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honeypirate · 4 years ago

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Chocolate Jinx

Tendou x f!reader

So I know time skip he’s a chocolatier in paris. But in this fic he’s in Sendai. It’s how I wrote it before I even remembered he’s in Paris and I don’t feel like changing the whole story now.

Your breaths came out in puffs, each inhale and exhale lasting four of your steps as you ran down the sidewalk, counting as you ran so you could focus on your stamina, inhale one two exhale one two. Towards the chocolate shop that you had an appointment at, an appointment that you are currently late for. "shit shit shit" ran through your head like a prayer that would somehow make you run faster. You knew that you would be late, your mom had asked you to help her with her grocery shopping since your father wouldn't be able to do it for her today, you couldn't say no, you couldn't tell her about this appointment because it was a secret, a surprise for her that will be special goddam it!

You open the door and step into the air conditioned shop, the scent of chocolate hitting your nose making you smile "y/n?" a voice asks, when you finally make eye contact with the man behind the counter you smile "Tendou?" you ask with a breathless chuckle "I’m so sorry I’m late I know it‘s not very professional and I can explain" he chuckles and cocks his head "but? you're not late? Our lesson isn’t for another twenty minutes” "what?!" you exclaim and then laugh, still breathless, as you place your hands on your knees and bending over a little to catch your breath. "This whole time I thought Iwas ten minutes late. I have it written down that it’s 3 but now that you said that I remember" he laughs and walks around the counter holding out a bottle of water "no worries, we can start early if you would like, water?" you nod and take the bottle from him "thank you! I’m glad I’m not late but don't let me bother you if you have other things to do before our lesson." you take a drink and your throat thanks you for the relief.

Tendou turns the shop sign to closed, then locks the door. "it's no issue. when you’ve caught your breath from your run" he chuckles "we can start. Come with me and I will show you where to put your things and give you an apron. did you bring a hat?" you nod and pull one out of your back pocket as you walk behind him, following him into the kitchen. its an old black Yankies baseball cap, you hold the bottle under your arm as you pull your (h/c) back into a low pony before putting the hat on.

"You can put your jacket and things in the office here, there’s a bathroom in the back to the right, aaand.." he reaches up on a shelf and gets down a white apron "here is this, i'll wait for you in the kitchen whenever you're ready" you take off your hoodie, leaving you in a black blouse with flowy long sleeves that you roll up along with your black skinny jeans with the ankles tightly rolled and a pair of checkered vans, you leave your things on the seat of the chair in the office before making your way out to the kitchen again.

You put the apron around your neck with a smile, tying it around your back as you stood next to him at a counter top. In front of you were a few ingredients, cocoa, cocoa butter, chocolate liquor, sugar, as well as a few others and multiple tools. “Ready?” He asks with a smile and you nod “ready!”

“So since you booked the premium one on one lesson, instead of just teaching you to be a chocolatier and just making things out of chocolate, I will also show you how to make the chocolate, so mixing the ingredients, heating, and tempering. I’ve laid out all of the ingredients so we’re ready to go. We will both be doing the same things together so you can see what it’s supposed to look like.” You nod and bounce a little excitedly in your toes “let’s do this!” He gets you set up in your station across from his and goes through the tools with you and after that he talks about how you get from cocoa nuts to chocolate.

He starts his speech that you can tell he’s said hundreds of times “Chocolate is a product that requires complex procedures to produce. The process involves harvesting coca, refining coca to cocoa beans, and shipping the cocoa beans to the manufacturing factory for cleaning, coaching and grinding.” You’re watching him as he speaks, how he moves his hands while he talks, you’re trying to pay attention to the history of your favorite candy that fascinated you as well as admire the handsome man in front of you. His long fingers and expressive eyes, the way he obviously loved his job, he was beautiful. You realize you weren’t paying attention and zone back into his speech and hope he didn’t notice you zone out.

“needs to be harvested manually in the forest. The seed pods of coca are first be collected; they will be selected and placed in piles. These cocoa beans will then be ready to be shipped to the manufacturer for mass production.” You raise your hand a little and he chuckles before nodding at you “Why picked by hand?” he smiles brightly at you, like you’re the first to actually care about the history and ask questions, “good question! The answer is that machines could damage the tree or the clusters of flowers and pods that grow from the trunk, so workers must harvest the pods by hand, using short, hooked blades mounted on long poles to reach the highest fruit.” You smile “what comes next?” He looks so much more passionate about this now that you asked a question, now that you’ve truly shown your interest, before he was going through the motions of the many classes he has taught before to the same people who don’t ask anything just zone out until the cooking starts.

“Well after the cocoa pods are collected into baskets, they are taken to a processing house. Here they are split open and the cocoa beans are removed. Pods can contain upwards of 50 cocoa beans each!” He’s gets more animated as he goes along, you found him to be the most adorable man you’ve ever met. “then the beans undergo the fermentation processes. They are either placed in large, shallow, heated trays or covered with large banana leaves. If the climate is right, they may be simply heated by the sun. Workers come along periodically and stir them up so that all of the beans come out equally fermented.” “How long does that usually take?” You notice him get ever more excited with another question asked “usually 5-8 days” his smile is so gorgeous it makes your stomach flip.

"Chocolate factories take these cocoa beans and use machinery to break down the cocoa beans into cocoa butter, cocoa liquor, and cocoa powder. All which we will be using today.” You match his energy now, excited to be able to learn this today. “Amazing!” Your smile mirroring his. He tells you how much of the ingredients to add to the bowl to double boil and you’re whisking it together as it melts, talking with him was easy as you followed his directions. “So why have you wanted to learn about chocolate?” His eyes are on his bowl as he asks and you flick your eyes up to his face, studying his handsome features as you whisk in the same pace as he is, you’re admiring his fingers as he holds his whisk, his other hand resting the counter, when you look back to his eyes you find him looking at you with a smirk, you blush a little embarrassed as you respond “My grandpa used to be a chocolatier but since he’s in America and unable to make it now, I can’t have him teach me. My mom's birthday is coming up and I thought it would be a nice gift, to give her some handmade chocolate” he smiles wide “that’s so nice of you! I’m sure your mom will really love that” he says “Now we should be ready to temper it so grab your pot and follow me over to the marble counter”

“So to temper, you need to cool it by spreading it out and then folding it into itself to build the right kind of proteins, after it gets thicker we will warm it back up and it should be ready to mold” you nod and reach up to turn your hat backwards so you can see better before taking a spatula from him. “Follow my lead” he begins to pour two thirds of his chocolate out on one side of the marble countertop which was about six feet in length giving you both enough space to work side by side. You pour yours like he does and begin to work it back and forth, copying him. “That’s good!” He points out and you blush “thank you!” You chuckle “I have an amazing teacher” you wink at him, the blush rising to his cheeks makes your heart race so you turn your attention back to spreading the chocolate.

You finish tempering the chocolate and adding it back to the pot, using the still hot water underneath with the third of still warm chocolate to raise the temperature to the right consistency. “I thiiink” you stretch out the word, a little embarrassed to admit what you’re about to admit, “Tendou I think I screwed something up” your eyebrows are furrowed looking into your mixture that has now began to look grainy. He comes closer and looks over your shoulder “hmmm” he says and you look up into his eyes, your expression a little anxious “it’s seized a bit, but don’t worry we can probably fix it and if we can’t we can start over!” He smiles and you and you feel some tension drain from you, for some reason you felt like this would be easy and now that you’re having a hard time, you felt tense. if you ruin this you will just buy some chocolate from here but it wouldn't be the same.

He grabs some of the cocoa butter from the other counter and brings it over to you, "lets add a little more cocoa butter and mix it together, it should come back-" you stir and it incorporates but it doesn't get better "ahh I guess not." he laughs "must have been too hot still and too much steam, no worries, let's start over!" his cheery attitude made you smile. It’s like he doesn’t really mind that you just wasted these ingredients. That he’s just happy to be teaching you and helping you. "If I fail again, I don't want to waste anymore of your ingredients, okay?" he quirks his eyebrows as he throws away your ruined chcolate " I think I should be the one to decide what to do with the ingredients y/n" he cocks his head and smiles brightly "we will make it until it's perfect! for your dear mom!" your heart beats quickly in your chest, this sweet man, you felt butterflies flood your stomach "thank you Tendou" you smile with your eyes closed and he about dies with how cute you are.

After four more tries you sigh and throw your arms in the air "Tendou I think I'm a chocoalte makers jinx! You are a superb teacher and you make amazing choclate, even with your help at the end it still siezes" your voice is frustrated and overwhelmed as you place your hands on your hips and stare at the, once again, siezed chcocolate. "lets go through it one more time, I'm sure you can get it this time!" he says with the same amount of energy he had in the beginning. you look at him with wide eyes for a second before they soften and you smile at him "you are the sweetest guy, do you know that? okay. one more time, but if I dont get it then I’m paying you for all these ingredients" he laughs, his cheeks blushing, as he cleans out your bowl for the fifth time "ya know what they say y/n! a sixth time is a charm!" you chuckle and shake your head before finding yourself back next to him by the stove.

"you have the ingredients and steps memorized now huh?" he laughs as you add the right ingredients to the bowl of the double boiler."I will most likely always remember these ingredients and this experience" you laugh with him and slowly whisk the mixture together as it melts. "wait" he says just now noticing how youre whisking "try it like this" he walks around you and places his hand on yours, holding the whisk and your hand, slowing down your stirring so it was more gentle and smooth, your heart racing as you feel his strong hand on the back of yours "o-okay. thanks Tendou'' your voice is quiet since he's so close. "yes, this is perfect now, lets temper it" his voice was soft and right by your ear, your cheeks get warm and your voice stutters again when you respond "o-okay"

He lets go of your hand and you go over to the marble slab again, pouring out two thirds again, and using a spatula to smooth it out, again. "is.. is this right? I'm doing this right?" you’re secretly hoping he grabs your hand again to help you but you don't think he'll take the bait, how wrong you were. When his hand covers yours once more you gasp softly and smile as he guides your hand back and forth through the chocolate "like this, it’s close. usually people use a thermometer but since I've done this so long it's by feel for me" you're looking at him from the side of your eye with a smile on your lips, his eyes are hooded as he smiles wistfully at the chocolate, his cheeks are dusted pink and his hand on yours is slightly clammy like he's nervous.

To be honest he was nervous, here’s this beautiful woman who he's been teaching for the last two almost three hours now, who's flirting with him and who is kind and funny, and who is so incredibly bad at making chocolate. If this fails he’ll never let you pay for ingredients. He will just offer you another class and hope you accept. "it’s perfect, now" he lets go of your hand and studies your sweet face as you scrape the tempered chocolate into your bowl, you hope your face wasn't as red as it felt.

You go to stir it all together slowly before pausing and looking up at him with a shy smile, "maybe.. you could.. help me with this too?" his eyes widen and his cheeks flush "of course" he moves to stand behind you, looking down at the bowl over your shoulder, his left hand over yours holding the whisk and his right arm around you, his hand holding the bowl halfway over yours, he whisks slow and smooth, his breath hitting above your ear, your voice quiet with his proximity "have you always been good at this?" his chuckles quietly "no I actually struggled a lot in culinary school. I fell in love with chocolate though so I never gave up." your cheeks are so warm you're sure you looked like a tomato "I like that determination, plus you ended up with the most popular and delicious chocolate shop so you're definitely in the right line of work." he blushes with your praise "thank you." he goes quiet as the chocolate finally looks correct "look!" you exclaim "look Tendou! it's perfect! it's shiny and amazing! I did it! I’m a chocolatier!" you’re bouncing on your toes and in his arms as you dance in excitement "time for the molds!" he exclaims and lets you go, moving away so you could go pour your batch into the already set up molds, the only empty ones on the row, the ones he used for his batches already set up.

You pour the chocolate slowly into the heart shaped molds that already have macadamia nuts in each one, after they are full you scrape the top like he showed you when he made his last four batches and put the excess back in the bowl. "these should be set in about an hour if we put them in the fridge but that will be pretty late, you could come back tomorrow to pick them up if you would rather that" he says and takes your bowl, putting the excess in a random mold and then putting the bow and utensils in the sink.

You pull your phone from your back pocket and gasp at the missed texts “oh no. yeah that would be better. I'm supposed to walk home with my brother from his volleyball practise but I lost track of time here with you. shit. i'm sorry i really wanted to stay and help clean up and talk but i have to go" you frown until you meet his eye, they're looking at you inquisitively with a huge smile, "volleyball? what school does he go to?" he asks not even caring about cleaning up alone "oh! he goes to Shiritorizowa. he’s a second year middle blocker! hes quite good although I’m not very knowledgeable about it" you chuckle and then full laugh when he gets extremely excited "that was my school and my position! whats his number?" you raise your eyebrows and get as excited as him, steping towards each other at the same time "hes number 5" "NO WAY!" he shouts and laughs "that was my number! what a small world!" you gaze into his eyes and smile softly "this is so cool. you have no idea how much i want to continue this conversaton but i really have to go" you frown and look back to your phone "how long will you be here tonight?" you look back up into his eyes and he’s cocked his head "probably a while, have to make tomorrow's candies. why?" you grin "can I come back? I’ll walk my brother home and then would you mind if I came back? I could help you and I could get my chocolates for my mom" he grins "that would be great. I would love that" he says, your butterflies return to your stomach "perfect!" you take off your apron and hand it to him "i really had an amazing time here. you’re a great teacher even if i was a jinx five times. i'll see you in like forty minutes max!" you exclaim before running out of the kitchen, unlocking the front door, and running down towards the school, your phone already ringing calling your brother. Tendou walked up front and locked the door again, chuckling softly and thinking about how cute you are. he cant wait to see you again when you return.

when you and your brother get home you stop at the door "do you mind if i bring a friend to your next game?" he shrugs "yeah sure I don't care. wait. do you mean a friend or a boyfriend?” you laugh at his accusatory look "it's a boy but he's not my boyfriend. He used to play the same position and team when he was in high school. I thought it would be nice" your brother lights up "yeah that's so cool! bring him so I can ask him tips! are you coming in?" he has the door open halfway and you shake your head "i have to go finish mom's birthday project" he nods "okay i'll cover for you" you thank him and make your way back to the handsome redhead.

You take off your hat and run your fingers through your hair, shoving the hat in your back pocket again before you knock softly.

A soft knock to the door catches his attention and his heart races "finally" he says softly before walking out to the front, surely enough there you stand, with a smile on your lips and your arms around your body hugging yourself in the cold he smiles bigger when you wave at him, you were sooo cute. he unlocked the door and let you in, locking it again behind you "welcome back y/n" "glad to be back" he chuckles as he gazes down at you, your cheeks flushed and nose red from the cold. "i forgot my hoodie" you shiver and he reaches out, placing his hands on your arms and rubbing them up and down to create friction "do you want some hot chocolate?" you nod excitedly and he chuckles again, your cuteness will be the death of him, "come, sit, i'll make us some" he leads you to a table by the counter and begins to prepare two cups of cocoa.

Now that you have more time since you’re not focused on seizing chocolate, you study his face as he works. he had sharp features that made him so beautiful, beautiful red eyes, he had his hat off now, his red hair disheveled and all over the place but you loved it, you wanted to play with it. His uniform jacket was off, leaving him in a black t-shirt, he had long arms that were lithe and strong. "Do you want to come to my brother's volleyball game with me?" your eyes widen, a little shocked that it just came flying out, you didn’t mean to ask him now. He chuckles at your expression, he's been able to read you so well, you keep everything on the surface and he really likes that. "like a date?" he asks as he returns his attention to pouring the hot chocolate mixture in the cups. you laugh "I don't know if it qualifies as a date, just meaning like, it's not very romantic. maybe we can have a real date after that" you say and his smile widens "you have no idea how much I’d love that" he makes his way over to sit by you, placing a saucer with a cup of hot chocalte and a biscotti in front of you "i'm glad! I was really hoping you would say yes" you chuckle and then hum in delight as you bring the cup to your lips, the smell enveloping you even more than it does just being inside the shop.

You take a sip and find the chocolate to be perfectly sweetened with a touch of cinnamon and chilli, it was perfect, not too hot not too cold. "this is so amazing Tendou. thank you so much" you take another sip, feeling it warm you from the inside out, he smiles warmly "you're welcome. i'm glad you like it!” He wiggles his eyebrows at you “so about this date you're taking me on'' he takes a sip of his own while maintaining eye contact over the rim of the glass "when is it happening?" he smiles as he watches your cheeks blush "oh! his game is in a week. the preliminaries for nationals" the look of excitment in his eyes makes you laugh, makes your heart race and your stomach feel the familiar butterflies that seem to be constantly around when you’re with him. "the prelims! I am so there!" his excitement causes his leg to bump into yours, causing you to spill some of your hot chcolate "oh my god I’m so sorry! I get a little excited and don’t realize sometimes. i've been told its annoying" you shake your head and reach out, grabbing his hand from the air "no. it's not annoying. I like it. you're like a breath of fresh air to me" you smile warmly looking into his eyes. his heartbeat is rapid and his breath hitches. "you’re so sweet, do you know that?" his voice is a whisper and you blush, recognizing your words you used earlier. "I do know that. Doesn't it make sense then that someone as sweet as me would date a chocolatier?" you cock your head as you tease him, smiling warmly watching his cheeks flush, your hand is still in his and he brings it gently to the table, brushing his thumb over your knuckles, your breath hitches and you feel your cheeks flush “saturday, their game is at 1 but i'll be there from the beginning in the morning. do you wanna meet me there for just his game or..?" he finishes off his drink "I’ll be there in the morning! if you dont mind! We can spend the whole day together and after that we can get dinner together at this new italian place downtown. I think you’ll love it.” He stands and takes your empty cup from you "that sounds amazing, Tendou. I know my brother will want to ask you questions and ask for tips so it's perfect. Plus pasta is my favorite” you chuckle and stand from the table to follow him over to the sink “what can I help you with tonight?" he smiles at you and shakes his head "I actually finished everything quickly, considering I did make five batches of chocolate earlier” he chuckles ”other than these dishes I am done for the night. maybe I could walk you home?" he’s turned to put the cups and saucers away, his back is to you when he asks and you're grateful he cant see the crazed happy smile on your lips "yes please!" you get a little embarrassed with your excitment and feel your cheeks flush even more "let me just go grab your hoodie and chocolate from the back and we can head out" he says and dissapears in the back again.

You pull out your phone and send a quick text to your best friends that consisted of many exclamations. When he returned you beamed up at him "ready?" he asks "ready" you put on the hoodie he hands you and exit the shop with him, he locks the door and then turns to you "uhh where do you live?" he chuckles and scratches the back of his neck "I live in the new apartments that are down near the school" he laughs "no way. That's where I live too! this is so.. cool" his voice is soft, completely blown away by how perfect everything has been. how completely meant to be it seems. a feeling he would have many times as he gets to know you, many times as your relationship grows. a feeling that warms his bones and makes him realize what he's been missing for so long. He'd give your brother all the tips he has and train with him whenever he needed. he’d make you chocolate surprises every day, ultimately finding your all time favorite, white chocolate raspberry bonbons. he’d make them for you for every special occasion and make your mom anything she ever wants. It’s like in this moment he could see every possibility with you, he couldn’t wait to get to know every part of you.

But for tonight, he’ll wait for the right moment to hold your hand on this walk, he’ll ask you questions about your family and your job, he’ll get your number and kiss your cheek at your door, and he’ll think about you every second until he gets to see you again.

#chocolatier tendou #tendou x y/n #tendou satori #tendou x you #hq tendou #tendou fluff #haikyuu tendou #tendou imagine #tendou fanfiction #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu fanfiction

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korpuskat · 5 years ago

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Summary: Six weeks. You shake your head, press the warm plastic directly to your belly. The muscles there begin to relax and you watch as a talk show begins. Six weeks and finally it would all be over. Rating: Explicit (citrus, violence) WC: 7,131 Warnings: Violence against reader, menstruation >Chapter 1 >Chapter 2 >Chapter 3 >Chapter 4 >Chapter 5 >Chapter 6 >Chapter 7 ======

You stand on your porch and kick the rug back into place. The wind last night had turned up one corner and dragged it just far enough to not hide the staining beneath. You sip your coffee and drag a chair over to hold down the troublesome corner with one leg.

It’s not a pretty thing- just a brown woven mat that covers between the stairs and your front door. You’d taken the time to paint your stairs- and the columns on each side a fresh, fetching blue, but painting your whole porch would be much harder. So you didn’t bother. You’d scrubbed it down with bleach to remove as much as you could and eventually gave in and just bought the rug to cover what you couldn’t scrub free. Which was a lot.

If you squint you can make out the road through the white blankets of snow. You’re sure there’s a dark green car nestled up on the shoulder of the country highway with two freezing people inside, one with binoculars pressed up to the glass. You’d spoken with them a week ago, even brought them hot cocoa as a peace offering. They’re just there to remind you now.

It’s freezing out, long icicles hang from the roof over your porch and the handrails. But you stand there, warm your hands on your cup and peer out into the distance. You want something other than a forest green sedan. You want to see something other than a tan hat peeking over the snow mounds when one of them has to piss. So you stand there and scan the trees, hope the eyes you feel on you are not just the police’s.

The wind kicks up and you shiver, duck back inside before your coffee cools too much. January had arrived with a vengeance, bitter cold and unpleasant and with a violent snowstorm. It had snowed again two days ago, the perfect fields untouched around your house. Not a single set of footprints maring the pristine surface.

You had no need to leave now. Your house was back in working order, save for some items the police kept under lock and key in hopes that Michael Myers would turn up again.

The idea of Michael in court- maybe even trussed up in a suit- made you smile.

You settle onto your couch, curled up in one corner as you flick the television on. You rub at another painful cramp in your belly as the static fades. The news plays, an update on the families of four fallen officers. A man weeps and recalls his husband’s bravery and valor and the horrors of not even being granted an open casket for closure. It changes to a woman speaking about her brother, you recognize her.

She’d lain flowers at the end of your porch one morning. When you stepped out she startled and something dangerous flashed in her eyes. She kept it reigned in and curtly explained herself and left. She hasn’t returned. The yellow flowers she’d left are frozen solid, preserved in ice.

In the end, you were tried only in the court of public opinion.

”Simply not enough evidence.” The district attorney had said, gritting out the words. There was outrage; two men had been murdered on your doorstep, a murderer’s fingerprints all over your house. Blood soaked deep into every crevice of your home. You were complicit.

You are complicit.

Hateful letters appeared in your mailbox for the first week- sometimes worse.

And then it leaked. Some broken-hearted nurse somewhere dropped your medical evaluation online.

Paragraphs upon paragraphs of dutiful descriptions of the bruises, new and old, on your arms, neck, hips, and thighs. The half-healed perfect impression of Michael Myers’ teeth on your shoulders, your chin. Invasive, personal details- inflamed, bruised cervix. Scrawled in nearly unreadable doctors’ handwriting: Definite proof of insemination.

And after it all, there were pictures. At least the nurse had conveniently excluded the more revealing photos. But even the initial exam had been damning. Your eyes were glazed over and far away, empty. Too easy to mistake one kind of trauma for another.

Blues and purples ringed your wrist and neck like gaudy jewelry. Amateur internet detectives even outlined on your neck the shape of Michael’s hands where he’d choked you, pinpointing the exact places where his fingers met at the back of your neck.

The outrage turned overnight- you were a victim. Coerced became the word they liked, coerced over duress or hostage. Why else would anyone help Michael Myers?

The hate mail faded, replaced with tearful outcries of the injustice. Well-wishers hoping your life would get better, more than a few requests for interviews. You politely declined them all, answered only once that you simply wanted your life back.

And you had it. More or less. There were still faded bloodstains on your porch and two empty slots in your knife block. Your bed was empty, but neatly made.

Another cramp makes you flinch and press harder into the skin between your navel and the hem of your jeans. The caffeine of your coffee was not helping, but you enjoyed the warmth too much to set it aside. You even had that back in your life- the stress of it all had pushed your cycle back and bloodless through November and December. Come the new year, it finally retaliated. You’d rather it stayed a thing of the past, but in an unfortunate way, being surrounded by blood was becoming familiar.

But your life was not quite complete. There was only one thing missing; it would snow again tonight.

The thought brings a warmth through your chest. You don’t know how you know, can’t begin to explain how you know. The police released you from “protective custody” a month ago, but even still they lurk at the street. They wander through the Mortons’ property in guise of looking for evidence, yet they stare to your little cabin. He hasn’t been able to get close enough yet, not without a conspicuous trail of bodies.

It could have all been a blood bath. He could’ve killed every cop that touched you, reclaimed you and resumed your frantic run. It’s what the police expected, a mindless killing machine to appear at your door again. They even wonder if he’s dead now- why else would he stop?

You want to laugh at them, want to scold them for thinking of him as something so lowly. He’s smarter than that. The clean snow that surrounds your home tells you so.

You finish your coffee, push down on your belly before the next wave of pain comes. The news moves on as you leave the living room, move into the kitchen. You’ve been waiting for this.

You cleaned the slow cooker a week ago and froze some beef chuck. You pull that out and leave it in the sink to begin to thaw. The slide of a knife out of your block feels taboo, a personal little thrill as you begin to cut up vegetables. It’s wrong. You don’t stop smiling.

Though it hasn’t thawed much, you drop the beef right in the center of the ceramic pot. You scrape carrots and onions and potatoes into the slow cooker, pour in water and broth and a healthy mix of spices. It’ll be done by nightfall; if he liked your soup, he should enjoy your pot roast.

The thought warms you, bring a queasy sort of calmness. Like the forest when the wolf is near. You plug in the slow cooker and set a timer. You’ll be ready. You’re sure it’s tonight.

