#THROW IT IN A RIVER AND THEN LET IT DRY ON YOUR DOORSTEP??

[oh-katsuki]

it’s going to be a long time i think before i read a book that i like as much as i like heaven. i think about it so frequently... idk it just had a very profound effect on me 

[ramenaddicted]

Just desserts WIP (Keigo x Reader cheating angst)

Some angst that I'm writing. @deleteddewewted

Content Warning: Cheating, angst, cursing, and implied drug use.

Again this is a WIP so it's still in the process, so the next time you see it it might be structured differently.

Love is an unyielding force, depending on the person. Some people love hard, others have what I call an inkling of love. Meaning the love is there, just not enough to make them stay or leave. Or some have no love at all; they fake their emotions just to gain a means to an end. So how do I classify the person who threw away three years of a perfectly good relationship?

Here we both stand in our (his) apartment; his eyes are downcast on the floor. He's silently begging for the floor to open up and devour him whole. My body moves on autopilot as I walk away from him, feet leading me to his den of sin. Our bedroom was once a source of comfort for us, now I'm hastily reminded of him fucking another woman on the sheets I painstakingly picked out, a nice burgundy color for fall.

As I hastily pack the essentials: clothes, toiletries, and a few comfort items, all harshly packed away in my purple suitcase. I feel the warmth of his body enveloping me; hands circled my waist, pulling me against his heaving chest. Why is he crying? Isn't this what he wanted?

He wanted an open relationship, he wanted other people, he wanted sex on his terms. None of which includes me, so I'm leaving.

"Please don't go," he begs. Funny for years I had been trying to get him to open up to me and now all because he couldn't keep his dick in his pants he wants to have a breakthrough.

I forcibly pushed him off of me, I refused to feed into his crocodile tears.

"I'll be back sometime next week for the rest of my stuff," I reply venomously.

He screams for me to wait, but I'm already at the door. Fist clenched tight around the doorknob. I take a long breath before turning back to him. He's so beautiful, a cheating bastard, but a beautiful teary-eyed bastard.

"I refuse to be a fool for you anymore."

I refused to listen to his cries and pleas as I opened my gate to freedom and closed it behind me; trapping him in his den of sin or now his gilded cage of guilt.

||||

The first three days were the hardest; when I first left the apartment I wandered aimlessly until I got hungry and hunkered down in a café. It was like God was playing a cruel joke; there were couples everywhere, being cute and loving. It makes me sick, so in between drinking my too-sweet macchiato I called Junko, my dear friend, to let me stay at her place through this whole ordeal. I didn't have to wait very long before a familiar face was decorated with comical makeup (clown core is what she calls it.) Bustled through my section of the café.

"I know I'm supposed to cry with you, but this all-nighter setting spray."

I fucking died at her response, classic Junko; a fashionista to the end.

After leaving the café we went to a nearby convenience store and loaded up with everything: junk food, alcohol, and eye drops...for when we smoke "cigarettes" on the roof of her apartment building. During the walk, my phone kept vibrating in my pocket; I kept receiving calls from Keigo and ...Miruko? I was very tempted to throw my suitcase case and phone over the bridge, just a big fuck you to the birdman with Hella mommy issues.

A blood-curdling scream ripped itself from Junko's throat, startling the fuck out of me.

"From experience, if you don't scream or cry, your thoughts and emotions will cloud your mind." She said with a jovial look etched into her clownish-looking features. "I rather scream than do something stupid, like throwing a 40,000¥ phone into a river."

She's right. So for a good half an hour; I screamed into the indigo/orange mixture that was the sky over Mustafu.

"Fuck you Keigo!!!"

My back welcomed the plush bedding of Junko's guest bedroom when I fell backward on it. Back lounging on the softest and not cum stained sheets; did I allow my eyes to close. I didn't allow my mind to dawdle on birdman and all his shortcomings, instead, I thought about-

"You wanna smoke a bowl?" Junko inquired while standing in the doorway.

"You might wanna pack that bowl nice and tight." I meditated while staring at the colorless ceiling. My night ended with me and Junko smoking a bowl on the roof of her apartment building staring at the ever-changing hues of the sky,...yeah I'll be alright.

||||

I don't remember much of day one at Junko's, day two I spent most of the day hiding away and thinking. My relationship with Keigo had red flags from the beginning. His crude personality manifested when the two of us would have fought and in the end; when he got knocked down a peg, would lead him to hide or fly into the night.

Funny, he can insult me, but when I raise my voice I'm being unreasonable.

With my collection of parental issues; I swallowed my pride and apologized. Every single time I would come crawling to that mother fucker his eyes glowed darkly with amusement. Another red flag was the gifts; Keigo expressed early on that he was a gift-giver, and it never sat right with me. One day a Givenchy dress showed up on my doorstep; Keigo was adamant that I wear it to a charity function. The next gift was a necklace he quietly placed around my neck while I was distracted. Lastly and the most shocking, a forced threesome. We had talked about fantasies and whatnot; I jokingly mentioned that I wanted to have a (hypothetical) threesome with him and another Pro hero, you know as a joke.

" Keigo, what is this?"

"A gift for patching me up last week."

"Such a loving girlfriend, Yasmin.” Miruko passionately murmured. Her desire-filled crimson eyes bore holes into my frame. Yes Miruko is a beautiful and intimidating woman, but

I couldn’t stop the chill that ran through my body as I watched Pro Hero Miruko saunter over to my direction, all dressed in expensive-looking lingerie. The necklace that Keigo gifted me before, fitting comfortably around her neck. Tucking a strand of stray hair behind my ear, her lips were on my left earlobe; hot, wet, and hungry. I felt Keigo’s bare chest against my back as his tongue seriously licked my right earlobe.

My thoughts are a mess; my pulse is racing faster than a speeding bullet, my body is racked with tremors, and my throat is dry. Why would he do this? Am I not enough for him? Does he want someone else?

We got as far as kissing, Miruko could taste my uneasiness through her passionate ones while Keigo watched from his place on a chair in the bedroom.

[wxldchxld]

This started out as like, a light piece just to describe what Beck’s workspace looks like and I won’t lie I’m a little obsessed with it. People always ask me like how tf Harper and Beck get along and... this. It’s this. Harper turns into a big sappy baby who lives off of nothing but Loving Her Wife Juice.

I’ll probably go back and edit this a couple of times for typos and other things but I love it so much I just wanna post it rn. And I won’t be putting it under a cut so y’all will have to live with it.

Harper knocked, almost tentatively, on the open door. From outside she could smell the intoxicating aroma of fir trees and herbs, sweetened by dried apples and candied citrus, drawing the attention of any passersby and calling them in. But she lingered there, knocking a second time when she got no response. Somewhere an old record player was crackling as Judy Garland sang about far away places over a rainbow, and a warm voice was humming along with it. Harper gently ran her thumb over one of the embroidered silk foxes among flower petals embedded into the translucent curtain that covered the door. The fabric, a deep ocean blue, shuffled under her attention, and the little creatures looked as if they were dancing.

Even on the threshold of Beck’s workshop, the world felt so slow. Time didn’t abide by schedules and obligations. It flowed like a lazy river on the precipice of winter, slowly but surely crusting over with ice. If she stood still long enough, would it freeze entirely? Or would the warm glow that haloed her lover forever melt away the sharpest crystals and encourage it to move on?

She didn’t need to knock. She didn’t need permission to enter. Not only did she doubt Beck would care, but the building was hers. The city--in its own way--was hers. It was her nature to utterly and completely possess things---to take them into herself to keep. If someone asked, she’d likely have even said Beck was hers. 

But she had no claim over this place. It was a feeling that went far deeper than any deed or contract or organization. The magic here was so perfectly interwoven with it that it felt like it belonged to Beck.

Inside the room, there was a little tsk and a rich, quiet laugh. “What are you doing hanging out there like a bat? The door is open.” 

The door was always open. Beck still clung to the old superstitions of their people. Ancient rules about hospitality and ways witches ought to behave. Rules made in a time when their people had been valued and listened to, long before Christians had turned them into a target and Google had rendered them obsolete. But Beck claimed it wasn’t about people, it was about magic, and its strange laws that were shrouded in mystery. Magic, she said, liked to know its witches were always open and welcome to it. In return for a witch’s “proper” hospitality, magic would sweep away the bad luck that so often got caught behind closed doors. And--again according to Beck--spirits were much the same, and closing the door on them might cause otherwise benign entities to turn dark with anger.

But Harper had been raised by much less traditional witches. One specifically that would have worn her back end raw with a wooden spoon for letting the heat escape and airing their business out in front of their neighbors. 

She pushed the curtain aside and stepped into the room, leaving any lingering thoughts of her mother laid on the doorstep with the rest of her worries.

The apartment was an explosion of barely organized chaos. Dried herbs and flowers hung from the ceiling or were pressed between the thick, heavy pages of spellbooks laying on the shelves beside jars stuffed with candied fruits and tea leaves. Knitwork and embroidery and tapestries and clothing in all states of completion were laid out on tables or hung up from the wall. Live plants in brightly colored pots lounged in the sunlight that poured in from the huge windows on the far side of the wall. There was a collection of open-faced cabinets filled with canisters of wood and glass and stone that sat in clusters with no apparent system of coordination. Above her the high ceilings had been turned into an aerial playground of wooden bridges, little boxes, and plush cushions either nailed into the wall or floating in midair among the drying plants where her most cantankerous familiar could sit and look down on the apartment like a goddess. A fire roared energetically to her right, and to her left there was a small kitchen where an enormous pot of sliced apples was being attended by an enchanted spoon.

It was nothing like the penthouse they shared when Harper left her work to come home. But oddly enough Beck’s workshop didn’t feel cramped or chaotic. It was warm. It was inviting. Everything melted together on the merit that no two things were remotely related to one another in any sensible way. A way that suggested every single item had been purposefully hand picked or handmade by the master of the domain and placed precisely where they were meant to be. 

And there she sat, behind it all, nestled among the plants in front of a wall of windows. Her feet were curled up in the plush, gliding rocker beside her, and she was smiling up at her through a halo of sunlight. In this place she was a queen, and her crown was made of braids entangled with wildflowers and encrusted with knitting needles and crochet hooks that she had stuck away for safekeeping and promptly forgotten about. She was holding a little stuffed creature in one hand, and pulling a needle and thread in the other.

Beck always seemed fondly amused by the slow, reverent way Harper entered her domain. Their eyes met for a few gentle seconds, and then Beck looked to her right, where something shimmering and half formed in the sunlight began to move. Harper tried to focus on the spirit, but it collapsed in on itself and turned into a yellow moth as big as her hand, and lazily fluttered into the shadow of a flower by the window.

“That doesn’t unnerve you?” Harper asked, taking a seat in an armchair across from her girlfriend.

Again the blonde let out a breezy laugh that harmonized with the music in the background.

“You spend half your nights in an enchanted necropolis in some undisclosed abyss with only dead people and a renegade faerie for company, and an air spirit unnerves you.” She said, a playful perk in her brow. 

Harper scoffed in feigned offense. “Dead things don’t think. They don’t watch me. I don’t like to be watched.”

“What a shame. You’re quite the sight to look at.” 

Now Harper laughed, a rare, genuine chuckle of amusement. She wasn’t modest by any means, but Beck’s flattery could still make her heart race and her stomach fill with butterflies. As if it were the first time, even though compliments fell from Beck like droplets of rain in a spring shower.

“Well it’s a privilege. And it’s only bestowed on people I think highly of.”

Beck snorted soundlessly. “I can’t imagine there are many of those.”

“Only one, currently. And I’d let her do anything she pleased.” Harper replied. There was a small, suggestive grin on her lips, and a devilish twinkle in her eye.

“Oh?” Both of Beck’s brows raised and the hand holding her needle pressed against her heart as if she were shocked. “Then I guess I have someone to be jealous of, because you certainly don’t let me do whatever I want.”

Again she laughed, and Beck joined in with her. Harper rolled her eyes, her quick tongue failing her, and said lightly. “Shut up.” 

“See?! There it is right there. Always bossing me around.” The little witch clicked her tongue in fake disapproval. 

“Anything you want to me.” Harper corrected, still grinning so wide that it hurt her cheeks. “The fact that I don’t let you wreak havoc all across the tristate area is not the same.”

Beck held up both her hands in surrender. “Hey, you say potato, I say tomato.”

“That’s-” Harper halted her correction when she saw the look on Beck’s face that suggested her point was about to be proven perfectly. “Absolutely right.”

It was Beck’s turn to roll her eyes, and then she returned her attention to the project in her hands. Harper leaned forward just a little to try and catch a subtle glimpse, and without a word from the necromancer, Beck raised up the stuffed animal to show.

“Essi has decided that she’s infatuated with snails.” She said, shaking her head. 

Esteri was a frequent visitor in their home. Harper could remember when she was born how Beck had practically lived at Frankie’s house and brought the infant home with her when her friend needed rest. Midori and Jari had done just the same, and the door to her penthouse had practically revolved for months as the gaggle of friends came and went. Essi had just turned three a short while ago, and she’d grown into a wild-eyed, challenging little girl. Consequently, one of Beck’s favorite hobbies consisted of indulging her every whim and encouraging her to be as difficult as possible. If that meant making a snail to feed her newest fancy, Harper knew that “Aunty Beck” was more than happy to provide. 

“It’s not surprising, between you and Dori I don’t know who lets her play in the dirt more.”

“We play in the garden.” Beck corrected.

Harper refused to give ground. “Gardens are mostly dirt.” 

“It’s important for witches to know how to plant and grow.” Her playful tone had gotten a little more serious. Not angry, but carrying a thread of absolute belief. “You could use a bit more time in the garden. And the sun for that matter.”

“Alas my love,” She sighed dramatically, “I am a creature of the night.”

Something soft bounced off her nose and fell into her lap. It was the snail. It’s stupid, smiling face laughing up at her.

“Are you throwing things at me now?” She teased, “Do you really want to start this with me?”

“You’re the one who said I could do whatever I wanted to you.” Beck wasn’t even bothering to contain her wolfish grin.

“You. Not this creature you’ve created. I can’t take an attack like this sitting down. I have a reputation to uphold.” She stood up, stuffed animal clenched in her hand, and slowly walked toward the fire place.

“Don’t you dare!” Beck squealed. They both knew it was an empty threat, that Harper would never disrespect the woman she loved so brazenly, but Beck threw the blankets off her lap and scrambled to her feet in a flash. Harper held the stuffed creature high above her head as Beck latched onto her. 

There was a flush of heat that certainly didn’t come from any fire as their bodies pressed together. Beck was all soft curves over surprisingly strong muscles and blue eyes that glittered in the flames.

“Give me that back!” She demanded, trying to sound stern and reaching hopelessly for the toy. The pair stumbled and fell against a wall. When it shook a cascade of lavender petals and thyme leaves peppered them like confetti.

The necromancer curled one of her legs behind her lover’s and held up the animal higher. “I never knew you had this kind of rage inside of you. You know maybe you should go to therapy.”

“I never knew you were so annoyi-OH” Harper swept them both to the side, and Beck only managed to stay upright because she was being held against her so tightly. The little witch huffed, her cheeks flushing. “Oh I’m going to knock you over the side of the head so hard it smarts for a month!”

“See! There it is again! That rage!” Harper teased, merciless. A little childish, even. “Beck it’s me! Please, remember you loved me once.”

“You’re too rotten for loving. You give me that toy right now!”

Harper was shaking with laughter, her free hand wrapped around Beck’s waist as she strained. Beck was laughing too, intermittently. Every few seconds her angry façade would break just long enough for a smile and a chuckle that made her quiver against her.

“Why are you so godsdamned tall?! Was your mother a giant?” Beck’s hand had a hold on her wrist and her nails were just barely scratching the skin that ignited a dangerous excitement in Harper.

“A troll, actually. It’s a wonder I turned out so pretty.” Harper carefully guided them through the room backing them into the perfect position. When her hand was at just the right height, she felt the toy roughly ripped away from her, and the enormous black feline leaped over the both of them with it in her mouth, and (likely sensing what was about to happen) ran out into the hall. 

"They say the devil has a pretty face---and Angrboda you’re giving that back!” The smaller witch tried to twist to look at her familiar, but Harper had pulled her tight against her body. Now with her other hand free she tilted up her lover’s chin and kissed her softly, the both of them still intermittently giggling.

They turned again, fingers tangled in one another’s hair, lips locked, the air between them dissolving until her lungs burned but still neither of them pulled away. Not until Harper had backed the witch up to the armchair. She gave her lover a rough push and watched her fall back into the seat, panting and grinning in delight. 

She placed a knee on either side of Beck and trapped her against the cushions, reveling in the way she shivered. Her head stooped to whisper in the little witch’s ear. “And what would you let the devil do to you?”

Beck's hands were tightly gripping her hips, trying to pull her even closer. She smelled like apples and wildflowers and everything Harper loved in the world. She was everything Harper loved in the world. Perhaps even the only thing she loved in the world of the living.

“I’d let her do anything she wants.” Beck said beneath her, and the record came to a scratchy stop, and all Harper could hear was the crackle of the fire and the door slamming shut behind them.

[oftenderweapons]

Love Talk - Namjoon

Pairing: Namjoon x reader (nicknamed Vixen)

Wordcount: 6.1k words

Genre: romance, minor fluff, mild smut

Rating: suggested 18+

Hello cuties! Welcome to the Love Talk scenarios.

In these small series we’ll see how the guys handle the turn-ons turn-offs conversation, talking about their previous relationships, kinks and limits.

In this first piece we’ll see how our perfect leader plays his cards with his not-yet girlfriend, fondly nicknamed Vixen. It’s their fifth date and Vixen meets him at hers for a lovely homecooked meal. Expect the situation to escalate. 

TRIGGER WARNINGS: Consumption of alcohol (wine), swearing, toxic past relationships. Discussion of sexual topics, [DDLG/daddy kink, oral, voyeurism, sex toys and impact play, restraints (handcuffs and manacles, spreader bars), lingerie fetish, discipline and rules, mind games, pornography, slight roleplay, sensation play, edging, orgasm deprivation and control, bruising and marking kink, blindfolds. Mentions of angst about Vixen’s past relationship. Mentions of a series of hard limits (hardcore bdsm, heavy pain kink, knife play, electric play, suspension play, water sports, degradation and humiliation, chastity devices, infantilization, dubious consent, asphyxiation, triple penetration, touch deprivation). Just in case you didn’t know already, Vixen is a brat and Joon is the smoothest brat tamer to exist (Can you imagine him sweet talking and tricking his brat into obedience? I. Am. Shaking.)

Wordcount: 6.1k (listen, these two flirt a lot, they like talking to each other and Joon could dirty talk for days. Anything less than 5k would be an insult to them and I GOT CARRIED AWAY) Also, here is my Masterlist

Do you want to read what happened next? You can find it here!

------------------------------------

He didn’t expect it. Yeah, last time you’d made out in the backseat, the driver hopefully uninterested in your anthem, but that doesn’t mean he expected you to ask him out. Usually he was the one texting first and asking out.

International, Korean or fusion? The text read. 

Are you thinking of bringing me lunch?

I’m thinking of asking you out this Saturday. If you’re free, of course.

Picnic at Han river? He asked, hopeful.

They say it’s gonna be stormy. Dinner at mine. I’ll cook.

You can cook? His computer went on screensaver mode. He was too caught up texting. He was already done with the demo anyway. 

You’ll see. You teased. 

He smirked. Then it’s a deal. Want me to bring wine and dessert?

Just wine, you wrote before adding a flirty smirk. 

He was blushing. You’re so naughty. He replied. A pause. Cook your signature dish.

Don’t get ideas. You texted back cheekily. 

That was nice. However, a few seconds later you found yourself questioning how long it would take you to lose your cool and throw yourself at him. The night was going to be disastrous. 

That’s how you found a drenched Namjoon on your doorstep the following Saturday. “Sorry, my umbrella broke on the way. I’m a mess.” He spoke, checking how bad he looked, the words spilling out of his mouth lightning fast. With an apologetic smile he looked up at you, his jaw going slack, a little shocked. “Wow.”

He noticed you had dolled yourself up. You blushed and thanked him for the compliment quickly, your main interest focused on taking care of his situation. You quickly dragged him in, already fussing over him before he got cold, your apprehensive side taking control.

You smiled at him and asked him to wait for a towel. When you came back you noticed he was wearing a thin cotton t-shirt, now perfectly sticking to his skin. You were ready for self-ignition. Fortunately, you managed to find a spot for his dripping jacket and tell him to get comfy. He was already barefoot, his sandals on your entry mat. You offered him your oversized sleeping t-shirt and left as he dried himself and got dressed. 

“Let me see if I have a pair of sweats for you.” You came back a few minutes later with some basketball shorts you didn't even know you had. “Sorry, I don’t have boxers. You could use one of my thongs, if you fancy those.” You smirked, giving him an awkward thumbs-up. He snickered at that, shaking his head. 

God, he felt fond of you already. 

After a few minutes he was sitting at the kitchen table, looking like boyfriend material in his exceedingly domestic outfit, and fidgeting with his hands. Previously you had led him to the bathroom, giving him space to change and asking him to give you his stuff so you could put it in the dryer. In the meantime he had noticed the small details in your bathroom. Your pink toothbrush. Your sleeping robe hanging from the heater. And a small collection of delicate lace — too delicate for machine washing and drying — hanging from a small rack. 

Fuck. 

“It’s almost ready. I hope you like lasagna. It’s a classic.” You called from the stove. 

“That’s nice.” He admitted. “It feels amazing in here. Smells good. And it’s nice, toasty. Great autumn vibes.”

He was probably talking out of nerves. He should stop. He was painfully close to slapping himself.

“Thank you. I know you like hardwood. And that’s exactly the vibe I go for.” You said referring to your furniture.

“Your house is truly lovely, ____.” He spotted more details, trying to ignore the rumbling of his stomach, both from nerves and the mouth-watering scent coming from the oven.

“I’ll give you a tour later. Don’t expect a lot, though. It’s just the living room, the studio and the bedroom. Other than the bathroom and kitchen, that is.”

Bedroom. Hell. Keep calm, Namjoon, she said don’t get ideas. “I’d love to.”

Dinner was easy, you talked about his job and your job, and how you’d moved to Seoul and found that incredible, small apartment in such an exclusive neighbourhood. 

Together with conversation flowed the wine. You both were red cheeked by the end of the meal and your head felt a bit light when you stood up. He noticed and smirked kindly. “Need help?” A hand sweetly supporting your waist. 

You were standing in front of him now and you couldn’t help but notice how his head reached your navel while he was sitting. “Have I already told you you look breathtaking tonight?”

You blushed. “Maybe.” You stroked his hair back, the gesture incredibly intimate. He closed his eyes and pushed his head against your hands, inviting you to do that again. You obliged. “And you look ravishing in my pink and frilly sleeping shirt.” You joked. 

“Yeah I feel incredibly cute. But don’t jump my bones, please. Right now this place feels like the dragon’s den.” He confessed. “And you keep luring me in.”

“I might eat you. Be careful.” You teased. “This dragon can be very hungry.”

He looked up at you and smiled, his eyes crincling. “That sounds amazing.” 

You took your chance and poked his dimple, then you grabbed his hands and removed them from your waist, getting ready for dessert. You started collecting the dishes and bringing them to the dishwasher, leaving only the wine and glasses on the table. As you turned and bent he let his eyes run down your tight-fitting dress, biting his lip as he noticed the lack of panty lines on your behind. “Do I get the dessert now?” He growled quietly. You turned your head, pretty sure that he was enjoying the view, which you had no intention ruining.

“Have you been a good boy?” You questioned playfully. 

“I’m always good.” He replied “Maybe not a good boy, but good for sure.”

“You can go in the living room, we’ll eat dessert there.” You directed him. 

He let his hand caress your lower back, catching your attention. “Need me to take the wine and glasses there?” He asked.

“Yes, thanks, sweetie.” You whispered, somehow entranced by the small touch. 

You were starting to get intimate and it felt right. Comfortable. You took a few minutes to yourself, cleaning up the kitchen and loading the dishwasher, then trying to get dessert ready, your movements slower both because of the wine and because you felt like you needed more time to get psychologically ready for him and your bantering.

Meanwhile he reached the other room and fumbled around a little, searching for the light switch. Suddenly the place felt comfy. And dangerous. The lights were low, the sofa looked soft and inviting with a big woolen comforter thrown over it. 

You were well-read. He knew that already, but noticing the big library and the books laying a little bit everywhere really made him wonder how many things you knew. He put down the glasses and bottle and explored, careful of where he put his feet. 

You had Korean books and English ones. A few in one or multiple languages he didn’t know. On your wall there were a few movie posters. Studio Ghibli. The Grand Budapest Hotel. Lost in Translation. Lolita. 

He knew that one. He would ask about that later. 

Moving back to the library he noticed other books he knew. The Unbearable Lightness of Being. Again, Lolita. The Memoirs of a Geisha. The Delta of Venus. A thorough guide to the language of sex… A thorough what?

“You found my forbidden stash.” You asked him, propped against the door jamb, dessert in one hand, spoons in the other. 

“If it’s forbidden, then why are you displaying it so openly.” He asked, moving away and innocently sitting on one edge of the sofa, legs closed, trying to occupy as little space as possible.

“No one visits here, usually. And why should I hide being interested in erotism?” You laid the heavy bowl on the table. “It’s tiramisu. It’s coffee-based. I thought you would like it. If you’re bold enough I might tell you the story of it.”

“Come on, try me.” He teased.

“It was invented in Italy. It’s said that prostitutes would make it to reinvigorate their clients.” You took a spoon and dipped it in before bringing it to your mouth. 

He laughed. “Really.”

“It’s a quite popular legend.” You smiled. 

“Did you learn that in The thorough guide to the language of sex?” He asked flirtily, his ears blushing.

“I learnt that during my cuisine lessons.” You replied matter-of-factly.

“And what did you learn from that interesting book?” He wondered, keeping eye contact as he fed himself some cake.

“A lot of things, actually.” You lowered your eyes, playing hard to get. 

“And have you ever used them?” He asked, his curiosity now poked and fully awakened.

“Are you asking me if I’ve had sex before?” You questioned.

He shook his head. “I assumed you have.” He stopped, embarrassed. “I mean, you’re in your mid-twenties and you mentioned having a couple past relationships.”

“Correct. Even though those factors are actually insignificant. But yeah, I’ve done it before.” You shrugged. “So have you, right?”

“Yes. I’ve had three committed relationships. A few casual flings. That’s it.” He admitted, completely unbothered by the fact. 

You looked at him, swallowing your mouthful before asking: “Now we’re gonna talk bodycounts and turn-ons, right?”

“Only if you want to, darling.” His voice became soft, caring. He was your boy now. 

“Then yeah. Well, let’s go through some history.” You poured some wine in both glasses and took a sip of yours. “Lost my virginity at 19. First serious boyfriend. He was a lot older than me. A lot. Like a loooot.”

“How old?” He asked, cocking his head to the side. 

“Like… twelve years...” You said, as if it were a question. 

“He was… thirty-one?” He asked, eyebrows raised.

“Yeah...” You exhaled. 

“And why did it end?” he asked. 

“We were together for two years. Then he wanted family. I wanted career. Seems fair.” You told briefly.

“He must have been important, then.” He assumed out loud.

“We’re actually still friends. He has a family. But he really made me what I am. Actually, he helped me grow up and past some traumas.” You admitted with a smile.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He asked, again warm and comforting. 

“The usual. Daddy issues.” You giggled. 

He bit his lip anxiously. Now what?

“I was overly responsible from a young age. I wanted rules, restrictions. Attention from my parents. I was always wound up tight and with no one taking care of me.” You shrugged. “He helped me find an outlet and discover how my mind works. I realised sometimes I just need someone to take care of me when I'm too tired to do it myself.”

“I noticed the Lolita theme. I was going to ask you about that, honestly. Is that what you’re into?” He asked, tiptoeing around the huge black hole that was calling to him. Asking you to get into his lap and then praise and cuddle you until the little girl eventually came out to play. 

“Are you asking me if I have a daddy kink or if I like owning multiple versions of the same book in different languages?” You asked, putting some humour in the heavy conversation you would be diving into shortly. 

“Obviously the different versions.” He shrugged with a teasing smile. 

“Yes.” You took another small sip. “To both of those.”

He felt like he needed to stretch his neck. “I’m glad this came up.”

“I’m pretty sure you have one yourself, don’t you?” You licked your lips before taking some more dessert.

He took a sip of his wine. “Yes. I think.”

“From one to ten, how far up?” You asked, eyes sparkling bright.

“I would say eight. Maybe nine.”

“Don’t underestimate yourself. You’re safe with me. I was hoping that by now you knew I wouldn’t ever judge you.” You murmured, a pout on your lip. 

“A solid nine. But I won’t go higher up. There’s some kinky stuff out there that I’m seriously not into.”

“What’s that?”

“Stuff like pacifiers and drawings and plushies and playing tea party. That’s not me.”

“No, I’m not into infantilization either.” You agreed. “Honestly I’m more of a brat than a baby girl.” Now that the ball was rolling it was easier getting to the core of things, using terms and explaining kinks. The initial dive is always traumatic, but now you only had to swim. Metaphorically speaking.

“I could tell.” he smirked. “Too teasing and independent to keep your head low and say “yes, sir”, aren’t you?”

“You got me.” You lifted your eyes to him, batting your lashes a couple times. “And where’s the fun in that? The fun is in the chase. All the sweet talking and the manhandling that lead to surrender and conquest. I need to be won, earned, deserved. Of course I will bend, but I want you to show me how much you want me, how far you’re willing to go to get me. If it suits my taste, I will give in.”

He swallowed and took another spoonful of tiramisu. You were getting to his head faster than the wine. “So you’re a brat.” He stated, then licking his lip. 

You nodded. 

“What else are you into?” He asked, his stare dark and serious. 

You subtly clenched your legs. “I like the fight. I like the sensationof my partner overpowering me. But I also like feeling loved and taken care of.”

“That’s right and natural, darling.” He supported you. 

You felt your body caving in slowly, the desire in his eyes felt intoxicating and the sweet understanding and tenderness oozing from his mouth made you want to please him immensely. You were already yielding without him even touching you. “I like rules.”

“Oh, you do, sweetie?” He lured you in, inviting you to share more details. 

“They make me feel like the other person is giving me boundaries to protect me.” You confessed.

“I like those too.” He diminished the power imbalance between the two of you, showing you his more delicate side. “I like giving them. And I like receiving them. I also feel like the other person is teaching me how to respect them. How to love them right. And is also indirectly protecting me from harm.”

“That’s right.” You agreed. “That’s exactly how I feel.” You smiled shyly. 

“Do you like punishment, in any forms?” He asked, his voice so delicate it felt like a butterfly landing on the tip of your nose.

You blushed and exhaled. “I like spankings.” You bit your lips, hiding your face in your hands.

He caressed your hands tenderly. “I’d love to spank your perfect ass, Vixen.”

You giggled at the nickname. He’d used it at the end of your fourth date, when your hand had started playing with his belt.

Mood lightened, you lifted your head, smiling brightly. “I like it barehanded. It’s my favourite. But I also like the paddle and the hairbrush.”

“Not afraid of bruises?” A shiver ran down his spine, even though his blood was boiling. 

“Not really.” You took more dessert. He stared at the spoon as it disappeared in your mouth, your lips latching and sucking at the silverware. His eyes then moved to your fingers as they held the spoon elegantly but energetically. “Actually the more the better. But tell me about you.”

He took in a deep breath before exhaling quickly. “I like bruising. Of different sorts. As I said, I’d love to cover your behind in those, if you’ll ever allow me to, that is.” He put down the spoon after he realised he was gesticulating with it. Dangerous. He was getting dumber. “This might sound very horny teenager but I like hickeys. Loads of them. Like marking. I really like marking.”

Your attention sparked up. He could claim you like that whenever he wanted to. 

“And other stuff like biting. Licking. A lot of mouth activity in general.” He admitted, toying with his hands and shifting in his seat.

You couldn’t contain a small squeal and a giggle. “Oral fixation. Sounds nice. I have that too. Official member of the oral squad.” You grinned as you saw the gleam in his eyes. You took a small pause analysing your next move. “However, I can assume from your size that you’re a lot.” You gestured to his shoulders and height.

He only opened his mouth, raising his eyebrows and averting his gaze. 

“And my gag reflex sucks. So I can only guarantee you I’ll try. Enthusiastically. Over and over.”

He felt like evaporating. “The only thing that counts is that you’re okay with receiving.” He waited for your answer expectantly, eyebrows raised, heartbeat galloping.

“Yes. Anytime.” You deadpanned. Eyes already closing at the thought of his mouth between your legs. “But don’t expect me to be shy about it. I will ask for it. Repeatedly. Until I’m a blabbering mess.”

He could make you a blabbering mess right in that second. He took a deep breath. Don’t start thinking of that.

“Come on, say it.” You flirted. 

He laughed his big old grandpa laugh. “Say what?” He looked at you, happy and excited.

“Come on, you’ve admitted it to national tv but won’t talk to me about it.”

“Oh, you mean porn.” He blushed to the tip of his ears. “Fuck. I’m so fucking dumb.”

“Just clumsy. It’s lovely.” You complimented. “It’s a nice contrast to the hot daddy look you have eighty percent of the time. But don’t get distracted. Talk to me about your voyeurism kink.” You spurred him on. You needed to unlock that part of him. Craved it. 

“Okay, fine. but we’re getting back to the hot daddy part later.”

“I’ll make sure of that.” You quipped. God, the chemistry was getting insane.

"Honestly, back then I used to watch it a lot more. Now I'm sort of… Lazier. It's so difficult finding what I like, and actually liking it the way it is carried out." 

"Like, you're not sure you like how they're doing it." You suggested.

He clicked his tongue in agreement. "Yes. And it just lacks that… Spark. The intimacy, you know." 

"Yeah, I know. That's why I one night stands aren’t it for me. I need to build that trust.” You admitted. 

"I feel the same. And I get it, sex is amazing and everything, but only when you do it right. Like — with the right person. Someone that understands you and someone you're free enough to do it with. Someone you know, mentally and emotionally."

"Sex that comes from knowing and understanding is so much more intense." You said with a dreamy tone.

He looked at your face, longing blatant on your lineaments. He wished he could give you that. He wished he could take it from you. "That's the right word. Intense. You know, like the way lovers look at each other, like ‘yeah, I know your tits look great but you know what looks even greater? The way your chest flushes when you're close and your eyelids flutter and you subconsciously wet your lip with that little, oh-so-familiar flick of tongue’."

You felt your body soften at the words, secretly answering to his description. "You just explained intimacy." You agreed, nodding along and picking up a spoonful of dessert. 

"That's why I watch a lot more amateur stuff these days. I would never have the audacity to film anything — too risky for my taste — but I like watching, at least."

"And how do you feel about watching… Live?" You asked, curious but also guarded. 

"You mean watching my partner as she touches herself?" He asked, eyes blown wide.

"Yes." You said, shrugging.

He licked his lips and gulped, though his mouth was awfully dry. Wine. That's what he needed. 

As he downed a large sip, you waited for his answer expectantly, almost ready to change topic when he started talking. 

"Yeah." His voice was deeper now and an obscure part of you stood to attention, your hearing enhanced to capture any order he was ready to give you. None came. "I would love to. I love looking at a confident woman showing off her lingerie —  and don’t think I forgot about your little collection.” He licked his lips and parted his legs, trying to ease his discomfort. “Sadly, I think that the vision would be an exercise in restraint, since I have zero patience and I can't stand being provoked. But I would watch, were she to touch herself with bare hands or with… Toys."

Lord, save me. You thought, your legs squeezing tighter. 

This time it seemed Namjoon had noticed, although he did not show any reaction except for a cocky smirk, which he hid readily. 

"If it's such an exercise in patience maybe some restraints could help you rein yourself in." You suggested. 

"Being tied up by you as I watch you take off your lovely, expensive lingerie set and then watch you touch yourself? Is that what you're asking me?" 

"A girl can dream." You teased with a cheshire grin.

"Good thing dreams do sometimes come true." He suggested, an eyebrow raised, mouth quirked to the side, panty-dropping dimple in tow.

You smiled and moved half an inch closer to him. 

"You said once you did it a lot more. How much then and how much now?

"Well, back then I did it at least once a day or every two days. Now it's three times a week, roughly." He looked just slightly ashamed, but not really. You couldn't quite decypher his mind in that second. "May I ask about your… Needs."

Your brow creased, fingers entangling. "If I watch stuff? Or how often?" 

He looked stuck somewhere in his brain and you tried helping him out. "Yeah."

Both, then. "Not films. Usually it's just pictures or short clips. When I'm especially needy I might listen to audios—” 

"Of people having sex?" 

You nodded. "Yeah, or just having some alone fun-time. "

God, he wanted one of those. Of you. "That sounds interesting." 

"Sounds interesting in more ways than one, indeed." You offered back with an innuendo. 

Your silver tongue and quick brains would be the end of him. "Talking with you is like a dangerous tango. Like that scene from Mr and Mrs Jones."

You laughed. "I'll have to catch up on that one."

"We could watch it together, next time." He suggested. 

"I'd love to." You were sure that watching the film would probably be the last thing you’ll do. If you did it at all… "About frequency…" You took a pause, trying to verbalise decently what you felt wasn't decent at all. "I must say I'm quite high maintenance."

He poked your side, leaning across the sofa, but staying respectfully two feet away from you. He wanted to see if you would come closer. "Don't be shy. You made me grade my daddiness, now grade how needy you are from one to ten."

"Nine?" You were getting panicked. "Ten?" 

"How often, baby?" His voice was so deep and husky it made your stomach shake with the reverberations of it. 

"Like normally at least once a day?" You confessed in a shrill, insecure voice. 

He nodded with a dark smirk. "Very needy indeed." He turned towards you slightly, his body language showing openness and inviting you to cuddle up next to him. 

He wanted to touch you. Platonically. He wanted to comfort you throughout this conversation as you opened up and showed your vulnerabilities to him, but he also wanted to respect the distance you were keeping. Little did he know it was just a facade. All you wanted was to feel his hands combing your hair, his solid chest pillowing your head, his lips whispering sweet nothings at your ear. 

"So you said you like rules, spankings, power struggles and discipline, anything oral, toys and mature content. Anything else you need me to know, little vixen?" He asked, and the addition of "little" to your nickname made you understand that you were completely out of your mind for this man. You were ready for anything he commanded you. 

"I like restraints." You admitted. "I tend to fight back a little unless my daddy sweet talks me into things. Sometimes I like feeling a bit helpless, like my daddy can manhandle me and maneuver me into positions. That's why I like harnesses and cuffs, especially thigh cuffs. Also spreader bars. And manacles. I don't like handcuffs, they hurt and leave marks which are a bit difficult to hide, and embarrassing to explain."

Namjoon's mouth watered at the thought of thigh cuffs. Of the way your flesh would swell there, of how much skin there would be to bite. However, he also realised he had a lot to learn about you. And he needed to learn new things to play with you. 

"I am absolutely okay with that. I must admit I have never explored this deeply into restraints, so I need to tell you I'm inexperienced with stuff like spreader bars and bondage. I know basic knots for wrists, but that's it. I don't usually have much patience for shibari and the likes. The furthest I've gone is handcuffs and using ribbons or belts, on wrists only." He explained. 

"That's okay. Bondage is something too tricky for me too. Lengthy." You admitted. "Do you have any special need I should know of?" 

"Not really. Except privacy and absolute monogamy." He states coldly. "I like experimenting, and you mentioned a spreader bar earlier. I'd love to try that. Both on you and on myself. Same thing about manacles. They seem less aggressive than handcuffs."

You nodded and explained further. "The pressure is distributed on a wider surface, which minimises the risk of injuries and markings. Especially on rebellious… individuals." You chose your word carefully. 

Namjoon bit his lip and hummed in understanding. By now the discourse was getting highly technical, the need to verify and negotiate interests and limits coming to the surface. "We're both voyeurs, but I'll ask anyway, what about blindfolds?" 

"Soft limit. Really depends on how you handle it. I need constant reassurance and guidance, it really destabilizes me."

"Understood. I might be into those when paired with sensation play, but we'll get into that when the time is right." He conceded tenderly. "Just one last thing, baby. I need to know your hard limits. Stuff you really don't want to do."

"Degradation and humiliation are a big no no. My second — and most recent — relationship was with a degrading bastard. He hurt me in ways I'm not comfortable remembering."

"Okay, love." He looked you in the eyes and waited a second for your approval before caressing your face in comfort. 

"Stuff like hardcore BDSM, water sports, triple penetration and most anal play. And asphyxiation or choking."

Namjoon nodded quickly. "Anything else?" 

"Okay, orgasm denial and chastity devices are an absolute no. That should be it, about hard limits. There are a few things that make me safeword but that I can stand to a certain point, like edging, blindfolds, and touch deprivation."

Namjoon nodded once more, waiting for you to finish."Okay. I think that the only stuff I might meddle with is blindfolds and edging. I have no interest in controlling your orgasms — our aim is to please." He winked and smirked at you, your knees growing weaker and weaker. "Also, believe me when I say I tend to assume a very nourishing and protective role, therefore it would go against my nature to humiliate you or degrade you. I don't intend to attack your emotional stability, so if you're interested, we can tackle the problem with blindfolds a bit at a time. Same with edging, we'll take baby steps if you decide you trust me and want to give me the honour of trying." His brow creased as he tried to remember the other thing he wanted to say. "Oh, about touch deprivation, I always need my little one close to me, so you should never feel touch starved." He took a meditative pause." And I intend to touch you a lot, baby." 

You shivered and leaned closer to him, attracted to the comfortable nook he was creating while leaning on his side against the back cushions of your sofa. It looked so warm. And safe. 

He noticed your wandering glance and quickened the pace. He had ideas. And he needed you closer. 

"My hard limits are including other people in our intimate life. I don't share like that." He warned perentoriously. "Also, you know my clumsiness. If there's any chance that it could damage you, then there's no going that way. I'm thinking of stuff like knife play and kinks that involve obviously dangerous material. Like violet wands. Anything involving hardcore BDSM, suspension play, infantilization and dubious consent is a non-negotiable hard limit. Are you still with me, baby?"

You nodded, making eye contact. 

"Good. I might be interested in some anal play. No penetration and no strap-ons. Maybe rimming. Both giving and receiving. But we'll see. Same for sensation play." He scratched his neck, trying to think of things he doesn't like doing. "I don't like being edged and I have poor control of myself, so orgasm control and denial are kind of softish limits." And then you noticed the shift, like his spine getting straighter, his shoulders rolling back in the process, looking broader, still his voice came out sweet and caring. "Listen carefully now, little vixen. I have little tolerance for disobedience and insubordination. If you have a temper or challenge my dominance, you will have to face consequences. Also, I like claiming my partner entirely. What is mine is mine. I don’t like sharing. Infidelity is a deal breaker. Understood, ____?"

"Yes, sir." You replied, automatically, without even intending too. You did’t feel ready for that title. And sir felt neutral enough.

"Such nice manners." He praised with a proud smile. "Now, would you like to come closer, baby?" 

You batted your eyes a couple times. You were sliding into subspace quickly and you found yourself questioning whether it was a good idea to get closer. Still,  your body was faster than your brain, making you nod and crawl next to him, settling inside his embrace. "Can I sit on your lap, Joonie?" 

He blushed, smiling kindly at you. He was beginning to melt at your complicated charms. "Of course, babe." He sat elegantly with his back leaning against the sofa, legs slightly parted so you could place yourself between them, your thighs across his and your side pressed to his front as his arms slowly wrapped around you, ready to retreat at your first show of discomfort.  "Does it feel nice, darling?" 

"Yes." You whispered. You were so close to him, his body warm while the late summer night felt chilly on your skin.

He cupped your cheek with his hand and pulled your head to his breastbone, building a calm cocoon for you. "You mentioned I look like a hot daddy before. Care to elaborate, little one?" 

You purred at his term of endearment, cuddling into him some more. "You look so hot with your glasses on. Sometimes I close my eyes and still see you in your outfit for Gayo Daechukje in 2019. Grey three piece suit, necktie and glasses. Everyone was fantasising about you as their hot kinky professor in classroom roleplay."

He had some troubles reminiscing the details, but he saved in his mind some keywords. Glasses, suit, necktie, kinky professor roleplay. With your face burrowed in his chest, he propped his chin on top of you hair, his spare hand soothing your skin from your waist to your knee, raising goosebumps in its wake. 

"Did that outfit cause discomfort, baby thing?" He questioned, hands caressing your hair gently. 

"It did fuel some steamy dreams, yes." You conceded. 

"And did you wake up all hot and bothered for me?' He kept teasing. 

"Mh mh." You confirmed, head nodding slowly and timidly. 

His chest shook in a breathy laugh. "Poor little girl, so desperate for the hot professor."

He sounded so cruel, basking in your needy struggles. "I'm so lucky I'm a smart girl who can take care of herself." You counterattacked.

"Smart indeed. But now that I know maybe I can take care of it for you." He pressed a kiss to your head. It was the first time he did a gesture so tender and so intimate. 

"What else gets my little girl all ticklish and lightheaded?" He asked, curling tighter against you and around you. 

"When you call me little." You admitted. 

"Do you like it, ____?“

“Yes, Joonie. I like it a lot." You replied meeting his gaze. 

He leaned down and pressed the tip of his nose to your earlobe, a spot he had discovered during your first make out session. "What if I whispered it here, little vixen?" 

Your eyes closed, lost in sensations, your insides clenching so violently that your body followed the movement, knees pressing against each other, thighs squeezing for relief.

"I guess you really like this spot, am I right, little girl?" He pushed you closer and you started recognising the shape of him against your hip. The basketball shorts he was wearing did no good job at hiding him. 

"Please Joonie."

