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early20sfailingplenty · 3 years ago

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I want some good days // Bo x Lily // PERSONALISED fic ~ 💖

For @imbleedin-out (lots of these forehead kisses for you because Bo loves you lots and that’s that!!!!🥺🥺🥺💞💞💞)

Summary: Nick shoots Bo, and you run to your Sinclair like your life depends on it. Bo’s most certainly does. You fought like hell to be with him, to stay with him, and you’d be damned in more than one way if someone dared to take your Bo away from you. You do everything you can to help him, to be there for him, and in this way do you only strengthen the life bond between you. Bo was shot, like a wounded animal was he, but you were there to ground him, to keep him safe, to love him. You wouldn’t stand for anything else, and Bo wouldn’t expect anything less.

TW; Lily is morally grey as FUCK in this (sorry honey, you gotta be to survive in Ambrose!), Bo is injured (CANON TYPICAL VIOLENCE WITH A CROSSBOW, BLOOD, DEPICTIONS OF SEVERE PAIN), swearing, graphic descriptions of the aforementioned triggers, LOTS of swearing (Lily, Bo). If you couldn’t stomach that scene then I’d skip this entire piece, really. THERE IS FLUFF I 100% PROMISE!!! THIS IS A FIX IT FIC!!!💞💞💞💞💞

PLEASE NOTE: Vincent doesn’t verbally communicate, so his dialogue is ASL, indicated with italics to distinguish it from others’ speech.

Word count: 3, 966.

Oh, fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

This entire night had gone so wrong in so many ways that even thinking about where it had all started was making you dizzy. Was it when Lester had set his sights on a larger group of people than normal? Was it when he had only sabotaged one fan-belt so there was a higher chance of the tourists being able to get out of the situation they had found themselves in? Was it when Bo had antagonised the group so that they were already on edge and wary of strangers even before they had arrived in Ambrose? Was it when Bo and Vincent’s communication wasn’t as clear cut as it usually was, so they were split up and apart from one another without realising the danger they were placing themselves in? Was it when Bo had underestimated the tourists and vice versa? Maybe the twins had had an off day and it had impacted their entire performance? Maybe you were the one at fault...?

You never stayed around when the twins were killing people. You loved them, you did, and you had found your forever home with the Sinclairs, but that didn’t mean that you weren’t going to hide away when their fun and games began. You didn’t fear them, the very idea was ridiculous to you; so deeply did you love them. Especially Bo. But even so, you didn’t like being on the hunting grounds. You knew what happened. You knew. You were no stranger to Vincent’s tracking, to his cruelty or to Bo’s brutality. Having seen them up close and personal when they worked, you much preferred to wait in the house, keeping yourself busy with the general upkeep of the house and performing your various other responsibilities and duties. You made things easier on the brothers by keeping yourself safe and out of the way, which gave them less to worry about. Especially Bo; protective almost to the point of possessiveness was he. It was a trait he shared with Vincent, among many others.

They were more alike than they liked to admit to, most especially in the ways which defined who they were as people. They were wild, untamed, as enigmatic as the ocean and just as deep in their complexity. When one thought they knew a Sinclair, something was said or done to completely flip that idea on its head; impossible was it to fully know someone. Most humans barely knew their own selves and spent their lives filling up quiet moments with distractions so that they didn’t have to face their own realities, but the Sinclairs reveled in who they were. They knew who they were, they knew what they were about, and they dedicated their lives to their mother’s vision. It was more than simply paying respect; it was finishing what she started, continuing her legacy in the only way they knew how. And, oh, what fun they had while they did it.

It was already getting dark, the streets quickly becoming more ominous and foreboding. The neon lights which kept the streets alive in the twins’ illusion of a quaint but welcoming town made you wince, so bright were they and so sensitive were your eyes. It seemed as though those wide lanes were closing in on you. You began to feel constricted, anxiety and panic building within you rapidly as your steady paces began to speed up until you were running, your feet pounding the pavement.

Something was wrong.

Something was really, really wrong.

This wasn’t your usual level of anxiety and worry. This was bone deep chills, a sense that you had to get to the cinema now because something awful was happening. In one hand was held your phone, Bo’s mobile number already dialled. If this feeling persisted, you would phone him. You had to know that he was all right, that he was safe... that he was alive. Oh, but that was it, wasn’t it? Bo was your everything. He had, in the time you had known him, become your ultimate comfort. He was your safe space, your home, the love of your life. He was so much more than even you knew how to articulate, especially to yourself, and you didn’t know what you would do if you lost him. If something or someone took him away from you, there wouldn’t be anything left to hold you here. You needed him, you wanted him... you loved him.

The urge to cry out for Bo was almost overwhelming, but you didn’t want to make any more sound than you already were. It would advertise your whereabouts even more than your footsteps did, and it wasn’t something you could risk doing. You knew not where Bo was, but something in you, something truly primal, was telling you to go to the cinema and you willed your legs to get you there faster. Your lungs and legs burned alike, oxygen deprivation making your body burn, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t stop. The burn in your body right now was nothing compared to the physical and emotional agony you would feel later on if something terrible happened to Bo.

Your Bo.

Yeah... he was your Bo. The grip you had on your phone tightened as you tried to clench your fists, and the sudden mental grounding which came from realising that you were holding onto something helped you to somehow push your legs faster, further. You rounded the corner and sped towards the cinema, getting there just as a sickening thwack followed by a pained noise and the sound of a body hitting the carpeted floor greeted your ears. Your every nerve was on fire, your senses overwhelmed and your emotions in overdrive. You were overstimulated and you needed a minute to breathe, a moment to gather your senses, but reality would grant you no such favour.

You knew before you were fully inside the cinema that Bo was the one who was injured, and you wasted no time in running to his side. You whimpered as if his injuries were your own to see that he had one arrow digging into his arm and one in his chest. His injuries were severe, the pain beyond measure, the need for you stronger than it had been in all the time the two of you had known each other, loved each other. A sob ripped from your throat to see him like this, and you dropped to your knees beside him. Tears poured hot and fast down your face and ran down your chin, falling onto his prone form like rain. Oh, but it hurt to see him as he was. Groans and grunts of pain were all that you could get from him, until his head suddenly lolled to the side and Bo moved no more.

Your heart was in your throat obstructing your every breath as you dialled Vincent’s number with hands that trembled so badly it took you five attempts to get his number right. He picked up on the second ring, a question, no, a demand in his silence. “V-Vincent. B-bo’s... hurt and I don’t know if he’s alive and I - “ A pained whimper came from the other side of the phone and you heard everything that the younger twin was saying. He didn’t interrupt you again, so you just said, “Cinema. Please, Vincent, I - I don’t - Bo!” You broke down into full bodied sobs, almost screaming into the phone. It was too much. It was all too much. The fear, the pain, the uncertainty, the love... Over the roaring of blood in your head could you hear Vincent’s rough rumbling voice; it sounded like he was trying to shush you, mimicking the ‘tch-tch-tch’ noise which Bo always made whenever he was comforting you. How Vincent knew that sound and what it meant to you, you had little idea, but in the grand scheme of things did it work as you then heard the roaring of an engine.

Vincent was on his way.

Things would be okay.

Right.

Right?

It was fifty-fifty, stood were you three at a crossroads.

There were no second chances this night. There was only the here and the now, the do or the die.

You felt sick to your stomach, but you and Vincent stayed on the line with one another; giving and receiving comfort in the other’s presence in equal measures, until a yellow pickup truck came screaming around the corner and screeched to a halt. Vincent was out of the truck in seconds, running over to you and to Bo. You had the presence of mind to end the call while Vincent’s hands fluttered over his brother’s body, fingers wiggling as he tried to determine the extent of his twin’s injuries.

You both knew this was bad.

Your body dropped, slumping forward and down until your forehead was resting against Bo’s stomach. You inhaled deeply, one of your hands coming to squeeze Bo’s own. A hand landed gently on the back of your head as Vincent stroked along your hair in solid, slow movements. He was comforting himself and you at the same time, showing you as best as he could that he was there with you while his critical eye examined his brother. No touching until he had made a diagnosis; he couldn’t - wouldn’t - risk further injuring his brother. You weren’t alone. None of you were. You all had each other. Of the three of you, Vincent was the one with the medical knowledge. He was the one who had always patched Bo up in the past, and this situation would be no different. Between Vincent’s clinical approach to injuries and your own quick thinking, Bo would pull through.

He had to.

You and Vincent wouldn’t allow anything else.

The fingers in your dark hair tapped against your scalp, and you shifted your head just enough to be able to look at Vincent. Once he saw that he had your full attention, he raised his hands and began to sign slowly and clearly. There could be no room for mistakes or miscommunications; not when Bo was so badly injured and the stakes were so damn high.

He’s not dead, Lily. Unconscious. Pain too much.

As if to contradict his brother, such was his character, Bo moved his head and groaned lowly. You and Vincent froze and then sprung into action. You stood up, moving away from Bo so that Vincent could wrap his arms around his brother and bring him home, holding Bo tightly to his chest. Bo moaned at being jolted despite how slow and tenderly Vincent was touching him, and Vincent let out a pained noise of his own.

“It’s gonna be all right, Vincent,”

One blue eye looked at you with intent, Vincent’s every nerve fixed on you. Were you anyone else, he would have immediately dismissed your words. But you were Lily. You were Bo’s Lily, and as such, Vincent gave you the honour of being listened to. He needed you just as much as you needed him, just as much as Bo needed the both of you. Who would he be to ignore you in a time of great need and impending doom?

He’d be no one, just as he would be without his twin.

“We’ve got him now. He’s safe with us.” Your eyes were rimmed red, the surrounding flesh puffy. You looked so pretty in your pain, matched ounce for ounce was it by Vincent. He wore it better than you did, if only because he internalised everything and did very little to give his distress away. It was only the slight tremor in his hands, the speed of his movements and the reverence with which he touched Bo that told of his true feelings. Vincent was as torn up as you were; the both of you felt Bo’s injuries like they were your own. It was just how you three worked; you shared so much of yourselves, and what happened to one was felt by all.

No Sinclair was ever left behind or alone.

Not anymore.

A decisive nod by way of thanks (for what? You were unsure, but the time for thinking was over. There was only actions. Everything else could wait when the situation was time critical) and then Vincent was gone, rushing towards the truck. He laid Bo across the backseat just as soon as you joined him to wrench the door open, throwing yourself gracelessly over the back of the passenger seat so that you could get there quicker. Vincent was moving just as quickly as you, and he took the roads he knew to be the smoothest until the three of you arrived back at the house. The journey was silent, your nerves alight just as Vincent’s were. The only sounds you could hear were Bo’s strained whimpers and quiet groans, which only made Vincent white-knuckle the steering wheel and caused tears to continually fall down your face. You didn’t think you had cried this much in a long time, and, oh, how a conscious Bo would have hated to be the one to make you cry when the meaning behind it was a negative one.

In what seemed like forever and yet simultaneously was it no time at all did you and Vincent have Bo laid out on the pool table in the living room, the balls thrown carelessly onto the sofa. It was the nearest surface and it would have to do. Bo was time critical and you were both painfully aware of that.

Vincent gestured for your attention and then signed, bathroom, cupboard next to toilet. First aid kit. Hurry.

You were gone, rushing to get the necessary supplies; you moved quicker than you thought possible and you were back beside Vincent so fast with the first aid kit in hand that you felt physically dizzy as your mind struggled to keep up with your feet. You swiped a hand impatiently over your face and held the same hand which you had clutched on the dirty cinema floor while Vincent injected Bo with a local anaesthesia before pushing the arrow in Bo’s arm all the way through, the feathers sticking to the wood as Vincent made a clean hole. Arrows tore more flesh and caused more damage if they were pulled out the way they entered the body, this Vincent knew, so to push it through to make a clean hole was more pain, yes, but it was less damage and easier healing. He had to be brutal, quick and sure in his movements. He had to be strong for his twin and stronger still for you, who was doing everything she could.

Vincent took strength from you as much as he gave it, and when it came time to surgically remove the arrow in Bo’s chest did the injured man begin to scream. You choked on a sob, panic rising in your chest, your hands shaking and your body aching. Vincent, too, was struggling, but you could see even with the mask on his face that his jaw set, his shoulders straightened and he looked like the last thing most tourists to the town saw as he made his incision and dug the arrowhead out of Bo’s flesh. Bo was screaming, even with the anaesthetic (which hadn’t been given enough time to settle into his bloodstream), and begging. He spoke your name over and over like a prayer, your name Bo’s only grip on reality as Vincent was brutal, clinical. Finally, when the three of you couldn’t take it anymore and desperation, panic and fear was becoming a deadly concoction capable of causing fatal mistakes to one already so severely injured, it was done, and Vincent slammed the knife down and threw his hands up, as if to say, done, it’s done.

Bo was sobbing and you matched him in every aspect of it as you cupped his face in your shaking, trembling hands. Your thumbs dashed away the tears on his cheeks and you bent down to press a tender, lingering kiss to his forehead. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I - “ Who was Bo apologising to? For what? Neither you nor Vincent knew (though there were suspicions, even he couldn’t say for sure), but you assumed your places at either side of Bo’s head. You pressed kisses all over his forehead and cheek, one hand tightly gripping one of Bo’s and the other one in his hair, sticky and matted with sweat and other oils, and Vincent had a hand on his brother’s lower arm, stroking up and down in smoothing motions and making quiet noises to placate the older twin. He still had to bandage the chest wound, but Bo’s comfort and safety was slightly more important to your thinking, and indeed Vincent’s, too.

Vincent got your attention again with a hand gesture and thrust the bandages at you before he signed, take care of Bo. Got some work to do. There won’t be anything left of them. His hands shook with barely suppressed rage and bloodthirstiness and you shuddered to think of what the bodies would look like. Vincent would catch up to them, and the teenagers would rue the moment they stepped into Lester’s pickup truck. Before Vincent left, he signed once more, please take care of Bo. Very special to us. Trust you.

You smiled, the gesture watery and shaky at every possible stage. “I trust you too, Vincent. Please be careful! I’m scared for you - for all of us.” Tears dripped from your beautiful eyes and your voice trembled just like your body as you admitted to arguably the scariest Sinclair just how affected you were. Any of you could still die tonight and you were feeling more fear than you had ever felt in your two decades of life.

We’ll keep you safe. Please keep Bo safe, too.

“What about you, Vin?” You were almost pleading with him to stay, but Vincent’s mind was made up. His blue eye, soft when he looked at you, hardened into ice, and he signed,

I can take care of me. They won’t see me coming. Won’t be anything left for the animals when I’m done with them.

A cold shiver ran up your back and you nodded at Vincent, accepting him at his word. He was so much like Bo, especially when he was pissed off or insulted somehow. This was the worst slight for the man; he feared nothing more than having Bo taken away from him and he would not say such things unless he meant them. “Give ‘em hell for us, Vin!” The nod Vincent gave you before he turned and left made you feel a sick sense of satisfaction. You knew that the tourists would get what was coming to them. You felt a bit sad that you wouldn’t get to see it, but that was okay; you could just ask Vincent later, or even get Lester to show you the bodies if you really wanted to see what the younger twin had done.

You were ripped out of your silent reverie as you worked on bandaging up his chest by Bo coughing and then groaning low in his throat, his hand weakly patting at your hip. You turned and gave him the full extent of your attention, and Bo smiled. “Ya’ look like an angel w’the light behind ya’ like that.”

Confusion met his words until you realised that the harsh white light overhead made it look like you had a halo. With a shaky smile did you say, “The halo is held up by my invisible horns.”

“Invisible? Don’t’cha mean - “ Bo chuckled but then winced and your hands fluttered over his body much like Vincent’s had earlier that night as you sought to comfort him. Bo’s hands came up and caught your own and he interlaced his fingers with yours, holding them as tight as he could. His grip was strong despite the overwhelming amount of pain he was in, and you took that as a good sign that he was going to be fine. It would be a rocky road to a full recovery, though. “Where’s Vincent?”

“Gone on a well deserved murder spree.”

Bo whistled as best as he could, “That bad, huh?”

“Yes.” Your voice was hard, your jaw aching, your body trembling, your eyes sore, your heart pained, and Bo’s gaze sharpened. His eyes were hazy with pain and with the anaesthetic that was now beginning to absorb into his bloodstream, but he still had it in him to squeeze your hands, tugging you closer to him, and closer still until you felt compelled to climb up on the pool table with him. You were physically uncomfortable but you dared not move around too much, not wanting to jostle Bo even though you were on his uninjured side. You cuddled into him lightly and Bo made a noise of discontent. You heard him, so attuned to him were you, and you allowed your head to rest fully on his broad shoulder, your hair spilling over him like a dark halo.

You melted into Bo and he allowed it to happen without making any sarcastic comment. He needed the comfort, the touch, the reassurance just as much as you did, and you peppered his face with kisses, leaning over slightly so that you could better reach all of Bo’s face. There was no side of him you didn’t love, no part of him you didn’t know intimately literally and metaphorically, and there was nothing he could say or do which would ever change the way you felt about him. Bo welcomed every touch, every kiss, every sigh of relief, everything you offered him. His good arm wrapped around you and he pulled you down, down, so that you could nuzzle your face in his neck, where again did you bestow hungry kisses to every inch you could find. You wished you could climb atop him, your thighs straddling his hips and your upper body looming over him so that you were all he could see, feel, touch, taste, but with his injuries as they were, you could only do half of what you wanted to. It was better than nothing, for this night could have taken a much worse turn, but it was enough.

It had to be.

Alive, alive, alive, my Bo’s alive. A mantra did you repeat in your mind, trying to come to terms with the night’s trauma, and Bo soaked up your affections, needing them just as much as you did. Every time you pulled away, he would only pull you back, wanting you there with him. He matched you grip for grip, kiss for kiss, as best as he could. The adrenaline crash soon got the better of the both of you, though, and you together drifted into uneasy naps right there on the pool table in each other’s arms, where a blood-soaked Vincent would discover you hours after he had left the house, trusting you to look after his brother. Though he knew his trust in you was never misplaced, he couldn’t help the overwhelming relief to know that you had done as you had promised, Bo’s face creased in pain but very much alive. He would leave you both there, only throwing a blanket over your bodies. It was just too risky to move Bo, and you were exhausted. Vincent crashed on the couch, staying with his family, with Jonesy atop Vincent so that she could get her cuddles. She had missed her human.

Come hell or high water, the Sinclairs stuck together so fiercely that even Death bowed out of the way.

#bo sinclair #bo's muse #lily sinclair

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happyandticklish · 4 years ago

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Laughter Warms The Soul

Notes: I wrote this in an hour, what the fuck brain, where did these random ideas come from??

Summary: Whilst searching for amusement in the city, Izaya stumbles across the dynamic duo and finds himself witness to a sight he’d thought he’d never see.

Izaya’s grin was wide with the expectation of entertainment as he weaved in-between the busy streets of Ikebukuro. He could tell it was going to be a good day. It was difficult to explain exactly where this premonition came from, only that he was certain of it.

Possibly it had something to do with Namie’s mysterious absence that morning, unexplained and prompt and full of a mystery to be explored later. Possibly it had to do with the sun, sparkling and bright despite the chilly autumn morning. Possibly it had something to do with the sudden sight of Shizuo, far down the street opposite Izaya. No matter what the reason, Izaya decided to take the good mood and roll with it, his legs already moving him across the street to confront the other.

He paused almost as suddenly as he had started, taking a step back onto the pavement as he noticed Tom by his side. The man had his arms wrapped around himself, shivering despite his coat. He was saying something to the other, and Izaya attempted to maneuver his way closer without giving away his position. He couldn’t say why he took the effort for the stealth; after all, it had originally been his mission to torment the beast in some way. It wasn’t often, however, that he got to see Shizuo from a casual stance, and he was curious what the man was like when he wasn’t raging at the info broker.

“…fucking cold,” Tom was saying, his voice twisting in irritation. “Why can’t it have just stayed summer through the rest of the year too?”

Besides him, Shizuo arched a brow in amused surprise. “I don’t think either of us would want to face the effects that would have on the world, what with global warming on the rise and all that.”

“Fuck global warming,” Tom muttered, shoving his hands into his pockets. “And fuck cold ass mornings like this that we have to wake up for because some idiot decided he didn’t want to pay his dues.”

“Careful Tom,” Shizuo warned lightly. “I’m supposed to be the one with anger issues, remember?”

“Yes, of course I remember,” Tom snapped, seemingly not aware of the fact that he was taunting a lion. “How could I forget when it makes my workload ten times more difficult every time some hopeless bastard pisses you off.”

Hiding behind a group of tourists, Izaya winced in second-hand regret. Bad move, Tom. Didn’t he know who he was dealing with? Izaya had experienced entire vending machines thrown at him for far less than the direct insult. Sure enough, Shizuo turned to face the other, his arms already coming up to ready an attack. Izaya closed his eyes, biding Tom farewell in his mind as he did.

To his surprise, the next noise he heard was not that of pain or fear, but rather laughter, choked off giggles that cut through the morning breeze. Izaya frowned, eyes snapping open once more as he shot a quick glance in their direction.

Shizuo had snuck his hands under Tom’s coat, and was wiggling his fingers along his sides with devilish intent. Tom was half-doubled over, shoving weakly at Shizuo’s arms but doing little in the long run to dissuade him. Shizuo had a slight smirk on his face, the expression somehow both smug and affectionate at the same time.

Izaya’s eyes widened.

“S-Shihizuo!” Tom gasped, his lips tugging up into a reluctant grin. “Wahahait! T-Thihis ihisn’t fahahair!”

“It’s perfectly fair,” Shizuo argued pleasantly. “If you have a problem with the way I do things, there are other ways of telling me than snide remarks. This is simply your punishment—both for the insult and for the way you’ve been complaining all morning.”

Tom desperately shoved at his hands, trembling in one spot as he fought to hold himself upright. They had both stopped walking by now, and people merely curved around them, seemingly ignorant to the truth of the situation. Tom’s cheeks puffed out with held-in laughter, flushing a bright pink with the effort.

“You know, it’s strange,” Shizuo commented, his fingers crawling spiderlike onto his ribs. Tom squeaked, lurching forward, but the other’s hands held him back in a ticklish hug. “I’d almost forgotten how sensitive you were; it’s been a while since I last did this. I think we should make it more of a habit, don’t you?”

“Y-Yohohou’re dehehead!” Tom giggled, his internal battle to hold in his reactions ultimately failing. “S-Sohoho dehehehead!”

“Funny, because the way I see it, there’s nothing you can do about it.”

“Stahahahap!” Tom wheezed, squirming as much as he could in his grip. “Gohohoddammit, ihihit fuhuhuhucking tihihihickles!”

“Does it?” Shizuo grinned. “I hadn’t noticed.”

“Ohohoho fuhuhuhuck yohohou!”

Izaya was frozen. People shoved past him, but he could hardly find it in himself to care as shoulders and elbows jostled into him, his gaze focused so intently on the scene in front of him. Tickling. The monster of Ikebukuro, the brute who had tormented him for all these years, was currently tickling Tom Tanaka of all people, in the public view of anyone who happened to pass by. And Tom wasn’t running away, or shoving him off like most might expect. If anything, he seemed to be enjoying himself, his laughter mingling with the amused chuckles of Shizuo.

But what threw Izaya the most, above anything else, was the gentle way in which Shizuo did it. His posture was relaxed, not tense with annoyance or rage. His fingers climbed a gentle path up and down Tom’s sides, drawing only musical giggles from the other’s lips, instead of noises of panic or discomfort. Izaya waited for his ribcage to be crushed beneath Shizuo’s grip, for angered shouts to fall from his lips. Despite this, only that slight smile remained, and those devastatingly nimble fingers wreaking a path of soft destruction along his torso instead of the usual bloodshed.

So lost was he in his thoughts, that he found himself jumping at the sudden shriek. Shizuo had managed to worm his hands under Tom’s arms, and the man dropped, his knees giving out underneath him. Shizuo merely followed him to the ground, eagerly pursuing the apparent hot spot.

“Shihihihihizuo!” Tom cackled, squeezing his eyes shut as his arms clamped down quickly to his sides. “Plehehehehease!”

“I don’t know,” Shizuo mused, feigning hesitation. “I mean, how can I know for sure if you’ve learned your lesson?”

“Ihihihihihi hahahahave, Ihihihi hahahahahahave!” Tom insisted quickly, curling his knees up to his chest. “Juhuhuhuhust stahahahahahap!”

Shizuo sighed, relenting at last and releasing the other. “Alright. But only because we’re going to be late if we stay here any longer.”

Tom giggled in tired relief, burying his face in his hands. “You suck. You suck so much.”

“Yeah, yeah. C’mon, let’s get you up off the ground.”

Shizuo helped the other man to his feet, and Tom dusted the grime off his pants with a disdainful look. “That was entirely unnecessary, you know.”

“Your cheeks.”

“What?”

“They’re all red.” When Tom continued to stare at him in confusion, he clarified, “You were complaining about being cold. I bet that warmed you up.”

Tom started as he realized the other was right; all the laughing and squirming had sent blood rushing quickly to his limbs, heating up the chill that had seeped in. He narrowed his eyes in annoyance at the other’s accuracy, shoving past him with a huff. “Whatever. You’re such a nuisance sometimes, you know that?”

Shizuo laughed, shoving his hands into his pockets and following after him.

Izaya waited until they were gone to move from his position, his pulse racing. What was that? What the hell was that? And why was it making him feel so… Izaya wasn’t even sure what the specific emotion was. Irritation? Panic? Loneliness? Possibly the strangest one of them all was the vicious jealousy, tugging at his heart and making it clench up uncomfortably. Because maybe a part of him, however small, had wished that he could have been the one under Shizuo’s hands. Maybe he too wanted to be able to laugh like that, free and unworried, and have the brute look down at him with that unfairly kind smile of his.

Shoving the thoughts aside quickly, Izaya turned on his heel and headed in the opposite direction, attempting to ignore the persistent flush to his cheeks.

After all, he could always find entertainment elsewhere.

#tickle fic #durarara #shizaya #tom tanaka #shizuo heiwajima #izaya orihara #tickling #fanfic #fanfiction #durarara!!#drabble

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dunkindestieldonuts · 3 years ago

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The Beach Episode

6200 words, rated T (read on ao3) The Winchesters go on a beach vacation in southern California. (Wrote this a while ago but now that it’s finally summer beach weather, I thought I’d post it here too!)

Part I: Dean

Dean loves the beach.

Well, the idea of it anyway, seeing as this was his first time actually going for a vacation. He’d seen it enough in movies and on television to paint what he thought was a pretty accurate picture, though.

The long drive from Kansas to California had ended late that morning. Dean drove with the windows down once the highway ended, waiting for the telltale smell of salt on the air.

When the sea breeze finally hit his nose, he breathed in delightedly. They were still probably a few minutes away from seeing the sand but he was already itching to stretch his legs.

The road was straight for a while, but when it bent around a cluster of low hills…there it was. The ocean.

The sight of so much water took his breath away. The only thing his mind could relate it to was the seemingly never-ending plains of Nebraska, which were a total bitch to drive through. But instead of “HELL IS REAL” signs or dilapidated iron sheds to break up the vast expanse, there were sailboats and red-lined oil barges.

