#I need to do it sooner rather than later though because we have big projects coming up

[haliteatiger]

Happy Werewolf Wednesday, ya'll! We're serving up a big pot of tea tonight so get those cups ready!

Special thanks to Blackbackedjackal and King for their help in putting this together, editing, and especially to Jackal for being so supportive and encouraging. I'm very much not normally the type to do call-out posts, but people need to be aware of Dogblud, as she has hurt, not only myself, but quite a few others as well, and seems to have somehow gotten away with behaving like this for 20-odd years. I'm of the mind she shouldn't be allowed to do so any more, hence this post.

TL;DR - Beware of Dogblud, aka Ashryn, aka DogofBlud, aka ThatDogMagic. Very, very long post under the cut.

With everything happening with DogBlud and Blackbackedjackal's studio, I felt emboldened to come forward with my own experiences with her. This is something I've been carrying around since it happened roughly 2 years ago. It was one of the main reasons that put me off drawing werewolves, my own characters, or engaging any more in the fandom. I've hinted at it a few times but I've never had the energy to come forward and deal with the fall out. I wanted to move on with the rest of my life because IRL was more important than online drama. And I knew her behavior would come back to bite her sooner or later, regardless of what I did. 

It's been very validating to see that I was right.

It was around the time that Blud and I became friends that I was feeling a bit burnt out on werewolves. I'd been trying to pull together my own werewolf-related project for something close to 12 years. The past 4 years had also been pretty draining on me creatively and socially, as it had for a lot of artists with regards to the pandemic. I also had some IRL things I was dealing with: mainly with my marriage and transitioning between medications to manage my anxiety + bipolar.

Unfortunately, I didn't have the foresight to screenshot everything at the time. I do have logs from back when we roleplayed together. There are several conversations in them but because they were saved as text documents, they're pretty dubious in terms of solid evidence. 

It would have been better if I had taken screenshots as it was happening, rather than just saving the logs. With what I *do* have, however, I feel as though it may be enough to make the point that I'm trying to make, and to exhibit how horrible things got.

I'll provide some context.

I had talked with Blud on and off over the years, and we had always gotten along. We had a lot in common and after we had started talking more, our friendship eventually grew into a collaborative project. We were going to combine our stories and write a comic based on it. We had a lot of discussions on how Blud was reticent to do this in the beginning and how she wanted a contract to be made up so that in the event that something *did* happen, we could both walk away feeling like it was handled fairly.

Honestly, I should have listened to the first alarm that went off in my brain, when, in an act of ominous foreboding she said something along the lines of don't be so sure, it could happen. It was in response to me being like "we're getting along so well and share so much of a bond right now. I can't fathom that being a problem!" 

The contract never materialized. It was something we had decided to do *after* we had put together something of a prototype project to see how well we worked together. It made complete sense to me at the time as we were both eager to focus on the fun parts of writing and drawing together.

It was decided that I would be the lead artist (doing coloring and final lines) while Blud would do everything else (which was inking, layouts, and the majority of the writing). The both of us felt that she had more experience in those areas. I also believed that she had a better knack for it as well. I had felt that she had a better understanding of story structure than myself. And I thought that Blud had felt the same way about my art. That I had the experience to take point on that. 

Since I had collaborated with other artists and writers before, I attempted to approach the project with the same sort of professionalism I always do. Especially the projects that I genuinely thought stood a chance of being published in the future. We had started out trying to get a feel for each other's flows and rhythms. I had expected Blud to try and meet me in the middle of where our processes would potentially differ from one another, so that we could develop a fairly smooth workflow.

I had also expected, according to our discussions on the matter, that we would value each other's opinions on things and take them into consideration. We had such good synchronicity already.

In the beginning, there wasn't any unusual behavior that caught my attention. Blud was a bit uncomfortable with trying out new things but I did my best to accommodate her so that our project could move forward without too much turbulence. She had also mentioned to me before that she was autistic, and since my husband is also autistic, I knew how difficult it could be when it came to adapting to new routines. But when it was time for her to deliver the first set of layouts, it wasn't at all what I expected.

What I had expected was something with margins, clearly marked boxes, and figures that I could do rough lines over. I also expected notes that confirmed what we had discussed earlier about the project; that way I knew what she wanted or if there would be any changes. She took offense to this, feeling like I was violating our agreement. Though Blud did try to give me space with regards to the actual art, and while she would offer criticisms here and there, I trusted her opinion as an artist and as a friend. But apparently that didn't go both ways. In fact, Blud seemed to be offended that I expected more from her.

Blud agreed to concede. She suddenly seemed fine with the changes that I had asked for after seeing the layouts. I guess she was feeling overstimulated by the change and I might have been applying too much of a critical tone to her responses to begin with. I have had to deal with rejection sensitivity throughout my life and it's certainly prompted me to approach what people say to me online with a bit of scrutiny (sometimes too much).

And while I was mildly annoyed, although admittedly I was more concerned with Blud's overall reaction to my asking for clarification about several things in the layouts, I let it go. But it seemed like there was a problem. The majority of my ideas were either rejected or outright overridden with Blud convincing me that my faulty memory had made me unable to remember what we had agreed upon. Or that I might have been misremembering in my own favor.

There was one time where we were discussing a monster's design. Blud had already decided to settle on one design that she had come up with, even as I continued to offer other suggestions. The story was to take place in my setting, so I was under the impression that I got to decide what kind of creatures should populate it. The conversation ended somewhat ambiguously. I had assumed that we'd come to a solid conclusion later. 

I came back the next day and it turned out that we were using her design because that was what we had decided on. "Don't you remember? You really need to do something about that faulty memory of yours, Tek. I can't be doing this for you all the time."

At which point, Blud would go back and meticulously scour the conversation until she managed to find a set of lines that would make it seem as though I had 100% agreed. Even when I tried to explain that I had meant something else, she took it as an affront on her inability to understand nuances due to her autism.

I admit that my memory isn't that greatest at times, but I've never had anyone complain about it before. And none of my friends have ever minded providing reminders to me if I did misremember something incorrectly. We all forget stuff at times, right? It's *still* something that I'm self-conscious about because (like a lot of people with ADHD) my memory seems selective at times. This was, apparently, a problem that I needed to manage. 

And even as I'm remembering these incidents to the best of my ability, I've already spent so much time recounting all of this to friends. I feel confident in my recollection. There are some details that may overlap or become entwined with other things, but it all basically tells the same story. Especially in conjunction with what's been said by others. You're free to take it as hearsay since I do not have screenshots to back this up.

I will mention (since I've been told it's something that Blud has taken particular interest in) that at one point, I did have a crush on her. I was having some problems IRL, and it was nice to have someone whom I felt actually understood me. I also felt like I saw a lot of myself in her. I think that, at one point, I did describe her as the kind of "girlfriend" I would want. Blud seemed to indicate the feeling was mutual.

Between our collaborative partnership and all of the details we shared about our lives, it did feel like an intimate relationship at times. I had no intentions of pursuing it. We were not compatible in our romantic and sexual identities, and I had no intention of leaving my current partner for her.

I had begun to notice red flags, even if I wasn't ready to accept them yet.

I've had experience with abusive relationships in the past but they were in person, and not online. I knew what to look out for and yet I was being willfully ignorant about our friendship. I wanted to give Blud the benefit of the doubt. I wanted the project to work *so* badly that I was willing to work with her increasing demands as the months went by.

I had no idea that those demands would change into, quite literal, temper tantrums. It would then trigger my fawning response which was due to an abusive family situation that I had dealt with before I moved to Canada. The tactic was this: concede to someone until there was a time that they either understood reason or I had the chance to use it against them if necessary.

I started to take screenshots. I wish that I had taken a lot more of them so that everyone could get a better idea of what was happening. I did go back and manage to record the majority of the first outburst. It was the first inkling I had that Blud wasn't playing with a full deck of cards. I knew that that would be one of the first conversations that she would promptly delete. And consequently, I was right.

This assortment of screenshots will exhibit the first serious confrontation that Blud had with me. I am absolutely *not* proud of how I handled this. I was literally panicking at the time and doing whatever I could to get her to calm down. Because I have a temper that can look similar to this in person, I knew that I had to wait until the post-tantrum clarity would hit Blud. I tried my best to not lose my own temper in turn but looking back, I feel that I came off as sounding too timid.

I didn't want to ruin this project.

I wanted to make a comic with an individual that I admired and respected as a fellow artist. And, with me not knowing how to respond, my main priority was to not make things any worse than they already were.

Below is the conversation in its entirety:

I had taken this screenshot on my phone after I had stepped away to compose myself. Blud had handled the confrontation and criticism with a reasonable amount of apprehension. But what had not occurred to me was that I could have said something that would remind her of past experiences with a roleplaying group.

It was something that had evidently scarred Blud for life.

I took away the wrong things from what she had told me, choosing to focus on the aspects of the "betrayal" that had appeared to bother her the most. And in hindsight, I did not see the correlation. I was genuinely apologetic that I had hurt her feelings.

But I *will* critique Blud for her poor handling of the situation. Whether or not I had hurt her feelings, no one is entitled to act like this or claim that this is what attempting to resolve a problem should look like.

I wasn't sure on how to initially respond to Blud. It had been ages since I'd had to deal with someone flying off the handle like that.

The following screenshots are where the conversation picked up, after she had already deleted the above message:

We had weathered the "storm" and after Blud calmed down, she was ready to communicate. There was a part of me that was genuinely sincere when I apologized to her. I did mean it when I said that I had no intentions of hurting her and that I hadn't considered how my statement would sound to her.

I had hoped that this had been a stress response due to factors outside of our collaboration. And especially when I took into account how she had interacted with me in the past. I knew that Blud had a lot going on IRL, and that she had already put a considerable amount of energy into this project.

I had taken her meltdown more personally than she could perceive that I would, because this was something that was acceptable to her. She had a "condition" that would absolve her of these abhorrent meltdowns and I needed to get used to them if we were going to continue working on that project together.

I was shaking the entire time we were typing in the chat.

I was sincere in my responses. I really did want to work things out with Blud and give her the benefit of the doubt. I could have been taking the things that she said too personally or maybe I had been reading too much into the situation. Was there a chance that I could have been misreading her outburst? I tried my best to keep an open mind though I was still somewhat baffled by the fact that she would have meltdowns as often as she did.

I confided in my husband and some other friends about the situation. They were also bewildered by Blud's actions.

By this point, I was struggling with the reality that this collaboration was most likely *not* going to work out but I still wanted to try. I still cared about Blud. We would still hang out together and talk about things like music, our characters, or our stories.

While I did have the foresight to go back and screenshot this section, I wasn't fast enough to get screenshots of everything else that I will be going over. Blud *did* admit to going back and deleting certain exchanges due to a mixture of shame; not wanting to look at them when she would scroll through our conversations. 

In retrospect, it was very telling.

And even after that meltdown, I still enjoyed the friendship that I had with her. I kept my guard up but I was willing to make compromises on her behalf if it resulted in better communication between the two of us. Blud made me promise to immediately tell her if I had a problem with something. I also agreed to keep notes of our conversations.

It worked for the most part.

In the end though, it became apparent that Blud wasn't willing to do the same for me (even after we had an extended conversation about it). I then realized that I had been tasked with basically *managing* her autism for her. I was already busy with my supposedly "bad memory" at the time; and Blud was more than ready to scroll back up through our conversations to cherry-pick a line or two of text to remind me of what was said earlier.

Because, for her, circumstances couldn't ever change. If they did, it would mean that Blud had lost control of the situation and that she was in the wrong. She could *not* be in the wrong. 

And if she was in the wrong? It would take solid evidence, three witnesses, and a court of law to prove it.

She had two other major meltdowns after this. I managed to step away from communicating with her through one of them and I don't remember the other meltdown lasting very long. She immediately deleted the texts of both of those instances before I could take screenshots of them.

It seemed like I could do nothing right when it came to Blud, no matter the lengths I would go to accommodate her. I knew that it was a common tactic used by abusers. I finally accepted that our partnership wasn't going to work out and I began thinking about an exit strategy. The final straw was when she began to expect me to be at her beck and call.

I had promised that I would be there for her, within reason, and I was willing to offer reassurances whenever she would ask me for them. The promise had been made back when we had first started to talk to one another with more frequency, before Blud had shown me her true colors. I would end up completely underestimating just how badly she would need reassurance.

To be frank, I underestimated a lot about Blud in the beginning.

I would end up mentioning that I enjoyed my space in several different conversations with her. That there was a chance that I might be offline for several days so I could take care of things IRL and recharge my social batteries. I'm somewhat of a recluse. And an adult who enjoys things that aren't online.

She said that it was fine.

I became incredibly anxious when I would talk to Blud, especially after her somewhat abrupt change in personality.

I then attempted to put my foot down about boundaries and this is what she had to say:

I decided to walk away for a bit and I came back after I had had some time to think things over. This wasn't healthy for either of us. I wrote a couple of sentences to say goodbye to Blud before I blocked her. I knew that my actions would probably infuriate her. She had told me in the past that she *hated* not being able to have the final word... which she was able to do through email:

“And I'm not letting you pretend you have control over the situation, or the high ground. You distinctly have neither. But since you're determined to stick to your 'principles' on this, I've decided to make it easier for you.”

She thought that she was absolved of all sins just because I had said that I would stand by her at her worst. And at the time that I said that, I had no idea that her worst would be her trying everything possible to protect her boundaries while stomping all over mine. It didn't matter what she said or how often she would apologize when I would confront her. She kept doing it.

I admit that I wasn't perfect in this situation either.

There were times when I was condescending, critical, or downright mean when I talked to Blud because that was the way I had felt when she was talking to me. I soon realized that it didn't matter either way. I could have been using the friendliest tone imaginable and she still would have perceived it as either mocking or dismissive on my end. There were even a few times where I would preface my explanations with an advisory “please know that I am not attacking you and try to read this in an understanding tone,”etc. I would then post an explanation I had spent hours picking at to ensure that there was no way she could misinterpret the intent. Even so, she still read the majority of what I said as criticism and would take it to heart.

I never expected Blud to do something that made her uncomfortable; nor did I expect her to overextend herself when it came to our project. I would go out of my way to make sure everything was fine when we would talk about it. I only expected mutual respect in return.

When we would get into discussions (arguments), she would never attempt to understand my point of view or let me explain myself. It would have made it about me when it should have been about Blud and her needs. She sometimes would agree to come to a compromise about something, but only if I would admit that I was in the wrong.

I know that if Blud was to look at these screenshots, she'd be incredulous that I'm trying to distract from the horrible things that *I* did. And those horrible things that I did? I tried my best to work with her.

It wasn't just her poor teamwork that bothered me. It was her attitude and the lack of respect that she showed me. She would never ask me to clarify something that I said; always assuming that it was a criticism against her. I can only speculate that Blud did not want to hear about how any of this was her fault, like in the email she sent me.

I don't know if I was actually her friend at any point. Friends make efforts to understand one another. Ideally, they’d want their friendships to continue, and they would want everyone to be getting along and having fun. She seemed to actively defy that.

I would argue that things like this don't just happen in a vacuum. There's almost always a reason for such things, but it's honestly a mystery to me as to where this vitriol comes from. I don't know why Blud sees monsters in every word, especially if they come from a  "friend". 

I've seen her viscously mock herself during meltdowns; it seems like she hates herself and expects everyone else to hate her too. I think that she wants it to be the truth, so that it validates the feelings she has about herself. The behavior patterns that I'd been exposed to are consistent with the idea that Blud is seeking confirmation about the personal assumptions she has about herself. It's what makes her so volatile to those around her. Yet, she refuses to break the cycle.

I hope that she can make that choice in the future but at this point, I'm not holding my breath.

[betweenthings2]

talk shop tuesday!!

how’s your day been? are you working now that it’s summertime?

the first chapter of loads of crisps was so cute omg it was some much needed tenderness and fluff. (not to say i don’t love your angst and sadness) i related too hard to matty immediately wanting to adopt the kitten not thinking about the actual responsibilities that come with it lol. is this fic gonna have an upload schedule or are you gonna continue to surprise us? also did you write/come up with this fic as its own universe or is it kinda like standalone/oneshot situation put into chapters? going with that, do you see your fics (besides the big light bc we already know it’s its own universe) as their own little universes or completely independent entities? like are george and matty from the other one shots completely different “characters”?

🥤

Hi, Smoothie Anon(? Are you Smoothie Anon here? I'm going with it.)!! Thank you for the ask!! 💚💚

My day has been good--I has some orientation Zoom meetings for school, and I've been working on packing to move. I technically have a job, but I won't start actually working until wheat harvest starts here, and it's been cool and rainy here so harvest will be a little later than usual. I'm not at all upset about that--I love being a functionally unemployed freeloader =)

Thank you for the complaints about Loads of Crisps! Fictional!Matty's heart is in the right place, but he's just not really thinking things through here. At least he has fictional!George to remind him of things.

There is no update schedule as of now. It will get updated as the vibes dictate. The next chapter will be Or Something Worse, and I haven't decided if it will be fictional!George breaking his shoulder, or if I need to come up with something worse. It's my writer's block project right now, kind of like prompts often are, and my priority is Antichrist right now. I'm sure the next chapter will be done sooner rather than later, though.

Every chapter of Loads of Crisps is part of the same little universe--it's going to be a nonlinear narrative but they're all interconnected--I have a general premise for almost every chapter so I can reference future chapters as I go. Have I given this too much thought? Maybe, but the nonlinear nature is mostly because I didn't want to do the work to make it work in a linear way. The not-so-secret secret is that I'm lazy.

Excluding all of my The Big Light fics and Learning How to Lose a Thing I Never Laid a Hand On and Five, I do see all of my fics as being their own little universes. The things that are true for fictional!M+G in one are not necessarily true for others. I think it's easy to find continuity between some of my fics and I'm certainly not saying that it's somehow wrong to view certain fics as existing in the same universe, but I am, again, lazy, and want to preserve a kind of creative freedom in writing so every version of fictional!M+G are different characters in my head.

Thank you for the ask and I hope you've had/are having a wonderful day! =)

[hot-hellboy]

Body on Fire - A Perjasico Fanfic (Part 1)

Summary:

"Look, I ran out of suppressants and I just need to run into a store somewhere to get them. It will only take me, like, ten minutes give or take. Promise." Nico kept his voice low because the ship walls were practically paper thin and some of the demigods on the ship's crew just had to know everything, sometimes. The omega read her expression carefully, but Annabeth only looked at him with nothing but eyes full of sympathy.

"Like I said, Nico, we're nowhere near land. We're basically in the middle of the desert, if you want to look at it like that. I'm really sorry."

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters. All credit goes to Rick Riordan. Warnings: Explicit sexual content; smut.

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

       The whole situation was a mess, whether Nico wanted to admit it or not. Being the only omega on board, he knew something like this would come up sooner or later, but what he hadn't expected was to run out of heat suppressants so soon.

      So, naturally, he had to have one of the most awkward conversations of his life, with his crush, no less. Well, technically he wasn't talking to Percy directly. Instead, he waited it out until a few days went by and the number of his heat suppressant pills were getting smaller and smaller.    See, Nico would rather pass away than have a talk like this with anybody, but he had to tell someone soon before it was too late and then he was in real big trouble. So, Nico decided he'd try and talk to Annabeth first before going to anyone else since she'd probably know what to do, even though it didn't make it any less awkward.

       "Do you think we can land the ship?" He asked her one day belowdecks when everyone else had some other task to do and Annabeth was scanning her gray eyes over what looked to be the artifacts they recovered for one of their smaller quests.

      "We won't be anywhere near land for a good couple of days, if we stay on course, that is. Did you need something?"

     Great, Nico thought. Even if they were just a tiny bit closer to reaching their next destination, he would've found a way to steer the Argo II himself just to reach solid ground to get the suppressants.

      "I, um, needed to run an errand. It's...It's kind of urgent."

      The alpha tilted her head to the side; her blonde hair tied in a loose ponytail falling over her shoulder.

     "How urgent are we talking? I'm not sure if we should go too far off course if it isn't that time sensitive."

      Nico was internally screaming.

      "It's, like, a medical thing...I think? I don't know, but it is really, really, urgent."

     "Did you check the first-aid kit? We've got just about everything in there."

    Of course Nico had already checked the kit. That's the first thing he did, but the thing with having an entire ship full of alphas and betas was that there wasn't anything to account for an omega on the very brink of starting a heat with absolutely nothing to stop it.

      "I did. But there isn't anything for, uh, what I need right now."

      Luckily, Annabeth was a smart girl. The smartest person Nico had ever known, and her change in facial expression told him she understood.

       "Is this...An omega thing?"

       Say it louder, why don't you? Nico cringed at the wording, but he was grateful he didn't have to explain much more. He liked how Annabeth just "got" things without necessarily having to pry all the time unless it was for a good reason. He exhaled in relief.

     "Look, I ran out of suppressants and I just need to run into a store somewhere to get them. It will only take me, like, ten minutes give or take. Promise." Nico kept his voice low because the ship walls were practically paper thin and some of the demigods on the ship's crew just had to know everything, sometimes. The omega read her expression carefully, but Annabeth only looked at him with nothing but eyes full of sympathy.

      "Like I said, Nico, we're nowhere near land. We're basically in the middle of the desert, if you want to look at it like that. I'm really sorry."

      As irritated, embarrassed, and downright mortified as he was right now, Nico hated it but he realized she had a point. Not only were they nowhere near a shoreline, but suppressants wouldn't even do much for him at this point now that his heat was approaching so close.

      "Thanks for your help, and I'm sorry for having to bring this up like this." Nico said as he began to turn to leave, but Annabeth quickly stopped him.

     "Wait, Nico, I have an idea."

     The boy turned around; he hoped the frustration he was feeling wasn't showing in his face. Not too much, at least.

     "What?"

     "Have you tried...Never mind." Now Annabeth was the one looking embarrassed and all red in the face.

    "Have I tried what?" He asked, but now she wouldn't meet his eyes.

    "I don't want to offend you, or make this uncomfortable." She said quickly.

     Too late for that.

     "I'm willing to hear any kind of solution you have." He wasn't lying at all; anything was better than nothing.

    "Okay, um, have you tried asking Percy or Jason for...For help?"

    Well, anything but that.

     Nico stared at her; eyes wide with his cheeks flaming red and with the most shocked look on his face known to man. His entire body went rigid and it felt like someone had just sucker punched him in the gut.

     "Nico, please say something. That was totally inappropriate—gods, I shouldn't have said anything." One of her hands came up to hold the side of her face, and she refused to even look in his direction.

     "It's just—they're the only other alphas on board, well, aside from your sister—" Nico felt like throwing up at that idea.

    "—and this could just be a temporary solution until we land to make this at least a little easier for you if you do end up going into heat. Plus, having, ah, partners to help speeds it up faster, right?" Annabeth was talking so fast Nico was having trouble comprehending anything she was saying. Just the idea of spending his heat thousands of feet up in the sky with Percy and Jason made his head spin to the point of physically hurting.

    However, he did understand one thing.

    From a scientific standpoint, Annabeth was absolutely right about "alpha intervention" being able to speed up an omega's heat or make it less painful. Truthfully, having an alpha (or two) to help an omega through a heat reduces the cycle by at least a few days, and therefore making it efficient for everyone involved. Either way, he didn't have much of a choice if he'd rather be out of commission for five days or less rather than seven or however long his heats lasted.

     "I guess that's my only option right now." He said flatly, but in reality all of his emotions were just boiling right under the surface; waiting to break free and turn him into an absolute wreck. Annabeth nodded, and she looked slightly relieved now that they had more or less come to a consensus on what to do.

    "Right. Yeah, and I'm sorry it has to turn out like this, but I need you to remember that you're one of the strongest members on our team right now. At this point in the quest, we need all hands on deck, and so the sooner you can recover, the faster we can get home and get all of this done."

      Nico did his best to look brave and try and keep it together when he still couldn't mentally fathom (or process) what he was getting himself into. He hated the "solution" to its very core, but he needed to get through this heat as quickly as possible in order to keep helping with the quest.

      "Yeah. Thanks, I guess." He said, and Annabeth nodded.

    "Now, do you want to tell them or should I?"

    This is exactly why Nico hated answering hard questions. He didn't want to look like a coward by having Annebeth do it for him, but he didn't exactly want to go up to Percy or Jason and say, "hey, do you guys think you can fuck my brains out for the next couple days? It's for the good of the quest, I swear." Nico decided to go with the first option, coward or not.

     "Do you think...Could you...Could you tell them for me?"

    "Sure thing, Nico. I'm glad we could fix this together." Annabeth said sincerely, but nothing would be completely fixed until his heat was over.

The    End.

[bloody-bee-tea]

Sweat

Jiang Cheng knows that it’s a risky move to show up to this office party with Nie Mingjue in tow, but then again it’s not like he cares. Much.

He had tried to introduce Nie Mingjue to his parents countless times, but they always shot him down, citing that they don’t have time for things like this. So Jiang Cheng never got to introduce them.

But the invitation to the party had said he could bring a plus one. It didn’t specify any further than this and Jiang Cheng had waved the invitation at Nie Mingjue, who of course hadn’t gotten one of his own.

Jiang Fengmian wanted to cut a deal with Jin Corp. and everyone knew that Jin Guangshan didn’t make deals when the Nies were involved. So Nie Security hadn’t gotten an invitation at all.

Jiang Cheng is aware that his father will be furious with him for bringing Nie Mingjue but he will be going in his capacity as Jiang Cheng’s boyfriend. It won’t be work related. And it isn’t either of their fault if Jiang Fengmian wants to make a deal with the slimiest bastard in their business.

Jiang Cheng is going to give his dad a metaphorical fuck you by bringing Nie Mingjue.

At least that had been the theory. Now that they are actually at the party, Jiang Cheng is getting pretty damn nervous again, sweat clinging to his temples and back.

“It’ll be alright,” Nie Mingjue whispers and pulls him close with a hand on his hip. “I’m right here.”

Jiang Cheng doesn’t say that that is part of the problem and instead leans into the contact. He has to admit that it does feel pretty nice to not be alone for once.

“Until someone steals you away and then where will I be?” Jiang Cheng grumbles, mostly just to be contrary, because he does feel better this close to Nie Mingjue.

“I hope you’ll be on your way to save me,” Nie Mingjue gives back and brushes a kiss over Jiang Cheng’s temple. “Since work is not what I’m here for. Look, there’s Wei Wuxian,” he then tries to distract Jiang Cheng and he has to admit that it works reasonably well.

Wei Wuxian drags Lan Wangji over to them as well and Jiang Cheng is sure that Lan Xichen is mingling somewhere, too, so there are at least four friendly faces around. Five, if you count Jin Zixuan and with how hard he’s trying lately with Jiang Yanli, Jiang Cheng is inclined to count him.

Jiang Cheng tries to follow along with Wei Wuxian’s excited chatter about his newest project, but his nerves are getting the better of him once he catches sight of Jiang Fengmian and so most what Wei Wuxian says flies right over Jiang Cheng’s head.

“Uh-oh, here he comes,” Nie Mingjue mutters and steps that little bit closer to Jiang Cheng, making sure that he knows he’s there and he’s supporting him.

Wei Wuxian throws a wide-eyed look over his shoulder before he turns the same wide eyes on Jiang Cheng and Jiang Cheng sighs.

“Go,” he tells him, secretly a little bit relieved that Wei Wuxian wants to remove himself from this situation and Wei Wuxian is gone faster than Jiang Cheng can blink.

Speaking to Jiang Fengmian is never pleasant, but it’s always worse when Wei Wuxian is present. It seem like the sheer existence of Wei Wuxian makes Jiang Fengmian forget that Jiang Cheng even exists and no matter how much time passes or how many therapy sessions Jiang Cheng goes to, it never stops hurting.

Nie Mingjue puts a steadying hand to the small of Jiang Cheng’s back and presses another kiss to his temple where anyone can see and Jiang Cheng loves him for how little Nie Mingjue minds all that family drama that comes with dating him.

It had been one of his big worries when they started dating, but Nie Mingjue seemingly never cared beyond hating how it always hurt Jiang Cheng and that more than anything helped Jiang Cheng to seek out help and to realize that this isn’t normal.

It isn’t normal how he tenses more and more the closer his father gets. It isn’t normal how his heart starts to beat faster when Jiang Fengmian’s eyes fall on him. And it’s certainly not normal how Jiang Cheng starts to shake when clear displeasure clouds over Jiang Fengmian’s face.

“What is the meaning of this?” he asks once he reached them and he’s not even looking at Jiang Cheng anymore.

All of Jiang Fengmian’s attention is on Nie Mingjue.

“What a surprise to see here, Mingjue,” he says and Nie Mingjue tenses with the address.

Jiang Cheng knows that Nie Mingjue hates how overly familiar Jiang Fengmian and Jin Guangshan get whenever they talk to him and so he leans just a little bit more back into Nie Mingjue’s hand.

“Fengmian,” Nie Mingjue gives back, his voice pleasant, though his jaw is clenched. “I’m here with Wanyin.”

“Wanyin,” Jiang Fengmian repeats and turns to look at Jiang Cheng as if this was the first time he noticed him next to Nie Mingjue. “You should be mingling with the Jins.”

“I should be showing my boyfriend around,” Jiang Cheng gives back, hating how there’s the tiniest shake to his voice.

“Your boyfriend,” Jiang Fengmian repeats and looks back at Nie Mingjue. “You’re colluding with the Nies?”

“I am dating a Nie,” Jiang Cheng says, forcing himself to remain calm and collected. “Which you would know if you had ever taken the time to meet my boyfriend.”

“Ah, you know how it is,” Jiang Fengmian says and Jiang Cheng hates that tone of voice, especially when it’s aimed at him. “I am a busy man and who knows how long this fling of yours will last. There’s no need to introduce us when this is bound to end sooner rather than later. I mean, Mingjue is a busy man himself. You shouldn’t hog his attention.”

It’s a reprimand that Jiang Cheng has heard several times before, in different contexts, but it still cuts him deeply. Deeply enough that he can’t even find his voice and it only worsens his mood, because he should be able to defend his boyfriend and their relationship from his own father.

“Enough about this now,” Jiang Fengmian decides as if Jiang Cheng had actually managed to say anything. “Mingjue, about that contract—” Jiang Fengmian says, his attention completely on Nie Mingjue already, and Jiang Cheng has to bite back some tears.

“I am not here for work,” Nie Mingjue bites out and takes Jiang Cheng’s hand in his. “I am here as a plus one to my boyfriend. If you really do want to talk about the contract, you should make an appointment with my secretary.”

Jiang Fengmian blinks, clearly surprised by Nie Mingjue’s firm rebuke and Nie Mingjue takes that opportunity to drag Jiang Cheng away from him.

“I know he’s your dad, but I seriously hate him,” Nie Mingjue mutters once they are out of earshot and Jiang Cheng laughs wetly.

He hates his dad sometimes, too, but he can’t bring himself to say that.

“I’m glad you’re here with me,” Jiang Cheng says, slinging his arms around Nie Mingjue’s middle and just breathing for a few moments.

“Even though I just made it more difficult for you?” Nie Mingjue wants to know, but he squeezes Jiang Cheng back.

“He would have found something to criticise me over anyway,” Jiang Cheng mutters. “It’s easier to endure when you’re there.”

