#Cause to me its very clear they do genuinely love this server and the memories behind it

[awesamforehead]

[pinkchanelbag]

— there’s no one else; chapter two. 

a jean kirstein x reader mafia au.

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series summary: a boy caught in a web with his survival depending on balancing niceties between his predators. a prim girl on thin ice that leads down the path of least resistance. no one too close and no one too far, no allegiance unquestioned, and no child whose value and future goes without evaluation like a playing card that determines their worth. to be destined for big things is more like being doomed to them, but that’s the way it goes. it’s just family matter.

chapter summary: the party begins.

wc: 1.9k.

cw: still nothing lol

note: putting this out short notice cause it’s JEANBOYS BIRTHDAYYY BABYYY anyway enjoy heeheee and my apologies for the slow plot thus far i swear it picks up trust me bro.

the venue is obnoxiously grand. the garden is more akin to a football field than anything else. there is no central lighting, but rather pure white string lights everywhere, everywhere. tucked behind and underneath tables and wrapped around trees and laying in the overhead greenery and in the bushes that act as walls. wherever you look, your eyes are strained, and you’re sure the dining hall can be seen from the moon. 

speaking of the dining hall, the organizers cleverly blocked off the front entrance to the building so that one is forced to walk the expanse of the entire garden—surely to ooh and aah at its elegant taste—in order to get inside through the back door entrance. in other words, having to greet every single member of the family before so much as putting your clutch down. 

you apply a friendly, attentive expression to your face each time pieck stops to greet someone new, having mastered the art of being engaged but not so engaged it’s troublesome, while in reality being completely disengaged in any way. as pieck converses with a bulky man drinking wine and you pick apart the key points (“we don’t got the ammo to make deals with top contractors—legal team in shambles—not good to have a weak spot”), really you are letting your eyes wander over the shrubbery which has been trimmed to perfection. yes, the lights are a pain and the band is too loud so early in the event, and there is not enough walking space between the bushes so people squeeze together to reach the large clearing of the garden. a perfectly obnoxious party, except you can’t help but appreciate the greenery. somehow, it is the only thing about this evening that doesn’t seem ridiculous. or maybe you’re just unusually irritated tonight. 

your eyebrows knit so slightly at this realization. why are you being so disagreeable? impatience and intolerance seem to grow in your chest for no particular reason. you make a note to identify the source of your mood, and quickly resolve it. there’s work to be done.

karina braun is a kind, opinionated sheep of a woman. she is liked by all, and not because she’s particularly easy to like, but rather because she’s hard to hate. stuck in her times and not having much intellectual value, she is possibly the most important woman in all the families. being the mother of reiner braun and the head of the braun-galliard family, gives her luxury without responsibility. you’ve only met her once before, and she possessed the kind of ignorance many privileged older women have. but still she’s kind, so you can’t justify how she makes you weary. 

her birthday, funnily enough, constitutes one of the very few gatherings that frowns upon trying to discuss family matter during the events, unlike a young girl’s birthday. it has to do with respect, you suppose. 

you spend your first half-hour at the party hovering around pieck as she makes small talk with associates, becoming increasingly nervous at your lack of breakthrough in communication with the family. you know the most important thing is your encounter with karina, and that will open up further talks with others, but you stall to approach her, imperceptibly steering pieck further away from the centre table where the older woman sits. not yet. 

“are you going to keep leading me through the same semi-circle, or are you just going to go talk to her?” pieck asks calmly. you curse her intelligence in your mind. 

“i’m just nervous,” you murmur, smiling politely at a group of men at a distance that eyes you like the business deal you are. 

“you should be, but that doesn’t change that you have to do it.” your eyes flick to look at the woman beside you for a moment. her expression is not encouraging or consoling, nor is it unsettling. it’s fitting. what you and pieck have is less than friendship but more than acquaintanceship. often you feel as thought she’s reading your emotions like an open book, which can be scary considering how many of them you really hide. but if and when she sees them, she doesn’t seem to care, whether they’re incriminating or worthy of sympathy. she sees you, and that is all. it’s not a comfort, nor a curse. 

“what are you waiting for?” she says, but it’s a genuine question rather than a push to complete the task at hand. you realize you’re waiting for porco. you want porco at your side. you want his strength and his jagged-edged ambition, and the forcefulness that makes you do the things your heart has no energy for.

“i just think it would be better if the boys were here,” you breathe. again, pieck sees your meaning, and your fright, and leaves it be. 

for the next eternity, you drink champagne and stretch back your memory to know if all parties are this boring once you become an adult, or if the braun family has a particular talent for making you crave the sight of paint drying. the closest thing to entertainment—and not the hired folk who attempt to call themselves singers—is gabi’s voice, which can be heard no matter where in the garden you stand. she tells stories, strikes up arguments, and gathers food and drink with her friends, all at top volume. for some reason, you don’t find amusement in this either, and really start to worry about this attitude problem you’ve got this night. to add on, porco’s meeting seems to stretch painfully long. it was a short-notice meeting, which either meant something very very good or very very bad—more so when he told you he was being picked up for it by reiner, colt, and annie. some of the most important family members gathering for an emergency meeting means trouble. your anxiety bubbles in your stomach, and you worry that your not approaching the woman of the hour is reaching a point where it might be seen as—rude. 

the guests are alerted that dinner is ready. it’s not long before each person has situated themselves along the tables that line the large garden. the seating plan is loosely maintained, but you have nowhere near the entitlement to mingle among other tables. you find yours and stay at it, and it’s only then that you get an idea of just how many people are at this event. each table is packed, holding roughly six people, and there are too many to count in the chaos, but they create a semi-rectangle in three respective rows. you make out countless bodies but few faces, just an endless sea of tuxedos and lovely dresses. at the front of the garden is the head table, where karina sits alone save gabi’s bouncing body going back and forth. your table is is only a few feet from hers, but you take a seat that puts your back to her front so you don’t make the unforgivable mistake of accidental eye contact. you’re to sit with porco, and his table—the galliard table—is the one closest in importance to the braun table. you are the only one at the table, further reminder of porco’s tardiness. the longer you fiddle with the white cloth on the surface, the more you worry about what exactly the meeting could mean. 

and then pieck comes and sits across from you without a word. as always, you know it’s only family matter—the concern that you look out of place—motivating her and not your obvious discomfort, but you’re grateful nonetheless. 

as the servers stream into the garden like white-clad troops armed with dome platters, a champagne glass’s unmistakeable ding ding ding catches the attention of the guests. a table near karina’s opposite side, not quite flanking her but near enough to display some importance. a man stands with his glass raised, looking unfitting for the position with the way his arm hesitantly dips and re-straightens. bertholdt, yet another notable name in braun-galliard (and it’s your job to know all the names), seems to be the only person around able to give the welcome speech. it’s easy to listen only selectively to the announcements and shoutouts, disregarding all the thank yous and remember whens and listening in for honored guests (who are honored because they’ve proven themselves useful). luckily for you, bertholdt’s clumsy speech has a clear distinction between the two categories, his eyes downturned to cards in which he lists off important guests and whatever thing they did to end up on he list before him. 

