#Good news is I got almost four and a half consecutive hours of sleep which is the longest I've gone without waking up in a while! So :3

[thatoneluckybee]

did I tell y'all I hate time change or daylight savings or water it is

[fruitcoops]

I was wondering if I could request something? Maybe Sirius' first night at the Dumais' place and Dumo can straight away tell that somethings wrong. Sirius makes polite conversation and it all looks so painful until he retires for the night and Dumo passes by his room and he hears Sirius crying maybe? Because of what his mother said, and maybe because he has trouble adjusting to new situations? Just an idea that popped into my head :) Only if you want to write it <3 Thank you

Yes, I can! I love writing Dumo, but for some reason I don't do it that often--his and Sirius' dynamic is just so wholesome and wonderful. SW credit goes to @lumosinlove!

TW for implied child abuse and broken glass (no injury)

The first thing Pascal Dumais noticed about Sirius Black was how quiet he was. At only eighteen years old, Sirius was taller than most of the other Lions, with broad shoulders and gangly limbs. Yet he moved almost silently, padding along the wood floors in his socks and speaking only when spoken to. It was…honestly, a bit unsettling.

Dumo had expected a rambunctious teenage boy, still high on the thrill of being drafted to the NHL—instead, he found himself the guardian-slash-landlord of a ghost. Sirius unloaded his meager belongings with little fuss and accepted no help, his pale eyes never lingering on either of them for too long.

Celeste poked her head into the living room in the early afternoon when they returned from the grocery store; Sirius was sitting ramrod straight in the smallest chair they had with a thick book in his hands. She knocked gently on the doorframe, and he jumped. “Sirius, would you like some lunch?”

“I don’t want to be any trouble,” he said in that unusually soft voice.

“It’s no trouble,” she assured him.

“I can make myself a sandwich if you have other things to do. Really, I’m alright.”

“When was the last time you ate?”

Sirius blinked, as if he hadn’t expected her to ask, then glanced at the clock on the wall. “I had breakfast at seven and a granola bar on the plane.”

“Sirius, it’s almost two.”

“Is it?”

“Come with me for a moment, oui?” She ushered him into the kitchen; Dumo wasn’t sure he would ever get used to seeing someone so physically imposing walk so small.

“Papa?” Someone tugged on the hem of his shirt and he snapped out of his daze, leaning down to lift Adele into his arms with a smile.

“Bonjour, mon chou! Did you have fun outside?” She nodded, wiggling a little in her excitement, and put her hands on either side of his face. Dumo’s stomach sank. “Why are your hands wet?”

“I washed them!”

“Why?”

“Because we played with chalk!”

Both the boys were at day camp, and Katie was down for her afternoon nap. Dumo wracked his brain. “Who were you playing with?”

“Sirius!” she giggled, then held the front of her shirt out. Wasn’t she wearing a different one this morning?“An’ he said chalk stains, so he lifted me up so I could wash my hands and helped me get my new shirt on when it got stuck and let me braid his hair! Can we keep him? Please, Papa, I wanna keep him forever!”

Dumo kissed her forehead as a wave of emotion tickled the back of his throat. Less than six hours in their home, and Sirius was already connecting with his children. “Oui, we can. Did you say thank you?”

Adele bit her lower lip. “I don’t remember.”

“Sirius?” Dumo called. The clanking in the kitchen stopped. “Can you come here for a moment?”

There was a beat of silence before he appeared in the doorway, looking paler than before as he walked over to them. This boy needs to eat more, the parental part of Dumo’s brain thought instantly. Slate-grey eyes flickered between them. “She—she had chalk on her shirt. I’m sorry, I should have asked.”

“It’s alright. What do you say?” Dumo asked, turning to Adele.

She turned a beaming smile on Sirius. “Thank you!”

His whole face softened in the blink of an eye and he smiled back, giving her a light fist bump. “Pas de problem, petit papillon.”

-------------------------------

Sirius opened up a bit over lunch; Adele perched herself right in his lap with her peanut butter sandwich to his clear astonishment, but his smiles came easier after that and Dumo treasured each one. He was already grateful that Sirius did not seem like the type of asshole player that Dumo remembered from his high school years.

Marc and Louis returned to the house just as they finished, and though Sirius offered to help wash the dishes—the boy was a blessing, really—they shooed him off to play with the kids for a while. It would do them all some good to get out in the sun.

“Quiet, isn’t he?” Celeste remarked as they stood side-by-side at the sink. Her tone was casual, but Dumo saw the worry in her eyes.

He hummed in agreement. “He’s probably just nervous, mon amour. They can take a while to warm up.”

“Pascal, I don’t think—”

The sound of shattering glass echoed from the other room. The house held its breath. “Is everyone alright?” Dumo called, drying his hands on the nearest towel as his pulse picked up. “What happened?”

Hushed whispers floated out, followed by the pitter-patter of little feet. He hurried down the hall with Celeste hot on his heels. “I’m so sorry,” Sirius said as they entered the room. He was kneeling on the wood floor, gathering fragments of a small water glass in one palm. “It was my fault. I hit it with my elbow.”

Celeste frowned. “Boys? Adele? I know you were here.”

Dumo didn’t miss Sirius’ hard swallow, nor the sudden nervousness—no, that was fear—on his face as the three kids crept out from around the corner, looking guiltier than anything. Adele stepped forward, but Sirius stood in a smooth, instinctive motion, keeping her behind him. “It was my fault,” he repeated. Dumo’s heart sank.

“Adele, is that true?”

She looked up toward Sirius, who kept his broad hand ever so slightly in front of her shoulder. Celeste raised an eyebrow. “Adele Marie, tell the truth.”

“No,” she said.

“Come here, please.” Dumo watched Sirius’ breaths go shallow as Celeste beckoned to Adele, but confusion took its place when she crouched to her level. “Thank you. What Sirius did was very nice, but we don’t let other people take the fall for our mistakes in this house, Adele. We accept responsibility. Who broke the cup?”

“I was chasing Marc and we both bumped into the table,” Adele confessed, toying with the hem of her butterfly-patterned shirt. “It was an accident, I promise.”

“Did anyone get hit by the glass?” Dumo asked. All three shook their heads. “Sirius?”

He cleared his throat. “No, Mr. Dumais.”

“Marc, Adele, I want you to find the broom and dustpan so your mother and I can clean this up. Thank you for being honest. Sirius, there’s a trash can in the kitchen, but be careful of the sharp edges. And please, call me Pascal or Dumo.”

But he didn’t stop thinking about the visible alarm on Sirius’ face when Celeste brought Adele forward all afternoon. Something was not right.

--------------------------------

If it wasn’t for the baby, Dumo would not have heard it.

Katie woke around midnight with a quiet whine, which devolved into whimpering, and finally into full-out sobbing for over half an hour. He carried her downstairs so she wouldn’t wake the others and gently rocked her, humming lullabies under his breath until his throat was dry and her tears abated. “There’s my good girl,” he murmured, drying her pudgy cheeks with his sleeve.

The last bits of sleep faded away as he set her down in her crib again, and he sighed. The season didn’t start for more than a month, but he had been looking forward to a few consecutive nights of solid rest before then.

May as well check on the others, he thought, wandering down the hallway in his thickest socks and bathrobe to stave off the nighttime chill. Marc and Louis were each out cold; he took the open book splayed across Marc’s bed and set it on his dresser, turning the lamp off as he left. Adele was curled into a tight ball around no less than four of her precious stuffed animals and he tucked the blankets back over her shoulder.

Dumo’s feet carried him down the stairs before his brain fully caught up, and he paused—Sirius had been in their house for a single day, and already he had the urge to look out for him. The thought should have made him feel silly, but instead he felt…peaceful. He felt right. There was a lost and near-silent boy in his home, who protected his kids within hours of knowing them. Of course Dumo was going to make sure he was alright.

Summer wind rushed past the wide windows as he headed toward the basement. It was warmer there, and he took a moment to mentally pat himself on the back for remodeling two years prior. Hopefully, Sirius would be comfortable.

A soft sound broke through his thoughts. Dumo stopped on the last step.

There was a harsh breath, then a sniffle, as if the person inside was trying and failing to keep their tears in past the point of no return. He heard a few shaky, weak inhales, then a choked noise that cut off abruptly with a gulp.

Dumo closed his eyes to hold back tears of his own and knocked lightly on the bedroom door.

Everything went silent with a rustle.

“Sirius?” he whispered, raising his voice just enough to be heard through the door. “Are you awake?”

There was no answer.

“Can I come in?” he ventured.

An unsteady voice answered. “Ouais.”

The door creaked a little as he opened it and stepped into the dark room. Sirius was nothing more than a clump of shadows on the far side of the bed, squished tight against the wall with all his blankets wrapped around him. “What happened?”

“Nothing. Je vais bien.”

“Can I sit?” Dumo fully expected Sirius to tell him ‘no’, to make an excuse, to pull some arrogant teenager nonsense.

Instead, he tucked his legs up and made room near the foot of the bed with another sniffle. “Did I wake you?”

“Non. Katie was crying, and I thought I’d check on everyone.” He settled down and scooted until his back was against the wall as well—Sirius was still hiding in a cocoon of his duvet, but his hand came up to wipe his face. “Do you want to talk?”

“About what?”

“You seem upset. I know the homesickness is hard for the first few days, but—”

“No.” The vehemence of Sirius’ answer shocked him into silence. “No. I’m not homesick. I just—so much has happened, and I—it’s—this is everything I wanted, right here, and—”

He broke off with a wounded noise that broke Dumo’s poor heart right down the middle. He moved closer until their shoulders touched; to his surprise, Sirius leaned on him and shivered. “How can I help you?” Dumo asked quietly.

“Your family…” Sirius shook his head and drew the covers tighter. “You have a beautiful family. You should be proud of them.”

“I am, every day.”

“Your kids love you so much.” It was barely more than a whisper.

Dumo sighed through his nose. “I know.”

“No, you don’t, they—you’re their hero. And not because of hockey.”

That was Dumo’s dream, laid out right in front of him. If someone he hardly knew could see that, then it must be true. The impact was greater than he ever could have imagined; his lungs felt tight. “Thank you. Is it alright if I ask you something?”

Sirius stiffened slightly.

“You’re not in trouble, and you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to. I’m just…worried.”

He felt Sirius shift. “This is about the glass.” It wasn’t a question.

“Oui.” Dumo searched for the words and scrounged up any sliver of tact he could find. “Sirius, do you—what happens when you break a glass at your house?”

Sirius’ breath rushed from his lungs in a near-silent sob. Dumo gathered him close in his arms and held him, letting tears dampen his shoulder as he murmured soft reassurances in French. “I’m sorry,” Sirius croaked, though he did not move away. “I’m sorry for—for intruding, and for ruining your shirt—”

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” Dumo gave him a light squeeze of comfort and felt him go a bit boneless. “And you are not intruding. We love having you here with us.”

“Really?”

He sounded so unsure. So young. Dumo wished he could take away whatever horrible things had been said to ever make someone so kind feel so small. “Yes. Adele, especially.”

“She’s so…colorful.” Fondness dripped from every word.

“She is,” Dumo agreed. “She came running up to me, and went ‘papa, papa, can we keep him?’”

Sirius laughed a little at his imitation and straightened up, drying his eyes on his hoodie sleeve. They sat quietly for a while until the shaking stopped and his death grip on the comforter loosened. “Thank you, Mr. Dumais.”

“Call me Pascal, or Dumo if you like. ‘Mr. Dumais’ makes me sound like a grandfather.” They laughed together, then fell silent once more. “And you’re welcome. Any time you need help, you can come to me. I might not be your father, but—”

“You’re better,” Sirius interrupted, wiping his nose. His shadow turned to face Dumo in the dark, and though he couldn’t see his face, he could picture the earnest expression. “In every way. Please don’t tell anyone about this, though.”

“It never even crossed my mind,” Dumo answered honestly. “I should let you sleep now. We have some busy weeks ahead of us, eh?”

“Bonne nuit, M—Dumo.” The name carried new weight and he let it sink in as Sirius laid back down and kicked his blankets back into place. Something told him this was the beginning of a very interesting story.

“Bonne nuit, Sirius. Welcome to our home.”

[bbyboibinnie]

two of us

synopsis: love is hard to come by, especially when the boy you’ve been pining over is already taken. pairing: reader x jisung  genre: fluff, angst, romance, college au  warning: explicit language/cursing wc: 2.8k

one

It was halfway through your senior year in high school when you two had met. This was unexpected to say the least because it was the last semester of your last year; you had no intentions of making any new friends, considering you already had a handful of people you were close with and stuck by for the last three years. It was Chan that introduced you to him. You had known Chan for awhile–he was your lab partner for two consecutive years now–and although you considered him as a friend, you had never actually hung out outside of school before, unless it was for a group project of course. However, one day he had invited you to his birthday celebration and that was the day when you met his other friends, one of them being Jisung. 

“Woah, slow down there.” His word caught you by surprise as you were stuffing cupcakes in your mouth. You didn’t really know any of Chan’s friends at the time and socializing with new people didn’t exactly come by easily for you, so you had opted to linger around the snack table instead. 

Hastily dusting the crumbs off your face, you introduced yourself, “Oh, hey. My name is y/n.”

“I’m Jisung. I think we have calculus together right?” You looked at him closely; with black hair, deep brown eyes, and round cheeks you couldn’t lie–he was pretty cute, but you shook your head in response as you didn’t recognize him.

“Ya, Jisung! Come help me set up the cake!” Another one of the boys had called out, cutting your conversation with him short.

“Keep an eye out for me in calc.” He said as he was dragged away into the kitchen.

two

Sure enough, he was in the same math class as you. Honestly, besides your best friend in that period, you really didn’t pay attention to the other people. After all, the class was impacted and half of them were underclassmen so why bother remembering all the names and faces? 

It was the day after the party and you looked around at everyone in the class; it only took you a moment before you spotted him in a seat two rows over. The lecture hadn’t started yet so he was talking to his friends. You didn’t feel the need to get up to go over and spark a conversation or anything, but when you two made eye contact, you gave him a quick smile before turning back to face the front board. 

For a while, you two would occasionally spare glances at each other and wave or smile if you locked eyes, but there was nothing more. It wasn’t until after the latest exam when he approached you again.

“Hey, how’d you think you did?” He asked, waiting as you finished packing up your belongings. 

“Could’ve done better. What about you?” You made your way to the door and he followed suit.

“Just hoping for that passing grade. Anyway, Chan and I were going to meet up to grab food after class today, wanna come?” You debated going with them for a second but ended up agreeing anyways. 

You didn’t know what to make of Jisung at first, considering you had only exchanged a few words, but after hanging with him, even if it was just for a few hours, you found him to be quite likable. 

From then on, he stuck around and you didn’t mind, in fact, perhaps you enjoyed his presence a lot more than you were willing to admit. 

three 

High school came and went but you were ready to face the new challenges and opportunities that college presented. Most of your other friends had been accepted to places further away, but you had settled for community for the time being. For the most part, you were an independent person; therefore, you tried to not be clingy when your friends left to reach their own goals–you’d see them soon enough again–but you had been worried about starting this whole new chapter of your life alone, luckily for you, someone by the name of Han Jisung had enrolled right alongside you.

As days went by, you two were seen together more and more. Of course he met new people, and so did you, but it was always nice to have someone familiar to go back to and for you, that familiar face was Jisung, and for him, that person was you. 

Your majors were completely different and so were your classes, but you still spent time with him studying, ranting about professors, and passing out in each other’s rooms after staying up to finish assignments. 

“Hey, Jisung,” you whispered, trying to not startle him awake, “it’s almost midnight. You should probably head back to your place before it gets too late.” He was slumped over your desk, fingers lifelessly placed atop the keyboard of his laptop, already drifting into a deeper state of sleep. “Jisung.” You tried again, only to have him groan in response. Shaking your head, you draped a throw blanket over his figure before returning to your workload. 

It had gone on like this for weeks, months, nearly a year. One night he’d sleep over at your place and the next you’d be at his. Both of you had been accustomed to this routine now and you thought nothing of it, however, the more time you spent with him, the more you found things to like about him, and that’s what you were afraid of in the beginning–falling for him.

four 

You were never the type to fall head over heels for anyone, all throughout elementary, middle, and high school, you only had occasional crushes but nothing significant. Yet,

there was something about him that you couldn’t shake off. Maybe it was the way he always made stupid jokes that you couldn’t help but laugh at, or perhaps it was the way he played his guitar and share the new songs he wrote with you first before anyone else got to hear them. It was the smile that reached his eyes and the way he knew you so well, like the back of his hand. It was everything. 

You didn’t expect anything more out of the platonic relationship, but you couldn’t just get rid of the feelings on demand, so you had to let them settle and hope that they’d go away eventually, of course that didn’t work. 

five

Just because you saw Jisung differently, didn’t mean he would have the same outlook on you. 

“What do you think would make a good first date?” Jisung had asked casually over the counter. You were currently on shift at the local boba shop and Jisung often tagged along; typically he just sat there and did his homework as he waited, but on days where store traffic was low, he would ease your boredom by talking aimlessly. This particular caught you off guard though.

“Um, I’m not sure. Why do you ask?” You said, trying to sound casual, while restocking the ingredients.

“Well, I finally managed to receive a ‘yes’ after I asked someone out earlier today.” He said, smiling to himself in satisfaction. You were shocked, but at the same time, not at all. During the twelve months or so that you’ve known him, relationships weren’t a common topic of discussion. Yes, it did come up a few times but college and just life in general was already too time consuming so you didn’t bother with relationships, and neither did he.

“Wow, I’m impressed Jisung. I didn’t think anyone would fall for a clown like you.” You teased him, hoping your disappointment wasn’t showing. You knew that it was a platonic relationship and had set no expectations, yet you still felt a wave of sadness wash over.

“Oh, haha. Seriously though, I only prepared on how to ask them out, but I didn’t think past that because I wasn’t sure I’d even make it this far.”

“In that case, why don’t you consider what the person likes and try to set up something that you both would enjoy? Personally, I don’t think you could go wrong with arcade, pizza, and boba though. I could even hook you up with a discount on the boba.” You said jokingly in an attempt to lift your mood up. 

“What would I do without you? You better keep your word about that discount though. Oh shit, I gotta head back and finish my essay, see ya y/n. Also, text me when you get back to your place!” He shouted the last part as he was in the midst of exiting and the door jingled as it shut behind him. 

six

So his date had gone well and now his status went from ‘single’ to ‘taken’ while you were still struggling to manage your unrequited feelings. You had accepted the situation for what it was but that didn’t make it any easier. 

Naturally as he began to split his time between his new relationship and you, the time you spent with him dwindled down. Weekly study sessions became bi-weekly, which turned into monthly events. You didn’t hold this against him though, you were glad he found someone to connect with. 

“Hey, sorry I’m late… again.” Jisung said sheepishly as he entered your room, with a backpack slung over his shoulders, messy hair, and pink marks peeking out from under his t-shirt. You were flustered at the sight, knowing that he had just come back from being with his significant other, doing who knows what. 

“Uh, it’s okay. Just–let’s just get to studying.” You preoccupied yourself with your various notes and textbooks and tried you best not to be distracted. Suddenly, somewhere along the line, tension began to build. Maybe you were just imagining it but something had shifted between you and Jisung these days, and it gave you a sense of hopelessness because there was nothing you could do about it.

seven

More time had passed and your friendship was still afloat, but it definitely wasn’t the same as before. It seems like everything has its peak and you two have surpassed that; what goes up must come down, so it was all downhill from there. 

As his relationship became more unstable and doubts, he slowly began to make his way back to you. You should’ve been happy, even elated at this fact, but you weren’t. 

“I don’t know what happened. One minute we were fine and the next we were arguing. It’s like I am dating a different person now.” He expressed to you, once again at the boba shop you were still working at. It had actually been awhile since he came.

“Mmhhm.” You nodded wordlessly as you continued to spray down the tables with disinfectants.

“The argument was so petty, I should’ve known better than to engage in it.” The rant continued on and on and you had mindlessly agreed with everything he said, until he noticed you weren’t even paying attention.

“Y/n, are you even listening to me?” 

“Yup.”

“Okay, then will you give me your entire life savings?”

“Yes.”

“Y/n!” He shouted, getting up from his seat to stand directly in front of you on the other side of the counter. His loud voice startled you and you looked up, only to face a boy who was seething in anger. “Why are you blatantly ignoring me? I’m trying to rant to you and you’re not even helping.”

That was the last straw. 

“Listen, don’t come in here asking me to be your guidance counselor after cancelling our plans on dozens of occasions. Also, how could you really expect me to give you my time when you can’t even spare me a minute on any other day. You’ve been a real jerk lately and you haven’t even noticed it! I can’t believe I ever liked someone like you!” The indirect confession left your mouth before you could stop yourself, and he stood there absolutely dumbfounded. 

eight 

 That night, you immediately wanted to hide in the back of the store and hope whatever happened never happened, but you were tired of miscommunication.

“You like me?” Between the two of you, he was the one who had the courage to break the silence.

“Liked. I liked you. Past tense.”

“Do you still like me? Present tense.” 

“No, I don’t–or maybe. I don’t know right now.” You had mentally convinced yourself that you were over him, but trying to admit it out loud proved otherwise. 

“Y/n, I–” He started but you cut him off before he could finish.

“Maybe you should just go home now. I need some time to think.” He had hesitated for a moment, but eventually, he respected your wishes. 

nine

It had been over a week, nearing two weeks, since you’ve talked to him. You already had so much on your plate with finals coming around and constantly having to work, so this was not something you wanted to deal with now, or ever actually. But closure was necessary, for you and for him, so you decided that once finals were over, you’d set things straight.

Grabbing the phone off your nightstand, scrolled through your contacts to find his name.

(11:57 PM ) 

[ you ]  hey, we should talk after finals r over

You sent the text, hoping he’d want closure as well, but minutes passed there was no response. Just when you were about to sleep, your phone vibrated.

(12:05 AM)

[ jisung ] okay, see u after finals then. gn 

ten 

You had just gotten out of your last class of the day when he came into view. Frankly, you hadn’t expected to meet up with him until later on in the day, but that was your own mistake for not specifying when or where to meet in the text. Although this had slightly caught you off guard, you couldn’t put this off forever so you made your way towards him.

It was a relatively cold day; he stood there bundled up in his hoodie and a beanie atop which tamed his hair from the strong winds. 

“Hey.” You said as you stood face to face with him.

“Hey, it’s been awhile.” He responded, eyes softening when he saw you. 

* * * 

Together, you ended up walking back to his place to talk. Nothing much was said during the trip back, besides the occasional polite small talk like “how have you been?” and “how were finals?” 

When he opened his door, you entered wearily; although you had visited his place numerous times in the past, the last time you actually came by was months ago so it felt odd to be back to place so familiar, yet foreign again. 

You were grateful for the fact that it was so warm in his apartment because the weather outside had left your body feeling numb. 

“Here, I know you get cold easily.” Jisung handed you an extra sweater he pulled from his closet and you thanked him before sliding it over your shoulders. 

The both of you just stood in his living room, no one knew what to say or how to start the conversation, but you were here now so it was time to say everything you’ve felt. With a deep breath, you began. 

“I thought I could let go of my feelings for you, but I couldn’t.” You said, focusing on the floor as you couldn’t look him in the eyes. “And I’m sorry if this makes you feel uncomfortable or jeopardizes whatever is left of our friendship, but I can’t keep lying to myself anymore. If you don’t like me, then I’ll have to accept it and move on but I just had to let you kn-” 

Your spiel came to an abrupt stop when he drew you into his arms. Not knowing how to react, you were frozen from confusion and shock.

“Y/n, do you know how long I’ve been waiting for you?” He held you at arms length and gently titled your chin up so you could meet his gaze. “If I had known you liked me, I would’ve never looked at anyone else.”

His words were forming incoherent sentences in your head. Was this his confession? Did he feel the same way? 

He must’ve sensed your puzzlement because he smiled at you and said, “Yes dummy, I like you too.” 

Your immediate response was to smile, but then something dawned on you.

“What about your current relationship?”

“I’m no longer in a relationship. We have been broken up for nearly a month now.” 

“So what does that mean for us?” You say, almost too optimistically. And his response was to pull you in close, so close to the point where you could feel his breath fanning across your cheeks and your noses were barely touching, before closing the gap between your lips and his.

a/n: honestly, this piece is kind of all over the place since it’s my first one but hopefully more practice will make my writing better! also, this is not proofread so my apologies for any grammatical/punctuation errors. 

also here it my masterlist in case you want to read my other works!

[blarrghe]

“My robes suit you.” FOR DORIANDERS I AM WEAK!!!

OH HELLO Thank you for bringing us to the next instalment of Giant Messy Idiot Mysteries Here it is on AO3

Pairing: Dorian x Anders Summary: Anders is a resident at a hospital in Minrathous, struggling with his medical school debts, the grueling hours of his job, a haunting whisper in his soul that never rests, and a debilitating crush on his new friend, Dorian.

Dorian is a newly appointed Magister in the Tevinter Magisterium, struggling with the expectations of his station, the recent death of his father, the weight of guilt and grief which came with it, and an absolute need of a hug. Chapter notes: cw for some alcohol and drug use (mostly mentions). 

This is an ongoing series I’m writing with the help of writing prompts people have sent me, feel free to send me one! You can read the prompt fill under the cut or the whole thing in order on AO3

Dorian was staying in the city. He'd rented one of those week-to-week, ready-furnished condos in some highrise downtown, the kind usually booked by vacationing tourists or affluent college students in need of a place to throw a party. He'd rented the place out the day after his father's funeral, and as far as Anders could tell, he hadn't been home to his family's sprawling estate in the country since. He said it made his commute easier; since his father's death, Dorian's political status had changed. A complicated combination of votes coupled with birthright determined a mage's place in the Magisterium, and Dorian's new position could only fall properly into place after several rounds of committee votes and the completion of an apparently endless amount of paperwork, which he'd been dutifully submitting and then complaining about ad nauseam. With all these meetings and events, it just made sense for him to have a place in town, or so he said. Anders suspected that he had another reason as well, and that she tended to shout at innocent nurses and “not like situations she couldn’t control”. Both his keeping of a sparsely furnished and impeccably clean temporary apartment, and the parade of (never-repeated) men Anders knew he had a habit of bringing back to it indicated as much. Anders, however, he had never had over. Anders had seen the inside of Dorian’s weekly rental (now going on its ninth week) only twice, and both times only from the doorway.

So even though he really wanted to be stubbornly irritated at Dorian for crashing into his valuable sleep time by almost dying on him again, when he finally arrived at the end of the long, carpeted hall and lifted his hand to knock sharply against the smooth and glossy paint of the condo’s door, it shook a little with his nerves.

Dorian, of course, came to the door in a robe.

It was a long, black, silken robe. Tied with a gold rope of more satiny fabric, and dipping in a deep V to reveal far, far too much golden skin. Anders painstakingly kept his eyes fixed right about his eyebrows, and tried to keep his own in a position that would denote stern. He was stern.

“You had better have an explanation,” Anders huffed as he deposited his bag in a heap of muddy-coloured canvas and broken zippers on the slippery tile floor of the entryway.

The ceiling above him stretched up for eons, decorated at the top with hanging lights glittering through wire fixtures that looked like they belonged in a museum of modern art. Ahead, the slick tile stepped down into a wide, white carpeted living room decorated in black and white and silver and nothing that looked like it had ever been touched by human hands, except for the bar at one end, which was cluttered with half-drunk bottles. Tall windows with long, white blinds walled off the far edge of the room, blinds drawn up to offer a view of city lights that gave way, between the shadows of other tall, glass-sided buildings competing for the view, to the sea. The view made him feel prickly; too high up, and annoyed that it likely cost more than the one he had of brick walls and smog from his own windows by the day, and that these vacuous places were what crowded the coastlines without end, while below the streets were crowded. But mostly, he didn't like the height. Dorian strode on into the apartment, and deposited himself comfortably onto the stiff white couch in the centre of the room, next to a glass coffee table that had on it a stout, gold-rimmed glass of something amber-coloured that Anders really hoped wasn’t alcoholic.

“A bachelor party gone wrong, I believe there’s a whole television series devoted to the concept, now.” he said, nonchalant. As though he hadn’t promised Anders a good reason for what had happened, twice. Something in Anders stirred unhappily. Did he think this was a game?

“Dorian, you could have died,” he still didn’t know what that had been, in Dorian’s body, blocking up his magic and turning him defenceless and silly. Or how much of it he’d done on purpose.

Dorian waived him off with a flutter of his hand, and Anders crossed his arms. “Don’t be dramatic,” he said. When Anders still didn’t uncross his arms, he sighed. “I simply had one too many drinks,” he continued, and Anders continued not to budge.

“Try eight too many,” he said. “And that doesn’t explain the visions or loss of magic or —”

“Visions?” Dorian frowned, “well, that does sound fun.”

“How can you not be taking this seriously? Do you even remember what you took? Who gave it to you?” was he a complete imbecile, after all?

Dorian sighed again. “Does it matter? I got drunk, I let down my guard, and someone got the better of me. It was bound to happen, now that I’ve got a position to keep.”

“What?” Anders stopped, suddenly struck by the uncomfortable realisation that Dorian did, in fact, think that this was a game. More than that, he’d more or less expected to play it. “You think this was political?”

“I think I was bloody stupid, and lucky to know you.” Dorian replied, shrugging away Anders’ new irritation, “and that I’ll have to be much more careful with where I place my drinks in the future.”

Anders shook his head, miffed out of speech. Dorian frowned again, apparently disappointed that his reveal of having been poisoned for political gain didn’t alleviate Anders’ concerns.

“Anyway, I have a thank you gift for you, I know it hardly serves to make amends for your having to put up with such hassles, but —” an inconvenience? That was Dorian’s takeaway from last night? He was faltering through his apology, now — “well, that’s twice you’ve kept me from a gutter when I really ought to have fallen in one,” he smiled, a heartbreakingly sad smile; even the aggravated parts of him wanted to offer comfort to that smile. They wanted something else too though, for the person responsible. “So, you can wear it to the wedding, if you’ll still go with me, that is.” He was still talking. Talking about a gift? A gift he was now taking down from a shelf mounted next to the vast stretch of television screen that spanned one towering white wall of the living room, and presenting to Anders.

The box was square and deep, twilight blue. It slid open, lined on the inside with soft black fabric, to reveal a shining silver watch. Anders could see his reflection in the glass cover, under which four consecutively smaller little gears and wheels of clock hands spun out at him. He blinked at it.

“You’re still going to that? After someone tried to poison you?” Anders very carefully closed the lid of the box over the watch, and put it slowly down on the glass coffee table next to Dorian’s glass of...brandy. He was drinking blighted brandy.

Dorian said something frustratingly nondescript and wishy, and picked up his glass. “No one tried to poison me,” he took a sip, “more likely they were just hoping to have me caught in a compromising position, or entice me out of some political secret. Visions, you said? Sounds like probitasexus; like a truth serum, but more fun. It’s par for the course, really.”

Anders stuttered after him, “par for the —”

“Of course, done with anything lyrium-laced, it interacts badly. But that bit’s my own fault. Reckless, as I said.”

So he’d taken magic-enhancing party drugs and twelve shots of vodka and then been secretly dosed with something to make him sexually honest? Anders swallowed. He’d liked not knowing where one symptom ended and another began better. Also, how was he managing to stand upright after all that?

“Do you have any ideas who did it, at least?” Anders asked, the spirit in him growing unhappier by the second.

Dorian, once again, simply shrugged. “It could have been any number of people,” he said, “plenty are none too happy about my new appointments.”

Then, with a voice that was quite forcefully more Not Anders than Anders, Anders heard himself say “but you have a plan to find out?” while the world went slightly blue.

