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dothwrites · 4 years ago

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15.20 coda--at the end of the world

author’s note: while i am still reeling from the finale, this was my way of making some kind of personal peace with it. don’t mistake this for me agreeing with the choices made <3

---

“I would know him in death, at the end of the world.”--Madeline Miller

---

Castiel opens his eyes.

All around him is green. A moment later, he hears the soft sound of birds chirping in the background; from further away, the faint sounds of children laughing. The air is ripe with the smell of growth, damp in the air and life underneath his fingers.

He sits up. The sky is a perfect shade of blue, the kind found only in poet’s and painters imaginations. A few feet away, the shrubs grow, flowers spilling over themselves in their enthusiasm to be born. Everything is a riot of life and color.

“Cas.”

Castiel’s heart thumps against his ribs. He knows that voice.

He whirls around, already knowing who he’ll find. Several feet away, Jack waits, one hand raised in a short wave.

Castiel finds himself up on his feet, and within two short steps, he’s enfolded Jack in his arms. For a moment, he forgets about everything which came before, and allows himself this sheer comfort. If nothing else remains, then Jack is here.

Jack hugs him back, twice as fiercely, before they separate. Castiel holds him at arm’s length, trying to find injuries or hurt on him, but there’s nothing. In fact, it’s almost as if...

“Jack,” he says slowly, his arm falling away from Jack’s shoulder, “what happened?”

Jack smiles, a little lopsided, but still his boy.

“Well,” he says, gesturing towards a bench, “It’s kind of a long story.

---

For all that Jack said it was a long story, it ends up being remarkably quick in the telling. Castiel listens, sometimes grieving and sometimes proud, as he hears of how Sam, Dean, and Jack ultimately defeated Chuck. His heart grows in his chest as Jack recounts Dean’s words.

That’s not who I am.

A small part of him wishes that he could be there to see it, but he tucks that part of himself away. He said his piece. He relieved the burden which has been pressing down on his shoulders now for years. In his lifetime, it was nothing more than a blip on the map, but those years have made all the difference in the world to him. Finally, he can look back on them now without regrets.

“And so, I came here,” Jack finally says, shifting a little on the bench. He looks oddly guilty, like the times Castiel would find him sneaking snacks back into his room. “I thought...”

“What?’ Castiel prompts, after a few moments when it becomes clear that Jack has no interest in speaking.

“Sam and Dean don’t really need me anymore. I mean, I know that they want me, but the world is bigger now. And the people up here need me too.”

It’s then that Castiel looks around, scrutinizing his environment more closely. The nagging sense of familiarity hits and then he wonders how he didn’t see it before. His favorite Heaven, caught in an eternal Tuesday afternoon.

“It’s not right,” Jack says, his forehead wrinkled into an earnest expression of worry. “The people here are stuck. While I was on earth, we all talked about free will, but the people here don’t have it. They’re stuck forever in an endless loop of memories, and it’s all just...empty.”

Jack looks at Castiel, and Castiel doesn’t see God. He doesn’t see a divine being, or Lucifer’s son, or even an angelic being. He just sees his boy, lost and confused, but still so pure, still wanting to do the right thing, no matter what.

“Cas?” Jack asks. “Will you help me?”

---

Rebuilding Heaven is slow work, but time doesn’t really mean anything here. It’s delicate to rebuild the walls separating billions of souls so that nothing collapses. Castiel works alongside Jack, making suggestions as his mind trips along to potential problems.

Though it’s never said aloud, Castiel knows why Jack is working tirelessly. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, the knowledge sits that Sam and Dean are going to die. One day, they will pass from the earth, and come to Heaven, and on that day, Castiel wants everything to be perfect for them. He wants to show them a true paradise, a place without walls or barriers, a place where emotion is genuine and not just a manufactured memory. Rebuilding Heaven is his last chore, the last of his penance to be performed.

He does make one stop, however.

When he walks in the door, Kelly’s head lifts up from the book she’s flipping through. Her smile is a balm to the hurt places inside him, the ones that he likes to pretend don’t exist, because he was happy, yes? That was the whole point of everything, was to be happy. “Hey, Cas,” she greets him, shifting over and patting the couch next to her. “I was wondering when you’d be by.”

“I’ve been busy,” Cas says, settling down on the cushions. In Heaven, his body is easier than it was on earth, more flexible, and he wonders if that’s because after all these years, he’s finally returned to where he was supposed to belong, or if it’s because he no longer has the shadow of his love pressing down on his shoulders.

“Jack told me. Rebuilding Heaven? Sounds ambitious.”

“The old Heaven was...not ideal,” Castiel says. “I thought it was at the beginning: each soul gets a paradise tailor made to them. But then, I realized that human life is meaningless without the connections we form along the way. Each soul, stuck forever in its own loop is...”

“It’s lonely,” Kelly says, reaching out and squeezing his hand. Castiel returns the gesture, grateful for the connection. Her eyes are kind as she moves closer to him, her shoulder pressing into his.

“So what happened?”

---

In their time together, Castiel never told Kelly about Dean, at least not explicitly. But she had a brilliant mind and was able to see the threads of his longing woven into everything he did. Relating the story to her comes easily, and he tells her things which he would never tell Jack.

“And I was happy,” Castiel says at the end. “I was.”

“You trying to convince me or yourself?”

“Neither,” Castiel replies, bristling slightly. It was true that he might have been happier--he had performed a willful obfuscation of the original terms--but that doesn’t negate what he felt in that moment. The sheer love, the overwhelming gratitude, the incandescent happiness of being able, one last time, to proclaim to the world Dean Winchester is Saved.

Everything else is unimportant when viewed through those lenses.

“Why haven’t you gone to see him?” Kelly was always good at cutting to the heart of the problem.

“Dean has his life on earth. I have my work here in Heaven. I don’t...” Because, of course, he’s asked himself the same question many times. Why doesn’t he go find Dean and tell him of one last, improbable miracle?

“Cas, let me tell you: I didn’t know Dean all that well, but I didn’t need to if I wanted to know how he felt about you. It was all over his face.” Kelly turns to face him, suddenly serious. “Cas, you should go to him. At least allow him to speak his side. If he doesn’t feel the same way, then you’ll know. And if he does...”

Castiel shakes his head. Happiness in the being is what he’s told himself ever since he awoke to find himself in Heaven. Happiness doesn’t come from the having. He will live with himself and find contentment in the works which he does.

Kelly looks sympathetic, but doesn’t say anything as he walks out.

There’s work to be done.

---

Castiel sighs with satisfaction as he walks through Heaven. Slowly, the walls are coming down. Souls are mingling and interacting. There’s joy in the once quiet halls, the giddiness which comes from freedom after too long without. He moves through the different realms, silent as a thought, and goes unnoticed, at least until a gruff voice catches his attention.

“What the hell are you doing here, boy?”

A wide grin splits Castiel’s face. Only Bobby Singer would think to call an angel ‘boy’. He walks towards the old hunter, who looks the same now as he did in life, and is surprised when Bobby sweeps him up in a hug which would threaten to crack his ribs, were he human.

“You did good,” Bobby whispers, his voice thick in Castiel’s ear. “I heard what you and that boy Jack did, and you did real good.”

It means more than he would have thought, to have Bobby’s approval. After a moment’s pause, he hugs Bobby back.

When Bobby pulls away, he quickly knuckles his eyes, before clearing his throat. “So, you fixed Heaven on top of everything else? What do you have planned next?”

Castiel’s shoulders lift in a shrug. “There’s always work to be done maintaining Heaven. We don’t know what, if any, effects the restructuring will bring, so I suppose I will be traveling and making sure that everything is stable.”

“If that ain’t a load of shit,” Bobby scoffs. “From what I’ve seen, your boy has enough power in his pinky finger to do just about whatever he wants. Stop making excuses and get your feathery ass back down there.”

Castiel swallows. “It’s not quite as simple as that. Sam and Dean have a chance to live their lives, the way that they would wish for them to be lived. It’s not fair of me to intrude.”

“Now, if that isn’t the biggest pile of horseshit I’ve ever heard.” Bobby’s mouth twists underneath his beard. “Only one thing keeping you from going back down to see those boys, and it sure as hell ain’t concern for Heaven or some BS notion that they’re better off without you.” Castiel opens his mouth, but Bobby speaks over him. “And don’t tell me that you’re just waiting either. Something I learned a long time ago--you never have as much time as you think you do.”

Castiel closes his mouth and says nothing.

---

Bobby is wrong.

There’s still time. He doesn’t have to go yet. There’s still work to be done in Heaven, souls to be guided, walls to be broken. Jack still needs him.

There’s still time.

There’s still time, until there isn’t.

---

Castiel feels it before he knows what’s happening. It’s a rift, a tear, something which ripples throughout the universe and comes to hit him in the chest. He staggers backward, hand clutching at his shirt.

His first thought is that Heaven is under attack, but a second’s observation tells him that’s not the case. Everything is fine. The fabric of Heaven remains secure, the souls are unbothered. It’s only him that feels the blow.

With a flutter of wings, Jack appears beside him. His face is a mask of distress, tears welling in his eyes. “Cas,” he cries, clenching his hands into fists at his side. “Cas, it’s--”

“Dean,” Castiel says, finally understanding the bolt of pain which ripped through him.

It was too soon. He doesn’t know how much time has passed on earth, but he knows it was too soon.

It’s always too soon.

“Cas, what do I... I can heal him. I can go and heal him now. I can save him. I can...” Jack trails off, his feet still pacing in desperate circles. “What do I do?”

It’s a child’s question, and Castiel has no answer.

“Free will,” is all he says. “Whatever you do...It’s your decision.”

---

Castiel feels when Dean Winchester’s soul enters Heaven. He held that soul within his grace, he snatched it away from the filth and flames of Hell. He cradled that soul while he was reassembling Dean’s body, pulling atoms out of air to create skin, flesh, and bone. He would know that soul at the end of everything, and he knows it here, when it settles into the place which was created for him.

It was as perfect as Castiel could make it; down to the Impala sitting in the Roadhouse’s parking lot. He created every inch of Dean’s Heaven in homage, in apology.

It wasn’t fair. Dean deserved to live to a ripe old age. He deserved to enjoy the world for which he fought so hard. He should have grown old, should have found peace, should have discovered the foibles and pitfalls of normal, human existence. Dean worked too hard, for too long, and he deserved a kinder, softer fate. Instead, he’s here, and all Castiel can do for him is to craft his Heaven with painstaking care.

He pauses on the boundaries of Dean’s Heaven. Every fiber of him yearns to go forward, to rejoice in Dean’s presence, to see that beloved face again. He wants it so badly he can almost taste it, leather and gasoline and whiskey mingling together until he’s back in the bunker, listening to the sounds of his family--

Castiel takes a step away from the border. First one, then another. After three steps, it becomes easier.

Dean has his paradise, and Castiel won’t interfere.

---

Heaven moves as it always does, timeless and changeless. There is no turn of the earth to mark the passage of time. Instead, it moves like the ocean, rolling waves which are always moving and yet the surface remains the same. Castiel travels through various Heavens, observing the newly liberated souls, and taking his peace from their newfound enjoyment. It eases something within him to see his former home restored, better than it ever was before.

He’s inspecting a field of sunflowers when the sound of a car door closing surprises him. Immediately, his heart lurches in his chest, dipping down to somewhere around his knees before hurtling upwards to lodge in his throat. He swallows before he turns around.

Dean Winchester is there.

Castiel’s heart, always out of his control, performs a quick dance against the confines of his ribs. Dean looks...He looks whole and wonderful, vibrant and alive. The lines around his eyes look as though they’ve been carved through laughter instead of despair. His shoulders sit easier, no longer pressed down with the burden of the entire world.

Castiel licks his lips. “Hello, Dean,” he finally says, when it becomes obvious that Dean has no intention of making the first move.

Dean’s lips quirk up in a grin. “Cas,” he says, not moving from where he’s leaning up against the frame of the Impala. “You’re a hard guy to track down.”

Layers upon layers of subtext are placed within the seemingly simple sentence. Castiel remembers Purgatory as well as anything else, the desperate year of keeping one step ahead of Leviathans while close enough to Dean to protect him if need be.

“I’m sorry,” Castiel says faintly. “I wasn’t aware anyone was looking.”

Dean’s face performs a series of interesting maneuvers, dropping and rising and twisting. It finally settles into an expression like stone as he pushes off the car and storms towards him. Castiel waits, caught up in breathless anticipation of the oncoming storm.

“Look,” Dean growls, reaching out and snagging the lapel of his coat, almost like he wants to ensure that Castiel doesn’t escape. Castiel doesn’t even dream of it; there’s no other place he’d rather be than caught in Dean’s grip. “There was a lot of shit going on at the time, so I didn’t get to say it then, but there’s nothing happening now, so you are going to sit here and listen, all right?”

Castiel nods, but Dean doesn’t seem to notice. “I can’t believe you didn’t...” He runs the hand which isn’t still wrapped up in Castiel’s coat over his face. “You idiot,” he finally breathes. “A couple of dumbasses. You’ve had me, Cas. All along, you’ve had me.”

Castiel looks up at Dean in sharp surprise. When he meets Dean’s eyes, there’s nothing but the infinite compassion which he fell in love with. “You... You’re this force of nature that came bursting into my life. All this time, you’ve always been there, always helping, and I took that for granted, I know I did. But, god, Cas, I should have told you every day how thankful I was to have you there with us. I should have let you know what a miracle you are. You never gave up on me, not once, not even when I deserved it.”

Castiel’s breath hitches in his chest as Dean lets go of his coat. Slowly, with a shaking hand, he reaches up to cup Castiel’s cheek. “You never stopped believing. You never stopped trying. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me.”

“Dean.” The name bursts out of Castiel’s chest in a harsh breath. Dean’s words are working their way underneath his skin, to the point where his body can’t contain them.

“Cas.” Dean gently angles his face up so that there’s no escape when he says, “I love you.”

“I’m sorry,” explodes from Castiel’s chest, the helplessness and grief he felt when he felt Dean’s soul leaving earth erupting in a single quick sob. “Dean, I’m so sorry, I should have been there, I should have done something, I never should have left you alone--”

“Cas.” Dean’s fingers press into his cheek, not hard, but firmly enough to get his attention. “It sucks, all right? There was so much I wanted...” The corner of his mouth drops. “I was going to get you out, and you, me, and Sam were going to head to the beach. I was going to get you drinking out of a coconut, maybe a Hawaiian shirt. We were going to do Christmas, I was going to take you to a theme park and see if you puked on roller coasters. I wanted...” For a moment, grief so overwhelming that it can’t be touched crosses Dean’s face, but then, with effort, he pushes it away. “There’s so much that I wanted, but it’s done now. And besides, you’ve been busy.” Dean raises his eyebrows. The grin on his face invites Cas to smile as well. “Reforming Heaven?”

“I wanted...There was so much I did wrong here. I thought if I could make it right, that maybe...” Castiel leans his cheek into Dean’s hand. “I wanted it to be perfect for you. You weren’t supposed to be here yet.”

“I know. I know. And it’s not okay, but you’re here, all right? Mom’s here, Bobby’s here, Charlie, and Jess, and Kevin, and Ellen and Jo...They’re all here, and thanks to you, I’m going to see them. You did that, Cas.”

“Jack did most of the work--” Castiel begins, but he’s cut off by the soft press of Dean’s lips against his.

Sparks burst in his chest as Dean’s hand slides around to the back of his neck to cradle his head. His other arm slides around his waist, and suddenly, Castiel is held by Dean Winchester, by this miracle of a man. Dean’s kisses consume him, until he’s no longer Castiel. Instead, he’s heat, and friction, and more.

“You and me,” Dean pants against his lips, pulling away just far enough to run his nose along Castiel’s. “We’ve got time now, Cas, we’ve got so much time. I’m going to take you apart, going to show you how much I love you, every single day. I’m going to show you everything.”

Castiel is drowning in the outpouring of Dean’s devotion. He’s helpless in the riptides. All he can do to save himself is kiss Dean again, tasting salt on their lips from where their tears trace down to their lips. Castiel cries partly for Dean’s missed opportunities and the fact that life is so cruel. But he also cries from happiness. Dean is right. Here, they have all the time they could ever want. There’s time to explore every feeling and desire, time for them to become themselves, without the pressure of the world around them.

They part. Somehow, Castiel’s hands have found their way onto Dean’s waist. One of his thumbs is braver than the rest of his whole body, as it sneaks underneath Dean’s shirt to touch bare skin. Dean grins at him.

“Hey, Cas,” he asks, pressing his forehead to Castiel’s. “Do you want to take a drive?”

Their fingers entwine as they walk towards the Impala. Castiel’s chest feels light, like Dean’s hand is the only thing keeping him tethered to the ground. “I’m still trying to figure out the roads here. It felt like I was driving around for forty years to try and find you.”

They settle into the Impala, where they’ve been so many times before, but now Castiel can enjoy every squeak of the leather seats. He can revel in the imperfections of the car because of the perfection that’s next to him. Dean Winchester reaches across the seat and takes his hand, as easy as breathing.

“I can’t wait to show Sam everything,” Dean says, as he guides the Impala back onto a road which Castiel is almost certain wasn’t there when he arrived. “I, uh...Hope it takes him a while to get here. But. Yeah, when he gets here, I can’t wait to show him everything.”

“We’ll see it all together,” Castiel finally says. It’s all he can say, his heart too busy dancing in his chest.

They have all the time they want.

---

Time slips and passes and stops. In between his time with Dean, Jack, and the rest of the residents of Heaven, and performing maintenance throughout Heaven, Castiel watches the earth. He sees those left behind grow older. Claire and Kaia start a family, Claire finally having set aside the kernel of anger in her heart. Castiel watches Sam and Eileen’s family grow, smiling when Sam finally goes back to law school and gets his degree. He spends the rest of his career fighting for justice for children lost in the system, those who can’t fight for themselves. Saving people, hunting things, indeed.

Several times, Castiel thinks about going to visit Sam, if only to assuage the grief he can still see the man carrying, but each time he stops. It hurts, but grief is a facet of life. This grief is natural. It comes honestly. It’s not manipulated by a sadistic higher being for a voyeristic pleasure.

Eileen comes out to the Impala and brings Sam back into the house with gentle touches. Throughout the years, she’s learned how to navigate Sam’s moods, and knows how to bring him back. They lay in bed, foreheads pressed together, Eileen’s body curved into Sam’s.

“I just,” Sam begins, twisting slightly so Eileen can read his lips, “I just miss him so much sometimes.”

“I know,” Eileen answers. It’s all she needs to say.

After a while, Sam gently wraps his fingers around Eileen’s wrist, partly for comfort, partly to grab her attention. “Dean’s baseball game is next weekend. Do we know yet if it’s going to conflict with Beth’s dance rehearsal?”

“It shouldn’t,” Eileen answers, and with that, the normal routine of their life is reestablished. The grief is always present, but it’s part of the human condition.

Castiel turns his eyes back to Heaven, where Dean waits for him. Despite it being Heaven, he insists on making repairs to Bobby’s house as well as the Roadhouse, even when Castiel reminds him, for the hundredth time, that if he truly wanted to, he could fix these imperfections with a thought.

“Sometimes, you just have to do things the hard way,” he answers, through a mouthful of nails.

Castiel rolls his eyes and goes to help him.

---

The morning dawns, quiet and gentle. The dawn is silvery-gold as it stretches across the grass leading up to the cabin. In the distance, the birds start singing. Castiel can smell the fresh scents of spring, dew clinging to the grass, the clean, bright potential in the air. His toes stick out from underneath the comforter, but a quick flip of his foot flicks the corner of the blanket back into place.

A warm, heavy arm winds over his waist. “Babe, it’s too early,” Dean mumbles into the nape of his neck. “Go back to sleep.”