“I’m not leaving you out of my sight tonight,” Nie Mingjue promises him and Jiang Cheng is just about to breathe in relief when the severe clicking of heels announces the arrival of Yu Ziyuan.

“Oh, fuck,” Jiang Cheng whispers and moves away from Nie Mingjue only to come face to face with his clearly disapproving mother.

“Is this how we make business deals now? Whoring yourself out?” she asks, clearly not caring at all who hears her and Jiang Cheng is quick to shake his head.

“Mother, this is my boyfriend, Nie Mingjue. We’ve been dating for a while,” he rushes out, hopes to salvage this situation somehow and he has to admit that he wasn’t prepared for the surprised look on her face.

“Boyfriend,” she repeats. “The boyfriend you have been trying to introduce to us several times?”

Ah, so at least she noticed his attempts.

“Yes,” Jiang Cheng meekly gives back and Nie Mingjue holds his hand out.

“Nie Mingjue, a pleasure to make your acquaintance, finally,” he says with a small smile and Yu Ziyuan only hesitates a second before she takes his hand.

“I wasn’t aware my son was dating you,” she says and Jiang Cheng flinches.

He had told her, several times actually, but of course she didn’t listen to him. She listens more to him than Jiang Fengmian, but it is still not a lot.

“I am,” Jiang Cheng says, trying to sound surer than he feels, and he can’t read the glint in his mother’s eyes at all.

There is a very long silence before Yu Ziyuan speaks again.

“If you hurt him, I will ruin you,” she says and then turns around to leave in the same manner in which she arrived.

“Was she talking to me or to you?” Jiang Cheng asks, once his mother vanishes from his sight and Nie Mingjue sighs.

“I think she actually meant me,” he gives back and then pulls Jiang Cheng into a kiss. “That actually went better than expected,” he mumbles against Jiang Cheng’s lips and Jiang Cheng has to agree.

He has anticipated his father’s disinterest in his boyfriend, so even while that had still hurt, it wasn’t unexpected. But his mother is always a little bit of a wild card and Jiang Cheng never knows what to expect with her.

“Come on, after this I need something to drink,” Nie Mingjue says once they part and Jiang Cheng couldn’t agree more.

They mingle for a bit afterwards, speaking to Lan Qiren and Lan Xichen, and even Jin Zixuan for a while before they retreat back into a relatively quiet corner.

“This wasn’t so bad so far,” Nie Mingjue says with a sigh and leans against the wall. “Being your arm candy certainly has its perks.”

“Like what?” Jiang Cheng snorts but he has to admit that having Nie Mingjue here did wonders to relax him.

“Like being able to simply walk away if someone starts to talk business to me,” Nie Mingjue gives back and threads their fingers together. “And I get to admire you all evening, so that’s a definite plus.”

“Shut up,” Jiang Cheng hisses, but he can already feel how he turns red.

“Never,” Nie Mingjue whispers and kisses Jiang Cheng’s burning cheek.

“You’re an idiot,” Jiang Cheng tells him, aiming for stern but of course he softens immediately when Nie Mingjue looks expectantly at him. “And I love you.”

“I love you, too,” is the immediate response he gets and Jiang Cheng didn’t know how nice it was to never having to wonder or wait for those words.

Nie Mingjue always makes very sure that Jiang Cheng knows just how much he’s loved.

“What the fuck is your father’s problem?” Nie Mingjue mutters suddenly, breaking Jiang Cheng out of his pleasant thoughts and he leans around Nie Mingjue to see better.

“Fuck, he had something to drink,” Jiang Cheng whispers under his breath, because Jiang Fengmian is never a pleasant person to be around—at least not if you are name Jiang Cheng—but it only ever gets worse when he had something to drink.

“I’ve got this,” Nie Mingjue decides and hands Jiang Cheng his empty glass. “Get me some more, would you?”

Jiang Cheng works his jaw a few times, but when Nie Mingjue nudges him into the opposite direction of his father he sighs. “Fine.”

Nie Mingjue gives him a winning smile before he turns around to meet Jiang Fengmian halfway and Jiang Cheng can’t help it. He knows that no matter what’s going to happen it will hurt him, but he simply has to know.

He doesn’t leave to get them new drinks.

“Mingjue, what a nice surprise,” Jiang Fengmian says, just a tad too loudly and Jiang Cheng winces. “What brings you here?”

“We already talked today,” Nie Mingjue reminds him, his hands clenching at his side.

“Oh, did we? Remind me again, then,” Jiang Fengmian says, his voice now a little bit more appropriate and he leans into Nie Mingjue’s space. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m here with your son. You know, because we’re dating?” Nie Mingjue tells him and Jiang Cheng knows what’s going to happen a split second before his father opens his mouth.

It feels like someone reached inside his chest and tore his heart out.

“Wei Wuxian? I thought he is with that Lan boy?” Jiang Fengmian says and Jiang Cheng sees how Nie Mingjue freezes.

Jiang Cheng has trouble breathing himself, but he keeps his eyes fixed on Nie Mingjue, because it’s the only safe place to look at right now.

“You piece of shit,” Nie Mingjue mutters, and before Jiang Cheng or anyone else can react, he moves.

Between one blink an the next Jiang Fengmian is on the ground, clearly knocked out cold, and Nie Mingjue is shaking out his hand as he turns around and looks for Jiang Cheng.

“Fuck, you heard,” are the first words out of Nie Mingjue’s mouth, before he rushes up to Jiang Cheng to crush him to his chest.

“You punched him,” Jiang Cheng mutters, blinking several times, because it doesn’t make sense.

His father is in on the ground and people are staring at them, but it doesn’t make sense.

“Of course I did!”

“You just punched him,” Jiang Cheng repeats and it’s only the arrival of his mother that prevents him from breaking down into hysterical laughter.

“What is going on here? Wanyin, an explanation!”

“Your husband forgot who his actual son is,” Nie Mingjue hisses at her, not letting go of Jiang Cheng and clearly not going to apologize for his actions.

“Ma’am, do you want us to call the police?” a security guard suddenly asks and Jiang Cheng tenses in Nie Mingjue’s arms.

He will not allow Nie Mingjue to get punished for this.

Jiang Cheng is about to tell his mother that when she waves them away.

“That won’t be necessary,” she says. “I think it was deserved,” she then adds, much more quietly, before she turns to the room at large. “It seems like my dear husband had a little bit too much to drink and he slipped in a rather unfortunate way,” she calls out. “Please don’t be worried and continue to enjoy the party.”

Jiang Cheng stares at her, his mouth open and it’s only when she turns back around to him and Nie Mingjue that he gets a little bit of control back.

“I think you should leave now,” she says, and Jiang Cheng isn’t sure she ever heard her sound so soft. “Well done,” she adds and pats Nie Mingjue’s arm before she goes to deal with the situation at large.

“What the hell just happened,” Jiang Cheng mutters, but he allows Nie Mingjue to pull him away from his father and from this party.

It’s only when the cold night air hits him that he starts to realize what just happened.

“You punched my father because he was an asshole to me,” Jiang Cheng whispers and Nie Mingjue grimaces.

“Well. I would do it again,” he declares as if Jiang Cheng was about to tell him to not do that again. “He deserved it.”

“He did,” Jiang Cheng agrees and then steps close to Nie Mingjue. “You punched my father for me,” he repeats and Nie Mingjue frowns.

“I can’t tell if you’re angry right now,” Nie Mingjue admits, but he puts his hands on Jiang Cheng’s hips.

“I am in absolute awe of you and I love you so much,” Jiang Cheng tells him and leans in for a biting kiss. “And I think you should take me home now.”

“Oh, so that’s how it is? Me punching your father is doing it for you?” Nie Mingjue teases him, but he starts dragging him towards their car.

“Hell, yes,” Jiang Cheng breathes out, because no one has taken such a stance for him.

“Good to know,” Nie Mingjue says. “But I’d still rather not make it a habit.”

“I think the memory will serve me well, too,” Jiang Cheng says and before Nie Mingjue can get into the car, Jiang Cheng crowds him against the side of it, tucking his face into his neck. “Seriously, thank you.”

“My heart, I love you and no one gets to behave like that when it comes to you,” Nie Mingjue says and puts his arms around Jiang Cheng. “No thanks needed.”

“Oh, I’m gonna thank you,” Jiang Cheng says with a suggestive waggle of his eyebrow and Nie Mingjue barks out a laugh.

“Alright,” he says and then they scramble into the car.

It’s a quiet ride home, despite everything, but Jiang Cheng keeps a hold of Nie Mingjue’s hand and he has to admit that he has never felt so loved before.

And he will make sure Nie Mingjue knows how much he appreciates his actions.

Link to my ko-fi on the sidebar!

[neoculturetravesty]

We met in online class - Part 6

Image adapted from here.

Pairing: Renjun x Reader Genre: College AU, romance, some fluff, lots of angst in this part Warnings: Strong language, descriptions of stress and anxiety, fist fight Word Count: 7.7k

Navigation: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | You are on Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Last Part

A/N: Buckle up for some angst.

They say when it rains, it pours and Renjun was about to learn the true meaning of this expression.

Throughout his college life, Renjun had heard his share of praise from his professors who would tell him that he was gifted in a way not many artists were. But now that the career drives and job fairs had begun, Renjun learnt that at best, he was average. In the real world, he wasn’t ‘golden hands’ or gifted or anything like it--he was just one in a line of millions. Because in the bigger picture, Renjun’s competition was not just people in his school; he was competing with even better artists from even better universities that had even better skills and even better means. His design professor had very plainly told the class one day that out of all of them, maybe one or two would ‘make it’ in the real world, if they got lucky. So Renjun knew that if had to shut up anyone who ever doubted him, compete with the best and place anywhere solid by the time he graduated, he needed to land a stellar internship.

Not that his current internship was going any better. Renjun learnt that even small studios were a handful and that an internship basically meant being an errand boy. When he had taken on the job, he had fantasized about meeting exciting artists and maybe even helping the chief curate his best work yet. But more often than not, he found that he was sweeping the place down, and if he got lucky, he got to make a few calls to potential clients (who would yell at him before hanging up). 

And of course, like any self-respecting college that thrived on the student body’s mental health deterioration, the professors weren’t going any easier on the projects, even with the impending exams. 

On top of everything that was happening, Renjun had developed a constant tension in his neck and shoulders. Jaemin reckoned it was because Renjun was hunched over his paintings all the time as he followed the perfect lighting all over the apartment. You, on the other hand, reckoned it was because of all the stress.

“You’re just carrying a lot of anxiety on these gangster shoulders, Huang Renjun.” you had said as you kneaded your knuckles into his hurt one day as you brought him food. Lately, you had taken it upon yourself to make sure that Renjun was eating and staying hydrated through these pressure cooker times. Because when he was left to his own devices, eating would be pretty low on his priority list, simply because he did not have the time for meals. So you’d bring him a snack any time you saw him on campus, and when you didn’t see him, you’d get something delivered to him and if you couldn’t, you’d text him a reminder to eat. But as one would have it during end-of-semester madness, Renjun had received your food more than your company. Because truth be told, you were just as occupied.

Renjun hadn’t seen enough of you in what he was sure was now going to be a good two weeks running because you had way too much on your plate as well. Like Renjun, you too were swarmed by assignments and exams. But other than that, any time he did see you, you were ‘interview dressed’ for all the on-campus drives that were happening in your department. Renjun had come to wish you good luck on one of them and had seen how distracted you looked because apparently, you had pulled some all-nighters to prepare for this. Donghyuck had been the one to tell Renjun about this little bit. 

Because when you weren’t studying or giving interviews or working on projects, you were preparing to throw an end-of-semester party with Donghyuck. He had to admit, there had been moments where Renjun had been irritated that Donghyuck would know more about what was happening in your life than did he. But then again, who was to blame for that?

Renjun knew it was no one’s fault but his own. Because that’s the dumb precedent he had set from the very beginning--that he wouldn’t get too close. He was paying that price for it because somewhere along the way, you had begun to confide in Donghyuck more than in Renjun, though this development was gradual and subconscious. He supposed that since you had met him, some part of you had learnt that she was walking into a wall anytime things got deep with Renjun. And there are only so many times that people were willing to walk into walls before they learnt their lesson.

Renjun knew that you were always ready to provide emotional support. But he also saw that when you were the one that needed it, you were subconsciously turning to Donghyuck rather than to him. 

And because you weren’t doing so consciously, Renjun couldn’t even be upset with you. Who was he to be upset with you over it in the first place? He had spent all those weeks skillfully blocking you. So, just because he had changed his mind now didn’t mean that he could earn your vents right away. It would take some effort on his part and he acknowledged that.

But it wasn’t you hanging out with Donghyuck that bothered him. It was someone else.

Wong Hendery, it appeared, was always around you these days and for some reason, that really bothered Renjun. You had a lot of friends. You were just the kind of person who made friends wherever you went. His own friends were an example. Lately, any time he ran into his roommates in the living room or kitchen (since all of them were buried in work otherwise), they would inquire about you instead of him. You just made a lot of friends and that was a fact of life that Renjun lived with. And whilst so far, Renjun had been okay with all of them, he had no idea why seeing Wong Hendery around you made him feel some type of way. 

And in the strangest turn of events, he had even found himself subtly voicing this to you a couple of times. It had bothered him even more that you had never taken him seriously any time he brought it up. You had either been distracted or disinterested whenever this came up. Or perhaps you had very tactfully been avoiding the subject. You weren’t exactly the scheming type, so Renjun was sure it wasn’t that. All he knew was that at the end of it, he would just end up feeling stupid, because, well… it was a stupid, baseless feeling to have, whatever this was.

All in all, Renjun couldn’t tell what matter it was from the pillage that kept his mood sour these days. His failure in the job fairs, his increasing workload, the impending exams, his lackluster internship, or something else. He recognized that a big part of it had to do with not seeing you enough. He wasn’t going to be the idiot that denied that anymore. Since the party at your parent’s house, he hadn’t had a moment with you where it was just the two of you and you could talk about… well, the two of you. Not seeing you enough was making him sour, he knew that. However, not seeing you enough combined with the fact that Wong Hendery was around you all the time was probably pretty up there as a reason for his bad moods. 

The only upside in the end-of-semester times was that the damn virus seemed to be under control. Students could now more freely move about and a lot more cafes and parks had reopened. So, at the very least, Renjun could get a change of scenery whilst he painted or studied because he was getting tired of his apartment and the library and the damn studio. 

Today, he had just grabbed his things and sent you a very persuasive text, because really, enough was enough. Yes, you were both very busy. Yes, you didn’t have any time today. But you could at least give him one study date out in the sun, and finally, for the first time in two weeks, he had felt that happiness in his chest when you told him you’d come.

The two of you sat by the river as Renjun sketched and made notes and you typed away on your laptop. Your hair was done up in a bun and you wore the campus hoodie and you didn’t even look up from your work when Renjun leaned over to feed you some rice. It had made Renjun smile. You looked like every boy’s fantasy of a college girlfriend but thinking about it also made his heart a tiny bit heavy. Because after all this time, the two of you still hadn’t had that conversation. Come to think of it, the two of you hadn’t even kissed ever since that afternoon in the strawberry fields. And maybe it was the fact that he hadn’t sat with you like this in a couple of weeks, or maybe it was seeing you share your time with other people. But Renjun felt that he had to address the some elephant in the room sooner rather than later. Because he didn’t want a some relationship any longer. He wanted more.

“No one’s going to be happier than me when this semester is over.” you mutter as you chew onto whatever Renjun had fed you.

“You and me both. Let’s celebrate our freedom together when it ends.” Renjun suggests as he sits up to stretch his neck. 

“Done deal.” You look up from your laptop to give him a fist bump.

“Hey, I was thinking…” Renjun hesitates. “Let’s go somewhere together. After the semester is over.” He feels butterflies in his stomach even as he asks you that. And he knows why. Because this is the first time he’s asking you for a real date, where he wants to take you out for your company, no opportunistic strings attached. But also, he wants to take you away from everyone else where he would have all of your attention and he could finally tell you how he really feels.

You smile as you shuffle your notes. “Where do you wanna go?”

“Anywhere. We could go to the beach and go mudflat fishing. If that’s not your thing, we could go camping instead.”

You finally look at him and smile an undistracted, attentive smile. “I’d like that.”

Renjun looks at you softly as he returns your smile. “My exams end before yours. Let’s go right after your last exam.”

“Oh, I can’t go then.” You say, shaking your head quickly.

“Why?”

“Haechan and I are hosting the end-of-semester, remember?” you remind him and Renjun holds himself back before he could exhale over ‘Haechan and I’.

“Okay, how about the day after?” Renjun asks.

“I can’t go then, either. Hendery and I have to go visit the tower.” you tell him.

This time, Renjun can’t hold back. Because ‘Hendery and I’ was way, way worse than ‘Haechan and I’. Before he could stop himself, he finds himself commenting

“You’ve been spending a lot of time with Wong Hendery, huh?” he hadn’t meant for that hint of accusation to lace his tone, but it had come out that way.

“Ughhhh, tell me about it. He says he’d basically be happy never seeing me again once all of this is over.” you say as you steal his bowl of rice and begin stuffing your face. Renjun feels that irritation again because as always, you seem to be blowing this topic off. But for some reason, he doesn’t want to let it go today.

“I just don’t trust him.” Renjun says and he finds himself clenching his jaw a little.

You look at him from above the rice and smile amusedly. “Why though? He’s a cool dude.”

“I don’t know. There’s just something about him. I just… I don’t know, I guess it’s a guy’s instinct.” he says, and like anytime he has brought up this subject before, he’s feeling incredibly dumb.

You raise an eyebrow and look away from him. You don’t seem very impressed by the comment. “Nah, he’s super cool and all of that. You can meet him if you like.” you say in a tone that is way too nonchalant for Renjun’s liking. 

He had met him before, of course. But he didn’t know Wong Hendery even if he did know Wong Hendery. So how could he tell you that the man was bad news based on just a feeling? ‘He’s using you! Why don’t you see that he’s using you!’ Renjun wanted to yell at you. But he says something else. 

“Just, like… I don’t know. He just seems mysterious and unsharing.” Renjun tries to explain.

“So are you.”

There is a moment of silence as Renjun feels a sting and you look at him with no expression. 

You were right. 

Renjun hadn’t shared anything about himself with you. The things you knew about him was information you had probably collected through his friends. The only time he had really opened up to you was that one night in his room. Suddenly, more than irritation, he feels angry with himself. 

What a stupid, stupid, stupid idea it had been to set those dumbass rules with you. How had he expected it would pan out? How did he think he could use you as a means to an end, but not learn anything about you or give away anything about himself? He hadn’t thought this through at all. Then again, he hadn’t expected for it to go on this long; and he most certainly hadn’t expected that he would end up falling for you.

“I just… I don’t trust him around you.” Renjun admits and this time, he has the decency to sound a little ashamed.

“I know how to take care of myself, Renjun.” you tell him quietly.

Renjun looks away because for the first time since he’s known you, you’ve spoken to him that way. He wants to scream and pull his hair because no. You don’t. You don’t know how to take care of yourself. How could he tell you that you weren’t the best judge of character? How could he tell you that you allowed people around you to take advantage of you? 

‘It’s why you’re sitting here with me’ Renjun thinks with another sting. He knew Hendery was up to no good with you because he himself had been one of those people that used you for their own gain. He had used your kind heart and your willingness to see the good in people for his own stupid plan. The stupid, dumbass, flawed plan that he hadn’t thought through in the slightest. He had thought he had, because Renjun always assumed he was smarter than everyone in any room. That was probably his dumbest yet most defining trait; as kindheartedness was yours.

As if to add insult to injury, your phone rings and Wong Hendery’s name shines cockily onto your screen, mocking Renjun in all its glory.

“Hey, are you here?” you say as you pick up. You look around till you spot him and wave at him “Okay, coming!”

Renjun looks to where you had signaled and sees Hendery in his bigass car. He notices Renjun looking, waves at him and smiles. 

Renjun’s eyes close and he takes in a deep breath as you begin collecting your things. He doesn’t know why he’s being this way. He had been jealous before; he was an openly bitter person, that much he knew about himself. He despised every other asshole that did better than him. But this was a kind of jealousy he had never really experienced before. He wanted to protect you, but he also wanted to keep you… because now, he could feel you slipping away from him. 

“I’ll call you, okay? Make sure you eat dinner.” your voice sounds a little resigned and suddenly, Renjun feels his heart drop. It’s a strange feeling, but there it is in the pit of his stomach. Renjun realizes that the feeling really closely resembled fear. And it’s because you’re leaving like this. 

Had this been your first fight? Maybe it had. It hadn’t felt like a fight, because Renjun has fought with a lot of people before, and this was nothing like that. There was no screaming, no gaslighting, no accusations. But it was the tone you had taken with him. Like you were disappointed. Like you expected better. You had never taken that tone with him before. So as you stand up to walk away, Renjun grabs your hand. He looks up from where he sits.

“Hey…” his heart is sinking, he has this awful feeling in his chest and now he no longer knows what to say to keep you. So he brings your knuckles to his lips and presses into them for a few moments before he looks back at you. “Are we good?” He wants to kiss you, he wants to take you in his arms and kiss you and know that nothing has changed. But he knows that Wong Hendery is sitting right there and he doesn’t want you to think that he’s putting on a show of jealous, testosterone fueled possession. 

He watches as your face softens. You crouch so your face is levelled with his. You keep holding your bag that’s slung over your shoulder with one hand. With the other, you gently hold onto his cheek and lean in to press a soft kiss to his lips. 

“We’re good.” you say and you smile and then you lift back up to turn around.

Renjun watches unmoving as you walk away from him and drive off with Wong Hendery. He keeps watching till the car makes a turn and disappears from view.

Though you had told him that you were good, that sinking feeling hasn’t left his chest. Because Renjun realizes that what you had done had felt a lot like a goodbye kiss.

Renjun doesn’t get time to dwell on his aching heart too much, because soon after, exams begin. 

It is as if a lull had taken over the entire campus. Everyone around him had their heads down as they studied and slept and slept to study. Jeno and Jaemin had taken over the living room table as they crammed and kept each other awake through their all-nighters. Jisung would try to take some motivation from them but the boy had never been too fond of studying, so he’d end up asleep on the couch whilst Jeno and Jaemin took the floor. Even Donghyuck--who had insofar made it through college based on pure intelligence--could be seen bent over his notes in the library. For a week, each student on campus had a similar schedule; like someone had hit the pause button on everything else in life.

Perhaps it had been the exam stress. Perhaps it was everything that was happening culminating in Renjun’s mind, but that sinking feeling hadn’t completely dissipated from his chest. He had no way to explain what it was or why it was. But if Renjun had to describe it, it was as if a sixth sense was warning him. What the warning was about, he had no idea.

But as fate would have it, Renjun’s hardships were only beginning. Because right before his first exam, he had received a call from his mother. 

He had picked up because this had been maybe her third phone call to him this entire year. But two minutes into the call, Renjun wished he hadn’t. 

Questions were asked as if out of duty: if he was still in school, if he was still living with his friends, if he was looking for a job. And though Renjun hadn’t even asked for it--how she couldn’t send him money for the next couple of months because the Covid situation wasn’t doing any wonders for their restaurant. Although the conversation hadn’t even lasted a full 10 minutes, Renjun’s mind was fully fucked by the end of it. Why the fuck did she have to play with his head like this, just when he was about to go in for an exam? 

He shouldn’t have been surprised. His mother had a way of sensing any time her son was emotionally strained, because she would always show up right on time to add to his burden. This is how it had been most of his life. She would appear usually when Renjun was at his lowest and remind him that he was a useless fucker that nobody cared about. And because she was his mother, she knew exactly what buttons to press to positively fuck him over. 

Fuck this. None of it was fair. It wasn’t fair that she had called him after months and months. It wasn’t fair that she didn’t even want to know how he was doing. A global pandemic had turned the world upside down and she didn’t even want to know if her son was surviving through it. She just wanted to call to give him another reminder that she couldn’t take care of him. Fuck that. Fuck her. Fuck everything. Renjun didn’t need her or his father or anyone else ever again. Fuck all of it.

Renjun had hung up bitterly and that should’ve been the end of it. But for some reason, she had kept calling after that, which made Renjun throw his phone against a wall. Fuck that. She doesn’t get to call him to rub more salt to his wounds. He wasn’t going to give her that satisfaction.

It’s funny how when you’re truly feeling fucked, you tend to isolate yourself from the people who really care about you. And that’s what Renjun ended up doing following that phone call. Almost as if in self-sabotage, he started avoiding everyone and hid himself away. Because no way did anyone really need him, anyway. Renjun knew that even in his friend group, he was the one the others could do without.

Jeno and Jaemin had one another. They would babysit Jisung well enough, and when they didn’t, Jisung had Zhong Chenle. His housemates didn’t really need him, so hiding from them was easy. Lately, he had also stopped hanging out with Yangyang because he was afraid he’d run into Hendery. Lee Mark hadn’t really hung out with him ever since he joined the 127s. And Donghyuck… well, he had you. 

So even you could do without him. You had been doing just fine without him these past couple of weeks. You had still been bringing him snacks, even after that study date. But Renjun wondered if that was because of your bad, kind habit rather than anything else. Truth be told, Renjun didn’t want your snacks anymore. Because each time he got them, it reminded him that he was nothing special to you. He wasn’t any different to you than Jaemin or Jeno or Donghyuck. He was just another guy that you were kind to out of habit. Fuck that. He didn’t need your kindness, or anyone else’s. He was fine on his own.

But on the night after his last exam, he finally picked up the phone he had thrown and read his messages through his cracked phone screen. Just to see if someone missed him. As expected, no one did. But there were some messages from you.

‘Hey shoulder gangster, remember to put on pain patches before you sleep!’

‘I ordered some chicken for you guys, eat well and study well.’

‘Hey, I tried calling you. I had gotten you coffee, but I couldn’t find you so now hyuckie is drinking it.’

‘Ayo. I hope your exam went well. Sending some Chinese food over, so eat before you study!’

‘Hey, Jaemin told me your phone is busted. Idk if you’re gonna see this message, but just wanted to know you’re doing well.’

‘I tried to see you before you went in for your exam but Jeno said you had already left.’

‘Hey… I hope you’re not still upset with me. I’m gonna stop bothering you so we can both study, but I’ll come see you soon.’

‘Okay, I guess i’ll see you after exam week? Meet soon.’

That was the last of it. After that, you hadn’t sent him anything at all. Even you had stopped reaching out to him. 

It seemed that when it came down to it, no one would ever fight for Renjun. No one would want to find out why he was in hiding, or why he hadn’t replied. When worst came to worst, Renjun was always left to fend for himself. He was all alone in this world. 

Jeno and Jaemin would always know what the other was feeling without having to use the words. Neither of them had to explain to the other what was on their mind. They just… knew. When one was in trouble, the other would come running. When one was down, the other would pick him up. Neither had to ask; the other would just sense it and be there. Jisung and Chenle had a similar connection. 

But no one ever sensed Renjun’s heart. No one just knew when he was sad or upset or angry or in trouble. No one would pick him up because no one loved him enough to know his mind. No one had ever paid any real attention to him to know when he was struggling. No one had ever held his hand and taken him out of his despair. No one would even notice that he was in despair. Because he wasn’t anyone’s special anything. 

He had been hiding away for an entire week and no one had even noticed his absence. No one had called in to check on him. Because no one really needed him. Not his friends, not his family. Not even you.

They say when it rains, it pours, and Renjun was about to learn the true meaning of this phrase. Because just when he is about to put his phone away, he receives a text from his mother.

‘Renjun, I didn’t want to tell you this way. But you’re not picking up my calls. Come see me. Your father and I are getting a divorce.’

Renjun had never really been a big drinker. He’d drink some with the boys every now and then. But that was it. But tonight was an exception. Tonight, it was okay to turn to the drink. Tonight, he wanted to forget.

After the kind of day he had had, he thought that even his demons could give him a break. He felt drained. Like his mind was slowly giving up and his body was doing all the heavy lifting. Putting one foot in front of the other. Making him breathe in and out. Keeping his heart beating. It would be doing his mind a favor, drinking. His mind needed numbing, then maybe his body could follow.

He walks into the bar a broken man. And he wonders if that’s how all men are when they walk into bars. Maybe that’s why men who walk into bars make such good punchlines for jokes. He certainly felt like one. Because the people that should love him seemed to treat him like one. Who was he to think any better of himself?

He had made peace with the fact that his parents never wanted him. He had accepted that they were happy to get rid of him. Then why did he still expect their love every single time? What was it that made him go running to them any time they asked? Why had he expected that somehow visiting them would fix everything? 

Had he expected that they would sit him down and peacefully explain why they were parting ways? Of course, he hadn’t. Had he expected that his mother would cry and apologize for putting him through this? Of course, he hadn’t. Had he expected that his father would own up to his mistakes and call him his son? Of course, he hadn’t.

But he also hadn’t expected that neither of them would want anything to do with him after they parted ways. He hadn’t expected to be the collateral damage of a failed marriage that neither party was willing to own. He hadn’t expected to be summoned just so his parents could have a screaming match about whose son he’d be after they divorced. And that both would want to shift that burden to the other.

It suited them, Renjun thinks as he downs whatever the bartender had handed him. It would’ve been more unsettling to have made the trip to find something understanding and amiable. This was on-brand for them. This is how it had been since he was a child. They’d fight and Renjun would be collateral damage. This was the perfect ending to their twenty-one year old saga. Renjun had expected it.

So, why was he feeling like he had lost everything?

“Huang Renjun?” he hears a voice call out to him as if from miles away. Was he drowning? Then why did he feel like he couldn’t breathe? Why did the voices around him sound like they were coming from far away?

“Yoo Jimin.” Renjun finds himself automatically answering. He looks up and let’s his eyes focus and there he finds her. He smiles. Of course. Who else would’ve been the guest of honor in his pity party?

“What are you doing here?” she asks him and Renjun finds himself making a face.

“Drinking.” he says as he lifts up his shot glass.

“Did you follow me here?” she asks cryptically. Typical. Of course everything had to be about her.

“How would I know you’d be here?” Renjun says, looking away as he downs another shot.

“I told everyone at the party I was leaving to be here.” she says and her eyebrow is cocked as she comes closer.

“Party?” 

“Haechan’s party? All your friends were there. Weren’t you there?” she asks cautiously.

Ah, yes, the party. The end-of-semester party. Here he was, drinking his pain away. And his friends, the people who should be concerned about him were partying. It was all very fitting he supposed. This perfectly fit into everything in his life at this moment. Including the fact the Yoo Jimin had been the one to find him when he was at his lowest.

“I didn’t feel like a party.” Renjun replies.

Jimin scoffs. “Typical. Of course Huang Renjun thinks he’s above a party everyone would enjoy.”

Renjun doesn’t answer. It’s an annoying remark and part of him wonders why it is irking him so. His heart was burdened by bigger things. Perhaps his mind thought that being annoyed at Yoo Jimin was an easier emotion to address. This was an emotion he understood. It was an emotion he could process right away. So he turns to her and finds her sitting on the stool next to him.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, because really. Why is she here, talking to him, sitting next to him?

“Oh, don’t worry, Renjun. I’m only waiting for someone.” she says, rolling her eyes and flipping her hair.

“You can wait for someone over there.” Renjun points to a place far away with his glass.