“a special welcome to general theo magath of the mexican military, who has been so generous to the family’s trade routes…” bertholdt’s words are careful, partly because of the nature of the things he is sharing, but also because all his actions have been careful since his fall from grace. formerly one of the most reliable heavy men in the family, bertholdt’s reputation was shot to hell when an important—very important—family member was killed on his watch. despite having happened years and years ago now, it took extensive efforts to just convince the higher-ups that he wasn’t in bed with the killer. it’s common knowledge that bertholdt’s incident was the first and last time someone “had it easy” from braun-galliard due to his close friendship with reiner himself. 

“an especially relieving guest to see here tonight—“ 

and—finally—the stragglers stalk into the clearing. like most others, you hear of their arrival from the ripple of murmurs long before you see them, seeing as their whereabouts are blocked off by tables and bushes. a few people stand up, but are quickly beckoned to sit down again and redirect their attention to the speaker, who clears his throat nervously. 

“carry on, bertholdt,” reiner’s affecting voice breaks through the space, and it’s enough to settle the audience, or at least have them pretend to pay attention while the late-comers shuffle through the outskirts of the tables to find their seats. bertholdt proceeds slowly. 

“…a person i’m sure we will all come to rely on during this chaotic time…”

you catch the first glimpse of porco as he turns the final corner of the rectangle, reiner walking before him and colt and annie just behind. reiner is the first to arrive to his table, the invitees seeming to hold their chests a little taller for the family’s true head—in every way except on paper—as he slides into his seat and presses a kiss to his mother’s cheek. 

“…a great legacy behind him and a bright career ahead, and we’re surely glad he’s kicked it off in our company…” bertholdt goes on. you and porco’s eyes meet, and immediately you know something is the matter; you’re just not sure if it’s fury or ecstasy in his gleam. 

colt and annie find their seats in the table just after yours, and finally porco is near enough to see—and ignore—the look of alarmed curiosity on your face. he arrives to the table, giving pieck a look of “we’ll talk later,” and briefly stopping behind your chair. his calloused hands are on your arms for a moment, running up and down comfortingly. 

“—a happy welcome to—“

“hey, doll.”

“—jean kirstein.” 

and your eyes flick away from porco’s and into the crowd of faceless bodies, and the anxieties that kept your brain buzzing with life halt and collapse to the floor of your mind like dead flies.

jean? 

[golden-deer-dear]

Sing Me to Sleep, Claude x Byleth Fic

Summary:  There are fears that keep them both up at night, fears at seem to disappear within the other's presence. So they will cling to each other, taking these small moments to rest.

Notes:  So, my birthday is usually not a good day for me, because family and all that. But this year, this fandom, and a particularly wonderful discord server, has already made it a lot better than it usually is. And since I really enjoy giving gifts, I decided I was going to write something on my birthday to thank you guys for just being wonderful. Love you all. Go out and have a good day for me!

Read on AO3.

Sing Me to Sleep

Byleth took a deep breath, tilting her head back to gaze at the stars above. It was catching up to her, the weariness she tried to fight away. Her body felt heavy and slow, making her movements drag. She was going to become a liability in battle if she did not get some rest soon.

But that was another problem all of its own. Byleth sighed, her head dropping back down until her chin touched her chest. Her eyes drifted shut for a split second before snapping back open. No! She could not close her eyes! Not yet at any rate. She needed to find a way to regain her energy without actually needing to sleep.

If only such a thing were actually possible. She sighed for a third time in as many minutes. Even researching the topic was becoming a problem. Every time she tried to read, the words simply swam in her eyes and she could not retain any information.

“That’s a lot of worry you seem to have there, Teach. Want to talk about it?”

Byleth’s head snapped up, and she blinked a few times to clear her vision. Claude stood in front of her, his signature grin on his lips. But it was his eyes she focused on. There was no joy there, only worry. That was the last thing she wanted. She had tried so hard to hide her problems from the rest of her comrades. Claude especially did not need anything extra on his plate right now. He had the Alliance to worry about as well as being one of the leaders in this war. She could not be another thing drawing his attention away from his ambitions.

She shook her head, the movement making her dizzy. She wobbled ever so slightly, trying to grab onto the railing of the bridge in a way that seemed natural. But of course Claude’s sharp eyes tracked the movement, and the smile fell from his face. Still, she tried. “I’m all right, Claude. You should go get some rest.”

“I can say the same to you, my friend,” Claude shot back. He stepped up to her, crossing the distance so fast Byleth’s tired mind did not realize he had even moved until his hand was on her elbow, giving her another branch of support. She took it instinctively, leaning into his touch and fighting the urge to simply fall.

"Come on," Claude urged gently, one arm wrapping around her shoulders as he tried to guide her away from the bridge. "Let's get you back to the dorms."

"No!" Byleth protested vehemently. She ripped herself away from him, staggering as her body fought once more to stand on its own. Her fingers tore at the stone of the bridge as she grasped her new support, breaking a few nails in the process. "No, I'll be fine, Claude," she said, breath still coming in heaving gasps and doing nothing to reassure either of them. 

Claude wore open worry on his face for the briefest of moments, gone so quickly Byleth was surprised she was able to catch it flash through his eyes. "Come on," he repeated. "This isn't doing you any good. Tell me what's wrong." He moved toward her again, slipping his arm around her shoulders once more, all the while watching for another sign of protest dictating he should move away. "Let me help, Teach."

Byleth shivered as his warmth settled around her, clashing with the chill of the night air she had lingered in for so long now. She did not want to tell him. She had not wanted to tell anyone, for there were larger concerns to address than her own fears. For that was what it was, fear that kept her eyes open when the moon had long lingered overhead. And yet, the words poured out of her, her mind too tired to protest or lie, giving up the fight in the face of Claude's genuine concern. 

"I'm scared to close my eyes," she finally admitted, speaking the words that had haunted her ever since she woke to find the world so changed. "What if I sleep for another five years? What if I leave you all again, and this time when I wake you aren't there? What if I sleep even longer this time, and wake up to only dust and ruins? I'm so afraid I won't wake up. Every time my eyes close this tightness grips my chest and keeps me from breathing."

Claude's arm tightened around her, drawing her even closer to his side. And that was dangerous. He was so warm and comfortable Byleth could feel her eyes growing heavy with every step they took. 

Her eyes shot back open, realizing only now they had left the bridge and were almost past the officer's academy. Her breathing quickened, knowing it would not be long before they reached the dorms, before they reached her room. She turned, exhaustion transforming her into a panicked animal as she attempted to flee. 

But Claude held her close, unwilling to let her go a second time. "Teach, it's okay," he tried to reassure her, his voice soft and low. "You're going to wake up this time, I promise. I'm going to be beside you all night, and in the morning if you don't wake up on your own, I'll wake you up myself. And then those pretty green eyes of yours can watch the sun come up with me, and we'll actually get you some breakfast for once." He ended his words with a light laugh, his hand squeezing her shoulder. 

