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[yeahthatwouldbedark]

Yen per second

tropes: death trope, friends to lovers (if you have won a golden medal in squinting really hard), rivals to lovers, bully romance bestie, college au, friends with benefits, Oikawa and reader have known each other since childhood.

trigger warnings (for the entire series): child abuse, domestic abuse, sexual abuse, bullying, depression, child neglect, terminal illness at some point, broken home, mental breakdowns, panic attacks, anxiety, death, injuries (Oikawa’s bad knee for example), substance abuse. 

Chapter 6 

22.9k words 

December 15th

Her hands sting as she applies soothing cream on her palm on which there lies a network of channels of dry, inflamed skin. December is anything but kind. But is the weather to blame for forgetting to care for her body and appearance? Yet, it seems she is not alone in her suffering because the moment Rin starts rubbing his hand together after she has squirted some cream onto the back of Rin’s hand, he winces and cusses out loud. There is no one to hear them anyway. She doubts anyone would stumble upon them if they were to run around naked.

Y/n almost wonders why it was that they chose to sit down here of all places; on the grass when the sidewalk is right up the hill and a few kilometers to the south there is a convenience store where they could slurp some spicy ramen. I suppose they wished for the privacy of utter solitude, ruptured occasionally only by the cars rushing by, few and far between. They need the sporadic interruption to bring them down to earth when their conversations have soared too far above. There goes another car, the passengers utterly oblivious to their existence.

“So…” He starts, grimacing as he spreads the cream between his cold fingers. “You’ve made up your mind then.”

At first, she doesn’t understand what he’s getting at. But there’s only one thing she could be contemplating, that they would have caught wind of from Ayame.

Y/n shrugs and thrusts the tube inside her backpack among her books and pens.

“Pretty much.” She confirms. Beside her, Suna glances at her before looking forward to avoid being caught. “Why?”  

Rin sighs just as a gust of cold wind blows their way. Both of them shiver and look at each other as if to confirm they are not alone in the agony stemming from their unfathomable stupidity.

Successfully suppressing a smile, he says, “Not gonna tell you what to do but…

His trailing off has her staring intently as he expects her to simply guess the remainder of his sentence.

“But what?” Y/n tilts her head and places her fist near his mouth. “Speak into the mic, Suna-sama.”

Sighing, Rin rests his forearms on his knees. “You could move into an apartment in the building where I live.”

“Why?” She asks, lowering her fist on her lap.

“To keep an eye on you?” Upon meeting her gaze, he adds, “Someone has to.” 

Y/n rolls her eyes and is about to respond with a light-hearted jab at his irresponsible nature being far worse than hers, when his ringtone beats her to it as he fishes it out of the pocket of his black padded coat (they’re matching by the way) and grimaces at the screen. Breath coming out in puffs of steam, he brings the device to his ear.

“I’ve been busy.” He says.

In the meantime, Y/n pulls out blades of grass and starts dividing them into strips as thin as she can make them. She often does this when the silence is too loud, a silence that asphyxiates instead of alleviating the unease of the person that dwells in it. One by one, bit by bit, the blades of grass are as thin as individual strands of hair, something in which she finds comfort. Now the grass is something she can relate to.

Next to her, Rin tenses and presses his knuckles against his thigh, cracking them as if to provide some relief for the discomfiting conversation he’s been thrust into. At least, Y/n deduces it is discomfiting by the frown that has his face contorted in an expression of barely suppressed frustration. He could explode at any moment, Y/n thinks, and might go as far as to catapult the poor phone further down the hill.

“Yeah.” He speaks again. “Yeah, I’m coming.”

When she glances at him, Y/n meets his eyes. A small smile rises triumphantly on his lips. But it is gone as soon as it appears, leaving her less than two seconds to enjoy it, to respond to it with a tilt of her own lips.

“No.” He responds with a deadpan face, and the voice on the other end becomes louder, nearing a shrill cry, and Rin pulls the phone away from his ear as if to lessen the blow. “Because I don’t wan- okay fine, fine. Don’t yell. Your blood pressure’s gonna skyrocket. Bye. Yes, I will. Now, bye. See you.”

Rin makes no effort to conceal his discontent with how he sighs, grunts, shoves the phone in his pocket and viciously zips it up to the point where he has to check he hasn’t accidentally ruined the zipper. As soon as he calms down, Y/n abandons the blades of grass, leaving them at the mercy of the wind, wraps her arms around her bent legs, and lays her head upon her knees. She’s glad for the padded coat, as it serves as a cushion. Were it not for Rin seething with malcontent she would allow her consciousness to be swept off its feet, carried away by the wind. The cold be damned.

“Your grandma?” Y/n asks, knowing only his grandma could force him to do things he normally would never care to do.

He nods. “She wants to parade me to her circle of friends in hopes of getting me to settle down with one of their nieces.”

At this, Y/n makes a sound resembling the lovechild of a snort and a snicker.  

“Good luck to her.”

Only a few moments pass after which Rin turns to her with an expression bordering on… pleading? He reaches for her and sinks his fingers into her frizzy mane (the cold isn’t doing her any favors). The sensation of ice-cold fingers gently pressing into her scalp has her almost wanting to lean into his touch and trying to escape the soothing contact in equal measure.

When his words reach her ear, they sound just as pleading and annoyed as his bearing appears. “Can you do me a favor?”

Y/n’s eyebrows join in confusion.

“What kind?” She inquires.

Before every uncomfortable revelation, comes the comical pause.

“Come with me and pretend we’re dating so I can get my grandma and those hags off my back.”

Seeing as he has, for years, pretended to be her “boyfriend” during gatherings, his shouldn’t come as a surprise to her. Yet, she sits there, stunned and rooted to the spot. Even she can understand that what he’s asking of her is vastly different from pulling pranks or joking around. His grandma is not one of the douchebags at random parties or the waiters they lie to in order to get free couples’ desert. If he takes this thing a step further, it would be as if they are truly together. It wouldn’t matter that they knew the truth, because the person who raised him would be living in a separate reality.

She racks her brains for a satisfying response. All the while, Rin’s eyes roam her face in search of a definite answer.

“I think you’d have better chances convincing her you’re dating someone else.” Is what she settles for.

Exhausted, Rin presses on, “Because the people I’m fucking definitely wouldn’t start deluding themselves.”

For some reason, Y/n finds his exasperation funny.

“No, I just think they’re better actors.” She says, pausing for effect and watching as his curious gaze sweeps over her, “Seeing how they have to fake their orgasms nightly.”

Just as she predicted he would, Rin scoffs and laughs it off, letting go of her. On the other hand, Y/n is overcome by the desire to indulge him, to make good on her promise to him and herself; no more outside looking in. This is so far out of her comfort zone that nausea builds up in her throat at the mere thought of him being seen with someone like her. Because what if an acquaintance of hers spotted them roaming the streets? What would they say of Rin? Would they embarrass her in public, thus humiliating him? Suddenly, the cruelty of the cold seems unbearable. Around her legs, her arms tighten.  

“I don’t mind coming with you if you don’t.”

Her answer lightens the mood. A tilt of his lips is more than enough to light up his entire face. Contentment bleeds through his glittering irises. Y/n wishes for nothing more than to chase the sparkles in his eyes like fireflies, and she is given the chance to do just that when his fingers find shelter in her hair once more, pulling her ever so close.

Face less than three inches from hers, he whispers teasingly, “My favorite person.”

If she had any inkling of the ferity of his thoughts, she might be able to understand that the atmosphere is that of sexual tension. But she’s neither high, nor drunk, so this state of sobriety renders her incapable of playfulness of that degree. This and the fact that she doesn’t believe he would flirt with her with the intent to seduce her. It’s just to tease her, she convinces herself.

That’s why, when another gust of wind depletes the last remnants of warmth, Y/n finds herself rolling her eyes.

“Your favorite person is about to freeze to death.” She mutters, burying her face further into her knees.

His grip on the roots of her hair tightens for an instant before he lets go. “Better take you home then.”

And all of a sudden, she’s being hauled to her feet by two strong arms, and the hood of her padded jacket is thrown over her head. Feeling stupid for having forgotten to cover her head, she instantly buttons up the front, securing the hood so the wind can’t knock it back. Of course, Rin gives her small teasing smile, joining her in their journey up the hill.

“Yeah, before Ayame and Haru come back.” She mutters, hoping Rin won’t hear.

“I’m taking you to mine, baby.”

Her head snaps up at him. He merely takes her hand in his and begins walking faster to work up their muscles and generate warmth. Lord knows why he even brought her here. Rin himself is at a loss for how fucking stupid he can be to be honest. If she gets sick, he’s bringing her to his dorm and feeding her shrimp pizza to make up for it. Opportunistic and proud.

“We gotta rehearse all the possible scenarios my grandma could hit us with.” He can tell they’re close to the top by the sound of a car whooshing by. She tries to keep up but slips more than once, and each time he helps her back on her feet. “Let’s hope we don’t slip up in front of her.”

  December 20th

It should be noted that… Rin doesn’t like going home. By home I mean the place where he was raised by his grandma. All she does is pester him, smother him, and tell him he should settle down now that he is an adult. Her views on what constitutes virtue, a noble way of life, and a decent human being differ from his. In the end, they quarrel. He goes to his childhood bedroom as she begs him to listen to her because she only wants what’s best for him. Rin always refuses.

Yet, there is only so much running he can do before he once again succumbs to his grandmother’s wishes and returns to the hearth. Every time, he has been alone, listening to the other hags badmouth him to his face with a smile as his grandma watches on, eyes cast down. This time, however, he has an ally, a ride-or-die whose presence will surely make them hold their tongues. After all, he’s now “taken”. They can no longer force him to date their granddaughters.

During the train ride, Rin is aware of her flitting, anxious gaze that settles on a random part of him before once again relocating. Her behavior reminds him of the mannerisms of a skittish animal in a small cage, fighting against the slim metal bars, forever distrustful of the human observing it, fearing that the next moment will bring a fate close to death but far crueler. And Y/n is nothing if not distrustful of everyone around her. The only things she doesn’t seem to regard with dread are natural phenomena. Cloistered inside her room beneath at least four layers of blankets, there is no storm so rancorous as to shake the foundations of her peace. Even now, she sits in front of him, her gaze at last settling on the hail laying waste to crops as the train flashes past them. The sky darkens, and the sweat on her forehead gradually evaporates. The storms ravage the fields, and her breathing slows to a rhythm as serene as Christmas lights turning on and off at a drowsy pace. Without Rin noticing, his chest mimics hers.

They’re hauling their luggage out of the train when Rin decides to make a promise wholly unusual of him.

“One of these days I’ll take you dancing in a snowstorm.”

Fixing her scarf so it covers her pink nose, Y/n says, “Is that a threat or a promise?”

“I’ll make you dance until you fall.”

He takes hold of her suitcase before she has a chance to protest and leads them both away from the tracks and to where taxi drivers have parked in search of potential passengers. The trip is long enough to allow them some time to take in the sight of the buildings, the frozen buckets filled with water that has frozen entirely, people scurrying to find shelter in cafes and convenience stores… until the sky runs out of rain so that snow can pelt the streets again. Nothing impresses Rin (he grew up here anyway). What eats away at him is the possibility that Y/n might not like his childhood home, however slight it may be. To cope with these thoughts, he takes to scrolling on his phone before his eyes shift to where she sits with her head angled toward the glass, gloved fingertips trapped between her lips. A picture wouldn’t hurt, right? Not if she’s in the dark about it.

His childhood home is by no means small. In fact, his grandmother was so successful as a sex worker back in the day that she was able to purchase a home that could comfortably house four people. As a child, Rin had always found it odd that there were so many rooms when relatives rarely visited and never stayed the night. The two of them were, for lack of better circumstances, alone in the world. Now he understood, as best as he could, that there had always burned an inextinguishable yearning for a family within his grandmother. His mother and the rest had always looked the other way and let it burn alone. Rin was the only one who stood before it, soaking up its warmth.

So why is his voice nearly trembling as he wraps his arms around his grandmother’s shoulders? Why is he shivering inside a home so warm?

“How have you been?” He asks her, not having the courage to pull away from someone who is overjoyed to see him after months of being absent from home. So, he lets himself float in this uncertainty, glancing at Y/n. Their eyes meet. “You’re not overworking yourself, are you?”

His grandmother pulls away first. Her smile lines deepen as she cradles his face in her callused palms.

“I’m better now that you’re here,” She tells him and he could swear she sounds out of breath, “And that you’ve brought your girlfriend with you.”

To be clear, the entire world and their mothers know that Rin is not a shy person. Truth be told he’s perplexingly blunt and unapologetic about plenty of things. However, having a girlfriend and Y/n being that supposed girlfriend is nothing short of uncharted territory, especially when being labeled as such by someone other than the two of them. This is part of the reason why he is momentarily stunned upon hearing those words mentioned in the same sentence.

Shaking it off with a slight smile, Rin places his palm on his grandma’s shoulder.

“Grandma, this is L/n Y/n.” He introduces, watching the glint of contentment come back to life in the old woman’s eyes, “Y/n, grandma.”

Y/n gives a 90-degree bow. “It is a pleasure to meet you.”

This time, his grandmother’s teeth can be seen as she finds it impossible to suppress a grin. Y/n takes the time to study her features. She can’t help but compare them to Rin’s. Kobayashi Tadame and Suna Rintaro, she determines look nothing alike. His features are angular whereas hers are round, be it their eyes or their cheekbones. His eyes are green while hers are brown like tree bark. His lips are full with a slight sharpness to the cupid bow and hers are small and pouty. He has to lean down to hug her for she is shorter even than Y/n. Where he is slightly unruly and direct, she is all ironed shirts and propriety. Overall, there isn’t much likeness to be found between Rin and his grandmother.

“The pleasure is all mine. You look lovely, dear.” The grandmother turns to Rin as if to help him remember what he could never forget, “She is lovely.”  

The compliment is received with a whispered gratitude on Y/n’s end. “Thank you, grandma.”

“Come on, the living room is warm. I got it all ready for you.”

Without further ado, his grandmother starts ushering them forward, the suitcases rattling from behind as they speed walk down the corridor. On the walls hang pictures of his grandmother and him throughout the years; the first time he ate cotton candy after his mother passed away, that one time he made a snowman out of dough, his first volleyball match, him and his teammates the night before they all set off to college, and so on. Y/n takes it in like wine, already drunk on the evidence of his experiences. One could say she perceives the world through the memorabilia of other people’s lives.

She is pulled back to the present when Rin points out the kotatsu in the living room, all but running toward it to sneak under it like a toddler being left off the parental leash at a playground. To Y/n’s surprise, grandma gently guides her to where Rin is currently lying on his back, scrolling through his phone. Unbeknownst to her or his grandma, he’s hyperaware of every bit of interaction between the two and is willingly excluding himself from the narrative. If he intervenes, he fears it will only be for the worse.

“My grandson has come home with the girl he loves.” His grandmother says, now making her way to the kitchen, “I want you to be warm and comfortable.”

Once the elderly woman has disappeared behind the curtain that separates the two rooms, Y/n occupies the space in the kotatsu next to Rin who puts his phone down and speaks in a low voice.

“I guarantee she’s made shrimp pizza from scratch.”  

Curious, she turns to look at him, “Why?”

Rin shrugs. “Because I told her that’s your favorite. Look.”

As if on cue, grandma pushes aside the curtain and enters the living room carrying two plates of steaming slices of godliness.

“She’s hell-bent on making you stay.” He elbows her on the arm. “You can’t leave me now that you’re being spoiled rotten by my granny.”

“Watch me.”

“Uhuh. Gonna give you a head start.”

After placing both plates on the table along with the two cans of coke, grandma relishes the two of them as they dig in.

“Here, are you two warm?” The kind woman asks, “Do you need me to bring you some more tea?”

The two of them shake their heads.

If you wish to know, I could tell you what is running through her mind at present. How could she be thinking about anything other than the fact that her grandson has finally found someone to care for in the way she wishes she had been cared for in her youth? Both the boy and the girl are deserving of these slivers of joy that companionship can grant them, far and few between though they may be. She can see it… the slivers coming to life as they trade slices, shoving them into their mouths, licking their fingers one second, and snickering about it the next. The moment turns turbulent when a knock comes at the door.

Their mirth dies down as the rapping of the knuckles at the door becomes more insistent. Rin looks at his grandma, trying to glean a response from his grandma. In turn, she avoids his gaze as if meeting it would brand the truth on her eyelids.

“That’ll be Mrs. Nakamura and Mrs. Fujimoto.” She mutters instead, wiping her hands on the midnight blue apron. “They insisted to know when you were coming. I will go let them in.”

She’s barely out of the living room when Y/n hears Rin groan exasperatedly.

“Fuck!” He curses under his breath.

Before she can ask him if these guests are the ones who insult him every time he comes home, she gets her answer as Rin takes to just punching random apps on his phone the moment the two women peek inside. Like most old women middle-aged women do when presented with fresh meat whose insecurities they can identify and exploit, these women are not even two introductions in, when they do what they do best.  

“She’s so petite.” Mrs. Fujimoto, a woman of stout build, chortles as she takes a seat next to Y/n. “Are you sure you can handle him?”

Frowning at the woman, Y/n shifts closer to Rin.

“Handle him?” She asks, conscious that her thigh is pressing against his.

“Oh, you know,” Laughs Mrs. Nakamura, waving her confusion off as something negligible. “When he gets angry at you, can you hit him back?”

No, I can’t. That is the first thing that pops into her head, her involuntary response. Ashamed that she would think to respond with that, she looks everywhere but Rin, whose gaze is trained on her side profile. It is as if he’s waiting for her to speak, to defend him, to make good on her promise. Yet her lips are sealed and her throat is clogged as if with blocks of cement. Now aware of the situation, Rin takes matters into his own hands.

“What kind of person do you think I am?”

Mrs. Nakamura’s eyes narrow with feigned mirth.

“Oh, come on,” She “jests”, “You’re young and you’ve always been an impulsive boy. It’s only normal that you would get angry from time to time.”

As if the insinuation that Rin is abusive wasn’t cruel enough, Mrs. Fujimoto picks up where her friend left off.

“My granddaughter is still heartbroken, you little rascal.” She says with just as much forced amusement, laughing as she reaches out to “playfully” smack Rin on the arm.

Finding her touch repulsive, he instinctively retracts his arm and hides it under the kotatsu, where he tries to erase her touch with the scrape of his nails. I shouldn’t have trimmed them, he thinks.

“What does that have anything to do with this?” He groans, “I never hit her.”

Mrs. Fujimoto doesn’t take kindly to being defied, “Do not-

“Rin doesn’t get angry at me.”

The words have passed the threshold of her lips before Y/n can think to stop them. She can feel Rin ceasing to rub his arm raw beneath the thick blanket, his gaze trailing up to her face once more. For the first time, she’s glad for the stubbornness of her thoughts.

“He asks how I’m doing even when I want to be alone, hugs me even if I can’t always do the same.” The more she speaks, the bolder she feels, “Only people who don’t understand him would assume he’s a violent person.”

A tense sort of silence settles in the living room. Each second is viscous, stretchy, refusing to fall down or clatter by all at once. The five of them are submerged in a substance akin to amber, preventing them from forging ahead, preserving the audacity of her words in their original state. Yet for her words to fossilize, they must first die in their ears.

“How rude.” Scoffs Mrs. Nakamura, her face turned up in distaste.

Before Y/n can say anything to make things escalate, Rin gently takes hold of her hand.

“Let’s go upstairs, angel.” He says, helping her to her feet.

So, they leave the two women to their incessant, ill-intended murmuring, as the desperate calls of Rin’s grandmother follow them up to his bedroom. He can only sigh, ashamed that Y/n had to witness all that, had to become part of the schemes of bored middle-aged women so dissatisfied with the life they have made for themselves (or the lack of it) that the most interesting topic they can bring up is the sex life of a soon-to-be nineteen-year-old. Truly, he wishes he could dig a grave and lie there naked in the snow, eaten raw by the winter storm.

The key is turned. Stars spill into the hallway from the aperture in the door before it opens wide and everything inside is awash in starlight. Inside they go and the door clicks shut behind them, dulling the sound of conversation in the living room downstairs. Mouth open in awe, Y/n gazes up at the ceiling, engraving the sight of fluorescent galaxies in her brain⸺ magenta, aquamarine, bottle green, silver, sapphire, neon pink, and baby blue. She swears she can feel the breath of the universe on her cheeks, the fog, and the clarity of it surrounding her. Her eyes swim in it.  

She thinks about how Rin must have stayed awake as a child to look at them. Ensorcelled by them. He must have been so adorable.

“Did you or your grandma paint this?” She says, her eyes glued to the ceiling.

“I did. First year in high school.” Answers Rin, who fishes his phone out of the pocket of his padded coat and places discards it on the bed. “Before there were only stars up there. The kind you see in cartoons. The moon was in the center.” Only when his finger comes into view, pointing up at the center of the ceiling, does Y/n notice him standing next to her. “Right there.”

As difficult as it is to tear her gaze from the work of art, she does so in favor of rendering her words as sincerely as possible.

“It’s ethereal.” She tells him.

In turn, Rin regards her with a look of bewilderment and amusement.

“That look.” He begins, hand tenderly resting on her shoulder as he leans down to her eye level, “It’s just like the first time I saw you.”

She can’t know in great detail how it felt for him to catch sight of her for the very first time. She’d been sitting on the front steps of her aunt’s house, scratching her ankle from time to time after a mosquito had bitten her. Summer shit. And he was looking from his cousin’s balcony, thinking that she looked high enough to invite a stranger into her home and stare at them until they confessed to having committed war crimes. To this day he doesn’t know how he was able to perceive her as anything but a Roblox character with him having just woken up from an afternoon nap. But he’d known then, that her eyes were piercing, scrutinizing, and so soft. Upon meeting her he’d decided that her lips must feel as soft as her eyes looked.

Even now, as she returns his gaze and cracks a small smile, he is glad to be proven right once again.  

“Leaving my mark on the world I see.” She jokes, moving toward the bed.

He follows right after, taking his shirt off. “And you weren’t even high.”

“Achievement unlocked.” She pulls the sweater over her head, giggling.

After changing into their pajamas which for Y/n involved more than simply putting their clothes on, meaning that skincare was mandatory and an absolute non-negotiable, they both sneak beneath the sheets. Instantly, Rin is the first to get close enough that Y/n can count the fleck of stardust in his eyes. Rin can tell… he can tell she wants to hold his face in her hands, more so because her hands twitch where she rests them on the pillowed space between them. Consequently, he decides to be the one to, once again, put himself forward like a sacrificial offering to an entity of unpredictable disposition.

“I think…” He whispers, resting his forehead against hers, “I think I would’ve been much happier had I brought you here sooner.”

A beat later she whispers back, her voice rife with nervousness, “Why?”

Her mint breath fans his lips and it makes him smile.

“We would have been able to do this every weekend if we’d lived in the same neighborhood.” Feeling more audacious than usual, he angles his face so that she can feel him too, “Even if your parents didn’t let you.”

Bold of you to assume they would notice I was gone. “You would’ve let me steal into your bedroom?”

Rin hums in affirmation, “And my bed.”

The way that line is delivered, teasingly and humorously, would have made anyone laugh. But Suna Rintaro is in no way joking. So, it is at once relieving and disappointing when he feels her breath on his parted lips and her precious giggle in his ears once more.

“You know?”

Her voice has his eyes fluttering open. Rin doesn’t have to try his hardest to look into her eyes. That soft, intrusive gaze is all that is required to transfix him.

The boy manages to get two words out, “Know what?”

“Your eyes sparkle.” She doesn’t miss a beat, “Like there’s this type of glitter in your irises. It makes your eyes look even prettier.”

This isn’t the first time Rin is complimented about his eyes and it won’t be the last. But he wants to hear it more. Wants her to look into him and gather all the glitters she sees in his eyes so that he can be as much in awe of them as she is. He wants that glitter scattered on her eyelids. He wants it painted on her lips. To help her understand, he takes her hand and rests the thumb on the corner of his eye. As if pulled by some gravitational force greater than that of Earth, his eyelids droop until he can see nothing and feel everything. The coldness of her skin. The light scrape of her nails as she runs her fingers across the lid and then his lower lashes. Her breathing as it slows down so it matches his.

 The following day, December 21st, they do nothing of importance except for helping Grandma around the house (things are still a bit awkward after the mishap of the night before but she always smiles at them) and run errands here and there. Other than that, the two of them spend their day lying on his bed wearing pajamas, scrolling through Pinterest for aesthetic pictures, listening to Lana Del Rey and The Weeknd, and watching movies on his laptop, namely the Avatar movies. It’s not like they haven’t watched the first Avatar movie before but it’s just one of those movies you don’t tire of revisiting time and time again.

Outside, it is dark when Rin drops an enlightening thought.

“Imagine if humans could do that too.” He says, pointing at Jake and Neytiri connecting through their hair, “Orgasms everywhere.”

Y/n nods, “Especially on all fours.”

Rin doesn’t let that shit go until they both fall asleep, his chest pressed against her back. Being her friend, he can’t help but want to be near her always, stuck to her skin like hardened wax. Isn’t it convenient that it’s December? Now he can sling his arm across her middle as they drift off, which she doesn’t seem to mind given that her fingertips lazily dance across his knuckles. Then they rest.

 It's December 22nd and they’re headed to Miya Osamu’s restaurant just 30 minutes on foot. Both of them are in their padded coats (since the other kinds just won’t cut it if the snow painting the sidewalks white is to be used as a criterion for judgment), thick scarves, and gloves so thick that neither of them can feel their fingers. Both of them are also lost because Rin claims to never have been to this part of the town.

“Are you sure you know the way?” Y/n asks for the seventh time (I’ve counted).

Rin groans and tries to figure out the bullshit on the screenshot of google maps he took prior to leaving the house.

“Cut me some slack.” The picture refuses to be zoomed in as he is wearing gloves. The snow isn’t helping either. “This is my first time visiting his place.”

Y/n mirrors his groan. “Well, now I’m embarrassed for both of us.”

“This isn’t a doctor’s appointment.” He peels off his right glove and wipes the screen on the inside of his pocket. “He isn’t expecting us to be there by 6 PM sharp.”

“But what if he’s upset because we ruined his schedule?”

Rin raises an eyebrow at her. “He isn’t like you.”

Scoffing, Y/n adjusts the scarf so that not even a quarter of an inch is exposed to the cold.

“I expect nothing less from an Aquarius headass.” She mumbles.

Confident that he finally got it right, Rin puts his glove back on and then grabs her by the shoulders, spinning her so they’re both facing the road.

“It’s right across the park after that condo building.” His mouth is right at her ear, “Do all of you Cancers mumble what you want to say or is it just you?”

“Shut up, what would you know about astrology?”

“Just your entire birth chart.” He shrugs. “Cancer sun, Virgo rising, Aquarius moon, Cancer venus, Virgo mercury, Cancer mars. That cancer stellium in 11th house isn’t doing you any favors.”

Y/n skids to a halt. “Stellium? What? How and when did you learn all this?”

“Heard Atsumu’s girlfriend talking about astrology while they were eating the ice cream I bought. So, I asked her to explain the fuck she was talking about in exchange for eating my food.” To piss her off, Rin links their arms as he whispers the following, “That’s how I learned why you’re the way you are.”

Scoffing, Y/n makes to kick him in the shin but he skillfully avoids her boot. “Shut up with your Aquarius sun, Scorpio rising, Aries moon, Capricorn mercury, Pisces venus, Aquarius mars ass.”

By the time they reach their destination, snow lays thick on their shoulders (they should’ve just taken a taxi or something, but Rin wanted to show her around while he could.). They dust the frost off their padded coats before they step inside the brightly lit restaurant so that it doesn’t thaw on the fabric, resulting in them reeking of wet dogs. Once inside, the warmth of the sizeable fireplace at the center hits them like a heatwave in July. Their nostrils fill with the smell of delightful food.

One of the waitresses leads them both to their reserved table, which stands by the window, neither too close nor too far from the entrance yet close to the fireplace. Osamu promised to book them the best seat there was and he delivered.

After shrugging off their coats and unwrapping their scarves, the two of them try to make boats out of tissue paper until Osamu joins them at the table. They take turns doing so, both failing equally miserably. The paper just won’t hold. It tears at the edges and then the fissures reach the heart of it. It frustrates them to the point that they just tear it in half.

At that moment, a voice can be heard that unshackles them from this annoyance.

“You look fried, Rin.”

His height is the first thing Y/n notices about the boy. He is almost as tall as Rin, with bleached hair dyed grey and an undercut that would look very Karen on someone whose head isn’t shaped like his. Unlike Rin’s, his arms are not inked with designs of any kind, at least none that she can see with how little upward he has rolled the sleeves of his black uniform. Most importantly… his eyes are equal parts tired and soft as he stares at Rin.

“Good evening to your greasy ass too.” Shoots Rin and the other boy pulls him into a hug.

And then… it’s her turn to greet and be greeted. It is her turn to be scrutinized and have her appearance and mannerisms dissected by this stranger, one of Rin’s closest friends and former teammate.

“Is this her?” He asks, bowing.

His voice is even; as if any and all personal judgment has been ironed out.

“L/n Y/n. Pleased to meet you.” She bows and then, as she and Rin sit back down and Osamu occupies the seat opposite them, she gestures at their surroundings. “I like your restaurant.”

He seems glad to hear that. Who wouldn’t be, really?

“What do you like most about it?”  Osamu asks, crossing his arms as he leans forward.

Y/n swipes her finger on the table. “Great hygiene and the whole place smells great.”

Osamu thanks her and they get to talking about random things. They’re in a world of their own and she’s locked out with no way of understanding its rules and inside jokes. Seeing as it is useless to understand anything at the speed that the conversation is flowing, Y/n takes to studying her surroundings; the light goldenrod yellow walls, the snow piling up on the sill outside, and the pictures on the wall. The subject of one of them is the Inarizaki High volleyball team.  

“Guess he’s always looked like Barry the bee.” She mutters. “Look at that smug asshole smile.”

Y/n doesn’t exactly try to hide the fact that she’s talking about his brother but she hadn’t thought his twin would actually catch her calling him Barry the bee, seeing as how he’d been so immersed in his conversation with Rin. So, it’s a bit of an amusing predicament when he turns to her, tilting his head. Well… amusing for them because for her she’s sifting through the million anxiety-born scenarios in order to choose the least devastating. What if he's upset? She had meant for it to be a joke gone unnoticed but what if?

“How do you know my dick of a twin?” Asks Osamu.

Somewhat relieved, Y/n straightens up but it’s Rin who speaks first.

“I lost a bet to him once,” He throws his arm around her shoulders and rests his head on hers for a second, “And he used my phone for an entire day.”

Staring blankly at Rin, the boy speaks in a low voice, “Don’t tell me he called her.”

“Rin knows I don’t like surprise phone calls,” Y/n says, glancing at Rin’s hand, fingers tracing lazy circles on her collarbone. “His name popping up on my phone screen at 9 PM was a clear indication that something was up.”

“Basically, he video-called her to mess with me. The entire time I thought he was just downloading porn to piss me off.”

“Instead, he kept pestering me until I stopped declining his calls.”

The state of the boy sitting opposite them is a curious blend of shame and being entirely unfazed. In every timeline, being born as Atsumu’s twin came with built-in emotional stamina, patience, and preparation for the unexpected. A full-time job really. Yet at last, Osamu lets out a sigh of exasperation, sweeping a hand over his face.

“So fucking embarrassing.” He drones, then casts her a glance, “Did he do anything inappropriate?”

“Honestly, I thought he would at first.” She nods, the weight of anxious thoughts now shaken off her shoulders. “But he was just asking for tips on how to talk to this extremely shy girl and telling me embarrassing stories about Rin.”

“Apologies for not boiling him like the egg that he is while I had the chance.”

Y/n shakes her head. “No, he was really nice when I visited.”

Osamu regards her with what can only be identified as doubt.

“Really?” The word ends more like a statement than a question.

“Even ordered food for us all. Besides,” Her fingers drift to Rin’s, the soft flesh of the tips pressing against his. “If it hadn’t been for Atsumu calling then I would never have learned that he dared Rin to wear his cumrag shirt or answer with truth.”

A grimace passes over Osamu’s face at the memory of that party and the events that preceded it. Rin removes his arm from around her shoulders and brings it to her lap, fingers laced with hers.

“Go big or go home,” he says proudly.  

Osamu doesn’t miss a beat, “Should’ve gone home.”

“And be grilled about my whorish ways by my grandma? No, thanks. Cumrag it is.”

While Rin has taken to idly caressing her thumb with his, Osamu takes a few moments to study the boy’s demeanor; how he seems most in his element around her, shoulders brushing, a hint of mischief glazed over his yellow-green eyes to mask the longing.

“Well,” Osamu starts, recapturing their attention, “At least now she has no reason to cross-examine you.”

  They’re walking side by side, hands in their pockets and scarves around their neck, when his voice comes out in puffs of steam, all the more visible as they leave one of the many lampposts behind.

“Why are people obsessed with the idea of setting people up with other people?”

The question has Y/n coming to a halt, only for a moment, then catches up to him before Rin can notice. She doesn’t know he already has.

“Beats me.” She shrugs. “Maybe influence. Power.” A car speeds by, then silence settles once more. Until she adds, “The satisfaction at seeing someone you love fall in love as well.”

Maybe it’s that they’re spent from all the talking they did back at the restaurant, engaging with Osamu in the most ludicrous debates over trivial matters from the past and the present. It could also be that the quiet of this area feels too innocent to pollute with nonsensical talk. Maybe they’re afraid words could poison whatever they cherish. No matter the reasons, the fact remains that they walk side by side, arms brushing, snow crunching under their footwear, and the biting wind mocking their attempts to warm their own breaths underneath the scarves.

Yet the words striving to be heard challenge the silence, and win.

“There’s something elusive about it,” Y/n says, just loud enough to be heard.

Rin turns his head to look at her. “About what?”

She expertly dodges his gaze, staring ahead into the traffic lights as they switch to green.

“The fascination with love.” Y/n breathes.

Well… he didn’t expect that from her. And he didn’t expect or appreciate himself feeling green with envy at the thought of him not being even a small part of the image at the front of her mind right now. Because, to his knowledge, there is only one person she’s had romantic feelings for, and that person is vile vermin that she never speaks of. He’s in the past. Rin is here, beside her. Still, he feels the need to vomit the words that have the contents of his stomach turning to poison.

“Didn’t you have feelings for that guy in high school?”

They cross the road.

“My personal sentiments seem… impersonal to me now.” She confesses, shutting her eyes for a second. “It wasn’t me. I must have imagined it for sure.”

“Imagined it?”

“Yeah, you know,” Y/n removes her hands from her pockets to paint some abstract concept in the air, “Hallucinations.”

She can’t see his lips curve upwards in that distinct smile of mischief he always uses to playfully taunt her with, but the round curvature of his cheekbones, as they peek above the scarf, tells her that he, at the very least, finds the conversation slightly amusing. The truth is… she doesn’t know whether to feel relieved or disheartened.

“Y/n I’m like 98 percent sure you aren’t doping up on psychedelics and shit.”

“And…” She wavers, eyes flitting between him and the pavement beneath their feet, “The other 2 percent?”

“That’s where this convo is headed.”

Well… that’s it, isn’t it? Every bit of her is like injecting drugs straight into your vein. An ephemeral, translucent, gossamer-like being, woven from ghosts and wraiths, she never feels real. Her words are odd. Each utterance is made obsolete by the sole fact that it is her lungs breathing life into them. Even Rin thinks so, doesn’t he? He cannot believe that she of all people would speak of love. Remember, this is all in her head.

“Yeah, it’s getting weird,” she mumbles, staring straight ahead.

For his part, Rin doesn’t think it’s odd that she’s speaking of love. Surprising? Without a doubt. But there is no way she could ever speak of love and sound like anything other than the flesh in which it resides. And he can feel it in the deepest layers of his skin, goosebumps beneath the padded coat, in his chest as it is weighed down by the regret at his choice of words, and in the way he has to swallow that same regret.

“Did he fuck around?” This is what he asks instead.

It’s almost comical how she almost breaks her neck to look him in the eye. He doesn’t break eye contact, and neither does she. Slowly, she nods.

“Was he any good?”

This time looking down, she nods again.

Sighing, Rin mutters, “He’s just like me for real.”

Y/n side-eyes him until neither of them can suppress the mirth. Eventually, the laughter dies down and they settle back into the quiet as they wait for the light to turn green.

“My bedroom and his were… they were separated by a wall.” Y/n can feel his gaze boring into her, “So, I could hear them going at it. Free lessons really.”

Rin’s eyes go wide. Then, gradually, they soften upon witnessing the emptiness in hers, how the blankness of her expression is betrayed only by the involuntary fluttering of her eyelashes as if she can bear neither the present nor the past. Having a mind of their own, his hands reach for hers. Slowly, he shelters them in his pocket.

But Rin, being too inquisitive and possessing little tact at the moment, inquires the following:

“Between him and I, who do you think is the best?”

Scoffing, Y/n makes to untangle herself from Rin but his fingers become a gauntlet around hers. She can only groan and submit.

“Well,” She begins, “It’s not like I know what it’s like to be fucked by either of you to be able to compare.”

That can be fixed, is his knee-jerk impulsive thought. If he were anyone else, Rin would lower his head in shame at the filth that infests his every imagined scenario involving her and him, especially at a time such as this, when she’s stripping layer after layer of vulnerability. But he’s the same boy he was at the age of 15; clueless as to how to connect with people in a way that isn’t carnal, careless, and crude in the way friends ought not to be. He has to justify the epithets he’s given, doesn’t he?

Wasn’t he being irrationally jealous some minutes ago? What was it that triggered his sexual urges out of nowhere? The boy can only look at her with slightly narrowed eyes as her lips start to move once again.

“But you’re not like him.” Her voice is soft. “You’re the sort of person who is pleasant to be around. It’s subtle. Understated. Like, if I were to compare… I’d say you’re like this intoxicating scent that you eventually get used to. Like when you enter the room, you know it’s safe to be there, to close your eyes, or to just exist.” She pauses and inhales deeply before continuing, “What he has is overwhelming charisma. He is the leader of his friend group. People flock to him, listen to him, believe in him… trust him. His every word is received wholeheartedly.”

She doesn’t need to keep going, firing arrow after arrow, but she does. Rin listens.

“He inspires devotion.” Each word is a letter of resignation.

Pulling up his scarf to hide the blush dusting his cheeks, he swallows his pride.

“This entire time you’ve been talking like he still is all those things,” Rin points out.

“Because I’m certain it’s true still.”

