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out-of-jams · 4 years ago

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Across the Board || i || kth

(banner done by the great @kimtaehyunq )

↠ Across the Board ↞ You’d hit a low point in life. With bills piling up and your bank account empty, you were starting to get desperate. So when you got the invite to your oldest friend’s birthday party being hosted at the most popular underground casino in town, what did you possibly have to lose? You took what little you had left in your savings, put your card skills to use, and entered a private blackjack game.

And you’d won. And went back for more, and more, and more.

Until you lost.

And now you’re indebted to the city’s most dangerous mob boss, forced to pay your dues in blood one way or another. With a gun pushed into your hands and your life at stake; once you’re in, you’re in. You’ll never get out.

Word Count: 4k

Warnings/Genre: Set in the Roaring 20s! Gambling. Mature themes. Mafia!au. Mafia Don!Taehyung. Violence. Law breaking. Alcohol use. Death of minor characters. Explicit language. Enemies to lovers. Short series. 18+

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Danger.

It was a word right up there alongside the definition for the term “stupidity.” While not next to each other in the dictionary, they were close enough that your brain was unable to pick out the subtle differences. Perhaps you’d just always had a habit for screwing your life up, or maybe it was just genetics. Who knew?

You should have listened to the warnings, should have stopped yourself before you got in too deep. Hell, you should have done a lot of things. But you had no one to blame for your current situation except for yourself. However, if you’d learned anything throughout your twenty-two short years of life, it was that life lessons didn’t mean jack if you didn’t get yourself into messes into the first place.

Though staring down the barrel of a revolver sure was a funny way of going about it.

The air in the dimly lit back corner room was tense enough to hear the sound of a casino chip fall to the ground somewhere beyond the shut door. None of the six men sitting around the round, green felted table spoke a word. Their attention — and yours, consequently — was fixed on the single man in the room who barely even batted an eye at the clear panic evident on your face.

He sat on the opposite side of you; the scowl pulling down his bow shaped lips and the narrowing of his fierce gaze had fear chilling your veins. That man was much like an exotic animal; beautiful beyond belief, but dangerous right beneath the surface. A carnivore staring down his prey. The single light above the table threw his shadow against the wall as he casually aimed his pistol right between your eyes.

“You were saying, dollface?”

His neatly parted, straight black hair fell across his face when he leaned forward as if the next words out of your mouth would seal your fate. Not that the thought of having to have your blood cleaned from the expensive carpet beneath his expensive shoes seemed to bother him in the slightest. In fact, he’d look almost bored if it weren’t for the dangerous gleam behind his espresso irises.

“I—” You cut yourself off, swallowing roughly and glancing back down at the table. A depleted deck of cards sat in the center, two hands laid out on the surface. One was yours — a ten of diamonds and a ten of clubs — and the other his. A red ace of spades and a black jack of hearts.

You were out of money.

Having bet more than you possessed, you were also out of chances.

“It’s simple. You owe me money as promised,” his deep, baritone voice spoke up casually over the noise of your heart beating through your chest. “Either hand it over, or you won’t be leaving this room alive. Your choice.”

You closed your eyes for a moment too long to be called a blink, and cursed yourself for ever getting into this situation.

One Month Ago

Final Notice of Payment

Ms. L/n,

This is a reminder that you have a balance of $20.54 that is past due. Please make a one time payment no later than—

“Oh, please.” The bill enclosed envelope hit the top of the small, circular dining room table. Or was it the kitchen table? It was hard to tell, seeing as how they were one and the same.

A sigh escaped your lips as you leaned back against the creaky wooden chair, fingers massaging your temples. That was the third bill you’d come across that morning and every single one of them was the final notice of payment. The last warning they’d give before sending someone to collect what was owed.

It hadn’t always been like that. You hadn’t always been in such an insurmountable amount of debt, not until recently. Two months ago your mother, the last bit of family you had left, died. Passed away clinging to the sheets of the hospital bed she’d been laid up in for the past half a year. Cancer, the doctors had said. From all of the cigarettes she’d burned through in the past decade or so.

Irrecoverable, they’d said.

No amount of “sorry’s” or meaningless condolences could fix the massive amount of money that the hospital billed you. Or the debt that your mother left behind, along with her slim-boned corpse that you’d had to bury in the corner of the city cemetery. Perhaps if you’d known who your father was, you could’ve laid her to rest in the space next to his own, but you didn’t. Weren’t fortunate enough to.

Bills had piled up. Rent for the tiny studio apartment the two of you had shared was demanded by the pigeon-toed old woman who owned the rundown, overpriced building. Her husband had passed away two years ago and ever since then, she’d been relentless. She pounded on your door at approximately eight in the morning everyday, shouting through the thin wood that you had until the week was up to pay what was owed. Otherwise you’d be tossed out onto the street with only the clothes on your back.

Combined with the utility bill and the fact that you still had to come up with the dough to feed yourself, you were trapped. The meagre pennies you got from your waitressing job at the diner three blocks away weren’t nearly enough. Nothing would be enough. Not unless you wanted to sell your body on the street corners in the late of night.

Which you didn’t. And you wouldn’t. You’d be more likely to end up dead in a ditch somewhere with your throat cut than out of debt. The city wasn’t safe for women, less so by those men who saw prostitutes as no more than an object to relieve stress onto. And you refused to become another headline in the paper.

Tossing the opened envelope across the table, you paused when familiar handwriting caught your eye on top of the rest of the mail pile. Addressed to you in a curling script that only ever came from someone who could afford a private tutor. You sighed, carefully sliding a knife along the top to slice it open. A waft of sweet, cherry scented perfume filled your tiny kitchen and you almost rolled your eyes at the unnecessary addition.

Jennie, your oldest friend since high school, always had an inclination for the unnecessary. Born with a silver spoon in her mouth and a gold digger for a mother, she’d had nothing else to waste her time on. How you’d even gotten on as friends with such a gap between tax brackets was still a mystery to you. Maybe it was because she’d always used her wealth and status to get the two of you out of trouble. Whether it was from breaking into the school late at night to get wasted in the halls with the rest of her friends, or to get away with slipping things from the corner store into your dress pockets.

She’d always been a rule breaker.

Which was exactly why when you read the contents of the letter, a laugh tumbled from your mouth. It was an invitation to celebrate her upcoming twenty-third birthday in three day’s time. That wouldn’t have been anything out of the ordinary, however, if it weren’t for the location. There wasn’t an exact address, there never was. Just a thin piece of cardboard the size of your hand that fell from the envelope. A playing card — a red ace. One that looked normal except for the center that had the name of a restaurant in the heart of the most rich part of downtown printed on it.

It was a ticket to the most popular underground casino in the whole city. No one knew how to get one, how to get your name onto the list that only catered to the rich and powerful. Located beneath a restaurant, it had grown to be infamous almost overnight since gambling and alcohol was outlawed. Even the coppers knew well enough to leave the establishment alone.

The only way to gain entrance was by flashing a ticket to one of the restaurant staff. That was what you’d heard, at least. You had no idea how May had managed to secure one, let alone enough to cover what you knew would be a large party of her closest friends.

Flicking the corner of the card, you couldn’t believe your luck.

Your mother hadn’t taught you very many things, had been too busy gossiping with her friends over a carton of cigarettes to bother. What she had passed down, however, was her ability to draw cards. To play blackjack with the best of them. That’d been the only thing she’d ever bothered to teach you; when she’d had too many sips of wine and her eyes had glazed over with memories of the life she used to live.

She’d sit you down and make you memorize the names and faces of the cards until you could count them forward and backwards. Could predict what card would be drawn and when. Where she’d learned it, she’d never told you. But that didn’t matter now. Couldn’t, seeing as she was dead and all.

Grinning, you flopped back into your chair.

Maybe you’d be able to pay off your debts after all.

And you had. Paid off your debt, that is.

After clearing out your savings account of the last fifteen dollars you had left to your name, you’d dolled yourself up and gone with Jennie and her friends. Had left the group of flappers tittering and groaning drunk at the line of slot machines at the back of the casino. Calls of bets being placed, dough exchanging for chips, and illegal cocktails pouring into glasses played as a soundtrack.

None of the card tables scattered across the underground establishment held what you’d been looking for. Neither roulette, nor craps, nor slots. The bartender had been the one to tell you where the real games were, where the cash was. A door down a tiny back hallway led to a room where private games were held. If you managed to win at one, he’d told you, then you’d win not only the pot, but an invitation to come back and play again.

Which had been an opportunity that you just couldn’t pass up. No matter the risk.

You’d won.

And now you were addicted.

To the money, the lifestyle, the adrenaline that shot through your veins like a particularly harsh sip of gin. Which was exactly why you’d gone back. Again, and again, and again, every single week for the past month. It wasn’t your fault that it was so easy. So simple to swindle your way into getting your name permanently written down on the entry list.

Oh, and the men.

It was a different group every week, but they weren’t all that dissimilar from one another. They’d sit there and smoke their cigars and drink their whiskey, all while silently mocking you with their eyes. Like they thought they were better than you just because they had a dick between their legs.

You were addicted to that too.

To watching the way their faces would fall in disbelief every single time you cleared the pot and took their money. And how their voices would raise in pitch with their countless complaints about how some lowly broad conned them out of their pocket change. Because that’s all that money was to people like them.

Change.

They were rich. You could tell by the custom suits they wore, the cologne they bathed in, the way they carried themselves. The money they gambled with always had a cap, a max amount that they were willing to bet. And the games never got too crazy, didn’t escalate once they lost to you. Which was a shame really, because you wanted more. Craved more. More of what, you weren’t too sure, but the high that playing brought only lasted so long until you came crashing back down.

Which was exactly when fate decided to change the routine.

“Here to play again, miss?” Felix, the same teenage boy who always manned the door to the gambling room, asked with a slight tilt of his head. His light brunette hair was tucked beneath a bowler hat, different from the usual fedora. Back to the door, he was standing up straight instead of his normal slouch. And the way his mouth was taught around the edges was out of the ordinary as well.

The boy didn’t have a cigarette clenched between his teeth, which should have been enough to set off the bells in your head. But it didn’t. Because you were too bullheaded, had gotten too cocky in the terms of things.

“You know me too well, Felix.” You reached out a hand to pat the lanky boy on his suit clad arm lightly, a smile pulling up at your red painted lips. “Is the usual table ready?”

The volume in the casino wasn’t as loud either, nor were there quite as many patrons. But you’d just chalked that up to the heavy rain pounding a path into the concrete outside. Though the lack of customers did nothing to eliminate the permanent smell of cigarette smoke that lingered, hidden in the walls beneath the fancy looking wallpaper.

“I don’t know if you want to play today, miss.” Felix glanced away from you with his bottom lip caught between his teeth. You blamed the flickering light in the corner of the hall for the way his freckles stood out amongst his slowly paling cheeks.

You raised an eyebrow. “Why not?”

He didn’t answer. Not at first. Silence lingered in the hall, drowning in the soft jazz music coming from the band on the stage near the back of the joint. It took the raising of your other brow for the underaged boy to finally answer.

“It’s just not a good day for gambling.”

Now that had you leaning forward until you could finally catch his flighty gaze, voice hushed in a playful whisper. “Oh really, how so? Is there a stool-pigeon running about somewhere? Should we be expecting the coppers to come kicking down the door any minute?”

“No. I—”

“Then why can’t I play, Felix?” You were starting to get irritated. The week had been long and you were ready to forget about it all for the next few hours. Buried beneath the weight of a handful of cards and glass full of gin.

Either Felix could see your growing impatience, or there really was something he was hiding, because he stepped even further in front of the door. “You don’t want to play with this group, miss. They aren’t as welcoming as the others are. It’d be best if you just went home.”

“You ca—”

“And what’s going on back here?” That wasn’t Felix’s voice and neither was it yours. You whipped around, surprised at the new addition.

The man behind you had honey brown hair parted and styled carefully until it was brushed back away from his heart-shaped face. Though some of it still hung in front of a single, dark eye. His other was uncovered, a scar running through his eyebrow and cutting it in half. Everything about him was angular, sharp. From his jawline to the slope of his nose and the corners of his full lips.

One look and you already pegged him for a cake-eater, a ladies man, if you’d ever seen one. Hell, he even dressed like he came right off the front cover of one of those Time magazines that littered the newspaper stands on every street corner. With a navy blue suit and perfect, unscuffed shoes.

“No, sir,” Felix attempted to pull the man’s attention from you unsuccessfully. “The missus here was just leaving.”

The Stranger hummed, tilting his head to study you with those sharp eyes of his. “Were you, bunny? Just leaving?”

You couldn’t help the twitch of your nose at the unfavorable nickname, squaring your shoulders and crossing your arms with a scoff. “No, I wasn’t. I want to play a few rounds, you see, but he won’t let me.”

Perhaps you should have felt bad for ratting out the kid, but you didn’t. Especially not when the Stranger huffed a laugh, a distinct ha-ha-ha! in amusement. Though there was something else in his eyes that you couldn’t name. Didn’t want to acknowledge. “You want to play a hand of blackjack, is that right?”

“Ab-so-lute-ly.” You raised an eyebrow at the man and waved a hand through the air. “I can play.”

“Oh,” He asked, taking a step closer until you had to crane your neck back to meet his imploring gaze. “Playing isn’t cheap.”

You shrugged nonchalantly. “I can pay too.”

He must have been waiting for that answer if the smirk that pulled at his lips was any indication. And he finally, finally broke eye contact to wave aside the boy behind you. “Well, did the dame make herself clear or not? She wants to play.”

You happened to turn just in time to catch the alarm that flickered across Felix’s face as he stepped to the side to reveal the door behind him. Felix reached out with a ringed hand to twist the brass knob of the door. It swung open without a sound and he gave you a quick, wide-eyed stare filled with a warning you couldn’t interpret, before looking away.

“Well?” The Stranger questioned from over your shoulder. You could smell his cologne now; husky with a hint of sweet orange.

His words were an invitation if you’d ever heard one. And you didn’t want to look like a bluenose, a prude, so you stepped inside without hesitation. Though perhaps you should have taken Felix’s unspoken warning, for you had no idea just what it was that you were walking into.

Inside the cramped room was filled with a haze of cigar smoke, which wasn’t unusual at all. What was, however, was the group of six men sitting at the circular table as you rounded the corner with the Stranger at your back. They were beautiful, all of them. A huge contrast to the usual rabble that came to play. Hell, even underneath the dim light you couldn't spot a single flaw on them.

No one noticed your entrance at first.

Well, at least not until the Stranger cleared his throat. “Gentleman.”

His greeting sounded like it toed somewhere on the line between amusement and respect.

All movement in the room came to a halt as six men looked up from where they’d been bent over the blackjack table. If you’d been a little less prideful and a lot more careful, then perhaps the overbearing confidence that bled from their pores would have given you pause. But as it was, you stood standing, back straight and head held high. Even while their eyes roamed your figure like tigers behind a cage at the zoo right before feeding time.

A pause hovered in the air, lingering with a tension that crawled onto your skin. What seemed like hours passed merely in seconds before it was broken.

“And who’s this?” The question came from the fella who sat in the chair closest to where you stood. He was turned around with his arm propped up on the back of it, head tilted to the side in curiosity. His hair was styled similar to the Stranger’s, though his was darker and the gel pushed through the strands made it gleam silver beneath the dim lamp that hung above the table.

High cheekbones and skin the same color as molten honey, his jaw worked around a piece of gum stuck between his teeth. A smirk pulled up at the corner of his mouth, dark eyes glittering with a touch of interest. With a black and white suit that complimented the shade of his hair, the man was nothing if not a billboard: flashy. Handsome.

“I found bunny here outside arguing with Felix. Something about wanting to play a few rounds of blackjack. Isn’t that right?” The Stranger placed a heavy palm between your shoulder blades. What might have been intended to come off as comforting, only succeeded in making you feel the opposite. Like you were being put on display.

You didn’t let it show on your face. “That’s right.”

“Oh?” Gum Chewer’s smirk grew broader at that, but he said nothing else. Just leaned back in his chair.

“What do you say, should we let her play?” Blond hair, pink kissable lips and dangerous, dangerous eyes. The slim man sitting next to Gum Chewer was attractive in a pretty way that made you envious of his easy-on-the-eyes looks.

While the question may have been asked to the whole room, none of them answered it. Instead they looked towards one of the men sitting in the middle who had yet to speak. If you’d thought the rest of them were a sight for sore eyes, well, they had nothing on him. How your attention hadn’t been drawn to him the moment you walked through the door, you didn’t know.

He wasn’t even looking at you and you already felt tongue-tied. Busying himself with shuffling the cards in his hands against the green felt table, the expensive looking rings adorning his slender fingers caught your eye. He was what your mother would’ve called a timeless beauty. The type of handsome that meant he could walk the streets of the city in nothing but a sack and he’d have women throwing themselves at his feet.

Hair the same shade as a moonless sky made him look intimidating, like he belonged to the shadows themselves. A straight nose, cupid bow lips and long eyelashes that would make any broad jealous; he gave off the type of power that could make even the bravest of men cower at his feet. The longer he took to respond, the more the room grew still. As if your fate was in the hands of a man who’s name you didn’t even know.

Though perhaps it was.

A muffled thud echoed throughout the room as he tapped the deck of cards against the table once, twice, before sliding them over to the fella to his left. Plucking up the glass of scotch in front of him, he finally looked up. And graced you with the prettiest chocolate brown eyes you’d ever seen.

“What’s your name, dollface?”

tagged: @bewitch-me @jxngkooksthxghs @kaitswrld @clarissalance @namurkive @ifntelyinspirit @kotaevln @red--aren @ggukkieland @moonlitmyg @i-like-puppy-mg @aianloveseven @drumsofheaven @figurativehoe00 @wonhoandonly @wacdon @hear-me-growl @milaridez7 @1088x1088 @alana-ba @vlntaeg

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rowanwhitethornisbae · 4 years ago

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White Christmas

A/N: Just some Rowaelin Christmas Fluff that I made today during a lecture. I took a little inspiration from a specific scene in How I Met Your Mother... if you've seen the show its pretty obvious which one.

“At least it’s not actual Christmas Day.” Aedion comforted. “He’ll be home before the morning and you guys can open presents together.”

Aelin’s cousin’s attempts to comfort her are appreciated, but futile. She had been really looking forward to spending Christmas Eve with her boyfriend and doing all the couple shit that, until two years ago, had made her want to vomit. Instead, Rowan was stuck at the office because his coworker - Lorcan Salvaterre - had all but begged Rowan to cover his shift. Instead of telling him to fuck off, like she would've done, her too nice boyfriend had accepted. All Aelin’s plans for tonight were out the window and she had resolved to watch cheesy Christmas movies and wallow in her own self-pity.

She wasn't mad at Rowan in the slightest. How could she be with how guilty he’d looked over breakfast this morning. He’d woken up early to get her a small peppermint chocolate cake from the bakery down the street and any harboured resentment had been quickly forgotten.

“Yeah.” Aelin replied. “I’ll be fine.”

Aedion shot her a sympathetic look as they pulled up in front of Aelin’s apartment. She got out and bid her cousin goodbye, trudging up the icy stairs carefully. One positive note about this Christmas was that it was supposed to snow tonight, meaning New York would have its first white Christmas in almost five years.

Aelin unlocked her door and pulled off her coat, placing it on the hook. Sighing, she unloaded her groceries and put chicken noodle soup on the stove to warm up. God this was depressing. She had a boyfriend, who loved her, and yet here she was, celebrating thanksgiving in an almost identical way to how she had when she was single and lonely.

As the soup began to boil, Aelin grabbed the remote and picked whatever hallmark Christmas movie showed up first on the screen. She was just starting another movie, her brain too mentally exhausted to actually focus, when her phone rang.

Slowly, Aelin picked herself up off the couch dejectedly, pulling her phone to her ear.

“Hey.” Aelin knew she sounded sad, but she couldn't bring herself to care.

“Fireheart.” Rowan’s voice chimed through the phone and she instantly perked up, hope shooting through her chest.

“Hi Ro, how’s work?” Aelin took her soup bowl to the sink, turning on the faucet softly.

He ignored her question. “You have to promise not to ask any questions and just do what I say next.” He pauses, and when she doesn't answer, goes on. “Ok ace?”

A small smile tugs are the corner of her lips and she pushes it down, trying not to get her hopes up. “Sure.”

“Come up to the roof of our apartment.” His voice is low, like he’s purposely trying to keep it void of any emotion.

“Um sure I'll be up in two.” Her voice carries a question, but Rowan just hangs up the phone at her response.

Butterflies churning in her gut, Aelin throws on a puffer coat and a pair of boots. She’s wearing fuzzy plaid Christmas pyjamas and her hair is up in an incredibly messy bun. The way to the elevator feels like an eternity. She rides it up to the top alone, everyone else in their apartments eating Christmas dinner. Glancing at her phone, the time reads 9:30. It must be dark out already, as night falls early in New York during the winter.

Aelin reaches the top floor and walks down the hallway to the roof, hands in her pocket. As she opens the heavy steel door, the first thing she notices is that its snowing.

Not light flurries that disappear as soon as they reach the ground, but real snow. The type that has already piled up to the point where her feet are half buried in it and she can barely see five feet ahead of her.

Maybe it’s this, the heavy snowfall, or possibly her eyes are fuzzy from the televisions, but it take someone calling her name for Aelin to really see the rest of the roof.

Thousands of small white lights decorate the railings and hang off every possible surface available. In the middle of it all, there’s a circle of candles, their flame somehow staying alive in the snowfall. A few light roses are scattered around the circle, and although they have already been covered in a sheen of snowflakes, the red hues still look beautiful.

Standing in the middle of it, wearing nothing but a work suit that really can't be very warm, is her boyfriend. Suddenly not very cold, she runs toward him, ready to be wrapped up in his embrace.

However, when she reaches the edge of the circle of candles, her steps slowed by the snow, Rowan Whitethorn drops down on one knee.

Aelin stops dead on her feet, nearly tripping with momentum. All thoughts love her head and time seems to slow. It feels, for a moment, as though everything is in slow-motion but the racing of her heart. She takes one step forward, as if in a daze.

Rowan’s smiling widely at her, his face glowing in the pale candlelight. His silver hair is coated in flakes, and Aelin can barely tell where his hair ends and the snow begins.

She glances down at the ring he’s holding, a stunning silver diamond that glistens in the moonlight, held in a small pillowed box. Aelin realizes then, that it’s also a full moon tonight.

“Aelin Galathynius - “ He begins.

But she’s already jumping on him. He nearly topples over with the force of her, only narrowly avoiding sending them both into the snow. He picks her up, her face buried in his shoulder. Aelin thinks she might be crying, but her heart is beating so fast that she doesn't notice.

Rowan sets her down and she beams up at him. “Yes yes yes. A thousand times yes.”

He frowns, even as joy dances in his eyes. She finds out why a second later. “You didn't let me say my speech. I practiced it in front of the mirror for two days, I even told it to Fenrys.” As he says the last part his face breaks into a grin, as if he can't help but smile.

“Well you made me get engaged in this.” Aelin gestures down at her outfit, definitely not the extravagant gown she’d always planned on. To her own shock, Aelin found she didn't care.

“I wanted to wait for the snow.” He said softly, grabbing her hand. “I know you love it.”

Rowan slips the ring on perfectly, and just as he pulls back, Aelin captures his lips with her own.

His lips are freezing cold, and she thinks she tastes snow on his tongue. One arm wraps around her lower back and his thumb brushes away a few flurries from her cheek. Her hands tangle in his hair as his tongue brushes hers.

“I love you.” She says onto his lips as the blizzard rages on.

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#rowaelin #christmas #rowaelin fluff

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nsheetee · 5 years ago

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vanilla latte | renjun

pairing: art student!renjun x barista!reader genre: coffee shop au | fluff summary: renjun finally finds his muse: a little coffee shop on campus. he thinks the building itself is what’s propelling his hand to finish all of his art assignments, but when you’re not the barista serving him when he walks in one night, he realizes that may not be the case...

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this is part of the moonlight cafe series — please read the preface before continuing reading

he has a sketchpad clutched to his chest, earphones in his ears, and bags under his eyes as he curiously checks out the store

the small, silver bell above the door jingles as he closes it, and to renjun it sounds like magic sprinkling down over him as he walks in

there aren’t many people in the coffee shop, some stragglers who are too busy with their work to notice him

and that’s the way renjun likes it

renjun hates his dorm room

he hates how loud his roommates play games into all hours of the night

it clutters his mind and makes working on his art hard

tonight, he was absolutely done with his shouting roommates and decided to pack his things and head out of the dorm

renjun had no idea where he would go

the library is already closed, and it’s not like any of his friends would be up at this time to let him come over

just as he starts mindlessly walking out of his dorm building, he notices a cafe further down the block

an open sign hangs on the door, and it’s enough to draw him in

you wait patiently while your new customer makes his way to the counter, mouth slowing dropping in awe as he takes in the ambience of the shop

you don’t blame him, the cafe has a certain aesthetic that everyone loves to hang out in during the day

and at night, it’s even more pleasing to the eye

the big windows that cover the front of the store let in the moonlight and the street lights from the park

the dark hardwood floors makes the open room feel less like a store and more like you’re at home

the far wall is made completely of red brick with some fairy lights attached across the top

“how can I help you?” you ask him when he comes close enough, finally making eye contact

he’s stunned for a minute as he looks at you, fingers fumbling to take out his headphones as he begins to speak

“oh. uh, can I get a medium vanilla latte?” he asks, his voice sounding as if he was lost his whole life, and just found himself when he walked through the doors

“sure-” before you can ask if he wanted any extra shots of espresso, he sits down, spreading out his drawing materials, and getting straight to work

you can’t help but peer at him from your spot at the espresso machine

he’s beautiful- you find him absolutely captivating

his brown hair is long and it grows more in the back, giving him a faux mullet

(you would never in your life think you could be attracted to a mullet, but here you are)

more than his appearance, you find his concentration on his sketchpad and the furrow of his eyebrows to be attractive

he looks so intense as he works, but you can tell he’s not stressed

renjun’s hand moves faster than ever before

and he realizes he just found his muse, his new inspiration:

this cafe

you set his vanilla latte down in front of him, careful to not put his drawings in harms way

“thank you...” he barely mumbles to you, still focused on his artwork

the young artist comes in the next night, and the night after that, and every weekend that you work

he always orders a vanilla latte, sits down at the counter, and draws until you’re sure his wrists hurt and his eyes ache

despite him sitting in front of you for several hours every night, you don’t know his name, and you haven’t talked much or seen any of his drawings

honestly, you’re too shy to ask him

maybe he doesn't want to show you what he has been working on?

renjun doesn’t remember the last time he was this energized and inspired

his hand moves faster than his eyes, his heart rate increasing every time his mind wanders out of him and into the cafe

every time he finishes his assignments, he reaches for his sketchpad and lets his muse drive his art

every time he cranes his neck up, his eyes immediately come into contact with the beautiful cafe

the way you effortlessly move around your side of the counter while making drinks, the backdrop of the multitude of paintings behind you as if you’re dancing on your own masterpiece

the way you smile at all the customers, no matter what time of night it is or how many extra shots they order, the soft yellow lighting of the shop shining down perfectly into every crevice of the store

renjun is so entranced by this coffee shop, he wonders how he didn’t find this place earlier

one wednesday night, renjun feels particularly stuffed by his small dorm room and decides to head to the cafe to clear out his clogged brain

when renjun walks into his favorite cafe, he immediately feels that something is not right

at the cash register, he’s greeted by an older man with a gaze so piercing that renjun is a bit hesitant to sit at the counter

“hello, what can I get you?” the man asks

“uh, a vanilla latte, please?”

all of a sudden, renjun realizes why the cafe looks so different

it’s because you’re not here

there’s something weird about not seeing the same barista that usually resides on the other side of the counter

renjun isn’t sure what this foreign feeling is that’s filling his chest

it’s something akin to the feeling of coming home and the place not looking familiar because of new furniture, or looking at yourself in the mirror for the first time after getting a major haircut

“can I ask you a question?” renjun reaches out for his coffee as the barista slides it to him on the counter, renjun notices his name is taeyong

“sure.”

“where is the barista that usually works here at night?”

“are you talking about our new barista? well, she only works friday, saturday, and sunday nights. why? is there a problem?”

renjun shakes his head absentmindedly and taeyong nods quizzically before going back to the cash register where another customer is waiting

renjun opens his sketchbook that he set down on the counter earlier, preparing his pencils and pens, gripping one and staring down at the paper

and staring....

and only staring

renjun waits for his hand to move by itself like it did all the other times he has sat in this exact same chair

he looks up in front of him, and frowns deeper when he sees taeyong sweeping the floor, and not you

he glances around the coffee shop, waiting for inspiration to hit him like a truck and send his hand flying across the paper

but it never happens

renjun becomes frustrated; why won’t this cafe all of the sudden not work its usual charm?

is it because it’s a wednesday night?

is it because there’s more people here than usual?

is it because you’re not on the other side of the counter, sending him your small smile when you hand him his coffee?

oh...

how could renjun be so dense?

he drops his pencil, picking up his sketchbook instead and flipping through the last several pages

the backdrop of the cafe is in all of them

and so are you

your figure repeatedly shows up in all of renjun’s drawings, and when he looks at the portrait of a person he’s been picturing in his mind for weeks, he realizes it looks like you

his head is dizzy with this new discovery

renjun cringes, yet blushes, at the thought of telling you you’re his muse

it’s such an intimate and romantic confession; he finds you so beautiful to draw pages and pages and pages of drawings of you

the next time he comes into the cafe, it’s a friday night

the place is swamped, you have your hair up in a messy bun and your cheeks blushed red from the exertion of moving around so much

renjun’s hand itches to grab his favorite pen and draw this moment into his sketchbook, but he forces himself to sit and watch you, hoping you don’t notice him gawking over your form

once the rush is over, renjun adds shading to the portrait of you as he finally orders his vanilla latte

he didn’t want to add to your hectic rush, so he waited until it looked like you calmed down and restocked a bit

he glances at you through his eyelashes, resting a hand on his cheek to be able to comfortably glance between you and his art

you set his cup down next to him, sending him that smile that he’s so familiar with

until you glance down at his sketchpad

although the sketch appears upside down to you, you can make out your features adorning the person on the page

the young artist hides his face from you, but doesn’t move to cover his artwork

you glance around the cafe; the number of people have dwindled down and the ones who remain don’t focus on what’s happening up at the counter

biting your lip, you walk out of your side of the counter and sit down next to the boy that has been occupying your mind (and counter space) every night you’ve worked for the past few weeks

renjun is surprised when you take a seat next to him, and looks up at you with slight fear and wonderment

“hi, I'm y/n.”