He turned left when the road ended at a bluff, but he kept looking at the water out the window, trying to spot paddleboarders around Sam in the passenger seat.

“Dean,” Sam said, “the road. We’re almost there.” He indicated the beach they’d chosen on the map of southern California spread out on his lap.

When they’d discussed where to go back at the bunker, Dean had insisted on the west coast. He wanted to watch the sunset with his family. To start their week-long vacation, they’d chosen a smaller beach, away from big crowds and attractions (although Eileen did want to try her hand at carnival games at some point during their stay).

They packed all the essential gear: blankets, beach chairs, picnic baskets, beach umbrellas, beach balls and baseball mitts, and a plethora of colorful sandcastle-building equipment that Jack helped pick out. Dean even bought matching Hawaiian shirts for himself and Cas at the first kitschy tourist shop he could find in the Golden State (his was covered in California landmarks and Cas’ was all about the Pacific Coast Highway).

He was looking forward to so many things, like the feel of the sand between his toes, the taste of salt on his lips. He was also very excited to get a piña colada or something similar. With a little umbrella, of course.

Dean probably pulled into the parking lot a little too quickly, judging by the look a surfer sitting in the back of a pickup gave him. He made sure to park far away from the guy.

The first thing he did when he got out of the car was change his shoes, throwing his boots into the trunk and grabbing some flip flops. He fed the meter an entire roll of quarters before helping everyone gather their things.

When they got everything out of the Impala, he rushed down the stairs of the lot, barely containing his excitement. Then someone grabbed the back of his shirt, stopping him from being run over by three bicyclists. He looked down to see a paved two-way bike lane between him and the sand.

“Thanks,” he said over his shoulder. Cas rolled his eyes good-naturedly.

They found a spot away from most of the other people and set up camp. Once the blankets were laid out and the umbrellas stuck in the sand, Dean surveyed their surroundings. He spotted a small building with the words “Surf Food Stand” painted on a surfboard above a serving window, and realized it was in fact lunchtime.

The building and its seating were directly on the sand. They sold food like hot dogs and smoothies, and rented various beach equipment. Dean immediately wanted to rent a surfboard. Sam told him it was a stupid idea, Dean didn’t even know how to surf, he was definitely going to hurt himself!

But it was a word from Cas that finally stopped him from going through with it. He reminded Dean they were staying for the week, and convinced him to sign up for surf lessons the next day. Cas even signed up with him.

They ordered food (Cas even let Jack get two smoothies when his son couldn’t decide between banana and mango) and took it back to their spot. There weren’t any tiny umbrellas, but it was all delicious.

☼ ☼ ☼

Dean sits cross-legged on their blanket with Cas behind him, rubbing sunscreen into his back. Cas has beautiful, broad hands, and Dean appreciates whenever they’re on him. And when Cas starts digging his thumbs into the knots just under the back of Dean’s neck, Dean makes a noise that has Sam looking over in disgust.

“Dude.”

“What? I’ve been driving for hours, I deserve a massage.”

Cas laughs behind him, placing a kiss on the back of Dean’s head. He stops the massage but continues with the sunscreen. He takes extra care to add multiple layers to Dean’s left shoulder.

This would be the first time since he got it that his new handprint tattoo would be out in the sun. He swore it was completely healed - this wasn’t his first tattoo after all - but Cas insisted that Dean still moisturize it daily (it was less of a pain than it sounded, since he could usually convince Cas to do it for him which often led to other fun activities).

When Cas is done he leans forward, putting his arms around Dean’s middle. He rests his chin on Dean’s shoulder. “Done.”

“Thank you.”

Dean leans back into him. He’s so comfortable in Cas’ arms now, like he belongs there. The physical aspect of their relationship was intimidating for Dean at first, but it was something Castiel wanted so he made the effort. The angel deserved to be shown affection in every way possible, deserved to be as happy as he made Dean.

It worked out well - Dean realized early on in the process that it was something he wanted, too. Something he’d been denying himself for a long time.

Really, it was just an extension of how they’d been before: the lingering gazes now ended in pecks on the cheek, the shoulder touching moved down the arm to hand holding.

The way they fit together made Dean sometimes wonder if they were made for each other, if they were always meant to be together. Something unbearably poetic or romantic like that. But then he thinks no, nothing about this is destiny or fate or someone’s grand design. They’d fought against that. Defeated it.

No, this was choice.

It’s all choice, which Dean believes makes what they choose from now on even better. He chose Cas. And Cas chose him, too.

Which is, wow, by the way. Cas is older than the beach they’re sitting on, had seen more in his existence than Dean could ever even begin comprehend…and yet the one thing he wants in all the universe is Dean. Dean couldn’t fully believe it for the longest time. He couldn’t believe it when Cas had first said the words. Wouldn’t believe it, until Cas explained that yes, he meant love love.

At some point Cas had practically begged him to stop asking questions riddled with self-doubt. Things like “You sure? Me? Really?” were always met with the same answer, sweet and sincere: “I’m sure. You. Really.” Then Cas would kiss his forehead, or hold his hand, or let him have the last chocolate chip cookie, and he’d know it was true.

Cas was also helping Dean see himself the way Cas saw him, the way all the people who love him saw him. Dean is a good man. He’d done so much for the world, so much for the people he cared about. And he does deserve nice things.

Nice things like someone who loves him unconditionally and without reserve. Nice things like seeing his brother finally escape the life and settle down with an awesome woman. Nice things like having a son to take care of.

And, maybe, nice things like getting to hang out on the beach with his family without having to stop the world from ending.

He turns his head to kiss Cas on the cheek before getting up to stand in front of everyone.

“Who wants to play pickle?” he asks, rubbing his hands together excitedly.

Eileen raises her hand. “Me!”

Dean grabs the baseball mitts and tosses one to her. “Sam? Jack? Cas?”

Jack jumps up with Cas close behind, but Sam shakes his head.

“Uh-uh, we’re ALL playing,” Dean says as he grabs Sam’s arm.

His brother rolls his eyes but he gets up. “What’s the point of asking ‘who wants to play’ if you’re just going to make us play?” Sam teases. Dean swats his arm.

He explains the rules to Jack and Cas as Eileen sets up the bases by making mounds of sand.

They don’t keep score while they play. Dean and Eileen let Jack be “safe” when they definitely could have tagged him out, the same mercy absent when Sam gets near them. Dean swears Cas kissed him just to distract him while Sam and Jack ran at least once, but Cas won’t admit to it.

Part II: Castiel

Castiel loves the ocean.

Unlike Dean, he had been many times. But he wasn’t going to brag about it. Most of that time had been spent in quiet observation rather than in volleyball tournaments anyway, so he doubted Dean wanted to hear about it.

Dean once told him in passing that people born near the ocean, in the fresh sea air, were healthier. He’d talked about the pull some experienced - people born near water often come back to it, almost always ended up living near it. Castiel could understand why.

Humans that lived around it always had gods for the sea. Often, the sea god was among the more important in the pantheon. Abzu of Mesopotamia was the father of all the other gods. Poseidon was one of the big three in Greece. In some cultures the sea was ruled by a multitude of deities.

The respect people had for the ocean was well-deserved. The fear, as well. It was one of the most dangerous natural forces. But humans were always trying to push the boundaries of their capabilities. They’d gone to space, after all.

Castiel found it interesting that humanity was able to travel through space better than through Earth’s oceans, that more people had been on the moon than had seen the bottom of the Mariana Trench.

He sometimes thought about the more philosophical reasons why they turned their eyes upward rather than down. When he started to spend more time around humans, he started to develop some hypotheses. Maybe humans want to look to the future, and the past is in the ocean. Life started there. Maybe they didn’t want to face Creation, but wanted to Create.

Of course, the simpler answer was that deep sea vessels were required to be approximately 1100 times stronger than spacecraft in order to withstand the pressure. But humans had almost always been more interested in the sky than the sea. There was more funding for space, more media regarding it.

And Castiel did love those stories as well. The stories humans told about space were often filled with hope, while the ocean was filled with monsters (to be fair, the Leviathan had come from the sea, and they were certainly monstrous). Most ocean tales were set on the surface anyway.

But the surface was fascinating, too. It’s near the surface where the most colorful fish in the Great Barrier Reef live: bright yellow butterfly fish, striking turquoise and orange parrotfish, beautifully striped angelfish. It’s at the surface where bottlenose dolphins and humpback whales play, where Portuguese men o’ war float to sting unsuspecting plankton.

He could watch the sea for eons. Had done so, in fact. During the beginning, most of the angels watched humanity. Castiel had often turned his eyes to nature, to the flora and fauna of the Earth. That in turn pointed his gaze to the sea, seeing as how more than three quarters of life on the planet was to be found under the waves (the vast majority even now as yet unidentified by human science).

Some of Earth’s oldest creatures resided still under the rollicking waves of the sea. Most sharks and the lobe-finned coelacanth had hardly changed in the millions of years they’d existed. Castiel knew, because he had watched.

He watched as life arose from the simple organic compounds found in the depths. He watched the first fish climb onto land. He watched as God flooded the world, as Moses parted the Red Sea. He watched humanity’s exploration, as well: Polynesian way finders discovering the tiniest of islands in the Pacific, the mad race to the South Pole that spanned the first few years of the 20th century, the first submarines.

☼ ☼ ☼

Castiel continues his watching today. He sits on a blanket watching Sam and Eileen help Jack make a sand castle, the shape oddly reminiscent of the Tower of Babel. He turns to tell Dean this, but Dean is lying down next to him under the shade of the umbrella, eyes closed under his sunglasses and hands folded behind his head.

Castiel takes the opportunity to let his eyes travel over Dean’s body, admiring the splattering of freckles across his chest. He lingers over Dean’s middle, which has gotten a bit squishy in their time being retired, which Castiel loves. It showed him that Dean was safe and healthy, eating more than he would if he was stressed or on endless hunts. He almost reaches out to poke Dean in the side, but he resists.

When his gaze reaches Dean’s face once again, he’s met with a pleased expression. Dean opens his eyes and smirks, lowering the sunglasses onto his nose.

“I can feel you starin’ at me.”

Castiel smiles down at him. “My apologies. Were you asleep?”

“Well, I’m up now.”

Dean sits up, puts his arms around Castiel, tucks his chin onto his shoulder, rubs his cheek against Castiel’s ear.

Castiel revels in the touch. It had taken Dean a while to be comfortable showing this level of affection, and another while before he was okay showing affection in public. Cas was patient with him, of course. The rewards were well worth it.

Sometimes Castiel got the urge to go overboard, to grab Dean’s face in the supermarket and kiss him till they both can’t breathe, to tell everybody and anybody who would listen at the bus stop that the man that he loves loves him back.

But right now he’s happy with a solid arm around his shoulders. He hums contentedly.

Dean shifts next to him. “Cas?”

“Yes?”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

Dean sighs heavily. His hands flex once, then he moves closer to Castiel, settling his body more fully against the angel’s.

“Does part of you hate me for taking this long?”

“No. No, Dean,” Castiel says without skipping a beat. “No part of me could ever hate you. Sometimes I lament the missed opportunities, and yet…even if we weren’t at this stage,” he pats Dean’s arm, “I could tell you loved me, in your own way. Although I thought that ‘way’ was different from mine. But it was enough for me then. I do very much like this, though.”

Dean is quiet for a moment. Castiel swears he can hear the montage of memories going through Dean’s brain. Maybe he’s thinking of all the times he could have told Cas how he felt, all the scenes that would have been different had they been together sooner. All the times he could have said “I love you.”

Castiel knows he’s done the same - gone back and played a scene out differently with only the tiniest of changes. Another sigh from his side makes him rest his head against Dean’s.

“Sometimes I hate myself for it,” Dean says quietly, barely audible over the crash of waves and squawk of seagulls.

“Don’t. Please.”

“I wanna make it up to you somehow.”

Castiel turns to kiss Dean’s temple. “You don’t have to,” he says into his hair.

“Yeah, but I’m gonna.”

“Hmm,” Castiel hums in thought. He looks out to the waves and watches them wash over the shore. The water looks beautiful and, Castiel thinks, inviting. “You could start by going into the water with me?”

He can almost feel the weight lift from Dean’s shoulders. “You got it, sunshine.”

Dean jumps up with newfound purpose and grabs both Cas’ hands to haul him up, dragging him towards the surf. When they pass the others, Sam looks up with a smile.

“We’re going swimming,” Castiel says enthusiastically, letting go of one of Dean’s hands to sign as much to Eileen when he sees her look up at them.

Sam jerks his head, confused. “Do you know how?”

“I don’t think so!” Cas says, smiling.

“Dean!”

“He’ll be fine!” Dean shouts over his shoulder.

They run together the rest of the way, chasing a wave as it recedes. Dean lets go of Castiel’s hand when his feet hit the water.

“Fuck, that’s cold!”

“Yes, the south-moving current off the coast here brings the cold water from Alaska,” Castiel says as he steps in. He shivers and continues. “Plus upwelling brings the deep ocean water towards the surface.”

“Oh, yeah?” Dean says over his shoulder as he goes deeper.

“Indeed.”

Castiel follows him further. He stops when the water reaches his Enochian tattoo, and Dean wades back towards him.

Dean dives under a wave while Castiel hops up to float over it. He tries to spot Dean under the foam, but isn’t able to. Then he feels hands on his hips, and Dean pops up right in front of his face.

“Hey,” Dean says, smirking. Castiel wraps his arms around Dean’s neck.

“Hello.” He smiles before Dean kisses him. Another wave interrupts them.

Part III: Dean and Castiel

Later in the afternoon, Sam and Eileen relax on the beach chairs while Jack digs a hole big enough to stand in. Dean helped Jack dig most of it, but when his knees started to ache from the awkward angle he’d left the rest to the kid.

Now he stands with Cas at the water’s edge, their bare shoulders touching, shirts tucked into the back pockets of their swimsuits. Dean knows Cas could stand still for hours, days even, but he’s getting restless. He looks to the south and spots a small pier about a mile away.

“Walk with me?” Dean asks Cas. He holds his hand out. Cas grabs it with a smile, intertwining their fingers. With a wave at the rest of their family, they go off together.

They walk along the edge of the water, letting the sea wash away their footprints. Dean lets go of Cas’ hand only to run in front of him and splash him with a kick as a big wave comes around their feet. Cas kicks back, but Dean’s already out of range. He makes a pouty face and Dean returns to his side to plant a kiss on his cheek. The next time it’s Cas who gets the upper hand.

Further along, they walk through a flock of birds. They’re not seagulls, so Dean doesn’t recognize them. He asks Cas if he knows what they’re called, and yes, he does. The small gray and white ones with black beaks are sanderlings, specifically Calidris alba. There’s a few larger, longer-beaked marbled godwits, Limosa fedoa, mixed in as well.

“Do you know all the names for things?” Dean asks.

“I know most, yes.”

“That’s awesome, man,” Dean says sincerely.

He watches the sanderlings run back and forth, making it look as though they’re playing tag with the waves. Dean bends to pick up a small shell, no bigger than the fingernail of his thumb. He examines the alternating bands of oranges and white that mark its surface before offering it to Cas.

“I never really learned about this kinda stuff. Honestly I don’t know much about the natural world, y’know? Too focused on the supernatural.”

Cas nods, taking the shell and holding it up. “I could teach you some of it. Gould beanclam, Donax gouldii,” he says.

“Ah, I’m not smart enough to remember it.”

Cas stops walking, turning to fully face Dean with a serious look. “Don’t discredit yourself, Dean. You’re very smart. You didn’t have much of a formal education yet you still know so much. I would even rate the practical, useful knowledge you have over my list of factoids, because why would you ever need to know that scallops have up to 200 eyes unless you’re trying to impress someone with fun facts?”

Dean breathes out a laugh, just a sharp exhale through his nose. He turns to keep walking, using his elbow to nudge Cas along. To anyone else he would seem dismissive, but Cas can tell Dean appreciated what he’d said. He pockets the shell, thinking about where to put it in their room when they get back home.

“Guess so,” Dean says. “And I don’t hafta impress anyone anymore.” He grabs Castiel’s hand again. “You’re already impressed with me, right?”

“Of course, dear, you’re highly impressive,” Cas says just a little sarcastically. Dean squeezes.

“Hell yeah, I am.”

They walk in comfortable silence, watching the birds and the people.

Cas has to jump out of the way of a kid on a purple boogie board. Dean throws a foam football back to a group of players. Cas wonders if he should have brought a bottle of sunscreen so he could reapply it to Dean. Dean enjoys the heat on his back.

After about forty minutes, they reach the pier. They walk down it, avoiding skateboarders and glancing into fishermen’s buckets. Castiel comments on the interesting pale turquoise color of the railing as they lean over it to watch the surfers below.

To Dean’s delight, there is a small aquarium at the end of the pier. They put their shirts on and step inside.

A teenage girl in a blue vest greets them, offering to tell them about the cast of a seal skull she has in front of her. Dean listens receptively, glancing at Cas a few times to confirm if her facts are accurate. He nods each time.

They walk around the small space, sidestepping kids and appreciating the variety of creatures on display.

“You got a favorite fish?” Dean asks Castiel when they reach the kelp forest tank.

“Angelfish,” Cas says immediately.

Dean glares at him. “Wow. You couldn’t even say that with a straight face.”

Cas smiles, proud of his joke. He shrugs, turning back to the tank. “In sincerity, I don’t know if I could decide.” He leans towards the glass, following a Sheephead as it swims in front of the kelp. “They’re all charming in their own ways.”

Dean is uncharacteristically quiet in response, so Cas turns to him. There’s so much unrepressed love on Dean’s face that Cas almost asks him if something is wrong. But then Dean’s smirking at him, trademark confidence on his features.

“YOU’RE charming in your own ways,” he says, quirking an eyebrow.

Cas laughs. “Thank you, Dean.”

Before they head back, Dean leads Cas under the pier.

The sand is cooler and the waves are louder, echoing against the concrete above their heads. Dean leans against a pillar and pulls at Cas’ shirt. Dean goes to kiss him but is stopped by Cas bopping him on the nose with two fingers. He scrunches it in confusion, then he feels the heat bleed out of his face.

“You were getting sunburnt,” Cas says in explanation before kissing him.

Dean worries for a split second if anyone saw Cas heal him, but then Cas’ tongue is in his mouth and he can’t think anymore. Dean loses himself to the feeling of Cas against him for a minute, until some kids shouting nearby reminds him they’re surrounded by people. He pulls back and Cas follows the motion, trying to capture his lips again, but Dean stops him.

“Hey, uh, maybe we should keep it PG, yeah?”

Cas is still staring at his mouth, which makes Dean almost up it to PG-13, but then he flicks his eyes up to Dean’s. “Ah. This is not because you’re embarrassed to be seen with me?”

“No, no, I just don’t want some punk teenager yelling at us to get a room, y’know?”

“We could simply tell them we do have a room.” He keeps his hands steady on Dean’s hips.

Dean laughs. “Yeah, with my brother, his girl, and our son in it, so that’s not - nevermind, I’ll explain later.” He kisses Cas once, quick, then maneuvers himself out from in between Cas and the pillar. “C’mon, let’s walk back.”

On the way, Dean gets an idea.

“So, do you wanna come back here with me later tonight? We could watch the stars, just the two of us.”

“The moon is going to be almost full tonight, we wouldn’t see many stars.”

“Then we could do…something else.”

Cas quirks one eyebrow up in question. “What could we do?”

Dean does a double take, mischievous smile turning into a fond one when he realizes Cas doesn’t understand what he’s implying.

“Ah, you’ll see.”

They return to Jack and Sam hitting a beach ball back and forth, Eileen reading under the umbrellas. Dean runs up to steal the ball and sprints away with it, Sam on his heels. Cas joins Eileen.

“How is the book?” he signs.

“I’m almost halfway done and I still don’t know if I like the protagonist.”

Cas is about to ask if she thinks that was intentional on the author’s part when he hears Dean shout. He looks over just in time to see Sam catch up to his brother and tackle him into the water. Eileen giggles at the way Sam shakes his hair when they surface.

The beach ball rides a wave back to shore where Jack picks it up. He takes it to the blanket and places it next to Cas.

“Can I go swimming, Dad?” he asks.

“Did you reapply sunscreen while I was gone?”

“Yes.”

Cas turns to Eileen for confirmation. She nods.

“Okay.”

Jack smiles at him and Cas feels wonderful. Happy. So very happy. Eileen is smiling too, probably feeling something similar.

They watch as Jack skips down the sand to join the brothers. He runs into Dean’s arms, and Dean swings him around before throwing him into the water. He pops up a second later, laughing. Sam starts a splash war, and Cas and Eileen return to their literary conversation.

☼ ☼ ☼

Soon after they have a second round of hot dogs and burgers from the Surf Food Stand, it’s sunset.

Jack asks why the sky changes colors like that. Cas gives an incredibly detailed and scientific explanation, discussing the bending of light at different wavelengths through the atmosphere. Dean watches them fondly. He turns an equally fond look to Sam and Eileen, silently signing to each other. She’s sitting in Sam’s lap on the beach chair.

Dean sighs serenely, turning to watch the streaks of orange light dance on the water.

They pack up the Impala before it gets too dark. Once they’ve put everything away, they take a moment in the changing room near the parking lot to put on warmer clothes (and, by Dean’s instruction, to get all the sand off so none gets in Baby).

Already having changed into the dark gray hoodie and matching sweatpants Dean bought for him, Castiel takes the time to walk back down the sand to look out over the ocean.

He stands at the edge of the water, just far enough so the waves don’t reach his feet. He sees Venus shining in its place low in the sky. His tracks a few airplanes as they start their journey west over the Pacific.

Then Dean is standing next to him. Castiel looks over to see Dean looking out over the horizon. He admires Dean’s profile, appreciates how the blue light of just-after-sunset softens his features, how it makes his eyes look bluer than usual. He’s back in his usual jeans, with a dark blue hoodie on top.

“We’re ready to go,” Dean says after a moment.

“Okay.”

But neither of them move. They stand there together, silently listening to the steady roar of the waves. The breeze off the water stirs the hair on Cas’ forehead.

“You gonna tell me about it someday?” Dean asks.

“About what?”

“Y’know. All the time you were around before humanity.”

“That would take far too long.”

Dean makes a noise of agreement. “Then the highlights? Tell me what dinosaurs looked like, at least.”

He puts his arm around Castiel and turns him towards the car. He leaves his arm there as they walk across the sand, still warm despite the lack of sunlight. Cas lifts his hand to hold Dean’s where it rests on his shoulder.

“That would take the fun out of museum visits, wouldn’t it?” Cas says. “Me pointing out all the inaccuracies?”

Dean laughs. “Nah, that sounds like a blast.”

☼ ☼ ☼

The hotel room is small, but it has everything they need. Two queen beds take up most of the room, but there’s a coffee table with a small two-person sofa at the foot of one, as well as a small desk with one office chair. They had forgone fancier accommodations in order to be as close as possible to the beach. They were lucky they even found one room in this place, most hotels were already booked up. It was summer, after all.

Dean pulls a pack of cards out of his bag and slaps it down on the coffee table. He drags the chair over to the table for Cas and sits with Sam on the floor in front of the table, Jack and Eileen taking the sofa.

Dean argues for poker but Eileen talks him out of it, citing that the hunters would probably have an unfair advantage against Cas and Jack. They settle on a few rounds of blackjack without betting, despite Dean trying to get some started using the various snacks they’d brought with them (if some snacks are handed over wordlessly between the brothers as they play, no one comments on it).

When it’s time for bed, Jack goes to take his usual place in between Dean and Cas, but they persuade him to go for the other bed. They’re going for a night walk and don’t want to disturb him when they return. Jack just as happily settles in between Sam and Eileen, and Dean promises they won’t be long.

It’s a short few blocks from the hotel back to the beach. When they reach the sand, Cas glances at the empty lifeguard tower. “Is this allowed?”

Dean shrugs, a blanket rolled up under his arm. “Probably not, but who cares? It’s a pretty small beach, dude, no one’s gonna come check.”

Cas smiles conspiratorially, taking delight in this little rule breaking. “Okay.”

The light from the moon illuminates the beach so they have an easy time finding their way. It glints off the foam of the waves. The sand is cool under their feet.

Dean walks to where the sand starts to slope down to the water, so if they sit they won’t be seen from the sidewalk. He lays the blanket down and lies back on it.

“C’mere,” he says, opening his arms up and making a beckoning motion with his hands towards where Cas stands.

Castiel knows what he’s implying this time. He sinks down, knees on either side of Dean’s hips. He steadies himself on one elbow next to Dean’s head, the other resting softly on Dean’s chest. Dean reaches up to grab the back of his neck to bring him the rest of the way down.

Dean loves when Cas kisses him. It makes him feel loved, and it reminds him that he’s worth that love, too. And Castiel loves when Dean kisses him, too, of course. It floods him with relief because it shows him Dean feels the same way he does, because for so long he’d thought that wasn’t true. But it is. They love each other.

This particular kiss is deep, slow, filled with a heat it couldn’t have been with other people around to bear witness. It’s like the ones they save for totally private moments, when Jack is away at Sam and Eileen’s, when there are no wayward hunters taking refuge in the bunker with them, snacking on Dean’s baked goods (he was getting really good - they’d even had people stop by just for his cinnamon rolls).

With nothing but the moonlight and the crash of the waves around them, Dean lets himself be loudly enthusiastic, moaning and making breathy noises into Cas’ mouth. His hands roam up and down Cas’ sides, his fingers rake down Cas’ back. He’s probably exaggerating with the noise a bit, but Cas doesn’t seem to mind.

In fact, he takes it as his cue to go a little further. He runs his fingers under the hem of Dean’s shirt and hoodie, pushing them up so he can explore Dean’s torso with one hand.

Castiel’s hand is surprisingly warm against Dean’s skin. When it reaches his chest, Cas rolls a nipple in between his fingers, the way he knows Dean likes. Dean arches off the blanket into the touch, breaking their kiss to gasp and bite his lower lip. When he opens his eyes, Cas is looking down at him, very pleased with himself.

“Yes, you know how to turn me on. You don’t have to look so smug about it,” Dean says, slightly embarrassed under Cas’ gaze.

“Hmm,” Cas hums before pinching a little harder.

“Ah…”

“I’ve been wanting to touch you like this all day. When appropriate, of course.”

“Is that right?” Dean tries for cockiness, but he’s too breathless to pull it off.

Then Cas is on his neck, leaving sloppy open-mouthed kisses from his ear to where the hood of his sweatshirt covers his collarbone. Dean grabs a fistful of Cas’ hair just to have something to hold onto.

“Uh huh,” Castiel breathes into his neck. The feeling against his spit-slick skin makes Dean shiver.

Dean’s hips jerk up involuntarily, Castiel a solid weight on top of him. He almost whines, almost, when Cas pulls his hoodie back down over his stomach. But Castiel puts his mouth back on Dean’s and he forgives him. Then Cas starts moaning and moving his hips, and Dean isn’t exaggerating anymore.