It’s the immediacy of her response that shuts him up. Rin has never dreamed of being someone else as much as he does right now. It’s like her portrait of him has been washed out by the corrosive agent that is her description of a man that Rin doesn’t know yet loathes.

“Your charm is just as powerful.” She continues, fingers tightening around Rin’s. “True, people don’t bully certain people just because you harbor some sort of dislike for them. But they can rest assured that you won’t lead them astray. You put others at ease without realizing it. Like, if you asked me to play truth or dare, I’d probably say yes because I know you wouldn’t cross the line.”

Rin can’t help the lazy smile that takes over.

“Probably?” He teases.

“Who knows? Might make me make out with the toilet seat.” She answers honestly and Rin laughs because he knows it’s true. “Point is, you don’t weaponize your presence to hurt.”

Y/n gives him a small smile and then checks both sides of the street.

“You’re a good person when you’re not breaking hearts.” She jokes, intending for him to hear.

He laughs but it’s the kind of laugh that only serves to distract oneself from their most urgent thoughts and desires. Right now, Rin doesn’t care about the rumors, malicious remarks, or the hearts broken over the years. His only concern lay with how to best help her understand his gratitude towards her. How does he let her know she’s the first to have an understanding of him that exceeds his sexual escapades or smoking? How does he make her understand he feels the most cared for when in her presence?

“Y/n?”

Rin’s voice has always had that drowsy quality to it, like waking up from a nap on a Sunday evening, and it still is. Even if he swiftly pulls her toward the other side of the road without elaborating any further.

She can’t help looking up at him as he lowers his scarf.

“Yeah?” The scarf muffles the word.

His free hand finds itself on her cheek, slowly pulling down the worn fabric to reveal rosy cheeks. A bit lower and her upper lip peeks above the piece of cloth. As he contemplates whether to succumb to this gnawing need, his focus flits between her curious gaze and her lips. In the end, he decides to play it safe, convincing himself that this is a step forward.

The boy presses his lips against her cheek. It burns… having her so close, having his lips touching a part of her. It’s not the first time. He’s pecked her cheeks time and time again, be it under the effect of alcohol or drugs, sober, or hungover (when he wants no one to as much as breathe within a square kilometer as him). He’s held back for so long. So why does it hurt so bad trying to keep his lips from straying?

“For defending me.” He clarifies, still struggling not to kiss her very breaths, “I owe you one.”

What Rin doesn’t know is that her cheek burns too.

  December 27th

There is nothing quite like academic validation. Because when it’s all said and done, the numbers will be there to remind you that this is how much you’re worth, whether you deserve to eat and enjoy that movie, whether you deserve to step out into the balcony and just breathe in the chilly 3:00 AM air and the view of the bustling city. All of it is determined by how well you do in your classes, and how pleasing your opinions are to people whose words matter infinitely more than yours.

So why not be worthy of those numbers and wear them like a badge of honor? Why not toil away when others are putting their plates away? Why see yourself as remotely human, as if you have any right? How could Y/n give a second thought to the rumbling of her stomach when the buzzing doom in her head kept vibrating in all the wrong crevices of her mind?

“Hey.”

Being the narrator, I hear it. Not Y/n, though. Speaking to her right now is no different from trying to converse with an animated corpse in a tomb; the soil and the casket tune everything out.

Just as Chiharu is about to change her mind, her friend’s stomach decides to summon fire from the pit. Of course, Y/n still doesn’t notice she needs sustenance. Now Chiharu knows what to do in order to get the girl’s attention without having her draw further into her shell; dinner. It’s about 9 PM but it will be a welcome change of pace for both. Chiharu buys herself some more time to think and Y/n gets to eat something she didn’t “waste” time making.

Setting the plate beside the laptop, Chiharu tries again.

“Hey,” she says.

This grabs Y/n’s attention, who almost recoils at the sight of the sandwich, Caesar salad, and the girl hovering above her.

Removing her headphones, she responds, “Sup.”

In a room as devoid of lighting as Y/n’s bedroom, the only way for Chiharu to see is to squint. But she’s not about to do all that. Instead, she switches on the light.

“I know you don’t like wasting time so I’ll just cut to the chase.” She takes a deep breath, “Come to the New Year’s Eve party.”

Fingers tensing on the keyboard, Y/n answers, “Don’t know if I can make it.”

“We don’t have classes ‘till January and I know you took extra shifts before winter break started to make up for the hours.”

“Yeah, but-

“Ayame feels really bad, you know?”

And Y/n feels like painting her sight black and flattening the sounds that Chiharu is producing. The thought of someone feeling any manner of discomfort, anything remotely negative because of her absence, is foreign, a cryptid. She doesn’t know. She doesn’t understand. Therefore, she is as much afraid as she is intrigued. Looking back at the screen, she absentmindedly types “a” after “a”.

“She can’t look you in the eye without feeling like bursting into tears.”

Well, that sounds familiar. It isn’t like Chiharu to guilt trip others into bending over backward to fulfill her wishes. However, the girl has known Kuroo for a long time. They’ve been at each other’s throats, tussling since they were toddlers barely on their feet, and adopted traits of each other over the years they have spent making fun of those same traits. Kuroo is a phenomenal guilt-tripper. Full stop. The worst part is that in most cases his way is the way that works best, even if he has to seek Y/n’s input beforehand.

“Is it guilt-tripping I detect?” She asks, already knowing the answer.

Chiharu smiles sheepishly.

“Maybe? Look,” She says, shaking her head, “I just think it would be a nice change of pace. Beneficial for everyone, not just me or Ayame or that obnoxious hellcat.”

Y/n’s fingers come to a halt, the cursor still pulsating on the screen.

“Who else is coming?” She inquires.

“Tooru gave a vague answer so I don’t know if he’s planning to join us.” Chiharu answers and Y/n hopes that the girl isn’t able to detect the small relief washing over her, “But Rin is and so is Kenma. Kenma, if you remember him, has been asking about you by the way. Haven’t you gotten his texts?”

Rolling her eyes, Y/n mutters, “You know I have. I just don’t know what to say.”

“Bingo!” Chiharu exclaims, “If you come with us, you’ll be halfway there. Once you see each other I’m sure conversation between you two will flow like period blood.”

That’s enough for one night, Y/n decides as she turns to properly face the verbal massacre on her screen. Chiharu’s similitude of choice was simply too out-of-pocket even for her.

“I’ll come if you promise never to use that comparison again,” she says.

“Great!” She can feel Chiharu raising a triumphant fist. “Finally, I did something right. Okay, so I’ll leave you be now. Night- night!”

Shutting the door behind her, Chiharu lets out a sigh of contentment. This might just be her greatest achievement of the year.

“Chiharu,” She whisper-yells to herself, a smile on her face, “You dumb fucking bitch. You made it.”

On the other side of the door, Y/n carefully picks up the sandwich. She brings it to her lips and the first bite tastes like food that is neither exquisite nor too bland, merely meant to stave off the hunger while not tasting horribly too much like hay. The second bite is a log in her throat, hard to swallow. The third tastes like ‘loss’.

“Mama, your belly is so pretty,” she says.

They’re sitting on the sofa in their old apartment, the fabric of the cover soft to the touch, like the fuzz of the peaches that her auntie has just sliced nicely and placed on a plate for them to enjoy. It’s summer but the evening is caressed by a beautiful breeze. The day is hot enough to remind everyone it’s still the hottest season of the year but not so much so that they have to wipe off their sweat every two minutes.

Her mom is near her, gently rubbing her belly and smiling down at it. Y/n thinks her mom is very beautiful. Her light brown eyes are always so much prettier when she smiles and sunlight adores her hair. How Y/n wishes she could be like her.

“It’s true, baby.” Her auntie lifts her up and sits Y/n down on her lap, “Mama is so pretty.”

Her mom laughs and kisses Y/n on the cheek. The little girl can’t help but giggle. Then her stomach rumbles; a noise that can’t go unheard in a house as quiet as theirs, especially with the TV turned off. Her mom and auntie look at one another before shrieking with laughter.

“Is my little girl hungry?” Her mom asks.

Y/n nods and quietly says, “Yes, mama.”

“Okay, sit here, baby. Auntie will make you a sandwich.”

Just as her aunt is about to lift Y/n off her lap, her mom gets up, one hand supporting her back and the other on her belly still drawing soothing circles.

“No, stay there.” She says, making her way to the kitchen. “You must be tired of cooking and cleaning since dawn.”

Her aunt sighs. “It’s nothing. You’re the one that’s pregnant.”

“That doesn’t mean I can’t make my little girl a sandwich, does it?”

While her mom prepares her sandwich, which will undoubtedly make her eat less at dinner, her auntie takes to tickle the life out of her. Tears pool in her eyes as she tries to wriggle out of the woman’s hold, giggling all the while. Then, finally managing to do so, she throws her arms around her auntie’s neck and asks for a piggyback around the living room. So, the woman does and Y/n feels safe and content at the speed at which her auntie is marching and with her head buried in the crook of the woman’s neck. She could just doze off.

“It’s readyyyyy!” Her mom calls as she walks out of the kitchen.

Instantly, Y/n asks to be let down (which her aunt doe) and dashes across the living room to where her mom is, wrapping her arms around her legs. She feels her mom’s hand rest atop her head as they both head toward the dining table. Y/n climbs on the chair, eager to taste the sandwich.

It has everything in it that she likes; ham, arugula, pesto sauce, peanut butter, cherry tomatoes, cucumbers, and walnuts. Her mouth is assaulted by the flavors all at once. Every bite is a bit of worldly joy reserved for her alone, even the crumbs. She listens to her mom and auntie talk about the dinner planned for tonight, one in celebration of her dad’s promotion at work. An invitation has been sent to her dad’s superior, who is also his friend.

There is too much happiness in her heart because everyone is happy and she’s just had her favorite meal. I guess the universe decided she’d had too much of it. A few months later, they were on their way to a different prefecture. And the fault, they had decided, was hers. No longer was the sandwich made for her. Her mom didn’t kiss her cheek, whether she was blissful or blue.

But years down the line she’d make this sandwich for her friends at her auntie’s house during summer break. For one month, she’d take a bite out of joy with them, have her fill then starve again.

Even now, with that awareness in mind, Y/n devours it all.

   December 31st, New Year’s Eve

Her eyes cannot stand the light that bleeds from the lampposts so she squints, hoping to catch a glimpse of Kuroo’s apartment. Chiharu and Ayame walk ahead of her, careful not to leave her too far behind. The elevator is filled with their giggles and the mirror is a movie. Y/n watches on with a smile as they tug on each other’s arms and reapply their lipstick. Then they’re out and walking towards Kuroo’s apartment (a penthouse really).

The door swings open and there stands the host in all his rabid glory. He pulls Ayame in for a kiss then wrestles Chiharu for a hug. At Godspeed, his eyes land on Y/n. A maniacal smile that would incense anyone that isn’t his friend grows on his face at the sight of her.

“Y/n!” He exclaims, crushing her in his embrace, “Where have you been loca? It’s been ages!”

Patting him on the back, she immediately starts to tease him.

“Do I discern the absence of a comb, Jacob?”

Kuroo kicks the door closed. “I am ever so poor, Y/n!”

“Positively destitute.” She shoots, rolling her eyes.

He laughs and leads the way to the living room.

“Without you around to bully me lovingly?” He whines theatrically, “Of course, I’ve been destitute! Forlorn even!”

He hugs her a bit tighter before finally letting her go.

“Kenma’s in his room.” He tells her. “The sly bastard promised he would join the party. I should have known his words were but sweet deceit.”

Y/n laughs softly at his words. She’s always loved Kuroo’s theatrics. He never means for his jokes or dramatic displays to be malicious. Though, he does lack the tact to say the right things on a day-to-day basis. Nevertheless, he always apologizes, practically begging on his knees for forgiveness. Kuroo is someone everyone needs in their life. Y/n realizes she wants to make him feel like a friend that she wants in her life. It’s time she stopped treating him like a stranger.

So, she keeps the conversation going. They talk about their health, studies, movies they’ve watched, and books they’ve read. They gossip about everything and everyone, laughing at each other’s jokes until Ayame joyfully pulls him away to dance. Y/n waves at them before heading toward Kenma’s ‘hideout’.

Rapping her fingers against the door, she waits for the sound of his voice. After the second time, she hears him yell ‘I’ll be there in a bit, Kuroo!’. She hasn’t been here in a while. The atmosphere is one she’s not used to and usually, it wouldn’t be something to shy away from. But it’s Kenma and everything about him used to be familiar, like every time they talked their planes of existence found a common solution.

Grabbing the door handle, she tries to silence all the chastising voices in her head. In his chair, Kenma remains unmoving, clicking away with his mouse. This leads her to believe that he’s still unaware that it’s her standing in his room, not Kuroo. Did they forget to tell him? Could it be that he’s purposefully acting like she’s not even here? Is she overstepping by entering? Has she ruined everything?

Then, something seems to snap in him. Maybe it’s the silence that follows the pattern of her footsteps as she halts in the center of the room. It might be the hope that she hasn’t flaked on her promise to show up for her friends. It could be the hope that his friend is finally back. Kenma spins in his chair and his eyes widen at the sight of her. Before she can even raise her hand in a greeting he springs from his seat and wraps his arms around her shoulders.

“Missed you.” He breathes.

Her chest feels heavy as if loaded with stones and there’s a noose around her neck as she says, “I missed you too.”

Somewhere between her being scared of being turned away and him lunging for her, the fear of rejection had turned into confusion. But it’s okay because as she and Kenma sit at one of his desks, what came seems like a foggy memory. The first thing he asks about is whether she’s okay, whatever that means. Y/n responds with a shrug and a ‘better’, recalling the past few weeks; her fight with Oikawa, her departure from his apartment, and the visit to Rin’s childhood home. She asks him the same question, which he answers with a slight smile and a ‘better now’. After that they talk about random things; the plant they ‘adopted’, how Kuroo keeps blasting phonk music through the speakers at 7 in the morning, how Chiharu talked to Kenma about wanting to make things right, and so on.

“How are things going with your company?” Y/n inquires while munching on a tangerine.

“Smoothly for now.” Kenma takes another tangerine from the bowl and peels it. “We’ve been developing this game but we can’t seem to get the designs right.”

“Can I take a look?”

“Sure.”

He clicks on the file the designer emailed him. She scans the entire document, tilting her head in thought.

“A bit repetitive.” Y/n concludes, popping another slice in her mouth, and Kenma nods. “Tell me more about the lore within the game. I know you kept what we discussed at the beginning but Rin told me you’ve expanded on it.”

He tells her all about it, fishing the old sketches and diagrams out of the drawer. They go through it one more time before he tells her about the additions to the lore. She, in turn, offers advice on how to apply these changes to the characters’ dialogues and designs. If things remain as disjointed as they are at the moment then it will only be detrimental down the line.  She jots down everything for him to keep in mind and discuss with the designer when at their next meeting.

Just as the dust of their efforts begins to settle, Kenma hits her with a most befuddling question.

“What would you do if your best friend confessed to you?”

Y/n frowns. “Best friend? Confession?”

“Yeah, like…” His Adam’s apple bobs up and down and his nervous gaze flits between his feet and the screen. “How would you react if they disclosed their feelings for you?”

“As in… romantic feelings?” Y/n asks and Kenma nods shyly. “I haven’t given it much thought.”

Kenma turns to her, eyes roaming her face. “But you’ve had feelings for someone before.”

“He was never my friend. Never wanted to be.” She shrugs. “Sorry, I can’t help you.”

There’s a beat of silence, during which Kenma can’t decide whether to look his friend in the eye or zone out. Ultimately, he decides to tell her the truth of it.

“The guy I like is in a relationship with someone else.”

Confessing is like cutting of the straps of a bag loaded with stones and letting it fall to the ground. His shoulders feel light and his lungs can finally fill with air. It’s not like coming out is a big deal in their friend group. Chiharu is asexual and Y/n, Rin, and Oikawa are bisexual. Only Kuroo and Ayame seem to be straight (Kuroo not so much lol).

Y/n’s frown deepens. “Why would you fall for someone who looks like he has hellcats style his hair on the daily?”  

Kenma holds back a gasp. He hadn’t imagined she’d figure him out so easily.

“How did you know it was him?” He groans in embarrassment, dragging his hands down his face.  

“Kenma, you and I barely go out.” Y/n points out. “I don’t think people in relationships, other than Kuroo, are a common sight for you.”

Defeated, he mouths. “Brutal.”

After gorging on tangerines some more, Kenma decides to make good on his promise to Kuroo and the party. The hellcat wastes no time in dragging the unwilling gamer to the dance floor. If the taller boy takes notice of how his friend at once flinches at and melts under his touch, he doesn’t give it away. Instead, he spins the boy around and gather’s the boy’s hair in a ponytail. Before Kenma can make his escape, Kuroo throws his arm around his waist and pulls him toward a group of guys dancing their worries away, 100% under the influence.

In the kitchen, Y/n finds Chiharu shoving a rolled slice of pizza in her mouth with zero concern for the choking hazard she has created and Ayame encouraging her in true cheerleader fashion. The latter waves Y/n over and hands her a slice of the shrimp pizza she’s been keeping an eye on since it was delivered. For the next 20 minutes or so, the three of them chatter by shouting over the music and can only manage to grasp about half of what the other is saying.

“Tooru-kun is coming, isn’t he?” Ayame asks at one point, having had to repeat the question for the third time.

Y/n notices how Chiharu slows down, only taking a small bite of the pepperoni after the daredevil atrocity she swallowed before.

“He said he’d think it over.” She says, blowing a wisp of neon green and black hair away from her face. “He’s been really busy with practice lately. Which is fine, I guess. As long as he’s not drinking.”

Ayame’s face twists with concern, “Is he getting any help?”

“Don’t think so.” Chiharu sighs. “He’s so stubborn, claiming it’s just a passing phase. That he can quit whenever he wants but just chooses not to.”

Y/n looks away from the two. This conversation couldn’t be further from what she wanted it to be. It only serves as a reminder of how insensitive she was with regard to his alcohol dependency the last time she saw him, how she’d cornered him because of how cornered she’d felt herself.

“What about you?” She asks Chiharu and when she turns to look at them the girl looks almost surprised to hear her ask.

“I’m tired, to be honest,” Chiharu answers with a sigh, the beginning of a smile detectable in her voice. “I just want to fly to Iceland and sleep for a year. So many fucking assignments piling up that I can’t see over them.” She shakes her head. “I almost asked for your help.”

Y/n holds back a scoff. “As if I would have been of any help.”

“No, but you would have been there to listen to me ranting while I look for the brush I’m holding.”

“I would have let you look for hours until you finally realized.”

Ayame and Chiharu laugh at that, already drunk off their wits. Y/n briefly wonders whether the jolly and spirited girl would remain as such if Kenma’s feelings for her boyfriend. Their friend group would certainly crumble. Nothing would be the same. There was no reason for her to be in the know since Kenma had no intention of confessing to Kuroo anyway.

Suddenly, Chiharu nudges her with her elbow. “Rin was looking for you before he decided that hotboxing in Kuroo’s bedroom was a good idea.”

Y/n looks at the crowd in the living room, past which lay the stairs to the second floor where Kenma’s and Kuroo’s respective bedrooms are.

“Is he still there?” she asks.

Ayame nods. “Yeah, I think so.”

Y/n nods and finishes the slice of pizza in her hand.

“Tell him to get his ass over here!” Chiharu yells over the music as Y/n heads out of the kitchen. “There’s pizza!”

None of them are coming down to eat and Chiharu knows that.

Y/n navigates around the sweaty bodies and takes the stairs. Once she’s in front of Kuroo’s bedroom, she knocks, then knocks again. Before she entirely surrenders, the door is thrown open and the face of Suna Rintaro looms over hers. The smile is slow to grow but once it does, there is nothing quite as inviting. Though even if he were frowning that wouldn’t change how he tugs her into the room, turning the key so that nobody dares disturb their peace. In but a few seconds, she finds herself in his embrace as his arms wind around her shoulders. Fabric softener and the earthy tones of his perfume curl inside her lungs and, in turn, her insides curl with a feeling that isn’t altogether unfamiliar.  The same is happening on his end.

I hope you can understand my frustration when I tell you that they each believe themselves to be utterly alone in this flurry of sensations. But it gets bearable, both for them, me, and you, once they plop down on the bed beside each other, ruffling Kuroo’s silky bedsheets as they get comfortable.

Y/n turns her head to the right to look at him only to find him already gazing.

“I was expecting to find you passed out,” She confesses.

Rin crosses his arms beneath his head. “Felt like lying to people for fun tonight.”

“Finishing the year strong.”

“Now that you’re here looking like this? Yes.”

As if his words weren’t enough to fluster and confound her, he turns and, supporting his weight on his elbow, brings his other palm to her face. Rin has always been observant. Always scrutinizing. Always picking up on what others can’t be bothered to spare a second look at. It’s no surprise that he’s able to tell she didn’t do the makeup herself, save for one thing.

“Did Ayame do your makeup?” His thumb rests on her cheek, careful not to press too hard on the artwork.

Y/n’s eyes try to search his but they’re someplace else. “Not all of it.”

“Figured. Your eyes have your touch.” Rin’s eyes shoot up to meet hers. Picking up on the bubbling self-consciousness, he adds. “In a good way.”

He wishes he could kiss her eyelids, the glitter painting his lips with the same brilliance that it has bestowed upon her eyes. Rin thinks that she looks much like what he imagines the universe to feel; the galaxies scattered above and below, within and around it, feed something lonely, and a black eye that beholds and consumes them. Her gaze feels like the joy of adolescence come to life, only better, more thrilling, and intimate. He wishes he could kiss them because he desperately wants to. Because he can’t look into them for too long without losing himself completely.

“I was kinda afraid to enter.”

Rin’s eyebrows shoot up. Then they furrow. His hand, on the other hand, stays still.

“Why would you be afraid?” He asks.  

She shrugs. “Thought you might be with someone.”

His chuckle, though inaudible to everyone else, bounces inside her skull. Not even the music coursing through the veins of the entire building (Kuroo has paid good money for the neighbors to tolerate this level of acoustic pollution) can drown it out. Y/n can feel his chest vibrate. It’s as if each gulp of air has him drawing closer.

“That’s not a reason, angel.” He finally says.  

“What would constitute a reason then?”

“You’re the only one that doesn’t need one.”

Her reluctance comes out in the elongated but fading. “Why?”

Well, what should he say to that? What would be considered a response that wouldn’t have her shutting down right before his eyes; face turned away, lids shut tight, feed padding across the floor as he watches her leave? How can he prevent that from happening while telling the truth? Because you’re the only part of me I can’t reject. Suna Rintaro is observant but words often fail him when it matters most. The stronger he feels about something, the more excruciating it is for him to express it. If I had to describe it, it would be; the truth of his soul is the flesh beneath all the misperceptions and alter egos. He never bares it, never lets it bleed.

“If you hadn’t shown up,” He leans down to whisper in her ear, I’d have spray-painted 2012 Tumblr poetry on your bedroom door.”

Y/n groans and pushes him away, face scrunching in disgust at the stupid tilt of his lips. “That’s torturous, Rin. I’d rather you choked me.”

If she weren’t too busy cringing at the flashbacks of 2012 Tumblr poetry, she would see his eyes darken by small degrees until the final sparkle in them is replaced by a glint of mischief and lust. Never before has he felt the urge to tease someone so primally. It’s either he gets to touch her in some way or his dick hardens in his jeans and he has to look for some stranger to spend the night with.

His breath catches in his throat as it occurs to him that this might be it. If this worked, it could end up with them kissing. Worst case scenario, he could play it off as teasing.

“Like this?”

Bringing his fingers to her neck, he watches her questioning eyes flit from his hand to his eyes. The pad of his thumb relaxes on her vein, feeling it pulsate. Slowly, his gaze travels upwards to her lips. They part with a sigh just as he applies a bit of pressure on both sides of her neck. He alternates between slow caresses, teasing, little scratches, and using ‘force’, a combination that builds up anticipation even amidst puzzlement. It’s a rhythm he doesn’t care to create with anyone else truth be told, as it is too intimate. But she is aware of none of this.

Then her hand clasps around his wrist, putting a stop to his ministrations. For a moment, he thinks she’ll tell him he’s getting ahead of himself.

“Why do you touch me like the people you sleep with?” She asks instead.

There it is… obliviousness. He can take confusion. He can understand not being used to having your friends kink-choke you. What he won’t stand for is mentioning others while he’s literally dying to get a taste of her mouth.

“You don’t know how I touch them.” He states.

Her grip relaxes around his wrists but his touch doesn’t abandon her neck. The skin tingles from his earlier attentions, sending intervals of want straight to her lower regions.

“Maybe not while you fuck them.” Y/n adds, “But I’ve seen you flirt.”

“Is that so?” Rin raises a brow. “Tell me how I touch them then.”

The encouragement isn’t all that convincing. So, she hesitates at first. But the expectant hum coming from him urges her to try and describe to him how his sexual encounters are filtered through the perception of the one person that mattered.

“You rest your hand on their thighs. Rub your thumb in circles.” She begins, “Like this.”

Before she can even lift her hand off the covers, Rin’s fingers have already left her neck in favor of her thigh, making sure to slide smoothly across her torso. If only she wasn’t wearing tights, he thinks, I could feel the warmth of her skin seep into mine so much faster.

“Go on.” He says, rubbing circles on her covered thigh, just where her black corduroy skirt ends.

“Then, when you pull them toward the dance floor, your hand goes around their middle.” Her breath hitches as his actions follow each gasping word, “Sometimes your fingers press into their sides.”

Getting above her, Rin uses his knee to part her thighs. Her skirt rides up a little as he does so, though not nearly as much as he wishes it did. Therefore, he takes matters into his own hands and lifts her thighs off the bed enough for his fingers to slide the skirt further up a few more inches. His nails then dig into her supple flesh only to abandon the area for her waist, settling there as he leans ever so close. Barely 3 inches stand between their lips now.

“And when you kiss them…” Y/n trails off, unable to decide whether to stare at his lips or into his eyes.

Rin hums, nodding. “When I kiss them?”

“You wrap your hand around their neck, lifting up their chin.”

Having been desperate for an opening, Rin doesn’t hesitate to make his way up to her throat, ‘forcefully’ cupping her jaw, eliciting a small gasp from her. One hand on her waist, the other on her face, he goes in for the kill, his own lips parting in response to hers. Fuck’s sake he can’t wait to have her at last, to feel her all around him, be intoxicated by her touch, drowning in her sighs and whimpers as he takes from and gives to her again and again and again. With the way her hands come up his shoulders, holding on for dear life as if he’s about to turn into thin air. As if he’d so much as think about replacing the feeling of her around him for the mindless snogging with someone random.

Rin has always imagined he could take it slow with her when the time came. But the present is unfolding quite differently. Two seconds in and he can’t handle the way their lips are simply touching, as if his mouth isn’t dying to devour hers, as if his teeth aren’t suddenly sharper in want of her lips. So, he initiates a deeper kiss by being the first to introduce his tongue, sliding it into her mouth and waiting for her to reciprocate. Y/n does so soon enough, getting to feel it toying with hers just for a second or two before it draws back to get a taste of her lips. After flicking her lower lip, he starts to nip at it, tugging and releasing as she moans in response. Then he adds tongue again, this time bringing the hand resting on her waist up to her chest, fondling her breasts as she leans forward for more.

The moment he stops the kiss to smile down at her with his eyes closed in bliss is the moment Y/n unwittingly spoils the mood.

“Then you disappear.”

Rin peers down at her in confusion but doesn’t draw farther from her.

“Do I disappear when I’m with you?”

“No.” But it comes out more as a question.

“I see no crowd here.” His jaw flexes. “For all our friends know, I’m currently fucking the shit out of you right now.”

He wishes his dick didn’t twitch at his own words and so does she. But more than horny, Rin is frustrated and, somehow, hurt. That’s why he can’t help but draw back, kneeling between her thighs as he contemplates asking an extremely risky question.

“Why do you think I don’t disappear with you?” He asks instead.

She looks to the side before he cups her jaw to redirect her gaze to him.

“Because,” She says, swallowing, “You don’t see me that way.”

There it is, Rin groans internally, that stubborn need to assume everything about me. If only she could stop thinking I don’t desire her, just because she believes no one else ever has. If she were to ask me straight-up, I would tell her. But how can I convince her that I want to kiss her, fuck her, and be with her, if she hasn’t understood it by now? I literally had my tongue inside her mouth two seconds ago. Even now, I’m kneeling between her legs with a boner I can’t tame.

“You don’t understand how I see you.” He mutters, relinquishing her.

Her chest burns as he moves to sit at the edge of the bed, seemingly in thought as he stares at the door.

“Are you leaving?” Why is her voice suddenly so small, she wonders.

“The party? No.” Rin answers, getting off the bed and heading for the door. “Just this room.”

Rin knows he feels the most cared for in her presence. What he doesn’t know is the feeling of being that one item at the store that is no one’s first, second, or final pick because it’s at the very front. The item is some random person’s final resort when there is no one they can turn to. Then discarded without a second thought. He doesn’t know that speaking his mind would put an end to this agonizing wait for his feelings to be perceived in their purest form. He doesn’t realize that he wouldn’t be disposed of by someone who knows what it’s like to be treated as such. And because none of this occurs to him, he shuts the door behind him and joins the mindless mayhem in the living room, feeling none of the joy and excitement, and all of the disdain and exasperation for himself and the way things turned out.

Y/n’s chest still burns, even as she rubs her palms raw over her thighs to make her brain think it’s her hand that hurts.  

   Tooru is one lousy bastard to come here unfashionably late, knowing well and clear that he’s about to slink away from the party just 30 minutes after his arrival. Even that’s being generous. This is neither the time nor the place for him to be all smiley and shit. All he wants to do right now is pop a can open and drain his poison of choice. It’s the final night of the year after all. Aren’t they all supposed to get irrevocably wasted and make decisions they would loathe to make while sober? At least, that’s what he tells himself as he turns off the engine and steps out of the car with a sigh.

He doesn’t catch the anxious murmurs at first as he locks the car doors. But as he takes to the steps a voice, small and whispery, seeps into his ears. If it were anyone else, he might have hurried over and asked if they needed any help. But it’s her voice and the thought of her turning him away once again is daunting, to say the least. Reluctant, however, he makes for the benches among the trees lining the perimeter of the apartment building. Here, Tooru notices, the wind beats the earth much more gently.

“Fuck, I messed up.”

His eyebrows come together in confusion. Because there she’s standing, crouching with her palms planted on her face as if she wishes she could skin it alive, one strip of skin at a time. Tooru has no time to take in her outfit⸺ the knee-length gray wool coat, the black corduroy skirt from before, the iron-grey turtleneck, and the black shoes⸺ because her tirade goes on, becoming more hurried by the second.

“Hey.” He says, making his way to her. At the sound of his voice, she flinches and immediately stands, wiping at her cheeks with the back of her hand. “Hey, what’s wrong? Why are you out here in the cold?”

Tooru tries to sneak a peek at her face, but she pushes him away.

“Leave me alone.” She mutters, waiting for him to leave.

But Tooru is nothing if not stubborn.

Taking hold of her elbow gently, he asks, “Y/n what happened?”

Y/n groans and shakes him off of her.

“You happened.” She bites out and pushes against his chest, forcing him to stumble back a step. “Go away.”

“Y/n-

“No!”

The breath catches in his throat, and for a few wintry moments, in which she glares at him with incomparable loathing, Tooru dares neither to inhale nor exhale. He can only stand still, wishing he could reshape the course of time, remodeling history so she didn’t have to hurt. But he only waits for her to carry on.

“Ever since-” She begins, eyes shut tight and words cut short as it physically pains her to speak them and look at him as she does. With a newfound ache, she glares at him again, forefinger digging into his chest. “Ever since you showed up everything is all wrong. It’s all wrong! I was okay. Everything was okay. It was over. I was- I had left you behind! And now you won’t disappear! Why won’t you disappear? Go away.”

It's clear to Tooru that he has absolutely no right to be hurt, and that he deserves every manner of abuse in existence. But he’d be lying if he were to claim that her wanting him out of her life isn’t the worst thing that’s ever happened to him for quite some time. The Tooru from before, the one always in denial and going around laying waste to everything in search of refuge from his fears, would have been ecstatic. Right? Yes… and no. But that is a matter reserved for later.

The concern of the present is her breaking down in front of him, face crumpling like a wet shirt as her eyes fill with tears and she crouches again, covering her ears as if doing so will lessen the gravity of what she believes to be true. Unable to take it anymore, Tooru crouches before her, wrapping his fingers around her wrists. But she shakes her head and continues.

“I messed up. It’s my fault. I messed up. Messed up. I’m sorry. I messed up. I’m-  

“Hey, hey, look at me.” He soothes the girl, rubbing circles on her skin. “It’s fine. Here, sit with me. Let’s regulate your breathing. Breathe with me, won’t you.”

They stay like that for some time, 10 minutes or so, until she finally opens her eyes and slowly removes her hands from her ears.

“Can you speak now?” Tooru asks when he feels it is safe to do so. She doesn’t answer so he tries a different route. “Do you want to?”

She stands and, too ashamed to meet his worried gaze, looks at her shoes. By now, he’s released her wrists and she’s free to run away if she so wishes. Though he can’t promise he won’t follow her as he’s worried sick her state of mind might be too muddled to trust her to look at both sides of the road before crossing.

“Do you not want it to be me who listens?” He tries again. Y/n nods and he glances up at the building. “Let me go get Suna or Kenma.”

Before he can bolt for the entrance, she grabs onto his coat.

“No, I, ngh.” She turns her face to the side, wiping at her nose with her coat sleeve (which would be disgusting if she hadn’t just broken-down minutes before). “I just- I hate that you found me.”

Tooru takes in her facial expressions. The way she averts her eyes, utterly ashamed of what he had witnessed and the way she was holding onto him. He places his hand on hers and her eyes shoot straight to where they touch.

“Do you hate that you want to tell me?” He says, all too aware of the answer.

Again, she looks away, this time nodding slowly.

“It’s okay. I understand.” Tooru faces her fully, acting as if he doesn’t want to crawl into a hole and eat dirt. “I’m not leaving unless you’re leaving with me.” He smiles even though she still refuses to look at him. “I would flip the coin again but I’m not certain I’ll be able to accept whatever fate the coin chooses for us. I’d end up sitting here, by your side, until the very end.”

She looks at him now. It’s nothing more than fleeting glances at first. Then their gazes lock and Tooru has to fight the urge to dust the snowflakes off her cheeks and melt the frost, which is steadily settling on her lashes from all the crying, between his gloved fingers.

Instead, he takes her by the hand and leads her toward his car and for the first time Y/n doesn’t question his motives. Tooru drives them to a quiet café that has yet to close as it wants to milk whatever customers might be wandering about the city of Tokyo at this hour. She doesn’t seem ready to speak yet so he takes the liberty to place both of their orders. Coffee would be downright catastrophic to her mental state at the moment. It was known for worsening symptoms of anxiety and the last thing she needed was a repeat of what had happened not even half an hour ago. So, he orders tea for both; peppermint for her and chamomile for himself. He pays and joins her at the table near the air conditioner.

After the waiter has served the tea, it takes a long moment for Y/n to look up from the crumpled napkin currently being picked to shreds.

“I messed up.” It comes out like a whimper and her face crumples up again. “I really did. Like I always do.”  

Tooru doesn’t know where to begin. Truly, he doesn’t know.

“Why do you say that?” But this question seems like a decent place to start.

Her fingers work faster at picking apart the napkin and she says, “I went there, thinking it would be like nothing had happened.”

“And it isn’t?”

How could it be? Kenma had only stopped texting under the assumption that she needed a break from what had happened, not because he’d thought the damage irreparable. Kuroo missed the way she would argue a point to the finish line (the line being Kuroo either smiling at the depth of information or admitting defeat with a theatrical sigh of exasperation). Chiharu and Ayame were wicked anxious about how things might turn out between them if she decided to go through with the whole moving-out thing. Which was more than likely by this point. Suna would do anything for her, that much was clear to anyone. And Tooru… he would do anything she wanted. He’d be anything she wanted him to be. Even if that meant he’d be gone.

All any of them wished for when it came to Y/n and her relation to the rest was for her to let herself be cared for. But as he watches her try and fight back tears, Tooru says none of this and just hears her out to the end.

“Kenma has been trying to meet with me and this is the first time I’ve seen him since then. And none of them will ever forgive me for that night.” Abandoning the napkin, her hands come up to her ears scratching at the skin behind the shell. “I ruined everything. I want to run away. Never see anyone I know ever again.”

Suna won’t forgive her. She is sure he won’t because she’s repulsive, stupid, and cowardly. If only they knew each other’s hearts and their own the way that I do.

“Iwa-chan said he hopes you see none of us again.”

His voice, a careful and soothing voice, is filtered through the scratching noise that so provides her comfort. But the words are as confusing as this version of Oikawa Tooru, the one that doesn’t seem to mind her presence.

“Although now it’s impossible since we’ve already crossed paths.” He lets out a humorless chuckle. “But yes. He feels responsible for your situation even though he knows it’s not his fault. He thinks of you like family, the same way he considers me his brother. So, it’s complicated for him.”

Noticing the crinkle in her brow, he smiles a little and clarifies. “I think he’d love to see you again, to know you’re not going to run away because of mistakes that aren’t his to bear.”

Her hands relax but stay put.

“Why are you telling me this?” She asks.

Tooru wastes no time providing ample evidence.

“Kuroo made sure to buy your favorite snacks.” He begins counting on his fingers. “Ayame and Kenma picked your favorite songs. Chiharu convinced you to come. And Suna… I trust I don’t need to explain.” He ignores the grimace that passes over her face at the mention of the boy. “You’re mistaken in thinking you’ve laid waste to everything. They may not know and therefore not understand everything fully, but they wouldn’t let your absence dictate the way they see you.”

But that makes zero sense. She isn’t there, hasn’t been part of their lives for weeks, and hasn’t deigned to ask what has happened in her absence. Even then, that doesn’t explain how Iwaizumi is in any way related to the new life she has made of herself and her convoluted relationships if you could call them that.

Y/n brings her hands to the table, toying with the napkin before shooting a glance at the steaming cup of peppermint tea.

“How could Maki, Mattsun, and Iwa not hate me?” Her gaze snaps to him. “You do.”

His chest tightens. His throat constricts. All of a sudden, the air conditioner is bringing his lungs to a boil and the high-quality fabric of the turtleneck makes him itch. He wants out. But that would mean failing to succeed in being let in by her.

Tooru pulls at the fabric around his neck to let the skin breathe.

