#I had a therapy appointment today and kind of vaguely told her what happened between me and my friend

[tiredsadpeach]

I am so conflicted

[that-crow-kid]

to define a way of being

by @galactic-cam (galactic_cam on ao3) for @slothbeans (slothbeans on ao3) in the @friendly-neighborhood-exchange

the story is here on ao3

Rating: General Audiences

Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, background May Parker

Summary: Peter Parker had ADHD. He’d never gotten an official diagnosis, and it’d never been on his medical records. All he had was the vague memory of a doctor at his four-year-old check up recommending he get tested - and then his parents dying before the appointment could be made. He's done his research - there's nothing else it could be. But he'd adjusted, and he was good at school, so it hadn't really mattered all that much.

And then, because the spider bite put its greasy little fingers on everything else, it had to grab that, too.

It had been a rough few days. Well, no, scratch that, a rough few months. 

Peter Parker had ADHD. He’d never gotten an official diagnosis, and it’d never been on his medical records. When he was super little, like, before his parents died little, his pediatrician had told them that he should probably get tested. But then they’d died, less than a week later, and Peter was left with no official diagnosis, just the remnants of a memory of the doctors appointment. He’d reinforced this idea all throughout his life with his own research, but he had never told Ben or May. He figured they had enough to worry about, what with their four-year-old nephew suddenly coming to live with them after Ben’s sister-in-law and brother tragically died in a plane crash and all. 

So he’d just kept quiet. He was incredibly smart, and nobody ever accommodated for him, so he learned to adapt. Maybe not super well, but his grades were stellar despite the ADHD, so nobody ever really cared enough to diagnose or medicate him. 

And then he’d been bitten by the spider and it had gotten worse.

He’d always identified with Percy Jackson’s view of ADHD: You can’t streamline your thoughts because you get much more input. It made sense, and it was kind of how he felt. But then he developed superpowers, and it made more sense than ever before. 

He was getting 15 times the input he’d been getting before, between the super hearing and the super sight. It was pretty useful when he was fighting - if he was ‘focusing’ on one guy, he was also aware of the other guy pulling out a knife from a hidden pocket, and could adjust accordingly. It was not so great for school. It was already hard when you were acutely aware of the people whispering across the room - it was worse when you could actually hear what they were saying, and what the kids in the classrooms next to, across the hall from, above, and below you were all talking about. 

When his grades took a dip, he wasn’t shocked. He was mad at himself, of course, that he was letting his ADHD get in the way when he’d always been able to manage it, and since Peter Parker was good at stuff, there was a massive hit to his ego. He quit most of his after school activities to compensate - he needed to be doing stuff he was good at - and not at school where he was doing sub-par - and the thing he was suddenly good at was fighting crime.

And then Tony Stark had shown up at his door and whisked him away to Germany to steal Captain America’s shield, and his Homecoming had happened, and suddenly he was going to Mr. Stark’s lab in the newly rebought tower twice a week and staying over at the compound once a month.

Mr. Stark’s labs were actually a safe haven. They were sound proof, and Mr. Stark always had loud music playing, and most of the time there was nothing in there that messed with his senses. Mr. Stark worked strangely, jumping around from project to project unless he found one that really grabbed his attention. That style of working really clicked with Peter - he’d always just sat down and tried to do whatever it was he needed to - which had never really worked that well - but working in the lab, bouncing from thing to thing? That was perfect.

Today was different.

Peter had gotten his report card last week, and since it was now Tuesday, that meant he got to be scolded by Mr. Stark now, on top of the disappointment he’d gotten all weekend from May.

See, his grades were bad. Like, really bad.

Well, to a lot of kids, his grades were average, even pretty good. But for Peter Parker, top of the class in one of the country’s best schools, every teacher’s favorite Peter Parker, anything below a 90 was an extreme rarity. Anything below an 80? Where several of his grades were? Gods save the earth, because it was going to implode.

May had mostly been confused, with that constant disappointment rushing through her words. Why had he gotten Cs? He was supposed to be Peter Parker, perfect student, perfect kid. 

And now, Mr. Stark was going to take away his suit. His spider-manning was entirely reliant on his grades staying up, Mr. Stark had been clear on that. And how could he be Tony Stark’s protege if he got Cs? Mr Stark was halfway through his PhD by Peter’s age. 

Today was probably going to be the last time he saw Tony.

That was upsetting -  lab time was the only thing (other than spider-manning) that he looked forward to anymore. He was good at lab time, and Peter Parker was good at stuff. 

Of course, his brain gave a little “not anymore, you’re not.” Which, not cool, his brain was supposed to be on his side.

When he walked into the lab, Mr. Stark wasn’t working on anything, which was unusual, to say the least. He was seated, facing the door, a look of such disappointment on his face. 

Peter’s eyes focused on the floor. Wow, Mr. Stark sure had some nice tile under the epoxy that covered his lab floor. How could Peter have never noticed before?

“Peter.”

Tony’s voice startled him a bit, even though he knew that was why he’d been looking at the floor in the first place.

“Hey, Mr. Stark! How are you today? I’m really great. What are we working on today?” His sentences all came out in a rush, barely leaving any space between the words.

When he glanced up, Mr. Stark was looking at him, a smirk of amusement was tilting his lips, even though the rest of his face was still etched with disappointment. 

“What happened

Peter shrugged, eyes going back to looking at the floor.

“C’mon Kid, I need an actual answer. I know you’ve been doing all your work, and I know you’ve been home by curfew, unless you’ve hacked your suit again and convinced Karen to lie to me about it. So why’re your grades so low?”

“I- I don’t know.”

“Peter, you are the worst liar in the world.”

Peter sighed. “I know.”

“So? What happened?”

Peter glanced up. He looked at his mentor’s face, expecting disappointment, but instead he found… worry? And maybe curiosity?

“I have ADHD.”

“What? That’s not in your medical files -”

“I know, it’s not an official diagnosis. I was going to get one when I was little but… my appointment was after the plane crash, and…”

“You never did.”

“I never did. And I adjusted, kept my grades high, and nobody ever thought I could possibly have ADHD.”

“So what happened here?”

“The spider bite. It was always hard having ADHD because I noticed so much, but there’s a difference between being aware that the kids in the back of the room are talking and being able to hear what the class on the other side of the school is discussing with perfect clarity.”

Tony nodded. “I can only imagine.”

“But so my focus and participation went down, as did the quality of any work I did anywhere but in here.”

“Peter, why didn’t you tell me this before?”

Peter shrugged, but he knew the answer. He didn’t want Mr. Stark to think badly of him. How could he, Tony Stark’s protege, have ADHD?

Tony sighed. “Kid, did you know I have ADHD?” Now that caught Peter’s attention. He abruptly looked up. “What?”

Tony chuckled. “Yeah, kid. Dear old dad paid a lot to cover that up. And I wasn’t nearly as good at hiding it as you. I was all the way hyperactive, and Dad refused to medicate me. Told me to get over it, or that he wasn’t going to fuel a drug addiction in his son. His excuse changed.”

“But - But you were so good at school!”

“Dad paid off MIT to keep them quiet, but I assure you kid, I failed… several classes..”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.”

There was a quick beat.

“So, kid, what do you want to do about it?”

Peter, who’s eyes had refound their way to the floor, snapped back up to Tony. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, do you want to get a professional diagnosis? See a therapist? I’ve been meaning to rope you into therapy for a while now, this might just be the perfect way to start.”

“No - No, Mr. Stark! I don’t need therapy!”

“You might not need it yet - which I doubt, considering you fight crime in New York and I’ve seen you have several panic attacks - but all of the avengers go, and you’re an avenger-in-training. Gotta get you ahead of the game, kid.”

Peter sighed. “Fine. Okay, Mr. Stark.”

Tony pulled him into a brief hug, then slapped his back. “Brilliant, I’ll get on that for you later. For now, though, you wanna do something fun?”

Peter smiled. “Yeah. Yeah, that sounds -”

“Fun?” Tony broke in, a smile dancing across his face.

“Fun.”

[plaidbooks]

Everyone Deserves Love Chapter 14

A/N: This is another long one, and it’s some angst with a happy payoff at the end. Barba’s being threatened again, but not if Devon can help it! I do write Barba as kind of rude af to Sonny in this chapter, but tbh, he was pretty fucking rude to him when Sonny wanted to shadow him, so....

This is still dealing with the fall-out from Community Policing, and he’s still not being threatened by the dude from canon. He will show up, I promise.

P.S. I wrote this and edited it multiple times before I realized it takes place on Friday the 13th

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Tags: talks of threats, guns, some in depth descriptions of bullet wounds (I spent, like, and embarrassing amount looking up info/accounts from paramedics on this shit)

Words: 6071

Taglist: @the-baby-bookworm @beccabarba @thatesqcrush @itsjustmyfantasyroom @stardust-fray @permanentlydizzy @averyhotchner @mrsrafaelbarba @dianilaws @ben-c-group-therapy @glowingmess @infiniteoddball @whimsicallymad  @detective-giggles

Apartment of Rafael Barba and Devon Motely

Friday, October 13th. 9:05am

Devon was pacing in the living room, hands running through her hair roughly. Barba watched her from the loveseat, trying to not get riled up himself.

“Hermosa, calm down. We’ve dealt with this before. It’s not that big of a deal,” he started slowly.

Devon whipped to look at him. “Not a big deal? Rafa, someone left a threatening note on your desk! They had access to your desk, your office. What if I’m not there? It’s not like before; I’m not around you 24/7 anymore, I can’t—”

“Dev, come here,” he said, patting the cushion next to him. She looked at him, eyes hard, before she came over and plopped down next to him with a “harrumph.”

“Plenty of people can get in there. Nothing happened; I’m fine. Besides, what’s the point of getting so worked up over this?” he asked.

“Nothing happened this time!” Devon was up again, pacing continued. “I’m calling in today; I don’t care what Jenkins says, I’m not leaving your side.”

It was Barba’s turn to sigh. “Don’t you think you’re being a little over-protective? How do you know someone will attack me today? How do you know some other nutjob won’t come out of the woodworks to threaten me some other time?”

“This isn’t the first time you’ve been threatened; it won’t be the last,” Devon replied.

“So, what? You’re just going to stay by my side until someone shows up?”

“If that’s what it takes.”

Barba grabbed Devon’s wrist as she passed by him, stopping her in her pacing. She turned to look at him, expression softening when her eyes met his.

“I just…I don’t know what else to do…” she said softly. “I couldn’t live with myself if something happened….”

“Nothing’s going to happen to me,” he started, but when he saw her gearing up for a fight, he added, “stay with me today; we can talk to Liv about having a detective with me afterwards, okay?”

He was trying and that made Devon smile, tears in the corner of her eyes; she knew how much he hated being protected—babysat, as he thought of it. “That would be perfect. I could track down whoever did this; maybe send a message to the NYPD to back off. But does SVU have the people to spare with Amaro gone?”

Barba smiled sarcastically. “They got a new Sergeant; Mike Dodds,” Devon didn’t miss the last name—same as the Deputy Chief of SVU. “Plus, Carisi has asked to shadow me. Has he mentioned to you that he’s taking night classes at Fordham Law?”

“Only a couple hundred times,” she replied. She had met Sonny a few times now, and she wasn’t sure how much she trusted the young detective to watch Barba in her stead. But it was better than no one, she supposed; he had gotten a message to her through Jenkins about the threats against Barba…something she still had to ask him about. “Fine. You get me today, then Sonny afterwards. But, if he gets called into work, you better call me or so help me, Rafael, the NYPD won’t be your only concern.”

Office of Rafael Barba

1 Hogan Place

Friday, October 13th. 1:18pm

“Just like old times,” Devon smiled, stabbing at a piece of orange chicken. They had hidden in Barba’s office, trying to sneak a bite to eat between court appearances. Devon had noticed the officers working in the courts shooting Barba a dirty look, but they looked away when they saw the impressive glare Devon shot back, her hand resting easily on her glock, daring any of them to make a move, to say anything to the counselor. She wasn’t shy about intimidating people, especially when it came to Barba. And she wanted to send these assholes a message, which is also why she had her FBI badge also on clear display.

“I was thinking the same thing,” Barba smirking, sipping his fourth coffee of the day. The day had gone by smoothly enough, not shocking to either of them; Barba did have a point about the likelihood of receiving a threat today. But it still put Devon on edge, her normal anxieties racing through her. She hated the waiting the most; every noise, every look from a stranger, every reach for a phone, made her jump, reaching for her gun. As usual, Barba was calm, collected. It was like having someone threatening his life was just a normal Tuesday. She couldn’t wrap her head around it.

She sat up straighter in her chair, putting her food down and turning towards the door seconds before there was a knock.

“How do you do that?” Barba mumbled before calling out, “come in.”

Devon smirked as Sonny came in, shutting the door behind him.

“Hey Barba, Devon,” he greeted in his thick New York accent. Even with all the complaining Barba made about the Detective, she liked him. He was like a puppy; that was the only way Devon could describe him. She hadn’t gotten a chance to work with him often, but she liked it when it did happen.

“Hey Sonny. What’s new?” Devon asked.

“I thought I told you tomorrow,” Barba said before he could respond.

Sonny frowned at him. “Yeah, ya did. But I thought I’d sit in the gallery today. Just take some mental notes...maybe give Devon a break.”

“That’s sweet of you; you can keep me company in the gallery,” Devon replied, glaring at Barba. “Don’t be rude; you’re going to be teaching Sonny some things.” Besides, it was nice having another pair of eyes watching Barba’s back.

Barba rolled his eyes. “Right. Shadows don’t talk and they have no opinions,” he instructed the taller man. Sonny smirked, knowing that Barba was joking. Kind of.

“It’s okay, I had the same rules when I first started working with him,” Devon stage whispered behind her hand. Barba shot her a glare.

Courthouse

Friday, October 13th. 4:30pm

“Nice win,” Devon grinned, giving Barba a half-hug and a peck on the cheek in the corridor outside the courtroom. They had disclosed, and their relationship was old news, but Barba wasn’t much into PDA; he was much more into leaving marks on her in private, letting others know who she belonged to. Devon acquiesced, agreeing that it was safer for them in the long run, keeping their public touches brief; a brush of skin, a quick kiss, shared looks that lasted too long. It was especially hard when they were alone in his office, his sleeves rolled up, shirt half unbuttoned. Or the nights where he wanted to play, to see how far he could go without anyone noticing the touches he gave his girlfriend, the things he whispered in her ear.

“This was an easy one,” he replied, smirking back. Their little moment was broken when Sonny came out of the courtroom and started bombarding Barba with legal terms and maneuvers that went over Devon’s head, even with her months in the courtroom watching her boyfriend work. She resigned to looking at the crowd of people, looking for danger, her eyes stopping short on a familiar face.

“Olivia! What’re you doing here?” Devon asked, waving the newly appointed Lieutenant over.

“Hey Dev. Ah, I’m just here to pick up a warrant,” she replied, smiling at the three of them.

“No problem,” Barba said, obviously ignoring Sonny and jumping at the chance to lose the younger man. “I left it in my office.”

The four of them made their way to the doors, Devon and Barba in the lead, the SVU detectives behind them.

“Think we’ll be home for dinner tonight? Or should we just get takeout?” Devon asked, opening the door, and heading towards the stairs.

Barba thought about it. “I think I only have one trial to prep for, so it should be an early—”

“GUN!” Devon shouted. Time seemed to slow. Devon was a step below Barba, looking towards the street. A man was standing at the base of the stairs, gun raised, aimed right at Barba’s heart. As Devon shouted, she moved, shoving her body in front of his, a gunshot ringing out. A moment later, another gunshot sounded, the man dropping, a bullet hole appearing in his chest, darkness staining his shirt. Another moment passed, and Devon was collapsing in front of Barba, onto the stone steps. Instinct took over as he dropped his case, hands barely catching her head before it cracked against the stairs. He knelt down next to her, body numb, mind going blank, unsure of what the hell just happened.

Instantly, Olivia was there, ripping her jacket off and pushing it against Devon’s left shoulder, between her collar bone and armpit—Barba vaguely noticed the blood staining Devon’s shirt. Sonny was yelling into a radio, but Barba didn’t hear him, he just stared at Devon’s face. Her eyes were closed, face expressionless, skin growing paler by the second.

“No no no,” he thought, or did he say it aloud? He couldn’t be positive; all he knew was that Devon was shot. She was shot and it was protecting him, saving him. She always got hurt because of him; this was all his fault. How could he have been so selfish to have let her be there today when he knew, he knew there was a chance of this…

“10-13, officer down. I repeat, officer down. We need a bus here, now. Officer’s been shot,” Sonny kept saying it over and over again. He took one look at Olivia and Barba kneeling over the down agent, before he took off down the stairs, trying to get some sort of crowd control and get the people away from the would-be assassin.

“Stay with us, Devon. Stay with us,” Olivia was saying. She was murmuring it like a prayer, more to herself than to Devon. And still, Barba just knelt there, staring into his girlfriend’s face. She was breathing, he could see it, but for how much longer? He looked down to where Olivia’s jacket was pushed against Devon’s torso; there was so much blood. How could anyone survive after losing so much blood? It hit him then that he may lose her; that Devon may not wake up from this. And he didn’t even get a chance to say goodbye, their last conversation about dinner….

After what seemed like years—or was it a few minutes?—hands were on his shoulders, pulling him away. Barba was reluctant to let go of Devon, but he had no strength to fight them; they moved him however they pleased, shoving him gently away from her. He vaguely noticed it was paramedics, three of which were now crowded around Devon’s unmoving body. Olivia had an arm wrapped around Barba’s shoulders, though he didn’t feel it, nor did he feel Sonny’s presence behind him as they watched the medics lift Devon onto a stretcher, carry her down the stairs, then into an ambulance.

Olivia led Barba, arm still around his shoulders, to her squad car. She put him in back, Sonny taking the front seat. She flipped on her lights and followed the speeding ambulance.

Mercy Hospital

Friday, October 13th. 11:30pm

Barba sat in the waiting room, elbows on his knees, chin resting on his hands. He stared at the same spot on the floor that he had since they arrived hours ago. Olivia sat next to him, only leaving to inform the SVU detectives and FBI agents that appeared in support of Devon on her condition, and to grab a coffee or snacks. She long since gave up trying to give Barba either, or even talk to the man; he had shut down, going so deep inside himself that no one could reach him. People came over and mumbled condolences, or attempted to assure him how strong Devon was, but to no avail. They might as well be talking to a brick wall.

“The bullet nicked her brachial artery; she was lucky she didn’t bleed out on the courthouse steps,” Olivia informed Fin when he arrived. “It then ricocheted into a rib, causing it to splinter. She’s still in surgery; she lost a lot of blood on the steps. They had to do three transfusions, and they had to get the bone fragments out. As long as the bleeding stops, she should be fine.”

All of this went in one ear and out the other for Barba. He kept replaying their last conversation in his mind; Devon’s smile, thinking about dinner that night, happy to just spend the day together before she went back to work.

He thought about the first time they met, in that cop bar, how she had saved him in that dark alley. He thought about how she protected him at Jordan’s coffee stand, so intent on neutralizing the Olivera brothers that she didn’t notice she had been stabbed. He thought about the conviction in her eyes when she had shot Marco Sorrel, then the pain when he had yelled at her for it. He thought about her calling him in the middle of the night after weeks of no contact, her voice frenzied when she had heard about how he was threatened. She always worried about him, always wanted to protect him. Of course, he had always worried about her, too, especially with her job. Every time she kissed him goodbye, leaving to go to God-knows-where, he was terrified that it would be the last time he saw her. So far, he had only gotten one phone call from her, on her way to the hospital, a bullet having grazed her. He wanted to be there for her, too, to protect her for a change. But he was an attorney, his only weapon was the law, his suits his armor. How could he ever hope to protect her?

By not getting yourself involved in shit like this, he thought to himself, cursing himself for his stupidity. It was true that the DA’s office had forced this case upon him, but he didn’t balk from it, didn’t even attempt to turn it down. Quite the opposite, he wanted this case, because he knew he could secure the indictment, get the conviction. And the officers involved did deserve it; they deserved to be brought to justice. But Barba knew that this would put a target on his back, he knew and yet he still went through with it. And now Devon was in surgery, a bullet in her shoulder, and who knew if she would survive? Barba had been praying to every God he could think of every moment that he sat in the uncomfortable lobby chair that she would live, that she would be alright. He closed his eyes, fighting the tears that threatened to overtake him. In his mind’s eye, he could see Devon’s soft smile, a twinkling in her brown eyes as she looked at him. But, if he looked too long, her eyes would close, the smile would vanish, and she was an expressionless corpse on the courthouse steps.

Finally, the waiting room fell silent as the head doctor walked into the opening. As if roused from a deep sleep, Barba looked up at him, peeling his chin from his hands, the skin sticking slightly. He shot to his feet, pushing past everyone as if they weren’t there, coming to stand in front of the doctor, desperate for news.

“How is she, Doctor?” Olivia asked, coming to stand behind Barba. He silently thanked her, unable to form words of his own.

The doctor looked between them both, taking his dear sweet time to answer. Barba wanted to throttle him. “Miss Motely is out of surgery and is in recovery. It was touch and go there for a moment; she coded twice on the table. But we’ve done all we can; it’s up to her now.”

Barba’s stomach dropped to his feet, his heart fluttering in his chest. Devon died? Twice? He felt like his legs were going to give out any moment.

“Can I see her?” he whispered, voice barely audible. His throat was tight from lack of use, mouth dry.

“Not yet. Once she wakes up, then she can have visitors. Only one at a time, though,” the doctor informed him before turning and heading off to whatever else he needed to do.

Olivia must have sensed Barba’s legs giving out, because she wrapped his arm around her neck, helping walk him over to an unoccupied chair.

“She’s going to be okay, Rafa,” she whispered to him, squeezing his shoulder in support. He simply nodded, withdrawing back into himself, finding a new spot on the floor to stare at. She coded twice on the table, the doctor’s voice echoed in his head. Barba closed his eyes, one tear slipping down his cheek.

Mercy Hospital

Saturday, October 14th. 5:05am

Most of the SVU and FBI personnel left late the night before, after hearing the doctor’s words, asking to be kept informed on Devon’s condition. They would have stayed, but most had work the next day. Plus, they also heard the doctor say that only one person at a time could visit with Devon, and they knew that that time would be taken up by her boyfriend and close friends. Olivia was going to stay, but Sonny eventually convinced her to leave, citing that she had a child at home to take care of, and that he’d call her the moment Devon woke up. Besides, Sonny had the time; he was the one who shot the man that shot Devon, so he was off work while IAB investigated. Though, Tucker had already all but assured him that he would be cleared; there was enough witnesses to the shooting to know that Sonny had made a good shoot, even with the previous pressure from the public about police brutality. So, Barba and Sonny were left in the waiting room. Sonny had left at some point, but came right back, laptop and textbooks in hand.