When Cas moves to unbutton Dean’s jeans, he grabs Cas’ wrist.

“Okay, actually, hold on Cas,” he giggles. “We’re gonna have to slow down because we cannot have sex on the beach.”

“Why not? I thought that was the purpose of being here now.”

“Trust me, there are certain places you don’t want sand.”

“Hmmph.” Cas smushes his face into Dean’s chest and lets his whole weight fall on Dean, his arms splayed out on either side of them. “You’re probably right,” he murmurs into Dean’s sweatshirt.

Dean laughs, which jostles Cas’ head. “I know I’m right.” He gets one hand under Cas’ chin and lifts his head up to look into his eyes. “You should keep kissing me, though.”

Castiel smiles. “Okay.”

“And believe me, I’m flattered that you want me right here right now but - mmph!” Dean’s cut off by Cas covering his mouth with his own.

Dean was right about no one checking the beach. They aren’t interrupted.

After a while longer, Dean’s flip flop clad feet feel like they’re going to freeze off and Castiel realizes the late hour when he checks the moon’s position in the sky. They head back to the hotel.

They sneak back into the room as quietly as they can, but Cas insists they at least rinse off in the shower before going to sleep. When they emerge in their pajamas, they see Jack looking up at them from his spot in Sam and Eileen’s bed.

“Goodnight,” he whispers sleepily.

“Goodnight,” Dean whispers back. Cas goes over to kiss Jack on the top of his head before joining Dean under the covers.

☼ ☼ ☼

The rest of the week goes as planned. Some highlights:

Cas seems to be a natural at surfing, standing up on the board for almost every wave. Dean’s not as lucky, but he doesn’t hurt himself.

Eileen wins a huge unicorn for Sam at one of the shooting games on the Santa Monica Pier. It barely fits in the Impala.

Castiel spots a striped shore crab in the tide pools of Abalone Cove. It scuttles under a rock when the shadow of his finger passes over it as he points it out to Jack.

Dean finally gets his drink with a tiny umbrella at a very fancy beachside restaurant in Malibu.

#my fanfic #spn fanfic #spn fanfiction #spn #supernatural #Destiel fanfiction #mine #beach day #fanfiction #post-canon fluff #fix-it #dunno if ao3 tags work as well here but hey #happy endings all around #saileen #jack kline #Destiel

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thedeaditeslayer · 4 years ago

Photo

Moonshine, shotguns, buried cash: Bruce Campbell on 'The Evil Dead' in East Tennessee.

There are plenty of structurally sound homes scattered throughout East Tennessee's woods for tourists to enjoy, yet some prefer to visit the ruins of a Morristown cabin. Of course, it's the only cabin in the state once surrounded by demonizing trees and where zombies could be found locked in the cellar. A handful of circumstances led a Michigan film crew to East Tennessee in the late '70s to film the low-budget movie "The Evil Dead." More than 40 years later, the film is till very much alive in horror-enthusiast circles, with a special virtual screening scheduled for Jan. 23. The screening will include behind-the-scenes commentary from producer and actor Bruce Campbell, who recently spoke with Knox News about his time in East Tennessee and what's next for the "Evil Dead" franchise.

Check out our conversation with Campbell and visit bit.ly/WatchwithBruce to purchase tickets, starting at $25.

How'd you end up in East Tennessee?

The crew planned to shoot the film in Michigan, but as delays got longer and the weather got colder, the thought of shooting outdoors in the North sounded less appealing.

"There were plenty of isolated cabins in Michigan that would have done the trick, but we went south," Campbell told Knox News.

The crew connected with folks from Tennessee's film commission, who then connected them with a local to drive them around.

"And we checked out half a dozen different possible places and finally found this creepy-ass place outside of Morristown," Campbell said.

He visited the cabin a few years back, although there's not much left of it.

"But it's private property, you know — 'Stay the hell off,'" Campbell said. "The usual deal (in) Tennessee: Shoot first, ask questions later. I never encourage people to go see it because part of the placed burned down in the '80s, but part of the fireplace still exists."

That hasn't stopped people from showing up at conventions with bricks to show Campbell, as the site has become a tourist destination of sorts.

Was the cabin as scary as it looks?

Fans of "The Evil Dead" might be surprised to learn the cabin was more scary than it appeared on screen.

"It had no power," Campbell said. "It had cow s--- on the floor. We had to knock doors and ceilings out and stuff. There was a lot of work to do. The locals showed up after a thunderstorm and said, 'Hey, have you seen Clara?'"

The story goes that people were once killed in the cabin during a storm, but Clara ran off.

Clara was rumored to come back to the cabin during storms and would have been an old lady at the time of filming "The Evil Dead."

"And so we were waited to see with bated breath if anyone caught out of the corner of their eyes some old woman crawling through the underbrush whose name happened to be Clara," Campbell said.

What was your experience in East TN?

Coming to East Tennessee in 1979 was a "fascinating cultural experience," Campbell said.

"It was all new," he said. "In 1979 you knew Tennessee was not Michigan. ... It changed in Kentucky, and we drove down."

Being that Campbell was a producer, he went to a bank to take out $10,000 in cash that he recalls smelling like dirt. He asked the woman at the bank if he was imagining the smell.

"Oh yeah, people still bury it in their back yard," he recalls her saying.

The crew tried their first moonshine in Tennessee, which they acquired along with marijuana from a local.

"We learned a lot about moonshine," Campbell said. "Too much. Too much."

Why did you decide on horror?

Campbell's early "Super 8" movies were slapstick style — "very 'Jackass'-like," he said.

But that changed after "The Evil Dead" director Sam Raimi, Campbell's high school friend, went off to college.

"He was sort of studying humanities or something and studied like the Sumerian book of the dead," Campbell said. "And that kind of caught his attention."

They knew they wanted to get into the movie industry after high school; they just didn't know what kind of movie to make.

"We sort of thought horror would be pretty safe," he said. "It's cheap, you don't have to have name actors, you can use regular street clothes and cars. Nothing had to be glitzy or fancy. If we did a comedy, you'd have to have John Candy or somebody. But, in this case, you were off the hook. Horror was very forgiving."

Raimi was interested in the subject matter, Campbell said. Once "The Evil Dead" story was selected, he was all in.

"We also thought no holds barred," Campbell said. "This movie is potentially unrated. Let's not pull any punches."

What were some low-budget tricks?

Being that the film was low budget, Campbell said, there were some tricks the crew used to make shots work.

"Every hour of every day on that shoot we were faking it," he said.

The moonshine they couldn't drink went onto the fire just before cameras rolled to make the flames roar.

"So we learned how to do that real cheaply," he said. "We learned to just use a real shotgun with real ammunition. That was just the easiest way to do it. ... The shadow passes over the window, you turn and you blow the window out with the shotgun just standing right there — no safety glasses, no earmuffs, no nothing.

"So simpler times, but stupider times. Hell yeah."

How do you illustrate fear on camera?

Illustrating fear on camera is just like illustrating any other emotion: You fake it, Campbell said.

He remembers someone at a Q&A criticizing his "Evil Dead" performance for being over-the-top.

"Sir, excuse me," Campbell recalls saying. "Can you verify sitting in that chair right now how you would react if your (girlfriend's) eyes turned white and she flew up into the air and got possessed and tried to rip your throat out? Would you react like Clint Eastwood? I would scream like a girl."

Campbell said his performances are "protected" by the fact no one knows how they actually would react. And while many modern films require even more faking, due to computer technology replacing sets, "The Evil Dead" had an advantage.

"You don't see anything anymore," Campbell said. "At least with the first 'Evil Dead,' you're in a real cabin in the middle of nowhere in the Deep South in 1979. I mean, it was weird as --- already.

"So, the nice little edge that 'Evil Dead' gets is it's a little docu-horror once you get deeper into the shoot and we all get a little crazier."

Why have you stuck with the franchise?

One of the reasons Campbell continues to be a part of the franchise is his love for his Ash character.

"He has no skills," he said. "In this case, the guy who saves the world from evil multiple times is — by the time he gets to the TV show, he's doing mescaline, he's drinking his ass off, he smokes reefer constantly. This is my kind of hero."

What will the screening be like?

The virtual watch party and live commentary will be different than what some fans are used to. Campbell will have the ability to stop and start the movie to share his thoughts.

"My problem with commentary always in the past is you see something that triggers it — a stunt or a punch in the face — and you tell about what happened," he said. "But then, you tell that story and you look back and you missed three other stories you could have told if that film hadn't just rolled along."

What's it like to watch yourself?

When asked what it's like to watch a young version of himself on screen, Campbell explained how being an actor is a double-edged sword. On one hand, every bad photo taken of Campbell is out there for the world to see.

"But then your best work is documented," he said. "That's what's awesome. Because a lot of guys go, 'I remember back in the day the chicks thought I was hot.' And most people are like, 'Yeah, yeah — sure pal.' At least I can suggest a couple of movies that I go, 'Well, this is me when I could do s---.'"

What's next for 'Evil Dead'?

Campbell said he's planning to shoot the next "Evil Dead" movie in New Zealand later this year. The film will be set in a modern-day urban setting.

While he couldn't share much about the film, he did emphasize that "it's out of the woods."

"That's the best thing to say," he said.

Campbell also has a film called "Black Friday," in which he plays a manager at a toy store invaded by aliens on Black Friday. Campbell said he's interested in doing a drive-in tour and that it would make "a whole lot of sense" to show 'The Evil Dead' somewhere near Knoxville.

"Maybe I'll see you there in East Tennessee with this new movie," he said.

What are the challenges of COVID-19?

Campbell filmed during the COVID-19 pandemic in December, even though he had no clue what to expect.

"The whole crew looks like Darth Vader," Campbell said. "In proximity, you have to go beyond the mask. You have to put the shield too. The good news is Tom Cruise would shout at us, of course, if we had any problems with COVID."

In all seriousness, he said. the industry has been doing a good job taking precautions making sure work can be completed safely.

"Everything's more complicated, but it can still be done," he said.

#Bruce Campbell #The Evil Dead #Evil Dead

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musicalmontgomery · 5 years ago

Text

Letters

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: angst, swearing, brief mentions of billy’s abuse

Pairing: billy hargrove x reader

on the day Billy Hargrove leaves his small town of Coastalside, California for Hawkins, he makes fast friends with y/n, promising to write her while he’s away

loosely based on ‘Travelin’ Soldier’ by Dixie Chicks // there will be more parts!

The bell on the diner door rang as the newest customer entered into the french fry aroma of the mom and pop restaurant. You kept up with your sidework, polishing the cutlery and folding it into napkins while the patron got sat into one of the red and yellow leather booths.

The day dragged on just like every other as the minute hand schlepped around the seashell clock hanging above the bar. This was only supposed to be a summer job, taking orders and serving burgers for the locals while the tourists stuck to the patios along the beach. But here you were as September was coming to its close, still trying to get the water stains from the damn dishwasher out of these knives.

After allowing the customer a moment with the menu, you finally turned around to see him sitting there. In all his glowing glory, was Billy Hargrove. The king of Coastalside, California. Grabbing your pad and pen, you sauntered over to the small booth he sat in. For the first time in all the time you’d seen him around town, he looked small. The tall seat towered over him and it reminded you of a child pretending to be a grown-up.

“Good morning, can I get you started off with something to drink?” You politely asked, carefully avoiding eye contact.

“Just, uh, a-a coffee please,” Billy stumbled. You looked up from your pad where you had scribbled ‘coffee’ in loopy handwriting. A single bead of sweat on his upper lip could have easily been attributed to the sweltering Californian heat that lasted into late fall, but the anxiety written on his face told another story.

“Yeah, no problem. Any food or just the coffee for now?” Your eyes finally meeting his, you felt your heart break a little. The once bright blue that shone like the sun in the sky seemed a muted tone as they watered.

You gave a little smile as he took a moment to collect himself to spit out any words.

“Just the coffee, thanks. But hey, can I ask you something?” His eyes still boring into yours pleaded for you. You gave him a quick nod and smiled a little bigger. “Would you mind sitting down for a while? I could use someone to talk to, and you look like a good listener.”

You softly laughed, wondering where in yourself he saw that. You’d only gone to the same small schools together all your lives, but now, he sees it. Nonetheless, you accepted the compliment.

“Thanks. I actually have some extra work to finish up, but I’m off in an hour if you’re not in a hurry. I know somewhere we can go.” You tugged on the bow holding your ponytail, tightening it.

His face lightening up, he finally gave you a smile and took you up on the offer.

For the next hour, Billy waited patiently and watched as you finished up the polishing and served your other tables. Every time your eyes caught each other’s, you could see him delicately smile, and his tense shoulders visibly dropped as he seemed to remember how to breathe again.

Wondering why he seemed so distressed, you recalled hearing around the hallways that the king of Coastalside was leaving his kingdom. You hadn’t heard where exactly, but you knew it was somewhere in the Midwest. No matter where, there was surely no ocean for a nearly professional surfer like him. The demeanour suddenly made sense and you really felt for him.

Finally, noon hit and your shift was over. You gave Billy a nod as you disappeared into the back to discard your apron in favour of your purse. When you got back to his table, he was pulling out his wallet for the three coffees he’d consumed in the hour he waited for you.

“Don’t worry about that,” denying the cash he was trying to hand you. “It’s on the house.”

“Thanks. Where to?” You and Billy headed out the door, the bell ringing out behind you.

“The pier? It’ll be too hot for the tourists today, so we should be relatively alone.”

True to your assumptions, the pier and beach were nearly entirely vacated save for a few locals and truly brave visitors. The ride over was quiet but comfortable. You’d always wondered what it would be like to be one of the girls in Billy’s Camaro only to be moderately disappointed. There was less of a magical excitement than you imagined you’d feel, but you were also not riding around in the same pretext they did.

The two of you walked along the wooden boards, neither saying a word until you reached the end and sat on a bench there. The brilliant noon sun hung right above you, making you glad you’d carried your sunglasses along today. Billy, too, wore his you realized as turned over to look at. As if on a cue, a small tear gentled rolled out from underneath the shades.

“I’m sorry. This was dumb, I don’t know why I asked you here.” His voice cracked, and his shoulders shook. Your hands quickly reached up to his cheeks to wipe away the quickly fleeting stream of saltwater.

“No, no. Don’t apologize.” You didn’t know what to say or how to help him here. Though you’d known Billy most of your life, it was only distantly. You wanted just to make everything better, but you didn’t know how.

After a minute or two of just sobbing and weeping, Billy’s tears came to slow and eventually stop.

“I’m leaving today.” Finally, he broke the silence.

Still not knowing what to say, you offered a simple “I know.”

“I’m leaving my entire life here to go off to hell. Hawkins the Hellhole, Indiana in the county of Bum-Fuck-Nowhere. I’m gonna die out there, Y/N. There’s no way I can survive that long away from all of this.” He held his hands up as he turned around to the town behind you, gesturing at everything it was and stood for.

“What are you gonna miss most? Maybe it’ll help to talk about it and figure out how to get a sense of that out there.” You were just talking out of your ass now, unsure of what you were even saying.

“The waves and surfing. I was so close to a sponsorship too. By the end of the season, it would have been mine. I’m gonna miss the people. My neighbours, the Watsons, real sweethearts. They brought over a cake that Mrs. Watson made for me a couple of days ago. It was a birthday/going-away thing-“ He was quickly cut off by your interruption.

“It was your birthday?!” You asked incredulously.

“Yeah, I just turned 18 the other day,” he said shyly.

“Happy belated birthday! Okay, carry on.”

Billy laughed and continued on with his list.

“I’m gonna miss making fun of the tourists. Miss driving the Camaro on the rocky coastline. Miss the salty air. But one thing I sure as hell am not missing is Stella’s Diner. Those chunks of charcoal you guys call burgers are awful!” He laughed, sniffling slightly. “It has its redeeming qualities, though. The coffee, the fries, you.”

Holding a hand to your chest over your heart, you smiled as he looked down at you.

“God! I’m 18 years old! I’m old enough to go off to war and get shot, but I can’t even decide where I want to be.” Billy frustratedly ran his hands through his hair, combing through the mullet of thick curls.

“Indiana won’t be as bad as a warzone, at least,” you said, trying to find a positive in this.

“Indiana is a warzone for me! You don’t know what my dad is like.” You’d seen the black eyes, the cuts. The Billy you knew didn’t fight and the injuries finally made sense.

“You’re gonna be okay, soldier.” Billy chuckled at the nickname.

Resting his back on the bench again, you looked at him in silence. His signature half-buttoned shirt exposed the glowing tan on his muscular chest. Tensed from experience but relaxed in this moment, he looked comfortable to just be here.

“I don’t have anyone out there, Y/N. Susan and Max don’t give a shit, Dad is an ass, Mom is long gone. Don’t really have anyone back here now. It’s just me.”

“You got me.” You reached your hand over to his and held it.

“Yeah. Can I send you letters, maybe? I’ve got no one else to send ‘em to.”

Your heart swelled at the sentiment. You’d never pegged Billy to be an old fashioned, letter-writing romantic.

You told him you’d love that and pulled your notepad and pen from work, his order still on the top page. Below where you had written ‘coffee’ earlier, you scrawled your home address that he could send to. You tore the page off, and he tucked it into his wallet for safe-keeping.

The two of you sat and stared at the ocean, outstretched before you for a while. Billy soaked it all in, fearing it may be the last chance to see it before he leaves. The quiet between you, while mostly comfortable, was missing something.

You reached up to the back of your neck and gripped the clasp of your necklace, undoing it. You brought it into his hands, folding them around it.

“You got me here. I’ll be there with you, even when you can’t write.”

His eyes buried behind his sunglasses blurred with tears again as he opened his hands to see the necklace. A simple silver chain held a delicate pendant of the Virgin Mary. Ever so carefully, he placed it around his own neck. Thumbing the pendant, he looked back to you.

He was unable to get words out, but you could see how appreciative he was for this gift.

With one last good glance at the vast expanse of water before him, he began to get up.

“It’s time for me to ship out. I’ll drive you home.”

With a town as small as Coastalside, it only took a few minutes to get from the pier to your house. It wasn’t nearly enough time with him. As he parked the Camaro, you turned into him and softly smiled. One of Billy’s hands came off the steering wheel to gently grasp the side of your face. Pulling you into himself, your lips collided like waves crashing at the shore. The sheer intensity lit a fire in your ribs, and you sighed into the feeling. Like a delicate dance, your mouth moved with his in a choreography you didn’t know you knew. As your lungs burned for air, you separated from him but he maintained his soft grip on your jaw.

“I can’t believe I waited this long to do that,” Billy gasped through his swollen lips. “And now, I have to go.”

You pressed your lips together as if to permanently seal the feeling of his into them. Once both of your breaths were caught, moments soaked in, excitement inside you dying down, you reached for your door handle. He returned his hand to the wheel.

Now exited from the vehicle, you smiled down at him in the driver’s seat.

“See ya, soldier.” You called his new nickname while closing your passenger door. Without looking back, for fear of crying if you had to see him again, you walked inside. Once you shut the door, you leaned against it, the sobs finally making their way out. Years of loving him longingly and you finally had your chance. Only to have it ripped away by fate. Your heart ached for what could have been, what you only got a taste of as you carried yourself to your bedroom.

The first letter came a few weeks later.

Dear Y/N,

I was right about it being ‘Hawkins the Hellhole.’ The town is bigger than Coastalside, but somehow there’s still nothing to do for fun. It’s so cold here and it’s only October. The lake is just a puddle of brown sludge and it has nothing on my crystal blue ocean. I miss it.

I miss you. I know I should have told you a long time ago, but I’ve really liked you for years. I was a jerk of kid, I know. Even more of an ass when we grew up. An arrogant little shit. But you still showed me kindness. Like you knew something about me that I didn’t know about myself. I hope that’s how you feel anyway. I don’t know if I love you. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt that. But I think this might be it.

Write me soon. Your Virgin Mary and I are looking forward to hearing from you, no matter if you feel the same way or not.

Lovingly,

Your soldier, Billy

You laid in bed, reading and re-reading the letter for hours. It was as if your mind was unable to process the words he had very clearly laid out for you.

“I think this might be it.” No way. No way was the king of Coastalside thinking this might be love that he was feeling for you. It all felt too surreal.

“Hey, hon,” your mother leaned against the frame of your open door. “You gonna be joining us for dinner?”

Without looking up from the page, you replied with a simple “no.”

“Who’s the letter from?” she asked.

“Billy,” your eyes continued to keep their focus on the sheet of paper.

“Hargrove? I heard he moved away.” Of course, she did. Coastalside was so small that everyone knew. “I didn’t know you were that close.”

“We weren’t really until he left.”

“Maybe it’s better that he did, you know? He was such a rough kid, and you don’t get mixed up in that. I think this is a good chance to cut your losses and you’re so young. There’ll be more guys.”

Saying nothing, you dropped the paper onto your nightstand and rolled over to face away from her. She took the hint and left, closing the door on her way out.

‘She’s wrong,’ you thought. Billy is so much more than she thinks he is. He was sweet and kind. When he wanted to be, anyway. Other times, he was an ass who beat up anyone who looked at him the wrong way.

No matter what her mother thought, you knew in your heart that you felt the same way as he confessed in his letter.

You refolded the letter and tucked it back into its envelope. You pulled a fresh sheet out of your desk drawer and wrote.

#Billy Hargrove #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove stranger things #billy hargrove imagine #billy hargrove smut #billy hargrove angst #stranger things #stranger things imagine #dacre montgomery #dacre montgomery imagine

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let-it-raines · 5 years ago

Text

Catch Me If You Can (21/?)

298 days. That’s how long Killian Jones was away from a baseball field. It’s less than a year, only part of a season for him, but it might as well have lasted a decade as he alternated between physical therapy and spending an excessive amount of time sitting on his couch.

But then he came back and won the World Series.

It’s something no one saw coming, and it’s certainly not something anyone who knows about his arm would predict. Now it’s a new season with new possibilities, and anything could happen. On-field reporter Emma Swan will be there to cover it all even if she is not his biggest fan right now.

Asking her out live on-air will do that.

Rating: Mature

a/n: I technically don’t have a horse in the race for the World Series that’s currently happening (tonight could be the last game 🙀), but since this lil’ universe exists because of @wellhellotragic, I’ll be pulling for the Astros to actually win a game at home!

@resident-of-storybrooke remains the best for reading these words, which include some more meeting of the fam jams!

Found on AO3: Beginning | Current

Tumblr: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 |15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 |

Tag list: @eala-captian @galaxyzxstark @xellewoods @mariakov81 @ultraluckycatnd @royalswan @shey-starsfury @superchocovian @sals86 @iam2307 @ashley-knightingale @karenfrommisthaven @scientificapricot @captswanis4vr @ultimiflos @jamif @idristardis @nikkiemms @resident-of-storybrooke @tiganasummertree @bmbbcs4evr @onceuponaprincessworld @jennjenn615 @mayquita @captainsjedi @teamhook @notoriouscs @kmomof4 @ekr032-blog-blog@cs-forlife @andiirivera @jonirobinson64 @qualitycoffeethings @youraverageshipper

-/-

New York City in the summer is both the best and the worst.

There are approximately a million things to do, which is pretty much always true for this city, but things seem to multiply this time of year compared to any other time. Well, maybe besides around Christmas, but then every street is so full of tourists that Emma can’t do anything for fear of losing her temper and yelling at a middle-aged couple simple trying to enjoy their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary trip.

Bah-humbug.

And as much as Emma likes the way she can wear her jeans with a cozy sweater and coat draped over her with a warm beanie covering her ears, summertime is pretty much the prime time for her with so many baseball games happening and with the US Open coming around at the end of August. But it is decidedly not the end of August since it’s more like the end of July, and all she feels right now is like a big puddle that’s ready to melt whenever she walks outside. Also, that she smells like garbage, but that’s more likely the city than her considering she showered this morning and used vanilla body wash that she can smell on herself.

As well as sunscreen.

And sweat. There is definitely some sweat involved despite the fact she is only wearing a pair of shorts and a tank top with a hell of a lot of deodorant. She literally has deodorant in her backpack next to her laptop and notebook full of stat sheets.

Her hair is really gross too despite the braid it’s in, and the game hasn’t even started. It’s going to be a long day. For a multitude of reasons.

David, Mary Margaret, and Leo walking toward her in the hallway is near the top of that list.

“Emma,” Leo gasps when he sees her, quickly running toward her and leaving his parents behind in the dust. He’s got on a Captain America shirt and the signed Killian Jones hat gracing the top of his head. They didn’t explicitly tell Leo that she and Killian are dating – kids being kids and not being able to keep secrets and all that – but he pretty much knows. And he’s definitely going to after this.

“Hi, bud,” she laughs, squatting down the slightest bit (he’s getting too tall) to wrap him up in a hug that she knows is far too tight. “Long time no see.”

“I saw you for dinner last night.”

“That is too long.”

“You’re clingy,” Leo scoffs before pulling back from her hug to look at her with those furrowed little brows of his.

“Clingy? Who taught you that word?”

“Mom said that about dad.”

“Hey,” Mary Margaret huffs, sliding her arm around Emma in greeting, “don’t be telling tales.”

“It’s true.”

“I’m clingy?” David questions, his forehead wrinkling when he raises his brows. “Since when am I clingy?”

“That’s a conversation for another time.”

“But I – ”

“Okay,” Emma claps, breaking up the argument that is very inevitably about to happen no matter how small it’s going to be, “so I’m going to show you guys to your suite before I have to go out onto the field for a bit.”

“Emma, I know my way around the stadium,” David grumbles like he always does when there is any implication that he does not know absolutely everything that he needs to know, but then he’s kissing her cheek in greeting and gently patting her back in that David way of letting her know that he’s teasing even when she already knows this. It’s, like, a whole full circle thing. “Why is it that you are taking us to a suite today instead of us just sitting in my seats?”

The scorecard keeps ticking higher on David mentioning his investment in baseball by mentioning his season-ticket seats, but honestly, she can’t even say anything.

“Because,” Emma sighs, wrapping her arm around Leo’s shoulder and pulling him forward, “you are a workaholic who needed to get out of the office and spend some time with your family, and I made some special arrangements for that. Also, it’s crazy hot outside today, and the suites have air-conditioning.”

They’re in one of the first suites that Emma comes to, and she unwraps her arm from Leo’s shoulder to flash her badge at one of the security guards in charge of the player family suites before a door is opened for them to go inside. Liam, Elsa, Anna, and Kris are already inside sitting down on the couches that are in front of the TV monitor, and Addy and Lucy are watching something on an iPad, pink headphones covering their ears.

“Emma, are those?” Mary Margaret asks, trailing off at the end.

“Yep, that’s Killian’s family.”

“But we haven’t even met Killian yet.”

“Oh,” Emma sighs, smiling a bit to herself at them reacting to this exactly the way that she knew that they would, “I know. He’ll be up here when he finishes with the game though, okay? I’m feeding him to the lion’s den while I’m working, but he’s going to take us all to dinner afterwards so that you guys can do your creepy interrogation like Liam did to me.”

“He did what now?” David fumes, reaching forward to gently grab her elbow while Liam himself turns around, finally spotting they they’ve entered the room.

