#I think it��s because I really can’t shade clothes no matter how hard I pretended to

[athenasbloodyspear]

The Viper: Chapter Two

Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Find this fic on Ao3.

This fic is 18+ for violence and eventual sexual content. Please read at your own risk.

Master list

“I know where to find her.” Nat pipes up from her spot at the table. 

No one had moved since the Viper had shot out the security camera. 

Tony whipped his head to look at her and scoffed. “Oh? Are you an omnipresent God who knows all? Because if Friday can’t find her, I think we’re fucked.” 

“I know a place in the city where someone like her could disappear. Where I would disappear if I were her. It’s a hunch, but I have a feeling it’s where she is.” 

Tony rolled his eyes. “Care to enlighten us?” 

“The Mist.” Nat said simply. 

“Okay that just sounds fake.” Sam scoffed. 

“It’s not.” Nat snapped, “It’s an underground nightclub in Brooklyn. Famously has no cameras anywhere. The name is a nod to the fact that it’s a blind spot in the city. It’s filled with people in similarly seedy professions and rich and powerful people looking for illegal fun.” 

“Alrighty then. Sounds like my kinda place.” Tony rubbed his palms together. Steve just groaned. 

“You’re telling me this woman would hide out in a nightclub full of people who potentially know there’s a bounty on her head?” Bruce chimed in. 

“Yes. It’s highly frowned upon for outside business to interfere with the fun inside, so if anyone is hoping to make the hit they would have to wait for her to leave. Hence why I bet she waits there a long time.” 

“How do you know about this place Nat?” Steve countered. 

“How do you think I know about this place, Rogers?” She spat back. 

“Whatever, you two. Suit up for an evening at the club and meet us all back here in an hour.” Tony interrupted before Steve could stick his foot in his mouth. “Banner, you’re excused.” 

“Thank god.” Bruce sighed. 

“The rest of you are going. I’m staying here to monitor cameras with Friday and see if I can scrounge up any more interesting tidbits on our new friend.” 

“Great.” Bucky muttered to himself. A club. His favorite thing in the world. 

Not.

--

After a particularly complicated series of sneaking into various clothing stores in Manhattan you’d finally stolen something acceptable to wear for your evening of fun. 

You could feel the adrenaline pumping through you still. This whole thing was a massive gamble and you knew that. 

At any moment it could all come crashing down. In a lot of ways. 

You hadn’t been this out of control in a very long time. It was terrifying. 

But you would gamble with your life if you had to. It didn’t matter to you anymore. There was only one thing that did and you would give everything for it. 

So you’d continue to spiral out of control. To rely on others' choices. 

You didn’t have any other options. 

--

Bucky was relieved to discover that while this underground club was a club it at least wasn’t deafeningly loud. At least not in every section of the club. 

He was horrified to discover that the “underground” descriptor wasn’t only figurative. The club space was in the basement of a non descript warehouse that screamed Hydra wannabe. Everything in the club was a shade of black.  There was an upper floor, where the team was currently spread out, with many lush couches and smaller tables. It was more reminiscent of jazz bar’s he’d been to in the 40’s. The upper level had a metal railing that looked over into what could only be described as a pit. There was a large black marble bar along one wall of the lower floor and the rest was a dance floor. Or at least that’s what Nat had said, all he could see was a sea of bodies smashed together writhing. Apparently that was dancing. 

Even more horrifying was the fact that there were no windows. Not a single one. And the only exit that anyone knew of was the single door they came in. It was eating his skin alive. He felt so suffocated. Trapped in a way he hadn’t felt in years. 

He knew if he voiced this to Steve, he would immediately tell him to go home and the rest of them would probably be fine on their own. However, there was something keeping him here. He felt a pull towards this enigma of a woman and he needed to see her with his own eyes. Something in his gut told him she needed his help. He didn’t really know how or why, but his instincts were rarely wrong and he was tired of ignoring them. 

Even if his instincts were fighting within him at the moment. 

“Anything?” Nat questioned through the coms from where she sat on a sofa, pretending to chat with some diplomat from a country Bucky couldn’t think of right now. 

“No one who looks like what I think I’m looking for.” Steve replied. He’d been the only one who had offered to venture downstairs surprisingly. Bucky didn’t know how he could do it. 

“Sam?” Nat prompted. Sam had taken to exploring some of the strange and windy back hallways of the upper floor that lead to restrooms and stock rooms and who-knew-what-else rooms. Again, Bucky didn’t know how he willingly ventured into this creepy hell hole. 

“Nada.” Sam mumbled, “Have seen lots of faces I recognize from front pages of magazines. Most in compromising positions. Gonna be hard to forget.” 

“Gross.” Bucky muttered. He heard Nat’s soft laugh filter through the com. “I haven’t…” Bucky started. His thought cut off abruptly. 

He was standing at a railing, looking down on the pit from an aerial view, when he saw her. 

She was stunning, even though he knew she was trying to keep a low profile. It wasn’t anything in the way she looked necessarily, even though she looked amazing in her slim black velvet suit. When she shifted he noted that she wasn’t wearing a shirt underneath the blazer and he hoped that there was some sort of tape involved to keep the lapels in place on her chest. The smooth expanse of skin he could see between the jacket was nearly too much to handle already. 

No, it wasn’t the outfit that made her stunning. She simply was so commanding and present that her energy was intoxicating, even from his perch a floor above. He didn’t understand how everyone around her wasn’t staring at her. He couldn’t really remember what he was supposed to do now that he was faced with her. 

She was the new him, he realized. Her hair fell to her shoulders, almost a direct replica of the mop of tousled locks on his head, only darker. He noticed she didn’t look nearly as robotic in this space compared to the videos he’d seen of her. 

I knew it. He thought. This is the real her. 

“Care to finish that thought big guy?” Sam chuckled through the coms, snapping Bucky out of whatever trance he’d fallen into. 

“I uh…” Bucky started again. “I’m lookin at her.” 

He heard voices come through the coms, asking where the hell he was and where she was but he couldn’t speak.

He watched her, you, toss back a shot of some dark liquid. 

As he stared, your eyes shifted up and locked with his. 

Every sound in the world disappeared for him. Bucky couldn’t hear a thing but the pounding of his own heart. There was a string between the two of you that went taught as you stared at each other. 

Some part of his brain registered his increasingly frustrated friends trying to get his attention through the coms but he didn’t even dare blink, let alone speak. He was convinced that if he even twitched you would disappear into the smoky haze of the room. 

“I see her.” He heard suddenly through the com. Steve must have spotted you across the room from him downstairs. “I’m closing in.” 

Bucky watched the corners of your mouth peel into a tiny little smirk. His dry eyes forced him to blink and when his lids opened again, you were gone. 

Fuck. He thought. 

“What the hell was that, Buck?” Steve snapped through the coms. “I lost her. Anyone else still see her?” 

“The only way out is the front door.” Nat breathed. Everyone shifted instantly to beeline for the front. Even if you snuck out before them, Bucky knew you couldn’t have gone very far. 

--

You careened out the front, gasping in fresh breaths of air as you peeled to the left and down the sidewalk at a quick pace. You felt grateful you’d forgone the heels for high top sneakers tonight as you needed to haul ass. Fast. You didn’t really know why you suddenly felt the need to flee. Your intention had been to attempt to speak to them inside, where you had the upper hand.  

But every well laid plan had flown out the window when you’d locked eyes with the Winter Soldier. Or Bucky as he was now called. 

He looked the same. 

He looked different in every way possible. 

It ripped a hole in your chest. 

So you ran. 

You paused briefly to stuff your fingers to the back of your throat, forcing the liquor you’d nervously pounded out of your stomach. You were gonna need every bit of your cunning. They were all there, and you were vulnerable out on the street now. 

You were so fucking stupid. 

Why had you run? Why did you run from him? 

You heard the door crash open a half a block behind you. 

--

Bucky was the first one out the door. Sam had to wind out from the back of the building, Nat had to disentangle herself from conversation and Steve had to make his way up from the bottom floor. He was at an advantage. 

His instincts were telling him that he needed to be the first one to intercept you. He felt territorial about it. He didn’t know why, but something shifted while you had stared at each other. It was a glimmer, nearly lost in the recesses of his mind, but he knew you. Somehow. 

When he looked to his left, he captured the image of you, curled over your knees, emptying your stomach onto the curb. 

What the fuck? 

“Please don’t run.” Bucky yelled. “Please I swear we don’t want to kill you.”  

He watched you straighten yourself up, wiping the back of your hand across your mouth. 

“That sounds exactly like something someone who wanted to kill me would say.” You chuckle. 

Your voice. It’s… exactly like he imagined it. 

It’s nothing like he imagined it. 

Before he can process the whirlwind of emotions in his head, you’ve taken off. He bolts after you. After a few strides he hears the door blow open behind him as the rest of the team flies out of the establishment. 

He has to get to you first. 

--

You sprint as hard as you ever have. It hurts more, now that you’re fully in control. You hate it. 

You love it. 

It makes you furious.

You careen around corners and slip between crowds of people, trying your damnedest to throw them off their trail. Eventually you skid to a halt next to an older BMW parallel parked on a busy street, slamming your elbow into the corner of the back window, shattering the glass. You reach through the now open hole and manually unlock the drivers door, not caring that the remaining glass catches and opens your skin. 

“Wait!” A voice calls across the street. It’s him. You fight the urge to cover your ears. That voice. 

You scramble into the front seat, reaching under the dash to rip the wires of the starter out of the plastic covering. As you fumble with your hands you glance up, watching the Winter Soldier fling himself expertly through moving traffic towards you. 

“Shit shit shit.” You mutter to yourself. You finally free the wires,  ripping the ends open and tapping them together until they spark and the engine roars to life. 

Thank god. 

You shift into drive, rip up the E-brake and prepare to step on the gas. You glance once behind you to monitor the traffic roaring down the one way street. There’s an opening. 

When you shift your body back forward to grab the wheel, he’s almost to you. His eyes are wild. 

Pleading. 

What are you doing? 

I’m holding your hand. 

Why? 

I don’t know. 

The pain in your chest is nearly unbearable now. You force your facial features to shift into a wide smirk and flip him off before slamming on the gas as hard as you can. 

The e-brake holds the front wheels in place as the back wheels squeal on the ground, spinning the vehicle around in place until you’re facing the wrong way down the one-way. 

Finally. 

You punch it. 

--

Bucky watches you tear off in the stolen car, panting for breath. 

There was a moment. Just a moment where he’d seen something in your face and then a mask had locked down over your features. 

He couldn’t make sense of it. The agony in your eyes when you saw him just now. 

He must know you. 

How? 

“I lost her.” Bucky pants into the coms. “I… lost her.” 

Nat and Steve came sprinting up behind Bucky, placing her hands on her knees to suck in hair. 

“I’ll tail her.” Sam called. Swooping up in the skies and taking off in the direction where Bucky’s eyes were trained. 

“I don’t understand.” Nat pants. “She would never have been found if she didn’t want to be.” 

“Why did she run?” Steve questioned. 

“I don’t know.” Bucky murmured. He couldn’t keep his eyes away from the last place he’d seen your car. 

“What happened in there Bucky?” Steve turned to look at him. 

“I… don’t know.” He murmured again. 

“I’m gonna need more than that pal.” Steve prompted, placing his hands on his hips. 

“She… She looked at me.” He choked out. Steve guffawed, dropping his head back to look at the sky. Beside him, Nat eyed him curiously. “I can’t explain it, but it felt… like I knew her. Like we were connected somehow.” 

“What the hell is that supposed to mean Bucky?” Steve clipped. “You just stood there while she ran.”  

“Shut the fuck up Steve.” Nat snapped. 

“What?” Steve turned to her then. “Don’t you think it’s a little weird that he was basically paralyzed in there?” 

“No.” She snapped. “I think that there’s some deeper story here we don’t understand and I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s a part of it.” 

Steve looked to Bucky then, a little more sobered now, and murmured. “You know her?” 

“No.” Bucky said immediately. “At least, not really. But there’s something. She looked at me like…” 

Like you did when I was falling from that train. 

Just then Sam dropped out of the sky and landed next to them. 

“She must have noticed me and ditched the car a few blocks over. Went into a subway station.” Sam sighed. “Needless to say, I lost her.” 

The whole group stands together, panting staring down the street where they’d last seen you. 

Bucky finally breaks his silence.

“I need to find her.”

--

His damned voice.

TAGLIST:

@maxsaturdayhatesnarwhals

[fandomlovingfreak]

Healing His Heart (8/?)

Young Remus Lupin/Reader

Rating: E for Everyone

Word Count: 1715

MasterList Link I AO3 Link I Wattpad Link I Tiktok Link

Summary: (y/n) is two years younger than him, a popular Slytherin, and Regulus Black’s best friend. Yet he can’t help but be attracted to her bewitching personality and sweet smile. Unfortunately, his er–problem makes it harder to get close to others. Despite his attempts to push her away (for her own good) she seems determined to worm her way into his life.

Enjoy

Something is touching his face, bringing him back into consciousness. He recognizes the soft touch as fingertips as they graze the skin underneath his eyes and across his bottom lip. Remus nuzzles into the hand that's caressing his face. Slowly he blinks his eyes open, a bit of the morning sunlight blinding him. Remus puts his hand up to block the offending light, grumbling about the offensive light. "(Y/n)?" His voice sounds groggy, as it usually does after the full moon. "Can you sit?" (y/n) entirely comes into focus as his eyes adjust to the daylight. Remus nods, letting her help him sit up. "Here." (Y/n) presses a glass of water to his lips. He glances over at her before taking the glass in his hand. Remus takes a large gulp of the cold water before setting down the glass, "what are you doing here?" "I assumed those three knobs didn't do much more than help you back into the castle, so I volunteered this time." "Why?" "Why?" She giggles, "because you're my boyfriend, duh." "I'm not your problem—" (Y/n) rolls her eyes, "I wouldn't say you're my problem, but you're mine, so I'd have to argue with that." He notices then he's missing his clothes, "uh—" "I have your clothing." She turns, dragging his bag from behind her. "But I want to heal those cuts first—" "Let me put on my trousers!" He's a brilliant shade of red, trying to cover up. "It's not that big of a dea—" "(Y/n)! Just—" he reaches for the bag, snatching it from her hands. She laughs, "but are you sure you didn't hurt —" "There's nothing wrong with my legs." (y/n) giggles, getting up to turn around towards the door, giving him privacy. Remus hurriedly pulls the jeans he's packed himself from the bag, struggling to pull them up his legs. He watches her as he gets the zip and button done. "Okay... you can uhm—turn back around." She does just that, instantly moving back towards him. Her hand reaches back for his face, examining the new damage he's done to himself. "There isn't a ton that needs too much attention, but--" she gently rubs her thumb across his lips, "this one is particularly nasty. Any discomfort otherwise?" "Just sore—" she nods, moving to grab a little vial of green liquid. She hands him the vial. "What's this?" He looks at the contents of the liquid. "Something I've been making myself for years for after Quidditch games. Got a bludger to the shoulder a few years back, and it still gives me issues. This is—well, it's a tonic for muscle soreness, I suppose." "It works?" (y/n) rolls her eyes, "of course it works! When has a potion I've made not worked?" He smiles, wincing at the movement as it tugs at the cut, "that is true. And is it safe?" He grins, so she knows he's teasing. "Quit talking till I've healed that lip. You're making it worse." He tries not to smile again. She pulls out her wand and begins to heal the cut. "There," she pockets her wand once again, reaching to get something else. "What's that?" He asks curiously as she pulls out a salve. "Well, if you wanted—" she holds the salve up, "and this is only if you want this. I'm not pushing it on you, but I have this scar reducing salve. It won't completely erase the scars, especially not the deepest ones, but the color will correct somewhat. Again, not a miracle salve, and I don't want you to think I care about the scars." She swipes her thumb against his cheek, "I like you just as you are. I just thought I'd ask in case you were interested." "Wait—where do you—how'd you get that?" (Y/n) grins, "made it myself, of course." "How are you so brilliant?" He's genuinely impressed with the girl. How she was so incredibly intelligent but so— into him? It blew his mind. (Y/n)'s giggle is magical as she leans in to kiss him quickly, "do you want it or not?" "Uh—does it sting at all?" "Nope, truthfully, I made it because I had a scar on my leg from a playground accident. The scar is still there and still somewhat visible, but… it worked enough for me to be content. Healing scars is a tricky business, you know. And it's not going to be a dramatic difference. It will be a slight reduction. I don't want you to think this will completely heal them. Again, It's hard to heal scars..." "I know... maybe? Just on the bad ones?" "You're going to have to use it yourself then. I don't which ones you personally feel are the worst." "Well, can't you tell?" He motions to his face. "I really can't, Remus. I don't only see the scars when I look at you. I see you, Remus, exactly how you are." He huffs, hiding his blush behind his hand, "why do you have to be so sweet—?" She touches the newly healed bit of his lip, "I'm not being sweet. I'm being honest." Remus pulls her into his arms, leaning his chin on her shoulder, "I don't know what I did to deserve you." "You don't do things to deserve love, darling," she says against his bare chest, "love is—well, it's not a transaction." "You're spectacular," his voice is breathy as he reaches out to touch her cheek. "Me? Spectacular?" (y/n) chuckles, "well, maybe a little bit. Do you think you can walk?" Remus gets up to stand, pulling his clean sweater over his head, "Yes, but I might need a little help from you. Do you mind?" "Not at all." She wraps her arm around his waist, allowing him to lean some of his weight on her. "Do you want to get breakfast?" she asks as they make their way through the tunnel. "Sure, do I look presentable enough?" (y/n) hums, "you look well enough. We could also find a sunny spot in the castle and eat there if you don't want to sit in the Great Hall." Remus smiles down at her, "you don't mind?" "Of course not. I don't really want to share you with anyone else right now, anyway." He suddenly remembers, though, that he should probably check in with Madam Pomfrey, "Wait-- I have to check in with Pomfrey." "Okay. We can stop in the Hospital Wing first." "Let me go alone. She doesn't know you are aware--" "What does it matter if she does? Would it be crazy you've told your girlfriend of your condition?" He purses his lips, "No, but I don't want to get you in trouble. It's only supposed to be me that knows about the Shrieking Shack, darling." (y/n) rolls her eyes, "fine. I'll wait for you in the hall." *** Madam Pomfrey looks a bit confused that he hasn't got a single scratch on him. "No damage this time, Mister Lupin?" She hands him a bit of chocolate. Remus pops it in his mouth, nodding along. "Doesn't seem so." "No soreness? Last month you complained about your shoulder quite a bit." Madam Pomfrey doesn't seem convinced that he's so-- okay. It's the first time in seven years he's come into the Hospital Wing without a single scratch or bruise. "I'm feeling pretty good, honestly." Madam Pomfrey hums in the back of her throat, "interesting. Well, you may leave if you'd like, Mister Lupin." Remus jumps off the hospital cot, "thanks, Poppy." Madam Pomfrey only shakes her head, not bothering to correct him. Opening the heavy door, he looks around the hall, not seeing (y/n) anywhere. "Remus!" He looks towards the voice, seeing (y/n) carrying something in her arms. "What'cha got there?" he quietly closes the door behind him. "Breakfast, of course." (y/n) grins, kissing him on the cheek, "let's find a place to eat." *** They're able to find a quiet, sunny space in a deep-set windowsill. (y/n) climbs up onto the seat, patting the space next to her. Remus sits next to her. His stomach growls audibly, causing (y/n) to laugh. "Hungry?" She teases him. Remus rolls his eyes, "What did you manage to get?" "All sorts of stuff." She begins to place the food in front of them. He grabs for a piece of toast, taking a large bite. It tastes marvelous. "How are you feeling, honestly?" She places her hand on her own face before putting it on his forehead. "I'm fine. I feel good. Whatever is in your... muscle soreness tonic or whatever works wonders. I'm not sure I've felt this well after a full moon ever." (y/n) takes his hand in hers, "Really?" "Yes. Are you going to tell me what it is?" "Of course not. It's a secret." Remus raises an eyebrow, "you won't? Why?" "What if you... stole my secret and claimed it as your own?" He can tell she's teasing by the way she grins at him. "Do you really think anyone would believe someone so... dreadful at potions concocted something so brilliant?" (y/n) pretends to think it over, "No, I suppose they would assume you've stolen it. It is quite brilliant as you said." Remus chuckles, taking another bite of his toast, "so if you won't tell me what is in your secret tonic... how about the salve?" (y/n) takes a bite of her own food, "I don't believe that's necessary, Mister Lupin. You won't get my secrets that easily." She makes her point with a light jab to his chest. Remus's lips curl into a flirty grin, "oh? Can I not? Not even if I do this--" He leans in to kiss her, tilting her chin up to meet his kiss. (y/n)'s hand comes up to touch his face lovingly. Remus pulls away to admire her. (y/n)'s eyes flutter open, a goofy smile painted onto her face, "No, I don't think even that will make me spill my secrets--" He stops her speaking with another kiss, this time crowding over her, his arms wrapping around her body. "How about now?" he pulls away just enough, their noses brushing against each other. (y/n) hums, her eyes still delicately closed, "I don't know yet... maybe another kiss could convince me--" Remus chuckles before giving in to her request.