“I'm renjun.” he mentally pats himself on the back for not stuttering, but when you raise your hand to shake his, his gulps and his mind goes blank

your hand is soft, and even though you have espresso under your nails, they’re still the prettiest hands he has ever seen

“I thought that if you’re going to draw me, you might want to see me in a better light.” you give your weak explanation, and renjun laughs

“sorry, this might be weird for you, but every time I see you I just want to... draw.” renjun tries to explain the feeling of being inspired by you, but you shake your head

“you don’t have to explain. just draw, and I'll sit here for you.”

and renjun does

he draws until his wrists ache and he’s sure he’s memorized every mole, imperfection, and scar on your face

he draws until he has memorized the amount of eyelashes you have and how many stars sparkle in your eyes

and when renjun goes back to his dorm that night, he realizes it’s not enough

he comes back every night you work, draws into the oblivion until he’s sure he has run out of energy

and then he draws some more

taeyong saw renjun’s artwork of the cafe one night and bought all the artwork from him to hang up in the store

eventually, his drawings end up on the red brick wall, snuggly tucked into wooden frames and illuminated by the fairy lights

and in the top right corner of the wall hangs the portrait of you

it’s the only drawing without a frame, and the only one that renjun didn’t receive money for

he even pined it up to the wall himself, wanting to keep you in the cafe in some type of way as a reminder of this place and you, his muse

#renjun #nct renjun #renjun fluff #nct dream fluff #neowritingsnet #nct bulleted au #nct dream renjun #renjun imagines #renjun scenarios #renjun bulleted au #nct imagine #nct scenario #nct dream au #nct dream imagines #nct dream scenarios #nct dream bulleted au #renjun x reader

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fascination-street-writing · 4 years ago

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Stealing Past the Windows | Platonic Leone Abbacchio x Reader

You want him to see the anguish that he has caused for you and your mother. You hope it is enough to keep him awake at night.

Content Warnings: Prostitution & Dubious Consent

You wish you were a mortician so that maybe – just maybe – you could be used to death. You long for the ability to shut away your grief, to turn it off as if it is nothing more than a lightbulb that hangs above your head – to flip the switch.

Your mother leads you towards the parking lot behind the cathedral. You have only just fastened the seatbelt over your lap when you notice him: the mortician standing next to a dumpster, a cigarette dangling from his lips. His necktie is loose and his hair a disarray. He pinches the bridge of his nose and exhales a cloud of smoke. Perhaps morticians were not as used to death as you thought.

Something taps against the windshield. Pattering, uneven beats, not unlike the pianist’s scant repertoire from the procession. You wish that your mother would have hired someone better, someone who was not the sostituo commissario coordinatore’s daughter.

“It’s raining,” your mother remarks, her voice no louder than a whisper. Rain – of course it rains today of all days. She sighs and grips the steering wheel. If her hands were not covered by her black gloves, you might see that her knuckles are white. “They never said it would rain. How are we supposed to bury him in this?”

You realize that, perhaps instead of death, you long to become better acquainted with unpredictability: the death of your father, rain during a funeral, a lousy pianist . . . And Leone Abbacchio’s sunset-colored eyes meeting your gaze from across the parking lot. You bring your hand to your mouth and bite down on your curled pointer-finger to keep from calling out to him – what are you doing here? Permanent suspension and a slanderous newspaper article were not enough to satiate the part of you that yearns for his retribution.

Your mother follows the hearse, but you do not dare to look away, even as the car turns onto the street. You want him to see the anguish that he has caused for you and your mother. You hope it is enough to keep him awake at night.

If, even after everything, a mortician and death are no more than steely work associates, then surely a distance exists between a prostitute and sexual intimacy. You never let the men take you from the front: your fleeting decency is preserved by the sorrow that suffocates you each time you are forced to solicit yourself to pay off your mother’s debts. You tell yourself that it is better this way – better than starving on the streets or lying dead in a dumpster, a proper unmarked grave.

Adaptability has helped you to cope with unpredictability. Now, you pray for blindness. Blindness so that you no longer face the men who leer and lead you into alleyways and dingy hotel rooms; blindness to forget that home is nothing more than a moth-ridden mattress, vacant memories, and a box fan; blindness, so the sounds of mice scurrying in the rafters become your mother teetering on loose floorboards as she stands over the kitchen table and prepares dinner.

Blindness so that you might forget the callousness of solitude.

A gust of air reaches for you. You tug your skirt over your thighs, a feeble attempt to ward of the chilling temperature. The waiting comes with confliction, for in the moments when you are alone, you are glad to be untouched. And yet, trepidation reminds you that a prostitute who does not meet her nightly quota is expendable. Your mother learned that – her final anecdote to you was a bullet.

Two women stand across the street. The glow of a cigar illuminates the space between them. An emaciated feline stalks down the sidewalk; she carries a kitten in her mouth. Footsteps – a man approaches you, his hands buried in the pockets of his striped dress slacks. He leans into the wall, only inches from you. He smells of tobacco smoke – you never cared for tobacco smoke. You blame it on your father’s influence.

You name your price, and he grabs your wrist. “I just want you to suck me off,” he sneers before pulling you into the alley. The air there is heavy: already, you have forgotten how to breathe. “You only get paid if you swallow. Got it, puttana?”

You nod. The pavement bites the skin of your knees. Your palms grow clammy. A knot forms in your belly. It never gets easier. The reflective surface of his belt’s silver buckle is an unwanted mirror. Sunken eyes stare back as you fumble with the latch. You no longer recognize yourself – it is a stranger’s gaze that watches your movements. You are a woman drowning, yet desperate for a glass of water.

Fingers pry at your arms. For a moment, you are airborne as he lifts you from the ground and pins you to the wall. His breath curdles in your ear – the rasp of his tone and the overwhelming scent of charred leather confirms that he is indeed a smoker and not a victim of secondhand exposure: “I’ve changed my mind. Ti sto fottendo.”

You shiver, but not because you are cold, even though the night air assaults your bare legs, which have been freed of your tight mini-skirt; pink polyester gathers at your ankles, tethering you. His teeth graze the crook between your shoulder and neck. His body cages you. The breeze wafts through your hair, gentle tresses clinging to his skin. In another life, he might have been a lover. But a lover does not pay you for sex.

Your fear turns to ash and dies on your tongue. Every gasp for air is an inhalation of his scent – stale cigarettes. It laces through your throat and burns you alive.

You wait until you are sure that he is gone before you pull your skirt up. Your core throbs. Your legs tremble. Your backend meets the ground as your knees fail you. The money lies just beyond your reach, but you cannot bear to touch it. The mere thought of even looking at it sends a jolt of nausea through you.

It can stay there a little longer – it is not pride that compels you to leave the money be: it is dignity.

You do not notice that you are crying until you feel the familiar sting in your eyes. An anguished scream tears itself from your mouth as you slap the ground and kick into the rusted trashcan beside you. It topples over – you wish to be buried alive in food scraps and disposed condoms because it is not better this way.

A tawny colored beer bottle shatters at your feet: a mosaic of glass shards. In each broken piece laid out before you, you see your reflections – in every groove, ripple, and adhesive spotting that has been left behind by a missing label. One shard is your father’s funeral and a smoking mortician, and another shard is the eternally frozen face of your dead mother, and another shard is the first man whom you sold your virtue to.

And yet, one shard is a series of train tickets, from Napoli to the lavender fields of Aix-en-Provence, and another shard is a glass of Bordeaux Red that you share with a lover on a balcony overlooking the plaza of Place Richelme, and another shard is a newborn babe nestled in the white laces of her bassinet, the glow of the setting evening sun stealing past the window of the nursery and painting the walls with a glorious apricot light. And among them all, shards of men whose touches and faces blend together, shards of hands that wring your neck. Perversion, starvation, and seclusion. Mice in the rafters, a battered mattress, and a box fan.

What good is a pretty future if you must suffer for it first? You realize, as your fingers float over the glass shards, that you have been on this journey to Aix-en-Provence – to somewhere better than Napoli – your entire life: that you are sitting on a train, still, though once you thought it moving. You are forever rooted in place.

Your scuffed stiletto grinds the glass into the concrete. Happiness demands too much from you. You stomp each shard until they split and become a million more pieces – so small that they no longer speak to you.

The final shard is a pair of sunset-colored eyes and silver hair. You freeze, your foot suspended above the piece of glass. You meet his gaze from across the alley. You want to bite your finger – it is a nervous habit that you had promised to quit after the funeral, after your mother had found you bandaging your bleeding hand with toilet paper in the bathroom at the burial site; she had never forgiven you for staining your dress.

You cannot look away from him, even as he drops the paper brown grocery bag snagged around his wrist in favor of ushering you into his arms and onto your feet – your head on his chest, held in place by a single hand that coaxes through your hair. You do not bother to push him away, because it feels good to be held; though every fiber of your being tells you to loathe this man, you find that you cannot. Hatred costs too much energy, causes too much stress; you do not need either. When he pulls away to inspect your face, you do the same to him. His mouth moves, but you do not hear the words that fall from his lilac-painted lips. The dark rings beneath his eyes are rival to yours. You wonder how much sleep he has lost, for every night spent thinking of you.

Steam from the coffee mug wafts into the air in a delicate spiral. At this hour, the café is nearly empty. A man with lavender-blonde hair types into his laptop computer; he lifts his beverage to his lips without tearing his gaze from the screen. Aside from him and an older woman, who is clipping coupons from a newspaper, you and Leone Abbacchio are the only other customers. It is a sharp contrast to the usual bustle during the day; without the business men fighting for their morning espresso shots or the mothers stopping for a pastry after sending their children off to school for the day, it feels like a graveyard.

The soft hum of the kitchen radio echoes through to the dining room. The coupon-clipping woman taps her foot to an offbeat cadence. You tug Leone’s jacket by the lapels, securing it tautly to your skin. He had insisted that you wear it, because of the cold. Truthfully, you know that it is for modesty’s sake. Regardless of the reason, you are grateful. He clasps his own porcelain mug but does not drink. Perhaps it is still too hot, you wonder.

“I don’t know if I should thank you or not,” you finally say. Macchiato pools on your tongue. It has been far too long since you have had coffee that was not made from instant crystals; you savor it. “I wouldn’t be in this situation if not for you, after all. But, the caffè is a nice gesture.”

His teeth graze his bottom lip. “I’m sorry,” he says with hesitation. “I’m sorry for what happened. For what I did.”

“You’re wasting your time, saying you’re sorry, because there aren’t enough apologizes that could even begin to make things right. An apology won’t bring my father back. An apology won’t bring my mother back.”

He shudders and sighs. “I know . . . I know that.”

An uncomfortable silence hovers over your heads. At last, Leone drinks his coffee; it is a much-needed distraction from the conversation that has haunted him until this moment. His greatest fear has been to face the family of the man he had indirectly killed. It was a mistake to have gone to the funeral – he knows that; he was never sure what to expect that day. The sight of your mother following the hearse in her station wagon while you stared him down, until finally you disappeared, had shaken him – he fell to the bottle that very night.

Leone’s cellphone vibrates atop the table. The green screen casts a reflection upon the window beside you. Flashing digital numbers tell you that is is 23:13 – you only have forty-seven minutes to give the money to your procurer. You instinctively pat your pocket. The money is not there. Upon the realization that you have forgotten it back in the alley, where it is no doubt buried under the fallen trash of your breakdown, you down the rest of your drink. “Thank you for the coffee,” you say to Leone. “I should get going – I need to get back to work.”

His brow furrows. “You’re not going back there,” he says to you, a strange inflection in his tone – worry or anger, you cannot tell the difference.

“I don’t have a choice.”

“Yes, you do.” His bark is beguiling, and it commands you to stay seated. For every moment that he stalls, the knot in your belly constricts tighter and tighter, until it feels as though your intestines might burst. When he speaks, a gust of air rushes through you: “Let me . . . Let me try to make things right. Let me start by getting you out of there.”

You tense at his words. “You speak as if you think it’s easy to get ‘out of there,’” you sneer. “As if you think you could actually help me.”

“I’ll pay off your mother’s debt,” he insists with a sudden burst of confidence.

It is your turn to stiffen. “How do you know about that?” It is then that you take in his appearance in earnest – his clothing looks expensive, even though he is clad in only a sweater and jeans. You doubt that his makeup came from a drug store. If exorbitance had a scent, it would be that of his cologne: woodsy and sweet. He could never have afforded these things on a poliziotto’s salary. “You work with them, don’t you?”

“No.” The waitress leans over the table to top off Leone’s mug. He offers her a nod and she pledges a smile. She scurries back to the counter in a flurry of floral-pattern skirts. The way he avoids answering your first question tells you enough: you understand that it is far too complicated to be uttered aloud in a public space. “I just know the right people.”

“I don’t want your help,” you tell him, albeit too quickly. Dignity compelled you from taking the money in the alleyway. But it is not dignity that holds you from accepting money from a former dirty cop: it is ego laced in hubris. And it is his bribery, shrouded in penitence, that beckons for your clemency. “I don’t need your help.”

“Stop this.” His words scorn you. “Don’t let yourself get killed because of your pride. I know what happens to women like you. You’re not a human being to them: you’re nothing more than a money-maker. Damn it, I’ve seen girls younger than you that – “ he cuts himself off. “Getting killed over the grudge you hold against me – it’s not worth it.”

“I can’t accept help from the man who ruined my life. It means you’ll expect me to forgive you.”

“I’m not looking for forgiveness. I just want to prove to you that I am sorry.” When you bring your pointer-finger to your mouth and bite down on your knuckle, he can see you in the station wagon again. Although, instead of a mourner’s garb, you wear a scanty skirt and a cropped blouse. “What about your father?”

You pull your finger away; a thread of saliva connects from your skin to your quivering lip. “Don’t you dare mention him,” you hiss. “Don’t act like you knew him: he was nothing more than a coworker to you.”

“It’s not for forgiveness. Let me help you because he would never want to see you like this.” You can practically hear the twitching of his jaw. A tear falls, and then another. And another. He wipes the back of his hand over his dampened cheeks. “He loved you – so much. More than I think he ever loved your mother, if you’d heard the way he spoke about you . . . One of the last things he ever said to me was how he couldn’t wait to see the type of person you’d become. Un dottore o un insegnante: it didn’t matter to him, so long as you were happy.” He looks away, as if he is ashamed to face you, though rightfully so. “I did know him. I knew the man who would have given anything for his famiglia – for you.”

Your heart aches – for your father or Leone or even yourself, you are not sure. While it pains you to admit it, the man sitting before you has uttered the truth. Your father would want you to accept Leone’s help. It might be your only chance for a fresh start – to usher the still train along. Suddenly, the lavender fields feel so close that all you need do is reach out to feel the purple tendrils within your grasp. Paradise is not too far.

You sigh, shakily, before you give him your answer: “Okay.”

You thought your response would satiate him – instead, the tears he sheds fall faster. He brings a hand to his forehead to pinch his temples between his thumb and ring-finger, to shield his face: a man torn apart by his own chagrin. His other hand is outstretched before him, fingers formed into a taut fist. You are sure that his nails will puncture his skin if he squeezes any tighter. The music from the kitchen stops. The woman places down her scissors and her newspaper. The man with lavender-blonde hair closes his laptop. The ticking of the wall-clock is the only sound that reverberates through the café. It is only minutes until the new day.

Leone Abbacchio is man frozen in his past. Despite the turmoil, despite the grief and accrued traumas, you do not hate him: though unable to move on, he is driven by audacity. You once thought him cowardly, but a craven would never have reached out to you: a craven would rob you of your second chance at life. You respect the weeping man seated across the table, so much so that you clasp your own hand over his fist as a gesture of solidarity. His breath catches in his throat as his quaking body stills. You have nothing to say to him – but no words could convey the thoughts that weave through your mind. His wrist rotates beneath your touch. Palm to palm, his fingers reach for yours and entwine.

Forgiveness is a virtue you cannot afford. You will not forgive him – not now – but you will heal: together.

| 3170 Words |

#leone abbacchio x reader #abbacchio x reader #leone abbacchio #jjba reader insert #jjba x reader

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no6secretsanta · 4 years ago

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No.6 - Children of the Sea

Happy Holidays and an awesome New Year, @aoicanvas! I really hope you enjoy this fic! It’s me, @glorifiedscapegoat, and I’m really excited to share this with you. The concept I had kept giving me ideas, so I found myself just writing and writing for a while, and before I knew it the word count was as high as it was. I hope that’s all right!

⁂

“The sea, once it casts its spell, holds one in its net of wonder forever.” — Jacques Cousteau

“Here’s your turbo,” Safu declared, sitting down opposite Shion at the booth. They were at their favorite café on the other side of Kronos, perched at one of the large window-seats overlooking the bay.

It was one of Shion’s favorite places, simply for its amazing view of the ocean. The sapphire blue waves lapped against the edge of the pier, the shush-shush sound of the ocean sending comforting prickles down his spine. During the early morning hours, the sunlight glistened across the smooth surface, the pale blue sky streaked with pale pinks and vibrant oranges.

“Oh,” Shion said in surprise as Safu slid the green foam cup across the table toward him. “Thank you. I ordered a decaf, though.”

“I canceled it. You looked like you could use the caffeine.”

Shion exhaled through his nose, knowing it wouldn’t do him any good to argue. He thanked Safu, popped back the heat-saver from the plastic cover, then took a hesitant sip of the coffee. Safu had doused it with enough creamer and granulated sugar to keep the bitter bite of the espresso from stinging his tongue, but Shion could still feel the caffeine buzzing through him.

“Speaking of caffeine,” Safu said, taking a sip of her own coffee. Having been friends for as long as they had, Shion knew that Safu took her coffee as black as the night sky in the middle of the city, devoid of stars due to the constant streaks of artificial lighting. Shion’s nose wrinkled just thinking about it. He’d never been able to get past the bitterness of the coffee beans. “You might want to bring one to go once you finish that one. Don’t you have the new wave of summer interns starting today?”

Shion exhaled, all traces of his previous good mood fluttering out the door. “Don’t remind me.”

Summers were a difficult time for the West Block Aquarium and, more importantly, its staff. Kronos was a buzzing tourist town, and the summer months brought about college students, wealthy benefactors, and worst of all, summer interns.

“Poor thing,” Safu remarked, taking another sip of her coffee. “Well, maybe it won’t be so bad. Who knows? The interns this year could be… delightful.”

They both shuddered in unison. Shion and Safu had been friends since they were little—Grade 1, to be exact, after Safu got in trouble for punching two boys in the face who called Shion “girly” for his pretty white hair—and both had gone on to pursue careers where interns came and went through a constant revolving door.

Though Shion had obtained full-time employment as a pseudo marine biologist at the West Block Aquarium, Safu had went on to pursue a medical degree working alongside children. Her talent rested with biology (of the mammalian variety, not the aquatic), but despite the clear differences in their professions, Shion and Safu shared one similar headache: summer interns.

“So, how’s your mom doing?” Safu asked.

“She’s all right,” Shion replied. “Just getting ready for the summer rush. Tourists and all that.”

“She’s a saint.” Safu lifted her coffee cup with a solemn expression. “I don’t know how I would have gotten through my undergraduate without the croissants she sent in her care packages.”

Shion huffed out a laugh and took another sip of his coffee. He could already feel the caffeine working its way through his veins.

He allowed a bit of silence to fall around him, the only reprieve he’d get today. As soon as he left for work in an hour, his day would be consumed with learning the group dynamic in this summer’s early wave of interns, squeezing work in between answering questions for the flood of customers arriving for the first day of the summer season, and banging his head against the glass walls of the tanks he was in charge of maintaining.

Shion felt something soft rest on top of his head. He glanced up to see Safu tapping her fingers against his temple, softly going, “pomf” to herself.

He leaned back out of reach, fighting back a smile. “What are you doing?”

“Trying to figure out where I can purchase a brush strong enough to tame that mop of yours.” Safu took her hand back, flashing a smile. “It’s such a pretty color, and it’s a shame it just sticks up all over the place.”

“Well, it’s not my fault. I spend most of the time in the water. It’s hard to find a shampoo that can handle all that water damage.”

“Damage?” Safu reached out again and patted Shion on the top of the head. “This isn’t damage. You are the only person alive who can spend seventy-five percent of their life in water and come out with hair this soft.”

“Stop it,” Shion said, but it was light-hearted. His hair had always been a point of conflict in his life. Since the moment he was born—sporting snowy hair and bright ruby eyes—Shion had always fought off rude stares and invasive questions. His mother had helped him construct several convincing lies to help discourage people from continuing to pester him. These lies had ranged from childhood illness in Grades 1 through 4, and then expensive dye jobs during his time as a teenager. Shion had never liked the thought of dyeing his hair, but lying to folks that his bizarre hair and eye color were the results of a bottle of Manic Panic and colored contacts kept them from prying and discovering the truth.

Though, even if Shion did break down and tell people the truth—that his father was a merperson who’d seduced his human mother years ago before splitting without a trace, leaving her with a hybrid son whose hair and eyes and ability to breathe underwater were his only connection to his heritage—he doubted anyone would ever believe him.

Except for Safu.

When Shion finally broke down and told Safu the truth, she’d taken the information with a smile. Coming to terms that there were other creatures dwelling in her world came simply. Safu remarked that new species were being discovered all the time. Of course it made sense that there could be merpeople. The ocean hadn’t been completely explored, after all.

Sometimes Shion wondered why a relationship with Safu had never occurred to him. She was a beautiful girl, and always had been; petite with straight brown hair that fell to her shoulders (she’d let it grow out in recent years), dark eyes that saw everything, and a friendly smile that invited people to let their guard down. More than that, Safu was amazingly kind… to the people she liked. She never judged anyone unless they gave her a reason to assume they were judging her, and she was fiercely protective of her friends.

When they were teenagers, Safu had expressed feelings for Shion that he hadn’t been able to reciprocate. Maybe it was because Safu was accustomed to rejection, or maybe it was because she was just a wonderful, loving person, but Shion’s gentle apology in his inability to return her feelings hadn’t stopped her from remaining his best friend.

And when Shion came staggering home one night and called her, squealing with excitement that he’d found someone like him—someone from the sea—Safu had squealed and gushed with him.

Shion shook the thought away before he could dwell on it. Remembering the summers he spent between the ages of sixteen and nineteen were painful for him. He’d formed a romance with a boy from the sea, a boy Shion could picture himself spending the rest of his life with, and then, without explanation or reason, he’d simply vanished into thin air. Zip. Poof. Gone. As if he’d never been there in the first place.

"Hey, Shion. Earth to Shion.”

He looked up. “Huh?”

Safu took one look at his face, and instantly, she knew. “Thinking about Nezumi again?”

Hearing his name sent a knife through Shion’s heart. “No,” he said, but the lie was pointless. He’d never been any good at telling lies to Safu.

Safu clicked her tongue. When Nezumi stopped showing up at the beach, Safu had been furious. She ranted and raved for months about him, furious that he could break Shion’s heart like that. When the next summer came and he still didn’t show up, Safu’s anger cooled into concern. When another year passed, she and Shion mutually agreed that something awful must have happened to Nezumi and tried to mourn.

“Do you want to talk about it,” she said gently, “or change the subject?”

“Change the subject, please.”

“Of course.” Safu took a deep breath, composing her thoughts, and then she said, somewhat loudly, “Well, it won’t be so bad, right? How long do summer internships last at the aquarium, again?”

“Three months,” Shion said, grateful for the change in topic. He took all the pent-up feelings he still had toward Nezumi, even now, and shoved them to the side. If they festered there and turned into a cancerous tumor, he’d deal with it when that time came.

“Ugh, lucky. Our internships last six months.”

“Aren’t all of your interns medical students, though?” Shion stole a brief glance out the window. He wondered if he would catch a familiar flash of black and silver, and then promptly scolded himself for daring to hope.

“Yes, and most of them are lovely. But then you have those ones.” Safu rolled her eyes, and Shion instantly knew which ones she meant.

The children of wealthy parents whose only major contribution to the field was that they spent a lot of money and therefore expected that their children could sail through the program without any effort. Shion had dealt with plenty of those types, too, working at the aquarium. Wealthy donors often assumed a nice dosage of cash would land their children a high-paying, low-effort job once they finished their degree program. Shion lost count of the number of arguments he and other coworkers had had with interns whose ultimate defense was the phrase: “Do you have any idea who my parents are?”

"Maybe this year will be different,” Shion said, not at all confident. He’d been working full-time at the West Block Aquarium for two years, since he turned twenty-two, and not once had a summer internship term been “different”.

“It could be,” Safu replied solemnly. She and Shion shared a mutual nod, and then smiled.

⁂

With traffic, it was a forty-minute drive across downtown Kronos, and another three minutes to find a halfway decent parking space in front of the West Block Aquarium that didn’t result in Shion needing to sprint across the parking lot like a lunatic in order to clock in on time.

Shion smoothed his hands through his hair, pressing the tangled locks down against his skull. They bounced back up as he dropped his hands to his sides, and he gave up trying to look presentable.

His white hair, no matter how smooth or messy it was, always attracted attention from the college interns the aquarium employed. Most of them thankfully assumed it was just a dye job—an expensive, extremely thorough dye job, but a dye job nonetheless—but it elicited more than a few stares every year.

Shion scanned his ID badge at the employee entrance and ducked inside. He let the heavy metal door bang shut behind him, sighing as he stepped into the foyer of the employee lounge, cooled by the strong air conditioning unit Rikiga had installed. He tossed his empty coffee cup into the trash can, briefly considering using the Keurig to make himself another cup.

"Hey, Shion.”

Shion turned and spotted his coworker, Yamase, sitting at one of the little brown tables. He clutched a travel mug of tea—Yamase never liked drinking coffee, remarking that no matter how much creamer and sugar he doused it with, he could still taste the “disgusting bean water”—and he looked utterly exhausted.

Shion’s stomach plummeted. “Interns?”

“Interns,” Yamase agreed bitterly.

Shion huffed out a breath and went to the Keurig. “Please tell me there’s at least a few halfway decent ones.”

He prided himself on being an optimist—it was one of his best qualities, according to his mom, Safu, and everyone else he’d ever talked to, and Shion was pretty certain it was the primary reason Rikiga had given him the job in the first place—but something about summer interns made even someone with Shion’s extensive threshold for patience eager for the workday to end.

“Rikiga’s already deep into his cup,” Yamase explained, rolling his eyes. “Big surprise. Anyway, I’ve only met the first few, and supposedly, we’ve got two others starting tomorrow.”

“So, what exactly are we dealing with?” Shion popped a K-cup into the machine and hit brew. He shoved a paper cup beneath the dispenser and listened to the whir of the machine as the water heated up.

Yamase took a deep sip of his tea. “Well, there’s a girl who’s just started her second year at the community college who thinks she wants to go into marine biology. Kudos and all that, but she’s already expecting that we’ll hire her once she graduates since she’s interning with us.”

“Oh, dear.”

“Yeah,” Yamase groaned. “You know how that’s gonna go. I wonder if we’ll have the parents down here again. You remember that?”

Shion shuddered. “How could I forget?” He could still hear the shrill sound of the woman’s voice as she shrieked at Rikiga in the lobby about why he’d rejected her daughter’s application for full-time employment after she’d “slaved away all summer at this dirty, stinking place, and for what?” Never mind that Shion had found her in the employee lounge multiple times during her shift, sneaking alcohol and trying to steal merchandise from the gift shop when she thought no one was looking.

“Maybe she’ll be a good fit,” Shion said, a little too hopefully.

“She bounces when she talks,” Yamase said drily.

"Excuse me?”

“Like full on hops on her heels.” Yamase gave a small demonstration, bouncing twice in his chair before widening his eyes and giving Shion a blank, dead stare. “She also talks like this.” He raised his voice up at the end, almost as if he were asking a question. “With an upward inflection at the end of it. As if she has no idea what she’s doing here.”

“That is so creepy,” Shion shuddered. “Please stop.”

“You think that’s creepy. Try listening to her do it.” Yamase sighed and took a deep gulp from his travel mug. “The lights are definitely on, but no one’s been home for years.”

Shion pinched the bridge of his nose. Wonderful. Just what the aquarium needed. He plucked his cup from the Keurig and dumped a healthy heaping of sugar and creamer packets into the cup.

“The new hire for the gift shop’s hot, though,” Yamase said.

Shion raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Don’t worry—he’s our age,” Yamase assured. “I checked. Not in college, as far as I can tell. Just looking for some extra cash at a part-time job or something. And you know I’m not really into guys, but dang, something about this guy just… I don’t know. Just wait until you see him.” Yamase exhaled. “It’s his eyes, man.”

Shion huffed out a laugh and took a sip of his coffee. After the turbo Safu had ordered for him, it felt watered down and weak, but Shion savored the buzz of caffeine.

“He must be something, then,” Shion said, “if you’ve noticed him.”

“You have no idea. You’re single, right? Maybe you have a shot.”

Shion clicked his tongue. “You sound like Safu.”

"Well, maybe you should start listening to us!” Yamase tipped his head back and finished off the last of his tea. “Maybe we should strong-arm your mother into it. I’m sure that’d make you start looking.”

Shion couldn’t help but smile. He’d tried dating during his undergraduate, and it hadn’t worked. All the men he went out with made snide comments about his hair— “Do the carpets match the drapes? Ha ha, just kidding. Unless…?”—or thought his fascination with sea life bordered on obsessive. Shion wouldn’t have felt comfortable letting them know the truth: that his “obsession” with sea life stemmed from the fact that he came from the same place.

And besides, none of them had made him feel the way Nezumi had.