“Might as well do homework,” he joked to Barba who made no inclination that he heard. Barba was still staring at the floor. Sonny wasn’t sure if the man had even blinked. He knew that he needed to break Barba out of his withdraw, but he had been unsuccessful. He tried asking the most obvious questions about law, quoted things incorrectly, even tried to justify the Ted Bundy murders. But nothing made the ADA so much as glance at the detective. He soon gave up, resigning to do his work in silence. He couldn’t imagine what the older man must be feeling. He sent a silent prayer for Devon, then turned his focus to the upcoming bar exam.

Barba had decided to distract his mind from that sentence—she coded twice on the table—by trying to bring up every detail about Devon he could think of. He started with physical, the way she flipped her hair over her shoulder when she laughed, the way her eyes lit up when she was being mischievous, the way she tapped her fingers against her leg when she was nervous. He loved the way she bit her bottom lip when she was waiting for him to answer her. He loved the way she scrunched up her nose when he made a bad joke. He loved the way she dragged her nails over his skin when they were in the bedroom together, loved the way she sighed contently when he pulled her in for a deep kiss.

He thought about how often she worked, even on her days off. How many times they had been relaxing on the couch, only for her to answer Olivia’s call, or the rare call from Jenkins. He thought about the few times he overheard her talking to victims, whether on the phone or in the precinct. There were even a few times she helped talk to witnesses he had to prep from trial. Hell, even when they went for a walk in the park, she’d help someone whose dog had gotten loose, or gave money to a homeless person, or helped an elderly lady across the street….

I can’t live without her, he realized suddenly. But God, wasn’t that the most selfish thought he ever had? She got stabbed because of him, lost sleep because of him, was shot and died twice during surgery because of him; how the hell could he possibly be thinking of himself at a time like this?

“Mr. Barba?” a nurse called from the entryway. His head snapped up, eyes locking on the woman. “Miss Motely is awake and asking for you.” He hesitated for the briefest of moments, before Barba abandoned the chair, almost rushing past the nurse in his hurry to get to her room, to see Devon, to make sure she was still alive, selfish or not.

Mercy Hospital

Saturday, October 14th. 6:00am

Devon had her eyes closed, though she was awake, alert—well, as alert as she could be with the amount of morphine pumping through her system. It was enough that she didn’t really feel any pain; her mind was floating a little, and she found it hard to focus. She slowly opened her eyes, though, when she heard the door to her room open, Rafael Barba peeking in. She smiled sheepishly, as if she had been caught doing something embarrassing.

“Hey,” she whispered, the loudest she could be, really. She felt weak, tired. Not shocking all things considered. She didn’t remember much, though; she remembered a man at the bottom of the stairs, him aiming a gun at Barba, a pain in her shoulder—

“Hey,” he croaked out, voice not much louder than hers. He came into her room fully, closing the door behind him. He pulled the visitor chair closer to her bed, then sat down gently, eyes never leaving her face. That was when the tears formed, making Barba’s green eyes brighter. He reached out and enveloped her pale hand in his big, warm one, and squeezed her gently.

“I’m okay,” she whispered, tears now stinging her eyes. “I’m okay.”

He smiled, relief evident in his face, as well as a fear that Devon could disappear any moment. “I almost lost you,” he murmured, tears really falling now, on both of their faces.

“But you didn’t.”

They sat like that for what seemed like forever, holding hands, staring into each other’s eyes, silently crying in relief that they were still here, still together.

“This is all my fault—”

Devon cut him off, “don’t you dare blame yourself for this, Rafael. It’s not your fault some bastard tried to shoot you.”

He sniffled. “But it is. I knew that taking that case could result in that, in this. And I let you come to the office today, to-to protect me—”

“You didn’t let me do anything. I took the day off willingly. I went to your office with the intention of protecting you. And I did exactly that; you’re safe, you’re okay. That’s all I ever want, Rafi, is for you to just be safe….”

Barba sat there, staring at his lover’s face, trying to look for anything, for the smallest sign that she was lying, that she really hated him, blamed him for this. But all he found was love in her eyes; love and a profound relief that he was okay. He squeezed her hand tighter, and she flipped hers over, interlacing their fingers and squeezing him back.

“So, about dinner…” Devon started, trying to break the tension.

Barba chuckled, shaking his head. He wiped his face, taking a deep, shuddering breath. “I think you’re stuck with shitty hospital food for a while, Cariño.”

“Ugh,” she said, leaning her head back on the pillows in mock exasperation. “Sneak me in some good food?”

“I’ll try, mi amor,” he raised her hand to his lips, kissing the back of it gently, his heart full.

Devon gave him one of her sweet smiles, and he swore he melted right then. How could he ever have lived without her? He silently thanked every God he could think of for not taking his love from him, not yet.

“At least there’s one good thing about all of this,” Devon said.

Barba furrowed his brow. “Please enlighten me, because I think this is possibly the worst thing to ever happen.”

Devon nodded. “True, it’s not…great. But I will be able to spend more time at home for a while. At least half a year, probably longer.”

“And you, of all people, are okay with that?”

It was true; Devon had trouble staying still. Even on her days off, she was normally out doing something, dropping by SVU or Barba’s office. The only time she was content with staying home was on the rare occasion that they both had a day off.

“I mean, I’m going to have to be. Besides paperwork, there’s not much I can do with a bullet hole in my shoulder and a reconstructed rib. No field work for a bit,” she replied.

Barba nodded; he knew she was going to be a homebody for a while. Which was fine with him. As much as they both supported each other, pushed each other in their careers, he was always afraid when she went out that door; afraid that she wouldn’t come back. He wouldn’t ever admit it, but he was glad she’d be safe at home, even if she went mad with boredom.

“We’ll have to find something for you to do. Maybe you can help me with trials or help SVU with something, like consultations…we’ll talk to Liv about it,” he suggested.

“And besides, now I can be around to protect you,” she joked, grinning. But her smile faded as she saw the pain flicker across Barba’s face.

“You’re not working. Not for a while,” he ordered in a tone that said that she would not be able to argue against it. At least, not anytime soon.

Devon agreed begrudgingly, and Barba stood, making up his mind. “I’m going to go grab a coffee, call Liv and let Carisi visit, if you’re up for it? I’ll be back in right after.” Devon agreed again, and Barba left, giving her a gentle kiss on the forehead. He was reluctant to leave her, but he knew that others would want to visit, too.

Sonny was relieved to see some of the life coming back into the counselor as he re-entered the lobby. “You’re up,” he told the detective. Once Sonny headed down the hallway, Barba called Olivia.

“Hey, Liv. Devon’s awake; you can come visit her. But first, I need you to pick something up from my loft.”

Mercy Hospital

Saturday, October 14th. 3:30pm

Sonny didn’t visit long—he started with a reenactment of the shooting, then into a spiel about how everyone was happy Devon was okay, and ended with needing to study for an exam—and Olivia showed up at the tail end of it. She handed Barba the thing that he had asked for, which he tucked into the inner jacket pocket of his suit. She then made her way to Devon’s room. This visit lasted longer, ending around lunchtime. When Olivia came out, she told Barba, to his dismay, that Devon had fallen asleep.

“She needs her rest to recover fully,” Liv explained. He knew that already, but his skin was on fire, his heart pounding, wanting to see her again. It was a different kind of buzzing than before; he knew she was alive, that she was going to be okay. Now, he just wanted to see her, talk to her. If Devon coding twice on the operating table showed him anything, it was that life was short, and that he needed to speak his mind sooner rather than later, selfish or not.

He waited a few hours until he couldn’t wait any longer. He got up from the waiting room chair and made his way to her room. He cracked open the door as quietly as he could, shuffling in and closing it softly behind him. Devon was still laying in the bed, dozing softly, chest rising and lowering slowly. The only sounds in the room were the whirling and buzzing of the machinery checking her vitals and the lights softly humming above them.

Barba sat in the chair by her bed, watching her sleep. Devon’s face had regained some of its color since waking up that morning—something about hospital beds made people look much paler than they were--but he was glad to see a rosy-ness in her cheeks that wasn’t there before. Her thick brown hair was a mess around her. Her eyes were fluttering lightly, as if dreaming, her mouth slightly ajar, a thin line of drool at the corner of her mouth. Barba could watch her sleeping forever, even with the nervous buzzing in his mind; she looked so peaceful, so relaxed. The only thing out of place was the hospital sheets and pillow, not their bed, their pillows. Plus, her left arm in the bright blue sling, bruise already forming from the surgery, peeking out from the neck of her gown. He was hoping that she didn’t have to stay here too long, that he could take her home soon, dote on her in the comfort of their own place. He was definitely taking time off, no matter what McCoy said.

He sat there, listening to the soft sounds of her breathing for about an hour, his nerves ebbing away, feeling fully at peace listening to the music of her asleep, watching her chest rise and fall softly, a stark reminder that she was here, that she was alive. Finally, her eyelids fluttered before fully opening.

“Morning,” she said groggily, yawning. She raised her right arm above her head, stretching, then attempted to scoot her butt back, sitting up.

“Afternoon,” he replied back, smiling.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to fall asleep—I wanted to see you again—”

Barba held up a hand. “No need to apologize. Sleep is good. You should do it more. I’ve been telling you that for almost two years now.”

“Oh god, it has been two years, hasn’t it?” she grinned, smacking her forehead. Indeed, in three months, it would be two years since they met in a dingy bar. They had been dating for a year and a half. It somehow seemed like they had always been together, but also like they were still in the beginning stages. They had never left the “honeymoon” stage, Devon supposed; they were still very much infatuated with each other. She wasn’t sure if that was a testament to how deeply they cared for each other, or with how little they actually saw each other; out of the year and a half, they may have actually spent about a year together. Even so, Devon couldn’t imagine spending her time with anyone else.

Barba chuckled, but then his face changed. His eyes were sparkling, those piercing green eyes locked with hers. His grin faded, but he still looked happy, content. Devon furrowed her brow; she’d never seen this look before, wasn’t quite sure what to make of it. There was a familiarity in it, some sort of barely suppressed excitement which only confused Devon more. He put his hand on the bed next to hers, palm up; a silent question. Devon instantly moved her hand into his and he closed his around hers, his thumb tracing patterns over the back of her hand.

“I love you, Devon,” he started, voice soft, but strong. Unwavering, confident, as if he were born to say them. “Yesterday, I thought that I had all the time in the world to tell you, to show you how much I loved you, in every sense of the word. Then, I learned that that was a foolish thought, something that I should—both of us—should know, should expect in our professions. So, instead of painstakingly planning for the perfect moment, something I’ve been doing for months, by the way, I’m just going to do this now.”

Speech finished, Barba scooted out of the chair, dropping to one knee beside her. Tears sprung instantly to Devon’s eyes. “Are you kidding me?” she breathed out.

Barba chuckled, eyes sparkling in the hospital lights. “Far from it.” He reached into his jacket pocket with his free hand, pulling out a long, thin black box. He took his hand back from her grip, opening the box, and Devon gasped. Inside, nestled in red velvet, was a silver dagger, the hilt intricately carved with little roses, small gemstones laid in between the petals. It wasn’t a dagger for use, simply for show. An engagement dagger.

“Devon Motely, I can’t imagine my life without you; these past 24 hours have proven as much to me. There’s no better time to ask in my mind than right here, right now; will you marry me?” Barba asked, eyes searching hers. If he was going to be a selfish bastard, then fuck it, he was going to go full selfish.

Her hand was shaking as she laid there in shock, a smile already tugging at her lips. “Yes. Of course, I will. Do you even need to ask?”

The smile that broke across Barba’s face could provide light for the whole city. “Well, that’s generally how it works,” he replied. She smacked his arm with her free hand.

“Shut up and kiss me,” she said, grabbing at his collar. He chuckled, getting off the hard tile and leaning over her for a kiss. Devon felt all the love and affection that they shared for each other in that kiss. Her heart soared, head dizzy, unable to believe that she was going to be able to spend the rest of her life with him.

“I cannot believe you found an engagement dagger,” she murmured against his lips.

He pulled back, collapsing into the chair and reclosing the box, tucking it back in his jacket for safe keeping. He still had the goofy grin on his face; he didn’t think it was going away anytime soon. “I actually found a small Rajput shop; turns out engagement daggers are still sometimes used in their culture.”

Devon had a matching grin. Devon Barba, she thought, liking the sound of it. She loved that he remembered such a little detail she said over a year ago; he knew she hated jewelry. Not only did rings—especially with gems—catch on things, but they were also dangerous in her job. It was like telling a perp “hey! I’m married, so if you need any leverage, just go after my loved ones!” But she also knew Barba. And, even more, she knew his mom.

“Don’t get me wrong; that dagger is gorgeous, and I absolutely love it. But Mama Barba would never accept that. Besides, I know that you’re old fashioned, too, baby,” Devon took his hand and kissed his knuckles. “After I’m released from this prison, we’ll go ring shopping, okay?”

“Are you sure? I know you hate rings, and I don’t care what mom—”

“I’m sure. And don’t you dare say you don’t care what your Mamí says!” she admonished.

Just then a nurse knocked, before coming in. She started checking Devon’s vitals, which Devon was sure showed a higher heart rate, seeing as she was still soaring. She was engaged! She looked at her fiancé—fiancé—and grinned. She realized that she was going to be able to wake up next to that face every morning, see it every day, lay next to it every night. She made up her mind then and there. She was going to retire from the Bureau. She refused to put her future husband through this kind of pain and torture ever again. And while she didn’t get this particular wound while working for the Bureau, it wasn’t a long shot from what could happen while undercover. What’s has happened a couple times since they started dating, even, though maybe not as severely. She didn’t know what she was going to do yet, but she didn’t care; as long as she got to spend the rest of her life with Rafael Barba, she felt like she could do anything.

[crystaljins]

Take a chance. | 07 FINAL

Characters: Jungkook x Reader

Word count: 14.1K

Synopsis:   You should have known the second your business partner asked you to plan his best friend’s wedding as a favour that it was going to be nothing but trouble. Especially when it turns out he’s in love with said best friend. And dying of a deadly disease because of it.

Hanahaki!au

Notes: Finales. Don’t we love them? It’s been a long journey with these two and hopefully this finishes on a note that we all feel is enough <3 Thank you guys for all the love and support you’ve shown me. I’ve been going through a really difficult and busy period of my life these past few months and I’m so grateful that you guys have loved and supported this story so much. I actually think it’s one of my most popular fics to date, and it’s definitely my biggest one. I’m so sad to see these guys go, but hopefully we can see them off with a smile 

Till next time, my lovelies <3

@trumpettay​ @usuallyunlikelyfox​ @aureumjeon

Warnings: Angst. Graphic depictions of vomiting. Mentions of illness and death. Kissing.

Masterlist

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7

A thin crease forms between Namjoon’s brows as he peers at the bloodwork in front of him. Jungkook nervously twiddles his fingers as the silence between them grows. Namjoon had demanded Jungkook get a blood test when he’d turned up for his first appointment in three whole weeks that morning, and yet now he’s silent now that he has the results. Jungkook becomes vaguely aware of a persistent tapping noise and slowly realises that it’s Namjoon, nervously bouncing his leg up and down.

“I don’t understand.” Namjoon finally says. “Your condition should have declined. Look at this.” He waves the paper displaying the blood results at Jungkook “See this number? That indicates the severity of your disease, and these were your levels when you first started coming for treatment. They’re so outside of the normal range that I was considering writing a case study on you for my next conference. But then look at this number.” He flips the page and points to another, much lower number, sitting only slightly outside the numbers declaring the normal levels for a healthy person beside it. “And these are your levels now. Despite not getting treatment for three weeks, not taking a single one of the medications I prescribed you and making my sister sick!”

Ah, so that explains Namjoon’s agitation. He’s mad because of you. Jungkook winces and stares awkwardly down at where his hands rest in his lap.

“I can go to a different doctor, if that would make you feel more comfortable.” Jungkook mumbles pathetically. Namjoon stares at Jungkook and his gaze is hard and unforgiving. The silence stretches out once more, before Namjoon sighs and his expression softens.

“There’s no need for that.” He finally says. “It would be hypocritical of me to tell people not to blame themselves for feelings they can’t control and then blame you for what is happening to her. But on any note, this is fantastic news and I shouldn’t be mad. I’m sorry.”

Jungkook blinks and straightens a little, finally raising his gaze to look at Namjoon. Namjoon offers a smile.

“You’re improving without intervention, Jungkook.” Namjoon tells him warmly. “I don’t know how or why, but you may even recover completely, at this rate.”

It takes Jungkook a moment to understand what Namjoon is saying, but when he does, hope springs into his chest. But then he slumps back down defeatedly.

“I thought the only way I could be cured is by hypnotherapy. That’s what all the other doctors told me.” He responds dully. He stares down at his hands- thanks to his illness, his circulation is always poor, and the tips of his fingers are always tinged a little bluish as a result. Today, oddly, they look a little pinker, a little healthier. And his skin doesn’t seem to have that awful translucent sheen that he’s always worried is a dead giveaway that he’s very, very sick. Namjoon nods, straightening out the papers with Jungkook’s blood results printed on them and laying them beside the keyboard resting on his desk.

“That’s the case in 95% of cases like yours.” Namjoon agrees. “With levels as high as yours were, and symptoms as severe, most doctors would recommend hypnotherapy. But it’s not the only way- there are plenty of things which proven to be just as effective as hypnotherapy. They just take much longer. I firmly believe that hypnotherapy should only be used as a last resort in emergency cases where the patient’s life is immediately at risk. Although, there is a lot of contention over this matter in the medical community. In my personal opinion and experience, though, the consequence of forgetting things from hypnotherapy is a huge deterrent for treatment and we lose far more patients than we should because they’re afraid of that outcome. Just like with you.”

“Then why do doctors suggest it at all?” Jungkook asks, feeling a little victimised. “I might have done things differently if I’d had another choice.”

“Would you have, though?” Namjoon asks, delicately arching and eyebrow. “Because even I was considering suggesting hypnotherapy to you. Your symptoms were so severe when you first came here that I had estimated that without any intervention you probably only had a month left in you. And don’t forget that my sister had to blackmail you into coming, even just for conservative treatment. You didn’t want to get better, Jungkook.”

Jungkook falls silent at Namjoon’s words, because they’re true. He didn’t want to get better. At least, in the past he didn’t, not really. Now, though… Your face flashes through his mind and his heart aches. Suddenly he wants to get better more than ever, and as quickly as possible.

“Though, I understand what you’re saying.” Namjoon continues. “But those doctors weren’t wrong in what they suggested. Imagine you’re a doctor, for a second, and a patient who is bleeding out through a wound in their arm comes to you. You could, in theory, wrap the wound with a compression bandage and hope that it clots before the patient bleeds out, because eventually (assuming the patient doesn’t die in the meantime), that would happen. Or, you could do surgery, instantly fix the problem and remove the risk that the patient bleeds out entirely. Which would you choose?”

“Surgery, I suppose.” Jungkook answers, rubbing awkwardly at the back of his neck. Namjoon nods.

“It’s the same with the counselling and therapy method vs hypnotherapy debate. A doctor can risk you dying in the hopes that you eventually get over those feelings, which would eventually happen if you don’t die in the process. Or they can suggest hypnotherapy and remove the risk of death entirely.” Namjoon finishes explaining. “This is all redundant with your case, though, because it is the strangest presentation I have ever seen in my career.”

Jungkook feel strangely flustered at Namjoon’s declaration and ducks his head awkwardly. Namjoon tilts his head curiously as he examines Jungkook over the rim of his glasses.

“What happened in those three weeks, Jungkook?” Namjoon asks. “You’re not obligated to tell me, but to rock up after a prolonged absence and be almost cured is baffling and I’d love to hear the reason for it. Especially after what happened to my sister.”

Jungkook presses his lips together as he contemplates the answer to Namjoon’s question. What had happened? You’d gotten sick- he’d locked himself away for two weeks in response and despair. And then Seri had convinced him to finally tell everyone the truth and he’d been rejected. It had been hell and yet at the end of it all you had rocked up to his apartment with a kind heart and warm dinner and now it all feels like a distant nightmare that happened to someone else.

“I got rejected. By Minah.” Is the simple recount Jungkook gives. Namjoon’s jaw drops.

“And you’re alive? After confessing to her?” Namjoon asks incredulously. Jungkook nods.

“Kind of. Seri convinced me to tell Taehyung and Minah about my illness.” He explains. “She told me the best thing to do was come clean and then I’d feel much better.”

Namjoon gapes incredulously for one moment longer before shaking his head in disbelief.

“I mean, I can’t say I’d have suggested the same thing given the risks involved, but I guess she doesn’t have a medical licence that can get suspended.” He sighs. He glances up at Jungkook. “We generally don’t recommend patients confess their feelings without the assistance and support of their doctor because it’s a high-risk action to take.” Namjoon admits. “But good on you for being brave. I just don’t understand how getting rejected could lead to an improvement, unless…” He trails away, and his gaze drops to a photo frame on his desk. It faces away from Jungkook, but he’s seen it before- it’s a photo of you, Namjoon and your mother, posing for a picture together. “Have you… have you spoken to (Y/N) at all?” Namjoon asks curiously. Something about the tone of Namjoon’s voice makes Jungkook’s cheeks feel hot and he quickly averts his gaze.

“Yeah. She made me dinner, the other night.” He admits with an awkward cough. He hadn’t planned on bringing up the dinner to Namjoon, or any of the resulting revelations that followed, considering Namjoon would probably not approve of such selfish and inappropriate thoughts towards his beloved younger sister. However, Namjoon doesn’t react with anger, like Jungkook had supposed he might. Instead his dimples make a surprise appearance as Namjoon holds back a sudden smile.

“I see.” Is the simple answer he offers, before glancing at the clock. “Well, we’re out of time here. Make sure to keep taking the meds I prescribed you because your blood results aren’t back to normal, yet which means you’re not quite in the clear. And I have homework for you, before the next session- completely optional and unrelated to your recovery, though.”

Jungkook gets to his feet and grabs his hoodie which is slung over the back of his chair as he awaits Namjoon’s homework.

“My sister helped you, when you were sick. She did that whole ‘help-you-get-over-Minah’ thing. I want you to do the same for her.” Namjoon says. “As in… you’ve had Hanahaki for a while, and she’s not coping well with it. I’d really like if you showed her some of the ways you’ve been coping with it over the past year, to help her.”

Jungkook pauses to consider his answer. He does owe you that much, at least- he’d go so far as to say he owes you so much more than just help with coping with your illness. If he’s really improved as much as Namjoon seems to think he has, then he owes you his life. So, it’s no hardship at all, to take on such a task.

Nor is he… exactly… opposed to spending more time with you. He offers Namjoon a warm smile.

“Sure thing.” He says. Namjoon grins and hands Jungkook a piece of paper. Jungkook squints at it.

“Coping with Hanahaki can be hard- there are a lot of painful symptoms of the disease that are difficult to manage with medication. Here are some suggestions of things you can try at home if you’re feeling unwell after an episode.”

“Here are some of the things we recommend patients trying at home, to manage their condition.” Namjoon explains. Jungkook abruptly grins- already ideas on how to go about this are starting to form in his head. “Maybe it’ll give you some ideas on how to help her.”