[elswordimaginesdrabbles]

Lap of Gold

Liberator x reader

he feels ooc to me in this one

Noah story somewhat spoilers

Noah had quite the exhausting day. He'd listened to Ventus retell the adventures of the El Search Party in Varnimyr; Clamor wouldn't shut up afterwards, teasing the kid because of his childlike curiosity.

There was one thing left to do before retiring to his bed. The highlight of his time in Elrianode which was seeing a certain individual of the Landar camp.

That person happened to be you, brewing a vitality potion in your tent. It wasn't the wisest idea, seeing as you've set fire to it multiple times because of your shenanigans. Fortunately, there were many spares but you got scolded quite a bit.

Noah tried his best to make his presence known, by clearing his throat right outside your little shelter. You were too immersed in pouring tiny droplets of substances upon other tiny droplets of substances to hear anything.

Clamor made his discontent known: 'Kid, that was the most pathetic attempt at catching someone's attention I've ever seen. I've lived thousands.'

The boy got flustered and hushed him. Taking a deep breath, he stepped into the tent. Only then did you finally take notice of your visitor.

"Ah, Noah! I'm glad to see you! I'd tell you to come test my newly brewed potion, but I'm not sure of the side effects just yet," you giggled. He smiled softly and sat down next to you.

The faint bags under his eyes bothered you more than a bit.

"Have you been sleeping well lately?"

He shook his head, "I've been having some nightmares. Is it that obvious...?"

"Yes, and I have just the cure for it. A good night's sleep! Or at least a nap. Come put your head in my lap."

"Your, what?" mouth agape, he stared. Clamor was having a chuckle with their interaction and he made sure to let Noah know: 'You might as well confess at this point; the scene is set!' Since he was in front of you, he couldn't scold Clamor. Instead, his cheeks were tinted pink from his words.

"What, you've never laid your head in a lap before?" You seemed to be clueless.

"N-not really... but where did you get this idea?"

"I used to sleep in my sister's lap all the time when I was little. It helped a lot, especially when I was having nightmares," you shrugged. "It might feel a little sudden, but we've been talking for a while. It's fine right?"

He couldn't say no, because he didn't want to in the first place. Noah was a little reluctant to make the first move, but who wouldn't? A subtle encouragement from you was all it took for him to sigh and actually lay on your lap, closing his eyes.

"So I just have to sleep like this?"

"Yep, and don't be afraid. If you're having any bad dreams I'll wake you up, okay?" you let your hand pat his head, the gentle touch making him melt more into your thighs. It sent a shiver down his spine.

He was a little too nervous to fall asleep; he pretended to do so.

"Ah, I can't work on my potion like this... Why didn't I think of that before?" you whispered. To fill your time, you ran your fingers through his soft hair. "Good night, sleep well."

Of course, you didn't stop the touching and because of that his heartbeat was going haywire. Noah gulped, doing his best to keep calm.

You started humming a lullaby and he wanted so badly to doze off. No matter how much he wished it, he just couldn't.

"Hush, hush, go to sleep, little baby~"

"I'm not a little baby."

His curt reply startled you out of your trance.

"Gosh, I thought you were asleep. It's been a while, why aren't you?"

He opened his eyes slightly and looked up, only to realize it was a little embarrassing to face you in that position. He preferred total darkness to it.

"I can't... I don't know."

"Seems this isn't working out very well. I'll lay out a blanket and pillow for you, you can sleep in my tent if you'd like," you prepared to take him off your lap.

"I-I don't really want to get off you either..." he mumbled, pushing your hand away.

"Okaay... What do you want me to do then? Keep singing? Or maybe pat your head more?"

"Whatever you want," he blushed, his ears reddened as well. Clamor went to sleep not too long ago and he was very glad for that. He could have a little peace and quiet with y/n. "Why are you going this far anyway?"

"Because I love you."

He shot up, hitting your chin pretty hard. The two of you moaned in pain, holding your injured spots.

"That's one hell of a hard head you got there... This might leave a bruise, oww."

"I'm so sorry, I don't know what came over me," Noah spoke, rubbing his head. He didn't know whether to ask more about your possible confession or not. The situation had turned a tad bit awkward with seemingly no way out of it.

"You must have been taken by surprise I know," you had your mouth covered, still hurting. "But how could I not love you? It's really easy to."

When you used the same words, he realized there was only one answer he could give: "I feel the same."

"You think it's easy to love yourself?"

"N-no-"

"Awe, I'm just kidding, don't get too flustered on me. I can't handle when you're this cute!" The compliment made his ears go even redder. "This is where I go in for the kiss, right?"

"I think, you're moving a little too fast?!"

To contradict his words, you inched slowly towards him and cupped his cheek with your palm. Staring deep into his eyes, he stared into yours; they appeared to glimmer in the dimly lit tent with certain intentions, or so it seemed to Noah. He didn't hesitate and closed the gap in between, with a light peck at the corner of your lips.

"You're such a tease~" you winked and glanced behind him. A silhouette was standing right outside. Would you let that interrupt the moment?

"Did something happen?" he was a little concerned at your lack of response. He was worried he might have done something to upset you, but quickly he disregarded the thought and kissed you once again, fully. He pulled you closer onto him by the waist; feeling daring, Noah gently ran his fingers across your back, over the fabric of your clothing. Did he want to tickle you? Well, two could play that game.

With your lips still on his, you smiled as your hands found his hips. And on they went! Relentless, you tried to find his weak spot. It didn't last long, since he attempted to push you away in a giggling fit.

"N-no, I'm sensitive-!"

"What are you two doing in there?!"

You and Noah were petrified. His face turned a few shades whiter and you gulped.

"S-sis? Did you need me for something?"

"Yes, but are you doing something inappropriate? Now's really not the time," her stern voice made you sweat.

"Of course not, we were just tickling each other!" right as you said that, Noah's thumb traced across the back of your neck. 'Payback', his innocent smile seemed to tell.

"Yuria is sick, I need some of your most potent potions, and yourself. Right now."

His hand dropped and so did the mood. Noah ran out of air, it felt like he couldn't breathe anymore. 'Not again, not now,' he was so afraid to lose everything he'd gained up until that point. He was so afraid of losing you. The tips of his fingers were numb and he was so very cold inside a supposedly warm tent.

He never wanted to go back to that empty headache, the chilly, lonely temple. Not when he had so much to lose.

A voice echoed in his mind, over and over. His descent into nothingness was interrupted by the feeling of tears on his cheeks and your desperate attempts at wiping them away.

The thoughts wouldn't stop, but by looking at your face he could distract himself just for a little while.

"Please, Noah, what's gotten into you? Are you listening? I'm really worried, you weren't responding," your speech was a little too quick for him to understand, but he had no time to ask.

The boy grasped your palm tightly and looked right at you: "Let's see Yuria," he squeaked out a whisper from his dry throat, coughing afterwards.

"Alright. But I'm having you rest right away."

Hand in hand, you two followed your sister to Yuria's tent. Once you were in the proximity, you heard a hilariously loud 'ACHOO!' coming from inside, followed by a sniffle.

"Okay sis, lay it on me."

"We suspect it's just a cold, but she's been like this for a few days. Symptoms are as such-"

"You know, it might be just a cold. Have you tried any of my weaker warming potions?"

"Not yet," your sister approached you and spoke quietly. "Is Noah alright? He looks like he just came out of his casket."

She was right, more or less. After crying, his eyebags had darkened and he was a lot paler than when he entered your tent.

"Yes, he'll be fine, if you let me do my job."

"No need to get sassy on me, go take care of him already," she shooed you away.

It was too late to do so, since the boy had already gone inside Yuria's tent. He was staring blankly at her sleeping form, not a single sound he made. You almost didn't want to bother him, but he was standing way too close for comfort to Yuria's sleep snot bubble, so you had to drag him away.

"Were you worried about her? As you can see, she's fine. She needs some rest, but more importantly, YOU do. You look even worse than before."

Noah felt your hands on his shoulders; if it weren't for them, he believed he might've dropped to the ground. "...I'm a little tired."

"No wonder. Let's get you to my tent, it's getting late."

He was not as afraid, only anxious. Worried that it might all disappear, like it did before.

Even as he was tucked in by you and scolded by Clamor for leaving him alone, he couldn't shake it off. He didn't want to close his eyes; it was so easy to trick himself into thinking he was back there again if he did.

'Why do you look so grim? What's on your mind?' Clamor's had it with the teasing once he noticed he wasn't getting much of a response. His words were genuine, Noah knew.

"What if it'll happen again?"

'Ah, you mean the loop... There's a high chance it won't happen here, Elrianode is safe. It's beneficial to think of what ifs, yet in this case you are only hurting yourself.'

"Noah, please go to sleep. I'm here."

'What they said!!!'

You sat next to him, hugging your knees to your chest. You observed his exhausted expression intently, staring holes into him hoping he would magically lose consciousness. You knew of no intricate spells of the sort, neither could your potions imitate that effect. You were stumped.

You patted his hair and smiled sadly. His eyes suddenly found yours: "What if you forgot all about me? What then?"

Pondering, you answered with a question:

"What then? What would you like to know specifically? How I would react, how I would feel about you? It's difficult to think about, as there's so much I don't know. If I had met you in different circumstances, I'm sure it wouldn't have gone this path. But honestly, I think I'd fall in love with you again.

I'm just like that," you chuckled. He too smiled, mumbling that he was happy.

It took no genius to realize he fell asleep instantly.

[prouvaireafterdark]

Our Heaven's Worth the Waiting

Here’s my take on @pastelwitchling‘s prompt! I also mixed in an anonymous prompt I got for Max and Michael talking about his feelings for Alex ‘cause it fit really well. Hope you like it!

Disclaimer: I didn't write Michael's poem in this fic, the credit for that goes entirely to Vlamis himself.

Also, while I wouldn't consider this fic anti-Maria, Alex is a little petty and there's a blink-and-you-miss-it reference to 2x06, which did not happen in the universe of this fic, so make of that what you will.

Also on AO3!

***

Max Evans doesn’t know much right now, but he can spot bullshit when he sees it. And this? This is bullshit.

From his and Isobel’s table, he’s watched Michael flirt his way through the evening, leaning hard against the Wild Pony’s bar with a bright smile aimed right at Maria DeLuca. He looks happy, his shoulders a little lighter, until Maria goes to get something from the back and Alex Manes walks into the bar with a hipster on his arm.

If looks could kill, Max is pretty sure this blue-haired guy would be six feet under. It’s probably for the best that he skips the bar and heads for a table near the front of the open mic stand, dropping a kiss on Alex’s cheek before he goes.

Alex talks to Michael briefly and Max clocks the way the airman tries not to let his eyes linger on the wide spread of Michael’s thighs over his barstool while he waits for his drinks.

He doesn’t miss the way Michael digs his right thumb into the black bandana covering his palm when Alex leaves, pressing so hard it has to hurt.

Maria comes out from the back room with a box of straws and that million watt smile reappears, almost like it was never gone in the first place.

“Is he always like this?” Max finds himself asking.

There’s a pause where Isobel follows his line of sight to Michael, now leaning over the bar to help himself to Maria’s whiskey while she takes an order.

Isobel laughs. “God, even without your memories you’re such a fucking cop. Don’t worry, she’ll make him pay for it one way or another.”

Max turns to see an amused smile on her face.

“No, I mean…” he starts, struggling for the right words. “Is he always pretending?”

Isobel frowns and glances back at Michael, her head tilted in confusion.

“Nevermind,” Max shakes his head, taking a sip from his beer. “Maybe I’m imagining it.”

Except he isn’t.

Max watches Michael and Alex dance around each other, trading glances when they think no one’s looking. He watches Michael throw himself at Maria that much harder one night after he and Alex fight, and he watches Michael’s heart break when that blue-haired guy—named Forrest, he’s since discovered—snakes his fingers up the back of Alex’s shirt like he owns him.  

He watches until, one night, he just can’t take it anymore.

“We’re brothers, right?” Max starts, leaning against a cabinet full of complicated medical equipment.

“Uh, yeah, man,” Michael gives him a weird look.

“We talk to each other about things then?” Max presses.

Michael laughs. “Not really.”

“Hm.” Max isn’t quite sure how his past self fucked that up, but he’s hoping he’ll be able to fix it. “Well, can we? ‘Cause there’s something I don’t really understand.”

Michael shrugs and turns back to his equipment. “Okay, shoot.”

Max takes a deep breath and decides to just go for it. “Why are you with Maria when you’re clearly in love with Alex?”

Michael freezes for so long that Max thinks he broke him for a second. “Are you fucking with me right now?” he asks at last, brow drawn tight with something that looks a little like betrayal. “Do you have your memories back?”

“Um, no,” Max says regretfully. “But I do have eyes.”

Michael sighs heavily and tosses the pipette he was holding onto the table, placing his hands flat against the surface. His head hangs between his shoulders, but he doesn’t say anything.

Max waits patiently.

“I don’t—“ Michael starts, but cuts himself off like he just can’t get the words out. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. You wouldn’t even know your own name if we hadn’t told you.”

Max’s mouth twists unhappily at the deflection. “Okay, but—“

“Leave it alone, Max,” Michael interrupts, a little desperately. “I’m with Maria. I like Maria. Isn’t that enough?”

The door to the secret lab opens before Max can respond.

“Hope you boys are hungry!” Liz calls as she walks over the threshold, arms laden with takeout bags from the Crashdown. Her thick, dark hair is tossed over one shoulder, and her lipstick is a distracting shade of red. “There was a mix-up with an order at the diner and I have a truly absurd amount of fries.”

Max smiles at her, stunned into silence just long enough for Michael to weasel his way of their conversation.

A week later, Max remembers who he is.

He also remembers his brother’s a goddamn idiot, and Max is determined to save him from himself.

“You want me to what?” Michael asks him, pushing himself out from under the car he’s working on to give Max an incredulous look.

“Well, you can’t exactly see a therapist,” Max says, a little defensively.

“So you want me to write a poem about my feelings?”

Max rolls his eyes at the disbelief dripping from Michael’s voice.

“It works, okay?” Max says. Michael keeps staring at him. “If writing something honest about what you’re feeling will make you breathe a little easier, why not give it a try?”

Michael stands up, dusting his hands off on his jeans as he stalks off toward the bench his mid-afternoon beer is sitting on. He takes a long pull from the bottle instead of giving him an answer.

“Michael,” Max sighs.

“Why won’t you drop this?” he asks, rounding on Max.

“Because I love you, and I want you to be happy,” Max says, amazed and a little offended that that needs an explanation.

“Maria makes me happy,” Michael protests.

“Does she?” Max asks, taking a step closer. “Or does she just distract you from the things you’d rather not think about?”

Michael glares at him.

“Look, do it or don’t,” Max says, laying a hand on Michael’s shoulder. “But you’re gonna have to deal with this eventually, and for your sake I hope it’s not too late when you do.”

When he turns to leave, Michael doesn’t stop him.

This is stupid, Michael thinks, laying on his bed with a notebook open on his chest. Max is stupid and I’m stupid for listening to him.

With a sigh, Michael rolls over and closes his eyes, shoving his face in his pillow. It smells faintly of Maria’s perfume, but his mind inevitably drifts to Alex, to that morning when he woke up to Alex kissing his chest and Michael forgot he lived in a world where he wasn’t allowed to have nice things.

It’s ridiculous. Ten fucking years, and he’s still reeling from Alex Manes.

Michael reaches for his notebook. Once he starts writing, the words flow out of him.

The fire crackles in front of him, a folded up piece of paper tight in his grip. He tries to make himself put it in the flames, but his fingers won’t obey him. What will be left, he wonders, if he burns away the part of him that loves Alex Manes?

His phone buzzes in his pocket. It’s a text from Maria.

Can I come over? I need you tonight.

Michael’s mouth twists as his finger wipes over the screen. Max might think Maria’s just a distraction, but she’s—it’s more than that. After losing Alex, losing his mom, losing Max… she’s the only person who doesn’t make him feel useless. That’s gotta count for something, right?

But he won’t fuck her in the bed that makes him think of Alex. Not tonight.

I’ll come to you, he types back, standing up from his seat in front of the fire. He puts it out and slips the folded piece of paper into the back pocket of his jeans before heading to his truck.

He can be good for Maria, and that’s enough. It has to be.

Michael wakes up the next morning alone in Maria’s bed. He picks his clothes up off the floor, tugging them on roughly. It’s not until he puts his phone in his back pocket that he notices it’s empty.

His head whips back and forth, scanning the floor for any trace of that piece of paper. He looks everywhere, even under the bed.

Nothing.

With a nervous swallow, he leaves the bedroom and walks down the hall toward the kitchen. He sees Maria sitting at her kitchen table with a mug of coffee and a bottle of Jack. He tries to keep the panic out of his voice when he asks, “Hey, have you seen—“

The words die in his throat when Maria fixes him with a red-rimmed glare. It’s then he notices the unfolded piece of notebook paper in front of her.

Michael’s stomach turns to lead, an intensely violated feeling creeping under his skin. She wasn’t supposed to read that. No one was supposed to read that.

“Look, I can explain,” he tries, but she scoffs at him.

“Fuck you, Guerin,” she says, crumpling the paper and throwing it at him. It bounces off his chest and lands on the floor.

Michael leans down to scoop the ball of paper up off the terra cotta tile, shoving it deep in his pocket before he takes a step closer to her.

“Maria, it’s not—“

“Have you been fucking him behind my back this whole time?” she interrupts, looking up at him.

“What? No, Maria, come on,” Michael says, bristling at the accusation. “I wouldn’t do that to you. I would never do that.”

“Oh, okay,” she says, but he can tell from her tone she’s still furious. “So you won’t actually fuck my best friend, just write romantic poetry about him. Got it.”

Michael doesn’t know what to say to that. He doesn’t think there’s anything he can say to that. He stands there, eyes on his boots, hands on his hips.

“When did you write it?” she asks a moment later, her poorly-constructed veneer of calm failing to mask the storm of rage and hurt he can see swirling behind her eyes when he meets her gaze again.