“Okay, you don’t have to be an asshole. I just came in to see why you were drinking alone while all your friends are at that party.” she says and now more than agitation, Renjun feels anger.

“Why do you care if I drink alone, anyway? You’re the one that broke up with me.” he spits out.

“Renjun, seriously, what is your problem? I’m only trying to be nice to you. You don’t have to come for me like that.” Jimin’s eyebrows are high on her forehead as she matches Renjun’s tone.

“Well, thanks a lot, Yoo Jimin. Thank you for your gift of empathy, but I don’t really need it. Not after everything you did to me.”

“Renjun! Seriously, what is it that I did to you? What did I do to you?” she raises her voice in agitation.

“Well, other than abandoning me? Pretending that you were happy with me then pulling the rug from under my feet and breaking up with me? Not even waiting a month before moving on?” Renjun spits venom right back. Who did she think she was, coming here and speaking to him like that?

“Jesus Christ, Renjun. Would you listen to yourself? Does it ever occur to you that you could’ve been the asshole in this relationship? That maybe I broke up with you because you were the jerk?” Jimin’s face is contoured as she yells at him. It’s good that the bar is relatively full, otherwise this could’ve been a scene.

“I was nothing but nice to you. I treated you so well and you treated me like dirt!” Renjun hisses.

“Renjun, that’s your problem! You only see the faults in others and never in yourself! But you’re not ready for that conversation, so let’s not have it!” she yells and turns away from him, crossing her arms over her chest.

“No, no, by all means, let’s talk about it. Let’s talk about all the times I mistreated you, please.” Renjun mocks. He was already too used to being gaslighted by his parents. Jimin could join that club. This was already the worst day of his life. It couldn’t possibly get any worse.

“Renjun, this! This right here. You never respected me. You never treated me like an equal. With you, I always felt like some stupid, airheaded trophy. I always felt like everything I wanted was superficial and shallow and not worth anything!”

“And whose fault is that.” Renjun laughs darkly.

“Renjun, you can’t even see what you’re doing! You just think you’re so much better than everyone else! You think everyone around you is a degenerate and that you’re the smartest person to ever walk this earth. I can’t believe I let you treat me that way for so long.” Jimin’s hands go from balling into fists to animatedly helping her point. “Renjun, I wanted to be a model for the longest time. But I didn’t, because of you! Because every time I’d post a picture on my Instagram, you’d tell me it was because I love getting validation from strangers. Every time an agent reached out to me, you’d tell me how showing off my looks wasn’t going to be a long lasting career. You just never respected me or my aspirations. Because all of them were so beneath Mr. Intellectual.”

Renjun turns away. He pours himself another shot and downs it. He didn’t want a lecture. Who was she to show up like this and give him a lecture unprovoked? 

“If it weren’t for Jongin, I would’ve believed everything you ever said to me. That people would only like me for my looks. That what I wanted to do was superficial and shallow and that I would never amount to anything if I followed my heart.” she goes on and Renjun has had enough.

“Save it, Jimin. We’re broken up now, so what does it matter?” he doesn’t look at her. She could yell at him all she wanted. He wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of a reaction.

“I only came to you because I saw you drinking alone. And I know that’s not like you. I just wanted to see if you’re okay.” her voice has lowered significantly, but the agitation hasn’t left her tone. Renjun wonders if she has more to say, because he certainly doesn’t want to listen to any more.

“Well, that’s very kind of you, but I’m fine on my own.” he says coldly, still not looking at her.

Jimin sighs. “Renjun, when will you realize that the whole world isn’t out to get you? I know your family isn’t perfect. But you’ve got friends that care about you. You’ve got people around you that love you. If only you could stop being an asshole to them for one hot minute and see that.”

Renjun still doesn’t turn. Because she doesn’t know anything. She doesn’t know his life. She doesn’t know how alone he feels. She doesn’t know jackshit about what he goes through, what he has been going through. Who is she to comment on his life and stand there like that and lecture him? She didn’t know anything. Fuck her for making him feel like he was the asshole. The world was taking a giant dump on him, and she was making him feel like he was the asshole. Fuck that.

She grabs her purse and gets off the stool. “I’ve got to go now. I just hope you feel better. Whatever it is that you’re going through. Please don’t go through it alone, Renjun.” she says before she walks away.

Renjun feels a lump in his throat. How could he not go through it alone? Who was going to be by his side? No one. So what use were his tears? He wouldn’t let them fall. He swallows that lump away, and when it doesn’t work, he takes another shot. He didn’t want to be here anymore. He could just go home and sleep. Maybe that would work. The alcohol wasn’t numbing anything. It was just making him more bitter, but for more reasons than what he had come in with.

So he finds himself walking home. Putting one foot in front of the other. Breathing in and out. Keeping his heart beating.

He felt so alone. Was he the loneliest man in the world? He could bet money that he was. No one knew what he was going through. And that’s what made him feel most abandoned. But then again. Fuck that. He didn’t need anyone. What good were friends anyway? Friendships really meant nothing. Renjun finally realized that what he had were not friends, but connections. Because at the end of the day, that’s what this goddamn college life was all about. Making as many connections as you possibly could, so you could reap advantages from them later on life. All of his relationships were opportunistic. And realizing this was giving him the worst headache of his life. Like all the alcohol was thrumming in his head and blinding him.

He arrives at his doorstep, punches in his code, walks in and freezes at what he sees. 

Jeno, Jaemin, Jisung, Donghyuck, Zhong Chenle and you were all in the living room, drinking and eating and laughing. None of them had even noticed that Renjun had walked in. Because they were all too busy bellowing together. 

Suddenly, Renjun feels his blood boiling hot in his veins. How dare they. How dare they look like one big happy fucking family right in front of him. Renjun pushes back all emotions he’d been feeling and holds onto one: red hot burning anger. He heads in.

“Hey, hey! Look who’s finally back!” Donghyuck says mid-laughter as he finally notices him. “Come join us because Mark is passed out on your bed, by the way.” he laughs but his smile slowly fades as he watches Renjun’s expression. 

“You okay, man?” Jeno asks slowly.

The others slowly start reading his energy as well because his demeanor has gotten everyone’s attention. Renjun wants to pick a fight. He wants to fight with all of them for not being there for him. But he looks around for an easy target. Someone he can direct all his ruthless anger towards. And his eyes zero in on you.

“What are you doing here?” Renjun asks you urgently. Like you’ve done something wrong. 

“I just got you some food. We all thought we’d eat with you since you didn’t come to the party.” you say and you get up smiling and take Renjun’s wrist “Come, sit.”

But Renjun roughly snatches his hand away from your grip, making you look up suddenly. Your eyes are round, but you don’t look angry. You perhaps look shocked, but mostly concerned. And that makes Renjun want to hurt you more.

“You can’t just show up here unannounced. I didn’t invite you here.” Renjun spits at you.

“Hey man, easy. We invited her.” Donghyuck gets up and puts himself between the two of you. 

“Well, this is not your house, either! You can’t just invite her without asking me.” Renjun scowls at the boy.

“Renjun, I just got you some food. I just wanted to make sure you had eaten.” you say gently, stepping up from behind Donghyuck to speak to him.

“Y/N, you are not my girlfriend. So stop acting like it.” Renjun snaps and he finally watches the hurt he wanted to see on your face. He also sees Jisung’s scared expression and Jaemin’s disappointed one.

“I…” you begin “... I know… I just… I came here with the guys… I…” you begin, but Renjun yells again.

“You need to leave. You can’t just show up whenever you want.” Renjun continues and takes a step forward but Donghyuck holds a protective arm in front of you. Whoop-dee fucking doo. Now his friends thought he was some sort of a savage. 

“No, Y/N, you shouldn’t leave.” He says then turns to his friend. “Dude, what is your problem?” But Renjun keeps attacking you.

“These people are not your friends, okay? They are my friends. You’re crossing a line and you need to leave right now.” Renjun loves the reactions he’s getting. He loves that he has provoked every single person in the room. Because Jaemin has gotten up and taken your hand protectively whilst Jeno has joined Donghyuck in blocking you from his view.

“Hey, man. Easy.” Jeno warns. Jisung and Chenle watch this strange confrontation with worried looks on their faces, eyes darting between him and the others. Renjun can’t believe it. All his friends were protecting you. All of them. He was the fucking monster in this room, too. 

“Renjun, I just… I just came here to see you.” you say, but there’s no accusation in your tone. Just annoying, tiresome understanding. He fucking hates it and all his friends can see that he does.

After everything he had been through, after all his life was putting him through, he was the asshole, he was the monster once again. 

Well, then. If everyone thought him a monster, he should become it completely.

“Y/N.” Renjun laughs as he looks away. Then he looks at you with that sinister smile still on his face. “Y/N, the only reason I’ve kept you around for so long is because I wanted to get to your brother. So you can leave now.”

That did it. 

Because Donghyuck’s eyes have closed as he stands in front of you and Jeno’s eyes have widened. Jaemin just looks shocked as he holds onto your hand. As do Jisung and Chenle. But you.

Your face has hardened. He doesn’t see shock or disappointment or the kind of reaction that would’ve given him full satisfaction. He sees your stone face as you finally say something with a hint of venom in your tone.

“Well, in that case, Renjun, you’ve been wasting your time. Because I got you a slot with my brother right after our first date.”

Renjun stands speechless. 

He would’ve remained speechless if you hadn’t pushed past Jeno and him and headed straight for the door.

“Y/N!” Donghyuck calls out and goes after you. Renjun watches the others. Jaemin and Jisung have looked away and he sees nothing but pure disappointment on their faces. Jeno, on the other hand, is looking straight at him. Renjun looks back. Good. He wants everyone to hate him. This was exactly right. 

He hears Donghyuck barge back into the apartment as the door bangs shut behind him. 

“Dude what the fuck is wrong with you?!” He yells and Renjun finds himself shoving the boy, pushing him so he wasn’t in his space.

“What’s wrong with me? Please, Donghyuck. Don’t even pretend like you haven’t been using her the same way I’ve been. You’re not any better.” Renjun punctuates the last bit with another shove and Donghyuck grabs at his collar and roughly pulls him by it. Before it can escalate, Jeno and Jaemin rush forward to break the two of them apart. Jeno grabs onto Renjun, Jaemin onto Donghyuck, prying him off and creating some distance between the two. Jisung and Chenle look from the couch, mouths hanging open, visibly distressed.

“You didn’t have to do that, man. You didn’t have to be an asshole to her.” Donghyuck accuses as he tries to free himself from Jaemin’s grip and come face to face with Renjun again.

Renjun laughs bitterly. “Well, now that I have been, you can have her. Live your happy fucking life.” Renjun spits at him and he gets the reaction he was looking for because it makes Donghyuck lunge at him once again, making Jaemin tighten his grip and pull him back.

“What is wrong with you? You fucking asshole! Why do you think everyone’s out to get you? Stop acting like a little bitch and start acting like a man for once!” Donghyuck shouts and that does it. 

Renjun feels his headache blinding him. And yet, he doesn’t know how he frees himself from Jeno’s grip. But before he knows it, he has balled his hand into a fist and aimed it straight for Donghyuck’s face.

Copyright © 2021 NeoCultureTravesty. All rights reserved.

[kalpasio]

Heart of a Previous Era

Kalpas' Love Life?

A Kalpas x reader fic, chapter 4 below!

The room you were led to was dark and you were immediately tense, ready to jump at the slightest movement. Mei turned on a switch and a dim light filled the room. It looked more like a glorified storage unit than anything.

Cobwebs covered books and tables that clearly hadn’t been touched in years. At the far end of the room, there were two armchairs and an unlit fireplace. If you only looked at that corner, it seemed like a parlor, though you had to ignore quite a few pieces of broken furniture.

“I don’t know why he always sits in the dark,” Mei muttered. Then much louder, “Kalpas! I brought a friend to answer your questions.”

“Get out of my room, Herrscher.” He sounded like an angsty teen, and you couldn’t help but snort.

“It’s not your room, it’s a junk closet,” Mei put a hand on her hip and really filled the role of ‘mom of an angsty teen.’ “Besides, I’m doing you a favor.”

“I don’t need your favors,” Kalpas growled, but when he stood to face her and continue yelling, he stopped. “What are you doing here?”

“You’ve been asking to see them for months!” Mei truly sounded annoyed at his attitude.

“Get out.”

“What?” She definitely wasn’t happy.

“Get out!” Neither was he.

With a huff, Mei headed for the door.

“I am not getting dragged down here again just because you’re having some pity party,” you spoke sternly and crossed your arms. “We’re sorting out whatever this is now.” Kalpas didn’t speak and you took his angry silence as acceptance. Mei stood with her hand on the door handle, looking conflicted.

“I’ll…leave you to it then,” she closed the door behind her you walked over to take a seat in one of the armchairs. It was surprisingly not covered in dust, and very comfortable. Kalpas moved to lean against the fireplace mantle, so he could stare you down better, you assumed.

“What’s your favorite color,” he broke the silence.

“Red,” you shrugged, not really worrying about answering such an unimportant question truthfully.

“Animal?”

“I guess bears? Are we playing twenty questions?”

“Season?”

“Fall. Are you gonna answer my question?”

“No. Drink?”

“Tea. ‘No’ you won’t answer my question, or ‘no’ we’re not playing twenty questions?”

“Yes. Flower?”

“Roses. That doesn’t clarify anything.”

“Roses are lame,” he scoffed. “Food?”

“Yeah, roses are a bit overdone. Any sort of pasta.” You leaned back in the chair. “Can I ask a question yet?”

“No. Favorite soup?”

“Ok. Why do you care?”

“I said no questions.”

“That’s nice,” casually, you stood from the chair and started wiping dust off books. “Look man, I’m not allowed to leave until we fix up your love life apparently. Time may not matter to you, but I would like to sort this out sooner rather than later.” You sneezed at some of the dust, and that just kicked up more, causing you to put the book down and wave away the cloud.

“Fix…my love life?” He didn’t sound angry so much as confused, which was a new emotion for you to hear from him.

“Yeah. I don’t know who it is, but Mei said you’ve been hung up on this one person for a while now so we’re just gonna talk and then pretend things are better so I can go, alright?”

“You don’t know who it is?” Kalpas gave a loud laugh like he did before your big fight. It caused the hair on the back of your neck to stand on end, but you refused to show him that you might be scared. “It’s you.” He spoke in the same serious tone he normally used, but the weight of his words combined with the heavy gaze he leveled straight into your very being made you tense.

“Listen,” you gritted your teeth and did your best not to start a fight. “I get that I look like some person you all knew in the previous era, but I’m not the same person. Pretending you like me won’t bring them back.”

“I don’t think you’re them,” Kalpas growled. Why was he mad, you’re the one that’s supposed to be mad here. “You put up more of a fight than they ever did, even after the surgery. The way you think is completely different, and only a fool would see any similarities past your appearance.” Kalpas began walking towards where you were standing by the books, but you refused to back up and give him any ground.

“That person they’re all comparing you to? I knew them better than anyone else.” He kept taking slow steps while he spoke, until he stood right in front of you and his mask was the only thing you could see. “So trust me when I say you’re different, and I like you.” He completely ignored the daggers you were glaring at him and brought his hand to tightly grip either side of your chin. “I like the person I’m looking at right now. No one else.”

You didn’t like him You didn’t like him

You’d met him once and he’d tried to kill you!

He gave you a better fight than you’ve ever had, some part of your mind spoke up.

His last partner is the person you look like, he’ll never see you as your own person, you argued with yourself.

He just said otherwise.

He’s a simulation!

Most lifelike sim you’ll ever see. You couldn’t tell the difference if your life depended on it.

But-!

He’s hot, he can fight, and he wants you. Why are we even having this argument?

Clearing your throat, you took a step back and away form the hand pinching your cheeks. Immediately, you missed the warmth of his hand and the surprisingly soft glove he wore. “That’s um…” you looked at the shelves, then at the pile of spare parts and torn sheets. Anywhere but his face. “I mean—I believe you, but uh,”

“But?”

You didn’t need to see him raise an eyebrow to know it was happening under his mask. Before speaking again, you took a second to collect your thoughts. Suddenly you frowned as your brain started to catch up.

“You’re not going to drop this until I date you, are you?”

“Not unless you have a damn good reason,” Kalpas stood up straight and crossed his arms.

“Does a peanut allergy count?”

“No.”

“Don’t tell Mei.”

“Ok.”

He told Mei.

“I asked you to talk to him. Not fuck him!”

“I didn’t fuck him! You’re blowing this way out of proportion!”

“You’re going to fuck him.”

“Mei-!”

“And he’s still talking about you. That was the whole reason you went down there in the first place!”

“Second place. You took me down the first time to see how everyone would react, so really, you brought this upon yourself.” Mei gave a warning growl that could’ve put Kunikara to shame, so you changed tactics. “He didn’t really give me much of a choice. Honestly, Mei, I don’t know why you go down there if you don’t want to talk to him.”

“I want to talk to him, but not about the date he just took you on!”

The both of you had been walking down the hall to your room while having this argument. Mei had just gotten back from the Elysian Realm, and you had just gotten back from a mission. She may not be tired, but you were, so when you reached the door to your room, you stopped.

“Ok. Now you’re really overreacting. We haven’t been on any dates, Kalpas won’t even hold my hand! If you want him to stop talking about me, maybe you should try asking him first.” With that advice, you entered your room and shut the door. You weren’t mad at her right now, but the conversation was over, and you wanted to be sure she got the message.

Mei must’ve taken your words to heart—the next day at breakfast, she invited you to visit Kalpas with her so the three of you could come to some sort of agreement. When you entered, Elysia, of course, greeted you both. Having been introduced to the others on one of your “definitely not a date” visits, you recognized Pardofelis sitting with Griseo in the lounge. The two seemed toe get along well, and you figured it was better that Griseo kept an eye on the resident thief.

Kalpas was leaning against the short wall that sectioned off the war room, with one leg bent so his foot rested on the wall. As much as you hated Kevin, you couldn’t deny the similarities in their brooding tendencies. Every time you came in, without fail, Kalpas was sulking. Sometimes he had company for his sulking, but that was as much variety as he allowed.

Usually, when he saw you, Kalpas would visibly perk up, and while you doubted it was a conscious decision, it was still cute. This time, however, he looked ready to push off the wall and greet you when Mei peeked around the corner, and he very hastily resumed his brooding pose again. You were a little surprised when he met you both with a gruff “what do you want,” and not just silence.

“We need to talk,” Mei spoke for you both, not trusting you to stay focused on the objective. Now you were met with Kalpas’ famous silence, so she continued. “I come down here to learn from you and the other Flame Chasers.”

“I thought you came here to have your ass kicked,” Kalpas taunted. It clearly worked, Mei was frowning more than usual, while you tried to pass your laugh off as a cough. Mei shot you a “you’re not helping” glance, then spoke again.

“I come here to learn from you, but you all have an annoying habit of guarding every piece of information behind a fight.”

“If you don’t want to fight, then I won’t waste my signets on a weakling like you.” Kalpas stood and faced Mei with his arms remaining crossed as he spoke. Normally, you were the one starting fights, and Mei was the one dragging you away, but right now, it was the other way around. Kalpas was focused solely on Mei, but you sent him a warning look anyway, hoping he would feel it through his mask.

“Alright, if you two want to fight, go into the trials. I didn’t go down fifty flights of stairs to watch you two argue.” Flames had yet to start leaving his mask, so Kalpas was much less of an issue than Mei right now. Her electricity was making your hand tingle where you had grabbed her wrist to try and ground her—literally, apparently.

“Mei just wants you to stop talking about me when I’m not here,” you got straight to the point. This conversation should only last five minutes, max, and it was already closing in on four with how much glaring was being exchanged. Unfortunately, your attempt at making the talk shorter seemed to have the opposite effect.

Kalpas started heating up—for some reason you’ll never know—and when Mei instinctively put her arm in front of you, there were full flames snaking out of his mask and lighting the tips of his hair. Pushing Mei’s arm down did little to appease the man, so you stepped in between them both so Kalpas was forced to look at you instead.

“I swear it’s like herding cats with you two,” you muttered while sending them each a very unhappy glare. Mei seemed to be taking calming breaths and wasn’t shocking your hand anymore.

Turning to Kalpas, however, you didn’t have a chance to read him before he grabbed you and pulled you to his side. It startled you, sure, but honestly, you knew it was coming, so you merely righted yourself when he let go. Mei still looked a bit agitated now, but Kalpas was calm enough to talk again.

“What do I have to do to get you to focus on Fire Moth while I’m here,” she spoke through gritted teeth, but it didn’t seem like the two of them were going to be at each other’s throats for a minute or two, so you sat on the edge of the war table and tuned them out.

Five minutes later—you knew it would only take five minutes—Mei was asking if you were listening at all. When you shook your head ‘no’ she explained.

“So long as you visit regularly, Kalpas won’t spend forever talking about you.”

“Really love how I was asked about this,” you rolled your eyes and stood from the table. “Define regularly.”

“Once a week.”

“Mei!” Now you were a bit upset. “I go on missions for way longer than that. I can’t just bail in the middle of a fight to go say hi to my boyfriend!”

“Figure it out,” Mei crossed her arms and tried to give her patented ‘intimidating Herrscher’ look.

It didn’t work.

“Figure-! No. This is your problem,” you stepped right up to her. “I visit when I want, and if you don’t want to hear what Kalpas has to say, don’t fucking talk to him!” A deep chuckle behind you reminded you both that there was another person in the room, so you took a step away to cool down.

“Fine,” Mei sighed and pushed some hair over her shoulder. “Come visit when you’re free. I’ll just talk to the others.”

“Fine,” you agreed.

And if you happened to see Kalpas more than once a week when you were free, that was no one’s business but your own.

I- The only note I have is "Haha electricity joke. hehe" please send help.

[bangtanfancamp]

∴ summary: After spending a gloomy afternoon  trying to get out of your own head alone , you finally seek out your boyfriend for help

∴ masterlist

∴ one shot

∴ pairing: Kim Namjoon x reader

∴ word count: 2k

∴ rating: pg-13

∴ genre: soft angst, comfort, established relationship

∴ warnings: oc is struggling with something akin to depression, it’s alluded to but not explicitly stated

∴ author’s note: this is incredibly self indulgent and was written in one go. I’ll edit later. I’d rather have it here to share sooner in case anyone needs it as much as me.

─────────────────────

“Joonie, what are you doing? Are you busy?” Your voice comes out small as you peak around the corner into his office, sweater pawed knuckles sneaking around the edge of the door frame.

He doesn’t look up at first. Perhaps you really were too quiet. Or maybe he’s just that immersed in his book. It’s not a cover you’ve seen before so it very well may be the latter. You know how he is when he has a new thing to get lost in. Ever your astronaut adrift, exploring the moons just beyond whatever new world he’s found.

He looks so at home now. Cozy in his den of words and letters. Perfectly domestic amidst lofty thoughts and paragraphs. His skin is mostly bare today, his coordinated tank top and shorts exposing a golden expanse of toned arms, long legs . They’re folded up and crossed, a little boy lost in wonder as he sits on his futon.

His hair is a warm chestnut this week, fringe too long around the lashes but too short to pull back. The way it refuses to cooperate when he brushes it out of his eyes, trickling silkily, stubbornly back into place, exactly where it wants to be, makes you want to chuckle.

He still hasn’t noticed you’re there. Too far gone in whatever his newest philosophy is to notice the way you study the dip of his furrowed brow, how it juxtaposes against the relief of his shadowed dimples, smiling even as he frowns. He finds so much pleasure in being studious— just for fun. No matter how much concentration it takes. You’ve always admired that about him. Admired everything about him really.

Clearing your throat, though you hate to interrupt him, you try again. 

“Joonie?”

 Somehow it’s even quieter than before, and as he turns another reverent page, you know you’ll have to physically intervene to interrupt him. You sigh. You hate to break the spell. He loves days like this—with the rain trickling down the window’s glass casting shadows on his focused face— he’s so happy to read when it rains.

He leans forward then without looking up to take a sip of his Earl grey, bumbling when the steam unexpectedly fogs his glasses. He laughs at himself, folding his book so it splays across the seat to mark his place and removing his glasses. It’s the first time he’s looked up. He spots you then, his face splitting into the smoothest “there’s my girl” smile you’ve ever seen.

“Hey… how long have you been standing there?” His voices comes low, warm, soothes something in you that desperately needs rest.

“Long enough to see you blind yourself with tea, it seems.” You try to smile back, but it’s a weak, floppy thing. Your cheeks can’t seem to commit so it falls a bit too flat. His brows pinch when he sees it. Something’s amiss.

“Hey… are you okay?” His inscrutable eyes analyze you, and you let him. Too tired to resist or put up a fight.

“It’s not my day, joonie.” Your voice is pitiful, even to your own ears. You’d normally wince at sounding like this in front of anyone else. But honestly, it’s okay. It’s Namjoon you’re with. You don’t have to play games or hide things. Not here. Not with him.

“Yeah?” His eyes catch yours as his palms rub the tops of his thighs. It’s an invitation. You know the gesture by now.

“Yeah… again. There have been so many of these lately,” you say, crossing the room to him, his arms unfolding to welcome you into them. “They come too often and stay too long. They’re terrible house guests. I’m tired of them, joon. I can’t seem to get rid of them.”

You’re scooped against him now, head on the space between his neck and his chest, fingers twisted into his tank top, bum in his lap, knees tucked up til you’re as small as you can get. There’s a broad palm of his on your back, fingertips on his other hand traveling the length of your arm in tender caresses as his cheek rests atop your head.

“Maybe we should start charging them rent. I bet even they can’t afford to pay that in this economy.” He offers the idea solemnly, fully committed to carrying out the metaphor that your mental health really is just an unfortunate airbnb plagued with hideously mannered squatters.

“You know, I love that about you, Joon.”

“My inability to pay rent?”

You nuzzle a sappy no into the heat of his neck,” dummy, your very real ability to never minimize things that are hard to me.”

The dip of his chest as he exhales is oddly soothing. It makes you feel like you’re being rocked and god if you don’t need to be cradled right now. “Things  have been really hard lately, haven’t they?” He wonders aloud.

“It isn’t just my perception?” You look up, eyes entirely too pitiful, too round to belong to a functioning adult. No, Namjoon’s heart goes soft as he realizes he’s looking at the eyes of a very scared four year old you. The haunted gaze of an innocent girl who never got told everything would be alright. Even without knowing any more than that, it makes him want to cry.

“No, my sweet girl, it’s not.” Closing his eyes, he presses somber lips to your forehead, scooping you close to shield you— from the world, from yourself, from all the insidious things that took root in you so long ago you’re not even sure how they got in. His wide hands grip you tighter, a feeble attempt to help hold you altogether.

It’s silent then. A few beats of quiet, only disrupted by the clumsy clatter of irreverent raindrops on glass. His caress stays steady against your soft sleeves, his languid fingers perpetually in motion as he attempts to soothe the wounds that sit just beneath your skin.

You look up at him again, unsure what you’ll find. 

You almost cry when you see the gentleness in his eyes. No judgment anywhere within them. Just something kind that stretches into the lines his eyes carve as he smiles. How you itch to gently peel his horn rimmed glasses off the tip of his button nose and kiss it. Bless him.

God, you don’t know why he’s so nice to you, but you’re so glad that he is. The smile you give back to him is wobbly, trembly, poorly constructed— but so so sincere that it makes your sad eyes shine. He bumps your nose with his, burying himself against your forehead as you cocoon into him.

You want to ask him what he’s reading, listen intently to him as he tells you all about it, but you know you can’t. You can’t decipher anything today. It all feels too heavy. You can’t carry the weight of anything new with hands already full. At this point, you’ve lived in this soft hoodie of his , the one you stole after his tour two years back because it smelled like him, for the past 3 days. You don’t even have the energy to change. With that kind of retention rate, seems there’s no point in asking your brilliant professor to explain anything.

Still, it’s always so nice to hear his voice. Especially with your ear to his chest like this. 

So you ask anyway.

“Will you read to me, Joonie? Life always feels better when you’re reading.” You press your face deep into the copper of his neck, an open mouthed kiss placed against his pulse.

“It’s all kind of theoretical,” he chuckles. He’s bashful. If holding you weren’t occupying his hands, you know they’d be nervously fiddling with the back of his neck. A nerdy boy with a too big brain hesitant to share his discoveries.

“Is it good though? You’ve already read Jung to me, and I stayed awake through that. I think I deserve more credit.” You poke his throat with your nose. You’re not genuinely affronted, it’s just nice to remind him you're competent too. Sometimes.

His sweet chuckle then is earthy and rich, all dark molasses. “True. You actually gave pretty good feedback for that too. Fine. Didn’t mean to underestimate you. Just… bear with me if it feels odd? I haven't read it before. I can’t vouch for it all yet.”

“Fine by me. I’m just here for the cuddles and my Kim Namjoon audiobook.”

He can feel your smile against his skin. It makes him press you just that extra little bit tighter against him, exhaling soft through his nose when he feels you return the gesture.

Scooping up his paperback, he adjusts his glasses where they’ve slipped down his nose, clearing his throat to project like the narrator he claims he’s not but loves to be. He’s quiet for a few more beats. You can hear pages rustling as you sink against his skin. You imagine he must be trying to find where he was when you interrupted, or perhaps searching for a passage that seems apropos. Which he chooses, you don’t know, but you can feel when he settles, just before his caramel voice sweetens the thin air of the room.

“It's the same with the wound in our hearts,” he begins. “ We need to give them our attention so that they can heal. Otherwise the wounds continue to cause us pain. Sometimes for a very long time. We're all going to get hurt. But here's the trick - they also serve an amazing purpose. 

When our hearts are wounded that's when they open. We grow through pain. We grow through difficult situations. That's why you have to embrace each and every difficult thing in your life.”

You aren’t sure when your eyes opened, not sure when they began to glaze over or when you started to cry. But you did. And you are. The salty things dripping down against Namjoon’s silken skin. Your sweatered knuckles try to knock them away, but to no avail. Your cheeks are still a wet mess and now his collarbone is too.

“Joon, what is this? What are you reading?”

“Oh… um, it’s— terribly long title but— Into the Magic Shop: A Neurosurgeon's Quest to Discover the Mysteries of the Brain and the Secrets of the Heart. Isn't that a mouthful?” his laugh is self deprecating, small, but still the most beautiful sound.

God, you hate how sensitive and soft you are right now. You don’t want to be sitting here at 4pm in your boyfriend’s lap crying over a paragraph in a book you've never even heard of before, but here you are.

“ is that… what the whole book is about ?”

“You know, I don’t know. I haven’t read it all yet. Jackson recommended it, I’m just now getting to it. Why - do you not like it? I can put this down. Read you something else if this is too heavy. You always like the poetry. I can grab that one anthology you like.”

You can feel as he starts to shuffle beneath you, eager to track down new reading material for you, afraid he’s scared you off, when the fluttering weight of your palm tethers him to his spot.

“No, stay. Keep reading. I want to hear the rest.”

You can practically hear him smile. Relieved. Can feel his dimples manifest without even trying. He kisses your hair, tilts your chin up to kiss you too. The complexity of bergamot and black tea making his supple lips even more bewitching than normal. The window in the corner is cracked open, the humidity it leaks in making your skin sticky as you lean against him.