"Please what, darling?" He pressed his lips there, kissing you with a featherlight touch, impossible to perceive, were not for the sound of his disclosing lips. The tip of his tongue met the skin there, your back arching into him. "When I first saw you you looked like a wet dream, _____, in your smart formal attire, looking like the most confident, adult, unbreakable woman in the world. Legs for days and an ass I wanna bite like a ripe, juicy peach. You looked polished like a model, negotiating over the price of a painting in a private gallery. You looked so damn hot." He bit into your neck, moving your hair aside. "You looked like the most refined and expensive thing I have ever seen. Polished, edgy. So sexy." He bit into you again. 

This time you whimpered. 

"I thought I stood no chance, with my clumsy character and boyish ways." He giggled, and his voice vibrated against your throat. "Now you're in my arms, all cosy and needy, begging me to please you with your big doll eyes and pretty, plush lips, behaving like the cutest, sweetest little girl I could ever dream of." He sucked at the column of your throat gently, hard enough to cause a blush but soft enough to avoid a bruise. He leaned closer to your ear. "You're my fucking wet dream, Vixen."

You whined loudly, turning your head towards him, hoping he would put you out of misery and kiss you. 

Instead he grabbed your cheeks passionately and murmured on your mouth, staring intently in your eyes. "All mine. To enjoy, to ruin. But most importantly to protect and nourish and care for." He kissed you like you were made of porcelain, lips stiff against yours, afraid of letting go. "What do you want, little girl?" 

You stared with equal intensity in his eyes. "Kiss me. Please, daddy, I'll be so good to you." You had no problem using his title this time, your brain completely surrendering to him.

"Good girl." And as you felt your lungs bloom at the praise, wetness pooling between your legs, you slowly gave in to him, opening your mouth, letting his tongue dance with yours, mixing with the fruity taste of the wine and the creamy texture of the dessert. His hand stayed at your waist while the other, once gripping your face, slithered into your hair and cupped your nape, dragging you closer. You didn't know what to do with your hands. 

He kept kissing you as your lungs began burning, his technique impeccable. He kissed you thoroughly, licking your tongue and angling your head to give you access to his mouth. He fuelled your desire with short jabs of his chin, giving you the feeling of him caving in but then retreating and making you chase him. It was… Heady. 

"We need to stop, little one. We need to take our time." He exhaled heavily, his cheek against your forehead as he calmed down. "Why don't we cuddle as we watch something?" He suggested.

"No more making out?" You cried out in tiny disappointment. 

"You told me not to get ideas. First I'll learn about you. Properly. Then, when my brain gives me the green light, I guarantee you my body won't hold back. Just, give me time, ____.” He explained, controlled and at the same time empathetic.

You nodded in understanding, caressing his face and pressing a kiss to his chest. "I wanna kiss you again though."

"Don't worry, baby, we'll have the chance later. Let me calm myself down first." He replied, adjusting you in his lap, trying to separate you enough for decency. 

You were glad that at least the dampness between your thighs was matched by the severity of his hard on. 

"What do you say, I go to the bathroom, recompose myself real quick while you choose something to watch?" 

You agreed. 

Date five finished with a sweet kiss at the doorstep as he left after the film you watched together. 

However the following morning you found a lengthy paragraph in your chat with Namjoon containing a detailed description of his intentions towards you. Let's just say you were glad for the girthy, buzzing friend you keep in your bedside table and for its assistence as you read his text and crumbled, calling his name. 

[imjeralee]

Comfort in Despair: Chapter 30 - Epilogue

Leon x F!Reader

Disclaimer: Do not own Pokemon

Summary:

Galar is rich in folklore and tales of the supernatural.

As a Pokemon Researcher who specialises in ghost types, this is a great opportunity for you to investigate and learn more about the paranormal.

Along the way, you meet Leon (in the most awkward way possible) who becomes embroiled in your adventures.

^ Basically this story is about ghosts :/

Notes: This is the last chapter... it’s over uwagh T_T

Rating: General/Teen

@marydragneell​ - here is the latest update

Epilogue

…

…

[“There is no God, no universe, no human race, no earthly life, no heaven, no hell. It is all a dream – a grotesque and foolish dream. Nothing exists but you. And you are but a thought – a vagrant thought, a useless thought, a homeless thought, wandering forlorn among the empty eternities!"

- The Mysterious Stranger, Mark Twain]

...

...

The doorbell rings and Jace opens the door to see his best friend standing on his doorstep.

“Chuck!” he exclaims happily. “What are you doing here?”

“I thought I’d come visit."

They share a hug and he invites her in for tea. He’s in the middle of packing so there are plenty of suitcases and clothes lying about though his pokemon seem more interested in playing around with the mess than assisting.

And the weather’s good so he opens the door to his veranda and props two chairs outside where they can enjoy their tea and some fresh air. It grants them an exquisite view of the river and the promenade and together, they sit and chat about old times and Jace’s new job.

“Jace,” she says, before she departs. “Thank you for everything. You were always there to listen and support me. Thank you for being my best friend.”

He pats her on the head, ruffling her hair. “Awwww…thanks, chuck; you’re my best friend too. You’re the bestest friend one could ask for,” he replies and they hug again, but her body feels abnormally cold.

...

Professor Magnolia and Sonia return home.

They’re tired and exhausted, having spent the remainder of the night at the police station where they informed the officers about the attack and filed a missing person’s report. To their utmost surprise, said missing person has mysteriously turned up home the following morning.

She’s sitting in the conservatory with a cup of tea in hand and little Polteageist is floating beside her though he looks downtrodden and holds his teapot lid in his hands, his head bowed low, and the professor and Sonia stand in shock, staring as she lowers her cup and smiles at them.

“Where on earth have you been?!” they cry.

They’re ecstatic to see her though Magnolia tells her off at the same time and the women share an embrace, sit down and have some breakfast.

“I went to find something,” she replies. “Everything’s under control. Did you tell Leon what happened?”

Sonia nods, anxious. “I had to, I was so worried. I called him last night and told him everything. He spent the whole night looking for you.”

In response, she finishes the rest of her tea and immediately rises from her seat. “Thanks, Sonia. I’ll go see him now. Professor, please excuse me.” Without a second to spare, she heads for the front door.

“You just got home!” Sonia exclaims, confused by her behaviour.

She pauses, turns round to the seated women and smiles.

“Professor Magnolia, Sonia. Thank you for everything,” she says, “I won’t forget your hospitality.”

…

In Postwick, Leon paces the kitchen with his phone. Charizard lingers in the doorway, holding his claws together whilst mum and Hop throw each other concerned glances.

He’s been looking for her all night after he received the frantic, distressing call from Sonia, who had informed him that something had attacked and chased her out of the house in the middle of the night, and it had also killed two of their pokemon.

They had cleaned the blood off the walls, stairs and floor and were hoping that she would come back in an hour or so, but she hadn’t.

He wished Sonia had told him earlier because he thought there was something wrong when he had tried to call earlier only to go through to voicemail.

Leon had searched all the places where he thought she might be but he had no success. If it wasn’t for Charizard, he probably wouldn’t have made it back home before dawn.

His phone rings, the screen indicating a call from Oleana.

“Hello?” he says, pressing the phone to his ear.

“We’re outside.”

“Alright. Thank you, Ms Oleana…”

Leon quietly hangs up and looks at his family.

“Leo…” Mum says worriedly, “…I think it’s best to leave the search to the police now. You’ve done all you can...I’m sure she’ll turn up. Hop and I can go look for her and we’ll keep an eye out on the news…. Please, you should get ready…Chairman Rose and Ms Oleana are waiting for you.”

He has a strict timetable today, back-to-back with events and battles which allowed no flexibility.

Leon has no other choice but to nod and he leaves the kitchen, heading to his room with Charizard bumbling after him with dark circles under his eyes. His pokemon is tired; they had spent the night flying around, searching but to no avail. He lifts a hand and pats Charizard on the neck.

“Thanks for your help,” he murmurs appreciatively and Charizard lets out an exhausted snort in response.

They barely got any sleep.

After Leon gets changed out of his casual wear and into his Champion gear, Charizard meets him outside where a black car is waiting.

The door automatically opens and inside, Oleana sits rigidly in the passenger seat with her long legs crossed over the other. She taps at her phone delicately, eyes glued to the screen. A tailored suit in a plastic cover is strewn carefully over her lap with a dry cleaner’s label on the hanger.

Leon slips inside and the door automatically closes behind him; the driver begins to reverse out of their driveway and mum and Hop stand at the front door, waving him off.

“We have a busy schedule ahead of us,” Oleana murmurs, without looking away from the flashing screen of her phone, “Chairman Rose has already arrived at the hotel for the fanmeet.”

“Right, the fanmeet,” Leon echoes, staring outside the window as the scenery of sleepy Postwick slowly disappears behind them; the driver steers the car towards the direction of the motorway.

Once they’ve arrived at the hotel, the chauffeur steers the car to one of the backdoors; despite the attempt to be discreet, some eager and diehard fans are waiting for Leon and once he gets out of the car, he hears wild cheering and a large crowd of women and men of all ages stand behind barriers, holding signs and waving them in the air; the majority of his fans are ordinary folk, though some of them are donned in copies of his snapback and wearing other merchandise he himself isn’t actually particularly familiar with.

Everyone’s chanting his name feverishly and he doesn’t want to disappoint despite his own personal circumstances; Leon raises his arm and waves to his adoring crowd with a wide grin on his face before he does his infamous pose. The group goes wild in response and once the theatrics are over, the security team are quick to escort him inside.

They lead him to his dressing room where the makeup artist and hair stylist are waiting for him.

He is made to sit down in front of the lit-up vanity mirror where he sees just how tired he actually is, but they hide it with makeup and he lets them work on him but the anxiety and unease bubbles within.

Where is she? Where could she be? Is she back yet?

Once they’ve finished prepping his face and combing his hair, he is finally allowed to sit up and leave his chair and the first thing he does is ask the artists for a moment alone.

They’re friendly and accommodating enough, so they oblige and exit, leaving him alone in the dressing room to be with his thoughts.

The show must go on but he is so sick with worry about her whereabouts that he runs to the door – was this really happening? Was he really going to tell Rose he cannot go through with it today? Was he really going to drop everything and leave?

However, none of those are necessary because he opens the door and there you are, standing with a smile on your face.

“Hi Leon.”

He’s utterly shocked to the core, eyes wide, and he looks at you head to toe before he glances around the corridor; how on earth did you get in? This is a VIP section and certainly for backstage crew, for staff members only. How did you manage to slink past?

None of those matter; Leon pulls you inside the room, closes the door before anyone can see and immediately throws his arms around you, pulling you into his chest.

“Where’ve you been?” he manages to choke out, with his eyes squeezed shut and nose buried into your hair. He holds you so tightly, arms crushing your body to his as though fearing you would disappear if he let go. “Sonia told me what happened, and I went out to look for you.”

You let out a gentle sigh, wrapping your arms around him in return and resting your cheek against his shoulder.

“I know, she told me. I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to make everyone worry,” you whisper, closing your eyes as you relish the feel of being in his arms again and his warm chest pressed deeply against yours.

“I’m just glad you’re here and that you’re safe,” he replies, his voice muffled as he nuzzles your nape.

As he sighs, tightening his arms around your waist, you pull away slightly to place a hand over his cheek, making him look at you. Your eyes meet and as his eyes searches yours, you smile gently, brushing some hair from his face, running your fingertips over his stubble.

Leon leans in, your foreheads pressing together, noses rubbing affectionately and your lips curls into a fond smile.

“Leon?”

“Yes?”

“Everything’s going to be okay,” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper, “I’m not afraid anymore.”

There’s a brief silence and Leon slowly releases you. Holding you at arm’s length, he gazes at you intently, his honeyed eyes sweeping over your form before he presses his palm gently over the curve of your cheek.

“What happened?” he says quietly.

Your gaze softening, you lean into his hand and shake your head before you gently take his hand into your own then reach for his other. You hold his large hands tightly with your own and you both avert your glances to your entwined hands.

You smile once more before you look up, your gazes meeting.  

“I love you,” you murmur.

Lifting his hands to your lips, you press a kiss over his knuckles and close your eyes. “I love you so much, Leon.”

“I love you too," he stutters out, taken aback by your gesture. His cheeks flush brilliantly and you can hear his heart pounding loudly against his ribs.

He watches as you slowly reopens your eyes and let go albeit you do not mask your reluctance to do so, letting go of him with a shaky breath from the back of your throat. There’s a profound despair settling in your eyes as you look up at him.

“I need to go now,” you say quietly. “Goodbye.”

Something’s wrong, and Leon is overcome with the most dreadful sensation. A desire to hold you back, to stop you, overwhelms him and when you turn, he attempts to reach for you once more but you’re already leaving and Leon follows you outside his dressing room.

“Wait!” he yells, calling after you, “Come back! Where are you going?”

He’s quickly interjected by his makeup artist who has returned with some coffee in hands. “Leon? What are you doing outside? Please go back in, the fans cannot see you like this and the event’s about to start.”

The makeup artist cheerfully steers a conflicted Leon towards the direction of the room with a hand on his elbow, but he’s reluctant to go inside.

“Let’s get you all made up,” she says cheerfully but much to her vexation, Leon shakes his head, pulling himself away.

“I’m sorry!” he yells; although he’s wracked with confusion and guilt, Leon just knows the right thing to do at this moment is to follow you.

“Leon, come back!” she shouts as Leon races towards the direction you had disappeared off to. “Leon!”

...

Sonia tells Leon you haven’t come back so he crosses the house off his list. With Charizard, he goes through some of the places that might be meaningful to you; it could be the cemetery, or the hill where you had watched the sunrise together, it could be the mansion where you completed your first mission together, or it could be the area near the lake where you had camped together and ultimately had your first kiss.

Meanwhile, you stand in the middle of the cemetery, gazing at the large space around you that you can utilize.

Unsheathing your penknife, you grasp it firmly in your palm before you turn to Lucario and your pokemon.

“Do not let anyone enter,” you utter, and your pokemon nod in acknowledgement.

You watch them disperse then glance at the knife in your hand.

“Let us begin,” Deimos says, and you nod. “Do exactly as I say.”

You slide the blade over your hand as instructed, the blade tearing your skin apart so seamlessly and effortlessly…but you do not feel any pain; as fresh blood begins to bubble out from your sliced flesh, you put the blade down and dab a finger into the wound.

Lowering yourself over the ground, you begin to swipe your fingers over the concrete, drawing various symbols and runes.

Leon arrives at the cemetery, having guessed this would be where you are, and as he hops off Charizard’s back, he thanks his pokemon and races towards the locked gates where he sees you within, crouching over the ground near the mausoleum; you’re engrossed with some task that concerns writing in the dirt…and he sees that your hands are drenched with blood.

Leon yells your name but you do not respond, and as he tries to open the huge gates, they don’t budge as predicted. He could always scale the fence or fly over the barrier using Charizard but before he can even take one simple step, Gengar appears from out of nowhere, accompanied with a shiny Lucario holding a wooden staff.

He studies the pokemon carefully, in particular, the shiny Lucario. It’s as you mentioned - the Lucario is real. Gengar, with his never-ending grin, slowly shakes his head before gathering a massive swirl of energy in his hands.

It’s a Shadow Ball, and Gengar quickly sends it hurtling towards Leon’s direction whilst the Lucario spins his staff in a circle and aims the tip at Charizard, a bright light shooting out.

Charizard counters the attack by spewing forth a burst of flames and immediately zooms towards Leon to protect his friend, Gengar’s attack hitting him squarely in the belly.

“Charizard!” Leon yells, before he flings his glance to the pokemon. “What are you doing?”

“You cannot intervene,” Lucario replies, his voice loud and as clear as day.

Charizard snorts in disbelief at the talking pokemon and turns to gawp at your direction; you’re oblivious to the gathering outside, drawing on the ground without stopping.

To get the message across, Gengar flings a Dark Pulse at the flame pokemon and Leon grits his teeth as Charizard dodges.

“I need to go to her,” he yells, but Lucario shakes his head and twirls his staff in his paws, moving to an offensive stance. “Charizard, use flamethrower!”

Outside, you can hear the disturbance as the three-way pokemon battle begins between Gengar, Lucario and Charizard; you’re finished with your runes regardless and you rise to stand, swaying slightly from the blood loss, your body feeling weak.

Surrounded by bloody symbols, you move to the centre of the pentagram you’ve drawn, kneeling down.

“Ready?”

You nod, closing your eyes before you take a deep breath, attempting to drown out the distracting noises of the battle outside.

“Voco autem a tenebrarum gente omnia mala de fovea,” you murmur, holding your arms out, your palms facing upwards; the blood in your hands trickling down your fingertips and nails, droplets staining the ground. “Phobos, viditur.”

Your incantation is finished, you return to the edge of the circle and the sky above swiftly turns from its usual light blue hue to a deep, intense red.

Leon and the pokemon stop at once, throwing their gazes up. Lucario, with no more intention to battle due to the ritual being successfully completed, lowers his staff and Leon rushes up to the gates of the cemetery, grasping the cold bars as a strong wind begins to pick up, sending leaves and debris on the floor whirling high into the air.

He yells your name again whilst Charizard takes to the air and attempts to fly inside – he’s immediately repelled by an invisible force and his body slams backwards. Roaring in confusion, Charizard huffs as he gets back up before he unleashes a massive barrage of flames at the invisible barrier.

Leon watches as the symbols surrounding you begin glowing brightly before the ground splinters; you do not move or step backwards and Leon calls out to you, his pleas falling onto deaf ears.

His eyes widen as soon as numerous black tendrils begin to crawl out from the gaps of the cracked earth, some of them slinking over your feet and stretching towards your calves…the ground bursts apart and the huge creature buried within rises high and into the air with a loud roar, towering over your small form.

Your gaze lands on the creature that manifests, its dark limbs spiralling and contorting in the air before they settle to float around its body aimlessly. It is a creature of unholy origin, something that doesn’t belong here.

“Phobos,” you murmur.

It shifts and coils, the black mass curling into itself and out before a single red light forms in the middle of its body.

“Who has summoned me?”

Its words slither out in a series of scratches and hisses and once it spots you, it lowers itself to your level, peering at you with its glowing red eyes.

“You,” it says. “You have finally figured it out.”

A black tendril shoots out, wrapping itself around your neck tightly and lifting you off the ground as though you weighed nothing; your legs dangle as you’re raised up a few feet off the ground. You struggle, legs kicking as it snickers and sneers.

“You fool; I was going to devour you later, but since you seem so keen….”

Phobos’ voice grows fainter and fainter, its words slowing down as the darkness it is made out of begins to spread, blanketing your vision.

As you stare into the abyss, you attempt to detect any traces of movement that might explain its existence or the matter it’s composed of. Even at this moment, to the very end, you’re still trying to understand, to figure out how things work.

How it works.

But nothing remotely comes to mind.

You can liken it to a black hole but ultimately, you cannot fathom the origins or how it came to exist.

And now you’re going to be devoured.

Deimos’ voice returns: “What’s the happiest memory you can recall?”

“I don’t know.”

“Choose one.”

A series of events are presented to you, almost like a reel. How quaint. A flash of light flickers and there’s a scene depicting you, Sonia and Magnolia and the pokemon having tea in the conservatory. You smile; of course, you had so many lovely, tender memories with Sonia and the professor who treated you like one of their own.

However, it’s quick to change from the conservatory to show you and Jace sitting on the sofa in his apartment, watching and laughing as you watch TV. You had always cherished the time you had spent together no matter how simple it was.

It’s Ezra now. He’s barking orders, using his cane to correct your posture as he circles you. This was a few years ago when you had started training. You’re standing in front of a target – an awkward-looking boulder with a bullseye messily drawn on – and with a talisman in hand, you’re trying to toss it properly and in the best way possible.

“Again,” he barks when you fail, and you remember thinking how harsh and strict he was back then.

Graves is next, and the image of you training with Ezra switches to a scene consisting of you and Graves quietly seated down, watching the game at home on leather recliners. You never realized that although it was a bad time, mere days after your family’s disappearance, but you really appreciated him taking the time to keep you company.

Then the scene changes to the time he taught you several ways on how to hold your torch and another time when you played with Growlithe and Manectric... and finally, you see yourself and Graves eating at Bob’s Your Uncle.

Next, you see Leon. You're camping with him in the Wild Area, sitting close together in those small foldable chairs and looking at the night sky. It’s when you had your first kiss. He’s looking at you and holding your hand so tightly and lovingly, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles, and you smile for you remember this, how truly wonderful it all was.

“You have lived a meaningful life,” Deimos says.

“Thank you,” you reply.

”This is it,” it says.

”I know.”

A single tear drips down your cheek because you know what will happen next.

It averts you to look at Phobos, but you are no longer afraid.

Deimos abruptly bursts out of you in a spray of black and promptly pounces on the creature that was holding you, overwhelming it and tearing it apart, ripping it into shreds; you’re released due to the unprovoked attack and you collapse over the ground, unmoving.

Copious amounts of blood gush out from every orifice – your eyes, mouth, nose and ears.

Leon slams his fists against the invisible barrier over and over again.

Loud, unearthly shrieks can be heard as the two creatures maul and fight each other viciously, slashing at one another and ripping each other apart with brutal abandon until one emerges the victor; the one that had emerged from your body.

It stands proudly over its opponent which lies motionless and is beginning to fade away. Victorious, it faces the sky and emits an ear-splitting screech.

Leon winces from the sound, and his fist finally slips through.

The barrier is gone.

The red sky gradually clears, returning to the normal, tranquil blue.

He rushes inside, acting purely on adrenaline, his mind in utter chaotic shambles. He makes his way up to the centre of the graveyard where your body lies sprawled in a pool of blood and he slowly drops to his knees before you, easing you carefully off the ground and into his arms.

There’s so much blood; his fingers are completely soaked as he brushes some hair away from your bloodstained face. You’re unrecognizable.

Leon murmurs your name and gives you a little shake.

Your body wobbles from the action but there is no response.

The massive coil of black floats beside him; it is as dark as the night sky, hovering in the air with very limited shape or distinguished form, freed from the constraints of gravity. Its body is dotted with plenty of red lights which he recognizes to be eyes. They rotate and roll around this sea of darkness with carefree abandon, but they are all focused on him.

Leon can only stare; this cannot be a pokemon. This cannot be a creation of Arceus. Its design, its origins, are far too complex to have been engineered from earth.

It zips to his left, surrounding him and your body, peering at the Champion inquisitively before it looks at you. Then it dives upside down to gaze at Leon and returns to its proper upright position.

“You can see me.”

Leon nods.

The eyes crease with content.

“It is done,” it says, “Phobos is gone.”

…

White ceiling.

Bright lights.

Overlapping voices.

Squeaking wheels.

A sterile, noisy environment.

“We’re losing her!”

“Hurry up!”

You shake your head at all this unnecessary noise, sighing.

“Sissy!” exclaims a cheerful, happy voice behind you, and you turn round to see your little sister running up to you, holding a Teddiursa doll in one hand and Sunkern in the other whilst Cutiefly buzzes near her shoulder.

“Rosie! Cutie! Sunkern?!”

“Heehee, yes, we’re here!” Rosie says with a giggle as she jumps into your waiting arms.

You lift her up and into your arms with a grunt, Cutiefly flies over and nuzzles you gently, then he buries himself into Rosie’s hair and as you look at your sister, you exclaim, “Oh my gosh, look at you, you’re all grown up! I’ve missed you so much!”

She giggles and wraps her arm around your head, kicking her legs around happily. “I missed you too, sissy.”

Turning to the Pokemon, you murmur, “I’m so sorry I couldn’t protect you.”

”They say it’s not your fault,” Rosie remarks as Cutiefly does a few loops and Sunkern squeaks.

Over the white horizon, a familiar black blob is making its way over to you.

It stops a short distance away before contorting and shifting and expelling two bright lights which come floating out. They are safely deposited to the ground and the blob returns to its proper shape.

“As promised, here are your parents,” Deimos says.

“Thank you, Deimos,” you say as you adjust your hold on Rosie.

“You are welcome.”

Deimos retreats and dissolves into wispy black smoke, leaving behind a familiar couple who head towards your direction at their own leisurely pace.

When the couple finally arrives, stopping shortly in front of you, you gently let Rosie down, who rushes towards mum with a grin.

“Mum, sissy’s here!” she says, and mum picks her up next and into her arms.

Your mum looks at Rosie and smiles, before shifting her gaze to you.

Glancing at the smiling faces of your mother and father and sister, you squeeze your eyes shut and smack a hand over your mouth, before you promptly burst into heartfelt sobs and they quickly move to your side.

“Mum, dad…I missed you so much.”

“We know.”

Your mum gently places Rosie down so she can wrap her arms around you, and your father joins in the huddle.

You're shaking as they hold you, sobbing and sniffling uncontrollably

Rosie is squashed in the middle although she giggles and clings to your side, and mum and dad hold you tightly with their eyes closed whilst you bury yourself in their inexplicable warmth, trembling and weeping in their arms.

They really are here.

It’s as though none of this happened and they had never left your side.

“I had a bad dream,” you say as you finally stop, reduced to a few hiccups every now and then.

You gently pull away so you can look at them and you want to look at them for as long as you can, for it's been such a long time since you had seen them in the flesh and not from a picture.

“I had a horrible dream where you were all taken away from me and I was alone. And I wanted to save you. I wanted to save you all.”

“And you did,” says dad, smiling. “We’re finally free.”

A mournful sob escapes your lips as you close your eyes again, and your parents usher you into their embrace again.

”It’s okay, we’re here.”

You shake your head. “I’m scared that I’ll open my eyes and you’ll be gone again.”

”Don’t be scared, we really are here.”

As you snivel, nodding weakly, you slowly open your eyes; your mother and father stand proudly before you, wearing kind smiles on their faces.

“We’re so sorry we weren’t there for you.”

You shake your head.

”You’ve had to grow up without us. You went through so much.”

Again, you shake your head.

“But seeing you now, we’re so proud of you,” mum says as you emit another choked sob. “You’ve worked so hard and you've helped so many people...we're so proud of you, dear…and now the next chapter of your life’s about to begin.”

“...What do you mean?”

“Here, here, look down there and have a look yourself,” mum says with a chuckle, and she steps away and you follow her to what appears to be a ledge where she peers down. “Look at that handsome young man by your side; despite seeing all these horrendous, evil monstrosities, he is still there for you.”

As you stand by her side, she gestures for you to glance down which you do, where you see a despondent Leon sitting by your side, holding your hand. You’re in a hospital room, lying on a bed with an IV drip and hooked up to a heart monitor. This has happened before.

Dad nods in approval. “He has my blessing.”

“Mine too,” mum replies, and your parents chortle and giggle to each other and as you watch Leon, your heart plummets.

“Well, Rosie, the great beyond awaits. Let’s go,” dad says, and he picks up Rosie’s hand and mum takes hold of her other.

“I’m scared,” Rosie says, glancing between your parents.

“Don’t be. I heard there’s a lot of marshmallows and Teddiursas waiting for us.”

“Okay,” she says timidly, “will sissy be coming too?”

”No, darling.”

You blink in disbelief. “Wait, what? What are you talking about? Where are you going?” you say, making a move to follow them but they turn to you with smiles.

“It’s not your time yet, dear,” mum replies.

“What do you mean? I…I was killed. Deimos killed me.”

They shake their heads.

“Not your time,” says dad, “And I’m darn relieved it’s not. You have yet to live a promising life with Leon.”

”But...”

”Tell your Uncle Chris I said ‘hi’, and not to blame himself anymore.”

“…It’s really not my time yet?”

“Of course not, you still have plenty of more adventures with that young man,” says mum; she smiles too but quickly drops it, mirroring your sullen expression. "I'm sorry, dear. You finally got to see us but...."

"It's okay, mum. I'm just glad I got to see you all again. Even if it's...the very last time,” you reply.

Your family return to your side once more where you share one last embrace with your parents and Rosie. You close your eyes as you hold them tightly; you want to hold onto them for much longer but deep inside, you know you have to let go.

You let go of Rosie last, giving her an extra squeeze before she leaves your arms.

“Take care, dear. We love you.”

"Bye mum, bye dad. I love you too.”

“Bye sissy,” Rosie says, scooping her hand out of your father’s so she can wave at you.

"Bye Rosie," you reply, waving. “I love you.”

“Love you!!”

They're walking away now, and you're deathly afraid that the moment they turn their backs to you they'll vanish from your eyes, leaving nothing but that desolate, empty void that was rooted within you for years and years from the very moment they were forcibly taken away...but strangely enough, that feeling never comes.

Your mind is at ease, your heart content as they throw glances at you from over their shoulders, smiling and waving.

You watch as they slowly move further away and away from you until their voices are scattered and slowly, dissolve into faint whispers in the wind and finally, silence.

They are bathed in a comforting glow and you feel at ease and tranquil as they laugh and smile, disappearing into the warm and serene light.

…

Ezra sits on the bench outside with Absol by his side, his dull eyes unfocused and staring limply into nothingness until he hears footsteps approaching.

An individual plops down on the empty space and there is the sound of a newspaper being flipped open, the paper crinkling under their grip, followed by a very weary sigh.

“Hello, my old friend.”

“…Deimos.” Ezra grunts under his breath.

“Your world is rid of a great evil. You must be happy.”

The old man emits a disgruntled sigh under his breath. “Is she gonna be okay?”

“She will be fine.”

He harrumphs, before his lips spread into a smile. “No sacrifices necessary this time?”

The newspaper is carefully flipped to the next page and the voice hums nonchalantly, “Well, herself – which she was aware of...but I brought her back as you requested.”

”No side effects?”

”No.”

“Her family?”

“Safe and moving on.”

“Thanks,” Ezra replies, “...Thank you.”

Deimos brings out a cigarette and a lighter is switched on, the little device emitting a satisfying crackle. “Would you like one?”

“I can’t.”

“Cancer, correct?”

“Yeah.”

“I have never tried one before. I'm very intrigued."

Ezra listens as the cigarette is lit up, Deimos inhales and takes a deep drag then exhales heavily, blowing some crisp, smoke into the air. In a few seconds, he begins to cough and choke.

“This is vile,” he croaks out, and Ezra laughs.

He hasn’t laughed for a while now, not like this. It’s refreshing yet so strange.

“What’s so funny?” says a new voice, gruff and deep, and Ezra quirks a brow as another set of footsteps approach the bench.

“Hm, if it isn’t Chief Inspector Graves. You feeling better?”

”I’m fine. Thanks for asking. You?”

”I’m well.”

Graves glances at Deimos next. “And you are?”

“I'm an old friend.”

Graves responds with a grunt under his breath before he throws his glance to the cigarette. “You got a spare?”

“I do. Would you like one?” Deimos asks.

“Yeah, gimme.”

Graves plops himself on the remaining empty space of the bench beside Ezra once Deimos hands him a cigarette, and he takes a deep drag before exhaling into the atmosphere. “I haven’t had one in years.”

“Don’t make it a habit.” Ezra warns.

"I know my limits."

"How is she?"

"She's in a stable condition now. There was a lot of blood loss but she's pulling through.”

There’s a brief silence as the men sit quietly before they inwardly sigh with relief.

“Weather’s awfully good today, isn’t it?” Graves mutters, looking up at the sky.

“Yeah,” Ezra replies, “it sure is.”

..

..

Many months later.

Leon has a Pokemon battle against Gloria.

He gives it all his best, but he loses.

He is no longer Champion and he silently heads towards the dark corridor on his own, leaving behind the fanfare, the confetti and the cheering, which is no longer for him.

Up ahead, a young woman in a white labcoat leans against the wall, waiting. When he arrives, however, she pushes herself off to stand properly.

Leon grins and makes his way over, sliding his hands around her waist and bringing her close to him, enveloping her into his chest. She wraps her arms around him in response, holding onto him firmly, eyes squeezed shut.

For what feels like a long time, they stand comfortably in each other's warm embrace and when they part, albeit still in each other's arms, he lifts a hand and brushes a loose strand of hair from her face, away from her eyes.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” he murmurs.

She shakes her head, smiling. “Not at all.”

“Let’s go.”

He reaches for her and she reaches for him.

Hand in hand, they head for the exit together, towards a future unknown.

..

..

[beerecordings]

Memory - Part 3

He shivers on the floor of his cell, curled in on himself, sobbing from the cold.

Frigid air burns down against him like a solstice curse, biting venomously at his bare flesh. He used to say he preferred winter to summer, preferred a nip of cold and deep breaths of clear air as you tug up your scarf and hurry off down the icy pavement to the melting, insufferable, inescapable heat of the summertime, but this?

Hellfire runs cold.

“You look a little frosty there, Oskar.”

Oh, joy. And someone to mock him, too, just to make his life a little more perfect.

“Fuck off,” he croaks, turning around to hide his face from Anti.

“You're having another one of your crybaby days, are you?”

He digs his nails into his shoulders. If he draws some blood out, maybe it will be warm. He can't feel his nose anymore.

“I'm having hypothermia,” Henrik corrects, tears washing down his frozen cheeks. “I will die if you leave me like this.”

“Wouldn't be the worst thing.”

Henrik gives a dry sob, huddling in so tight his head hits his knees, rocking his body against the floor. He needs something to think about, anything to keep his mind off this. Warm coffee the way Marvin makes it, Jameson resting his head between his shoulderblades when he's tired, Jackie's voice, zipping around town on Chase's bike in early August, a nephew and niece set on one thigh each, nice dinners with nice girls, Marvin's cats, his room, his bed, his house, his friends.

He wants to go home.

“How about a blanket?” offers Anti.

“Ha ha,” rasps Henrik, swallowing back a cough.

“I'm serious. Look. Here it is, a nice one!”

“Well, are you planning to give it to me? Huh?”

“Calm down, Franz, of course I am. It just comes at a cost, of course. I can't give you something for nothing.”

Henrik should know better than to look. But he does. And fuck, but it's a beautiful blanket.

Fleece. Storm blue. Big enough to keep a pair of Inuit warm in an icestorm.

“Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you,” he chants, covering his eyes. “You're mocking me, you're mocking me!”

Anti laughs, throwing the blanket over his shoulder. “You really don't expect anything from me anymore!”

“What? What do you want? Should I beg for you again? Do you get off on that? My other ear, would you like that? My hair, just to make sure I don't have anything at all to keep warm? Blood, you fucking vampire?”

Anti's smile is different today. His tongue flickers out over a twisted grin, one of his canines poking out to gnaw on his lip. His eyes flicker from side to side, assessing, assessing, impatient.

“Nothing so worthless as your little body today, my puppet. Don't you know I'm cold too? Just because I'm immortal doesn't mean I want to be uncomfortable. I will trade you this warmth for some of yours. Something to keep the heart cozy on lonely winter days like this one.”

Henrik's heartbeat rockets and he shoves himself farther away, scraping his back against the wall, gritting his teeth hard in his mouth.

“No,” he snarls, trembling so hard his muscles ache from it. “No, I hated that, having you take something from my head. I still don't know what I’ve up.”

“Pet, it wasn't something important. Just a couple little scenes. You picked them out yourself! And I'll let you pick this one too. Just something small, for a big, gorgeous blanket. For your life, really. I won't give you anything otherwise. And you will freeze, if you don't have it.” He beams with mismatched eyes.

“No,” whispers Henrik, turning away. Block him out. Ignore him. Think of sunlight drifting down through the window in their kitchen, making sure Jackie has enough sunscreen on his neck, his favorite sweater, the dog that lives across the street, Chase's chocolate pumpkin bread fresh out of the oven, a kiss, a hug, mittens and scarves, sleeping wrapped up in blankets on a grand Queen mattress...

“Don't ignore me, you stupid little bitch!” screams Anti, a glitch spasming through his voice and making it ring in a high-pitched whine. Henrik sobs and covers his bleeding ear, curling impossibly tighter. “I'll be back in an hour! And by then you'll be begging to hand over whole meals worth of memories for some fleece on your skin, mark my fucking words!”

Anti is gone.

Henrik is left alone with the cold, gnawing away at him like a toddler given a pig's rib to eat.

-------------------

His hair was warm beneath his fingers.

Henrik pushed his glasses up on his nose and looked up at the picture of the model on the counter in front of him, combing through the downy curls, wetting them straight with a little spray bottle which, before that day, had only ever been used to train Marvin's cats to stop scratching at the curtains. Jameson, eyes closed, relaxed, sat straight and still on his little stool, waiting for him to finish. Henrik snipped, snipped, snipped away at his hair, shorter and shorter, neater and neater.

The door pushed open across the house and he heard Marvin and Chase hollering from the cold, bringing a draft of freezing wind with them as they scampered across the doorstep. Jackie shouted a greeting and Henrik rolled his eyes as the three of them began a yelled conversation from two different sides of the house. Jamie only tittered in reply and Henrik patted his head, trying not to smile.

The heater kicked on and poured warm air down on their heads, ruffling Jameson's new haircut as Henrik finished double-checking the last few strands. He clapped a hand on his little brother's shoulder, humming to himself, and began wiping up stray pieces of brown and teal hair from the sink, leaving Jameson to consider himself in the mirror for a moment.

When he looked back up, Henrik found him smiling.

Something warm as fresh coffee rose up in Henrik's chest. Jameson grinned at him and brushed his hands through his shortened hair, pleased.

“It is very you,” said Henrik, drawing another smile out of him. “A little old-fashioned, but you pull it off.”

“Thanks to you,” answered Jameson's hands.

Henrik grinned and set his chin on top of his head, running his fingers over the side of Jameson's hair. His little brother reached up to find his hands and squeezed the fingers fondly, and for a moment, Henrik let himself rest there with him, soaking in his warmth.

“Th-that,” stammers Henrik, his hands reaching desperately through the frigid bars of his cage, scrabbling for the blanket. “Please. Take that for the blanket. He would not mind. He would not want for me to be frozen to death. Surely. Surely.”

“Sure, yeah, he wouldn't care.” Shaking with anticipation, Anti drops the blanket and leans down to grab Henrik's chin, tilting his head up towards him. His eyes are colder than the concrete, and entering into them is like his head had been put through the ice of a frozen river, but then the moment is gone, and so too is the memory of cutting Jameson's hair, and he is alone with his blanket and his shame, wondering what it was that he surrendered.

----------------

Henrik is awoken two days later by cold iron slamming against the bars of his cage.

“What, what?” he cries, jolting awake and striking his head hard on the top bars. Whimpering, he sinks back in on himself, staring tearfully up at Anti as the pain rocks through his skull.

He expects him to be laughing.

He is not laughing.

Anti's eyes are those of a dog chained away from its meat for too long and his hands tremble minutely, clenching and unclenching around the carved handle of the iron knife. He swallows and glances around the cage, his eyes finally settling back on Henrik's again.

This is not the first time Anti has looked so wild Henrik does not call him human. Shrinking in on himself, Henrik closes his eyes and prays that whatever it is that Anti has devised to entertain himself tonight will not be so horrible.

No, wait – today, not tonight. There's a little light come in Henrik's window still.

“Why are you waking me up so early?” rasps Henrik, by now adjusted completely to his brother's nocturnality. “What's wrong?”

“Shut up,” snaps Anti, drawing away from the cage. “Shut up, just – just – I want more of that. That thing you gave me.”

“The... the memory? From the other day?”

“Yes, you brainless welp, what else could you possibly have to give me? I'm bored out of mind. I'm always – I'm always so bored, you don't understand, it's like nothing ever even – in my head, nothing hurts, nothing aches, nothing – I don't feel – ”

Anti trails off, snarling, tearing at his hair. He grips the knife too tight in his hand.

Henrik watches, picking at a scar on his wrist, trying to think. This is just another puzzle. He's good at puzzles. He can figure it out. Right now, his intuition is telling him the best solution is to keep quiet and let this unfold.

“Give me a memory, Klaus,” Anti entreats him, recovering himself a little, standing up with a coy smile meant to be warm, his voice dripping with sugar. “You'll be a good boy for master, won't you? You'll give your owner a memory like a good little creature.”

Henrik shivers and rubs at his shoulders, curling up in his blanket.

“C-can't give you something for nothing,” he croaks finally, pushing his shattered glasses up on his nose.

Anti lets out a sharp bark of laughter. His eyes are bright. He holds up a finger and then retreats into the hallway, his heavy footsteps stomping away, only to return moments later with his hands full.

Henrik straightens up so fast he nearly strikes his head again, his mouth falling slightly open. He stares between Anti and his reward, trying to figure out if this is a joke or not.

“Tasty, yes? Good for you! You must keep the scurvy away, pet. Yummy, sweet. Good to drink too. Mmh, lecker!”

Henrik's fingers reach out past the bars of his cage, barely skimming the scratchy string that binds together a bulk bag of blood oranges.

“Six whole pounds,” crows Anti, pressing them a little closer, letting Henrik smell the good sweet skin. “I knew you'd love it. When was the last time you had a treat like this? Or anything to eat but yams and canned corn, ha! Come on, so, darling, it's a deal?”

He licks at his lips. Henrik tries not to lick at his own.

“Throw in a couple jugs of water and some protein.” He holds his chin up. “And I'll give you what you want.”

A ripple of glitching runs through Anti's form and he drops the oranges to the ground, stalking off again and coming back with three whole liter-jugs of water and a can of – ugh, canned tuna. It'll have to do.

“Something like last time,” Anti demands, opening the cage door. “But – but – I don't know. Bitter. Everything you give me is so sweet.”

Henrik's mouth twitches grimly as he tugs the oranges towards himself, tearing into the skin with shaking hands and eyes blown wide with the strength of his hunger and craving. He wants to shove his hand inside the orange and lick the juice off like a wild thing, wants to tear the fruit out and fill his mouth until he fucking chokes, and if it kills him, then what a way to go!

No, no! Savor it, Henrik, savor it. Staring down at the little scrap of skin, he reaches slowly up, and places it into his mouth, chewing down on the almost empty, but ever-so-slightly sweet taste of the rind.

“Puppet,” growls Anti, crossing his arms over his chest. “Don't ignore me.”

“Sorry.” Henrik chews down faster on the rind, a cold smile sitting on his cracked lips. “You said something bitter?”

“Yes. Yes.”

He can give him that.

“Well, what did I give you last time?”

Anti shuffles, tilting his head side-to-side. “Well... the point is, I want something... personal. Personal. And I want – I want – ”

He shakes his head and hisses, drawing in close. His fingers curl around the bars of the cage.

“I want something with Jameson. Something personal with Jameson. Like that haircut... him smiling at you. Stroking his hair. Give that to me, but bitter.”

Henrik's blood seems to chill against his bones.

And then he is spitting out the orange rind, shoving the bag back at Anti, and his heart is pulsing to get out of his chest. Revulsion makes him choke and shame makes his vision blur, painful sobbing hiccups interrupting rapid breaths. Anti is shouting, pressing the oranges back towards him, grabbing at his hair and slamming him back against the wall of the cage, but Henrik isn't listening, not now, not anymore.

“You will never see anything of Jameson's friendship!” he shrieks, thrashing against the grip around his throat. “You will never see anything of what it is like to be loved by him! You are nothing! He abhors you! He despises you! He doesn't belong to you and you will never get your hands on him again! Not in reality, not in my head, not on your useless, horrible, god-awful pustule of an existence!”

Anti's anger is a hurricane, enough to lift cars, enough to lift houses, sweeping across whole cities, across whole lands, with a noise like the whipping of a thousand winds. “Don't you say that to me!” howls Anti, striking him, striking him, striking him until his face is one red and purple bruise, until bones poke out from his cheek and neither of his eyes can open. “Stupid fucking brat!”

“I never should have given you anything,” wheezes Henrik, clawing at his hands. “Own my body, huh? Call me your dog? Well, Antisepticeye. You can keep me in a cage all you want – ”

Anti strikes him across the head and makes him reel, but still he is speaking.

“You can beat me within an inch of my life – ”

Or perhaps farther, he almost believes, sucking in a desperate breath.

“But you will never own my mind.”

“Little monster.” The words drip from Anti's mouth like saliva from a lion's. His eyes are pools of pitch and his lips drawn back in a fang-toothed snarl. “Stupid little monster. You really think you can keep anything from me? I will suck every memory, every moment, every fucking feeling out of that little head of yours. I will take Chase, I will take Jameson, I will take Henrik himself. There is nothing – nothing – you can do to stop me. You will never be able to hold on. You will never be able to deny me. Weak, stupid, desperate, ugly little animal.”

“Go fuck yourself,” whispers Henrik, a smile on his relentless mouth. “I will never give you another memory again.”

For a second, Anti's fist draws back yet again, and Henrik braces for a hundredth blow, his mouth tightening in a grimace.

But it never falls.

Anti's voice, when he speaks, has lost most of its vitriol.

“You really are very stupid,” he says softly. “If you think that that is true.”

His weight disappears from Henrik's chest and legs and the door of the cage clicks locked again, leaving Henrik fuzzily clinging to consciousness and alone, without even an orange to comfort him.

“You'll shatter again soon enough,” Anti promises, drawing back. “Whatever happens, you always have days where I find you in so many pieces you would give anything to try and put yourself back together again. But it does not matter. I have other methods I can use, you know. Your brothers are getting sloppy hiding from me, puppet.”

Henrik drags himself back from the brink of darkness, awakened by the words.

“Wh-what?” his aching lips manage.

Anti's laugh titters through the burning light of the afternoon.

“One day, Albert. One day you will not be the only one down here in this basement.”

No. No. Anything but that. He wants to rage at Anti. To get up and swear to him that he will never lay a hand on a single one of his brothers and friends.

But he does not have the strength.

“My name,” he whispers, as the sound of footsteps drifts away. “Is Henrik.”

He faints clean away. When he dreams, it is of clocks and button-ups and soft, downy curls between his fingers.