“What does it matter? I was just going to throw it out—“

“When?” she asks again.

He sighs, defeated, and looks at the ceiling when he admits, “Last night.”

It’s deadly quiet while Maria processes that bombshell.

“Get out,” she says at last, her voice cold and angry.

“Maria, I’m so—“

“Get out!” she screams suddenly, startling him. “Get out, Guerin! God, I can’t believe I thought you actually cared about me, I’m so fucking stupid.”

“I do care about you!”

“Not like you care about Alex, though, right? I mean, Jesus, Guerin. ‘Ten years and my heart’s still reeling’?”

“Please don’t,” Michael begs, unable to bear hearing his own words thrown back in his face.

“How the fuck can I compete with that?” she demands. “Why even let me try?”

“It’s not a competition,” he says.

Maria laughs harshly.

“It’s not, okay?” he insists. “I like you.”

“Yeah, maybe,” she says, her tears beginning to fall. “But you don’t love me.”

She lets that hang in the air between them, as if waiting for Michael to deny it. He doesn’t. He can’t.

“Get the fuck out of my house, Guerin,” she says, wiping the tears from her cheeks.

“Maria,” he pleads, though for what he isn’t sure.

“Now,” she says. “And find somewhere else to drown your sorrows. You’re not welcome at the Pony anymore.”

Michael leaves without another word.

Max is only slightly surprised when he comes home to find Michael on his couch, head in his hands with his cowboy hat and a bottle of bourbon on the coffee table in front of him. He hangs his own hat on the hook by the door and slowly walks over to his brother.

“Michael?” he asks softly.

“I fucked up, Max,” he says, voice thick with emotion. His eyes stay fixed on the floor between his feet.

“Is this about Maria?” he asks as delicately as he can. “Liz told me you two had a fight,” he adds, which is really putting it mildly. He wasn’t privy to all the gory details, but he’d heard enough.

Michael shakes his head and laughs, but it comes out more like a sob.

“It probably should be, but no.”

“Ah,” Max nods in understanding as he carefully sits down beside him. “It’s about Alex.”

Michael reaches for the open bottle of bourbon on the coffee table. He takes a long pull before he answers.

“Yeah,” he sniffs. “God, I’m such an asshole. I broke her heart and all I can think about is Alex. Why is it always about Alex?”

“He’s your Liz,” Max explains, bumping Michael’s shoulder with his own. “You love him.”

“I shouldn’t.”

“Maybe,” Max says, “but that’s not how love works.”

“You some kind of expert?” Michael turns to look at him, his eyes wet.

“Hey, you’re not the only alien around here with an advanced degree in pining,” he jokes, but Michael just sighs heavily and tips backward into the couch cushions to stare at the ceiling.

“I’ve wasted so much time,” he says, mournfully. Max watches a thick tear roll from the corner of his eye into his ear. “I think… I think it might be too late.”

“You won’t know until you talk to him.”

“I can’t do that,” he protests. “He’s with someone now.”

“Well, how long are you willing to wait for him?”

Michael takes a deep breath before he answers, “As long as it takes.”

“Then tell him that,” Max says.

Michael looks unconvinced.

“Just take it one step at a time, okay?” Max says. “When you’re ready, tell him how you feel.”

“You make it sound so easy.”

“Easy? Hell no,” Max says with a sympathetic smile. “But the best things never are.”

The sun is setting low in the sky when Alex pulls up to Michael’s Airstream, summoned by an enigmatic text from the alien asking him to meet. Given that barely anyone has seen Michael in almost two weeks, Alex feels justified in his relief to see Michael sitting in a lawn chair in front of his fire pit.

“There you are,” Alex comments as he approaches. Michael smiles at him. “You know, next time you decide to drop off the face of the Earth, a heads up would be nice.”

“What, you miss me?” Michael asks, flashing him that cocky grin. Alex has to fight not to blush. Truth be told, if he wasn’t getting regular updates from Max of all people that Michael was okay, Alex would’ve tracked him down himself.

“Maybe,” Alex shrugs, giving him a smile of his own as he takes a seat next to him. “What were you up to?”

“This and that,” Michael says. “Fixed some cars, did some research, went on a road trip for a couple days…”

“Oh?” Alex asks. “Where to?”

“Santa Fe.”

Alex laughs. “That’s not very far.”

“Didn’t want to be too far,” Michael explains. “In case something happened, you know? I just needed to get away for a while. Clear my head.”

“Did it work?” Alex asks.

Michael licks his bottom lip before he nods. “Yeah, it did.”

“Good,” Alex smiles. “I’m happy for you.”

“Thanks,” he replies.

There’s a lull in the conversation while Michael goes to get another log for the fire. Alex watches him, really lets himself look. His unruly curls have gotten brighter from exposure to the sun, and his clothes—unstained, for once—fit his lean frame nicely. He looks good. Really good.

Alex is about to ask him why he’s here when Michael settles back in his seat and speaks again.

“So how’s, um, how’s Forrest?” Michael asks hesitantly, like he really doesn’t want to know.

Alex winces at the question. “Not great, probably.”

“Probably?” Michael asks.

“I broke up with him,” Alex admits.

“Oh, really?” Michael leans forward in interest. “When?”

“About a week ago.”

“What’d he do?”

Alex sighs. “You really want to talk about this?”

Michael shrugs. “Unless you don’t want to.”

Alex takes a deep breath before he says, “He told me he loves me.”

Michael’s eyebrows shoot toward his hairline. “Um, wow,” he says, and there’s a pause while he processes that.

“Yeah.” Breaking up with Forrest was hard, but it felt kinder than to string him along, knowing he’d never feel the same way.

“I’m guessing the feeling wasn’t mutual?”

Alex chooses his words carefully. “Forrest is one of the nicest guys I know,” he starts. “He’s thoughtful, and funny, and sweet, and he’ll make someone really happy one day, but… that guy isn’t me.”

Alex watches Michael bite his lip before he asks, “Why not?”

The question makes Alex sigh, his gaze dropping to the fire. “Do you really need to ask?”

When he chances a look over at Michael, he sees his eyes are wide with surprise. Alex swallows hard, needing to change the subject. He can’t listen to Michael reject him again. He just can’t.

“So, what was it you wanted to show me?”

“Right,” Michael says. He looks nervous all of a sudden as he reaches into his pocket and takes out a folded piece of paper.

He stares at it in his hand for a minute, as if mentally preparing himself for something. Alex waits as patiently as he can, though his curiosity is piqued.

“I wrote you something,” Michael says at last, running his fingers over the wrinkled, white surface. Alex’s stomach clenches in nervous anticipation. “Well, I wrote me something, about two weeks ago.”

“Does it have anything to do with why you disappeared?” Alex asks, connecting the dots.

“Yeah,” Michael admits. “I’ve been so… mixed up, lately. After everything that happened with my mom, and Max… I did a lot of dumb shit I shouldn’t have, told myself whatever lies I needed to to make things easier. And I hurt people. I hurt you.”

“It’s okay,” Alex dismisses. After everything his family has done to Michael’s, Alex considers Michael’s anger his cross to bear.

“It’s really not, Alex,” Michael protests softly, his eyes sad. He takes a deep breath and looks back down to the paper in his hands. “Max pushed me to try writing something honest. He said it would help clear all the bullshit in my head.”

“I take it he was right?”

“Yeah,” Michael nods. “And I think… I think it’s time I shared it with you.”

Michael offers the paper to him. Alex takes it, unfolding it carefully as he braces himself for whatever he’s about to read.

Alex scans the first two lines before he looks up abruptly.

“Michael, what—what is this?”

“Just keep reading,” Michael begs him. “Please.”

Alex swallows and looks back at the page.

a veteran move as you limp into frame

longing to be your crutch, I want to consume your pain

so I loosen my belt, a familiar feeling

ten years later and my heart’s still reeling

then you show up on my porch, floating down the stream

while I swim uphill, running out of steam

lies upon lies, thighs upon thighs

love a woman’s touch, but damn that guy

the one who lifted my heaviest sighs with ease

too much pride to beg; I’ll let my looks say please

so ignore my words, this is where I stand

you’re a pretty little liar, and I’m your man

“Michael,” Alex says, his voice trembling when he finishes reading. “What—What does this mean?“ he asks, desperate for an explanation before he gets the chance to hope.

“It means I love you, Alex,” Michael says, and then the words are spilling out of him, “I thought maybe I could leave this thing between us in the past, but I can’t, and—and I don’t know that I want to anymore. I don’t know that I ever really did.”

Alex is stunned into silence, his heart full and aching all at once with the simple, beautiful truth that Michael loves him. He blinks and Michael is on his knees in front of him, reaching for his hands as he looks up at him with eyes the color of smooth bourbon, fresh tears clinging to his lashes.

“Tell me it’s not too late,” Michael sniffs. “Tell me I haven’t lost you.”

“Of course you haven’t lost me,” Alex says, bringing his hand to Michael’s cheek. “I’m right here.”

“Then stay,” he begs, eyes wide and desperate. “Please. I’m asking you to stay.”

Alex leans forward to kiss him, too overwhelmed to answer with words. He pours everything he’s feeling into it and Michael takes everything he has to give. He makes a wounded sound when Alex pulls away, tries to push back into Alex’s space, but Alex stops him with a gentle hand on his collarbone.

“I’m never leaving you again,” Alex promises, looking Michael right in the eye, needing to see him understand how much he means it. “I love you too, Michael. I love you too.”

Tears finally spill down Michael’s cheeks as Alex kisses him again. Michael pushes his way up off the ground and into Alex’s lap, still attached to him at the lips. Alex’s hands slide down his chest to grip his waist, then his hips, holding him firmly.

The cheap chair groans worryingly under their combined weight, just loud enough for Alex to notice through the rushing of blood in his ears. He feels drunk as he pulls back, Michael’s lips leaving his to press needy kisses down the length of his neck.

“Michael,” Alex says. Michael only groans and bites at his throat. Alex’s eyes rolls back into his skull at the sensation, his hand coming up to weave his fingers through Michael’s hair. “Michael,” he says again, this time tugging his head back by his curls so he’s forced to look at him.

Michael’s eyes are dark, intense as he stares down at Alex’s mouth like he wants to devour him whole.

“As much as I don’t want to move right now, I think this chair is going to break,” Alex pants.

“Take me to bed, then,” Michael whispers, sending shivers down his spine.

“You’re gonna have to get off my lap if you want me to do that,” Alex responds, wishing he could just carry him instead so he wouldn’t have to give up the feeling of Michael’s thighs spread over his lap for a single second.

Michael whines, but kisses him once more before sliding off his lap. Alex grabs his hand and lets Michael lead him inside the Airstream.

Once they’re inside, Michael pushes him gently to sit on the edge of his bed. He climbs right back onto his lap, so close their chests are flush together, like he can’t bear the thought of even an inch of space between them.

Alex certainly isn’t complaining, especially not when Michael reaches back a moment later to pull his shirt off. Alex’s hands are on him instantly, savoring that otherworldly heat simmering under Michael’s skin beneath his fingertips. Michael lets out a shuddering breath against his lips at the touch.

“Off,” Michael murmurs when their kiss breaks long enough for him to get the words out. He tugs on the front of Alex’s flannel. “Take this off.”

He leans back to start on the buttons, but he doesn’t move fast enough for Michael, whose fingers grip his collar and pull, buttons flying in every direction like he’s living some kind of bodice-ripper fantasy. Alex doesn’t even have the time to feel put out about his shirt being ruined, Michael’s hands on his chest chasing every other thought right out of his head.

The next thing he knows, his back is hitting the mattress, Michael’s frame weighing him down, caging him in. He feels Michael’s hard cock against his own and he can’t help but pull Michael down harder against him, fingers digging into his ass.

“Fuck,” Michael gasps, grinding down.

Alex keeps kissing him, losing himself to the heat of Michael’s mouth, the softness of his tongue, the occasional bite of his teeth against his bottom lip. It’s nothing short of heaven, and Alex is sure he never wants to feel anything else for the rest of his life.

“Wanna suck your cock so bad,” Michael whines a moment later when he breaks the kiss, rolling his hips against Alex’s a little harder, “but I feel like I’ll die if I stop kissing you.”

The promise of Michael’s hot, wet mouth on his cock makes him throb in his jeans, but Alex shakes his head.

“Later,” Alex pants. “God, Michael, I’ll give you anything you want, just don’t stop kissing me.”

Michael groans before bringing their lips together again in a kiss that’s all tongue and teeth.

“Wait,” Michael gasps when they part again, reaching for his absurdly large belt buckle. He doesn’t bother to take it off, just unbuckles it and gets to work on his jeans.

Alex gets the picture pretty quick. He unbuttons his own jeans and shoves them down his thighs along with his underwear, just far enough to free his aching cock.

Michael licks his palm and takes Alex in hand, hissing when Alex does the same before he leans down to kiss him again, a forearm braced beside Alex’s head to give them just enough space to work. Michael’s cock is hot and hard against his palm, and Alex wishes he could watch the way pre-come leaks from him as he runs his thumb over the sensitive head, spreading the wetness around as he moves.

It’s a heady assault on his senses—the smell of Michael surrounding him, the feel of Michael’s fist tight around his cock, his lips smothering the whimpers Alex can feel in the back of his throat. Alex is coming before he knows it, pleasure twisting hot in his gut as Michael jerks him off fast and rough, just the way he likes it.

When his brain comes back online, Alex uses his own release to slick the way even more as Michael fucks his fist. He barely has the time to say, “Come on, just like that, wanna watch you come,” before Michael is shooting hard against his stomach, gasping against his cheek.

Alex kisses him wherever he can reach as Michael collapses against his chest and trembles through the aftershocks, his clean hand running up and down along his spine.

Michael wakes the next morning to see the love of his life lying on his back next to him, re-reading the poem he wrote about him. He shifts closer to Alex and presses a kiss to his shoulder.

“You’re awake,” Alex says, looking at him with a bright smile.

“You stayed,” Michael says, a fond smile tugging at his mouth.

“Told you,” Alex says, rolling onto his side to face him. “I’m never leaving you again. I’m in this, for real this time.”

Overwhelmed by the confirmation of Alex’s feelings, Michael leans in to press their lips together. The kiss is short and sweet, lasting only a few seconds before Michael pulls back, just to look at him.

“What?” Alex asks, a subtle blush beginning to color his face.

Michael smiles wider. “Nothing,” he says, dropping a kiss on one of his pink cheeks. Alex catches his lips with his own as he pulls back, and Michael is happy to let him.

“This is really good, by the way,” Alex comments when he’s had his fill of kisses for the moment, looking back to the poem. “Forgot to mention that last night.”

“Guess I distracted you, huh,” Michael says, smirking as he eyes the bruise he left on Alex’s neck.

Alex hums in agreement.

“Well, I’m glad you like it,” he says, something in his chest loosening at Alex’s approval.

Alex smiles, but Michael can tell there’s something brewing in his head.

“What?” Michael asks, nudging his chin with his nose.

“I’ve gotta ask… is this the reason you and Maria broke up?” Alex asks, waving the paper in his hand. “I heard it was pretty explosive.”

“Yeah,” Michael grimaces. “She found it in my pocket.”

“Hm,” Alex hums, and a look of smug satisfaction graces his face. “Good.”

“Good?” Michael asks, raising an eyebrow.

“She knows you’re mine now,” Alex says as he shifts to lean over him, his right thigh coming to rest between Michael’s own. Michael shivers as Alex leans in to whisper in his ear, “And I don’t share.”

[deliquescentnightmare]

Easy Come Easy Go~ CH 2

~A degree in not taking anyone's bullshit~

As they walked towards the house, the group was approached by a blue-clad man.

“Anderson, here we are again, '' Sherlock said sarcastically.

“This is a crime scene. I don’t want it contaminated. Are we clear?”

“Quite clear, and is your wife away for long?”

“Don’t pretend you worked that out. Someone told you that,”

“My deodorant?”

“It’s for men,”

“Of course it’s for men, I’m wearing it,”

“So is sergeant Donovan,” Sherlock proclaimed dramatically and Delila sighed, rolling her eyes, “Phew, and I think it just vaporised, may I go in?”

“Now, whatever you’re trying to imply,”

“I’m not implying anything. I’m sure Sally came ‘round for a nice little chat and just happened to stay over,'' Sherlock brushed by them, pausing at the top of the stairs to look down his nose as Anderson, face barely hiding his triumphant joy, “And I’m assuming she scrubbed your floors going by the state of her knees,”

“I-“ Donovan and Anderson were both rendered speecess by this. Sherlock vanished inside and John sidled past them, clearly feeling the secondhand embarrassment of the encounter, limp extremely pronounced as he struggled up the stoop. Delila glided past the adulterous duo, amusement clear on her face as she followed the two men inside. They’d gone further into the hallway and Delila took her time to take in the surroundings, and she could hear them talking in the hallway.

“Who’s this?” Lestrade’s voice floated down the hallway.

“He’s with me,”

“Yeah but who is he?”

“I said he’s with me,”

“Is this a bad time, boys?” She asked from where she leaned in the doorway, eyebrows raised.

“Ye- Delila?!?!? What on earth are you doing here?” Lestrade looked as if he’d seen a ghost- mildly panicked and extremely confused.

“Ah, hello again,” the tallest of the group remarked as he turned to look at his blonde companion again.

“But… You’re not due until the 16th!!’” Lestrade exclaimed

“Doctor Watson, what is today’s date?” Delila asked the blonde, turning to him as well.

“February 17th,”

“…oh,” Lestrade looked sheepishly to the side, “I- uh..”

“Missed picking me up from my flight? Missed most of my calls? Left me alone in a city I didn’t know?” Delila asked amusedly before crossing the room to kiss him on the cheek, “Apology accepted. Now, onto the other reason I’m here. Do you need some help?”

“...We might, actually. Um, Sherlock, this is-“

“Your daughter, Delila Lestrade. Yes I am aware. Now, where are we?”

“Upstairs. Delila, you can tag along. Do you have gloves in that little bag of yours?”

“Always,”

“Wait, does she even have jurisdiction here?” John asked.

“Well, do you?” She remarked, not looking at him as they climbed the stairs.

“Erm, I don’t think so,”

“I can give you guys 2 minutes,”

“May need longer,”

“The name’s Jennifer Wilson, according to the credit cards. We’re running them now for contact details. Hasn’t been here long, some kids found her.”

“Did she have anything with her? She looks to be dressed for travel, and rain. Umbrella or a purse maybe?” Delila asked, taking in her surroundings as they came to the top of the stairs.

“Not much, she had her wallet, and an umbrella in her pocket,”

“That’s odd….” Delila murmured. They fell silent, and Delila reached into her small blue purse to retrieve a pair of black latex gloves. She pulled them on, sanitised her hands, and then watched as Sherlock started to inspect the body. It was silent for a long minute.

“Shut up,”

“I- uh nobody said anything!”

“You were thinking, it’s annoying,” Sherlock remarked and Delila scoffed in amusement. He looked up and narrowed his eyes, brows slightly furrowed.

“Something funny?”

“Nothing, you’re just… different than I expected,”

“And what is that supposed to mean?”

“You’re peculiar, can’t tell if that’s a good or bad thing yet,” Delila replied, not breaking eye contact. He huffed and reached into his pocket, pulling out his phone and typing away at it.

“Well, what have you got?”

“Not much,”

“She’s German, rache, German for revenge. She could be trying to tell us-” Sherlock shut the door before Anderson could finish.

“Yes, thank you for your input,”

“So she’s German?”