++

You aren’t expecting a lot of hubbub when you return to work after two weeks leave. Yes, your departure had been catastrophically dramatic, but you had assumed the time away was enough for things to cool down. You’ve certainly had time to process and calm down after the emotional turmoil you had unexpectedly been launched into. That had been your aim in taking time off, anyway- to just process things and let the simmering tension slowly dissipate. Yet, when stepping into the office that morning, you are completely caught off-guard by the way Seokjin practically tackles you. You feel you may rupture a lung- he really seems to be doing his best to squeeze as much air from you as he can.

“Welcome back!” He cries, and it sounds alarmingly close to a sob. When he pulls away, his eyes are moist and you feel an odd wave of fondness.

“Thank you, Jin.” You say warmly, referring to him by his chosen nickname, the one that he insists everyone call him. You have always avoided it in the interest of maintaining professionalism, much to his displeasure. It has the desired effect- his entire face lights up like he’s just won the lottery and a gigantic grin splits his face.

Seri’s greeting is more subdued, but no less warm. She merely asks her clients on the phone to hold for a moment while she offers you a beam, before returning to her work, exactly as you would expect her to. It’s an appreciated reaction, and the reaction you had desired and expected when finally returning.

Oddly, Jungkook’s reaction is the most dramatic, though he does not tackle you like Seokjin did. Instead, right as you are about to take your lunch break, he deposits a rather large picnic basket on your desk. You peer at it curiously before allowed your gaze to flicker up to your business partner. He’s staring determinedly at the ceiling like he will turn to stone if he meets your gaze, and rather than offer you a verbal explanation, he shoves a piece of paper into your face.

You curiously scan the contents and find it is one of the information pamphlets your brother likes to give out to first-time Hanahaki patients. You have no idea why he’s giving you this, or why he’s dumped a picnic basket onto your desk until your gaze lands on the first thing on the list of methods for managing the disease at home:

“1. Sunshine.

Many patients complain about low body temperatures and poor circulation when suffering from the disease. Sunlight (although make sure to always use sun protection!) has been proven to strengthen the body’s immune response to Hanahaki and improve energy levels in patients. If you’ve had a bad episode, try going for a walk or sitting out in the sun for a while, as this can help with the low body temperature and has numerous other health benefits.”

“I… I figured we could kill two birds with one stone.” Jungkook offers, surprisingly shyly. You stare at him in bewilderment, before peeking under the lid of the picnic basket- various containers of food sit within it. “Celebrate your return to the office and get some sunshine- to help manage your symptoms.”

Inside, your heart leaps at his suggestion. Despite everything, you still want to spend time with him, as pathetic as that is. But you are quick to school your features and scold your stubborn heart by employing cold, hard reason: You can spend all the time managing the disease in the world, but spending more time with the cause, and feeding yourself with the hope that he’ll move on from Minah and turn to you is just climbing deeper into the depths of Hanahaki. You purse your lips together.

“I don’t think this is what’s best for us, Jungkook.” You say softly. “I… you know why I have these symptoms, and you know better than anybody that spending more time with you could make them worse. If you want us to go back to what we were, then we should probably avoid spending unnecessary time with each other.”

Jungkook pulls a face rather like a kicked puppy and deflates just a little. But then he straightens with renewed determination, striding around the table and crouching before you. He grasps one of your hands between both of his and tugs it towards him. His expression is pleading.

“Let me help you.” He begs. “You’re important to me- I don’t want to see you in pain. I know, better than anyone else, how painful this can be, but I also know how best to cope with it. And this isn’t coming from a place of responsibility or a desire to get rid of your feelings, by the way, because I know you’re gonna refuse if it is. I want to do this because I want to spend time with you, and I want you to be happy and comfortable while I do. So please. Will you let me do for you what you did for me?”

You stare at him for a long moment, searching for any hint of that dreaded tendency of his to try and take responsibility for everyone else’s hardship. The last thing you want is for him to be going out of his way to spend time with you because of a sense of duty or obligation. But all you see in his gaze is sincerity. The look in his rounded, innocent eyes is warm and open and you feel your willpower crumbling beneath the weight of his pleas.

“Fine.” You agree, hoping you don’t come to regret this decision.

A short while later, you find yourself hovering awkwardly while Jungkook carefully lays out the contents of the picnic basket across the picnic blanket he brought with him. The park he’s brought you to is only a five-minute walk from the office, and since it’s a weekday, it’s absent of the usual sight of screaming children or dogs bounding down the pavement. Instead, a few office workers loiter around, enjoying the sunshine on their lunch break. Jungkook finishes laying down the last of his carefully prepared containers gleefully, before tugging you over by the hand and pressing down on your shoulders until you are forced to take a seat on the blanket. He stretches languorously beside you, leaning back on his elbows and squeezing his eyes shut as he soaks in the sunlight.

You hesitantly settle beside him, cross-legged. You squeeze your eyes to enjoy the warmth of the sun against your skin. You hadn’t realised how cold you were until this moment- a shiver, unbidden, wracks your body. Jungkook shoots up in the next moment, having felt the way you shuddered. His eyes are wide.

“Are you cold?” He demands, as if it’s a crime to be cold. You roll your eyes and are about to answer no, but he scrambles into a sitting position and yanks off his suit jacket. Before you can say a word of protest, he’s draping it carefully over your shoulders. The gentle, thoughtful action renders you speechless for a moment, and you’re stuck breathing in the scent of his cologne for the moment. The suit jacket is surprisingly heavy- your shoulders refuse to rise in a breath.

“A-aren’t you cold?” You mumble shyly, looking away. “You have Hanahaki too. You shouldn’t be giving up your jacket.”

Jungkook merely smiles, and wraps his hands around your cold fingers, which rest awkwardly in your lap, and to your surprise, his fingers are warm.

“I think I’ll be fine.” Is all he says, before turning away to pluck a grape from one of the containers.

Silence stretches beneath you for the next few moments, as you are at a lost of what to say, and you decide to focus on eating. It saves you the trouble of trying to find something to talk about, because suddenly it feels like too much strength to fill that silence. That’s why it surprises you when Jungkook starts talking.

“Be honest.” He says suddenly, adjusting his position and moving suddenly to rest his head in your lap. You almost flinch in surprise, but you don’t pull away or address it. He smiles, though it’s difficult to tell if the smile is at your lack of protest, or because of what he says next. “Do you prefer smooth or crunchy peanut butter? Because I used smooth, but I personally prefer crunchy. You just strike me as a smooth peanut butter kind of gal.” He admits.

“Actually, I’m allergic to peanuts.” You volunteer awkwardly. His eyes fly open in horror and his expression is so comical you burst out laughing. “Joking! Jokes. I’m not allergic.”

He stares at you incredulously for a long moment before shaking his head.

“I didn’t know you knew how to make jokes.” He comments seriously, but then he smiles. “You know, peanut allergies aren’t something to mess around with. I could have accidentally killed you.”

“It was in poor taste.” You agree with a frown. “I’m sorry- I don’t know what came over me.”

To your surprise, Jungkook merely laughs.

“There’s the (Y/N) I know and love.” He says seriously. “Wouldn’t know a joke if it hit her in the face.”

He doesn’t seem to notice his slip, or the way you fall abruptly silent at his words. You know he doesn’t mean it, at least not in the way you want him to mean it but for some reason your heart still flutters strangely at the words. You swallow awkwardly and if he notices the way your answers to his continued stream of conversation are weirdly stiff for the rest of your lunch hour, he doesn’t comment on it.

You don’t vomit any petals that night.

++

After the picnic, Jungkook doesn’t get another chance for a while to check in on your disease. A whole month passes without the two of you being able to chat properly about it. Suddenly everything with the wedding hits what you often refer to as the “go” period. Wedding planning often starts off slow, with couples taking their time to decide what they want and sort their new lives together. But once a date is set, often things become suddenly fast-paced- with deadlines come people who are unable to meet them, comes pressure, comes stress for the bride and groom. Of course, you are used to the stress of the “go” period, since it is a major part of your job, and Jungkook has seen you juggle multiple weddings in the “go” period at once. This is his first one, though, and he suddenly has a newfound appreciation for the complexity and stress of your job. It’s just as well though- you seem to withdraw further into your shell after the picnic and he can’t shake the feeling that you’re distancing yourself from him.

It’s not like there’s a way he can actively do anything about the second step of the pamphlet Namjoon had given him. At least, not for a good while, until one day Seri decide it’s appropriate for all four members of the event-planning firm to go out for a company dinner. Jungkook can count on one hand the number of times he has agreed to go with his coworkers in the last five years and he actually fully intends on keeping that number low. He has to go into the office tomorrow to make some last minute adjustments for Minah’s bridal shower in two days, and it’s a mere two weeks until her actual wedding. He doesn’t have time for this kind of frivolous outing- at least, he doesn’t until he overhears Seri encouraging you to take shots with her after dinner.

Alarm bells go off in his head and the words of Namjoon’s pamphlet begin to replay loudly in Jungkook’s mind:

“2. Avoid alcohol.

Hanahaki is known to reduce oxygenation and cause increased dehydration in patients, and alcohol can exacerbate these symptoms. A small amount with the advice of your doctor should be fine, but try to avoid heavy or regular drinking as it may temporarily worsen your symptoms. Some patients have also reported increased vomiting episodes following a period of drinking, although this is rare.“

“I’ll come!” Jungkook declares urgently, interrupting your reluctant agreement to do shots with Seri. Seri stares incredulously at Jungkook and slowly the smile slides off her face and something devious and scheming replaces it.

“You want to come, Jungkook?” She asks, her voice lightly curious and completely polite but he can’t help but pick out the undercurrent of something that no doubt spells trouble for him. He almost recants his desire to come, but one look at you and he knows he’s stuck.

“I… yes.” He says, though he feels vaguely like he’s sealing his doom.

“Jungkook’s coming?” Jin cries, emerging from your office where he’s stolen your stapler, the pink on with your name and the words “KIM SEOKJIN DO NOT STEAL” printed in permanent marker across the side. Your gaze flickers to the stapler and you glare. “This calls for something big!”

“I was just thinking the same thing, Jin.” Seri agrees, looking remarkably smug, like the cat that got the cream. “I don’t think our office outfits will do, though- I’m thinking we go home, get changed, and go all out for dinner tonight- and I’m thinking we should go clubbing afterwards.”

Jin blinks, as if he hadn’t expected Seri to play along with his desire for a big night out, but then he smiles.

“Sounds great.”

An hour later, Jungkook discovers why Seri had looked so scheming when Jungkook agreed to come along, because you step into the restaurant and he almost sprays his water all over the three entrees Jin had ordered for himself. Jin barely takes notice- he doesn’t lift his gaze from where he eyes his entrées, and simply pats Jungkook on the back repeatedly while Jungkook hacks his lungs out.

“They look delicious.” Jin comments, and Jungkook almost agrees until he realises that Jin is commenting on his food, and not the way you look tonight. Good thing he catches himself in time before he can embarrass himself. Seri is similarly dressed up, with her long sleek hair pulled into a high ponytail and an off-the-shoulder figure hugging dress and she looks beautiful, but she doesn’t make his heart skip a beat the way your appearance is currently doing.

You take your seat opposite Jungkook, oblivious to the way his lungs seem to have gone on strike with your proximity. You look so pretty. You’re always pretty, in personality and in looks but in that moment he could almost picture what being on a date with you would be like. He thinks that he would like it, probably. He’d like the way you’d almost definitely put a lot of effort in because you care about things like that and he’d like the way your face would light up when he tok you to a nice restaurant like this one because you like being pampered and he’d like the way his hand would look wrapped around yours while resting against the deep red of your dress when he eventually plucked up the courage to tug his seat next to your and grab your hand. But this is all hypothetical- he knows he’s not ready for that, not yet. Still…

“You look… amazing.” Jungkook comments softly. You look up, surprised, and then a shy smile that makes his heart ache crosses your face.

“Thank you.” You respond, unable to meet his gaze and the response is so endearing he feels like he’s melting. “Seri picked out my outfit.”

You’re welcome. Seri mouths at him, but he is unable to respond or thank her before the waitress is interrupting you to ask for your orders. The night almost goes smoothly from there- Jungkook almost forgets to order because he’s focusing on the way your hair curls softly against your exposed neck and the waitress has to refill his water every few minutes cause he can’t seem to dispel the sudden dryness to his throat and the longer he looks at you the worse it gets.

Finally, the part of the evening that he’s been dreading arrives- Seri leads the three of you confidently through the streets towards a club she had frequented a lot before landing a steady job. Jungkook himself used to frequent the club scene in his early twenties but he hasn’t been to one since the strange night where you had been trying to help him. Sudden anxiety seizes him at the recall of that night when he remembers how quick strangers had been to flock to you- what if that happens again tonight, where you somehow look even more beautiful?

He grasps your wrist right before you enter the club and leans in close to you. Seri and Jin walk ahead of you.

“You’re not going to drink tonight, are you?” He asks softly. You turn your head slightly to meet his gaze and he feels a little dizzy with the way all of your attention is suddenly focused on him and he wishes it could stay that way all night but he knows it’s a selfish thought and since he’s still technically suffering from Hanahaki he doesn’t voice the request aloud.

“Why wouldn’t I?” You answer, puzzled. “It’s a Friday night and work has been stressful.”

He didn’t expect you to protest.

“It’s not good for your Hanahaki.” He tries to explain. You roll your eyes.

“That’s not your problem, Jungkook.” Is all you tell him before he loses his grip on you and is separated from you in the sudden rush of the crowd. He tries to call out, but his voice is lost amidst the pounding music, and he’s left standing pathetically by himself in the entrance corridor.

It doesn’t take him long to find you again- you wait at the bar and happen to meet his gaze when he finally fights his way through the crowd of people. You watch him for a moment, before offering a chilling smile and then before his eyes you down a shot of something clear and probably alcoholic. Jungkook’s eyes go wide and he manages to force his way to your side.

“What the heck, (Y/N)!” He cries. “I didn’t say that as a joke- the pamphlet says that you shouldn’t be drinking with your condition-“

“Forget about the stupid pamphlet.” You say dismissively. “It’s not like it’ll cure me- it’s supposed to ‘temporarily alleviate my symptoms’.” You mock. Then your gaze softens, and you gently grasp his hand between yours. You tug him forward and lead him to a quieter area of the club where it’s actually possible to have a normal conversation. “Jungkook. I really, really appreciate what you’re trying to do. I do. And I know it’s coming from a good place, but with everything that’s been happening lately, I just want to let loose on a Friday night with my friends. I’m an adult and I’m well aware of the consequences of my actions. I just want one night, where I don’t have to worry about my illness, or yours, or the wedding, or anyone’s wedding. Can you do that for me?”

He opens his mouth to protest, to stop you, but nothing comes out. Instead his heart pulses painfully in his chest at the way you’ve opened up. You actually haven’t share how hard things have been for you probably since agreeing to plan the wedding. Instead it’s been all about him- how can you care for him, how can you be there for him, what can you do to keep Minah and Taehyung from finding out? Even after you’d vomited that petal, the first time you saw him again had been to comfort him. And he really, really likes that about you, how selfless you can be, how you don’t even ask him to consider you, but it also scares him. Because what you deserve is actually the opposite of what he has been for you- for someone who loves you so much they wouldn’t think twice about putting you first, even above their own comfort. And he wants to be that person, suddenly. Not because he thinks he’s selfish, or because of the self-loathing that has motivated him in everything up until now. So he swallows his unease and offers you a weak smile.

“Ok.” He agrees. “But if things get out of hand, I’m taking you home, ok?”

“That just means I can go all out.” You tell him dismissively. “Cause you’re gonna take care of me, right?”

He feels like his heart is melting beneath the hot, molten lava that has suddenly filled his ribcage.

“I… yeah. Ok.” He agrees stupidly, and you grin at him.

Seri appears in the next moment to drag you off to do more shots and Jungkook actually makes it through most of the night without regretting his decision to trust you to make responsible choices. At least not until the shots start hitting and then maybe he thinks that maybe you really aren’t making the wisest decisions tonight. He watches you, Seri and Jin get progressively drunker throughout the night and winces as your antics get steadily more embarrassing and cringey. With a remarkable amount of patience, it isn’t until you and Jin begin dancing together quite inappropriately the Jungkook thinks you’ve had too much.

“Remember our earlier agreement?” He asks- prying you off Jin is rather like peeling a slug off a window. He swallows back the bile rising in the back of his throat and tugs you backwards until you flop weakly into his arms.

“Jung- hic- Jungkook!” You cry drunkenly. You then whirl around and wrap your arounds around his neck. Your hips start swivelling in a way that is both incredibly distracting and incredibly embarrassing. He knows you’re going to be thrilled in the morning when you wake up and recall that not just one of your co-workers, but all three (because he had witnessed you and Seri dancing together earlier in the night) now have first hand experience on your most embarrassing club moves. “Dance with me!” You plea, but he plants his hands on your hips to stop their workplace-inappropriate swaying and grimaces at you.

“You’re going to love reliving this when I remind you in the morning.” He says with a smile. “But in the meantime, how about we go home?”

You nod placidly and allow him to lead you out of the club. He calls an uber to take the two of you home since he’d taken public transport to get to the restaurant, and you fall asleep on the drive home. Your head lolls against his shoulder and he doesn’t pull away because the weight is comforting. He bites back a smile as he examines the way your lashes fan against the apples of your cheeks and the way your lipstick is smeared slightly on your bottom lip. Somehow, he finds it endearing- you’re always so put together and guarded, determined to take care of every person in the room but yourself, and he likes that you’re suddenly vulnerable with him. Even this, getting drunk knowing he’d be the one to drag you home, falling asleep against his shoulder- they’re all acts of trust that are infinitely precious and once more he is confronted with a sense of a growing feeling he’s been unwilling to name thus far. The same one that had prompted him to think in his living room that night that he doesn’t want you to move on without him.

He knows what you’d think, if you knew about this warm, unfurling feeling in his chest. Just a few short months ago he’d been willing to die for the sake of Minah’s happiness. And he’d only told Taehyung and Minah the truth a month ago- that’s such a short amount of time. But really, when he thinks about it, he knows these feelings go back further than just the short month since being rejected. No- if he thinks about it really hard, his feelings for you are like a tree. A pathetic sprout, planted all the way back to when you first agreed to take a chance on the random guy at the bar and start a business together. It has been growing steadily without him even noticing. And now he looks, and there’s an oak tree. He’s not sure when it grew to be that big or that intense but now when he looks, it’s all he can see. But that’s way too much, way too soon after Minah and so he does what he’s been continuing to do every time he’s confronted with how he feels about you- he pushes it down, to deal with later. After the wedding, after he’s cured. Just… after.

You’re still very drunk by the time the uber driver gets you back to your apartment. You vomit in the toilet bowl once you’re safely inside and it’s a sickening mixture of petals and vomit. Jungkook has to brush your teeth for you because you’re too drunk to even hold a toothbrush. The whole time you stare placidly at him and your fingers curl gently into the lapels of his coat. You obey his commands and pull silly faces while he scrubs your teeth clean. It’s a little gross but once your teeth are clean it’s more manageable. When you’re clean enough for bed and the vomit is long gone, he hoists you up with an arm around his shoulder and helps drag you towards the bedroom.

He miscalculates as he tries to lay you down because you still stubbornly cling to his coat. He stumbles awkwardly and tried to cradle the back of your head before you can bang it on a corner, but the two of you still go down. He manages to avoid crushing your abdomen with his knee by planting his knees on either sides of your hips. He catches his weight on his elbows on either side of your face and he’s focused enough of not crushing you that it takes him a moment to register your proximity. When he does, it’s like all the air rushes from his lungs in a whoosh. Your fingers, still stubborn curled into his jacket, tug him forward and in the next moment your lips are pressing softly against his.

His heart burns at the contact of your lips against his. Every rational, logical thought seems to evaporate with the warmth of your body pressed against his. Your hands continue to steadily pull him downwards by his jacket until his body slots neatly against yours. His right hand, of its own volition, slides to cup the curve of your jaw and you shudder at the sensation of his cold fingertips pressing into such a sensitive spot. Your teeth catch against his bottom lip and he can’t help but make a small noise that you quickly swallow. Jungkook pulls away just long enough to exhale shakily but you quickly tug him back in for another kiss.

He feels like there’s lightening in his veins, leaving molten trails in its path. The thought that you are drunk and may regret this in the morning quickly has him regaining his senses enough to pull away, but the damage is done. You’re drunk- it doesn’t mean anything. But he wants it to mean something. Your eyes are round and innocent as you regard him, and he’s never wanted anything more than he wants to kiss you again in that moment. He presses his forehead against yours and pants helplessly. He feels like there are two big magnets in his lips pulling him downwards and he sits up, away from you before he can do something you both might regret.

“Jungkook,” You breathe and he squeezes his eyes shut. The way you just said his name is probably going to haunt him for the rest of his life- it’s going to be on replay in all his dreams. The whiny, slightly breathy intonation has probably ruined his life for good.

“Go to sleep.” He pleads, more for his own sake than yours. He manages to keep a gentle smile on his face as your grip on his jacket loosens. You watch him with a sleepy and mildly curious look as he stands up and takes a step away from your bed, away from the tantalising warmth of your body. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

The second he’s safely outside your bedroom, he slumps uselessly against your door. He feels like there’s a hot, tight ball in his chest, filled with equal amounts stress and yearning.

So much for pushing down his feelings. It can’t go on like this. So, when he finally regains control of his lungs and his hands stop shaking from the sudden adrenaline rush, he pulls out his phone and scrolls through his contacts. There’s always been one guy he goes to for girl advice, at least there had been before Minah, and he’s the best chance Jungkook has at sorting these feelings out.

“Hello?” He hears Taehyung answer on the other end sleepily. Jungkook swallows awkwardly before answering.

“Tae, I need your advice…”

++

There’s chocolates on your desk. It’s not unusual to find gifts on your desk- oftentimes clients will stop by after their wedding with a thank-you present. But usually whoever is in the office when it gets dropped off will leave it with a sticky note saying who it’s from, or the clients will leave a card. This has no such thing. And, oddly, it just so happens to be your favourite brand. You feel like it’s not common knowledge and you don’t tend to go announcing your favourite kind of chocolates with clients, which means it’s probably not from them.

You want to eat it, but there’s been multiple times that you’ve eaten unlabelled chocolates and been chewed out by Seokjin for doing so, so you grab the box and poke your head out of your office door.

“Seokjin, do you know who left these chocolates?” You call. He doesn’t raise his eyes from his desk.

“Have you forgotten our deal already?” He answers, still distractedly typing something. You wince as you realise that yes, you had forgotten the deal. Said deal being that you call him Jin from now on lest he continue to tease you about the other night where you had apparently gotten drunk and grinded on not one, but all three of your employees. Not that you remember anything from that night, but Jin keeps promising that he has video evidence. You’re glad Jungkook had apparently managed to drag your ass home before things got too out of hand.

“Jin.” You grit out, irritated by the unprompted and unwelcome reminder of your drunken shenanigans. The sounds of his keyboard clicking pauses as he looks up and squints at the box of chocolates you are waving at him.

“I saw Jungkook carrying those in earlier. I tried to steal one, but he insisted they were a gift and that I couldn’t have any. I’d check with him before you eat them.” He says, and his tone is petulant. He never handles being denied sweets well.

