#I'm sorry you had to read this | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

thesunisatangerine · 6 months ago

Text

playing for keeps – chapter three

alexia putellas x barçakeeper!childhoodfriend!reader

warnings: coarse language, light angst

(a/n in the tags) [chapters: one, two, three]

word count: 8.8k

[1]

Just before you turned thirteen your body, finally, began to change.

While Alexia’d gone ahead of you a year prior—with her limbs now lanky and sinewy, and her muscles stretched close to the newly grown bones—you were left behind. She’d grown taller, yes; not by much but the two-inch difference (two and a half, as Alexia was always inclined to remind you) felt like a foot to you. So the change was welcome when it finally started, and more importantly, it happened to coincide with something that completely altered the trajectory of your life.

During the spring after your birthday, your father got a promotion at work. To celebrate this milestone, he took you and your mother for a trip around Europe. And as a gift for your hard work and for getting into La Masia with Alexia just a few months before, your parents surprised you with tickets to at least one game in the country, or area, you were visiting.

In Gelsenkirchen, Germany, you found your destiny.

Or at least that was how you liked to look at it.

Before seeing the match between Schalke 04 against Stuttgart, the idea of keeping never entered your mind; you’d played forward your whole life, and you thought that would be the position you’d play in professionally. But as you saw Manuel Neuer controlling the outcome of the game with his hands, a spark ignited within you—this overwhelming surge—and right there and then, you were enlightened to the art of keeping. That spark returned home with you and, playing into the hands of fate, your journey to keeping began.

[2]

The crescendo of the cicadas’ song was this close to lulling you to sleep. It didn’t help that Alexia’d curled herself up beside you in your bed, her head on your lap while her math notebook laid forgotten at the foot of the bed, and her eyes already closed. It was a rare occurrence for the both of you and even more so for Alexia to ‘slack off’—if you were to put it as Alexia had—but this afternoon was a particularly hot one. Summer had practically bled into spring, and even someone like Alexia clearly wasn’t immune to its soporific effect.

The numbers from the homework you were working on began to blur when you heard a knock downstairs. Out of curiosity or just surprise, you snapped awake. And so did Alexia, apparently.

“You expecting someone?” Alexia yawned, stretching out her long limbs before settling over to her other side. The movement made a lock of hair fall to her cheek which you brushed away with the back of your finger.

“No, it’s probably Mamá’s.” You hummed in answer, relaxing down on your pillow to finally chase that nap that continued to tempt you.

But then came your mother’s voice, “Guille! Hello, my boy! How are you?”

Alexia let out a startled yelp when you jumped out of the bed, now fully awake, tripping on the rug as you rushed into the closet.

“What the hell? What are you doing?!” Alexia hissed with annoyance but you were too busy trying to get changed to address it.

You snatched the closest pair of shorts and jersey shirt, and began to shed the ones you had on before you slipped the fresh ones on in quick succession.

As you did, you began to explain, “I completely forgot! I was supposed to meet up with Guille today!”

When your head popped out of your shirt, you found a deep crease between Alexia’s brows. She was sitting in the middle of your bed, cross-legged, looking very much like a disgruntled cat woken from a nap with the way her hair stuck out in odd places.

She looked adorable.

You bit your tongue before you could say it.

Crossing her arms, Alexia retorted, “Why? It’s Saturday.”

The tone she used made it seem that today being a Saturday was a valid enough reason for you to not go.

“And it is because it’s Saturday—and no training, Alexia—that I can go with him.”

At that, her frown only seemed to deepen. You had half a mind to tease her but you knew that’d probably just piss her off even more, although if you were being honest, you didn’t understand just why this seemed to bother Alexia so much. So instead of teasing, you tried a placating tone, “You could come with if you want?”

Alexia opened her mouth, “I—”

Your mother’s shout cut through the air.

“Honey? Guille is here for you!”

You sent Alexia one last apologetic glance.

“I’m really sorry! Please stay for dinner! I’ll be quick!”

And with a quick hug goodbye, you rushed out of your room and practically flew down the stairs. At the bottom, you found Guille leaning against the bannister, hands in his short pockets, with a small rucksack on his back who, upon seeing you, gave you a bright smile.

“Hey! You look—” He began but then suddenly, his eyes darkened and the quirk of his lips turned upside down, his tone flattening, “Oh. You’re here.”

In the same second you noticed Alexia beside you, Alexia’d slung an arm over your shoulders.

“Lovely to see you as always, Guille. And I could say the same about you.” Alexia deadpanned, flashing Guille a smile full of teeth, her eyes void of any warmth as she stared at him down her nose. Then she turned to you, her face lighting up as she asked with a little too much excitement, “So, are we going or not?”

“Wait, she’s coming with us?” Guille blurted out, but before you could even answer, Alexia left your side and ran down the steps.

“Of course, Guille! Come on, keep up!” Alexia exclaimed on her way out of the door, tapping Guille’s stomach as she did—not without force apparently with the way Guille expelled air out harshly.

When you got to him, you placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“Are you okay?”

He let out a strained, “Yes.”

You gave Guille an apologetic look, grabbing your ball bag.

“I’m really sorry for the last minute change. I’ll make it up to you.”

Still clutching his stomach, he said, “Don’t worry about it.”

The three of you got to the field near your place—which you were glad to find empty—without any more incidents. You were faced with another problem as it was only after you’d begun warming up that you realized that in your haste to leave, you forgot to bring water with you. When you told Alexia, she offered to go to the nearest corner store to buy some.

You stretched as you waited for Alexia’s return when Guille suddenly said behind you.

“Here.”

Turning, you found him holding a paper parcel bag. You considered his outstretched hand with curiosity before you met his eyes, taking the bag from him slowly. “What’s this?”

“Just a little something to get you started,” he answered, scratching the back of his head. “You said you wanted to keep, so I thought you’d need them.”

Peering into the bag, you gasped at what you found inside.

A new pair of keeper gloves.

“Guille, you didn’t have to!”

He shrugged, smiling, “Yeah, but I wanted to anyway.”

“Thank you! Come here, you big baby!” You laughed, throwing your arms around him. Unlike Alexia, Guille was only taller than you by mere centimeters so it was relatively easy to ruffle his hair as you pulled away.

“Mess up my hair again and I won’t teach you anything,” He threatened with a faux glare as he swept his fingers through his curling locks in an attempt to tame them.

You rolled your eyes, grinning at him. “Okay, Antonio Banderas. So, what are the basics?”

He imitated you, rolling his eyes before he shook his head slightly, his smile never leaving his lips. Then he pointed to a spot by the goal line. “Put your gloves on and stand right there.”

You did, noting the way your new gloves fit perfectly over your hands and fingers. It felt different—stuffy—and you could already feel your palms beginning to sweat from the trapped heat. When you stood where Guille pointed, he walked around you all the while he instructed you to correct your posture: he told you keep your feet shoulder-width apart, to bend your legs slightly so that your chest was just past your knees, and to hold your palms facing out.

“The main thing to worry about starting out is your stance. It will take time to get the balance right but once you get it down, you’re set.”

“Is this alright?”

Guille took a step back and he gripped his chin as he hummed. After a moment of scrutiny, he nudged you back suddenly. It wasn’t quite forceful but it made you tumble down on your rear all the same.

You smiled at him sheepishly, getting up. “I guess that’s a no?”

“Yep. It looks like you keep your weight on your heels too much.” He crouched down at your feet, drawing a square over the front half of your foot. “Keep your weight spread out around here and you should—”

Guille scrambled back suddenly, yelping as a football went flying past where he was just a second ago and into the net. Turning to the direction where the ball came from with your mouth agape, you found Alexia there with water bottles clasped to her chest, an eyebrow raised, while one corner of her mouth was set in a bemused droop, another ball rolling beneath her left foot.

“What the hell was that for, asshole?!” Guille shouted as he stormed his way over to Alexia. He was in front of her now, looking up at her with flame in his eyes but Alexia remained unfazed. She put the water bottles down before she settled her hands on her hips, cocking her head slightly to the side.