He’s lovely like this. The rain soaked air mixing with his natural scent, a broad hand on your chin, warm thumb beneath your lip as you mold pliant into his kiss. He ends it with a peck to your lips, a tap of his nose to your nose, before hoisting you so close against him you just may fuse together.

And he reads. He reads until he’s exhausted. Til the rain has stopped, and you’ve drifted to rest pressed against the skin of his chest.

He folds the book shut once your breathing has stilled, his thumb marking the page as he tips you both to lay down sideways. As he extends his pinprick tingling legs for the first time in ages, you hoist yourself around him in your sleep like a koala, and he chuckles. That’s usually his move.

He kisses your hair then, traipsing fingers tenderly through the escaped bits of it that brush across your cheeks. He wonders if you know how madly in love with you he is. How often he’s wondered what he’d do without you. Today, like most days lately, your light was dim, but still kelvins brighter than anyone else’s.

He sends a silent thank you to whatever deity arranged things in such a way that he can hold you to his chest like this as the daylight saving’s darkness floods his studio office. You seemed so sad today, but he knows it won’t last forever. It’ll pass. It always does. He’ll just hold you until it does. And then some.

[karajaynetoday]

i'll be honest, it's better off this way | luke hemmings

image credit 

hello pals! long time no writing! i know it seems a bit weird to post a luke break up fic just after he got engaged but to be fair, I already had this in the works before the news broke yesterday, so soz not soz. It is kind of a happy break up story though... kind of? this one features lyrics from our song by niall and anne marie that are in italics throughout the piece (you know i love a song lyric incorporation lol) and i’m a bit rusty, so any feedback is welcome! a big shoutout to my dearest @notinthesameguey​ for beta-reading this one for me, you’re a gem blanca! enjoy xo

Word count: 2.3k

Warnings:  mentions of a break up and a car accident/hospitalisation (minor/non-graphic)

(This is a fem reader insert)

More writing here | send thoughts/feedback/suggestions here | if you’d like to be on my taglist go here

I'll be honest, I'm alright with me

Sunday mornings, in my own bedsheets

The break up with Luke had been easier than you’d first thought. It’d been months of growing apart, feeling like a stranger in your own home, before you finally worked up the nerve to utter those four words: We need to talk. He’d been spending most days and some nights in the studio, and you’d been working overtime at your job too; you were ships in the night who barely had time to say hello and goodbye, let alone have any sort of proper conversation. You’d spent an entire evening rehearsing a script in your head, and as soon as Luke walked through the door and greeted Petunia, you mustered the courage to stand up and speak your truth. 

It turned out that you weren’t alone in feeling stagnant in your relationship, and although you could feel your heart breaking as you said the words, Luke’s hand on your knee was all the gentle reassurance you needed. Just like always, even when your relationship was falling apart, Luke was there for you. And that’s what he promised, that night in the living room. It didn’t make sense for you two to become strangers overnight after 3 years together, but you also both knew that you needed space to grow and heal, and that space needed to happen sooner rather than later. 

You could tell that part of Luke wanted to fight it, wanted to raise his voice, wanted to convince you to stay. But part of Luke also knew that it was time to walk away, no matter how much his heart was feeling like it was being ripped out of his chest, because he did truly love you, and if he loved you, he’d let you go. 

Even though Luke insisted you could stay in the spare room for as long as you liked, it only took a week or so to find a new place. An apartment in KayKay’s building opened up for rent, and thanks to her help, you secured the lease and started moving in as soon as you could. Ashton accompanied you to Ikea and then helped with assembling a new bed and dining table for you, while KayKay helped unpack some of your boxes. You could tell that they were trying to be sensitive, but at the same time were desperate to know what went down in the break up, and after a few slices of pizza and half a bottle of wine, you felt the emotions rushing to the surface.

“It feels dumb to get upset, after all, I was the one who suggested we should break up.” You sniffled, smiling sadly as Ashton handed you a tissue.

“Just because it was something that needed to happen, doesn’t mean you can’t be sad about it. You two shared a lot in the time you were together, it’s only natural that it’s going to take you a while to untangle yourselves from one another and to get your head and heart back on the path that’s right for you.” KayKay spoke softly, throwing an arm around your shoulders.

You knew she was right, and the healing would come; it was all part of the rollercoaster of walking away from someone you thought was the love of your life, but had turned out not to be. Time to adjust and find some independence, and re-shape the life you found yourself in until it was the life you wanted. 

But every time I think that I can get you out my head, you never, ever let me forget

Once you’d completely moved out Luke’s house, your reasons to contact him became few and far between. A few occasional texts to advise that he’d let his family know about your split, and a link to a new cafe nearby that he thought was your kind of vibe (and it absolutely was). Everyone in your friendship group was trying their best to help you both cope, but it was hard to avoid the awkwardness that came with a break up of close friends.  

You felt like you were walking on eggshells for a while, so you started to say no to invitations out. You threw yourself into a new work project, and barely replied to any group chats. Whenever your friends called, you had the perfect script rehearsed, about how you were going to be up for promotion, and after the next month or so, you’d have plenty more time for catching up with everyone. You were fairly certain that no-one believed your story, but you were sticking to it nonetheless. You’d seen photos online of Luke out and about with various beautiful women amongst the partying crew, and even though you knew better than to torture yourself with doom-scrolling through the internet, you couldn’t help yourself. You had to keep reminding yourself that it was YOU that wanted the breakup, and that it was for the best. Or something like that.

It was coming to the end of your big project, and the entire office decided to head out for celebratory drinks. You only stayed for a couple, because after a month of overtime you were ready for bed. Your boss took you aside to assure you that the promotion was yours and the new contract would be on your desk on Monday, and as you reassured him you were excited to take on the role, a song playing over the bar’s speakers made you stop in your tracks. You’d spent many a Sunday morning dancing around the kitchen making pancakes with Luke and singing these words; something you’d completely forgotten until this moment. As you stepped outside to await your Uber, the first person you wanted to call with the news was Luke. Your fingers hovered over his name for a good few minutes before your Uber driver honked and broke you out of her trance, and you settled for texting the group chat instead to share your exciting update. Lots of confetti and heart eyes emojis started popping up alongside congratulatory messages, and you let out a giggle when you saw that Luke had sent a photo of Petunia with “congrats!” scrawled across it in purple font. It was the last thing you remembered, before the squealing of tyres and your vision going black. 

Just when I think you're gone, Hear our song on the radio

Just like that, takes me back, To the places we used to go

The rhythmic beeping of the hospital monitors was the first thing you noticed as you stirred awake. The second was a dull pain across your skull, and the third was that your arm was in a sling. Fourth was the large, warm hand that was holding your own and gently squeezing; without opening your eyes, you knew it was Luke’s. You felt too weak to say any words, so instead you tried your best to squeeze back as you slowly opened your eyes. You heard a sharp intake of breath, before Luke’s smiling face came into view.

“Hey there, sweetheart. How are you feeling?” Luke asked, reaching up to gently brush some hair out of your eyes.

“Like I was in a car accident.” You managed to croak out, shooting him a wry smile and earning a laugh in return.

“You are correct, you can pass go, and collect $200. A pretty gnarly accident, the car’s a write-off, but thankfully everyone’s injuries are relatively minor. Some dickhead ran a red light.” You could tell Luke was trying to remain calm, but under the surface he was pissed.

“Not ideal, but at least I get a few days off work.” You joked, grimacing as you tried to sit up. Luke stood and gently maneuvered your pillows to support your back and shoulders better, and you felt a zap of electricity as his hands brushed your arms in passing.

As Luke sat back in the chair next to the bed, you suddenly realised that it was just the two of you in the hospital room. 

“No offence, Hemmo, but what are you doing here? Considering we’re no longer significant others, and all…” You said awkwardly, looking down at your arm sling with sudden great interest.

“Very observant, dear. Glad to see the concussion hasn’t affected your short term memory, I was worried you’d forget me entirely. You did, however, forget to update your emergency contact details, so I guess I was first on the list for the hospital to call. Ash, KayKay and I have been taking shifts but they’re out getting food right now - “ The rest of Luke’s explanation was cut off by a gasp and a cheer at the door, signalling Ashton and KayKay’s return and subsequent delight at you being awake.

The days that followed were uncomfortable physically, but kind of heartwarming emotionally. You got home to your apartment thanks to KayKay’s assistance, and found that your friends had stocked your fridge and freezer full of ready-made meals and your favourite snacks. They’d also made a roster so not a day went by without someone popping in to check on you, although you noticed that Luke never came by. 

Your recovery was slow but steady, and soon enough the doctors gave you the all clear. At this point, it was nearly 6 months since you’d broken up with Luke, and you could feel your mindset shifting. He was no longer the first person you wanted to call with good or bad news, or the first memories that popped into your head when you needed cheering up. It almost felt like… relief? Because for the longest time, even though you knew the break up was for the best, detaching yourself from one another seemed almost in possible after so many years of so many memories. 

I've been waking up alone, I haven't thought of him for days

I'll be honest, It's better off this way

The tipping point came at Calum’s birthday party, a month or so later. Ashton had invited you out for coffee and nonchalantly mentioned that maybe, possibly, well actually extremely likely almost definitely Luke was bringing a date to the gathering at Cal’s house; a girl he’d been seeing for a month or so. Everyone wanted you to be comfortable, and everyone, Cal especially, wanted you to be there, but they also understood if you wanted to avoid any potential awkward encounters with Luke and his new love interest. You assured Ashton that it would be fine, that you honestly weren’t bothered, and laughed off his suggestion of setting you up with a super hot blind date to help level the playing field.

The night came along, and you found yourself stumbling along Calum’s front path in the dark as you tried not to drop the gift you’d bought for him (a new cookbook and a collection of various hot sauces).  “Bloody 5sos and the “no good party starts until 11pm rule”, you muttered to yourself as you almost tripped over again, and you heard an indignant shout that sounded very Ashton-like behind you.

“Oi! Don’t be mad at us, you know that rule has never let us down!” Ashton bellowed, as he came forward with his phone flashlight switched on, KayKay not too far behind him.

“Damn girl, you like fiiiiiine!” KayKay said, letting out a low whistle. You rolled your eyes, knowing she was exaggerating. Your outfit was essentially a denim skirt and a t-shirt - maybe you’d sexed it up a little bit with some thigh high boots, tousled hair and a red lip, but all’s fair in love and war, right?

The three of you made it inside, and a very tipsy Calum greeted you with open arms and a lot of excitement at your gift of hot sauce. It felt so nice to be back with all your friends at a house party, like the old days, and you found yourself stepping out onto the back patio for a moment of quiet reflection and to share some pats with Duke.

You’d exchanged a wave with Luke when you’d entered the house, but hadn’t quite worked up the confidence to go up and speak to him, especially when he had his new girl in close proximity. She looked really friendly, though, and you could tell from the spark in both of their eyes that their relationship was blossoming in the best possible way. Part of you thought you’d be upset about it, but all you truly felt was content. Content in your life as it was, surrounded by friends that loved you just as much as you loved them, and actually quite proud of how far you’d come over the past year. You’d learned to stand on your own two feet, and you’d grown into a much more settled, independent human as a result. 

You were lost in your train of thought when you heard the song change on the speakers inside. Duke’s ears perked up and he licked your hand attentively when you stopped patting him as the song registered - it was your song. Or at least, it used to be. You felt a smile creep onto your face when you remembered the Sunday mornings of pancakes and singalongs, and the smile grew wider when you saw Luke’s girlfriend dragging him onto the dancefloor, much to his (fake) protests. You made eye contact with your kind-hearted, softly-smiling, gentle-eyed ex-boyfriend, and for a split second you saw a flash of concern cross his face. In response, you raised your glass in a cheers and shot him a wink, which earned a smile and a small laugh from Luke before he turned his attention back to the beautiful girl in his arms. You took a sip, and smiled to yourself. It truly was better off this way. 

When I hear it, I just can't stop smiling, I remember you're gone

Baby, it's just a song on the radio, That we used to know

Taglist: If there’s a line through your name, I couldn’t tag you, so please message me to let me know your new URL or what the go is!   @suchalonelysunflower @blackbutterfliescal @redrattlers @loveroflrh @spicycal @notinthesameguey @metalandboybands @cheekysos @ashton-trash  @another-lonely-heart @queenalienscherrypie  @becihadshawn  @allthestarsandthemoon  @oyesmendes​ @andrianawinchester @333-xx  @findingliam-o @hoodhoran @rbforsmileycal @myloverboyash @myhappylittleyoutubee @saywhatnow07 @secretsicanthideanymore @ar1analara  @killmywildflower​

[trashforhockeyguys]

Don't Hold Me -15- Carter Hart

A/N: Hi things are wild now. Are things, talks about sex. Like...a lot in the first part of this chapter. And um the very end of this chapter could be triggering? No harm comes to anyone, but it’s the start of it all. So please be aware of that moving forward. Other than that, all previous parts are linked in my master list and I hope you enjoy.

Your whole body was warm. Carter was still next to you, looking at you with something more than just love. There was love, so much love. The two of you said it time and time again in the previous hours. His fingers danced lazily across the bare skin of your shoulders and back. You felt nothing but content in his arms, in his bed. It was like everything was just as it was meant to be. You were right where you were always supposed to land.

“This is nice,” You whispered, feeling like any sound would ruin the perfect morning. 

Warm light was coming in from the windows, the sun still working its way up the morning sky. Though the two of you had been awake for hours, you still felt like the world was waiting for one of you to make the first move. Almost as if everything outside was frozen, just waiting. 

“Yeah, it really is,” He replied, voice soft and deep. 

“A girl could really get used to this,” You smiled and shifted closer to him, wincing a bit as your muscles protested the movement. 

Carter seemed to take notice, worry flooding his face, “Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”

You smiled softly, oddly comforted by his worry. But Carter was arguably the gentlest person you knew, he’d rather hurt himself than hurt you. You ran your fingers through his messy hair. Your heart seemed to ache at the thought that he believed that he hurt you. 

“You didn’t hurt me,” You said softly, “Far from it actually. Trust me.”

“Y/N-”

“Carter, that was arguably the best sex I’ve had. I’m more than fine.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at the shock that took over his face. You knew that was the last thing he expected you to say. You were always so quiet and shy, he didn’t expect you to be so bold. You leaned over to kiss him. You hadn’t imagined at the start of the school year that you’d be here, but you couldn’t say that you were mad about it, not in the slightest. 

“I don’t think you’ve ever been that direct before,” He marveled, still not entirely sure he heard you right. 

“You should’ve known me before, I was nothing if not blunt,” You laughed, “Got me into a lot of trouble.”

You tried not to think about exactly what kind of trouble. Exactly why you weren’t that fearless girl anymore. Or who made sure you weren’t that girl. You tried not to think about the fact that he was still in the city. He promised he would be back, and one thing about him was that he never broke his word. No matter how vile it was. 

“So,” Carter said, breaking the silence and pulling you away from your thoughts, “Best sex?”

Your face burned with a blush as you attempted to hide your face in his chest. He laughed, wrapping his arms back around you. You felt like this was normal, like this was how life was meant to be. You were meant to wake up next to him, joke around with him, live this life with him. 

He held you tighter and kissed the top of your head. You couldn’t understand how this felt so normal. Like you’d been spending all of your mornings like this. Like nothing was ever any different. Now you really wished that nothing ever had to change. You’d be happy if you woke up like this every morning. 

“It was amazing,” He whispered to you, “You’re amazing.”

“Shut up,” You groaned, trying to cover the strange sense of embarrassment that you felt. 

“I love you,” His hand gently ran through your hair, soothing you. 

“I love you,” You didn’t even have to think about a reply. You loved him, so much. Why try and hide that now? He knew. And you were more than happy about that. 

In the warm light of the morning, you were both able to say it, without having to feel like you had to hide it. You could snuggle into that feeling and never let it go, you’d be more than happy to do that. You almost wanted to follow him anywhere because of it. You weren’t sure if you could make it an entire summer without seeing him. 

“I like hearing you say that,” You could hear his smile without even having to see it. 

You smiled. You could hear his heartbeat, steady and strong. You decided that it was one of the best sounds in the whole world. Everything about him was just addicting to you, his voice, his smile, his laugh, all of it. You didn’t want to change anything about him. You didn’t want to change anything about being with him.

Your phone started ringing from the nightstand next to you, no doubt Kora trying to figure out what time you were going to be back on campus. The two of you had to meet up with a couple other people from one of your classes for a group project, which you weren’t exactly looking forward to. 

“No, turn it off,” Carter protested, “You’re staying here all day.”

“Cart, I can’t,” Even you were disappointed about that fact, “I have a project I have to work on.”

“What if I just don’t let you get up?”

“Do you want me to fail my class?” You questioned, knowing he was joking with you. 

“If it meant I could keep you in my bed all day, then maybe.”

“Says the man who never went to college.”

He laughed, almost snorted in fact. You were too comfortable with him, far too comfortable. But you didn’t hate it, you savored it in fact. You only wished you found him sooner. You wished you would’ve allowed yourself to open up to him before now, things could’ve been like this all along. 

“I have to go.”

“No.”

“Carter, I’ll be back. It’s just a couple of hours,” You laughed, poking his bare chest.

“Ugh, fine. Leave me,” He groaned, dramatically joking. 

You couldn’t help but laugh as you leaned up to kiss him again. You felt heat spread through your body,and for a moment you considered just staying in bed with him. You could call Kora and claim you were sick, and she could make up a better reason as to why you didn’t show up. But you also knew that you couldn’t exactly afford a bad grade on this, especially given that the professor was a hardass. 

You sat up, wrapping the blanket around your naked body. Your legs shook as you stood, taking the blanket with you as you did. Behind you, Carter protested to you taking his blanket, grabbing for the sheets. You ran into the closet to grab some clothes. You could hear his laugh as the blanket drug behind you. 

You came out a few minutes later, dressed in a baggy sweatshirt and sweatpants that were Carter’s. He was scrolling through something on his phone, a soft smile tugged at his lips as he typed out something. 

You leaned against the doorframe and just watched him for a moment. A few moments of just pure peace. A mundane morning, simple, normal. Something you’d craved for years. 

“Travis told me to tell you to ‘get off your ass’ and go see him,” Carter nearly snorted, “Said you haven’t replied to his texts this morning.”

You smiled and walked back over to him, dropping the blanket back onto the bed, “We’ll, I was preoccupied.”

“Yeah don’t think he needs to know that.”

You laughed, knowing Travis would likely have a heartattck and then try to murder Carter. You leaned down to kiss him again, wishing you could just stay with him, because that’s truly all you wanted to do. 

“I’ll be back later. I promise.”

“Tell Kora I said hi,” He waited until you were almost out of sight before he added, “You look good in my clothes.”

“Shut up,” You laughed, grabbing your bag and the few books you brought over. 

The ride back to campus seemed shorter than you remembered. The whole way, you just kept replaying the previous hours you spent with Carter. The thought of every gentle touch, every kiss, every movement...you didn’t think there could be a moment more perfect than those you shared this morning.

Kora was buried in her course notes when you got into the dorm. She didn’t often look disheveled, not in a way that wasn’t intentional, but she looked like she’d been up all night. Her whole body was moving to the beat of the music that was playing in her headphones. 

When you walked bay, you pulled back one of her headphones, “Honey I’m home.”

“Hey,” She said not phased, “Oh hey, wait something fell out of your notebook yesterday, it’s on your desk.”

“Oh, probably one of my thousands of notes from Hartman’s lecture on Monday,” You waved it off and jumped on your bed, “I swear I have to take notes at the speed of light to keep up in that class.”

“Hold you Hartman was the Devil’s Spawn.”

You shrugged and grabbed a pillow to hug, feeling the need for something, “How was your night?”

“Spent a lot of it on the phone with Ethan while I worked on a paper,” She finished writing something and then turned around, “How was your night?”

“Carter played great, and we just kinda hung out.”

“Did you tell him you love him?”

You shrugged, “Something like that.” 

“Oh my god, you? Wow, okay. Do we need to talk about this? Are you okay?” She instantly shifted into a big sister mode, sitting down in front of you on your bed, “You’re okay right?”

“Yeah, I’m good,” You replied honestly, “I’m happy. Kora...I’m really really happy.”

She smiled, like a weight was lifted off of her shoulders, “Thank God. I really like Carter.”

There was something about finally saying that you were happy, finally at peace that made your heart kind of soar. You were happy with him. Happier than you thought you could be. You didn’t understand how you’d gone from trying to keep him as far away from you as possible to this in a couple of months.

“We need to go,” She said, rounding her up her bags, “We’re going to be late and we all need that A.”

Later on that week, you were happily sitting on the couch at Travis’s place with Nolan while Travis dug around in the fridge for a drink. None of you were really paying attention to the movie playing on the TV. Instead, you were all just enjoying the company. 

“Hey! Don’t touch my food!” You swatted at Nolan’s hand. 

“You said I could have some!”

“That is not what I said and you know it!”

“No, I’m pretty sure you said you would share,” Travis chimed in, grabbing a chip from you.

“Damnit you two, let me eat!”

They both laughed and settled back into their seats. You felt bad for not spending more time with them. There was a time when Travis and Nolan were the only people you had in the city. So much had changed since the first time Travis called you after you moved here. Hell, so much had changed since the start of this season alone. None of you were the same people. You certainly weren’t the same. 

“Oh yeah, can I draw you guys for my final project? We have to do a portrait series, and a bunch of other things,” You told them, “It’s worth a shit ton of my grade.”

“Kid, you’ve been drawing me since the day I met you,” Travis laughed, “As long as you get an A, and draw my good side I don’t care.”

“Not a kid Trav, but thanks for that,” You laughed, “I won’t make you sit for it this time. Just wanted permission from you two.”

“Yeah, I don’t care,” Nolan replied, taking another bite out of his sandwich. 

“Cool,” You were getting ready to grab more food when Travis’s hand snuck over and grabbed more chips, “I swear to god Travis! Try that one more time and you lose that hand! See how easy it is to play hockey and fish then!”

“Easy man, She’s hangry.”

“Damn right I am, you two keep taking my food,” you couldn’t help but laugh at both men. 

After the three of you finished eating, Travis pulled out the controllers for the Xbox, stating that Nolan needed to get his ass beat in NHL by you. The two of them always seemed to find a way to remind you what it felt like to be a kid. They made things simpler, easier to work through. 

The following hours were spent screaming at one another and the TV during many games of NHL. How those two could play the real thing all the time and still want to play the game still surprised you. But you were happy because of it. It meant you got to spend more time with both of them. 

There was no need for questions, or anything like that. Instead, you just played the game and screamed at one another non stop. When you were with them, you felt like a teenager again. Like you were still back home, playing NHL in the basement with Ethan and Travis and a couple of the other guys on that team.

Travis’s apartment was home in ways you couldn’t really explain. But it was home. 

“So, Carter’s treating you right, isn’t he?” Travis asked when Nolan went to the bathroom, “Because I swear I’ll beat his ass raw if he isn’t.”

You laughed. Travis was uncomfortable, but he knew that since Ethan had home back home, it was his job to look after you. Even if that meant potentially threatening one of his own teammates. He loved Carter, but he loved you more. You were his sister. The sister he never had, and he would take care of you for as long as you’d let him.

“Carter is perfect, you don’t need to worry Travis.” You assured him. 

“Perfect? Hartsy? Okay.”

You laughed and bit your thumb, “Trust me, you don’t want details.” 

“Huh?” He looked away from the TV, the realization of what you said finally setting in, “Oh. OH. No! No thank you. You can keep that to yourself. I don’t need that image in my head. Remind me to shoot for the 5-hole and miss at practice tomorrow.”

You grabbed the pillow next to you and lobbed it at his head, both of you starting to laugh uncontrollably. You felt light, free. You missed feeling like this when you were with both of them. You weren’t worried about a thing as Travis handed you and Nolan a beer and went back for one of his own. You weren’t thinking about anything aside from trash talking both of them as they played against each other. You were free. Finally. 

The sun was starting to set when your phone went off with a text from Carter. You smiled almost automatically. Travis and Nolan both nudged you, making fun of your sudden shift. But secretly, they loved that Carter was able to make you this happy and this at ease. 

Travis hadn’t seen you like this since you were in your early teens, and Nolan only saw a glimpse or two when you were very very drunk. For Travis, it was like a weight was finally off his chest, he could breathe easier knowing you’d found a way to put yourself back together. And Nolan was happy to finally be getting to know the real you. 

“Seems I was right,” Travis laughed, “You did like Carter. Told you that you just needed to give him a chance.”

“Asshole. I have to go, he’s waiting outside. Apparently, he’s taking me out for dinner.”

“We have to give you back so soon?” Nolan whined. 

You smacked his arm and got up to grab your bag, “You two have a good practice tomorrow, and try not to murder him?”

Travis wrapped you into a right hug, “I could never. He makes you too happy. I don’t want to be responsible for taking that away.”

You ruffled Nolan’s hair as you walked back by, “See you two later. I’m reinstating our weekly lunches.”

“Finally!” Nolan yelled, “You pick better places than TK. He eats shit.”

“We’ll, I’ll pick somewhere good.”

Hours after dinner, you and Carter slowly made your way back to the apartment. Both of you were still laughing about a joke he made before you even left dinner. You felt as if you were in your own little world with him. It was just the two of you. 

You kissed in the elevator, not even caring if anyone saw. You had never really been like this before. You were carefully and calculated. Yet Carter made you want to be everything other than that. You wanted to be reckless and crazy with him.

“Woah, hey hey hey,” He pushed against your shoulders to stop you, and then tucked you behind him, “Stay here.”

You looked up, seeing exactly what he was. The door to the apartment was open. He never left it open. You knew that. He always locked it. It wasn’t meant to be open. He carefully took a few steps towards the door and nudged it open the rest of the way. The lights were all on, but the whole apartment was quiet. 

“Carter-”

“Shh,” He whispered, walking further inside. 

You followed closely behind him. You clutched onto his arm as you made your way into the kitchen. Glass was shattered all over on the floor, the flowers you brought here a few days ago were trampled and strewn across the living room. The whole apartment was ransacked. 

“We need to call the cops, and the building security,” Carter told you, “This is...I have to call.”

He rubbed his face and stepped away, fishing his phone out of his back pocket. You took a few slow steps towards the bedroom. Clothes were everywhere, pictures thrown. Your chest hurt. Tears burned your eyes as you saw a picture of Carter and you had been torn and the frame smashed. Your safe place was gone now. 

“They’ll be up here in a few more minutes,” Carter told you, walking into the bedroom, “And the Police are just behind.”

“Carter,” You turned around, tears running down your cheeks now. 

“It’s going to be okay,” He pulled you into a tight hug, kissing the top of your head, “We’ll fix this.”

Your gut twisted when you heard people entering the apartment. He pulled away and hurried to meet them. Every sense of safety disappeared when you noticed the piece of paper on your pillow. You didn’t have to look at it to know who it was from. To know who did this. 

You slowly made your way over to it, unfolding it. 

I TOLD YOU. YOU OWE ME. YOU CANT HIDE BEHIND YOUR PERFECT LIFE. ILL BURN IT TO THE GROUND LIKE YOU BURNED MINE. HAVE FUN BEING HIS WHORE. HE WONT WANT YOU WHEN IM DONE.

You felt like you couldn’t breathe. You quickly folded the note and shoved it into your pocket when you heard Carter and whoever was with him approaching the room. You tried not to think about the fact that he had been here. He found a way to destroy everything again and again. 

You could hear all of them talking, but words didn’t register to you. Not when a simple piece of paper felt like a million pounds in your pocket. You didn’t think that he would ever go this far. You didn’t think that, after everything, he would be capable of doing this. 

You jumped when Carter touched you. You weren’t sure how long you’d been standing there. Or how long people had been talking all around you. 

“I’m going to take you back to campus,” He said quietly, “I’m going to go stay with one of the guys.”

You wanted to protest, to say that you didn’t want to leave him. However, you couldn’t find any words. You could hardly move or breathe. Carter tried not to let the worry eat at him as he drove you back to your dorm. He tried to remind himself that this was harder for you than he could understand. You had so few places that you felt safe in, so few people that you felt safe with. And somehow, one of those places was ripped from you tonight. No one seemed to know how it was even possible for someone to get into the building or into the apartment. 

You were shaking in your seat, your hands cold as ice. He could see that you were fighting against something, but he didn’t know how to help. He didn’t know what he was meant to do. He could see you retreating further into yourself. He could see you slipping further and further away. He felt his own type of panic, he didn’t want to lose you. But he could feel it happening. 

“Do you want me to stay with you?” He asked, desperate for anything. He would sleep on the floor next to your bed if he had to. He just wanted you to know that you weren’t alone. 

You shook your head. You didn’t want him near you. Not if it meant he could be in danger. You didn’t want to hurt Carter, or be the reason that he life had to change. So if you had to, you would remove yourself from his life. You would shoulder that hurt, and everything that could go with your past. If to only save him. If only to keep him from seeing the same horrors that threatened to keep you up every night. 

“Kora is on her way out to meet us. So you don’t have to walk up alone,” He told you, trying to reach over for your hand. 

You flinched away, momentarily forgetting it was only Carter. You could see the hurt on his face. You hadn’t flinched away from him in months. You trusted him, or at least he thought you did. But that simple movement made him feel like it would all come crashing down. 

“Good night Carter,” You whispered when you saw Kora running out of the dorm.

“Y/N...I’m sorry. I don’t know what to do.”

You could hear the pain without even looking at Carter. You hated this. You hated that you didn’t know what else to do. You hated that even in Philadelphia, he was still finding a way to ruin your life. All because you were the one who dared to try to put a stop to him.

 You hated that Carter was now brought into this, and you didn’t know how to really save him. You had no idea what you were meant to do. Not when it was your fault. He had a career and something like this could surely ruin it. You knew the media would know about the breakin, and people would start asking questions. 

All you knew to do was push him away, and keep pushing until he would be safe. Keep pushing until he wasn’t a target anymore. Until Carter was out of the picture, and all that remained was you. 

“Good night,” You said again, voice feeling smaller as you closed the door. 

You could feel your heart cracking with every step away from him that you took. You were drawing a new line in the sand, and this one couldn’t be crossed. Not with Carter at stake. You loved him...and it was because you loved him that you needed him to stay as far away from you as possible. It was because you loved him that you had to leave him. You had to make sure that he would have peace in his life...not the war that was beginning. 

“Sweetie, are you okay?” Kora threw her arms around you, she was just as scared as you were. 

“No…”

“Okay, c’mon lets get you inside.”

She turned to wave at Carter. You wondered if he knew how hard this would be for you. You wondered if he knew that you were hurting just like he was. Kora kept an arm around you as the two of you made your way back into your dorm room. It felt so small compared to Carter’s apartment. Your bed, which was less than half the size of his, felt so cold. Even if your body took up most of the space. 

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No...I just want to go to sleep.”

She sighed and turned out her lamp, “I’m here. Whenever you decide you’re ready. You aren’t alone in this.”

All you wanted to tell her was that you were. In order to minimize the damage, you had to be. You had to face all of this on your own. Just so that you could protect all of them. You wouldn’t let them become collateral in something you started years before you came here. You would face him on your own...because you had to. Because this time, it was your turn to protect them.

