual touches. But it’s hard not to, Courfeyrac is a whirlwind. He stays for dessert, another glass of wine, long after their plates have been cleared away and Courfeyrac insists on paying to make up for his tardiness. They stay longer than most of the other patrons, until Combeferre notices their waiter giving them looks and gently redirecting Courfeyrac out onto the street.

Offering to walk him home is only polite, and has nothing to do with the way Courfeyrac throws his head back when he laughs and needs someone to fix his scarf periodically. And certainly not at all related to how Courfeyrac is a tactile person, and expectedly lets his hand brush Combeferre’s as they walk. They’ve had such a nice time Combeferre barely second-guesses reaching back, hands chilled with the low temperature but warm between their palms.

It’s easy. Courfeyrac is far too easy to be around, especially when he makes his intentions blindingly clear (Combeferre, with a track record for missing hints and openings, is pathetically relieved for this,) and smiles at Combeferre in that beseeching way he does. They take the long way through the park at Courfeyrac’s behest, and it’s well past dark when they find themselves at Courfeyrac’s doorstep.

They stand together, quiet and companionable for a long moment; Combeferre glancing up at the stars, and Courfeyrac glancing over at him.

“I had fun tonight,” Courfeyrac says, jostling Combeferre’s hand.

“Me too,” he admits. He can’t help returning the smile. Courfeyrac’s gaze flits down to his mouth, fast but unmistakable, and Combeferre inhales a little quick. Oh. “May I?” he asks, lifting his free hand to hover at the edge of Courfeyrac’s jaw, not quite touching. Not yet.

“God I wish you would,” Courfeyrac breathes out in a rush. And then they’re kissing, neither sure which moved first, just that Combeferre is careful, and Courfeyrac is humming and opening everything up faster than Combeferre usually does, but it’s not surprising somehow. It fits Courfeyrac.

Combeferre’s not thinking much at all after that. He pushes his fingers up into Courfeyrac’s curls, not tugging, and letting Courfeyrac coax his lips apart, letting Courfeyrac lead the kiss however he likes. It’s loose and warm, and while he wouldn’t label it sloppy or anything, it does remind him vaguely of the way Courfeyrac, barely put together, seemed carried in by a wild wind.

It’s a good kiss. A good kiss that turns into several, and then several more, until Courfeyrac is grinning into his mouth, warm hands somehow having found their way into Combeferre’s jacket against his ribs. He pulls away, and Combeferre almost doesn’t want to let him, but he does, breathing a touch heavy and caught on the color high on Courfeyrac’s cheeks under a near streetlight.

“Would you like to come up?” Courfeyrac asks. “For a drink or we could,” he swallows, seems to need a moment to catch his breath, glancing down at Combeferre’s mouth again, “could continue talking about that non-profit you mentioned. Or. Or something else.”

They’re very close, neither having let go of the other. Courfeyrac’s voice is barely above a murmur. It does something to Combeferre’s normally logical and wary thought process. “I wouldn’t… want to impose.” He remembers something about a roommate. And he really should go into the lab tomorrow morning if he wants to get a head start on his paper. And they just met, and while he’s far from prudish, maybe they should… wait? But he can’t think of a reason why, in this moment.

“Not an imposition. I would like it. Very much.” Courfeyrac kisses it into his mouth. “Marius is at his girlfriend’s anyway. It’s fine.”

“Oh,” Combeferre says intelligently. Warm seeps down beneath his shirt, and it takes a moment to separate it from Courfeyrac’s hands and realize it’s because he’s pleased—the contentment and excitement tentatively unfurling low in his chest. “Alright. A drink… sounds nice.”

Courfeyrac grins oddly sharp at him, and pulls at his hands.

They do have a drink. Or, half of one, before Combeferre wants to kiss him again and Courfeyrac is happy to oblige. More than, by the way he turns it quick into something deeper, drawing Combeferre in so easy because it’s all Combeferre wants too. Courfeyrac likes to bite, he finds out, not hard. Teasing nips and scrapes against his mouth and neck alike, and when he shivers into it he finds out that he likes it too.

Not as much as he likes the soft sounds Courfeyrac makes, likes how much Courfeyrac likes his hands.

Courfeyrac is the one to propel them down a hallway, into a bedroom, murmuring, “C’mon, Ferre… can I call you that?”

Combeferre nods; kisses Courfeyrac deeper, lets Courfeyrac turn it dirty and nearly smiles at the way it makes Courfeyrac laugh. He likes that sound too—the bright way he laughs. He nods again, either as added confirmation or unspoken appreciation for the way he laughs or even overwhelming consent for where this is headed, maybe all three, it doesn’t matter. He’s got his hands in Courfeyrac’s curls and against his neck, and Courfeyrac’s own hands are snaking down into his waistband, tugging his shirttails free.

It’s easy, so easy, to follow Courfeyrac’s pushing, to tumble down onto a bed together, Courfeyrac laughing and Combeferre grinning into his skin, hands wandering and their kisses following suit. Easier for Combeferre to roll them over, to pin Courfeyrac down because he goes so willingly, arching into all of it with a breathy sigh and lax limbs and a hungry expression in his eyes that’ve gone glassy and dilated.