Emma can’t help but roll her eyes while her stomach does that twisting thing that is pretty much becoming its trademark. All of these people are ridiculous. “It’s fine, David. It was a joke. But seriously. I might be in and out depending on how the game goes, but Killian is going to come up here after he finishes his cool down, and afterwards, we’re going out to dinner.”

“How is that going to work if you guys are keeping things quiet?”

Emma shrugs her shoulders, a little bit of nervous energy washing over her. It’s something she and Killian have talked about a lot in the past week now that everyone important knows about everything important, and while they’re still figuring things out, they’ve decided that it’s probably safe to go somewhere low key for dinner as long as they’re in a group. Maybe eventually they’ll be able to go to dinner with just the two of them without Emma looking over her shoulder. It’s not like Killian is Brad Pitt or anything, but her worries of being spotted are legitimate. She’s in a very happy little bubble right now, and even though a bit of it has been burst, it’s still holding strong.

She deserves this. Killian does too.

“We’ve got it figured out,” she tells David before walking toward Liam and greeting him with a hug and doing the same with everyone else. Killian’s family are a bunch of huggers, even for people they don’t know very well, and that’s something she’s figured out very quickly. “Okay, so I’m about to do some quick introductions, so everyone brace yourself.”

“David Nolan,” David interrupts, reaching forward to shake Liam’s hand in what Emma can tell is a far too hard handshake to show off some kind of weird masculine authority. “It’s nice to meet you – ”

“Liam Jones. And this is my wife Elsa, her sister Anna, and Anna’s husband Kris. The two munchkins ignoring us are my daughter’s Addison and Lucy, and I bet they will be great friends with your son.”

“How old are they?” Leo asks. “Because I don’t want to be friends with anyone younger than four.”

Elsa actually snorts while Mary Margaret’s intake of breath might as well be a sign that death is coming with how dramatic it was.

“Leo,” Mary Margaret admonishes, “that is not very nice. You should apologize.”

Elsa stops laughing to wave Mary Margaret away, a kind smile on her face. “It’s fine, I promise. I get it. The girls do stuff like that all of the time, and luckily for Leo, they are both a little bit older than that. Plus, Addy really likes Captain America too.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, why don’t you go over there and talk to her?”

Leo smiles and nods his head before sprinting over to the girls, plopping down on the couch hard enough that Addy and Lucy might as well bounce off of it.

“I’m really sorry about that,” Mary Margaret says again. “He was stuck with me working with a bunch of younger kids the other day, and I think that’s scarred him.”

“It really is fine,” Elsa smiles. “At least he’s a kid and there’s a bit of an excuse. Anna here sometimes says things like that, and she’s an adult.”

“Only technically,” Anna laughs.

“This is true,” Kris adds in.

“Hey, you’re not supposed to talk about me like that.”

“What? It’s true. It’s how you are. You have the enthusiasm of a kid with a bag of skittles. It’s wonderful.”

“Yeah, but you guys aren’t supposed to say things like that when we’re trying to make a good impression with Emma’s family. We’re supposed to look normal.”

It’s Emma’s turn to snort and shake her head before reaching forward to squeeze Anna’s forearm. “There’s no such thing as normal, which I’m sure you guys will realize as soon as I leave you all here to make some awkward small talk.”

“There isn’t going to be anything awkward about it,” Kris smiles before bumping his hip into Anna’s, “unless Anna keeps talking.”

“You are something else today.”

“You guys are all something else,” Emma laughs, hoping to everything that this is going to go well. This isn’t something she’s ever really had to do before, and it’s kind of terrifying. “But I trust that you can all get along with your spouses, since that seems to be a problem today, and each other. Now I’m going to go sweat my ass off outside, but you guys have a good time up here. And if they bring in those cheeseburger sliders, save me some.”

With that, she turns to walk out the door, knowing she doesn’t have time to go through proper goodbyes with all of them (she’d be there forever), and quickly makes her way to the elevator so that she can get to the tunnels that are going to take her out to the dugout. She always loves the days where she gets to spend some time in there, to really get a behind the scenes feel at it all, and while she’s a bit wary of some of the players now, she knows that it’s all going to be fine.

This is a game, but it’s also a job.

Al nods his head at her when she pushes open the door and walks toward her designated spot at the end with the water cooler and bat racks. August and Lance greet her, the rest of the guys sitting around ignoring her, and she’s thankful when she finds Jeff already in his seat.

“Hey,” he mumbles, his legs shaking up and down.

“Hey, why do you look nervous?”

“I’m fucking hot.”

Emma laughs and takes her seat next to him, and Jeff hands her the microphone pack and her earpiece, which she immediately turns on even though she knows Ruby is probably about to bombard her with questions.

“We can go inside for a bit when the first inning is over. I don’t plan on being out here the entire time.”

“Thank you.”

Emma knocks her knee into Jeff’sJeff’s,but he ignores her and turns his head to look out at the field. He’s always such a character.

“So,” Ruby teases, her voice breaking through the static, “how did the meeting go?”

“Fine. I bolted pretty quick, though. Also, Rubes, we can’t really talk about this stuff while I’m working.”

“Why not – oh, wait, never mind. I got you. There are a lot of people around who can hear you.”

“Yep,” Emma sighs, shaking her head a bit, “so tell me what kind of coverage you want me to get for this game. Jeff and I are already dying of heat.”

“Fine,” Ruby grumbles, and Emma can practically imagine the roll of her eyes, “I guess I will give you instructions for your job instead of gossiping about your life.”

-/-

Killian only pitches three innings, and while it’s a bit unusual, Emma doesn’t think anything of it. They’ve got their first road game in Boston next week, and she imagines Al doesn’t want anything to happen to Killian’s arm. And there’s no reason for him to overexert himself when they’re so easily winning and have already got this series in the bag no matter what happens the rest of the afternoon.

Plus, he winks at her when she finishes doing a quick interview with him after he’s pulled from the game, and the smile on his face tells her everything that she needs to know about how good he’s feeling.

She hopes that he feels that way after he goes upstairs and meets most everyone.

They probably should have eased everyone into it, but honestly, she thinks Killian will be more comfortable with his family around.

“Are you going to make me do one of those Instagram filters again today?” Will questions, as he plops down on the bench next to her, tilting the water cup back and drinking it down in one gulp. “Or am I playing twenty questions? Do you want to talk about my wedding? Or maybe even the game?”

“Shut up, asshole,” Emma laughs before reaching up to fan her face and wipe the sweat from her brow. “You’re the worst.”

“Um, actually, I believe you quite like me.”

“That’s debatable.”

Will hums as there’s some shuffling in front of them with Arthur King reaching around Emma to get his bat and helmet. Anxious shivers run down her spine when she sees him now, and her entire body stiffens until there’s a gentle pressure on her forearm from where Will is squeezing it.

“Hey,” he whispers, dipping his head down to look up at her, his goofy grin replaced with a soft smile that she usually doesn’t see with him, “you okay?”

She nods her head, wishing that her stomach wasn’t twisting like this. “I’m fine.”

“He’s not going to say shit like that again, Emma,” Will promises as his hand squeezes her arm again. “You are a member of this team, just like me and Killian and Rob, and we’ve got your back no matter what happens. I don’t let people talk shit about anyone but especially my friends.”

“Are we friends now?”

“Jones told me that we had to be.”

Emma scoffs and rolls her eyes, but she still knocks her knee into Will’s, a smile curving at the corner of her lips. Who knew that Will Scarlet was going to be so in her corner this early on? Or at all.

“Thanks. I’ll let you pick the filter you use the next time I do Instagram stuff simply because of that.”

“Sounds like music to my ears.”

-/-

Emma doesn’t get any chances to go back up to the suite during the game, but afterwards, when she’s wrapped up all of her work stuff and told Jeff goodbye, she finds herself walking through the suite doors only to find Killian standing at the counter wrapping sliders in a paper towel while talking to David.

Should she focus on the fact that she knows that Killian’s wrapping those up for her even though she asked everyone else to do it or the fact that Killian is talking to David?

Probably both.

“Hey,” she says slowly, stepping up to the two of them so that they both glance over at her, small smiles gracing both of their lips. Okay, good, that’s a good sign. “How are things going?”

“Just dandy,” Killian tells her, lifting his arm so that she can step into his space and press up on her toes to kiss his cheek. “Dave is telling me about how he makes me look good on TV.”

“Dave?” she questions, and all Killian does in response is brush a kiss over the hair at the crown of her head.

“That is not exactly what I was saying,” David clarifies. “Killian asked me about work, and I explained it to him. Him thinking that he needs help to look good is all on him.”

“I mean, I get it. I help him look good every week when I could very easily make him look awful.”

“You are so kind to me, darling.”

“I know.”

Killian smiles down at her in that way that makes her heart stutter and her breath hitch, and there are so many emotions flying through her right now that she’s not entirely sure what to feel. There are also a million questions she’s going to have to gulp down, and Emma already knows that she’s going to have to ask Mary Margaret or Elsa for all of the details how everything went.

She really, really, really wants Killian and David to get along. That’s, like, everything to her even if she didn’t realize it when this whole thing started. Ruth and Mary Margaret will like anyone who is nice to her, but David has seen so much of the shit that’s happened in her life that he’s a little bit more particular.

Okay, a lot.

“Are these sliders for me?” she asks even though she already knows the answer.

“Aye. I figured you’d want something to eat on the way to the restaurant since I didn’t see you eat during the game. Were you avoiding it so as not to get on camera again?”

“Kind of. It was also too damn hot to eat.”

Killian’s lips tick up on the right, his brow arching high on his head, and she knows that there’s a dirty joke rumbling around in there. It must be hard for him not to be able to say it, but they are most definitely not at a comfort level where he can talk about having sex with her in front of David. In fact, it’s probably best if they never get to that comfort level.

“Dad,” Leo groans as he walks over to the them, “Mom said to ask you when we can go eat.”

“I think we can go now since Emma’s all finished with work.”

“Thank goodness. I thought I was going to starve to death.”

“You know, kid,” Killian laughs, dropping his arm from around Emma’s shoulder, “you sound a lot like your aunt.”

What can she say? She and Leo like to eat.

They go to a low-key pizza place six blocks over from Liam and Elsa’s townhome. All of them are so spread out in different boroughs of the city that it’s pretty much impossible to meet in the middle, but Liam suggested the place since he knows that it’s quiet and that the girls like it a lot. Emma’s honestly pretty nervous walking inside, Killian following right behind her with his hand ghosting over the small of her back. It’s odd to have been dating someone for this much time and never really been out with them, but this relationship is never going to fall into the category of ordinary anyways. It’s always going to be a little off and a little funky, and that’s fine with her because it works. She’s never been one to need to be wined and dined anyways.

And maybe she’s also nervous because of the fear that someone is going to see them and that connections are going to be made, but Elsa quickly talks to the hostess and has them moved to a large corner booth in the back that no one else in the restaurant can really see. Bless Elsa. Honestly and truly. Emma knew she would be great for how Killian always talked about her, but Emma had no idea that she was going to so quickly hit it off with the woman so that they almost feel like friends now too.

It’s been a week since they met, but everything goes so naturally that it feels like so much longer.

This isn’t her or her life or the way things usually go. Emma doesn’t just make friends with people she meets and doesn’t integrate her life with others. The only constant friend she’s had over the past six years that isn’t somehow quasi-related to her is Ruby – toss Graham in there too – and if it wasn’t for Ruby pretty much demanding that she and Emma get along, Emma would probably still think of the woman as just her producer.

How different life would be.

So Emma is definitely not the type of person to have multiple people texting her throughout the day or asking about plans, knowing and understanding that the rigorous game scheduling makes those plans kind of difficult to make. But here she is at a table with ten other people where the conversation is easily flowing from subject to subject because all of these people are making an effort to get along for she and Killian.

She’s got some pretty awesome people around her, the man whose hand keeps inching up on her inner thigh included.

Emma twists her head to look at Killian and tell him to stop teasing her by squeezing her thigh, but instead of seeing the smirk she was expecting, his free hand reaches up to cover his mouth as he yawns.

“Are you tired?”

Killian nods as he keeps yawning, small tears escaping the corners of his eyes, and when the yawn finishes, he has to keep blinking the tears away. “Exhausted. I could go for an entire vat of caffeine.”

“Or get an IV of coffee in your arm.”

“What?” he questions, very obviously not getting her reference.

“Gilmore Girls reference, twenty-nine,” Emma sighs, patting his hand on her thigh. “Gilmore Girls. I know we’ve talked about it before. You should watch it when you have time. It’s, like, a peak early 2000’s show. But you can skip the last season.”

“I’ll keep that in mind when I inevitably forget about this conversation and the show.”

“Do you need to go home? We can leave whenever.”

“No,” Killian promises even though he yawns when he says it, “I’m good for a little while longer.”

“Is it past your bedtime?” Lucy asks quietly from her seat next to Emma.

“Do you think your uncle goes to bed before you, sweetie?”

“He looks sleepy. Do you want my pizza?”

Emma’s not exactly sure where the correlation is there, but that’s kind of how kids are. It’s much more entertaining than talking to adults sometimes.

“No, Luce,” Killian promises, leaning over Emma to talk to her, “I don’t want your pizza, but thank you. That’s very sweet. I think it’s past your bedtime though.”

“It’s not Lucy’s bedtime for another hour,” Addy helpfully adds in, much to the amusement of everyone else. “Mine isn’t until eight because I’m older.”

“Mine is at nine,” Leo says.

“I wish I could go to bed that early,” Elsa sighs as she reaches down to pick up her glass of water. “You guys don’t know how good you’ve got it sleeping that much.”

“I don’t like to sleep,” Addy laughs.

“Me either,” Leo says back to Addy, giving her a high five.

Mary Margaret is probably already planning their wedding or something ridiculous like that for how much fun they seem to be having. Actually, Mary Margaret is probably planning hypothetical weddings for several people at this table, but that is not something Emma is going to start thinking about. Nope. Not anywhere near to even being close to being ready and the little thoughts need to chill the hell out. So, if Mary Margaret is going to plan creepy hypothetical weddings, it can be her son’s.

They’ll probably have Captain America-themed plates with baseball hats and stuffed animals from the zoo lining the aisle.

Okay, now Emma is the crazy one.

Maybe she’s a little tired too.

“So, Killian,” David starts, very obviously changing the subject, “I mean to ask earlier, but why did Al pull you out of the game so early?”

Killian’s hand squeezes her thigh, nails digging into the skin a bit roughly, but then he’s letting out a breath and releasing her thigh so that he can scratch at his jaw. “Ah, preservation for the Sox series. Nothing to worry about. I wasn’t feeling top notch, and it’s better not to risk it, you know?”

“That makes sense. I feel like I spend so much time simply making sure things run smoothly on camera that I never get to actually pay attention to the game, so today was nice.”

“See,” Emma huffs, looking between the two of them and pushing down that little feeling of worry over Killian not feeling well today. It was probably just the heat. “I told you that it would be nice. You got all defensive about sitting in the suite.”

“To be fair, I had no idea we would be meeting Killian’s family today.”

“Yeah, hon,” Mary Margaret sighs before picking up a slice of pizza and taking a bite, “we were blindsided a bit, and apparently everyone else already knew.”

“I didn’t want you to prepare questions or some kind of actual interrogation or something else ridiculous beforehand. You have a tendency to be a little too much on the friendly scale.”

“I do not.”

“You totally do.”

“How?”

“Marg,” Emma laughs, “you probably would have been like Ariel and tried planning a vacation for all of us before you even shook Liam’s hand.”

“I would not have.”

“I bet if I looked at your phone right now there would be flights pulled up to Aspen or something.”

Mary Margaret narrows her eyes at Emma, but then Anna is clapping her hands together and making everyone look at her. “Oh, I just love this too much! I think a group vacation would be the most fun.”

Everyone starts laughing, and Killian picks up his bottle of beer to tilt at Anna. “Emma was right when she said that you and Mary Margaret get along swimmingly. It’s uncanny, actually, how similar you are.”

“Friendly people make friends, little brother.”

“Liam, I don’t know how many times I have to say that there is nothing little about me. Ask Emma.”

“Oh my God,” Emma gasps, reaching back to slap his chest, “no. We are not talking about that. You’re an idiot. There are children here.”

“To be fair,” Kris starts, and everyone turns to him, “they got here by the either little or not-so-little attachments we’re alluding to.”

Nothing like alluding to dicks to make a group of people come together.

Okay, that thought could be taken a lot dirtier than Emma intended, so it’s a good thing she’s not thinking out loud.

They all quietly leave the restaurant half an hour later, the conversation and laughter not at all slowing down for the rest of the time there. Maybe it was the bit of alcohol that most everyone had or maybe it was simply hitting a stride in conversation, but it doesn’t really matter. All Emma knows is that her stomach hurts from laughing and she’s got this smile on her face that she hopes stays for awhilea while.

“Today was nice,” Mary Margaret sighs as the two of them stand outside the restaurant while David and Killian settle the bill inside. “I like Killian a lot. I really like that he makes you smile.”

Emma blushes, and her smile increases despite her best efforts not to let it. Who in the world is this woman who is smiling all of the time? This is not her. But maybe it is now.

“You are such a mom, Marg.”

“Literally I am.”

“You know what I mean, though.”

“I do, I do,” she sighs, wrapping her arm around Leo’s waist and pulling him closer so that he doesn’t wander off the sidewalk and into the street. “But you’re basically my first baby even though this one came so close after I met you. All I want is for you to be happy, and that man makes you happy.”

“Yeah, he does.”

“Emma,” Leo asks, looking up at her as the restaurant doors open behind him, “can I meet Will Scarlet now too?”

“We’ll see, kid,” Emma laughs. “We’ll see.”

“You ready to go, love?”

Killian walks over to her and moves to wrap his arm around her shoulder before stopping himself, eyes glancing to the few people around them, and Emma’s heart sinks at that. But she knows that this is for the best, and Killian not being able to wrap his arm around her shoulder when they’re about to get in the car isn’t that big of a deal. It’s really not a deal at all, and Emma pushes down her worries so that she can look up at Killian and smile.

“Yeah, I’m ready.”

The two of them say their goodbyes to everyone else before walking two blocks over to find Killian’s car where it’s parked, Killian opening her door for her even when she insists that she do it herself so that Emma can quickly slide into the passenger’s seat.

“You and David took a million years to pay.”

“Did we?” Killian hums, very pointedly taking a little too long inspecting the gearshift.

“You did. Did he go all big-brother on you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Swan.”

“You, Killian Jones,” Emma scoffs as Killian pulls out of the parking spot and onto the street, “are a liar.”

“And obviously not a very good one either.”

Emma sighs as Killian twists his head and winks at her, a mischievous smile painted on his lips. “What did David ask you?”

“About my intentions with you.”

Groaning, she sinks down further on the leather seat, wondering if it’s acceptable to unbutton her shorts because she’s eaten pizza and cheeseburger sliders in the past three hours and has food babies inside of her stomach. Multiple. That’s how much she has eaten.

“Seriously?”

“Yep,” Killian laughs, turning the blinker on before reaching over to grab her hand and bring her knuckles to his lips to brush a kiss there, the charmer.

“What’d you tell him?”

“That I love you and am very much in this for the long haul as long as you’ll have me. Now do you want to go to your place or mine?”

“Mine,” Emma tells him as her heart stutters in her chest at his words and all of the implications behind them. “Let’s go to my place.”

#catch me if you can #cs fic #cs ff #captain swan fic #captain swan

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areiton · 5 years ago

Text

broken open shell

Written for @badthingshappenbingo, for the Reopening an Old Wound square.

Warning: unhealthy mental state, brief suicidal ideation. Also, because I’m horrible, I reopened physical and mental wounds. Sorry, Sam.

Read on AO3 | Follow the Series

~*~

When the Winter Soldier rips him from the sky, it rips open something in him.

He doesn’t realize it, not then, not for weeks, months, later, when he’s shaking on a balcony in Minsk, bile bitter on his tongue and screams echoing in his ears.

He feels like he’s falling, still.

He feels like he’s been falling, since Riley died and he screamed and did nothing to stop it.

He shakes and smokes, and can feel eyes on him, in the darkness.

Sam flicks the cigarette into the empty dark, and flips the Winter Soldier the bird and goes back to his cold empty bed to wait until morning.

~*~

The truth that Sam doesn’t like to think about, that he avoids except when the silence is too loud to ignore--is he’s broken.

He does the peer counseling that the VA expects of him, talks a damn good game--but watching Riley die shattered him, scooped out the best parts of him and left him a broken open shell. He can’t help people, not really--can only talk a damn good game and hope that no one is hurt in the process.

Steve doesn’t see through him--he thinks maybe because Steve is the best man he knows, will ever know. He doesn’t think to look for the cracks in Sam.

Maybe, though, it’s because Steve is so busy hiding the shattered webbing of his own self together.

Either way--he doesn’t see.

He sees the VA counselor, the war hero, the friend who lived and picked up the baggage, who came through the other side.

Sam thinks--that’s not what happened.

What happened is--he went through something.

He’s still going through it. There is no getting over something, someone, like Riley. There is only learning to live with what happened.

He thinks, sometimes, Barnes maybe understands that.

~*~

He chases the Soldier.

He chases the Ghost

He tells himself, he’s chasing Steve’s past and not running from his own.

~*~

In Bangkok, he catches sight of a metal arm, gleaming in the neon bright darkness.

In Tokyo, he screams himself awake three nights straight.

In Helsinki, he finds chocolates on the pillow next to his.

In Rio, he finds a note when he comes back from running along the water for hours, when he’s run so long and far that he can’t hear anything but the thud of his own heart--not his wings shredding or Riley’s or the screams that never quite go silent.

~*~

Sam doesn’t tell Steve about the Soldier’s little gifts, the way he can count on the warm weight of his gaze on nights when sleep won’t come and concerned, rude notes telling him to fucking eat because he ain’t actually a bird.

He doesn’t tell him about the nightmares, either, about the way he feels raw and exposed and one bad night away from imploding, a dangerous vulnerability he hasn’t felt since he first got home, when his baby sister sat in his bedroom every night for a month before she trusted him alone.

He doesn’t tell Steve anything.

It’s easier, he thinks.

~*~

“I’m not special,” he tells the night, the Soldier, where he waits in the silence, “All of us from the Sandbox--we’re walking wounded, and no one sees it. I ain’t special--I should be able to live with this.”

He doesn’t say that he isn’t.

He doesn’t have to.

~*~

The thing is.

The thing is--everyone sees the smile and they believe it. They see Steve’s strength and believe it. They see Nat’s cool calm and believe it.

They see the surface and it’s so damn easy to believe--and anything else, it’s hard.

Sam cleans his gun and wonders what he’d do, if someone saw him.

~*~

It goes to hell in Tripoli. He’s exhausted, and probably had too much to drink, and has no actual idea where the fuck the Soldier is, and less desire to find out. He’s chasing a lead from Nat that he doesn’t think will turn up shit. Winter went to ground back in Oran and Sam doesn’t have much faith that he’s going to turn up this close to the last Hydra base he burnt out.

Then he gets shot.

As he goes down in a rush of burning metal and spinning blue sky and scarlet blood, he thinks--this isn’t how it’s supposed to end.

~*~

He wakes up in pain, screaming, and a leather clad hand is pressed against his mouth, silencing him. It’s bloody and Sam would gag, if he weren’t in so much fucking pain. He can see the cloud spotted sky above and shaggy hair and eyes.

It’s the first time he’s seen Winter close enough to see the exact shade of his eyes, and he’s absurdly glad that if he’s going to die, he got to see those ice storm gray eyes first.

“You’re not gonna die,” Winter says, and Sam almost laughs at how petulant he sounds, before the pain rips through him again and he blacks out.

~*~

The bed is hard.

It’s lumpy and smells like mold and vomit, and it’s disturbing just how reassuring the discomfort is.

He squirms and a metal hand clamps down on his hip, holding him still. “You’ll rip your stitches,” Winter rumbles.

“Gonna get an infection from this damn bed,” Sam says, and Winter huffs. He watches the Soldier move through the room, cleaning up the bandages and blood soaked towels, shoving them in a bag. He moves with a brisk efficiency, but Sam gets the feeling that even when the Soldier isn’t focused on him--his attention never does leave Sam.

It’s disconcerting and reassuring, all at once, and he feels like they’re in a nameless city, separated by darkness, Sam on the balcony smoking, Winter watching through his scope.

It’s a familiar feeling.

“What happened?” Sam asks, eventually.

“You were shot,” Winter says. “Through and through, shoulder. I cleaned and stitched you up.”

“Who shot me?”

“Hydra,” Winter says, simply. Then, “They’re dead now.”

Sam blinks.

Blinks again.

“You killed them?”

Winter gives him a curious, almost blank stare. “Yes. They shot you.”

“Bucky--” Sam starts and Winter skitters back a step. Wary distrust crosses his face, and he dumps a bag on the nasty bed next to Sam.

Then, without a word, he’s gone.

~*~

The flop house Winter was using as a safe house is infested with roaches and rats, and Sam is close enough to suicidal to be worried about himself--but not so close he’ll stay. He calls Natasha for an extract and gets ready to deal with Steve’s worried questions.

~*~

He can always tell when he’s close to Winter, because the air feels thicker--heavier, occupied, like they’re sharing space even when they aren’t together.

He misses that feeling, in DC, in his little house that never felt like home, and he misses it when he lets his demons chase him from there to his Mama’s in Harlem.

It’s safer there, and she feeds him up real good too, and he feels as close to whole as he has since before Riley fell, when he finally gets word that the Soldier raided a Hydra safe house in Paris, and he hops on a plane to France.

~*~

He doesn’t scream, on the passenger jet filled with newlyweds and tourists.

He does go to the bathroom and have a panic attack so bad he loses a little bit of time, somewhere over the Atlantic, wrapped up in the fear of falling, and the fear that maybe this time, he won’t fall.

~*~

He chases the Soldier.

He chases the Ghost.

He chases BarnesJamesBucky.

He chases because he doesn’t know how to stop or what he’ll do when he does.

~*~

In Capetown, he gets into a scuffle with Crossbones and his crew, and it rips open the still healing bullet. Not so bad that it takes Sam out of the fight, but enough that Rumlow punches him twice and is going for a third when a metal hand clamps down on his wrist.

Winter shoots Crossbones’ men without ever looking at Sam or Rumlow, then drags his gaze, cold and remote behind his mask, to Rumlow.

“Don’t,” Sam chokes, when the muzzle, hot enough that Rumlow flinches back, presses against his temple.

Ice storm eyes tip toward him, and he huffs.

He shoots out Rumlow’s knees, and then hefts Sam to his feet, dragging him god knows where.

“I got a hotel,” Sam interjects.

Winter hesitates, and Sam huffs. “You aren’t takin’ me to one of your crack house flops, Barnes, I will bleed out in the street first.”

Winter growls, but obediently turns them toward the hotel Sam’s been staying in.

~*~

Winter is surprisingly gentle as he strips Sam out of his shirt and prods the bullet hole that’s bleeding, a sluggish ooze.

