#Will sort out queue a bit later but probably a few hours before that gets back

[kittybroker]

I COME BACK TO BOOPS!

Free picture of my cat and his rubber egg and bag as a treat. He is only worth $12.00!

[thessalian]

This is a day in which I hate everything.

I was left with almost every single shitty bit of typing on record. Two eleven-minute monstrosities, a dozen or more five-odd minute monstrosities, plus all the ones that nobody else actually likes doing (because the request we made that someone talk to two of The Annoyances so that they'd maybe stop being less annoying went absolutely fucking nowhere). The slightly good news is that we did get all of yesterday's stuff done and at least a little ways into today's typing ... not helped by New Girl, who not only held off on picking up new stuff out of the queue until the scary long stuff was gone and started haphazardly doing individual cases still in the general queue a half-hour before the end of her working day, but also sat on a long-ass prostate report by one of The Annoyances until we'd gone well past its spot in the chronological order, at which point she dropped it back into the main queue so that someone else would do the fucking thing, but never mind. The real issue is that, because there are so many doctors reporting and so relatively few typists typing (and some of them being deliberately slow with shit they shouldn't be slow with, since they're taking so much care to only take easy dictation), the queue is up to nearly 270 cases.

This, as you can probably imagine, has left me in a state of just ... everything can just fuck off. I note that I am being a lot less generous in my dealings with things. Which I'm not going into because vagueposting is bullshit and generally hurtful. But it just means that I am soooooooo far past done and I have no real way of getting back into a state of absolute piss-off.

The stress isn't helping my whole fibro thing, either. It seems that the whole ... well ... *gestures to everything* has put me in such a state of frustration, rage, stress, and underlying misery that it's kicked off a pain flare and a migraine. And I know damn well that tomorrow is going to be worse. By, like, orders of magnitude worse. 270 cases in the queue and I know damn well that at least a few of the doctors are going to keep working until at least 6pm, possibly later, so the queue is going to be worse tomorrow morning. The fact that they start at 8am at the latest when very few of the secretaries start that early doesn't help either. And it being Friday doesn't help because they work weekends. And the "We need to hire someone new" item on our staff meeting agenda kind of vanished into the aether at some point, or possibly it was "We dealt with that by hiring New Girl as a permanent member of staff". That isn't a solution, though, because a) we needed more staff when she was temping and getting her paycheque from our organisation instead of a temp agency does not change that, and b) it's NEW GIRL, and she's a lazy mare on a number of levels and I do not understand why they hired her.

The one tiny shining point in my day ... well, it was sort of a mixed blessing. See, one of The Annoyances is ... a pretty big annoyance on a number of levels. He's a) a junior doctor so not entirely comfortable with the big things he's reporting on, b) not from this country so his accent is heavy and his English sentence structure is ... lacking, and c) somewhat inept at technology so he often ends up in a situation where his headset isn't linking up via Bluetooth to the computer he's using, so his voice always sounds far away and garbled because the in-built mic on the monitor halfway across the room is the only one picking up his dictation. No one likes to do his. I am no exception. The difference is, I can do his, and fairly well. I've dealt with most of those issues for a large percentage of my professional life. I don't like doing it - it's frustrating, it's time-consuming, and it's generally speaking a pain in the arse - but I am pretty good at turning word salad into a legible report or letter.

Now, this particular Annoyance ended the dictation by asking whoever typed it to email him when the report was done. Another few minutes out of my day, but fuck it; fine. So I emailed him. First I got an email saying, "Thanks for that". I figured that was the end of it, but nope! Then I got an email saying, "Oh, wow; I was going to log in to make changes but you wrote what I was trying to say so I don't have to! Thanks!"

I was a little bewildered for a moment ... and then I remembered that the rest of my colleagues (Goblin in particular takes great pride in this) tend to type exactly what is said. No editing as they go, no matter how badly a report needs it. Now, I'm used to being a PA, and to transcribing letters rather than just reports; in a lot of my jobs, I'd have been sacked if I'd ever typed out a letter or report exactly as written. Editing as I go is second nature, because so many doctors need it. Even the ones who have English as a first language are sometimes really bad with sentence structure, never mind those with English as a second or even third or fourth language. So I can't imagine doing anything else. But apparently the other girls are so set on typing only what is said, exactly how it's said, that he has had to ask us to email him when one of his reports are typed so that he can edit the thing. With me, he doesn't have to.

And see, that's why the warm fuzzies are being badly marred by an "uh-oh" feeling. What happens if he decides that I should be the only one that types his stuff? I mean, I do a fair bit of his anyway, but if the response to the few times when someone else types his is, "Lemme go back and edit the whole thing", and the response to me typing it is, "It's cool, I can leave it alone and save some time"... I've had it happen before, where a particular pain in the arse has basically demanded that I be the only one to type their reports and letters. Really don't want to give the girls another excuse to leave me with The Annoyances. Because you know they wouldn't take more of The Annoyances that aren't this guy to compensate.

Okay. I feel a little less like I'm going to murder someone for breathing too loud in my presence (which is good because the kids living in the block of flats are playing on the hill-lawn and there's the kid-shriek noise and it is not helping my head even the tiniest bit). Still miserable as hell, mind you. Somewhat uninspired as to what to do about it, though. Ugh.

[handsomewrites]

Coparents with Benefits; ch.1

The kids are finally going on one of those weekend-long nature field trips! And I heard Nicky's dads are chaperoning! Wait, dads? Or: Jodie and Glenn play nice for a weekend, and end up bonding. By some definition of bonding, anyway.

new fandom new me... I debated not cross-posting this one but i can't resist another chance to get notes. I'll queue the other chapters for the next few days.

Taglist: T rated; Jodie Foster x Glenn Close; enemies to enemies-with-benefits; season 1 spoilers

read on ao3 here

"Glenn!! Come on in!" Morgan pulled Glenn into the house with a kiss on the cheek, turning to lead him into the living room without missing a beat. His hand came up to touch the spot before following her into the foyer in a bit of a daze. 

He’d tried not to tell her about what had happened in the forgotten realms, or the version of history he remembered, but she’d always been able to read him like a book. Apparently, she was a bit like Nick -- she had some fuzzy recollections from both timelines, though not as clear as the memories their son had regained when shit broke loose. So she’d already had an inkling that there was something weird between them, and when she saw Glenn, Nick and Jodie all dancing around something, she easily rooted her way to the truth like a hog digging up truffles.

And, it turns out, she didn’t find it as off-putting as anyone had expected. She still lived with Jodie and Nick, but she treated Glenn like-- like... he didn’t know what. More affectionate than he was prepared to handle. He was slowly getting used to it, but reuniting with the woman you mourned who is now married to someone else isn’t easy, no matter how she acts about it. He sort of got the feeling she would be fine with just having two husbands, if Glenn wasn’t so cagey.

Well, if Glenn wasn’t so cagey, and if the two husbands in question could get along for more than five minutes.

Morgan’s head popped around the corner. "You coming?"

"Uh. Yeah." He closed the door behind him before shuffling down the hall. "Where’s Nick?"

"He should be down in a second," she said with a glance at her watch. "He’s pretty punctual getting ready for school."

That must be one of the things he picked up from his newer dad. Glenn tried very hard to keep the distaste from showing on his face. He wasn’t sure if it was working or not, because true to Morgan's word, Nick came trotting down the steps moments later.

"Hi Glenn!" The bright smile on Nick’s face made all the gross feelings in Glenn’s gut evaporate, and he grinned back, wrapping his son in a hair-ruffling hug.

"Hey kiddo!" It had been a while since he could run his hands through Nick’s hair without demon horns getting in the way. At home, Nick usually defaulted to a sort of half-demonic appearance, which was cool. When he was alone, Glenn tended to let it all hang out, but to each their own. 

"Daaaaaaaaaad," Nick whined, without any real irritation behind it. "I just finished doing my hair..."

Glenn snickered a bit, releasing his hold. "Eh, still looks good. Tousled." Nick rolled his eyes. "You ready for field trippin', man? My bike’s parked outside, got a helmet just for you--"

"Aaaaaactually," Morgan interrupted, one finger raised in the way she used to do when she was about to drop some news that would absolutely harsh the vibe of the day. Glenn frowned, but he couldn’t actually be upset by anything she said, these days. "You’ll probably need to take the car for this one..."

"Huh? Nick’s been on my bike before. It’s totally safe, and the way to the school is like, thirty miles an hour, tops--"

"No, no, it’s not the bike. Well it is the bike, but just-- it doesn’t have enough seats." She was so cute when she was beating around the bush... wait, no, Glenn, focus.

"Dad--er, Jodie also signed up to chaperone this trip," Nick jumped in, saving his mother from the bad-news obligation. "He said it was going to be a surprise, but I hadn’t mentioned you were already chaperoning, because whenever I mention hanging out with you, he makes this face... Kind of like that one you’re making right now, actually."

"...Right." Glenn tried not to grind his teeth together.

"So I said you guys would carpool," Morgan added cheerfully, scooping up a duffel bag from the floor and handing it to Nick. 

"It would probably be better if I just call and cancel," Glenn said with a sigh, pulling his phone from the pocket of his leather jacket. "I wouldn't want to distract Jodie from his important chaperoning duties." 

Plus, it was hard enough to convince people he's Nick’s uncle without Jodie there trying to create as much distance between them as possible. Nick had enough to deal with, without rumors of his weird extended family conflicts circling the PTA. 

...Also, the idea of spending a long weekend with Jodie Foster made his stomach turn.

He heard Nick's genuine "nooooooo" the same time he felt Morgan's hand on his, and he looked between the two, insides feeling wibbly again. "Danielle and her mom already canceled because they got the stomach flu, plus Jake's dad had something come up for work, so if one more chaperone cancels the trip is off!"

Morgan caught his eye, and she gave him a look which managed to convey something along the lines of you have to do this for him, he's been looking forward to it so much. Glenn was just glad he'd skipped breakfast today, lest his turning guts decide to dump their contents on her shoes. "Henry will be there with his boys," she said with her mouth instead of her eyes, and Nick nodded.

Glenn put his phone away with a sigh. "He'll probably be occupied wrangling Lark and Sparrow all day. Let me get my bag off the bike, then..." 

Morgan gave him a quick hug in thanks. He didn't put his arms around her, not wanting to be awkward with how reluctant he would be to let her go.

"Where's the Narc at, anyway? He'd better not make us late." The nickname earned him a small look of reproach, a bit of distance which he was thankful for.

"He's already waiting in the car." Glenn rolled his eyes hard, but Morgan had turned away to hug Nick goodbye.

So much for a fun nature trip with the boys...

---

"We’re going to be late."  Jodie’s shoulders were hunched up by his ears, his face screwed up in a mix of irritation at the red light in front of him and irritation at his unwelcome passenger.

"We are not," Glenn disagreed from the backseat, his feet kicked up on the center console. "They said we were supposed to be there at nine."

"They said they’re leaving at nine!"

"Uh, yeah? That’s what I said?"

"That’s not--" Jodie cut himself off, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers. From the passenger seat, Nick put a calming hand on his elbow as he took a deep breath. After a moment he continued, his voice schooled into an infuriating faux-calmness. "We should have gotten there an hour ago, so we could have parked and helped load everyone onto the bus."

Glenn debated pointing out that he would have been there a lot faster with Nick on his bike. On one hand, it was true, but on the other, it was a bit early in the morning to hear the traffic cop lecture. ‘Motorcycles have to follow the same traffic laws as cars, Glenn.’ ‘Just because you can fit between cars doesn’t mean you can weave through traffic, Glenn.’  ‘Red lights mean stop, not punch it, Glenn.’  Eugh. Just the thought of it threatened to give him a headache.

He studied the back of Jodie’s head, instead. He wasn’t really sure what Morgan saw in him... Close-cropped, almost military style haircut, boring gray polo shirt tucked into khakis over steel-toed cop boots. Almost the inverse of Glenn in every way -- Glenn’s shoulder-length hair held back with a torn bandanna, face overdue for a shave, worn leather jacket and ripped-up jeans almost made them look like they were made to oppose each other. He supposed there was still some level of bad boy underneath all the beige of his cop uniform, but Glenn only got to see the demon side of him when shit went seriously wrong, or he managed to piss him off really badly.

Which was fun, but it tended to upset Morgan and Nick when they went at it in full demon form outside the Infernal Plane, so Glenn did try to keep that to a minimum. Usually.

How did he express that naughty side before he could turn into a demon? Probably by yelling at people he pulled over, waving his taser around. Or his gun? Do traffic cops get guns?

"We're here," Jodie pointed out in the most deadpan monotone imaginable. "Get out of my car."

Glenn took his time doing so, only a little on purpose. He closed the door in time to see Nick catch up with his friends -- Grant and Terry Jr. were there, along with a few other kids in their class whose names Glenn hadn't bothered to memorize.

Lark and Sparrow were also nearby, listening to their father speak with one-half boredom and one-half misguided respect. Henry put a hand on each of their heads to say something-- judging by Sparrow's smile and Lark's eye-roll, something affectionate-- before sending the boys off to join their friends. When he caught Glenn's eye he grinned, waving an arm in greeting with enough enthusiasm to involve his whole body in the gesture. Henry always seemed surprised to see him as a living human; he supposed it was a combination of him usually meeting the guys in demon-form and Henry literally seeing him die once before. Luckily, a long weekend was a short enough time for the demon glamor to hold up, so he’d be in human form with two unscarred eyes for the duration of the trip. As for the other half -- well, death is only permanent if you're a loser. Glenn gave him a nod in return. 

The slam of Jodie's hatchback trunk made him jump. "Well? Care to join us, Mr. Close?"

"Ladies first." Glenn waved his hand for Jodie to go first, earning himself an eyeroll. As they approached the bus, the teachers started loading the kids on, paired up in twos or threes. Nick, Grant and Terry ran up the steps about halfway through the line -- the other boys must have saved a spot for Nick. That was nice of them, but it left Glenn and Jodie bringing up the rear together.

So much for hanging with his boy all weekend. With Jodie around, Glenn couldn’t even sit with one of the single moms on the bus ride...

"Mr. Close, Mr. Foster," the teacher gave them a nod as she checked their names off the list. "Cutting it a bit close on time, aren’t we?"

Jodie glared daggers through the side of Glenn’s head, but he didn’t dignify it. "Fashionably late," Glenn responded, shooting her a pair of finger guns. She didn’t seem amused. "We made it in time, no worries! Would’ve been here faster if we didn’t have such a slow driver," he added, throwing an arm around Jodie’s shoulders.

Jodie stiffened. His teeth were grinding together audibly. "We would’ve been here faster if we could have left when I planned--"

Glenn slapped him on the back a little rougher than necessary, passing in front of him to get onto the bus.

---

The destination: Catalina Island. It seemed like a fancy-schmancy kind of place for a school field trip, but apparently they were trying to teach the kids about nature and the ecosystem and stuff like that. 

Since it was an island, though, after the two-hour bus ride, they had to load all the kids off the bus and onto a ferry for a two-hour boat ride. They were all beyond antsy, and it took them about a half an hour to get all the kids through the requisite bathroom breaks and on their way. Lark and Sparrow just about launched themselves out of the bus as soon as it stopped. Glenn felt similar, after two hours of tense silence next to Officer Narc.

"Don’t forget to wash your hands!" Henry called after them, watching his boys race into the bathroom. He sighed, shoulders rising and falling with familiar fatigue. 

"Man, those two never stop going, huh?"

Henry startled a little, but brightened when he saw it was Glenn. "Hey Glenn! Yeah, they, uh, they’re very... passionate."

"Passionate, yeah." Glenn scratched inside his ear with his pinky finger, which was easier when he had claws. He scanned the group for Nick, but none of the kids he bothered to remember were around. Must be in the bathroom. Jodie was there, though, interrogating one of the other adults with his stupid chest puffed out.

"So. You and Jodie, huh?"

"Me and Jodie? What, me and Jodie." Did he sound defensive?

"Nothing, nothing." Henry’s hands were up, placating. "I just didn’t expect to see you both here, is all. Usually when they say Nick’s guardian is a chaperone, it’s one or the other."

Chaperone. Glenn hated that word. "Believe me, man, I didn’t either."

"What did you tell the teachers about your, uh. Unique situation?"

"Not a damn thing." He shoved his hands in his pockets, wishing he was better at changing the subject. "As far as they know, Jodie and I are brothers. Anything else is none of their damn business."

"Right. Sorry." At least Henry had the decency to feel awkward about it. "Nick looks like he’s doing good with everything, though."

Glenn relaxed a bit, letting out a breath he hadn’t known he had taken. "Yeah, he’s a strong kid. He’s not so different from how he was before..."

"Yeah, yeah." Henry nodded. "I see a lot of you in him, you know."

"Really?" These days, he wasn’t too sure about that. He tried to size up if Henry was lying or not, but insight wasn’t always his strongest skill.

"Yeah, dude, totally!" Henry’s voice cracked a little, which made it sound a little less true, but Glenn opted to believe him anyway.

"Thanks, man. That means a lot."

---

Glenn didn’t get to talk to Henry any more once the ferry started its journey; the weedy little man turned green almost immediately upon setting foot on the rocking deck of the boat. He threw up once over the side before the staff ushered him into a little bathroom near the center of the boat, where the rocking was minimal and he could sit by the head in peace.

Since it was a Friday during school hours, there weren’t too many other people on the boat. A few of the kids stayed inside on the lower level, sitting by the little tables chatting about whatever teenagers chat about, but most of them sat up top to watch the waves. 

Glenn was planning on finding a spot near the back to kick his feet up and enjoy the salty air, but in the spot he would have picked, Nick was already sitting. The other kids didn’t seem to be around.

"Hey, Kiddo." Nick looked up as he approached, smiling. "Where’s the crew?"

Nick shrugged. "Lark and Sparrow had some kind of plan they wanted help with, while their dad’s not around. I figured I would leave them to it."

"Probably smart. Mind if I...?"

"Go for it." Nick made a little gesture for Glenn to sit, so he flopped into the seat next to his son.

"Sorry if I made you late for your trip." He still didn’t think he made them late, but if he’d known Nick had wanted to be there early, he would’ve tried to get there with a bit more haste.

Nick waved a hand. "No worries. I didn’t think we were that late. He’s just a little..."

"Yeah. A little." Glenn kicked his feet forward, crossing his ankles over one another. "Are things good at home, with him and your mom?"

"Huh? Yeah, it’s-- it’s fine, it’s good." Nick looked away, though Glenn couldn’t tell if it was to hide his face or to look out over the water. He directed his gaze over the water too. "It’s not too different to how it was before. Or, you know, in... one version of before."

"Right." He wondered if this was a smoking or non-smoking area. It was open air... "You been practicing your guitar lately?"

"Yeah!" Nick perked up a bit, glad to not be talking about home life any more. "I’ve been trying to convince Grant to learn the drums. I think he’d like it, and we could start a band!"

"Oh shit, dude, that would be rad as fuck!"

Nick nodded. "Right?"

"If you ever need a place to practice, there’s no curfew or decibel limit at Casa de Close."

"Da--Jodie doesn’t actually mind if I get kinda loud. He joins in with his bass sometimes. I dunno how much louder we’ll be with drums and a lead guitar, though..."

Right. Glenn’s Nick played lead guitar, but Jodie’s Nick took after the bassist in him with rhythm guitar instead. At least it was still a guitar.

"You have someone in mind for lead?"

"Well, uh..." Nick broke eye contact, scratching at his hairline where his horns usually interrupted it. His cheeks were turning a little red, but not demon-red. "There’s... this girl at school."

Glenn grinned. "A girl? Nick!!" He tossed an arm over Nick’s shoulders, hand coming around to muss his hair again. 

"Shhhh, don’t--"

"You’re growing up so fast!" 

"Daaaaaad!" He made a whining noise from the back of his throat, and Glenn laughed. "She’s just a friend! Like, a really cool friend who plays lead guitar and sings..."

Releasing his son, he leaned back again, keeping an arm around the back of Nick’s chair. "Right, of course, of course. Just for the band."

"Yeah, for the band." He was still blushing, but he was smiling too. He turned back towards the water, fiddling his hair between his fingers. It was getting long, which a part of Glenn was very happy to see.

He found his mind wandering, as a comfortable silence settled over them. He wondered what Jodie’s version of before was. Should he ask about Morgan, or would that be weird? He definitely had questions he could ask. He stared out over the water, hand behind Nick fidgeting and digging his nails against each other. He was still debating when he saw the water splash funny out in the distance. 

After a second of squinting and a few more splashes, he reached across Nick’s front to point. "Dude, is that a dolphin?"

---

The majority of the ferry ride was really, surprisingly nice. Nick and Glenn sat together, pointing out dolphins and jellyfish, talking about school and music and the newest show on TV. They didn’t talk about Jodie, or Morgan, or the Forgotten Realms, or Hell.

Everything was perfect, until the last fifteen minutes, when the teacher called everyone’s attention to pass out cabin assignments. The kids were in groups of six of the same gender, three bunk-beds to a cabin. They had been allowed to submit who they wanted to room with to the teacher, and she incorporated those requests into the assignments, so most of the kids had at least one friend in their room.

The adults’ cabins were smaller, three beds to a cabin. Glenn had almost pumped a fist in joy when he heard he was sharing a cabin with Marley Winters, but then the teacher added that their third was Jodie Foster. Then, to make it worse, when he asked Nick about Marley, what did he say?

That’s Danielle’s mom. The one who couldn’t make it.

So he had a cabin to himself, with Jodie Foster.

"Would you quit moping and move?" 

Glenn suddenly realized he had been staring at the empty third bed for... a while. Jodie stood behind him, holding his duffel bag half-open. He’d taken his stupid polo shirt off so he just had on a stupid wifebeater undershirt, tucked into his stupid pants with his stupid belt. His phone was clipped to his belt. What a loser. God. 

"Glenn. Can you please have your crisis once I’ve left to go to the showers? I’d like to get ready for bed." 

Instead of answering, Glenn flopped onto the bed that was designated as his, groaning into the pillow. He could practically hear the eyeroll in Jodie’s voice when he muttered "yeah, me too, buddy," on his way out the door.

[pantherazuredevil]

Japan Trip 2023 - Day 1

My flight to Narita airport, Tokyo, Japan, was scheduled at 12:50 AM on Sunday the 16th, meaning I had to be there on the night of the 15th. That Saturday, I ate with relatives at the airport, and then later met up with 2 friends who've been to Japan regularly to get some final advice and some chats.

It was the first time I would be on a plane in 27 years, and my memories of flying through turbulence were not very encouraging. The wait was certainly tough, after my friends had gone home and I was inside the transit area. I found out at a late time that I was missing a SIM card opener for my phone, in order to use the SIM card I had bought for use in Japan. Luckily, I managed to get a paper clip for free at some bank branch inside the transit area. That did the trick.

The plane I boarded had one too many kids, honestly. In the waiting area it seemed as though I might be bombarded within the plane with crying kids, a prospect that is always upsetting. Thankfully, that didn't happen, probably because it was so late at night.

We boarded the flight almost on time, and for the first time in 27 years I once again felt the rush of takeoff and an ascent through vertical space. Needless to say, I don't really like the feeling, but it was perhaps nice to finally experience it again after so long despite the unease that I was practically putting my lives in the hands of the pilot moving this thing.

Unfortunately for me, there was coughing throughout the entire flight nearby. Some guy must have had some illness that he contracted right before he was scheduled to fly, and decided not to waste his money and instead expose people to the dangers of a possible infection. Can't say I like that.

I was also stunned when food was asked to be served at 2 AM. My row of seats had no one due to the late hour of the flight so at least that was something good. Their inflexibility of meal times kind of annoyed me since I didn't know it would be like that, but I was already onboard anyway. The meal itself was pretty good though - butter chicken curry. It was actually nice to eat food like that and it didn't taste like shit like I thought it might. Microwaved for sure, but that didn't take away from the joy of having a late-night meal, something I haven't done due to concerns over cholesterol for a very long time now. It warmed me up.

There was irregular turbulence throughout the flight, but nothing too bad compared to what I had experienced in my young years and I was somewhat mentally prepared, though still stressed. It was also hard to sleep, what with the tight space and the difficult sleeping positions. The meal certainly didn't help. I managed to get some sleep at least, and woke to a lightening sky. It's been years since I last saw the sky from above at sunrise, and it was certainly a beautiful sight. No photos however, because the ones I took were blurry and deemed unfit for use.

A welcome surprise did await me - Mt. Fuji could be spotted from the plane. I took some photos but due to its distance they didn't come out too good, though this shot certainly looks like a painting of some sort. It was visible for quite a while too so I took a few more.

While flying near Narita, the low cloud cover over land surprised me to no end, it was certainly much lower than what I was used to in Singapore. Landing was smooth, and there wasn't much to be said about it.

Getting through immigration did take a long time due to the queue, but thanks to getting procedures done ahead of time on the site Visit Japan Web I was able to get through smoothly. My luggage had already been taken off the conveyor belt and was waiting for me, which would have been unthinkable in SG.

I came out of the arrival gates and sat down to change my SIM card, and had a bit of a problem though I got it working in the end. Then came the rush of having to move around getting things while fearing I might lose my way as a first-timer. I got my JR pass from the JR office (and learned they were called 緑の窓口 that way) and reserved some seats on the shinkansen and Narita Express (NEX) for the first time. NEX reservation would come to bite me in the ass later.

The ride on the NEX to Tokyo Station was pretty much uneventful, though I confirmed so many things that were common in anime were in fact accurate representations of Japan, though, I mean, duh. I was too tired to fully enjoy the scenery though, lack of sleep and all.

I reached Tokyo Station and what a massive number of people. Even if it was expected, it still overwhelmed me a little. I moved quickly to simply find an ekiben for the shinkansen ride, it was just for the experience. I did find tons of shops in the basement or something selling them, so I bought one that I thought looked good for ￥1200 (12 SGD) and rushed for the train to try and make it on time, which ended up being a good idea as I wasn't familiar with the train timings and how uncannily punctual they are.

At my seat I thought no one would sit beside me, but I ended up having some uncle take it up, just casually taking out newspapers and reading them with nary a thought for my side or feelings. Oh well, I was too hungry to care in the end even if it killed my mood. I still ate heartily as it had been some 10+ hours since my last meal at 2 AM. I was also thirsty, but I had been in too much of a rush to buy a drink.

The view on the way to Sendai was pretty good. I dozed off here and there though. My baggage also ended up too big for the upper rack, which was a real bummer as it was definitely within the dimensions stipulated by JR. I had to stack it with others' luggage and was quite embarrassed having to trouble them about it.

I reached Sendai after about 2 hours on the shinkansen (hereafter referred to as sks). Getting out of the gantry I tried looking for a drink and a way out, the stations in Japan are vastly different from the ones I'm used to. I did get stuck in the JR queue again getting a Suica card though, because I couldn't get one from the machine despite having watched a video. No idea why but the option to buy a new one didn't come up at all, but perhaps I didn't press all the buttons possible.

I ended up walking to the hotel I was staying at, which was 1 local train stop away. It was nice to finally be able to settle down in a room and write about my experiences and unwind a bit. I unpacked a little, had a drink and relaxed.

A small room but that was to be expected.

I rested a bit before dinner, and went out to look for a store nearby to eat at, according to Google Maps. It turned out that the store was no longer there, a seemingly common problem with Maps. I saw a McDonald's and 7-11 nearby and figured I didn't want to take the trouble of having to find food for the first day, what with a throbbing headache and all, so I just went straight to McD and ordered a double cheeseburger meal. It was about the same price as in SG but the size was bigger, so I'd say it was perhaps a better deal? Comparatively anyway. It tasted roughly the same.