“‘Ferre, ‘Ferre,” Courfeyrac whispers, a third attempt cut off stuttering when Combeferre shifts on his knees and grinds down against him. Even with their clothes on it’s good, a dull ache that spreads warmth like sparks.

“Hmm?”

Courfeyrac shakes his head, tugs at his pants again.

It’s all the invitation Combeferre needs.

~*~

When their heart beats start to slow, skin cooling from feverish to pleasantly warm to match the exhaustion in muscles and everywhere else, Courfeyrac shifts under Combeferre’s arm and asks, “So. What did your friends offer to get you to go out with me?”

Combeferre blinks, thrown by the question and struggling to make his sluggish brain catch up. “You know. I don’t quite remember.”

Courfeyrac laughs, pleased as anything, and curls into him more.

~*~

Combeferre wakes before Courfeyrac, who’s starfished across Combeferre and the bed, his curls fanning out across the pillows in the same fashion. Combeferre just smiles in amusement at him, reaching to attempt to tame something into place, but ultimately gets up to see if he can find and properly make some coffee.

He pulls on a pair of Courfeyrac’s sweats as he goes. The roommate is out, but it’d be incredibly presumptuous of him to parade around someone else’s apartment naked. And dangerous.

It’s a good thing he does, because as the coffee pot is just about finished there’s the sound of keys in the door and then it’s swinging open and then an alarmed sort of sputtering from the mouth of the kitchen.

“Who… what’s going on! Who’re you? Are you robbing us?”

“Shirtless, darling? He’s probably with Courf.”

Combeferre turns, eyeing the freckled red-head and is instantly distracted by the girl on his arm. “Cosette. Lovely to see you.”

“Oh! ‘Ferre! Good morning!” She comes across the room for a hug, leaving her boyfriend confused and still looking frightened and like he’s expecting to be held up. He’s a bit like a fawn.

“I take it you’re the roommate,” Combeferre says to him, much less like a question than he intended. There’s no way he’s not. “Marius?”

Marius nods, eyes still wide and bulging. “But who are you?”

“Darling, this is Combeferre,” Cosette says patiently. She looks between them, pinched expression lingering on Marius longer each time.

Combeferre understands all at once what it must be. “I’m… not the one Courfeyrac was intended to be on a blind date with.” Marius dumbly shakes his head. “That clears a few things up, then,” he says, and turns back to the pair of mugs he’d pulled down before being interrupted. “How does he take his coffee?”

“It’s the weekend, so milk, two sugars,” Marius rattles off.

“Thank you.” He doctors the coffee up as instructed, smiles at Cosette, and ambles back down the hall to wake up the wrong date.

Or, the right one. However he wants to look at it.

#les mis #courfeyrac #combeferre #courferre #courfalicious #my writing #modern au

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firethatgrewsolow · 8 years ago

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Chapter Fifty-three

**Moving on to Wales … prepare yourself, sentimental fluff ahead.**

Robert shifted in his seat for the third time. Christ, why am I so bloody nervous? It had been building since they touched down in Birmingham, their physical arrival a manifestation of all the dreams and promises shared in a land so far away. This is it. No turning back. Not that he’d want to, having finally procured what he’d longed for the past few years. Will they like their new home? Will they like it here at all? As Bella snuggled into his lap, he stayed silent, the thread of apprehension growing larger.

The urban setting surrounding the airport faded away, endless rolling hills taking its place, and Michelle gazed in wonder. Churches that must have been hundreds of years old dotted the countryside, along with cottages likely no younger. The pictures he’d shown her hadn’t done it justice, unable to capture the pristine beauty of the landscape, now the fabric of a new life. “This is incredible. Like a storybook.”

“It’s something, yeah?” Robert replied, trying his best to mask the tension in his voice.

His tone gave her pause; he sounded stiff, almost aloof. Is he happy we’re here? Is he having second thoughts? The goodbyes had been painful, as she’d known they would be. Melody had been nearly distraught. Truth be told, Michelle still felt numb, the abrupt change of course leaving her breathless. It’s only a matter of weeks … then everyone will be back for Earl’s Court. Most everyone, anyway. Her mom and dad wouldn’t be attending, not that she’d expected them to, particularly since they’d not been invited. Her thoughts turned to Robert’s parents, and butterflies invaded her tummy. God, please let them like me. And Bella, especially Bella. For all intents and purposes, the child didn’t have any grandparents, a fact that filled her with regret, having loved her grandmother so. Well, there’s Nancy, I suppose, and of course, Laura and Mel.

She’d read all she could about life in England and Wales, hoping for some semblance of understanding. In the end, she’d have to rely on fate and Robert … and maybe a little John Henry. She’d not realized that the farm in England was so close to the drummer’s family and caught herself wondering what his wife was like. Will we be friends? It was no matter, for the moment, as their first stop was Wales, but the doubt lingered. Will I have any friends at all? God, am I doing the right thing? She swallowed, glancing to Robert. Bella was still in his lap, his arm wrapped protectively around the drowsy child. He caught her eye and smiled, the soft glow of it smothering the momentary indecision. Yes, there’s no doubt that I am. As they slowed to take a turn onto a small gravel drive, she peered through the window. “Are we getting close?”

There was a look on her face he couldn’t decipher, and Robert felt a pang in his gut. “Well, this is it, actually. We’re, uh, home.”