“You’re kidding,” Delila gave her father a deadpan look.

“What?”

“Of course she’s not German.” She replied with a sigh.

“She is from out of town though. Planned to stay in London for one night before returning home to Cardiff. So far so obvious,”

“Sorry, obvious?”

“But the message-” Lestrade insisted.

“Dr. Watson, what do you think?”

“Of the message?” John asked, tilting his head slightly to the side.

“Of the body, you’re a medical man,”

“What? No! I’ve got a whole team outside,” Lestrade broke in.

“They won’t work with me,”

“I’m breaking every rule letting you in here,”

“Yes, because you need me,” Sherlock leveled Lestrade with a serious stare and the latter let out a disgruntled sigh.

“You’re right. I do. God help me,” he admitted after a moment.

“Well I’m not quite god, but you did bring me along for this reason, no?”

“Oh... uh-yeah. Sherlock, Delila has a degree in forensic science,”

“I’d be happy to offer my expertise, Mr Holmes,”

“I suppose you’ll do, Miss Lestrade,” Sherlock replied dismissively.

“Doctor, actually. I didn’t waste away amongst the religious southern zealots at Duke university for nothing,” Delila approached the body and set to work.

“Anderson, keep everyone out for a couple of minutes,” Lestrade disappeared and John leaned closer to his companion.

“Well what am I doing here?” John whispered.

“You were supposed to be helping helping me make a point,”

“I’m supposed to be helping you pay rent,”

“Well this is more fun,”

“Fun? There’s a woman lying dead!”

“Perfectly astute observation, Dr. Watson,” Delila remarked, peeling off her gloves, “But there’s more to it than that. Asphyxiation, fell unconscious and choked to death on her own puke… Likely one of those suicides that the Yard’s been investigating, based on the timing and the fact that there are no outward signs of drugs or alcohol. Citrus smell around the mouth is exceptionally strong, likely going to be stronger when her stomach is opened,” Delila pushed her glasses up on her nose, “I’ve got more to say, but I’ll leave the rest to Mr. Holmes and his- what did it say on the website again..? Oh yes- deductions,”

“Alright. What’ve you got?” Lestrade asked before the smartass brunette could comment.

“The victim is in her late 30’s, a professional person going by her clothes, something in the media going by the frankly alarming shade of pink. Married for at least 10 years but not happily, she had a string of lovers but none of them knew she was married,”

“Are you just making this up?”

“Her wedding ring, dad. Her jewelry is clean but her wedding ring is dirty and beaten. She cleans everything but the ring, so obviously it doesn’t mean much to her-” Delila explained, “Or...uh it didn’t mean much to her,”

“Not just that. The inside of her ring is clean. It’s regularly removed but not for polishing. The only polishing it gets is when she works it off her finger. Look at her nails, she doesn’t work with her hands. So what or who does she take it off for? Certainly not one lover, she’d never be able to sustain the illusion of being single for that long. Simple really,”

“That’s brilliant!”

“Agreed, Dr. Watson,” Delila tilted her head to the side, “The fact that you can perceive all of that in a matter of minutes. Have you officially tested your IQ or-?”

“Delila, focus!” Lestrade snapped and Delila flushed slightly.

“Sorry, continue,” She said sheepishly, looking away, balling up her gloves and putting them in her purse.

“You said she’s from Cardiff,”

“It’s obvious isn’t it?”

“Not to me..”

“It has to do with her jacket, yes? Like I said earlier? She’s dressed for travel. It’s wet along the underside of the collar and along the back. I’ve been around London all day just wandering and there hasn’t been a drop of rain.”

“You’re not as dumb as everyone else. Yes. Her coat is still wet so she can’t have travelled more than 2-3 hours. Because the inside of her collar is dry it means she’s turned it up against the wind. Strong wind that had to be over 15 kilometers per hour, otherwise she would’ve used her umbrella. Strong wind, heavy rains, 2-3 hour travel time. Cardiff. Simple,”

“That’s fantastic!”

“Do you realise you say that out loud?”

“Sorry I’ll shut up,”

“No.. it’s fine,”

“Cardiff… Media. Shouldn’t she have a suitcase? She seems fashion forward,” Delila asked

“Overnight bag maybe?” John suggested.

“Suitcase, yes she had one. Where is it then? What have you done with it?”

“How do you know she had a case?”

“Small splash marks along the heel and calf, small bag going by the spread. Wouldn’t get this pattern any other way.”

“Well, hate to break it to you but there isn’t a case,”

“Say that again?”

“There wasn’t a case, sherlock. There was never any case,”

“Suitcase! Has anyone seen a suitcase?!? Was there a suitcase in this house?!?”

“Sherlock there wasn’t any case!”

“They take the poison themselves, they chew, swallow the pills themselves. Clear signs- even you lot couldn’t miss them!”

“Yeah thanks, and?”

“....Murder?”

“Don’t know how just yet, but they’re killings. All of them, serial killings. We’ve got ourselves a serial killer; god I love those, always something to look forward to. Serial killers are hard though, you have to wait for them to make a mistake,”

“We can’t just wait!”

“We’re done waiting. Don’t you see? Houston we have a mistake,”

“What mistake?”

“Her case! Where is her case? Did she eat it?”

“Oh. Someone else was here, took her luggage. That means the killer had to have driven her here! Forgot they had it?”

“-oh! OH! Phone to Cardiff, find out who Jennifer Wilson’s family and friends were! Find Rachel!”

“What mistake?”

“Pink!”

“Well, isn’t that clever?”

“What is?”

“They’re abductions, obviously,”

“Obviously,” Anderson sneered, “Great, another one,”

“Shut up, Anderson,” Lestrade snapped and Anderson gave an offended look to the Detective Inspector. John stared after them for a long moment after the two men disappeared.

“Don’t get yourself all worked up over him, John. Shall we?” She gestured down the stairs.

“I guess we shall,”

“Would you happen to want to grab a cup of coffee or something? I don’t drink, so that’s the best I can offer you,”

“That sounds nice, actually,”

“Was he your ride?”

“Well, a cab was my ride, but he’s the one who called it,” John replied and Delila laughed. As they left the building a voice called out.

“He’s gone,”

“Sherlock Holmes?”

“Yeah, he just took off, he does that,”

“Likely he’s not coming back then?”

“Doesn’t look like it,”

“Right… erm-”

“Well, we’re in Brixton, yeah? Any idea where we could hail a taxi?”

“Try the main road,”

“Thanks,” Delila held the tape up and john ducked underneath.

“But you’re not his friend. He doesn’t have friends,” Donovan said to John, “So who are you?”

“Nobody, I’m nobody. I- uh- I just met him,”

“I assume the same goes for you, whoever you are?” she asked Delila.

“I’d say it’s none of your business, but obviously you have something to say so go ahead”

“Just a bit of advice, you both. Stay away from that guy,”

“Why, exactly?”

“You know why he’s here?”

“It’s his job?”

“He’s not paid or anythin’. He likes it, he gets off on it, The weirder the crime, the more he gets off,”

“Says the officer in the homicide division,”

“-as I was saying. Be careful, because one day showing up just won’t be enough for him. One day we’ll be standing ‘round a body and Sherlock Holmes will be the one who put it there,”

“You’re telling us this, why?”

“Because he’s a psychopath, and psychopaths get bored,”

“Bravo. Stunning psychoanalysis, Sergeant,”

“Excuse me?”

“Bit of advice for you too, Sally. Stick to the dead people. Obviously the living ones are too complex for you to wrap your head around,”

“Delila! You’re- um- still here?”

“Yes, sorry. I was suffering through your Sergeant’s cookie-cutter judgements,”

“...Right. Do try to be nice to my officers, Delila. They’re the best I’ve got,”

“You could do better. Anyways, I’m going out for coffee with Dr Watson. Call me if you need me. Or actually, just remember to actually call me period.”

“I will, I promise. Donovan, come on,”

“Coming,”

“So then, coffee?”

“I think I saw a small café on Baker street. I know the owner,”

“I have zero idea where baker street is, but lead the way,”

[mountainleafuniversity]

Undertow pt 2

(Artwork by @warrior-kitty special thanks to @gemellath

(This story is rated PG-13 for content. You have been warned)

Kit drove to Coin’s house that morning and picked up the jackelope chugging a bottle of water.

“Man, it’s hot!” he shouted.

“Hop in!” she told him. “Today is going to be crowded and you know it.”

Both of them knew that the beach would be crowded that day, but Kit was running late after not being able to find important things such as the umbrella, chairs, and sunscreen. Now that it was already late morning, they knew it was going to be hell to find just one parking spot but were unprepared for a bigger problem on their hands.

“Hey Kit” Coin said nervously. “Umm…I need to use the bathroom…”

“Hold on we’ll get a spo-“

Kit was cut off when she saw that the line for beach parking was a mile away from the beach.

“Oh no…Try to hold it in.”

However, they reached a parking lot and saw it was completely full.

“Alright then, let’s go to the other one…” Kit sheepishly stated.

“Man I gotta go like…badly…”

However, each and every lot was stuffed to the brim, and with each passing moment, Coin’s bladder was getting fuller and fuller until Coin was in excruciating pain with no end in sight with the traffic getting larger and slower. After the tenth parking lot, Coin was screaming and ran out of car.

“Go in the palm bushes!” Screamed Kit, panicking.

“There are families everywhere!” the jackelope barked back. However, a sign pointed to the beach bar they usually went to, prompting Coin to speed walk across the costal parkway with the honking cars blaring their horns. He tried to walk faster but was moaning in such pain he couldn’t even run without feeling the sharp pain on his bladder.

Roxie, meanwhile, was eating a bag of chips during her “bathroom break”. She had just dealt with cleaning up after a horrible rescue when she heard someone enter the men’s room in a rush. After a while the person did his business, washed his hands then sneezed.

“Crap! Forgot there’s pollen everywhere!”

The dispenser was out of paper towels, so he tried to enter the stall. Roxie in shock dropped the chips onto the ground.

“Oh, come on! Who eats chips in the bathroom?! And why in the men’s room of all places?”

“No one expects me to be here.”

“Hey wait a minute! GET OUT HERE!”

Roxie feared it was her boss, so she stepped outside, only to see her bandmate.

“Roxie…again?”

“I got hungry.”

“Its 11:30 you can wait. Plus, tomorrow is your day off to celebrate so don’t blow it.”

Coin guided Roxie back to the lifeguard chair where Harry was sitting.

“Oh thank God. It was much shorter…” he happily sighed.

“Hi Harry! How’s work today?”

“For me it’s fine. Roxie however just had a shitty rescue, which is why she was allowed on a break…”

Coin was puzzled. “What happened?”

Roxie closed her eyes.

“Another man was attacked by some octopi thingies and nearly drowned because they tried to force this seaweed into his mouth underwater. He projectile vomited all over me, so my boss made me take a shower…with a hose…on jet setting…”

“We’ve been seeing a string of these lately and the Dolphin Division of the police department is on strong patrol right now, so try to stay safe.”

Coin set his towel and chair down, texting Kit to meet him by the bar. After a long half hour, Kit finally showed up.

“Hey Coin!” Kit said from nearby “I found a spot by paying this guy money!”

“That’s great!” Coin shouted as he went over. “Want me to help you set up?”

After taking another half hour of bickering and arguing the umbrella was properly set up. They had put on sunscreen, and laid down their beach towels, so now both of them were basking on the beach immersed in their sunny naps. Nearby a small disturbance in the sand was kicking it all up and creating a path. It scurried under Coin’s stomach, shaking him awake by the disturbance. He looked around but couldn’t see a thing.

“Hey Kit…”

“Yea?”

“You feel that?”

“No. Probably a crab.”

However, Kit felt something try to jump up from under her back. She lifted her towel to see nothing was oddly there.

Behind the cooler a certain little mouse in a red prison outfit popped out of the sand. Rio climbed into the cooler and grabbed some ice cubes with a devious smirk on her face. She walked over to Coin, opened up his trunks, dumped the ice down, and watched him freak out.

“Whats going on here?” an annoyed Kit said to Coin.

Soon she also felt something pull on her suit, and ice was poured down her back. Bystanders looked to see who in the world were these two dancing clowns.

“Who did this?” Coin demanded.

“You thought it was ice, but it WAS ME! RIO!” Rio shouted jumping onto her perch.

“RIO?!” Coin shouted. “You busted out of prison?!”

“You’re not going to report me, are you?”

“No” Kit said, a bit disappointed in her. “But you’ll need to get out of that prisoner outfit. Hide in our bag and stay in there until we get back.”

“Hey guys!” D’Arcy greeted. “What can I get you two?”

“Hello D’Arcy!” Coin replied. “You are doing okay?”

“Other than going through the trauma of that e-mail sent to me…I guess I’m fine.”

“We’d like mouse-sizes for a t-shirt, shorts and swimsuit for Rio please.” Kit ordered.

“Didn’t she get arrested?” D’Arcy asked confused.

“Yea but it’s a gift for her anyway.”

“Oh ok.”

They paid and collected their bag of tiny clothing, with the jersey devil looking nervously at another clothing stand.

“Why does she keep vanishing...?”

“Who?” Coin questioned.

“Jill...” D’Arcy murmured. “She was a classmate at fashion school. Typical brainless spoiled brat if you ask me. She’s a sea serpent who almost got me expelled many times and always got away with it. She works the stand over there.”

“Is she someone we should worry about?” Coin said. “Maybe she sent the threat.

“Probably not, but she’s been going back and forth quite a lot through that pop-up store… anyways, I’ll see you two later, we’re holding up the line a bit…”

Now Linneaus was complete again and relaxing on the shore, sunbathing and enjoying the environment. However, that was all about to change, when Coin and Rio heard lovely sounding voices and giggling. They shook themselves up to see an elk jackelope wearing a mustard bikini standing above them.

“Hey there…” the jackelope girl said. “My name is Penny…”

Coin was so transfixed on her body, especially her blue eyes, that his eyes turned to hearts and with his antlers turning pink as well.

“Man, what a woman…” he said to himself. “I’m…Coin…”

“LOL SO COOL! And who is your mousy friend?” Penny teased. “I have one too~…”

Crawling from up her back, a fit and strong harvest mouse in purple trunks climbed up the antlers.

“You summoned dearest Rhine?!” he declared.

Rio was immediately smitten with feelings for him and his beautiful build with her face turning a bright shade of pink.

“Rio here!” she said. “It’s…a pleasure…”

Kit looked over and wondered why they were so instantly crushed. She brushed it off and turned on her music before taking a nap.

“We were wondering if you two would like to play volley ball with us…” Penny declared. “Mice vs Jackelopes?”

“S-Sure…”

“Hell Yeah!” Rhine shouted.

“Good…good…” a voice whispered from under the sea. “Bring them to me my creations…”

Meanwhile Kit felt her stomach rumble. Not paying attention to her friends, she opened the cooler and obtained her calzone. She heated it up using the sunlight and decided to sunbathe while she ate her lunch.

Her friends could barely contain themselves playing volleyball with the shady but sexy duo. Harry could only watch in sadness towards Coin as he and Rio couldn’t even play the game properly they were so unfocused.

“Hey Harold.” Roxie blurted. “Why are you staring so hard at Coin? He’s in love…”

“It’s just that it seems hopeless…He and his mouse friend just won’t look away from them.”

“Oh?! Like I didn’t catch you thirsty for D’Arcy’s ass again today!” Roxie exclaimed.

“She doesn’t tease me!” Harry yelled. “I go crazy for D’Arcy because I actually fucking like her no matter what!”

“Glad to hear you admit it…

“But look at Coin and that broad he’s with!” he pointed. He watched Penny shake her tail at Coin, then saw Rhine flex for Rio, both of them absolutely paralyzed by their feeling “They’re baiting them with looks! First off, I’ve been with women that do this, and second, it’s our job to stop what could be potential sirens! With the attacks going on I can’t risk losing anyone!”

“You really think that those two are sirens?!” Roxie said. “Lookie here, just because you can’t have a girlfriend or boyfriend doesn’t mean you have to tear others down…”

Harry wondered if Roxie was right, and both took their positions without saying another word.

Rio hit the ball and got spiked by Penny in the face, knocking her down.

“Winner!” she yelled, hugging a shocked Coin, surprised he won but also scared for Rio.

“Shouldn’t we check on-?”

“I think she’s fine…Rhine is looking after her!”

<<Oh, mon petite fleur!>> Rhine ran over. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah…I’m good.”

“See she’s fine!” Penny said.

“You know…I like you…”

Coin blushed. “Same here.”

“You and I will be boyfriend and girlfriend forever…”

They both pulled closer together until they shared a kiss, but suddenly Coin’s mouth was stuck to her’s, and seaweed was pouring into his mouth.

Rio, seeing Coin struggling, kicked Rhine, revealing himself to be a siren along with Penny. The siren kissing Coin let go and wrapped its tentacles around him. Rio ran towards the beach patrol screaming. Roxie sounded the alarm to get everyone away from the area as Harry ran over and tried to wrestle Coin free, only for the siren to toss him into a sandcastle as the beachgoers quickly ran out of the way. The dolphin P.D quickly swam close to the shore in order to wall the sirens off. The one pretending to be Rhine was caught trying to escape.

“This is lovely…” Kit said, eating her calzone, unaware of the chaos around her.

D’Arcy was just taking a photo with a fan when it happened. She swooped over until she found Roxie and Harry.

“What’s going on?!” she screamed.

“Coin’s being taken by a siren!” Harry screamed.

D’Arcy saw it swimming and trying to bring the struggling jackelope deep into the ocean. She flew over, kicking the temptress with her hooves.

The siren responded with using Coin as a weapon, trying to jab his antlers into her skin, but failed since she was impervious to pain.

“Sorry Coin!” she said before stomping his face.

“You aight…”

Now the dragon goat’s eyes gleamed red with rage, inflicting a curse on the siren. She summoned up her fire breath and torched the creature. Now distracted, D’Arcy dove in and tried to pull her friend to safety, but she wasn’t expecting the creature to splash water, blinding her. The siren threw Coin over the line of dolphins, who breached in an attempt to catch him. However, a serpent circled up from under them and caught the rabbit deer.

“Hey D’Arcy!” Jill screamed. “Remember me?!”

“Unhand him! NOW!”

“Love to talk D’Arcy, but I gotta work!”

The police dove down to catch the serpent but were unprepared for the brigade of sea creatures blocking them and sacrificing arrest. They could only watch as the poor jackelope was taken away.

“We want all fishing boats on alert!” the dolphin captain said. “Scuba divers, scientists, anyone! Suspect is a sea serpent with blue hair, nose ring, Che Guevara shirt…”

After the commotion had died down, Kit was still sleeping with sauce stains on her suit and fur, with the half-eaten calzone on her side. Her earbuds were ripped off and a large hooved slap woke her up.

“Hungh?” she groaned.

Roxie was standing above her with a stern look of anger.

“Coin was kidnapped by a sea serpent and you slept through it!” the rougarou yelled, eating Kit’s calzone.

“What?” Kit asked confused.

D’Arcy swooped down, red eyes glaring.

“He was taken to the bottom of the ocean…I should curse you, you ignorant vulpine!”

Kit’s guilt transformed her into Granny as she pondered what to do next...

“Can-can’t we go down there and save him?”

“We’d have to come up with a plan.” D’Arcy replied.

“I’ll see if we can get our set moved to tomorrow.” Harry interrupted.

“But Coin!” the snail-fox yelled. “He’s in danger.”

“Don’t worry about it.” D’Arcy comforted. Tomorrow morning, me and the girls are going to try and save him. The sun is starting to set so it’s probably best if we just go home for now.”