“Man, that’s gross,” Sam grumbles. “Wash your damn hands.”

He does, obediently, and then comes back, almost straddling Sam as he readies a needle and thread to stitch him closed.

Sam tips his head back, not willing to watch. The sick stab and tug is bad enough, watching would make him puke all over Winter’s tac gear.

“Why’d you step in?” Sam asks, because he can’t handle the sensation of Winter warm in his lap and the stomach turning nausea of the needle in his skin, and he’s tired enough that it slips out.

Things like this are saved for the silent empty spaces of night and never answered.

“They hurt you,” Winter says, and his eyes flick to Sam’s for a moment. “I don’t like people touching what’s mine.”

Sam turns that in his head and Winter finishes stitching him up.

~*~

He puts his hands on Winter’s waist, when he finishes. Holds him there, and Winter--he lets him.

“Am I yours?” Sam asks.

The thing is--

He’s broken.

A shattered thing scraped raw by war and death and almost dying.

He isn’t safe for anyone, not even himself.

And no one, no one sees the walking wounded, no one sees the ripped up parts of him, no one sees him bleeding out.

Winter--Winter sees him.

Maybe because Winter is just as shattered, just as broken, just as damaged and dangerous. More so, after the shit he’s lived through.

They aren’t good for each other, aren’t healthy or whole .

But Winter is warm and solid and he licks Sam's cock and groans when Sam tugs on his hair, he’s gentle when he fingers Sam open, and smiles when Sam snarls and fucks down on his fingers, and when Sam rides him, his hands are big and hot and protective on his skin.

He sees himself, all the fractured sharp edges and bleeding wounds, reflected in Winter’s eyes, and he sobs, a little, when he comes, and Winter licks away his tears.

~*~

He wakes up screaming, caught in blankets and falling from the sky and Riley shattered on the desert floor.

He wakes up alone, screaming, in sheets that smell like sex, and come sticky on his ass and thighs.

He closes his eyes and breathes.

Steps out on the balcony, into the sights of an assassin, a cigarette dangling from his lips and smokes, and wonders how broken it makes him, that he feels safe in Winter’s crosshairs.

#sambucky #moth prompt #badthingshappenbingo #winterfalcon #falcon & winter solider #sambucky fic #this is sad i sorry

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shadowofmytime · 5 years ago

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>> some of my absolute favorites ! like and reblog if you save and enjoy ! happy reading and give some kudos to these amazing writers ! always feel free to send me some of your favorites ! ! <<

>> There is a bit so for your convenience they are in alphabetical order ! The ‘s’s are some of my all-time favorites ! ! <<

>> min yoongi x park jimin <<

All the seasons of your love - 5k+ [college au]

The movement in the library was still slow in the first week, so Yoongi could easily remember the few people who came by. That's why he pays so much attention to a certain dark-haired freshman who walks in on a Wednesday afternoon - or at least that's what he tells himself. He goes over to the front counter and asks Yoongi for directions to the Economy 101 session and, God, his voice is as sweet as his eye-smile.

Or how librarian Yoongi fell head over heels for cute freshman Park Jimin who, unfortunately, was very much straight - or so Yoongi thought.

Bon Voyage - 47.9+ [tourist! au]

Yoongi was meant to be taking the trip of a lifetime with his boyfriend. But now he's in Paris, alone and miserable. That is until he collides - quite literally - with one Park Jimin.

Boys who talk shit - 26k+ [college au]

When Yoongi enrolled in BTS (aka Boys who Talk Shit) Boarding School, he wasn't really expecting to be the only 'straight' (to be read sarcastically) guy in a room of seven geniuses (aka children aged five to ten, honestly). Plus four pet spiders. Yes, plural.

Chaotic episodes in A Place of Love and War, where Yoongi learns all about True Love via Park Jimin, Music and Marriage. Sort of. Brain bleach and earplugs are strongly recommended.

Conflicting arrangement - 162k+ [fake boyfriend au]

"Absolutely not," Yoongi deadpanned. "Namjoon-ah. I value you as a friend, and I think I'd even go as far as to say that you're my best friend, but absolutely fucking not."

"You owe me," Namjoon pleaded. "Come on, Yoongi, it's not a big deal."

"Your boyfriend's best friend's best friend needs a fake boyfriend to come out to his family this Chuseok, all the way in fucking Busan," Yoongi repeated drily without pause, making Namjoon wince. He flipped a page of his textbook, picking up his highlighter. "Not a big deal, Namjoon. Amazing."

Cotton Candy - 240k [high school rock band]

"He could get used to sitting next to Yoongi like this. To have him around. To have the band around. To smile and feel happy. To see Yoongi sitting in front of an instrument and having him play just for him.

'If this was my happy ending,' Jimin thinks, resisting the urge to lean his head on Yoongi's shoulder, 'if I wasn't who I am, I'd just let you have me whenever you want. You could have me anytime.'"

As spring turns into summer, school band Cotton Candy unexpectedly loses its singer and the members are forced to look for a new vocalist. Six boys find one in the form of the promiscuous pink-haired boy Park Jimin who makes a home in their hearts and finally finds a place he belongs

Daegu drift - 53k+ [motorcyclist / playboy au]

Jimin stops in Daegu for a big motor show and gets caught up with the locals. Specifically one Min Yoongi.

Sneak Peek:

Yoongi has his arms folded as he stares Jimin down.

“Are you going to join the rally, or not?”

Jimin takes his time answering because he likes the way Yoongi is looking at him. “Sure. I guess it could be fun. But you do realize none of you have a chance against a Bugatti, right?”

“It’s not the car that wins the race,” the other man says. “It’s the driver. You could have the fastest, best-equipped car in the goddamn universe, but if you’re a shit driver, it doesn’t make a difference.”

Goodbye from lonely - 65k+ [uncle yoongi!]

Park Jimin works two jobs that he loves and is going to college to get his teaching degree.

Min Yoongi is a personal assistant who hates his job and spits in his boss' coffee every day.

Kim Taehyung has been infatuated with his clueless co-worker for the better part of a year.

Jeon Jeongguk has a three-year-old daughter that he'd do anything for.

Somehow the tiny human brings them all together.

Tae is in love with Kookie -> Kookie's daughter takes Jimin's ballet class -> Yoongi is Kookie's stepbrother -> Jimin and Yoongi meet because of Kookie's daughter.

In your eyes (it’s where I wanna be) - 5.5k [coffee shop! au]

Jimin pauses with his marker inches away from the cup, because — is he really going to do this? Isn’t it a bit old-fashioned to write something flirty on a coffee cup? But no matter what his churning gut says about the danger and what the hell are you doing do you want to die, this guy is — with no better way to put it — totally Jimin’s Type with a capital T.

(Or: Jimin accidentally starts a nickname war with the cute blonde who likes his coffee way too bitter.)

Inked flowers - 6.4k [tattoo artist / florist au]

Something stopped him. A sound of a piano. He looked around and saw a light coming from the window on the other side of the street. On the third floor was an open window. A light and the sorrowful sound of a piano flew out of the room. Jimin looked closer and saw a figure or at least a top of someone's head.

The melody was so sad and sorrowful that Jimin wanted to cry. He started thinking, what could possibly go inside that person’s head? What were they thinking? Jimin just hoped that they weren’t sad and alone.

(let me see you) get high then low - 4k+ [photographer/model au]

"The light-haired model is the kind that fascinates Yoongi, and at the same time, he prefers to steer away from. He's all smiles and flowers, drawing you in with his cuteness until he's not anymore. Suddenly, he’s something else entirely; he's that false calm, the ocean that looks smooth on the surface but will drag you down to its depths if you dare to touch it."

Min Yoongi works in a photography studio with some (very questionable) friends that can't get any work properly done without making a bit of a fuss.

Park Jimin is a model handcuffed against his will and bored. Also a little bit horny, maybe.

Math Tutor - 11.7k [bad boy! yoongi]

Min Yoongi is the school's resident Bad Boy™. He's covered in tattoos, is pierced, curses like a sailor, smokes like crazy, doesn't give a shit about anything, possesses a hot temper that has people steering clear of him, and is desperately in love with Park Jimin, the adorable math nerd. When Jimin is tasked with tutoring Yoongi in math, who is in danger of failing the class and being held back a year, both boys are hesitant. Yoongi because he can't think straight around the boy with startling red hair, and Jimin because Yoongi is scary as hell and looks like he can easily kill someone. Gradually, though, the two grow closer, and Jimin finds that Yoongi is nothing like how he'd imagined.

Maybe I hate you can be our always - 35.9k [enemies to lovers]

When Yoongi thinks about it, really gives it genuine thought, it's possible that Park Jimin isn't the worst person in the world.

(Or, Yoongi and Jimin get off on the wrong foot.)

Ode to yoonmin - 4k+ [texting]

yoongi and jimin are in very much in love but they're the only ones who don't know it

chat fic with a bunch of bad jokes and memes ¯\_(ツ)_/

Out of my system - 101.6k+ [one night stand]

Yoongi likes one night stands and he understands how they work. What he doesn’t understand, however, is how he ended up in bed with a probably-not-legal kid crying in his arms about his broken heart, because he’s pretty sure (and correct him if he’s wrong) that a babysitting job was not what he was looking for when he went to the opening of his friend’s new club

Standing on the brink of 376 - 42.9k+ [street racing]

When Taehyung woke him up at three AM to go to a street race—an illegal one, no less—claiming it would help his social anxiety, Jimin never actually expected it to do much for him, except maybe make him cry hysterically. He found that he really wasn't too far off-kilter with that assumption, but it was only after he'd suffered through countless bouts of insecurity that he realized, hidden behind each stuttered breath, every inevitable tear, every spark of unavoidable fear, and even the customary cloud of cigarette smoke itself, lay a tremendous amount of affection for a certain platinum haired street racer that he can't even begin to justify. But when his opinion of fact, fate, and even life itself continues to blur with each push of the gas pedal, he thinks he just might be able to forgive himself for falling in love with a criminal, when the nonsensical moonshine of the present mutes the anxiety that had been a constant within his heart up until this November.

Strawberry lube - 82.7k+ [college au]

Yoongi remembers little to nothing of their crazy drunken night out. But of two things he's absolutely sure, one: he's not gay, two: he just slept with Park Jimin

The Paradiso Lounge - 192k+ [photographer/stripper au]

“Do I have to pay you for that service?”

This isn’t a dream (let me love you) - 26k+ [highschool au]

As captain of his high school’s basketball team, Min Yoongi dedicated all of his attention to his team and their games. His focus on the game never waned, not once for anything or anyone.

Well, until head cheerleader Park Jimin flashed his abs during a solo cheer and made him fuck up his shot

Trying to Behave (but you know we never learned how) - 329k+ [non-idol! au]

It's been years since Yoongi's last seen him and the younger boy is a shell of his former self in a way that makes his heart twist in his chest. And yet, after all this time and countless days of convincing himself to let him go, he's still unconditionally, head over heels in love with Park Jimin.

(Jimin and Yoongi grow up together.)

Valentino Summers - 657k+ [‘80s gangsters]

Whether or not Jimin was smuggling drugs really didn’t matter. He was hustling, and these days that was all there was to it.

Hustle and survive or struggle and die.

Y/N masterlist << check it out !! xoxo

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ikonislife · 6 years ago

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Same Moon.

-Bobby x Reader

-Angst, fluff, rekindled relationship, ex to lovers, Bobby’s birthday scenario

-Life torn your love apart but when it once more brings you back to where it had all started, will you and him survive the tumultuous ride?

The soft rustling of leaves being shed into the slight chill of an autumn night paves the way for his lonely footstep pattering down the desolated street. Dirty yellow streetlamp frizzing scaring a few bugs looking for a bit of warmth, blind by their desire to sooth an addiction that no doubt drawing close their demise much faster than the natural cycle of life would. What if that’s all human is, just bugs flying in the night, drawn to things in life that bring pleasure but, in the end, spelling out certain pain. Yet there’s no helping this calling, this, this strange addiction to feel loved even if at the end of a cold lonely night, it brings nothing but searing pain for days to come… And certainly, aching memories for years. As Bobby gazes upon the full moon casting its wisps of silver down upon the city that long forgotten about its wondrous healing light, abandoned for temporary high in the explosion of colorful neon lights and the pollution it brings, he finds himself solemn. It’s the same beautiful bright orb that occupies the sky no matter inkiness or clear blue. No matter the existent of the clouds that shy its beauty away from the world that couldn’t much care less for it has not for its detrimental effects on the tides and, well, that’s a topic he could spend all night speaking on but alas, irrelevant. What is within the realm of all things matter dearly to his heart, this is the same moon as it always had been in his short time on Earth. The same one he first took a breath of that disinfectant filled fresh air of the hospital, of his first kiss, his first fuck… the first time he caught the glimmers in your eyes despite the ass hour of the night across the crowded platform of Shibuya station.