Dorian squinted. “So,” he said slowly, “that part was real, then. You’re not alone in there.”

Anders squeezed his own hands together and blinked himself back. “It’s...Justice. And it’s complicated. But we both want to know,” he said. Of course; that, he remembered.

“Justice,” Dorian hummed, “how fitting.” He finished the brandy in his glass and walked around the crystal clear coffee table to the bar that stood by one of those tall, ocean-facing windows, “I don’t expect to find out who it was — the contract’s certainly been swept away by now — only to not let it happen again.” Then he opened a bottle and splashed four fingers of deep brown liquid too quickly into his glass, getting some on the bartop. Not only was he drinking brandy, he’d been drinking brandy for a while, it seemed.

Anders rushed to the counter, snagged the glass out from under him, and pushed it far down the bar. “Andraste’s mercy,” he scolded, “do I have to stage a one-man intervention? Do you have a death wish?”

“Funny,” Dorian leaned back, arms crossed, unfairly offended, “I could ask you the same thing.” A scrutinizing eye ran Anders over from top to bottom, “we all have our demons, don’t we?”

Evidently, he found this bit of wordplay to be clever enough to merit his snatching the drink back, and Anders was too busy keeping a lid on a sudden urge to punch him that came from the back corners of his thought (and maybe the front ones, too), to stop him.

“Justice is a spirit, and you could at least take a day off.”

“So could you.” Dorian took an indignant sip of brandy, “or do you spend every waking moment you have trying to help people out of an uncontrollable inclination towards justice?”

“You're going to criticize me for overwork?”

Dorian took one more, less indignant sip of the stuff, and sighed. “How about neither one of us criticizes the other for a moment? I need to… steady my nerves, that's all.”

“This isn't ok, Dorian.” Anders said, no less blunt than he meant to be. “You can’t just carry on with a target on your back.”

Dorian looked at him for a long, silent moment, the drink still in his hand, eyes searching.

“And what do you suggest I do about it? Run away? I have responsibilities.” he muttered finally. He couldn't have known the words would sting, but they did. “You're right though, no more foolish partying.” he said, putting the glass down again without drinking more. “Not for a while, anyway,” he smirked. “Satisfied?”

“No.”

Anders glared down at the glass between them until Dorian sighed, picked it up, and walked away through an open passage in the white walls. Anders followed him into a kitchen that was easily as big as Anders’ whole apartment, and watched him pour the drink into the sink, rinse it, go to the fridge, and fill the same glass again with water. He raised it in a salute and drank it.

“Then where does this leave us?” he said, just as bold as Anders, if not more.

“Maker, I don't know.” He wanted to be mad at him, because that would be simple, but he wasn’t; no part of him was. Heart beating too fast in his chest, frustration and concern pulling in opposing directions; afraid, but of him or for him he didn’t know — probably both. “I really can't stop you going to that wedding, can I?”

Dorian smiled, and shook his head.

“Then I'll go with you, if only to keep you out of more trouble.”

“Excellent. In that case, I have some things I want you to try on.”

And just like that, he was done with it all. Life-threatening drama shoved aside so that he could beckon Anders excitedly into his bedroom (his bedroom) to show off the offerings of a vast wardrobe.

He piled clothes onto the bed, hovered over them, pulling fabrics around and holding items over one another with scholarly concentration, and then finally gathered up a small mountain of things and piled them into Anders’ arms. He shoved Anders into an ensuite that held a bath three times bigger than his own blighted bed, and told him to try the green one first.

“It will suit your eyes,” he was calling through the door as he pushed Anders inside faster than Anders could protest, “if you really want justice, you’ll help me look good.” he went on, from the other side of the door.

“I could help you look for a new job,” Anders shot back through the door, grateful that Dorian couldn’t see him blushing.

“You said you liked politics.” Anders could practically hear the smirk across his reply.

Anders huffed and dropped the clothes Dorian had burdened him with in a pile on the floor, and looked for ‘The Green One’.

It was a long coat of deep, forest green with gold stitching and clasps, embroidered in an old-fashioned tradition with complicated paisley ornamentation in gold thread and shining beads. The patterns ran delicately along the collar, and into a wide neckline that ran down to the centre of his chest, where they clasped up the front with hooks of more gold. It came wrapped with matching leggings, which were loose and silky to the touch. Everything slipped on comfortably, the shoulders a little broad, maybe, but the length was perfect; a rare fit, for him. He stood for a minute turning in the mirror — a fact he would be sure never, ever to admit — just admiring it as it shone. Then Dorian knocked on the door expectantly, and Anders jumped, shaking his head at himself in the mirror until his expression settled back down.

He opened the door, and stepped out, making a point to do so quickly and to only turn for Dorian after he requested it, and with the most irritated roll of his eyes that he could muster.

“See, I was right.” Dorian mused, leaning back to admire his selections with a hand thoughtfully stroking at the hair on his chin, “my robes suit you.”

That time, Dorian could definitely see him blushing. Anders felt his blood rush hot to his cheeks, and narrowed his eyes as Dorian’s smirk intensified and his eyebrows waggled over it all. Anders’ mind was flooded with the echoes of “I see how you look at me”, and other things his massively irresponsible and only friend had said to him, while on drugs. Anders crossed his arms and grit his teeth, willing his cheeks to cool — definitely making it worse.

Dorian frowned. “Anders, I…” Dorian, then, dropped the mask of constant charm, and glanced down at his feet. “I didn’t do anything, last night, that was… untoward, did I? Because if I did I —”

On drugs, Anders reminded himself. (Honesty drugs — shush, honesty drugs with unpredictable drug interactions and lyrium-laced uppers, and alcohol — he continued to remind himself), whatever he’d done, he’d done it because he’d been a drooling puddle of poorly mixed chemicals. “— you mostly just muttered a lot of gibberish.” Anders stopped him, and a very large part of him was disappointed in him for his dishonesty, but Dorian breathed out with relief.

“I really can’t thank you enough.” Dorian snapped himself back into something with far more poise than should have been humanly possible, “you’re a good friend.”

[whumphoarder]

Lemon Eyes, All Mine

Summary: A sleep-deprived Tony attempts to soothe his colicky baby daughter in the way only an engineer could.

Word Count: 1,327

Genre: Emotional hurt/comfort, fluff, angst

Link to read on Ao3

A/N: Thanks so much to @xxx-cat-xxx for beta-reading and encouragement!

Tony Stark is no stranger to sleep deprivation. 

Over the years, he’s pulled countless all-nighters for reasons ranging from wild partying, to last-minute company deadlines, to his self-inflicted marathon lab sessions. Even when he does make it to bed at a reasonable hour, it’s not uncommon for insomnia or PTSD-induced nightmares to rob him of what little sleep he would otherwise get. He’s become something of an expert on the topic of staying on one’s feet through a combination of nothing but caffeine and sheer willpower. 

Tony was sure he knew how it felt to be exhausted.

Then Morgan was born.

“Shh… shh… c’mon sweetheart, c’mon,” he pleads, pacing the nursery as he desperately attempts to soothe the wailing two-month-old infant in his arms. It’s currently one o’clock in the morning and Morgan has been crying inconsolably for the last two hours straight. 

Just like she did last night. 

And the night before that. 

And the night before that.

“Tony?” Pepper’s voice croaks. He looks up to see his pajama-clad wife leaning against the doorframe of the nursery’s threshold, dark circles under her eyes. “Does she need to be fed again?”

Tony shakes his head. “Tried giving her a bottle a couple times already—she won’t take it. Diaper’s dry too.”

Pepper gives a tired hum of acknowledgement. Morgan’s nightly bouts of crying never seem to have a discernible reason. They’ve tried countless things to comfort her—swaddling, white noise machines, anti-gas drops, baby swings, midnight car rides—and nothing ever works. The doctors say it’s just colic and there’s nothing much they can do besides wait it out.

“I can take her for a while,” Pepper offers. “You should get some rest.”

“I’m alright,” he declines. “You’ve got meetings in the morning.”

Pepper hesitates, looking equal parts tempted and conflicted. “You sure?”

Tony smiles the smallest bit. “Positive. Go back to sleep, Pep.”

Moving over to them, Pepper plants a kiss first to his forehead, then to Morgan’s before heading back to the bedroom. 

Once she’s gone, Tony sinks down into the cushioned rocking chair with a sigh. 

“Yeah, yeah I know sweetie, life is hard,” he murmurs to the still-sobbing baby in his arms. “It’s one in the morning and your stomach hurts and it’s bumming you out…” He moves his hand to start massaging Morgan’s tiny belly with his fingertips. “It’s bumming me out too, to be honest.”

To his great surprise, Tony sees her little fists start to unclench. “Oh you like that, do you?” he says softly as he continues rubbing gently. “Well, I’ve got good news for you, kid—you’re in an excellent position from a negotiation standpoint. Whatever you want, you’ve got it.”

Slowly, gradually, Morgan’s distressed sobs fade into quiet whimpers as Tony’s fingers massage her belly. His hand starts to cramp after a while, but Morgan is finally settling down so he just switches to the other hand and soldiers on.

“You know, there will come a day when the world won’t stop just because you got a tummy ache,” he informs his daughter. “Eventually, you’ll just have to suck it up and get on with life like the rest of us.”

Sniffling slightly, Morgan raises an arm to rub at her eyes with a tiny fist. Her mouth opens up into a wide, toothless yawn.

“But lucky for you”—Tony yawns back—“that day is not today.”

They continue on like that for the next fifteen minutes until both father and daughter have drifted off to sleep.

X

After functioning as his daughter's personal masseur for the next two near-sleepless nights, inspiration strikes. Tony spends most of the following afternoon hard at work in his lab, and when he emerges that evening, his exhaustion is masked by the almost manic energy of new invention.

“I’ve got it, Pep,” he announces as he enters the nursery. “I know how to stop her crying.”

Pepper—who is just zipping the already cranky infant into a pair of footed pajamas—lets her gaze fall to the prototype in her husband’s hand. Her brow furrows. “And this is going to do what exactly?”

“Hopefully, it’s going to buy us more than two consecutive hours of sleep,” Tony replies. “Here, I’ll show you.”

After laying Morgan down in her crib, Tony carefully places his invention—a five-inch round custom-made electronic massage device—on her stomach, holding it snugly in place with a stretchy cloth strap that he wraps all the way around her torso and fastens with velcro. He then presses a button on the front of the device and three specially designed plastic ‘fingertips’ on its underside begin rubbing gentle circles on Morgan’s middle.

Pepper blinks at him. “You made her a robotic tummy-rubber?”

Tony scoffs. “Well, it sounds weird when you put it like that,” he complains over Morgan’s fussing. “I was gonna name it something a lot cooler.”

“Oh really?” Pepper raises an eyebrow. “Such as?” 

“Well…” Tony racks his sleep-deprived brain for a moment. “How about… uh, Comfort Claw?”

Pepper snorts out a laugh. “Definitely not.”

“Swirling Soother?” Tony tries again.

“Even worse.”

He screws his face up in thought. “...Tiny Tot Tranquilizer?”

Pepper rolls her eyes. “Are you even listening to yourself?”

Tony opens his mouth to retort something about engineering and marketing being separate fields when a sudden realization hits him. He can actually listen to himself. For the first time in weeks, it’s finally quiet.

Pepper seems to notice at the same moment because her gaze immediately falls to the drowsy baby in the crib between them. Her lips spread into a grin.

“Alright.” Pepper agrees, “Comfort Claw it is.”

X

Tony’s invention is definitely not a perfect solution—Morgan is still far from sleeping through the night without interruption—but it does significantly shorten the duration of her crying sessions and that’s enough to buy him and Pepper a bit of sanity. The two of them are now averaging four or five hours of sleep a night, which is a remarkable improvement from the two or three they were getting before. 

Unfortunately for Tony, there is one drawback. 

His brain now seems to have just enough energy to get back to torturing him. 

Tony jolts awake gasping, the remnants of a Titan-induced nightmare still playing in the back of his mind. He sits up against the headboard and stares at his trembling hands, half-expecting to see them covered in ash.

“...Tony?” Pepper murmurs, still half-asleep. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” he says tightly. Over the monitor, he hears Morgan whimpering unhappily. Since she’s not fully crying yet, they would usually just let her be, but Tony pulls the covers off anyway. “Gonna check on her.”

“M’kay…” Pepper breathes.

Swinging his shaky legs out of bed, Tony then makes his way down the hall. It’s been weeks since he’s slept long enough to relive that particular trauma and he’s not eager to repeat it. He pushes open the door to the nursery and slips inside.

Morgan is lying in her crib, awake and fussing. The massaging device is humming quietly on her stomach and she’s kicking her legs in the air.

Gently, Tony reaches over the crib’s bar and starts stroking her arm with the pad of his thumb. “‘Sup, kiddo,” he whispers. “How’s your night going?”

She makes some more unhappy noises and Tony huffs out a quiet laugh. “Yeah. Same here.”

Carefully, he undoes the cloth straps of the massager from around Morgan and lifts her up into his arms. “Shh.. Shh… It’s okay,” he soothes. “Daddy’s got you.” 

Sitting down in the rocker, he shifts her around to lay in the crook of his elbow. His fingers move to her stomach and he starts rubbing gentle circles on the surface.

“I know, I know darling,” he murmurs as her whimpers slowly fade away. “Some nights are rough.” He rocks her gently in the chair. “But you know what? We’re gonna make it through.”

X

Link to all my fics

If you like the Tony & baby Morgan dynamic, I would highly recommend:

 Settle our bones (like wood) over time, over time by @xxx-cat-xxx

X

[heartsofstrangers]

What has been one of the most challenging things you’ve experienced or are currently experiencing?

“Probably drug addiction.”

Tell me about that.

“Since I was fourteen years old, the first time I ever tried it, I’ve been intermittently addicted to crystal meth. The past four years, it’s been pretty consecutive other than the four months that I spent in jail two years ago. I guess that’s the gist of it.”

When did you start using it?

“I was about fourteen years old. I used to do it every other weekend with a group of shitty friends that I had made.”

What was going on in your life at that time?

“I had just lost my best friend, who was like my brother; we grew up together. He died from complications due to diabetes. I saw that they were using it and I had taken Adderall before. I thought it was like Adderall, except you could snort it or smoke it, and I thought that’s always fun. I recognized that they were carefree on it, and I wanted to be like that, so I did it.”

What was it like the first time you got high?

“It was sketchy and I was on edge. I don’t know if you’ve done any sort of upper, but it’s intense. It actually made me feel disgusting for a while. I felt really gross the entire time and then coming down was awful, but something inside me wanted to do it again, so I did. It disconnected me from the world. All that really mattered was scribbling on a piece of paper for hours on end. I guess it was really getting lost in reality.”

How did your life unfold—were you in school at that time?

“It kind of caused me to ‘fail out’ of high school; I didn’t drop out, but failed out pretty bad. I had to retake my sophomore year on the computer and graduated at the bottom of my class because of it, or the choices I made while on it. I don’t really know if I was in control or not then.”

You talked about jail—how did you end up there?

“I got arrested leaving a drug deal in June 2015 and then, after my parents bailed me out, I stopped going to court for the probation sentence and a year and a half later, they picked me up at my older brother’s apartment at 11:00 p.m. Six bounty hunters apprehended me and  then I spent the next four months in Montgomery County. I was there for Thanksgiving, Christmas Eve, Christmas, New Year’s Eve, New Year’s, and almost my birthday, all behind bars.”

What was that like?

“Honestly, it wasn’t that bad. It was pretty shitty and I was very confined. I was in a sixteen-man room for the most part. It was me and fifteen other people, all in a big-ass room full of bunk beds, having to stare at each other all day.”

Where did that lead you to mentally? Did you process anything in your mind about where you had been, where you wanted to go, where you were?

“I just wanted out. It kind of made me feel like an animal. In Texas, I don’t know what it’s like anywhere else, but you become state property when you’re incarcerated; you lose all your rights. Basically, you’re a body with a name. You’re not a human in there. It’s weird.”

How long ago was that?

“It was January 2017.”

Where did you end up when you were released?

“Back to my older brother’s, and he does dope too. I went right back to where I started, or stopped at midway.”

So, you were sober and clean in jail?

“Yes, while I was there.”

Did you go through withdrawal?

“I slept for the first four days. I didn’t eat or use the restroom; I just slept.”

So, you get out, move back in with your brother, and get right back into it?

“The night that I got out, I used.”

What’s your relationship like with your family, aside from your brother?

“I don’t talk to them, only whenever they speak to me and, even then, it’s usually just my mom, and it’s like once every two weeks, sometimes twice.”

What are those conversations like?

“I love you, I miss you. I love you too, I miss you too.”

Do they live locally?

“They live about two hours away.”

Do they kind of push you away due to your addiction?

“I alienated myself because I knew I’m not anyone a parent could be proud of—that’s how I feel. Because of my problem, and I don’t want them to see me like this and I won’t let them. So, I pushed myself away from them.”

Have you done that with close friends as well?

“I’ve done it with everyone.”

So, who are you associating with, dealers and other users?

“Yeah. I dated this dude for almost a year and he basically isolated himself away from me recently because of it. That really fucked me up a little bit because I feel like I put so much into it, but really it was just me high as hell, overthinking everything, all the time, slowly dissipating into nothing.”

It’s got to be a pretty lonely feeling to be that isolated.

“Yeah, but you’re never really alone when you’re a drug addict.”

Because you’re connecting with your substance.

“I’m perfectly fine with being alone, but I’m not okay with how lonely I am most times.”

Are you scared at all to continue down this path?

“Yeah, because I don’t know where my life’s going. So, I just get high and it’s like ‘where are you going now?’ to go get high.”

How can you afford to get high?

“My best friend sells it. My only friend just happens to be a drug dealer.”

Are you performing any sort of acts or anything in exchange?

“No, no, no; we’re just really good friends and misery loves company. He’s basically in the same spot I’m in.”

What are some of the things you’ve lost along the way through these years of addiction?

“Honestly, I lost my sanity, a lot of good friends, and a close tie with my family. I lost my car. I lost my license. Somehow I lost my social security card, but I don’t think that had anything to do with drugs. I lost my apartment, but that was at the beginning so that’s not a big deal.”

Where are you living now?

“I live with my friend, Pat, who is also a drug addict, but he’s a more functioning one, I should say. He’s held a job for four years and his addiction is kind of new and, ironically enough, I’m the first one he ever tried it with, which is kind of funny or fucked up.”

Have you ever been in any situations where you felt like your life was being threatened?

“No, not really. Not that I can think of, but I don’t know . . . no.”

How’s your judgment when you’re high?

“You can rationalize just about anything. For the most part, I would say it’s pretty good. There are dumb people who get addicted to drugs and there are people who are addicted to drugs who already have a good grip on reality and are able to make the right decisions or rational ones at least, but I’ve done some pretty stupid stuff.”

What are some of the stupid things that you’ve done?

“Not put the filter on a vacuum cleaner and small things like that. I’ve never done anything really stupid like rob anyone. I did, however, one time throw a brick through a window. I was super pissed off at the person who lived at the apartment and, in a fit of rage due to addiction or substance use, I picked up what was closest to me, which happed to be a chipped piece of concrete by the curb and chucked it threw the window. I don’t know how’s that going to fix it, but it made me feel better. It was really stupid.”

Prior to losing your friend, had you experienced any sort of obstacles early on in your life that taught you some coping skills to deal with grief, pain, or challenging experiences?

“To isolate; that’s all I’ve ever really known. Get over it and, if you can’t, shut up about it. That’s what I was basically taught.”

Do you want to stop?

“Yes and no. Crystal meth is the only thing that’s kept a roof over my head while, at the same time, it’s kept me on the edge of losing that. It’s the only thing that sort of keeps me connected with the real world because I have friends and acquaintances who use and who keep me from going insane living alone. At the same time, those people come and go. Those people aren’t necessarily friends you want to keep around; they’re people who are just going to bring you down because they’re going to keep you high. I’m aware of that but, at the same time, I can’t stop. So, yes and no. I was sober for about a month and moved to New Mexico with my ex. That didn’t turn out well, obviously. He flew me back here on a last-minute, overnight flight and I started using again.”

How old are you now?

“Twenty-four.”

So, you’ve been using for ten years?

“Just about.”

Any issues with your health?

“No, not that I know of. I probably have shaky hands, but so does everybody.”

Do you sleep?

“Yeah, every night, which is kind of an achievement really if you’re a crackhead like me. I’ve kind of plateaued. I’ve reached a level of tolerance that makes me have a normal sleeping schedule, which is something you really don’t want to be but, at the same time, I’m glad I’m there because now I’m normal-ish. I don’t look cracked out.”

What’s your biggest fear?

“Dying—not from drug use, though I guess that would suck too, but just dying in general, because I don’t know what’s going to happen after that. Maybe my biggest fear is actually not knowing and being unaware.”

In contrast, do you feel like you’re living?

“I feel like I’ve been dead since I was about twelve, but I don’t think that had anything to do with drugs, but the realization of how fucked up the world really is. I think I’m living in a way—I get to do shit that not everybody gets to do, like not have to work, I’m able to explore the city, and that’s what I do every day. I go to different parts of the city and sketch around, but I’m probably not really living, not in a way that’s (I guess) savory.”

Did you grow up here?

“No. I grew up two hours northeast, in a little town, Cold Springs, with about 900 people, and that’s consolidated because it’s a bunch of small towns put together.”

What brought you to Houston?

“Drugs. I bounced from circle of users to circle of users to circle of users until I ended up in Kingwood. Kingwood is right on the outskirts of Houston. I just migrated over here, made friends wherever I could, and now I’m here.”

When you agreed to do the interview, did you have any idea that you’d be talking about this?

“No, not at all. I honestly had no idea what it would be about. I was just like ‘an interview, okay, that’s fine.’ I thought maybe it was going to be ‘how do you feel about Houston’ or some sort of typical bullshit interview, but I didn’t think it would make me open my eyes to shit I’ve been closing them to or haven’t said out loud in a while. I’ve said this stuff before, ‘I don’t want to do this.’”

How does it feel to hear yourself expressing these things?

“It kind of pisses me off.”

In what way?  You’re pissed at yourself?

“Yeah, because I know I’m just going to go get high afterwards.”

Are you high now?

“No. I used, but I’m not high. I guess that’s high; I don’t really know. The last time I used was about six hours ago. I get high and then there’s other days where I just get by and, today, is a just a get by day because I didn’t do too much of it.”

What happens if you don’t use?

“I sleep and I’m dead to the world basically, which is probably what I am now, but in a different way because I’m asleep. I’ve slept for thirty-six hours straight before and my friends have asked if I had a bladder infection, and I said that I was good, just tired. When I woke up, I had muscular atrophy, where I couldn’t really feel much, and then I’d just waddle around until I found food, and then I was good.”

Would you say you’re depressed?

“Probably clinically. I used to take Pristiq, but it didn’t mix well with my meth use, so I cold turkey stopped taking it after about six months. It’s a serotonin replacement or something, but I thought it was kind of bullshit. I’ve been told before by friends that I’ve been manic; they would say ‘wow, you’re pretty manic’ and I’d say ‘yeah, I know.’”

Do you think you were like that before the drugs or has that manifested since?

“Half and half. I’ve always been kind of bipolar-ish, but this has really intensified it or brought it to a meniscus versus overflowing. If it was overflowed, I’d probably be in prison, but it’s definitely got to that point.”

What keeps you in that elevated state?

“Being aware that I’d probably go to prison, so to stay at a constant ‘that’s okay.’ It’s not necessarily the way anybody would want to live.”

What were you like as a child?

“I didn’t take ‘no’ as an answer. I wasn’t a spoiled brat or handed everything I wanted, but I didn’t have to ask for much. I never really had to go without anything. My parents weren’t wealthy, but they were comfortable, and have been that way as long as I can remember. For the most part, I’d say I was a pretty happy kid.”

How did you meet your friend who died?

“We were neighbors. He was like my brother. I don’t have close ties or close relationships with anybody like I did with him. He was the first person I could ever really say was my best friend. When you’re a kid, grandparents, aunts, uncles, parents’ and grandparents’ friends die, and  you say ‘oh, that’s sad.’ But, when your fourteen-year-old best friend dies, basically out of the blue, he just wakes up one morning and then he’s dead . . . That shit really happens, people die, people who you know die, people you’re close with die, and it’s hard. It sucks pretty bad, especially when you’re that young and you don’t really know how to take it in. You know how you’re supposed to take it in, you know how people do it, and you see it in movies, but there’s something inside of you that dies too, and you can’t wake it up. Josh was my best friend and was like a brother to me. We did just about everything together.”

What would you say to him if he was here now?

“That I’m sorry. I would tell him that I’m sorry because, at this point, I would have probably alienated myself from him too. I guess given if he had left and came back. Yeah, I would tell him that I was sorry because I’m sure he wouldn’t have wanted to see me like this.”

What do you think he would say to you?

“I don’t know. He’d probably call me an idiot, but I’m not sure.”

If you could go back to your twelve- or fourteen-year-old self in that time in your life, as the adult you are now, what would you say to that child?

“Don’t do it. You’re going to fuck up. Don’t do it, but that twelve- or fourteen-year-old probably wouldn’t listen anyway. He’d probably think that I was stupid because ‘no’ is not an answer and ‘don’t’ is not a reason.”

What were you passionate about at that age?

“I really liked art and liked to draw. I haven’t actually picked up a pen or pencil and drawn anything since I was about seventeen. My senior year of high school was a pretty heavy usage year. I was focused on doing that versus something that made me happy.”

How does it feel when you’re drawing or creating something?

“It’s instant gratification, kind of like vacuuming is to me now. I did it, it’s there, that’s something I did, it’s something I completed on my own, other people get to see it, I get to see it, know that it’s done, know that I did it, and I like it. It’s a successful feeling, but I haven’t felt that in a minute.”

Did you have any other outlets that you felt a connection to?

“I listened to music a lot. Even now, I listen to music all the time. I never played any instruments and I’m not really talented in any other way, but I like music.”

Do you write at all?

“No, not at all. I don’t even remember the last time I wrote something down. My handwriting probably looks like someone trying to write with their left hand. I’m not used to a pencil or pen; it’s unfamiliar.”

What’s the first thing you do in the morning when you wake up?

“I drink coffee sometimes; that or Coke, which is terrible for you. I eat, smoke a cigarette, and then smoke dope (I guess use).”

Have you ever felt hopeless and suicidal?

“Yes, at least twice a week. I feel like I’ve reached a point where there’s no way of turning around. I’m twenty-four years old and I already hold a drug possession felony. No one’s going to want to hire me, so I haven’t tried to look anymore. I have basically no friends, especially if I were to stop. My family and I aren’t really close and they don’t want to help me anyway. I feel like there’s not a good enough reason to want to keep living but, at the same time, I’m kind of too much of a pussy to kill myself.”

So, you’re just kind of slowly and passively doing it through using drugs every day and not taking care of yourself.

“Pretty much.”

Is this what you thought you’d be doing tonight?

“No. I knew I was going to be doing an interview, but didn’t think it would be such a reflective one.”

If there was someone else out there listening to this or reading this who could relate to where you are in your life and where you’ve been, and possibly feeling hopeless or numb, or even just alone, what message would you want them to hear and know?

“That they’re not alone. There are other people just as fucked up as you are. I have a really bad mouth, it’s probably just another side effect of drug use. They’re not the only ones who feel nothing or like they are that.”

Is there any part of you that sees a different future for yourself other than your situation right now?

“Yeah, but it’s all sort of hazy. If I were to try to picture it, I couldn’t put the pieces together. It’s more like an audio clip. I can hear myself ‘all right, you’re sober, you’re good, life’s okay,’ but I can’t actually see it. It’s like there’s someone with my voice telling me that, but I don’t see it with my own eyes or inside my own head. I can’t picture it and to me that just tells me it’s not a thing. If you can see it, you can achieve it, and I can’t see it.”

Is it possible that that’s faith? Do you have faith?

“I have something; I don’t know what it is. I don’t know if I’m pessimistic or I’m realistic, but I don’t think I have faith in myself; that’s what it is.”

Why?

“Why should I? Maybe I just doubt myself more than I have faith in myself.”

All the various skills you’ve developed to sustain what you’re doing today could be used in the opposite direction to sustain you in a way that you might thrive.

“I’ve managed to be able to live without any sort of resources other than the kindness of strangers for the past three years, so that’s good; that makes me something.”

That’s strength.

“I’m probably evil. I don’t think I’m a bad person for it—surviving strictly on the kindness of others. It sounds terrible when you say it like that. I’m just getting by how I can.”

What would give you hope?

“Probably better resources. If I knew there would be something to catch me whenever I fell off this horrible plane ride of whatever it is I’m going through now. If there was a safety net that would give me hope. Now knowing that I would hit rock bottom and fall to my death if I were to stop, I won’t stop because of that. If there was something to catch me, and if I knew it would be okay and there was a better support system other than the people who are constantly throwing dope in my pipe, then I probably would stop.”

It’s hard to see that in any situation. I can only speak for myself, but for me, I could never see what was going to catch me either, whether I continued to perpetuate self-destruction and didn’t want to not feel pain anymore, but didn’t know how to end it without inflicting more pain on myself, or to follow my heart and intuition and move in the other direction. My life started to change when I listened to my heart and moved in the other direction, but it was just as scary because I couldn’t see how I was going to have the resources I needed and somehow (and I’m not a believer in your traditional God or any type of religion) miraculously I had what I needed when I needed it. It didn’t ever come in the way I expected it to, and yet it was there, some sort of ground beneath my feet, and that gave me faith and restored my faith that if I had enough courage to continue to be vulnerable, enough to step out of my old behaviors, to step out of the routine, and step out of the comfort, even if it is perpetuating discomfort—somehow it’s familiar so it’s comfortable—if I had the vulnerability and courage to do that, something would catch me. I remember early on looking for people who were going to save me or thinking that all these various opportunities that presented themselves were going to be the quick fix that would save me. What I continued to learn, and to repeat over and over again through making that mistake of thinking someone else was going to save me, is that I had the power to save myself all the while. All the resources I needed were within me. I had to think them into reality: thought, action, reality. Yet somehow, we train ourselves to think it’s going to come the opposite way, that it comes from the outside in, but that wasn’t my experience. I don’t know if that makes any sense to you.

“It does.”

I can relate to that feeling of being stuck. You know you want to get off that ride, but you don’t know if there will be anything to catch you if you’re to get off. So, you stay stuck.

“I made up this fun little terminology of being plateaued. You’ve reached a level where there’s nothing much around other than the great distance between you and the ground and it’s not high enough to put you up in the clouds where you need to be. So, you’re there, drifting above the surface of rock bottom and normalcy.”

It’s like being in limbo.

“Yeah, or purgatory. I live in purgatory. Actually, it might be hell. I live in gray, very gray, not a whole lot of color there.”

Are there moments where you see or feel color in your life?

“There’s a lot of blue and, when it’s not blue, it’s red but, for the most part, it’s gray. I don’t really feel much but, whenever I do, it’s usually just sadness. I get so sad and I feel like I can’t do much about it, so again, I get angry, then I get so mad that I cry and that makes me even more sad, and then I’m mad that I’m crying, so it’s purple or gray. It’s not really a colorful journey—this life. It’s like an old-school comic book, it’s all grayscale with a little blue and a little red.”

What do you know about the process of grieving?

“I don’t. I know that it sucks. I don’t know how to get over it. You can either sweep it under the rug or you can actually deal with it, and I’ve just been sweeping it under the rug. Anything that I’ve ever lost, I’ve been ‘all right, shut that down, shut that down’ and only ever pick up where I left off, which is having it suck basically, whenever someone lifts that rug up for me ‘thanks.’ So, I guess I don’t know much about the process of grieving.”