[chyrstis]

I won’t ask for much (but just this once, I’d like you) 1/10

I’ve held out for a while now, thinking it’d be silly to post this here after finishing edits to this on AO3 back in February (and having an older version of this already up at the FC5 Holiday Exchange), but I think the only thing that was being silly was me. Because extra edits were badly needed, I’d love to add this to my FC5 masterlist, and to anyone that read the original and powered through the whole thing in one go back in December? Kudos to you, because it was always meant to be posted chapter by chapter here instead.

So, without further adieu, here’s Ch. 1 of 10 of the romantic comedy I didn’t plan on writing for them, but am very glad I did. ...Just with 100% more accidental arson and singing fish involved.

And also, many, many thanks to @finefeatheredgamer​ for being the lovely person to prompt this over at the Exchange to begin with. <3

Pairing: Sharky Boshaw x John Seed Rating: E (but only for Ch. 10, the rest are a solid T) Word Count: 4.1K 

Link to AO3!

Ch. 1 / Ch. 2 / Ch. 3 / Ch. 4 / Ch. 5 / Ch. 6 / Ch. 7 / Ch. 8 / Ch. 9 / Ch. 10

---

Sharky steals a boat. It just happens to be John’s boat, and when it’s damaged along with his boathouse, John proceeds to lay out a means of having Sharky pay him back. [No Cult AU]

-----------

Hurk was his bro. His blood. One hell of a stand up guy, and the person Sharky knew would have his back no matter what.

The one he could depend on no matter what for damn near anything, and the only one right now that he could say to, with his whole heart, “I love you, man, but you can piss up a fucking rope” for getting him into his mess to begin with.

And okay, maybe he was being a bit harsh about it. And maybe he’d wanted the excuse to do it to begin with, but Hurk had dangled the opportunity so perfectly in front of him. Framed it so beautifully, there was no way he was going to say no to it, no matter what.

Especially not with both drinks and two smoking hot women involved. He’d hit a real dry spell, and the temptation to get lucky hit hard.

So, when beers at the Spread Eagle turned into beers down by the river, Sharky had agreed immediately. And when beers at the river turned into the possibility of beers on the river, he’d agreed to that too.

But he didn’t have a boat. Hurk didn’t either.

Maybe they could’ve winged it by borrowing one from the Marina. They would’ve been skinned alive the next morning after his aunt found out about it, but after mulling it over for a few, Hurk had a better idea.

In his words, a better, sexier idea. 'Cause nothing said sexy like a little speedboat ride and some roguish repatriation. Also Hurk’s words, though Sharky was sure on some level that wasn’t supposed to be pronounced like that either.

John had a boat.

John Seed had both a boat and a boathouse. Rich assholes like that always wanted to flash their cash in the most high-profile ways possible, and for whatever reason having his own personal goddamn plane wasn’t enough. He had to have a boat too.

Surely he wouldn’t miss it for a night. And Hurk’s promise to slip him two-hundred bucks on top of that? Really just made the idea all the sweeter.

Things sped up after that. Blurred and blended into the kinds of things he’d see in an action movie, what with him being the sexy hero going behind enemy lines as a means of infiltrating it – and he’d even streaked some mud across his face to seal it.

But somewhere between snagging the fancy speedboat, riding it out, and getting not one but two kisses of gratitude, he’d let himself get sloppy. And on the way back afterwards, with more beers under his belt, and a decent hard on from some over the clothes action, he’d misjudged a few things.

Not the least of which involved just how close of a fit it was to park and settle the boat. It was a square peg meant for a square hole, but he couldn’t see it that way. Not right now, especially not while belting out words to what he’d think a collab between ABBA and the Bee Gees would sound like.

That’s where things blurred again. Grew unclear and muddied as he tried to keep the boat steady. His head pounded as he misjudged the distance - or was it speed? Both were likely - of his approach, as he leapt into action again, this time wondering if his call to Willis his way out was the right one.

Cold water rushed up to meet him, knocking sense into him just long enough to start paddling, but he bobbed down low. Felt things go black, as like an idiot he gulped down a lung and a half full of water as he fought against it.

That’s when he felt hands grab him. A force dragging him up and out of the cold only for the ground to rush up and smack him in the face.

Hacking it out, he blinked down at the pebbles underneath his hands, his face all but numb at this point as water continued to dribble out of his mouth. That had been close. All too close, he’d realized, still sloshed, but aware enough of the person crouching next to him.

So, he babbled out what he hoped was thanks. Followed it up with more thanks after that, and when he flipped over to maybe even throw a hug or a hearty handshake their way, he froze.

Because he wasn’t ready for the kind of cold fury waiting for him. He also wasn’t ready for John Seed to be the one wearing it either; the kind that he was sure meant he was about to be murdered on the spot.

In that moment, not even two-hundred dollars richer for it, he knew he’d fucked up, but as to how much? He couldn’t say. That was for the morning to tell him, provided he’d make it there.

And right now his odds weren’t looking all that great.

---

Pounding. Endless pounding went off, shaking him out of the comfortable space he’d settled into.

The sound echoed again, making him shift around to muffle it. Pulling the blanket around him, he sighed at the silence only to tense when it was broken again.

“Motherfucking balls, man,” Sharky groaned.

So, he wasn’t dead, just felt like it. That he wasn’t, was a relief as he pried his eyes open. The pulsing, pounding pressure building in his head, not so much. Crawling over to the bed’s edge, he pushed himself up and nearly tumbled to the floor.

Knocking. That’s what the sound was.

Leaving his room, he dragged his feet as he walked over to the door, and jumped when his foot came into contact with something ice cold. Not bothering to check, he shook it off, swearing loudly only to notice it was a pair of jeans. Damp, and just as wet as the hoodie draped over the kitchen table.

When had he- Pointing at it, then at the jeans, he scratched at his head as he stood in the kitchen. Skinny dipping gone wrong, maybe? Gone right? He’d have company if that were the case, but it didn’t stop him from hoping.

He raised an eyebrow, only to start when the knocking began again. “Hold your fucking horses! Seriously, I’m coming.”

Dragging on a nearby pair of pants, he popped his head up in front of the peephole and took a look.

It was John.

John Seed.

That couldn’t have been right. He rubbed at his eyes and peered through again. “The fuck?”

Nope, John was still there, arms crossed as he waited, and he checked his watch before going for the door. Knocking with a heavy hand, the door was almost rattling, and Sharky stepped back.

Something was up. Something that he couldn’t remember right off the bat, and if it put John of all people on his doorstep, it had to be serious.

But he hadn’t pissed off anyone bad enough to put a lawyer on his porch. Or had he? Maybe the F.A.N.G. Center was finally sick of taking his calls and decided to slap him for it. Or hell, his Moonflower disco party never had that many admirers. That could’ve gone south too.

Not remembering sucked, but it was a Tuesday. Probably found a way to piss off somebody in the county without even trying that much.

Yanking the door open, he regarded the man waiting on the other side with a bleary look. It was bright outside, the clear blue of the sky hurting his eyes as he blinked against it, and felt his headache start to pulse as he narrowed his eyes into a squint.

“Charlemagne Victor Boshaw.” The smile John wore was cold as he stared him down. “I’m sure you know why I’m here.”

He scratched his head, scrubbing a hand through his hair as he waited for John to continue. When he didn’t, and was actually seeming to want some kind of feedback from him, he grunted out a short, “Maybe. Maybe not.”

“Well, I was afraid of that. Considering how impaired you were late last night, and considering the great lengths I had to go to keep you from drowning on my property, it seems it’s up to me to enlighten you on what exactly happened.”

Drowning?

He did remember water. Coughing out enough to make him feel a little sick on recalling it. The part before that, when he was whooping it up, and kissing the hell out of his date, was a lot nicer to focus on, and he let his eyes slip shut as he leaned against the doorframe.

Yeah, that was much better. Better than the light searing into his eyes, and better than the asshole camped out on his doorstep.

“Boshaw.”

He cracked open an eye. Squinted right at John’s pinched, irritated face, and considered closing the door on him. “What?”

“You don’t understand the true extent of any of this, do you?”

“Nah, that’s what the whole enlightening thing’s for. Shit, Johnson, where the hell have you been?” he threw out, hating how the pounding in his head was only intensifying. “So if you could get the hell on with it, I could go back to spending my day how I want to. In bed, curled up and doing nothing, not out here listening to you tell me how I…” Sharky let the words trail off. “How I what now?”

“How you owe me,” John hissed, baring his teeth as the temperature in his tone dropped ten degrees and counting. “You. Owe. Me. For a boat. For a boathouse, and for an assortment of damages all tying back to your little alcohol-soaked ride through my property.”

Saying each word through clenched teeth, John paused, drew in a breath through his nose as he closed his eyes, then settled back into the same smile he’d initially greeted him with.

“Then when caught, you panicked, confessed, and forged an agreement with me to fix it. Is that ringing any bells now?”

-

“Look, look, look, I get it. This looks bad, right?” Sharky held up his hands, still coughing out leftover traces of water, and tried backing away from him. “Just let me say my piece, okay? Let me say it, and get it out there, and we can go back to-“

“Back to what?” John asked, his voice smooth as he stayed on him. “Back to the smoke? The fire? The wreck I bothered to drag you out of?”

“Yeah, yeah, all of that.”

“Oh, good. Because I’m still waiting. Still wondering why of all things, you haven’t given me a single reason at all not to do what anyone else would’ve already done in my position. You know what I’m talking about, don’t you? Tell me.”

“I, uh, I don’t know about-“

He snarled as he crossed the distance between them. “Tell me!”

-

Sharky paled.

Some of it was coming back in batches, none of it painting a good picture at all. And the longer he focused in on that period of time, the more he felt inclined to drop everything and book it towards the woods. At least then he’d have some kind of a fighting chance. John didn’t look like a runner, but if he did head after him he’d make sure to wing him with a branch or two along the way.

He wet his lips, and let out a long breath. “Okay, so say I did.”

“You did.”

“Okay, so…say I did all of it.”

“You did!” John repeated, his voice rising. “How can I make this any clearer to you? We are here to talk recompense. What you rightfully owe me for, and more importantly, what you’ve promised given the alternative. Or should I repeat myself, yet again, but this time using language that you’re guaranteed to understand?”

Now, Sharky had tried to ignore it before. Maybe even give him the benefit of the doubt, but he’d put up with his fair share of people talking down to him like an idiot, and like hell was John going to get in a shot as well.

“Yo, I was trying to be civil here. Civil and about as respectful as I can get seeing as I’m here, wearing actual pants, and listening to you spouting nothing but shit at me. And I get it! Something was broken that shouldn’t have been taken to begin with, but you’re talking deals that I don’t remember agreeing to, and I don’t like being told I’m a fucking moron on top of that!”

“Fine.” John pursed his lips, losing some of his anger, but not all of it. “You’ve made your point, and…maybe I did speak out of line.”

”You did. No maybes there, dude.”

“But that still doesn’t settle any of the business between us. So, here’s my offer. What I outlined to you last night, and to which you enthusiastically agreed to.”

Sharky bit back the knee-jerk response that he wanted to give, and crossed his arms. “So? Spit it out.”

“You will repair it. Rebuild the damaged boathouse with materials I will supply you with, and under my supervision. This will ensure that the work will be completed, done to my standards and specifications, and to also ensure no further damage will be done.”

“Your standards?”

“That’s correct,” John said, with a glint in his eye. “If it’s not to the quality I ask for, you will tear it down and start over. From scratch.”

“Hey, now. You back it the fuck up, 'cause last time I checked you’re not the fucking boss of me.”

“On the contrary. Yes, I am,” John replied, holding up his cell phone. “And If you don’t want any of this getting back to the local authorities, you will take this deal. Now listen closely, because there will be no second offer, and I’m already being generous.”

Keeping as calm as he possibly could, the voice on the phone outlined this in painstaking detail. Too much detail for a drunk man to take in and consider, but just enough for it to be played back to him while sober.

Including the last detail. One that had John’s expression settle into that of pure satisfaction.

“And you agree to do this? To-“

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, I’ll do it. Whatever you want, building this shit up, building another big-ass boat to cart both you and your bullshit to fucking Aruba, I’ll do it. Just don’t send me to jail, man. Me and the po-po just don’t mix, and…shit, I’ll do anything.”

“Anything,” John repeated, ending the recording. “And looking at the damages done, the cost to avoid a sentence can be upwards of fifty-thousand dollars. That’s no small fee to have to shoulder, and unless you have that to give me, I think you’re better off taking this.”

He was fucked. Fucked beyond question, all because he’d had the piss-poor sense to believe Hurk’s boast that Sharky could commit Grand Theft Boat while sloshed just past his maximum.

Leading to the current dilemma.

Not wanting to go to jail was always at the top of his list. So was having the ability to light shit on fire. Going to jail interfered with both of those things directly, and as much as he could fight or run from it, John had two big things going for him.

One, he was a lawyer.

Two, he had money.

If he wanted to sink him, he’d send him straight down to the bottom of the ocean’s largest, deepest trench without any hesitation.

Clenching his teeth, then unclenching them, the smile he gave him was more of a grimace. “Uh, so…about that whole helping shit.”

“Let’s establish some ground rules, shall we?”

John raised his chin as he gestured towards the door, and Sharky groaned. Stepping to the side to let him in, John stalked on past, and he nearly fell off the front step.

He was going to need a cigarette.

Lots of them.

---

“This should be simple. Straightforward,” John told him as Sharky sat across from him with a cigarette and a roaring headache.

He was to be on the property two times a week.

Each time he would text him in advance making sure that John was available first, then once the time was agreed on, would expect him there promptly.

No work would be done alone. He would pick John up, then take him down to the boathouse to supervise. From there, he would work – some bare minimum that John rattled off, and he half-tuned out – and would drive John back up before heading out for the day.

And then would repeat it again, and again, and again until John was satisfied.

“So, as I said, simple. Easy enough for anyone to follow,” John stated, folding his hands in front of him on the table.

Already on cigarette number two, Sharky let his head sink into his hand. Passed on enough of a response to satisfy John for now, and had to agree to an actual starting date to even get him out of the door.

He was on cigarette number five when he called up Hurk. Spent a good ten minutes trying to get some kind of answers out of him about the rest of the night while also yelling about the shit he’d royally stepped in by messing with John to begin with.

But Hurk talked him down. Helped him to see this for what it was.

One, not a jail sentence. He could still get out of this, even if it looked like John had all but boxed him into doing a shit-ton of labor for free.

Two, he’d done enough odd jobs to be able to swing this. Had built and burnt down a million sheds in his lifetime, so what was building another one going to hurt?

And three, if all else failed, Hurk was set and ready to see about lighting up another part of John’s place just to give him a means of escape. What was a bro if not the kind ready to throw himself into the line of danger so his cousin could exit stage left?

He could give him that. Even if more fire wasn’t the solution to the problem for once. Much as he needed it, and loved it, it wasn’t going to get him out of this.

Sighing heavily, he let Hurk go and went back to bed.

The next day, however, he pulled his shit together and readied himself for what was going to be the beginning of a very long and painful process.

John’s specific list of guidelines chafed bad, like a pair of jeans that were just the wrong side of too tight, but he couldn’t take them off or return them. He just had to deal, and hope that sitting down or bending over wouldn’t lead to the kind of blowout he’d get run out or yelled at over.

So, he played by the rules. Hated every second of it as he jabbed at his phone and gave John the shortest messages he could manage. Then picked him up and tried to grin and bear it as John tapped at his watch while giving his ride the hairy eyeball, and Sharky proceeded to take them both down to the boathouse.

Seeing it during the day painted the whole thing in a different light. From what he’d relayed to Hurk in a delirious call the night of the accident there had been a whole hell of a lot of smoke and fire. Boatloads - pun intended - as he took in the charred shell of the building.

Guess that extra fuel Hurk told him he’d jacked but didn’t toss did more harm than good. Who knew what he’d planned on using it for, but he was lucky he hadn’t been toast himself.

That did mean his work was cut out for him, however. Tearing the whole thing down and rebuilding it was going to be a pain, and John guided him over to the picnic table nearby to go over the blueprints he’d brought from his house.

Spread out, he followed the dimensions outlined, and where he would need to start once the foundation was set. Saw it broken down into smaller pieces, smaller sections, and having it all stripped down like this helped him see it for what it was. Doable, and not even half as complicated as he thought it’d be. Yeah, it was going to be intense, but wouldn’t be impossible.

Now, his version of things allowed for some leeway. That would help to speed things up along the way, but that was where John came in. He said that there would be no ‘cutting corners’ and ‘eyeballing it’ like he was sure Sharky might do.

“This requires care. Precision. Delicacy.”

John kept on going, rattling off a few more things he was in need of here, and Sharky barely held off from pretending to jerk off in the middle of it. But John eventually cut him loose, telling him to get a feel for the area, and pointed him towards the boathouse.

It had been calling to him, in a way, and he let curiosity finally guide him there.

Walking inside, Sharky let out a low whistle.

He’d done a real number on it. Sidestepping the remains of the support beam overhead, he peeked up at the blue sky above him, and took in the blackened wood and ruined equipment. Trying to play guess who with the burned odds and ends was looking to be a game for another day, but while some parts of the building were well past trashed, other items were surprisingly okay.

Like the photographs hanging on the walls.

Both focused on nature – and he liked nature shit; skulls, antlers, pictures, the whole nine yards – but the fish on display didn’t look like they’d been caught. Not by John, or by any of his family, and they felt more out of place than anything else.

At least that’s what he thought until he turned, and saw it. Saw the big, beautiful, borderline majestic fish hanging on the wall, and burst out laughing.

He was still laughing when John finally joined him. “What could be so-“ John’s voice trailed off, and the resigned groan that followed only made him laugh harder.

Swiping at his eyes to wipe the tears away, Sharky framed the singing fish with his hands. “Big Mouth Billy is hanging right on your wall. Here. On your wall.”

“And?”

“And? Dude, that’s like the best shit ever! I haven’t seen one of these since I was like, this tall,” Sharky said, holding his hand to his knee. “Like, I thought they’d stopped selling them.”

“They should’ve.”

“But they didn’t, and that’s pretty damn great if I may say so myself. You’ve gotta tell me who gave you this to begin with. Broseph?”

John sighed, his mouth twisting as he remained silent.

“Ol’ Jake-n-bake then? Dude’s pretty serious, but maybe he gave you this to be nice. Or funny. Shit, maybe both.”

“You had it right the first time,” he admitted, eyeing first him, then it with distaste.

Joseph Seed’s doing? The thought of that made a wide grin break out on his face. “Well, shit. Guess I need to thank him then. Otherwise, I think it’d get pretty lonely out here.”

“What?”

“Well, you’re not gonna sit there and talk my ear off the whole time, so I was thinking I’d need to start talking to myself just to make shit interesting, but Bill here’ll be a fucking hoot once you get him started.”

The offended look that crossed John’s face shifted straight to horror when Sharky waved his hand in front of the fish’s sensor. To his delight, it sprang to life, singing enthusiastically, and when Sharky joined in, John visibly clenched his teeth.

“Still works too! Come on, it’s catchy.”

Picking up on the tune only to mangle it further, John kept on staring at him the entire time. Through one full cycle of it as Sharky snapped his fingers, through a few of his claps, and through at least one hop.

Still, nothing. “Seriously? Feeling none of the magic of that little guy?” Sharky shook his head, giving him a disappointed glance. “Shit, better go one more round to be sure. Maybe that’ll help, and you can join in whenever you like.”

John turned on his heel and promptly left.

Eyeing the bass, he gave one of its fins a small fistbump, only to nearly knock it off of the wall.

Maybe he’d be able to get through this after all.

[fc5holidayexchange]

FAR CRY 5 HOLIDAY EXCHANGE 2019 FIC

I won’t ask for much (but just this once, I’d like you)

Sharky Boshaw/John Seed, Hurk Drubman Jr., Jacob Seed

Sharky steals a boat. It just happens to be John’s boat, and when it’s damaged along with his boathouse, John proceeds to lay out a means of having Sharky pay him back. [No Cult AU]

@finefeatheredfarcryplayer​

As someone that loves your Wholesome Shorts, I was excited to get you here, and to also have a chance to tackle a Sharky/John idea that’s a hell of a lot longer than intended, and sort of on the wholesome side itself (minus the NSFW parts towards the end, but close enough). So, if this puts a smile on your face at any point? Mission accomplished. Happy holidays/Happy New Year, and I hope you enjoy it!

Also, many thanks to those that helped beta read this, because without any of you this giant thing would’ve been completely incomprehensible otherwise.

Tags: Sharky Boshaw/John Seed, Sharky Boshaw, John Seed, nsfw, slow burn, no cult AU, tw: abuse mention

_______________

Hurk was his bro. His blood. One hell of a stand up guy, and the person Sharky knew would have his back no matter what.

The one he could depend on no matter what, for damn near anything, and the only one right now that he could say to, with his whole heart, “I love you, man, but you can piss up a fucking rope” for getting him into his mess to begin with.

And okay, maybe he was being a bit harsh about it. And maybe he’d wanted the excuse to do it to begin with, but Hurk had dangled the opportunity so perfectly in front of him. Framed it so beautifully, there was no way he was going to say no to it, no matter what.

Especially not with both drinks and two smoking hot women involved. He’d hit a real dry spell, and the temptation to get lucky hit hard.

So, when beers at the Spread Eagle turned into beers down by the river, Sharky had agreed immediately. And when beers at the river turned into the possibility of beers on the river, he’d agreed to that too.

But he didn’t have a boat. Hurk didn’t either.

Maybe they could’ve winged it by borrowing one from the Marina. They would’ve been skinned alive the next morning after his aunt found out about it, but after mulling it over for a few, Hurk had a better idea.

In his words, a better, sexier idea. Cause nothing said sexy like a little speedboat ride and some roguish repatriation. Also Hurk’s words, though Sharky was sure on some level that wasn’t supposed to be pronounced like that either.

John had a boat.

John Seed had both a boat and a boathouse. Rich assholes like that always wanted to flash their cash in the most high-profile ways possible, and for whatever reason having his own personal goddamn plane wasn’t enough. He had to have a boat too.

Surely he wouldn’t miss it for a night. And Hurk’s promise to slip him two-hundred bucks on top of that? Really just made the idea all the sweeter.

Things sped up after that. Blurred and blended into the kinds of things he’d see in an action movie, what with him being the sexy hero going behind enemy lines as a means of infiltrating it – and he’d even streaked some mud across his face to seal it.

But somewhere between snagging the fancy speedboat, riding it out, and getting not one but two kisses of gratitude, he’d let himself get sloppy. And on the way back afterwards, with more beers under his belt, and a decent hard on from some over the clothes action, he’d misjudged a few things.

Not the least of which involved just how close of a fit it was to park and settle the boat. It was a square peg meant for a square hole, but he couldn’t see it that way. Not right now, especially not while belting out words to what he’d think a collab between ABBA and the Bee Gees would sound like.

That’s where things blurred again. Grew unclear and muddied as he tried to keep the boat steady. His head pounded as he misjudged the distance - or was it speed? Both were likely - of his approach, as he leapt into action again, this time wondering if his call to Willis his way out was the right one.

Cold water rushed up to meet him, knocking sense into him just long enough to start paddling, but he bobbed down low. Felt things go black, as like an idiot he gulped down a lung and a half full of water as he fought against it.

That’s when he felt hands grab him. A force dragging him up and out of the cold only for the ground to rush up and smack him in the face. 

Hacking it out, he blinked down at the pebbles underneath his hands, his face all but numb at this point as water continued to dribble out of his mouth. That had been close. All too close, he’d realized, still sloshed, but aware enough of the person crouching next to him.

So, he babbled out what he hoped was thanks. Followed it up with more thanks after that, and when he flipped over to maybe even throw a hug or a hearty handshake their way, he froze.

Because he wasn’t ready for the kind of cold fury waiting for him. He also wasn’t ready for John Seed to be the one wearing it either; the kind that he was sure meant he was about to be murdered on the spot.

In that moment, not even two-hundred dollars richer for it, he knew he’d fucked up, but as to how much? He couldn’t say. That was for the morning to tell him, provided he’d make it there.

And right now his odds weren’t looking all that great.

—

Pounding. Endless pounding went off, shaking him out of the comfortable space he’d settled into.

The sound echoed again, making him shift around to muffle it. Pulling the blanket around him, he sighed at the silence only to tense when it was broken again.

“Motherfucking balls, man,” Sharky groaned.

So, he wasn’t dead, just felt like it. That he wasn’t, was a relief as he pried his eyes open. The pulsing, pounding pressure building in his head, not so much.  Crawling over to the bed’s edge, he pushed himself up and nearly tumbled to the floor.

Knocking. That’s what the sound was.

Leaving his room, he dragged his feet as he walked over to the door, and jumped when his foot came into contact with something ice cold. Not bothering to check, he shook it off, swearing loudly only to notice it was a pair of jeans. Damp, and just as wet as the hoodie draped over the kitchen table.

When had he- Pointing at it, then at the jeans, he scratched at his head as he stood in the kitchen. Skinny dipping gone wrong, maybe? Gone right? He’d have company if that were the case, but it didn’t stop him from hoping.

He raised an eyebrow, only to start when the knocking began again. “Hold your fucking horses! Seriously, I’m coming.”

Dragging on a nearby pair of pants, he popped his head up in front of the peephole and took a look.

It was John. 

John Seed.

That couldn’t have been right. He rubbed at his eyes and peered through again. “The fuck?”

Nope, John was still there, arms crossed as he waited, and he checked his watch before going for the door. Knocking with a heavy hand, the door was almost rattling, and Sharky stepped back.

Something was up. Something that he couldn’t remember right off the bat, and if it put John of all people on his doorstep, it had to be serious.

But he hadn’t pissed off anyone bad enough to put a lawyer on his porch. Or had he? Maybe the F.A.N.G. Center was finally sick of taking his calls and decided to slap him for it. Or hell, his Moonflower disco party never had that many admirers. That could’ve gone south too.

Not remembering sucked, but it was a Tuesday. Probably found a way to piss off somebody in the county without even trying that much.

Yanking the door open, he regarded the man waiting on the other side with a bleary look. It was bright outside, the clear blue of the sky hurting his eyes as he blinked against it, and felt his headache start to pulse as he narrowed his eyes into a squint.

“Charlemagne Victor Boshaw.” The smile John wore was cold as he stared him down. “I’m sure you know why I’m here.”

He scratched his head, scrubbing a hand through his hair as he waited for John to continue. When he didn’t and actually seeming to want some kind of feedback from him, he grunted out a short, “Maybe. Maybe not.”

“Well, I was afraid of that. Considering how impaired you were late last night, and considering the great lengths I had to go to keep you from drowning on my property, it seems it’s up to me to enlighten you on what exactly happened.”

Drowning?

He did remember water. Coughing out enough to make him feel a little sick on recalling it. The part before that, when he was whooping it up, and kissing the hell out of his date, was a lot nicer to focus on and he let his eyes slip shut as he leaned against the doorframe.

Yeah, that was much better. Better than the light searing into his eyes, and better than the asshole camped out on his doorstep.

“Boshaw.”

He cracked open an eye. Squinted right at John’s pinched, irritated face, and considered closing the door on him. “What?”

“You don’t understand the true extent of any of this, do you?”

“Nah, that’s what the whole enlightening thing’s for. Shit, Johnson, where the hell have you been?” he threw out, hating how the pounding in his head was only intensifying. “So if you could get the hell on with it, I could go back to spending my day how I want to. In bed, curled up and doing nothing, not out here listening to you tell me how I…” Sharky let the words trail off. “How I what now?”

“How you owe me,” John hissed, baring his teeth as the temperature in his tone dropped ten degrees and counting. “You. Owe. Me. For a boat. For a boathouse, and for an assortment of damages all tying back to your little alcohol-soaked ride through my property.” 

Saying each word through clenched teeth, John paused, drew in a breath through his nose as he closed his eyes, then settled back into the same smile he’d initially greeted him with. “Then when caught, you panicked, confessed, and forged an agreement with me to fix it. Is that ringing any bells now?”

“Look, look, look, I get it. This looks bad, right?” Sharky held up his hands, still coughing out leftover traces of water, and tried backing away from him. “Just let me say my piece, okay? Let me say it, and get it out there, and we can go back to-“

“Back to what?” John asked, his voice smooth as he stayed on him. “Back to the smoke? The fire? The wreck I bothered to drag you out of?”

“Yeah, yeah, all of that.”

“Oh, good. Because I’m still waiting. Still wondering why of all things, you haven’t given me a single reason at all not to do what anyone else would’ve already done in my position. You know what I’m talking about, don’t you? Tell me.”

“I, uh, I don’t know about-“

He snarled as he crossed the distance between them. “Tell me!”

Sharky paled.

Some of it was coming back in batches, none of it painting a good picture at all. And the longer he focused in on that period of time, the more he felt inclined to drop everything and book it towards the woods. At least then he’d have some kind of a fighting chance. John didn’t look like a runner, but if he did head after him he’d make sure to wing him with a branch or two along the way.

He wet his lips, and let out a long breath. “Okay, so say I did.”

“You did.”

“Okay, so…say I did all of it.”

“You did!” John repeated, his voice rising. “How can I make this any clearer to you? We are here to talk recompense. What you rightfully owe me for, and more importantly, what you’ve promised given the alternative. Or should I repeat myself, yet again, but this time using language that you’re guaranteed to understand?”

Now, Sharky had tried to ignore it before. Maybe even give him the benefit of the doubt, but he’d put up with his fair share of people talking down to him like an idiot, and like hell was John going to get in a shot as well.

“Yo, I was trying to be civil here. Civil and about as respectful as I can get seeing as I’m here, wearing actual pants, and listening to you spouting nothing but shit at me. And I get it! Something was broken that shouldn’t have been taken to begin with, but you’re talking deals that I don’t remember agreeing to, and I don’t like being told I’m a fucking moron on top of that!”

“Fine.” John pursed his lips, losing some of his anger, but not all of it. “You’ve made your point, and…maybe I did speak out of line.”

”You did. No maybes there, dude.”

“But that still doesn’t settle any of the business between us. So, here’s my offer. What I outlined to you last night, and to which you enthusiastically agreed to.”

Sharky bit back the knee-jerk response that he wanted to give, and crossed his arms. “So? Spit it out.”

“You will repair it. Rebuild the damaged boathouse with materials I will supply you with, and under my supervision. This will ensure that the work will be completed, done to my standards and specifications, and to also ensure no further damage will be done.”

“Your standards?”

“That’s correct,” John said, with a glint in his eye. “If it’s not to the quality I ask for, you will tear it down and start over. From scratch.”

“Hey, now. You back it the fuck up, cause last time I checked you’re not the fucking boss of me.”

“On the contrary. Yes, I am,” John replied, holding up his cell phone. “And If you don’t want any of this getting back to the local authorities, you will take this deal. Now listen closely, because there will be no second offer, and I’m already being generous.”

Keeping as calm as he possibly could, the voice on the phone outlined this in painstaking detail. Too much detail for a drunk man to take in and consider, but just enough for it to be played back to him while sober.

Including the last detail. One that had John’s expression settle into that of pure satisfaction.

“And you agree to do this? To-“

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, I’ll do it. Whatever you want, building this shit up, building another big-ass boat to cart both you and your bullshit to fucking Aruba, I’ll do it. Just don’t send me to jail, man. Me and the po-po just don’t mix, and…shit, I’ll do anything.”

“Anything,” John repeated, ending the recording. “And looking at the damages done, the cost to avoid a sentence can be upwards of fifty-thousand dollars. That’s no small fee to have to shoulder, and unless you have that to give me, I think you’re better off taking this.”

He was fucked. Fucked beyond question, all because he’d had the piss-poor sense to believe Hurk’s boast that Sharky could commit Grand Theft Boat while sloshed just past his maximum.

Leading to the current dilemma.

Not wanting to go to jail was always at the top of his list. So was having the ability to light shit on fire. Going to jail interfered with both of those things directly, and as much as he could fight or run from it, John had two big things going for him.

One, he was a lawyer.

Two, he had money.

If he wanted to sink him, he’d send him straight down to the bottom of the ocean’s largest, deepest trench without any hesitation.  

Clenching his teeth, then unclenching them, the smile he gave him was more of a grimace. “Uh, so…about that whole helping shit.”

“Let’s establish some ground rules, shall we?”

He raised his chin as he gestured towards the door, and Sharky groaned. Stepping to the side to let him in, John stalked on past, and he nearly fell off the front step.

He was going to need a cigarette. 

Lots of them.

—

“This should be simple. Straightforward,” John told him as Sharky sat across from him with a cigarette and a roaring headache.

He was to be on the property two times a week.

Each time he would text him in advance making sure that John was available first, then once the time was agreed on, would expect him there promptly.

No work would be done alone. He would pick John up, then take him down to the boathouse to supervise. From there, he would work – some bare minimum that John rattled off, and he half-tuned out – and would drive John back up before heading out for the day.

And then would repeat it again, and again, and again until John was satisfied.

“So, as I said, simple. Easy enough for anyone to follow,” John stated, folding his hands in front of him on the table.

Already on cigarette number two, Sharky let his head sink into his hand. Passed on enough of a response to satisfy John for now, and had to agree to an actual starting date to even get him out of the door.

He was on cigarette number five when he called up Hurk. Spent a good ten minutes trying to get some kind of answers out of him about the rest of the night while also yelling about the shit he’d royally stepped in by messing with John to begin with.

But Hurk talked him down. Helped him to see this for what it was.

One, not a jail sentence. He could still get out of this, even if it looked like John had all but boxed him into doing a shit-ton of labor for free.

Two, he’d done enough odd jobs to be able to swing this. Had built and burnt down a million sheds in his lifetime, so what was building another one going to hurt?

And three, if all else failed, Hurk was set and ready to see about lighting up another part of John’s place just to give him a means of escape. What was a bro if not the kind ready to throw himself into the line of danger so his cousin could exit stage left?

He could give him that. Even if more fire wasn’t the solution to the problem for once. Much as he needed it, loved it, it wasn’t going to get him out of this.

Sighing heavily, he let Hurk go and went back to bed.

The next day, however, he pulled his shit together and readied himself for what was going to be the beginning of a very long and painful process.

John’s specific list of guidelines chafed, bad, like a pair of jeans that were just the wrong side of too tight, but he couldn’t take them off or return them. He just had to deal, and hope that sitting down or bending over wouldn’t lead to the kind of blowout he’d get run out or yelled at over.

So, he played by the rules. Hated every second of it as he jabbed at his phone and gave John the shortest messages he could manage. Then picked him up and tried to grin and bear it as John tapped at his watch while giving his ride the hairy eyeball, and Sharky proceeded to take them both down to the boathouse.

Seeing it during the day painted the whole thing in a different light. From what he’d relayed to Hurk in a delirious call the night of the accident there had been a whole hell of a lot of smoke and fire. Boatloads - pun intended - as he took in the charred shell of the building.

Guess that extra fuel Hurk told him he’d jacked but didn’t toss did more harm than good. Who knew what he’d planned on using it for, but he was lucky he hadn’t been toast himself.

That did mean his work was cut out for him, however. Tearing the whole thing down and rebuilding it was going to be a pain, and John guided him over to the picnic table nearby to go over the blueprints he’d brought from his house.

Spread out, he followed the dimensions outlined, and where he would need to start once the foundation was set. It didn’t seem that complicated. Yeah, it was going to be intense, but wouldn’t be impossible.

Now, his version of things allowed for some leeway. That would help to speed things up along the way, but that was where John came in. He said that there would be no ‘cutting corners’ and ‘eyeballing it’ like he was sure Sharky might do.

“This requires care. Precision. Delicacy.”

John kept on going, rattling off a few more things he was in need of here, and Sharky barely held off from pretending to jerk off in the middle of it. But John eventually cut him loose, telling him to get a feel for the area, and pointed him towards the boathouse.

It had been calling to him, in a way, and he let curiosity finally guide him there.

Walking inside, Sharky let out a low whistle.

He’d done a real number on it. Sidestepping the remains of the support beam overhead, he peeked up at the blue sky above him, and took in the blackened wood and ruined equipment. Trying to play guess who with the burned odds and ends was looking to be a game for another day, but while some parts of the building were well past trashed, other items were surprisingly okay.

Like the photographs hanging on the walls.

Both focused on nature – and he liked nature shit; skulls, antlers, pictures, the whole nine yards – but the fish on display didn’t look like they’d been caught. Not by John, or by any of his family, and they felt more out of place than anything else.

At least that’s what he thought until he turned, and saw it. Saw the big, beautiful, borderline majestic fish hanging on the wall, and burst out laughing.

He was still laughing when John finally joined him. “What could be so-“ John’s voice trailed off, and the resigned groan that followed only made him laugh harder.

Swiping at his eyes to wipe the tears away, Sharky framed the singing fish with his hands. “Big Mouth Billy is hanging right on your wall. Here. On your wall.”

“And?”

“And? Dude, that’s like the best shit ever! I haven’t seen one of these since I was like this tall,” Sharky said, holding his hand to his knee. “Like, I thought they’d stopped selling them.”

“They should’ve.”

“But they didn’t, and that’s pretty damn great if I may say so myself. You’ve gotta tell me who gave you this to begin with. Broseph?”

John sighed, his mouth twisting as he remained silent.

“Ol’ Jake-n-bake then? Dude’s pretty serious, but maybe he gave you this to be nice. Or funny. Shit, maybe both.”

“You had it right the first time,” he admitted, eyeing first him, then it with distaste.

Joseph Seed’s doing? The thought of that made a wide grin break out on his face. “Well, shit. Guess I need to thank him then. Otherwise, I think it’d get pretty lonely out here.”

“What?”

“Well, you’re not gonna sit there and talk my ear off the whole time, so I was thinking I’d need to start talking to myself just to make shit interesting, but Bill here’ll be a fucking hoot once you get him started.”

The offended look that crossed John’s face shifted straight to horror when Sharky waved his hand in front of the fish’s sensor. To his delight, it sprang to life, singing enthusiastically, and when Sharky joined in, John visibly clenched his teeth.

“Still works too! Come on, it’s catchy.”

Picking up on the tune only to mangle it further, John kept on staring at him the entire time. Through one full cycle of it as Sharky snapped his fingers, through a few of his claps, and through at least one hop.

Still, nothing. “Seriously? Feeling none of the magic of that little guy?” Sharky shook his head, giving him a disappointed glance. “Shit, better go one more round to be sure. Maybe that’ll help, and you can join in whenever you like.”

John turned on his heel and promptly left.

Eyeing the bass, he gave one of its fins a small fistbump, only to nearly knock it off of the wall.

Maybe he’d be able to get through this after all.

—

It took two and a half days to tear the old boathouse down.

John hadn’t lied when he mentioned wanting him to get in there and take it apart piece by piece, and hovered over him the entire time.

The whole monitoring bit was easily the part that annoyed him the most. Like he was waiting for him to screw up. To somehow find a way to take the already burnt building and set it on fire again through force of will alone. Which, while badass, was well out of his means. All that wishing and praying to monkey Jesus aside.

But that didn’t stop John from acting like he had the ability. Riding him further during smoke breaks, or keep him from barking order after order from the sidelines.

Every other word out of his mouth was a correction. To tell him to go back to read the blueprints again. To check his measurements. To put out that cigarette, pry out that misplaced nail, and to use some of that delicacy he kept on going back to, making Sharky’s eyes want to roll back into his head.

And music? The one time he’d tried to bring any levity to the situation with the soothing sounds of disco, John put an end to it immediately. Really just made it clear how much of a drag he wanted to be, and only wanted to push the point home.

Seeing as John was some big-shot lawyer, he really expected him to have more to do than nitpick and lord this whole thing over him. Like he’d stick around for a few weeks, use the time to get off on whatever power trip he was having over this, and then go back to bugging the department, the local businesses, Nick, shit, anyone.

But John Seed was also petty as fuck.

Local gossip hadn’t painted the guy as a kind or forgiving figure, and while the Seeds as a whole were alright at best and fucking weird at worst, over the past couple of years John had picked up a rep as a colossal asshole all on his own.

Tickets? Contested. Special orders down at the store or for parts? Made with specific instructions that needed to be followed to the letter? He’d demand and get his money back, damning everyone with the fine print others would skim over.

Hell, Sid, one of the guys that worked down at the cattle ranch, had traded paint with him once. He’d done so while stopping at the general store, and hadn’t paid much mind to the fancy car parked in the lot, getting just close enough to leave a small scuff on the rear bumper.

In those cases a person would trade numbers, or see what they could buff off before moving on, cause insurance claims were a pain in the ass, and half of the cars in the county were a little late on renewing registrations anyway. Shit, he was coming up on a year, and hoping to see how much longer he could go before any of the Deps cottoned on to it.

But no, the minute John caught on, Sid recalled the glint he got in his eye. Then told him he’d slap him with the largest fine possible for both the damage and the late reg.  All over trading paint. Not major damage, not even a busted tire.

Just paint.

Sid was still spitting mad about it, months after the fact.

He’d even pulled a fast one when it came to setting up big bro Joe’s compound. Digging up some obscure property laws all but guaranteeing the land could be sold to them.

No, no one earned the title of mega-dick by being sweet and accommodating. His bro had smoothed over a lot of ruffled feathers by being pretty okay after that, even with all of the converts chilling the fuck out on his property, but John was still John.

And now he personally had that shit to deal with. Today, two days from now, and who knew how many weeks or months after that.

So much for those chicks wanting and keeping his number too. They’d placed it into his phone on the way back to the launch, but when he’d tried to call them back the other day he got no answer. Ghosted him like it was nothing, and he guessed he deserved that.

What with getting himself caught and left to doing whatever the hell John wanted for as long as John wanted.

“As per our agreement,” John would remind him, whenever he felt the point needed pushing.

And he pushed.

Whenever Sharky would drop something, whenever he let his feet drag, whenever he cut something and John was ready to whip out his tape measure.

He pushed, and Sharky shot another prayer up to monkey Jesus, hoping that maybe this would be the day to go Human Torch on the situation. Or at the very least a little Cyclops.

Not today, but he’d try again tomorrow.

But on the days when Sharky was working, it wasn’t always just the two of them. He’d full on expected this whole thing to go on in its own little pocket, with Hurk eventually crashing the party due to a need to bust him out or worse.

The day that Joseph first showed up stood out, for one.  

Joseph Seed was kind of like Pastor Jerome. Not his first pick to hang out with, considering they were both on opposite sides here. Of the whole preaching and managing earthly temptations, while not super indulging in the kind of shit that he knew he wanted in his life, period.

It came with the territory, being religious leaders and all that, but when Joseph rolled in to the county, he’d brought his people with him.

And they were an interesting bunch. The People of Eden’s Gate, some kind of holistic commune where it was pretty hunky dory roughly ninety percent of the time. The other ten percent was wondering just what to do about the men and women that wanted the simple life. Living humbly while offering help wherever needed.

While their hearts were in the right place, it was pretty boring stuff otherwise, Sharky decided. He’d even considered joining up for the hell of it only until Hurk reminded him that there wasn’t much fucking to be found there. Pretty women, sure, but the kind more focused on spirituality, and less on how many ways they could Clutch Nixon-ify their daily lives.

But Joseph on his own was a different story.

Watching John go from calmly sipping his drink, doubling-down on just how refreshing it was when Sharky happened to push the wheelbarrow past him, to spitting half of it out when Joseph materialized next to him was fucking priceless.

Greeting him warmly, Joseph pulled a sputtering John into a kind-of half-hug gesture, but John’s cool had already been lost, and in front of his entourage too.

Joe’s wife was with him, plus kiddo number one of a baker’s dozen, carrying them up and on her hip as they talked. With them was also a woman dressed in the modest clothes the Peggies stuck to. She wasn’t trying to stand out, but he didn’t need sharp eyes to see how damn pretty she was.

It had to have been a brother thing, Sharky gathered. Embarrassing the shit out of younger siblings seemed almost natural to Joseph, and it might’ve been petty of him too, but watching John try to get his shit back in line in front of all of them was like hitting the jackpot.

So, Sharky kept on working, sneaking looks over at the group every now and then, and at one point gave an awkward wave back whenever they tried acknowledging him. But whenever John glanced his way, Sharky didn’t hide his shit-eating grin. No, it stayed put for the rest of the day.

The next time Joseph came over, however, he didn’t stop by just to say hi.  He approached  Sharky, ignoring John’s loud protests, and insisted on helping.

He’d get water, and help with any items that needed anchoring, stepping in whenever it looked like Sharky needed another hand. It was the most contact he’d had with the guy outside of the times he’d tried preaching at the Eagle, and outside of that? He was actually pretty okay to be around.

Well, he personally didn’t have a problem with Joe, at least. John’s irritation skyrocketed with every suggestion, especially when Joe did the impossible. Told him that with a three-person job, you needed three people, and John? John was capable.

“You sure are,” Sharky added, giving him a wicked grin, and John looked mad enough to spit. 

But he didn’t say no. Didn’t even try, or attempt it.

Did more than his fair share under the loving supervision of his older bro, and come nightfall, Sharky realized he’d had a damn good day. It was the lightest he’d felt in weeks, and wasn’t about to turn that down. Not when it helped him jump back into things with some extra pep, and the progress was a boost too.

With the actual frame up and the panels and exterior being added piece by piece, Sharky was starting to feel pretty accomplished. Proud even, because he built this. Yeah, he was being needled at every step of it, but he used his own two hands to get this set up, no one else’s, and at the end of the day could actually see more of this coming together.

If he kept this up, he’d also have some extra skills to add to his repertoire. Might even get a chance to twist Hurk’s arm into trying out that whole ‘building and flipping’ thing that seemed to be hot at the moment, provided he wasn’t here for the next ten years.

But goals. He had goals to build to and something to show for it, and it was pretty damn nice in the grand scheme of things.

Today, however, John had a guest again. The same Peggie woman as before, holding a basket, flanked by a few other converts.

Full on expecting to see Joe with her, Sharky wondered if he was waiting out in the woods again. Hell, even John was checking the path back up to his house, looking past her every now and then to see if he’d catch him.