Not only did Nezumi come from the ocean—Shion could picture the black and blue scales on his long, elegant tail perfectly, like obsidian and sapphires, and his beautiful silver eyes, like the edge of a blade in the sunlight—he never thought Shion’s ramblings were bizarre. He laughed at him, sure, but it was good-natured and beautiful, like the chiming of bells. He could swim faster and deeper than Shion, and he brought him pretty shells and oysters containing pearls from the bottom of the sea where Shion couldn’t swim without raising more than a few eyebrows.

During their summer interactions as teenagers, Shion had never been able to convince Nezumi to come onto the shore. He knew it was possible—his own father had done it years ago—but whenever he asked, Nezumi quickly changed the subject.

Shion’s heart ached, his eyes stinging. The last time he saw Nezumi, they had been eighteen years old. He could still feel the brush of Nezumi’s lips against his own, tasting of saltwater. Shion could have kissed him forever.

Shion quickly shook the thoughts away. He couldn’t afford to get caught up on thoughts of Nezumi anymore. He needed to focus on the new interns and aquarium employees.

Yamase rose and rinsed his travel mug in the sink. The dark blue of his janitor’s uniform stood out against the stark gray walls of the employee lounge. “Well, count yourself lucky you don’t have to deal with most of the interns. You spend most of your time in Number Six. I’m the one who’s gotta spend the whole day trapped in the gift shop.”

Shion cracked a smile. Number Six was the main tank in the direct center of the aquarium, the first major exhibit available as soon as customers walked through the door. Shion’s primary job was to jump into the tank every couple of hours, toss smelt and other dead things at the bigger fish, ensure that the pH levels were safe, and make sure the sand tigers didn’t bully the nurse sharks. Shion never would have pegged sharks to have some weird social hierarchy, but it was there. He’d lost count of the times he’d had to chase away the sand tiger with the blunt snout (who he’d affectionally nicknamed Snubby) from the large nurse shark (Nurse Anne) with the chunk bitten out of her dorsal fin.

Number Six was also known to Yamase and the other janitors as the BFT: the Big Fucking Tank. Shion didn’t like calling it that, but he supposed when the janitors spent most of their shift spraying Windex on the glass and wiping away fingerprints and saliva—seriously, did little kids lick everything?—it made sense they would come to hate it.

The majority of the interns and summer hires started out as cashiers in the gift shop. During his dips in Number Six, Shion could spot the little alcove through the glass, watching as the interns in their bright green tee-shirts displaying the West Block Aquarium logo fumbled through each transaction.

“I wonder if the wannabee marine biologist will try to jump in the tank with you,” Yamase said, eyeing Shion in his periphery. “She doesn’t seem thrilled about the idea of starting as a cashier.”

“They all start out as cashiers,” Shion replied, taking another sip of his coffee. It had already begun to go cold. “She shouldn’t expect special treatment. Retail work can be humbling.”

"Is it twisted that I love watching the rich kids get screamed at by entitled jerks?” Yamase’s dark eyes flashed as he turned to face Shion. “Like, I know retail’s rough and all, but some of these kids are so fucking bratty, and seeing the looks on their faces when they realize that no one cares about how much money they have just warms my heart.”

Shion shook his head. “You’re awful,” he said, but he couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face.

“Yup, and you’re equally as awful. I know you enjoy it, too.” Yamase put his travel mug back into the cupboard where the rest of the employees kept their spare mugs. “Well, I need to get out there and make sure the place is ready for opening. Finish up your coffee. You’re gonna need it. You know they’re probably gonna ask about the hair.”

“And the eyes,” Shion sighed. “They always do.”

“You could dye it.”

“Safu would literally kill me.”

Yamase rolled his eyes. “She might, but wouldn’t it be better than dealing with another wave of ‘wait, they let marine biologists dye their hair? Can you wear contacts underwater? Duuuuude.’”

Shion fought back a shudder. Too many times he’d had to deflect questions surrounding his odd hair color and the piercing shade of his irises. Albinism was a rare trait in humans, and Shion’s skin wasn’t nearly pale enough to pass for it. The odd red marking on his skin—scaled, if people looked close enough, which Shion never let anyone do—definitely shattered the illusion. Shion had hoped people would have a bit of common decency and not ask such invasive questions, but he was often disappointed. Almost every summer, someone cornered him in the break room and demanded to know why his hair was so white, what made his eyes red, how many bleaches did it take to achieve that color, did people think he was less professional because he looked like he was cosplaying all the time?

Sometimes Shion wondered if he should joke that he was a merman. Well, half a merman, anyway.

As soon as the thought crossed his mind, he could hear Nezumi’s voice snap, “Child of the Sea! Not merman. That’s a human word.” His mood instantly darkened, and Shion shook his head.

“Child of the Sea” was the preferred term in the underwater community, or so Shion had been told. Only human beings used words like “mermaid” and “merman”. Despite the wave of sorrow that Shion felt whenever the thought of Nezumi came rushing back, he couldn’t help the small flicker of warmth that kindled itself in his heart.

“Well,” Yamase sighed. “I’m heading back. Rip the Band-Aid off.”

“All right.”

“See you in a few,” Yamase replied with a wave, ducking out into the hallway. “Good luck!”

Shion exhaled and took another sip of his cool coffee. Summer interns. At least he had a reprieve from them when he dove into the tank. He took a few moments to sip his coffee, reveling in the silence he knew would soon be broken. Ah, well. It was only eight-thirty in the morning. Seven o’clock would come soon enough.

⁂

Shion finished his coffee, pulled on his white lab coat, and trotted out to the main foyer. The West Block Aquarium opened at ten o’clock on the dot—despite his active drinking and usual forgetfulness, Rikiga was oddly punctual—and the first hour would be spent preparing for the shift and greeting the interns and summer help.

Shion plastered a big smile on his face and tried to be positive. Summer interns were frustrating, but he had to remember that he was once in their shoes, too. Several years ago, he’d been a bright-eyed intern working at this same aquarium. Ignoring his obvious one-up over the other interns—primarily the fact that he could breathe underwater (secretly, of course) and understood ocean life in a way that astounded his professors and quickly moved him through his undergraduate degree with flying colors—he’d enjoyed working alongside other interns.

As he hurried toward the main foyer, stationed direction in front of Number Six, he couldn’t help but marvel at the decorations welcoming the new wave of summer customers. Bright plastic statues of sea lions and talking starfish lined the floors, gesturing toward the hallways and announcing exhibits. Neat signs with fun facts and information about the exhibit inhabitants sat in front of glass cages, and the sound of rushing water sounded like music to Shion’s ears.

Shion trotted almost everywhere. His colleagues joked that he was always in a hurry. Shion didn’t know if it was because he moved faster in the water than on land, even without the function of a tail, but he couldn’t help it. He jogged everywhere he went: meetings, feedings, the break room. Sometimes he worried he looked ridiculous—a young man in a white lab coat with obviously dyed hair (ha) jogging like a toddler through the aquarium—but if he did, no one commented one way or the other about it.

The four-story tank, illuminated with bright LED lights at the base and on each conjoining floor, wrapping upward in a slanted ramp like a makeshift spiral staircase, rose into view as Shion stepped out into the main exhibit. The brightly-colored tropical fish swam lazily through the teal water, their dark eyes staring blankly out at Shion as he approached the two individuals standing near the door, awaiting his arrival.

Shion swallowed the wave of frustration that surged inside him, caging it behind his clenched teeth as he kept the smile plastered on his face His colleagues had left him to deal with the new interns on his own.

Ha ha, funny.

As he approached the two interns—a young woman with vibrant pink hair (clearly a dye job, and a rather inexpensive one, at that, if the blond roots at the top were any indication) and a young man with dark hair yanked back into a ponytail, both dressed in the bright green West Block Aquarium staff shirt—the girl broke away from the tank and came sprinting up toward Shion.

“Oh, hi!” she shrieked, her voice piercing through the vacant walls of the aquarium. It carried, so sharp and sudden that Shion felt as if a knife had been drilled into his ear.

He flinched—the other intern did, too—and jerked to a halt.

“You must be Shion, right? Mr. Rikiga mentioned you’d be stopping by!�� The girl clapped her hands, as if the idea of meeting Shion was too exciting to be contained inside her little body. “I’m so excited to be working with you! My name’s Miyamoto Emi, but my friends call me Emi-chan. Oh, darn, can I call you Shion, or is that too informal? Gosh, this is so exciting!”

Shion gawked down at the girl, unsure of what to say. She looked about twenty years old, short in a way that was noticeable even to someone like Shion. He wasn’t very tall, himself—he rose to a respectable five-feet-seven-inches—and this girl rose to the middle of his chest. She tipped her head back to look into his face, her dark brown eyes wide with excitement, and yep, there was the bouncing Yamase had mentioned. With each syllable that left her mouth, she rose an inch off the ground and then came down hard on her heels. She wore a pair of black flip-flops (definitely not regulation, according to the employee handbook, which Rikiga definitely didn’t enforce), and the rubber soles thumped rhythmically on the solid tile floor.

“Mr. Rikiga said you were a marine biologist,” Emi went on. “That must be so exciting. I’ve wanted to be a marine biologist since I was a little girl. I’ve always loved turtles, and I just wanna be able to work with them. Oh, wow!” Her eyes widened further—how was that possible?—and she stared at Shion’s white hair.

His stomach plummeted.

“Your hair—” she said, a shriek building in her throat. Shion could see it. Her shoulders quaked beneath the force of it, her whole body unable to contain the sheer joy that came from seeing Shion’s pristine white hair coupled with his lab coat. “Where do you get your hair done? Do you do it yourself? My friend Mariko did my hair”—she grabbed a lock of her own pink hair and shoved it toward Shion—“but it doesn’t look nearly as good as yours does!”

“Um, thank you.” Shion gave her a wobbly smile. This was a new development. Sometimes the interns were cold and stand-offish, and sometimes they were uninterested in the position.

This, however? This was new.

Shion felt his head spinning as he tried to focus on the girl bouncing in front of him. He glanced over her shoulder, seeking out the second intern. The young man was staring at Emi as if she’d just exploded and scattered across the foyer in an array of glitter. His hair framed his face, long and pulled into a high ponytail. He had a narrow, pale face, and Shion wondered briefly if this was the young man Yamase had mentioned back in the break room. He squinted over Emi’s head—where did she get the energy to keep bouncing like this?—examining the young man’s face to see what about him Yamase had been so taken by.

The young man was tall and thin, his hair a dark shade of black that Shion suspected would look blue in certain lighting. Even with the fluorescent bulbs in the aquarium itself, he could pick out the few pale gray strands and blue bits that made the young man’s hair beautiful rather than plain. His skin was far too pale for the lime-green of the staff shirt, and it made him look sickly and washed out.

He lifted his head to give Shion a look that clearly read ‘Poor you’, and Shion managed to get a good look at his eyes.

It’s his eyes, man.

Two bright silver coins stared back at Shion, narrowed in a way that Shion recognized as someone trying to figure out where they recognized someone from. His stomach twisted. Flecks of blue and white danced behind a pale of solid silver glass, shifting depending on his mood. When he was happy, they were vibrant and luminous. When he was aggravated, they darkened like the sky over a stormy sea. Shion had seen them in almost every variant, and he stood there, dumbstruck, as the young man stared into his face, too—taking in his bright red irises, the red marking wrapped around his throat, and his vibrant white hair—and finally, finally recognized him.

His jaw dropped. It was an almost comical look, but he managed to make it look beautiful. He unfolded his arms from across his chest, letting them fall limply at his sides.

“Shion?” he said.

His voice. His voice. Shion could still hear it in his memories. The peals of laughter, the shouts whenever they argued, the gentle songs he sang. All of it came flooding back in a crushing wave that made Shion feel as if he were drowning. His lungs were designed to pull oxygen both on land and beneath the surface. Shion would never know how it felt to drown in earnest—but standing across from Nezumi, the boy he’d fallen in love with in his youth, the boy who’d claimed his first kiss, the boy who’d left one day and never come back, Shion wondered if this was how it felt to have all the air knocked out of him once and for all.

Emi’s bright smile never left her face, but her eyes widened. “Oh, my gosh. Do you know two each other?” She looked over her shoulder at the young man—at Nezumi—and clapped her hands. “That’s so exciting!”

“Um,” Shion said, taking a trembling step backward. The room around him crushed inward, the air tight and thick. He swallowed once, finding it difficult to breathe. “Yes, um…”

Nezumi’s shocked expression shifted into concern, and Shion felt himself edging toward a full-on breakdown. Shards of glass punched through his stomach, heat and pain radiating through each pulse point in his body until it was all he could feel. He couldn’t sense the solid tiles beneath his feet or the air conditioner churning above his head. His vision tunneled, blocking out everything except the young man standing in front of him—standing! On legs!—in his ridiculous staff tee shirt and his khaki pants, looking every bit like the beautiful, otherworldly creature he was once he stepped into the ocean.

“Ah, w-well,” Shion managed, the words heavy as stones on his tongue. “W-welcome to the West Block Aquarium. So nice to be working with you both. Um, I have to, ah, feed the fish in the BFT now. Ah, I mean, in Number Six. The big tank behind you. Yup, that’s Number Six. I’m sure Mr. Rikiga will tell you all about it as part of the tour.”

“Shion,” Nezumi said, and his voice was equally as wobbly. He took a step forward, and panic surged through Shion’s body like an injection of ice water.

”Goodbye!” Shion spun on his heel and fled back toward the break room. There was an elevator in the far back, reserved for employee usage and available for disabled customers, and if Shion input the code into the panel, it would go to the floor linking to the observatory room for Number Six. It wasn’t available to the public, reserved for marine biologists like Shion to record the pH balances of the tank and the weights of each animal.

His shoes smacked against the tile as he hurried toward the hallway leading to the elevator. The twisting halls that stretched past the rooms dedicated to shells and the horseshoe crab touch tank—popular with the children and high school customers—and Shion rounded them quickly, searching desperately for the signs leading to the elevator.

“Shion, wait!”

Shion whirled and saw Nezumi hurrying up the ramp toward him. He stumbled a bit as he ran, as if he’d been sitting down for a long time and his legs hadn’t quite adjusted to movement. The fluorescent lights caught against the strands of his hair, and the lime green of the staff shirt clashed horribly with his khaki pants and pale skin.

He looked ridiculous. He looked amazing. He looked—

Alive.

“You’re alive,” Shion said, his voice sounding stupid in his ears.

Nezumi stumbled to a stop a few steps in front of him. He was wearing heavy black combat boots (completely against regulation, since the soles weren’t non-marking), and one pant leg of his cargo pants was tucked in while the other hung frustratingly loose around his ankle. “Yeah,” he said, sounding equally as stupid and just as wonderful as Shion remembered. “Yeah, I’m alive.”

“But—” Shion fumbled for something, anything, and came up short. “You—you vanished! You stopped coming to the beach.”

Nezumi winced. “I know.”

The prickles of cold were replaced with agitation that dug like thorns in his body. “I waited for you,” he said, low and harsh. “Every day for months. Years. And you—you never came back.”

Nezumi flinched back as if Shion had ripped one of the decorative plywood sea turtles off the wall and chucked it at him. “I know,” he murmured. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” Shion barked out a laugh. “Five years of no contact—nothing—and now you show up here, at my work, to tell me you’re sorry?”

“I didn’t know you worked here,” Nezumi said.

“Then why are you here? You sure as hell can’t be a university student!”

Nezumi’s silver eyes flashed in the vibrant LED lights. “I’ve never heard you swear before,” he murmured wondrously, as if it was the most amazing thing in the world.

“Don’t change the subject!” Shion growled. “Where the hell do you get off just—”

“I wanted to come back,” Nezumi interjected. He didn’t raise his voice (which only aggravated Shion further), and he kept his hands at his side. Shion couldn’t help staring at each of his long, elegant fingers, remembering how they felt running over his cheek or brushing through his hair while they swam.

“Then why didn’t you?” Shion’s heart pounded in his chest, blood rushing through his ears. “You kissed me, said goodnight, and then you just vanished. For five years, Nezumi.”

“I didn’t mean to,” Nezumi said, raising his voice just a little. Shion could hear it in his voice that he was struggling not to yell, that he didn’t really have the right to yell. “Something happened, and as much as you meant to me, I couldn’t just—”

Those words stabbed through Shion’s chest like arrows. It’d taken Nezumi three years—three long, painful years—to finally say the words I love you. Shion hadn’t held it against him. Nezumi didn’t express his feelings through words. He translated them in his actions. Shion felt his love in the way he found ways to maintain physical contact when they were together. He felt Nezumi’s love each time Nezumi brought him pretty shells from the deeper parts of the ocean floor.

Shion knew how much he meant to Nezumi. And as angry as he was at Nezumi’s unexpected disappearance, the fact that he was here now must have meant something.

Shion opened his mouth to speak—to say what, he didn’t know—and Emi came trotting down the hallway, huffing and puffing as if it’d taken all her energy to catch up with them.

“There—,” she gasped dramatically, doubling over and pressing her hand against her chest. “There you two are! Why did you run away?”

Nezumi glanced over at her, and Shion took the opportunity to escape. “It’s nothing. Nezumi’s an old friend” —he didn’t miss the way Nezumi flinched— “and things were… well, it’s complicated. But this isn’t the place for it.”

Emi’s dark brown eyes widened. “Ooh?” She looked at Shion, then at Nezumi, and then back. She clapped her hands together. “What’s this? A secret romance?”

“The hell?” Nezumi muttered, despite everything.

“Emi,” Shion said firmly, “now is neither the time nor the place. Now,” he added, looking at the clock suspended from the wall. “I believe you two are due for orientation. Mr. Rikiga will be expecting you.”

“Ooh, you’re right! We don’t wanna be late!” Emi spun on her heel and reached out for Nezumi’s wrist. “Come on, uh, Nezumi, was it? Weird. We’re gonna be late!”

Nezumi withdrew his wrist from Emi’s reach and turned to look at Shion. “I’m out at noon,” he said carefully. Shion’s shoulders shot to his ears, the words slicing through him like a bullet. “Can we talk then?”

“I’m not free until after the aquarium closes,” Shion replied. He didn’t know why he said it, but it wouldn’t do him any good to lie. Nezumi would probably figure out his schedule soon enough anyway.

“That’s fine. How about I meet you here after work?” Nezumi lowered his voice so that Emi, already skipping back toward the main foyer, wouldn’t overhear. “I get it if you tell me to fuck off, but… I’d like to explain myself.”

“All right,” Shion mumbled. “I’ll meet you outside the employee entrance at seven-thirty.”

“I’ll be here,” Nezumi said. There was so much strength and conviction in his voice that Shion couldn’t help but meet his eye. The fluorescent lights caught in his irises as he repeated, slower, “I will be here, Shion.”

“Sure,” Shion whispered, and he watched as Nezumi turned and headed back toward the foyer. He seemed to stumble a bit, but even that seemed inhumanly graceful. Shion’s heart ached as he watched him leave.

Eventually, his duties as a dedicated marine biologist convinced him to seek out the elevator, punch in the code to the Number Six observatory floor, and strip out of his lab coat, button-down, and slacks in favor of his West Block Aquarium scuba suit. Dark blue with lime green accents, it was Shion’s least favorite piece of work equipment, simply for its pointlessness. He was a Child of the Sea—at least fifty percent of him was—and scuba gear was wasted on someone who could breathe underwater.

But he couldn’t exactly drop into the forty-foot tank without his gear in front of tourists.

Shion struggled into his scuba suit, his heart hammering a thousand miles a minute. His hands shook as he zipped up his wetsuit, fumbling with the useless air tank (he could breathe underwater, damn it, but the tourists and the interns and his boss couldn’t know that) and all the tubes in their proper place to pump oxygen uselessly into his lungs.

Shion sat on the edge of the top level of Number Six, his vision blurring red and gray. His bright yellow swim fins felt ridiculous and artificial—even though Shion had never been able to grow a tail of his own, his legs more than strong enough to propel him through the water—and his whole body buzzed with anxiety. He took a few deep breaths, trying to calm himself in a way that proved to be completely ineffective, and then he tumbled backward into Number Six.

Sinking down into the depths, Shion let the cold water collapse around him and smother the heat of embarrassment and anger and relief that churned inside him. He sank downward through a small school of colorful fish and past Trudgealong (a withered sea turtle with a no-nonsense attitude), squeezing his eyes closed behind the useless face mask and trying to breathe.

Goddammit.

Nezumi’s shocked face flashed behind his closed eyelids. His voice echoed in Shion’s skull like a pissed off bee, and no matter how hard Shion fought it, he couldn’t help but remember how it had felt to sink beneath the waves with Nezumi guiding him by the wrist, propelling them both along the coral reefs much more quickly than Shion could move on his own.

Shion shook away the thoughts and focused on eying the occupants of Number Six and taking mental notes on their overall health.

For the most part, the fish and assorted sharks looked decent. Shion could sense the increased buzz of excitement radiating from them; he couldn’t “speak to fish”, and Nezumi had confirmed that no Child of the Sea could. He could, however, sense when they were comfortable or agitated.

The fish in Number Six enjoyed the summer rush far more than the staff at the West Block Aquarium did. Snubby, for example, seemed to enjoy preening in front of children who remarked on his crooked teeth and blunt nose with loud shouts to their parents and pointing fingers. These were Snubby’s point of pride, and he swam quickly around the tank to ensure everyone got a good look. If Snubby were a human or a Child of the Sea, Shion felt the two of them wouldn’t get along very well. Fortunately, for both of them, Snubby couldn’t talk.

Beneath the cool saltwater, the red marking wrapped around Shion’s body chilled. These were the only “scales” Shion had on his body, and something about being in the water gave them a more aquatic appearance. The otherwise smooth red marking bristled and slotted with patterns, and if Shion ran his bare finger over it, it would feel bumpy and slick. The vibrant color made him wonder if this would be the color his tale would be if he could grow one in water. Sometimes he disliked not being able to grow one the way Nezumi and other Children of the Sea could, but Nezumi had never made him feel bad for it. In fact, Nezumi claimed, based on the stories he’d been told, Shion was lucky. The tradeoff for most Children of the Sea was that while they could grow tails in water, their legs were weak on land. Some of the most graceful Children of the Sea turned into complete klutzes on the surface.

As a teenager, Shion had laughed himself sick at the prospect of beautiful, elegant Nezumi being reduced to a tripping mess on the land. He often wondered if that was why Nezumi would never come up on land. Nezumi was a proud creature, and Shion often wondered if his pride could survive face-planting on the sand.

But now Nezumi was on land.

Shion shook his head. Don’t think about it right now.

Shion bit down on the breathing apparatus stuffed in his mouth. Something deep inside him made him glance down to the foyer through the clear, teal water. Through the glass several floors down, Shion could see Emi and Nezumi standing in front of Rikiga. Shion watched his boss lazily drift his hand through the air, giving them both the same spiel he gave each intern at the beginning of their first shift. Emi continued to bounce on the balls of her feet, looking ready to explode into a thousand pieces. And Nezumi…

Nezumi looked up into the tank. His eyes met Shion’s, even several stories down, and he lifted his hand to wave at him.

Shion didn’t know what compelled him, but he lifted his gloved hand and waved back.

⁂

At fifteen past seven, when the aquarium had officially closed and the majority of the staff had clocked out and gone home, Shion stood outside the employee entrance, arms wrapped around himself in a desperate attempt to keep from falling apart.

Seven-thirty. Nezumi had promised to come back to the aquarium at seven-thirty and meet Shion at the employee entrance.

Shion eyed the cars zipping down the street on the opposite end of the empty parking lot. The West Block Aquarium emptied out pretty quick after the doors closed. None of the staff were eager to pull extra hours, and Rikiga didn’t offer overtime. Shion was an exception—the only one on Rikiga’s staff who was salary—and if Rikiga happened to spot his car still in the lot, it wouldn’t have raised any eyebrows.

He leaned back against the brick wall, the warm stones heating the fabric of his lab coat. He didn’t know why he bothered wearing it. Shion spent most of his time submerged in the tanks, but the lab coat made him feel normal. Human. He didn’t mind being a hybrid, not at all, but it was lonely not having someone like him to confide in.

Shion flexed his fingers. He still remembered the day he and Nezumi met. Shion had been walking down the beach—because what else was a gainfully unemployed sixteen-year-old to do on a sunny summer day in a bustling tourist town—and growing anxious amidst the screaming toddlers and indifferent mothers in their floppy sunhats, Shion had sought out a place where he could dive underwater and go missing for a bit.

Diving under the waves and vanishing, however, wouldn’t work with an audience. People stared at him because of his weird hair (even in a tourist town where teenagers dyeing their hair ridiculous colors was well within the norm), and if he went underwater and didn’t resurface, he’d have the Coast Guard called on him in no time.

Climbing the rocks clustered on the left side of the beach and walking another mile from the main beach, Shion sought out a strip of soft white beach where he could sprint in and vanish. The broken pier attached to the boardwalk (abandoned for months after a nasty embezzling scandal leaked to the press) rose into view, and Shion’s mood brightened.

He ducked beneath the pier, preparing to slip beneath the waves—and lo and behold, tangled in a net and cursing up a storm had been Nezumi.

A fisherman’s net had tangled around him as he skimmed the bottom of the water, and Nezumi had managed to break the net from the boat (rightfully confusing the fishermen in the process, who must have assumed they’d wrangled a shark), but the tight coils had knotted around his fins. Unwilling to be a sitting duck for a bigger predator (believe it or not, Children of the Sea were not the top of the food chain), Nezumi had desperately sought a strip of beach where he could safely work on pulling the net off his tail.

Immediately springing into action, Shion had deftly untangled the knots, whispering to Nezumi that he’d have him free in no time. His mind buzzed with excitement—someone like him was sitting right there—but it didn’t feel like an appropriate time to gush.

Nezumi, who’d growled at Shion when he first approached, went painfully still. His silver eyes, so beautiful and unlike anything Shion had ever seen before, watched each movement of his hands as he worked the net carefully off his fins. Shion fought his own urges to brush his fingers against the dark black and blue scales, jealous and enamored of something he should have had but didn’t, and after a few minutes of careful working, he tossed the vicious net aside and said, brightly, “There! You’re free.”

“Much obliged,” Nezumi muttered, and then, before Shion could blink, Nezumi’s hand wrapped around his wrist and yanked him into the water.

The shock of the cool ocean made Shion gasp; that had probably been Nezumi’s intention. With a few powerful flicks of his tail, Nezumi propelled them away from the shore, banking downward into the deeper ends of the shallows.

“You saved me, human,” Nezumi’s voice purred in his ear, sending goosebumps skittering down his bare arms. “So, I suppose it’s only fair to reward you.”

Drowning is a reward? Shion had thought. He’d opened his mouth to tell Nezumi that drowning wouldn’t work on him, that he wasn’t human—and Nezumi’s mouth closed over his own.

Shion’s eyes widened. Nezumi’s mouth was cool, but his soft lips sent waves of warmth through each nerve ending in Shion’s body. His eyes slid shut, the gentle shifts of the ocean waves rustling above his head. Tendrils of Nezumi’s long, dark hair brushed against his cheeks. Shion fought the urge to reach his hands out and brush his fingers through it, wondering at how soft it would feel.

An eternity later, Nezumi drew back, his arms still wrapped around Shion’s shoulders. Shion swallowed a mouthful of seawater and opened his eyes.

Nezumi’s silver eyes hovered a few inches in front of his own. He looked down at Shion—still alive, still staring at him in wonder—and a muscle in his jaw twitched. “You…” he said slowly. “You’re not drowning.”

“I am not.”

“You’re… like me?”

"Yeah. Well, half, anyway.”

“Oh,” Nezumi said, and that had been the beginning of it all.

From the moment Shion laid eyes on Nezumi, he’d known there was something different about him. Not just because he had a tail and looked like a god, but because he wasn’t like anyone else Shion had ever met in his life.

Nezumi had a vicious sense of humor. Nezumi was sarcastic and cold. He mocked Shion and poked fun at his wetsuit—black with bright red accents, because it made him feel at least somewhat attractive and it was comfortable—and he never understood how Shion could enjoy walking around on land when there was a whole ocean to explore.

But there was so much more to Nezumi than his sarcasm. He loved listening to stories. His laugh sounded like bells. He sang songs when he and Shion were alone, and he knocked Safu off her surfboard as a joke until she kicked him in the shoulder and tried to wrestle him underwater, both of them shrieking with laughter.

“Shion!”

He lifted his head, startled from his memories, and spotted Nezumi hurrying across the parking lot.

It was strange, seeing him with a pair of legs rather than a long black tail, but at least he’d changed out of the vibrant green tee-shirt Rikiga insisted his staff members wear to be more visible. Shion had never been more grateful than the day he’d been given permission to wear whatever he wanted as long as he wore a lab coat over it during work hours. As the son of Rikiga’s good friend (Crush, Safu insisted, and Shion gallantly ignored her), Shion received something akin to “special treatment” from Rikiga, though he never asked for it.

He was still wearing the cargo pants and black boots he’d been wearing earlier, but in place of the tee shirt was a black leather jacket that Shion had to admit looked stunning on him. It mixed well with his long, dark hair and piercing eyes; it was a wonder that he’d made it to the aquarium at all. How did he get through each day without a horde of people swarming around him?

Shion looked down at his cell phone. The screen flashed its white numbers, announcing seven-twenty-five. Shion’s heart skipped a bit, and he tried to compose himself as Nezumi trotted up beside him.

“You’re early,” he said softly.

“Didn’t want to risk being late,” Nezumi replied. “You don’t deserve that.”

Shion huffed through his nose. “Let’s go inside. We can talk there.”

“OK,” Nezumi mumbled.

Shion let them in the employee entrance. He shut the door behind them, then made a bee line for the elevator leading up to the observatory room near Number Six.

“Where are you going?” Nezumi called after him.

“Let’s go to Number Six,” Shion called back. “It’ll be easier to talk if we don’t worry about people walking in on us.”

“The aquarium’s closed, though.” Nezumi caught up to him rather quickly. He strode beside Shion, his long legs easily keeping pace with Shion’s brisk stride. “Who’d walk in?”

