#a) he has depression. shit such as showering can be draining

[christopher-bangnaldoskzz]

Pairing: Han jisung x Female reader

Word count: 2.5k

Genre: angst

Warning: talks of depression and loss

Since the moment she walked out of my life, sleep has eluded me completely. Each night stretches into an endless cycle of tossing and turning, as my restless mind races with memories and imagined scenarios. Every thought seems to spiral back to her, replaying moments we shared and the laughter we once exchanged. It feels as if my brain has become a revolving door for her presence, and no matter how hard I try to focus on anything else, her image refuses to fade from my consciousness.

*knock knock*

“Han?” Minho's soft voice echoes through the door.

“Dude?…..are you awake?” he asks

Though I find myself awake in the physical sense, I can’t help but question whether I am truly present in the moment. The answer to that introspective inquiry is clear: not even remotely. I feel a profound sense of numbness enveloping me, as if I’m merely a spectator in my own life, detached from my surroundings and experiences.

“Han…please….im worried about you, its been days”

There it is, a reminder of my loss, my love, my everything. She’s gone, and the weight of that reality crushes me. I can still hear her laughter, feel the warmth of her presence, but it’s all gone. I pushed her away. Looking back, I realize how my insecurities and fears built an invisible wall between us. I wasn’t strong enough to hold on, and now, with each day that passes, I grapple with the haunting knowledge that I could have fought harder to keep her by my side.

“Get up…. Grab your shit we are going out” Minho says throwing my jacket at me.

“Do I really have to?” I ask, my voice laced with irritation, the frustration evident in my furrowed brow.

“Yes,” Minho snaps back, his tone sharp as a knife. He pauses for a moment, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips before adding, “Oh, and Han?”

“What!” I retort, my annoyance escalating.

“Shower, will you?” he says, his expression turning serious. “You smell absolutely disgusting.”

……

“Seriously, dude… you need to snap out of this,” Minho said, his voice edged with frustration as he gripped the steering wheel tighter, the leather creaking under his palms. The radio played softly in the background, but it felt distant and insignificant compared to the knot of emotions churning in my stomach. “She dumped you; it isn’t the end of the world.”

I stared out the window, watching the blurred landscape fly by, feeling every single word he said ripple through me like waves crashing against a rocky shore. How could he understand? He had never experienced the kind of love that tore your heart out and laid it bare, leaving you feeling exposed and vulnerable. It felt as if she'd taken every cherished moment we've shared and smashed it in front of me, and there was no way to pick up the pieces. The pain was raw and fresh, and no amount of pep talk from someone who had never truly loved would change that.

I’m feeling completely drained; I didn’t even take a moment to brush my hair this morning. Honestly, I can only imagine the wild state it’s in right now—probably a chaotic mix of tangles and frizz.

“Where are we going anyway?” I finally say.

"Out… you really need to step outside those four walls, man. I can't stand watching you like this anymore. It feels as if someone has just kicked a poor, helpless puppy," he said with a mix of concern and frustration. As he turned and headed toward the exit, I caught a glimpse of my favorite coffee shop in the distance. It stood there like a cozy oasis, a charming little family-owned place nestled away from the bustling streets of Seoul. The warm glow of its inviting lights and the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee reminded me of simpler times, moments of comfort I desperately craved right now.

“We are here” he smiled as he pulled into the parking lot.

Getting out of the car felt like an uphill battle, each movement requiring a renewed effort that left me breathless. Lately, everything seemed to bear the weight of that same struggle, as if I were trudging through thick mud. The absence of her presence loomed heavily over me; nothing felt familiar or comforting anymore. Even my favorite spot, once a sanctuary filled with laughter and shared moments, felt desolate and empty without her bright smile and warm company. I longed for the days when simple outings were filled with joy, but now they were simply reminders of what was missing.

As we stepped through the door, a warm smile from the owner welcomed us. The atmosphere inside was surprisingly quieter then normal. I glanced around and noticed that aside from us, there was only a single woman seated at a table, her back turned to the register as she focused intently on her phone. The subtle hum of soft music played in the background, adding to the inviting ambiance of the place.

“Just your usual?” the owner asks with a friendly smile as he moves toward the register, the familiar sound of the coffee grinder humming softly in the background.

“Yes, please,” I respond, feeling a warm sense of comfort in this cozy café. The rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee and baked pastries fills the air, stirring memories of many mornings spent here. As he prepares my order, I glance around, taking in the soft lighting and eclectic decor that makes this place feel like a second home. the first time in what feels like forever I smile.

“Lets go take a seat” Mingo says leading me towards the stranger in the corner of the cafe.

“Dude, what are you doing?” I ask, my voice laced with hesitation as I reach out to grasp his arm, attempting to gently pull him back from the edge of the situation.

“It’s about time you stopped indulging in this melodramatic nonsense you’ve been milking,” he said, his voice steady and firm as he closed the distance between them with purposeful strides.

“Are you really trying to set me up on a date? Minho, I can’t believe this! I’m not even four days into my breakup,” I whispered fiercely, glancing around to ensure the stranger nearby couldn’t overhear our conversation. My heart raced with a mix of disbelief and frustration, the weight of my recent heartbreak still heavy on my chest.

Just like that, as if the stranger had a sixth sense about my thoughts, she suddenly turns around and our eyes lock in an instant. There she is—my love, my everything. Her hair cascades down her shoulders in soft waves, catching the sunlight and shimmering like spun gold. She’s wearing those adorable overalls that fit her perfectly, with tiny patches adorning the pockets that give her an effortlessly cute vibe. My heart begins to race, pounding in my chest like a drum, and I can feel the warmth of a blush creeping onto my cheeks. Everything around us fades away, and in that moment, it feels like just the two of us exist, suspended in time.

“Before you decide to punish me, just take a moment to talk to her,” Minho urges, his voice filled with urgency. Yet, I find myself unable to tear my gaze away from her, captivated by the way she stands there, a mixture of vulnerability and strength in her demeanor.

“What do I even say” I answer back.

“The truth… oh, and don’t forget your apology,” he chuckled, a mischievous glint in his eye. With a friendly pat on my shoulder, he turned away and made his way across the room to engage in conversation with the owner.

As I approach her, the golden sunlight bathes her face, casting a warm glow that highlights her features in the most enchanting way. She resembles an ethereal angel, so captivating that I can't restrain my admiration. “You look absolutely beautiful,” I find myself saying, the words spilling out with an earnestness I can't contain.

“Thank you,” she says with a bright smile, her eyes sparkling as she gracefully settles back into her chair. With a welcoming gesture, she motions towards the vacant chair opposite her, inviting me to join her in the conversation.

Before she has the chance to utter a single word, I take a deep breath and start to explain. “I’m really sorry, y/n. I know I was a jerk….what I did—”

“Was disgusting…disrespectful, and utterly wrong,” she interjects, her voice sharp with hurt. Her eyes blaze with emotions, making it clear just how deeply my actions had affected her.

"You’re right," I murmur, my gaze falling to the ground, unable to meet her eyes.

"I came here to tell you that... to tell you that every decision you made that day... it made me physically ill," she continues, her voice trembling with emotion. A wave of guilt crashes over me as I realize the weight of my choices, the hurt I've caused. How could I have done this to her? The thought spirals in my mind, gnawing at the edges of my conscience.

“I can’t believe you would ever think that you couldn’t come to me for help,” she said, her voice trembling with a mix of disbelief and hurt. “Did I mean so little to you, Jisung? Is that how you truly see our relationship?”

“No, not at all,” I stammered, my voice barely above a whisper. “I just didn’t want you to—”

“What! Find out?” she shot back, her eyes blazing with a mix of hurt and anger. In an instant, she stood up from the table, the chair scraping sharply against the floor, and stormed out, leaving a heavy silence in her wake.

“Shit, shit, shit,” I muttered under my breath, my heart racing as I glanced toward Minho, who wore a look of concern. Panic surged through me as I pushed away from the table, my footsteps echoing against the cold tiles as I hurried outside, desperate to stop her before she disappeared completely.