Castiel strokes over the back of Dean’s hand. The words are tempting, but something has woken him up, and now that it has, he wants to know what it is. He props himself up on his elbows, ignoring the chill of the air as it bites at his bare skin, and concentrates. After a second, he startles.

“Dean,” he says.

Though he doesn’t put urgency or fear into his voice, something about his tone makes Dean open his eyes, suddenly alert. Castiel looks at him, and Dean rolls over onto his side. After their time together, they’ve mastered the art of the wordless conversation, much to the chagrin of Charlie, Kevin, and anyone within ten miles of them, at least according to Jo.

“It’s time?” Dean asks. He rolls closer to Castiel, stealing his warmth, as he trails his fingers over Castiel’s ribs.

“Yes,” Castiel answers, taking Dean’s hand in his and pressing kisses to each of Dean’s fingertips. “Won’t be long now.”

Dean’s fingers slide across his cheek before he curls his fingers around the bolt of Castiel’s jaw, pulling him down. Their lips meet in a chaste kiss which still manages to make fireworks explode in the pit of Castiel’s belly. He doesn’t think the thrill of kissing Dean will ever fade. Castiel doesn’t want it to.

“I should get going,” Dean murmurs, rubbing against the bristles on Castiel’s cheek. “You want to come along?”

Castiel relaxes back into the mattress, only reluctantly parting from Dean. “No, you go. I’ll be here when you get back.”

“I know.” Dean slides out of bed, and Castiel takes a moment to appreciate the play of his muscles underneath fair skin. He lets out a small, disappointed noise when Dean slides into a pair of jeans and a jacket, causing Dean to roll his eyes at him over his shoulders. “Yeah, keep it in your pants. Definitely wearing clothes to this particular meeting.”

“Shame,” Castiel murmurs, waggling his eyebrows.

“Shameless,” Dean corrects, leaning over the mattress to kiss Castiel once more, short and sweet. “We’ll be back before too long.” Another kiss to Castiel’s forehead, and then Dean murmurs, “I love you,” into his hair.

Castiel smiles. Much like kissing Dean, hearing those words will never grow old to him. He’ll revel in them, roll in the simple syllables, allow them to sink into him, with the simple truth that Jack tells him, that Charlie tells him, that Kelly tells him, that even Bobby and Ellen and Jo tell him.

You are valued. You are loved.

He smiles at Dean Winchester, this impossible, miracle of a man. “I love you too,” he replies.

Dean out of the bedroom. The door to the cabin opens and closes. Castiel rolls over onto his back and stretches, staring up at the ceiling.

There’s work to be done today. He’ll need to travel through Heaven, informing the various interested parties that Sam Winchester has arrived. There will be a party tonight at the Roadhouse, a celebration instead of mourning. Then he and Dean will get to show Sam their Heaven, will listen to Sam relate through his years.

There is so much work to do.

But they have time. They have all the time they need.

---

“Life never ends when you are in it.”--Lemony Snicket, The Beatrice Letters

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mamamittens · 3 years ago

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Since I'm all up in my feels right now, here's some more random ass headcanons.

This time about singing!

Let's pretend they could/would sing, don't go harshing my vibe, lmao

Marco! I choose you!

He has a pretty basic baritone voice normally. Good sound carry in a quiet room when he's chilling. I imagine he half hums when he gets lost in paperwork.

Everyday it's a getting closer, gonna take a bath, with my fucking toaster~

In a party he usually adds some quiet bass to a song but doesn't really take the lead.

But if you catch him in a silly, goofy mood he can drop his voice to a spooky level. Probably practiced when flying late at night for the vibes.

That real low, vibrate your bones kind of sound like that Evanescence cover clip with that dude? A bit niche but if you've heard it, you know what I mean.

He can't hold it for too long though, so I imagine he usually only does it in quiet and intimate moments.

Like, he's holding you close after a hard day and sings those soft little love, folk songs in your ear.

He laughs when he notices goosebumps, but it just encourages him, honestly.

If you try and tease him in public about romancing you with love songs he's going to drop you in the ocean. Lovingly. But very quickly. Jinbe might have to get you, cause Marco is a little miffed right now. Sorry.

He might forgive you if you do a little singing of your own. If you can't carry a tune with a bucket, expect him to tease you but be really touched you were willing to try. If you're willing, he's okay with a soft little duet. Still won't do that with an audience tho, sorry

Ace!

He has a more mid tone kind of voice that's still on the deeper end.

His voice cracks a bit when he sings really loud but its charming cause at that point he's just... Throwing his whole ass into a party song with at least three drunk as hell dudes and no one cares.

You won't usually find him singing solo, though he's willing to duet with a more robust singer if he's drunk enough.

But, to be honest? I imagine he has perfect pitch. It's one of those annoying as hell qualities, except he's really shy about it for some reason. A bit of a hard working genius, he can figure out basic instruments after a while which leads me to this~

If you're really close and the party has wound down... You might find him hidden away with a guitar.

A quiet little tune and an audience of one is where he really shines. Even if you don't care for him much, that soft voice is quite touching. He'll usually sing about exploring the world and finding 'treasure', you know, those really sweet sort of songs.

He doesn't even have like, a stage level voice really, but much like how he throws his all into belting bar songs with his bros, you can really believe he means it when he looks at you and confesses he found something lovelier than all the gold in all the blues.

He'll tease you if he notices you're blushing, though, so watch it.

Might end up getting real sappy and he can't sing for shit when he's crying.

Which will happen if you duet with him, regardless of if you're humming or incapable of singing yourself. It's the togetherness thing that gets to him.

Thatch

He's got a nice voice and he'll be damned if he lets anyone forget that fact.

Even drunk off his ass he can drop his already deep voice an impressive level.

Prefers singing in his comfort zone of jaunty tunes with a strong rythm.

Would rather die than admit he can't manage those long high/low notes in sappy or sad songs. His voice cracks trying to hold a single note just slightly out of his normal range. So if you wanna risk it, challenge him. He'll probably get back at you though, so look out for that.

Holiday tunes? Consider it done. It's like having your radio stuck to a year long Christmas channel, he's so insufferable about it.

But if you're close and probably into that, he's liable to pull you in for a impromptu dance with the singular goal of making you blush. Real 'staring deeply into your eyes' while singing about true love or some sappy shit like that.

And unlike Marco or Ace, he'll do it with it without an audience.

Is thrilled and very encouraging if you sing with him. If you're bad at it, he's more than willing to practice with you and find out where your natural voice lies. If you can manage to surprise him with your singing he blushes quite nicely. Especially if you sneak up and do it in his ear, but try not to do that while he's cooking. He'll probably burn something or cut himself.

Rosinante

It popped up in my head and now I'm plaging you all with it. Sorry not sorry.

Outside of his whole secret mission thing, he naturally has a singing voice that does not do well with loud and energetic songs. He'll still join in!

But don't expect him to knock your socks off. That glass will break by either his clumsy ass or his voice cracking.

But late at night? That smoking habit had made his voice a bit rough, so his singing is soft and rumbly. Best enjoyed really close.

Really good at folk songs and he feels weirdly touched if you want him to sing you to sleep.

I get 'hold you close to his chest with an arm around your waist and cradling your head cause he can't imagine getting the opportunity to hold you this close twice' vibes from him. Don't ask me why. He looks like he needs at least three more hugs than he currently gets. Yes, even if you've slept like this for weeks at this point.

Goblin thought! Also really good at those older country songs. Not the ones about drinking, trucks, and girls, but like "Don't take the girl" and whatnot.

Whether or not you can personally handle someone singing into your hair or ear about loving you beyond life itself is up to you.

I would die of embarrassment tbh, but you go chase that shooting star 🌠

Of course, being that close is also low-key a fire hazard, so expect him to be incredibly embarrassed when something inevitably combusts for no damn reason.

Gets very blushy if you join him in singing, even if your bad at it. Probably cause your literally inches from his face, but as someone who is almost always in a quiet bubble, sound does things to him. Especially if the moment is already pretty intimate. Loves little duets with you and doesn't particularly care if your voice cracks. Embarrassing moments don't phase him after making so many of his own. Well, your embarrassing moments don't phase him, cause let's all be honest with ourselves here.

His embarrassing moments are on a whole other level than yours.

Less fire for starters.

@secretsnailor

@marco--the--phoenix

#one piece #ace one piece #marco the phoenix #thatch one piece #one piece rosinante #one piece headcanons #i needed to remind myself that i rule at soft thoughts #and needed to get them out of my head #ace with an acoustic guitar has legit been haunting me #you cant tell me otherwise

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valdomarxxx · 3 years ago

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There was only one bed? Well, @whataboutthebard, I know just the story. Forgive me if it's one you've heard before.

We are invited to court, and begged to perform. Some cousin of a cousin of the king, a far-flung royal offshoot with more money than he knows what to do with and more pretension than he’s earnt. In truth, he’s hired more than just the two bards who orbit the centre of this story; musicians and dancers and an orchestra, singers from far-flung climes to demonstrate how worldly and knowledgeable he is.

(It does not matter that the cousin-of-a-cousin has never stepped foot out of Verden. It is the appearance that counts.)

He has chosen us, he claims, because we are the most recent and second-most-recent winners of the Oxenfurt Bardic Competition. This will demonstrate how entrenched he is in the community, and how much he supports the arts.

We are led upstairs to the less fine wing of the keep, and I realise that he could have supported the arts more effectively by paying us a good wage, and - more to the point - supplying us with decent sleeping accommodations.

There is only one bed.

We look at each other. We look at the servant who has escorted us here.

“There appears to be some mistake,” I say, just as you speak - “And where is the other room?”

The servant raises her eyebrows at us. “No mistake,” she says. “You can take it or leave it. He won’t be granting you better.” She pauses, watching us, weighing us up. “Count yourselves lucky,” she says. “The flutist from Ebbing is sleeping on the floor with the servants. The group from Vicovaro are in the barn. The only place not teeming with musicians is the pig sty. But by all means, feel free to take it up with his Lordship if it displeases you.”

I peer at you. It could displease me more. It’s been some time since friendship became something slightly spikier, since those long sleepless nights at the academy. But I hesitate to call us rivals or enemies; the animosity between us is all for show.

At least, I think it is all for show.

(Later, I cannot be so sure.)

And… I look away from you, looking to the floor, looking to the single bed placed in the centre of the room like a steel-jawed trap. There are worse places to be.

Like the pig sty, for example. We thank the servant, who purses her lips and leaves.

“So,” you say. You throw your things to the bed.

“So.” I agree. I place my things beside yours.

It promises to be a long night.

The performance goes well. Even the most boorish employer can be tolerated when you have a captive audience and talented accompaniment, and it’s clear that the musicians gathered for the event are of the highest calibre. It’s been some time since we performed together, and we slip into the duet surprisingly easily, sliding back into two harmonising halves of a whole.

We close our set to applause and cheering, and - to both of our surprise - are led into a side chamber where we are given the real payment for our labours: food and wine. It is by no means as fine as the feast currently being served in the adjacent hall, but it’s better than I can expect in the Academy or you can expect on the road, and we settle into a long evening celebrating a successful performance.

That damned bed settles in the back of my mind like a ghost, like an itch I cannot scratch. Even when we laugh over old memories or bicker over which bottle to open next, I am thinking about what awaits us up the flight of servants’ stairs.

I am catastrophizing, I know. It is just a bed. Two nights - for we have been asked to perform tomorrow, too - and sweet sleep. Or not so sweet: as I have already mentioned, you snore, and I am not relishing the idea of those snorting grunts pressed so closely against my ear.

Yet—

No. I push down the thought, and return to the celebration, all the while waiting for the world to quietly end.

And it does, eventually. The food cleared away and the wine passed along to the next group of troubadours, we make our way up the stairs towards the room. Towards our room. We shuffle inside in silence, and before the door has shut you’re already stripping from your performance finery. You don’t even hesitate, and I suppose this is what travelling with a companion for so many years does to you; although you were never shy about your body in the same way I am.

I tug away my doublet hastily yet carefully, followed by my breeches - together they cost more than the pay we’re due to receive for tonight’s work. You are already in the bed, and for a moment I hesitate. I could sleep on the floor. It would not be a comfortable night, but the wine has made my bones feel soft and I have, after all, slept in worse places. It would be no hardship to pillow my clothes, however expensive they are, beneath my head and lie upon the wooden boards to—

“Valdo.” Your voice is sure in the dark. “Get in the bed.”

I do as you ask. The sheets are already body-warm, the mattress sagging where you lay just half a foot away. I lower myself to the edge, opening the space between us, muscles stiffening as I petrify, my body melding into immovable stone.

But not immovable enough. I feel you twist beside me, hear you sigh, can tell that even now you’re rolling your eyes at me. My senses, already heightened, light up, and then—

Your hand on my arm. You do not pull me closer, you do not tug or claw or grab or demand. You barely brush my skin. But still I move, still I follow that touch, still I turn onto my side until I’m facing you. You’re facing me, too.

“You get used to sharing a bed on the road,” you say, like we were halfway through another conversation. “It barely feels odd anymore when I and—”

“Please.” I cut you off. I try to sound biting instead of sad. “I do not need to hear about your witcher this evening.”

“No,” you reply. “I… I don’t think I want to talk about him, either.”

You move closer. Our ankles touch, of all things, and the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. My heartbeat quickens; I pray for it to still and quieten. You yawn, and the gape cracks into a sleepy smile.

It’s easier, suddenly. Your hand is still upon my arm, and your skin is warm, and the bed is soft despite the cramped space. I turn onto my back, and feel your arm snake its way across my chest, towards my shoulder. I pull you close; I couldn’t do anything else but wrap my arms around you.

I expect to lie awake for hours, the lavender and chamomile scent of your hair filling my nose, muddling my mind. But you're warm, and soft, and gentle, and soon I feel myself drifting away, the pressure of your head against my chest making me painfully aware of every breath I take.

I sleep, and dream of—

I dream of you.

The next morning we wake slowly, dress slowly, eat slowly. We perform quick and fast and turbulent, garnering even louder applause, even greater accolades. It passes in a blur.

That night, we fall back into our shared bed. That night, we do not sleep at all.

#what about the bard #jaskier #there was only one bed

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blossom-hwa · 3 years ago

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Light the Pyres |Burn| - SUNGYOON

This chapter hurt so much I'm really sorry

Pairing: Sungyoon x gender neutral!reader

Genre: angst, bits of fluff, apocalypse!au

Triggers: cursing, implied death, semi-graphic depictions of blood

Word Count: 7.9k

As the world burns its last goodbyes, you find a jewel amidst the ashes.

Previous: Rise >> Burn

Golden Child Masterlist

If times were normal, three weeks stuck in the same space with anyone but Daeyeol or your mother would probably drive you insane. Only seeing one other person’s face for days after days on end? You’d almost rather be alone.

But whether it be because you have shared memories and common grief or simply because you’re compatible human beings, Sungyoon isn’t difficult to live with, not in the slightest. You don’t fight over food or water or living in the same space. His voice doesn’t grate on your nerves, even after a week of him being the only person you can talk to. He isn’t almost pleasant company anymore – he’s just pleasant.

Maybe even a little more than that.

Over one, two, then three weeks, you come apart to each other, exposing small bits of yourselves from beneath threads frayed by the apocalypse. Sungyoon craves coffee more than anything in the world. He used to be the fastest runner on his high school track team. He tells you his favorite color is black, and just to keep the conversation going you decide that black isn’t a real color since it’s technically the absence of all color, which sparks a debate that maybe grows a little too loud every once in a while but by the end, you’re laughing at Sungyoon’s indignant expression that slowly cracks into a smile.

Laughing. Not smirking. At something not morbid or deadly.

It feels almost surreal, being able to smile at a topic so inane.

“What’s your credibility, huh?” Sungyoon asks when you’ve stopped laughing, having given into a grudging smile himself. It makes his face look sweeter, gentler. “What makes you an expert on colors or the absence of them?”

“I did mechanical engineering in university,” you say, leaning back against the wall. Memories threaten to flood your mind but you keep them at bay, closing your eyes against the onslaught. “Took a few chemistry classes as a requirement. We learned about colors at some point.” You open your eyes and shrug. “It was kind of interesting, but not enough for me to change my major.”

“Mechanical engineering,” Sungyoon echoes, staring up at the ceiling. You kind of have to give it to him – you might be bored sitting around in this empty house sometimes, but he’s confined to the bed if he isn’t using the bathroom and he hasn’t complained yet. “That’s cool. Is that how you got that car to work before?”

“Yeah.” You swallow, a slightly bitter taste in your mouth at the memories of your almost finished second degree. “Mom was a mechanic. I grew up around cars and machines. I was almost done with my master’s when…”

When the apocalypse began and I started out across the country to find my mom.

From Sungyoon’s silence, you gather that he understands what you haven’t said. He also seems to understand you don’t want to talk about it and thankfully changes the topic. “I did sports medicine,” he says. “And I minored in music.”

You sit up. “Music? What did you play?”

“I can play a little piano, but I mostly sing – sang,” he corrects himself, a faraway look coming into his eyes.

You don’t miss the switch from present to past tense. Mood dampened, you both sit in silence for a moment, mourning the loss of your lives before they’d barely begun.

“I used to play piano,” you finally say, trying to salvage the conversation. “I wonder if it’s still at home,” you mumble, more to yourself than anybody.

“If it’s any consolation, people aren’t really looking for valuables at a time like this.” Sungyoon gives you a lopsided smile. “Assuming… well, even if people have broken in, I don’t think the piano would be the first thing they were looking for.”

You know Sungyoon means to comfort you, but the implication that anything happened to your house, to your home makes your heart stutter. It’s not a strange thing, people breaking into houses. Oftentimes they’re already open, the occupants either dead or fled.

But it’s your house, your home, and the thought that anything might’ve happened to it with your mom there flips your stomach.

Hypocrite. You’re sitting in one of those stolen homes right now, but you have a problem with people sitting in yours.

“Y/N?”

You look over to see Sungyoon staring back, concern in his expression. Swallowing, you try to smile. “Sorry, what?”

“Nothing,” he says. “You just went quiet for a bit.” He raises an eyebrow. “Thoughts?”

What do you say? Do you tell Sungyoon what you’re really thinking? Do you tell him you’re terrified of coming home to a house that’s been ransacked and laid bare? Do you tell him you’re scared of finding your mom in an empty home with nothing around her left, that you’re even more scared of finding an empty home with no mother inside?

You curve your lips, trusting Sungyoon won’t ask even if he sees that the smile doesn’t reach your eyes. “No,” you lie. “It’s nothing. So.” You look at him, your smile turning a little more genuine. “You sing?”

. . . . .

He does. He sings.

Beautifully.

His voice breaks sometimes, of course. Weeks of forced silence have taken tolls on both of your throats, and even speaking hurts if you talk too long. But the longer he sings, the longer his song fills your ears, the stronger his voice grows, rich and powerful even in his hushed melodies. It wraps around you like a blanket or a shawl, warming your skin in a way even the sun can’t.

When he first spoke to you so many weeks ago, told you not to hurt yourself by kicking the car down that one horrible day, you thought he could be a singer, thought that his voice was smooth, clear. Like Daeyeol’s. You hated it then, when it only reminded you of your best friend and what he was no longer around to do, what you had lost trying to save this boy with a nice voice who didn’t deserve it.

You still hear hints of Daeyeol’s clarity in Sungyoon’s quiet song. Even more obvious is the love of music in Sungyoon’s eyes that perfectly matches that of your dead friend. The few times Daeyeol hummed old songs to get you to sleep when the sun was still up, he always wore that look in his eyes. It fit him like a second skin, that soft love for music dancing in his expression, and you would try to keep that look in mind as he soothed you into sleep. It brought you both back to better times, when death didn’t lurk around every corner.