It was unknown really, why he suddenly felt the need to abandon a game he nearly bested and instead looked up, staring straight ahead at the platform across the metal rails. Bobby didn’t know why this night he had chosen to care about the storyline of someone else. He had learned to be impervious of the strives in the life streams possessed by the thousands other souls existing at the same time in the same space. He had enough on his own plate, why on Earth would he be bother with someone else’s life. Yet that night, he couldn’t help but be curious, to look up, to take a small peek into what was going on across the track, letting himself immerse in this deep philosophical conscious that to every face he sees, a complicated lifetime is attached. Were they also going through the many debacles of life despite the smile on their lips or are they truly happy? He stared into your eyes and saw what he could only described as an out of body experience. Like a ghost floating alongside your small steps and soft hum (he assumed you like to hum in the slow of life, you just seemed like the kind of girl that could carry a tune), Bobby imagined your mundane life playing out, every decision, everything that consequently lead to you standing right within his view. Like morn to any dream, the clicking of the approaching train conceal you away in the rush of the world existing outside of his little bubble. You were gone. He regretted it, in the five minutes he had stared at you like the creep he was, his feet would’ve carried him over the small pass connection the two side and right by your side. Yet instead he stared, like a dumbass, probably scaring you off but that little pout on your lips was too mesmerizing for his logical side to break the spell. When, how, where would he even find you again in this city of millions, not even accounting for the tourists just like himself. Were you also a tourist? Looking for a little break in your daily routine? The image of your (hair color) locks flowing in the gust of wind intensified by the ghastly sound of wheels grinding against metal track haunted his daydream until he could no longer remained still. So, he wandered. Where? A real plan of action was only something of a myth at this point, but Bobby had to do something. He went back to the infamous sea of the Shibuya crossing… Thousands of people passed by nearly every hour, what better place to start. Then it was the station, dozen times it must’ve been that he just stood there in the same spot you had been, hoping to see the familiar pout. What kind of place would a girl like yourself frequent, clothing store? cafe? park? Bobby tried his best but, in the end, his short vacation ended much too quickly, and the thrashing wave of reality wasn’t one he could stop. Yet life has a strange way of sharing a bit of its kindness on those who persevered for exactly 2 months later on a night much like the fateful one, you were humming a strange tune unfamiliar to his ears not even a few feet away. He thought you looked familiar at first, those soft tousles curiously gave him the worst case of nostalgia despite bearing no resemblance at all to any name he had committed to memory. A hot summer night and the wait for the much needed relieved of a delectable ice cream cone lit a fire in his stomach, antsy and not much patient had. He tapped his foot in place, click his tongue, and must’ve sighed about 4 times before you turned his way, soft whispers filled the night. “Not a waiting kind of dude, are you?” “Normally, yes. Tonight, debatable.” He normally hated small talk. What’s the point of them really? Nonsense to fill the dead air and awkward space, no value to anything being said nor is it important enough to commit to memory. Yet whatever grandeur life had in store for him that night made Bobby answered, he felt compelled to reply then only to feel his tongue go numb from the sight of that little pout. “Well quit being a grump. If you were a kid, wouldn’t you want to carefully pick the best flavor of ice cream to enjoy? Let the boy have his moment.” Gesturing at the boy who couldn’t be more than 6, tiptoeing despite having full view of the giant display of colorful treats, you swung your body with all the oomph you could in the small space of the line. Then you paused… So did he. For a moment, he could hear the wheel churning in your brain, eyebrows raised so high as if your senses recognized him just the way he did you. “AAHHH!” You suddenly exclaimed, drawing ire from the few customers behind Bobby. Panic engulfed his body; did you think he was a creep? “You! weird dude stared at me for like a billion years in Japan. You’re even wearing the same outfit!” “oh. Well, it’s a different white shirt if that makes a different… Probably not…” Bobby sighed in defeat, of course, now he was just a creepy person in your eyes. No way in hell now would you give him a chance. “Of course, I saw. I feared for my life for a bit there.” Or maybe not, your smile, much cuter than the pout he had been hung up on for all this time. “I-I have no excuse. I’m sorry.” “Well, at first I thought I was gonna get kidnap and sold off… but then you looked a bit… how do I say this without making it weird.” You mused, and he thought of a puppy hearing the TV for the first time, head tilt, adorable gaze and all. “I’m sure whatever you got in mind will be fine, this whole situation is already weird.” “You looked sort of… like a kid staring at his favorite meal. Goofy, cute even but at the same time sort of desperate.” He stood there staring in awe at the way your laugher chasing away the stickiness of summer, washing the slick layer of sweat right of his smooth tan skin with its freshness. Yet with each passing second, the pout that had plagued his dream slowly flooding back onto the cherry red lips he so desperately trying to ogle at. “Do you just like to stare, or do I look … odd?” “Y-yes” “Yes? What?” The way your eyes widen in panic was too much for him to handle, and it nearly, nearly made him lost track of the fact that he had just accidentally insulted you. “NO! NO! I mean…Yes, but not like that.” “Huh? Wait so do I look weird or not?” A long-winded sigh ripping away from his chapped lips, bunny teeth mauling at the frayed skin with all the viciousness of frustration rising high. “I’m not very good at this if, if you haven’t figured it out by now.” “I kind of got the hint.” You spoke so gently, almost teasing, which under any other circumstances he’d have flipped. Yet at the moment he was glad it was amusing you in some way that Bobby was such a flustering mess. Just the fact that his total embarrassment of a creep could serve to lighten your mood in turn put him at ease. “You’re, you’re fine. I’m a mess.” Shuffling awkwardly, Bobby was now one person closer to the sweet taste of a refreshing cone of ice cream, but he no longer cared. “I’m Bobby. Can I buy your ice cream to apologize?” Who would think a piece of memory so fresh in his mind was one of nearly 10 years ago… 10 wonderful years of joy and heartbreak, of memories warming to the heart yet simultaneously searing every bit of his skin with hot pain. Time with you was truly a journey. You both grew so much and matured with each tick of the clock, carving out a little niche of your own in this busy world and although not big, it was nice enough to settled into, for him to see a future with you. He had thought this was it, the relationship to end his life as a bachelor, the one that will seal away his parents worry of him living much too far away for their love to reach, to banish the fear of just how lonely he might be despite that bunny smile and his strange endearing chuckle doing their best to convince them otherwise. In the end it was a fairytale that was too good to be true. He got a taste of heaven, a little piece of paradise and even if life wasn’t always peaches and cream, deep down he always knew it would all be alright for as long as you both got each other. Then the news of your promotion came crashing down like that first raindrop amidst a beautiful sunny day. It was small, unexpected of course, and neither of you really truly grasped the impact to follow that tiny raindrop just as anyone would brush off the chance of rain on a sunny clear day. No one was happier for your success than Bobby knowing just how hard you worked, how much hours you grinded out, and the toll all those late nights took. He too knew what a promotion meant but who was he to put a dampen towel on your joy of reaping the reward from a long awaited and well-deserved climb in the vicious ladder of business. So, he rewarded you the only way he knew how, pampering and spoiling you for days on end… Well, four days to be exact because that was about the only amount of time off either of you could get approved. You were very much happy, pure adrenaline coursing through your veins blinded you from truly understanding what this all meant but Bobby didn’t mind. In fact, he really loved how pure you are with your emotions and everything in life but deep down, just the tiniest part of himself wallows in sadness and resentment. How could you not see the suffering he was going through despite the bright smile plastered across his lips. In no way was his happiness insincere, but at the end of it all, “we” and “us” was soon to be just “you” and “I”. In the end, he just wanted a simple life without the deadline of an imminent ending hanging over his heart. Sneakers squeaking to a stop, the charming awn of the past remained unchanged, adorning still the deep purple petals of the freshly bloomed chocolate vine, rich floral scent teasing at his olfactory drawing out a nostalgic smile. The ice cream shop that hosted so many dates and so many apology incentives continues to flourish despite the wilted relationship you both had left behind. For so long Bobby couldn’t bear stepping foot in the place where every table, every corner prick at a wound in his heart… Now, the tick of the clock had reduced the pain down to a bare tickle, as if finger pressing on an old bruise. The old bell ringing out and the cashier whom he does not recognize cheers out a greeting. The sweet scent of cold treats and warmth of waffle cones being freshly made wrapping his rough body in its comforting embrace, the feeling he once felt every night but now only on the rare Sunday when Bobby is much too exhausted to leave the bed; So he let himself curls up in the now unnecessary giant blanket, toasting away under the risen sun. Browsing back and forth, Bobby lets his eyes feast on the colorful array of sweet, noting the many addition of flavors and for reason unknown, he prays your favorite remained. Another good minute before his eyes settle on the gentle pink blush hiding away in the corner, no longer the center of the attention as it once was but same as always. “Could I get a medium half guava, half triple chocolate please.” He smiles at the very patient worker, thankful she let him have his time and very much missing her giddy, demure smile or the fact that she was piling on much more ice cream than Bobby had paid for. Seat chosen and ice cream snugly within his palm, Bobby settles by a corner with the full view of the entire shop (much to the disappointment of the cute worker once she realized the handsome, yet oblivious customer is completely out of her eyesight). Barely a touch of the ice-cold treat on his tongue and he was reminded of how much he despised this flavor, still despises the pink goop you seemed to never gotten enough of. Mixing in with the chocolate? Good God what had you done with your poor taste buds. However, in the midst of the protest his body was so keen to put up against the strange floral taste of the guava and the rich punches of the decadent chocolate, there you were. Hair just as soft and shiny as always but it had been the gorgeous shade of rose gold you sported after losing to a dare. That retro Star Wars tee, a bit faded, a bit stained, and definitely sporting a few holes but nevertheless a favorite of yours. He wouldn’t misplace it anywhere. Your eyes were kinder, smile a bit brighter, the most radiant he had seen in years. You were the you he had met, the girl he had fell so hard for despite not understanding what had gone off in your head to order such a horrendous combo of ice cream flavors. And perhaps has it not for the lingering after taste of your strange choice of ice cream, Bobby would’ve wave back at the figment of you lingering about the doorway, a grin truly from ear to ear as you wave at him at the speed of light. Bobby sighs a soft smile, dazzling the worker who was unnecessarily sweeping the same spot for the 3rd time. He couldn’t believe it had been a near 8 years since the real non-platonic first date. The nervousness, the butterfly, quite honestly just as rambunctious as ever… or it’s the 5th bite of the mess of brown and pink still chilling his hand with its coldness. No, it got to be you, still vivid in the movie playing for one as Bobby soaks in the comfort you brought to his life. He didn’t believe it, the whole deal of one person could alter his life, change his perspective of the world the way countless romantic movies so dramatically play out. Then you waltzed in and flipped his whole world upside down. From the first moment he laid eyes upon you in the busy station to the miraculous reunion just a few feet away from where he seats now, even till the end, you remained the unpredictable force to be reckon with. As with all things in life, the little movie reel of your very first official date was soon over as the chime of the old bell rings out once more forewarning the incoming of new customers. Bobby shakes his head in disbelief still, how could it have been a full 3 years since he had said his goodbye to your adorable face, watched helplessly as your cheeks rosy and nose flared with the strange sound of your sobbing. The disgusting pool of dusty pink ripples as the clear pearl of lost love disturbing its serene surface reminding Bobby of just where he is. Sniffling and a bit flush, he hopes no one had noticed as he gets up to toss his ticket to memory lane, debating whether or not it’s time for another cup of ice cream, one he will enjoy this time. Without even commanding them to, his feet once more carry him toward the colorful display of ice cream, eyes searching through for potential victims for his second round of self-pity. Yet just as he begins voicing his final choice of dark chocolate orange with extra whipped cream, another voice rings out mere seconds before his. Being the gentleman he is, and also not in much of a mood to argue over who was first, Bobby apologizes without sparing a glance, eyes still keeping a close watch on the pan of delicious dark brown ice cream dotted with a few orange zest as if any second now it could grow legs and run off. “Could I please get a medium half guava, half chocolate please!” Cold sweat breaking and heart feeling much like he had just done a marathon, Bobby paralyzes with hope and fear. That voice… That order… Couldn’t be. “Wow, I’ve never had anyone order this combination before but today, twice in only an hour!” The cheery tone of the worker reminds Bobby that he was very much still in the ice cream shop, and this very much still is reality. “What?” Even with all the confusion plaguing the soft voice, he couldn’t misplace it anywhere… It can’t be. Only then did his eyes abandon his prize of classically complementing flavors for a peek at the owner of the sweet voice that was bringing him back to the past. Has it not for the hand bracing against the cold glass surface, Bobby would’ve drop right onto the floor, right there in front of everyone because he has just seen a ghost. You’re definitely real because he had just heard your interaction with the worker just now yet for reason unknown, his mind couldn’t get itself to process the sight beholding. “Bobb? You alright?” “Y-Yea.” He stutters, feeling stupid for staring, and feeling stupid for his jaws that had just dropped onto the floor because by God, you’re stunning. “Hi.” Stupid, so stupid, after all this time, after all the things left unsaid, all he could mutter was a stupid “hi”. Then again, is there really any right thing to say to the subject of his unresolved love, the woman of his dream, the one that got away, the ending neither of you deserved. And so he did what he does best, stares. He stares at you for what seemed like eternity and the whole world simply melts away into a massive shapeless blob of stars and moons and that wondrous feeling of first love. For a moment it was Shibuya, it was the train station, it was being 18 and knowing nothing of love, it was this exact place 10 years ago once more. For a moment it was all the moments you both shared for the 5 wonderful years he got to be with you and every single second thereafter of lost love, every single second condensed into one big explosion of nostalgia, feeling unresolved, and words unspoken. “Did you order my usual?” Your voice seemingly playful after what felt to him like an eternity gone by twice and suddenly, he wonders, did you feel the same? “Yea… wanted to see if I still hate it.” “Well?” “I still hate it.” Laughter, it has always been one of those things that Bobby swears on his life he’d always remember. He might’ve forgotten that favorite dress of yours or the strange way you eat ssam but the way you laugh, how you seemingly looking as though your head had snapped right off your neck bending backward in laughter. Or how bright your eyes shine even though they crescent away when you heave out a hearty laugh. Well… Bobby was sure he remembers it clearly until now. The sound you make, the way your head tilt back, it was all the same yet so distant, so unfamiliar and that scares him. How could something so simple, as simple as laughter instills so much fear into his heart. You were once the person he could simply call up just because without any reason whatsoever or simply because he was bored and needing human interaction, affection. If anyone in this world had been so unfortunate to know what true loneliness is, they would understand just how significant that is as ridiculous as it sounds… The blessing of having someone at the receiving end of “I’m bored, can we do something” even if that only results limbs entangled on the couch staring at the ceiling. Popularity is a double edge blade, that was a fact Bobby never knew until he met you. Never was he unpopular, charming and in possession of a smile that could melt the roughest heart, he was never alone. Yet there was always something missing, in the blur amidst the high of a rager or that second of quietness after a big laugh was shared, an emptiness drowned his heart in inexplicable sadness. A sorrow he was never quite equipped enough to figure out on his own, one he wallowed in after the music faded and goodbye long said. Nights after restless nights, Bobby thought of the fun he had and just how much of a world different it made only a few hours had gone by as he laid all on his lonesome pondering what it was, he’s missing from his life. He ate dinner alone most night, wake up alone… Well, save for a few mornings he managed to land a quick “date”. As he swallowed hard a cold bite of leftover on a random Thursday night, suddenly, his endless contact list seemed meaningless. That all changed the moment your sunshine liked smile entered his life, shooing away the darkest of thought with its pure intensity. Suddenly there was someone on the other end of the line at 3AM when his mind needed a philosophical outlet, or even just an ice cream date. You were always there no matter how trivial his request might be, no question asked and never once expressing grievance. You were a shoulder to cry on, a partner in crime, a protector, and a therapist. You were all and so much more but most of all, you were acceptance. No longer did he has to question himself, to hold back, or to be embarrass because of the opinion of others, with you… He’s truly himself. As the sad reminders of a past no longer obtainable slowly breaking down every bit of his facade, there’s one little piece of information that’s undeniably true, unbearably certain and, had been once more reaffirmed in his bleeding heart. He still loves you desperately. Despite everything that happened, there’s no one else but you. There was no helping the knotting of his stomach and the stuttering that’s unquestionably worse than ever as he stumbles his way through the whole conversation like a bumbling idiot. Although, that in itself isn’t anything strange for he had always been a bumbling idiot whenever you were near, a bumbling idiot mesmerized by your radiant. “Still doing nonsense things I see. When will you learn that guava is not your jam.” “Yea, well maybe your taste in ice cream is just that preposterous. After all this time, I still can’t wrap my head around it. Plus, someone gotta keep buy it or else they’d just get rid of the flavor.” He bites out shyly, only when you had reached for your own cup that he realized the worker had been staring at him for ages. “Oh, sorry, small dark chocolate orange please!” He gave her the brightest smile he could, incentive for wasting so much of her time in the short hour, still completely missing the fact that she would give her life for him to live in the shop. As he stood there rocking back and forth, Bobby glances perhaps not so inconspicuously at the delight spreading through your features as you took the first bite. Sighing contently no doubt in heaven of satisfying the craving of your weird ice cream combination. Although that didn’t stop him from secretly wishing, that contentment was because you were once more by his side. “Are you busy?” You ask casually, as if the both of you were friends, as if you just saw him the week before. “Nope, I’ve been here for like an hour.” He chuckles awkwardly and for a split second, he could see fireworks behind those beautiful eyes as your feature light up in nostalgia. Yet just as fast as it had appeared, the sparks vanish instantly, leaving behind a dark void of reservations. “Ah… Well, I was thinking, if you know, not doing anything…” You stammer on, hand digging a literal pit in your ice cream cup and Bobby thought it was the most adorable thing in the world. Somehow after all these years, after he had given his entire heart to you, you were still nervous around him. “Let’s grab dinner!” He said with utmost excitement before the vibrancy in his voice drones out to something timid, as if fearing crossing the line. “If you’re up for it, of course.” Always your knight in shining armor, Bobby pulls you from the pit you’ve dug for yourself, leaving you nodding like an idiot. Much to the sadness of the worker, you both wave goodbye as he walks you into the night, leaving behind the ghosts of the past and the happiness of the old times he had held on for as long as he could, doing his best to engrains every little detail to memory. Yet with you right beside him, somehow that seems wrong… And truth be told, that hurts. Even though the walk back to your car a mere 30 seconds, Bobby couldn’t help but hate the silent that was shared between your awkward bodies, hoping that you hate it too. Not that either of you were stranger to silent. It was something inevitable, something of a companion for couples who are lucky enough to share as much time together as you two did. It was the comforting silent of Sunday morning spent cuddling under the blanket, eyes closed yet the both of you were fully aware of the warmth of bodies and soothing rhythm of the rain tickling the windows. It was the content silent shared when you dragged your pillow and blanket into his office, made yourself a bed out of his couch with your nose deep in your book because he had to work late. It was the bitter silent of staring at each other in anger, eyes redden and tears scorching your cheeks, but pride get in the way of giving in. Then it was the silent of regret, silent of wanting nothing more but to dive into each other arms as anger passed and all that was left was your hearts aching to be together once more. This silent, this ridiculously awkward silent of uncertainties, of fearing to cross boundaries, it was something he never felt around you and he hates every damn second of it. “Did you drive by any chance?” You ask and suddenly very aware of the scowl worn on his lips as he stares into the night. A twinge of sadness breaks your heart at the realization that you can no longer be the person to sooth his sadness, calm his anger… And he no longer yours. “No, uh, I took a long walk here.” He replies with a smile, but you know deep down, his soul suffering and regret fills your heart. “We can ride together…” You half suggest, half really just want to know where you stand in his heart or if you even still have a place in his heart. “I tried to go to dinner the other night and, did you know that bbq place we went to so much? It’s gone!” You exclaim in disappointment, flapping your arms about just to ease the tension, although you were sure nothing could. “I was so disappointed.” “They moved a couple months back, we can go if you still want it. I know where they move to.” “Please and thank you.” You put on the best smile for him, already handing over your keys and feel the wind of the past blowing over the empty lot. As you take in a big breath of the slightly cold breeze of the night, you recount the thousand times he had taken the driver seat. Bobby had always looked so good with one hand on the wheel and the other on you, holding your hand or gently placing upon your thigh, it didn’t matter. He’d bobbed his head slowly to the beat vibrating the speakers, looking enticingly handsome focusing on the road ahead. Sometimes there’d be laughter, other times just silent as you did your best to impress your musically inclined boyfriend with your new playlist. He always looks amazing. Not much had changed as you hop into the passenger seat, waiting as Bobby changes the driver seat position before the journey began. The first few minutes felt like hours. The silent between you both were deafening, drowns out even the heavy bass of the song thumping out from the radio. You saw it, the way his right hand near out of sheer instinct reaching toward you, svelte fingers inching closer before the weight of reality settles in. There was no denying that part of you had wished he had let his heart finish what it started, to grab your hand and hold it just as he had for so long. There was no denying also, the depth your heart had dropped realizing Bobby has switches to driving with his right hand, the left leaning against the windowsill, no doubt a precaution for any future accidental touches. Painfully, you reach toward the knob on the radio and turn it a bit louder, filling the confine space with pointless noises. Thankfully the rest of the drive, all 15 excruciating minutes of it went on without a hitch. You resorted to staring out the window and drinking in the familiar sights, Bobby focused on the road before him. Part of you were disappointed that the owners of the restaurant wasn’t there, you’d love to see them and how the time had changed. Yet another part of you, strangely delighted that the long-winded explanation of the who broke up and where things left off were avoided. God knows what kind of ugliness this dinner will dredge up between you and Bobby, no need for someone of your happier past to complicate things. By the way Bobby glances back and forth before settling in with a sigh of perhaps relief, you ponder a guess that he feels the same. “Wow, everything is strangely familiar but at the same time, so different.” You gasp out without much thinking, far too enthrall in the way the menu remained exactly the way you had remembered it. “Yea, strange.” Bobby sighs softly, there was no helping the bitterness pulling his lips into a forced smile. The way his voice echoes out so drab against the exhilaration of the busy restaurant full of smoke and clinking of shot glasses, it was like he had taken a knife to your heart. You lean backward to look for the waiter, purposely hiding the frown playing on your lips at the realization of how incredibly on the nose and insensitive your statement had been. “How’ve you been?” Bobby asked absentmindedly as he tosses a few pieces of meat onto the smoking grill. “As well as can be, I guess…” Your answer catches his attention as the man before you abandon his surveillance of the sizzling meat to steal a glance at your dull features. The way his eyes scrutinizing every bit of your face, no doubt thousands of follow-up questions threatening to spill but he keeps silent, returning his attention back to the seared meat. “You?” “Same old, you know.” “Yea.” The word tumbles from your lips like the worst lie ever told. You and him both know “same old” isn’t exactly the phrase to describe the current state of reality, yet neither really brave enough to open that can of worm. The silent to follow that little exchange was far worse than anything you’ve experienced in this world. Awkward was slowly losing meaning as it treads territory of unpleasantness. As you quietly stuff another wrap into your mouth, you wonder if Bobby regrets this, regrets inviting you to dinner because you sure aren’t. As painful as it was to sit silently beside the man your heart desire and soul craving companionship for years now, you love every second of it. Who knows when would be the next time you’ll have the pleasure of being so close, you could make up the soft scent of his cologne even over the overwhelming stench of alcohol and delectable wisps of grilled-meat. In the end, you found out he had since move from that old apartment you both shared for so long. Make sense honestly, for who could bear being in the place where happiness was slowly turning into ashes. Certainly not you. No longer was he the lowly cubicle dweller but now a supervisor with his own fancy office and fancy car. Talk of work seems to get Bobby going as the faintest trace of a genuine smile graces his lips. You miss this. Honestly couldn’t recall the last time you had a real, honest talk with anyone, let alone someone that could understand you so. You let him onto the big project that had brought you home, and even though it’s only for a few months, you want to make the best time of it. And as that sentence left your lips, you could see it, there just at the tip of his tongue the words Bobby was trying so hard to bite back. You knew he thought of it, thought of rekindling the connection that had been left in the dust between you and him… You knew because you thought of it too. How could this place be the best when he’s not in it and as much as you’d like to be the one to raise the topic, it was best left for him to decide. As the scent of smoke and alcohol engrained into every fiber of your clothes and hair slowly dissipate into the air of the cold night, you found yourself sauntering beside his tall stature. A few steps behind simply because you wanted a few seconds to yourself, a few seconds to really look at the man that was once yours even if it was only the back of his head and the span of his broad shoulders. You both had been walking down memory lanes, a careful dance about the best of memories and the people of the past, avoiding the sour topics of the last few months spent together. “My brother just had a baby!” Bobby exclaims, delight graces his features and you’re left completely mesmerize by the handsome smile, even if it wasn’t really because of you. “Oh, that’s so great! Tell him congratulation, and your parents too. They must be over the moon.” You miss them was what you wanted to end that sentence with but decided in the end it’s best not to. “I will. They are, I am too. Though, I’m still scare of dropping the little one.” He gushes, already pulling his phone out to show you the endless pictures of the little tyke. “So handsome.” You sigh gently, adoring the little baby even if it was just a picture. “Of course, he is! Have you seen his uncle?” a teasing smirk blossoms on those beautiful lips as Bobby wiggles his eyebrows, holding a picture of the little one far too zoom in right next to his own face and for a split second, you have your Bobby. Not the solemn, silent Bobby of the drive to the restaurant, not the shocked and speechless Bobby when he first laid eyes on you. For a split second, he was your Bobby. “Oh, is that so? I think his dad got more to do with him being handsome than his uncle, don’t you think?” You jest with a slap to his arm, something that was once so normal considering you and him, best friends turned lovers. Yet his smile drops, an awkward chuckle replaces the bright sunshine previously beaming from his feature. It hurts, it hurts so bad because this was a reality you thought you had dealt with. Yet nothing prepared you for the raw reaction, the raw pain of the quaint touches that was now anything but. Silent befell over the souls wandering the night under the bare bone of greenery in winter. You listen to the leaves crunching under your feet, pulling your jacket higher as the mischievous tickling of a breeze brushes against your hair. Bobby again a few steps ahead of yourself as he stares longingly at the bright moon above, the same one that had always been there through the thick and thin of your relationship. Still here to witness the strangers-again walking through the night. You wonder if it cried for you, and for your relationship. “Did you ever think about the what-ifs?” Bobby was first to succumb to the pain of silent, yet the perhaps the question he had just asked was far more painful than anything else this failed relationship had brought. “Of course, I have.” The answer rushes from your lips at light speed, nearly in disbelief that there was a part of him that thought you didn’t. “How could I not?” your steps halt as you watch on in incredulity, heart racing and a tear already pricking at the corners of your eyes recalling the days to follow and all the times you wanted to abandon it all to be with him. You know exactly where this was heading but at this point, was there any benefit to holding back the words, suppressing the anguish of love lost? “Hm… I think about it often, ‘bout you.” A solid minute of deafening silent went by before he finally speaks up, stopping on his track too before turning back to face you. He got his hands in his pockets, lips pursing under an undecipherable expression though the pain was far from well hidden. “I still think about everything… I mean, it’s been years but. I can’t help it.” The weight heavy on your heart the moment your eyes skimmed over the destination of your business trip finally exploded, etching and cutting into your scarred heart. The words you wanted to say to him, the words you had forced yourself to push aside in an attempt to live a normal life, it came rushing in the moment you read the name of the city that destiny would lead you back to. The person your heart both desires for and knows would only lead it down the path of relapsing into the mere shell of a person the days following the breakup… it had been heavy and now, it aches. “I thought that suppressing you from my memory would help but it was all the same. I was devastated every waking second, in all my dreams and nightmares.” Bobby muses but there was something far beyond the emptiness of his eyes, glossing over with an emotion you couldn’t decipher and that scares you. It rattles all your cages and there was no helping the ugly thoughts coming. “We both were, Bobby. I mean, you say it as if I wasn’t there… As if I wasn’t the other half of the relationship.” Beneath the sorrow, beneath the pain of the part of your heart you thought was dead resurrected by the man you love, anger simmering. His tone, the words he had chosen… how could he… “Were you?” There was nothing, nothing about the man looming before you that could mirror even a fraction of the emotion surging through your body… Well, nearly nothing. The way his jaws clenching so tightly and the kindness formerly tugging those beautiful eyes into crescents of laughter vanishing at a rate that left your heart dizzy… He’s angry. Anger wasn’t something you knew of Bobby. Frustration, maybe. After all, you weren’t a walk in the park to be with so there were times minor disagreements would surface. Yet anger wasn’t an emotion you knew he could possess, not toward you. He had gotten angry at the guy who was far too handsy with you at his high school reunion, and the time when you ran to him in panic at a club because some creep never learned the meaning of “no”… Never with you. “Are you seriously questioning my feeling right now?” You too were teetering on the blade of anger. “Have you forgotten those nights, those weeks before everything ended?” Your voice raising without needing for you to tell it to, the disbelief in your heart overdrive every other function in your shivering body. Had he in all the years of loneliness forgotten just how much you had loved him… still love him. You’ve considered all the options, not taking the job, passing up the promotion, quitting, switching career, all of it. You considered it all and there was always one ending, the enticing thought of a future with Bobby. You were ready to make peace with your decision but in the end, it was Bobby who had held your hand and told you it was okay. You cried and you fought but ultimately, he was your weakness. He ensured that no guilt would plague you as you made the final decision of leaving. “No, I remember it clearly.” That sentence, Bobby had dreamt about it endlessly, of finally confronting you of your lies… How satisfying it would be to finally have his last laugh… So why, why does it hurt so much now that it had finally took its first breath of reality… Why does it kill him so watching the tears streaming down the rosy skin of your cheeks, the way your features had contorted into anguish? “I remember it because I was the one who told you to leave. I was the one who had to packed up our home and all the memories it held.” The way he bites out “our”, love was definitely not the driving force behind it. “Have you gone mad?” Your words nearly as feeble as the breaths you’re heaving. Neither anger or guilt were present on your face but rather complete and utter disbelief “If you knew all that, then how could you question my pain. I ripped half of me, my entire heart out when I left this place.” And for a second it confuses him, the part, the largest part of him that had loved you so dearly begins to doubt the truth he had held on for so long. “No, not at all. I’m completely sane and sober” But hell hath no fury like a betrayed man. “I can’t believe I’m doing this. I can’t believe you’re making me spell out every. Single. Thing.” “Please, because I have no clue what you’re even going on about.” Exasperation and disappointment of being question, of having your heart on trial finally reaching an unprecedented height. Hands carding roughly through your wind-blown locks before harshly wiping away the tears falling uncontrollably. A part of Bobby cowers seeing the red rashes scratched onto the smooth skin of your cheeks from the sleeves of your sweater painfully soaking away your tears. He would never wish harm onto you, even if you were the one doing it, especially if you were the one doing it. Needless to say, the protective part of him wants so badly to pull your hand into his, to cradle your cheeks and press healing kisses onto them but this mess, he started this. Yet the irrational side of him have had enough, far past the emotional limit a person could handle. “I ran into your boyfriend. Yea, the guy you said was nothing more than a co-worker.” He sneers and you could feel your blood runs cold. The disdain, the disgust in the dagger like glare burning your skin left your knees weak in the worst way possible. “Can’t believe I bought it. You know, I was actually glad I ran into him at first. Hearing how happy you were with your new job and already, just few months in, you were already on the fast track to a big promotion.” “Bobby…” You whisper his name, hoping it still hold the magic it once did, but the meek reality is far from the distant vibrant memories. “No, no, no. You don’t get to be all puppy dog eyes and pretend like it never happened.” He scoffs at you and perhaps it hurts more than it should have. “And then, so casually, he told me that you two were together, living together in fact.” “No, Bobby. You don’t understand. It’s all a big misunders-“ “No! Big misunderstanding? Falling in love, moving in together, fucking someone else all in the short months span since our breakup. You call that a misunderstanding? Please, Y/n. Am I that much of a joke to you?” He grunted out the painful sentence and it left you breathless, your lungs could barely keep up with the tears let along the bombs he drops on you. There was no other reaction but silently cry as Bobby continues his tirade. “I gave up my happiness, my entire life so you wouldn’t have to. And the big thank I got was you fucking the guy you said was nothing more than a good friend. You must love me so much that you couldn’t wait to let the next guy you see fuck all the memories of me out of your goddamn brain… All the while I was living like a goddamn zombie. All alone, every waking minute, every second of sleep consumed by the thought of you.” Exasperation begins to wear down on Bobby as he pants heavily, eyes still tearing your body apart with years of anger all pent up in his feeble heart. “Was it all a lie? The last few months of our relationship, it was… Wasn’t it? Because if I were to believe, to hold on to the last shred of the you I fell in love with… You wouldn’t forget me in just a mere few months.” You contemplate the next few words very carefully, taking all the moments, all the deceits leading up to this point into consideration. Life had never been fair, but nothing could contest against the spitefulness of the grand scale of things this very second. It had dealt you a hand that you wish surprise was what you’re feeling, but alas, you’ve always knew this was a possibility the second you spun your web of lies. You understand full well the implication Bobby had just brought to light, but there was nothing left to say. “I don’t think my words matter much to you this second.” You breathe through your sob. “Maybe in a few weeks, a few months it will. Or it might never will be…” the thought of never being anything meaningful to Bobby ever again, that was a pain you thought never will you have to experience. But in the end, this big tumultuous ride of a relationship had already thrown everything else at you and the end is nigh. “So, I won’t stand here and make some big excuses because I think I’ve done enough.” That was all you could let out, all the though your brain could form before it shut down in a muddle mess. Your heart aches far worse than all the pain it had ever been through combine and you didn’t know what to do to soothe it. The small glimpses your vision clear enough to allow you to steal a glance at the man you love but just destroyed, Bobby isn’t doing much better. Body dropping onto the cold stone pavement of the path, he got his head cradling in between his arms and silently, his body shakes with tears and the reality that was settling in far too fast. The thought of you cheating on him wasn’t one he wanted to be acquaintance with or even one he had formulated before the run in with your boyfriend. Yet the happiness of knowing you had moved on diminished fast as the logical side of himself began calculating the time and the disbelief of his heart that you would forgotten about him already in the short time apart. Soon the sound of sniffles and painful sobs was nothing more but distant echo of the night as you both settle into the present. This is it for the wonderful friendship, the by-chance love that had bloomed between two young souls doing their best surviving the rush of life together. You stare at him with all the love you still have coursing through your blood and he, at you as if a distant memory he was ready to let go. Nothing was said but the drumming of your headache burst through, drowning out everything in front of you. “I’ll drive you home.” He whispers impassively, eyes blank as he scans the features of your face. Were you always so sad? Have your eyes always been so sunken with pain and your skin so pale? The Bobby of the past still clinging on, caring yet he knows his time was ending. So, for one last time, he’ll care, just for tonight. “You’re in no condition to drive.” “No, I’m okay.” “Y/n, just please. For once, don’t fight me. I don’t care how things ended up between us, I’ll never forgive myself if something happens to you.” You silently shadow the footstep of the man you no longer have the right to smile at. After tonight, you and he will be nothing more but strangers again, just as you were that fateful night at the train station. After tonight, you’ll have to respect his wishes and pretend as if life hadn’t given you the best years anyone could ever hope for. Once more the same moon as all the days before watches over as your life stream splits into two. You wonder if it too, is sad for the tragic love story.