Even after being back to normal Kit still felt upset lying in bed. She knew that if anything else happened, she would have to do something to save her friend. She just didn’t know what to do.

[samsonet]

What matter to me if their star is a world?

No encores. Not songs, not moves, not Pokemon.

But then what does that make her?

Title from Robert Browning's "My Star"

~

When Marnie is five years old, her brother gives her a Pokemon.

It has to be a dark-type, but it looks so bright that the idea is hard to believe. It waddles over, sniffs her ankles, then raises its arms. Marnie knows what that means. It wants to be picked up!

“I thought havin’ a partner might help ya not be scared all the time,” her amazing big brother says.

He hands her its pokeball.

“Thank you! Thank you!”

Next, Piers asks a gym trainer to battle her. Marnie wins her very first time. She runs on the field and hugs Morpeko tight. Everyone says she’s so talented and that they’re proud of her.

(Later, she’ll realize that the older trainer let her win. But back then? She was five. She thought the world belonged to her.)

*

Marnie can’t sing. Can’t pour out her soul. Can’t even yell. Her voice is small and soft, a violin among electric guitars.

Her brother seems to realize that. He finds other ways for her to support him. Help carry the microphone, Marnie. Raise your arms like this to get the audience hyped up. Stand there and look cute, Marnie, people love that.

She jumps to obey the first time, because her brother hates repeating himself.

No encores. Not songs, not moves, not Pokémon.

But when the show is over and they go home, when it’s just him and her in their messy cold apartment, he’ll keep singing the same lullaby until she falls asleep.

*

The trouble with Morpeko is this: it never stays in one mood for long.

It goes from cheerful to angry in the blink of an eye, and it continues to catch her off guard. Every time a trainer yells or Piers’ Pokémon surprise her or there’s another sudden blackout — every time that a younger Marnie would have cried — well, now Morpeko needs her. There’s no time for crying now.

She feeds him berries and hugs him close to her chest. He’s her best friend. (Her only friend.)

It takes a while for her to understand her partner well enough to cope with his moods. She likes to think it made them closer.

*

Piers wants her to take over the gym.

That’s the plan. That’s always been the plan, ever since the day Spikemuth’s last leader croaked and Piers somewhat-accidentally ended up with the gym. He’s been holding on to it, taking care of all the trainers and whatnot, but it’s not his dream.

(It’s not hers, either, but someone has to do it.)

She’s growing like a dandelion, poking her head through a crack in the concrete. She should consider herself lucky to be under the care of someone who thinks she’s worth nurturing.

(She still can’t sing.)

None of it matters.

One day, she’ll grow tall and strong. One day, she’ll master dark-types. One day, she’ll stand on Piers’ stage, wearing his uniform and battling with his style, and all the yells will sound the same.

*

One day, when she and Piers are setting up the stage, Marnie’s world changes forever.

Her brother says, in a casual voice, “I’m thinking of endorsing you for the gym challenge.”

She nods, stuffs some paper under a wobbly leg on the drum set, and then has a double-take.

The gym challenge. A way to get out of this town. A chance to make a name for herself, to be someone other than Piers’ dear little sister. The possibility of battling the champion. The possibility of beating the champion.

She’d never really thought of it before.

It surprises her, how suddenly she wants it.

She meets her brother’s eyes. No amount of makeup disguises the exhaustion, but he puts the effort into smiling for her.

She gives a small smile in return. “So I’d be representin’ you, huh?”

“You don’t have ta worry about representin’ me. You’re my champion no matter what.” It’s corny, but no one is around to hear. “But you’d be representing Spikemuth, Marn. I know it’s not an easy task. Do you feel up to it?”

She looks to Morpeko. Her partner gives a cheeky grin.

“Yeah. We c’n do it.”

*

Of course, her brother doesn’t let her go alone.

“I’m gonna be sendin’ some people with ya, okay? They’re there to protect ya.”

His gym trainers, dressed in the most paper-thin disguises, follow her out of Spikemuth and onto Route 9.

“What are ya doin’, dressed like that?” she asks.

Joshua answers: “We’re Team Yell! We’re gonna support you through the whole challenge!”

The other trainers give yelps and woohoos. “Go Marnie! That’s our Marnie! Yay Marnie!!”

It’s so easy to be talked over and shouted down.

She’s not getting rid of them as long as she stands here, though, so Marnie keeps walking and pretends they aren’t there.

She makes it to Motostoke safe and sound, and that’s what counts, right?

*

Leon’s girl is quiet, even by Marnie’s standards. She looks at everything with wide eyes, like she’s overjoyed and overwhelmed. She’s brown eyes and brown hair and brown skin, plain posture and plain clothes. Either she hasn’t figured out her aesthetic yet, or her aesthetic is to be so normal that one might overlook her.

She’s got a lovely smile, though.

Marnie decides she likes her.

“You’re lookin’ a bit gobsmacked by all this,” she says.

The girl nods, grinning sheepishly.

“You must be from some small country town, is that it? I’m quite the same myself.”

The girl stands awkwardly, like she’s not used to conversation. Then she kneels down and makes faces at Morpeko. For his part, Morpeko seems to love it. Fair enough. Don’t trainers usually connect through their Pokemon? Maybe that’s what this girl is trying to do.

Leon’s brother rushes up. “Gloria, come on! Sorry, everyone, we gotta go!”

He grabs the girl by the hand, and in the blink of an eye, they’re gone.

Marnie will learn later, from magazine profiles and TV interviews, that Gloria is the childhood friend of Leon’s little brother. The pair of them are like peas in a pod, apparently. In the interviews, Hop is always the one talking. He speaks like he’s never heard of an indoor voice. Gloria is almost silent beside him, nodding along, only saying a few words when specifically prompted.

Marnie understands. When everyone around is so loud, sometimes it’s an advantage to be quiet.

She hopes they’ll get the chance to speak properly.

*

At the hotel, Gloria has just battled a group of Team Yell grunts. Inwardly, Marnie groans. Like it or not, Team Yell is her fandom, which means she has some responsibility for what they do.

Does Piers know how much of a pain his trainers will be if they keep acting like this?

They're there to protect you.

Her brother hates repeating himself.

She tells Team Yell to just go home. Piers can send them out again later if he wants.

She turns to the other kids, explains what Team Yell is doing. “Sorry if they caused you any trouble.”

She expects them to look at her with scorn. Look at this girl, with a thick accent and dirty clothes. Look at how she thinks she’s so special, with a team of hooligans following her around.

But then Leon’s little brother speaks.

“So you’re a gym challenger, too?” Hop folds his arms behind his head. He’s got a cute toothy grin; he’s obviously used to being happy. “Team Yell, was it? Pretty impressive that you already have a set of fans to call your own!”

He really doesn’t know.

But Marnie smiles all the same.

*

She’s in a boutique in Motostoke when she sees Hop again.

“Watch out! I’m coming through!”

He pushes blithely past anyone in his way. Of course, no one gives him any trouble. He’s the champion’s little brother. He can do whatever he likes.

It seems that what he wants to do is look at the same rack of snapbacks Marnie is.

He picks up a League Sponsored Normal Type Hat (™). “Hey, Marnie, how does this look on me?”

He says it like they’re not basically strangers.

He says it like he’s entitled to her thoughts.

(Being Leon’s little brother must come with a lot of perks, huh.

But that’s a mean thing to think.)

She decides to humor him. “It looks fine.”

“Aw, come on! Look at me!”

She does.

She’s struck with the strangest sense of deja vu, but in a moment she understands why.

Hop has his brother’s face. Hop has his brother’s smile. Hop has his brother’s eyes.

People say that Marnie and Piers look alike, but a good portion of that is because they’re both punk. Put them in prep clothes, and the resemblance grows less distinct.

(Piers’ eyes always look so tired. If Marnie takes over the gym, will her eyes start to look like that, too?

No encores.

She’s probably a remix.)

“Are you figuring out what you want your image to be?” she asks.

“Mm. Yeah, I guess? You gotta give the audience a way to find you outta all the other challengers.”

Marnie hums. “You’ve already got a good template if ya play up how much ya look like Leon.”

Immediately, she knows that was the wrong thing to say. Hop drops the hat as if burned, and he shoves his hands in his pockets.

Marnie looks at the hat that she’d been considering, a League Sponsored Dark Type (™).

“Y’know, though,” she says, kneeling down to pick a more generic newsie cap, “my big brother is always talkin’ about not doin’ encores. It’s good ta always have somethin’ new, right?”

She hands him the cap. It’s blue, a shade off from the jacket Hop is wearing. He fits his hair under it, then tilts his head to give her a better view.

“It looks good on you,” she says.

He grins, then reaches down and pulls out a bright pink cap. He places it on her head, but her pigtails get in the way, and they both scramble to catch it before it hits the floor.

Hop starts laughing first, because that’s the kind of person he is, and soon Marnie is giggling too.

In this moment, she and Hop don’t represent anyone.

In this moment, they’re simply two kids in a new place, trying out different styles and having fun.

They buy the newsie hats. They buy matching jackets and shirts and trousers, too, because they have money now and no older brothers to stop them.

Hop gives her a cheerful goodbye and promises to meet her in the next town.

Marnie heads into the dressing room. She wants to examine the new clothes.

The inside of the cap and the lining of the jacket’s sleeves are both some silky fabric. The blouse is wooloo wool, soft as Morpeko’s fur. She runs her hands over it, enjoying the sensation, then puts the outfit on and snaps a selfie.

She looks like a princess. Not the ones like Cinderella, who came from poverty and ascended with the help of fairy godmothers. No, Marnie looks like one of the princesses who was born a princess. She looks like she’s used to elegance and influence.

It’s a nice daydream.

She puts on her usual outfit back on, then packs up the new clothes and mails them home at the next postbox.

It’s too late to be changing her style now.

*

“You’re Piers’ sister, right?” Milo asks, moving a hay bundle like he doesn’t realize how much of a flex it is. “I was listening to his stuff the other day. He’s really good.”

“He is.” Marnie holds up a pokeball. “But I’m here to battle you.”

The next TV spot describes her as stoic and emotionless. They say she’s serious, goal-focused. She doesn’t know how to feel about it.

*

It turns out Gloria likes normal-types. Beside her Scorbunny, she’s got a Wooloo and an Eevee. Plain girl, plain clothes, plain Pokemon.

But however plain Gloria is, her smile is genuine. It’s the kind of expression that connects with an audience.

Later that night, Marnie examines herself in her Rotom-phone’s camera. Her natural smile is so small that it’s not much different from her usual flat expression.

She puts on finger on either side of her lips and physically pulls them up.

It’s better, but still not enough.

*

She meets Bede on the outskirts of Stow-on-Side.

He’s got a Copperajah by his side. It’s not the kind of Pokémon she would expect him to have, but if the league was supposed to be about growing as a person…

He almost barrels over her. Lucky for Marnie, she’s got Team Yell behind her. They keep her from falling, and one of them grabs Bede by the back of his coat.

“Get your hands off of me,” Bede growls.

“You gotta apologize to Marnie first!”

“Why would I waste my time —”

(Why doesn’t the Copperajah do anything? Does it not care what happens to its trainer?)

Marnie’s eyes meet Bede’s.

“Well?” he asks, his lip curled into a sneer. “I know you, Challenger Nine-six-zero. You’re the little sister of Spikemuth’s gym leader, right? Your city wants you to become champion so you can bring some glory back. But you’ll never make it to Wyndon.”

“How dare you say that to our Ma—”

Bede’s sneer gets bigger. “You depend too much on your brother’s screaming gang. He’s not going to be able to baby you forever. Can you even speak for yourself? I don’t think you can.”

It’s so easy to be talked over and shouted down.

She turns to her fans. “Let him go.”

“Let him —?”

In the moment of surprise, Bede wrenches himself from the grunt’s hold. He hops back, arms up, hands loosely curled into fists.

“I don’ know what yer problem is,” Marnie says, as loudly as she can, “but it’s not my trouble to deal with! I don’ wanna hear another word from you! Get!”

Bede huffs.

Then he and Copperajah continue on their path.

When they’re out of eyesight, Marnie turns to her fans.

Something must be wrong with her expression, because the grunts look scared.

“Marnie…?”

“Tell Piers that I don’ need ‘im ta baby me anymore!”

She turns on her heel and stomps on, alone.

*

When Marnie sets up camp for the night, she thinks about her rivals.

At the opening ceremony, there had been — what, twenty?

Right now, she can only remember three.

Whatever Bede is getting up to, it can’t be good. (She hopes his Copperajah eats him.)

Hop has been nowhere in sight. It’s unusual and worrying. She hopes the pressure isn’t getting to him.

And Gloria...

Gloria is lucky. Her town is already prospering, because it has already produced a champion.

She has no older siblings to overshadow her; she has never had to feel empty when they’re distant, or smothered when they make their presence known.

Gloria doesn’t even have to worry about representing her sponsor. Everyone’s expectations of Leon are placed squarely on Hop’s shoulders.

Gloria has the privilege of fighting for herself.

Marnie envies her.

She curls up in her sleeping bag and thinks, who am I really fighting for?

*

She fights for Spikemuth.

Her city has fallen into hard times, and it feels like everyone back home is expecting her to bring new life back to it.

(Dirty accent, dirty clothes.)

She fights for Piers.

Her brother wants her to take over the gym. Her brother gave her her first Pokémon and everything he’s done since has always come back to the damn gym.

(“I want to focus on my music.”

Marnie still can’t sing.)

She fights for herself.

...and she fights for Morpeko.

Morpeko needs her. She has caught other Pokémon, yes, and they all depend on each other, but Morpeko is her partner. She understands him the most. She understands his moods, his wants, his thoughts and feelings.

She knows what it’s like to hunger. She’s faced the pain of an empty belly and the anguish of an unrealized goal, and she finds them equal.

Morpeko is a right little brute when he’s hangry, though.

*

Of course, Team Yell is causing trouble. Did Piers tell them to close the gate? It would be consistent.

She shows Gloria the way into Spikemuth. Maybe another challenger would let her competitor struggle (and Marnie does, indeed, let the others struggle), but Gloria is her rival. Rivals help each other, right?

Gloria, of course, passes through the gym without any trouble at all. She powers past all the obstructions, never showing the slightest hint of frustration.

And then she comes to Piers.

Marnie is watching from the sidelines. She studies Gloria’s face, looking for any indication of what she’s thinking.

For some reason, Marnie really wants her brother to make a good impression on Gloria. To represent what’s good about Spikemuth, to make it so Marnie looks good as a result.

(Dirty accent. Dirty city. Dirty, tired man at the center of it all.)

Piers goes all out, giving his best performance.

Gloria hops in joy when she wins.

*

After Gloria leaves, Piers looks to Marnie and asks, “Are ya okay? The trainers told me you’ve been actin’ differently lately.”

“It’s nuthin’. Just getting a bit tired.”

“Do you wanna rest here tonight? You don’t have to continue —”

“No!”

She says it a bit louder than intended. Piers looks at her in surprise.

Marnie clears her throat and tries again: “I need to keep up wi’ my rivals. One of us is goin’ ta be facing Leon. I want it to be me.”

Her brother looks at her with those tired eyes.

(Is she a bad sister, looking for a way to escape his burdens?)

“Well. Kick Leon’s arse for me, ya hear?” Piers kicks up his microphone and tucks it under his arm. “And when you get bored a’ bein’ champion, Spikemuth Stadium will be waiting for ya.”

I don’t want to be your encore, she thinks, but keeps quiet.

She tugs on the pendant connected to her collar. Beside her, Piers does the same.

*

Hammerlocke Stadium is cold.

Gloria had her match here two days ago, Hop the day after that. Bede would probably have gotten here before either of them, but —

Somewhere along the line, Bede got disqualified.

She wonders if the same thing could have happened to her. If the Chairman or the Champion decided that her fans were being too disruptive, could they have her sent away, too?

Her brother is strong, but his power has limits.

“Hey, kid!” Raihan says. His grin is full of sharp teeth. “You ready to battle me?”

She nods.

*

“You’re not like your brother,” Hop says.

They’re in the Wyndon Stadium locker room, waiting for the semifinals to start. Hop and Gloria had walked in together but quickly split apart, going to opposite sides of the room.

Hop decided to sit next to Marnie. She’ll take it as a compliment.

“I mean, your brother’s cool and all!” Hop continues, “But I’ve been watching your battles. Your battle style is totally different from his!”

It is. Piers can’t keep his cool, can’t stop shouting out his strategy in the middle of a match.

And Marnie…

Marnie stays quiet. That’s her advantage.

“Thank you. For what it’s worth… yer style is pretty distinct from Leon’s, too.”

He smiles and leans back. “Thanks.”

The minutes tick by. The anticipation is almost unbearable.

Hop says, “I’ve been thinking… after the cup, what do you think you’re going to do? If you don’t become champion, I mean.”

If you don’t become champion. A nice way of saying if we battle, I’m going to win.

Marnie herself has no intention of losing, but… well, everything’s a possibility.

“Piers wants me ta take over the gym. He wants ta follow his own dreams.”

“Do you want to take over the gym?”

Do you want to be your big brother’s encore?

Marnie thinks about the Spikemuth Stadium. Neon lights. Punk trainers. Dandelions growing through cracks in the concrete.

Despite everything, it’s her home.

If she can’t take Leon’s throne… she wouldn’t mind sharing Piers’ stage.

His songs. Her battles.

I’m not an encore, Marnie decides. Not a replay. Not a remix.

I’m a brand new song.

She says in answer, “I think I’d be happy there.”

*

When it comes time for her semifinal match, Marnie walks out on the pitch to the sound of roaring applause.

Gloria is waiting, plain as always, but she’s smiling that lovely smile.

(Oh, how Marnie wants that smile.)

The commentator announces them, putting them in boxes one last time. There’s Gloria, the trainer endorsed by the champion. There’s Marnie, endorsed by Spikemuth’s gym leader.

Marnie thinks of Piers: his prideful self-loathing, his harsh stage voice, his team of hooligans he’s sent to cheer for her.

She thinks of Spikemuth, the dark dirty town that has pinned all its hopes on her.

She thinks of her rival, standing before her.

She’s come too far to lose here.

[monikafilefan]

#72 from the prompts pleaseandthankyou 😀

I finally got around to writing this and fought through a bout of writers block, but ta-da! I hope you like it @allyinthekeyofx I took some liberties with Scully’s chip regarding her being sick. 

I’m combining an angst/romance prompt with an earlier request for a pre revival sickfic. Since I’ve ready written a Mulder S-6 sickfic, I wrote a sick Scully this time. Also, this is sort of a follow up story to the angsty chapter 1 of this: 

Tagging @today-in-fic @kyouryokusenshi @fragilevixenfic @scully-eats-sushi @peacenik0

---

#72 “You need sleep.”

Feb. 2016: Several months before MS1

Mulder ran a hand through his hair for at least the tenth time with his phone glued to his ear as he paced the cold creaky floor throughout the unremarkable house. The fact that he had to resort to calling her office at the hospital at all this morning would be worrisome enough. But because he hadn’t heard from her at her usual once a week phone call time yesterday, he was concerned to say the least.

Truth be told, they had only started talking on a regularly scheduled basis for about three months now and had only seen one another in person sporadically since she’d left. But on one Friday night, Scully called him to discuss whether he was okay with celebrating Thanksgiving with her. Eventually, she had confessed that every night before bed she would stare at his picture in her room and tell him what was on her mind. Her therapist had advised her to bridge the gap and tell him herself. And that’s what she has done ever since, until last night at least.