With that beginning to heat, you pour another cup of coffee. A pang from your belly reminds you how terrible caffeine is on your period. You curse at nothing and realize one other thing you’re still missing. You should’ve remembered! He’ll need bandages and you need medication. Especially for when he arrives.

Your ibuprofen is tucked inside the first aid kit the police kept as evidence. You haven’t replaced that yet. You’ll have to go old-fashioned on it. An old plastic water bottle is good enough. You turn the hot tap on full blast, dipping your fingers under the water and waiting for it to heat. You fill the bottle, listen to the quickly rising pitch. When it’s bursting you screw the cap on and take your improvised heating pad with you to the living room.

Six weeks. You shake your head, press the warm plastic directly to your belly. The muscles there begin to relax and you watch as a talk show begins. Six weeks and finally it would all be over.

You start to doubt yourself when the shadows of the trees stretch long over glistening snow. Your heart hurts, anxiety rearing its ugly head. What if you were wrong? No, no. He’d be back. He came back twice before. Had he finally gotten what he wanted from you? It can’t be- surely that’s too much to invest just to have sex when he could’ve taken it so much earlier.

You pull a pillow to you and hug it close, push the warm bottle flush with your skin. The first whiff slides in from the kitchen. He’ll be back. You press your eyes closed and hope you’re right. He liked your soup too much.

It’s cold. You blink awake- it’s dark in the living room. The TV plays on, bathing the room in too-bright, multicolor lights. You rub at your arms through the sweater- it’s damn cold. Too cold. It’s never been that drafty before-

The kitchen light is on. You stand, water bottle and pillow dropping to the floor with a thud and wump. You step closer. Your heart soars; wet boot outlines track down the hallway and around the corner- you can hardly breathe.

You peek into the kitchen. The rich smell of the cooking- or perhaps cooked- pot roast fills you, helps to fight off the chill that bites through your sweater. But aside from the light being on, the kitchen is empty.

Thrill overtakes disappointment; the puddly bootprints are still there. They stop in the middle of the hallway already smaller and thinner than the larger, glistening pools towards your bedroom. He should be here, you know, but if he hadn’t woken you… You follow the bootprints backwards, down the dark hallway and into your laundry room.

Wind whistles, fresh snow pours in through your back door. Outside, a single set of tracks from the trees are already filling in in the falling snow. You grin- A single set of tacks. He’s here. You’d left it unlocked just for him, had been leaving it unlocked for weeks. Your smile hurts its so wide.

You kick the snow aside and push the door closed, squint against the freezing winter wind that chaps your cheeks. It closes- and suddenly your house is all too quiet, the buffeting sounds of the storm locked out once more.

You turn, heart beating out of your chest- but the doorway to the laundry room is still empty. The little bits of half-melted snow on the tiled floor confirm again he’s been here and yet he hides. You creep back towards the hallway.

What if it wasn’t him?

The first touch of alarm slides over you. If you had an intruder… you carefully wrap your hand around the molding and peek one eye around the edge. You gasp, shoot upright-

A hand, big and cold wraps around your throat. He turns, slams you into the wall at the end of the hallway. Your cry doesn’t make it past his palm, your hands find his chest, dig your nails into thick fabric-

And he presses in close to you; you smell machine oil and rust and long dried blood. Low and steady breathing, made louder through the tiny nose holes. Above you empty black eyes bore into you, the plain emotionless face of a white latex mask ghostly in the low light. You sag in his grasp, fingers twitching to pull him closer. ”Michael.”

He stares down at you, stiff and unchanging. It’s about as warm a welcome as you expected. But he’s here, he’s not out slaying your neighbors, and you can’t hide how comforting his presence is. Even as he makes your heart race, makes your hands tremble with the growing tension- you’d rather him be here.

He leans in close, close enough for you to feel his hot breath escaping the mask, close enough for you to smell the bitter, metallic tang of old blood deep in the crevices of the mask. He’s nearly cheek-to-cheek with you, white latex fills the left side of your vision- and air whistles in through the nose holes.

He stands there- then slowly cocks his head. He switches hands smoothly, his left coming around your throat before you even realize the right hand has moved to his mask. He pushes the latex up; it’s awkward and difficult with one hand, but he lodges it over his nose and leans close again.

You whimper, close your eyes expecting the sharp imprint of his teeth- and get only cold air pulled over your shoulder, the long noise of Michael’s slow inhale. He’s smelling you. The thought makes your blood rush- what does he find? He moves close, septum almost touches your skin as he sniffs again.

His head tilts the other way. Cold fingers slide under your shirt, pushing the thick sweater up. He feels your stomach, the chill permeates your skin, makes you cramp again. You flinch, flex your stomach away from him in protest- it does not go unnoticed. The mask tips to look at your face- and he rucks your shirt up. He looks at your stomach, runs his hand over your skin, searching for something.

He doesn’t find it. He leans in close again, inhales just over your navel, makes you squirm. He pops the button to your pants and pulls them down to your knees without unzipping them. Cold air makes your skin prickle, makes you press your thighs together, but Michael’s quickly warming hands make up for it. Again, he feels over your skin with probing, curious fingers.

He tips his head again, this time releasing your throat in favor of dragging his hand down to your sternum. He pushes there, makes you short of breath and keeps you pressed to the wall.

And Michael Myers sinks to his knees before you. You don’t have to meet his icy blue eyes to know he still has all the control. His right hand is almost delicate as it curls into the hem of your underwear and slides the thin fabric down your thighs. His mouth twitches at the sight of your bloodied pad.

You think you know what he was smelling. You flush, feel your cheeks heat in embarrassment and wish he’d stop his exploration already.

His fingers slip between red-tinged labia for only a moment. You whimper as he brings the now bloody digits before his eyes, looks closer. The suffocating presence fills the hallway, threatens to drown you then and there.

His left hand grabs your hip hard; the right delves between your legs, brushes harshly against your over-sensitive clit and finding your entrance. You bite your lip to stifle a cry, nails scraping on the wall as he pushes just the first knuckle inside. It should feel amazing- the first time he’s been inside you at all since the motel. But you’re too sensitive, too tender-

He withdraws just as fast, makes you clench your jaw. The hand at your hip is bruising, demanding your attention- and he holds up the two bloody fingers before you. They glint in the moonlight that seeps in from the laundry room. You can’t see his eyes but you know from the painful bite of his nails in your skin that you’re in danger. Chills race down your back, adrenaline floods your veins. Something just short of rage leaks from his fingers into your thigh.

You don’t know why he’s so furious, that makes it so much worse. He looks to you and you know he expects something from you. why has your blood infuriated him? You can only hope he’ll be more helpful if he knows you don’t understand. “What’s wrong?”

It’s the wrong question. He’s upright before you can blink, the bloodied hand wrapped tight around your throat. It’s clear now the grasp he’d used before was only for control, for keeping you still and where he wanted you. This time his fingers bite into the base of your skull, pressure from his palm makes your vision staticky.

Real fear makes you twist your fingers into his coveralls, stare wide-eyed into the mask’s eyeholes. His mouth is distant, and horrifically emotionless. His voice is the same monotone, disconnected from the rage in his fingertips. A single grunting word. “Who?”

Your mind races. He was mad- you were bleeding- You can barely form words over the pressure on your throat. “Who… hurt me? Michael, I-“

He growls, deep and primal, and surges forward. He’s hard, grinding up on your side through the coveralls. You whimper, fight off fear and lightheadedness to chase any possibility. Rage, blood, he’s hard, sex maybe-

Oh.

It’s not rage, it’s jealousy.

You shake your head, only making your vision swim harder. “Nobody, nobody.” You tap at his hand weakly in a plea for air. ”Michael.”

The suffocating presence does not subside, but his thumb eases off your jugular. You blink, feel your head bobbing. “It’s my period. People with…” you pant, wish there was a better way to explain, but between the hypoxia and Michael’s limited patience you opt for fast over comprehensive. “vaginas just, bleed sometimes. It’s not… It’s not a sex thing, Michael.”

He doesn’t relax, keeps the same threatening hand over your neck. You squeeze his wrist in what you hope he understands is meant to be sincerity. “There’s nobody else, Michael. Just you. Only you.” You pause, seek the mismatch of his eyes. “Ever.”

Only then does his head begin to tilt, a long moment passing before the bloody, violent hand loosens around your neck. You sigh, lean back against the wall. The mask sweeps over you, slow and deliberate. His right hand slides down your body, over your bunched up sweater and down over your belly, brushes through the dark hair- and nudges back between your legs.

You whimper, “It’s sensitive…”

Michael doesn’t seem to hear you. He doesn’t look up, but instead brings his middle finger back up where you can see it. It’s glossy, near black in the low light, just as it had been before. And Michael brings it close to his lips- You can hardly breathe.

His pink tongue slips out and licks, long and slow, over his fingertip. He isn’t looking at you. This isn’t for you. His head tips slowly as he considers something, thoughts hidden behind his mask.

He grabs at the rolled-up fabric of your jeans caught on your thighs, thumbs curling into the leg holes of your underwear as well and shoves. You yelp as he forces them down, your skin exposed to more cold air. You shiver, go back to digging your nails into the wall because you know well enough you can’t stop him now. You even lift you leg so he can tug the denim off one leg- and he settles that thigh onto his shoulder.

The cold air dries the blood to your skin, making it prickly and stiff, pulling at the hair on your thighs. Even on his knees, Michael comes right up to your sternum. He presses the palm of his hand to your stomach, a silent command to stay still.

You cup your hands over your mouth, hold your breath- and can’t stifle a gasp as his tongue, scaldingly hot on your cold skin, touches to your thigh. He licks at the blood drying there, slow and methodical. HIs hand fits easily under your knee, pushes your leg out farther so he can find more. His scruff scratches at your skin, tickles your inner thigh, and his tongue delves into the sensitive crease between hip and thigh.

You squeak, instinctively try to bring your legs back together- but Michael’s hand is firm under your knee. The mask tips up in warning; with anyone else you might complain that you can’t control if he’s the one tickling you, but Michael’s already wound up. He’s rough enough when you’re compliant, you’re not sure what he’d be like if you were obviously rebellious.

But his tongue laves across your inner thigh again, saliva chilling uncomfortably on your skin, until your skin is pink with diluted blood. A ghost of teeth on your skin is the only warning you get.

He sinks in, ripping at the delicate flesh there and you try so hard not to squirm too much. Your nails scrape on the wall behind you and you cry for mercy, “Ow! Michael, please, fuck!” He ignores you, sucks hard there until you’re sure he’ll really take a bite out of you.

He lets go with a wet pop, freezing air somehow better than the painful heat of Michael’s mouth. At least it doesn’t feel like he broke skin this time.

With your weight on the other leg, his cheek presses fully to the warmth between your legs for him to taste the blood that’s gathered on the other thigh. You whine, rock gently against him in hopes he’d understand. But Michael is in no hurry, his patience is near unlimited- and he holds all the control.

He cleans the blood from you with a twisted jealousy- he’d been furious at the thought of someone else making you bleed. That makes a cold shiver shake your shoulders. He wants your blood for himself, he wants to be the one to make you bleed. He has and he will again, you’re sure of it.

He gives the other leg only a nip, a glancing scrape of his teeth that still makes you stiffen, ready yourself for the piercing pain of his bite. Instead he sets your leg on his shoulder, slides his palm close to your body. The blood has stuck some of your short hairs together, they tug and part painfully as his thumb slips between your labia and pulls your pussy open.

Being watched now while you’re bleeding is just as exposing as when he’d peered so observantly at you before. You bite your lip, expectantly watch the mask, still half-wrapped over his nose, as though it would whisper to you what he thought of your body.

You don’t have to wait long.

His tongue swipes over your swollen, irritated clit. You scream, nearly jump out of your skin- it’s too much, the nerves of your pussy too raw to be able to focus on the pleasure behind it. You instinctively try to pull him away- wrap your fingers in long, soft hair and try to make him ease up on this torturous touch-

But all you get is the wobbling of latex, a displeased grunt, and a punitive lash of his tongue against your clit. His right hand still holds you open- so the left curls into the same soft hair you did and pulls the mask off, dropping it to the floor.

His eyes hold you in place even as he his tongue slips deeper, towards the source of the blood. His gaze is icy, dangerous. An edge of a threat written across his scarred face- he’s already warned you to be still once. You can’t help it, the sensation is too much, too powerful on your hormonally-wrecked body; he tries to lick at your entrance and his bumps against your clit.

You sob and reach for him again, weak pleads for mercy already spilling from your lips, “It’s too much, please, please.” Your fingers find his scalp and the short, coarse hair there. Too short to pull him off, you can only push weakly at him. Cool blue eyes narrow- and you cry out as his hand wraps around your wrists. There’s no kindness to his grasp; he pins your hands with brutal efficiency, keeps them just at the end of your sternum to keep them out of his way as he licks into you.

You writhe, fight to free your hands, try to close your legs around him, but he pays you no mind. Only brings your hips forward, away from the wall, so he can press in closer. Each time you twist, his stubble scrapes across your thighs- now so sensitive it burns. You whimper, try to still your movements if only to minimize the pain.

The edge in his gaze softens, his tongue flattens against you and gives a slow lick across your weeping pussy. His attention returns to claiming every drop of your blood, not quite closing his eyes, but no longer focused on you. The briefest pause of his relentless attack makes the wires cross in your brain. Each touch still hurts, sharp pangs of unmitigated pain- and yet the warmth of his tongue, the soft texture as he slides down to suck at the bottom edge of your labia.

He tongues into you, just barely slipping the tip of his pointing tongue in- and his nose presses to your clit again. You whimper, close your eyes, and rock against him. The motion sets your thighs alight again. You shake and try to spread them wider- which is hard enough with one leg propped up on his shoulder, but you roll your knee out to try to give you at least a little more room.

He pushes closer, grinds the bridge of his nose into you. You sputter and grind back- pain and pleasure warring under his touch. He slides up, wraps soft lips around your clit. Your head thrashes back and forth, shaking desperately to get away and to pull him closer.

You look to him- and his eyes are trained only on you. The piercing blue and milky white hold you, makes your breathing stutter to a stop- until his tongue laves slow and purposeful across your clit. He draws the moan from you and the dangerous glint in his gaze returns. Your reaction has caught his interest again.

You whimper and he licks your clit again, the point of his tongue edging from bottom to top, pushing the hood of your clit back. You jerk under him, whine, his tongue already returning for another swipe, slow and steady. Your mouth falls open, breath caught in your chest as you can’t decide between a gasp and a scream.

He continues on, lapping at your clit with merciless precision- tears burn at the corners of your eyes and you know he wants it to hurt. He passes over you again, warm and repetitive, and you want to beg him to stop- it’s so good and it hurts and he’s made you suffer enough, but-

The pain has masked how good it really feels. Stimulation good or bad has been pushing you up and up. All at once pleasure is winning out and you’re right at the edge and you’re gasping, head lolling back against the wall. It’s all too raw, too acute on your senses- but the first wave of your orgasm crashes over you- and Michael does not stop his incessant torture. You shake, grinding against him without even feeling the burning rub of his whiskers across your thighs and labia. You wobble on your one leg and hope Michael would catch you if you fell.

You don’t have to worry; his hand securing your wrists keep your torso pressed to the wall, no matter how hard you buck. And he still doesn’t stop, moving back down to lick languidly at your entrance, tasting your release. You tremble in the aftershocks, each motion of his tongue on your skin brings a new skittering pleasure until you’re whimpering with soft pleas for him to stop.

You yelp with a startled, ”Oh!” as he stands, your leg falling from his shoulder to sit in the crook of his arm. He stares down at you, and in the low light you can see the sinful red discoloration of his beard, the proof of his bloodlust. He lets go of your wrists, and your arms fall limply to your sides. He reaches to his crotch- and, oh. These are new coveralls, nice ones, the kind with a double zipper. He unzips no more than he needs to, withdrawing his cock and revealing nothing else.

He’s expressionless, cool and guarded even with how much he’s already made a mess of you. He presses his cock against you and oh, the heat of his mouth was nothing compared to this. He ducks down for a moment- and his three-fingered hand slips under your other leg and hefts you up. You grab at the wall on instinct- your shoulders and neck still grounded, but your lower body is supported only by your legs caught on his elbows.

It only makes you more aware of how much control he has, how strong he is- that you can’t escape him now. You draw an inhale through your mouth and stare up at his eyes. He’s so hard to read, but you can’t imagine he’s not enjoying the frantic too-fast pace of your breathing, the hammer slam of your heart against your ribs. He adjusts- and lodges himself right up against you.

You bite your lip, push away that same feeling of overstimulation- and he fills you in one brutal thrust. It knocks you against the wall, nearly folds you body in half as he moves closer, finds just how he wants to hold you. His hands seek out your wrists again, pin you down to the wall, and like this, you can’t even move.

He rocks into you again- and though it hurts- he’s too big and your period has you too sensitive, you moan and let your eyes fall half-closed. It feels right, feels like what you’ve been missing for so long. He fills you entirely to bursting, his pubic bone meeting your clit with each roll of his hips.

It’s too much, but you can’t stop staring at him, can’t stop the little noises that slip from your lips unbidden- and he draws them out with such precision. A liquid heat settles inside you, your first orgasm easing the way for you to numbly bypass the too sharp pain. His cock bounces against your cervix and you know you’ll have the same, deep bellyache as before.

With him holding your legs, you can’t even meet his thrusts, can’t get any sort of leverage at all. It feels so good, his cock fills you, even as overstimulation tinges nerves. He moves steadily in his familiar, somehow comforting just barely too hard, achingly slow thrusts. It makes you mewl, scratch your nails against the wall in frustration- you want him to move faster, to bring you that same white hot pleasure. But his pace is as unchanging as his face, cool and unaffected by your growing plight.

Your lip trembles dangerously; hormones have already destroyed your fragile hold on you emotions, Michael’s cruelty was pushing you to the wrong edge. “Michael…” your voice wavers.

His head tips in bland acknowledgment.

“Please,” you know it’s useless to only beg. Everything happens by his will, petty pleadings alone won’t change his mind. Maybe something else would. You lick your lips, inhale slowly to draw up your courage. “I need you, Michael.”

Something flashes in his eyes, his fingers tighten around your wrists. He shifts you in his arms, urges your legs higher onto him, tilts your hips back further. He doesn’t say anything and other than the intensity in his eyes, he may as well have not heard you at all.

The next drive of his hips you understand. He spears into you, knocks hard against the sensitive patch inside you before sliding in deep. You gasp, clench around him in the sudden, lightning pleasure- the next thrust makes you cry out. Pleasure builds fast as Michael’s hold on you stifled the instinctive, rhythmic rocks of your hips. The heat deep within threatens to burn out all thought, all rational ideas beyond Michael Myers’ cock inside you.

But as you focus on the liquid pleasure between your legs, the rough impacts of his thighs on yours- your breath catches. The added sensation has your head spinning, but there’s a problem. He’s tortuously slow. No, he’s a sadist.

Another thrust has you mewling, cunt clenching desperately on his cock. Your body pleads on instinct, begs him to stay deep inside, to chase his pleasure with reckless abandon- but all you get is the parting of his lips, soft pants of exertion. Even that makes you feel closer, thinking that he’s enjoying the wet, slick heat of your body. The soft glaze to his eyes, the dusting of pink across his cheeks-

It brings you right to the edge. You’re close before you can even process it, the heat threatening to boil over. You’re moaning and waiting for one more harsh thrust to push you beyond the point of no return-

It doesn’t come. Focus returns to Michael’s eyes before you can find release, his hips stilling while you’re stuffed full of his cock. No, no- frantic desperation overtakes you. Primal need makes you writhe on him, weakly trying to fuck yourself on him.

Your left leg drops- the adrenaline rush of falling ceases all other movements. And it does not stop when Michael’s hand wraps around your throat. You manage to slip an inhale in before he presses down and constricts your breathing. He pushes in close to you, until your body is right up against the wall again. Like this, he fills your vision, reminds you just how tall he is. His intense gaze returns, staring at you with his mismatched eyes- waiting for something.

Hypoxia sets in fast, your mind losing track of what’s happening-

Before he pushes into you again. Pleasure lights up the parts of your brain still functioning. Your eyes roll, but he picks up his pace. Your eyes threaten to close, the darkness collecting in your vision with each passing moment. But his fingers loosen, readjusting so he can deny you even unconsciousness.

Without his arm to support it, your left leg dangles uselessly, waving in time with Michael’s powerful thrusts. With newfound freedom your left hand grabs at his arm- not to beg for air, but only for stability, to pull him closer. Just to feel the fabric of his coveralls under your fingers.

You blink, try to focus- and realize you’re drooling over your chin. A weak moan slips past his fingers, and he’s rutting into you. He grinds against your clit, fills you, rubs deep inside- over and over until it’s all you can think about. His chokehold steals all thought, everything beyond the torture he provides and pleasure that boils over.

It comes in waves, weak and distant with your oxygen-addled brain struggling to keep up between savoring the pleasure and processing the sharp snaps of Michael’s hips. You clench hard around him, vision going double and blurring. You twitch, fingers digging into thick fabric, left leg kicking against his calf. Each motion inside you drags it out, keeps you suspended somewhere outside yourself.

Through the haze you feel hot breath puffing on your cheek and hard grind of his hips. His hand tightens and your ears ring. Low, guttural grunting fills your head, warmth spilling between your legs.

His grasp loosens. Awareness returns with low, shallow gasps. You’re dead weight in his arms, every limb lax and useless, but he holds you aloft, keeps you pressed close to him. He stands over you, breathing slow and even through his parted, chapped lips. The same deceptive peacefulness has descended over his face; his eyes are closed softly, not pinched or pressed- the usual hard edge to his countenance is long forgotten in post-orgasmic bliss. Your free arm, because he still holds the other to the wall, wobbles, but you manage to reach the back of his neck, feel the short hair curl over your fingers.

His lids lift, dark eyelashes fluttering. He looks to you, and you cannot name what lingers behind the soft blue of his iris, but it settles deep behind your ribcage. You grin and know you must look half-crazed, loopy and drugged out and everything else you could call someone who smiles serenely at a serial killer. It doesn’t matter; a laugh burbles up through your chest, soft and airy, and tears prick at your eyes because he’s back and he’s real and oh my god your thighs hurt so much-

He tilts his head, confused by your strange display of mixed emotions- laughing and crying and wincing all at once. You shake your head, dismiss it all. “I missed you.”

His thumb rubs over your irritated throat, you think that’s as gentle as he can be.

He pulls out- you whine at the burning drag on your walls, the whisker burn across your labia and thighs. And wince at the soft, wet dripping noise from the floor. Michael lowers you and steps away- leaves you braced against the wall, struggling not to slide down to the floor. Something slides down your inner thigh and it stings.

Michael’s gaze stays on you for a long moment, watching the heaving of your chest, the absolute mess he’s made between your legs. He looks lower- to his cock. He’s softening already, but his head tips as he looks- and takes it in hand. He doesn’t stroke, but glides a finger over the shaft. You blink, squint, and look closer-

It’s covered in blood and cum. Long red streaks mixing into a milky pink mess of your mutual pleasure. You blanch, remember what had drawn Michael into fucking you in the first place. With what he’s done to your thighs, pads will be excruciating. You sigh, “We both need a bath now.”

His eyes lift and meet yours. Even now he makes you shiver with his intensity. The empty gaze has returned and you mourn for the strange, foreign look that surfaces from time to time. You know it’ll return. But now, Michael’s dopamine and oxytocin slurry has subsided back to his regular difficult self- and you watch, disgusted but not surprised, as he tucks his cock away into the coveralls and rezips himself.

And yet, it almost makes you break out into laughter again. He doesn’t even wipe his hands. He’s disgusting and you’ll probably fuck him again before the night is out.

“Okay, give me a minute then. There’s food in the kitchen if you’re hungry.” You lean on the wall for support and navigate around him back to your room. For now, you leave your pants and underwear in the hallway- you’ll have to clean up later anyway. Footsteps behind you tell you he’s following you. Some things haven’t changed.

You retrieve underwear and a set of pajamas, keeping your legs pressed tight to hopefully minimize any drips. He follows you to the bathroom and stands in the doorway just to watch you clean up. It should be so much more embarrassing, but you’ve held his dick while he peed.

You pee, ignore the tiny smug upturn of his lips that does not disappear when you wipe and wince. In the stark bathroom light you can see the pink tinge that covers your vulva and thighs, along with the red outline of his teeth on your left leg. Honestly, it could be worse. From the first beginnings of a yellow-green shadow over your wrist, it’ll probably all darken more. Your throat throbs in reminder.

You’ll have to wear more scarves. You think that’ll be just fine.

Michael watches, face blank and inaccessible, as you press a pad into fresh underwear and carefully pull it up. It hurts, but you realize something as your skin complains: you’re not cramping anymore. There’s a dull ache behind your belly button where Michael’s dick has tried to pry you open further, but the rolling, sharp pains that would make you double over have ceased.

You change into the pajamas and drop your shirt- the only thing remaining of your earlier outfit- into the laundry hamper.

He follows you to the kitchen- and Michael’s stomach growls. His brows draw together in sharp disapproval of his own body’s noises and you struggle to keep your smile under control. At least he liked the smell. You retrieve two bowls, Michael watches from the hallway as you ladle out the pot roast- making sure to give Michael some vegetables in a vain hope he’ll eat some.

You offer him his bowl- and in the kitchen light you blush at his still dirty hands and the blood caked into his white stubble. Of course. If he can kill without being disgusted at the gore, this probably was clean to him. You shake your head and move towards the living room.

It’s still dark, illuminated only by the television playing an evening police drama. You step towards your normal chair in the corner, only to find Michael’s hand at your side, pulling you with him. You blink up at him in the darkness, but his hand falls away when you stand in front of the couch. He sits and immediately begins devouring messy spoonfuls.