“I’m sorry, Guille. I didn’t see you.” Alexia said flatly, “And aren’t you supposed to be playing keeper?”

“Really. You didn’t see me? Besides—”

“Ale, I asked Guille to teach me.” You huffed, running in between them and separating them with your arms before things got out of hand—again.

This wasn’t the first time this… row between them happened. In fact, you noticed it’s been occurring more frequently lately. For all their similarities—the main one being their short tempers—the two never got on well together for reasons you never really understood and the only thread that tied them together was you.

They weren’t always like this though; they were nice with each other the first time they’d met. Guille transferred to your school not long after you’d joined Sabadell, and if you and Alexia were inseparable there, it was always you and Guille at school. And when an opportunity arose for your two favorite persons to meet, you took it. It went well; they were friendly with each other. You only noticed things had changed after you and Guille’s school team started playing against Alexia’s so you were never sure when this all started, and by that point, the friction between them was too great to smoothen out which both saddened and disappointed you.

And it wasn’t like you never tried to get to the bottom of it. You’d asked them what happened, they both gave similar answers. By that, you meant completely avoiding answering.

Guille’d assured you, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, we’re friends? Don’t worry.”

While Alexia’d said with a confused frown, “What do you mean? Nothing happened.”

And when you pestered her, asked her if the reason was because she liked Guille as a joke, she looked at you without reply, and when next practice came, she made a nuisance of herself enough to let you know the answer to your question and more.

And here you were again, with them acting like this–always at each other’s throats.

At your answer, Alexia looked at you, confused. “Why would you ask him to teach you how to keep?”

Your gaze lanced away as you bit your lip.

Maybe you should’ve told her after all…

Mustering up the courage to meet her eye again, you replied, low and serious. “I want to start playing keeper, Alexia.”

Alexia blinked, and then she crossed her arms before she eyed Guille who was scowling at her in return. She looked at you again.

“Have you told Alejandro about this?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.” A pause. “What did he say?”

“I’ll still start as a forward. But he said he’ll put in some extra technical sessions for me starting next week which was why I asked Guille to help me get started. Alejandro said if I get good enough, he’ll see if I can start as keeper for the team.”

An uncomfortable silence settled over you three.

You caught Guille’s eyes darting from you to Alexia and back again from the corner of your eyes but you remained focused on Alexia’s face. At a glance, Alexia might seem calm—impassive with the way all of her features remained flat. But her eyelids drooped just so they hid more than half of her pupils, how her lower lip was slightly concealed beneath the upper one; she was pissed and even worse, she was hurt. And knowing that you’d hurt her was enough to compel you to reach out and touch her arm, apologetic.

Alexia regarded you for a moment longer. Another word of apology was on the tip of your tongue when she finally sighed, the corner of her lips tilting up to a half-smile as she spoke softly. “Okay. How can I help?”

You couldn’t help yourself. You threw your arms around her and it felt like a weight was lifted from your chest upon hearing the chuckle she let out.

The next couple of hours were spent with the three of you working together: Guille by the goal who continuously gave you notes and instructions, while Alexia—upon Guille’s signal—would send some shots to the net so you could try and stop them. The first… fifty or so shots went right past you—going easy was never exactly Alexia’s strong suit—but the more you focused on getting the timing right and reading the language of Alexia’s body to anticipate the direction of the ball, you ended the session with a few decent saves.

It was a rough start but you were satisfied with it.

You’d left to use the restroom but upon coming back, the two of them were bickering once more.

Oh, no. What was it now?

You heard more of their words the closer you got, but you didn’t have to move too close with the way they were shouting.

“Come on, dude! Please, don’t tell me you’re still pissed off about that? It was a fair match!”

“How was that fair, Alexia? The two of you playing together is never fair! You’re both in La Masia for crying out loud! And even more importantly, she was supposed to be on my team! That was the original plan, but you went ahead and took her away!”

“What made you think I took her away?” Alexia crossed her arms, scoffing. “Let’s face it. She likes to play with me more than you.”

“You don’t know that!”

That was the moment Alexia spotted you and before you could even get a word in, she said, “Why don’t we just ask her who she’d rather play with?”

Two sets of intense eyes looked your way and without meaning to, you gulped, taking a step back.

“So? Who would you rather play with: me or her?” Guille asked, eyes wide and pleading.

Suddenly feeling like you were backed into a corner, you stammered in your panic, “Umm, I—”

[3]

Alexia stayed over for dinner that night. That was normal; what was unusual was she left you alone to do the dishes. You had a feeling where she might be, especially since she’d been mostly quiet throughout the whole evening.

After you put away the last dish in the cupboard, and when your arms were finally free from suds, you took a peek into the living room. She wasn’t there—a confirmation of her whereabouts.

Putting on your flip flops, you headed out of the back door.

The light from the living room casted a faint glow that dissipated the darkness around the garden when you opened the door that led out to it, aiding you just enough to see Alexia on the swing, sitting still with her back hunched forward. Once you were just a few paces behind her, you saw the contours of her headset, but even with them on, there was no way she didn’t know you were there—the fact that your shadow stretched to reach her before you did was a dead give away. Yet still, she made no move to acknowledge your presence.

Okay. That was fair.

“Ale,” you said softly.

She gave you a glance before she went back to looking down at her clasped hands.

“Alexia, come on.”

Still no response. You fiddled with your thumbs as the moment dragged on.

You sighed, sitting down on your heels next to her.

“I should’ve told you about the keeper thing,” you muttered. “I wanted to get a feel for it first, to get a bit better at it before I told you. But I didn’t consider how that would make you feel… and I’m sorry. I’m sorry for making you feel that I didn’t want or need you by my side, Alexia. I wanted you to think I was good enough for this.”

Finally, Alexia turned to you, taking her headset off, the movement barely above a whisper. And softly, she spoke, “What made you think that I’ll think you’re not good enough for anything?”

“I don’t know.” You admitted, pulling at the grass in front of you. Your mother would probably see the hole you’d made on the lawn and berate you for it in the morning but you needed something to keep your hands busy. “I just wanted to go through this without too many expectations. And it’s not like I don’t want to keep our dynamic going. I love playing forward with you, Alexia, but I think keeping is my calling, just like midfield is to you.”

“You don’t have to apologize. I completely understand. You didn’t want any added pressure. I’m not going to hold that against you.”

“Thank you,” you smiled at her. Then, “So, tell me why are you sulking?”

“I’m not sulking!” Alexia huffed with indignation. Then she looked away again, working her lower lip between her teeth.

You put a hand on her knee. “Alexia, what is it?”

“I…” Alexia sighed, brushing the bridge of her nose with her thumb. You gave her another moment. She heaved another breath before she began.

“That thing you said… Did you really mean it when you said you’d rather play with him than me?”

Oh. So that was what this was about.

“Of course not. We both know it’s always going to be you, Alexia.”

“Then why did you tell him that?”

“I feel like if I didn’t, I’d lose him as a friend.”

“And you’re not worried about losing me?” Alexia cried out, her tone inflected while her eyes reflected her hurt.

You blinked at her.

There were moments—just like now—where you’d feel a sudden urge to shake Alexia. For all her sharpness and unmatched awareness, she sometimes failed to see even the most obvious of things. Couldn’t she see that you loved her and that you’d follow her to the edge of the earth if she asked you to?

At the absurdity of her question, you really couldn’t help but laugh. You stood up and shuffled behind her before you threw your arms around Alexia’s neck, draping yourself over her broad back, which made the swing move forward. The dampness of her hair felt cool against your cheek, the scent of your shampoo that clung to them filled your senses as you chuckled into her ear.

“Why are you laughing? I’m serious!”

“Because, Alexia, do you hear yourself? I love you, you idiot!” You giggled again. “I know our friendship isn’t that shallow that I’d lose you over this. Or am I wrong?”

Alexia turned her head and you saw a hint of a smile on her lips. “No, I suppose not.”

A pleasant silence blanketed you both. And then Alexia hummed.

“But if there was something that could break us, what do you think it would be?”