[blindingdutchy]

lamentation | TWO

{peter parker x fem!reader AU}

based on All the Bright Places by Jennifer Niven

SERIES MASTERLIST

word count: 3,495

warnings: depression, anxiety, mental illness! angst, fluff if you squint really hard

18+!!! minors stay away

Peter Parker was relentless, insufferable, and extremely annoying. It all started the morning after what you'd decided to call The Encounter, and it had been unending ever since. Nearly a week had passed since that fateful night, and you'd yet to see a day at school where Peter didn't try his hardest to get under your skin.

On Monday he sat next to you in Calculus, and no matter how blatantly you ignored him for the entire class, he continued to whisper facts about himself and stupid little jokes to you. You wished you could say you hadn't listened, but ever since that morning you'd been unable to forget that his favorite color was red, his Aunt packed him a lunch every day that he threw away because she couldn't cook, and his middle name was Benjamin. Why he thought you needed or even wanted to know such things you weren't sure, but even more befuddling was the fact that you couldn't un-learn them.

When Tuesday rolled around he stepped it up a notch, much to your dismay. He sat with you during Calculus and insisted on jogging with you during gym class, feigning that he was out of breath despite your slow pace and the fact that you were certain he could run for miles without getting winded. He told you more jokes then, too. One of which you begrudgingly found yourself exhaling a little harder over whenever it popped into your head; what did one stranger say to the other? Nothing. They didn't know each other.

Wednesday was the worst, because Peter made a scene. You came into calculus late and the teacher scolded you in front of the class, at which point you got flustered and tripped over your untied shoe laces. Your books spilled to the floor and you tumbled to your knees in front of everyone, and the whole class laughed. But Peter? Peter just had to be the hero, and your blood boiled at his actions.

He'd dramatically swept all his books off of his desk, feigning surprise at the loud clatter as if he hadn't done it intentionally. When the teacher scolded him, too, he just apologized and made a show of picking up each of his things one by one. "Why did you do that?" you'd hissed as you sat down, scowling at the brown-eyed boy who just blinked at you innocently.

"Do what?"

He'd ran with you in gym class again, and he'd even followed you to your locker afterwards. In all the years you'd known of Peter, you had never known him to be much of a talker. In fact, he seemed like a rather shy boy who didn't like to branch out much. With you, though, that was far from the case. Silence was a pipe dream with him around.

On Thursday he sat next to you in Calculus, ran with you in gym, walked you to your locker, and went so far as to sit with you at lunch. You'd put your earbuds in and blasted music as loud as you could without hurting yourself too much, but every time you looked up you could see he was still talking. Part of you wondered why he was being so relentless, but you didn't want to ask. If you asked he would think you cared, and you didn't. You didn't care at all, and the sooner he figured that out, the sooner he would leave you alone.

Or, at least you hoped so. As you walked into school on Friday morning, you groaned at the sight of Peter waiting patiently beside your locker. "What do you want, Parker?" you gritted out, glaring at him as you twisted the dial to enter your combination.

He grinned in spite of your glare, "I'm walking you to Calculus today, obviously. How was your night, (Y/N)? Do anything fun?"

"What part of I don't need friends did you not understand?" you demanded, giving him a stale look as you swung the metal door open with a clang. Peter blinked at you, clearly not used to you actually speaking back to him, and further uncomfortable with your hostility. What did he expect? Did he expect for you to suddenly be happy? To not be completely fucked up anymore just because he started talking to you?

He replaced his lazy smile and shrugged, retorting, "You know my secret and I know yours. That makes us friends."

You wanted to scream at him. You wanted to shout, yell, stomp your feet, and throw a tantrum fit for a child. Friends were not something you wanted or needed, and you certainly didn't want to be friends with Peter Parker. You didn't want to be friends with someone just because they were worried you'd spill their dirty little secret, or because they pitied the girl who wanted to die.

The black hole in your chest was worse than ever that day, and it sucked away all the fight you had in you. So, with a roll of your eyes, you stuffed your earbuds in your ears and tuned him out once more. Just like he had at lunch, Peter continued to ramble even though he knew you weren't listening, and you pretended you didn't see his lips moving at the speed of light.

For once, at the very least, he at least shut up in class. You were thankful for the break from his incessant chatter, the endless monologue you couldn't escape from when you were stuck in a desk while Mr. Tinley droned on and on. Calculus was far from interesting, but you found yourself beyond relieved to finally be able to pay any sort of attention to the lesson.

Friday was steadily continuing along the same path every other day had since The Encounter. Peter thankfully parted ways with you after Calculus, but quickly rejoined you two classes later in Gym. From Gym he was glued to your side through lunch until you escaped to your Spanish class, which you thankfully didn't share with him, but the solitude was short lived. Your last class of the day was one you also shared with Peter, and prior to that day he had remained seated with his friends.

That day, though, he plopped down in the seat beside you with a cheerful smile. "Ready for our new project?" he asked, skipping the greeting he knew you wouldn't return.

"Huh?" you asked, blinking at him in bewilderment. New project? Our? What was he talking about?

Peter beamed back at you, clearly pleased that you hadn't snapped at him for once. "Our new project! Didn't you see the list on the door? We're partners." he explained, and you stiffened.

It was too big of a coincidence to truly be happenstance. All week Peter had been pestering you, perpetually following you around and talking your ear off, and now he just happened to be assigned as your partner for the final Speech project? He did something. That was the only logical conclusion.

Your eyes narrowed as you stared at him with as much intensity as you could muster. "Peter, what did you do?" you growled.

Peter's eyes widened at your tone, and he shifted in his seat nervously with a sheepish smile. "What do you mean?" he questioned coyly, and you scowled at him fiercely. "I didn't do anything, (Y/N)."

"Bullshit." you snapped, "I find it hard to believe that we just happened to be assigned partners after how obsessively you've been harassing me all week."

He gaped at you, "Harassed? What?" he stammered, "(Y/N), let's calm down--I haven't... I haven't been harassing you. I just want you to know I really do want to be your friend."

You scoffed at his excuse, "Shut up, Peter. Just leave me alone! I don't want to be your friend, okay? My lips are sealed. I won't tell anyone your secret, just leave me alone!"

With one finally glare, you lurched out of your seat and stomped to one far away from the still aghast boy. As you settled into your new seat, ignoring the strange looks from your classmates who witnessed your outburst, you wrinkled your nose and picked at your nails angrily. As much as you were angry with Peter, you were also angry with yourself.

You were angry that he'd stopped you, and you'd let him. You were angry at the world for letting your sister die. You were angry at your sister for saving you when she should have saved herself. Most of all, though, you were angry with yourself for how you were acting. Even though she wasn't there, you could almost hear your sister scolding you for how you'd treated Peter.

She always was the levelheaded, rational sister. The good sister. The better sister. She would have been ashamed of how you'd been ignoring Peter, ranting to you, "He's just trying to be there for you, idiot. Stop being such a jerk and let him help you. You need to stop being so stubborn..."

You listened eagerly to Ms. Lovell's lesson and instruction for the new project. It wasn't because you were genuinely interested, because you weren't, but it was something to distract you. It was something to drown out the voice of your sister that was echoing through your skull, rattling you to your core as you tried to keep your emotions at bay.

This was the hardest part of losing your sister. She'd been so close to you, so important to you, it was impossible to not think of her in every moment of every day. It was impossible not to think of what she'd have done, instead of what you had done. It was impossible not to think of what she'd have thought of your actions, what she'd have said to you, of what she'd have wanted you to do.

She had been your voice of reason, your confidant, your role model. She'd always been so much better than you, someone you aspired to be like, and now that she was gone the comparisons were so much heavier on your head. Why couldn't it have been you instead of her? She would never have had such a hard time like you were.

For instance, she wouldn't have been so bitter. She wouldn't have been so filled with rage, hatred, or despair. She wouldn't have blamed anyone, not even herself, and she wouldn't have hated the people who had killed you. She always did love a good superhero, and even if you'd have died at the hands of the Avengers like she had, she would have found a reason to still have faith in them. She would have forgiven them.

This project was going to be a tough one, and not just because you were going to have to work with Peter Parker. "This is going to be a persuasive speech, guys, so you're able to pick your stance freely so long as it pertains to the Avengers. For example, you could persuade us that they're bad, if that's how you feel." Ms. Lovell explained, "Just be prepared to face debate from the class. Each group has to face five full minutes of argument from the class and be able to firmly debate their stance."

A project in which you'd have to argue your stance pertaining to the superheroes that had killed your sister, and you were working with Peter-Spiderman-Parker. Great, you thought to yourself, this was going to be a nightmare. There was no way the two of you would agree on what stance to persuade; you hated superheroes, and he was one, for God's sake.

You glanced over at Peter, only to catch him already staring at you. The pair of you quickly looked away from each other, but you noticed the way his cheeks flared red in embarrassment. How long had he been watching you? Was he dreading the project now as much as you were?

He probably didn't know how you felt about the Avengers. Not many people really cared enough to read about what had happened to your sister, and you weren't exactly in the right state of mind to be out protesting the many shortcomings of the superheroes. You wondered, though, how he would react when he found out.

Lying was an option, but there was no way you'd be able to debate in favor of the Avengers without breaking. Could you debate against them without losing it either, though? You weren't entirely sure. It was a sore subject and you were certainly not looking forward to having to dedicate your time to speaking about them.

Peter lingered by his seat after class was dismissed, staring at you awkwardly as he told his friends he would catch up with them later. You could see the strange, weary looks they shot you, but you chose to ignore them. Everyone looked at you a little funny ever since the incident, and you'd long ago grown accustomed to it. This time, though, you couldn't help but think they were looking at you strangely for a reason other than your sister.

You had two options. You could suck it up and talk to Peter right then, or you could continue to ignore him until you were forced to do the project. Catching his warm brown eyes as he timidly watched you, you sighed. It was now or never; maybe if you were nicer he'd back off a little with the obsessive tendencies.

"So," you drawled, approaching him shyly, "how are we gonna do this?"

This was what she would have wanted you to do; that's what you chanted in your head as you forced yourself to at least seem somewhat approachable. "Uh, we could--we could meet up tomorrow? You could come to my apartment." he stuttered, scratching his neck awkwardly and fiddling with his backpack.

He radiated nervous energy, and the black hole inside of you consumed it greedily. You twiddled your thumbs just as nervously as you replied, "Do you, um, do you mind coming to my house instead? My parents are--they're a little weird about me going out because of... yeah."

God, his stutter was rubbing off on you, and you cringed at the way you stumbled over your words like a fool. It had been such a long time since you'd invited anyone to your house, let alone talked to anyone besides your parents and your therapist, and it was stressing you out. The exhaustion of the day was wearing you down rapidly, and having to socialize was making it worse.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, of course!" he spluttered, "Uh, could I get your number? So I can, like, text you when I'm coming?"

You hoped he didn't notice how much your fingers were shaking as you took his phone, struggling to type in your number as you mistyped multiple times. Once you'd saved your contact into his phone, you sent yourself a text so that you'd have his number too. You didn't exactly answer unknown numbers anymore, though if you were honest, you often didn't answer people you knew either. That was what drove your friends away.

Peter shot you a shy smile as you handed his phone back, and he asked, "Do you want to get started tonight, maybe? I could call you."

Biting your cheek, you paled. Tonight? You were exhausted, and the thought of having to talk for any longer made you nauseous. "No offense, Peter, but I... I really just need a break. This week has been a lot." you mumbled, avoiding his eyes as you stared at your feet.

"Oh, yeah, totally." he acquiesced, "I'll, uh, I'll see you tomorrow."

You didn't reply, only giving him a tight lipped smile that probably looked more like a grimace as you quickly walked away. Once you were out of his sight, your entire body drooped and the numbness steadily washed over you. It had been the longest day, and you were once again grateful for the escape from the overwhelming emotions.

Ever since she died, it was as if all your emotions were on overdrive. There were the many constant ones, like the guilt, shame, and anguish over her death. Along with those were more fleeting ones, like anger, disgust, and fear. Peter, though, he brought about a whole slew of new and equally as intense feelings that drained you.

He made you feel things like anxiety, apprehension, and hope. There was anxiety both due to his wild behavior in regards to you, but also because you feared he might tell people what he'd seen. The apprehension was due to your suspicion he was only so interested because you knew his secret, and was just as fearful that you would tell. But the hope, the stupid anticipation, was the worst.

It was the worst because a stupid part of you hoped he was genuine. You wanted him to really want to be your friend with no ulterior motives because, no matter how much you denied it, you really did need a friend. You wanted a friend. You wanted to let someone in.

You weren't buying it, though, because you were certain you couldn't handle the heartbreak of being wrong about his intentions and discovering he really did only care about his secret. You weren't going to let him hurt you, and if you had to shut yourself off from the world and hurt yourself to prevent it, then so be it. It was easier that way.

Peter Parker: hey i know you said you didn't want to start tonight but that doesn't mean we can't get to know each other

Peter Parker: so if you want, lets play 20 questions! i'll start. what's your favorite movie?

The typing cursor blinked at you tauntingly as you laid on your bed, huddled under the blankets with your thumbs hovering over the keys. That stupid part of you that wanted to make your sister proud begged you to go along with it, to let him be a friend, but you were terrified. You were terrified of the way you actually opened the text and went to reply without hesitation, something you hadn't done since before the incident. You were terrified of the way you wanted to reply, but the only thing that gave you pause was the fact that you didn't have an answer.

Movies weren't something you'd given much thought to in awhile. You knew all of your sister's favorite movies by heart, but your favorite movie? It was as if your brain opened an empty drawer. You didn't know what your favorite movie was.

You: i don't know

Peter Parker: what do you mean you don't know

Peter Parker: do you not like movies?!

You: i just don't know okay

You: i can't remember the last time i watched a movie.

That was a lie. You very well could remember the last time you'd watched a movie, and that was because it was with her. The weekend before she'd died, your sister had dragged you to the theater to watch some cheesy romance film she'd been gushing about for weeks. It was awful, but it was so utterly her that you'd weirdly enjoyed it. You enjoyed it because it made her happy.

Peter Parker: that's crazy wow

Peter Parker: no offense sorry

Peter Parker: it's your turn to ask

You: what's your favorite movie

Peter Parker: star wars but you can't ask the same question!! try again

You: fine

You: what's your favorite food?

Was talking to boys always this hard? You couldn't remember the last time you'd had to get to know someone, but you didn't think it had ever been so nerve wracking. Was something wrong with you? Was everything destined to be this hard now that she was gone?

Peter Parker: anything from Delmar's

Peter Parker: best sandwiches in Queens

Peter Parker: since you got a double and you technically didn't answer my first question, i'm asking you the same but also what's your happiest memory

Everything was always going to be hard. Reading his response, your lungs deflated in your chest and the numbness gave way to the all too familiar sensation of despair. She'd always loved Delmar's, insisting on getting the same sandwich from there every single Friday after school, and it had been your thing.

Would there ever be anything that didn't remind you of her? Remind you of the hole punched in your life where she used to be? It was hard enough dealing with the empty space in your room where her bed used to be, the empty chair at the dinner table where she'd used to sit, all the empty spaces she'd used to fill up. But the little things--the little memories of things she'd used to love--those hurt so much more.

You: i have to go

You: i forgot i'm busy tomorrow so we can't start the project

You: i'm sorry

SERIES TAG-LIST {ask to be added}:

@msmimimerton

[moonbeamsung]

Winter Nights & City Lights

Because nothing says ‘Christmas’ like spending the big day (and not to mention the whole holiday season) in the Big Apple living with your high school friend-turned-roommate, Mark Lee.

member: mark (featuring johnny)

au: roommate!mark x gn!reader, college roommate au, christmas au, ‘the gift of the magi’ au/inspired

word count: 9.5k

genre: fluff, angst, slice of life

warnings: profanity, underage drinking, hangovers, insecurities, mentions of food and drink, money issues, embarrassing moments

author’s note: This fic is close to becoming my favorite that I’ve ever written. It’s also almost twice as long as I planned, not to mention that tumblr crashed right as I tried to post it so here I am, two hours later. Overall I had a blast writing it and I hope you enjoy reading it! Please let me know what you think, too! :,) Happy holidays! <3

taglist: @astroboy-lele​ @kisshim​ @radiorenjun​

network tags: @kpopscape​ @neo-constellations​ @starryktown​ @culture-cafe​ @dreamlab-nct​

“That parade was so cool! I mean, did you see the size of all those balloons? They were huge! I’ve never seen so many people all in one place before,” Mark chatters away like an excited child as you navigate through the crowd that always seems to grow bigger year after year, gathered along the curbs of the New York streets to watch the famed Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade.

“How are you not more excited about this?” He questions, and you stifle an amused giggle. “I’ve lived in the city for over a year, Mark. I’ve seen a thing or two.”

“Oh, right. I knew that.” The cold air only accentuates the blush on his face as he remembers that particular detail about you. It isn’t often that it’s demonstrated, however, considering you spend so much time cooped up inside of your shared apartment cramming in university work and studying. There are hardly any opportunities during the year to take in the sights of the concrete jungle you live in the very heart of, but luckily, one of your long-awaited breaks is coming up soon.

Thoughts of Christmas vacation are the only things keeping you going, along with countless cups of steaming hot coffee, as you prepare for exams in just a few weeks, weeks that seem to go by in a flurry of snow.

There’s less than three days left until your first one, but you’re nothing short of drained after pulling so many all-nighters, and you need a break. A breath of fresh air seems like just the cure for your burnout, so you slam your textbook shut and lethargically drag yourself off of the soft comforter you’ve been sitting on for the past two hours. You grimace at the deep imprint left behind.

Trudging through the living area, you knock softly on Mark’s bedroom door. A tired “Come in” sounds from the other side, and you push it open, immediately noticing his disheveled state. Eyes heavy with fatigue and lacking their usual sparkle of youthful innocence, he blinks back at you, “What’s up?”

“You look like you need a break just as much as I do,” you insist. His already-open mouth widens a bit more, “But... our first exam is on Monday, we can’t just—”

“Mark, come on, you’re one of the smartest people in our class. If anyone’s going to pass, it’s you.”

He huffs, “Maybe you have a point.”

“I do have a point, and you know it. A little walk in the park never hurt anyone, right?”

Mark rubs his eyes with the back of his hand, fingers raking through his dark locks before he musters up enough strength to push himself off of his bed and into a standing position.

“I’ll get my jacket.”

Central Park is a sight to behold on its own all year round, but something about the Christmas season makes it even more magical. You and Mark step at the same pace, your paths lined by metal benches blanketed in fresh snow. Even through the many layers of warmth you’re both wearing, the chilly air still nips at your skin. It’s Mark’s first time experiencing the holidays in New York City, and you’re determined to show him everything this real-life winter wonderland has to offer.

The story of how you two came to be roommates in the first place is an extremely lucky one. You met in high school, and had been part of the same group of friends along with six younger boys. Both Canadian, you’d been hoping to get into the same New York college since what felt like forever. The day that you received your acceptance letters in the mail was full of joy and celebration, but not even a week later, Mark got an unexpected scholarship to a local but prestigious university not far from where you lived that he simply couldn’t pass up.

Parting ways after graduation, you had thought you might never see each other again until you got a call from him. It was the day after your last exam of the spring semester in college and you were sitting on your two-person couch, feeling rather lonely. The number seemed too familiar, too good to be true, and scrambling to pick up the phone as it blared throughout your fairly small apartment, you answered with a shaky voice. Mark’s recognizable tone met your ears, and a wide smile met your face. Though he couldn’t see it, he could hear the happiness in your words.

As it turned out, his college had given him the opportunity to transfer to yours for the remainder of his four years, as their programs were closely linked and on similar levels. Graciously, he had accepted, and wanted you to be the first to know.

“So, uh... are you living with anyone?”

The question he dreaded asking more than anything else. Call him cliché, but he had the biggest crush on you in high school, much to his dismay and to the rest of his friends’ excitement. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to like you, but he feared that college could tear a potential relationship apart, regardless of whether or not you went to the same one.

As a result of this, he had never acted on his emotions. But he’s older now, and wiser, which leads him to believe that maybe it wouldn’t be so hard to maintain one, should he ever gain enough courage to ask you out.

“No, actually, I have my own apartment.”

Silence.

“...Are you looking for somewhere to stay?”

“Yes! Yes,” he replied a little too quickly, eager to accept what would hopefully be an invitation from you. He wasn’t disappointed.

“Well, my place isn’t the biggest, but you can live with me if you want to. Plus, we could split the rent between us!”

You’ve always liked Mark. He’s hardworking, kind, and humble, maybe a little too much of all these things for his own good. Even back in high school, you spent endless nights and very early mornings on the phone with him, trying to convince him to go to bed after he refused to stop studying. To reassure him that he did the right thing by ending that friendship, or to insist that he tell the teacher no one worked on the group project, so he did everything himself. You’ve been his shoulder to cry on for years, you’ve seen a side of him that he’s never been brave enough to show anyone else because they expect so much of him.

Mark knows he’s blessed to have had a picture-perfect childhood, a good family, and an education that was rigorous yet rewarding enough to prepare him for his next chapter in life. The pressures that came with being so lucky just got to him sometimes, and they made four years of high school seem more like fourteen.

You, on the other hand, didn’t quite have all the same luxuries that he did, but you still managed. He’s been there for you plenty of times, too. In your opinion, though, he’s the much more vulnerable one of the two of you, mainly to his cumbersome insecurities and shortcomings, however rare those shortcomings may be.

So in your mind, Mark Lee deserves the entire world and then some. The least you can do is share your apartment with him, either until he finds what you’re sure would be a much more desirable place to live, or if he wants to stay with you indefinitely.

What you don’t realize, and will eventually struggle to admit to yourself, is that your admiration for his perseverance and endless generosity is teetering rather precariously on the edge of blossoming into something more than just platonic.

“Sounds good, then. Thanks so much!” He had exclaimed, the sound of his pure excitement and gratefulness bringing a wave of heat to your face, and you were glad he wasn’t there in front of you to see it.

You talked a little bit more for the next few minutes, catching up and enjoying a lighthearted conversation about what you had both been up to. These sessions on the phone began to occur more and more frequently, turning into weekly, and soon daily, affairs. Mark planned to move in a couple weeks before school started again, giving himself some time to settle in and adapt to urban life in general. The calls became a highlight of your summer vacation, and every day without fail, you found yourself waiting to hear the unique ringtone you had set his contact to.

Less than twelve hours before Mark was scheduled to arrive at New York’s largest airport, you were on the phone with him just like always. The clock in your apartment chimed eleven o’clock, and as reluctant as you were to hang up, you knew you should turn in for the night. After all, the sooner you went to sleep, the sooner the morning would come. The morning you would meet him at the airport.

“So I’ll see you tomorrow?” His voice was hopeful. Slightly unsteady, but hopeful all the same.

“I guess so. What time does your plane land, again?” You confirmed the time you had scribbled down onto a neon yellow sticky note a few days earlier as he repeated the short string of numbers, nodding to no one in particular. Why did you feel so nervous? It’s just Mark, you had told yourself.

“Have a safe flight!”

He bade you goodnight in return, accidentally throwing in a “sweet dreams” before he could stop himself. When you put your phones down, you were both too busy trying to calm your racing pulses, however, so it didn’t matter. Mark collapsed onto his bed, hand bumping his duffel bag and heaving a sigh. You sank down into the couch cushion, closing your eyes and leaning your head against the back of the furniture. Neither of you could find the strength to stand in those moments, scared that your legs would give in from the unsteadiness of your nerves, your hearts, your emotions.

A singular worry occupied both of your minds from that point on until you greeted him in the JFK airport terminal the next morning, shy smiles on your faces: is it dangerous to enter into the impending situation of living together? Are you really ready to be in such constant close proximity to the object of your affections, however oblivious you might be to them?

Before his brain could talk his heart out of it, Mark had wrapped you in a tight hug, extra thankful for the welcome since you were all he had here, in the city. You wouldn’t have missed his arrival for the world, and you told him so. You also wouldn’t have missed the chance to make him flush a deep but adorable shade of red, reaching from his rounded cheeks all the way to the tips of his ears.

In your long-term rental car, you drove him back to your apartment, enjoying the quiet sounds of surprise and amazement that spilled from his lips, generated by the city’s sights. As you passed underneath towering skyscrapers, navigated bustling avenues, and caught glimpses of world-renowned landmarks that you both had seen only in the movies when you were younger, you just knew Mark’s eyes held their signature sparkle, despite your inability to see the dark brown orbs glimmer with wonder. You kept yours on the road ahead.

His first day was spent unpacking his suitcases and bags full of possessions, one of which was his most prized: an acoustic guitar.

It had been a gift from his parents when he finished the eighth grade, and all throughout high school, he had turned to music as an escape whenever he needed it. As any new musician does, Mark had played around with chords, experimenting and seeing what sounded good, and before you knew it he had composed a song. Another one followed, then another, and by the end of his freshman year he had written enough to fill an entire album if he so wished.

The guitar had heard every note, every lyric, carried every melody from his heart into the world. It had grown to be a part of him, a worldly sliver of his soul in the form of a simple musical instrument that could convey every hope and every dream, every concern or every frustration. Every love confession. Though that wasn’t saying much, since he only had eyes for you. You didn’t know it, but one of those songs was about you. For you.

You and Mark’s circle of friends tried to set you two up one day in the school’s band room after hours, with the excuse that the second-youngest of the group, Chenle, had forgotten his piano sheet music in there. They sent you to retrieve it, which you only agreed to do after being persuaded by the boy’s intimidating but still lovable pout.

With no sheet music in sight, your eyes landed instead on a diligent Mark that appeared to be the only sign of life in the room, plucking away at the strings as the sun set outside. You had sat with him for a while, neglecting your task and listening to him strum gracefully, softly murmuring lyrics that sounded like your name at one point. You didn’t think much of it, though, not making the connection behind the rest of the words coming out of his mouth and accompanying the chords. His love song was left unacknowledged by the subject of it themselves, and that was both the first and last time he ever attempted to confess to you.

He wondered if now that you were sharing an apartment, he would let something slip by accident. What would he do then?

University had other plans, though, and his fears were temporarily relieved. So fortunately and unfortunately, you were so occupied with schoolwork that trying to balance dating, or even mere thoughts of doing so, with all of your other responsibilities would have been exhausting, not to mention impossible.

Snapping out of your memory-induced daze, you realize that you nearly wandered off the path into a deep snowbank, only aware of this fact because Mark catches you by the wrist and pulls you back toward him to walk at his side. His fingers stay curled around your forearm as you approach a famous bridge, stepping to the side and gazing down at the icy waters below, calm and rippling with the chilly breeze.

“What do you want for Christmas?”

You honestly haven’t thought about it yet, so you can’t give Mark a definite answer. The same goes for him, both of you leaning against the brick railing in a comfortable silence.

In Mark’s mind though, he knows what he wants to give you: something to complement your own equivalent of his guitar, a large collection of handwritten letters and notes from your childhood and school days. Sentimental by nature, you had saved every colorful post-it note one of your friends would slip through the narrow slats of your locker, every birthday card received over the years, every thoughtful postcard from someone’s vacation.

Your favorites are undoubtedly the always-awkward Christmas cards that your friends’ families consistently mail out each December, by far the most humorous parts of your growing collection. You always found yourself chuckling at the pictures displayed on the front. Eyes bright with mirth, you would observe their forced smiles and arms slung carelessly over siblings’ shoulders, their eyes flickering between the camera and something going on behind it, probably the family pet getting into trouble across the yard. You pitied the photographers, surely beyond frustrated as they would try to get everyone to stand still for more than five measly seconds. Mouths were clamped shut and for a brief moment, the air was void of complaints of how itchy someone’s sweater was.

Then the camera would snap, capturing an image that was simply “good enough.” They’d plaster it on the card and in a few days, it would magically appear in the mailboxes of relatives and close friends. Grandparents would overlook the uncomfortable expressions and focus instead on how fast the kids were growing up. You didn’t blame them. Even in four years’ worth of cards, so much could change. In between fits of laughter, you’d stare in awe at the way your friends grew into their features, only becoming more handsome with time and some growing so tall that they even towered over their fathers. You always kept the letters they included, too, detailing the highlights of the year that was soon to come to an end by the time they dropped it into a nearby mailbox.

And like he could read your mind, Mark makes an offhand comment right then and there. “My folks texted me the other day to ask for our address. You know, for the Christmas card.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah,” he laughs. “Shame I couldn’t be there for the family photos this year.”

“Is it really a shame, though?” You prod, tilting your head a bit at the boy. “You always told me you couldn’t stand waiting around for the so-called ‘right lighting’ and all that.”

“Well, I couldn’t, but now that I’m not there I wish I could go back to those days. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, you know?”

“Right,” you sigh, thinking about how the same saying could easily apply to the way you felt about Mark all throughout your first year of university.

You have a box, made of a dark mahogany wood and lined with elegant golden trim, where you keep all of these letters, these handwritten memories and souvenirs from some of the happiest moments in your life. A gift from a past Christmas, your family had your initials engraved onto the front in a loopy cursive font, making it truly unique and utterly irreplaceable. And, you’ll soon come to realize, valuable.

Mark remembers it well, remembers the many times you’ve shown him its contents, remembers how his eyes sometimes land on the delicate container resting beneath the windowsill in your room, sunlight catching the accents. He knows how much those letters mean to you, and he also knows how much you love returning the favor.

That’s why he wants to give you the tools you need to do just that, and to do it well.

You’ve always been one for writing thank-you notes for any and every gift you receive, your parents having ingrained the habit in you since you were very young. Slowly, crayons turned into pencils and lead became ink. To this day you remain unfazed by the increasing amount of yellowing papers residing in the letter box, but the words imprinted on them never quite fade, strong enough to withstand the test of time.

Too many times in high school Mark would find you, hunched over your dining room table in frustration with a stack of letters beside your arm that you deemed “failed” because your handwriting was bad, or something of the sort. Usually it was the other way around, him being the one in need of comfort, but on those days your roles were reversed.

He had always wondered why you didn’t have fancier supplies that were more suited to your task, but he supposes now that maybe it simply wasn’t an option for you and your family. So a stationery set seems like the perfect gift for you this year.

On a similar note, you’ve already decided what you’re getting him: a guitar case. You happened upon a sleek leather one while browsing the website of a popular music store, coincidentally with a location not too far from your apartment.

Now it’s no longer a question of what to get the other, but how. As university students living on your own, money is scarce. Unknowingly, you both contemplate this concern as you walk side by side, returning to the start of the path that you set out on at least a half hour ago.

This stroll of yours was supposed to clear your minds, but why are they racing even more than before?

There’s no time to worry now, though, and for the next week, your thoughts are forced to shift back to the topic of school and midterms and all your academic endeavors.

Your exam week is over before you know it, and the two of you return to your apartment after the last one only to collapse onto your respective beds, beyond exhausted.

The dreary Friday afternoon clearly calls for a nap, but unbeknownst to you, Mark decides to seize the opportunity that has so conveniently presented itself to him: a chance for him to go out and buy your gift without suspicion. He drops his backpack on the carpet next to his dresser and sighs, wondering if what he’s about to do will be worth it. But it’s you, of course it’ll be worth it.