You sit next to him for the first time, feeling the casual touch of your leg against his, the warmth that radiates off him now that he’s out of the snow. You watch him as he stares at the screen, apparently taken with whatever show was playing- and you wonder if this is what he feels like. Watching, wondering what goes on in other peoples’ heads.

Your bowl sits warm in your hands, the thick, hearty smell drifting to you and making your mouth water. You smile at him and lay your head against his shoulder, closing your eyes and enjoying the touch for a moment. The motion of his arm as he eats, the soft noises of his breathing, nearly drowned out by the television.

With your curtains drawn, nobody will know he’s here. Fresh snow will cover his tracks. Nobody will come looking for him. You sigh, open your eyes again- and find the mixed blue and white looking down at you. You press closer, rub your cheek over the thick, rough material of his coveralls, feel the shape of his arm beneath. Three words slip from your lips.

The strange softness returns to his eyes.

=====

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turtle-steverogers · 5 years ago

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I can’t write for shit but I know you are really talented ,so what about an angst about Spot going to war and he doesn’t make it back and Race and their 1 year old son go to visit his grave and talk to him? Idk you don’t have to do it if you don’t want to but I thought it was a really cool idea

hi! so this is a pretty on brand prompt (especially for a certain upcoming Thing, but...,,.,) but anyway yeah here’s a fic. hope i did your idea some justice!

warnings: lots of talk of death, but nothing graphic. my shitty, caffeine muddled writing (truly, not my best work, sorry)

ship: sprace

word count: 1529

editing: nein

Just Out of Reach

“Aye, Sergeant, need some water up there?”

“Yeah, thanks man.”

A water bottle is passed up to Spot, and he takes it, taking one hand off the M2 machine gun that’s deadbolted down in front of him and using his teeth to unscrew the cap. He hadn’t realized how goddamn thirsty he’d been, but it’s fairly easy and not at all uncommon to lose touch with yourself during the methodical cycle of a mission.

Really, it’s just reconnaissance. Mapping out the desolate land that surrounds base- cataloguing the unknowns and the possible threats. It’s the simple stuff. The required bits that make the more strategic missions possible. But they still take long as hell and Spot’s willing to bet that he’s sweat through his fatigues by now as he bakes in the desert sun. His helmet is scratchy and the army-issued goggles are digging into his skull, squeezing his brain and making his head throb. The water helps a bit.

His vehicle is at the front of the convoy, and somehow, he found himself perched in the turret, calculating gaze scanning around for anything amiss. They near an Iraqi village, vacated looking buildings lining either side of the sandy, dirt road.

Spot thinks he sees a few windows shutter closed and when he looks to his left, there’s a little girl (she can’t be more than five. Christ) sitting on her stoop, knees pulled up to her chest. She’s staring at the convoy, eyes wide and fearful and fingers plugged into her ears. Spot feels a pang of...of something. Guilt, maybe. Sympathy.

Really, none of these people asked for this. They never wanted big, scary men in big, scary vehicles shouting out foreign remarks and invading their space- their homes.

Spot forces his gaze back to the front, willing himself to focus back on the task at hand. But he can’t help his mind wandering back to that little girl. There was something about her. The innocence, maybe. The simplistic look of discernable fear in the face of something scary.

He thinks of Teddy.

His son’s own wide, brown eyes and chubby, five year old cheeks. Really, they’re not so different- that girl and Teddy. They’re lives are so drastically diverse from one another, but they share that same, innate naivete. The all prevailing look of curiosity that only kids can convey.

Spot misses Teddy.

Granted, he always misses him and Race. The feeling isn’t mutually exclusive to any one moment, but sometimes the ache will grow into more of a pain, gripping his chest with longing to kiss his husband and hug his son. Maybe dig his fingers into Teddy’s sides as he picks him up and swings him, planting an exaggerated kiss on his cheek. It’s a foolproof way to make him laugh. And if Race is there, he’ll laugh too. There are some things in life he can count on to be constant, and his family is one of them.

He comes back to himself as he nears a stoplight and suddenly, something in the world seems wrong. He’s just about to secure himself around the gun when there’s a shout from down below and then the humvee is jerkily rolling to a stop and that’s when Spot sees the wire and that can only mean someone’s going to die if they don’t fucking stop right fucking now and--

Nothing.

“Papa, can we go see Daddy today?”

Race freezes halfway through screwing the cap off a carton of milk. He turns to look at his son and finds him staring at him in all his six and a half year old glory. His hair is a mess of bedhead and sleep and even though Race had gotten him up and dressed in a decent amount of time for a Saturday, he still looks rumpled. But that’s just how kids are, Race guesses.

It had been a year since Race’s life took a tumble into the realm of his worst nightmare. A year since Lieutenant Kelly and Sergeant Jacobs had shown up on his doorstep, clad in Army Service Uniforms and wearing twin, somber looks.

It hadn’t taken long for Race to piece together why they were there.

That day was still hazy, a jumbled mix of numb shock and things like, “we regret to inform you” and “killed in action” and then there was Teddy pulling at his pant leg and asking him with those wide goddamn eyes why “guys dressed like Daddy” were there and Race didn’t know how to tell him that Daddy’s gone, because how the hell do you explain that to a five year old and he wasn’t equipped to deal with something like this and he still isn’t and-

Yeah. A nightmare.

Race still isn’t sure if Teddy knows exactly what happened. He seems to understand that Spot is gone and that fundamentally, he isn’t coming back, but he doesn’t think Teddy understands death yet. The finality of it- the weight behind the concept.

It was inexplicably haunting to see Teddy not crying at Spot’s funeral. Race was crying. Hell, Race was a mess. It was so bad that Albert had to take over his eulogy and Jojo had to watch Teddy for a few minutes while he lost his shit in the bathroom.

But Teddy hadn’t cried. He’d just clung to Race with a tight grip and wide, bewildered eyes, not saying a word.

“Sure, bud,” Race says, shaking himself and pouring the milk into Teddy’s bowl of Lucky Charms, “we can go see Daddy.”

He takes Teddy along to Spot’s grave fairly often, but he never really knows how much of it he processes. Like at the funeral, he’s always quiet and subdued when they go, never really saying anything. Just sitting in Race’s lap, head bent into the crook of his neck as he stares at the headstone.

“Yay!” Teddy bounces a little in his seat, grinning as Race sets his breakfast in front of him, “I want to tell him about my dance recital!”

Something in Race’s chest cracks open, making him feel simultaneously warm and cold and entirely overwhelmed.

On their way to the cemetery later, they pass a man selling custom bouquets on the street. Brilliant mixes of orchids and roses, gardenias and anemones, bleeding color into the cold grey of winter, and when Teddy sees them and turns that pleading look on Race, well, who is he to say no?

“Hi, Daddy!”

For once, Race stays a little off to the side, watching his son sit cross legged in front of Spot’s grave. He’s talking, words spilling out at about a mile a minute, but Race tunes them out. This is their private moment and he doesn’t want to get in the way of that.

“I kinda wish you coulda seen it, but…” Teddy shrugs, mouth grimacing in a way that’s so strikingly Spot that Race has to close his eyes for a moment, “That’s okay. I know you woulda come if you coulda.”

And, well, ouch.

“Anyway, I brought my scarf for you, Daddy,” Race opens his eyes to see Teddy carefully wrapping his little Thomas the Tank Engine scarf around the headstone, just over where he’d placed the flowers they picked up earlier, “‘Cause it’s getting cold and Papa always tells me that scarves help make you super warm.”

Race has to bite his lip to keep from crying or doing something stupid to ruin his son’s moment and, like, breakdown in front of him.

“Anyway, I’ll let you talk to Papa now, ‘cause I know he always likes to talk to you a little,” He smacks a kiss onto his palm and presses it to Spot’s engraved name, “Bye bye, Daddy, I love you.”

When he turns to look at Race, he’s smiling. It’s big and unyielding and Race fucking melts, because this is all he really wants. Sure, when Teddy gets older, Spot’s absence will ring loud and daunting, but hell, if he can have any ounce of peace with it then, well, Race...Race is fucking ecstatic. He can handle this.

“Your turn, Papa!” Teddy says, beckoning Race to sit down and climbing into his lap when he does.

“Thanks, little man,” Race hugs Teddy close, “Did you have a good time talking to Daddy?”

“Uh huh,” Teddy says, squirming a little in Race’s tight hold, “I know he was listening super good, I could feel it.”

Race swallows, “Oh yeah?” Teddy nods, “I’m super glad, Teds.”

And maybe, really, that’s what this is about. Spot’s death was a curveball thrown with the wrong hand, jarring a perceived reality and shifting everything Race had known a little too far to the left. And no, it isn’t okay. Maybe it’ll never be okay, but it doesn’t have to be. Spot’s still there, lingering somewhere in their hearts and made real by his memory- their memories of him. He’s still palpable, still reachable, and if Teddy can feel it, maybe Race can too.

Race takes a breath, fortifying and fond, then smiles. It doesn’t feel so strained and Race feels just that much lighter when he clears his throat.

“Hey, Spottie…”

it wasn’t very good don’t clown me please my brain said ‘sorry bud’ today

thanks for reading, chiefs

hmu to be added to my tag

TAG LIST: @getchapapes @we-dont-sell-papes @suddenly-im-respecsable

@aw-jus-let-em-try @well-the-kids-do-too @spot-conlon-king-of-brooklyn @felix-loves-albert-and-ralbert @technically-whizzy

@andthewoildwillknow @the-newsies-justice-for-zas-blog @localfakeitalian @have-we-got-news-for-you @musical-shitposts @thebroadwayaesthetic

@thomasbeingthomas

@irondad-spiderson-duo

@snakesarenonexistent

@i-got-no-clue-what-im-doing

@kpop-kk

@mentallytiredgoat

@yxseminx

@be-more-chill-evan-hansen

@stopthe-presses

@elmers-half-a-cup

@and-i-lostmy-shoe

@spot-me50-papes

@honeynutpoptarts

@newsies-ensemble

@bennie-badeend

@auspicioustarantula

@faithmil

@hopefully-not-the-ghostbusters

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@sure-as-a-star

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@malex-13

@albert-eats-cookie-cake

@heart-a-n-o-n

@bitching-newsboys

@orollyitsracetrackhiggins

@joshuaburrageenthusiast

@random-superhero-stuff

@awkwardstranger98

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@modern-race-owns-airpods

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@spot-the-brooklyn-pirate

@aintnosleevesinbrooklyn

#newsies #racetrack higgins #newsies fic #spot conlon #sprace #oof

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ljandersen · 5 years ago

Text

Under Her Skin

Pairing:�� FemShep/Kaidan Alenko, ME 3

Summary: This is the most Kaidan they’ve seen of each other in two years. Shepard is starting to feel comfortable. Kaidan has accepted her so far, but he hasn’t seen her cybernetics. Exposing her implants could ruin everything.

Shepard watched Kaidan jog around the cargo bay. She stood at the window in engineering with the core humming behind her. The door to Shepard’s right was open. Allers stood out of sight chattering about coordinated efforts between Palavan and Tuchanka. Allers couldn’t talk about the bomb, of course, so she prattled about vague heroics and the primarch’s son lost in action. Lost in action like so many.

Shepard shifted her weight. Her reflection moved in the glass. The bay was almost empty. Cortez and Vega were in the portside lounge playing cards. Shepard had popped her head in only a few minutes ago to see if James wanted to spar.

“Lola, I’m about to own Esteban’s first child,” James said.

“Didn’t know you wanted kids, James.” Shepard swung her water bottle standing in the doorway.

Cortez lowered his cards. “Always said you were a fan of the ladies, Vega. Now you want to have a kid with me?”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Sorry, Esteban. Not happening.”

Cortez snort laughed and tossed chips into the middle of the table. “Your call, James.”

“So, no sparing?” Shepard said.

“Rain check, Lola?” James grinned at Cortez. “Only check I’m taking, Esteban. Call.”

Shepard pushed off the door frame with a chuckle. They had gym equipment – a treadmill, elliptical, free weights – in the portside hold by engineering. Shepard had stepped out of the elevator twirling a water bottle in her hands. Why she glanced out the window into the cargo bay, she didn’t know. Now here she stood still watching him.

Kaidan skimmed the wall in a circuit. Crates blocked him from view at irregular intervals. An engineer popped up from an open panel in the floor by the shuttle. He grabbed a screwdriver from his tool box and dropped out of sight again. The cargo bay was empty except for him and Kaidan.

Shepard had planned some time on the treadmill anyway. Why not start with a run? Screw the treadmill. She pressed the elevator button and unzipped her hoodie. Skipping the warm up, she didn’t need the extra layer. Her eye caught on a reflection in the window, a glowing light. Her fingers paused with her hoodie half unzipped. The pit of her stomach sank. It was her reflection.

She traced her fingers along her collar bone to the swell of her breasts. A glowing orange light. Her skin was thickening and healing. The implant had dimmed to a dull gleam, but it was plainly visible. It was obvious enough in the dark corridor to glow plainly in her reflection. She splayed a shaky hand over the light and met her own eyes in the reflection. Kaidan ran laps behind her reflection.

She and Kaidan were getting along. He made her laugh. Really laugh. She’d forgotten his wry humor, the way he turned words back at her. Dammit, he was clever, but honest and deep too. Deeper than her. Deep enough no doubt that he’d probably spent hours brooding over her Frankensteinian recreation. Her hand fell from the zipper. Air thickened in her throat.

She watched him disappear behind another crate. Running and running and running. Her reflection returned a grim smile. She looked herself in the eye and zipped the hoodie up to her throat. She turned to the elevator and pressed the button for the cargo bay.

She got out and set her water bottle by the elevator. He wasn’t far ahead. She jogged around the first corner of crates and saw him. He must have heard the pounding of her running shoes, because he turned his head. He stopped.

“Not doing hurdles.” Shepard shoved him sideways as she passed.

She smirked over her shoulder at him and took the next turn. It didn’t take long for his feet to clap up behind her.

“Track etiquette, Shepard. Tsk, tsk.”

“Show by example, Mr. Track-Manners. Stop flat-tiring me.”

“Stop changing lanes and winging your elbows out. I’m passing one way or another.”

“No track etiquette here. Expect to get tripped.”

He didn’t say anything, and Shepard looked back. Her footsteps slowed. He was gone.

“Ha!” He burst from between the crates in front of her.

“Off roading it? Cheater.” Shepard leapt into a full sprint.

Kaidan shot forward faster. Shepard pushed herself, but there was no gaining. He kept a fixed distance ahead, so exactly fixed, it seemed deliberately measured. She slowed her pace and that confirmed it. He slowed his pace to match. He could leave her in the dust, but was staying just enough ahead to let her keep up.

“Don’t want to win by too much, huh?” Shepard huffed big gulps of air.

Kaidan’s canter smoothed into a walk. She overtook him, giving him a light shove, then dropped into a walk beside him. Her lungs drank in the oxygen, air wheezing in and out through her smile. Kaidan gave a breathy laugh and wiped the sweat off his forehead.

“Want me to ask Dr. Chakwas for an inhaler?” Kaidan asked.

“Whatever, Track Star.” Shepard purposefully staggered sideways into him. Her gulping breaths eased into a steady push and pull. “Dammit. I’m your James. He couldn’t keep up with me. I made fun of him. Kharma.”

Kaidan chuckled. “Yeah, Vega’s more fight than flight. I like to keep my options open.”

“Huh. That’s a little unsettling, Alenko. Guy guarding my six wants to keep his fight or flight options open.”

“I’ll drag you with me.” Kaidan flapped air down the neck of his tank top. The light fabric stuck to the sweat on his back. “You may have noticed, Shepard, but not a lot of reapers go down in a fist fight.”

“The one on Tuchanka went down,” Shepard said. She snatched her water bottle off the floor. “Granted, no fists were involved, but it was pretty physical.”

Kaidan's towel and water bottle were across the bay. He turned toward them. The engineer still clunked around under the floor mumbling curses Shepard could hear all the way by the elevator. Shepard took a sip from her water bottle and fanned her face. Her sprint left her hot and sweaty. She glanced at Kaidan’s retreating back, and a soft warmth pooled in her chest. She grabbed hold of the zipper. Her heart thundered.

“Screw it.”

She unzipped the hoodie and threw it against the wall. She could see her reflection in the wall’s metal casing. Light glowed faintly under her T-shirt. She ripped that off too. She squared herself to the blurry reflection, sports bra and glowing patches of skin. The light above her navel was brighter and sharper than the one higher on her chest. The marauder’s blade had left a thin, delicate veil of skin still knitting together. The implant blazed through the healing skin like paper.

Shepard straightened the straps of her sports bra and smoothed a hand down her leggings. She spun around. Kaidan had reached the crate with his towel. She jogged up behind him.

“Must have been something to see,” Kaidan said over his shoulder. “That hard for you?”

He grabbed his water bottle and turned around. The effect was immediate. His eyes dropped – a quick flicker – but it was enough to make his jaw set and posture pull back. Shepard’s heart dropped. She raised her chin and put fists on her hips. This was her: scars and glowing implants, half machine, only part human. His gaze sharpened on her face, a firm focus, deliberate and controlled.

“What was hard for me?” Shepard repeated with an edge. “You were saying …”

“Oh, uh, yeah. Right.” He shifted back a step and angled toward the wall. His eyes drifted away. “I was just – on Tuchanka. Was that hard? Seeing the thresher maw?” He took a long pull from his water bottle. He capped it and glanced over at her.

Shepard glared back at him. “Why? Any thresher maw sighting must trigger PTSD?”

Kaidan looked away sharply and set his water bottle down. “Sorry, Shepard. I wasn’t meaning to – I just thought it might have been hard. I overstepped though. Asking. I’m sorry.”

Shepard knotted her arms and tapped the water bottle against her hip. “It’s fine. Thresher maws are just mindless animals. They act like you’d expect. For all the bad, it’s nice to see a little good I suppose. But in the end, they’re still exactly what you knew them to be.”

“Right …” His brow furrowed. He looked past her and rubbed his arm. “Anyway, just glad to get a point on the reader board for our side.”

Shepard followed his eyes to the elevator. Kaidan snagged his towel and water bottle off the crate.

“I should get ready for duty,” he said.

She had driven him off. She rattled the water in her water bottle and frowned. Was it the awkwardness of refusing to discuss her weepy thresher maw fears? Or was it seeing her implants? It could be both. Kaidan took a step toward the elevator. She edged in front of him. He stopped.

“I was going to …” His eyes lowered and intensified into a stare.

Shepard glanced down. She hadn’t even consciously realized she was doing it. Her fingertips pressed to the glow just visible above the fabric of her sports bra.

“Is this bothering you?” Shepard took a step toward him.

His eyes snapped up, but he couldn’t meet her gaze. “Uh, sorry, Shepard. I … I don’t know.”

She felt sick. “It does bother you.”

“I—I guess? I’m really sorry, Shepard. I just—I … Well, hmm. Sorry.” He darted around her.

Shepard’s shoulders slumped. Her insides twisted. She should have kept her hoodie on, kept it zipped to the chin. She watched him retreating and grit her teeth. Her hands balled into fists. No. This was the way she was now. Damn him then if he couldn’t accept the new her, flesh and blood and gizmos. She hurled her water bottle into the floor and raced up behind him. She tore him around by the shoulder to face her. His eyes ballooned.

“Listen up.” She stepped into him and whipped her voice out with a crack. “I’ll say it once. I’m part machine, I know that, but it doesn’t matter. What matters is that you’re going to treat me like a person and follow my orders. Stay on the same page with me, we’ll get along. We don’t need to be friends. My buddy quota’s full anyway. But if you treat me like a cyborg on the field, question me, I’ll kick your ass so hard my footprint will need to be surgically removed. Got it?”

Kaidan stood frozen. His spine was stretched so tight it might snap. He barely breathed. Her face was close enough to tell. A wrench clanged on the metal floor behind her. The maintenance worker’s mouth hung open. Shepard faced him with hands on his hips, and he tucked into the floor like a prairie dog under the shadow of an eagle.

“Are we on the same page?” Shepard swung her face back to Kaidan.

Kaidan’s chest expanded. His breathing fell back into rhythm. He was starting to thaw.

Shepard drummed her fingers on her hips. “Just say we’re on the same page, Major, and we can move forward.”

“We’re not on the same page.”

Shepard dropped her arms and faced him full on. “What?”

“Have I treated you like less than a person? Where the hell is this coming from?”

Shepard jabbed her finger at the spot they’d been standing minutes ago. “Right there. My hardware makes you uncomfortable, fine, but I’m not a machine. I’m not going to let you treat me like one.”

Kaidan followed her finger with his eyes. His eyebrows lifted. “Oh.” His lips twitched with the hint of a smile. The tightness drained from his posture. “Shepard …”

“You think this is funny?” Shepard said.

“Well …” Kaidan shrugged a shoulder. His lips spread into a full smile. “Hey, it’s not what you think. Don’t be angry. Poor Johnston’s quivering under the floorboards.”

“Then what am I getting wrong?” Shepard glared into his smile. “I asked a direct question, you gave a direct answer.”

“Maybe, but …” Kaidan chewed the corner of his lip. He eyed her for a second, then folded his arms. “I don’t know if I want to say. The takeaway is: you misunderstood. You’re a person to me, all right? Of course, you are.” Shepard’s eyes thinned, but he continued. “And don’t give me a footprint I need surgically removed. All the real war wounds being triaged, I’d be on the waiting list forever.”

“I’ll make sure it deserves priority. Turn around.”

“Ha. Think I’d make it easy for you? Fight or flight, remember? I’m faster.”

He backed up and pushed the elevator button. Shepard stared hard at him, but he only returned her glare with a cheeky smile. The breath clenched in her chest drained away in a long sigh.

“Kaidan, you really don’t think I’m—”

“No, I don’t.” Kaidan stepped backward into the elevator and stopped the door with his hand. “I don’t care about your cybernetics, Shepard. Just means you’d lose playing hide and seek in the dark, but other than that … You’re a person to me, Shepard. Sometimes I wish that’s all you were.” He pulled back, and the elevator doors closed.

Shepard folded her arms. A frown soured her lips.

“Commander?” The engineer’s voice wavered.

“Johnston?” Shepard twisted to the head popping up from the floor. “Sorry about that. Didn’t mean to singe any bystanders.”

“That’s okay, Commander. Still got my eyebrows.” He crawled out of the floor and walked over to her. He tapped a wrench in one palm and opened his mouth. He closed it again.

“What is it?” Shepard took a step toward him.

“Major Alenko.” Johnston nodded at the elevator. “This might be an inappropriate observation, ma’am, but the Major's been checking you out pretty thoroughly when you’re not looking. Well, even when you are looking ...” He waved his wrench toward the place she and Kaidan had stood earlier.

Shepard’s heart sped up. “What? You mean, like – You’re sure?”

“It didn’t look like a professional visual pat down, you know what I mean. Just saying. Might want to straighten him out before there’s trouble.”

“Huh.” Shepard clicked her tongue and smiled. “Yes, indeed. Well, well …”

“Not to criticize, ma’am.” Johnston pointed the wrench at her this time. “Maybe you wouldn’t have trouble receiving attention like that if you … Not saying it’s your fault.”

Shepard looked down. Her skin glistened with sweat. The curve of her breasts rose and fell with each breath, straining against the clinging fabric of her sports bra. She touched her bare stomach and faced her reflection in the metal wall. The implant glowed in her chest. She traced the light between the swell of her breasts and smiled. Ah. Maybe it wasn’t the implants under her skin bothering him. It was the skin itself. She brushed a hand down her side. Only a sports bra and leggings.

“Don’t leer at me, Johnston.” Shepard looked over her shoulder.

He sprang into motion. “Sorry, ma’am. Really, really didn’t mean –”

“Eh. Just giving you a hard time. Keep up the good work. Whatever you’re pounding away on down there, continue.”

Shepard fluttered to the elevator. She should make sure Kaidan was on the same page as her about this. Distractions and emotional complications weren’t appropriate for war time. Still, she couldn’t help smiling. She jabbed the elevator button. She’d set him straight some other time.

From “About Mars . . .”:

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21369139/chapters/50901124

FFN: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13428855/1/About-Mars-Mass-Effect

#Mass Effect #fanfic #shenko #kaidan #femshep #fshenko #femshep x kaidan #About Mars

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panickedvulture · 6 years ago

Text

I Think I Love You

Summary: Brendon’s been trying to get over this stupid crush ever since he found out you have a boyfriend. To speed up the process Dallon and Spencer put him through a series of tests to determine if he really loves you or not.

Pairing: Brendon Urie x Reader, Dallon Weekes, Spencer Smith

Warnings: Profanity, Vices & Virtues Era

A/n: The scene with dialogue written in italics is a flashback. Here’s a lil imagine I started writing a long time ago to the tune of “I Think I Love You” by the Partridge family. It’s cute (I think) and short (3k) and hope you enjoy it!

“Alright! Fine, you win, I lose!” Brendon huffs, giving Spencer and Dallon a forced, flat-lipped smile as he throws his hands up in defense. They’re sitting around Brendon’s coffee table, pushed away from his couch to give them all some room to sit comfortably. It’s littered with torn papers, paper with incomprehensible sharpie scribbles seeping through, glass bottles and cans of soda, along with empty bags of vending-machine chips shoved inside one another.

“I-I like Y/n, alright?” He reaches for his orange Fanta, on the verge of tipping over considering its stacked atop unevenly folded napkins they’ve used to clean up a handful of spills tonight. He throws his head back and lets the bubbles sting his throat, but he gulps heavily and takes a breath once he slams it back down on the table. “It’s no big deal,” he insists, his bulging eyes looking to the side.