Confused, you nod and wonder over to the kitchenette where Jungkook rests against the countertop, searching something on his phone.

“Can I eat these?” You ask, shoving them in his face. He flinches in surprise, having not expected you to suddenly appear, and when he registers the box of chocolates, his ears turn bright red. He looks up from his phone to grimace at you and if you didn’t know any better, you’d say his cheeks were glowing a bright pink.

“I left them on your desk for you, so yeah.” He says, surprisingly short and clipped in his delivery. You blink a little, baffled by the way he’s in such a bad mood, but you suppose that with only two weeks until Minah and Taehyung’s wedding and the bridal shower the very next day, he must be feeling a bit stressed. You peel off the plastic wrapping and pluck a chocolate out without checking its flavour. Something strong with a bitter coffee-like after taste floods your tastebuds and you squeeze your eyes shut in delight.

“Yum.” You sigh contentedly. “Did a client leave them for me?”

When you open your eyes, Jungkook quickly looks away like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t have, and he clears his throat awkwardly.

“Not exactly…” He mumbles. “Iboughtthemforyou.” He says quickly. You don’t catch it though and tilt your head curiously.

“Sorry, what?” You ask, this time scanning through the list of flavours to pick your next piece more carefully.

“I was doing some grocery shopping last night and they were on special. I know they’re your favourite kind, so I bought them for you.” He admits at last. You nearly choke on the chocolate and he whacks you on your back until your breathing clears.

“Why?” You ask dumbly, when you’re no longer at risk of aspirating. He looks away and rubs awkwardly at the back of his neck.

“Because I was thinking about you.” He confesses, and then he strides out of the room before you can interrogate him any further.

It’s not a standalone incident, oddly enough. The next day just before the bridal shower, you’re making some last-minute adjustments with the caterer when Jungkook pops up unexpectedly beside you. The caterer wrinkles her nose at his untimely interruption but leaves without complaint to complete the request you’ve asked of her.

“You won’t be at the bridal shower, will you?” Jungkook asks suddenly. You shake your head in answer.

“I’ll be available by phone if something goes wrong, but I have a few things to sort back at the office and it’s not common for me to attend the bridal shower anyway. That’s for wedding guests and the bride to enjoy.” You explain. “Why do you ask?”

Jungkook looks side to side, like at any moment someone is going to jump out and hold a gun to his head, before leaning in close.

“I got us movie tickets for tonight.” He whispers. You feel a tickle in your throat at his proximity and the way his breath skates hotly over the shell of your ear. You exhale slowly to will away the sudden tension in his shoulders.

“Why?” You ask, feeling like he’s left you dumfounded a lot since the night you went out clubbing with everyone. Again, his cheeks do that thing where they may be flushed a soft red or it could just be the soft pink decorations accenting his skin tone.

“I… you said you wanted to see this movie and were upset Jin wouldn’t go with you.” He volunteers. He’s oddly cute in the way he won’t meet your eyes and the way his hair is a little fluffy and the way his shirt sleeves hang just passed his fingertips because he bought it few sizes too large. Your heart pulses painfully in your chest and you have a feeling this is the opposite of what you should be doing, if you want to get your Hanahaki under control.

“T… thank you.” You stutter, thrown off guard. “But I can just go see it with Ser-“

“See it with me.” He interrupts in a plead. “I’ve already bought the tickets! Also… don’t you think it would be fun? Seeing a movie with me?”

You stare at him for a long moment. The most logical explanation for his recent strange behaviour is that it has something to do with the responsibility he feels for your illness. You don’t want to encourage him, if that’s the case. You’re not sure why he can’t understand that the more time he spends with you, and the more kindness he shows you, the worse your sickness is going to get. But though you search his gaze, all you see is an earnest desire to see a movie with you. It’s an oddly sweet and simple request and you feel your chest warm at his behaviour.

“It… it would.” You reluctantly agree. “Ok. Tonight. After the bridal shower- if you’re sure.”

The odd behaviour continues in the two weeks leading up to the wedding. Jungkook keeps doing things like leaving you little gifts on your desk or inviting you to outings. He takes you out to dinner with Minah once, and though you had assumed it would be an uncomfortable experience it just ends up being enjoyable. Minah is warm and friendly and just excited that Jungkook doesn’t seem to be too bothered by his illness as of late. He pays for you, that night- you don’t even notice him slide away and it’s only when you suggest getting the bill that he announces it’s already been settled. You try to bank transfer him what you owe but he confiscates your phone for the rest of the night and holds it out of reach every time you try and get it back with a wide grin on his face. The oddest part is that he makes Minah pay for ice cream later to pay him back.

You don’t… dislike the way he’s acting. It just… it kind of feels like the two of you are a brand new couple, in the phase where you can’t get enough of each other and romantic gestures are commonplace but still exciting. You’re too afraid to ask him about it lest the hope that has steadily been blooming that maybe he has more motives than friendship in mind be squashed. You do notice that your Hanahaki symptom ease just slightly over those two weeks.

The odd behaviour comes to a head on the night before the wedding. You go down the day before with Jungkook- Seri and Jin are invited as well but plan to go on the day of the wedding since they have work to do. As for the hen’s night and buck’s night, Jungkook can’t physically be in two places at once, and Minah and Taehyung had both agreed that celebrating their last night of ‘freedom’ was a juvenile and inappropriate way to start off their life together. So, they instead opt for a pseudo-engagement party the night before the wedding. It’s a fairly intimate gathering- a few close friends, family and you. You normally attend the weddings of the clients you work for, and since this wedding involves an overnight stay for the more involved guests, Taehyung and Minah bite the bullet and invite you along so that you’re not sitting alone in your hotel room while everyone else has fun. It’s when you’re finalising the last details of said engagement party that it happens.

You don’t mean to eavesdrop- you’d stepped into the function room to check that everything was as the hotel staff had reassured you it was moments before, and your earring falls off and rolls away. With a groan, you get on your hands and knees and crawl beneath one of the draped tables, the long one that the catering staff are going to lay food across once the party begins. It’s dark under there and you crawl in far enough the drape falls, concealing your presence from anyone who steps into the room. Of course, you don’t know that until you hear Taehyung and Jungkook having some sort of intense conversation, seemingly unaware of your presence.

“So things are going well then?” You hear Taehyung’s deep voice say contemplatively. You freeze- you should reveal yourself lest you be face with the awkwardness of revealing that you are eavesdropping, but your dress is low cut and if you crawl out from under the table, both men will undoubtedly see more than they should. “Are you sure you’re not being too subtle? Why aren’t you going with my plan?”

“I’m trying to be subtle.” Jungkook complains. “I told you, Tae, I’m not trying to confess or sweep her off her feet like you would do. That’s not what I want, and I don’t think it’s what she wants either. I want her to warm up to the idea first. It’s a lot to take in.”

“Jungkook, this is your problem!” Taehyung exclaims. You shift, remaining crouched beneath the table- what are they talking about? Is… Is Taehyung giving Jungkook advice on how to win over Minah?  The weirdness of such a situation has you adjusting your position to conceal yourself even better beneath the table. “You’re too hesitant with everything. You should have just taken the advice I gave you that night- Why would she need to be eased into it? She’s literally in love with you!”

Now that’s strange- Minah’s most definitely not in love with Jungkook. And it was stupid to think that Taehyung, madly in love with Minah as he is, would participate in such a conversation anyway. But then… who is he talking about?

“That’s why I’m going slow.” Jungkook mumbles. Taehyung releases a frustrated groan.

“Jungkook! Where’s the passionate romance? The heart-stopping confession? The resulting make-out session? Dive in already!” He demands. “She’s definitely in love with you- she has Hanahaki, doesn’t she? What else could you possibly need before you stop hesitating and actually do something?”

Your heart stops in the same moment that Jungkook mumbles something intelligible because finally it occurs to you who they’re talking about- it’s you. They’re talking about you. But what are they saying? What is Jungkook trying to do? Is… is Taehyung giving Jungkook advice on how to win your heart? Something foreign and fantastic explodes in your chest- you feel like you’re flying, with the air soaring past you and adrenaline pumping through your veins. Taehyung’s suggestion sounds like Jungkook has been trying to… confess to you. Could he… could he return your feelings?

You’re just about to reveal yourself and confront him over it when the next thing Jungkook says has you crashing and burning rather than soaring through the skies.

“I am doing something! I’m trying to cure her!” Jungkook protests hotly. You hear the sound of flapping paper and a quick peek under the tablecloth reveals that Jungkook is waving a crumpled piece of paper at Taehyung. The bold colours across it look vaguely familiar. Taehyung rolls his eyes and snatches the paper out of Jungkook’s flailing hand.

“Stop treating that stupid pamphlet the Hanahaki doctor gave you like it’s the secret recipe to the krusty krab burger and listen to me, for once in your life!” Taehyung snaps. With a sinking feeling, you suddenly understand the situation perfectly. That’s why the colours had looked familiar. The paper that Jungkook is waving is that stupid pamphlet your brother gave him, the one on Hanahaki. Which means everything, all the sweet gestures of late, were just more actions borne of guilt. It’s Jungkook’s stupid sense of responsibility. He’s just trying to help you “manage” your disease again. “Jungkook, you need to-“ Taehyung begins, but you scramble out from under the table, intent on fleeing the room before you can be humiliated any further. The words die in Taehyung’s mouth as the two men register your presence in the function room.

“(Y/N)?” Jungkook cries. “What are you doing here?”

He takes a tentative step towards you, but you whirl around so that your back is facing him before he can register the tears that stick your lashes together and smudge you mascara.

“I… I dropped an earring.” You say, but it is obvious that your voice is choked with a repressed sob. “And then it was too awkward to come out. Please, continue your conversation on how to cure me- I’m sure these feelings are inconvenient for you anyway.” You urge, already halfway to the door.

“Wait!” Jungkook cries, but you are already darting down the corridor before he can stop you. He groans, forcing a hand through his hair- Minah had carefully gelled it earlier that day but now he’s messed it up. Taehyung stares incredulously at Jungkook with his mouth twisted and one eye opened wider than the other.

“Kook,” Taehyung calls. “What are you waiting for? Now’s your chance to have the big romcom scene-“

“No!” Jungkook snaps, whirling on Taehyung. “I shouldn’t have called you for this in the first place. All your dumb ideas of buying her gifts and dinner and taking her out didn’t work! She’s still sick and now she probably thinks I did all that just to get rid of her feelings! This messes up the entire plan I had.”

Taehyung groans and presses a hand to his forehead before whirling on his friend with a surprising fire in his eyes.

“Then go and tell her that! Stop beating around the bush and making all these plans and trying to ‘ease’ into everything!” Taehyung cries. He steps forward and plants both his hands on Jungkook’s shoulders and meets his gaze dead-on. “I love you, Jungkook, but do you know what your problem is? You’re always so busy freaking out and wondering about what could go wrong that you just forget to live your life. There’s been exactly one time in your entire life that you’ve been reckless and impulsive and said ‘to hell with the consequences’ and that was the day you asked (Y/N) to start a business with you. And I know Minah scolded you heaps because of that because it was reckless, but you know what? I think it was the smartest, bravest thing you’ve ever done and look where it got you. Look where taking that leap of faith can get you! Don’t you want that? Don’t you want to stop holding back all the time?”

“I was just trying to…” Jungkook says weakly. “I was afraid, that I’d make it worse. I wanted her to be completely comfortable and have the disease under control before I dropped a bomb like that.” Taehyung’s eyes soften as he regards his old friend.

“Confessing to her would cure her. You of all people should know that. You know this disease back to front.” Taehyung says. “Jungkook, do you want to know the real reason you’re starting to get better? It’s not because of your feelings for (Y/N), although I’m sure they helped. It’s because you finally stopped holding yourself back all the time and actually processed things. You finally started seeking help instead of bottling everything up out of fear of how people would react. Do that now, Kook. Stop holding back and being afraid and making contingency plans and dropping hints to test the water because you’re too afraid to jump straight in. Take a chance.”

Taehyung smiles, and suddenly Jungkook understands something. He understands why it was Taehyung, and not him for Minah. It’s not cause he’s unlucky or because Taehyung is the better choice. He doesn’t believe in things like soulmates or fate, not anymore, which means maybe things could have gone differently- it really could have been him and not Taehyung. But it didn’t end up that way because Taehyung took the leap Jungkook was too afraid to even attempt. And that’s why he lost his chance with Minah and he’s going to lose his chance with you if he keeps doing the same thing he’s always done: holding back what he’s really feeling. And he really, really doesn’t want to lose his chance with you. Jungkook swallows and Taehyung seems to sense the change in demeanour because his expression softens, and he smiles.

“I… I have to go after her.” Jungkook breathes, lungs locked with the force of his realisation.

“That’s my boy.” Taehyung says warmly, dropping his arms from Jungkook’s shoulder, freeing him to allow him to chase after you. Jungkook takes one last look at his old friend and wills his non-existent courage forward as he turns and takes off in the direction that you’d fled in.

You’ve made it safely to the elevators and are tearfully waiting for them to slide closed when a hand shoots out through the centre of them. There’s a clattering noise and they slide back open to expose a crazy-looking Jungkook. His hair is in complete disarray and he’s out of breath and his top button is undone and his eyes have a wildness to them that you don’t really understand.

“Jungkook?” You say and your voice is embarrassingly uncertain and shaky with tears. “What are you-”

“Enough.” He cries, before throwing himself into the elevator. The doors slide shut behind him just in time for him to catch your face between his hands, one hand cupping each cheek, and plant his lips onto yours. It’s a forceful, desperate kiss. There’s a handrail protruding from the back wall of the elevator and Jungkook presses into you until you’re leaning against it. It digs into the small of your back. He doesn’t open his mouth as he drops his hands from your face, curling them around the rail so that you are trapped between his body and the rail. He pulls away and glares at you, but it’s not an angry glare. His gaze is just filled with an intensity that makes the hairs along the back of your neck raise. “No more.” He gasps.

“N-no more what?” You ask, a little dazed and confused. The elevator has slid shut behind him and rises slowly. Jungkook squeezes his eyes shut. You’re on the top floor and if anyone were to try and get onto this elevator, then surely, they would have some complaints about PDA. Jungkook squeezes his eyes shut and rests his forehead against you and your lungs rebel and your chest tightens. It’s a terrifying sensation yet somehow, it’s also thrilling.

“No more misunderstandings.” He says, and then he presses another long, lingering kiss to your mouth and your heart skips a beat. “No more running away.” He punctuates it with another kiss, and this one is almost angry. “No more holding back what we’re really feeling.” He goes in for another one but this time, though your reflexes are slowed with confusion and dazed from the warmth of his mouth, you manage to stop him before he can attempt another one.

“Jungkook, Jungkook, wait.” You cry, and he obliges though his gaze flickers down to your mouth and his tongue darts out to moisten his lips. “You need to explain- you can’t just walk in here, and… and…”

You’re not sure you’d have been able to finish the sentence even if the elevator hadn’t slid open in the next moment. But Jungkook stares down the hotel corridor and then at you and then he’s grabbing your hand and dragging you towards his room, only three doors down from your own. His fingers are clumsy as he struggles to grab his key from his wallet and then he leads you into his room. It’s a little messy- his suitcase is open with clothes strewn across his bedding and his laptop is open and plugged in to the wall, which is surely a fire hazard. He stops and turns to face you and you almost crash into you, but he steadies you with a hand on either shoulder.

“Your feelings aren’t inconvenient.” He says in a rush. You blink- the past few minutes have been so confusing and fast paced that it’s a real struggle to keep up. “And I’m not trying to get rid of them. And I’m not trying to sneakily treat you out of obligation or because I feel guilty. I was trying to make you comfortable using Namjoon’s pamphlet before I… before I…” He says, and he loses his steam when his explanation reaches that point. You don’t know what he plans to say next, but he drops his hands from your shoulders and whirls around so that you can’t see his expression.

“(Y/N).” He says, like he’s testing the syllables out, playing with the way they roll against his tongue. “I got a blood test the other week. Your brother said it’s the only reliable way to test if a patient is getting better or worse during treatment.”

You’re familiar with the process- Dr. Hoseok has been making you take them at least once a month in the efforts that you’ll finally show some improvement, but your blood results have remained frustratingly stable. You’ve been unable to figure out why, but staring at Jungkook now, at the planes of his shoulders and the way his suit jacket stretches flatteringly along their length and yet his hair is a little fluffy and there is one tuft that stubbornly sits perpendicular to his scalp, you realise why. It’s because you can’t get over him. You’ve been pushing down your feelings and ignoring them and trying to pretend they mean nothing to you for so long. You’re too busy to have feelings- he’s too important for you to pursue them. They’re just an inconvenience. A weakness that you can’t afford. But no matter how you try to hide or ignore them or push them out of your mind they just keep springing back.

“My levels have dropped back to almost normal.” Jungkook admits in an exhale. He turns to peek at you over his shoulder, curious about what reaction you are having. You don’t really react- your heart just pounds hollowly in your chest because you don’t understand the weight of what he’s saying. “I… I’m almost better, (Y/N). I have one more blood test scheduled for the day after Minah and Taehyung leave for their honeymoon, but I think that even if it was scheduled for today the results would be the same- I’m cured. I haven’t thrown up in two weeks- I used to do it multiple times a day.”

“How?” You ask softly and without your consent a tear rolls down your cheek. You’re surprised- you didn’t feel it build and you don’t know why you’re suddenly crying. Jungkook turns fully to face you and steps in close so that he can affectionately slide his thumb across your cheek, wiping away the tear. His expression is gentle and peaceful as he does so- a little half smile curls at the corners of his lips.

“I don’t know. But Taehyung reckons it’s because I was finally honest with myself. I stopped pushing everything down and holding back and trying to push everyone away when things got hard.” He admits. “So, then it got easier to process things and move on, I guess. But do you know how I suddenly learnt to do that?” You shake your head and his smile widens until it’s a brilliant beam that is so bright you almost have to look away. His hand still carefully cups your cheek like you’re the most precious gem or treasure in the world.

“You taught me.” He admits softly. “For an entire year I isolated myself and pushed people away and I’d forgotten what it was like to have someone to rely on until you came along. And you’ve just been so… you. Fighting harder for me than I fight for myself. And you made me brave- the things I was afraid of happening seemed manageable because I knew you would help me and support me through it. And when I finally spoke up, things just went well. I’ve mended things with Minah and Taehyung, and my illness is getting better, and I’m happy. I’d forgotten even what the word meant until recently. So, now that I know how great it is to just say the truth… I’m sick of just sitting back and letting all this misunderstanding and confusion and procrastination and fear hold me back from what I really want- and what I want is you.” He explains forcefully. “Aren’t you sick of it too? Of pretending things are ok and normal when they’re not because it would be too uncomfortable otherwise? Of running away when things get complicated because it’s too hard to deal with? Of not going after what we really want in case things don’t work out? Wouldn’t it be better if we just… did it together? Wouldn’t it be more fun if we faced all the scary bits side by side?”

It would. What he’s offering sounds too good to be true? Ever since you had coughed up that first petal, you’ve been trying to pretend that you didn’t really want Jungkook. Yes, you have feelings for him but you’re a smart, logical woman and to take it any further would be a stupid move. Illogical. Irrational. Inconvenient. Dangerous. Yet, now that he stands in front of you, offering the exact thing you’d been pretending you don’t want, you realise how much you want it. How much you want him- how much you love him.

“Jungkook,” You say slowly, and your voice cracks.

The two of you are interrupted by the sound of a repeated knocking on his room door and you hear a female voice call out.

“Jungkook! Minah wants me to give a speech and she said you’d look over it to make sure the stories I have aren’t too incriminating- quickly come and check!” You recognise the voice as one of Minah’s university friends who is attending the party which starts in a mere 30 minutes. Jungkook’s eyes bug out of his head and he looks like it’s the last thing he wants to do in that moment.

“Go.” You say, instead of what you had originally planned to say. “It’s ok. We can talk later… we have time.” You admit. “I… I won’t run away again.”

Jungkook’s eyes light up and his gaze searches your for a long moment before he smiles.

“Ok. Later. Promise?” He requests and you offer him your warmest, sweetest smile and he thinks his heart goes on strike for a moment.

“Promise.” You respond sincerely.

++

Of course, when you had promised to talk later, you had meant after the wedding. Maybe the two of you could get dinner after work one day and just talk things out. Have a proper date, see how things played out, like a normal couple. Take it slow and just figure out what each of you wanted. If things went well, your Hanahaki would resolve and Jungkook’s is almost pretty much gone anyway. Jungkook, of course, gripped with a desperate impatience, had no such thoughts of waiting that long. Throughout the party he takes every opportunity to try and make it to your side but each time he is intercepted. A maid of honour or a best man would be busy the night before on a normal wedding, but not only does Jungkook have to play both roles, he does not have any other members of the bridal party to help ease the load. You watch with increasing amusement as each attempt to speak to you is thwarted with another issue he must sort and the looks he sends you are increasingly frustrated and forlorn. And when he’s not being called away, you are. Finally, you must call it a night, and when you meet Jungkook’s eyes that last time, a sort of recognition and resignation lights his eyes. Not tonight, his eyes seem to agree. There are far more urgent and pressing things for him to worry about- the two of you can sort things out after Minah and Taehyung have had their dream wedding.

The day dawns bright and sunny and you are very busy as you smooth out the last minute kinks and deal with the deadline disasters that always seem to accompany the actual wedding day. The florist broke her arm and can’t deliver the flowers- the guitarist’s string snapped and he doesn’t have a spare- one of the kitchen staff sliced their finger with a knife. You handle each with the grace and poise of a seasoned wedding planner and don’t have time for a single thought but making sure this wedding goes smoothly until you step into the bride’s room for a last-minute check.

Minah is standing before the mirror and adjusting the long skirt of her wedding dress. After the revelation of what Jungkook’s reaction had been to the first dress she tried on, she’d quickly opted for a different choice. This one has a lace up to the thin column of her throat but the material is delicate and see-through, exposing her arms and collarbone beneath it. The bodice hugs her torso closely and a delicate line of embroidered flowers trails a spiral path down her body onto the full skirt that flares out at her waist. Her hair is up and pinned smoothly into a tasteful twist and her veil is a draped delicately across the crown of her head and shrouding her in a soft white that makes her look like an angel.

“You look amazing.” You say warmly. You say that to every bride, for every wedding you plan, but not once have you ever not said the words genuinely. People tend to glow with a happiness that words can’t describe when the day arrives for them to marry the love of their lives and that, more than any dress, or makeup or hairstyle, is why you’ve never seen an ugly bride. Minah is no exception, even if on a model day she probably gets scouted on the street for modelling agencies. The warm, slightly nervous but excited smile she gives you in answer is the reason you plan weddings- you love bringing joy to people on such an important day.