But as the minutes ticked by, and Sharky kept on working, nothing happened. And long after the others had traveled back up towards the house, the two kept on talking, having what seemed to be a hell of a time going off of the signals they were giving off.

Smiling, laughing. Facing each other directly as they spoke, Sharky had John’s back to him almost completely, which had his eyebrows climbing up.

And judging by the way she was reacting to John in turn, he had to have been turning on the charm. Smiling shyly, twirling her hair around her finger, hell, he’d put money on her being a two-word question away from dropping everything to get a piece of that.

It was annoying as fuck, really. Dry spell or not, watching John pull it off with minimal effort sucked.

Sure, he had a lot of things working for him. The guy was loaded, for one. Had more than enough money to net himself a fancy car, his large-ass ranch, and a plane. He’d also had a boat up until Sharky had wrecked it, but that was beside the point. Man had more money than sense, and worked the slick lawyer angle for all it was worth. He’d listened in on enough convos to know just how many women in the county dug it. Shit, men too.

Plus the whole property on the water was a real panty dropper. At least going off of what his Auntie had said shortly after John had first bought it, gossiping with Sharky about the costs and expenses that came with it.

Then promptly turned the talk on its head by launching directly into talking about John’s ass instead. His drink hadn’t stayed in his mouth for long, and she’d dropped her forlorn sighing long enough to tell him not to stain the carpet.

That he had to hear and think about John’s ass at all wasn’t fucking fair, especially since he was pretty damn sure it wasn’t that much of a draw to begin with. He’d checked.

Whenever his back was turned, he’d sneak a look to see what the deal was only to be disappointed. Better asses were walking around Hope County right this moment, his included, but good luck trying to argue that with her. Or even get three words in edgewise before wanting to slap some sense into himself.

Besides, John’s eyes were better. Hands down, Sharky knew they’d been his ticket to pound town on more than one occasion, needing only to flash them and say a few fancy words to seal any kind of deal.

Dropping the wood onto the ground, he crouched down low. Stared at the wood grain of the plank to clear his mind a little before shifting his attention back towards John.

Shit, were they still talking?

He rolled his eyes. Whatever John was saying couldn’t have been that good, and any joke? Nowhere near funny enough to get a giggle like that.

At that time, John turned, giving him a look over his shoulder as Sharky became well aware of two sets of eyes on him. The woman for one, and the pretty boy lawyer that had been eating up every last shred of her attention until now.

A cross between smug and expectant, John gestured towards him.

Well?

Sharky knew three ways to tell someone to get fucked, but picked the least subtle one just in case.

Shocked for a second, John closed his mouth. But soon after, he pressed a hand to his chest, looking hurt. It was pretty convincing, making Sharky feel for a moment that he’d done something shitty like kicked a puppy.

Shame it didn’t reach his eyes. Or match the sharp smile that crept in.

“Smug-ass, smirking fuckface,” Sharky muttered, throwing the wooden plank to the side.

But not even that stuck around either. No, he flashed his pearly whites at the woman with him too, making her melt right in front of them.

Salt in the motherfucking wound. That’s what it all was, but lucky for him he only had a few more hours left to go. Then he could go home, get in a kickass shower and see what Hurk was doing.

Standing up, he wiped his face down with his handkerchief. If this had been anytime during the summer he would’ve been dying, but at least the weather was working in his favor. The breeze took the edge off just enough, and he closed his eyes for a few seconds to soak it all in.

“Oh, Charlemagne?”

Grating right on his ears, the pitch John used never failed to make him want to grind his teeth together. That, and saying his name. Kept on doing that well after being told he could call him Sharky. Shit, even his grandma used it sparingly.

“What?”

“Shouldn’t you be focusing over there-“ John froze, and all smugness vanished.

That put him on edge. “Yo, you wanna expand on that, amigo?”

Slowly turning around, Sharky caught the small creature on the ground and felt every hair on him stand on end. Black and white, and assuming the posture any pissed off animal would, it stood tall for its small size with its tail up, ready and aiming right at him.

Skunks, though, had never liked him. Guess he’d earned that after the whole kissing one bit. So, staring down what he was sure had to be some distant relative out for revenge, he did what came naturally.

Yelled. Loudly, and might’ve sealed his fate right then and there.

Hit, but not in the eyes – thank Hurk’s monkey Jesus for that – he sprinted down towards the river and dove right in.

Grabbing his cap, he kept it in hand as he bobbed back up to the surface. The smell hit as he gulped down air, and he furiously paddled away from the shore when he realized he’d been followed.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!”

This was fucking bonkers, and it was only getting worse.

Could skunks swim? Did they have a sense for it, or was he getting played by the only one able to? Was this the moment some poor guy was going to have to act out in the movie about his life? Swimming out, smelling to high heaven as a rich asshole laughed it up from the shore?

Fuck, he hoped to hell not, cause he’d lived an okay life up ‘til now. And having that be the moment he’d be known for immortalized up on the silver screen was just lousy at best.

Looking back, he watched as the skunk gave him the evil eye for a minute, pacing back and forth as it thought about shooting at him again. Little fucker wasn’t done yet, but couldn’t fire another round off from where it was.  

John on the other hand, was watching the whole thing develop from a distance. He hadn’t taken off, but wasn’t laughing like he thought he would either. If anything, his gaze was sharp as he aimed it over at the skunk camping him out, and kept it set in place as he approached the boathouse.

Whatever the hell he had in mind, Sharky hoped he’d do it, and do it fast.

Shit, if he ended up zapped too, that’d also make his week, but for now he needed to keep swimming, and tried to see if he could make his way back towards land. His arms and legs weren’t tired, but the water wasn’t getting any warmer, and this was more of a workout than he’d planned for.

The skunk did not let up, following his drift.

“Seriously? Don’t you got something better to get up to?”

No, it didn’t, and he paddled harder hoping to get some kind of a lead on it. Kicked enough with the intent of making a break for it as soon as he hit land.

Maybe he could shimmy up a tree? Nah, he’d be a sitting duck, worse off there than here. Get back to his car on the way? His keys were swimming in his pocket right now, along with-

Aw, dammit. There went that phone. Sputtering into the water, he coughed around the word that would’ve come out otherwise, then gave it up to keep on swimming.

On the edge of the shore, he dragged himself up and out and booked it. Didn’t see anything waiting for him, but didn’t waste time either. Just hit the nearest patch of tall bushes and stayed low.

Waiting was the worst part. Waiting, listening, and trying not to make too much noise on his end. Every branch, twig, and leaf was the enemy now, and he wasn’t about to let that skunk get the drop on him again.

Five minutes passed. Then ten.

Loud squeaking sounded off in the distance, and he poked his head out from the bush.

Scanning left and right, Sharky checked for black and white. That and movement. When neither seemed to be present, he pushed his way forward and stepped out into the open.

Letting out a slow breath, he shook his hat out and slipped it back on. Then took in a tentative sniff as he raised his arm. The smell hung around him like a cloud, and getting a bigger whiff of it only made him want to gag.

Peeling the shirt off, he wrung it out, and gave it a smell as well. Now that made his eyes water. With his luck his jeans were just as bad, and he didn’t bother checking. Just pulled them off to get some of the water out of them too, and resigned himself to drip drying the rest of the day outdoors.

“Charlemagne? You can come out now!”

John. Guess he’d found a way to deal with it after all.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are!”

“Ugh, fucker. Took him long enough.” Groaning to himself, he slung his wet clothes over his shoulder and started heading towards the clearing. 

“Well, there you…are?” John gave him a quick once over as he walked past, and pursed his lips. “Hmm.”

The woman with him didn’t even try to make eye contact. Just kept her attention directed elsewhere, her cheeks tinted red.

Great. Not that he was trying, but his odds of getting even a pity look in passing had all but tanked. “Yo, I don’t wanna know what you did, but after that? My bullshit meter’s maxed, so fuck off.”

Prying his keys out of his pocket, Sharky unlocked the truck of his car and threw the clothes into the back of it. Between the gas cans and propane tanks he’d thrown back there often enough, skunk wasn’t going to add much to the smell in there.

“Fuck off? That’s not very kind all things considering.”

The trunk dropped, and he might’ve used more force than necessary. “Kind?”

“Not even a thank you?” John eyed him from a distance, smug, but only for a second. “After chasing off your little tormentor? Such a shame, really.”

“That I ain’t feeling, what? Warm gratitude towards you right now? Like happy and fuzzy shit?”

John scoffed. “Hardly.”

“Cause you’re making a whole lot of noise for nothing, and I wouldn’t be out here busting my ass at all without you to begin with.”

“Oh, my dear Charlemagne.” He watched as John withdrew a blue handkerchief from his jean pocket, and held it up to his face to cover his nose. “I’m hardly the one at fault here.”

His patience snapped like a brittle twig. Rattling off words as fast as they came to him, he scraped for the bottom, tried actively to come up with the most out of bounds targeted insults he could conjure up just to see if he could wipe what he was sure was a smirk right off of John’s face.

Then nearly crashed into the woman who had stepped into his path. Making full-on eye contact now, she gave him a hesitant, but soft smile. “I think this might help.”

In her hands was a towel. A nice, fluffy one, and she held it out towards him.

The anger drained out of him as he stared at her. Almost as if someone took an ice bucket and dumped it right over his shoulders.

Gingerly taking it, he let it dangle in the air between them. “Uh, thanks?”

“Of course. For anyone in need, and you certainly seemed to be. Considering your lack of…clothing in general right now.”

Still had the underwear on, at least. Blushing five different shades of red, he quickly wrapped the towel around himself.  “Yeah, um, thank you again miss.”

She nodded, and headed back towards John. “We’ll be heading out, but can we expect you at mass later tonight?”

John lowered the handkerchief just enough for Sharky to catch the frown. “If work allows it. There’s still a lot left to do here, but you can let Joseph know I’ll try.”

Sharky pulled up a corner of the towel to wipe his face, no longer able to hear much of what was traded between them. Lady hadn’t even flinched at the smell up close, and the towel was a nice one. Nicer than any of the kind he had at home, and must’ve been in the basket she had with her.

Yeah, got that pity look after all. Great.

Staring down at his feet, he removed his cap to run a hand through his hair. The hushed voices behind him eventually stopped, and by the time John walked over he’d switched to looking out over the water.

“That was interesting.”

“Sure,” Sharky said, tired of arguing with John.

“And there went our progress for the afternoon. At least the morning wasn’t a complete waste, but our guest derailed us thoroughly. And I don’t believe you have a change of clothes, do you?”

Sharky rubbed his shoulder, and felt it twinge in response as he moved it. He badly needed a cigarette, and was desperate enough to see how many times it’d take for a wet one to actually light.

“Do you?”

“Look, I get what you’re asking. And no, I’d have-“ John raised the handkerchief again, and the words died in his mouth. “You know what? Forget it. And if you’re looking to avoid this shit, don’t stand downwind of it. Basic Scouting 101 right there.”

Sharky whipped the towel off and threw it at him. 

John snatched it out of the air, keeping it from smacking him in the face. “Leaving?”

Not bothering to check behind him as he approached his car, Sharky flashed him the finger.

“You can take this with you, you know.”

That John didn’t take the bait, or fight him on it, only irritated him further. He also seemed to be following him, and Sharky scowled at him. “Don’t need it.”

John sighed, and put away the cloth. “Charlemagne, it’s a towel, and you’re still soaking wet.”

“And maybe I want the draft to help dry the swamp ass brewing here, okay?” he shot, climbing in behind the wheel. “And if you wanna give me shit for cutting out early, tack on more hours as a penalty, whatever, I’ll deal with that next time. The time after, hell, as long as it doesn’t mean I’m still standing here talking any of this shit with you. That work?”

The thin line John had pressed his lips into told him otherwise, but he said nothing. Just crossed his arms before holding out the towel to him one last time.

Sharky hit the gas and didn’t look back.

—

It hadn’t been his best moment.

Drenched, nearly buck-ass naked behind the wheel, and feeling his underwear starting to chafe, he knew he hadn’t made the best choice. Maybe it’d been the fumes, maybe it’d been the embarrassment, but he’d had it, and he needed to clear out fast.

Luckily he always had a spare set of underwear on hand– seriously, an extra pair was not a thing to overlook in an emergency– but that philosophy had never extended towards actual clothes, leaving him in a dicier spot than normal.

Because heading home, pissed off, and speeding didn’t do him any favors. Especially not when one of the Deputies pulled him over only to ask what the hell he was doing. Deputy Rook hadn’t really busted his chops too many times before, but he didn’t have high hopes heading into it.

Full-on expecting a public indecency charge, he’d launched right into the story only for her to catch some of the eau de skunk he was still wearing. Wrinkling her nose, she’d waved him off, told him to get right back to fixing that problem, and she’d see about forgetting this ever happened.

Not that he’d flashed her or anything, but she kept her eyes on his face the entire time and refused to lower them.

And when she let him drive off, he doubled down on that pledge to at least pack a spare pair of jeans.

When tomorrow hit, he reset everything. Decided to take on this new day and start from scratch all while scrubbing himself off furiously, because the previous one blew from hell and back, and he wasn’t going to finish any of this without a clear head.

And much as he didn’t like to admit it, John hadn’t gone out of his way to make things worse for him. Not directly, so he let part of the mental grudge he’d been nursing go.

With Hurk’s help he snagged a replacement phone, pulling strings Sharky didn’t need to know the finer details of, and when his next time out was due, he went back, ready to dive into the old routine again.

Not bullshit-free, but at the very least skunk-free.

And the bullshit-free end of things was tested almost immediately when John all but threw him into the waiting arms of Joseph’s people. He’d volunteered to help too, but didn’t ask, simply relayed this to him all while being guided towards a set of trucks. Filled with the ‘essentials’ they were to be taken to the compound, off-loaded, then brought back.

While any danger sense he had would’ve gone off in any other situation than this, he hadn’t been too pissed about it. Joseph hadn’t hesitated to help him before, and he wasn’t about to forget what the woman from last time had done for him, and kicked himself repeatedly for not managing to get her name. Yeah, he’d been embarrassed as fuck, covered in skunk funk, and standing in his underwear, but he’d dropped the ball on that one, and hoped he’d have a chance to meet her again later on.

As morning turned into the afternoon, and more items were hefted onto the trucks to move, he lost track of time, focusing only on what he could grab, pass, and carry. He’d even lost track of John, seeing no sign of blue anywhere in the tide of white and beige, figuring he’d find him when he needed him, and was eventually proven right when he’d stepped out for a small break.

Tapping him twice on the shoulder, John gestured back towards the cars out front, signaling he was free to go, he gladly took it. And when John mentioned staying behind to finish up, he blinked at him for a good minute before double-timing it out of there. Opportunities like this weren’t to be passed up, and he left before John decided to change his mind after all.

Winded, but not really feeling it yet, he figured he still had a good half a day to go before really needing to tap out, and could burn off the rest while getting more of the boathouse’s roof down.

But when he reached the spot down there, taking a decent drag of his cigarette as he relaxed, he took the moment for what it was. A break. A moment where he didn’t have a microscope on him for once, and the tension bled right out.

Suddenly beat, he sat himself down on the ground by the boathouse. Flopped down onto his back as soon as he’d finished off his cigarette, and looked up into the sky. Clear and blue, it was about as gorgeous of a day as it could get for early fall around there, and he tugged his cap down to cover his eyes.

Just for a sec. He’d earned it.

The water helped drag him along towards it. To that peaceful place where he didn’t have to worry about much for once.  

Delightful, isn’t it?

He smiled as the breeze blew by, feeling it pull him that much closer to sleep.

Isn’t it just so? Too peaceful, almost. Calm. Quiet, the voice from the dream said, pleasant to listen to itself. A shame, really.

He frowned. Why?

Because wouldn’t it be better spent on the river? On the water? On a boat?

“Yeah. Hell, yeah,” he murmured.  

Speeding along. Leaning into the wind as it whips around you. Just…perfect.

Perfect.

I’m glad you agree. But it wouldn’t be on just any boat. No, but the rather expensive one that you so happened to smash directly into my boathouse.

Sharky tensed.

“Which you should be working on right this very instant, if memory serves me right.”

Slapping the brim of his hat in his panic, it flew up and off of his head. John was crouched down next to him, blue sunglasses down over his eyes, and wearing a smile that showed too many teeth to be friendly. 

Frozen in place, both stared the other down as the seconds ticked by, and Sharky couldn’t kick his brain in the ass enough to get it to respond. No, it seemed set on adding its own running commentary to this, all of which he was worried would spill out the moment he opened his mouth.

“Uh, yo.”

“Yo,” John replied, dropping the smile altogether. “Enjoying the break?”

“Well, I was. Actually.” John’s eyes narrowed, and Sharky swallowed hard. Felt his head bob as he tried to get past the haze the nap had put him in. “Got a little tired, and figured I’d rest some of it off, but…”

“But what?”

Sharky watched John’s teeth come out again in that odd non-smile of his, and forced his attention back up to his eyes instead. “Uhh…”

Blue on blue, the lenses of his sunglasses covered his eyes but didn’t conceal them completely.

That left Sharky wondering how the hell he’d managed to get the shade that close to begin with. It wasn’t a perfect match, but no one was going to split hairs over a color pretty as that being a compromise. At least he wouldn’t, but he wasn’t John, or trying to color match like John, and different strokes for different folks, he guessed, but there was no need to be so damn-

John cleared his throat. “Well?”

Shit. Losing it twice in less than five minutes? Maybe he really did need the shut-eye after all.

“Ah, fuck. But I guess it’s over now,” Sharky said, shaking the last of the haze off, “and I don’t see any reason to keep on dragging this shit out any longer than I have to, so…”

He clambered up, breathing in deep as he did, and swiped a hand at his forehead. It hadn’t been a quick hop and a skip up, but the weird floating feeling that came with it, didn’t help much.

Not bothering to look back at John as he shadowed him, he grabbed for one of the boards sitting on the grass, and dragged it up. Setting it on his shoulder, it bobbed like an off-balance seesaw until he was able to steady it enough to walk with.

After that, it was only a matter of taking it over to the ladder and carrying it up. Simple.

“Are you sure you have a handle on this?”

Tossing the board on the ground, he reached for the ladder. “What? Johnny Law’s worried for once?” He was on the second rung before he glanced back, and whistled at the strength of John’s glare. “Damn. That bad, huh? Guess I’d better start praying then. Maybe ol’ Joe could give me a few pointers. Give me some of that higher learning you all love so- fuck!”

The next step should’ve connected. In some ways he was glad it didn’t, because any higher and he would’ve been nursing a broken neck and not what he was thinking was shaping up to be a broken ass. 

Groaning into the grass, he heard rushed footsteps as John ran over to him. “Tell Joe I’m sorry,” he wheezed. “I take it all back. Just in case he’s got some way of putting the holy god-fearing evil eye on me, cause I did not like that one bit.”

John was definitely worried now, looking a lot more concerned than he would’ve given him credit for as he crouched down next to him. “I’ll let you do that yourself. Provided you can get back up from this.”

Placing a hand on his shoulder, he examined him closely. Narrowed his eyes as he checked for whatever the hell kind of injury he was expecting, and Sharky cleared his throat.

“What?” John snapped.

“Yo, uh. Don’t think you’re going to see much up topside. Cause in case you were wondering, I’m clenching the thing that’s smarting the most.”

Following his thread, John checked. Actually looked over at where his hands had moved to, both resting right over his ass, and he almost couldn’t believe it. So, he did what any other guy in his position would do. Took the shot.

Curling his hand into okay sign, he moved it close enough to his balls to count, and struggled not to go into a coughing fit. “Made you look.”

It took a second to click, but the dawning realization of what John was looking at exactly was priceless. Spinning back on him, he didn’t waste time on being irritated. Just went straight to pissed and didn’t look back.

“What the hell were you thinking?” John asked through clenched teeth.

“That I had this? Put one foot up, then two.” Pushing himself up so he could sit, Sharky sucked in a breath. “Least I thought I did.”

“Oh, did you? Get up.” He reached for his arm, and pulled him bodily to his feet.

The pain faded to a dull throbbing, telling him he was okay enough to move around at least, but balance? He found his mostly shot as he rocked, leaning on John only long enough to take a tentative step towards the picnic table nearby.

Feeling John’s eyes burning a hole into his back, Sharky kept on going. Didn’t think John was going to let him get far without saying anything else, but as he hobbled over to the spot he had to check over his shoulder. To see what exactly his deal was if he wasn’t going to keep on yelling at him, only to find him watching closely.

“Yo, don’t make it weird.”

John’s eyes flicked up to his. “You would be the one doing that.”

“Not that I’m not…I mean, that shot to my moneymaker was pretty bad, but it ain’t broke, so I don’t think it’ll need any fixing.” Considering it briefly, he shrugged. “Not that I guess I mind you looking much, seeing as it’s-“

“I wasn’t,” John replied, unamused. Crossing his arms, he glanced skyward and sighed. “But maybe you had the right idea to begin with.”

“Right idea with what?”

“The resting part. Not…whatever this is supposed to be.” John eyed him skeptically as he walked up next to him, and held out his hand. “Let me see your keys.”

“Why?”

“You’re exhausted. More than you’re willing to admit to after helping Joseph and working down here. So, I propose a break. Not down here, but up at the ranch instead. There’s water, better seats available, and if you do end up needing some form of treatment, an actual first aid kit.”

“Like I said, it’s not exactly busted. And I really don’t think you wanna-”

“And alcohol.”

Sharky’s eyes lit up. “For real?” John nodded, and Sharky immediately started fishing for his keys.  

“Ah, ah,” John said, wagging his finger at him. “Only if you hand them over first. I’d rather not add loss of life or limb to the things you would need to compensate me for if we end up crashing, so I don’t want you anywhere near the wheel.“

“Dude, if I’m dead I can’t pay you back for shit. Hell, if we’re both dead, that debt’s pretty much kaput.”

“Exactly,” John stated, “and precisely why I should be the one driving us there, not you, so if you could?”

Staring down at his open palm, Sharky frowned. Checked the keys clenched in his fist, and weighed his options.

Sighing again, John gave him a look. “Sometime today.”

The beer won out. “Eh, fuck it.”

He placed the keys in John’s hand, and in exchange earned something he didn’t expect. A smile.  

—

It actually didn’t bother him all that much. Being chauffeured around by John was an idea he wouldn’t have come up with in a thousand years, but watching him struggle to get into his car and figure it out was funny enough on its own before he even got around to starting it.

His seat cover was a blanket, and there was a hole worn into the cushion just from age and use which John made a face at soon after sinking into it, but after cramming more of the blanket into the spot to get comfortable – a move he often did himself – he started the car.

The motor let out a loud whine. Wrinkling his nose, John threw a critical look Sharky’s way as he shrugged a shoulder back at him. Turning the key again, this time the car kicked to life, and John, to his credit, didn’t stall it when he pulled out.

The rest of the ride up wasn’t eventful, even when John skidded over the dirt due to the worn tires. Just corrected for it, tensing behind the wheel as Sharky casually talked him through it, and spent the last stretch of the trip telling him how the last time he’d done that the tire had blown.

“Seriously! Popped. Got me spinning and I nearly threw up by the time I stopped. It was pretty fucking awesome.”

John, however, didn’t seem to agree. Not by the way he’d gripped the wheel, and not with the look he shot him shortly after saying that.

So, when they pulled up to the hangar, he’d all but jumped out of the car. Stifling a laugh, Sharky followed, and couldn’t help but rub his hands together at the kind of stash John had to have waiting out here. Probably high-proof aged shit, the kind of stuff that was usually too rich for his blood and would’ve been charged just for looking at it.

But first? Those chairs set off to the side were calling his name, and he headed straight for them.

Setting himself down gently, Sharky didn’t care if he was half hanging out of it as he oozed down and adjusted. There was nothing left to do but focus on chilling, and he let his eyes slip closed as he did just that.

He heard humming. It wasn’t anything he recognized, but John kept up with it as he rummaged around nearby. Light little notes that were strange coming from him, but not bad to listen to.  

The sound drifted closer, becoming whistling, and Sharky glanced over at him from under the brim of his hat.

John pulled up the chair next to him and handed him a bottle. The rest of the six-pack he set down in the space between them. “I was going to give it to you on the way out, but it seems a waste to keep on waiting when now’s the perfect time.”

“Oh, fuck yeah,” he said, cracking the beer open.

It wasn’t anything that he was familiar with, however, and after taking a drink of it, eyed the label. Smooth and with a coffee-taste chasing it, it wasn’t his usual combo by any means.

He took another drink, rolling it around in his mouth, and noticed John was watching him. His eyebrows had drawn together as he studied him, and Sharky tried not to choke down the rest of the mouthful before clearing his throat. “You, uh, wanna tell me what that means?”

“Hmm?” John tilted his head as the look intensified, but his eyes widened. “That wasn’t- it wasn’t supposed to mean anything. I was checking to see if you liked it, and clearly there’s something lacking.”

Fuck. Now he’d done it. “What? Nah, it’s all good, man. I’d never look a gift horse in the mouth, especially not with beer and shit, it’s just not what I’d buy. Not down at the Eagle when I’m three beers in and looking to get blasted fast, at least.”

John considered this for a few seconds and nodded. “I see.”

“And don’t go thinking I’m being ungrateful or nothing. Cause after a day like this, you want something to take the edge off right. This works. Well, that and, er, just…”

He didn’t think blurting out, ‘Man, just really getting fucked,’ was something worth sharing. Not with John at least, no matter how true it would’ve been. So, he let the sentence stay unfinished for a few while he tried to come up with another way to end it.

It wasn’t easy, and as Sharky idly scratched his goatee, he mostly gave up the fight. “You know. Just burning that shit off. Constructively.“

That got an eyebrow raise. “Constructively?”

“Yeah, constructively. Least that’s how I like my fucking to go.” John blinked at him, clearly waiting for him to explain further, and Sharky made his go-to gesture a little more suggestive just to mess around a bit. “Teamwork makes the dream work, am I right?”

That was a look he’d never think he’d get out of John. Ever. And ranking the others he’d been able to score so far that day, it shot straight to number one. “Ah.”

“But failing that, drinking works. And if you want one too, go right ahead. Sucks drinking alone anyway. Never been a fan of it before, and you won’t find me liking it now.”

He grabbed one of the bottles, holding it out to John directly.

Left blinking slowly at him, Sharky had to wiggle the bottle at him to break him out of the daze he’d settled into, but once he did, he held his hand up.

“No, that’s…I don’t drink. Not often at least. Not anymore.”

“No?” Sharky frowned, taking it back. “Not liking it? Needed a break from it? Like no judging or anything, you do you. Just curious is all.”

John thought it over, tapping his fingers against his thigh as he sat back in the chair. It almost seemed like he was going to drop it all together, but eventually broke the silence.

“Let’s say that drinking to excess was a habit that came easily to me when I was younger. It wasn’t easy to work my way back from it. Or even to cut it down to a level that was manageable, but I had help. And without that, there’s no telling what state I would be in right now.”

“But this…me drinking in front of you, that’s not bothering you any?”

He shook his head. “In limited numbers and in limited company I find no problem with it. Bars can make it complicated, but with the right people even that can be tuned out as well. I can focus on them and what they’re saying. Enjoying what they’re sharing with me instead of thinking about how fine the whiskey at the table nearby must be.”

He closed his eyes for a few seconds, and tapped a finger against his lips.

“A shame, really. But it’s for the best.”

“Huh.” Sharky gave the label another once-over, and held it up. “Who picked this out then?”

“Why, I did. It was a gift. Handing that off to someone else, especially to either of my brothers, though I love them dearly, would’ve been unacceptable. Joseph has zero interest in alcohol, and Jacob is…straightforward with what he likes. There’s little nuance to it, and I suspect anything would do given the opportunity. So, lucky for you,” he said, smirking, “though I haven’t tried it, I still have an eye for taste.”

Sharky scrunched up his face mid-drink, showing John exactly what he thought of that.

John took one look at him, his puffed up cheeks rounding out a scowl, and laughed.

The sound made Sharky go into a coughing fit, pounding on his chest to clear it all out. All while John continued, holding a hand over his mouth as it tapered off into a soft chuckle.

“Not cool, man. Not fucking cool,” Sharky rasped, downing more liquid to help soothe his throat.

“Me? I’m not the one at fault here. In fact, I think you were about to disagree with me.”

“Whatever. So, how’d you get it?”

He raised the bottle in the direction of the plane. From what he could see of it under the edge of the tarp, it was pretty slick, like something out of an old World War II movie, and John’s eyes followed him to it.

“Affirmation?”

“Affirm-what?” Sharky gave him a look. “Seriously? You into the power of positive thinking, or something?”

“…The name does have importance to me, yes,” John said, quickly following up the statement with, “but the story’s a little long-winded. And I don’t think you want to hear me talk on and on, for the sake of talking, to begin with.”

He looked uncomfortable. More so than Sharky’d seen him yet, and Sharky got the impression it was a touchy subject.

“I don’t know. Could be some pretty neat shit. The plane, that is. Better if it’s an older one too, cause it might’ve been in some real dogfights. …But that’s the kind of thing that gets you ghosts, and hauntings, and all sorts of weird events like the kind they document only to leave a bunch of VHS tapes behind. Which I’m down for any of that, but you need a camcorder and I roasted mine the last time Hurk and I tried-“

“It’s not haunted.”

Sharky gave him a skeptical look. “Like, you sure? Cause sometimes this shit don’t start until years after you get it.”

“It’s not, and I’ve had no such ‘events’ since acquiring it. But it does have history.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees before aiming an amused look Sharky’s way. “And since you’ve twisted my arm into it, I suppose I’ll just have to tell it.”

Not that he twisted it too hard, or at all. Sharky almost told him so too, choosing to down the rest of his beer instead.

But over the next hour John told him everything he knew about it. Where the original planes were first built, when they were used, and how many were made at the time. How this model had seen light use decades back, was now in need of serious repairs to bring it back into working shape, and had been about to be junked. John had caught word of it due to hanging in those circles - plus making way too many model planes as a kid - and shoved a wad of cash in the collector’s face before any no’s could be thrown around.

Because John had fallen in love with the thing on sight. Known he’d wanted that plane to be his, but had to get behind the controls to be sure.

And when he was in the air?

“Perfection,” he said, his tone soft. “Nothing compared to it. To the rush that came from rising high above the world below. Losing yourself in it. Completely.”

A faraway look fell over him after that.

It hung around long enough for Sharky to realize he’d been holding his breath and waiting for him to continue. But John shrugged it off, going back to the animated way he’d been talking before. If he’d thought the humming was weird earlier, this was right in the same ballpark.

Because John was John. A grade-A asshole inside and out.

This? This wasn’t John.  

This John kept on talking. Didn’t drop the conversation as they crossed from planes to history, but Sharky found he didn’t want to stop him either. Just let him go on, using his hands to show off various flying techniques, or to draw out in the air what was running through his head as he described it. Those same motions drew his attention to the tattoos lining the inside of his wrist. 

The inked planes resting below John’s watch stood out, and it reminded him of the flames running up his own forearm. How much of an impact that alone had on him as a whole, and he wondered how far that love of flying ran.

It was always cool to listen to someone that was really into what they were talking about. Like seriously digging it to the point that they’d perk up whenever asked, and you could read it clear as day.

John was no exception to this, content to keep on talking however long Sharky would allow him to. He just didn’t expect any of that to be shared with him. Ever.

When Sharky eventually stopped the conversation to mention heading back, John almost looked disappointed. Sighing dejectedly, John admitted that maybe he’d taken up more of his time than intended, but there was no need to worry about the boathouse after that.

Stunned, Sharky waited for the correction. Some sign that John was pulling his leg or fucking with him, but none came. And calling him on that hadn’t earned the reaction he’d expected either. Only a repeat of what John had told him before.

“You’re free to go. Today’s work is done, and after indulging me for as long as you have, I thought you’d be happy to leave.”

“Uh, yeah. Fuck yeah, but…this is kind of like one of those moments where you’re wondering if there’s like some kinda hidden catch to it.”

“Catch? You’ve helped not only me, but Joseph as well, so I believe today’s portion of your debt has been paid in full. And don’t worry; there’s no fine print you’re missing here, not this time,” he said, growing more amused by the second. “But if you’re so set on staying, I’m sure I can come up with plenty of other things for you to tend to.“

“Nah, I’m just-I’m going.”

“And as for the beer, you’re more than welcome to leave the rest-“

Sharky grabbed for it as well, and he could’ve sworn John looked pleased he did. “Gift beers, you don’t leave. You know, like horses. ‘Cause you know with gift horses, mouths, and shit like that, it’s just fucking rude not to appreciate it.”

“Mouths and horses notwithstanding, of course.”

Setting his chin on top of his hand, John watched him fumble for another minute through an attempt to peace out before finally shooing him away instead. The added push was all Sharky needed, and he left.

He walked all the way to his car - clutching a six-pack that he pledged to polish off before the day was out - and the minute the door was closed behind him, slapped his cheek. Did so at least two more times to make sure he was still sitting in that seat, beer in hand, and not sleeping it off somewhere.

Nope. He was there. The beer - cold by his side - and this time around, more refreshing on the second go.

Horses and mouths indeed.

—

“So, where is it? Where’s all of the shit-talking I used to look forward to? Like, by now I was getting ready for the good stuff, but it’s running out.”

Sharky paused, dropping the tire back down into the back of Hurk’s truck. “About what?”

“Really?” Hurk asked, gaping at him. “You know, the asshat that’s been blackmailing you into doing his dirty work for the last month and a half. Thinking he’s slicker than a greased pig, and he might be because who the hell knows what he uses to keep his hair like that. And palms. You grease those too, not just for jerking, and cuz, you’re killing me here.”

“It’s…I’m not gonna lie, he’s really wigging me out at times. Acting like it’s good to have me around to help and shit. ‘Cause I don’t always work on the boathouse. I’ve helped Joe, I’ve helped move stuff around on the airstrip, I’ve run stuff down to the Peggies’ church. And yeah, being told ‘you’re going to do this today’ instead of doing what I was planning on doing sucks, but the Peggies are kinda nice.”

He wasn’t paying attention while Hurk reached for the firehose running out front. Jerry-rigged outside, it was usually his last-ditch effort when any of the fires outgrew their boundaries.

So, it was easy enough to grab. Easy enough to aim, and - in Hurk’s case - easy enough to point and shoot, especially while he kept his mouth running, none the wiser.

“And John’s all right, too. I know it’s kind of-whoa, whoa, what the-“ A wave of freezing cold water hit his chest, and Sharky sputtered as he threw his hands up. “What the fuck, man? Jesus, just cool it! Cool it!”

Hurk aimed it up and away, and jabbed a finger at him. 

“Straight talk. You point me to the spot in the woods where my fave cuz’s tied up and waiting to be beamed up, and I swear I’ll let you go. ‘Til then, you better talk faster, because I don’t even know where to go with ‘Oh, John and the Peggies? Yeah, they’re all right.’”

Teeth chattering, Sharky shrugged.

“I don’t know what to tell you, man. It’s better. Like he’s decided it’s okay to be a person for once.”

This time he was hit in the face, and he threw both middle fingers Hurk’s way before finally wrangling the hose away from him.

“That’s up my nose now,” he grumbled, feeling it burn as he forced air through it. “Up my nose, which is one of the top ten worst feelings to deal with. Hope you’re proud of yourself.”

The spray mid-apology was kind of a jerk move, but Hurk had earned it. That and the noogie as he wrangled Hurk under his arm. If he was going to be forced to drip-dry out here, he wasn’t dealing with that shit alone.

The roar of an engine overhead made him loosen his grip, however. Both of them glanced up, their attention won by the plane soaring by.

Usually Sharky would catch one every once in a blue moon out over here. With the steep hills, it wasn’t always best if you needed to land the plane in an emergency, but that didn’t stop anyone from taking them as high as the pilot wanted it.

This one wasn’t too high in the sky, though. Painted a darker color, it cut a fine line through the air above as it climbed. Spinning in a smooth arc, it curved - rounding back - and Hurk let out a low whistle.

“Look at that, huh? Bet Nick gets up to all kinds of fancy shit up there when he’s off the ground.”

“Yeah. Should ask him if he’d take us up sometime.”

Watching the plane loop back, the pull was almost strong enough to make him want to book it to Nick’s right now. He’d always been curious about the high that came with getting off of the ground; how that ramped up during a dive, or even on a sharp turn.

Something about this plane bugged him, though. Like there was something he was missing that should’ve hit, but wasn’t.

“Uh, I don’t know. I’ve been up in a bunch of choppers, man, and it’s real sketchy once the cross-winds hit. Gets my lunch swirling, and even hits when I’m in Tulip.”

“Why? Your ma’s damn good at what she does.”

“It’s always squirrely, feeling the entire thing rock back and forth, back and…” Hurk paused, and slapped at Sharky’s waving arm. “What’re you doing? He can’t see us from down here.”

“And why not? Yeah, he’s – or she, could be one badass babe up there - not skimming the ground, but they’re low enough to see what’s down here if they angle it right.”

Almost as if listening, the plane came back over; the roar of the engine echoing in the air as it came closer. Getting a better look at it now, he could see more of the slick paint job; the dark grey really reminding him of a color he’d seen recently.

As in, within-the-last-couple-of-weeks-or-so recent. Like in a hangar, half-hidden under a tarp.

Finally slapping those last missing puzzle pieces into place, it all clicked this time, and Sharky’s eyes widened. 

“Uh, I think that’s John.”

“Say what?”

Hurk’s surprise wasn’t too far off from his own. 

“Dude, that’s his plane. I don’t think anyone else around here’s got a ride like that.”

Or even in that style, period. It stood out in the sky, and Sharky almost laughed to himself. He would want that attention, and showing off while he was at it? Seemed like a standard thing he’d try for, if given the shot - and right now? He looked set on taking it.

Diving down, his breath caught as the plane soared in a set line towards the ground. Daring to get as close as possible - cutting it a lot closer than he would’ve if given the chance - only to shoot back up above the trees, spinning on the exit.

Yeah, that was John.

Whistling loudly, Sharky whooped before punching Hurk in the shoulder. 

“Oh, come on. That was pretty fucking neat.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Hurk cracked soon after, smiling. “Okay, it was pretty rad, but if that is him, and he ever gets us talking about it, we ain’t saying shit. Not a single word set on complimenting, talking nice, or doing any of that. Period.”

The plane didn’t come back this time, heading out over the fields as it faded from view.

“Nope,” Sharky said absently, as he kept his eyes skyward. “Not a single fucking word.”

—

That night when he messaged John to tell him he was heading in, he didn’t get his usual answer.

Busy in the hangar. Stop by there, will you?

The doors were open as he pulled up outside, and he couldn’t see John when he stepped out. His plane was front and center, one of the side panels open with a tool cart rolled up next to it, and he walked up to get a closer look.

“Tempting as it is, try not to stick your hand in there.”

Sharky held both up, and quickly stepped back. “I didn’t do it.”

“I didn’t say you did anything.” John walked up from behind, wiping his hands down with a towel, smirking all the while. “Just wouldn’t want to lose a finger now. That would be a surefire way to ruin an evening.”

Against all odds, he hadn’t lost one yet. Not to any of his homemade whizzlers, not to any of the cherry bombs, and not to that one incident with the paper cutter in school. Now, really would be a lame time to do it, and in front of John? He’d never live it down.

Flexing his fingers - all ten of them - he shoved both hands into his pockets, and turned towards him.

Dressed in his version of casual, the shirt John was wearing was still too pricey to be anywhere near oil or heavy machinery, but that didn’t faze him. His hands were dirty and he was doing the work. Actually getting in there and taking care of it, instead of shoving it onto someone else, and Sharky could respect that.

But the moves he pulled in the air earlier? Thinking back on them made a whistle want to slip out. John could fly. There was no fucking doubt about it, and he’d be lying to himself if he said he didn’t want to catch him up in the air again at some point.

“So, uh…you take her out today?”

“I might’ve had to check to see how things were running,” John said with a shrug.

“You fly out over towards the Henbane?”

John raised his head, eying him curiously. “Maybe. Why do you ask?”

“See, I was out with my cousin Hurk. Just unloading some tires to use for um, crafting purposes.”

“Crafting. I never took you for the type.”

“Not like the kind with paper, glue, and scissors. Like tire sculptures, or just taking the shit apart to see what we can get out of it, ‘cause there’s at least twenty things you can do with a worn-out tire. We’ve honed it down to an art, man.”

John said nothing further, only examined his hands as he wiped off more of the dirt. He looked up to catch Sharky’s eye while he worked, reminding him that he’d been telling a story before he’d trailed off. Sharky cleared his throat. Loudly.  

“Uh, anyway. You, flying.”

John redirected his attention to his hands, but Sharky didn’t miss the way his lips had curved up.

 “I thought it was you, working?”

“Me, working, distracted by you, flying, and I know I got twisted around in the middle of that, but I saw you earlier. Your plane flying over my house. Now you’re the only guy around here with anything coming close to having one of those warplanes they’d call you in to borrow for re-enactments, movie deals - or, hell - for admiring and shit, so don’t go denying it. And don’t go fucking with me either, ‘cause I know what I saw.”

“Good eye. Sharper than I expected.” John set the towel down on the cart, and walked over to the plane. “Perhaps you can put that eye for detail to good use tonight.”

“What?”

“Affirmation does need some tuning. I was hoping to have it finished before you came by, but…” John frowned, eyeing the engine with distaste. “As you can see here, I’m not quite done yet.”

“Ah, I get that. Shit never works out how you plan it, not with cars, bikes, and I guess planes fit in there too. You wanna get that oil changed before the sun’s up? Should take twenty to thirty minutes max. Well, why not check the tires too? And if you’re looking at that, might as well try the brakes.”

He watched John roll over the tool cart, giving him a glance over his shoulder as he did so. Taking the gesture as a signal to keep on going, Sharky took a place just behind him by the cart, and settled in to watch him work.

“…And that weird leak you forgot about two weeks ago? Kiss your afternoon goodbye, cause your radiator’s busted and might’ve been roasting your car from the inside out.”

“Sounds like someone’s speaking from experience.”

“Man, you don’t even know how many times I’ve had my shitbox crater on me. And I take care of it. Maybe not using the stuff that’ll keep the mechanic off of my back if I need to bring it in, but it runs. And I can keep it going on nothing but lint, duct tape, and quarters if I have to.”

“And somehow, in spite of that, it hasn’t exploded or found a way to catch on fire?”

“It did catch on fire. Once.”

John’s eyebrows flew up. “With you in it?”

“Sort of. I might’ve hopped out right after the smoke started coming, ‘cause that crisped-up burnt smell ain’t normal even with a busted heater, but I handled it. Drove it right on down to the Spread Eagle just in time for Happy Hour, too.”

Blinking at him, John slowly turned back to the engine. 

“Is that the same car you’ve been bringing here?”

“Yep.”

John paused again. “The one that I’ve ridden in?”

“Same one. Drove it, too.”

A few emotions crossed John’s face then. Disbelief held on the longest, as he slowly turned to look right at Sharky.

“What? Like I said, it runs. Long as it does that, I don’t need anything fancier than that to get around. And, hey. If that shit ever does go up and someone needs to handle it, you know I’m damn near certified by this point.”

“Knowing that the county’s resident pyromaniac should be able to put out the fire he also started is not as reassuring as it should be.”

Sharky frowned. “Yo, you really wanna say that? Seeing as you’re someone that keeps talking shit, all while needing people to call you, confide in you, and hire you for the whole defending-them-in-court thing? Not doing great on the being-anything-but-a-dick part. Just saying.”

John narrowed his eyes, but didn’t fight the point. Just went back to work, and Sharky wasn’t sure what to do with the victory.

Shaking it off, he crossed his arms and tried not to fidget as he watched him. Doing nothing at all was the real challenge, having no choice but to be patient and keep an eye on John instead.

But he hadn’t kicked him out, or told him to go where he was needed most. He was sure he would’ve told him to head down to the boathouse by now - or hell, that he would’ve gone on his own - but he didn’t feel like leaving yet. Not even after the dig. Curiosity won this fight, and he’d let it do its thing for a little while longer.

Glancing over at him, John gave it a second and gestured towards the cart. 

“Can you hand me that wrench?”

Sharky followed his line of sight towards it. Taking it, he handed it over and couldn’t hold his tongue any longer. 

“So, you do all of this on your own?”

“It’s important to be able to identify problems as they appear. I could hire someone to do that for me. Easily leave this to them, but having that knowledge beforehand - especially if I do end up having to land - is crucial. And I refuse to let willful ignorance prevent me from fixing anything well within my power and ability. That, and laziness.”

“Laziness?”

“What’s my problem becomes someone else’s to fix. To mend. Affirmation is my responsibility. Shouldn’t I be well aware of how it’s operating before I take off? That kind of carelessness can be prevented.”

“Makes sense.”

“I hope so. Any pilot would do the same if they had any degree of pride in their skills.”

Sharky rubbed at his neck. “Yeah, guess Nick goes through the same checks too. And if I had one, guess I’d have to break out the old toolbox and get into it.”

“Treated better than your car, I would hope?”

“Uh, still fucking rude for one, and two, hell yeah I would. Shit, the closest I’ve come to flying, period, was through honoring Clutch Nixon a few years back – rest his badass, no-longer-beating heart – and I was airborne long enough to love it. If I had a plane, I’d treat her right.”

Sitting up, John gave him a long look.

“That doesn’t count.”

“What don’t count?”

“Stunt driving isn’t close.”

“So you say, but you haven’t taken a motherfucking dive off of a cliff, amigo.”

“It’s not-” John pressed his fingers to his temple and sighed. “There are measures taken.”

“Yeah, and I know you gotta do more than mess around with your joystick up there, but the fall’s real. The pounding in your heart as it just-” He clenched his fist, and let out a breath - “Fuck, man, you feel alive coming back from that. And get one hell of a massive boner while you’re at it.”

Lowering his hand, John leveled a flat stare at him.