He feels a warmth come to his face and goes to take another drink but no matter how tight he closes his eyes while the burn of the newly-opened soda travels down his throat, he can’t block out Dallon’s cackling and Spencer repeating, “Wait wait wait wait wait…wait a minute—”

“I said it’s no big deal!” Brendon coughs and pats his fist against his chest. “Can we just like, get back to writing. Please?”

Spencer leans into the table, eyeing Dallon who has his curled fist pressed to his lips, then to Brendon, whose lips are sucked into his mouth as his grip on his drink tightens.

“You didn’t say you like Y/n, you said you love Y/n! Not love-d! Love!”

“Well, it was a false alarm, Spencer!”

Dallon lets out a breath, shaking his hair as he gets all of the air out of his puffed out cheeks. Then he leans back against the lounge chair, and puts his hands behind his head. “How can you ‘love’ a girl then not even let her come to her band’s writing session. Geesh…”

Brendon scoffs, “I never said this was a writing session!”

“You just asked if we could get back to writing…” Dallon mumbles, looking down at his lap.

Spencer hums and takes a sip of his drink. “Ah yes,” he swallows, “That’s because you insisted it was a boys night when she attempted to include herself in the conversation—“

“Actually,” Dallon starts, “A conversation she was already included in to begin with, but you just decided to pretend like she didn’t exist.”

Spencer nods and gives Dallon a high-five.

At this point, Brendon’s finished his soda. He’s drinking it with so much rigor he might as well be venting in a bar, but it’s just orange Fanta. He would go and get himself another one but he’s already had six or seven tonight despite Spencer’s wise advice to “Simmer down.”

Brendon really does feel like a schoolboy with a crush on a schoolgirl. He’s sitting in his house with his friends who’ve laughed at him for daring to have feelings, and to replace alcohol he’s downed six (or seven) sodas of the sugariest kind. Only thing is he’s a grown man dammit who’s allowed to drink yet doesn’t even have the balls to do anything but treat you like shit out of his own embarrassment.

You wouldn’t consider his treatment as shitty. He’s always been one to over-exaggerate. You’ve been the band’s only female member since the Fever days, playing rhythm guitar behind Ryan at first until you were bumped up to lead guitar. With working on three albums you’ve definitely been a victim of the boy’s lack of inclusion.

Hell, after you recorded “Lying Is the Most Fun a Girl Can Have Without Taking Her Clothes Off” you were glad Brendon couldn’t stand to look you in the eye and glad that Ryan and Spence were on their best behaviors and acting all ‘gentlemanly.’ And back then they were literal schoolboys.

“Uh, you can’t!” Brendon shouted as you took a slow sip from your drink. You were at some club. Brendon claimed that exploring the world fueled his writing, so you went with it. His fearful reaction was in response to you merely opening your mouth to inform them on if you would be able to go or not, but Brendon decided that for you.

You just stared at him, your top lip over your bottom one as the straw poked at the corners of your mouth. You took another slow sip, looking into Brendon’s eyes as his face flushed and he dug his hands in his pockets.

“Boys night. It’s uh,” he looked over his shoulder to Dallon and Spencer, “It’s a boys night...sorry Y/n.”

You giggled and right then you just felt him deflate and his warmth jumping to you. You were chock-full of embarrassment—you knew a crush when you saw it—and Brendon felt somewhat emasculated.

“Okay?” You said with caution, then stirred around your drink’s ice. “I was going to say I couldn’t regardless because—”

Brendon sputters, putting a hand on his hip and his elbow against the table. “Why is it that the one year I actually feel something more for her, she’s dating someone?!” Spencer and Dallon look at each other, then purse their lips and avoid Brendon’s eyes.

He’s kinda right…kinda.

You see, being the sole female in a dominantly male band has brought along its challenges, and Brendon is man enough to acknowledge that. The specifics though are something you haven’t exactly brought to his attention or things you’ve shrugged off with a forced smile when he’s brought them up to you. You haven’t been able to spend alone time with any of your bandmates from the day the press got involved without tales floating around of your induction in the band being solely because you got on your knees for one (or all) of them. As big as the “Ryden” craze was and as grateful you are now for your overall support from the fans, God was the hate overwhelming.

Which is why you took the first partner you got.

Spencer starts to whistle, reaching over the table to twist around a bag of Cheetos facing Brendon. Dallon does the same, sitting up straight and hunching his back to reach. They shrug, knowing you’ve been in a relationship for longer than Brendon’s giving you credit before.

Brendon stares at them in silence, then Spencer, after getting a few Cheetos in his mouth, snatches the notepad placed in front of Brendon. He reaches for the pen too then starts scribbling. Dallon cranes his neck to get a peak, and like school-children in the middle of a test, Spencer cups his hand around his writing to keep Dallon from seeing. He gives him a glare too.

“What are you doing?” Brendon stands up but keeps his knees bent, that way when he sits back down the drop won’t be too far.

“I,” Spencer starts, then sticks his tongue out between his lips as he focuses. He draws a T-chart and finishes it off with a wobbly line down the center of Brendon’s paper. He huffs, “am going to have you make a list.”

Brendon scrunches his face up, looking above their heads and to the nearest wall as he tries to think of what list Spencer could be talking about. Dallon reaches over the coffee table to tug at Brendon’s sleeve and Brendon hesitantly sits on his knees. He keeps his chin up but his eyes on Spencer’s paper.

Spencer finishes it, clicking the pen closed before he sets the pad and pen down in front of Brendon.

Brendon scoffs, “A pros and cons list—I’m not doing this!” He clutches the pen tight and tries handing Spencer the list.

“Oh come on why not?” Dallon asks.

“Because!” Brendon looked between the two. “It’s gross and rude and didn’t you see that episode of Friends? Fu-fucking Ross screwed up all his chances with Rachel, there’s no way in hell I’m doing this!”

“It’s true.” Dallon nods and Spencer sighs. He snatches the pen and pad from Brendon and holds it down with one hand as he presses the tip of the pen tight against the paper, drawing over the square section where the cons are supposed to go. With some effort and grunting as he tries to use his full force on the flimsy pen, Spencer’s weakened the paper enough to seamlessly rip the cons part from the rest of the page. He lets it float down to the carpet next to him, then drops the pen and pad down in front of Brendon again.

“First of all!” Spencer holds up a finger, “It was only like the second season, Ross did much much more to screw up his chances with Rachel. But if it bothers you that much then just do her pros.” Spencer shrugs, pressing his lips together tight.

Brendon looks to Dallon for some assurance that he should not do this, but Dallon shrugs and trains his eyes to the side of Spencer’s head.

“Fine,” Brendon grunts, clearing some napkins from the table so he can lay the notepad flat. He fiddles with the pen’s cap in his other hand but doesn’t write anything for a minute or two. Dallon and Spencer watch on with interest, holding their breaths. Brendon’s palm starts to sweat and in his frustration, he runs it through his hair.

He has so many ideas but he’s certain they’ll ridicule him for them. Some seem like too big of pros, some seem like too small, others he’s positive will require some explanation on his part and will lead to a roasting session. “Um, I dunno.” He rolls his eyes and scribbles down as he says, “her smile.”

His body shivers and tenses when he hears Dallon’s breath hitch and Spencer snickering.

Brendon runs his tongue over his lips and lifts his head up, his hair bouncing. “Look, just let me do this, alright?”

“Take your time,” Dallon says. Brendon glares at them then leans forward, using his arm to block the paper from their view. But knowing they’re not looking now isn’t enough. He knows the second he takes a break to stop once he starts, they’ll snatch it up and read the list so loud the neighbors will be able to hear.

He takes a deep breath and starts writing anyways.

It starts off small…physical things—her hair, her eyes, her face, her hands, her body—and eventually he looks up into space, presses his lips together, and shrugs before circling everything and writing—her—next to the bubble. Because it’s true.

Spencer cranes his neck to get a look, and Brendon growls at him. He’s like a mama fox protecting her baby, but the baby is you and he winces thinking of this comparison because oh man what he wouldn’t do to be able to protect you and hold you and call you his baby—but anyways he digresses.

Spencer and Dallon start to get really interested when Brendon giggles under his breath and blushes. And even more so when he bites onto the tip of his thumb to try and lessen the intensity of his smile (it doesn’t work). They begin to realize that Brendon isn’t having as much trouble as they expected. If this was truly a schoolboy crush he would have stopped after a few physical descriptions and simple memories of you doing minuscule things for him—but with how many bullet points he’s making he’s divulging onto paragraph territory.

“Okay!” Spencer snatches the paper from under Brendon and chucks it behind him.

“Hey! Dude!” Brendon huffs and sits up then picks up the paper. He flattens it out where Spencer’s grabby-hands had the audacity to crinkle it. Brendon is ready to start writing again now that he’s gotten into the flow.

Dallon holds his hand out and leans over the table, typing on his phone with his other hand. “Okay, so here’s how we’re gonna do this.” He holds out his hand for them to shush while he gets things in order then shows them a Cosmopolitan article. Not-so-short-story short, it’s a quiz. A simple, yes/no quiz.

“Question one!” Dallon clears his throat and Brendon furrows his brows at Spencer who leans back and puts his hands up in defense, having nothing to do with this.

“Hold on hold on—” Brendon pleads.

“Do you switch from being nervous and sweaty around them to almost being comfortable and perhaps chill around them?” Dallon wiggles his eyebrows.

Brendon thinks about it. He wouldn’t really say “comfortable and perhaps chill,” but he manages to keep the sweat in until the moment you leave. So he rolls his eyes and grumbles, “Yes.”

“Question five—”

“Wait what about—”

“You’re happy just to go to the store with them instead of planning the perfect evening deserving of its own rom-com montage and soundtrack?” Dallon lowers his brows and Spencer points at him then nods at Brendon, considering it a good question.

“I-wh-sure? Yeah yeah whatever, yes.”

“Question seven, when they sleep over, you’re cool with washing your face and brushing your teeth and going pee even without making a big deal out of it.”

“Of course.” Brendon looks at Spencer and Dallon, almost offended they would even ask.

“Question eight…” Brendon nods his head for Dallon to continue, and he does in a huff. “Younolongerdaydreamaboutsmoochingeverysinglerandomhottieyouseeoutinpublic—well of course not the only hottie you daydream about smooching is Y/n, next question!”

Spencer snatches the phone from him and Dallon doesn’t even argue. He just sighs and pouts.

Spencer giggles and “Oooohs.” Dallon looks over his shoulder and cracks a smile before Spencer reads it out loud. “Is it love, obsession, or just a crush?” He reads in a voice that would fit an entitled perfume commercial very well.

Spencer tosses the phone to Brendon and after giving them a glare Brendon takes the test. In the meanwhile, Spencer plays on his phone and Dallon sits in silence wondering when he’ll have his beloved back. Then Brendon groans softly with a mild grimace, and that can only mean it’s time for the results. So Spencer snatches the phone from Brendon again, and then Dallon snatches the phone from Spencer. He’s so proud it’s back in his possession he almost slips it in his pocket, completely forgetting the reason why it wasn’t in the first place.

Then he gets a peak of the results screen and huffs, blinking rapidly at Spencer and ignoring Brendon’s look of great discomfort.

Dallon clears his throat. “Is it love, obsession, or just a crush? Your result…” He eyes Spencer, and Spencer starts drumming on the table with two pens. “You’re—oops, not you-are, but your—in love at 88%.” He reads, “They mean the world to you and no one else seems to do. When your around them, nothing else exists but the two of you. It’s official, your more than just crushing on the object of your affections, you’ve fallen in love with them. You are only 25% obsessed.” He smiles.

Spencer raises his brows at Brendon and he’s finally had it. Brendon stands up, groaning loudly and running his hands through his hair. “Alright!” He shouts, stretching back and closing his eyes. He keeps one hand in his hair as the other flails to his side. “Okay okay, I might, just-just maybe love Y/n, just a tiny bit! Alright?!”

Spencer and Dallon look up at him. It’s kind of pitiful they think.

“But you know what?” Brendon reaches and grabs his bottle by the neck. He holds the uncovered top to his palm which means it’ll surely get sticky but he needs something to repeatedly ram into his hand and he’d rather it be this than the wall. He cackles, “It doesn’t matter! It does not matter one bit—” Spencer and Dallon’s eyes flicker behind him but they’re just messing with him again, of course, “—Because Y/n has a boyfriend and that boyfriend isn’t me and now I’m sad and alone and sad, because I’m in love with my bandmate who I haven’t appreciated during our entire relationship and it turns out not showing appreciation actually ruins a relationship, how about that?!” He huffs in a whiny tone, but still forces a smile. Then he looks down to his bottle of Fanta. There are still some drops left. He shakes the bottle around and hums, pleasing something minuscule is going right, then he throws his head back and lets those last few drops slide down his throat.

He turns to throw the bottle away before he smashes it out of frustration or pure clumsiness but stops with the bottle still hanging over his mouth as he sees you of all people standing in the door with your lips pursed and arms crossed over your chest. You have your laptop satchel slung over your shoulder. How could you let them start up a writing session without the heap of notes you saved on your laptop a week prior? They needed you, you were the source of organization these boys had.

Now you didn’t expect to walk into this….but it’s a pleasant surprise.

Still, you don’t have much in you to go grab Brendon by the face and finally get a taste of those lips he incessantly flops around much to your annoyance, so you raise your brows at Spencer and Dallon as a greeting before turning on your heel and walking out the front door. But you don’t leave. You just wait, and you smile knowing waiting was the right thing to do when you hear things being softly thrown inside, followed by Brendon cursing himself, followed by Brendon’s frantic footsteps.

You whip around, your arms still crossed and a slight smile tugging at your lips, but for Brendon’s sake you suppress it and bring in your firm brows.

He holds his hands up in defense. “I can explain. Okay? I just-I just, you know, we were just messing around in there and they were trying to test—”

You step closer and shake your head gently. You would have put your finger to his lips just to get a bit of a preview of how soft they are (and to see if they meet your expectations) but you don’t feel the need too. Brendon gulps and his voice fizzles away completely by the time you’re a foot in front of him.

You nod, “Go on.”

Brendon sighs. He thought you were going to hush him, reassure him that you knew it was a misunderstanding. The only problem was it wasn’t, and you knew that.

He deflates and kicks at the ground. “Y/n…I know you have a boyfriend and I respect that, alright?” He shrugs and purses his lips as he looks off to the side. “Everybody told me I’d get to liking you eventually I just didn’t expect it to happen literally the one time you weren’t available.” He looks you in the eye.

He’s not sweating. He’s comfortable, and perhaps chill.

“And so…you’re just gonna have to give me some time to let whatever I feel for you run its course. Okay? I promise things won’t be weird between us…if you’re down for that that is and if you’re not comfortable working with me for a while I—”

“Yeah, listen, I broke up with him like seven months ago.”

Brendon blinks. Then he lets his jaw go slack. “Seven?”

“Mhm…”

“Seven months ago—Y/n!” You look off then give him a flat-lipped smile. “Why didn’t you tell us?!”

You shrug. “Eh. Nobody was really interested or involved when we were dating to begin with so I figured it wouldn’t be that big of a deal. Plus it’d mean nobody would rat about the break up to the press because you and I both know the second I do one of you three boys will be labeled as the reason being, right?”

Brendon nods weakly.

But then he realizes something. If you don’t have a boyfriend then…

“Bren you wanna go out some time? For drinks, or dinner, or a movie and have it not be a band outing? Or we can go to the park….the zoo?” You take a deep breath, thinking of all the possibilities. “We can go people-watch in the food court at the mall.”

Brendon’s breath is caught. He stares at you with wide eyes and a still slack jaw. Then, as everything has finally made sense to him, he cracks a smile.

“I think I love you.”

You suck your lip in between your teeth. “Is that a…yes?”

“Absolutely.”

#brendon urie imagines #brendon urie imagine #brendon urie x reader #brendon urie smut #panic! at the disco imagine #vices and virtues #vices&virtues #fluff #imagine

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agustdomain · 7 years ago

Text

Running Circles Through My Mind {FINAL}

Synopsis: You weren’t sure when he started to become a regular thought in your mind. It was subtle, yet inevitable. The only problem was perhaps the feeling wasn’t mutual after all.

For the previous part, click here

Word Count: 16.1 k

Genre: Best Friend!au, Angst, Fluff

Warnings: Language

Member: Jaemin, ft. the other Dream boys

“Yo! Y/N! Why so quiet?” You looked up from your fruit salad, making eye contact with Donghyuck as he boldly stared back at you, waiting for a response. “I mean, it’s nothing new. These days, you’re more quiet than Jisung.”

“Why do you guys keep saying that? I’m not even that quiet,” Jisung retorted, before returning his attention back to his game. Donghyuck’s eyes merely regarded him with little interest before turning back to you.

“I’m serious. I don’t know why no one else has said anything. Last time I checked, you always want to throw your two cents in. Are you going through a quarter life crisis or something?”

“She has to be 25 to go through a quarter life crisis, dumbass,” Mark interjected, before offering you a soft smile. Frankly, you didn’t know how to answer Donghyuck’s prodding. You didn’t technically know the answer yourself. Well, to an extent you didn’t.

It had been three weeks- three weeks- since the get together at the pizza place. Exactly three weeks since you stood with Hyunjin in that parking lot, and let him hear you cry. Three weeks since you had texted Jaemin and told him how you felt, while simultaneously letting him know that you regretted it. At the time, you had regretted it. Now, you were just forcing yourself to ignore everything you felt. And unfortunately, your assumptions had been correct. Something had shifted between you and Jaemin. No, it wasn’t exactly awkward between you. But you both found it hard to be around each other for more than ten minutes. A strange hostility had begun to form between you guys, more so from your end, and the others were not oblivious to it. Jeno had taken a disliking to you, even though a month ago he had come over to your house to watch your favorite show with you for six hours. And Renjun had made his unspoken decision of being on your side without even needing to know the story, choosing to pretend Jaemin wasn’t there majority of the time. Deep down inside, it made you sad that lines were being drawn and loyalty was being put on the forefront and you were sure that majority of your friends didn’t even know what was going on, but you felt like you had no control over any situation anymore.

Tuning out Mark and Hyuck’s bickering, your eyes trailed over and across the pathway that separated the two large ramadas which acted as the outdoor cafeteria. You couldn’t help yourself, your eyes falling on the lunch table that held the other half of your friends. A short distance away, Jaemin resided with his fiercely loyal best friend Jeno along with Chenle. Throughout the past three weeks, it was hard to not look over at them, finding it hard not to stare. Whenever you did, you took note that Jaemin wouldn’t look over at you even once.

“Why do you give him the satisfaction?” A small voice filtered into your ears, and your eyes trained to your youngest friend, Jisung. He opted out of playing his game, instead watching you behind his circular rimmed glasses. It had mildly surprised you that Jisung had chose to sit with you instead of Jaemin, but then you thought back on almost every time to you and your friends’ outings, and how he was either attached to Chenle’s side or yours. And you came to the conclusion that you had underestimated the deepness of your bond with him. On top of that, you had begun to realize things about your friends now that you never noticed before, simply because the others weren’t around anymore and you had more mental space to just focus on the people in front of you.

“What do you mean, Jisung?” You voiced back, equally quietly.

“You don’t think he notices when you stare? You’re quite obvious about it.” Take Jisung for example. Being the reserved type had its perks, because he used his observant skills alongside his strong hearing skills to understand more than you ever thought he knew. Even though he technically knew the whole situation because of his eavesdropping, you were grateful you never had to explain to him what went down between you and Jaemin.

“I try and control myself. It’s just hard,” Your eyes fell to your nearly empty container, deciding to throw the rest of your fruit away. On your way back to your table, you glanced across the ramada, feeling frightened when you made eye contact with Jeno’s harsh stare. Something in your heart cracked, feeling betrayal creep up on you at the prospect that Jeno easily wrote you off as a stranger the first chance he got. You also didn’t fail to notice Chenle sitting over there with them, but you took it less to heart; He was the first and only one who easily rotated between the two tables, never mentioning either group and pretending it was two completely different cliques. You guessed that was what it had become at this point. Two different cliques.

About a week ago, Lisa had started talking to some guy in one of her classes, and within a few days, her and the guy made it official. Just like that, she disappeared from your friend group. She kept in contact with everyone, but it was like the falling out between you and Jaemin triggered a train of events.

“Y/N. You know we’re here for you,” Jisung’s quiet voice and serious nature provided a soothing comfort, one big enough to allow a small smile to grace your lips. Just as you opened your mouth to answer him, your eyes looked past him, your mind freezing up as you watched a familiar figure walk in your direction.

Hyunjin’s attention was elsewhere, his face as stoic as the night from three weeks ago, and his clothing as dark as you remembered. But as you watched him approach a nearby vending machine and slide a dollar into the slot, you didn’t feel that usual embarrassment that came with spotting him. In fact, ever since that night, there was nothing negative at all. You couldn’t shake the feeling of gratitude you felt towards this boy who would otherwise be a stranger if Mark and Ren hadn’t invited him along a couple weeks ago. As if he sensed you were staring at him, he glanced over his shoulder and locked eyes with you as he bent down to grab the water bottle he just bought. He simply blinked at you, no expression flickering across his face, before straightening out and approaching the table. You guys hadn’t interacted at all since that night, and you were confused as to what he could possibly have to say to you- until you realized he wasn’t coming over for you after all.

“Hyunjin! What’s up?” Mark greeted with a friendly smile, standing to give him a proper greeting. Hyunjin offered up a small smile, responding in a light tone with, “Nothing much. Looking forward to the weekend.”

“I second that,” Mark nodded at his words, sitting back down. He motioned for Hyunjin to take one of the empty seats, but he politely refused, screwing and unscrewing his water bottle cap as he patiently waited for Mark to continue speaking, “Got any plans for the weekend?”

Hyunjin just shook his head before calmly offering, “Just staying up late and sleeping in, probably.”

“Not that that doesn’t sound like fun,” Mark chuckled awkwardly, sounding nervous all of a sudden. He looked around for everyone’s approval- everyone being just Donghyuck, Jisung, and you- but you all stared back in him in mild confusion, “But if you want to join us, we’re going to see a movie after school today. Probably going to grab a bite to eat.”

Your eyes narrowed in on Mark, feeling a flash of annoyance. There he goes again, inviting the same guy from before who wasn’t even technically a friend. Mark, as if he sensed your annoyance, kept his eyes trained on Hyunjin as he awaited his response. Feeling the awkwardly long moment of silence, you glanced up only to be caught off guard with Hyunjin’s curious gaze trained on you. He sent you what seemed like a cocky smile before he looked at Mark and said, “Sounds cool. I’m down.”

“Alright, man. Meet us at my car after school.”

Hyunjin nodded and without another word, turned and walked the way he came. When he was far enough away, you spun on Mark and snarled, “What the hell’s wrong with you?”

Mark feigned innocence, motioning with his hands to calm down. “What do you mean? I panicked! We were talking about the weekend and I just, I couldn’t help myself! I thought you guys were cool!”

“Who said that?!”

“You guys talked outside that night we went out for pizza! Who goes outside to talk to someone they’re not cool with?”

You exhaled roughly, rubbing your forehead and trying to calm down your annoyance. You also began to notice the little changes in your demeanor as well these past couple of weeks- it was easier for you to lose your temper these days. “Mark, it’s not that I’m not cool with him. But why do you insist on inviting him with us when he isn’t even close to us?”

“Relax, Y/N. Geez. Who peed in your cereal this morning?” Donghyuck sassily remarked, his eyes failing to meet your scornful gaze.

“Whatever. This is dumb,” You uttered, putting your head down and trying to avoid conversation. But that didn’t sway Mark whatsoever.

“What’s the big deal anyway? He’s pretty cool. And I like how he laughs at my jokes.”

“Oh I get why Mark is keeping him around now. Otherwise, no one would laugh at his jokes. He’s not funny at all,” Donghyuck started cackling, and it spurred on another round of arguing. Even though quite a lot had changed, some things remained painfully the same. And you wouldn’t admit it out aloud, but you were severely grateful that Mark and Donghyuck continued to act like their same old selves.

“Hey guys,” You raised your head and felt a smile grace your lips at the sight of Renjun, his flustered nature causing questions to arise from everyone at the table, “I ran over here as fast as I could. I have some tea to spill!”

“Ooh, you know I love some good tea to sip! Spit it out!” Donghyuck leaned forward, which oddly got everyone else riled up and made you all lean in towards Ren with anticipation.

“Ew, gross!” Mark muttered at Hyuck before motioning towards Renjun to hurry it up. But you all were aware of Renjun’s dramatic nature, causing you all to groan and complain as a smirk adorned his lips and he held his silence.

He opened his mouth, and you shook your head in amusement as Donghyuck stared at him with barely contained excitement. Ren’s voice caused you to return your attention back to him.

“Guess what lovely couple broke up yesterday.”

Mark smacked his lips in disappointment, immediately falling back in disinterest. Jisung followed suit, pulling out his phone and finding another game to play. Renjun started complaining, but Donghyuck had enough and told him to focus on the story.

“Right. So… Lover boy and princess aren’t so in love anymore.”

“I knew it!” Donghyuck hollered, pumping his fist in the air. You all curled in on yourselves in embarrassment, everyone’s eyes turning to your table, and you felt a strange sensation all over your body as you realized who exactly was gazing at your table. For once, you managed to heed Jisung’s words and control yourself from glancing at Jaemin.

“Don’t you think it’s… I don’t know, kind of messed up to be gossiping about Jeno?”

Renjun cocked his eyebrow at Mark. “Jeno sure doesn’t have a problem dogging Y/N every chance he gets.”