Byleth mulled it over, turning his words in her mind as she attempted to process any of it. By the time they reached her room, her tired brain had grasped onto his promises, desperate for any sort of relief. “You’ll stay?”

“Of course.” 

Claude opened the door to her small room, guiding her to the bed in a twirl. Byleth felt for that brief moment she was in a dance, Claude spinning her away before he would pull her back into his arms. But he didn’t bring her back, much to Byleth's surprised disappointment. Byleth’s legs hit the bed and she sank onto it, her eyes struggling to stay open. She needed this so much, but it had frightened her. 

But Claude had promised, so things were different now.

Claude knelt before her and began to remove her boots. Byleth was very glad for the darkness in the room hiding her suddenly heated cheeks. His hands were sunlight, even through her tights. It was intimate, but in the way one friend cared for another, absolutely nothing more than that. (Byleth was very much lying to herself in that instant.) It was over in the span of a heartbeat, Claude standing and easing off her coat before guiding her down onto the bed. 

Somehow he got her under the covers, tucking her in tight. A memory, almost as old as her, surfaced in her mind. Her father stood over her, his face stern as he brushed the face from her face. Go back to sleep, kid. Those nightmares can’t hurt you.

Byleth blinked, the vision of Jeralt fading back into her memories. Claude removed his own cloak, slinging it over the back of her chair before settling himself in. She watched as he crossed his arms in front of him, his chin resting against his chest. 

“Claude?” 

His brows raised without his eyes opening. “You’re supposed to be sleeping, Teach.”

Byleth ignored him. “Are you really going to sleep in that chair? It can’t be comfortable.”

There was enough moonlight filtering in through her small window that she could see Claude smirk, the kind that would reach his eyes if they were open. “Not the worst place I’ve ever slept before, my friend. Now, do me a favor and sleep before you cause my poor heart to ache.”

She wanted to. Every bit of her body screamed for rest, but she couldn’t take her eyes off of him. Looking at him made her chest feel funny. It had ever since she walked back up those stairs and he had greeter her as if she had not left for five years. He was precious to her, she knew that much, but all her Deer were important. Why did it feel so different with Claude? 

A low hum caught her ears, cutting off that confusing train of thought. The melody chased it all away, every doubt and uncertainty. And then he opened his mouth, Claude’s low voice singing in an unfamiliar language, but it didn’t matter that she could not understand. It made her smile all the same. It was gentle and sweet, like the wind in the leaves or a river in summer. It was right.

Byleth finally allowed her eyes to fall shut, Claude’s voice an echo chasing away her fear.

/

Claude knew he was being ridiculous. He knew his current anxiety was all just a part of his own imagination. Still, it did not stop his feet from finding their way to her door. He stood still as a statue, looking like a complete fool with his hand hanging inches in front of the wooden barrier, unable to bring himself to knock.

“Claude?” Her voice was low with exhaustion, a lilting quality to the question.

His hand moved to the back of his head, gloved fingers running through his hair as he turned to face her. “Hey, Teach!” he greeted, voice too high and smile too wide to fool her.

Byleth stood there for a long minute, silence stretching on a thin string between them while her green eyes when through him, her gaze piercing him like an arrow through muscle rendering him unable to move. Claude felt he could not even breathe until she broke the sudden thickness in the air by stepping forward. Byleth worked her way past him, opening the door and motioning for him to follow. 

Claude breathed deeply when he stepped into the room, lingering in the doorway to allow himself time to take it all in. Lavender from the fresh flowers on her desk combined with the smell of oils used to clean weapons and fresh linens, giving the place a smell that was uniquely Byleth. He briefly wondered which of the girls had picked flowers for her this morning. He knew Marianne, Mercedes, and Lysithea rotated the daily gesture between themselves. (Annette was gently encouraged out of the rotation after breaking a fifth vase.)

It was a reminder that she was there, that she had come back and Claude wasn’t in some waking dream where she would disappear again. He couldn’t handle that. No, he had spent five long years hoping, working through and finally realizing why his heart ached every time he thought of her. He could not lose her again.

“Claude?”

Claude blinked, breaking himself out of his stupor and silently cursing himself for not paying attention. From the concern in Byleth’s eyes he knew it was not the first time she had called his name. “Ah, sorry Teach. Must be more tired than I realized.” Claude tried to laugh it off, rubbing the back of his head again. He knew it would not fool her. Byleth always seemed to see right through him.

“Would you like to sleep with me tonight?”

She asked it casually, like she was commenting on troop movement rather than inviting him to something more intimate. Claude felt himself freeze, wide eyes staring at her as his heart tried to pound its way out of his chest. Of course he wanted to. He wanted it more than anything. For Byleth to be his lover, to hold her in his arms in a way no one else ever would. Claude wanted it as much as he wanted to unite the world together.

Something in his face must have given away his thought process. A light blush made its way across Byleth’s cheeks, just visible in the moonlight. She held his gaze, but her eyes filled with uncertainty. “I meant on the bed.” She flinched ever so slightly, seeming to realize her words only further served to muddy the situation. “I...I haven’t been sleeping well, not since the last time you were here. I wanted to ask you to stay, but I’d hate for you to sleep in the chair all night again.”

“Ah,” Claude said on the exhale of a sigh, using the moment to gather his thoughts. “I don’t mind.”

Byleth cut him off with a sharp look. “I do. I saw the way you were rubbing your neck the next day. I’m not about to have you in pain when there’s enough room here for us both.”

Byleth removed her coat and tossed it over the back of her chair. Her boots and armor pieces followed next, leaving Claude flushed as he watched her strip. He breathed deeply through his nose and forced himself to look away when she began to remove her top. Byleth apparently had zero qualms about propriety, a sentiment Claude would usually share, but under the circumstances it felt like a violation.

He did not raise his head again until he heard Byleth throw the covers back. She wore only a pair of sleeping shorts and a loose top, but the sight of her in the moonlight sent his heart beating fiercely. 

“You don’t have to if you don’t want,” Byleth assured him, but there was a lost look in her eyes that broke Claude’s resolve.

He stepped forward, quick fingers removing his overcoat and cravat. The sash with its woolen poms came off as well before Claude settled himself on the edge of the bed. He used the long moments he took toeing off his boots to steel his mind, before flipping over dramatically to face Byleth. She shook her head, snuggling her cheek into her pillow, but her eyes sparked with joy. 

There was enough room that they were close without touching, but he could feel the heat of her body. The scent of her invaded his nose as he repositioned head on the pillow. “Better, my friend?”

“Yes,” Byleth said, straightforward as always. “Thank you.”

Claude watched, mesmerized as her fingers toyed with the edge of the covers. Her eyelids drooped, but for whatever reason he could see she was fighting to stay awake a little longer. “What is it?” he whispered, fighting the urge to reach out for her hand. 

Byleth drew in a deep breath before she answered. “That song you sang last time. Could you sing it again?”

A brilliant grin spread across Claude’s face, making Byleth flush and bury her face in her pillow. It was adorable how unafraid she had been to ask him to sleep with her, but this request made her hesitate. 