“Y/N, wait!” I call out, my voice echoing as I rush after her, my footsteps quickening against the pavement. I can see her reaching the car, her movements hurried, and I feel a sense of urgency gripping me.

“What is it that you want?” she screams, her voice echoing with a mix of frustration and desperation, her eyes wide with a blend of anger and fear.

“You!” I pant “Your face is etched into my brain. No matter how hard I try to remove it or forget, there you are, just…” I tap my temples vigorously with my index finger. “I’m stuck, bound by memories of you—your touch, your voice. It’s enough to drive me mad!” My eyes widen, reflecting my intense emotions. “I sit here wondering if it’s just me going through all this pain, or if you feel the same way.” my body shaking “everything reminds me of you y/n, everything”

“You don't get to say that Han, I gave you the world and you broke me”

In that moment, the weight of the world crashed down upon me—this was the final blow. You broke me . I lowered my gaze, embarrassment washing over me like a dark tide. “I know,” I whispered, my voice barely audible, a fragile acknowledgment of the pain that had unfolded between us.

“How dare you,” she breathed, her voice a venomous whisper as fury danced in her eyes. I felt the weight of her accusation settle heavily on my chest, and all I could think was that I deserved this searing tongue-lashing. “You don't get to hurt… not after what you did. How could you?”

Tears streamed down her flushed cheeks, glistening like fragile glass as they fell. Each sob seemed to echo in the space between us, a haunting reminder of the pain I caused. My heart twisted painfully as I took a step closer, instinctively wrapping my arms around her in an attempt to offer comfort, just like I used to before the callousness took over me and I lost my way.

“Shhhh,” I whisper softly, cradling her in my arms. I place gentle, warm kisses on the crown of her head, trying to ease her worries and calm her racing heart. The soft rhythm of my voice mingles with the quiet of the room, wrapping around us like a comforting blanket.

“How could you ji?” she keeps sobbing.

“I know, I’m sorry,” I whisper, my voice trembling as I repeat the words like a mantra. Each time I say it, I yearn to convey the depth of my longing for her, the aching void she has left in my life. I miss her more than I can express—every moment apart feels like an eternity. I crave the warmth of her touch, the way her fingers would glide over my skin, igniting sensations I can't forget. I long for the sweet taste of her lips, the intoxicating blend of intimacy and desire that left me breathless. Each thought of her pulls at my heart, reminding me of the connection we once shared.

"I will spend every moment of our lives trying to make it up to you… I promise," I say, my voice filled with conviction. Gently, I nudge her back a bit to create a bit of space between us, then I lift my thumb to tenderly brush away the tears that glisten on her cheeks.

“I loved you,” she whispered, her voice trembling as her body shuddered in the struggle to contain the tears that threatened to spill over.

“Please, I beg you… no more secrets, no more lies… just grant me this one chance to make things right. I know you may have loved me once, but my feelings for you have never faltered, not even for a moment. I was foolish, thinking I could navigate this alone without reaching out for your support. I see now how wrong I was. I’m pleading with you—find it in your heart to forgive me, just this once more”

Her eyes lock onto mine, a magnetic pull that sends a jolt through me. I gently trace my thumb across her bottom lip, my mind racing with the desire to press my lips against hers at that very moment.

I can see a flicker of longing in her gaze as it darts between my eyes and my lips. The air between us crackles with the tension of unspoken wishes. Leaning in closer, I lower my lips, hovering just inches from hers, and whisper softly, “Your turn to make the first move.”

With that invitation hanging in the air, she closes the distance between us. Our lips collide, a perfect union that feels as though they’ve been yearning to meet for ages, igniting a warmth that spreads throughout my entire being.

I gently pull away, my voice barely above a whisper as I say, “my love.”

With a tender smile, she gazes into my eyes and replies, “my everything.”

Taglist: @bakedlilgoonie @krishastumblernow @armystay89 @daceydeath @cakeracha

[jillsandwhichs]

Valenfield Oneshots/AU's Collection, Chapter 5, Missing you

Masterlist

Pairing: Jill Valentine & Chris Redfield.

Summary: Chris visits Jills grave.

Status of their relationship in this oneshot: Best friends w clear feelings.

WC: 2.8k

Type: Sfw

Slight Warning: Talks of depression & death

A/n: Hi! Hope you all enjoy. Please check out my masterlist, there's a lot of stuff there. You can get to know me, you can see the rules of my blog and then you can see all of my fanfictions. You'll be able to find the previous chapters to this fic and upcoming ones. You'll also be able to find my Wattpad & AO3. Thank you

Every waking morning, of every fucking day, he can't forget. Chris cannot forget what happened back in August. It rots in the front of his mind, twenty four seven. He can't even say he wishes to forget, because he doesn't, he just wishes the pain could be numbed.

The amount of misery Chris is enduring is too much. It's slowly causing him to shut down. No motivation for absolutely anything.

He misses her, so fucking much. More than he could fathom. His heart aches at the near thought of her.

Waking up has been the worst part of the day for Chris. Sometimes, he wishes he'll just die in his sleep so the pain can fade, and he can end his suffering. But he can't. He knows she's somewhere, she can't be dead, she just can't be.

As his thoughts faded, Chris sleepily walked into the restroom, turning the light on, which caused him to close his eyes. He hadn't been sleeping right recently. Maybe two to three hours every other day. If he tries to sleep, it all just hits him, all those memories of what occured.

"Shit." Chris mumbled to himself, splashing the cold faucet water onto his emotionless face, waking himself up as much as he could advance.

His hair felt greasy, and he didn't feel clean. He hadn't showered in a good week or two, due to lack of motivation. All he's wanted to do as of recently is lay in bed or go on missions, in hopes of being able to take his mind off of all that's happened.

Treading over to the shower, Chris turned the handle of the shower, leaving it on the cooler setting, dreading even the idea of a hot shower.

Looking down at the shower floor, watching as the water streamed quickly into the rusted, small drain.

Chris reached his rough felt hands to his back, pulling off his red, old long sleeve shirt, leaving himself shirtless, his torso full of scars and bruises from his past missions and events he's participated in.

Next, he removed his pants, then his underwear, becoming nude, stepping into the shower, water instantly hitting his fit body, causing him to sigh in vexation, placing his two arms in front of him on the shower wall.

His head was looking down, only the shower floor and his own feet in sight. The chilly water was dripping off of his light brown hair, droplets rolling off his forehead and onto his nose, and quivering lips.

Grief isn't something that has always bothered Chris. You lose teammates, that's the life he lives, but now, grief isn't just something Chris can take with stride, it's now consumed him wholey. Chris had never felt this way before. The fucking guilt he feels is unbearable.

If only he was strong enough to fight that bastard off, Jill wouldn't of had to step in. He could've ensured her safety. He could've stopped it. Instead of Jill, it was meant to be him, that's all he can think about.

"Jill..." Chris muttered out, his voice shaky as he whispered her name. "Fuck." Chris shouted, covering his face as he turned his head up towards the shower head.

While he knew, he just knew, she wasn't dead, he still couldn't stop his broken heart from acting out.

There isn't enough evidence. Her hat and necklace was left behind, on that cold, dirt, moist ground. That day was one of the worst of his life.

Chris had ambled around all of the Spencer Estates land, searching for any remains of her, that's the day he found those belongings. Ever since, he's cherished them, kept them for himself.

Her hat smells just like her, even her necklace. Before bed, he just sits on his bed, holding both items, and smells them. Could sound weird, but he just misses her so much, any smell that remotely reminds him of her, he'll relish in.

Grabbing the bar of soap, he began to scrub his muscular arms, watching as small, soapy bubbles formed on them. Chris then turned his body, allowing the icy felt water to soak his arms, letting the soap fall off of him.

Doing the same action to his other arm, he then did it to his legs and torso. The lack of motivation has been getting to him but today, he's gained at least a sliver of it to make some progress in taking care of himself.

-

After finishing up his shower, Chris turned off the shower, and hopped out of it, grabbing a grey cloth towel, and wrapped it around his waist, just deciding to let his upper half air dry.