“Okay, but he’s not talking behind her back-”

“Oh no, he isn’t. But he sure is stabbing her straight in the front without any hesitation-”

“You’re being ridiculous.”

Renjun deadpanned, “Am I? Am I really?”

Mark just blinked, before exclaiming, “Yes! That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

“Dude, who’s side are you on?”

“I’m not choosing any sides!”

“Oh sure, but Jeno sure didn’t have a problem making his loyalty clear.” Renjun bit back.

“What’s your problem?”

“You are-”

“Alright. That’s enough. You guys are annoying! I need you to dish the gossip already,” Donghyuck was responding to the gossip like an excitable puppy does to a treat. You hated to admit it, but it was kind of adorable.

“So I heard from a friend that she spotted Chaeyoung and Jeno arguing outside one of their classes earlier this week. And I saw with my own eyes, a very angry looking Jeno and a teary-eyed Chaeyoung walking all quickly to the parking lot a couple days ago. And someone said Chaeyoung ‘couldn’t handle Jeno anymore’, and dumped him.”

You were genuinely confused. You thought back on the smiley couple, how much he made her giggle and how he looked at her with nothing but pure adoration. It saddened you to hear this, and secretly hoped it wasn’t true. But as you glanced over at Jaemin’s table, it was the first time since the beginning of the year that Chaeyoung wasn’t sitting with Jeno.

“I definitely saw this coming. She’s too good for him,” Donghyuck said with finality, opening his fruit cup and obnoxiously sipping the sugary juice.

Everyone is surprised when Jisung snapped, “Shut up already. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Donghyuck, the most shocked out of you all, snapped his mouth open and closed before deciding on, “You shut up! It’s the truth.”

Jisung just shook his head, turning his annoyed gaze elsewhere. You reached over and squeezed his shoulder gently. He turned to look at you, offering you a soft look before training his eyes somewhere else. You hated how out of sync your group felt these days, and you hated that you felt helpless. So you decided to speak up.

“Everyone needs to stop being so on edge and sensitive about everything. Donghyuck, try and be a bit more compassionate. This is Jeno’s relationship we’re talking about. Mark, don’t be so quick to jump down someone’s throat. And Ren, I am a bit disappointed that you’re so eager to gossip about one of your own friends.” The three aforementioned boys gaped at you, Mark being the first to snap out of it, as he is the most sensible of the three. The other two, weren’t so quick to back down.

“Did you seriously just check us?”

“You’ve got to be kidding.” They both spoke at the same time, Donghyuck being more accusatory while Renjun was caught up in his disbelief. Donghyuck wasted no time in speaking his mind, as per usual.

“You’re sitting here, telling us to correct our behavior, while Jeno is being the biggest asshole to you simply because you and Jaemin are going through some weird shit that no one really knows the story behind. He turned his back on you, and you’re defending him. Can you tell me how that shit makes sense?”

“Aren’t you doing the same thing?” You shot back at him.

“Yeah, but he did it first. There’s a difference. Bottom line, he sucks as a friend. He chose sides first, and we followed suit.”

“That isn’t enough reason to talk about him behind his back.”

Something darkened in Donghyuck’s gaze, something you’ve never seen before, and it admittedly made you nervous. “Do you think I’m scared to tell him what I think of him?” Your eyes widened, seeing where the situation was heading, but before you could prevent it, Donghyuck stood up, turned his body to face Jaemin’s table, and shouted practically across campus, “Hey Jeno! You’re an asshole!”

It seemed like every conversation halted, every single head turning to Donghyuck who cockily stood there, waiting from a reaction from the culprit’s name who just slipped past his lips. Jaemin, Jeno, and Chenle were emotionlessly staring back at you guys, and your heart rate picked up when you noted Jaemin’s gaze flickering towards you. You all watched with bated breath as the three of them talked quietly, revealing nothing through their facial expressions, before standing and slowly making their approach.

“Dude, I swear, if you’re looking to fight Jeno, I’m not backing you up,” Mark hissed, pretending not to notice the three boys coming nearer to the table. Donghyuck remained cocky, a small smirk adorning his lips as he leaned back against the table and crossed his arms.

“What are you doing?” Jisung said, sounding actually upset, and you could only watch in fear as your three friends- well, you didn’t know what two of them were anymore- stopped a couple feet in front of Donghyuck. Renjun looked conflicted for a moment before standing and taking his spot next to Donghyuck, like this was some dramatic moment in a movie right before a big fight scene.

Due to the position of where they were standing, your view of Jaemin and Jeno were blocked, but you could clearly hear Jeno’s voice when he said, “If you have a problem with me, you can bring it to me. You don’t have to be your usual annoying self and shout across campus.”

“I was just making a point, that’s all.”

“Oh yeah? And what point is that?”

“That you are, indeed, a jackass.”

The air became thick with tension, and your heart was breaking as you witnessed everyone you used to call your best friends turn on each other. Mark looked concerned, so he stood up as well, and sat on top of the table next to Donghyuck. Now everyone was obstructed from view, and you kept your head bowed, not wanting to be near anyone anymore. Jisung reached out to you and squeezed your hand, sighing slightly before standing up and joining the boys.

Jeno’s cold and fake laughter rang out, “That’s funny coming from you. Last time I checked, you’re the biggest asshole out of any of us. Literally ask anyone. I can’t count how many times people asked me why I was friends with you.”

“You’re such a dick,” Renjun snapped, and you felt your stomach churn, hoping that they would just disperse and walk away. But you knew them too well, and Donghyuck wasn’t the type to back down while Jeno wasn’t too stubborn. Not to mention Renjun was too opinionated. Thankfully, Chenle was here as well.

“Guys, let’s calm down. There’s no reason to fight.”

You were completely shielded from view, and you were grateful, because you couldn’t explain why you were crying suddenly out of nowhere. Maybe because all of this was happening in the light of you and Jaemin’s weird behavior towards one another, and you wished you could turn back the clock and pretend you never had any feelings for him. Maybe then, things wouldn’t have been this tense.

“Now’s not the time to play mediator, Chenle. Let the adults talk,” Renjun snapped.

“Hey. That’s not cool,” Jisung voiced, immediately coming to Chenle’s defense. You watched as Donghyuck and Renjun swiveled on Jisung, as if he betrayed them.

“Stop,” You quietly said, wiping at your cheeks, but it seemed like no one heard you.

“Jisung’s right, guys. Let’s just leave it alone,” Mark said, sounding disappointed. He shook his head and stood up, giving off the vibe that he was fed up through his body language. He looked like he was going to say something else, but his frustration must’ve been too much because he just turned and grabbed his stuff. Before walking away, he shook his head, uttering, “You guys need to stop acting like kids already.”

You stood up, turning away from them and crossing your arms. Though you were facing away from them, you listened to see if they would follow Mark’s advice. They didn’t.

“Looks like Mark can’t take the heat. I’m not surprised,” Jeno scoffed.

“He’s got to be joking. He’s joking right?” Renjun filtered to your ears.

“Nah. The only clown around here is you.” With that, you had enough. You aggressively grabbed your bag and briskly began to walk off, but froze at the sound of Jaemin’s soft voice.

“Y/N…”

Without turning around, you said in a shaky voice, “You guys are terrible. You’re supposed to be friends. I’m just… done.”

Later that day, you entered your final class with a sad song blasting in your headphones to block out anyone trying to talk to you. You had managed to avoid talking to Renjun in class after lunch, not that he tried any harder than you. It seemed your friend group had been ripped to shreds. At least that’s what you felt.

You sat down in your seat next to Jaemin, feeling his gaze on you. You kept your eyes forward, not bothering to acknowledge him. You hated to admit it, but it brought ease to your heart today of all days. It wasn’t the first day he stared at you so blatantly, but it was an on and off kind of thing. There were days where he acted the same way as you, as if you weren’t there. There were days where he would make a snide comment in response to you saying something out loud. But most days… he stared at you like a wounded puppy.

And it ticked you off.

Everywhere outside of class, he pretended like you were some ghost walking past him. He didn’t acknowledge your presence, he didn’t reach out to you. After you stopped texting him, he never bothered to reach out and put in any effort. He was the first one to sit somewhere else, simultaneously taking Jeno with him. Some bitter part of you blamed everything on him. But you couldn’t deny that pained expression that flickered on his face when you would glance at him during class. You felt how he wanted to talk to you, tell you anything. You missed him, and the part of you that wasn’t upset sensed that he missed you too. You just didn’t know how to go about initiating a conversation again. You didn’t know how to fix what had been moved out of place on that Thursday night three weeks ago.

As you kept your vision trained forward, you felt your throat tighten at the memory of all your friends being at peace with one another, Chenle being loud and vibrant at lunch. Mark and Donghyuck bickering. Renjun being a smartass. Jeno and Chaeyoung being the cute couple that they were. You and Jaemin smiling at each other about the smallest things. You missed your friends.

When the teacher finished the lesson, there was enough time for independent work. You didn’t hesitate to pull out your headphones, ready to drown out your classmates’ chatter. However, everything came to a standstill when you felt a gentle touch grab your wrist, preventing you from finishing your action. Your eyes slowly dragged up the expanse of his body, dreading the fated eye contact. But the dread faded away once your eyes met Jaemin’s, his gaze soft and familiar.

“Let’s talk after class?”

You only stared at him, hearing your heartbeat in your ears. You felt your heart painfully sting as you gently took his hand off your wrist. You pretended not to notice his hurt. You quietly said, “I have plans after school.”

“It won’t take long.”

You didn’t answer, just slid your headphones in and began to mindlessly doodle in your notebook. But thoughts of Jaemin swirled in your head, him running through your mind like usual and it bugged you even more now. Without realizing it, your doodling had become aggressive and dark and ugly, covering the expanse of the page before you slammed your pencil down turned to him.

It was like he expected this to happen, because his head was tilted up at an angle, no emotion on his face. His eyebrows were relaxed, his lips slightly parted. You hated to admit to yourself how good he looked- of course he did. His hair was swept up and off his forehead, just like a painful reminder of when your friendship first fell apart. The sight of him made you angry. “Why?”

“Why what?” His voice was calm, composed. Yours was anything but, shaking with growing anger.

“Why now? It’s been three weeks.”

“It’s time now.”

You forced a chuckle out of your throat, turning sharply away from him. “Yeah, well, you don’t get to decide that.”

“Don’t you want to mend the group?”

You stiffened at his words, as if he knew you well enough to know that was what you wanted the most. But you didn’t want to give into him. You didn’t feel strong enough to deny your feelings straight to his face. “It’s not my responsibility.”

“It isn’t. But you can make it better.”

“And how do you suppose I do that?” You bitterly said, your defeated tone rubbing off on him as you boldly stared at him, watching the sadness fall over his features.

“We make up.”

You blinked. “That’s your plan to fix things? You and me going back to the way things were? I don’t think it’s possible.”

“Sure it is. You let go of your anger towards me. We lay everything out in the open. And we become best friends just like we used to be.” You stayed quiet, going back to your doodling. You didn’t say anything for the rest of the period, and he didn’t either. When the bell rang, you kept your eyes trained on your desk, and from your peripheral vision, you watched him slowly stand. What he did next, made your mind draw a blank. He reached down, tugged on your ear, and whispered softly, “Think about it. I miss you.”

“What took you so long?” Mark asked, sounding tired as you slid into the backseat. You weren’t surprised to see Hyunjin sitting on the other side of Chenle, who looked bummed that he wasn’t sitting in the passenger seat. You found out during class that Jisung couldn’t come to hang out with you guys- that, or he just wasn’t in the mood after today- and that significantly dimmed your mood. You just shook your head, turning your attention to out the window.

“Why are we still doing this? It doesn’t seem like anyone is in the mood,” Donghyuck muttered, the air stiff as Mark slowly began the drive to the theater.

“Because we need a mood lifter. Especially after today.” Hyunjun must’ve given Chenle a questioning look or something of similar fashion because he added, “Long story.”

“Do you guys want to grab something to eat before the movie?” Mark said, glancing over his shoulder before making a turn into another lane.

“I’m not hungry but I’m in the mood for a smoothie,” Chenle offered, poking you to see if you were down.

“I second that. That might lighten things up a little.”

“Smoothie pit stop it is.”

That’s how you ended up with Hyunjin in the parking lot for the second time in three weeks, waiting for a fuming Donghyuck to clean off his spilled smoothie from his clothes while an apologetic Chenle was in line with Mark to order him a new one. You had wordlessly slipped outside to drink your smoothie in peaceful silence, only to discover Hyunjin must’ve been thinking the same way.

“I see you managed to escape my crazy ass friends.” He turned his head to look at you upon hearing your voice, but returned to his original position of leaning up against the building and watching the cars drive by. He was standing directly in the shade, and even though it was relatively early spring, the sun was beating down on you for no sensible reason.

“They’re not so bad.”

“You should’ve saw them earlier.”

Hyunjin didn’t say anything, didn’t question what you meant by it, and you greatly appreciated it. You then asked him what flavor smoothie he got and he casually answered, somehow making the air more comfortable between you. After a few beats of silence, he said, “You know, you and your friends have the tendency to make things more complicated than they actually are.”

“What do you mean?”

He looked over at you before shuffling more into the shade and cocking his head, saying, “Here. There’s room in the shade,” Before continuing with, “I mean, you guys all have this gloomy look on your face, like it’s the last day on Earth and you spent most of it doing something stupid. I’m assuming you guys had a fight, because the whole clan isn’t here. I also noticed the group is significantly smaller at lunch. And even though I don’t know what the cause is, I know that it’s senior year and you guys shouldn’t let petty fights be the end of a friendship.”

You didn’t realize how close you had actually shuffled up next to Hyunjin, your shoulder brushing his upper arm, but you didn’t mind. You only shrugged at his words. “Perhaps it’s inevitable. The end of an era.”

“I find that too easy to believe.”

“You don’t seem like the type to be interested in other people's business.”

Hyunjin took his time answering, taking a drink from his smoothie before gazing at you with a blank expression. “I’m not. But I guess I’m kind of tired of realizing that every time I’m around you, you’re sad.”

His words shocked you, openly gaping at him. He chuckled in amusement before shaking his head and saying, “What I mean is, how can you get to know someone if all they do is mope whenever you’re around?”

“Fair point.”

He nodded his head once, as if to prove his wisdom. You guys sat in comfortable silence for a moment, feeling at peace of mind. It was strange, but you remember feeling the exact same way the first time you were alone with him at the pizza place.

“I guess my word of advice is, to remember how time works. It’s quickly waning, and soon enough, we’re all going to be graduating and whatever petty drama is bothering you now, won’t matter to you in a few months to come. So loosen up. And figure out what it is that you want, whether it be all of your friends or just one of them.”

His words surprisingly helped you put things into perspective, Jaemin’s words from earlier ringing in your ears. For the second time in the moments where you were with Hyunjin, you whipped out your phone and texted Jaemin without a second thought.

You:

I thought about what you said. I miss you too. Meet me at the theater downtown in forty five minutes. And bring Jeno with you.

His response was almost record-breaking fast, taking a moment to wonder if he was sitting there waiting for you to text him.

Jaemin:

We’ll be there.

“Dude, stop dragging me! What’s the rush?” Donghyuck complained, halfheartedly swatting your hand off his arm as he dragged behind you. You had told Jaemin to meet you forty five minutes ago, an hour and a half ago, and you didn’t want him to think you were standing him up. Amidst your panic, you didn’t realize that the logical thing to do would be to let him know you were running late.

“Yeah, Y/N. Chill out. If we miss some of the movie, we can just wait for the next show time-” You shushed him, your eyes searching rapidly for any signs of Jaemin. You felt yourself deflate, realizing you may be late, until you walked a little further and spotted Jeno leaned up against the wall, his attention on his phone. Jaemin seemed to be looking around for you too, his face creased with worry, and your heart painfully pounded at the sight. Upon spotting you, his face brightened, his mouth splitting into that beautiful smile you missed so much. He held his hand up, as if you needed direction to walk to him- but his smile was a beacon of light all on its own.

“I still don’t get why you’re in such a hurry-” You felt Donghyuck’s steps immediately stop, causing you to fall to a stop as well. Letting go of his wrist, you turned to him and watched as a flash of irritation registered in his face. “What the hell is this?”

“What’s wrong, Hyuck?” Mark asked, confused and followed Donghyuck’s now rudely pointed finger.

“That’s what’s wrong! Y/N set us up.”

“Oh, give it a rest. Quit being a baby already.” You snapped, completely done with how immature he was acting.

“Did you seriously do this? Especially after today at lunch?” Renjun inquired, his tone sounding incredulous.

“I did.” You walked forward then and turned to face your friends. Hyunjin watched you with curiosity, and mild amusement. It internally made you smile, grateful that his words had helped you reach a conclusion about what you needed to do to make things better. “I realized that all of us are better, when we’re together. Yes we argue, we fight. But it’s not like us to be on the opposing sides of a battle. We shouldn’t have to declare our loyalty to one or another. And it broke my heart hearing you talk to someone you consider a best friend like the way you guys did at lunch. Now I’m not saying to completely forget how the last three weeks have been, but I’m just asking you to try. Our friendship comes above everything else despite our differences. If I can look past how Jeno has acted, then you can too. And none of us are innocent, either. So just please try for me. Please?” You pleaded, feeling emotional once again but pushing it back. You had a hopeful tint to your a voice, and you hoped your impulsive little speech was enough to convince the guys to try. Before anyone could say anything though, you felt him before you heard him.

“Hey guys…”

You turned around, to see Jaemin, the beautiful mess that he was today. He was wearing an unbuttoned flannel over a black tee, ripped jeans, and black and white shoes. He had changed out of his clothes from school, and was wearing something that definitely wasn’t his style. But you liked the look. He looked… amazing.

Donghyuck crossed his arms, stubborn about the situation. Mark was willing, of course he was, because he missed them just as much as you did. He offered a genuinely big smile, saying, “Hey. You guys joining us for the movie?”

“No. They’re not.” Donghyuck spoke before anyone could answer. Your heart dropped at the sight of Jaemin’s smile fading. Your eyes trailed to Jeno, and seeing his emotionless face made you realize that he wasn’t the Jeno you knew, the one who smiled so much that it naturally became contagious. You were saddened by how things were different. You were surprised when Renjun of all people stepped forward and placed a hand on Hyuck’s shoulder.

He simply shook his head, before looking around the group and announcing, “So what are waiting for? I’ve been dying to see this movie since last year.”

And the silent feud was over. Just like that. You felt relief flush through your entire body, smiling widely to mirror Jaemin’s own bright expression. And although you felt the waves had finally pulled back into the raging ocean, you didn’t fail to notice that at the sight of Jaemin’s smile, you still had a raging heart.

Just like that, everything fell back into place. It only took a few heated conversations and emotional teary eyed conversations- that didn’t include you- later and the whole group was back together. You and Jeno made your peace, and you watched over time as his familiar smile stayed on his lips longer and longer until it was apart of his persona once again.

Weeks passed.

Throughout those weeks, Lisa made her way back to you guys- this time bringing her boyfriend along with him. He was a sweetheart named Chan, a selfless and charming guy who constantly made awkward jokes that made everyone laugh anyway. Imagine your surprise when you found out one of his closest friends happened to be Hyunjin. Eventually, there were two new additions to the group, and no one really noticed. It felt right.

As March neared its end, the prospect of prom started to loom over your head. You remembered back in January, when you had come to the conclusion that you weren’t going to go. And Lisa had been so irritated with you, blabbering about how it was your last year and you owed it to future Y/N to have one night where you felt like a princess. It hadn’t been enough to sway you then, and frankly it wouldn’t have been enough to sway you now- but back then, Lisa had went behind your back and bought you a ticket. You weren’t about to be a douche and waste her money, so that left you with no choice: you were going.

This was essentially why you were shocked when Lisa pulled you aside during lunch one day in late March, telling you that she was ditching you to go to prom with Chan.

“I’m sorry, please tell me you’re joking,” You said monotonously, Lisa trying to act cute by offering you a sweet smile. It wasn’t working.

“Y/N, I’m sorry! In January, I didn’t know Chan and I were going to be dating in the future. If I did, I never would’ve invited you-” She realized she was making things worse, so she just huffed out her breath before lunging forward and squeezing you tightly, “I’m so sorry! Please forgive me.”

“Get off of me! Alright, alright. It’s whatever. I’ll just sell my ticket or something.”

She immediately pulled back, her face contorting into one of disgust. “Like hell you are. You’re going to prom without me whether you like it or not.”

“Okay, except no I’m not,” you held up your hand to prevent her from interjecting, “First of all, I’m not about to spend all night with Hyuck talking my ear off. We all know that Jisung and Chenle are going to disappear on the dance floor, Mark is going to try his hardest flirting with Seulgi even though he doesn’t stand a chance, and Jeno will probably be sulking somewhere in a corner.”

“And Jaemin?” That’s right. You had failed to mention him and it didn’t go unnoticed by her. It never did. Although the group had quickly made up after the fallout a couple months ago, not everything had returned to normal. You and Jaemin were still a little off, swerving on a once calm drive. You had your moments, of feeling like everything was the same again. But a brief silence, an accidental caress of the hand, a lingering gaze, would send everything slamming back. You had confided in Lisa how you felt, and how you longed for things to be the same again. But you knew it wouldn’t happen, and you learned to live with it. Now it was just Ren these days that you spent most of your time talking to, with an occasional text or video link sent back and forth between you and Jaemin.

“What about him?”

“How will he be spending his time?” She feigned innocence, holding her index finger to her chin as if she were searching for the answer. Her eyes lit up as she exclaimed, “That’s right! He’ll probably be staring at you the majority of the night!” In light of your confession, Lisa had made her assumptions of Jaemin reciprocating feelings for you very clear. You had yet to find a way to stop her ridiculous theories.

“Please,” You scoffed, proceeding to pay for your lunch before you guys began your walk to the table, “He’ll have better things to do. Like woo some other girl for the night.”

“You know Jaemin, and you know he’s not like that. Remember how worried you were about the Dahyun thing?” Lisa teased, making you groan in embarrassment. Shortly after the group had fallen back into place, you were actually dying to know whether or not Jaemin was dating this Dahyun girl that was mentioned way back on the night of the pizza place get together. Much to your dismay, you ended up getting your answers from Ren, who simply said, “Jaemin wasn’t interested. He originally was doing it for Jeno to make him happy, but realized that was messed up and ended up backing out of it. Besides, I don’t think he’s into dating right now.”

“Stop bringing that up!”

“You can’t even deny the look of delight that was on your face when Ren told you. Priceless,” Lisa chuckled, before her attention was snatched by none other than who she spotted sitting at your signature lunch table. It seemed Chan was in the middle of one of his funny stories, even managing to snag Jisung’s attention in the process. Hyunjin was stood a little way away from the debacle, looking only mildly interested. His eyes were elsewhere, scanning his surroundings. He was always the observer, never the storyteller.

“... And then I decided that it was too dangerous to just go downstairs empty-handed. I grabbed my baseball bat and calmly-”

“Hey babe. Are you talking about that night that you almost cried because your cat knocked a vase over downstairs? And you were pleading that your parents would go check it out?” Lisa blinked, giving him an innocent smile.

“Aw man, I thought he was actually cool for once,” Donghyuck groaned, Chenle hitting him in response to what he said. Jaemin, surprisingly, was seated at the table. He usually showed up later, but today he was sat silently, working on some homework assignment. He looked up at your arrival, flashing you a gentle smile before returning his attention to his work.

You went to stand with Hyunjin, nodding his head in acknowledgement before you both got lost in your thoughts. Your moments of silence were interrupted with the sound of a breathless Jeno shouting something at you guys as he ran in the direction of the lunch table. You couldn’t comprehend what he was saying, but you figured it was good news, because no one could deny his huge ear-splitting smile on his face. As he got closer, his words became comprehensible, “She said yes! Guys, she said yes!”

Jaemin stood up, congratulatory and immediately pulling Jeno into a quick embrace. Everyone congratulated him altogether before his attention fell on you, his chest heaving but his face the happiest you’d ever seen it. “Thank you, Y/N. This wouldn’t have happened if it weren’t for you.”

“What do you mean?” Chenle asked.

Jeno turned to him and explained, “She encouraged me to approach Chaeyoung again. You all know I’ve been missing her,” everyone groaned and he swatted his hand in dismissal, “And I was feeling real down about not being able to take her to prom. Y/N here confessed that she feels Chaeyoung might still like me back, and life is about making sure you aren’t faced with a bunch of ‘What ifs’ in the end. So I asked her if we could talk about things, we may or may not have decided to get back together, and then I asked her to prom.”

Some of you cooed at the story, you included, and the rest just playfully teased Jeno. After you all settled down, Jeno turned back to you and gave you a hug, whispering, “Thank you.”

A part of you was happy to forget about that small period of time where Jeno hated your guts, but another part of you wondered why it couldn’t be this easy to return to what Jaemin and you used to be.

Lisa grabbed your attention then, by slyly commenting, “It’s a shame that you can find a date for someone else, but not yourself.”

“You’re not funny, Lisa.”

“I’m not trying to be. I’m just saying, there are plenty of suitable candidates to be your date. Take… Jisung for example.” Jisung’s cheeks immediately flushed, shaking his head quickly and uttering, “No, no. I don’t think that’s uh-”

“Or Chenle.”

“Sorry. I only have one date. And that date is the dance floor.”

Lisa merely shook her head, before you recognized that mischievous glint in her head. You shook your head subtly, mentally pleading with her not to say Jaemin’s name. But before either of you could say anything, another voice chimed in, surprising everyone.

“I’ll be your prom date.”

You looked over your shoulder, locking gazes with Hyunjin who was casually leaned up against the short wall that was near you lunch table. His words baffled you, and you studied him for a moment. He definitely was being serious, but it was like your brain couldn’t wrap around his offer.