His bare feet slapped along the hardwood towards the entryway door and he leaned his forehead against it, frustrated with a familiar nervous churning roaming his gut as the ringing of her phone continued to go unanswered.

Ever since his ‘whole life’ walked out of their front door he was currently grinding his head into, he has worked his ass off both physically and emotionally to find himself again. And he knows that, with her own therapy, she has too. His depression and obsessions with the future and secretly searching for clues about William consistently for the last four years had secluded him even further away from Scully. And he hated it—hated everything about it, including himself. Yet, he just couldn’t stop himself from doing what she begged him not to do—go searching through the darkness without his light.

After a while, it finally dawned on him to really look at her—his light—and what he saw scared the hell out of him. He painfully watched Scully’s own guilt and depression that she had tried desperately to keep hidden away, coil tighter inside, dimming that light, and choking her like a noose. All of it brewed into a perfect storm, creating the catalyst of that one dark night in 2014.

“Come on, Scully, answer the phone.” He ended the call to her house phone without leaving a message and quickly switched back over to her cell number. Mulder wandered over to the mantle where most of their shared items still sat, mocking him. Memories of their past that they had created together were collecting dust.

The ringing shrilled through the earpiece again as he stared at a recent photo of them taken at Margarets house sharing a kiss on New Years Eve just over a month ago. Scully hadn’t wanted him ringing in the new year alone and Margaret’s quick photography rewarded him with a rare memento of their halted intimacy that night.

They were better in 2016. Happier together than apart. Mulder knew she wasn’t ready to come back home yet and to be honest, he wasn’t either. Even so, his resolution was to make damn sure he was ready when she was. And that’s exactly why he was currently on the verge of panic as he leaves her yet another voicemail just minutes after receiving a callback from her office stating that ‘Dr. Scully had called in sick two days ago’.

“It’s me again, Scully. Please call me back. I’m worried about you and in fact, if you don’t call back in the next five minutes, I’m coming over to check on you. You know if you’re sick, I help you—no matter what, Scully,” he rushingly said and huffed as he clicked the end button, stuffing his cell in the pocket of his sweats.

Dammit, that’s just like her too. Her calling into work and telling them she’s too sick to work and no one else. Which in the language of Scully means that she literally cannot function enough to crawl out of bed and get dressed. Scully rarely ever got sick, especially after her cancer remission. Which Mulder knew the chip most likely protected her from any serious virus infecting her immune system. But when Dana Scully did feel ‘under the weather,’ as she called it, she was usually bedridden for days and completely reliant on him for help. Whether she admitted it or not.  

She must really be ill this time and that scared the shit out of him. Not being able to see her, to touch her, to dote on her when she normally would scoff at his babying, had his anxiety riddled heart nearly pounding out of his chest.

Yes, Scully was an excellent doctor and always has been. Yet, she was also his wife, his other half, his partner in every respect of the word, and had felt that way about their dynamic from the beginning.

He worried back then and worries still. It’s silly he knows, but he worries that if he doesn’t lay eyes on her for several weeks at a time then he might miss some subtle change in her appearance. Yet, he worries when he finally sees her face to face that he just might cry and beg her to come back. He worries more that she might even cry right along with him. But what he worries about the most while laying in bed alone at night, is that she might not care enough anymore to cry at all. He figured that this was some kind of cruel karma for all the worry he’d laid on her shoulders throughout the years.

But the fact remained, he relished every moment spent with her and worrying about her through every illness. Even when she hadn’t known about half of it.

Mulder had hoped to be the one she leaned on since the beginning if she’d ever gotten sick and shockingly, she had done just that. He would wait on her hand and foot, pretend to leave her apartment when she told him to go home and sleep, but would instead lay on her couch while she stubbornly thrashed alone in her bed just feet away from him. He’d bring her water and a cool rag to wipe down her sweaty skin when her cancer invaded her nights with fevers, or curl up next to her when the chills wracked her body so hard she couldn’t sleep. Mulder would even happily sacrifice what little sleep he did end up capturing to hold her hand while he sat scrunched up on the floor, leaning against the side of the bed just listening to her raspy breaths filling the silence between them.  

On nights like those, Mulder would quietly leave just before the sun came up, but not before placing a kiss upon her cheek that she would pretend to sleep through. It was just one of their many silent agreements that lay between them throughout the years. Much of their struggles were silent, yes, but it was their silent adoration for one another that screamed the loudest.

Breaking that silence was deafening—an altogether beautiful thing, and that’s exactly what Mulder intended to do all over again.

He ran up the stairs, threw on his shirt, and grabbed a couple personal things of Scully’s that she had left behind before he hurried out the door. The realization that he was also one of those things that she had left behind, felt like a slap in the face.

Nearly slipping on the unsalted porch, it suddenly registered to him that the last time Scully stepped foot on the wooden beams beneath him, it was sprinkled with freshly fallen leaves and not snow.

Pushing aside a sudden new wave of woe, he tossed her things in the seat as the Mustang roared to life. It echoed into the cold February air as he put the pedal to the metal and raced towards the familiar D.C. city limits.  

---

“Scully?” Mulder closed the front door of the smart house he hated and punched in her security code. He’d only been here a handful of times since she moved in eighteen months ago, and it looked exactly the same way every single time. Sterile and uncomfortable. “Scully, it’s me. Where are you?” He searched the tidy living room, tossing her things and his coat on the couch, and walked through the kitchen, taking in the scene of how clean and orderly everything seemed without him.

His head spun at the thought of her choosing this life over the one they built together.

The sound of coughing had him swiftly moving down the hall and into her bedroom. And sight before him, sucked him back almost twenty years in the past. The room was a mess. Her bed was piled high with multiple comforters, clothes riddled the floor by the nightstand which was covered with pill bottles and Nyquil. He took a step and noticed a giant wad of used kleenex in the overflowing trash can the floor next to her bedside. Mulder gasped when he saw that some were clearly stained in various shades of blood.  

No! It can’t be!

“Scully…” His heart was beating so loud, it was surely enough to wake her.

Her wild haired head popped up beneath the mound of blankets with a look of shock and relief in her expression. “Mulder?” she yelled out, swiping a tissue across her nose. “Ugh! There you are!”

Swooping down upon her without thinking twice about it, he grabbed the hand she had hovering over her nose and wrapped her up in a tight embrace, smashing her face against his chest. “Jesus, Scully you scared the shit out of me.” Pulling back when he heard her grunt, he held up her hand that gripped the used tissue and examined it. “No blood.”

“Mulder!” her droopy lids, stark white face, and red tipped nose had nothing on the overly loud barking sound of her voice. “I’m so glad you came!”

“What? Scully you never called me. And why are you yelling?” Looking at her sleepy confused face, he realized that she was probably drugged up on sleep aids and decongestants.

“Oh, I can’t hear very well!” He watched her eyes narrow as she tried focusing on reading his lips. “I’m talking too loud?”

He had to laugh even though he was still concerned over seeing her blood soaked into anything again. “Yes, but that okay,” he spoke louder than before. She tossed the mucous laden tissue over his shoulder and flung the blankets off her legs. “That would explain you not answering your phone I suppose.”

“My phone?” she questioned him quieter now with a crinkle in her brow.

“I called you over and over. I was worried.”

Reading his lips, she nodded and said, “sorry I haven’t gotten out of bed much yesterday or today. I’ve got an upper respiratory infection and a double ear infection and can barely hear with all this congestion. I’ve resorted to knocking myself out every chance I get,” she grinned.

Oh loopy Scully was always fun, but that didn’t explain the crimson streaks on the kleenex.

“What’s with the blood?” Her mouth opened and before she could utter a word, he jumped in and told her not to lie to him with the tone of his voice he hoped she could hear well enough. “Scully…”

“It’s not what you think, Mulder. I’m fine.” Mulder winced and she quickly amended her usual brush off line. “It’s not what you think. There are broken blood vessels in my nose and my lips were cracked and they bled on and off this morning.” She must have seen the relief wash over him as his eyes fluttered shut because she brought his hand up to her face and held it to her cheek. “I’m okay, Mulder. And… I’m really happy to see you.”

Mulder wasn’t shocked at her choice of words. She had told him several times when he saw him that she was happy to see him but the way she said them with such reverence, took him by surprise.

She removed his hand from her face and rolled out of bed onto wobbly legs. He grabbed onto her arm with one hand and clutched her slender hip with the other as she stumbled over a water bottle, making sure she didn’t face plant on the uncharacteristically messy floor.

She relaxed and sighed under his touch. “Thanks. My equilibrium is off a bit,” she chuckled with the volume of her voice wavering.

Mulder sat there staring at her as she closed the bathroom door, stunned at how easily she accepted his presence. Then again, she’d been confused and thought she had called him at some point in the last two days to come over. Glancing over at the medications lined up like soldiers awaiting orders, he understood why. All of these had the side effect labeled, ‘May cause drowsiness and/or confusion. Do not operate heavy machinery’.

Fucking great!

Now he had no idea if she really meant anything she has said so far to him tonight, let alone the possibility that she might not remember him being here at all tomorrow.

Swinging the door open, Scully gave him her now very rare and honest smile that’s done things to him since day one. She looked so small standing there in her bare feet and underwear wearing an oversized t-shirt that looked suspiciously like one of his missing workout shirts. She had no makeup on which highlighted the freckles scattered disobediently on her face. Without a second thought, he stood up, bent his head forward, and planted a kiss on her nose.

She gasped and cleared her throat. “Sorry,” he mumbled, not really wanting to apologize for kissing his wife as he locked his eyes onto hers. “I should probably take off then since I know you’re alright,” he pointed to the bedroom door over his shoulder with furrowed brows. “You need sleep.”

“What?” Scully looked up at him, her big blue eyes shining under the dim lighting. “You’re leaving? A-choo!” Scully sneezed then rubbed her ears, yawning. “Oh, that helped my ears. I can hear a little better now.”

Laughing, he repeated “you need sleep,” louder this time and rubbed her shoulder for his own comfort just as much as hers.

Scully cocked a brow and still too loudly blurted out, “not as much as I need you.”

Mulder’s smile faded slightly and felt his knees bob as the weight of her words smacked into him. “You seem high as a kite with all of those meds your on. Not to mention you probably have no idea what day it is and will very likely think this whole conversation was all a dream in the morning,” he reminded her, offering her an opportunity to take back her words.  

“Mulder?”

“Yes?” She stepped closer and his hand moved from rubbing her shoulder to rub the expanse of her back.

“I love you.”

“Oh brother,” he threw back, replaying their conversation from the past while clearly understanding now just how foggy her head is at the moment. Yet, no matter the context in which she spoke those three words to him, he always took them to heart.

He swallowed hard and looked away from her stare. It was safer this way. He could listen to her words or look into her eyes, but not both at once. He might not survive the honesty of her regret if she rescinded them.

“I miss you, Mulder,” she mumbled, and he could see her eyes glistening with unshed tears from his peripheral. “I do. So much. It's just… Just not time for me to come home yet.”

He risked looking into her bright blue eyes again, his stomach churned, and his throat tightened so much that he thought he’d choke right there. “Oh I know, Scully. Me too—and you’re right.”

Even in her increasing lethargic state, she managed to toss him a perfectly arched brow and a mock look of surprise.

“Yes,” he said louder, ensuring his words wouldn’t be blamed on pain meds, muffled congestion, and swollen eardrums. “You’re right, Scully. It’s not the right time. For either of us; not yet.”

He watched a lone tear leak out of the corner of her red rimmed eyelid and slide down the swell of her pale skin that she didn’t even attempt to hide. He fought the urge to swipe it clean—to wash away evidence of her sorrow. It was exactly that; evidence that her internal pain equaled his own.

“Soon,” she nodded and limply held out her hand to him. He took it gratefully and she laced her fingers within his. “Stay with me tonight.”

“Are you sure?""I want you here and you sleeping all the way out on the couch isn't going to help right now. It's running away and that's what I do, not you."Mulder balked at the sharp self-deprecating words she’d just used. That was the sort of thing he has hear himself say many a time. Not Scully. If she felt that way, she had never expressed that to him before. The concoction of medication had loosened her lips—breaking through the silence.

Forcing himself to brush off her words, he pushed back the comforter and sheet and as she slid in, gingerly laying her ear atop the propped up pillows.

“Oh, I brought over a couple things from the house for you. It’s probably unnecessary now that I’m thinking about it, but I know how much you love wool socks and your eucalyptus body cream.”

Her heavy eyes lit up and she smiled. “You brought me my blue wooly socks, Mulder?” To him, she sounded too excited over a pair of socks she had likely replaced long ago. But looking at her face, he saw that she really was. “You know me so well.”

“That I cannot deny. I’ll get them for you.” He went to the couch and grabbed her slippers and lotion, feeling pretty excited himself at the thought of being useful to her once again.

Mulder sat the container of green body cream onto the only open spot next to the near empty Nyquil bottle and knelt at the edge of her bed. Scully outstretched her bare legs into his waiting hands so he could slide her navy blue wool socks onto each small foot. If it were close to two years ago and she had done this to him, Mulder would have massaged the minty smelling lotion into her feet from heel to toe and sensually worked his way up her soft slender body until she begged for more. Right now, he would just have to be grateful she was letting him comfort her at all.

“Thank you.”

“Of course, Scully, you know I love your little feet,” he smirked and reluctantly removed his hands from her ankles. She didn’t move to cover herself back up so he stood to adjust the balled up comforter around her, but her hand wrapping around his bicep halted his progress.

“Lay here next to me.” It wasn’t a question and Mulder opened his mouth to protest but she cut him off. “Come on, Mulder. No reverting back to sitting on the floor uncomfortable while you stay awake and hold my hand all night long. Please just… hold me tonight?”

Blinking away rapidly rising tears, he nodded and responded the only way he could. He leaned down and kissed her forehead, whispering along her skin, “I can do that.”

Mulder carefully climbed over her and pulled the blankets up, tucking it around them. Her bed seemed huge, the space between them cavernous. It felt good to be this close to her like this again, too damn good and his arousal blooming beneath his sweatpants agreed immensely.

He slowly wrapped his arm around her waist and she laced her fingers between his as a silent thank you. The back of her chest rose and fell in tandem along the front of his own and he knew if he closed his eyes, he could picture every single night spent embracing is wife in their shared bed. But he didn’t close his eyes, didn't dare. Because he knew that the next time he and Scully lay in bed, It wouldn’t be in their shared one together.  

“Sleep, Scully. I’m here.” Mulder pressed his lips to her ear and rested his head along the crown of hers.

Breathing deeply now, he felt her slight nod and her backside snuggled in closer, no doubt noticing his ill-timed erection.

“Mulder...”

“Yeah.”

Scully tucked their entwined hands under her chin and he felt the heat from her lips warming his fingers. Waiting with bated breath for her next words, Mulder moved down and nuzzled his nose through her mussed hair, inhaling her scent within the crook of her neck. It was something so familiar and comforting to them both, showing her affection like this as they laid alongside one another. It felt like the most natural thing in the world.  

“I meant what I said,” she murmured.

“Said about what?”

“That I’m still in love with you,” she turned her head towards her shoulder when his breath hitched. “I may be medicated and half asleep, but I can never forget that. I never want you to either.”

He kissed her neck, her cheek, her ear, and told her, “and you forget, Scully, that I could never forget anything about you.” He heard her sigh and felt her whole body melt into the mattress. “You need sleep,” he said again. Mulder moved his mouth away from her face before he gave into the powerful urge to kiss her once more. This time on the lips, crossing over their convoluted line of separation.

When her breathing slowly evened out minutes later and sleep reclaimed her, Mulder carefully untangled their fingers while he gently moved out of her embrace. He stood at the end of her bed, taking in every detail of her peaceful face before he needed to force himself to leave.

He missed seeing her smile, the caress of her touch, the comfort of her warm body next to his lulling him to sleep every night. He missed his Scully. And tonight, Mulder was lucky enough to witness the fact that his Scully had missed her Mulder just as much.

---

[minimonojoon]

crystal snow

g e n r e: angst, bittersweet ending tho; p a i r i n g: yoongi x reader; w o r d s: 3k+ words. s u m m a r y: yoongi perfectly knows how much she loves the snow and he prays it will be the sole thought to bring a little joy to her; w a r n i n g s: mentions of depression, mental illness, swearing;

a/n: the pov is yoongi’s and he refers to the reader in a third person. talking about a delicate topic such as depression is not easy and most of the stuff in this fic is from my personal experience + the researches I’ve done about the topic. I’m always scared as hell posting this, so reviews and comments are always appreciated! also: this was inspired by crystal snow and while writing it I was listening to breathe me by sia and where’s my love by syml (alternate version). enjoy! <3

The incessant ticketing of the clock on the cramped kitchen’s wall echoes through the darkness of the apartment. Everything is quiet, still covered in the shadows of a day that is yet far away to start. The cold weather outside and the lack of heating makes the air ungodly freezing, pinching at Yoongi’s body unpleasantly, as he grunts his sleep away by scrunching his eyes and reprimanding a yawn. He surely hates winter, at least when he can’t afford a heating system that would allow him not to find extremely hard to leave his bed in the mornings – not that he wants to, anyway.

He sighs with satisfaction as his early morning routine starts with a highly needed dose of caffeine, probably the only good thing in his days lately, and looks up at the clock on the wall. He scrunches his nose at the sound, unnervingly loud in his ears as it’s the only companion he has right now. As he voices a grunt of displeasure having already finished his coffee, he restrains himself from throwing something at that damn thing on the wall.

I could try, he thinks, maybe that would catch her attention. Maybe she could wake up and enter the kitchen. Yoongi smiles bitterly, closely analyzing the state of this part of his small apartment. There are few dishes from past days left in the sink, the result of his tiredness (or, to be honest, just plain laziness) from work, and on the two counters and the tiny table near the window there are remains of instant noodles and ready-made pasta sauces. And he’s not even mentioning the emptiness of their fridge. Probably she’d kill him, if she knew the state of their shared kitchen. Or any other part of their tiny space they were able to find after a long, exhausting research.

Days have become much slower, unhealthier and unhappy since she’s not around anymore. He loved the way she would wake up only to share the mornings together, even if she started work hours later. Her sleepy smile is extremely missed, as the way she always swatted his arm when he grunted to her, scolding her for spilling precious drops of coffee on the counter. She constantly forgot to wear her glasses first thing in the morning, and that was the result.

Yoongi scruffs his feet on the wooden pavement as he reaches again their bedroom, quietly picking up his clothes from the closet so he can get ready for another boring day of work. He turns around and glances at her, studying her sleeping form. She’s balled under tons of blankets, but Yoongi can perfectly distinguish her hand under her cheek and her long, messy hair partially covering her eyes. Her expression, as far he can presume, is deep into slumber. He exhales a relieved sigh. At least she’s getting a little of sleep.

The times he caught her awake, watching outside their window where houses, buildings and the far away skyline of the city could be seen, are uncountable. And whenever she realizes Yoongi is watching her, completely stilled as he’s facing a rare species for the first time, his worried gaze on her, she would close her eyes and pretend nothing happened. Or worse, she would glance again outside, her eyes watery. Times like that are the only ones where Yoongi would finally made eye contact with her. For brief moments, he’s able to study her gentle features, the round shape of her bright eyes and the petals that formed her mouth.

Now, those same eyes were deprived from their vivacity, as her cheeks are constantly pale – the adorable shade of color that tinted them each time she returned home was just a faint memory. Her strangely squeaky laugh, that Yoongi would never admit he loved so much, doesn’t fill their apartment like it used to.