“Yeah, had to give that last one a solid seven point five out of ten. Hell, maybe an eight.”

Still clenching his fist, Sharky held the eye contact, grinning awkwardly all the while. At least until he noticed the marks on John’s face. Three small dark dots, all of which came from his equally stained fingers.

The snicker slipped out before he could help it. “You, uh, got a little something on you.”

Gesturing towards his face, John reached up and nearly added another before glancing down at his fingers. 

“Shit.”

“Yeah, dude. Might be able to connect the dots at the rate you’re going.”

“Let me just…where did that get to?”

He sorted through the items on the cart before finding the discarded towel, and checked it before swiping at his face.

“Might wanna go to the left.” John shifted it, the spot turning into a streak, and Sharky grimaced. “Uh, maybe to the right?” Streaked again. “Huh. Think you might wanna go back to what you were doing the first time.”

“You aren’t helping,” John said, slapping down the towel to search through the tools set. “So, how about you go occupy yourself over there, and we’ll get back to this when I’m certain I’m not covered in dirt.”

John had pointed towards the refrigerators, and Sharky gave him a passing glance before skipping over towards it.

 “Could be worse, man. Not like it’s a sharpied dick, or anything.”

Prying the doors open, Sharky didn’t know what he was looking for at first. He knew John had hidden the mystery beer here last time, but that wasn’t what he spotted. No, on the shelves was a pack of his old faithful, and he felt a tear come to his eye.

“Is that acceptable?”

Sharky reached in and held up the six pack, and sighed dreamily as he hugged it to his face. 

“Amigo, I think you’re my new best friend now.”

He heard John scoff somewhere behind him, and turned to see him parked in front of a small handheld mirror. One of the streaks was a bonafide line traveling up the side of his face now, and smeared more when John swiped a finger through it. Tossing the mirror back onto the cart, he clenched his jaw, and went right back to the plane without even waiting for him to come back.

“So, John,” he started, popping the cap off of the beer, “you want me to stick with you up here, dude? ‘Cause I was going to head on down to the river at some point. Just looked like you needed me more up here than there at the time, and…”

“There’s no need.” John spun on his seat to face him. “You’ve been making significant progress lately down at the boathouse. Anything else would put you ahead. And after staying up here as long as you have, you’ve earned the time to yourself, if you want it.”

Free to go? Again?

That had him scratching his head as he polished off the beer fast.

 “Uh, okay. Like, I can do whatever the hell I want?”

“Whatever you want.”

That was music to his ears. At least it would’ve been every other week leading up to this one.

Thinking it over for a while, he tried to think of anything he would’ve done with the time. Anything he’d set aside to come out here, but couldn’t find a thing. No, nothing stood out, and when he looked back over towards the plane, he aimed the bottle in his hand towards it.

“You still need someone up here?”

John looked surprised.

“What?” Sharky said. “I’ve got the rest of the day to myself, and usually that’s spent doing jack and shit when work’s not coming in, so…if you need it, I’m here. Not that it’s really that big of a deal anyway, you know?”

That got him a smile. One that John held onto long after Sharky expected him to drop it, and chuckled. 

“I suppose not.”

“This’ll be the highlight of my day, and I’d like to stick around. Unless you want me out.”

He thought it over, but not for longer than a minute. “If I did, I would’ve told you so.”

“So, back to work?” Sharky said, starting to smile himself.

Saying nothing, John stepped back and held out a hand towards the plane. 

“Back to work.”

—

So, maybe the work schedule wasn’t as ironclad a thing as it used to be.

John liked routine, sure, and had been real anal about it when he’d first started out, but there was a flexibility to it now. It was no longer always about when, so long as it was done, and he could work with that.

Took a morning when he needed it. Took on a few more jobs around town for anyone willing to let him shoulder it, and if there was any overlap, all it took was one message to clear it up. John was willing to work with him now, and…And if some nights lead to more chances to hang with John, he didn’t complain. Got more time around John’s plane, and even got to pitch in when it came to working on his car too.

The real shocker for him, though, had been the fresh boards and nails set. The signs that someone else had been working down there when he hadn’t. When he’d asked, John didn’t confirm it. He didn’t deny it either, but after ten minutes of standing around and talking with him, he grabbed a nearby hammer and took a spot right next to him. Went right to work, without even batting an eye, and Sharky couldn’t believe it. Grinned brightly at him as he punched him in the shoulder, and found he wanted John there for once.

This was starting to feel a whole lot like he’d made a friend.

One that was cagey in a whole lot of ways still, and one he couldn’t exactly pop down on the couch with for a weekend of pizza, beer, and porn to sort through, but close. And thinking it over, he didn’t find himself minding the change all too much either.

But some nights John needed to shift things around, and when he woke up that morning nursing a hangover, he had a message waiting for him.

Family, John mentioned, the text sent at an hour that made Sharky’s head pound harder. Have to reschedule. Sorry.

No big deal, he sent back. Holler if you need me later. No plans.

Then went right back to sleep. With the day open, he spent the morning seeing how long he could go without pants before anyone else dropped by.  

Quiet after that, he’d nearly gone stir crazy when Hurk called, wanting his expertise on a special job. One that was better suited to two heads rather than his one. Or better yet, four hands; each for holding a stick of their brand of high explosive. That’s how they fished, and sure, it stirred up every other critter in the area, but as long as they weren’t ambushed by bears or cougars, it was a risk worth taking.

Mid-throw was when his phone went off. Just a message, not a call, but it made his pipe bomb go wide, and he’d nearly made the two of them go for a dunk themselves.

Change in plans. Come over.

No further clarification, no explanation; just those words. Not that John went off on long tangents through text, but it was the quickest turnaround he’d seen yet, and he actually pulled out his phone to call.

Holding a finger to his eardrum, Sharky waited. Heard the echo of an explosion in one ear, and ringing in the other only to get nothing.

“Hey, I’m going to have to cut out on this.”

“Now?” Hurk asked, with a stick of dynamite in each hand. “Just when I was thinking of getting ol’ Sally out?”

He never held up well in the face of his cousin’s disappointment, especially when he pulled out that tone of voice, but held strong. 

“Yeah, sorry. It’s…I’ve got this weird message to check out, and you can never tell if it’s gonna be the good kind or the weird kind until it’s hitting you in the face, and there’s not a whole lot to go on here.”

“Fine, get on out; go, go, go. I’ll be here for a while, but if I catch something cool you’ll be sad you missed out.”

—

Pulling up to John’s place, he still hadn’t pinned down what the problem was. The boathouse catching fire wasn’t likely. He’d put out any cigarettes over by the picnic table, ‘cause he’d made too much progress there to blow it now.

Ticking off other options on his fingers, he counted through them, narrowing them down as he made his way to the front, and he was still down to two when he hit the doorbell.

The door swung open, but John wasn’t the one waiting on the other side.

It was Jacob Seed.

Ex-military. Private. Rocked the rowdiest set of scars he’d ever seen on a person. At least, judging from the ones he could see on his face. Probably hunted guys in the woods for sport. Or at least thought about it. Had the training to do it if he had to.

Sharky could count on his fingers the number of times he’d run into the guy outside of the odd job in the mountains, but he knew he wasn’t the kind, friendly, approachable type. No; standing taller than most, Jacob didn’t trade more than a handful of words with anyone outside of Eli Palmer, and maybe the local hunters up north.

And if he thought John was bad, Jacob’s stare was a full-blown weapon. It made Sharky squirm on the spot. 

“Uh, yo.”

“Boshaw.”

“How’s it going?” he asked, smiling a little too wide to keep it casual.

Jacob shrugged. “It’s going. You?”

“Kinda. Something’s always going; it’s just not going much right now if you get what I’m-what I’m getting at.”

Get what I’m getting at? What the hell was that?

The longer Jacob kept him there, the more he was going to try and fidget his way out of there, and he knew he was being read. Maybe even being messed with at this point, but he didn’t cut and run. Not yet.

“Is John around?”

“You here for something?”

“Yeah it’s…you know about the whole working-with-your-younger-bro thing, right? How I’m down by the river, putting shit up, and trying to make that entire area pretty again? Well, he got a hold of me. Mentioned wanting to work, and thinks he can snap his fingers and I’ll jump or something.”

Jacob’s glance took on an amused bend. “Does he? How high?”

“Uh, I can jump up to three, maybe four, but that’s not…it isn’t-” That was it. That was it in a nutshell, and joking about it didn’t make it any easier to swallow. “So, you see him around, or…?”

Jacob moved his head, motioning behind him, and stepped aside. 

“He’s upstairs.”

With the path now open, Sharky took it a little faster than needed, not wanting to hang back too much or stay close to Jake. But that left him standing in the middle of John’s ranch house - and seeing the whole thing in full for the first time was a lot to take in at once.

Because when he’d mentioned loving nature shit, this was that on steroids. Like someone had told John this was what a cabin should’ve looked like instead of what one actually was. The antlers, the chandelier, the fucking bear skin rug? All surrounding one giant fireplace?

That had him chuckling as Jacob took a few steps towards him. 

“Something funny?”

Jolting slightly, Sharky shoved his hands into his pockets.  

“I, uh…no. Okay, a little. You see a lot of those Hallmark movies? The ones set at Christmas?”

Jacob craned his head towards him. 

“Y’know; the kind where two people are snowed in, having to wait it out and huddle for warmth and shit?”

“No.”

Okay, so maybe he hadn’t seen too many either, but he’d seen the one. That covered most of the bases needed. 

“Well, uh, the place looks like that. Like, John’s staging it for something along those lines. Just for cuddling, huddling, and uh…yeah. Holiday stuff.”

“Stuff.”

“Stuff and things, yeah.” 

That actually got a snort out of Jacob, and Sharky gave himself a mental pat on the back. 

“I’m serious. Like that couch is primed for mistletoe and some uh, ho ho-holy shit, I’ll stop now.”

There was the sound of a door being slammed, and Sharky jumped. Seconds after, he caught John on the upper level as he strode towards the stairs, and breathed a sigh of relief.

Sharky called up to him. “Yo, man. Thought I’d need to-“

That’s when he caught the dark look crossing John’s face for the first time. That, and the actual speed with which he was walking. Asking was a mistake, but it was out of his mouth before he could stop it.

“Uh, John? You okay, amigo? You want me to come back another-“

John grabbed his arm as he passed by, and dragged Sharky along with him. Right past a concerned Jake, right past the front door, leading him down towards the dirt road.

“Whoa, hey, wait!” Nothing clicked, not his words and not the way he tried to pull away. John was a man possessed, focused only on a single point, and that didn’t sit well with him at all. “Seriously, dude, stop!”

Sharky planted his feet, and yanked his arm out of the grip. That brought John to a stop, and Sharky watched him slowly turn towards him. Breathing harder than he should’ve been, Sharky took off his cap and brushed a hand through his hair. 

“What the fuck, man?”

Tense, and with his jaw locked, John didn’t even bother giving him a response. Just a stare that would’ve killed any other person dead if he’d had the ability. Still, he wasn’t chasing him off, or leaving, and that made Sharky keep on trying.

“You wanna talk or something? You really look like…”

“What I want,” John bit out as he approached him, “is to get as far away from that fucking house as possible. I don’t care where as long as it’s not here.”

Sharky sucked in a breath, not prepared for that level of venom or John’s sudden proximity, and let it out. 

“Uh, okay. Shit, let’s…let’s go then. Not like I was in the mood to work anyway.”

Shuffling around him, Sharky started back towards his car, and waved for John to follow.  The heat of his stare wasn’t as bad from this distance, but it didn’t let up until John dropped it to climb into the passenger side of the vehicle. He fired the car up after that, hoping the damn thing wouldn’t stall, and the two sped out of there before anyone could come calling.

“Now I know what works for me whenever shit like that gets me down.”

Sharky turned on the radio only for John to flip it off. Balking at him again, Sharky noted that this time the road was the one having to deal with John glaring at it, and he tried to keep as light a tone as he could manage.

“Anyway, you need an outlet. Something to kick all that negative shit in the balls hard enough to make three family lines regret it. So you can get up and go back to living life like you want to. Maybe this won’t be your thing, but I think you might like this.”

“…Like what?”

“Well, I’d explain it to you, but this is one of those things where it’s better just to give it a try. Not to spoil any of the surprise as we head on out, but it rhymes with…shit. What rhymes with burn?”

Urn. Turn. Learn. Yearn. That was a good one. Not that he needed it for anything, but it was good to know. Fuck. Did he say burn out loud too?

Swearing under his breath, he shook his head. 

“Anyway, a little ‘Burn, Baby, Burn’ never hurt anyone. Least, not anyone worth knowing.”

John said nothing, leaving Sharky to listen to the sound of the road as it crunched underneath the car’s tires, but right as he’d started tapping out an uneven rhythm on the steering wheel just to break it up, he heard him sigh.

“Hey, I promise it won’t be lame. Yeah, it’s not for everybody, but…”

He stopped talking when he saw John place his head in his hand. Covering his eyes, Sharky heard the catch in his breathing, and wished like hell he had the right words for him.

Unable to offer anything else, Sharky shifted his eyes back to the road. 

“Yeah.”

—

“Now it ain’t fancy,” Sharky said after pulling up to his house, “but I’ve got a place to sleep. A rocking sound system, and when I need it, lots and lots of storage space for…stuff. Like real fun stuff, but not the illegal kind, ‘cause I don’t want you thinking that. Well, not a lot of it, just…some.”

John was looking around now, taking in the area as he and Sharky got out, and Sharky led him out across the lawn.

“My house is your house, so settle on in and pull up a chair. The show’ll start soon as I can get this all together, and make it a show worth waiting for.“

He shoved some wood into the area designated for his bonfires, and patted himself down before heading over to where he kept his propane. Rooting through the items, he picked up the bottle of lighter fluid – he’d start small, no need to have a full blow-out right off the bat – and glanced over his shoulder to see what John was doing.

He had approached the firepit while Sharky was busy; still silent, but looking closely at it.

“You doing good there, amigo?”

John’s head angled towards him. “Well enough.”

That he’d said anything at all was an improvement, but Sharky didn’t believe it for a second. Not with his back towards him, as he walked back towards the pit.

John watched closely as Sharky sprayed the wood liberally with the lighter fluid. Then added more after, and when he tipped it over to slap at the bottom of it to get the last few drops out, John finally spoke up. 

“You’re not serious.”

“Can’t have a decent barbeque without flames, man.”

“That many?”

The wry look he gave him stopped Sharky in his tracks. Or maybe it was the way the corner of John’s mouth was inching up. In spite of everything, he’d managed that at least, and Sharky felt his mouth go dry.  

“Uh, yeah.” He held out a matchbook to him, and hoped he could keep it steady. His voice was a lost cause, but his next few words were better in line. “Kinda disappointing if you light it up only to have it fizzle out. Can’t get any kinda perks out of that.”

“And this was your plan all along?” John’s odd semi-smile stayed in place, and only seemed to grow. “To invite me here to burn it off? Literally?”

He wasn’t wrong, but seeing as this was his usual go-to and yet not, Sharky didn’t want to really get into the nitty-gritty of it all. Not now, at least.

“You wanted out, and no other place in the county’s better prepped for this, so a quick ride to Boshaw Manor made sense. I know when shit’s gone south and there’s no hope of me shaking that feeling, this works, and I try to foster an environment here that’s all about letting loose when you need it. Pants-free preferred and encouraged, but by no means required.”

“Good to know,” John teased.

He hoped like hell John couldn’t clearly see what was happening with his face right now, but at this distance it was impossible not to.

“But you, uh… You seriously looked ready to rip a bear’s fucking head off, so I thought it’d help. So, here. Light it, and after we pop one off, maybe we can get more going. Kinda sad as is right now.”

Waving the matchbook in the air, he grumbled to himself as he dropped his eyes. But he felt John take the matches, and looked up again in time to see him light one.

John watched the flame dance in front of him for a few seconds, shielding it from the breeze with his hand. Leaning over to peek at it, Sharky nearly brushed shoulders with him, and wondered how long he was willing to hold onto it.

Pretty long at this rate, as the flames licked the wood and traveled up towards his fingers.

“You gonna drop that?”

“In time.”

“‘Cause that’s going to get you if you let it stick around any longer.”

Not that he hadn’t let himself get distracted by the warmth of it before. How it flickered as it moved, wanting it to move all that much closer as it climbed its way down towards him.

“Surely you don’t think I’m not paying attention to it.” Irritation was creeping into John’s voice, but he still wasn’t dropping it.

“Seriously, man, I can treat a rowdy-ass burn if I have to, but that shit’s going to bite.“

“Charlemagne, I have it handled-“ John flicked his hand fast as he yelped in pain.

The match went out, leaving the two standing there in front of the neglected pit. Sharky tried not to, but there was no way he could keep the laugh from slipping out. John’s sharp look shut him up a second later, only breaking eye contact to keep on waving his hand.

“Yo, you okay?”

“Fuck,” John muttered, blowing on his fingers. “Everything’s fine.”

Sharky didn’t nudge him with his shoulder, but was tempted to as he watched John continue to try and sooth the burn. 

“Sure about that? I can be back in two shakes of a jackrabbit’s tail if you want.”

John didn’t waste time lighting the next match. “I’m fine.”

His hands went up, backing off completely. But at that point he had something else to focus on. The fire was dancing in the wind again, and when John let the match fall into the pit, Sharky didn’t take his eyes off of it for a second.

The warm glow took, then grew. Rising slowly but surely as the fire found its footing, and he let out the breath he was holding. There it was. The feeling that washed over him, one that sank down deep into his bones.

Like coming home, in a way. Every time.

Sighing in contentment, he gave John a quick once-over. His attention was on the fire too, locked onto it as he slowly rubbed his fingers together. No one ever seemed to respond to it like he did, but the focus was there, his eyebrows drawn together as he kept on studying it.

John still kept on rubbing at his fingers, though. Sharky had to bother the singed one, even if he was too stubborn to bring it up again.

He stepped back, and gave John a light tap to the shoulder. 

“Be right back. Gotta grab something.”

Jogging over to his house, he pushed open the door and made a beeline straight for his bathroom. Anything he had for first aid was scattered across the property if not left outside, so one minute became two, then became five as he rooted around the place.

Fishing the tube of burn cream out, he sighed in relief.

It had taken the edge off of some of his worst ones - the scars on his sides and back tingling as he subconsciously recalled them. Considering how often he tangoed with fire at all, he’d all but accepted it at this point, and was glad that John wasn’t rocking anything worse than what would be a light blister.

Band-aids were down to slim pickings, however. There were only five left, but he picked the best fit and made his way back out to the pit, taking a short stop by the fridge for beer and one hastily-filled glass of tap water.

Water was the last thing on his mind most nights, but John needed something out there, and Sharky tried not to stress over it too much as he rushed back out.

John started when he handed it over. 

“What’s this?” He took the glass, and eyed its contents.

“Water. You know, for drinking?” A sheepish grin inched across Sharky’s face as he made the motion with his hand. “Didn’t want to leave you hanging without anything, and my fridge’s full up with beer, so…”

“Ah. Thank you,” he said, losing the suspicious tone immediately. He took a light sip of it and Sharky didn’t miss the way he wrinkled his nose. Probably better used to the fancy stuff they’d filter before bottling, but John still held onto it. Doing that instead of spitting it out onto the ground earned him a point or two on the ‘Don’t be an asshole’ scoreboard, but Sharky would never admit it to him.

“And those?” John asked.

“I know you said you were fine, but here.” Sharky handed the items to him, and John set his glass down. “Best stuff for burns around. Slap some of this on, and in a day you won’t even feel it.”

“Are those…dinosaurs?” John held the bandage up, flashing the green tyrannosaurus rex at him.  

“Yeah, man. Dinosaurs are badass. I don’t know if Jurassic Park was your thing or not, but I had that on repeat for a good three months after it came out. Solid gold right there, and great for hand-holding or grabbing during any tense shit.” He held his hand up as he leaned in, and waggled his eyebrows. “Guaranteed. Like sixty to seventy-five percent chance of getting some action too.”

John furrowed his brows, and kept the band-aid pinched between his fingers. Both unimpressed and unconvinced, which disappointed Sharky a little, but didn’t surprise him much either.

“Anyway, that was the first one I grabbed, but I think there’s another in there if you’re more of a triceratops fan. Or raptors?”

John slowly shook his head. “I’ve-I don’t have a preference.”

“Well, there you go. And I know you like blue and all, but green’s clearly the superior color here. Just saying.” 

He clapped him on the back, and John gave him a withering glance before putting it on.

Dragging over a couple of chairs, Sharky popped them close to the pit - but not close enough to catch any sparks - and settled in. He kicked back and wished he could’ve propped his feet up, but with the other chair in use he had to make do, and leaned as far back as the worn fabric would let him - hoping he wasn’t about to bust a hole in it.

“…How did this start?”

Glancing over at John, Sharky sat up when he realized he’d asked him a question. 

“What?”

“How, or when did you start doing this? The fires? Or, whatever this ritual is.”

“Ritual? This ain’t anything fancy like that.” Rubbing the back of his neck, Sharky let out a long whistle. “But fuck, how many years has it been now?”

Well over twenty. Since that day when he’d had skating on his mind - that and Wendy. He’d had such high hopes going into the day only to find a whole other thing worth keeping on for.

“Would you believe my first time was at a skating rink? That old place that used to be down by Fall’s End. Neon lights, tricked out wallpapers, and all the oldies you could ask for?”

“Concerning you? Yes.”

John sounded so sure of it. Like he could see the memory just as clearly as Sharky did. That got a warm laugh out of him.

“Imagining that sticky carpet, the flat soda, and those tunes? Real nice, right? It was the highlight of my month. Getting invited out there, pulling off some of my finest moves out on the floor. But I had to set the mood before heading in, and had a roll of quarters ready and everything.”

A grin settled in, almost fond as he recalled the start of it. The promise had been there, all right. He’d finally get a chance to say something. Do something, instead of dreaming about it. Funny how he’d dive into so many other things without thinking, but this? This he’d thought about. Over and over. Wanted it right.

“So?” John’s voice cut through again, shaking him out of it. “What happened?”

“I really wanted to ask this girl Wendy out. Had some good one-liners going. Had watched plenty of movies beforehand that I knew she liked. Wanted to really wow her, and show her what’s what.”

That had been the first pass of the plan. It seemed foolproof. Then he’d reached the rink he’d after crammed one too many quarters in the jukebox. Took one good look at her as he skated up, and…

John’s growing frown mirrored his own. Maybe even too well.

“It, uh-it didn’t go like I wanted. Went with my gut once I saw her, and thought I’d just -my hands started going everywhere.”

Confused, John thought over his words, and Sharky hoped he wouldn’t have to spell it out.

 “You grabbed her?”

“I…might’ve grabbed something.”

Realization hit John hard. 

“You groped her?”

“Like I said, it could’ve gone a lot better! Instincts being bad and all.” Dodging his eyes, Sharky held up his hands and faced the fire. “Look, it was a dumbass move, and I got a skate to the balls for it. Still, really wish I’d tried dancing instead. No way she would’ve turned down a date with a dude pulling off a solid moonwalk. On wheels.”

“Surely,” John huffed.

Flipping him off, Sharky sighed before continuing. 

“So, I head out back. Figure I could light up a cig or something. Take the edge off. Well, figured I’d light a trash can on fire too. See if I liked it, and soon the whole damn back-alley’s on fire. Like burning high with no hope of stopping. It spread, took half of the place out in the process, and yeah, it sucked. But it sucked a whole lot less after seeing that.”

“That was…not the story I was expecting it to be.”

“Lot of people say that after hearing it. And that’s all of like, three people that even bothered listening while I was telling it, but it is what it is. Sucks that it took out that place, though. Seriously, had a great sound system there and everything.”

John raised a hand to his mouth, eyes on the fire instead of on him, and smiled. 

“Thank you. You didn’t need to share that with me.”

“Eh, it’s nothing. You asked, and I told you what’s what.”

“Not everyone’s as comfortable doing that. And certainly not even half as honest.” John folded his hands on his lap, and leaned forward to rest his forearms on his thighs. “It was Joseph. Tonight, back at my ranch. Wanted to talk. This typically isn’t a problem, but he decided to do what all older brothers believe is their right, I suppose.”  

“What, like go over some fantasy football stats? Or more like rite-of-passage-type stuff, ‘cept the holy kind. ‘Cause he’s not gonna take you to a cathouse, or nothing.”

“Please never say that again,” John said, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Uh, which part? The football, or the…er, the part where he’s trying to help you get laid, except not?”

“That one. You see, he wanted to talk expectations. My role in the family overall, and how he wants me to rise to them.”

“That’s uh, kinda harsh. Assuming he said some pretty rowdy shit to you.”

“Not all of it,” John admitted, “but it wasn’t what I wanted to hear. Usually when talking about regrets and hopes for the future, not all parties will be on the same page. He was on one, and I the other, and…I didn’t handle it as gracefully as I would’ve liked.”

“But did you think he was right?”

“I don’t know. It’s too soon to say, and I’m still not inclined to agree considering how he presented it to me.”

“But you know why he did that, right?”

John’s eyes were on the fire, but caught his when he turned away from it. 

“Do you have any siblings?

Sharky shook his head. “Uh, no. Parents never planned for any of that, and they sure as hell weren’t planning on me. I’m one of those miracle babies. The kind that defy expectation, if you will. They swore up and down they’d used the pill, bagged that shit, and tried damn near everything to keep from throwing a bun in that oven. Still, nine months and some change later I popped out. Was as meant to be as my Grandmama swore I was, and…it’s weird in a way. Knowing that, and still knowing the other end of it too.”

“That you weren’t wanted?”

John was looking at him differently now. Catching something he wasn’t sure Sharky would see even after checking five times in the mirror, and didn’t seem as cagey as before.

“I had someone that did want me. Wasn’t the one that had me to begin with, but that’s alright. Family’s not always blood - not directly. I got Hurk, I got my Auntie. Maybe even Xander, if she plans on keeping him around, but they give a shit about what happens to me. Let me know at least once a week too if they ain’t too busy to stop by, so it’s gotta be nice in some ways. Having brothers. Having that, at least.”

Taking in a deep breath, Sharky didn’t know how to tackle this next part. Knew he was probably going to be like a bull in a china shop, but he’d try. He had to.

“Now I don’t know enough about you all to really say much, so tell me to fuck right off if you need me to, but…they seem like the caring kind. Even though Joe’s got his whole family unit going on - his weird, not-a-cult but kind-of-a-cult aside. And Jake’ll always give me the creeps, but I feel like you’d also warn me if he was setting me up to head out into the woods and fight me - mano a mano, ‘Most Dangerous Game’ style - so I think we’d be all right.”

“He’s not, and they’re not,” John replied. “And maybe it isn’t your place to say.”

That shut his mouth. 

“…Sorry.”

“But I think you’re right.” Shifting his gaze to the ground, his next few words were softer, almost too quiet to hear. “Both of my brothers are all I have in this life. The ones that I would do anything for, and for years we truly thought we’d lost each other. There was no finding our way back after being separated and sent to different families. Different homes.

John flexed his fingers, stretching them out before tightening them into a fist.

“I…was not fortunate in that regard. While I now had many opportunities open to me, I would’ve traded them in a heartbeat. Because there was evil in that house, and it was regularly visited upon me. And to cope, I needed an outlet. A way to take away what I couldn’t fix. What I couldn’t change, or stop, and make it all disappear.

“So, I turned to other sources. Went well out of my way to open myself up to new experiences. Things to excite, to make me feel…something. Anything, and no price was too great. I couldn’t see it for what it was, and was content to let it all eat me from the inside out. Because that was what gave me relief, and if they hadn’t found me when I needed them most…” John shrugged a shoulder. “I would’ve let it.”

“Fuck, I-uh, I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize. I didn’t share that to make you feel sorry for me, or to let it be an excuse. It was a little…honesty given, for honesty gained, if that makes any sense.”

Blowing out a breath, Sharky nodded. 

“Kinda. Think I get what you mean there.”

“And tonight, you were right. I needed an outlet, and you… You reached out to me without even thinking twice about it.” There was a sincerity there that surprised him. No dancing around it, no downplaying it. “You had no reason to open up your home to me, or do anything at all to help me, but you did.”

“No reason not to.”

“Charlemagne. I haven’t given you much reason to do any of this, considering why we’re speaking at all to begin with.”

John had a point. One he wasn’t going to argue, but he’d clearly overlooked a lot of the things he’d done to keep them on speaking terms. Or hell, even get friendly. Because they were straddling that line, and had been ever since he’d stuck around to help him with the plane.

Sharky didn’t mind it. Not like he used to, and he’d accepted that.

“Okay, so you did show up here on my doorstep. Used some strong words to get me to do some shit for you, and generally acted like a mega-dick. Admitting that’s the first step towards fixing it. ‘Cause my guess’s you wanna fix that, right?”

John pursed his lips, but said nothing. Just stared at him while his jaw tensed.

That had Sharky raising his eyebrows.

 “Dude, you seriously aren’t even gonna pretend to say yes to that? Not even try it?”

Glancing away, John closed his eyes. Took in a deep breath, and held onto it before sighing loudly.

“What the fuck?” Sharky muttered, watching him reach for his back pocket. “There’re like baby steps, and then you come in with this whole twelve step thing you’ve gotta work through, like it’s just that hard not to be a colossal d-”

“Done.”

Sharky paused as he took in what John held up. It was his phone.

Rolling his eyes at his confused look, John handed it over to him and pointed at the screen. 

“It’s gone.”

“What’s gone?” He flipped through the folder John had pulled up, not sure what he was looking for. “Like the porn you knew I was gonna search for after taking this?”

“No, not that,” John replied, grinding his teeth. “The recording.”

“The…” Holy shit. “You got rid of it. Like, no back up, no nothing?”

“That was the only one.”

Gone. That weight - what was left of it - gone.

Sharky laughed. Laughed as relief settled deep into him, and it was the sweetest thing.

Sure, John could’ve been lying to him. Could’ve had three different places where he was stashing the video for a rainy day, but he found he believed him. He wanted to take his word for it, and found he didn’t have to jump through too many hoops for it.

“That’s-that’s uh, thanks.”

“Thank you. For proving me wrong in a lot of ways.”

Proud motherfucker that he was, that statement nearly bowled Sharky over. But he seemed to mean it too, and he flashed him a bashful grin.

“So, uh going back to before. You need to be cool to others. Treat ‘em nice, especially if you know they’re in the middle of a rough patch, and you count too. You needed something to take the edge off, and with drinking out, there were only two options left. Sex, and burning shit, and seeing as I don’t even know what your type is, I went for the easy one.”

Giving him a curious look, John leaned towards him. 

“But what is my type?”

“You want me to guess?”

“I want you to try.”

That was a tougher question than it should’ve been, and all the answers Sharky thought he had promptly left the building.

“Uh…fuck. The ladies in the catalogs. Victoria’s Secret models. Sports Illustrated, but the swimsuit issue. Porn stars. Top dollar escorts,” he said, spit-balling for whatever a rich lawyer might like. Or Bruce Wayne. Same difference. “But the kind with nice shoes, and those big-ass fur coats.”

Or was he going more for what he’d like if he had boatloads of cash to blow? And a music video to make? Maybe. Judging by the look John was giving him, though, he didn’t agree.

“Jesus, I don’t know. You asked! So I guessed. Thought I’d get something close if I kept on going.”

“Well, you weren’t.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Sharky took a drink of his beer, and couldn’t help but grumble his next few words into it. “And you’re telling me you wouldn’t be dicking down every woman in the valley if they asked? I know I would.”

“You’d what?”

He coughed, beer going right down his windpipe. That was the kind of shit that should’ve slipped out when he was buzzed, and he wasn’t even there yet.  

“Aw, fuck. Uh, sorry. Didn’t…didn’t mean anything weird by it. Just that you’ve got a lot of women looking - er, wanting - some real one-on-one time with you, that’s all. And if I were you, I’d take them up on it.”

John snorted.  

“Is that so?”

“I’m serious!” Sharky insisted, flashing an awkward grin. “Not to do any ego-jerking or anything, but you’re a good-looking guy, dude. Who’d blame ‘em for trying?”

He’d meant to look away after that, but John held his stare. Gave him a look that was like a Rubik’s Cube, and the more Sharky tried to pin down exactly what it was, the more he kept on scrambling anything and everything just to match up a single side.

“I see.” John wet his lips, dropping his eyes to his bandaged finger as he rubbed it together with his thumb. “I’d hate to keep them waiting any longer than I already have. Or to disappoint them, but a few may need to wait their turn.”

“Why’d you say that?”

“Because surely their male counterparts deserve a turn as well? Seems only fair.”

John lowered his lashes as he looked over at him this time around, and Sharky must’ve blinked at him fifty times before his words registered.

“Oh. Oh,” he said, watching John nod his head along with him. “Well, it’s uh, I’m a…I don’t think I got anything right there, huh?”

Face burning hot, he crossed his arms and felt like kicking himself. Mostly for the whole conversation leading up to this, but now was a close second.

“Hard to be right about something you didn’t know.”

“Saying weird-ass shit to you’s not cool to begin with. Expecting a pity pass for it’s worse, and then there’s whatever the fuck this is, so…I’m sorry. It’s lame as fuck, but I’ve gotta get an apology out at least. And it’s probably the last thing you wanna hear or talk about, but you do whatever the hell makes you happy, long as no one’s getting hurt or nothing,” he said, struggling to get the words out, even if they weren’t neat. “And, we uh, we can talk about something else now.”

John laughed, the sound lighter than he expected. 

“Uncomfortable?”

“No. Kinda. Just…I’m not a talker. If you need someone to head on up, make a speech using all of the right words - making it pretty and all - you don’t go busting down my door. ‘Cause there’s ways of saying things, so it’s all meaningful and nice with no hurt feelings involved. Shit, you’ve made a whole career out of it.”

Sharky tapped the bottle against his shin, and sighed.

“When I open my mouth, people usually start throwing stuff at me instead of listening. Beer, shoes, lawn ornaments, darts, you name it. I’ve dodged it. Or had someone try to hit me in the junk for it, so thanks for not doing that. And sorry again. Probably say that a couple more times before the night’s out.”

“…Hitting you would be the last thing on my mind. I promise you that.”

Dead serious, he wasn’t sure what to make of John’s tone, or the way he was looking at him.

So, after downing the rest of his beer, Sharky went for the next best thing. Nervous laughter, and more blushing like an idiot. He’d never stop at this rate.

Rubbing his hands together, he hopped up out of his seat after that. Too intense to stare down for long, he put some distance between them and hunted down the first major firework of the evening.

“Okay, so this one I usually save for the festies,” he began, carrying it over in his hands. “It’s my own personal formula. Ran through it a few times trying to see if I could get the right amount of fizz, bang, and pop that everybody loves without losing a finger, an eye, or most of my hair again.”

“Did you now?” John snorted. “It’s a miracle it grew back.”

“Yeah, ‘cause I need to keep this around,” Sharky replied, framing his jaw with his hand. The wink was extra, but that didn’t stop him. “Chicks dig guys with a little scruff to ‘em. The look’s ‘sexy renegade’, but the kind that’ll still treat you right.”

“No doubt.” Looking him over, John tilted his head as he considered him. Let his attention focus in on him closely, until Sharky was on the verge of snapping his fingers in front of him to break the spell he’d somehow cast. “It suits you.”

John could’ve slapped him, and it would’ve been less of a surprise than that.

“Say what?”

“It suits you. Keep it to that, though. Any more and I think you’re guaranteed to lose more than an eyebrow the next time any of this backfires.”

“Uh, yeah. Sure?”

In the back of his mind he registered John’s statement – an actual compliment which only confused him further – but didn’t get much further than that. That’s when he caught the smile John was now wearing. This one he’d earned for sure, and didn’t want to risk losing.  

Kicking his brain back into gear, Sharky blew out a breath. “So, uh…let’s see. Lighting this up, so we can have one kick-ass party. Just getting right on that shit.”

The red rocket was stabbed into the ground to the left of the pit, and Sharky handed off his lighter to John. He still had the matches from earlier, but this way was easier.

When all he did was give him a questioning glance, Sharky flicked his eyes towards the rocket. 

“Yo, you know this whole thing’s for you, right?”

“Me?”

“Yeah, you. So, you kick it off. I’ve got a firework in every color, though you might want to aim them all over yonder. Nearly lit the field up straight ahead of here last time, and my PO and I ain’t gonna see eye to eye on this if another starts. Cool?”

Dropping his attention to the lighter, John reached for it. Turned it over in his hands as the corners of his mouth curved up, and eventually aimed some of that glance his way.

“Cool.”

—

“Red, huh? Not bothering to change that up?”

“I had my heart set on red. Before I hadn’t thought much of it, but…maybe I was a little more fond of it, than I thought.”

“You could change that now if you want.” Sharky pried open the paint can with a spare screwdriver, and handed it off. “Go for something different, but still memorable. Like orange, or yellow.”

John’s lip curled. “Yellow?”

“Yeah. Banana yellow, or shit, bright purple.”

“I was taking your opinion on this seriously, you know. Up until the word ‘banana’ slipped out.”

“Heh, slipped.” John’s flat look only made Sharky snicker more. “But can you name five things, like well-known landmarks that are yellow?” John opened his mouth, but Sharky didn’t let him finish. “And green’s my go-to, ride-or-die color, but yellow? Two thumbs up.”

“So you say.”

“It’s just the kind of thing that’ll net you a bunch of admirers. Numbers ripe for the picking. ‘Cause it’s, you know. Oozing all of that appeal. Like peel, as in a banana.”

John let out an exasperated groan, and Sharky might’ve punched the air. Maybe harder than intended.

“You did not.”

“I did. Don’t think I won’t find a way to do it again. It’s the Boshaw way,” Sharky replied with a wink.

Rolling his eyes, John huffed. “I hate you.”

The two dipped the paint rollers into his chosen red and started spreading it. Painting wide red lines over the wood as they took them up the sides from top to bottom. The patches weren’t going to be done in a single coat, but each one streaked. Made Sharky’s job harder for him as he laid the paint on thick, only for John to try and correct him.

His pointed betrayal when the next five strokes didn’t come out just perfect as he claimed they would, had Sharky cracking up on the spot. 

“Nobody’s perfect,” he offered, but John kept on trying over and over until he was able to make it work.

It was hot for a late-fall day, though. Or maybe it was just the combination of the sun and the work, but he was sweating. Needing some other way to cool off than the water stashed in the cooler with them, Sharky stepped back, only to catch a view of the river.

Now that was a source guaranteed to cool him off fast.

Taking his shirt off, Sharky mopped his face with it, eyeing the water. Stared at it just long enough for the internal battle in him to be fought and won, and he made his choice.

Balling his shirt up, he took a shot for the table nearby, and missed it completely. Missed it with his hat afterwards too, but the wind threw him off there; whipped under the hat only to send it flying off elsewhere and Sharky watched it tumble onto the grass.

John raised an eyebrow. 

“What are you doing?”

“Going for a swim.” Undoing his belt, Sharky slid it off and tossed it to the side. “Seriously, the water at this time of year’s gotta be perfect. Just cold enough to shock the system, but not enough to send you straight to the hospital.”

That had John shaking his head at him.

“Guess we’ll agree to disagree here, compadre, but you tell me that ain’t looking the slightest bit nice.”

His pants came off right after, and to John’s credit his eyes didn’t leave his face. 

“It might.”

“Well, between you and me? Might’ll do just fine,” Sharky said, smirking at him.

Shedding his shoes, he went right for it. Didn’t think anything at all of how cold it was looking to be, and dove into the water. The sharp temperature difference hit almost immediately, making his teeth chatter once he surfaced; the chill of it washing right over him.

But the longer he was out there, the less it bothered him - taking the edge off in just the way he hoped. It was a great feeling, and he kept paddling around close to the pier before noticing that John hadn’t taken his word for it. Not that he’d expected him to, but that didn’t mean some friendly peer pressure was out.

Sharky reached up to snag the end of the pier and hoisted himself up. Resting on his forearms as John walked to the end to join him, he tapped a fist against the wood.

“Enjoying yourself?”

“Hell yeah,” he replied, grinning up at him. “Seriously. You wanna cool off quick? This does it.”

John tapped his fingers on his thigh as he stood there, and actually looked like he was considering it. He crouched down to better talk to him, still more than a few feet higher overall.

 “I’ll take your word for it, but I have a feeling you’re just trying to give me a nasty shock.”

“Why’d you say that?”

“Because I can hear your teeth chattering from here.”

Snapping his mouth shut, Sharky rubbed at his lips and tossed a glare John’s way. Then an idea hit. One that had him trying not to grin behind his fingers, and dropped the smile before lowering it.

“Fine, it’s like ten degrees colder than I’d like, but still doable. Just not for longer than like, five minutes at a time. Got a hand for me?” He reached up to John, and he didn’t hesitate to take it. “Thanks, man. I appreciate it.”

Keeping his fingers clasped around his forearm, John tried to help him up, but he stayed put. 

“What are you…?”

Shock flashed across John’s face as Sharky pulled hard, yanking him right off the dock and into the water.

The water closed over John’s head. Cut him off from both sound and light, leaving him only to the sound of his breath. His thoughts too, but those never really left him. Not for long, at least.

It was hard to see with what he’d kicked up, but something glinted as it floated down. Something metal, and Sharky snatched up the discarded set of sunglasses before they vanished from sight.

Dropping low, he pushed back up and broke the surface just as a sputtering John did. Coughing, and half-blinded by his hair, John bobbed in place dipping low only when tried swiping his hair back, and Sharky whooped.

“Badass right? But you know what they say? Ain’t no time like-”

The sharp look John’s eyes shut him up instantly. Swimming past him, he went straight for shore, and Sharky hesitated only long enough to realize he should’ve been following. He hit land right on John’s heels and watched as he swiped his hair back, drenched to the bone.

“Yo, John, I uh. I’m really sorry. I didn’t think it’d be anything bad or nothing. Just wanted to share a, uh…fuck.”

Turning towards him, John’s expression was perfectly schooled. Calmer than he’d been out on the water, but his eyes didn’t let up, and Sharky was frozen to the spot. He tilted his head, and the motion brought a strip of hair down, moving it out of place only for it to slap him on the nose.

John flinched. Reached up slowly to glance down at what was held between his fingers, only for his mouth to split into a brilliant grin. Covering it with his hand, he started to laugh, continuing until his entire body was shaking.

“You didn’t think through that at all, did you?”

Sharky watched him carefully. Still not sure if it was safer for him to join in or run. “I, uh. Think through what now?”

“You wanted to share a what with me?”

“Share a…like, share a good idea.”

Tutting him, John’s grin quickly became a smirk. 

“I distinctly recall hearing you say something a little more suggestive.”

“Share a good idea, not like share a…oh.” Oh, he was not serious. “Th-that’s you thinking that!” Sharky replied, his voice strained, “I just…remember how I said you were a talker? And how I can put both feet in my mouth and keep on running? Well, yeah. That’s what that was. Me, running. ‘Cept it was my mouth doing it.”

“But that may not have been the worst idea you’ve ever had.”

Still scrambled, Sharky wasn’t sure at all what thread they were following now. “Uh, wait, what?”

“The swim.” John straightened his posture, all while trying to brush his hair back into place, and his smirk only grew. “Almost too refreshing in a way, and well worth the cost of doing so.”

Reaching into his pocket, John held up his phone. His very expensive, and now very dead phone, and déjà vu hit Sharky all over again.

“Don’t,” John said, interrupting the rush of thoughts early, “I needed to replace it anyway. Those, however. I’d prefer not to.”

Looking down, Sharky took in the sunglasses clenched in his hand. John’s fancy blue-lensed sunglasses, that had only survived due to a miracle alone.

John gestured towards the sunglasses, and curved a finger to guide him forward. “I’ll take them back now.”

The idea hit before he’d even taken the first step.

Sharky held them out only to slip them on, blinking against the sudden wave of blue. “This pair’s mighty nice. Might’ve been eying a new pair of glasses myself.”

John narrowed his eyes. “Those are five-hundred dollar custom made specialty sunglasses.”

“Guess you want them back bad then, don’t you?” Sliding a hand behind his ear, Sharky flicked the sunglasses up and down a few times over his eyes, and didn’t bother hiding the smirk crossing his face, “‘Fraid I’ll mess ‘em up, Johnny boy?”

The nickname got the reaction he’d hoped for. John sharpened the glare until it was made of nothing but intent. That sent a thrill through him; one he was going to ride for all it was worth.

He spread his hands wide, and motioned towards himself as he stepped back, “Well? You waiting for an invite or something?”

Then Sharky promptly cheezed it towards the woods.

Running through the brush wasn’t the best choice. Doing it without his sneakers wasn’t a great option either, but he’d already dedicated himself to seeing this through, and judging from the sound behind him, John was too.

Good. He’d almost be disappointed if he got away.

Ducking into spot by a nearby bush, Sharky glanced around, the shades throwing him off enough to shove them up onto his head, and knew John had the advantage here. He had shoes, could see clearly, and was too stubborn to quit.

It didn’t matter that he was though. So was he, and there was no way he’d give up now with John so close.

Sneaking, though, had never been his forte, and crashing through this, he’d left a good trail to follow. Breaking and snapping everything he could’ve collided with or trudged through along the way, had generated all sorts of noise. Shit, feeling less and less like the Predator and more like one of the guys about to be skinned by it, he settled in and barely held back from slapping dirt onto himself for any form of camo.

Though, wait. Maybe he did have the right idea there. Just grab some mud and branches, tuck in real nice and close to one of these trees with his back to it, facing out so he could see into the forest as a whole. Maybe throw some leaves into it-

Popping up behind him, John’s grin went devious in a snap. 

“What have we here?”

“Oh, fuck!“

He jumped up only to feel a weight slam into him. John really wasn’t messing around, and he swore to himself as he tried to wriggle out of his hold and crawl away. John’s hands slipped due to his wet skin and his lack of clothes period, but he wasn’t budging. No, he stayed on him, and Sharky mentally upgraded him from stubborn as hell to stubborn as fuck.