“Even if that were true, that doesn’t mean it should be their truth.” He hopes he sounds reassuring but knows he doesn’t. Seeing the distrust in the way she slightly purses her lips and the barely noticeable narrowing of her eyes, Tooru tries to plead his case. “I am trying to make up for what I did. Please, believe me. I’m aware it might prove futile. Still… it’s not the only reason why I’m in this café with you right now.”

Her expression tells him that he has yet to make himself understood or appear trustworthy in her eyes. Tooru leans back in his chair and places his left hand on the table, drumming his fingers to a ghostly beat.

“I’m here because you shouldn’t have to turn your back on everything a second time.” He says in one breath. I don’t ever want to look at your back while you run away again. “Because I don’t want you to think it’s your fault.”

The thing about blame and guilt, Tooru begins to understand as her face scrunches once again and she looks away in shame, is that they’re obsessive lovers. Please, have me. I’m all yours. I won’t ever leave you. Everyone says we’re meant to be. What would people think if you divorced us? Please, don’t let go.

Tooru’s fingers still and he reaches out and takes her left hand in his. Y/n flinches but doesn’t pull away.

“It isn’t your fault.” He repeats.

The young man doesn’t expect his words to be the cure, however much he wishes that were the case.

“You’re here trying to lie that I’m not to blame.” She uses her coat sleeve to wipe her eyes, now all red and swollen, with traces of mascara on her waterline from the smudging. “But it’s easy for you to say because you’ve always known that if not your mom, then your friends would have your back. And if your friends abandoned you, you’d still have a place to crash-land softly into.”

His thumb traces the outline of her knuckles. Once Tooru has fully processed her words, a thought occurs to him. He decides to be brave.

“From now on, each time you make mistakes let me be the one you crash-land into.” He looks at her with hope and sincerity in his eyes. “Second by second, I’ll try to make it all better.”

Y/n sniffles. “A part of my brain keeps telling me it’s too soon to trust you.”

“And the other part?” He smirks. “What does it whisper?”

“It says that you are kind.”

His breath hitches. Her dark eyes are too honest, too straightforward for him.

“Which one are you going to put your faith in?” He asks, slowly but playfully still.

Y/n tucks her hair behind her ear and looks to the side. “I don’t- I don’t know.”

While vague, the answer is decidedly honest. Tooru can’t ask for more than that.

“Can I be honest with you?” He says, pulling his chair a bit forward so he can comfortably rest his elbows on the table while still holding her hand.

“Might as well.” She mutters. “Since you already brought me here.”

Tooru clears his throat.

“I had planned on asking you to move in with me. But then.” He smiles sheepishly. “Then I thought about how delusional I was being, how illogical it would be for me to assume you would even consider my offer. I thought ‘Are you that selfish’, ‘Are you that stupid’. Yet, when I told the others, they immediately thought I was being strange but kind.”

Y/n tilts her head as if considering him and everything coming out of his mouth, then looks down. She doesn’t seem surprised, almost as if she’s heard of this before.

“You say that as if you think they’re wrong.” She points out the distrust in his tone. “People have always believed you to be considerate… generous.”

He lets out an awkward chuckle. “I was just desperate. Selfish too.”

The good thing about the silence that ensues is her hand in his. There is no protest as he caresses the back of it, following the curve of her bones. They’ve always been thin, delicate. Each time he had yanked and pulled at her, the fragility of those bones had filled him with instant regret. Yet, every single time, he’d managed to hold on a bit tighter, anxious to keep her there at any cost. Now, he can’t help but shoot furtive admiring glances at the slope of her nose, the delicate arch of her eyebrows, and the dainty cheekbones. All too afraid to so much as gaze at them for too long, lest she catches on and perceives his presence as threatening.

But he wants to say so many things, and they’re all locked in his chest like one big sigh begging to be released.

For more than a year, I’ve been thinking about how it must have been for you when you helped Emiko paint those posters for my games, only for her to follow my lead and hurt you in the end.

When you took care of your little brother after he got scraped his knees playing outside, only for him to emulate my behavior toward you. When you got Maki’s number for that one girl only for her to laugh when I said that you ate disgustingly. When you helped that guy with the chemistry problem only for him to purposely smash his ball into your face. And countless other cases such as this.

I was always the enabler. It fills me with rage.

Tooru shuts his eyes and says, “I’m sorry I ever let the world believe I am the kind one of us two.”

He wishes she would speak, say anything, only not subject him to that unforthcoming silence that follows his apology. Her hand, which until then had remained still and soft under his hands, stirs to life once more. Tooru feels her fingers clench and, instinctively, he gently drags his digits across the back of her hand.

Then, she begins.

“But you are kinder than me. You’re nice to people.” Y/n says with a voice that betrays no uncertainty. “You’re just not kind to me.”

Tooru winces, and when his eyes trail up to her face, the breath in his throat turns to stone. The look on her face is one of resignation as much as it is of self-loathing. It makes him want to shatter something, makes him want to drive his car off a cliff and drown at the bottom of the sea.

Careful not to startle her, he eases her fingers and threads them with his as he moves to sit on the chair to her left.

“I am so, so, sorry.” He confesses, “So sorry I let you believe it was your fault.”

He means every word. He wishes he could make her believe them.

Y/n eyes him skeptically. “How can I be sure this isn’t a long-term prank?”

All Tooru can do is chuckle and offer her an apologetic smile.

“I would beg you to have faith in me,” He says, “But that would be blasphemy.”

Before she can digest his words, an idea blooms in his head. His fingers tighten around hers, which catches her attention; dark eyes flitting from where their hands are touching up to his grinning face.

“What if we treat this as a little experiment?” He proposes with a mien that is almost hopeful. “A project. Treat me like a test subject. Dissect my intentions. Lobotomize my conscience. Bring everything to light and do what you think is best.”

Y/n considers his proposition in silence, holding his gaze as she does.

“Projects have a due date.” She points out.

It doesn’t take Tooru long to think of a deadline. What matters is that she’s taking him seriously.

“How does one year sound?”

“Are you sure you can make up for twelve years in just one?”

His faith in himself wavers at her words. “Do you think it will take longer?”

“I want it to take less. I don’t like-

“Wasting time on things doomed to fail. It’s inefficient.” He nods. Then, as if injected with a lethal dose of dopamine, Tooru makes a gesture as if flipping his hair. “I, however, am unfortunately enamored with what you call failures. I can’t help but want to tend to wounds. So,” He says, leaning closer so that their knees are brushing against each other, “Is a year fine with you?”

Nervous, Y/n brings her other hand to her wrist, scratching at the soft skin.

“A year and a day from tonight.” She tells him.

Tooru fake pouts, “Are you so certain I am going to fail? You wound me, pretty.”

“I don’t think it’s possible for me to hurt you. But just in case… you know.” She shoots him a look as if everything she’s saying is supposed to make sense. And, surprisingly, it does. “I don’t want to ruin New Year’s Eve for you. For all I know, that could be the first time you find yourself on the receiving end of rejection.”

Tooru makes as if to swoon. “So, you do think I’m doomed to fail.”

“Well, yes.” Her response is so deadpan it makes him bark out a laugh.

Though, on a more serious note, this is her trying. Just the fact that she’s willing to go through with this says enough about her commitment to what she had previously agreed to do with Rin. But he hates her now. He doesn’t want to experience everything as it happens in the continuum of a moment. All of it is her fault. But if she can have it with someone else, someone that, until a few hours ago, she would much rather steer clear of, then so be it. What she doesn’t understand is that she doesn’t have to choose. She doesn’t know that Rin could never leave her behind.

The two of them take their tea with two packets of sugar. Over the years, they’ve picked up on each other’s taste; Tooru all the more oblivious to his penchant for observing her whenever she was in the room. He takes in the sight of her as he urges her to talk about random things. He breathes in her scent as she wraps the green scarf, all frayed and spotted with lint, around her neck.  

“Why won’t you throw this thing away?” He asks when they’re out in front of the café.

“Listen, Oikawa-

He tuts, shaking his index finger. “Not if you keep calling me by my last name, I won’t.”  

He sounds playful and his brown eyes sparkle with childlike curiosity. So, she thinks, he’s not being malicious?

“I was supposed to give this to you on your birthday. Well, not supposed to because nobody made me buy it.” She hesitates in divulging the rest to him but ultimately decides to go with it. Her fingers feel the cloth around her neck. “I heard you say you prefer winter over summer because in summer it’s harder to practice, and… I thought you’d like it. And that it would make you hate me less.”

But she hadn’t given it to him and he had continued to believe that for him to be at peace she needed to disappear. Even if she’d chosen differently, Tooru is almost certain he would have found a way to trample on her attempt to befriend him. It would have been no more than wasted effort.

He speaks her name softly, so tenderly that even Tooru himself can barely hear it. But Y/n catches it and looks up at him. She recoils when he takes hold of the scarf and looks away.

“Trust me.” He angles his head so she can see him without having to look up.

Slowly, Tooru unwraps the worn-down fabric and does the same with his thick midnight blue scarf. He then wraps the thick, expensive (believe that it is) cloth around her neck. He can feel her gaze on him as he does the same with her scarf. He can tell she’s more than confused.

“There,” He says, patting the soft material that conceals her lips from view, “Now this feels right.”

Unable to formulate a proper sentence, Y/n simply nods and follows Tooru who immediately heads for his car. The scarf smells too nice for her to argue with him and have him yank it off of her. She breathes him in the entire car ride to the nearest park. His scent settles in her lungs like oxygen and Y/N loathes the moment she’ll have to remove it once she returns home.

Leaning against the railing, they watch the fireworks light up the sky and their reflection in the water mirroring the Big Bang of the New Year.

  Age 17, the night of Tooru’s Birthday

“You should sleep here tonight sweetie.”

Truly, Tooru’s mother shouldn’t have said that. She should have left it well enough alone so Y/n could have worked out some plan of how to evade her mother’s blows and, most importantly, prevent others from bearing witness. But now… now that the offer has been made, it’s like a shroud has fallen over every piece of furniture and every speck of thought.

It shows plainly on Tooru’s face; his stare, the way he sucks in his cheek, his arms crossed over his chest. It would be ridiculous to presume he is anything other than displeased. She’s learned to read him to an extent. Without a doubt, that stance promises that nothing good would come out of staying the night.

“No.” Y/n asserts as politely as she can. She can spy Tooru raising an eyebrow at her words, “I don’t need to. I can just climb from his balcony into mine.”

Yuiko sighs and rubs her soft hands up and down Y/n’s arms. “Sweetie, we already discussed this. That’s extremely dangerous. Just sleep in Tooru’s room tonight. Okay? In the morning we can have breakfast and you can go home after that. Hm, how does that sound?”

“It’s fine.” Y/n insists, placing her hand above the one Tooru’s mom is gently holding her arm with. “I can do it. I’ll be careful not to slip.”

“See, that’s exactly what I fear, sweetie. What if your carefulness isn’t careful enough?” Y/n makes to respond when Yuiko cranes her head in Tooru’s direction, who looks infinitely more cheerful than he was five seconds ago. “Tooru, help me out a little. Convince her that it’s dangerous.”

And that’s the final nail in the coffin. How she wishes something would pulverize her where she stands, that her ashes would be scattered by a storm. Because there is no way Oikawa Tooru, the same person who told her just hours ago that she’d be lucky enough to die while scaling the building before her mom learns of her mistake, would be able to feign any utterance in favor of her continued existence. “Just sleep in my room tonight.” Those words, coming from him, shock her and it shows candidly on her face. He pushes himself off the wall with a smile and reaches for Y/n’s arm, separating her from Yuiko, who returns his smile with one of relief and gratitude. “It’s dangerous to do what you’re thinking of doing.”

As she steps from the security of the living room into his domain, Y/n is the only one not smiling. He releases her the moment the door clicks shut and heads toward the mini-fridge beside his studying desk without casting even a glance her way. The entire time she stands in the center of his bedroom like a stupid bitch, Tooru drinks from a bottle of water, pulls out two cans of beer, and then turns on the TV.

She takes the opportunity to sneak out into the balcony. She tries to make as little noise as possible yet he catches on anyway.

“In a bit, mom will bring you clothes to sleep in.” He stares her down as if to challenge her. “Do you want her to realize you’ve risked your life despite her begging you not to?”

Refusing to back down, Y/n says, “Don’t you want me to leave?”

Before he can answer, there comes a knock at the door. He gestures with his hand for her to answer it. She opens the door just enough to smile briefly at Yuiko.

“Here you go, sweetie,” The woman hands her a baggy, short-sleeved white shirt and a pair of grayish purple shorts along with panties to match. The last item has Y/n’s eyes flitting from Yuiko to the side to make her understand she can’t undress with her son in the same room. “Oh, I don’t think Tooru will mind. He can just turn the other way as you change. Besides,” Yuiko opens the door a little wider and motions to the wall next to the shelves where his numerous figurines stand, “You can use his bathroom. You can even take a shower if you want. Tooru always keeps spare sponges on hand.”

“Alright.”

That is all Y/n says and Yuiko smiles and wishes the two of them goodnight, leaving Y/n with the obvious choice to change out of her garments in the bathroom. Tooru says nothing but she can still perceive the tension emitting from him; penetrating her skin, crawling under it like maggots, rushing through her blood vessels like a substitute for blood. It has sweat pooling at her brow and along the length of her neck. Yet her goosebumps rise all over her arms like rashes that refuse to go away unless treated with some poultice. It’s a disease, this tension. No more, no less. So, she enters the bathroom in order to alleviate the symptoms, if only for a short while.

The clothes don’t exactly fit her. Tooru’s sister, Sayako-san, was much curvier than Y/n when she was her age. But that’s not the issue here. The problem is that Y/n, like any sane person, never wears a bra when she sleeps, and she doesn’t know what he’ll have to say about it. But, like her aunt always says, the need for comfort should always surpass the need for approval or the fear of prejudice.

Obviously, she exits without taking a shower. That would only make him angrier at her and all she wants to do is sleep and pretend he’s anything but furious.

“Out already?” His voice startles her just a little, “Why didn’t you take a shower?”

Walking towards the foot of the bed, Y/n looks at him (seated on the small blue couch and wearing glasses that would look ugly on her). He pauses whatever he was watching before her emergence and makes his way to her. She can hear the gears turning in his head at an inhuman speed, and dread drops in her stomach like a boulder into the sea; heavier than anything she feels when not in his presence.

“I didn’t think you’d appreciate me using your stuff.” Y/n answers.

Stopping less than a meter from where she’s sitting, Tooru scoffs.

“You’re already using my room. Might as well clean up after yourself. Besides,” He draws nearer and she instinctively stands as if to defend herself from any manner of attack. Before she can move out of his way, he yanks her by the arm so that she’s standing in front of him once again, “You’re used to lusting after everything that’s mine.”

“I don’t want to take anything away from you, though.” Her response is bland yet immediate, like a knee-jerk reaction. It’s all she can do to convince herself that she doesn’t need to convince him of anything, to make him understand that she’s not the enemy. “Your mom is just ni-

He clamps his palm over her mouth and grins while leading her to his closet.

“If you want me to treat you better than you deserve even for just one night, you have to stop acting so innocent around me.”

Y/n tears his hand off her face as gently as she can so as not to arouse suspicion that his actions fluster and terrify her.

“You’re wrong.” She says, and he glares down at her. “I’m not-

Tooru shoves two towels in her hands.

“Go shower.” She looks at the back of his head as he sits on the couch, “Hurry. I need to shower too.”

That makes her feel even worse about staying the night; such a burden, a useless log that is tossed from a home that is dismissive of her existence to another that half-wishes she didn’t exist at all. To escape the turmoil, she does as he says; showers using his imported shampoo, shower gel, his extra blue sponge, and spare toothbrush. She’s like 1546385% certain he’s going to chuck it straight into the bin the moment she’s out of his house, perhaps even earlier.

He pushes past her before she’s even completely out of the bathroom.

She scans the bedroom for any place to sit that wouldn’t displease him. If she were to sit on the couch, that would undoubtedly leave room for remarks such as ‘What makes you think you can watch TV with me’ or ‘Why aren’t you asleep’. As for the latter, she doesn’t know where she’s going to sleep. She very much doubts he’s letting her sleep in his bed. Should she sit on the chair beside his desk? Should she stand with her shoulders against the wall? Y/n opts for the last option.

He's towel-drying his hair when he says, “What are you doing?”

Y/n doesn’t bother answering and instead asks a question of her own, “Where am I going to sleep?”

Tooru doesn’t tear his eyes away from her face as he approaches her, brushing his damp hair all the while. She can either hold his gaze and irritate him, or she can look literally anyplace else. The outcome will remain the same. Obviously, she opts for the latter.

“Where do you think?” He asks, no emotion detectable in his voice.  

“Any spare sheets?” She asks, “Since I’m taking the couch-

“Ever the martyr, aren’t you?”

“But you don’t want-  

Tooru no longer bothers to veil his displeasure with frayed niceties. He takes a step in her direction. She stays rooted in place as if his words have cast a spell on her.

“Why?” He sneers, “So that you can tell mom about how mean I’ve been to you? Is that it?” Y/n makes to answer him honestly. He tilts up her chin as if to urge their gazes to lock. “Fucking look at me while I’m speaking to you.”  

She does no such thing, choosing instead to speak with her stare piercing his collarbone.

“I’m not a martyr and-

This time he grabs her jaw and forces their eyes to meet. “I said look at me.”

Now, it’s not like she doesn’t try to yank herself free of his hold, and pry his fingers off her face until she’s no longer tormented by the deprecation and doubts swirling in his brown irises. But admittedly, it would be unrealistic for someone of her physique and athletic ineptitude to overpower someone of Oikawa Tooru’s caliber. Not to mention that he seems to meet her efforts with resilience. Determination makes his eyes gleam with something so feral in nature, so unlike his public image, that she ceases her attempts to liberate herself.

“I’m not a martyr and I’m not going to tell your mom.” Trying not to let on how defeated she feels, Y/n holds on to his forearm (a futile gesture of defiance), “I just want to sleep.”

To keep her mind off the fact that the space between their bodies keeps diminishing, she focuses on literally everything else; the almost imperceptible birthmark on the left side of his jaw, the slope of his nose, the wet strands that are beginning to lose some of their wet-glisten, the curve of his parted lips, and the breaths slipping in and out from between them. It doesn’t work out well. His presence becomes even more overwhelming.

“Well then,” He says, putting some distance between the two of them, “I think this is the right time to tell you I am no brute. You can sleep in my bed, especially now that you’re clean. But if you think I’m going to let you sleep so early,” The look he gives her, as he removes his hand from her jaw to pull her toward the sofa, is nothing short of a warning, “You’re severely mistaken.”

What happens after seems unreal to both of them. Tooru is baffled at himself when he pushes one bottle of beer after another her way at the same time that he’s draining his own. He doesn’t know why he trusts her at this very moment, nor why their hushed laughter makes him feel the vastness between their faces so severely. Their bodies reel from the sheer stupidity of the people in YouTube compilation videos making a fool of themselves in public. At one point he has to stop himself from laughing because he’s afraid he’s going to piss his pants right then and there.

He can sense her hesitation when he offers to microwave some pizza, but he doesn’t understand why that could be. It doesn’t occur to him that it might be because of him or the fact that the noise could wake his mom. Putting his finger in front of his lips in a shushing gesture, he assures her that his mother sleeps like a log and that, for good measure, he’s going to stop the microwave before the beeping sound.

It becomes obvious that she’s starving when he sets the plate on the low table and she all but inhales a slice. At first, he’s worried that she’s going to choke you know. But then she looks closes her eyes and smiles as though she’s having the nicest of dreams. Tooru leaves it be.

It's in the early hours of the morning that they have calmed down somewhat, each of them staring off into space as though the trophies or the buzzing TV screen will provide answers that they cannot get from having a sincere conversation.

As usual, Tooru is the first to speak.

“How do you manage to be alone?”

Under normal circumstances, they would be holding their breath. But they are so… lethargic and drunk that such behavior doesn’t even present itself as a possibility.

Depending on the dose of sincerity and the form it was served, her answer could be either poison or medicine. Even in her inebriated state, Y/n takes a few seconds to answer him truthfully.

“Silence is a good amplifier.” She tells him, and his eyebrows comically climb up on his forehead. “I can hear my heart beating, and everything around me and about me comes alive. I remain invisible to anyone but myself.”  

Sensing that there is more that she wishes to express, he waits for her to finish.

“In silence, I find the strength not to die.”

Her words send tremors right through Tooru’s core, so much so that the can of beer almost slips from his hands (it doesn’t help that his palms have gotten clammy). So, a good minute passes until he’s ready to elaborate on his understanding of her perception of solitude.

“By your logic, the will to live can only be found in solitude.” He settles for looking at her arms as he asks the following question, “People make you want to die?”

“No,” Her answer isn’t immediate but neither of them pays any heed to the belatedness. “Not all the time.”

Resting his head against the couch, Tooru groans.

“Solitude would kill me.” He confesses and takes a sip, “I want to be around the people I care about and never be parted from them. I want to be surrounded by those that adore me, admire me, and never see the end of their idolization of me.” The silence that ensues puts a strain on the otherwise peaceful atmosphere. Still refusing to spare her a glance, he says, “Go on. Say what you have to say.”

This time her response is prompt.

“Sounds a lot like you’re desperate for belonging.”

Tooru’s eyes go wide and he scoffs to emphasize his incredulity at her assumption. His hands are now clammy from the bottle sweating in his hold and itching to search despairingly for some reprieve.

“I do belong. With my friends, my mom, my sister, and my nephew.” His gaze settles on her shoulder as he continues, “Where do you belong?”

Y/n chuckles and Tooru can tell she would rather avoid answering his question.

“Not here.” She answers.

His gaze slowly travels up her neck and cheekbone, finally meeting her eyes in a room where the only source of radiance is the TV screen and the moonlight barging in. What is there to say, he wonders, about her? What is the best thing to say at this very moment? While she sits beside him⸺ cheek propped up on her folded right knee as her left foot rocks back and forth almost imperceptibly, her face tinged a mellow shade of red from the alcohol that just an hour ago used to fill the many bottles that now stand hollow⸺ he doubts he should say anything whatsoever.

But he does so either way.

“Is that how you feel?”

Because not speaking to her feels like a crime against his nature.

She shoots right back. “Isn’t that what you think?”

Now they’re both engaging in a battle of gazes that they are trying to saturate with some manner of temerity. It takes an absurd amount of courage not to flee his own home in search of something insignificant, vulgar, and utterly deplorable just to get the chasteness of the moments spent in her presence to flee from him. It takes several moments of breaths scarcely drawn for him to set his foot down and tell this urge ‘tonight I’m going to stay’.

While he’s mustering the courage to stay where he’s happiest, his hands have a mind of their own; slowly inching in the direction of her left hand until the tips of their fingers are touching just barely. It is stronger than Tooru, the desire to flip their worlds upside down. So, he settles for her hand, his fingers now caressing the hard skin camouflaging the softest of flesh.

Unsure whether to smile or solidify his poker face, Tooru tells her, “Your hands are callused.”

She isn’t far behind. “So are yours.”

Being the narrator has its perks and curses. I get to witness the gradual growth of their affection, which is still too great for their bodies; it spills through the cuts and cracks, bleeding light into a room otherwise washed by the dark. I get to watch him smile as though he’s found the one home that truly feels like one, that ephemeral thing called comfort that slips through the gaps of time, from one heartbeat to the next, that singular thing humans call belonging. I get to see the tremulous dawn of something similar peek above the curve of her lips, as if she’s a little afraid, a little nervous, and a little bit overwhelmed. I get to register his intangible regret and her contented confusion. I get to remember this night as it slips from their minds entirely, the defective record player refusing to let the joy take root… bloom. I get to regret remembering while time flies by, content that it has conquered their misery.

But for now, in the dead of night, he clings to the feeling of familiarity⸺ the scent he adores and forgets time and time again, the rhythmic pattern of her breaths and the rise and fall of her chest⸺ like a child clinging to his birthday balloon. He lets the warmth of her balance the shivers of the 3 AM breeze, because it is, as he slowly begins to understand, the easiest thing to be in her presence. He doesn’t have to pretend, to set his standards for himself so high that he sprains every aspect of his being in the climb to reach it. He can… exist.

He can show her all the memes he has on his phone and she can do the same. He can let her in on jokes his friend group cracks on the daily, revel in her laughter, muffled though it is. He can, in his drunken stupor, twirl strands of her hair around his forefinger, relish the smoothness of it, and let it fall only to repeat it over and over and over again.

She, too, can bask in his beaming smile. The gleam in his brown eyes is genuine, as pure as a candid picture of a raindrop about to plummet into the earth. As if the joy she’s experiencing was not crafted for her, a pang comes where her heart resides, and then another.

“I’m sorry, you know,” Her words invite confusion, but she does not allow him the opportunity to give voice to it. “For being here.”

Tooru knows not how to respond, so he lets his smile speak for him. And when she falls asleep at 3:52 AM, he allows himself the luxury to lie with his back turned to her.

You should know, reader, that the day he learned she’d left home for good wasn’t the first time he’d curled up in bed like a small child afraid of the dark. This isn’t the first time either. If it’s to hold back guilty tears, to suppress apologies that he thinks are either beneath him or above someone as vile as him, he’s more than willing to assume the demeanor of a four-year-old. He’s much too stranded on the mud-like admixture of arrogance and self-loathing to say things like ‘It’s fine’ or ‘Goodnight’. Every bit of his cowardice replenishes his strength to send a drunken prayer; that he might forget he ever felt at home with her.

In the afternoon, when his mom questions him about her whereabouts, she is nowhere to be seen. He thinks he is glad she has gone, so in a way, he got his wish. He believes himself relieved that the evidence of her warmth on his sheets has given way to coolness. But I know how dismayed he is to see her at the playground, sitting on a swing as she converses with Iwaizumi next to her, looking every bit like the girl that he has alienated yet toward whom he keeps gravitating. I know that the discomfort roiling in his chest is nothing but a mixture of fear and shame wound around his lungs like pythons around their prey.

  The music is a drowned thing. Utterly insignificant in comparison to the scream jammed tight in his throat. Barbed wires press insistently against his muscles, shredding his skin. Rin needs someone he can share them with, wrap them in his hurt so they can both be secure within the sky-high fence. What better person to do this with than a stranger? They wouldn’t mind if he were to leave, never to show his face again. They certainly wouldn’t care if he was thinking about anything else while pleasuring them.

As he wraps his fingers around the girl’s neck, angling his head for better access to her lips, he forgets to factor in that people aren’t cutouts of one another.

She breaks away slowly, taking in the distressed look on his face as she asks, “You’re not thinking about me, are you?”

Rin scoffs and leans in once more.

“What does it matter?” He says, lips merely an inch away from hers.

“It doesn’t to me.” The girl shrugs, placing her hands on his arms, which has him halting to look where she’s touching him and then back up at her face. “But you’re not enjoying this.”

Shaking her off, Rin seethes, “How the fuck would you know?”

The girl rolls her eyes.

“I’m just saying you’re not present.” She leans in. “No need to be a little bitch.”

In a second, they’re making out again, but this time Rin is strangely stiff, rigid in his movements. This has never happened to him before. She breaks away, putting some space between them.

“See?” She says with a soft laugh, but Rin refuses to open his eyes. The girl pats him on the arm. “Happy New Year.”

Rin doesn’t say it back because she leaves. Although, there’s a very small chance he would have actually mustered the patience or ability to speak. It’s only after the song ends and ‘house of balloons’ starts playing that gathers the courage to tear his own eyelids open. Everything is painted with splotches of color and it takes a few seconds for him to see clearly. As clearly as he can see in a room lit only by an imitation of a mirror ball.

His mission is to search the house for her. Maybe she’s still where he left her?

“Out.” He tells the couple that’s about to hotbox in Kuroo’s room. “Only Kuroo’s close friends can be here.”

They do as he says, apologizing before stepping out of the room with blunts between their fingers. Rin’s search doesn’t stop here. He trawls the crevices of the penthouse and hounds everyone for any possible sliver of information that they might have on Y/n’s whereabouts. To no avail. She’s no longer here. And if he were to bet on something, it would be that she left almost immediately after he left her there alone and would probably rather not lay eyes on him for the time being.

So, Rin returns to Kuroo’s room and sits on the right side of the bed, feeling the place where she had lain before.

“It was meant to be you.” He mutters, his throat wound tight around the words. “This year was supposed to start with you.”

He watches the fireworks pain the night into day, all the while trying to resist the urge to text or call her. He lies to himself saying this is what has to be done if he wishes for them to remain as tightly knit as they’ve been since they met. His lips throb with want for the feeling of hers as he deceives himself into cowardice because doing otherwise would mean risking everything all over again.

Remember when I said they’d never kissed before? Yeah, I lied so they didn’t have to. 

Taglist: @kurookinnie​ This is so late I’m sorry! 

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[gingerbreadmonsters]

SWEET TALK

or: you’ll always be his favourite flavour.

an apology - this is written in american english, which i do not speak, for a character with a very strong regional accent, which i do not know very well! readers are encouraged to please raise cringe shields to maximum as a precaution. gn!reader, all fluff all day, no content warnings. thank you to the lovely @virtualizated for science support - have a tube of smarties on me! did you know that M&M’s are from new jersey? inspired by ‘my baby just cares for me’ by nina simone, which you should definitely listen to while reading this. milo finding out what love means in 1800 words or less.

(for context - "sweethearts" are a type of small, brightly-coloured confection sold in america that are made of chewy wafer stuff and have short, lovey-dovey phrases printed on them. we have an equivalent in the uk, called "love hearts", which (unlike the american version) are made of sherbert.)

“hey, sweetheart. you got a minute to talk?”

it shouldn’t be as hard as it is to get the sentence out. 

it’s not like he doesn’t want to talk to you, and he never gets tired of talking to you - hell, he’d listen to your voice all day and all night if you let him - or anything like that. it’s just that this is about something kind of important, and he really doesn’t want to screw this up.

he fishes another candy out of the box and pops it clumsily in his mouth. this one is purple, and it says BE MINE.

he’s always had something of a sweet tooth. can you really blame him? david used to get on his case about always having some kind of candy in his schoolbag when they were kids, but by now the rest of the pack knows it’s just the way he is. 

it works out pretty well - he’s always got something for when the kids (and ash) get restless at long pack meetings, and he knows it makes david smile just a bit whenever he sees the half-open packet of M&M’s on the counter.

(he still remembers the look on ash’s face when he’d first overheard him calling you ‘sweetheart’ - he’d had to tackle him over the side of the couch to stop him from telling you exactly what his favourite candy was.)

(you’d thought it was just their usual antics and gone into the kitchen to get some water, while he’d been busy telling ash to shut his goddamn mouth before he could embarrass him any more in front of you. yeah, so you make him all soft and gooey when he looks at you, but that doesn’t mean he needs the whole freaking pack to know why he calls you that!)

your work phone rings just as you’re walking over - both of you know that that ringtone means it’s important. you smile sheepishly at him as you rummage through your bag, but he doesn’t mind. it’s just an occupational hazard of dating the best, most gorgeous, intelligent, hardworking investigator in all of dahlia. 

you kiss his cheek on your way out to the living room, and he blows you a kiss of his own as you disappear down the hall. you’re cute.

he slumps backwards onto the bed, legs hanging off the side, and takes a deep breath. the light above his head makes him squint up at the ceiling as he reaches for another candy. your voice, echoing from the living room, the lingering heat of your lips on his skin - god, how did he get so lucky? he thinks about you (as he always does), as he chews on FOR EVER.

it must have been, what, the thousandth date? millionth? he’s never been one to leave his sweetheart lonely. he likes to say that your little encounter with that shade was your first date, but you always argue that it was actually a few days later, when he showed up on your doorstep with a bunch of flowers, cotton candy pink, and his ma’s yelling still ringing in his ears. what a couple of romantics, huh?

(god, she’d been beside herself with worry when he’d turned up at her place. he’d staggered back from your apartment in a daze - mostly from your kisses but a little bit from blood loss - and realised that he’d have to bite the bullet and let her finish up the healing you’d started. he’d managed to play it off as a souvenir from work, but since when had that ever stopped his ma from telling him exactly what she thought about it?)

(she loves you though - always inviting you over, telling you stories about what a handful he’d been as a kid, sending you home with enough leftovers to feed the whole damn pack twice over.)

(he’s half convinced she thinks you’re far too good for him, and she’s probably right, but it never stops her from giving him that look when she catches him staring at your lips like a goddamn fool, or pulling your chair out for you at dinner all fancy-like. it’s not his fault you deserve the world on a silver fucking platter, and if he wants to treat you like royalty, then he damn well ought to do it right!)

he’d made sure to take you on all of those classic dates you like - the park, the movies, the arcade, the theatre, the ice rink (god, that one had really been embarrassing), all that sort of rom-com type shit that makes him look like the most lovesick idiot on the planet. this one had been in the summer, august-time or something, a saturday in the middle of the heatwave. 

you’d called and said you’d take him out for ice cream at that sundae place downtown, and he remembers the way, after you’d hung up, that he’d screamed into his pillow over how goddamn sweet you’d sounded on the phone, calling him up out of the blue like that.

(of course - he forgets sometimes that you ever used to live somewhere else. he’d asked you to move in with him about two months before and you’d said yes, but you’d had until october left on your lease, so you were waiting until then to properly move out.)

you’d turned up at his door an hour later, looking like a million dollars even in the blazing california heat, and oh, the way your whole face had brightened up when you saw him? he could have died a happy man right then and there. 

the ice cream parlour had been busy, but you’d grabbed a booth by the window and told him to go up and order for you - you’d reeled off a list of toppings as long as your arm and beamed up at him, and he’d blinked, nodded, and wandered off towards the counter in some sort of love-drunk haze, still replaying the way your eyes had softened and sparkled when he’d held the door open for you a minute ago.

(he’s not sure how, but he’d actually got all the toppings you’d wanted correct - even the extra wafer in the top and the two different flavours of ice cream. the girl at the register had looked at him like he was crazy, but it had been worth it to see the look on your face when it had arrived in front of you. it’s his favourite photo in the world.) 

(he’d only asked for one extra kind of candy on his. he remembers you laughing when you noticed, when the waitress who brought them had recited the order back to him, you want me in your mouth that badly, milo greer? and god, he had, but he wasn’t about to admit that to the whole damn room - he’d just stuck his tongue out at you playfully and jammed a spoonful of ice cream in his mouth to stop him saying something stupid.)

spoon in hand, you’d been in the middle of a story about the department handler guy two cubicles down from you - something about glitter gel pens and a restraining order? - when he’d felt it. 

there’s a word on his tongue. he rolls it around his mouth, feels it clinking off his teeth and melting all sweet and sticky. KISS ME is written backwards on the inside of his cheek, but that’s not the word he’s thinking of.

his mouth is full of words - ALWAYS, ME & YOU, ONLY YOU - and that’s nothing new, not when it comes to you, but this one tastes different. he knows why.

the rest of the date had been good, despite the crushing heat outside. he’d walked you home and kissed you senseless on your doorstep - you won’t admit it, but his shifter hearing isn’t just for decoration, so he knows he heard your cursing as your legs gave out once you shut the door. he’d gone home with a word in his mouth, tucked behind his teeth, and he’d wondered if you’d been able to taste it on his lips.

that word’s been in his mouth ever since, that familiar flavour that makes his mouth water and his heart pound. milo greer has never been known for keeping his mouth shut, and he just can’t keep quiet any longer.  

mate. 

mate. it was a scary word, for a long time, heavy and bitter and burning when he heard it. it felt like emptiness, the lost space inside his wolf heart that cried out for something more than this. it felt like a call, a howling in the distance that he just couldn’t reach, running and running but never getting closer. it felt like headaches and blank walls and silence. it was a scary word - until the day he opened his front door to find an invisible investigator in his living room, who showed him what it really means.

mate. it means love, and home, and the promise of forever. it means warm smiles and bloody knuckles and books accidentally dropped in the bath. it means picnic lunches and crying with laughter and green leaves in spring and more than anything it means you, by every saint up there in heaven it means you. 

mate. what will it taste like to you? will you want more, swallow it down eagerly and ask him to say it again? will you stare at him, sour confusion blooming on your tongue, chalky and strange? will you hate it, spit it out into your hands, dump it in the trash with the rest of his candied heart?  when you taste it, when he peels off the wrapper and licks it into your mouth and begs you wordlessly to BE MINE, FOR EVER, KISS ME, ALWAYS, ME & YOU, ONLY YOU, will it be as sweet for you as it is for him? 

there’s another candy in his hand. this one reads PUPPY LOVE. as he slowly chews the words, he supposes it’s appropriate.

(maybe he ought to send that shade a thank-you card. do they even have a postal service in whatever pit of hell it came from? probably not.)

it doesn’t matter. he can hear your footsteps coming down the hall from out in the living room as he takes the last candy out of the box. no time to see what this one says. he’s got something more important on his mind as you sit down next to him and curl up into his side.

“sweetheart, i, uh…”

pastel yellow powder fizzes on his tongue. it tastes like LOVE YOU.

“...i got somethin’ i wanna ask you.”

masterlist

part 2 - SOUL MATE

this is an original work by @gingerbreadmonsters - please do not repost or misattribute

[jackrrabbit]

Clean /// Sakusa x f!Reader (18+)

Summary: [College dorm AU] Sakusa can’t stop thinking about you in the shower.

A/N: Indirectly inspired by @seita​ and @bakatenshii​, who made me think about soap and Sakusa’s cum in conjunction…thanks guys :P

Tags/warnings: masturbation, mild cleanliness fetish if that’s a thing?, Sakusa wants you and is in deep denial about it

It’s not like he started doing it on purpose. Not at first.

On weekdays, you wake up at the same time that Sakusa gets back from the gym: 7 AM exactly. He timed it that way because they clean the dorm bathrooms at 6:30—they’re still revolting, but they can’t be as bad as the ones at the gym. He can avoid touching the stall walls if he has to, and…he has to. 7 is the perfect time—even the students with 8 AM class can’t be fucked to wake up that early, so he gets the row of mirrors and stalls to himself.

Except for you.

Your room is right next to the stairwell; when Sakusa jogs up the stairs (two at a time, blood still pumping from his workout even though the sweat is already cooling on his back) he can hear your alarm through the thin wall. Always 7 on the dot: your phone blares an obnoxiously loud ringtone, there’s a muffled protest from you and your roommate curses at you to turn that shit off, it’s seven fucking AM. By the time he’s standing at the bathroom sink brushing his teeth, you’re usually pushing through the door in your pajamas, holding your towel in one hand and rubbing your puffy eyes with the other.

So it’s not like Sakusa plans this. It’s a coincidence. Mostly.