It hurts a little to see this look in Sungyoon’s face, for sure, but it also soothes another pain, the pain of knowing that you’ll never see Daeyeol ever again until it’s your turn to go. Because even though you’ll never gaze on his face again during your time on this earth, you’ll still see bits of him, hear parts of him in Sungyoon’s eyes and voice. Where that reminder might’ve felt like a stab in the chest before, it now smooths a blanket over your body, wrapping you in the knowledge that Daeyeol will always live with you, in your memories and in Sungyoon’s voice.

Sungyoon doesn’t ask why you’re crying when he finishes his song, even though he can definitely see you wiping away tears from your perch at the foot of his bed. You don’t make an effort to hide it, really – you’ve done worse things in front of him than cry, and besides, he looks a little teary himself. For a moment, you only sit in your respective positions, trying to rein in your tears until he breaks the silence again.

“That was my sister’s favorite song,” he whispers. “She played it so much that Bomin once threatened to delete it off of her playlist.”

You swallow at the mention of his sister and her boyfriend, guilt snaking its way up your chest. It’s a little easier to ignore right now, though, especially when you realize that this is the first time Sungyoon’s put a name to either of the two people you shot. “Bomin was her boyfriend?” you ask.

He nods. “I never said?”

As you shake your head, it only just occurs to you how little you know of Sungyoon’s family. You haven’t said that much – he knows about your mom and Daeyeol, but little of anyone else – but even that seems like a lot compared to what little he has (more like hasn’t) said about his family. You don’t even know his sister’s name.

You’re not even sure you want to. Putting a name to dead faces, faces that you shot bullets through…

Swallowing, you shake your head again, this time more trying to clear your head than say no. “No, you never mentioned it.”

“Oh.” He pauses. “Bomin was Sumin’s boyfriend. Sumin was my sister.”

Bomin. Sumin. The addition of two names to your repertoire (and the past tense for Bomin) nearly makes your head spin. Bomin with dyed, pale hair, Sumin with dark. Bomin with chiseled, handsome features marred by white skin and dark veins. Sumin with a round, soft face and eyes that probably would’ve looked lovely with a smile had they not been shrunken with disease.

You didn’t know either of them at all, which just makes the fact that you put a bullet through each of their heads even worse.

In fact, you pressured Sungyoon into letting you do it.

Both of you agreed not to apologize anymore. But the only words hanging on the tip of your tongue consist of I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Sungyoon, I’m sorry –

“It wasn’t your fault.”

You blink. “What?”

“It wasn’t your fault.” Sungyoon’s eyes bore into yours softly, understanding and reproachful all at once. “That’s what you were thinking, wasn’t it? Bomin and Sumin.”

Despite everything, a wry little smile curls the corner of your mouth. “Was it that obvious?”

“Only to someone who saw what happened.” Sungyoon shifts on the bed, sitting up against the wall. “You didn’t kill them, Y/N. The zombies did.”

“See, I know that.” You stare at your hands, the smile wiped from your lips. “Logically. But –”

“Your brain won’t let you,” Sungyoon finishes. “Yeah, I know. It’s the same with me and… you know.” He leans forward, fixing your gaze with his. “So I’ll keep saying it until your brain finally figures it out. Okay?”

The tears try to come again, but this time, you hold them back. “Same for you,” you manage, hoping the wobble in your voice isn’t as prominent as it feels to you. “It wasn’t your fault. It never was. And I’ll keep saying that until you know it too.”

Sungyoon turns away. You don’t try to follow his gaze, to probe at his expression. You don’t need to.

It’s enough, this understanding that hangs quiet in the air.

. . . . .

On week three, when Sungyoon’s finally started to limp around the house, Lady Luck puts you in her good graces and you find a source of transportation far better than your legs. You don’t thank her too much, though, since you literally found the two bikes after being chased twice around the same building by a small, though vicious group of zombies.

Even then, a little bit of excitement sparks in your still-racing heart when you pedal up to the front of the house and dump the first bike indoors. Sungyoon pokes his head out through the bedroom at your call.

You grin. “Remember how to ride a bike?”

It takes a second dangerous trip to bring the other one back but you manage, since Sungyoon is still slow on his feet. When Sungyoon feels ready to try it out, you watch closely as he slings himself onto the cracked seat, ready to catch him if he falls.

He does, twice. But the third time, he actually starts wobbling up and down the front of the house, pedaling slowly but steadily.

A cry almost escapes your throat when he turns around on the street, pedaling back with sparkling eyes and lips curving in a rare smile of success. But though you stifle the sound, you can’t help but run up and hug him when he dismounts, one hand holding the bike steady as you wrap the other around his chest.

Sungyoon’s breath catches. The little gasp in his throat reminds you of what you’re doing, that he might be uncomfortable, and you go to apologize and pull away, insides curdling with embarrassment.

But then he wraps both of his arms around you, bringing you in closer with a gentle, uncertain grip, hands locked loosely at your waist. And it’s your turn to catch your breath at the subtle warmth of Sungyoon’s thin body, a warmth more comforting than even the rays of afternoon sun beginning to set in the sky.

Human touch. Human comfort. Human warmth. You bury yourself in Sungyoon and he buries himself in you, earlier excitement forgotten in favor of the comforting warmth of the other’s touch.

You don’t say anything about it, even after you let go. You only part naturally, smiling at each other as your arms fall to your sides before finally reentering the house. Sungyoon goes back to lying on the little couch, resting his leg, while you carefully stand the bike by the door and go to find something to eat. Conversation is quiet. Not awkward, not stilted, just quiet. You still don’t mention the hug.

But later that night, after you’ve barricaded the door and freshened up as best you can, Sungyoon is still sitting up in the bedroom. You pause in the doorway. “Sungyoon?”

“It isn’t comfortable on the floor, is it?” he asks, voice strangely stilted. He doesn’t wait for an answer before rushing on. “Come up here. It’ll be easier on your back.”

It takes several moments to process his words before you start protesting, saying the floor isn’t that bad and that you read something about how sleeping on hard surfaces is actually better for your back, but your voice dies away when Sungyoon holds out his arms in the dark, shifting to make room for you on the threadbare mattress.

Something about this feels like it should be wrong. Taking comfort in someone who isn’t Daeyeol or your mom or even one of the friends you left behind, probably never to see any of them ever again. You’ve only known Sungyoon for a matter of weeks. Daeyeol you knew for over twenty years. Your mom, even longer.

And now you’re taking comfort in someone when none of them are around to experience it themselves. Guilt simmers in your chest.

But walking into Sungyoon’s arms sweeps it away.

His touch is just as soft and unsure as it was earlier under the afternoon sun, but if anything, it feels warmer in the dark. And as you gain a little courage, letting him curl closer into you as your breaths begin to even from exhaustion, the touch becomes a little more certain, a little firmer and stronger as he loosens against your body.

One brave hand reaches up, tangles briefly through Sungyoon’s hair. “Goodnight,” you whisper.

He squeezes you once, gently. “Goodnight.”

. . . . .

The fourth week has passed by the time Sungyoon walks without a limp. You really would have wanted to go the first day he could put weight on his leg, but if you had, you wouldn’t have found the bikes. And considering the fact that you only have two bullets left, you’re thankful for a method of quick escape.

“We need to get out of the city,” you say, swinging one leg over your bike. “There are too many zombies here. Just follow me, I think I’ve mapped out how to get to the highway. It’ll probably be smoother from there.”

Sungyoon nods. “Let’s go, then.”

Your heart pounds as you pedal down the streets, quickly, quietly. The rusty bikes creak a little under your weight and with every weird noise you tense, pedaling faster, but street after street, you and Sungyoon ride without too much trouble.

Until you turn a corner and the faint sound of dead groans echoes from farther down the street.

Both of you stop. Sungyoon looks over. “Is there another way?”

“I mean, probably.” You swallow. “But they’re in the direction of the highway and regardless, we’ll have to go past. I don’t… I’m not sure…”

The groans grow louder.

“Let’s see if we can loop around,” you decide, trying to picture the general layout of buildings. “Just… be ready to ride fast.”

Sungyoon almost smirks. “That wasn’t a given?”

You hit him, even as you stifle a smile. But that smile disappears quickly as you ride closer and closer to the sounds of groans.

The first zombie lurches out from behind a collapsed home. It stumbles over the sidewalk, clawing forward, but you and Sungyoon move too fast and leave it quickly behind.

But then a second pops out in the distance. And a third.

Behind you, Sungyoon mutters a curse. You don’t blame him. Much worse words are running through your mind. “Through the cars,” you hiss, weaving between several vehicles stranded on the road. “Harder for them to get us.”

The sound of limbs slapping against metal and glass makes you want to hurl. Groans and shrieks echo off the sides of the cars, overpowering the creaking of your bike and filling your ears with their sickening sound. You pedal fast, fast, faster, swerving between a last car into open road –

Sungyoon races past, surpassing you as a zombie just misses grabbing the wheel of his bike. You pedal harder to catch up, staring straight ahead towards the entrance of the highway that’s finally in sight.

Something brushes your arm. You shriek, almost tipping off balance as dead white fingers flash in your peripherals, but a backwards glance from Sungyoon forces you to stay upright and you pedal forward with a last rush of speed, rolling onto a smooth, zombie-free road.

You ride for what feels like hours until you have to call it quits. Stumbling behind an abandoned truck, you collapse in the shade, legs shaking with exertion and adrenaline. Sungyoon follows quickly, dropping his bike onto the asphalt to sit next to you.

For a moment, you only sit in silence, panting under the hot sun.

Then you heave a shaky breath and start to laugh.

It starts out as a gasp, really. That first breath doesn’t fully go out the way you want it to and you wheeze a gasp, then another, and another and another until your wheezes turn into breathless laughter that treads the line of hysteria but then Sungyoon is starting to laugh too and all you can do is revel in the fact that you can laugh, snort, giggle because you’re alive. You made it out of that infested city alive, alive despite that horde at the end, and God, now you’re trembling because even though you’ve had close encounters with the undead before, you can still feel cold, peeling skin just dragging against your shirt –

You start crying.

Adrenaline seeps out of your body like blood from a wound. Your stomach hurts from laughing. Your eyes ache with tears. You keep feeling that feather light, deathly cold touch brushing your arm, almost like a wisp of wind curling against your skin but so much colder, like ice freezing your veins even under the burning sun.

Cold. Cold. Cold. And no one, not Daeyeol, not your mother, no one to help you out of this icy sun –

Sungyoon’s shaking arms wrap around you, and you remember what it feels like to be warm again.

You grip him tight, tight, tighter, holding onto this last piece of human life. Everyone else you know is dead or probably dead and only Sungyoon is a constant, still here and alive despite the fact that you could’ve split up all those weeks ago.

Until the day you die, you’ll be grateful you chose not to.

He holds you and you hold him until both of you finally stop trembling in the hot shade of the truck, but even then, you latch on just a little bit longer, memorizing the weight of his thin body pressed against yours. Hunger has hollowed his skin and yours, eaten away the muscle that used to cushion your bones, but Sungyoon’s arms still hold a fragile strength that slowly bleeds into you, giving you the courage to wipe away the tears.

That night, after hours of riding on quiet roads, no silent, tentative question hangs in the air like it always has when Sungyoon slumps against your sitting figure, head falling into your lap as you fight to keep your eyes open for first watch. Without hesitation, you tangle your fingers through his curly hair, soothing him into sleep.

Sungyoon is your warmth, just as you are his. Reminders to each other that even in this blackened world of death and ashes, both of you are still alive.

. . . . .

The closer you get to home, the harder sleep comes. You don’t know why. It should be the opposite, right? You’re closer to your goal. Closer to your mom.

But that also means you’re closer to uncertainty. Closer to the Schrodinger’s cat-type limbo where you don’t know whether or not your mom is still alive. Only with Schrodinger’s cat, there’s an exactly fifty percent chance that the animal is dead. Or so you think. It’s been some time since you had time to think about quantum mechanics.

Doesn’t matter. Odds are now, the scale’s been tipped a little further in that direction.

You don’t know what you’ll do if she’s dead.

Scratch that. You kind of know what you’ll do. Scream. Cry, probably. Either that or just go silent.

You don’t know what you’ll do if she’s just disappeared.

Because then there’s Schrodinger’s cat again, constantly hovering between life and death. Knowing at least gives you facts – you’ll be certain as to whether she’s dead or alive.

Not knowing will rip you apart.

Sungyoon decides it’s enough when you wake up the third time during his second watch, chest heaving from nightmares where you return home alone and there’s no one. Not him, not your mom, not even a single zombie. There’s no blood on the floor or anything to indicate struggle. The house is perfect, just as you left it when you went back to university the last time.

But it’s empty. Cold.

And only silence answers your calls.

“Okay, that’s it.” Sungyoon’s tone is softer than his sharp words. He gently grips your shoulders, pulling you up in the darkness. “What’s wrong? What are you dreaming of?”

You shiver even in his hold, remembering the chill of the empty house, the choking silence that greeted your calls. How do you begin to describe that, the fear of not knowing whether or not your mother is alive?

Then it hits you.

Sungyoon will understand. He has to. He walked back to a zombie infested city on an injured leg to find his sister and her boyfriend, Sumin and Bomin, all the while not knowing if they were alive or dead.

“What if she’s not there?”

His grip slackens. “What?”

You swallow. “What if my mom isn’t there?”

For a long moment, both of you stay silent. In the dark, you can’t even make out the expression on Sungyoon’s face.

“I don’t know,” he finally replies. “What will you do?”

Fear ices your throat. You can’t speak. What will you do? If it turns out you came all this way, across an entire country, for nothing?

“What did you do?” you manage once it feels like your vocal cords have thawed. “When you went back and…?” A wince of guilt and shame keeps you from saying more.

Sungyoon falls quiet. You recognize this silence not as brooding, not as angry, but thinking. Contemplative. It eases the tightness in your chest.

“It felt like everything was lost to me,” he finally says. “They were all I had left. When it finally hit me that they were gone…” He shakes his head. “But that’s not what you meant, right? You’re asking about before. When I didn’t know.”

You nod, curling closer into him. “Yeah.”

“I don’t know,” Sungyoon says. “Honestly, I don’t know how I dealt with it. All I know is that it was eating at me so much that I had to go back and find out myself. So I was an idiot.”

There’s a little smile in his voice, a twitch of the lips that you can hear in his last few words. Your mouth almost curves, too. “But what if we go back and I still don’t know?” you ask. “What if she’s just… gone?”

“It’ll be your choice whether or not you want to leave it at that or keep looking,” Sungyoon answers after a pause. “I can’t make the decision for you. But…”

You look up. “But?”

“You know what kept me going after all of that?” He doesn’t wait for a reply. “The fact that you offered to let me come with you, despite what had happened. It was the fact that someone, more or less a stranger, gave me a place with them.”

“Really? I honestly thought you were going to laugh in my face as soon as I said it,” you admit. “I’d just… done that, and a few hours later, I was asking you to walk across an entire country with me.” You wince. “Not exactly bonding material.”

“I won’t lie, I kind of considered it.” Sungyoon seems to shrug in the darkness. “But even then, I knew you weren’t evil, regardless of what happened. You still lost a friend. You were still trying to stay alive. And when you talked about your mom…” He sighs. “What I’m saying is you were there for me, Y/N.” His grip on your hand tightens softly. “And whatever happens when we get to your home, I’ll still be there for you.”

The lump in your throat refuses to let you speak, so you only sink further into Sungyoon’s body, trying to hold back the tears threatening to escape your eyes. He seems to understand. His fingers rise and card through your hair, stroking smooth against your scalp.

If this is how Daeyeol felt every time you did this when he was sick, you now understand why he asked for head pats whenever he wasn’t doing well. It soothes you, even if one or two tears do make their way down your face at the thought of your best friend.

Fuck. You close your eyes. Daeyeol would have found a good friend in Sungyoon, you’re sure. Your mom would probably love him too. More than anything, you wish they were here.

But you still have someone. You have Sungyoon. You have someone you trust, someone you rely on, someone you can hold close at times like this when you start to spiral and can’t force yourself out of your mind.

You’d like to say that Sungyoon feels the same.

“Is that okay?” Sungyoon asks softly, breaking into your thoughts. His fingers keep stroking your hair gently, softly.

Your eyes are starting to close again, weighed down by sleep. Nightmares might be waiting, but Sungyoon’s words and warmth make you think they might stay at bay. You nod against his chest. “Yes,” you murmur. “More than okay.”

“Good.” His hands don’t stop. “Now sleep. There are only a few hours before dawn.”

You don’t need to be told twice, only curl further into him and shut your eyes. As sleep finally begins to roll over you in waves, you sigh. “Thank you,” you whisper.

His breath stirs your hair. “For what?”

A small smile curves your lips.

“For being here.”

. . . . .

The buildings start looking familiar two weeks and five zombie attacks later. There are more undead here, probably because you’re closer to the site of the explosion. Even though you’re still several states away, the virus spread more quickly here than on the other side of the country.

At some point after the third attack, you try to apologize while patching up several scrapes on Sungyoon’s arms. There isn’t even time to stay – you need to keep riding, find a place to take shelter for the night before zombies find you. He doesn’t deserve this.

“You don’t either,” he points out. “Neither of us ever deserved this.”

“But I have to deal with it to get home. You don’t.”

“And I signed up for the ride.” Sungyoon pats a bandage more firmly in place before taking your outstretched hand and standing up. He squeezes your fingers. “Come on, let’s get moving.”

Your heart pounds painfully as you ride down the last stretch of highway, faded signs bearing the name of your hometown. Everything almost looks the same, if you ignore the dried blood spattered along the sidewalks and panes of shattered glass on the streets.

And the zombies milling about at the base of the exit.

Sungyoon stops when you do, frowning when he sees the faint outlines of white skin and blackened veins. “Great.”

You snort, hysteria building in your throat. “Great” is the perfect way to put it. So close, yet so far – separated from your home by a throng of the undead.

There are only a few right now. From here, up on the highway, you can only count four or five. Zombies don’t move fast and if it’s just those few, you could probably outstrip them.

But they’re definitely not the only ones. And you have no way of knowing just how many are left in the city.

Think, think, think! You hit your head lightly. You grew up here, explored the entire city, walked all the roads by the time you went off to college the first time. Even though things have probably changed, they can’t be too drastically different. Any small nooks, any back roads or alleys you can find where zombies aren’t likely to be…

“What do you think will be more zombie infested?” you ask. “Residential roads or the actual city?”

“… City,” Sungyoon says. “More densely packed people, right?”

You bite your lip. He’s right. The highway leads to a road that cuts straight through the middle of the city and it would probably be faster to follow it straight down and just make a few appropriate turns before reaching your home, but it’ll probably be safer to take the longer local path.

Local it is. God, you hope your sense of direction is as good as it used to be.

“We’re going straight down now before more zombies come,” you say, swinging a leg over your bike. “As fast as you can. We turn left at that first traffic light and then be ready to follow me.”

The downward slope of the highway gives you a burst of speed you dearly need once you reach the road. You speed past abandoned cars and several milling zombies that turn to give chase, but you and Sungyoon are already turning left, racing down a street of empty shops and cafes. You used to hang out there with Daeyeol and a few of your friends before –

Not the time. You pedal faster. The groans of chasing zombies has grown fainter, which is good, but there are definitely more.

As if on cue, several sets of gangly, white limbs pop out from behind a building, lurching towards Sungyoon’s bike. He swerves around a car and you grit your teeth to avoid crying out. “Keep going!” you shout, pedaling faster. Faster.

Street signs whiz past. You almost miss the first turn, jerking sharply to the right at the last minute. Sungyoon curses and you look back but he’s following, still following, weaving around zombies and cars as he keeps racing forward.

