#a beautiful man is even more beautiful when he is sobbing. amen to this universal truth. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mulders-too-large-shirt · 3 days ago

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my favorite mulder moments from s5

breaking into the labyrinth of the department of defense in episode 1 to find the cure for scully, finding only a vial of water, and the ensuing devastation that crosses his face

in the beginning of episode 2, scully is in the hospital, and he reveals that he faked his death to come visit her (“you move pretty good for a dead man”, skinner says, to which he replies “i’m only half dead”). he's going utterly ballistic, screaming “i’ll calm down when i have a reason to calm down!”, and then nearly collapses as he sees her sick in bed. only skinner's threat of arrest after they come to blows can make him see straight

he sees CSM in the hall of the hospital where scully is recovering, and spits at him “please tell me you’re here with severe chest pains” <-LMAOOOO

and when CSM tries to win him over to the dark side through scully’s cure and showing him his “sister”, he absolutely refuses, saying “you murdered my father. you killed scully’s sister, and if scully dies, i will kill you. i don’t care whose father you are, i will put you down” (LOUD CHEERING!!!!!!!)

enduring bill scully's horrible attacks on his character, trying to sympathize with his pain despite how awful he is being because he knows what it feels like to lose loved ones for the Truth. he tells this man that is being so awful to him that he lost his father and sister in his quest for answers, so he can relate to the pain he feels- only to be met with more scorn

he comes into scully’s hospital room again later on, where she is sound asleep, and he lays his head next to her and sobs

defending scully in her absence at his big important hearing; explaining how she was sent to spy on him, but “that agent scully did not follow these orders is a testament to her integrity as an investigator, a scientist, and a human being” <3

and then he SOMEHOW guesses correctly that the mole is section chief blevins, who had been on the payroll of the biotech company for years... i want to unpack if he figured it out subconsciously or was just equal parts lucky and confident, but i feel that we will never truly know

he tells skinner that scully’s cancer is in remission, saying it is the best news he has ever heard, then cries in the hallway of the hospital, holding the bloody photo of him and samantha as kids

he meets frohike for the very first time in 1989 in episode 3 and declines his offer of bootleg cable by saying “no thanks, handsome”, which prompts frohike to call him "a man of taste". thus began his long tradition of flirting with the boys

he was RACING back to the motel room at the end of episode 4, banging on the door, telling scully to get in the car NOW, and narrowly saving her from the florida mothman who was hiding under the bed!!!! i <3 protective mulder!!!

in episode 7, he flies down as soon as he can to vouch for scully's capability to adopt emily. scully introduces him to her as “a friend”, and he starts making funny faces to get her to laugh right away. he points out that the girl’s adoptive parents were both murdered, and when scully says that she can protect her, he asks “yeah, but who’s gonna protect you?”; he testifies on her behalf, even though he says he shouldn’t, because he knows it’ll put her in danger

later, he confronts the doctor who refuses to transfer over emily’s medical files. he pulls out his gun, points it at the doctor’s head, and asks “why don’t you tell me whose life is worth saving, yours or hers?” - he's so quick to adjust to scully's news of having a child and so quick to draw blood on her behalf

they’re bickering about the case in episode 8, so mulder, in a rare moment of clarity, steps back to ask what they both agree on and says they can work from there. i was shocked! in a good way! after 5 years, he finally learned to manage their opposing viewpoints in a way that can get things done! (i am sure this will never happen again)

his tree climbing detour in episode 9, plus the legendary line “hey scully, is this demonstration of boyish agility turning you on at all?” (and then bonus points for his sad descent as he is needed back on the ground right after he got up there)

his complete inability to function without scully while she is on vacation in episode 10- he actually TWIRLS the phone line while calling her!!!

and when he calls her for the 800th time, he greets her saying “morning, sunshine!” while loudly thumping his basketball up and down until she has to ask him wtf that noise is... so he lies, saying there is construction outside his window, and yells, telling the nonexistent construction worker to quiet down <- LMAOOO it killed me!!! (his basketball thumping has always been used to indicate his inability to relax... truly there is no peace for him without the bestie in town)

he’s SOOOO jealous when scully thinks the cowboy sheriff in episode 12 is cute (he recalls him having a thick southern drawl with huge teeth, so when they have to fly back down, she points out that they are totally normal-sized, and he still disputes this fact until the very end of the episode)

in episode 14, he sprints to find scully after she was present for the mass burning; he runs his fingers through her hair when she is in the hospital for vasogenic shock

post-krycek breaking into his house and beating him up, warning him that the end of the world is coming, scully finds him in his apartment sitting in the dark. “what are you doing sitting here in the dark?”, she asks. “thinking” “about what?” “oh, the usual- destiny, fate, how to throw a curveball… the inextricable relationships in our lives that are neither accidental nor somehow entirely in our control, either”

calling scully back from a payphone in the pouring rain in episode 17 to help get her some information on her personal case <3

(he also really nerds out in that episode about eye imagery in the bible, apocrypha, and references jesus christ superstar... a man of culture)

((and he was SO protective of scully- he stepped in when the priest was being all shady, tried to advise her not to let him get into her head, and we got to see some incredibly rare emotional communication when he said “i’ve never seen you more vulnerable or susceptible or more easily manipulated, and it scares me because i don’t know why”. he was grabbing her shoulders and pulling her in close, telling her she should step away when she mentions the visions of emily… god. he was SO worried!!))

when he’s being tortured in episode 18, he tells the man hurting him over and over again that he will kill him, which i thought was really fascinating

being willing to risk all of the x files in episode 20 because he fully believes that scully is correct about gibson being the key to explaining them, even though skinner warns against it... that is complete trust <3

#things i am learning from making these best moments posts: redux trilogy truly is iconic #and that mulder is at his best when he is sopping wet and pathetic for scully #there's also a scene where he lifts emily out of bed and it made me want to write a million domestic fics of them having a family #WAHHHH #i can't believe he actually said to her that he was scared because of how vulnerable she seemed. like did i dream that?#because i know these mfers who refuse to talk about their feelings ever were NOT just emotionally honest with each other!#but they were! for once they verbalized it instead of being joint at the hip and touchy!#a beautiful man is even more beautiful when he is sobbing. amen to this universal truth.#fox mulder #the x files #txf

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collisiondiscourse · 4 years ago

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say amen (bkdk drabble)

(a little drabble based off of one of my favorite posts that ive ever made)

Katsuki’s not a religious man.

Yeah, okay, he believes in deities and goes to temples, the blond will admit that much. The existence of a higher power isn’t really that far from the realms of possibility when he regularly interacts with people who have the head of a bird or engines for legs. He celebrates the holidays, and on days where he’s feeling especially magnanimous, Katsuki even buys temple charms and sends out a quick prayer to whoever might be listening.

But he isn’t religious.