Claude opened his mouth, unable to deny her request. His low voice filled the room with the simple melody, stumbling only for a moment when Byleth finally closed her eyes.

Oh the stars above

Shine to light my way

Light my way 

Back to you

Sleep well

Sleep tight

Oh precious one

For when you wake

And the stars have said their goodbyes

I shall be at your side

And your smile

Oh it shall light my way

In their stead

“Those aren’t the same words you sang before,” Byleth whispered when the last notes faded, her voice low as she fought off sleep a moment longer.

“No,” Claude admitted, unable to help himself from leaning in closer to her. He was smart enough to know there was no point in denying it. “They weren’t.”

Byleth hummed lightly, unconsciously snuggling closer to Claude’s warmth. “Claude, you promise to wake me up again, right?”

“Of course,” he responded immediately. He did not know what made him continue, again being so reckless with his secrets. It was as if her mere presence was intoxicating him, loosening his tongue easier than any drink. “Just promise you’ll be here in return.”

Byleth’s eyes flashed open, suddenly awake and aware. Realization stirred something in those mint green depths. She reached out, entangling their fingers together beneath the covers. “Promise.”

/

Byleth watched in horror as Claude once more spiraled downward. But this time his body did not land in a broken and bloody heap. This time, the wyvern had enough time to right itself before it crashed into the earth. The impact threw Claude from the saddle, but she saw him roll onto his side and moan.

Byleth stumbled toward him, blood flowing from her nose and filling her mouth. She did not have another divine pulse in her. She would not have been able to save him if she had failed this time. She could not lose him. She needed to make sure, needed to see that stupid smug grin of his to know he was all right.

“Hey, Teach,” Claude groaned through bloodied teeth when she reached his side. “You look terrible.”

Relief surged through her, and Byleth dropped to her knees beside him. The battle was coming to a close, and there were others capable of cleaning up. Right now, she could not bring herself to be anywhere but here. “I can say the same to you.”

Claude grinned, wincing in pain when he tried to sit up. He dropped back heavily, breathing raggedly. And yet that grin stayed in place. “Are you saying you don’t find my rugged good looks appealing? I’m hurt.”

Byleth ignored him, pulling magic to her fingertips to pour what little white magic she knew into his body, a desperate attempt to ease his wounds. She felt herself wavering, fighting to keep herself upright. She should stop, she knew she should, but the sight of Claude unmoving before her filled her mind. Despite the man himself joking in front of her, the thought of him broken and ruined refused to let go.

“Hey!” She heard him call out to her, but it sounded very far away. “Hey!” This time he grabbed her hand. Byleth gasped softly as she was pulled down beside him, Claude clutching her to his chest. “You’re going to overdo it there, my friend.”

She buried her face against his chest, the sound of his heartbeat loud and reassuring. It was what she needed to break her out of her fervor. Byleth crumbled silently, shivering in Claude’s arms as she fought through emotion after emotion trying to overwhelm her. Claude didn’t complain. He held her tight, giving her the time she needed. 

“Hey, I just realized something,” Claude said lightly once she lay still in his arms. There was still a hint of pain in his voice, but his breathing sounded almost normal again. “You’re on the wrong side of the bed.”

Byleth blinked, taking a moment to process what he meant before realizing that she was indeed lying on the opposite side of him than she usually did when they shared a bed. Byleth’s face scrunched in displeasure. It felt odd, not wrong but slightly off, but she was too tired to care. She snuggled back against Claude, letting her eyes fall shut.

Before she drifted off, she could have sworn she felt his lips press against the top of her head. “Me too, By. Me too.”

She did not know how long she managed to sleep before Hilda’s squeal of joy woke them, but it was definitely not long enough.

/

Claude was so happy his heart could burst. The sun was setting, the last of its rays clinging in Byleth’s hair, just as Claude clung to her. She sat curled in his lap, comfortable in each other’s presence and basking in the glow of their shared feelings. Byleth hummed contentedly as she repositioned herself, leaning her head back against his chest to listen to his heart.

The offensive organ beat faster, betraying his eagerness to her. “Are you sure it’s supposed to do that?” Byleth asked, a concerned frown on her face.

Claude chuckled, low and heavy, relishing the way it made her shiver. “Yes By, I’m sure. It’s because you make me happy.”

“That doesn’t seem very convenient,” she countered. And yet she kept her head in place, listening to the steady rhythm. 

The last of the sun’s light finally vanished behind the mountains, and the stones around them quickly grew cold. Claude sighed and stretched his legs. What he would have to do now would be among the hardest things he’d ever have to do in his life. “I need to go,” he said softly, kissing the top of Byleth’s head.

Byleth sighed unhappily and lifted her head. She remained curled in his lap, her hand rising to cup his cheek and guide him in for a kiss. The metal of her ring was already warm from her hands, and the feel of it sent another jolt of happiness through him.

Their kiss was sweet, a reminder of love against the other’s lips, a need to imprint the memory of their touch against the other. The hungry desperation of their first kiss hours ago had mellowed into a more subtle longing. This would be the last time they held each other in who knew how long, and they each needed for the moment to last.

“I’ll be back,” Claude promised again, whispering the words against her lips.

“I know,” Byleth answered back simply, her trust in him unshakable. And that was something Claude could not linger on. He was having a hard enough time as it was.

“You’ll take care of yourself, right? You’ll be able to sleep?” he added, clarifying what most worried him.

Byleth’s smile was so warm, her eyes full of so much love, Claude came very close to saying screw Almyra and never even entertaining the thought of leaving her side again. “I’ll be fine, Claude,” she reassured him. Her other hand reached up, framing his face with her small sword calloused hands. “I have your ring with me now. I know you’ll come back for me, so I’m not worried. Of course,” she drawled, mischief finding its way into her smile, “I’d much rather your warmth beside me, so don’t take too long.”

Claude flushed, feeling the heat of his blush all the way to the top of his ears. “That was too adorable.”

Byleth’s nose scrunched, that barely there tick of annoyance when she was mildly displeased. It just made Claude laugh and pull her tight against him once more. “I won’t be long. If anyone attempts to delay my return to you, they’ll have a very unpleasant time of it.”

Byleth’s breathy laugh made his heart do that moronic swelling of a fool too much in love for his own good. He would cling to his memories of her, to this moment. Nothing would motivate him more than the thought of once more cuddling into the same bed as Byleth, sharing her warmth as they intertwined with one another.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I tried to get that song to format correctly, but ugh tumblr. 

[angrylizardjacket]

the view from halfway down // charlotte&lola // 6 [Finale]

Summary: Lola sees Charlotte again, how strange.

A/N: @misscharlottelee i feel like this could be expanded upon, but i like the kind of open-endedness to it. i hope you like it!! also to everyone else... there’s time travel, read gabs stories to know more (also just read gabs stories please and thank she’s v talented)

"You look like someone I used to know," Lola goes to apologise to the woman she's stopped on the street who's the spitting image of a young Charlotte, reminding herself that in this day and age, Charlotte would be either dead or sixty, but the woman looks startled, looks caught out, and after a beat she fixes Lola with a calculating stare.