I went to 7-11 as it had been noted as the best konbini (convenience store in Japanese) in Japan. Lawson may be more famous but that's all the anime tie-ins. Things were so cheap there. I bought a packet of wet tissue (that I'm still using) for ￥100 and a pudding and some apple juice. I also starting my farming for coins as I'd already heard they would be used a lot here.

I was able to relax again after dinner and also took a real shower for the first time in 2 days. There was a public bath just for men so I went and soaked as well, wow that was 気持ちー. I'd never soaked in a hot bath or hot spring before so it definitely was a pore-opener. I was in there for almost 10 minutes, and there came another guy so I decided not to stay too long. I purposely chose a time when I thought there would not be many people as I was afraid of breaking etiquette or doing something rude.

Back in my room, I had the pudding that I always saw in anime and now I see why it's praised - a great jelly-like texture with some firmness and a sweet flavor that doesn't overpower the taste buds. Imagine a premium pudding. The apple juice was just average.

After this, I decided to go to bed early to prepare for the next day, which I had to wake up early for. Day 2's main event would be Tashirojima, otherwise known as one of the main Cat Islands.

[chaosheadspace]

Part two! Thank you to @ginjones and @chaosclimber for looking this over. Here goes!

The earliest Dream could manage to return to The White Horse was four days later. The day before yesterday he had published a glowing review for it, completely disregarding his former assignment, refusing to give the Magpie any sort of acknowledgement. Then he’d had to answer for that to his editor, who dressed him down until Dream had raised an eyebrow and showed Cornell the statistics for his article, clicks and comments miles above his usual reviews.

Cornell had sighed and rolled his eyes, and given him a few days off while he drafts a new strategy. Which was fine by Dream, who had waited for an opportunity to go and see Hob again and maybe eat some of his food. Okay, definitely eat some of his food again. Dream’s mouth waters just at the thought of it. He’s here earlier than last time, having found the place easily by looking it up on social media, which it already had a fairly impressive presence on. He also, just in case, marked the spot where he was parked on his GPS.

So there is nothing stopping him from enjoying his day fully. The weather is nice, the forecast said it would be hot today– one of those late weeks in May where the temperature would ramp up and then mellow again after seven to ten days, heralding the coming summer. When Dream comes up to the corner he remembers from last time, now able to properly slot the place in his mental map, he can see the end of a queue snaking around it.

A smile spreads over Dream’s face. This is what he’d hoped for. He rounds the corner, ignoring the queue, and is faced with a crowd three times as large as the one from his last visit, despite it being three hours earlier. Hob is moving even faster than last time, sometimes glancing disbelievingly over the huge mass of people. Dream watches as Hob practically flies around in his truck, feeling a little stab of guilt as the crowd doesn’t decrease with every customer served but actually grows *larger.* Maybe he should have warned Hob.

Making a decision, he swiftly walks up to the truck, elbowing his way through the people, and opens the door at the side.

“Hi,” he says, giving the interior a quick look and then turns to the tap on his right to wash his hands.

“You can’t be in here,” Hob says immediately, ladling rice into a container, topping it with curry. “Sorry, Dream. Nice to see you again, by the way—yes, that’s ten pounds, thank you.” He hands over a bag with the box and some naan, stuffing some napkins into it before it’s picked off the counter. “ I don’t know what happened, but as you can see—with the lamb? Yeah, okay, one second—as you can see, I’m incredibly busy.”

“Yes, that would be my fault,” Dream says.

That actually makes Hob stop for a few seconds, staring. “What?”

“Yes, I will explain later. What’s important right now is that I have a basic food hygiene certificate and am willing and able to help.”

Hob hands another box over the counter, and then shrugs. “Doesn’t really matter,” he says matter-of-factly. “At this rate I’m gonna be sold out in half an hour.”

Dream bites his lip, thinking. “Are your suppliers still open?”

Hob shrugs again, his t-shirt riding up a bit. “Probably—yeah, that's one Paneer, two chicken and garlic naan—but it’s not like I can just up and—Oh.” He leans out over the counter and bellows, “You're all gonna get an extra three minutes to think over what you wanna order!” And then whips out his phone.

He opens two chilled drawers and inspects their contents as the line connects, and opens a cupboard as the person on the other end picks up. “Hey Gilbert, have you—no, nothing’s wrong with my order, just the opposite. Have you still got—”

He quickly lists a whole barrage of things. “You can do it? Awesome. My man’s gonna be there in fifteen.”

“So I'm your man now?” Dream teases, a hand on his hip.

Hob grins at him while scribbling down a note, and Dream's stomach swoops. “Certainly. If you'll be quick, you'll still be my man when you come back.”

“See you in twenty, then.” Dream takes the note.

Hob wiggles his eyebrows and blows him a kiss before turning away. “Okay, who's next?”

Traffic makes sure that it takes Dream exactly thirty-eight minutes to come back, knocking at the door of the truck with his foot, because his hands are busy with two crates of veggies, peas, and coconut milk.

“You’re still my knight in shining armour, don't worry,” Hob says as he opens. “Wash your hands, take an apron and hairnet from behind the door, and I hope you know how to chop veggies.”

It gets even more busy after that.

Over the course of the next three hours, Dream gets to know the inside of Hob’s food truck better than his own flat. They set up a new pot of curry, and Hob starts a new dough for naan. They twirl and shift around each other, two halves of a whole. Hob doesn't let him anywhere near the till though, but that's just fine by Dream.

He fills orders, washes utensils, hands over boxes and plates, chops vegetables, stirs, skewers and flips, and it’s the most fun he’s had in years. Although Dream suspects that this has something to do with Hob working right alongside him, shouting and laughing, joking with his customers and giving out free samosas to kids.

They take a short break in the space between the first batch of curry being sold out and the new batch being not quite ready. Hob makes Dream mango lassi and takes a lemonade for himself, and loads a plate with chickpeas and tikka they both pick from.

It's the most content Dream has felt in years. His senses are full with coriander and chilli and chaat masala, heating his mouth and stomach; just as the sun heats his back, just as the sight of Hob, eating with his fingers and smiling, warms his heart and makes his insides prickle. The lassi smoothes over his tongue, washing away the tingle of flavour, every bite afterwards fresh and exciting again, spike after spike of pure joy over something as simple as eating a meal.

And then it's back to it, in the hot, cramped, wonderful space between the burners and the counter, the chill of the fridge raising the hairs on Dream's legs whenever someone orders a cold drink.

Dream’s head is filled with the hearty smell of curry and spiced yoghurt, his skin flushed from the heat radiating from the stove and the grill, and maybe the proximity to the very attractive owner of the establishment. Sweat is running down Hob’s temple, staining his lower back, and Dream is very thankful that he can only concentrate on him a few seconds at a time, or this would become a total disaster.

Their hips and legs and arms brush frequently in the small space inside the truck, and Dream has to keep himself from listing towards Hob every time. Dream is drawn to him with magnetic force, and it’s so hard to resist, but resist he does. He’s doing this for Hob, to help remedy the fact that this is basically his fault.

At long last, they sell the last of the curry, long after the chickpeas and the samosas are gone, over an hour later than Hob usually closes down his truck. The only things left are some naan, a batch of paneer and some cut vegetables they bag and put in the fridge. Dream watches as Hob puts away the spices and bags and takeaway containers, helps him wash up the utensils and grill cover, wipe the counters and the stove, and close the front of the truck before going back in to close up properly.

The energetic, almost hectic atmosphere has mellowed, slipping into something comfortable and easy somewhere between the last customer saying goodbye and Dream wringing out a rag soaked with sudsy water, between Hob leaning against the counter to take a deep breath after the onslaught of people had been over and taking the rag out of Dream’s wet fingers to lovingly wipe down the surfaces.

It amazes Dream so much, the amount of care and love Hob puts into everything, his food, his truck, even his jokes. The last time, when he’d walked Dream to his car, he’d told him how and why he’d picked his suppliers, not going for the cheapest ones but the ones that could give him the best product within reasonable pricing, ones that are as close as possible, ones that he intends to stay in business with until he one day, hopefully, has his own restaurant, and, if possible, beyond that. Had told him of his grandma’s recipes, and how he’d tweaked them, of the weeks he’d spend crafting his menu, of the agonising months he’d spend trying to secure a loan. Hob was close to paying it off now, one step closer to his goals.

And Dream had been impressed,, and later, lying awake in his bed, had decided to give The White Horse a little nudge. He’s rather glad it has worked so well, and so quickly.

They squeeze past each other, Hob on the way to the till, Dream on the way to wash his hands again, and time just—stops. Hob's hand is splayed on Dream's arm, and Dream's hand is grabbing Hob's hip, both of them caught in the liminal space between two seconds that's stretching into minutes, halting like a fist tightening around Dream’s heart. The stark light inside the truck peppers sparkles into Hob's mesmerising eyes.

Dream's gaze drops down to Hob's mouth, to the soft, plush swell of his lower lip. His own lips part, maybe to say something although he doesn't know what, and on his next inhale his senses are filled with Hob, with his musky scent, with the sweat of a full day's work. It's more enticing than the buttery curry, more delicious than the spicy chickpeas, sudden proximity and warmth sending his stomach spiralling with an exciting swoop.

And Hob watches him, waiting, open, smiling, and there's just one way that the universe can move, really, here in the narrow space between two counters, protected by steel and plastic. There's a low hunger in Dream, a certainty that his yearning can be quenched by the heat in front of him, by following the pull he feels behind his navel, the promise of shared breath and wetness almost making him sigh.

So he leans forwards and kisses Hob, presses him against the till that's thankfully bolted to the counter. Hob is warm, so warm and alive it sinks directly into Dream's stomach. Hob groans, fingers on Dream's arm tightening, his other hand cupping Dream’s face. He tastes like naan and lemonade, like the sunshine of his skin and soul, like home, as Dream slowly licks his way inside.

He belongs here, in Hob's arms, there's no doubt about it, the curve of Hob's elbow fitting snugly around Dream's waist, Hob's palm cupping his cheek like it was the mould it was formed in.

His insides prickle with pleased anticipation as Hob's hand shifts to the back of his head, pulling him close, pulling them flush. Dream's moan makes Hob shiver.

“Mmmh, what’s this then?” Hob gasps as they pause for breath, leaning their foreheads together, not bothering to open his eyes.

“An apology?” Dream tries. “I did write a review on your truck, which is very likely the reason for today’s invasion.” They're still pressed against each other, and their easy, conversational tone should be a juxtaposition to their grasping closeness, but somehow it's not.

Hob laughs, disbelieving. “You did what?” It mellows, though, as he looks at Dream and sees his earnest expression. “Wait, you did?”

“Oh yes,” Dream confirms, smoothing his hand over Hob's hipbone.

“So what you’re saying is, you boosted my business, gave me the best run in months, and now you’re apologising by snogging my face off?” Hob laughs again, and Dream thinks he could never grow tired of this. Hob raises an eyebrow, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “You know what, I’m not convinced. I think you should apologise again.”

Dream smirks, gently sliding a hand upwards over Hob’s damp t-shirt, his shoulder, his neck, and buries his hand in Hob’s hair. “Gladly,” he says, and dips forward again.

@valeriianz @wizardofgoodfortune you asked for a tag <3

Hob is happy serving up good food and feeding people comfort food from his truck -- he's not looking to be famous; Dream is a Michelin star judge who stumbles upon his truck and loves his food.

Dream is used to liking small portion tasting menus with ingredients sourced from yurts or dug up during an irregular moon cycle. Comfort food that "sticks to your bones" is not what Dream eats, even when he needs comfort!

Dream stumbles on this food truck when he gets lost looking for his car after having a forgettable meal at the hot new speakeasy concept that recently opened.

Eating/tasting is a job and Dream is so tired of his function. So when he hears music and people having fun, Dream figures he can at least ask someone where he is and/or get his bearings. What he see when he rounds the corner are people queued up at a funky painted food truck -- laughing, joking?! with someone who is making his food safety hair net look good, and happily eating. The smell hits Dream in the face -- it's so good.

When Dream makes it to the counter, he forgets that he needs directions, hot chef hairnet, is so pretty - engaging smile, the stereotypical tattoos on his forearms, soft doe eyes -- Dream is momentarily speechless. When the chef ask him what he wants, Dream says surprise me (the same Dream who always has a plan when he's eating for his job); he gets a roguish smile and a wink,,,,, and falls a little in love.

Then he tries the food he's handed falls all the way in love.

Oh, this hit me right in the soft spot!! Absolutely love it.

I can so imagine Dream being used to those nouveau cuisine dishes where you get like, a sliver of horseradish, one grain of rice and a sauce made from gold leaf. He thinks that he likes it, that he's reasonably content. But he's never looked at one of those kind of plates and smiled. Not the way he's smiling at the loaded paper plate Hot Hair Net chef just gave him.

He sits a little way from the truck and eats, slowly, carefully. There's pilau rice, delicious curry, veggies that are clearly fresh. Its warm and filling, and Dream can't quite finish it all. But he's still smiling.

And he still doesn't know where his car is. So he goes to the counter again. The gorgeous chef seems to be packing up for the day and he positively beams at Dream. "Back already? I was hoping I'd get a chance to feed you up, but I didn't think it'd be so soon."

Dream blushes and asks for directions, and Hob says that if Dream can wait a minute, he'll walk there with him. His car is over that way too. While Hob packs up, Dream dares to ask about his ingredients, and Hob absolutely lights up while he talks about where he sources his fresh stuff, how much he values his suppliers, and how excited he is to keep building his business. He's got dreams of a restaurant someday, although he dearly loves his truck - maybe he'll do both!

By the time Hob helps him find his car, Dream is absolutely ready to give his heart and soul over on a paper plate. There are spices zinging on his tongue, and Hob has taken off his hair net to reveal an adorable, sexy little man-bun. He's got measuring spoon tattoos on his hands. Dream wants him.

He's back the next day. And the next. He's driving out of his way to get to Hob. Nothing else tastes good. And when he finally, shyly asks if Hob would like to come over for dinner sometime, Hob lights up. "It's about time you cooked for me! I'd love it. And... I'll bring dessert."

When Hob winks at Dream this time, he follows it up with a kiss on the cheek. And Dream’s not hungry anymore. He's just thirsty 😉

[heyitssmiller]

Bewitched, Body and Soul

So... this happened. Blame the Discord. Basically, the premise is receiving a note from a stranger about having similar tastes in books, and my first thought was Finn/Leo. And now, around 24 hours later, this showed up in my word document. Hope y’all like it!! And don’t worry, I’ve already got a sequel planned with Logan ;)

All characters, of course, belong to the wonderful @lumosinlove

And, if you’re so inclined, check out my Masterlist if you enjoy this story! <3

CW: food/drink

.

Leo loved this bookstore. There was a west-facing windowfront that allowed all sorts of afternoon light to shine through, creating a large, warm sunspot right in Leo’s favorite armchair. The shelves were always neatly organized by category, there was a featured book of the week, and there was a coffee shop sequestered to one corner of the building. What else did he need in life? He’d spent countless hours here, sitting with a new book and a cup of coffee or tea and getting lost in whatever world he’d been transported to within the crisp pages and black ink. Being new to the city, there were probably better ways to make friends, but there was something so soothing, so comfortingly familiar about shutting off the worry in his mind and just focusing on the story unfolding in his hands.

But when his stomach growled loudly in protest, he figured he needed to put reading on hold.

There was a wrinkled, jagged-edged scrap of paper sitting on top of Leo’s book when he returned to his table, café pastry in hand. It hadn’t been there a second ago. Curiously, Leo set his food down and inspected the foreign paper. Messy, inelegant scrawl slanted across the page in deep blue ink. The lines were uneven and chaotic; the i’s weren’t even dotted, almost as if it took too much effort to go back and add them in. Leo found it strangely endearing. It read:

           Hi!

           I don’t think we’ve met, but based on your choice of literature I think we would make great friends. :)

-        Carrot Top

Leo smiled, read it again, and looked around for the person who sent it but no one acknowledged him, seemingly lost in stories of their own. So he sat there, a smile still on his face as he got back to his book, using the note as a bookmark.

~~~

Finn couldn’t help himself when, a few days later, he left another note after seeing the guy with good taste in books again at the bookstore. He was at what must have been his usual table, seemingly right where Finn had left him. The only difference besides the clothes he was wearing was the book he was reading. Finn let himself linger on his profile, just for a second – the gentle slope of his nose, the way his curls rested against his forehead, how bright blue eyes scanned the pages below him.

Finn wasn’t one for love at first sight; that was for romance novels only. But instant attraction? Oh yeah. He was definitely there.

He picked up a small flyer from the front desk, flipped it over, and began to write.

And maybe it wasn’t a good way of, as the kids said these days, “shooting his shot”. But it was a start. And it was fun – the thrill of trying not to get caught, the anonymity. Sure, one day he’d maybe get up the courage to talk to him in person, but he was happy with this for now.

           Hmm… haven’t read that one. Might have to get myself a copy!

-        The Walking Freckle

After dropping the note off while the blond walked off to take a phone call, Finn tried to act casual as he stared sightlessly down at his own book instead of over at the cute stranger like he desperately wanted to.

Don’t be suspicious, don’t be suspicious…

If he was being completely honest, he didn’t really know where to go from here. Did the blond think the notes were creepy? Or weird? He never seemed to mind much, but… well, a stranger was repeatedly leaving notes for him. What if it was making him uncomfortable? Would it make things better or worse if Finn introduced himself?

A snort came out, unbidden. Yeah. Right. That would go well. Finn could practically see it now: he would be clumsy and awkward, probably spilling coffee all over the guy’s book or – even worse – all over him. He’d scare him off for sure.

But at the same time, Finn wanted nothing more than to meet him. To sit down across the table from him and debate the points of the book he was reading, or give book recommendations, or just talk. About literally anything. Finn wasn’t a picky guy. He could sit there and let him speak for hours, absorbing any and all knowledge about him like a sponge. Did the corners of those bright, blue eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiled? Did his cheeks get all flushed when he was passionate about something, just like Finn’s? What was the story behind the soft-looking tuft of gray hair at his temple?

Who was he?

Finn was overflowing with questions, and desperate for the answers.

But he needed to go about this the right way, didn’t he? The last thing he wanted to do was screw this up. So he closed his book, propped his chin in his hand so that he could stare out the window, and started to plan.

~~~

The next note threw Leo for a bit of a loop. He’d saved his table with his coat thrown over one of the chairs and went up to the New Books section, surreptitiously keeping an eye on his table and hoping that he’d catch his note-sender red-handed.

Leo could’ve sworn that he’d looked away for half a second, but – well, he got distracted by a book, so it easily could’ve been five minutes for all he knew. This note was written on one of the café napkins, the ink bleeding through in some spots and a few small tears in the delicate material.

Nice choice! That book absolutely shattered my heart and then pieced it back together. The way she writes love lost just hurts so beautifully, doesn’t it?

I like your sweater by the way.

Fuck I hope that’s not creepy.

I’m not a stalker, I promise. I just think you’re really cute. And you have amazing taste in books. I’d like to learn more, if you’d let me. :)

But first, you have to figure out who I am! Good luck!

-        Your Not-So-Secret Admirer in the Tortoiseshell Glasses

He smiled, wide and happy, and looked around for tortoiseshell glasses, red hair, and freckles. Those were the only three clues he had so far. So he quickly scanned the crowded café, looking for anyone who fit the description. The only one even close was a freckled, redheaded guy at the corner table, but no glasses.

That was a shame, too. He was stunning.

The mystery bibliophile must already be gone, then. Or hiding.

Looked like Leo had his work cut out for him. He did always like a challenge.

~~~

It probably wasn’t Finn’s best idea to take his glasses off. He couldn’t see a damn thing and was left squinting down at his book, trying to determine if what he was seeing was an F or a P.

That smile, though… he could’ve seen that dimpled smile from all the way across the street.

He never thought he’d be pining for a stranger like this, but then again – he wasn’t a complete stranger, was he? After all, you could learn a lot about a person by their book preferences. Finn wasn’t normally known for being a good judge of character – he was too optimistic, too unwilling to see the bad in people. But damn, did he hope he was right about this one.

~~~

Finn had probably been too bold with the note he’d just dropped off, but when he’d seen what book that his new maybe-friend was reading, he knew he couldn’t just pass up an opportunity like that.

He didn’t wait to see the reaction this time – he wasn’t sure he wanted to. He just left the short note on top of the book while the blond was at the café counter and booked it (pun definitely intended) out of there as fast as he could.

           You have bewitched me, body and soul. <3

-        Bambi

~~~

He should’ve waited. Leo’s reaction, all bashful smile and bright red face and pleased expression, would’ve been worth it.

~~~

Leo went back to the bookstore pretty much every day after that, intent on finding this person. Not only was this a fun little game they were playing, but it would be nice to finally have a friend in the city. He still didn’t know anyone besides his coworkers and… well, he was a little lonely. A friend would be nice, especially one who had a shared interest in books.

The only thing left to do was to find them.

Red hair, freckles, glasses, and big doe eyes.

Leo looked for the only four defining traits he had, methodically starting in the front of the store and weaving through isle after isle of bookshelves. When that proved unsuccessful he moved on to the café, gaze landing on the queue first before lurching to a stop at the glimpse of a shock of auburn hair in the far corner booth. Heart hammering in his chest, Leo used his height to his full advantage and peered over the line of people.

Freckles, Glasses, Big, doe eyes.

If he needed any more confirmation, the stranger – the very cute stranger – was reading the same book Leo had been reading a week ago. The one his anonymous friend said they hadn’t read yet.

It had to be him.

Leo didn’t let himself think about it too much – he knew he’d panic if he did. He just strode over and sat down across from him, setting his book down on the table with a quiet thud. The note-writer jumped a little, then lifted wide brown eyes to look up at him.

Oh, but he was gorgeous.

“So what part are you at?” Leo asked, eyes taking in everything they could now that he was close enough – that messy red hair that just barely curled at the ends, the hint of scruff on his jaw, brown eyes shifting from shade to shade in the afternoon light filtering through the window beside him. Soft, mesmerizing lips curved into the beginnings of a smile that Leo couldn’t help but be transfixed by. “Have you gotten to the part where Patroclus dies?”

Finn stared back, trying to look horrified but he knew he was smiling so much that they counteracted each other because, finally, he’d figured it out. “I can’t believe you’d break rule number one of having a reading buddy: don’t spoil the ending.”

Dimples.

“Oops.”

Finn was done for.

“I’m Finn,” he managed to stammer, aiming for his best smile and probably looking like he’d just tasted something awful instead.

“Leo,” his companion said with a warm smile. Then he frowned. “Wait, no. Go back. You can’t spoil the ending of a story that’s literally thousands of years old.” The blond leaned back in his chair, sipping his coffee and watching in amusement as Finn gaped at him in horror. He could feel his cheeks and ears getting red, his mouth opening and closing like a fish.

“That’s so not the point!”

Leo laughed, then motioned for Finn to state his case. And then Finn was off, forgetting all about his nervousness and tendency to be awkward. He ranted about that topic for… well, he didn’t really know how long, but it was a while. Leo didn’t even bat an eye, keeping pace well and interjecting with his own points calmly and collectedly – the gentle breeze to Finn’s tornado. He was smiling, too, even though sometimes he tried to hide it behind the rim of his coffee cup. And he was smart, Finn learned as they jumped from one topic to the next and the minutes ticked by. He knew a lot about literature, like Finn, but he could also make these random connections to all kinds of different topics that Finn would’ve never thought of, all while keeping up with Finn’s fast-paced brain and tendency to jump down rabbit holes.

It was an instant connection, the likes of which Finn had never experienced before. It was intoxicating. Finn felt like he could never get enough.

During a lull in between one conversation and the next, Leo pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and handed it over, looking suddenly and inexplicably shy. Finn cocked his head confusedly, then unfolded the paper and looked down.

           Would you like to go on a date sometime?

PS: I’m free tonight if you are. :)

-        The Guy Who’s Been Crushing on You for Weeks

Finn’s heart threatened to burst. “Absolutely.” He hesitated, just for a second, then decided to go for it. “Are you free now? I know a pretty great café nearby.” With a wiggle of his eyebrows, he jerked his thumb at the bookstore café and earned a laugh. He wondered what he could do to earn another.

“Sounds perfect.”

They walked over to the counter together, the backs of their hands just barely brushing – it was still enough to make Finn hyperaware of every miniscule movement and get his pulse hammering. Leo was teasing Finn for his terrible eyesight in a soft, southern drawl – something Finn definitely wasn’t expecting but sure as hell wasn’t complaining about, his fingers deliberately playing with Finn’s now, and Finn knew it was going to be a good night. It was already a good night; how could it possibly get any better?

“What can I get for you?”

Leo and Finn looked up at the barista and their eyes widened in tandem as they took in thick chestnut waves, long, dark lashes, and bottle-green eyes. He wasn’t smiling, not necessarily. His expression was fairly neutral, all things considered – except for those eyes. If you stared at then long enough, you could see just the faintest whisper of amusement.

They both looked down slightly, searching for a nametag. There, in bold black letters, read:

Logan.

[sickficsies-and-whumpsies]

hi, may i ask you sick semi eita fic? he went amusement park with his team despite feeling a little bit unwell. Later he feels dizzy & nauseous, his team then take him to doctor/dorm. thank you 🥰

Oui oui, mon amie!!

TW: dizziness & nausea, vomiting, hospitals, brief mentions of IVs.

1.4k words, Gen.

ー ー ー

“Oh, the queue for that one isn’t too long!! Let’s go, guys!!”

Semi sighs. While Tendou’s volume doesn’t usually bother him, right now, stuck in the middle of Yagiyama Benyland, surrounded by screaming people and running children, he wishes his friend could turn it down a notch already.

The fabric around his neck feels constricting, suffocating. Semi tugs at the collar of his shirt lightly, clearing his throat silently as he trails behind the rest of the team.

He massages his stomach under the grey hoodie, feeling it gurgle under his touch. It was only two days ago when the pinch-server’s stomach first sent a painful, sudden jolt of white-hot pain throughout his body, making him shudder and gag, taken aback. But since his appendix has long been removed, Semi’s confident that it’s probably just a matter of too much coffee and too little water in his guts. It’s been a stressful week, after all. Nothing he can’t fix. It still hurts, though.

“Are you sure we’re tall enough for that ride?” Goshiki jokes, and everyone laughs, Tendou wrapping a lanky arm around the first-year and ruffling his head with the other hand. More laughter echoes among the group.

Semi shudders, chills running down his spine, stomach twisting. He struggles to even only force out a tiny smile.

ー

The safety belts press against his stomach and shoulders uncomfortably, and Semi doesn’t think he will make it. Next to him, Ushijima sits quietly, waiting for the ride to start. He briefly glances over, humming.

“Are you scared, Semi?”

There’s no malice in his voice, no curiosity either. It’s something along the lines of… Concern? Annoyance? Both?

“M’fine.” Semi gulps, “Just excited.”

“It’s okay to be scared.”

“M’not.”

“Alright. But if you were, it’d be okay.”

“Ushijiー!!” he gets cut off, abruptly, as the thing finally starts to move.

The higher it goes, the more Semi knows he’s not going to make it. There’s no doubt about it. He quickly tries to recall if there’s some sort of trashcan near the exit but he realises that he hasn’t seen any. 

His complexion bleaches rapidly. The thing is, Semi isn’t scared of roller coasters, he quite enjoys them, to be fair. Right now, the thing he fears the most is puking all over himself or worse, over the team’s captain.

And he knows it’s going to happen.

The people in the front row start screaming, Semi only a few rows back. It’s only a matter of seconds before he feels himself falling, and the world tunes out.