He doesn’t like feeling like he’s indebted to someone. That somehow, somewhere, there is someone Katsuki should be grateful to for giving him all his successes. He worked hard to get where he is now all by himself, thank you very much. The idea that everything is somehow predetermined or controlled by someone he can’t even see is one that makes the blond break out into hives.

A man with any dignity such as Katsuki’s is too proud to kneel to any god.

But then again… Izuku Midoriya is no such god.

He’s very much human, Katsuki would believe despite the seemingly endless strength his short and stocky figure possesses. He’s freckles and sunburns and scars and toothy smiles and everything that used to make the blond’s blood boil. Deku can’t dress himself nicely to save his life and sings All Might show tunes in the shower when he thinks no one can hear. Katsuki’s seen the boy throw up on his dumb red shoes and laugh so hard he scared himself with his own snorts.

He’s seen Deku at his worst. Crying and crumbling, body all bloodied and torn up after giving it his all. He’s seen him angry--borderline murderous even--with rage consuming him and leaving him gasping for breath as he saddles closer and closer to the line betwean life and death. He’s seen Deku broken and hollow, unable to eat for days and smelling like a decomposing corpse because the demons in his eyes had all but haunted him from even getting up to shower.

The point being, Katsuki knows that Izuku Midoriya is flawed.

He should, at least. Having seen these cracks and imperfections over and over should’ve cemented the idea that Deku was far from perfect. He sees sides of Deku that even their best friends, let alone the public have never seen. Bakugou knows that Izuku Midoriya is not a God--and is in fact very far from one.

But fuck if he doesn’t worship him like he is.

When Izuku confessed to him in their second year, Katsuki thinks that he learned what it feels like to die.

As dramatic as it sounds, it’s true. Watching those green eyes peel away from their locked gaze on his red ones to stare nervously at the ground causes Katsuki’s heart to jump. His palms were sweaty and blood roared in his ears, deafening him from all sounds except Deku’s voice. He’d initially thought that this was it. This was Deku preparing to tell him that he couldn’t stand being his friend anymore, that no matter how much Katsuki tried to atone for himself, Deku finally realized that Katsuki would never be worthy of his love.

It built up and up until Katsuki couldn’t breathe, willpower alone keeping him from gasping for breath as he awaited Deku’s rejection. The sun set in a brilliant cast of oranges and purples, but neither boy on the rooftop could stand to appreciate it when the sights in front of them were far more important.

“Kacchan,” he blurts at last. A sliver of his pink tongue peeks out to lick at his chapped lips. Katsuki’s chest constricts with want. “I like you.”

And it’s at those three words that Katsuki truly believes in an afterlife.

His heart clenches and stops for a different reason--a different feeling entirely. The world tilts on its axis and his breaths come up short, yet Katsuki’s never been happier to have been wrong. Parts of him shrivel up. Shudder in anxiety. Embers of raw anger and determination (leftover from years of scars and charred notebooks) tell him that he’s not worthy of Deku. That Katsuki is yet to even deserve to take the hand that has been waiting for him for his whole life.

Admittedly though, Katsuki Bakugou is a selfish, selfish man.

He stares at that freckled and blushing face like it’s a reflection of the universe itself. Green eyes that mistakenly take Katsuki’s silence as rejection grow watery, and yet as Katsuki stares into the molten pool of emerald and moss, he thinks he may see his entire life in those pretty eyes.

“...Kacchan? It’s okay if you don’t, uh, like me back. I u-understand if you feel uncomfortable or no longer want me be your friend even if it kinda s--”

“W-well really, it’s more of love. I... love you. Like, a lot. Have for a while I mean and I tried really hard to hide it but I’m sure it was obvious from the beginning and well, Uraraka said I was really bad at lying so I wasn’t really sure...” he mumbles. Stutters, because he’s human and very much not a god.

Katsuki Bakugou kisses Izuku Midoriya for the first time.

He kisses Izuku Midoriya because he wants all of him. He wants the sorrow and broken bones. The awkward laughter and nervous tics. Katsuki wants those green eyes to never stop looking at him and that mouth to never stop muttering the most inane nothings. He wants the beautiful and the ugly, the victories and the losses. He wants and he wants and he wants and he wants, and now that all of it is within his reach dear god is he never letting go.

The blond pours his soul into the kiss. Mouth harsh and unyielding, ever determined to prove to anyone watching that he’d throw away his life for this boy in a heartbeat. The desperation in their kiss practically daring anyone to try and pull them apart. Katsuki wants the kiss to say everything that he, in his weak and human state, cannot even begin to phrase. That somehow a single kiss could show the other that Katsuki loves him so much it breaks him inside. It’s so good that it’s painful. It’s painful and excruciating but fucking hell if Katsuki pulls away for one moment he thinks he might actually truly die.

They’re training to be pro-heroes, so of course their pain tolerance is higher than most. They’ve been taught to fight in any environment no matter what—could probably fight five people underwater for an hour without breaking a sweat. All of those hours of training somehow still mean nothing to Katsuki in the brilliance of the storm that is Izuku Midoriya.

Because as they kiss and breathe in each other’s air, Katsuki forces himself to pull away with a gasp.

Izuku thinks he’s hurt the blond accidentally, somehow. That he’d been too rough or pushed Bakugou into it or even just took his breath away from him in the literal sense. What the green-haired hero didn’t expect was the sheer devotion in ruby eyes.

(It would’ve scared him, if it didn’t make his knees shaky and heart rate speed up in exhilaration.)

Meanwhile, Katsuki’s drowning.

He’s drowning so deep in emotions that he’d never let himself feel until now. Drowning in his insecurities and greatest desires. Drowning in emotion and vigour. Drowning in the feeling of kissing Izuku fucking Midoriya. Part of him screams in agony, protesting this weakness as it fucks with his mind and squeezes at his heart.

The rest of him lets it happen.

Bakugou pulls away, gasping for breath. It’s too much and not enough, because he loves this boy so goddamn much that it actually hurts. He’s crying, and it’s kind of pathetic, really. So undone by a single kiss that tears streak down his face while white spots appear in vision of ruby eyes. A man so weak--so overcome with emotion that he can’t help but sob at the torrent of devotion that overtakes him. His heart throbs painfully and he struggles to take gulps of air, because Katsuki doesn’t truly love many people but there’s something about Izuku Midoriya that destroys him so thoroughly.

Ever understanding, ever patient, and ever too good for his damned, hell-bound soul, Izuku holds him close. He lets Katsuki weep into his jacket and runs scarred fingers through pale blond strands as the other boy tries to stifle his sobs. He hushes him with a light kiss to his temple and listens patiently as Katsuki whimpers every variant of ‘I love you’ under the sun.

Izuku Midoriya is no such god, but Katsuki Bakugou worships him like one nonetheless.