I’m not particularly sure about the order, but there are five stages of grief. I think you’ve mentioned a few of them, like the deep sadness, the anger, and there’s a stage of blame, transferring that uncomfortable feeling onto someone else, making them responsible for your suffering. There’s also acceptance, which I think is a hard one to come to; we avoid a lot by repressing. As long as we can keep it stuffed down, we don’t have to look at it or accept that it happened. Until we do that, we’re not truly moving on, whether it’s grief or trauma. I had a woman tell me in an interview, and it’s very profound, she said when she started to heal the trauma, the addictions started to go away, and that really stuck with me. I believe that we continue to connect with whatever our substance is, whether it’s our phones, drugs, alcohol, money, or sex, to avoid looking at the wound, but the only way to heal a wound is to treat it with compassion and kindness.

“Not a big band aid?”

No. I know in our culture and in our families, we’re taught to discharge pain, to move away from it, and stuff it down.

“The sun gives you a sunburn, stay away from it kind of thing.”

Yes, but growth, transformation, awareness, wisdom, empathy, joy, and love are all qualities that are developed through leaning into pain and discomfort, not from running away from it. Everything that we long for—that sense of real meaningful connection, fulfillment, sustenance in our life, and purpose—is on the other side of that pain, and there’s no way to skip over it or go around it.

“You got to go through it and deal with it.”

Yeah. It’s shitty. I don’t know what’s worse, spending your lifetime running away from it or feeling shitty for a period of time, then having some relief, and maybe recognizing that you’re resilient, you do have potential, and there is more to life than this grayscale and constant fear of when is the bottom going to drop out.

“I feel like I’ve hit rock bottom a couple of times, like literally scraping my teeth on its surface is where I’ll probably want to stop but, at the same time, I’ve probably hit that part too. It seems like chilling at the mantle.”

Do you have a favorite song lyric, mantra, or something that someone has said to you, maybe even your friend or your parents, that has stuck with you that you’d like to share?

“There are lyrics to a song that says ‘if you talk me out of my needs and stitch me up at the seams then I can live in my dreams’.”

What’s that mean to you?

“It’s kind of sad, if you think about it. If I didn’t have to do the things I have to do, then I’d be happy. If I didn’t have to wake up and get high, I’d probably be okay or if I didn’t require x amount of blah, blah, blah then I’d be cool, things would be okay, and life would be a dream. But, that’s not how it is and I’m living a nightmare. Yeah, talk me out of my needs and stitch me up at the seams, I can live in my dreams.”

Do you think it’s possible to heal?

“Yeah. You just got to rip off that band aid I was telling you about. I don’t know. I feel like, metaphorically, my band aid is waterproof and I don’t want to pull it off because it really hurts, and I don’t want to deal with it, so I slowly pick at it, but eventually I just stick it back on. Yeah, it’s possible to heal; tons of people do it, right?”

Yes. It’s a matter of surrendering. It’s like showing up and saying ‘I don’t know how this is going to turn out.’

“But doing it anyway.”

Yeah. That’s courage, right?

“Yeah. I don’t think I have much of that. Like I said earlier, the fear of the unknown, I don’t know if I’m going to be able to do it, so I don’t try it.”

What’s worse? It seems like you have more to lose by continuing and knowing that the rest of your life may look like it does right now or there’s a risk that you may feel some discomfort for a while, but there’s a chance that things could get better.

“I don’t know. I should probably stop using, because it’s not helping me. I wouldn’t necessarily say that it’s hurting me either, but that’s probably the drugs talking.”

Who would be the first person you would call, if you were to make that choice?

“I’d probably call my mom. Yeah, that’s probably who I’d call. I’d probably tell her to come get me. I’ve done it before. I’ve told her ‘I need you to come get me. I need you to fuckin’ stop what you’re doing and come get me’ and she has; she would do it in a heartbeat. The last time I called her and said that was about three years ago. I’m not too sure how or if she would be okay with it or how she would go about it, but I’d call her. I need to call her actually.

“Not only for that, but I miss my family a little bit, a lot. I haven’t seen them. I spent that one Christmas in jail, but the two after that—I didn’t go, the one before that—I didn’t go. I haven’t been home in so long. I haven’t actually seen my mom in a year—that sucks. For a long time, she was my best friend. She was always a shoulder and an ear. It’s been a while, a long time.”

I hope you do make that phone call.

“We Snapchat sometimes, which is kind of weird. We’re actually Snapchat friends, but I haven’t snapchatted her in about six months. I sent her a text about two weeks ago, and that’s about it. I haven’t heard her voice in a long time. I can still remember what she sounds like, which is kind of surprising. Usually whenever I cut things off like that, I completely disconnect from it. I don’t know what they look like. I don’t know what they feel like. I remember her and her voice; it’s weird.”

Do you think she would answer the phone now if you called?

“She’s probably asleep right now, but yeah she might answer. If not, she would text me ‘what?’, but I think she would answer.”

I hope you make that call after this interview. How has it felt to talk about these thoughts, feelings, and experiences with me tonight?

“Surprisingly, not bad. Like I said, I didn’t know what I was getting myself into. At the beginning, I thought it was probably going to be annoying, but I didn’t find it that annoying because there was a level of comfort versus judgment. I didn’t feel very judged at all.”

It’s a beautiful thing, you being vulnerable.

“Is that what this is?”

Yeah, and you being met with empathy. It kind of kills shame, which I think feeds addiction.

“Probably, yeah, needing to hide something.”

It’s a heavy weight.

“It will suffocate you. That’s always good.”

It’s lethal; it really is.  Do you think it’s possible by sharing your thoughts, feelings, and experiences so courageously tonight, as you are, that someone on the receiving end gains some hope, inspiration, or at least a sense that they’re not alone?

“I would hope so, because this wasn’t that easy to do. Yeah, I think they probably could if they aren’t stubborn assholes like me, and listen all the way through. Because if I were handed this to listen to, read, or watch, I’d probably stop paying attention halfway through; depending on my state of mind I might say ‘I don’t want to hear that.’ If I actually listened to it or if someone like me listened to it from A to B, they’d probably like it; they’d probably get it.”

Yeah.  Thank you.

“Thank you. You’re welcome.”

I’m really proud of you. This was a really courageous thing to do and you skipped right into it.

“I ripped the band aid off that time.”

You did. I hope you’ll continue to do that.

“There’s a bunch of open blisters and sores here—this sounds so weird.”

Thanks.

[jaemtens]

The Canned Genie

monsta x| kihyuk | side jookyun | 11.5k | ao3

summary:  Lee Minhyuk was just making dinner when he ends up with a genie that he didn’t ask for. Yoo Kihyun was just chilling in his “lamp” when he ends up with several headaches that he didn’t ask for.

☆ The First Wish ☆

Minhyuk dropped his backpack on the ground and dramatically collapsed on his rickety bed.

He should eat, he thought to himself.

Long ago, he was sure that the bed frame would iminently give out, folding on itself while he was sleeping on it. He wasn’t sure what he was going to do if that happened -- sleep on the floor? That’s not the worst, right? A few days passed, and he was pretty sure he was in the clear. His bed was just rickety and old, even if it was comfy and, um, well-used. He could definitely fall asleep right now. Minhyuk rolled to his side, hugging his blanket and burying his face into it. It was so warm; yup, he could fall asleep right now if he wanted to.

He really should eat, he thought again.

Minhyuk was so tired. Beyond tired. Exhausted? Yeah, exhausted was the word. Today, he had to work the early-morning shift at the convenience store before heading to his night lecture for Quantitative Chemistry aka Quant aka Hell On Earth. Yeah, yeah, he knew that choosing chemistry as his major was definitely not the easy way out. He knew that every waking moment of his four-year degree was going to be hard. But, even if your average Biology or Pre-Medical major Suffered (yes, Suffered, not suffered. Just ask a biology major about organic chemistry and you’ll know why) through every chemistry class, Minhyuk took most of them in stride. Quant was a whole ‘nother level, and his brain ached just thinking about the class. He didn’t know how he made it through today’s lecture, and he certainly didn’t remember dragging himself through the dark streets back to his apartment building.

Just get up and eat, you lard! he chided himself.

He finally acquiesced to his conscience. With a prolonged groan, Minhyuk rolled off his bed, his gangly limbs steadying the sleep-deprived college student. His eyes were barely open, the light streaming from the incandescent bulb above him too much to handle right now. Minhyuk dragged himself to the kitchen, nearly tripping on his bag along the way. God, he was a mess.

Look, he wasn’t usually a mess, okay? Just after Quant. And Inorganic. And -- never mind.

Just how was Minhyuk so perpetually tired?

Well, first, he was a college student. An unhealthy dose of exhaustion was the name of the game. Bonus tired points because he was a chemistry major, a department in which the professors literally did not care if you slept or not. Suffering (yes, Suffering!) was widespread in his major. And Minhyuk? Well, he was basically an academic masochist. Just ask the nuclear magnetic resonance spectrographs scattered all over his desk.

Second, he worked. It wasn’t a good job. It wasn’t even a job he liked. It was a dead-end retail job at a convenience store. But, let’s face it. Who’s going to hire a broke underclassmen chemistry major with literally no work experience? A convenience store, that’s who. Unfortunately, that wiped out most of Minhyuk’s free time.

Third, Minhyuk was the type of person to sleep whenever he could. His sleep schedule oscillated wildly between consecutive all-nighters to, like, 36 hours of sleep straight. Okay, not quite straight, but laying in bed and hiding under your covers while technically awake is not really awake, right? Minhyuk took naps everywhere and anywhere. Altogether, he was pretty sure his sleep schedule was screwed up beyond saving.

Fortunately for sleepy Minhyuk, his kitchen was really close to his bed. The upside to a closet-sized apartment? Is his studio even a real apartment? Still half-awake, Minhyuk opened one of the cupboards and sighed at how hopelessly empty it was. He really needed to get more stuff from the convenience store... Or steal more free food from campus. Grocery stores were too expensive. Who has money for fruit in this economy? Minhyuk reached for his last can of chicken noodle soup and fished out his hand-me-down can opener from one of the drawers. He latched the can opener’s teeth on the can of soup and clenched down hard on the handles, perforating the can on one edge.

Without any further warning, the top of the can practically exploded off, and a plume of lavender-white smoke swirled up from the can. The smoke enveloped his small kitchen, but it left as soon as it had appeared. In its place was an empty can of ‘soup,’ and a boy who looked like he couldn’t be much older than him.

Oh, and the boy was floating.

“I must be hallucinating,” Minhyuk murmured, rubbing his eyes. That was the only reasonable explanation; he was so tired that he was hallucinating. God, he really should’ve just stayed in bed. This is what happens when you shun sleep. Never give up on sleep, kids.

The floating boy rolled his eyes. “No, you’re not,” he emphatically replied. “Name’s Kihyun, I’m a genie, and you get five wishes.”

“What?”

Kihyun sighed. “My name is Yoo Kihyun. I’m a genie, and I grant wishes... Anything you want, really. You get five wishes.”

The hallucination -- Kihyun, his tripped-out brain corrected -- seemed pretty serious for being, you know, completely fake.

“I wish I had another can of soup,” Minhyuk deadpanned, rubbing his eyes again. What a weird dream.

Kihyun rolled his eyes again. Minhyuk swore he heard the boy mutter something under his breath, but, without missing a beat, Kihyun snapped his fingers. Another puff of lavender smoke appeared on his kitchen counter, quickly dissipating to reveal an exact replica of the empty can of chicken noodle soup that Kihyun came from. This new one was sealed, unlike the empty one next to it. Minhyuk looked back over at Kihyun, who acted like this was totally and completely normal.

“Four wishes,” Kihyun dryly said.

Okay, this was a little much for a hallucination… maybe he was dreaming? Minhyuk tried to wake himself up a little, studying all of Kihyun’s features. Even though he was hovering a few inches off the ground, Minhyuk could tell that Kihyun was a few inches shorter than him. He had light brown hair that was boyishly combed down over his forehead. His features were remarkably sharp with strong cheekbones and a strong jawline. His eyes were small and narrow, but his lips and nose were larger. He had small unremarkable earrings in each ear and a blinged-out ring on his right hand, but otherwise he was dressed in plain business casual: a white collared shirt and black pants.

This was oddly specific for a dream. Minhyuk was really tired, though -- maybe he had actually passed out? Kihyun was starting to look impatient. Would he really have dreamed this up? He remembered reading somewhere that your most vivid dreams occurred when you were the most tired. And, well, he was really tired when he got home.

“So…” Minhyuk slowly started. “You’re a genie?”

“That’s what I said, didn’t I?” Kihyun retorted. He seemed disinterested, like Minhyuk was probably the most boring thing in his genie-life right now.

“And you grant wishes?”

“Yup,” Kihyun dismissively answered. “If you wish for anything, I’ll make it come true.”

“And you just wasted your first wish on a can of soup,” he added, disdain evident in his voice. Compared to Minhyuk’s low, nasally voice, Kihyun had a high-pitched tone that sounded like a cross between a sassy gay boy and an annoyed younger sibling. It was almost endearing?

“Well, can I get a do-over on that wish?”

“There aren’t any do-overs for wishes,” Kihyun harshly replied.

“Can I wish for more wishes then?”

“No!”

“Oh.”

So, turns out that you can’t wish for more wishes. What a joke. Kihyun said he could wish for anything, doesn’t that mean he can wish for more wishes?

Minhyuk looked back over at the can of soup on his counter. “Why… why were you in a can of soup? I thought genies came in lamps?”

Kihyun sighed. “Look, how many magic lamps have you seen, like, ever?”

“Mmm,” Minhyuk paused, thinking out loud. “None?”

“Exactly. So we have to get creative.”

“But… a can of soup?”

“Okay, first off, it’s a lot bigger than it looks. Quite roomy, actually. But you wouldn’t know since you’re just a boring old human.”

“And… you’re a genie.”

“Ohmygod, yes! Yes, I’m a genie! How many times do I have to tell you?”

“Okay, okay, you’re a genie,” Minhyuk tacitly agreed. “And you do genie things like grant wishes.”

“Yes.”

“And live in soup cans.”

“Listen here, you little shit,” Kihyun threatened, his eyes fierce and staring directly at Minhyuk’s eyes now; Kihyun definitely had a temper. “With a snap of my fingers I can banish you to another dimension. Or I can shrink you down to the size of an ant. Or I can turn you into an actual ant. Point is, I have more magic in one finger than you can even dream up in your wildest nightmares.”

Kihyun sure was awfully angry. Or annoyed. He couldn’t tell for sure, but Kihyun seemed upset for someone who had just been released from, well, a can of soup.

“Isn’t it, like, against the genie rules to hurt the person who summoned you?”

Kihyun sighed again. He seemed to do that a lot? He was clearly still annoyed.

“Yes,” he belatedly admitted. “But that doesn’t mean that the second you finish your fifth wish--”

“--Don’t you just go back into the soup can?”

“Why are you so annoying!”

“Because this is definitely a dream,” Minhyuk argued. “Or a nightmare, I guess.”

“No, I can assure you that this is very much real, that you’re awake. If anyone’s having a nightmare, it’s me.”

“Oh come on, I’m not that bad,” Minhyuk protested. Just then, his stomach growled in hunger. He blushed a little -- he still hadn’t eaten.

“Anyways, you don’t get hungry in dreams.”

“Uh huh,” Minhyuk dismissed. Kihyun did have a point: you don’t usually get hungry in dreams. And they usually aren’t this… realistic. He was really hungry. And Kihyun seemed really… real. “You don’t mind if I, uh…” he added, motioning toward the can of soup that Kihyun had conjured up for him.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Kihyun replied, rolling his eyes again. Minhyuk just smiled in response as he cracked open the new can and poured it into a bowl. He threw it in the microwave and let it cook.

“I hope you, like, made this correctly.”

“I can assure you that it’s just as salty, preservative-filled, and unhealthy as every other can of chicken noodle soup.”

“Great,” Minhyuk feigned. “Just the way I like it.”

“You still haven’t told me your name.”

“Oh.” Minhyuk was too sleepy to be embarrassed. “That’s because I thought you weren’t real.”

“GENIES ARE REAL!”

Minhyuk just laughed in response. “My name’s Lee Minhyuk.”

“Well, okay, Minhyuk,” Kihyun started, “You live in a dump. These kitchen appliances look like they’re from 1962. Your cupboards? 1942. There’s no furniture in this place except for your desk, which, by the way, is covered in crap so you can’t even see the desk. Your walls and ceiling are peeling in at least five places, and I can only imagine what your bedroom looks like. Not to mention that you have no food, no tableware, and no proper cutlery.”

“Um,” Minhyuk demurred, sheepishly scratching his neck while looking around his place. “First, I don’t have a bedroom. Studio and all. Second, I wasn’t exactly planning on having visitors tonight, you know?”

Kihyun didn’t really seem satisfied with that answer, but at this hour? That was the best he was going to get.

“You can, uh, make yourself at home, I guess?” he added.

“Trust me, there’s nothing that you can do to this apartment to make it more homey.”

“You’re right, I can’t make it look like the inside of a soup can,” Minhyuk replied, giggling as he watched Kihyun’s expression sour.

“Why you little--”

The microwave beeped, signaling that his soup was done. Minhyuk stopped giggling and grabbed his tupperware bowl from the microwave with a hand-towel. He cradled the soup in one hand with the towel whilst using his free hand to find a plastic spork for slurping the noodles.

“You were saying?”

Kihyun sighed and rolled his eyes at the same time. Minhyuk wondered if that was an improvement?

“Aren’t you going to make another wish?”

Oh, yeah, the whole genie bit.

“Hmm, well I think I need some time to think about it,” Minhyuk countered before blowing on a sporkful of noodles and stuffing it in his mouth.

“Did me listing all the things that were wrong about your apartment not help?”

“Nope~” Minhyuk replied with a smile.

☆ The Second Wish ☆

Minhyuk’s eyes fluttered open when the sunlight just started to assault his eyes through his apartment’s lone window. Everything was really freaking bright, so he barely cracked his eyes open; he shuffled in his bed, rolling around to face the rest of the room. Everything looked normal? Normal-ish, at least. He lifted his upper body up and sitting -- well, float-sitting (is that the right word for that?) -- near the foot of his bed and looking totally unamused was none other than Yoo Kihyun. He was unchanged from last night, except he had an unimpressed look and a hand on his chin like he had been watching Minhyuk sleeping for… hours? Hours. Minhyuk’s eyes got real wide and he pulled his covers up over his bare chest.

“What are you doing in here?” he groggily stammered out, still in shock that Kihyun would desecrate the sanctimony of his bedroom-slash-living room. And surely he knew that Kihyun was going to say something about the state of his room soon enough.

“The genie equivalent of watching grass grow,” Kihyun deadpanned, still not moving his hand from his face. “Except for us it’s watching humans sleep.”

“Wait, what?” Minhyuk complained. “Don’t you have, like, genie things to go do?”

“Oh, I would love to be doing literally anything else right now, Minhyuk. But, unfortunately for me, I’m stuck with you until you use all of your wishes. And, even more unfortunately for me, you are a very boring person who doesn’t wish for things quickly. So here I am, watching grass grow.”

Minhyuk let his covers fall back down after realizing that, no, Kihyun was not going to kill him. Though, he still had at least one question nagging at him.

“Couldn’t you, like, do something? Anything? Other than watch me.”

Kihyun sighed. “I would do literally anything else, but, again, you’re a boring person who has literally nothing of interest in this shoebox of an apartment.”

“Right.” Minhyuk feigned agreement, still trying to wake up. “Sorry, I’m still really tired.”

“Well, it’s not like you’ve got a genie who could instantly solve that problem for you,” Kihyun wryly commented, perking up a little. “You could wish for a comfier bed? Fluffier pillows? Warmer covers? Or how about a fully-furnished apartment? Or a larger apartment? Or you could skip the whole apartment and wish to be fully-rested every day?”

Kihyun seemed really excited about the prospect of Minhyuk using up another wish. But why would he want to? He just got up; shouldn’t he, like, fully think this through? Kihyun probably just wanted him to wish for stuff so that he could go back in his soup can and do whatever genies do. Yeah, Minhyuk was pretty sure that whatever Kihyun wanted to do was probably more important than granting his wishes, but honestly? Kihyun was pretty cute and he wasn’t gonna pass up the opportunity to have a cute magical boy follow him around for a few days, even if it came at Kihyun’s expense.

“I want -- not wish for -- some privacy while I shower and get ready,” Minhyuk calmly said, walking to his micro-sized bathroom wearing nothing but sweats. Kihyun’s expression darkened when he realized that, no, Minhyuk was not going to get this over with quickly.

“Trust me, I do not want to see you naked.”

“Nope, you just want to watch me sleep,” Minhyuk joked with a smile before shutting the door to the bathroom. He wanted nothing more than to see Kihyun’s facial expression change in response to that comment, but he needed to get ready; his first class started in an hour, and it took him twenty minutes to get to campus. He started the shower and looked at himself in the mirror. His black hair was messy and all over the place, but he didn’t really care. Bedhead was pretty normal for him. You know, a common side effect of excessive sleeping. While the shower was warming up, he brushed his teeth and picked out a towel to sling over the shower rod. Minhyuk undressed and stepped into the nearly-scalding water.

What did he want to wish for? Every time his mind turned to his remaining four wishes, everything just went… blank? Like, sure his life wasn’t perfect. Kihyun was right, his apartment was kind of a dump, and he didn’t have much food in his kitchen, and he was always tired. But he couldn’t imagine his life any other way. If he just wished away one of his problems -- or even most of them -- new problems would just take their place. Minhyuk wanted things, sure, but he wanted things that you couldn’t just put into words, that you couldn’t just conjure up, that you couldn’t just wish for. It wasn’t that simple.

He just had to figure those things out.

After lathering himself and throwing some shampoo in his unwieldy hair, Minhyuk rinsed himself off, stopped the water, and dried himself with his towel. He tied his towel around his waist and stepped back into the bedroom to put together an outfit and to find out what sassmaster-genie Kihyun had prepared in past five minutes.

“You know, you really should be nice to your genie. I can pervert all of your wishes to their worst possible meaning.”

“Uh huh,” Minhyuk dismissed, searching his closet for something to wear.

“Aren’t you going to wish for something? I’m sure you thought of something in the shower. Lots of shower thoughts, right?”

“Were you imagining me in the shower?” Minhyuk asked.

“No,” Kihyun flatly replied.

“Do you want me to wish that you were thinking about that?”

“Look--”

“--Besides, how would genies even, like, know what goes on in the shower? Do genies even shower?”

Kihyun didn’t have an answer for that one. He licked his lips while his eyes darted around shiftily; Minhyuk was satisfied.

“I didn’t sign up for this,” he finally complained.

“I didn’t either,” Minhyuk added before disappearing back in the bathroom to change.

“So are you going to come with me to class today?” he shouted through the door.

“Unfortunately,” Kihyun replied, also shouting.

“Okay, well I have--”

“--Organic chemistry lab, I know.”

What? How did Kihyun--

“You had your class schedule on your desk,” Kihyun mentioned. “And your lab. You screwed up #4, by the way. You’re welcome.”

“You fixed it!?”

“I wasn’t gonna leave it wrong, Minhyuk.”

“H-how do you even know organic chemistry?”

“Minhyuk, I’ve been doing this genie thing since before organic chemistry was even a thing.”

He threw on his hoodie and exited the bathroom.

“Why would anyone even willingly learn organic chemistry,” he mused in full earshot of Kihyun. He went straight to kitchen, and he could feel Kihyun’s floaty presence follow him.

“I could ask you the same thing,” Kihyun replied. “Don’t you wanna wish for, like, a nice breakfast? A stack full of pancakes perhaps?”

“Mmm, pancakes sound, like, really good right now. But maybe I should wish for you to stop asking me about my wishes?” Minhyuk deadpanned before pulling out an Eggo waffle from his freezer. He threw it in the microwave and turned to face Kihyun. “Are you really going out like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like that!” Minhyuk repeated, gesturing at Kihyun’s whole body.

“I’ll have you know that I’ve kept up with current fashion trends,” Kihyun started, “Besides, a collared shirt and pants will never go out of style.”

“Not that... That,”he corrected, motioning more toward Kihyun’s feet, where he was most definitely still floating. Kihyun seemed to take even more offense to Minhyuk’s insinuation, his eyes widening and then narrowing before the microwave decided to interrupt his reaction. Minhyuk tossed the waffle in his mouth, holding it with his teeth, and moved over to his desk, grabbing all the stuff he needed for lab.

“Uh, no, I am not going to walk,” Kihyun protested. “I haven’t walked in over fifty years, and I’m not going to start today. It’s disgraceful for a genie to walk. We can float for a reason -- so we don’t have to walk. Walking is for humans.”

“Well, I would really prefer it if you walked if you’re going to follow me around. Besides, like, aren’t people gonna ask?”

“No, they’re not. You’re the only one who can see me.”

Minhyuk frowned. “Maybe I’ll wish for things faster if I’m not distracted by a floating genie.”

He finished shoving notebooks into his backpack, zipping up the pockets one-by-one until his homework and labs and class notes were all stuffed in his completely-disorganized bag. He finished off his waffle and turned to face Kihyun, who, to his disbelief, looked even more ticked off than before. But! He wasn’t floating. Small victories.

“Do you remember how to walk after fifty years?”

“I wish I didn’t,” Kihyun sassed back.

Minhyuk laughed. “For being hundreds of years old, you don’t look a day over twenty-five.”

“I’m actually twenty-two in genie years, you asshole.”

He laughed again, motioning Kihyun toward the door. “Let’s go,” he announced. Kihyun sighed, marching out of his apartment with a gait and facial expression that told Minhyuk he’d rather be doing basically anything other than this.

“You know, I bet you look older because of the soup can thing.”

“I’m going to kill you, Minhyuk.”

“Are you sure you’re supposed to add that chemical next?”

“For the love of God,” Minhyuk whispered under his breath. He had quickly learned that perhaps having his cute genie follow him around all day was not the best thing to happen to him. For instance, the cons of no one else noticing Kihyun became readily apparent:

First, if Minhyuk tried to talk to him in public, everybody looked at him weird, like Minhyuk was talking to himself. To be fair, that’s exactly what it looked like to everyone else. And there was no feasible way for Minhyuk to explain that, no, I’m not crazy, I’m just talking to my personal genie whom you can’t see. This relegated Minhyuk to whispering, subtly gesturing, and, to steal a page from Kihyun’s book, rolling his eyes.

Second, because Minhyuk couldn’t really respond to Kihyun, this gave Kihyun ample time to be even sassier than he was before. Minhyuk couldn’t shut him down like he usually did, which made Kihyun extra smug. It wasn’t as bad as it sounded -- even if Kihyun liked to slip little comments about wishing for this and wishing for that, he usually chimed in when Minhyuk was about to do something stupid. Like add the wrong solid to his chemical reaction.

Third -- and Minhyuk hated to admit this -- Kihyun was starting to look really cute.

He didn’t dare tell his genie that, though.

“Look, I really think you should double-check the protocol, Minhyuk,” his genie insisted, his butt plopped on the empty bench space next to him. He wasn’t floating per se, but his feet didn’t reach the ground and if that wasn’t the most adorable thing ever --

“No, not that one,” Kihyun interjected as Minhyuk went to grab a different solid.

“Which one,” Minhyuk whispered, slightly exhausted by the constant badgering. Honestly, Kihyun was the only reason he was still working on the lab. Usually he had screwed up so badly that there was no way for him to recover, forcing him to leave early.

Kihyun pointed at a yellow solid, rolling his eyes in the process. “Did you even read the protocol?”

“I was going to, but then my plans got kinda screwed up by an unexpected visitor.”

“Sure, blame it on the genie who you could easily get rid of in four wishes.”

“Shut up,” Minhyuk toothlessly warned. It was an empty threat -- like there was anything Minhyuk could do to actually get Kihyun to stop talking. Meanwhile, Kihyun played with the ring on his right hand’s ring finger, spinning it around aimlessly. Minhyuk really was boring to him.

“Um, what?”

Minhyuk looked to his right.

Crap.

“Hyungwon, I’m sorry, I was talking to myself.”

His hood buddy -- the other student who he shared the fume hood with -- made a face, like Minhyuk had three heads. Hyungwon made that face at him a lot. Kihyun snickered in amusement.

Hyungwon, unlike Minhyuk, usually knew what he was doing. He was a straight-A student who knew chemistry inside and out. Quiet, bookish, and the type to actually study regularly instead of cramming like literally everybody else, Hyungwon was the star of the program. Hyungwon usually didn’t bother to grace Minhyuk with any words throughout their three-hour lab; he was methodical, laser-focused, and, honestly? Too good for the frenetic and unorganized Minhyuk. Hyungwon actually knew what he was doing while Minhyuk was usually just guessing.

“Yo! Minhyuk, pay attention!” Kihyun hollered, leaning forward a bit.

Minhyuk looked over at the reaction he had been carefully stirring.

“Dude!” Kihyun started, peering into the fume hood from his position perched on the lab bench. “You were supposed to stop stirring when it turned white again!”

Minhyuk looked down at his definitely not-white liquid. It was more like a salmon pink color, the reaction having gone past completion. It was also sticky, like silly putty. Minhyuk sighed. This always happened. He wasn’t good at organic chemistry.

Without missing a beat, Minhyuk started cleaning up after himself. He was used to it by now -- the shameful dance of cleaning up your station far before you were supposed to be done. Everybody knew what happened: Minhyuk screwed up. Again. Minhyuk glanced over at the TA, who just shook his head. His TA did that last week too.

He tossed his toxic reagents in the waste container, washed his glassware with distilled water, packed up his belongings, and started taking off his lab coat.

His grade was still salvageable. Yeah, it wasn’t going to be perfect, but Minhyuk just needed to pass the class. You could still get a C on the lab report even if the reaction didn’t work.

Surprisingly, Kihyun was silent throughout the whole ordeal, like he could tell Minhyuk was genuinely upset about the whole thing. He tried his best -- he really did! He just wasn’t the best at labwork. He wasn’t Hyungwon.

“Oh no.”

Just as Minhyuk was about to leave, he heard Hyungwon start to panic. He glanced over at his hood buddy’s reaction, which had started to turn pink, too.

“Oh no, oh no, oh no,” Hyungwon repeated, trying to load the paste-like mixture into his funnel. It seemed like it was too late, though; the mixture wasn’t falling out of his beaker into the funnel at all. Instead, it was like glue, sticking to the bottom of his glassware.

Minhyuk had never, ever seen Hyungwon screw up before. And watching the scene unfold before him -- it was heartbreaking. It sucked when things didn’t work, but Hyungwon was beyond that. His perpetually-pouty face was upset, his eyes starting to gloss up. He was completely distraught, desperately trying to save his reaction, trying to help the rapidly-solidifying mixture into his funnel with his mixing spatula. Nothing was working, and Hyungwon could see his A in the class slipping away as the reaction refused to leave his beaker.

Minhyuk could too.

He immediately turned to Kihyun, who looked surprised by Minhyuk’s reaction to Hyungwon.

“Kihyun, I wish that Hyungwon’s reaction worked.”

Kihyun seemed genuinely shocked. Minhyuk hadn’t wished for anything in over a day, and now he was wishing for someone else’s reaction to work? Even after his own reaction had already failed? Kihyun had no choice though, so he reluctantly snapped his fingers.

Minhyuk ignored Kihyun’s reluctance and threw his backpack’s strap over his shoulder, slowly walking away with Kihyun in tow. They could both hear as Hyungwon’s started whispering incredulously as his reaction liquefied, falling out of his beaker and into the filter-funnel that he had been trying to scrape it into for the past few minutes. Hyungwon was beyond happy, moving wildly to keep his reaction going and his A alive.

Once they were out of earshot of the rest of the lab, Kihyun piped up:

“You don’t wish for anything all day, and then you wish for someone else’s lab to work?” the genie questioned. “Why?”