“G’morning…Kiyoomi.” You interrupt yourself with a yawn in the middle of the sentence. Your voice sounds heavy with exhaustion and he wonders, not for the first time, why you bother waking up so early. You don’t seem like a morning person.

The toothbrush is still in Sakusa’s mouth, so he just nods to greet you. You smile sleepily and then bend down to reach your bathroom locker, and—fuck, fuck, you’re wearing the shorts again, the threadbare cotton ones you wear whenever the weather gets a little warmer. They’re thin (so thin he can see the high cut of your panties underneath when they’re stretched over your ass, not that he’s looking), and they’re short.

Do you know how much you’re showing off when you bend over like that to rummage through your locker? You’re basically showing your ass off, the smooth muscle of your thighs rising up into those perfect cheeks, and between them, the dingy cotton stretched tight over your mound—

He’s not looking. He shouldn’t be looking. Sakusa lowers his gaze in the mirror to spit the toothpaste into the sink.

“Hey, can I borrow some of that?”

You’re standing at his elbow now, blinking up at him. Pleading. When he wordlessly hands over the tube, you grin, eyes crinkling up at the corners like he just offered to take your hand in marriage rather than letting you have some toothpaste that he wasn’t going to miss anyway. “Thanks! You’re the best.”

You barely know him. Sakusa’s pretty sure that these early-morning bathroom encounters are the only times you two interact.

“How was your workout?” you ask when you’re done brushing your teeth.

Sakusa has to grip the edge of the counter to tear his eyes away from you when you spit it out—white foam dribbling out of your mouth and down your chin—but that’s beside the point. “It was fine.”

“Yeah? Did you run or go to the gym?”

“Gym.” Why are you so curious? You’re too friendly.

You hum appreciatively, rubbing foamy circles of cleanser into your skin. The smell of it is light—floral, but barely. Lavender, maybe. That’s step one of your morning skincare routine, which Sakusa’s pretty certain he knows as well as you do by now. Next will be toner, and then you’ll save the rest for after your shower—but before you reach for the next little bottle in the row you’ve lined up on the bathroom counter, you turn toward him. “I should get back on a regular gym schedule too. Maybe one day I’ll go with you?”

“If you can wake up that early.” The remark must come out harsher than Sakusa intended, because you raise your eyebrows and your mouth drops open—but a second later you’re smiling again, turning back to the mirror so you can pat the toner into your skin.

“You’re probably right. I don’t know how you wake up at six in the morning every day.”

5:45, he wants to correct. But if he keeps talking to you, you’re going to notice he’s staring. So he just finishes washing his face without answering, puts his stuff back into the locker, and makes his way over to the shower stalls, leaving you and the scent of lavender behind.

There are five stalls. All open, of course. Second from the left has the best water pressure, and the one on the far right has a removable shower head and heats up the quickest. But Sakusa chooses the middle stall. For no reason. Not because he knows exactly which stall you’re going to pick, and he wants to be sure he’s in the stall next to yours when you do. He takes his time—undresses slowly, folding his dirty gym clothes even though they’re going straight into the laundry; sets his shampoo and conditioner and body wash out on the bench in the order that he’s going to use them; turns the knob to just the right angle to get the right temperature and waits for it to heat up until he can see the steam saturating the air.

By the time Sakusa’s under the water, massaging shampoo through his hair and feeling the sweat slough off his skin along with the shower spray, you’re done with your pre-shower skincare, padding over from the sinks to the stalls and picking—predictably—the one next to his. He has to strain himself to hear it over the sound of splashing water but he does hear it: your cheap pink flip-flops slapping against the tile floor, the relieved yawn in your breath as you stretch (you always stretch) and the soft rustling of fabric as you take off your clothes and deposit them in a heap on the bench.

Sakusa tilts his head up into the shower spray and feels the stray drops clinging to his eyelashes and wonders how much he’d be able to see if the walls were made of glass.

Today is Wednesday, and that means you’re going to wash your hair today because you always wash it on Wednesdays. Sakusa can already smell the shampoo you use filtering into the air. What is it? Sharper and more bitter than mint, medicinal almost—he’s considered asking you a few times what it is, but he can’t figure out a way to phrase the question.

Hey, (Y/N), tell me what product you use to wash your hair. Ever since I started jacking off in the shower to you, I can’t get off unless I’m smelling it.

That probably wouldn’t go over well.

Fuck, he’s already hard. The heat of the shower is nothing compared to the heat of his blood pumping down to his cock. Sakusa rinses through his hair quickly, freeing up his hands so he can palm his shaft and give it a tentative stroke.

Through the shower wall you give a light, soft sigh of appreciation, and Sakusa feels his cock jump in his hand. You prefer your showers hotter than he does—white puffs of steam are rising up over the gap between the stall divider and the ceiling, and you always come out flushed. The heat must feel nice, hm? He can almost see you, standing naked under the shower head in just your stupid pink flip-flops, letting rivulets of water drip down from the crown of your head to flow lower…over your shoulders, your back, your tits; your fingers lathering the shampoo through your hair, soap bubbles washing the grease away from you, draining away yesterday’s grime so you’re all fresh and squeaky clean.

You sigh again, and your voice is pushing out behind the breath. A moan, almost. Do you ever touch yourself in the shower? He’d be a hypocrite to think you shouldn’t be able to take advantage of this rare moment of privacy…it’s so hard to get time to yourself in the dorms, he can sympathize… So maybe you let your hands dip lower while you wash, shift your thighs apart so you can fit your fingers between them. Pet that puffy little cunt, push your fingers inside, feel your slick wash off in the water just to be replaced with more.

Sakusa wraps his fingers around his cock and slides his hand up the shaft, moving slowly so he can savor the light friction. Your hands would be soft, wouldn’t they? Softer than his. You don’t have calluses like he does—all that lotion you use must be doing you some good. And your hands are a lot smaller than his are…you’d probably have trouble getting one hand all the way around. You’d have to use both hands to hold him, hold his cock and pump him, jack him off…

If your hands are too small for him, what about your mouth?

The shower is so warm and you’re so close. Sakusa closes his eyes so he can breathe in that sweet medicinal smell and imagine you in here with him.

Your mouth. Soft lips, no makeup, just your natural color dampened from the water and your spit and his precum, closed around him, stretched around him to accommodate for the mass of his cock sitting in your mouth. Little pink tongue flicking out to tease the tip, lapping flat at the underside and then kissing it. You’d be a tease, a fucking tease. Looking up at him with those eyes, batting your eyelashes over your dewy-wet cheeks as you try to swallow him a little deeper. He’d tangle his fingers around the back of your head, push the strands of wet hair away from your face, pull your mouth up and down on his cock while the water splashes down around the two of you—

There’s a click of a cap popping shut and your shoes smacking wetly against the floor while you reach over to grab another bottle. You’re humming to yourself—a song Sakusa’s heard on his friends’ playlists and at parties but he doesn’t know the lyrics. Sometimes you sing in the shower (always softly, under your breath, so quiet he’d barely be able to hear if he wasn’t listening) but today you just hum. Maybe you’d sing out loud if he wasn’t there?

You’re probably being considerate to him...you do seem like the type. After all, you must be as aware of his presence three feet away from you as he is of yours. You probably think about him in the shower too.

Sakusa’s hips buck forward, pushing his dick through his hand as he pumps it with no real technique or rhythm, just trying to match the pace of his breathing to what he can hear of yours. The heat of his impending climax is coiling low in his belly, even though it hasn’t been long—it never takes long when he’s thinking about you. You’ve practically become a part of his own morning routine, to the point where he couldn’t even get off when he went home for spring break a few weeks ago. When the two of you move out of the dorms and go your separate ways, it’s going to be annoying. He should really stop this, wean himself off you while he can…not that he really wants to.

Your voice isn’t bad when you sing, but it’d be a lot better moaning his name.

People fuck in the showers. Sakusa knows that, he’s heard them himself and always been acutely disgusted at the filth of it all. Dorm bathrooms are notoriously foul—there’s a reason people wear shoes when they’re showering, and the thought of people actually fucking in here makes his skin crawl. But with you? He can see it, he can feel it—the soft fat of your thighs in his hands, skin dimpling under his grip as he holds you up; your arms twisted around his neck hugging into him; the hot water streaming over both of your bodies as his cock slaps into your pussy, burying into that tight wet heat.

Sakusa grits his teeth to stifle a groan and wonders if you heard it, and then he’s feeling around for the memory of your sleepy “Good morning, Kiyoomi” and warping your voice in his mind until he can almost hear your lips wrapping around his name, panting it, whimpering it, choking it out between pleas for him to fuck you harder—Kiyoomi, please, fuck me fuck me just like that, fuck my little pussy til I can’t walk straight Kiyoomi I need you!

God, he wants to hear it, he wants to say your name, wants you to know he’s jacking off to you. Sakusa’s hand speeds up and his hips are thrusting into his fist, the water making wet clicking noises every time his cockhead moves up past his fingers as he imagines fucking you right here in this shower. He’d make you cum, make you clench and tighten around him, make you wake up the entire goddamn floor with your screaming, and—fuck, he’s mouthing out the syllables, and then he can hear his own voice out loud and he’s saying your name—

“K-Kiyoomi?”

Your actual voice—lifted, high and clear as a bell ringing even stifled by the stall and the rushing water hits Sakusa and he flinches—and cums, cock jerking under his grip as the sticky white fluid shoots out to coat his hand. It’s good, so good, so fucking good, you said his name, you said it, fucking perfect—the release passes over him so forcefully that he has to hold his breath to bite back the stuttered hiss of pleasure from deep in his throat.

“Kiyoomi?” you ask again from the other stall, voice uncertain. “Did you say my name? I thought I heard you…”

It takes him a long moment to catch his breath, and another to work up enough control to straighten and raise his hand to the spray, letting the cum wash off his skin and down the drain in cloudy white trickles. “I didn’t.”

“Oh, sorry! Guess I imagined it.” You’re back to your cheerful self, humming that brainless melody and soaping yourself up without a care in the world. So gullible. Like always. And it’s not like Sakusa wanted to get caught, but…he can’t help wondering what you’d do if you knew.

Maybe you’d hate him. Maybe you’d call him a creep, stop showering when he does, avoid his gaze when you pass each other in the halls.

Or maybe you’d be into it.

Sakusa finishes his shower at the same time you do, so he can catch you just as you step out of the stall. “Oh—“ you start, barely keeping yourself from bumping into his chest. “Oops!”

Your face is stained pink from the heat of the shower…or maybe it’s the way you’re staring at his bare chest that’s making you blush. Sakusa’s not flattering himself—he knows he’s good-looking, knows what the years of athletics have done for him, and you are staring—but just for a moment before you catch yourself and right your gaze back up to his face, absently watching him towel off his hair. The fact that you let your eyes stray a little gives him permission to do the same, so he takes a moment to examine the lines of your shoulders, your soaked hair sticking to your neck, the dip of your cleavage under the fluffy white robe you’re wearing.

You smell good, all soft and wet and clean. Sakusa can’t help imagining if you taste that good, too.

“Um…s’cuse me,” you say after a moment when he doesn’t move to let you pass through the walkway. You could try to skirt around him, but he’s so big.

“What shampoo do you use?”

You blink and pat your hair self-consciously. “It’s, uh, tea tree oil? It has peppermint and lavender and stuff too I think, it’s really good for waking up in the morning—sorry, I know some people don’t like the smell—“

“No, it doesn’t bother me.” Sakusa’s eyes narrow before he steps out of the way to let you walk past.

I like it, he wants to add. But he doesn’t.

[starglitterz]

cynosure. (playlist)

─── playlist !

synopsis; you and xiao are genmates under the famed streamer company genshin impact. the chemistry between the two of you is undeniable, and your fanbases absolutely love your collaborations. but when you both start meeting up offline more and more, your connection starts to deepen past just harmless flirting and playful banter. with these real feelings starting to affect both your job and reputation online, how will you two react when your relationship becomes the internet's cynosure?

masterlist.

a/n; aghhh i hope the formatting for this is okay LOL

❝ it's eight o'clock in the morning, now i'm entering my bed. ❞

(i) pain - pinkpantheress

❝ had a few dreams about you, i can't tell you what we did. ❞

❝ but i've been lovin' all the time, can you place your bed next to mine? ❞

(ii) wii date - city girl, highvyn, tiffi, siopaolo

❝ my duo all time, all night laughing on my facetime, we may talk fictional but you're my real life. ❞

❝ if i walked up to you and told you that i loved you, would you say it back? ❞

(iii) bad texter - ryan woods

❝ 'cause i know you wanna reach me, but i'm a bad texter. ❞

❝ you got me feeling lovesick, lovesick, cold sweating and i love it, love it. ❞

(iv) medicine - shawn wasabi, tia scola

❝ you make time feel never-ending, i'll stay forever if you let me. ❞

❝ am i tripping or did i arrive in paradise? i haven't felt this good in such a long time. ❞

(v) out of my mood - gate 문 

❝ 'cause this is unreal, and i can't afford to feel the way you make me feel. ❞

❝ how could i be her one and only when she's so fine? what does she see in me? ❞

(vi) electronic lover - breathe electric

❝ she said i'm just her type, and i like it when she types. boy, i wish you were beside me. ❞

❝ it's you, it's you, it's all for you - everything i do. ❞

(vii) video games - the young professionals

❝ i tell you all the time, heaven is a place on earth with you. ❞

❝ 'cause i'm holding my breath wondering when you're gonna wake up in my arms. ❞

(viii) blueberry eyes - max, suga

❝ i can't wait to kiss you each morning, with strawberry skies! ❞

❝ baby just hit my line, i really like your style. ❞

(ix) hml - sisyfuss

❝ baby just hit my line, i think you’re super fine.❞

❝ my boy's got his own ringtone, it's the only one i know. ❞

(x) ringtone - 100gecs, laura les, dylan brady

❝ it's my way of trying to let you know, i've got a little thing for you, i've got a little crush or something. ❞

❝ you should've picked mercy, you should've picked any kind of support. ❞

(xi) no mercy - the living tombstone, littlejayneycakes, blackgryph0n

❝ if you like mercy so much, why don't you just marry her?! ❞

❝ am i not enough? do i even matter? ❞

(xii) futon - ūla

❝ i can make it better if you hold on, we could be together for like so long! ❞

❝ the day we first met, inside my quiet heart, as if a new world has opened. ❞

(xiii) heart attack (츄) - loona

❝ can’t stop thinking about you, i keep thinking about you more and more! ❞

❝ if the future has to come for us, i'd rather shine even if i'm offline. ❞

(xiv) ぴこぴこ東京 (pico pico tokyo) - yasutaka nanaka, momo mashiro

❝ and even now my heart lights up, bright and glittery! ❞

❝ i wanna be a 3d ghost in your dream. ❞

(xv) plug me in - lil soda boi

❝ i feel like telling lies and love and morphine. ❞

spotify playlist link.

taglist (open); @noirkkat @bookuya @ohmykazuha @glazelilyy @mika-zuko @oreoz-unfortunately @tiny-aroace @xiaophobic @test-tube @yanphobics @storytravelled @mirikusashes @ben6ett @oliviasslut

© starglitterz 2021. do not repost or modify in any way.

[wizkiddx]

worst case scenario part 5

finally!! so sorry its been an age to anyone still here but lives been interesting atm so....  also this really feels a bit rambley and the ending is deff underdeveloped but I just kind of wanted this done tbh x 

[previous part] [part 1] 

warnings:  hospitals - ICU, ventilation that sort of stuff, just a lot of ANGST post a difficult birth - please don't read if this could be upsetting for you, and my inbox is always open if u wanna chat :) 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In a complete 360 degree flip from earlier that day, after leaving the hospital Tom had become obsessively attached to Aurora. They’d got back to his parents place in Tom’s car; Aurora in the carseat Y/n and Tom had ready in their car door for her arrival. Clearly his parents had already pre-warned his brothers, who had thankfully already gone over to Tom and Y/n’s - collecting the Moses basket amongst other items Harry had been listed off from his mother. 

Apart from explaining a little behind her name to his parents on the journey back, Tom had spoken very little, choosing to keep himself to himself - physically stationing himself beside the Moses basket the whole time. Of course, there had been a bit of light conversation and almost procedural passing round of Aurora between all her uncles and grandparents, which Tom had kept a wether eye on - but ultimately not engaged. 

He also knew that physically his body was failing him. Although eating a little of the lasagne Sam had made for everyone, he could only stomach a minuscule amount, which did little to boost his energy levels. It felt as though sleeping was the enemy, because he was neither ready to leap into the car if the phone went; or to hear the smallest sound from the wicker basket, suggesting something was wrong. So as much as he tried to fight it, before even nine o’clock he began to dose off on the familiar couch of his parents sitting room - occasionally jerking himself awake before loosing the fight once again.

Nikki had tried to gently push him to take a break in the spare bedroom, which had been Tom’s before he’d moved out, but was unsuccessful - every time he retaliated with a stern shake of his head, while checking his phone just in case he’d missed a notification. Eventually Nikki relented, later in the evening both her and Dom retiring to bed; once Sam had agreed to stick around downstairs till a bit later - as a chef he worked till late in the nights, so even on his days off like today, his sleep schedule was just a little fucked. 

Left alone with his new little niece and now pretty firmly asleep brother, Sam draped a blanket over the latter just in time for Aurora to start fussing in the need of a bottle. His mum had explained how to do everything, how to mix the formula and heat it up, so after scooping up the little wriggling girl in the hope his brother wouldn’t get disturbed, Sam dealt with her. To be honest no matter how clueless and useless he felt, Aurora was just so cute - if a little wrinkly and alien looking, but in a good way. This was the first baby any of them had had, so the first time Sam experienced this instant connection and love for the little being that was his niece or nephew. It was terrifying, lifting the bottle against her lips for the first time, but then it just sort of seemed to work. She was incredibly smart for less than 24 hours old, instantly latching on, like she had done for Haz at the hospital. 

That gave Sam a little confidence in his ability as an uncle, giving himself a satisfied nod while swaying from the kitchen to move back into the living room. It was just a preference to be within reach of Tom… just in case. His poor brother still hadn’t moved, slumped against the corner of the sofa, leaning toward the now empty Moses basket. Normally, Sam seeing his supposed heart throb of a brother looking as rough as he did now - double chin, mouth hanging slightly open, deep sunken eyes - he would’ve taken a photo to blackmail him with. Now though, it was just desperately sad, seeing his brother like this, hand still clutching his phone tightly above the blanket. 

Rather hoping the calm would last for a while, Sam successfully finished off feeding Aurora; winded and then put her down to sleep again just in time. Because, perhaps expectedly, Tom’s phone began to blare off the default iPhone ringtone making Tom jump and throw the device across the room as he awoke with a start. Sam ran to grab it off the floor, mainly with the hope of turning it off before Aurora was awoken too - knowing that it was best tonight to tackle one thing at a time. 

And so he immediately swiped to answer the call, not even registering who the call was from, much rather just wanting the noise to stop. 

“Hello?”

“Sam? It’s Harrison” Tom had jumped up from his seat hovering beside Sam with petrified look. It took barely seconds for Tom to snatch the phone back, launching questions down the receiver. 

“Slow down would you? Y/n is fine I was just phoning to check in.”

“Oh er yeh… um sorry I just… just thought…”

“It’s the other way mate. Nurse says she’s starting to get there cos first she moved her arm a bit when we pinched her shoulder and then I just called because she started to like gag and now the ventilator thing is gone.”

“W-what?”

“I think she’s breathing by herself? Like she’s got an oxygen mask instead of the tubes down her throat.” Clearly Harrison was not, by any means, a medical expert. 

“They said she would have the ventilator for a few days at least.”

“I guess Y/n got bored? To be fair she couldn’t ever sit still.”

“I’m coming to you.”

“Tom it’s nearly midnight, I was supposed to be kicked out at 10. Just come back in the morning, they won’t let you in I’m pretty certain.”

“What if she wakes up!”

“Then they’ll call you! She’s getting better Tom you should be try and relax for like a second.”

“FUCK OFF HAZ! If she wakes up all alone and terrified then-“

“I’m not going to having a screaming match on the phone with you. I think we both know you wanting to come is more for you than for Y/n, because Y/n would want you to be looking after Aurora.”

Again guilt tripping using the newborn. Harsh but effective. Stopping Tom’s anger dead in it’s tracks.

“Look I can put the nurse on for her to tell you they won’t let you in and they’ll call if anything happens - but you already know that.”

“Yeh sorry fine … I know don’t bother.”

“Okay… I’m was gonna head back to my place and I know you’ve probably got your mum begging to fuss over Aurora but if-“

“Can you come?”

“Didn’t need to ask mate.”

And that’s how the night went. Until Harrison arrived at the Holland family home, Tom had spent the time pacing back and forth, blatantly ignoring the pleas of Sam just to sit down. Once he arrived though, going through all the updates in a lot more detail Tom seemed, for the first time, optimistic. By no means could you call him relaxed or happy - but compared to the rollercoaster that had been the last 24 hours, Harrison thought that was more than enough. Aurora had started fussing again at 1 but by the time it had turned into a full blown scream at Tom, Sam already had the bottle ready. It took a little bit of encouragement and promise that Tom would be able to feed her but actually, she instantly latched on, settled in her Dad’s hold while guzzling down the contents of the bottle. 

After a bit of winding she ended up falling asleep on her dads chest, only when he felt himself start to flag did Tom place her back in the basket. Harrison and him ended up crashing on the sofas, Sam retiring to his own room. Phone still tightly clutched in Tom’s grip.

////////////////////

The first thing Y/n became properly aware of was this intense heaviness all over her body. It felt as though her limbs were all composed completely of lead, meaning as much as she was just craving rolling over, it was as though her own body was holding her down. A very alien feeling that unsettled her slightly, trying to shake of the misty feeling in her head to work it all out. It took a while to drag herself out of the depths of sleep, to the point where background noise slowly faded in - an alien beeping as well as distant shuffling making her heart thump with unease. Finally, perhaps most distressingly , her eyes felt glued shut. Not because they were heavy, in the way someone extremely sleep deprived cant keep their eyes open; rather stiff like they hadn’t been used in so long they’d rusted over or something. 

The feeling  was quite horrific and isolating- as though she were locked into her body without an escape in sight. Whilst trying to calm her racing thoughts, Y/n chose to focus completely on the one thing she could do. She could listen. She listened to the beeps, focusing on the type of sound, the way it chimed so regularly; and it’s form. It was familiar, for that she was sure but for now at least she couldn’t place it. 

It felt like an investigation, trying with all her might to try and workout what the fuck was going on. To put it mildly. 

The most useful clue though, a breakthrough if you will, is when a voice sounded - clear and familiar. 

“Excuse me nurse?” It was Nikki. For sure. It was a clue, but didnt seem to make a hell of a lot of sense. Y/n was so focused on why the hell Nikki was apparently watching her sleep unconscious, she completely missed the reference to the nurse. As in hospital. As in Y/n was in hospital. “… I’m just going to swap out for my sons friend.”

“Harrison?” That voice seemed new and unfamiliar.

“Yes, he won’t be a second I’m sure.”

What was Harrison doing here too? 

It was all very confusing and hurt Y/n’s brain to try and unpick. Gradually then, everything sort of melted away, diving back into the darkness.

The next time Y/n woke up things were different. This time she woke up like she would at any time of day. She woke up and her eyes followed suit. Not particularly easily, since as soon as they cracked open she was almost blinded by brilliant white lights, it taking a build up of willpower before she tried it again - bracing for the pain. 

By now she knew something was wrong. She remembered all these patchy and hazy periods. All full of confusion and disorientation but with different voices keeping her at least semi calm. Familiar voices, all too often laced with such emotion. Especially Tom’s. She couldn’t remember what he had said, nor had she probably been able to understand it at the time - what stuck was the tone. The sadness, the hopelessness , the emptiness. 

It was scary. But it made her want to help. Made her want to open her eyes. 

After wincing at the dazzling white surroundings, Y/n blinked her eyes quickly, in an attempt to get them to adjust quicker. She saw an unfamiliar ceiling, one that was tiled in a similar way to her old school canteen. There was a  weird pressure round her mouth, eyes quickly darting down to see edges of a clear mask pressed up against the bridge of her nose. That wasn’t it though, the further she looked the more her eyes panned down this pale blue blanket, following the outline of her legs to the bottom raised edge of the bed. The hospital bed. 

Her hospital bed. 

As much as she wanted to jump up in panic; physically right now that was an impossibility. So instead, Y/n focused on trying to gleam as much information from the situation. It took a hell of a lot of effort, her muscles literally stiff and ridgid with disuse but with a small groan her neck eventually agreed to follow orders. Just a small tilt to the left and suddenly Y/n felt so much more less panicked. Everything was that bit less scary because there was Tom. 

Admittedly he didn’t look amazing, or even not bad. Tom was sat with his back pressed against the side of chair, so his body faced her. Had he not looked so ruined, Y/n would’ve laughed at the side of his face squashed into the back of the seat. But he did look horrific, for lack of a better word. His brown eyes were locked shut, but also looked puffy and red, while dark at the same time - as though he’d been attempting to gouge his own eyes out prior. He looked like he hadn’t slept in weeks, hence why he had appeared to have collapsed in the arm chair. At least though , he wasn’t in a hospital bed himself.

That was Y/n’s pleasure. 

Her next job was to get her neck muscles to pull her head to the other side. It was a slow wincing gesture, yet she was so aware of another presence that needed to be addressed too. But actually it was 3 people.

Right at the back, a nurse sat on a little spinny chair, scribbling something down in a file of papers but to be quite honest that wasn’t were Y/n’s focus zeroed in on. Instead on Harrison who was sat in chair mirroring Tom, except instead of being passed out asleep he was cradling a baby. Her baby. 

Y/n literally felt her heart in her throat at that point, eye widening almost comically. That was her baby - it must be? The monitors all started to loose their regularity as Y/n threw an uncoordinated limb to that side of the bed- already having realised her throat was way too scratchy to try to say anything comprehensible. 

Immediately that got the attention of both the nurse, who immediately leapt up and called for support, as well as Harrison - who looked like he was seeing a ghost. 

“Oh my-Y/n-?” Luckily he kept the baby safe in his arms rather than dropping her in shock, whilst Y/n kept her eyes locked onto the bundle in his arms. Nodding down, she tried to remove the mask (actually just very slightly knocking it to one side) and attempted to ask of the baby. Her throat, being inhumanly dry and scratchy, didn’t really work but Haz still got the message, scoffing in amazement. 

“Aurora… here’s your mummy.” Harrisons voice was quiet and wavering as he delicately held Aurora against Y/n’s collar bone, the babies little tuft of har tickingling her chin. Now Y/n was crying with happiness, looking up at Haz’s icy blue eyes and questioning her name. Harrison confirmed with another disbelieving whisper, whilst the arm that wasn’t still holding Aurora clasped Y/n’s hand with a death grip. “Tom’s choice.”

The mention of him had both of them shift their gaze across the room to Tom’s chair. Even with all the developments, Tom still seemed completely unaware, fast asleep with the side of his face squished against the back of the chair making his lips slightly askew. Y/n were acutely aware of the small congregation of doctors that had accumulated in the corner of the bay but they seemed to be respectfully waiting before they would prod and poke. Haz went to call Tom’s name, before he could though, Y/n squeezed his arm and minutely shook her head. That wasn’t what the blue eyes boy had been expecting, causing Haz to unfold and bring Aurora back up to his chest as he quirked his eyebrows at her.  

She didnt need to be filled in on the situation to know exactly what was happening. She had no idea why she was in the hospital bed; how long it had been since she’d given birth - but she knew all she needed to. From Harrisons unbelievably shocked face; and from the state of Tom - it hadn’t been good. Her fiancé looked almost ghostly, it seemed evident that he needed her. First then, she gestured to Haz for some water, which after a panicked look to the nurse; then from the nurse to various doctors; she was eventually given permission. 

After somewhat alleviating the sandpaper feeling in her throat, Y/n then croakily asked for a bit of privacy. Right now the doctors all were gawking, Harrison assumed it to be because they’d all led him and Tom to believe she wouldn’t wake up for a while- and even then she was supposed to barely be awake, not able to talk and drink or anything of the sort. With an ecstatic nod Harrison, shuffled out - while doing so prompting the medical people to draw the curtains completely shut round the bay.  

Already Y/n had tears welling up in her eyes, purely because she hated seeing him like this. He just looked so broken and shattered which honestly felt worlds worse than the labour she’d gone through. Her whole body still hurt, stiff and achy for reasons yet to be explained to Y/n. None of that mattered though, as she strained her arm out to the side in order to gently reach his knee that was folded up and sticking out awkwardly at an angle. After swallowing one again, Y/n squeezed round the joint and tried to shake it slightly. Instantly the man jumped up in his seat, heavy eyes blinking quickly and repeatedly as he tried to adjust to the room. 

Being so sleep deprived and stressed out, Tom’s brain was not working normally, instead with a delayed haze as he apparently skipped over Y/n in the bed, rather surveying the the closed curtains and Harrison’s now empty chair. As he was lifting himself to sit more normally up, uncurling from the armchair, was when he noticed the hand on his knee. Breath caught in his chest, Tom instinctively bit his lip as his eyes gradually traced up the hand, to the forearm, up to the shoulder. It felt like a fever dream, as though all it would take is for him to move and she’d slip away again. But there were her green eyes, gleaming in a way that literally lifted a weight from his shoulders. Her smile was tired and a little confused, but so her - after spending days of just seeing all her features lax, Tom swore that it was the most beautiful thing in the world.

Only when Y/n finally croaked out a small ‘hi’ did Tom gain awareness of his body, or rather control of it, enough to leap up and leave over the bed - cradling her face in both his palms. Like a psycho he stared intently, swapping his focus from her left to her right eye like a madman. 

“Your-I-I” He was trying to speak, trying to communicate all the thoughts and regrets of things he wished he’d said to her all at once. Weakly she reached up to fully remove the oxygen mask, dragging It down to below her chin, before squeezing his wrists in comfort. Only then did Tom notice the small puddle that had collected on her cheek, which made him realise he was absolutely bawling. 

“You ‘kay?” Her voice was like sandpaper but everything about her was so completely Y/n and it was just giving Tom this unreal wave of euphoria. Physically incapable of replying, the brunette just scoffed, leaning over the bed even more so he could press his forehead on hers. He was laughing too, the fact she was asking him that seemed so preposterous, given all the tubes and wires attached to her at the moment. It took Y/n squeezing his wrist harder again to make him lean back a little, searching her eyes with his. She seemed so worried; seemed so full of concern - only then did Tom consider quite how much he’d ‘let himself go’ the past couple of days. 

It had been two days since Aurora was born, only 48 hours. But the transformation was mad, none more so than mentally. 48 hours had quite literally changed everything for Tom; changed life forever and himself too. It was showing in his unshaven face, with unwashed  greasy hair, everything just looking ‘tired’.

“‘m just really glad your awake.” It was so honest and sincere it did have Y/n wondering what had happened and for how long. What had she put her fiancé through?

“How long?”

“The worst two and a half days of my life… I got you now though, yeh?” Tom whispered wetly, while stroking the side of her cheek - wiping both his and her tears away.

“Always.”

The doctors and nurses then came in, podding and poking Y/n like no tomorrow while Harrison and Tom stood back a little - excitedly grinning at each other and the sleepy girl Haz was cradling, before Tom stole her off him. There was a momentary sick-to-his-stomach feeling after some of the professionals had cleared, seeing her eyes shut again felt like everything was crashing around him. Thankfully though, one of doctors noticed the look of despair on his face, explaining to the two men that she was just asleep normally. That although sh’ed spent along time unconscious, waking from a medical coma is in itself exhausting. 

After the initial excitement of Y/n waking the next couple of days were pretty samey. She’d been moved down to a normal ward, no longer needed all the incessant bleeping machines but still had to stay in hospital. Tom found it tricky too, he just always felt he needed to be by her side ‘just in case’. In fact, it had been a source of a bit of tension between him and his fiancé - she could see how exhausted he was from looking after Aurora, plus the stress of being in the hospital for hours a day with her. As Y/n got better and more switched on to the state of him, she realised it was inevitable he’d crash at some point.

But after a week and a half in hospital - comprising of a baby, emergency surgery, 3 days on intensive care, followed by 8 on the ward - Y/n was discharged. Nikki and Dom moved in to Y/n and Tom’s place, to provide care support both for Aurora; and Y/n for the rest of her recovery; and secretly Tom for everything he’d been through. 

She was still order on bed rest due to her surgical scars, so Tom and Nikki helped to set her up in the master bedroom as soon as they got in. Of course, everyone was aware of Toms odd mood that day. Until then the only thing he wanted was to get his fiancé back at home with him but now she was over the threshold his excitement and joy appeared to have been zapped out of him. In fact, he’d barely uttered more than a couple sentences. So once Y/n was properly comfortable and Dom had brought Aurora and the cot into the room, Tom’s parents quickly made themselves scarce. 

Tom hadn’t stopped, finding some reason to rummage around in the chest of drawers m while Y/n chewed at her bottom lip, watching him. 

“Tom?” All she got in response was a light hum. “Tom please will you come and sit down for a minute?”

“I just need to-“

“Tom!” Her exclamation finally properly got Tom to listen, jumping round to face her. “Please... please will you just stop for a second?” Y/n’s eyes felt as though they were boring holes in his skull. Really, Tom knew he’d be forced into this at some point because he couldn’t avoid Y/n. She had some power of mind reading over him. So with a defeated nod and sagging shoulders Tom rounded the bed, weaving between his side and Auroras cot - where she was sleeping soundly. 

A silence overcame the room as he heavily planted himself on his side of the bed, mirroring Y/n’s posture leant against the headboard. 

“I think we need to have an honest conversation T.”

“If you want.” Nothing about his reply was the picture of enthusiasm, causing Y/n to hesitate a little. 

“Look I am so beyond grateful for everything you’ve done while I was in hospital... and it doesn’t take a genius to tell you’ve worked yourself half to death-“

“I’m fine-“

“Don’t lie to me. I know you’re trying to protect me but please... will you just talk to me? Honestly?” 

His reply this time wasn’t completely unforeseeable but it still shocked Y/n quite how quickly it happened, especially almost unprovoked. Because that’s all it took for Tom to break, for the past 2 weeks to get their vengance, for all the repressed emotion to escape. 

He was crying- well more accurately sobbing- into his hands, his back quaking. Naturally Y/n reached out to pull him into her side, suppressing the groan of pain as she moved a little too much for her abdomen to handle. “I’m here T. I got you and I’m not going anywhere m‘kay?” 

And that’s how they stayed, for at least 10 minutes, with Tom crying into her shoulder as Y/n rubbed up and down his back. Eventually though, everything did calm down and Tom repositioned himself to lean his head on her shoulder just facing forward and focusing on playing with her fingers, lacing them fingers with his. 

In all the time since she’d woken up, Y/n was yet to broach the subject of their babies name yet. She sensed it was a sensitive topic to say the least, so had thought it best to wait till they were properly alone - not in a ward of 6 strangers where the only privacy came in flimsy blue curtains. 

“So…. Aurora huh? Thought it was too airy-fairy, head-in-the-clouds for you?”  Smiling lightly, both of them were transported back to the pregnancy when they spent hours and hours bickering over names. Aurora had always been Y/n’s favourite but to Tom thought it was more a name for a hippy kid who went around clad in tie dye and bandanas. 

“Still is a bit...but I needed a bit of a miracle and Iceland was in my head. Plus I sort of accidentally word vomited while shouting at Haz, for being nice to me.” Iceland as in when Tom had proposed under the aurora borealis in the freezing sky - when Y/n had agreed, promised even, to be with him forever.

“But you like it?”

“Of course... mother always knows best after all.”

“I think it suits her too. One of your best choices to date, listening to me.” Y/n mused, earning herself a very delicate but still playful elbow in the side before the room drifted back to a much more comfortable silence. 

“We’re gonna get through this you know? Me, you and her, we’re together in this... I’m sorry I wasn’t in the beginning and I’m sorry I hurt you but now? I promise you got me and I’m not going anywhere…” Y/n needed to say it and needed Tom to properly listen. “ ...literally, I still cant walk properly.” Tom chuckled wetly at that, which made Y/n feel a lot better too. 

To be completely honest, Tom was still hurt and he knew it’d take some mending to move past everything. By no means did he blame Y/n in anyway but just the fact he was left alone and abandoned - well, it was the worst time in his life. The way Y/n understood that and had apologised to him - if completely unnecessarily- meant everything. Meant she would help him to heal... whilst he helped her too. 

“Can we just go to sleep? I need to wake up beside you in our bed not at tiny hospital one.” It was only 3 in the afternoon but because of Y/n’s medicine she was constantly drowsy and Tom? Tom was still in this permanent state of exhaustion. So it wasn’t so much of a weird request as it was on the face of it. With a nod, Y/n shuffled down on the bed a bit more resting her head against the top of Tom’s. It was exactly what they both needed, just a bit of peace with each other. 

That lasted all of 5 minutes before Aurora woke and started to scream. 