Bella squealed and pointed to their host, who was merrily greeting them, barking and running alongside the car. Michelle couldn’t suppress a chuckle. “Is that who I think it is?”

“The one and only,” Robert murmured as the house came into view. He kept his eyes glued to hers, searching for any sign of acceptance. Please, please let this work.

Michelle stared transfixed. It was nestled between thickets of oaks, a fortress of sorts, the mighty gray stone walls likely impenetrable. But warm, too, cozy and safe. Just like him. An expansive garden curled behind it with daffodils sprinkled along the edge, and her mouth began to curve as they rolled to a stop.

“I know it needs work … I’ve always meant to … we’ll do whatever you want,” Robert stammered, helping her from the car.

“Robert.”

She was still, so quiet that he almost missed his name on her lips. Oh, Christ, I knew it. She hates it. “What, Belle?”

“I love it.”

She loves it. He hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath, and air rushed into his lungs as relief flooded through his body. “Do you really?” he squeaked with a silly grin.

She draped her arms around him as Bella and Strider played chase. “I feel like I’ve always been here.”

“Oh, honey, I’d hoped you would, I’d really hoped …” He leaned into her for a kiss, stopping at the gentle clearing of the driver’s throat.

“Where should I put your bags, Mr. Plant?”

“Sorry, mate, ah, just leave everything by the door, thanks.” Like the giddy boy he suddenly was, he scooped up Bella and took Michelle’s hand, whisking her away. “Let me show you my favorite part.”

He led her to the side of the house and down a short trail covered by thick thatches of mossy trees. The faint roar of rushing water caressed the air, and it felt quiet and cooler. Secluded. They approached what appeared to be a kind of room beneath the canopy. A large hammock swayed between two of the bigger trunks, surrounded by makeshift tables and chairs formed from massive roots and rocks. A rich Persian rug had been situated to provide a carpet of sorts, and candles were scattered about, most ensconced in ornate, metal holders. It looked enchanted, pagan, like something out of one of his crazy tales. It looked like him. “Unbelievable. This is just …” she trailed off as he coaxed her toward a curtain of stone facing an extraordinary view of mountains and the sea through long, leaf laden branches. “It’s breathtaking,” Michelle whispered in awe, “I can see forever.”

Robert set Bella down, amused as she immediately scurried back to her new best friend. Gathering Michelle against his chest, he reclined on the rock, both of them mesmerized by the panorama. “Do you know how long I’ve waited for you to see this? For you to be here?”

“Yes, I do, actually. Three years, six months and, um, about eight days?”

He laughed, laying his cheek atop the crown of her head. “I adore you, Michy Belle Plant.”

“I believe that’s Grant.”

“No, not anymore. I want you to marry me and make a passel of kids, maybe from this very spot.”

“Well, I like the sound of the last part,” she snickered, nibbling her lip.

Robert sighed, his brow wrinkling. “You’re not taking this seriously. I mean it.” He spun her around, looking into her eyes. “I want to give you my name, Michelle.”

“The one I have is okay with me. All that stuff is such … what is it you say? Bollocks? It’s just silly and old fashioned.”

“Well, then I guess I’m silly and old fashioned.” He cupped her face, tracing her features. “I want to share everything with you, girl … give you anything you want.”

She ran her hands along his shoulders, tangling them in the locks she loved. “I have everything I want and everything I need right here.” Her fingers tightened in his hair, and Michelle drew him closer. As he opened his mouth to respond, she kissed him, softly at first, tentatively listening for Annabelle and Strider, but they were forgotten for a moment as the kiss grew deeper.

He could feel a hum in the back of her throat and brought his hands to her hips, slowly sliding them up and around her breasts. As his body responded, he began to contemplate all the different ways they could …

Michelle abruptly pulled back at the sound of Annabelle’s giggle and Strider’s disapproving bark. The collie jumped up, giving her a very sloppy admonishment across the side of her jeans. “So charming,” she chided as Robert scolded him, brushing away the mud from her pants.

“He certainly has his moments … and I believe we have unfinished business. Maybe we set a date for …”

“Kiddo goes to bed at seven.” Michelle smiled as Bella protested with the best grimace she could muster. “With jet lag, it should be six, honey.”

“What’s jet lag?”

Robert swooped her into his arms, settling her against his hip. “Your mum’s being too hard on you, isn’t she?” The girl’s histrionic pout was a work of art, and he glanced to Michelle. “I think we may have an actress on our hands, yeah?”

“Or a very good grifter.”

Annabelle was, indeed, asleep by six, the long journey having exhausted her. She lay nestled in her new bed between a wall of fuzzy stuffed animals and Strider, who wouldn’t leave her side. After Robert’s third goodnight kiss, Michelle corralled him into the living room, settling on the sofa while he fetched some wine. She gazed through the room, adorned with various paintings and books, pausing on the centerpiece, a broad fireplace framed by a beautifully carved mahogany mantle. “Strider and Bella seem quite taken with each other.”

“Strider’s like me. He has a weakness for pretty girls.” With a pop, the cork flew from the bottle, and Robert poured them each some Champagne. “Besides, I had a long conversation with him. I told him to be on his best behavior.”