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of-wrens-and-whirlwinds-blog · 4 years ago

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Come away with me

Commission for @cancerjournalsfortwentysmthings ! I’m so sorry this took so long, it’s past 5k words now. I hope it’s worth the wait!

If you would like to commission me, my info is in my about page!

CW: ableism, psychological abuse

The alcohol burned, but not as bad as the tears in his eyes.

Charles wasn’t even sure what he was saying anymore; something about love, something about loneliness, something about fearing death. All he knew was that finally, someone was listening to him.

Erik sat beside him quietly, listening, watching Charles. He hadn’t drunk any alcohol at all that night. He hadn’t been at the reunion, either. The class reunion—where everyone had brought their partners, or kids, or both, or stories of their adult dating. Charles hadn’t dated in six years. He had never married. He was falling behind and that frightened him.

“I’m gonna die alone,” he sobbed, “I’m gonna die alone and everyone is going to pity me and n-no one will care.”

Erik touched his shoulder softly. “That’s not true,” he said firmly. “Raven and I will care. Your students will care. Your son will care. And we won’t pity you just because you don’t have a partner.”

“I’m almost forty, Erik!” Charles burst out, looking at him and almost sobbing again. “No one will want me when I’m old!”

“Forty isn’t old,” Erik replied sharply. “You’re being an alarmist, Charles.” He paused, frowning in the way that meant he was thinking hard. Then he said, a little more gently, “Hey. You’re gonna have summer break from university, right? Why don’t you go somewhere nice? Like an actual vacation, not just shutting yourself away in your apartment for three months straight.”

“I… I don’t know where I would go,” Charles said, a little startled at how much the idea intrigued him. Just… get away. Hide somewhere safe. Maybe not for longer than two weeks, but definitely for a long time. It would have to be somewhere accessible; he couldn’t travel without his chair. That narrowed things down considerably.

“I’ll look for something,” Erik said firmly, and ran his fingers through Charles’ hair. “Just try to get through the last week of classes. You’ll be okay.”

Charles had no reason to believe Erik about being okay, but if Erik helped him look for something, Erik would find it. He was just wonderful like that.

Charles swallowed hard and nodded. “Alright,” he whispered.

The hangover was worse than he’d had in years. Charles grimaced and reached blindly for the glass of water he always left on his nightstand, and… encountered nothing. Fuck. He probably forgot after Erik left. He propped himself up on his elbows and looked around his room, eyes still blurred from sleep.

Everything was perfectly in place. Everything was normal. Except for the fact that Erik was sitting in his armchair, slouched and with his head propped on his hand, fast asleep.

Charles stared at him for a long moment. He rarely got to anymore. They were both busy, or with friends, or Erik would notice and Charles would have to think of a lie quickly. Erik was extremely handsome and Charles hardly ever got to admire that for long.

It wasn’t just his looks, though; he always denied it, but he wore his heart on his sleeve and his emotions on his face. The crinkles at the corners of his eyes, mostly from laughing; the lines around his mouth, some from smiling, most from his default grim state; and when he slept, his expressions were so free. Right now, he was having a nice dream—his brow was relaxed and his mouth curled up at the corners and his jaw was unclenched.

Charles felt the usual urge to touch him, perhaps kiss him. They hadn’t kissed since they were twenty-three, though. They’d moved on from such childish feelings.

Erik looked so peaceful. Charles wanted to cry.

Instead of crying, though, Charles got to work wiggling his way towards his chair. He still wasn’t the best at getting out of bed in the morning, but that hardly mattered; he’d been living alone for twenty years, he didn’t need to get up perfectly.

Erik woke up as soon as Charles got his feet placed right on the rest and straightened to grab his wheels. The taller man rubbed his eyes and grunted, “What time is it?”

“Six in the morning,” Charles replied. “Ah. Shouldn’t you have gone home?”

Erik shook his head. “No one waiting, might as well stay where I’m useful,” he answered. There was no pain in his tone or face, but Charles’ throat still caught. The divorce had been painful for everyone, but most of all for Erik and Magda. Charles had never gotten the full story of why they had broken up when they had been so very in love, and he didn’t really want to; it wasn’t his place to pry.

So instead, he said, “Right. Well… I’m going to get ready for work.”

Erik’s eyebrows snapped together. “You look like shit,” he said sharply. “How are you going to work with a hangover that bad?”

“It’s not the worst I’ve had,” Charles replied, fidgeting a little in embarrassment. “I can work.”

Erik continued to stare at him, eyes narrowed, inspecting his face. Then Erik stood, and said, “Fine. I’ll make breakfast.”

“Alright,” Charles said, a little weakly.

A shower was taken, a toilet was used, and Charles brushed his teeth before wheeling out of the bathroom and heading for the kitchen. The headache was worse, so bad he almost couldn’t see. Ah, well, he’d gone through studying for his PhD with worse pain. It wasn’t that bad.

Except then he vomited all over his knees and feet and sat in the middle of the hall, stunned, unable to drag his brain out of misery to realize what had happened.

“Ah, fuck,” Erik muttered, hurrying towards him. “Right, you’re not going to work.”

“It’s not that bad—”

“Charles, please shut up.”

So Charles did.

Somehow, Charles ended up tucked in on the couch with water, aspirin, and toast at the ready. He was rather bewildered about why Erik was doing this for him. It grated on his nerves, being fussed at like an invalid, but… Erik’s attention was nice. Charles liked it.

The day passed slowly, but calmly. Charles napped a lot. Erik seemed content to shove glasses of water into his hands and read Charles’ books. Lunch and dinner were simple, but much tastier than anything Charles could cook for himself.

Around 8PM, Erik sat on the footstool beside Charles and shoved his laptop into Charles’ hands. “Found a place,” he said. “It’s pretty remote, and the lease is for three months, no shorter, but it’s accessible and has a great view.”

“Thank you,” Charles said, looking through the pictures. They were… honestly quite beautiful. The house itself was a bit small, but it had two bedrooms, a full bathroom with plumbing, a generator for electricity, a mostly modern kitchen, and a fireplace. The amenities listed said that deliveries of basic needs arrived every Saturday. There was a small town only about twenty minutes away, but the “road” was cobblestone, and Charles did not fancy traversing that more than once.

It had a lovely garden, too, and access to a private beach. It was perfect for hiding from the world.

Charles pursed his lips, thinking. He really did want to hide… but did he want that because the idea of being alone was nice, or because he was bitter? Did he want to go here to rest, or to make people feel bad and contact him out of obligation? Did it really matter? He wanted to hide. He wanted to cry alone, in a place where no one would hear. He wanted a change a scene.

He wanted to get away from Erik.

That thought was… nasty. Selfish. But it was true. Charles’ gut clenched, but he forced himself to look up at Erik, smile, and say, “It truly is lovely. Thank you for finding it.”