Life had most definitely changed. Especially for Tom. Because even though he was he was mentally and physically exhausted,  he only appreciated his daughters screams whole heartedly... because Y/n was there groaning with a tired smile too. They were in this together. 

~~~~

 I really hope the ending didnt disappoint too much, im aware its rushed as hell, but thank you for getting this far! And I hope maybe this series has done a teeny tiny bit to normalise not everything in pregnancy and child birth being perfect - that there is morbidity and mortality associated. Obviously this is all fictional (esp the amazingly quick recovery and lack of neurological/other impairments) and not medically accurate in the slightest !!

my inbox is always open :) t x

Tagging : @whitewolf51 

[lala-ladybug]

Healing Hands: Chapter 3

Happy finals week, ugh. As always, reblogs are appreciated!!

Jasonette Sword Art Online AU

Read here on AO3

Tag list: @iloontjeboontje

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Chapter 3: Well shit Babs, maybe I like ponies

Marinette sat on a rock and paddled her bare feet in the water. It was a beautiful day, the sun was warming the top of her loose, dark hair and the ocean in front of her stretched for miles and miles.

A noise disturbed her peaceful moment. A distant cry, probably a seagull.

She sighed and leaned back on her hands to breathe in the smell of--

Marinette choked. Why was there smoke in the air?

The cries grew louder as she looked back at the water before her. She started when she saw that they came from her friends, who were in the now-tumultuous water, trying to keep themselves afloat. They were only a few yards away, she could make it if she just--

A force around her waist tugged her hard as she leapt to her feet. Her face collided with the concrete beneath her-- the top of a building, she realized. If the water level was up this high, then....

From where she lay, she could see directly down into the water. It was no longer clear, but a deep crimson. There were dozens of figures scattered about, some still struggling and some motionless. She scrambled to get up as her eyes snapped to Alya’s hand disappearing below the waves.

That damn force jerked her to the other side of the building, farther from her friends.

“No!” Marinette cried out desperately. The force released her and she whirled to find her attacker.

A flash of red caught her eye, and--

Oh.

It was Ladybug.

Marinette shook her head, not understanding. If that was Ladybug, then.... No, it couldn’t be Ladybug, because she was Ladybug. She fumbled for her earrings, but felt nothing.

Ladybug stalked deliberately up to Marinette and pushed her to the ground. Marinette landed on her hands and knees, both of which were now shaking.

“Look at them,” it was her own voice that spat so harshly from Ladybug’s lips. “Look at them.” She grabbed Marinette’s hair from behind and forced her head up.

Marinette could now see Adrien, Kagami, Luka, and Chloe in the ocean in front of her. Their lifeless faces floated just below the surface, the bloodied water doing nothing to conceal their frozen expressions of terror.

Marinette sobbed and closed her eyes. Ladybug pulled sharply on her hair again, and looked into Marinette’s eyes.

“Look at them. Don’t you dare take your eyes off the mess you’ve made. You will never be able to save them all,” Ladybug’s eyes, her eyes, blazed with the vehemence of her words. She opened her mouth to speak again, but a loud beeping sound was all that came out.

Marinette gasped and sat up in her bed, the alarm sending her heartbeat into a frenzy. Tikki flew up next to her as she slumped over with a hand over her eyes.

It was just a dream.

Another Kwami must have turned off her alarm because the beeping had stopped, but Marinette could still hear the echoes of her friends’ dying breaths ringing in her ears.

“Marinette... are you okay?” Tikki placed a delicate paw on her chosen’s arm. “We heard you cry out while you were sleeping.”

The girl lifted her head and gave the little god a shaky smile. “It was just a dream.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Tikki floated back down to where the other Kwami were piled on the side of the bed with similarly worried expressions on their faces.

Marinette exhaled a bracing sigh. “Okay.... It was Syren. Or-or Chat Blanc, I’m not really sure.” The Kwami exchanged a look at that. This was not the first time she’d had a nightmare about water. “But Ladybug was there, and she was attacking me.”

Tikki looked especially concerned about that new piece of information. She opened her mouth to say something when Marinette’s phone lit up with a call. The ringtone was Alya’s.

Marinette picked up, trying to control the shaking of her hands. “H-hey girl, what’s up?” Her tone was deceptively cheerful.

“Hey Mari! Just checking to see if you’re awake. Nino and I are ready, he even put on the goggles already!” Marinette instantly relaxed as she heard Alya’s excited voice bubbling out.

“Yeah dudette, they feel really weird. But comfy!” Nino must have leaned over to pitch in.

Marinette shook off the last vestiges of the nightmare with a giggle. “Yeah, it’s kind of tricky to get the headset to fit over your glasses, but you’ll get used to it!”

“Well if you’re not ready yet then you’d better hurry up, girl! The game launches in five minutes.”

Marinette scrambled to check the time. “Oh crap! I gotta go, see you guys soon!” She hung up and rushed to untangle herself from her blankets.

“Good thing you set three alarms, huh?” Tikki followed her down from the loft and watched her brush out her hair.

Marinette stuck her tongue out at the god of creation.

* * *

Red Hood stalked into the Batcave, nearly running Oracle over as she wheeled herself up to her station at the Batcomputer.

“Woah Jaybird, don’t let me get in your way there,” Babs glared at his retreating back. “Asshole,” she muttered to herself.

Jason hurled his helmet onto the floor of the bathroom and began shucking off his suit with far more force than necessary. He started a shower and looked over his new wounds in the mirror. He’d been stupid, so damn stupid, on patrol.

“Red Hood, report in,” Batman’s gravelly voice cut through on his comms. “Hood, you are not to engage alone. What is your location?”

But Jason couldn’t hear him. The only thing he could hear was blood rushing in his ears, but it wasn’t his blood. No, it was the blood of every monstrous, corrupt asshole in this city. And he wanted it to run on the streets.

The Joker had sent thugs out to a meet-up. Well, Red Hood could send them back in a casket. He crouched beside a gargoyle and watched for the arrival of the van he’d tailed. There were only two men. They left the vehicle and waited outside, lighting cigarettes. Too easy.

Red Hood swept down the building, guns never leaving their holsters. He wanted this to hurt. Them or him, he wasn’t sure. But he got his wish as he beat the two men to a pulp. He wasn’t sure how far he’d have gone if not for the arrival of the gang the Joker’s men were supposed to meet with.

They slashed his back with knives. Shallow wounds, easy to manage. By the time Red Hood turned to face them, the others had arrived-- Batman, Nightwing, Robin. And boy were they pissed.

Jason winced as the hot water hit the cuts on his back. He rolled his shoulders and just let the steam ground him. He didn’t kill again, even if every time that green-haired bastard got involved, he went off the rails.

He would get to choose his own path, not the one Bruce wanted for him, but damn well not the one Thalia wanted for him either. This story was his, he reminded himself while gingerly toweling off. Even if he couldn’t look his own reflection in the eye.

He gripped the countertop, staring down as he let his hair drip into the sink. No, he wasn’t feeling desperate enough to see if his eyes were green again.

Damnit, he had to apologize to Babs. He felt calmer now, but he’d been a real dick when he came in. Jason dressed quickly in sweatpants and an old shirt, then padded quietly back to where he knew his sister would be at the computers.

“Hey,” he said, knocking softly when he entered to announce his presence. Barbara didn’t respond for a moment. She was leaning forward in her chair, typing something into one monitor while listening to police chatter, then nodded to herself and sat back.

“Hey.” She raised an eyebrow at him. “Robin told me what happened on patrol.”

Jason scowled. “That little tattletale.”

Barbara offered him a reassuring smile. “That little tattletale is the only reason I didn’t hack into your bank account and order a damn pony.”

“Well shit Babs, maybe I like ponies,” Jason snarked back, but his heart wasn’t into it. “Listen... I’m sorry about earlier. If replacement talked to you already, you know what kind of mood I was in, but that’s no excuse.”

Babs turned her chair to face him and held out her hand. He stepped forward and took it, and she said, “We know you’re trying, Jay. Stuff like this? This is who you are. A year ago, you wouldn’t have been caught dead apologizing to me!” She cringed. “Ah, no offense.”

He chuckled. “None taken, it’s about time you started getting in on the undead jokes.” He patted her hand before walking away back to the main space of the cave. “But thank you, it means a lot.”

“Took the words right out of my mouth!” She raised her voice and turned back to face the computer.

Dick and Tim were already waiting in the cave. Tim was fiddling with some beds and what looked like opaque ski goggles. He always fidgeted when he was nervous.

“Hey replacement,” Jason shouted across the room. He noticed Dick bristle, but cut him off before he could get the patented older brother speech. “How much time ‘til the launch?”

Tim’s eyes lit up, and damn him for caring, but Jason just didn’t want them to be afraid of him.

* * *

Connor and Zatanna were washing dishes in the Cave’s kitchen after dinner. Connor heard the distant sound of someone arriving via zeta tube. He let Zatanna know as they finished drying their plates, then followed her to go greet their visitors.

Wally and Artemis staggered into the room, both weighed down by overflowing boxes of equipment.

“Oh thank god, please help me!” Artemis said, spotting Connor. He obliged and easily took the heavy box from her. She rubbed her arms and smiled gratefully as he held it aloft in one hand.

“It must be so handy having him around,” she sighed to Zatanna.

The magician giggled. “It certainly has its perks, but....” She lifted her hands and said clearly, “Flesruoy egnarra.” The contents of the boxes, some assorted cots, VR headsets, and computers, floated up and placed themselves into a neat formation. “A girl can get by by herself.” She gave Artemis a fistbump.

The zeta tube activated and they all looked up to watch it. The AI announced Wondergirl, and Cassie Sandsmark walked out. She looked up from her phone and waved. “Oh hey guys, whatcha doing?”

Wally zoomed around the set-up Zatanna had created. “We’re just setting up to play this new virtual reality game that’s coming out at midnight! What about you?”

“Oh, what a coincidence, I was just--”

Cassie was cut off by the zeta tube activating again. This time it was Bart, carrying Jaime bridal style, and running at full speed. He skidded to a halt, put a very ill-looking Jaime down, and ran a hand through his windswept hair.

“So totally crash! What’s poppin’?” He made finger guns at Connor, Zatanna, and Artemis.

Zatanna started explaining, “Well, like were just telling Cassie, there’s this new video game coming out at midnight and we--”

She was interrupted by the screech of a green pterodactyl swooping in from the zeta tube. It circled once around the high ceilings of the hollowed-out mountain, then landed and shrank into Beast Boy.

“Just a heads up, Arsenal’s right behind me and he’s a little angry-- oh what are you guys doing?”

Connor was getting frustrated now. “We’re trying to get set up for this new video game that’s launching in five minutes, so if you guys wouldn’t mind--”

A small explosion sounded from the door to the exterior of the island. Roy burst in amidst a cloud of dust.

“Hope I’m not late, I lost my phone.” He sounded like he was in a bad mood.

Bart whispered to Connor, “He means he destroyed his phone.”

Roy dusted off his pants, then looked to Wally and Artemis and asked, “The hell are you doing here?”

“AUGH,” Artemis had had enough. “We’re here to play the video game coming out at midnight! If you want to join us, fine, but if you don’t then get out.” She pointed to the zeta tubes.

Garfield tried to placate her. “Sheesh, it’s just a game! No need to get so worked up.”

Jaime gave him an incredulous look. “Weren’t you just throwing a tantrum yesterday about Bart kicking your ass halfway to Bialya in Smash?”

“...Noted.” Garfield answered.

“Well, looks like we’ve got plenty of hands to help get everyone set up. Let’s get to it!” Cassie expertly maneuvered the two teams away from setting off their more explosive members. They distributed headsets and assigned reclining positions without further delay.

* * *

Marinette put the headset on and laid down on her bed.

“Ready to go back?” Tikki asked her.

She gave the little god a grin. “Definitely.”

In the distance, the bells in Notre Dame chimed six times, but Marinette couldn’t hear them. Her mind had gone somewhere far, far away. Somewhere new.

[wlntrsldler]

Maybe (Bucky Barnes Roses Series)

Prompt: Bucky tells Y/N he’s the Winter Soldier. The next day, he’s taken by the government and that’s the last Y/N sees of him... until they cross paths again. But what if Bucky doesn’t remember her? 

ROSES MASTERLIST

ROSES | SAFE INSIDE | MAYBE

-

I don't know what's going on

Where you came from and why you took so long

All I know is that I feel it

Like it's the realest thing, I mean it

Since that day, you and Bucky reconnected. It was like the two of you were getting to know each other all over again. To him, it was exactly that. To you, it was like re-visiting your favorite memories and making new ones all at the same time. At first, he was apprehensive with you and you couldn’t really blame him. 

The way he started to remember things came to him at first in one huge wave. He told you one day he woke up and he swore he felt you leaning against his chest, deep in sleep. Then like a wave, all of these memories of you two drinking wine from paper cups, dancing to terrible pop music, cooking together, being intimate, just flooded his memories. It was overwhelming. He said he went to your work the following day, wanting to make sense of the memories he started to recall.

After that sudden revelation, his memory started to trickle in little by little. You would get calls from him, sometimes during the most ungodly hours of the day, and on the other side of the line, would be a sheepish Bucky, whispering the details of the memory that popped into his dreams that night.

One time was at 3 in the morning, you woke up to the special ringtone that you set up for Bucky. 

“Hello?” You asked groggily.

“Hi, Y/N,” Bucky whispered. You could picture the blush on his cheeks. He would always apologize for waking you but he was too afraid that he’d forget what he remembered. He was tired of not knowing his past. He was tired of not knowing you. “’M sorry for waking you but I remembered something.”

You chuckled, “No worries, Buck. What did you remember, sweetheart?”

“We were in my old apartment, the one you talked to me about... and we were just watching a movie, it was a cartoon. Disney, I think? I don’t know, it was like a girl with long hair and she had this lizard pet? She was blonde-”

“Tangled.” You cut him off. You thought about the memory, fondly. He would always be muttering something about how his hair looks so much better but her hair had the ability to heal, so it wasn’t fair. “It was your favorite.”

“Really?” He laughed. You heard his sheets rustle over the phone. He was trying to get comfortable again. “Can we watch it next time you come over, doll?”

“Of course, Buck.” You sat up, knowing that you won’t be able to go back to bed after this. It always happened, but you didn’t mind. You enjoyed talking to Bucky and as much as your body hates you for never getting proper rest, Bucky made sure to make it up to you by bringing you coffees and giving you massages. “Now, continue.”

“Oh right,” He trailed off. “So, we were watching Tangled, right? And there’s this knock on the door and it’s this old lady and she just smiles at me once I open the door. She goes, “Just in case you and your lady haven’t had any supper yet, sonny.” Do you remember that?”

“I do,” You giggled, bringing yourself back to that day. “We were sitting on your couch and we didn’t want to get up. We were convinced that it was the most comfortable place in the world. We were about ready to starve to death. Then, Mrs. Ruddminski, she was your neighbor. She looked after you, you know. But anyway, she stopped by and gave us a home cooked meal. We ended up eating out of the pot she gave us, still on the couch. We fell asleep like that.”

“That sounds nice.”

You could sense his smile through the phone. You knew just how much those little memories meant to him. It’s the details that he was chasing after. He wanted to stop and look at the smaller parts of the big picture. He wanted to remember what you two shared. You kept thinking back to the times before everything happened. For such a long time, you deprived yourself from even thinking about him, fearing for his safety. And now here he was, safe and with you, and now he brought the key to unlock the memories you tried so hard to forget. 

“Y/N.” His voice snapped you out of your thoughts.

“Oh, sorry. Yes, Bucky?”

“I said, I won’t keep you up any longer.” He repeated. “Goodnight, Y/N. Thank you again.”

You whispered a “goodnight” and waited to hear the click of the line before you confessed, again, your love for him to nobody on the other end.

Something changed when I saw you

Oh, my eyes can't lie

You said, "They're so damn blue

And I love how you're so forward

Is it too soon to say I'm falling?”

It wasn’t unusual for you to spend much of your days in the tower with the team. They knew that you were an essential part to Bucky’s recovery and truthfully, the team grew fond of you. You were always pleasant to be around, never complaining about the team’s bickering, no matter how annoying and how often it happened. And you were patient. 

“I don’t know how you do it, Y/N,” Tony confessed to you one day after Bucky’s session. “You must be getting tired of this.”

“Not at all.” You smiled fondly, watching Bucky emerge from the other room. “For him, I’d wait a lifetime.”

Here you were, sitting closely beside Bucky, watching Tangled for the first time since. He would exclaim how he remembered some parts of the movie and curse himself for remembering more of the movie than the time you two spent watching the movie. You just reminded him that you didn’t mind that he didn’t remember because you were gonna stick around to remind him. 

“Thank you, Y/N.”

“No problem, Buck.” You replied, beaming at him. You redirected your attention back to the screen, seeing that the scene with the lanterns was about to happen. “Look, it’s your favorite part.”

You felt him shift his eyes from you to the screen. You took this opportunity to sneak a glance at him. Bucky’s eyes lit up as the music started to play. The glow of the screen reflected beautifully on his blue eyes, immediately taking you back to those many times that you two watched it in his small apartment. His eyes flickered to look at you, his Adam’s apple bobbing harshly. His hand inched closer to yours, your breath suddenly getting stuck in your throat.

He hasn’t touched you since he first remembered and yes, you were yearning for the day you would feel his arms around you again, but you also knew that he needed to take his time to fully recover. So when his hand touched yours, just for a brief second, your eyes welled up with tears. His hands were just as soft as you remembered and his touch was just as warm as you imagined. Bucky saw the single tear rolling down your cheek, his reflexes too fast for you to hide your reaction. 

“What’s wrong?” He removed his hand quickly, feeling like he did something wrong. “Is everything okay?”

You wiped the tear from your cheek, “Everything’s good, Bucky.”

“Then why are you crying doll?”

“You haven’t touched me in so long.” You whispered, giving him a soft smile. You hoped your eyes could convey the love you had for him because you knew that there were no words in the world that could even touch what you wanted to say. 

Bucky hesitated for a moment before intertwining his fingers with yours. He sighed at the familiarity of it all. It felt right. “I’ve wanted to for so long, in the most innocent way but I’m afraid of hurting you.”

You stared at the way his thumb rubbed across the back of your hand tenderly. Your heartbeat accelerated at the simple gesture. You raised your intertwined hands and placed a light, feathery, kiss to his, “You could never hurt me.”

So maybe

Maybe we were always meant to meet

Like this was all our destiny

Like you already know

Your heart will never be broken by me

Since the day Bucky held your hand, he started to show more affection towards you. He still held himself back from touching you with his metal arm but his flesh arm always found its way to the small of your back or back to your hand. And every single time his hand touched your skin, there was a burning sensation there. It was like your body reacted that way to show you that it’s all real. He’s real. He’s actually beside you. 

You were at work, finishing up a shift, when you heard the sound of his Steve’s voice talking to the hostess. You clocked out and rushed to the front of the restaurant to find a distraught Steve. 

The blond man’s eyes widened when he finally saw you. “Y/N, thank God! You have to come with me right now. It’s an emergency.”

Those words were all it took to take you back to the time you lost Bucky, all those years ago. Your head started to spin and your mouth got dry. You couldn’t even form a coherent sentence, you just nodded furiously and followed Steve out of the restaurant. 

During the ride to the tower, Steve explained the situation to you but you’d be lying if you said you were paying attention. The words that left his lips entered your brain in jumbled chunks. “Bucky... hurt... bad... mission.. HYDRA.” Those were the only words you comprehended in the twenty minute car ride. 

When you arrived at the tower, you left Steve behind, rushing to get to the medical wing. You’d been there a handful of times getting patched up after incidents in your silly adventures with Bucky. A few times from slipping in the kitchen due to your failed baking attempts turned to food fights. Another few from nights you spent throwing up trying to outdrink the super-soldier duo. 

You saw Bucky. And it hit you. 

There was no way you were about to lose him, not again, not ever. He was making tremendous progress, according to Tony. He was starting to remove himself from the Winter Soldier, his trigger words almost falling short. It would only take a few more sessions to completely remove it from him. 

Now, he laid there, broken and bruised on the hospital bed with tubes and ties attached to him. His metal arm was gone, the ragged edges of it showing that it wasn’t removed voluntarily. You raced to be by his side, not knowing or caring, if he even felt your presence. You took a hold of his hand, leaning against it to silent your sobs. 

Steve arrived at the medical wing not too long after you. Wanda and Nat looked at the scene in front of them, sadly. Wanda took a step forward, almost opening the door to Bucky’s room to comfort you, but Steve stopped her. 

“Give her some time.”

The young girl nodded, looking at Nat as their cue to leave you alone. The trained assassin followed Wanda as she exited the medical wing, giving Steve’s shoulder a comforting squeeze. 

So is it crazy

For you to tell your friends to go on home?

So we can be here all alone

Fall in love tonight

And spend the rest of our lives as one

“Y/N, you shouldn’t waste your talents by working as a waitress.” Tony said, as you handed him the tools to fix up Bucky’s new arm.

“I need the money, Stark.” You sighed, looking over the sketches you designed for Bucky. “Not everyone has an inheritance they can fall back on.”

“I just got a billion dollar idea,” He dropped the tool on the table and faced you. You cocked an eyebrow, urging him to continue. “Work for me.”

You scoffed, “Yeah, right.”

“I’m dead serious, Y/N.” He pointed at the millions of papers on the table. “You designed this. You’re talented, kid. What do you say?”

You pretended to ponder it for a minute, but you knew deep down it wasn’t really a question. “I guess I’ll put in my two-weeks notice tomorrow.”

Tony let out an overly-excited “Yay.” before returning to work on the arm. 

You continued to help Tony on the arm until late into the night. All you could think about was how excited Bucky would be when you tell him you now work in the tower. You kept looking at his room, hoping to see some changes. It’s been two weeks since the incident and Bucky still hasn’t woken up. 

Although the team would never say it out loud, you could tell they were starting to lose hope. The HYDRA attack was strong, so strong that it was able to take down a super-soldier. Sitting in on the medical reports made your heart sink to your stomach. You knew the doctors were trying their best to tiptoe around the fact that Bucky had a small chance of waking up. The only people who shared your optimism were Steve and Tony. 

Steve was just as in denial as you. Bucky is his best friend and he wouldn’t know what he would do if he lost him again. Especially after the loss of Peggy, Steve knew the loss of Bucky would internally kill him. And Tony refused to believe that Bucky’s demise would be caused by HYDRA. “Bucky’s too strong for that, he’ll pull through.” He said, everyday. Sometimes you started to feel like the words were losing their meaning. 

It was 12:37AM when Tony called it a night. The arm was finally starting to take shape and you were excited to see the final product. Tony bid you a tired goodnight and retreated to his room. You, on the other hand, made your way to Bucky’s hospital room, as you did the past two weeks. You first slept on the couch the first three days but after you got back from work on the fourth day, there was a small bed installed in the corner of the room. You knew it was Tony and Steve’s doing, they didn’t have to own up to it. You appreciated it, to say the least.

“Hey, Buck,” You whispered, like you did every night. “The arm’s looking good. I can’t wait for you to try it out. I designed it, you know. I hope you like it.”

“I’m quitting Olive Garden, by the way. Tony managed to convince me to take a job here. Crazy, right? I don’t know how I’ll handle working for Stark but I’ll make do. Plus, I’ll be seeing you more often so it makes it all worth it.” You continued, placing your hand above his. “It’s been two weeks, Buck. I’m going insane here. Maybe you can pull off another miracle and come back to me one more time?”

You used your other hand to wipe the tears off your face, “I don’t care how long it takes but just come back to me, yeah? I lived without you once and I don’t think I ever wanna do it again... Goodnight, sweetheart. I have many more stories to tell you when you wake up.”

I should take your hand and make you come with me

Away from all this noise and impurity

'Cause I feel like you're too perfect

And I don't mean just on the surface

“His injuries are severe, Y/N.” The doctor reiterated sadly. “I don’t think I can confidently advise you to keep him in this state.”

“So what do you suggest, huh?” You spat, your lips trembling. “You wanna pull the fucking plug? You wanna give up on him, is that it?”

“Y/N,” Steve held your forearm, trying to calm you. You looked back at Steve. He looked defeated, tired, worn out. “It’s been a month and a half and no progress. Maybe we should start thinking of other options.”

“Like what, Steve?” You asked, your anger bubbling up inside you. “You wanna give up on him too?”

“No, never,” He assured you. “But we need to do something other than waiting.”

“The only other option is to trigger the Winter Soldier inside him again to enhance his body systems again.”

“I know, Y/N, but he would be able to live.” 

“He’d live in agony again, Steve.” You stated, sitting back down in your seat. “He worked so hard to remove that from himself. It’s the one thing that destroyed him the most. Nothing that destroys someone can ever be the way they’re fixed again.”

Steve nodded, knowing that you were right. “Alright, so what do we do? Let’s come up with a plan.”

That entire day was spent with Steve, Bruce, and Tony, trying to figure out a way to trigger the Winter Soldier’s abilities without actually triggering the Winter Soldier. To your dismay, the cure wasn’t found that day but you weren’t about to give up. And you tried your hardest to ignore the sympathetic looks from everyone as you said, “Let’s reconvene and figure this out tomorrow.” You weren’t giving up on Bucky.

You slid into the covers of the bed inside Bucky’s room. Tony brought some of Bucky’s pillows from his room for you to use. It was a week ago when he first gave it to you and his scent was slowly starting to fade. You laid on your back, eyes screwed shut. It wasn’t supposed to be this hard, was it? Especially not for Bucky. He had already gone through so much. When will life finally say enough is enough? If there was anyone in the world who needed a break, it was Bucky. 

You waited for sleep to take over your body in the eerie silence. The only noise was the hissing of the machines and the sheets rustling under your body as you moved around. 

“Y/N?” A hoarse voice croaked out. 

Your eyes shot open. You immediately sat up, “F.R.I.D.A.Y, turn on the lights please.”

When the lights flickered on, your eyes met the blue ones that you never thought you’d see again. 

So don't be scared, I am too

'Cause this chemistry between me and you

Is too much to just ignore it

So I'll admit it now, I'm falling

“How are you feeling, Bucky?” Clint asked, patting him on the back as he leaned back on the couch. 

Bucky looked over his shoulder, the black metal of his new arm in his peripheral vision, “Feeling like i’m not a day over 100.”

Clint laughed at his joke, mumbling a, “Good to have you back.” before disappearing into the crowd of people. Tony decided that after a coma, Bucky needed nothing less than a gathering of his favorite people.

“My favorite people?” Bucky cocked his head to the side, confused. “A party with just Steve and Y/N?”

Tony glared at him, “Ouch. I’m gonna pretend you didn’t say that.”

Alas, despite his refusal, Tony threw him a party. It wasn’t Stark-sized, which Bucky was thankful for, but it was a significantly larger crowd than he was used to. There were 30 people in total but the one he was looking for was nowhere to be found. 

“Looking for someone?”

Bucky turned around and saw you, smirking at him. He instantly smiled, getting up to wrap his arms around you. You snuggled into his chest, loving the feeling of him against your body. After Bucky healed, he was no longer shy with his affection. The night he woke up, he kissed you the second you were close enough to his face.

“I heard you, you know.” He confessed, breathless after you pulled away. “I was screaming trying to tell you that I wanted to come back to you and that I would do everything in my power to. I can’t leave my best girl again.”

“Bucky...” You cried, your hands cupping his face. “I love you.”

“I love you, Y/N.” He replied. Your heart bursted in your chest. He loves you. “Hearing you talk and knowing you were by my side through it all made me realize that my biggest fear is losing you. So for the time that I’ll have you, I’m making sure I use it wisely.” 

Wisely, he did. He kissed you at every chance he got, took you out on dates the minute he got cleared, and always reminded you how much he loved and adored you. 

“Wanna dance, soldier?” You asked, pointing to the dance floor. 

Bucky extended his hand for you to take and you obliged. He pulled you close to his chest as the soft melody swayed your bodies back and forth. He breathed in your scent, sighing in contentment when he felt your lips ghost over his jaw. 

“I never stopped loving you, even through those years.” You said, lifting your head from his chest to look at him. 

“You made me fall in love, twice.” He said. “And somehow, I’m still falling for you more and more everyday.”

So maybe

Maybe we were always meant to meet

Like this was all our destiny

Like you already know

Your heart will never be broken by me

[perksofbeingaharrie]

In My Feels

Imagine born literally out of when I was in my feels

Enjoy xx.

SUMMARY 

You missed Harry too much, Harry missed you back equally enough. You see each other a whole month later but not really in the best setting. 

Type: angst, mentions of smut, fluff

Word count: <2000

MASTERLIST  o  REQUEST BOX

-

“This is ridiculous, Glenne. Absolutely ridiculous.”

She fumes, violently uncapping the innocent tube of mascara and proceeding to bring the brush to her eyelashes with the same velocity.

Glenne, on the other side of the video call, only hides her chuckle as she watches her best friend rant.

“No, seriously – he comes back a month after god knows from where and suddenly the first place he wants to show up to is at a random friend’s house party?”

“Terrible.” Glenne adds, powdering some blush on her cheeks.

Y/N’s rant is not done yet. “I understand he promised his friend and everything but am I bad to just want a little time with MY boyfriend after for not holding him in my arms for so many days?”

“Hey, you’re being gross now.” Glenne cuts in, picking her phone in her hand and looking her full make-up packed face in it once. “Are you ready?”

Y/N blinks at the call, realizing her task at hand. “Oh, yeah. I just gotta pick a nice lip colour.”

“Okay, so this is what you do-“ Glenne goes on and on about a plan to get back at Harry when they get to the party themselves where he is supposed to be at as Y/N finishes up fixing her look.

The plan is a vain excuse to carry on talking to one another as Glenne drives over to pick her friend up. They both know, in fact Glenne more, how terrible Y/N will get once she lays eyes on her boyfriend after a long tour.

And, the fact that it is always true makes Glenne pinch Y/N’s butt as they enter the house and Y/N blocks everyone’s way as she stands staring at her beau in awe from across the room.

They shake their heads at each other and while Glenne like a good friend touches up on Y/N’s look the last minute, Y/N spends this time to go over how she would react in front of him.

She doesn’t get much to play around with, however, because Harry himself is already walking up to her and this clearly had no part in her day dreaming.

His smell makes her knees go weak on the first sniff as he wraps his arms around her. The way his fragrance, his aura wraps her entire body at once and takes her back to all the good times. She cannot think of anymore reasons to want to pull away from him and act all cold (you know, as planned).

“Fuck,” He whispers a soft moan in her hair as he rounds his long arms more and more around her figure, peppering her hair with long, big smooches. “Fuck.”

When they pull apart, his hands immediately go up to cup her face in them while her arms circle his torso.

No matter the make-up, her eyes sparkle and become more expresses when she looks at him like that. A ghost of a smile show with the crinkles around her eyes and her soft hold enough is to make him escape this party for a minute.

“That sounds like a very regretful curse, baby. Are you sorry about something?” She teases him, her voice a tired, relaxed tone to his ears – like finally after long she is putting down her guard to someone.

His reaction to her teasing is another natural one: he snickers lowly, brushing his thumb against her cheek delicately.

“Baby.” He echoes her nickname, both of them reflexively falling closer to bring their lips on one another.

The worst is to just have to pull away after two long smooches on their lips. This tests her patient beyond comprehension, and when they pull in for a hug again, she is pulling at his blazer as if ready to tear it apart.

Of course, their moment is broken apart then and there – a bunch of friends come over to see Harry.

Harry slickly removes himself from her hold to greet his friends and their friends back in a hug. She is aware of the chances that they would circle around him one way or another and push her out of his circumference (a very common occurring for her and her famous boyfriend now).

So, without much thought, she fights her way through clinging onto Harry’s side, clutching onto his hip like a twin. His arm naturally comes to fall around her shoulders and by god’s grace, they stay in this position for the long that people wish to talk to him.

Some people approach her too but her little smile and nod here and there is all they get. Somehow, she is not in the mood to interact at all with anyone – which mostly she is not but right now especially.

With this little trick begins the series of how clingy Y/N could be.

Harry is surprised but also amused.

She does everything to make him at least hold her hand as he walks around, following behind like a lost puppy. He entertains her once in a while with a little shoulder rub, back rub, kiss to her temple and most, another peck to her lips. She is nowhere satisfied with this at any cost though.

And so, they go around and about the house together, stuck at the hip.

“What are you doing?” Harry chuckles and asks her as he finally pulls to a quiet corner in the middle of it all.

She only whines with a frown, pulling him by the collar of his shirt so that now he pins her to the wall.

His arms go around her again and he pulls her lower body to his while her shoulders stay stuck to the wall. Her arms immediately go around his neck to leverage support.

They are both a chuckling mess as his lips ghost overs her teasingly and as she struggles to pull them to her.

With the final touch of their lips, they are both moaning relief into their mouths, arms struggling to maintain a composure. Their lips lap over one another in a languid, slow rhythm, tongues breaking an even more messy angle to the romancing.

Everything, nevertheless, feels so perfect.

The mellow grinding of their hips on one another, the slow music in the background synchronizing with their groans and moans and the mismanaged, confused positioning of their arms who just want to be everywhere.

His palm curls her hair up on her head in one big fist as his fingers open to massage her top. She opens her eyes once to breathe and then she goes back into kissing him with a greater passion once she looks at him this indulged.

There is no better feeling reciprocated than when the one you missed had missed you back equally.

With all these thoughts and emotions, it is easy to ignore everything around you.

But thank you to the creators of phone ringtones for making them so loud; such a moment can only be interrupted by these devils.

“Are you kidding me --?”

She watching with big eyes as Harry pulls away to bring his phone in his hand and watch it light up.

“Damn it.” He curses in a low tone. “I think they are looking for us.”

“For you.” Her tone is so bitter that he looks up at her immediately, all concerned.

“Baby.” He pouts. “I promise we have all the night, the days. Let me just wrap this up as soon as I can and then there’s nothing coming for us.”

“Hmm.” She sighs loud, looking away from him in a savvy look.

He kisses her turned cheek. “Wait for me at the end. We’ll drive back in my car.”

He winks to her, and with a pat to her hip he runs after to complete this little obligation as soon as possible.

-

He is on his stomach, lying on the bed. His palms hold his chin up and his long legs are crossed in a position like a little child lazing in front of the tv.

She appears before him, sliding the doors of her walk closet open – her body in a sleek lacy set lingerie. She poses for a moment at the door, one arm sliding up the sill while the other curves on her hip.

He pounces out of the bed in just one twitch of his body reacting to her and is immediately scooping her body in his arms as their lips meet.

She is like jelly in his hold – letting him squeeze, massage, feel around as he likes and however he likes; and when he comes down to pick her up in his arms, it is the easiest task in the world.

She clings onto his upper body equally well as her legs wrap around him; and he is swaying her in his arms as he carries her to the bed, erupting a bunch of playful chuckles between them.

“We should do this more often.” He sighs so when once they are through with rounds after rounds in the night and finally laying calm and comforted beside each other.

She is covered and comfortable wrapped in the duvet beside him, laying on her stomach with sleep drooping eyes. Her face still glistens with the tiredness of their activities but the glow from her contentedness is beyond anything else.

He watches her as he lays to his side, one hand running slowly up and down her back delicately.

“Do what more, Harry?” She fakes a troubled tone.

He snickers under his breath. “You know, the missing each other too much sometimes.”

“Mmhmm.” She nods, sleepily. “I miss you always anyways.”

“Hmm?” He muses.

She smiles and lifts up on her arms, shoulders perking up in the air. “I miss you even when you are in the city; even when I have seen you the night before; or even when you walk out of the door to work every morning –“

She counts on her fingers along too.

He cannot help the goofy chuckle come up again. “That’s a little obsessive, you know.”

She gasps exasperatedly, jumping to him to pull him to herself by his neck. “That’s how I love!”

His laugh is contagious as they wrestle around in the position for a bit, ending up getting tickled and jumping away from one another at once.

“This is what you chose.” She reminds him, a big teasing smile on her face.

He agrees, moving forward to kiss her in reminder of the fact.

“All your talking’s kind of got me all hard again.” He says close to her face.

She releases a fake cry and groan, rolling onto her back. Harry is quick to grab her side and pull her as he muses in her little act. Of course, if he’s up for another round, she cannot say no. The entire night won’t be enough to compensate for all the missing this past month.

So, much convinced with the idea, Harry is the first to announce loud to the walls and furniture of the room:

“Baby, it’s on!”

[bot-imagines]

The Autobots Discovering a Forced Fusion

(TW: Human experimentation, body horror, and vomiting.)

(Seriously, it’s gonna be gross, you guys. I surprised myself with this one.)

(A follow-up of sorts to this piece)

The Autobots had managed to pinpoint the Nemesis’ location and had opened a groundbridge in a desperate attempt for energon. Ratchet had been pulled along as well, leaving Rafael in charge of manning the groundbridge controls.

Miko saw her opportunity when Raf had been focusing on something on his laptop and Jack had gone to grab a snack. With a grin, she bounded down the stairs and made a beeline for the glowing portal. She heard Raf shout something just before she passed through, and then suddenly, she was in the Decepticon warship.

She’d been onboard a few times now, but she still felt a sense of awe every time she was here. She took a moment to take in the utter magnitude of the ship, with its dim lights and hallways that stretched for what felt like miles. 

She was about to run off to find Bulkhead and the others when she was suddenly pulled back by the arm. “Hey!” she exclaimed.

“Shh! Do you want Megatron knowing we’re here?!” Jack whispered harshly. Miko pursed her lips in annoyance and yanked her arm out of his grip. 

“You didn’t have to follow me, you know. I was going to go find Bulk.”

“Miko, we gotta get out of here. This isn’t just a scouting mission.”

“No way! Come on, we should check this place out!”

“Did you miss the part where I said Megatron was here?”

Miko only shrugged as she started backing away. “That old buckethead doesn’t know we’re here. And besides, he’ll flip out over Optimus being here before he’ll even notice us. When that happens, he’ll sound the alarm and we make a run for it. Simple enough.”