ー

He doesn’t actually pass out, really. Instead, once the operators remove his safety belts and wish him and his friends a fun day, he lets his shaky legs guide him down the metal staircase, eyes glazed over, blind. He’s not quite sure he’s moving, either. And he looks green.

Semi doesn’t even register that Ushijima’s strong hand is wrapped around his right upper arm, the left in the care of Tendou himself, eerily quiet. They set him down on the first empty bench they find, the team quiet behind the three.

It’s Reon to crouch in front of the ill teen, a firm hand squeezing his knee encouragingly. “Semi? Dude, hey.”

“...up…” he murmurs, seemingly catatonic, staring somewhere behind the team that has gathered in front of him, eyes filled to the brim with apprehension.

The setter swallows, a thin trail of saliva making its way down the corner of his chapped lips and down his twitching chin. He opens his mouth to speak, to say something, but nothing comes out, and soon enough he ducks his head between his knees and retches onto the pavement without a second warning. 

His teammates gasp, horrified and worried, but Reon is quick to avoid the onslaught and immediately usher the others away, leaving Tendou and Ushijima behind. The taller guy rubs at his back firmly, while the other puts a palm flat on Semi’s forehead, preventing him from giving himself a whiplash. 

His skin feels cold and clammy, ashen. Tendou hisses. 

Not long passes before Semi throws up again, more and more bile splashing between his feet, little droplets staining his shoes and jeans. He retches and gags, helpless, eyes stinging painfully, about to pop out of his skull.

Reon jogs back a minute later, stopping a couple of meters away to give Semi some breathing room. “Should we call an ambulance? He looks like death warmed over...”

Ushijima shakes his head. “We should try and make him drink something, first.”

“I don’t think he’s up to it, Toshi.” Tendou reasons, “Semi-Semi, hey, you need to take a breath, my man.” he adds, patting the boy’s shoulder while Ushijima keeps massaging circles on his back.

But Semi doesn’t. He can’t. His stomach twists and knots painfully, and he doubles over, arms wrapped protectively around his abdomen as he hiccup and dry-heaves weakly. 

“Does your stomach hurt?” Reon asks, careful, calm as ever, “Do you need an ambulance?”

“Yeah, we should call ‘em.” Tendou says, “It’s not normal to feel this sick after riding a roller coaster as bland as that one, andー”

“He was feeling ill before the ride, too. I didn’t think it was this bad, though. I apologize, Semi.” Ushijima interjects. “I think the ride was simply the last straw.”

The three stay quiet for a moment, Semi’s desperate struggles and pants and hiccups drowning out every other noise. And finally, blissfully, about ten minutes after sitting down, his jagged breaths come to a halt, and he slumps to the side, crashing into Tendou.

“Semi-Semi...? Oh shit. Is he dead? Semi-Semi?” Tendou gasps, “Guys, a little help?”

The ill teen is quick to blink his eyes open, glassy and dull, spent. “H’rts.”

“What hurts?” 

“S-stomach. Head.” 

Reon nods, serious. He then takes his phone out and quickly types something, before glancing at Ushijima and Tendou, who are both massaging Semi’s trembling back, subconsciously. 

“Okay, the closest bus stop is about five minutes away on foot from here, and then it takes about ten minutes to get to Sendai Red Cross Hospital by bus, and another minute on foot after that. What do you guys say?” Reon asks.

Tendou is fast to nod, “Let’s go, we might catch the first bus available if we hurry.”

“I’ll carry him.” Ushijima adds.

Semi then struggles, shaking his headー aggravating his nausea and gagging silently. “Th-the others, and y-you, th-the pa-park and- and the tickets andー”

“Woh, woh, slow down, Semi-Semi!! It’s fine, we’ve been here for hours already anyway, and the entrance fees aren’t that expensive. No worries, okay? Let us worry about the rest.” Tendou says, cheerful, “We’ll text the others to let them know we’re leaving. We can always reschedule for another time, alright?”

“Done.” Reon smiles, waving his phone, ‘Shiratorizawa Volleyball Club’ chat open and rapidly flooding with texts from everyone. “Let’s go.” 

ー

Luckily, and unsurprisingly, the bus is perfectly on time, and Semi doesn’t even have the time to register that he’s an eighteen year-old being offered a piggy-back ride from another eighteen year-old. He couldn’t care less. Instead, once he’s on the bus, he drifts, drained.

ー

“Anyone here for Semi Eita?”

Tendou, Reon and Ushijima are quick to reach the doctor, wide-eyed. “How is he!?”

She smiles, “Your friend will be okay, nothing to worry about. He was terribly dehydrated and overall exhausted, courtesy of the raging viral gastroenteritis he has. The nurses gave him an IV to pump some fluids into his system, and once it’s done, I’m going to prescribe him some probiotics to help with the infection and he’ll be free to leave.”

“Can we see him?” Tendou frets, “Is there anything else we should do? Are you sure he’s okay?”

The doctor nods, her expression firm and reassuring. “Viral infections are extremely common, we treat thousands of similar cases each day. I promise you, Semi-san will be okay. And yes, you may see him, of course. Come with me, please.” 

The three follow the kind doctor quietly as she leads them to Semi’s bed, in the ER, the thin curtains between his and other patients’ beds being his only source of privacy. 

Upon seeing them, Semi sits up, grinning sheepishly, cheeks tinted in red. “Hey there.” he grins.

His friends chuckle, rapidly making their way toward his bed, ruffling his hair and pushing him around with calculated motions.

He’ll be fine. 

ー ー ー

I got carried away and started researching how to get to the closest hospital from Yagiyama Benyland, a real amusement park in Miyagi. And yeah, the Red Cross Hospital’s real, too, and the bus as well. I had so much fun researching this stuff. So yeah, I hope you liked it, let me know!!

Also, anon, if you have an AO3 tell me so that I can gift this fic to you when I post it there in a few days.

September 2, 2021

[sanderssideswriting]

ship: prinxiety, background intrulogical

genre: fluff

warnings: swearing, like one sexual innuendo, very breif mention of murder (as a joke, this is fluff after all) 

summary: Radio AU where Virgil runs the 11-1 am radio on his college and every night someone calls to complain about his music selections and request disney, and Virgil never plays disney.

Virgil sat in his swivel chair and put on the headphones “sup bitches I’m back and this time with like three monsters because finals are a bitch and sleep can suck my dick. The first song of the night is Lotta True Crime by Peneople Scott. Why? Because I say it is that’s why.” Virgil put the song on and worked on his final project as the songs played.

The phone rang and Virgil groaned and checked the number. This dick again. He picked up and put it on air since people seemed to love listening to him and disney guy argue. 

“listen asshole if you want to listen to Disney so fucking badly then apply for a spot and stop calling me.”

there’s a laugh “how about you just play some disney then? if you do I’ll stop calling. Because your music taste sucks.”

Virgil rolls his eyes “bitch apply for an opening and have a disney hour. And let me listen to my music, because not everyone loves fucking disney.” 

“Well many people do so why not play one song.”

Virgil snorts “first no, and second if I had to I’d make everyone regret it and play let it go.”

“Let it go is great!”

“bye bye Princey, stop calling”

Virgil hung up “and since Princey called you know what we’re playing? MCR because I know he hates it. So this one’s for you princey, up next after this ad because this place needs money. By the way if you’re not a broke bitch donate because this job is like kinda decent and I like making you all listen to the music I like. Blood by MCR is up next” Virgil played the ad and leaned back in his chair.

“Why do you take his calls if you know he’ll just be annoying?” Janus asks in class.

Virgil shrugs “since it started I get more listeners which is good for the station.”

“I think it’s funny, cause you two have cute pet names for each other, princey and emo nightmare” Remus says.

Virgil elbows him “they’re not pet names.”

“they are,” Janus says, moving so Virgil couldn’t elbow him.

Roman waits to dial the number, he had to admit he sort of enjoyed his and emo nightmare’s conversations, who refused to reveal his name or grade.

At first they’d been annoying and he’d genuinely complained about all the emo music and asking to play disney but it’d soon become a nightly ritual, that had very quickly ruined Roman’s sleep schedule.

He dialed the number “seriously, why all the emo music, emo nightmare?”

“you just answered your own question princey, why the obsession with disney songs princey? See? Sounds fucking stupid.”

Roman sighs dramatically “you wound me emo nightmare. But seriously what’ll it take to get you to play ONE disney song?”

“a hundred grand, that’s how much the station needs to keep running, do that and I’ll play ONE disney song.”

“four.”

“Three songs and a hundred and fifty grand, fifty grand per song. final offer. and I get to pick the songs.’

Roman nods “deal,”

“oh and, you have until the end of finals to get the money donated, and I’ll make the gofundme, not you.”

That’s like a month and a half away Roman thinks I’ll have enough time. “sure thing emo nightmare.”

Roman’s emo hung up. He smiles like an idiot.

“Why not ask him out? it’s clear you’re fond of him” Roman’s roommate Logan says from his side of the room.

“ask out a guy I don’t even know the name of? yeah sure” Roman snorts.

“what? Scared you’ll be rejected? I cannot believe I’m saying this, but Roman I am getting more dick then you have been ever since you started talking to your radio boy.” Logan says in an even tone.

Roman pretends to gag “you don’t need to tell me how much you and my brother have done it Logan, you two being together is enough for me to want to bleach my eyes.”

“you’re no better whenever you’re going out with someone, or even hooked up with a slightly above average guy.”

Remus barged in “Loooo I need help studying.”

Roman stood up “that’s my queue to leave.”

Remus watches Roman go “so what where you two talking about?”

“oh you know, he’s still calling the campus radio station to ask for disney songs” Logan says.

“Wait, Roman is Princey?” Remus asks, he starts laughing

“Yes? You didn’t know?”

Remus cackles “no! oh this is great! My best friend Virgil does the 11 to 1 radio, he’s Emo Nightmare and Roman is his Princey”

“We could set them up, Roam is so lovesick, I swear he’s head over heels for him and he hasn’t even met Virgil” Logan says.

Remus gasps “this is why I love you! Of course we’re going to set them up.”

Logan and Remus came up with a plan, they’d invite Roman and Virgil to a study session and then never showed up, leaving Virgil and Roman to wait.

Virgil puts on his headphones and starts loudly playing panic at the disco and reading over his shitty notes.

Someone taps him on the shoulder “hey can you turn the emo shit down, I’m trying to study and it’s really loud.”

Virgil turns it down a bit “that good?”

he nods “yeah, where you also ghosted for a study session?”

“Yeah I was, my best friend and his nerdy boyfriend where supposed to help me study, they probably forgot all about me.” Virgil says.

“Logan And Remus? Remus is my brother and Logan’s my roommate” Roman says.

“Yeah, well since we’re both here we could study together if you want” please say no please say no.

“Sounds good!” Roman says.

Fuck.

Virgil and Roman studied for awhile and Virgil very slowly started warming up to Roman. “ah shit I have to go, see you round I guess” Virgil says packing up his stuff, he wanted to have some alone time before his shift.

“ok Bye Virgil,” Roman says packing up, he had to go do his own thing, which would probably end up becoming a quick nap before his emo nightmare started his turn being the radio host.

Virgil sat in the chair “what up bitches, so far the goal has 10k, so no disney tonight, or ever because this is on a time crunch and 150k is a fuck ton of money for broke college students. And now onto Fuck you by Lily Allen. Why? Because she’s underrated and because I said so.” Virgil played the song.

Virgil got the call around 12:30 “you’re calling later then usual princey, and no, no disney tonight.”

“Oh I was just about to ask. And also I was asking how to find the gofundme.”

“It’s on the UCLA radio website, can’t miss it. Now let me do my fucking job” Virgil hung up and played MCR as was tradition.

What he didn’t know was Roman recorded the phone call and posted it everywhere he could anonymously and waited.

Virgil checked the go fund me in the morning “it has fifty k already?! What the fuck? Princey what did you do?”

Virgil waited for the nightly call “Hey what the fuck how is the goal at sixty k? How the fuck princey?”

He laughed “I asked the internet for help, I think most of it’s from tiktok, you’re going to have to play disney emo nightmare”

“fuck you princey and your stupid obsession with disney.”

“you have an obsession with my chemical romance and Brendon Urie”

“name three other artists I play on here then bitch.”

“Mother Mother, Lily Allen and as of late Derivakat” Roman says without hesitation.

Virgil was speechless for a second, then hung up. “fucking bitch, you guys know what time it is” he played Teenagers.

A week and a half passed and the funds had slowly been going up, and Virgil and Roman’s calls continued nightly as usual.

Virgil and Roman met up a few times to study for finals, sometimes with Remus and Logan, sometimes without.

the goal just barely missed the end of finals. Virgil smirked “No disney today, or ever because you people missed the goal byyyyy” Virgil checked the go fund me “three thousand dollars. I’d say better luck next time but there won’t be a next time.” he chuckled. The phone rang and Virgil picked up, knowing it was Princey.

“oooh too late princey no disney songs during my shift.”

“you might want to check the gofundme one last time my dear emo nightmare.”

Virgil refreshes the page “first of all, I’m not yours bitch second- what the fuck, how?” the goal had been met.

Roman laughs “play the disney emo. Play. The fucking. Disney.”

Virgil could tell he was gonna gloat so he hung up.

Virgil grumbles and gets the disney queued “ok fine the goal was met, so time for my suffering, I have queued Fixer Upper from Frozen because it’s a shitty song with a shitty message. Make a man out of you because I like Mulan and for everyone’s inconvenience I have How Far I’ll Go so have fun with that stuck in your head.”

Roman was a bit insulted when Emo nightmare hung up on him, so he called him back once the songs had ended “wasn’t so hard was it?”

“for you maybe, it was for me,” Virgil hung up and blocked the number.

Over the Summer both Virgil and Roman found themselves missing their talks. Roman so much so he applied for one of the newly opened spots for the next semester from 2-5 pm.

Virgil drove onto campus at 4, putting on campus radio and was met with disney. the song ended and the new host spoke “and I hope everyone liked that, up now is a short commercial break.”

Virgil nearly swerved off the road and pulled over and called the station.

Roman picked up. “Hey what the actual FUCK?” Virgil says as soon as he does.

Roman laughs “oh how the tables have turned Emo Nightmare”

“I hate you, I fucking hate you what the actual fuck princey”

he laughed more “You yourself said that working here is nice, and there was an opening, so I took it. You should be happy, I mean now I won’t brother you about playing disney.”

Virgil frowned “yeah yeah, whatever princey have fun with that.”

“oh I will emo nightmare, I absolutely will.” Roman hung up feeling happy in a way he hadn’t felt all summer.

Virgil unpacked his stuff in his new dorm, he was a little pissed but also excited. Maybe he and princey would finally meet face to face. Why am I excited about that? I hate him, at the least he annoyed me every day for months, but he did raise a bunch of money. Even if his disney obessed ass is super annoying.

Roman walked in at 6 “hey Virgil, I’m guessing you’re going to be my roommate?”

Virgil looked up from his laptop “I guess, don’t take my monsters from the fridge and we’ll be golden, or blast disney 24/7″

Roman chuckled “what do you have against disney?”

“Micky Mouse killed my parents in front of me after I said that Merida was my favorite princess.” Virgil said dryly.

Roman chuckled “that’s why I dedicated my life to the mouse.”

“That’s why I swore to get my revenge on the mouse.”

“I won’t blast disney 24/7 but you can’t blast your emo music.” Roman says

Virgil snorted “dude I have the worst anxiety I don’t even own a speaker. so you don’t blast your music, I won’t blast mine and we’ll be fine.”

“Deal,”

Roman called that night like always and Virgil was ready “aww Princey, did you miss me that much?”

“not really, but I’m still trying to get you to willingly play a disney song.”

Virgil rolled his eyes “you know what, it’s a new year, time for a new leaf, I’ll humor you princey and play a disney song.”

“wait really?”

Virgil queued up Mad At Disney “no.” he hung up and the song started.

Virgil and Roman went back to their usual routine of lowkey flirting with each other during Virgil’s shift, and sometimes during Roman’s.

They where getting along well as roomates but hadn’t figured out that they where each other’s Princey and emo nightmare.

Somehow he and Princey had gotten into an argument about if Cruella would be a good or bad movie. Roman had hope it would be, Virgil wasn’t so convinced.

“Princey, she is a completely evil character, she can’t be redeemable, she shouldn’t be. She wanted to make puppies into a coat, that’s fucked up. There’s no black and white she’s bad and that’s that.”

“Maybe if you gave the movie a chance!”

“fuck no! did you not hear what I just fucking said?”

“then how about we see it then we can see who’s right?”

“fine, I’m free at three this Satuday.” Virgil said, way too caught up in the moment.

“same, see you then emo nightmare, I’ll be by the doors waiting.”

“fine, but I’m going to be right.”

“then it’s a date!”

“I guess it is!” Virgil hung up.

he didn’t realize he’d said yes to going out on a date with a guy he didn’t even know until the next day.

The whole campus was freaking out about it since the station had blown up quite a bit because of Virgil and Roman’s nightly arguments. 

Roman left early, he’d dressed up a bit, and had a disney shirt with a little crown logo on it, it wasn’t that obvious but he figured it’d be telling enough.

Virgil put on a bit more eyeliner then usual and fishnets under his ripped jeans but that was about it, he chose to be petty and waited until about 3:20 to go to the doors where Roman wait waiting.

Virgil walked passed him at first. Roman saw him “emo nightmare?”

Virgil stopped “are you fucking kidding me?” he got a few glares from parents. “You’re princey? my fucking roommate?”

“I did not plan that, but yeah I am, and you’re my emo nightmare.”

Virgil rolled his eyes “still not yours princey, come on the movies about to start.”

They exited the movie and Virgil grinned “I fucking told you it’d be bad, I told you!”

“yeah yeah, you did it was bad. Want to get some coffee?”

“sure, I’ll pay,” Virgil said casually.

Roman grinned “I’ll win you over one day my emo nightmare.”

“stop begging me to play disney music and maybe you will.”

[thunderheadfred]

🤚The Second Worst (Pt. 1/?)🤚

Part 2 of my Shigaraki Thesis Headcanons. HC's // The Second Worst: 1 - 2

The half-mad ghost of Shimura Tenko is in love with you, and your life is about to become a tragic wreck. -- AKA here's when I gave up on bullet points and went off the fuckin rails

I'm self-conscious about writing so much, so uhhhh, please be kind, hahaaa. This is rather long and involved. Are these still even HCs or just a self-indulgent AU outline? There are some mysteries we may never solve.

This is on AO3 now, if you prefer reading there. Anyway. Minors do not interact.

- - - - -

You met Tenko before the League existed.

Believe it or not, there are a million ways it might have happened, but in the end: you were both bargain-binning in Akihabara.

You reached for a copy of a collectible bullet-hell cute-'em-up (near-mint! CIB!!!) and accidentally bonked hands with a complete stranger. He flinched about five million feet away from you. Ouch. You're just a nobody, quirkless and average, but you didn't think you were THAT repulsive.

(You're not. Hell, even if you were, this guy couldn't care less. He barely registers that you have a face.)

(Shigaraki is accustomed to getting in and out of this shop in seconds. He always comes in before anyone else and goes straight home. -- Is that really home? Is 'home' a real place? -- ANYWAY he's already pirated this shit, god, why does he even care? He doesn't need to be here. Father doesn't like it. Is that why he's here? Just to do something Father doesn't like? That's pathetic.)

He's had at least ten complete internal arguments with himself before he so much as looks at you.

You know in the tenth of a second he actually meets your eyes... this fucker is going to fight you to the death over this game.

- - - The death match ends in a draw. He was not expecting you to know the first fucking thing about this game. Nobody knows about it, even in Japan. Who the fuck do you even think you are? Oh, no, he's still taking it. But... maybe he can show you how to play it it. He'll give you a little taste, just to make you jealous. He's got his hoodie pulled down like he's going to commit an act of terrorism. What little you can see of his face looks twitchy and messed up. If you have any survival instincts at all, they're kicking in right about now. But... why not. You're not going anywhere with this dude unsupervised, so you suggest a crowded web cafe down the street. The cafe has the necessary console... but the retro gaming booth is laughably small. The TV is about four inches across and you end up having to practically sit in his lap. You were sure this guy was a nasty fucking creep, but he's................ only mostly terrible. Way too angry, for sure. Has no idea how to have a normal, friendly conversation. Inadvertently insults you every other sentence and seems to have a deep-seated persecution complex.

You'd prefer to be mad about the awful company, but... he's obviously deprived of human contact. When it's established that you two share a lot of media fixations, he calms down and starts treating you a little more like a human being. Or at least like a fellow elite.

Wherever he came from, he doesn't seem to want to go back. He keeps pushing you to play one more level, pretending he wants to beat your score. You feel kinda bad for him. You get the distinct feeling that his life is a disaster. He looks like he's never had a full night of sleep in his life. He trips your trigger hairs in that 'is he gonna follow me home?' kind of way, but... up close, he's a lot more depressing than scary. At the very least, you want to buy him a stupidly cute dessert. Just... as thanks. For letting you try out the game and stuff. It's not a big deal, so just pick a flavor, okay? The world isn't actually that awful, y'know.

It's not even that impressive... Definitely not a great cafe. But he takes practically a full hour to eat a single slice of strawberry cake.

When the hoodie comes down. He's all shriveled and dried out, like someone left him him in the desert to die. He chews on his peeling bottom lip and nervously scratches his neck. He doesn't thank you for the cake. Which is fine. It's not a big deal. Actually, you wish he would eat faster; you feel weirdly responsible for him now.

Under all that mess he's... gorgeous? His hair is stunning: a bright, gleaming silver that catches the light. His bone structure is flawless. If it weren't for all the scars and the misanthropic slouch, he'd look like a fairy fucking prince.

You were not prepared for that. In another life he could have been a model, the type of guy who would never even look at you. But something bad happened to him. Something... very bad. Do you even want to know? You have no idea how to ask. Has anyone ever been nice to him? It doesn't seem like it. Should YOU be nice to him? You sort of want to try. - - - This becomes a regular thing. This weird little secret. You should probably tell someone when you see him, just in case you don't come back one day, but you say nothing; how the hell would you explain why you want to see him so bad? You don't know his full name. Maybe he's on a watch list. When he gives you a long string of random numbers so you can schedule meet-ups (is THAT his e-mail, really?) he tells you to just... call him Tenko. Or whatever. It doesn't matter. (He sneaks out when Father is deep in his plots. As long as he comes home on time, it doesn't really matter where he goes, right?) He brings a different game every time. He has an insane collection. Where does he get the money for all this? You know he doesn't work. God, is it drugs? It's probably drugs. Wherever these hidden gems came from, he proudly shows them off to you, like he's never had an audience before. It's sort of cringe-inducing, the way he one-ups and rubs every little victory in your face, desperate for attention.

But at the same time, you are becoming too... something...to mind. Do you... like him? He's not funny, but he thinks you are. His mouth is huge when he laughs. He seems to hate everyone but you, and you've had to earn the distinction of being merely tolerable. Still, he gets really excited about random shit like the garage kit black market and haunted dolls and the price of weed on the dark web.

And... strawberry cake. The realization hits you both at the same time when the waitress brings one piece with two forks. God, what the fuck, are you... are you dating? Quick, think. You look forward to seeing him, and don't even mind sitting close to him anymore. Sometimes you push your leg up against him just to see if he'll still flinch away... and he doesn't.

You jealously notice the way he touches everything but you: with delicate precision, one finger at a time. His large, elegant hands always have a pinky up like he's aspiring for a fiefdom, and you wonder what his skin feels like. You go home and dwell on the way he plucks flowering weeds out of the pavement in front of the cafe. The way he stands rooted to the spot as you leave, just... looking at nothing, unsmiling.

You watch his lips too much, and not just because you want to buy him chapstick. You catch him gaping at you all the time. You thought he was just creepy like that, but maybe... Yeah. I guess you are dating him. Shit. - - - Okay, so, yeah. Bringing him back to your place was definitely a bad idea. You know you shouldn't trust him, even if he is... apparently... your boyfriend? Sort of? You still don't have his phone number. So. Um. What now? You order overpriced pizza and queue up a campy horror movie. What the fuck are you even doing. You don't really think he's going to murder you anymore, but... still. Is the suburban massacre scene gonna give him ideas? Turns out, no. He doesn't like gore, even when the blood is neon pink. He gets upset. Like, really upset. Shaky and green, like he might puke on you. He can't stop scratching that scaly spot on his neck.

Tenko, are you crying? Fucking hell, did you just trigger him? Of course he has a traumatic past, it's carved all over his face. You're so fucking stupid. You don't know how to make it right. You want to hug him, kiss him... anything. But he's never really touched you, and you're too afraid to push now. It ruins the whole night. He leaves without explaining anything. Doesn't even say goodbye. He just. Leaves. Maybe you'll never see him again. Maybe that's for the best. Your chest hurts. - - - He shows up at your door a few weeks later. You haven't heard from him since that disastrous movie night. You had pretty much accepted that you'd broken up with a boyfriend you never actually had. But no. Apparently not.

This time, he’s brought his own entertainment. He's holding a boxed set of some show you're not familiar with. You're distracted by these weird little half-gloves he's wearing, like a cyberpunk hacker. That's a new look, and even if it's a bit edgelord adjacent, he makes it look cool. You tell him as much. It's the first time you've let on how attractive you find him. He's wearing a tight black shirt with a deep, deep V-neck. That's distracting too.

He clears his slender throat and doesn't look at you.

You try to apologize for before, but he's acting like it never happened. What are you even talking about? Have you seen this OVA or not? Get out of the way and let him in already. You've watched three episodes now, but you still have no idea what this stupid anime is about. You can't pay attention to a single frame. All you can think about is how his arm has crept up behind your shoulders. A few inches more and he'll be holding you. Does he... want to hold you? You lean toward him so slowly your spine creaks. One molecule at a time. After a thousand years, your head slides nervously under his chin. His arm comes down, locking you in, fingers clutching your sleeve in a death grip. Even that snobby little pinky. His head tucks down into you hair. A sharp collarbone bites into your cheek. His heartbeat is hard, fast, and irregular. There's not a scrap of fat on him, and as you wrap your arm around his stomach, you think you see a twitch in his pants. Is that just you being desperate? Or... hopeful? This is really happening. --- Soon, you learn that Tenko is a clumsy kisser. It doesn't matter; the fact that he's kissing you at all is good enough for now. His lips are dry, but not half as dry as you expected. There's a slick of menthol helping things along; he's been using something medicated on his lips. Plus, his mouth tastes like he drank a gallon of mouthwash.

All this thrills you more than a little, because it means he came here wanting to impress you. Wanting you. Full stop. Underneath that minty sting is a strange, worrisome aftertaste, like something rotten. Your brain fires off an alarm. Stop kissing him. Right now. This thing will make you sick. But his hands nervously slide over your body... and you decide not to worry about it. Instead, you kiss him deeper. He makes a sweet, startled little noise. Your brain is a fucking liar. It occurs to you he's probably never done this before.

When you lace your fingers in his and try to pull one of his gloves off, he rips his hand away.

Don't. That’s the only explanation he gives.

No need to ask if it's a quirk thing or a trauma thing. Judging by how jittery he gets, it's probably both. You remember the way his hands almost float over objects without ever holding them. Maybe his touch is dangerous. Maybe that's why his face looks like that.

Maybe you should learn more about him before things go way too far...

No. It can't be that bad. Now that he's in your arms, everything frightening about him evaporates. He's vulnerable. He's alone. He's shaking a little. Has anyone else ever seen this side of him? You want to keep him all to yourself, just like this.

So what if he has to touch you with gloves on? You've heard of worse quirk-related inconveniences.