“I had to,” Minhyuk bluntly replied. “I had to.”

☆ The Third Wish ☆

Saturday.

Finally, it was Saturday.

And if you -- yes, you, random person following Minhyuk’s so-called boring life -- thought Saturday was gonna be any easier than Friday… ha. What a terrible joke. No, Saturday was the day Minhyuk had to go work his meaningless convenience store job. At 7. Yes, as in, 7 in the morning. Not that 7 pm would be any better.

Minhyuk expected that he would tired. He was always tired during this shift. He could sleep all day Friday (yes, he had slept all day Friday before) and still be tired during this shift. It just was a fact of life. Like how Kihyun following him around was also a fact of life.

What he did not expect was that Kihyun would also be tired.

Which led to them walking to the convenience store together in silence.

Maybe Kihyun wasn’t like the physical version of tired, but Kihyun was surely tired of him. Of course, Minhyuk couldn’t read Kihyun’s mind, but if he had to guess? Well…

Kihyun was probably tired of how bubbly Minhyuk was all the time, how he never knew what was going on, how little Minhyuk prepared for his classes, how he slept forever when he didn’t have classes, and, most of all,

How many wishes Minhyuk still had left.

It had now been several days since Minhyuk tried to have soup that one fateful night, and he still had three wishes left. Three whole wishes! Some people would have wished for five things in five minutes. But Minhyuk? Well, he could hardly think of one good thing to wish for. Every idea that popped into his head was something that he didn’t actually want. No, he didn’t want to just graduate. No, he didn’t want a nicer apartment. No, he didn’t want a better job. Minhyuk wanted to earn those things through his own hard work, even if required him to grind through college to get his degree. Kihyun kept suggesting all these material things for Minhyuk to wish for, but he didn’t want any of it.

So that left him with abstract things. You know, love, happiness, et cetera. Things that money couldn’t buy, but Minhyuk could surely wish for… the problem was Minhyuk didn’t want to wish for any of those things either! He could wish for happiness, but, like, what’s happiness without sadness or love without heartbreak? Yeah yeah yeah, you can fault Minhyuk for being a sappy romantic, but those things had to be earned as well. Wishing to find the boyfriend of his dreams would just cheapen the whole thing, right? And, yeah, there were other un-wishable things -- who doesn’t want to be a few inches taller, right? -- but Minhyuk was happy with himself as a person. Maybe it’d be nice to have abs again, but, hey, some boys didn’t like abs.

Did Kihyun like abs?

Did Kihyun have abs?

Did genies work out? Could genies work out?

It was, what, like four days into this… this arrangement and Minhyuk hardly knew anything about Kihyun.

Where he was from, how old he actually was, why he dyed his hair brown, what his favorite color was…

Kihyun was surely fed up with him now… but…

“Kihyunnie!”

When Minhyuk didn’t hear an immediate response, he stopped and looked back at his genie, who had already stopped in the middle of the empty sidewalk. They were the only losers out and about on a Saturday morning, so Minhyuk could speak to Kihyun with a normal-ish voice instead of a whisper. If Kihyun wanted to talk, that is.

“Something wrong?” he asked.

“What… what did you call me?”

“Um,” Minhyuk demurred, “I called you ‘Kihyunnie.’ Is--Is that not okay?”

Kihyun shook his head and looked down at the ground, a small smile breaking across his face. “No, it’s fine,” he replied. “It’s just… no one’s called me that in hundreds of years. Not since I was a kid.”

Oh.

“I… I, uh, missed it,” the brown-haired genie added, looking up at him. There was something childish about his expression -- he didn’t look so sullen and annoyed anymore, the contours of his sharp jawline and cheekbones softening ever-so-slightly. It was cute, and Minhyuk couldn’t help but smiling back.

“I was actually wondering about that… what’s it like being a kid-genie? How… how do genies even have kids?”

“Heh, well it’s a little different from being a human, right? Like, um, there’s no intimacy involved. There’s actually a set number of genies in the universe at any one point in time, and whenever a genie is needed, a new one is ‘born’ from the aether. It’s actually a rare event? There weren’t any other genies ‘born’ within one hundred human years of me.”

“Really?” Minhyuk incredulously replied. “That sounds so… lonely?”

“It wasn’t that bad. My moms were wonderful to me.”

“Moms?”

“Yeah, moms. New genies are raised by a genie pair. There’s a list? It’s weird.”

“That’s not too weird. Where do genies even, like, live?”

“Um, shouldn’t we keep walking, Minhyuk? You’ll be late.”

“Oh, right,” he answered, pivoting on his feet. He started walking toward the store again, but Kihyun jogged up next to him. Apparently he was okay with walking now.

“So, how can I describe this in human terms? Genies live in a dimension parallel to this one. We’re connected to this world by mundane objects.”

“Like cans of soup?”

Kihyun sighed. “Yes, like cans of soup.”

“Did you even pick the can of soup?”

“I mean, in the same way that you ‘picked’ your apartment?”

Minhyuk cocked his head at Kihyun. What?

“It wasn’t really a choice. It was the only place that I could ‘afford’ based on my seniority if that makes sense? Don’t get me wrong, it’s still infinitely better than your apartment--”

“--Hey!”

Kihyun chuckled. Minhyuk liked how Kihyun’s nose scrunched up when he laughed -- it was cute. He had one thought nagging his brain, though.

“Wait, so if you were ‘born’ or whatever, does that mean another genie died?”

“Not necessarily,” Kihyun absentmindedly replied. Minhyuk noticed that Kihyun was playing with the ring on his finger again. “There are a few ways for us to lose a genie.”

“Oh.”

“Sorry, I can’t tell you. Genie secrets,” Kihyun explained, his smile turning into a bit of a smirk. “Besides, I think we’re here?”

Minhyuk broke his pouting face and looked up at the storefront. They were here! How did Kihyun know…?

“Right on time, too.”

He was a little shocked, to be honest. Minhyuk was never on-time for this shift -- he was always late. He fumbled through his pocket, finding his key for the sliding front door. Kihyun waited patiently while Minhyuk pried the door open, sliding inside. Before he could even make it past the front, his manager called out from behind the register.

“You’re late.”

“Um, actually--”

“--It doesn’t matter,” his manager nonchalantly interrupted. “You’re in charge of re-stocking.”

Minhyuk just sighed and nodded in response. Making his way to the storeroom in the back, he knew Kihyun was following him. They were going to be out of earshot of his manager, and he knew Kihyun was going to say something.

“You’re just going to let her treat you like that?” Kihyun asked. “You’re gonna let her walk all over you?”

“It’s okay, really,” he explained. “This, um, happens every week.”

“And you don’t do anything about it!” Kihyun answered, his voice getting louder. “You don’t tell her to help you?”

“Kihyun, I--”

“You need to stand up for yourself!”

“It’s not that simple, I--”

“Why don’t you just wish you had a better job? Or a better manager?”

Minhyuk looked down and away this time. Kihyun was basically glaring at him -- glaring at him like he was the biggest idiot in the world. But he wasn’t. He just didn’t care what his manager said anymore.

“Because I’m okay with it not being perfect.”

Minhyuk made it through his shift. It was still light outside -- after all, it was only 3pm -- but he wanted nothing more than to get home and collapse on his bed.

The manager, as per usual, did jack-shit. When it was busy, she escaped to the back, hiding from all of the customers. When it wasn’t busy, she manned the register, refusing to lift a finger to help Minhyuk re-stock the store for the rest of the week. It was a lose-lose situation for him; he was always working, and, because of that, he was exhausted after his shift. He was like a ghost, limping along the street, dragging himself to his apartment building.

Kihyun, meanwhile, refused to talk to him for the rest of the shift. Something about “not standing up for yourself” or whatever. Minhyuk was sure that Kihyun thought he was a ditzy wimp, unwilling to fight to be treated better. Even during their walk back, Kihyun kept his distance, a perpetual glare fixed on his face. It made Minhyuk feel all dejected on the inside, like he disappointed Kihyun. He didn’t want to make Kihyun’s life miserable, but he didn’t want to rock the boat at his job. And he wasn’t going to wish for it to get better -- the second his job gets better is the second another part of his life (like Organic Chemistry Lab) becomes the shitty part of his week.

Yet, even with how mad Kihyun seemed to be… something seemed off. There were a few times Minhyuk was ferrying items from the storeroom to the front of the store, and, well, it seemed like he finished way faster than he should have. Like he’d make a few trips and suddenly in between trips there’d be a few more items stocked than he remembered doing.

Kihyun never fessed up to doing anything, though.

Sometimes Minhyuk wished he could float up the stairs like Kihyun -- magically will himself up to his apartment on the third floor. It would make these stairs so much easier, like they didn’t even exist.

By the time he keyed into his apartment and closed the door, he was ready to die on his bed. Apparently someone had other plans.

Before his face could even reach his pillow, he heard three loud knocks at his door. Minhyuk froze where he was standing, listening to the door to see if he could hear anything. He caught Kihyun out of the corner of his eyes; he was shaking his head, instructing Minhyuk not to answer.

“Minhyuk?” he heard from the other side of the door. “It’s Hoseok. Your neighbor.”

Minhyuk just shrugged at Kihyun, turning around to go to the door. He caught Kihyun starting to roll his eyes, but he ignored the genie. Minhyuk unlocked the front door, and he opened it up about 30 degrees. As expected, Hoseok was waiting for him on the other side.

“Hey Minhyuk,” Hoseok murmured.

Minhyuk immediately thought something was off. Hoseok was the type of person to envelope him in a bear hug as soon as he saw him; instead, he was quiet now. Nothing like the normal Hoseok.

“Hey,” Minhyuk replied. “What’s up?”

Hoseok perked up and looked back at his apartment. They stood there for a few moments in silence before Hoseok decided to turn his attention back to Minhyuk.

“I’m, uh, sorry to bother you, I know you just got home. I was just wondering you had seen a cat?”

“A cat?”

“My cat,” Hoseok corrected himself. “Calico. Fluffy. Meows a lot. Have you seen her?”

Minhyuk didn’t even know Hoseok had a cat.

He looked back at Kihyun, who shook his head. Apparently Kihyun hadn’t seen her either. Or he disapproved of this whole thing. Either way, Kihyun wasn’t helpful.

“I’m sorry, I haven’t seen her.”

“Oh,” Hoseok mumbled, his voice deflated.

“How long have you been looking?”

“S-since I got home an hour ago,” Hoseok replied, his voice trembling. “I, uh, I don’t know where she could have gone.”

“Do you want me to help look?” Minhyuk asked. He could hear Kihyun facepalming behind him, but Minhyuk didn’t pay any attention to him.

“No, uh, it’s okay, I’ve already taken up too much of your time. I’ve gotta keep looking,” Hoseok hurriedly replied, turning around and heading for his apartment. Minhyuk didn’t say anything afterwards, instead shutting his door and turning around to face Kihyun.

“Why did you even offer to help?” Kihyun dryly asked. “You’re so tired that you probably don’t even know what day it is.”

“It’s Saturday,” Minhyuk quietly answered. “And I wanted to help because I’ve never seen Hoseok so upset before…”

Kihyun sighed.

“Kihyun, I wish that Hoseok would find his cat.”

“What?”

“You heard me,” Minhyuk asserted.

“I’m just -- why?” Kihyun snapped his fingers, a small plume of purple smoke appearing near his hand. Moments later, Minhyuk faintly heard Hoseok yelling excitedly through the wall they shared. He had been reunited with his calico.

“That’s why.”

☆ The Fourth Wish ☆

Day #8 with Minhyuk.

Eight days of pure, uninterrupted monotony.

Eight days of watching Minhyuk struggle to… well, everything. The kid had an unnerving mixture of unintentional aloofness, perpetual sleepiness, and intentional laziness. He ambled from one disaster to the next, barely skinning by each and every day. It was like watching a slow-motion trainwreck… but a boring one.

Kihyun’s first thought was that Minhyuk was basically one-dimensional. He was motivated by one thing: sleep. How did that jive with the kid picking one of the hardest majors in his college? A good job gets him more time to sleep. Working on the side? He needed to pay for rent so he could sleep somewhere. Eating? Can’t sleep if you’re dead. Honestly, it made Minhyuk a remarkably boring person. Sure, he had a lot going on between class and work and trying (and failing) to be a functional adult. But it was all very routine -- nothing Kihyun hadn’t already seen in his hundreds of years being a genie.

But then…

Some days, Minhyuk surprised him.

Some days, Minhyuk would get up early and make pancakes for himself from two month old box mix that he “only used sparingly,” according the smiley boy. Some days, Minhyuk would go out of his way to help a complete stranger, saying “it’s the right thing to do” when Kihyun interrogated him. Some days, Minhyuk would use the most valuable thing he owned right now -- his five, now two, wishes -- to make someone else’s day better. Some days, Minhyuk would forget about himself and his own needs.

It was infuriating. Absolutely infuriating.

That confused Kihyun. It scared him. A lot. Because, honestly, it meant he cared about Minhyuk. This was the longest amount of time he had spent with any one person in the human world -- besides that one time his human got too careless after his first wish, got hit by a car, and was in a coma for a week. But that doesn’t count. No, he had spent seven waking days with Minhyuk, and he was barely half-done with Minhyuk’s wishes.

“Kihyun?”

“Hmm,” he replied, looking over his shoulder to find Minhyuk cheekily smiling at him. His black hair was shooting out all over the place, still wearing pajamas and sitting up on his bed. It was cute, that little shit. He must have been napping for a while now.

“I invited my friend Jooheon over. He needed to talk about something.”

“You have friends?” he quipped.

Minhyuk’s smile immediately disappeared. “Why are you always so mean to me, Yoo Kihyun?”

Kihyun smirked. “It’s a genie thing.”

The other boy made a face. “I can’t tell if you’re telling the truth or not.”

“I’ve had 500 years to practice my lying -- you can barely read your textbook, what makes you think you can read me?”

“I can read that you don’t totally hate me.”

Kihyun paused. He knew it was a joke, but had he really been that obvious? Had his stupid feelings seeped through to how he acted around Minhyuk? Had he really changed after spending a week with Minhyuk?

No, he answered himself.

“Uh huh,” he finally replied, rolling his eyes. He crossed his arms, impatiently rotating his ring around his ring finger. He had only started doing it in the past few days with Minhyuk, but now it was basically his nervous tick.

“Are you blushing, Kihyun?” Minhyuk teased.

“Keep dreaming,” Kihyun fired back without missing a beat. Minhyuk giggled, letting his head fall back onto his bed. Kihyun knew he wasn’t blushing. He would never blush around Minhyuk -- maybe he’d smack him, but he certainly wouldn’t blush.

He’d make sure not to smack him too hard. Besides, Minhyuk’s pretty face is one of the few assets he’s got going for him... aside from his endearingly boring life and half-witted brain, both of which had their moments.

“When’s Jooheon getting here anyways,” Kihyun absentmindedly asked.

“Oh, in five minutes.”

“And you’re just telling me now!?”

Minhyuk shot him a confused look. “You’re upset?”

“Clearly,” he flatly replied.

“Why? It’s not like Jooheon can see you.”

“I -- I know that!” Kihyun asserted. “I just, uh, need to mentally prepare to deal with more people.”

Minhyuk laughed, his nasally giggles loud and boisterous from his laying-down position. “More like you need more time to come up with ways to torture me when I have to pretend you don’t exist.”

“Er, right.”

“Do you have friends, Kihyunnie?”

“Of course I have friends, you twat.”

“... For some reason, I feel like that’s a lie,” Minhyuk rambled, “... Like, you’re pretty mean to me.”

“Untrue.”

“Um, you definitely just called me a twat,” Minhyuk retorted, sitting up again.

“No, I meant that I’m not mean to most people.”

“Aww, so I’m special?” Minhyuk put on his best puppy-dog eyes, clasped his hands together, and looked at Kihyun expectantly. It was too cute, even for Minhyuk.

“Sure, Minhyuk.”

“Ouch,” Minhyuk replied, feigning the gayest hurt face Kihyun had ever seen.

That was “gay” as in gay, not stupid, by the way.

Just how did Kihyun know Minhyuk was gay?

You mean other than the endless flirting and Minhyuk’s sassy-gay tendencies?

Well, there was that one time when he was mind-numbingly bored when Minhyuk was asleep, so he pulled out Minhyuk’s laptop and decided to get on the Internet. One thing led to another, and, well…

Let’s just say Minhyuk has an interesting browsing history.

“Tell me about your friends, Kihyunnie,” Minhyuk piped up.

“Oh, um, well,” he mumbled.

“-- So your friends aren’t real!” Minhyuk interjected.

“Shut up,” Kihyun harmlessly threatened. “I’m just not used to humans asking about my life, okay? Anyways, so my best friend is named Hyunwoo. He’s only 75 human years older than me, but he acts like he’s 400 years older than me. Wise and worldly and cares about all that genie crap that I, uh, ignore.”

Kihyun paused, but Minhyuk didn’t say anything immediately.

“And your other friends?”

“Uh, well, actually…” he started, nervously running a hand through his hair. “So I don’t really have any friends besides Hyunwoo.”

“I’m sorry,” Minhyuk immediately replied. “I kinda know what that’s like. Jooheon’s basically my only friend.”

“Really?” Kihyun was sure Minhyuk was the type of human to have 100 friends. Outgoing, sociable, loud -- he had all the makings of an extrovert who just clicked with everyone.

“Yeah, most people think I’m annoying? At least that’s what I think.”

Oh.

“Well, um, if it’s any consolation, Minhyuk…” Kihyun began before a knock at Minhyuk’s door cut him off. Minhyuk was still looking at him, though; he was waiting for him to finish.

“I don’t think you’re that annoying.”

Minhyuk smiled. “Thanks.”

The other boy made his way for the door to let his best friend into his apartment.

“It’ll all work out, Jooheon. I promise.”

Minhyuk closed the door to the front of his apartment and looked over at Kihyun. They were finally alone again; Jooheon left to catch the last bus to his own apartment complex. Kihyun, meanwhile, was putting on his best unimpressed face for Minhyuk, but it was mostly a front to hide total and utter disdain Kihyun had been harboring for the past four hours.

“So, what did you think of Jooheon?”

“Charming,” Kihyun dismissively replied, leaning over Minhyuk’s kitchen counter and planting his chin in his left palm. “Absolutely charming.”

“What? So you didn’t like Jooheon?”

“Honestly, I didn’t get to know him too well,” Kihyun replied, keeping his voice monotone and disinterested.

“He was here for four hours!”

“Yeah, two of which were spent watching a movie while basically sitting on your lap. The other two hours were him crying about his crush, Changbin.”

“Changkyun.”

“Whatever.”

“Look,” Minhyuk answered. “Jooheonie’s going through a really tough time. And him and Changkyun would make a great couple. But Jooheon’s too shy to say anything, and Changkyun’s definitely too shy to say anything either, so we’re stuck in this predicament. Which reminds me…”

“What?”

“I wish Jooheon would finally have the courage to ask Changkyun out. Let’s say, tomorrow.”

“You’re serious?” Kihyun couldn’t believe that Minhyuk would wish for something so--

“Yes.”

--asinine. Again.

He was compelled to snap his fingers once more, zapping some confidence into Minhyuk’s best friend. At the very least, he gave the boy enough confidence to ask his crush out without stammering for fifteen minutes like he ordinarily would. Kihyun then quickly turned his attention back to Minhyuk, who was smiling triumphantly, like he had solved world peace. Kihyun finally snapped, this time in a different way.

“Why,” he bitingly demanded.

“Why what?” Minhyuk was so oblivious that it just made Kihyun angrier. He could feel his blood pressure rising, after it had already been building over the past few hours of Jooheon and Minhyuk bro-time.

“Why do you keep on wishing for stupid things?” he spat out.

“Stupid?”

“Yes, stupid! Why do you wish for such stupid things!”

Minhyuk looked even more confused, which fueled Kihyun to continue berating him.

“I’m a genie, Minhyuk. I’m not here for your entertainment. I’m not here to grant stupid wishes. I’m not here to do something that a stupid fairy could do. I grant important wishes, wishes that no human could fathom achieving. But you! You little… You waste my powers on wishing for things that don’t matter. Things that don’t matter, Minhyuk!”

Minhyuk now looked more hurt than confused. But Kihyun didn’t care. He wanted Minhyuk to realize that his wishes were the stupidest wishes Kihyun had granted in hundreds of years.

“Why, Minhyuk? Why do you waste your wishes?”

Minhyuk shook his head. “Do -- do you really think that my wishes are stupid?”

“Yes!”

“T-that Hyungwon’s grades don’t matter to him?”

Kihyun didn’t answer that one.

“That Hoseok’s cat doesn’t matter to him?”

No -- that’s not what he meant.

“That Jooheon’s happiness doesn’t matter to him? Or matter to me?”

“No, I --”

“You what? Think you’re better than that?”

“No!”

Minhyuk looked directly at him now. His facial features were strained, like he was in pain having to say these things. Having to confront Kihyun like this.

“No?”

“No, I -- I, uh…”

“You what?”

Kihyun was mute. He couldn’t say anything. For once, he didn’t know what to say. He was usually four steps ahead of Minhyuk.

Minhyuk shook his head again.

“Could you please leave me alone tonight? I’m going to bed.”

With that, Minhyuk disappeared into the bathroom, leaving Kihyun alone in Minhyuk’s tiny kitchen. He wasn’t supposed to leave, but he did. Everything in the genie rule book told him he had to stay, to be around in case his human wanted to wish anything. But something told him that Minhyuk didn’t want to use his fifth wish. At least, not now.

Kihyun walked out, his brain still numb.

He walked. He hated to admit it, but it felt nice to walk. It forced him to focus on something, to help the numbness go away.

Eventually, one thought percolated to the front of Kihyun’s mind: that he cared too much. He wanted nothing more than for Minhyuk to wish for something for himself. He wanted Minhyuk to care about himself. To think about himself. To live in a better apartment, to have a better job, to be able to afford some actual groceries. Minhyuk deserved better.

Just then, he had a thought that scared him even more. That made him even more upset.

If Minhyuk deserved better, then why did he just scream at him for being stupid?

☆ The Fifth Wish ☆

A big part of Minhyuk wanted nothing more than to make his final wish right then and there. To get this all over with, to make Kihyun disappear from his life forever. But as soon as Kihyun left, a wave of relief swept over him: he didn’t do something stupid. Again, Kihyun would have added, that bitingly cynical thought creeping into his mind. He was becoming as cynical as Kihyun now.

But an even bigger part of Minhyuk won out. The part of him that loved Kihyun’s dimples, his sassiness, his hair, their banter -- it won out. The part of him that only became obvious over the past few days.

When Kihyun first popped into Minhyuk’s life in a plume of lavender smoke (a shade of lavender that Minhyuk now found more endearing than ever before), he didn’t think much of him. Minhyuk flirted, sure, but that’s just who he was. Naturally flirty, making quips about seeing each other naked, and so on. He didn’t expect Kihyun to play along, to take his flirting in stride and throw it right back at him with sassiness. It piqued his interest.

But what sealed the deal, what made Minhyuk really fall for Kihyun, was something else. No, it wasn’t Kihyun’s angelic giggling (but that did help). Minhyuk loved that Kihyun seemed to care. Kihyun did little things that made his life easier, like fixing his homework, coaching him through a difficult lab, helping restock the convenience store -- mini “wishes” that he wouldn’t, that he couldn’t make for himself. Underneath all his biting sardonicism and cynicism was a Kihyun who genuinely cared. Minhyuk didn’t know a whole lot about genies, but he sure didn’t think it was normal for a genie to go out of their way to make their human’s life easier unless they wished for it. That definitely sounded like something that would be against the rules if Kihyun’s friend Hyunwoo ever found out. And yet, Kihyun risked it.

For Minhyuk.

So why did Kihyun snap at him like that? What would compel Kihyun to be so hurtful? What would make Kihyun, who went out of his way to make Minhyuk’s life easier even while pretending like he wouldn’t, try to break Minhyuk down? Where did this Kihyun come from? Who replaced the Kihyun that Minhyuk had been secretly falling for?

Part of him needed to know.

Minhyuk didn’t sleep much that night.

The next day was a big studying day for Minhyuk. He had a P-Chem exam this week, and, God, he sucked at P-Chem. It was his weakest subject, and the perfect mix of chemistry and physics to make him wonder if he hated himself. Y’know, choosing this major and all.

No sign of Kihyun, though. Minhyuk was starting to worry. He had already gotten up, showered, thrown on some clothes -- all before 9am on a day when he didn’t have work or class. So, basically a miracle. Aka Thursday. He was currently in the process of shoving his heavy P-Chem textbook into his poor backpack, which seemed to resist his ‘desire’ to study even more than internal Minhyuk did. Finally, he managed to guide the 900-page behemoth down into the right pocket, zipping up the pockets and moving his backpack in front of the door.

Now for breakfast.

Minhyuk moved to his kitchenette, expecting to face a Major Breakfast Problem: he had no breakfast. He had used the last of his precious pancake mix the other day. Eggo waffles were long gone. And he certainly couldn’t afford to buy breakfast out this morning. He hopelessly searched his cupboards, debating whether instant ramen would be better than soup for breakfast. Screw it; he decided that skipping breakfast altogether was easiest.

Turning around, he noticed a large pile of piping hot pancakes with syrup drizzling down the sides of the pancake tower sitting on his kitchen counter.

“Kihyun?” he called out.

Instead of digging in to the pancakes -- why are you such an idiot, his stomach protested -- Minhyuk decided to search his studio apartment. Kihyun had to be around here somewhere. That’s how genies worked, right?. They have to be like, you know, nearby. Like Wi-Fi networks: their powers have a range. Right?

Minhyuk searched his living room. Nothing. The bathroom? Nope. Behind the shower curtain? No. Under his bed sheets? He wished, but nada. In the kitchen cupboards? Zilch. Just then, Minhyuk turned around to face his mysterious pancakes again. This time, there was a handwritten note sitting next to the pancakes that he swore wasn’t there before.

“Just eat them,” it read.

It had to be Kihyun, right?

Kihyun’s handwriting was pretty.

Where was he?

Minhyuk decided that he might as well eat the pancakes while they were here, cutting off a large portion with the accompanying knife and fork. It was like Kihyun was there, insisting that Minhyuk use actual silverware instead of the plastic stuff he jacked from Starbucks. Minhyuk committed to absolutely demolishing these pancakes, stuffing huge pieces into his mouth without thinking. Well, he was thinking. Just not about pancakes. He was thinking about Kihyun, and if this was his apology for last night. But where was he?

Before he knew it, Minhyuk had cleared his plate, his mind preoccupied by considering all the ways today could play out. Like, was Kihyun going to avoid him all day? Yeah, those types of thoughts. Not much healthier than the pancakes he apparently just inhaled.

There wasn’t much he could do to make Kihyun re-appear, so he slung his backpack over his shoulders and walked to the library. At the very least, he could try to study for P-Chem.

You know those walks where you kinda just… forget everything? And walk? That’s what today’s walk to campus was. He just walked. One foot in front of the other, stopping at crosswalks, ignoring everything but focusing on nothing -- he was on auto-pilot. Minhyuk wandered into the library, which was surprisingly empty. He’d never been up this early before, so he had no baseline for library crowdedness at 9:30am. He was able to nab a self-study room, the studying equivalent of a booth table at a restaurant, with ease.

He shut the door to the room, and dropped his bag on an empty chair. He unzipped the pockets, but, before he could coax his textbook out of his bag, he heard the door click back open.

“Oh, I’m sorry this room is ta--”

Minhyuk stopped mid-sentence when he looked up and saw who it was.

“Hey,” the shorter boy said, shutting the door again.

Minhyuk just stood there, hand half in his bag, mouth slack-jawed, and completely speechless.

Kihyun looked like he always did: beautiful. The same sharp facial features, narrow eyes, wide nose, soft brown hair. He looked… sad. Minhyuk had never seen so much emotion in Kihyun, except for last night.

“Studying?” Kihyun finally piped up, breaking the long awkward silence between them.

“Look, if you’re here to tell me to wish to just pass the exam…” Minhyuk replied, his voice a bit hoarse and dramatic. He didn’t know where that thought came from, but it was the first thing that popped into his mind. It was like his mind was wandering around Kihyun’s plump lips but his mouth was vocalizing all the pent-up pain that had accumulated in the last twelve hours.

Kihyun seemed to expect something along these lines, looking down toward the carpet, his expression unchanged. He couldn’t look Minhyuk in the eyes while Minhyuk was outwardly angry with him.

The shorter boy stared at the ground for a few more moments before gathering the courage to look back up at him. “I want to help you study.”

Minhyuk paused. Kihyun seemed earnest, like he meant ‘help’ in the human way and not in the I’m-going-to-use-magic-to-solve-this-problem genie way.

“Okay,” he responded.

“Okay?”

“Yes, okay,” he confirmed, yanking his textbook out of his bag. “I have my P-Chem exam on--”

“--Tuesday,” Kihyun interrupted, cutting him off. He had moved toward the table in the middle of the study room, taking a seat opposite of Minhyuk. It deflated him a bit -- he wished Kihyun had decided to sit next to him.

“Yeah, Tuesday.” Minhyuk pulled out his textbook and sat down.

“So what’s it on?”

“Umm,” Minhyuk demurred.

Kihyun gave him a look.

“Look, I'm just trying to go over all the material today, and then I’ll study the stuff I really suck at tomorrow.”

“Sounds like a plan… ish,” Kihyun replied. Minhyuk giggled -- he forgot how much he missed Kihyun’s sass.

He pulled out his syllabus, placing it next to the open textbook. There was kind of a problem, though.

“Kihyun.”

“Yeah.”

“It would be easier if you were, um…” he started. “Sitting next to me? That way it’s easier to show you stuff.”

“Oh. Right,” Kihyun replied. “Actually, how about I go grab some reference textbooks and study material from the stacks outside while you figure out what your test is on?”

“Okay.”

“Oh my god, I’m so tired,” Minhyuk dramatically complained, letting his head fall onto the table with a thud. One of his hands was holding his throbbing head while his other arm was stretched out, reaching across the table. He rolled his head over to look at his tutor-genie, Kihyun.

“I can go get some more snacks?” Kihyun suggested. Minhyuk could see his eyes darting around at all the empty wrappers scattered around the table, though -- he knew Kihyun was secretly judging just how much ‘brain food,’ aka junk food, Minhyuk needed to stay motivated and awake. They’d been at this for hours, and Minhyuk was just about brain dead. Delirious, or whatever.

He wasn’t sure if it was the exhaustion or the fact that Kihyun must have tried to push his brown hair back like fourteen times in the past thirty minutes when explaining basic P-Chem concepts to Minhyuk, but Kihyun looked even prettier right now. Especially looking up at his jawline from the side. His side profile was stunning.

“Minhyuk? Snacks?”

Oh, right. Words. But, instead of vocalizing his needs like an adult, he just groaned dramatically, earning another look from Kihyun.

“Okay, no snacks.”

“I don’t know anything,” he whined.

“That’s a lie!” Kihyun reassured him. “You know some things!”

Minhyuk groaned again.

“Look,” Kihyun started. “And I really don’t want you to take this the wrong way? But I’m going to suggest it because you’ve tried really hard and because I really want you to pass this exam. But… you could… just… wish to pass the exam?”

Minhyuk was squealing inside. Maybe it was from the delirium, but he loved how Kihyun tip-toed around asking him to wish for it this time. It was so cute. The Kihyun that he knew cared about him deeply finally appeared, and it made him ridiculously happy.

“But that’s not what I want~” Minhyuk teased, looking directly into Kihyun’s eyes while sing-songing his response.