Right. Left. Straight. Left. More zombies join the chase, relentless even as you and Sungyoon leave them behind, legs straining to keep the speed.

Left, left, straight. Pedaling uphill is a pain. Your thighs burn and your chest aches but then you’re rolling downhill and you catch your breath before straining once more.

Straight. Right. Right. Left. You pass by your old high school, grass trampled and overgrown in the front.

Left, right. You race down a street lined with houses you used to envy – if you lived closer to school, you wouldn’t have had to get up early for the bus every morning.

Straight. You pedal past a small plaza. Clubs used to congregate in the restaurants for end of year celebrations. It’s where you went with your friends on the last day of high school and where you had dinner with your mom the next day after graduation.

Mom. Mom. You go right, then left, racing past aching memories, all the while conscious of zombies groaning in the background and Sungyoon panting by your side. Mom, I’m almost there. Almost home.

Please be there.

The last street comes into sight. You swing around a last building and a last car, finding yourself on a familiar street that you haven’t seen in years. You pedal slower, slower, until you stop in front of your house.

Memories almost paralyze you. This was where you met Daeyeol when he first moved in. This was where you almost got hit by a speeding car when you were out playing as a child. This was where you walked from every day to the bus stop for over five years to get to school –

Sungyoon grabs your wrist, glancing behind. Already, the sound of groans is growing louder. “Is this it?” he asks, nodding at the front door.

“Yeah,” you breathe. You squeeze your eyes shut, shake yourself out of your daze. “Yeah. Come on.”

With each step forward, you feel like you’re walking back in time. You grow younger and younger, smaller and smaller, until you’re finally pulling out the house key you’ve kept in your bag for so long, waiting for this moment –

You stop, key held uselessly between your fingers as you take in the scuff marks around the doorknob and the lock.

The door has already been forced open at least once.

Sungyoon notices the marks, notices your silence. He pulls open the door anyway and shoves you inside, slamming it shut behind you.

He plucks the key from your hand. Locks the door with a faint, familiar click.

You look around in a daze, taking in overturned furniture, books and magazines strewn over the floor, cabinets left open from what you can see in the kitchen. Clouds of dust spring up where you step.

You sneeze. The sound brings you back to the present.

Your home has been ransacked. Someone broke in and took what they thought was worth taking, leaving behind furniture and books and the piano standing against the wall. Someone broke in and either spared your mother or killed her –

Or she wasn’t there in the first place.

You can feel Sungyoon’s eyes following your movements as you step forward, slow and cautious. Dust itches your throat and burns your eyes but you keep moving, surveying the damage. “Mom?”

There’s no sign of human life. Not a footprint in the dust, not a handprint on the wall. But there’s also no blood. No sign of struggle.

So where is she?

“Mom?”

Panic seizes your chest and you walk forward faster, looking into the kitchen as if she’ll be hiding somewhere there. When she doesn’t appear, you turn into the bathroom, the bedrooms, but only a mess of dust and objects meets your eyes. “Mom?”

No one replies.

She’s not here.

You try to reason it away. Maybe she’s out looking for food. Maybe she’s hiding. But you don’t have a basement or second floor so there’s nowhere she could be, and why would she be hiding, anyway? As for food…

Dust comes away on your fingertips as you drag them along the floor. Somewhere along the way, you sank down against the wall, alone in the hallway. Bits of dust rise with every breath you take.

If she was just looking for food, the house would still appear lived in. There wouldn’t be so much dust and dirt everywhere.

But she might have had to leave when people broke into the house. Right?

Or not. You swallow, tears starting to flow down your face. There was no sign of struggle, no blood or cracks in the wall. Just overturned furniture, probably from someone’s careless movements while looking for necessities.

Which means she isn’t here.

Not here. Not here. Not here not here not here not here – you came all this way and survived so many attacks and even lost Daeyeol and she’s not here –

And –

Daeyeol –

A cracked, broken sound emerges from your throat and your pounding head falls into your hands. You came this whole way and watched Daeyeol shoot himself just to find the dusty, empty house from your nightmares –

“Y/N.”

You turn your head to see Sungyoon in the hallway, holding a piece of paper in one hand. His face is pale.

He holds out the paper before you can work through the lump in your throat to ask what’s wrong. “I think you should read this.”

. . . . .

It’s long past dark and you still can’t sleep. Sungyoon drifted off about an hour ago, but even though you lie under the same sheet next to him on the floor, not even his warmth can lull you into dreamland this time.

Well. Probably more like nightmare land. The piece of paper crinkles in your hand, as if to remind you of what you’ve lost.

You try to close your eyes against the words that seem to flash in your vision. No use. They’ve tattooed themselves to the backs of your eyelids, trembling letters written in your mother’s familiar scrawl…

Y/N, if you’re reading this, I’m sorry. I’m most likely dead.

Why did she feel the need to apologize for being dead? If anything, it’s your fault for not getting here fast enough.

Of course, there is the chance that I’m just out looking for food and will come back soon, but if I’m not home by night, it isn’t likely.

Night has gone and passed. It’s probably closer to morning.

Every time I leave the house, I put out this note. That way, in case you manage to find your way back, you’ll have this much left from me.

Tears start to build up again behind your still puffy eyes.

I heard you on that phone call. I knew you would come back or at least die trying. Because that’s who you are, Y/N, my strong, darling child. Brave to the last.

Brave. Ha. If only she knew how much you relied on others to keep you sane. First Daeyeol, then Sungyoon…

I miss you. Every day I miss you. But I have hope that you will come home one day, return to this house, even if I’m not there to welcome you.

She wasn’t.

If you are reading this note and I am not there, don’t blame yourself. It isn’t your fault. Nothing is certain, especially not our lives, not mine, not yours. If it was my time, then it was my time. Don’t hurt yourself, thinking you should have gotten here before.

But you could have. Maybe you should have. Sungyoon certainly thought so, judging from his silence as you read the note. He read it too, before you, and you know he was thinking you should have left him and his fractured leg back at that house in the city infested with zombies, left him and come back four weeks earlier to hopefully find your mother, alive and whole –

You don’t think you could’ve chosen differently, though. Sungyoon was there, right in front of you, injured and broken and you couldn’t just leave him behind. Even if your mother had still been here then (which you don’t think she was – the thick layer of dust all over the house speaks of over a month of disuse), would you even have made it back? Or, alone, would you have fallen to the trap of your own mind?

And even if you had returned in time, how would she have thought of you, knowing you left an injured person behind? You wouldn’t have been able to keep it from her. It would’ve spilled out, sometime.

Your heart clenches. Even though there logically wasn’t much you could do, it still hurts to think that you might’ve had a last chance to see her before she went.

Always remember that I love you, Y/N. You have always been the pride of my life. You are strong and brave, and if anyone is to survive this disaster, I pray it is you, both as my child and as a ray of hope for the future. We know something like this can’t happen again. I know you. I know you will help prevent it.

The tears start to spill. Again.

I love you. I miss you. I hope I will see you soon, but not before it is truly your time.

- Your loving mother

Tears fall harder, faster. You turn, pulling yourself out of the blanket so you won’t wake Sungyoon, and sit there, shaking with silent sobs.

I love you too. And I miss you even more.

You have little left of your mother but this note. All her clothes were taken from her room, the sheets of her bed pulled away, even her toolbox laid empty. Trinkets from shelves and tables lay smashed on the floor, fallen from careless searching. A few framed pictures survived. Little more. You don’t even have her body – you can’t even bury her, your mom, your hero, you can’t even give her the same respects you paid Daeyeol –

Your watery eyes light on the shadow of the piano, hidden in the darkness. The lid covering the keys is still closed, protecting them from dust, just the way you left it when you went back to university.

As if in a trance, you stand, walking towards the piano and settling on the dusty bench. You haven’t grown in the years since you’ve been at school and it’s still pulled the same distance back, leaving just enough space for you to stretch your hands out on the keys once you’ve lifted the lid. Dust billows and you cough, batting it away, but you put your hands back on the keyboard.

And begin to play.

It’s your mother’s favorite piece, a sonata’s slow second movement that she said never failed to calm her after a long day. But you don’t play it well – your fingers slip. You don’t remember all the notes. Rhythms are wrong, the melodies stilted, and you stop playing, resting your elbows on the edge of the instrument as you grind the heels of your palms into your eyes, tears beginning to pound once more. You couldn’t bury her so you thought you could give her a little music, but holy fuck, you can’t even properly give this tribute because you can’t play the fucking piece –

Sungyoon sits on the edge of the bench. You jump – you never realized he was awake, and you open your mouth to apologize for waking him up – but he just looks at you with a softness you can feel even in the dark. “Keep playing.”

Fingers trembling, you put them back on the keyboard. It doesn’t get better – missed notes and wrong rhythms still plague the piece – but Sungyoon nudges you every time you falter, pushing you to finish. And when you do, tears falling to the dust onto your lap, he pulls you over and wraps an arm around you, letting your head fall to his shoulder as you cry.

He holds you until the sun rises and you finally fall asleep.

. . . . .

As much as you want to leave as soon as you wake, you stay at home another day. Both of you need a break before you keep going west, now that there’s no time crunch, and there don’t seem to be many zombies walking up and down the street. As long as you and Sungyoon keep the window blinds shut, you consider yourself about as safe as you can get.

The security helps a little. Takes away a bit of anxiety. But wherever you go, no matter how messy the rooms are, you always know that you’re in the same house you grew up in. Just with the most important people of your childhood missing.

But Sungyoon is important, and Sungyoon is here. It helps, a little. Though when you find him staring at the few family photos left on a table, photos with you and your mother and one even with Daeyeol’s family, you have to leave the room because it just reminds you that Sungyoon lost everyone and has little beyond his sister’s earrings, as far as you know, to remember them by. And he had to take them from her body, when in any other “normal” situation of death he would’ve left them in for her burial…

Sungyoon cried over the earrings several weeks ago. Just looking at the pictures, comparing the memories they hold to two little gold hoops that can’t even fit around Sungyoon’s fifth finger, almost makes you want to smash the frames to the ground.

You almost don’t take them with you. It’s only when Sungyoon holds out the thin frames that you remember them, two-dimensional faces of people you lost, smiling with a joy that you don’t think you’ll feel ever again.

“You’ll want them,” Sungyoon says quietly. “It hurts now, but you will. Trust me.”

The weight behind his words convinces you.

In the end, you put them in your bag, stuffing your mother’s note into one of the frames. Sungyoon helps you cushion them with your spare clothes. When you’ve finally packed them away, you walk with him to the front of the house before hesitating in the doorway.

Sungyoon glances at you. “Ready?”

You don’t turn around, but you let your eyes wander over what of the living room you can see from here. You’ve left this house many times, both times when you went to university and every time you left after a break, but you always came back. Even when everything happened, you came back. You still came back.

This time, you don’t think you’ll ever return.

“Y/N?”

You hear Sungyoon, but you still say nothing, riveting your gaze to the door. Once you leave this house, you won’t come back. You can’t even hope for it.

But you think it’ll be okay, because home isn’t just a place. It’s with people, too. And though you will never forget your original home with your mom and Daeyeol, you think you’ve found the beginnings of another home with Sungyoon.

You take Sungyoon’s hand, tangle your fingers through his. He looks at you with some concern but you don’t look back, just blink your eyes and take a breath.

You’re leaving your original home for a less certain one, a home bound solely in human attachment without the solid root of a house. It’s a little tenuous, a little shaky, but with your hands joined like this, you think there’s a possibility things might be okay.

It’s a chance you’re willing to take.

“Yeah.” You finally look up, squeezing his fingers once. You twist the doorknob. “Let’s go.”

If you enjoyed, please don’t forget to reblog and leave a comment to tell me what you thought! Thank you for reading and have a lovely day <3

(1 reblog = 1 prayer for a certain two characters to stay alive)

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kissinginkitchens · 4 years ago

Text

You Bring Me Home—Chapter Four: You Can Hear it in the Silence

a/n: hello again!! So glad to have you back :) I hope you're all enjoying the story so far. It's been wonderful to read some of your comments and thoughts! I do have to give a special shoutout to @harrysblackcoat and @determined-overthinker for their continued support and feedback, it really means the world to me, so a huge thank you to you both!! I am tremendously grateful for all of you lovely readers and I hope you will enjoy chapter four as much as I enjoyed writing it! As always, my inbox is open, so feel free to drop by and chat with me after reading! Much love, Mel <3

Pairing: Hawai'i!Harry x Original Character

Warnings: swearing, allusions to sexual content

Word Count: 6.7k

read parts one, two, and three

“You kissed him?” Maleah gasps over FaceTime, her mouth so wide, Alani fears her jaw will detach from its socket.

She had finally decided to tell her best friend everything, excluding the Rolling Stone details, nearly two days after the last time she had seen Harry. The entire next day had been spent replaying every moment and listening to the recorded interview on her voice notes until the phone battery was completely drained. Alani’s stomach fluttered at the sound of Harry’s voice and it only made her miss him more. The part that she desperately needed her friend’s input on was what had happened immediately before she left.

“No,” Alani clarifies, quickly. “Well, almost. Maybe—I think,”

“I’ve only been gone a couple of weeks,” Maleah starts, brows furrowed as if her brain is malfunctioning. “And you’re already swooping in on my man?”

Alani feels her cheeks warm but she pushes past it and rolls her eyes. “There is no swooping going on,”

“I don’t know. You two were caught in the rain together, sounds like swooping to me,”

“But that’s the thing,” Alani huffs. “I don’t know what it is. And I don’t know if I’m just making a big deal out of nothing,”

Maleah nods understandingly and pushes any jealousy out of her mind, the love for her best friend winning out.

“Well, tell me exactly what happened before the kiss,”

“There was no kiss,” Alani emphasizes, thinking back to the last few minutes spent in Harry’s car.

The sun had already set when the two of them arrived at her house, leaving little light in the already darkly tinted Range Rover. But even in the darkness, Alani could see the intensity in Harry’s eyes. Their bodies had been close enough in the confined space that she could feel the warmth radiating from him, and his vanilla scent enveloped her in an intoxicating haze. For a moment, her eyes had darted to his plush lips and she imagined what it would feel like to close the space between them. She could have sworn that he had done the same, finding his eyes wandering just below the tip of her nose when she looked up. Before anything could happen, however, she found herself reaching for the door handle and stepping into the crisp night sky.

“But did you want him to kiss you?” Maleah questions.

Alani waits a beat, but she doesn’t have to think about the answer. “Yes,”

“Well there you go!” her friend responds enthusiastically. “Problem solved,”

“Problem not solved,” Alani corrects. “What about the fact that he’s, like, famous? I mean what happens when he has to go back to L.A. or London or whatever?”

“Woah, woah, woah, let’s not get ahead of ourselves,”

Alani anxiously nibbles on the skin of her lower lip, not stopping even when she tastes blood. “But it’s true—”

“Yeah, well, you don’t have to think about it right now,” Maleah assures her. “What if you just let things happen and… enjoy it for what it is?”

Alani doesn’t miss the double meaning in the last part. “Mi, you and I both know that I’ve never been one to just enjoy it for what it is,”

“I know this, and I love you,” Maleah starts slowly. “But as your best friend—and I say this with nothing but love—you need to get laid, for real,”

Alani groans, slumping further into her mattress. “But what if that’s all he wants? I just don’t think I’m ready for that,”

“And that’s perfectly fine,” her friend coos. “But from what you’ve told me so far, it doesn’t sound like that’s all he’s after,”

Alani considers this for a moment before Maleah continues.

“Look, let’s start with something simple: do you like him? I mean, do you like spending time with him and just generally being around him?”

“Yes,”

“Then start there,” Maleah suggests. “You can enjoy someone’s company without making it romantic, it’s just friendship. Don’t put pressure on something that you’re not ready for, or something that might not even be there,”

Alani feels a small weight lifted off her shoulders and nods. “Yeah. Yeah, no you’re right I shouldn’t psych myself out over something that didn’t even happen. I mean, for all I know he has a girlfriend,”

She waits a beat before a new concern enters her mind. “Wait, does he have a girlfriend?”

“I don’t know,”

“Well even if he does, it doesn’t matter,” Alani reaffirms. “Because we’re just friends,”

“When are you gonna see him again?” her friend asks.

Alani stomach drops. In all her concentration of the past, she hadn’t even considered what will happen when she has to face him again. “I don’t know,”

“Who initiated the last hang out?”

“He did,” Alani admits, thinking back to the hours he had spent reading in the café until her shift was over.

Maleah hums. “Well then it looks like the ball’s in your court,”

Alani is quiet for a moment, which her friend takes as her cue to offer some more reassurance.

“I’m sorry I don’t have more answers for you, Nani, but it’s gonna be okay. Promise, ”

Alani sighs, kneeling to look out the window next to her bed.

“No, Mi, it’s okay. I really appreciate you just being there, it means a lot,”

“Of course, babes. Keep me updated.”

“Will do.”

The call ends and Alani continues watching the palm trees sway in the wind. Will do—the very same last words that she had spoken to Harry that night. Her mind wanders back to the moment right before she had opened the door to escape and plays out an alternative scenario. What would have happened if she had leaned just an inch closer?

********

Harry pinches his lower lip between his index finger and thumb. Will do, he repeats in his mind— two words that he never knew could carry so much weight.

“I said ‘I think Manchester United is shit,’” Nick Grimshaw says loudly, shrugging at Mitch and Jeff Bhasker when his plan doesn’t work. “I dunno, that should’ve gotten him,”

“Oh hey, Alani,” Mitch speaks into his phone loud enough for Harry to hear. This piques the singer’s attention immediately, his heart racing. “Yeah he’s right here,”

“What the fuck?” Harry questions, zeroing in on Mitch.

“Who’s Alani?” Nick teases with eyebrows raised into his hairline.

Harry springs from his seat and corners Mitch, who holds his phone above his head. “Gimme the phone!”

“Hello,” Nick interrupts, watching the struggle continue. “Feeling neglected here, who’s Alani?”

The guitarist ducks and sprints to the opposite wall, Harry chasing close behind. They hop from couch to couch and swerve around fragile equipment while Mitch snickers and guards his phone close. Harry had no idea why Alani was calling and why she hadn’t reached out to him directly, but he’s dying to hear her voice again and is growing increasingly frustrated with his friend’s antics.

“Mitchell, stop fuckin’ around!”

“I’m sorry,” he relents, holding out the phone with an amused laugh. “It wasn’t her, wrong number,”

Harry huffs and returns to his seat disappointedly, a guitar resting in his lap. Nick, who had only been able to drop in for the weekend due to his busy schedule at the BBC, narrows his eyes at both boys before speaking up again.

“Once again, no one has answered my question.”

“She’s just a girl he’s been hanging out with,” Jeff explains nonchalantly. “He wants to have her babies.”

“Don’t,” Harry warns.

Despite already having his fun, Mitch can’t resist adding on. “It’s none of our business… but I’ve heard a summer wedding is in the works.”

“I’m gonna go drink now,” Harry announces, standing. “And none of you fuckers are invited.”

He wanders down the hallway and into the kitchen, immediately reaching for the tequila. Is it too early for margaritas? he wonders before deciding that he wants a second opinion. No new texts are displayed on his phone screen, much to his disappointment, but he decides to open the messages app anyway. He carefully types in Alani’s name and writes, then re-writes, the text several times before pressing send. As soon as the tag reads “delivered”, his body is filled with apprehension, but there’s no turning back.

Harry: Is 10 a.m. too early for margaritas?

There’s a minute of silence, then two, and Harry turns his phone face down onto the counter to reach for the ingredients. It dings just as he opens the bottle of tequila and he immediately lunges for it.

Alani: Never. Morning margs were invented for a reason.

Relief. He quickly types out a risky response.

Harry: Any chance I can convince you to join me?