Yoongi often asks himself what she thinks whenever their eyes met. What’s passing through her mind in that precise moments, and why she always pretends she’s sleeping although he perfectly knows she’s not. Sometimes, he’s terrified how he isn’t able to reach her as he was used to do before. There were few things in life he was sure of, and one of them was being able to read her – recognizing the curve of her lips whenever she finds something funny but couldn’t say it out loud due to inappropriateness, or the way she fidgets her fingers whenever she’s embarrassed. Her body is like a panorama he couldn’t possibly be tired of. He could close his eyes and follow every inch and scrape of her features, naming each scrape and angle.

The person she’s right now isn’t her, he finds himself thinking frequently. It’s an empty shell that lays on a bed that isn’t warm anymore, not when they don’t talk, laugh or make love on it. Not when the complicity they shared is shattered, and no matter how much effort he puts in trying to recompose the pieces together, nothing seems to work. It’s like extending a hand that, for a few inches, isn’t reachable. It’s frustrating as hell and Yoongi’s blood boils whenever the thought crosses his mind. He then can’t do anything but breaking things, crying, screaming. He is desperate.

As a mouse trapped into a labyrinth, going crazy because he can sense there’s a way out of this whole mess, but he isn’t able to find it.

Yoongi tugs too roughly on his pants, almost tripping on himself while walking to their bathroom as a wave of rage he’s barely able to control almost drowns him. He faintly hears her moving on the bed, the comfy covers shuffling and a soft moan escaping her lips. He stops himself midway, checking her out with frenetic eyes. He doesn’t breathe as he desperately hopes that maybe today she’ll say something to him. Even if it’s a mere breathed and angry be quiet, he really doesn’t care. Probably, Yoongi would cry right then and there for hearing her voice again.

It’s frustrating, not knowing how to help her. Yoongi shuffles his black hair and tugs on the bangs, because her world has crumbled and his miserably with hers. He feels in a painful limb, where their hands, once tangled strongly together, are slowly untying. And he’s unable to stop this horribly, faithful they seem will face incredibly soon.

Yoongi can’t exactly point when everything begun. There isn’t a precise moment, or an event he can recall that makes him thinks that’s why, and he’s safe to say he hates himself because he wasn’t able to read the little signs he now knows she leaved him, or whenever she shrugged off her discomfort and he didn’t insist enough to talk to her, to let her relish her feelings onto him. He would have take everything she gave him. Everything.

This past year hasn’t been easy for them. Damn, it’s not just this one year, he bitterly thinks. Their economical situation has drastically dropped into a more precarious, insidious one. Being young and with wide dreams doesn’t help at all in the ruthless world they lived in, nor it is realizing that life mostly gives you lemons and what the fuck, most of the times you can’t even make a proper lemonade – not when they were risking losing everything they worked hard for. They have given their blood, sweat and tears to find the cramped apartment they are sharing now, frantically searching for something they could simply afford. Their neighborhood isn’t the fanciest, nor the one with that pretty view she loved so much, but at least they found something that’s theirs, and theirs only.

For a while, everything was fine. Although they kept struggling with their work schedules and tired exhales were made whenever their limbs ached returning home, Yoongi distinctly saw a tiny sparkle in their future, the kind that allowed him to dream a little for themselves. He dreamed of her continuing her studies, reaching the goals she set for herself, and for him to brush his fingers onto his piano again. The soft looks and quiet smiles they shared made Yoongi aware they were both thinking about that future, and he knew, no, he was sure they saw the same sparkle.

But then everything vanished into the thin air, like ashes raised into the wild, freezing wind.

First, it was the way she dragged herself outside bed, and slowly lost her smile. Then it was the way she could cheer him up in the first lights of mornings with a caress or a whispered loving word, whenever he was too tired even to properly think, that vanished away. Her somber presence gradually took over her solar one, and soon enough everything she did became mechanical, dull and without no reason other than not let herself and Yoongi starve. That is, until now.

Yoongi glances again to the bundle of covers she was under, and briefly shakes his head. He’s unaware of the motif behind her sudden worsening of conditions. The only thing he remembers is the door slumming shut too early for her shift to be ended, and her feet that stumbled until she reached their bedroom, hastily leaving her shoes and clothes behind to let the covers engulf her. He presumed it was something about work, and for a brief, frightening moment he believed she was fired. But after a few days, when he received a telephone call from her employee asking why she wasn’t present at work, Yoongi had a hard time even stuttering two words coherently. He briefly asked if something particular happened, but when he received a shrugged response he told her boss she was sick.

That was almost two weeks ago. And that unease sensation Yoongi felt when he had that call, isn’t still leaving him at peace. His senses are on full alert, as if something worse could happen any moment. If he tries to feed her, she refuses. If he tries to talk to her, she’s completely quiet. Sometimes, he faintly hears her in the middle of the night, when she probably thinks he’s deeply asleep, walking into the bathroom, crying. She then walks around the apartment with no apparent reason, then she comes back to bed.

The last time he heard her was two days ago. Although his eyes were close shut, Yoongi could perfectly picture her eyes filled with tears, scrolling through her puffed, rose tinted cheeks, while her hand anxiously dragged her hair back, her shoulders hiccupped uncontrollably. He needed to control himself just to not scream or punch the first object in his sight, restraining himself from intervening. The last time he tried didn’t ended well.

Yoongi exhales. His morning routine is now finished and even if he’s apparently ready to face another day at work, he doesn’t feel like it, at all. The weather seems to perfectly accompany him with his grey clouds and dull light, and he bitterly smiles to himself, mockingly thinking it could be the suitable entrance of a character in those tv dramas she occasionally watches.

He hears her stir in her sleep again, and suddenly the curiosity takes better of him and his feet step closer to her side of their bed, her closed eyes and long eyelashes entering Yoongi’s view. The pout she formed tells him she’s not having a peaceful sleep anymore, nor the way her strain of hair on her temples are damped. Munching on his lower lip, he hesitates, his hand hovering over her form, unsure to touch her. He doesn’t do it anymore, since the day she started to fly away from his feathery, loving touches. He takes a deep breath again and right then she murmurs something unintelligible, brows furrowed and painting slightly.

Before Yoongi can ponder about anything else, his hand is on her forehead, waving away bangs of wet hair. His expression softens and at the same times covers with such a melancholy, the moment her expression relaxes onto his touch. He’s unwilling to let that caress go to fast, finally able to physically do something to shove away the pain and distress in her. His hand strokes her cheeks, flowing to her hair with such a delicacy and then going back, too afraid of breaking her, of waking her. He blinks a few times, realizing his eyes are wet with tears, feeling the lump in his throat suffocating him.

When his first sob leaves his lips, he shies away from her.

He fiddles with his jacket, quickly grabbing his things before he’s out of the apartment. The cold air of December hits him like a firetruck, but it’s so welcomed he doesn’t care the slightest. The freezing temperature of the morning dries the tears on his cheeks in seconds, and he inhales profoundly as his mind starts to clear. He needs to be strong for her and support her in the way she needs the most. How to do that, though? The only he’s aware of how hard is to watch someone you genuinely care for rotting and can’t be able to reach them. He desperately wants her to know he is there and she’s not alone. That they can do it, together.

Yoongi runs his hands into his hair, messing them and grunting loudly. He covers his eyes for a few moments, trying to recollect himself before he’s out there into the lively, busy streets that he needs to cross in order to go to work. He doesn’t even care his scarf doesn’t cover him properly, not shielding for a particularly powerful gust of wind that has his skin growing with goosebumps. His onyx eyes are glued to the pavement of the sidewalk, his lips are thighed together, almost fully white.

Then, something extremely cold and small brushes the tip of his nose and after a few moments, another one is on his right cheek. His expression distorts into confusion, as his eyes flutter to realize it’s a snowflake. A tiny, little one that hasn’t melted yet. It’s still there and oh, they’re starting to descend gradually into the ground. The time stops for a few moments, as his lips quiver before finally open into a small circle. His nose is up in the air as he watches the morbid shade of gray that covers the sky. The perfect hue that calls for snowfall, as his grandfather always used to say.

Yoongi stops abruptly, recalling the first time he and her saw the snow together. Well, that was the first time she saw snow falling. As she lived in a country where for the most part of the year it was warm and sunny weather, the white little freckles were something endearing to her, almost magical to her eyes, the way they covered everything in white. Pure, enchanting, marvelous, adjectives Yoongi also associates her with. He can perfectly picture her eyes glinting with glee, her brightest smile painted and her cheeks red from joy and the cold hitting her face. She couldn’t stay still for a moment, as shrieks of excitement filled her mouth, catching each snowflake and showing him the most defined ones. “They’re amazing, Yoongs! Look at this one!”, she was thrilled and Yoongi didn’t restrain himself from smiling at her, his heart doing somersaults to see her so happy. “Promise me we’ll going to live somewhere where snows at least once a year,” she exclaimed laughing, and Yoongi found himself nodding without hesitation.

The memory fills his brain and his heart, as his stomach drops and he’s gulping again. He knows the littlest details could make the difference sometimes, when everything they see is just plain, pitch black. He’s so desperate he clutches uncontrollably to that thought, while his legs move before he could think straight and he’s quickly coming back home. If she sees it, maybe she’ll smile. If she sees the snow, maybe she’ll think not everything is falling apart.

He is panting uncontrollably when he reaches the apartment complex he lives in, fumbling with the keys and storming to the stairs, covering two scales at the time. He doesn’t care if he’s doing a mess, if he’ll get scolded or he wakes her up abruptly entering the house. She must see the snow. She must know there’s still something good in her life.

By the time he’s entering the apartment, silence greats him. Everything is in the exact same way he left it, the air slightly stained and the fastidious rumors of the pipes interrupts every now and then the godly stillness of the entire apartment. Yoongi shuffles to their bedroom, not bothering to leave his jacket or any of his things behind him.

The moment he enters the rooms, his breaths itches and his eyes widen. His limbs don’t respond anymore, as he stays still in the entrance, his mouth slightly agape. His breath is accelerated, but he doesn’t care in the slightest. He engulfs her waking and sitting form, her back turned to him, her hair messy and the old pinky pajama she’s wearing completely creased. Her face is turned to the window, where it’s now clearly visible the snowflakes that fall.

There isn’t a word that comes from Yoongi’s mouth, neither from hers too. But he’s sure she knows he is in the room, so with soft, silent steps he approaches her, totally terrified he could scare her away. Yoongi can hear his beating heart into his ears, roaring furiously as glances at her eyes glued to the window. They’re watery, he notices, but there is a different glint into them, her lips quivering. She’s gazing the snow as if she has just been awaken from a long, exhausting dream. Her breathes fills the room, slightly ragged.

Then, as she’s finally acknowledge his presence in his room, she turns to him. Yoongi is now fully looking at her ethereal and beautiful features, how the soft curves of her cheeks and the eyes he so much adores are eventually looking at him, seeing him for the first time in months. It strikes him she’s still alive, breathing and awake. Yoongi exhales deeply, taking in his lungs as much air as possible so he doesn’t crumble in front of her. His mind is blank white and focused on her form that is coloring his soul and mind again. He isn’t aware of how many minutes passes, how they observe each other in a stilled silence that no one dares to break.

At last, her lips move to form a smile, as her head move slightly in the way she always does when something particularly makes her glinting, her eyes forming crescents.

“Yoongs, it’s snowing.” Her voice is throaty yet endearing, surprised even.

“I know,” he cracks, smiling a little.

And then, his arms are wrapped around her in a tight embrace.

[liannyeong]

So put your hands up (if you like me)

Summary: Beneath all that warm and sunny side to Park Sungjin, he was the coldest person she ever met.

Word count: 2959

Pairing: Sungjin X OC

Warning(s): uhh 80% slightly angsty... i believe it’s slightly.

A/N: Based on this. Okay tbh I don’t really like the title but it’s the only thing I could think of with my tired brain. and uh if you actually knew the song (and actually sang it when you read the title) then you’d know that it’s We The King’s Say You Like Me. OH and I’m not really pleased with the ending but well this idea has been on the shelves for so long and I actually wrote like the first half of it longggggg ago and it was chucked away and finally, i pulled it back out and finished it off. :D Achievement unlocked!

She doesn't remember the exact moment she fell for him, but she does remember how her heart flutters at every act he did. The way he smiles, it was as if he was the sun: bright, warm, blinding. His pearl white teeth gets exposed, and his eyes crinkle into small slits. The way he laughs, it was the most beautiful thing she has ever heard. His shoulders would shake and his hand would go up to his mouth to cover it. He would lean sideways, and then straighten his back up again the next moment. The way he brushes his hair back everytime his bangs fall onto his forehead, it was dazzling. She doesn't understand why he keeps his hair at that length when he's always pushing it away. Nevertheless, she thinks he's gorgeous.

She couldn't remember how she first saw him, but she can remember the way he stands on stage with his bandmates. A guitar slung over his torso, guitar picks slotted at the microphone stand. She remembers the way he would move to the music, mouthing the lyrics when it wasn't his part. She remembers the way he threads his hair back, the way sweat collects at his forehead and trickles down to his chin. She remembers his wide smile as he performs, and the way his face scrunches as he pours out his feelings into an emotional song.

She remembers all the beautiful things of him, but it hurts so bad. The memories of the beautiful side of him brings ache to her chest, and it burns her eyes. All beautiful things come with a price, and falling for dashing male like him brought great tragedy to her.

Beneath all that warm and sunny side to Park Sungjin, he was the coldest person she ever met.

"I like you," she confesses, cheeks flustered in a deep shade of red, head a little bowed. She stands right in front of the brunette-haired boy, who is clad in a baseball cap and a plain black shirt, paired with navy jeans. He has a haversack slung over his shoulder, a hand gripping onto the strap, the other shoved into the front pocket of his pants.

There's a long pause and a blank stare from him.

"Okay," he says slowly, tone indifferent. "So?"

She rarely sees Sungjin around after the confession, all thanks to the huge university campus and their different majors. Their faculty buildings are far apart, minimizing any opportunity of bumping into each other. She tries not to look out for him in the crowd, but it has become a habit for all the years of liking him. She tries to avoid going for any musical performances that the university would hold, but she always end up going anyway, what more with her friends that love such events. She ends up being dragged along, painfully watching the boy she likes performing on stage. As much as she wants to run away at the sight of him, she wants to stay, wants to see the beautiful boy she falls for again. She thinks it is fine, liking him from afar, pretending nothing happened. She thinks she would be fine living like that for the rest of her university years. 

That was what she thought.

Their eyes meet and in that second, she feels putty all over. Her legs feel wobbly, and she swears she could have collapsed right there. There is a flash of recognition in Sungjin's eyes, but it disappears way too soon for her to confirm it. His eyes go elsewhere, and she feels her chest constricting. It becomes hard for her to breathe and subconsciously, she takes a step back. She needs something to hold on to, wants to grab onto her friend but at the same time, she doesn't wish to drag the mood of her friends down. So she ends up backing up till the end of the crowd, before turning around and dashing off far from the sound of the concert. She bolts into the nearest washroom, slamming the door shut and locking herself up in the furthest cubicle. She pants hard, hands pressed against the door, body bent forward as she tries to catch her breath. Her eyes prick and in a matter of seconds, tears fall. She slides herself down, squatting right in front of the door, burying her face into her knees, wrapping her arms around them.

Of course Sungjin would not feel anything when he sees her. Of course Sungjin would pretend not to know her. What was she expecting? It's been months, close to a year! So many days of avoiding her like the plague, pretending like she's invisible. Besides, having being coldly treated, of course it meant that Sungjin doesn't care if they bump into each other in the streets randomly.

She lets her tears drench her black jeans. Her legs ache so much for staying in that squatting position for so long, but she doesn't care. Her legs start feeling numb, but she reckons it is better that way. Perhaps soon her heart will go numb too, and there would be no more pain when she sees him.

She lost track of time in the cubicle, until she feels vibration in her pocket. She wipes her tears away, and pulls her phone out of her pocket. The clock on her phone shows that it's 11.12pm, and she bets the concert's long over. Her friends have sent her messages, asking about her whereabouts. She comes up with the lamest excuse ever "bad tummy ache :(" just to be left alone.

She stays in the cubicle for awhile more, before standing up slowly, letting the blood flows down to her lower limbs. Then she exits the cubicle, approaching the sink. She looks into the mirror, her eyes all puffy and red from the crying, her face badly stained with tears. She splashes her face with water, hoping it would wash away the tears she has cried. And perhaps also wash the pain away, along with her memories of Sungjin.

Days went by and she goes by as if nothing happened. She goes to her classes, laughs about as per normal. Her friends doesn't see the pain beneath all those smiles. They don't realize that she has not rested properly, for she has been busy all week long: catching up on studies, hanging out with friends, just doing something. She doesn't stop for a moment for herself. She keeps herself occupied with various activities because she knows that if she were to be left alone, her mind would be lost to the thoughts of Sungjin. She would constantly think of him, and it would not be good emotionally.

She's at the crossroad just outside the vicinity of her university campus, arms crossed as she waits for the green man. Her ears are plugged with her earpiece, blasting songs of various genres: from rock to ballads to EDM to jazz, and perhaps one or two classical music. She leans against the traffic post, staring into space. She sees the green light comes on in her peripheral vision, and just crosses the road without thought. Just then, she was pulled back abruptly. The next thing she knows, she's on the concrete ground, propped on her elbows and staring at the cars that drive by.

"Are you trying to get yourself killed? It wasn't the green man that flashed, but the green light for the vehicles!" a rather husky voice booms over the loud traffic. She blinks at the road, before slowly tilting her head up, her gaze directed towards a male that towers over her. A frown across his forehead, hidden behind the strands of dark brown hair.

Sungjin.

"Get up, will you? People are looking at you weirdly," he says again. His hand is stretched out in front of her, and she's tempted to take it, but resists instead. God knows what would happen to her heart if she took that large hand. She pushes herself up and brushes the dust off her hands and clothes. Sungjin seems to be taken aback that she didn't take his hand, but she doesn't comment on it.

"Thank you," she says quickly, avoiding looking at him at all costs. She sticks close to the traffic light post, wanting to get away as far as possible from the male. The green man finally lights up and she scurries across the road. She walks as fast as her legs could take her, wanting to disappear from the male's sight for good. However, the male catches up to her. He keeps a safe distance between them, never too close nor too far. He's always there, as if he's a guardian angel sent to protect her. But no, she doesn't need protection from someone who hurt her.

"What are you doing?" she questions, a little agitated that the male is hot on her heels. They're at another road junction, the red man on.

"Ensuring you're safe till you reach your destination," he says so casually, as if it's a norm to do that. 

"I'm an independent woman if you haven't noticed. I'm a grown up and I can take care of myself!" she barks.

"Yeah? And you can't look left and right before crossing the road, when an elementary school kid knows that?" he retorts. She falls silent, cheeks flushed in embarrassment. It wasn't her fault that she was distracted. She was just lost in thoughts. It's not really her fault. Blame the thoughts instead! She wants to argue back but she's pushed across the road, like a ball caught in the ocean currents. Why, oh why, is Sungjin doing this to her? What is he trying to do by being her 'knight in shining armor'?

As soon as they safely crossed over, she swats his arm away. "Thank you, really, but I'm fine from here," she says coldly.

"How far left?" Sungjin ignores her statement.

"Not far, so you can go back," she dismisses him. She turns on her heels to her right, and was about to take a step when Sungjin speaks again. "Let me walk you there then, since it's near."

"No thank you." She glares at him.

He ignores her once more. "Let's go," he says airily, walking towards her direction.