“Seriously?” You asked, shocked.

Just then, he did something he often didn’t do: he smiled. A sweet, pure smile that caused his eyes to scrunch up and his face to appear a lot more kind than it usually did. And you were hooked, all because of his sweet face.

“Okay then,” You smiled back, watching with disappointment as his happy face disappeared as quick as it came. He regarded you with a serious look, studying your face for a moment too long before looking away. You noted that it was a little strange, but turned back to face the table.

“That was easier than I thought it was going to be,” Lisa mumbled, sounding a little disappointed herself.

“I think it’s a good match,” Chan threw out there, causing you to shyly bow your head. Chan must’ve been looking at Hyunjin behind you, because he proceeded to wink at his friend as if he were encouraging him or something. It strangely made your stomach flip.

At that moment, you glanced at Jaemin, noticing he had stopped writing. His hand was hovering over the paper, frozen, his face emotionless. You didn’t fail to notice his tight grip around his pencil, so tight that it looked painful. You reached out, placing your hands over his knuckles, “Hey. You okay?”

He flinched at the contact, pulling his hand away and saying, “Yeah, don’t worry about it. I just couldn’t remember what I was writing,” He probably hoped that his comforting smile would be enough for you, but you only continued to watch him more closely, taking note of how he wouldn’t look at you anymore. You decided to write it off as how you both acted around each other now.

But just as the bell rang, Jaemin about to race off, he leaned over to you and whispered, “Congratulations about Hyunjin. I’m sure he’ll make you happy.” And you tried to tell yourself you were imagining it, but you knew you couldn’t have conjured up the slight quiver in his voice, the slightly sad look to his hunched figure. You couldn’t help but recognize that he was using the exact same tone he used whenever he was saying what he felt was the right thing to say, not what he wanted to say.

And that terribly painful part of you that longed for Jaemin, couldn’t help but wonder if maybe he was in the same boat as you.

Time was slipping by faster than you realized. And it was only a little over a month until prom. With a quickly approaching panic, you came to the startling realization that you didn’t have a dress. So on a fateful Thursday night, you had arrived home after school with one thought in mind: to find your dress online and order it that night.

You took some time to wind down, relax, and do other tasks before finally cracking open your computer to begin your search. You had an idea of what you wanted, because you had talked with Lisa and Chaeyoung about potential options earlier that day during lunch. You had wondered aloud what color you wanted to wear, hearing ideas from your friends but ultimately not having any idea stand out to you. It wasn’t until your last class that you had figured out what color it is that you were going to search for, and it was because of none other than Jaemin.

As you scrolled through different clothing shops, your mind trailed to your conversation with Jaemin in class, quickly snatching all of your attention. You had been sitting in class, half listening to your teacher and half focusing on some of the conversation that was happening between two of your classmates near you. You had took a mindless glance at Jaemin and found yourself surprised to see him already staring at you. His head was tilted and resting on his propped arm, his face comfortably being supported by his hand. He shamelessly stared at you, his face open but unreadable. Even getting caught hadn’t swayed him either, he had simply quirked a smile at you before continuing his thoughtless staring.

You couldn’t help yourself then. You had asked him, “What’s up?”

“Pink.”

“What?”

“I think you would look nice in light pink. A pastel pink. And I remembered that you told me that you wanted to wear pink to homecoming but felt like it didn’t suit the atmosphere.” His voice had held no emotion, but you were shocked at the realization that he had remembered such an insignificant conversation.

“I didn’t think you would remember something like that… And I’m not sure anymore.”

“Why wouldn’t I? It seemed like it really mattered to you at the time, and I wanted to make sure that if you ever got the chance, you would go with pink. Besides, you look beautiful in pink. It suits you really well.” And you had simply thanked him, his smile that seemed to always leave you breathless and fill you with light all the same, had made an appearance.

And here you were. Scrolling through every pink section of dresses, not seeing anything that grabbed your eye. At the sound of your phone ringing, you slowly reacted to it by letting it ring before picking it up on the fourth ring.

“Hello?”

“Y/N! Let’s grab a bite to eat.”

“But I’m busy, Lisa. I’m shopping for my dress online. I told you my plans during lunch, remember?”

“Oh… Well can’t it wait a couple more hours?” You picked up on Lisa’s oddly chirpy tone. She was never this excited, and you immediately grew suspicious at the weird tone of her voice.

“Why do you sound so funny?” What had sounded like soft music in the background completely disappeared, as if Lisa had cut off the source of the music upon hearing your words.

“I don’t sound funny. I just want you to come with me.”

“Okay…I’ll let you know what my parents say. I’ll text you.” Before you knew it, you were awaiting a call or text from Lisa notifying you that she was here. In the back of your head, you wondered why she randomly wanted to go out to eat with you on a Thursday of all days, but you brushed it off at the prospect of food.

In a weird instance of coincidence, your phone went off with texts from two different people. The first one was from Lisa, letting you know she was outside, so after you locked the door, you glanced at your phone and felt your heart rattle around in your chest. It was from Jaemin.

Jaemin:

Hey. I’m with the guys right now and we’re talking about hanging out after school tomorrow. You down?

Your heart sunk a little bit at the details of the text, expecting something more than just making plans, but nonetheless it was still a text from Jaemin. Even though your friendship hadn’t been the same, and you felt like he was holding back from you, you wouldn’t deny how he made you feel anymore. And although you chose to keep it to yourself, friends like Ren, Jisung, and Lisa sensed it without ever needing the words from your mouth. You weren’t ashamed of your feelings, but you were determined to make sure that they were never out in the open again, in fears of ruining your friendship with Jaemin for good. But you had to admit that life was a roller coaster of emotions when it involved being in the close proximity with someone as extraordinary as him. Yet, you chose that he would always be in the dark, because you preferred a friendship with him than another instance where your friendship hung in the void.

“Y/N! Hurry up! I’m hungry!” Lisa’s voice floated from the car, and you looked up, confused before you felt a little dread at the sight of Chan in the driver’s seat of his car, Lisa in the passenger.

“You’ve got to be kidding me-” But just as you were going to complain, the backseat window in your view rolled down, revealing a not-so-happy Hyunjin who was forcing a smile.

“Yeah, hurry. Before I throw myself out of this car the next time he’s going 60. These two literally make want to do it.”

“I never go 60!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Seeing Hyunjin’s friendly smile made you feel a little flustered, and without any argument, you joined him in the backseat. Looking over at him, he reached over and ruffled your hair, but you didn’t mind. You didn’t know how it had happened, but since him and Chan had joined your friends, your closeness with him had skyrocketed. Sometimes, you wondered if it would’ve been easier to have feelings for him instead of Jaemin. But you always shoved that thought aside, because silently admiring Jaemin seemed infinitely better than wondering how life would be if you liked someone else.

As you listened to the others discuss where to eat, you remembered Jaemin’s text and quickly threw out your input to Lisa before taking the moment to respond.

You:

Is that even a question? Of course! What are the plans?

Jaemin:

The guys want to eat somewhere. Not that that’s a surprise. And they want to hit up the park. Chenle even mentioned skating, but we don’t know yet.

You:

Alright. Cool. You want me to let Lisa and the guys know?

His next text took longer than you expected, since Jaemin was known for his fast responses. You wondered to yourself if it was because you had mentioned Chan and Hyunjin, but you shrugged that off; everyone had seemed to like them just as much as you. His response came just as you were seated at the sandwich shop you had all came to a consensus about.

Jaemin:

That’s fine. Are you with them right now?

You:

Yeah. I’m out with Lisa, Chan, and Hyunjin. Quite the party, let me tell ya.

Jaemin:

Sounds fun… I’ll let you go then.

You had typed out a quick response, something along the lines of denying his offer and wanting to talk to him longer, but you decided that it wasn’t the best choice. After all, you were with other people. Albeit, Hyunjin was doing his usual thing of staking out his surroundings while Lisa and Chan flirted shamelessly across from you. But you still felt it was polite to get off your phone. As you typed out your actual response, you felt your hands grow sweaty as you decided to offer a suggestion to Jaemin, something that hadn’t been brought up by either of you since before that tiny fall out you had. It had seemed like an untouchable subject, a taboo topic that neither of you felt brave enough to bring up. It always seemed like it would magically transport you back to the night where you had indirectly told him how you felt. However, you felt like enough time had passed. And you missed talking to Jaemin. So you were willing to try.

You:

Okay. Hey Jae? I was wondering if after I get home, do you may be want to video call? Hang out with me while I order my prom dress? Turns out the process is a little more stressful than I thought. I figure some good company would help.

You didn’t expect your phone to vibrate so quick- it was under two minutes since you had sent it- but you felt a wide and uncontrollable smile find its way on your face as you skimmed his words.

Jaemin:

I would love to. I miss you so of course I want to.

Jaemin:

I mean. I miss talking to you outside of school. And I’m sure my impeccable fashion sense will help you find the perfect dress :)

His second text had sent soon after the first, but his words still hit you like an oncoming vehicle at full speed. You knew you were treading on the edge of a building, one foot hanging off and your balance swaying dangerously over the ledge. But you couldn’t help it. When Jaemin continuously ran through your mind like a track star almost every waking moment, you couldn’t help yourself. His words always impacted you in one way or another, your heart never getting a rest. And you knew it was a risky game to be playing, to be barely covering up those feelings for him that never really went away. Perhaps you liked the race your heart went on, the risk and the adrenaline that pumped in your veins whenever he directed a smile at you.

Maybe you were too caught up on him. Maybe you were setting yourself up to get hurt again, but you couldn’t find it in you anywhere to protect yourself, to jump out of the way of that oncoming vehicle. If Jaemin was the driver, you would welcome it with open arms. It was dangerous, indeed. But maybe that’s what made it more beautiful. And it was a comfort to you that you never had any intentions of making the same mistake of voicing your feelings out loud. You would just live with them, admire him close up but in secret. And let his words wash over you, soaking it in, and thriving in it.

You:

Okay. I’ll let you know when I’m ready.

Jaemin:

I’ll be waiting.

Why was it hard for you to find it in you to care, to listen to that voice that was pointing out how it felt just like the first time, when you let yourself indulge in Jaemin’s addictive presence too much and drowned in rejection? Perhaps you were too far gone. Yet, your logical side was silenced at this time. Your heart had taken control of the car. The ride that used to be you and Jaemin’s relationship had become a cruise, had became almost a simple formula to you. You frankly didn’t know when you felt so accepting of your feelings towards him. The only thing different was your determination to keep it close and guarded to your heart. Because even in the midst of your attraction to him, you were aware that your friendship could still be in a fragile state that you had no intentions of breaking. And so, you found yourself in the same position as before; this time, more experienced with the same eyes only for Jaemin. A lovestruck fool, indeed.

“You look oddly happy.”

You connected eyes with Hyunjin, simply shaking your head at him. He drew his eyebrows together, before shaking his head and saying, “It’s so easy to read your facial expressions. It’s almost too easy.”

“What are you talking about?”

His gaze slowly traveled away from you, his eyes training outside the window beside your booth, before uttering, “It’s obvious when you’re thinking about him.”

“I’m not thinking about anyone.”

He ignored you, letting his head fall to the side to meet your eyes once again. You held your breath, his close proximity causing you to become self-conscious of your every move. But his words gathered all your attention immediately. “You’re not fooling anyone. Especially not me. He’s the only one that makes your face light up like that.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Even you didn’t sound convincing to yourself.

He only snickered, the sound contrasting to the look on his face. You weren’t sure why his next words sounded so bitter, but your focus was trained elsewhere upon the food arriving right after his statement. “Unfortunately, I do. It seems you’re not over him like I thought you were.”

Maybe, if you hadn’t gotten so distracted by your plate, you would have noticed how Hyunjin watched you longer than necessary, and how he had scoffed in incredulity at your lack of denial towards his comments about Jaemin, before becoming silent for the rest of the meal. You were a lovestruck fool, indeed.

“Who’s riding with who?” Jeno called out, leading the way to the parking lot with his arm around Chaeyoung’s shoulder.

“I’m with Mark! Let’s get it!” Chenle shouted, bounding over to Mark’s car way before Mark, who was hanging in the back of the group talking with Lisa. Oddly, the day had a similar feel to how the group used to be, a long way back. Chan and Hyunjin hadn’t hung out with you guys today, and opted out of hanging out with you guys after school. It was just like old times, and it felt good, without any disrespect to your two new friends.

“Yeah, I’ll ride with him, too. I’d rather not be with the lovebirds,” Jisung directed at you, Donghyuck following behind him. You and Jaemin silently walked to Jeno’s car, falling into the routine that you typically followed whenever the whole group went out together. Jaemin leaned up against the car, waiting for Jeno to unlock the door. He took the opportunity to continue your conversation from the walk over to the car, excitedly talking fast and laughing throughout his words, making you laugh all the same.

You were mostly paying attention to his words, but you couldn’t help but feel the difference of weight that was now absent from your shoulders since last night. After you got home from hanging out with Lisa and the guys, you had took some time to handle certain errands around the house, and a little bit of homework, before you had finally got around to video chatting with Jaemin. That video call ended up lasting until two am, the night air being filled with nothing but laughter and easy going conversation. There was no talk of the past, no mention of feelings, and no uncomfortable moments. It felt like old Y/N and Jaemin, and you loved it. And it was what you needed, because things weren’t off between you since last night. Although there was that strong part of you that longed for more than just a friendship, the call last night was a brutal reminder that you needed to remember your friendship had priority over everything.

“...I promise you that’s how I remember the show ending.”

“You couldn’t be more wrong,” You laughed hard, your eyes closing from the impact. Jaemin joined in on your laughter, his gaze gentle and fond as he stared at you keeling over in laughter. As you straightened out, all of your attention was on the boy in front of you. He was so alluring, in everything he did. Even if you took a step back and disregarded your feelings, it was mind-boggling to have someone like him around you all the time. He cared about the world around him, was passionate about your friends, was wise but always open to learning, and his disposition was impossibly alluring. He constantly worried about his friends, making it subtle instead of conspicuous, looking out for everyone. When he paid attention to you, all of his focus was entirely on you, and to you it felt like the equivalent of being the center of his world- at least for those few moments. He was unlike anyone you met thus far in your life. And you would cherish that for as long as he allowed.

Your conversation came to a halt as you both witnessed Lisa and Renjun suddenly racing towards Jeno’s car. Jaemin only shook his head before opening the door and letting you take the middle seat, sliding in next to you. You mentally scolded yourself for enjoying how his thigh felt pressed against yours a little too much. Jeno and Chaeyoung slid into the car, leaving Lisa and Renjun arguing about who got the remaining seat.

“You always get to ride with Y/N. It’s my turn now,” You heard Ren’s loud retort, and you just shook your head. Jaemin simply chuckled, before turning his attention to his phone.

“So? It’s a new day.”

“You hung out with her yesterday.”

“Again, new day.”

“Hurry up or I’m leaving both your asses here!” Jeno said loudly. Mark had already pulled out and slowed the car down right behind Jeno’s, saying something you couldn’t hear. He was probably asking who was coming in his car.

“Unfortunately for you, it’ll be Lisa today,” Renjun proceeded to shove her out the way and hop into the car, locking the door quickly. Lisa screeched dramatically, flipping him the bird and storming off to Mark’s car.

Renjun snorted unattractively and fist bumping, declaring, “That’s what her ass gets!”

You smacked his arm, him dramatically shouting out before telling Jeno to hand him the aux cord. They went back and forth for a while, but your focus went to Jaemin- of course it did. But he wasn’t any different, altering between showing you stuff on his phone and watching for your reaction, and commenting here and there. Your dynamic was back to normal, perhaps even better. And you were living for it. As the day waned though, and the night snuck up on you and your friends, you quickly began to realize that perhaps you and Jaemin weren’t viewing the situation the same way after all.

“This tastes so good, I want to marry it!” Donghyuck groaned, spooning another bite of ice cream into his mouth. It was nearing seven later that night, and you all had just left an ice cream shop that was chosen for dessert. You realized that it was fairly easy to get caught up in talking with your friends, because what should’ve took maybe an hour and half, maybe two to eat both dinner and dessert, took nearly three and a half. But that didn’t bother you so much, because you were enjoying yourself. And you could tell that everyone else was too.

“Not surprised. It’ll probably be the only way you get married, since it’s the one thing that can’t say no,” Renjun sassily commented.

Jaemin shook his head at them before spooning some of his own ice cream onto his spoon and eating it quietly. You were all heading towards the car, having separate conversations. The sun was nearly gone now, but you always liked hanging out with your friends at night, so you were unusually excited to head to the park.

Lisa suddenly announced that Chan was going to pick her up to go hang out, so she was calling it an early night. Jeno teased her, joking that she was a traitor, but you all let her off easy. Chan made her extremely happy, so sometimes you guys let her betrayals slide. Because of her departure, Ren decided to ride in Mark’s car. With the racing of your heart, you realized it meant you and Jaemin would be riding together with Jeno and Chaeyoung. You noted how ridiculous it seemed to be nervous, but you just shook it off and got into the back seat without another word.

Jaemin followed suit not long after, breathing out heavily and muttering to himself about how dark it was getting outside. His face was partially lit by the street light that was nearby at the edge of the parking lot. Through the quickly gaining darkness, you unabashedly studied him, how his hair was neatly swept over his forehead. And because he was wearing dark and casual clothes, he practically blended into the darkness of the car. Yet you could still see his breathtaking facial features, how he was distracted by his ice cream and how the yellow street light lit up the side of his face that you couldn’t see at the moment. He was like the moon, the dark side facing you but the light side being the part you wanted to see, because you didn’t want to be stripped of his soft features.

You blinked, before shaking your head and chuckling. You really needed to stop drooling over your friend.

“Hey, Y/N? I heard earlier how you considered getting Strawberry, but decided against it because you always go with Oreo. Do you want some?” His voice sounded deeper than usual, soft as it traveled to you through the darkening night from outside. The air was kind of chilly as well, but you strangely felt warm at the prospect of you and Jaemin being so close in the darkened car. You felt embarrassed with yourself.

“Uh, sure. Thanks.” You expected him to reach through the darkness and hand you his cup, but what he did next seemed to make your heart stop beating altogether. Through the darkness, you watched as he slowly scooted over one seat, his upper body angled to face you. Now that he was completely out of view of the street light, you could hardly see his face at all. But you didn’t need to see him. For once, you didn’t feel the need to drink in his features. Because you could feel him. You could feel his cool breath fanning on your face, his leg pressed up against yours, his hand reaching out through the darkness.

“Here.”

You quietly said, “How do you know where my mouth is, though? What if you’re moving to put the ice cream in my eye?”

“Trust me, I know where your mouth is.” If you weren’t breathing before, you sure were six feet under the ground now. You remained quiet as he scooped the ice cream into your mouth in the dark. The burst of cool sweetness and strawberries made the sensation ten times better, and suddenly you seemed to forget your surroundings or the fact that you were waiting for Jeno and Chaeyoung to stop talking so you could all head to the park. The only person running through your mind was Jaemin, and you had no intentions of stopping it.

You reached out in the darkness, resting your hand on the one that was holding his cup. He stiffened underneath the unexpected contact, before relaxing. “Do you want more?” He said softly, so soft that you felt you could’ve imagined it. A part of you wished you could see him, but a bigger part of you was glad you couldn’t. You didn’t want him to see what you couldn’t hide anymore.

“Yeah, I do,” You responded with, and if possible, your heartbeat skyrocketed as you felt his other hand take the cup from the hand that was holding it. You didn’t understand what was happening, your brain blanking and numbing all at the same time as your hand remained on top of Jaemin’s empty hand. You were confused, wondering what he was doing, until you heard more than saw it. He had placed the cup down on the empty seat, leaving you wondering why he wasn’t going to give you more.

As you sat there wondering, you didn’t realize he had shifted, his body angling towards you once again. You didn’t move, didn’t breathe, didn’t speak. He was the exact same, the silence wrapping around you and encouraging whatever sensation was creeping up onto you.

You froze, feeling his motionless hand beneath your own flip over and intertwine your fingers. He squeezed your hand in the dark, waiting for any response, and as you took in a shuttery breath, you squeezed his hand back. Your heart didn’t know if it could take anymore, feeling like it was completely absent from your heart as you felt his head shift closer. You felt his cool breath on the side of your neck, goosebumps immediately rippling across the expanse of your neck.

And then came the words that could never be taken back.

“Can I kiss you?”

You didn’t even get a chance to answer, because not even a moment later the front and passenger side doors swung open, allowing light to filter into the car. Jaemin quickly moved back to his original seat, your eyes catching his surprised and flustered face. His eyes were wide, his lips parted as if he were breathing hard from nervousness. He met your eyes, a silent and incomprehensible conversation carrying out through the brief eye lock. A sinking feeling filled your chest, your thoughts uncontrollably wondering if he was going to take back his words and make you forget about them. But as Jeno started up the car and announced excitedly it was time to ‘let loose at the park’, Jaemin reached over without looking at you, his fingers searching for yours before finding them and gripping your hand gently. He squeezed once, before making sure to hold on for the rest of the ride.

You didn’t know if your heart could handle the shift of the tides, of the unsuspected turn of events. Perhaps Jaemin was acting like this in the spur of the moment. Was he going to pull the same card that he did last time, take back what he said? What if this caused another fall out? Had he been feeling the same way as you this entire time? Does he think this is just a game, a way to pass the time?

Your doubtful thoughts were enough to make you question everything, make you question Jaemin. So you let your hand go limp, attempting to pull away. Jaemin, however, pulled another wild card on you by reaching out with his other hand and encasing your hand in between both of his own. Your gaze found his, and his eyes held a dazed appearance, as if he didn’t know what was happening himself. But his words were unspoken. He didn’t want you to pull away. He meant exactly what he was doing. And you weren’t sure how you felt about that yet.

“We’re here! Let’s get it!” You couldn’t help but exhale a breath of relief, not sure if you could handle any more surprises from Jaemin’s end. He seemed reluctant to let go, but upon Jeno popping the trunk, he immediately became distracted.

“I forgot we brought our boards! Hell yeah!” Jaemin exclaimed excitedly, a rare occurrence to see him so pumped. It was quite adorable. Unfortunately, you couldn’t properly appreciate it since your mind was slowly shutting down. You got out the car, anxiously waiting for the other guys to arrive. Chaeyoung joined you by the side of the car, commenting about how chilly the night air had become. You distractedly agreed, hoping Jaemin wouldn’t approach you quite yet. You weren’t ready. Frankly, you didn’t know how to handle the strange turn of events. Your mind couldn’t wrap around the idea that Jaemin potentially felt the same way as you. And what it meant for your friendship moving forward.

Thankfully, it seemed Jaemin wasn’t going to approach you any time soon, because once he got his hands on his board, he took it to the concrete and practically flew down the sidewalk toward the park. He looked carefree, glancing back at Jeno and shouting something incomprehensible, a huge grin plastered on his lips.

Jeno gleefully yelled, “Wait for me!” Before slamming his trunk closed and following suit. He proceeded to shout back at you and Chaeyoung, something about hurrying it up and booking it to the park.

“He’s such a child sometimes,” Chaeyoung fondly said, not sounding bothered at all. You were glad, because you lived for the youthfulness that bloomed in your friends at random times. That particular fondness tended to reveal itself commonly when Jeno and Jaemin got their hands on their longboards.

As you and Chaeyoung began your trek across the mini grass field that led to the playground, the damp grass squishing underneath your shoes, your mind replayed Jaemin’s soft voice through the darkness in the car. Your breath halted again, thinking of his close proximity, of his soft hand encasing your own with warmth. His question ringing in your ears. Your brain couldn’t fathom it.

Hearing car doors slam, you glanced back to see the rest of your friends had arrived. Upon seeing Jeno and Jaemin doing tricks a distance away, Donghyuck hooted loudly and took off in a sprint towards them. Spotting Renjun, you felt a relief almost palpable wash over your body. When he looked at you, your sent him a panicked look and desperately motioned him over to you. Shooting you a confused look, he slowly walked in your direction. You practically died with anticipation, waiting for him to be close enough for you to grab him and tell him everything that went down, but before you could Chenle ran up and yanked your hand to drag you with him.

“Chenle, wait-”

“This isn’t a waiting matter, Y/N. Two words: swing set. Let’s go!”

You didn’t want to deny the adorable being that was Chenle, so you wordlessly followed him, glancing back at Renjun and saying, “Later. I promise.”

Taking note of the empty park, you took a seat on the swing and began to swing a little, noticing how eerie the park looked past the playground. The only lit up place was the playground, bright and painfully white lights beaming down on you. You didn’t mind, though, because the fields surrounding the park made it seem slightly like a scene from a horror movie.

“I challenge you to a flight test!” Chenle said excitedly, pumping his legs and swinging higher by the second.

“A what?”

“Who flies the farthest. Come on! Get with the program.”

“Okay, someone spends too much time at the playground.”

“You’re never too old for a playground.” He was right about that, a smile flickering on your lips as you swung a little higher before deciding to settle down and watch Chenle practically reach a ninety degree angle. Moments later, he launched himself off the swing set and landed rather ungracefully in the wood ships that covered the expanse of the playground.

“That was epic!” He said breathlessly, swiveling to face you and shooting you a thumbs up. You graciously clapped for him, chuckling as he bowed for his performance. Before he could even fully straighten out, Jisung zoomed past him and smacked his back, proceeding to yell, “Tag!”

Chenle screeched, following after him without a second thought, shouting, “You snake!”