It's okay, Tenko. Do you want to keep going?

You put his hands back on you and wait for him to kiss you again. It doesn't take long.

---

You open his pants. He's long and thin, calloused even here. Every part of him feels untouched, unloved. You hold him tight and squeeze.

It doesn't seem to occur to him to please you in return. He looks afraid. Confused. You're sure you scared him earlier with the glove thing. Is this too much? No. He gasps and leans into you. The tiniest, broken please.

He cums in your hand right away, face buried in your shoulder, his eyes wet and hidden.

I have to go, he says. Over and over and over.

It's okay, Tenko.

You know he doesn't want to.

- - - - - (oops I wrote more)

[maladaptive---daydreamer]

Fake it till you make it

You were never really one to receive post from home. Your parents would send you a letter every once in a while, sometimes a small care package towards the end of term, but they would come in black lidded boxes tied together with red silk ribbon. This was the precise reason why you were so confused when a school post owl dropped a crushed brown box in front of you and flew back to the owlery.

“What the hell is that?” Your best friend, Draco, asked, voice laced with disgust.

“I have no idea” you replied, cautiously picking the box up looking for a clue as to who the sender was.

“Well open it, don't leave us in suspense, Y/N” Daphne urged.

You ripped the brown parchment off the box to be greeted with a cake box from a bakery in Hogsmeade. You lifted the crumpled box lid off to reveal a small square carrot cake. It had been decorated with white icing, and a note had been piped on with orange icing.

“Go out with me?” Daphne read. “Oh my, you’re getting asked out! Does it say who the sender was?”

Draco looked at you suddenly interested in this delivery.

“No it doesn’t, and I’m glad it doesn't because I definitely don’t want to go out with the owner of this cake.” You replied, pushing the box away from you and returning to your breakfast.

“You don't mind if I take that do you, Y/N?” Crabbe asked, licking his lips.

“Go ahead, Crabbe.” You pushed the box towards them and both him and Goyle reached for the cake.

“Acting as though you’ve never seen a cake in your lives, you disgust me the pair of you” Draco sneered. He picked up the parchment the cake was wrapped in with two fingers and began to stare at it.

“What are you doing?” You asked, looking up from the page of the Daily Prophet you were reading

“I’m checking to see who sent it.”

“I already did that, there was no name on it.”

“You might have missed it”

“I can read, Malfoy”

“Well there doesn't seem to be a name on here, a shame really, I would have enjoyed watching you turn him down and embarrass him in front of the whole school”

“Who said I would have turned him down?”

“You did, just now,”

“I only said that because its an anonymously sent cake, it could have been poisoned for all I know. Had I known who the cake was from I would have reacted differently”

Draco looked confused for a second before getting up, announcing he was going to make his way to potions. You and Daphne did the same a few minutes later and met up with him again in the queue outside the classroom. You had potions with the Ravenclaws, which according to the sorting hat was its next choice for you, but it believed you’d be better suited in Slytherin. It meant that you managed to get along well with some of the Ravenclaw students. Before long, Slughorn called you all in and you took your usual seat at the back, taking up a four-seat bench with you, Daphne, Draco and Blaise. Today's lesson was about sleeping potions, Slughorn announced he would be pairing you up rather than you working with the person you sat alongside. He began reading off a list, pairing Daphne with your friend, Alicia, Draco with Marcus Belby and you with Terry Boot.

You reluctantly got up and moved to a station near the front of the room.

“Morning, Y/N” Terry greeted, oddly giddy for a Tuesday morning

“Morning, Terry” you replied, giving him a small smile. You read through the instructions in your textbook and began to chop up your ingredients.

“Anything interesting happen this morning?” He asked, looking up from the valerian root he was chopping.

“I did get a weird package at breakfast.”

“Oh, you did?”

“Yeah, someone tried to ask me out, bit stupid though they didn't leave their name”

“I did! it was on the inside of the lid”

“Pardon?”

“Erm yeah sorry about that. What I meant to say is that I sent it.”

“Oh, right, well” You were honestly speechless, you had maybe spoken to Terry once, apologising for Draco’s remark about his mother.

“It's just you’re so beautiful and smart, and you’re nice”

“Terry I’m flattered but I’m just not interested”

“You think I’m ugly don’t you?”

“No- I”

“Don’t lie to me Y/N”

“No I swear, it's just” Your mind raced at a million miles an hour to try and come up with a passable lie. “It's just that I’m actually going out with someone already. We just haven't told anyone, you know how-”

“Who?” He cut you off, his face twisting with anger.

“I don't see how that’s any of your business” The sheer cheek of him was enough to make you angry as well,

“Well, then you’re lying, if it were true you’d say who. You do think I’m ugly”

“It’s,” You paused, blurting out the first name that came into your mind. “Its Draco”. You were already kicking yourself for spluttering his name out. Any Slytherin boy would have done fine, but you just had to say his name.

“Oh, right. Makes sense, you two are inseparable,”

An awkward silence had fallen over you and he barely spoke another word the whole lesson. Slughorn had administered each pairs sleeping potion on a cornish pixie, the pair who managed to keep their pixie asleep for long enough was due to receive a prize the next lesson. You returned to your seat at the back and grabbed your things.

“What’s wrong with you?” Draco asked, pulling the back of your robe

“Huh? what-”

“You look ill, do you need me to walk you to the hospital wing?”

“Walk the long way with me to defence against the dark arts?”

He nodded and the two of you left, splitting off from Daphne and Blaise.

You walked in silence for a bit

“Are you going to tell me what the matter is?” He stopped and faced you for a second

“I found out who sent me the cake” You admitted, continuing to walk

“And?”

“It was Terry Boot.”

Draco started to laugh.  “You’re lying”

“I swear but this isn't even the worst part” You were beginning to explain but he wouldn't stop laughing. “Draco, I’m serious! stop laughing there's more!”

He calmed down after a few seconds and you continued.

“I tried rejecting him nicely, but he just didn't take it. So I lied and told him I’m going out with someone”

“Oh? whos the unlucky bugger?”

You slapped his arm. “It's you”

“Me?” He looked genuinely shocked.

“I’m sorry it was the first name that came into my mind. But I just wanted to give you a heads up because he’ll probably tell his friends and the whole school will probably find out! Ugh I’m sorry Draco”

“Sorry for what?”

“Well that everyone’s going to think we're together”

“They could think of worse things, Y/N. Plus I don't care what they have to say about me,”

“you're not angry?”

“Of course not, people thought we were going out anyway.”

“Thank you, Draco, seriously”

“You know, we might as well make it believable, just until he moves on, something tells me Boot isn't going to let this drop.”

“What do you mean believable?”

“Like act like we’re a couple. Hold hands, you know all of that”

“But what about all your admirers”

“I could care less about them, your happiness and safety matters more than the opinions of the mediocre witches and wizards in this school”

You felt your heart swell a bit, you honestly didn't expect Draco to prioritise you like this. “So we should just fake it until he gets a girlfriend?”

“Exactly, just follow my lead”

You two ended up being a minute late to your lesson. He took your hand in his and the two of you walked in after everyone had taken their seats.

“Mr Malfoy, Miss Y/L/N, you are late to my lesson” Snape stated.

The whole class turned and looked at you, noting your hand clearly being held by Draco

“Sorry professor, we accidentally walked the long way from potions” Draco explained, swinging your hands.

“Two points from Slytherin, take your seats.” The two of you sat down.

“You and Draco?” Daphne hissed, knowing how long you had been crushing on him.

“Mind your business, Greengrass” Draco replied, sitting back in his chair putting his arm around the back of your seat.

“I'll explain later,” You promised, not wanting to piss off Snape, by talking in his lesson, any more than you already had.

For the rest of the day, you were ogled at like some caged animal in a zoo. Students from every year glanced and immediately dissolved into whispers with their friends. Word clearly travels fast around Hogwarts. You walked out of your last lesson with Daphne, getting ready to head to the Slytherin common room before dinner.

“You better be getting ready to explain this whole thing to me.” She said, pulling you away from the other students

“Yes, as soon as we get to our dorm-”

“Mind if I steal my girlfriend from you, Daphne?” Draco interrupted, appearing from what seemed to be nowhere.

“Yes I do actually,” She replied, pulling you further from Draco.

“Too bad, I’ll be taking her anyway”

“I swear I’ll tell you daph-” You explained apologetically, pulling your arm from her grasp.

Daphne stomped her foot like a toddler and turned to walk to the Slytherin common room. You, on the other hand, were stood with Draco, getting, even more, stares because the two of you were finally stood together, giving feeding truth into the rumour that was swirling around the school. He put his arm lazily around your shoulders and the two of you began your stroll to a more quiet part of the castle.

“I know you want to tell Daphne everything, but do you think that's wise?” He asked quietly

“Yes, she's my best friend, why wouldn't I?”

“I thought I was, I’m hurt”

“You are, you mug, but she is too”

“You know what a big mouth Daphne has, not to mention you know what she’s like once shes had a bit to drink, she might let it slip.”

You pondered what Draco had said. It was no secret that Daphne Greengrass liked to gossip, but it was also no secret that she couldn't handle her alcohol, spilling some of her families darkest secrets after a few shots. Not to mention had she slipped out that you lied about dating Draco it would be embarrassing for not only you but him.

“Ugh I hate that you’re right”

“When am I not?”

“But what am I supposed to tell her when she asks? She knows when I’m lying”

“Well we did spend basically the entire summer together, we’ll just say it happened then.”

“This is all so stressful! Why couldn't I have thought of another excuse? If I knew this was going to be the outcome, I would have agreed with him and said I found him ugly,” You dropped your head onto his chest. He wrapped both of his arms around you, swaying side to side.

“I know, love, but its too late to go back now”

You and Draco had been in this exact moment before in your friendship, only this time it felt different. You felt like you were more than two best friends consoling one another, it was almost as if you were just two teenagers in love. Only for a short while before reality came crashing down on you, it was all just fake.

The two of you went back to the common room to drop your school bags and robes before making your way to the hall for dinner. Despite it being late, there was still a large proportion of students sat down to eat. You took a deep breath as Draco’s hold on your hand tightened and the two of you walked in. Every single pair of eyes in the room were trained on you, it felt like an eternity before you finally got to your seats on the Slytherin table.

“Finally, you have no excuse not to explain yourself to me now, Y/N” Daphne scoffed.

“Don’t get your knickers in a twist, Greengrass. Were going out, that's it, what more do you want?” Draco retorted.

“Id like to know when, how, where. All of the details, Malfoy”

“Well we started going out in the holidays-” You began to explain before she cut you off.

“Pardon, the summer? As in 6 months ago? You have been hiding your relationship from me, your best friend for 6 whole months?” Daphne’s voice began to rise.

“Daphne-”

“Watch how you talk to my girlfriend, Greengrass, otherwise you'll find you can't speak another word.” Draco practically snarled at her, he looked as though he was about to rip her head off.

“I wanted to tell you, Daph I really did, I just wanted to keep it between Draco and I for a while, just in case it didn't work out, so it wouldn't be awkward.” You explained calmly.

“Hm, I guess that's a valid reason, you’re forgiven for now. But from here on out, I want to know everything. Did you at least find out who that ghastly cake was from?”

“Terry Boot”

She almost choked on her rice. You filled her goblet with some water and slid it to her.

“He confessed to me in potions, I tried to say I wasn't interested but he basically forced me to admit that I had a boyfriend”

“You poor thing,”

She had quickly forgotten and moved onto the next piece of Hogwarts gossip that took her fancy. Draco was engrossed with his own conversations and it hit you, your new reality was Draco Malfoy’s girlfriend, that was until Terry Boot managed to get his own one. It was something you had wanted since the second year, you felt as though you should have been over the moon, one of your most wild fantasies was playing out right in front of you, but you weren't. It wasn't going to last, you were sure he didn't even like you that way, he was just being the kind but overprotective Draco you had got to know over the past few years.

Once you had filled yourselves up with dinner, you and your friends made your way back to the common room, Draco's hand found yours and he held it as you walked down to the dungeons. Once you had got to the common room, Blaise forced a group of fourth years off the sofa in front of the fire and pulled out his deck of exploding snap, which you all played as a group. The warmth of the fire coupled with the comfort of the sofa made you want to curl up and fall asleep, you could feel your eyelids drooping as you tried and failed to suppress a yawn.

“Tired, love?” He asked, tilting his head.

“A little bit, I think I’ll head up to sleep in a bit” You responded, another small yawn passing your lips.

He nodded and simply pulled you into his side, your head falling on his chest and his arm around you resting on your hip

“God, you two are disgusting” Pansy grumbled as she walked past, taking note of you and Draco in your loved-up state.

“We all know you're just jealous you’re not in Y/N’s place” Crabbe laughed.

“Shut up Crabbe,” She snapped, trying to hit him around the back of his head but failing.

Your whole group laughed as she stomped away. You only managed to last another hour before you really were going to fall asleep, though you were reluctant to move from your position, you got up and announced you'd be heading to bed.

“I think I’ll join you.” Daphne yawned, getting up and stretching.

You made a move to leave but were pulled back by Draco.

“Gonna leave without saying goodnight were you?” He smiled

You laughed, “of course not, goodnight, Draco”

He kissed the back of your hand, sending a jolt of electricity from where his lips touched right to your brain, “goodnight, princess”

You smiled and headed up to bed, feeling as though you were floating on cloud 9.

Over the next few days, you had fallen into a routine, he’d wait at the bottom of the stairs from your dormitory for you to come down every morning, as soon as he saw you, he’d chirp a “good morning, love” before walking you to breakfast. He would walk you to and from every lesson that you didn’t have with him, he even went as far as waiting outside the girl's bathroom for you so he could walk with you back to the library. You had to admit it, Draco Malfoy was the best fake boyfriend.

One cold Wednesday afternoon, you were in the middle of a potions lesson, Slughorn was going on and on about the properties of belladonna, he even hinted it would come up in your exam, but all you could focus on was the contractions of your uterus. The first two days of your period were the worst, horrific cramps, bloating, tender boobs and hot flushes. Madam Pomfrey was aware of how debilitating your period was and would always send owls to your teachers informing them you would be absent from lessons, you didn't even care that Snape would find out about your period, all you wanted was to lie in bed. You tried your hardest to ride out the pain for the next 40 minutes of the lesson before you could go to the hospital wing and get something for the pain.

“Just ask Slughorn to leave early,” Daphne whispered.

“This is going to be on the exam, I can't just leave now”

“Y/N, you are literally dying, I’ll give you my notes, just please go to the hospital wing”

“I’ll be fine,”

You took a deep breath and shrugged your robe off you in an attempt to cool down. Draco slide you a note

‘Everything okay?’

‘Yeah, just my period, nothing to worry about :)’

‘Are you sure? I know how bad they get’

‘I’ll be fine, focus on the lesson!’

‘How can I focus when you’re in pain’

‘Oh shut up, I’ll be fine, I’m a big girl’

Draco read your last message and slid the sheet of parchment into his textbook. Another jolt of pain ran across your abdomen, causing you to squeeze your belly in pain. Draco’s arm shot up almost instantaneously.

“Professor, Y/N isn't feeling well, may I escort her to the hospital wing?”

“Of course m’boy”

You glared at Draco before collecting your things. and trying to discreetly leave the classroom without disrupting the lesson further.

“Do feel better Y/L/N” Slughorn called from the front of the room.

“Thank you, professor” you mumbled, feeling slightly embarrassed.

“Here give me your bag,” He said, going to grab your bag off your shoulder.

“I’m on my period, Draco, not dying”

He held out his hand anyway and you handed him your bag. He knew you hated being touched too much, it made you feel hotter, so he linked his pinky with yours.

“The corridors are empty, you don't need to hold my hand,” you stated, looking around

“I don't need to but I like to, your hands are soft” You saw him blush slightly as he said it. You simply smiled as the two of you walked into the hospital wing.

“Ah, miss Y/L/N, I’ve been expecting a visit from you” Madam Pomfrey went into her store cupboard and produced a violet potion and measured a dose. “You know the drill, come back tomorrow after breakfast and I’ll give you more, I’ll send an owl to your teachers, what’s your next lesson?”

“We have transfiguration” Draco answered for you while you finished downing your medicine.

“Right, well I’ll tell Professor McGonagall you'll both be absent from the lesson, be sure to catch up with the missing work Mr Malfoy”

You thanked Madam Pomfrey before returning to the Slytherin dormitory. The boys had managed to disable the charm that prevented them from coming up into the girls' dorms, so Draco followed you up.

“Draco, honestly I’m fine.” You signed, dropping onto your bed

“You don’t look fine,” He crossed his arms and looked down at you.

“I just need to get into some comfy clothes and lie down and I’ll be fine, I even have chocolate in my trunk.” You crouched down and opened your trunk and fished out your slab of Honeydukes chocolate. surprised to find that you only had 6 squares left.

“That’s hardly enough, wait here.”

“Dra-”

He turned and went down the stairs, leaving you alone. You changed out of your skirt and into some comfy trousers and were about to unbutton your blouse when Draco returned with a full slab of Honeydukes chocolate and his old quidditch jumper.

“I remember you saying how soft this was, I don't need it anymore, you're free to keep it,” He said sheepishly

“Thank you, Draco, seriously” He smiled at you and just stood there, looking at you. “Erm, I need to change,”

He slowly turned around and you unbuttoned your blouse and unhooked your bra throwing it on your bed before putting the jumper on.

“I’m done,”

He turned around, his eyes immediately landing on your black lace bra on your bed, you followed his gaze and quickly snatched the bra and stuffed it back in your trunk.

“I had you pegged for a cotton bra girl myself,” He smirked

“If you think that's scandalous, you should see what I wear on the bottom” you replied, winking. You got under your covers and began to open the chocolate, Draco sat awkwardly at the foot of your bed.

“Why are you sitting like that?”

“I’ve never been in your dormitory before,”

“It's literally the same as yours, come, sit” You moved a bit to the side and he came and sat next to you, stretching his legs out. At this point it was a reflex, his arms wrapped themselves around you as you buried yourself into him.

“Draco,”

“Hmmm”

“Thank you,”

“You’ve said that already”

“I mean it, honestly,”

“Anything for you, princess”. You two fell into a comfortable silence as you lay on his chest, being lulled to sleep by his chest rising and falling.

You were awoken by a loud squeal, you blinked and slowly opened your eyes.

“You two are just the cutest!” Daphne shouted.

You looked around confused for a moment until you saw what was in Daphne’s hand. She handed you a small bouquet of roses with a note attached that read:

I didn't have the heart to wake you, I’ll bring you dinner if you're not up to coming down, I hope you feel better, love - D x

You smiled as you conjured up a small vase filled with water. It was time to admit it, you were deeply, truly and utterly in love with Draco Malfoy

A Hogsmeade trip had been planned for that weekend, at first, you were planning on skipping it, but after some convincing, you decided you’d go. You decided to replenish your potions store, as well as getting some more quills and ink. Draco treated you to some sweets from Honeydukes, before you and your group headed into the three broomsticks to grab a butterbeer before you returned to the castle. You sat in a booth with Blaise, Daphne, Goyle and Pansy, choosing to squeeze yourself right in the corner. Blaise got up to order the drinks returning a few moments later with six butterbeers in his hands. The six of you fell into a discussion about the quidditch tournament, the boys getting heated over Ravenclaw’s win over Slytherin in their last match. After a while Daphne excused herself to go to the bathroom, only to run back a few moments later.

“You will not guess who I just saw snogging Hannah Abbott in the women’s toilet” Daphne yelled, sitting back in her seat at the end of the table.

You all looked at her, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“Terry fucking Boot!”

The whole group looked at you and Draco. At that moment you felt a million different emotions, recently it had felt like you weren't faking anymore, you had tricked yourself into thinking that it was all real, forgetting about your deal with Draco. But you knew that this revelation meant it was all over, you and Draco would fake an amicable break-up and remain to be best friends and the thought of that killed you.

“Well, at least now he won't get hexed for looking at my girlfriend” Draco joked.

You smiled and took a sip of your butterbeer. Once you had all finished your drinks, you returned to the castle and settled in your spot in the common room. You were sat with Draco but all you could think about was how this little bubble you were in was going to burst soon. You practically zoned out, your eyes losing focus as you stared at the fire.

“Are you quite alright? You look as though you’ve been stunned” Daphne asked, looking confused.

“Mmm I don’t feel too good, I don't think being out in the cold was a good idea” you mumbled, blinking slowly.

Daphne came and felt your forehead.

“You do feel a bit warm, why don’t you go lie down for a while”

You agreed and went up to lie in your bed for a while. You ended up skipping dinner too, you played up your symptoms to Daphne and she left you alone out of fear that she’d catch whatever you had. You didn’t end up getting out of bed until the next morning, barely having the energy to brush your teeth before you trudged to the great hall for breakfast in your pyjamas. Draco saw you come in and his eyes lit up, he was worried after Daphne told him you were sick. As soon as you sat down he began to pile food into your plate.

“Whoa calm down, I’ll barely be able to eat half of that” You pushed his hand back to the bowl of baked beans prompting him to drop the spoon back into the bowl.

“You haven’t eaten since yesterday, you must be starving, love”

You shook your head reaching for a cereal bowl instead. He looked at you concern filling his face. He kept glancing over at you while you ate, making note of your unusual silence. Once he had noticed you stopped eating your cereal squeezed your hand under the table, you pulled your hand away and acted as though you were scratching an itch on the side of your neck.

“Y/N why don’t we take a visit to madam Pomfrey, just to make sure you’re okay”

“I’m fine Draco, it’s probably just a cold”

“Draco’s right, you should make sure it’s nothing contagious or something” Daphne agreed

“Fine, let’s go then” You dusted your pyjamas off and got up, defeated.

You followed Draco out of the great hall. He began walking the opposite direction to the hospital wing and pulled you into a deserted part of the corridor.

“Are you okay?” He asked immediately, his tall frame towering over you.

“I’m just tired Draco, that’s all”

“You can’t lie to me, I’m your best friend”

“I’m not lying, I’m just tired, I haven’t been sleeping well the past few days”

“Has someone said something? Threatened you? I swear if I get my hands on them”

“No ones done anything. You don’t need to keep the overprotective boyfriend act up anymore, we’re alone and Terry has a girlfriend now”

“Act?” His face had fallen and he turned to look away

“Draco?”

“You really thought it was all an act?”

“Was it not? You said it yourself, we were faking it until he got a girlfriend so that he wouldn’t try and make a move on me”

“How can you be one of the smartest witches in our house but be so dense at the same time. “

“Excuse me,”

“It wasn't an act for me”

Your heart stopped.

“What?” you honestly couldn’t believe what you were hearing

“It wasn't an act for me. I didn't do all that just because I wanted Boot to back off, I did it cause I’ve fancied you for a while” Draco began pacing, as he explained himself

“but-”

“You said you would have gone out with the sender of that cake if it wasn't anonymously sent. I don't know why, but it didn’t sit right with me. I didn't like the fact that you were willing to go out with someone that wasn't me.”

“So you waited for me to find out who did send it, so you could propose this crazy idea?”

“I didn’t expect you to find out, hell I didn't even know I was going to say it, but once you agreed to go along with it, I felt like maybe you’d see that us being more than just best friends wasn't that bad, and maybe you'd be willing to give me a chance.”

“Can I let you in on a little secret?”

He stopped and looked down at you and nodded,

“I've fancied you since second year”

He smiled and grabbed both your hands

“And since we’ve been fake going out, I’m pretty sure I’m in love with you now,”

“Say that again”

“I’m in love with you Draco,”

“Say it again,” he said, placing his hands on your cheeks and staring into your eyes with adoration.

You laughed “I love you”

“I love you so much more, princess. Way more than I can even explain”

You beamed up at him, you felt like you could honestly explode at this point. all those years of crushing on him and wishing you could tell him how you felt, and here you were.

“I'm going to kiss you” He whispered

“I think it's about time you did”

He moved slowly before giving you a sweet but passionate kiss. His lips were softer than you thought they'd be.

“At least now we don't need to worry about telling our friends,” You joked, resting your forehead against his.

He laughed and kissed you again. Something you know you would never get tired of. As cliche as it seemed, you did it, your best friend was now your boyfriend. It was just you and Draco, safe in your perfect bubble.

[woodrokiro]

Do It For the Band, Part Five (fic)

Fandom: Bleach

Pairing: IchiRuki: 

Summary: When Tatsuki said she wanted their sophomore album to be the next Rumours, this is NOT what she meant. Band AU. Read Part One, Two, Three, and Four.

Against her better judgement, Tatsuki takes an early flight home the next morning, so she really doesn’t know what went down. 

Frankly, between battling her colossal hangover and focusing on not puking on the plane when it hits turbulence: she doesn’t even think about it until later in the week. 

Since the tour ended, the band has a week off to just chill and take some time for themselves before regrouping and planning their next move. Tatsuki goes straight home to smoke weed and binge dumb movies on her to-watch queue. Chad and Orihime had plans to stay in their last tour city for a while since they had friends and family there. 

And as for Ichigo and Rukia…

Who knows. They’re both such dorks that they’re probably that gross couple who serenade each other in bed, naked, making weird metaphorical lyrics about the sex they just had.

Gross. But kind of sweet.

She makes a point to not think about or reach out to any of them (besides Orihime, of course) the entire week - not that she doesn’t love her team fiercely, but they all need the break away from each other... Especially after they spent all their time together making the album and going on tour, and especially if Ichigo decides to show one of his new Rukia-love ballads to the band upon their return. 

Still, she attempts to check in with Ichigo on the fifth day over text. 

How ya doin’, tiger?

He doesn’t respond for a few hours, but she doesn’t think much of it. He’s always been sort of a shitty texter, and there’s a strong chance all the raucous love-making isn’t reminding him to check his phone. 

She’s on the fourth episode of Terrace House’ newest season, debating whether one of the cast members is a chaotic queen or absolute garbage when she hears the familiar ping of a text message on her phone. She picks it up and reads:

Fine.

Huh. 

Not exactly the sunshine-y answer she expected, but then again: it’s Ichigo. He’s not exactly a sunshine-y person, even when - apparently - he’s radiantly happy. 

She shrugs, deciding not to push it. She’ll find out soon enough how everything’s going when they have practice in a couple days. 

--

Practice is in Chad’s garage, and Ichigo, Chad, and Orihime are already there.

She mostly chats with Orihime, who has so much to update her on about her newest recipes, like natto ice cream and sriracha orange juice, and hey, Tatsuki, what are your thoughts on this newest article I found about robots dominating the planet within the next five years?

Tatsuki glows in the babble, chuckling when she can’t help herself. Says the first sounds… Interesting, the second sounds like maybe she can keep revising it a little, and that last article sounds like it might be from a not so trust-worthy news source. 

Her friend tries to argue the source’s credibility when she looks over at Ichigo. He’s silently tuning his guitar, head bent and posture weirdly… Slumped when she catches his eye.

She raises her eyebrows at him without interrupting Orihime’s chatter. You good?

He shrugs, gives a weak smile and thumbs up before returning his attention back to his instrument.

Uh oh. 

Ichigo Kurosaki does not do weak smiles… Or thumbs ups, for that matter.

It’s another few minutes before Rukia swings the door open, a bit of a sweaty mess and running out of breath. 

“Hi all, I’m so sorry I--”

“You’re late.”

Everyone swings their attention to Ichigo, who observes their keyboardist stone-faced. The shocked silence that follows is short, but suffocating. 

Rukia flushes before she blinks, raising her chin. “Yes. As I was saying… I’m sorry I’m running late, everyone. I had a lunch meetup with an old friend that went longer than expected. Please forgive me.”