“Really? And when would that have been? Before you left for the tour?” she teased, shivering at the chill from the evening air wafting through the ancient plate glass behind her. “I didn’t know clairvoyance was one of your many attributes.”

“It was on the telephone, naturally.”

“Right. Of course.” Drawing a quilt over her shoulders, she scanned the pile of wood stacked neatly on the hearth. “You know, I’d really love a fire.”

“It’s not that cold,” he countered, topping off the flutes.

“It’s cold enough.” At his stubborn silence, she added, “I can do it myself, if you like.”

The singer smirked at her miffed tone, taking a step toward the sofa. “You don’t know how to light a fire.”

Cocking her head, Michelle made a move to stand. “I damn well do, you little … git!”

Robert froze, the stems laced precariously through his fingers. “Did you just call me a git?”

“I did,” she replied as menacingly as she could.

A standoff ensued, each gauging the other’s course of action. As the seconds ticked by, he watched a smile gradually form on her face. That smile. Delivering the wine, he dispatched himself. “A fire it is.”

Exalting in her win of the battle of the wills, Michelle curled her legs underneath her. “I think we should unpack tomorrow.”

He wrestled with the kindling and a few small logs, finally sparking a flame. “Sounds good to me.” Satisfied with his ministrations, Robert burrowed next to her. “Lots of other things we can do to stay occupied,” he murmured, gliding his hand along her thigh.

As the blaze caught on, its snaps and cracks echoed through the room, nearly making her flinch. “You need softer things in here.”

“I’m off to a pretty good start.” He nipped at her ear, his hand drifting north.

She playfully slapped it away. “I mean things like thicker rugs … something to absorb the sounds.”

Not the least bit deterred, the corner of his mouth turned up. “It’s an old house, love. Lotta hard things in here.”

Shaking her head, Michelle rolled her eyes. “Jesus Christ, don’t you ever get tired of …”

“Nope, never. It’s a gift.” He reached for his glass, ceremoniously clinking it against hers. “To us, Belle … to the beginning of the rest of our lives.” As he toasted, his dimple deepened. “And to christening every room in this house.”

“Mmm, big house … I suggest we get started.”

In an instant, Robert pounced. Like magic, the flutes vanished as he nudged her into the cushions. “At your service.”

She laughed, running her hands through his hair. “You sure don’t waste any time.”

“There’s none to waste.” He nuzzled her cheek, expelling a short breath. “Christ, I’ve been lookin’ forward to this all day.” A log shifted in the fireplace, dropping with a thud near the screen, and Michelle glanced to the burning embers trailing across the hearth. “Leave it,” he whispered, his lips dusting hers.

With a purr, she draped her legs around his hips and thighs. “You better hope Annabelle doesn’t wake up.”

“Strider’ll keep me apprised.” Unbuckling his belt, he tugged at her top. “We have an understanding.”

“You’re ridiculous, you know,” she breathed, wriggling out of her shirt.

“Pretty aware of that.” Robert kissed her again, moving his attention to the buttons of her jeans.

She lifted her hips as he slid them off. “Let’s just go to the bedroom.”

“No, uh-uh … gotta start here.” Unclasping her bra, he tossed it aside. “It’s, ah, good luck.”

“Good luck?” she scoffed, pressing her hands against his chest.

“You wouldn’t understand,” he mumbled, his fingers skimming the edge of her panties. “Ancient Celtic ritual.”

With a snort, Michelle raised her brow. “Ancient Celtic bullshit. You’re just horny.” She narrowed her eyes as he shrugged, giving her a sheepish grin.

“That too, love, that too.”

#robert plant fanfic #led zeppelin fanfic #robert plant fan fiction #led zeppelin fan fiction

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howterrifying · 8 years ago

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+sherlolly: The Admirer: Part 36

Finally, some traction towards much-awaited happiness. I hope this was worth your while. For all those who've been reading and supporting, thank you so much. xx

All previous chapters of The Admirer can be found here or on FF.net.