“Thank you.” She says, sincerely, hugging the bouquet closely to her chest. She’d originally wanted roses, but you’d had to change it a month earlier when she’d rung you in tears after discovering that Jungkook vomits rose petals when he’s having an episode. You’d opted for a bouquet of light blue baby’s breath, promising that they symbolise long-lasting love. The way she hugs them to her chest now, you know you’ve made the right choice. As a wedding planner you’ve become quite adept at picking out what couples will go the distance and what ones won’t make it far past the wedding. Taehyung and Minah are one of those couples, the rare kind who you know love each other past all the bells and whistles that a wedding sometimes have. Sometimes people use the grand party and the pretty clothes and the fresh excitement to push away or ignore their issues or even to escape the reality of the future spouse they have chosen, but that hasn’t been the case with these two. They really, truly love each other and even though it has, by far, been the most difficult wedding you have ever had the misfortune to plan, you’re glad they chose you to plan it.

“I just wanted to check in on how you’re doing. Your mother is just outside, by the way, so I won’t stay long. I need to make a couple of phone-calls. I’ll meet you out in the gardens in a half an hour, ok?” You say, glancing at the silver watch that rests against your wrist and wincing as each tick of the second hand means you have one less moment to make things absolutely perfect. You duck your head respectfully and are about to excuse yourself, when Minah calls out.

“Wait.” She cries. She tugs up the hem of her dress and steps towards you. “Before you go… did you talk to Jungkook?”

You’re surprised by her questioning and wonder what exactly she’s referring to.

“I… have. Last night before the engagement party.” You confess, though you don’t elaborate what the conversation was about. Something about the way Minah smiles tells you that perhaps she knows, though. She tilts her head delicately.

“I guess I’ll have to ask you for the full details later. I’d really… I’d really like if we could have that kind of friendship, going forward. The kind where you can confide in me. I really like you, (Y/N), and I really like how much brighter and happier Jungkook is around you. And my wedding day probably isn’t the best day to talk about that sort of thing, but I feel like I can walk up that aisle in peace, and I feel like it’s thanks to you.” She says. “I… a part of me always knew, you know. About his feelings. I didn’t know about the Hanahaki but I knew he had feelings for me. I was just so terrified of what that would mean for the three of us that I never said anything. Maybe if I had sooner, he would have never gotten sick. Does that make me a bad person?” She wonders aloud.

You’re not sure why she’s telling you this, but you also know that people often get emotional on their wedding day. It’s a day where a lot of truths start to come out. You consider her words.

“No. No I don’t think it does.” You admit. “I think it makes you a human. And you couldn’t have known how things would play out.”

She laughs and lowers her gaze. The laugh lacks humour and she tilts her head.

“It could have been me and him, you know.” She says, but there’s nothing mocking in her tone- no desire to make you uncomfortable or insecure. It’s just a genuine reflection and so you don’t feel defensive at her words. Because it could have been her and Jungkook. “If he’d said something before Taehyung, maybe things would have played out differently. But… I’m glad he didn’t. I’m glad it was me and Taehyung. My mother likes to say that love is about timing and I always agreed with her. Love works out when two people meet at the right time and fall in love at the right time. And I thought that was what happened with me and Taehyung. But… I don’t believe that anymore. Love is more than timing- it’s about working for that love. And I can walk up that aisle with a clear mind and heart because I don’t have to feel guilty for loving Taehyung and hurting Jungkook all because of something as convenient as timing. Because I know you’ll work for Jungkook. And I’m going to work for Taehyung, for the rest of my life. So thank you- for more than just the wedding, thank you for working for Jungkook and with him.” Minah says.

And then she does something unexpected- she pulls you into a tight hug. You’ve never been an affectionate person, particularly not with people you don’t know that well and particularly not with clients. But for the moment… for the moment you allow it with a half-smile.

A lot of people, when they learn what you do for a living, and when they learn what you gave up, are often baffled. Weddings get a bit of a bad rep, because they’re just huge parties for marriages that don’t work out 70% of the time. There’s a lot of bitterness tied up with weddings and often they just become a place for couples to flaunt their wealth and love. To rub it in the faces of people who don’t have those things. So the question you are often met with is this: Why weddings? Why do you put up with bridezillas screaming at you for minor miscommunications like red roses instead of blood orange roses, or parents of the couple making ridiculous requests at the last possible minute like life-size ice sculpture replica of the happy couple?

It’s because of the moment that follows a mere two hours after your heart-to-heart with Minah. Where the crowd goes silent as the opening to Pachelbel’s Canon in D begins to weave through the air at the hands of the skilful string quartet hired to play for the wedding. Where Taehyung’s whole face changes, filled with hope and love and adoration and excitement. And where Minah steps onto the aisle, her eyes fixed straight ahead on the life she is about to start with the man she loves. That moment, that precise moment is why you love planning weddings and yet, for some reason you find yourself looking away in the moment.

You’re struck with the random thought: What is Jungkook doing, in this moment? How is he feeling, seeing his two best friends get married after all the torment he has endured? And as you slowly turn your head to find out, you are surprised to find him staring straight at you. His face lights up when his gaze meets you, and the smile he gives you makes an odd sensation fill your chest, like a tension in your lungs is giving way. Suddenly the air is clean and smooth as you breathe and a warmth spreads in your cold body, all the way from your heart to the tips of your fingers. A warm breeze flutters by and the warm scent of flowers fills your nostrils but rather than make you feel sick or nauseous, all you feel is a joyous warmth.

And if you’d ever had any doubts, in that moment you know it to be true: Jungkook loves you. You could get a blood test in that exact moment and you know what the results would be.

*Epilogue*

You and Jungkook are dancing together. At some point during the wedding reception, the two of you had drifted closer and closer until you’re now slow dancing together with matching smiles on your faces. Your arms are looped around Jungkook’s neck as he sways you back and forth and there is a warm, loving fondness in his eyes as you slowly loop around the dancefloor.

The whole time, Jin watches with a curious look on his face, sipping delicately from his water. Technically, he could have stayed overnight and saved himself the long, two-and-a-half-hour trip home he will have later tonight, but he feels like maybe he doesn’t deserve to stay. Or at least, he had felt like he hadn’t. But watching the two of you together, smiling privately at each other like you have a joke that no one else in the room is privy to, suddenly a weight is lifted off Jin’s chest. The burden of almost ruining your lives is finally gone, seeing the way you are finally happy together.

“You’re quiet.” Seri comments, sliding into the unoccupied seat beside Jin. He doesn’t remove his eyes from the dance floor. The two of you have paused your dancing to laugh over something with Taehyung and Minah.

“I’m just relieved.” He says simply. Seri smiles, turning to peek at Jin’s profile. He’s been oddly quiet at the office, ever since you vomited that petal, and it hasn’t felt right. She’s missed his unique sense of humour and the brightness and joy he brings to each day. Hopefully, after seeing you and Jungkook together, he’ll go back to that.

“I’m glad.” She says softly. “You haven’t been yourself.”

Jin turns his full attention to her then and offers her a cryptic smile.

“I haven’t. But I think I’m feeling more myself tonight. Thank you, by the way.” He says, ignoring her comment. “For helping them. I just messed things up, but you fixed everything- you got Jungkook to come clean, you managed to get Minah to tell you where Jungkook’s spare key was so (Y/N) could get into his apartment… clearly I should stand back and let you do all the matchmaking, in the future.” He says with a slight laugh. Seri smiles and shakes her head.

“I hope you’re finished with the matchmaking business for the rest of your life.” She says in a serious deadpan. But then a smile crosses her face. “But enough of that. This is a wedding- I want to dance. Are you going to join me or not?”

Jin nearly chokes on his water, completely thrown by what Seri is offering, before smiling widely and excitedly.

“I’ve been avoiding the dancefloor till now to avoid upstaging the bride and groom, but if you insist.” He cries, scrambling to his feet. “It’s time for all these plebs to learn why they call me Dancing King Seokjin!”

Seri rolls her eyes but follows Jin onto the dancefloor with a laugh. There’s the Seokjin that she knows and loves.

It’s a pity, though, that Jin is distracted then because he misses the sweetest moment between you and Jungkook for the night.

“We can finally have that talk now, huh?” Jungkook asks with a small smile, spinning you around with a flourish. You laugh as he does so, before he pulls you in close and throws you into a dramatic dip. “Where should we start?”

“We don’t have to tonight, you know.” You say seriously. “We have all the time in the world.”

“We do?” Jungkook asks, holding back a warm smile. You nod sincerely as he tugs your arms up to wrap once more around him. You lace your fingers together where they rest at the nape of his neck.

“Yeah.” You say with a soft, breathless smile. “We do. There’s no rush at all. I’ll get a blood test with you in a couple of days and we can go from there. I have a feeling I know what the results will be, but we don’t need an answer tonight. There’s no reason to rush ourselves.”

Jungkook nods and purses his lips together as he contemplates your words, before he smiles.

“Hmmm… I guess you’re right. We can just enjoy tonight for what it is.” He agrees. “But there is one reason we should rush ourselves.” He confesses guiltily. You’re surprised and you frown.

“What’s the reason?” You ask nervously. Mischief flashes in Jungkook’s eyes.

“This.” He says. His hands slide up and cup your face and his fingertips are warm and then he kisses you. Long and sweet and deep.

And he’s right- you do have all the time in the world, but there’s no sense in wasting a single second, right?

*Fin*

[lilixloveswriting]

Shell

Whumptober 2020 Day 19 (Prompt: Grief | Mourning Loved One | Survivor’s Guilt)

Fandom: BNHA (This is an AU for my Next Gen...AU...😬)

Characters: Hitoshi Midoriya (OC), Mitsuko Midoriya kinda, she’s dead (OC), Izuku Midoriya, Ochaco Uraraka, Katsuki Bakugo, Saisho Kirishima (OC), Eijiro Kirishima mentioned, also dead, Kayda Todoroki (OC), Hisao Todoroki (OC), Akio Todoroki haha...you guessed it (OC)

Word Count: 4582

A/N: This may be a mistake since y’all don’t know these characters yet but it just fits all the criteria for today’s prompt and I just couldn’t pass it up. Umm so I wrote this in the car when I couldn’t sleep on a road trip from 2 am to 9 am. I never acctually planned on posting it anywhere, so...idek what I’m trying to say. It’s the darkest thing I had written at that point (and imo, still is my darkest piece) so...yeah. Buckle up, it’s a sad one also please note canon Hitoshi is not this mean

TW: swearing, dissociation, suicidal ideation, child whump (Hitoshi is 13/14), survivor’s guilt (obvi), grief (obvi), family member death, past death of minor (Mitsuko - age 17), emotional detatchment, blood, ptsd flashback (nightmare), panic attack mention, vomiting mention, eventually Hitoshi has a well deserved emotional breakdown

The pencil spun around Hitoshi's knuckles in sync with the second hand of the clock. He stared at it, waiting for it to hypnotize him so that he didn't have to be there for the rest of his session. It wasn't anything personal, his therapist was fine. Today was just a bad day. Not that his days were ever good, but today was a particularly bad one. One where he felt like running out into traffic, just to see what would happen.

"Hitoshi?"

His voice seemed so far away in his dissociative state. It was nice, kind of comforting actually. More so than the unbearable ringing that would occur sometimes when someone spoke to him. The accident fucked his hearing, that's what the doctors said. The accident fucked a lot of things.

56, 57, 58, 59, 4:00

Hitoshi snapped into action, catching his pencil in his hand and slipping it into his bag as he lobbed it over his shoulder.

"Who's coming to get you today, Hitoshi?"

"My dad." He responded with a grumble, not that it was any of his business.

"Okay. Is he here, or would you like me to wait with you?"

Hitoshi shrugged his shoulders, biting back a sarcastic remark as he turned the door handle to exit his therapist's office and enter the hallway. He knew the way back to the waiting room all too well by now: a left, then two rights, down the elevator, and straight down the hall. Hitoshi heard muffled sobbing as he passed one of the doors, sparing it a glance before continuing. He wondered what her problem was. He was a little bit envious, for whatever it was, at least she could express how she was feeling. Hitoshi never felt anything but anger. Sometimes he never felt anything at all.

He made a beeline for the stairway, not too keen on sitting in another silent room with his therapist.

"Getting your steps in today?"

Hitoshi rolled his eyes as he swung himself around the flat bit of the stairwell. Their session was over, couldn't this guy shut up?

He arrived at the waiting room soon enough, tucking his thumbs into his backpack straps as he scanned the room for his dad. Not here yet.

"Not here yet?"

"No, dingbat. Do you see him?"

"Hm. I've got some time before my next appointment. I can stick around for a while."

"Fuuuck me."

"Hey! Sorry, I went to the bathroom." Hitoshi turned towards the cheery voice he knew so well, a small sigh of relief escaping his lungs. "Hey, kiddo-" Izuku placed his hands on Hitoshi's shoulders, faltering as he moved and shoved the front door open. "Hey, hold on!" He called after his son, and Hitoshi did slow down, but he didn't stop. He left the building, then walked a few steps down the sidewalk, perching himself on the ledge of the window sill, his back to the building.

"Uhh…" Izuku sighed, "bad day?"

The therapist gave a vague shrug and Izuku frowned.

"What did he say? Did something happen at school? Did I do something? His mom?"

The therapist smiled apologetically, "I'm sorry, Mr. Midoriya. You should talk to your son."

Izuku bit down on his lip. "Please, just…tell me something. Anything." The words begged to escape his throat, but he swallowed them down and nodded. He understood doctor-patient confidentiality, but that didn't make it any less frustrating.

He bid Hitoshi's therapist goodbye, then joined his son on the sidewalk.

"Hey, kiddo." Izuku's voice sounded far away too, and Hitoshi wasn't sure if he wanted it to this time. He continued to stare at the curb of the sidewalk, the whizzing of tires lulling him off into another dissociative state. His father's voice was muffled and he didn't remember the walk from the sidewalk to the car.

"What's wrong, Hito?" Izuku turned to him, and he couldn't will himself to look away from the dashboard. 

He didn't know what was wrong. Nothing, nothing was really wrong, but everything was wrong at the same time. He felt so fucking numb but ached all over at the same time. It was exhausting, he just wanted everything to stop. He wanted everyone to stop trying to fix him; he couldn't be fixed.

Hitoshi took a deep breath, willing all of his effort to move his tongue. "Nothing, I'm just tired." it was silent in the car, nobody moved and a wave of guilt washed over Hitoshi, though he wasn't sure what for.

"Survivor's guilt is a common occurrence. It won't be unusual for Hitoshi to feel as though he did something wrong for surviving the crash. Getting him into therapy sessions now is probably the best course of action."

"Can we go home now?" Hitoshi inhaled again as he reached for his seatbelt, jerking it over his body and clicking it into the buckle.

His dad put the car into drive and Hitoshi rested his head on the window.

"You wanna get some ice cream?" Izuku asked. Hitoshi shrugged and ten minutes later he had a chocolate ice cream cone in his hand. He had grown to hate the taste, but he ate it anyway because it made Izuku feel better. 

It still felt wrong not to pass any napkins to Mitsuko to get it out of her hair.

Izuku flipped on the lights to his apartment; the "bachelor pad" as he called it. He had turned Hitoshi on to the idea of a man den when he was ten. They both knew this wasn't what he meant.

"Do you wanna-"

"I've got homework," Hitoshi said, heading straight to his room and shutting the door behind him. He kicked off his shoes and told himself that he didn't care enough to put them away, but the way they were scattered across the floor was a little too much like her, so he picked them up and lined them up against the wall.

He fell back onto his bed, exhaling deeply as he stared up at the popcorn ceiling. His room here wasn't too bad, it was a decent size and his dad even bought him a desk and helped him decorate it with figurines and pictures. He put the pictures away though, they made him feel uneasy. 

"Hey," There was a short knock at the door and it slowly creaked open. Izuku stuck his head inside. "I know you want to be alone right now, but keep the door open, yeah? Just a crack, okay?"

Hitoshi sat up a bit and nodded at his dad, who gave him a weak smile in return.

"Okay. Thank you." He said, and Hitoshi appreciated that he didn't pry, even though he knew his father was worried. "Uh, is there anything you want for dinner?"

Hitoshi shrugged and Izuku sighed.

"Okay. Think about it and let me know, okay?"

Hitoshi nodded a little, knowing he wasn't going to decide on anything. He really didn't care.

"Okay. I'll leave you alone now. I love you," Izuku said and Hitoshi gave him a small smile, then he left, pulling the door closed with about an inch to spare.

Hitoshi let his head fall back onto the bed, exhaling in a puff as another wave of guilt crashed over him. He always saw the look in his father's eyes. 

"Please give me something. Anything."

But he couldn't, no matter how badly he wanted to. He didn't even know what to say. His dad had always been emotional, he wondered how many nights he spent crying because Hitoshi couldn't even manage an "I love you."

He wanted to cry. He couldn't really remember what crying felt like, but he knew he used to feel better after he did. Now, he just felt bad all the time. He was tired of it.

Hitoshi flipped over onto his stomach, trapping his pillow between his arms and his face as his eyes fell on his bag. He had homework, but he couldn't convince himself to do it. The mere thought of it was exhausting and Hitoshi turned his head the other way, towards the wall. 

The blood coated his fingers like syrup, making an awful squelching sound as it mixed with his tears. He applied pressure, he heard that somewhere, a tv show, he thinks. It was supposed to make the bleeding better or something, but it kept leaking and it soaked into his jeans and shirt and skin. He must not have been doing it right, maybe he was pressing too hard because Mitsuko kept gasping for air. Maybe he was choking her. 

She turned to him and took in a shaky breath, eyes wide and bloodshot and she whispered in a spine chilling voice, "Help me, Hito."

Hitoshi gasped and in the moment of fear, loosened his grip on Mitsuko's neck. She screamed as the ground caved in, swallowing her whole, and Hitoshi couldn't do anything but scream her name as he reached in after her.

Hitoshi opened his eyes and lifted his head from his pillow, blinking a few times before looking around the room. He sighed, realizing it had been a dream. He wasn't sure which reality he would rather be in.

The faint smell of food caused him to sit up fully, and he looked at his nightstand to see a plate of pizza waiting for him. His dad had to eat alone again. Dick move, Hitoshi.

He rubbed his eyes as they fell on the window, the sun had already set. How long had he slept for? Hitoshi yawned and swung his legs over the side of his bed, taking a second before standing up and opening his door. He went to the living room, a short walk in the small apartment. His dad turned his head from the tv as Hitoshi stepped into the room, greeting him with a small smile. 

"Hey. I don't know if you saw, but I left you some pizza. But if you don't want that then I can see what else I can make you."

Hitoshi shrugged, shoving his hands in his pockets. "It's fine." He whispered, and if you weren't listening for it you wouldn't have heard it. 

"Okay. Mom called. I told her you were sleeping. You want me to call her back?"

Hitoshi shook his head and Izuku tilted his head to the side.

"Sweetie, you should call your mom." He said, prompting a sigh and a bit of an eye-roll from his son. He nodded in the end, though, so Izuku counted that as a victory.

"Later."

"Not too late. She probably has a shift in the morning, she'll be going to bed soon."

Hitoshi didn't respond to that. Instead, he walked around the couch and sat down next to his father. "What are you watching?" He asked, and Izuku was thrilled to be getting this many words out of him.

"I don't know. The news. Nothing special."

"Pro Heroes Ground Zero and Chargebolt work together in EPIC villain take down!" Izuku cleared his throat, switching the tv off before standing abruptly.

"Alright, it's late. Call your mom and get ready for bed, okay?" Izuku ruffled his hair and planted a kiss on his head. "Goodnight, I love you." He said, then went to his room.

Hitoshi stared straight ahead at the switched-off tv. He should get to bed soon so his dad's sleep didn't suffer. Izuku always waited until Hitoshi had gone to bed before actually sleeping himself. He sighed, staring at the phone on the coffee table. He didn't want to call his mom; calling his mother actually involved talking, and she was much more thorough than his father was. He didn't want to deal with that today. Still, if he didn't call her then it'd be his father who suffered and Hitoshi didn't want that.

She picked up on the third ring.

"What, Izuku?"

"Mom." Hitoshi said, leaning into the phone as it rested on his palm.

"Oh, hi honey. What are you doing on Dad's phone?"

Hitoshi shrugged, sighing in frustration as he realized she couldn't see him. "It was closer than mine."

His mother laughed. "Lazy butt. How was your day?"

"Fine."

"How was your meeting with your therapist?"

"Fine."

"Okay…how's Daddy?"

Hitoshi sighed as he looked over the top of the couch to his dad's room, door open and light on. "I'm slowly killing him."

"Fine."

"Okay, can you give me more than that, please? I miss you. Pretty please?"

Again, Hitoshi sighed. "He's okay. We got ice cream."

"Oooh what's the occasion?"

"He's sad that I won't speak to him." "Just…guys being dudes."

Ochako laughed, which provided some type of relief, even if it was only temporary. "Alright, did you guys get your homework done?"

"Yeah," He lied. He didn't want his dad to get reprimanded for his own destructive tendencies.

"Did you have a lot?"

"Not really."

"Any you struggled with?"

Hitoshi cursed silently, looking for a bullshit answer. "Algebra." Mitsuko was good at algebra.

"Oh, ummm, well did you two get it? If not you could snap a pic and send it to me and I can help. Or you could ask Kayda, I'm sure she'd love to help you."

"We figured it out."

"Of course you did, you're so smart." There was a pause when Hitoshi didn't respond. "Your dad is pretty good at algebra, huh?"

Hitoshi sighed. "Yeah." That's where Mitsuko got it. 

"Okay, well it's getting late. As much I know you love talking to me, you need to get your rest."

"Okay."

"Okay. I love you, bubba. Goodnight."

"Night." He said and hung up the phone, letting it sit idly in his lap before he moved. He went to his father's room and peeked inside to see the bathroom door closed. He must have been showering. Hitoshi left his phone on his bed, then went back to his own bedroom. He laid down on his bed, not bothering to get under the covers, figuring he'd just get up and shower when he'd inevitably wake up again in two hours. Everything felt heavy, especially his eyelids, and he let them fall closed as he drifted off into the night.

✱✱✱

Hitoshi kicked at the ground as his hands gripped the sides of the chair. His cousin sat in the one next to him, resting her chin on her hand.

"He doesn't need whatever the hell this is, Katsuki-"

"I don't have anything to do with this, don't start with me."

Hitoshi sighed and bent down to pick up his backpack just as Katsuki and his mom burst through the door to the principal's office. His mom rushed over to him, cupping his face in her hands and repeatedly asking if he was injured. Hitoshi pushed her off and started towards the door, scoffing when Ochako blocked his path.

"Hitoshi, what happened?"

The brunette glanced at his cousin who rolled her eyes as she picked up her bag. "Nothing."

"Obviously, it's not nothing if you're both here-"

"Okay, would you shut up and let me parent my own kid?" Katsuki spat, and Ochako scoffed.

"You're not doing a very good job-"

"Mom," Hitoshi whined. Nothing good was going to come from this.

"Saisho, what the hell happened?" Katsuki asked and the girl rolled her eyes. "Don't you dare roll your eyes at me, do you know how many strings I had to pull to come get you?"

"Oh, yeah. 'Cause it's my fault, right? It's always my fault." She pushed past her dad, ignoring his angry shouts and walked out of the door. Hitoshi slipped around his mother, following Saisho's lead. He just wanted to go home.

"This is the third call I've gotten this month. Saisho, whatever the hell this is, you need to get it together because I'm sick of it."