"Well, hopefully, no one. But you never know what employees have left things behind. So it’d be better not to be talking about… things where people could overhear.”

“Good point,” Nezumi murmured.

The elevator ride up to the observatory room was silent and awkward. Shion shifted from one foot to the other, and Nezumi lingered on the far end of the little room to give him space. Shion could feel those piercing silver eyes sliding toward him, then quickly darting away when Shion tried to look back. It sent prickles through his body, and he clenched his fists to focus on something else.

When the elevator dinged and signaled their arrival at the observatory, Nezumi stepped out of the room and half-jogged across the tile floor and toward the top of the tank. The lights had been dimmed, only a few bulbs bright and illuminating the dome. Nezumi quickly unzipped the black leather jacket and tossed it casually to the floor, revealing a long-sleeved yellow shirt beneath it.

“Nezumi?” Shion asked.

Nezumi didn’t answer. He shucked off his shirt, and beneath it he wore a black sleeveless shirt that Shion suspected was meant to keep him from being bare-chested in the water.

“Um,” Shion said, feeling his face heating up. “What exactly are you doing?”

"Proof,” Nezumi called over his shoulder. He swooped down to undo his black boots, kicking them off into the corner beside Number Six’s main pool.

“Proof of what?” Shion asked, but Nezumi didn’t answer. He unbuttoned his pants, and Shion quickly looked away. His face burned, and only when he heard the sound of water splashing did he turn back.

Nezumi popped back up, grabbing the side of the tank and folding his arms on top of it. He rested his chin on his wrists and looked up at Shion. His silver eyes (exactly as Shion remembered, even years later) glittered in the fluorescent lights. His hair was still in a ponytail, several strands falling down over where his ears would be.

“Just wanted to make sure you knew it was really me,” Nezumi said, and with a flick of his tail, he sent a few droplets of water raining down over Shion’s head.

His tail.

Shion’s heart stopped. When Shion met Nezumi, the first thing he’d noticed (after the eyes) had been his tail. Unlike the bright blues and greens of Disney and childhood picture books, Nezumi’s tale was dark black and flecked with deep blue. The fins were wider and longer at the base, almost lace-like and elegant. Beneath the surface of the water, Shion couldn’t seen what they looked like at the hips (he was still wearing the lime green West Block Aquarium staff tee shirt, which didn’t suit him at all), but from his memory, he knew that the scales melded into flesh around his navel.

Shion crouched beside the tank, his stomach tightening. “Why now?”

Nezumi’s tail sank back below the surface of the water. Shion could see it swaying idly back and forth, the way a human might churn their feet lazily to keep themselves afloat in calm seas.

Shion knew Nezumi’s tail would be cold if he touched it. So would his skin. Nezumi was always cold. Not his personality, but—all right, sometimes his personality, too, but mostly his skin and tail were cool whenever Shion touched them. Even years later, he could remember the way it felt to smooth his hand over Nezumi’s hip, counting the blue scales peppered throughout. Nezumi’s tail reminded him of obsidian, black at first glance, with flecks of gray and purple and blue when it moved and the light shifted across it.

Nezumi’s eyes lowered to the floor between them. A harsh silence fell around them, punctuated only by the buzzing of the lights overhead and the glug-glug of the industrial-sized water filter.

“I didn’t mean to disappear for so long,” Nezumi explained, and his voice held so much conviction that Shion didn’t doubt him.

“You said that.”

“When I went back, something… happened.”

Shion raised an eyebrow.

Nezumi’s fingers wove into his damp bangs, which were so long they fell over his left eye, and gave them a yank. Shion’s heart clenched; he recognized it as an old habit Nezumi had when they were teenagers, something he did when he was nervous or uncomfortable. His nails were still pale and long, neat despite the distinct lack of access to quality salon service beneath the ocean’s waves.

“A human found the town where I lived,” he said quietly. “Under the ocean. When I wasn’t visiting you at the beach.”

Shion felt something clamp around his heart.

He knew what it meant if humans discovered the existence of the Children of the Sea. Humans, as much as Shion might have liked to believe otherwise, couldn’t stand knowing that there were resources they hadn’t been able to exploit. And the existence of merpeople would be a scientific miracle—enough that some greedy bastard would utilize it to try and earn millions.

“What happened?” Shion whispered. He hadn’t recalled seeing any breaking news headlines about merpeople; he definitely would have seen something like that, unless the government came swooping in to silence it.

Nezumi’s tail twitched under the water, clearly agitated. “Instead of running to the news,” he said through his teeth, “this idiot decided to try and capture one of us and bring them to the shore as evidence. Needless to say, the rest of us didn’t take kindly to that.”

“I’d imagine not.”

“But what we didn’t count on,” Nezumi said, his voice lowering, “was the oil.” He rested his hand flat on the water’s surface, letting it bounce gently beneath the water and then lifting it back up. “He emptied a container of oil into the water—not sure where he got it—and lit a match. I didn’t know it was that flammable.”

Shion listened as Nezumi explained how the flames had burned the Children of the Sea, who were unaccustomed to the sensation due to their inexperience with burning things. The oil doused them and made them sink below, unable to swim and avoid the flames. The water didn’t seem to stop it, the sticky substance creating an odd shield that didn’t mix well with the water, keeping the two materials separate from each other.

His heart ached at the thought of all the Children of the Sea who had suffered—according to Nezumi’s whispered story, the whole town had gone down in flames. A decent chunk of them had managed to escape, Nezumi included, but the majority of them…

The majority of them had burned to death.

“I’m sorry,” Shion whispered as Nezumi lapsed into uncomfortable silence. “Oh, Nezumi, I’m so sorry.”

“I was so angry,” Nezumi replied. “When I woke up and realized what had happened, I was so angry I couldn’t think of anything else. I was hurt. I was scared. And I couldn’t think of anything except how much I hated humans.”

Shion frowned. Nezumi’s dislike for humans wasn’t new to him. And fortunately, Nezumi had never spat Shion’s half-human heritage in his face. If anything, he seemed as fascinated by Shion’s legs as Shion was about his tail. The only difference was that Nezumi could have had a pair of his own—he stubbornly chose not to—and Shion had never been able to pop a tail no matter how many (embarrassing) times he’d attempted.

“When I woke up, I didn’t know where I was,” Nezumi went on. “All I knew was that my back hurt and everyone else I knew was dead. For a while things were just… bad. I couldn’t move, and when I tried, it just made me realize that there was a chance I was going to die, too, and I hated it. After a while, I could move, and I just left.”

“Left?” Shion echoed.

“I couldn’t stand being there,” Nezumi said under his breath. “Everywhere I looked I could see all the people I knew, and then I remembered that because of one greedy fucking human, they were gone. We took him down with us—Sasori, I think, yanked him off the boat and drowned him—but it didn’t feel like enough. It didn’t matter that he was dead, too. It didn’t matter that, miraculously, I’d survived whatever the hell he did to us. It just didn’t matter.”

Shion swallowed the lump in his throat. His eyes stung.

“I wanted to come back,” Nezumi went on, his voice painfully soft. Shion had to strain to hear him. “I wanted to at least tell you why I was going. But every time I thought about going back to that place, something just made me leave. It’s not an excuse, and I know it’s not a good enough reason to make you think that I just abandoned you, but I couldn’t—couldn’t get past the anger. I hated everyone. I hated myself. I was so angry, and there was no coming back from it. And I didn’t…” He waved his hands, agitated, the words slipping away from him. He huffed and said, “I didn’t want to take it out on you. It’s so fucking stupid, but I didn’t want to shout at you and blame you, and I was so angry with humans that I knew I would. If I saw you then, I’d only see the human part of you and blame you for things you had nothing to do with. That’s not fair. I know it’s not. And I’m not asking you to forgive me. I wouldn’t forgive me, either.”

“Then why come back?” Shion whispered. He’d moved forward, almost like an instinct, and sat at the edge of the tank, a few inches from Nezumi’s face. “Why come back at all?”

“Because I missed you,” Nezumi whispered back, as strong and as sure as if he’d simply stated the color of the morning sky. “I missed you. When the anger cooled, you were all I could think about. I had no way of knowing if you were even still here, or if you’d even want to see me after I just left, but if there was a chance, I wanted to take it.”

Shion’s throat tightened. He swallowed around the lump that had lodged there and ordered himself not to cry. He was angry. He was supposed to be angry. And yet, beneath the anger was wave after wave of relief that Nezumi was alive.

“So… the aquarium?”

Nezumi shrugged. “It seemed like a good job for a Child of the Sea. I filled out the application and they called me back. I didn’t know you were working here. But once I got a job and… established myself here, I wanted to find you.”

“Established yourself?”

“I wanted a way to prove to you that I wanted to stay. If you told me to fuck off and never wanted to see me again, I would understand. But I wanted a way to prove to you that I intend to stay this time.”

Shion’s hands tightened around the lip of the tank. Emotions whirled inside him like a tsunami, and he felt as if he was caught in the middle of it, unable to surface. Stinging tears prickled at the backs of his eyes, and he forced back the urge to cry. Once he started, he knew he’d never stop. He scraped the back of his hand beneath his eyes, widening them just a bit to keep from crying.

He was still angry. Of course he was. But he couldn’t imagine how badly it hurt. He couldn’t imagine what he would have done if his mother’s bakery burnt down, with her and Safu and everyone else he knew trapped inside.

He took a deep breath, feeling it catching inside his chest around the ball of anger and sorrow and raw fucking hope that’d nestled within.

"Where are you staying?” Shion murmured.

Nezumi perked up, but kept his voice steady as he answered, “A motel down on Seventh Street. By the boardwalk. You remember.”

“I do.” Shion pressed his lips together. “It’s not too far from my house. What’s your schedule?”

"I’m off tomorrow, but I think I’m working open to close on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. The old man says hours will pick up some time, but he wasn’t specific.”

“Do you have a car?”

“Can’t drive,” Nezumi answered, much too quickly, and Shion couldn’t help the laugh that cracked out of his throat. “I can barely walk—don’t laugh at me. This is serious.”

“I’m not laughing at you,” Shion said, but his lips were tugging upward at the corners. He had to admit, despite everything that’d happened, it was pretty fucking funny. Nezumi—elegant, perfect, beautiful, wonderful Nezumi, whose every movement was the physical definition of grace—was clumsy on the land.

“Yes, you are,” Nezumi groused, but when Shion stole a glance up into his face, he was smiling, too.

God, his smile.

Even after all these years, he was still as beautiful as the day Shion met him.

“Well,” Shion said, and dammit, if his voice wobbled, Nezumi better not comment on it. “The boardwalk’s on my way to the aquarium, and if you’re working about the same schedule as me, I wouldn’t mind picking you up and bringing you home.”

Nezumi’s eyes widened.

“I’m not ready to forgive you just yet,” Shion explained. “You really hurt me. I understand why you left, but I wish you had just… I don’t know, said something to me so I didn’t think you were dead. I know that might be petty of me, given what happened, and I’m sorry for that.”

“It’s not petty,” Nezumi assured. “I was an asshole.”

“Yeah, but you almost died.” Shion exhaled through his nose. “And I missed you, too.”

Nezumi laughed; it crackled a bit at the edges, and Shion couldn’t help it. He leaned forward, his arms reaching out—and miraculously, Nezumi reached back. Shion slid his arms around Nezumi’s shoulders and rested his forehead against the crook of Nezumi’s neck. He smelled like sea salt and an odd floral scent Shion had never been able to identify but could always remember. Despite being half fish, Nezumi never smelled like anything Shion would have expected.

Nezumi’s arms tightened around his shoulders and squeezed back. “I really did miss you,” he murmured against the top of Shion’s head.

“I missed you, too,” Shion said, and it was true. As angry and hurt as he was with Nezumi’s sudden disappearance, nothing about that had changed. “I’m not ready to go back to the way things were, and I can’t promise that I will be…”

“That’s fine,” Nezumi assured, burying his face in Shion’s hair. “I’m just glad to be here, in whatever way you’ll have me.”

This was more emotion and honesty than Shion had ever gotten out of Nezumi about his feelings, and it felt as if a sudden, burning heat had cracked through the darkness in his heart. His memories of his summers spent as a teenager came flooding back to him, and all at once, he was back on the beach, stretched out on a scratchy beach blanket with Nezumi’s arms wrapped around him. His tail rested over Shion’s legs, comfortingly cool in the midsummer heat, and heavy in a way that reminded Shion of a weighted blanket.

Nothing about it was perfect. Shion knew this. The frustration and pain wouldn’t disappear overnight, and just because Nezumi apologized didn’t mean he was free and clear of blame. But for a few moments, wrapped in his arms, Shion understood that at least he was back and they could work through it together.

He sighed, pressed himself against Nezumi’s cool, solid body, and reveled in the realization that yes, he was back. He was back, and he wanted to be here. The shush-shush of the water in Number Six fell around them, creating a comfortable mimicry of the waves that’d collapsed over Shion’s head the day Nezumi hauled him into the ocean and tried to drown him. Shion closed his eyes, tightened his grip on Nezumi’s shoulders, and for the first time in years, could finally breathe.

#no6 #no 6 #no.6 #no. 6 #no6secretsanta #aoicanvas #glorifiedscapegoat #fanfiction #submission

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stories-sometimes · 5 years ago

Text

I’ve Made A Huge Mistake {1/?}

Peter Parker x Reader, Quentin Beck x Reader

Summary: Peter just wanted to enjoy his trip to Europe, maybe even confess his feelings to his best friend. But along came a mysterious new hero to ruin all of those plans. Peter and his class are aged up and in college.