The Admirer: Part 36

“He’s done it, Scott!” Molly clapped in delight as she turned from her laptop and moved to lift her smiling baby from his play area next to her desk. With Scott in her arms, she spun about the room as though waltzing with her baby before settling him back on her lap as she returned to her seat. It was nice to be in their own space again, after having been at Ayumi’s secret housing for so long. “You see that?” Molly exclaimed as she pointed excitedly to the big, bold headline on her laptop screen. Scott merely gurgled in response as his chubby fingers tried to grasp at the animated advertisement banners at the top of the news website she was reading. With Scott just a few weeks’ shy of turning a year old, he was quite an active little thing and soon tried sliding off her lap to get back to his play things. Molly let him and made sure he settled safely on his play mat before turning back to read the article. Sherlock Holmes had done it again. It was almost two years now since he had apprehended those ‘Brompton Body Snatchers*’. He was then able to connect their activity to the frightening wave of London decapitators, the files of which she had seen when Mycroft had brought them to Japan. Despite having apprehended the perpetrators of both crimes, Sherlock had sensed something amiss and had probed deeper into the links between both cases. It had taken him a few months but eventually, he had uncovered a massive black market operation that had been covertly trading in human limbs and organs. “This is incredible…” murmured Molly to herself. “I don’t know how he did it.” Just then, the little bell icon at the corner of her laptop screen began to bounce up and down in sync with the soft chiming sound that accompanied it. “I guess we’ll find out now,” she said, smiling excitedly to herself. To everyone’s surprise, except perhaps Mycroft’s, the both of them had kept in touch. It was not often, but regular enough. Their contact was mostly via video calls. This had been Sherlock’s suggestion, reminding Molly that until Scott could start texting him personally, how else was he going to see that the boy was all right? It made Molly smile to think of how much the detective still thought of her son, or their son, as she liked to think sometimes. It was not often that Sherlock barged into her universe without causing some sort of irreparable damage or at least cause some massive inconvenience. Yet, it was when she had least expected him to intervene that he had shown up and quite literally saved the day. There was not a day that went by that Molly did not catch glimpses of Sherlock in Scott. She found herself laughing at the impossibility of seeing the man who had no part to play in the conception of her son appear so prominently in the boy’s every facet. I think he looks rather like you, she had told him once, prompting a grunt of disbelief from the detective. Either you’re running a fever or you’re slowly going mad, he had replied, but not without giving her a half-smile, pleased that she had even thought so. In most of their conversations, however, Molly would find the detective beaming the moment she had Scott on her knee. Sherlock would almost forget she was there and would begin conversing solely with the baby, trying to catch his eye and desperate to incite any reaction from him. Their video calls were always such a joy. Molly even managed to catch John laughing in the background once as he watched his best friend attempt to teach the barely six-month old Scott Hooper to count. It was about two o’clock in the afternoon in Tokyo when Sherlock’s call came in, which meant it was six in the morning in London. Since the detective hardly slept, the time difference between London and Tokyo really was not that much of an issue. “You’re up early,” teased Molly, smiling when she saw his face appear on her screen. “I am indeed,” the detective replied, “I’ve been up since yesterday.” “Wedding planning or saving London?” asked Molly, in reference to John and Mary’s nuptials in May. “We went to look at fabric yesterday,” Sherlock replied, a little too enthusiastically. “So soon after your case?” Molly asked, amused. “We needed to pick a colour for the bridesmaids, and we decided on lilac…” “We?” Molly remarked with a laugh. “Who’s getting married here?” “I can’t help it if I have a far better eye for these things, can I?” said Sherlock in defence. “It’s not about being better or correct, Sherlock, it’s about what John and Mary want…” “And what they want is my far superior, expert opinion,” Sherlock cut in. Molly simply shook her head and chuckled, causing him to chuckle at his end of the screen on his side of the world. “Anyway, enough about my adventures,” he said. “No, wait,” said Molly, “It is precisely your adventures I want to hear about, the non-wedding ones, of course…” “Oh. The corpse markets?” “Yes!” “Not yet,” he said. “Oh, sorry. I forgot,” Molly remarked, remembering suddenly, “The usual?” “Yes, please,” he replied with a smile. “Coming right up…” Swivelling her chair to the side, Molly bent to pick Scott up again from his play area and sat her on his knee. This time, instead of sliding off to rush back to his toys, the boy’s eyes adjusted slowly to the face on the screen, before lighting up in delight. Scott was beginning to recognise Sherlock a lot quicker now, and it delighted them both. “Hello Scott,” Sherlock said with delight. From the smile on Sherlock’s face and the happiness in his voice, Molly knew she would not be hearing about the mystery of the corpse markets. Not this afternoon, at least. -- “When will you be moving out?” asked Mycroft, his back turned away from the door as he studied his whisky decanters. “Have you ever once said hello to me?” John remarked, smirking by the door. John walked into the ornate but eerily quiet room and settled himself into the familiar copper-coloured armchair in Mycroft’s secret Diogene’s office. He looked up at Mycroft and waited as the head of Britain’s secret service poured him a glass of whisky. “Thanks very much,” said John, receiving his glass. “So, have you found a place to settle down yet?” asked Mycroft, seating himself in his own armchair. “You probably already have the address,” John said with a laugh, “so why are you asking me?” “You’re right, I do know that you and Alicia – I’m sorry, Mary have purchased a small little house in a lovely little