"What do you think, I like you coming to my school and screaming at me in the halls?!" Saisho whipped around and shouted right back at her father, a few spikes growing on her arms. "Yeah, it's the highlight of my freaking week!"

"Watch your mouth!" Katsuki scolded her but she was ready to fire back with more sarcasm.

"It wasn't her fault, she had a panic attack!" Hitoshi shouted over them, grabbing both of their attention as well as his mother's. Quieter, he continued, "They pick on her, they wouldn't leave her alone. So I stepped in and then her quirk was all…you know and then…"

"What…is this true?" Katsuki turned to Saisho, who's breathing had picked up as she stared at Hitoshi. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because you don't listen! It doesn't matter."

"Of course, it matters. How could you even think that? You're supposed to tell me stuff like this-"

"She was just scared-" Hitoshi started, but was quickly stopped by a wry cry.

"Oh my GOD!" Saisho wrung her fingers through her hair, pulling at her scalp in frustration. She turned to Hitoshi, "Would you FUCK OFF?! Stop fighting my battles for me!"

"Hey!" Ochako stepped up next to Hitoshi, offended for her son who simply sighed and cast his gaze to the floor.

"Hey! Not okay!" Katsuki grabbed onto her wrist and she growled, yanking it away with all her might but still not able to get free.

"LET GO! Don't touch me! Stop!" She cried, clawing at Katsuki's hand. "Ugh! None of this would be happening if Dad was here!" She yelled, and that was enough for Katsuki to loosen his grip in shock. Saisho immediately ripped her hand away, stumbling backward in a fit of tears.

"I'm here! I'm here, sorry I'm late!" Izuku threw open the double doors, slowing down at the sight in front of him. "What…what's going on?"

Saisho let out one more frustrated sob and stomped forward, shoving past Izuku to the parking lot. 

Izuku gave Katsuki a look, which he ignored and started after his daughter. Izuku grabbed him by the arm before he could get passed. "Hey-"

"Don't touch me!" Katsuki yanked his arm away, whipping around to face Izuku. "You're not the only one who lost someone in that accident, you know?! And that's what it was, an accident! It was an ACCIDENT! I'm sorry! You know I'm sorry! And you can punish me all you want, but don't you fucking drag her into it because she lost a parent!" He pointed out at the parking lot, tears welling up in his eyes and Hitoshi realized this was the first time he'd actually seen his uncle cry.

Izuku didn't stop him from leaving after that, and the broken family watched the blond storm out of the school.

"Okay…what the heck did I miss?" Izuku held his arms out to his sides as he approached his son and ex wife. 

"More like why the hell did you miss? Izuku, where were you? I know they called you after they called me." Ochako stepped towards him, arms crossed over her chest. 

"I was working-"

"So was I."

"I was all the way across town!"

"What happened to your super speed, Mr. Full Cowling?" 

"Okay, I'm not doing this with you right now. Hitoshi-"

"No, you don't get to do that. You don't get to dodge my questions like they aren't important."

"I am trying to check on our son!"

"He's fine! I already checked, because I was here."

"Well I am here now and I would still like to know what happened."

"He was in a fight!"

"You were in a fight?!" Izuku echoed, turning to Hitoshi with a shocked look on his face.

Hitoshi raised his eyebrows and his mouth dropped open in surprise. "What?! No, it wasn't a fight-" He started, but was interrupted by his mother before he could finish. 

"Maybe you could have done something to prevent it if you actually talked to him."

Izuku recoiled, his eyebrows furrowing and his mouth morphing into a scowl. "I do talk to him."

"Oh yeah? What do you talk about?"

"We…Ochako, this isn't fair-"

"You want to know what isn't fair? What isn't fair is that I'm stuck being his mom after you decided to be his friend! Let me guess what you had for dinner last night: whatever he wanted?"

Izuku frowned. "Actually, we had pizza."

"Oh, pizza! Even better!"

Hitoshi shut his eyes, scrunching his nose up as they continued to bicker. He was sure the classrooms down the hall could hear, and he didn't need to add anything else to his souring reputation. "You guys, can we please go home-"

"Shush!"

"Not now!"

This was how they'd been since the funeral. They argued constantly; over why the dishes weren't done (Mitsuko always did them), about who's turn it was to buy groceries (Mitsuko did most of the shopping), about whether they were going to keep Mitsuko's door open or closed.

The last one didn't last long because Izuku moved out a few months after. He wanted her door closed, but now Ochako could keep it open. 

They argued over Hitoshi a lot too, and he remembered when he first saw the headlines: "Pro Heroes Deku and Uravity Messy Divorce After Loss of Child!"

He threw up after reading it.

Things were better after they separated. Well, not better, but at least they weren't fighting all the time. They had gotten better at communicating, but he still hated being in the same room with both of them at a time. It was times like these where he wished his sister was still here, or at least that Saisho didn't hate him. 

He guessed this was the type of stuff he was supposed to tell his therapist. But how was he supposed to say it when it felt like talking about her was forbidden? Her name was like a lit match, waiting to be dropped on a stick of dynamite embedded deep inside of the Earth's core, ready to blow his world to pieces. He lost himself in these thoughts, spiraling down and down and down until he'd forgotten what reality he was in.

His dissociation was dangerous because he would sometimes wander without realizing it until someone woke him up. This time, it was Hisao.

Hitoshi blinked as Hisao shook his shoulder, staring at him with a concerned look on his face. "Are you okay? Here, come in." He ushered and Hitoshi listened realizing his clothes were damp. He must have walked there in the rain.

"KAYDAAA!" Hisao shouted, and from the annoyed look on his face it didn't seem like it was the first time. "I don't know where she is. Damn, I've got a thing to go to, I just stopped by to pick up some tools. Here, uh-" He flipped the switch to the fireplace and it lit up. "I'll go get you some dry clothes."

"What do you want?" Kayda came down the stairs, her irritated expression faltering as she laid eyes on Hitoshi. "Hito-chan…what…?" She started and looked to Hisao who shrugged, bounding up the stairs to get clothes for Hitoshi.

Kayda finished down the stairs and jogged over to Hitoshi, who was shivering now. "What are you doing here?"

Hitoshi shrugged. "I don't know." He truly didn't.

She frowned and grabbed a blanket from the couch, wrapping it around his shoulders.

"Mom and dad were fighting." He mumbled and her shoulders slumped. He felt bad for unloading onto her like this. Mitsuko was her best friend after all. 

"Okay! They're gonna be pretty big, but it's better than what you're wearing, so," Hisao appeared next to them, handing Kayda the dry clothes. "I'm late to meet with Jisoo, so are you guys okay? Should I…?"

Kayda shook her head. "Go on, we'll be fine."

Hisao muttered a quiet "kay" and quickly left the house, leaving Kayda and Hitoshi alone. 

"Here, why don't we get you changed?" Kayda helped him stand and led him to the bathroom, handing him the clothes before he closed the door.

About fifteen minutes later, he was curled up on the couch with a mug of hot chocolate. 

"You know," Kayda sighed, picking at the blankets they were curled up with, "When Akio died…I wanted to die too. Well, not literally. I just couldn't…grasp the concept of living in a world where he didn't exist. I was so mad at him for…leaving me behind."

Hitoshi stared down into his cup. "It's not the same."

Kayda looked at him, then swallowed and nodded, sniffling. "I know."

Now he made her cry. When was this ever going to get any easier?

"I guess what I mean is," She sighed once more, allowing her hands to fall into her lap, "I've lost two important people within the last couple of years. So if you ever need someone to talk to…"

Hitoshi nodded. Kayda was nice, she had always been nice to him. But if he couldn't talk to his therapist, someone who his parents were paying to listen, how was he supposed to talk to his dead sister's best friend?

"Why didn't I wake up sooner?" Well,he's done it. Kayda raised an eyebrow and he, somehow, continued, "If I had…" He stopped, an involuntary sob bobbing in his throat, "She was just…lying there. She was all alone." He whimpered and his vision went blurry before he felt a warm wetness on his cheeks. "If I had…if I had woken up…s-sooner-" He coughed in his own tears, bringing a hand up to cover his face.

It had been a long time since he cried, and now that it was finally happening he didn't like it. His face was hot, and his head felt like it was going to explode from the sheer effort he was putting in to keep his tears from falling. Effort that didn't matter, because they were falling anyway, like a dam that had been patched up with gum, water spurting out of every crack, every crevice it could find. And to top it all off there was this sharp pain in his chest and he couldn't stop his lungs from seizing as he gasped for air, choking on his sobs and coughing when he couldn't get enough of it.

Warm arms restricted his shaking and he pressed his head into Kayda's chest, her hug providing some sense of security as he cried until his eyes swelled. Mitsuko would have made fun of him for this, and the thought only made him cry harder, pleading to some sentient being for the past year to have been a nightmare. Unfortunately for Hitoshi, said sentient being must not exist, because his desperate prayers went unheard. 

She whispered little reassurances, and though he didn't believe them, they made him feel a little bit better. His breathing slowed and his cheeks dried, though his head still pounded like a drum. He would have fallen asleep if he hadn't pulled away, hiccuping as he wiped at his eye.

"I should tell my parents where I am." He mumbled, taking out his phone and struggling to type in the pass code with his shaky hand.

"They don't know?" Kayda inquired, to which Hitoshi shook his head. He hadn't told him he was leaving, and they had been too caught up in their argument to notice. 

He shot them a text, nothing fancy or anything more than an address. He didn't want to talk to them. He was tired. 

But he did feel better. Even if it was just a little bit.

[ceealaina]

Title: In My Dreams I Turn You On - Chapter 1 Collaborator Name: ceealaina Card Number: 3088 Link: AO3 Square Filled: K4 - Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier Ship: WinterIron Rating: Explicit Major Tags: Alternate Universe - No Powers Summary: Tony's crushing hard on his new massage therapist, but doesn't want to be a sleazy businessman. Bucky's crushing hard on his latest client, but doesn't want to take advantage of him in a vulnerable position. So they handle it like any sane adults - pretend it's not happening and refuse to discuss it. At least they both have terrible friends to help them through it. Word Count: 4259 Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three

Tony groaned as he headed into the penthouse, Pepper close behind him. He’d spent the morning tinkering over a design, which had been followed by three meetings in a row in uncomfortable chair after uncomfortable chair. His shoulder blades were tight and aching, and he arched his back, stretching it out as he collapsed onto his extremely comfortable sofa. His back cracked with a series of loud pops, and he groaned again in relief, closing his eyes and rolling his neck, wincing a little at the sick crunching sound his muscles made at the movement. 

When he looked up again, Pepper was staring at him in horror. “Tony, was that your back ?” 

“Um. No?” He offered, doing his best to look innocent. When she didn’t look any more impressed, he offered a faint smile. “It was also my neck?”

Pepper rolled her eyes at him. “JARVIS, please book Tony an appointment with the in-house massage therapist,” she requested pleasantly, before fixing Tony with a dirty look. “This is exactly why we have a therapist on call. Use it.” 

“I did!” Tony insisted. “I mean, I do! I just... got busy.” Pepper wasn’t budging, and he sighed heavily. “Fine. J -- go ahead and book that appointment. I think I can put off that phone update and clear some time tomorrow afternoon.” 

It wasn’t that Tony minded getting massages; quite the opposite actually. He was pretty good about booking his appointment every six weeks (doctor’s orders) and Louise, the staff therapist, was an absolute sweetheart with the uncanny ability to know when he wanted to lie in silence and let himself drift, and when he wanted to be regaled with stories about how she’d spent her weekend with her wife and their three dogs. He’d just been so busy that it had kind of fallen to the very bottom of his todo list. Still, the creaks his body was making were a little concerning, and it would be good to be able to relax for ninety minutes. 

By the next afternoon, Tony was actually really looking forward to the appointment. He’d had a ridiculous morning, and his neck and lower back were killing him, the beginning of a tension headache beginning to crawl up the base of his skull. 

But all those thoughts flew right out of his brain when he walked into the therapy room to be met with a pert ass in perfectly fitting soft, grey pants, bent over the office desk. 

“Um.” Tony blinked, eyes trailing up over a broad back, muscles clearly defined beneath a black, long-sleeved t-shirt. “You’re not Louise.” 

The man bent over the table jumped a little, straightening and turning to face him, and Tony felt his heart skip a beat in the face of bright blue eyes and a wide smile, and long brown hair pulled back in a mostly-professional bun. 

“Hey!” Tall, dark and sexy beamed at him, moving across the room. “You must be Mr. Stark.” 

If he squinted, Tony could hear the slightest trace of a Brooklyn accent in his voice, reminiscent of Steve when he was drunk, or got all worked up about the state of America, or both. Tony couldn’t help feeling endeared at the sound, the low voice rolling over him. “Tony, please,” he managed to get out, toes curling in his dress shoes as his hand was gripped in a warm, firm handshake. 

“Tony,” the therapist repeated dutifully. “Louise is on vacation for the next couple of weeks. My name is James. I just started today, but I’m fully trained and certified, promise.” He gave Tony a broad grin, the kind that looked like it would be accompanied by a wink, if that wouldn’t come off as unprofessional. “I’ll be your therapist for today, if that works for you?” 

“Oh yeah, that definitely works for me,” Tony assured him before wincing a little, because wow Stark, creepy much? Way to keep it classy. 

Fortunately James didn’t seem bothered, huffing out a soft laugh with a twinkle in his eyes. “Glad to hear it,” he said, and it may have been Tony’s imagination, but it seemed like the handshake lasted just a second too long before he released his grip and took a step back. “Uh, right. So we’ll just go over any problem spots you want me to work on, and then I’ll leave you to get as undressed as you’re comfortable with and we can get started.”

Tony was nodding along as James spoke, somehow managing to keep from shivering when he talked about getting undressed. “Sounds good to me.” 

“Uh, one more thing,” James added, doing an adorable little scrunch of his face before lifting his left hand and rolling it awkwardly, and-

“Holy shit!” Tony reached out to catch his wrist, stopping himself just in time. “Is that one of mine? Of course it’s one of mine,” he added before James could answer. “You wouldn’t work here and not get an SI prosthetic. That’s one of the most recent models though, right? How’s it working out for you? Any problems with neural connections? Any pain at the connection sight? How’s the response time?”

“Mr. Stark - Tony.” James interrupted him, laughing again. “We’re here for you, not me. But, uh, off the record?” He did another little twist of his wrist that Tony had a hard time pulling his eyes away from. “The arm works like a dream. Thank you. But I just wanted to let you know that the hand might give you some different sensations than you’re used to. Just let me know if anything doesn’t feel right, and I can always put a glove on if you’d prefer.” 

“Oh no,” Tony assured him quickly. “I’m sure it won’t be an issue.”

James was wholly professional, nodding as Tony told him about his problem areas and clarifying how the session would go. Then he was leaving Tony to change. Tony moved quickly, stripping down to his silky red boxer briefs, folding his clothes neatly on the table; he figured it didn’t hurt to make a good impression, just in case. He was well settled on the table by the time James knocked on the door, blanket pulled up to his shoulders to ward off any chill. 

“Yup,” he called at the sharp tap on the door. He cleared his throat quickly. “Yeah, I’m good.”

James slipped into the room with quiet movements, dimming the light and moving to gather his supplies. Tony took a few deep breaths, letting himself relax as he listened to him move around the space, the quiet, steady beat of his footsteps, 

“I’m going to get started now,” James told him, his voice softer than before. He pulled the sheet down, exposing Tony’s back, and he did his best not to shiver at the cooler air of the room. “Just let me know if anything doesn’t feel right, or if you want the heat up.”  

Tony nodded against the table. “No prob-lem.” His voice hitched on the last word as thick fingers tucked the sheet just under the waistband of his briefs, pushing them down a little in the process. His touch was completely professional, but the quick drag of his fingers over the top of Tony’s ass had a shiver of pleasure running through him in a way that Louise’s touch never did. If James noticed the catch in his voice, he kept it to himself, no hesitation in his efficient movements. 

A minute later, strong fingers were pressing into the skin of Tony’s back, touch light to start and sliding up either side of his spine. Even that little touch was heavenly, and when James’s fingers dug in at the base of his neck, Tony couldn’t help the low moan that slipped out. 

“That feel okay?” James asked, and Tony thought he could hear the slightest hint of a smile in his voice. 

“Feels amazing,” Tony slurred into the sheet. “Thas... really nice.” 

“Is the pressure okay?” James asked. “You can let me know if you need a lighter touch.” 

“No, no it’s good,” Tony mumbled. “Actually. You can go a bit harder.” 

Ridiculously, he felt his neck heat at the unintentional double entendre, and he couldn’t help feeling grateful for the dim light of the room, keeping James from seeing. A minute later strong thumbs were digging circles into his shoulder blades, the touch of his metal hand just slightly cool enough for Tony to register the difference, and he just about melted into the table. 

Tony lost time for a bit, brain floating, hovering somewhere between awake and asleep. He was vaguely aware of James in the room, his hands working steadily over his back, pulling him closer to consciousness as he worked out a few particularly tight knots before Tony would drift away again, equations floating in and out of his head, gone before he could work out what they solved. 

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed when James moved his hands down to his lower back, making a soft noise under his breath. 

“You’re really tight here,” he murmured, and Tony couldn’t help appreciating how his voice was lower and softer now, like he knew Tony wasn’t all there at the moment. “This might be tender for a moment, but it will help you in the long run. Is that alright?”

Tony hummed out something that hopefully passed for an affirmative, doing his best not to tense up as he prepared himself. James’s hands settled on his lower back, either side of his spine, just above the swell of his ass. He pushed down and up, with enough force that Tony’s entire body shifted along the table and -

Oh.

Tony’s eyes popped open, suddenly wide awake. The fact that James had enough strength to move him so easily was super hot, but Tony was having a difficult time focusing on that right now. Apparently he’d been too dreamy to notice before, but he was hard. And not the normal plumping of his cock against his thigh that occasionally happened. He was almost fully hard. James pressed in again, shifting his body on the table and inadvertently grinding Tony’s cock against the table. Tony bit down hard on his lower lip to stifle the moan that threatened to slip out as little sparks of pleasure shot up his spine. 

“Sorry,” James hummed after a moment. “You’re tensing up a little. Is that too much?” 

Tony swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. “No,” he managed, clearing his throat when it came out a little squeaky. “No, it’s fine.” He did his best to relax as James continued his ministrations, taking slow, deep breaths, eyes fluttering with each slow grind of his dick against the sheet. His hands, thankfully hidden where the sheet was pulled up to his hips, were clenching and releasing against his thighs as he tried to think about all the paperwork waiting for him and not the fact that he could feel himself getting harder, his arousal growing. 

He breathed a soft sigh of relief when James took a step back from the table, hoping it would come across as just being relaxed from the massage. This was okay; if he didn’t have James forcefully grinding him against the table (which was hotter than it should be even if Tony hadn’t already been rock hard) he could focus on something else, get his body to calm the fuck down. It was absolutely fine. 

He held onto that hope right up until James was pulling the sheet up over his back again and then moving down the table to uncover his right leg. Because right, Tony had mentioned that he had some pain in his hips and glutes. This wasn’t uncommon -- they usually worked on that area when he came in for his regular sessions. But somehow it had never felt so sexual when Louise did it. Tony was certain he made some kind of noise when James tucked the sheet in under the leg of his briefs to hold it in place with quick, professional movements, but if he heard, James thankfully didn’t comment. Then his strong fingers were digging in at the tops of Tony’s thighs and the bottom of his ass and Tony felt his eyes flutter, doing his best not to hold his breath at the touch. 

He’d always been sensitive to this part, but it had never been quite this much of a problem before. He was no longer drifting, hyper aware of the press of each of James’s individual fingers. Tony could feel the back of his neck burning with embarrassment; he was closer to fifty than not, had thought these types of spontaneous erections were well behind him. Poor James was just trying to do his damn job, and here Tony was acting like the worst kind of pervert businessman cliche. He shifted at a particular movement, and winced when he felt the damp spot against his skin, actually leaking precome into his briefs. He might as well just ask for a happy ending while he was at it. Tony was never getting a massage again. 

He managed to stay calm while James worked over his leg, and then moved to the other one, and despite everything he had to admit that his hips did feel a lot more relaxed. When James stepped back again, Tony couldn’t help hoping that the massage was finally over so he could sneak off upstairs and take a very long, hot, loud shower. 

Of course, he wasn’t that lucky. 

Once James had covered him up fully again, he moved back up to the head of the table, standing just to the side of it. Tony tried not to think about the fact that if he just turned his head, James’ cock would be right there. Tried not to imagine sucking him off while he was still propped against the table. 

“Okay,” James said. “I want to do some more work on your neck. You still seem awfully tense. I’m going to lift the sheet a little, and I’ll just get you to roll over onto your back and slide down a bit so your head is fully on the table.” 

“Um. That’s okay, actually,” Tony told the floor. “We... You don’t need to do that. Actually, we can just call it there, if you want. I’m sure you have... things to do.” 

There was a brief moment of hesitation. “Is... Was something wrong?” James asked cautiously. “I didn’t...” Tony caught the faint whirring sound of James rolling his prosthetic wrist. “I didn’t hurt you or anything, did I?” 

“No!” Tony said quickly, feeling like a complete asshole. James had just started this job, was probably worried about not making it the week when Tony just couldn’t keep it in his pants. “No,” he said again. “It’s not that at all. It was great. Wonderful, even. One of the best massages I’ve ever had. I really enjoyed it. I just, uh. I really enjoyed it.” 

“Oh!” James said, and Tony had to give him credit, he was quick on the uptake. There was a soft huff that may have been laughter, but Tony didn’t get the impression he was laughing at him. “That’s fine, Tony, honestly. It happens all the time. And I’ll be focusing on your neck, so I’m more than happy to continue the massage as long as you’re comfortable.” 

“Gonna be too comfortable,” Tony grumbled before he could stop himself, and there was definitely a snort of laughter from James that time, although he quickly cut it off, clearing his throat instead. He was waiting patiently, and Tony wasn’t sure how to explain that this wasn’t exactly a half-chub, that he was rock hard and leaking, without it turning into a sexual harassment suit. He sighed softly. He really was still tense, and some masochistic part of him didn’t want this to be over yet. “Okay,” he said.

His voice was little more than a whisper, but James must have heard anyway. He moved again, lifting the sheet by Tony’s head just enough to give him space to shift around. Tony squirmed his way lower first, suddenly hyper conscious of the way his ass must look through the thin fabric. He chewed at his lip as his cock rubbed against the table again, and then, keeping his eyes closed, he rolled over onto his back.

It was a bit of a relief, actually, and his cock thickened further, no longer compressed against the table. He didn’t have to look to know that he was tenting the sheet, and if it wasn’t for the briefs keeping him somewhat contained, he was pretty sure it would have been waving hello. Tony could feel his cheeks flushing darker. There was a moment of silence from James, and Tony didn’t dare open his eyes to see what he was thinking. 

“Okay!” he said suddenly, and there was a note in his voice that Tony couldn’t quite place. “Okay...” He lowered the sheet around Tony’s chest and then moved away from the table. Tony heard the rustle of fabric and risked cracking an eyelid open to find James gathering up the heavier weighted blanket from the corner. They’d forgone it for today, since the room was already quite warm, but he brought it over now, settling it over Tony from his toes to his waist. “Thought that might make you a little more comfortable,” he said softly, like it was a secret outside the professional aspect of their situation. Tony felt his heart lighten with relief and something else, and opened his eyes farther just in time to catch James’ gaze as he straightened back up. 