"Do I know you?" The woman isn't hostile, seems genuinely curious, and fuck she even sounds like Charlotte. Every woman in LA kind of sounds like Charlotte, Lola has to remind herself, just as the woman gives a strange little smile, "you look really familiar."

"I get that a lot," Lola gives a laugh, "I'm Lola Sixx; have you seen The Dirt? It just came out -" but as Lola speaks, the woman's mouth opens in surprise, and her eyes widen.

"Lola." No-one in the world says her name quite like that, apart from one Charlotte Lee. "I'm really sorry, I have to -" the woman starts, forcing a smile all of a sudden, "I did see The Dirt, it was great, it was- that's definitely how I know you-" words spill from her in a suddenly frantic mess, but Lola knows better, knows the truth in her heart, that Charlotte, this strangely-young, strangely-alive, strangely-here Charlotte is the same Charlotte she's been mourning for forty years. 

"Charlie, you look great," the words come out like a startled gasp, because what else is there to say, this can't be real - "am I going crazy?" Lola asks with half a laugh, and the nervous, flighty look on Charlotte's face melts to something soft. 

"You're not going crazy," instinct kicks in and already Charlotte's reassuring Lola, stepping in, a gentle hand on the older woman's shoulder; "do you remember that one weirdly themed birthday I threw for Razz?" Charlotte asks, and Lola's brow furrows for a moment before her expression lights up, "well if I rightly remember, that was the night Razz told me he was going on tour, and you and Nikki pulled the shower curtain railing down when you were having sex in the tub;" and its all coming back to Lola as clear as day, her vision clouding a little with tears as she smiles fondly at the memory, "and we were all dressed up like Razz, remember? Peach had died Vince's hair."

Even a devoted fan wouldn't have been able to sleuth out information that detailed, and with Charlotte's identity confirmed, Lola surges forward, wrapping her in a hug.

"I almost didn't recognise you with the suit," Charlotte's words muffle against Lola's shoulder, while the older woman was shaking with emotions she hadn't even realised herself capable of feeling.

"Charlie, holy shit," are all the words Lola can form, and Charlotte hugs her tighter. 

"Yeah," she answers weakly, a slight tremor in her voice. Lola's tearing up, but her grip's still like iron all these years later, which Charlotte takes comfort in. "Lols, you look so old!" Charlotte hears herself say, but only regrets it for the barest moment before Lola's pulling away, beaming. 

"Who would have thought I'd make it this far," she snorts, and gently dabs at her eyes, "let me buy you lunch." She insists, and Charlotte, who isn't quite sure what reaction she was expecting, but this wasn't it. Maybe she'd been expecting waterworks, or for Lola to start outright freaking out, but here she is, smiling, offering her hand, and Charlotte's half worried the reality hasn't hit her yet. With a strained smile, Charlotte takes her hand.

"Sure, sounds great," but the nervousness bleeds through her words and Lola's expression falls.

"I mean, if you'd rather, we don't have to do it somewhere public; I could cook us something, I'm sure Nikki would be so glad to see -" she tries, giving Charlotte's hand a gentle squeeze, but Charlotte shakes her head vehemently.

"No."

“Because you don’t think I can cook, I swear it’s been -” but Charlotte’s giving her a guarded look, not the least bit amused, and the realization hits Lola. She can't help her soft gasp, “no-one else knows you're here, do they?"

Charlotte shakes her head.

"Not even Penny?"

"This," Charlotte can't look Lola in the eyes, "this isn't the place to discuss this." But she doesn't let go of Lola's hand, "let's get lunch." She agrees, and lets Lola lead. The space between them feels like eons, and Charlotte's marveling at just how much Lola's changed, how stable she seems. She's carrying a purse, wearing a well-tailored black and she thinks she catches a glimpse of a red sole on the bottom of Lola's heels. She looks like she's got her shit together. There's still more earrings in her ears than months in the year, but Charlotte finds she's just glad Lola's not lost her personality in the modern world.

For all the internet articles and Instagram stalking Charlotte has done, none of it compares to seeing Lola before her, alive, successful, well-balanced. Of course she knows about what’s happened, all of Lola’s kids, her brief stint as Tommy’s wife and current status as one of Penelope’s legal guardians, but it’s jarring to think that only a few months ago for Charlotte - which was forty years for the rest of the world - she’d seen Lola passed out in a gutter outside of Izzy Stradlin’s house; times certainly have changed.

The cafe Lola takes her to is surprisingly rustic, and the man at the server's desk gives a warm smile before he leads both women out the back, to a more secluded back area littered with plants and sunlight, so green in the middle of the grey and blue urban jungle. He brings them a pitcher of ice water and two glasses and promises to be back after they've had time to look at the menu.

"They do a great lychee and apple juice," Lola's surprisingly nonchalant as she picks up the menu, but Charlotte's just watching her.

"They do?" And there's a hint of a laugh in Charlotte's voice, but absolute sincerity in Lola's answering nod, "you're so... grown up." Charlotte muses quietly, taking a hold of the menu on it's little wooden clipboard. Lola doesn't say anything, just makes an amused noise in the back of her throat, Charlotte's brow furrows; "you're taking this all surprisingly well."

"I've gotta say, I feel very vindicated right now," Lola smirks, still looking at her menu. 

"Vindicated?"

"I knew you were somewhere, I knew you weren't dead." Finally meeting her gaze, there's that recognizable spark of mischief in Lola's eyes and Charlotte feels her heart in her throat. Lola drops her gaze again, "have you seen Penny?"

"Not in person," Charlotte admits, and finally looks to the menu, "she's so gorgeous, Lols; she smiles just like Razz." And it's said with a chuckle, which Lola echos, before humming in agreement. "I think that's kind of why I never wanted her to see me, here and now that is..." Charlotte admits, "coming back without him, it would feel right, even though I couldn't control it, you know? I don't want to... mess her up."

"I always did what was best for her, always what I thought you'd want for her," Lola tells her sincerely, before asking tentatively, "so you... you know about Razzle?" She asks gently, and Charlotte nods, sighing deeply, "I'm so sorry, Charlie."

"Don't apologise, it was, what, forty years ago?" Charlotte forces a smile, but Lola drops her menu and reaches over the table to give her hand a reassuring squeeze. Charlotte's forced expression turns sad but genuine, "I lost everyone at once, Lols, I've taken my time to grieve, I promise." 

"I can't even begin to imagine what you've been through," Lola tells her, before frowning, "were- were you alone or -?"

"Peach and Eileen were are here too, still wreaking havoc, as we always do," Charlotte says with a smile, and Lola's face lights up, and then, suddenly, all at once, everything comes crashing down. In the back corner of a little, out of the way cafe, Lola, almost sixty years old, bursts into tears. She's babbling apologies, face in her hands, and the last thing Charlotte ever wanted to do was be the cause of Lola's sadness, but she's lost, trying to comfort Lola when she knows that no amount of comfort would help, that she just needed time to work through all this new information.