Thus, his next move is done with a heavy heart. He’s been forced by a lack of funds to come to a decision about your gift, and a difficult one at that. The only thing he can think of doing to even come close to affording a nice stationery set is to sell some things in exchange for cash. Namely, the most valuable item he owns: his beloved guitar. He doesn’t really want to, but deep down he knows that a true friendship warrants the occasional sacrifice. He’s done some research on a nearby pawn shop, and however sketchy those kinds of places may seem, it’s his only feasible option at the moment, with just a week left until Christmas Day.

After making sure you’re fast asleep, he not-so-stealthily slips out of your shared flat, his actions far from silent but even so, you don’t wake up. Mark winces at the unintended high volume of pulling the front door shut behind him, sticking his hand into his jeans pocket and relaxing when he feels his keys at the bottom of the fabric compartment. Guitar strung over his shoulder by the flimsy, fraying strap, he sets off.

With his phone in hand and directions to the pawn shop displayed on the screen, he strides through the lobby of the apartment building and pushes the revolving door, stepping onto the busy sidewalk and into the cold winter air. Shoppers crowd the pavement with hands full of department store tote bags, crinkling loudly as they pass by one another. Shoulders knock together and heels click against the concrete, just some of the many sounds of the city that Mark is still growing used to hearing.

A few blocks and several wrong turns later, he finds himself on a quieter street, standing in front of the shop. It’s dimly lit inside and looks almost abandoned, the letters painted on the window chipped and faded from the wear and weather of past years. A soft bell rings when he lets himself in, searching for some sort of employee.

From behind a cluttered shelf a tall man emerges, the shabby name tag pinned to his vest reading “Johnny.” Well, he’s not some shifty-eyed, balding man wearing a muscle shirt stained with grease. New York continues to be full of surprises.

His dark hair looks neat, the jacket he’s wearing free of any wrinkles and face young but chiseled, high cheekbones prominent.

“How can I help you today?” Johnny booms, stepping behind the counter and absentmindedly sifting through some loose change in bottom of the cash register.

Mark gulps, “I’d like to sell something.” Still not entirely sure he wants to do this, he instinctively tugs on the strap resting atop the fabric of his wool jacket.

“Well, you’ve come to the right place,” Johnny assures with a small laugh. “What did you have in mind?”

Taking a deep breath, Mark slides the guitar off his shoulder and holds it near his chest for a moment, before extending his arms out towards the counter.

“A guitar, huh? We don’t see many of these,” the tall man comments. “Are you sure? It seems pretty valuable to you in more ways than one.”

Mark’s fingertips trace the strings for the last time and he decides to just get it over with, before he can change his mind. His hands are shaky as he gently places the instrument down on the counter in front of Johnny, taking a step back once he’s done so. “I don’t have much of a choice. I need the money to buy a gift for my… uh, my friend.”

Johnny raises an eyebrow, “Just a friend? Or a special someone?”

“They are special,” Mark confirms, noncommittal to either title that Johnny suggested.

“They must be if you’re willing to give up something like this for them. Okay, that’ll be…”

Johnny tells him what the guitar is worth, matching the amount with a stack of cash and a few old coins, rusty but still holding their value.

Despite the pain of letting something so meaningful go, a bit of joy creeps into Mark’s heart as he realizes that now he can give you a gift that will hopefully become just as meaningful to you as his guitar was to him.

He thanks Johnny and bids him goodbye, step lighter than when he entered, much to his surprise.

It’s the next day when you and Mark find yourselves getting into the Christmas spirit for the first time this season. After he had returned yesterday, you were still out cold on your bed, so he chose to follow your example and do the same. The both of you had slept the rest of the day and almost the entirety of the following morning away, waking up just before noon.

With a sudden burst of energy you spring up from the sheets, overtaken by your excitement for the nearing holiday as you dig out the artificial Christmas tree you had bought last year from your closet. Sure, it may seem lazy of you, but let’s face it: there was no easy way to find a real one in New York City, let alone lug it down the streets, through an elevator and down a narrow hallway to a door it wouldn’t even fit through.

Mark hears the loud rustling of various decorations as he begins to stir, leisurely getting out of bed and checking one of his dresser drawers to make sure he hadn’t merely dreamed up his shopping adventure of the previous evening. There the stationery set sits, tucked safely at the back of the wooden cabinet.

The bookstore he stopped at on his way back last night had many different options to choose from, so he made sure to get one that both matched your box of letters and reminded him of you, with its color scheme and style. A surge of pride brings a smile to his features, pleased with his choice, and he pushes the drawer shut before joining you in the living area.

Your knees brush as he sits down next to you to help unpack the large but manageable box, taking out the tiers of the tree to eventually stack on top of one another. Working more quickly than usual (and probably necessary, there are six days left after all), you assign Mark to stringing the lights across your small balcony while you finish setting up the tree. You knew you shouldn’t have let him do it alone, though, because when you look over at his progress you find more lights wrapped around his body than the metal railing.

“Do you need a hand?” You question, holding back a laugh at the way the cord restricts his arm movements to the point where he can’t even reach for the handle on the sliding door.

From outside he opens his mouth to reply, but pauses, looking down at himself and the mess he’s made of the lights before meeting your eyes once more. His voice is muffled by the glass, but you hear him shout playfully, “I’m the tree now! We don’t need that one.” He tries to gesture to the one you’re currently decorating, but fails, and this time you aren’t able to contain your amusement.

“Let me help you,” you offer, joining him on the balcony and helping him untangle himself from the glowing strands. “Thanks,” Mark replies, sheepishly rubbing at the back of his neck. With your combined efforts, you manage to thread the string of lights through the railing with little to no mishaps, and both of you continue decking out the apartment with other seasonal items for the next several hours.

At some point during the afternoon one of you decided to connect their phone to a speaker and play some music, all Christmas songs of course. As the classic version of “Jingle Bell Rock” begins to blare throughout the living room, Mark abandons his task momentarily to walk over to you. He extends a hand down to you, sitting on the floor, and you accept the invitation to stand up with a questioning look.

“Dance with me?”

It’s hardly a platonic request, Mark realizes once the words leave his lips, but even so you don’t shy away, glancing down at your feet with a slight trace of bashfulness in the action.

He intertwines your fingers somewhat loosely, placing his non-dominant hand on your waist and beginning to sway, slowly at first but then his movements become more exaggerated, shoulders tilting dramatically to one side after the other and straying from the rhythm of the music. You join Mark in drawing out the jesting movements, losing yourself in laughter and leaning forward to bury your face in his shoulder, the heat of your breath hitting his skin through the thin t-shirt he’s wearing. In one last attempt to keep the joyful smile on your face, he steps back a bit and holds your wrist above your head to twirl you in a circle.

The electric guitar in the song fades as you collapse onto the carpet, recovering from your fit of giggles. The sun has begun to sink in the sky, you can tell by the gold and orange glow that your apartment becomes bathed in as it sets, inching closer to the horizon and eventually becoming hidden by tall skyscrapers in the distance.

Satisfied with your progress so far, you both decide to call it a day, though in truth there aren’t many decorations left to put out. A few stray ornaments and some garlands remain, still packed up in boxes that you would need help reaching. You’re also eager to get your mind off of the way your heart was palpitating as you danced with Mark, your roommate and friend but nothing more, nothing less. You have enough to worry about at the moment, not wanting to add potential feelings for the boy into the mix. Shit, you think, you still need to buy his gift.

“What should we watch?” Mark asks, scrolling through the list of movie choices on the TV screen.

“I don’t really care, anything’s fine.”

His finger presses a button on the remote to select a film at random, the intro playing as you scan the refrigerator shelves for a frozen meal. Hopefully it’s not one of those cheesy holiday romances.

Settling down on the couch a few minutes later, you with the warmed-up container in your lap and Mark holding a cup of ramen noodles, both of you fall into a comfortable chatter about the movie. Thank god it’s a comedy.

Occasionally you find yourself diverting your attention from the harsh display and directing it over to the panes of floor-to-ceiling windows, where you watch more and more lights flicker on in the distance, illuminating the urban landscape as night falls. The view is breathtaking, but so is the way your face softly glows with their warmth, even from blocks away. Not that Mark would ever tell you that, of course.

“I’m going out!” Mark hears shuffling from outside his bedroom the next morning, your voice instantly bringing him to his senses. Curious, he shoots out of bed and flings the door open to find you, one arm stuck through the sleeve of your coat and the other buried in a bag, but it’s not the one you usually bring when you leave the flat. Eyes wide and panicked at the boy’s unexpected appearance, you clutch it to your chest with a visible amount of difficulty, Mark notices.

“Where are you off to?” He squints at the brightness of the living room, the early morning light pouring in through the glass on the far wall.

“...Maybe I can’t tell you,” you respond with a huff, slinging the heavy bag over your shoulder and pulling the rest of your coat on.

“What do you mean, you can’t—oh.”

“Nice going, genius,” you shake your head, feigning disappointment. “It’s not like it’s Christmas this week or anything.”

“My bad, sorry.” Mark winces and rakes a hand through his bedhead, abashed.

“I’ll be back soon, okay?”

With that, you step into the hallway and offer a parting smile over your shoulder, shutting the front door behind you.

At least your being out of the apartment gives Mark time to wrap your gift. All he has to do is figure out how.

Johnny gets a familiar feeling when he sees you enter the pawn shop, fumbling with your things and reluctantly gazing at whatever’s in the tote you’re holding. Are you also about to make an exchange you could potentially regret?

“One second,” you excuse yourself as you step up to the counter, placing the heavy bag down and removing the large item from inside: your letter box, minus its contents. Of course you would never get rid of those, but despite the letters and notes being so special to you, the box they were always kept in is also a significant part of your attachment and the memories you hold dear.

With a thud you set it down, Johnny glancing between the hesitation on your face and the wooden container on the counter in front of him. “Let me guess, you want to exchange this for cash?”

“Yes, sir, that’s exactly what I—” You pause, biting your tongue. “Hold on… Look, I know this is a pawn shop and that’s what people do here, but how are you so sure?”

Johnny’s gut tells him he shouldn’t give away the fact that a boy wearing the very same expression and with the same sense of purpose and determination was in here just two days earlier. So he corrects his mistake with a simple “Lucky guess” and a hearty chuckle.

Without Johnny even asking, you tell him that you’re also looking for some extra cash in order to afford a gift for your “friend,” and you say the word with so much conviction and certainty that it’s almost laughable. The information given to Johnny helps him fully connect the dots in his mind, realizing that each of you are the one the other talked about.

Before handing you the money, Johnny tears off a sheet of paper from a nearby notepad and asks you to fill out your information, most importantly your address. He has to lie a bit, saying it’s for contact purposes, but his heart is in the right place nonetheless. Just in case something goes south (and the sinking feeling in his stomach tells him that it will somehow), doing so gives him an option, even if he doesn’t know what that option might be yet.

“Thank you, Johnny, and Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas!” He returns your wish cheerfully as you push the door open to leave.

“Good luck finding a gift for your ‘friend,’ too.”

You feel heat rise to your cheeks when you see his teasing use of air quotes, but still smile.

On your way back to the apartment Mark texts you and asks you to check the mail, saying he forgot to do so yesterday. When you arrive in the lobby and make your way over to the cluster of mailboxes, you’re instantly shocked to find a large cardboard box shoved into the small cubby with your and Mark’s name on it. You’re already struggling to carry the guitar case you bought for him, so you decide to make a second trip later.

A few moments after stepping out of the elevator, you knock on the door to your apartment, hoping with all your might that Mark won’t actually open it and instead just answer with a “Come in” as he always does. Your wish is, thankfully, granted, but it’s quickly followed by “Wait, wait, wait!” As it happens, he just finished wrapping your gift and needs another minute or two to tuck it away somewhere until the big day arrives. “Can you stay out there until I say?”

“Sure,” you reply, “but I’m going to have to ask you to do the same.”

“How about I stay in my room while you come in and do… whatever you need to?”

“Sounds good.”

With his door closed, Mark hears the front one open and shut as you enter. Trying not to make any noise that would give away the size of the item you just bought, you finally settle for hiding the leather case underneath your bed, concealed by the drapery attached to its frame that hovers just above the floor.

Mark had hastily placed the now-wrapped (though not elegantly so) stationery set back into his dresser, so he’s already out of his room by the time you leave yours. “Any letters or packages?” He questions when he sees you.

“Oh, right!” You snap your fingers, “We do have a package but my hands were full, so I’ll bring it up right now.”

“Eggnog?”

While the box had looked fairly ordinary from the outside, upon opening it and glancing at the return address you learned it was actually anything but that. Mark’s and your parents had sent a holiday care package of sorts, including both of your families’ Christmas cards and a carton of eggnog, along with some small gifts that are meant to be saved for the morning of the 25th. Also mixed in are a few small decorations (not that you need more), some baking supplies complete with a copy of the recipe for the cookies you make every year, and a soft pair of mittens for each of you. He hopes you don’t realize that one of the items is a sprig of mistletoe.

“You don’t like eggnog?” You ask, stunned. Mark shrugs, “I don’t really care for milk but it’s the thought that counts, I guess.”

That evening you and Mark take another stroll, this time choosing to stay on the streets and admire the festively adorned buildings and shops as you pass by them. Admiring Christmas lights at this time of year is nothing new to you and Mark. In fact, when you lived in Canada you would do the same thing. The only difference is that back then, it involved driving through quiet suburban neighborhoods and not ambling through crowded city streets and alleyways on foot.

Snowflakes begin to cascade from the heavens as you make your way back around to the block where you live. Mark sticks his tongue out to catch one of the small crystals, and it immediately melts in his mouth, eliciting a high-pitched laugh from the boy. Snow is also something you both are more than used to by now, having grown up with white Christmases all your lives. It makes you wonder if the holiday season would be the same without it.

“You know what we should do?” Mark turns to you just as you’re about to enter the apartment building again. “Go ice skating at Rockefeller Center.”

“Mark, c’mon, you know stuff like that is overpriced. And besides, I can’t skate to save my life. Remember—”

“That time in sophomore year? You bet I do,” he laughs as he remembers how you clumsily fell not even two seconds after stepping onto the ice with your skates, and then refused to let go of the railing for the rest of the day. The elevator whirs to life, climbing floor after floor with ease.

“Hey,” you offer, “we can still go and watch people skate, I’m sure there’s some place to sit.”

“And we can look at the Christmas tree, too,” Mark adds, eyes brightening at the idea.

“Right. I forget you haven’t seen it in person before.” The cabin doors open with a ding and you step out, your eyes landing on the door to your apartment a few yards away.

When you turn on the TV, Mark becomes mesmerized by the movie that’s playing, since it takes place in NYC and he recognizes so many places from actually being there. He scrambles to remove his jacket and beanie, plopping down onto the couch once they’re safely hooked on the coat rack.

Watching him, you sigh. Would anything really change if you were dating? Assuming your feelings were returned, of course, but you can’t imagine that your relationship would differ much. You certainly wouldn’t go on extravagant dates, or buy expensive gifts for each other, but that’s not what love is about, anyway. With the exception of a few extra hugs and the addition of kisses, along with more forms of physical affection in general (actually, scratch that, Mark’s always been awkward with those kinds of things), you’d still be by each other’s side just like always.

As you sit down next to him and feel an arm wrap around your shoulder, you don’t shrug it off, instead embracing the warm and fuzzy feeling in your heart that you can’t blame on the holiday season this time.

Mark’s glad, too. He’s been working up the courage to do that all day.

Late that night, you quietly tiptoe into the living area, retrieving an old box from your move-in last year that will fit his gift perfectly, and won’t give away what’s inside. Your hands fold and tape the wrapping paper with care, tying a neat ribbon once you’re done. Sure, you had to give up something that meant a lot to you in order to afford Mark’s present, but the gains outweigh the losses. You find comfort in imagining the way his face will surely light up with pure joy on Christmas morning, drifting off to sleep with ease once you’ve hidden the rectangular parcel back underneath your bed.

A few days pass and soon it’s the 23rd, and you join Mark at the railing of the ice rink, of course on the side with solid ground. “Ice is solid ground,” Mark had corrected, but you stood firm in your words. “More like slippery ground, if you ask me.”

Luckily you had been allowed to stand here for free, because god only knows what small, simple thing someone would be charged for in New York. It’s happened to you before, and you’re not even a tourist.

Mark’s dark eyes gaze up at the 75-foot-tall tree in wonder, pupils dilating and reflecting the tens of thousands of bright lights strung through the dark green branches. They seem to sparkle with sheer amazement. Just then someone skates a little too close to the section of railing you’re leaning on, startling Mark out of his LED-induced daze and putting the most adorable look of surprise on his face.

His focus shifts to the people on the ice, wearing sweaters and jackets of every color imaginable, and the sight is still as beautiful as the looming Christmas tree above. He notices some couples, holding onto one another or skating hand-in-hand, and it makes him wonder if that could be you two someday, at a future Christmas, or if it’s an idea absurd enough for an alternate reality.

Mark sees you shiver out of the corner of his eye, and it’s his cue to suggest returning home for the evening. In a very cliché and boyfriend-esque gesture he offers you his jacket, but you decline, insisting that it’s not far and assuring him that you’ll be okay.

Back in your heated flat, you twist open the lid of the eggnog carton and pour a small glass for yourself. “Are you sure you don’t want some?” You call out to Mark from the kitchen, snatching one of the cookies you made the other day and finding a paper plate for the thin shortbread wafer, lined with elegant white icing and dusted with sprinkles.

“I already told you, I don’t like eggnog!”

“Have you even tried it before?” Mark grumbles at your nagging. You really sound like his mom right now.

“No…”

You appear at the other end of the couch, holding out a small cup with just a sip or two of eggnog in it. “Try it. You never know.”

He knows you won’t leave until you see him lift it to his lips for yourself, so he does. Immediately the sweet drink overwhelms his taste buds, and also leaves a slight sting on his tongue.

“What’s in this stuff?” He coughs, nose scrunching a bit from the strong taste. Surprisingly, though, he doesn’t hate it. Following you back to the kitchen, Mark pours a full glass this time, already gulping it down.

“Uh,” you scan the ingredients on the back of the carton once he sets it down on the counter, “milk, cream, sugar, eggs…”

“...whiskey? What the hell?”

“It has alcohol,” Mark slurs, his giggling interrupted by a hiccup. Having never drank before, he’s undeniably a lightweight, and even a little bit can get him wasted almost instantly.

“Mom and Dad must have mixed something up, because they definitely didn’t mean to send us alcoholic eggnog.”

Sure enough, back home in Canada your parents are wondering why they only have the kid-friendly stuff in their fridge.

Mark latches on to you, arm curling lazily around your waist. Great, he’s one of those people that gets clingy when they’re drunk. “Try some,” he whines, nuzzling into your shoulder a little.

“Are you crazy?”

“No one will know,” he laughs, hiccuping again. Giving in to his adorably drunken pout, you take one sip from your original glass but no more, an unpleasant buzz taking over your whole mouth.

Not looking forward to finding a hangover cure on Christmas Eve of all days, you pray that you’ll stay sober enough to take care of the tipsy boy, who’s currently pressing his face into the back of your neck and—shit, did he just kiss you there? You really don’t need this right now.

“Mark, you’re drunk, okay? Stop it,” you caution.

“But I love you,” he murmurs, warm breath fanning your skin, and you want to kick yourself for almost saying it back. Does he even mean it, though? Alcohol makes people say crazy things, things they don’t mean, so you shouldn’t get your hopes up. You unhook his arm from your torso and turn around to push against his chest, frustrated. “Let’s get you to bed.”

He seems to have just remembered something, because he ignores you and instead goes over to where the care package was still sitting, digging into the bottom and pulling out something you hadn’t noticed before. “Look,” Mark declares in a nasal voice, “mistletoe.”

You exasperatedly hang your head, desperate to slam it into the nearest wall. With much difficulty, you eventually manage to get him tucked underneath the blanket, leaving a glass of water on his nightstand for when he wakes up. “Get some sleep,” you say simply.

He tells you goodnight with a fond mumble of your name as you shut the bedroom door behind you. Rubbing your eyes, you yawn before turning off the lights and heading to bed yourself, trying to block out the events that had just taken place.

Your head aches when you wake up the next morning, and you feel like garbage, so you can only imagine how much worse Mark must be doing. Quickly chugging a water bottle, you reluctantly go to knock on his door, hearing a pained groan once you enter. He’s sitting up, chin resting in one hand and the other anchored onto the heavy comforter covering his legs.

“How are you feeling?” The obvious question with an even more obvious answer makes Mark wince. “Awful.”

“Sorry.” It’s silent for a moment, Mark pressing three fingers to his throbbing forehead and you staring aimlessly at the wall. “I knew that eggnog was a bad idea.”

“You were the one that told me to try it!”

“I didn't know it had alcohol in it!”

You sigh, dejected. Something tells Mark that your head isn’t the only thing hurting.

“Hey, I know that look. What’s wrong?” He prods, voice soft and gentle and altogether unlike how it had been last night. You meet his eyes for a moment, about to speak but biting your lip at the last second. Mark’s brain puts two and two together at your expression.

“Oh god, did I say something? Do something?”

“Yeah, actually,” you reply in a huff. “First you kissed my neck, then you told me you loved me, and then you held up a clump of mistletoe and implied that we should kiss underneath it.”

His memories of the previous evening are all a blur, so he truly would have no idea what happened if you hadn’t just said something. Mark knows he screwed up, bad.

You tense when you feel him place his hand over yours, but you don’t snatch it away. After collecting his thoughts, Mark clears his throat.

“Look, I… I know that’s not the best way for you to find out how someone feels about you. But I’m completely sober, and I can tell you that I meant what I said last night.”

“You promise?”

“Promise,” Mark replies.

“...Can you say it again, then?”

He blushes, “That I…?”

You nod, the corners of your lips lifting into a small smile.

“I love you,” Mark tells you for the second time in the last 24 hours, but this time you know you can believe him. The pain of your hangover goes away for a moment as he takes your jaw in his hands and connects your lips, just barely retaining the buzz of the alcohol but not enough to bother you. Slowly you kiss him back, sinking down onto the mattress beside him.

Mark pulls away for air a few seconds later, thumb grazing your cheek lovingly. “Does this mean we’re—”

“Dating? If you want it to, then sure,” your finger traces swirly shapes on the small of his back while you assure him that neither of you need to rush into anything if you aren’t ready.

“I don’t want things to change, though.”

“Who said they have to? I’ve been thinking about it for a while, and we’re already pretty close, you know? Making it ‘official’ doesn’t necessarily mean ‘different,’ so...”

Mark hums in agreement, “You’re right. Okay, I can live with that.”

“And I can’t live another second without food. I’m making breakfast,” you quip, reverting back to the usual banter between you and him.

“I’ll cook the eggs,” Mark insists as you both make your way out of his bedroom and into the kitchen.

“You absolutely will not!”

The night before Christmas had started out unlike any that you’d ever experienced before, with you confronting your now-boyfriend about a drunken love confession the previous day. But now, it’s ending just like every year, with you cozy and curled up in front of the television as the last few segments of the news play.

It’s the coldest Christmas Eve in years. You learned this after the meteorologist had informed viewers of the record only a few minutes earlier, inadvertently planting an idea in Mark’s mind.

Right as you’re about to turn in for the night, setting a plate of decorated cookies and a glass of milk down on the end table (as is tradition in your families, no matter how old you are), Mark holds out his arms like a child might. “Can we…?” He asks in a quiet voice, nervous to finish his sentence.

“Huh?”

The boy inhales sharply, “It’s freezing. Do you wanna sleep in my bed tonight?” His cheeks flush a deep red that’s almost the color of Christmas itself.

You’re slightly taken aback, and then you remember it’s just Mark. “Sure, why not,” you answer with a light shrug and a smile on your face.

“But no funny business,” you inform him as you climb under the sheets together, instantly happy with your choice to join him because double the people means double the body heat. “I wouldn’t dream of it,” Mark replies, pecking your lips. His wrist finds the warm skin of your neck and you flinch away.

“Your hands are cold!” He just snickers at your whining.

The two of you fall asleep more quickly than you ever have on Christmas Eve, usually overcome with nerves and excitement, but now, as two college-aged kids, you’re comfortable and not rushing the morning’s arrival at all, content in each other’s arms for the moment.

You feel like you’re 10 years old again as you rush into the living room at 8am the next day, the bright, early morning sky lighting up your entire apartment. At the base of your Christmas tree sits a humble amount of presents, composed of the two that you bought for each other plus the half-dozen small ones from your parents.

You hand Mark one of the cookies from the end table and grab one for yourself, taking a bite of the sweet treat as you sit down and motioning for him to do the same.

“Open yours first,” you say eagerly, referring to your gift for him. Mark shakes his head and points to what he got you, “No, you go first.”

“Fine, we’ll open them at the same time.” Mark nods, satisfied with the compromise and handing you both the packages.

“On three. One, two…”

The final number barely leaves your lips before you both begin tearing into the paper excitedly, Mark reaching for the flaps on the box and you unfolding the tissue paper.

When you each see what the other gifted you with, it’s completely silent, save for the TV playing a Christmas Day special in the background.

He gazes blankly at you, licking his lips as his eyes dart between the guitar case and your expression.

“I appreciate the gift, but I…” Mark pauses, unsure how to tell you this.

You don’t say a word, raising your eyebrows as a signal for him to continue.

“I sold my guitar to pay for your gift,” he breathes.

“You what? Mark, that guitar means everything to you! Why would you do that?”

“Because you’re worth it, of course!”

“Well, I did the same thing,” you break the news with an unamused expression. “I sold my letter box to pay for that case.”

His eyes become impossibly wider at that, nearly bulging out of their sockets. “Are you serious?”

“Dead serious.”

You groan and lie down on the floor, beyond discouraged. “Let me guess, the pawn shop on 23rd?”

“Yep.”

“Hey, wait a minute.” An idea hits Mark like a rush of cold air. “Maybe we can work out a deal or something.”

“Meaning?”

“We go back and see if we can trade in our new gifts for enough money to get our old things back.”

“One, I doubt it’s that easy, and two, pretty much everything is closed on Christmas Day.” You’re half tempted to laugh because of how ironic this situation is.

Mark sighs, “I guess that makes sense.”

“We can still try, though.”

Sure enough, the pawn shop is dark, even more so than usual, and the door doesn’t budge. A sign taped to the window from the inside confirms your fear: Closed on Christmas. Gloved hands pressed onto the glass, you and Mark admit your defeat. You had been bested by the giving spirit of the holiday season, almost too generous for your own good.

But it’s the message that the day itself stands for after all, for putting aside material value and doing something out of the kindness of your heart just to make someone else happy. That’s what it’s all about, and you and Mark had personally experienced it this year.

So you’re surprised to find two boxes leaning on the wall beside the door to your apartment the next morning, shapes oddly familiar. Could it be?

Just hours earlier, the hallway surveillance cameras caught a tall man striding down the corridor, carrying those exact packages under his arms. In the video he pulls out a scrap of paper and a pen from his coat pocket, scribbling a short message before tucking it underneath the ribbon of the larger parcel and leaving the building just as quickly as he came.

You and Mark’s only clue as to who had returned your items is a messy ‘J’ at the end of the note attached to the box containing his guitar. Exchanging knowing glances, you both grin, squeezing your intertwined hands with the same name in mind.

...So what if Johnny had to take a bit of money out of his own paycheck to cover the cost of the items? Besides, it’s Christmas. And his boss never has to know.

[sleepless-in-starbucks]

Forever

Summary: Logan knew it was just a matter of time before Remy left him. There was only so much one person could give before they needed something in return, and Remy was going to hit that breaking point sooner or later. Remy just wished Logan could see how much he was giving them. Content: Blind!Logan, insecurities/self-worth issues in relation to being blind, mentions of becoming blind, fear of being dumped, crying, hurt/comfort, happy ending, nb!Remy Pairing: Romantic losleep Notes: Written in @emo-disaster‘s blind logan au- I suggest you read their stuff before this, though technically this fic can stand alone. Also, I’m not blind, and my knowledge of living life blind is pretty limited, so!! if there are any inaccuracies in this fic please let me know and I’ll do my best to remedy them!

~

    It had been months since what Remy had taken to calling ‘the accident.’ Logan had his own name for it, but Remy said it was too long and not good for his mental health, so Logan tried to avoid thinking of it as ‘the completely preventable accident that changed everything and stole away the stars’ and just referred to it by Remy’s name for it.

    Logan was adjusting. He was learning how to use a cane to get around and getting fairly good at it. He had learned braille. He could move about his and Remy’s house independently. He could do a lot of things independently now.

    That didn’t, however, make Logan independent, and he couldn’t help but be bothered by it.

At first, the only thing he was bothered by was how useless he felt. He hated how much he had to rely on Remy to do things that used to be mundane and commonplace. Remy was amazing, of course, and Logan couldn’t ask for anyone better to help him, but that comfort only helped so much.

    Eventually, however, he got used to it. It was survival of the fittest, after all- he was in a new situation, he had to adapt. And if adapting was letting Remy help walk him around the house until he got better with his cane and memorizing floor layouts, then that was what Logan would do.

    As soon as he had accepted that, however, a new problem ‘reared its ugly head’ in Logan realizing just how much of a burden he had become. Remy would never let Logan call himself that, Logan knew, but it couldn’t stop him from feeling like one.

     Remy seemed to always be there when Logan needed them, whether to help him with something or even to just take a break and relax with him. Not to mention, Remy had quit their job for Logan- they said that they could freelance program just as well, that they preferred the new flexibility in their life because of it anyways, but Logan knew that was just a cover. Without a stable job, Remy had no benefits, no insurance or medical plans, no promise of a paycheck. Until Logan found a job- a new one; the accident may have been the byproduct of his own foolish past times, but that didn’t mean he felt chemist was really the job for him anymore- Remy was the sole provider for the both of them, working a job with no guarantees just so they’d be there if Logan needed them.

    And Logan… well, he was getting better at not knocking things over when he tried to perform basic tasks. 

    Suffice to say, he felt pretty useless. Useless and… confused. Remy was doing so much work, all of it for Logan’s sake, but they were just… boyfriends. Dating. Not married, not engaged, not bound together by any real promise or law. It had to be easier, Logan thought, to just dump him so that they could move on with their life.

    He had decided, after a bit of thinking, that Remy was just waiting for a good time to dump him. Dumping someone right after they lost their eyesight would be rude, and even if they weren’t going to keep dating, Logan was sure he and Remy would still be friends. Remy probably just wanted to help Logan adjust to his new life before informing him that there was no way they were going to work now. And while Logan did appreciate the sentiment, waiting for that day to come, for the figurative other shoe to drop, was becoming a tense activity.

    Because as logical as he knew the action would be, for Remy to dump him and move on, therefore allowing them to continue to live their life unburdened of Logan, Logan still feared the day it would come. He loved Remy, after all, and even if the break-up would be better for them, Logan knew he would miss them, miss cuddling with them and sassing with them and hearing them call him ‘starshine’ and the smell of coffee that always hung about them.

    But it would be better for them. So as much as Logan hated the thought of it, he knew it had to happen. And he knew he would be alright, eventually, as long as he could remember that, even if Remy wasn’t his anymore, they’d be happier.

    Which is how he had ended up here. He was sitting in one of the dining room chairs, his feet lifted up and balancing on top of the base rungs of it to avoid putting his feet down into milk or ceramic. It had been an accident, of course. He hadn’t meant to accidentally hit the side of his mug of milk too hard when he was trying to pick it back up, he hadn’t meant to forget just where it was on the counter in the first place. But he had, and it had fallen and broken, and Remy had still shown up and refused to let Logan try and clean it up, and it was still all his fault that Remy was busy cleaning the floor of Logan’s mistake instead of working.