Living alone is a pro, especially in Chris's case. Since there's nobody around, he can remain in such a vulnerable state.

It would be nice though, if he had Jill with him. They had discussed moving in together and what not, but only as friends...

Walking out of his restroom, he strolled towards the small, wooden table sitting in the middle of the kitchen, and grabbed a pack of cigarettes off of it, reaching his thick fingers at an angle to grab a single one.

He placed the cigarette between his two lips, grabbing his black lighter and lighting up the cig, taking a drag of it, exhaling the nicotine slowly. Chris moved over to the big window in his smaller sized home, just staring out of it.

Big trees covered the land, the breeze causing the dead leaves to fall off of the trees, trickling down onto the dewey grasslands. Chris loved where he had been living, if only Jill could be here with him, enjoying it with him.

Taking one last drag of the cigarette, Chris then smushed it into the dirty, dusty ashtray, leaving the cigarette butt in it.

His smoking habit had been gone since the early two-thousands, until now, he picked the habit right back up like there was never any gap of when he had quit. Part of why he quit, was for the BSAA but also for Jill, because she despises it. The smell of cigarette smoke makes her nauseous.

Chris sighed and headed towards his closest, opening it slowly and grabbing out a shirt and some jeans, just something casual.

Whilst getting dressed, Chris was thinking about what he wanted to do for the day. Lately, all he's been doing is either laying in bed, crying or sleeping, or he'll drive around, trying to get his mind off of what's been happening in his life.

Making his decision, he chose to go and visit Jill's grave. Chris knows she's alive, she just can't be gone, he refuses to believe it. Although, visiting the tombstone makes him feel as though he's actually speaking with her. It's just a coping mechanism.

Wandering over to the table, once again, he picked up his pack of cigarettes, then his truck keys and began heading out the front, small door, wanting to leave his depressing, closed in home.

Outside, it was cold. Fall time was Chris's favorite, but he honestly couldn't be elated about it, without Jill by his side, enjoying it with him.

A memory Chris often remembers between him and Jill is when the two were walking in a park, it was just some random one they decided to visit when in Indiana. It was windy, and Jill had gotten cold, Chris remembered how she had complained about it, the way her cute nose scrunched when she made a playful angry face rested in his mind.

The reasoning as to why he adores the memory so much is how they had hugged. The way Jill had wrapped her arms around him, stuffing her face in his chest as he caressed her hair gently, making her feel safe.

Chris had just felt so euphoric in that exact moment. The blissful hug they shared was perfect. Happiness was something Chris has always searched for, and he had it with her. And now, that happiness is missing.

It'll only be back once he finds her, which he swears he will. The confidence he has when it comes to knowing she's still alive is out of this roof.

Treading out to his truck, he double clicked the unlocking button on his keys, hearing his truck beep, ensuring it's not locked anymore.

Leaves crunched beneath his feet, his thick, leather boots making noise as he stomped along. He looked up at the sky, it was quite gloomy out. Felt as though the weather was matching his mood.

Getting into the truck, Chris adjusted himself in the front seat, he brought the seatbelt across him, pushing it into the buckle and putting his key into the ignition, switching it on.

He placed his arm around the passenger seat, looking back, as he pulled out of the black pavemented driveway, Chris began driving to the graveyard, dreading it yet knowing he needed this. He needed to just let it out and see her.

Without Jill, Chris feels nothing. He hopes she finds her way back to him, like the Jill he knows and loves would. Is she hurt? Is she kidnapped? Did she just simply run away? Chris doesn't know, but whatever it is, he knows he'll see her again someday.

It's not his delusion, but rather his hope and faith.

-

Continuing to drive, Chris decided to make a pitstop at a floral shop, wanting to pick up some flowers to rest at her tombstone, even though there's no one really buried beneath the grave.

The shop he chose was called, 'Mary's Flower Shop', most likely a small business, or possibly family owned. Opening the truck door, he quickly got out and strided into the shop, instantly smelling the ravishing scent of flowers, which Chris happened to enjoy.

Analyzing the shop, Chris saw a bouquet of flowers caught his eye, making him happy just viewing them. He treaded to them and picked them up, sticking his nose closer to the tops of flowers, sniffing them.

"Smell good?" A older woman questioned Chris as she stood behind him. Chris turned around and placed a smile on his face, not a very real one though. "Yeah, yeah they do." He replied, smelling them again.

"Well honey, most of these are home grown, those are called dahlias, they are very beautiful and last a good long time!" The woman said with a chuckle, slowly walking towards Chris and grabbing the dahlias, to see if they were fresh.

"I see." Chris nodded, watching as the older woman examined the flowers. Her name tag read, 'Mary', just like the shops name. "Do you own this establishment?" Chris questioned, the topic peaking his interest.

"Oh, yes dear, I do! I've owned this marvelous shop for almost four decades." Mary smiled, it was precious beyond belief, making Chris feel some warmth within his dark, cold heart.

"That's impressive." Chris stated, feeling happy for this woman, that she has succeeded in life. "It really is." Mary replied, smiling as she stumbled over to the register, Chris following behind her.

"So darling, who are these for? You got a lady back home? If not, maybe for your mother? I don't mean to pry but I haven't seen no man buy flowers in quite some time. Now, back in my day, it was common courtesy, times are changing." Mary expressed, writing down the price of the dahlias as she did.

"I guess you could say that... A special someone, I mean." Chris awkwardly stated, not trying to talk on the situation too much. "Son, you look too young to be married! How old are you exactly?" She asked, staring at him kindly.

"I'm thirty-two, ma'am." Chris muttered, not understanding why this woman was being nosey, but old people can get like that, especially the lonely ones.

"Oh honey, you better make that marriage last! I bet she's a good one!" Mary announced, laughing while confirming Chris's purchase.

"Oh I'm not marr-" Chris went to finish his sentence but Mary cut him off, not even realizing she did so. "Here you go, take great care of these, it's one of my best bouquets, okay?" She said softly, sliding the flowers across the counter, allowing Chris to pick them up.

"Will do, Mary." Chris smirked, grabbing the flowers whilst paying, then heading out of the small, yet comforting shop.

Mary seemed like such a gentle soul, in a way, she reminds him of Jill. She had that same spunk to her, maybe it was the sternness. Or the humor she had. Either way, Chris knows he just misses Jill.

-

Continuing his drive, Chris spotted the sign that alerted people they were near the specific cemetery, the one Jill's tombstone was in, he pulled left into the parking lot, finding an empty space to park in.

Parking his truck, Chris unbuckled and immediately opened the door, hopping out of the seat and stretching his arms, allowing his body to feel alive again.

"Shit..." Chris denoted to himself, rubbing his temple. Before closing his trucks door, he grabbed his cigarette pack from the cup holder, and shoved it into his jeans pocket.

Chris hadn't felt alive recently. All he's been doing in laying in bed, barley eating and not wanting to take care of himself. He wants to though, he wants to be better, for when Jill comes back.

He ambled towards the yard, heading to the further back area, knowing that's where the tombstone was.

His head was full of thoughts. It breaks his heart to even think about what if she really is dead. But she can't be, and he will deny deny deny until proven otherwise.

Flowers in hand, Chris reached it, Jill's gravestone. It was a little discolored from the rain that covered it the night before. There really isn't any decorations around her stone, just some dead flowers from a week ago, that of course, Chris placed.

Standing there, Chris simply admired the grave, staring at the 'Jill Valentine' that was so enamoring to look at. Her tombstone was beautiful, but it wasn't her.

"Oh Jill..." Chris sighed to himself, kneeling down and placing the dahlias neatly on the side. He also placed his hand on the top of the stone, holding it firmly. "I hope you like dahlias." He uttered.

Talking to the tombstone did somewhat bring him comfort. Knowing she's not below, in the dirt, is what helped bring him comfort, knowing she wasn't actually dead. She can't be.

Chris grunted as he sat down beside the stone, adjusting his position to be more comfortable. "I haven't been myself lately... It's just been so bleak." Chris muttered to himself, but also to the gravestone.