“Oh?” Kihyun replied, dramatically splaying his own arm out like Minhyuk and resting his head on the table. They were now at eye-level, both staring at each other. “Do you want... another stack of pancakes, o lazy one?”

“Nope~”

“What do you want then, Minhyuk?”

Without missing a beat, he replied: “I wish” -- dramatically letting that word fall off his lips -- “that the boy I was looking at right now would kiss me.”

Kihyun’s eyes widened, a light shade of pink instantly creeping across his face.

“You -- You didn’t have to use one of your wishes on that,” he murmured. Kihyun looked away briefly, then focused back on Minhyuk. Hesitantly, the shorter boy leaned closer and closer before softly planting his lips on Minhyuk’s. It was quick -- chaste almost -- because Kihyun recoiled almost as soon as he naturally could. Minhyuk couldn’t get over how insanely pink Kihyun’s cheeks looked, how bashfully cute his genie was.

���Gotta save the best wish for last?” Minhyuk choked out, the humor mixing with the pain to form a lump in his throat. Kihyun had to leave now, right? That’s how this worked. That’s how it worked in Aladdin. Oh god.

“It… It wasn’t your last wish, Minhyuk,” Kihyun softly replied. Minhyuk watched as Kihyun, who still had his planted on the table like Minhyuk, brought his hands together. Using his right hand, he removed the large blingy-looking ring that adorned his right ring finger -- the ring that he liked to play with when he was nervous. Kihyun then reached for Minhyuk’s right hand, gently pulling it close so that it was positioned between the two of them. Kihyun was lazy but deliberate; he slid the ring down Minhyuk’s dainty ring finger.

“You… you know how you asked how we could ‘lose’ a genie?” Kihyun started. “Well, uh, I may not know the genie rules that well, but I know that this is the way that I say that I want to spend some more time with a human.”

More time?

“Y--you mean you’re not a genie anymore?”

“Not anymore,” Kihyun confirmed, a shy smile creeping across his face.

“You can’t grant wishes anymore?”

“I can, actually,” he answered. “But only yours.”

☆ Epilogue: The Eleventh (?) Wish ☆

Minhyuk actually lost track of how many wishes it had been now.

It had been about a week since Kihyun committed to him. A week since Kihyun and him became ‘real,’ since Minhyuk had to explain to Jooheon (and Changkyun) that he had a new boyfriend. A side-effect of committing to Minhyuk? Everybody could see Kihyun now. It made Minhyuk’s life much easier, to be honest.

Their relationship improved dramatically without the constant pressure of wishes hanging over them. Kihyun was relaxed. He was still sassy, of course, and Minhyuk loved him for that. But Kihyun also was fiercely protective -- fiery when someone so much as threatened to hurt Minhyuk’s feelings. It was nice to see that fire directed at someone else, to be honest, even if Minhyuk could more than handle himself.

There were problems of course.

One day, Minhyuk came home from class to a fully-stocked kitchen. New pots, new pans, new appliances, tons of food. Fruit -- even in this economy! And lots of pancake mix. All the pancake mix.

And while Minhyuk truly loved that Kihyun cared, he had to set ground rules for wishing. No amazing, life-changing wishes, no surprising him with tons of new worldly possessions, no making his life so easy that one of his problems became irrelevant, no more than one “wish” per day, et cetera.

“-- Only one a day?” Kihyun complained.

“Yeah, and it has to be small.”

“Why?” Kihyun protested. “I love you and I want to show that I love you, Minhyukie.”

“I love too too, babe. But, like, wishes are the easy way out. I love you because you’re you, not because you’re a genie who can grant any wish.”

The next day was slightly better -- he ‘only’ got a new laptop from Kihyun. They had to sit down and have a talk about what “small” meant. You know, flowers and chocolates and a home-made dinner. Not a new car.

Minhyuk also insisted that Kihyun find something to do during the day. Like enroll in some classes. In a different major, he emphasized. Kihyun acquiesced, got a perfect score on the college entrance exam, and became a philosophy major. Apparently he had a soft spot for the Enlightenment. Something about his youth.

But other than those few problems -- and what relationship doesn’t have problems? -- Minhyuk couldn’t be happier. Besides, it was a nice day out today, and he could watch Kihyun try (and fail) to eat his ice cream for at least a few hours. The park was lovely, but his date was lovelier.

Minhyuk was glad he canned his genie.

[creativeashproductions]

Time of Arrival // Steve Harrington

Summary: It was a huge shock when you traveled from the summer of 1981 to summer of 2008. With the help of your nephews, who are now older than you, you adapt to the new life. The next four eyes you integrate in the hunting before four years later you’re sent back with Sam and Dean to kill a monster to 1984.

Characters: Steve Harrington x Winchester!Reader, Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, Mike Wheeler, Dustin Henderson, Lucas Sinclair, Will Byers, Castiel (mentioned), Nancy Wheeler (mentioned), and Jonathan Byers (mentioned)

Words: 2963

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or Stranger Things or the characters involved. I only own the Reader’s backstory and plot. I also do not own images or gifs that may appear in this either.

Warnings: Swearing, monster decapitation, death, mention of Barb, fluff, and angst

Author: Caitsy

A/N: I’ve changed the years that Samuel and Deanna Campbell died, when Henry Winchester MAY have died. I changed where the Winchesters initially lived before moving to Lawrence.

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As a Winchester you were accustomed to a lot of weird situations including an angel you had deemed the nicest one you had run into during your almost twenty years. Being sent back in time to Hawkins, Indiana was bittersweet given that you actually originally travelled from the early 80s to the mid 2000s just after your brother died.

In 1981 when you were sixteen years old and living in Hawkins with your parents, brother and his wife you ran into trouble. First off John and you had a ten year age difference which should have given you a hint that you were half siblings. John’s father Henry was killed in the future as Azazel leaving John to think he was abandoned and then your mother remarried in 1963 when she got pregnant.

You grew up knowing about the supernatural when you stumbled into your brother’s father-in-law exorcising a demon and his wife decapitating a vampire. He took you under his wing to teach you the ways of being a hunter that Mary didn’t want to be a part of. You spent two consecutive summers staying with them using the surrogate father excuse with your mom. Your Dad was a piece of shit when it came to parenting.

The summer of 1981 you had plans to meet Nancy Wheeler at her place for her small sweet sixteen that her parents had invited you to. You never made it to the party, you remember hearing wings flapping before it went white and you woke up in the back of the impala with Dean and Sam upfront. Of course nobody stopped looking for you until they found Samuel Campbell’s dead body and the urgency shifted to finding the murderer.

“Home.” You showed looking around the familiar surroundings of the town you grew up in.

“Finally.” Dean grumbled, “After four years you’re back here.”

You ignored Dean’s comment to find the vampire that had somehow come into contact with a powerful witch. Like all other hunters and supernatural creatures the Winchesters were the people everyone wanted gone and sending them back in time to be killed was perfect. You were scanning the area for the vamp when your eyes landed on a frantic group of young teenagers. Both the teens and the vampire were just on the edge of the woods when you began to trek over, flipping the machete in your hand easily.

“Let’s do this.” You smiled to Dean and Sam before sprinting into the clearing just past the edge of the woods.

When you found the vampire he was hissing at the group with a hand outstretch to grab the closest human. For some god awful reason time traveling for vampires depleted their food. You noticed that one of the teens was older than the rest with a metal bat self modified with nails in the end. You didn’t think he would survive so you fluidly moved to kick the vamp’s knee off and sliced the head off the neck as if you were an experienced dancer.

“Oh god.” One of the younger teens muttered as he leaned down and gagged off to the side.

“Holy shit!”

“Not the right time Dustin!” The older teen said pushing in front of the group.

“Wait.” A familiar young boy with shaggy hair interjected shoving past the others to be in front. His eyes scanning you in a mystified expression, “Y/N Winchester?”

Not a beat passed before Dean’s gun was levelled evenly between the boy’s eyes with a furious expression on his face.

“How do you know her?” Dean spoke not giving a damn about how old he was.

“Whoa man!” The older teen exclaimed moving to step into the line of fire before your gun was aimed as his face too.

“I’m Mike Wheeler!” The boy quickly spoke staring down the barrel of the gun, “Do you remember me?”

You blinked at the sight of him before fully looking at each member of the that group with curiosity. You began to put the images of them if they were younger before lowering your gun to clench it next to your side. All of them resembling the boys that geeked out in the Wheeler’s basement over a game.

“Aren’t you supposed to be ten?” You checked dropping the dripping machete to the ground from your other hand. You ensure the gun was still in your right hand.

“It’s 1984 Y/N.” Mike spoke with furrowed eyebrows, “Did these guys kidnap you?”

“These are my nephews Dean and Sam Winchester from the future.”

“The future.” The curly haired one, you recognized him as Dustin with the hair and lisp, scoffed.

“I just decapitated a vampire and time travel is hard to believe?” You muttered shaking your head, “I guess Castiel didn’t send up far enough in time.”

“We never stopped looking you.” The older teen said.

“And you are?” Sam questioned with a hard expression.

“Steve Harrington.”


“No way.” You gasped looking him over, “Last time I saw you, you were a skinny kid with a bowl cut and braces.”


“You had a bowl cut.” Dustin chocked leaning over to grasp his midsection.

“Shut up.”

“I can’t .” Dustin laughed leaning on the sickly looking one as if he hadn’t had sleep in years.

“It was before high school.” Steve snapped glaring at the young teenager.

“It was freshmen year.” You chuckled the the disdain of Steve, “An impressive glowup.”

“Glow what?” Mike questioned curiously.

“It’s a phrase where a change in appearance like the Ugly Duckling that turned into a beautiful swan. It’s a twenty first century phrase.” You explained easily as Dustin began to repeated if a few times.

“That’s weird.” Lucas spoke shaking his head.

“How old are you?” Will questioned.

“I arrived in the future on the same day as I disappeared just in a different year.” You explained, “Essentially I’m almost twenty years old.”


“What? I thought you were younger than me.” Steve exclaimed floored.

“I was held back one year and cutoffs for the school year also leading me to be in the same grade as Nancy and a level below you. If I was still in high school I would be a senior but I graduated via online schooling.”

“Online?” Dustin asked.

“It’s not common in households or school for students yet but soon you’ll be able to easily search anything online but that will be a while away.”

“Stop. We don’t want to alter anything in the future.”

“Whoa.” Will breathed staring at you.

“How long are you staying?” Mike asked, “Are you going to stay here?”



“I don’t know.” You admitted playing with your fingers while looking over to Sam and Dean with a sad, confused expression. Each of them keeping a blank face to not influence your decision.

“Where would she stay man?” Lucas asked crossing his arms.


“The Winchester’s left two years ago.” Will exclaimed realizing the devastation also, “They haven’t came back since.”

“Do you know where they would be?” Dean asked intrigued on seeing his parents together again.

“After Y/N disappeared they looked everywhere before leaving town because…” Dustin trailed off wondering if he should tell you why.

“We know that Deanna and Samuel died the year she came to the future.” Dean huffed a with a glare to the young boys looking you over.

“John and Mary left for Kansas.” Lucas interjected.

“They had baby Dean too and all their belongings.” 


“Oh and your mother left your father and it was the talk of the town for a long time.”

“Bout time.” You sighed remembering the harsh and cold man that ignored you and your mother.

“I’d like to know why you all were in the woods at this time and how the vampire didn’t faze you entirely.” Sam spoke after being silent for a while.

“That may be unbelievable and it’s illegal! We signed documents to keep quiet.” Steve hurriedly shook his head knowing that the kids would definitely tell you.

“Fake ID will be able to fix that.” Dean grumbled lowly already trying to figure out which person he used when he was in the 70s a while back.

“I’d like a shower. Where’s the closest motel?” You asked feeling the guts in your hair from the witch you had blown up earlier.

“You could stay at Steve’s place, his parents are gone for the next month.” Mike immediately spoke.

“What the hell man!” Steve exclaimed outraged.

“Like you have a social life. You hang out with middle schoolers and you girlfriend hangs out with Johnathan.” Dustin laughed.

“Whatever.” Steve grumbled further as he began the trek to his car.

Squeezing the water from your hair into the towel you stepped into the hallway of the large house that Steve had led you guys into. The kids were in the living room with Steve waiting for you and the boys to finish up. By the time you had finished drying your hair the others had been waiting for a good half hour for you.

“So you went into another dimension and a fought a demi-“

“Demogorgon.” Dustin interrupted with a sigh. He was tired of correcting the people outside of the D&D players.

“Uh meed I remind you about the Jefferson Starships.” Sam inquired with a small smile aimed to his older brother.

“Not the same thing!” Dean snapped, “Is there no damn hunters in this godforsaken town.”

“Quit.” You sternly told him as if he was still that adorable little boy with mischievous desires.

The room was quiet as everything sunk in for everyone in the room but there was something in the room that made you uncomfortable. Almost as when Claire had stalked up for awhile to learn hunting techniques and the dark cloud followed you everywhere.

“What monsters are there?” Lucas asked leaning forward with the rest of the others in gleeful curiosity.

“So many.” You groaned, “Shapeshifters, demons, werewolves, dieties, ghouls, wendigos.” You began.

“Djinn, dragons, rugaru, skinwalkers, and others. We’ve barely scraped the surface if I’m being honest.” Sam finished with a somber expression.

“Angels.” Dean mentioned offhand, “One of the worst of them all. Witches are a close match to angels.”

“Holy shit.” Dustin marvelled.

“Everyone hates angels and witches.” Sam sighed to his older brother, “The only witch we’ve come across that isn’t a complete and utter useless evil is Rowena.”

“She birthed evil.” You snorted thinking of Crowley who had nicknamed you guys as Moose, Squirrel and Chipmunk.


Before the kids could say anything a honk from outside was heard which in turn caused all the kids to groan in disappointment. Steve tensed up when he glanced out to see Nancy laughing with an unknown teenage male in the driver’s seat.

“Hey guys. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t say anything about us.” You stated.

“Mike!” A feminine voice called from outside the house.

“Fine.” They all grumbled picking their things off the floor and to the door.

Dean and Sam retreated to the rooms you all were gifted for your stay by Steve even if he begrudgedly allowed Dean to use his state of the art of the 80s shower. You hummed to yourself quietly glancing at the room to see the photos of the Harrington’s through the years. Steve was still tensed on the chair he had sat on.

“You’re dating Nancy Wheeler.” You simply stated amused.

“So?” Steve defended himself.

“Just seems odd. She chased you and followed you around for years before I disappeared but you never gave her the time of day. You ignored her existence.” You shrugged.

“People change.”

“Not easily.” You retorted thinking of all the people you had met in the future, “Now she’s chasing someone else while with you.”

“They’re just friends.”

“Yeah sure. That’s a long running cliche in Hollywood. Girl gets boy, girl realizes she likes her best friend, drama ensures, and hearts break.” You waved your hand over your explanation.

“I didn’t chase her because I liked you.” Steve interrupted.

“I know.”

Steve sat there shocked that you had known about his feelings when you were both younger not saying a word while you went to your room. Alone you thought about when you were still living in the early 80s. When you initially went into high school you had noticed a slightly dorky but more popular version of the Steve from middle school. You had known about his feelings when he would stare at you and followed you around but you never did anything because you were a year lower but older than him.

“Wonder how things would be like now.” You whispered leaning back on the bed.

Maybe you would have gotten together the year after you disappeared, maybe you would have plans after high school to marry. Of course it was wishful thinking about the past when you had a life in the distant future you were scared to leave behind.

For the first time in a long time you had a dreamless sleep that lasted more than five hours but it was when you woke up that it settled in. You were back in your hometown with your childhood friends and you didn’t know what to do. Using the items Steve had found you quickly got ready for the unpredictable day.

“Morning.” You yawned at Sam sitting at the table reading a newspaper, “Did you guys find or talk to Cas?”

“Nothing.” Sam spoke over his light breakfast and the paper.

“That sucks. How long do you think we’re here for?”

“Don’t act like it doesn’t matter you’re back here.”

You went quiet fro the rest of the morning until Steve and Dean wandered into the kitchen dressed and quiet. Each male had a different style of clothing, hair and ways to walk that it was a stark contrast.

“When did you get up?” Steve yawned pouring himself generic cereal.

“They get up at six every morning.” Dean muttered pouring himself a coffee and leaning against the counter.

“Wow.” Steve grumbled, “I’m meeting my girlfriend today. There’s food in the fridge if you get hungry.”

“Good luck.” You snickered at his retreating back.

“Shush.” Sam muttered lowly watching Steve continued to leave with a tense back.

You went about the day by watching old shows from your childhood and reading books you found in the living room. Out of the three of you, you had put music on using the turntable as you quickly concocted an easy meal. It was late in the night when Steve returned to find you on the couch in a blanket holding a small square object.

“What is that?” He asked sitting on the couch next to you.

“Something from the future.” You replied locking the phone and shoving it deep in your pocket.

“Can I see it?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“It could alter the future more than my time travel did.” You calmly spoke watching as he tilted his head to the side.

“Sure.” He chuckled shaking his head.

“How was your date?”


“Had KFC with Nancy and on the Hollands.” He scratched the back of his head as he furrowed his eyebrows.

“How romantic.”

“Especially when your girlfriend flees to the bathroom and comes back with red eyes.” Steve sighed leaning back.

“Is she alright?” You asked concerned for your childhood best friend.

“She said she was and she seemed fine after. I didn’t want to push her into speaking.”

You didn’t bother replying to him knowing that it wasn’t any of your business or concern when you didn’t feel like you belonged in the 80s anymore. All you could say was that Nancy should appreciate her nice boyfriend more than she was. Screw how she felt about the other dimension business because she was almost as bad as the people they kids told you about for leading Steve on.

“I’m happy your back you know.” Steve whispered looking at you from his peripheral view.

“Me too.” You whispered playing with your fingers. You weren’t happy though because it brought you to an important decision, stay here or go back to the future with your nephews.

Forever Tag List

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[keywestlou]

TRUMP NOMINATED FOR NOBEL PEACE PRIZE SECOND YEAR IN A ROW

There is still a humor in things Donald Trump.

He has been nominated for the second consecutive year for the Nobel Peace Prize.

Wonder of wonders!

I am not concerned about his winning. It would be both a surprise and shock.

Son in law Jared Kushner was nominated last week for the Award also.

Neither will win.

The nomination is no big deal. Each year 300-400 persons are nominated. Only 1 or 2 will win. Anyone of stature may do the nominating. A college professor or officer, a political leader, are examples.

This year Trump was nominated by an Estonian member of the European Parliament Jaak Madison. His reasons for the nomination were two fold. First, Trump is the first American President in 30 years who did not start a war. Second, Trump signed several peace agreements in the Middle East which helped provide stability in the region and peace.

I am 85 years old. Still waiting for my coronavirus vaccine shot. Different County locales have been opened for the purpose of providing the shots. The problem is there has never been enough shots.

It has been announced the College of Florida Keys will be providing vaccine shots beginning sunday. The College is going to work off the Health Department’s application list in determining in what order the shots will be given.

Sunday’s shots will be provided those 65 and older. I should qualify. I qualified when the age was 75 and could not get it.

Four hundred vaccines are available for sunday. It is expected that by the weekend, 300 additional shots will be received.

Each a pittance. Better than none, however.

Let’s hope all goes as planed. Let’s hope that all such as myself 20 years over the minimal age limit finally get the shot.

The Democratic Party concerns me. They have for years. Especially since Obama took office.

Democrats are good guys. They do not know how to fight dirty.

Republicans fight dirty. Democrats not. They continue to be legislative gentlemen in the tradition of old.

No way to fight.

It is tit for tat and a bit more. The Democrats have to learn to be like Republicans when it comes to fighting dirty. The Republicans need to be taught a lesson. Hit them first. If not, hit them harder when they hit first.

Otherwise, nothing is ever going to get done.

Trump’s impeachment trial before the Senate begins tuesday. The Trump defense is two fold. One is he is no longer President and therefore cannot be tried for impeachment. The other, and a new one, is that Trump continues to believe he is still President and has done nothing wrong. Therefore, he cannot be impeached.

Two inconsistencies meeting. A Catch-22 situation. The trial will be an interesting one.

The CDC announced friday all persons using public transportation in the U.S. must wear masks. The masks must be 2 layers which I assume means 2 layers of material. Additionally, the masks must be secured to the head.

Violation will result in arrest.

Oregon is a first in the nation. Oregon has decriminalized all illegal drugs. Such includes cocaine, heroin,and meth. Persons caught using drugs can be apprehended. However they can opt for rehabilitation rather than jail.

Today Santorini! A marvel! One of the most beautiful places in the world, if not the most. Hope you enjoy.

Day 8…..Greece the First Time

Posted on June 4, 2012 by Key WestLou

When I saw Key West for the first time twenty five years ago, I knew almost immediately it was a place I wanted to be. So too with Santorini.

You just know.

My day yesterday started with an early morning flight from Athens to Santorini. Olympic Airlines. A one half hour flight. On a big jet. Packed.

The plane took off. The pilot said we are heading to an elevation of 17,000 feet. Once we reached that point, the plane started its descent. You got it! The plane ride was an ascent to 17,000 feet and then an immediate descent into the Santorini airport.

Again young stewardesses. That is the word. Stewardesses. Thin. No more than size 4s. Hair swept back and up. For the little hats they perched on their heads when we landed.

Nikos met me at the airport. I never had met nor known Nikos before. Nikos and his wife Maria own some cave houses which they rent out. I was booked into one of those cave houses.

Nikos about 5′ 6″. Thin. Muscle bound. I would estimate around 60. Skin tough and weather beaten by the sun.

He embraced me like a long lost friend. A mutual acquaintance had arranged for me to stay at Nikos’ place. Nikos pointed out on the drive to his caves that he never picks anyone up at the airport. He was only doing so because a mutual friend had told him to take good care of me. I was grateful

The formal name of the caves is Filotera Cave Houses. I do not know what filotera means. I googled it and could only come up with a list of motels, hotels and other cave accommodations on Santorini. Everything is filotera here.

The ride from the airport was an experience. Uncomfortable.

Nikos’ place was an hour drive from the airport. Straight up a hill. Mountain may be a better description. A very narrow two lane road with a drop off on the upward side thousands of feet into the sea. I was up up and away.

Drivers speed here. They come at each other at horrendous speeds. The road was very curvy. At every turn I saw an accident in the making. Especially when a bus came at us!

The views were spectacular. The heights dramatic. I have never been closer to God. In more ways than one.

Maria met us. Her appearance as her husband’s, except Maria was shorter and on the heavy side. It was hugs and kisses all around. I met the whole family. Daughter and grandchildren.

It was Maria’s birthday. She sent a piece of her birthday cake to my cave.

These caves are another world.

Santorini was once one large island. About 1,500 years before Christ (everything is before Christ in this part of the world), there was a huge volcanic explosion. Reportedly the largest ever known to man before and since. Broke Santorini into several islands. Santorini the largest.

The very first volcano was a long time back. Six hundred fifty thousand years. ago. The most recent in 1950.

Natural tragedy appears common to the area. There was a violent earthquake in 1956 which destroyed many old structures on the island. Earthquakes and I are becoming common place on this trip.

One side of Santorini ended up being a very high and steep cliff running from the heavens thousands of feet into the ocean. Caves developed. Home for me is one of those caves. Fear not, the accommodations are wonderful. Do not let the term caves scare you. All modern amenities. Only negative, no windows. Not for the claustrophobic. I have my own small white terrace hewed out of the cliff in front. A place where one can sit and contemplate his navel.

I can see the four islands made by the volcanic eruption. The eruption actually split a big island down the middle into two islands as well as several small ones. Smoke and sulfur can still be seen coming from the volcano itself.

Tradition has many tales. It is claimed that Santorini is the place where Moses and his people made their exodus from Egypt. The plagues which afflicted the Pharaoh and Egyptians are the same as were experienced on Santorini at the time of the volcanic eruption. Also, the breaking up of the island is said to reflect the parting of the waters by Moses. Another historical claim  is that the Atlantis of old was a part of Santorini and now lies somewhere below the sea in the area.

The waters are extremely deep around Santorini. Especially in the area of the volcano. So the tale may have some truth.

Sunset is big here. As in Key West. I rarely go to a sunset anymore in Key West. Seen one, seen them all. Too many people.

I went to the sunset last night. When in Rome, etc. Never again.

The sunset was around a corner of the island. I had about a one mile walk to it. Uphill all the way. Sometimes at a 45 degree angle. Steps everywhere. No consistency between the distance or height of each. The paved area marble. Slippery.

I was exhausted when I arrived at the anointed place. Pleased I had not fallen. Crushed into and with a mass of people just as in Mallory Square.

My sunset hours the rest of this trip will be spent on my little terrace with a drink in hand.

Many outdoor cafes along the top of the cliff. I stopped at one and enjoyed a delicious dish of moussaka. Prices dramatically cheap.

Then back to my cave and sleep. The weather cool. I slept like a baby all night. The first time I have done so this trip.

This morning there was a knock on the cave door. Yes, there are doors. It was a boy with coffee and bread. Nikos had sent them to me for breakfast. The bread was hot. Just out of the oven. I broke off a chunk and enjoyed.

More tomorrow. Do not miss any of it. This is one exciting place!

Enjoy your day!

TRUMP NOMINATED FOR NOBEL PEACE PRIZE SECOND YEAR IN A ROW was originally published on Key West Lou

[initforthelongrun2019]

Pu Luong Part 2

Three weeks have passed since I completed the Vietnam Jungle Marathon; an extremely challenging trail run in Pu Luong, northern Vietnam. Some of you may remember that I took part in this race last year, and I didn’t have the best experience. I had a terrible sleep thanks to karaoke which kept me up all night at the homestay, I wasn’t race fit, my injury was reaching its peak and yet, despite all of this, I was still over-confident; having completed 122km just a few months before I thought this would be easy. The extreme heat made the entire race unbearable and, unlike most races I’d done in the past, there was very little shade, with large stretches of the race which were under direct sunlight. 70km felt like 700km and there were multiple points in the race where I thought about dropping out. However, it was - and still is - one of the most beautiful races I’ve ever done, and I knew I would go back someday. This year, the race was postponed to October due to Covid19. I hadn’t actually signed up to the original race in May, and only decided to register a few weeks before when I realised it coincided with my week of annual leave. I had taken some time off to celebrate my 30th birthday and I knew it would mean that birthday celebrations would have to be tamer than usual; but I was actually quite happy about that (maybe a sign that I am getting sensible in my old-ish age)?! I didn’t want to make the same mistake as last year; going wild at a festival the weekend before the race wasn’t the best decision I’ve ever made. Despite having a much better lead up to the race, preparation still didn’t go quite as planned. Actually, there wasn’t really a plan at all, but I hit a bit of a wall over summer where running was the last thing I wanted to do. I struggled with the heat and my confidence in my running abilities diminished, day by day. As the cooler weather approached, so did the storms, and as soon as I found my running mojo, I was prevented from running due to the numerous tropical storms and typhoons that have hit us in Central Vietnam over the last few weeks and months. I managed a good running streak on a recent work trip to Hanoi and HCMC, with two consecutive half marathons and a few other runs, all at a much better pace than I’ve done in a while, so this helped my confidence and made me feel somewhat ready for the race. Once again, I booked the VJM race package and travelled to Pu Luong on Friday morning, taking in the beautiful sights along the way. I remember last year when I was living in Thailand and travelled to Vietnam for this race, and how excited I felt about moving to a new country, as I passed the countryside in all its glory. The bus took longer than necessary due to a very cautious driver and a couple of wrong turns, but eventually we arrived at the wonderful Pu Luong Retreat, and I immediately fell in love. The bungalow I was sharing with my friend Stephan was adorable and had the most amazing view of the swimming pool (which I knew I wouldn’t have time to go in) and the never ending rice paddies. Once again, I wished that I had signed up for a shorter race so I would finish at a reasonable hour and get back in time to enjoy my wonderful accommodation. After a late lunch and early dinner, I got into bed around 8pm, hoping I would have a good sleep, especially as I’d been so tired all day. I am taking medication at the moment and it’s making me feel exceptionally sleepy; I was worried this might impact on the race so stopped taking it for a couple of days, but I still felt exhausted. Yet the moment my head hit the pillow, my eyes opened and I was wide awake. I had a very broken sleep; I couldn’t relax properly and I felt exhausted when my alarm went at 1:50am. But I jumped straight out of bed, knowing snoozing wouldn’t do me any good, and packed my bag, with all of the items I’d laid out next to it the previous day. It was very cold at that time in the morning and when I left the bungalow, I couldn’t stop shivering, even though I was wearing long sleeves. I desperately wanted a hot coffee but I didn’t have time; I had to leave the room with time to pick up breakfast and catch the bus at 2.30am. We arrived at the start line way too early and spent the remaining time fuelling and desperately trying to keep warm. I forced myself to eat a breakfast of rice, which was way too salty, and a couple of small energy bars. I never eat in the morning, never mind in the middle of the night, but last year I didn’t eat anything and I soon regretted that, so I wasn’t ready to make the same mistake. As I crossed the start line at 4am, the nerves I’d been struggling with since the day before hit me hard. I started my brand new Garmin (a birthday present to myself) and ran with about 200 other runners along the 5km route, which would take us to our very first climb. It was strange starting a race with so few runners; although the 70km and the 55km groups started at the same time, it still felt so much quieter than normal. Once I reached the bottom of the climb, I had a flashback to the previous year; the crazy amounts of people trying to trek up the narrow path and the one guy behind me who kept stabbing my with his hiking poles. I was soon thankful that the trail wasn’t so crowded and enjoyed having space to breathe; there were some points where I didn’t have anyone behind or in front of me which was surprising, but enjoyable.

Enjoyment soon turned to pain, as the never ending climb started to take its toll. But because I had done the race before, I knew that the most incredible view would be waiting for me at the top, and I kept this in my mind the entire time. I refuelled with gels and energy bars a couple of times, to give me the strength to reach the top, but I soon found that I was struggling. Hoi An, where I live now, is extremely flat, and there aren’t many hills to climb, unless you go looking for them. I also don’t do much hiking anymore (which breaks my heart) and I could feel the impact of that. Hills used to be my strong point, but I could feel myself flagging, whereas normally I would be pushing myself to reach the top. It was a struggle, but once which was totally worth it, as I had expected. I saw a couple of runners from previous races and celebrated with them when we saw the sun rising over the rolling hills. After this, I knew there was a very steep decline; something I hated last year, as I didn’t have my hiking poles. I only started running with poles after my fourth or fifth race, and this year I was delighted to have them, as they meant the downhill was nowhere near as painful. Downhills used to be my weak spot, but since I’ve started running with poles I don’t fear them nearly as much as I used to. I do struggle with confidence a little, so as I was running I was muttering a little mantra to myself; ‘be brave, be brave’. And then I fell, twice. My legs were feeling sore already from the climb, but I peeled myself back off the floor and carried on running down. My confidence soared when only a few other runners passed me; normally I am constantly having to move out of the way for the stronger ones on the declines, and I hate it. Maybe it was due to not many runners being on the trail in the first place, or maybe I’m getting a little bit better. Who knows, but it definitely helped!

After I reached the first checkpoint, I filled up my water, had a couple of pieces of fruit, and set off on my way to the next checkpoint. This one was much further, but I knew that it was relatively flat – and therefore relatively runnable. Last year I was so exhausted that I struggled with this part, but this year I found my legs and started to run, at a fairly decent pace. Again, I was surprised that no one passed me, and found it a little unnerving that I couldn’t see anyone in front of me, or behind me for that matter. I knew that I wasn’t way ahead, so I worried that I was at the back, but again I think it was more because there just weren’t as many runners on the trail compared to what I’m used to.