Erik nodded, looking satisfied, and stood. “Book it for two people,” he said firmly. “I’ll come with you.”

Alarm thrilled through Charles. “You don’t have to, really, you don’t—”

“I want to.”

Charles shut his mouth, stunned. Erik just picked up his laptop and set it on the coffee table. “It’s late,” Erik noted, frowning at the clock. “Are you tired?”

“Not really,” Charles answered softly.

“Alright. I’m going to bed.” Erik took a step towards Charles, stopped short, frowned, then shrugged and walked away, to the guest room.

Charles sat very still on the couch for a long time.

Erik insisted on carrying their bags, which was exasperating to no end, but, well, at least Charles didn’t have to use that cheap bag he’d bought to hang on the back of his chair.

There was a bit of trouble when the airport pretended they didn’t have his requirements on file, and then the flight attendant told Charles he wasn’t allowed to sit in the disabled seats because they were close to the door. Erik snarled and the flight attendant backed down. Charles was pissed enough to not care.

The plane ride was rather long, but Charles passed the time by reading some research papers that he had downloaded to his laptop as PDFs. They were engrossing enough that he didn’t even notice that when the snack cart came around, the flight attendant gave him a juice box and a bag of goldfish crackers, instead of asking what he would prefer. When he did notice, it was too late to complain, so he scowled and kept reading, ignoring the juice and crackers.

The next thing to do after they exited the plane, reclaimed Charles’ chair, and swept past the annoyed looks of the other passengers, was to find somewhere to sleep. Erik had engaged a night at a motel near the middle of the large town, and thankfully, it was on the ground floor.

As they prepared for sleep, Charles remembered something, and smiled.

“What are you laughing at?” Erik asked irritably as he set a cup of water on the side of the nightstand closest to Charles.

“Oh—I wasn’t laughing,” Charles assured him. “I was just remembering that roadtrip we took about fifteen years ago. Remember how we went to the coast in Washington state and the motel had the exact same wallpaper, only with shag rugs hung all over to hide the water damage?”

Erik snorted and shook his head. “And then the ceiling in the bathroom broke and you got knocked down by a naked, soapy grandma. I remember.”

“At least they gave us our money back.”

“Yeah, after she and her husband threatened to sue the motel and you mentioned that you had a family attorney who was good with lawsuits.”

“What can I say, I was pissed.”

Erik smirked, and opened his mouth to say something, and then decided not to. His frown returned. “We should sleep,” he said abruptly, and flopped on his bed. “Good night, Charles.”

Charles, flabbergasted, stared at him for a moment, then said, “Good night, Erik.”

The house was even more delightful up close. Charles was charmed immediately, and the realtor handed over the keys with a big smile.

The first day was unpacking and settling in. The sun was sinking, gilding the ocean waves with gold and turning the shadows of the water purple and green. It was beautiful sight. Charles spent half an hour just looking out the window at the sea, entranced.

A snort brought him back to his body, and he turned to see Erik looking at him with a wryly amused expression. “What?” Charles asked.

“I haven’t seen you that engrossed in just looking at something in ten years,” Erik replied. “You usually have something in your hands, or you’re reading.”

Charles blushed and ran his hand through his hair. “I haven’t really had a chance to just look at something, without having to do anything else,” he admitted. “This is… nice.”

Erik’s face made a strange expression, and he swallowed hard. “Good,” he said gruffly, and turned back to making dinner from the provisions they’d brought.

Quiet and darkness swathed the island not too long after dinner. Charles got into the rather lumpy mattress and let the sounds of the ocean and the wind draw him into that empty space he so often had trouble getting to. This really was nice. He sighed contentedly and fell asleep gently, easily.

The next morning, he woke up to pale golden sunshine and the smell of pancakes.

He yawned, sat up, and looked around blearily. He hadn’t noticed last night, but the walls were painted in swirls of blue—shades of paint that were so similar in saturation and tone that it was hard to pick out without such bright light. Charles smiled, oddly cheered by this. Small, beautiful details.

For some reason he thought of Erik’s eyes, shifting shades of blue and grey.

He shook his head and got out of bed, wheeling himself out to the large room that had no walls between kitchen, dining area, and sitting room. Erik was making pancakes and frying sausage patties, humming to himself and not realizing Charles was there. Charles watched him for a moment, his chest aching with the shivering joy of being near Erik and the dread of what might happen if he told Erik about his love. It would be terrible to say anything. But he wasn’t sure he could survive such close quarters without letting it slip.

He would just have to try, then.

Charles cleared his throat, and Erik jumped and spun. “Damn it, Charles, make noise or something,” Erik snapped, scowling hard. “How many pancakes do you want?”

Charles smiled. “Three is enough, thank you.”

Breakfast was nice, and Charles listened to Erik’s humming with a smile. He’d forgotten that Erik hummed his favorite songs when he was happy with his food. He recognized all the tunes, though; it hadn’t been that long since they’d been roommates.

Ten years. Charles’ smile faded, and he stuffed another piece of pancake in his mouth. Ten years of steadily drifting apart. He didn’t even know why Erik had come when Charles had called, the night of the reunion. They hadn’t spoken in six months.

But here they were. On vacation together, like when they were young and stupid and impulsive. Charles wondered if this would end horribly, or if they could still be friends. The corners of his mouth turned down, and he sipped his grape juice with no sense of enjoyment.

“Hmph,” Erik said, swallowing his last mouthful. “You better not be making any stupid decisions.”

“How would you know if I was making any decisions?” Charles objected, lifting his head to glower at Erik.

Erik pointed his fork at Charles and replied, “You always make that face when you’re torn about something. And the face you’re making right now is exactly how you look every time I call you out.” Erik’s mouth began to curl up at the corners, and his eyes crinkled a little. “And now you’re embarrassed,” he taunted. “Don’t lie.”

Charles covered his face with his hands, cheeks burning, and Erik laughed.

The whole day was like that. They went down to the beach after lunch, and Erik started loudly singing the British national anthem and cackled when Charles threw a seashell at him. Then Charles started singing “Part Of Your World” from The Little Mermaid, and Erik lunged and pinched his cheeks, stretching them out so he couldn’t sing properly, and then Charles was laughing too.

Going back inside, Erik folded a paper airplane and they played that game they made up in university: whoever had the plane had to make up the most ridiculous fact they could, and then when the other person had the plane they had to refute the fact in the most obnoxious way possible. They spent several hours doing that, throwing the plane across the room and having a stupid debate about penguin social structures. They were both smiling by the time night fell.

The next day dawned grey and chilly. Charles got out a book, and then pulled out another and offered it to Erik.

“Here,” he said, “I know you were interested in this one.”

Erik blinked at him, then accepted the book. “I haven’t read this journal in eight years,” he said slowly, beginning to frown. “It’s university exclusive.”