Your body swayed slightly on the swing, your mind instantly trailing to Jaemin without anyone to distract you. Your eyes naturally found Jaemin, on the other side of the playground. He was naturally smiling, watching as Donghyuck tried and failed to do tricks on his longboard. You observed as Jaemin proceeded to point as he talked, probably giving Hyuck some pointers. Due to your distracted nature, you hadn’t expected Chaeyoung’s voice to filter in your ears just as she shyly exclaimed, “Tag!”

Your eyes widened in surprise, a sigh slipping past your lips before you slowly stood. Chenle cackled from the top of the playground set, teasing you about not being fast enough. You decided that you would make the game a little more interesting. Without speaking up, you walked to the sidewalk that surrounded the playground, watching as Renjun slowly rode Jeno’s board around the pathway. He was slowly approaching, and you hushed Chenle’s complaining, the mischievous glint in your eyes hard to miss. Just as Renjun attempted to pass you, you reached out and tagged him. His face was contorted in annoyance, your giggling hard to control as you dashed to the expansive playground set. You clumsily ran up the stairs, opting to go in the opposite direction of Chenle and climb even higher in the playground set. You kneeled down in a place you thought was pretty concealed. You took a seat, deciding this was suitable, before listening out for the others. Everyone must’ve joined in, because shortly after you heard Jaemin’s voice filtering from a close distance, Jeno’s calls coming afterward. Even Mark seemed to be in on the action, shouting at Jisung to move out of his way when he ran. You thought you were in the clear, because for a few minutes no one bothered you. Honestly, you were surprised no one had climbed up higher on the playground set, to the tiny walls that blocked both sides of the spiral slide. There was even a miniature tunnel built into the top of the slide that you planned on using if necessary. After a couple more minutes past that felt like hours, hearing everyone running and shouting, you completely relaxed. You sat down, pulling out your phone and scrolling through social media. A moment of peace was welcomed, and you silently snickered for feeling like you cheated at tag. That was, until the sudden appearance of Jaemin at the bottom of the built-in ladder that led to the platform you were on made your heart jump to your throat.

“There you are.” His voice was playful, his eyes resembling that of a villain. You scrambled to your feet, your mind going into panic mode as you prepared to send yourself flying down the slide, but he was already at the top of the platform. There was just enough space for the both of you on the platform, but your heart was still racing. It was quite obvious that he was it, and he was going to tag you. He stepped closer, your tailbone coming into contact with the top of the tunnel. You were screwed, definitely.

“Do you want me to give you a head start, and hunt you down? Or just tag you here?” His tone was cocky, but attractive to you. You felt weird for that, but nothing surprised you anymore about yourself in regards to Jaemin. He always ran through your mind these days, so any thought at this point was a state of normal for you.

“Just end my suffering here.”

He hummed, smirking at your dramatic words, before his demeanor shifted. His face became a little more serious, causing you to hold your breath. Some part of you knew that whatever was coming, would be another pivotal moment of the night. You were aware that you weren’t concealed from view anymore. Your friends could probably see the both of you at the top of the platform, facing each other, not making any move. You heard Jisung yell for you to escape, but everyone’s voices faded away as Jaemin scanned you slowly, as if he were testing the waters.

“Were you waiting for me?” If anyone heard that, they would assume he was talking about the game. That he was asking if you were waiting up there on the platform, waiting for him to find you by yourself and to corner you. But you knew that wasn’t what he was implying. His voice was vulnerable, self-conscious, completely unrelated to the matter at hand. He remembered.

That night, the night from so long ago when intimate words had been shared between the two of you, when he had sleepily asked you to wait for him. It had never been brought up since that night, not until now. His eyes were sad, scared, like he expected you to reject him. Your heart ached for him, your doubts suddenly fading away into the darkness of the night. Your assumptions had been right; He was in the same boat as you, the both of you terrified of the storm that awaited for you. Everything fell into place for you, a satisfying click ringing in your mind.

The cold and brisk night air nipped at your exposed skin, taunting you as you stared openly back at Jaemin. For once, you weren’t the one who was placed on edge, your eyes going over his nervous stance. You knew the weight his question held. He was asking for a chance. He wasn’t burying the big question that had hung between you for far too long. For whatever reason, he wasn’t turning a blind eye anymore and he was confronting whatever it was that had unraveled between the two of you since that fateful Thursday night.

He seemed small, as his eyes trailed down to his feet. He seemed defeated suddenly, like he assumed your silence was a rejection to the weighted question he had asked you. You registered the impatient groans from your friends down below, heard their shuffling as they all gave up on the game. But you didn’t care. The boy who filled your racing thoughts day in and day out, was laying his heart out for you. Waiting for your response. So without another thought in mind, you decided to follow in his footsteps.

“Yes, I was.”

His eyes shot up at your voice, his mouth parting open and his eyes lighting up before dimming in the matter of a few moments. He suddenly looked deflated, mirroring your words. “You were?”

“Yes. And I still am.”

It was that simple. Five words, each one syllable. It took five words to communicate exactly what you wanted to tell him for a long time, but were too afraid of losing him. You had almost experienced it once, and you never wanted to again. So you pushed it all aside, admired him close up but in secret. Even if it was a lifetime of having only eyes for Jaemin, you would’ve lived with it. And to confess it to him was a breath of air filling your lungs.

You watched closely as his face registered his shock, before it transformed into one of glee, and settling into seriousness. His hand slowly reached out, as if he were stuck in slow motion, before thinking twice. He lowered his hand back down, the distance between the two of you feeling a lot smaller now that the truth was out. You didn’t feel afraid, though. You trusted him. Because you realized why you couldn’t return to what you used to be, why everything still felt different from how it was before. The way Jaemin was looking at you, mirrored how you looked at him. What you harbored for him, had been reciprocated maybe the entire time. And though his hesitance wasn’t directly stated, you suspected it was because he didn’t want to risk the chance of ruining something that was already great. Perhaps he had the same fear of losing you too, and denied himself what he felt for you to live with the feeling of unsatisfied love.

He must have been having an internal struggle, and realized that you needed to communicate too. So you reached out and grabbed his hand, tangling your fingers with his cold ones and pressing your palms together. His eyes snapped up to meet yours, unconsciously taking a step closer. You were practically chest to chest, but it felt like you belonged there.

The words exchanged next were soft, filled the space between you like the now spoken truth you shared together. You felt everything creeping up on you, wrapping the both of you up and filling the crevices that had grown over time between you. It felt right, like everything that had happened was leading up to this moment. His eyes held yours, his voice barely audible as he murmured, “I’m sorry I made you wait.”

“I wouldn’t mind waiting for you.”

“You never leave my mind. I was afraid that our friendship would crumble. I chickened out. I hated the idea of losing you over how I felt. I backed out. I can’t pretend anymore though. You fill my mind all day, all night. You’re all I think about. How can I pretend I don’t feel this way when you’re this close to me, reminding me everyday that someone so extraordinary exists in a world as dark as this one?”

His face was so close to yours, your lips mere inches apart. His eyes wouldn’t leave yours, solidifying his words and gripping your hand so tight in the fear that you wouldn’t believe him. He searched your eyes, his eyebrows drawn together and his head tilted at an angle just right enough for you to lean in and fulfill the longing that had been plaguing you for months. But you remained, letting him search your eyes, showcasing your souls, putting every ounce of adoration into that one shared gaze.

In the softest voice you had ever heard from your mouth, you whispered, “You remind me everyday why I have a reason to smile. Your influence on other people… is unreal. Your presence is demanding, calling for anyone around to hear. Everything about you is ingrained into my mind. I’ve been afraid… that my heart will only know how to beat for you.”

“You don’t have to be afraid anymore. No more waiting.” His voice was filled with so much conviction, finality, that you found yourself ingraining yet another part of Na Jaemin into your mind. A promise.

His hand gripped yours so tight, the circulation was being cut off. But Jaemin’s words were never all he used to communicate with you. His eyes were lit aflame, with his adoration of you tattooed into his irises. His hand locked with yours, engraving the feeling of his skin on yours in order to provide an example for what it would be like from this point onward. His close proximity mirrored what he would be for you, the reliable force that would shield you or be beside you in everything. He wasn’t the reason why the storm was raging anymore, he was the sun breaking through the storm clouds, calming the waves and restoring faith in those caught in the midst of the storm.

Nothing else was exchanged between the space between you, Jeno hollering that it was time to go. You held your gaze with his a beat longer before breaking contact, your eyes trailing to your friends. Chenle had the cheesiest grin on his lips. Mark was already heading to his car, Jisung following in his steps. You thought you might’ve heard Renjun say, “Finally,” but you could’ve just imagined it. Hyuck simply whistled, shooting you guys a smirk before saluting and following to Mark’s car.

Moments later, you were in the backseat of Jeno’s car. The heater was blasting, but you thought to yourself that you probably wouldn’t have needed it. The car was traveling across town, whipping through streets that weren’t registering in your mind. The lights outside flashed through the windows like an old-fashioned projector. The dim lights were teasing you, only illuminating portions of Jaemin’s face for a millisecond before suspending you in darkness once again. But it was okay, because you didn’t need to see him. He was a permanent fixture behind your eyelids, and in the heart beating in your chest.

Soft, sad music filtered through the car, Jeno’s playlist oddly fitting the mood regardless of the songs being dark. It was yet another blockade from the outside world. Jaemin reached across the seat in between you, tangling your fingers in between the cracks of his own. It wasn’t enough for him. He scooted to the middle, just like he had earlier in the night. That seemed like a lifetime ago, a different Y/N ago. This was your reality, and you were caught up in it already.

He cradled your hand in between his, resting his head in between the crook of your neck and shoulder. You felt his slow, calm breathing, as if he were asleep. He was so close, you could sometimes feel his eyelashes caress the skin of your neck. He tilted his head to face forward, bringing your hand up to his lips. His mouth pressed against the skin of your palm, holding it there for a moment, before you felt a soft kiss. He held it there for a moment before he brought it back down in between the two of you. His face remained close to yours, as if he were stuck in an internal battle. You waited with bated breath.

The lights were still flashing through the windows, and you slowly watched as they flickered in and out of the darkness of the small space like a lighter. The music was soothing, engraving itself into the memory you knew that this would become. His head slowly turned to face yours, his eyes half closed and watching you closely. Your stomach was turning with anticipation, mirroring him. Your hands were resting between each other, the only space between you as your mind registered what was going to happen.

You were confused for a moment when his face slid past yours, it was made clear moments later. His mouth hovered near your ear, the music too loud to talk over- or maybe, he wanted an excuse to be near you. You would never know. But this was a moment that would haunt you until your last breath. His lips moved against your ear, and it was like you felt more than heard him ask if he could kiss you.

You leaned your head back on the seat, letting it loll to face him. The next time a streetlight trickled into the window for a mere moment, he read the yes on your lips, and it was all he needed. Without any hesitation or doubt in mind, he placed a quick kiss on your mouth. He decided it wasn’t enough after he backed away, because half a second later he leaned in again and held the kiss longer. His lips were soft, pressing a gentle kiss onto your own. Leaning back, it was like you were witnessing his thought process. Based on his actions, it was like he couldn’t get enough. But it was okay. Because neither could you.

He leaned in again, raising his hand to cradle your face, holding the kiss and pouring every part of him into the action. When he moved to pull back, you placed your hand over his and leaned in to recover the space he had put between you. You felt a smile slowly pull at his lips, but he wiped it clean as he continued to show how much he wanted to shower you. Throughout the ride, he would lean in again. And again. Sometimes until your head became dizzy from the lack of oxygen, other times so quick that it could’ve been your imagination. His hand never left yours.

And when you neared your house, he made sure to press a gentle kiss to your lips one last time, cradling your face in both his hands this time around, and painting a picture of the both of you through the motion of his lips. How was it possible that you were invested in him already, how you were sure that this was what you needed to breathe until you were to take your last breath?

As you got out the car, he squeezed your hand, as if to offer up one last reminder that the entire night was real. He stared up at you through the open window, his eyes wide and in near disbelief. His face looked carefree, his hair unkept and wild now, but it was the most perfect he had ever looked to you. It was another moment that you knew would be programmed into your Jaemin highlight reel.

You figured you should say something meaningful, profound, or romantic. But all you could muster up was, “Text me when you’re home so I know you got there safely.”

There it was, his highlight of a smile. He didn’t hold back at all, letting it light up his entire face- a beacon in the midst of a storm.

“You’ll wait for me?”

You caught the double meaning in his words, the quiver in his voice due to his emotions. You offered up what you hoped was a comforting smile of your own, reached down to tug on his ear, and whispered, “Always.”

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adinathinternationalindia · 3 months ago

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Automatic Bottle ROPP Screw Capping Machine

Automatic Bottle ROPP Screw Capping Machine, also known as the bottle screw capper, is a particularly designed stainless steel machine that includes an M.S. frame structure with stainless steel enclosures and cladding. The orientation type cap feeder on the ROPP type bottle cap sealing machine allows for continuous cap feeding for online operation on any oral liquid or syrup powder filling line. With the use of interchangeable pieces, this machine can accommodate bottles of different sizes as well as ROPP caps. The syrup bottle capping machine is appropriate for use in the food, beverage, chemical, pharmaceutical, pesticide, and other packaging industries with lower production requirements and online, automated operation.

The ROPP Screw Capping Machine is appropriate for capping glass, plastic, PET, LDPE, and HDPE bottles that have a round shape or any other shape. The capping machine models that Adinath offers range in capacity from 50 bottles per minute to 250 bottles per minute. Up to 150 bottles can be produced per minute with our Six Head Bottle Screw Capping Machine, 100 bottles can be produced per minute with our Four Head Bottle Screw Capping Machine, and 50 bottles per minute with our Single Head Bottle Screw Capper Machine. Cappers work best on PET, metal, plastic, and aluminum caps that fit into square, oval, circular, and other shaped containers.

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guanshentai · 2 years ago

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Barrel liquid automatic filling unit

　　The barrel liquid automatic filling unit is composed of a filling machine and a cap screwing machine/cap capping machine. It can fill liquid materials within the range of 5-30L. Manufacturers can choose different types of filling machines and supporting auxiliary machines according to their own needs. This set of equipment is designed and manufactured with stainless steel material. It is suitable for the metering and filling of fluid and semi-fluid materials without gas in the food, chemical, pharmaceutical and other industries. A series of functions such as capping/capping, coding and so on.

　　Barrel feeding positioning section: The empty barrels in the positioning groove are driven by the roller table, and automatically enter the bottom of the filling head in an orderly and accurate manner. The speed and interval of barrel feeding are fully matched with the filling machine, and the whole group is linked and controlled synchronously. Among them, the round wide-mouth barrel is at the front end of the barrel feeding device, and an automatic barrel feeding device can be added to realize more efficient and fully automatic operation.

　　Weighing filling section: The automatic filling machine adopts weighing filling, which can automatically complete a series of operations such as counting into barrels, metering filling, and conveying out barrels. Different models are equipped with different filling heads, and there are two heads, four heads, six heads, eight heads and so on. The filling head can be adjusted left and right, up and down, using submersible filling, with automatic positioning of the barrel, adjustable speed and capacity, anti-drip, anti-drawing, no filling without a barrel, and high filling accuracy. The liquid cylinders are made of corrosion-resistant stainless steel, which meets the requirements of GMP. PLC intelligent control system, easy to operate, with real-time monitoring, real-time adjustment and fault prompt functions. The electrical system adopts imported components to fully ensure the stability and durability of the equipment.

　　Covering and capping/capping section: Equipped with a fully automatic capping machine to achieve orderly and accurate capping and capping. The small-mouth barrel adopts a fully automatic grab-and-screw capping machine, which can adjust the size and screw capping force according to the size of the barrel cap, and is compatible with a variety of threaded bottle caps; After adjusting the nut position of the corresponding size on the main shaft, the cover can be normally sealed, which is suitable for various international standard barrel covers. The capping/capping mechanism operates stably to ensure the quality and precision of the capping.

　　Can be used for food: purified water, fruit juice drinks, fresh milk, yogurt, sauces, seasoning oil, chili oil, sesame oil, peanut oil, olive oil, linseed oil, rapeseed oil, salad oil, liquor, dew, rice wine, cooking wine, Honey, syrup, etc.

　　Can be used in chemicals: detergent, laundry detergent, alcohol, disinfectant, glass water, antifreeze, industrial oil, paint, liquid fertilizer, etc.

　　It can be used in medicine: traditional Chinese medicine liquid, pesticide liquid, insecticide liquid, herbicide liquid, etc.

#filling machine

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shivshaktimachtech · 2 years ago

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Automatic Eight Head Pick and Place Screw Capping Machine Manufacturer in Ahmedabad

Automatic Eight Head Pick and Place Screw Capping Machine Manufacturer in Ahmedabad: Automatic Eight Head Pick and Place Screw Capping Machine has height-adjustable system and is self-supported on stainless steel leg. The screw cap sealing machine is precisely constructed on a strong, welded steel frame that is entirely covered in stainless steel sheet. Doors are provided to make machine maintenance easier. Automatic Eight Head Pick and Place Screw Capping Machine equipment is used to snugly cap containers of various sizes with screw-on closures. By using the conveyor, the containers are moved from the conveyor to the star wheel. The star wheel takes the containers and carries them to the caps placement station and finally to the closing head. The closing head tightens the cap with the desired torque. By using a magnetic clutch, the torque can be adjusted for the closing head. After the closing procedure is finished, the star wheel transfers the container to the following station to press the black tiny cap. It then moves the container to the conveyor for finished goods. SSM Automatic Eight Head Pick and Place Screw Capping Machine, 8 Head Pick and Place Bottle Capping Machine, Eight Head Pick N Place Bottle Screw Capping Machine, Automatic Eight Head Rotary Pick and Place type Bottle Screw Capping Machine, Automatic Eight Head Screw Capping Machine, Automatic Screw Capping Machine, Automatic Eight Head Pick and Place Type Screw Capping Machine, Eight Head Pick & Place Bottle Screw Capping Machine, Automatic Pick & Place Bottle Screw Capping Machine, Automatic Eight Head Bottle Screw Capping Machine, Automatic Eight Head Rotary Bottle Screw Capping Machine, Pick & Place Type Screw Cap Sealing Machine, Automatic Four Head Pick N Place Bottle Screw Capping Machine, Automatic Ten Head Pick N Place Bottle Screw Capping machine, Automatic Six Head Pick N Place Bottle Screw Capping Machine, Automatic Multi Head Screw Capping Machine, SSM Multi Head Pick And Place Rotary Screw Capping Machine, 8 Head Bottle Capping Machine, SSM Fully Automatic Eight Head Pick and Place Bottle Screw Capping Machine. We Provide Automatic Eight Head Pick and Place Screw Capping Machine Manufacturer in Ahmedabad with other cities such as Kathwada, Kalol, Kadi, Vatva, Naroda, Singarva, Odhav, Rakhial, Sanand, Vani, Daskroi, Chhatral, Narol, Dhandhuka, Dholka, Viramgam, Kerala, Asarva, Bakrol. Please contact us at the following address for further information about our products/catalog: Contact number: +91 9157153198 Email: [email protected] Read the full article

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mahapage-blog · 6 years ago

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Order Pharma Equipment's, Machinery, Mfg. Of Liquid Packaging Machines - Pragatipharma.com

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lightshadowverisimilitude · 8 years ago

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Ashes 1/2

This is my fairytale retelling (Cinderella), requested by @bromocresol0green, who is doing some artwork for it.

I really appreciate all the fairytale suggestions,and I think I’m going to do a few of them. I think Rumpelstiltskin might be on the agenda. ;)

This first part is about 7,000 words, so watch for the cut.

Tony was only six when his mother died. He wished it was one of those memories that he couldn’t forget – the color of the sky, where he was when Jarvis came to find him, what he had for breakfast that morning, or what game he was playing at the time. He didn’t remember any of those things, didn’t even remember the last thing he’d said to her or she to him. All he knew was that she’d left the house in the morning and then never came back. He couldn’t remember her dying, but he remembered what her death did to the house. Everything seemed to grow duller, smaller, and quieter. Dad started drinking (more) and Jarvis hugged him (more), and somehow the sun kept rising and the flowers kept blooming (even her favorites).

He was sixteen and sitting on the floor in the workshop, surrounded by the bits and pieces of a dozen different projects the day Jarvis left in the morning and never came back. The sky was the color of robin’s eggs behind the big-leafed tree outside his window, and he’d eaten nothing for breakfast at all. It was Obie who dropped all his bulk in the chair beside Tony’s desk and said, I’m so sorry to have to tell you this, kiddo…

Dad had been away on business for a month already and wasn’t due back for another month.

Just you and me now, son, Obie said.

~*~

The tower at the north-eastern corner of the manor house was freezing in the winter, but it caught the wind during the hot summer months and stayed pleasantly cool. Cooler, at least, than the rest of the house, though the nights dropped back into the territory of frigid. The sun always hit his window before anywhere else in the house, so Tony was awake as soon as it got light out. He wasn’t naturally a morning person, but he also couldn’t sleep in anything less than total darkness, and Obie had taken his curtains away a long time ago.

Best to be up and at’em! He’d said, tearing the heavy tapestries down and tossing them over the railing. Stunned, Tony had just watched as the bundles of fabric had dropped through the open stairwell and landed out the floor five stories below with an echoing fwam!

It had been a shock at the time, but maybe it shouldn’t have been. Tony had been moved into the tower (for more privacy) when he was seventeen, less than a year after Jarvis died. He’d been happy enough about the move at first – privacy, and two floors of space to take up with his projects. Two weeks later, Obie had moved Darren Cross and Tiberius Stone into the rooms that used to belong to Tony and Jarvis.

“It’s just easier,” Obie had explained, clapping his big hand on Tony’s shoulder and giving him a little shake, “With all the work they do for your father’s company, I need them close. Now that I’m here looking out for you,” he’d put in.

Tony hadn’t minded at first – he stayed in his tower except for mandatory tutoring lessons in the mornings and afternoons, and they did their work in the office with Obie. It was three months before his tutors had stopped coming around (and Tony had barely noticed, really he didn’t need their help with anything. The only reason they’d been hired in the first place was because it was expected for a wealthy man’s son to be educated). Two months later, Obie dismissed the clean staff, and Tony had ended up taking over the general maintenance of the house (“Your father’s business isn’t doing so well. Someone has to take up the slack. You understand, don’t you?”)

Two years after Jarvis died, Tony’s second floor of curiosities and projects mostly just gathered dust. The sun hit him in the face in the mornings, he stumbled downstairs to help Cook make breakfast and get everything into the dining room, and then went out to feed the chickens, pigs, and horses. He helped Darren and Tiberius get dressed for the day, and did laundry, and swept the porches, and dusted. He washed floors, and beat the carpets, and spent whatever free time he had in between weeding his mother’s garden.

Through all the chores and the mending and the labor, Tony stared up at his tower, where a million and one fantastic things called out for him and went neglected.

“Someday,” he’d say late at night, poking his head up through the trapdoor and gazing tiredly up at the dust cloth covered forms. “The business will pick up, and I’ll have more time for you.”

~*~

Tony woke when the sky was still steel gray. The sun wouldn’t be up for at least another hour, and he’d only just gotten to bed sometime around midnight, but he wasn’t going to get back to sleep. He yawned and stretched until his back popped, and then swung his feet out of the bed and into his slippers. The left slipper had worn through at the bottom and there was a thin spot the size of a five gold piece right over the heel, but he kept forgetting to mend it. He pulled a woolen sweater over his pajamas, automatically running his hands down the sides. Jarvis had knitted it for him just before he’d died, and it had stretched enough over the years that it still fit.

“Get up, lazy bolts,” Tony said, nudging his toe against the Dum-E’s curled form. He leaned down to feed a handful of coal into the artifice’s burner, and then screwed off the water cap, popped a funnel in the opening, and carefully poured a bucket of water into the tank.

Dum-E rattled as he warmed up, his joints squeaking as he stretched his armature. Obie would probably murder him if he ever caught Tony smuggling the bits of coal up, but Dum-E didn’t need much. He was a very efficient creation, the first artifice that Tony had gotten to work independently of commands.

In his corner, Dum-E whined for oil. Tony checked the cabinet for the bottle and gave it a shake. It rattled softly. He sighed. “This is the last of it, buddy. I’ll try to get you some more later.”

Dum-E stretched his arm out and did his best to stay still while Tony drizzled the last of the oil into his joints. His wheels squeaked when he rolled out of the corner, but he moved well enough. It was the base of his arm that was the bigger concern – Tony winced when the artifice stretched up to take the broom off the hook and the joint briefly stuck. He put the oil can upside down over a dented tin cup, hoping that he would get a little more out of it before he had to go downstairs.

Dum-E didn’t complain about the stuck joint, and started swishing the broom around the room. He may have been an energy efficient creature, but he was not a very effective maid. Tony perched on the edge of the desk and watched in amusement as Dum-E trundled back and forth over the cramped space, the twigs of the broom just barely brushing over the planks, and mostly just hitting everything except the floor.

The sky over the mountains was starting to turn gold, and it would hit his tower window in less than twenty minutes. He left Dum-E to his swishing, slid into his chair, and picked up his screwdriver. A palm-sized artifice sat under a cloth, belly-up. He’d rescued a handful of useable gears out of the clock Darren had thrown against the wall the day before, and one of them should be just small enough to get his little artifice moving.

Dum-E stopped his interpretive cleaning long enough to meep derisively when the artifice’s legs started moving. Tony closed her tank and gently set her on her feet. She looked like an oversized ladybug, steam drifting up from the two ports on her back, her entire body rumbling with the force of the water boiling under her shell. Dum-E waved the broom at her, and then huffed out a puff of steam and rolled away when she didn’t respond.

“You’re beautiful,” Tony told her, but she just started turning circles on the desk, showing no signs of understanding.