This is the only time I have ever run the same race twice and I was a little apprehensive knowing the route would be familiar. Normally I don’t even look at the course route when I sign up for a race; I have no idea about elevation or checkpoints, as I like to take each part of the trail as it comes. I find that if I break it down and attack it bit by bit, checkpoint to checkpoint, then it seems much more manageable. I was also a little conscious about running with a watch; again I quite like to be in blissful ignorance, so I wasn’t too sure about how I would feel about being able to constantly track my distance. However, I found that knowing the route and checking my distance helped rather than hindered, as I was able to talk myself through the difficult bits, knowing that there were some positives to come. I also loved how the memories of last year came flooding back, especially taking into consideration how much I struggled; it was a relief knowing that I didn’t feel half as bad.

On the flip side, I also knew that I had to tackle the beast; this was on my mind for the entire time as I knew for sure that this would be the worst bit. I was starting to feel quite sick and nauseous as I reached checkpoint four, and almost passed out at one point! I have no idea why; I felt like I had enough nutrition, it wasn’t too hot (although still a little hotter than I had bargained for) and I was constantly taking in enough water. However, I still continued to feel dehydrated, something I struggled with even during my flat runs in Hoi An in the summer months, so perhaps I will need to think about taking salts in the future. Anyway, I still carried on, and powered up the huge hill to checkpoint five feeling much stronger and way more positive about finishing, compared to last year. This was the part where the 55km and 70km runners split, so I saw even less people on the trail, but by this point I was actually getting in to the rhythm and quite enjoying being by myself. I reached checkpoint five, happy to see some other runners – including some familiar faces – and then battled on to checkpoint six; the final one before the beast.

The beast was brutal. The nauseous feeling wasn’t going away and I knew it would be made so much worse by the climb I had ahead of me. There were sweepers on the route; wonderful, energetic, smiley sweepers, who encouraged us all to keep going. One of them saw that I was feeling a little faint and told me he would stay right behind me, and he patiently followed me until I reached the top and was at a safe point. Once I reached the top, there was a lady selling cans of coke and all the joy of the Moc Chau race came flooding back to me, when another lady was strategically placed with a box of cold drinks on a very steep hill. Not only did this lady make me exceptionally happy, I was also impressed by her strength and the fact she had managed to carry such a huge amount of weight up that hill. Not for the first time did I start to feel a combination of admiration and embarrassment; throughout the race I constantly passed local people; many of them quite elderly, who were carrying large items up insane hills. As I struggled past them, with my fancy camelbak, hiking poles, and trail running shoes, I couldn’t help thinking what on earth they thought of us? It’s something they do every single day and, given the chance to enter the race, I’m sure they would probably smash it! The descent down the beast was nowhere near as painful as last year, thanks to my hiking poles, and I was happy to see checkpoint 7; the final cut off checkpoint! After this point, it meant that I could take my sweet time.

However, I still wanted to finish as quickly as possible; I take zero enjoyment from running in the dark and I knew that the hotel was selling mulled wine and mango daiquiris which I had been craving since around 5am that morning. I powered my way through to checkpoint 8 which arrived much sooner than I anticipated, and then made my way through the cold, muddy river crossings - of which there were many – to the finish line.

I was so desperate to get back to my hotel - my wonderful friend Jasmine had ordered food and alcohol which was already waiting for me - that as I crossed the finish line I took my medal and quickly demanded to know where I could collect my drop bag and where the bus would depart from. I completely forgot to shake the person’s hand who awarded me with my medal, and I felt slightly rude, but I had daiquiris and fries on the mind and I wanted them as quickly as possible. I had just missed the 8pm bus, so I had to wait until 9pm, or until the bus filled up. Knowing there weren’t many people close by me on the trail, I thought I had a very long wait on my hands, but luckily it filled up pretty quickly and we set off, on a journey which was much longer than the one it took to get to the start line! All I could think of was how badly I needed a hot shower – I couldn’t face a cold shower at the finish line so I was extremely muddy, not to mention very stinky – AND A HOT MULLED WINE.

I crossed the finish line in 16 hours 10 mins; 35 minutes quicker than last year. I also placed in the top 10 females (doesn’t matter that there were only nine females) and I was the top British female (of which there was only one, but again, it doesn’t matter). It still counts!

[renaroo]

Sweet Home (2/4)

Disclaimer: Red vs Blue and related characters are the property of Rooster Teeth. Warnings: Language, Canon-typical violence, PTSD and past trauma, Mentions of wartime Rating: T Synopsis: [Modern AU] In the aftermath of war, Wash is left with little direction in his own life. On his own, he takes up an ad for a roommate and suddenly finds himself wrapped up in the perplexing life of Doctor Emily Grey.

A/N: Okay I apologize that this chapter took SO very long to post, but I had a huge move across states and holiday shenanigans to wade through which, I know, isn’t much of an excuse but! Hopefully now I’m back and on schedule... right before Christmas. No promises but much appreciation for all of your patience!

A special shout out to Silverhuntress, Yin, @secretlystephaniebrown, and BraveSeeker3 from AO3, ffn, and tumblr for the feedback and support! You guys really help to make this experience that much more rewarding!

Home Cooked Meals

There’s something that Washington can only describe as an itch that starts inside of his skull. It visits him every time he lays his head on his pillow and tries to close his eyes, tries to fall to sleep.

It starts as a small irritation and then it grows, a throb he can’t quite place, a pressure behind his eyes that makes him nauseous.

Even in the off chance that he falls asleep, he rolls with motion in every limb. He feels flushed, and sick, and his heart will beat so wildly that he swears sometimes it’s loud enough to wake him up.

And he does wake up.

Every night, Washington wakes to darkness that fades into a dim, burning morning light through the blinds. And every night he’s certain that he’s going to be in the exact same place he was when the itch first started.

Some tent, a barrack, somewhere humid with the air stealing his breath as he tried to sleep. Somewhere not far enough from the cries and moans and groans of the triage tent. Somewhere where reveille threatens every moment. And where reveille doesn’t, gunfire does.

But as much as Washington expects the normalcy of the abnormal, the thing he can’t quite get used to is the fact that when he opens his eyes anymore it’s not to these things but to a hotel room. To a real room. To a transient halfway home. To a ward. To a home.

To Sweet Home.

Washington lays on his back in the bed that is too soft on the sheets that have too high of a thread count, and he stares at the ceiling wondering why there’s a vent blowing in cold air instead of stealing the moisture from his mouth.

He’s uncomfortable with the sweet comforts of a home that even with a lease signed doesn’t quite feel like his own.

Quite plainly, he hates it. He thinks it might be time to move on again.

But his bones ache at the challenge of relocating. His mind throbs with past scars too hard and too binding to struggle against. His eyes feel bloodshot even as he lacks the ability to sleep.

The world is too quiet. The land is too peaceful. It doesn’t feel real.

Civilian life does not feel real after war. It feels sickly naive and purposeless.

By four in the morning, still waiting for reveille, Washington gets on the floor and begins his pushups for the morning.

There isn’t an alarm clock in Washington’s new room, but there is a clock. And the moment it tells him that it’s seven he knows that he probably shouldn’t still be lying around. After all, as much as he could justify it to himself and not move for an entire day when he’s on his own, there’s this weird sense of obligation to acknowledge the day when he has a roommate.

That is something he honestly wasn’t expecting from the whole situation.

Is Emily the type of person to judge? If she is the type of person to judge does that mean she’s not someone Wash should be spending his time concerned with?

Would it be a bad thing if he just laid back and melted into his mattress during the day and found out he lived with someone who didn’t notice or care.

The itch inside Wash’s skull is acting up again so, for no other reason than to at least justify having a change of scenery.

Washington dresses himself mildly. Jeans, a worn out shirt, things from a life he barely remembered that fit like an alien skin. But it is enough to look presentable and not take the hit of a utterly terrible appearance on their first morning as roommates. Awkward and presentable and hiding beneath a persona that isn’t his own anymore but could act as a shield at least for a little while.

When he looks into the mirror, Washington doesn’t really recognize himself, but that is the point, after all.

He carries himself with a little bit of mustered up confidence and walks out of his bedroom to—

The entire house smells like maple syrup.

It is an entirely unexpected realization, one that has Washington walking cautiously out of his door and on guard due to pure bewilderment, but the further he walks toward the kitchen, the thicker the various smells and sounds of a fresh breakfast became and the more that Washington is sure that he is only on the cusps of understanding why the house has a name.

His stealth is challenged by the stacks and stacks of books which litter the halls, and despite himself Wash knocks down some sticky notes as he pushes through the doorframe of the kitchen.

Those are new since the previous day, and as much as he scrambles for the pieces of paper, there isn’t a whole lot to help him keep things in order. And in the scramble he knocks over a stack of books that crashed like a skyscraper caving in.

“Damn it,” Wash hisses at himself as he tries to figure out where the rewind button for his life is hiding.

“Oh, I’m so glad you’re up, David!” Emily calls cheerfully from the kitchen.

Hearing his name makes the hairs on Wash’s neck stand on end and he drops almost half of the sticky notes he has tried desperately to save from his own clumsiness. Still, it seems small compared to the intrusion that is hearing his first name come from someone else’s mouth.

In the cluttered kitchen there is a new assortment of books on the island that hadn’t been there the night before. On one side there is a neat stack of text books on what looks like an odd combination of local history, zoology, and a few field guides for reptiles and mammals. The other side is messily arranged with cook books and self-help guides that are tattered, overused, and covered in questionable substances. Neither side is particularly comforting.

“I go by just Washington,” he corrects without thinking. Realizing that is a weird greeting in the morning, he shakes his head and refocuses on the doctor’s back as she continues to cook at the stove opposite of the kitchen to him. “Sorry. I mean, I apologize for… the mess. I didn’t see all of this here last night when you were showing me around.”

“They weren’t there,” Emily assures him. “They are my research notes for my sessions today. I was just jotting down what I thought is relevant this morning before it is time to cook breakfast.”

He levels his stare at her, raising a brow at the acute lack of interest she seems to have in apologizing for how insanely cluttered the house they are supposed to share is mostly with her stuff. But he is able to convince himself to write it off as a quirk and press forward toward the seats at the island.

After all, there is plenty of things that Emily is doing seemingly just out of the goodness of her heart that day. Not the least of which is a giant breakfast.

“It’s been a long time since I had a big meal for breakfast,” Wash tries for amicable, settling in a seat. “Military rations aren’t what they’re cracked up to be.”

“Ah, yes, military,” Emily says, turning around on her heels with a platter full of pancakes — there has to be three stacks at least ten pancakes high each, glistening with syrup and butter and who knew what else considering each battered pancake is speckled with what looks like finely chopped fruit. “That would explain your sleeping patterns. I counted at least four rotations during your two hours of consecutive rest. Dreadful. Statistically speaking.”

Wash’s eyes are still attempting to return to a normal size in his skull before he could even begin to process her comments. He blinked a few times before raising his chin and looking over the pancakes to Emily Grey herself. “Why are you observing my sleep, and what did you make these pancakes for and—“

When Grey had been turned to him, Washington took for granted that the molecular patterned robe has been hinting as to whatever nightwear that Emily is into. Not that it concerned Washington, it is simply something that he makes the poor choice of finding a non-feature considering the nerdy gear that Grey has on display the day before as she showed off Sweet Home.

Not in a million years would Washington have predicted even if given the chance, to assume that his roommate would be cooking breakfast in glorified, translucent lingers with frills and lace and garters hooked to her thong.

Almost immediately, Washington buries his head in his forearms on the table and squeezed his eyes shut as much as he could.

“Why are you in lingerie!?” Wash screeches out as soon as soon as the air returns to his lungs.

“Oh, I got caught up in my notes and then needed to start breakfast and never got around to it,” Grey answers with a hum.

“So it’s not an accident!?” Wash’s voice cracks even more.

“Hm. Mister Washington, you seem to be uncomfortable. Is this because of my food or because of my flagrant disregard for socially constructed norms?” Emily asks curiously.

For a moment more than Wash cares to admit, he actually has to consider the question and even wonder about its validity. Things that, were he rational at all, he shouldn’t require a moment’s thought to be wasted on.

“Typically if I don’t see people doing it in the streets then I assume that it’s probably not something they should be doing in company either,” he says instead.

Relief crosses Emily’s face almost immediately and she takes a deep breath as she puts a hand over her chest. “So it isn’t my cooking then!”

“What? No! Of course not. Thank you. The… Yes. Cooking is fine. I… wasn’t expecting it and…” Wash isn’t sure how she was able to turn the awkwardness on him so quickly, but he’s fully committed at that moment and he pokes at the stack of pancakes with the nearest fork. “Well, I’m not… entirely sure how I’m supposed to eat all of it, if I’m being completely honest.”

Emily looks a bit astounded, her eyebrows raising high over her glasses. “You believe you can eat the entire stack? Why, that’s absolutely fascinating…”

Beginning to grab at the hair on the sides of his head, Washington feels himself tense up. “No? I couldn’t eat… I think they smell and look delicious. Again. Thank you. But there’s no way I could—“

“Oh, thank goodness. I wasn’t sure if I’d have much time to make more at this time!” Grey laughs in relief, acting as though she’s wiping sweat from her brow in a quick sweep. “You shouldn’t worry people like that when they have company on the way, Wash. You joker.”

The tenseness only amplifies at that statement and Washington gives his roommate a horrendously terrified look. “Company? What company? I didn’t know you were expecting people. I… Do I need to leave or…” He stops himself by physically reaching up with his hands and pinching the bridge of his nose tightly as his eyes squeeze close. The pinch should also serve to wake him from the nightmare of that morning if things in his life aren’t as topsy turvy as he thinks they may actually be.

Of course, he opens his eyes and is still in the oddity that is his life. So he tries to work with it.

“You seem distressed,” Emily points out worriedly.

“You have company coming and you’re in lingerie and an apron,” Washington counters.

“You’re right, that’s not very professional of me,” she remarks before smacking the palm of her hand against her forehead. “Come now, Emily, not so silly.”

Washington is beginning to run out of surprise left in his system so he eases back into the island’s first stool and awkwardly hugs his arms against his body in anticipation. “So you’re going to put… things on, right?”

“Absolutely!” she says cheerfully, taking her apron off and tossing it over the counter first. It leaves Wash no recourse but to cover his face and turn a shoulder toward her entirely. “Thank you, Washington! I knew you would be an excellent addition to this house! Tell everyone that I will be down shortly!”

Emily is passing him again and up the stairs before her words really make an impact on him.

Straightening up, Wash’s head swivels back toward the hall and stairs. “Emily? Em… Doctor Grey? What do you… When are the people supposed to be—“

As if he is part of some cosmic joke, the front door, which apparently Emily doesn’t keep locked, opens with a bell ring and standing on the porch is six teenagers who range from anxious to excited to plain bored.

And one disgusted.

“Gross. The newspaper drug dealer is going to be here for breakfast?” the girl Wash saw not that long ago at the front desk of the motel says from the side of the group, squinting at him suspiciously.

“What… Why are you…” He stops and then looks up toward the ceiling as if to glare through the second floor at Emily Grey herself. “Is she… Ms Frizzle or something?”

“Oh, man, that’s hilarious! We should start calling her that!” says the anxiety ridden boy in the front wearing a letterman jacket too big for him and bright turquoise sneakers.

“Shut up, Palomo,” the disgustingly bored kid with a lip ring snaps at him before pushing forward. “Dude, what kind of drugs do you deal?”

Washington squints. “I don’t deal drugs— Shouldn’t all of you… I don’t know. Do school or something?”

“Pay attention, Antoine, the man obviously deals in newspapers,” the tallest of the teens claims with some authority he should not feel he has.

“Oh!!” the second girl breathes thickly through large braces. “Whischech one? My mahum worsched for the Pohhsscht. Before it went under. Oh! Are yousch unemploight too?”

“Obviously that’s why he started selling drugs,” the girl from the motel desk claims.

“I don’t deal drugs!” Washington snaps angrily.

“What do you do?” the last teen, a meek boy in the back asks.

Head throbbing from frustration, Washington got to his feet and heads right for the door, rushing past the teenagers. There’s a steady thrumming in his chest that’s causing a dryness he cannot stand. And he needs to get away to clear things up, he just knows so instinctively. “I leave dramatically,” he answers sourly as he makes it to the door. “Enjoy your pancakes.”

He’s a few steps down from the porch when he hears a scathing “Way-to-fucking-go, Matthews.”

But Wash is already out. With no shoes or socks. And in pajamas.

He regrets his decisions quite a bit within the first block, but as he presses on in determination he decides that he really hates his stubbornness a lot more.

More humility probably will end up serving Washington well in the future but, until then, a few trips down the street and back made him  at least receptive to going back to Sweet Home. The gravel denting the soles of his feet and the discomfort of being in pajamas even in a neighborhood that seemingly had no one within it made him downright eager.

By the time he reaches the corner where the bizarre house he is trying to make a home, there’s a different group of people entering through the picket fence as the teenagers vacate, shooting him befuddled looks and whispering among themselves.

He hears something along the lines of I told you he was on drugs and only with gritted teeth is able to ignore it.

Looking at the house again, Washington feels the weight of the bags under his eyes as well as the uncomfortable twisting of his guts that are trying to punish him greatly for passing up on pancakes.

Practically backed into a corner by circumstance, Washington sighs heavily and goes on into the house with his annoyance in check.

The books lining the hallways are, somehow, different than the ones he nearly knocked over as he tried to leave, and there’s a large amount of arguing from the kitchen where he can barely see anything but a blur of very colorful t-shirts.

Bright clashing colors and loudness isn’t really feeling like Washington’s bag at the moment so he decides to take his rumbling stomach up the stairs and to his room so he can get dressed and maybe find some greasy fast food to waste his meager savings on. But as mornings seem to be desperate to counter his every opportunity at fleeting sanity, he hears a familiar voice come up behind him when he’s only a few steps up the stairs instead.

“Oh! David! I was hoping you would come back before the next batch of pancakes are done!” Emily called out almost in song.

Wash turns enough to really give her a look over, somewhat relieved that she’s wearing another colorful, white and purple outfit rather than, well, whatever she wanted to call her apparel before. But her bright, wide eyes and general cheer was exhausting.

“I was just going to grab some things and head out,” he informs her, throwing a thumb toward the top of the stairs. He neglects to mention that the thought is also running through his head to just grab all of the things and take off entirely.

“Oh, I wish you wouldn’t, there’s just too many people to meet, and with a town this small once you meet some of the people, you’ll soon know all of the people!” she says in a tone that makes Washington feel he should be delighted. But it doesn’t help provide any such delight.

“Why is the whole town eating breakfast in your kitchen?” he asks instead.

“Our kitchen,” Grey corrects him without hesitation.

“Okay,” he decides against arguing.

Grey waits for a moment before letting off a small laugh. “Silly, please, the whole town isn’t eating breakfast in the kitchen today. Just everyone on the community’s intramural volleyball team.”

Wash squints at her. “Why? And why do they think I do drugs?”

“Because everyone likes my pancakes,” Grey says like it’s an answer. “Hm. Do you do any drugs?”

“What? No,” Wash remarks, utterly offended

“Huh. That’s odd. I have no idea why they would make that kind of assumption. You know what they say about assumptions,” she sings again. When she finishes and looks back at Washington there is something softer in her expression, a gentile to her eyes that undercuts the abundant enthusiasm and high pitches just enough to change the entire mood of the conversation. “Do you not want to join us for breakfast? I can leave you some food in the warmer if you need time in the morning to go through a routine or anything. And I won’t let anyone else upstairs.”

“Yeah… I’m… I don’t feel like meeting new people today,” Washington answers keenly. “I… had enough excitement yesterday to last me a while. And I would appreciate those pancakes.”

“Alright then!” Emily says.

There’s a moment where Wash feels… relief, or something from the exchange. A small comfort from confiding, perhaps. But then the rest of his roommate’s words catch up with him and his brows furrow in despair. “Wait. Anyone else? You let people upstairs earlier?”

“Of course,” she responds like it’s a completely normal thing.

Without another word toward her, Washington rushes up the stairs to check his things.

“Alright then! See you later, David!”

“It’s Washington!” he yells back over his shoulder.

It takes him two hours to go through the very meager supplies he brought with him in the move, and by the time he finishes the house is empty and he is starving. His nerves are frayed, like they are left to discharge static after a monumental disruption. No one has taken his things, no one has gone through his things, and no one is in the house anymore to meet or watch or judge. And yet his heart is pounding.

People could have. And that possibility suddenly feels like enough to move anywhere else in the world to get away.

But, of course, the finances for that sort of escape are the very reason he is in Sweet Home to begin with.

It’s not even ten in the morning, but Washington feels like his entire day is torture.

[drx3-imagines]

Hey can I have a fluffy one-shot where Izaya takes his S/O star gazing mid-winter, far away from the city? (Summer heat is killing me and I wanna get my mind off it! Also, I really love this blog so much!!)

Heeeeeeeeere you go, four pages of tooth-rotting fluff! I’m so happy you like this blog, thanks for requesting! And I totally get ya, I hate warm weather (and the bugs it brings x/ )

“Iza-chan~! Thank you so much for this!” Your cheery voice could be heard all throughout the apartment as you grabbed the large duffel bag the two of you had packed together for the trip.

Izaya got the idea from Shinra’s vacation with Celty the summer before but since neither of you were partial to the heat, you decided to go a little further north to a cabin in the mountains that Shinra’s father owned. After the struggle to convince your dorky doctor friend to let the two of you use it, you knew it just had to be worth it.

As the two of you stuck a cooler and the aforementioned duffel into the back seat of your car you swatted away the June beetle buzzing past your head. That was another thing you were looking forward to; no bugs flying around in the chilly air of the mountains. Unfortunately, you had missed and the damn thing kept swarming you, taunting like the winged bastard it was. Thankfully, your boyfriend’s unusual skill set came in handy at the best of times as a small switchblade whipped past your head, successfully pinning the now dead beetle to a lamp post. “Thanks, hun,” you flashed him a smile before slipping into the driver’s side of the car and waiting for him to join you.

“I cannot believe that the same ____ that beats up gangsters for fun is also easily defeated by a little beetle. That’s sad, even for you,” you hadn’t even started driving yet and he was already antagonizing you; what a great sign for the future that was, huh?

Much to your chagrin, the prospective trip had put him in a good enough mood that the entire ride was filled with his teasing. One of the most noticeably obnoxious moments was when he decided to lean on his elbow on top of the armrest and consistently poke you arm, repeating “bug-a-boo” in childlike tone solely for the purpose of annoying you. It would have been cute had it not been going on for five consecutive hours now, finally reaching into the darkness of the night. Eventually, with the fading lights of the city having disappeared in the distance hours prior, the lack of sleep was finally allowed to catch up with the poor info-broker. As much as this trip was for the two of you spend time together, Izaya also needed some time from work and the late, late hours he spent out and about. That’s why it didn’t surprise you all that much when his head which rested gently against your arm began to slur out quiet murmurs in his sleep, breathing evening out gradually.

It wasn’t long after that that he was shaken awake by the loud clatter of gravel under your tires; you had tried to drive as gently as possible and let him sleep but your efforts were to no avail. Izaya didn’t seem to mind much though, one eye slitting open to look around at the mountain road you traveled on in the rising light of dawn. Had you really been driving all night? He was grateful for the rest but you could have asked him to take over for you.

You glanced over at his groggy form, smiling at the way he tried to rub the sleep from his eyes. You waited for him to sit up and make an attempt at stretching before you finally spoke, “Morning, Izaya, sleep well?” You saw him nod in your periphery, a noncommittal grunt escaping him, “We’ll be there in about three more hours, it’s only,” you took a second to check the clock inset into the dashboard, “five in the morning as of now.” Another nod and then you heard the rustle of cloth as he slumped back against the seat and yawned.

“I can drive, you know?” He sounded pouty, almost as if he were offended that you didn’t trust his driving. You did, honestly, but you hadn’t really felt the need, liking the feeling of being behind the wheel.

“I know.” You smiled at him and adjusted the visor in front of you to block the rising sun, “Besides, you looked like you needed it.” Though you couldn’t see it, Izaya’s brows furrowed; had he really been that obvious? Yes, work had been overbearing as it always was, but he liked to seem in control like he was untouchable even though he was very, very human. He liked to keep you from worrying about him, if not for his sake than your own. He had no intention of receiving the sentiments and affections of the humans he was bent on loving but somehow you still managed to dodge all of his eccentric, half-baked arguments and dive right into the nitty gritty everything that made him who he was.

For that, he was grateful, but over time he had noticed you would skip treating yourself in favor of helping him. That was yet another reason for this trip; you needed to have some fun and a little time to relax. Both things he was very intent on giving you after you pulled up into the driveway of the cabin (honestly, it was just more noisy gravel) and pulled out your bag and cooler. The next hour and a half was spent sorting clothes into drawers and shoving food and drinks into the fridge. That was then proceeded by Izaya tossing you onto the large bed, forcefully wrapping you up in the soft, pine-scented quilt, and laying on top you; he happily cuddled your blanket burrito evolution form until you argued that you needed a shower. Still, he persisted, kissing you into submission and lying there with you for another hour. Eventually, he unwrapped you, your head resting against his chest as you cuddled into his side, silently observing his unusually relaxed smile. He looked more peaceful than you had ever seen him before and you found yourself completely enamored.

You, unfortunately, had to ruin the moment with a drowsy groan, teetering on the edge of falling asleep. “Iza, we need showers,” you immediately were returned with an opposing grunt, your head resting on his outstretched bicep and his other arm draped over his eyes to shield them from the light peering through the window beside you. “Izaya, come ooooooooon~! We’re still gross from sweating in the heat yesterday, I need to be clean!” Without a moment’s hesitation, he rolled over and licked a slimy, wet stripe across your cheek.

“There, clean,” and then he returned to his earlier position, cracking a wide smirk at your indignified screech. You launched out of bed before his arms could catch you and strutted over to the bathroom door, “I was thinking of showering together but nevermind you damn turd,” you stuck your tongue out, childish as it may have been, and locked the bathroom door behind you. You knew he could have easily popped the lock if he really wanted to but he instead opted out in favor or resting on the soft mattress and waiting for you to return. Admittedly, you were right about the gross feeling yesterday’s heat wave gave you, but now you were victims to the sweet chill of the northern air.

His eyes opened at the sound of you waltzing out of the bathroom and getting dressed a few feet from the bed, not that he hadn’t seen you naked many, many times before. You turned back to look at him, nodding in the direction of the bathroom where steam continued to roll out of the doorway. Izaya placed a kiss on your cheek, slipping inside and shutting the door behind him. That was more or less the entirety of your day; settling in, minor cleanup, showers, and making some very late lunch.

It wasn’t long before the two of you found yourselves sitting outside wrapped up in the quilt from your bed on a two-seat bench swing looking at the setting sun. Your head rested on his shoulder, Izaya’s arm around your waist. Tired as you were, not having slept since yesterday morning, you were determined to stay awake long enough to see the unpolluted sky fill up with stars. Izaya knew you were trying and that you would damn well succeed even if only for a short time.

Honestly, you were on the verge of weeping in silent appreciation as the midnight darkness crept closer and stars began to dance around the moon, illuminating the sky. Surprisingly, you came to find out that Izaya knew a bit about astronomy. He pointed out the few constellations he remembered from college, eventually naming new ones after the two of you and your friends. You smiled, his voice died down to a whisper as silence and the stillness of the world surrounded you, his arms holding you tighter as the air dipped further down into colder temperatures.

“____, it’s getting cold, let’s go back ins…. ide,” he looked down, staring at your sleeping form curled against his side, soft snores slipping past your lips and the occasional mumble of his name accompanying your gentle smile. He relaxed deeper into the blanket, holding you closer and resting his head against yours. Soon he found himself drifting off, joining you in a peaceful sleep.

- Pasya

[jordan202]

The Journey - Part Twenty One

Hey guys, we are back. Thank you @jia911 for proofreading this for me!

Previous chapters are HERE. 

Timeline for Part 21

This chapter continues to explore what happened to Owen and Amelia during the events of 11x22, when he left to a war zone and Amelia stayed behind working at the hospital. We will go forward and find out what they were up to in those long months apart. 

Author’s Notes: Kenan & Kel was a show I used to watch as a kid on Nickelodeon. I suppose most of you are not familiar with it.  The scene in which Amelia remembers her dialogue with Owen is a part of chapter 12. 

The Journey – Part Twenty One 

“Did you bring it?”

Amelia sneakily closed the door after herself, taking a good look at the eager little face staring back at her with enormous chestnut eyes.

“Of course I brought it,” she revealed the bottle she’d been hiding in her white coat, watching with delight as a smile transformed the little girl’s face.

“Who loves Orange Soda?”

Amelia heard the quote as she passed by the patient, receiving a high five before she sat down on the wardroom chair and propped both her legs on the frame of the bed, crossing them at the ankles.

“Am I late?” The neurosurgeon asked while serving two plastic cups with the bubbly drink.

“No, you’re just in time,” the girl replied with enchantment in her eyes, accepting the cup at the same time she turned up the volume on the TV.

Amelia kicked back on the chair with a smile on her face and focused on the small screen hung on the wall opposite to the patient’s bed.

Jamie Donovan was an eight-year old girl with an aggravating case of cystic fibrosis. With a full time working mom who had to juggle two jobs in order to afford her daughter’s medical insurance, Jamie spent most of her time at the hospital undergoing treatment. Amelia had met the girl a couple of months before during a neurosurgical consult for a particularly complicated lumbar tap. And since Amelia hardly ever left the hospital, she had slowly found out that spending her nights in the company of the kid was actually more enjoyable than spending it on busy on call rooms that had to be shared among other surgeons who were working during the night.

Amelia had gone back on two consecutive days for follow ups with the adorable patient and quickly become attached. After finding out Jamie spent most of her time alone or only with the nurses, Amelia instantly felt compelled to provide the kid some company, but it didn’t take long for her to find out that she actually enjoyed those excursions more than she’d initially assumed.

Because of the side effects of some of her medication, Jamie’s sleep pattern wasn’t regulated, making the young patient often sleep throughout the day and stay up all night. Since Amelia had come down with a case of insomnia since her brother had died, it was actually entertaining for her to spend her free time with Jamie. The girl was easier to talk to than anyone else in Amelia’s life at the moment because unlike the adults, the kid never demanded any satisfactions or criticized Amelia’s behavior. On the contrary. Her conversations with the eight year old patient were often much more honest than the ones Amelia would have with her friends and co-workers throughout the entire day.

Just a few days before, even her favorite resident had offered to take Amelia on a support group for people who were grieving, and that made the neurosurgeon feel even more isolated and lonely. From there on, she’d have to tone down her jokes too, and the prospect of controlling her spontaneity was exhausting. She didn’t want to have to measure her words, or think about everything she wanted to say before actually speaking.

But with Jamie, none of that had to happen. Amelia could just be herself.

In a matter of days, it had become almost a ritual that Amelia joined the young patient in the late hours of the night to play board games, read the Harry Potter books or simply watch old children shows on TV. Jamie’s favorite, Kenan & Kel, had made the eight year old curious about the taste of orange soda, something she’d never tried before. Amelia had promptly stepped up to sneak the forbidden drink into the pediatric wing, but after Jamie had a severe fit of cough after laughing incessantly at the show, the neurosurgeon started to second-guess her decision.

“What are you doing, you little brat?” She belatedly realized. “Put your CPAP back on.” Amelia commanded, referring to the breathing device Jamie must have on at all times.

“It’s really annoying.” Jamie complained with a scowl.

“It makes you breathe a lot better, so end of discussion.” Amelia said with a firm but gentle tone.

“Fine…” Jamie sighed, knowing there was no counter argument. “Just wait until I get my new lungs, then I will run out of here so fast that you won’t be able to catch me.”

“I sure hope so.” Amelia’s eyes met Jamie’s and when they did, both smiled at each other.

Half an hour later, the show was over and Amelia frowned when Jamie asked to change channels as soon as a series about a teenage couple began.