You stopped to ponder, twirling a lock of Alexia’s hair with your finger, noting her hair was nearly dry now. When your mind drew blank, you replied nonchalantly, “Honestly, I have no idea.”

“Good.” Alexia leaned away so she could give you a lopsided smile—an earnest one. “Because me neither.”

[4]

“—you okay?”

You blinked and turned to Alexia. “Hmm?”

She glanced at you for a moment before she turned back to what she was doing, sleeves rolled up as she scrubbed a plate in the soapy water in the sink.

“I said, are you okay? Is there something wrong? You’ve been out of it since practice.” When a moment of silence lapsed, Alexia added, “And don’t think I didn’t notice you on your swing the past few days, too, because I did.”

You looked out the window and watched how the rain sluiced down the glass pane. In the darkness behind the window, you saw glimpses of soaked, curly locks and heard the hasty confession all over again.

You sighed, blinking the memory away.

“Guille asked me out.”

The sound of glass shattering and metal clanging made you jump, and you watched as a casserole pot twirled like a top on the hard, kitchen floor, while fragments of a broken plate skittered out to different directions.

“Oh, shit!” Alexia cursed, looking down at the mess, while a voice called out from the living room.

“Alexia, is everything alright in there?'' Came Eli’s voice. A few seconds later, Jaume’s head popped into the kitchen. He glanced at you then his eyes settled on Alexia who was crouched down, looking up guiltily at her father.

“Are you okay, girls?”

“Yes, Papá. I just… dropped some stuff.” Alexia said. You crouched down, too, about to pick up a fragment when Jaume spoke.

“Don’t pick that up, love, you might cut yourself. I’ll do it.”

Jaume shooed the two of you to a corner he deemed safe and the both of you watched as he picked up the pieces, throwing them in the bin by the back door. Afterwards, he gave Alexia a kiss on her temple, and you a hug and a ruffle to your hair, as he retired for the evening, leaving the two of you again in your own company. Alexia went back to the sink to finish up whatever was left, and you returned to your place on the counter beside her.

The silence that intruded was cut short by Alexia when she cleared her throat, “So… what did you say?”

“I haven’t said anything, yet,” you sighed again, looking back out the window, the questions coming back full force. In the eight years you’d known Guille, how long had he harbored those feelings for you? When did it happen? What did you do to make him feel that way?

“Do you like him?” Alexia’s question brought you back to the present.

“I don’t know.”

“Do you want him?”

“Isn’t that the same thing?” You laughed slightly, glancing back at Alexia who shrugged her shoulders in answer.

“No, I don’t think so. Desire is a drive, like it makes you want to act. Attraction is just… I don’t know how to explain it, but it’s a weaker feeling. And they complement each other but they’re not the same.”

“And you know this how exactly?” You asked her teasingly, a brow raised.

Alexia averted her eyes, and shrugged your question off with a laugh.

In the moment of silence that followed, you traced Alexia’s profile, and your gaze ended at the elegant curve of the bow of her lips. She looked so pretty casted in the candescent glow of the kitchen light that it made your chest ache just by looking at her. You dropped your eyes to your feet as your mind ran faster than before this entire conversation happened.

Clutching your arms tightly across your chest, you muttered, “I don’t know what I want.”

[5]

Maybe hoping it would all turn out fine was a bit naive because naturally, Guille didn’t take your rejection well. It was your fault really for expecting otherwise but nevertheless, the inevitable discomfort of disappointment settled like lead in your gut.

The thing was, you were ready to give Guille the space he needed to accept your boundaries—friends, or nothing at all—and to heal. But accusing Alexia of making you turn against him? Now, that was something you couldn’t let pass.

He knew he’d crossed a line, too, with the way he kept avoiding you. At first, the silence didn’t bother you; he was hurt, after all. But when the apology never came, you understood that you’d be going through your last year of high school without your closest friend there by your side.

A fortnight passed without any word from him so it surprised you when he showed up at the local meetup that the three of you used to go to. He refused to meet your eyes but he had no problem leveling with the glares Alexia kept giving him. And when you ended up in Alexia’s team, the only sign of his distaste about it was the way his lips flattened to a line. He looked like he was about to say something, but with a slight shake of his head, he turned around and made his way to his teammates.

With one last look at Guille’s retreating back, you tuned back in your team’s conversation.

“—doesn’t need to play keeper. We need her more in the offensive.” Alexia said evenly but when you met her eyes, there was a clear question in them.

You gave her a slight nod to let her know you were okay.

She nodded back.

“How will that work? She’s the better keeper.” And then Marco added, “No offense, Julia.”

Julia only shrugged carelessly, a gesture of nonchalance.

“Julia is perfectly fine and besides, with you, Benji, and Carmen, our backline is already strong. The four of you together lessens our chance of conceding.” Alexia paused, looking over her shoulder to the other team before she faced you all again, continuing, “Our priority is the offensive. What good is a strong backline if we can’t counterattack? That’s why I’m suggesting she play as forward in the meantime, while Martina and I will play as interiors. Does that make sense?”

A collective nodding occurred.

“So just to clarify, we’re playing three–two–one?” Benji asked.

Alexia hummed, nodding her head. “Mostly. If we find the space and some opportunities, we can easily do three–one–two.”

“No pressure on us defenders, right?” Carmen said with a laugh, if not with a hint of nerve.

Everyone laughed but at the end of it, Alexia placed a hand on Carmen’s shoulder. “No pressure because you guys, as I said, are very strong. You got this.”

Carmen smiled at Alexia at that, nodding before she finally moved to her spot. As you and Alexia moved towards the middle of the pitch, Guille was introduced to your line of sight, and a weight pressed in your gut. Disappointment? Perhaps. Or maybe you just actually missed talking and hanging out with him.

Alexia’s teasing tone pulled away your attention from Guille. “I hope you haven’t forgotten how to play forward from all the keeping you’ve been doing.”

“Four years of keeping against the five years of playing forward? You need to brush up on your math ‘cause I think you’ve forgotten how to count.” You said dryly, giving her a look so dirty that had her throwing her head back in laughter.

Alexia leveled you with an unimpressed look but her tone remained playful. “You are such a bitch sometimes. You know that, right?”

“Thank you. I do try, you know. It’s my only defense against your smart-mouth.”

“Stop denying you don’t like my teasing.” Alexia waggled her brows as she smirked. The way she looked just then—with both hands on her hips, the ball beneath her left boot—your throat dried, heart racing; a sensation that’d familiarized itself to you during its recurrent visits over the past few weeks. Your mind blanked out, clear as the white of Alexia’s shirt, and when no words came to you to retort back, you shook your head and just laughed. By the time the game started—or maybe it was because it started—the feeling finally went away, replaced by the adrenaline that shot through your veins the moment Alexia kicked the ball to you.

It proved to be a tight game. The main strategy of the opposition seemed to be to mark and shut you and Alexia down whenever the ball so much turned your way. Alexia was right to trust your backline: any counterattack from the other team was dealt with immediately, and Julia only needed to save a handful of shots that passed through your defense, which she handled well.

At last, your team finally made a breakthrough.

Alexia cut a diagonal through the box, taking two of the defenders as she did, freeing up the space just behind her. You knew what she was doing so you faked a sidestep, turning quickly to lose your marker, before you sprinted in towards the middle of the box. And as you anticipated, Alexia sent the ball back to you with a flick of her heel. Now, if you could just—

The ground tilted, and there was a moment where the whole world suspended. It lasted for less than a breath before everything—the sensations and sounds—came rushing back in.

You slammed to the ground.

Air was squeezed out of your lungs from the impact, while your skull and teeth rattled within the confines of your skin; the taste of green, earth, and copper spread on your tongue. Muffled shouts and grunts filtered past the ringing in your ear but when you cupped a hand over your tender ribs, your resulting groan was all you could hear.

When you finally came to, Alexia’s face was over you, the doubled image of her finally merging into one. Her wide, hazel eyes looked on you with worry and you felt the warmth of her fingers as they grazed over your face: from your temples down to your cheeks which she took in a gentle cradle.