The sun crept through the window and fell across his new artifices’ patchwork body, highlighting all the mismatched parts. She continued her mindless circle on the desk, and would probably keep at it until she ran out of steam. Tony sighed and picked her up. Her legs kept churning, and Tony realized that the first two were twisted a little – which explained the constant circles. He set the artifice bug inside a box where she could safely make circles all day, and then moved the box under the desk.

“Friday,” he said, watching her trod along in her circle. “I’ll call you Friday.”

Predictably, she didn’t respond. Just as predictably, Dum-E hooted at him in obvious disapproval.

~*~

The irony of it was that if Obie would just give him time to work on his experiments, they could be running the house practically hands-free. With better materials, and better tools, and more time, Tony could build an army of artifices to clean the house, a whole system of moving parts to help Cook in the kitchen, a machine that could wash dishes for him, even artifice waiters to serve meals and set the table. They could have doors that answered themselves and could identify guests by name to whatever room was needed.

Instead, Tony was on his hands and knees scrubbing the entryway floor with a rag and bucket of gray water getting grayer by the minute while Darren and Tiberius argued in the office. He kept his eyes pointed at the floor, but his head was up in his tower with Friday, hammering out how to fix her front legs and designing the magic that would give her life. Maybe a voice. He’d been working on voices for a long time, but the best he’d been able to manage so far was Dum-E’s beeps and chirps.

It was difficult to give life to smaller, more complex artifices. Making them move was one thing – child’s play, any watchmaker could do it. Giving life was the work of an artificer, and Tony was the best. Could be the best, if he could just get off the damn floor.

A pair of boots passed into his line of sight and stopped in front of him. Tony sucked in a deep breath and sat back on his heels to look up. Darren stood above him with his arms crossed over his chest, looking down at Tony with one eyebrow hiked.

“Are you going to get that, Mr. Stark?” he asked. His lips pulled into the same nasty smile that he always wore when he said Mr. Stark. Tiberius called him the same thing, as if it meant anything, when it meant exactly the opposite.

Tony just stared at him, confused, until a loud series of knocks came from door behind him. He looked over his shoulder, not sure how many times he’d missed the knocking while he’d been thinking about how to make a door that answered itself.

Darren smirked and walked off, trailing mud across the wet floor. Tony threw the rag back into the bucket with a suppressed snarl and pushed himself up to his feet. He found a page at the door dressed in the sharply tailored red and gold jacket of the palace, his riding boots speckled with mud. He held his cap under one arm, an artifice gun at one hip and a sword at the other with the golden winged helmet pendant on his chest that identified him as a palace servant. He couldn’t have been more than sixteen or seventeen.

“Good day,” he greeted stiffly, casting a glance over Tony’s soaked knees and patched tunic. “I have a dispatch from the palace for the master of the house.”

Tony had given up insisting that he was the master of the house while his father was gone on business. He just opened the door wider and held out a hand. “He’s away on business. I’ll take it to his business partner.”

The page gave him another hard look. “This is a royal dispatch,” he repeated pointedly.

“And I will give it right to Mr. Stane,” Tony said in the same slow cadence. “Look, just give me the letter and I’ll get you a sandwich and some beer, alright? You can sit in the kitchen until he’s read it, and take back his reply.”

The Stark estate was only an hour’s ride from the palace, but judging by the amount of dust on his jacket and face, he’d probably been delivering dispatches all day. He looked back at his horse, a lovely white gelding with mud up to his knees, and his head hanging down in obvious fatigue. The page finally nodded and reached into his satchel to pull out a heavy golden envelope with the royal seal pressed into the flap in deep blue wax.

“Fancy,” Tony observed, drying his hands off on the hem of his tunic and reaching for it. The page visibly winced, but let it go. Tony rolled his eyes. He led the page over the still-wet floor, tracking even more mud across it, and into the kitchen. Cook stood at the massive center island, up to his elbows in flour, working a lump of dough across the surface.

“Sit here,” Tony said, yanking a chair out from the prep table. It was covered in vegetables and herbs waiting to be chopped. “I’ll make you some food when I get back.”

Cook cast a glance over the page, turned his watery blue eyes up to Tony, and then grunted. Cook didn’t talk – the thick rope of scars that looped around his throat and disappeared under his jacket had turned his voice into nothing but a gravelly whisper. Tony had never even been able to get a name out of him, and Howard – unsurprisingly – didn’t remember it. He’d shown up after Jarvis’ death and had run the kitchen ever since.

Tony found Obie sitting behind Howard’s giant oak desk. The room used to be split between his mother’s couches and embroidery, and Howard’s books and drafting table. When Darren and Tiberius had moved in, Obie had shoved the couches into the solar and replaced them with two smaller desks. Everything that had been Maria Stark’s had been thrown out or sold. Tony had only managed to save what he could hide under his vest.

“Tony, m’boy!”

Tony jerked. He’d been staring at the faded carpet under Tiberius’ desk where his mother’s couch used to sit under the window. He tore his eyes away from the carpet and crossed the room to slide the dispatch onto the desk. Obie looked up from his ledger, and up to Tony, and then down to the dispatch.

“You’re looking a little worse for wear, kiddo. You feeling okay?” he asked as he snagged the dispatch and leaned back in his chair. He turned it over, examining the seal.

“Fine,” Tony muttered, but Obie didn’t acknowledge that he’d spoken, and didn’t look away from the dispatch. Tony should have opened it – technically he was the master of the house, he had more right to read his father’s mail than Obie did, but he’d learned from that mistake.

Obie slid a letter opener behind the seal and pried it open, tearing the golden paper in the process. He unfolded the delicate paper inside and read over it. The paper was so fine that Tony could see the lettering through it. He could probably read it if Obie would hold it up to the sunlight.

“Interesting,” Obie said, tapping his chin with two fingers. “The king is holding a three-day festival to celebrate Prince Thor’s successful campaign in the west.” He looked up, seemed startled to realize that he was talking to Tony rather than Tiberius and straightened up in his chair. He gave Tony a patronizing smile. “It should be fun! Two days of sports and events, three evenings of dancing and entertainment.”

“Can I go?” Tony blurted out. He winced. He hadn’t gone along to a ball or gala in several years.

Obie leaned back in his chair once more, tapping the back of one hand with the invitation. “I don’t know, son,” he said finally. “I’m not sure that we can afford to send you to such a big event just for fun.” He shook his head sadly, and pushed himself out of the chair. Tony already wished he hadn’t spoken and was ready to just turn and leave, but Obie reached out and grabbed his shoulder. He squeezed a little too tightly and held Tony out at arm’s length.

“Tiberius and Darren and I will have to put up the expense to go to this thing,” he said, keeping his voice low and sympathetic. “I would rather not, you understand? If it were my choice, I would stay here and outfit you in the finest suits so you could go have fun with your friends. It’s not really my choice though, you understand? I have to keep your father’s business going while he’s gone.”

Tony gritted his teeth and forced out a smile. “I understand,” he said.

“It’s just that this will be a good opportunity to make contacts for your dad’s business,” Obie continued.

“I understand,” Tony repeated, trying to move away.

Obie shook him hard enough to make his head hurt. He stepped back, back Obie moved with him. “Now listen,” he said, dragging Tony in for something that had the same basic shape of a hug, but felt more like being caught in a vice, “You’ve been good and you work hard. You deserve to go. If you can get the carriage mended by the end of the week, maybe it will save us enough gold to get you a suit for one of the balls. How does that sound?”

Tony tried not to feel grateful or excited, but he was both. “I’ll get it fixed,” he said. Last week, just getting to work on the carriage would have been exciting enough, but getting to leave the manor, even for a night? He couldn’t help smiling. “Thanks, Obie.”

“No thanks are necessary, son. Just get the carriage fit for a visit to the palace. Oh, and this thing is next week – make sure you get Tiberius and Darren’s armor polished and mended, and clean the guns, and the sports gear.”

“No problem,” Tony said. It was a tall enough order just to get the beaten-down carriage presentable, mending the mess that those two idiots had made of their armor and getting the ceremonial pistols in working order would be close to impossible. He took a deep breath. “I’ll get it done.”

“Of course you will,” Obie said. He patted Tony on the back hard enough to make him stumble, but Tony turned the momentum in a jog and ran out of the office.

~*~

Tony rolled onto his stomach and wiggled out from underneath the carriage. It was creeping toward midnight, his fingers were stiff with the cold, and he was covered from nose to knees in oil, but at least the moon was nearly full. Tony sat back on his knees and looked up at the carriage. It wasn’t his best work, but he was pressed for time and resources. It wouldn’t hold up long-term, but it would at least get them to and from the palace for a few nights.

Scrubbing a hand down his thigh to wipe away the worst of the oil, Tony climbed to his feet. He patted the door fondly – two more days to polish and repaint the carriage and it would pass muster, and just barely on time. A yawn boiled out of his chest that cracked his jaw wide and gave him a head rush. He leaned against the carriage and waited for the dizziness to pass, and then bent over to pack up the tools. He cast a quick glance around the yard – he didn’t expect anyone else to be up, but it would be just his luck that Tiberius would be having trouble sleeping and decide a brisk midnight walk was just the thing. Assured that he was alone, he swaddled an almost-empty bottle of oil in a bundle of dirty rags and tucked them into the crook of his arm.

The kitchen was still warm from the evening meal. As much as Tony wanted to get to bed, the draw of the banked fire was too much to resist. He nudged the tool box under the bench by the door, and set the bundle of rags carefully on top, feeling through the fabric to make sure the can stayed upright. He pumped up a bucket of water and dumped it into the cauldron to warm while he dug the dish soap and the pumice stone out from the cabinet. As long as Cook didn’t catch him, he could scrub off the worst of the oil in the warm kitchen rather than shivering in the yard. The running water system, and probably hadn’t been updated since it was originally installed in his great-great grandfather’s day. He could have updated it to provide hot water on command, but as long as the boilers in the bathrooms continued to work, Obie didn’t see a need for the changes.

Hands stinging from the pumice and skin pebbled with cold, Tony hurried through the main hall. He could have gotten into the tower from the back storeroom, but it would have been icy cold, and the stairs that far down were rickety. He preferred to go through the second floor passage behind the Coronation Tapestry when he had a choice.

“Did you hear the brat thinks he’s going with us to the festival games?”

Tony froze on the second floor landing. He had his armful of oily rags held against his chest and he was still shivering from his quick scrub in the washing bucket. The sooner he made it upstairs, the sooner he could get into clean clothing and under his blankets the better, but Darren’s annoying bray of a laugh drew him away from the gaudy tapestry of King Borr’s coronation and down the hall to library.

“Don’t worry,” Darren said as Tony drew up to the door. It was cracked open to spill a thin beam of warm yellow light over the faded carpet. “Did Stane tell you about the list of chores he gave him? He’ll never finish everything on time, and even if he did, what the hell does he think he’s going to wear?”

The pair broke into another round of laughter. Tony clenched his teeth – he could hear ice rattling around in glasses and smell his dad’s pipe tobacco. The assholes were sitting in his dad’s library, drinking his dad’s scotch, smoking his dad’s tobacco and laughing over Tony’s clothing? He straightened up sharply to pound on the door, but stopped at the last inch before hitting the heavy oak.

He knew from experience that he couldn’t take them both in a fair fight, and they would have the advantage. If they got into a fight, Obie would restrict him from going to the festival for sure. He’d probably also add it to the list of things to tell Howard when he got back so the old man would have something else to rave about when he got drunk. The best way to shove Darren and Tiberius’ noses in it would be to end up sitting across from them in that damn carriage.

Teeth clenched together so hard that his jaw started to ache, Tony backed away from the door as their conversation turned to making bets on which of them could get Lady Sif into bed. Tony hadn’t seen Sif for almost three years, but the last time someone tried encourage her into bed, she’d sent him running from the palace without his pants and half the court laughing after him. Tony would like to see one of them try.

I hope she castrates you, he thought as he pulled the tapestry back and eased the door to the tower open. It swung soundlessly on its hinges, letting a gust of freezing air into the hall before he made it to the stairs. Silence fell in the hall behind him, but Tony quickly pushed the door closed behind him and rushed up the stairs.

“Got your oil, buddy,” Tony called into the cold bedroom.

Dum-E beeped guiltily and straightened up from where he’d been crouched in the corner. Tony eased around the bed and peered over the artifice’s bulk to see Friday trapped under a scrap of wood set in the fireplace, surrounded by the contents of Tony’s waste paper basket and a dozen broken matches.

Tony blinked. “What do you two think you’re doing?” He set the rags down on the desk and crossed his arms over his chest, looking over the mess.

Dum-E made a vaguely accusatory sound and rolled back from the fireplace. Still trapped under the wood scraps, Friday meeped angrily back at him. Dum-E puffed steam out at her and decidedly turned away. He nudged at the nest of rags and whined piteously.

“You two were trying to start a fire,” Tony realized. “So the room would be warm for me?”

Friday squeaked excitedly, but Dum-E just made a rolling noise and shoved at the rags again. Tony shook his head, unable to help a laugh. He stepped over Dum-E and lifted up the broken plank Friday was trapped under. She picked her way out of the fireplace, tracking soot behind her, her tank rattling out a trickle of steam.

Tony held a hand out for her to climb into while Dum-E made an indignant noise behind him.

“I didn’t forget about you,” Tony promised. He set Friday down on the desk and unswaddled the can of oil. “Let me get the base of your arm, and then I’ll refill Friday’s tank and give you a good cleaning, okay?”

Dum-E graciously gave Tony permission to carry out his plan, stretching his arm out and holding still for the oil. Blowing into his hands to warm up his fingers, Tony carefully drizzled oil into the major joint, waiting for Dum-E to work it around before adding a little more. Friday was just as eager and far less patient for her water, and ended up spattering him with droplets of boiling water in the process. He stifled a hiss of pain, replaced her cap, and gave her a little nudge to get her moving again.

The room was frigid and the wind was making a racket against the windows, but he’d managed to stop up most of the cracks over the winter and it would warm up as soon as he got the fire going. Dum-E stretched his arm up to lean over Tony’s shoulder while he got the fire started. Tony dropped to his stool and watched as the flames flickered over the remains of a broken crate he’d scavenged from the last delivery. As soon as the weight was off his feet, they started to throb. His knees and back quickly joined in. He just wanted to go to bed, but he’d promised Dum-E, so he shoved himself back to his feet and dug a clean rag out of the bin.

“Come here,” he said, sitting on the bed and patting the space between his legs. Dum-E pushed in between Tony’s feet and set his arm gently against Tony’s shoulder. Tony was so tired that he didn’t even notice when Dum-E lifted his arm away until Friday dropped on the bed beside him. She crouched down next to him, blowing steam up toward his face. It smelled like iron, but it was warm. He shivered in response, and leaned closer to her.

“This festival is going to be fun,” Tony said to the room at large. “Who knows what I’m going to wear, but maybe it would be better to go dressed as a servant. Who needs dancing anyway – and then I can go through the booths and maybe pick up some of the components I need. I’m still convinced I can get you a voice, you know.”

Friday chirped, but Dum-E just made an indignant noise.

“I know you can talk just fine without one,” Tony assured him, working the cloth down into a crevice between Dum-E’s wheel and body where dust tended to accumulate and turn into mud. “But it would be nice to hear a friendly voice sometimes.”

Dum-E’s only response was a low whistle. Tony wasn’t done with the cleaning, but the artifice rolled carefully away, nudged Tony’s shoulder with the claw at the end of his arm, and backed into his corner.

Tony watched him settle in, and then eased Friday into her box. “Night,” he said softly, with only beeps to answer him.

~*~

The morning of the opening ceremony of the festivities, Tony packed Tiberius and Darren’s sports gear into a case and added it to the pile of luggage in the entryway. Tiberius was in a snit over his boots – which had too low of a heel for current fashion, and Darren had dumped his suitcase out on the stairs four times to complain about what Tony had or hadn’t packed.

Tony was one more syllable away from punching Darren in the face, but kept his mouth firmly closed. He didn’t want to give Obie even the implication of an excuse to leave him behind, and it was obvious that the two older men were trying to goad him.

He packed up the dueling pistols and then hurried everything out to the carriage before one of them could find something else to complain about. They weren’t even staying overnight at the palace, though the sheer amount of luggage suggested a week long holiday. As soon as everything was strapped down, he hurried back up to the tower.

Jarvis had been much taller than Tony, broader in the shoulder and narrower at the hips, but Tony been working to alter one of his suits in whatever scraps of time he could get. He still had a lot to do before the suit would be wearable, and it would never be fashionable, but he’d outgrown the last suit that had been made specifically for him years before. Some extra fabric scavenged from the lining of one of his mother’s gowns, and some trim he’d taken off of one of Darren’s suits when altering it, and it would just about pass for something new. The new fashion was to wear decorative armor plates over formal wear, but Tony would never be able to manage that. If he was lucky, he would just pass as a servant and be ignored. He wasn’t interested in the ball anyway, he just wanted to visit the artificer stalls, and he didn’t need a fancy suit of armor to do that.

“Tony!” Obie howled up the tower as soon as Tony had sat down with the needle again.

Tony sighed, cast a glance over the mountain of work he still needed to do, and considered just ignoring him.

“TONY!” Obie shouted again, voice rising dangerously.

Abandoning the puddle of fabric, Tony hurried to the door and called over the rail, “Coming!” In an undertone, he added, “Not like I have absolutely anything else to do.” He ran the fabric through his fingers and let out another frustrated sigh. “Guess you’ll just have to wait.”

~*~

It was past noon, Tony’s suit was still in pieces, and Tiberius and Darren were getting dressed. They would be leaving in less than an hour, and Tony wouldn’t be going with them. He sat slowly on the bottom stair and put his head between his hands. He’d barely left the house in years, and there would be vendors at the festival with tools and materials and artifices that he wouldn’t be able to see anywhere else.

He took in a slow breath and let it out. It was fine. This was only the first day of the festival. There were still two more. It wouldn’t be so bad – he would have the house to himself, a rare luxury, and Obie might even be too rushed to give him a list of chores before he left. He could spend the night finishing his suit, and be ready the next night. He nodded to himself and straightened up.

Before he could stand up, Obie rounded the corner, saw him, and changed directions. Tony suppressed a cringe and tried to get out of reach, but Obie put one big foot up on the stair next to him and leaned down to grab his shoulder. The weight of his hand forced Tony back to the stair.

“Why aren’t you getting dressed, kiddo?”

Tony bit the inside of his cheek to stop the sharp reply that tried to break his teeth on the way out. He swallowed it down and grit out, “I don’t have anything to wear.”

Obie’s hand tightened on Tony’s shoulder. “Oh, damn, son. In all the hustle I forgot to have the tailor come by.” He snapped his fingers in sudden thought, the sound as loud as cracking wood a few painful inches from Tony’s ear. “I bet I’ll see him tonight at the ball. Why don’t I talk to him and have him send one of his assistants around tomorrow to take some measurements. I’m sure he can alter something for you.”

“Sure,” Tony said tightly. His face flushed with heat and he had to breathe through his nose to keep from shouting that he was doing his own alterations – it wouldn’t do him any good, and he was still hoping to go the next day.

“Chin up, kiddo,” Obie said, patting him hard on the shoulder and then ruffling his hair. “You’re not going to miss anything on the first night.”

Obie straightened up and reached over to fix his cufflinks. He was wearing a lightweight collared shirt that buttoned in the back and a loose jacket to allow for an armored chest plate to be buckled underneath. On Obie’s big frame, the armor plate would look ridiculous, but a lot of court fashions were. Tony let the idea of Obie clanking around a room full of fat, clanking nobles cheer him up and rushed up to the tower before Tiberius and Darren emerged from their rooms in their own ridiculous suits.

“Guess it’s just you and me tonight,” Tony called when he was still on the stairs. He stopped when he heard a series of excited chirps and trills, peering suspiciously up the last few steps to the bedroom. A loud crash heralded the box of spare parts falling off his desk. Tony winced, and crept up the last few steps, peering over the landing in expectation of Dum-E tangled in the bedding again.

He blinked. “What is this?”

Struggling out from under a bundle of fabric, Friday uttered a huffy beep at him. Tony rushed into the room and helped to free her from what turned out to be the remains of a silver scarf that Tony vaguely remembered Obie wearing to a gala the year before. Tony set her down on the bed and stared at the old armor rack. Dum-E plucked at the suit, steam whispering around him.

It was horrible. Between the two of them, they had managed to cobble together a chest plate from the box of spare parts, the pieces crudely joined together with leather straps over the suit that Tony hadn’t quite finished over the day. The lace trim on the cuffs had been glued on, and none of the buttons matched, but it had a crude sort of charm that the rich eccentrics at the ball might just go for.

He covered the circular piece in the center of the chest. It was his power source – eventually, someday, if he could just get it to work. His chest felt tight and he couldn’t seem to stop blinking. He looked at the two artifices, both of them shivering half in excitement and half with the steam in their tanks. “You two did this for me?”

Dum-E whistled and Friday added in several excited beeps. When he just stood there staring at the suit, Dum-E gave him a hard shove to get him going. Tony heard the faint echoes of movement downstairs and hurried to strip out of his dirty tunic while fumbling with the straps on the chest piece. The noise downstairs was getting louder, and Tony hurried into the suit pants, hopping around on one foot to get the waistband over his hips. Nothing fit quite right, and he didn’t have time to put his shoes on. He ended up carrying his shoes with the chest piece draped loosely over his shoulders. Dum-E and Friday hooted at him encouragingly while he clattered down the stairs.

“Wait!” he called from the top of the entryway stairs. Darren was just out the door with the Obie and Tiberius following on his heels. “Wait,” Tony repeated. He was out breath from the run in the heavy armor plating. “I’m coming.”

“I see you found a… suit, Mr. Stark,” Tiberius said, giving him a slow once-over.

“It’s very fashion-forward,” Tony said with as much amusement as confidence, “I think the young crowd is really going to respond to it.” The look on their faces was enough to make up for the cumbersome weight of the chest piece.

“Ah, Tony,” Obie said. His eyes were sharp where they took in the details of Tony’s suit. “I’m not sure that there’s room in the carriage with all the armor we’re taking along.”

Tony frowned. “That carriage could fit six with luggage.”

“Oh, you mean that old piece of crap that your mother bought?” Darren asked with a snort of laughter. “We had to move the luggage over to a rental after that old junker broke down the second we tried to start it.”

“I fixed that carriage myself,” Tony protested, starting down the stairs. He’d started it in the morning to make sure there were no lingering issues.

Tiberius rolled his eyes. “That explains,” he said under his breath.

“I’m sure it was just fine this morning,” Obie said, but the smile on his face was just as smug and oily as the other’s. “But the fact is that we had to call a rental, and it just is not going to fit all of us.”

“Maybe tomorrow,” Darren suggested.

“We’ll see,” Obie agreed, “Though with the money we had to spend on the rental…” He clomped up the steps and reached for the straps at the shoulder of Tony’s chest piece. He examined it close up, tugging the straps into place and unsettling two other plates in the process. He smiled the same oily smile, expression turning amused and pitying.

Obie tipped his head and fingered the gray sash that was functioning as Tony’s belt. “This looks familiar.”

Tony glanced down – it was a strip from Obie’s old scarf cut away from the stain that had prompted him to throw it out. Always quick to smell blood in the water, Tiberius slid up the stairs behind Obie. He reached over the bigger man’s shoulder and snagged a button on Tony’s jacket. He pulled it up to peer at it closely.

“Aren’t you a little magpie?” he asked, yanking hard on the button. It snapped off, clattering musically down the stairs and rolling to stop on the floor.

Tony didn’t need any kind of magic to see what was coming next. Obie backed away and Darren jogged up the steps to join Tiberius circling around him. They reached out periodically to snag bits and pieces that Dum-E and Friday had pulled out of Tony’s scavenge bins. Tony shoved Darren away when he tried to grab the reactor out of Tony’s chest piece, and Darren responded by shoving him back. Unbalanced and heavy with the armor plates, Tony stumbled and tripped on the stairs going up. He fell in a loud clatter of precariously attached pieces falling away.

Always quick to anger, Darren cocked a fist back, but Obie snagged him by the elbow.

“No need for violence,” Obie said calmly. He looked down at Tony with an expression of profound disapproval. “We’ll talk about your habit of taking things that don’t belong to you later.”

“Yes,” Tony snarled before he could stop himself. “Let’s talk about taking things that don’t belong to you.”

Obie arched one eyebrow at him. “I expected better out of you, Tony,” he said sadly. “Come along – we don’t want to be late to the festivities.”

Darren yanked hard on his suit jacket and smoothed his hands over his head as if he had any hair to brush back. Tiberius just gave Tony a superior smirk and they both followed Obie down the stairs and out the door. Tony heard the popcrack! Of a badly tuned steam engine pulling out of the courtyard and then silence.

His breath came in heavy pants and he was only faintly aware of the heat in his wrist where he’d landed badly on the stairs. With a loud shout, he pulled on the straps holding the chest piece on and struggled out of the mess of iron and mismatched pieces, leaving them on the stairs in a heap. Obie had left the door open and the cold air filled the hall. Tony would have just left it open to blow in leaves and dirt all night, but he would be the one cleaning them up the next day.

He ran through the door instead and slammed it hard behind him. The carriage he’d worked so hard on sat in the courtyard, one tire slashed open, and a messy jumble of tubes hanging down from the bottom. He kicked the slashed wheel once, and then again. A spark of pain shot up his leg and he jumped away from the carriage, holding onto his injured foot, and ended up tripping over a loose stone. He landed on his ass in a puddle left over the morning rain and just sat in it.

#ladyshadowdrake writes #cinderella AU #3/52 #52 for 52 #wip #stony #howard stark's outstanding parenting #obadiah stane

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