“What, you don’t like this show?” Amelia asked tactfully, finding it strange. It was a typical silly school show with shallow, dreamy romance and more often than not, high pitched songs. It was obviously aimed at young girls and Jamie was exactly the target audience.

“I don’t like boys.” The unwilling patient said, rebelliously folding her arms on her chest.

“Oh, you don’t like boys?” Amelia teased, raising one eyebrow as she playfully added, “may I ask why?”

“Because all they do is play with their stupid toys or pretend they are superheroes and they never listen.” Jamie complained, making Amelia laugh. “And also, they need help for everything.”

“Surely not all boys are that bad?” The neurosurgeon asked with delight, without the faintest idea that one day, she would raise four boys who would perfectly fit Jamie’s description.

“The ones in my school are.” Jamie replied, still not convinced. Even though the girl had stopped going to classes a few months before when her condition had worsened, she still hoped to go back someday.

Amelia looked at the little girl with a mix of amusement and comprehension.

“Well, you see, the good thing is that even though boys seem horrible now, one day you’ll grow up and you won’t think so anymore.” The neurosurgeon gently explained. “I know they can be immature and annoying, but they can also grow up to be quite nice.”

Jamie squinted before staring at Amelia questioningly.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I am sure.” The grownup smiled, thinking about how Derek would pick on her when they were younger and how later in life they’d become closer and actually shared things with each other.

“I don’t want a boyfriend, though.” Jamie decided.

“You don’t have to have a boyfriend if you don’t want to.” Amelia tried to contain a smile. Jamie would probably change her mind one day, but she was still at that age when boys and girls had constant feuds with one another and didn't mingle in any circumstances. “But boyfriends can be fun too.” She added, hoping to sound encouraging.

“I don’t see how.” Jamie replied with disbelief, giving Amelia a sideways glance, almost as if hoping her new friend would contradict her.

Amelia quickly picking up on the act and realized Jamie was much more interested in hearing what she had to say than she was letting it show. Decided to keep the light atmosphere, Amelia focused on her own surprising confession.

“Boyfriends can come in handy because they usually reach the higher shelves.” Amelia explained with a contagious smile, trying not to think about how, during the time they were together, Owen would often tease her by hiding the coffee pot in the top cabinet just so she would ask for his help in the morning. “And they give the best hugs, too.” Amelia daydreamed, being transported back to a time when she’d fall asleep feeling the safest she’d ever felt even when a strong storm would hit just because she was in Owen’s arms.

She tried to focus on Jamie instead of how much she missed those nights. Amelia couldn’t remember the last time she’d had quality sleep.

“It’s weird.” Jamie decided, completely rejecting the idea of being at good terms with boys.

“Sometimes it is,” Amelia smiled with patience, turning her eyes back to the TV. The young couple shouldn’t be more than sixteen and yet they were exchanging love vows and making promises of eternal love.

Jamie noticed how Amelia’s eyes captured the image on the TV and a smile lingered on her friend’s face.

“Do you love a boy?”

Amelia was caught completely off guard. She looked back to the little girl and tried to think of something to say to dodge the unexpected question but couldn’t. It was the first time in months that someone upfront asked Amelia about her feelings and the situation had become so unusual lately that she froze, unsure of how to react.

Her first instinct was to say no, but even though Amelia hadn’t exactly been allowing her feelings to blossom lately, she knew there was no point denying them. And she couldn’t lie. Not to Jamie.

“I do.” Amelia replied, feeling her eyes slightly tearing up. Deep down, she’d always known the answer, but actually voicing her feelings for the first time had an overwhelming effect on the surgeon. Her throat suddenly got constricted as she admitted with a hoarse voice, “very, very much.”

Amelia didn’t add the fact that the “boy” she loved was over six feet tall and had the prettiest pair of crystal blue eyes she had ever seen.

Jamie noticed the subtleties in Amelia’s reaction and her posture went from defensive to completely approving.

“Really?” She asked excitedly, eager to hear more. “Is he your boyfriend? Where is he?”

When Amelia realized she didn’t have answers to those questions, she realized it was time to call it a night.

“I think it’s past your bedtime, miss.” The neurosurgeon got up with a gentle smile, mysteriously walking over to the bed to help Jamie settle in.

“You didn’t answer my question.” Jamie replied with a begging face, obediently getting under the covers.

“Maybe some other time, ok?” Amelia said with a gentle voice. “I have to go get some rest now, but tomorrow I will be back and we can watch more Nick at Nite.”

“Will you stay for the Nicktoons tomorrow?” Jamie asked with a begging smile. “Please?”

“I’ll do my very best.” Amelia promised, blowing the girl a good night kiss before finally making her way to an on call room.

.

 Owen finished setting up the last bags of everything they were collecting to take onto the next trip. He couldn’t believe he was going to the third mission in a row. Despite rewarding, the whole thing was also very exhausting.

Both he and April Kepner had once again extended their tours. At first, despite the physical toll the humanitarian missions were taking on them, they had kept their spirits high, driven by the instant positive response in the population they were helping. But as weeks followed, it became harder to face the cruel reality that the more people they helped, the more needed their help, or so it felt like.

The number of human beings living in unsanitary and poor conditions in that area of the world was heartbreaking. Being there and being able to help humbled Owen. He felt a reinvigorated sense of purpose and strived to do his best, to be better every day. Sometimes, a case slipped through their fingers and the team felt the helplessness associated with being in an improvised facility with a very precarious health care system. But in most days, Owen went back to his tent feeling like his presence and his work had made the entire difference and that filled him with joy and contentment after long hours of work.

But then he’d lay his head on the pillow and his thoughts would involuntarily shift to a familiar pair of silver blue eyes and a dimpled smile that even after all that time would still haunt his dreams nearly every night.

Owen would speak to his mother on the phone pretty much every week, and from Kepner he’d hear updates on how life was going on back in Seattle. Mostly, April gave him updates on Jackson, sometimes even on Alex and Arizona. But the only one Owen really wanted to know more about was hardly ever mentioned in his friend’s conversations. He wasn’t sure exactly where Amelia was right now, but he supposed she was already back home with her family. Owen only hoped that, wherever she was, the neurosurgeon was happy, safe and doing better than she was when he’d last seen her.

It was hard finishing a day of work and watching all the other guys and few women calling back home to their loved ones, hearing encouraging words from their spouses and sweet messages from their kids. All of that forced Owen to once again face the cruel reality that he would probably never get to have any of that.

“Are you ready to go?” His friend’s voice interrupted his thoughts, bringing the trauma surgeon back to the present moment.

“Yes,” Owen replied, staring deeply into her eyes. “April, are you sure you’re up for this?” He asked carefully. Owen had witnessed several times how heated the conversations between Kepner and her husband had become over the months and the fact April was extending her tour yet another time had surely added more friction to the already fragile marriage. “I mean, maybe you should go back home, see Jackson… you can always come back, you know.”

“I know, but I have to do this now.” April informed him with resolution. “I have to, Owen.” She lowered her voice a bit. “There are so many people who need us, much more than in Seattle, and I…”

As her voice trailed off, Owen gave her a discreet nod of understanding. He got her. Just like him, April had gone there because at home, her reality was as heartbreaking as some of the scenes they were witnessing. The only difference is that there, in mission, they could actively change that reality.

“Have you told Hill to hurry up and get that bag of syringes on the back of the truck?” April nodded her head in disapproval, walking up to the young army private who was also deployed in mission. “Hill, how many times do I have to tell you to be careful with the bag of…?”

Owen chuckled to himself, watching the scene from a distance. It was amazing how April had grown in those few months they’d been in the Middle East. The leader in her had finally been allowed to make an appearance, and his friend had come to find out she was actually good at it. It gave Owen joy to realize that and he smiled to himself, grabbing two loads and carrying them to truck before it became too dark for them to evacuate the area.

.

Amelia dragged her feet through the empty hospital corridor. The night was cold and a chilly air was blowing, making the neurosurgeon wrap her arms around herself, cursing the white coat for not being warmer. As it happened every holiday season, people tended to avoid going to the ER, unless they were really in need of it. And without a certain male head figure, the emergency room felt particularly empty.

It was nearly midnight and Amelia’s shift had ended five hours before, but she’d stayed at the hospital as usual. That night, she caught up on all her charts and did some research for a paper she intended to publish, but the holiday spirits seemed to have contaminated everyone around her, and Amelia couldn’t stand more than two hours at a cafeteria table hearing everyone around her making plans to be with their loved ones.

The neurosurgeon had finished her coffee, grabbed her journals and aimlessly walked around the hospital halls, deep down hoping for something to do to keep her busy. Amelia definitely didn’t want go back home. She knew that at some point she would have to because the laundry was piling up and she was pretty sure she hadn’t washed the dishes in about a week, but that night it had started to snow and something about the white fluffy flakes falling from the sky reminded her of home.

For a minute, Amelia’s heart felt a little less cold as she was assaulted by memories of a happy childhood when she would gather around a huge Christmas tree with her parents and four siblings, eagerly waiting for Santa to bring her presents. The memory was so distant and so deeply buried into the past that Amelia wondered if she’d really lived it or made it up. It just seemed completely unfathomable now, especially considering her present moment. Her remaining family members were all scattered around and Amelia had no idea if they were keeping the tradition of getting together for Christmas.

Months ago, Amelia had stopped answering her mother’s calls and that had resulted in Carolyn Shepherd showing up at Seattle to check on her daughter. It had taken Amelia a couple of days to convince the woman she was fine and ever since, Amelia had been forcing herself to call her family in New York at least a couple times of a week to avoid similar reactions. She’d found out that five minutes of shallow dialogue over the phone did the trick and conditioned herself to memorized every answer her mother and sisters approved of, mastering the art of speaking a lot of words without actually saying anything at all.

At work, it was mostly the same. At times, Richard Webber and Maggie Pierce would check up on her. It didn’t take Amelia long to figure out what they were doing and similarly to what she’d done with her family, the young surgeon forced herself to sit down for lunch with them every now and then as she mechanically smiled and told them everything the duo expected to hear. Amelia dutifully participated on every attendings meeting, eagerly oversaw and drafted residents’ evaluations and at times, had even volunteered to conduct the presentation of cases in her department’s weekly case discussions. It had quickly become very obvious that the more Amelia did and the more she engaged socially, the less people bothered her, because they would simply assume she was doing very well. That way, Amelia kept everyone happy while moving on with her life avoiding everything she could possibly feel and instead, focusing only on what was rational.

Soon enough, people had gone from worrying about her to actually admiring how tough and incredibly strong Derek Shepherd’s sister was to so gracefully be able to handle his loss and the disappearance of his wife and kids while succeeding at keeping her professionalism and the quality of her work. Most people had no idea about her attachment to the former chief of surgery, so Owen’s name was hardly ever mentioned to her, but in nights as slow as that one, Amelia couldn’t help but to think of him and wonder if he was alive and well.

When all talks, discussions and procedures were over, and every voice in her head had been silenced, it became increasingly harder to ignore the void left untouched inside her heart ever since the day he’d gone away to join the Army. Amelia missed him more than she would dare to acknowledge.

Her gaze fell upon the nurses station, where the patient files remained neatly organized over the counter. Before Amelia could control her thoughts, a flash memory came to mind.

“Are you done here?” Owen had whispered very close to her ear.

“Nearly.” Amelia replied, melting at his presence.

“You know where I’ll be.”

The memory faded together with the comforting feeling that had warmed Amelia’s heart as she thought about the excitement she’d once felt to go meet him. There had been a moment in her life when Amelia knew exactly which place Owen was or would be. But now, she had absolutely no idea where in the world he was, or what kind of things he was going through.

As much as Amelia tried to obliterate her every feeling, every now and then she’d hear someone asking Jackson about April and the neurosurgeon couldn’t deny the fact that hearing Kepner was okay gave her a sense of relief, because she knew that Jackson’s wife was working alongside Owen. As long as Kepner had good news to tell, that had to mean her colleague was alive and well and Amelia relied on those little snippets of information to maintain the remainders of her mental sanity.

She had to make a superhuman effort not to ask Jackson directly, or even figure out a way to get in touch with Owen. For a few times, Amelia had drafted emails that she’d never sent. It was better this way, the neurosurgeon always told herself. The least involved she got, the less she would suffer.

After deciding to leave the ER, Amelia made her way to the elevators, thinking about going to see Jamie. The little girl’s condition had worsened in the last couple of months as she caught one infection followed by another. Earlier that week, Jamie had been discharged from the PICU after two weeks of treatment for a complicated pneumonia, only to be readmitted four days later with high fever and low blood sats.

As much as Amelia tried to remain uninvolved with the case, it had become impossible not to get attached. She ran into Jamie’s mother outside the PICU, instantly asking for an update on the case. After waiting for a couple of hours to see the young patient, Amelia finally settled for going to an on call room, already foreseeing the many hours of insomnia she’d face before a new day began.

.

Owen patiently waited until everyone was deeply engaged in heartfelt conversations and swiftly sneaked outside. It was nearly Christmas morning and that night, almost everyone was enjoying a break from work. The trauma surgeon had watched as the large team of healthcare professionals and volunteers reminisced about the past, talked about their family or suggested traditions they’d usually do at their own homes over the holidays.

Usually, Christmas was a time of the year that Owen really enjoyed. He loved the spirit of solidarity and selflessness that seemed to take over people during the holidays. Just like magic, everyone became more attentive, generous and gentler. Over there in mission it was no different. Even though they were in a country with no Christmas traditions, most of the workers were clearing their heads enjoying the popular date, some of them having actually had a couple of drinks after dinner.

Owen left the main tent and rejoiced in the cold air outside. At the desert, the temperature could drop to a nearly negative at night, but he didn’t mind. A couple of soldiers who were on duty that evening greeted their official as Owen passed by them and walked to a safe distance, enjoying his solitude on a top of a rock where he could sit by himself while still keeping an eye on the makeshift camp.

Owen let out a heavy sigh, trying his hardest to control his mood. It was almost impossible not to feel a bit depressed in a night like that, but he had no choice other than to toughen it up and remain on top of his game. After all, he had an entire unit to run, people who were relying on him, and letting them down was not a possibility.

As his eyes meticulously scanned the field looking for something slightly suspicious, Owen slowly relaxed in the quietness of the evening. From a distance, he could hear the soothing sound of the wind blowing against the tents, creating an inviting atmosphere to celebrate the fact they were all alive, well and almost ready to finally wrap up that mission. A few days following New Year’s Eve, that mission would be over and most soldiers were going home. After nearly one year of being out in the field, Owen had finally decided to go back too. He was chronically tired and his soul was crushed after seeing so much pain and misery in the eyes of the civilians they’d helped over those long months. But what Owen really hoped to take back home with him was the sense of accomplishment of someone who’d done his duty very well and been able to help thousands of innocents with only the few  resources they had.

As he thought about home, Owen wondered about his mom and realized he should take a few minutes to give her a call that night. It was Christmas, after all, and she would deeply appreciate hearing from him. As Owen made the decision to grab one of the stationed phones in a few minutes, his hand reached out for his pocket, grabbing a familiar folded photograph.

The trauma surgeon carefully opened it, seeing how worn out the picture was after so many months carefully kept inside his uniform. As usual, Amelia’s smile didn’t fail to dazzle him and Owen let out a heavy sigh. He thought about the evening in which she’d given him that picture, the way she’d met him at his place moments later and how they’d spent the night together. He’d had so many dreams back then. So much hope. And yet all had faded in a fraction of a second.

There hadn’t yet been a single night when Owen hadn’t spent long minutes thinking about her before finally falling asleep out of exhaustion. Every day he wondered how she was, if she was doing okay and the only thought that comforted his heart was that she was probably being well looked after by her mother and sisters.

But after a few months of deployment, Owen had casually heard Jackson including Amelia’s name as he told his wife about a surgery and that had made Owen wonder what exactly the neurosurgeon was up to. When he’d left, Owen had been sure she planned to go to New York, because Amelia herself had said so. But so many things had happened ever since, that he’d had no idea of what exactly was the situation in Seattle. If Amelia was operating, it could only mean she was somehow okay. It was hard not having any confirmation, but for now, even though it killed Owen, that comforting thought would have to be enough because he knew that in order to keep focused and doing his job well, it was better if he didn’t hear any details, or that could quickly escalate. As an experienced soldier, Owen had long ago learned that too much information could add an unwanted load of anxiety to his days, which would definitely compromise his ability to perform in duty.

But his time in the Army was soon to be over and Owen knew that once back at home, he wouldn’t be able to simply pick up where he’d left off. Too many things had happened in the past year, life changing events, and he knew that drowning in work once in Seattle wasn’t the solution. He wasn’t sure what exactly, but Owen knew he had to do something with his life. He’d spent the majority of the past months focusing on his job and the first thing he’d do once back home was to give his personal life a much needed new share of his attention.

“That your girl, Major?”

Owen looked up to the owner of the voice that had distracted his thoughts. His eyes found the broad smile of a nineteen year old who looked way too young to even be there.

Danny Hill was a skinny boy who was deployed in his first ever mission. The kid was as naïve as he was willing to learn and while most people quickly lost his patience with his eagerness, Owen found it amusing that a guy that young was actually willing to risk his life to serve his country.

He wondered if Hill had any idea of what he was signing up for when he’d first enlisted, but Owen supposed that probably not. No one really did. Not until they arrived there and saw it for themselves.

“What are you doing out here, Hill?” Owen gave him a polite grin, on purpose dodging the question. “I thought you were on post for the night.”

“Only until midnight, sir.” The boy cheerfully replied, taking a seat next to Owen while handing him a generous portion of chocolate chip cookies. “I brought this for you, Major.” Hill added considerately. “I saw you out here on your own and I thought you could use some comfort.”

Owen raised one eyebrow and thought it was probably better not to ask. But when he took the first bite and tasted the delicious flavor of the homemade goodies, his expression transformed. Before he could ask, Hill’s face lit up with a proud smile as he explained.

“Delicious, aren’t they? My girl Annie cooked them.” The eager nineteen year old grabbed a picture from his pocket and proudly flashed it at Owen. “She baked those for me and sent them because she knows they are my favorite.” The boy affectionately informed, looking from the picture to his official with enchantment in his eyes.

“She sounds like a catch.” Owen added with reluctant amusement, contaminated by the effusive joy in the young man’s words.

“Yeah, she is.” Danny Hill looked back the image of the smiling girl with a round face, shining eyes and a large white apron wrapped around her body. “She is studying to be a cook, you know? But not those fancy restaurant cooks, I am talking about a real cook, that makes all sorts of homemade stuff. You know, the kind you’d only find back at home in Indiana. She bakes the most delicious things, you wouldn’t believe it, sir.” He added with visible pride. The boy was so chatty that Owen thought if he just stayed there without saying a word, Danny Hill could probably go on all night. “You know, I asked Annie to marry me before I came here.” The boy held his head high and sat up expanding his chest. “And she said yes.” He added with unmistakable pride, talking as if he’d just achieved the world’s greatest accomplishment. “When I go back home to Indiana, I am going to marry her and we are going to live in a house that has a big porch. One of those wooden porches, you know, I am going to build it with my own hands.” He flashed Owen a smile. “And then someday when I am done building it, we are going to have our own family.”

Owen saw the effusive joy in the young man’s face and his amusement transformed into affection. Danny Hill was just a kid who was going through the hardest of times in a dangerous zone, and yet he could find happiness and a reason to smile in a world that was filled with viciousness and evil. Owen desperately hoped that boy kept his positivity, because the world needed more people like him. He only hoped the cruel reality of life didn’t corrupt him, because the way Hill spoke about his fiancé back home and the dreams he had for them made Owen root for his plans to work out.

“What about your girl, Major?” Danny asked, not discouraged by Owen’s sullen silence. “What does she do?”

Owen breathed in heavily. He knew the right thing was to tell Danny that Amelia was not his “girl”. Maybe she had been once, but not anymore. And he had no idea where exactly she was at the moment. But the idea of crushing the boy’s childlike dreams of happy endings after such a long mission went against everything Owen preached about group support. He knew that the promise of a happy ending was probably what kept the boy going and he just didn’t find it in himself to break such positive expectations.

“Hm…” Owen hesitated, unsure of what to say exactly. “Her name is Amelia. She is a doctor too.” He added, watching as Danny smiled with contentment, obviously pleased to be hearing the information. The boy’s face had a mix of appreciation and flattery to be having a one on one conversation with the male figure he’d come to look up to during those longs months in deployment. Danny kept staring at him, as if patiently waiting for Owen to give out more information. “I left her home in Seattle and I really, really hope that I will see her again when I go back.”

“It sucks to be gone this long, doesn’t it?” Danny said and Owen belatedly realized the boy was trying to comfort him, obviously assuming Owen was hurting too much to even talk about the woman he loved. The idea brought a smile to Owen’s face. “Don’t worry, sir, you’re going to see her in just a few days.”

“Yeah.” Owen replied with consternation, unwilling to contradict the kid, even if he wasn't the least bit sure.

“I can’t wait to go back to Indiana.” The boy resumed his chatter. “When I get there, first thing I’ll do is… Major! Look out!”

And then it happened so fast that Owen acted more out of instinct than anything else. After the first shot had been fired, he immediately jumped on Hill, knocking the boy on the ground as a group of rebels opened fire against their camp.

What had just seconds before been a party became a horror movie scene as the soldiers on post shot back against the insurgents that had for some reason attacked the Medicaid group. All the military personal inside the main tent quickly went out and before Owen could clear the scene, he felt something moist and warm staining his shirt.

And just like that, he knew.

“Hill!” he rolled over to the side, knowing the boy had been hit even before his eyes could see it. “Hill, talk to me!”

The kid’s large brown eyes were nearly invisible under the moonlight glow, but Owen could see the expression of panic in them as the teenager took his hand to his wounded abdomen and then to his face, spotting the red stains on his fingertips. His once blissful expression became a mask of sheer terror, and Owen easily lifted the skinny boy in his arms, sneaking out behind the barricades to safely access the inside of a medical tent in the opened camp.

Quickly enough, his trained team saw what had happened and in seconds, a gurney was brought over just as one of the nurses started to get a line on Hill’s arm while Owen assessed him. The gunshot wound to the abdomen had probably lacerated the patient’s liver and judging by the paleness in his face, the boy was losing too much blood, way too fast. Owen knew his condition required immediate intervention. Ignoring the gunshots being fired outside the tent, he looked up and saw Kepner at a close distant, holding her phone near while obviously being caught off guard by the rebels in the middle of a call.

“Kepner, we gotta pack up and bug out.” Owen said with authority, turning around to summon the anesthesiologist who was with their team. There was no time to be lost, if he didn’t act immediately, it was very likely the young man on the table would die. “Hill, look at me!” Owen commanded, staring deeply into the boy’s eyes with the intention to keep him conscious. “You’re going to be fine, okay? We are going to get you all fixed up, you hear me?”

“Major…” Danny Hill’s weak voice resonated in the room, and Owen had to lean over a little to be able to hear him. “Major, please…” The boy was nearly whispering. “You tell my girl that I love her, okay? You tell Annie that for me?” Danny’s eyes seemed to lose focus each second more, startling Owen. “Tell her that she doesn’t have to blame herself… That I did this for us…”

“No!” Owen held his hand and fiercely squeezed it, hoping with all his heart that Danny didn’t let go. “You’re going to tell her yourself, Hill…” Owen said with an authoritative voice, unable to believe that was actually happening. The life of a good, decent kid was on the line and Owen hadn't even properly processed how that had happened yet. But one thing he was sure of, Hill was not going to die on him. “You’re going back to Indiana and you’re telling her yourself.”

“I… I…” The boy’s face twitched in a scowl of pain when Kepner helped Owen cut his clothes and access his wound. The anesthesiologist was ready to put the patient under, but properly waited until the surgeon gave him the okay to do so. “Tell Annie I love her, sir… Please… You have to promise me.”

“You will tell her yourself, Hill.” Owen reinforced, too determinate not to let that boy go. Life was too fragile. It could end in a heartbeat. And it was too short to be wasted in stupid things like pride and fear. Perhaps making the most impulsive decision he’d made so far, Owen commanded. “We’re going to do it together, okay? You and me.” He tightened his grip on Hill’s hand, feeling the young man faintly squeeze his back in agreement. Encouraged by the positive reaction, Owen reinforced it. “We’ll both tell our girls when we get home, alright? Are you with me?”

“Promise?” Hill’s breath collided like vapor against the oxygen mask the anesthesiologist had put on his face. Instead of the determined eyes of an Army soldier, all Owen could see was the scared face of a terrorized nineteen year old boy. “Do you promise, Major?”

Owen knew the job very well. Medicine wasn’t an exact science. Doctors were trained to never make promises.

“I promise.” He held Hill’s hand and gave his colleagues a head nod, informing the anesthesiologist that he should begin the procedure.

For the following hour, Owen heard gunshot wounds outside but none of that mattered at the moment. It was Christmas and a young boy with a huge heart had his life hanging by a thread. He relied on Owen completely to save his life and the surgeon wasn’t letting go.

That kid couldn’t die. He deserved to live. He had to live.

And with that thought, Owen finally figured out that Danny Hill wasn’t the only one who needed the promise of a happy ending to endure the few days left until they finally went back home.

.

Back in Seattle, Amelia watched as everyone hoped for an early finish at work to go home spend Christmas Eve with their loved ones. Unsurprisingly, the neurosurgeon had volunteered to take the night shift at the hospital. Amelia finished the late rounds and sat by one of the stations, listening as a faint radio in the distance played Stevie Wonder’s Someday at Christmas.

The melody unconsciously added to Amelia’s depressed mood. It was the first time she was completely alone for the Holiday.

During every other day of the year, being on her own had been a welcome situation. But that night specifically carried too much meaning to be spent in such a depressing mood.

Alex Karev had organized a reunion to at least invoke what was left of a holiday spirit in the discouraged group of surgeons. Amelia initially hadn't planned on accepting the invitation, but on a second thought it looked more appealing than spending the evening alone at the hospital.

The neurosurgeon had just made up her mind to go see other people in a social event for the first time in an eternity when her phone started buzzing.

Noticing she was being paged by Pediatrics, Amelia immediately dropped her plans for the night and ran upstairs. The message didn't specifically say it, but Amelia was pretty sure what the pager was about.

Jamie.

Rushing into the PICU, she found the little girl’s mom moving around in panic as a team of doctors and nurses gathered around the bed.

“What’s going on?” Amelia frantically asked, but no answer was needed. As soon as her eyes fell on the patient, she watched as the eight year old’s body contorted in uncoordinated movements. “When did she start having seizures?” The neurosurgeon asked, making her way among the other professionals at the same time one of the doctors ordered another round of drugs.

“In the past ten minutes.” One of the attendings replied. “We rounded on her just a couple of hours ago and she didn’t have this periorbital edema or unilateral ptosis… she’s on day three of treatment for a sinus infection, but…” the PICU doctor looked as confused and taken aback as Amelia, and he was visibly distressed by the unseen complication. “Her liquor culture was negative, she had no neurological deficits, she couldn't possibly have evolved with meningitis and gotten this worse in just two hours, I…”

“Book an OR for me, now!” Amelia interrupted him as she asked one of the nurses, immediately focusing her attention back on the attending. She knew he was telling the truth because just that afternoon she’d seen Jamie too and despite her nasty infection, the girl wasn't presenting those critical conditions. Amelia quickly did the math and reluctantly spoke, hoping with every fiber of her being that her diagnosis didn't represent a death sentence. “It’s not acute meningitis. I think Jamie has a cavernous sinus septic thrombosis. I am going to confirm it with a head CT, but I am pretty sure.” Amelia declared after a quick physical exam, knowing the awful complication was the likeliest possibility under those circumstances.

“Dr. Shepherd!” Jamie’s mom came running behind them as Amelia and the PICU team rushed with the patient to radiology. “What’s going on?” The desperation was visible in the mother’s eyes and the woman broke down crying, obviously worried sick about her daughter. “What’s happening to Jamie? Why… why is she having seizures?!”

Amelia felt her heart constricting and tried her best to remain as neutral as she could while speaking to the woman she’d inadvertently grown close to.

“Her intracranial pressure is too high, Mrs. Donovan. I need to take Jamie now to try to fix it before it’s too late.” Amelia explained feeling like she was being punched in the gut. “Her sinus infection formed a clot and it traveled to her brain. It’s compromising the blood flow. There is no time for anything, if I don’t do this now Jamie is not going to make it.” Amelia explained with sorrow in her voice.

“But… but…” The woman ran to catch up with them, lost for words. “Dr. Shepherd, please… Jamie is all I have. She is all I have.” The woman begged, watching as the team prepared the girl for the emergency CT. Grabbing Amelia’s elbow, Mrs. Donovan looked straight into the neurosurgeon’s eyes as she pleaded. “You have to save her. Please…” The woman broke down again, unable to control her emotions. “It’s my daughter… it’s my baby girl… Please…!”

The words hit Amelia harder than she anticipated. It was like once again a cold dagger was being buried into her heart. The neurosurgeon knew too well the pain of losing a child and she could relate to Jamie’s mom entirely.

A clot stuck in such a delicate portion of the brain most likely meant disastrous effects, including imminent death. Amelia had dealt with cases like that a few times in her career and nearly every patient had died from it. From what she’d just seen on the scans appearing on the screen, Jamie’s thrombosis was massive and it matched the way her symptoms had quickly progressed. The fact the girl had a severe underlying condition that compromised her oxygenation also didn't help.

But Amelia was determined to achieve the only outcome that mattered: keeping Jamie alive.

And the surgeon could only hope she was able to evacuate the area in time.

“I am going to do everything I can, Mrs. Donovan.” Amelia said with honesty, hoping for the best but expecting the very worst, feeling her heart break into a thousand pieces as she dodged the crying mother. “We have to go now.”

“But…”

“Now!” Amelia said, helping to push the gurney with a decisive tone.

Her entire system was on the verge of a collapse and Amelia knew that if she stopped to process what was happening, it was likely she would freak out. So instead, the neurosurgeon focused on the task ahead, keeping unusually calm because she knew the ultimate goal required every bit of her serenity.

That Christmas was already the worst one of her life.

And Amelia wasn’t about to let it get even worse.

---

who lives? who dies?  