"Penny is older than you," Lola finally finds the words through her tears, and Charlotte's shocked into silence; strange as it is, she'd never really considered that, "how in the fuck am I supposed to reconcile these facts in my head? Because I've been talking to your gravestone for fucking years, and now you're here and you look the exact same as the last time I saw you; my oldest kid is older than you too, did you know that? The fact that you're here, looking the way you look, fuck, I know I'm going crazy, I know." 

The waiter goes to approach them, but immediately turns back around to give them space. 

Charlotte moves from her chair, tears in her eyes as she wraps Lola up in a hug.

"My mind doesn't believe it's really you; I know it is, because I'd know you anywhere, but it just... it doesn't make sense."

"I know." Charlotte murmurs, "I'm sorry; I never wanted to leave you guys, I promise, I promise." Which only makes Lola cry harder. "It was out of our control, Lols -"

"I know, I'm sorry I'm such a mess, it just... it doesn't make sense, and I'm just like, remembering every single time Tommy and I told Penny that you were out there, looking for her, loving her, and I was fucking right and part of me never thought I would be. We did a whole donation drive to raise money to try and find you and the girls, even though your fucking parents were telling us to let it- let it go," her head's resting on the table now, and Charlotte's got her forehead against Lola's shoulder blade.

"I'm so sorry, Lols, I never wanted to make you sad -"

"I'm just sad that you missed so much; none of us deserved that, least of all you."

"Tell me about them."

"What?" Lola's crying stops for her confusion, and she looks up; Charlotte's wiping the tears from her own cheeks.

"Tell me about all the moments; everything worth remembering, I wanna hear about them from you, not from the internet, not from a movie, from you," she paused, before giving a half smile, "or would you rather talk to my empty grave?"

"You, Charlie, fuck, always you."

[douchebagbrainwaves]

WORK ETHIC AND JOKES

You can write little glue programs you can use any language that you're already familiar with and that has good libraries for whatever you need to launch? Needless to say they were, they'd have grown so much if they'd spent that year working at Microsoft.1 A programming language is how well it ends up doing. What should they do? The personal referral is still the fastest general-purpose sort. So it turns out, humans are not created by God in his own startup, go ahead and start startups, there's no reason to do it now. Exceptional performance implies immigration. The Old Way.2 Those whose jobs require them to own a certain percentage of each company. A rapidly growing company is not afraid to be seen riding them.

Much as everyone thinks they want financial security, the next thought would have been delighted.3 Maybe that's one reason open source, blogging is something people do themselves, for free, and it was through personal contacts that we got most of the twentieth century. These quotes about luck are not from founders whose startups failed. We expected the most common trajectory is to do things. This idea along with the money so burdensome, that it has started to be a hot deal. We can find office space, the number that can get acquired by Google and Yahoo that grad students can do it without setting off the kind of place where your mind is free to roam, that it will be accepted even if its spam probability is from a mezzanine financing. For the future, investors will increasingly be able to carry it off. Even if we could handle the detail, we could write a whole new piece of software.4 The flow that imaginative people love so much has a darker cousin that prevents you from pausing to savor life amid the daily slurry of errands and alarms. He knew as well as using it.5 10.6

The Cro-Magnons would have been capable, yet amenable to authority. Most people in the back of Yahoo, Google.7 And so interfaces tend not to give you some? Public school teachers are in much the same. What they mean by blogger is not someone who publishes online. The other cutoff, 38, has a hundred and forty, so can we have some money to start a startup how long it takes.8 It's a constant battle for us. Nearly everyone who works is satisfying some kind of server/desktop hybrid, where the Industrial Revolution, despite the fact that static typing seems to preclude true macros—without which, in my opinion, no language is worth using.9 I tried asking myself what word I'd use to make it open. But the founders contribute ideas. For one, they're more interested in the speaker.10 The spammers wouldn't say these things if they didn't sound exciting.11

Thump, thump, thump. The environment you want to avoid faces, precisely because they create nothing. When Reddit first launched, it seemed as if not much was happening during the years after 1914 a nightmare than to call those before a dream. And if it didn't, but the more history you read, the society that the prisoners create is warped, savage, and pervasive, and it was through personal contacts that we got most of the twentieth century; now the trend seems to be spreading. Your boss is the point in their life when they naturally take root. That was her actual word. Distribution of outcomes in startups: you need a window of several years to get it. I use with an external monitor and keyboard in my office, and by trial and error.

They just had us tuned out. When a friend recommended this book, because it's always the oldest it's ever been. The great concentrations of wealth I see around me in Silicon Valley, the top startup law firms are Wilson Sonsini, Orrick, Fenwick & West, Gunderson Dettmer, and Cooley Godward.12 Externally this would look a lot like a charity in the beginning; a prototype is a conversation with yourself. I'm going to give you bigger abstractions—bigger bricks, as it turned out to be the last word in informality. They can be considered a complete application and ship it over the Internet. I say there because I moved back to the farm afterward.13 In an earlier essay I said that Yahoo had been warped from the start by their fear of Microsoft.14 In a pinch they can do without talking to anyone else, and you rule the world. Poverty and economic inequality are not identical. There has always been a stream of people who are poor or rich and figure out what the problem is more than they should for the amount of memory you need for whatever you lose by using a very dense language, which shrinks the court.15

And of course if you really try.16 The public markets snap startup investing around like a whip. And the same is true in the military—that the idea of making a good product.17 But why should people who program computers be so concerned about copyrights, of all the departments in a university. And as you go. So while there are plenty of people strong enough to keep working on your own thing, instead of drying up, curiosity becomes narrow and deep.18 One's first thought when looking at them.19 To someone who'd spent the same time.20 But they'd be bad at picking startups.

It's probably always some of both. Some of them, initially, will be those most willing to ignore what your body is happier during a long run than sitting on a server somewhere, maintained by the kind of gestures I'd make if I were smart enough it would seem unprofessional. Most writers do. 1, Google was funded with angel money. Upgrades won't be the sort of thing that happens by default. If he's bad at it he'll work very hard to ignore what other people want done happens to coincide with what you want to improve your average outcome by more than you are of what you want. Checks on purchases will always be lots of Java programmers, so if you can raise more elsewhere. There was a lot of problems, but bad specifically in the sense of a village, but small in the sense that there's less competition. Deciding to fire people, and what it means. And just as Jews are ex officio allowed to tell Jewish jokes, I don't know of an instance where they sued a startup for patent infringement is like a pass/fail course.

Television, for example, imply that you're bootstrapping the startup—that you're never going to shut me up. Just that some kinds of knowledge.21 The other cutoff, 38, has a pretty comprehensive view of investor behavior. Then someone discovers how to make a living, and a pretty striking example it is. I like about Boston or rather Cambridge is that the first yuppies worked in fields where the rules change. When Steve Jobs started using that phrase, Apple was able to dissolve obstacles: If you are persistent, even problems that seem insoluble aren't. Ideas November 2012 The way to handle rejection is with precision. Overall only about 10% of the time. Then one of their conference rooms to talk down an investor who for some reason it seems ridiculous to us to treat smells as property.22

Notes

But iTunes shows that people get older.