He was also busy trying not to think about just how okay he was wrestling a guy in his underwear like this. John was warm up against his back, but that had nothing on the way he was practically panting into his ear. It sent a shiver straight through him and he hoped like hell this wouldn’t be the time he’d decide to pop a boner.

Because one, awkward. Two, his tighty-whiteys weren’t going to hide shit. And three, John.

John wasn’t supposed to be in the same category as those chicks from the music videos he loved watching, those two ladies that he really wished he’d sealed the deal with a month back, Grace snapping off a shot during Nick’s 4th of July bash, or Mary May.

But here he was, thinking about it, and couldn’t find a solid reason to shoot it down. Well, not as solid a reason as he’d thought, apparently. Cause him not being that into dudes was supposed to cover that, but not even that held as much water as it used to. Not anymore.

Fuck. Fuck his luck.  

“Now, now,” John hissed. “It doesn’t do either of us any good if what we’re both seeking ends up breaking. Especially now. Don’t you agree?”

He threw his hands up. “Okay, fine! Fine! Uncle, just…let me flip over so I don’t end up eating dirt while I’m at it.”

The glasses had fallen down over his eyes in the struggle, and when John backed off enough for him to turn over, he found himself staring up at him. Blue on blue, the lenses really didn’t do his eyes justice. Not one bit.

“Do you yield?”

Sharky flipped him off with both hands.

“Now Charlemagne, be reasonable. I don’t think you’re in a position to argue.”

“Look, I could find a position for any occasion,” And under John looked to be one of them, but he bit his tongue on that, “but uh, we gonna parley this?”

“Parley?” John laughed, “I don’t think there’s much to negotiate here, but if you simply hand them over, perhaps I could be convinced to be merciful.”

He really wished John would shut his mouth. Or say something other than his usual spiel, because suddenly finding that hot was becoming a problem. Fast.

Grumbling, he reached for the sunglasses and held them up.

“Whatever. Just take ‘em.”

John snapped them up, holding them high before sliding them back onto his head. Like a small crown as a triumphant smile slid onto his face.

“Ah, reunited at last.”

“Yeah, yeah. You won, whatever.”

Setting his hand back down to the right of Sharky’s head, John sighed. 

“You, my friend, never know when to quit.”

“Hey, you’re the one that ran a half-naked dude through the woods, and tackled his ass to the ground over a pair of sunglasses. Classic case of the pot calling the kettle black, yo.”

“Please,” John rolled his eyes, but was smiling warmly, “this was encouraged. Don’t deny it.”

Sharky returned it, liking how it took the edge off of him. It always did, but he usually let it fade fast. Like he’d blink and miss it, and wouldn’t have had any clue he’d done it to begin with.

Not this time. John kept that smile, aiming it right at him, and he couldn’t look away if he tried.

“Who said I was?” Sharky replied, his voice deeper. Rougher.

Opening his mouth to respond, John paused. Let his smile curve into something different as it took on an edge he liked, and waited. Watched him back just as closely now.

Sharky heard the leaves move as John shifted, leaning down. But, he tuned it all out. Focused only on John as he came within a breath of him, hovering in place as he took in every last detail on his face. 

“Prove me wrong then,” John whispered.

So, Sharky did exactly what his gut told him to do. No mind paid at all to the voice in the back of his head, or how hard his heart was pounding in his chest.

Leaning up, he touched his lips to John’s.

They were cool. Cool and soft as he held the kiss, not wanting to break it.

Nothing happened at first. Above him, John stayed in place, frozen. But he didn’t withdraw. That’s when it clicked. The actual act sinking in, and John’s eyelids fluttered shut.

Angling his head, his mouth moved against his. Applied more pressure bit by bit, as Sharky breathed in through his nose. It was slow. Careful as neither drew back, or wanted air between them.

Sharky reached up for him, placing a hand on his side as John let more of his weight shift onto him. Pulled him closer, focusing on how warm he felt, even through his wet clothes.

And the brush of John’s fingertips along his jaw, got the first real sound out of him. A low moan, almost lost, but not ignored. Not when he felt John’s tongue run along his lips, and opened his mouth to him right after.

“-ohn? Brother John?”

John’s sharp inhale cut through the fog. Going still, he drew back, blue eyes wide open and staring directly at him.

There was a laugh in the distance. It joined the other voices as they called out, one more familiar than the others, and all asked for one person. John.

Staring up at him, up at John, he swallowed hard.

John was off of him soon after. The sunglasses hit the leaves by him, forgotten, and Sharky sat up as John paced a short track away from him.

Scrubbing his hair back, John let out a rough breath. “I have to- Joseph needs me to…” His voice trailed off as he turned towards him. But when their eyes met, there was no mistaking it. The pained look that crossed him, holding fast.  “I’m sorry.”

He turned and left, heading off.

Stunned, Sharky sat there for a good five minutes, unmoving. Grabbing the glasses, he considered them for a second, staring off in the direction John went as his stomach twisted. The feeling brewing there digging at him, both hurt and frustrated.

Because he’d known what he’d wanted to happen there. What he’d let himself hope for as John drew close enough to touch, and he’d later drink himself stupid that night by the firepit trying to drown it all out.

He’d always been full of ideas. Both good and bad, with most leaning towards the latter.

So, maybe it wasn’t a surprise at all that he’d wanted to kiss him. It was easily his worst idea yet.

—

The first time Sharky worked up the nerve to kiss someone, he figured his luck was golden. Kristi, middle school, cool even with the braces, he’d impressed her with a few spare action figures and some of the extra snacks from his lunch. Talked her ear off more than once, and even had her respond with more than a nod, and an ‘uh huh’ or ‘okay’ to it too.

He had the moment planned out from the start, working up his nerve to pull it off only to get half a sandwich tossed at him mid-go. That, and some applesauce, and having to sit through the rest of the day with stained and sticky clothes  had been the cherry on top of the shit sundae he’d made.

He’d thought the situation had been read right. Thought she’d been into him even if he was just a dumbass kid in bad need of a word (or five) breaking down why assuming that was bad – makes you less of an ass that way – and tried not to feel too broken up about it at the time. He could always pick himself back up and try again later.

Now, was no exception.

Because of course he’d want to see just what it’d take to get another smile from John, no matter how much he kept his mouth running to do so. To have John seek him out to talk, not just because he was there, but because he wanted to. To share more about himself, what he liked, what he loved. What mattered.

He wanted those things; liked earning them, knowing he’d been the one to make him smile like that. Laugh like that. Wanted to tap into the warm feeling he’d finally linked to, flowing through him again and again.  

So maybe it shouldn’t have surprised him when the other urge hit, saying to kiss the hell out of him. To do it as many times as John would let him, just to hear him react to it.

To earn that. To know he had.

That was an idea he could be okay with. He might’ve even let himself think he’d earned it that day too, long enough to see what it tasted like.

And yeah. He did like it. He liked it a whole hell of a lot.

Liked it, and John, and was full-on content to keep on kissing him even with the twig under him jabbing him in the ass.

But it wasn’t his call to make. Not alone, and when John pulled back he’d known on some level he’d fucked up.

Enough to know a sad 2 AM text wasn’t going to cut it, but he still sent it. Still tried calling at least once even if stammering out an apology wasn’t much better, but he got nothing. No response, no real acknowledgment, just radio silence.

Maybe he’d earned that too. 

That, and the news that Joseph had slapped him with when he decided to head over and work anyway.

Two weeks.

John was going to be gone for two weeks - he had to fly out for work, and they’d needed him there for a few meetings that couldn’t be handled otherwise.

Joe wasn’t rude about it, even welcomed him warmly once he got through the whole shuffling and awkward rambling on the doorstep bit, half launching into a speech that he was able to cut off before it got too personal too fast.

But Joe still had to tell him at least two more times for it to finally sink in, and the reassuring tone he used didn’t help one bit.

Because he knew what it was like to be avoided, to know that his piss-poor attempts at apologies really had to have fallen flat for John to cut out without any notice like that. And maybe he’d had a delay in replacing his phone – another thing of his he’d managed to wreck – but there were other ways he could’ve reached out to him.

With nothing to go off of, Sharky could’ve picked anything, or everything that he’d messed up, knowing him. So with his thoughts pinging back and forth with a vengeance he did the only thing he could do at the moment.

Work. 

Pitching the schedule completely, he came by when he wanted, aware that the days were passing, but trying not to consciously tick them down while doing so. He worked his ass off and blared enough disco into his eardrums to ensure nothing else could get through.  

That’s how he started off this particular day, at least. Singing along loudly, throwing more paint up in lines that would’ve had John complaining next to him and pointing out what to do as he ‘helped’, and the pang he felt from it wasn’t funny at all.

Because it meant he missed that shit too, and that? That was bad.

“This fucking sucks,” he muttered, and brought the roller down only to squeeze his eyes shut before the splatter hit, “fucking sucks.”

Lowering his headphones, he grabbed for the rag hanging out of his back pocket, and tried to wipe the paint off of his face.  It was during this that he caught movement in the distance. Coming down the path, the sunlight shone off of the spotless paint of the car, not a single scratch or dent on it in sight, and his heart jumped straight into his throat.

Scrubbing at the paint on him harder, he stashed the rag and wasn’t sure what the hell he was going for as he shuffled in place, but settled for staring thoughtfully at the wall in front of him. Wiped his hands on his shirt as he heard the door to the car open and close, and had no idea what the first word out of his mouth was going to be.

As it turns out, he didn’t say a thing. Just looked over at John as he walked up, dressed like a damn model himself, suit on with nowhere to go, and felt his face go a full three shades darker in color.

“Hmm,” John studied the building carefully, and tapped a finger on his chin, “you’ve been busy.”

“Uh, yeah,” that came out a little breathier than he would’ve liked, so Sharky cleared his throat and tried again, “yeah, dude. You’ve been gone for what, two weeks now? What did you think I was gonna do during that? Take a holiday?”

“Maybe,” John replied, “I’d have considered it. No responsibilities, no oversight. Not a care in the world.”

He hadn’t looked his way yet, focusing on the boathouse instead. Sharky folded his arms just to keep his hands still, and rocked back and forth on his feet, all while the music kept on playing by his ear. He also tried not to read too much into the whole ‘lack of oversight’ part, but failed.

John did turn after a few more minutes, his examination finally over, and walked up to him. His face neutral, everything perfectly in place, and Sharky couldn’t help but stare at him. 

“That settles it then,” John said.

“Settles what?”

“You’re done,” he replied coolly. “With the work you’ve put in, and the progress you’ve made, I believe your debt to me has been repaid.”

Everything screeched to a halt. His thoughts, the tapping he’d settled into, and his breath as he held it. 

“I don’t…you wanna say that again, amigo?”

John didn’t even bat an eye, “You’re free to go. Your help is no longer needed.”

That wasn’t right. The roof still needed work done, the paint was barely starting to dry, and he knew for a fact that this wasn’t finished; he’d stared at all of this with him long enough to know he had maybe a week and a half left, max.

But fine. Maybe he wanted him in another area. To switch to another project, and he latched right onto it.

“Well, you uh, you got anything else that you need help with? Think I told Joe I was going to-”

“No. I can manage it from here.”

That idea hadn’t even lasted a minute before John shot it dead.

And there it was, the hurt that dug right into his chest, and he let out a shaky breath as he worked around it.

He knew he wasn’t necessarily always going to be around here, but being cut loose like this hadn’t been a possibility he’d considered. Having John all but throw him out mid-job, due to screwing up along the line? Yes. Hell, he would’ve added time due to piss-poor performance, and all that talk of standards months back.

But having him pull this now? After working so well, for so long?

It stunned him bad enough to keep him from arguing it. He dragged his feet as he gathered up his things, loading them all into the trunk one by one as his disappointment started to hang over him like a cloud.

Sharky shut the trunk and gave John a tentative glance. He didn’t know if he should’ve been looking his way at all, but did it in the hopes he’d get something out of him.

But John wasn’t fazed. Didn’t react, or say anything as he watched him go about his business, somehow even colder than when they’d first started working together. Not angry, annoyed, happy, or anything.

Just…nothing.

Rounding the car, Sharky tugged down on the brim of his hat and hoped it’d stay there. 

“Guess I’ll see you around?”

“Perhaps. Provided you don’t torch another portion of my property.”

He stopped. Felt the comment dig in a little more than it should’ve, and turned to look at John. He saw the hint of a smirk that lingered there only for it to drop completely.

It hadn’t been a kind thing for John to say, but that John realized it only after looking right at him hurt even more.

Sharky couldn’t hold his tongue any longer at that.

“You know, people talk around here. Have been for years, and will keep on doing that come tomorrow, next week, next year, whenever. I know you’ve heard more than half of what goes on about you here. What they say, and just how they feel about you. Hell, I’ve talked shit plenty about you. Had no real reason to think you weren’t the county’s largest asshole based on the like, ten things we’ve said to each other before the last couple of months.

“But in some ways you’re an okay guy. Maybe even a great one once you get past the bullshit, and I, uh, like you. Didn’t think I’d ever say that and mean it. Probably tell the person claiming it they had a screw loose or something, but I do. And I don’t…”

Sharky bit the last part of the sentence off, because he knew what he did. He knew exactly what he’d done, and hated that this was the result.

“I, uh, don’t think it really matters what I say at this point, huh?” he muttered, looking John’s way, “not anymore, at least.”

John’s jaw had tensed sometime in the last minute or so, but he held his tongue. Said nothing, and Sharky let himself ramble on in spite of it.  Had to do anything to cover up whatever else he’d try.

Since this really was it, wasn’t it? The last time he was going to be here, talking to him, and he was wasting his time talking about anything other than the way he’d made him feel that day.

He’d never had the best of luck with shit like this anyway.

Giving John a grin, one that he wanted to muster up and mean, he held out his hand to him. 

“Guess this is where we part ways, amigo, and uh, don’t worry. Don’t think I’ll be taking a joyride in your boat twice.”

Not dropping his stare for a second, John shifted towards him and took his hand. Squeezed it as he shook it, and Sharky felt his grin finally wane as he forced himself to let go.

With one last slap to John’s shoulder, he headed towards his car.

“Charlemagne,” John called after him, but he didn’t slow down, “Charle-Sharky, wait.”

Fuck, not even that sounded right coming from him. Not after hearing his actual name for so long, and he couldn’t do it any longer. Let himself snap, and threw all of his frustration John’s way.

“Just save it, okay? Don’t bother with the names, the pleading, or whatever this is you’re trying. Persuading me? Now? The fuck’s up with that? Not like you wanted me here to begin with, but it is what it is. I wrecked your shit, I came here to fix it, thinking that was going to be all of it, but this?” he said, gesturing between them, and let too much show on his face while saying it. “This on top of everything else? Fucking blows, man. It fucking blows.”

Seeing John’s calm crack wasn’t satisfying. Having to force it to begin with even less so.

“So just…let it go, huh? Save us both more trouble in the long run.”

He turned, and his feet carried him to his car, and he left.

On autopilot, he hit the gas, not thinking about where the road was winding to. He followed it, revved more than the car liked, but found himself pulling in to one of the gas stations. He idled by the pump, loosened his grip on the steering wheel, and turned the keys.

That’s when the blue caught his eye.

Right on the dash sat the sunglasses. Blue, almost as blue as his eyes.

Hitting the steering wheel, Sharky swallowed the rest of his feelings down and got out.

—

Fall ended, and with the beginning of winter the first hint of snow rolled in. One to two inches of snow to start, blanketing everything in a fine layer of white as the temperatures dropped.

Nothing that would bury his place outright, but that still didn’t stop him from giving half of it a good ol’ scorch with his flamethrower. He had a yearly thing going, adjusting it each time just to get the right stream of flame flowing, so he wouldn’t burn much under the snow. But thankfully, this wasn’t one where he was on the verge of getting caught for it.

Not yet at least, as Sharky took the jet of fire and gave it another sweep across where the snow was coating the road. He’d get at least two to three more passes before hitting the pavement, and needed to be sure to stop it at any sign of the fire spreading.

Now was not the time to get cozy up at the jail either, no matter how well they decked the halls over there.

Hurk let him know early on that he was set to do their usual thing this time of year. He’d pull up a chair with him as they had their holiday bonfire, before heading out to Aunt Addie’s. Those were the best times, and the ones where he really had all he could’ve ever wanted.

Sometimes there were odd years. The ones where Hurk was gone after all, being one hell of a kick ass super spy, and Sharky found it harder to get in on the holiday fun with his aunt. Felt a little too much like an outsider, and thought his time was better spent down at the Eagle drinking himself stupid before trying and failing to write a dirty phrase into the snow.

This year was set up to be one of the good ones, though. He had Hurk, they had their usual plans set up, and tonight they’d even decided to get in a little pre-holiday drink-a-thon. He’d supply the venue and grab half of the alcohol, while Hurk would cover the rest. Snag them more booze, maybe even a few movies, and he’d try to see how fast he could beat him at his own self-declared shot-taking record.

But first, he needed the beer. Smokes too, since he’d gone through most of his current pack, and snapped up what he could down at the general store.

They only had one six pack of the beers he and Hurk liked, though, and when he went fishing for cash he wasn’t able to cover for another, so he cut his losses. He paid for the beer plus one pack of cigs, and knew Hurk would have his back on the rest.

Not breaking his usual habit, he pried off one of the beers and popped the top as soon as he was out the door. Hit by the cold, he shivered but shrugged it off as he tilted the beer back. It wasn’t far to his car, so he could double-time it there before anyone could say two words about it.

“Strange.”

He paused, and nearly coughed the drink up. John was standing not even three feet away, dressed in a long dark coat. A blue scarf was wrapped around his neck, and between harsh coughs Sharky might’ve been able to pick out the light smile he wore. Almost friendly.

The air escaped John in a puff as he chuckled. 

“You would think something warm would be better for this weather.”

“It…uh, that’s what the whiskey at home’s for,” Sharky rasped, “or fireball. Usually a winner.”

“Ah.”

John raised a gloved hand to hold his coat closed, clearly cold, but he didn’t drop his eyes or move on. Just held the look he was set on aiming at him, and Sharky knew his mouth was in danger of running off on him.

Once he could get it going again. Funny how John always had a way of doing that to him.

“You, er, need anything from here? You never-“ I never see you down here, “didn’t think there was a thing you’d ever run out of.”

“Yes, I… There were a few things I did find I needed.” The smile faded. “Matches.”

“Oh. Yeah, you might need some of those,” he took another drink of the beer, hoping it would cover the way his mouth was twisting. And didn’t like the way his lighter suddenly burned a hole in his pocket, “for heat?”

“Heat. Mostly.” John shrugged, and tried another smile. “Haven’t decided to take a page out of your book just yet. But it’s tempting.”

His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. Pressed against the back of his teeth as he felt his grip on the beer tighten. “So, uh…”

“It’s good to see you.”

“Good luck with that.”

He’d blurted it out just as John spoke, not expecting anything along those lines.

Something flashed in John’s eyes. It was hard to tell out here in the dark at first, but those blue eyes of his managed to catch the light. What little there was brought them out, and he didn’t know what to do with the hurt he’d let him see.

But it was too late now. He couldn’t take it back no matter how hard he tried. 

“Fuck, I uh-this isn’t, look I-“

“You’re busy,” Smoothing out the front of his coat, John looked down as he did so, studying his leather gloves closely, “clearly I’ve interrupted something, and you need to get back to it.”

Chug-a-lugging a beer out in public wasn’t something. Lighting another cigarette only to stub it out before finishing it in the ashtray of his car wasn’t something. Missing him wasn’t-

Sharky swallowed down the lump in his throat. “Think you’re right about that.”

This was his cue to leave. He had been out here long enough, stared over at him long enough, and he didn’t at all trust his ability to hide any of it at this point. Still, he let himself look at John again, just for a moment longer, because what was one more second? He’d dug the hole deep enough to start, he’d keep on going until he had a whole damn trench.

“See you around, man,” he threw out over his shoulder as he turned to leave, “oh, and happy holidays and all that shit.”

The snow crunched under his feet as he trudged over to his car, ready to throw the door open and hop in fast. But this time around John didn’t call out to him. He put the last of the beer down from behind the driver’s seat, waiting for it, listening, only for his phone to give him a notification instead.

Slipping it out, he opened up the message waiting for him.

Happy holidays. Take care.

—

“Holy shit, Sharky. Thought they were out of this. Though, looks like they would’ve been if you’d put any more of a dent into it.”

Hurk snagged one of the beers on the table – one of three remaining, which wasn’t that bad – and got to work on it quicker than he had. Then took the other next to it right after. 

Stifling a laugh, Sharky flicked a loose bottlecap at him from the couch. 

“You trying to say something? After I head on down there and nearly freeze my ass off hunting for that shit?”

“Whoa, no. Cause that’s just hella rude turning my nose up at any free alcohol being offered, but this ain’t enough for two. Hell, it’s barely enough for one.”

And with their shindig consisting of one beer, the remains of another six-pack in his fridge, plus the line of spirits they’d taken a crack at already, it was looking a little on the sad side. Hurk hadn’t even been able to snag a keg, not this time around, because he’d shown up to his house, emptied his pockets, and didn’t even have a movie or three to share.

“And not a single call back,” Hurk sighed, “I’m hurting, cuz. Thought we’d be able to cozy up to some fine-ass ladies tonight, but no takers.”

“Eh, it happens.”

Disappointing as it was, he was hard-pressed to care. At least until Hurk threw a handful of bottle caps back at him, and he dove to the other end of the couch to dodge them.

“Well, you’re in a funk still. Don’t think I’m not noticing that!”

“Look, it’s late. We’re short on shit. Any lady walking in through that door would walk back out again after seeing half of this. And that’s not even covering the porn mag left on the table.”

“Hey, I marked a spot. Thought you’d appreciate it since you’re blue, and needed a little something to make you smile.” Hurk walked over and held it up, thumbing through a few more pages before turning it around to show it to him. 

“Come on, you love this chick.”

“Yeah, I know,” He sat back down, and folded an arm under his head. Gave what he was holding a passing glance, before leaning back, “It’s nothing. Just some of that seasonal shit.”

“Well, I think I know how to get this party going again. We exit stage left, head on down to see Miss Mary May, and work our way up from there, eh?” He grunted in response, and Hurk sighed, “Duderino, you’re killing me here. I’ve gotta find a way to get you back to bouncing off the walls, or we’re both done.”

The magazine was tossed back down, and Sharky heard a gasp.

“Oh, shit. That’s pretty fucking sharp there, cuz.”

“Hmm? What is?”

“These sunglasses. Where’d the hell you manage to get them?”

Sharky shot up in his seat. Hurk had them on, in the middle of shooting off a set of finger guns, and paused only to push them further up the bridge of his nose. “Oh, this is pretty damn cool. Don’t know about all the blue, though, you think these little guys come in a little red, white, and blue instead?”

Sharky scrambled up and off of the couch, and wrangled them away from Hurk. 

“Careful with that shit, okay? You’ll fucking break them if you bend them the wrong way.”

“Whoa, whoa there, man! Easy, easy!” Hurk held up his hands, and gave Sharky a wary look as he examined the pair, “It’s a set of sunglasses, bud. No big deal, not that I was gonna actually break ‘em.”

“They’re five-hundred bucks, man.”

Hurk changed his tune immediately, “Well, fuck a duck. And you’re holding onto them? Who the hell do you know spending that much dinero on a set of glasses?”

It didn’t take long for him to narrow that down either, and Sharky’s grimace in response only sent the unspoken point home.

“Wait. Are those John’s?”

“He dropped them. We were working one day, he had to run off to do something with his bro, and I…grabbed them. Wasn’t thinking much at the time, like I know he could’ve come back to grab them later, but I thought they’d get smashed out there. Figured I’d have a chance to give ‘em back, except later never really came, and I, uh. Held onto them.”

“Well, it’s his fault for doing you dirty like that. Stealing and keeping his shit seems like fair game to me.”

Glancing down at them, Sharky sighed, “Nah, not really. Not like you think it would.”

Hurk got quiet, saying nothing as he went and gently placed the sunglasses back down on the dining room table.

The low whistle Sharky got after that though, had him trying to force himself not to bolt.  “Fuck me running, dude. You weren’t kidding before, were you?”

“During what? The whole him not being a douche thing, or the part where I kind of liked him?”

“Man, both. Both are pretty much the same thing. Sorta.”

“Oh. Well, it-it’s fucking bad, man,” Swallowing the lump in his throat, Sharky swiped his cap off to run a hand through his hair, “It’s a whole lot of bullshit, cause I was busting my ass there. Wanted to get it all over and done with so we could go back to acting like nothing had happened. Then I didn’t mind it as much. Kinda thought we were friends or heading towards it, and…I might’ve blown that too.”

Dropping his arm, he sniffed, and tried to look anywhere but Hurk’s way.

“Cause you don’t wanna kiss your friends or try to. Muddies things a whole hell of a lot, and it’s…it didn’t work out. And I don’t know why, but I still wanna see him. Know how he’s doing even if he doesn’t give two shits about me, and when I had that chance today grabbing that,” he said pointing over towards the beer, “I blew it again.”

“What about you, cuz? Takes two loving and willing adults to do the ol’ sideways shuffle,” Hurk paused, scrunching up his face as he considered it, “wait, that’s a bad way of saying it, cause we’re not talking fucking, we’re talking feelings. Point still stands, though. You gotta have a say in some of this here. Especially if you like this guy – and fucking John, man, but I ain’t judging. Much.”

Hurk’s hands went up again as Sharky gave as much of a glare as he could muster. But when Hurk walked over and gave him a hug, he didn’t pull back.

“You’ll always be cool to me, man. Sorry for giving you shit over something you can’t really control, and if he’s being weird about it? He’s the one missing out.”

After a few pats on the back, Sharky let out a sigh. Felt some of the weight start to lift after letting that out into the open, and felt a little better too. Not completely, not even by a long shot, but he’d work his way there.

“You know what’ll help? Not all of it, but at least for now?”

“A round of shots?”

“Round of the best alcohol we can handle, and tonight I’ve got us covered. Do that for a while, then finish off the night watching ol’ Vinny being a total badass.”

Thinking it over, Sharky felt a smile start to creep in, “Maybe throw in some other shit too. Like, maybe one round of the holiday fireplace or something. The crackling’s nice.”

“Anything you like, bud. Anything you like.”

—

Nights at the Spread Eagle during winter weren’t much different than during the rest of the year. Sure there was a draft, but the place was just as busy as any other. The drinks flowed, the regulars had their winter gear on, and everyone was set on having a good a time as possible.

Hurk made good on his promise shortly after they got there, toasting him before the two got cracking on their first round of shots.

He didn’t want to get blasted, but the warmth that set in was welcome, and with every story that Hurk dove into he found it that much easier to let loose and laugh.  

Heading up for the next round, Sharky kept his beer close as he hit the counter up front, passed their order on to the always lovely Mary May, and set in for a short wait. Resting both arms on the counter he took a look around, he noticed there was no line at the jukebox. With quarters rustling around in his pocket, he had change to spare.

“Waiting on something?”

Shifting, he tried to make space for the person next to him, “Shit, yeah. Let me just-“

Then felt the rest of the response die as he glanced up at Jacob. Dude was still as tall and imposing as he remembered, but wasn’t eyeing him with the intent to kill. Or anything other than what he guessed was friendly for him.

“Yo, how’s it…how’s it going?”

“It’s going.” Jacob took the spot next to him by the bar, and Sharky tapped his fingers on it a little faster. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”

“No shit.”

“You two aren’t talking much anymore?”

“I, uh, don’t think that’s the way I’d put it. Cause if you know two things about it, and I know you guys are all close and shit, it’s…not great.”

“Yeah. You used to be all he ever talked about.”

That made him spit his next drink out. Getting one hell of a dirty look from Mary May, he grabbed as many napkins as he could to sop it up, wiping the counter down, and felt his face burn the entire time.

“Dude, what the fuck?”

Jacob simply kept on tending to his drink. Drained it completely as he stood there next to him, and sighed when done. 

“Heard about you enough to wonder if he’d ever shut up about you. Charlemagne this. Boshaw that. Got real unlucky with that skunk business too.”

Groaning, Sharky set his face in his hands, “Yeah, it was. It was pretty bad.”

“Can’t dodge those easy.”

“I didn’t,” Sharky sat up, and eyed him, “so, I get it. You’ve heard some shit.”

Jacob set the empty bottle down, and motioned for another, “Plenty. More than I know you want to hear. Until he stopped. Stopped saying much of anything about you at all, and didn’t look none too pleased about it either.”

“Well, you wanna know more? Talk to him about it.”

“I did,” Mary May slid him a beer, and he redirected it towards Sharky, “Which is why I told him to talk to you.”

“Why would you…why’d you do that?” Sharky asked, any irritation at this bleeding away.

“John’s not easy to deal with. Then if he goes and fucks something up along the way? He’s ten times worse. And if he makes a mistake, not many are going to push back, or correct him on it.”

“You think he made a mistake?”

“He did,” The piercing look Jacob aimed at him made him sit up a little straighter, “he liked having you around. Why throw that away?”

That punched him up and down all at once, and he didn’t want to get his hopes up. Not again.

“Look. I get it, you’re being a bro. Trying to look out for him and shit, and I respect that. It means a lot, but you want me to talk to him? Like sit down, link arms, and work any of this out?”

Sharky pulled out his phone and didn’t even wait for Jacob to prompt him. Just called John, and hit speakerphone so that they could hear it as it dialed.

“Dude won’t answer. Hasn’t yet, and won’t now.”

Jacob crossed his arms, set to wait with him, and Sharky listened for those telltale words of John’s. The same few words he’d been hit with when he first tried this months back.

“Hello?”

Sharky stared down at it, at the seconds as they ticked by on the screen, and felt his mouth go dry.

“Charle- …-nyone there?”

Slapping the phone against his ear, he turned off the speakerphone and talked fast, “Hey, uh, you…you’re not supposed to pick up.”

“I’m not?”

“No, you’re…” He stopped his leg when he felt it start bouncing into overdrive, “It’s, uh, sorry. Sorry about earlier. Wanted to get that out first, cause I didn’t know I was gonna see you and really had to run off. Might’ve also thought this would’ve gone straight to voicemail, so I could you know. Actually kinda work my way through this. Make it sound good, not…”

“No, it’s…it’s fine,” John cleared his throat, and his next few words were warmer, “I wasn’t expecting a call at all, so even this is welcome.”

“Oh, er, well. Cool.” Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck.

“And…you don’t need to apologize for that. I didn’t handle it as well as I should’ve. It’s hard to hear you over the line, but if you want to talk more I’d be glad to. About that, or anything else.”

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

His heart was hammering in place, and his eyes skimmed the entire bar. Jumping from item to item, needing a topic or an excuse to keep things going until they stopped on the white snowflakes decorating one of the other guests’ sweaters. It was an ugly sweater to be loud and proud of, and the shovel emblazoned on the front was the showpiece of the entire thing.

“Shovel.”

“Shovel?”

Shifting on his chair, Sharky swore under his breath. Put it in a sentence. Words, verbs, and some of those phrases like that Wheel of Fortune shit. That’s how you do this.

“You er, need any shoveling done? Like you’re dealing with a ton of snow coming down, or about to? Cause I’ve gone some ways of fixing that. Got more than a few, might even give you a method or two provided you want a uh, demo. Or a guarantee any of it’ll work, and I can cover it. Give you a sneak preview or something.”

John went silent, the sounds of the bar rising enough to cover him, and Sharky didn’t bother stopping his leg this time. Just felt it vibrate enough to make his voice uneven.

“Hey, John? You still with me there, amigo?”

“I’m still here,” he said, and Sharky couldn’t hold back his relief.

“So, what do you say? You dig any of that?”

“Yes,” It was faint, but he might’ve heard a laugh, “I think you’re right. I could use someone here after all.”

—

Every shovel Sharky owned he threw in the trunk. Packed them all, and didn’t care if they all bumped into each other as he took every corner faster than he should’ve.

That shouldn’t have worked. Hell, that shouldn’t have registered or been anything close to a winning proposition, but he said yes. He picked up, he heard him say yes, and that was all it took for him to throw everything aside for it. Just the chance to put a pin in any of this, and he was willing to dive in headfirst just to get an answer.

And to see him, but he’d known that for a while now.

The white that covered everything as he pulled up was beautiful. Almost too pretty to mess with, but the wheels of his car drew jagged lines through it, and after getting out he had to hold back on the urge to drop down and see how good of a snow angel he could pull off.

Grabbing one of the shovels, Sharky trudged over to the front door, and stood there. Stared at the doorbell like it was going to jump out at him until he jabbed at it. Then hit it one more time just to make sure it worked.

After that came the waiting. That was what sucked, and after a few seconds of it, he started fumbling for a cigarette. Searching both pockets, however, gave him nothing. Not a loose one, not pocket lint, but he did find some stray matches.

Taking one out, he twisted it between his fingers as he kept on patting himself down, and dropped it when the door opened and he caught John looking out at him.

Pulling himself up, Sharky grabbed for the shovel and held it up. Almost like one would a spear, and he cleared his throat, “Yo, so snow. You got a lot of it here.”

On the other side, John nodded slightly, “It appears to be so.”

“And I know you want that shit out, and fast. Now I’ve got a few ways of doing that. Got the traditional way, the express way, and the uh, Boshaw Barbeque way. Not gonna just limit you to one, I figured you’d want the full set of things to pick from.”

The look of interest in John’s eyes grew, and he raised an eyebrow, “I remember you mentioning a few. Any recommendations?”

“Well, namesake’s kinda a no-brainer. Cause usually that means I can go a round or two outside with my flamethrower. Torch the shit out of it and clear it out without thinking too much,” Stopping to rub at his neck as he thought it over, he made a face, “think that might be the express way too.”

“So, two out of the three ways involve…fire?”

“Uh, yeah. Kinda my go-to for most things, but I figured you might wanna limit that.”

John’s reply came fast, “Agreed.”

“But the others are still open. If you change your mind, I’ve got her loaded up back there. Takes nothing to just whip it out on a second’s notice, and get the job done,” setting the shovel down, Sharky cleared his throat, “so, ready to work with Boshaw and er…well, it’s just one Boshaw, but I like the idea of having a name for it, so it’s coming together. Just slowly.”

“You do have name recognition on your side right now,” John raised a hand to rub at his lips, considering him as he stood there, “or would that be more notoriety?”

“Hey, being known for something’s not all bad. Being known for the kind of thing that you’ll be using? Guarantees you’ll make it work. And here? Still offering up a service, and fire or not it’s getting done. So, fuck it. Tell me where to start, and I’ll get right on that.”

Barely hiding a smile behind his hand, John gestured indoors, “Let me get my coat.”

—

This was going well. The kind of well that had him hoping there wasn’t something awful waiting just behind the scenes to strike, because his hopes were at an all-time high, and Sharky wasn’t ready to let them crash back down to earth.  

John took another shovel, with the reasoning behind it being that one man couldn’t possibly put a dent into any of this alone. Not quickly. It was his fault for having a fucking mansion for starters, but the minute he started chipping in, Sharky couldn’t quite keep the grin off of his face.

“More snow’s coming in tonight,” John said, not breathing hard yet, but each one left his mouth in a white puff, “not heavy, but enough to make it a problem.”

“See, we could get all of this taken care of, but I know my method’s off the table. Just offering that again, in case you’re looking for something quick and easy.”

“And I appreciate the offer, but I fail to see how that would make it easier.”

“Just point, work the trigger a little to see how you like it, then gently sweep the stream back and forth,” making the motion with his hands, he rocked back and forth, putting his hips into it too, and only stopped when he noticed the wry way John was looking at him, “hey, don’t knock it ‘til you’ve tried it. That shit works wonders when you’ve got twenty feet of snow and only one buckaroo around to move it all.”

John set his hands on top of the shovel, “Namely yourself.”

“Yeah, though Hurk’s had my back ever since we were little. He’s been there for me for anything and everything, and if I asked right now he’d be at my house in ten with a sled and a shovel. To skid down those slopes first, before throwing in with me to cart that shit out. I couldn’t have asked for anyone better. Just sucks he’s out of town often as he is.I couldn’t have asked for anyone better. Just sucks he’s out of town often as he is. Seen some real strange shit too, going off of what he’s brought up.”

“Well, maybe you won’t have to handle it alone this time.”

Sharky paused mid-shovel. “Say what?”

“You could…ask.”

“Ask you?”

John tilted his head to the side, glancing down briefly before making eye contact again, “I understand I’m not going to bring a lot of firepower to it, but it’s another set of hands.”

“Oh. Uh, yeah. Having two heads and four sets of hands to use? It sure is,” he said, and gave him a broad smile, “maybe clear all that snow up before that tingly sensation kicks in, you know that kind where you lose the feeling in your fingers? What a thing that’d be. Thanks, man.”

John waved him off, but let his attention linger on him even after going back to shoveling. That might’ve made him put his back into a little more, when he wasn’t trying to look at him himself.

Pink started to tint John’s face, mainly his cheeks, which reminded him of one of those old Christmas figurines he had a bad habit of knocking over at his grandma’s. Rosy-cheeked, possibly haunted, going off of some of their weirder bumps in the night that happened during the holidays, but smiling and happy.

John wasn’t smiling directly, but every time their eyes met, he caught something there. Not even ‘blink and you’ll miss it’ this time, but there. Made that warm feeling run through his chest again, and he felt his mouth moving before he could stop it.

“You know, uh…you can come by again. Anytime. Just to shoot the shit, hang, dodge Broseph or Jake if they’re getting at you. Or shit, bring ‘em. We can all rock the firepit, I’ll set up some music and just chill.”

Sharky cleared his throat, focused right on the pile of snow that kept on growing, and kept on talking.

“Or we could hop in Hurk’s truck, go do some ice fishing, but by giving it the ol’ Sharky one-two fer. You know, cause Hurkie and I came up with it, and if we wanna trademark that it’d take a while, but you’re a lawyer. We could probably sit down, you could slap on a suit, crack open that briefcase of yours, and set us up while you’re throwing around all of the shit they say on Law and Order, and oh, fuck,” he stopped and crunched enough numbers to sweat, “that whole talking bit’s got a price tag too, huh? Shit, think you could uh, swing a bit of a first time customer satisfaction guaranteed deal for-“

He turned as John reached his side, and yelped as he yanked him forward by the front of his coat. Kissed him in full, his lips cold, but his breath warm. So warm, and so much closer than he had been not even a minute before.

The shovel hit the snow, falling right out of his hands. Trying not to trip over it, Sharky moved forward, grabbing for him as John slid a hand up behind his head. Kissed him back. Just like he’d wanted to. Weeks back. Days back. Today, soon after seeing him at his front door.

Like he could right now, even as words kept on trying to bubble up and spill out. But he’s here. John’s on him, kissing him, moaning into his mouth, and he can’t believe it. Can’t believe it even as it’s happening.

Breaking away, Sharky pulled back. Blinked and held his eyes shut for a few seconds just to see if he could ground himself. But John was still there when he opened them. Still there, still holding onto him, and nearly pinched himself just to be sure.

And Sharky laughed. 

“Fuck, man. You just…you like throwing me off balance, don’t you?”

“Me? That’s you,” John said, stroking his cheek, “has been you from the very first day I met you. Officially, at least. This fool that thought it’d be a fine idea to borrow a boat - while intoxicated at that - and trusted he would be able to return it.”

“Hey, I only failed step four. Nearly had profit too, but…uh, yeah,” leaning into John’s touch, Sharky let his eyes fall shut, “better than I didn’t. Hindsight being twenty-forty and all that.”

“Twenty-twenty.”

“Whatever. But-“ But why? The thought crept in, and his smile grew brittle, “you change your mind, or….?”

John’s eyebrows drew together, “About what?”

“You didn’t… I didn’t think you-“

A shaky breath slipped out, and Sharky couldn’t help it. Took two steps back to get some distance between them.

“I’d run through this before. Thought this shit over, and you weren’t interested. And that’s cool. Not everyone is. Shit, I didn’t even think I was until it fucking laid me out. Cause when I said I liked you, I liked you. Like, enough to put up with damn near anything just to get a few more minutes with you.”

John let out a breath, and pressed a hand to his eyes. Murmured something softly to himself that Sharky couldn’t quite catch, only for John to repeat it soon after. 

“It wasn’t you.”

“Wasn’t what?”

When he lowered his hand, Sharky didn’t need to guess the expression crossing John for once. Regret came through clear as day, “‘You’ that made a mistake. I did. And letting you think that for as long as I did wasn’t fair. Not to you.

“I don’t have friends. For a long time it wasn’t wise to, and the ones that I did make quickly showed me it was only for what they could get out of me. Others took it further than that, and…I did the same in turn. Took people that would’ve been friends, used them for what I could get out of them, and ruined what could’ve been something wonderful.”

John pursed his lips together, and gave him a rueful look.

“I knew what this was building towards. Ignored it. Then let myself want it. Where was the harm? But there’s always a catch to wanting. Wanting something. Someone. Was I doing it again? Being selfish? Taking that, twisting it just enough to make it into something that would hurt more than harm?”

Searching his eyes, John held out a hand to him before drawing it back.

“Did you even want me? As a friend or anything else? I thought I saw the first there. And gave little thought before trying to see what was beyond that.”

“Like, I kissed you,” Sharky said, frowning slightly, “that’s…that wasn’t crossing any wires there.”

“But I put you in that position. When we stopped-”

“John, I was…I was full on set to keep on going, man. Like, I wanted it. Thought you’d stopped, realized what the fuck was going on and decided to slam on the brakes once you’d got some sense back. And sure, I needed to cool it and think it over, but that was just…” Sharky paused, and drew in a deep breath, ��just to come to realize how much I liked being around you. Okay, getting hit with that whole ‘shit, guess I’m bi too’ didn’t hurt, but I wanted to be there. Wanted to finish all of this, and maybe see where it’d go after that. And you, uh…”

“I came home. I told you we were done, and forced you off of my property.”

“Yeah,” he replied, looking away, “yeah, it pretty much went like that.”

“It was…I thought I was making a wise choice. To put that distance back where it should’ve been the entire time, because I was making the same mistakes all over again. And I didn’t trust myself with that. Or you.”

“And I wanna respect that. You’ve gotta do right by you, and you didn’t wanna fuck me up, but…maybe it’s not always gonna lead straight to a bad end, you know?” John kept his eyes on Sharky as he took a few steps closer, on edge, but not backing away from him, and Sharky continued, “I mean, I’ve heard you like having me around. Is that right?”

That, John didn’t hesitate to answer. “I do.”

It brought a smile out, and Sharky didn’t hide it, “Already told you how I feel. Unless…you want me to go over that a little again. Break it down some more.”

John raised his chin, “I might.”

“Okay, let’s see,” Sharky said, rubbing his hands together, “I like you. Like hanging with you, shooting the shit. Like working on your plane. Car’s also good, and I like looking at you too, though uh, that’s not the sentimental shit we’re going for right now.”

John chuckled, “No, not quite.”

“But it was nice being here. Being wanted. Knowing you wanted me here at all, even if it was only to fix shit up at first. And to get sprayed the hell out of, but that was a bad moment. Got the drop on me, and I wasn’t super slick when it came to getting out of it. But I handled it. And later on, I had some other cool moments.”

“True. We can’t forget that.”

“And I uh, mentioned the talking right?”

“You did, but as nice as that was, maybe I liked looking at you too.”

Sharky blushed, laughing at it only to grow quiet when John stepped closer. Almost enough to cross back into his space, and felt his breath catch.

“Just like right now.”

“Well, uh, shit,” Sharky sputtered, as John ran a hand up the front of his coat, right along the zipper. He toyed with that enough for Sharky to drop his eyes only to park them right on John’s lips, “Um. That right?”

“Yes. I believe so.”

“And I might’ve missed one last thing here. Really meant to bring it up.”

“What?”

“The whole kissing part,” leaning forward, John tugged him down the rest of the way, “liked that a whole hell of a lot too.”

Kissing him this time wasn’t a problem. No, it was all too easy as he wrapped his arms around John, and held him as close as possible. John’s fingers ran through his hair, knocking his winter cap off onto the snow, and he shivered. More from the cold than the gesture, but John seemed set on giving it a run for its money anyway.

He also seemed set on finding a way to slip those gloves under his coat, and Sharky barely held off from giving him added access. Cause stripping was totally cool. Stripping outside in this weather was a dumbass stunt, and he held off.

Soon though, John broke the kiss to whisper something into his ear. Distracted by the feeling of his lips on his neck after, Sharky leaned into him, and felt him laugh as he repeated what he said.  

“Much as I like this,” John said, his breath warm against him, “standing out here with you, I think it’d be a lot more pleasant inside. Where it’s warmer for one, and maybe we can also find a few other ways to keep it that way. Do you agree?”

Sharky swallowed hard at the suggestion, nervous, but eager, “Yeah, let’s…let’s do it.”

Grabbing John’s hand, he squeezed it tight. And when he felt himself being guided towards the house, he stayed close behind.

—

Turns out the bedroom was too far to go.

It also didn’t have a sweet couch and a roaring fireplace, something John mentioned as a selling point. Not that he needed any convincing, but John kept up with it, describing it in perfect detail by his ear all while helping him to shimmy out of his clothes.

Sharky was usually pretty quick on his own. He’d timed himself once to see how fast he could whip his pants off, and was proud of the record even though he’d almost busted his ass on the floor. Here and now, with another set of hands on him, it should’ve taken zero effort to shed what he was wearing, and he’d left his coat, shirt, and hat on the trail to the living room.

Now, doing so while trying not to break the kiss he was engaged in was harder.

Struggling to keep any sense with John’s tongue in his mouth, Sharky bumped into the doorway, nearly tripped over one of those little foot-cushions, and almost took a table corner to the kidney, all while helping John wrestle his sweater over his head.