"Why are you doing this?" she bursts out, halting Sungjin in his tracks. "Stop doing this. Stop it. Just go away!" She sends a piercing gaze at him, demanding for answers. Her fists are clenched tight at her sides, and her teeth is gritted tight. Sungjin lets out a sigh, and closes the gap between them.

"I know you hate me right now. After all that happened. But I..." he hesitates. "I saw you at my gig the other night. I didn't expect you to turn up after all that happened."

"What's it to you if I came or not?" she snaps. She thinks she's seeing things when there is a flicker of hurt in Sungjin's face. She reckons it's real, but at the same time, how can it be? Sungjin, who has been avoiding her like the plague after her confession, can't be feeling hurt by it. He treated her coldly, ignoring her as if she was invisible to his eyes. But what if that hurt expression is real? What would it mean? No! she shouts to herself internally. She convinces herself that she doesn't care of hurling harsh words at him. That she doesn't care if she hurts him now. He deserves it!

But she ends up saying "My friends dragged me to watch it anyway," just to ease the atmosphere. "Not like I wanted to be there anyway," she adds quickly. A lie. 

"I know."

"You do?" She raises her eyebrows, surprised.

"I gave Youngju the tickets. I..." Sungjin trails off, eyes on the ground, head hung low, a hand scratching the back of his neck. It's as if he's guilty of something. "I wanted to see if you'd come."

Her eyes widen. Did he hoped for her to come? But... why? Does he have feelings for her? Or is it that he want to atone for his sins? 

"I saw your friends. But I only saw a glimpse of you. In the next moment you were gone. I thought I was imagining things but Youngju told me you came."

"What's it to you if I came or not?" she repeats her question, her tone as sharp as before, though this time, she's really curious of his answer.

"Because I wanted to see you," Sungjins answers a while later, his eyes flicking into hers. "I was wrong, in the past. I treated you coldly, I avoided you, I ignored you. I became a jerk after you confessed your feelings. I was just..." He seems exasperated at saying his thoughts out. "I just didn't know how to handle it. It was something new to have someone confess to me and I was just so damn clueless about what to do. That's why I avoided you. I didn't know what to say. I didn't know if I had the same feelings, if I liked you back or not. I was afraid I'd give you false hopes. That it was all nothing but a lie. That if I told you to wait if my feelings are the same, you'd be waiting for so long. I was afraid of so many things and I just didn't know how to handle it all and I'm just so sorry for the hurt I have caused you," Sungjin rattles on non-stop. While it's a little too much of information for her head to process at one go, she appreciates that he's giving her the answer she wanted. She's pleased that he's telling her the truth.

"It's all in the past anyway. It's been nearly a year," she concludes. "You don't have to worry anymore." She doesn't wish her old wound to be cut open once again, although it has never healed yet.

"Do you not like me anymore?"

Her heart stops for a second, her mouth sealed shut. How can she answer such a question? When has she stopped liking him? Never. As much as Sungjin has hurt her unintentionally now that she knows the truth, her feelings didn't stop growing. During those painful times when Sungjin decided to treat her invisible, she had watched him from afar. She loved him from afar, capturing and storing the beautiful moments of him laughing hard, his perfectly straight white teeth flashing brightly in the sea of crowded people. It's during these moments when she notices more about him than before. She notices the change in his hairstyles despite the fact that he maintains the length: from his bangs being down and settled against his forehead to being slicked back smartly. She notices how he would play with the piercings on his left ear as he speaks when he's a little nervous. And how he would get lost in the music that his band plays for their performances, his eyes closed, his head tilted back a little as he strums his guitar. And when he takes his turn in singing, his a little husky voice complements the music so beautifully. She has never stopped liking him. Not even once.

"I never stopped liking you," she confesses. "I never did." She forces a smile though it feels too tight on her lips. "So if you're gonna reject me once again, I'm-"

"I like you too," Sungjin confesses, his cheeks colored in a dark shade of red.

"W-what?" she blurts out, rather speechless at the sudden revelation.

"I'm not repeating it again!" Sungjin exclaims, his cheeks flushed with an even darker shade of red, which has already spread to his whole face.

They fall in silence, but her thoughts are whizzing about messily. Her legs go wobbly as her mind rewinds to the moment seconds ago. Did Sungjin just confessed to her? She feels as if her legs are melting, not able to keep her upright. Her insides are churning as if there are butterflies all over, wanting to escape. She feels as if her chest can split open to let those butterflies out. Like a broken record, her mind keeps replaying that same words that he uttered. The next thing she knows, she sees a bright white light in the distance and she wonders if it's all a dream. She's pulled back, and nearly - very nearly - she could have fallen into his arms. They stand facing each other in close proximity. Sungjin's arm is half-wrapped around her though she doesn't feel his hand at all. She looks over her shoulder and realizes that it's because his hand grasps at her bag. She has to crane her neck up to look at the male's face properly. Upclose like this, she can see how flawless his skin is, how clean it is from any acne and pimples. There's a little stubble along his chin, but otherwise, smooth.

"Why are you always trying to get yourself killed?" Sungjin asks, adding a small laugh afterwards. He lets go off her bag, and steps back, providing the considerable gap they always maintained.

"You're the one who's killing me." She smiles wide. Sungjin chuckles, and nods in agreement.

"Are you heading home?" he nods at the direction they were supposed to be walking long ago.

She nods.

"Shall I send you home then?"

She smiles wide and nods again. Gone are the days when she liked him from afar. Gone are the days when she had to constantly battle the pain of liking him. They stroll along the street, side by side, catching up with all the times they missed. Everything's good now. 

[ailithnight]

This story is a long time in the making. It was a @writing-prompt-s prompt forever ago, but I can’t find it anymore. Yes, it has been that long. Bite me, I take my writing seriously usually. Anyway, here it is.

Pictures

We are going through my grandmother’s house. She died a few days ago and we are cleaning up the house, already sold, and reminiscing around the photographs of rapidly decaying color. My brother points to an old one that has just crossed that line where your eyes can’t even pretend they see colors anymore. “Why are they doing that Sissy? Can’t we save them?”

           I pick him up. “I’m afraid not Leo. The soul is departed, so the brilliant colors have to fade. They’re just memories now.” He doesn’t really understand. He’s too young. But this is how it’s always been. Pictures can hold a bit of soul in them and it reveals itself as color. When the soul departs this world, the colors fade away. But Leo is just 4. He doesn’t get it. I pick up a picture that still has a bit of color left. Grandma’s 96th birthday. It was just a couple months ago. I feel a small drop roll down my cheek. Leo reaches up to wipe it away.

           “It’s okay Sissy. Don’t cry. The pictures, the memories are still good.” I smile at his childish innocence and rest a kiss on his forehead. He grabs the picture, holds it tight, staring. I think he might be trying to memorize it in perfect detail before the colors fade. He squirms, wanting down, then runs across the room to Mom. I move to the next room, grandma’s bedroom. The room itself is very tidy, but I know what will meet me when I open the closet. I remember once, when I was about 6, I opened the door and everything fell over, burying me in a mountain of old shoes, ties, clothes, and photographs. Granddad heard and found me there, struggling to climb out of the mess. It was after that, Grandma insisted he organize the junk and get rid of what he didn’t need. He trashed some, but a lot was left, albeit far more organized now. He died when I was 8. Grandma has refused to open this door since. But it’s time. I flick on the light and approach the closet, still a little afraid I will be buried again even though I’m 12 years older and much bigger now. I twist the knob and pull, with only a little struggle and a soft creak, it swings open. I am met with a literal wall of shoe boxes.

           Grandad’s six suits, one for each weekday and a fancier one for Sunday, are all pushed to the extreme sides of the closet. The whole middle up to the rack and the entire top shelf is just shoeboxes. I sigh. Grandad was one hell of a pack rat. I start at the top, cause where else would you start, pulling out boxes, checking their content, and creating three piles; Photos, Donations, and Junk. It’s a long process, and rather boring, but in about an hour, I’m down to the bottom row. That’s when I find it. Tucked neatly away in the back corner, just another shoebox, but different. This one only has one photo in it. This was strange enough for me to give it a second look as I could still see another box a couple down literally bulging open with the number of photos jammed inside. I pick up the box and step away from the closet into better light. As I get a better look, a long forgotten memory starts to play in my head like a movie reel.

           “Grandad! Help me!” He’s laughing at me, ignoring my wails as he realizes I am thoroughly encased in a small mountain of junk.

           “Oh my, princess. What trouble have you gotten yourself into this time.”

           “It fell.”

           “Did it now. I rightly suppose we must put these vile beasts back in their place, no?”

           “Grandad, I don’t understand. Can’t you just get me out of here.”

           “Of course princess.” He starts moving things, releasing me from, what I thought at the time must surely be, the grip of death. When my arms are free, I start helping, little hands pawing at the old relics of days long past. Once I am free, I look back at my would-be captor, and something catches my eye. In a small mound of photographs, one sticks out. I grab it, and show it to grandad, who is trying to put things back in the closet.

           “Grandad, grandad look. Why is this one different?” He glances at the picture, then snatches it out of my hand.

           “It just is princess.”

           “Oh. Who was it?”

           “Someone my great grandfather used to serve. His master, who was kind enough to pay his passage to America.”

The photo itself looks old, printed on faded yellow paper like they had in the olden days. It was a picture of a young man, surely not much older than myself. He’s wearing a dapper suit, much like the one hanging in the closet behind me. And he’s standing outside, in a nice meadow. It must be spring. The wildflowers are all in bloom. It is a very pretty picture indeed. But the most striking thing about it was the brilliant colors splattered across the image. It was like looking through the clearest window imaginable, like real life. Very different from the grim shades of black and white in every other photo. Hands slightly trembling in a mix of curiosity, wonder, and confusion, I pick it off the bottom of the box. I drop the box, all of my attention focused on the ancient looking scrap of paper as I slowly flip it over. It takes me a minute to decipher the cursive scrawl. Young Lord Michael Alder, In the meadow on the eve of his 19th birthday, April 11, 1826. 1826. 1826! I read it again, and again, and a fourth time. No matter how many times I read it, the numbers refuse to change, to make sense. I flip it over, checking once more that my eyes did not deceive me. But the colors are still there, in sharpness and clarity I could not imagine. My brain refuses to function in light of this information. Perhaps that is why I did not hear my father calling me. “Elizabeth!” I twist around and my father was there, Leo sitting, half asleep in his arms. “Momma and I think we’re done for the day. C’mon, let’s go get some lunch.” He doesn’t question what I was doing. I suppose he must have thought I had fallen into a daydream or a memory. We’ve all been doing it these last couple of days.

“Okay dad. I’m coming.” He turns away and carries Leo back downstairs. For reasons I cannot explain to myself, I tuck the picture away in my back pocket before I follow him. When we meet, I make no move to mention the photograph, and we all go out for pizza. When we get home, it’s almost 3, and Leo had fallen asleep at the table in Cici’s. His nap was long overdue. I went straight to my room and closed the door. I took a deep breath; a second, and a third. I feel rattled. I should be used to it by now. Grandma’s death shook us all. But this is different. I grab the photo out of my pocket. My hands tremble as I hold it up, my eyes once more catch on the brilliance of the colors, even more defined than the photo of myself and my best friend Alexandra sitting in its custom frame on my desk. It looks so real. I stumble over to my bed, slightly light-headed, and sit down, still staring at the photograph. It’s just wrong. Everything about the picture is wrong, too clear, too real. It looks like I should be able to run my fingers over the glossy surface and feel the satin soft flower petals. I remember to breath but my breath catches when my nose is filled with the faint smell of lilacs and irises and lilies and apple blossoms. If I listen closely, I feel like I can hear the soft gurgle of the fountain and the chirp of birds that should not be in mid-January. The colors of my room seem to fade away, out-shined by the photo. I blink my eyes, trying to snap out of the stupor that has settled on my mind. It doesn’t work. I try again. I feel like I am falling, falling far and fast. The red behind my eyelids shifts to white, then grey, and black. Colors swirl on a black canvas for what feels like an eternity. Then they stop. Black becomes grey, then white, then red. Slowly, I open my eyes to bright sunlight and shades of green interspersed with blue and yellow and red. The birds are louder now, the smells stronger. My soft, warm bed has become a cold, hard stone bench. An earthy voice speaks to me.

“Are you all right, Love?” I look up to see none other than the very garden and man of the picture. In front of him, holding an old fashion camera, stands a man strikingly similar to my Grandad. My voice speaks without me, soft airy tones.

“Oh yes, I’m fine. Just drifted off into a daydream I believe.” Almost Grandad speaks, his voice sounds so much like Grandad, slow and low.

“The young missus does that quiet often, doesn’t she?” Michael smiles and my lips, acting of their own accord, do the same.

“What was the dream of, Dear?”

“Quite a curious thing. I dreamt of a life and family not my own, in days so distant future the technology I saw was like magic. And yet, I knew it all. I could name it, and use it. It was as if I was merely watching through the eyes while someone else entirely acted. She did not know you, but had just come across the very photo you just took. And only to add to the oddity, not a thing about the picture had changed. The color and clarity was exactly the same as it is right here and now.” My gut wrenched as she described the scenario, quite literally my own, just reversed. She must have felt it to, because our hands flew to out stomach. I was surprised by its rotundness. Michael walked forward. His hands slid over my own, lightly touching the bump on my abdomen.

“What’s wrong? Is the baby okay? Is it time?” We chuckle.

“Just a kick, I’m sure, Michael. I’m not due for a couple of months yet.” His earthy tenor tones chuckle back.

“Of course, of course.” Our eyes look a couple of inches up to meet his own. Our heart beats, slightly fast but steady, certain. We stretch up to plant a kiss on his pale pink lips.

“I love you Michael, always.” He returns the kiss, deeper than our own.

“I love you too, forever, my dearest Elizabeth.”

I bolt straight up in my bed. A dream. A really weird, really vivid dream. A quick glance out my window reveals a dark sky and big, fat, gently falling snowflakes. I’m still in my day clothes, though mom or dad one must have come in and pulled off my shoes. They also must have draped this thick afghan over me. My hands are empty. I look around, trying to find the photograph. It’s not on my bed, but as I scan my eyes, I catch a glimpse of the faded yellow all the way across my room. How did it get all the way over there? Maybe mom or dad, whichever came in, accidently drug it with them as they left. I stand and walk over. It sits, face down against the thick, cream colored carpet. The cursive scrawl reads just as it did before. I pick it open and flip it over, expecting to have my breath stolen once more by the striking colors. But I am met only with a dull grey landscape. There is no color and, more importantly, no subject. Michael is no longer standing in the photo. The hairs on the back of my neck rise. I stand, and slowly turn. He’s there, sitting in my desk chair, exactly the same as the photo. Right down to the suit. He’s watching me. He looks… sad.

           “She died. The very next day. The baby kicked while she was walking down the stairs. It caught her off guard and she fell.” I couldn’t speak. I was frozen, staring at him. He sighed. “They managed to save our daughter, but Elizabeth took a direct hit to the head. I was accused of causing the accident.  They took her away until I could be investigated, but her in a foster home. By the time I was cleared of the charges in October, my wealth was gone, as was my reputation and good name, and the foster parents had grown attached. They didn’t want to give her up. They had named her Mikayla. I couldn’t afford more law I couldn’t afford more lawyers and I probably would have lost the case anyway.” He fell silent, apparently done with his tale. I was still lost.

           “How are you here? Why aren’t you… why aren’t you… gone?”

“I met a man. He said he could give me eternal youth. I didn’t want it. Until he showed me something I had not been able to bring myself to look at since her death. A picture of Elizabeth, still as vibrant as the day it was taken. He said she wasn’t gone, merely shifted, to a new life. I was reminded of her tendency to daydream, such fantastical things. He said she would come back, but not for some time. I agreed to take him up on his offer, but we made some preparations first. I sold everything I could and paid passage for my three servants to go to America. the man took half my soul and stored it in that photograph. The other half was free to wander the world as a spirit. My most faithful servant Joshua, your great-great grandfather took the photo which held the half of my soul. He took good care of it, so did his son and grandson, even though they didn’t really understand it.” He fell silent again.

“Okay, that explains how… kind of, but why are you here?” He looks at me, somewhat blankly.

“I thought that was obvious, Love.” It takes me a moment to process his comment. Once I get it, I take an involuntary step back.

“Oh no. No I’m not… I’m not Elizabeth. Not your Elizabeth.”

“You are and you aren’t.”

“I can’t be.”

“I can prove it.” It is my turn to be silent. He stands. “You know how pictures work, right. The closer it is to the whole soul, the clearer the photo, right?” I nod, vaguely recalling this discussion in 9th grade science. He reaches into a pocket in his jacket and pulls out a wallet. He hands me a picture. It’s me, and him, side by side in the garden. The colors and clarity are on point. It could have been taken yesterday and you wouldn’t know the difference. I look at it, then him, then back at the picture. “Same soul, different life.” My eyes return to his. He still looks sad, but hopeful.

“I’m still… not here. I mean, I don’t know you, don’t remember…” I trail off waiting for him to realize, waiting for that hope to fade. I hate doing this. Hurting him feels like I am betraying some distant part of myself. But the hope stays in his eyes. I sigh. “Michael, I don’t love you. Once upon a time, maybe, in a distant life long past. But not anymore. I don’t remember. I don’t feel it.”

“I know.”

“And…?”

“Our love runs deeper than memories. I know you don’t feel it, but I’m confident it’s in there, buried deep. I intend to uncover it.”

“I don’t want you to if all it’s going to be is you expecting me to be someone else.”

“I don’t want you to be anyone else. I want you to be you. I want to love you for who you are now, not who you were.” For a long moment, we are both quiet. Suddenly, he stands, and wraps me in a warm, almost familiar hug. “We could try. Will you let me try?” I sigh, admitting defeat to myself. Somewhere deep inside, a small part of me flutters with the thought of falling in love with this man. A faint smile touches my lips.

“Yeah, you can try.” I feel him release a breath he must have been holding. His breath smells like toffee. We hug for a moment longer before he releases me. He steps back and moves around me to my bedroom door. “Where are you going?”

“I don’t imagine your parents would be happy to find a strange man in their house with their daughter.”

“Where will you go.”

“In a couple hundred years of spirit wandering, I’ve picked up on a few tricks. I need to make a life for myself, set myself up, get my ‘documents’. I even know a few people who might help, if I ask nicely.” He’s smiling, almost chuckling. I feel light and happy.

“Don’t get yourself into any trouble.”

“I won’t, Love. Don’t worry. I’ll see you soon.” He opens the door and almost walks right into Leo, who is standing in the hall with a cup of water. “Oh! Um…”

“Leo, don’t say anything. Forget you saw or heard anything.” He stares for a long moment. Then he opens his little mouth.

“Do you have any candy?” Michael starts inching around my brother. Leo lets him go and he quietly slips down the hall. I walk over to my desk and open the drawer. “6 pieces.”

“6!?!” He nods. I hand him 2 snickers, a dum-dum, and 3 starbursts from my secret stash. I hear the front door creak softly open and closed. “Don’t eat them all at once. You’ll get sick.” Leo grins.

“It was a pleasure doing business with you Sissy.” He takes his candy and his water and wanders back into his room. I close my door behind him. Once more in quiet, though my body is tired, my mind races. I bend down to pick up the photo which had once more slipped through my fingers. I’m not sure how I feel about the grey landscape, and the whole day in general. It’s all so confusing. At last, I take the picture and slip it in my desk drawer before changing into my pjs and climbing into my bed. I stay there until dawn, unable to sleep as my brain works through all the new things I know and what they mean. I come to a conclusion and drift off around daybreak. The world is much stranger, much more confusing, and much more interesting than I had ever thought before.