"I've been picking up so many missions, anything that can lead me back to you..." Chris whispered, picking at the wet grass, flicking the slivers of it in front of him, like a child would at recess.

"I have refused every partner they've tried assigning me, they just aren't you. No one could ever be you. I wanna be alone, forever." Chris stated, looking down at the dirty stone, drops of rain begining to fall upon him.

"Well, unless you come back. If you come back, I wanna be with you. I'm..." He stopped speaking for a second. "I'm in love with you, Jill Valentine."

In silence, Chris just let his mind roam. All that kept happening were flashbacks of that horrific night. The sight of Jill falling with Wesker, her desperate yell as he shoved that asshole out of the window, Chris can't escape it.

"Why would you do this, Jill? It should've been me, not you. You didn't deserve that." Chris whispered, his voice shaky as he spoke the words. "My intentions were only to keep you safe, and you had to just-" He stopped speaking, placing his veiny hands onto his head, running his fingers through his still damp hair, pulling on it aggressively, almost as if to punish himself.

Holding back tears, Chris sighed deeply. He wasn't one to cry, or show much emotion. Chris cannot remember the last time he genuinely cried, until recently. Losing Jill has taken such an impact on him. "Don't cry." Chris muttered to himself, placing his hand on the bottom of Jill's tombstone, feeling as though he's actually touching her.

"I'll find you Jill, I promise. You're my top priority." Chris spoke, moving his head back, stretching his neck. Lately, it's felt like his body is just broken. Like he's shutting down. He doesn't feel alive anymore. To say Chris is depressed is an understatement.

The rain began to pick up, getting rougher, lightening and thunder being seen and heard nearby. Chris stood up and looked down at her grave once more. "I'll see you soon, no matter what I have to do."

[fandomscraziness22]

kiss prompt: where it hurts for caleb/adam

hi friend! i did it!

where it hurts (5) for caleb/adam

It’s been a bad day, and Adam really wants to cancel on Caleb tonight. They’re supposed to go grab pizza and hang out at the arcade, because they got a new game Caleb wants to try. But Adam’s done nothing all day except have a draining breakdown over his homework and lay in bed.

So he doesn’t realize the time until his phone buzzes with a text from Caleb, telling him he’s at the house to pick him up. 

Shit, Adam thinks. He didn’t even have the wherewithal to send his boyfriend a message about his mental state, which means Caleb has no idea what he’s about to walk into.

He makes his fingers move across the screen, tapping out a simple bad day cant go out before burrowing deeper into his covers.

Adam knows Caleb will come in anyways, because he cares too much, though Adam wishes he wouldn’t. He just wants to wallow in his misery.

Footsteps thud up the stairs (damn it, he even missed the door opening, he really is out of it today) and Caleb knocks softly on the door.

“Adam?” 

And fuck, even his voice is strained, Adam’s mood infecting Caleb like a virus. Why the hell can’t Adam get himself together? His brain is actively trying to destroy his life, and he is unable to even pull a shred of human decency to not let it affect the people around him.

Caleb sighs, but not in an exasperated way like Adam expects. It’s simply a deep inhale and exhale, as if he’s centering himself. A breathing exercise, no doubt. Dr. Bright taught him well.

“Can I join you?”

Adam nods, a sudden desire for comfort shooting up out of nowhere. He wonders half-heartedly if Caleb can notice something like that. Probably; his power is very strong, according to their other Atypical friends. It makes it hard to hide anything from his boyfriend, which is both a blessing and a curse.

Caleb slides into the bed in front of Adam, curling onto his side to meet Adam’s gaze. Adam can see that Caleb’s moving slower than normal, no doubt weighed down by the depression in the air. But that doesn’t stop him from placing a warm hand on Adam’s shoulder, rubbing it softly.

Adam almost shudders under the kindness in the touch.

“Brain making things hard?” Caleb whispers.

Adam can’t bring himself to speak, so he nods again.

Caleb mirrors his nod, and then leans forward to place a kiss to his forehead. “Silly brain,” he says. “You are supposed to help Adam win valedictorian, not keep him trapped.”

Tears spring to Adam’s eyes, and he may not be an empath, but the love Caleb is showering over him settles into his veins. It’s not enough to dispel everything completely, and they spend the rest of the night huddled together in bed, and somehow, it’s enough for now.

send me a ship and a kiss!

[izzysarchivedblogs]

SHIT. OKAY.

That simple reaction from Tony Stark, the SHIT informing Clint that he's caught Tony off guard with speaking up out of nowhere. The withdrawal of the hand to tap into the GPS like Tony didn't have everything voice activated. It makes him smile, a light huff of a laugh because at least he startled the both of them.

CLINT'S NOT EVEN SURE HE WAS FINISHED PERCOLATING WHEN HE SAID LET'S GO HOME. He had surprised himself when he just blurted that out. Deciding all of the sudden with himself that they can't drag this on any longer.

It's just a city. IT'S JUST A CITY. It may be home, maybe this is that toxic thought process that Lynette pointed out; but he shouldn't be holding his breath over driving over a bridge and entering into New York City again. It's not like they would be in Brooklyn anyways, considering when Tony had taken a drunken Clint home after the FEAST charity event and when he was hungover, he found that Tony's brownstone was in Manhattan, the lower East side. Different boroughs, so it's not like he was going home to Bed-Stuy.

Yet Manhattan had the Avengers Building, and enough history there for him to be home as well. IT'S ALL THE THOUGHTS OF WHAT HE HAD DONE, OF WHO HE HAS HURT.

Can't hold it off, so he did just blurt out he was ready and let's go home. Time to rip the bandaid off. Tony can't drive him around forever.

His eyes drift down to the hand on the center console and he's not quite done with holding onto it yet. Of course, he notice the moment he feels it but he tries to move his own hand slowly, without notice to grab the other's head.

❝ Whatever you want. ❞ Clint's definitely drained, too far up in the crows nest of his mind still to be engaging. He'll order something, even if he thinks he is losing his appetite again but he's gotten used to shoving food down. When they pull through the drive through, Clint gives his order, than goes back to looking out the window with the warm food bag on his lap.

HE'S EXHAUSTED, but he's here. He's made this far and there's only two choices. Go forward or stumble backwards, and sitting in Tony Stark's car with a cast on his leg. FORWARD WAS THE EASIER OPTION AT THE MOMENT.

When they do get back, Clint leaves Tony to deal with everything and wheels himself around, until he's asking Tony to least help him with protecting the leg cast, but he can shower himself and he'll shout or ring his phone if he really needs any help.

REALITY'S KIND OF HITTING HIM HARD. Spends about three hours in bed simply spiraling as he's using his phone to catch up on news in the city, google his own name and depress himself.

He does remember to look up what Tony wrote on his cast, looking down at the iron man armor and the words, which google confirms is french that says. IN THE FUTURE. What does that mean, but he can take a guess or two. At least based on Clint's own feelings.

❝ AW FUCK. ❞

Tony's not even sure where he is when Clint finally decides that he's ready to go into the city. He's just been weaving in and out of the New Jersey suburbs, through mid-colonial and queen anne houses with big back yards and huge birch trees.

He holds his hand the whole time and just lets the music play and when Clint speaks up it startles him a little. "Shit. Okay," he said and had to take his hand away to put in the address into his GPS so they could find their way back out of there.

"That's fine," he agreed, resting his hand on the center console so that Clint can take it again if he wants. "I'm kind of starving and it's going to be a while before we get back. So I'm gonna go trough another drive through before we get into the city. You want anything?"

He's not even sure what he'll find. Surely there will be a burger king at least. It'll be a two cheeseburger day from the looks of it.

It takes a little bit to get out of the suburbs and into commercial properties and then the mcdonalds and wendy's signs start popping up. It's not until he sees a popeyes that he leaves the road and pulls into the drive through. It would make a change from burgers at least.