Warnings: Violence in later chapters, manipulation, age gap

Word Count: 2087

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

~~~

The blip had been stressful, college had been stressful, overall it was pretty safe to say Peter’s life was ridiculously stressful at the moment. He was hoping this trip to Europe would help him blow off some steam. And who knows, maybe it will be the perfect time to tell his best friend that he was madly in love with her. So there he was, standing in an airport with Ned, waiting for her to show up. Finally she did, looking effortlessly perfect. She’d always been pretty, and he’d probably always been in love with her, but now she was on a whole other level. And somewhere along the transition between schools she found an affinity for short skirts, which Peter (along with the majority of the male (and some female) population on campus) firmly believed was purely to torture him.

“Hey, you look great,” Peter said, feeling a strong sense of pride as he watched her face turn a couple shades of red darker. “You excited?”

“Yeah, I really need this break.” She responded.

“Same, wanna just be a normal person for once.”

“So no Spiderman?” Peter shook his head. “What are your guy’s plan then?”

“Single bachelors in Europe.” Ned answered, Peter watched her carefully, trying to figure out if her face did drop a little or if it was just his imagination.

“Well that’s his plan.” Peter mumbled.

“What’s your plan then?”

“I don’t know, just gonna see what happens.”

“Alright, I should probably go check in on MJ.” She said as she walked away. Peter watched her, admiring the way her legs looked in that skirt.

“Single bachelors in Europe.” Ned tried to remind him.

“Yeah, that’s your plan.” Peter answered absentmindedly. The plane journey was reasonably uneventful, minus her falling asleep on Peter’s shoulder and him trying to make sure his brain didn’t short circuit. And somehow Ned managed to start dating Betty, neither her nor Peter could figure that one out.

They finally reached Venice, and even though their hotel was a little shoddy, the city itself was more beautiful than any of them could have imagined. The three friends all split up, Ned went off with Betty, she went off with MJ and Peter was walking around the city on his own, aimlessly wandering around the old streets. One small jewellery store ended up catching his eye. It was down a small alley, a good walk away from the Grand Canal. There was a delicate silver necklace with a detailed, glass daisy charm.

It reminded him of when they were kids. How she thought they were the prettiest flowers and how he would search round parks and the occasional crack in a sidewalk for them. He’d bring them to May, who would help him tie a bow around them. Then the next day he’d give them to her at school, feeling the greatest satisfaction a kid could possibly experience when he saw her face light up. It would be the perfect gift to go along a lifelong love confession.

Peter entered the store. Lucky for him the necklace was within his budget. He carefully placed the package in his pocket, planning out how to tell her how he felt in his head. He strolled out of the store, an extra little pep in his step.

“Boh.” Mj said, popping up behind Peter, closely followed by her.

“What?”

“Boh. It’s the perfect word in the world. Italians created it, and I just discovered it.” MJ explained.

“She’s very proud of that.” She said, smiling at MJ’s unusual excitement.

“What does it mean?”

“That’s the thing, it can mean a million things. It can mean ‘I don’t know’, ‘get out of my face’, ‘I don’t know and get out of my face’. It’s the best thing Italy ever created, except for maybe espresso.”

“Oh, so you’ve been drinking espresso.”

“How did you possibly guess that.” She jokes making Peter laugh. MJ sticks her finger up in response to her two friends. A man came up to the three of them before MJ shooed him off with a simple boh.

“Boh is my new superpower. It’s like the anti aloha. I was born to say this word. So, what’s in the bag?”

“Um, boh.” Peter responded.

“Nice.” MJ smiled before walking away after she spotted Brad, leaving Peter and her alone.

“You think they’ll get together?” She asked Peter, watching MJ and Brad interact.

“No!” Peter said surprisingly abruptly, “why, did she say something to you?”

“She likes him, thinks he’s really nice. But she’s not ready for a relationship at the moment, the world’s too messy for that right now.”

“Tell me about it.”

“What do you think?”

“I don’t want them getting together. Don’t think they’re right for each other.” Peter said.

“Oh.” She said, feeling her heart drop a little. Why did he care so much about MJ’s love life?

“So you two have a nice time?” Peter smiled.

“Yeah, the city’s insanely pretty and I also got to find out how much pigeons like MJ.” She replied, trying to lighten the mood and ignore the jealousy bubbling in her chest.

“Wait … what?”

“Yeah, I’ve got pictures.”

“You have got to show me.” There was multiple photos of an awkward-looking MJ covered in a stupid amount of pigeons. In front of them a hoard of crabs scurried out of the water.

“Whoa,” she said, moving her phone away to watch the animals. “What the hell?” All the water around them began to flow towards the middle of the river. Seconds later the water exploded above the river. People quickly began to panic, running away from the water. Ned and Betty slammed into her and Peter, scrabbling out of their gondola. The water soon formed a giant-like monster.

“What is that?” Ned asked, panicked as he scrambled out of the boat.

“I don’t know, I don’t know.” Peter shouted back, “You just need to get them out of here.” He gestured to Betty and MJ. Ned nodded, guiding the two girls far away from Peter.

“Do you have your suit?” She asked him. He shook his head. “Why not?”

“I’m on vacation.” She glared at him. “You need to get out of here, don’t worry about me just get to safety.” He said, holding onto her shoulders protectively. She nodded.

“Take this.” She said, pulling out a masquerade mask from her bag before kissing his cheek and running off. He blushed before regaining his composure and placing the mask on his face. The monster smashed through the surrounding buildings sending rubble raining down on the fleeing civilians. Streets flooded with water as parts of the monster flew out to attack. Peter put on his web shooters and shot out at the monster. The web went straight through it. You fucking idiot, he thought to himself. He spotted a bridge, vaulting over poles sticking up in the river to get to the higher ground. Before he could prepare himself for a fight he was hit by a blast of water. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a masked figure fly down, shooting green beams at the water. The figure was dressed in green and golden armour with a fishbowl-like mask. Peter watched the mysterious guy fight the monster, the water thrashed out, hurling the man into the water. Peter panicked, climbing up the side of a building to get a better view of the situation. The man somehow remained reasonably unharmed and flew back up to carry on the fight.

“Hey!” Peter shouted, getting the attention of the man, “Let me help, I’m really strong and I’m … sticky.”

“I need to draw it away from the canal.” The man shouted, flying towards the city centre, luring the monster away from its source of power. As the man flew away Peter swung up to a bell tower that was about to fall - potentially about to crush a number of civilians, including a cluster of his classmates. He shot his webs to more stable buildings, using all his strength to prevent its collapse, ignoring the pain as the bell slammed into his head. He manages to pull the tower back into place, shooting a series of webs to keep the tower up. He stood up to watch the man formed green mist around the monster, repeatedly hitting the monster with it. The monster weakened, losing water and power. The man flew up to closer to the tower Peter was on. Green triangles sent beams out at the monster until it was about to be defeated. Right before the monster fell Peter spotted her standing on a bridge behind the monster.

“My friend’s on that bridge.” Peter shouted, the man looked from Peter to her, frozen in fear, cemented to her spot on the bridge. The man sent one final blast out at the monster and as it fell towards the bridge, the man flew out towards it. The remaining water crushed the bridge below it, leaving her screaming as she began to fall down into the water. Peter felt the world crumbling down around him, he’d lost too many people, he couldn’t risk adding her to the list. He began to swing out towards her, but before he could reach her he saw the man dive into the water, soon emerging with her in his arms. Peter relaxed instantly, dropping down a safe distance away from his friends. He watched as the man held tightly onto her as he placed her down on the ground. The college students all cheered for the man as he saved their friend.

“You alright?” The man asked her, continuing to hold her as she coughed up the water. He had one hand on her waist and the other placed high up on her leg, dangerously close to the end of her skirt.

“Yeah, I can’t thank you enough. I thought that was going to be the end.” She said, smiling admiringly up at him. Her hands also remained holding onto him as though if she let go she’d be back in the water.

“I couldn’t let you die on my watch.” He said, his hand leaving her waist to push the wet hair out of her face. She blushed, looking down at his other hand. Only then did he seem to realise how high up her leg his hand was. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“No, it’s fine, I don’t mind.” She replied, the same grateful tone in her voice. She pulled down her skirt slightly as he helped her up.

“Here, take this, it’ll warm you up a little.” He said, removing his cape and wrapping it around her shaking shoulders.

“You sure you don’t need it?”

“I’ve got a spare one, you need it more than I do.” He pulled the cape tighter around her, he placed a hand on her cheek which she instantly leaned into, “stay safe.” He said before finally flying away, waving to the cheering crowds around him. Peter had watched the two’s interaction from afar, a strong feeling of guilt consuming him that he wasn’t there to help him. He had vowed the day she found out he was Spiderman that he would always be there to protect her, save her from any harm that may come her way. And if it wasn’t for this mysterious saviour, she could have easily been dead. Peter tried to push these feelings aside. His classmates now all surrounded her, checking she was alright, asking about the man, failing to hide their envy of the small interaction. Peter walked slowly back to the group, checking that the necklace was still intact. Thank God it was.

“Peter!” She shouted, running over to him and wrapping her arms and the cape around him. “Thank God you’re alright, I was so worried. How are you?” She buried her head in his neck.

“Hey, hey, this isn’t about me. You almost drowned, I should be asking you that. I promised to protect you and I didn’t. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t you dare apologise.” She said, lightly smacking him on the chest. “You had other things to deal with.”

“I just can’t lose you as well.” Peter hung his head.

“You’re not going to, I promise.” She smiled at him, he looked up at her through his lashes. Her heart swelled and she almost hated him for how adorable he looked right now. “Who was that guy?”

“I have no fucking clue.”

#peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker imagine #peter parker x you #peter parker x original character #quentin beck #quentin beck x you #quentin beck x reader #quentin beck imagine #marvel #marvel fic #spiderman #mysterio x reader #mysterio imagine #mysterio #spiderman far from home

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5-falsehoods-phonated · 4 years ago

Text

Overgrown Metal

Series Summary - Almost two decades ago, the fae rose up from beyond the veil with technology far surpassing the human race, quickly taking over after laying waste to nearly everything in their wake. Now eight paths cross to right the wrongs on both ends, working to uncover secrets that would have rather stayed hidden

Chapter 1 - A Distant Roar

"Long ago, humans existed as a thriving race, full of hope and promise. Their faith was strong, the resulting bond stronger and technology was accelerating towards a prosperous future.

It was a time when the tales of fae were still passed down as children's stories, and warnings were scoffed off as superstitions. Humans as a race believed the shadows of the night hid nothing and when dawn painted the sky whatever evil that may have lurked in the darkness was wiped away as cleanly as the shores by the waves of the ocean.

With that mindset adopted, when the calamity fell we thought only that the autonomous monstrosities were an advanced technology from an enemy country, meant to start another world war to wipe out whatever they could. When reports poured in from around the world, tin hats began screaming of aliens, and the churches filled with the cries of righteous damnation. No matter which reason you picked, it was almost a guarantee you would be wiped off the map given enough time. The creatures were gleaming gold and silver, blinding those who dared look too closely, deafening those who listened too carefully. Heavy as they seemed in their armor of metal they stayed light on their feet, crawling their way up from the earth, bounding through cities from the deep forest growth and swooping down from the unassuming sky.

It was over in mere days, cities laid to waste by the metallic creatures of an unknown origin, plains made unsafe from their territorial prowl; even the sky offered no escape as planes were clawed from the sky and set reeling into the maws of the swiftly growing forests. Trees unnaturally twisted to form barriers of wooden steel, the ruined cities overtaken by growth that should have grown in centuries rather than weeks, wide expanses of fields left unwalkable by twisting vines meant to trap and muffle. And over all of that the protective beasts walked their territories urged on my a master unnamed; following the bidding of a race none knew existed until the foolish humans decided it was safe to venture out again.

The fae, fairies, demons, creatures of another realm; this race went by many names bug the fact remained they were here to take back what was theirs. Too long, their leader said, have we cowered in the cover of your industrial hell. No more shall we hide in fear of your smoke smeared air that kills the very people who make it. We have been here long before your kind, and so shall we remain long after. Group your people however you like. Send any weapon of your choice to try and turn the tides to your favor. We will reign over the ashes you crumble to.

What this race of unnatural being didn't count on was a Hero of Ages to rise in a cliche of a fairytale epic. He stood tall over the bones they crushed his brethren too, sword dripping with vengeance and arms splattered with the fruits of his bloodlust. The day had come, for he, Remus, Harkened Duke of the Unseelie War, had clawed his ways from the depths of hell to face-"

"Babes. I love you...so very much. But you've been monologuing for twenty minutes now and I'd hate to waste my coffee by dumping it on your head."

Shoulders dropping in a pout, Remus turned towards his husband, leaning against the counter as he watched Remy reach for his still-hot-somehow coffee while nudging a can over into a growing pile, the plastic recyclables already having been sorted and bagged some time ago. His dark hair hung low over his tired eyes but Remus could still see the spark of amusement in them even as an annoyed huff left his lips. Smiling, he walked over to sit beside Remy, stretching out his legs and sweeping an entire pile of cans to the bigger pile scattering the displaced aluminum across the floor in the process. Ignoring another annoyed sigh he simply leaned his head on the others shoulder and smiled sadly.

"You never wish for something more than this?" He gestured vaguely around their small apartment they were quite lucky to have as Remy say back on his heels carefully so as not to knock his head of his shoulder.

"We're safe here." Punctuating safe with a flick to the back of the other mans head he continued. "Something more...that would mean going outside. And theres no Original Remus' Specialty coffee brew outside now is there?"

"It wouldn't take much to take the French press with us."

"It's starting to worry me how much you're bringing this up lately. I'm pretty useless," he waved his left hand around as emphasis, metal plating refracting the rooms dip lighting. "And you...are very loud. So very loud babes. We'd last a day, maybe two."

"If we had more people-"

"Which we don't. Unless we get a hunter or two stumbling in here wanting to drag a couple of inexperienced fighters along with them I don't see it happening." Putting the empty coffee mug in the sink, he turned back around to find Remus standing just behind him.

"I could fight for us."

"Very brave, but imaginary blades does not a dead beast make."

Remus swiped at the finger attempting to boop his nose, smirking lightly. "I have real blades!"

"Surgical scalpels don't count hun." Remy ducked under the strong arms attempting to pull him closer and bounded back over to his carefully sorted piles. "Now, either help me these or-"

A faint roar cut his words off suddenly, leaving him trembling from more than just the vibrations running through the floor. Remus was quick to be by his side, pulling him down and looping a protective arm around his shoulders. Squeezing his eyes shut behind the dark shades he wore even though he hadn't seen unfiltered sunlight in months he ducked his head down and moved closer into the protective embrace, tensing as another tremor reverberated through his bones. Minutes passed like hours as the couple stayed tense and alert on the floor, the beast eventually quieting, seeming to move off much to their intense relief. Dragging in a deep breath, Remy sagged against Remus, subconsciously rubbing at his left wrist and sinking further into the comfortable lap.

Gasping as he was lifted quickly, a deep blush colored his cheeks as he found himself being scooped up bridal style and twirled around before being carried through the short hall to the bedroom.

"My responsibility!" He cried out in mock desperation as he reached towards his sorted plastics and aluminum, ready to be traded later that week.

"Your plastic castles can wait until morning. It's late and we need sleep." So saying, Remus dumped his load unceremoniously onto the creaky bed and swiftly hopped in after, rolling to trap the barely struggling man under his body with a laugh.

Remy pushed at his shoulder playfully. "Who died and made you the responsible one?"

The mood sobered slightly, a look of pain flashing in the others eyes before quickly being replaced by mirth once more. Before he could offer an apology it was being swallowed effortlessly with a kiss that left him without a breath to spare one.

"Either sleep or I'm experimenting with bean strength again and make you taste test espressos until you faze into next week."

Laughing lightly, he bucked his hips just hard enough to push the other to the side so he could curl into Remus' arms for the night. "I'd rather not repeat that experiment again. I stay for your coffee, not for my stomach issues."

The mechanical beast roared in anger as its tail lashed out to the side, hoping to catch the annoying pest that had lured it out into the field. As beats went it was fairly small, resembling a feline with its lithe frame and small sharp teeth, only coming up to about 10 feet at its shoulder. Crouching down and twisting its head around it caught fleeting movement from the corner of its eye and whipped around to face it, only for the past to dart out of its sight again somewhere below it field of vision. Roaring in frustration it leaped straight into the air, turning and flexing its impressive claws hoping to smash down on whatever it was that eluded its attacks. Landing heavily, the beast took a second to recover from the rocky landing, flexing its spring loaded joints as it started to straighten.

Remus smiled and threw his leg over his husband's hip to pull him even closer, pulling off his shades before resting his chin on the soft brown locks in contentment, swirling thoughts winding down to a rare dull roar as their breaths matched and evened out for the night.

-----

A second was all the past needed to run up the length of its tail, impressive gait taking them to the beasts neck in no time at all to bring their weapon down and through the mechanical monstrosities neck, severing vital components and falling it before it got half of it last roar to rise from its throat.

The pest leaped from the beast as it fell to the side, stilling in the grassy plain with nary a twitch to make a passerby believe it was ever alive in the first place. Straightening from where they had landed, the pest sheathed the spear properly on their back and walked calmly over to the enemy, taking out a faded gray notebook as they did so.

Pushing a thick pair of glasses back up his nose, Logan looked over the creature with a passive interest before sighing and putting the notebook back in his pack. There was no use taking down data of a creature identical to one he had already slain a month prior. He knew he needed to start traveling more if he wanted more diverse data but he was loathe to leave his impromptu lab that lay hidden within woods no one dared enter. Looking around and seeing nothing more in the immediate vicinity he sighed again before adjusting the pack on his back and turning to walk back home.

There was always tomorrow.

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#false writes #sanders sides #sanders sides fic #overgrown metal #my writing

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evalinkatrineberg · 4 years ago

Text

Good

A/N: Product of a C4 RP with @arin-schreave . Unedited because its 15k, its 3:30am, I’m just trying to catch up, and of course We Die Like Men. Mentions include @ladyreggiewright @clemencewestley @idaliamoretti @melanie-schreave @ladyjenli and @safiya-schreave . May have forgotten some, sorry! Also I can't think about windmills without thinking about Pilot Peter BUT ANYWAY WITHOUT FURTHER ADO,,,FIC!

I yawned, staring at the blank piece of paper in front of me. My plan had been to respond to the letters my family had written to me - my mother’s, in particular - but after fifteen minutes of sitting at my desk, I hadn’t even written a, “Dear mother,” or anything of that sort. With a sigh, I rubbed at my eyes, earning a frown from Julia, who stood behind me, brushing my hair.

“How much sleep did you get last night?” She set down the brush, narrowing her eyes at me as she picked up a handful of bobby pins, sticking some on the hem of her dress sleeve.

I frowned in response, deciding whether or not to tell her the truth. I truly had tried to go to bed at a decent hour, settling back into my room at ten o’clock, but I had laid there for at least an hour, not being able to fall asleep. At that point, I had decided to read, hoping that would tire me out. That had ultimately backfired, because when I checked the clock again, it had been two in the morning. I’d tried to sleep once again at that point, but had maybe gotten an hour or two before I woke up again, at which point I just gave up and went for my morning run earlier than usual.

“Don’t even bother answering,” Julia said with a disappointed sigh. “It’s written all over your face.”

“That bad, huh?” I looked down at my hands where they sat in my lap, running my fingers over each other.

From the corner of the room, Grace fixed me with a soft smile, her eyes warm as she folded some hand towels. “Do you want to skip dinner, and take a nap instead? We can have something to eat brought here later.”

I pressed my lips together. The option was tempting, but ultimately, I shook my head, looking at Grace through the mirror atop my vanity. “I’m not much of a napper, and besides, I’d never hear the end of it from Reggie if I was absent from yet another meal.”

Grace opened her mouth like she was about to say something more, but a sharp knock at the door cut her off. Odd. I hadn’t been expecting any visitors. I furrowed my brows, making eye contact with Julia through the mirror, but she just shook her head, finishing the low bun she had been styling my hair in before taking a few steps back.

Without my shoes on yet, it only took me a matter of seconds to cross the floor to the door. I opened it a crack, peeking through to see who it was. The moment I made out Arin’s face, I blinked twice, my spine straightening. I smoothly opened the door just wide enough for me to stand directly between him and my room, knowing that Christina had probably already dropped whatever she had been doing to try and figure out who had knocked. I loved her dearly, but her penchant for gossip could get on my nerves, sometimes, and I definitely did not need rumors of Arin being in my room spreading around.

“Oh,” I began, crossing my arms as I leaned against the door frame, painfully aware of my half-complete appearance at the moment. I was dressed for dinner, my hair done, but my makeup wasn’t finished. At least I wasn’t still in my glasses. “Good evening! To what do I owe this pleasure?”

The smile he offered me in return was tense, as if he was just as confused by this interaction as I was. Why would he be though? He had been the one to come here, after all. It wasn’t as if I’d invited him.

Maybe it was revenge for me showing up to his office unannounced, the last time we had spoken.

“Hey, Evalin” he started, his slightly forced smile still in place. “Are you busy?”

“Don’t miss dinner,” I head Grace mumble from within the room, her tone teasing. “Lady Reggie will never let you hear the end of it.”

I quickly turned to look at her over my shoulder, hoping Arin hadn’t heard what she’d said. If he was here, it had to be important. Was that why he seemed so uncomfortable - had something bad happened? It had been a few nights since that awkward conversation I had had with my father. Anything could have happened in these past few days.

My heart was racing as I turned back to him, not even bothering to cover up the concern I was sure was evident on my face. “No, not at the moment! What’s going on?”

He glanced down at his watch. “I was wondering if you'd want to do something with me.”

I reached up to fiddle with the small, bird-shaped charm on my necklace, needing something to do with my hands. The memory of being in his office was still fresh in my mind. It shouldn’t have been as big of a deal as I was making it out to be, but I was still confused over what exactly he felt for me - if he felt anything at all. If he was asking me to go somewhere with him, he likely didn’t dislike me, but that still didn’t quite make up for the other instances in which he had acted like he wished I didn’t exist.

I pursed my lips, considering his offer further. Maybe, doing whatever he wanted to do would offer me some clarity. I met his gaze, flashing him a half smile as I finally gave him an answer. “Sure!”

“Okay,” he replied, nodding. “Do you want to get changed and I’ll meet you at the car?”

“Sure,” I repeated, starting to turn around, but then stopping in my tracks to look over my shoulder at him. “Is there a dress code I should know about?” I wouldn’t press him for details he wasn’t going to give readily, but I didn’t want to show up wherever we were going looking outlandishly out of place.

“Nothing too fancy,” he answered, taking a step backwards. His words lacked conviction, though. Another date planned by someone else for you, then. Why I even expected anything else at this point was becoming a mystery to me.

My mother’s voice rang through my mind, reminding me to mind my manners. He was trying to be better, after all - he had told me as much. I should give him the benefit of the doubt. It was only fair.

So I nodded once, glancing back inside my room at my maids, who were now buzzing about my room, throwing together what I could only guess was a new outfit. I was doing this, then.

I turned back to Arin, offering him a small smile as I began to close the door. “Okay, I’ll meet you outside in a few minutes, then.”

Once I shut the door all the way, I leaned back against it, eyes closed as I exhaled heavily. When I reopened them, I saw Julia inclining her head as she looked at me, her eyes narrowed slightly as she laid a dark blue dress out on top of my bed. “Are you not excited?”

“No, I am,” I answered, pushing myself off of the door and making my way towards where she stood, Grace and Christina already getting started on unzipping the dress I was in now and applying makeup as soon as I came to a stop. “I just wasn’t expecting this, is all.”

“Not a fan of surprises?” Grace mused, placing my original dress on a hanger.

“No,” I admitted, shaking my head and stepping into the dress Julia had chosen. But that isn’t why I’m like this right now.

As soon as she had zipped up the dress, Julia made quick work of my hair, undoing the bun she had worked so painstakingly on earlier to make perfect, brushing my curls over my left shoulder. She left my jewelry in tact, the silver bird necklace still clasped around my neck as she handed me a pair of heels, leaving me to do my best to put them on without moving my face as Christina applied some eye shadow with her index finger.

“Is there anything we can do to help?” Julia’s voice was uncharacteristically soft as she placed some of my flyaway hairs back in place. I must’ve seemed like a nervous wreck. The thing was, I wasn’t nervous - more just apprehensive. My last date with Arin had gone so poorly, and I didn’t need to repeat that. Not unless he was intent on sending me home.

I just shook my head, forcing a smile on my face. “Not unless you happen to have a shot of espresso on hand,” I joked with a weak laugh.

“We could send for one,” Grace offered, her tone dead serious.

I shook my head, laughing a little and waving my hand through the air. “I don’t think we have enough time for that.”

“Of course,” Julia agreed, huffing a sigh and placing her hands on her hips, looking me up and down one last time before shooing me towards the door. “You don’t want to be late.”

I nodded as she practically shoved me into the hallway, closing my bedroom door behind me. Taking the first step down the hall, after that, my body went on autopilot, my legs leading me down the hall and the stairs while my thoughts led me in a whole different direction. My last conversation with Idalia came to mind, her advice plastered to the walls of mind like graffiti. Should I even bother asking Arin where we stood? He probably wouldn’t answer, anyway.

Stop. For once, he was doing something nice, for me. Or, at least I thought he was. I shouldn’t let my own worries about outside subjects ruin that for either of us. I should take a number out of Jen’s book, and do my best to fake it, to have a good time, enjoy myself, even if this wasn’t meant to last.

I deserved a little happiness.

The evening air was cool against the bare skin of my arms as I stepped outside, a small grin on my face. Arin’s car was already waiting, the engine turning over as soon as he caught sight of me from the driver’s seat. Where was he taking me? Out to dinner, maybe - the timing made sense for that. Yet, that lacked the usual thought and effort put into every other detail of the Selection.

So, something else, then. I wracked my brain, trying to think of a common interest that had come up in any of our conversations. We both had an interest in history - so were we going to a museum? That would make more sense than the other interest that had come to mind, which was razor clams. We were both far too dressed up for the beach.

I smiled at him as I opened the passenger side door, pulling it closed behind me after I had slid inside. Buckling my seatbelt, I laughed, remember how dreadful my last experience in this car had been. “I promise to try and not get a nosebleed this time, so long as you don’t fall down again,” I joked, hoping it might break the tension between us somewhat. When had things become so awkward between us? When I took Hugo’s advice, and asked him about the ballet? When we had kissed in the library? When he had mentioned Felicity?

Maybe it had always just been this awkward.

He smiled, but said nothing in reply, looking ahead as he began to pull out of the driveway. That was fine, I supposed. It was important that he not crash the car. I didn’t particularly want to die tonight.

At least, not yet. We’d have to see how this date went, first.

I peered behind me for a moment, expecting to see the guard from our roller skating date in the seat behind me. I’d heard rumors that his name was Kevin. However, Kevin - if that was truly his name - was nowhere to be found, replaced by a different guard that I didn’t recognize. Mildly disappointed, for no real reason at all, I turned back to the windshield, staring at the sky as the car slowly made its way down the driveway. It was a beautiful evening, a few picturesque clouds littering the sky, but not enough to stop the sun from coating the landscape in a warm yellow light.

Still smiling, I peered at Arin out of the corner of my eye. He didn’t appear to be in a bad mood, but I still didn’t want to take any risks that might ruin this. One more slip up, and I was done for, for sure.

Why did I even want to be here, if every step I took stressed me out?

I didn’t care to linger on the question.

“Dare I ask where we’re going this time?” I asked him instead, hoping he’d at least give me a hint. The suspense and anticipation were starting to get to me.

“We're going somewhere you'll like, I think,” was all he said in answer, his eyes still glued to the road that was leading us down to the gates.

Well, that’s less of a non-answer than usual. I opened my mouth a little, wanting to ask him for more details, but I stopped myself before any words left my mouth. He was doing something nice for me, taking me somewhere he’d thought I’d like, and I didn’t want this to be yet another bittersweet memory. We’d made enough of those recently to laugh me a lifetime. Why was talking to him like walking barefoot and trying to avoid stepping on shards of glass? Between all of our previous interactions, and the way he’d just shut down if I said one wrong thing, even if I didn’t know what I’d said to upset him, I just didn’t know what to expect from him anymore. If I kept my mouth shut, though, I couldn’t say anything wrong.

So I did just that, glancing between the windshield and the passenger side window at the scenery we passed, the buildings, the sky, and occasionally the ocean. The novelty of it all hadn’t worn off on me yet, though I was sure it had on some of the other girls. Clemence and Idalia left the palace almost daily. This was only the second time I had, though. The city itself was entirely new to me, a landscape yet unexplored, memories waiting to be made.

Some people came every day, though. Maybe I could too. Maybe I should take Leana’s advice, and see if he could help me in my predicament. Maybe I could enroll in the biochemistry lab course I needed at Angeles University.

Just as I finally had worked up the courage to ask, though, the car began to slow to a stop. I blinked, quickly drinking in as much of our surroundings as I could. We were pulling into a parking spot that had clearly been blocked off for us. Around us were throngs of well-dressed people, chatting and laughing as they made there way towards the performance hall we had parked near.

A performance hall, for something he thought I would like. Surely he hadn’t. My eyes went wide as the puzzle pieces began to latch together, painting a picture I hadn’t even thought to consider.

“We’re here,” he announced, shutting off the car and looking over at me.

I turned back to him, my grin so wide it almost ached. “I thought you said…” I trailed off, shaking my head as I unbuckled my seatbelt. All that fuss before the proposal submission about him not liking the ballet, about it not being his thing, about how I should ask Safiya to take me, and here we were. I didn’t wait for him to open the door for me, still to in shock to think straight as I stepped out of the car.

I stood there for a moment, just drinking it all in - the lights, the people, the excitement in the air - only vaguely registering the sound of Arin’s car door closing behind me. The last ballet I had been to had felt like the grandest event in the world, but compared to this, it seemed almost insignificant. I had just turned nine, and had insisted to my parents that I didn’t want a birthday party. The only people who would’ve come anyway were my family and June, and at that point, why bother spending the money on a party? So instead, my mother had told me that my grandfather - her father - had said that he wanted to treat me and Lydia to a special weekend, in honor of my birthday. He had picked us up early from school, driving Lydia and I the four hours to the house my mother had grown up in, where my grandmother had had nice dresses waiting for the two of us. As soon as we had changed, we got back into the car, driving another hour east until we hit Raleigh, where my grandfather revealed that he and my parents had pooled their money for three tickets to the Carolina Ballet’s production of Giselle.

It was one of my favorite memories, even to this day. I hadn’t known that people were capable of combining that level of athleticism with artistic expression before that moment. According to my grandfather, I had been leaning so far forward in my seat the entire time, so enraptured by the story playing out before my eyes, that I had almost fallen out of my chair. I had been so upset by him saying that, that I had argued with him nearly the entire hour back to his house. In hindsight, I wished I hadn’t. It was one of the last times I had ever seen him.

I blinked again, realizing that Arin now stood by my side, his hand extended towards me. Interlocking my fingers with his, I looked up at him, feeling my smile soften into something more earnest than excited. “Thank you,” I said, pouring every ounce of sincerity I had within me into the words. “Really, this means so much to me.”

“It’s not a big deal,” he replied, shrugging. With that, he squeezed my hand, his grip neither vice-like nor bone crushing, but rather almost surprisingly gentle. His hand was warmer than I had expected too.

I smiled as he led us away from the car, towards the entrance of the performance hall. I simply could not get enough of it, all other thoughts completely erased from my mind. Worries, fears, cares - what were they again? Did they even exist? All I knew was my wide eyes, my grin that stretched from ear to ear, how excited I was to see the ballet, and how nice it felt to hold Arin’s hand.

Right, he was here too, even though this wasn’t his thing, according to him. He had elected to suck that up for me, though. Why? Had he been put up to it by somebody else, or, better yet, did he actually care enough about whatever we had between us to make an effort?

Something like that went both ways, right? By that logic, I should make an effort to make this experience as enjoyable as possible for him as well.

I tore my gaze away from the performance hall, looking up at him, where he walked to my right. “I’m almost finished with that book you recommended, by the way! It’s very interesting, actually.” It wasn’t much, but I figured it was something, a token of gratitude just large enough to be recognized for what it was.

“Really?” His surprise was evident in his tone, his eyebrows furrowed in questioning as he looked back down at me.

“Yeah,” I answered with a nod, feeling a faint blush begin to color my cheeks. “Once I started, I could hardly put it down. I accidentally stayed up until two in the morning last night reading it,” I admitted, laughing a little at myself. At least in saying that, I had also unintentionally created a half-true explanation for why I might seem so tired. I meant what I had said about the book. It was interesting, and I had stayed up later than intended to, lost in the content of its words. It hadn’t been my intention to read it purely out of interest, though. Had it been boring, like I had kind of thought it would be, it might have put me to sleep. Curse Arin for having good taste in books.

“It definitely wasn’t at all what I expected it to be,” I added after a moment, “but I think that just made it more interesting.” Especially since it was about a portion of history that we so rarely got to touch on in history classes. Most of the courses I had taken in both high school and college had glossed over everything after the 1970s, if we even made it that far in the curriculum by the end of the semester. All I had really known about the 2020s prior to reading his book had been World War III, riots over social injustice, and of course, the global pandemic that had occurred early in the decade. Even at that, I lacked knowledge of the context surrounding those situations.

“I’m really glad you liked it. It’s not for everyone.” He came to a stop as we reached the doors, smiling at me as he let go of my hand to hold the door.