“Alexia?” You let out another groan as you turned on your back while Alexia helped you.

“Tell me where it hurts.”

There was a tension that constricted around the front part of your head, but you could feel the blood pulsing most on the side that collided with the ground. “My head… it hurts.”

“Okay, okay. Just lay down for now, I’ll get you…”

You seemed to have passed out after that because one moment you were lying on the fields, and the next you were beside Alexia on her living room couch. You had a vague recollection of being carried on Alexia’s back, but the feel of the strong plane of her shoulder against your cheek remained there, warm and comforting.

And only then, after Eli gave you ice for your head, did you see the bruise that bloomed deep in the skin of Alexia’s jaw, just below her left cheek, and the scuffed knuckles of her right hand which were splotched with deep reds and purples.

You took her hand onto your lap, gently running over the ice for your head over her knuckles, while you looked at Eli sitting on the opposite couch with Jaume beside her. Eli’s face burnt redder than you’d ever seen before, while Jaume held onto her hand, circling his thumb over the top of it in an attempt to calm her down.

Alexia remained quiet the whole time, eyes casted down as she took her mother’s reprimanding words. There was the unmistakable shine of shame in them, her guilt, but also an unwavering quality that stood for what she did. At the end of it, Eli and Jaume hugged the both of you before letting you retreat into Alexia’s room as you waited for your parents to arrive.

Instead of getting on her bed with you, Alexia plopped down on the floor just by the foot of the bed, her back against the wooden bedframe. You regarded the back of her head, her neck curved downwards, and you suddenly felt the need to be close to her so you shuffled off her sheets, and got down beside her.

“Thank you, but your mother was right, you know? You shouldn’t have done it, Alexia.” You mumbled, unfurling her fingers to rest on your knee so you could access more of her knuckles that way. Gently, you placed ice over it, but she still hissed in pain. “You shouldn’t have punched him.”

“Why not? He deserved it.” Alexia said evenly as she stared at the far corner of the room. “And before you start defending him, you didn’t see what I saw—what the rest of us saw. He didn’t even touch the ball—it was all feet. He meant to trip you up.”

Warmth bloomed in your chest at her words—at how her action showed just how much you meant to her—but the discomfort in your gut marred the surge of your affection for her.

You took a deep breath, sighed it out, and it tasted like disappointment.

“Alexia, I appreciate the gesture, I do. But you can’t just hurt people just because they did something to me.”

Alexia puffed her chest and proclaimed, “I can.”

“Stop that nonsense, Alexia. I mean it.” Firmer now, you said, and there was a hint of desperation in the intonation of your words. There was an urgent need to make Alexia understand the gravity of what she did, what future implications it held if what Eli and you told her didn’t sink in now. “Actions like this can jeopardize you, Alexia, and all the things you worked hard for. Do you understand that? What will Alejandro say when he sees you all bruised up next practice? And if I get tackled dirty during a game and I get hurt, would you risk a red card, or suspension, for behaving like this?”

Alexia became silent, the muscle in her jaw working, and when she turned to you with her mouth open and you spotted a defiant crease in her brows, you were quick to stop her.

“If the answer to that question isn’t no, Ale, I don’t want to hear it.” The sound of teeth clattering filled the air. She casted her gaze aside again, her cheeks growing a shade deeper. “Look at me, Alexia.”

When she kept her eyes glued to the floor, you dropped the ice pack to take her face in your hands. She flinched from the coldness of your fingers but as you looked into her eyes, rimmed with redness and framed by drooping eyelids, you found exhaustion and the shine of apology. You brushed away a matted lock of hair from the tail end of her brow.

“You have a good heart, Alexia, but you have to promise me. Please don’t do something like this again. Ever.”

Alexia looked into your eyes, deeply as if in contemplation, and then she closed them. A moment later, she sighed, sagging into your touch as if a weight had left her shoulders, before she opened them again.

“I promise.”

This time, you believed her.

Smiling softly at her, you whispered, while you placed a light kiss on her cheek. “Thank you.”

Settling into the moment, you rested your head against Alexia’s shoulder, her bruised hand in yours. In the brief silence before your father arrived to pick you up, Alexia spoke in an earnest tone that made your stomach flutter.

“I know you can handle yourself, but that won’t stop me from having your back.”

At her words, your heart felt like it would burst your chest open. And you should’ve known that this was where you’d end up—with her, it seemed inevitable anyway—because the years of you’d known Alexia flashed quickly before your eyes, and the memory stopped to this person beside you, haloed golden by the warm glow of her bedside lamp, and you were hit with a realization that took what little breath you had away.

You liked Alexia.

And, even more importantly, you want her.

[6]

When you got on the field in a Barça jersey for the first time after your return, you didn’t expect to be welcomed like you did. Jona subbed you on after the first half and as you left the tunnel, you heard the crowd chanting your name. The cheers made you feel excited, accepted and seen, but you’d be lying if you said that it didn’t pressure you at all.

It was originally intended for you to come on during the last twenty minutes, but seeing as Caro, Patri, and Alexia gave the team a comfortable enough lead, Jona decided to sub you on ahead of schedule. You didn’t see much action on your end though, something that you didn’t mind at all—a quiet defensive-third was the best kind. The midfielders kept the midline high to sustain pressure in the offensive-third, while the defenders maintained such a tight backline that any loose through-balls sent to the opposing runners were called offside. Of course, there were a handful of times when you needed to get out of your box to ping the ball back into the offensive, but other than that, it was quiet. When the match ended, you were satisfied that Barça had another clean sheet and four goals to add to the season tally.

For the celebration, you moved with your teammates around Estadi Johan Cruyff, and during the procession, you spied your parents, Eli, and Alba who was talking to a raven-haired woman you’d never seen before, clapping and cheering. Warmth filled you upon seeing your family in the stands again—such a scene was a luxury when you were in the States because plane tickets weren’t exactly cheap—and when you felt the familiar weight of Alexia’s arm slung over your shoulders, the fabric of her captain armband against the skin of your neck, it felt like a perfect homecoming.

Well, almost.

After you’d showered and changed to your casuals, most of the crowd had gone while some lounged about, one of which was the raven-haired woman Alba was talking to. When Alexia took her hand, you knew instantly, and your heart—damn your heart—dropped.

“This is Diana,” Alexia said after the both of them made their way to you. And if it wasn’t their intertwined hands that revealed what they were to each other, their gaze—saccharine when they met—made it all the more clear the nature of their relationship long before Alexia said the words, “my girlfriend.”

Diana beamed up at Alexia, her cheeks deepening in color before she regarded you again, sticking her hand out towards you to shake. Preceding the intention, you took her hand and when you did, Diana placed her other hand over yours, clasping your hand between her warm palms.

“It’s so nice to finally meet you. Alexia’s talked so much about you.”

She did? Your eyes flitted to Alexia but when she shied away from that, you focused back on Diana’s face. She was stunning: with her high cheekbones carved to elegance, her brows following the perfect line of her temple, her full lips painted with a terracotta shade made deeper by the bronze of her skin, while her loose, straight, raven hair framed her face in such a way that accentuated the sharpness of her jaws. Her eyes were dark but still light enough to see the outline of her pupils, and they had an amiable shape that reflected her warm nature. And for some reason, her light brown eyes looked really familiar—

“Ah! My favorite cousin made it, after all! Although I’m not sure it was me you went to the game for!” Tori’s playful voice resonated in the near-barren corridor. Diana’s eyes flicked somewhere behind you—to Tori, you supposed.

“Don’t be like that, Tori, of course I came to see you, too!”

“Lies!”

Diana shook her head, laughing, as she took Tori in her arms. “Come here, you!”

In response, Tori said something in Portuguese that made Diana laugh. When they broke apart, Diana said, “Forget you? Never. Especially when I owe you one.”

“Owe her what?” Alexia asked with her brows creased with curiosity.

Diana took Alexia’s hand and squeezed it, looking up at Alexia with a gentle expression. “For giving us the chance to meet.”