    Of course, Logan was getting better about this. Mistakes like this one didn’t happen often. But they still happened. And it was still always Remy fixing them.

    “Why are we still together?” Logan asked, regretting it as soon as the words made it out of his mouth. He hadn’t meant to say that out loud. Just because he knew Remy was going to break up with him didn’t mean he wanted to make it happen any sooner. But words said couldn’t be taken back, and Logan knew both he and Remy had been thinking them much too long anyways. Might as well put it out in the open.

    Logan didn’t have to see Remy to know they had stopped cleaning, to know they were looking at Logan now, to know they were tilting their head and furrowing their brow. “What?” They said, voice quiet and confused.

    Logan tugged on his fingers, not bothering to hide the nervous action. “Why are we still together?” He repeated, because surely Remy must’ve missed the question, because this was really the perfect moment to end it, to end them, and if they knew what Logan had said they would’ve already taken their chance-

    Logan’s hands were suddenly in Remy’s, his boyfriend apparently now in front of him. Their grip was gentle but firm, and for a brief moment Logan wished they were holding him instead so that he could melt into that grip. “Because I love you.” Remy said, simply, as if that was all there was to it, as if that was an answer and an explanation all wrapped up in one.

    “So?” Logan asked, hating himself more even as he did. He loved Remy too, so much, and they didn’t deserve to have their love met with ‘so.’ But Remy could love again, could love someone better, love someone who didn’t need to constantly be cared for. “You can love someone else.”

    “I don’t want to love someone else, darling.” Remy responded, pain and worry now colouring their words. “I’m happy just as I am, right here, loving you.”

    Logan shook his head. “No you aren’t.” He said miserably.

    Thumbs rubbed over the back of Logan’s hands, the gesture likely meant to be reassuring. “What makes you say that?”

    “You can’t be happy like this. Helping me with… helping me with everything. Paying for everything. Doing everything.” Logan told them, squeezing Remy’s hands in lieu of being able to squeeze his own. “And you can’t… you can’t love a burden.”

    Remy squeezed Logan’s hands back, and Logan could tell from the grip it wasn’t just reassurance, wasn’t just a reminder that Remy was there. It was a reaction of surprise; probably surprise that Logan had called them out so easily. It was kind of them to say they were happy and all, but… Logan would rather they be actually happy than they try to be happy in a place where they couldn’t be.

    But then Remy spoke, tone urgent and tight as if they needed Logan to hear whatever they had to say. “You’re wrong, beloved. Completely wrong.”

    “Remy-”

    “You’re not a burden. Gods, Lo, you could never be a burden to me.” Remy said fiercely, one hand releasing Logan’s and resting on his cheek instead. “I love you. I’m happy with you.”

    “For how long?” Logan asked, his voice breaking as he spoke. Everything about Remy’s voice and words screamed real, but even if Remy still loved him now, Logan knew it couldn’t last.

    “I- Forever. Logan, I’m going to love you forever.” Remy replied, both of their hands now on Logan’s cheeks.

    Logan reached up, hands finding Remy’s wrists and holding onto them. He wasn’t sure if his eyes had been open before then or not, but they were squeezed shut now as he forced his tears not to fall. “It can’t last. You’ve already given up so much for me… you can’t keep giving forever. You’ll tire of it and then you’ll tire of me and you won’t love me anymore, no matter what you say.”

    For a moment, there was silence. Logan wished he could see Remy’s face, see what they were thinking, what they were feeling, but it was the reason why he couldn’t that had gotten them there in the first place.

    “You’ve been thinking about this for a while.” Remy said. It wasn’t a question.

    Logan nodded and the grip on his cheeks increased, even though it was still gentle. He let out a small sigh. He was going to miss this.

    “I love you, starshine, and that’s not changing anytime soon.” Remy reiterated, voice soft. They pressed a kiss to Logan’s forehead, one just as gentle as their tone. “I just finished a project. Do you want to cuddle and listen to Big Hero 6?”

    They’re avoiding the subject. Logan thought, his metaphorical heart falling. That meant… Remy knew what he was saying was true. They knew that, one of these days, it was all going to fall apart. Logan took it as a small win that they were distressed enough by the thought they were avoiding it, however. That meant that, for however long it would last, Remy did love him. Logan could work with that. He could cherish that.

    “Don’t you have to finish picking up my mug?” Logan asked. He hated to bring it up, a reminder of just another reason why they weren’t going to work out, but a slippery floor with ceramic shards was more of a hazard than it had ever been for him before. It was for the best that it was cleaned completely.

    “It’s already taken care of, hun, don’t worry.” Remy told him, moving their hands from Logan’s cheeks to hold his hands instead, helping him to his feet. They let go of one of Logan’s hands, clearly intending to let him lead the way to their bedroom, but Logan stepped closer to them and pressed himself into their side. He wasn’t sure how many more of these moments he’d be able to get, and he wanted to make the most of every one.

    Without hesitation, Remy slipped an arm around Logan’s shoulders, holding him close. They still held one of his hands as well, starting off towards the bedroom at a pace that was steady and consistent, making it easy for Logan to match their stride.

    They broke apart when they reached their bedroom, Logan moving to settle on the bed while Remy (presumably) saved out of their work and closed their laptop. Barely a minute passed before Remy was back, pulling Logan down so that his head was resting in their lap, already starting to play with Logan’s hair as they turned on the movie. Logan tried to focus on the niceness of the moment and not how much he’d miss it.

    Because he would miss it, would miss the light scrape of Remy’s nails against Logan’s scalp as they convince him to relax, would miss Remy’s warmth as they held him close to them, would miss the sound of Remy lightly humming until the movie started and sometimes even when it was playing. He would miss Remy.

    But while he was missing Remy, Remy would be free and happy. And if the choice was happiness without Logan or Logan without happiness, well…

    If you love something, let it go.

    ~

    “Remy, why are we here?”

    “You’ll see babe, you’ll see. Er. You’ll understand.”

    Logan ignored Remy’s slip of tongue. It was just an expression, and Logan had far more important things to worry about than phrasing that was technically inaccurate.

    For example, why he and Remy were at the beach.

    Remy had, of course, told Logan where they were going before they left, but Logan could’ve guessed where they were even if they hadn’t. He could hear waves lapping on the shore, and the smell of saltwater was still very recognizable. None of that answered why they were at the beach, but Logan figured it was nice to at least know where he was.

    Remy bumped their arm against Logan’s, allowing him to take it if he so pleased, and Logan accepted the offer of help gratefully. He felt secure enough in his skills with a cane to get around by himself, but he hadn’t exactly attempted to navigate a beach yet.

    Still providing no explanations, Remy began to move forward, their grip on Logan’s hand gentle but firm as they walked. Though Logan was careful to not go too fast, he found the sand to be less of a challenge to traverse than he thought. He still didn’t let go of Remy’s hand, however.

    Logan stopped when Remy did, guessing from the sound and smell that they were now standing right on the shore. He poked his guide stick forward, suspicion confirmed by the small splash noise that was made when his stick hit ground again.

    “Do you mind taking your shoes off, love?” Remy asked after a moment of them just standing there in silence, both enjoying the moment in their own way. On old instinct, Logan turned towards Remy, hoping his confusion showed on his face. It must have, because Remy chuckled before adding, “I’ll explain in a minute, I promise.”

    Though he was confused, Logan did as Remy asked, using their arm to support himself as he tugged off his shoes. Having not put on socks (also at Remy’s request), Logan tried not to shudder at the texture of sand directly against his feet. It wasn’t a bad texture, just an odd one. He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt it.

    Logan dropped his shoes next to him. “Now what?” He asked, curious as to where all of this was going to.

    He wasn’t expecting Remy to squeeze his hand and ask him, surprisingly seriously, “Can you feel the sand beneath your feet?”

    “Can I-” Logan shook his head, more puzzled than he had been a moment ago. “Of course I can, Remy. My eyes are damaged, not my nervous system.”

    “I know, babe, don’t worry. Just asking.” Remy said, which cleared nothing up for Logan. Remy tugged just a little bit on Logan’s arm, prompting him forward. “Step forward with me?”

    Logan did so, only shivering a little as he stepped into the cold water. Despite the chill, the feel of the water around his feet and lapping at his ankles was nice.

    “Can you feel the water?” Remy asked, once more prompting Logan to turn towards them, as if facing them would help Logan read them.

    “Yes, I can.” Logan answered, still confused, now waiting for Remy to provide him with an explanation.

    A breeze blew by. “Can you feel the wind in your hair?” Remy asked as it happened. Logan nodded. “Can you feel the sun on your skin?” Logan nodded again, the feeling of sun-warmed skin plenty familiar.

Remy tightened their grip on Logan’s hand. “Can you feel my touch?” They asked, their voice sounding slightly wrong, half a pitch too high.

    Logan squeezed their hand back. “Of course I can, Andromeda.” Logan told them, the old but beloved petname rolling off his tongue before he could stop it. He had been trying to use less of them recently, to make the inevitable transition from dating to being single easier, but something about Remy seemed to be off, and it would always be Logan’s first reaction to try and help Remy when something was wrong.

    Remy let out a small laugh at the petname, but Logan knew the reaction was a fond one, and he didn’t need to see Remy to know they were smiling now, a small but sappy expression that Logan intended to never forget.

    There was a rustling noise as Remy moved, and a moment later their free hand was gently getting Logan to let go of his guide stick, leaving it to hang off his wrist instead. Hand now empty, Remy left his hand so that it was open and palm-up before pressing something into it and curling Logan’s fingers around it.

    “Can you feel that?” Remy asked, their voice still a little off but almost in a good way, as if they were borderline giddy or trying not to be excited. Intrigued, Logan pressed his fingers even closer around the small object, trying to discern what it was.

    It didn’t take long for Logan to figure out what it felt like it was. Circular, metallic but not heavy, no center. It felt like it was a ring. But it couldn’t be a ring- there was only one reason Logan could think of that Remy would be giving him a ring, and that wasn’t- that was never going to happen, so it couldn’t be a ring.

    Further investigation of the object seemed to only be providing evidence to it being a ring, however. The hole in the object seemed to be just big enough to fit snugly on his ring finger. There were three slightly uneven bumps embedded in the metal, the middle one a little bigger than the others, just like inset gemstones. Raised points on the opposite side of the possible gemstones felt like braille, and after a moment Logan was able to make out the word they stood for- ‘forever.’

    “The braille’s new.” Remy said softly as Logan ran his finger back over the dots again, trying to see if it was a different word, but only coming up with forever, forever, forever. “The ring’s not.”

    “I…” Logan didn’t know what to say. The ring being old probably meant that Remy had gotten it before the accident- which was another thing he was going to have to contemplate soon- but adding the braille meant after the accident, meant after Logan went blind and after quitting their job and after having to do so much to help Logan, meant after all of that and still waiting to give Logan the ring. It meant… it meant more things than Logan felt he could process right then, maybe ever.

    “I’m not asking you to marry me.” Remy said, which made Logan’s heart ache even though he knew there must be more to the explanation, even though most of him knew Remy wouldn’t want to marry him anyways; not now. “I don’t know if you’re ready for that, or if you want that. That’s not my call to make, and that’s not my decision to force on you. But that’s not the point.

    “I love you, Logan. I loved you before the accident, I loved you after the accident, and I still love you now. That hasn’t changed.” Remy stopped for a moment, their free hand coming to rest on Logan’s cheek, catching the one tear that had begun to slip down Logan’s cheek and wipe it away. “Last week… you kept talking about being a burden, about how I would get tired of helping you and then I’d get tired of you. You said I was giving everything without getting anything. I told you you were wrong, but I could tell you didn’t believe me.”

    Logan didn’t respond to that. Remy was right; he hadn’t believed them. Maybe he believed that Remy still loved him in the moment, but he wasn’t a fool. No moment lasts forever, and a relationship built on one person always giving and the other always taking was a doomed relationship.

    “So that’s why I’m telling you again. You’re wrong, babe, so completely horribly wrong it really puts a shame to that big brain of yours.” Remy went on, tone both teasing and adoring, catching Logan off-guard. “You’re not a burden. I don’t think it’s possible for me to tire of you, much less leave you. And to say I’m giving without getting is a little rude to the love of my life, so I’d appreciate it if you stopped thinking like that.”

    “...What are you saying?” Logan asked, slowly, fingers still pressing the ring into his hand hard enough to indent his palm, well aware another tear was slipping down his face even in his confusion.

    “I’m saying that you give me so, so much, sweetheart.” Remy answered, sounding the slightest bit choked up, and Logan had the feeling if he touched their face he’d find tear tracks running down their cheeks. “You give me cuddles when I try to get out of bed before you and you indulge me when I do the same to you. You let me hold your hand even though I’m perfectly capable of just following you because I want to hold your hand. You rant about space and stars and planets to me when even slightly prompted. You accept my snark with a smile you pretend isn’t fond and you offer me a completely and unabashedly fond smile when I’m just playing with your hair. You give me your love,” Remy’s voice cracked there, but Logan had the feeling that wasn’t a bad thing, “and that is worth so, so much more to me than I think you know.”

    Logan was properly crying now, tears falling down both his cheeks and making a mess of his face. Remy didn’t seem to mind as they pressed their forehead against Logan’s, pulling him close.

    “It would be my greatest honor, pleasure, and joy to spend the rest of my life with you, to the point I’m more than willing to have it stamped out on some government paper.” Remy said, voice quieter but still filled with only love. “And if you wanted, I would marry you right now, or tomorrow, or in a week, or in a month, or in a year, or in a decade, or never. I would marry you if you were blind, deaf, and mute. I would marry you anywhere, anytime, anyway, because I love you, so damn much, and nothing is going to change that, much less the fact that you’re blind.”

    “I love you.” Logan said, suddenly, his grip on Remy’s hand tightening almost too much. “Don’t leave me.”

    “Never.” Remy vowed in a breath. “That’s the whole point of this.” Their hand left Logan’s cheek, moving down to hold Logan’s hand, interlocking their fingers and trapping the ring between both of their palms. “I wanted you to be able to feel my love.” And then, softly, so softly spoken Logan almost missed it, “Can you feel my love?”

    It was, objectively, a ridiculous question. One can’t feel love- it’s an abstract concept, something you can know exists in words and actions but can’t feel all by itself.

    And yet, Logan knew without a doubt that the answer to Remy’s question was a firm yes. He could feel Remy’s love, logic be damned. He could feel it in every word Remy had just said. He could feel it in the warmth of Remy’s hands in his, to keep him steady in more ways than one. He could feel it in the new braille raised on old metal.

    He could feel it because he knew it was there.

    It only took one stumbled step forwards before Logan was against Remy’s chest, the ring once more firmly held in his hand alone as Remy’s arms wrapped around him and held him close, close enough Logan could feel Remy’s heart beat against their chest. He held onto Remy as best he could, pressing his face into Remy’s shoulder and crying, no longer in fear of an approaching end but in the overwhelming joy of a beautiful future.

    “I’ll marry you.” He said a minute or two after he had finished crying, when it was just him and Remy, holding each other silently.

    “You don’t have to.”

    “I want to.” Logan responded, aware that he should wait, aware that he should step back from the situation and not make any decisions like this until he had calmed down from new realization that Remy wasn’t going to leave him, to make sure he wasn’t just trying to figuratively snatch Remy up before they could change their mind and get away from him. But he didn’t want to wait. He wanted to marry Remy and he wanted Remy to know he wanted to marry them and he wanted Remy to know that now.

    Remy chuckled as they pressed a kiss against the top of Logan’s head, and Logan liked to believe he could feel Remy smiling as they did so. “Then you’ll marry me.” They promised before gently pulling away from Logan, one arm still wrapped around his waist as they took the hand Logan was holding the ring in. They pulled slightly at his fingers and Logan opened his hand, allowing Remy to pick up the ring before they turned his hand over, holding the palm of it while allowing the fingers to stretch out.

    “May I?” They asked, the quiet request causing Logan to blush for reasons he wasn’t quite sure of.

    “Please do.” He responded, also quiet, his words laced with longing as well. Slowly, as if they wanted to savor the moment, Remy slipped the ring onto Logan’s finger. Logan wiggled his fingers, happy when the ring didn’t move. It fit perfectly.

    “And now, we’re engaged.” Remy said, raising Logan’s hand so that they could kiss the back of it, causing Logan’s blush to deepen as he smiled. He leaned forwards a bit, happy when Remy met his lips a second later with their own.

    The kiss wasn’t long- neither Logan nor Remy cared much for making-out or lip kissing in general- but it didn’t need to be. They already knew the importance of the moment, the beauty of each other, the love they shared that some might have called too much but they would’ve called not enough. The kiss was just a symbol of that. It didn’t have to be long, it just had to be theirs.

    Logan pulled away after a few seconds, once more resting his head on Remy’s shoulder, this time not to cry but just to be close to them. He held his hands close to his chest, running his finger over the braille on his ring over and over and over, the repeated motion and word a continuous reminder of all that had just happened and all that would happen.

    Gentle fingers worked their way into his hair, Remy settling their head on top of Logan’s as they played with his hair. “Do you want to go home and celebrate with cuddles?” Remy asked, their tone soft and fond and sweet in ways Logan wasn’t sure he had heard before but wanted to hear forever.

    “Soon.” Logan answered. “I want to stay here a little longer.”

    “Anything for you, starshine.” Remy replied, kissing Logan’s head again. Logan smiled into their neck, relaxing against them even more.

    Though Logan could still feel the sand beneath his feet, the water around his ankles, the wind in his hair, and the sun on his skin, he wasn’t focused on them. His attention was held entirely by Remy holding him, by Remy’s hand combing through his hair, by Remy’s chest steadily moving up and down in time with their breaths, and by the braille on his ring. His attention was held by warmth and comfort and Remy. His attention was held by love. And his love’s attention was held by him.

    And despite what challenges they might face, despite Logan’s worries and fears, despite everything that might stand in their way, that wasn’t going to change. They were going to be together. They were going to be in love. They were going to be happy.

    And they were going to be like that forever.

[godkilller]

@shirenui144

A more sombre question, but had me wondering... Has Gin ever cried / what would it take to make him cry? I imagine it would be verse dependent, but could a man this guarded ever visibly show such emotional hurt?

          out of character.  Why must you hurt me.

          But it’s an excellent question, and as you say too -- Gin has become such a guarded, numbed, and twisted man. He has, for lack of better wording, killed off that part of himself long ago. He is also one of the topmost guarded characters in Bleach, even Ichigo’s little trick of ‘reading his opponent’s heart’ during battle did not work on Gin. Gin was empty. Gin wasn’t even ‘looking at Ichigo’ with his heart when fighting. They did not reach each other. Gin is so utterly closed off from others and himself that there’s an eerie absence of self present in him, a swallowing abyss, intimidating and oppressive. Gin has also spent his entire existence isolated, he joined Aizen extremely young and thus his centuries-long otherness began. He cannot show emotions akin to Toshiro, who is often used in ways alongside Gin to show what happens if one shows emotions and weakness to Aizen Sousuke via childhood friends. Renji and Rukia, too, are used in ways that contrast Gin and Rangiku subtly in the background. Gin’s interactions with Rukia about Renji, and his interactions with Toshiro about Momo are to make Gin more of an other. He is removed, unlike them.

          So Gin does not despair openly like they do. He doesn’t shout or cry for the audience to see. He’s a villainous cold-hearted bastard.

          This is on top of the potent sense of cultural toxic masculinity and military way of avoiding / “dealing with” emotionally charged moments, not speaking of trauma, and the whole nine yards of suppression which channels into self-worth issues and a tendency for violence. Most characters in Bleach, and especially male characters, aren’t allowed to really stop and think about what they’re feeling, doing -- Ichigo being able to do a decent amount of that, yes, with his protagonist badge, but even then ?  It’s pathetically insufficient, barely a taste of what Ichigo actually should be experiencing, and no other characters are allowed to mourn losses or suffer long-lasting consequences for their actions, for injuries, for mistakes, for harmful words or acts. It’s an action / fighting series, the audience is here for big flashy swordfights and cool abilities, not emotions. Certainly not darker topics of PTSD and the like.

          You can slice it any which way, but Gin grew up as a child soldier. It can be contrasted by the fact that the majority of the Gotei 13 / Shinigami characters are shown, in flashbacks, as entering the Academy whilst in adulthood, becoming Shinigami once adults, with the exception of people like Toshiro, Momo, Hiyori, who all look / are perpetually young.

          Gin is a little older than Toshiro, for context, by the way -- and he is younger than Byakuya. Because Tite doesn’t know how the ages of his own characters work, it can be argued that Gin and Hiyori are possibly within the same ballpark in terms of ages. But like. Look at her. What the fuck. ANYWAYS, the point is ?  Gin’s young, and his trauma is fairly fresh. From the Winter War -- and then 110 years into the past to the Turn Back the Pendulum arc -- Gin spends the majority of his childhood either playing caretaker for Rangiku, who is actually a little older than him, and then killing; first, the three Shinigami that attacked Rangiku, then the Third Seat of the Fifth Division, and then many more likely during his career of observing failed projects at Aizen’s side, witnessing horrific Hollowification experimentations, and many more things. The crucial period of development for things like higher level empathy  ( Gin showcases it by sharing his food with Rangiku, a stranger, and then we see the absolute absence of it from then on )  and Gin swiftly enters into the midst of Erikson’s industry vs. inferiority stage of development; what does he have to offer the world ?  What can he become ?  Will he be good enough ?  This is the stage in which Gin makes the connection as well as makes peace with becoming a monster; this is what I’m offering, this is what I’m becoming, this will be good enough.

          He flipped a switch. It’s questionable whether or not Gin has the ability to cry once he’s an established Third Seat. It’s gone, it’s been swallowed down a hole so deep and dark Gin doesn’t want to go searching for it. He doesn’t want to cry. Gin already has a negative connotation connected to crying given his quote “I’m gonna become a Shinigami, change things for ya, so that you don’t have to cry anymore, Rangiku.” Not crying = good. Not crying means better. Rangiku crying over what was done to her was what embedded into Gin that he needed to be stronger. No crying allowed. None. In his mind, obviously, Gin doesn’t actually make that connection that ‘because Rangiku did this, I’ll do this’ no, he’s not so meticulously aware yet, but there’s certainly an imprint left on him from those earlier years in the Rukongai, dreading her tears, hating them, hating those men, and so crying = murderous intent. Crying = anger.

          If Gin cried as a child, he didn’t realize he was doing so. I can see him crying in his sleep from a dream, a nightmare, a jam-packed series of emotions hitting him whilst vulnerable, whilst unable to smile and swallow it all down. I can see him waking from it and wiping at his face, feeling utter detachment like an ache in his chest, an otherness, like that wasn’t even him crying, that wasn’t him. Gin wouldn’t think more of it, he wouldn’t dare linger on the thoughts. Conceal, don’t feel, don’t let them know.mp4 and all that jazz.

          Gin is more likely to lash out in anger than let himself cry. I have a headcanon / drabble somewhere of Gin screaming into his inner world, clutching at his hair, feeling so terribly close to crying but he can’t, it literally will not happen. He’s too bottled up and frustrated from that that when he actually has an opportunity to cry and it doesn’t naturally happen because he’s become so suppressed, it just outright angers him. Because he has latched everything up, lock and key, by the time Gin’s an adult -- if he were to cry as an adult, it’d be during a flurry of explosive emotions. He cannot just casually let loose, no, that door’s jammed shut, it’s been coiled tight in him. A pit of despair by the time the Winter War rolls by. Gin admits to feeling anxiety, dread, during that conflict -- a sign of slowly coming undone, no longer able to keep himself from hesitance, doubt, insecurity, and anticipation hovering around him like a dark cloud. Gin cannot cry, though, not now. Not when he’s so close to making all the pain worth something...

          So it’s no surprise that Gin really only starts getting the actual opening to properly cry in my canon divergent verses. But the catch !!!!  Gin has failed so thoroughly and so brutally that he feels he doesn’t deserve to weep about it. That this is merely a fraction of the karma he deserves. He experiences suicidal ideation, daydreaming of how it’d simply be easier if he hadn’t survived at all. He feels too hollow to cry, then, at the start. He feels too heavy, too much, it’s too much to cry about. He ruined himself and Rangiku for nothing. He did all of this for nothing. And now Rangiku wants answers, still waiting, watching him, and he can’t cry in front of her. IT’S STILL INGRAINED IN HIM FROM CHILDHOOD: she’s the one who cries and he’s the one who comforts. The audacity of him to cry in front of her after everything he put her through, as though he were the victim and her the one needing to comfort him. Gin may be morally gray, but at times he truly sees the world in black and white. No moderation, no give and take.

          It’d hit him later, when he’s learning to become more vulnerable. When he’s trying to open up to Rangiku about something he has to rip from himself, his heart holding onto this sorrow for so long Gin has to surgically remove the truth from himself. AS A CHILD, WITNESSING WHAT HAPPENED TO RANGIKU COUNTS AS A TRAUMATIC EVENT. Not talking about it for 110+ years does a number or two on you when you at last, FINALLY, tell her the fucking scoop. Gin repressed what happened to Rangiku because he recognized that Rangiku did not fully and properly remember, recollect, what happened to her. He knew. Gin saw.

          Compartmentalizing her trauma on top of his own, as though a keeper of it, a sin-eater, Gin would feel absolute despairing relief at finally telling her. Despairing because he’ll be inflicting upon her something he’s been holding back, holding that door shut, for the entirety of their knowing of one another, and to finally let go of the door and let that beast of trauma go charging at her undeterred ?  There’s immense guilt attached to this entire affair. Gin feels childlike guilt; why her, and not me ?  I wish it could’ve been me, we could’ve traded places and I’d be fine, I’d live, we could live happy together.  Akin to survivor’s guilt, Gin wishes those men had found him and taken a piece of his soul rather than Rangiku’s. The ‘why’ of it haunts him. Why her. Why didn’t I stop them. Why didn’t I show up sooner. I could’ve bitten at them, kicked and hit, we could have escaped together -- or at least you could have. Gin also feels guilt at a base adult level: why am I keeping this from her ? No, it’s too late to tell her, she’s happier now, there will never be a good time to tell her.

          There are so many things, feelings, thoughts, that Gin has never shared with Rangiku due to it all being tied to the unspoken secret he’s let fester inside of him.

          SO WHEN GIN FINALLY TELLS RANGIKU WHY HE JOINED AIZEN, WHY HE TRIED TO KILL AIZEN, WHY HE SAID THOSE WORDS TO HER DURING THAT BLIZZARD AND BECAME A SHINIGAMI ... GIN’S GOING TO BREAK DOWN.

          The truth is tied to vulnerability in Gin’s mind. Telling it means ripping himself apart at the seams. Everything he crafted himself out to be was made around this secret. It’s going to be bloody, it’s going to hit him like a fucking train. Gin’s going to feel it coming, rumbling on the tracks, he’ll hear it even, that approaching storm, he’ll know by the prickle at his eyes and the closing of his throat, but still nothing’s ever prepared him for the absolute choked finality of the truth, and he’s going to do his best to hold it back -- it’s instinctive, it’s in his blood by now to mask it, stop it, divert and drawl his way out of it. But this time he can’t just stop halfway and distract her, talk about something else. No, Gin’s cornered himself and it’s high time Rangiku got the truth from him, he can’t run away any more. He’ll have to grit his teeth and talk through it, swallow it back just enough to speak, to tell her what he’s done to them both and for what, for why, it’s the worst possible conversation they could ever have, but one they need. And Gin’s going to find himself incapable of holding back a sob the more he discloses, the more that slips out and escapes him the more the emotions tied to that sunken anchor come up too. He will feel simultaneously lighter and heavier for it.

          There are numerous ways Gin’s thought about wording it. He’s thought about the numbed approach, MISSION REPORT style: Aizen Sousuke harvested souls from the 64th Rukongai District, they took a piece from you. Perhaps not, no, not like that. Maybe... back when y’were a kid, there were three Shinigami assigned to the 64th District to collect souls to fuel Aizen Sousuke’s Hogyoku. They took somethin’ from you. I saw it. I saw them hoverin’ over you, I saw it in their hands. I saw’em offer it up to Aizen in the forest, collectin’ firewood. I saw him.

          WHY DIDN’T I STOP HIM, WHY DIDN’T I ATTACK THOSE THREE MEN THEN AND THERE IN BROAD DAYLIGHT WITH YOUR COLLAPSED FORM A FEW FEET AWAY, MAYBE I COULD HAVE TAKEN THEM ON AFTER ALL. I COULD HAVE CRUSHED A SKULL IN WITH STONE, I COULD’VE STOLEN HIS SWORD BEFORE THE LIFE FULLY FADED FROM HIM AND MADE IT VANISH, I COULD’VE CARVED THROUGH THE SECOND, SLICE THE TENDON AT THE THIRD’S ANKLE AS HE ATTEMPTED TO FLEE, WARN OTHERS. SLIT HIS THROAT AS HE CRAWLED AWAY. YOU’D HEAR IT, OFF TO THE SIDE. YOU’D SEE ME COME UP TO YOU WITH BLOOD SPLATTERS. YOU’D SEE ME LEAN OVER YOU WITH NOT A PERSIMMON OFFERED, NO, YOUR OWN FUCKING SOUL THEY PLUCKED FROM YOU. SHAKY HAND. BLOODIED HAND. TAKE IT, TAKE IT BACK. I FIXED IT --

          Just tell her. JUST TELL HER.

          DO YOU REMEMBER THE DAY WE MET, RANGIKU ... ?

[vigilantesanonymous]

family gatherings - klaus hargreeves

You meet the family, and make a good impression. Diego is a little too overprotective over his brother. Hilarity and awkwardness ensue. 

Word Count: 2382

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

You had been dating Klaus for 6 months before he brought up his family. Another month after that, he ventured the idea of possibly meeting them. 

After the awful childhood that he had shared with his siblings, he wasn’t keen on seeing them again. Well, the childhood, and then the stopping the apocalypse debacle. He was sober now, and had (relatively) gotten his life together. His siblings knew how to push his buttons, and even though he loved them, it was easy to fall into old habits. Habits that were particularly numbing.

As part of his sobriety, Klaus had tried to keep busy by becoming closer with Vanya. She was easy to talk to, seeing as he was allowed to do most of the talking and she wouldn’t become annoyed with him for being a chatterbox. He had proudly boasted to her that he met you in a normal way, at a book shop where you were flipping through volumes of Steinbeck, and Klaus happened to be there hoping to find some solace in a woowoo self-help book. After all of the secrets, the damage, the baggage, and the drama that he had relayed to you, you hadn’t run away. So he was sure now that meeting his family would really, truly not be that bad. At least he knew you could handle some of the more… Interesting members. 

“What if they don’t like me?” You ask, nervously trying to smooth down your hair. You had changed three times,  Klaus following behind to pick up your discarded garments and contemplate borrowing them for his outfit of the day.

“They’ll like you,” Klaus assures as he takes your fidgeting hand. “Besides, I know for a fact Vanya already likes you. She asks me about you whenever I talk about you to her, so that’s a good sign.” He presses a kiss to each fingertip before sliding his hand into yours. “Now any more fussing, and we’ll be late. And we wouldn’t want that, now would we?”