“Chill, Rukia - you’re fine. You’re only five minutes over.” Tatsuki shoots a look at Ichigo, who’s still ruthlessly eye-ing daggers into Rukia. 

What the hell…? 

“... Whatever. Let’s just get started. Go over everything to catch back up to speed, and all that.” Ichigo plugs his guitar into the speaker, and Rukia nods as she quickly sets up her keyboard. 

Practice from there is…

Like. It’s good. It is. Despite the long break, everyone is still on top of their shit: Tatsuki’s beats are muscle memory by now, and Chad is as on it as he ever was. Ichigo and Rukia are in perfect sync, per usual.

The energy, however, is another story. While there was always some sort of joy and excitement when they all played together, now it’s like the air is stiff, heavy. From behind, Tatsuki can see Rukia keeps trying to look at Ichigo during all the parts they usually harmonize together, to get some sort of connection. 

Ichigo doesn’t even remotely glance her way the entire time. 

They’re near done with the entire set when Ichigo clears his throat, turning to the rest of them. Urahara has joined them by this point, watching with an unreadable smile as ever.  

“So… I think we should scrap Sun and Moon from our main set.”

Orihime lets out a soft gasp. Chad’s fingers accidentally let loose a note on the live bass. Tatsuki chokes on her spit. 

“Sun and Moon? You mean our crowd pleaser? The one we always end shows with a bang on?”

“It’s not our only crowd pleaser, we’ve also got some other great ones. I’m just afraid it’s gonna be a one-hit wonder, ya know? And with that note…” He turns to Urahara. “What do you think about us going ahead and starting to write for our sophomore album?”

They gape at him. 

Even Urahara raises his eyebrows. “That’s… Well. That was fast.”

“Is it? Our album is more like EP, anyway - just a little longer. Like a warm-up. And it’s good, of course I’m proud of it - everyone worked so hard on it - but, just… Why not start now? Why not take advantage of the momentum we’ve got going on?”

Rukia clears her throat. “Ichigo, that’s… We’ve got such a good grip on what we have -”

“I just think Soul Vibes is static for us. Outdated.” He quickly looks back at her before returning his attention to Urahara.

 Rukia looks like she’s been slapped. 

“I think we’re more dynamic now, even just in these few short months. And yeah it’s fast, but - we have time, right? To get started on writing?”

“I suppose so.” Urahara looks at Tatsuki and Chad, who both shrug. Something’s really off here, but Tatsuki sort of sees his point. It’s clear Ichigo’s raring to write something new… Why not? 

“Sure, if you’d like, I can make some arrangements with the music studio. You and Rukia can go in there and--”

“Actually, I was thinking we can work on some stuff alone before presenting it to the group.” He stops Tatsuki when she begins to sputter.  “Look, I know the whole reason for pairing Rukia and I for songwriting was to get us working as a team. But we’re fine now…”

Ichigo looks back at Rukia, and they share a look that’s so… Tatsuki doesn’t know what it is, but she sees Rukia swallow heavily in response.

“We’re fine now.” He repeats grittily. He starts again, stronger: “We collaborated on some cool shit, now I think it’s time to make it a little more diverse like I mentioned earlier. Have my songs, have her songs, have Chad’s songs if he still wants - all threaded together with Tatsuki’s beats. Why not?”

The room is quiet as they contemplate it. It’s not a bad idea, but…

Tatsuki glances over at Rukia, who’s looking down at her hands.

Urahara clicks his tongue. 

“Well, Kurosaki, you raise a good argument. I don’t see why not, and I’m not hearing any objections… Just one thing: you’re not striking Sun and Moon quite yet. No arguments! Hear me out.” He stops Ichigo with a hand. “You’re not striking it until any of you come up with a song just as good, if not better. There’s power in that one, you can’t deny it. Make something as rock n’ roll as that and the team will talk. Let’s just… Keep each other in the know, all right?” 

The band - Rukia included, albeit softly - agrees, and they start to pack up. 

Tatsuki doesn’t know what’s going on; she’s always down for making more jams, she knows Ichigo and Rukia have got more up their sleeves, that Chad definitely deserves to put more of his stuff forward - but that… Look the two vocalists shared…

What happened that night after she left the bar? 

She doesn’t have much time to wonder, however, because suddenly she’s shaken out of her thoughts when she hears Ichigo approaching Orihime about whether she wants to go out and get a couple of drinks. 

Tatsuki’s heart is too busy falling to see Rukia’s stricken face.

[thessalian]

Thess vs the Rush Hour

Now, with fingers crossed and all the hopes in the world, I will not have to do the absolute fucking nightmare I had today as often as I have been.

See, the trip to work wasn’t bad - I wasn’t in great shape at the end of it, but I never am, so fuck it. I had good luck with connections in terms of changing buses and, as I had planned, got to work in plenty of time to wait in the always-overlong queue at the in-hospital pharmacy so I could pick up mallet-meds. I’d have waited until after work but I have a thing at the moment whereby I take the mallet-meds a little bit before I leave for home so that I can more or less survive the trip home.

This will be important later.

Since I had the security app and password, it seemed a sensible thing to say to Scruffman, “I’ll test this out over the weekend and call on Monday so we can see what’s what in terms of working from home”. So I said the thing, and he agreed with it, and I will definitely test the things over the weekend. But I will not be doing it tonight even though I had originally considered it, because of what happened after I gathered up my work laptop and the peripherals and started heading for home.

Well, the first half of the journey wasn’t too bad. However, when we got to the sort of Russell Square sort of area, the driver went on the announcement system and said, “There’s a traffic issue around here and I’m told it’s going to take a half-hour to get to Holborn so this bus is going to stop at Waterloo”. I kind of get why - timetables and all - but it seems a horrible thing to do to commuters who’ve crammed themselves onto a bus to overcrowding point to just dump them off possibly several stops before theirs, and probably have to wait for another bus that will have run into the same problems (or be overcrowded to fuckery by other people who had to move to said other buses after having the same problems). So I just went, “Fuck this” and got off the bus, figuring I could get the Tube to Elephant and Castle and go from there.

This was probably a mistake. The nearest Tube station was Russell Square, which is a Piccadilly Line train, and Elephant and Castle is either the Bank branch of the Northern Line or the Bakerloo Line. So I had a couple of choices - one stop up to King’s Cross and switch to the Northern Line, or a few stops in the other direction to Piccadilly Circus and the Bakerloo Line from there. So basically it was a choice between what kind of abominable crush I wanted to face, since by then it had gone 5pm and the rush hour was starting. In the end I decided on tourists and nightlife-seekers instead of business suits for my impending crushedness and took the Bakerloo Line option.

Note: neither Russell Square nor Piccadilly Circus are remotely disability-friendly. So many stairs. But eventually, finally, I got to Elephant and Castle without wanting to scream too much. Though by that point, between stairs and connections, it was about 6pm. But all I had to do was wait for my bus.

And wait. And wait. And fucking wait. I checked online because the electronic schedule kept pushing the arrival of my very specific bus back by about five minutes at a go. Turns out that particular bus route was messed up because of a collision around the New Kent Road sort of area. But eventually, after twenty-odd minutes of wait and with painkillers wearing off, I finally got on my bus and headed for home.

It was exhausting, it was expensive, and I never want to do it again. But ... I mean, I may have to, but only once a week, not four times. Fingers crossed everything goes well. Though I did realise that if I want to work in my office, I needed an ethernet switch because the wifi in this room is bullshit. So another expense, but thankfully not a huge one. I’m just praying that all the stuff about sorting out the VPN actually works.

Now, I am going to go soak in a hot bath while my very delayed dinner finishes cooking. Yes, I know, but I got home way later than I expected to and then the roast needed to settle to room temperature-ish and it’s a big one so it takes hours to roast. Also, honestly, I wasn’t that hungry when I got home anyway. Too exhausted and pain-riddled. Also it’s very cold and I’m trying not to turn on the heat but maybe I should just a tiny bit. As a treat. Hot bath first, though.

[xiaomoxu]

LUCIEN - Taste Date

SPOILER ALERT!!

A date from CN server which hasn’t been released on EN server yet. Might contains some spoiler.

The projector in the living room flickered, and the music at the end of the movie was intertwined with the warm sunshine. In this space that belongs to me and Xu Mo, there is a warmth day after day.

I looked at the scrolling subtitles on the screen and yawned.

Xu Mo: Do you think the movie is boring?

Xu Mo turned his head and looked at me with a faint voice as always, but the smile in his eyes was a little bit more than usual.

MC: Nope. The movie is very interesting. I especially like narration, music and mirroring.

MC: It's the movie you picked.

As I said, I leaned against Xu Mo again, leaning my head on his shoulder.

MC: I just relax suddenly and feel like I'm lazy

MC: Obviously I did all kinds of imagination before the holiday, but when I could really rest, my brain went on strike, and I didn't even bother to think about the plan.

Xu Mo: However, if you don't plan well, this rest day will also slip away unknowingly.

MC: There is nothing wrong with this principle

MC: Then we will discuss how to spend a full and rich rest day tomorrow.

MC: But right now... just rest with nothing to do for one day, okay?

When I looked up at him, I was amused and blinked earnestly. Xu Mo seemed to squeeze my face helplessly.

Xu Mo: You...

Xu Mo: Do you want to watch another movie?

Before I had time to agree, Xu Mo's phone on the table rang untimely.

The caller is Aming.

Xu Mo pressed the hands-free button after answering the phone, got up and walked to the cabinet where the discs were stored.

Aming: Professor Xu, sorry to disturb you.

Xu Mo: what's happening?

Aming: Do you have any arrangements for today? The previous experiment has made some progress, I would like to trouble you to follow up.

Xu Mo paused when he picked the DVD.

Xu Mo: is it urgent?

Aming: It's not actually too late after the holidays.

Aming: However, there will be a few academic conferences and postgraduate papers that you need to check. Time will be a little tight.

Xu Mo: I know. Leave it until after the holidays.

Aming: Alright professor, take a good rest.

As the phone hung up, Xu Mo also chose the DVD. And I, who was listening silently beside him, suddenly had a thought.

MC: Xu Mo, I have a plan!

Xu Mo: Yes?

MC: Since it's a holiday now, there shouldn't be many people in the research right?

Xu Mo: Well, that's right.

MC: Then I will go to work with you!

As if shocked by my sudden suggestion, Xu Mo raised his eyebrows and said again to confirm.

Xu Mo: Go to work with me?

MC: Yes! This way you can spend the rest day with you without delaying your work.

MC: And it satisfies the condition of "fullness and richness" very well. Isn't it a great idea?

Xu Mo: I do not deny that this is a feasible method....

Xu Mo: But my work is probably not as interesting as you think

I shook my head vigorously.

MC: It is not an opportunity every day to see Professor Xu's work side up close.

MC: This holiday plan will definitely be the one I wanted to start a long time ago.

MC: "Professor Xu Mo's Ecological Observation" project adds an important record!

Although I have “sneaked in” here many times because I gave Xu Mo a lunch box or helped him take care of the plants in the office...

But walking into the office with him in this way and watching him sitting behind his desk up close is still a new experience.

MC: Xu Mo, you just treat me as if I'm not here, just do your usual work normally!

Seeing that I had quite taken out a notebook to record his daily momentum of work, Xu Mo gently tapped on my head.

Xu Mo: Well, now that producer MC is fully prepared, then I will cooperate well.

Xu Mo: But say it in advance, even if you feel boring, you can't run away.

MC: Pftー don't worry, I won't!

I hope our "cooperation" today will be turned well.

I held back a smile, sat pretentiously on the sofa in the corner of his office, and waved to him.

The so-called "Professor Xu Mo's Ecological Observation" project, only "observing Xu Mo" is my real purpose.

The person in front of me always seemed to be able to cooperate with my careful thoughts, and would not pierce easily.

For me, seeing Xu Mo's work in a rare way is already the most interesting thing for me.

Xu Mo sat behind his desk, his narrow eyes could not see emotions, only the light spots on his face swayed playfully with his breathing rate.

We didn't speak for a while, and typing sounds regularly echoed in the office where only the two of us were alone.

Xu Mo: Is it connected to the intranet?

Xu Mo didn't stop his hand movements and spoke naturally

MC: Yep, it's already connected.

MC: However, the network speed of the highest biotechnology institute is really fast

??: After all, we have a lot of data to process, and it will be troublesome if the network cannot keep up.

With a soft knock on the door, a familiar voice heard outside the door.

Researcher: Amin told me that the professor was not coming today, and he was probably going to accompany MC. I saw that the office light was on, and it was strange.

Researcher: Unexpectedly, you came together.

The other party was one of the researchers who followed Xu Mo as a researcher, and I had met Xu Mo several times before.

Xu Mo nodded lightly in response, and I also smiled politely at him.

MC: Do you have a job to talk about? Then I first

Researcher: No, no, I will go back to the lab now. Professor, you are busy, I won't bother you.

The researcher winked at us jokingly and waved away.

Xu Mo raised his eyes and looked at the direction the person was leaving, then smiled and said to me.

Xu Mo: It seems that when I didn't know, the researchers around me had a better relationship with you.

MC: Because everyone is very kind.

Xu Mo: A lot of things have been added to the office unknowingly.

Xu Mo smiled and pointed to the blanket on the sofa.

MC: Of course. My goal is to make it comfortable and easy to work with!

Xu Mo: Then I will wait and see.

In the next few hours, Xu Mo's typing sound never stopped.

Occasionally, a few researchers came in to submit materials, and because they were all familiar people, they directly handed me the documents that needed to be sorted out.

In this way, I also feel a little happy to be around Xu Mo and do something for him.

But....

Xu Mo: Ugh...

Hearing Xu Mo's sigh for many times today, I walked behind him and massaged his shoulders and neck.

You keep sighing, is your work today not going well?

Xu Mo: Is not. It's just that the efficiency is not as high as usual.

MC: Is it too tired?

MC: Xu Mo smiled and took my hand, leaned a little later, half leaning on me.

He took off his glasses and put them on the table. The eyes that looked at me were full of clarity, and there was no fatigue.

Xu Mo: If you are here, I will be distracted.

Xu Mo: Are you hungry, do you want to eat first?

The noon daylight gradually slanted, and the crisp keyboard tapping in my ears stopped.

Xu Mo stood up and moved his shoulder and neck slightly.

The work is more cumbersome than I thought, and it may take more time.

Xu Mo: Why not we have lunch together?

MC: It would be nice if Professor Xu Mo could eat as well as he did today in his usual work.

Xu Mo: With your strict supervision, I am getting healthier day by day.

Xu Mo got up and put on his coat, and naturally brought me a coat and hat.

Xu Mo: For the restaurants nearby.

Seeing Xu Mo's thinking, I interrupted him first.

MC: Today I am here to do "Professor Xu Mo's Ecological Observation", so just go to the place where you usually eat.

Xu Mo: But I usually.....

I can probably guess what he said subconsciously. I squinted at Xu Mo.

MC: Did you really eat well under my supervision?

Xu Mo: ....

Xu Mo: Compared to before, my life is indeed much healthier. Especially the love bento you sent, I ate them on time.

MC: Huh?

MC: What about when I didn't send it? Is it not on time?

I did not let Xu Mo go, but further "questioned" him.

Xu Mo: Overall.... it is on time.

Xu Mo turned his gaze away with a rare guilty conscience, and gave an ambiguous answer.

MC: Then take me to the place where you usually eat now.

MC: I have to supervise the cunning big fox Professor Xu!

Although I am always amused by him accidentally, I will never compromise in this kind of place.

Xu Mo: Alright, I get it.

Xu Mo: In the future, I will follow MC's requirements more strictly and try to ensure that I work and rest regularly.

Seeing that I couldn't help but Xu Mo could only sigh and surrender.

Xu Mo took me to a small restaurant near the research center.

Most of the diners who come and go in the store wear badges from the research center.

MC: It seems that this is still a popular meal of the research center.

Xu Mo and I stood at the end of the ordering queue, looking up at the short menu. The dishes were almost occupied by sandwiches, burgers and pizza.

MC: But the food does not seem to be too rich...

Xu Mo: Yes. After all, people usually think more about how to make eating time the most efficient than enjoying food.

Xu Mo: If you have not forgotten to eat, you will choose food that is portable and can be eaten as quickly as possible.

Xu Mo: So you can finish a meal while walking or working.

Xu Mo didn't look at the menu and ordered a sandwich when it was our turn.

It seems that he does come here often.

The clerk clearly placed the order and settled the bill. The smooth and streamlined movements are in line with efficiency aesthetics.

MC : I'm going the other way with you, and I will never give up any chance to enjoy food

MC: Occasionally, I ran for a cup of coffee during my lunch break.

MC: After all, eating is a very happy thing.

Xu Mo: Yes. Indeed it is.

MC: Xu Mo looked at me as if he missed and said with joy.

Xu Mo: I didn't think three meals a day were important or pleasant.

Xu Mo: But I found it now.

Xu Mo: This feeling is especially strong when you eat the rice cooked by this "Snail Girl".

Almost as soon as I was seated, the clerk had already delivered some nice sandwiches.

MC: Huh? Is this restaurant serving food so fast?

The sandwiches on the tray are very rich in content, some vegetables and meat, and it seems that there is an egg in it.

MC: Is this your usual lunch?

Xu Mo nodded and unpacked.

Xu Mo: The sandwiches in this shop are very popular in the research center.

MC: Is it because the nutrition is balanced and delicious?

Xu Mo: Would you like to taste it?

Xu Mo smiled and split off a corner of the sandwich and handed it to me.

While talking, other meals were also delivered over.

In such a comparison, I always feel that the sandwich in front of me looks very simple.

But as the saying goes, the food is not good.

MC: Well.... the nutrition seems to be very balanced.

I returned Xu Mo with a bright smile.

Xu Mo: Doesn't it taste good? It's better to say that it was just enough to swallow it just now.

MC: ....

MC: It must be that the ingredients used in the store are more particular, right? It can add rich nutrition.

Xu Mo: It's just ordinary ingredients.

Xu Mo: From a nutritional point of view, meat is somewhat insufficient, and the intake of carbohydrates and protein is definitely not enough.

I tried to maintain the smile on my face, somewhat worried whether the store would hear this straightforward conversation and swept us out.

Xu Mo: However, it has a unique advantage that it can become the favorite food in the hearts of researchers at the research center.

I opened my eyes slightly and listened carefully.

Xu Mo: High speed.

MC: What?

Xu Mo: The serving speed is very fast, if it is taken away, the speed is even faster.

MC: So that's all...

Xu Mo: Someone once did statistics...

Xu Mo: If you order this sandwich in this restaurant, you can save at least 13 minutes and 22 seconds even during peak dining periods.

As I listened to this so precise and unnecessary data, my brain gradually emptied.

Does the research scope of the research center cover this kind of place?!

Xu Mo: This statistical report covers all shops within a walking distance of 20 minutes, and the credibility is very high.

MC: That's it, everyone at the research center are so strictㅡ

Xu Mo was amused by my lack of emotional ups and downs, and he pushed my burger toward me.

Xu Mo: But the taste of other dishes should be normal and worth eating.

Sure enough, the beef Hamburg, which looked very tender and juicy, basically reached the standard of "delicious".

Compared with the tasteless sandwich just eaten, it can be called "delicious."

MC: So, do you usually eat this kind of food for lunch?

Xu Mo: Yes. This is considered to be one of the most optimal in all aspects

Xu Mo bit the sandwich in his hand and explained the facts calmly.

MC: Although time is important and this sentence is also very long-winded, I still think three meals a day are very important

MC: After serious work, it is worth rewarding yourself with delicious, nutritious and balanced food.

MC: Eating enough and sleeping well is not only a guarantee of life, but also a statement to myself: Today I am also living seriously.

Facing my serious "preaching" Xu Mo stretched out his fingers to smooth my frowning brows, and smiled a little happier than before.

Xu Mo: It is as expected.

Seeing me looking at him a little puzzled, Xu Mo smiled and fed me a piece of French fries, and continued to speak.

Xu Mo: Several times, when I ate sandwiches from this restaurant, I wondered how you would react if you came here and ate the same food as me.

Xu Mo: When you taste the taste, you will definitely hesitate to say it bluntly.

Xu Mo: You will definitely tell me after listening to my reasons for choosing it, to eat well and take care of yourself.

Xu Mo: My guess was not wrong.

MC: Hm....

MC: Why do you think of me at this time?

Xu Mo: When you encounter all kinds of things, you will always share with me

Xu Mo: Every time I receive a message from you and learn about every bit of your life, I am very happy.

Xu Mo: Of course I would want to do the same thing.

Xu Mo: Rather, it is the most normal thing to unconsciously think of the people you care about in every bit of your life.

Xu Mo's tone was light.

This is indeed an ordinary thing.

But this kind of thing, being said so bluntly and seriously by him, still makes my cheeks hot.

MC: You, why don't you hurry up and try other foods?

MC: This pizza looks delicious. Would you like to try it?

As if to conceal my feeling of making a fuss about "normal things", my body has already taken a step before my reaction.

(karma CG included)

I picked up the pizza just baked and handed it to Xu Mo.

MC: Is it a sweet pizza that you haven't tried before, try it?

Xu Mo didn't take the pizza I handed over, but just bent down and bit the tip of the pizza.

His snort rubbed my fingers, it was warm and a touch of humidity.

The reduced distance is like a switch that flashes a similar scene in my mind.

Xu Mo: is good?

Xu Mo who bit the pizza opened his eyes slightly.

MC: Is the pizza with cheese, blueberry and honey taste too weird?

I looked at Xu Mo's face and tried to find the answer in his expression.

Xu Mo moved closer to my side and bit off the cheese.

Probably the pizza that was just out of the oven was still a little hot, Xu Mo didn't speak immediately, but motioned for me to try it too.

MC: It is good!

On the first bite of the pizza, I also opened my eyes wide and nodded to Xu Mo frequently.

MC: it's nice!

MC: Unexpectedly, there is such a delicious thing hidden in a place so close to the research center!

The little beauty and surprise that I suddenly found, the joy that I shared with my favorite person the first time...

The scent of blueberries and the sweet taste of honey are intertwined, and the heart is full of satisfaction.

Xu Mo: It seems that I am too underestimated and I am too used to this restaurant.

MC: Coming with you today is really rewarding!

Xu Mo: Indeed it is.

As Xu Mo said, he picked up another slice of pizza and handed it to me, his eyes were softer than the lemon-colored sunlight outside the window.

Xu Mo: Even if I'm very familiar with the things I am used to, when I'm with you, it will always be different.

Xu Mo: It seems that as long as I look at you, I won't miss all the beautiful things.

Xu Mo's voice is still so faint, with some warmth and softness in the heart.

MC: In the future, I will continue to work hard to discover the little beauty in life.

MC: So Professor Xu will continue to rest assured with me.

He did not speak any more, just smile and stretch out his finger and wiped the corners of my mouth.

There have been many times when he used the same tone and tone to explain a certain theory and a certain truth for me.

Just now, he told me more facts about himself.

Small, ordinary facts have not been verified by large sections of papers, nor are they new discoveries that shock the world.

But it is absolutely correct and constant like any other law that constructs this world.

It was enough to make my heart beat faster than usual.

--- END ---

I’m sorry if there’s some mistranslation. Kindly tell me if you found some :) thank you for read it~ ^^

[papergirllife]

Chapter 2

Synopsis:

You don’t know what it’s like to be free, to make your own choices, and live your own life. For your whole life, your parents have been treating you like a puppet on strings, controlling your life to every single detail, as well as ignoring the fact that you have feelings. Other times, when you disobey their wishes, or speak up about your own opinions, they bash you down with words, in other words, psychological abuse, has led you down the long winded road of depression and anxiety. What happens when you meet a man who’s willing to be your guide out of this terrible downpour? Would you give a shot at happily ever after?

Warnings:

big age gap (kinda?)

issues on anxiety

issues on depression (mild)

issues on parental abuse

smut (maybe)

Tag List: @etherealtyjaem​ ,  @caratzennie  , @johnnysuhnflower  , @euphoricchannie  ,  @yeollieseo  ,  @jjhmk  , @sherzess

(lmk if you wanna be on the list) (and sorry for reposting, it just won’t show on the tags)

The new house you’ve just moved in was small, you were perfectly fine with the size, you always stayed in your room anyways, the sizes elsewhere doesn’t really matter. It wouldn’t have been an issue if they weren’t making a fuss outside. They were yet again arguing about the company’s debts and complaining about the recent stock market turn outs. Your parents sold the old house in order to pay off some of the company loans, moving into a decent condominium in the older township.

Why are they so obnoxiously loud? Why can’t they talk like normal civilised people? They had an awful habit of shouting from one room to another, even if it’s about 3 feet apart, the study to the kitchen like it was just steps away.

You placed your pillow on top of your ear as the other was covered with the other one you’re sleeping on, you woke up from nightmares just this morning and needed a nap, but from the looks of things, you weren’t getting one anytime soon.

You reluctantly got up from your bed and told them to lower down their voices, but they just ignored you, as they always did. After the third time of fruitless attempt, you’ve given up hope on resting, but your body wasn’t happy with what was happening, the voices in your head hammering in your head, blaming you for what happened as you felt your heartbeat quicken, your breathing staggered. You could feel your whole body tense up as tears started to cloud your vision.

You inhaled deep breaths as you tried to push the anxiety attack away, humming a song, fiddling with a pen, but nothing you read on the internet helped. You hugged your knees towards your chest as you sat on the corner of your room, trying to muffle your choked sobs. A sentence you kept repeating in your head like a mantra,

‘make it stop.’

It’s currently 10 a.m. and your parents are rushing you to hurry up with your morning routine as they have an important meeting with some potential investor, they’re taking you along because they need an errand girl to buy them coffee and in case of any other task that is deemed much too troublesome for them like filing away documents or printing out contracts.

You woke up at the crack of dawn to get ready, so to say that you were tired after yesterday’s ordeal was an understatement. As your father told you to double check the files needed in the bag, you found out you left one up stairs, your palms sweaty as you informed them of your mishap.

“How can you be so dumb?! This is why you’re such a failure of a person! I told you to prepare everything last night! Were you day dreaming again?!” your father bellowed from the driver’s seat, his angry eyes filled with rage whenever his gaze darted to your sight through the rearview mirror, putting your lives at risk on a busy road.

You bite back retorts, head hung low through out the quick detour back, exiting the car alone to go back up and retrieve the file you left behind.

Not a day goes by where they don’t criticise you for something you did, whether an accident or not. You can feel your anxiety levels going up again as your heartbeat picks up speed, a wave of sadness coming over you. You quickly recalled a familiar song to block out their hurtful words ringing in your head.

“Useless piece of shit,” your father mumbled as he drove, throwing a clothe he uses to clean his car on your face, the rough material stinging you.

As you dug through your pockets for loose change in your jacket, your fingers found a card instead, it was Mr Suh’s card.

I can take you away from all this chaos raging among your family, if you can call it a family that is. I’ll be seeing you soon, Y/N.

‘What does he mean?’ you wondered.

“Miss, you’re holding up the queue. Do you have 50 cents or not?” the cashier at your local starbucks snaps at you, yanking you away from your own thoughts.

“Sorry, I don’t,” you apologised.

You looked around you to see the long line behind you and the usual full house condition of the cafe, sighing at what you call a norm of your life now, being an errand girl for your parents, and not even a little bit of acknowledgement of your existence nor feelings.

‘Can Mr Suh really make all this stop?’ you asked yourself.

Now you think you’re ridiculous for thinking a man of such wealth and power would be interested in a girl with such a puny presence among a crowd and not even a valued family member in your family’s eyes. He’s going to get bored of a girl like you someday, how long would he stay interested? A week? A month? A year? You doubt you’ll even last a night.