“Thank you.” I walked through the entrance, trying not to lose track of the conversation at hand as I took in the architecture of the building itself. The whole entryway was alight with a golden glow from the chandelier hanging in the center of the room, the tint complimenting the gold accents on the carpets that covered the floor. Closer towards the main doors, at the other end of the room, were two marble staircases, sweeping dramatically upwards towards what I could only assume were private boxes that must’ve cost a fortune.

“Girls, take a seat on the stairs, quickly.” My grandfather let go of my hand, placing his hand on my back instead, gently nudging me towards the staircase. “I want to take a picture to send to your mother.”

I giggled, grabbing Lydia’s hand and swinging it back and forth as I more or less skipped towards the stairs, turning on the ball of my foot when I reached them, and gently plopping myself down on the third step from the floor. She laughed through her nose at my antics, taking a seat to my left with all the grace of the ballerinas we were about to watch. I leaned over towards Lydia, my head just in front of her shoulder, smiling as my grandfather readied his phone to take the picture.

I had turned out looking absolutely wild. My hair was frizzy, my smile had led me to squint so much that my eyes were almost shut, and to top it all off, I had been missing a tooth at the time. I wasn’t sure I had ever looked happier, though.

I looked over my shoulder at Arin, forcing my mind back into the present. “But, yes, it was very interesting. Especially since it wasn’t that long ago, when you really think about it. I mean, when you sent me the name of the title, I realized it was only six years before my own father was born, which blew my mind for a moment.”

With a few large steps, he caught back up with me, taking hold of my hand once again as the crowd pressed in around us, leading us towards the auditorium doors like a tidal wave. The contact settled something within me that I hadn’t even realized was stirring, like an anchor in a stormy sea. I marveled at it, peering down at his hand. I wasn’t sure what I was expecting. It wasn’t as if I would see it clothed in some magical glow, that would somehow explain how he had this effect on me. He was just a man, after all. A man with a fancy title, sure, but a man nonetheless.

I couldn’t be this head-over-heels already. That was enough to scare any man away. Hadn’t I been conflicted about this only minutes ago? I simply couldn’t feel that strongly for him.

“My grandfather remembered the war,” he admitted, his expression growing distant.

Oh, crap. The last time his family had come up in conversation had been our date, right as it started going downhill. Abort mission. Change the subject.

I shot him a sympathetic smile, making sure to keep my voice low as I spoke. “My grandfather refused to talk about it. Not that I can blame him, though, at all.” He fought in it actually. Maybe you’ve heard of him - Edvard Berg? No, now was not the time to open up that can of worms. I didn’t know many of the specifics of my grandfather’s life before he had moved to Swendway. My parents had always kept that information hush hush, under lock and key, and for good reason, I was sure. All I knew for sure was that he had been a naval engineer, and possibly even somewhat of an inventor, though the details on that were kind of unclear to me. That, and I knew that he had been the one to propose leaving Swendway to my grandmother and my father, twenty years after the third World War. I had hypothesized about why he had elected to leave, but I couldn’t confirm or deny any of my theories, given a lack of evidence and information from him and my father. One day, soon, maybe, I’d have to ask for more details.

Arin opened his mouth to respond, but was cut off by the ushers announcing the final call for people to enter before they closed the doors. I was about to pull him forward, not realizing how close we had been to being late, but he began pulling me in the other direction, inclining his head towards the stairs. Of course his family would have a private box. I should’ve known that.

I looked upwards, using my hand to shield my eyes from the bright stage lights beaming down on us. There were people on the balconies upstairs. Why? They were so far from the stage! Could they even see the dancers from up there?

“Grandpa,” I began, tugging a little on the sleeve of his suit. “Who sits up there?”

He followed my gaze upwards for a moment before turning back to me, his expression grim as he answered, “Important people.”

I frowned. “But you’re important! You’re my grandpa!” I leaned to the left, nudging him with my shoulder. My words earned an appreciative chuckle from the couple behind us, but I didn’t find them funny at all. What made those people more important than the rest of us? We were all here, right now, for the same reason.

“Yet, I couldn’t even afford these tickets on my own,” he mumbled under his breath, looking down at the bulletin the usher had given us.

I was pretty sure I wasn’t supposed to have heard what he had said, but my frown only deepened anyways. “Why didn’t you and grandma become Threes when mother became a Three, when she married father?”

He made a sound then that sounded like something halfway between a cough and someone choking. Even Lydia leaned forwards in her seat, her brown eyes wide as they met mine. She shook her head. My grandfather, however just looked down at me, a small smile playing on his lips. “That’s just not how it works, Evvy.”

“Why not?” Surely, he’d be able to afford tickets to the ballet if he was a Three like mother and father, and me and my siblings.

“Hush now, the show is about to begin.”

I almost had to run to keep up with Arin, my smile growing nonetheless, even as we began to ascend the steps, my thighs protesting with each step. Starting my run earlier meant I’d end up running longer than usual, apparently. I’d stopped tracking my distance since being here, just running until my head was clear, and I felt more prepared to take on the day. This groggy morning, it had taken me until just after sunrise to get to that point.

Once we were up the stairs, Arin’s guard trailing a few feet behind us, he led me down a hallway, past numerous sets of closed double doors. For someone who didn’t like the ballet, it sure seemed like he knew where he was going, as if he’d done it a thousand times before. Maybe he had been given specific instructions beforehand, though.

He didn’t stop until the last set of doors, where an usher stood, alert, two programs in his hands. Arin entered first, grabbing one of the programs on his way in. I followed suit, thanking the usher quickly before turning my head forwards to size up the private box. The view wasn’t terrible, in fact, it was rather amazing, but it was a little more off to the side than I was used to. There were only two rows of chairs, all empty, but still just as close together as I remembered the ones in the main auditorium of the Carolina ballet being. The only thing I could see being an issue was the lighting, which was dimmer up here than it was downstairs. Even with glasses or contact lenses, I was as blind as a bat in poor lighting.

Arin kept his grip on my hand as he led us to two seats in the middle of the first row, the door softly closing shut behind us. I took my seat, realizing that the poor lighting up here might actually prove to be an advantage, because it was easier for me to focus on the well lit stage, where I could actually see what was happening.

I still couldn’t believe this was happening.

“Wow.” My voice was little more than a loud, breathless whisper as I turned to Arin, shaking my head and grinning like a bobcat. “The view is incredible!”

He squeezed my hand in response, but then let go, flipping through the pages of his program. The air conditioned air around my hand felt colder than it should have. It was as if my hand was frozen. I couldn’t move it off the armrest shared by our chairs.

He glanced over at me, now on the third page of his program. “Have you seen this one before?”

Right, the program. I somehow had to read that in this lighting. I picked up my own program, squinting as my eyes strained to make out the title on the cover. He must have thought I was illiterate, or something, having a hard time reading something typed in black, in a large font, on a white page. Seconds seemed to last an eternity as I finally made out the words. Don Quixote.

I shook my head, already feeling an ache starting behind my eyes. “No, I haven’t. I’ve heard of it, though - all good things!” Looking over at him, I smiled. In all honesty, it was probably the best ballet he could have been forced to see. I couldn’t imagine him making it all the way through something like Sleeping Beauty, or Romeo and Juliet. He’d probably fall asleep before intermission, and then I’d curse the rules against flash photography, wishing I could snap a picture and send it to Idalia with the message, “we’re even.”

He nodded, pointing to something written on the front cover in a smaller font than the title. “I think this choreographer is supposed to be good.”

I’d take his word for it. There was no way in hell I was going to waste five minutes of our time trying to read the name. “I can’t wait!” With a nod, I turned to him, feeling my smile soften as I took in the apprehension on his face. He looked like he was trying so hard to hide it, for my sake. “I think you might find this one rather tolerable, at least. It’s based off of the book Don Quixote - I’m sure you’ve at least heard it mentioned in a history or English course?”

I saw him nod before the lights dimmed further, obscuring my vision even more. “I’ve read it before. It wasn’t too bad, but not my favorite.” A pause, then, “But I’m sure it’s different in ballet form.”

“It’s abridged,” I confirmed with a nod of my own. The only thing I could see at this point was the stage, and the very edges of the orchestra seated in front of it. They all sat at the ready, their conductor just beginning to make his way to his stand. In another timeline, was this the kind of job my mother could have been doing? Was this the kind of job I could have been doing? I had never had a natural inclination towards creating music, but if it was one of the only career options I had had, I believed I likely would have put more effort into mastering it. Who would I even have been, in this world where biology wasn’t my passion? It was near impossible to imagine.

My lips tugged upwards into a smile as I recalled one detail about this ballet that a friend of my mother’s had shared with me once. “They kept the part where he fights the windmill, though.”

I felt him lean in closer then, wrapping my hand in his once more. I resisted the urge to let out a sigh at that. I needed to get a grip.

“How could you cut that part?” He whispered.

I turned towards him briefly, nodding as I grinned into the darkness around me. “It’s inarguably the best part.”

The first notes of the introduction began to sweep through the air then, and a hush fell over the crowd below us as the strings slowly began their initial crescendo. I let my focus be taken over by the music and the dancers beginning to make their appearance on the stage, each move they made carefully calculated and executed, and yet somehow, still effortless. It didn’t take much for me to get wrapped up in the story. Much like Arin, it seemed, I hadn’t cared much for the book version of Don Quixote. The ballet, however, had snared my attention like it was nothing, especially as the dancer playing the role of Kitri came on stage. If only I could ever possess that level of grace and talent. I understood she had definitely dedicated a lot of blood, sweat, and tears to become this skilled at her craft, but there was no denying that some people were born with an innate predisposition for some skills - such as athletics, music, or academics.

Time flew after that, and before I knew it, the lights began coming back up, signalling the start of intermission. It felt like being woken up from a good dream, the kind that you wished you could pick right back up from where you left off the instant you fell back asleep. I blinked, my eyes taking a second to readjust to actually being able to see more than just one set point. The first thing I noticed was the flurry of activity below us, people scurrying about like ants on an anthill, rushing in and out to fetch refreshments for their friends and family. The second thing I noticed, as I looked over to my side, was Arin, glancing over right back at me. I couldn’t help but wonder how much time he had actually spend watching the ballet, and how much he had spent looking at me, while I couldn’t see him. The thought made my heart speed up a bit, and my face grow a little hot.

I shifted in my chair, in order to face him more fully, grinning from ear to ear. “I cannot thank you enough for this.”

“You like it?” He squeezed my hand, the sensation grounding me back in reality further.

I squeezed his back, my smile growing wider, if that was even possible. “I love it.”

The corners of his own lips tugged upwards then, a small smile of his own flitting into existence. “Well, I’m glad. It should be enjoyed.”

“Yes,” I began, squeezing his hand yet again. What else could I even say? He likely didn’t want to be regaled with my thoughts on Basilio’s treatment of Kitri, or the foolishness of Don Quixote’s actions. He’d probably already heard as much from whatever teacher he’d had to read the book for. “I agree.”

He looked forward then, peering over the railing of the balcony at the crowds down below.

The lights coming back on awoke me from my stupor. I rubbed the last of my tears out of my eyes, hoping that my grandfather hadn’t seen me begin to cry when Giselle had died. She had deserved so much better! She had finally found her true love, her soulmate, only for her heart to give out right then and there? How could that be right?

People began to stand up from their seats, pressing against each other in the aisles on either side of the row we sat in. My grandfather began to do the same, turning around to face Lydia and I as he stood. “I’m going to get some water. Do you girls want anything?”

“Peanut M&Ms?” Lydia asked, smiling widely and clasping her hands together a few inches below her chin.

Grandfather sighed. “So long as you don’t make a mess of your dress. Your mother and your grandmother would both kill me.” He shook his head, and then fixed his eyes on me. “Ev?”

“I’m good,” I answered with a shake of my head. “Thank you.”

“Alright.” He began to scoot his way down the aisle, grinning down at us as he passed by. “I’d better hurry. I don’t want to miss the second act, now do I?”

“Well, they’re all in a hurry, aren’t they?”

I bit my lip, glancing over the edge of the balcony as well, a small close lipped smile forming at the memory of my grandfather’s words. “I guess they don’t want to miss the second act.”

“I’d be in a hurry too, I guess,” Arin replied, his tone insincere as he raised his eyebrows.

He was really trying so hard to pretend to not be bored to death by all of this, that it was almost sad. Glancing back at him now, I sighed. This had been a real treat, for sure, but I had no intention of torturing Arin, especially since he had already been on so many dates he hadn’t wanted to go on. Yes, both those and this had been in part by his own doing, but one of us had to be willing to meet the other halfway.

“Look, Arin,” I started, shooting him a sympathetic smile, “I cannot stress enough how great this has been, and how much you doing this has meant to me, but I really don’t want to be the one to force you to sit through the second act if you don't want to.” We both knew full well he didn’t want to. I had to laugh. “It’s really okay.”

To my surprise, he shook his head. “No, really, it’s fine. You’re enjoying yourself, and it wouldn’t be fair to leave.”

Well, I gave him an out. It’s not my fault he didn’t take it.

My smile grew slightly, and I squeezed his hand, my voice little more than a whisper to my own ears as I said, “Thank you.”

Once again, he dropped my hand, looking away as he stood up and began to stretch. First his arms, then his legs, finishing with his back, before turning around and taking a seat on the floor, facing me, his back against the wall of the balcony.

I chuckled a little at that. What would the people of Illea say if they saw their crown prince sitting on the floor when there were perfectly good chairs available for him? Not that I could blame him. I was often guilty of sitting on the floors of hallways in my school, outside of my classrooms, reading my notes in an attempt to cram that last bit of information into my brain before taking an exam.

“How’s the view down there?” I leaned forwards, bracing my elbows on my knees, interlocking my fingers. If only he was holding my hand instead. Am I that touch starved?

He raised his eyebrows, his eyes locking onto mine. “Stunning. How’s the view from up there.”

Stunning.

I almost kissed him again, right then and there.

Instead, I smiled, feeling my blush deepen at my own thoughts. “Pretty incredible.” What was I, twelve? Was I going to ask him if he like-liked me next?

He dropped my eye contact the, sighing as he glanced down at his watch. I was beginning to get the sense that this was the most enjoyable part of the night to him. With a sigh, he announced, “We have thirteen more minutes.”

I raised an eyebrow at him, unable to get a read on how he felt about that. “And is there something in particular you’d like to do with those thirteen minutes?”

He simply shrugged, tilting his head back to look at the ceiling.

Oh, no. We were not doing this. Not now, in the few minutes where we would actually be able to talk, in the few minutes he might actually look back upon fondly. Rolling my eyes, I pushed myself out of my chair, sliding down the balcony wall until I was seated on the floor next to him, smoothing out my skirts once I was still. Upon finishing that, I followed his gaze upwards towards the ceiling tiles. There was nothing particularly interesting about them, that I could discern, at least. They were just your average, everyday ceiling tiles, sometimes spaced out to make space for larger stage lights. Was he trying to blind himself by looking into the lights before the second act? I’d have to give him points for creativity, if that was the case.

“Well, hello there.”

I looked over, finding him looking right back at me, his eyes wide with surprise. I had startled him again, so it would seem. “Right back at you,” I replied, chuckling as I playfully nudged him with my shoulder. The gesture wasn’t rough at all - really, he probably shouldn’t have even felt more than a light tap.

“What is it with you guys and hitting me?”

Who’s been hitting him? Isn’t that against the rules.

He mustn’t mean on purpose then, or rather, not with the intent to cause harm or damage. I was beginning to get the idea of what he meant. Laughing lightly, I raised an eyebrow at him. “I take it Idalia’s gotten to you, then?”

He chuckled. Bingo. “She has.”

I loved being right.

Laughing along, I shook my head, glancing at Arin out of the corner of my eyes as I thought over the last conversation I had had with Idalia. “Classic Idalia. She hit me with her pillow at least three times the last time we spoke.”

“And just think -” he shook his head “- she knows how to use swords.”

I chuckled, fairly certain that actual fencers didn’t refer to them as “swords,” but rather as “weapons,” but I didn’t have the heart to correct him. Besides, who knew - maybe Idalia did know how to use real swords! I wouldn’t put it past her. “I’m glad she and I generally get along very well, for that reason.” You might want to be a little scared, though, Arin. Our opinions on you differ greatly, it seems.

The thought crossed my mind then, of the possibility of the two of them fighting. Not just bickering, or arguing, but seriously feuding, to the point where they asked other people to take sides before sorting their own issues with each other out. Whose side would I take in that scenario? My past actions, in insisting that we prank Arin after he had been such a dick to Idalia on their date, suggested that the likely answer was Idalia, but our last conversation had left me rather uncertain. She had almost made me cry. To be fair, I was sure she hadn’t intended for that to happen, and I truly believed she was just trying to look out for me, and yet, as horrible as Arin had been on that first date, I had never come close to crying.

That likely said more about me than it did about either of them, though.

Arin nodded. “She’s something.”

“That seems to be your descriptor of choice,” I pointed out, chucking as I turned my head to look at him. I would admit, I had perused his social media a bit every now and again, and almost invariably, whenever someone asked him his thoughts on a topic or a person, his answer would be that it was something.

Apparently, this was news to him. “Does it?” He asked, raising his eyebrows at me.

I couldn’t help but laugh. “I don’t think we’ve made it through conversation without you describing something or someone as, ‘something,’ or without me apologizing. We should start a penny jar, or something like that, to keep a tally.”

“Really?” He asked, frowning.

Oh, no, is he upset? That hadn’t been my intention at all. God, why did this always happen? I had stopped walking on eggshells for one moment, and here we were.

It was kind of exhausting.

Or maybe that was just the sleep deprivation talking.

“I mean,” I began, my smile faltering, despite my efforts to keep myself together, “the penny jar part was a joke.”

“I got that,” he stated with a nod.

“Okay,” I began, clearing my throat as I tried in vain to figure out what he hadn’t understood, “but, yeah, my point still stands. I genuinely am not certain we’ve made it through a conversation without one or both of those things being said.”

“Well, maybe it’s just the way I talk.”

It was more likely that it had simply been the way he was taught to talk, but I felt like that was a conversation best saved for another time. He already appeared to feel so attacked by this surface-level discussion of the subject. Nice going, Evalin.

My face had completely fallen by this point, a frown replacing what had previously been a wide smile. “There’s nothing wrong with that. It’s just something I’ve noticed, I guess.”

“Something,” he repeated, a flicker of a smile on his face and a hint of amusement in his voice.

Lord, help me. I truly understood why his mother was so fond of wine, now.

“That word sure is something,” I repeated back with a small laugh.

“What else would you like me to say then?”

“I don’t know.” I pursed my lips, considering it, but ultimately, I just ended up shrugging. “I guess sometimes it’d be nice to hear more of your thoughts and opinions on things.”

My conversation with Idalia came back to mind. Was I just another, “something,” to him? I wouldn’t be surprised if I was. He had started out with thirty-five girls, and had narrowed it down to fourteen, but I knew that wasn’t entirely of his own doing. He must have been given advice on who to eliminate, and who to keep, and why. There was no other way to justify the mass elimination that had occurred after the brief thirty-minute interview we had had with him early on in the Selection.

“Well,” he began, raising his eyebrows, “in my opinion, this has been my favorite part of the night so far.”

Just as I had suspected. Still, I wasn’t necessarily disappointed by that fact. If anything, the thought of me being the highlight of his night made my heart beat a little faster. Raising my eyebrows, I cast my gaze downwards, interlocking my fingers with his one again. Almost instantly, something within me clicked into place yet again, as if this was so inexplicably right. Gently, I gave his hand a squeeze, whispering, “I’m glad.”

“It’s really not so bad,” he assured me, squeezing my hand in return. I swore my heart fluttered. Why was I like this?

I laughed a little at what he said, knowing it was a blatant lie, and unable to stop myself from presenting him with a way out yet again. “I respect how hard you’re trying to get through this for me, but my offer still stands -” I leaned over a bit, peering down at his watch “- though this may be your last chance to get out of here before the second act.”

“Maybe I don’t actually want to leave,” he replied, shrugging. “There’s this girl in the audience that has the most adorable reactions to ballet.”

Stunning, adorable - I hope he knows I’m keeping a list.

“Oh really?” I smirked at him, raising both of my eyebrows this time. “You’ll have to point her out.”

He tilted his head a little to the side, a small smile making its home on his face. “She’s wearing blue, and she’s hard to miss.”

I couldn’t resist. “And why’s that?”

He raised his eyebrows at me now. “Because I've never seen anyone look that happy while watching someone fight windmills.”

I leaned back, looking up as I laughed. He had been watching me throughout the ballet, then, and I was quite literally too blind to even notice. I was surprised he had even noticed that the fight with the windmills had even occurred. Maybe he had only known about that scene because I had mentioned it earlier, though. As much as I wished it didn’t, that option made a good deal of sense.

I turned to face him again, intent on just carrying on the conversation. “She sounds like quite the girl.”

“She’s not too bad,” he replied with a small shrug.

I leaned a little closer to him, raising an eyebrow. “I would sure hope she’s not.”

“I don’t think she is.” His smile grew a fraction of an inch, but I’d take it. It was still better than a frown, or a scowl.

“I’m glad to hear it,” I replied, my own smile growing in response to his, “Sure would be a shame if you spent that much time focusing on her, otherwise.”

“And why’s that?” He asked, raising his eyebrows yet again.

I leaned in a little closer, chuckling lightly. “Well, you wouldn’t want her to get the wrong idea.”

“Well,” he began, his smile growing a bit more. At this right, he might have a full smile by the time we left here tonight. What a success that would be! “I try to avoid spending time with people I dislike, so I doubt I'd have taken her to the ballet if I didn't like her.”

The floodgates of my mind burst open then, my conversation with Idalia a few weeks ago hitting me at full force. Hey, at least that means he must like you. Apparently, he did. You could always ask him. I hadn’t had to, it seemed. I’d literally teased the fact that he maybe, sort of liked me out of him. Do you think he cares about you? Yes, I was almost sure of it, now.

I exhaled, my smile only growing more as the breath left my lungs. “Thank you.”

“It’s only a few hours. I will live.” He just shook his head, but I thought nothing of it. Just as I wasn’t a mind reader, neither was he. There was no way for him to know what that one little sentence he had just said, probably without even thinking about it, meant to me.

“Yeah, I know, but still.” I sighed a little, leaning my head on his shoulder, staring ahead at nothing in particular. I didn’t even care if the second act started while we sat here, if I was being entirely honest. Just sitting, touching, like this, felt good. Right. I wanted to capture this moment, and freeze it in time, like a scene in a snowglobe.

He rested his own head against mine. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, now,” I answered, shaking my head as much as I could without disturbing his. “Sorry, I was just thinking about a conversation I had last week, but it’s irrelevant now.” The questions that had plagued me now had answers, and ones that I liked, at that.

“Conversation?”

“It was nothing, really,” I reassured him, giving his hand another squeeze. “It’s unimportant, now. I mean it.”

“Are you sure?” His voice was softer when he spoke this time, his concern genuine, and more than simply laced in with his words.

Do you think he cares about you? Yes, I could honestly say I did.

“Yes.” I moved a little closer to him, readjusting my head slightly so that it fit a tad more comfortably on his shoulder. “What you said earlier resolved it.”

“Okay.” He didn’t sound confident, but he didn’t press me further, which I was fine with. I didn’t need my own uncertainty to spoil this moment, especially not with the newfound clarity it had brought me. He liked me - enough to want to spend time with me, even.

It was a pretty low bar, but it was still better than the worst case scenario my mind had come up with over the past few days.

I sighed, squeezing his hand in what I hoped he would understand was a gesture of reassurance, and then dragged my gaze to the chairs that loomed in front of us. “We’re going to have to stand up soon, aren’t we?”

“We don't have to. I'm pretty content down here, honestly.”

“I will admit, I am pretty comfortable right now.” Not just down here, but with us - this starting point. I might not have had the political knowledge of Reggie, or the legal skills of Jen, or the confidence of Clemence, but I was still the one here, snuggled up with him, on the floor of the Angeles Ballet’s theater. I’d made it this far. I stood a chance of making it further.

He chuckled. “Somehow the floor is more comfortable than those chairs.”

“Agreed,” I said, laughing along. Those chairs had felt so spacious when I was a child, but now, I was of the opinion that they were not made with people over the height of five foot six in mind.

A small noise of contentment issued from him, the sound standing out against the noise wafting up from the general auditorium below, where I assumed people were making their way back to their seats, completely unaware of our existence at all. I kind of liked it that way. There was a sense of normalcy to it, that was a luxury we didn’t have much of nowadays. You knew what you signed up for.

I did know, I realized as I shifted my head slightly, hoping the motion didn’t disturb him too much. “This has really been the nicest evening I’ve had in a long while.”

“Really?” Was that teasing I detected in his voice? “I thought that time we went roller skating was nice.”

“I do remember the part where you fell rather fondly,” I admitted, laughing quietly.

He let out a loud groan at that. “Thanks for the reminder.”

I had to laugh. I couldn’t help it. That moment would be something I’d never let him live down, even if we didn’t end up together at the end of the Selection. “Anytime!”

“I'm glad I made an impression.” I couldn’t see his reaction from our current position, but I was willing to bet that he had rolled his eyes.

That’s one way to put it. I exhaled heavily through my nose, the noise that ensued somewhere between a snort and a laugh. “Don’t worry, I’m sure my nosebleed made quite the impression on you.”

He lifted his head then, looking down at me as he shook it. “No, actually I'd totally forgotten about that.”

How? I lifted my own head now, narrowing my eyes at him as I moved it off of his shoulder. “Well, that’s nice to hear,” I admitted, averting my gaze to our hands. “I was honestly mortified about that.” I hated how soft my voice had gotten towards the end of my sentence.

“Why?” His look now mirrored my own - eyes narrowed, brows furrowed. “It's not like you had any control over it.”

“I know that, but -” I sighed. Would there ever come a day when verbalizing my thoughts or emotions wouldn’t prove to be such a challenge? “- it’s not exactly like it was an ideal scenario, and the date itself had already been so rocky, and just combined with what had happened that morning, it was just not how I had wanted the day to end, I suppose.”

You know he doesn’t love you, right?

I was tired of letting Lukas’s phone call from that morning loom over my interactions, like the spectre of a friend long forgotten, and yet, I couldn’t figure out how to stop thinking about it. It was as if his voice was trapped in my head, and I wanted to let it out, but I wasn’t strong enough to undo any of the locks on the windows of my mind. I had blocked his number. I had determined I didn’t care about him. So why was I letting his words get to me, weeks after I’d hung up the phone on him?

“But it was still out of your control,” Arin insisted. “Don't focus on it too much. We just saw a man fight windmills and you're worried about something that happened a couple months ago.”

If only he knew.

I kept my gaze on our hands, unsure of how to proceed. I had a few options here. I could come clean with him, entirely, and stop the secrets between us, at least on my side. That might make communication clearer, easier. Alternatively, I could continue to ignore what was bothering me, until I couldn’t ignore it any longer. I was approaching that breaking point, but I wasn’t quite there yet. I could hold out a little longer.

I blinked once, my decision made. Turning my head to look up towards him, I forced a smile on to my face. “I suppose you’re right. Too bad there no windmills around here, huh?”

The frown that formed on his face told me that I must have been an even worse actor than he thought he was. “Evalin, what's wrong?”

“Sorry.” I shook my head. It appeared that there was only one way this conversation was going to go, after all. Still, maybe I could mitigate the damage. We didn’t have enough time to dissect my life’s problems, nor did I want to burden Arin with them. He had enough going on on his own, without me potentially adding to it.

I’d keep it vague, then. “There’s just a lot going on back in Carolina with the professor I used to work for, and my family, and classes, and I’ve been trying not to think about it, but I think it’s all starting to catch up with me now.”

“You know you can take a break, right?” He leaned a bit closer, a note of genuine concern in his voice.

Why is my heart fluttering again?

I looked up at him, my brows furrowed. “How?”

“Well, it's summer, right?”

“Yes, but that doesn’t really change the situation,” I argued, shaking my head.

“Summer break?” He furrowed his brows in confusion, looking at me like I had grown a second head.

Yes, Arin, believe it or not, I know what summer break is.

I just continued shaking my head, looking up at him and taking a shaky breath as I attempted to keep my smile in place. I had to keep myself together. I would not fall apart in front of him. I would not unravel next to him on the floor of the Angeles Ballet. “The situation is a bit more complicated than just summer break. I’d explain it, but it’s a long story, and I don’t want to make you sit through that on top of this.” I punctuated my sentence with a gesture over the top of my head, towards the stage below us.

“Alright.” He pursed his lips, nodding once and then glancing away. “Sorry.”

My words must have come out all wrong. This wasn’t what I had intended to happen. That’s why you have to be honest with him, and tell him the whole truth. Yet, I couldn’t bring myself to. The list of people I was willing to be that open with was short, and consistently decreasing in size. Idalia or Clemence, maybe, but the jury was still out there. Sometimes, I felt more burdened when I finished talking to them than I did before I spoke with them. Lydia, of course! We had shared a room for almost our entire lives. It was impossible to hide anything from her. June, because she was the most loyal person I knew, and I had complete faith that she would guard my secrets until the day she died. Yet, I hadn’t told her about Proctor, or Lukas, for that matter. I realized then that I also hadn’t told Lydia. That meant the only people who knew about Proctor and Lukas were my father, and Proctor and Lukas themselves - and even then, I hadn’t told my father all of the details.

My list had dwindled down to zero.

“No, don’t apologize. It’s not your fault!” I squeezed his hand lightly before pursing my lips. Maybe telling him something - even if it was vague, or only a part of the story - would help. “I can explain after the second act, if you want. It’d be a tad hypocritical of me to ask you to be more open, without being more open myself.”

“Alright,” he replied, nodding as he glanced down at his watch. “I guess it's probably going to start again soon.”

I leaned over, squinting at his watch in a futile attempt to make out the time. No luck. Between the glare of the lights, and the small size of the numerals on his watch, I really had never had a chance of seeing the time for myself. I was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt, though. “That would make sense, I think.”

As if on cue, a little chime rang out through the speaker system, signalling for everyone to return to their seats, “Perfect timing, I guess,” Arin noted.

“Impeccable, really.” I began to scoot away from him, bracing my hands on the ground in preparation to stand back up. If I ever had access to a time machine, I was going to go back in time and have a chat with whoever had come up with the idea of high heels. They were inarguably the most impractical form of shoe I had encountered in my almost twenty-one years of life.

We settled back into our seats, the lights dimming once again as the company retook the stage for the second act. I let the production take me away once again, losing myself in the high pitched runs of the flute, and the complex turns and leaps of the dancers. By the time the second act was over, and the company was taking their final bows, all I knew outside of the stage itself was that I was smiling, and I was clapping.

Right, and Arin was still seated next to me. How had I almost forgotten that? I turned lo look at him then, offering him a small grin. “You survived.”

“Barely,” he retorted, rolling his eyes.

Smartass. I chuckled. “I hope the reactions of that girl in blue you mentioned earlier were as nice as you expected them to be.”

“Oh,” he began, a small smile playing on his lips, “they were very entertaining.”

So he had been watching me again, then. I liked that, but I wasn’t about to tell him that. Instead, I simply smiled, taking his hand in mine and squeezing it as I thought back to our earlier conversation. I had agreed to open up to him - and I would hold up my end of the bargain - but was I just supposed to start speaking now? Would it be better to just wait until we were outside?

As I was debating what to do, he squeezed my hand in return, yawning. “Dinner?”

Those four seconds were filled with the most stereotypical “man things,” - the yawn, the thinking only of food - I had ever witnessed in one sitting. I didn’t know what else to do but laugh, and reply, “Sounds good!” In the thrill of coming here, I had forgotten all about the fact that we had missed dinner. I’d have to brace myself to be lectured by Reggie once again in the morning, over breakfast. Assuming I didn’t miss breakfast to run, again.

“Alright, then.” He stood up, practically dragging me with him, as we were still hand in hand. Still, I found I was kind of grateful for the help up. Sitting in the same position for so long had left my legs kind of cramped.

I rubbed my skirt with my free hands in an effort to smooth out any wrinkles before looking up at him again, and asking, “What were you thinking for dinner?”

“Honestly?” He chuckled. “I thought I'd just ask you want you felt like having.”

I hummed thoughtfully, biting the inside of my cheek as I thought about it. He wasn’t going to let my own indecisiveness slide, then. That was probably for the better, though. I needed to start stepping up, speaking up, and making decisions for myself. “I’m not super familiar with what’s around here, obviously, but I do like seafood.” I shrugged, offering him a smile before adding, “Really, though, I’m good with anything.”

“Seafood it is, then,” he decided with a nod, leading me out into the hallway, through the throngs of people attempting to do the same thing we were.

“Sounds good,” I replied, more focused on not losing my grip on him as the crowd swelled around us, than anything else. I knew I would be able to find the car, if need be, but it would just be easier if we stuck together. He must have had the same idea, because he held on to my hand firmly, even as he weaved in and out of the maze of people, practically just dragging me along for the ride.

As soon as the cool, night air of the outdoors his us, I exhaled, smiling in relief as I took in the open space before me. We continued walking towards the car, still hand in hand. A childish part of me was tempted to start swinging our hands back and forth, but I refrained, getting the sense he wouldn’t enjoy that very much.

I looked up at Arin. “I suppose it’s time for me to hold up my end of the bargain, then, and continue the conversation from intermission?”

“Only if you feel comfortable,” he answered, giving my hand a squeeze as he met my gaze.

A different memory came to the forefront of my mind as we continued making our way down the steps.

“I -” I cut myself off, shaking my head. I could feel how flaming red my face and the tips of my ears were, despite the cool winter wind nipping at my exposed skin. “I’m too embarrassed by it.”

Lukas narrowed his eyes, the creases in his forehead deepening. “I deserve to know,” he pointed out, “friends don’t keep secrets from each other.”