“Uh, thanks,” Tony murmured, their eyes locked in the dim light of the room. There was a heavy weight to it, like they were the only two people in the world, and then James was smiling at him and moving back behind Tony’s head and the moment was gone. 

Tony let his eyes fall shut again as James started working over his neck and upper chest, doing his best to let himself relax and somehow ignore the hardon that was currently begging his attention. He was half successful, enough that when James finally pulled back completely, he was a little startled by how much time had passed. 

“Okay,” James said, his voice a quiet rumble that sent shivers up Tony’s spine. “We’re done for today. Can I get you a glass of water, or anything?” 

“Nah,” Tony mumbled, still feeling drowsy and hazy. He blinked up at James, catching a faint smile on his face that could almost be described as fond. “Thanks,” he added. “This was... Thanks.”

James’s smile grew. “It was my pleasure,” he assured him. “It was very nice to meet you, Tony. Maybe I’ll see you again.” 

“I’d really like that,” Tony told him, before wincing because that was not a thing you say to your massage therapist. What was wrong with him today?

But James didn’t sound concerned, laughing softly. “Okay, I’m going to head out now. Take your time getting dressed, and try not to stand up too fast,” he said, and when Tony glanced over at him, there was the faintest hint of a smirk on his face. “Wouldn’t want you to get dizzy from low... blood pressure.” 

Tony blinked up at the ceiling for a long minute after the door had shut softly behind James. “Did he just...?” He couldn’t help giggling a little, some of his self consciousness fading away. He blew out a long breath, rubbing a hand absently over his thigh. “Fuck. Stark, I think you might be in trouble.” 

***

The second the door had clicked into place behind him, Bucky had to take a minute to lean against it, exhaling softly. That had been the worst session of his life -- and he had loved every second of it. 

Bucky had always had a bit of a crush on Tony Stark, okay? Bucky loved technology, and the man was an absolute genius. The ideas he came up with never failed to blow his mind. And if he’d spent more than one drunk and lonely night googling images of his butt, that was between him and his search history. So when he’d come out of his massage training, and his old friend Steve had suggested applying to SI while they were catching up over drinks and rock climbing (not in that order), he’d figured, why not? The thought had honestly never occurred to him, and it certainly had never occurred to him that they would actually hire him.  

And it had definitely never occurred to him that he would be working on Tony Stark himself. 

When he’d gotten the appointment booking, he’d nearly had a heart attack. He’d spent the whole day debating calling out sick, but he knew that wouldn’t be a good look in his first week. So Bucky had pulled himself together and told himself to be a goddamn professional. 

And then Mr. “Call Me Tony” Stark had walked in, and Bucky had nearly fallen on the floor. He was even hotter in person, all sparkling eyes and a smile Bucky would melt for. But he was also funnier than Bucky had expected, so easy to talk to and get along with, and not at all the rich asshole that he had been preparing himself for. Bucky was pretty sure he was in love. 

***

“Steeeve.” Tony flopped down in the seat opposite to his best friend, setting his sunglasses on the table. “I think I’m in love.” 

“Oh yeah?” Steve didn’t even look up from the sketch he was working on, which was just rude if you asked Tony. “And who’s the lucky person? Or is it another robot?” He did look up then, looking inordinately proud of himself, and Tony just glared back at him until Steve relented and rolled his eyes. “Alright, I’m sorry. I’m listening.” 

“Well I don’t wanna tell you now,” Tony grumbled at the table. Steve didn’t answer, just waiting him out, and it only took a minute for him to start squirming. “You’re gonna make fun of me.” 

“Bold of you to assume I’m not already,” Steve retorted, brushing an imaginary piece of lint off his shirt. 

Tony rolled his eyes -- the defining trait of their friendship. “Stop trying to talk like a teenager, asshole. You’re not that much younger than me.” 

Steve just smirked back at him before smacking his foot against Tony’s under the table. “Come on, pal. Spill. It can’t be that bad. What? Some 80-year-old scientist? An exotic dancer? A new intern? Oh god, is this like those two weeks when you were convinced that Pepper was your future wife?” He laughed as Tony looked less and less impressed. “Come on, Tony, I’m running out of business man cliches here. What, is it your massage therapist, or—“ The smile dropped off Steve’s face when he saw the way Tony’s eyes widened. “Oh, Tony no.” He looked around, suddenly realizing that they were in an open air cafe where anybody could be listening. “Seriously?” he hissed. 

“I know.” Tony dropped his head to the table, burying it in his arms with a low groan. “I know how it sounds. It’s the worst.” 

There was a beat and then Steve’s hand settled on the top of his head, fingers rubbing briefly over his scalp. Even though he was still mad at him, Tony couldn’t help smiling into his arms, leaning into the comforting touch. 

“Cheer up,” Steve told him, although he didn’t sound totally convinced of what he was saying. “It’s not so bad. Stranger things have happened. How long have you been feeling this way?” 

“Since I met him.” 

“Which was..?” 

Tony hesitated before lifting his head enough to give Steve sheepish eyes. “Yesterday?” 

Steve made a pained noise. “Jesus, Tony.” 

“I know . It’s fucking embarrassing.” 

Steve got his face on and Tony resisted the urge to kick him in the shin. “Look, I get how you could have certain… Feelings from a massage.”

Tony rolled his eyes skyward, and Steve stuck his tongue out at him in return. 

“But you can’t confuse touch with real emotions, Tony.” 

“It’s not like that!” Tony protested. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, the touch was nice. Like. really nice--,”

“ Tony .”

“But it was more than that. He just… I don’t know. He was gorgeous, but he was also sweet and funny and he made a dumb joke before he left and… I don’t know,” he said again. “People get so weird, sometimes, but he didn’t even blink when I walked into the room. We just clicked. It felt like he really saw me.” 

Steve blew out his cheeks, mouth twisting up into a sympathetic grimace. “Hey, it could work. Maybe you’ll… Lose all your money and have to fire him, so you’ll be on equal footing?” 

Tony stared at him blankly for a long moment and then groaned loudly, the sound turning to a long, drawn out whine as he draped himself face first on the table. Steve gestured to the server for more coffee and leaned forward to pat Tony on the back. 

“Cheer up, pal. It’ll be okay. Hey, I’m going axe throwing this weekend with my friend from high school. You wanna come along? Might help get your stress out.”

Tony lifted his head long enough to give Steve a baleful glance and then dropped back down with an even louder whine.

@tonystarkbingo

[zacharybosch]

Playing God - chapter 2

the continuation of my hannigram vampire AU~

chapter 1 on tumblr or ao3

read Playing God chapter 2 below or on ao3

Will hadn’t been quite prepared for how it would feel to reveal himself to someone outside of the FBI. When was the last time he’d revealed himself? Over a hundred years ago at the very least; he’d handed himself over to federal agents in a fit of suicidal righteousness shortly after the Bureau was established in 1908, fully expecting a swift execution and instead finding himself chained up in a basement cell for twenty years while they figured out what to do with him.

He hadn’t been expecting Hannibal to leap from his chair and invoke the name of Christ against him, but nor had he been expecting the calm, slow-blinking acceptance. A raised eyebrow, perhaps, or a brief slackening of the mouth. In all his long years, Will had never met anyone so infuriatingly placid.

He said as much to Miriam, and she smiled knowingly. He’d been familiar with her, in a rather vague sense, ever since she’d first begun her training at the Academy. And then he’d seen her, afterwards, shut up in the witness protection unit, trying to use an arm that was no longer there. Will had seen many people go through many horrific things over the course of his life, and none of them had been so resilient to those horrors as Miriam. When the opportunity to become Will’s handler arose, she had been damn near ready to fight people for it.

“Makes you want to kick him in the balls just to see if he’ll even wince, right?” Miriam said. “Not that we don’t have reason enough to kick him already.”

“I don’t understand how you can be so blasé about him.”

“Well I know everything is terribly dramatic and overwrought for your kind--”

“Oh god, don’t--”

“--but that’s just not me. He’s already got two years of my life. I’m not giving him any more. I’ve got better things to do.”

“Looking after a middle-aged vampire is a better thing to do?”

“Well I’m getting paid for it, so yeah, it is,” said Miriam. “Look, deep emotional turmoil aside, how was it physically? Did you feel anything? Any... twinge that might turn into a problem later on?”

Will closed his eyes and thought of Hannibal, the sandalwood scent of clothing that contained so much hot skin and blood beneath it. He felt a twinge, true, but he was constantly getting these ‘twinges’ in varying degrees from every person who saw fit to stand within a three-foot radius of him, so it was nothing new. He was very well-trained in denying that which called to him.

“No,” Will said. “No twinges. I’m fine.”

***

On a desolate and windy beach in Virginia, Will watched as a decaying totem pole of bodies was carefully catalogued and photographed.

His first thought was that he hadn’t seen any kind of human monument like this in a very long time, and this one particularly was quite impressive in its ambitiousness. His second thought was that it might be useful to say as much to Hannibal; it might make him jealous and provoke him to a misstep.

His third thought was that he should probably make a few shocked or appalled noises, like the other people attending the scene. There was a certain amount of nonchalance he could get away with, and which was indeed expected of him as an employee of the FBI, but a totem pole of bodies was apparently one of those things that you shouldn’t have become used to, and so Will turned away and shook his head as if to try and dislodge the image from his mind. One of the crime scene techs caught his eye and grimaced in solidarity. Just two humans together, doing the appropriate emotions.

The case quickly became boring after the initial excitement of the totem pole, although Will was faintly amused to discover that their killer had unwittingly murdered his own son. It reminded Will of a man he had known at some point in the nineteenth century - perhaps 1820 if he had to guess, or thereabouts - who had also mistakenly murdered his son. That man had in turn reminded Will of a similar man before him, and he of yet another man, on and on, back through the years. Same hubris, same ruin, same patterns cropping up again and again.

Will discussed the case with Hannibal at their next appointment anyway, careful to dress it up as more personally intriguing than it really was, but Hannibal seemed unmoved. Clearly it took more than that to make his jealousy spike, if he even entertained such an emotion as jealousy in the first place. Hannibal’s interest these days seemed to lie far more in the nature of Will himself than in the nature of Will’s reactions to the horrors he bore witness to. He’d made a valiant attempt to be light with his questioning in the intervening weeks since Will had outed himself, but their therapy appointments now frequently ended with what was essentially a vampire Q & A session.

“Do you eat?” Hannibal asked abruptly. “Besides blood.”

Will got up and stretched. The incessant questions had rankled at first, no matter how cool Hannibal tried to play it, but annoyance and feeling like a spectacle quickly gave way to a comfortable sort of indifference. And it wasn’t like Will ever had much else to do with his evenings; his subsistence appointments at Quantico were always scheduled late at night, and it was nice to be able to talk casually with someone about these things that no-one else wanted, or was allowed, to hear.

He wandered over to the window and peered out into the gathering dusk. “Sometimes. When I want to, or when not eating would seem suspicious. There’s no nutritional value in it for me, so it’s a largely pointless exercise.”

“And here I was hoping that you’d declined all my dinner invitations for purely physiological reasons.”

“I try to avoid close personal situations as much as possible. It’s, ah, easy to get bitey, you know.”

“I can imagine. But would this now not count as a close personal situation?”

“You’re my therapist. It’s different.”

“Am I, and is it? I’ve found that we both seem to have some trouble drawing the line between the professional and the personal, when it comes to each other.” Hannibal glanced briefly down at his watch. “Our appointment ended thirty minutes ago. Both of us were fully aware of that, and yet neither of us made an attempt to close the discussion. Why is that?”

Will turned away from the window and met Hannibal’s eyes across the room. “You tell me.”

“My reasons are entirely selfish. I would keep you here to talk with me indefinitely, if I thought you would let me get away with it.”

“That sounds awfully possessive, Doctor.”

Hannibal gave a gentle shrug. “It’s all I can say, it being the truth. I’m sure you’ve had similar sentiment directed towards you before.”

“Not for a long time.”

“How long?”

“Are you asking me how old I am?” Will said, and it came out sounding far more flirtatious than he’d intended, but maybe that wasn’t so much of a problem. “Rude, Doctor Lecter.”

Hannibal picked up on it, of course, and shaded his reply with the same coy tone. “Are you willing to tell me?”

Will had lived to twenty eight in human years, with an extra six hundred and seventy three vampire years on top, but that wasn’t really any of Hannibal’s business. “Maybe another time. I should go. I have a date with a bag of blood.”

***

Will’s subsistence appointments were grim affairs. His Keepers still believed that he was at his most dangerous when ingesting blood, so they strapped Will to a modified dentist’s chair and fed him the blood through a tube taped in place over his mouth. No opportunity to lick his lips and savour the taste, no chance for a stray drop to land on his skin and let him remember how it felt to be covered in it.

The blood was administered by feeding technicians, trained only in the processes of applying and removing the tube; taking measurements and readings before, during, and after; and setting up four separate cameras to record the whole appointment. They were not told what the measurements were for, or what happened to the videos. They were not permitted to speak to Will beyond a short list of approved instructions.

It had been humiliating at first and Will had thought the whole ritual to be needlessly cruel, but over time the feeling faded along with everything else, and now these subsistence appointments were just one more low buzz in the background noise of his life.

When Miriam started in her post as his handler, she took it upon herself to meet with Will on Friday evenings to go over his subsistence reports for the previous week. It gave Will a sense of involvement in his “ongoing care,” or so the official line went, however more often than not the meetings consisted of five minutes on the reports and forty minutes exchanging mildly-interesting office gossip. It was the closest thing Will had to a normal friendship with a normal human being.

Miriam downed half of her mug of cold coffee and grimaced. “Hmn. All looks more or less okay. Starting temp was a little higher than usual today but still within the allowed range. A little hot and bothered, were you?”

“Well I saw them bringing in a bag of B-neg and I just couldn’t help myself,” Will dead-panned. “What’s new?”

“Bev had a couple of days in the lab this week. Just a few hours.”

“How is she?”

“Impatient to be out of the secure unit and getting on with the rest of her life. You know she’s in the same suite they put me in? We’re calling it the Hannibal Lecter Trauma Centre.” Miriam eyed Will over the top of her mug. “Maybe they’ll have to put you in there eventually. Or is the noose tightening already?”

Will shifted about in his seat and thumbed at a non-existent crease in his trousers. “Not exactly. Plan’s shifting a bit.”

“I knew this was a bad idea. He’s getting to you, isn’t he?”

“No,” Will lied. “I just… I think it needs a little more delicacy than what we originally planned for. He’s not a giddy teenager, Miriam, I can’t just pop my fangs out and expect him to immediately fall at my feet.”

“Has he said anything yet?”

Will levelled his own flat look at her. “What do you think? He’s operated undetected for years. Don’t hold your breath for a result any time soon.”

[maximuswolf]

A Story with Uncertain Results via /r/ADHD

A Story with Uncertain Results

Hey everybody, I’m new to this subreddit for a similar reason most new people around here are, which is that I was recently diagnosed with ADHD (age 18……. Better late than never I guess). I noticed a distinct lack of full stories on this subreddit, and I thought it would be interesting to talk about mine to compare.

I consider myself pretty smart. At least, that’s what I’ve always been told. I suppose I could be placed in that class of student who frustrates the “good students” by doing as well as them without studying or even paying attention. I never needed to. Elementary school is strange in that it is exceptionally boring from a schoolwork perspective for those even slightly above average in intelligence. I was the “smart kid” in elementary school, and American school systems do a pretty shitty job of identifying problems in students who aren’t failing. For you see, sustained attention problems do not present themselves when assignments take less than 10 minutes. Task switching is not a problem when you finish tasks so early you get a full 30 minutes between them. Emotional regulation problems aren’t considered when you are a boy (boys will be boys… ok boomer). Now, something that’s actually kind of funny about this is that I absolutely should have gotten lower grades than I did. There was a test I took in 3rd grade where I answered the correct letter for the previous question for the middle half of the test and skipped a question, and my teachers only counted the one I skipped incorrectly. According to them, I just went too fast and that was the only problem.

Fast forward to middle school, which I think is the point that a lot of undiagnosed kids crash for the first time. I bombed the second quarter of middle school with possibly more unsubmitted assignments than submitted ones. It took a ton of work to get back on track, but this wasn’t much of an issue either because, even though I had 30 assignments I needed to complete, none of them took more than 10 minutes and I had 3 weeks to do it. Now, had I been unassisted, they simply wouldn’t have happened, but my history teacher used her own class time to force me to complete my missing assignments for other classes and told my parents that it was just a “boy in middle school” thing. Apparently nobody bothered to note that this was not something that happened for literally any other middle school boy. I did fairly well in the rest of middle school, and now we reach the point in my life where all those emotional skills ADHD doesn’t come with kick in. I never had good friends. I’m sure you could’ve picked this up by now, but as a younger child I was extremely arrogant. In 8th grade though, I actually met some people with whom I spoke. Often. The most important person in this group to include in my story is my future girlfriend, and future future ex-girlfriend.

I was vaguely aware of her crush on me for a long time in 8th grade, but I am not a naturally emotionally available individual, and expressing feelings and physical touch made me extremely uncomfortable for a number of ADHD and non-ADHD related reasons. However, this girl was attached to me, and my lack of emotional tact steadily wore down on her emotional state. When I finally decided that I would actually date her in 9th grade, she had depression for reason both under and not under my control (her relationship with her parents was…. strange to say the least). Over time, it became difficult to talk to her and we both decided it would be better if we parted ways, but that started the long chain of persisting mental health problems that I struggle with today.

Low self esteem was a new experience for me, and anxiety wasn’t something I was used to either. They both hit pretty hard. Hard enough that I quickly also became depressed. My grades suffered, and so my mental state suffered, and so my grades suffered further. At the time, I attributed the grades dropping exclusively to my mental state. I barely ended that year without a C, ending with an A and 6 Bs. One B was a for a class in which I had 11 zero quiz grades throughout the year and a 44 test grade. In this class, we were expected to make 30-70 detailed notecards each unit for the subject we were on. Each one could take 5-10 minutes. And they were incredibly boring to write. Sounds like a great assignment for someone with ADHD. Ironically, I remember trying to force myself to write the notecard about ADHD (it was a psychology class, actually).

I struggled with depression off and on over the next two years and anxiety was a problem that just kept getting worse. Junior year went pretty well, and then Covid hit. I lost the ability to do anything. My anxiety prevented me from asking my teachers for help with anything, and I absolutely needed the help. The primary contributor to my anxiety was an inferiority complex developed through my math classes. I just could not do as well as my peers. I would carry our table through problems during units, but when we got to the test, I would do a good 10 points worse than anyone I thought I should be equal to or better than. I also worked to the time limit on every last one, frequently not finishing them.

My grades were shaky at best for every year of high school other than the first, and this wasn’t something anyone, including my parents had seen from me before. I was constantly bombarded by my parents’ assumption that I had just ceased to care and just didn’t want to do any work. It was destroying me. At one point near the end of sophomore year, I genuinely considered offing myself for about 5 minutes at midnight sitting on the couch of my pitch black living room. I didn’t, but it was closer than I’d like to admit.

Back to senior year, and my depression had mostly subsided. I’m dating again, a rather tomboyish girl who I love dearly (she’d cringe at that sentence). My anxiety ever worsened. I procrastinated asking for college recommendation letters long enough that I had to wait to apply regular decision because my teachers would only write recs if given that extra time, and I don’t even know why I couldn’t get myself to ask. Logically it would be a fear of rejection, but I have no idea why that would be as I’ve never really been rejected in a meaningful situation.

My grades have been ok in online school, but the more important part of this final year of the story is finally talking to my pediatrician about my anxiety…. at 18 years old. Some of the problems I mentioned were apparently inconsistent with anxiety, so I was also referred for a psych eval for neurodevelopmental disorders, but I immediately started therapy for anxiety and depression, which had been alright.

I was evaluated in mid-December, and on the 17th of January I had my telehealth appointment for the evaluation. Fuck. When asked by my therapist what I thought might be wrong with me, I responded “social anxiety and mild ADHD.” Boy was I understating. Apparently feeling as though you are far behind your true potential for several years and being constantly bombarded with others telling you you aren’t good enough does a thing to a person. About that off and on depression I mentioned earlier? BAM cyclothymia. Generalized anxiety disorder wasn’t a surprised, but what did surprised me was my diagnosis of not mild, not even just moderate, but moderate to severe predominantly inattentive ADHD. I’ve actually got the scores from the WAIS-IV I took to compare sections that are heavily impacted by ADHD and those that are not. The section least impacted by ADHD is Verbal Comprehension, on which I scored a 127. My other scores are the real kickers though (I sound old here don’t I…. fuck…. I blame having old parents): Perceptual reasoning: 96, Processing Speed: 89, Working Memory: 80.

Anyways, that was something of a shock. Today was my second day on the minimum dose size for Concerta, and….. I feel exactly the same. I might be a little more awake than usual? I’m also noticeably more tired around 6 pm, but that might just be that I have to wake up earlier now.

So anyways, that’s where I am right now. I’m sure this is difficult to read and I apologize for dumping my life onto this post, but I thought it would be interesting to hear some other peoples’ more detailed experiences, thanks for reading if you got this far.