It has been a month since he last saw you, a month since he accused you of the worst things a man could accuse the woman he loves. He crossed all the lines and all the boundaries that night and it left him an empty shell of the man he once was. After all these years, after all the pain had been dealt with, there was still a bit of hope, the last thread of a beautiful relationship connecting his life to yours. Yet in one moment of delirium, he crumbled all the effort of all the years before because he was bitter. It broke his heart, the way pain washed over your beautiful features as the accusation that had torn so many relationships apart left his lips. He left you so speechless, you stood there and took his abuse silently, clutching your heart. In the moment when sleep evaded him, all he could think about was the horrible things he had said and your nearly lifeless body as he dropped you off that night… He has turned into the monster he promised himself to never be. Somehow all the pain seems so much worse tonight as he lays awake in bed, hours away from his birthday, another birthday alone… Truly alone for he had burned all the bridges that could potentially lead him back to you. Eyes studying the world just beyond his little window as his mind drifts to you, Bobby wonders if your project was going well and if you were leaving soon. He had thought of calling you, of course, but how could he after saying such horrendous things without even granting you the small wish of explaining everything. Did you realize that night that his phone’s background was still a picture of you? That thought warms his heart for a second before the logical side of himself butts in, reminding bobby once more that you probably don’t care, not anymore at least since he had taken all the precious time you’ve both had and ripped it all to unsalvageable shreds. Yet perhaps his heart knows best after all as that ringtone, the one he has always associated with sunshine and happiness, like an omen echoing through the darkness of his room. Bobby didn’t believe it at first, staring at it blankly before the third ring reminding him that you could hang up any second now. He scrambles to his feet, hastily picking up the phone and nearly dropping it. “Hello? Y/n?” Bobby huffs out impatiently, needing to hear your voice even if there was a slight chance you had called to yell at him. “Uhm, are you the boyfriend of the owner of this phone?” A gruff male voice spills from the speaker sending fear to his heart. Jaws tighten and fist clenches tightly, he grunts out a rough yes, nevermind the fact that it was a blatant lie. “Could you come pick up your girlfriend. She been here for hours and I don’t think she should drink anymore.” The voice speaks up hesitantly, growing distant as if the guy was glancing away to check something, someone. “I don’t understand, what happened?” Bobby questions, already grabbing his jacket and keys, on his way even though he has no clue where you were. “Your girlfriend, she came in, had a few too many drinks, and would not stop talking about her amazing boyfriend… Well, you, I guess. Then she cried for a bit and said she was going to call her boyfriend but passed out before the line even start ringing.” The bartender explains, sighing a bit, no doubt done with your antic. “If you don’t mind, please come pick her up. I don’t want to send her home on her own. Le Lune, do you need direction?” “No, I know exactly where. Thank you.” If his heart beats any faster, Bobby suspects that his blood vessels would burst. Worries and dreadfulness engulf his body as he speeds through the empty night, anxious to see you, anxious to know you’re okay. His fingers tap frantically as his car tears through the night toward the place that holds his entire life. As he bursts into the nearly empty bar, a few eyes glare his way vexingly, loud slam of the door had disrupted their night cap and meaningless conversations. Bobby glances about, looking for that familiar figure before a young man wave frantically, calling him over. “Bobby, I assume.” Holding up a phone in front of him, the bartender glances up then back at the screen with a satisfying nod of his head. “Picture checks out. Here you go.” He hands back the phone to Bobby, screen still illuminated, and the background, it sends a pang to his heart. It was him, smiling bright, exuding all the happiness of a man at the height of his love. And for a moment, time stood still. He thinks about you going about in your daily life… His face being the first thing you see in the morning and the last thing you see at night. He’s there when you check whether it was time for lunch or time for homecoming. You’ve managed to keep that part of the old life the same despite everything being torn apart and the foundation of your relationship crumbling into nothingness. But now was no time to be sentimental for a much more pressing issue was at hands. “Yes, we spoke on the phone. Where is she?” His voice frantic, panic wrecking his entire being. He thought there was nothing worse than watching you walk away but this, knowing that you were all alone… There is nothing in his short life thus far that scare him so. “I left her on the booth over there, didn’t want her to hurt herself falling over the stool.” Sighing a few thanks, Bobby closes up your tab and left a hefty tip to a very delighted bartender before making his way toward the booth in the far end corner where his sleeping beauty awaits. Leaning back against the red velvet plush of the back rest, your eyes tightly shut and hair a bit dishevel but he swears, you were still so beautiful. Blur streaks of mascara smearing down the soft skin of your cheeks, still so redden and hot, your chest rises and falls gently as a soft snore emanating through the near empty bar. The breath he had been holding ever since the voice of the bartender reached his ears finally dislodge itself from his throat at the sight of you so peacefully snoozing away. Bobby sighs heavily as his eyes scan to your bare shoulders, dress far too thin to shield you from the harshness of the world. “Sweetie, let’s go home.” He whispers softly against your temple where he had just placed a thankful kiss. Though he knew that kiss was crossing every lines and boundaries, there was no helping the natural reaction bursting out of the man who for the past hour had been so uncertain of the safety of his love. He’s thankful, so thankful that insomnia had been so gracefully blessing him with another restless night, thankful for the bartender, and thankful for you. In your most drunken stupor, he was still on your mind and that, just that small thought of you still valuing his pathetic self enough to call him up… Well, it eases his heart and soul in ways unimaginable. “Bobby…” You groan sleepily, despite the stench of alcohol seeping through your every pore, there was no denying how adorable the way you mew his name. Fingers rubbing at your drowsy eyes, you peers through the clumpy curtain of the mascara that was now mostly staining your cheeks than shielding your lashes. Blinking a few times, a smile blooms on your lips at the familiar face and endearing scent, your head instinctively nudges closer into the crook of his neck, stealing all the warmth the man got to offer. “Yea… Sweetheart?” He tests the water, considering holding back the pet name that was only ever meant for you. Yet just as everything else had when you’re around, it was near involuntary. “I love you.” You mewl out a softly amidst a small giggle before diving into his arms. “Can we go home?” Now, Bobby knows full well this was nothing but a drunken sleep talk but that sentence, home, it lights his heart on fire. He was always the one that’d get drunk, coming home laughing and diving into your arms. This was something new, something so different that despite everything else that was happening, deep down a blissfulness spreading through his body. Your head lulling gently, falling right into his chest as your soft snores continue to echo through the darken parking lot. He places you gently into the passenger seat, buckling you up before placing yet another kiss to your forehead. The steady pace his heart had regained finally seeing you safe and sound was once more beating erratically as the moonlight, dirtying by a bit of the neon sign of the bar seemingly adding to the ethereal glow of your beauty. Your lips so soft, cherry red and plump enticing his soul to its own perdition. Just as easily as breathing, he could effortlessly steal a kiss this very moment and you wouldn’t even care nor have any knowledge of it the next day. Yet as much as he wanted that, Bobby knows it means nothing and mess up beyond anything he had done up to this point if you don’t kiss him back, if you don’t want him. So, he brushes a bit of hair tickling your nose out of the way before shutting the door and begins the journey back home. So strange the way you feel so familiar, so right in his arms yet the world revolving around you, the very nature of your relationship is anything but that. No longer was he the companionship to your night out nor could he provide the care he once did on the rare occasion you’d drink past the point of clarity. As he gently places you into the comforting embrace of his bed, a twinge of pain thumps at his heart before electrifying through the entirety of his being. If this was the you and him of the past, Bobby would already be changing you into the comfort of your PJ, knowing just how much you despise bra and all that it stands for, nothing worse than sleeping in a bra, you used to say. Gently, though drunk you has the sleep capability of Snorlax, Bobby still took great care to not disturb your sleep as he delicately worked his way to wipe away your makeup, remembering how pimply you’d get after just one night of forgoing makeup removal. Although he never thought there was anything wrong with it, and that you were just as beautiful as ever even with a few new red friends on our cheeks, he hated seeing you pouting especially over something so trivial. But this is now, and this is the you and him of the present… There’s no “us” and there’s nothing to tie your life streams together other than a few good memories and a ocean of pain. As you roll to your side and snugging closer to the overwhelming scent of home and comfort, a tear burns down his cheek. Bobby watches on helpless because he had crossed far too many lines tonight… And no longer did he have the right. So, he did what little he could, brushing your hair gently away before placing a pillow under your head. He wraps you up in a big cocoon of blankets, situating himself beside your peaceful self just for a second, lingering. He wonders how much different life would be had you stay, had he gone after you… Maybe you’d be his wife, maybe you’d be the mother to his child, children even. Or maybe you both weren’t meant to be together and the tough time would tear you both apart regardless of who stayed and who went. There’s so much what-ifs, so many fantasies he wished you both could’ve see the ending of but alas this is the reality you’ve both chosen and there’s nothing else to do but to sleep in the bed you both have made. Pulling over the cold blanket he had just gotten out of the closet, Bobby settles himself into the couch, sleep was no more of a friend than it had been before the trek through the night toward you. Suddenly, even the distant siren beyond his living room window lost its spark as his eyes traverse toward the tightly shut bedroom door. He could see nothing beyond the white wooden door, silent and stoic in the night, hiding you away from his eyes. Yet his heart knows just beyond the threshold, warmth and comfort await, its owner awaits. Thirty minutes then come the full hour, Bobby was still staring at the cold barrier protecting his princess as his mind roams back to the wonderful days of sharing cover and warm breath tickling soft skin. The echo of each tick of the clock louder than the one before, reminding him once more of the present. His body exhausted yet his mind runs at thousand miles an hour, tracing over every single mistake he had made. The whirling of helicopter replaced by the chirping of the early birds, out and about ready for another day. He has been far too lost in the distant world his mind had made up for you and him when the loud honking of a car somewhere across the apartment complex finally break the trance your present had put Bobby in. He forces himself to turn the other way, blanket pulls over his head before his eyes forced shut hoping to find peace in the short rest till morning come. Surely the consequences of his words will greet him as the day break, so for now, he’ll take whatever sleep he can get. The very next moment consciousness graces his present, Bobby had long forgotten about your drunken confession and that he had very much braved the cold of December to rescue his princess from darkness and strangers’ gazes of the bar. Throwing the blanket that was already very much half pooling on the floor, Bobby mutters a cuss for being so careless, having once again falling asleep on the couch in the cold embrace of the mistress of winter. Drowsy and barely stable, he scratches at an invisible itch, carding his fingers through the soft brown locks before stumbling carelessly into the door of his own bedroom. The loud bang of his door swinging wildly into the wall was followed by a sound that sends shiver down his spine, far worse than the frigidity of morning cold air against his bare skin. The softest groan reaches his ears, delicate and cute as if a kitten awakening from her slumber yet instead of adoration, all he could feel was fear. The giant blanket burrito stirring on his bed drowns his being in panic, brain frantically searching for an answer, a clue as to what the hell had happened the night before. One foot than two, Bobby inches closer to the sleepy bundle, muscles flexing, ready to put up a fight to the drowsy bandit. The sight beholding the surprised man was beyond his imagination, far far beyond the fathomable realm of situations his sleepy mind was prepared for. The memories of the night before come flooding back like a broken dam after a long storm, waves thrashing his heart against the rocks of the past. The quaint touches, your love confession, everything rushes back in a matter of second and it left Bobby breathless in all the best way possible. Somehow in between the time he had left you safe and sound in the comfort of his bed and the moment he had clumsily burst through the threshold, you had managed to create a tiny nest for yourself. Bundling around your body is the hoodie he had carelessly tossed onto the ground the night before along, cradling between your cheek and your hand, the sweat-soaked fabric of his t-shirt. It brings peace to his heart knowing that after all this time, you still find comfort in clinging onto him in your drunken state. So many nights he’d toss and turn simply because you too were doing the same, stirring in your sleep, trying your best to maximize the amount of his body you could hoard for your own. He had forgotten how many nights he took for granted, tossing you a bundle of his clothes simply because he could take no longer the exhaustion, pushing you off to your side of the bed. What he’d give to get those nights back now, to cuddle up to your sleepy self and bask in the way you had taken on the scent of his cologne. He stares in awe for a moment, considering waking you yet in light of the alcohol vapor lingering about still, assaulting his nose, Bobby’s sure you’d love nothing more than a few more minutes of snoozing so he left you be. Bobby could count on one hand the amount of time he had braved the kitchen all on his own when you were still a constant in his life. 90% of those times turned out horribly and most definitely ended up with you cleaning up after his mess. Yet that was then, and this is the now of him spending most of his time alone, dining for one. Fast food and eating out sufficed for as long as it could for there’s no replacing the coziness of a homemade meal. So with burnt pots and scarred fingers, Bobby eventually learned to take care of himself even though there’s no comparison to you. A simple soup bubbling away on the stove, he debates with himself on whether or not you still like eggs. God, you must find him insane having a monologue about eggs while burning his fingers checking the sad state of his porridge pot. Deep down, a soft warmth settling in his chest thinking about the simple breakfast coming together… You, sitting beside him at the dining table. And although he knows for certain the conversation had won’t be a pleasant one, there’s no denying the little bit of joy, having a tiny bit of normalcy back into his sad daily life even if it’s just for a one morning. Far too lost amongst the cloud of steam shooing away the frost-bitten skin of his naked torso and the clanking of metal spoon against pan, Bobby misses completely the silent shuffling growing louder. “You really need to invest in a wooden spatula. Don’t you know you’re not supposed to use metal on nonstick surfaces?” Your words so gentle, all the pain of your last meeting evades. In its place nothing but the warmth he was used to, and perhaps a bit of gruff from a hangover. “Oh… Is that why half my pots and pans are useless now? Even butter sticks to it.” Your sudden entrance got the man hopping back out of shock, yet nevertheless, a shy smile already on his lips. “Yea, you should throw those out. Don’t eat the nonstick coating, it could make you sick.” Inching closer, you let the flame of the burners lulling you back to reality with its wonderful warmth, putting color back into your pale cold skin brushed with the cold of early morning. Eyes carefully going over the bubbling pot of hangover soup, sunny side up eggs, and porridge, a smile blooms on your tired lips at his effort. Good to know he was at the least taking care of himself with homemade meals. “that’s quite an impressive spread you got going there.” “I, uh, can’t take credit for the soup. I bought that.” Bobby shares a sheepish smile before rummaging to plate the egg borderlines on overcooked. “I wasn’t sure what you wanted to eat so I just kind of made both rice and porridge… Should be done soon. It’s not much but I figure it’ll be easy on your stomach. You should go wash up.” He beams at you, the brightest you’ve seen since the first time you laid eyes on the man at the ice cream shop just a month ago. “Why are you staring at me like that?” “uhm… I don’t exactly have anything here to, uh, wash up.” “Oh! Right. I’ll be back.” Tearing away from the pot one second from boiling over, Bobby nearly tumble over knocking into the couch before running back with a bundle in his arms. “Here, these are the smallest clothes I could find. I’m sure you’d be more comfortable in these than…” He eyes the small dress on your body, disheveled and stained from lord knows what yet the simple act of nodding toward your less than pristine choice of clothing soon turns into a walk down memory lane. He traces over every little mole on your skin, the soft curves of your body, down to your delicate fingers. He misses every single detail about you, your laugh, the little dance in the confinement of the passenger seat, your body. Tears brim his eyes as recent past come rushing in, giving him a dose of the lonely reality. “Uhm, here.” “Thank you.” You grab hastily the bundle thrusted into your embrace, not missing the reddening eyes and the silent sniffle. You say nothing more, knowing it’d only add to the sad reality that was you and him, making your way back to the bedroom you thought was only a dream. Any other day and the steaming water washing away the shame of the night before would be something divine, heaven sent. It would mean relief that you had survived another night spent pathetically living precariously through the illusion of the happier past that the bitterness of hard liquor had granted you access to. Yet today, it’s painful, burning every bit of your skin with the reality that you had very much damage the last bit of good remained of the girl he once loved, if there was any good left after the lies you’ve told. Mirror clouded with the lingering steam and vapor of your silent tears, you pull on the clothes barely fitting onto your body, twist and turn to view the outfit hanging loosely. The reflection of yourself in the mirror, blurred, barely visible through the cloud of your regrets. Even through the billows of water vapors and the surprisingly sparkling scent of neroli mingling with bergamot of his body wash, you couldn’t help but let your nose trail on the ghost of Bobby’s scent. You know it was crazy to even try for he had handed you clothes shrouded with the fresh scent of laundry detergent yet there was no helping your hands from bunching up the fabric of the ill-fitted shirt, bringing it close to your nose imagining it was just shed off of his body. Your mind went back to the late nights of digging your face as far into his body as you could, taking in the comforting warmth and soft scent of faint cologne and Bobby. Sorrow overtaking your senses because soon enough, you’d have to leave the safety of this hideout. So just for a few minutes, you let your heart has it moment. Table was set by the time you finished freshen up, Bobby graciously waiting by the table, scrolling through his phone to pass the time. Though the clothes might be small for him, the t-shirt he had given you near hitting knee length and the pair of short barely holding on. The smile he offers was far short of the one you were used to but nevertheless, better than the scowl and pain etching so deep on his features the night everything ended. The meal begins in complete silent despite the friendly small talk and although it was nothing surprising, there’s still a bit of pain lingering for tableside conversation wasn’t something scarce between you two. “I’m really sorry, for bothering you like this.” You say finally, noting the small glances he steals, unable to any longer swallow another bite with the air thicker than tar suffocating all your senses. “I- there’s not enough words to say sorry and thank you for going out of your way to pick me up. I know this wasn’t what you imagined starting your weekend with.” He was the drop of water to quench your thirst, yet you couldn’t imagine the same could be said about you, not after everything that happened. “Y/n, there’s no bother. This is the least I could do after all those years you took care of me.” Was this how it will be? Polite banter and careful dances about the rich history your souls shared for so long? Bobby watches carefully as your dainty fingers pushing your spoon about, rare bites taken he surmises could barely even be qualified as a bite but rather formality to reward his effort. So many question bubbling close, so close to the surface, he could feel them knotting in his throat. Why were you out so late, who were you drinking with, what was your intention behind calling him… He knew your actions were merely alcohol induced yet isn’t it also true that drunkenness only amplifies true intention? “Is something bothering you? Is the food that horrible?” He had to do it, unable to bear the desolation paints so clearly across your features. “Oh, no, not at all. I’m just…” You consider for a second to lie, blame it on the uneasiness of your stomach souring the morning after… But lie isn’t what either of you need, it’s not what Bobby deserve. “I’m so sorry. I really can’t do this.” “Do what?” Panic slowly engulfs his body watching the color leaving your skin, anguish slowly replacing the small smile you had watching him fumbling over the hot soup. “You’re scaring me, Y/n…” “I tried, I really tried to pretend as if this is normal… But I just, I can’t get over the fact that I intruded your life after you had so explicitly expressed your desire to never meet again. This must be so uncomfortable for you. And I, there isn’t enough sorry I can give for last night, for all the nights before.” Your heart vomits out the guilt pent up and pushed away for a moment of joy pretending as if watching Bobby struggling over breakfast was something normal, just another typical morning in your household. You wanted so badly to hang on to this last piece of happiness with him, to have one last breakfast as a “couple” but alas, guilt was eating you alive even before you realize it was there. “I should go.” No sooner than the last syllable of the sentence left your lips, his hand was already on yours, cradling, squeezing so tightly you could feel the weight on your heart becoming undone. “Don’t… Please. I know I’m despicable, and I’ve accused you of the most horrendous thing… And I’m sorry for that.” His eyes calm, like the grey sky just before a big storm breaking but just beneath the roughness of his voice, panic. You could feel that guilt too was wrecking him apart and it kills you. You’d rather him hate you, never want to again see your face but guilt... Guilt is what keep people from moving on, and that’s not what you want for Bobby. “What you did after we parted, it was none of my business. I know too that heartbreak is much easier dealt with if you have someone to lean on. I crossed far beyond all the lines and I, I’m just so sorry.” “No, your anger was well deserved. I told you lies, that part was true. And I thought for the longest that if you hate me, it’ll be easier for you to move on and be happy. If I can’t provide you with the love and happiness you deserve, then at least someone else can.” How far will you be able to carry your truthfulness, only time can tell. But for now, you’ll do your best to close finally end this chapter of your life and give it the closure it deserved, one that should’ve been written years ago. “That was the sole reason behind everything I’ve done.” “I know you’re not so cruel, and I know in my heart that you wouldn’t forget about me so soon after, just as well as I know you’d never cheat on me… So please, Y/n, end my misery and tell me the truth. I know that night I let anger taken over, but your words matter to me more than you could ever know.” He begs, hands clutching onto yours so tightly, the last line of hope for the drowning man. “When I said it was a misunderstanding, that part was true. I would never cheat on you and rest assure the time we spent together, no matter how shitty, my heart only ever had you in it.” To finally clear up the unspoken thoughts of that night, you felt the weight of the world lifting from your shoulders. Bobby too, seems to have felt the same effect as his head hang low, long sigh release the breath he had been holding. “And the matter of whom my heart had belonged to following our breakup, it was you… Still to this day, only you. It was always you and I’m sorry if I’ve made you thought otherwise, for the pain I’ve caused.” “Why? Why would you- How, what about all the things your boyfriend had said?” “There was, still is no one else. It has always been you and I’ve only lied because I thought it’d protect you. Whatever he had told you, it was done under my instruction.” Tears were once more streaming down your cheeks, sullying the bowl of porridge he had worked so hard on. Bobby falls back into his chair, body limp, no strength for anything else for his brain had taken it all to process the revelation falling from your lips. For reason unknown, you thought it now is the best time for another bite of food only to find it choking with sadness, bitter the entire way down. “Why would you do that? Why would you let me believe in a lie that made me saw you in such a disgusting light? Y/n?” He repeated your name like a mantra, frustration, love, anger, nostalgia, it all mixed up in an undecipherable wave drowning Bobby in guilt. The things he said, oh the things he had accused you of, how could he ever repent for his sins. “I came to visit, a month after we ended things… I knew it was a bad idea, but I couldn’t bear not seeing you. It nearly drove me insane not being able to see you, to speak to you daily.” Your head now too hanging low, recalling the days when wounds were fresh and pain so excruciating, you’ve gone numb. You recall too the excitement of finally seeing that handsome smile and feel the familiarity of happiness. “I was stopping by our coffee shop, figured, if I was to show up and ruin your day, might as well bring some caffeine.” You chuckle bitterly at the past, thinking of how shock he would’ve looked if you just show up at his work with coffees in hand just as you used to. “That was when I realized, we needed to move on if we even hope to survive.” “What are you talking about?” Confusion plagues his features and it was rightfully so. This insane misunderstanding had been solely on you. “I saw you with that girl, seemed like a date. I was happy, honestly, seeing you smiling, going out, having fun. So, I left. I thought that was it, you were moving on and so should I. You could imagine how hurt I was, hearing from our friends that you were still so hung up on what happened to us that you were barely living.” Your eyes trail along the sharp lines of his jaws to the soft pout he has on his lips. Bobby got his gaze on you, watching intently with bated breaths and once more his hands found their way to yours. “It wasn’t your fault, Y/n. It wasn’t anyone’s fault.” The soft sniffles have grown, echoing, spreading through the dead air of the living room that was warming up by the soft sunlight peeking through the living room’s windows. So opposite of the harsh tone and chiding words of the night just mere month ago, his words ring with the dejection of a desperate man. A man that wants so badly for you to realize that the pain of breakup was no one’s fault. It was a part of life and however unpleasant it might be, it was simply inevitable. After all, there are always only two outcomes when hearts begin to beat as one… And neither of you were favored by the grand scale of life. When silent was what met his protest, Bobby finally gazes upon your frail face, glossy with tears and guilt. He wrapped your cheeks in the protective hold of his hands, thumbs gently ridding of the tear hiding away the rosy of your cheeks. And as if it was his last lifeline out of the tumultuous sea of heartbreak, he places the most delicate kiss upon your forehead. Bobby wasn’t sure if it was the right thing to do but it was what his heart told him to. “Hey, it wasn’t your fault. I just needed to deal with pain at my own speed.” “I was hanging on to the image of you, so happy even if it was with someone else and somehow it got me through. Day by day, some days hurt more than others but knowing you were happy, it made my heart content. When I found out you’ve isolated yourself from the rest of the world, I was eaten alive with guilt. Guilt that this all happened because I left… Guilt because I went on living while you were suffering… So, when my friend texted me that he ran into you, I decided to take things into my own hand.” Embolden by the leap he had just taken, you rest your forehead against his, wrapping your own hand around his wrists, fearful still that this is all just another reunion dream your tired mind had conjured up. But that thought was soon banish as Bobby pulls your hands up to his lips and the wings of hundred small kisses flutter against your soft skin, reminding you that he was very much right before you. There are few moments in life that can capture the fleeting nature of life and aside from the moment when you had bid goodbye to your entire life, the very second that text had flashed across your screen was the realest moment in your short days on this Earth. It was so simple, “Hey, I ran into Bobby. He asked about you!”. How could a few sentences, so straightforward, no underlying messages could mess with your heart so much that you felt all the progress you’ve made, all those day coping, surviving this new found loneliness reverting back to the beginning. You contemplated, telling him you were fine, telling him you were miserable, beg for him to take you back… In the end, you asked your dear friend a favor you knew you could never pay back for. A fabricated life in place of the pathetic one you’ve been living. You painted a home with two dogs, a loving business partner, best friend, and lover all in one. Mornings were filled with laughter as you both fought over coffee even though there was more than enough to go around. Nights echoed with the scent of sweat and lingering moans of pleasure as the delectable cloud of a homemade meal wasp around the kitchen, awaiting to be dine. You thought of the future that never was with Bobby as you begged your dear friend to lie for you. “God…” Hands still snuggling yours, Bobby let the weight of his head resting against your knuckles as he mutters soft cusses. He was so wrong, he made you out to be the villain, yet the truth was so far from all the fuck up scenarios he had conjured up in his mind. “I’m so fucking sorry, Y/n. I’m so sorry.” “Don’t be. I started this, none of this was your fault. At the time, I really thought it was the best way to get you to move on... I didn’t think about the consequences, that it would backfire. And I don’t think I can ever make up for it.” A heavy sigh left your lips and your heart wishes so desperately for Bobby to place another kiss upon your skin… Perhaps this time he’d settle for one on your quivering, chapped lips. “How about just start being honest with me? Hmm?” He leans in close, dragging your chair effortlessly right beside his. For the first time since the conversation start, you let yourself focus on the starlight sparkling in his eyes. You were so scare, deadly afraid that if you gaze into his eyes, all you could see was emptiness. Oh, how wrong you were because there’s so much light and warmth emanating from them, so beautiful and tender. “I don’t even know if I should be-“ “No, I know what you’re trying to say. Did you really think I’m letting you go a second time? I’ve got you here, even after the spite I’ve thrown at you, you’re still here with me. You must be insane if you think you’re walking away one more time.” Your self-pity drowns out with all the love his heart could give. Hands once more gently encasing your cheek as he shushes away the lingering tears. “There’s no other place you should be but here. Stay with me.” Your heart nearly explodes in light of the words you desperately hope to hear for the longest. You’ve always wonder what would have happened if you had just stay, screw career, screw the world. What would’ve happened if you had let your heart taken control of your body and soul, letting love win? Like the most wonderful Christmas miracle, life, Bobby had offered you a second chance at the life you wish you have, only this time you both have matured and learned so much from heartache. It wasn’t an easy road here, but it felt so much like the first time. You dive into his arms that was more than ready to welcome you back for they had gone on far too long without feeling the your curves under them. Tears was once more falling, but this time Bobby let them fall because he knows it was out of sheer bliss and happiness… Because he too is crying along with you. Neither of you dare move an inch even as awkward and aching as the position of your intertwining bodies currently in. Breakfast long forgotten and hangover was just something so an hour ago, you could only feel the warmth and solace. “I still love you so much.” It feels as though an eternity had passed since you crawled awkwardly into his arms. You shyly confess, ear pressing up against his chest as the sound of his heart vigorously beating calms yours. “I know, you told me last night.” “I did?” A smirk was already blooming on his lips when you found the strength to pull away from his hug. “I’ll be honest, if you hadn’t sleepily professed your love to me… I don’t know if I would’ve offered breakfast. Not because I don’t want you to stay but rather… After that night, I’m just so scare you’d never want to see me again and crossing more boundary was the last thing I ever want.” Gently brushing away a few locks of hair that was obstruction his view of you, Bobby confesses. “But now, I wouldn’t have this morning any other way, with anyone else. You don’t even know how long I’ve waited for this.” “Thank you, for waiting.” You nuzzle into the crook of his neck, taking in the soft sighs of satisfaction and the gentle sweet words being hum by your loving man. “Why were you out so late last night. I was so scare when I pick up the phone and it wasn’t you on the other end.” Pressing a kiss onto your cheek, Bobby once more has his hand grazing the skin of your face, taking in the way you glow softly under the morning sunlight. He was thanking God that you’re here, in his arm, letting the hotness of your skin under his fingertips shooing away the fear of the night before. “I was so worry, I’m sure I’ve broken every traffic law there is.” “It’s always a bit hard for me around time of our anniversary and, well, your birthday.” You lament the pain the comes twice a year, never fail like an ominous alarm reminding you of your loneliness. “I’ve learned that alcohol numbs the pain…” Your revelation seems to only worsen the concern plaguing the handsome man. “At the very least, it prevented my soul from wandering down the path of self-destruction, wallowing in guilt and the thought of who were celebrating with…” There was no missing the way his eyes dance about as if relearning all the curves of your features and committing to memories all the new freckles and mole you’ve acquired since. Bobby was never shy about eye contact, so it was nothing out of the ordinary for him to really just focus on the way your lashes flutter, still heavy with a bit of tear and sorrow recalling the bitter past. Though soon enough, the reality of just how close you were to him, so close that he could feel your breath hot against his skin, it sinks in fast and he couldn’t stop his eyes from falling onto your lips. He tries, really hard but in the end, no matter which route he took, in the end, his gaze returns to your lips. You too, couldn’t deny the calling for that long-awaited kiss to happen and finally let your heart takes control. You wish you could see his expression as your eyes flutter close, to witness the soft gasp leaving his soul but alas, the soft touches of his lips against yours exceed far beyond anything else. He leans down finally, lips so soft and gentle against the roughness of your own. The first few seconds, neither of you could bear parting way so you both still, taking in the saltiness of leftover tears and the familiar touch that had evaded your lives for so long. Fireworks blossom within your soul, louder and more vibrant with each passing second relishing in the taste of him. But soon that first spark was barely enough to sustain the insatiate hearts desperately trying to sync. Fingers trailing up against the tone muscle of his torso before you let your hand rest on the nape of his neck as his arms fasten around your waist. You’ve waited, wanted this for so long that time no longer a factor in this kiss you’re sharing, deepening so much further as he tilts his head to fully take you in. Pulling away slightly, you nibble on his lower lips lightly before letting the softness of your tongue to sooth the gentle pain. You both kiss for as long as your lungs would allow before parting way, heavy pants, resting in each other arms. “Happy birthday,” You whisper into the small kiss you’ve just placed, unwilling to be apart for so long. “I love you.” “I love you. You’re the best present I could ever hope for.” This was in no way the perfect reunion and quite frankly, there’s still so much more that need to be said, feelings long stored away that need to be dealt with. You’ve spent the first part of your relationship trying to be perfect, to be the couple goal, and to be envy by all your friends. But you know now, no couple is perfect, no love can be without its trials and tribulation. In the end, all you could hope for is to have done the love you have for each other the justice it deserves. You both know in your hearts that the safety and happiness of the other person are what worth the most and that’s all that matter. You have him, and he has you. Life have had its way for far too long and it was time you both, hand in hand, take it by the neck and make it your own. Surely there will be days when life once more gets rough but this time, this time you know with all the certainty in the world that you and he will survive anything. This time, no matter what life throws your way, you’re beyond prepared for all its trickery… Because this time, you have under your belt the experience of a life without each other to remind you both of how fragile this love is. The whisper of a promise to never again leave each other side mingles in the soft giggle of excitement and anticipation. So, as you both let yourselves get lost in the second kiss of your second chance, you hope that the same moon who had for so long watched over your relationship will be there to witness the beginning of your new life with him. You wonder if it is too, proud of the progress you both have made.

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savingpartoftheworld · 5 years ago

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Saving Part of the World - Part Two - Chapter Seventeen

Summary: Set after G-Rev, the World Championships have come to Belfast, Northern Ireland in the hopes of spreading the interest and drawing in tourists. In between all the teen angst and the team drama, something powerful and hungry lurks on the horizon and with the help of the beybladers, it may just destroy part of the world.

Rated: T for cursing and mild violence

Ships: Hints of Mariah/Rei, Hilary/Tyson, Enrique/Julia

Previous Chapters: One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Ten Eleven Twelve Thirteen Fourteen Fifteen Sixteen

Chapter Summary: Amber runs an errand for a neighbour and then has to run for her life. Hilary and Tyson have a fight at breakfast. Mariam goes shopping and spots some pretty boys to stalk.