[bubuslutty]

You're upset, darling?

pairing: platonic gn!reader x ghost x soap x price

word count: 1.4k

tags: angst with comfort, depression, episodes, no use of y/n, 3rd person pov, reader is mostly refered to as darling + they/them pronouns

warning: mention of suicide, not in detail tho but still (let me know if I missed anything)

summary: 141's darling has episodes where they feel like shit and how they spend their day in the base with those feelings, and how the guys comfort them.

a/n: I wanted to add könig, horangi and gaz but I was too tired to keep writing so I only wrote abt these three. this is very much based on my personal experience. I'm also undiagnosed so I might not use certain terms.

Sometimes 141's darling has days where they're down and very upset. It's normal, they think, everyone must have days where they don't feel entirely themselves, right? it's totally normal and very human, they believe.

At first, when they were upset, nobody would notice, because no matter how they felt, they always did the same things as they always do, if not a bit slower than usual.

They would shower, groom their hair, wash their clothes, clean their room and attend all activities with the other guys. They would even sleep their full hours, uninterrupted, and finish all of their food, rarely missing a meal.

But all of that feels robotic. An attempt to seem normal, to seem fine. When in reality, they feel gray on the inside. Dead. a walking corpse. A heaviness that settles in their chest like a rock. Sitting there, unmoving.

And more often than not, they wouldn't know why they're so upset, so down and dead and just not themselves. They might as well be in a coma because nothing feels real during those days.

Then they would be forgetful, less talkative, and their face would drop, drained out of any light and animated expressions they usually wear. They would laugh along to jokes that aren't even funny, to keep anyone from noticing that there's something wrong, that they're wrong.

But they couldn't keep having their episodes unnoticed. They're not sure who noticed first, out of 141, but they do remember how Soap would look at them. How even when he's talking and laughing loudly, he would glance at them, to study their reaction and face. But he wouldn't say anything, not yet at least.

He would then drag them with him as much as he can, and not necessarily make them speak, because he notices their silence, and the discomfort that would appear in their face when they're made to speak and actively participate in a conversation when they're not obligated to. He would fill in the space, with his chatter, but it would not be as loud, softer, a comforting murmur, a nice sound to focus on when they can't make themselves stop falling inside their head.

And then darling would lean against his side when they're sitting down and he's sketching on his knees, still talking and filling in the air. And he would wrap an arm around them and squeeze, his body heat comforting and welcome in those gray days. And when darling has to be somewhere without Soap, he would give them a much needed tight hug, all warm and big and long and soft.

"You'll be alright."

They find themselves hanging out with the 141 guys more often during their episodes. And Ghost is no exception. No matter what anyone says about the man's personality, whether he's cold hearted, emotionally unavailable or just straight out a bastard, they would never get it right, never, nobody knows him as much as he knows himself. But he does let out bits and pieces of himself to his mates. Because he trusts them.

Darling would be sitting next to Ghost, without saying a single word while he's cleaning his guns in similar silence. The only sound that could be heard is their breathing and Ghost's hands working on cleaning his weapons. But then darling did break their silence once, they don't know what urged them to open their mouth and speak, but they did.

"Thank you for being my friend."

Ghost's hands froze, and he just kept staring down at his guns when he lifted his head and looked to the side at the sergeant sitting next to him.

"Sergeant, are you suicidal?"

Darling was slightly taken back by the bold question. But that was Ghost for you. Asking direct questions when it mattered. Darling didn't take offense to his question but simply shook their head, "Negative, sir."

Ghost kept staring at them silently and reached out for their hand, gripping it and squeezing it in his gloved hands. Darling smiled a bit and didn't say anything after that, nor did Ghost.

Darling doesn't know if their words freaked their lieutenant out or not, but he did mention their very short conversation to their captain, John Price.

"Sergeant, I need you in my office, now."

Darling was a bit confused, raking their mind over any mistakes they did, or said anything wrong to anybody. And were even more confused when they couldn't think of anything they've done.

"You're not in trouble." John said as soon as they entered his office and sank down on the chair in front of his desk. Darling fidgeted with their fingers, unable to just sit still under Price's gaze.

John Price was the only man on base that Darling disliked interacting with during their episodes while simultaneously yearning for his attention and approval. His eyes could see everything, he knew everything.

They didn't like to be weak in front of Price. They don't like how easy it is for him to see and understand them. Even if it is one of the most relieving feelings in the world. It was scary. To face a man who could read you and so easily pin your vulnerabilities.

"Lieutenant Ghost told me what you said earlier today. He's worried about you and wanted me to check on you." Price said, arms crossed and leaning against his desk, staring down at them with a steady gaze.

He went straight to the point, no wasting time or breath.

Darling opened and immediately closed their mouth, unable to form a sentence or pick what to say, their mind was reeling and they had the urge to just spill everything to the man.

He does that to them, makes them want to lay out everything they are and stand naked in front of him and let him see every scar, every mole, every dip, every swell and every pore.

"Talk to me, honey." He said, so gently when he kneeled next to them, that it choked up Darling's throat.

Their eyes immediately blurred with tears, their breathing picking up and now heaving, struggling to breath.

"Breathe, aye?" Price said.

And it was as simple as that. Breathing. Breathing for their captain.

He wanted them to breathe? They will, with no question.

They're not sure if it's just his rank that makes them more obedient, more willing to obey and trust blindly. But they're too afraid to think too much about it. They're afraid they'll find a hidden layer under it.

"I- I feel useless. I feel lost and confused. I feel sick in my heart. I'm not happy, and I don't know why. And I want to be happy, to not feel like I'm not myself anymore. I want to feel good. I want to be good."

And just like that they spilled like an overflowing glass of milk.

Price's gaze softened even more, and he placed a big rough warm hand on their thigh, "Darling," He said and their heart jumped in their chest.

"With all due respect, you're not useless. If you were, I'm scared to think of what that would make us." He said, voice all deep and warm.

Darling cracked a small smile, looking at him with their hands on their lap and staring at him with big eyes, shiny and begging for praise and reassurance.

"You're more than enough, love. It's alright to feel like shite, but what's not alright is you keeping your hurt to yourself and making yourself sick with it. Talk to me, talk to us, you're safe. You're safe and good. You're so good."

A tear spilled down their cheek, staring at Price with their heart beating faster than a horse in their chest, their body heating up and feeling all warm and fuzzy and so loved they could suffocate with it.

"Come here." Price said before dragging his sergeant by the arms to engulf them in a big warm hug. His scratchy beard was pressed against their temple. But they didn't mind. Their captain smelled like cologne, mint and tobacco, but they didn't mind either. His grip on their body was tight, but they also didn't mind. Because their captain was good, solid, a constant force, safe and warm and understanding.

And that heavy stone that lodged in their chest was finally lifted and they could breathe again. They know this won't somehow heal them. To think so would be foolish and a joke. But this felt good nonetheless.

Their captain knows they will have their episodes, maybe not as often, maybe more often, who knows. But what he does know is that he'll set up a private therapist for them. And he'll make sure to remind Darling that they're part of 141. They're part of them, and they don't have to act as if they're fine, it's okay to be vulnerable, because they'll protect them, keep them safe from bad thoughts just like how they protect them from bloodthirsty enemies and bullets.

[kittypup12]

CW: flashing lights

“You can check out anytime you like, but you can never leave.”

After wondering through backwoods and vacant roads for what felt like days, our wonderer finally comes upon a lonely motel. He snags some keys to one of the rooms and slips out before the clerk can even look up from his… small screen? Tv? He doesn’t know and for now doesn’t care. All he cares about is finally getting some goddamn rest.

The room is a bit dated, but still far above his usual standard of living to say the least. Without even flipping a switch, the bed lamps turn on. He plops himself onto the firm mattress and takes off his tattered outer clothing to give some much needed attention to his old bandaging. He looks at the old suitcase laying on the floor, it’s contents few careless strewn about the cheap shag carpeting. This suitcase ‘for emergencies’ has sat hidden away for so long, most the clothing and supplies are now slightly too small or expired. Suppose that’s what happens when you leave it untouched for almost a literal century. It’s become more of depressing time capsule than of any actual use, considering he was still a boy when he threw this all together.