“Damn right!” Tori exclaimed, putting both hands on her hips, as she grinned so wide that her dimple showed. Tori must’ve seen your confusion because she leaned in to whisper, “I brought Diana as my plus one for last year’s Ballon D’Or ceremony.”

You allowed your mouth to drop open before you smiled, letting out a small laugh that made your chest ache. “Ah, I see.”

“She kept complaining about going but now, aren’t you grateful I took you away from your precinct, Detective Beauregard?” Tori teased.

“She’s never going to let us live this down, will she?” Diana muttered dryly to Alexia but it was deliberately loud enough for all of you to hear. In response, Alexia threw her head back laughing.

“You’re a detective? That’s amazing!” You said, impressed.

“Please, Tori’s exaggerating. I work in forensics. DNA analyst is the correct title.” Diana threw Tori a dirty look to which the other woman raised her shoulders in response. “It’s a whole different world compared to yours so—and please don’t let this get to your head, Tori—I am grateful I was able to step into it.”

Her eyes, still locked with Alexia’s, grew all the more soft.

“Get a room, you guys,” Tori said with a mock sound of disgust, and then she continued to mutter, “And to think that you’ve only been going out for four months… I don’t even want to think about how it will be like in another three months.”

At that, Alexia raised a brow and then, “Want to do some extra laps tomorrow?”

You and Tori knew Alexia was joking, but Tori being Tori, she spluttered, “That would be a hard no, Captain. I’ll just—Have a great night!”

With that, she ran away, arms flailing behind her in an exaggerated manner as she hastily made her exit. The sight drew laughter from the three of you.

“We’re having dinner at Mamá’s, want to come over?” Alexia asked.

You shook your head, flashing a look at Diana, before you told Alexia,“Not tonight. I’m just about to head over to my parents’ as well.”

“Alright. But Alba’s going to ask about you, you know? I think she wants to hang out with you.”

You laughed. “Tell her to text me. She’ll know what that means.”

“Is that something I should know about?” Alexia smirked.

Flatly, you retorted, “If it’s something that concerns you, I’d be telling you by now, right?”

“You see what I have to deal with?” Alexia told Diana, almost whining.

Inching backwards, you said as dry as you could manage, “I’ll take that as my queue to leave, Alexia might start crying. She’s a crybaby, you know?”

“Hey! I’m not—”

“No need to be embarrassed about it, Alexia. Be proud!”

Diana only laughed, saying, “Alright, kids, I think that’s enough for tonight.”

Nodding, you grinned at Alexia while she mouthed the word ��bitch’ to you. In kind, you mouthed ‘smartmouth’ back. With a shake of her head and a smile, she gave you one last hug, and after a pleasant goodnight from Diana, the three of you parted ways.

You sent them a look over your shoulder, catching a glimpse of the watch around Alexia’s left wrist. It glinted as they walked together down the corridor, hand in hand, looking as in love as any new couple would.

The sight made you smile, but it felt heavy, and as if the universe wanted to rub salt to the wound, you found Patri outside the locker room when you turned around with a look akin to pity in her eyes.

[7]

The next day, Guille stopped by at your place. He’d given you notice a few days prior but even still, the moment you saw him behind the door, you squealed like you were ten again from your excitement. After you hugged him tight—he made a choking noise when you did to tease you—you held him at arm’s length to see what changes the last few months had done to him.

He looked different. Gone were the long, dark curls; now sheared close to his scalp that left only about an inch of length, his hair retained their luscious shine, their color still as dark as night.

His scar—the one just by the tail end of his left brow—that used to see little light from the obstruction of his hair, now stood apparent and without meaning to, the day he got it came back to you: the bruised knuckles, ice-cold fingers, and the warm blush of a lamplight.

And your chest ached a little.

Leading the conversation to the living room, the two of you ended up ordering takeaways—mostly for Guille’s benefit because you weren’t about to subject him to your football diet—and as you ate, the two of you caught up.

Guille was close to finishing his dissertation—the biomechanics of concussion in sport and its neurocognitive implications—and he was both excited and fearful about what would come next. He then talked about his girlfriend, Iris, smittenly if you might add. She was actually with him in the city, but his mother insisted she steal Iris for the day for some quality bonding, and you laughed at the repertoire of stories he’d relayed in great detail about his mother’s teasing of their relationship.

“When am I going to meet Iris?” You asked with a teasing tone.

He rolled his eyes, “Well, since you’re actually staying in Barcelona this time, we can arrange that.”

A pause, and then, “Is Alexia staying here, too, or are you here by yourself?”

“No, it’s just me here.”

“Oh. I thought the two of you’d be rooming again like—” Probably seeing your change in demeanor, Guille cleared his throat as he ate his pasta a bit too eagerly. “Speaking of, how is she?”

The question was casual but you knew it was anything but.

“She’s doing good, if not a little stressed. Our first Champions League game is just around the corner after all and it’s against Chelsea, so.” You shrugged to complete your thought. You knew what he was asking but you’d rather not talk about that.

His eyes could burn a hole on the side of your head by the way he stared at you in the silence that followed. Then he sighed deeply.

“She still doesn’t know.”

Tension filled every inch of your body and you shrank tight as a coiled spring. You stood up as you felt a sudden urge to get away from him, taking the used plates on the coffee table as a pretense to move from the couch to the sink.

“What’s it to you if she doesn’t know, Guille?” You asked flatly, rolling up your sleeves after you turned the tap on.

“I just want you to be happy. Is that so wrong?”

“And who says I’m not?” Your tone was flat and when you glanced at him over your shoulder, Guille only gave you a pointed look.

Then he said softly, “She could make you happier and you know it.”

And there it was again, that look in his eyes that you just couldn’t stand. Gritting your teeth, you gripped the edge of the sink and your voice quaked when you spoke. “Please stop talking like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like,” you tried to find the words but when they evaded you, you huffed and threw your hands up in the air. “Why are you making it sound like I have a chance?”

“Because you do! You’re the one who’s not giving Alexia a chance by not telling her.”

“Give me one good reason why I should.”

“She loves you.”

A pause.

“That’s bullshit.” You shook your head, letting out a small, disbelieving laugh. As much as your heart wanted that to be true, you knew otherwise.

“It’s really fucking not.” Guille countered.

“If she did, she wouldn’t have said what she did.”

“People say stupid shit when they’re drunk.”

“That can go the other way, too. Alcohol has a way of loosening what’s been bottled.”

“Oh, come on!” Guille scoffed. “You’ve known her since you were eight. You’ve been through thick and thin together! Do you really think she wanted you to leave?”

With the reminder, the memory sprung up on you and you could hear Alexia’s voice, grating and wrenching your heart raw again when you heard the words from her lips. You whirled around to face him, eyes burning.

“You weren’t there when she told me, Guille!” You breathed out sharply and then you continued, in a lower tone filled with resignation, you whispered as you buried your face in your palms. “You didn’t hear the way she said it. You didn’t—”

You choked on your words.

After all this time, it was still too painful.

Darkness filled your vision but the tears escaped nonetheless, branding tracks down your cheeks. You heard the rustling of clothes followed by soft footsteps. Before you knew it, Guille’s arms wrapped around your shoulders and his familiar, comforting scent made you sink into the embrace.

“You’re right. I wasn’t there. But if you could forgive me for being an asshole and what I did to you, why can’t you do the same with her?”

You didn’t say anything after that, only clutched at his shirt a little tighter.

Guille kept quiet, too.

The both of you knew just the reason why.

[8]

“Did you see the news?” Jona asked as he kept the door open for you to an empty meeting room, closing it as soon as you’d gone in.

Sitting down on one of the cushioned chairs, you said, “I did.”

You saw it this morning and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t faze you.

Jona nodded, taking the chair across the table from you. He put his clasped hands on the wooden surface and the way he tapped an erratic rhythm with his thumbs didn’t help your nerves.

“Lyon paid a hefty transfer fee for her and that makes me worried. I don’t know what Bompastor is planning to do with her but her transfer to the European league will be a concern for the club.” With a pensive crease appearing between his brows, he continued. “You probably know why I asked you to come in.”