“Exactly. I, ah, borrowed that one when no one was looking, because...” Charles trailed off, looking up at Erik’s frown. “Do you not want to read it?” he asked, beginning to feel tight with anxiety.

Erik looked up at him, apparently surprised. “I do want to,” he said. “I just—don’t know how you remembered.”

Charles shrugged, blushing. “I’ve never met anyone else so interested in the same journals as me,” he said uncomfortably. “It stuck with me, is all.”

Erik was silent for a moment. Then he reached out and bopped the top of Charles’ head with the journal, just like he did when they were younger. “Alright,” he said, and sat on the couch next to Charles.

The first week passed easily; Charles found that close contact with Erik reawakened, not just his romantic nature, but all the memories of the things that made them friends. All of Erik’s charming habits, all of his annoying actions, it reminded Charles of how they had dealt with each other in the past. Instead of endless compromise, there were arguments that never ended, but were not painful or infuriating. Instead of listening to silence because they hated each other’s music, they annoyed each other endlessly by blasting their songs on the other’s phone through Bluetooth. Erik tackled Charles into the couch cushions and put him in a headlock for playing Depeche Mode.

Instead of surface pleasantries, they would sit up until 1AM talking about all the things they could never tell anyone else. Instead of bitterly complaining about the world, they talked about all the beauty they’d seen in the past few years.

Charles went to bed every night strangely content, and woke up every morning ready to begin another day of calm, and quiet, and companionship.

The problems started when Raven called him.

They were in the middle of the Plane Game, arguing about the shape and size of the average plesiosaur’s testicles, when Charles’ phone rang. He looked at the caller ID, perked up, and answered immediately. “Raven! Hello!”

“Charles, it’s been a week,” she snapped irritably. “When are you coming home?”

Charles blinked, surprised. “I’m not sure,” he lied. “A very long while yet, I suppose. Why, is something wrong?”

“Yes, you were supposed to come to Kurt’s recital.”

Guilt bit Charles’ stomach—but so did irritation. “I was not aware I was invited to any recitals,” he said calmly. “Is it the same venue where the stage director asked me if I wanted a lollipop?”

“Well—yes, but that shouldn’t matter. Kurt wants you to come.”

Charles thought for a moment. He did love his nephew, and loved being part of his life—but he knew exactly what would happen. If he were there, Raven and Azazel would dump Kurt in his lap, ask him to watch the boy, and then wander off and not come back for an hour or two. Charles may love his nephew, but he was not capable of catching a child that fast in a public area with other adults around. If Charles went to the recital, Azazel would make cruel jokes and when Charles got upset, Raven would be mad at her brother, not her husband. If he went to the recital, he would not be comfortable or happy, no matter how well Kurt did.

“Please tell Kurt I’m sorry,” Charles said, “But I won’t be available. Thank you for telling me, though.”

“Ugh, you are so selfish, Charles! Tell me when you get back.” And Raven hung up.

Charles lowered his phone into his lap and stared at it for a moment.

“What happened?” Erik asked.

“She wants me to go to Kurt’s recital,” Charles answered without looking up. “I do hope it goes well, and I know Kurt will be spectacular, but… I don’t know. I don’t exactly like being called a cripple and when I say something Raven gets mad at me.”

“Who calls you that?” Erik demanded sharply. Charles looked up, startled, to see actual anger on Erik’s face.

“Azazel,” he replied. “He started doing it about a week after I came home from the hospital. That’s why Raven stopped helping me; she said Azazel had told her that I needed to learn independence.”

Erik’s frown deepened further. “That fucking asshole,” he growled, and grabbed his own phone.

“Erik, wait, you don’t have to—”

“Hush.”

So Charles put his face in his hands and listened in horror as Erik called Azazel and chewed him out. Apparently Azazel kept trying to justify himself, because Erik kept shutting him down. Erik was right, of course. But he didn’t have to do that.

When Erik hung up, Charles kept his face hidden. There were tears in his eyes and he felt utterly ashamed. He shouldn’t have said anything. He really shouldn’t have. Now Azazel and Raven were going to be pissed at Charles again, and Erik, and it was going to be horrible. Maybe it was a good thing they wouldn’t be back for three months.

“He did deserve that,” Erik said grumpily.

“You could have waited,” Charles croaked. “Now he’s going to tell Raven, who will call me again to yell at me for lying, and then they will both be pissed at us for even thinking that they’re wrong.”

“No they—”

Charles’ phone rang again.

He swallowed hard, took a breath, and answered. Before he could say anything, Raven said, “Fuck you, Charles. Never come near me or my family again.” And then she hung up.

Charles did not attempt to stop the tears as his hand lowered again. There was no point. There was only Erik to see. And Erik wouldn’t tell. He had promised years ago, and Charles believed him. He wouldn’t tell anyone that Charles had cried.

“I’m sorry.”

Charles turned his head to look at Erik. He was too depressed to be startled. Erik had never apologized for losing his temper on Charles’ behalf, so this was new; but Charles didn’t really care. “Sorry for what?” he asked.

Erik pressed his lips together tightly, then answered, “I’m sorry for not listening to you. You were right, I didn’t think it through. I won’t do it again.”

Charles nodded and wiped his eyes on his sleeve. “Thank you, Erik.”

After a moment, Erik stood, walked over, sat beside Charles, and hugged him. Just like he used to before they broke up. Charles relaxed almost immediately. He remembered this. He remembered what it meant. He was grateful for it.

Over the next two weeks, Charles had to field calls from students, fellow teachers, and even his physical therapist, all of them worried about him. No one would say why. Several of them asked if he was safe, and he always said yes with a puzzled frown. Of course he was safe. He was with Erik.

Kurt called him at night once, on Raven’s phone, crying. He said Raven and Azazel were fighting and he was scared. Charles stayed on the phone with him and Erik called Emma to ask her to go over and make sure Kurt was okay. Unexpectedly, Raven wasn’t even annoyed that Kurt had called Charles; instead, she took Kurt to a hotel for the night. Erik and Charles thanked Emma, who told them it was her pleasure and they’d better not expect her to be the go-between.

Charles laid awake for hours after that, caught in a panic attack brought on by memories. He fell asleep around dawn, and slept all the way to noon.

“You alright?” Erik asked, looking worried as Charles picked at his salad.

“Yes,” Charles replied softly. “I’m fine.”

Erik made a face, then said, “It’s nice today. Let’s go to the beach.”

The beach was, indeed, quite pleasant. Charles even smiled at the glittering water, and Erik rolling up his pant legs to test the water and find shells. He snickered a little at Erik’s small yelp of “Cold! Fuck!”

Warm sun, brisk breeze, the scent of the ocean, and the realization that no one could actually come here and guilt or pressure or terrorize him, made him feel better with every breath. He wished he could touch the sand.

Erik walked over and said, “Do you want to feel the water? It’s fucking icy.”