“Miko-” Before Jack could launch into his explanation of just how bad of a decision that was, Miko had turned and run off. He had no choice but to follow.

-

Miko wasn’t sure which way the Bots had gone, but after almost twenty minutes of wandering, she had come to the conclusion that she was completely lost. So she wandered. She skittered from door to door, peeking inside to see if she could find something cool or something to break. Jack was following behind at a distance, but she knew he’d be able to keep up. 

They’d just passed another hallway when Miko’s phone rang. She fumbled with tit for a moment in her haste to answer, and she saw Jack running towards her in her peripheral vision as she finally managed to flip it open and accept the call.

“Are you nuts?! My ringtone is on! Do you want me to get caught?!”

“Miko, where are you?” Bulkhead’s familiar baritone eased her nerves slightly.

“How’d you know I wasn’t at the base?”

“Raf called. Said you ran after us and Jack followed you. Come on, where’d you run off to? We need to get going.”

Miko frowned, pouting slightly as she turned to glance at Jack. “Aw, already? I haven’t even found anything yet.”

“Miko...”

She grumbled, but with both Bulkhead’s scolding and Jack’s hard glare, she gave their location.

“Alright. Stay there. We’re finished up here so we’ll head your way. Don’t move.” Miko opened her mouth to argue, but he hung up before she could. She huffed and shut her phone.

“Let’s try to stay out of sight until the Bots get here,” said Jack. 

“You guys are no fun,” she grumbled.

“Does this really seem like fun to you?! Sneaking around an alien ship filled with giant robots that’ll try to stomp on you if they spot you?!” Miko didn’t answer. She just crossed her arms and stared down at the floor. Jack sighed and took her by the elbow as he guided them to a wall they could press up against.

Ten minutes passed and no one showed up. Miko debated getting her phone out and calling Bulkhead, but she didn’t want to risk giving away his location in case he was hiding from any Cons. She had to fight back to urge to groan from boredom.

There was a harsh hiss of pressurized air nearby, followed by the thud of giant footsteps. Jack’s hand tightened around her own and Miko found herself squeezing back. They both pressed back against the wall in the hopes that they would go unnoticed by whoever was passing by. 

Miko dared to look up, and saw the Decepticon scientist Shockwave looming overhead. He hadn’t seen them, or at least, she was pretty sure he hadn’t. He was looking ahead with that one large red eye as he walked by. She watched him go for a while before looking back in the direction he’d come from. Setting her jaw, Miko let go of Jack’s hand and made a break for the doorway. She didn’t wait to see if Jack had followed her as she came to a stop in the front of the door and ran inside.

She could tell right away that it was a lab of some kind. Computer screens lined the walls and displayed all kinds of readings and writing that she couldn’t understand. Something was glowing from around the corner and Miko grinned as she ran over to investigate.

Lined up along the wall were a series of tubes. They were rather small for a Decepticon and she wondered what they were for. She could see that there was something floating in the bright green fluid. Cautiously, she approached.

Up close, she could make out the vague shape of a person, but the green goo was so foggy that she couldn’t really tell. She leaned in closer until her face was almost pressed up against the glass.

Something slammed against the glass, causing her to shriek and leap backwards. She crashed into something warm that grunted before she toppled to the ground.

“Careful!” Jack said. Miko rolled off of him and scowled at him. 

“Stop sneaking up on me!” Jack glowered at her and opened his mouth to argue when there was another slam. Both of them jumped before turned to the tubes. 

Pressed up against glass was a human hand. 

They stared, frozen in place. 

“There’s... someone in there?” Jack muttered under his breath. He met Miko’s eyes. The stillness was broken as Miko pushed herself up onto her feet. 

“We’ve got to get them out of there,” she said as she walked around the tube, searching for some kind of opening. 

“Wait, what?” Jack was on his feet now too. 

“Come on,” she said as she got on her knees and leaned down, still searching, “Help me find a way to get this thing open.”

“Miko, I don’t think-”

“Jack? Miko?” She shot up just in time to see Bulkhead and Bumblebee entering the lab. “What are you two doing? We gotta go!”

“Bulk, you gotta help us get this open! Someone’s in here!” Bee buzzed something before Arcee came in. Bee repeated whatever he’d said as Bulkhead came up to the tube Miko was standing next to. 

“Stand back,” Bulkhead said as he wrapped a hand around the top of the casing.  With a quick tug, the top came off with a creaking sound and the crunch of glass. Wires were attached to the inside of the lid and disappeared in the strange goo. “Wha-”

An arm shot out of the tube and grabbed the edge. The tube began to wobble as whoever was inside tried to pull themself out. Bulkhead cursed as he tried to snatch up the tube, but whatever was inside had covered the glass, making it too slippery for him to get a grip on. 

The tube fell to the floor and broke apart with a crash. Shattered glass and fluid splattered out all over. Jack pulled Miko back, away from the broken shards. Miko could only stare at the lump that began to move. 

It was shiny with the nasty looking goo, and Miko felt her stomach turn at how slimy and thick looking it was. The lump wriggled on the ground for a moment before an arm reached out to balance itself. Then another. Then another.

Miko could only stare as a pale, hairless thing that vaguely resembled a human slowly brought itself onto its knees. It slowly lifted its head, revealing two sets of milky white eyes. If she really looked at the thing, she could see the human features: shriveled up ears, a nose, and thin lips. Its body was gangly and frail-looking, and even from this angle Miko could tell that its ribs were visible. It looked like someone had stretched paper-thin skin over a human skeleton. Neat lines marred its body, and the precision pointed to surgical scars. The left arm was normal enough until the elbow. From there, the forearm split up into two, giving the thing three functioning hands. 

The wires that were attached to the inside of the tube were connected to what looked to be ports in the creature’s back and around its neck.

It stared at Miko for a moment, unblinking and trembling.

Then it opened it mouth and let out a garbled noise that made Miko wince. 

“Jack! Miko! Get back!” Bulkhead stepped in-between the creature and the children, and Miko was suddenly being lifted into the air by Bumblebee.

“What the scrap is that?” Arcee asked, her face twisted in disgust. The creature warbled out again and began to twist its head this way and that. Almost as if it was looking for something.

“Whatever it is, it’s not normal,” Bulkhead said. His voice was steady, but Miko knew her wrecking buddy well enough to know that it was all for show. 

Jack was still staring at the thing on the ground when he said quietly, “Miko.”

Miko turned to her friend, confused by the frailty in his voice. Jack looked at her. “It’s human.”

“What?” Arcee brought Jack closer to her chest as she took a step back from the slimy body. “That’s no human.”

“Can’t you sense it?” Jack sounded so small, and it took a moment of Miko looking at the thing before it finally registered.

She’d been looking at the thing’s physical appearance and not its mental one. There was a feeling she got from looking at this pale, squirming thing.

It felt sour, mutated, and - to her horror - familiar.

“That’s... That’s a fusion,” she choked out. From above her, she could hear Bee let out a loud whirr of shock and confusion. Bulkhead was saying something else, but Miko didn’t hear it.

She couldn’t stop staring at the thing on the floor. The human on the floor. The humans on the floor. 

She glanced up at the row of tubes that seemed longer and longer now.

If this is what was in this tube, then did that mean that all of these...?

A loud bang set everyone on high alert. Miko had just enough time to see that a team of Cons had entered the lab, guns raised and shooting, before she was quickly set on the floor next to a stunned Jack.

Bumblebee had joined Bulkhead in engaging the Cons while Arcee kept guard on the children. She used her commlink to call for Raf to open the groundbridge. From the door, Optimus was striking down drones left and right as he fought to reach the others. Miko and Jack crawled further away from the fight.

From the corner of her eye, Miko saw the deformed fusion was still trembling, trying desperately to stand.

Now that she was looking for it, she could sense feelings that only humans who had fused before could pick up on.

There was confusion, and fear, and overwhelming anguish.

And there was pain. So, so much pain.

Her eyes began to prick with tears at the sheer intensity of the emotions the fusion was emitting. 

There was a crash as three drones worked simultaneously to bring Bulkhead down. They forced him to back up, forced him to go on the defense.

“Bulkhead!” Miko cried out, only to regret it immediately. Bulkhead looked at her, away from the drones, and didn’t have time to block the next punch. It sent him toppling to the floor.

Miko’s heart stopped as he slammed into the other tubes. 

Slimy green fluid burst out, covering Bulkhead as well as the floor. As the goo began to drain, other bodies started appearing.

Now that Miko knew exactly what they were, what the Decepticons were doing to them, her horror and nausea only grew.

There was one fusion with two heads and three legs, with one deformed arm sticking out of the middle of its torso.

Another was attached only by the head, and Miko let out a sob as she beheld the jumbled mess of flesh that made up its face.

One after another, the grotesque human fusions slipped out of their containers. One unlucky one had fallen onto a large shard of glass that still stuck to the tube, effectively impaling the thing. It was wriggling and clawing at the glass, cutting up its hands as it screeched in pain. 

Bile was rising in her throat, and Miko could only hiccup out another sob. 

She couldn’t move. 

She couldn’t think. 

She wasn’t entirely sure if she was still breathing.

Miko was vaguely aware of someone shaking her, but she couldn’t bring herself to answer. And then she was being hugged. It took a minute or two for her to realize that it was Jack. She reached up and wrapped her arms around him, burying her face into the fabric of his t-shirt. 

“Jack!” Arcee was running toward them, only to be tackled by another drone. Jack pulled Miko to her feet and forced her to look him in the eyes.

“We have to find better cover,” he said. He looked around for a moment before pointing to a nearby computer console. There was what looked to be a series of drawers. A few were open, no doubt having been knocked into at some point during the scuffle. “There!” Jack grabbed Miko’s hand and ran for it, pulling her along. She had to force herself to run, despite the numb feeling in her limbs. 

They were close when something wrapped around her ankle. She cried out and she fell to the floor, grunting as her chest took the full impact. She scrambled to get up, but whatever had her was pulling insistently.

Miko looked back and immediately wished she hadn’t.

One of the fusions had wrapped one of its five hands around her ankle. It split at the hips into two torsos, two sets of arms, and two heads. One of the halves was fighting to sit up with shaking arms, a dark blanket of hair masking its face, while the other one tugged her back.

Miko screamed and tried to kick away its hand. Her boot only slipped on the slick liquid covering its body. 

The fusion warbled, reaching out another hand to wrap around her calf. She could feel the slime soaking through her leggings and making her shudder. She whimpered as she met its eyes. It opened its toothless mouth and, to her horror, spoke.

“Hhhhuuuuu... Huuuuu... Huuulllll...” 

“Miko!” Jack grabbed her hand and tried to pull her out of the fusion’s reach, but it was no use. Jack swore and let go, looking for another way.

“Hullllll... Puh... Huuuullllp... mmmmeeeee...”

Jack appeared above them and before Miko could react, he brought his foot down on the fusion’s arm. He did it again and again before it finally let go of her leg. Miko scrambled to her feet and ran.

She and Jack reached the drawer, and he gave her a boost before climbing in. They crawled over datapads and miscellaneous tools until they were at the back of the drawer. They could hear the blaster fire and the clash of Cybertronians fighting. Miko’s ears were absolutely ringing with it.

“Jack...”

“We need to stay here. We’ll be crushed if any of those Cons see us.”

“J-Jack, that... those humans,” Miko whimpered. Jack looked back at her, and for the first time, Miko saw the tears brimming in his eyes. 

“Not now,” he said quietly, “Please, Miko. Not right now.”

As if in answer, there was a deafening crash before a familiar voice shouted out, “Jack! Miko!” Ratchet sounded out of breath and both humans peeked out of the drawer to find him looking rather frantically around the lab. Jack got to his feet and waved to the medic. Ratchet was there in an instant, pulling the drawer open and scooping them both up. “I’m getting you out of here,” he said.

Miko didn’t fight it this time.

-

The moment they were through the groundbridge, Ratchet set both of them down and began frantically prepping the medical bay. Miko’s legs felt like rubber as she stumbled to the nearest wall. 

Jack managed to take a few step before he fell to his knees and heaved. A thin line of bile splattered on the concrete and Miko felt herself start to retch as well. As her nausea squeezed her stomach, tears spilled down her face, and she could only whimper as she body arched with every heave.

At some point - she wasn’t sure when - Miko had been picked up and taken to the small bathroom that they sometimes used whenever they came to the base. She had curled up against the small metal toilet as she continued to throw up, her body sore and shaking with the effort. 

After what felt like hours, she managed to gain enough control of herself that she was able to go to the sink and wash out her mouth. She splashed some water on her face in an effort to clean up a bit, but she still looked awful. Her eyes were pink and puffy, and her cheeks were sallow. She had a glisten to her skin, and she knew that it was sweat. 

She stared at herself in the mirror. The longer she did, the harder it was to keep from crying again. 

Miko suddenly didn’t want to be alone anymore, so she left the bathroom and wandered back towards the main area. She was about to turn the last corner when she heard the Bots speaking in hushed tones.

“I knew that the Cons were evil,” Bulkhead muttered, “but I didn’t think they were that bad.”

“The Decepticons have been known to practice unethical experiments of all sorts,” Ratchet grumbled. “Especially Shockwave.”

“Yeah, on other Cybertronians maybe.” Arcee sounded angry. The sound of an engine drew everyone’s attention a moment later, followed by the familiar sounds of transformation. 

“I trust that Rafael made it home safely?” asked Optimus. Bumblebee answered with a quick chirp. 

“Should we really keep this from him? I mean, he’s human too,” said Bulkhead.

“Absolutely not,” Ratchet hissed. “You saw what happened when Jack and Miko saw those things. They were completely devastated.”

“Ratchet is correct,” said Optimus, “While Rafael is quite mature for his age, he is still a youngling of his species. Such things do not need to be brought to light at such a young age.”

“And what about Miko?” Bulkhead snapped. “Frag, Optimus, how the pit am I supposed to help her? I don’t even know how I feel about this.” Bumblebee buzzed again before Bulkhead grumbled out “I don’t want to think about it.”

“So what do we do?” Arcee asked. “We have to do something. We can’t just leave those... those humans as they are.”

“I still can’t understand it,” Ratchet said. “I was able to grab a few of the data slugs that held information about the experiment, but none of it is making any sense.”

“What do you mean?”

“From the research I’ve done and what we’ve witnessed with Mack, fusion is a complicated process for even willing humans. How in Primus’ name did Shockwave manage to forcefully fuse them together?”

“I don’t think I want to know.” There were murmurs of agreement followed by a beat of silence.

“I will speak to Agent Fowler about our next move. We will need the humans’ knowledge if we are to help these fusions,” Optimus assured.

“...Can we help them?” Arcee asked quietly. No one spoke, and Miko could feel her eyes stinging again.

A hand rested against her shoulder. She looked up and found Jack standing next to her. “Are you okay?” he asked softly. She stared at him for a moment. His face started to blur as the tears began to fall. She shook her head before wrapping herself around him in a firm hug. Jack hugged back with equal ferver, squeezing her close to his chest as he rested his chin on her head. 

Miko wasn’t okay.

Jack wasn’t okay.

But maybe, with time, they would be. 

As long as they stayed together.

[paradisobound]

World’s Greatest First Love: Chapter 10

Summary: Dan Howell wanted a clean break from his father’s publishing company. It was why he applied for a different company in London: to stop the ridicule of his coworkers for riding on his ‘daddy’s coat tails’. But he wasn’t expecting to suddenly be going from a literature editor, to a graphic novel editor. And he certainly wasn’t expecting to come face first with his first love who broke his heart from when he was a teenager: who just happens to be his new editor-in-chief.

Based on the Anime and Manga “The World’s Greatest First Love: The Case of Ritsu Onodera” aka Sekai-Ichi Hatsukoi

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 2.9k (this chapter)

Warnings: None

Beta Read by: @phanandpenguins

Updates Every Tuesday 12pm EST and Saturday at 1pm EST

READ ON AO3

Returning back from the Isle of Man almost felt as if the entire trip never happened. Dan didn’t figure that it would warrant such a dramatic change in his life but he really felt like sleeping with Phil might have been a turning point. Except, it definitely wasn’t.

He goes back to Onyx for his shift the following day and naturally, he’s not shocked to see a mound of paperwork at his desk that was either faxed to him or given to him from the printers or sales department.

Dan finds two new manuscripts, both for different authors, a form for the second printing of his book, and a few other miscellaneous forms and papers that he has no idea what they are from first glance. He lets out a sigh and plops down in his seat, rubbing his hands in his hair.

They always say going back to work after a vacation was difficult, and Dan is definitely not in disagreement with that at all.

He fishes his laptop out of his bag and opens it up to begin working on unread emails and other various things now that he has a ton of work to do. He buckles down and focuses in, trying to get as much done as possible.

It’s only an hour into his shift when his cell phone begins to ring out of his coat that’s draped over his chair. He reaches behind him and goes to grab it to see who it is. Maybe it’s an author of his? That’s got to be it.

But when he pulls his phone out of his pocket, the name “Annie” appears on his screen with a picture of her and he feels a bit sick.

Should he answer it or should he leave it? He looks around the room quickly as if he’s looking for an out for the situation. But the sound of his ringtone is annoying him and surely everyone else so he quickly hits answer and puts the phone up to his ear.

“Hello?”

“You didn’t answer my call the other day.”

The airiness of her voice still catches Dan off guard.

He quickly stands up from his chair and rushes out of the office towards the breakroom. He steps inside and is glad to see no one else is in there. He takes a seat on one of the couches.

“I wasn’t expecting you to ever call again,” Dan says truthfully.

“I’m back from Italy,” Annie says. “I want to see you again.”

There is a pause because Dan doesn’t know what to tell her anymore. Back when they were together, he could have any conversation with her without an issue. But she left for Italy when they were on bad terms and Dan considered the relationship ended at that point, he figured she did too.

But something is nagging in the back of his head that she was still thinking otherwise.

“I stopped by your dad’s company but they said that you left and were working somewhere else,” Annie says, her voice cutting through his thoughts.

“Oh, yeah. I switched companies a few months ago,” Dan says, his words a bit clipped, a bit short.

“Where do you work now?” Annie says, a bit out of breath and that’s when Dan can hear the sound of the busy London streets in the background.

“Are...are you walking?” Dan asks.

“Yeah, I’m going to come and see you, is that an issue?”

“Yes!” Dan cries out. “You can’t come and visit me at my job, Annie.”

He can almost hear her stop in her tracks as she processes what he just said. She huffs and then lets out a sigh.

“Do you still live in the same flat at least?” She asks, sounding exasperated.

“No.”

“So you’ve literally like...left everything behind then.”

Dan leans back on the couch and rubs his hand over his face.

“So you’re not even going to give me your new address then?” Annie asks. “Dan, you’re my fiance, I need to know where you are.”

“Annie…”

“Look, okay. I know the details got a bit stretched as time passed between us but we can meet up later and talk about this all.”

Dan sighs because he knows that she is right. He agrees eventually and then ends the call just as the door to the breakroom opens and Phil walks inside, a couple pound coins in his hand. He walks over to the vending machine and without making eye-contact with Dan, says, “There is a strict company policy that we use our cell phones for work related conversations when we’re on the clock. So no more private calls during your shift or else we’re both going to get into trouble.”

“How did you know it wasn’t work related?” Dan asks, because he doesn’t particularly like the idea of Phil eavesdropping on his conversation. No matter how many lines or boundaries they may have crossed.

“If it was work related, you wouldn’t have rushed out of the office so no one else could hear you,” Phil says, grabbing whatever he got out of the machine and walking back out of the room.

Dan has no idea what any of that was, but it leaves a bittersweet taste in his mouth.

***

Phil gets on the tube right after Dan has a seat on one of the empty benches. He rushes on and Dan sees the sigh of relief that comes out of Phil’s chest when the doors close narrowly behind him and the train starts and barrels forward. He walks forward and takes the empty seat next to Dan.

“Didn’t think I was going to make the last train,” Phil says, completely out of breath.

“They normally hold the final train for a bit longer.”

Phil stares at him and laughs and shakes his head. Dan’s not sure why.

Then he sees the bag Phil is holding in his hands and notices there is something in it. Phil picks it up and holds it up to Dan, “Come over to mine for a few drinks to unwind after the long day.”

“I can’t tonight,” Dan says, because he knows Annie is waiting for him at his flat. Even though he told her not to wait for him, he knows that she is.

“Why not?” Phil asks.

“I...I’m tired.”

“Exactly why we should unwind,” Phil presses, scooting closer to Dan.

The train suddenly slows to a hard stop and the passengers get thrown around as the lights flicker off and murmurs begin to be whispered between everyone. Dan feels his heartbeat pick up speed and he turns to Phil.

Phil looks at him and just as Dan opens his mouth to ask what Phil thinks happened, but Phil leans forward and presses their lips together. Dan has half a mind to protest and push back because they’re on a public train but Phil pulls away not long after initiating it.

Dan just stares at him and then the lights flicker back on and Dan feels a sense of comfort in his chest. He finds himself leaning over and resting his head on Phil’s shoulder, taking a deep breath and letting it go through his nose.

It’s just a few more stops until their own and when they get off, they walk together down the street. It’s so late that most of the area is void of people except for a few stragglers. Their shoulders are bumping against each other and Dan doesn’t think Phil’s ever walked this close to him before. There is something cozy about it.

Just as he thinks that, Phil’s hand comes into contact with his own and they connect, palm to palm. Dan can feel how warm Phil’s hand is against his own and he blushes as he looks down and sees their hands swinging, intertwined.

He knows that they shouldn’t be holding hands in public, but it’s night and no one is around so he figures that it really can’t hurt them.

They walk all the way to their apartment building like that, and just as soon as they reach the door, Dan sees her, standing outside with a cigarette in between her fingers, the smoke coiling through the night air.

He drops Phil’s hand like it just hurt him and he stops in his tracks, “Annie?”

He knows that she was supposed to be meeting up with him here but the shock still sets in seeing her. It’s been nearly a year since they last saw each other. He hates to admit it, but he actually had forgotten mostly what she looked like.

So to see her standing there, her shoulder length hair sitting behind her ears and her button down shirt tucked into her black jeans with a long peacoat covering her arms, Dan feels like he’s seeing a stranger in his view.

“Where have you been? Thought you said you got out of work around 9?” She says.

Dan is well aware that it’s past nine, but he couldn’t help that. Some days he has to stay later to get his work done and today is definitely one of those days since it was the day back from holiday.

“I do but I had to stay later,” He says, walking up to her, leaving Phil standing behind him.

Phil follows him and is suddenly standing behind him. Annie motions to Phil and Dan turns and quickly introduces him, “Oh, Annie, this is Phil. Phil, this is Annie.”

Phil reaches his hand out to shake it and says a quick nice to meet you before he turns to Dan and says that he’s heading inside.

Dan doesn’t say anything else, he just smiles and nods and watches as Phil walks away. He turns back to Annie and she’s staring at him, tapping off the ash from the end of her cigarette.

“Who is that?” She asks.

“I already introduced you,” Dan says, rolling his eyes.

She lifts the cigarette to her mouth and Dan notices that she’s wearing the thin band that he gave her. His heart sinks a bit further down into his stomach.

She rolls her eyes, “Don’t get cheeky with me, Howell. That’s not what I asked. Why were you holding hands with him?”

Dan doesn’t know what to say to her because he doesn’t fully have an answer. He and Phil haven’t spoken to each other about what their relationship actually was.

Annie shakes her head, “Nevermind. I brought you a gift.”

“A gift?”

Annie nods and then throws her cigarette on the ground and stomps it out with her foot. She digs into the bag on her shoulder and pulls out a small box and hands it to him.

“New Year's gift,” She says with a smile.

Dan thanks her and then it goes silent between them again. He’s not sure what else he can say. He honestly thought he was never going to see her again.

“You know,” Dan says, deciding to rip the plaster off. “We’re not engaged anymore.”

Annie looks at him and gives him a sad smile, “I know, Howell. But a girl can dream that she didn’t fuck everything up, right?” She lets out a cough and straightens herself up a bit. “I know you’re in love with someone else,” She says. “It’s okay, mate. Didn’t expect you to take me back after all of this...just...kind of hoped maybe you would.”

“It’s not...I’m sorry, Annie.”

She nods her head and flashes him another smile before she says, “I need to go. I’ve called a cab and they’re probably wondering where I am.”

She barreled past him and he watched as she walked away. He felt a weight lift from his chest, but then another one settled. He looked up towards the top of the building and saw the light of Phil’s flat glow through the curtains. He takes a deep breath and steps into the building, making his way up.

He knocks on Phil’s door, waiting for Phil to open it up. But no one comes. Dan stands puzzled on the other side, waiting longer for someone to come but it’s clear no one is. Did Phil fall asleep?

He knocks again and this time, he hears footsteps coming and the door opens. Phil stands on the other side, staring at him.

“Hi,” Dan says. “Still open for some drinking?”

Phil lets out a small breath and then says, “I don’t know, Dan…”

Dan swallows down the lump in his throat and bites his lip, “Then let me at least explain who she is.”

“She’s your girlfriend,” Phil says with no hesitation. “I get why you were so hesitant about doing anything with me now.”

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Dan says. “Please, let me explain.”

Phil steps aside and opens the door wider and Dan walks in, leaving his shoes behind next to Phil’s on the rug beside the door. They make their way into Phil’s living room and they sit down.

“She was my fiance,” Dan says, needing to just get everything all out into the open now. “We met when we were in America. She was in the same class as me and we hit it off. When I moved back to the UK, she moved here too to go to university in Scotland. We decided to date because I thought why not. I was still getting over you and everyone told me that I needed to get myself out there again, so I went for it.”

Dan looks up from his hands to see Phil staring at him, stone faced. Dan can’t read how he’s feeling but he can see that he’s listening and that’s enough for him to continue.

“We were never the most compatible couple. She was way more outgoing than me and so we found the balance to be really hard and we separated for a long time,” He pauses to gather his thoughts. “We reconnected a few years later and got back together and for some reason, my mind told me that she was going to be the only person I could potentially love again...after you. So I proposed and she accepted.”

“Why did you propose to someone if you didn’t want to be with them?” Phil asks and Dan looks at him.

“I don’t know,” Dan says. “Truthfully, I really do not know.”

“That’s a bit daft, don’t you think?”

Dan shakes his head and ignores Phil to get the rest of his story out.

“One day, we got into an argument and I called off the engagement. But she didn’t think I was actually calling it off but I was. We argued more and then I woke up one morning and she was gone. All I had was a text telling me she was leaving to go and find herself. I found out two weeks later she was in Capri...in Italy.”

Phil crosses his arms over his chest and sits quiet for a moment and so Dan adds, “This was the first time I’ve seen her since she’s left.”

Phil lets out a scoff and Dan feels his cheeks heat up in anger.

“Wha--”

“You’re so dense you don’t even see the irony in this entire situation,” Phil says. “Who does she sound like, Dan?”

Dan sits in silence, collecting his thoughts as he realizes...Annie was exactly like him. He did the exact same thing...but to Phil. He looks up and opens and closes his mouth a few times.

Phil just shakes his head and stands up, walking away from the couch. Dan finds himself going after him, he pushes off, and bounds forward, grabbing Phil’s arm, “Where are you going?”

“I’m going to see Damien.”

The color drains from Dan’s face as he lets go of Phil’s arm, “Why?”

“Because Damien asked me to come over for drinks and I am.”

Phil walks further towards the door and Dan chases after him again. When Phil begins to slip his foot into his shoe, Dan reaches for his arm again, “Don’t…” Phil spins around and comes face to face with Dan and Dan finds himself pleading, “Don’t go to Damien. Please, Phil…”

“Dan...you had a fiance and I never even knew about it.”

“I didn’t love her,” Dan says, and he knows the words hurt. He shouldn’t be saying them but they slip out. “I didn’t love her because I’ve only loved one person in my life.”

Their eyes meet and Dan feels his eyesight blur as tears come to the waterline and he struggles to hold them back. Phil reaches up and puts his hand on Dan’s cheek, stroking the skin with his thumb.

Phil leans in and connects their lips and Dan reaches up, putting his arms around Phil’s neck for stability. He melts into the kiss, letting himself cling to Phil as he struggles to hold back his emotions.

Phil pulls back and looks Dan in the eyes as Dan sinks into seas of blue, “I want to know everything about you from the last ten years,” He says, his voice soft. “Don’t leave anything out. I want to know everything.”

Dan nods and connects their lips again as he whispers, “okay.”

As they make their way into the bedroom, and fall onto Phil’s bed, Dan lays beneath him. He keeps his hands as steady as they can be on Phil’s jaw, holding them both grounded. Their kisses are fevered and Dan can feel Phil undoing the button of his pants, opening them up to the cool air of the room.

Phil breaks the kiss, leaning down to kiss and suck at Dan’s neck. Dan closes his eyes and lets out a moan. No one will ever have this effect on him, only Phil.

And one day, he might even admit that to Phil.

[bazypitchandsimonsnow]

Back to Haunt Me

Rating: T

Genre: Fluff/Light Angst

Word count: 12301

Summary: Simon Snow hasn't heard from his former roommate in years. So when he gets a call from him, he's equal parts confused and intrigued. Based on "I called you at 2am because I need you" request from @god-themself

Read on AO3

AN: I'm really sorry for how long these requests are taking, oy. Every time I start writing, the fic ends up getting longer and my stupid body decides to crap out and not work. Anyway, here's the latest fic. Hope you enjoy it :)

———————————————

Simon

I’m sitting upside down on my couch when I get the call.

It’s not something I do too often, just when I’m really, really stuck on something. I say that ideas pool in my feet and this lets them trickle down to my head. Penny thinks it’s absolutely ridiculous. She says it will give me headaches, and it does, but it also helps. I’ve been stuck for an hour on coming up with new lessons. This is my last resort.

So I’m laying upside down on my small couch, legs up in the air, face turning a very bright shade of red. My glasses slipped off a while ago, making me essentially blind to anything more than five feet away. My mind is swimming with new ideas for maths games and art projects, the mental images almost swirling past my blurry vision.

And when I’m deep in contemplation a new history Kahoot, my phone blares out my “Toxic” ringtone. (Britney is amazing and haters can fuck off.) I flip up way too fast, making my vision spin like water in a toilet bowl. I paw at my phone while I wobble back and forth. With the combination of my glasses on the floor and blood rushing from my head, I don’t bother to read the caller ID. Or lack thereof.

“Hello?” I say shakily, still clutching my head.

“Siiiiimon,” a low, slurring, strangely familiar voice says. Is a student prank calling me again? Dammit, I thought I scolded them enough.

“Jeremy, if that’s you, this isn’t funny. This is my personal mobile and you-”

“Aw, did you already forget me, Snow?” the person continues, and my heart suddenly freezes. “It hasn’t been that long has it? Only seven years.”

My jaw drops and I sit ramrod straight. Every vein in my body turns ice cold. Holy. Fucking, Shit. “Baz?!”

“Yes, it is I. Good evening, Snow,” he snorts, but there’s still that weird waver to his voice.

“A-Are you drunk?”

“Ding ding, we have a winner in every category,” he giggles. Fucking giggles. I don’t think I ever heard him let out so much as a chuckle in all the years I lived with him. He must be very drunk.

“Um, how did you get my number?”

“Remember when you got mysterious calls supposedly from the Babadook when we were fifteen? Surprise! That was me! Got your mobile off the school registry.”

My mouth falls open even more. “I knew that was you!”

“Duh!” There’s some shuffling on the other end. “Shush! Yes, I actually have him on the line. I’ll get him to come.” He’s definitely not talking to me. He lets out a long sigh. “I’m sorry about that, Snow. Super sorry, for everything I did back in school. So please don’t hang up.”

Admittedly, I was going to. But he sounds so pathetic and drunk, so I stay on. “Alright,” I sigh. “I’m still here.”

“Hooray!” There’s a short stretch of silence. He doesn’t continue, so I have to pipe up again.

“Baz,” I say, “not to be rude, but, uh, why are you drunk calling me? We haven’t seen each other in awhile and it’s...” I scramble to grab my glasses, then look at my wall clock. “After two in the morning. Plus, you like, hate me.”

“No,” he slurs out. He sounds well pissed. “I don’t hate you, Snow. You’re too much of a kind brave hero to hate.”

“Um, thank you?”

He laughs loudly. I’ve heard him laugh more in the last five minutes than I did our entire childhoods. “You’re very, very welcome.”

Again with the silence. I can’t believe I’m the one talking more between us. “So... why are you calling? You wanna catch up or something?”

Baz lets out a long, low groan. For some reason, I imagine him slumping against a wall or something. “I bloody wish. Stupid barkeep won’t let me leave until I call someone to get me and my stupid friends and stupid aunt won’t pick up.”

“So you decided to call me?!”

“You’re the only other person I know who lives in London.”

“Who told you I lived in London?”

“Aggie. Said you had a cute little flat and a cute little cat.” He giggles, and I can almost picture a dopey smile on his usually frowning face. It looks so weird and wrong. “Hey, that rhymes.”

I sit even more upright. “Wait, Aggie? As in Agatha?! Are you two dating now?!”

He scoffs. Now that really reminds me of our school days. “No, Snow, I’m not dating your ex. She’s not my type.”

“That’s rude. Agatha is very pretty.”

“I mean that she’s not a man, Snow.”

My face immediately turns scarlet, and this time not from being upside down. “O-Oh. You’re gay?”

“Once again, duh!”

“Fuck off, you flirted with her all the time!”

“Nuh-uh.” He sounds like a bloody obnoxious American. “Not really. Just did that to piss you off.”

“I’m hanging up,” I growl.

“Wait!” Baz shouts as I move the phone off my ear. “Please don’t hang up, Simon. Fucking hell, I need you.”

I seriously debate actually hanging up. But there’s something in his voice that tugs at my chest. It’s weird and explainable, but it’s there. I slowly bring the phone back to my ear. “You need me?”

“Yeah,” he groans. “I’m drunk as fuck and uh...yeah, I’m still bleeding.”

My pulse goes wild instantly. “Bleeding?! Are you hurt?!”

“Yeah, but you should see the other bloke,” he laughs proudly. “Bartender says if someone doesn’t pick me up and take me home, she’s calling the police to come get me. Doesn’t trust me with an Uber or something.” Baz makes a weird yet familiar sound. Is...is Baz Pitch sticking his tongue out at someone? What the fuck has happened in the last seven years?

“Alright,” I sigh. “Where are you?”

“Yay! I am...” He takes a long pause, which gives me time to rub my aching temple. “Hey, where am I?”

There’s more rustling and some muffled yelling. “He’s at XOYO,” a stern woman’s voice says. “32-37 Cowper St, second floor. We’re closing in an hour so get here soon.”

Before I can say anything else, the phone clicks off. I stay frozen for a moment. My brain is still playing a bit of catch up. So, Baz bloody Pitch has called me out of the blue after seven years, drunk off his arrogant arse, apparently gay, and needs me to pick him up. And now he’s sorry for being a dick to me through our entire time in school? That’s nice. Few years too late if you ask me, but better late than never I suppose.

I look down at all my notes, the ones I have to finish in a few weeks before the new school year. If I were a worse person, I would forget about Baz, finish my lessons, and just go to bed. He’s my former bully, I shouldn’t care. But when I think about Baz, drunk, bleeding, sitting there alone at a bar waiting for me but I never show up, my stomach plummets to the centre of the Earth.

Godammit.

I march towards the door, grab my keys, and set out to fulfill a bad idea.

Turns out this bar is right in the middle of bloody Shoreditch. Which means at this time of night (or morning), there’s lots of closing nightclubs and stumbling drunk people being sick on the sidewalk. Glad I didn’t take the tube.

XOYO is a mostly nondescript red brick building with some black panelling and a neon red sign. I park as close as I can, which is not that close. The stairs up to the club are steep and leave me panting by the end. Bloody hell, I need to get back to the gym. Chasing ten years old is not enough exercise apparently. The bar is one of those hipster places with wooden tables and old Victorian chairs and candles. There’s a few people passed out on tables, snoring with their beer glasses.

“Simon!” a familiar voice shouts from the bar. “Simon, over here!”

I turn to my left too look at the bar, and...wow. After seven years, Baz looks so different, yet so the same. Same sharp cheekbones, same long-ish raven hair, same deep sea grey eyes. He’s broader though, shoulders filling out his blood stained grey dress shirt. Far less gaunt and gangly and vampiric looking than he was in school. The shirt has the sleeves rolled up and the top two buttons undone. Weird. Baz always had his uniform buttoned to collar in school. Then I have to do a double take, because...Baz Pitch is wearing jeans? They’re dark and expensive looking, hugging his legs, which still have a footballer’s strong muscles. He has a big, dopey, drunk grin, which is offset by the small black eye and blood trickling from his nose. It’s unfortunate this is the first time I’ve ever seen him smile.

I walk towards him, hands in my pockets, shoulders nervously hunched in. Why is my heart beating so fast? Bloody hell, calm down, Simon, it’s just Baz. You know him, probably better than most people. He’s an arsehole, not evil. And we haven’t had a physical fight since we were thirteen. Plus it’s been seven years, we’re adults now. He won’t bite. Hopefully.

“Hi Baz,” I say, trying to hide my nerves. “Uh, nice to see you.”

Baz squints at me, and a pang of panic shoots through me. Is there something wrong with my face? Bloody hell, what a cruel twist of fate it would be, to see my childhood enemy after years and have pizza sauce on my cheek.

“Um, Baz, you there?” I weakly wave a hand in front of him.

“Since when do you wear spectacles?” he asks, still slurring his words.

I instinctively touch my wireframe glasses, immediately self conscious. “Oh. Since first year uni. Turns out one of the reasons school Watford so hard for me was that I couldn’t read the board a lot.”

I chuckle awkwardly, rubbing the back of my neck. I expect Baz to laugh or mock me like he used to. But instead he grins again, leaning his cheek on his bruised hand. “They look good.”

Why are my cheeks heating up? Must be bad air conditioning. “Um, thanks, Baz.”

He keeps grinning, showing off his sharp bright white teeth. (There’s a good reason I thought he was a vampire.) “Welcome.”

It goes silent again, with me standing awkwardly and Baz grinning. Christ, this is so weird. I assumed I’d never see Baz ever again, let alone drunk and bloodied in designer jeans. I have less of an idea what to do than usual.

“Ugh, finally!” a woman’s voice says to the side. I whip my head around to see who must obviously be the bartender. She’s got a deep scowl on her face and hands on her hips. “You’re Simon Snow?”

“Um, yeah, that’s me,” I reply.

“Good. Please take this arsehole off my hands.”

Baz blows a raspberry at her like a toddler. Bloody hell, he is a weird drunk. The bartender glares and flips him off.

“I’ll get him out of here,” I say.

“Thank you.” She digs under the bar and takes out a sleek black iPhone. “Here’s his phone. Took it from him after he almost dropped it in a beer glass.”