neighbourhood…” “And so?” “And so, I would like to know when you intend to leave Baker Street,” continued Mycroft, repeating his earlier question. “More specifically, I’d like to know when you intend to vacate your room at Baker Street.” “I didn’t know you hated me that much, Mycroft,” John said, chuckling into his whisky class. Mycroft smiled and swirled his own glass gently, studying the bronze whirlpool inside it. “You have been my brother’s saviour on so many occasions, I would never disregard you,” said Mycroft calmly, “It’s just, well…” “Well what?” “Let’s just say, I will very much be needing that space,” answered Mycroft, offering John a quick smile before taking another sip of his drink. -- Normally, there was nothing more delightful than a call from DI Lestrade. It usually meant a body had turned up somewhere or some wonderfully rare or secretive thing had been stolen. This morning, however, it had only served to cut short his time with Scott. “I have to go,” said Sherlock, finally looking up from the boy to address Molly. “That’s all right,” she replied with a smile, “There’s always next time.” “Indeed,” he said with a sigh, “But for now, duty calls.” “Good, you should go,” Molly remarked, “Don’t want you getting sloppy over a baby. What would your brother say?” “Well,” said Sherlock with a shrug, “He’s never met Scott…” They exchanged a few more words and after a few overly-enthusiastic waves, Sherlock and Scott (and Molly) said goodbye. The detective smiled pensively, clicking shut the window to their video session. “There’s always next time,” he said, repeating Molly’s words. Often, Sherlock found himself marvelling at the fact that a ‘next time’ did exist for them. He never forgot the fact that all of this – having been sent to Japan by his brother; being by Molly’s side during her pregnancy and labour; having a chance at being a family unit with them both – was one incredible second chance people like him never deserved. Yet, he had been given it all. While it troubled him that they were back to being far apart, what little space he dared offer in his heart now had them as occupants, and that, to him, was more than enough. Molly too marvelled at the fact that she still had space in her heart for Sherlock. Having been so determined to close off that chapter and to live life focusing on Scott’s and her happiness, it seemed beautifully strange that she still had a place for him. Everything felt so natural; knowing she could contact him at any time, knowing that she had left him two valuable keepsakes, and knowing and seeing that he was such an integral part of Scott’s life. While Molly had long made peace with the fact that Scott would live a life without his father, she found it harder and harder to imagine Scott’s life without the man who had brought him into this world. “What do we do, Scott?” Molly murmured, kissing the top of her squirming baby’s head. “Should you and mummy get on an aeroplane then?” The baby offered no response, of course, other than trying to wriggle back down to his play mat. Molly chuckled as she put him down carefully, kissing him one more time on the cheek. Yes, it is different without him, isn’t it? she thought to herself as she stared in amusement at her son reaching for his toys. She was not expecting to feel Sherlock’s absence, and yet here she was, wishing things had stayed the way they were a year ago. “Anyway, back to work,” she said, settling back at her desk. Glancing quickly at the bottom of her computer screen, Molly smiled as she caught sight of their photo booth photos which she had stuck on the screen’s bottom edge. “I’ll think about you later…” she said quietly to herself, averting her eyes from their smiles and back to her reports. — Sherlock had made a few more calls to Lestrade just to talk over a few more details before heading out. When he had determined the order of crime scenes he was to visit, he walked over to his mantelpiece where the skull he kept was displayed. Peering carefully at it, he checked to make sure that Molly’s ruby earring was still hanging nicely in the eye socket. That had been its original home from when he had stolen the earring the first time. Now, he had the one she had given him placed exactly where the first one had been. A quick smile appeared on the detective’s lips as he turned to get his scarf. He reached automatically for the grey one Molly had slipped into his bag. A few years ago it would have irked him that it meant anything to him at all. Now, he could not see himself without it, for it was the closest reminder of the fact that he and Molly were no longer leading separate lives, and that in spite of this distance, they were somehow together. Suddenly, his thoughts were interrupted by a voice he did not particularly enjoy and certainly did not want to hear. “I see you’re on your way to Scotland Yard…” said the voice that grated on his nerves. Sherlock could not tell if he was more irritated at the fact that his brother had caught him by surprise or if it had merely been the sound of his voice. “I was having such a good day,” Sherlock muttered in return, glaring icily at his brother. Mycroft remained all smiles as usual, settling himself into an armchair and blissfully ignoring the fact that his brother was quite literally just about to set foot out of the door. “Well?” asked Sherlock sharply, tugging his scarf around his neck, “What have you come here for?” “Oh, just ignore me—” “Easily.” “Off you pop to the Yard,” said Mycroft calmly, “I have some business here to attend to.” “Business?” hissed Sherlock, “This is my flat.” “Of which the rent is partially paid for by me,” remarked Mycroft, “Your unsteady income, so to speak, makes you an unreliable tenant.” Rolling his eyes, Sherlock had decided he had had enough. Perhaps it was the lack of sleep or perhaps the interruption of his time with Scott, but Sherlock’s patience was running rather low. “I won’t be interfering with your ‘territory’ anyway,” continued Mycroft. “You wouldn’t dare,” Sherlock scoffed. “I’m here to see John’s room.” That certainly was unexpected. What did his brother and John have planned? “Whatever for?” asked Sherlock, turning to face his brother properly for the first time. “As you know, he’s moving out.” “Yes.” “And I intend to use the space,” said Mycroft with a quick smile, “He’s agreed and I’m here to begin preparations.” “Preparations? You’re