Charles looked up at him, and grinned. “Sure, why not,” he said.

So Erik picked him up in his arms and carried him to the edge of the water, and set him down on the sand. Charles immediately put his hand in the waves and squeaked.

“Told you it was cold,” Erik said smugly, then yelped as Charles rubbed a handful of dry sand in his hair.

They stayed by the water until the light was almost gone, looking out at the ocean and talking about mermaids and sirens and other water-beings. Charles felt suitably relaxed and melancholy to say, “I used to wish Selkies would steal me from the beach when I was little. Even after Raven came. I wanted to disappear from real life. Under the ocean was the only place I could think of where no one would ever find me.”

Erik tightened his arm around Charles’ waist. “Then we wouldn’t have met,” he pointed out softly.

“Well, no. But you could’ve made better friends than me. You were popular because you were you. You would have been just fine without me.”

“Charles, that is not true.” Erik dragged Charles onto his lap, startling another squeak out of him, and grabbed his chin to make him look at Erik. He was scowling, and his eyes may have been shinier than usual. “You’re the one who got me through Shaw’s trial, remember?” he snapped. “You’re the one who helped me get into Oxford. You’re my best friend and I wouldn’t trade you for any other friend in the entire goddamn world.”

Charles stared at Erik. He wanted to cry, but he also wanted to kiss Erik. He was so close. And he was so supportive.

Instead, Charles rested his head on Erik’s shoulder and said softly, “Thank you. You’re my best friend too.”

“Good.”

They sat in the gathering dark and growing cold, holding on to each other tightly, and didn’t speak for a while. There was so much to say, and yet no words for any of it. Charles closed his eyes and listened to Erik’s heartbeat. It was a good sound.

“We should go back,” Erik sighed, rubbing Charles’ arm.

“Mm,” Charles hummed in reply, not making any movement to pull away.

“We’re both covered in sand.”

“Yes we are.”

“Your chair will be full of sand.”

“I know.”

“I’m starving.”

“Go without me.”

“And leave you alone by the sea after that Selkie stuff? Absolutely not.” Erik stood, cradling Charles in his arms, and returned him to his chair. Charles pouted, until Erik cupped Charles’ cheek in his hand and said sternly, “You don’t get to disappear on me again, Charles. Got it?”

“Got it,” Charles replied, and almost said that Erik looked otherworldly and breathtaking in the light of the seaside moon. Silver tracing his cheeks, glowing in his eyes, glistening in his white-streaked hair… concern and care and worry on his face. It made Charles’ chest ache. Before he could stop himself, he reached up and ran his fingertips down Erik’s jaw.

Then he remembered the situation and snatched his hand back, looking away and clearing his throat.

“We should—go,” Charles stammered, and turned his chair towards the slope up to the house.

The phone calls to “check up on him” declined sharply, and Charles enjoyed the peace. He and Erik spent a lot of time reading, or arguing, or playing chess. Moira video-called Charles to talk about classes next year, and to pass on Emma’s message that Raven and Kurt were staying with Emma for a while. Charles bit his lip, worried, then said, “Thank you, Moira. Please tell Emma I’m grateful, and Raven and Kurt that I love them.”

“Will do, Charles. By the way, did you read the university newsletter? That guest lecturer who talks about overcoming physical disability through optimism is coming by during the first semester. Do you want to come with me and we can ask him questions until he gets angry?”

Charles grinned. “Actually, Moira dear, I would love that.”

Moira laughed. “You are scary sometimes, you know that? Ah well. Anything else we should go over?”

“Not that I can think of. How are your cats?”

A few days later, Erik got a call from Azazel. He took it out to the garden. Charles bit his lip and kept playing with the interesting new fidget Alex had bought for his birthday, trying not to listen. He couldn’t even hear Erik speaking, the walls were too thick, but he thought he heard a raised voice. When Erik slammed the door coming back in, Charles flinched.

“It’s official,” Erik announced, flopping on the chair across from Charles. His face was a mix of satisfied and irritated. “Raven handed him the divorce papers this morning, and he’s blaming me.”

Charles gaped at him.

Erik ran his hand through his hair, mouth twisting in consternation. “He said it was because I—what were his words? Oh, yes, encouraged you to pit Raven against him. I swear I had no fucking clue he was that abusive.”

Charles closed his mouth and swallowed hard, then said softly, “It’s alright. I didn’t either. I thought he was just an asshole.”

Erik snorted. They were both quiet for a moment. Then Erik asked abruptly, “What do you want for dinner? We got a squash with the delivery yesterday.”

“Squash sounds lovely.”

On the fifth week of their stay, a storm hit.

It rattled the roof, beat against the windows, shook the earth. The rain sounded less like rain and more like small caliber bullets. The ocean roared and moaned and lightning flashed over it far too often for comfort.

Charles and Erik sat in the pantry, Erik shivering and curled up in Charles’ arms. He hated storms. He once told Charles it was because it reminded him too much of the night those nazi bastards broke into his home and—

Charles pressed his face to Erik’s sweat-spiked hair and hummed a lullaby, over and over, until the storm abated sometime after dawn. Erik still needed a few minutes to collect himself, but by the time the sun was out, shining apologetically, he was calm.

And then he had a panic attack around noon and Charles got on the floor with him and worked through it with him, until Erik was exhausted and trembling, but no longer glassy-eyed and with a clenched jaw. Charles ordered him to go sleep, and Erik did so, squeezing Charles’ shoulder in thanks. Charles chewed his lip worriedly, then shook his head and went to make himself a sandwich.

The next time there was a storm, Charles woke up to Erik crawling under his blankets with him and hiding his face in Charles’ shoulder. Nothing was said about this—but every time the wind picked up around the little house, Erik huddled against Charles, and Charles held him and tried so hard not to kiss him.

It was the end of the second month when Charles wheeled out of the bathroom, yawning, to see Erik dancing in the kitchen.

He had headphones on, and was listening his phone, and apparently didn’t care that the eggs were done. He looked a little bit like an elementary school kid trying to dance, except his hips were certainly smooth enough to make Charles blush. But he looked happy, and that was… wonderful. Charles just watched him, and found himself smiling. A silly dance from a silly man. It was adorable.

“I love you so much,” he whispered.

Of course, then Erik saw him, and almost fell down he was so startled. He ripped off his headphones and barked, “Damn it, Charles, warn me!”

“You had your music on, you wouldn’t have heard me,” Charles shot back. “You’ve gotten better at dancing.”

Erik stared at him, stunned. “Ah… I have?” Erik asked, and there was a current of disbelief and hope in his carefully neutral tone.

Charles smiled and nodded. “I remember the first time we danced around in our dorm, you were drunk and couldn’t stand straight but you were far more enthusiastic than me. You’re much better nowadays.”

“Oh.” Erik looked down at his feet, fidgeting with the headphones. Then he looked up and gave a tiny smile. “Thanks,” he said.