“Alright.” My brow furrows in confusion. “Do you have Baz’s keys? Or does he still have them?”

“He never had them. Searched all his pockets, nothing there.”

“Worst feel up ever,” Baz grumbles.

I rub my aching temple. “Baz, did you really forget your keys?”

He frowns and scratches his head with a bloodied hand. “Hm, yes, I think I did. I left my flat pretty fast. Maybe the super will let me in if he’s awake.”

“Where do you live?”

His brows pull together, bottom lip sticking out in a pout. Now that is certainly an expression I remember from school. It’s his thinking face. I used to glare at him while he studied all the time. “Somewhere...posh, and silver.”

I groan and drag a hand over my face. “Alright then. Well...I guess I’ll bring you to my flat.”

Baz’s jaw drops open and he shakes his head, making his black hair fan out in a strangely majestic way. “No no, you don’t have to do that. I’ll figure it out-”

“No, Baz, you won’t, you’re too pissed to think right now. I’m taking you to my place, no questions.”

He frowns. I can’t tell if he’s sad or angry. “I don’t wanna im-”

“We lived together for years, arsehole. One more night won’t kill you. Come on, get up.”

I grab his bicep and haul him to his feet. Bloody hell, does he work out a lot or something? He’s made of fucking rock. Baz wobbles back and forth and ends up leaning on me. I struggle to keep him upright.

“Baz,” I grumble, “you’re too heavy, I can’t hold you up.”

“Sorry, sorry.” He sort of heaves himself upwards, still wobbling on his feet, but at least he’s standing. That’s something I guess.

“You good?”

Baz sticks out his arms like he’s on a tightrope. “Yeah, I’m alright. Mostly.”

“Good enough. Let’s go.” I look over at the still very annoyed bartender. “Uh, thanks for taking care of him.”

“If you’re really thankful,” she spits, “make sure he doesn’t come back.”

She marches off into the back. Baz flips her off before I quickly pull down his hand. “Enough,” I grumble. “Let’s get you out of here before she smacks you.”

“Kinky,” he chuckles. God, drunk Baz is fucking weird.

Getting down the stairs takes far longer than it should. Baz has to watch his every step so he doesn’t go tumbling down. He’s like a shaky newborn fawn. It would be cute if it weren't so frustrating. Finally, we get to the bottom and I lead Baz by the sleeve towards my car. He laughs loudly when we reach it. I immediately scowl and whip around to face him.

“What?!” I snap, assuming he’s making fun of my old beat up beetle. But instead he has his head tilted upwards, laughing at the sky. Neon club signs and yellow street lights light up his smiling face. He’s like a rainbow constellation, colour reaching every crevice. Huh. Baz has always been pretty, but has he always been this pretty?

“Lights in the sky,” he laughs. “Pretty.”

I groan and tug him hard. “Come on, you drunk prat, hurry up.”

Baz stumbles along reluctantly. I shove into the passenger seat and buckle him up like he’s a bloody eight year old, then take my place in the driver’s seat. Baz is slumping, the seat belt digging into his cheek. If we crash his pretty face is going to get cut open. I debate telling him, but Baz rarely ever listens to me, and I doubt that has changed much.

I turn the engine over. Baz lets out a whoop so loud I jolt. “Allons-y,” he shouts like some deranged adventurer.

“Silence, s’il vous plait,” I reply as I turn on to the road.

“Oo, you speak French now, Snow?”

“Yes. I lived in France for a year, I learned pretty well.”

“Very nice.” For a moment I think he’s mocking me, but his smile is completely genuine, if not a bit drunken. Is it weird that I like drunk adult Baz better than sober teen Baz?

I drive through Shoreditch slowly, making sure not to hit any wayward club leavers. Baz grumbles about the slowness, but I tell him to shut up or I’ll drive us into a pole. That makes him quiet for a little while, thank god. When we hit the main drag, he decides to pipe up again.

“So what have you been up to, Snow?” he asks.

My eyes briefly flick over to him, catching his grin and glazed eyes. I scoff and look back at the road. “Really? We’re going to chit chat about life after Watford?”

“You just want us to sit in silence the whole time?”

“Maybe.”

“Boring,” he groans. “Come on, Snow, it’s been a while. Let’s catch up.”

I chuckle low in my throat. “Yes, I would love to catch up with my plastered childhood bully.”

Baz lets out a pathetic sort of whining sigh. Suddenly, something brushes my shoulder. I jolt away and briefly look over, realising it’s Baz’s hand. He’s pouting in the way his mouth is perfectly made for.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “About all the shit I did. I was a messed up prick at Watford. I’m really sorry I took that all out on you.”

I raise an extremely suspicious eyebrow. “Seriously?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Really?!”

“It’s been seven years, Snow. Am I not allowed to learn from my mistakes?”

“Well, I mean, yeah, of course. I just didn’t expect it from you...”

“I’m a changed man, Snow,” he declares proudly. “No more picking on other people to avoid dealing with my emotional and family problems.”

I chuckle, shaking my head. “Wow, you sound like a therapist.”

“That’s because I am a therapist.”

We stop at a red light, giving me a chance to whip my head around in shock. My jaw is firmly on the ground. “You’re a therapist?!”

“Sort of.” Baz grins pointed ear to pointed ear. He offers his hand, though it’s a bit limp. “Dr. Basilton Grimm-Pitch, psychiatrist in training at University College Hospital. Pleasure to meet you.”

I can’t take my hands off the wheel, so I don’t take his, but I smile instead. Baz chuckles as his hand falls, so I think he gets the picture.

“Wow,” I sigh. “You, a psychiatrist. I never would have thought.”

“Me neither, until I took a psychology course in year 10. Then I decided I liked, y’know, mind stuff and shit. It was interesting and challenging. And I could help people with it.”

I scoff, but with a smile. “And you used to call me the overly noble hero.”

“Well, I decided to follow in your golden footsteps, golden boy.” He turns towards me, cheeks squished against the seat. He’s really going to die if we crash. “So really, what have you been up to since Watford, Mr. Hero? Storming castles? Saving damsels in distress? Travelling the world?”

That makes me laugh louder. “You have a way overinflated sense of my heroism.”

He snorts, but it’s not unkind like it used to be. Just sort of amused. “Alright. Then what do you do?”

“I’m, uh, actually a primary teacher. Year six, to be exact.”

“Oh,” Baz breathes out, sounding genuinely amazed. “That’s cool. That makes sense, yeah.”

“Makes sense?”

“You were always helping out the kids in younger years at Watford.”

I chuckle and shrug. “Yeah, guess you’ve got a point.”

“Is it fun? Teaching children?”

“Yeah. I like finding fun ways to teach them stuff. Though it’s not great they get in fights or stuck lego bricks up their noses.”

Baz lets out a barking laugh. It’s a fun, sudden sound. I’ve never heard it before, yet it works well for Baz. “Is that what people mean by ‘the joys of children?’”

“Something like that. Is psychiatry fun?”

“Yeah,” he sighs. “But time consuming. Doctors aren’t supposed to have damn lives apparently.”

“Well, good thing you found time to go to a hipster bar”

Everything suddenly gets very, very quiet. It reminds me of when we would study. Backs to each other, no noise, plenty of tension. Did I say something wrong? I used to do that a lot, but I thought I’d gotten better. I’ve learned to chew my words better over the years. But when we stop at a roundabout, I turn to see that Baz is gazing ahead, mouth a thin line and grey eyes lost in the distance.

“Pretty lights,” he whispers in awe, like a child. I guess alcohol does turn adults into children. His nose is still letting out a small trickle of dark red blood. I sigh and shake my head.

“Glove box,” I say.

Baz turns his head to me. “Huh?”

“There’s tissues in the glove box. Your nose is still bleeding a bit.”

“Oh.” He paws at the latch in front of him, floppy drunk fingers struggling to just bloody lift it. I sigh and reach over, lifting it for him. Baz takes out the little packet and flashes me that dopey smile. Why does my chest feel funny? I must be overtired.

“Thanks,” he says, then presses the tissue to his nose. It’s weirdly comforting in its familiarity. I still remember sitting in the headmaster’s office after our fights, covered in bruises and blood, glaring at each other. This is better though. We’re not fighting, in fact we’re being nice. Maybe this is how we could’ve been at Watford. Maybe we could’ve been...friends.

We sit in silence for the rest of the ride. But it’s a comfortable silence, no tension. I like it. A lot. I like all of this better than fighting.

———————————————

I pull into my spot in front of my apartment. Dragging Baz out of the car is a bit of a problem, but luckily my place has a lift, so no more stair problems. He starts leaning on me as we go up to my floor. I use one finger to push him back, and he slumps against the wall. I need to strap him to a dolly.

We go into my apartment, and I instinctively prepare for a snide comment from Baz. Something about it’s size, it’s clutter, the decor. But he says nothing derogatory. In fact, he smiles, brushing his hand against my Van Gogh print and old dining room table.

“You, uh, like it?” I ask. Wait, why does it matter what Baz thinks of my place? I don’t need his approval.

“Yeah,” Baz replies. “It’s very nice.”

There’s a thump from my room, followed by the familiar pitter-patter of tiny paws. Cherry prances into the room, all fluffy tailed and cute. She blinks up at Baz with big green eyes. Baz makes a tiny gasp and gets on his knees, holding his hand out to Cherry.

“Hello, pretty kitty,” he says softly. “Aren’t you an adorable little thing.”

Cherry sniffs his fingers, then immediately nuzzles against his hand. Baz looks absolutely elated, a big childish grin on his face.

“You like cats, huh?”

Baz nods vigorously. “I would have one if my building allowed pets.” He scratches behind Charry’s ear with glee. “What’s this little one’s name?”

“Her name is Cherry.”

“You did love those scones,” he chuckles.

I chuckle as well, fiddling with my shirt sleeve. “Still do. Though none are as good as Cook Pritchard’s.”

“Very true.” He stands up, pulling away from Cherry, and wobbles his way into the sitting room. He stands between my coffee table and ratty old couch. “So may I sleep on that couch?”

I scramble in after him and start piling up my curriculum papers. I don’t want Baz shouting at me for the mess. “Uh, yeah, just lemme fix it up a bit.”

“It’s alright-”

“No, I’ll fix it. And...maybe you should clean up a bit first?”

Baz turns to me with a confused expression. “What?” I sigh and point at is blood spattered shirt. He pulls it in front of himself, like a child who’s spilled food. “Oh, right.”

“There’s stuff on you face too...”

Baz drags a long finger over his cheek, and rubs the dried blood between his fingers. “Good  point.

“You wanna take a shower maybe?”

“Is that okay with you?”

“Uh, yeah. But be warned, I don’t have any of your fancy French soaps.”

He lets out a loud short laugh, like a happy little firecracker going off. “Wouldn’t expect you to, Snow. I doubt you’ve changed that much.”

“Heh, yeah.” I rub the back of my neck, which is getting very hot for some reason. I think I need to fix my fan.

Baz wobbles back towards me. He stands a bit too close, and now that things are calm, I notice how he smells. It’s a mix of liquor, irony blood, and the very faint, familiar scent of cedar and bergamot. Seven years later and I can’t forget that smell. I guess it’s burned into my brain forever. I’m not sure that I mind.

“Where’s the bathroom?” he asks, snapping me out of my olfactory induced daze.

“Oh, uh, down the hall and to your left. There’s towels in the cupboard.”

“Alright.” He sticks his hands in his trouser pockets, a very shy gesture I’m not used to seeing from him. “Thank you. Again. I’m saying that a lot tonight, wow.”

I chuckle and shrug. “I guess so. Now go wash off that awful blood please.”

“Aye aye, Mr.Snow.” He does a mocking little American salute with two fingers. I watch as he half skips his way to the bathroom, trying not to giggle at his ridiculous gait.

The bathroom door shuts, and I let out a long breath. My brain is still playing catch up. I need to sit, relax, just process all this shit. Once I organize my papers into semi-neat piles and close my laptop, I grab a cherry granola bar from the counter and collapse on the couch. I hear the shower turn on. I glance over at the clock. Bloody hell, it’s past 3am, and my enemy is taking a shower in my flat. Well, former enemy, I guess. We’re not fighting anymore. In fact, Baz is being really nice. It’s pretty damn great. I hope we can keep this up.

Cherry jumps onto the couch, startling me from my daze. She immediately curls up on my lap, purring happily. I chuckle as I pet her. Penny jokes that Cherry is my emotional support service cat. Honestly, she’s not wrong. I don’t know what I would do without her.

“Wanna watch Dr. Who, darling?” I coo, scratching behind her ear. “Yes, yes you do.”

I grab the remote and turn on Netflix, going to one of my favourite episodes. We sit there in peaceful silence through the show. I try not to listen to the shower down the hall. I can’t help but worry. What if he slips and hits his head? What if he falls asleep and drowns? What if he tries to eat the bloody soap? All are strong possibilities. But he’s still Baz. He’s too smart and stubborn to die.

As I near the end of the episode, I realise it’s been half an hour since Baz went in. My heart beats double time, every fear racing through my head. (As well as concern for my water bill.) But the sound of water shuts off, and I breathe a sigh of relief. I hear Baz’s unsteady feet pad around the tiled floor. But then there’s rattling and muffled swearing, and I’m on my feet immediately. Cherry meows unhappily and scuttles away.

“Sorry, girl,” I say as I speed walk to the bathroom. I knock on the wooden door. “Baz? You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” his muffled voice replies, but that’s followed by a loud bang. “Bloody fucking hell.”

“I’m coming in.”

“Snow, wait-”

I push the door open and immediately freeze. All the blood in my body goes straight to my face, turning it tomato red. Because Baz Pitch is standing in front of my medicine cabinet with nothing but a towel around his waist. His hair is soaked and messy, falling adorably in front his shocked face. His legs look strong enough to crush someone. Thin rivulets of water drip down his broad, bare chest. I watch them for a few long, drawn out seconds, completely frozen. In our time living together, Baz and I made a point to never see each other without clothes on. Did he even look close to this back at school? Did I just never notice?

“Um...” Baz says, breaking me out of my daze. I whip around, hand cupped over my eyes.

“Bloody hell, Baz!” I shout. “Give a guy some warning.”

“I would have if you hadn’t come bursting in!”

“Well, you took awhile in the shower, then I heard swearing. Excuse me for being concerned.”

“I’m grateful for your concern, Mr. Hero, though not for your usual brashness.”

“Just put some clothes on, please.”

“Very well.”

I listen to Baz shuffle and grumble as I assume he gets dressed. I resist the urge to turn around and check if he can get his legs into his trousers. I’m not sure how drunk he still is.

“You can turn around now, Snow.”

I slowly turn, and my face turns scarlet again. “Why aren’t you wearing a shirt?!”

“Because mine is covered in blood,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Which I guess it is, but still he’s not wearing a shirt. Why are my hands so clammy?

Baz starts sorting through the medicine cabinet. I frown in confusion. “What are you doing?”

“Looking for bandages.” He lifts his left hand, showing off his bruised, still slightly bleeding knuckles. “You got any?”

“Uh, yeah. I’ll get it, sit down on the toilet.”

Baz stumbles over and does what he’s told (for once). I grab the first aid kit from under the sink and sit next to him on the edge of the tub.

“Gimme your hand,” I say. Baz holds out his arm, fingers limp. I try not to look freaked out. His skin is black and blue and there are many cuts, still bleeding slowly. “Why are you still bleeding? It’s been like, an hour.”

“My blood alcohol content is high,” Baz replies. “Booze is a blood thinner. Means I’ll bleed more.”

“Oh. That makes sense. Thanks, Mr. Doctor.”

Baz chuckles, a soft smile playing on his mouth. “Dr. Grimm-Pitch will do.”

I laugh as well. I take a towel off the rack and pat his hand dry, then get the antiseptic.

“I just had a shower,” Baz protests.

“Don’t care. We need to make sure you don’t get an infection.”

“I’m fine.”

I pour the clear liquid on a sterile pad. “Still doing it.”

“I’m the doctor here, dammit.”

“The doctor who is still drunk off his arse after a bloody bar fight. So shut up.”

Baz frowns, but doesn’t protest. I lightly pat his cuts. He inhales sharply through his teeth and tries to pull away, but I grab his wrist, holding still.

“Don’t move,” I say.

“It hurts,” he whines like a toddler.

“Yeah, no shit. That’s what you get for getting in a bar fight, idiot.”

He grumbles, but doesn’t move again either. Once I’m satisfied all the cuts are clean, I use another pad to get them dry, then take out the bandages.

“You get injured a lot, Snow?” He’s smirking playfully, not a hint of malice. It’s much nicer than his smug arsehole face.

“No,” I chuckle. “But it never hurts to be prepared.”

“Especially if your former enemy shows up drunk and bleeding.”

Thoughts start racing through my head. Horrible, nervous thoughts. I stop wrapping his hand for a moment, but quickly start again. Unfortunately, Baz notices.

“Something on your mind, Snow?” he asks.

I chew on my bottom lip as I secure the bandage. I gesture for Baz to give me his other hand, and he does. I slowly pat on the antiseptic and he doesn’t move at all. Slowly, I look up, and I meet Baz’s deep sea eyes. He doesn’t look mad or annoyed, just concerned. So am I.

“Baz,” I sigh, “you’re one of the smartest people I’ve ever met. And considering you’re a bloody doctor now, I doubt that’s changed. So I’m absolutely astounded at how you could get so drunk and end up in a bar fight.”

Baz’s thin lips press together, and I watch his throat bob in a gulp. He leans his elbow on the sink, propping his cheek on his fist. “Snow,” he says slowly, “what do you know about my mother?”

My blood turns ice cold. I stop with the bandage completely, just looking at Baz. “Uh, not much. I know she died a long time ago. And...it was at Watford...”

Baz nods slowly. “Yes, that’s what everyone knows. But what most people don’t know is that I was there.”

And now my heart completely stops. My mouth falls open slightly. Baz’s face stays completely neutral. “You...you were there?”

“Yeah.” He leans harder on his fist. “I was sitting with the rest of the kids in the Watford nursery. Suddenly a group of men with knives burst in. They started to come after the nannies and the children. But that’s when my mother showed up with her hunting rifle. My father insisted she have it for protection when he wasn’t there. She got all of the men immediately, including the one holding me. She hit him in the shoulder so he dropped me. Another man charged her while she was distracted, and she shot him in the chest, but not before...” Baz rubs his eyes and the bridge of his nose, like I do when I have a headache. “Not before he stabbed her in the neck. She bled to death in seconds.” He drags his hand down his face. “I fell unconscious after that. When I woke up, my father and aunt were tending to my wounds, and my mother was gone. I was young, it’s all a bit hazy, but I remember enough.”

I’m left in stunned silence. Baz doesn’t say anything either, just rubbing his head. He’s not crying, but he looks on the verge of tears. I don’t blame him. I can’t believe it, can’t believe Baz went through that and no one ever knew. It’s just terrible.

“Wow,” I finally say, “that’s...wow.”

Baz chuckles quietly. “Yeah, that about sums it up.”

“I never knew that happened...”

“No one did, Snow. All the gruesome little details were kept under wraps. It would’ve been terrible if anyone found out Natasha Grimm-Pitch died in such an undignified way that traumatized her heir.”

His voice is mockingly scathing, even with his slightly slurred speech. He’s a mix between furious and mournful. I don’t understand how he feels, but I don’t think I ever could. I may never have had parents, but that’s a far cry from watching your’s die.

“I don’t know how much it means, but I’m sorry that happened to you Baz.”

The corner of his lip quirks up into a small half smile. “Thanks, Snow.”

I start wrapping his hand again, and my brow furrows. “So, uh, what does this have to do with you getting drunk and fighting? If you don’t mind me asking.”

Baz takes a deep inhale through his nose, and lets out the air through his mouth. “My mother was killed twenty years ago today.”

“O-oh. That...yeah, that makes sense.”

“Mhm. I’ve lived with it for most of my life, but this anniversary hit me harder than I expected. I had my first day off in months, so after some mindless telly, I went to that bar. Gave the bartender my card and told her to keep the tequila coming. First mistake.”

“Second one was getting in a fight?”

“Yeah, definitely.” He flexes his bandaged hand. “It was just some arsehole looking for trouble. He kept prodding at me and shoving my shoulder until I snapped. I don’t even remember what he said. I was just so angry and sad and drunk. And that arsehole was right there” He groans loudly and rubs his head. “One of the dumbest things I’ve ever done.”

“Probably. But you made one good choice.”

“Oh?”

I finish bandaging his other hand and smile at his mopey face. “You called me.”

His mopeyness melts away as he lets out a breathy laugh. Our eyes meet, and his are glinting in a way I’ve never seen before. “Yeah, I guess that was a good idea.”

We smile at each other. Something tugs in my chest, something I don’t fully understand. I’ve never felt anything like this. Maybe I’m just overtired.

Baz flexes his bandaged hands. I put the first aid kit under the sink again. Baz stands and presses a hand to his bruised eye. hissing between his teeth. “Got any ice packs, Snow?” he asks.

“Oh, yeah,” I reply. “It’s in the kitchen, c’mon.”

We walk towards the kitchen. I open the freezer and pull out my reusable ice pack. Teaching a bunch of children can result in some bad headaches. I wrap it in a napkin and hand it to Baz. He presses it to his eye with clenched teeth. As he leans back against the counter, I remember he’s not wearing a shirt.

“Uh,” I say, “those jeans don’t look comfortable. I’ve got some spare pyjamas. Want me to get them?”

Baz nods. “Yeah, that would be good, thanks.”

“Alright, stay here.”

I go to my bedroom, wading through the laundry I have to do tomorrow to get to the dresser. It takes awhile for me to find something that will probably fit Baz. Damn his extra four inches, always so infuriating. I eventually pick out some trackies and a long Chicago Cubs shirt. It’s all I’ve got. I go back to the kitchen, and come upon a strange scene.

“Baz,” I say slowly, “what are you doing?

Baz looks up from the messy, cutlery covered counter, still pressing the ice pack to his eye. He lifts a plate with two pieces of bread, both half covered in marmite. “Making a marmite and cheese sandwich. You want half?”

His expression is so innocent, not a hint of the old malice I used to know. I let out a sigh. “Sure. Let me get the cheese.”

He grins and goes back to slathering on marmite. I pull my sliced sandwich cheese from the fridge. Hope Baz doesn’t mind cheap Tesco brand swiss. I bring the package to the counter, and Baz takes out a slice without even looking. Guess he’s not as snobbish about food as he used to be. He cuts the sandwich into two slightly lopsided triangles and swans out to my dining room. I follow behind with the pyjamas.

Baz sits in a chair, leaning back with his legs spread out. I sit across from him, placing the clothes on the table. Baz snatches it. It unfolds and his brows pull together.

“You a baseball fan now, Snow?” he asks.

I chuckle and shake my head. “Nah. Micah definitely is though.”

“Who?”

“Remember that American exchange student from fourth year?”

“The short nerd with large glasses?” His voice is muffled as he struggles to put on the shirt. Drunk Baz doesn’t get along with t-shirt holes.

“Yeah, that’s one way to describe him I guess. He and Penny started dating then and have been together ever since. She lives in America with him now.”

Baz’s eyes light up. “Oh, that’s wonderful. How is Bunce? I miss facing off with her in debate club.”

“She’s doing well. She’s got a job as an assistant professor in Chicago and loves American food. I just saw her a few weeks ago on vacation.”

“Marvelous. Tell her I say hello next time you speak to her.”

“Will do.” We both take one half of the marmite-cheese sandwich. Baz takes a huge bite, followed by a happy groan. I can’t tell if he’s drunk hungry or actually hungry. Probably somewhere in between. I take a bite as well. There’s far too much marmite, but it’s four in the morning. Right now anything tastes good.

Thinking of Penny makes me think of Watford. And something else, or more accurately someone else, pops into my head.

“Hey,” I say through the marmite, “you said you talked to Agatha earlier. How are you two still in contact? She cut off almost everyone after Watford. I didn’t start talking to her again until a year ago.”

Baz quickly chews and swallows. “Funny story there. I did a semester abroad in California and ended up in the same biology class as Agatha. It was extremely awkward at first. But once we sat down over coffee and sorted stuff out, we bonded very quickly. Similar upper class British family problems and expectations.”

“Oh. That’s makes sense I guess. It’s nice you guys talk.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty good.” He chuckles, mouth gummed with marmite. “The weirdest part was telling her I’m gay. I apologised for leading her on, and you know what she did?”

I lean over the table, genuinely enraptured. “What?”

“Laughed her fucking arse off for ten minutes straight.”

I snort so hard I nearly shoot sandwich out my nose. Baz throws his head back laughing. He’s so loud he might disturb my neighbours, but I don’t care. His laugh is too incredible.

“Just like that,” he giggles, calming down.

“So she wasn’t mad?” I ask.

“No, not at all. She admitted she wasn’t really into me. She was just rebelling against her parents. We both sympathised on that front.” He sighs and leans back even more. “That’s all I wanted at Watford, really. I was under so much pressure to be the perfect son. I seriously considered yelling ‘fuck it’ and doing whatever I wanted.”

I sigh too, putting my cheek against my palm. “Yeah, I understand that. Mr. Mage put a lot of pressure on me. He wanted to prove to the Watford board that scholarship students were worthwhile, and since I was Watford’s very first scholarship kid, I had to be perfect. Every time I got a low grade he would yell at me for an hour.”

“What a prick,” Baz grumbles.

I chuckle as I nod slowly. “Yeah, total prick. Watford wasn’t an easy place to be.”

Baz slowly lowers his sandwich, looking pointedly at the plate, and therefore not me. My heart speeds up. Did I say something wrong? Did I piss him off by accident? I do that a lot. And I definitely used to do that to Baz.

“What is it?” I ask.

“I don’t mean to pry,” he says carefully. “And maybe this is me still being pretty drunk. But...I saw something in your medicine cabinet.”

I squint, trying to think what could be so concerning. “Saw what?”

He fiddles with his still damp hair. It’s an old nervous habit I recognise from finals studying. “A bottle of citalopram. I’m a future psychiatrist, I know what that medication is usually for...”

My stomach drops out. I freeze with the sandwich still in my hand. “Oh,” I squeak.

“Yeah.” He leans closer, eyes round and sympathetic. “I’m sorry I looked. And...I’m sorry if I had any part in your need for it-”

“No no, Baz.” I shake my head, leaning forward as well. “You don’t have to. It’s not your fault, it’s not anyone’s in particular, really. It’s stupid chemicals misfiring in my brain. You’re a doctor, you know that.”

“Yes, of course I know that, Snow. But I also know my incessant arsehole behaviour for seven years probably didn’t help.”

I shrug, leaning back again. “Probably. And I bet me insulting you and punching you in the face all the time didn’t help your mental health either.”

He smiles and laughs again. He looks better when he laughs. “Okay, good point.”

“Exactly. So let’s agree neither of us need to apologise. We’ll let the past be the past, move on from here.”

“So you mean a truce?”

“Yeah, I guess.” I reach out my hand. “Truce.”

Baz smiles and clasps his hand with mine. His skin is just as rough and cold as I remember it being back at school. But even after we pull apart, my skin still feels warm.

“Just so we’re even,” Baz says with his mouthful, “my favourite antidepressant was cipralex. I went off it a few months ago because it started making me too drowsy, but it worked well for years. Citalopram made me far too ill. When I first tried it, I ended up vomiting in a bloody bedpan.”

I burst out laughing. And Baz’s grin outshines the sun.

We finish our sandwiches together. Baz complains that his mouth tastes like a rubbage heap. Apparently the combination of old tequila, Tesco cheese, and marmite creates a truly awful flavour. I give him an unused toothbrush from the dentist. He goes into the bathroom and soon emerges with clean teeth and wearing my trackies. I’m back on the couch with Cherry in my lap.

“You tired?” I ask.

“Not really,” Baz replies. “Late hospital shifts have turned me into an insomniac.”

“Wanna watch some Dr. Who?”

He throws himself down next to me, long arm stretched out over the back of the couch behind me. “Sure.”

I switch to a new episode. It’s a standalone, so Baz won’t be too confused. But he still asks incessant questions. Who’s this, what’s that, how the everloving fuck can they do that and survive? No wonder he’s a doctor. He’s perfect at looking for answers, no matter how annoying he is. Eventually I have to threaten to duct tape his mouth to get him to shut up. He huffs, crosses his arms, and sinks down further.. His head ends up on my shoulder. Despite my shorter neck length and Baz’s naturally long face, his head fits perfectly in the crook of my neck. Like it was made to be there. Wait, where did that thought come from?

The credits roll, and I notice a quiet whistling noise. I turn my head to the side. Oh. Baz is asleep. His eyes are softly closed and his lips are slightly parted. I’ve seen Baz sleep before of course, but this is different. Baz had nightmares throughout our entire time at Watford. (So did I.) I don’t think he’s having one now though. There’s no thrashing or whimpers. I’ve never seen Baz look so...peaceful.

“Baz,” I whisper. He doesn’t respond at all. “Baz,” I say louder, jerking my shoulder a bit.

“Ugh,” he groans, “let me sleep in, Daphne, it’s summer.”

“I’m not your step-mum, Baz.”

He cracks one eye open. “No, you’re really not, Snow.”

“Yeah. You wanna go to bed?”

“Mm, yeah.”

“Okay.” I slowly get up, easing Baz off my shoulder. I gently lower him onto the couch. The bottom half of his face hangs off the arm. Yeah, he’s going to need a pillow. I go to my bedroom and grab a pillow and blanket. I also make a stop by the bathroom for some aspirin and make another at the kitchen for some water and a bowl, in case he’s sick. I would prefer not to clean vomit out of my carpet.

Baz is still awkwardly pressed against the sofa arm, drooling slightly. Who would’ve thought I’d see the day Baz Pitch drooled in his sleep? I wouldn’t have. Not in a million years. But apparently tonight is a time for new things.

I place the bowl, water, and aspirin on my coffee table. Slowly and carefully, I lift Baz’s head and fit a pillow under it. I drape the blanket over his annoyingly tall body. His arm hangs like a limp noodle off the side. I sigh, kneeling down to tuck it back in.

Out of nowhere, I feel long, rough fingers touching my cheek. My whole body locks up in shock. Slowly, I raise my head, and I meet Baz’s half open grey eyes and soft smile.

“Uh, Baz?” I say, not sure what else I can.

“You’re still so beautiful,” he whispers. My eyes widen and every nerve in my body is filled with...something? Fear, nerves, an absolute sense of what the fuck? I can’t tell.

“W-What?”

Baz’s hand moves lower. His thumb traces just under my bottom lip. Why does my skin feels like it’s fire? “Your face, it’s still really pretty.”

I let out a nervous chuckle. “Uh, I guess you’d know. You punched it enough.”

He laughs softly. His hand falls, pulling back under the blanket, and his eyes slip shut. “Wish I had kissed it instead.”

I don’t even have time to respond to that, because Baz is asleep in an instant, snoring quietly once again. I’m frozen in place. My jaw is slack. Baz would tell me I’m going to catch flies. Baz, who’s sleeping right in front of me, who wished he had kissed me? My brain can’t process this. I’m like a computer with an eternal blue screen. This does not compute, cannot compute, fuck fuck fuck.

There’s only one thing I can think to do.

I grab my phone, rush to my room, and close the door. Cherry is already curled up on her side. The second I’m sitting on the mattress, I click Penny’s contact.

“Hello?” Her voice immediately calms me down.

“Hi, Pen,” I say.

“Simon?! Bloody hell, isn’t it like four in the morning in London?”

I look over at my clock. “Uh, yup, just about.”

“I don’t mean to be rude, but why are calling me at four AM?”

I sigh and flop backwards. “Pen, you’re not going to believe who is sleeping in my living room right now.”

“Who? The Doctor? Boris Johnson? The Queen of England>

A laugh bubbles from my mouth. “Nah, even weirder.”

I can almost hear Penny’s face pinching together in confusion. “Who?”

“Baz Pitch.”

She gasps loudly. “What?! As in Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch? That Baz Pitch?!”

“You think there’s another Baz Pitch in existence?”

“Yeah,” she sighs, “good point. So why is your arsehole former roommate sleeping on your couch?”

I rub the bridge of my nose. It doesn’t help. I’m not sure anything can help now. “That’s a long story.”

“I’ve got time.”

I sigh, and start spinning my insane tale. From the call to the bar to my flat, how Baz and I talked and became friendly and made a weird truce over cheese and marmite. I try to say everything quickly yet accurately. Penny barely makes a noise as I talk. I can’t tell if she’s shocked or contemplative. Probably both, honestly. I can’t blame her. The more I talk, the more completely nuts it all sounds. I’m living in a bloody sitcom.

“And then,” I say, “he held my face, said I was beautiful, and that he wished he had kissed me instead of punching me!”

“Wow,” Penny gasps. “That’s...a lot.”

“I know right? I’m so confused and I have no idea what the fuck to do!”

“Okay. What do you want to do though?”

I rub my very aching brow. “I don’t know, Pen. It’s so weird. Like, is this something he’s just realised or has Baz always felt this way?”

“Probably the second one.”

I bolt upright, brows knitted together. “Wait, really? You think so?”

“Yeah, actually.”

“But why?!”

“Well, Baz has always been very obsessed with you. He would go out of his way to be around you.”

“Yeah, to torment me,” I grumble.

Penny lets out a sigh. “Yes, he did. But as you told me, Baz said he picked on you because he couldn’t deal with his emotional issues. One of those issues certainly could have been romantic feelings for you.”

“Then why didn’t he just say something?!”

“Because he was the gay son of a conservative upper class British family, which probably wasn’t easy to deal with. Plus, his father and aunt hated the idea of scholarship students, also known as you.”

My righteous anger fizzles out like a dying campfire, shoulders slumping as I fall back against the headboard. “Oh. Yeah, that’s a good point. Still shouldn’t have been a snob and a bully.

“No he shouldn’t have. It was probably half poor coping and half trying to get your attention.”

“Like a boy pulling a girl’s pigtails?”

“I guess.”

“That’s a stupid and sexist way to handle a crush. I tell my students that all the time.”

Penny sighs. “Yeah, of course it is. But I’m pretty sure Baz knows that, at least now. He’s sorry for what he did. It seems like he’s gotten a lot better.”

“Yeah.” A smile creeps across my face without thinking. It just feels natural. “He’s gotten a lot nicer. He’s not the perfect, pretty, unfeeling arsehole I thought he was. And he’s funny, at least when he’s drunk. We had a pretty great time .”

I laugh quietly, but Penny’s is far louder. She sounds like she’s muffling her giggles. I frown a bit. “What’s so funny, Pen?”

“Oh,” she keeps giggling, “I think I’ve just realised something, and it’s hilarious.”

“Realised what?”

She takes a few deep calming breaths while my anxiety just climbs. “Simon,” she says kindly. This is the way she used to speak while explaining our complicated maths homework. “Hear me out, but I don’t think Baz is the only one who feels something.”

“Huh?”

“I think you have at least a few romantic feelings for Baz.”

“What?!” I shout far too loudly, and I worry I’m going to wake up Baz. I crouch inward, like I’m hiding, but I’m not really sure what. Baz? Penny? Myself?

“What the fuck are you talking about?” I hiss.

“Hear me out,” Penny says. “I’m saying that based on the evidence, you may have latent romantic feelings for Baz Pitch.”

“What evidence?!”

Penny lets out a low chuckle, like a super villain who’s plan has come to fruition. “Let’s see. Number one: back at Watford, you spent 99% of your time thinking about, talking about, or being with Baz. I had to put a limit on how much you were allowed to talk about Baz, remember?”

“Yeah, because he was bugging me,” I mumble.

“Number two: when you talked about Baz, it was always about how annoyingly pretty, smart, and graceful he was. You hated him, yet you had so many nice things to say.”

“Well he was perfect and it was annoying!”

“Number three: During the entire time you dated Agatha, you paid far more attention to Baz than you ever did to her.”

“T-That’s not true!” Though, looking back...fucking hell, it might actually be true.

“Number four: even though you hadn’t seen him in seven years, you dropped everything at two AM to go pick up his drunk arse from a bar.”

“It was the right thing to do!”

“Number five: you just gushed about how much you like Baz now and that he’s fun to be around. And I bet you were smiling.”

“No.” I think my cheeks are turning red.

I hear some rustling, and I think Penny is leaning forward in her chair. I can almost see her kind face in front of me. “Simon, I don’t want to push anything on you, but I also want you to really think about this. I know you hate to analyse things but it’s necessary right now. Maybe it could lead to something good.”

I tug on my hair, trying to distract myself. “I don’t know about that, Pen.”

“I know. Doesn’t even have to be romantic, maybe a good friendship. You could use more friends. And I’m not saying you have to jump his bones tomorrow.”

“Penny!” Now I’m definitely blushing.

She laughs uncontrollably, snorting every once in awhile. I cover my blushing face and groan. “Oh, I’m only joking, Si,” she says. “But I’m serious, don’t shut it down. Think about it. Baz is nice now, maybe it could work.”

“Why are you so desperate to set me up with my former enemy?”

“Because you haven’t been on a date or made new friends since first year uni. And I haven’t heard you this happy about being around someone in years.”

I hate to admit it, but she’s right. I’ve had more fun with Baz in one night than I have in ages. I enjoyed talking to him. I enjoyed laughing with him. I’m glad he’s asleep in the next room, where I can make sure he’s okay.

“You may have a point,” I say.

“Of course I do.”

I roll my eyes, just like she does. “Yeah, yeah, we’ve always known you’re smarter than me.”

“Mhm. And in my smart opinion, you need to go to bed.”

“Will do.” I flop backwards. The pillow feels heavenly on my head. “Thanks, Pen. I’ll talk to you later.”

“You better. Night, Si.”

I smile, and I hope she can hear my love and gratitude over the phone. “Night, Pen.”

The phone clicks off. I let it fall to the side. I am 0.2 seconds from passing out, even with so much still on my mind. I plug in my phone and turn on my side. I pull Cherry close to me. She curls around my hand like usual. When I close my eyes, all I see is raven hair, deep sea grey eyes, and a smile I never knew was there before.

———————————————

“Bloody fucking shit!”

I wake up with a start, clutching my sheet. Late morning sunlight is bleeding through the gap in my curtains. There’s muffled banging on the other side of my door. It’s like a very clumsy little rhino is moving through my flat. But I know exactly who it is.

I grab my glasses and slowly walk down the hall, peeking around the corner. It’s weird to sneak around my own apartment. I see a familiar long, lithe back, bent over as he struggles to get his struggles to get his oxfords on. He keeps wavering side to side like a branch in the wind.

“Good morning,” I say nonchalantly.

Baz whips around so fast he nearly topples over, stumbling to the side. He looks even more disheveled than last night, hair extremely tangled from sleeping on it wet, bruise worsening under his eyes, and bloodstained shirt buttoned wrong. He looks absolutely shocked to see me, which is odd, considering this is my flat.

“Um,” he says, shakiness in my voice, “good morning, Snow.”

“Leaving so soon?”

“Uh, well, yes, I suppose.”

I lean against the wall with my arms crossed. “So you were going to go and what? Leave me a thank you note like some bad teen movie?”

He probably thinks I don’t notice, but I see him crumple up and shove something in his back pocket. “No. I-I would’ve texted you my thanks.”

“Because that’s so much better.”

Baz looks down in shame, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, I know. It’s just...I didn’t want to make things awkward after last night. I’m truly sorry for the way I acted and imposing on you.”

“It’s okay.” I walk forward, hands in my trackie pockets. “I know you were pretty drunk, but, what do you remember from last night?”

Baz looks up, but still doesn’t meet my eyes. “I remember, being upset, going to the bar, getting in the fight, and the bartender screaming colourful obscenities at me.” That makes him laugh a little. It still sounds so nice. “Then I called you, you came and you had glasses. We drove to your place. I had a shower. You tended to my wounds like some war nurse.”

I giggle, nodding in complete agreement. “Yeah, I definitely did do that.”

“Yeah,” he chuckles. “Then uh, we ate sandwiches, watched Doctor Who, and I assume I fell asleep.”

“Okay.” I draw out the last syllable on purpose, making my doubt extremely clear. “That’s most of it, but you’re missing a few key parts.”

“Am I?” He’s trying to sound confident, but I know Baz, and I can hear a waver in his voice.

I start walking closer. “Mhm. You’re missing the parts where you apologized for being a prick in school, called my flat was good, liked my cat, said you drank because it was the anniversary of your mother’s horrible death, talked about your experience with antidepressants.” I’m only a few feet away from him now, looking him right in his pretty. “And, the part where you said that you wished you had kissed me back at school instead of punching me.”

With his complexion, it’s hard to tell when Baz is blushing. But I can see it. Scarlet creeps down from his cheeks to his long neck, eyes locked on me in stun.

“Oh,” he squeaks. “I see.”

“You really don’t remember all that?”

He rubs his brow. “Well, maybe, it’s just...fuzzy.”

“But was it true? Did you like me back at Watford?”

He visibly gulps, then looks at the floor again. He looks incredibly embarrassed and ashamed. “Yes,” he says, like he has to force himself to say it. “Yes, it’s true.”