Finally, he takes a much needed hot shower. God, when is the last time he took an actual shower instead of his usual quick rinse? He opens the lid to a small bottle that he assumes is shampoo and gives his wiry hair a much needed lather. Next he scrubs away the dried blood, ash and rubble. He watches the filth make it’s way down the drain and let the hot water run down his back until it’s ice cold.

He steps out of the shower, wraps a towel around his waist and looks into the mirror. There is so much running through his mind and yet nothing at all. What he feels can’t quite be pinpointed. Exhaustion? Relief? Heaviness? Weightless? Free? Suffocating? He couldn’t tell. “God I look like shit.. no, I look like the shit someone dragged in under their boot,” he thinks to himself. His mind begins to wonder as he looks just past himself in the mirror when he sees it. A flicker of the light and there it was. Her. For a fraction of a second he could have sworn she was there. And then gone in a blink of an eye.

No, it’s just his mind playing tricks on him. He saw her crumble into dust and the ceremony grounds blown to bits. No, its just the weariness setting.

It’s the years, decades, century finally catching up to him. All at once.

Fuck, he’s tired.

[bloodykora]

Hygiene Problems

Don't worry this is not an inappropriate one shot, just 2 pals showering. Ya know, the normal.

MBAV Masterlist

Summary: Reader is wounded by an old fight and can't take care of themselves properly cause of the pain. Rory offers to help.

I couldn’t raise my arms without huge pain. I had got hit during a battle with a creature therefore I had a huge cut on my back plus the bruising. I had been taking baths awkwardly and leaning over to change clothes. It took most of the little energy I had in the morning.

“Nice stain y/n.” Ethan says, pointing down to the hem of my shirt. I look down, a red brownish stain near my right side. “Shit.” My hands drop to it. “It’s from when Benny spilled ketchup on me!”

“Sorry, but a man’s appetite over rules everything.” Benny says, holding onto his bag. “How did you not see it earlier?” E asks, I shake my head. “I woke up late and just threw on whatever.” I lie, in reality I had already changed once and was too tired to notice the stain.

“You can borrow one of my shirts if you want.” Benny offers.

“Nah, I’ll sit with my consequence of staying up late.” I move my sweater to be tied around my waist, a yawn escaping my mouth. Oh yeah forgot to mention, can’t lay on my back so sleep has been difficult too. I slug off to English, body sluggish and mind blank.

One minute I was in my seat writing and the next Rory was poking me. “Hey. Are you sleeping?” My head snaps up, looking over to him. “I- I think I was.” I reply, embarrassed.

“Wow you must be really tired cause you have never done that before. One of the benefits of being a vampire, no sleep needed however you do miss it.” “And the fast healing.” I mutter to myself.

“What?” He totally heard me. “Oh. Nothing, just sleep rambles.” The rest of the day seemed like a blur, just phasing in and out. I had gotten home and began to unpack my bag. When I finished I sat down on my bed and went out like a light.

Knock at the door awakens me. “Hey, your friend Rory is here.” My parent peers in, I nod. “You weren’t answering your phone so I decided to come over-” He pauses mid sentence.

“Dude, you look awful and your room is like actually dirty.” I let out a sigh. “I’ve been tired a lot.” “Like depressed or?” Rory knew me very well. “No, just physically tired.” “Okay! You want a massage or something? My mom says I give the best ones!” “Uhh, I’m okay. Yours are a little too rough for me.” I comment, remembering the soreness from last time he offered.

“Well I was thinking we could go-'' He begins as he walks up to me to pull me up from the bed. “Ow!” I yell, a hiss following it. My body naturally hunching over from the pain. “Oh my god. Are you okay? Did I take your arm out?” Rory quickly asks, fear of hurting me. “No, I’m good, just my back.” I explain.

“Okay. You’ve been saying you’re fine and good all day yet you fell asleep in class, you keep groaning out of pain and your room is like Benny’s.” Rory questions, he had every right to. I was not normal but pain does that to you.

“Do you ever get tired of well, always fighting the supernatural? It seems like every time things have settled down the next thing pops up. Is it gonna be like this for the next 4 years? I love helping but the scars need to heal.” Rory looks down thinking about my words before answering.

“I mean yeah it’s a lot sometimes but we never really get hurt. I don’t know, I never really think about it. I guess being an immortal removes the thought of wasting time.”

“What if someone did get hurt though? You and Benny were hugely affected by that stupid girl scout demon.” I remind him and he just shrugs. “We got over it.” I sigh, head hanging down. “Is this why you haven’t been taking care of yourself?” Rory asks out of nowhere.

“What?” “Erica, Sarah and me all noticed how drained you looked along with the smell of dry blood plus your hair hasn’t been as shiny.” “You think my hair is shiny?” I ask, grabbing a strand and playing with it.

“Yeah! I know you spend a lot of time concerned about your hair, yet this past week it seemed like you were distracted.” “I’m just-” “Tired, I know.” He interrupts, giving a ‘you’re lying’ look. “I am fine.” “Prove it.” My mouth drops open. “What?” “I don’t believe you, so prove it.” His arms cross in front of his chest.

“You want me to? Fine.” I leave my room and speed walk to the bathroom, the blond following. I move the shower certain and turn on the water. I turn back to him.

“Well, I’m gonna shower so you gotta go.”

“Nope. I will turn around and wait as you shower. I’m not easily fooled.” Rory says, standing his ground. Head turned up, trying to prove his point.

“Really?” I ask, he nods.

“Fine.” I look him dead in the eye as I throw off my socks, pants and then I go for my shirt. My hands hesitate for a moment and then I start to lift it. My hands got to about my shoulders and then the pain started. I didn’t even have the strength to get it fully off my head. I could feel my arms trembling, a side effect of the shooting pain all over my torso. At some point my hands became too weak and the shirt dropped. My face coming back into view of Rory’s. His brows now furrowed in confusion and his arms at his side. I bring my hands down and shake them trying to get rid of the trembling my body was doing.

“Y/n.” Rory begins. “No, I don’t need to prove that I’m fine.” I try to rush past him but he grabs my hand. “What’s wrong?” I shake my head in response. “Please.” His voice pleading to me. “I got hurt.” A whisper of the sentence comes out.

“I told you all multiple times to be safe and I got hurt. I can’t raise my arms over my head.” I finally admit, the stress now slowly leaving. Rory nods his head.

“I can’t shower so I have to wash my hair in the tub.” I tell, Rory blinks before the look of an idea crosses his face. “I could help you!” My eyes widen. “Pardon?” “Yeah! I could help you shower.” His head nodding fast, excitement like a puppy’s. “I would be naked.” He ponders for a moment. “I’ve seen you in swimsuits before.”

“Rory, you really don’t have to.”

“I want to! You’re always the one to fix and help me so please let me help you.” His puppy dog eyes working against me, he had no malice or ill intent in his head. “Fine.” I mutter out, already feeling shy. He gets closer to me and rubs my hand for comfort.

“Don’t worry I’ve bathed cats before so this will be easy.” He reassures me with a smile, I nod at him.

“Ready?” He asks, I nod again, insecurities plaguing my mind, His hands slid under my top layers gently, leading my arms out and then over my head. My face heating up immediately, this wasn’t how I imagined getting naked with him would be like. I decide to keep my underwear on for mostly my sanity.

“See, easy peesy!” He exclaims, starting to strip. "Rory! What are you doing?” I ask, averting my gaze.

“How am I supposed to help wash you with my clothes on?” I nod trying to understand his logic. I mean I did get it but he was so nonchalant with the human body. He strips to his underwear and then stops. “I can turn around.” I say, facing my back to him. I don’t hear any movement for a few seconds.

“Rory?” Then I feel a cool hand press against me, my muscles tense at the feeling. I whip back around. “That’s big y/n.”

“I know, hence why it hurts.” He continues again, becoming fully naked. My cheeks now beet red, head taking interest in everything but Rory. He jumps in the shower before I could.

“Come on! This feels great.” I hear him say, I scoff a bit to myself. This kid was gonna be the death of me. He opens the curtain waving to me, I approach the tub. Grabbing his hand and slowly getting in. Face pointing towards the faucet, water beating down my chest. I let out a sigh of relief. I turn around letting the water wet my hair, a hiss coming out when the drops would touch my back.