“Of course. Are the eggs burned?”

It happened so slowly that Charles didn’t even register it at first. But suddenly, in a spark of clarity, he realized that he and Erik were… growing into each other. It was so natural to sit tucked under Erik’s arm, to share a bed, to let Erik carry him into the ocean so he could feel the waves. And it was so natural to tell dumb jokes until Erik threw a pillow at him, or sing to him softly when he couldn’t sleep, or put on a show or movie that he remembered Erik liking.

Erik wasn’t as broody and quiet anymore. Charles wasn’t as scared.

Erik kissed him on their last day there.

It was actually quite disappointing to arrive back in New York and be swallowed up by noise and smells and lights and things moving quickly. Charles held Erik’s hand in the taxi tightly, his heart beating too fast. What would his coworkers think? What would Moira say? What about Raven, would she be angry? Then Charles looked over at Erik, who was watching him with a soft expression, and he felt a little more grounded. It didn’t matter what others thought. Erik loved him, and he loved Erik, and that was the only exchange of emotions that he should worry about on this topic.

Neither of them had said love, of course. But that’s what they had.

After dropping off all of their trunks at Charles’ apartment, Erik did some quite entertaining mouth movements before asking Charles nonchalantly, “So, got a spare room?”

“Don’t even try it,” Charles admonished. “My bed is more comfortable and you know that.”

Erik grinned. “Just wanted you to say it,” he said, and dropped a kiss on Charles’ head. “Nap time?”

Charles wove his fingers with Erik’s and chuckled. “Nap time,” he agreed.

#Cherik #Cherik fic #commission #gosh this is over 5k words and I am EXHAUSTED ahsdlgahepas

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freedom-shamrock · 5 years ago

Text

Hero Cafe - Chapter 3

Also on AO3

<<< See Chapter 1 << Go back to Chapter 2

Marinette scrambled down the stairs, gripping tightly to the railing to avoid crashing in a heap at the bottom. She dashed across the living room and yanked the apartment door open to reveal Luka. His hair was longer and he seemed a little taller than she remembered from their last visit, things she hadn't been able to see in their video chats. It had been too long.

"Luka!" she cheered, raising both arms up in the air.

He chuckled, pulling her into a tight hug. "Oh it's so good to see you, ma Melodie."

Her feet left the floor, and she responded to his exuberance by wrapping her legs around his hips and giggling. "Oh I've missed you so much."

His arms tightened around her and his face nuzzled her neck, tickling her just a little. "This kind of welcome home is only going to encourage me to keep going away because you know I love coming back to this."

"Nooooo," she whined. "That's so mean." She gave him the best kitten eyes she could, something she'd become quite good at thanks to her exposure to Chat Noir.

He let out a slow sigh and loosened his hold, so she did the same. "I could never be that mean to ma Melodie. Not on purpose." He pressed his forehead to hers.

She found her feet touching the floor again. Despite all their joking about it, she knew he hated going away. It was a necessary part of building his audience though, and she wouldn't dream of discouraging it. He'd done a really good job using social media to build a following, but to really make it as a musician, he needed to put himself out there where people could see and meet him, not just hear him. It was a tried and true model, and it was already working for him. His shows in Paris could no longer be held in coffee shops and intimate venues, and he'd sold out the larger bars for his last few solo shows.

"How was this leg of the tour?" she asked, sliding her hands down his arms. She enjoyed the feeling of his beautiful muscles under her palms. "Any needless drama?"

Luka snorted. "I was providing backing guitar for Jagged Stone. That man thrives on drama."

"You're not wrong." Marinette had definitely seen that in her frequent stints as album cover art and stage costume designer for the rockstar. "I'm beginning to think drama is his muse," she suggested.

Luka let out a surprised bark of a laugh. "Oh god, I'd never thought of it that way. But you're so right!" He let go of her hands, reluctance clear in his movements. "Get your shoes on, Melodie. I've missed our walks."

Luka's returns to Paris, especially after the longer gigs on tour with Jagged, had developed into a routine. He'd check in with his ma and Juleka first, then he and Marinette would catch up as they strolled aimlessly through Paris. He'd join her family for dinner and they'd end the evening snuggling. Other than the catching up, it wasn't that different from many of their regular get togethers. Sure they hung out in her room, or his dorm content in each others' company as they worked on their own art forms, and sometimes they went out to eat, but all in all, they preferred the simplicity. There was enough perceived complexity in their relationship already.

By the time Marinette had shoved her feet into her sandals, Luka's guitar was strapped to his back. They'd learned early on that their greetings, especially the ones after long absences, were not compatible with sketchbooks or instruments. As she closed the door, he swept up her hand and brought it to his lips. She returned his smile, happy heat prickling in her cheeks as she shook her head indulgently at him. Luka wasn't a grand gestures man. He much prefered to provide a constant stream of everyday affection. Frankly, it was her preference as well, and she often accused him of being unaware of how much his mere presence, much less his continuous gentle touches, pet names, and unquestioning support affected her.

They held hands as they walked to their preferred cafe for this side of town. They wandered aimlessly, taking turns deciding when to cross the street or turn a corner. All the while they talked, catching up on the things they hadn't over the phone.

"Is your super secret project done?" he asked as they settled onto a bench in a quiet part of a park. It was early evening, and most people were rushing home from work, yet.

Marinette grinned. "Yes." She hadn't told him anything about the cafe she'd set up for the heroes, because she wanted it to be a surprise. When he was in Paris, he wore the miraculous of the snake, moonlighting as the hero Viperion. In fact, Sass was riding in her purse with Tikki right now, and she would slip the bangle on his wrist before too long. "I can't wait to show you."

He flashed her a bit of pouty lip, fluttering his eyelashes. "You're going to make me wait?" His voice wavered plaintively.

"Surprises are most fun when revealed at the right moment," she replied, reaching out to lightly tap his nose. "Surely you know that, Star."

He closed his eyes, a blissful smile on his face as he listened to a song only he could hear. Luka had turned out to be far more perceptive than anyone realized. She and Tikki felt he likely had a bit of his own magic tied in with that whole heartsong knack of his. He'd always known she was Ladybug, or almost always, and he'd realized that she was the new guardian. It was only when that added responsibility seemed too much for her that he revealed his secret knowledge and offered to be there for her in whatever way helped. Just having someone who knew, someone she could talk to, and who could balance her when she was spiraling had made a huge difference.

⁂

She'd shown the cafe off to him when they got back from their walk, and for the first time in their acquaintance he was truly speechless. Sure, there had been times when he couldn't find the right words, but this wasn't like that. He didn't have words, clumsy or otherwise. He'd rubbed his hands eagerly and grinned, fidgeting with giddy energy over each amenity she showed off.