I let out a long breath, half from relief, half to calm myself down. Okay. It’s true. Baz had feelings for me. All through school, all that time, Baz was pining after me from afar. And I never knew. Not a bit. But I think that was the idea.

“Alright,” I say.

Baz lifts his eyes slightly, cocking one eyebrow. “Alright? Is that all you have to say?”

I shrug high then drop my shoulders low. “I don’t know what else to say. That’s all. It changes a lot of things I assumed in school.”

“I bloody well hope so.” His voice is lighter, trying to lift the mood, trying to make this even slightly less than horribly awkward.

“So,” I say drawing out the o, “when, uh, did it start? You feeling like...that.”

If Baz’s blush could get any worse, I think it just did. He plays with his sleeves, his buttons, his hair, obviously looking for a distraction. “I realised it when I was 15. But I think, it started almost since we met.”

That hits me hard. The first year we met, I wore ratty old clothes and was essentially nonverbal. Baz saw me like that, a dirty silent little orphan kid, and he already liked me. He didn’t show it, but only because he couldn’t. He cared about me, even then. Even when so few truly did.

“Huh,” I say stupidly. “That’s a long time.”

He lets out a scoffing chuckle. “No shit, Snow.”

“That makes me feel even more sorry for being a prick to you in school.”

Baz shakes his head very quickly. “No, no, don’t apologize. I was a prick to you first. I just...” he sighs, rubbing his forehead. “In my family, I wasn’t supposed to be gay, let alone have feelings for someone they hated. I lashed out and hurt you because I was hurting. It was wrong.”

He sighs and sits down heavily on the couch. He looks so forlorn and ashamed, head hanging forward, his hair like a curtain. All the guilt seems to be pushing down on his shoulders, making him slump. Penny was right, as usual. But to hear it from Baz, to see him like this, it tugs on my heart. Like that time I caught him drunk in front of his mother’s grave when we were fifteen, or twice last night. He’s grown a lot and gotten happier, but a small part of Baz is still that sad kid, I guess.

Slowly, I walk towards him and sit down. Before I can think too much, I reach out and touch his hand. Baz’s head snaps up, completely terrified and shocked. Yet, he doesn’t pull away. One by one, I slip my fingers between his. Baz’s skin is such a strange contrast. My palm touches the smooth back of his hand, while fingers trace tiny rough ridges. It feels...really good.

“Hey,” I say quietly. “I know it’s been awhile, but what do you think about me now?”

I look him in the eye. I can see the way his lips shift, feel how his hand twitches. I wish I could hear what he’s thinking right now. He stays silent, so I decide to jump in.

“Well, let me start. I know what I think about you. I think,” I move closer, “that you’re kind, funny, smart, and still annoyingly gorgeous.” That makes his eyes widen ever so slightly. “And now I also know that you’re incredibly strong. That you struggled and mourned and came out okay. I mean, you’re a bloody doctor who’s going to help people work through their own problems. That’s amazing.”

Baz looks so shocked, probably both at my words and my coherency. I’ve gotten a lot better at speaking over the years. I’m so glad for that right now. “You really think all that, Snow?”

I smile and nod. “Yeah. I mean, I’ve always found you annoyingly amazing. Now it’s just not so annoying anymore.”

“Really?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really. Is it so hard to believe?”

Baz presses his lips together for a split second. “Honestly, yes. We hated each other for years, fought like cats and dogs. I assumed I had ruined any chance of that changing.”

“Well,” I move even closer so our thighs press together, “you didn’t. Because I like this.”

“What is this?”

“This!” I gesture wildly between us. “What we’re doing right now. I like this, I like you.”

He looks so shocked, yet there’s a twinkle of happiness too. “Like me how? As...a friend?”

And he calls me oblivious. I squeeze his hand again. “That depends. I know it’s been a long time, so have your...feelings about me gone away?”

Baz stares at me, studying my face. I just watch his eyes roam over me again and again. Then he reaches forward and delicately places his hand on my cheek, just like last night. Except it feels more purposeful. And so much better.

“No,” he says quietly, “they haven’t gone away. I don’t think they ever could.”

My body feels so light and happy and indescribably full. I’ve never felt like this before. Not with anyone. It’s hit me so suddenly, yet it feels so right. I’m grinning, I can’t stop grinning.

“Okay,” I say. “I feel the same.”

Baz’s hand falls, touching my arm. He raises a perplexed eyebrow. “Okay, but since when?”

I shrug, which makes Baz roll his eyes. “I’m not sure. All I know is that I do. That’s what really matters, right?”

He sighs. His hand moves up and down my arm. I can’t tell if he’s studying me or trying to hold on. “I suppose, yes.”

“Exactly. So why don’t we give it a shot?”

“What are you saying, Snow?”

“I’m saying I want to be your boyfriend.” Baz’s lips falls open and hand slips slightly down my arm. I hold onto him tighter. “Like, fair warning, I’m not a great boyfriend. I forget things, I’m super clumsy, and I haven’t dated anyone seriously since Agatha, so my experience is limited. But I like you. And I’m not asking for something serious right now, I just want to give this a try. Do you maybe want to?”

Baz’s face is such strange, confusing mixture. His brows are tense and pulled together. They scream worry and doubt. His thin beautiful lips hang open is absolute disbelief. But his eyes, a mix of dark blue and dark green, are filled to the brim with hope.

“I’m a doctor,” he blurts out.

“Um, yeah, I know,” I reply, trying not to laugh.

He shakes his head violently. “No, you don’t understand. I’m a medical resident. I’m at the hospital almost every day. I have barely any free time, and if I do I use it to sleep. And I don’t have much experience either. I’ve had two semi serious relationships that both ended in flames. I’m terrible at everything relationship related, probably even more than you, Snow.”

Baz looks so frantic and scared, but he’s hanging on to my hand. In spite of harsh realities, he doesn’t want to let go. I think he’s expecting me to admit defeat and walk away. But what he doesn’t seem to get, is that I don’t want to let go either.

I move closer, and cup his face this time. Baz instinctively leans into it. “You called me Simon before.”

He lets out a bursting laugh, sudden and unwanted. He immediately calms down, but there’s a little smile there. “Really? That’s what you care about?”

“Yeah. Because I like hearing you say it, and I like this. So,” I squeeze his hand again, “I want to try, no matter the risks. We’ll just deal with the rest later.”

He gives me a doubtful expression. “That’s your solution? Put off thinking about the problems we may face?”

“Yup. Because I want this, you want this, and that’s all that matters.”

“I guess...”

Stupid bastard still overthinks everything. I don’t want his mind far away, I want it right here with me. I brush my thumb over the soft skin of his cheek. “Plus, I’d rather focus on other things right now.”

“Oh? What things?”

“Well, more a question.” I deliberately move my hand lower, tracing under his bottom lip. “You said you wished you had kissed me when we were in school.”

He gulps. I watch his Adam’s apple bob slowly. “Yes, I did.”

“So, do you still want to kiss me?”

His eyes flick down, just for a moment. I can feel his hot breath on my face. “Yes.”

I smile, leaning close so our noses brush. “Then do it.”

Baz doesn’t ask for anymore assurance. He just leans forward, pressing his mouth to mine. And my mind completely implodes.

His lips are colder than Agatha’s, than anyone’s really. It’s like kissing a soft autumn breeze. Just chilly enough to send shivers over your skin. Yet when he takes my bottom lip between his teeth, I melt completely, leaning closer and wrapping my arms around his neck. He clutches my sides, hanging on with a death grip. Like he never wants to let me go. (I wouldn’t mind that.) It’s an awkward position, but I couldn’t care less anymore. I run my hand through his hair. It’s soft and slips through my fingers, just like I thought it would. I clench my fist and push his face into mine. I more feel him groan than hear it. He bunches my shirt in his own fists. I like him here, under my hands, not off being sad or drunk, where I know he’s okay. I’ve got you know, Baz, I’m not letting go.

From that first press of our lips, I know I want this. Baz feels perfect and wonderful. I want to kiss him forever. It’s strange, to have something you never knew you wanted before, and suddenly need to hang onto it forever.

We both pull apart at relatively the same time, flushed and out of breath. Baz’s eyes flutter open. His pupils are blown incredibly huge, and his lips are swollen and pink. I think mine are too, at least it feels like they are. I’ve never felt so elated from just one kiss. I’m sure I never will again.

“Wow,” I breathe out.

Baz lets out a breathy laugh, so quiet and sweet. “Very eloquent.”

I chuckle too, twisting a strand of his hair. “Yeah, well, that’s all I can manage right now. I think you broke my brain.”

“Don’t stroke my ego too much, Snow. I’ll get a big head.”

“You mean a bigger one?”

Baz glares, but when I flash one grin, his entire face melts. My heart melts too. It’s in a goddamn puddle on the floor forever.

Baz presses one hand to his temple, eyes squinting shut. “Bloody hell, all the drinking and excitement is too much for my head.”

“Did you take the aspirin I left?”

“Yes, but apparently that only does so much. I want coffee.”

“I’ve got some. Probably not very fancy, but it’s good enough. That alright?”

He flashes a lopsided grin. It’s incredibly sweet, making me smile in return. “That would be wonderful, Simon.”

God, I want to hear him say my name like that a thousand times.

We reluctantly untangle ourselves, but our hands stay linked. I lead Baz to my tiny dining room table. He sits on the far side, facing the open space of my kitchenette. My hand drags across his as we reluctantly let go. I walk into the room and flip on my ancient coffee machine.

“How do you take your coffee?” I say over my shoulder. “Black?”

“Actually, I like a lot of cream and sugar.”

I laugh loudly and smile at him. “Still have a sweet tooth, huh?”

“Absolutely.”

“Of course. I still remember how you would steal my mint aeros.”

“You have no proof of that, Snow,” he singsongs.

His voice is light and joking. I look over my shoulder, and see his soft smile. I want to see that smile all the time. I want to find out every little happy expression he has, the ones I never got to see when we were kids.

“I’ll find some,” I reply..

“It’ll take a lot of coaxing.”

I lean against the counter, looking at him. Really looking at him. Baz Pitch, the former arsehole bully, now the mostly well adjusted altruistic doctor, still someone who can occupy most of my thoughts. This is all new yet so familiar.

“Good thing we’ve got time,” I say.

Baz leans his cheek on his palm. From his calm, happy expression, I know he agrees. We’ve got time to not just catch up, but start something strange and beautiful and new.

And I’ve never been so excited in my life.

———————————————

AN: Is this a bit unrealistic? Yes. Is this super adorable? Also yes. Hope you guys thought the same. I def enjoy writing drunk Baz and switching it up so Simon has glasses this time. And I like Simon's total obliviousness to his own feelings. He's a dumb romantic little shit lol. Thanks for reading, see y'all next time :D

PS: XOYO is a real bar. Hopefully they don't have to deal with drunk traumatized psychiatry residents too much lol.

[allinonetips]

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[starstruck-xavier]

Homesick

last night i ran out of conditioner before shampoo. so i wrote this hhfgjfhgjfd

ao3 || wattpad || bthb masterpost || fanfiction masterpost

words: 1956 ships: implied LAMP warnings: none, just lots of sadness! bthb prompt: loneliness fandom: sanders sides

summary: Why does the conditioner bottle always run out before the shampoo bottle? Logan huffs a sigh and continues to shake the bottle in his hand, silently interrogating it, trying to get as much out of it as possible, but all that’s left is already in his other hand, outstretched, easily containing the hair product that fits snug in there despite the tremors that always torture his muscles like a soft breeze that constantly annoys you rather than caressing you gently, rushing through your tree branch arms and blowing your hair into your face. Your unconditioned hair. In which Logan is a (figurative) tree trying to survive in the (figurative) desert.

X - finished, O - work in progress @badthingshappenbingo​

~

Why does the conditioner bottle always run out before the shampoo bottle?

Logan huffs a sigh and continues to shake the bottle in his hand, silently interrogating it, trying to get as much out of it as possible, but all that’s left is already in his other hand, outstretched, easily containing the hair product that fits snug in there despite the tremors that always torture his muscles like a soft breeze that constantly annoys you rather than caressing you gently, rushing through your tree branch arms and blowing your hair into your face. Your unconditioned hair.

He mentally curses the manufacturers for not making the bottles at least translucent. If he could see the levels where the physical limits of the product sit inside their containers, maybe he could work towards having them run out at the same time. Alas, now he has to use just the shampoo for a few days, his hair coarse and rough until he has an excuse to buy both bottles again. A distant friend’s sardonic voice in his head suggests just using the rest of the three-quarters-empty shampoo bottle in one go; Logan exhales through his nose, barely a laugh on the outside as he works the pitiful lump of conditioner through his roots.

Ever since he moved away for work, Logan has felt like his tree roots haven’t been the same. Parts of him were cut away in the uprooting process, left behind, useless, lifeless. The grass that always surrounded him and kept him company is back there, spreading itself back over the mound of dirt that’s left to replace him. If he stays here long enough, his roots will readjust again in the desert sand and he’ll be stuck here forever. The tremors increase at that thought, an awful jerk of the arms, the breeze teetering on a gale that threatens to pull the dying leaves from his head, losing even more of himself.

It takes a little too long to realise that the feeling of leaves being torn away is merely him subconsciously pulling at his own hair, his fingers digging into his skull with hopes that he could crack it open and switch off his brain. Another sigh escapes him as he brings his hands down to hug himself loosely, and he hears a shrill but soft voice catching on the drum of water hitting his back, telling him that sighing gives you wrinkles.

Logan wishes he could hear that voice for real, in person, muffled into his shirt or whispered against his lips or exclaimed excitedly from a different room, just any proof that they can both be physically together again. He doesn’t want to think about the muffled sobbing, the whispered goodbyes or the excited helloes that crinkle in his computer speakers from millions of lightyears away, just reminding him of how far away they are. His other friends’ words and shouts and gasps and cries and heartbeats all too sound distant from all the way up there, in his brain, distorted and faked up by the mirage of memory, but this one specific person just might spur him to quit all of this, move back there.

And God, does he want to.

If only life was that simple. If only Logan could call his boss, say he doesn’t want to do this anymore and live out the rest of his days with the ones he loves most, but life doesn’t always work out. The inspirational, empty, cursive-written words in frames that litter every local furniture shop he wanders through say to live every day like it’s your last, that home is where the heart is, to make your life the best experience ever, but how? These signs don’t come with an instruction manual on how to go about these things, only how to hang it on a wall so you can look at it every now and again and smile at the aesthetics, the way the letters curve around each other and how the display compliments the kitchen cabinets, the meaning not even discernible because the cursive is so hard to understand. As Logan tilts his head back into the shower stream to bid farewell to that last pump of conditioner, he faintly pictures the face of a friend who would jump at the chance to buy another one of those signs.

The sardonic voice comes back with a witty quip. Logan smiles to himself.

His branches creak in the wind that continues to shake him around as he steps out of the shower and grabs an old towel, not caring which one, just hoping that he can scrub with it at his skin hard enough to peel the scratchy bark away and reduce himself to what he really is. Human, small, mortal, confined to the constant ticking of time much like any other creature, but with a much shorter lifespan than something as amazing and significant as a tree. His arms jerk again and that sardonic voice grows soft and endearingly grumbly, telling him to breathe in. The leaves on his head susurrate and crinkle with the towel absorbing the extra rainfall from them.

The hair feels coarse and rough already, deprived of the usual amount of conditioner that he would use if the manufacturers had made the bottles translucent and made his life a little more bearable.

Usually, Logan would make calls from the cellphone, but this time it seems to be calling out to him, temping him to walk over to the table where it sits and make the call, say “I quit” and be happy. Why is that never easy? He fleetingly considers taking note of that question to ask his therapist, but then remembers where he is.

Half the world away.

Suddenly, he just feels so homesick. A crushing, awful, guttural loneliness sinks into his bones and grinds down every single one of them into a fine powder, scattered across the grey carpet like ashes in the wind that whips around him relentlessly and has him shaking so hard that he’s sure he’ll pass out like this. Tears suddenly drip onto the table, sugary sweet sucrose escaping from the phloem in his roots, mixing with the water from his xylem, those hollow, empty tubes made of nothing but dead cells powered by living ones. Dead cells inside him, having exhausted themselves, all for him to mope about and feel this dreadful melancholy creak and snap inside him like a discarded twig, making him tremble even more, reduced to a sobbing mess, his body on the floor but his mind back home.

Home is where the heart is, a theatrical voice floats in the wind akin to sycamore seeds, twirling about like ballerinas. Perhaps that’s why he’s been feeling so empty and depressed lately; he left his heart behind when he left. It’s still at home, galaxies away yet only on the other side of the tiny, pathetic little earth at the same time.

A familiar ringtone shakes Logan out of his head, leaves rustling as he picks himself up off the floor to look at the phone screen. He answers the video call, not bothering to wipe the sucrose tears from his face, adorned with tiny little world-weary wrinkles from a lifetime of sighing, and his three favourite people in the world are looking back at him. They all remind Logan of individual flowers, their soft, youthful, conditioned flower petals sprouting into different styles atop their crowns whilst his own leaves hang limply with moisture, wet from the shower yet still dehydrated of proper care and gentle hands running through it while he quietly dozes in their arms. If only he could do that now.

The one on the right is like a rose; a bold red, passion for romance, loud, boisterous acts of affection that Logan could never fail to shy away from. Even the rose thorns are only reserved for the people who try to hurt his loved ones, something rarely shown but exceptionally beautiful in its own way. Then, to the left, is a purple zinnia, enduring and long-lasting despite the hardships he’s been through, a calming violet that symbolises his transformation from a reserved brick wall to a soft and loving human. In the middle, however, is the most beautiful blue forget-me-not that Logan could ever lay eyes on. He’s full of memories - a string of fairy lights with blurry, candid polaroids pegged across, captioned with words that Logan could read again and again. The blue in his eyes shines like a polaroid lens through his circular glasses and Logan briefly registers him asking if he’s okay.

Logan tells them everything. He misses them, his roots have been left behind and now he’s stuck in this desert, dehydrated and sunburned. If he were a cactus rather than a tree, brittle and spiky on the outside so no one can get too close, he’d be able to survive all the way out here, but his softened insides are crying out for home, and he just feels so bad and wants hugs from them because he can’t just ask for hugs at his new workplace, that’s unprofessional, and he doesn’t even have any friends here, so, so, lonely, lonely, lonely.

Their voices sound like the monsoon season. They sink into his roots, revive his xylem and provide a little colour to his dying leaves. Suggestions make their way to his ears, the main ones being that if he really isn’t enjoying his work he should come home, that they’ll be here for him, the gate unlocked so he can be welcomed home whenever he’s ready. Somehow, hearing it from them makes the idea feel a little less insane.

So, around an hour later, with a fond smile pulling at his lips as he waves goodbye to them with a promise of return, he hops from one call to another, like sycamore seeds twirling in the wind with a newfound determination to plant himself back at home, where he belongs.

The phone rings once, twice.

Only another hour later, as he sprawls out underneath the plain, white bedsheets, it really sinks in. Within a matter of days, Logan will be catching a plane home, granted his wishes after divulging to his boss just how much his mental health has deteriorated over the months. Upon hearing the news, the gale shaking his branches around ceases again into a simple breeze, still there, still adding kinetic energy to every single atom in his body, but it’s not so bad anymore. His leaves are still shaken and falling out, clattering faintly against the pillows and the mattress underneath him from the stress damage, but that shrill yet soft voice sounds again in his head, telling him that in due time, when he returns to his deep blue, galaxy-adorned bedsheets, the leaves will grow back with new life, a beautiful, healthy green.

While he packs his things, he makes a point to leave the quarter-full shampoo bottle in the bathroom alongside its fully drained friend. When he returns home he’ll go to the local grocery store, greet the manager like he’s always done upon visiting, and pick up two bottles, one labelled shampoo, one labelled conditioner.

Because even if the bottles are opaque, it’ll feel so, so much better to be able to fill his entire hand with product until it nearly spills over in his excitement to be where he belongs again, that part of him doesn’t even care that he may run out of conditioner again before his shampoo.

When he has his soulmates with him, the question of why the conditioner always runs out before the shampoo will be the last thought at the front of his head.

[bluesfortheredj]

Modern Romance Pt. 15

The cake goes down a treat, it always does thankfully, and it’s one of the things I’m particularly good at which helps when trying to impress as well, then the rest of the day is spent lounging in the garden surrounded by my favourite people. Kelly, Owen, and the kids leave around 5pm thanks to school the next day and an early bedtime for the little ones, but not before I’m given some more brotherly advice of course, and when it’s back to me and (Y/N) now sharing a lounger in the garden, I realise that soon enough it’ll be time for her to leave as well.

“I should go,” she sighs as her hands run up and down my legs from her cosy position in between my thighs.

She tilts her head back onto my chest as far as it can go so she can see my face and I kiss her forehead as my arms tighten around her stomach. Everything inside my body sinks at those words, not just my heart this time, and I can’t find any words to say in response.

“It’ll be much easier if I get the tube to the station,” she adds.

“I’m driving you and that’s final,” I sigh, “can you spare one more hour?”

She checks her phone to see the time and groans at how quickly the minutes are passing, then slips it back into her pocket and nods.

“One more hour,” she agrees.

“So I have a question...” I trail off as we both relax into the seat.

“Mhmm.”

“Was the ‘girlfriend’ thing just because they said it earlier?”

“I’ll admit that it was a knee jerk reaction to what they said, but then I realised how nice it sounded a few seconds after you said it, and suddenly it felt right,” she replies, “even if it is a little quick.”

“Owen told me something worth remembering earlier, which makes a change,” I chuckle, “he said to not let what we think we should do stop us from what we want to do. No one is actually telling us this is moving too fast, or we’re doing things the wrong way around, it’s only what we think is right based on other people’s relationships.”

“Very true,” she agrees, “and we shouldn’t compare ourselves to others like that. This is us, and we’ve just been going with the flow so far which has worked out pretty well I’d say.”

“So, we’re official then?” I clarify with an excited grin already spreading across my face; thank goodness she can’t see me.

“Looks like it,” she replies, and I can hear her own smile in that soft voice of hers.

“So, just to make sure, if I get asked a question on the press tour that may require an answer that involves you in some way, then I can say ‘my girlfriend’?”

She turns to face me with a light laugh and nods her head as she bites her lower lip gently.

“Yes, yes you can!” she beams.

“I like the sound of that,” I grin back at her.

“This means I’m going to have to check youtube for all of your interviews just so I can hear you say it,” she laughs.

“Well I’d expect you to watch every single one of them anyway,” I wink.

“Guess I have to now, right?”

“Yep, it’s in the terms and conditions of being in a relationship with me.”

“Maybe I should have read over them before I agreed to this...” she teases, sticking her tongue out a little.

“You’re making saying goodbye very, very difficult for me,” I sigh.

Her face falls and just as I go to say something to try and lift her features, she gets up from the lounger and holds her hand out for me to take. Without a word I take it and rise from the seat myself, then let her lead me inside and to the couch where we both fall into a heap and she manages to find her way onto my lap, sliding her hands around my shoulders and leaning into me. My own arms waste no time in holding her close, and we stay in silence as we both realise that words wouldn’t be enough for how we felt right now. Suddenly our song starts to play, and the familiar bassline to another one bites the dust sounds out from her pocket as her phone rings.

“Sorry,” she chuckles, leaning back to get it out and answer it, “hello? ...No it’s alright, I’ll get something on the train… Okay, see you later… I’ll be leaving soon… Yep, will ring you when I get near… Love you, bye!”

“Your mum?” I ask, even though I heard her on the other end of the phone.

“Yeah,” she smiles, “right, where were we?”

“When did you change your ringtone?” I ask as we settle back into our embrace.

“As soon as I was on the train home last time,” she smiles against my t-shirt, “it’s nice to be reminded of you every time someone rings.”

“We really should get a more appropriate song...” I chuckle.

“Or we could just tell people it’s something else and keep this a secret,” she suggests.

“I like that idea...”

We fall into an uncomfortable silence as the two of us think about having to say goodbye soon, and the atmosphere turns heavy as we cling onto one another a little tighter than before. I can hear the clock ticking on the wall, every second that goes by taking away more and more of my happiness, and the repetitive sound soon starts to annoy me as the ticks get louder inside my head.

“Right,” she sighs, lifting her head from my shoulder, “I’ll go get my case.”

“Of course. I’ll, er, grab my keys.”

She walks upstairs slowly on purpose I imagine and when she returns with the case she looks as if she’ll burst into tears right then and there, and I really don’t know if I’ll be able to keep my emotions in check if she does. After she unhooks her coat from the hallway, she dips her head down and leads the way out of the front door, then I take her case and place it in the boot before we slide into the car with heavy sighs.

“I think you should take your black shirt with you,” she says quietly as I start the engine.

“Yeah?”

“For selfish reasons, obviously, just so you don’t forget about me really.”

“As if I would,” I scoff, “you really have no idea how much you’ve impacted my life, do you?”

“I like to imagine it’s close to the amount you’ve had on mine.”

“More.”

I pull away and drive as slowly as I can get away with to the station, but the journey still goes far too quickly for my liking and we end up sitting in the car for a while when we park up on a street near by. She’s first to open her door without saying a word and she walks around to the back of the car to get her case before I even have the opportunity to undo my seatbelt, then I jump out when she begins the walk away from the car; catching up to her within a matter of seconds.

“Wait for me,” I sigh as I place my arm around her shoulders and she leans into me immediately.

“I forgot to ask,” she gasps, moving away from me and standing in my path instead.

“What?” I smile.

“Do you have much planned when you’re back?”

“I actually have a couple of weeks off when I get back home, so no I don’t. What have you got in mind?”

“My parents are off on holiday the Saturday after you return… Would you like to come and stay? You don’t have to if you don’t want to, and I don’t expect you to stay all week, but I could take a couple of days off work and we could do something,” she rambles nervously, even though there’s no need to be because there’s absolutely no way I’m saying no to this and I’m staying for the whole week if she’ll have me.

“Absolutely, I’ll stay for as long as you’ll have me,” I grin.

“Don’t say that, because you’ll be stuck with me all week,” she giggles.

“I was hoping you’d say that anyway,” I wink, then bring her into a much needed hug.

“So almost four weeks apart then a whole week together,” she mumbles against my shirt, “I think I can cope with that.”

“Me too. But I’ll be messaging and calling all the time, so hopefully it won’t feel too much like we’re so far away from one another.”

“Good,” she sniffs, and I know the first tears have fallen, “right, I’ve got to go before I make a fool of myself again by crying on you for the second time.”

“You could never make a fool of yourself,” I whisper as I lean back and gently tilt her head to meet my gaze, “you know how I feel about you. It doesn’t matter if you cry.”

“Have a wonderful time Gwilym,” she sighs with a smile, “and I expect to see a bunch of touristy photos on your instagram feed.”

“Thank you, and you certainly will,” I chuckle, “I love-”

“Not until you’re back,” she says as she wipes away a tear, “but the feeling’s mutual.”

She stands up on her tiptoes to reach my lips and I feel the dampness from her cheeks transfer onto mine as we stand there and kiss as if we had nothing else to do. When it all eventually comes to an end and we reluctantly part, she turns away without another word and walks towards the same entrance as before; that same set of stairs that I kept staring at from my car last time as I willed her to hop back up them.

@painthatiusedto @winnielinleigh @queenslandlover-93 @excellentbecca @peachllobotomy @lovemarvelousfics @lovemelikeyou1997 @readinghorn @godohammers @timeandpixiedust @lv7867 @fuckyou-imspiderman @aynsleywalker @captainxholmes @the-baby-bookworm @leah-halliwell92 @chlobo6 @tenement-funstah

[fdmrringtoneblog-blog]

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[evil-butterfly-man]

A&E (a Gabriel Agreste fic)

summary: Gabriel receives a disturbing phone call.

A/N: This one’s a bit on the angsty side, but I wanted to write it for a while :D

(also on ao3)

***

The shape wasn’t right. He could see it now, after filling in most of the details – half a day’s work, and this blasted handbag looked just about good enough to slap a fake logo on top and sell it on a market stall to gullible tourists. Perhaps he could rework it, but in all honesty, he was annoyed enough to scrap the entire design and start over.

Gabriel was just setting down the basic shape when his ringtone chimed. His stylus hovered right above the screen, Adrien’s photo coming into view where he couldn’t ignore it anymore. With a weary sigh, Gabriel hit the “Answer” button and prayed that whatever it was, it would be brief.

“Dad?”

Something was wrong. From the hesitation in Adrien’s voice, the fearful tone of it, the way it cut off abruptly and remained silent for a moment or two… Gabriel didn’t have much in the way of parental instincts, but what little he did have were sounding alarm bells in his head.

“Adrien? What happened? Where are you?”

While barking the questions, he dismissed the sketchpad and pulled up Adrien’s schedule that Nathalie sent him daily. According to her, Adrien had finished school about forty minutes ago – yes, if he remembered correctly Nathalie had left to pick him up…

“I’m at the hospital, Dad.”

Gabriel drew in a sharp breath.

“What happened? Are you—”

“I’m fine,” Adrien interrupted him. “I promise, I’m fine. It’s—it’s Nathalie.”

His relief was short-lived. Gabriel set down the stylus and transferred the conversation to his phone, pressing it tight to his ear.

“Which hospital?”

He typed in the address to his Uber app, fingers trembling slightly. Adrien didn’t say much else but didn’t hung up either, maybe drawing some comfort from Gabriel’s own stubborn silence.

The ride was excruciatingly long. Every red light felt like eternity, and Gabriel had to stop himself from snapping at the driver each time he stopped or slowed down. Once they parked in front of the hospital entrance, Gabriel slammed the door shut behind him and didn’t bother with goodbyes.

Inside of the building was hectic, as he suspected most hospitals were. Between the queues, shops, and various windows, he had no idea which way to go. For a full minute he stood there blinking under the harsh lights, while the sea of people crashed around him.

“Dad?”

“I’m here,” Gabriel said automatically. “Where can I find you?”

“It’s, umm—” he heard other voices on Adrien’s end of the line. “Accidents and Emergency? It’s—down to the main hall, then turn right, go up the stairs. Follow the signs, basically.”

He did. The signs marking A&E were bright red, conspicuous once he knew to look for them. It had to be another entrance to the building – yes, he could see the doors now, several ambulances parked in front of it. People here moved rapidly but with more purpose, a couple of paramedics wheeling in an old man on a stretcher, his blank eyes fixed on the ceiling. A man with blood on his shirt was seating on a plastic chair, holding a tissue to his cheek and swearing into his cell phone. And, squeezed in between two elderly ladies, was Adrien himself.

“Dad,” he chocked out, pale as death, and launched himself at Gabriel. Gabriel barely managed to catch him – he had to back away a step to keep Adrien from toppling them both, and then held him tightly.

“Are you sure you are fine?” he asked.

“Yes, yes, I’m sure.”

“That’s good to hear.” Gabriel hesitated. “Where is—where is Nathalie?”

Adrien pointed numbly to one of the closed doors. Fearing the worst, Gabriel let go of Adrien’s shoulder and pressed down on the door handle.

Inside was busy. Several patient beds were put side to side, some of them occupied, others empty. Nurses were rushing in between them, taking blood samples, adjusting monitors, filling in paperwork. He saw two doctors by the bed on the right, but a screen was blocking his view of whoever was lying in it. None of the other patients looked remotely familiar.

Gabriel grabbed the screen and pulled it to the side.

Nathalie.

It had to be. He recognized the red ombre streak in her hair; he didn’t recognize much else. They covered her body but one bare arm was lying limp on the duvet, a plastic tube feeding into the crook of her elbow, some apparatus hooked to her index finger. He could see her collarbones, and the electrodes attached below them. Her face disappeared behind another tube, a plastic thing shoved into her mouth, taped onto the skin of her chin and cheeks with a band aid. She was completely, utterly still.

“Sir? You really cannot be here,” a nurse said, visibly livid.

The doctors turned around.

“Oh? Yeah, absolutely. We’re going to have to ask you to leave—”

“What happened to her?”

“Sir, if you have any questions, you will have to address them to the leading physician.”

“And who’s that?”

One of them, a dark-skinned woman in her forties, glared at him.

“That would be me. Unfortunately, I’m a bit busy at the moment—”

“Wait, the CT just came in,” the other doctor pressed something on his tablet. “Clean, from the looks of it.”

“Show me—and can you please escort the gentleman out?”

Gabriel tried to look at the tablet as it was being passed, but the image wouldn’t tell him anything either way. None of the monitors told him anything – there were squiggly lines on the main one with a column of numbers, then another row of squiggly lines and even more numbers on the other machine, wheeled in to the side of Nathalie’s bed.  

“No signs of blood, no dilatation of the ventricles – sir, please wait outside. I’ll join you shortly – well, we need to do a lumbar puncture, can you ask Marie to get the kit?”

A nurse seized Gabriel by the elbow and steered him towards the door. By the time he realized what was happening he was already outside, the door slamming in his face.

“How is she?” Adrien asked.

Gabriel turned around and stared at his son, who looked up to him with Emilie’s bright, anxious eyes.

“I don’t know,” he said.

A loud group of people passed them by. The clattering wheels of a wheelchair brought Gabriel back to the present. He realized he had squeezed Adrien’s shoulder to the point of discomfort, and that he was still standing motionless before the closed door – the room Nathalie was in – where he really should be right now—

“Come on, Dad,” Adrien pulled him towards a chair. “They’re taking care of her. Come and sit down.”

The plastic chair creaked beneath him. Adrien took the seat next to it, his hands curling and uncurling on his thighs, his gaze lost somewhere on the floor before his feet.

“Tell me what happened,” Gabriel said eventually.

“I don’t know,” Adrien said. “Nathalie showed up to pick me up from school. I got in the car, she asked me a couple of questions—we drove past two, maybe three intersections. Then suddenly she said that she’s not feeling very well and stopped the car on the sidewalk. When I asked her what’s wrong, she just looked at me for a moment, and then passed out—” his voice trembled. “I tried to shake her awake. She was slumped forward and didn’t react to anything. I got out of the car—some people stopped to see what’s wrong, and they got her out, too, and called for an ambulance. The paramedics agreed to bring me along, but they took her away as soon as we got here, and no one has been able to tell me anything.”

On impulse, Gabriel hugged his son again. Adrien was shaking, his face buried in Gabriel’s chest and his arms wrapped around his waist.

“She was fine in the morning,” Adrien mumbled. “And fine when she got to school – maybe she was paler than usual, I don’t know, she’s just—I don’t know…”

Nathalie hadn’t been fine that morning. She was pale, the concealer beneath her eyes thicker than she would normally apply it. Before the conference call with their Milan branch, she had another one of those coughing fits. But she didn’t say anything and Gabriel didn’t press the issue, because why would he? Nathalie was a sensible woman. If she was truly sick she wouldn’t have come to work, wouldn’t have agreed to drive Adrien anywhere.

At least she stopped the car. Her self-preservation instinct was apparently non-existent, but she wouldn’t do anything to knowingly put Adrien in danger. At least—

The doctor walked out of the room and scanned the row of seats until she noticed Gabriel.

“There you are,” she said. “We can talk now. This way, please.”

She opened a couple of doors and glanced inside, but none of the rooms were empty. In the end they had to settle for the far side of the corridor, where they could speak in relative solitude.

“Are you Miss Sancoeur’s family?” she asked.

Gabriel shook his head. “I’m her employer.”

“Oh.” The doctor paused. “That complicates matters. You are not authorized to receive any information about Miss Sancoeur’s health without her express permission.”

“How can she give her permission?” Gabriel snapped. “She’s unconscious.”

“Yes, that’s usually the problem,” the doctor nodded, then turned towards Adrien. “I heard you were with her, right? Can you tell me what happened?”

Haltingly, Adrien repeated his story. Gabriel kept a hand on his shoulder throughout; he didn’t seem to be able to let go.

“I see. And are you aware of any medical conditions she may have? Chronic diseases, medications, previous hospitalizations?”

The pause was long, uncomfortable. Nathalie practically lived at his house these days, but he hardly knew anything about her. She was loyal, extraordinarily so, and competent; that had been enough. It had always been enough.

“She never discussed her medical issues with me,” Gabriel said stiffly. “I cannot help you there.”

“Is she going to be okay?” Adrien asked.

His wide, guileless eyes were getting past the doctor’s defences. Emilie had been the same – impossible to say no to.

“At this moment we don’t know what’s causing her condition,” the doctor said kindly. “Her blood tests are inconclusive. The CT scan looks normal. We are still waiting for the toxicology report.” She turned towards Gabriel. “Sir, are you aware of any substance, legal or not, Miss Sancoeur may have used? Or, perhaps, something that has changed in her mental state lately, a stressful event, loss of family member…?”

“What?” Adrien asked. “What are you talking about?”

The doctor winced. Then she said to Gabriel, much more quietly: “Anything at all would be helpful. We cannot test for every substance on Earth.”

Adrien looked between the two of them.

“Nathalie wouldn’t do anything like that,” he said.

Gabriel squeezed his shoulder.

“What do you want me to do?” he asked sharply. “Break into her apartment? Sweep her bathroom for illegal drugs?”

“Obviously I don’t want you to break into anywhere,” the doctor said. “But if you know anything, anything at all, you have to tell us. At the moment she is completely unresponsive. Any information you may have, no matter how shameful or illegal, could make the difference between her life and death.”

Adrien’s voice hitched. “No, don’t be stupid. Nathalie isn’t going to die. She’ll wake up and she’s going to be just fine. Right, Dad?” he tugged at Gabriel’s sleeve, expression pleading. “Dad?”

Any information. The Peacock Miraculous was hidden in the safe in his bedroom, the other one, after Adrien found the one in the office. It lay there, its Kwami dormant, a pretty bauble. No one would think twice upon seeing it, save perhaps the Guardian.

It just lay there, having sucked the life out of Emilie, and now out of Nathalie too. And Gabriel had no one left to keep him sane. Adrien had no one left to take care of him. No one—

If she dies, that’s on you, a treacherous voice whispered in Gabriel’s ear. It sounded a lot like Nooroo, but wouldn’t shut up even when Gabriel willed it to.

But another voice could drown it out, another thought: There’s a way to save them. And only you can do it.

Only one way.

“No,” Gabriel said hollowly. “I don’t know anything.”