Amber woke with a jerk and a groan, remnants of the night’s dream playing havoc with her stomach. She flopped onto her back, threw her arm over her eyes. Her skin was hot, the room stuffy despite the small vent in the window. She’d kicked off the covers before she’d fallen asleep but somehow during the night, they’d tangled with her feet. Toeing them off, she felt them slide off the bed as she looked across at the window where the sunlight was creeping along the floor, bathing the room in warm luminescence.

She rolled off the bed and got to her feet. It looked around ten in the morning but it was hard to tell in the summer. She grabbed her phone off the bedside table, checked the digital display—it was 07:15, ugh—and padded to the bathroom for a shower. Starting the water, she waited for it to heat as she considered her reflection in the mirror above the sink. There were dark circles under her eyes, not surprising given her sleeping troubles. If it wasn’t the unbearable heat, it was the fear of intruders or the terrible dreams. Life sucked.

She took a quick shower and stalked into the kitchen, pulling a comb through her damp hair. She should just chop it off, it would be easier managed, but she liked it long. Her mother always lamented cutting her own hair, so Amber felt it was half her duty to let hers grow long so her mother could plait it. Not that her mother could right now.

She gripped the counter and swallowed back the dizzying feeling of homesickness. She liked Belfast well enough, when she didn’t have to be here on her own and when the visit lasted a week. This mission of hers seemed to be endless.

Slipping into the kitchen, she put on the kettle and switched on the TV. Music blasted from the speakers before she lowered the volume. It always did that. She should probably leave a note for her father. God, he was going to be so pissed with her. Probably ground her and then her mother would do the disappointed face, but they had to know she’d do this. Nana Molly knew and that pretty much meant everything in her family. If Nana Molly was aware of it, things were grand. If Nana Molly laughed at a prank, you couldn’t be punished.

When the kettle boiled, she made her tea and dropped down onto the sofa to switch to the News, which was once again filled with Beyblade stories, mostly centring around Eoin.

She frowned, curling her legs up on the sofa. Who the hell was Eoin anyway? What was his role? He’d attacked her in the changing room without any provocation. She could have been a lost fan, a stalker, and while annoying, neither of those warranted such a violent outburst. What if she told the News or the WBBA? His reputation would be shattered, so why did he risk his championship hopes?

She sipped her tea and thought it out.

That kind of overreaction spoke of privacy being invaded, which meant Eoin had something to hide. Maybe something to do with the tree and her own mission. Not unlikely. Why would she be the only Irish person to know about this? Could Eoin’s bitbeast actually be something like Morrigan? But why was he beyblading with it? Could she beyblade with Morrigan? Was she supposed to? God, she hoped not.

Closing her fingers around her mug of tea, she decided to go to the tournament that night, if only to talk to Hilary and Ian about the tree. They needed to figure out what that meant and see if any of the bitbeasts were affected by it.

She froze as someone knocked on the door. Rising slowly, she crept over and peered out, sagging when she recognised Mrs Mulligan from across the hall.

“Hey Mrs Mulligan,” she called out, as she opened the door.

Mrs Mulligan blinked behind her glasses, then offered a warm smile of welcome as she frailly rested her weight on her walking stick. “Oh Amber, I didn’t know you were visiting. Is your da home?”

Panic flared, was ruthlessly squashed. “No, he’s at the office.”

The woman slumped and pouted, looked away. “Oh.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

“It’s just the tap, it’s not working and I called the plumber and he says he’s coming”—she looked down the corridor as if expecting him to appear—“but I have this card and it has to be sent today. It’s my grandson’s 21st birthday tomorrow and I forgot to post it yesterday. I just thought if your father was there, he could wait for the plumber for me while I go post this. It’s just one of those men things, you see, they all seem to understand each other.”

“Well, I can’t help with the plumber but I can post your card for you.” After all, what was the point of trying to save the world for people if you weren’t willing to help them on the day to day things? Good karma and all that.

“Och, would you? That would be such a help, you know. It needs a stamp though. I’ll get you the money for it and sure, you can get yourself some sweeties with it too.”

Amber winced. Good manners dictated she refuse. “No, you’re grand. I’m running down to the city anyway, Mrs Mulligan. It’s not a big deal. Is there anything else I can get you, some milk, teabags, sugar, anything?”

“No, no. No. You just take this”—she reached into her red purse and pulled out a tenner which was far too much considering a stamp cost less than a pound generally—“and get yourself something.”

Taking the money and the card, and making a note to smuggle it back to Mrs Mulligan, Amber stepped back into her apartment. She closed the door, eyed the TV and set about getting ready for her day.

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“So have you heard from Kevin yet, Mariah?” Hilary asked, slathering butter onto her slice of toast and ignoring Rei’s admonishing look. She knew she used too much butter, that it looked like it’d been plastered onto the toast by the time she finished, but it made the toast taste better, especially since it was a little darker than she preferred.

“Mm, a little bit.” Mariah sipped her tea, gold-tipped nails glinting in the bright lights above them, despite the sun pressing against the wood-style Venetian blinds. “He’s not great at writing letters.”

“Does he have email? I could send him one for you. What about Instagram?” Kenny turned his laptop to show Mariah the website and Rei laughed, teasing Kenny about his recent upload: a picture of the remains of their breakfast, mostly empty dishes and discarded cutlery. Kenny was quick to defend himself, claiming the fans wanted to know these things. What Tyson ate was apparently big news.

As they joked and talked, Hilary relaxed into her seat and chewed on her toast. This was good. Being with her team settled her, chased away the frayed edges from the day before. She chuckled, as Mariah pointedly reminded Rei about his own lack of communication while travelling, and studied the dining room. Most of the blading teams had claimed the larger tables, leaving the smaller ones to the travelling business people who were clearly regretting their choice of hotel as they frowned and quickly ate their breakfasts, then escaped the cacophony of teenage conversation.

A waitress slipped through the crowded tables with practised ease to set a coffee pot in the middle of the All Starz’s table. Rick listened to his music, Steve and Eddy pored over a newspaper grabbed from a nearby table, while Michael motioned for Emily to pour him a cup as he leaned across his seat to talk to Enrique. The ex-Majestic had taken a smaller table for himself and Julia, though Hilary hadn’t seen them converse since they sat down. Julia seemed content to watch the muted TV mounted in the corner where a woman was predicting sunshine for the whole of the UK and Ireland, though every so often her phone would flash and she would respond with a flurry of screen tapping.

Taking a sip of her own tea, Hilary waved when she spotted Max and Tyson approaching the dining area with their plates overflowing with food. As she lowered her hand, she locked eyes with Ian for just a second before he quickly looked away. He sat on his own in the corner, furiously typing on his computer, not seeming to mind that his team was AWOL. Though maybe they were just off practising and they’d join him later. Still, she wondered what made him rise so early in the morning to spend his time on that computer. What was he writing? Did it have anything to do with Amber?

“See, Tyson!” Max dropped into the seat across from Hilary and grabbed for the colourful foil sachets sitting in a little white ceramic pot. “You can get brown sauce, ketchup, mustard!” He waved the yellow packet in front of his friend, frowning when Tyson snatched it and began to add it to his sausages. “But there’s no mayonnaise. I think there’s a conspiracy.”

Hilary chuckled, quickly reaching down into her bag by her feet when Max cast her a wounded look.

“That’s not nice, Hils, how am I supposed to eat my food without mayo?”

“Open your mouth and just shove it in.” So saying, Tyson shoved a forkful of eggs into his mouth. “Chry mew fwings.”

Daichi pointed a fork in Tyson’s direction. “What the hell did that mean?”

“I don’t want to try new things.”

Mariah screwed up her nose. “Tyson, that’s just gross.”

“It’s wrong, Mariah,” Max retorted with a scowl. “What Tyson is doing is wrong and offends my tastebuds.”

As they bickered, Hilary fumbled around until her fingers closed around the cool plastic bottle. Grabbing it, she lifted it up and presented to Max. “Aren’t you lucky I’m such a good manager?”

Max’s blue-blue eyes lit up. “Mayonnaise? Hilary, you’re the best!”

“Why do you always get Max mayonnaise?”

Hilary turned to Tyson, her smile fading. “Because he likes it.”

Having squeezed almost half the bottle onto his food, Max nodded. “I do.”

“And you get Kai chocolate. But you never get me stuff.”

“Or me,” Daichi piped up.

Hilary ignored the youngest member of her team—she had spent a whole night nursing him back from the brink of alcohol-induced death—and focused on Tyson as he glowered down at his food. “I don’t get you anything because you don’t have any dietary needs. You will eat anything put in front of you.” Which was great, it meant she didn’t have to go out of her way to make him eat or track down certain foodstuffs or find specific restaurants in each city they visited. Tyson was a breath of fresh air when it came to her team at times. Rei was great too, he took care of himself—mostly because he was a food snob; she remembered the mango incident well—and Daichi was happy as long as no one came near him with a tomato.

“So what are you saying? I’m fat?”

She blinked, thrown by the question. “I never said you were fat.” She glanced around the table for support because she never said anything like that. “I never said that,” she repeated firmly.

There was hardly an ounce of fat on him. Since hitting puberty—if that was even the right term since he sure wasn’t showing any maturity—he’d shot up into a skinny rake of a boy.

Rei pinched the bridge of his nose. “Tyson, stop.”

Tyson sulked into his food and an awkward silence descended upon their table. Hilary twisted her fingers beneath the table as heat crept up the back of her neck. She wasn’t sure if it was temper or embarrassment.

“You’re a little tubby.”

“Daichi!”

All wide-eyed innocence, Daichi threw his hands in the air. “What? I thought we were going to try that constructive critique thing to be better bladers?”

Mariah frowned in his direction. “That was more destructive than constructive, Daichi.”

“So, Hilary, did you have a nice time with Amber?”

Hilary choked and gaped at Max. With Amber? How did they even know? What did they know? “What?”

“You texted Tyson yesterday, remember, to say you two were going to the park.”

Right. Of course. In case she went missing or ended up dead. Hard to believe all that happened just yesterday. She still wasn’t sure she’d been convinced by Amber, but it was hard to ignore Morrigan. Or the nightmares she’d suffered where she’d been repeatedly chopped down like a tree by an army of tiny Tinkerbell lookalikes.

“Uh, it was fun. I got burnt,” she said, wryly pointing to her still pink nose. She made a mental note to buy some sunscreen, and aloe vera gel—Emily’s had been a lifesaver the night before but she couldn’t continue using it.

Taking Mariah’s empty plate, Rei set it on his and sent her a smile. “It’s nice you’re making friends, Hilary.”

Friends, right. Hilary wasn’t sure you could define her relationship with Amber as friendship. It was almost like her initial interaction with the Bladebreakers. She was the outsider trying to gather information on what was really going on, getting wrapped up in something that didn’t really concern her. Maybe someday she’d play a leading role in her own adventure, but that wasn’t going to be any time soon.

“Yeah,” Max agreed, “but we miss having you around, Hils.”

“So did Kai join you before or after?”

Rei sent Tyson an annoyed look. “Tyson, what is wrong with you this morning?”

Sitting up a little straighter, Hilary forced herself to meet Tyson’s angry eyes. “Neither. I met Kai on the way back to the arena with Amber and Ian. I didn’t see him all day before that.”

“Right,” Tyson said, jaw tight. “What a coincidence.”

“Why were you with Ian?” Daichi demanded, with a sneer that curled his upper lip and wrinkled his nose. What, was she only allowed room for one annoying short person in her life?

“Daichi,” Rei warned, “Hilary doesn’t owe any of us answers about who she hangs out with.” His words were pointed enough that Tyson flinched as they hit their mark.

Tyson shoved his chair back and stepped up. “I’m going to go train. That’s what we came here to do, after all.”

“Oi, Granger, you seen Hiwatari around?” Tala demanded, weaving his way through the tables to stand behind an empty chair, hands closing around the top as he leaned against it. “You might want to remind him what team he’s on.”

“Talk to Hilary, she seems to know more about his whereabouts than the rest of us.”

Tyson stalked off. Rei cursed under his breath and took after him. Sensing he might miss something, Daichi chased after them, and Kenny muttered something about needing the bathroom.

Hilary swallowed thickly, her throat clicking closed as humiliation burned through her. Tala pointed in her direction and she met his gaze squarely, refusing to be quelled.

“Tell Hiwatari we have practice, if he wants to stay on this team.”

Oh, this was so ridiculous. She wasn’t Kai’s social secretary. She wasn’t his manager. She was just trying to be a friend and this was the thanks she got for everything she did? She stood up, slapping her hands down onto the table. “Tell Kai yourself,” she snapped, heading to the lobby.

The cool air stung her cheeks as she scanned the area for any sign of Tyson and catching a glimpse of Rei outside the front door, she crossed to the elevators, jerking up the sleeve of her top to cover her shoulder.

“Hey, Hilary, are you okay?”

Hilary rubbed the back of her neck, her shoulders slumping as she turned to face Mariah and Max. “I’m fine, Mariah.”

“I’m sorry Hilary, I don’t know what got into Tyson.” Max raked a hand through his hair, looking torn between staying and chasing after his friend.

“Don’t you?” She hated how jaded she sounded but it was pretty clear what was going on with Tyson.

“I don’t,” Mariah offered with a sheepish shrug. “Care to tell me?”

Crossing her arms, Hilary stepped forward then rocked back as she tried to compose her thoughts. “Tyson sees Kai as his Senpai, he’s spent so long trying to gain Kai’s recognition, his respect.” She quirked a brow in Max’s direction, feeling quietly pleased with her theory. “Hasn’t he?”

Max frowned but slowly nodded. “Yeah, that’s true.”

“And now he has it, he feels like I’m riding on the coattails of the friendship he worked hard to create with Kai. I mean, really, would I have been able to befriend the Kai you first met? No. Tyson worked hard to befriend Kai and here I am stepping in and bribing Kai with chocolate and he keeps seeing Kai and me together and he thinks I’m stealing Kai’s attention away from him. Daichi would feel the exact same if I did that to Tyson because Tyson is his Kai.”

Max and Mariah exchanged a look and Max grimaced. “Well, uh, maybe? I guess that could sort of be right.”

“It is,” she said, releasing a deep breath, clasping her hands behind her. “And I understand. I do. But when it comes out of nowhere like that, it’s annoying and a bit embarrassing, but Tyson’s entitled to his feelings and hopefully, he’ll realise that I’m not trying to steal Kai, I’m just trying to be a good friend. I am really thankful that you guys let me tag along to these tournaments. If you didn’t, I might not have gained the courage to join the archery club and find my own passion.”

She mustered up a smile, feeling proud of how calm and understanding she sounded. She didn’t sound like her heart was a heavy bruised lump in her chest. Fighting, really fighting and not bickering, with Tyson always made her feel a little sick and sad inside.

“Right,” Max muttered, shaking his head gently. “Well, that still doesn’t mean Tyson gets to be a jerk. I’m gonna have a word with him.”

“No, Max, don’t. Let’s just give him a few minutes, okay? We’ll wait in the dining area until he cools off—” She broke off as Ming-Ming swept into the lobby, iPad in hand, looking cooly in control in a navy dress, cinched at the waist by a thick brown belt, brown strappy heels and her teal hair falling in soft waves down her back. She made Hilary feel underdressed in her wide neck white top and stonewashed denim shorts, her hair in a stubby ponytail.

Behind her, Tyson, Daichi and Rei followed.

“Look out, it’s Queen Ming-Ming,” Mariah muttered, sliding her hands into the pockets of her pink zip-up hoodie and Hilary suddenly felt a burst of camaraderie with the Chinese girl who obviously felt equally underdressed.

Ming-Ming stopped in the entrance to the dining hall and pitched her voice over the din. “Conference room 2, now. I have today’s itinerary and—I don’t care Valkov”—she held up a finger as Tala opened his mouth—“whatever you’re going to cry about, I don’t want to hear it.”

She rushed off as quickly as she entered, leaving a crowd of bewildered bladers shuffling after her.

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Across the city, Mariam was in a foul mood. Her morning had started with a sifting of dust and a spider trying to build a web from her chin to her ear. Even now, an hour later, she could feel it crawling through her hair, over the back of her neck, in her ear—little phantom legs scurrying across her skin. It was enough to turn her stomach and rev up her temper. No way, she vowed, would she remain one more night in that decrepit apartment building with its dodgy ceiling and halfheartedly boarded-up windows.

No, she was on a mission. She was going to find alternative accommodation. One that had solid walls, a firm floor, a roof that didn’t leak, and most importantly, a place that had a shower and an insect free bed—though any bed would be an upgrade.

We’ve managed to work out some of the runes. We’re going to the woods to translate them. Meet us there.

She sent a sharp mental prod in Ozuma’s direction and locked down her inner shields. She didn’t care about the wards. The tree was down and that’s what the wards protected—she doubted that even Ozuma could reinforce the wards or change their purpose. Whatever that tree did once, it didn’t anymore.

It was time to focus on more important things, like getting accommodation that was liveable and checking up on the Bladebreakers. As long as the sacred beasts were protected and used for good, Mariam could rest easy, her mission a success. Besides, she hadn’t seen Max in a while. It might be nice to touch base with him, rekindle an old friendship and see what he made of the vibes in the city.

Deciding he would be at the arena she ducked into the ground floor of a mall that she knew stretched the width of the block. Her scuffed ankle boots slapped against the gleaming tiled floor as women in smart blouses and pencil skirts showed off their wares, spritzing perfume and inviting customers to check out a new anti-wrinkle cream for the whole body.

Mariam snorted. She should bring some back for the Elders; they could bathe in it. Though admittedly, most of those new-fangled creams just took the ancient ways and glamorised them. Mud masks, salt scrubs, aromatherapy oils; yeah they weren’t new and they were less expensive back home. Maybe she should look into doing something like that, take the ingredients and treatments from the village, slap her face on it. Ming-Ming made a name for herself, there was nothing to say Mariam couldn’t do the same.

A kiosk caught her eye and she detoured towards it.

Lipsticks.

Lip stains.

Lip glosses.

She sighed, her heart skipping a beat. She hadn’t brought any essentials with her—Ozuma had supervised her packing like the megalomaniac he was. ‘Lipstick isn’t needed in Ireland, Mariam. Who are you going to impress? The Spirits?’ There was no point telling him that she wanted to look pretty for herself. She had a damn good set of lips and she wanted to show them off, big deal. She'd managed to smuggle in the eyeliner bought on her last excursion to a city, though it had worn down to a little nub and would need replacing soon.

“Are you looking for something?” The blonde girl behind the counter asked, giving Mariam a quick once over, eyes rounding at her outfit before she dropped her gaze to her phone with a barely suppressed smirk.

“Just browsing.” Tossing her hair over her shoulder, Mariam hovered over the display and wondered what colour would suit her best. A plum always looked good but you couldn’t beat a sassy red. Though would she really find a chance to wear a sassy red on this quest?

“That red will just wash you out. Try a nice pale pink instead.”

A nice pale pink? She wasn’t trying to be someone’s demure housewife. That was the exact opposite of who she was. “I prefer bolder colours.”

“Mmhmm, whatever. Oh Jacqueline,” the girl called out, waving a bejewelled hand. “I need to go on my break soon; I need to get a dress for tonight.”

“No problem, Mairead,” a statuesque redhead said as she approached. “Liz told me a new batch of dresses just came in upstairs. Might be perfect for tonight.”

They fell into conversation about where they would meet and who was going. After another debate, Mariam chose the plum and a more neutral dark rose gloss. She angled her body to face the counter and waited.

And waited.

And waited longer.

Tucking her tongue in her cheek, Mariam tapped her blunt fingernails against the countertop while the two girls continued their conversation, showing no indications of stopping. Another shopper approached the counter, sending Mariam a congenial smile as she scanned a row of bottled foundations.

After five minutes passed, Jacqueline bustled off her to her own counter and Mairead turned to the new customer, with a winsome smile that flashed perfect teeth and a gushing apology for making her wait. The other shopper sent Mariam a curious look, but she jumped at the chance to be served. Mariam closed her fingers tightly around the lipsticks in her hand and, tucking her blue hair behind her heavily decorated ear, stretched to grab a pamphlet while tucking the lipsticks away in the pocket within the lining of her tunic.

“Hey,” she called out with a smile, “is this pamphlet free?”

Irked with being distracted from her sale, Mairead glanced at the magazine and nodded with a tight smile. “Sure. Knock yourself out.”

Tapping the rolled up magazine against her palm, Mariam sauntered out of the shop, smiling brightly as she passed Jacqueline. The sun blinded her the second she stepped onto the pavement, so she paused, breathing in the scents of sunshine bouncing off the concrete and cookies from the nearby bakery. City Hall stood prominently at the top of the street, its faded mint green dome framed by the bright blue sky. Cars and bicycles zipped by, punctuated by short hiatuses when pedestrians would dart across the road in long loping gaits.

Appreciating the buzz of the city, Mariam turned to leave when her senses went on high alert. She stepped back into the shade of the building and scanned the street, zeroing in on the danger. Two boys, a redhead and a blond, one tall and the other of average height walked leisurely away from her. Nothing stood out about them, the redhead wore a blue shirt, sleeves rolled up exposing white arms that would either burn or freckle and a pair of white linen trousers, while the blond was tanned and showed it off with a black sleeveless t-shirt and grey board shorts. There was nothing unique about them, they wore no symbols, but they both exuded a quiet power, most especially the redhead and when they paused to cross the street, looking left and right, Mariam’s breath caught in her lungs.

“Well, hello,” she whispered. Max would have to wait. She’d found much more interesting prey.

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Having completed Mrs Mulligan’s errand, Amber swung her plastic bag and sucked on an ice-lolly—she bought herself—as she wandered along the busy pavement filled with shoppers, office workers, and tourists.

Exhaust fumes mixed with the scent of melted tar and the sweetly fragrant flowers spilling from the hanging baskets attached to the shop fronts. Overhead gulls screeched and a toddler in a pushchair squealed, outraged that their father had the audacity to smear suncream over their delicate skin.

Ducking around a family capturing memories, Amber slipped down an alleyway and released a sigh of pleasure as the tall buildings eclipsed the steadily climbing sun for a while. Already she could feel the heat rising off her shoulders, a sure sign that the suncream was wearing off. At least she had the good sense to wear shorts with her vest top, though her battered runners were like a swamp. When she got home, she was going to soak her feet in a basin of cold, cold water.

Music filtered from a nearby apartment window and the sunlight gleamed and bounced off the cars sitting in the small squared off space that acted as a parking lot for the workers and apartment dwellers—it also acted as a heat trap, she mused, as she felt the hot air clamp around dampening her neck beneath the heavy weight of her hair.

Screw the basin, she’d soak her whole body in a bath of cold water and ice, lots and lots of ice.

She wondered how Hilary and Ian were coping with the weather. Probably a damn sight better than her. They had seasons in their countries… well, she assumed they did. She actually knew diddly squat about Japan and Russia, bar what the TV told her. Still, she could check in on them, maybe bring them some suncream since she’d all but bought out an entire shop. You could never be too careful with the sun. Her mother was a nurse, she’d had skin cancer talks drummed into her head from an early age.

Part of her considered going back to the park, to where the tree had fallen. Now that she wasn’t so freaked out and the Voice was calmer, though sullenly silent, she might be able to investigate the scene logically. But the idea of going there on her own didn’t appeal. Especially when she didn’t know what that tree did. Was it a gateway or something more? She just didn’t know.

A sound behind her made her ears prick, an itch buzzed between her shoulder blades. She slowed her gait and a smirk began to form.

Ian.

So he hadn’t given up following her. Good. Maybe she could con him into following her to the park, save her having to ask for the company. Two birds, one excellently aimed stone. She still didn’t know how he found her and Hilary in the park.

She turned to ask him, eager to see him sulk when she foiled his spy routine. Her smug grin fell away when she found herself confronted with an empty space. Okay… Bemused, she sucked her raspberry ice pop and rocked forward on the balls of her feet. Where was that little shit? She looked up at the balconies, the dark windows that reflected the sunlight, the slanted slate rooftops where heat rose in distorted waves, but nothing moved. She stepped forward and then she rolled her eyes. Of course. Dropping to a crouch, she peered under the parked cars but, besides the pockmarked cement, she saw nothing.

No feet. No Ian.

Maybe she imagined it, she mused, but her instincts screamed. Someone or something was there. Cold dread began to slither up her spine. The last time she’d felt like this, she’d been attacked by Eoin but as she scanned the alley she found no sign of a beyblade.

A growl, guttural and edged with fury, rumbled through the alley and her mouth turned to dust. She backed up another step, her shopping bag rustling with the movement as the plastic bottles inside knocked against her leg.

Not again.

Breath choppy, she frantically searched the alley. Where the fuck was it?

“Come on,” she muttered. “If you’re going to do this, do it already.”

At least then she’d know which direction to run, and she would run. She sure as hell had no intention of fighting it or calling for help, after all, what could a defenceless human do?

She swallowed hard, cold sweat sprang out along her back.

The dark shadow rose through the cement in the middle of the alley. Amber bit back a groan of dismay, her ice-lolly dropping to the ground, dissolving into a puddle of red syrup.

“Again? Oh, come on,” she whined. “I’m not even a threat to you.”

She shifted her bag to her other hand, her free hand lifting to her throat. Where was the beyblade? More importantly, where was Eoin? Hilary said bitbeasts used beyblades to function in this world, so how was this bitbeast here?

The hooded being finally hovered above the cement though she saw no sign of the beyblade. Not that she could really look, not when it began to come closer, thin silver hands slipping out of the wide sleeves of its black cloak, drawing its scythe back for a swing. Yeah, she was not going to stay for this.

Unlocking her legs, she stumbled back down the alley towards the opening. She just had to reach the street and then she would be surrounded by people. No way would Eoin attack her in front of others.

It zipped out of sight.

Shit.

Amber dropped her bag, spun around and squealed. It towered over her, so close the fabric of the cloak brushed her legs, cold and gossamer. No face could be seen beneath the hood, just empty darkness, like a Dementor.

It howled.

Amber turned and ran back to the cars, her feet pounding against the concrete. She could hear its growls, feel it gaining on her. There were no distortions of air, no heated breaths on her neck, no footsteps and yet her whole back was alive with an electric charge, little snapping bites against her nerves. He was behind her.

Make that in front of her.

She skidded to a halt, then she flailed as she turned and began running back to the street again. She leapt over her toppled bottles of suncream, her skin all but sliding off her bones to escape. Her heart was a desperate staccato in her ears and her breath a hard iron ball lodged in her lungs. She couldn’t inhale fast enough, her head was beginning to spin and the heat squeezed her in a tight sweaty glove.

She was going to die.

When it zipped in front of her again, sheer desperation and an inability to stop had her ploughing through it and then plunging out of the alleyway into blinding sunshine. For a moment white spots flashed in front of her vision, just as a voice shouted, a horn beeped and she was yanked to a halt by a tight grip wrapped around her chest.

#beyblade #beyblade fanfiction #saving part of the world #saving fanfic #chapter seventeen #saint shields mariam #beyblade oc #tyson granger #hilary tachibana

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