Even then, something about his phrasing had ticked me off, but I hadn’t been able to put my finger on just what it was. I had never pressed him for details about his home life, his family, or really anything, if I was being honest. When I asked, I took what he gave me, never requesting more when he paused, or glossed over something. He had never afforded me the same kindness, though. Every detail that was mine was his, because friends weren’t supposed to keep secrets from each other. I had considered it a good thing at the time - he was bringing me out of my shell, ensuring I had someone to confide in, but now, I wasn’t as sure of how pure his intentions had been. Had he had the same conversations with June? I was doubtful.

In contrast, here was Arin, offering me an out. There was no way I could take it, though. He hadn’t took the out I had offered him, and I would be a complete hypocrite if I didn’t open up to him, as I hoped he might one day open up to me. That didn’t mean I had to spill everything right off the bat, though. I’d start small, just to test out the waters.

“It’s only fair,” I pointed out, giving him a small, close-lipped smile, “and it’s really not that big of a deal. There’s just this in-person lab component to one of my classes, which the professor has been super helpful about trying to find a way around. She suggested that maybe I could get the work I had done during my internship to count for the lab credit, but the issue is -” I paused, sighing, not having even really dealt with the issue yet, but already tired of dealing with it “- the professor I used to work under and I had a falling out back at the end of the spring, and she’s still really not happy with me because of it, so she told the professor of the class that I’m taking that I could count the work I did for my internship for credit, but she’d have to have my name redacted in all of the publications that I’m mentioned in.”

God, I sounded so whiny. There were so many people - even here, in Angeles, at the palace - that had been through so much more taxing situations, and overcame them with grace. I shook my head, disappointed in myself, now that I had voiced my thoughts aloud. “I really shouldn’t complain. It could be so much worse. It’s just that that includes the experiment that I came up with, which would essentially mean that I get no credit for my own idea, which kind of sucks.”

“You can't get the credit and keep your name on the papers?” His brows were furrowed, his eyes narrowed at me as we continued making out way down the steps.

Trust me, I feel as confused as you look. “Apparently not,” I replied, frowning and looking down briefly as I shook my head. “I’ve never heard of that happening to anybody before, but her email claims it’s department policy.”

“Well, did you check with someone higher than her?” He led me to the passenger side of the car before letting go of my hand, opening and holding the door for me.

I might have been surprised if I wasn’t so annoyed over my own situation. I shook my head, offering him a small smile as I slid into the car, as if that would make up for him having to listen to me complain about an issue that really, probably meant nothing to him. “She’s one of the heads of the department, the other head being my father, and we try to avoid dragging each other into things like this, in order to minimize the amount of times the word, ‘nepotism,’ is thrown around.”

“Can you go higher than them both? Not use your father at all?” He asked before closing the door and walking around to the diver’s side of the car. At the same time he got in, his guard got in the back seat, the two of them shutting their doors in somewhat eerie synchronization.

I furrowed my brows at the suggestion, turning it over in my mind as we buckled our seatbelts. Who even was higher than the head of the department? “I hadn’t considered that. I’m not sure who would be higher than them, to be honest.”

“What about the dean?” he suggested, starting the car.

Oh. Duh. I frowned. Even the dean couldn’t tell the heads of each department what they were allowed to do with their publications outside of the university itself, if I understood the universarial political structure correctly, but Arin might be on to something. “I think the dean might be able to clarify the policy, so if it is something that the professor I worked under made up on the spot, that could work.” Looking over at him then, I added, “Logically, though, I know that either way, it’s not the end of the world. It’s just frustrating, I guess.”

He was silent for a moment, staring ahead at the bushes that lined the parking lot, before offering up his two cents on the matter. “It’s up to you, but wouldn’t you feel better if you didn’t have to worry about it, though? And you could move on?”

I paused, looking down at my hands as I processed what he had just said. Was he trying to see the problem from my perspective - something he had been so adverse to doing when we had talked about understanding other cultures as a method of improving international relations during our first date? That was a big step in the right direction. Plus, he did have a point. I guess he can read me a lot easier than I can read him.

“Yes. I’ll see about emailing the dean tomorrow morning,” I answered finally, turning back to look at him then. “Thank you.”

“No thanks needed,” he replied with a shrug, looking at me once more. “So, what are you in the mood for?”

I frowned. Hadn’t we just been over this, inside? Either, he wanted to know if I had somehow remembered the name of a specific seafood restaurant, or he had a really terrible memory. “Well, what’s good around here? You’d know better than me!”

“Well, what do you feel like having. I can base my choice off that.” He raised his eyebrows at me expectantly. So, he had a pisspoor memory, then. Noted.

“Well,” I began, raising an eyebrow at him, pausing for a moment to give him a chance to remember that we had already had this conversation. I smiled at him as well, but he didn’t seem to even understand that I found this mildly amusing. “I mentioned seafood earlier.”

He nodded, taking the car out of park and looking out the back as he began to pull out of the spot. “Seafood it is then.”

“Perfect.” I gave him a nod and a smile, before turning back to the window. If his memory really was that bad, I couldn’t blame him for taking a long time to remember the names of any of the Selected girls. Still, if he knew he had a poor memory, he should have known that he’d have to devote a little extra time to memorizing our names, to begin with. Then again, with his schedule, extra time was likely a luxury he did not have.

It wasn’t worth losing more sleep over. I turned back to Arin, a new topic of conversation already in mind. “Do you get to come into the city often?”

He waited until he had pulled the car onto the road to answer. “Not too much. I've been a few times, recently, but not as much as I'd like.”

I nodded. Once again, that made a good deal of sense, with what his workload appeared to be. “It seems nice. A lot bigger than I’m used to, though, for sure!” Knoxville truly wasn’t even comparable to Angeles. The two places were as different as night and day, though each had their own unique charms, from what I had seen.

“Is that good or bad?” He asked, looking at me out of the corner of his eye.

I gazed off into the distance at the buildings rising up before us, and then to the shoreline beyond, so distant it was hardly even visible. Angeles felt like a never ending sprawl of buildings to me. Someone could so easily get lost, mixed in with the crowd, anonymous to anyone except those who were looking. Yet, it was also a city where many big names had been able to make connections and rise to fame. There was a little something for everybody.

“Good,” I decided, “I think.”

He barked out a laugh at that, the sound almost making me jump. “You should write the travel brochures. ‘Visit Angeles- Good, I think.’”

“To be fair, I’ve only been two places in this city,” I pointed out, even as I laughed along. “‘Highlights include - roller skating and ballet.’”

“Let me guess, your tag line for the roller rink is ‘It’s a great place to fall on your ass.’?” He cut me a glance for all of a second, still leaving me tempted to remind him to keep his eyes on the road.

Still, I had to laugh at that. Although, no travel brochure I had ever seen would be so crass. “How about, ‘great place to settle disputes - in various languages!’”

“Well, there you go. You’ve got a promising career!”

“Good to know I’ve got a backup plan,” I retorted, rolling my eyes. Lord only knows I’ll probably need one, if this doesn’t work out.

“I wish I had one of those,” he admitted with a wry laugh. “This’ll either pan out or it’ll be like 18th century France.”

My laugh came more from a place of surprise than anything else. He must be nervous about how capable of a king he was going to be. This was likely the closest I was ever going to get to him admitting something about himself, at least, until we got to know each other better. It was a roundabout method of learning more about him, sure, but it’d have to do for now.

So, I was going to laugh away his admission with a joke. “Never too late to run away, I suppose. Though you’d need to plan it out well. You might need a lookout.”

He only sighed at that. “Even if I got out my sister would track me down. She’d never let me get away with it.”

I hummed thoughtfully, nodding. Presumably, he was referring to Safiya, whose medical career would undoubtedly be ruined before it even started if she was forced to become the heir or the queen. I could only imagine what lengths she would be willing to go to to prevent that from happening. “She is certainly capable of doing that.”

I narrowed my eyes, side-eyeing him as I attempted to come up with another approach. “What if it was like eighteenth century France, but instead of you actually dying, you just faked your death, and then ran away?”

“I'm pretty sure the Bourbons tried that- it didn't work out well,” he states, “and Guillotines only stopped being used less than one hundred and fifty years ago so I'm not sure I like my chances.”

Ah, of course, the Bourbons. How could I have forgotten about them, after the conversation Arin and I had had over two glasses of the alcohol that shared their name. “Fair,” I relented, laughing lightly as I looked at him. “I guess you’ll just have to ensure that nobody start rioting in the streets about bread, then.”

“Or I can just cut back on the cake,” he joked, chuckling. “Which, for the record - I know she never said that.”

Damn, I had been so ready to point that out. Nonetheless, I grinned, shaking my head a little in mock disappointment. “One if history’s biggest myths - right up there with Napoleon being short. Why do all of the fun tall tales come from France?”

“It’s probably because of all the wine they drink,” he stated with a pointed look in my direction.

Did I have a reputation as a wine connoisseur? I chuckled, knowing that if anyone thought that, they couldn’t be further from the truth. “Good thing there are better alcoholic beverages out there, then.”

He inhaled sharply. “Don’t let my mom hear you say that.”

I debated informing him that I had gotten along with his mother just fine when I had bumped into her in the kitchen a few nights ago, but I decided against it. Somehow, I didn’t imagine he’d be too fond of the idea of Jen and I accidentally having a brief wine night with his mother. “My lips are sealed,” I promised, chuckling lightly as I leaned back in my seat, “and it’s not like I dislike wine. I just like other things more.”

“Oh? Like what exactly?” Thankfully, he kept his eyes on the road. Good, I’d like to make it to dinner in one piece, please and thank you.

“I don’t think you’d believe me if I told you,” I admitted with a laugh.

He glanced over at me for just a second. “Hit me with it.”

Smirking a little, I met his gaze out of the corner of my eyes. No matter who I told this to, they always seemed so surprised, as if I was the last person they expected to be able to handle shots. “My drink of choice has always been tequila, no chaser.”

Arin was no different. He turned to face me fully then, tearing his now wide eyes off the road. “Seriously?”

I tossed my head back laughing as I took in the expression on his face. I really couldn’t fathom why this news was so shocking to so many of the people here. Even Clemence had seemed rather surprised that I preferred tequila to wine, when we had last talked in her room. Considering the context of where I was coming from, though, my drink of choice made sense. At least, I thought it did. “Well, I am a college student, in a big school, in a part of the country notorious for very active fraternities and tailgates.”

“Should I be worried about Wylan’s party?” He asked with a slightly nervous laugh.

Getting my earlier fit of laughter under control, I turned back to him, smiling and shaking my head. “I can handle myself, don’t worry.” Though, Wylan’s party did raise a whole new slough of questions. Was he going to seek me out there - even with other girls present? That seemed unlikely, but it was a nice thought. More importantly, did his question mean that there would be shots of tequila available at Wylan’s party? If that was the case, things could get very interesting, even without me there.

We pulled into a parking lot that was about half full then. It wasn’t difficult for Arin to find a spot. After putting the car in park, he hopped out, coming around to my side to open the door for me. “Thank you,” I said, looping my arm through the one he offered, letting him lead me towards the restaurant. A part of me still wasn’t entirely sure what to make of this new Arin, who actually minded his manners, and opened the door for me, but I certainly wasn’t about to complain or question it. He held the door for me again when we reached the entrance of the restaurant, letting me walk through as I smiled and nodded in acknowledgement of the gesture. Now, this is what I had been expecting when I had signed up for the Selection, and in the fantasies I had dreamed up as a child.

I didn’t linger on the realization long, as happy as it was. Instead, I took in my surroundings yet again, trying to get a feel for what I was in for. I turned around as Arin followed me in, offering him a smile as I asked, “I’m assuming you’ve been here before?”

He nodded. “Yeah, I have. Don’t worry.” With that, he turned to the maitre d’, stating, “We’d like a table for two, please, and then a table for one.”

As the maitre d’ searched through his podium for something, I glanced at Arin sideways. “Why would I worry?” Did he think my nerves came from dealing with the unfamiliar? This is why you need to open up to him.

Maybe I would.

Later.

He shrugged. “Some people needlessly worry.”

My name was definitely implied in there, somewhere.

I laughed a bit, the sound tinny to my ears. “What would there even be to worry about, in this case?”

“I'm not sure. Maybe it was just a bad turn of phrase.”

I frowned, still looking at him out of the corner of my eye, right as the maitre d’ reappeared, ushering us towards out table. Upon getting there, Arin pulled out my chair, waiting until I was seated to walk around the table to his own chair. To my left, a large glass window gave us a perfect view of the beach, the ocean waves gently lapping against the shore as the sun set in the distance, basking the world in a golden glow.

With a little sigh, I turned back to the table, folding my napkin in my lap and opening my menu. Arin was already two steps ahead of me, his eyes scanning the menu with careful consideration. Seafood had been a staple in my house, but nothing nearly as fancy as what I saw on this menu. Maybe I should’ve been more specific in my description of “seafood.”

“Is there anything in particular you recommend?”

He glance up at me, setting his menu down on the table. “What do you usually like?”

“Salmon is usually my go-to.” My father cooked it almost every sunday for dinner, at home. It was the only thing my mother would allow him to cook in our kitchen, since, according to her, it was the only dish he could cook better than her. Plus, she got a break from cooking, as an added bonus, though she’d never admit that she saw it as such.

“Do you like pasta?” He tilted his head to the side, keeping his eyes on me, but not quite staring. Not yet, at least.

“I’ve only had it a few times,” I answered, “but I remember liking it well enough.”

“A few times?” He frowned. “Pasta? That’s what we’re talking about, right?”

“Yes,” I confirmed, laughing a little nervously. “My parents weren’t big pasta chefs, I’m afraid, and we rarely ate out, because getting five young kids to sit still at a dinner table was no easy task for them.”

He nodded slowly, though all it took was one look for me to know that the fact that pasta wasn’t a staple in my household baffled him. “Well, then I recommend the salmon ravioli.”

I tilted my head to the side, having never have heard those two particular foods being combined before. “That sounds good,” I offered, along with a smile. “I’ll keep that in mind, along with my apparent pasta ineptitude.”

“You're right, it does. I think I'll have that too.” With that, he closed his menu, setting it on the edge of the table. “Anything to drink?”

I raised an eyebrow. “Are we about to test my wine tolerance?”

“We can if you want.”

“As long as it's not a red,” I replied with an amused laugh. Maybe I should make it my goal to drink wine with all of the Schreaves before this all was over. Out of the ones currently in the palace, the only one I was missing was Safiya. The idea was intriguing.

He let out a low chuckle, and then replied, “You can get whatever drink you like.”

“Sauvignon Blanc, then,” I decided after quickly scanning the list of white wines.

He nodded. “Sure, if you'd like. I think I'll have something else though.”

Had he thought I was deciding for the both of us? My eyes went wide, and I shook my head quickly. “No, of course.”

I turned to my left, watching the sunset out the window. Change the subject. Change the subject, Change the subject.

“Random question,” I began, turning back to face him once again, “but what led you to find the book you recommended me?”

“Oh, it was just something I read some years back. I think it’s important to have an understanding of what made Illéa the way it is and to have multiple opinions on controversial subjects,” he answered nonchalantly.

I nodded, biting the inside of my cheek as I mulled his answer over. “It’s an interesting read, for sure, and has definitely answered a lot of the questions I had. I think it’s just left me a tad frustrated, though.” I shook my head before continuing. “I mean, I know this was a time that my grandparents were alive, but my parents always instructed my siblings and I never to talk about it, but now, especially, I would love to hear what they have to say about it.”

“They may not have wanted to share with you for their own reasons. The war isn't remembered fondly.”

No shit, Sherlock.

“No, I know, and my grandfather was a naval engineer, so…” I trailed off, looking back down at my hands, in my lap, not sure of where I had even been going with that sentence.

Luckily for me, the waiter came back over at that moment, asking us if we were ready to order. After placing our orders, the rest of the night went smoothly. Once the food came, Arin was too distracted to chat, and by the time we had gotten in the car on the way home, it was a struggle for me just to stay awake. I practically collapsed into my bed when we finally got back to the palace, pausing only to change into pajamas and take off my makeup.

I slept soundly, for the first time in a long while.

#selectionoc

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flowerflamestars · 5 years ago

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Hello love, hope you are well 🥰 I noticed you've posted/reblogged a bit of witcher content lately, and I was wondering if you would ever consider writing anything for it?

Maybe! Eventually? Possibly.

I have nothing strictly planned right now, caveat being I am literally only familiar with the netflix content- so it would definitely be super AU.

But anyone who follows me knows I love a raging woman and Yen is just like *chef kiss* THE RAGE,THE BEAUTY, the messy not necessarily wanting a kid for real but wanting what fucking men and the system would deny her at ANY COST.

The ship I’ve seen the most content for though is, Geralt/Jaskier??

I’d go the most AU there: Geralt, built like a brickhouse forest ranger. His national park is huge for the revitalization efforts of native wolf populations, his first career was a wildlife biologist. He’s out there grumpily doing The Most for everything that walks swims or crawls.

BUT

Bordering his park, a property abandoned for years and years after the implosion of a commune, the grandson of the original artsy menance who haunted Geralts predecessor has shown up freshly washed out of grad school to turn the property into a flower farm.

Jaskier grows tulips!

Tourists love tulips! (Geralt hates tourists.)

Jaskier decides that no, he’s not going to take another look at his as yet unfinished thesis on the legacy of chivalric codes in European composition- HE! is going find huckleberries. In the woods. He is going to go into the woods for fruit to make jam to sell to tourists and everything will be FINE

Jaskier gets lost in the woods.

Geralt, of course, finds Jaskier wandering around, half soaked from tripping over the roots of a very majestic tree he was addressing his stress to and promptly falling into a stream.

Jaskier is 80% he’s accidentally incited a vision quest and Silver Haired Forest God is a VERY good hallucination. Who then, naturally, proceeds to wrap him in an emergency blanket, bully him into rehydrating, and somehow with about five words total and shockingly good snacks make Jaskier feel completely better.

What proceeds is a courtship for the ages.

Jaskier mourns very publically in the cute tourist artsy town half an hour away about Silver Haired Forest God only for half the residents to be like yeah? Geralt?

THEY ALL HAVE A STORY

He rescues cats from trees. He magically fixes maybe murderously haunted espresso machines. He once glared a bear out of town. He keeps bees and gives all the old ladies free honey.

And Jaskier, bless his heart, is like Okay. OKAY. fifty fifty chance? Sixty forty? He gave me cookies- no straight man is carrying around lemon lavender shortbread, right? Or has that perfect of hair, RIGHT?

(Old lady in the background: he makes those cookies! But the hair is natural, dear. Her companion: a natural phenomenon, maybe.)

So Jaskier takes up hiking.

Geralt, meanwhile, knows exactly who Jaskier is because Local Gossip. Could he just go say hi? Sure. Will he? God, absolutely not.

He sends him homemade get-well mead. Actually starts telling tourists the correct direction to drive to find the farm. Shows up after an unseasonable spring flood to fix a fence with his own hands.

Flower farm employee who talks to Geralt, extremely aware of her bosses crush that is Visible from Space: You want to try the back acre? Its a mess back there.

Meanwhile, Jaskier, stomping to the back acre where he’s trying out some new cultivars, to himself: hiking is the worst! it has been months, months! Maybe he only talks to wolves. Or animals in distress. I could be an animal in distress again.

Geralt, loping up silently and noticing Jaskier crouched down in a flower bed, half hidden behind a sunhat, red cheeked and adorable, with great feeling: Fuck.

Jaskier, who has excellent hearing jumping up, brain processing nothing but Large, and thwacking Geralt in the face with his flower gathering basket: jesus fuck

Since the basket mostly missed him, Geralt kind of laughs? And rolls with it? Picks up what Jaskier flung, gently tips back upright the pot de-marking the path that Jaskier had knocked over.

And Jaskier is Dying. DYING. He’s been looking for hot man! for months! But Hot Man found him when he’s like, covered in soil and sweat and literally wearing one of his dearly departed grandmother’s hats because no one bothered to tell him mountains are actually secret sunburn hell.

There’s stuttering. And pontificating. And Jaskier not at all thinking oh my god his eyes his hands his throat his- TALL

But he eventually manages to ask Geralt why he’s there.

And Geralt smiles. Hands him back his basket that he’s been holding the whole time, straightens from the cute little lean down scrunch he was affecting to hold Jaskier’s eyes and it all like, well, I thought I’d fix your fence that got destroying in the storm.

And then buy you a drink.

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maple-writes · 4 years ago

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WHG 13: Heist Part One

tagging @concealeddarkness13 @onmywaytobe @nightskywriter and @ratracechronicler (Let me know if you’d like anything changed!)

Indigo wasn’t usually nervous at these grand events, but then again, she usually wasn’t planning on helping attack the president. Up until now everything had gone relatively well, only a few snags and hitches here and there that weren’t too difficult to smooth out. But now it was the big night.

It wasn’t everyday she got to dress nice. Her dress was silver, with a deep plunging neckline and gemstones embedded into the fabric that made it glitter like sunlight off a brook. Black heels matched black silk gloves that hid Snows tracker tucked away inside.

She stood between Logan and Margot masquerading as avoxes as the elevator took them higher and higher up to the rooftop pavilion. The others would be there later on. Indigo leaned back against the side wall, watching through the window as it took her higher and higher. At this time of day, with the sun sinking lower in the sky, it was beautiful.

The two pseudo-avoxes seemed already suited for their roles, standing silent, tense, and glancing at each other without a word. Indigo looked between them, then up at the display on top of the doors. Still had a good few floors to go.

“Lighten up, alright?” She glanced between the two of them. “Keep your heads down and stay out of the way and hardly anyone will give you a second look. Just stick to the walls, pay attention, and do what I tell you.” When they didn’t look any less nervous, Indigo smiled. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to make you do anything weird.”

The door dinged and they stepped out onto the rooftop. They were far from the first to arrive, music already playing, people already dancing. Indigo wasted no time picking up a glass of wine from the nearest server and joining in, sending Logan to find somewhere to hang her jacket. Going straight for Snow would be far to obvious and besides, she had all night.

She spied Snow’s advisor, the one who’d snuck up on them in the hovercraft hanger, and made her way up to him.

“There you are!” She greeted him with a smile and finished off her glass, handing it to Margot to deal with. “How has it been with the Retriever?”

He rolled his eyes. “Oh, is that what you’re thinking of calling it?”

“Maybe,” Indigo shrugged, holding out her hands dismissively. “As I said, it’s a prototype. I’m still brainstorming on it.” She glanced back over her shoulder at the dance floor, then back at him. “Would you care to join me?”

He agreed, and she shooed Margot and Logan to wait over by the wall as she let him guide her to the edge of the floor. She laid her hands over his shoulders, grinning as they moved further and further into the crowd where the music grew louder with every swing.

Snow’s advisor seemed to be enjoying himself too. “So,” He rested a hand on her waist. “What ever happened to that little avox you were telling me about the other day?”

“Oh, well,” She swayed, following his lead. “He died.” They stepped in time with each other as Indigo gave an exasperated sigh. “Started seizing during the night, heart stopped by morning.” She paused with the rhythm of the dance.

The advisor laughed uncomfortably. “That’s too bad, I hope it wasn’t all because of me.”

“Too early to tell.” Indigo smiled and blinked with lengthened eyelashes. “Though I did have to put our encounter on the report, just in case we find anything in the autopsy.” She laughed, and the tension seemed to ease from his face. “Don’t loose sleep over him, he was just an avox.”

He seemed put at ease, starting to smile again as they danced, weaving between the others like schooling fish until the song ended and they parted ways. She sent Logan for another glass of white wine as she took in the scene. It was well decorated, even for Snow’s parties, with lights criss crossing the open sky, a live band, tables of elaborate food displays, and the novelty of having her Retriever to one side of the room. It had already gathered a decent crowd, with party goers stroking its fur and playing with it. A couple even let it lick their face, laughing at the mess it made of their makeup. Indigo took a sip of her wine. It even looked like someone had given it a bath with the way it’s fur seemed just a bit fluffier than when it had left her lab.

The other small crowd at the other end of the room must have been for Skylar. She could hear questions being thrown out from where she stood. So many of them were repeats too, as if no one was really paying attention to the answers they gave to anyone else. Hopefully that little Challenge To Control had patience. They must have, otherwise they were very good at speaking through electrical shocks. Indigo took another drink from her glass. Too bad they were going to be rescued tonight. Umbra Ursi could benefit from someone like them, though something told her it wouldn’t work out anyway. Sure, they had the temperament, but someone would have to keep a very close eye on them lest their good morals get in the way. Oh well. She’d let that one slide for the reward of crashing the presidents party.

Speaking of which…

She glanced up at the head table where Snow stood dressed to the nines and talking to someone, probably the head game maker. He looked down at her when he noticed her watching. Grinning, she raised her glass towards him, and he halfheartedly returned the gesture as she finished her drink. Oh if only he knew.

Out of the elevator, the first batch of stowaways stepped out onto the rooftop. The others wouldn’t be far behind. Indigo smiled. Perfect.

The sun sunk lower as she rejoined the party, drinking and dancing with game makers, officials, and everyone in between. By the time she dismissed Margot and Logan to the sidelines and made her way up to the little platform where Snow’s table was laid out, she was giddy, cheeks flushed from the wine, and grinning ear to ear.

“Coriolanus!” She approached him with open arms, gesturing to the party below. “You’ve outdone yourself tonight!” She giggled, swaying a little as she leaned across the table towards him. “Come join me.” When he declined she shook her head, laughing like he’d told a joke. “What, and miss your own party? Come on, one dance and I’ll leave you alone” She stood up straight again, holding one gloved hand spread over her heart. “You have my word.” It was common knowledge that he wasn’t particularly fond of her, but hopefully he would remember it wouldn’t be a good look for him to offend her in public by refusing her a second time.

He said something about her word being worthless, but reluctantly agreed, requesting a shorter song on their way past the band. Short, but long enough. Long enough to say what he wanted to hear, drape her arms around his neck, slip the tracker out of her glove and tuck it under the collar of his suit jacket as he brought her in from a shallow dip. By the time they were done she couldn’t stop herself from smiling, but no doubt he and anyone watching would think it had everything to do with the wine and the party and nothing else.

She spotted Absolon chatting up a group of young party-goers and slipped the crowd towards them.

“There you are! I thought I heard you were coming.” She greeted him with a smile, resting a light hand on his arm as she turned towards his small crowd. “I hope you don’t mind if I steal him for a dance, do you?”

Absolon smiled along as she led him to the dance floor, and if she didn’t know better she would have thought it was genuine.

“Enjoying yourself?” She said as they danced.

This close he smelled like espresso, and he practically vibrated as he answered. “Great! Everything’s great!” He spoke a mile a second. “A night to remember for years and years to come am I right?”

Oh she sure hoped so. “Wonderful!” She giggled as Absolon whirled faster, almost knocking her off balance.

“What about you?” Some of the false friendliness dropped from his voice. “Enjoying your day off from traumatizing children, toying with innocent lives and playing god?”

Part of her wondered if she should have been insulted, but she couldn’t help but laugh. “I am!” She’d heard worse anyway. The song started to end, and Indigo and glanced up at Snow’s head table. “Anyway, I’d say the odds just shifted in your favor.” She winked and plucked a glass of wine from a passing server, raising it towards him in a mock toast. “Until next time!”

He gave her a look like he truly hoped there would be no next time, and really, Indigo couldn’t blame him. She didn’t pay it any attention though. If she dwelled on everyone who wanted nothing to do with her she’d be there all night. But she’d done what the group of them needed, so at least he had the good sense not to start anything right then and there. From here on out it was just business as usual.

She finished her drink and rejoined the party

#writeblr hunger games #writeblr hunger games 13 #Indigo Carmine #idk how to write fun dialoge like Absolon's so hopefully it's half decent #lol

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sebastianshaw · 5 years ago

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@sammysdewysensitiveeyes - I felt bad you weren’t getting a lot of Pyro content in canon, so I wrote you some!

The next member of their team was meant to be arriving today. She was going to be a...most unusual addition. She was human. Pyro didn’t like it. The entire POINT of Krakoa was to keep away from humans who would hurt them. And sure this human allegedly very much did NOT want that, it was why Xavier handpicked her to be involved, and Xavier could vet a person inside and out...but Pyro couldn’t help WORRYING. Maybe she wasn’t a conscious plant, but what if someone was using her without her knowing? How was Xavier checking for THAT? Maybe the rest of Krakoa was happy to put their fate in the hands of men like him and Magneto and Sebastian Shaw, but Pyro was of the firm opinion that the guys on top never really had the best interest of the bottom at heart. But that didn’t mean he’d pass up a chance to roast some Verendi pigs, which was what had just been provided---the ship of their new ally had been attacked en route, big surprise, and thus the current crew of the Marauder---Sebastian, Shinobi, and Pyro---had been deployed to intervene. Shinobi kept their own boat safe while Pyro and Sebastian boarded the other---just in time to witness one of the Verendi hurling a sari-clad woman off the deck by her throat. “Allerdyce, take care of the rest,” said Shaw, tearing his shirt and jacket off with his bear---er, bare---hands. Not taking it off, literally TEARING. “Are you kidding?!” Pyro asked, shocked both at Shaw’s apparent intentions and at how beefed up the old bastard was under those tailored suits. Like he had eyes, he could tell the guy was huge, but JEEZUS. “I’m not having my team fail this early,” Shaw said, “And besides--” The rest came out mid-air as he dove into the drink, “--you’re hardly in swimming shape.” Secretly hoping he ‘teammate’ drowned, Pyro returned to the fray, gleefully keeping the Verendi at bay with his flames. That was the easy part. The hard part was not blowing them up in their stupid suits, or boiling them alive, or--- “ALLERDYCE!” he heard the oh-so-charming shout of his new ‘boss’ barking for him, just as the fun was over. “What, did you--” Pyro started to ask as he hustled over, admittedly not as fast as he could have. “Do the damn chest compressions!” Shaw cut him off. The woman, soaking wet and unconscious--or worse--was laid out on the deck. “Why--” “Because at my current strength I will pulverize her bones!” Shaw bellowed. Pyro didn’t like taking orders from Shaw, but he wasn’t about to let this lady die right in front of him either if half of what he’d heard about her was true, no matter what his misgivings might be about involving her in the Marauders. So he duly obeyed with the compressions, as well as mouth to mouth just so Shaw couldn’t. Because f this woman was an ally to mutantkind she deserved better than that. It worked. She gasped, her body jolting. “Alright, there she is” said Shaw, “You keep her conscious, Allerdyce---someone has to steer this ship.” With that, he departed to find the helm and radio Shinobi to let him know all was well, and knock out any remaining hostiles. Pyro glared at his back as he went, but then quickly turned his attention back to the semi-conscious woman, who was moving slightly now, her eyes glazed. She said something unsteadily in a foreign language. Well, in a language that wasn’t English; Pyro had been a foreigner in Southeast Asia and learned it really a matter of perspective. Speaking of that... “That Gujarati, love?” he asked gently. He couldn’t speak it nor understand it, but he thought he recognized it. He’d never got as far as India in his travels as a journalist, but he’d encountered this language in Singapore, Indonesia, and Malayasia. Sounded a bit different from her though, maybe because she was from India directly. Or just because she was terribly waterlogged. She mumbled something else weakly in the same tongue, putting one of her hands to her head. “I’m sorry, I don’t speak it,” he said, truly apologetic. The was woman silent for a moment, and her eyes closed. Oh no. Had he lost her? God, Shaw was never going to let him hear the end of it! Then she opened them, and said, “I apologize, I do speak English, I just...needed a moment.” “Take two, you earned ‘em,” Pyro smiled relieved. She began sitting up slowly, and Pyro helped her. “I...assume you saved me?” “Well, I helped,” he said, then amended, “Someone else go you out from the drink but I did the rest, getting you breathing again and all.” “Thank you, so much, I really have no idea what to say,” she sounded rather awed. Oh man, he’d forgotten what it was like to be a superhero! He’d never much cared for that life in general, the idea of just DOING things for people for nothing in return, especially people who HATED you for EXISTING as a mutant, but there had been a few times in Freedom Force like this where he felt really GOOD when people were actually grateful. “Aw it’s---it’s nothing, all in a day’s work really,” he said, puffing his chest as best he could, which was nigh-imperceptible given how skinny he was. “You have my deepest gratitude all the same. You also have a good ear---that was indeed Parsi Gujarati. “Ohhh!” Pyro was pleased he’d been right, “Is that why it sounded a bit off from what I heard ‘round Jakarta?” “You do indeed have a good ear! Yes, it’s very distinct. For instance, we use much softer consonants-- They were interrupted by Shaw’s sardonic tone over the intercom, “ I can see our guest is conscious, Mr. Allerdyce, so if you’re quite done flirting, send her to the helm for briefing before we get to the portal. At your leisure, of course.” Pyro did not say ass aloud but it was very, very much written on his face. *** Pyro was waking up waaay to early at Blackstone, specifically in Shinobi’s ridiculously oversized bed, Shinobi himself beside him. Pyro could tell his companion was going to be out cold for a long time yet, and probably wish he’d slept longer when he did wake up. Pyro would have preferred to just stay in bed himself, but nature called. And after a good long piss into the en suite bathroom---kind of surprised that the toilet wasn’t solid gold, although it did have more features than Shinobi’s phone---Pyro himself had yet to adjust to fancy celluars---found himself restless, and undergoing his typical post-drinking cravings for something salty. Kind of weird since wasn’t booze supposed to dehydrate you, but whatever, old man Shaw surely had some kind of super-fancy dried unicorn meat from a lost continent or whatever hanging around somewhere. He just needed to find it. But the place was a maze. Gilded maze, he made a mental note of that for one of his novels as he wandered the huge halls, intending to use it in the internal monologue of the heroine lost in the Marquis’s opulent mansion that nonetheless held an overbearing evil in its walls as potent and palpable in the air as that in his black heart. Actually shit, some of the decor in this place would make for great--- “Wider than a highway, huh?” Pyro had been so lost in cataloguing the fancy bric-a-brac along the way that he’d not noticed it had been joined by a flesh and blood person. Well, maybe flesh and blood, they looked silver. Certainly all the skin he could see was, which was a lot given their short little black robe, though he in his boxers certainly wasn’t about to be scandalized. Wait, silver skin? “Mindmeld, right?” “Shinobi tell you about me?” she was smirking a little. “Yeah, something like that,” he replied. It