You begrudgingly took the bagged coffee from the counter and quickly walked back to your parent’s office block, head hung low as you thought about your parents’ attitude if this investor ends up leaving them empty handed, shivering at the thought of being their ‘mental stress ball’.

“I’m sorry, but the debts your company is in isn’t something we’d want to have on our company’s reputation if we invested. Thank you for having us,” the man in the middle, presumably the boss said, a bored look on his face.

Just like that the investors stood up and walked out the glass door of the office. Once they were out, your parents let out a frustrated groan. You quickly hurried to close up the office as they always told you to after a meeting on weekends without workers in the office.

A month later

The company is now under leased after being certified bankruptcy. Your parents’ savings are running low, so they told you to get a part time job at a local western grocer that rich people of Seoul go to for groceries that could most probably buy you a meal at your nearby convenience store, at the winery section, where you are now giving out samples to the customers.

It wasn’t an easy job, the customers here have high standards, whatever you’re giving out as samples are always deemed lacked elegance compared to the ones that they usually have, yet they always come back for more samples the next time they come to pick up groceries, and if they’re in a good mood, they might actually buy something. People who act rich but actually aren’t as wealthy as what they boast always ticks you off, they remind you of your own family.

On Friday nights, when the alcohol section always closes earlier are the times when you’ll head to the bookstore in the same mall you were working at to read, you knew that’s a really rude thing to do, but you can’t afford buying books anymore. So you read a few chapters every night, and slightly more on Friday nights, you never told your parents about the different working hours on this particular day of the week, you don’t want to go back earlier just to see their scowling faces as they hunch over different sorts of bills and statements.

You finally found a way to cope with your anxiety levels and depression by working out early in the morning, you read from the newspapers at the worker’s lounge in the grocer that it helps, and so you gave it a try, little did you know that you would enjoy it and the feeling of staying fit boosted your confidence. But on days when you felt tired and didn’t achieve the results you were aiming at, your mind reminds you of the times when your parents called you ugly, it was started when they found out you were dating, on those days, a shut of your eyes and you’ll remember the scene of them hitting you unfolding once again, if you focused hard enough you could still feel the sting on your face.

You pushed those thoughts away as you quickly packed up for the night, as you were preparing to leave, a man came in your section, requesting to buy a bottle of wine. You were going to say that the winery section is closed, but as you turned around, the words got stuck in your throat.

It was Mr Suh, dressed in his usual working attire. Even after sitting in the office for a whole day, he still looks breathtaking, his clothes held no crease.

“Y/N,” Mr Suh said your name, the corners of his lips tugging up in a smile.

He remembers you? After so long?

“Mr Suh. H-how can I help you?” you asked, eyes darting around hoping that there aren’t any more customers, worried that they’ll realise that you were letting Mr Suh in despite the closing time.

You weren’t as anxious as talking to strangers before, but Mr Suh was no stranger to you, not really anyways, and he always had an aura that made you shy away from his presence.

“I’m looking for a bottle of Pinot Noir by Emos,” Mr Suh told you.

You took tiny but hurried steps towards a counter where the grocer kept its more expensive bottles, typed in the password and handed it to him. You silently went to the counter, typing in the bottle’s code to ring up the register.

Mr Suh handed you 200 dollars, for a bottle that only costed 85. When you opened your mouth to tell him about the error, he stopped you.

“That’s tip for bothering you after working hours, keep it,” he said. 

You tried to disagree, but he refused, saying that it is what he should do. Mr Suh bid you goodbye, before he leaves your sight, he looks back at you with an odd glint in his eyes, one that you fail to read once again.

“I’ll see you soon, Y/N.”

The wine was supposed to be for his conquest tonight, yet when he walked through that hotel door, he knew he wasn’t going to enjoy tonight at all. Maybe the girl isn’t pretty enough? No, she was his usual take on girls he brings to bed, but something was very much off.

Johnny didn’t usually mind a bit of harmless flirting over wine before sex, he did have a tiring day at work, usually this process would calm him down a bit before getting down to business. However, he found the flirting part rather boring and very much tedious today, the girl’s flirty remarks seemed it was droning on to no end. So he sped things up, the wine long forgotten as their limbs tangle up with the sheets.

There was something nagging him behind his head, he couldn’t place a finger on it, until when he closed his eyes, instead of seeing the girl beneath him, he saw you, your tiny body beneath his as your beautiful glossy eyes look into his, the size difference between the two of you significant in his head. That was the image that kept him going, the usual him would open his eyes wide and take in the figure beneath him, but today he kept his eyes closed as he places his head on her shoulder, that action might seem affectionate, but this was just an excuse for Johnny to let his imagination run wild without being questioned.

Johnny left after washing up in the bathroom, leaving just after one round isn’t his style at all, usually Johnny could go up to four or five if he enjoyed the first round, Johnny lets out a big sigh as he gets back into the car, he should’ve asked you to dinner instead of wasting time fucking a girl just to have him imagine her being you in order to finish up.

Johnny puts his car on drive as he swiftly leaves the parking lot, hoping a night’s sleep would clear his thoughts of you. But as Johnny’s head hits his soft pillow, he could only ask himself.

‘What are you doing to me, Y/N?’

When you woke up the next day after a long night of reading through your business course books, trying to take in whatever you can before they realise that you don’t really know what you’re reading at all.

You walked out to the kitchen to grab a quick breakfast, but before you got there, you heard voices.

“We can’t send her college, we don’t have any money left,” you heard your father’s voice say.

“But it’s her future, you’re going to put that after the company?” your mother’s voice questions.

“It’s not like she’s smart enough for it anyways. I walk by her room while she studies, and it seems like she’s just staring at an empty void, we can’t place our future in her hands, we’ll starve!” your father argues back.

What your father said had stung your heart, but after a minute or so after taking it in, it wasn’t the first time they had said such hurtful words about you. You dragged your feet back to bed, no longer having the appetite for breakfast.

You went out for a run when you felt your heartbeat quicken up as your mind floods back all the bad memories that were brought forth because of the conversation you overheard between your parents, trying your best to avoid a full on anxiety attack.

Johnny loves weekends, it was the only time he could invest himself into working out instead of the short two hours he does before work, the gym is the place where he built up his high self esteem, and it’s the reason other than his good looks of course, that brings all the girls into his sight.

Yet he didn’t feel like he achieved as much in the gym after last night’s events. Yes, he did give in his full attention in all the exercises. He purposely slept early so he could feel energized today. Yet he didn’t have the desire to show off his body through a one night stand. The party that he said he would go seemed troublesome instead of his usual excitement of knowing he wasn’t going to bed alone. He took out his phone to text his friend that he was going to sit this one out, making up an excuse about not feeling well.

Johnny was laying around watching television as he scrolled through the latest news of the stock market, feeling a sense of pride as he sees his company’s stock rising after he had taken over from his father.

The familiar chime of his grandfather clock in the corner alerts Johnny of the time, 7 chimes means 7pm. Something suddenly clicks in his head, the sign that states the operating hours for the winery in the mall, you were going to go off work in thirty minutes.

Johnny quickly changes into jeans and a black knitted sweater that hugs his physique perfectly, styling his hair a bit before heading out his door, a smile unconsciously gracing his pretty lips.

When Johnny got to the winery section, he was disappointed to see that you had left, only left with a promoter of some beer, he tried his luck with the staff, hoping to know your whereabouts.

“It’s a Saturday today, so I think she’s off to buy a cup of instant noodles for dinner, she’ll either be at the cashier counters now, or eating at the food court.”

Johnny thanks the promoter as he rushes to the counters, he wouldn’t have spotted you if he didn’t recognise the baby blue checkered scrunchie popping up from the crowd that you wore the last time to match your uniform.

Johnny makes his way in between the masses of people, making some people frown in disbelief as his large figure makes them move away. Johnny plucked the cup of instant noodles out of your hand when he got there, making you jump in fright from the sudden intrusion of your wandering thoughts.

“Mr Suh?” you addressed him when you looked up to see who had took away your favourite brand of cup noodles.

“You’re not eating that tonight, come with me,” Johnny said, his voice more cheerful than the previous times you had seen him, but why?

Johnny takes your hands in his, a smirk making way on his face as he feels your small shaky hands in his large ones, he didn’t mind one bit, instead he likes how shy you are around him. Johnny places the cup of instant noodles on some nearby shelf before dragging you out of the grocer.

When he was out, he stopped in his tracks, turning around to look at you, trying to look into your eyes that were darting away from his. He finds it endearing, how you’re always so nervous whenever you’re with him, it was something very much new to him.

Johnny suggests a few high class restaurants for dinner, rattling off big names in hopes to impress you.

“I-i was only planning to have a cup of instant noodles, Mr Suh. Anything’s fine to me,” you said after many times of trying to tell him that he didn’t need to take you out for dinner.

“But I want you to choose. Go ahead, anywhere you want,” Johnny said and waits, curious of what you’ll pick.

You rocked on you heels and bit your lip in thought as you wrecked your head for ideas to get yourself out of this situation, but you couldn’t help but feel the desire to grab dinner with him instead of eating cup noodles at the food court alone again, and the fact that his hand was still held onto yours made you feel a sense of serenity and had a need to stay with him.

“Do you have somewhere which makes you feel like a child again when you eat their food?”

Johnny was taken back by such a request. Was it touching? He hasn’t felt that from anyone else other than his family and a handful of close friends, certainly not a lady other than his mom. Was it different? Yes. But was it bad? Certainly not, instead he feels a tug in his heart. The girls he met only made requests, instead of asking for his opinion, because they know he could afford anything they requested for, but then there’s you, breaking all of those other girls’ standards. You were also the first one who made him speechless, even if it was just a mere seconds.

“I know a place.”

You genuinely didn’t know why you had made such a sentimental suggestion, you just thought that food from a restaurant that reminds him of home would mean that it was affordable, but other than that reason, it was because if you were to have dinner with a man whom you only had met a handful of times, you might as well get to know him better by knowing little things about him.

You weren’t dumb, you remember what he had said about being interested in you, and that having dinner with him was a risk to your own safety as well. Yet you couldn’t stray away from his dashing smile and the way his eyes shine so brightly when he sees you.

You were slowly falling down the rabbit hole.

The interior of his car had several alterations made to suite his liking, it was interesting, compared to the people who just bought cars based on their ranking and wealth just for bragging rights in an afternoon tea. His car even smelt nice, like the Jo Malone cologne you’ve taken a whiff from the sample sticks given out, you wonder if that’s what he usually wears to work.

You couldn’t help but steal peeks at Mr Suh when he drives, the way he’s so concentrated and how he could casually drive with only one hand on the wheel made you swoon slightly in the passenger seat as his rnb music plays on the radio. You shouldn’t be thinking about Mr Suh this way regardless that he’s interested in you, especially given that the two of you have quite a large age gap, as well as the fact that you weren’t allowed to date until after college. If your parents found out about you going out with Mr Suh, they’re going to skin you alive. That thought made you shiver as you suddenly realise that you can’t be seen with a man out in public, if any of your relatives find out, they’ll definitely snitch on you.

You lowered yourself in the seat as you hope that you won’t run into any of your family members when you reach wherever Mr Suh’s taking you. The drive was quiet, only the radio playing softly in the background, making you feel relaxed. Suddenly, Johnny stopped at the traffic lights, taking a long look at you from his seat.

“Why did you suggest eating somewhere which reminds me of my childhood?” Johnny asked, his eyes full of seriousness.

“I-i just wanted to get to know you better, is that not the right way to make friends?” you answered, glad that you’ve pondered this question yourself.

“It’s not the usual way, but I like how you think, Y/N,” Johnny said before he averts his attention back on the road when the lights turned green.

Johnny could sense something was off with you from the way you looked around anxiously from your seat when the both of you reached your destination, the way your brows furrowed and the way your jittery fingers mindlessly move about. It wasn’t a shady part of town, although the two of you were at the slightly older establishments of Seoul.

“Are you alright? Why are you suddenly so nervous?” Johnny asked, worry written on his face.

You looked down on your fingers that were splayed across your lap, twitching the hem of your skirt to try and calm your nerves with no avail, but you had to say something, Mr Suh, as you’ve grown to realise is a man who’s persistent and straight forward.

“I’m worried that we’ll bump into anyone I know. I’m...I’m not supposed to be  seeing anyone or going out with people without permission,” you told him, embarrassed at the fact that you were still very much on a leash despite being an adult.

Johnny feels a sense of guilt settling down his stomach as he sees your eyes avoiding him, if he could take a guess, you must feel embarrassed right now, to have a family like that, maybe that’s why you distant yourself from people around you, they must’ve judged you based on your parents’ decisions towards your life.

Johnny reached towards the spare sweater he kept in his gym bag and handed it to you.

“Here, this has a hoodie. I don’t think anyone would be able to recognise you with it on,” Johnny said in a gentle tone, not even a hint of judgement in his voice.

You obliged and slipped the sweater on, as well as the hoodie onto your head. The sight of your small figure drowning in Johnny’s hoodie made him smile, he never thought his clothes would look so cute on you.

“Come on, it’s peak hour and I’m starving,” Johnny said with a smile that seems to always lift your mood.

You nodded mindlessly, eyes gazed into his warm honey filled eyes and soft smile. When Johnny’s trance broke on you, you quickly reached for the car door, only to see Johnny opening it for you.

‘Must be nice to have long legs to walk that fast,’ you thought to yourself.

But when he held his hand out to help you out of the car, that’s when your head went haywire and could only feel your cheeks burning up from the gentlemanly gesture that you hadn’t expected.

You hope your hand wasn’t shaking as obviously as it felt, or that would’ve been very embarrassing, you thank the skies for the chilly weather, or your hands would’ve started getting clammy from what a nervous wreck you’ve become.

The cold was getting to you as the both of you were waiting in line for a table and Johnny could tell from the way you subtly rubbed your neck, hands lingering there to leave some warmth as the wind blows by. Without thinking, he grabs the drawstrings of his hoodie and secures it surrounding your face like a cute chipmunk.

“There, all better.”

He could tell how nervous his bold action made you feel from the way you stuttered out a thank you, the two words almost lost in the wind from how soft it sounded.

Johnny didn’t know why, but the way you’ll get all flustered from his actions warms his chest like a cup of hot coco in the winter snow.

Not long after, the two of you had gotten a tiny table for two. It was cramped, but Johnny didn’t mind, as long as it’s this restaurant, and as a plus, he could see your face from a closer perspective. He was secretly admiring the shape of your cute little nose while he pretended to look through the menu that he knew like the back of his palm.

“What’s your favourite on the menu? I don’t know what to try first, all the pictures look so nice,” you said as your eyes was open wide with interest, taking in the photos of the food on the colourful menu.

Johnny was taken aback on how you had asked for his opinion instead of the demands of carvier and champagne that he used to hear all the time. He must’ve had a weird look on his face, because the silence made you furrow your brows.

“I’m sorry, that must’ve sounded weird and came off as boring, but I really don’t know what to get, so I thought you should suggest me something since you seem to come here often. Sorry, I ramble a lot when I’m nervous, I’m not a very sociable person, so the things I say might come off as odd...

“No, Y/N, listen, it’s fine. I like it when you talk, and it’s cute that you ramble. And no, I don’t find you odd or boring. I was just surprised you’d ask for my opinion, not many people do that unless it’s about business. I’m glad that you value my opinion, even if it’s just dinner,” Johnny explained, he wanted to listen to your voice longer, but the thought of anything making you uncomfortable surprisingly annoyed Johnny.

It was the first time someone had not found you awkward when you started rambling, you didn’t do it on purpose, it was just that the lack of human interaction made you socially anxious about talking to people and when you want to express something. Johnny is truly an eye opener for you.

Johnny might have ordered a little bit too much for the two of you, but he could always take away and leave it for Mark when he drops by tomorrow. Although Johnny had came here many times, mostly on his own or with Mark, he couldn’t deny the satisfaction and happiness that filled his heart as you tried all the dishes with the most wholesome expressions on your face.

You weren’t Johnny’s workers or business partners, you didn’t need to appease him and give him positive reactions, because with you, he wasn’t Neo Enterprise’s CEO, he was just Johnny and it doesn’t bother him one bit.

The two of you talked about the most random things, from Johnny’s business partners Taeyong and Doyoung fighting in his office, to the time you pranked your co worker by mixing some heavy alcohol into his coffee.

“He couldn’t tell?” Johnny asked, curious because he was a coffee addict himself.

“He thought it was just part of the flavour, it was one of those seasonal starbucks drinks that he bought,” you explained.

Johnny paid for dinner before you could protest and refused to take your money when you had offered to pay him back your share.

You trudged beside Johnny silently when he said that he was going to take you home, you haven’t had such a nice time since forever, and you didn’t want this beautiful moment to come to an end.

You had a sad smile on your face as you watched Johnny drive, it was a peaceful scenery to take in, his face calm as he steered comfortably, the radio once again playing softly in the background.

When you had reached your house, you didn’t really know how to react, other than looking at him silently as he does the same as well.

“Thank you for tonight Johnny, I haven’t had this much fun in a long time,” you said genuinely, grateful that someone as interesting as Johnny would even bother giving you the time of the day.

You figured that this was the polite thing to say, but you inwardly cursed at yourself for sounding like a robot. You shouldn’t be reacting this way, especially due to the fact that he’s so much more older than you are, maybe not too old, 5 to 6 years maybe? Is that considered a big age gap?

“I had a great time with you too, Y/N. Thank you for having dinner with me,” Johnny said, usually he spoke this sentence like a little white lie to whoever he had to meet for business sake, but to you? It was nothing but the truth.

Johnny continued holding his stare even after what he said, the sincerity in his eyes evident as a soft smile graces his lips.

“You should head up now, Y/N. It’s already 9 p.m., if you stay any longer they’ll be suspicious,” Johnny reminded you.

“Yeah, okay,” you replied, immediately feeling down once more.

Even after you agreed to go up, your legs weren’t willing to move, you were going to miss him, so you asked him one last question before you willed yourself to open the car door, you were going to sound desperate, but in that moment, you didn’t have a care in the world.

“Will I ever see you again?”

Happiness fills your heart as you heard the question that comes after.

“Are you working tomorrow?”

[elentiyawhitethorn]

Sneaking Around | Chapter Nine

All of the next week passed without any problems. Aelin prided herself on being responsible, especially in the workplace, causing her not to summon Rowan to her office and lock the door. Damned responsibility.

It was now officially one week from Christmas. Work was out until after the holiday. This was Aelin’s favorite time of the year. Now some of the office gang was gathering at the bar at the end of Friday to celebrate this exciting fact. Lots of other employees had had the same idea, and Ansel was very busy. Lorcan was also excluded (that’s what he gets for working at a gym). Elide, Gavriel, and Manon were working late. Lysandra and Aedion had gone to get drinks and failed to return. Shocker.

Vaughan had just gone to the bathroom, and at this moment, Fenrys and Connall, the bastards, made an announcement. “Rowan,” said Fen, “we have a surprise for you.”

Connall continued, “You haven’t been in a relationship for, like, years.” Aelin, the only other person at the table right now, snickered at this. That is, until she tried to figure out where this was going.

Fenrys spoke again. “And so, we have arranged a date for you.”

Rowan, quite understandably, looked utterly shocked and quite a bit horrified. “Um, no.”

Connall winced. “Now, hear us out. Of course you’re angry. But. She’s hot.”

“Very hot,” added Fenrys.

Rowan scowled. “I don’t need your help getting a girlfriend, thank you. Stay out of my love life.”

“But dude,” Fenrys pleaded. “She’s a family friend, and she’s totally looking forward to her date with my lovely coworker. That’s you, by the way.”

Rowan didn’t even bother looking sorry. “I am not going on an arranged date. I can’t fathom why you would tell this woman I’m just going on a date with her. Did you seriously expect me to agree to this?”

“Okay, see,” Fenrys was pleading now. “You totally owe me-”

“For what?” Rowan intervened.

Ignoring him, Fenrys continued. “And she would be really upset if I didn’t pull through. You know, she’s not going to be in town for long. You could just put up with one date, maybe screw her, and you’ll never have to see her again.” Men. Aelin needed new friends.

Rowan sighed. He was pointedly not looking in her direction. “I suppose I feel a little bad now, but I am not going on a date with her.” Aelin could tell from his tone he didn’t feel bad at all.

Connall scowled. “Dude, what, do you have a secret girl or something?”

Rowan almost imperceptibly stiffened and didn’t answer the question. Aelin had frozen as well. Connall’s glare deepened. “Yeah, right. Don’t pretend you’re getting laid just because you don’t want to go on this date. Doesn’t work on me.”

Connall’s stupidity relieved Aelin (he wasn’t the brightest), but she lost all relaxation when she glanced over at Fenrys. He was staring at her as Connall continued to pressure Rowan into agreeing to the date.

Aelin raised her eyebrows in a What? gesture.

Fenrys just stared, until a smirk began to spread across his face. Hell no.

At the sign of Aelin’s panic, his grin grew. Fuck. She gave a slight shake of the head and prayed Fenrys had more compassion than Vaughan would in this situation. Or Lorcan. Or Lysandra. Yes, she definitely needed new friends.

Just as Aelin started thanking the gods for Fenrys’ kindness when he looked away and seemed to drop that revelation, he said, “I seem to recall winning a bet last week, Rowan. Your payment was, if I recall correctly, one favor of my choice.”

Rowan froze once again. Aelin tried not to sigh. “What the hell did you bet on?” asked Aelin in her most amused, but also I-totally-don’t-really-care voice. Fenrys seemed to have figured out what was going on with them, but Connall probably wouldn’t connect the question to anything important.

Rowan did sigh. “I don’t remember. We make so many bets.” Idiot men.

Connall sneered. “It looks like you have to go on the date. And be pleasant; she doesn’t deserve to be scowled at all night just because you’re grumpy.” Aelin, despite herself, snorted at this.

Rowan casually glanced at her and she gave a small shrug. He still hesitated. “I will go on the damned date if I really must, but are you sure you don’t want to spare me? Please, dudes?” Okay, maybe Aelin should be annoyed or jealous or whatever it is normal people feel in situations like this, but she could only bring herself to find it hilarious. She couldn’t help the chuckle that slipped out of her as Rowan continued begging.

Rowan turned and glared at Aelin, then put his gaze back on the twins. “What’s her name?” he asked the boys.

“Remelle.”

And that is how Rowan got roped into a date that was not with his sort-of girlfriend. Aelin laughed again.

-

“So,” said Fenrys, who insisted on walking Aelin to her apartment hours later. Neither were in any state to drive, she and Fen lived near each other, and Rowan didn’t want to risk being spotted with her on the way out. “You’re fucking Whitethorn,” he stated.

Aelin snorted. “Yep.”

Fenrys grinned at her. “I have a few questions. Like how long? And why?”

Aelin giggled. She’d certainly had a lot to drink. “We’re dating. Well sort of. I mean, we’ve gone on dates. And we’re in like. Like in love except it’s like, not love.”

Fenrys chuckled. “You’ve both seemed happier recently. Although we all knew you had some secret lover.”

Aelin giggled again. Beer really did wonders for her. “You’re not nice, though. You didn’t have to make him go on that date when you found out.”

Fenrys seemed quite a bit more sober than her. “I couldn’t help myself. Payback for not telling me.”

Aelin rolled her eyes, almost getting disoriented enough at this to run into the nearby streetlight. Fenrys grabbed her before she could bash her nose in.

“Did you get me all drunk so I’d spill the beans?” Aelin asked.

Fenrys chuckled. “Darling, you got drunk all by yourself.”

Aelin sighed. “Yeah, I guess so.”

Fenrys smiled fondly at her.

-

Fenrys had dropped Aelin off at her apartment and headed to his own. The rest of the walk hadn’t consisted of much questioning, which surprised Aelin at first, but when she thought about it, Fenrys always had his motives.

She was now sitting at the counter the next morning, battling the effects of last night’s drinks; namely, a migraine.

Her phone rang. Aelin picked it up to see Rowan’s name on the caller ID.

“Yeah?” she answered quietly. Ansel was still asleep.

“I wanted to ask you if you’re sure you’re okay with the date. I didn’t have a chance to talk about it last night.”

Just hearing Rowan’s voice made her happy. She didn’t care if the subject of their conversation was some “very hot” woman he was going to have dinner with.

“I’ll admit, it’s pretty weird. If she’s just going to be here for a little bit, though, it’s fine if you get roped into it.”

She could almost feel Rowan’s scowl through the phone. “Um, no, not fine. Not anywhere close to fine.”

Laughing quietly, Aelin said, “You have to admit it’s kind of funny.” When Rowan did not seemed inclined to admit anything of the sort, Aelin continued. “And you had that coming. Who the hell bets favors? You out of cash?” He didn’t respond to this either. “Oh, Fenrys figured it out, by the way. We are damned awful at keeping secrets.”

Rowan sighed. “I can’t argue with that. What did he say?”

“Well, I was rather drunk at the time, but I seem to recall he wasn’t totally horrified or whatever. I doubt he’ll tell. There were surprisingly few questions.”

“Fenrys will be the death of us, I can assure you of that. So, anyways, from Connall I have gleaned that Remelle is hot, sexy, and totally cool. He’s probably exaggerating, but either way, you needn’t feel jealous.”

Aelin laughed. “I wasn’t planning on it. I trust you. If you do cheat on me, though, I’ll kill you.”

Rowan snorted. “I believe it. I won’t, though. Well, technically, is the date in itself cheating?”

“Gods, who cares? Don’t kiss the lady, come back and fuck me. As simple as that.”

Rowan chuckled. “Your wish is my command, Majesty.”

“Dweeb,” Aelin muttered.

They planned to meet tomorrow after Rowan’s date. He was to be polite, leave, and come back to his apartment where Aelin would be waiting. He called her overprotective for wanting to check on him immediately afterwards, to which Aelin just replied he had better WiFi.

Soon after hanging up, Ansel came out of her bedroom. “Calling your lover boy?”

Aelin glanced at the ceiling. “Lord save me. Yes, that was Rowan. I suppose I should fill you in.”

Ansel said after a moment, “Um, I think that’s your queue to say something, not just stand there looking mopey. Oh no, he didn’t dump you, did he?”

A snort from Aelin. “People don’t dump me, A. I’m too irresistible.” She sighed. “Rowan is going on a date.”

“Um, what, with someone else? Wait, but you two were so good together! The slimy bastard. Didn’t he realize you were supposed to be exclusive?”

“We’ve never actually discussed that. No, he’s going on a date the twins set up for him.” Aelin recounted the evening. Ansel was laughing so hard she could barely breathe by the end of it.

“Aw, honey, he’s a gentleman. You don’t need to be worried about him cheating on you.”

“What happened to slimy bastard? And I’m not worried, by the way. I laughed too when this happened. It’s just kind of weird. And Fenrys is lucky I was stone-cold drunk last night or I would have pummeled him.”

Ansel giggled. “I want to high-five him. This is great.”

“Whatever.”

Aelin had been so confident at first, but even though she didn’t feel any more doubtful, she still felt... nervous? No, jealous. Aelin was actually starting to feel jealous of some lady Rowan was probably wasn’t even going to like that much. Hopefully.

At least this Remelle woman sounded nice. Nothing could go wrong there...

-

Aelin sat on Rowan’s couch. It was the next day, about time for Rowan to get back. She was partway through a bag of chips when the door opened.

She turned her head to see Rowan in the doorway. But he wasn’t alone. There was a very pretty woman standing next to him, clutching his arm and giving him a seductive smile.

[bubonickitten]

Fic summary: Jon goes back to before the world ended and tries to forge a different path.