not—” “Moving in?” Mycroft said with a laugh, “I’m not clinically insane, Sherlock.” “You’re wasting my time,” Sherlock said with gritted teeth, “What do you want John’s room for?” “I’m here on mother’s business,” answered Mycroft matter-of-factly. “Mother? Our mother?” “Have we another?” Mycroft asked, smirking. The mere mention of their mother was enough to make Sherlock march out of the flat once and for all. Having his brother barge in with frustratingly cryptic conversation was more than he could bear. Knowing now that this was something involving his mother meant Sherlock wanted nothing more to do with whatever it was they had planned. “Do what you want, or what mummy wants,” Sherlock shouted as he made his way down the stairs, “I’m not getting involved…” The door downstairs slammed shut as Sherlock finally exited the flat. Mycroft smirked to himself and got up from his armchair. “Good,” Mycroft said quietly to himself, “That’s exactly where I need you to be. Not involved.” With a sharp exhale, Mycroft swung his umbrella forward as he made his way to Sherlock’s former flat-mate’s room. He pushed the door open with the end of his umbrella, waving away the slight clouds of dust from the room’s infrequent use of late. “This will do splendidly,” Mycroft said, pleased, walking in. He surveyed the thin patches of dust over the unused sheets and the abandoned desk. Walking up to the windows, he stared out of them then back into the room, surveying its space and its layout. “We should be done just in time,” Mycroft remarked as he pulled his mobile phone out to make a few calls. -- The comings and goings of Mycroft Holmes at 221B Baker Street had been increasing in the past weeks. Sometimes, there were various teams of people who would visit the flat with him. They would arrive at 221B and then proceed straight to John’s former room. Of course, Mycroft had made sure these visitations occured whenever his brother was out. Surprisingly, on the few occasions that Sherlock had been in, the younger brother, who wanted even less to do with his mother than with his brother, deliberately paid no attention whatsoever to whatever it was that was happening. “How’ve you been?” John asked Sherlock. The detective had stopped by his best friend’s clinic for a few medical samples when John took the opportunity to have some non-wedding related conversation with his best friend. “The same,” he answered, studying the tiny bottles he had been given. “This case isn’t as boring as the last, but I expect I’ll be handing in its case report by suppertime”. “Has Mycroft been in?” asked John. “Been where?” “Baker Street.” “Maybe. I’ve not really noticed…” “He mentioned something about using my room,” said John, “Any idea what he's up to?” “Hmm, something about our mother…” replied Sherlock nonchalantly. “Which means I neither know nor care.” “Your mother? What, is she coming to stay or something?” The detective whipped his head violently around to face John, mortified at his friend’s last statement. “What?” asked John, frowning at his friend. “She’s not coming to stay,” Sherlock declared confidently. “Okay, but what would Mycroft…or your mother want my old room for then?” Sherlock shrugged and began packing away the samples he had come for. “As long as she stays out of mine, I don’t care what yours is being used for,” answered the detective, before sweeping out of John’s consultation room. — “Well, you’re certainly confident about this, aren’t you?” said Ayumi, her phone clipped between her ear and her shoulder as she pottered about her kitchen. Mycroft had, as usual, called her at some unearthly hour and had consulted her about his latest plans. “My inclinations have been correct so far,” came Mycroft’s voice. “Indeed they have,” said Ayumi with a smile. “Your water’s boiled, by the way.” A second later, the electric kettle sounded its chime to indicate that the water had indeed boiled. “You’re not even in the room, Mycroft…” Ayumi chuckled, pouring the boiled water over her tea leaves. “I was just trying to prove my point,” he said, smiling on his end of the phone. “You know you don’t have to,” “Well, it seems to amuse you…” “We have time for amusement?” Ayumi asked, smirking. “I’m…reconsidering that,” “Let’s sort your brother out first, all right?” said Ayumi with a small laugh. His call had been a pleasant surprise, as had been his plans at Baker Street. It amused her greatly the amount of time and emotion he seemed to be investing in his brother’s happiness. Mycroft had had the inkling that it was possible for things to change and had thus decided to ensure that they would. The Baker Street preparations had only been the beginning. There were more things to be done, just as there were a lot more things he could not be sure of, in spite of what his inclinations told him. “Do you think it will happen?” asked Mycroft. “What happened to the confidence from before?” Ayumi remarked, carrying her tea to her sitting room. “Unlike the chemistry of boiling water, Ayumi, Sherlock and, indeed, Molly, are far from predictable.” “I think I can help,” said Ayumi, taking a sip of her tea. “You can?” “I imagine Molly simply needs a little push,” she remarked contemplatively, “And I think I know how.” — The very next day, Ayumi hopped into one of her cars and instructed the driver to take her to Molly’s new apartment. She had not been to visit Molly since the housewarming at Molly’s new place. Molly had moved soon after Sherlock had left, wanting to start afresh now that he was back in London. When Molly’s apartment block came into view, Ayumi got out of the car and made her way upstairs. Molly had been expecting Ayumi, so when she heard the chime of her doorbell she picked Scott up and rushed to the door. The two friends beamed at one another and exchanged hugs with Scott nestled nicely between them as they did so. “He’s certainly growing, isn’t he!” Ayumi said, planting a quick kiss on the baby’s cheek. “He’s also moving a lot…unstoppable,” said Molly with a laugh. After settling Scott into his play area, the two friends moved to the sofa just beside it and sat down. Molly poured the tea and offered a cup to Ayumi. “So, why this sudden enthusiastic visit?” asked Molly. “I’ve not seen the both of you in a long time,” Ayumi replied, “I wanted to see how you both were doing.” “Well, we’re doing rather well for ourselves,” said Molly, glancing affectionately