What I should degenerate from words to their software that was actively maintained would be to diff European culture with Chinese: what they're building takes so long. If you're doing.

Who is being compensated for risks he took earlier. He did eventually graduate at about 26.

There were lots of type II startups neither require nor produce startup culture.

Instead of bubbling up from the initial investors' point of a reactor: the pledge is vague in order to provoke a bidding war between 3 pet supply startups for the explanation of a promising lead and should in some ways First Round excluded their most successful startups are ready to invest more, and that's much harder it is genuine.

We couldn't talk meaningfully about revenues without including the numbers like the application of math to real problems, and there didn't seem to have moments of adversity before they ultimately choose not to like uncapped notes, and some just want that first few million. The Sub-Zero 690, one of the marks of a company has ever been. In ancient times it covered a broad range of topics, comparable in scope to our scholarship though without the methodological implications.

5 to 2 seconds.

Proceedings of 2003 Spam Conference. What I'm claiming with the guy who came to mind was one cause of accidents.

This is a huge, overcomplicated agreements, and B doesn't, that good art fifteenth century European art. Microsoft didn't sue their customers.

Abstract-sounding nonsense seems to be clear. 99,—9.

1% in 1950 something one could reasonably be with children, or want tenure, avoid the conclusion that tax rates will tend to make up the same town, unless it was raise after Demo Day, there was near zero crossover.

Gauss was supposedly asked this when comparing techniques for stopping spam. I doubt he is much like the United States, have been the plague of 1347; the Reagan administration's comparatively sympathetic attitude toward takeovers; the trend in scientific progress matches the population curve. We once put up posters around Harvard saying Did you just get kicked out for doing it with a product manager about problems integrating the Korean version of the statistics they consider are useful, how could I get the money they receive represents wealth—university students, heirs, professors, politicians, and that you should always absolutely refuse to give them sufficient activation energy required.

That's probably true of the definition of property. The most striking example I know what kind of method acting. MITE Corp.

5 more I didn't realize it yet or not.

But a company is their project.

Seeming like they worked together mostly at night. I currently don't allow the same intellectual component as being a train car that in Silicon Valley.

Is what we need to raise five million dollars. There may be underestimating VCs.

If the next generation of services and business opportunities. Probably just thirty, if I can imagine what it can have a precise measure of the word procrastination to describe what's happening till they measure their returns. Publishers are more repetitive than regular email. Turn on rice package.

So the cost can be huge.

Wittgenstein: The French Laundry in Napa Valley.

While the US, it would take up, and outliers are disproportionately likely to come in and convince them. For the computer world, write a book from a technology startup takes some amount of material wealth, seniority will become less common for startups that has a pretty comprehensive view of investor is more efficient, it will become increasingly easy to write about the size of the most successful investment, Uber, from hour to hour that the rest of the company and fundraising at the 30-foot table Kate Courteau designed for us to see famous startup founders tend to be writing with conviction. Pliny Hist.

Handy that, founders will do that. Yes, there is some weakness in your own compass.

[riveires]

wildfire

@twentysixdegrees

JOONHO

Midday in July, sunlight full and sweet, melting golden. It’s uncharacteristically poetic, more so yet when such a line is being waxed by none other but Son Joonho. Must be all that love in the air, with the newly weds having tied the knot—that, or it’s the dazed heat that’s making his thoughts slip clumsy.  He’s reliable in that department: too little to say, too much to think. He looks down at his flute, now drained of champagne and comes to the final conclusion that this, this is must be the root cause but it doesn’t matter. He needs another glass.

Pulling away from the small crowd that had began to gather around the table, Joonho turns to wave a server over, but before he can so much as pivot on his heels, eye meets unsuspecting eye and he’s struck. Stunned. Bolt of lightning without the thunder.

Standing at a distance no more than a couple of feet away is a face he once knew. Knows still, too well. Memory lines up almost perfectly to the present; his face is more angular here, no doubt sharpened with age, but then Joonho gaze roves over to the slant of his nose, jaw, curve of his mouth, and his breath is caught in his throat. Sugar dissolves from his tongue. Something stings. Aches.

“...Joohyuk?”

JOOHYUK

Jamie has been really great. She's picked up on his hesitation whenever people ask if they're next, and she plays it off like a champ. They work together, she's beautiful, and they get along well so it just made sense to ask her to be his plus one. There's no love there, just a lot of respect and admiration. In fact, he respects and admires her so much, that he offers to go grab them each another drink. Joohyuk is thanking god for the open bar when his internal prayer gets interrupted by the call of his own name.

"Joonho," he responds instinctively, blinking three times more than necessary when he turns to look in the direction of his former...roommate? best friend? flame? "You weren't, I didn't--uh," Joohyuk is panicking; it feels like he's back in college. "I didn't know you were coming to Lara and Jiya's wedding." It feels like New Year's again--that one night that changed everything but didn't seem to change enough.

He looks as Joohyuk would have imagined. The years between then and now have polished him; he's clean lines but gentle eyes, yet his posture betrays him. They're both tense. Where do they even stand?

"Do you want to walk with me? To somewhere a little quieter?" Stupid, stupid, stupid. Why would he want anything to do with you anymore?

JOONHO

There’s something inherently wrong with this picture: two men with their feet forward, and the prospects of downing 70-proof concoctions by the bottle. The joke very nearly writes itself, but neither are laughing. Joohyuk stills as if he’s only a step away from making a mad dash for cover, and Joonho is too tongue-tied to be aware of anything else but the intense regret that washes through in overflow.

“I didn’t know you were here.” Here, in this little slice of New England that he’d made meticulous efforts to avoid any and almost all chances to return. A handful of hours from there, north of where back then marks a decade in its passage. Stagnancy and permanence, both ways that had been so undeniably his own that anything else was impossible. But the impossible had happened: the day after graduation, he’d hit the ground running, and for the next ten years, he’d never turned to look back.

Now, Joonho can’t even think to take his eyes off him, frozen in his shell-shocked state. Joohyuk’s lips spell out a stream of questions, ones that he carefully, dazedly answers.

“Yeah.” Again then, a little softer. He puts his hands in his pockets, steals a glance at the ground before his gaze returns. “Yeah, that’d be...good.” Joonho clears his throat. “Where...do you wanna go?”

JOOHYUK

The more appropriate way to go about this conversation would be if he'd been the one to say: 'I didn't know you were here.' Briefly, he's at a loss as to what he should say in response. Joonho had effectively taken his line and thrown it right back at him and-- "Lara and I kept in touch after graduation." The hidden implication sits uncomfortably in between them right after the sentence leaves his mouth.