I hear the sound of a bottle cracking open then a squeeze. I look up to see Rory putting shampoo on his hand. He lathers it in his hands before reaching up to my head, scrubbing my scalp. I observe him, face concentrated on his task at hand. He looks down to me and smiles. My eyes close, falling into a content state with the massage I was receiving. He leans my head back to wash it, guiding his hand through the strands. I could feel some drowsiness take over me. I wobble a bit, grabbing onto his arms.

"Woah, don’t go falling for me now.” He jokes, I giggle a little bit. “Sorry, it’s hard when there's a vampire ninja in my shower.” “You know anyone else would be paying a fairly high price but you got it for free.” “I’m lucky like that.” He continues to clean me, the missed warmth of comfort settling in. “I’m gonna do your back now.” He whispers to me. His hands delicate around the wound. We finish the shower and he helps me step out. Putting a towel around me before drying himself off.

“I don’t wanna wear that shirt to bed.” I whine as he picks up my clothes. “Which one would you like then?” Helping me back into my attire.

“Green long sleeve, top drawer.” A second later he appears with it in his hand, putting it over my body. He then places my arm over his shoulder and lifts me, carrying us back to my room. He places me down on the bed, brushing my hair out of my face then lays beside me. “Please don’t leave” I whisper. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

[epilogue-and-prologue]

Falling - Prologue

A story I had in my WIP for the last few months and in my head since seeing the Old Guard.

This prologue happens in the aftermath of his exclusion of the group.

Booker x Female Reader!with a sister

Warnings: Throughout the story mention of depressive behaviour, endangerment of others and one self, two sisters relationship, smut at some point but it will be signalled, loneliness and angst at first and during, speaking in French because I CAN.

I will publish the prologue this week and then a chapter a week ;).

Day 7

It had been a week since his friends left him. Since he said goodbye to Andy.

“Have a little faith”

Booker could still hear her voice in his nightmares, waking up drenched in sweat in the middle of the night. After the hotel room, he had found a small flat not too far from the Globe. Joe and Nicky used to tell him stories about Shakespeare he ate up as a child would candy. He had not been around for that, but he sure loved to hear the grotesque anecdotes they had about the poet. Sitting up in his bed, the few lights streams through the windows, illuminating spots in the room. Pieces of the worn carpet, the oak dresser in front of the bed, and the scar on his right calf.

For the life of him, he couldn’t remember why he had that scar in the first place. It was before the war. Maybe when he had his first son. Or his second. All he can recall is the grief. The unwavering grief accompanying those memories. Even though he smiled thinking about the first time he taught them about talking to a woman, or the time they all were so happy when pretending they were soldiers in the war.

He never had dared to tell them that it was gruesome. He wanted to protect them from that prospect. His wife always saw through him. A young woman turned bitter after years of loneliness. She had seen him take post after post away from home, barely hugging his children before leaving. She had resented him for it, relentlessly, refusing him their bed when he knew she was giving herself away to others. He had tried to take her by force but was stopped by her tears, her cries, her kicks. He would feel the pain deep in his guts, the guilt. He would then be brought back to his own childhood home, his father forcing himself on his mother and the look of utter desperation on her face, absolute loss of control. And in his soft new childish mind would forge the promise never to do that to his wife. He ran a hand over his face and pulled the cover off, going into the adjacent kitchen for a coffee. It tasted like shit. Nicky’s was better. He had learned the technique from an actual coffee merchant in the 1750s. Or some date along these lines.

The window in the living room is translucent. The day is still young. He can hear the mother next door leaving her flat, peppering her daughter in kisses making the kid giggle and then just outright asking her to stop in what he assumed was an attempt at an adult voice. He waits until their feet can no longer be heard before going to take a shower.

He stays there an hour, not knowing what to do with himself in the meantime.

He falls asleep on the couch and sees the clock turning from 8 to 11 in no time.

He wonders if he should let himself die of hunger this time. Hunger is a death he has not tasted before, maybe it could be more merciful than the others. You slowly lose your lifeforce, drained out of you by your own body pumping blood and nutrients until there’s nothing left. You stop breathing. Almost like falling asleep.

He dresses up and leaves for the grocery store.

Hunger isn’t on the menu for today.

Day 14

The kid’s name is Ophelia. Funny name. He overheard her mother call her that. Maybe sibling? She seemed a little bit too young to have a kid that age.

The tragic name though.

He tries to keep himself sane by going on walks. He tries new recipes. He tries and tries and tries not to let himself lose control over this reality he has to face every day. The loneliness. It was killing him before. It is excruciatingly ripping his heart out now.

He receives papers. Newspapers and administrative papers. He wished letters were still a thing. He misses writing letters to people. More personal than texts or emails.

He feels like an old man. He is an old man. His bones don’t ache right, his back doesn’t give out as it should, and his knuckles bruise so easily but heal so perfectly. He wishes old age would come to take him in his sleep like a long-lost lover.

But it doesn’t. It can’t.

And it’s killing him more than anything ever has in his entire existence.

[placeinthemiddleofnowhere]

Gold Dust Woman

Pairing: Santiago "Pope" Garcia x Female!OC

Warnings: Very Angsty, drug use, abuse

Summary: Female OC with no descriptors has a history of drug problems and family abuse, she's going into a depressive hole. Can Santi save her from herself? (Story contains lyrics from the Fleetwood Mac song Gold Dust Woman)

---

It was finally happening, the downward spiral had reached its shadowy bottom. Naomi had felt herself descending for a few weeks, triggered on by little things here and there that trenched up memories of the past. Those little memories that stung like shrapnel. It was that morning that had been the last straw. The moment that drove her back to her old habits.

Santi had turned to her, shrugging on his jacket and had said he was going to figure out where his next job was. He had a new informant apparently. He’d kissed Naomi on her head and left behind a burning sensation where his lips had grazed over her skin. Then he'd walked out the door with a smile, fixing his cap on top of his head as he always did, unaffected by the shadows that crept around Naomi.

Was this informant going to be like all the others, she wondered, would she be pretty too? No, she would be hot, that’s what Benny had said. Benny had over indulged one night when they were all drinking together, he’d gotten roaring drunk and had told the whole group all about Pope’s informants. Those girls are “the kind that make you feel like you’re lookin’ at the sun, they're so hot.”

She’d been replaying that over and over in her head all morning. She’d wondered what this latest one looked like; conjuring images of curvy women, silken dark hair and full pouty lips. Women that would do anything to get what they need from him. Not that he was one to take advantage of course, it was just that he was so charming that you couldn’t help but want to give him anything. He could make you cross boundaries you never knew you had with just a smile.

Normally it would be ok, normally she’d never think twice about what Santi got up to at work, she preferred not to. Though the past few weeks she couldn’t help but feel like the biggest emotional drain in the world. They’d argued, she’d stopped putting in as much effort with her appearance, she walked around with dark eyes, heavy from lack of sleep and breath thick with coffee. Her dreams were filled with ghosts and words that rattled around her head like curses.

“No one will ever love you. You’re a stupid, selfish little girl.”

“Everyone will always leave you, you ruin things. You’re like poison.”

That was only some of the venom that raced around her mind. It was too much to deal with. The pain was getting too much to bear. It tortured her until finally she rose from bed and tossed off the heavy cover, it thumped down and released a musky smell as it crumpled into the mattress. Naomi wrinkled her nose and turned away with disgust. Just another thing that had fallen to the wayside as she swung further into a depressive low.

After jumping into the shower and throwing clothes on, she raced out the door without a moment's hesitation, desperate to be out of her self imposed prison. She was singularly minded now. Her skin was still slicked with a shiny layer of water as she jumped in the car. She could feel her clothes stick to her as she leaned against the seat. They only added to the clawing feeling that raked its way over her flesh, and the unbearable tight grip of anxiety that clutched at her chest.