“You want me to tell you what I know about her.”

He nodded, leaning forward as if to emphasize his point. “She’s a lethal forward and you’re the only one in the club who’s ever played with her. In fact, you two seemed very close during your time in Angel City.”

You crossed your arms, leaning back into your chair, frowning slightly. “I don’t know what you’re trying to say.”

Jona blinked at you.

Then slowly, “Surely you must’ve trained closely together considering she’s a forward and you’re a keeper? Unless training was vastly different in Angel City, then I’m sorry for the assumption.”

“O–Oh, I thought you were implying—” You shook your head, uncrossing your arms as you waved the rest of your sentence away. “Never mind. But yes, that’s right.”

Jona gave you another questioning look before speaking again.

“She’s going to be a big problem. And that’s why I’m going to change things up a bit. I want to put you in the starting lineup as soon as possible—put as many games with our current team under your belt. We’ll most likely face Lyon in the Quarters and that’s unfortunate but what is great is that you’re here: the best counter to what Lyon acquired. If we could eliminate Lyon early, we have a higher chance of winning this year’s Champions League. The question is, are you ready for it?”

“That’s what I’m here for, Jona.” You said seriously, ignoring the pressure that pressed in the periphery of your mind.

“Use me.”

#ap11 #alexia putellas #alexia putellas x reader #woso x reader #my writing #a/n: i'm just gonna drop this here lol #im really sorry for the very very very late update #had no time lately and after losing the first draft for this (8k words down the drain) my motivation kind of just fell off the cliff #but ive been rewriting this on the go for the past month or so so please forgive me for more grammar and spelling mistakes than usual #also im kinda jetlagged and sick atm so im planning to get to your messages as soon as i get my bearings back <3 #i hope youre all doing well and thank you for reading <3

407 notes · View notes

daistea · 5 months ago

Note

If you ever have the time, would you ever feel like taking a request with mithrun x an elf reader who's been taking care of him for a while? I've been thinking that they'd know of each other pre-demon, but weren't well acquainted (different circles, and reader is more introverted (like misril)) at the time until post-demon where they help nurse him to health and mayhaps join the canaries as a healer/support for the group.

If that's too specific, that's fine! You can take liberties.

If youre like "yeah that plain just won't happen with mithrun/hes not like that", that's fine! You don't need to write it if you don't want to

I don't want to force you or anything; it's just something that's been floating in my mind, recently!

Of course my friend! You asked so nicely <3

I think I’ll use she/her pronouns for the reader with this one if that’s cool!

Sooooo I’m assuming Mithrun was one of the Wardens in his squad. I don’t recall if it ever mentioned if he was in the first squad or the second. If it’s the second, then Milsiril might’ve been the Vice-Captain of his specific squad at the time, and Mithrun was her second in command like Pattadol is to him now. Cus u know Pattadol is second in command because she’s nobility, and Mithrun is nobility.. Yadda yadda. Let’s just go with that for simplicity’s sake. And since there’s only two Wardens to a squad, I’ve taken the liberty of making the reader a criminal, but it’s for something stupid like… jaywalking lol. Jaywalking using black magic. Or uh maybe using black magic to heal. Both? Two criminal charges, you rebel you

anywho..

tw suicide, mental illness, self harm, blood

Dungeon Meshi Spoilers ahead!

4500ish words

"Vignettes of a 40 Year Old Desire" - Mithrun x elf/healer female reader

●・○・●・○・●

Getting started was the hardest part.

You took a deep breath, your hands hovering over the wound. The slice in Mithrun’s arm was clean, with no brutal ridges. It would scar, but it would be a straight, neat white line on his skin when it was over. Even Mithrun’s wounds were perfect.

“Are you okay?” He asked. His voice was soft, and it reminded you of warm blankets on winter days. Your eyes flickered up to meet his and he offered a smile.

“Yeah,” you said. You sat beside him with your legs curled up beneath you. He sat with his legs criss-crossed, casual as if his bicep hadn’t just been nearly sliced open by the sword of a living armor. He had to be in pain, it was a deep wound. You’d managed to stop the excessive bleeding, but the paleness of his cheeks betrayed that he was feeling weak.

Still, starting was the hardest part.

You summoned your stores of mana, connecting to the spirits that made up the world. They were all around you, willing to obey, willing to lay upon Mithrun’s wound and graft his skin back together. A soft light glowed from beneath your palm as you ran your fingers around the edges of the wound. You weren’t sure why getting started was difficult for you, perhaps it was the feeling of magic pulsing through your veins that startled you, or the very fact that you had the ability to defy nature in this way. And there was that little bell that rang in the back of your mind, that urge to go further, deeper, darker.

That damn bell and its ringing had gotten your ears clipped.

You pulled back from Mithrun, letting your hands drop into your lap. “Done,” was all you said.

He blinked in surprise, then lifted his arm to inspect the spot where he’d been sliced. There was a faint scar, but it would probably fade if he got some sun. His lips twitched into a frown at the sight, but that expression immediately died, pushed aside and replaced with a smile. Mithrun didn’t need the sun, actually, he carried enough shine in his smiles…. Is what someone stupid would say.

“Thank you,” his voice was soft, polite. He pushed down the sleeve of his canary uniform and rolled his shoulders. Nearby, the rest of the team was setting up camp for the night. They laughed and passed around a wineskin. There was a spot on the ground between two of your peers, saved for Mithrun. Milsiril was a distance away with her back pressed against the wall and her knees pulled up to her chest. She had a sewing needle that she meticulously threaded through the body of a ragdoll.

You expected Mithrun to stand up and cross the room to join the others. Yet, he didn’t. He stared at you, two silver eyes filled with curiosity. You returned the look and raised a brow as if to silently ask what he needed.

Finally, Mithrun offered a slightly bashful smile, “You don’t really socialize much, do you? Oh,” he perked up, eyes widening, “I don’t mean that in a bad way, of course. I mean, you’re shy, right? I just don’t know that much about you.”

And that drove him mad.

You were entirely too aware of Mithrun’s true nature. The others were too busy basking in his light, caught up in his orbit, trapped in his web. Even Milsiril deigned to notice. She could’ve if she wanted, she simply didn’t want to— it would be like looking in the sun, and once you got past the blinding light and actually looked, you would already be burnt.

You saw the looks on his face when nobody was looking. You didn’t mean to see them, you didn’t mean to stare, but it had become a habit to watch his reactions. There was a flicker of irritation in his eyes sometimes, the hint of a frown when someone didn’t play his game exactly how he planned. There were moments when his shoulders would tense and his smile would turn tight. There were moments he’d avoid answering questions about himself and turn the subject around on the inquirer to keep his history and feelings and thoughts hidden behind a very sturdy, well-guarded wall.

You were more interested in him than you’d like to admit. You’d drawn several conclusions: Mithrun genuinely enjoyed the company of others, but he couldn’t help himself, he couldn’t help but scowl when they weren’t looking and judge their decisions and look down on everything they said and did. He even did it to you.

Which was precisely why you avoided him for the most part. You didn’t want him to know more about you, to provide more ammunition so he could reload his weapon and fire it straight into your back.

So, all you had to say was, “Yeah, we don’t really talk much.” And you smiled as innocently as you could before standing up and wandering to a corner near Milsiril.

Mithrun’s eyes lingered on your back. He was probably making that face he made when displeased that his charm didn’t work; analytical, a hint of darkness, one could practically see the red-inked assumptions scribbling onto parchment in his head, destined to be filed under a wildly critical and exaggerated category and kept there until the end of time.

You only wished you understood why he was like that.

Mithrun disappeared without warning. The squad had been dispatched to the Central Observation Tower because yet another person had disappeared in the area. Mithrun offered to take his friend’s scouting duty into a dark tunnel because she was afraid of spiders and was convinced that there were millions of them in that specific dark tunnel. Milsiril offered to send you along with him, but at that time you were trying to heal a sprained ankle of another squad member. Mithrun waved a dismissive hand and smiled, “It’s no problem. I’ll be fine on my own, but thanks!”