TL;DR Honestly I don’t think I can really TL;DR this but basically, slightly worse version of stereotypical 18 y/o diagnosis of inattentive type

Submitted January 21, 2021 at 10:22PM by Most-Hedgehog-3312 via reddit https://ift.tt/3p6Yeh3

[cosmosogler]

today i got almost everything done!

my mother woke me up at about 5:45, and then again at 6:20. i was super angry. then my brother and sister were in both the upstairs bathrooms so i had to go all the way downstairs and across the house just to go to the bathroom before i went back to sleep.

i dreamed that i was getting annoyed with a conspiracy theorist. “video games are downloading scientific theories into your brain!!!” it was the science that scared them apparently. and the computers. the person wasn’t even present, i was just hearing their voice as i played dream mario, which is only slightly like nintendo mario. i told the voice that video games are just another way to tell a story. i pulled a children’s book out of somewhere, i think it was “goodnight moon” actually. except the cover was wrong. but i was telling the voice that there wasn’t nothin wrong with telling a cute or simple story.

sometimes the story is “i got really good at jumping over hills and across floating spinners and on turtles.”

i only put on the snooze for five minutes because i really, REALLY didn’t want to get up with less than like seven and a half hours of sleep. i got up anyway and showered. i didn’t get to spend long in the shower though... i really need to shave but i haven’t had much time at all the last five, seven days. i shower every other day since it’s a little better for your hair and skin...

anyway as i was heading out to go to therapy dad decided to start asking me to do some chores. i sort of started one, i let eve outside, but i seriously didn’t have time to wait for her to take a sunbath and let her back in. then someone (not naming names, because i’m not 100% sure) decided to park their car in a way that made it impossible for me to pull out of the garage. so i had to go back inside, get that car’s key, move it to the other side of the driveway, go back inside to drop off that key, and then i could get in “my” car and get going. then people on the freeway kept cutting me off without using their turn signals and also were generally going below the speed limit so i would have to stand on the brakes. this happened more than once. then i almost hit someone trying to get over to the exit because as i passed them apparently they sped up while passing through my blind spot so they were farther up than i thought they would be when i started changing lanes. cool!!!!!!!!

in individual therapy i brought up a bunch of emotional problems i had started to explore a little bit in group therapy. i ended up talking for the whole 45 minutes straight basically. like, my therapist asked a few questions, and reassured me a few times, but it was like a huge information dump so hopefully in the coming weeks i can start addressing each problem individually. i also got my semester refund paperwork sorted out with her. i’ll be able to pick it up next week. i mostly focused on how none of my problems feel “big enough” unless they are unsolvable since i really didn’t get to talk about it in group yesterday. i said one thing that i kind of liked though. i said “i feel like if i didn’t have so many problems, i wouldn’t have so many problems.” 

what i meant to say was “if i didn’t have so many mental and personality problems, i wouldn’t have so many life problems,” but the vagueness was silly enough that my therapist made a face and laughed. i said i didn’t know what to focus on first and she said “you’re already working on everything.” i had listed the multiple projects i am trying to keep up with therapy wise... i dunno. i feel like if i can get over that big “problems have to be impossible” hurdle things will start feeling a little more manageable and i’ll be able to make progress more quickly.

guess i gotta spend more time thinking about that. i’ll keep you posted as things come up.

after that i picked up my paperwork from my physician’s office since i was on that side of town and got the number for the radiology lab that wants to do the last test. when i got home i shoved some leftovers in the microwave and called the lab and scheduled my “hida scan,” which is a gall bladder test i guess where they put a bunch of glowing stuff through your digestive system and see if it goes through normally. the scheduler said it normally takes two hours unless they find something, in which case it will take longer. luckily my next therapy appointment is 4 hours after my procedure... i hope that will give enough time. i will have to let her know. i definitely wouldn’t be able to do it on a group therapy day and the lady seemed pretty keen on doing it as soon as possible. and i can’t do it in the afternoon in case it goes long and dad isn’t able to get to work.

so 8 am next tuesday it is.

so i had my ravioli and went upstairs and then after a short break i watched the iron giant with oz. the movie is even better than i remembered. then we talked about physics stuff while i worked on gathering study materials with my classmates. i had a great time, and i hope oz did too. it felt nice to do an activity with someone that took up all our attention, so i didn’t have to, like, feel self conscious about not baring my soul or something.

i think when asher gets back i will talk to him about maybe spending an afternoon at the pottery lounge thing by the amc. it’s not cheap, but last time i checked i didn’t think it was too expensive at least. and i still have the ceramic dog i painted like 15 years ago so the stuff lasts. basically you pick out a little ceramic statue and you get to paint it using a selection from like 200 different shades. and i think you can stay as long as it takes to paint it. the smaller stuff wasn’t too bad cost-wise.

got sidetracked. after i hung up with oz and got all my emails and google docs in order i went and got groceries for mom. she was making quesadillas for dinner. i unfortunately had to pay for them with my own money, and it felt weird buying meat after all these years. but i guess i buy dog treats often enough that it’s not really, like, a compromise of my morals or something. i noticed that the dogs really went wild over the chicken strips i bought last time, so i tried to expand to “turducken.” (spoiler: they loved those too.)

so i dropped off the vegetables and stuff with mom, checked on the cactus mouse, and watched a couple of the videos i had loaded up while talking to oz. i try not to spend too much time reading or watching videos while talking to people because i get super focused on what i’m looking at and don’t hear what they say any more haha.

then i went downstairs and had my veggie quesadilla. it was... ok. i was still a little hungry afterward, but i also felt kind of ill so i didn’t want to eat any more. eating with mom was the WORST. she breathes loud and chews with her mouth open so it’s just a constant avalanche of awful squishy mouth noises. it made me so angry and annoyed that i think that’s what made me sick more than the food. i kind of abruptly stood up and put my plate away and took the dogs outside after trying out the new treats. i tried to play fetch with wiley but he was having none of it today. which is very odd... maybe it was just too hot for him to want to run around. 

i have been experiencing kind of horrible pain between my shoulder blades. i’m pretty sure it’s not my bra pinching anything because it’s way above the strap... probably a pinched nerve. i tried stretching my arms and shoulders and that seemed to help a lot, so i’m thinking i slept in a bad position.

then i went back upstairs and whined to myself about my therapy homework. i did more “self care” research and added a few more posts to my queue. and i talked with some discord guys a little bit. then i caught up on my self esteem journal and picked out one of my “short term goals” from my hospital-issued treatment plan. i used that as a base to expand on for my goal worksheet. i finished all that around 11 so then i got started on the owl picture for 40 minutes or so. now i am 35 minutes into my journal entry, which puts me at a comfortable time to finish up and try to sleep. i got another 10 minutes before i hit my target “get ready for bed” time.

my group mates and therapist expressed interest when i let slip that i like to draw on monday. the therapist asked what i draw. i wasn’t sure how to answer... “furries” isn’t really something i wanted to get into. and i haven’t drawn my own characters except for a reference for one of the art trades in a long time. i suppose i should post the uncolored version of that since i scanned it in and haven’t worked on it with the tablet yet.

so i just said “characters and people.” i like landscapes, but i have trouble spending enough time on them to really get into the details. i’m hoping the coloring pages will help loosen up my patience so i might start feeling like spending a million hours on one picture again. it’s been a couple years since i did anything complicated.

i’m thinking about maybe taking my sketch book... but i don’t want to spend a lot of time on explaining what the picture is of when i have more urgent things to work on.

tomorrow i have more things to do! i NEED to work on the welcome packet for ufl. i need to scan in a bunch of stuff, like my immunization records and my doctors’ notes for my refund file. i need to send an email to the preliminary test coordinator to figure out how to proceed with my studying... i need to know how much to panic about this. then after group therapy i need to drop off my sister’s old prescriptions at the police station. that won’t take too long. if i got energy i’d like to organize my desk and maybe also tidy up my room a little bit. write some things down to put in the jar. then i will work on my self esteem journal, continue reading through the self care resources i’ve got open in a million tabs, and work on the coloring page a little bit. that sounds good. and at some point i need to write my 1- to 2-paragraph essay for the refund. and also i gotta email my apartment complex about stuff like the bed size and some cupboard dimensions and whether there’s a microwave and stuff like that. some of those things i’m pretty sure i can just look up somewhere.

i think i can manage those things. the student orientation videos might have to wait until thursday but i can compile the paperwork and read the faqs and stuff. none of these tasks take long by themselves. so as long as i remember to take little breaks and stay motivated i think i can get it done and not have to worry about it so much any more.

ok, it is 12:30, which is only 5 minutes after my target time! i’m gonna do the daily pokemon stuff for 2-3 minutes and then get ready for bed. gotta practice giving myself credit for reaching/working on goals and stuff, even when i don’t want to.

[anundefinedwoman]

Chasing Guilt Away

Guilt - n. 1. the fact of having committed a specified or implied offense or crime. "it is the duty of the prosecution to prove the prisoner's guilt"

synonyms: culpability, guiltiness, blameworthiness, wrongdoing, wrong, wrongfulness, criminality, unlawfulness, misconduct, sin, sinfulness

2. a feeling of having done wrong or failing in an obligation.  "he remembered with sudden guilt the letter from his other that he had not read" synonyms: self-reproach, self-accusation, self-condemnation, feelings of guilt, guiltiness, a guilty conscience, a bad conscience, pangs of conscience, remorse, regret, contrition, repentance, shame, disgrace, dishonor "eat your food and enjoy it without guilt"

I'm not sure what it says that I'm moving from love to guilt in my free association writing. They are stark contrasts of one another.  In love, I didn't know it.  It seemed out of reach.  Or maybe it seemed skewed.  I still remember the first part of a poem I wrote when I was 15/16:

What is love? How does it feel? Is it good? Is it real?

Where do you get it? How much does it cost? I need some desperately- Before I get lost.

But guilt was never something I was ever lacking.  I'm not sure if that's taught or just innate.  I find myself at this point 2 hours before my appointment with my therapist and I should be a lot further than I am now.  I am not a procrastinator by nature.  In fact, procrastinators annoy me.  I live in a house full of them.  I haven't had any awareness that I am consciously trying to avoid doing this.  It just seems to happen that way.  I have nothing to show this week and I even missed last week because my oldest son was sick.  Then I had days I didn't feel well.  Then my ancestry/DNA kit came back that I had been waiting 8-10 weeks for.  Excuses, you know?

I feel guilty for this, yes.  I probably should feel guiltier, but I don't.

Guilt is a funny thing.  It's a form of manipulation or gaslighting our "loved" ones or friends put upon us when we are helpless.  That seed of doubt.  The mistrust of yourself; making you feel selfish, ungrateful, or foolish for wanting something extra just as an example.

And then you know what happens? The treatment done by others, becomes a learned response that you begin doing to yourself.  I was told how ungrateful I was being during my childhood, I should basically just shut up, take the neglect, emotional and physical abuse and even be happy that I had the roof over my head and got new school clothes.

Those of us brought up in environments like this are conditioned to be co-dependents.  

The way I see it, we can either push everyone away and hold them at arms distance because our lack of trust in others (another byproduct of our environment) or fix the broken we see in everyone else.  Maybe it's easier than addressing what needs to be fixed in ourselves.

 It's interesting, isn't it?  I feel I am getting off my topic of guilt, but I am just going to go with my train of thought here.  See where this leads me.  Perhaps I can tie it back to guilt.  After all, I have always said there have been two thing my life has always been ruled by.  But always first by someone else.  Guilt being one.

But I wonder... Are you co-dependent?  Have you ever struggled with it?  Perhaps you are a "recovering" co-dependent.  that term makes me chuckle a little.  Perhaps you have or feel you have a hybrid form of co-dependency, (because we are weird and sometimes it's just hard to define us & feel like we are understood).

I did not grow up around addiction per se.  I grew up around self righteousness, selfish, angry assholes who neglected their responsibilities of parenthood onto others. I grew up around extreme dysfunction where I was controlled into submission and even jealousy by an imaginary granddaughter name "Debbie H****" who was as mysterious, good and as invisible as Santa Claus.  They used her to manipulate the little child in me.  Soon other family members would tease me about her.  They talked about her as if she were real.  I remember when I moved to England as a preteen, my grandfather wrote me once (and it was so special getting a letter from him) where he spoke about her in the letter. Sometimes I feel like there is this access of evil that runs through my family with all that has occurred to me, my mother and my aunt.  But the part of me that loves my grandparents ferociously wants to defend that they had no idea what they were doing; the damage this could have caused.  Could it?

I lay in bed at night sometimes and I think about perhaps something I said, or didn't say, or how a situation was handled and I persevere on the subject and how it may impact my children especially.  But I do this with everyone.  This is where guilt gets me.  I just want to make people happy.  Even if it means I'm not.  

The last few years I have gotten much better with this, but this has been my downfall.  I put others needs before my own.  Their worth, their needs take priority over mine.  Another learned behavior.  I've always had to.  Growing up my voice never counted.  My feeling never counted.  I guess I learned to push it down.  There were times when I would show emotion and was told I wasn't allowed to cry or feel sad or angry about something.  But I AM an emotional person.  I honestly don't know how I survived my childhood and teen years being so neglected and emotionally and physically abused.  I begin to detach and I ponder upon this.  I fiddle with my lip.  I stare off at the area rug in front of me in the distance and it becomes a blur and soft sounds of Pandora radio with cars passing by with loud sounds of birds chirping become my focus, but I am not there.  I have awareness.  I can come back.  I have control.  It scares me some and I realize this is where I probably should stop and look over the link my therapist gave me last week on what to do on staying in this present and not detaching - I want to push through, however.

It's like those moments when you are trying to concentrate,   i.e. write because maybe you have a deadline and maybe you have ADHD, which I do. (could be an effect of this, but I did take my meds today... huge squirrel moment!!)  As I was saying, perhaps you have ADHD, or are distracted or you are just a deep thinker and you suddenly stop mid-sentence, stare off into space and think about something - deeply, almost trancelike.  You might be 'lost' for a few moments.  Perhaps it may take someone snapping their fingers or tapping you on the shoulder and saying, "Ground Control to Major Tom" (if your name was Major Tom).  Talk about HUGE squirrel moment.  I am not sure why I felt the need to go off on a tangent describing all of this in such great lengths when my focus should be on guilt.  

I saw something the other day on Facebook in the form of a quote meme that bothered me a little.  I know a lot of people will agree with it.  It said:

"You're responsible for how long you let what hurt you, haunt you."

Obviously the person who wrote this has never faced complex trauma.  They obviously don't understand it.  We didn't ask for any of this.  None of this has been our choice.  If we are in therapy seeking help, that is our choice.  But do you know how many times I have been in therapy?  I had reached a point where I felt that my only alternatives were a life of unhappiness which I couldn't bear to live, or death.  I felt beyond broken.  And I have only to this point talked about small pieces of my childhood which is already so fragmented because of my memory or a  self preservation mechanism.  Because I have tried therapy so many times in the past and cannot get passed my past, it is hard not to feel hopeless and dejected.  I don't want to play the victim card, because all of us who have been through what we have are survivors, not victims.  Seeing the above quote written by some person with no understanding only makes those who have tried and tried again and again feel guilty, like it is their fault.  

I recognize a pattern within myself.  I have created this illustration to describe the pattern.

With guilt comes obligation, doesn't it?  To fulfill promises you made to others, even if you don't want to go along anymore.  Vagueness suits me here.  It could be anything.  You choose.

Moms especially (or any parent) know a thing or two about guilt.  We have to juggle so much.  We willingly and gladly put their needs before our own.  But when they start growing up and it's time to start with self-care, going out, an occasional splurge on self, talk about guilt!!!  I have such buyers remorse when I have spent anything on myself.  Guilt and worth go hand in hand for me.  I returned my birthday present this year.  I actually return many of my gifts.  I feel guilty for accepting them.  Like I am unworthy of them.  Especially if someone is giving it to me.  If I go out and buy myself a new pair of earrings or shirt, it’s less guilt inducing for me.  Weird, huh?  I might have to put some thought into that.

Like I have discussed with my therapist, what I know intellectually and in my heart, or viscerally, are two separate matters.  I have enough insight or common sense to know I shouldn't feel guilt over X, yet deep down no matter what I know or tell myself, I still feel guilty, or unworthy.  Is this a case of "the heart feels what the heart feels?"  Or is this conditioning mixed in with good insight or mixed in with results of therapy that knows it on a level that I believe but I just can't stop feeling?  Where does that line get drawn?  The line between belief and feeling?

I think I am babbling now and I am going nowhere productive with my thoughts. I feel there is so much left unsaid.  In fact I know there is.  My thoughts feel muddled.  It's as if when I'm sitting here in my chair writing, I can almost picture an Indy 500 race car shooting out from my brain like some kind of Peter Gabriel video going in dozen of different directions almost simultaneously with contrails following them.  Maybe some things are better left unsaid, huh?

For now guilt shall march on...

[cosmosogler]

i got four bottle caps today. two from fishing, one from collecting shards in the “fun adventure island”, and one when i won the lottery. i should probably go back to trying for gold bottle caps now that i’ve got a good fishing system in place for the silver ones.

that’s not really what i’m gonna talk about too much though.

i woke up before my alarm again, but still put my alarm on snooze when it did finally go off. i did not want to get out of bed at all.

this morning i kinda goofed off and grabbed some of the leftover rice for a quick lunch before i left for therapy. i could only eat like two-thirds of it though, it made me really sick. the only difference between this rice and the rice i had a few days ago was the enchilada sauce. but the bean burrito adventure with enchilada sauce didn’t make me sick before the first leftover meal.

i mostly spent my 45 minutes with the therapist complaining about my parents and worrying about my grad school applications. i gotta email florida back about the enrollment deadline... i’ll do that right after i call uic in the morning. they were 10 minutes closed when i went to call them. just missed.

oh yeah, and she can’t see me next week. so it’ll be two weeks before i see her again. for 45 minutes.

i dunno, that extra 15 minutes i usually get with other therapists makes a big difference... i feel like i don’t have much time to settle in and figure out what’s on my mind. i mean, i have the topics i want to bring up going in, but it takes a bit of meandering for me to really find something i can actually work on that week.

i picked up my meds on the way home and then spent the afternoon hanging out with eve, fishing for bottle caps, watching some tv show reviews and adding them to my watch list, and making myself sick with a small snack. it was a frozen cheese pizza. i put it in the oven and left it in longer than the directions said and it was still cold in one spot, which was frustrating.

when mom came home she asked to see my acceptance letter from florida and the paperwork i gotta send in by monday. she said things like “why aren’t you excited” and “you don’t seem excited” and “i just thought you would be happy that you got into one of your top choices” and “you should be more excited” and it made me kinda mad, so i acted less excited and even more vague and tight-lipped about it.

i watched the wind blow the leaves in the tree in our backyard while mom talked to herself about the logistics of coming to visit. it was nice out, but i didn’t want to go outside. i ended up not taking wiley for a walk today. i wanted to give my bug bites a little time to heal, and also i lost track of time and forgot. i’ll take him for a long walk with asher tomorrow maybe.

oh yeah, she told me about her boss’ daughter’s experience with mental health hospitals. she went to a fancy one down south that apparently cost “90,000 dollars.” she said that the daughter’s diagnosis was that she was “addicted to pain” and “could not be happy unless there was something wrong with her” and she had to have a whole bunch of surgeries before she came home, and also had to stop taking her meds. i kind of squinted at mom, trying to figure out what she was implying. well, that’s a lie. i knew what she was implying. i was trying to figure out if she was doing that on purpose.

i told her about the place i found that i liked and was gonna set up an appointment with before my sister and i leave for the concert next thursday.

quick aside - my sister loves k pop and we have tickets for the bts concert. it is an 8 hour drive away. i spent some time with my therapist trying to figure out what i was gonna do about my meds if the concerts went on late into the night.

anyway, mom decided it was necessary to tell me multiple times throughout the day that my aunt and her sister were both familiar with the mental health facility i was looking at. i couldn’t figure out why, so i ignored it, and then when she came home from work she asked if i had called and asked my aunt about the facility. 

man, i don’t tell no one in my family about how i’m doing except sometimes gramma. i’m pretty sure they can tell there’s something wrong with me, but i don’t talk about it with them and they don’t generally ask other than a casual “how are you today?” which is our usual excuse to launch into long stories about whatever financial garbage we’re dealing with or if something has changed about our summer plans.

you know, stuff that’s more or less relevant to the whole family.

oh yeah, i got super mad in therapy today. not with the therapist. i was telling her about my hospital stays and how mom always talks over me. when i was in the hospital back in january after dad brought me home mom was telling the doctors about how i felt. and they were deferring to her when asking questions about my health! and i asked them to put the iv in my left arm instead of my right, so i could use my right arm, and they totally ignored me. i had to do everything left handed. like paperwork.

and the time after my heart surgery when a radio station mom liked was doing a fundraiser at the children’s hospital. we went to go on air and mom told everyone about how my whole life no one ever knew anything was wrong and it was so scary and she started crying and talking about being a parent. 

i knew something was wrong. i started figuring it out around the time i started wanting to die in christian school. nobody had listened to me. they’d just called me lazy or said i had no pain tolerance. and even after the doctors said, you know, i have a huge heart problem and i am in like a lot of pain whenever i exert myself, i would ask to use a wheelchair at the mall or whatever and mom would say “you don’t really need that. everyone’s going to stare at you.”

so, like, my problem turned into mom’s sob story about how scary it is to have something wrong with your child. the dj never asked me one question about it. i just stared at the two of them sitting on the bench while mom cried into the microphone. i was 11. i knew how to talk.

after that when i would bring up therapy, like, after i turned 18, mom would jump to either i’m seeing a therapist because “you have ptsd from your heart surgery” or “you have autism.” i was talking to a therapist about my... depression and nightmares... but you know, whatever floats your boat mom. tell me more about how i’m addicted to melatonin and my medications turn me into “not yourself.”

man i’ve complained about this like five times and i’m still salty and don’t know what to do about it.

the one useful thing mom told me is that she looked into why doogles is eating poop. apparently pack animals do that to hide their pack’s tracks from other predators when a member of the family is sick, so they don’t get picked off by stronger animals. it is a reasonable fear, considering the coyotes that wander around in the ranch land behind our backyard. they are technically capable of jumping the fence, though i don’t think they would do it while our dogs were actually in the yard.

it’s because she knows eve is not doing well, probably because of the tumor. she tries to cover her own “tracks” too. when dad caught her at it tonight he got super mad and yelled at her. i told him there was a reason and he said he didn’t care. i set my jaw and followed him inside.

i had some stuffed mushrooms as a snack. i feel... ok, i guess. and i had plain pasta for dinner. i couldn’t finish the little bowl and i felt kinda junky but not too nauseous. 

i think i lost track of time and started writing late, because it’s just past 12:40. i know i didn’t start until a few minutes after 12 since i was downstairs eating... i don’t like how easy it is to slip from my schedule. and no matter how early i get to bed i can’t seem to get up before 10. i go to bed at 1, can’t get up before 10. i go to bed close to 12, still get up at 10. i want to have a little more time in the mornings to maybe get stuff done, and a little more time between my morning and lunch medication doses, but that doesn’t seem like it’ll happen unless i can trick myself into getting up at 9 or 9:30.

ah, i forgot to draw today. that’s what it was. i don’t have too much to do tomorrow, just the phone call... and then i’m hanging out with asher in the afternoon. i will put my sketchbook back on my desk so i will see it when i get bored and open up youtube.

there was something else i wanted to talk about, but i think it was kind of a meta anecdote about how fleeting the little moments are, and how difficult they are to capture and write down. every now and then i’ll stop and think, and i’ll want to write the thought down here that evening, and i’ll have totally forgotten what it was by the time i sit down to write. sometimes i’ll send a message about it to asher and then write down what i texted basically word for word, but i don’t like to bother him constantly. 

like, my life in my writing seems to take place in some nebulous black text in white space, but it doesn’t quite... give you the experience i was having, the tile on my feet, the bug bites, diogi snoring behind mom’s chair, the darkness of the house’s downstairs and how the windows are always shuttered, the wind chimes, the specific hue of the sky that always makes me think of my dreams and i can’t figure out why because the sky is usually the wrong color in my dreams. the million side programs running in my head while i try to have a conversation and i end up just saying nothing because why bother, or worse, i have something to say and just freeze up or stutter. and then mom sighs, because of course, and of course i’m just too stupid to talk coherently. one of my feet is super sore on the bottom every time i try to walk barefoot. my stomach is always uncomfortable and i almost always am aware of it. the split skin on my finger’s joint stings all the time. 

there’s just so much stuff that i plain forget to talk about, and my posts ARE ALREADY SO LONG! there is too much that happens in one day to talk about all of it! even when nothing happens!!!

it’s 1 now. i should try to sleep. i’m real thirsty, but if i drink water now i’m gonna have to get up in a half hour.