He stares at the screen, willing the “delivered” to turn into a “read,” but it doesn’t budge. His lips ghost over the rim of the tequila bottle before he bites the bullet and takes a sip.

Alani: Working :( sorry. Another time maybe.

Defeat. He knows that “another time maybe” is a polite “never.” Another swig of tequila down the hatch.

Harry: Yeah, no worries.

Alani sets her phone down on her nightstand and brings the duvet up to her chin. She hopes with every muscle in her body that Harry doesn’t show up to the restaurant, though if he’s planning on drinking, perhaps she’s safe. Maybe I should do the same. She wonders, thinking about the rosé her mom keeps in the cupboard for special occasions. Surely heartache must be a good enough reason to crack it open. Regardless, Alani doesn’t think she has the stomach to keep it down at the present.

********

Harry pushes the remaining peas around on his plate with the prongs of his fork. His chin rests in the heel of his hand.

“And then I said ‘what’s the difference?’” his manager remarks, sending the rest of the group into a fit of wild laughter.

“You’re so fucking stupid.” Mitch comments through a chuckle.

The laughter slowly dies down and their eyes all wander to Harry who hasn’t budged for the past twenty-five minutes. They exchange worried glances, and Jeff begins to wonder if his initial advice for Harry to go out with Alani was a mistake.

“Hey, H,” he begins gently. “You feelin’ alright?”

Harry looks up from his plate and musters his best fake smile. “Yeah, jus’ tired,”

It was partially true; the crew had spent their entire afternoon at Honoli’i Beach practicing their surfing, though it was mostly unsuccessful for Harry—his life seemed to be a series of wipe-outs these days.

“I’m gonna go watch a Rom-Com in my room,” he announces, standing with his plate. “Probably doze off.”

The group exchanges “good nights” before Harry saunters down the hall to his room. Settling into the bed, he flicks through the movie selection and clicks on one that he knows by heart. He contemplates texting Alani again, scrolling through their brief conversation from three days ago. Against his better judgment, he types out another message and presses send.

Harry: Opinion on The Notebook?

He waits, attention briefly occupied by Rachel McAdams until the phone dings.

Alani: A classic, though not as good as Dirty Dancing if I’m being honest.

The corners of his mouth curl and he immediately types out another response.

Harry: You have a problem with The Goss?

Alani snorts, planting her spoon into the pint of strawberry ice cream to reply.

Alani: First, I have many gripes about you referring to Ryan Gosling as “The Goss”. Second, I was actually rooting for Lon Hammond, but maybe that’s just because I’m partial to James Marsden. And third, the scene where Baby and Johnny are dancing alone in his room. That’s all I have to say.

Harry hums, hanging on every word.

Harry: Confession: I’ve never actually seen Dirty Dancing…

Alani: We need to change that immediately.

His heart pounds. So she didn’t plan on ghosting him forever.

Harry: So Lon Hammond, that’s your type?

Alani doesn’t know why she finds it unsettling that Harry steers the conversation away from any possible talk of them hanging out again. She reminds herself that she had been the one to decline his invitation for margaritas and shovels another scoop of ice cream into her mouth.

Alani: Kind, supportive, successful, handsome? Yeah, I’d say so. Not to mention he forgave Allie for cheating.

Harry: But Noah built her a house. Her dream house, I might add.

Alani: I’m not discrediting Noah, I love a grand romantic gesture as much as the next person. Just think Lon deserved better.

Harry grins, entirely ignoring the movie at this point. Grand romantic gestures, he notes, good to know.

Harry: And what about the fact that Noah wrote it all down and reads their literal love story to her every time she forgets?

Alani: Maybe he deserves some rights for that.

Alani taps the spoon against her lower lip and thinks about Cecily’s words. Just let things happen. She desperately wants to, but she doesn’t know how. The thought of getting too close only to let it all slip through her fingers is too overwhelming, so she starts with something simple: do you like spending time with him? Alani doesn’t think she could enjoy anything more. Her mind wanders back to the passenger seat of Harry’s car and the image of his wrist draped over the steering wheel, lower lip captured between his fingers. She had noted this tick early on and found it endlessly endearing. Save for the awkward fifteen minutes of their very first interview, their conversations all seemed to come so easily. Alani enjoys his quick wit and the way he speaks slowly, as if carefully weighing each word. She likes that even though the entire reason for their relationship is for her to learn all that she possibly can about him, he makes an equal effort to get to know her. Alani compares Harry’s sincere reaction to hearing that she was a journalist to David’s snarky remark. Harry had believed in her from the get-go—he had trusted her. He makes her feel seen and known. Isn’t that what it means to be loved? To be known? His words echo in her mind.

Harry: How’s the article going?

Alani’s stomach drops. Fuck. In all her contemplation over the almost kiss, she had forgotten the truth behind her motives. She had lied. Harry had trusted her, and she had lied. Not yet, she thinks, I haven’t lied yet. It would only be a lie if she submits the article to Rolling Stone. Her throat tightens. But I’m so close. She thinks about telling him, but quickly shuts the thought down when she considers that she still doesn’t have enough material and can’t afford to risk it now. This is her chance, there’s no doubt about it. Why else would the universe have planted a world famous rockstar right at her feet just when she had decided to give up for good? Alani had to at least try, she owed it to herself, and she reasons that if Harry really cares about her, he will understand. He would have to.

Alani: It’s going.

Harry: Can I get a sneak peek anytime soon?

Alani: Soon. Good night, Harry.

She sends the last text and sets her phone face down next to her. If she was going to do this, she had to do it right—even if it meant putting some space between the two of them. She owed that much to Harry.

He sinks further into the mattress, not understanding what he had said or done wrong, but he grants Alani her space, anyway.

Harry: Good night Alani.

********

“You’re listening to KWPX The Wave and that was the latest single from Ariana Grande,”

Alani stops fiddling with the radio and sits back with a defeated huff. She had been in a rut with her own music lately and after spending nearly fifteen minutes in her driveway shuffling through songs, she decided to turn on the radio and leave it up to fate.

“Next up is a song from everyone’s favorite ex-boyband: One Direction,”

Goddamnit, Alani groans. She had forgotten what a bitch fate could be.

“Now, I have to say, DeeDee,” the radio DJ starts. “I was personally heartbroken to hear the news, and I know my daughters were too,”

“Oh definitely,” DeeDee replies. “And I can’t help but wonder what this means for all of them. I mean, what do you think they’re up to these days?”

The first DJ gives a snide chuckle before he continues. “Probably doing what every twenty-something year old millionaire does: booze, cruise, and schmooze—the pretty girls, especially,”

Alani scoffs, rolling her eyes at his insinuation. She had begun to resent all of the gossip and speculation surrounding Harry’s whereabouts, especially after learning how much privacy meant to him. Moreover, she hated the twinge of jealousy that coursed through her veins at the thought of him with another girl. Alani supposes that it wasn’t entirely out of the question since they were far from romantically involved. While he had occupied her mind over the past few weeks, she knew that it was highly unlikely that he paid her the same attention. The thought still brings bile to her mouth.

“Well whatever they’re up to, one thing seems to be pretty clear,” DeeDee speaks up again. “All eyes will be on Harry Styles. I mean, he’s really the one to watch in all of this, isn’t he?”

“I think you’re right. I’m curious to see what he’s got in store. Maybe he’ll join Justin Timberlake and Nick Jonas with the ex-boyband buzz cut. But without further ado, here’s Drag Me Down.”

Alani knows that she’ll have to talk to Harry eventually; over the past week and a half, she had dodged every invitation to hang out, left cut and dry responses to all of his texts, and even ducked into the restaurant’s walk-in fridge when he unexpectedly showed up one afternoon. While the temptation to indulge his friendly advances was high, professional boundaries needed to be established. She had already begun working on the article with material from the two previous interviews—and it wasn’t half bad—but there was still so much of the story to fill in. If Alani was going to make it all worthwhile, she had to keep digging and do it fast; she couldn’t afford to let her personal feelings get in the way.

Her car sputters slightly as she heads south on Mamalahoa Highway and the radio fades in and out. Alani checks all of her gauges—she had made sure that the gas tank was full before leaving—and doesn’t see anything unusual. A few miles later, it jerks again before coming to a complete stop.

“Fuck,” she cries, pounding her palms against the steering wheel. “No, no, no, no, no!”

Alani waits a moment before turning the key again, but the engine refuses to start. She whips her phone out of the cupholder and scrolls through her contact list.

Pua—no license.

Maleah—out of town.

Dad—also out of town, catering a wedding in Oahu.

Mom—probably scrubbed in on a major, life-saving surgery.

She continues scrolling until her finger lands on a name that makes her heart race and sink at the same time.

Harry Styles—no.

There’s no way she can justify calling him, not after giving him the cold shoulder all week. If texting back and forth was unprofessional, then asking to be rescued off the side of the road surely crossed several boundaries. Alani scans her surroundings, shielding her eyes from the blinding afternoon sun. There isn’t a car or person in sight for miles—what other choice does she have? With shaking fingers, she dials the number and presses the phone to her ear. Harry answers after the third ring.

“Hello?” he responds loudly over the sound of cymbals crashing and laughter in the background.

“Hi,” Alani greets, raising her voice to be heard. “It’s Alani,”

She hears shuffling on the other end and then Harry’s voice, softer this time.

“Oh hey. How are you?”

“Good, how are you?”

Harry senses that something is off, but he’s glad to hear from Alani, nevertheless. His friends continue their antics in the studio, despite his silent gestures to knock it off, so he heads outside.

“Uh, yeah I’m fine. S’good to hear from you,” he offers shyly.

Alani’s chest tightens.

“Ditto,” she replies. “Hey listen, um, I’m kind of in a bit of trouble I—”

She hesitates. What the hell am I doing?

“I need your help,”

Harry’s heart sinks, immediately filled with worry.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she reassures him. “It’s my car,”

“Where are you?”

“The highway, southbound. Just past exit 243, I think,”

“I’m on my way,”

“Thank you,” Alani offers gently. “Really, thank you.”

A soft smile spreads across Harry’s lips. “Anytime.”

He arrives in a pink Cadillac fifteen minutes later, pulling over behind Alani. She doesn’t recognize the car and her confusion only deepens when a man with short-cropped hair emerges. As he approaches, a wave of recognition and relief washes over her.

“Harry?”

“Hey,” he greets, walking up to the driver’s side. “Need a lift?”

Alani’s mouth hangs open ever so slightly, scanning his new appearance. He looks like a completely different person than the one she remembers, and he has the faintest trace of stubble above his lip and jaw.

“You cut your hair,”

“I did,” he confirms.

“It’s so short,”

“Do you like it?”

“Of course I do,” Alani offers with a light laugh, feeling flustered under his gaze. “I mean it looks great, really suits you. Not that it matters what I think, it’s your hair,”

But it did matter. Everything she did, or didn’t do, said, and didn’t say— it all mattered to him for reasons he couldn’t quite explain. And it mattered more than she would ever know.

“So Stevie quit on you?”

Alani sighs. “I don’t know what’s wrong, honestly. All of the gauges look fine and I filled the tank this morning,”

Harry asks her to pop the hood and makes his way to the front of the Bronco. He looks around, not seeing any smoke or trace of other issues, though his knowledge of cars isn’t as comprehensive as he’d like in this situation.

Alani joins him, doing her own scan over the inside of the hood despite the fact that she has no idea what to look for. Her eyes wander to Harry’s strong hands as they prod the various bells and whistles, and she notices the way his tanned skin glistens under the sun. The cross pendant nestled behind his white t-shirt escapes when he leans over, swinging like a mesmerizing pendulum.

“I called a tow truck,” he says standing with his hands on his hips. “Should be here soon,”

“I’ll pay you back,” Alani offers quickly, her throat dry.

Harry waves her concern away with a hand and places the hood back. “Don’t worry about it. I’m just glad you’re okay,”

“I really owe you one,” she says appreciatively.

He leans against the car with his arms crossed, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Have lunch with me and we’ll call it even.”

“Deal.”

The tow truck arrives ten minutes later and the driver gathers all of Alani’s information, letting her know which mechanic the car will be taken to and when she can pick it up. She sighs watching Stevie pull away down the road and imagines the dent it’ll make in her savings. Harry nudges her gently, motioning for her to get in his car.

“New ride?” she questions, running her fingers over the cotton candy paint.

“It belongs to the owner of the studio,” he explains. “All of the cars do except the Rover, she’s a rental. But Jeff took her out to get us lunch,”

“I’m so sorry for interrupting your plans,” Alani apologizes. And for kind of ghosting you, she thinks.

Harry shakes his head, shifting the gear between them. “Nah, you didn’t interrupt, we were just messing around. But I am curious to know what brought you all the way out here on a Tuesday afternoon. Skipping town?”

Alani giggles at the way he says “Tuesday,” but responds despite the curious look he flashes her. “Day off. I was gonna go to the beach,”

“Bummer,” Harry offers, thanking every deity that he can name. “We could still go,”

“Your friends won’t be mad?”

“They’ll be fine,”

Alani nods, her eyes studying the orange checkers on her trousers.

“What’re you hungry for?” Harry speaks up.

She thinks for a moment and is reminded of her original plans. “I could go for some sushi,”

“Know any good places?”

“Yeah, I’ll show you,” Alani’s curious gaze falls to the glove box before her, immediately wondering what’s inside. “Do you think the owner will be mad if I open this?”

Harry glances down at what she’s pointing to and shakes his head. “Knock yourself out,”

Alani pulls down the hatch and reaches inside; her fingers make contact with what feels like a pair of glasses. When her hand re-emerges with a pair that are pink and heart-shaped, she smiles.

“They have good taste,” she comments, putting them on.

Harry looks over and flashes a wide grin, the dimple that Alani has become so fond of emerging.

“Look good on you,”

“Try them on,” Alani suggests, handing them over.

He obliges and pushes his own pair up to make room for the other lenses.

“What d’you think?”

“I think you should keep them,” she says. “They suit you.”

And they really do; they compliment his face well and hint to the fun, easygoing parts of his personality that Alani has recently discovered.

She directs him to her favorite sushi spot near Bayfront Park, which is buzzing per usual. After they’ve been seated on the patio outside, Harry tucks the heart-shaped sunglasses into his t-shirt and contemplates addressing the elephant in the room: the ghosting. He doesn’t want to spook her, though, so he decides to pose the question lightly, but Alani speaks before he has the chance.

“So what’s with the haircut?”

Harry blinks, clearing his throat before he responds. “You hate it,”

“No!” She defends. “I like it, really, it looks great,”

“You wouldn’t bring it up if you didn’t absolutely hate it,” he teases in mock offense.

Alani rolls her eyes, a playful smile spreading across her face. “It just seems like a huge step and I’m curious, that’s all,”

He considers this, deciding to stop giving her a hard time, and responds. “Well if you must know, it’s for an audition,”

“For?”

“A movie,”

“A movie?” Alani’s eyes grow wide. “You’re gonna be in a movie?”

“Maybe,” he clarifies. “Dunno yet,”

“Wow,”

Harry leans forward, his elbows resting on the table. “What have you been up to? Any life changing decisions?”

Alani shrugs. “Same old. Work, my summer class,”

“And how’s your family?” he asks, which catches her off guard.

“Good. My sister’s… a moody teenager. My dad is catering a big wedding in Oahu right now. Mom’s saving lives like the badass woman she is,”

Harry laughs lightly at her comment and Alani tries to store the soundbite in the back of her mind for safe keeping.

“What about yours?” she questions.

“Fine, yeah. Mum’s good, so’s Gemma. Talk to them at least once a week just to check in,”

He pauses to take a sip of his water before continuing. “Ever since I was about...ten, maybe, ‘ve had this feeling like—protect mum at all costs. But she’s strong, has the greatest heart,”

Alani finds it sweet that Harry speaks so highly of Anne. Her own mom had always told her that a lot can be said about the character of a man by the way he treats his mother.

“I’m sure she misses having you around,” Alani comments, thinking of her own close relationship with her mom. “I don’t know if I could let my child leave home as early as you did,”

Harry brushes the tip of his nose with a knuckle and nods. “Was kinda hard at first, but she’s always been really supportive.”

“I bet she’s really proud.”

He offers a shy smile in response, scanning the scenery around them.

“I’m sure your family’s proud of you too.”

Alani and Harry continue their light conversation through the entire meal, sharing stories about their families and childhood. She finds herself wishing that she could have met a teenaged Harry, pre-fame and general world domination. He enjoys her anecdotes, soaking up every detail that he possibly can as if his life depends on it. The two of them go back and forth well after the meal is finished, only pausing when the waitress stops to check on them.

“Maybe we should go,” Alani suggests, checking her phone for the time. “I always hate when customers stay for hours,”

“Just like I did the first time at the café?” he asks, putting his signature on the bill.

Alani feels her cheeks warm and she quickly back pedals. “No! I mean—well, yeah, kinda—”

“And the truth comes out!”

“I was just annoyed because my sister kept bugging me to fill up your water. She was afraid you were gonna, like, get dehydrated and die or something.”

“Tell her I appreciate the concern.”

Alani laughs lightly, feeling a bit of relief when the breeze soothes her burning cheeks. The two of them make their way back into the restaurant and out the main entrance, padding down the boardwalk side by side. Harry never knows what to do with his hands, usually opting to stuff them into his pockets as he hurries down a busy street, but he desperately wishes to occupy them a different way. His pinky involuntarily brushes the back of Alani’s hand, but he pulls away quickly to avoid freaking her out. She wishes he hadn’t.

“What were you gonna do at the beach?” he asks to break the ice.

She thinks for a moment, watching the different couples huddled together on the beach. “Relax, get some air. Do a little reading,”

“What’re you reading?”

“Currently this book about Laurel Canyon in California and some of the musicians who lived there during the 60s. You might like it,”

Harry’s brow raises. “Think so?”

“Yeah, it’s got Joni, Crosby, Stills, and Nash, Mamas and the Papas, all those guys. They talk about their experiences of coming to terms with rapidly growing fame, the reality of the peace and love movement, the collaborative process. Seems like something you might find interesting—relatable, even,”

"I’ll check it out,” Harry promises with a nod.

Alani smiles gently and refocuses her attention on the horizon. “So what were you gonna do today?”

“Not much,” Think about you. “But speaking of books and stuff, I‘ve been meaning to ask. When you become, you know, the next Pulitzer Prize winner, do I get to be your plus one?”

She scoffs, squinting under the bright sun to look up at him. “I don’t know, I have to make it first,”

“And what does ‘making it’ mean to you?” Harry had been trying to re-define success, himself, and was curious to hear Alani’s thoughts on the subject.

She ponders the question for a minute, adjusting the straps of her orange tank-top to occupy her anxious fingers. “Move to New York, work for some big publication, something like that,”

“New York?” he asks, slightly taken aback. “And leave all this behind?”

“I think I’d like the change,” Alani reasons. “I love it here more than anything, but I think I’ve gotta make my own way, my own decisions. My grandma used to say that you ‘gotta swim before you drown because the ocean’s too vast and too interesting to get stuck treading water in the same place,’”

Harry nods, understandingly. “Wise woman,”

“Carolina,” Alani says, using the Spanish pronunciation that sounds like music to Harry’s ears. “That was her name, I was named after her,”

“Middle name?”

“Yeah,” she clarifies. “I’m half Mexican on my mom’s side,”

He hums. “Ever been?”

“To Mexico?” Alani asks, proceeding when he nods. “Yeah. Once when I was like, five, we went to Xcaret for my aunt’s wedding,”

“It’s beautiful there,” Harry notes.

“What’s your favorite place that you’ve been to?” Alani questions, imagining all the stamps that must be in Harry’s passport.

He thinks for a moment, a hum buzzing low in his throat as he sifts through his memory. “Probably Italy,”

“Lucky,” Alani muses, picturing the Gothic cathedrals that she longs to visit.