across to where Scott was playing. “Good, good…” Ayumi said, nodding, before sipping her tea. Molly eyed her friend carefully and small smile grew on her face. “You’re not just here for a visit…are you?” Molly asked, “We have been friends for some time, you know, Ayumi. I can see when you’re bursting to tell me something.” The two friends paused to laugh at Molly’s words. Just as Ayumi prided herself in knowing Molly inside out, she sometimes failed to realise her friend was equally astute. “You should join my team, you know,” said Ayumi with a laugh, “Though I’m sure Mycroft would fight me hard to have you on his.” “I’m happy right where I am, thank you,” chuckled Molly, “Wouldn’t want the two of you fighting over me.” Ayumi set her tea down and sat up a little straighter. Looking up at Molly, she gazed deeply into her friend’s eyes, smiling warmly at her. Molly could not help but smile in return, but tilted her head a little, wondering what her friend really wanted to say. “You said, you’re happy right where you are…” Ayumi began. “I am,” Molly said. “And I believe this, I do. It’s just, I feel there’s more.” “More?” asked Molly, raising an eyebrow. “Yes. More that you could be…I can’t think of the word. Embracing? Reaching for?” “You sound like a cheesy advertisement,” Molly remarked with a laugh. Before Ayumi could speak any further, Molly stopped her friend by putting her own tea down and reaching for Ayumi’s hands. She held them firmly and looked up at Ayumi. “It’s been almost a year, hasn’t it?” said Molly quietly. “Yes, it has,” answered Ayumi, smiling gently, “Scott’s going to be one in a matter of weeks after all.” “You mentioned…more, and you know, you’re right…” “How so?” “I want…more. And I’m beginning to feel that it’s okay to want more.” “Okay…” “I’m happy here with Scott, with you, with my work at the lab…” Molly paused to smile pensively, as though confronting her own thoughts honestly for the first time. “And even though he was the opposite of happiness before,” Molly continued, “this past year has proven that…it isn’t impossible to love Sherlock Holmes and be happy.” “It’s more than possible,” Ayumi remarked, “It’s already happened.” “Yes…it has,” said Molly, glancing once more at her baby then back to her friend. “So what will you do?” “I will continue to choose happiness, my happiness,” said Molly resolutely. “Well, what do you have in mind?” asked Ayumi. Letting go of Ayumi’s hands, Molly rose from where she sat and went to pick Scott up. She lifted her son up into her arms and kissed him softly on his temple. Carrying him, she returned to her seat and sat him on her lap, wrapping her arms tightly around him. “We’re going to London,” said Molly, looking down at her son before looking back up at Ayumi. “And we’re going to look for Sherlock Holmes.” — It was far too late at night for anyone to be ringing their doorbell. Yet, here it was, ringing away like an alarm gone mad at midnight. “What in heaven’s name…” mumbled John as he flipped the bedside lamp on and stumbled out of bed. “Maybe it’s Sherlock or something…” yawned Mary, who, whilst still in bed, seemed unfazed by the rude awakening. The couple was exhausted, what with their wedding only a week away. It was a beautiful night in May, perfect for a good night’s sleep which was why the last thing they needed was for their sleep to be interrupted. John headed downstairs first, rubbing the back of his neck as he let out another yawn. Mary followed soon after and watched as her fiancé opened the door. “John.” greeted Mycroft in his typical cool, calm voice. “Mary.” “Has something happened?” John asked, squinting slightly as his eyes adjusted to the street lighting outside. “I have a question to ask,” said Mycroft. John heaved a sigh and cricked his neck, trying to keep his composure. Mary merely folded her arms and appeared infinitely calmer than her husband-to-be. “Did you have to ask it now? At midnight, standing at our front door?” John remarked somewhat acerbically. “Well, I suppose I could have waited until it was light but I like to be certain of things as soon as possible.” Mycroft replied matter-of-factly. “What is it, Mycroft?” asked Mary, sensing John was now a little too angry to speak. Mycroft cleared his throat and placed both hands atop the polished handle of his umbrella. His composure, despite having intruded at this unearthly hour, was most irksome. Still, John and Mary had the sense to entertain him and waited for him to answer. “Have you room for one more in your bridal party?” asked Mycroft Holmes, head of the British Secret Service and one of the most powerful government officials in the country. The couple stared back at him, wide-eyed and puzzled. It was John who regained his composure first and replied. “Well, Mycroft, if we can find a dress for a man of your height—” “I appreciate the thought but it is not me I am referring to…” Mycroft interjected, just short of rolling his eyes. Stepping to one side, Mycroft turned his body so the Watson’s could see the polished black car parked just behind Mycroft on their street. Mycroft gave a single nod to whomever it was in the car and when he had done so, the window to the passenger seat began to roll down. A gasp escaped John whilst Mary beamed and clapped her hands in delight. From the window, the tired but happy face of Molly Hooper appeared, giving the couple a gentle wave. Beside her in a baby carseat was Scott, sleeping soundly. “Sherlock’s going to be…” John paused to find the right word, “he’s going to be ecstatic.” Mycroft laughed gently and tapped his fingers on the umbrella handle. “Well, that’s what I’m hoping anyway,” Mycroft remarked, turning back to smile at Molly. Molly smiled back and mouthed a silent sorry to the couple, pointing at her sleeping baby as to why she could not come out to greet them in person. They nodded, understanding and unable to wipe the smiles off their own faces. “So, have you another lilac dress for Molly or will I have to summon my tailors?” said Mycroft, returning his attention to the couple. At his words, the couple turned to face each other before bursting into chuckles. “For these two idiots…” John began, beaming widely at Molly again, “we’ll make it happen, don’t you worry.” [ *See chapter 23 for first mention of the Brompton Body Snatchers ]

#the admirer by terrified

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