That was the last you saw of him.

Milsiril had someone slumped on her arm. She held them up, breathing heavily and covered in dirt and blood and dirty blood. You rushed toward the scene. The person had silver hair caked with quickly drying streaks of red. His head lolled. But he was breathing. Thank goodness, he was breathing.

Milsiril gently laid Mithrun on the ground. Immediately, you sat beside him, your hands on his cheeks and forcing open his eyes— eye. Singular. The right one was a mess. There was no time to question that, though. You summoned a light spell and opened his eyelid and black irises greeted you. Weren’t his eyes silver before? It was dim, too. Yet, his chest moved up and down and his heart was still beating. You let go of his face and he closed his eyes again, head lolling to the side as he let out a soft exhale.

“So, this is where he’s been?” You asked Milsiril.

She nodded, “He became the dungeon lord. This place…” she glanced up at the twisted walls and long corridors that led to nowhere. There were monster corpses nearby. So many monsters, strong ones, weird ones with horrific teeth and eyes. “It’s a representation of him. I never knew…”

You knew, sort of. You just didn’t think it would get to this level. You didn’t think he’d fall to the demon. You didn’t think—

There was no time for thinking. You had to get started on healing him. For once, getting started wasn’t so hard, not when your heart raced, not when you were desperate for someone to live.

When Mithrun was conscious again, you offered your hand to help him stand.

He didn’t take it.

Of one thing you were certain: Mithrun of the house of Kerensil had no desire to live.

“You should’ve let me die.”

You perked up at the sound of his voice. It was the first time Mithrun had spoken in perhaps a month, and his vocal cords betrayed that fact. His voice was scratchy with disuse, and it was a struggle for him to speak. As you glanced over your shoulder to look at him, he didn’t bother meeting your eyes. His gaze was on the window near his bed, but he wasn’t looking at anything, not really.

“I should’ve let you die?” You echoed. You could hear the anger in your own voice. Mithrun didn’t care, you knew.

He simply nodded. A lock of silver fell over his bony shoulder. His collarbones were too pronounced. The sight made a fire start in your chest.

“Mithrun?” You asked.

He turned his head to look at you. One eye, as black as an endless pit, landed on your face. The other was covered by bandages.

And he waited. He didn’t actually care about what you had to say, you knew. But you had to say it.

“Don’t ever say those words to me again.”

Mithrun only stared, “Alright.”

Then he returned his attention to the window that he was not looking out of.

You don’t know when or why you started to care so much.

You’d always cared about people. You’d always wanted to help. But you didn’t even really like Mithrun before the dungeon incident. Now, his recovery was all you could focus on. And you were absolutely obsessed with the state of things.

“I don’t know what to do,” his brother whispered, desperate, “I’ve hired so many caretakers but they just don’t do anything for him. I mean, they do things, but he’s not getting any better.”

Someone had to break the news to him. “I don’t think anything we do is going to make him any better.”

“I want him to be better,” his brother furrowed his brows and took a deep breath.

You wanted the same. But for now, all you could do was keep Mithrun alive. As long as he ate and slept and breathed, that was good enough for now. That was all he could manage.

You visited the Kerensil family home more often these days. You weren’t sure why, but you cared. When he screamed at night and scratched himself to the point of bleeding, you healed him without a word. When he got ahold of a kitchen knife and put it to his throat, you wrestled it away from him, then helped his brother install locks on all the cabinets and drawers. When Mithrun snuck out at night to go slaughter every goat within a 50 mile radius, you cleaned the blood from his hair and hands.

You’d basically moved in. The captain had given you permission to dedicate time to Mithrun’s healing, since they would’ve liked to have him join again once he was better. To the other Canaries, this was part of your sentence. To you, this was part of your purpose.

You and Mithrun talked a lot. You talked the most. He stayed quiet, so you weren’t sure if you could consider it as actually holding a conversation. You weren’t sure if he was even listening. But once, when you were softly explaining the importance of getting rune shapes exactly right, you stopped and stared at your hands. You’d begun to enter dark territory, the study of black magic that had brought you to this place in life.

The silence stretched on for a minute or two before Mithrun tilted his head. His hair was splayed out on his pillow and his good eye was open, blinking, slightly alert.

“Continue,” he said.

So you continued. And he stared at the ceiling. And you knew that he was listening. He didn’t care, of course, but he was listening.

One night, Mithrun nearly hit a vital organ with a piece of glass from the bathroom mirror that he’d shattered.

You healed it, the light from your hands growing brighter than usual. Your shoulders were tense and you couldn’t help but scowl and growl and mutter.

Mithrun just looked at you, “You know this isn’t what I want.”

“I don’t care,” you answered immediately.

He grit his teeth, “I don’t want to live.”

“I want you to live!” You exploded. He flinched backward, but no emotion passed over his face. He simply stared. You gulped down your feelings and continued healing him.

Maybe that was selfish of you. You didn’t care.

Milsiril was a mother. Milsiril was a caretaker. Milsiril was a toymaker and she knew how to wind them up and set them on the path again.

“I’m ready to go back into the dungeon,” Mithrun said. His voice was still scratchy, but he was sitting up on his bed for once. He’d gained a few pounds and his shoulders weren’t sharp as knives anymore.

Milsiril only shook her head, “Not yet, I’m sorry.”

Mithrun looked at you as if he expected you to ally with him. You knew him the best, you knew what he wanted in life. You even knew what his secret desire was, the one he couldn’t admit to himself.

You shook your head as well, “You’re still underweight and you haven’t quite gotten the hang of taking care of yourself yet.”

Mithrun’s expression only darkened, “Then let’s keep practicing.”

Where Milsiril was more concerned with making Mithrun socially acceptable enough to rejoin society, you were much more concerned about his living conditions, health, and dignity. It was a relief that he’d stopped trying to pick the locks on the knife drawer. It was not a relief that Mithrun was planning for his inevitable death against the demon— not that he’d admit that.

He wanted different things now. No longer was his goal to die from withering away, but rather to die at the hands of the god who once served him. Still, it involved him dying. There was this feeling you had inside, comparable to the feeling you had when you were first being hunted by the Canaries. You knew it was inevitable that they would find you and jail you or make you join them. Anticipation rose in your chest until it finally burst when they tied up your wrists and clipped your ears.

Now, anticipation was rising again. It had been rising for the last twenty or so years that you’d spent at Mithrun’s side. You could only wonder when it would burst, and when you’d end up as scraps on the floor like the shreds of a popped balloon. You could only wonder.

When Mithrun rejoined the Canaries, you went with him. He said nothing about that. You were the one who cut his hair shorter for functionality reasons. You were the one who delivered his new uniform and made sure it fit. You were the one who sat on his back as he did push ups for training— which was actually the most fun with him you’d had in the last twenty years. It was kind of silly, but it was good to see him willing to do things like exercise and challenge himself, even if his end goal was just to reach the demon.

There was a lot of teasing involved when you two returned to the Canaries.

“Are you in love with him or something?” Helki asked behind his hand. He cast a glance at Mithrun, who was sitting nearby and silently staring out the window.

You made a face, “With Mithrun? No. I love him, but not like that.”

“Are you sure?” He snorted, “You’ve been like his little wife for the last few decades.”

“I don’t think I would consider all that as wife-like,” you retorted.

“Why do you do it, then?”

Was it truly so impossible for someone to comprehend caring for another individual without expecting something in return? Or not having a motive? You supposed there was a motive, but it wasn’t romance. You just… cared. You wanted him to stay alive and get better. And he was relatively better, now. Relatively.

You patted Helki’s shoulder, “Because he’s my friend. Nothing more.”

You didn’t notice, but Mithrun’s head tilted. He always listened to you, even when you didn’t think so.

“Can you help her?” Flamela jutted a thumb toward where you and Mithrun sat. Her voice, louder than everybody else’s in the Canary’s headquarters, caught your attention. Mithrun kept his arms crossed and his gaze on the recruits training outside.

Cithis blinked in surprise. Her eyes landed on you and you returned the look with a hesitant smile.