“You’d like it there.” Harry says, truly believing it. A part of him felt that she belonged in every beautiful place he could think of.

The two of them walk in silence for a few moments, each taking time to scope out the view around them. Alani sees a couple leaned against a staircase railing, looking deep in conversation, though probably not a pleasant one.

“You think they’re breaking up?” Alani asks gently, nodding her head in their direction. “Or just having the talk?”

Harry scans the scenery before his eyes land on the pair that she's referring to. “Ah yes, the talk. Ye olde chat,”

“What do you think you’d be if you weren’t a musician?” She poses suddenly. He laughs to himself at the way Alani jumps from topic to topic and reasons that her mind must always be going a mile a minute.

“A virgin,” Harry jokes, hoping that it’ll land. When she lets out a sudden, bright laugh, he looks over in relief.

“God, you are so…” Alani trails off, shaking her head.

He waits to see if she’ll finish the statement, but he doesn’t think she will. Truthfully, she doesn’t know what to say. The more Alani learns about Harry, the more he seems to surprise her. One minute he can be serious and thoughtful. The next, a ray of sunshine—aloof and carefree. She finds herself anticipating his every move, every word, and loving each minute that he allows her to. It makes her head spin at times, but she wouldn’t have it any other way.

They journey down to the shore and discard their shoes in favor of feeling the cool sand beneath their toes. Alani tells Harry about the sea glass collection she had as a child, and he makes a mental note to scan the ground for any pieces she might like. She asks him if the beaches are nice in England, to which he responds a hard “no” compared to the ones in Hawaii or California. A couple of children splash in the shallow water nearby, and Alani doesn’t miss the fond look in Harry’s eye as he watches. Eventually, they wander back up to the main boardwalk when they spot a group of people happily sipping milkshakes. Harry noticed her eyes following them, practically drooling, so he suggested it before she had to.

“Want some?” Alani asks, her mouth full of strawberry.

Harry gladly accepts, taking a sip from the straw that she holds out to him. He hums, letting the taste sit on his tongue before he offers his own cup full of vanilla. She tucks a lock of hair behind her ear before leaning over for a taste. The flavor is sweet and comforting to her, despite popular opinion that it’s boring. Alani swipes her tongue across her lower lip and thinks for a moment that this is what his mouth must taste like. She wishes she could verify this thought.

“I’m really glad you got the strawberry,” he notes, stirring his drink with the straw. “I was having a serious crisis over what to get,”

“When in doubt, always go with the pink one,” Alani says, tapping her temple, and suddenly Harry remembers that the contents of her bag were all various shades of bubble gum and dusty rose.

“It’s the only true rock ‘n roll color,” he offers, taking another sip of his milkshake.

“Paul Simonon?” she questions with narrowed eyes, instantly recognizing his reference to a quote from The Clash’s bassist.

“Nothing gets past you.”

********

The clouds above start to resemble puffs of cotton candy, signaling that the day will soon draw to a close much to both Harry and Alani’s dismay. They lounge in the pink Cadillac, which is parked in an area that overlooks the entire beach, and take turns picking out the one lie amongst two truths about one another; it was a game that Harry had proposed.

“Is it,” Alani starts, her lower lip caught between her teeth. “The four nipples?”

Harry makes a buzzer sound effect through his own laughter, temple resting against his fist as his arm drapes over the seat.

“Wrong-o, sorry,”

“What?!” she exclaims, eyes wide. “You’re messing with me,”

“Am not,” he defends proudly.

Alani lets out a surprised chuckle, fighting the urge to let her eyes wander below his neck. “I don’t believe you,”

“I’d prove it,” he shrugs. “But then I’d have to flash you,”

“Guess we’ll never know, then,”

Their laughter settles down and the only sound between them is the crashing of waves in the distance. Harry lets his eyes trail down the slope of Alani’s nose to her cupid’s bow—dangerous territory. Little does he know, Alani does the same, noting the fact that his lips are heart-shaped and the perfect shade of strawberry. How sickeningly charming, she thinks. Her eyes lift back to Harry’s and there’s something hidden behind the sea-glass that she can’t quite read. The air becomes charged and the two of them are like magnets, drawn inexplicably towards one another. Alani inches closer, her heart pounding so violently in her chest, she’s afraid that he can hear it. The sound of his own blood rushing in his ears prevents this, however, as he leans in too. The space between them gets smaller, eyes fluttering shut in anticipation, when the high pitched ringing of Alani’s phone sends her jolting backward. Harry curses every deity that he can name.

“Hello?” she responds, turning her back to him. She listens for a minute, a soft “mhmm” escaping every few seconds. “Okay, yes, I’ll be there. Thank you,”

Alani dreads having to turn back to Harry and face the consequences of whatever lines were almost crossed. She chooses to simply ignore it all together, as if no time had passed between his shocking personal revelation and the ringing of her phone.

“Stevie’s ready.” she says weakly.

Harry swallows down his frustration and offers a polite smile. “Let’s go get her.”

The mechanic shop is twenty minutes from the beach; Harry and Alani spend the entire ride in silence. Neither of them address the almost kiss despite the fact that it hangs over their heads like a raincloud of uncertain emotion. She occupies her gaze with the scenery whizzing past while he tightens his grip on the steering wheel. Alani mourns the fact that their little bubble had been popped so soon, but she figures that it’s for the best. Don’t get attached, she reminds herself. Easier said than done. Harry also wallows in the aftermath of the interruption, wishing he had acted sooner. When they finally arrive at the shop, the mechanic reveals that the cause of her car troubles was a simple dead battery. Harry offers to foot the bill, but Alani refuses, deciding that she shouldn’t accept any more favors from him in order to restore the boundary.

“So I guess this is where we part ways,” Alani says gently, toying with her keys.

Harry scans his brain for something—anything—a single excuse to see her again, and soon. He doesn’t think he can take another week and a half of icy silence and he has a suspicion that she can’t either. After all, she had leaned in, too—hadn’t she?

“There’s this thing,” he blurts out. “A sort of jam sesh at the studio tomorrow night. There’s gonna be booze, otherwise I’d tell you to bring your sister. But I’d love for you to come, and I think it might be good for—the article, or something,”

Alani weighs the pros and cons in her mind, one of which he had already mentioned: a chance to listen to what he’s working on. It seemed professional and innocent enough, not to mention the fact that there’d be other people around to keep them in check. Once she decides it’s safe, she nods.

“Okay, sure,”

“I can pick you up,” Harry offers.

Alani shakes her head gently and offers a shy smile. “No, that's okay. Tomorrow night?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll be there.”

They exchange good-byes and Alani thanks him for coming to her rescue, to which he offers a modest shrug. Harry speeds down the highway and back to the house, but three words linger in the silence.

I’ll be there.

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles writing #harry styles x oc #harry styles fluff #solo harry #one direction #harry fic #ybmh #sooo :))) how we feelin now

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sugar-petals · 4 years ago

Note

Bts voice analysis anon here! I just wanted to thank you for taking the time to respond ❤ it made complete sense why yoongi is the deepest I kinda feel bad for him everytime he wants to sounds cheerful or speak in a way so people can hear him he strains his voice

lot to talk about, i’d like to expand on this. especially what his voice being the deepest means for bts’ songs. plus, where his undiscovered vocal talents are, and in what manner his voice will not strain.

that he’s very introverted contributes to what you say, but yoongi is certainly the odd one out voice-wise, such low baritones hardly sound upbeat. similar to how taehyung being the odd one out in the vocal line whose head voices are literal superpowers. i really respect him for singing with jin and jimin who can climb one octave higher than him, up to C#5! and with jk who has the best technique and breaks into the 6th octave if he goes on like that.

it’s very much like yoongi who probably has to mix their tracks back and forth to fit his parts with hobi (who is a tenor as a rapper! — very uncommon) and namjoon who raps in several modes. very low, very high, very impactfully. he’s the most full-bodied baritone in the group even if he’s only the third-deepest. the tone is just so rich. both hoseok and RM are extreme vocal chameleons on top of that. in speaking and in their music you can hear the difference to yoongi all the time. they don’t suddenly drop in pitch and they’re vocal acrobats.

hobi in particular, this guy can do anything. the sheer agility my god, he connects his registers. he can go up and down, impersonate and do a million effects, adlibs, you know the drill. it’s him who actually owns the “cheerful/loud and clear” brand you mention. which is good if not fantastic for yoongi’s production endeavours, the group mood, and how bts cannot be ignored — but tough for yoongi’s voice and comparison thinking, and when he tries to make a point in interviews. maybe it’s not bad that bts have to slow down sometimes to let yoongi speak, but his tone is drowned out (not intentionally of course) in other occasions and he wakes up hoarse often as we saw. which might sound hot, but it’s not good for him as you say.

to be clear. i wouldn’t chalk down his more monotonous and silent tone as a weakness, it’s just outside of bts’ other vocal variety. he makes up for it with speed and good lungs anyway. we just have to listen more closely to him in talks/episodes/conferences but i think he shouldn’t worry about it either or try to sound more enthusiastic, the fans love his soothing speech for its pure sake. he does change it regardless to be more poignant and blend in. it has pros and cons but it wears him out.

yoongi’s voice is under that strain not just in conversation but also in the studio if he wants to bring connection to the rap line parts instead of having 3 songs in 1. which usually ends up happening anyway. that’s also why the cyphers (!) switch genres mid-song so often: their voices are all strong in different registers! yoongi the lowest, joon midrange, and hoseok up high.

that’s why cypher pt2 is a HUGE stunt and production masterpiece: hoseok’s part is tuned differently, then other instrumentals start with namjoon. and you can literally hear, okay alright a deep voice is coming! from there it just gets deeper and deeper until yoongi is just rapping over a bass guitar (every baritone’s best friend lmao!). god, please give yoongi a big bassline for his every part. “ugh” is the exact opposite: yoongi has to start too high and namjoon also has problems with the key, only hoseok can fully take off after 1:50 with perfect vocal stability. guess which song is autotuned: it’s not cypher pt2! a 3 in 1 song fuels the rapline in a way where they are most comfortable. it’s crazy how far apart they are among each other vocally and it has to be considered.

it’s a dilemma but also why bts’ rap line can tackle any song with at least one member suiting it. they complement each other, every register (except the rare whistle register, aka what mariah/ariana do) is covered. i think that contributed to bts’ fame, it’s so important. however usually, the song caters to hoseok since tenors are preferred in kpop music, or it caters to RM as he’s the central songwriting entity even if mind you, he always thinks about all the members and works closely with yoongi.

but even with joon’s support, it doesn’t work if yoongi is caught in his wish to be a tenor. we’ve seen how much the guy talks about wanting his range to become wider and how he even tried singing quite high for his standards on d-2. he goes as far as collabing only with sopranos to help him achieve that pitch. yoongi is invested to pretty much change his entire vocal type 🙁because the environment simps for high notes so bad (which is fair, falsetto is related to releasing certain happy hormones and highlights parts in songs, but still).

... he actually can’t, unless he wants to damage his throat. that’s the last thing we want. a listener can get the serotonin from a very deep voice equally if they got good taste.

thing is. you cannot morph yourself into a different vocal type and shift your range to the opposite of your comfort zone unless you’re whitney houston. even one in a million tenors like baekhyun can’t make themselves a baritone. his lowest notes are less clear no matter how hard he practices, even if his chest voice is almost operatic and his technique excels. meanwhile, chanyeol (who’s a lyric baritone and exo’s deepest voice) effortlessly hits them without (!!) that kind of decade-long training. have baekhyun or jimin been called bad singers for not being able to cover the other end of the spectrum? nope. so: why would yoongi be a bad vocalist who needs autotune. with lessons, oh man, he could do a lot and many things he dreams of. he has a very unique timbre and enough musical knowledge to do so.

so, we see the magic of your natural supported range. it’s simply given to you. imagine that: if you know you’re not a tenor, you could sort of outsing jungkook — obviously not by technique, but projection— as long as the song is tailored to you and the notes are low enough. yep, jk’s lower register is not extremely forward. each note is perfectly sung because he’s jk, but his power vocals are settled much higher. joon/tae/yoongi would sound much fuller with huge oomph in those lines. that’s where yoongi would be much more clear-sounding to us. a lot of baritone rappers in kpop would be damn good singers.

that’s why it’s good how a lot of rappers produce solos on their own so they can try it out.

you just have to respect that your range usually (not always) goes in one direction. once yoongi rightfully decides to abandon his high note fantasy and goes lower just for fun, we are not safe anymore lmao! exception for range: female singers have an advantage there. trained mezzo-sopranos have great access to the head voice and lower registers since they’re in the perfect middle of the scale. but the guys, forget it, even the baritenors. yoongi’s fullest voice will always be coming from a chesty depth and we love him for it. guy just needs to realize.

that’s why his real challenge is rather somehow tweaking the rap parts so his voice finds good resonance like in “혼술” or even “ddaeng”. where his voice is strong, relaxed, and full and flowing. ddaeng — “boy with luv”, too— is ironically in a very high pitch and again caters to hobi’s tone the most, but: yoongi just scales down to his own octave and it still fits, so — great key choice and musicality! and adaptation. it’s not easy to do. you can tell he plays piano.

he either becomes less easy on the ear or has to autotune himself entirely if he works against his voice. or: goes on a track way outside his supported range (dynamite, WOW). it’s a shame. “daechwita” and “agust d” are such a case: both go into the head voice where your resonance should show the most aka the chorus. there are aggressive belts/snarls/shouts that make more sense for higher, trained voices. yoongi is most famous for raps that are literally designed to fuck up his vocal cords 😷that he’s so skilled as a rapper prevents him from that to a degree, but it’s still not healthy. he adapts a lot to bts’ overall delivery but he doesn’t have to, in fact: he could go in the other direction and it would work even better.

the reason for the title track issue: they are the most energetic. in k-pop, energetic means amping up the pitch. and that’s probably a logical choice and a natural human association. if you make a baritone kpop track with a lot of energy, it probably becomes pretty creepy, uneasy, film noir. but i think that’s exactly yoongi’s thing: to unsettle and critique and rage. i think it could work out. lil nas x is a baritone pulling it off. he achieves energetic title tracks, he honors his vocal type well imo. his live singing is cool af, i need this so hard in the rap landscape. so, it’s not impossible to do.

the trick is probably setting everything to minor key. surprise... yoongi’s challenging title tracks are all in major key. boy with luv: minor key, interesting. the former are extremely difficult for him to do so hats off. “shadow” is more suitable for his baritone as is “burn it”. it needs a very heavy, dark track. which is why it’s good that yoongi has that kind of public image. a baritone’s best genre is not super light and whimsical. that’s why all of our baritone faves are not main vocalists but main rappers. kai, taehyung, jaehyun: low voices in vocal lines are soldiers.

---

now a note on yoongi’s best method of singing since it reflects his voice type and brings out the fullness of it. as in, how does it crack and strain less? guess why “사람” is yoongi’s favorite d-2 song to sing. it’s ALL his comfortable range and the singing — very beautifully done — is in mixed register (= head + chest)! which imo might be his secret weapon. it allows him to do what he longs to do successfuly without going extremely high. bingo.

because: even with baritones, the golden middle is still important. they’re not as deep as a bass, after all. that’s why their voices are so honey-laced in the mixed range and it sounds amazing. heaven, their timbre sounds so seductive. so, it’s wonderful when they find their middle and dare to sing.

i wish yoongi gets/makes more tracks aimed at just that. in “outro tear” he has to go both too low and too high so it takes a lot of production effort to patch it together. the rapline is doing god’s work to make all their voices sound cohesive without being trained singers. it’s always a trade-off and risk, an immense balance act. “paldogangsan” is hard on yoongi’s voice but works as a whole plus it caters to namjoon to carry the song’s message. the cyphers are chopped up and not chart-friendly but each member is in their comfort zone.

PS: i said bts’ rap line covers all registers except one. i think that jin is the one to complete bts’ entire spectrum coming from the vocal line. i’m no whistle note expert but dionysus went pretty high up there, i think he might be able to do it. it’s very impressive, even jungkook and jimin probably don’t have access to that register. so, another point for bts being a very ‘complete’ group.

#anon #ask #cub mail 🐆#vocal analysis #yoongi #suga #bts #baritones #tenors #mixed register #long post

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cottoncandyjester · 4 years ago

Text

Yandere ocs voice headcanons

Dunno just though this would be fun I’m sure you guys have your own voices in mind but here how it is

This contains: talk of sex, lot of characters, yandere talk

Theodore

Okay so you know yuki from fruits basket....

Make the tone louder and warmer and boom Theo

He has a very soothing voice like the type that you can hear talk for hours or fall asleep to

When annoyed or angry his voice lowers in pitch and is strained from him trying to keep from shouting

He always keeps the same tone of voice usually it’s always sweet and calm and nice

He talks very very proper like he makes sure to always sound like a gentleman

When he’s angry though he will absolutely say the word fuck or shit under his breath with a growl following it

Is the ceo of fake laughs

His fake laughs are always soft and short

His real laugh always has a shocked snort or him choking before bursting out laughing

He makes sure to cover his mouth and apologizes when he laughs cause he sees it as rude

Hikaru

Okay so as y’all know he has two sides

His stage persona voice is super sugary sweet

But don’t mistake that for hyper nope

Somehow no matter what he says it sounds like he’s smiling while talking

Never raises his voice but he does have his cracks of his real personality seeping through

With those he’ll clench his teeth

Like you know those people who speak with a fake laugh when they really wanna choke you

There are times where he has to pretend to be all cute and shy while on stage persona

His voice will get soft and sweet down to a shy little whisper

He hates doing this so there will be a slight annoyed tone in his voice that he tries to hide

When he’s pissed at you but he has to keep cool it always sounds kinda scary

“Hehe y/n my...sweet y/n, can we talk in private please sweetie?”

Normal hikaru’s voice is much deeper and cruder

Not quite bakugo tone but like just as crude and mean

Somehow always sounds like he’s one step from snarling out his words

Legit swears in every sentence

Kinda talks like a delinquent

Everything about him changes from posture to tone

He’s legit just a violent tsundere

Axis

Okay so..his voice is like ultimate sub energy

When he talks to anyone else besides you he is cheerful but also pretty normal

When it’s you..simp

You can hear the obsession in his voice. Its always sounds just absolutely happy and filled with joy

I always say that axis is like a happy puppy when he hears his darling is near

He bad mood instantly vanishes and he is just nearly squealing with joy

When he gets all bratty his cheeks puff all out and he lowers his tone making sure you know that he’s upset with you

As far as his whiny yandere side it sounds so desperate like he’s going to die if he doesn’t kiss you or hold you

I think I said this before but axis is the loudest so if you try to walk out the door or something he will scream and beg you not to go anywhere it sounds like it physically hurts to have you leave

He has a habit of hurting himself to get you to stay during these moments he would have a pathetic stutter

“I-I’m h-hurt! Y-you wouldn’t leave someone bleeding out all alone right? Right!?”

When he’s serious his tone shifts low

Not like mature low no it still has that youthful innocence but it sounds deadpan and soft like as if all feelings other than hate or anger vanished

During these moments he would say something like “stay away from my sweet perfect y/n...or I’ll kill you”

Salem

Yuri from yarichan bitch club

Okay though seriously something like him except more lower in pitch

He does slur his speech and I think I said this before but the more excited he gets the less English comes out of him

It goes from shaky toddler talking to barking and random garbled words and crazy laughing.