Sharky couldn’t help but jump at the first brush of John’s hands, cold against his sides and lower back. They warmed fast as they traveled over him, though, one skimming down the front of his pants before going for his belt. Getting past that, then the zipper, John’s palm ground down, pressing against him over his underwear, and Sharky couldn’t keep from moaning at the contact.

A cold hand on his dick wasn’t the most pleasant thing to consider, but he’d forgive him. Shit, he’d forgive him for damn near anything as long as he kept up with that slow, steady pace as he hardened quick under it.

However, it was John that also nearly made him pitch over the back of the couch when pressed against it. His mouth hot against his, then along and down his throat, Sharky held onto him tight only to nearly lose it by leaning back and slipping on the leather.

“Whoa, wait, wait-fuck!” Sharky yelped, breathing hard as John steadied him, one hand on the couch, and the other digging into his hip.

Trading a look, the two held it for a few seconds before John’s concern gave way to exasperation, “Is there anything in here that you haven’t tried to maim yourself with?”

“Yeah. You, for one,” Sharky said, then broke away and worked his pants down, tugging at them as he hopped on one leg, “jury’s still out on if that’ll change, though.”

John almost looked offended, “That’s hardly fair to say.”

The pant leg snagged on Sharky’s foot, and he glanced down to see what the deal was. 

“Dude, you know my blood’s been running south to my dick for the last ten to fifteen, right? You wanna add to that?” He yanked at it to free it, struggling, “Shit, all you’d have to do is fucking offer to-“

“Offer to do what?” John drew his belt out, and tossed it onto the coffee table, “Because I’d like you to be a little more specific.”

“Just…” With no other helpful suggestions on his end, he felt himself grasping for straws.

He glanced over his shoulder, trying not to keep on hopping, but once John removed the last of his clothes, he suddenly knew just how far those tattoos of his went. The answer? Pretty damn far, and he didn’t want to stop looking at him.

“Just, you know. If you wanna finish the job, find some way to blow my mind, I guess.”

“Or I could just blow you,” John all but purred at him.

Did he just purr at me? Wait a sec, did he also just…? Hopping in a slight turn, he skidded, the world pitching sideways. Stumbling, his shoulder took the brunt of the impact as he hit the floor.

His foot was freed, but his pride? Just as bruised as he’d be come tomorrow.

“Charlemagne?”

“It’s fine! I’m cool,” he wheezed, feeling his face burn as John started over towards him. One very naked, and worried John judging from the way his eyebrows kept on drawing together, “just give me a sec.”

Shucking off his pants and underwear at last, he stood up, and huffed out a breath. So much for that record. And so much for John not finding a way to, as he put it, maim him.

“Right. I’m sitting down now.”

John guided him over to the couch, resting a hand on his lower back, “A wise choice. The wisest I’ve heard yet.”

And when he’d settled down onto the leather seat, the material cool against his skin, he took in the scene in front of him. Like some weird parody of what he’d catch in a holiday movie. The room was warmly lit, the fireplace just the kind of cozy he’d like to stretch in front of and watch for hours.

It was the kind of thing that belonged on a postcard. Not what he’d be met with back at his house, even with the small tree he’d cobbled together year after year to bring some cheer into his place.

“Shit, that’s pretty.”

John gave him an amused look as he followed his gaze to the fire, “I thought you might like that.”

“So’s you,” Sharky murmured, looking up at him, “just in case you were wondering.”

John had opened his mouth to say something else, but let it fall shut. Backlit by the fireplace, he faced him, and in that moment it really hit him. Just how bright, and seriously, fucking beautiful his eyes were as they focused on him. 

“Am I now?”

Resting a hand on the back of the couch, he leaned forward and Sharky met him halfway.

Sinking back against the cushions, he pulled John with him, and felt him slide a hand along his jaw before it sank into the hair behind his head, helping him to angle it up towards him. There he could keep on kissing him, feeling his lips tease at his, followed by his tongue.

Resting a knee next to him on the couch, John kept himself propped up and over him, able to hold himself in place as his other hand moved down between them.

John’s mouth traveled over to his ear, “Still with me?”

His teeth tugged at Sharky’s earlobe, the sensation sharp. But that had nothing on the way he sucked hard on his skin after that. And when John wrapped his fingers around his cock and squeezed, Sharky couldn’t stop his hips from bucking into his grip.

“Is that a yes?”

“Yeah. Fuck yeah,” Sharky gasped, grabbing for him. Doing all of the moving for him, he wanted that slide, and didn’t let up.

“Good. Seeing you this eager’s not making me want to be patient at all.”

John tried to steady his hips, to ease him back into a slower rhythm, and that’s when he felt him start exploring. Trailing and tracing his fingers all over him, and Sharky nearly jumped when the touch tickled.

But the slower pace, the longer strokes still had him moving with John’s hand before long. Not slick enough by far, but one lick to his palm would’ve fixed that quick. Not that he was going to, but he thought about it. Thought pretty damn hard about it as he started bucking into John’s hand harder again, and swore under his breath.

“But don’t spend too much time watching the fire, like I know you want to,” John said, pulling back.

That snapped him out of it; he’d let his attention drift towards it, focusing on the cracking of the wood, but he managed to shift back to John. 

“Why?”

“I’d prefer if you watched me instead.”

Right now Sharky couldn’t look away if he tried. Having John kiss him hard, only for him to slide down his body and press another directly to his cock, he forced his eyes to stay open. He wasn’t fucking missing this. Not for a second, though he knew it wasn’t going to be easy.

“Jesus Christ, man,” every long lick of John’s tongue made him want to tilt his head back and enjoy the ride, “this ain’t gonna last long. Not that I don’t-“ John’s hand joined in, stroking him slowly as his lips closed around the tip, and Sharky’s groan was ragged, “n-not that I ain’t loving this, it’d just suck to bust one this fast, just when…”

“We’ve only begun to get started?”

John took him completely into his mouth after that, and Sharky swore loudly. The chuckle didn’t help, not when he could feel every last vibration, and he clenched both of his hands into tightly balled fists.

He wanted to touch John. Wasn’t sure where he could, as John’s fingers gripped his thighs, nudging his legs further apart to accommodate him.

His hair? Not that he needed to encourage him much, feeling him take him in deeper and deeper while his tongue kept on moving. But it looked like the kind he’d enjoy running his fingers through, and maybe he’d be into that? Wouldn’t hurt to try either way.

But his shoulders were an option too, Sharky noticed, watching his muscles flex as he moved. So were his arms. Not bad runner ups at all, if he was being honest.

Shit, there was a hell of a lot he needed to be honest with concerning himself, John, and what this was shaping up to be, but this was a start.

And on his list of regrets for the night, he’d only chalked up one thing. Not the fall. Making an ass of himself he could deal with easy.

No, it was the sloppy way he’d tried kissing him outside. Not waiting or thinking about anything other than how good he looked, he’d gone for it. Done what his gut and heart had agreed on this time around, because this was his shot and passing this up would’ve hurt ten times worse.

But somehow it worked out. For once in his life, he hadn’t fucked a good thing up by going with his gut. Thinking he’d read all of the right signs when he’d missed every one, and still wondered on some level if he was sleeping off one hell of a bender somewhere.

Not that having a wet dream about John would’ve been a bad thing, but considering he was living out the alternative? Sitting here with the real deal, taking in a sight like this? John, on his knees in front of him, determined to see how far he could deepthroat him before he’d pop?

Sweet, tap-dancing Jesus, he could get used to this. Yes, he damn well could, he muttered between heavy breaths as he finally broke, gripping John’s shoulders tight.

“You…oh, fuck. You, you just…” He was struggling. Genuinely struggling now with the new pace. Lips tight, John’s hand stroking him, as he tried not to buck his hips up. Harsh and deep. 

“John. Fucking, fuck, John.”

And then, Sharky felt it - felt him moan around him, and that nearly did it right there. And having John climb up to kiss him at that point, hurried and sloppy, and with his taste on his tongue, was hot as hell.

“This…this shit ain’t lasting,” he tried to get out between kisses, “so, y-you want this?”

That hadn’t been meant to get a response. But at the “yes,” John gave him, breathless and strained, Sharky might’ve been rougher when he kissed him. Liked it when John’s teeth caught on his lips, no longer careful, but desperate.

He’d half-dragged him onto his lap, only for John to press up against him. Climbed on as he kept on touching him. Got him gasping just as hard, and didn’t stop. Didn’t want to, and only did when the last few harsh strokes pushed him there.  

The sound that came out of him after that he’d rather not describe, or admit to anyone. But he let it out, and somehow his eyes didn’t roll back into his head.

Curled against him, John eased him down. Used softer strokes to coax him through the last few tremors, and let go only when he heard his breathing even out.

“It’s…it’s gonna suck to clean this, isn’t it?” Most of the mess was between him and John at the moment, but it wasn’t going to stay there. Not at this rate.

John sighed, “Possibly. But that’s a worry for tomorrow. Right now, I think there’s more important things for us to think about.”

Still aware of just how hard John was against him, Sharky was inclined to agree. 

“Yeah. Think you’re right there. I…also, I…I haven’t really done much of this shit before,” Sharky blurted out the next few words fast, knowing it was late by this point, but couldn’t hold onto them any longer, “now this I know, but anything else? It’s…um.”

“We’ll go slow,” John lightly touched his chin, making sure he was looking right at him, “sticking to anything you’re comfortable with.”

“Not that I’m not…not that I wouldn’t mind anything else, just-“

“Be gentle?”

“Yeah,” Sharky breathed, and leaned into the kiss waiting for him, “let’s go with that.”

—

There was a voice speaking. Low, and almost too hard to hear, but it was the first thing he noticed when he shifted. Moved to stretch. That, and the sheets that were almost too damn soft to touch under him.

Sharky opened his eyes, confused for a few seconds until he caught the figure sitting only a few feet away from him. John’s back was to him as he sat at the bed’s edge, his phone up to his ear.

Still with him, not leaving an empty space on his all too large bed. That was a shock. One that pushed up a whole lot of shit that he didn’t want to feel. Not right now, not here.

But his mind always had a habit of dragging it all up when he least wanted it. Watching John helped, though. Seeing someone there, even if he was focused on the conversation. Added more to the whole ‘the last eight to twelve hours weren’t a lie’ thing, and he needed it.

When John ended the call, he closed his eyes. Waited, not sure at all what to do or say, but figured this would give him time to decide.

He felt the bed shift. Nerves running on overdrive, Sharky took in a deep breath, and cracked his eyes open, “Hey, just so you know-”

Partway to him, John paused, startled.

Sharky blinked up at him, and lost his train of thought completely. Because it looked a hell of a lot like he was going for a kiss.

So, he tugged him down. Felt John respond immediately, as he rolled onto his back, and focused on kissing him. Hard at first, then softer. Each lazy kiss holding on just long enough for him to need air right after.

And he hadn’t done it yet. Hadn’t kicked him out. Wanted him out, like a whole lot of his morning afters usually went. Funny how that was the hardest thing to believe yet.

John trailed his fingers along his jaw, everything about it gentle, and Sharky let out a nervous laugh.

“Sorry, I, uh, I didn’t think I’d get this far.”

He took in a slow breath, and wet his lips, “…Neither did I. But it’s morning, and whoever this person is that I’ve found in my bed, I’d like to see more of them.”

“Is that right?”

“Yes. One and the same,” John murmured, grazing his lips with his, “maybe even keep him there, if possible.”

“I…think he’d like that. Shit, I know I would. But you know what sounds good right now?”

“What?” John asked, gentle still.

“Breakfast. Never really got to that step before,” he gave him a sheepish grin, and chuckled. “Always wanted to, though. Got eggs and toast? Or…shit, I can try pancakes.”

Watching him still, John gave him a slow smile, and it was the prettiest one he’d earned yet. 

“Promising to keep any and all fires to a minimum?” John asked.

“Hey, I’m certified remember? For fire-starting and stopping. Guaranteed.”

“Very well then,” John replied, leaning in for another kiss. “Breakfast it is.”

[naancypants]

Soup

I received writing inspiration from this ask, so this is where it lead me! Nancy has come down with a bad cold and is surprised when Joe Hardy shows up on her doorstep. For context, this story definitely takes place post-Nedcy and probably even after Francy comes to some sort of resolution as I have canonically aged them up to 25/26 here. Also contains mild descriptions of cold symptoms, so… something to be aware of if you’re easily sensitive to that kind of thing? Nothing graphic, though.

(Ao3) (Words: 2,820) (@nancydrew-onthecase​)

DING-dong!

…Ugh.

Nancy has been curled up on her couch in River Heights, staring at the tv for the last 8 hours or so. As a matter of fact, the only movement she’d made all day was to waddle her way down the stairs from her bedroom, grab a light breakfast and collapse onto the couch. For the next 8 hours (in case you missed that part).

Her eyes flit over to the antique clock on the cabinet next to the fireplace as she begrudgingly stands up; 6:40pm. Had she really not eaten since breakfast?

She sniffles, whipping a tissue out of her decorative turquoise tissue box and giving her nose another wipe. This cold has been going on for about 3 days now, and Nancy is dying to know when it will ever end, because she feels like she’s dying. She rarely gets sick, either, so when she does, it hits her like a greyhound bus.

“Who on earth is this?” Nancy grumbles to herself as she shuffles over to the front door. Her father and Hannah were both away for the weekend, which was all the better, Nancy supposes; it gives them less exposure to whatever this germ is that’s hijacked her immune system.

With one hand on the door handle, she swipes at her nose one last time before pulling the door open to find… Joe Hardy?

The younger Hardy brother gives her that goofy little sideways smile of his and lifts one arm, carrying a clear plastic carryout bag, out to her. “Soup delivery.”

She blinks in surprise. “Soup delivery?” she repeats, stepping aside just enough so that he can come inside if he chooses, which he does.

“At your service.” he takes a few steps further into the entryway, shaking a little excess water off of his dark brown jacket. It hadn’t rained all day in River Heights or surrounding areas, and there was just a barely-there dusting of snow on the ground, so as well as taking into consideration the time of year, Nancy deduces that it must have been snowing in Bayport.

“Let me take your -” Nancy starts to offer to hang up his coat, but then she glances down at the used tissue that’s currently crumpled up in her fist and a dry chuckle fills the space, “- well, never mind.”

He cracks another grin, “I got it.”

After Joe puts away his jacket and the two of them amble back into the living room, Nancy watches in bewilderment as he fluffs the side pillows and readjusts the throw blanket that was sloppily piled into a heap on the sofa. When he’s done, he gestures to the spot he’s just made up, which Nancy accepts with a furrowed brow. “What’s gotten into you? What are you even doing here?”

Joe shrugs, bashfully scratching the back of his neck, “I don’t know - I was in the area.”

“You came from Bayport.”

“What? How could you tell?”

“The melted snow on your jacket.”

“W- well, that could’ve just been… a sprinkler. Or a passing rainstorm. I mean, you’ve been cooped up in here all day, how could you really know if it was raining or not?!”

“Joe.”

He laughs. “Aw, I’m just kidding. I came because I was already bored today, and you said in your text that you weren’t feeling well. So I thought I’d come check up on you.”

Nancy, once again, blinks in surprise. It’s not that she doesn’t appreciate such a nice gesture, but it seems so out of nowhere - when was the last time she’d seen Joe without Frank? The more she ponders on it, the more she wonders, has she ever seen Joe without Frank? This was a peculiar thought that led her to ask her next question.

“Is Frank with you?”

“Ah, no. He doesn’t know I came. He thinks I’m at Chet’s house. So maybe… don’t mention this to him? I just - don’t want to get caught in a lie or anything.”

Nancy giggles a little bit, “Then why lie?”

Joe, exasperated, lets out a frustrated sigh, but Nancy is perceptive enough to tell that he isn’t upset. “Are you going to let me give you your soup, or not?”

Nancy shrugs, “Okay. Go ahead.”

“Thank you,” Joe says with the inflection of the drama queen he truly is, bending over to unpack a medium plastic container from the bag. He sets it on the coffee table along with a plastic wrapped spoon while Nancy blows her nose.

“It’s chicken noodle - I was going to get you some clear soup, but I couldn’t find an Asian restaurant between here & Bayport with a Yelp rating higher than a 2.7 - how depressing is that?!”

“Very sad!”

“So, I just went with the ol’ standby. Hopefully you don’t mind.”

Nancy looks at him with a sleepy expression that she can tell isn’t reminiscent of her usual perky self, “Are you kidding? I love chicken noodle.”

“Better than clear soup?!” Joe says in shock.

“Well, I mean, nothing can beat Hannah’s homemade chicken noodle… but I’m sure this is fine.” Nancy sucks in a deep breath, which leaves her a little lightheaded for a moment, but as soon as it passes she gazes up at her friend.

“Thank you, Joe. I really mean that.”

She feels like absolute garbage, but she musters up every bit of energy she has left in an attempt to express the genuine sincerity with which she means that. His eyelids drift closed and he bobs his head forward in a slight nod.

“You’re welcome.”

A moment passes while Nancy reaches for her spoon, stabbing it against the hardwood surface in front of her to pierce the outer wrapping. Meanwhile, Joe’s eyes wander around the room and eventually land upon an empty glass hiding behind the discarded carryout bag.

“Nancy! You need to hydrate!”

As he leaps for the glass, Nancy can’t help but laugh out loud at his words. “Really, Joe? You sound like Frank.”

“I AM NOT MY BROTHER! How dare you call me out like this!” he hollers in an offended tone, disappearing into the back hallway to refill her glass in the kitchen.

This was certainly turning out to be an odd night.

Nancy shakes her head and picks up the TV remote, flipping through the channels until she lands on something that catches her interest; a crime documentary detailing the life, irreparable actions, and eventual identification of the Golden State Killer. She dips her spoon into the bowl of soup just as Joe returns with some fresh water and a dorky twinkle in his eyes, “Straight from the kitchen sink.”

“Thanks,” says Nancy, eyeballing the 25-year-old as he catches sight of what’s playing on the TV.

“Ooh, is that a crime show?! Heck yeah!” Joe flops excitedly onto the opposite end of the couch, his face alight with admiration, “Y’know what, Nancy? Even when you’re sick you’re the best kind of person.”

She blushes a little; she’s always been shy when receiving compliments. She reaches for another tissue. The two of them become completely engrossed, watching and chatting enthusiastically until finally (and miraculously, in Nancy’s case), they fall asleep.

-+-+-+-

It’s still dark outside when Nancy begins to stir. It takes her eyes and her brain a few moments to adjust, but once she’s fully aware of her surroundings, she jumps at the realization that her head has been softly nuzzled into the side of Joe’s hip. As soon as she’s upright again, her nose starts running and invasive TV ads are blaring in her ears and Joe begins waking up all at once.

Nancy blindly reaches for the remote to decrease the volume, but in her uncoordinated state, she misses entirely and knocks over the plastic soup container. “Shoo-oot!”

Joe’s eyebrows lift when he hears the commotion that’s happening to his right; what little bit of soup still remained in the bowl has now spilled onto the brand new rug Hannah bought for the living room. The only solace Nancy had was seeing what a small amount of liquid had actually stained, but even then! She felt awful. Hannah had spent half an afternoon picking that out.

“Oh no, Hannah will be so disappointed!” Nancy murmurs.

By this point Joe is already up from the couch and is bounding into the kitchen to collect a paper towel roll. Nancy feels utterly useless sitting there staring at the floor until her friend returns to help clean up the mess, which they manage to get done together.

“There we go,” Joe says at last, and although he had eagerly gotten up to take care of the spill, his tired voice betrays his behavior. “That should do it. Nice job, pardner.”

Stretching her sore muscles, Nancy sighs and lets out a groan; since her sudden awakening, her head feels stuffier than before, saddling her with this annoying ache that occasionally pounds at her cranium. Still, she sniffs and responds to Joe’s lighthearted comment, “You too. Pardner…” Her voice trails off at the end a little. Joe notices that her eyes are closed now.

He looks down at his phone to check the time; 1:21AM?! Dang it. He’s going to have to tell Frank something. He’s never spent the night at Chet’s house a day in his life - Frank will never believe him if he says that he crashed there. But then Joe decides that it doesn’t really matter. Or maybe he just doesn’t care. It’s late, and he’s exhausted, and he doesn’t regret getting to spend a few hours with one of the people he reveres most in the world - even if she, perhaps, couldn’t enjoy it to the same degree.

But then, almost as if reading his mind, Nancy speaks in a quiet voice, “Thanks again for the surprise visit, Joe. I can’t tell you how much I needed this.”

Joe nods his head a few times, staring at Nancy with a small quirk of a smile. “Anytime.”

Well, he thinks, I wish that were true. It would be true if not for the 4 hour drive I have to look forward to now. Goodie. If Bayport weren’t so dang far away from Nancy’s quaint hometown of River Heights, Joe has a feeling that both he & Frank would be seeing a lot more of their favorite fellow detective. But sometimes, kids, life sucks.

Joe clears his throat and goes to collect the trash from this soup adventure of theirs, but Nancy stops him with a grateful shake of her head.

“No, no, I’ll take care of it. You’ve got a long drive ahead of you.”

“Are you sure you can handle it?”

“I’m sick, Joe, I’m not on my deathbed. I can handle it.”

Joe nods, chuckling because it’s so very Nancy of her. “Sorry.”

They make their way back to the front door where Joe’s jacket hangs alone, but just as he’s about to pick it up off the hook he hears Nancy’s weakened voice say, “Hey.”

He turns to look at her and can tell she’s on the verge of asking him something; lips slightly parted, uncertain stance indicating a feeling of hesitation. His training for ATAC back in the day had taught him a lot about reading body language, which is something he loves to apply in his everyday life. Can really give you a lot of insight.

But suddenly her mouth closes again, and she reaches up to warm both her arms which have now grown goosebumps. She shakes her head, “Never mind. Drive safe, okay? And text me so I know you’re home!”

Joe, ever curious about things he doesn’t understand but also very familiar with Nancy as a person, chooses not to inquire about what it was she wanted to say, despite how much he wants to. Nancy is stubborn; she won’t tell him now that she’s made up her mind not to. So instead he gives her another soft smile in return, and he can tell that the exhaustion that lines Nancy’s face is mirrored in his own.

“You got it, pardner. Goodnight.”

“Night.”

As Nancy closes the door behind him and turns the lock, she attempts to clear up the foggy haze in her mind. It’s no secret to her that the state of her health is affecting her ability to think clearly, let alone how doggedly tired she is; she wishes she could fully process all the events from tonight, but her stupid brain simply doesn’t want to function when she feels this awful. She pads into the living room where her darkened phone lies next to Aunt Eloise’s old analog clock, unlocking it with a quick swipe and tap of her passcode. The screen is already illuminated with what she was looking for, which is the text conversation of hers & Joe’s from around 1 that afternoon.

J: hey Nance! How goes it? Any big cases pop up for you lately? N: No, unfortunately I’m stuck at home with one of the worst colds I’ve had in a very long time. 😕 How are you? J: aw man! that’s no fun! 😟 I’m sorry to hear that. J: I don’t feel like it would be very considerate of me to tell you that Frank & I just scored one of the most promising cases of our young careers… J: but… you know, you asked. N: 🙂 that’s great, Joe! Where are you guys off to? J: Barcelona! We got a tip from one of dad’s colleagues that there’s this really creepy serial killer out there. All female victims, and the guy always leaves a rose with a slip of paper, “mi amor”. Police are scratching their heads, as usual J: as usual for these kind of cases at least N: Wow, that sounds so exciting! Have fun and stay safe you two! N: When do you leave? J: Our flight takes off tomorrow night N: Oh, awesome. Well keep me posted! I’d love to help in any way I can! J: As if we would have it any other way!

That last message had made her grin a little the first time she read it - it was just so very Joe of him. Hearing about this case of theirs really invigorated Nancy’s adventurous spirit, and she wishes more than anything that she could join them on this journey - but alas, her immune system had other plans for her. She internally smacks herself on the head at the fact that she almost asked him such a ridiculous question - that if he wanted to avoid the drive home, he could simply stay here overnight and take her with him to join Frank at the airport tomorrow. She could easily purchase a plane ticket before tomorrow night, she had thought in her sleepy haze before recognizing what an outlandish idea that was. She’s way too sick to go off on a case, and she wouldn’t want to intrude anyway. Plus, if he had stayed, where would he sleep? Nancy certainly wouldn’t want to confine him to sleeping on the couch, but the Drew home doesn’t have a guest bedroom and it just felt… wrong to let someone else sleep in her dad’s or Hannah’s bed while they’re away.

Or…

She briefly – VERY briefly – considers the glowing warmth and selfish comfort it would provide to have another person stay at her side her for the night.

… Goodness, I’m really out of it.

It’s both a weird thought and a dumb one, because Joe is just a friend and she doesn’t want to get him sick. It’s at this point she checks to make sure she doesn’t have a fever, though she’s quite sure the feeling is simply from the congestion in her head.

Altogether, the whole thing was a poorly thought out proposal by a confused, debilitated mind, which is why she didn’t ask in the end. It was silly and she knows it.

She walks to the archway between the entry and the living room and lets out another groan, this one even more aggressive than the last; she needs to get some sleep. The trash on the table, truthfully, could wait until morning.

As she painstakingly climbs each stair one at a time, however, she gains enough clarity to register the fact that she was incredibly thankful to have a friend so spontaneous and caring in her life. Not many people would drive for 4 hours just to bring you a simple bowl of soup.

Her eyes fall closed as she trods towards her bedroom door, only a few feet in front of her now.

Joe is pretty cool on his own, she thinks with a yawn, it’s really too bad I haven’t spent much time with him - just him - until now.

Also… she’s going to have to ask him where he got that chicken noodle soup from. That was some really good soup.

[cooliogirl101]

At what point does Byakuya stop being in denial? After she defends him against Gin?

Nah, he actually reacts pretty badly to that. Something along the lines of “I don’t need you to defend me, never do that again.”

No, it takes something much more drastic to kick him out of Denial River, namely her saving his father’s life. Kuchiki Sojun, being curious about this girl he’s heard so much about from both Byakuya and Ginrei, decided to take her on a mission the moment she was eligible (so in her last year at the Academy) in order to get to know her. It helped that she was from the Rukongai and so could serve as a guide of sorts. What he didn’t expect was to run into a freaking Arrancar of all things the moment they were too far to call for help/backup. 

Anyway long story short, tiny Academy student Yukimura Hisana ends up dragging Kuchiki Sojun’s barely-alive, unconscious ass back to the Seireitei gates with herself not being in much better shape. Since the 4th Division triage system is based on rank and not severity of injury, she was kind of brushed to the side as approximately a dozen high ranking healers + Unohana rushed to the Sixth Division lieutenant’s aid, and it wasn’t until Sojun woke up six hours later that they realized, hey, we never actually did anything to help the kid who brought him in. 

The first thing Sojun does upon waking up is ask after the Academy student who saved him.

“The girl,” he gasps out, eyes frantically searching the room. His expression becomes more panicked when he realizes she’s nowhere to be found. “Hisana-chan. Where--?”

“Hisana?” Ginrei repeats and his face, already lined with worry, goes stark white. “What are you talking about, Sojun?”

“She-- she came back for me. Brought me back. Where is she? Is she alright? Oh god, is she--”

“I’m sure she’s fine, dear,” Kuchiki Suzume says soothingly, reaching out to brush Sojun’s hair out of his eyes. “In fact, she’s probably being tended to in another room as we speak.” 

Byakuya swallows numbly, feeling as though his mind has been stuffed with cotton. Yukimura Hisana? Yukimura Hisana had saved his father? And where was she now? Try as he might, he couldn’t remember seeing her being brought in...but then, it had been rather chaotic at the time, and he’d been so focused on his father--

By the time he orients himself, he realizes his grandfather is gone. 

“Coming!” 

Byakuya shifts on the doorstep awkwardly, feeling more than a little out of place in the...well, not exactly Rukongai level, but definitely poorer part of the Seireitei.

“Hello, how can I-- oh, it’s you.” Hisana’s expression goes flat the moment she glimpses his face and Byakuya resists the urge to wince. She pauses, seemingly debating with herself, before opening the door a fraction of an inch wider. 

“How is your father doing?” Hisana asks stiltedly, tone painfully polite. 

“He’s recovering well. Thanks to you,” Byakuya replies, just as stilted. “Unohana-taicho says he should be back on his feet in a week or so.”

Hisana’s face softens a fraction.

“I’m glad to hear that,” she says, something like genuine relief in her voice. “Please give him my regards.” 

When he doesn’t respond, she purses her lips. 

“Is there something else, or--?”

Byakuya swallows, feeling his words dry up in his throat, and then decides actions speak louder than words anyway. With that, he drops formally to his knees, leaning forward so that his forehead almost touches the floor.

“Oh, for god’s sake,” Hisana sighs, exasperated. “Get up, Kuchiki. Let’s not make this any more awkward than it already is, shall we?”

“I,” Byakuya stutters. “On behalf of both my family and myself, I owe you an enormous debt of gratitude. Words cannot express--”

“What did I say about the kneeling?” With that, she reaches down to help him to his feet. “Look, you really don’t need to thank me. I didn’t exactly do it for your sake.”

“For whose, then?” Byakuya asks, a bit mulishly. She raises her eyebrows at him. 

“If you must know, for my sister. And for every other kid like her.”

“How very admirable of you,” he says, unable to stop himself. “But surely, you must want some reward for risking your life--?”

“Look, Kuchiki,” she snaps, jabbing a finger at him. “This world is full of selfish assholes and greedy jackasses and people who can’t look beyond the end of their own noses, but I’ll be damned if I join their ranks. I risked my life saving your father because to not do so would have meant betraying myself, and also because my sister deserves better than a coward who abandons her comrades. That’s why I did what I did, not because I wanted some stupid reward or some stupider idiot groveling at my doorstep. Got it?”

“I-- you’re right. I’m sorry, that was unbecoming of me,” Byakuya says after a long pause. “Will you at least allow me to take you to the Fourth? I’d feel much better knowing you were looked after--”

“You and everyone else,” Hisana grumbles under her breath. “Can’t get six hours of sleep anymore without half the Seireitei knocking on my doorstep, how they even knew I was back is beyond me, and I don’t even want to know how they found my address--” She glances up at him. “Look, I’m fine. Really. Yes, I was in a bad shape earlier but I took all those healing kido electives for a reason. I made sure I knew how to take care of myself.”

Because I knew no one else would.

The words remained unsaid and yet they hung in the air like a poisonous cloud. Byakuya looks away, suddenly unable to meet her gaze. 

“At least come to dinner,” Byakuya says softly. “My father would like to speak to you.”

She narrows her eyes at him. 

“Why does he want to speak to me? You know, the last thing he did before he fell unconscious was scold me for breaking orders? Well you can tell him that his order was for me to leave, he didn’t say anything about me coming back-- and if by ‘leaving’, all I did was take two steps before turning back around, that still counts, and if he meant otherwise, he should have been more specific-- “

“For heaven’s sake, Yukimura!” Byakuya exclaims, frustrated beyond belief. “He wants to thank you!”

“Oh.” She blinks. “Well in that case, just tell him what I told you. Problem solved. Now if that’s all--”

Byakuya’s hand shoots out, stopping her before she can close the door in his face.

“At least let me take you to dinner,” he says, almost pleadingly. “Even if you didn’t do it for me, I--”

“Kuchiki, if you really want to thank me, go start a charity for orphaned Rukongai kids or something--” Hisana says, exasperated.

“Done,” he replies without hesitating. 

“And quit it with the groveling, it’s weird. Come on, we spent the past six years insulting each other-- you’re really willing to throw all of that away just because I saved your dad’s life?” She shakes her head. “Please don’t-- I have so many creative insults I’ve been saving up to use against you.”

He laughs, despite himself. 

“How about this? We insult each other at dinner,” Byakuya says, lips twitching. “Please. I’ll never hear the end of it from Mother if I don’t treat you to a thank-you meal, at the very least.”

“And this’ll get you off my back?” Hisana asks archly.

“You have my word,” he promises. After all, he never specified how long the meal would be. 

~later~

Hisana, after the 30th time Byakuya pops up out of freaking nowhere to pay for her ramen: This isn’t what I meant and you goddamn know it.

(The thing with Byakuya is, the reason he kept denying his feelings was partly out of immaturity and not knowing how to handle them, but also because he didn’t think someone like her was good enough for someone of his status. This is the first time he’s questioning if he’s actually good enough for her.

It’s also the first time he sees how messed up the Gotei 13′s emphasis on class/rank really is. Like, an exhausted, wounded, preteen girl was completely forgotten about in the commotion to treat a lieutenant, and was left to stumble home by herself, completely alone. And she’s not even just any normal girl-- she’s the person who saved a lieutenant, the only member of his team to go back for him; a hero in every sense of the word. And for the first time, thinking back to all of Hisana’s rants about power and privilege in the Gotei 13 and how screwed up the system is, he gets it.)

[enchantedxrose]

The Monster of West End: Chapter Two

A retelling of Beauty and the Beast, set in 1837 London.

The “Beauty” of this story is a young seamstress desperate for work to pay off her father’s debts. Her new employer, though Beastly in appearance, is coldly tolerated by society because he has money and status. She is quickly charmed by his warm heart and sense of humor, but his monstrous form isn’t the only obstacle to their budding relationship.

<<Click here to read Chapter One

She ought to have taken Mr. Carlyle’s offer the first time, Viola noted ruefully a few hours later. It would have been less damaging to her pride and her health.

The carriage wheels had become stuck in a snowbank when the cabbie took a turn too sharply. After some futile attempts to dig the cab back out of the snow, she was obliged to walk the rest of the way home. By that time, the church bells had long since tolled five, and the prison gates were locked. No one would be let in or out until morning.

Viola groaned in frustration, pushing at the doors in vain. 

“I’m sorry, Miss Weston, but rules is rules,” the gatekeeper said with a regretful shrug. “If I make an exception for you, I’ll be needing to make an exception for everybody.”

“I know, I know,” she grumbled. “Will you at least send word to my father that I’ve gone back to my employer’s for the night? I don’t want him to be worried.”

“Will do, miss.”

The moment she turned back down Borough High Street, she realized she had no money left for another cab. Suppressing a groan, she wrapped her shawl tighter about her shoulders and trudged on. 

No use dawdling or complaining: this side of London was dangerous after dark for a young woman. And the snow was swirling thicker and faster.

For the first twenty minutes of her walk, she was able to stave off the cold by walking briskly. But her boots were shabby and worn, and her toes quickly became numb as she sloshed through half-frozen mud puddles. Her stockings were absolutely soaked through. She cupped her hands around her mouth and nose to try and warm them with her breath.

Her walk took her north and west across the river. In her rush, she took a shortcut through a narrow alley that she would otherwise have skirted around. Her steps hastened as she passed a certain storefront wedged between a gin house and a druggist—the tarnished sign on the door read Mr. Janus L. Beecham, and in peeling paint underneath, Money Lent. 

She tried to keep facing determinedly forward until she passed the shadowy doorstep, but despite herself, her eyes were drawn to the window. A familiar face stared back at her: middle-aged, sallow, thin lips drawing into a sneer of recognition.

Viola shuddered with a chill that had little to do with the wintry air, nearly breaking into a run to leave the lending-house behind. The door opened and a jovial voice called down the alley.

“Miss Weston, what a pleasant surprise. No time to spare for an old friend?” Viola refused to turn back and acknowledge him. The man’s agreeable tone became mocking.

“Ah I forgot, the high and mighty Miss Weston would never deign to visit my humble abode. Found yourself a rich husband yet, have you? An earl? A duke?”

Ignore him, ignore him, don’t provoke him, he could make Father’s life even more miserable if he wants…

“You have no place else to go, Viola. It’s a cold world out there for a debtor’s daughter. You cannot evade me forever.”

She turned the corner onto a wider street, breathing a sigh of relief in the glow of the streetlamp. That isn’t true, Mr. Beecham, she thought, smirking despite the wind in her face. Not anymore. I’m a working woman now; I’ll buy Father’s freedom myself. I needn’t throw myself to the mercy of a man like you.

What a sight she must have been, when she finally arrived an hour later at Mr. Carlyle’s doorstep: bonnet askew, skin raw and red, eyes streaming. For one agonizing minute, she waited for someone to answer her desperate knock.

“Miss Weston? What are you—?” Mrs. Hutchinson took one look at her disheveled state and put her questions on hold. “Well, come in out of the cold, then, don’t just stand there in the doorway.”

Mrs. Hutchinson ushered the shivering Viola into the foyer and hung up her snow-caked bonnet to dry.

“Good heavens, child, what a state you’re in,” the housekeeper muttered. “What are you doing back here at this hour? Were you not to return in the morning?”

Viola’s violently chattering teeth prevented her from giving a coherent explanation. 

 “Never mind that now, come in by the fire before you catch your death.” Instead of going up to the first floor as she had earlier, they went downstairs to the kitchen, where a fire still smoldered in the brick hearth. 

Viola was directed to sit in a rocking chair beside it and hang up her wool stockings to dry. Mrs. Hutchinson clucked her tongue at the threadbare state of them, and then thrust a cup of beef tea into Viola’s frozen hands.

The kitchen was warm and cheerful, bright red bricks and woven straw mats. The copper pots and pans hanging above twinkled in the firelight. The storm outside the foggy window felt like a nightmare she was waking from, as her fingertips began to thaw. She burned her tongue on her tea.

“Better?” Mrs. Hutchinson asked, watching with raised eyebrows.

“Yes, ma’am.”

The housekeeper folded her arms over her chest. “Then perhaps you are ready to explain yourself, Miss Weston.”

Viola nodded, her stomach sinking with dread. “I do apologize for the inconvenience I’ve caused,” she began. 

Before she could find the words to continue, there were footsteps on the stairs, and a familiar male voice.

“Mrs. Hutchinson? Is everything alright? I thought I heard someone at the—oh. Miss Weston, is that you?”

Mr. Carlyle froze in the doorway. He appeared to have already retired for the evening, for he wore a plum velvet smoking jacket. His gleaming amber eyes—pupils wide in this dim light—roamed over Viola’s sodden stockings and her shivering form. 

All three of them winced as one of his gigantic antlers knocked against the brass pots and sent it clanging to the floor. His housekeeper must have been used to these kinds of disturbances, for she recovered her dignity first and continued as if nothing had happened.

“I wasn’t going to bother you over this, sir,” Mrs. Hutchinson said. “She appears to have gotten lost in the storm, and I didn’t think you would object to sheltering her.”

“Of course. Quite right, Mrs. Hutchinson.”

Viola decided to seize her chance before her resolve failed her. “Mr. Carlyle, might I have a quick word? Privately? I should like to explain myself.”

Mrs. Hutchinson’s brow pinched into a peeved expression; evidently she believed anything said to Mr. Carlyle could be said in her presence. But her employer was oblivious to her irritation.

“Don’t trouble yourself, Miss Weston,” he assured her. “All of that can wait until the morning.”

Viola gritted her teeth. If I don’t come clean now, I’ll be up all night anticipating this conversation. 

“Please, sir,” she said aloud, “I should much prefer to get it over with.”

“Very well,” said Mr. Carlyle, blinking a few times. “Mrs. Hutchinson, would you kindly prepare a bed in the servants’ quarters in the meantime?”

Mrs. Hutchinson nodded once, lips pursed, before exiting the kitchen with a surly swish of her skirts. 

Only when the sound of her footsteps faded from their hearing did Mr. Carlyle sink cautiously into the chair opposite Viola’s before the fire. He waited for her to speak first with no signs of impatience. She fidgeted. 

They were sitting much closer to each other than they had in Mr. Carlyle’s study earlier that day, and she could not help noticing even more peculiarities about his appearance. He was such an illogical mishmash of predator and prey. His legs were shaped more like the hindquarters of a deer, with the knees facing backward. His long ears seemed to swivel in the direction of sounds—now they were pricked up in curiosity.

 His long talons drummed on the arms of his chair, but when he caught her looking at them, he curled his hands into fists as if to hide the claws from her view.

He gently broke the silence.

“Miss Weston, I will not demand to know your secrets,” he said slowly, “especially not if it will cause you further distress.”

She shook her head, resigned. “Given that I’ve barged into your house at this late hour, I think you deserve an explanation.”

He remained silent as she gathered her courage. Wherever to begin? Where, in fact, did their miseries begin? It was difficult to trace the origins of their troubles. Her voice, when she found it, was low and hoarse.

“I told you that I needed to find work because of my father’s health,” she said at last. “That wasn’t a lie, but it was hardly the entire truth, either. Our situation is quite—bleak. He’s been imprisoned for debts. In the Marshalsea.”

“Oh. Oh, I see.”

Viola dared to glance up at him, her eyes shining but defiant, prepared for his contempt or his charity. His brow was furrowed, deeply thoughtful, but that was all. Best to lay the whole bare truth out now, she decided.

“We have lived there for six years, my father and I. My sister too, until she married last year.”

“Six years?” he repeated in a faintly horrified voice. “I didn’t realize such a thing was allowed in the civilized world.”

“I am allowed to come and go as I please, but the gates are locked to visitors after five. So you see, Mr. Carlyle, I had nowhere else to go tonight.”

He prompted quietly, “You were afraid to speak of this before?”

“It’s quite a miserable thing,” Viola said with a bitter smile, “to be ashamed of one’s home and one’s family.”

“You believed I would judge your family for being in a debtor’s prison?”

“You might think us pathetic.”

“I think you unfortunate,” he clarified. “But that is hardly an indication of a person’s character or fortitude—merely of their circumstances.” 

He leaned forward in his seat and lowered his voice, as if to keep their conversation a secret. In these close quarters, Viola couldn’t help noticing the long lashes on his catlike amber eyes. It was strange how familiar his expressions were, worn on such an uncanny, inhuman face.

“I do understand, Miss Weston. You don’t want pity from others. I know that feeling all too well. People may mean well and only wish to help, but their pity is unbearable all the same.”

Viola looked down at the teacup in her lap, overwhelmed by the intense sincerity in his gaze. “I suppose you would understand that feeling better than most, sir,” she mumbled.

There was a long moment of silence between them—not an uncomfortable pause, but one of tacit understanding. Then Mr. Carlyle seemed to recollect himself, and resumed his usual brisk manner.

“Look at me, chattering away when you likely want to drink your tea in peace,” he said with a self-deprecating smile. “Though she’s too polite to say so, Mrs. Hutchinson does hate it when I intrude on her domain downstairs. Rest well tonight, Miss Weston. We won’t speak any more on this subject, if that is what you wish. You can rely on my discretion.”

Viola turned away to watch the glowing coals in the kitchen hearth. “Thank you, sir. I won’t forget the kindness you have showed me tonight.”

(to be continued...)

[atmilliways]

((fic)) Hello, How Are You

One devastating turn deserves another, so this fic is brought to you by @calliopinot‘s Noon On A Tuesday (which you have to read in order for this to make the right amount of sense), plus these headcanons and also this one (thanks @spaceviking), and Hello by Adele but with a nicer ending. 

Oh, and an all day wine and food event with 40 participating wineries. Don’t worry, I only made it to 8. That’s not even my record, and I actually remember the end of the day. That’s a serious accomplishment in Zinfandel country.

Anyway, the end of this fic is sappy as hell and I’m not sorry at all about that.

Hello, How Are You

It had taken him years to come here because, really, he wasn’t a dumb kid anymore. With time and therapy, he’d outgrown the idea that his love and existence was so flawed that it destroyed anyone he cared for. 

Ironically, he now stood on the doorstep of the man who had first made him believe that, simply by being the first to be left standing. 

Toki checked the paper in his hand for probably the tenth time, wondering if he had misread Pickles’ messy scrawl — the house was just so ordinary. He had lived this way himself for decades now, of course, but somehow hadn’t expected it in connection with today, with the man he was hoping to see. It was only one story and modestly sized, with a bay window looking into a sparse but cozy living room. The yard was filled with ornamental grasses instead of a classic lawn and had a winding stone path through blooming roses and perennials. Real colors, when he tended to remember the place’s owner exclusively in grayscale and blond, as so much of their life had been back then. A part of him regretted ringing the doorbell as soon as he did it, but the sound of guitar arpeggios echoing through the house made the corner of his mouth twitch. 

Little touches, like that and the miniature wolf statue peering watchfully out from amidst the bushes by the door, assured him yes, Skwisgaar did live here. 

As Toki waited for someone to come to the door, absently twisting the wedding band he still wore, he heard the thumps and whines of various dogs jostling around inside. A muffled voice scolded them briefly and then the door swung open to reveal the same Skwisgaar that he remembered, black shirt and faded jeans and all, except for the silver at his temples and the lines that had crept into his face around the eyes. 

“Oh. Uh,” Skwisgaar said, staring. 

That was as far as he got before three huskies swarmed out from behind his legs. They milled around Toki’s legs, nosing at his hands and crotch inquisitively — so unruly compared to the golden lab mixes Abby’d had over the years, but those had all been well-trained service dogs. At least no one was trying to jump up and lick his face. 

“Nej, gets back heres you dumb goofballs...” Skwisgaar shooed the dogs back inside before shooting him a look that was both sheepish and curious. “Sorry. They gets, uh, pretty exciteds when people comes by. Don’t gets a lot of visitors here, you knows.” 

“Yeah, it was kind of hard to find.” His mouth felt so dry. Why was his mouth so dry? He also felt unaccountably stupid showing up in a button down shirt and khakis like this was some sort of job interview or something. Toki rubbed the back of his neck and looked away, wondering if this was how Skwisgaar had felt during that one visit years ago, so... thrown, by memories versus reality. 

They stood in awkward silence for a moment until Skwisgaar cleared his throat, still trying to hold back the tide of dogs. “So, you wants to come ins or something? I could meet you arounds on the back porch if you don’ts want to deals with these dildoes.” 