“It’s a lot to explain,” Flamela continued, “but Captain Mithrun needs help and [name] needs a break.”

Your brows furrowed. You hadn’t expressed needing a break before. You were fine. You liked taking care of Mithrun. Yet before you could protest, Flamela was already walking away. And Cithis stood there with her hands folded and her eyes curious, analyzing.

Dread settled into your chest.

“You’re not some helpless baby, Mithrun,” you didn’t mean to yell, nor pace, nor gesture so wildly with your hands, but you couldn’t help it. “You’re not a dog, not a slave, not someone who can be exploited for entertainment! You’re a person and you deserve respect!”

Mithrun only raised a brow, “So, you’re mad at me.”

“I’m not mad at you,” you snapped, sounding quite mad at him. Yet you pulled yourself together and took a deep breath, “No, Mithrun, I’m not mad at you. It’s not your fault. I just wish people saw you as more than what you’re going through. You’re the damn Captain of the Canaries now, you’ve risen above some really tough shit and you’re capable and strong and—”

Lord.

The realization hit you like a slap to the face.

You froze, mouth hanging open, eyes on Mithrun. He only stared, as he tended to do, waiting for you to say something. But you couldn’t. You’d been slapped in the face by reality and now everything ached.

“I’ve got to go,” you managed to squeak out before running toward the door. You left his bedroom behind and darted down the hallway of the Canaries Headquarters. You shared a room with a few other criminals, but they weren’t there when you burst inside and collapsed onto your bed. You were in your late 100’s yet there you were, screaming into your pillow like a 60 year old.

You’re in love.

“I’m in love,” you said out loud, which you immediately regretted because that made things real.

You’re in love. You’re in love. You’re in love and it hurts so much because Mithrun could never love you back. Were you a masochist? Probably. Your heart hurt. You suddenly understood the concept of heartbreak, it felt as if your heart was about to physically fall apart. Realizing that you’re in love should be a happy moment. It shouldn’t hurt so much.

Alright, you decided. You’re going to ignore it like an adult. You’re going to take this secret to the grave.

Captain Mithrun’s team was a mess.

But they were fun.

“Hey,” Lycion elbowed you one night at the dinner table. He leaned down to whisper while you were mid-bite of a piece of chicken. “Do you think the Captain would let me check out the fighting scene on that island? Like, we could put off the whole negotiations thing for a day so I can go see it?”

Mithrun personally wouldn’t care, you knew, but he would refuse Lycion’s request for the sake of getting into the dungeon faster. You swallowed your food and sent him a glance, “Why’re you asking me? Pattadol’s the one that does all the decision stuff with Mithru— the Captain.”

“But you know him best.”

True enough. Still, you were just the healer, still a criminal sentenced to another 40 or so years of Canary service. You sent Lycion an apologetic smile, “Sorry. I don’t think he would.”

“Can you ask him?” Lycion used that purring voice he always utilized on certain targets unwilling to obey.

You remained unaffected, “I don’t see why you think me asking him would make a difference.”

“The Captain would do anything you asked!” He explained, “Within reason, of course. You’re his girl.”

Your heart skipped a beat and you forced the satisfaction down. “I’m not his girl. And he pretty much does whatever anyone tells him to do as long as it doesn’t interfere with his goals, so I’m not any different.”

“You’re blind,” Lycion muttered, “so blind.”

Mithrun had been pulled into the stupid pit thing or whatever with that stupid Kabru guy. You were going to pull your hair out.

When he reunited with the Canaries, he actually looked rather well-taken care of. You begrudgingly admitted that Kabru may not be as stupid as you thought, but you couldn’t let go of your anger at the entire situation. You still wanted to pull your hair out, mostly because you were resisting the urge to wrap your arms around the Captain and squeeze until your bodies melted together.

Mithrun noticed your stress and slowly approached you. He patted your head, “I’m fine,” he said.

He could be shot in the chest and he’d still claim to be fine.

“When this is all over,” you managed to say through the fog of anger and worry and adoration and fury, “we’re taking a holiday. We’ll go to the Eastern Archipelago and we’re sitting on the beach and we’re going to do very safe things like build sandcastles or take naps.”

Mithrun looked down at you. He stared, as was his tendency. Then he raised both brows and you thought that just for a second, there was a hint of a smile on his lips. An affectionate smile. Perhaps it was hopeful thinking, an illusion brought forth by stress. You weren’t sure.

His hand that was on your head slowly ran down the side of your cheek and to your chin, lifting your face so you’d look at him. He didn’t hold you for long, though, letting his arm drop to his side when he had your attention. “When we have time, I will go where you go,” he said.

You wanted to smack him in his stupid beautiful face for being so sweet. What was wrong with him? Was he in a good mood? You could only narrow your eyes in suspicion.

Of course, Mithrun walked away after that, back to the mission at hand. Yet his words echoed. I will go where you go.

That was more like something you would say to him. You’ve made the decision to be at his side for the last 40 years. You would follow him to the ends of the earth.

Surely, he didn’t mean it.

But then again, Mithrun wasn’t in the habit of lying unless it served his purpose. And he wouldn’t lie to you, of all people. Surely not.

The demon was gone and Mithrun had lost his purpose in life.

How scary, you thought. How terrifying to lose your one reason for living. You’d most likely be on the ground, slumped up against a tree and expecting to wither away just like him. But unlike you, Mithrun had people who cared for him, who wouldn’t accept that fate for him, who loved him.

Senshi and Kabru said their pieces. The Canaries all agreed with a chorus of encouragement and opinions and friendship.

You offered your hand, like you always did, like you’d been doing for the last four decades.

He took it.

Mithrun placed his hand in yours. And the anticipation bubble that had been building in your chest for so long finally popped. But you were okay. It was okay. He was okay.

Mithrun pardoned you, surprisingly. You told him that wasn’t necessary and that he should use his pardon on someone else who had a longer sentence. There were only 40 years left for you. Surely they wouldn’t be as long as the last 40 years had been.

“No, it's you I want,” Mithrun said rather casually, “you’re staying with me in Melini.”

He wanted something. He wanted you.

You forced yourself to stay upright, “Alright. If you insist.”

Living with Mithrun in this state was very different. It was fun, heartbreaking, difficult, easy, calm, chaotic. Some days, he laid in bed and stared at the wall. Other days, he made noodles and walked through the forest and sat on the beach with you, doing very safe things like building sandcastles and taking naps. Many people in town assumed you two were married. You always corrected them, Mithrun never did.

He observed monsters and would need healing sometimes. You would push up the sleeve of his tunic and trace your fingers along old scars, none of them perfect. Then, heal him, as you tend to do.

“Are you sure you want this?” Mithrun asked one day.

You looked up to meet his eyes. Ink black, your favorite color. “What?”

“You can spend your life any way you want now,” he explained, his voice flat, “you’re free. I’m not your burden anymore.”

Your heart clenched in your chest. “You have never been a burden to me.”

“I used to hate you for keeping me alive.”

“I know.”

“And you never hated me?”

“I sometimes did,” you admitted softly, fingers tracing over his skin. You recalled this certain scar, from a pair of scissors you wrestled out of his hands at two in the morning years ago. “But it was the kind of hate that only stems from love.”

“You have always treated me like a human,” Mithrun murmured. His free hand went to your chin and lifted your face, “Like someone that deserves to live. You loved me despite my inability to give you anything in return. But I’m able now,” he leaned closer, “so allow me this.”

Damn. That had to be the first time you’d ever heard Mithrun say anything like tha—

He was kissing you.

It took you a moment to realize what was happening. His lips were on yours and your heart felt as if it might explode. Your hands shook as you raised them, eventually finding their way to his hair. That felt right. This was right. He deepened the kiss, slowly pushing forward. It was slow and careful and calm. It held so many words that neither of you were able to say. As he gently ran his hand up your thigh and to your hips, you couldn’t help but shiver.

40 years of longing accumulated into this moment. In a dark house in a new kingdom in a demon-free world, you started something new, and for once it wasn’t difficult at all.

281 notes · View notes