[bongaboi]

Utah State: 2019-20 Mountain West Men's Basketball Champions

LAS VEGAS -- Sam Merrill once again lifted Utah State to a Mountain West tournament title. Merrill hit a contested 3-pointer with 2.5 seconds to play to give the Aggies a 59-56 victory over No. 5 San Diego State and clinch a spot in the NCAA tournament for the second straight season Saturday. The Aztecs (30-2), who led by as many 16 points in the first half, had a chance to force overtime, but Malachi Flynn's 3-point shot from just beyond half court rattled in and out at the buzzer. The loss was San Diego State's second in its past six games after starting the season 26-0. Meanwhile, Utah State, which entered Saturday on the NCAA tournament bubble, improved to 9-1 in its past 10 games. The Aggies (26-8) are back in the Big Dance in consecutive seasons for the first time since a three-year run from 2009 to 2011. "I know that's easy for me to say being on the victorious side, but that was a whale of a basketball game between two highly competitive, very, very talented teams," said Utah State coach Craig Smith. "It felt like one of those games where whoever is going to have the ball last is going to find a way to win, and then they almost throw in a half-courter. It was a heavyweight fight, and we knew it was going to go 15 rounds. Fortunately for us, we were the last man standing." Merrill has been shouldering the load for Utah State for most of the past two seasons, so it was hardly a surprise that Smith made sure the ball was in the hands of his senior guard in the waning moments. After Flynn barely missed a 3-pointer from the wing with 25 seconds left that would have given San Diego State a 59-56 lead, Merrill secured the rebound and calmly dribbled up court. With Aztecs guard KJ Feagin playing tight defense, everyone inside the Thomas & Mack Center knew who would be launching the last-second shot. With the clock ticking down and Feagin's hand in his face, Merrill left his feet and hit the shot. "I was just trying to get a good look," Merrill said. "I barely slept last night, partially because the schedule is rough when you play that late-night game Friday night and it's a quick turnaround. I only got a few hours of sleep, but I was just hoping that I'd get that opportunity. And I had a vision that I was going to. I just threw it up there -- well, I mean, I shot it -- and it went in." Feagin said he did all he could do defensively. "I felt like up until the release of the shot, I was right there on every move," he said. "But props to him for making a good shot." Unlike in last year's Mountain West tournament title game, when San Diego State trailed most of the way and lost 64-57, the Aztecs were in total control throughout the first half Saturday. After falling behind 7-2 to start the game, they went on a pair of 11-0 spurts in building a 27-11 lead. At one point, Utah State went nearly 13 minutes without a field goal, missing 10 straight shots and scoring just four points, all on free throws. Merrill finally snapped the drought when he made three consecutive baskets (including a 3-pointer) in a little over a minute to cut San Diego State's lead to 27-18. Flynn paced the Aztecs with 16 points, while Yanni Wetzell (12 points, 13 rebounds) recorded a double-double. Neemias Queta (15 points, 8 rebounds) was the only player besides Merrill to score in double figures for the Aggies. "This league has such a rich tradition in men's basketball, and to be able to repeat back to back, that's a difficult, difficult thing to do," Smith said. "And I couldn't be more proud of these young men." THIRD TIME'S THE CHARM Utah State dropped both regular-season meetings to San Diego State, losing 77-68 at home and 80-68 on the road. Flynn and junior forward Matt Mitchell were dominant for the Aztecs in both games, combining for 84 points on 26-of-47 shooting (55.3%). However, this time around, both players struggled. Flynn missed 11 of his first 12 shots and finished 6-for-20, while Mitchell made just 1 of 7 field goals, scoring just four points. SAM I AM Not only did Utah State claim its second straight conference tournament title, but Merrill won tournament MVP honors for the second year in a row. Merrill finished the three games with 83 points (29-for-52 shooting), 13 rebounds and eight assists. He scored 29 points in the Aggies' quarterfinal victory over New Mexico and 27 in the semifinals against Wyoming before tallying 27 against San Diego State. Flynn and Feagin joined Merrill on the All-Tournament Team, along with Queta and Wyoming's Kwane Marble II.

[placesthatchangedpeople]

Open Sky Wilderness program testimony

I attended Open Sky Wilderness Therapy for about 2 and a half months (or 10 and a half weeks) earlier this year. It has been a few months since I “graduated”. I did not go to an aftercare (or follow up program) and I am home now.

Before going, I had depression problems, drugs, being suicidal, all that good stuff. I was given the choice by my (new-ish) therapist after a serious drug incident to be hospitalized or to go to Open Sky. Going to a hospital did not seem great and I knew that he and my parents would get me over to Open Sky anyways. I reluctantly agreed to go with a sliver of faith that the program would help.

I arrived in the Durango airport, CO, and my father handed me to the program’s transporters (3 people in their mid-late 20s at most). I was driven to urgent care for a checkup, blood drawn, and a drug test. We went to a mexican place for lunch which was kinda nice. Then we went to “the ranch”: a dumpy shack they used for storage. There I handed over all my belongings and was handed my new set of belongings. It was standard stuff like rope, tarp, footwear, clothes, my weekly ration of unappetizing hippie food (the block of cheese was nice though), etc. We drove a long way over to the Utah desert in the middle of almost nowhere.

When I first arrived at the campsite and saw my group, I immediately knew I had made a mistake. Six boys, three guides, everyone covered in dust. Everything was dirty. The guides were young like the transporters, whereas I was hoping they’d be older and more experienced. I was on “gateway”, as all new patients are, where I sit separate from everyone with a guide and get a student mentor. I was placed on “high safety watch” because of being suicidal, which meant a guide was within arm’s reach at all times, and a bunch of other annoying safety precautions. At night, I had to sleep in the guides tent with a tarp over me and a guide at each side.

The next day we did a 6 mile day hike (no pack, just a small satchel of stuff) through the desert valley. The day went pretty standard, which I’ll outline in a bit. What was important about the second day was that I fully understood the program that day. One of the largest themes of the program was copious consequences and trivial rewards. Consequences were things like 20 minutes of silence for cursing, having the entire group walk to someone's shelter if they forgot something, or “drills” where if you didn’t do something in a slotted amount of time you’d have to do it over again until you made the time. Drills applied to things like washing cups, making shelters, putting on backpack, packing up, and other things. There wasn’t much reward other than you get to make a quesadilla (called cheesy torts. There was a weird vocabulary here) if you bow drill a fire (bust a fire), or bs like “sense of accomplishment” for things. This system is designed to basically shrink your world. I pledged myself that I would not become a dog to the consequence-reward system that day. It actually worked out that fire busting and hard skills came natural to me and I basically never got in trouble. That basically made it so I was immune to this part of the program.

There are essentially four steps to the program: the four “directions”. South>West>North>East. The South is learning hard skills like pointless knots and building construction packs (c-packs, a backpack from tarp and string). In the south you get your impact letter, usually a week or so into the program. That letter is your parents listing all the reasons for being sent to the program. You must read it out loud, in full, to the entire group. You then respond to the letter by mostly repeating it to your parents so they feel heard. The south lasted 5 weeks for me, which was within normal range.

The West you get a backpack. In the west you’re supposed to do deep self discovery. This is where most of your work gets done and it generally takes a similar or longer time than the south. One of the important things you do in the west is a letter of responsibility, or the impact letter response with more “i'm a screw up and I regret the past”. I spent the remainder up till the last few days in the west.

The north you get a headlamp, and it's all about leadership. Leadership, leadership, leadership. The east basically you are a master at the program and you are perfect woohoo. There's a book “the student pathway” where guides sign off various things like makes a fire or weekly things like was a positive influence. You’re supposed to get everything signed off to move. In practice, your guides or therapist just move you whenever and most people graduate in the north. I had about half the things signed before I moved to each direction. You graduate whenever your therapist and parents decide. 10-12 weeks is normal (weighted towards long stays).

The program actually moved to Colorado on my 3rd day, so I’m speaking from that point of view (setting only changes a few things anyways). The week looked as such: Wednesday is guide changes and food (and other needed items) distribution as well as “group meditation” (everyone comes together to do yoga and meditation and see the graduates leaving), thursday you leave for expedition, you get back to base camp monday, tuesday is chores, shower (pouring water from a watersack over you with pisspoor shampoo and conditioner), and meet with therapist. Tuesday you also send a letter in response to the letter you received from your parents the week before, and then you get a new letter from them. Therapist reads all letters (but not censors) by the way. About the food. Weekly personal food was 2 bags of peanuts with raisins (“gorp”), one bag of oats and raisins (“muesli”), one bag of straight oats for oatmeal (no sugar ever), a 1 lb block of cheese, and four pieces of any mix of oranges and apples. You get 1 hot meal per day, which is dinner. Dinner often came out to be a crappy tasting quinoa mush with vegetables or whatever. Students cooked the meals and sometimes the ingredients were good to make something like cheesy steak fries. My group had some good cooks but if you don’t have real creative people you’re out of luck for a not disgusting meal.

One week, I snuck a meal plan past a new guide which meant we had a meal of just mashed potatoes and other cooked tomatoes. On expedition you hike to a different random campsite each day. Usually there's a “layover day” where you stay at a campsite for 2 consecutive days which is actually really helpful. You hike carrying all your stuff you need for the expedition and some group items. The shortest day of hiking I’ve had was around an hour, and the longest was eight. It’s pretty variable, and also the longer hikes were used as a tool to draw out difficult emotions. It was nothing excessive, but there was one time during an 8 hour day where the last hour and a half a guy had run out of water, and since Open Sky has a strict no sharing of consumables policy for “health reasons” (you wear the same clothes a week straight so I’m calling bs), he just had to go on until we reached camp (I give this example not because I think of it as abusive, but to highlight another one of the stupid program rules).

The one of the main goals of the program is dealing with hard emotions and being vulnerable. You’re expected to be willing to share basically everything with everyone. They treat it like everyone in the group (and program, parents, therapist) has the right to know everything about you. Because you’re not willing to share past trauma or deep things you are ingenuine. For me personally, I am selective of who I share things with. It does not mean I can’t open up; I just choose not to. I also do not wear my emotions on my sleeve.

At Open Sky, god forbid you’re an introvert. They try to funnel you into this narrow definition of a good, functioning person: extroverted, super vulnerable, positive, and open. There’s this thing called “busting and ‘I feel’” where you call the entire group to stop everything and listen to you say “I feel ____ when __. I believe I feel this way because _. My request [goal] for myself is _. My request for the group is __.” You can do this for any emotion, and you can imagine the really trivial ones that are called sometimes. I hated doing it. Didn’t do anything for me and I hate being the center of attention. Basically my therapist’s entire treatment plan for me was around “busting I feels”. It held me back a great deal the fact that I hated doing it. I’d tell my therapist that it was pointless and not helping (because I actually did give it some effort). To this she’d only have my weekly goals to do more of them.

Another main goal of the program was relationship building with parents. It was evident a few weeks in that you’re not there for you; you’re there for your parents. Your parentals decide how long you stay. They decide where you go next. This power dynamic of non-adult patients basically having their legal rights in the hands of their parents ends up being the child conforms to the parents’ demands. Now to talk about the guides as a whole. I actually really liked the guides. They can be characterized generally as young, not wealthy hippies, who truly believe that they are making a positive change in the world through working for this program. They were of really strong character, which also meant they enforced the stupidly strict rules of the program. Their only qualifications really are that they are good people and can hike.

By each kid’s end of Open Sky journey, they generally appear to be very much improved and have high hopes going out, which affirms the guides work. The guides generally don’t contact people after they leave. I don’t hold anything against the guides, because I built some decent relationships with them and they are just trying to make ends meet and do meaningful work. Bonus: they mostly live out of their cars.

My therapist is another story however. As outlined earlier, she was mostly ineffective in helping me. In regards to the aforementioned safety watch, she moved me to medium safety watch (guide gotta be within 10 feet, but no other restrictions really) after a week and a half and kept me there for another 2 weeks. She used it less as a safety precaution and more of leverage to get people to be vulnerable. The only thing she knew of how each week went was what the guides told her. I’d get 1 hour long session with her a week. That's it. So essentially I only got one hour of actual professional therapy per week. In session we’d talk about how my week was, I’d say some emotions I felt about things that might aswell be drawn from hat, and I’d get my weekly goals (the sharing I feels goals).

After I left the program, my parents told me that she had been pressing my parents to keep me in longer and to send me to “aftercare”. The therapists relentlessly pressure parents to do this to milk as much money as possible. I never got to like her throughout the program, just hate her slightly less. My therapist was probably like other therapists: second rate therapists who went to low tier colleges for their degrees (one I knew of didn’t even have one). I also got 2 phone calls during my time there, one in the middle and one at the end. The one at the end was just about going home logistics so it hardly counted. You sit with your therapist during those calls, which is how they keep you from asking to be taken home.

Few people ever get to go home after the program. I actually went home (after a trip to China hehe) because I was a) turning 18 a week after I left and I sure as hell not going to aftercare and b) because my parents wanted me home and I had very little history with any sort of therapy. I only knew 2 other people who went home, and that was because their families simply did not have the money. Towards the end of the stay you meet an educational consultant, and they tell your parents where to send you based on probably an hour long meeting. Everyone thinks they’re going home right up until it’s decided where they’re going. Everyone thinks they’re special and their parents are not like the other ones who send their kids away. I was the only one for whom that belief was true.

A few months later, I find myself worse off than before. I have to maintain a fake relationship with mother. My therapist (who sent me to open sky) is a proxy therapist just to keep school happy. I have no support, no friends, nothing. If you’re a parent thinking of sending your child there, don’t. You’ll end up paying $50k to make your kid fit your ideals. It won’t make them better. If you’re someone who’s parents want to send you to somewhere like Open Sky or even any therapeutic institution, your parents can have you snatched from your room whenever they want. I can’t give any other advice than to do everything you can in order to stay out of this system. I was really lucky to only spend 2 and a half months in the troubled teen industry. I can almost guarantee you won’t be as lucky as me.

[junker-town]

NFL Dad, Week 7: You can’t fight the Pumpkin Industrial Complex

Every week, our NFL Dad tries to watch the full slate of RedZone Channel action while parenting two toddlers. This week: costume parties, pumpkins, and a distinct lack of drama.

I don’t care for the annual pumpkin craze, but I refuse to harsh anyone’s pumpkin high. I won’t rail against pumpkin spice lattes, I won’t scoff at pumpkin beers, and I won’t even make an official statement against pumpkin yogurt pretzels or pumpkin smoothies. I believe that apples are the better seasonal food, but taste is subjective (even if you don’t recognize that “pumpkin” flavor is just clove and cinnamon). Regardless, your pumpkin habit doesn’t affect my enjoyment of autumn.

This mindset is probably why I went along with my wife’s desire to go to a pumpkin patch on Saturday. Yes, my daughter already went apple-picking, but my son (almost 18 months) had never been to a pumpkin patch, so we needed to give him that experience. Could we buy a slightly overpriced pumpkin at the nearby farmer’s market? Sure, but that would be easy.

Instead, because we live in a dumb city unfit for parents and car owners, we rent a Zipcar for the morning, drive 90 minutes to a Long Island pumpkin patch that serves 4 million New Yorkers eager to avoid driving to a REAL farm in the Hudson Valley, fail to take a picture of the two kids in the pumpkins together, and survive an epic in-car meltdown from my daughter before hitting standstill traffic on the way back to the city. Oh, and my son slept for 20 minutes in the car, ruining his afternoon nap.

BUT AT LEAST WE GOT PUMPKINS! PRECIOUS MEMORIES AND TWO PUMPKINS FOR THE LOW LOW PRICE OF FIVE HOURS OF UNHAPPY CHILDREN. FIVE F**KING STARS, WOULD WASTE MY TIME AGAIN.

Pumpkins are dumb flavorless squashes and I hate them.

EARLY GAMES, FIRST HALF

— The Saints-Packers matchup, which SHOULD be a Drew Brees-Aaron Rodgers shootout, will instead be a referendum on Brett Hundley in his first pro start. In the rain. WOOF.

Early in the game, Hundley draws the Saints offsides for a free play, but underthrows Davante Adams deep. It illuminates the problem with anyone who backs up Aaron Rodgers: even if they’ve learned his tricks of the trade, they don’t have the sheer talent to produce the same magic that he does. (The drive ends with an Aaron Jones sprint up the gut of the defense. 7-0, Green Bay.)

— The Rams, playing the Cardinals in London, are wearing their white-and-gold uniforms with the white horns on the helmets. Such an awful look. Anything reminiscent of the St. Louis era should be burned in a Dumpster YES EVEN KURT WARNER.

But for real, just wear the blue and yellow every week. It looks way better.

— Green Bay intercepts Brees in the end zone, but when I wake up from my nap the Saints have fought back to tie the game at seven. Briefly, anyway: Hundley runs it in to reclaim the lead and get his first Lambeau Leap.

— The Jaguars are stomping the Colts 17-0. There’s not much to say here, except Leonard Fournette isn’t playing and T.J. Yeldon looks capable in his stead. There’s nothing about the Jacoby Brissett offense that suggests it’s built to overcome a three-score lead against a very good defense. I’m happy to write this one off — and judging by the TV coverage, so is RedZone.

— Jameis Winston is playing with a sprained AC joint, and he looks off-target. Well, more off-target than usual. He underthrows one receiver, then throws off-target on a screen before getting strip-sacked. That tomahawk chop couldn’t have felt good on his injured shoulder.

— With the Bears up two scores, Mitchell Trubisky runs to the left on third and goal and dives for pylon. It’s ruled a touchdown initially, but overturned on review. Facing 4th and goal less than a yard out, John Fox opts to kick a field goal like the big ol’ coward he is.

Now, I’m getting ahead of myself in the diary, but I don’t want to talk about the Bears again, so let’s just get this dumb team out of the way. The Bears will go on to win thanks to Eddie Jackson’s two defensive touchdowns, which might make Chicago fans ignore the inherent John Fox-ness of their team’s play. I won’t hear any results-based defense of this trash team. Look at this!

The Bears are the first team to win a game while completing less than 5 passes since the 2011 Broncos. Tim Tebow was the QB of that team. http://pic.twitter.com/0RuRQYQDo3

— FOX Sports: NFL (@NFLonFOX) October 22, 2017

This is the drive chart of a team that won today. http://pic.twitter.com/UrjQyCEZUN

— Football Perspective (@fbgchase) October 22, 2017

The Bears earned zero first downs in the second half and became the first NFL team to win with fewer than five completed passes since ... the last time John Fox coached in the NFL. I’d rather have a block of cement coach my team.

— My daughter is up from her nap. She asks what’s happening on the TV. “The Browns are the brown team with orange helmets,” I say. “The Titans are the white team with blue pants. I like the Titans’ uniforms better. What do you think?”

She pauses for a moment. “I like the orange!” Such a shame that I have to disown her now.

— Todd Gurley freezes the Cardinals’ D with a jump-stop at line of scrimmage, then scampers around the left edge for a touchdown.

.@TG3II gets around the edge and is IN for SIX. #LARams http://pic.twitter.com/PMgvFG23T7

— NFL (@NFL) October 22, 2017

That possession came as a result of a Carson Palmer interception thrown while he got hit. Palmer seems unlikely to return (UPDATE: broken arm, he’s out 8 weeks), so we can go ahead and cross “Cardinals comeback” off the list. I’ve seen the Drew Stanton Show before.

— DeShone Kizer throws a pick that gets caught on the Titans’ 11-yard line. I have never in my life seen a quarterback commit red zone turnovers like this. He’s like the anti-Mariota.

That realization gives this useless field goal battle some semblance of meaning: Kizer and Mariota are diametrically opposed forces drawn together, as if they’re in a superhero movie like Unbreakable or Hancock. (Speaking of Unbreakable, shouts out to Sam Bradford, the undisputed Mr. Glass of the NFL.)

— With the Dolphins backed up to their own goal line, Jay Cutler throws an interception off a deflected pass. The Jets punch it in for a 21-14 lead. This game has been wildly entertaining throughout the first half, but I’m not wired to accept these teams playing an entertaining game.

— The Rams score another touchdown, this time on a Jared Goff read-option keeper. They’re up 20-0 near the end of the half, and Drew Stanton will have 40 seconds to throw an interception and give the Rams another chance to score.

Stanton’s first throw on the next drive: a pick directly to a Rams defender. I swear this is not some ex post facto insight I’ve edited in; I’ve just watched Drew Stanton before. So has the First Down France account:

Quelle honte Stanton. Scandaleux

— NFL France (@FirstDownFR) October 22, 2017

Scandaleux indeed! Greg Zuerlein kicks a 53-yarder, and the Rams go into halftime up 23-0.

EARLY GAMES, SECOND HALF

— I’m not usually in the business of highlighting irrelevant three-yard catches, but Christian McCaffrey warrants an exception:

.@run__cmc only needs ONE hand. WOW. #KeepPounding http://pic.twitter.com/lg8V13659I

— NFL (@NFL) October 22, 2017

Lots of masturbation jokes to be made in that tweet there. Not that I would think about them, because I am VERY MATURE. Father of young children over here.

(*audibly farts and tells the kids it’s a “barking spider”*)

— My wife is taking our kids to a Halloween-ish birthday party, which means costumes are welcome but not mandatory. My son will be a shark, my daughter will be a ghost, and my wife will be harried and stressed out.

I help my daughter into the stroller and put her shoes on, then assist my wife as she loads my son into our carrier (we like the flexibility and simplicity of the Beco carrier, in case you’ve made the mistake of having children and need a recommendation).

And then, at 2:51 p.m. Eastern time: They’re gone. My apartment is completely quiet except for the TV. I am tempted to sleep, to eat and drink everything in the house, to get on my bike and ride in the sunshine ... but I just keep watching RedZone. The whole premise of me missing the party is that I have to work.

So, I stay and watch Joe Thomas tear his triceps, leading to the first missed snap of his career. After 10,363 consecutive snaps, the NFL’s ironman exits the game. And on such a promising Browns team!

Jay Cutler’s consecutive sourpuss streak is safe.

— In Miami, Jay Cutler has also left the game with an injury, though his consecutive sourpuss streak is safe.

— I take my dog for a walk. Stella is a Rottweiler mix that I adopted three or four years before I met my wife, and the dog loves me despite the way I’ve filled her living space with small humans that don’t give adequate belly rubs and suck up the attention that used to go to her.

While outside, we run into a family that dog-sat Stella once, and she nuzzles them all and wags her nub fervently. I leave her outside while I duck into a grocery to buy a tallboy (prep for the Seahawks game), and when I come back she lies down on the pavement and rolls onto her side. No walking until she gets her belly rub.

I say a lot how fulfilling parenthood is (and it is!), but for the record: My life was also pretty kickass when it was just me and Stella.

— I return from the walk and look at my computer while catching up. Something about my TV seems blurry, like the players are in regular definition. Then I notice that I’m getting more Jets-Dolphins than I’ve seen all day. Is RedZone EVER going to show this O.J. Howard touchdown I’m reading about on Twitter?

And then I realize: I’m watching the local CBS feed of the Jets game. I must have pressed “2” with an inadvertent nudge of the remote. I feel like I should get some kind of detox or vaccination.

DOCTOR: And how long were you exposed to Jets-Dolphins?

ME: I dunno, maybe 10 minutes?

DOCTOR: OK, this should be fairly routine — [reads chart]. REGULAR DEFINITION?!?!

ME: Is that bad?

[alarm sounds] [lights flash]

DOCTOR: [on the phone] Yes sir, we’re locking down the wing to contain the infection.

— In order to justify my beautiful peace and quiet, I start folding laundry, which is by far and away the WORST chore. I thought laundry couldn’t get worse, then I had kids. “Oh, you hate folding laundry? What if you had to do it more often and everything was five times smaller?” If we could afford simple luxuries, the very first thing I’d throw money at would be a laundry service.

— With less than a minute left in regulation, the Browns are attempting a 54-yard field goal to tie a 9-6 game. What a sorry-ass state of affairs. Welp, it’s good. The Browns are celebrating, but why? What is there to celebrate when the result is additional Browns football?

[clapping in Roger Goodell’s face after every word] BAN REGULAR SEASON OVERTIME AND SEND TEAMS HOME WITH TIES.

— Cooper Kupp scores a touchdown on a screen to make it 33-0 in London. I know Kupp played college ball at Eastern Washington, but that’s a Big XII name if I’ve ever seen one. Whenever I see his name I just start making white person word salad with it until I come back to his name. Like this:

Coop Cooper

Scooper Coop

Copper Kopp

Pooker Puck

Pucker Pork

Rucker Corp

Kurper Carp

Cooper Kupp

Ahhhhh, that feels so nice in my brain. The only NFL name that’s better for that game is Blake Bortles.

— There are three tied games as the early slate winds down: Jets-Dolphins, Bucs-Bills, and the trash fire in Cleveland. In reverse order:

1. The Browns and Titans feebly do nothing for most of overtime before Mariota finally gets his team into field goal range. Ryan Succop hits a 47-yarder to end this miserable affair 12-9.

2. After a LeSean McCoy touchdown tied the game at 27, it looked like the Bucs would have a chance to win the game — except Adam Humphries coughs up the ball and the Bills recover in field goal range. Steven Hauschka hits a 30-yarder with 14 seconds left to win the game, but not before the Bucs pull off the longest, most competent failed lateralpalooza in NFL history.

The final play today in Buffalo... #TBvsBUF http://pic.twitter.com/2Raz5eyFNu

— NFL (@NFL) October 22, 2017

3. Josh McCown attempts to lead the Jets on a game-winning drive. Pretend you didn’t see this game or any highlights: Given that setup, how do you think this ends?

If you said, “McCown interception” without thinking, congratulations: You have seen NFL games before. The announcer scoffs, “15 years [in the league], you shouldn’t make that mistake.” Yeah, no shit. But that’s the result you deserve when “political activism” is a disqualifying factor in your quarterback search.

Cody Parkey kicks the game-winner for the Dolphins. Cardy Poker. Coder Party. Parker Podey. Porky Corder. Corky Pordy. Cody Parker. Ahhhh.

LATE GAMES, FIRST HALF

— In Santa Clara, the Niners fumble a punt return, giving Dallas a short field. Zeke Elliott punches it in, and folks, I don’t think the home team’s gonna be able to overcome this 7-0 deficit. It’s just too big a hole with too little time.

— The Seahawks are at the Giants this week, which means I have the relatively rare luxury of watching the local broadcast, which in turn means that this column is gonna kind of suck from here on out. I promise to flip to RedZone during commercials!

(Last week, the Seahawks were on bye, and I didn’t mention that stupid team’s name ONCE in the entire column. I never enjoy the NFL as much as when Seattle doesn’t play.)

— The late games I’ll be mostly ignoring: Cowboys-49ers, Bengals-Steelers, and Broncos-Chargers. I click over during commercial, and there’s Antonio Brown scoring on a slant. Like clockwork. It’s 7-0 Steelers.

— Last season, a lot of people made fun of Ben McAdoo for wearing a giant, oversized windbreaker. Seeing him this season, it’s now clear that he chose the XXL with the intent to fill it out. I’m not trying to fat-shame anyone; I love a coach with a longterm vision.

I won’t make fun of anyone’s perceived weight gain, but I definitely WILL make fun of McAdoo’s sunglasses and hair and game-planning and everything else about him, because he’s a total herb who can’t coach.

— It’s so quiet in this apartment. So calm. My favorite team is on television, and I am drinking a beer and watching them without any children vying for my attention. This is nice. I like it? Yes, I like it.

But I also kinda miss the chaos. Not the chaos itself, but my ability to lessen it. If my son falls and cries, I can pick him up and soothe him. But if the Seahawks have ten plays inside the 11-yard line and come away with zero points because they throw a goddamn FADE on fourth down and JIMMY GRAHAM DROPS IT, there’s not a goddamn thing I can do about it. At least parenting offers a tiny piece of self-determination.

-- I wonder what my kids are doing, but, like, only during commercials. If my wife ever leaves me, she should do it during a Seahawks game. Automatic three-hour head start.

— Jason Witten makes a SPECTACULAR one-handed TD grab.

.@JasonWitten ONE HAND TOUCHDOWN CATCH! Beautiful. #DallasCowboys http://pic.twitter.com/nMWkMOIr6W

— NFL (@NFL) October 22, 2017

What a great catch by a tight end! Isn’t that right, JIMMY GRAHAM??!?

— Juju Smith-Schuster gets wide open for a touchdown, then celebrates with hide-and-seek.

Come for the @TeamJuJu TD catch. But stay for Hide & Seek. #HereWeGo http://pic.twitter.com/YDaoE7SMeJ

— NFL (@NFL) October 22, 2017

This is a perfectly fine celebration, but I also think a lot of fans are being too laudatory of anything that flies in the face of the old, crappy rules against celebrations. Like, hide-and-seek is a children’s game. The other week, Kyle Rudolph celebrated with a game of Duck, Duck, Goose/Grey Duck. Are we really going to think it’s cool or funny if players dance in a circle and sing “Ring Around the Rosie”? Trust me: As a man who has sung “Ring Around the Rosie” and fallen down two dozen times in the last three days, it’s not that great.

Ditch the kids’ games and come at me with something that rivals Colombia’s team salsa dance. I am not a crank.

— Thomas Rawls fumbles directly into Landon Collins’ arms. Collins returns the ball some 30-odd yards to set up a red zone possession for the Giants, whose offense suddenly comes to life to score in two plays. Evan Engram scores the touchdown on a play in which Eli Manning play-faked to no one. Cool. Cool cool cool.

I change into sweatpants. There is a knot in the jaw muscle near my temple.

— I get a text from wife. They’re leaving in about 15 minutes. Is she sure? Does she want to stay out a little later? Go ahead, let them play with their friends a little longer. They can stay up late and have some more cake. Bring ‘em back around 8:00. No?

— Doug Baldwin is briefly taken over by the collective spirit of Seahawks Twitter and shoves Tom Cable, the offensive line coach largely blamed as the root of the team’s horrid line play.

The full story comes out later: Baldwin was trying to make sure that Russell Wilson was being heard by the players; the wideout wanted the emphasis to be on the players’ failure to execute, not the coaches’ calls. He even apologized to Cable and said he loves him.

Which, as a Seahawks fan, I guess is fine. But I also would have been OK with Wilson and Baldwin saying, “It’s him or us.”

— Good night, Dre Kirkpatrick:

The Bengals are 100% losing this game. You don’t recover from that.

— Zeke Elliott scores his third touchdown of the day, a 72-yard catch and run that puts the 49ers to bed.

LATE GAMES, SECOND HALF

— I run a bath and heat up the kids’ dinner. It’s a little after 6:00 p.m., and we’re going to have to hustle to keep the kids on schedule for their 7:00 bedtime.

My sister had kids years before I did, and I was the typical ignorant drunk uncle when it came to her devotion to the kids’ naps and schedule. “What’s with the schedule? Why can’t the kids just power through this one time?” Because the schedule is GOD, man! The schedule is all-powerful. It is the weather; it is the earth beneath your feet. Reject it and your life will be untethered from reality, a nonstop maelstrom of tears and tantrums.

We had dinner with friends on Saturday night, and ended up putting the kids to bed at 8:30 instead of 7:00. And my son was WRECKED the next morning, an absolute disaster until we put him down for a nap almost two hours earlier than usual.

— Uh, the Chargers are up 14-0 over the Broncos? The AFC West is a spooky-ass house of mirrors.

— With 14:03 in the 3rd quarter, the Giants get their first third down conversion in the game. Manning now has 29 yards passing. The next time I complain about watching the Seahawks offense, please remind me that the Giants exist.

— Around 6:20 p.m., just as my family returns, the Seahawks offense finally gets its touchdown:

The touch on this @DangeRussWilson TD pass... #Seahawks http://pic.twitter.com/raQqkTDpVi

— NFL (@NFL) October 22, 2017

The touch on that pass is what stands out on first watch, but do yourself a favor and watch the ankle-breaking move that gets Baldwin a free release from the slot.

— I’m as anti-Steelers as a fan can get, but I respect the hell out of any coach who attempts rude shit to stomp on a division rival. TO WIT: With the Steelers up two scores, Mike Tomlin dials up a fake punt on 4th and 7 to ice the game.

FAKE PUNT ALERT! #HereWeGo http://pic.twitter.com/wFxTkTqxjo

— NFL (@NFL) October 22, 2017

What an absolutely shitty thing to do. I love it!

— Speaking of disrespect, the Seahawks even the turnover battle with a strip-sack of Manning, and the first play they run on offense is this:

.@prichiejr goes ALL the way up to make the grab. Wow. Touchdown, @Seahawks! #Seahawks http://pic.twitter.com/7jvzLhruFx

— NFL (@NFL) October 22, 2017

It’s slightly underthrown by Wilson, which gives Landon Collins JUST enough time to make a play on the ball, but the simultaneous possession gives the Seahawks a touchdown. If I learned anything from the Fail Mary, it’s that a tie goes to the runner.

— We put the kids down at 7:25, and bedtime goes as smoothly and drama-free as each of the four late games.

Aside from the Seahawks result, I can’t say that I liked today better than the usual pandemonium of being NFL Dad. Given the choice, I’ll take the chaos and love of fatherhood over the quiet stress of being totally focused on my team. Both would be nice, of course, but that would mean more Seattle games in primetime. And I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.