Chapter summary: Jon and Basira make their way to Ny-Ålesund; Daisy and Martin have a long-overdue conversation.

Previous chapter: AO3 // tumblr

Full chapter text & content warnings below the cut.

Content warnings for Chapter 26: panic/anxiety symptoms; brief descriptions of Flesh-domain-typical imagery; discussion of police violence, intimidation tactics, & abuse of authority (re: Daisy’s past actions); mentions of canonical character deaths & murder; reference to a canonical instance of a character being outed (re: Jon’s coworkers gossiping about him being ace); allusions to childhood emotional neglect; a bit of internalized ableism re: ADHD symptoms; discussions of strict religious indoctrination; a physical altercation, including being restrained with a hold; swears. SPOILERS through Season 5.

Chapter 26: Remains To Be Seen

The journey to Tromsø is… uneventful, comparatively speaking.

Almost worryingly so, Jon observes at one point.

You’re fretting because something hasn’t gone horribly wrong? Basira asks.

Aren’t you?

The tension in Basira’s shoulders is answer enough. They’re both on tenterhooks, all too aware of the dreadful species of things that lurk in the margins of the world, any number of which could be waiting in the wings for them.

That’s not to say there are no complications at all. There’s a learning curve to navigating the world blindfolded, but the two of them settle into something of a routine: Basira guiding Jon with a hand on his arm, talking him around obstacles, across gaps, and up and down stairs. An improvised system of nudges and taps develops organically over the course of their travels, starting when Basira realizes that Jon has trouble parsing her words over the noise of a crowd. It becomes their go-to mode of communication with surprising ease.

It’s an exercise in trust oddly refreshing in its mundanity.

Jon finds the blindfold comforting, in its own way: surreal, but somehow not as surreal as the evidence of normalcy all around him. Consistent, straightforward geography is disorientating enough after so long traversing a world knitted together by nightmare logic and allegory. Even more bewildering are the people. Throngs of them go about their day-to-day routines, each preoccupied with their own affairs, taking for granted their relative anonymity against the vast backdrop of the bustling world around them, secure in the privacy of their own thoughts – and blissfully unaware of the alternative.

This is how it should be, he admonishes himself in a weary refrain. People deserve ownership over their own minds, their stories, their secrets. The Archivist in him vehemently disagrees, of course. It’s exhausting, how relentlessly Jon has to challenge that instinctual voyeurism.

Prone to sensory overload, he’s always hated crowds: the noise, the flurry of movement, the press of bodies, the constant threat of unwanted touches, the lack of freedom to move at his own pace. Becoming the Archivist made the experience infinitely worse. The combination of the blindfold and Daisy’s noise-cancelling headphones does little to stem the tide of intrusive knowledge: random scraps of disconcerting trivia, a steady stream of morbid statistics, insights into the deep-seated anxieties of passersby – and, on a few occasions, the whisper of a story to be chronicled. At least the blindfold prevents him from inadvertently locking eyes with anyone.

They try to avoid traveling during peak commuting hours, but not every crowd can be evaded. The first time he wanders into the path of a potential statement giver, Jon nearly causes a pile-up in a congested station, stopping so abruptly in his tracks that the person in the queue behind him crashes headlong into him. Basira manages to catch him before he’s knocked off his feet, keeping a firm grasp on his arm when the panicked urge to flee overtakes him and nearly sends him careening blindly in the opposite direction. When a nearby stranger snipes at him for the nuisance, Jon is surprised at how immediately Basira leaps to his defense.

Back off, she says, the hint of a threat in her tone, before steering Jon out of the crowd and off to the side, where he can lean against the wall and catch his breath. She stands firm between him and the masses, diverting traffic and warding off anyone else who might seek a confrontation, giving him the sorely-needed time to compose himself. He’s certain that she’ll be cross with him after, but… she isn’t.

Tense, certainly. Concerned even. But criticism is bafflingly, mercifully absent.

There are a few more incidents after that, but none quite so dramatic. The instant he senses the Archivist in him stirring, he chokes out a warning to Basira, who turns out to be preternaturally adept at finding (or creating) spaces for him to recoup. With both of them on guard and communicating freely, they manage to avoid being in close quarters with anyone who might have a story to tell.

Tromsø offers a temporary reprieve from all of that. There are people, of course – it’s the busiest fishing port in Norway, the Eye interposes for the fourth time this hour. Jon takes an aggravated swipe at the empty air beside him, once again momentarily forgetting that there’s no pesky swarm of Watchers tagging along for this particular journey. Not visibly, at least.

Still, the open-air piers of a busy fishing port are a far cry from a densely-packed train. There’s a cargo ship scheduled to leave for Ny-Ålesund within the next hour, and Basira is further down the docks meeting with its captain to (hopefully) arrange for passage. Apparently Jon has earned some trust over the course of their travels, because she didn’t object when he requested to stay back and take a breather.

Although the docks of Tromsø bear little resemblance to the beaches of Bournemouth, the calls of seabirds are familiar enough to be meditative. Nostalgic, albeit in an uneasy, bittersweet way. His childhood was riddled enough with nightmares and alienation that thoughts of the place where he grew up are always laced with remembered horror and punctuated by a nebulous sense of grief for what could have been. If he never caught the Spider’s eye; if he never opened the book; if he wasn’t quite so demanding and easily bored and difficult to manage; if his eccentric reading habits were just a bit less finicky, even…

Left to his own devices, Jon could drown himself in what ifs.

A frigid gust of wind whips his hair about. When he reaches up to smooth it down, he finds it coarse from the brine-saturated breeze. Rubbing his fingertips together and grimacing at the faint gritty residue, Jon pulls Georgie’s scarf up over his nose to fend against the nip in the air and he turns his sight to the sky. It’s a stark, pallid grey, the kind of overcast that manages to be blinding-bright despite the sun’s concealment. The sight stings his eyes, but still he does not blink.

It should be exhilarating to look up and see nothing staring back. Instead, the sight fills him with… well, it’s difficult for him to define succinctly. Some peculiar species of dread, mingled with a disquieting, ill-defined sense of longing. Perhaps he’s simply becoming adrift in time again: remembering how it felt to look up at a Watching sky and hopelessly wish for a return to the world as it was, to clouds and stars and void. But he can’t shake the suspicion that it’s at least partly a monstrous yearning for the ruined future from which he came.

He doesn’t know what that says about him. Nothing good, probably.

You miss it, a gloating, sinister little voice concurs from one of the murky, thorny corners of Jon’s mind. You don’t belong here. You Know where you–

Jon’s phone dings several times, yanking him away from that ill-fated train of thought. Grateful for the interruption, he digs it out of his pocket, instantly brightening when Naomi’s name greets him and eagerly opening their text thread.

Jon is too busy smiling to himself to notice Basira’s approach.

“What’s – oh, sorry,” she says when he starts. “Keep expecting you to just sort of… Know I’m here.”

“The Eye doesn’t seem inclined to help me out on that front, unfortunately,” Jon says with an embarrassed chuckle. “If anything, my being jumpy probably feeds it.”

Basira glances down at his phone, then back up at him. “Everything alright?”

“Hm? Oh, yes. Naomi.” Jon’s grin returns. “All her texts from the last couple days just came through at once. She wants to know whether Krampus is real.”

“And what did you tell her?”

“Haven’t replied just yet.”

“Oh.” Basira opens her mouth to say more, then promptly closes it.

A delighted smirk twitches into being at the corner of Jon’s mouth. “Now you want to know as well, don’t you?”

Basira rolls her eyes, but doesn’t deny it. “Later. We have a boat to catch.”

When Jon reaches into his pocket to retrieve his blindfold, Basira shakes her head.

“Best not,” she says. “The captain agreed to take us, but she was leery about the whole thing. I don’t want to give her a reason to reconsider. The less suspicious we seem, the better.”

“Still getting odd stares, then?”

“Getting used to people looking at me like I’m transporting a hostage,” she replies with a tired, beleaguered smile. It fades into a frown as she looks him up and down, taking stock of his shaking hands and the way he leans heavily on his cane. “Alright?”

“A bit sore,” Jon admits, glancing down at his leg. “Probably just been putting weight on it for too long a stretch.”

“We should be able to sit soon. Until then, try not to fall.”

“Or freeze,” Jon says distractedly, glancing warily upwards again.

“Daisy says the cold always gets to her,” Basira says, quietly enough that Jon suspects it wasn’t meant for him. “Seriously, though – you alright? You keep staring at the sky like it’s going to crack open.”

“I’m fine.” Jon shuts his eyes and takes a slow, deep breath. “Just… apprehensive.”

“Sense anything?” Despite her carefully bland tone, the crux of the question is clear.

“Nothing concrete.” No statement givers, he does not say – but Basira nods, understanding his meaning. “I’ll let you know if that changes.”

“Come on, then.” She starts off down the dock – at a brisk pace at first, but slowing when she looks back to ensure that Jon is following and observes his stiffer, more deliberate gait.

He grimaces apologetically. Up until Jane Prentiss and her worms, he was inclined towards speed walking as much as Basira is. Always in a hurry to get nowhere at all, Georgie used to say, simultaneously lamenting and teasing. Not everyone is a power walker, Jon, Martin would gripe from time to time during the apocalypse.

Maybe some of us want to slow down and take in the scenery, he grumbled on one occasion, as they traipsed through a predictably grisly Flesh domain.

The forest of pulsating meat sculptures, you mean? Jon replied primly.

Oh, you’re telling me you don’t feel the overwhelming urge to stop and take notes on the ecology of flesh spiders?

Not as much as I want to get to a place where the ground isn’t a spongy skin trampoline.

Flesh domains always had a tendency to bring out the worst (best?) of their morbid humor, Jon notes upon reflection.

In any case, Jon has always had a tendency to hurry, too impatient to reach his destination to appreciate the journey. Internally, that impulse is still there. On good days, he can almost satisfy that restlessness. Today is not a good day.

Basira stops and waits. It’s a practice that has become second nature to her ever since Daisy emerged from the Buried: learning all the unspoken signals and warning signs of a bad pain day, from barely-suppressed winces and cold sweat to waspishness and stifled, winded breaths; gauging all the fickle fluctuations in mobility in real time through careful, constant observation; and discreetly adjusting her own walking pace to accommodate without question or complaint.

“You know, I haven’t spent much time on boats,” Basira says, apropos of nothing – probably to break the silence as she waits for Jon to catch up. “I’m hoping motion sickness during long car rides isn’t correlated with seasickness. Does the Eye have any statistics handy? Seems like it would qualify as terrible knowledge.”

“Let’s just say you should keep the Dramamine at the ready,” Jon says wryly as he reaches her position.

“Wonderful,” Basira sighs, and she resumes walking, this time matching Jon’s stride.

Martin will be the first to admit that, between the two of them, Jon doesn’t have a monopoly on obsessiveness.

Case in point: Jon and Basira have been gone for five days now, and – in between bouts of worrying over their safety and mounting apprehension about Peter’s inexplicable, persistent hiatus – Martin is still replaying everything he said and did in the moments leading up to Jon’s departure.

Or, more precisely, what he didn’t say.

Nearly two months have passed since Jon returned from the Buried. It’s been nice, it really has, spending time with him. He’s changed – How could he not have? – but he’s still Jon. Even more wounded and jaded than he was before – How much abuse can one person take? – but it hasn’t made him cruel or cold. Harder in some respects, to be sure – namely on himself.

Which is saying something, Martin thinks with a pang. In all the time that Martin has known him, Jon has never been kind to himself. It’s always been a struggle to convince him to take care of himself in the most basic of ways, let alone spare a thought for comfort.

But in other respects, Jon has grown softer. More open, more communicative – more trusting, somehow, despite this world and the next piling on reason after reason for him to detach and withdraw. Martin thinks about that every time the Lonely starts to whisper in his ear. The fog is still there, firmly planted in his mind, choking out his thoughts from time to time like an invasive weed. It won’t be easily uprooted. Seeing Jon alive and trying, reaching out, grasping at warmth, clinging to humanity with all his trademark stubbornness… it makes Martin want to try, too. It makes him want to hope, to look forward and see – to fight for – a future where things are better.

So, yes, Jon has changed. They both have.

I’m not the person you remember, Martin said the first time they spoke after Jon came back. I’m not the person you fell in love with.

Jon had locked eyes with him then, and Martin found that he could not look away.

Martin has spent the majority of his life walking a tightrope, striking an uneasy balance between competing instincts. The part of him that excels in flying under the radar takes comfort in being inconspicuous. There are people out there who see kindness as naivety and trust as a weakness to be exploited. The best way to avoid their notice is to avoid being seen at all, and Martin learned early on that to be unremarkable has its own advantages. All too often, to go unnoticed is to survive.

It isn’t enough to just survive, though, is it? Barely hidden underneath all the abysmal self-esteem and the carefully constructed mask of agreeability, there is a spark of indignation and outrage and want. To be seen is fundamentally terrifying; to demand acknowledgment is to welcome exposure. But Martin has always had a rebellious streak, carving out a space for itself amongst all the loneliness and fear and self-deprecation.

Look at me, it seethes. See me.

And when Jon did look at him – Saw him – an unmistakably pleased little voice jostled its way to the forefront to triumphantly declare, Finally.

Martin, I fell in love with this version of you, Jon said. With every version of you.

It was difficult to believe. Martin didn’t want to believe it. He was afraid to believe it. But he did, and he does, and he feels the same way, and he has for so, so long, and that defiant chip on his shoulder never truly let him forget it, even when isolation had him by the throat–

So why can’t you say it?

Since that day, it hasn’t come up again. Jon is affectionate, far more than Martin would have expected. Sure, Jon has always seemed more natural at expressing his feelings through actions rather than words, but Martin never imagined he would be so… well, cuddly. Jon always struck Martin as averse to touch, keeping people at arm’s length both figuratively and literally. He still is, sometimes. But more often than not, Martin gets the impression that Jon would cling like a limpet if given explicit permission. Martin doesn’t know whether that’s a new development, or whether it’s just that he now numbers among Jon’s rare exceptions.

Maybe I should ask Georgie, Martin thinks, only partly in jest.

There’s still a lingering hesitancy there, though. Yes, when Martin invites contact, Jon jumps at the opportunity to be close. Initiating, though… Jon doesn’t quite walk on eggshells per se, but he moves with a gentleness perhaps too gentle at times. Excessively tentative – but not subtle.

Martin long ago perfected the art of stealing furtive glances at Jon. It’s not difficult. Jon is prone to tunnel vision, predisposed to lose himself in his work or a book or his own mind until the rest of the world outside his narrow focus dissolves around him. If he ever noticed Martin’s eyes on him, Jon never called attention to it.

Jon’s staring doesn’t have the same finesse. His gaze is heavy. Concentrated, unwavering, penetrating – and Jon is painfully self-conscious about that. Prompt to stammer apologies whenever he’s caught watching, quick to avert his eyes. According to him, most people find the Archivist’s attention unnerving. Martin supposes it can be at times, but he’s long since become acclimated to it. Endeared to it, even. It’s grounding, despite how ruthlessly being Seen clashes with the Lonely aspects of Martin’s existence.

Maybe that disharmony is precisely why it’s grounding.

So Jon’s eyes flit to Martin whenever he thinks Martin isn’t looking, and cautious glimpses stretch into riveted, unconscious watching, and Martin graciously pretends not to notice. This has been the status quo for weeks now: faltering not-quite-touches and longing, not-so-surreptitious gazes, interspersed with understated handholding and a few sporadic sessions of what Martin can only call cuddling. All of it has been underscored by three simple words dangling in the scant expanse of empty space between them, waiting for acknowledgment.

Jon is waiting – waiting for Martin – and Jon… Jon has never been good at waiting, has he? Not like Martin. Jon’s directionless fidgeting and bitten-short declarations and absentminded stares betray his buzzing impatience despite his best efforts, but still he’s waiting, with as much valiant restraint as he can muster.

I love you. It’s a truth so obvious that speaking it aloud would hardly qualify as a confession. I love you, Martin thinks, and he feels it down to his bones, woven into the very atoms of him.

It’s difficult to pinpoint when it began. Early on, Martin only wanted to appear qualified to his new supervisor, then to impress him, then to prove him wrong – and then, eventually, to genuinely take care of him. Jon was in need of care, and resistant to receiving it, and that was familiar, wasn’t it? Maybe some desperate, stubborn part of Martin just wanted to be useful for once. To be seen. To succeed with Jon where he had failed with his mother.

Then Prentiss happened. Martin had been certain that Jon would dismiss Martin’s story, reprimand him for his prolonged absence, and snap at him to get back to work. And then… he didn’t.

Your safety is my responsibility, Jon said curtly, showing Martin to his new, hopefully temporary lodgings. I failed you, Jon’s contrite grimace read. I won’t fail you again. Then he immediately strode off to meet with Elias, leaving Martin loitering idly in Document Storage, speechless and bemused.

Maybe that’s where it started: Jon barging unannounced and uninvited into Elias’ office with brazen, unapologetic demands for safe haven and fire extinguishers and heightened security. He even went so far as to persistently badger Elias for customizations to the building’s sprinkler system. That tenacity may have been partly driven by guilt and obligation, but Martin swore he caught glimpses of something more from time to time. Something deeper and more personal, sympathetic and kind.

It started, as so many significant shifts do, with the small things.

Martin retired to Document Storage one night that first week to find extra blankets folded neatly at the end of his cot. I thought you might be cold, Jon admitted upon questioning. It can get chilly in here at night. The pressing question of exactly how many times Jon must have slept here overnight in order to know that was promptly crowded out by a vivid mental image of Jon wrestling a heavy quilt onto the Tube during the morning commuter rush. The thought brought a smile to Martin’s face. He said as much, and Jon immediately fabricated a clumsy excuse to exit the conversation.

On another occasion, Martin opened the break room cabinet to find his favorite tea restocked. He’d been putting off shopping, too anxious to leave the relative safety of the Institute’s walls. I noticed you were running low, Jon mumbled. And I was already at the store anyway, he added almost defensively, eyes narrowing in a stern glare to discourage comment – as if drawing attention to Jon’s random acts of kindness would destroy his curmudgeonly reputation.

Those circumspect displays of consideration were touching in their awkwardness. Jon was gruff and reticent, to be sure, but he cared, in his own unpracticed, idiosyncratic way. And one day, when Martin looked at him, he thought, I’d like to kiss him, and then: Oh no. Oh, fuck.

Jon never seemed to pick up on Martin’s feelings back then. But he knows now – not Knows, just knows – and, impossible as still seems, he returns those feelings. Jon said the words in no uncertain terms, left them in Martin’s care – and now he’s waiting for Martin to make the next move.

So why haven’t you? What are you waiting for?

“Want some tea?”

Martin jumps at the sound of Daisy’s voice.

“Sorry,” she snorts. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“I –” Martin clears his throat, recovering. “Tea. Right. Uh, I can get it–”

“Let me. I need to stretch my legs anyway. And I wouldn’t want to interrupt your pining.”

“Wh-what?” Martin sputters.

“You haven’t turned the page in at least twenty minutes,” Daisy informs him, nodding at the statement resting on the table in front of him. “Liable to burn yourself on the kettle while you’re spacing out, fantasizing about snogging Jon or whatever.”

“Wh– I – you – I’m – why would–”

“Don’t know why you’re being so coy about it.” Her blasé shrug is offset by the devious grin on her face. “Not like it’s a secret you’re on kissing terms.”

“We… we haven’t,” Martin blurts out, heat rising in his cheeks. Immediately, he kicks himself. Given what he knows of Daisy, there’s no avoiding an interrogation now.

“You – wait, really?” Daisy raises her eyebrows. “Why not?”

“It just hasn’t – I – it’s really none of your–” Martin huffs, flustered. “I don’t even know if he does that.”

“Why wouldn’t he?”

“B-because, he…”

Because Martin has a tendency to fade into the background, and people will say a lot of things when they assume no one else is in earshot.

Do you know if he and Jon ever…

No clue, and not interested! Although… according to Georgie, Jon doesn’t.

Like, at all?

Yeah.

Martin cringes at the memory. He wasn’t trying to eavesdrop. He still wishes he hadn’t overheard. Jon was always so tight-lipped about his personal life back then. It felt like a violation of his privacy, knowing something that he would in all likelihood have preferred to keep to himself and share only at his own discretion. Martin tried to put it out of his head, to avoid thinking too hard on the specifics of what Jon “doesn’t” – and, conversely, what he maybe, possibly does – but, well…

Martin shakes his head to clear his thoughts before they can meander any further into the realm of imagination. In any case, he certainly isn’t about to repeat that piece of gossip to Daisy now.

“I – I just don’t want to assume,” he says instead.

Daisy tilts her head, considering. “Well, have you asked him?”

“W-well, no.”

“Why not? Sure, some people aren’t into kissing, I guess, but I doubt he’d mind you asking. Even if the answer is ‘no,’ I guarantee he wants to be close in other ways.” At Martin’s lack of response, Daisy heaves an exaggerated sigh. “He reaches for you every time you’re not looking, you know. Always fidgeting with his hands, like he wants to touch but he doesn’t know how to ask. He’s as bad as you are, pining face and all.”

“I do not have a ‘pining face,’” Martin says. “If you must know, I was worrying just now.”

“You definitely have a pining face, and it’s different from your worried face. When you’re worried, you get all scowly and you chew your lip bloody. You’re focused, intense. When you’re pining, you get this faraway look to you, like you’re not taking anything in. And you touch your fingers to your lips a lot – yeah, like that.”

Martin yanks his fingers away from his mouth as if scalded, glowering indignantly at an increasingly smug Daisy. “What are you, a mentalist?”

“I’ve gotten used to reading people – picking up on openings, weak spots, stress signals, you know. Don’t know whether that’s a Hunt thing or a me thing. Both, maybe.” She shakes her head. “Anyway, you went from worried to pining about ten minutes ago now. And Jon, he’s even easier to read than you are. He’s so far gone for you, I can tease him mercilessly about it and never get a rise out of him. Even when I can get him to bat an eye, he never does that… that flustered denial thing he usually does when you hit a nerve. He just goes all… soft and wistful. Retreats into his own head, gets that smitten little smile – you know the one?”

“Yes.” Martin is blushing furiously now, he’s certain. Daisy flashes him another knowing, unabashedly victorious smirk.

“Point is, our lives are messed up, water is wet, and Jon Sims loves cats and Martin Blackwood, but he’s terrified of crossing some invisible line, so instead he’s just openly pining and it isn’t even fun to tease him about it because he’s too lovestruck to be properly embarrassed about it.” Daisy pauses for a breath. “So, if you want to kiss Jon, you should ask him, because I doubt he’s going to make the first move anytime soon, and it’s getting ridiculous watching the two of you tiptoe around the elephant in the room. So what are you waiting for?”

“How is any of this your business, anyway?” Martin snaps.

“Well, seeing as Jon’s my friend–”

That strikes a nerve, and Martin is reacting before he can properly evaluate the feeling.

“Okay, yeah, about that,” he says sharply. “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Well, all you wanted to do before was hunt him down and hurt him.” Instantaneously, Daisy’s playful demeanor evaporates. “Even after Elias blackmailed you into working for him, you still looked at Jon like he wasn’t human. Not even a monster, either, just – just something you wanted to tear apart, just because you wanted to see him afraid. And now all of a sudden you’re friends? I mean, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that Jon’s willing to overlook a murder attempt. He… he has so little respect for himself, his standards are so…” Martin captures his lower lip between his teeth and bites down until it aches. “He’s so used to being treated badly, the bar is six feet below ground.”

“Yeah,” Daisy whispers.

“But – but what I can’t figure out is what your angle is. You wanted to hurt him, you did hurt him – he still has a scar from where you held a knife to his throat. You would’ve killed him if Basira didn’t stop you.”

“I–”

“He was so afraid of disappearing without a trace, did you know that?” Martin interjects, his face growing hotter as over a year’s worth of pent-up fury boils to the surface.

Martin has read enough statements to know that even one of the encounters representative of the Institute’s collection is one traumatic experience too many. Even so, it’s only a small fraction of the horror stories that have plagued humanity throughout history – that continue to unfold in the present day. How many people suffer something horrible and don’t live long enough to tell the story? The Archive, chock-full of terror though it may be, is an ongoing study in survivorship bias.

“When Prentiss attacked the Institute,” Martin fumes, “Jon was more afraid of that – of leaving nothing behind – than he was of dying. You were going to bury him where no one would ever find him, and no one would ever know what happened to him, and now… now you say you want to be his friend, like nothing ever happened? And I’m supposed to just trust you?”

For a long minute, the only sound is Martin’s rapid, heavy breathing. He doesn’t know what he’s expecting. Combativeness, maybe. For Daisy to get her hackles up, to defend herself against Martin’s implications, to take offense to his accusatory tone. Instead, her entire posture wilts and her shoulders curl inward. It’s as if an invisible weight is pressing against her on all sides, crushing her into something small and taut.

“I guess we’re doing this now, then,” she mumbles.

“Guess we are,” Martin says stiffly, one foot tapping frenetically against the floor as his agitation continues creeping ever upward.

Daisy nods and releases a heavy exhale. “This isn’t just about Jon, is it?”

“I…” Martin trails off as he considers the question. “No. I guess it’s not.”

“Well.” Daisy rubs at her upper arms, eyes fixed on the floor. “Go on.”

“When you questioned all of us – when you interrogated me, you didn’t – you didn’t actually want to find out the truth. You just wanted to get to Jon, because you assumed he was guilty, and…” Martin huffs. “No, it wasn’t even about guilt, was it? You didn’t care about solving Leitner’s murder, you didn’t care about finding Sasha – she could’ve still been alive for all we knew at the time, but you didn’t care whether she was in danger, whether she could be saved. And – and even if we did have proof that she was dead, we deserved to know what happened to her. She deserved better than to be a mystery.”

“You’re right.” Daisy’s soft agreement does nothing to temper Martin’s burgeoning wrath.

“She was my friend, you know that? She was my friend, and you just – dismissed her, like she wasn’t worth remembering, like her life was some – some trivial detail. I didn’t know whether to be afraid for her or – or – or to mourn for her, and all you had to offer was, ‘Jon probably killed her, tell me where he is or else.’ You were a detective, you were supposed to help, but all you cared about was getting to Jon, and you – you – you threatened me because you thought I could tell you where to find him. That you could use me to hurt him.” Martin breathes a bitter chuckle. “I guess Jon was right not to trust the police to figure out what happened to Gertrude.”

Daisy doesn’t deny it.

“So… yeah.” Martin shrugs as his rant tapers off. “That’s where I am, I guess. I know you’ve changed – haven’t we all – but… every time I see you near Jon, there’s a part of me that panics. Maybe I’m not being fair, but I – I can’t forget. I don’t know how to feel.”

Daisy is quiet for a long minute, fingers digging into her arms now, a pained expression lingering on her face.

“I’ve done… a lot of things I’m not proud of,” she says slowly. “Hurt a lot of people. Most more than they deserved. Many who didn’t deserve it at all. Can’t even make apologies to most of them, let alone make amends. I don’t even know if I could make amends. Some things are unforgivable.”

It doesn’t undo what I did, Jon’s voice plays in Martin’s mind. I can’t erase it.

“You should know,” Daisy says, “complete lack of self-respect aside, Jon doesn’t… he doesn’t overlook what I did.”

“What?”

“He knows what I am. What I’ve done. He doesn’t pretend I’m something I’m not, he doesn’t lie to me about what I could become, he doesn’t offer me forgiveness that I don’t deserve, but he still… he still doesn’t expect the worst from me, either. He expects me to make the right choice, even though I gave him every reason not to trust me.”

“He’s still too forgiving,” Martin mutters.