“Oh, it’s fines,” Toki said, then felt his face redden at the slip. All those years of Leah helping him with his English, the kids playfully teasing and correcting him on the occasional misplaced a plural or mispronunciation, apparently didn’t hold up to facing this fragment of his past. “I mean, I don’t mind dogs, as long as they don’t try to hump my leg or anything.” 

“That... Well.” Skwisgaar shuffled backwards, grabbing onto the collar of one of the huskies. “I just puts him in the music room for yous. The others am okays, come on ins.” 

Toki followed him inside, pulling the door shut behind himself and looking around. The entryway was fairly bare, just white walls and dark wood floors, about what he would have expected. “So you still play? I wasn’t sure, after you stopped doing that masterclass thing.” 

“Oh, you watched that?” Skwisgaar called back distractedly from deeper inside the house. 

“Luke did, when he was learning guitar.” Toki couldn’t help smiling a little, with no one there to see. “He got into metal for a while after he saw some pictures of me from the old days. I think it was the long hair. He never did want to cut his short.” 

There was the sound of a door slamming, and then the lanky blond reappeared with the remaining two dogs crowding at his heels. “Wasn’ts all you had was girls, last time I heards?” 

“Oh... Sorry, I forgot you wouldn’t know.” Toki shrugged. “He changed his name from Leah Jr. to Luke before college. It’s not a big deal. The hormone therapy is going really well, he’s starting to grow a beard now. It’s coming in the way mine did though, remember that time I tried growing it out? And it came in all patchy? I told him he might be better off with just a mustache, but who knows if he’ll listen to me, I’m just his dad or whatevers.” 

It occurred to him that he was rambling and that Skwisgaar was giving him a weird look — not one of the looks that meant Toki would have to punch him in the face in defense of his son, just one that wanted to point out they hadn’t spoken in almost fifteen years but, like, didn’t at the same time. It was an unexpectedly hopeful look, shuttered away after an instant as though it hadn’t been meant to be seen, and the implications tugged unpleasantly on Toki's insides. His mouth snapped shut and he followed the other man down the hall into a spacious and, again, mostly white living room. He could see a river winding past through the sliding glass door on the other side of the room. It was nice. 

“Have a seats, huuueeeeuuugghhhh, anywheres,” Skwisgaar said into the awkward silence, gesturing to the white couch. Or, the mostly white couch with a liberal dusting of husky hair on it, even in places where Toki wouldn’t have thought a dog that size could or would climb. It was probably also the reason there weren’t any of the plush fur throw rugs Toki remembered him preferring. “You want some coffee or anythings?” 

“No, I’m fine thanks.” 

“Okay. Uhhhhh... Anyways, ja, I plays,” he continued while Toki made himself comfortable. “Don’t really does much with its now, but sometimes Nathan wants a thing written for ones of those shows he ams working ons, he gives me a calls, Charles sends the checks in the mails, all thats. But it ams, you knows. A goods hobby.” Once his guest sat down in a tall but well-padded easy chair, he took the couch and immediately had two dogs happily vying for control of his lap. “What abouts you?” 

Toki looked down at his hands. “I still play sometimes. More since the kids all left home, but less than... since Leah.” 

Skwisgaar sighed. “I heards about that. Thoughts about going to pays my respects, but...” He gave a pained grimace that was, maybe, intended to be an apologetic smile. “Didn’ts really knows her, and Pickle tolds me it was probablies not the best ideas.” 

“Oh,” Toki said blankly. He wasn’t sure how to feel about that. Pickles had never mentioned Skwisgaar wanting to come to the funeral.  But would he have remembered if he had? That had been, to put it mildly, a bad time. Juggling all the funeral arrangements, hospital bills, and suddenly being a single parent to a teenager and two preteens — it had been a lot. He’d barely kept it together for the first few years, and still felt bad that Juliette had taken it upon herself to help look after her siblings and grown up so much so quickly. 

“...You lets your hair grows out somes,” Skwisgaar blurted out. 

“I did,” Toki agreed, grateful for the change of subject. He swished his fingers through it, a fall of brown that came down to around his chin, just like when they’d first met. “Two girls and a gender fluid kid in the house, we used to have some wild hairdo parties, let me tell you.” He laughed. Kind of forced, but close enough to real. “And it worked out. Juliette is doing really well in cosmetology school.” 

“That’s greats, Toki.” 

The smile on Toki’s face was a brittle one. He was proud of his kids — hell, proud of himself for producing three non-fucked up human beings, considering his own bleak childhood, homeless adolescence, and raucous early adulthood. Things really had turned out for the best. 

Mostly. Because while he’d had a loving, supportive partner to help lay the groundwork for his wonderfully normal new life, it hadn’t turned anything like what he’d imagined. She’d died and he’d found out that there were even worse things than having his heart broken, like having to decide whether to keep all of her old things around as a constant, heart-stabbing reminder or carrying overflowing boxes out to the curb past his crying children, pleading to hold onto the memories of their mother. Impossible choices. 

The conversation had hit another lull, both of them just looking at each other over a canyon of decades. 

“So,” Skwisgaar said awkwardly, “why... ams you decided to visit todays? Nots that I minds the companies,” he added quickly, unwilling to drop the strained pretense of gracious host. Clearly he didn’t want to be as blunt as Toki had been when he’d visited, all those years ago. No attempt had been made to flaunt his carefree, unattached lifestyle out here in the countryside, with no neighbors for miles and no real obligations to speak of save for occasional songwriting favors. He hadn’t gone for the jugular with, to name an example completely at random, a #1 Guitarist mug. 

Toki’s smile cracked. On the couch, the two dogs raised their heads and looked at him inquisitively, approximately one second before he sucked in a breath like a man afraid of drowning and sank his face into both hands. For a long time he’d been able to keep his old life and live locked up tight, separate from his newly constructed family. He’d stopped discussing it in therapy years ago, long enough that his therapist never thought to bring it up anymore. Long enough that he hadn’t realized the parallels for a long time. 

And it all came pouring out a torrent of word vomit that tasted all the more bitter for how long he’d been holding it in. A family of five? The way Leah had died, carving a chunk of his life big enough to leave him broken — what was he supposed to do, let it? And then the kids moving out. Little Abby had been the first to go and the last he had expected to lose so soon, a blow out of nowhere just like Murderface lapsing without warning into a coma. Luke had developed new interests, decided on a far more ambitious musical ambitions than his old man, and gone off to school at a fabulous conservatory half way across the globe, echoing Nathan’s departure for new and interestingly brutal pursuits. Juliette, like Pickles, had stuck around the longest, but now she was finally getting into cosmetology full time and living with her girlfriend, fostering an endless stream of troubled kids that the system had failed because her heart was just that goddamned big. There were visits, and phone calls, and occasionally even meeting up for lunches or dinners, but they had their own separate lives to get back to. Toki had... nothing. Just like after Dethklok. 

Nothing but this ghost from his past who, before he realized what was happening, was kneeling in front of his chair and pulling him into a rough hug. Toki let himself be pulled. The dogs crowded around him and licked helpfully at the tears and snot boiling out of him before it could land on Skwisgaar’s shirt, though it caught its fair share of slobber and stray fur instead. Thumps and distressed dog noises from elsewhere in the house suggested that the third had some idea of what he was missing out on and resented being excluded from it, but oh well. Special persons invite club cry-a-thon, no leg humpers allowed. 

Because Skwisgaar was crying too. First it registered as a growing dampness on his shoulder. Then Toki realized that the other man’s hands were gripped onto his shirt in big handfuls, and what had seemed like a comforting rocking motion was the Swede shaking with the effort of keeping his own tears silent and unobtrusive. 

“Skwisgaar, what’s…” More alarmed than he would have expected given his own simmering breakdown, Toki managed to disentangle himself enough to pull back and get a look at his face. There was no hope of passing it off as ‘just gettings high’ today — not that it had ever been very effective ruse, Skwisgaar was an ugly crier and always had been. “What’s wrong?” 

“Because,” came the choked up reply. “You saids you was happy. I s-stayed aways because you was happy. You didn'ts…” Skwisgaar was squeezing his eyes shut in an effort to not totally lose it, but his grip was clearly slipping. “You didn’ts deserve for it to all falls so much to shits that you comes to see me." 

“Oh…” Toki slid to the floor as though his bones had been removed and replaced with cooked spaghetti, because that was exactly it. Skwisgaar had dumped him and it had been devastating, but he’d reinvented himself, met a girl, made a new life for himself without him. 

It had taken so long to decide to come here precisely because he had been happy. Ecstatically so, and in the new life he’d made, even after Leah, there had been no room for Skwisgaar in it. But to see that Skwisgaar had known that — hell, actually respected that enough to leave him be for all these years — made him realize. 

“Skwisgaar,” Toki said, sniffling and reaching to smooth some of the other man’s tears away. Skwisgaar startled at the touch, blue eyes flying open.

“Whats?” 

“I don’t regrets anything about my family,” Toki told him earnestly, “but it was always supposed to be you.” And kissed him. 

They were both still crying so it was wet and clumsy and messy, but their lips fit together just as perfectly as Toki remembered. Sure, he’d repressed that memory for a long time, but he’d had to. 

For so long they’d been spun around in a dance of wanting different things, never on the same page, perfectly compatible but just off somehow. Then there had been Leah and it had felt impossible to reconcile those dual loves, so Toki had always told himself that his first choice had never been right or good for him. And maybe that instinct had been spot on, maybe Skwisgaar back then had been all wrong, a pentagonal peg that Toki had desperately fit into a round hole — but things had changed. So much was different now, about both of them. Here in this modest house, sitting on the floor with dogs trying their best to cheer up two idiot humans with even more slobbery kisses than the one they were currently sharing with amazed enthusiasm, they fit together in ways that was far more than just physical. It finally felt like they were on the same page, older and wiser but still head over fucking heels for each other. 

A third furry body crashed into them and Skwisgaar broke away with a cry of, “Fucksdammit Morderface, if you brokes another door you ams sleeping outskied tonights I swear to fucking Odin!” 

Toki laughed and rubbed his face on his sleeve and stood, despite the (pudgier, more blunt-nosed) husky immediately going for his leg as he did so, offering Skwisgaar a hand up that he accepted without hesitation. “You named him Murderface?” 

“Ja,” Skwisgaar said sheepishly. He didn’t let go of Toki’s hand once he was up, instead threading their fingers together. “Uh, ands the other two ams Nathan and Pickles. Makes me feel less, eughhh, lonely out heres, you knows.” 

“Huh.” Toki looked down at their entwined fingers. Smiled. Squeezed. “Just those three?” 

“There ams only one Toki Wartooth,” Skwisgaar told him seriously, then pulled him into another kiss that lasted much, much longer.

[mongrel-mage]

“Is your dignity worth more than their lives?”  A whump prompt requested by Anonymous, featuring Anti, Henrik, and Jackie. 

Do not repost. Reblogs, however, are very welcome! 

Heroes aren’t supposed to show their fear. That was part of courage, wasn’t it? To put on a brave face even as your heart threatened to crack through your ribs and your blood pounded a hellish beat in your ears? To bite back the whimpers that rose in your throat, clench your chattering teeth against desperate begging? Perhaps Anti’s taunting whispers had been seeds of truth, his words flowering into fact.

Do you know what you are, pet? You’re a fraud. You’re a little boy in a thrift-store costume, pretending to be something better than you can ever hope for. You will never be a hero, no matter how hard you try.

And perhaps he was right, because Jackie was afraid. He had never been so scared than he was now, forced to stand on the tips of his toes with his arms tied above his head. There was only one light in the room, a harsh glare surrounding a naked bulb.

Henrik’s tools were laid out in loving rows on a small table. Scalpel. Syringe. Forceps. Retractors. Scissors. Four sizes of gleaming titanium hooks. A small hammer. A bone saw.

The darkness around them was impenetrable and Jackie’s stomach was twisting with fear, his hands fidgeting inside the metal ovoids that Anti had locked around his wrists. He wanted to stop looking at the tools and yet he was transfixed, his eyes pulled back again and again. The anticipation was magnetic, and in his growing frenzied terror he could think of a dozen terrible uses for each of the tools on the table. What horrific operations had Anti dreamt up---and how much longer was he going to leave Jackie shaking and squirming in the dark?

~

“You’re a fucking lunatic,” Henrik spat, his glasses askew and his neat hair hanging limply forward into his face, damp with sweat. His cheek throbbed from where Anti had backhanded him, and his fingertips were tingling pins and needles--the strings were cutting off circulation. “Vhat the hell makes you think that I’m going to serve you?”

“So proud,” Anti sighed, making a show of examining his fingernails and scraping at the blood seeping into the creases of his knuckles. “You must think that your defiance is quite heroic.”

Something about that word made the doctor’s blood run cold despite the pounding heat of adrenaline. He didn’t dare to speak as Anti watched him through narrowed eyes, his irises flickering from blue to black and back again. How unsettling that someone who shared his every feature could look so inhuman…

“I think I have a way to make you see reason, doctor,” Anti said, reaching out and stroking his fingertips along the side of Henrik’s neck, caressing his fevered pulse with a tenderness that bordered on perverse. He laughed, the chilling sound of madness incarnate. “Be patient, won’t you?”

~

“Lesson number one.” Anti’s voice floated through the darkness and Jackie bit back a scream as he felt a hand pull his hood back. When had he glitched into the room?

“Lesson number one,” Anti repeated, speaking softly in his ear with a smile in his voice. “You are very much alone with me.”

The icy tip of something very, very sharp whispered across the back of Jackie’s neck, sending the small hairs standing at attention.

“Say it,” Anti told him.

“No,” Jackie answered. His voice was jerky with fear but defiant nonetheless---heroes didn’t give in so easily.

Pain like fire flared through his body as Anti dug the instrument in, digging it into his back. Jackie screamed as it was twisted one way and then the other. The warmth of his blood began to soak through his hoodie, spreading slowly down his skin as he tried to pull away.

“Say it.”

“F-fuck you,” Jackie groaned. His throat was tight, nerves alight with agony and his stomach twisting sickly. He wouldn’t throw up, wouldn’t give Anti the satisfaction of breaking.

The instrument was yanked out and Jackie whimpered against his will, the sound clawing free from his vocal chords like some mad and frantic thing.

“I always love a stubborn student,” Anti said conversationally, reaching up to let the bloody tip of the titanium hook lightly trace the curve of Jackie’s left ear.

Jackie shivered, twitching away and straining weakly against the ropes that bound him.

“It’s always such a delicious reward when you find out just what helps someone learn.” Anti moved around to stand in front of him, his wiry frame blocking out the harsh light from the single bare bulb. Even with his face in shadow, Jackie could see the terrible malicious light dancing gleefully within those blue eyes, so identical and yet horrifically unlike his own. Quick as a striking snake, Anti spun the hook in his long fingers and stabbed it upward into the soft flesh beneath Jackie’s chin, yanking his hand up and back. Jackie screamed through clenched teeth. He flinched backward instinctively and only succeeded in driving the hook in deeper, impaling himself like a fish on a line.

“Say it, Jackie,” Anti smiled, raising the hook to guide Jackie’s head up.

Jackie couldn’t help it. Tears began to trickle through his lashes, coursing in crooked rivers down his bloodless cheeks. He couldn’t move his head, knew that the slightest twitch of Anti’s merciless hand would produce more agony. Every word was torment but he forced himself to say them. “I’m alone with you.”

“Very good, pet,” Anti grinned, reaching out to ruffle his sweat-dampened hair. “See, that wasn’t so hard, was it? Heroic as you fancy yourself, even you can be molded into the perfect little doll. Of course, we’ll have to fix you up a bit, won’t we? This warrior you claim to be?” Anti tsked disapprovingly, his voice at odds with the jack-o’-lantern leer stretching across his face. “That won’t do at all. It’s time for lesson number two.”

~

Henrik opened his eyes slowly, the world taking an uncomfortably long time to slide back into focus. His glasses had been placed carefully on his face, set deliberately straight. His hands were bound behind his back, wrists wrapped tightly in those damned red strings. His elbows were bent, bringing his hands up toward his shoulder blades in painful near-armbars. It was only by rising onto his toes that he could alleviate some of the ache--moving anywhere was out of the question.

His throat was dry but he still managed an echoing shout in the empty room. “SHOW YOURSELF, ANTI!”

“As you wish,” Anti giggled from behind him, from his left side, from his right side, from ahead. The air distorted and the sound slithered along the empty walls, crackles of jagged color glitching around him. Anti solidified perhaps two meters away. His forearms and hands were coated in dried blood, and it spattered across his pale green face like macabre freckles.

“Vhat--vhat did you do, whose blood is zhat?” Horror punched Henrik in the stomach and he nearly choked on his words.

“Have you changed your mind about submitting, about swearing to serve me?” Anti asked.

“Don’t dodge zhe fucking question, who did you hurt?” Henrik’s voice hitched upward with panic, edging toward a scream.

“Now doctor, where’s your bedside manner?” Anti asked, raising his eyebrows. “We should really use our inside voices around someone on death’s doorstep.”

“Who--” Henrik started again, but he stopped cold as Anti snapped his fingers and the empty air glitched again.

Jackie hung in a harness of red strings. His crimson suit was slashed to pieces and much darker than it should have been--with a surge of sour bile rising in his throat, Henrik realized that it was soaked completely through with blood. The hero’s hair was matted and patchy on the left side, as though a handful of it had been ripped free at the roots. What little skin wasn’t bloody was mottling with purple and blue bruises. Great gaping cuts had been sliced into his torso, and one of his ears was missing.

“JACKIE!” Henrik screamed, lurching against his strings, heedless of the sudden pain in his arms. He would have ripped them off at the shoulders if it meant getting to his brother, and it was only Anti’s black combat boot slamming into his chest that sent him flying backward.

“Submit,” Anti snarled, all traces of ghoulish humor gone.

“Never,” Henrik gasped, struggling to breathe and glancing in distaste at the dusty boot print on his white coat.

“Really, doctor?” Anti looked genuinely surprised.

“You’re a fucking psychopath, you’re a monster and if you think that I’ll ever take your strings, you goddamn glitch bitch, you might as well--”

Anti glitched to Henrik’s side and grabbed him by the throat, his sharp nails digging into the skin of his neck, piercing it and drawing threads of blood as he lifted the doctor off the ground. “Answer me this, good doctor, and look at your brother when you decide,” Anti snarled. Gone was the high-pitched giggle and the wicked humor, vanished was the haunting cheer. Anti’s voice was something truly demonic, saturated with rage and echoing with sadistic satisfaction as Jackie’s blood dripped to the stone floor in a quiet pap...pap...pap.

“Is your dignity worth more than his life?”

“I--” Henrik clawed at Anti’s fingers, struggling to pry himself free from the vice grip around his throat, but even as he battled for time he knew what his answer would be. Love saw no reason and no sacrifice was too great. “No…”

Anti grinned and dropped him, and Henrik whimpered as his arms were jerked up and back again. “Ask me for my strings, then, and promise to serve me.”

“And vhat vill happen to Jackie once I do?” Henrik was stalling and Anti clearly knew it, but he allowed the question.

“I give you my word that I won’t lay a hand on him, and that I’ll let him go free.”

Henrik’s shoulders slumped and he looked at Jackie’s bleeding face, his closed eyes and limp body. His mask had been torn away and despite sharing Henrik’s features, he looked much younger than he was. Tears, hot and unwelcome, needled at the backs of the doctor’s eyes and he blinked them furiously away. Hate boiled in the pit of his stomach and set his blood pounding like war-drums in his ears. He tried to put as much contempt into his glare and shaking voice as he spat, “May I accept your strings, and serve you?”

Anti grinned at him. Scarlet spun into being and wrapped around the doctor’s throat, the strings braiding together in a thick collar. “Of course you can,” he laughed, the ghastly sound bouncing off the walls. “I’m so glad you asked!”

“Now let Jackie go!” Henrik spat, rolling his head instinctively to try to get away from the unnatural cold of the strings.

“In good time, pet,” Anti said lazily, glitching his favorite knife into his hand and looking at it fondly. “But now, let’s see how well you can follow an order, shall we?”

The knife appeared in Henrik’s hand and the strings tightened of their own accord.

“Let’s pay Marvin a visit next.”

If someone had been standing outside the grim room in the next moment, listening to the nightmarish exchange, they would have found it impossible to truly separate the sounds of the sobbing screams of despair and the mad cackling that swelled up through the air, for the voices of the demon and the doctor were one and the same.

[softchenlele]

dreams and roses; a woozi scenario

style: bulletpoint

genre: slightly supernatural fluff

warnings: none

word count: 1,7k

main author: kitty

a/n: this was absolutely unplanned but it sparked in my head today so im writing it before i forget!!!

it’s summer and seventeen, being young boys yearning for adventure, decided to have a camping slash road trip in europe

so there they are, going around europe from poland to spain

setting out camp and having fun around the bonfire

one day as they travel between germany and france they decide to stop in a small town to stock up on food and necessities and basically spend the day here

as vernon and seungkwan were coming back from the market they hear children talking about a witch in the woods?

the exact same woods they’re camping next to

the kids were talking about visiting her sometime

vernon was kinda intrigued by the children’s babbling and seungkwan thought witch seeking could be a good team building adventure

so guess what they talk about over lunch?

yep

get in losers, we’re going to find a witch!!

they ask the kids how to find “miss witch”

“she said you gotta follow the nature’s flow!!”

uhhh ok thats very vague

but then jeonghan points out that there’s a small river flowing from the forest down to the valley and the children just smile knowingly

following the river upstream it is.

as they hike up the woods, chattering playfully and playing with each other, jihoon can’t help but wonder what they will find, if they even find something

fifteen minutes later, to his surprise, they actually do find something

they end up in a clearing in the middle of the woods

the river comes from over a five meter cliff, pooling into a little lake below

and next to the lake is a cottage, not built for more than two people but so well maintained that it almost looks like someone lives here

seungcheol and soonyoung circle the house, checking if there’s anyone, while the others play a bit in the lake

jihoon just walks around, taking in the scenery. that place just radiates peace and serenity, a kind of otherworldly calm

and is it just him or are the flowers peeking at him somehow...?

no no no jihoon wtf it’s time to cut down on coffee and sleep whole nights you’re imagining things about flowers now

but it’s really intriguing to him

since they found no one, the boys go back to their camp, having seen no witch but having spent a nice afternoon

jihoon can’t really sleep so he sneaks out of his tent and goes back to the river, following the stream quietly to the clearing, watching the moon

but then

he sees someone on a rock next to the lake??

the long hair lets him think it’s a woman, she’s just dipping her feet in the water

he freezes in place

he really didn’t think there would be someone??

“hey, didn’t i tell you kids not to come at night? your parents will worry”

did she speak to him? he didn’t show himself though

after a few beats of silence, she turns her head and stares straight at him and jihoon gulps

“you’re... not a child”

thx captain obvious now are u gonna turn me into a frog??

he’s positively freaking out by now but still silent

she stands up, and he swears he sees a gust of wind drying her feet, what the heck

she puts her sandals back on and hops off the rock, walking towards him

she asks for his name, but the only thing he can stutter back is are you a witch?

and then she laughs, a crystalline sound echoing off the water

“no, god no, do i look like one? if i were one you’d be cursed already!!”

but then jihoon thinks that maybe he has, seeing how he’s rooted in place and can’t seem to take his eyes off her

“i’m y/n, and i’m a fairy, not a witch!”

at that he just chokes on air. she doesn’t even look like she’s lying

he tells her his name and she looks at him curiously before asking why he’s here

“that’s a bit,,, difficult to explain? i came here with my friends this afternoon and there was no one??”

“i know that. but why did you come back?”

how did she know???

he explains how he wanted to see this place again

how he’s a singer, writing songs for his group, and how the clearing struck something in him

she nods and whistles a few notes to something behind him

“what are you doing??”

“i’m thanking the birds for warning me of your presence!”

at this point jihoon is entirely lost. are all europeans like that?? what the heck is up with this one???

“you what???”

“i thanked the sparrows. they told me twice today that i had guests, unfortunately i was with the foxes the first time”

is she crazy

“wait hold up. have you lost your mind?? what is this all about???”

she definitely is

she lives alone in the forest, talking to birds and spending days with foxes?? what kind of person does that??!

she doesn’t answer and grabs his hand, leading him in the forest. she stops in front of a burrow, where a family of foxes can be seen.

his jaw almost drops right to the floor

the mother looks sick and the babies are small and sickly thin

she’s been taking care of them

he starts to review his judgement of her

maybe she’s a biologist a bit too caught up into her fantasy

but when she touches the mother fox’s nose and her fingertip glows, he’s back at square one: total incomprehension

“she’s doing good. she’s almost healed!! and she says that the human, you, is allowed to touch her babies!”

he doesn’t even try to think and extends a trembling hand to one of the baby foxes and pets it

y/n and the mother fox are watching him intently and after some time, he withdraws his hand

y/n then bids goodbye to the foxes and brings him back to the clearing

he’s about sure by now that she’s the real deal

a real, live fairy

she asks if he wants to stay some more. he looks a bit shaken internally so she suggests her number one calming activity: stargazing

which he accepts immediately because to be honest he could use some chill

they climb up a tree and she starts pointing stars to him, but he’s not paying attention

“are you always this welcoming to strangers?”

“are you always this accepting to the idea of superatural”, she quips back, more to make him react than anything.

he thinks about it for a second

“to be honest, i’m pretty sure i’m dreaming right now. this is the oddest night of my life but it doesn’t feel wrong or false, so there’s only that option left”

“maybe it’s not.” and on that she climbs down the tree, surprising jihoon, but he’s still quick to follow her

he really doesn’t want to lose sight of the biggest mystery of that night

she goes inside the cottage and he stays on the doorstep, marveling at all the books, potted plants and little pouches of various seeds and flowers

they look like the lavender pouch his mom brought back from a trip once, which she put among his clothes to give them a nice flowery scent

y/n comes back with a piece of raw blue stone he recognizes as something like kyanite, held by a fine silver chain tied around it

“maybe if you come back with a souvenir, you’ll understand it’s not a dream. this is a lucky charm, it will help you focus when you need it and turn the odds in your favor. for a creative person, this is great, isn’t it?”

she smiles at him and he lets her drop the jewel into his hands, gingerly letting out a small “thanks” in return

he didn’t know what to think

she looks at an old clock and remarks how late it has gotten

he didn’t feel time pass either but he knows he should get back to the guys, so he tells her he needs to leave

she nods and goes right past him to the white rose plant along the wall, plucks a flower bud, and whispers some words jihoon can’t quite catch to it

it slowly blooms between her fingers, her fingertips starting to glow white again, and he’s simply mesmerized

she turns back to him and tucks it in one of the button holes of his shirt, smiling softly

“this is just a gift from me to you. hopefully, you’ll figure out how it works soon”

he says goodbye and his mind is empty during the way down

he really doesn’t know what happened

the next day, he acts like nothing happened, hides the forever blooming rose and pretends he bought the kyanite necklace earlier

jihoon was just laying on his bed, fidgeting with a blue stone necklace when the murmuring started again

he had a rough day at the studio, his lyrics just wouldn’t come out

and every time it happened the flower y/n gave him would murmur like it was trying to speak

he grabbed his notebook and thought back to that evening

his pen flew over the pages like it was natural

and before he knew it his song was here in his hands

it ended up being their title track

a story about unforgettable nights and a dream-like, eerie girl

he’s really proud of it

but the flower kept on whispering from time to time, he didn’t know why

one day where the flower was particularly chatty (?), he put it to his ear

what heard caught him completely off guard 

it was the voice of the person he met that night

y/n’s

it was mixed with children’s voices, he figured the kids did go visit her in the end

he waited for the children to leave and then called her name once tentatively

a few seconds later, the same crystalline laugh answered him

“it took you long enough! but i’m glad you didn’t throw the rose away!”

he couldn’t believe it

she had given him a fairy phone???

a chuckle escaped his lips at her response

“i did!! of course, i do have a cell phone, but where would have the fun been in me just giving you my number?”

[angryhausfrau-writes]

You Can’t Cross the Same River Twice - Chapter 13

"Hey, Trapper, you want to add anything to this Christmas card to BJ?" Hawkeye asks.

They've written joint Christmas cards to Radar and Klinger and Father Mulcahy and some of the nurses - Trapper's currently sitting across from Hawkeye at the dining room table, finishing his part of their letter to Ginger. They've sent a joint present to Hawkeye's dad and bought joint gifts for the girls. They're a unit - HawkeyeandTrapper.

But it had been HawkeyeandBJ for a while - if not quite in the same way.

"I don't know that he'd even want to hear from me. I don't mean anything to him other than being your roommate." And Trapper is also someone BJ had gotten jealous over a couple times. "Better just be from you, Hawk."

"All right." Hawkeye sounds tired.

Trapper reaches across the table and takes his hand. "You wanna talk about it?"

"I don't know if I even know what's bothering me." Hawkeye sighs. "This isn't my first go at this kind of relationship - although it's probably the most.. settled version. I know that I can't go yelling about how much I love you from the rooftops, can't even write about it in a goddamn Christmas card to my friends. I'm grateful for how many people know the truth, I really am, I'm glad we don't have to hide our relationship from Margaret or my dad or Sidney. But sending out all these letters really shows just how many people - people I love and care about - I have to hide it from. Because even if they didn't turn us in, they wouldn't understand."

"You ever think. You ever wish you found a girl to settle down with? Someone you could tell everyone about." Trapper takes a breath. "I wouldn't. I wouldn't blame you if you wished for that. If you wanted to go looking for it."

"Nah." Hawkeye seems to be trying for casual, but he ain't quite hitting the mark. "I think about all the girls I've been with - and I've had a lot of fun with some of them, don't get me wrong. But in the back of my mind, it was always. There was always this part of me saying I had to do it. It kept me safe, more than anything - more than being about the sex or romance, it was about being safe. And that colored things, took a lot of the romance - the potential for a future - right out of the relationship. I spent a lot of time chasing women who had absolutely no interest in me because it was an easy way to keep up appearances without having to actually do anything."

Hawkeye pauses.

"I don't want to go back to that, Trap. It was.. empty. Not like the connection, the understanding we have with each other. And maybe someday I will meet another Kyung Soon - another women I could have something lasting with - but it seems stupid to give up what I've got now - something good, something permanent, something meaningful - just on the off chance. I just wish..." Hawkeye trails off.

"Wish the world was a whole hell of a lot less shitty?" Trapper asks, sardonic.

Hawkeye laughs. "Yeah, that. I guess I got so used to the.. freedom of the 4077 - we were all just a bunch of weirdos stuck together in an impossible situation, desperately trying to stay sane, you know? - that I forgot what the real world was like a little bit. People didn't bat an eye at the jokes I made or the closeness I shared with you and BJ - it was just how I was, one weirdo out of a whole camp of weirdos. I forgot that other people - people in the real world - cared about that kind of thing so much. Especially after Frank left and I wasn't getting called a degenerate every day."

"And now you're back here in the real world and it's not what you remembered, not what you dreamed of to get you through Korea," Trapper says.

Hawkeye nods, defeated.

And Trapper knows how that feels. Trapper had felt the same thing when it had hit him that he was home. This was it. There was nothing else waiting for him. No magical, perfect world - dreamed of through rose tinted memory all through the Korean nights - nothing special hidden away behind the brutal reality of America and Boston and home.

"I guess I'm feeling kind of betrayed," Hawkeye says. "All that fighting for "democracy." All that blood and death. And I come back here - back home - and I ask myself if it was worth it. If this is really what we're trying to protect - to spread to other people. Conformity and bigotry and hate. And I feel like a fool for ever thinking - ever hoping - there was a reason for what we did. Something good behind the blood and shit and death." Hawkeye takes a breath. "There's a lot of good in my life, don't get me wrong. There are a lot of things that make me happy - you, the kids, the clinic, this strange little family we've cobbled together from the dregs of two different wars. But it's. A lot of the best parts of my life have to stay hidden. It's a secret happiness. And the fact that I can't tell BJ - the guy who was my best friend through some of the worst times in my life - about you, about how important you are to me. That really drives it all home."

Trapper squeezes Hawkeye's hand tight. There's not really anything to say to that - no words are adequate.

"At least we'll get to see Margaret and Sidney at New Years. People who know - who we can be open around." Hawkeye sighs and then straightens from his defeated slump. "I'm not - I'm not about to go stick my head in an oven or try and storm the White House or anything. I'm ok, Trap. Everything kind of just hit me all at once, but I'm ok."

"Wanna go out tonight? Be around other people - other guys like us?" Trapper asks. It might help Hawkeye feel less alone - less lost. It had sure helped Trapper when he first got back.

"Yeah," Hawkeye says, "that sounds nice." And he leaves the letter to BJ there on the table.

The bar is an oasis of warmth and light after the snowy streets of Boston. Full of laughter and chatter and dancing. Proof that Hawkeye isn't alone.

He dances with a dozen different men. Feels the warm solidity of their bodies, the strength of their arms. Knows with a certainty that this is real. He is real.

Trapper watches it all from the bar, face open and warm. And at the end of the night, he takes Hawkeye into his arms for a final spin around the dancefloor. Takes Hawkeye home and tucks him into bed under the warm covers in the cozy home they've made for themselves here.

And the next morning, Hawkeye sees that Trapper has written a short note at the end of Hawkeye's letter to BJ. And he smiles as he seals the envelope.

--

Trapper comes home from work to find a mysterious package sitting on the dining room table. Hawkeye's starring at it as intently as if it were a bomb. But unless Frank somehow got their address, it's probably not immediately dangerous - so Trapper takes the time to hang up his coat and hat and leaves his shoes to dry on the mat before approaching.

"Whatcha got there, Hawk? You're staring at that box like you can will yourself into x-ray vision."

"It's from Charles. And there's no note so I wanted to wait until you showed up just in case it's a lethal prank." Hawkeye brandishes a pair of scissors and cuts the package open. "The moment of truth!" he exclaims as he throws back the wrappings.

It's a fruitcake.

"Well, you weren't kidding about it being potentially lethal," Trapper says. "I'm pretty sure you could light it on fire from three feet away, it's got so much booze in it."

"What the hell are we supposed to do with it?" Hawkeye asks. "Use it for a doorstop? One slice and I'd be drunk for a week."

"Don't look at me," Trapper says. "I prefer to drink my booze and eat my dessert separate. Maybe you could bring it into the clinic, see if the other staff want any."

"Yeah, unless he also gave Letta the same gift. I can't compete with her powers of persuasion - I'd end up taking them both home. Ah. There's a little card stuck in it. Says Merry Christmas blah blah token of my friendship to all those in our card club blah Winchester family tradition blah blah Charles."

"Boy, if that's a Winchester family tradition they must all be absolutely plastered for the entire month of December," Trapper says.

"Must be what gets them through all those high-society holiday festivities." Then Hawkeye sighs. "Well, if bringing it to the clinic and pawning it off on Dr. Wilson is out, what do we do?"

"Uh," Trapper says, thinking. "We could put it on the stoop next door, kind of a mystery Christmas present for the neighbors."

"Good thinking - make it someone else's problem." Hawkeye re-wraps the cake and writes Merry Christmas in big letters on the box. "Think it'll be ok outside overnight?"

"Well, it ain't snowing and the cake's practically pickled - it'll probably be fine," Trapper says. And then after a peek through the front curtains, "Quick, let's put it outside now when no one's around to see us."

When Hawkeye leaves for work the next morning, the cake is gone. But when Trapper comes home off a late shift, he reports that the cake has been re-wrapped and placed on another doorstep a few houses down. Apparently the O'Gradys hadn't thought much of it either.

They make a sort of game of it, betting pocket change on who will get it next and admiring their neighbors' taste in holiday wrapping paper. Until finally, a week after it had arrived, the cake disappears permanently.

"Think it actually got eaten?" Trapper asks.

"Maybe they did the sensible thing and chucked it unopened," Hawkeye says. "I'm just glad that scourge of the neighborhood is finally gone."

But they can genuinely tell Charles they got a lot of enjoyment out of his gift when he asks about it at poker night.

--

Hawkeye's an agnostic and Trapper's been excommunicated but it's still nice to have Christmas with his family. Ok, it's not exactly Christmas - he and Hawkeye both have to work on the actual holiday - but he gets the kids the weekend after and they've got a tree and presents and Hawkeye's dad shipped a whole box of Pierce family decorations down.

They eat dinner together and then sit around the glowing tree and drink hot chocolate. It feels like home. Like family. Trapper maybe tears up a little. He'd missed that feeling last year, what with things between him and Louise so strained.

The girls are just thrilled to get to go through the festivities twice.

Hawkeye is absolutely giddy with excitement. There's something about watching people you love open the gifts you got just for them. Seeing Becky's blinding smile at the stack of Nancy Drew books gets a matching grin from him. And Cathy goes wild for the ice skates they'd gotten for her - especially when she manages to extract a promise to go to the ice rink on her next visit.

Hawkeye is even more overwhelmed when Cathy gives him the scarf he'd gotten her started knitting all those months ago. It's a little lumpy and misshapen but it's warm and soft and obviously made with love. And it's a nice cheerful pink, just the thing to chase away the winter blues. Hawkeye gives her a big hug and vows to wear it every day.

Later, after the kids are in bed, he and Trapper exchange gifts. And when Trapper opens Hawkeye's gift for him - the sweater, started almost the moment he got home - he's on the edge of his seat. Hawkeye's made a lot of people knitwear as gifts, but this is a bigger project than most. And for someone who's opinion means an awful lot.

"Hawkeye." Trapper sounds awed. "I love it, thank you." He cradles the sweater to his chest like it's something precious.

"Well, try it on," Hawkeye urges. "I want to see how I did on the sizing."

Trapper complies. And it looks good. Trapper's got a cute body regardless but the fit is flattering and Hawkeye was right about the color bringing out the green in Trapper's eyes. Hawkeye lets out a low whistle in appreciation.

"It meet your standards?" Trapper asks as he does a slow turn to show off all the angles. "It sure is comfy. I don't know that I'll wanna take it off till August."

"I've outdone myself with this one, Trap, it has to be said." Hawkeye lets himself sound a little smug. And then more seriously he says, "I'm glad you like it."

And then Hawkeye makes impatient grabby hands. "C'mon Trap, enough with the catwalk. What did you get me?"

Trapper hands over the package. And he's been nervous about this. He's not as well read - not as cultured - as Hawkeye is. But he'd liked the author from English class and knows Hawkeye's referenced at least one of his poems. And the book has a lot about war and living in the aftermath. It felt appropriate. Though Trapper's still not sure if Hawkeye will appreciate the book or understand what Trapper's trying to say with it.

But Hawkeye looks happy with the gift - and then he opens the book to the marked page and reads:

Let it go on; let the love of this hour be poured out till all the answers are made, the last dollar spent and the last blood gone.

 Time runs with an axe and a hammer, time slides down the hallways with a pass-key and a master-key, and time gets by, time wins.

 Let the love of this hour go on; let all the oaths and children and people of this love be clean as a washed stone under a waterfall in the sun.

 Time is a young man with ballplayer legs, time runs a winning race against life and the clocks, time tickles with rust and spots.

Let love go on; the heartbeats are measured out with a measuring glass, so many apiece to gamble with, to use and spend and reckon; let love go on.

Hawkeye's a little misty-eyed when he looks back up.

"Thank you, Trapper." And then Hawkeye's hugging him, the book squeezed awkwardly between them.

It looks like he does understand after all.

[julianagarcesart]

Wipe Away the Sand

By Juliana Garces

           The blazing sun shined through the window, gradually growing weary as it anticipated the end of summer. As the rest of my peers took advantage of those final days to unwind by the pool, I spent countless hours perfecting my oil painting. It was a landscape of a vast tundra in the dead of night with a winding road disappearing into distant, icy mountains. A violet gradient sky that laid overhead glistened with stars, contrasting the frosty white snow on the ground.  I leaned forward attentively making gentle strokes, and let the tip of the paintbrush caress the canvas, as I concluded the finishing details of the artwork. The distinct smell of paint thinner and linseed oil filled the room. My eyes narrowed, drained from the bright desk light beside me. I paused and stood back, after months of meticulous work, the piece was finally completed. A vigorous feeling of satisfaction swept through my body as I examined the finished product. I had made the piece as a birthday gift for my longtime friend, Alexander.

           On the 28 of August, I anxiously waited at Alexander’s doorstep, painting in hand. The door opened revealing Alex. “Julie!” he exclaimed, a broad grin flourished upon his face. In the background, a rowdy group of people awaited, gathered together to celebrate our dear friend’s 20th birthday. Alexander took notice of what I held so I proceeded by presenting it to him. “I painted this for you as your birthday gift,” I announced. He snatched the painting from me. His eyes scanned the artwork thoroughly. “Wow,” he mumbled. He stepped inside towards the living room, motioning for me to follow. He held up the painting in his arms, displaying it to the other people at the birthday party to examine. The crowd grew silent as they became aware of the painting. Shortly after compliments flooded the room. “Thank you so much,” I rejoiced. Promptly after the crowd’s attention was turned to other subjects as I sat down next to Alexander on one of the couches. Later in the night, he leaned over towards me and gently whispered in my ear, “your gift was my favorite.”

           It was the middle of fall as I laid in bed scrolling through emails.  Abruptly my phone rang followed by a text message notification on the screen. I quickly discovered it was from Alexander. It read, “Hey Julie, I’m sorry to tell you this but my little brother was throwing around a baseball in my room today and kind of hit your painting…I hope we can fix it somehow.” I became motionless as thoughts of a destroyed painting overpowered me; I attempted to brush them off and decided to go see the situation myself before making any assumptions. “On my way,” I replied bluntly.

           It wasn't long before I found myself ringing Alexander's doorbell. His face was pale and distressed as he handed over to me the artwork. What was once a graceful painting now contained an irreparable, gashing hole with rips that spread towards the edges of the canvas like spider legs. “It’s unfixable,” I said sternly. We stood there wordless as a tear escaped my eye, landing on the canvas. The salty teardrop slid uninterrupted through the dried oil paint leaving only a moist trail whose wetness shimmered in the light. “It’s not like I can just buy another one, it’s irreplaceable,” I sighed under my breath. Alex’s gaze was slumped as I placed the painting on the table and departed in silence.

           I stumbled towards my car, intoxicated with frustration. I sat there for a while, unsure of what to do next. I observed as the clock struck 5:40pm. A pamphlet laid on my passenger seat, “Wat Florida Dhammaram Buddhist Temple” it read in bold, orange letters. I had received the pamphlet last time I attended the temple. I realized the evening chanting and meditation would happen soon, at 6:00pm. I spontaneously commenced driving in that direction in search of some relief from this misfortune

           I entered the towering gates of Wat Florida Dhammaram. The location had a tranquil atmosphere. Multiple buildings in traditional Buddhist architecture were surrounded by lush green grass and shady trees covered with Spanish moss. I listened to the sound of birds chipping infused with the humming of a remote river as I made my way to the Meditation Hall. After removing my shoes besides the entrance I opened the door and went inside.  I promptly found a spot to sit on the scarlet red carpet and merged in with the chanting that had already initiated.

           Approximately an hour had passed when everybody in the Meditation Hall bowed down to conclude the evening chanting and meditation. Ordinarily, meditation filled me with an undeniable serenity and silence of mind, but this time I could not stray far from the thoughts of the ruptured canvas. Exasperated by my enigma, I decided to seek guidance from the head monk, Than Chaokhun.

           Than Chaokhun listened attentively as I explained my predicament. Subsequently, the wise, elderly monk stated, “Come to the temple Saturday at 12pm for the ceremony,” and walked away. What ceremony? What does a ceremony have to do with my ruined painting? I reflected, baffled by his advice. I ultimately resolved to do as Than Chaokhun said. I had faith he knew what he was doing.

           Saturday at noon I once more found myself situated at Wat Florida Dhammaram. I rapidly located Than Chaokhun along with a crowd of laypeople and monks assembled at one of the rear buildings of the monastery. They all observed a select group of monks hunched over an immense round table. An intricate, traditional sand mandala laid on the table.  The monks around the mandala mindfully placed the brilliantly pigmented sand using funnels and scrapers. I carefully analyzed how the diminutive bits of sand poured out of the funnel as the monks added the final details on the outside rim. This scrupulous sand mandala appeared to have taken weeks, potentially months, to complete.

           Simultaneously, all the monks engaged in the mandala halted and bowed. A unified chanting originating from the monks grew more prominent as everyone else in the room joined in. The elaborate traditional sand mandala was finished. As I stood in awe at its magnificence, Than Chaokhun stepped forward and approached the table. One of the artisan monks bowed to him, offering a broad brush. Than Chaokhun gracefully maneuvered the brush over the epicenter of the mandala. The brush hovered there motionless as he shut his eyes in concentration. The chanting grew more notable as a wave of stillness swept over the room. He placed the brush at the core of the mandala and swiftly grazed away outwards to the edge generating a slight pile of sand.

Than Chaokhun continued to wipe away areas of the mandala, working from the center to the exterior as the other monks joined in with additional brushes to sweep away the once stunning mandala. Sequentially, the remains were all brushed into the midpoint of the table, leaving a desaturated sepia accumulation of sand. The sand was then enclosed in a decorative bronze container, wrapped in a silky crimson cloth, and carried over to the river located at the posterior of the temple.

The ceremony proceeded by the stream, involving further chanting and igniting of patchouli incense sticks. The bronze vessel was graciously emptied of its content. The sand danced and swelled in the water and dissipated.

I was perplexed by the eradication of the mandala and the ceremony in general. I sought out Than Chaokhun. “Why would someone destroy such a beautiful mandala? What is even the point of working so hard on it? Why do all this?” I trailed off bewildered. A tender grin arose on his face. He explained, “Young one, this is impermanence. This river before us will one day dry up, the trees around us someday fall, all humans one day take their final breath, and all material items one day turn to dust. All that exists in time will someday cease to be. That is the way of nature. This is why we practice the sand mandala. So too, must you let go and wipe away the sand.”