The only time he would talk “normal” is when he’s docile aka he’s high as hell or if he spends a large amount of time cuddles up to his darling

In that case his voice is soft though there is some stutters and crackling cause he’s not used to speaking normally

He also pauses a lot cause he’s not smart at all and words are hard

His manner of speaking is very toddler like

Words would be dumbed down and even nicknamed

Expect phrases such as “y-y/nnn, wuv wuv wuv! Ooowahhhh!” In a squealing happy tone

All in all his voice..is interesting

Prince

Prince is a fuck boy

So he sounds like a douche

Like to use the word babe and baby a lot

He honestly thinks he’s the shit so everything out his mouth comes off as cocky

His voice is kinda like those lead singers from boy bands that’s the best way I can describe it

Like those fake bad boys who are all like “yeah baby wanna smoke cigarettes in the parking lot of McDonald’s”

His voice squeaks A LOT though when nervous

Like he tries to keep his voice low and cool sounding but the moment darling flirts or gives him attention it’s just 📈📈📈

When flustered he talks in a high pitch flustered tone

It’s absolutely adorable

Takes him a while to bring it back down though

He likes to speak in Korean sometimes

It sounds so smooth when he does

He has such confidence it sounds like he’s in a kdrama or something

When things are getting steamy he likes to slow down his pacing of words and talk lower

He thinks it sounds sexy but it kinda sounds fake

It’s cause he doesn’t wanna admit that he’s a switch but whatever prince you do you boo

Prince laughing is amazing

You know Kuroo’s laugh?? Yeah take that and make it a tad bit higher and as a ton of hiccups and gasping for air and boom prince

This is why prince has a fake laugh

Like he’ll do a simple little heh. And that’s it

Yuki

Super hush

Barley a whisper

His voice is flat and cold

Very blunt

He mostly responds in grunts or sounds when in public with his darling

If he absolutely has to speak it’s a single word

Some would deem his voice boring and dull

He has very dry humor and this is the same with his tone of speaking

You will get simple responses from him

When he is with his darling just alone he is far more warm and sweet his voice is still barely above a whisper but it has a nice rumble to it

Even when he’s pissed it’s soft and calm sounding

He doesn’t like shouting cause loud sounds make him cry

That being said the only time he would get loud is when he cries

If something is hurting him he can’t take it for long

His voice cracks and he sounds whiny almost like he’s terrified

Just a shaky “s-stop!”

His breathing would get all intense and his words would come out as stutters as he tries to dial it back down to that soft calm tone probably adding his last response with a hush “please. Stop”

Not much to say about his voice though there is always amusement swinging within it whenever someone gets annoyed by his dry humor or antics

He can’t help but fight a smile as he tries to keep from laughing

Also! Yuki laugh is amazing

He has two different kinds he has his soft chuckles

And then his louder laughs which are still soft by normal standards but they are so filled with joy

So cute..

Rocket

Okay so even though rocket is a southern boy he will absolutely use his fake “bro” voice when meeting people you deem important cause he doesn’t wanna embarrass you

His worst fear is them seeing him as some southern loser

So his bro voice is very frat boy like

Typical college guy voice

Like stated before when flustered or angry his real voice seeps out

His real voice isn’t too deep or anything it’s very warm and happy

That southern accent though?! ✨Strong ✨

When he says darling you can feel that shit

Even him saying normal word it’s still strong as ever

It fits him so well though like his voice isn’t deep despite his height and build

When excited though he talks super fast

Another puppy boy

He is just so excited he can’t hold back his words so he’s talking a mile a minute

He just can’t stop!

His tone of voice very much shows how he feels

When sad his voice is soft and hushed down to a pouty whimper as he looks down shoulders slumped and posture just spilling out sadness

Same when he’s happy he is so perked up and just ✨happy✨

When he laughs it’s one of those loud happy laughs

Those laughs from deep in his chest

When he’s flustered or feeling submissive he has a very soft way of speaking that shows that he’s vulnerable at the moment

All around cute bara boy has cute voice

Rin

Twink

Just straight up a brat

Sounds like he could commit arson at any moment

He has this very cocky coy tone in his voice

Sounds kinda childish at times

He doesn’t take anything seriously so that’s to be expected honestly

His voice is quite high pitched yet smooth

When serious though his childish tone remains but it gets scarier and deadpan

“I’ll show you why you should never mess with me and my gang..”

He’s a person who grins when pissed so it’s hard to tell when he’s angry unless you hurt his darling

Ike if he’s tweaked off you won’t know

You won’t know any of his emotions honestly he kinda smiles though it all even if he’s depressed

When he loses that childish charm in his voice it’s usually when he’s having a breakdown

His voice sounds so weak and hurt and all his bottled up feeling explode

He’s a PFFFT laugher he usually laughs so hard his face turns red and he can’t breathe

As far as fake laughs it’s very cookie cutter just a few ha ha’s and that’s it.

When having..steamy times his voice lowers and that childish tone is there but it’s sadistic like he’s enjoying toying with you and breaking you

Zeke

The deepest voice out of all of them

Rich deep and sexy

Also a person with dry humor at times

Likes to respond with sounds as well

“Haaah?” “Hmmm..” “eh?” All those are acceptable

His voice rumbles in his chest

Put your hand on his chest while he’s talking and it’s like he’s purring

Very much likes using more slang terms

“If I were to rock your shit..would I be wrong?”

“Bitch do I look like boo-boo the fool to you?”

He grew up in a very cultured household so yeah he has different mannerisms of speaking unlike the others

He usually sounds bored or calm when he’s speaking to someone he doesn’t trust

Now his friends on the other hand this bitch hype

Constantly laughing, joking and grinning

He can’t stop being chaotic as hell

His tone is much louder as he’s more comfortable and he tends to use more swears and slang

When speaking in Spanish his voice is just as deep and he adores rolling his R’s every. Single. Time

As far as singing goes his voice is so smooth

Filled with soul and passion like he loves what he does

He has such a beautiful voice

Scarlett

Soft sweet and creepy

Hushed and very gentle

Her words are usually followed by a hush giggle

No matter how threatening she sounds there is always a sweet smile and giggle at the end

She likes the idea of toying with people so her voice always sounds so eel coming at first

Then her sadistic side kicks in and she’s stepping on you with her heel her voice drowning with pride

During those dom moments she can sound very degrading

Talking to you like you’re beneath her instead of an equal

But normally she is nothing short of kind

Even in yandere mode she never shouts or yells or does anything like that

It’s always calm collected and lightly frightening

Definite mother vibes

Just very nurturing

Yuuta

A deep voice member

Full delinquent

“Got something to fucking say to me?”

Aggressive as all hell

At least to strangers that is

To his darling or his twin it’s still lightly rough but also soft? I know confusing

He tries hard to keep that tough guy act up but when anxiety and everything hits he’s a mess

“E-eh!? W-why are you starin’ at me for!? G-go away!”

Hella paranoid all the time

During those anxious moments his stutters and tics are ranging in tone and pitch

He has various tics such as popping sounds, crude phrases like “no more daddy! Nope nope!” Or even “f-f-fucking c-cocks” and many others he can’t control these and they only come during panic attacks

Some of his other phrases are things he’s said as a child when his family would violate him so lot of them have the word stop and no in it

A “cute” one is if you were to say “whose a pretty boy” he would instantly reply “I’m a p-pretty b-boy!” Oddly enough that tic always makes him feel better and calm down

Anyways normal voice yuuta is tough boy

He scoffs a lot and plays this very dominating role

He likes to say nicknames like doll or angelface

Makes him feel tough

He usually tries to sound as sarcastic as humanly possible

But when he’s sad or vulnerable he whines so loud and is so clingy

“D-don’t leave me along! T-the monsters are g-gonna get me! Nooo! P-please!”

He’s like a scared child clinging to you sobbing and trying to jump in your arms just shaking

Yuuji

Also a twink voice

Except his has more sparkles in it

Kinda valley girl tone but not as annoying

Just a lot of “oh sweetie” and “honey no”

Super sugary sweet like so sweet and fake it could kill ya

Behind closed doors though

That sugary tone is the same just sadistic

“Oh sweetie, whose a sad little ball of trash? You are! Yes you are my little parasite!”

Talks in baby talk when degrading his darling and yuuta

They are beneath him in his eyes he’s god

So he should be treated as such

When pissed off his sweet tone stops and it’s pure disgust

“You bottom feeder, do you know who you’re fucking talking to?”

His pissed off voice would give you shivers from how cold it is

He can switch from angry to sweet and back again so fast like one minute he’s threatening to violate every hole you own and the next he’s like “I’m sorry! I’m being a big old meanie pants! Teehee let’s goooooo shoppinggg! Yayyy!”

Likes making his voice as cutesy as possible

Mostly cause when he switches to his more serious side the fear in their eyes is much more delicious

Ren

Y’all already know

Stutters every sentence

Can’t even form proper words without stuttering

Growls in anger when annoyed and sounds like he wants to rail you so hard you break

All around soft sweet voice

Whimpers every single time he speaks

When annoyed or gets more confidence his voice is soft but sharp

“You shouldn’t do that. Stop.”

Very short and quick like you better listen to him or else

His voice goes dead and his eyes show no mercy

He keeps his voice low and warm though

When happy he is just so warm and bright

Absolutely adorable

When ranting there are no stutters or anything he can talk for hours if you let him

Loud as fuck in bed though

Full on sobs and cries so loud the neighbors hear y’all

His voice cracks and squeaks as he pants heavily and tries not to pass out

All in all

Shy boi

#yandere imagines #yandere ocs #yandere

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galaxxiwrites · 3 years ago

Note

Heya! =D so you can decide if you wanna do it, but can you do a headcanon reaction of how Akira, Zakuro and Mizuki would react to their darling protecting them like a shield when they noticed that someone was about to try and hurt them and ended up getting badly injured from the hit. Again completely fine if you ignore this request.

Angst? *cracks fingers* Hegg yeah.

warning: these ended up being super long

edit: I forgot to mention, it has mentions of blood and shot!!

prompt: You and your lover were merely enjoying your date together, until you noticed a glint of something hiding in the shadows. It wasn't until you heard a loud bang did your mind register it was a gun. Despite your confusion, your body moves faster than your mind processes anything and you shove your lover away from the bullet's path—unfortunately leaving you to take the bullet in his stead.

Taking a hit (ft. Mizuki, Akira & Zakuro)

Mizuki

Mizuki is stunned. His mouth agape as he stands there, unsure of what to do first.

His mind wrestles with thoughts of getting the bastard who shot you or helping you, but when he sees the pool of blood slowly growing bigger, his body moves by itself.

"Hey...hey...! (Y/n)!"

Mizuki screams and shakes you, but your lack of response makes his heart drop.

He's racing to grab his phone, and his hands were too shaky to properly work the touchpad, but despite the odds he was able to properly pick out Kokuyo from his list of contacts and calls the one man he looks up to.

"Mizuki, what is it? We're in the middle of practice—"

Kokuyo sounded annoyed, but immediately fell silently when he heard Mizuki's sobs.

"Kokuyo...what do I do—?"

Mizuki can't talk properly, but does his best to explain the situation to him.

Kokuyo tells Mizuki to wait there with you while he calls an ambulance. Not like Mizuki had much of a choice anyway, as he didn't want to leave you alone.

The ambulance arrives after what feels like forever, and Mizuki's sobs that finally dried a while ago start up again as he sees you being whisked away into the vehicle on a stretcher.

For the remainder of what happened, it was all a blur to him. All Mizuki remembers was crying in front of the ER while they worked on stabilizing your condition.

After those gruesome hours of worrying, the doctors finally leave the ER. They tell Mizuki they did what they could—and that your chance of survival was 50/50 at best.

Mizuki was about to beat the doctor for not doing a better job of saving you, but Kokuyo stopped him before he could grab the doctor by the collar.

Mizuki asked for a few days off Starless, and even asked Sotetsu to dig up some information on your the attacker.

"Don't worry, (y/n). I'll make sure whoever did this to you is gonna pay."

He says, though not really waiting for a reply. After all, how could a person in deep slumber ever answer back?

Akira

Akira immediately calls the ambulance, and tells them everything despite his shaky voice almost failing him multiple times throughout the duration of the call.

Akira also tells Kokuyo about what happened, and excuses himself time off from Starless until he was assured that you were no longer in critical condition.

He stayed up all night outside of the ER, unable to even sit down despite his feet almost giving out from the fatigue of him pacing back and forth.

"We tried to close the shop as fast as we could. How is (y/n)?"

Takami asks, shocking the daylights out of Akira who was too focused on his thoughts of you to even realize that they arrived.

Akira's voice failed him. All he could was stare blankly back at the doors leading to the ER room, where you were.

Some time after, some doctors and nurses finally left the ER room. The one handling your operation told Team W that your condition has stabilized, and that you should be fine soon.

Finally, Akira was able to calm down. He just dropped to the floor, his whole body trembled as a murmurs of relief could be heard.

Taiga on the other hand, decided to dig up some information. After all, the world now revolved around the internet—it wouldn't be surprising if some wackjob ended up posting whatever schemed they had on their social media, especially if it was a throw away account.

Luckily, this sort of thing was childs play for the tech expert, and after a few hours of searching, was finally able to trace the fake account to its real owner—one of Akira's delusional fans.

The singer is mortified to see the latest post on the person's social media.

"Soon, he'll be mine."

Again, Akira's nerves tensed. Kokuyo smacks Taiga for showing them such information when Akira hasn't rested yet, but the singer thanks his team member. He even commits the person's face to memory, despite his mind feeling light from all the stress and lack of sleep.

In the early morning after her surgery, a nurse was scheduled to come in to monitor on (y/n)'s condition.

Akira stands to greet the nurse, but stops himself when he recognizes the face. This woman was no nurse, it was his fan.

He absentmindedly mumbles the person's social media handle, staring at them wide-eyed in disbelief.

Hearing her name being called out excited the fan.

"Yes! That's me! Don't worry Akira...once I get rid of this pest, we can finally be together. Like how it's supposed to be!"

Akira couldn't fathom the words that came out of this deranged fan's mouth. Without realizing it himself, Akira had his hand clenched into a fist, ready to punch this lunatic and hopefully fix whatever brain wires needed repair.

"Oi, give it a break. Jeez, a man can't even enjoy a smoke break."

Kokuyo came just in time to stop Akira from beating the woman in front of him to death, meanwhile Sin held the woman down. Akira was about to ask how they knew, but Taiga waved his phone to show hom some kind of gps app.

"It's a tracker. I had a feeling she would be making a move, so I decided to track her phone. Sorry not sorry for invading on your privacy, miss stalker fan." The tech master announces proudly.

"Takami's gonna give her over to the police. Meanwhile...you should sleep. Those eyebags don't suite you, pretty boy."

Kokuyo says, before leaving with the rest of Team W to give the two of you some silence—one that Akira desperately needed as he finally dozes off to sleep on your bedside.

Zakuro

Zakuro has a menacing look on his face—it's a smile, but so distorted with pain that he looks like a maniac.

He shakes your limp body and calls out your name.

"O—ya...? (Y/n)...?"

Zakuro's voice cracks as he realized your body remained unmoving. Zakuro's mind is blank— for the first time he's never felt so lost.

It wasn't until he received a text message did his mind finally managed to start working again.

"Good job on luring her out, ×××"

Read the text message from the unknown number. It doesn't take a genius to connect two and two together, after all, no one should have known his real name. You were targeted by Black Card—but why? What did you have to do with any of this?

Zakuro, instead of directly calling the ambulance, texts Qu to do it in his place, as he knew their number two would ask later rather than sooner.

Zakuro hides himself among the crowd, but he feels his heart drop when he sees you out on the stretcher.

He wants to be there with you, at least holding your hand while they take you to the ER. But now was not the time, not when someone from Black Card might still be monitoring his movements.

He returns to Starless, and it was only until Kei asked Zakuro about the source of the bloodstain on his clothes does he realize his garments were soiled—with your blood.

Quite ironic, considering how this is the perfect literature imagery of a person's blood on one's hands. So ironic that Zakuro breaks down into a chuckle.

Team C's singer asks Kei for some time off on Starless. Naturally, Kei can't just give anyone time off, they were employees in an industry that requires one's constant presence to remain relevant.

Kei tells Zakuro that of the latter would explain, then he might consider it.

"(Y/n)...She was shot."

Was all Zakuro utters before taking his leave from the building. All the others who were in close proximity were shocked, not just at what he said but how he said the news. Zakuro sounded absolutely broken, his voice lost all hints of mischief he once had.

Zakuro wished he was able to visit you and give himself some peace of mind that you were going to be alright, but he can't.

He refused to rest, not until he learns everything. About your connection to Black Card, or why you were specifically targeted. He knows it won't be easy, but he's willing to risk it all for you.

"If you bastards think I'd choose my memories over (y/n), then you're dead wrong. All of you are going to regret this."

#thank you for the request!#bsts #blackstar theater starless #bsts headcanons #bsts akira #bsts mizuki #bsts zakuro

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carmenxjulia · 4 years ago

Photo

I put together a transcript of the 1 hour Q&A Interview the Carmen Sandiego Discord did with Abby Trott (Ivy) and Rafael Petardi (Chase Devineaux). All of the questions were submitted by server members. You can read everything below the break!

PizzaHorse:

Hello everyone! Please welcome Abby Trott and Rafael Petardi to our Q&A today.

Abby Trott:

Hiiiiiiiiiii!

Rafael Petardi:

Hello Bonjour!

PizzaHorse:

Let's get started. How did you get started as a voice actor? Was there anything that inspired you to pursue it as a career?

Abby Trott:

Oh MAN. Long story.

Rafael Petardi:

Mine is very short. I'm an actor and my agent started sending me on voice auditions and eventually I booked some!

Abby Trott:

This is a novel so I started typing it ahead of time, haha. I was an acting/theater major, and when I graduated from college I moved to Japan on the JET program to teach English because I wanted to travel so freakin' badly. I had never even been on an airplane. I was placed in rural Akita, (inaka), and absolutely LOVED it. The only problem was I wanted to be and actor/singer… womp womp. At that time, I also started to mess around with characters and voices - I would record voice memos and conversations with myself while driving around. One day, a friend was in the car and my phone was on shuffle and one of my "scenes" started playing - I was absolutely MORTIFIED. But that moment solidified for me that I need to move to the big ole city if I wanted to really pursue acting. I ended up heading to Tokyo, where I performed in children's musicals, and did other gigs here and there. That's where I started doing VO professionally! I was able to do some character voices for the shows I was in, and some other side projects. I realized how much I loved VO, and eventually decided to move back to the States to pursue it, since most English VO for games and animation is produced here.

When I moved back, I started searching online for VoiceOver opportunities, and stumbled across a contest hosted by Bang Zoom! Entertainment. I BARELY got my entry in on time. The contest took place over several months, and in the meantime, I moved to NYC and started taking VO classes. For the finale of the contest, they flew me to LA. I ended up winning! Still can't believe it. (O-O) I got to dub my first anime "Miss Monochrome," and realized that if I wanted to work in games and animation, I should probably move to LA… and the I DID.

THE END

PizzaHorse:

What do you think are the best and worst things about being a voice actor?

Abby Trott:

Oooh. The worst things? Job insecurity... constant rejection...

Rafael Petardi:

The incredibly talented and cool people you meet and work with.

What Abby said

Abby Trott:

The best things? Working with amazing people, AND it's so much fun - even auditioning is fun!

PizzaHorse:

How did you land your role on the show?

Rafael Petardi:

I auditioned

Got the job

pretty boring I know

Abby Trott:

I auditioned through my agency, and got a callback. I went to the callback and their note was "more Boston." Then I had a second callback and their note was "even MORE Boston." So I went WICKED BOSTON and got the job

PizzaHorse:

What was your favorite/the most fun thing to record (episode/scene/line)? Any least favorites?

Rafael Petardi:

For me, the funnest scenes to record are the ones I got to play opposte the incredibly talented cast.

The least favorite... did not have enough scenes with the Wonderful Abby Trott

Abby Trott:

Awww Rafe! Singing was the MOST FUN! The Karaoke Ep, and the choose-your-own adventure one, where we got to sing the theme! Mikey (Zack) was cracking me up constantly.