After dinner with her parents, Luka happily helped Marinette bring the leftovers up. When they reached her room from the kitchen, she realized Chat Noir had been there. She rolled her eyes and shook her head at the brown paper wrapped bolts of fabric that hadn't been in her crafting area when they went down to dinner.

"What's that?" Luka asked, following her lead and setting down his burden on her desk.

"Gifts from Chat Noir, most likely." She'd been trying to discourage him; she really didn't need anything in exchange for keeping the hero cafe running smoothly. Even if she wasn't the guardian, trying to take care of her team, she was grateful to the heroes of Paris. But that cat was a master at changing the subject and was incredibly slippery about getting out of promises.

"Ooooh," Luka murmured in a delicious low voice. "Gifts from the kitty cat, hmmmm?"

Her cheeks went hot. "It's not like that," she insisted.

Luka laughed.

"I keep telling him to stop…" she sliced through the tape with a sharp scissors, sighing in awe at the fabric hiding inside. He had such good taste in fabric, and an almost terrifyingly accurate understanding of what she wanted or needed at any given time. She knew he came from money, but she tried to feel at least a little guilty that he was giving her fabrics she'd coveted but couldn't afford unless they were part of a commission.

"I think it's exactly like that," Luka said, looking closely at the fabric, then smiling at her. "But you are amazing, Melodie, so it's not a surprise that he'd be wooing you."

She sighed, her shoulders drooping. She hadn't meant to encourage Chat Noir's boldly stated affection for her civilian side, but it would be a lie to deny that she didn't enjoy his flirting. He was sweet and a bit over-the-top, but nowhere near as obnoxious as he'd been when they were younger. It was nice to feel wanted, but she worried Luka would step even further back than he already had, and oh god she wanted him closer, not farther away.

"Oh, mo ghaol," he murmured, gently cupping her face in his hands.

His skin was warm against hers, grounding her in the moment. She met his eyes and her breath caught, stupid tears welling up. For the last two years they'd had this odd not-quite-dating relationship. They attended universities eleven minutes away from each other (by foot, and he usually biked), and they spent a ridiculous amount of time together… when he was in town. He'd spent so much in his second and third years, touring with folk, rock and even classical groups while attending lectures remotely. When it was clear that they had chemistry, and that they were definitely both interested, they'd talked about how that distance could come between people in a romantic relationship. They were both willing to risk their friendship on a romance, but only if the odds weren't stupidly stacked against them. So while their cuddles weren't remotely platonic, and they hugged and touched in a way that sent a distinct message, they were free to date others. But somehow in that time, neither had. He wouldn't accuse her of being unfaithful, because that wasn't an expectation he had. But she didn't want him to think he had competition, either.

He leaned in and kissed her forehead. "Let's put this food in the refrigerator so we can have a good snuggle on your bed. There's something I wanted to share with you." He smiled, and it was shy. "Questions I have for you. And I think this will all be okay then." He raised his eyebrows in question.

Marinette nodded, gulping down the sob that was trying to crawl out her throat. She snatched the rolls, since nothing would break if she dropped them and she always got extra clumsy when her emotions ran away with her. The cafe was quiet tonight. Not a big surprise. No one was on patrol, though that didn't mean there weren't heroes out and about. Chat had dropped by, after all.

That duty tended to, they settled on her bed, in a familiar and comfortable position. Her head rested on his shoulder as his arms encircled her. After a moment, she rolled toward him, pressing her face into his shirt.

"You okay, Melodie?" he asked as he gently rubbed her back.

She nodded. "You had something to talk about?" He'd probably gotten another tour offer. He'd only just gotten home and now he was going away again. She was proud of him, and so glad people were recognizing how amazing he was. But it still kind of sucked.

"Yeah." He took a deep breath. "I talked to my counselor right before I came home, and it looks like I'm done touring until after uni. Surprise."

She froze for a moment. Those were not the words she was expecting. At all. She raised herself up on her elbow to look him in the face.

He gave her a smile, sweet and soft. "I'm going to need to be on campus working on my final project, which is going to be a solo album and all the trappings that go with it. I have to do the marketing, the art, setting up a release party, promoting it with local shows, and all that budgeting crap. Conservatoire de Paris has been great about letting me do my music and get credit for performing while taking classes at a distance, but they want me here to do the final project."

She knew her mouth made a little o shape, but nothing came out. He wasn't going away. Not for a whole year. It was the best news. The sobs had been replaced by giggles that she fought to keep at bay. She didn't want to interrupt anything he had to say right now.

"Since I'm going to be in Paris," he said slowly. "And you're going to be in Paris." He lightly booped her nose with his pinkie. "I was wondering if maybe you'd be interested in revisiting us." He gestured between them. "Specifically negotiating what kind of relationship we could have."

"Yes." She nodded eagerly. "I'd like that."

He looked as happy as she felt. "I'll be around to help you balance your super secret side gig, though I think you've been doing a lot better with that lately." He grinned. "Then again, you have a whole team bending over backward to help and comfort you." He winked. "In both forms."

She gasped. "Luka!" She swatted at him gently. "It's not like that."

"It's totally like that," he insisted. "But that's okay, too. It makes me happy that you're getting all the love and attention you deserve."

She wanted to interrupt, but he was on a roll.

"And to help keep things from getting awkward later, I'm fine sharing you with them," he said. Nothing in his face or voice contradicted the statement. "If you want to date other people while you're with me, I get that. You're multifaceted, and I may not be everything you need."

She gawked at him. "What?" She shook her head. She'd always felt that it was fine to be attracted to other people while being true to just one. "Why would you…"

"Just let me lay this out for you, Melodie," he said, brushing her cheek with his knuckles. "Let me tell you what I'm willing to go for if it means I get to be with you."

She sighed and nodded. "Fine."

"I'm okay with you dating the heroes of Paris," he explained. "Any and all of them while you're with me. Though if you're going to date beyond that group, I'd like us to talk about it first; not that I want veto power." He paused, looking contemplative. "I think it'll be easier for me to share you with them because you're their Ladybug, our Ladybug. Our guardian." He beamed at her. "Our most miraculous one."

⁂

I'm in Minnesota and have been under stay at home orders for 33 days. Fortunately I'm able to work from home, as is the hubby. Unfortunately his gig is full time and mine is part time, and the bulk of the MANAGING THE FAMILY burden (dinners, food supply, kid school, kid free time, cleaning, etc) has fallen to me. This means I somehow have LESS time to write. I have to tell you, it's making me insane. Last weekend I declared everyone my room mates and was not responsible for anything. HA. We are trying to fix the imbalance.

mo ghaol - Scots Gaelic for "my love"

If you’re so inclined, feel free to support me over on Ko-Fi

Check out Chapter 4 >>

#Miraculous Ladybug #fanfic #My Writing #Hero Cafe #Marinette #Luka #Viperion #Lukanette

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