“That’s another thing. I… I don’t think he does. Forgive me, that is.”

“Have you asked him?”

“No.”

“Because you’re afraid to know the answer?” Maybe that’s uncharitable, but Martin never claimed to be an easily forgiving soul. Most people wouldn’t assume it at first glance, but he’s always had a tendency to nurse a grudge.

Daisy hunches even further, her shoulders drawing in tighter.

“Because if he did forgive me, he would tell me,” she says, her throat bobbing as she struggles to swallow. “But he doesn’t. I know he doesn’t, and he shouldn’t, and I’m not going to put him in a position where he has to justify himself, or sugarcoat it, or comfort me for what I did to him.”

Martin doesn’t know what to say to that.

“And the same goes for you.” Daisy steals a quick glimpse at Martin before lowering her head again. “I won’t ask you to forgive me. Ever. But I am sorry – for how I treated you, for what I did to Jon. I’ll never stop being sorry. That doesn’t make it better, I know. But I want to do better. I’m trying to be better. Too little too late, maybe, but I won’t go back to how I was before. I can’t take it all back, but I can at least make sure I don’t hurt anyone else.”

“You sound like Jon.”

“First and second place for guiltiest conscience, us,” Daisy says with a tired chuckle. “And I don’t know which of us is in first.” She sighs. “Look, I know you have no reason to trust me, but I do see Jon as a friend. Not just because I’m sorry, or because he saved me, or because I owe him, but because he… well, he sees me as I am, and he sees me for who I want to be, and he doesn’t see those as mutually exclusive, but he also doesn’t deny the contradiction.”

“Wish he could apply the same logic to himself.”

“Yeah. He’s an absolute mess of double standards. Best we can do is call him on it at every opportunity. Maybe eventually he’ll get it through his head.”

“Yeah,” Martin scoffs. “Maybe.”

“Anyway,” she says, “I care about him, and he cares about you, so…”

“So you thought you’d appoint yourself his wingman?”

“Maybe a little.” Daisy gives him a hesitant, sheepish grin. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Martin sighs. The resentment is still there, but he does feel a bit lighter after getting it all out in the open. Besides, he's so emotionally drained from his outburst, he can’t quite work up the energy for mild annoyance right this moment.

“Well, in that case – if you want to kiss him, you should ask. That’s all I’m saying,” Daisy says hurriedly, holding up her palms in a placating gesture when Martin gives her a tired glare. “I’ll drop it now. I meant it when I said I wanted tea.”

Daisy winces as she rises to her feet.

“And I meant it when I said I can get it,” Martin says.

“I’ve got it.”

“Then at least let me come along and–”

“Uh, no.” Daisy gives him a quelling look. “Jon warned me about how you are with tea.”

“What?”

“Says you’re a micromanager.”

“He what?” Martin demands.

“Okay, he didn’t say it like that. Actually, I think the word he used was persnickety.”

“Oh, as if he has room to talk,” Martin mutters. “He’s just miffed that I caught him microwaving tea once and I refuse to let him live it down.”

“What’s wrong with microwaving tea?” Martin recoils, affronted – and then Daisy snorts. “Settle down. I’m just messing with you.” She starts to leave, pausing only briefly to glance over her shoulder. “I won’t be long. Yell if Peter decides to finally show his face.”

“Will do,” Martin groans, reluctantly returning to the statement in front of him. Yet another alleged Extinction sighting, courtesy of Peter, for Martin to dutifully pretend to research.

Stringing Peter along is the best way Martin knows to keep in check. In that sense, it’s an important job – one only Martin can do. Nonetheless, it’s reminiscent of how it felt to be left behind when the others went to stop the Unknowing. Distracting Elias was important, sure, and dangerous in its own way, but it wasn’t exactly on the same level as storming the Circus to stop the apocalypse. Comparatively, Martin felt useless.

Now, with Basira and Jon off on their mission, Martin is beset by a similar sense of futility. There’s certainly enough work to keep him busy, given that Peter delegates most of his job responsibilities to Martin. (Martin is fairly certain that, fraudulent CV or not, he’s more qualified to run the Institute at this point than Peter is.) Performing routine administrative duties can be a boring and demoralizing enough endeavor in the context of a mundane underpaid office job; doing so in service to an unfathomable cosmic evil is, to put it mildly, soul-destroying. Perhaps in a literal sense, as far as Martin knows.

That’s not to mention the customary gloom that comes with reading account after dreadful account of senseless, indiscriminate suffering.

Martin wishes there was something practical he could do, is his point. Patient though he may be, indefinite waiting is less tolerable when what he’s waiting for is the other shoe to drop, so to speak. He has no desire to interact with Peter in any capacity, but the longer he remains scarce, the more Martin’s trepidation soars.

There’s no way Peter has conceded his bet with Jonah, but there’s no telling whether he’s simply biding his time and observing how events unfold, actively plotting his next moves, or already enacting an revised scheme from the shadows. Regardless, he’s a clear and present danger for as long as he’s around. He may not be hasty, but he’s still a wildcard. Jon told Martin about the last time: how Peter released the NotThem to rampage through the Institute, solely for the sake of causing a distraction. As long as he has The Seven Lamps of Architecture in his possession, he–

Oh.

Martin smiles to himself. Maybe there is something more he can do.

The warehouse is, unsurprisingly, dark. Even with the door propped open, the daylight filtering through illuminates a radius of only a few yards before it’s swallowed by unnatural gloom. As Jon and Basira move further into the cavernous space, the beams of their torches barely penetrate the velvety murk.

“Any idea where she is?” Basira whispers from Jon’s left.

“Waiting in ambush, I assume. I can’t See much of anything.”

“See or See?”

“Either. Both.”

“And you’re certain that applies to Elias as well? He won’t be able to See us here?”

“Positive,” Jon says. “The Dark has–”

An enraged bellow sounds out from behind them. Basira’s torch clatters to the concrete floor, its light promptly extinguished as the casing cracks and the batteries come loose. In a flash, Basira is on the ground, locked in a furious scuffle with–

“Manuela Dominguez!” Jon says. Manuela looks up reflexively, surprised to hear her name. It’s all the opening Basira needs to gain the upper hand, grappling Manuela into a prone position on the floor and pinning her in place with a wristlock. Manuela cries out in pain, but her wild thrashing continues unabated.

“Jon,” Basira grunts, increasingly winded as Manuela attempts to break the hold. “A little help?”

“Manuela, listen, we – we’re just here to talk–”

Manuela briefly pauses in her struggling to spit at Jon’s feet. Funny, how some details remain the same. A second later, she’s resisting again, now attempting to twist around and bite at whatever exposed skin she can find.

“Stop.”

The command crackles up Jon’s throat and sparks off the tip of his tongue like a static shock, hundreds of iterations of the word coinciding. The air itself seems to quake with the force of it, and Jon is left shivering in its wake.

So, it seems, is Manuela: her voice shudders out of her when she speaks.

“Who are you?” she hisses. “What do you want?”

“To make a deal,” Jon says, the words slightly slurred.

“Why would I deal with you?” In the flickering glow of his torchlight, Jon can see the baleful glint in Manuela’s eyes. “You’re of the Eye, aren’t you? What could you even possibly want? You’ve already taken everything – you lot and your Archivist. Where is she, anyway?” Manuela makes a show of scanning the room as best she can, pinioned as she is. “Too much of a coward to witness the wreckage she’s wrought?”

“Gertrude is dead,” Basira says.

“Stopping us took everything she had, then.” Manuela smirks. “Serves her right.”

“You wish,” Basira scoffs. “She was murdered. Completely unrelated.”

“That’s –” Manuela’s smug expression vanishes. “Who–?”

“Elias,” Jon says. “She was too much of a thorn in his side. Too much of a force to be reckoned with.”

“Then why are you here?”

“I told you,” Jon says. “We want to make a deal. A temporary alliance.”

“An alliance?” Manuela repeats. What starts as a weak, dismissive laugh dissolves into a wheeze.

“We have a mutual enemy.” Manuela’s eyes narrow in something more like curiosity now. “I take it I’ve piqued your interest. Will you hear us out?”

Manuela deliberates for a protracted moment, torn between rebellion and intrigue. “Let me up.”

“What, so you can throw more punches?” Basira says.

“It’s fine, Basira,” Jon says. Manuela is still seething with defiance. The more powerless she feels, the less open she’ll be to negotiation. Better to make a few concessions and let her feel some control over the situation.

Judging from her furrowed brow, Basira is running through the same calculations. She hesitates a moment longer before sighing, releasing her hold, and standing. Manuela staggers to her feet and backs away several steps, brushing herself off and panting shallowly as she catches her breath.

“Did you come here alone?” she asks, massaging her abused wrist as her suspicious gaze flits back and forth between Basira and Jon. “Just the two of you?”

“Yes,” Jon answers. Basira shakes her head with an impatient tsk – which Jon interprets as something like stop volunteering free information to every Avatar you parley with, Jon. “Like I said, we’re just here to talk. And to offer you the opportunity for revenge.”

“What revenge? Gertrude is dead,” Manuela spits out. “Who else is there? Her replacement?”

“I’m her replacement.”

With that, Manuela lunges in Jon’s direction. Basira swiftly moves to intercept her, but Manuela stops in her tracks before Basira can grab her. A tension-filled standoff ensues, the two of them eyeing each other warily. After nearly a full minute, Basira seems satisfied enough that the situation has been defused to take her eyes off Manuela and treat Jon to an exasperated glare.

“Do you have to antagonize every single person who wants to kill you?” she scolds.

Jon ignores her grievance in favor of addressing Manuela directly: “You wouldn’t have any luck killing me.”

Basira dips her head down and plants the heel of her hand on her forehead, grumbling under her breath. It’s mostly unintelligible, but Jon thinks he can make out the words fuck’s sake somewhere in there.

“I could try,” Manuela snarls. Her hands ball into tighter fists, trembling with rage at her sides, but she continues to stand her ground.

“You could,” Jon says mildly. “And you would fail.”

“You’ll just compel me, you mean.”

“I could.” He would rather avoid it if possible, but Manuela doesn’t need to know that. He can only hope she can’t tell just how much he’s only pretending at nerve. “Or, you can listen to what we have to say. Gertrude is dead, and lashing out at me isn’t going to satisfy your thirst for revenge. We can offer up a more satisfying target.”

“Unless you have a way for me to unmake the Power your Archivist served.” When Jon doesn’t deny it, Manuela lets out another harsh, scornful laugh. “You’ve got to be joking.”

“Well – arguably, Gertrude didn’t serve the Eye. She followed her own path.” Manuela breathes a derisive huff. “Like her or not, she did. Formidable as she was, none of that was due to the Beholding’s favor. That was all her. She never embraced the power it promised – not like most Archivists do. Striking a blow against the Eye wouldn’t be an insult to Gertrude’s memory. If anything, it would do her proud.”

“Killing it with the sales pitch,” Basira carps.

“But the head of the Institute does serve the Eye,” Jon presses on, “and he’s the one responsible for appointing Gertrude the Archivist in the first place. Hurt the Eye, and you hurt him.”

“I’m not an idiot,” Manuela says, bristling. “Your patron may pale in comparison to my god, but I’m not arrogant enough to believe that I would stand a chance of vanquishing it.”

“We can’t vanquish it, no. But we could destroy the Institute that serves it. Same as happened to the Dark’s faithful.”

“An eye for an eye,” Basira adds.

“Well, you’ve wasted your time coming all this way.” Manuela’s disparaging chuckle gets caught in her throat. “I’m the only one here. An abandoned disciple, guarding a lost cause. There’s nothing left of our former power.”

“The Dark Sun,” Basira says.

Manuela tenses. Then her shoulders slump, weighed down by dawning, solemn resignation.

“Of course,” she says bitterly. “It isn’t enough to decimate our numbers. You need to steal the only remnant of our crusade.”

“We’re giving you the opportunity to reclaim its purpose,” Jon says. “Or would you rather it rot away here, diminishing until it collapses in on itself?”

Manuela is silent for a long minute, a shrewd look in her eye. “Why would you want to betray your god?”

“The Beholding isn’t my god,” Jon says. “I’m not a willing convert. I was drafted into someone else’s crusade without my consent – and you know what that’s like, don’t you?”

Manuela just scowls.

“I Know your story.” Jon’s voice turns sibilant with power as the Archive rears its head. “Indoctrinated into a faith that never spoke to you –”

“– brought up to believe in the light of God, his radiant, illuminating presence –”

“Shut up,” Manuela says in a low growl.

“– deep down they were vicious, spiteful people who used their faith to hurt others, and I fondly imagined them discovering themselves in an afterlife other than the one they had assumed was their destination – I broke with them as soon as I could –”

“Jon,” Basira interrupts. The firm squeeze of her hand on his shoulder is enough to snap him out of his shallow trance. She jerks her head at Manuela, who looks about ready to charge him again. “Maybe not the time?”

“S-sorry,” he gasps. He shakes his head to clear the residual static clouding his thoughts before looking back to Manuela with genuine contrition. “Didn’t mean to do that, I swear. I only meant to say that I – I read the statement you gave to Gertrude. I know that your parents were zealots. They envisioned a perfect world that seemed to you like hell on earth, and you did everything you could to rebel against their arrogance. To spite the god they worshiped. We have some common ground there, you and I.”

Granted, Jon didn’t grow up in a religious household. His grandmother was content to let him explore – and he did.

Even as a child, he had an inclination for research. A topic would catch his attention and he would voraciously seek out as much information as he could. His grandmother didn’t take much interest in the content of those fixations, but she did encourage them as a general principle. Not with overt praise, necessarily, but by facilitating his endeavors: procuring reading material on the obsession of the month, escorting him to the library every so often and allowing him to max out his card. He suspects now that she was simply grateful for some way to occupy his attention. If his nose was in a book, he was keeping out of trouble.

He never told her how wrong she turned out to be.

In any case, one of his many early “phases,” as she liked to call them, was comparative religion. Part of it was simple curiosity. Part of it was a genuine desire to find something to believe: some conception of the afterlife that would resonate with him, some straightforward framework for understanding the world, some sort of certainty to assuage his fear of the unknown. His grandmother never seemed to care whether he found what he was looking for. She never really asked.

It was for the best. He never liked admitting defeat. Not back then.

They returned all the books to the library on the day they were due, and Jon brought home a new haul, this one centered around the field of oceanography. The seas were brimming with mystery, but at least there was a very real possibility of turning those unknowns into knowns. New discoveries were being made every day, newer and newer technology being developed to push the boundaries of that knowledge. There were sure answers, and they could be grasped, so long as humanity could invent the right tools for the job.

Still, Jon found himself envying people of faith from time to time. Sometimes he wished he had someone to point him in some sort of direction, like many other children seemed to have. But hearing of Manuela’s upbringing… well, if Jon was forced to choose between extremes, he has to admit that he prefers the complete lack of guidance he received as opposed to strict proselytization. His grandmother may not have shown interest in his opinions, but at least she gave him the freedom to come to his own conclusions. She may not have had reassurances to offer, but at least she didn’t foist upon him a worldview that made no place for him in it.

“It’s not the same thing as childhood indoctrination,” he tells Manuela, “but… becoming the Archivist – it was like being drafted into the service of a god that I never would have chosen for myself. Had Elias told me the terms, I never would have signed the contract.”

“I take it he didn’t tell you beforehand that he murdered your predecessor?”

“That I had to find out the hard way, unfortunately.”

“So you’re saying you’re not so much a traitor to your faith as you are a disgruntled employee.”

“Elias is my boss. Is that a trick question?” Jon is surprised to hear Manuela give an amused snort. “But yes. I’d like to… tender my resignation, so to speak.”

Manuela scrutinizes him intently, as if trying to solve a riddle. “You would give up your power?”

“I don’t want it,” Jon says truthfully.

If he’s perfectly honest with himself, there was a time that at least some aspects of that power were alluring. There was something intoxicating and liberating about being able to ask a question and not only receive a guaranteed answer, but be certain he wasn’t being presented with an outright lie – especially after spending so many months beholden to unchecked paranoia, distrust, and frantic, futile investigation.

But there was never anything benign or inconsequential about invading a victim’s privacy or compelling someone to surrender a secret, no matter how he tried to justify it to himself. Even if there was, even if it wasn’t both reprehensible in principle and harmful in practice, it still wouldn’t be worth the irrevocable costs.

“I want out,” he says, “and if getting out isn’t an option, then I at least want Elias to know what it is to be offered up to a god inimical to every atom of his existence. I thought you might be able to assist with that.”

“How?”

“The Institute is a seat of power for the Beholding,” Basira says. “If we introduce it to your Dark Sun…”

“A mote in the Eye,” Manuela says, intrigued. Her attention swivels back to Jon. “Do you Know what would happen?”

“No,” he says. “But I imagine it will hurt.”

“And then what? What happens after? You let me pack up my relic and walk away?”

“I don’t see why not.”

“I don’t believe you,” Manuela says.

“You don’t pose an existential threat,” Jon says with a shrug. “I have no doubt that the Dark will attempt another Ritual someday, but it won’t happen in our lifetimes. We have no qualms letting you walk away after our alliance is finished.”

“And the Dark Sun?” Manuela presses.

“I don’t know what condition it will be in after exposure to the Eye,” Jon admits. “But you’re free to do as you wish with it after. We won’t stop you.”

So she can hurt more people, Jon’s battered conscience chimes in.

“And if I say no?”

“Then I walk in there right now, Behold it, and destroy it entirely.” It comes out sounding more menacing than Jon had initially intended, but maybe that’s not a bad thing, given the way Manuela freezes up.

“You wouldn’t survive.” Manuela sounds far from certain.

“Maybe. Maybe not. But your Sun certainly wouldn’t.” Jon pauses for a moment to let that sink in. “Do you want to see its potential wasted here and now, or do you want to make all that sacrifice worth something?”

“If you’re so certain you have the upper hand, what’s stopping you from just taking it, then?”

“I’m not its engineer or its keeper. I wouldn’t even Know how to safely transport it. Too many unknown variables.”

“So you need me.”

“Yes. Beneath the Institute, there’s a… a sanctum of the Eye. A place of power, like Ny-Ålesund is for your patron. If you can bring the Dark Sun there, I… well, I’m hoping it will sever the Eye’s connection to that place. Destroy the Institute.”

“How would that work?”

“I’m… not certain,” Jon confesses. “Call it a… a hunch.”

“There’s precedent,” Basira says. “We found a statement that hinted at worshipers of the Dark destroying a temple to the Eye in 4th century Alexandria.”

Manuela’s eyes light up with interest. “How?”

“We don’t know,” Jon says.

“Oh, right. Foolish of me to ask,” Manuela says pertly. “Why would I expect you to know things? It’s only the entire point of you.”

“I never claimed to be good at my job,” Jon retorts. “Look, maybe I don’t Know exactly what will happen, but a focus of the Dark should hurt the Eye in some capacity, I think.”

“You think,” Manuela mutters under her breath, just loud enough for him to hear the derision in her tone.

“Whatever happens, it’ll be more satisfying than anything you’ve got going on here,” Basira points out.

Manuela barks out a contemptuous laugh. “You don’t even have the shadow of a plan!”

“We… haven’t ironed out the details, no.” Jon rubs the back of his neck, chagrinned. “We figured that if you did agree to an alliance, you would want to be part of the actual planning process.”

“And if you don’t cooperate, it’s a moot point,” Basira says.

“Also, I was… I suppose I was hoping you could offer insight,” Jon says. “The Dark is something of a blind spot for me, shockingly.” Manuela shoots him a withering look. “So even if I had any clue how to wield the Dark Sun, I wouldn’t be able to channel its full potential. Not like you could.”

“That much is obvious,” Manuela sneers, teeth gleaming in the torchlight as her lips stretch in a taut, wolfish grin. “You Beholding types always assume that knowledge is synonymous with control. Putting yourselves on the level of Powers greater than any mortal, assuming insight into things you could not possibly understand… you fly too close to the sun and then have the gall to indulge in outrage when you burn.”

We didn’t come here for a sermon, Jon almost says, but he bites his tongue.

“But I accept that I am a supplicant, not a god,” Manuela says, reverence seeping into her tone to supplant the reproach. “It’s pure hubris to assume that you could wield the Black Sun like a tool. It’s a communion, and only those with true and dutiful faith could ever hope to win its favor. Approach it with anything less than respect and devotion, and it will devour you.”

“If you’re done pontificating?” Basira says. She doesn’t give Manuela an opening to respond. “We’re well aware that we stand no chance of wielding–” Manuela looks up sharply, and Basira hastily corrects herself. “Fine – communing with the Dark Sun ourselves. That’s why we’re looking for an alliance rather than just taking it.”

“Do you think you could–” Jon pauses as he searches for a way to phrase his question that won’t unleash another tirade. “Would you be able to arrange for the Dark Sun to be brought into the Eye’s stronghold? Expose them to one another, let them… I don’t know – have it out with each other?”

“I’m capable of bringing it to London, if that’s what you’re asking,” Manuela says primly. “But it would be at a disadvantage on the Beholding’s home turf. If – if – I were willing to test this hypothesis, I would only do so on the condition that I could level the playing field as much as possible. Wait for ideal circumstances, as it were.”

“Which would be…?” Basira asks.

“The winter solstice. The Dark Sun will be the strongest on the night of the winter solstice.”

“That’s months from now,” Basira protests. “Can’t you just –”

“Ideally, I would insist on a total solar eclipse,” Manuela snaps, “but it will be quite some time before London witnesses another. Not until 2090.”

“Looking ahead, are you?” Basira asks.

“It is likely the soonest opportunity for another attempt at a Ritual.” Manuela pretends at nonchalance with a shrug, but she can’t quite conceal her profound disappointment as her voice grows measurably more subdued. “It gives me ample time to study our failure. To discover what went wrong.”

“To refine your Ritual, you mean.”

“There will always be faithful to take up the mantle,” Manuela says, her chin lifting marginally in defiance as she stares Basira down.

“But you won’t be around to see it.” Basira meets Manuela’s eyes with equal nerve. Jon remains silent, looking from one to the other as they face off against one another.

“No,” Manuela replies evenly. “I’ll have to settle for passing on my findings to those who come after. Leave behind a legacy to guide their steps.”

“In the meantime, the Dark Sun will stagnate,” Jon chimes in. It’s a bluff, of course: he has no idea whether or not it’s true. Judging from the unsettled look on Manuela’s face, neither does she. Jon latches onto that uncertainty, carefully twisting the knife just a little further: “Or, you could let it serve a purpose.”

“Its purpose was to usher in a world of true and holy Darkness,” Manuela says acidly. “You’re proposing I give it scraps.”

“Like it or not, you can’t give it the apocalypse it was promised,” Jon says.

Manuela’s fingers flex and clench back into fists. Jon suspects she would love nothing more than to wring his neck. She’s a truth seeker at heart, though. Ambitious, rebellious – idealistic even, albeit in a twisted sort of way, harboring an aspiration that most would rightfully find horrific. Adept at detecting and exploiting the more malleable aspects of material reality where possible, infusing the scientific method with just enough magical thinking to bend natural laws.

However, there are some truths that even she cannot deny, and she isn’t the type to ignore a certainty when it’s right in front of her face. And so, despite the unconcealed vitriol in her eyes and the contrariness sitting at the tip of her tongue, she does not deny his assertion.

“But it can still pay tribute to your god,” Jon coaxes, striving to stop short of needling. It’s a razor’s edge he’s always struggled to walk, but Manuela is still right there with him, toeing the line. ���It’s better than nothing at all.”

Manuela directs a venomous glower towards the floor as she vacillates between summary dismissal and the temptation of vengeance. Basira side-eyes Jon as the standstill stretches from seconds into minutes, but all Jon can offer her is an awkward shrug. The ball is in Manuela’s court, and it seems she has no qualms leaving them in indefinite suspense as she painstakingly examines all the variables and weighs her options. The best they can do is wait and hope that tangible revenge will prove more enticing than spiteful noncooperation.

Eventually, she lets out a sharp exhale, raises her head, and breaks her silence.

“The winter solstice,” she repeats, her voice teeming with tension and lingering aversion. “Barring an eclipse, I would have to settle for the winter solstice. The longest, darkest night of the year… it’s second best, but it should suffice. Shame about the light pollution, of course,” she adds, wrinkling her nose with disdain, “but the power is in the symbolism.”

“Jon?” Basira prompts.

“Dream logic,” he says, massaging his forehead wearily. “It tracks.”

“Fine,” Basira sighs. She looks back to Manuela. “So does this mean you’ll do it?”

“I’m tired of haunting this place like a ghost.” There’s a sharp, predatory look in Manuela’s eyes now. “The Dark has lost its crusaders. The Watcher should have a taste of loss.”

Just then, a loud, metallic thunk interrupts the negotiations, reverberating through the space and drawing everyone’s attention to warehouse entrance. The light that had been percolating through from outside had been preternaturally dimmed before, but now it’s been snuffed out entirely.

Jon glances anxiously at Basira. “The wind, maybe?”

“There was no wind.” Basira is already drawing her gun. Like a switch has been flipped at the prospect of danger, her voice goes steely with manufactured composure. “Not strong enough to blow the door shut. I propped it open very securely.”

“We’re near the water, though,” Jon murmurs. “Strong gusts sometimes blow in off the sea–”

Jon’s mouth snaps shut at Basira’s quelling look. Manuela’s posture is defensive again, eyes darting suspiciously between Jon and Basira in the muted torchlight.

“I thought you said you came here alone,” she says accusingly.

“We – we did,” Jon says. “We–”

“Oh, Archivist,” a new voice sings out, oozing with an exultant malice. “Long time no see!”

It’s been ages since Jon last heard that cadence, but it’s horrifyingly, heart-stoppingly familiar even after all this time. It pierces Jon like a knife in the dark. He takes a frantic step back, nearly tripping over his own feet as his panic skyrockets and a tidal wave of adrenaline crashes over him.

“We just want to talk,” croons a different voice, rougher and more ragged-sounding. It’s difficult to gauge the newcomers’ positions through the impermeable gloom, but judging from the sounds of their voices, they’re drawing ever nearer. “Won’t you come out?”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” Jon breathes an incredulous laugh, distraught enough to border on a whimper. “Now?”

“Who are they?” Basira asks urgently. Jon is still frozen in place, eyes straining against the darkness. Any answer he could make is bogged down with terror, snagging in his throat and forestalling coherence. “Jon!”

Jon swallows hard and finally looks at Basira, his eyes wide with dread.

“Hunters.”

End Notes:

naomi: hey jon. jon. consider: surveillance state kink jon: shut the hell your mouth

____

Both instances of Archive-speak are from MAG 135. A few pieces of dialogue from the beginning of the conversation with Manuela are taken/reworked from MAG 143. The Melanie and Basira gossip is from MAG 106.

Once again, had way too much fun with the text convo btwn Naomi and Jon. Cannot resist those chatfic shenanigans vibes.

In other news, Daisy WILL point at Jon and loudly exclaim, “Is anyone gonna volunteer as wingman for this lovesick disaster or do I have to do everything myself?” and not even wait for an answer. (Jon made the mistake of confirming that he doesn’t mind her lovingly dunking on him about this sort of thing and now she’s a menace. Listen, playful ribbing is basically her platonic love language.)  

Sorry for the cliffhanger!! But hey, I think we all knew that there’s no way things would go entirely smoothly for Jon and Basira. And now I finally get to add some new character tags.

I’m very behind on replying to comments. (Tbh, spent most of the last month grappling with this chapter. I was stuck on a scene that REALLY didn’t want to cooperate.) I’m gonna try to catch up this weekend, though. <3 As always, thank you for reading!