You can tell Klaus is just as nervous as you are, though. He pretends like he doesn’t care about his family and how they’ll act, but deep down it’s obvious that he does. Revisiting the shit show of the household he grew up in always brings back painful memories for him, and he would rather have this ordeal over sooner rather than later. 

The walk over to the Hargreeves household is incredibly long and strangely short at the same time. To say the mansion is huge is an understatement. It’s dark and imposing, certainly making you even more nervous than you were before. Klaus saunters in ahead of you, preparing to intercept any siblings before they can pounce on you. 

Allison is the first to greet you both, all smiles and smelling of expensive perfume. “Hi guys!” She pulls her brother into a hug, eliciting a confused glance your way. She’s definitely putting on a normal family act, he thinks to you. 

The one that you assume to be Diego emerges from the shadow behind a pillar, eyeing you warily while Klaus is occupied. “So you’re the girl my brother’s dating then, are you?”

“That’s me,” you agree, hoping you sound cool and collected. Klaus told you that Diego would be a bit much, standoffish and intimidating. “Which number are you; 1, 2, or 5?”

“2,” he says curtly. 

“Ah, so you’re the one with the knives. When someone has a problem, do you say you’ll take a stab at it? Or are you not that into puns?”

Diego’s hard exterior cracks as he grins. He shakes his head, laughing softly. 

At this point Vanya shuffles by, offering you a small wave and a timid smile. 

“Well come on in guys! I know Mom made lemonade.” Allison leads you into the sitting room, which is as large and regal as the rest of the house. The atmosphere changes, however, as you notice a giant man sitting on the corner of the couch. Another person, a small boy around the age of 13, has his back to you as he stares at the painting in front of him.

“Luther, Five. Our guests are here.” Allison motions towards you and Klaus. 

Five stays silent, pretending to not hear her. 

Luther also sits mute, glancing between you, Klaus, and Allison.

Vanya pipes up, attempting to cut some of the tension. “Mom made-”

“-Lemonade, yeah!” Allison perks up at the next possible solution to make the situation less awkward. “Diego, do you remember when we were younger, and Mom made-”

“Let’s cut the awkward small talk, alright Allison?” Diego sinks into a chair opposite you, inspecting one of the many knives on his person.

“Okay,” Allison says, exasperated. 

Luther is a bit gruff and awkward, obviously not used to socializing in really any capacity. He just keeps looking between you and Klaus, eyeing your intertwined hands. You wonder if he’s looking for a ring or something. 

“Chummy bunch, aren’t we?” Five smirks, finally turning around. “Welcome to the family, dear,” he says with a mock bow to you. He saunters over to the bar, rummaging around with various bottles of what must be incredibly expensive alcohol.  

“Five, don’t be rude,” Allison sighs. Her perfect posture wilts a bit under the awkward air in the room. 

“Drinks, anyone? At the risk of coming across as crass, I would have to admit I prefer a good martini to a lemonade.” Five smirks, twirling around martini glasses. “Just me? That’s fine. Really, you wouldn’t have noticed I was gone with all that tantalizing banter going on.”

“Five-” Allison starts again, looking apologetically at you. 

“Amazing family gathering guys! You can’t even pretend to be normal for five minutes,” Klaus chides bitterly. His hands twitch, gaze flickering back and forth to the bar in the corner. You squeeze his hand in yours, rubbing soothing circles. 

“Sorry, it’s just the last time one of our siblings brought their significant other over, they started the end of the world,” Diego deadpans. 

“Do you really need to bring that up?” Vanya huffs, eyes shooting daggers at him. 

“Fine,” Diego shrugs, turning to Luther. “What about you, big guy? Got anything to say?”

“I- I um…” Luther stutters, unsure. “I’m not the greatest at making conversation anymore. You know, being on the moon for so long and not talking to anyone…” he trails. 

“Oh, here we go with the moon again,” Diego huffs, earning an annoyed glance from Luther.

“No, start the fight! The sooner you two go at each other, the sooner we get to leave,” Klaus adds sarcastically. 

“Would you like to get a cup of coffee with me in the kitchen?” Allison asks, looking directly at you. You nod, getting up to follow her and leave the boys to their bickering. 

���I am so sorry,” Allison says as she hands a mug to you. “I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t usually like this. But, it’s just… It’s not appropriate.”

“It’s okay,” you say, understanding. “Klaus clued me into the dynamic between everyone. It’s just families. I don’t think I’ve ever met one that is actually 100% perfect and functioning before,” you chuckle, earning a giggle from Allison. “I wanted to meet you all though, because you’re important to Klaus. Even though he might not always express it. He really will do anything for you guys, and I really admire that about him.”

“Yeah, Klaus has always had a big heart, ever since he was a kid,” Allison agrees. “Sometimes I feel bad, and I wonder how he would have turned out-- how all of us would have turned out-- if we were able to just grow up together as normal kids instead of as a super unit.”

You shrug. “Powers or not, I love Klaus all the same. I’ll always be there for him, no matter what.”

As if on cue, Klaus saunters in. “Hey, you couple of chatty Kathy’s.” He snakes his arms around your waist, planting a small kiss on your cheek. “Five is starting to get sloshed, so I think that’s our cue to leave.” His exterior is relaxed and nonchalant, but you know him, and he seems stressed. It’s getting hard to resist temptation with all the booze here, he projects into your mind. 

“Okay,” you agree. “Wanna get some stuff for dinner on the way home? I can make that pasta that you like.” You give his hand a small squeeze, your way of letting him know you understand. God, is he so glad that you understand.

The two of you slip out with a goodbye from Allison and Vanya, and a watchful glare from Diego. 

After the large door has been shut, Allison turns to Diego. He watches the both of you walk away down the street with a small “Hm.”

“What, you don’t like her?” Allison asks.

Diego sighs, his shoulders falling. “No, I do like her. A lot, actually. She seems really good for Klaus. I mean, she managed our shit show pretty well.”

“So what’s the problem then?”

“That’s exactly the problem,” Diego emphasizes. “When has our brother ever dated someone who is sane? Who has their life together? Never! I care about our brother, and I want to see if there’s something up with this girl.”

Allison rolls her eyes. “Klaus is getting better. He’s sober now, for real, and is actually trying hard to move on. Maybe she’s part of that, of him getting better. Not everything about change is bad, Deegs.” She gives her brother’s arm a supportive squeeze. 

“Well, I don’t want it to be like another Harold Jenkins scenario.” Diego crosses his arms in front of his chest, his face set. It was clear that dropping the subject wasn’t an option. 

Allison sighs, knowing that she should come along to act as damage control when Diego inevitably does something stupid rather than let him go out on a limb himself. “Fine, I’ll help you. But it’ll just be me and you. We’re not getting Five or Luther involved in this. Got it?”

“Luther would just get in the way,” Diego huffs confidently. “Come on, I’ve got a plan.”

*

Diego’s master plan ended up being to break into your apartment to rummage around. 

“I can’t believe we’re doing this again,” Allison complains as she looks through your closet. “She’s got good taste though,” she notes as she passes by a particularly cute skirt. 

“There has to be something here,” Diego sighs, flipping through some papers on your desk. 

Sighing, Allison crosses her arms and emerges from the closet. “Diego, we’ve been here for an hour, and we haven’t found anything. When we went to Harold’s, we didn’t have to look far to find some incriminating stuff, but here there’s nothing. Do you think that maybe now you believe that she’s a normal person?”

Diego gets cut off by the sound of keys jingling and the door opening. Allison and Diego lock eyes, panicked. Quickly, Diego grabs his sister’s wrist and pulls her into the cramped closet with him. 

“Ohmygod, ohmygod,” Allison whispers. 

“Shut up,” Diego barks in a hushed tone. “Hopefully we can just ride this out.”

The pair sit in rigid anticipation, trying to make out the muffled conversation between you and Klaus. 

“I’m still sorry,” Klaus says, kicking the door shut behind him. 

“Klaus, really. It’s okay. I don’t love you any less because of your family. Besides, it really wasn’t that bad,” you chuckle. 

Klaus starts to protest, but you cut him off with a kiss. 

“Let’s put the debate to rest and start on dinner, yeah?”

Klaus grins at you mischievously, eyeing you. “Well, what if I want dessert before dinner?”

“Oh?” You question, playing along. “We didn’t get dessert Klaus.”

“I’m looking at it,” he says, his voice lowering with lust. He pushes you back against the counter, trapping you in a heated kiss. Not that you minded of course. 

Clearing his throat awkwardly, Ben tries to wave down his brother. 

“Not now,” Klaus mumbles through gritted teeth, preparing to strip you of your shirt. 

“Klaus, I think someone’s in the apartment,” Ben states, trying to look anywhere but the pair of you. 

“Fuck,” Klaus sighs, his hands slowing to a still at your waist. 

“What’s wrong?” You ask, catching your breath. 

“Ben seems to think there’s someone else here,” he says a bit loudly, looking into the slightly ajar bedroom door. It isn’t until now that you remember you shut it before you left for the Hargreeves mansion. “Stay here, I’ll go check it out.” He gives your hand a reassuring squeeze, beelining straight for the closet door. 

Opening the door with typical Klaus grandeur, the three Hargreeves stare at each other with wide eyes. 

“What the actual fuck, you two?!” Klaus laughs in disbelief, looking between his guilty sister and defiant brother. “Why are you in my girlfriend’s closet? Some kind of secret love affair you’re trying to hide from Luther, or is it that you think you can’t trust her?”

Allison opens her mouth to try to diffuse the situation, but Klaus just shakes his head. 

“She checks out, if you were curious,” Diego adds as he walks out. “No Harold Jenkins from what I could find.”

“Do I want to know why your siblings were hiding in my closet, or…?” You trail, looking at all three of them. 

“They thought you were shady, that’s all. They couldn’t believe that I could have a normal person in my life that isn’t trying to bring about the end of the world.”

You look between Allison and Diego and shake your head. “Why don’t you guys get out of here and we’ll just forget this all happened. Sound good?”

“Sounds amazing,” Klaus answers for them. “Now I don’t know about you two, but I’m excited to go back to getting my girlfriend in the mood to bang.” He shoos the both of them out the front door without any other comments, finally closing the door and turning back to you. “So, now that we’re alone… Want to pick up where we left off?”

[inquartata30]

WIP Whenever, Fluff Part 1

tagged by @sky-ham for some fluff for understandable reasons

tagging @natsora and @1esk19 for more fluff

this is from a one shot set in The Scenic Route’s timeline, the one where they’re in the Milky Way, everyone’s alive, and there are no Reapers.

Lexi answered almost immediately. “Did you and Aella enjoy your time at the park?”

Thaia narrowed her eyes. Going to the park had been a spontaneous thing because her lab time had been usurped by some other ‘more important’ project. Instead of bothering with battling over a stupid power move, she’d opted to take her kid to Guildhall Park for a pickup skyball game and whatever else they could find.

Unfortunately, ‘whatever else’ had turned out to be trouble, which wasn’t an unusual occurrence when Thaia and Aella went places without, as Sula called it, adult supervision. But wasn’t that Thaia didn’t want Lexi to know what they were up to. It was because Lexi had been in a practical and Thaia hadn’t wanted to disturb her unless there was some kind of incident that required her help. If not, Thaia would simply tell her the entire story when she got home. Or someone else would’ve told her before she even got home because Thaia and her family knew way too many people in this part of Armali. 

Also, Aella had successfully scaled the monument to Matriarch Atapalai and her reward had been been them getting booted from the park and banned for the rest of the week and ‘maybe you should teach your child some decorum during that time.’

First of all, Thaia was pretty sure that the matriarch who’d had the tits to go out and find the first relay and then used the fucking thing within days because ‘fuck sitting around on my ass and being cautious like the rest of you’ would be completely fine with a kid climbing a statue dedicated to her. Cheer her on, even. 

Second of all, Thaia had wanted to see if Aella could get all the way to the top because it was pretty fucking high up. Then Aella had reached the top and Thaia had been too busy being proud as fuck to chase her down before a cluster of matriarchs got their panties in a twist over it.

So, to help them feel better after getting unjustly banned from the park for a week, Thaia and Aella had gone to the hobby shop. And now they felt better.

“Yes,” Thaia said to Lexi. “We did.”

Aella tried cramming a foot under the box. She immediately winced and went another route, trotting over to one of the trees lining the walkway. Little purple flower petals drifted down around her when she bumped into the trunk instead of stopping of her own volition like a normal person. Then she grabbed a good-sized stick, held it aloft with the petals still swirling around her, and ran back.

Lexi sighed. “I suppose I should be grateful no one was hurt.”

“I don’t know, Matriarch Agera got all worked up about a scuff mark on the statue. Maybe someone should examine her for a heart condition.”

“That mark was there before!” said Aella, working the stick under the box for leverage.

“It was.” Thaia shrugged even though Lexi couldn’t see her. “Anyway, I called to see if Harry was visiting Thessia and I didn’t know or if Karin was coming over at any point today.”

“I don’t believe so. Do I want to know why?”

“Nah, it’s fine.”

“Do I need to know why?”

“We’re fine, I promise. We just wanted to be sure. Okay, have a fun class, love you, bye!”

“Bye!” Aella echoed without interrupting her determined glare at the box. 

Thaia ended the call before Lexi could interrogate either of them since Lexi had gotten even better at interrogation since she’d started her clinical psych program and she’d already been phenomenal before that. Plus, neither Thaia nor Aella could lie to save their lives.

Thaia turned to her daughter, who’d given up on the stick and was now using all of her might to drag the box.

Successfully. Shit, her kid was strong. Freakishly strong, according to Celaeno. However, it was slow going and Thaia was admittedly excited about putting the model together with Aella. Sooner rather than later. And she hadn’t bargained on her kid being this fucking stubborn and being able to move the box enough where they were actually making forward progress.

Incremental forward progress.

“You sure you don’t want help?” Thaia asked.

Aella stopped, put her hands on her hips, and glared up at Thaia. “I can get it!”

“Okay, okay.” Thaia held up her hands in surrender. “I won’t ask again.” She also had to hide a laugh because for all Aella shared a similar bone structure to Thaia, that fucking glare had been all Lexi. Seeing it on someone so small was funny as fuck.

The next twenty-seven minutes—Thaia kept track—were spent with Aella grumbling and grunting as she pushed and pulled the box along the strip of sidewalk leading from the Kepeia District to Palla Square. During that time, Thaia also drew several amused or annoyed looks from onlookers and, really, the annoyed ones could just fuck off. Obviously, they’d never had to deal with spectacularly stubborn child. In the the stone-paved area outside the complex’s entrance, the sharp scent of ozone hung in the air. Thaia couldn’t hear the snaps of biotics or shouting that accompanied playing, so practice must’ve been over for the day.

As Aella stopped to catch her breath and Thaia silently wished she’d just give up and let her carry the box, members of Armali’s team began exiting through the complex gates, some pausing to sign autographs for enthusiastic younger fans. From behind a couple clusters of sizable backfielders emerged a comparatively pint-sized player whom Thaia and Aella immediately recognized.

Fejla Na’vis, who’d been their reliable source of skyball tickets for almost seven years; who’d obtained a pass for Thaia to attend a one week long pro-level skyball camp a month before Aella was born; and who, along with Harry, was Lexi’s best friend of decades.

The only reason Thaia hadn’t known about Fej during the two years she was being a dumbass about Lexi was because Fej was a pro player for Armali Union, Thaia’s favorite skyball team ever, and Lexi had—rightly—suspected that Thaia would  react with an undue amount of enthusiasm should she ever meet Fej.

She had. But during the months before Aella had been born and especially after their unintentionally galaxy-spanning misadventure shared with Nef, a black-market body part, and a stack of ancient krogan data-readers, they’d become excellent friends. And Thaia had mostly stopped being a completely over-enthusiastic fan. 

With the exception of playoffs.

“Auntie Fej!” Aella dropped the box and sprinted toward Fej, practically slamming into her for a hug and almost smashing Fej’s nose with her forehead in the process. Luckily, Fej was able to dodge the head blow.

Shit, if Aella’s forehead was a threat to Fej’s nose, that meant she was already catching up to Fej in height. Thaia did her best not to laugh. It wasn’t fair that Aella was on the ridiculously tall side for an asari six-year-old and Fej was on the decidedly small size for an asari adult. Given another couple years, Aella would probably be able to look her in the eye.

“What’ve you got there?” Fej asked, pointing at the box after Aella let go. 

“We got a model relay!” Aella ran back to the box and demonstrated her dragging technique. “Look, I can carry it by myself!”

After observing Aella move the box a whole-ass third of a meter in five minutes, Fej placed her duffel bag on the grass and smiled. “Wow, it’s almost as big as me! I bet you’re excited to get it home. Do you want some help carrying it? I’m going in the same direction for a bit, so I don’t mind.”

Thaia waited for the ‘determined Lexi glare’ to appear on Aella’s face like it had when she’d offered to help. 

It fucking didn’t. Instead, Aella grinned and said, “Yes, please!”

“What the fuck,” Thaia said, mostly under her breath.

When Fej stood next to her, Aella looked between her and the box and back again. Then she scratched her chin and did it again. After a third time, she said to Fej, “I bet I can pick you up.”

Fej opened her mouth, closed it, and then after thinking it over for a moment, shrugged. “You know what? Give it a try.”

Aella immediately crouched and grabbed Fej around the knees.

Fuck, she’d figured out the best method to pick up someone bigger than her. She might actually do it. Thaia hurriedly activated her omni. This needed to be recorded for posterity.

After setting her feet, Aella lifted with all her tiny might. Face flushed a darker blue and her legs trembling with the effort, Aella got Fej a good ten or so centimeters off the pavement before she lost her balance and fell backwards. Fej, possessing the body awareness and quick reflexes of a pro ballplayer, flipped in the air and landed on her feet while catching Aella with biotics the same time.

“I did it!” Aella announced, triumphantly raising her arms in the air.

The startlingly large audience they’d collected during Aella and Fej’s stunt gave the two a round of applause. Thaia had the best fucking kid.

“That was hard,” said Aella, shaking out her arms. “I don’t think I can carry the box the rest of the way home.”

Fej gave the top of Aella’s crest a fond rub. “I’ll still help you.”

“Good, because Daddy didn’t help me on our way here.”

Okay, maybe not the best kid.

“The fuck,” Thaia said, loud enough for the others to hear.

[rohad93]

Moonlit Masquerade: Sandcastles pt 2

i hate editing super long documents so this is gonna be in a few parts.

~

Amity isn't having the best week.

Sunday felt like it lasted forever, stuffed into an itchy, uncomfortable dress that her mother had picked for her to wear to her party where she had to spend several hours with a fake smile plastered on her face, till her cheeks hurt, playing her part along with the twins.

She's pressured into a few dances with the children of their parents' coworkers and it hits her that the same songs, that feel so short when she dances with Luz, can feel so agonizingly long with their clammy hands on hers and their much too stiff grip on her waist.

Songs aren’t nearly long enough when her girlfriend holds her and spins her around. It makes her feel light and she doesn't think she could possibly dance better then she does with Luz.

She feels slow and jerky dancing with the other children of her parents’ blueblood, society friends.

They smile in a way they think must be charming and dashing, but Amity knows better. Most of them are just as scheming and devious as their parents or just as uninterested in all of this as she is.

She was looking forward to Monday if for no other reason than to get out of her house and see Luz, which she did, just not as much as usual.

She had to go home straight after school to help Eda, which did happen sometimes.

She at least had Tuesday to look forward to, but the next day as she was arriving at school her scroll beeped with a message from Luz, saying she wasn’t going to be at school today, which yeah, was pretty disappointing. Tuesday had become her favorite day of the school week, even if her ability to take notes and pay attention to the teacher did slip quite noticeably on that particular day of the week.

Wednesday comes and Luz does come to school, with a bandage on her forehead, claiming she fell on the stairs, which is on par for her, but it’s quickly forgotten, along with Monday and Tuesday when she yanks Amity into a concealed corner to kiss her while their friends play watch.  

Lunch is normal enough, even though she tells her that she has to go straight home again after school, she at least got to see her today so she’ll make do.

On Thursday Luz arrives late, so they miss each other, and is then curiously absent from lunch, though she sends her a message saying they finally can spend some time together after school, but Luz seems distracted when she arrives.

They’re lounging around their secret room, reading and normally Luz is much more animated when they read Azura, but today she seems lost in thought.

“Are you okay?” Amity finally asks from her place reclined against her girlfriend’s chest.

They’ve been sitting on the floor, Luz’s back against the cushions with Amity sitting between her legs, back against her chest while she holds the third Azura book they’ve been rereading in her hands.

Luz has been strangely quiet, running her index finger over the tip of one of Amity’s pointed ears distractedly. She’s become quite used to being in intimate proximity to Luz but her face is still pink regardless, though faint. She’s beginning to get a little worried. Luz is hardly this quiet for this long, it’s a little unnerving.

“Hmm?” Luz hums questioningly and Amity knows she hasn’t been listening to anything she’s been reading either. “Sorry, what?” Luz glances down at her and mercifully the finger running over her ear stops as well.

Amity tilts her head back to look at her.

“I asked if you were okay,” she repeats the question.

“Oh, yeah, I’m fine, why?” she cocks her head.

“You’ve just been quiet today and you've been really busy and I...,” she trails off not sure how to say ‘You’ve been busy and I miss you’ without coming off as clingy or needy, because really, it's just been a few days; but the limited time they have together before or after school and on Tuesdays is special to her, and she finds herself not at all liking the sudden deprivation from it.

She doesn’t have to say it though. Luz’s confused face slowly turns into a grin as she looks down at her.

“Have you been lonely without me, Amity?” She asks in a syrupy sweet and knowing voice that makes Amity turn red and scowl at the same time.

Amity just huffs, turning away and Luz grins at the back of her head and wraps her arms around her, squeezing her close and pressing a kiss to her the back of her head.

“Lo siento, mi amor. Eda has just been working on a big project and has been needing my help."

Amity relaxes into her hold, mock annoyance, and any real annoyance or loneliness she’s been feeling at Luz’s sudden absence this week, fading as she holds her tightly. She has to remind herself that she can tell Luz anything without fear of judgment or being made fun of. It’s still a strange thing to her.

“I understand I just…” her face remains pink as she mumbles something under her breath.

“What was that?” Luz blinks and whatever she said is repeated at the same volume.

“Uh, one more time?” Luz asks and Amity makes an annoyed sound in her throat.

“I said… I miss you,” she finally says loud enough for her to hear, but the tone is soft, fragile. “I miss you when we’re not together,” she mumbles, but Luz hears her and is glad that Amity is still facing away from her so she can’t see the teary doe-eyed look she’s giving her.

“I miss you too, Amity.” She sat her chin on her shoulder and squeezed.

Amity broke into a wide grin as Luz smooshed her face against hers.

“Maybe... we could hang out this weekend? My family has a beach house on the southern side of the Isles and the twins got them to let the three of us go over for the long weekend by ourselves… would you like to go?” She glanced back and frowned upon seeing the grimace on luz’s face. “You’re busy aren’t you?” she asked, already knowing the answer.

“Yeah… since they can’t use magic to carry things it’s all hands on deck for the monthly supply run Saturday.” Luz frowned, especially as she watched the way her girlfriend's face fell. Sure, she was lying for the greater good, and Amity would be so excited tomorrow when they surprised her, but that didn’t make the disappointed look on her face any easier to see right now.

“I’m sorry…,” Luz started but Amity shook her head.

“It’s okay…  I understand,” she assured with a small smile, but Luz knows better, she's gotten good at reading Amity's face and the tone of her voice; she's disappointed.

“When Eda's project is done we'll spend a whole weekend together, I promise, mi amor." She squeezes Amity close and smiles knowingly into her hair.

"Soon, I hope," Amity sighs, leaning into her hold, deciding to just enjoy the time they have now

'much sooner than you think' Luz thinks to herself.

When their time together is done for the day Luz hurries home through the portal and runs straight to her room to get her stuff ready.

Gus and Willow will be there before noon tomorrow so they can take her portal glyph to the beach house. She's been practicing with it and the size of the glyph doesn't seem to matter. It just needs to be big enough to walk through, and she can be anywhere on the Isles near instantly.

Out of curiosity she tried one and thought of the human world, but it went nowhere.

Much as she hates to think it, she can't find it in herself to be disappointed. No one can say she didn't try though.

Her bag is packed and ready by the door, along with the box of decorations the twins had given her at lunchtime today. Since she, Willow, and Gus will get there first, they're on decoration duty.

Next to it are two cardboard boxes of her surprise for Amity and she grins to herself at the thought.

Amity hadn't expressly forbidden her from buying her presents but she didn't like Luz buying her stuff when they went out by themselves or with their friends.

She told her she felt bad when Luz spent her limited funds on her.

So Luz had come up with a rather ingenious gift if she does say so herself. Something they don't have on the Boiling Isles.

She couldn't believe her luck when she'd been digging through one of Eda's human junk piles in one of the spare rooms.

Two large boxes full of the stuff.

She ran to Eda asking if she could have them and Eda waves a hand.

"Whatever you want in there, take it, Kid."

She couldn't wait to see the look on Amity's face. Everyone else's too.

It takes her a while to go to sleep that night, she's so excited she tosses and turns a while and King gets fed up with her and stalks off to Eda's room, mumbling under his breath.

She wakes up before dawn the next day and jumps out of bed and dresses before quickly running down the stairs.

Lilith is sitting at the table having her customary cup of morning tea when Luz skids into the kitchen. The elder Clawthorne smiles at her, though far more subdued then the manic one on the human's face.

"Let's get baking!" Luz throws up her hands and Lilith chuckles.

"Very well."

A few hours later the sun has risen and Eda and King have finally come downstairs, groggy and eyes barely open just as Luz is boxing up the cake.

"All done?" Eda mumbles as she pours herself some apple blood.

"Yup, just waiting on Gus and Willow!" She grins setting the cake box down the table and swats at King's hand as he reaches for it.

"No, King, that's for Amity's party," she scolds and the tiny demon grumbles, glaring up at her.

"Everything you do is for that cupcake smasher!" he squeals with rage at being denied.

"I do not!" Luz argues.

"Yes, you do!" King stands in the chair, pointing a tiny clawed hand at her.

"Well…!" Luz pauses not sure what to say to that. Maybe she does do a lot for Amity, but Amity does just as much for her, so she fails to see how that's a bad thing.

Eda is watching her and grins.

Luz of course talked her ear off about their date under the grom tree last month, including her impromptu confession of love.

She'd just been nodding along, half-listening, flipping through a book as Luz waxed poetic about how 'amazing' and 'romantic' it was until the words: "Then I accidentally said I loved her out loud…"

That made her sit up and pay attention.

Luz had a tendency to get carried away and she was suddenly worried she'd… how did the kid put it? 'jumped the gun?'

She listened much closer to the rest of the story.

"Did you mean it?" Eda asked her when she finishes.

"Huh?" Luz looked up at her.

"Do you love her?" the older witch clarified.

"Oh…" Luz looked away, smiling dopily to herself. "Yeah… I did mean it. I do love her." She nodded.

"How do you know?" Eda pressed and Luz looked at her confused and Eda frowned, trying to think of a way to word it that wouldn't burst Luz's bubble if she was wrong. She just wants to protect her kid.

"Look, Luz, I know you like her a lot, believe me, and I'm not trying to say you couldn't love her, but you are still young and you do tend to get ahead of yourself…, so I'm just asking, how do you know you love her?" she words carefully. This is new territory for Eda.

'The talk' she can give, she's plenty familiar with that, but love? That's never been her strong suit, and she has a long trail of broken relationships behind her to prove it.

Luz pursed her lips, trying to think of a way to explain it to her mentor, whose right of course. She knows she's still young and stuff, she's famous for leaping before she looks, but Luz also knows her feelings. She's spent enough time alone with only her feelings to know how to read them, she's had crushes, but she's never felt anything like this before.

"Being with Amity… makes me happier than I've ever been…, then I thought I could be…," she starts slowly. "And I want to make her happy too… and I'd do anything to do that." She looks up at Eda, who's staring back at her with an unreadable expression.

"Alright," she finally says.

"Alright?" Luz repeats, blinking. Eda nods.

"If you say you love her, I believe you."

Luz smiles at her.

"And if she breaks your heart, we'll feed her to Hooty…" she grins wickedly making Luz squawk.

"Eda!"

"Well…" Luz hesitates, trying to figure out what to say.

"You love her, that’s how it goes," Eda says with a shrug, drawing everyone's gaze.

""Edalyn, they've only been together-" whatever else Lilith is going to say it's cut off by Luz who grins.

"Yeah," she says with a grin. "And Amity loves me, so we do things to make each other happy,” she tells the demon looking up at her grumpily. “I love you too though." She bends down and kisses the top of King's head and he makes a little squealing sound. "But this is for Amity, I'll make a cake for you next weekend," she promises, and then there's a knock on the door. "Gus and Willow are here!" She sprints out of the room leaving a grinning Eda, a stunned Lilith, and a happily squeaking King in her wake.

Lilith looks to her sister who is grinning behind her cup, looking where Luz has disappeared into the living room, where she and her friends' voices are coming from.

"You knew about this?" she asks.

"Mhmm," is her sister's answer.

"And you didn't talk to her?" Lilith cocks a brow as Eda's eyes slide to look at her.

"I did," she says, then takes a loud slurp from her cup.

"And?"

"And she loves her." Eda shrugs. "What do you want from me?"

"Edalyn, she's fourteen, how could she possibly know that?" Lilith sighs, rubbing her temples. Eda leans back in her chair, holding up her cup and giving her sister a deadpan look.

"And how can we know she isn't?" she retorts.

"They… they…!" Lilith holds up her hands, trying to decide what to say.

"Look, the kid and I talked. She says she's in love and I believe it. I honestly think Luz would put her life on the line for that girl, and I don't think I'm wrong when I say the same thing for Amity, heck, I watched her jump in front of Luz to protect her from Grom, and that was before they were dating!" Eda threw up a hand.

Lilith looks toward the living room where they can hear the kids talking.

"I suppose time will tell…," she hums.

Eda just grunts in response, much to her sister's annoyance.

"Perhaps you really should give her… a talk…," Lilith says after a moment and Eda snorts into her cup, laughing.

"Already covered, in great, embarrassing detail," she says proudly.

"No doubt." Lilith rolls her eyes and her sister only grins.

Luz dashes back into the kitchen and carefully picks up the box containing the cake.

"We're heading out," she says. Eda stands and walks over.

"Have fun, kid." She ruffles Luz's hair, making her grin.

"Ah, Luz, before you go, I have something for you to take." Lilith pulls a small dark blue wrapped gift from her pocket and sets it gently atop The cake box. "Something for Amity I would like her to have… only if she wants it…," she explains.

Luz looks at the small gift before looking up at Lilith and nodding with a smile.

With that, she turns and walks quickly but carefully out of the kitchen.

A few minutes later a portal blazed to life in front of the owl house and then all the kids are gone.

"What'cha give the kid?" Eda asks curiously, glancing at Lilith out of the corner of her eye.

"Something I hope she finds useful…"

"I hate it when you're cryptic…" Eda grumbles and Lilith smirks.