was suddenly really hard not to say something rude, given WHAT Shinobi had told him, but reminded himself if this woman was fucking Shaw, she deserved PITY more than anything. Plus it wouldn’t do to piss off her off before she told him where she got that coffee cup in her hand. “He didn’t tell me where to find the kitchen though.” “Which one?” Oh god of course there’d be more than one, Shaw probably didn’t want his food prepared in the same area as Shinobi’s guests since they were all people like Pyro. He groaned, lowering his head and burying his long bony fingers in his dandelion puff blond curls, “Just whichever one has some eggs and espresso.” “Come on,” she gestured lightly and turned, leading the way. Damn tall drink of water, might have been taller than Shaw, though far less broad than he was, but more so than Pyro...admittedly, that range probably covered almost everyone on the planet. She didn’t ask his name, so he offered his with some pride, “I’m Pyro, I’m one of the Marauders.” “Neat.” “‘Spect Mr. Shaw has a few things to say about me.” She looked mildly thoughtful a moment, “Uh...no, never mentioned you. I think I’ve heard the Marauders, but not Pyro.” “How about Mr. Allerdyce?” “Definitely not.” Ok, he was kind of insulted now, not by Mindmeld but he took it out on her anyway with a snippy, “Well he hasn’t mentioned you either.” She just gave him a funny look.” “Sorry,” he said abashed at how stupid and spiteful he sounded, “We just don’t get on too well, me and Sebastian.” “What a surprise.” “So you know he’s a pompous asshole.” “Oh yeah, it’s hilarious,” she said, “Like the other day, these two like, total Eurotrash blonds come in, and he told them they were living proof of how inbreeding ruined the royal Austrian family tree or something, I don’t know, and I just told the guy he shouldn’t wear black if he’s not going to clean the semen stains off it first. The girl, her outfit was great, but nothing I could say was going to be worse than that Basic Bitch haircut.” “So what, you two just hang around talking shit about everyone else like we’re dirt on your shoes?!” Any regret he had about being snippy was suddenly gone. “Yeah, pretty much,” she said, her blase tone not changing. He started to say something else but she turned her head to him and said, tone still the same, “Look, if you’re gonna get precious, I can leave you right here. Next person to find you will probably be him, you know. He’s always up crazy early.” It was a potent threat. Normally Pyro was not afraid at all to deal with that hirsute egomaniac, but in his current state, he was not fit for the battle of barbs. “No, no, lead the way,” he sighed. “Cool,” Mindmeld turned her gaze front again and added, “Sorry you’re mad I’m his dick puppet.” If Pyro had a liquid in his mouth he would have spit it out. He must have made some kind of sound, because she asked, “What, Shinobi not mention that?” “He uh...he mentioned it a lot, yeah. “Good,” she smiled at him, and turned away. Weird. They got to small kitchen, very normal looking. So much so that it felt almost surreally out of place. “Drip’s over there,” Mindmeld pointed. Okay, nice, Shaw had a proper espresso machine. No surprise, he probably kept a full roasting machine and French press and other fancy barista shit in HIS kitchen---he was obviously not using THIS one. While he put on the drip, Mindmeld sat down and started playing idly with a phone left on table, obviously hers. Pyro was sure the bowl of Lucky Charms next to it surely wasn’t Sebastian Shaw’s. “You uh, live here?” “Yeah basically,” she did not look up from her phone, “Beats public housing.” Pyro realized he hadn’t thought about how everyone on Krakoa was living; he’d been basically on a boat the whole time himself. “What, is it bad?” he asked, imagining the crowded slums he’d seen in some of his travels, as well as the crappier apartments he’d stayed in, which was most. “Nah, but this is better.” “Yeah well, the rent seems high to me.” “You just have a different landlord.” “Hey, I’m nobody’s kept--” The espresso shot was ready, and it going off gave him a moment to cool down again. “Sorry, there’s nothing wrong with...with you,” he said, after taking his cup and sitting down across from her, “I just feel bad for Shinobi, he says you two used to be..” . “Together? Kinda, yeah. He tell you the part where he left me to die? or before that, where I was stuck in somebody else’s body and he was still ready to put the guy through a depowering machine while I was inside him?” “I, uh...no.” Was there some kind of mistake? He’d thought Shinobi was harmless. He knew the guy was selfish and spoiled, but it was hard to imagine him that cold. “Yeah, I bet not,” she said, her tone still the same, “He doesn’t seem like he has it in him, does he?” “Uh...no.” “Well, even a rat will bite if it’s back is against the wall,” her eyes rose from her phone and met his intensely, “So if you’re in deep shit, don’t count on him to pull you out.” They went back to her phone, “He’s beautiful though so, you know, keep doing what you’re doing, I’m not judging.” “Uh...” Pyro had no idea what to say to this, “So is that why...” He had thought it had been money, since anything Shinobi had was actually coming from Sebastian, but now he wondered if it was for... “Vengeance? Pyro nodded. “Could you think of a BETTER way?” Pyro admitted he could not. “You must be pretty dedicated,” he said, still not able to get the ‘ick’ feeling quite out. It wasn’t the idea of sex for benefits his skin was crawling at, it was sex with SHAW. He supposed he could see the physical appeal if that man wasn’t so personally repulsive, but... “I mean, I just came back to life like this month” she shrugged idly, “I’ve got nothing from before to go back to, I’ve got nothing else going on.” “I don’t know, you look like you got it going on to me,” Pyro gave an exaggerated wink. That made her snort-laugh. Okay, he felt they were good now. And he felt suddenly a lot warmer to her. Not from knowing she had better reasons than he thought---the reasons unsettled him actually---but because of how similar their situations were. A situation doubtless shared by many Krakoans but he hadn’t had a real chance yet to talk to many Krakoans. He had planned to spend today fixing that actually, going and finding out if what few friends he’d had in his life before were here now. Like Dom. Wondered if Mindmeld had any, a Dom or a Mort or a Fred. Kinda doubted it, somehow. “Hey, uh, listen,” he began. She looked up from her phone. “Do you wanna go...check out the island with me? I been at sea since I came back, I don’t know what’s on it, but there’s got to be SOMETHING people been doing all day for fun, right?” She regarded him a long moment. “Yeah,” she finally said, “I’d like that."

#fic #writing #alt marauders #pyro

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rowanwhitethornisbae · 4 years ago

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Here to Stay

Holiday One Shots (Day 2): Elriel Christmas Party Fluff

A/N: This is kinda short but I just wanted to get something out today!! Hope you enjoy

Azriel didn't quite know how he’d ended up here, at an office holiday party for a firm he didn't even work at, on Christmas Eve. Yet here he was, sipping leisurely from a tall glass of champagne as he scouted the room for any threats. By threats, he meant his already drunk best friend, Cassian. He had been dragged here against his own will, only convinced by the fact that Rhys and Feyre were here too and he definitely didn't want to spend Christmas Eve alone.

Although, as he stood in the far corner of the massive office lobby watching Cassian sway drunkenly on the dance floor, he wondered if that would've been the better option.

Sighing and internally promising to just stay home next year, Azriel made his way through the tightly packed 30th floor to the elevator on the other side. He grazed people left and right, even jostling a woman to the point where she nearly spilled her wine. None of them seemed to care and barely even glanced at him for an apology. By the time he reached the elevators at last, he had stopped mumbling constant apologies under his breath.

He slipped into the elevator unnoticed and pressed the button for the roof. He’d been planning on going downstairs and hailing a cab when he realized Cassian had their apartment key. His new plan involved a rooftop, some fresh air, and hopefully peace and quiet.

The elevator chimed as it reached the top floor and he stepped off hesitantly. It seemed the universe was not in his favour tonight, as his so-called “plans” were already ruined by the figure on the balcony. Her back was to him, but he could make out a satin pale pink dress blowing in the frosty wind. She had a bottle of champagne in her left hand and was taking long swigs every few seconds. Her head was tilted up at the sky, but he couldn't see any stars.

Azriel debated turning around and going back downstairs. Maybe he could just wait out the party in the bathroom. Just as he moved to leave, she spoke. “Are you just going to stand there?” He voice was soft, but travelled to him in the wind. She still wasn't facing him and Azriel found himself felling a little disappointed at his inability to see her lips form the words as she spoke to him.

As if reading his thoughts, she spun around. She was beautiful, in the way that simple perfection was. Her hair was down and curtain bangs hid the edges of her sparking eyes. The moonlight cast a glow on one side of her face, illuminating soft pale skin and high cheekbones.

He took a step towards her, and then another. Before he knew it, or even could comprehend what he was doing, Azriel was leaning against the bacon beside her.

He reached out a hand and she handed him the bottle of champagne. He took a long drink, turning to look out at the city below them. It was beautiful, with lights spanning miles and miles in all directions. A few streets down, Azriel could make out a huge Christmas tree, adorned with festive decorations and a large glowing star.

“I’m Elain.” She told him, taking back her bottle.

“Azriel.” He murmerred, turning to face her again.

“Azriel.” She echoed and he found himself revelling in the way his name sounded rolling off her full lips. “What brings you up here all alone?”

He nearly missed the question, too transfixed with the bob of her throat. “Generally just not a social person.” He replied. When she cocked her head to the left a little, he elaborated. “But my best friend is.”

“Ahhh.” They held eye contact for a moment too long and Azriel found himself embarrassed when she was the one to break it off.

“What about you?” He asked, his hands toying with his silver watch.

Elain smiled softly, but there was a hint of sadness in the expression she wore. “Would you believe me if I told you I wasn't social either?”

Before he could stop himself, he blurted. “No.”

She laughed, and the sound was by far the most pure thing he’d heard in a very long time. His heart fluttered in his chest and his cheeks went red. Azriel silently thanked the maintenance for the lack of lighting on this rooftop.

She sighed dramatically. “Broke up with my boyfriend.”

Azriel chewed on his lower lip. “On Christmas Eve, dick move.”

She grinned wickedly, making eye contact with him once again. “I actually dumped him.”

Azriel internally cursed himself for his stupidity. “Oh uh...” He trailed off, very unsure of what to say.

Elain brushed off his awkwardness with a wave of her hand. “Don't worry about it. It was sorta a dick move, but I couldn't handle his bullshit anymore.”

She didn't elaborate, and Azriel didn't press it. She shivered and downed the last of the champagne, probably hoping it would warm her up. It didn't, and she hugged herself closer.

Without thinking, Azriel shrugged off his tux jacket and handed it to her, his expression leaving no room for protest.

Elain smiled thankfully at him and accepted the coat graciously. With nothing but a thin dress shirt to protect him from the December cold, a chill ran down Azriel’s spine.

“I owe you.” She smiled up at him.

Azriel wasn't sure if it was the cold getting to his brain or just the way her cheeks flushed red under his heated gaze but he found himself saying, “Let me take you out and we’ll call it even?”

She flushed even redder, her lips parting in surprise. “I guess it's only fair.”

Azriel had never been this bold or spontaneous in his entire life. Yet with this beautiful woman standing before him wrapped up in his jacket, he promised himself to do it more often.

Tag List: (send an ask to be added)

@queen-of-glass

@courtofjurdan

@fictional-horan

@bamchickawowow

@julemmaes

@in-love-with-caramel-macchiato

@chieflemming

@morganofthewildfire

@http-itsrebecca

@captainswanandclintasha

@booknerdproblems

@sassys-world

@thegoddessofyou

@cityofchelsea16

@loudphantomdragon

@poisonous00

@wesupreme

@becarefuloflove

@more-espresso-less-depresso-xx

@tillyrubes10

@perseusannabeth

@rabodocardan

@heirofthrnightcourt004

@sportfire1089

@superspiritfestival

#elriel #elain archeron #elain and azriel #azriel #acotar

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wild-aloof-rebel · 5 years ago

Photo

well, y’all, it finally happened. for the first time since i started doing these rec lists, i did not manage to read all of the fic that’s been completed in the last half-month. partially it’s because that also included all the frozen over fics that dropped just before my last rec list, but everyone has also seemingly been extra productive lately. typically there have been somewhere in the neighborhood of 80 fics published in each half of the month. this time, including frozen over, there were 204 completed fics--that’s over 625,000 words. despite my efforts, i only managed to read a bit over half of that.

all this is to say, usually these lists are my recs from what has been published in the last half-month. this time it’s just recs from what i’ve actually managed to read in the last half-month. next time around will certainly include more fics that were published in late october as i [hopefully] start to catch up on reading the rest.

<1k words

just as you are... by startswithhope (rated T) After an emotionally draining morning, David just really needs a hug.

Those Days by blueink3 (rated G) Because, every once in a while, David cannot get out of bed. If pressed to explain why, he can’t. It’s a melancholia that has no trigger, no warning, no reason. It doesn’t need one. Or, it's one of those days. Patrick knows what to do.

Trick or Treat by imbrokelyn99 (rated G) David and Patrick bicker lightly about giving away candy at the store, and also Patrick is a bit of a little shit.

1 - 3k words

I want your midnights by cromarty (rated G) For the prompt “On New Year’s Eve, David and Patrick discuss New Year’s resolutions - past and present.” (If you like this one, also check out the sequel, Kiss Me Thru The Phone, rated T.)

Shiver and Glide by smoulderandbraids (rated T) David and Alexis watch Patrick and Ted play shinny. David has a lot of feelings.

transparent desires by livelyvague (rated T) How those stained glass dicks ended up in Rose Apothecary.

what was he like? by blueink3 (rated G) “You must be Patrick,” she murmurs, a slight roll to the ‘r’, and he tilts his head, a friendly but confused frown on his face. “I am.” There’s something familiar about her. Something he can’t place. “I’m so sorry, have we met?” “Not officially, no,” she says with a warm smile, bordering on emotional. “My name is Adelina.”

3 - 5k words

A Warm Welcome by sonlali (rated G) Marcy sends Patrick a package with his annual Christmas sweater and a surprise sweater for David.

Goodwill by Hth (rated M) I think we should focus on the business, Patrick said. It hasn't been easy.

5 - 10k words

I’m All Lost (in the supermarket) by sullymygoodname (rated G) When it's up to David to spread cheerful tidings and goodwill toward men, what is the world even coming to? Or, Patrick is upset that they can't go visit his parents for the holidays, and Stevie is experiencing seasonal sadness, so David tries to cheer them up. He doesn't know why he thought this was a good plan.

Silver and Gold by bigficenergy (rated E) A surprise visit interrupts David's plans to give Patrick a special gift on Christmas Eve. (But don't worry, they get to it).

10k+ words

I’ve been sleeping so long in a twenty-year dark night (now I’m wide awake) by cromarty (rated T) “You’re family?” the older EMT asks. Patrick nods, involuntarily. It’s the adrenaline, maybe, or just the fantasy world he’s built himself to get through the nights, but it just falls out of his mouth. “I’m going to marry her.” Or, A While You Were Sleeping AU: The Roses haven’t lost their money, and Patrick is the night doorman for their building after deciding to start over in Toronto.

On My Way by Distractivate (rated M) "You realize every single Christmas since Patrick and I have been together, something has gone awry?” “The first one was good.” “The first one we were supposed to get an espresso machine, and instead we got a sad party in the motel.” Or, Five Christmases David and Patrick spend (mostly) apart, and one they spend together.

you turn me into somebody loved by wardo_wedidit (rated M) Their first holidays together in Schitt’s Creek, David and Patrick decide to give each other homemade gifts, and David learns to love winter.

#schitt's creek #schitts creek #fic recs #rebel fic round up #more recs from october to come next month #between writing my own fic and work and life i just could NOT get to all of it this month #i've got like 77 more to go to catch up

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stainandscribble · 5 years ago

Text

Breve

Pairing: Sehun (EXO) x Reader ft. EXO

Genre: Coffee Shop AU, Fluff, one shot

Summary: Black Pearl is now open until late, and although it is wonderful news for patrons, it is not so wonderful for Sehun. Or is it?

The quiet ambience is destroyed with a group of college students stumbling drunkenly inside. Along with them, the cheerful art history student who happens to steal the heart of the youngest barista.

Maybe it’s Sehun who needs a little courage in his coffee.

Warnings: None, but they do drink alcohol.

Word Count: 4170

As the spring and summer months rolled around, the days were becoming longer, and exam season was approaching. Many students ended coming in at the last minute to order coffee before they would have to leave for closing time. Junmyeon had made an executive decision to keep Black Pearl open until late between Friday and Sunday. It had brought in multiple new patrons and swarms of night shift workers. Club bouncers came in for coffee before opening times around eight in the evening, and plenty of student who enjoyed late night cramming had come to them.

The late shift had taken on a new ambience. It was relaxing, albeit often being frustrating.

One of the disadvantages of being a coffee shop open very late in a student town, is that you sometimes get one or two stumbling drunk inside on Friday night.

Of all late shifts he had taken, Sehun considered Friday evening’s to be the worst. It was only ten in the evening, but the student population was partying in full swing, celebrating the end of the exam period.

He was the only barista on shift since Jongin bailed on him last minute to go to a concert with some school friends. Black Pearl was empty save for a couple on a date and Jongdae and his girlfriend, who were quietly reading on the sofa in the corner.

Bored out of his mind, he sipped on his second espresso of the night, willing his eyes to stay open. Chanyeol’s summer night playlist had numbed his brain as it droned faintly from the speakers, by now sounding more like annoying elevator music than upbeat instrumentals. Sehun downed the rest of the espresso, content with the bitterness it left on his tongue and the surge of clarity it had brought his mind.

Just as he put his cup down, the bell chimed, and he watched some of his college friends walk in, laughing loudly.

“Sehun!” One of them called out, laughing on his way to the counter as the others followed.

“How are you?” His friend asked as he leaned against the counter.

“I’m good.” Sehun put his cup down, quite happy with chatting with his friends, despite the states they were all in. Two of them were leaning against the counter, smiling a little too wide, their eyes wide and hazy from alcohol.

“Why don’t you go out with us?” One of them asked, their eyes never leaving the funky neon sign that hung behind him. It was glowing a bright blue, the word BLACK PEARL COFFEE spelled out in all capitals.

“I’m working.” He pointed to his silver name tag.

“When you finish then?” They asked.

“Maybe another time?” He answered.

“Fine, fine. Don’t pressure him.” One of his friends told the others, making her way to the front. She seemed more cheerful than usual and had been talking to another friend before she came towards him. That, and the fact that she was swaying lightly on the balls of her feet made it obvious to Sehun she had drank her fair share tonight.

“How much did you drink?” He asked, the twinge of amusement apparent on his face as his brows rose and lips pulled into a wide smile.

“They have ladies’ night before eleven.” Y/N answered, hands fiddling with the bracelet on her wrist.

“I see.” he nodded, watching as she progressively leaned more and more towards him.

“Too much.” She had clarified, sending Sehun to throw himself over the counter towards her as his cacophonous laughter broke through the quiet ambience of the café. He had to stop himself mid laugh as to not disturb the patrons. By now Jongdae was also sending glares his way, and he could see them from the corner of his eyes.

“Would you like anything?” he asked the group but received a chorus of no’s.

“Can I have a brave coffee?” Y/N asked, looking pointedly at the menu behind Sehun.

“A breve?” He asked, smile stretching over his mouth. He could not help but feel energised. Watching her right now was better than espresso.

“A brave coffee.” She nodded, and Sehun set off to work.

“Do want me to put extra courage in this?” He asked, a cheeky smile playing on his lips as he turned to face his friend.

“Can you also put in some common sense?” One of their other friends laughed, sending the group into a fit of giggles. Y/N laughed with them, shouting half-hearted insults back at their friends.

“I don’t know if it will fit in the cup.” Sehun told them, before passing a disposable cup to Y/N, barely making out the quiet thank you she sent his way.

-----------

In your intoxicated state, your brain liked pointing out things you ignored when sober. Hence why you were fixating on the way Sehun’s brown hair was parted in the middle, and the way it fell softly in curtains over his forehead. You liked the soft spark in his brown eyes. Hell, you loved it.

But you didn’t admit it to yourself sober.

When you woke up in the morning, the only tangible thoughts swarming through your brain were the unclear images of Sehun’s face from last night. His brown hair was longer than you remembered, and he had seemed to have matured greatly over the last year. His deep brown eyes had warmed up and softened. He looked healthier, and you knew that was because whatever he was doing now was what he loved. You had to be honest with yourself when you thought about how much more handsome he had gotten. There was something deeply alluring about the air of warm maturity he carried. You had had a small crush on him back when he was completing his dance major, and the little crush had seemed to break through onto the surface after seeing him again last night.

It had been a while since the two of you saw each other. He had graduated, and you were still a student. He also now had another group of friends, who were also his bosses and co-workers. College friends had become second place over time. You understood him. You too, had not seen your friends that often now with all the fuss of graduation and work.

The club was buzzing with blaring music and dancing bodies. The heat and energy it possessed directly contrasted with the quiet summer night outside.

It was in the warm night that Sehun’s friends waited for him to come. Tonight was one of the rare nights when all their friends could make it.

“You made it!” One of Sehun’s friends exclaimed as he approached them, wearing a bright blue Hawaiian shirt with some sort of yellow leaf pattern and black jeans. He towered over his friends, being the tallest of all of them.

He was also the first person Y/N saw as she approached the club.

“Where is Y/N?” She heard him ask, and her heart skipped a beat at the way his deep voice reverberated through the still air.

“She’ll be here soon.” Someone told him, right before she neared the group.

“I’m here!” Y/N announced, smiling brightly as she hugged all her girlfriends.

“Let’s go.” Sehun motioned for them to start making their way to the club, the brightly lit sign of Oasis casting a glow over his sharp features.

You had caught a glimpse of Sehun’s face illuminated by the pink glow of the neon lights, making his look even more ethereal than before.

If Sehun emanated warm maturity in Black Pearl, he was oozing playful charisma in the glow of the Oasis.

Your friends laughed and joked as you entered, their voices swallowed up by the blaring music as the lights blinded you.

You had made your way to the reserved booth before the guys left to get your drinks.

“Y/N.” One of your friends called out, catching your attention.

“You and Sehun?” She asked, wiggling her eyebrows at you. Your other friends joined in, teasing you.

“What do you mean?” You asked. You had no idea where they got the idea of you and him together, seeing as you barely saw each other nowadays.

“You’re matching.” Another friend pointed out, tugging playfully at your shirt.

“How?”

“Look at your shirt.” Indeed, the shirt you were wearing was similar. In fact, it was same shirt if not for the fact that Sehun’s had a leaf pattern, but yours’ had flowers instead. Even the colours were the same. You assumed it was from the same brand. There weren’t that many shops in the city, so you had probably brought it from the same one recently.

“Where did you get it from?” The same friend asked, before her attention was caught by someone else, as she started waving at the boys who were coming back with their drinks.

“I went thrift shopping.” You told them as Sehun set a drink down in front of you, before sliding into the seat next to you, bringing you closer as another friend sat down beside him. The girls sent you teasing winks from the other side of the booth.

Some time had passed, and the booth was almost empty as the rest of the group left for the dance floor. You were slowly sipping on your third drink, enjoying the warming buzz coursing through your blood stream. Sehun was still sitting beside you, sipping on his own drink. Despite the multitude of empty seats, he remained close, your body still pressed to his side.

The buzz of the alcohol and the blaring music were a pleasant contrast from the usual bitterness of coffee and soft instrumentals playing in the background that he was used to. Everything about Oasis was energising. The neon lights, the mass of people, the way Y/N swayed lightly with the music, absentmindedly bumping her knee with his, and the way Sehun’s arm was draped on the backrest behind her as her hair tickled his skin. It made Sehun buzz inside as he settled into the ambience of it all.

“Come out with us more often.” She told him, looking up to see his face. Sehun smiled lightly at her, hyperaware of their close proximity, and the looks their friends were shooting at them from the dance floor.

“I’ll try,” He told her, “but only if you buy coffee from us.”

“I will be a loyal customer.” She laughed, nodding in agreement, as Sehun got up on his feet, steering her towards the rest of their friends on the dancefloor.

-----------

The next Wednesday happened to be an awfully hot day. Sehun and Chanyeol were sipping on their iced coffees in between serving customers. The sun shone outside, and Yixing was collecting glasses from the tables they had set out outside.

From the corner of his eye, Sehun noticed as Yixing waved at someone, before he entered behind Y/N as she was holding the door.

She smiled at Sehun, before walking up to the counter.

“Oh wow, you need a new summer playlist.” She commented when the next song began playing. Honestly, Sehun had stopped paying attention to the music a week ago.

“You also noticed?” He asked, a smile braking through onto his face. He was slightly embarrassed that a customer had criticised their playlist. Out of habit, he scratched the back of his head as he looked away from Y/N.

“Yeah, I heard this song seven times in here already.” She told him, a smile still on her face.

“What’s wrong with my playlist?” Chanyeol’s booming voice sounded behind him, startling him. Sehun jumped slightly, before spinning round to face the other tall man. His eyes were open wide, and his mouth was still open, as if he was about to start complaining.

“Add new songs in.” Sehun told him, a playful giggle broke through his throat. He was very aware of the way Y/N was watching their exchange, still waiting for him to take her order.

Chanyeol huffed, but turned around to their coffee press, and began making himself an espresso.

Sehun turned around to face You, a light blush dusting his cheeks, before he took your order.

“What are you up to?” He asked, handing you the cup of coffee.

“In depth analysis of multiple Art Nouveau pieces due next week.” You sighed, drumming your fingernails on the wooden countertop. You loved the art style, but you didn’t necessarily like writing a ten thousand word report on it.

“How many words?” He asked, and you had to take a gulp of coffee to keep yourself from swearing at him.

“Too many.” You answered, making him laugh.

“You graduated dance.” It was a statement rather than a question, and Sehun looked at you confused, his thick brows furrowed as he scrunched up his nose, not knowing how to answer you.

“Yeah.” He said.

“Why do you work in a coffee shop?” It was an unexpected question. No one had asked him that in a while. In the beginning, people had been curious, but over time the curiosity had died down. You knew he loved dancing, so it was a mystery to you why he had stayed a barista for this long. After graduating, it had not been a bad job to have, but it was a year, and Sehun had taken more shifts as the business expanded.

He moved around the counter. Leaving Chanyeol and Yixing behind. He motioned for you to sit at the table for two. Once you were sitting opposite him, he leaned back in the chair.

“Minseok and Junmyeon were my long-time friends,” He began telling you, “and Minseok always wanted to be a barista, while Junmyeon was a business graduate. They opened Black Pearl together, and got a bunch of their friends involved, me included. It was a good place to start right after graduating. After some time, we all just stayed.” He finished, his fingers drumming over the table top.

“Sometimes we do other odd jobs on the side.” He continued, a smile on his face. His warm brown eyes looked into yours, and there was warmth and happiness shining in them. The air of warm maturity he carried around him returned, enveloping you in a cocoon as he spoke.

“What do you do?” You asked, leaning closer over the table.

“From time to time, Jongin and I volunteer as dance teachers. Last year we were teachers at a summer school.”

“Did you like it?” At this question, he laughed, his head thrown back as the soft sound of childish laughter broke out of his lungs.

“It was fun. But I like it better here. With everyone.” He confessed, his eyes gazing over the shop.

“Plus, we get free cake and coffee every day.” He added, leaning over the table the same way you were.

“Living the dream.” You laughed with him.

“What will you do?” Hi eyes caught yours again, and you smiled.

“I’m going to be a curator.” You told him, taking another sip of your coffee. The bitter liquid was refreshing, bringing you out of the slight daze Sehun had you under.

“Where?” He asked again.

“The art gallery right here.” You told him, and he visibly brightened up at the idea of you staying here, in the small student town you had learned to call home over the years.

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

The night air was warm and fragrant as the earth released the warmth it had absorbed during the scorching heat of earlier in the day. To battle against the temperature everyone from Black Pearl was sitting around, enjoying cold affogato and some brownies.

“I’m going out tonight.” Sehun announced, earning a groan from Jongin and a few pats on the back from Baekhyun and Chanyeol. Another weekend rolled around, and Sehun’s friends decided to visit a new bar that had opened last weekend.

“Should we expect to see you stumble in around midnight?” Jongin asked, not ready for his evening shift to start.

“Count on it.” Sehun told him through a mouthful of cake. He smiled teasingly at his friend, feeling no remorse for leaving him alone during the night shift. Sehun counted it as payback for the time Jongin ditched him for a concert a few weeks prior.

“Who is going with you?” Junmyeon asked, picking another brownie from the plate.

“Y/N!” Yixing told them, liking his spoon clean as the others burst out laughing. Baekhyun even whistled when Sehun’s ears turned bright red. Amid Sehun’s embarrassment, his friends started teasing him, asking all kinds of questions as he buried his face in his hands. The attempts to escape their teasing were futile, however, because in the middle of Jongdae’s scolding to finally ask you out, the bell chimed, and you entered, completely unbothered by the ruckus.

Sehun turned to look at you. His breath hitched in his throat when he caught sight of you. Dressed in a black velvet dress and a pair of high heels made you look older than usual, more mature. Behind him, Chanyeol was patting him on the back, before pushing him out of his chair so that he could greet you.

“Hey!” Sehun said, his friends’ eyes burning into the back of his head.

“Where is everyone else?” Yixing asked you, surprised that the rest of your friends were absent.

“They bailed on us last minute.” You sent him a wink. Your friends had texted you about setting you and Sehun up earlier in the evening.

“Let’s go! Happy Hour is about to start.” You told Sehun cheerfully before you left, waving at Yixing, Jongin and the others as the door closed behind you.

“Where are we going tonight?” Sehun asked, walking closely next to you, so that his fingers brushed against yours.

“Love Shot.” You told him. Sehun nodded, the name sounding vaguely familiar. Neither you nor he had been there before. From what you heard the bar was a little fancier than what you were used to. The bar’s vibe was meant to be classier that that of the student bars you frequented with your friends. From what Liz told you, it was perfect for an outing for two.

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

The bar was indeed classy. The furniture was all dark polished wood and plush velvet couches. The dimmed light came from a multitude of vintage lamps and small, dangling chandeliers dripping crystal tears that dispersed broken rays of light in all directions. It was way fancier than what you were used to, but it was undoubtedly beautiful.

Sehun led you through the bar, holding tightly into your hand so that he could not lose you among the tables. Since it was a new place many people had decided to come and try their drinks out, so tonight it had amassed a bit of a crowd. Sehun managed to find two seats at the bar, and so you sat down, Sehun’s wide shoulders bumping into yours as he called over for the barman.

“What would you like?” The man asked, looking at you rather than Sehun.

“Can I get Paradise Found and a White Russian?” Sehun said for the both of you, already knowing what you wanted. The bartender’s eyes slid to Sehun, before he smiled at you.

“Coffee lovers?” He asked, noticing your choice of drink.

“You could say that.” Sehun answered before you burst out laughing, finding it ironic that even out of work Sehun’s drink of choice was the caffeinated beverage. The bartender left you and Sehun as he got to work.

The bitterness of coffee and the crispness of the alcohol complimented each other perfectly.

After a few more drinks and an exchange of funny stories, you were so close your noses almost brushed against each other when you breathed.

“I know why they bailed on us.” Sehun told you. The dim light illuminated his face just right, accentuating his high cheekbones and sharp nose. He was dressed in a crisp white shirt, black dress pants and a pair of lacquered black shoes. To put it bluntly, Sehun looked expensive. He looked like he belonged right here among the polished hardwood and crystal chandeliers. The smell of fresh coffee was still on his clothes, and it was as if it had permanently seeped into his skin. It was intoxicating.

“Liz texted you?” You asked him, and he nodded, pulling out his phone from his pocket and laughing at all the texts he received tonight.

“Yeah.” He smiled, catching your gaze in his.

“You could have just asked me out.” He teased, and you laughed in return, the sound echoing like a melody in his ears.

“I could have.” You agreed, teasing him in return as your fingers made their way up his arm, a playful smile on your lips.

“Will you?” He asked, and you could not help but notice the hopeful tone behind his question.

“I don’t know.” You teased; fully aware that you would have. Eventually. When you mustered up the courage.

“Y/N!” He whined liked, reminding you of how young he was, and how young you were. It was nice, feeling young, being infatuated. With him.

“Sehun.” You caught his attention again, and he smiled at you, anticipating the next words to fall from your mouth.

“Do you want to go on a date?” You asked, mustering up the courage, aided by the drinks you already had.

“I’d love to.” He told you, and your heart sored.

Sehun watched you, smiling to yourself at his response, fully absorbed in the way his heart pounded against his ribs.

The rest of your time at the bar had been spent with Sehun resting his hand over the top of your knee, his thumb brushing soothing circles against the bare skin. His lips would brush gently against the shell of your ear when he whispered jokes into it, causing you to erupt in giggles on multiple occasions.

-----------

“How much did you drink?” Jongin asked. Your night had ended back in Black Pearl and you exchanged shy, flirtatious looks over coffee and dessert.

“We went out for happy hour.” Sehun told him, sipping on his breve.

“How is the new bar?” He carried on the conversation. You could tell by the way he was leaning against your table that he was trying not to fall asleep.

“It’s nice.” You told him, taking a bite of your cherry pie.

“Posh.” Sehun added, remembering the fancy dark polished furniture, far classier and far more expensive than their own wooden tables and chairs.

Jongin nodded, before leaving to disappear at the back of the shop.

He came back a few moments later, too tired to tease his youngest friend about the way he was leaving kisses against Y/N’s cheek.

“Close up.” He told them, leaving the keys on the table before he left.

“Can I get a brave coffee?” You asked your boyfriend, earning a soft giggle from him and a few whistles from Baekhyun who was with him behind the counter.

“Later.” He told you, handing you your usual iced latte. You leaned over the counter, catching his lips in a quick kiss.

You left promptly after that, rushing to the art gallery, where you were working as a tour guide during the summer.

“What’s a brave coffee?” Jongin asked when you left, laughing at Sehun’s flushed cheeks

“Cold brew but make it vodka.” He coughed.

“Should we add it to the menu?” Baekhyun asked, still laughing as he cleaned the coffee press.

“No!” Junmyeon shouted from the back of the shop, causing the three boys to laugh even harder.

Later in the afternoon, you ended up lounging next door to Black Pearl, at the tea room owned by Baekhyun’s girlfriend. The two of you were sitting at one of the tables, enjoying a cold infusion and a slice of spiced plum pie as you complained about the new exhibition and the workload you had for next year.

She ended up drinking three more cups with you, before enough customers came in to fill up all the tables.

At one point, Baekhyun came in to exchange some iced coffee for pie, before running back when Junmyeon figured out he was missing.

Sehun had sneaked in after him with a cup of lemonade and a carton of ice cream.

“You’re the best.” You told him, kissing him on the cheek when he handed you a silver spoon.

“I know.” He told you, brushing his hair back and out of his face. On his day off, instead of the usual aroma of coffee beans, he smelled like your favourite cologne. You leaned in closer, breathing in his scent.

“Do I smell?” He asked, looking down at you, one of his thick eyebrows rose questioningly at you.

“No.” You shook your head, smiling when he brought you closer, you that your nose was buried at the crook of his neck. “You just don’t smell like coffee today.”

He chuckled, his large hand patting your shoulder lightly as he enjoyed the quiet afternoon with you.

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