Least favorite was the last ep because I didn't want it to eeeeeend

PizzaHorse:

Were you allowed to suggest lines to be said by your character, or improvise the script at all if you thought something would add to the scene?

Abby Trott:

YUP! And Mikey and I definitely did, hahaa. It was encouraged. Always fun to see what they keep...

Rafael Petardi:

Yes we were. I improvised mostly sounds and noises. Words once in a while but not very often. Thank God for Duane

PizzaHorse:

What was the hardest part of voicing your character on Carmen Sandiego? Was there a particular episode that was difficult to record?

Rafael Petardi:

Keeping the consistency episode to episode of the Chase's accent, pitch and energy

I did not want hime to sound different ever

Abby Trott:

I think the hardest part was keeping up the EXTREME Boston accent. But it was also SUPER fun...

PizzaHorse:

What traits do you share or have in common with the character you play?

Rafael Petardi:

I am like Chase in the sense of a Dog with a Bone. If I get pasionate about something, I go to extremes. Abby Trott has scene this for example in my bread making endeavors

Also, I'm an idiot in life too sometimes

Abby Trott:

Ivy and I are both... from Mass! we both have brothers who we argue with but really do love when it comes down to it. We love chocolate, aaaaand... I think we're both brave. (brag?)

Can confirm Rafe is v. passionate about bread. And and idiot.

Rafael Petardi:

All True

PizzaHorse:

What character on the show would you voice if you had the chance?

Abby Trott:

Chase

Rafael Petardi:

I would love Maelstrom

Abby Trott:

Jk... Coach Brunt seems SUPER fun

PizzaHorse:

If you could meet a character from Carmen Sandiego in real life, who would it be and why?

Abby Trott:

Carmen! she is the coooooleeest. I'd ask her to teach me some tricks

Rafael Petardi:

Julie Argent. She's cute

PizzaHorse:

Which character do you think you are most like or that you most identify with?

Rafael Petardi:

CHASE

I think that's partly why we're doing the roles we do

Abby Trott:

I think Ivy, for real! Casting was ON IT. I can be serious when I need to be, but I'm a giant goofball (if you couldn't tell from my latest tweet/insta post...)

PizzaHorse:

Who is your favorite character, other than your own?

Abby Trott:

Mime. Bomb.

Rafael Petardi:

Other than my own? Hmmm... uuuh... mmmm. tough...

Abby Trott:

Seriously, I think Mime bomb is hilarious.

Rafael Petardi:

Yes Mime Bomb!

PizzaHorse:

Do you wish your character had more interactions with another character in particular?

Rafael Petardi:

Yes, I would love to interact with Ivy and Maelstrom

I think the interaction would be odd and awkward and funny

Abby Trott:

Yes. I would love to see how Ivy handles the specific VILE members... I would love to see IVY try to go to VILE academy...

PizzaHorse:

Are there any themes or lessons from the series that you would want people to remember?

Rafael Petardi:

yes, don't jump to conclusions and be an idiot

Abby Trott:

Yes! That! also, don't be evil. ALSO also, be loyal to your friends.

PizzaHorse:

Do you ever look at fan content?

Rafael Petardi:

yes all the time. It helps when I'm tagged rafaelPetardi on Instagram

Abby Trott:

Yes! I look at fanart sometimes, and see what cosplays are happenin'

Rafael Petardi:

I've posted many as well

Abby Trott:

Haven't read much fanfic... but I know it's out there.

PizzaHorse:

What did you think about your character's development and arc throughout the series?

Rafael Petardi:

I absolutely loooooooved Chase's arc

Love redemption stuff

he was just misguided

just was alway his thing

Abby Trott:

I love Ivy's journey - she really grew up, from a troubled kid to an adult, accepting responsibility and accepting new challenges. Donning the hat, if you will.

Rafael Petardi:

*justice as always his thing

PizzaHorse:

How do you feel now that Carmen Sandiego is at its end?

Rafael Petardi:

sad. miss evrybody so much

we will have to have a cast reunion when this pandemic thing is over

Abby Trott:

SAD! But grateful. It was THE MOST fun to record, and I wish it could continue forever.

Rafael Petardi:

I'm grateful too. yes

Abby Trott:

and YES reunion!

PizzaHorse:

Yesss can't wait for that group photo to pop up on social media!

Were there any moments in the series that had you legitimately emotional?

Rafael Petardi:

yes ofcourse

losing Julia was tough

Abby Trott:

A lot. But one that stands out for me is after Carmen gets stuck out in the snow, and is reunited with her crew. (:_;). Also the stuff with Shadowsan and his brother... and anything with baby Carmen...

Gah. So many...

PizzaHorse:

Did you enjoy how the show ended? Is there anything you would have changed or would have liked to see more of?

Rafael Petardi:

I loved the way the show ended! I think Duane did a fantastic job tying loose ends and bring the story to a satisfactory close for all characters

I do hope for an ACME Ivy, Zak, Julia and Chase spin-off

Abby Trott:

I love how it ends. I think it wrapped so well considering the number of eps - the writers really got it done. I WISH Ivy and Zack could follow Carmen forever, but she has her own story to unravel it would seem.

And Ivy does look good in that suit let me tell ya

PizzaHorse:

Can you share a favorite behind the scenes moment?

Abby Trott:

Mikey. Is. So. Funny. Hard to choose one moment - he would make me laugh harder than anything. Especially when we were singing. Or any time he had to gag...

Rafael Petardi:

OMG!

That singing stuff we had to do together was hilarious

we could not stop laughinh

PizzaHorse:

What, in your opinion, are the best pizza toppings?

Abby Trott:

Cheese. Caramelized onions. Roasted garlic. Spinach. Mushrooms.

Rafael Petardi:

buffala mozzarella and tomatos period

oooooo fancy Abby

Abby Trott:

Rafe why aren't you as obsessed with pizza as you are with bread? And can you be?

Rafael Petardi:

I am

Abby Trott:

Rafael Petardi:

I just don;t like to share pizza

PizzaHorse:

Here's a specific question for Rafael. Did you sometimes get mad at your own character for the way he behaved towards Julia earlier on in the Series?

And one for Abby. As a Massachusetts native, how did you feel about voicing a character from Boston with the iconic accent?

Rafael Petardi:

I did not. I always felt, however misguided Chase was, he was always on the path of turth and justice no matter what was in his way. It's the same principals that led hin to see the truth about Julia

*principles

Abby Trott:

I think it's so cool, and kind of an honor, in a way. I was worried about it being too much, and people saying it's over the top. Turns out comedy wins, haha.

PizzaHorse:

Were you familiar with the older animated series when you started work on the Netflix original?

Rafael Petardi:

I never heard of Carmen Sandiego before I did this series

Abby Trott:

Yes! I had seen a bit. I also remember watching my brother play the game. Someone gifted me a mini arcade version of the game this year, and I'm excited to play :slight_smile:

Rafael Petardi:

Which I think helped when I had to say the iconic line

"Where in th world..." there was no pressure

LoL

Abby Trott:

LOL

PizzaHorse:

Okay, last question. Do you have a favorite quote from the show?

Abby Trott:

"La Femme Rouge!"

or Mime Bomb's classic "..."

Rafael Petardi:

"the game is over!"

PizzaHorse:

Woohoo!

Abby Trott:

Hooray!

PizzaHorse:

Thank you so much Rafael Petardi and Abby Trott for joining us today! I hope everybody had a wicked awesome time.

Abby Trott:

Thanks for having us! What a pleasure.

Rafael Petardi:

It was great! Thank you to all the great questions.

Abby Trott:

Thanks for watching the show! Great questions. I'm sure I'm going to think of more quotes as soon as I log off... haha.

Rafael Petardi:

See you all soon!

Abby Trott:

Stay safe, take care, and see you all on various social media platforms!

#Carmen Sandiego #Ivy #Chase Devineaux #CS Crew #Rafael Petardi #Abby Trott #Carmen Sandiego Discord #Carmen Sandiego Discord Server #Interview #Transcript

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bunnys-beetlejuice-blog · 4 years ago

Text

some kind of loud, attention grabbing noise that lets you know ITS FIC TIME, BABYYYYY you could start here, but the context... the build up.. the hours of worldcrafting, you'd miss it all... so start here, instead, then circle back.

These last two weeks have actually been nice. She and Adam had both mutually agreed that, despite not being the kind of person either of them would intentionally seek out on their own, Beetlejuice (she still has a hard time believing that’s what BJ stands for, but okay,) is fun. Not just fun, but funny, and seemingly often in the mood to laugh, in that overblown, Vincent Price horror movie way he does, which earns him multiple shushes in the library.

Drama club has gotten better. Barbara has a private theory that what most people need is to just get used to BJ, to spend enough time with him that he stops looking like an outsider, and it’s coming true, slowly, but finally. BJ had mentioned off-handedly he played ukulele, and when the other kids had expressed interest, he’d brought it with him the next day... Though she’s not quite sure where he kept it, the entire day. She’s seen that mess of a locker he’s got. She doubts it fits in there. And it can’t have been in his backpack, either, because every time he sets it down, she can hear what sounds like glass and rocks settling. She’s even seen him, after school, pick up a rock and shove it in one of the pockets. She has to assume his bag weighs a hundred pounds, or so.

His instrument, almost predictably, was painted with black and white stripes, but he’d played the little thing like a pro. She had never taken him for someone who enjoyed the mellow, soft sounds the ukulele was known for, but clearly, she doesn’t know enough about the boy. Miss Larson, the drama instructor, had clapped, and learned that BJ could read music, too. “Maybe while we’re practicing, you can accompany us?” She’d asked, clearly trying to work a way into getting more participation out of their newest member. BJ had been flustered, but had agreed, easily.

The wildest thing had been hearing him sing. They’d moved from being in the drama room, most days, to being in the auditorium, working on lines and practicing their singing. No one’s been officially cast, yet, but it’s mostly to get used to being on stage. Miss Larson had insisted that BJ sing a few lines for them, and he’d sort of made a face, ducked backstage, and had appeared with his ukulele in hand. Barbara didn’t even know he’d put it back there.

“Uh, so, sing what?” He’d shuffled awkwardly, and Miss Larson had smiled. “Whatever you feel,” to which BJ just snorted, and rolled his eyes, but then he plucked a few notes on his ukulele, and started to sing.

“There’s a camp, there’s a camp, by the frozen lake, wa wa ooh. With every belly starving and every finger numb, but up on the hill there’s a red, red rum, somebody’s always cooking something in the lean-to.”

It wasn't a song she’d recognized, but it was clearly morbid. She shouldn’t have expected anything different. The real focal point was his voice, his strange, scratchy pitch, because despite sounding like he gargles sandpaper and nails, he’s got a strong, clear tone, one that carries well, and as he sings, he doesn’t hit a single sour note. She also noted that his enunciation is much clearer when he’s singing, oddly enough. He sang as much as he decided he needed to, and clung to his ukelele as he finished, like a lifeline. “So. Yeah.” He’d said, and then flinched when the clapping started, from all members present, but especially her and Adam. He’d stood looking around at them all, utterly baffled.

“You didn’t tell us you would sing!” Jeremiah, the student director, was the one who looked the most enthused, and BJ balked. “Didn’t think it mattered. M’just gonna be a stagehand.. Right?”

“Maybe he could play the dentist?” Miss Larson had looked at Jeremiah, and they’d begun talking amongst themselves, ignoring him, as he strummed nervously at his instrument.

“Oh, wait, check this out!”

And he sings again, another verse from that same, oddly morbid song, which she’d started to pick up is definitely about cannibals, but his voice is.. Different. The grit is gone. It’s like he’d ran his vocal cords under some hot soapy water, and washed all the grime and gravel out of them, because he sang like an angel, like a normal person, and then, suddenly, devolved into a hacking cough, doubled over.

“Sorry, can only do that so long. Hurts my throat,” he said, after a moment, all the grit back in his voice. He waited. There had been a soft laugh, and then it grew louder, coming from each of the members watching him in turn, because the idea that speaking like THAT somehow hurts, and his normal tone doesn’t, is just so outrageous and silly, and he’d stood there proudly, grinning in that way he does, because his joke had landed, and he might, for the first time since he was forced into their club, be enjoying himself.

So, yes. The last few weeks have been good. Very good.

All that club progress aside, looking back makes her a little flustered, because at this point, she’s gotten the hint that he’s not gay. What he is, is incredibly flirty, not only with Adam but with her, and she finds herself... enjoying it. He keeps his ukulele tucked into the bottom of the cart in the library, and sometimes, when he’s certain he won’t be interrupted, he grabs it and sings little songs about them, laying on top of the cart like a drunk lounge singer on a piano, as she or Adam wheel it along. The songs are made up on the spot tunes that often start dirty, and end sincere, like he can’t even help it. It’s embarrassing, and endearing, and just very… Beetlejuice.

There’s just the problem lingering overhead, the one she’s desperate to solve, of Kevin. BJ doesn’t talk about him, abruptly changes the subject when she tries, or just goes silent, and gives her a hard glare with those amber eyes, which is the worst of the three options, because silence on him is unnerving. He can do this thing where he goes deathly still, and she swears he doesn’t even breathe, just stands there, totally unmoving, like a corpse.

She thinks if she could just go to his house, and talk to his mother, she might get a better understanding of the entire situation, but despite him inviting them, he’s never followed up, and both Adam and herself are too polite to push.. Directly. But then, he doesn’t show up that day, not for library duty and not for drama club, and she makes the decision for him, that today is the day they’ll be coming over. She gets his address out of the guidance counselor, easily. “It’s so sweet you two want to go check up on him,” Mrs. Birch says, sliding his address across her desk to Barbara. “I knew the drama club would be a good fit for him! He’s already making friends!”

Adam’s mom is nice enough to drop them off, and Adam, adorable, sweet Adam, stares delighted at the house, as they walk up the front steps. “It’s a tudor!” he tells her, and she sort of nods, not really knowing exactly what that means. “I’ve never seen one painted black and white, before. Usually those accents are a natural wood color,” and she rings the bell, as he goes on. The outside of the house matches BJ’s stripes, and she wonders if that’s coincidence, or if his parents just really, really love him. The door swings open, and then a chubby blur jumps away from their line of sight, startling her from her thoughts. “Beetlejuice?” Adam calls, concerned, and it takes a moment for their friend to reappear in the doorway, with a croaked out, “Sup?”

He looks terrible. He always looks a little terrible, as mean as that is to say, too pale and with purple spots under his eyes she chalks up to exhaustion, but he looks worse, today. It hadn’t occurred to her that he’d actually be sick.

“We just wanted to come by and see if you were okay,” she tells him, and BJ cocks his head so far to the side, he looks like he might fall over. “Why?” “Because.. We’re your friends,” Adam says, cautiously, which causes BJ to stare down at the checkered entryway tile.

“Oh.” He packs a lot of emotion into that little noise.

“Can we come in?” She asks, and he doesn’t look sure, rubbing at the back of his neck, but then next to him, in the doorway, appears what must be Mrs. Deetz. She’s on the tall side, slim, with blonde hair past her shoulders, and she’s wearing all black with lace accents. Even her stud earrings and the rings on her fingers are that same dark hue.

“Well, hello! BJ, invite your friends in!” She urges him, and then, to them asks, “You kids hungry? We’re just sitting down to dinner. It’s grilled cheese tower night,” and then she turns, and leaves them there, like that needs no explanation.

BJ fidgets a moment, but relents. “Come in, I guess,” he moves aside, and Adam and Barbara take a collective step into the Deetz household. The house is dark, not for lack of light, but for lack of color. The walls are paneling which Adam, delighted, says must be original, but they’ve been stained a dark shade of coffee, and it takes a moment for her eyes to adjust. When she does, she takes in how strangely eerie the place is. It’s less like someone’s home and more like a haunted house ride.

“Oh, you guys haven't taken down the Halloween décor, yet?” Adam asks, noting a cracked vase full of black roses on a side table as they follow BJ further in, and BJ snorts. “That crap? It's up in th’ attack. This is what passes for normal around here.” Barbara stops to stare at a picture of a distorted figure cannibalizing a smaller one. “Saturn Devouring His Son,” BJ says, briefly putting on a voice like a tour guide, high pitched and peppy, and both she and Adam wince. “What’s with you and cannibalism?” she asks, which only earns her that haunted laugh in response.

The kitchen, at least, looks a little more normal and bright, but Barbara learns quickly that’s not to be trusted, because sitting on the counter is what looks to be a lasagna made from sandwiches and sauce. “You guys are here on a night Emily had to cook. Bad luck,” BJ tells them, and it takes her a moment to realize he’s talking about his mother. Does he use her first name?

Emily, or, Mrs. Deetz, her mind corrects politely, busies herself with dishing them both a plate. “So, you kids must be.. Adam and Barbara,” she says, knowingly, and BJ, perhaps embarrassed, shuffles his bare feet at nothing. He’s been talking to his mom about them… aww. She notices then that he’s in his pajamas, which are, like everything else he wears, eccentric. He looks cute. She realizes she’s staring, and BJ catches her eye, and wiggles his eyebrows at her. Oh, god.

“We’re sorry for dropping by unannounced, Mrs. Deetz,” Adam says, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, and Mrs. Deetz waives that off. “It’s totally fine. BJ’s never taken a sick day, before, I bet you probably thought he was faking. You kids can call me Emily. And that, of course, is Lydia.” She gestures to the nine year old scrutinizing them from the kitchen table.

“Hello again,” Barbara says, and Lydia gives her a smile, at least, but it's wary, it’s very, “I’ve got my eyes on you.” It’s strange to see from a little kid.

They all sit down to eat, all five of them, at the kitchen table, she and Adam settled across from BJ and Lydia. Adam squints, trying to read what’s on the other boy’s shirt. “What does that say?” he asks, and BJ glances down, and pulls the top taught, to make it easier to read. “Least exciting hole I’ve ever been in,” both boys say, at the same time. “Grand Canyon National Park.” Barbara and Adam both blush at that, and Mrs.. Emily, Emily just laughs. Lydia looks annoyed. “No one will explain to me what that means,” she tells Barbara, leaning closer to her, and almost looking hopeful. Barbara avoids that look. “It’s a dirty joke,” is all she says, and Lydia, clearly not satisfied, just takes a bite of her grilled cheese abomination. “Chuck hates this shirt,” BJ tells them. “Chuck?” “Chuck, Chuckster, Chuckles, Charles.. My dad,” he grates out. Barbara can’t imagine calling her father by his first name. She’d be in a world of trouble for being “disrespectful,” if she tried. “Is Mr. Deetz home?” Adam asks, and Lydia is the one to reply, mouth still a little too full.

“He’s at the office. He’s always working so fucking late,” Lydia says, and then lets it settle in the air, like she’s waiting for something. Barbara balks, and it feels like her eyes are bulging out of her head, because she’s never heard that kind of language from a nine year old. She glances at Emily nervously, waiting for her to blow up, to be angry, but Emily just seems to be in deep thought.

“I dunno about that one, Lyds,” Mrs. Deetz finally says, and Lydia puffs up her chest and tries again. “He’s always working so god damn late?” She looks to her mother, and Emily, finger on her chin, nods. “Yeah, alright. I hereby decree that Lydia Deetz, at the age of nine and a half, is allowed to say god damn.” Lydia pumps her fist and then takes another huge mouthful of grilled cheese casserole. “Bout fuckin’ time,” BJ grunts. Barbara thinks the Deetz family might all be whack jobs. there's more, a lot more, but tumblr can't handle it all, so read this chapter in full over on Ao3!

#beetlejuice #beetlejuice fanfiction #beetlejuice the musical #goldenrat #beetlelands #barbara maitland #adam maitland #lydia deetz #emily deetz

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