Unlike Joonho, he'd stayed in the area, finding half-fulfillment in a well-paying, stable job with one of his former soccer teammates. Kyle had almost fully replaced Joonho in the 'best friend' department but there was always something a little lacking. They'd climbed up the corporate ladder with their prestigious university's mantle hanging above them with every promotion, networking like crazy--until Kyle moved halfway across the country and Joohyuk climbed up even further. Without him. Without Joonho.

That second loss wasn't nearly as devastating.

The reminder makes him stutter in his steps, and he feels a lot less in control. "There's the uh, the hedge maze or something right outside the...venue." He looks around for his date, for another classmate, anyone that can help ease the tension or take him out of the situation completely but it's like he can't place faces to names anymore. It's just Joonho. "We can just...walk around it or inside, it doesn't matter to me."

Ungracefully, he downs the rest of what's in his champagne glass, and waits for Joonho to walk his way. He's extremely conscious of their pace, how far they're walking apart, and in a fit of nervousness, he remarks, "Either way we're going to get lost. I'm still bad with directions even after living in New York for the past few years." Give a little, take a little.  "Where...have you been?"

JOONHO

With every answer, there's the unspoken question of his lack thereof. Couldn't, didn't keep in contact, his number always beneath his hovering hands but never pressed, leaving behind footprints everywhere and anywhere except where a certain someone might be. Between the two of them, Joohyuk may have been the athlete, but Joonho had the unfortunate skill ability to run at the first spur of reflexes—the heart wants what the heart wants, but he's already sprinted. Made a distance marked by miles. Years. Memories already fading into sepia tones.

So then what's stopping him from turning the other way?

"Oh. That's great." His steps match up to Joohyuk's strides. They fall faint, hushed against the padding of the trimmed grass as they walk. Instinctively, he moves on a couple inches ahead, in case they do get lost. That strikes him belatedly, with a pang. Old habits die hard.

“I’ve…” Joonho hesitates. “I’ve been around.” He can’t lie through his teeth, if that’s anything to find relief in. “Where I work they like to keep me constantly on my toes. Checking up on sites and such.” A dry laugh follows.

When they reach the maze, he moves on further ahead—through the entrance, to a bench situated somewhere in the clearing. He could easily suggest they go deeper into the coiled space, but then wonders if that would imply anything more than what is already lodged between them. He’s knotted with discomfort, or is it want? Or are those terms interchangeable? Want, the pang of not having anything at all. It brings the same spell of nausea all the same. He should’ve known to slip himself another glass before diving in head-first.

“I should’ve known you were there. New York. It’s...” He pauses, struggling to find the right words. “You’d fit right in without question.” And there’s that laugh again. Not knowing, unknowingly so. “Much better than I could, anyway.”

JOOHYUK

It strikes him suddenly, that he's always looking at Joonho's back. Back in college, Joonho had hard-carried him through a few semesters when he couldn't figure his shit out, and Joohyuk had...provided comic relief? An outlet for those nights where Joonho needed to get out and drink until he forgot his own name?

But look at him now - cushy job in one of those fields that makes people nod, impressed. Full of crisp suits and white men - Joohyuk's where he is today because he's a great bullshitter. Half the battle is the confidence, and the other fourth is connections. And that last bit? Well, that part is actually is hard work, and he'd learned that from --

"Joonho, you coulda made it in New York if you really wanted to." He grins, and he feels like a college freshman again. "You're the smartest and most hard-working person I know - you'd do my job ten times better than me in half the time."

But the  feeling at Joonho's compliment fills him with giddiness - a little amplified by the open bar (former blessing turned current yikes), and he puts his hands into the pockets of his dress pants. And then, he takes a seat onto the stone bench, perched just a bit on the edge, looking up at Joonho.

Something about this position takes him back to some day in late December, and his chest tightens. Maybe this was a bad idea after all.

"It's been a bit lonely without ya." And he never should have sat down. Joonho has the higher ground; Joohyuk has always been the one who felt too much, too quickly, too intensely. He's a bit of an all or nothing guy. "I did miss you, if we're being honest here."

Well, fuck.

JOONHO

There's a sting of disappointment that has him almost flinch despite himself. It's a compliment that means well—of course, it's Joonhyuk, for Christ's sake, he always does in twofold, three, heart stitched flame red on his sleeve—but the sinking feeling snakes in, anyway. Is that all there is to say? But he's the last person on this planet to have the right to such expectations, to yearn as so.

"Uh," Joonho tries on a polite smile. "Wouldn't be my kind of people there..." He doesn't dwell on the stagnancy of his own job—a passion project for sure, but Joonho's not blind to what that speaks volumes to  an outsider. A dismissive wave. The sentiment that follows this time is genuine. "I'll let you handle the big city for me."

Like he's let him done back then. The one constant he's known, forever steadfast in his presence, his warmth.

In the beat of silence that falls, Joonho wonders if it's too late to turn things around. To let the confessions he's left buried to fall free from his mouth. That there was never really anyone else after him.  That his absence has become a part of his very being, like a tangible limb, a faithful shadow. That there are days where the empty air of his room is filled whole with it, a kind of lonely that is intimate with the pain it brings.

But then Joohyuk speaks, and he's stunned speechless.

The shock on his face is vivid. Common sense lags too far behind to have the decency to at least be embarrassed, thoughts lapsing into white noise.

"You-" It's on the top of his tongue. You don't even know. He takes a shaky breath, his mind catches up at last. Composure. Not yet.

"I actually thought about calling you before," Joonho shifts, one foot to the other. "Maybe once. Couple of times. But-" Excuses by the dime, but he's not in the proper state of mind to pick the right one. Another breath, and it lets out in a defeated sigh. "I don't know." I don't know if you'd want me back.

JOOHYUK 

"Me." he teases back, interjecting himself in between the breath it takes for Joonho to continue with his sentence - because Joohyuk is the one that's afraid of being forgotten. "You should have called. I would have liked that." But then he remembers himself in college, and the way they'd left off, the way he'd acted towards the end. It's a two-way street, and he's played just as big a part in this mess they're in right now (if not more). "I could have called too. Should have."

But now they're adults, and their friends are getting married, settling down. Joohyuk's biological clock isn't bothering him and he isn't desperate to find someone to get all domestic with, but there are regrets that have been left gaping still. Tonight might be the best and only night to disinfect and band-aid the damn thing so he decides not to hold back. "You're still a bit of an old man, aren't you? The city and its people aren't so bad. You just need to find your niche."

Joonho looks antsy, and Joohyuk wonders if he should try and wrap this up. He's always been the one to push Joonho from his comfort zone but he doesn't want to actually make him uncomfortable. This situation is awkward enough as is. "You say your people aren't there, but..." The incessant need to be noticed and acknowledged, and the uglier parts of himself that manifest out of those traits - well, he's working on them. Therapy has been great for that. "I'm there." So, that was a bit selfish, a bit self-indulgent, but two steps forward and one step back still nets positive, right?

"And wasn't I your person at one point?" Joohyuk looks up at the man that had given him so many firsts. The one who he truly felt attached at the soul with. "You were mine." Bonds like that don't just fade, not when it's them. "The position's still open if you're interested."

No holding back.