She took shallow breaths as she raced on her way to Frankie’s place. To the man that had started it all, who’d introduced her to Santi. She felt a horrible sinking feeling as she drove through the mid afternoon haze, feeling awful that she was bringing her shit to her old friend. Especially after the promise they’d made each other long ago. Right after Frankie’s licence had been suspended, and her rent was way past due, the pair had made a vow never to touch any drugs again.

After a few months of sobriety, and a mission that had clearly left its wounds on Frankie, he’d introduced her to Santi and the rest of his army buddies. She fit right in, as if she were the final piece missing from their little group. The guys had been surprised with how quickly she slotted in, they loved her snarky comments, the way she’d stop “fish” deprecating himself before he could get more than a couple words out. It was what endeared Santi to her so quickly. He could see how much better his friend was getting as Naomi looked out for him and pushed him to focus on his family.

“You look out for him. I like that,” Santi had remarked one night, whispering lowly in her ear as they sat on a couch away from the others.

“Oh yeah?” she’d smirked, “He’s told me a lot about you. It sounds like we’re both the angels on his shoulder.”

“Angels?” he scoffed, “I don’t think anyones ever called me an Angel, sweetheart.”

“You know what I mean! We’re the ones that are there to remind him he’s not the piece of shit he makes himself out to be.”

“I know what you mean,” he laughed, shaking his head, “Sounds like you could use one of those yourself.”

Naomi snorted and took a sip of her drink, the syrupy vodka and coke alleviating the tightness in her throat. The way that Santi looked at her when he talked was always so disarming. It was like he could see through to her very soul. Of course she was guilty of self deprecating too, he noticed that, but she hid it better than Frankie. She didn’t brag, didn’t share her achievements, tried not to talk about her life other than a few modest details, she liked to act like a pale shadow of a woman. That’s probably why her heart leapt when he finally broke the silence they’d both fallen into.

“I don’t wanna make things awkward here, so please just say no if the idea doesn’t interest you at all…can I take you out sometime?”

Naomi pulled up to Frankie's house and sighed as she saw his truck was still parked in the drive. His wife’s car was missing just as she’d expected, she would’ve taken their daughter to her baby class for the day; right on schedule. Her mind burned with thoughts of Santi, of the look he’d given her when she finally told him about how Frankie and her had really met. He’d known all about Frankie’s demons and the way he struggled, but when she finally shared an insight into hers he’d wrapped his arms around her and cradled her all night as she cried.

“Promise me you’ll come to me if you ever feel any urges. Please don’t feel like you need to rely on that to dull the pain. I’m here for you.”

Santi’s words echoed painfully in her head. She’d be breaking her promise. He would hate her forever for it, how could he ever forgive her? She sucked in a breath and blinked back the tears. How could he ever really love her? It was just like her parents said long ago. No one will ever love you. She seethed, she twitched as she felt the hole in her chest widening. The anxiety was burrowing deep into her now.

Naomi got out of the car and shut it with a heavy slam, jumping with the sound it made as it echoed through the sleepy little neighbourhood. She walked slowly up the path from the car, jittering as she figured out what she was gonna say, she felt like a live wire. Felt like she was haunted as she knocked on the door, looking around and squinting as the sun shone right into her eyes. The light was too much after days spent behind shuttered curtains.

“Naomi! What are you doing here so early? Are you ok?”

Frankie had tilted his head as he’d opened the door, clearly surprised to see her. He must know that Naomi had been falling into a hole. Santi would’ve told him, Santi always told him everything. Naomi offered an uneasy smile and looked past his broad frame and into the hallway, looking at all the toys and shoes scattered around.

“I uh…I needed to talk to someone. Can I come in?”

“Of course! You’ll have to excuse the mess though.”

Frankie ushered her in and she gave another small smile, hoping it would mask the thoughts that were swimming around her head. She was fighting herself as she crossed into the lounge, realising how sick she was to involve Frankie in her little plan. How wrong it was to trick him. She should just pick up her pieces and go home, she knew that, but she couldn’t let herself. The little demonic voice that was presiding over her mind was in full control now.

It was a shame really. Frankie was sweet, in that usual awkward way of his of course. He kept running his hands through his thick masses of curls, running his fingers along the scruff of his jaw. The man was like sunshine. He just wanted to make sure she was alright, but didn’t want to be too direct about it, he didn’t want her to know he was concerned even though it was clear as day.

He offered her a donut and a coffee, then launched into a little bit of chatter about how his family were doing as he threw out a few questions about how she was getting on. She redirected those, would talk about Santi, would talk about TV and stuff that was going on in the world. Anything but her. She would sink so far into the couch, hoping it might swallow her up along with all the toys and papers that were surely lost among the cracks.

Eventually though, Frankie excused himself to the bathroom and that was when she finally took her chance to strike. He’d left his phone on the coffee table. She wasted no time in picking it up, feeling her heart sink as she saw the picture of his family flash up. The donut that she’d forced herself to eat felt heavy in her stomach as she inputted his password, his daughter's birthday of course.

They’d both made a pact to delete all their numbers after they’d both promised to quit using. Every contact, every message was gone off of her phone, but Frankie hadn’t been so meticulous. Santi had revealed he’d used once more after the promise, he’d avoided Naomi for a couple weeks after it and it had finally made sense after Santi’s revelation. Did he still have the number?

Z White

How typical. The contact was right at the end of the list, put under Z by design of course, she knew Z White couldn’t be anyone other than a coke dealer. Bingo. It was just like Frankie to torture himself like this, to keep the number in his phone to remind himself he was just a bad day away from slipping. He couldn’t help but live in the darkness, a victim to his self destructive nature. She checked the messages exchanged with the number to make sure and found a short conversation about a meeting. Perfect.

She copied the number into her own phone and glugged down the last bitter dregs of her coffee. Frankie was taken aback as she made her excuses, saying she had to run off to meet another friend, but he figured it was a good sign she was talking to people. Even if she wasn’t revealing anything.

However, he didn’t let her go without a hug first. As his arms wrapped around her, she couldn’t help but gulp as she ran hot with guilt. He gave her a few pats and a reassuring smile, his warm brown eyes crinkling with it, as he broke away. He rubbed salt into the wound a little more when he told her she was welcome to come to him day or night if she ever needed to get something off of her chest. He was a good friend. Not like her, she thought.

Naomi made her way out the door and drove down the street a little ways before she searched out the new number in her phone. She frantically wrote a little message, giving her address and ordering herself a gram, hoping against all hope that she would get a message back. Hoping that the dealer wouldn't be suspicious of the text out of nowhere on a random Saturday afternoon. She sank into her chair, tipping her body forward and leaned into the steering wheel. What the fuck was she doing.

13.36: Who are you? Who do you know?

She paused before she wrote back. She didn’t want to have to give his name but she wasn’t gonna get her fix any other way.

13.38: Naomi, I got this number from Frankie

13.38: Soldier boy?

13.38: That’s him. Is that ok?

13.40: Meet me on Marriott Road at 3 bring $100.

It had been so long since she’d used, she forgot how much it cost, how expensive it was to ruin your life. She sighed, feeling another guilty drop weighing down on her conscience as she pulled out the cash she’d grabbed from Santi’s chest of drawers before she left. She had enough, a little money to spare even. Enough to make things a little more interesting. She was already going to hell, what was adding a little more on top of it all? A gram of coke, a bottle of vodka, a broken promise. Is it over now?

Would santi want anything more to do with her after she broke her word to come to him instead of using? She should’ve spoken to him, she shouldn’t have spent the whole week arguing with him and avoiding his lectures on bottling things up. She knew that, but now it felt like she’d gone too far to give up and do the right thing. She’d broken into Frankie’s phone and used him to chase a high. She was too far gone.

-

“Honey, I brought some steaks home! What do you say I stick 'em on and we have a nice dinner together, huh?”

Santi kicked off his boots as he unlocked the door, took his cap from his head, scruffing up his hair, and tossed it down with the groceries when he stuck both on to the table. He couldn’t wait to sit down for an easy dinner and sink into bed, tonight wasn’t going to be a difficult one he’d decided. It didn’t matter that Naomi didn’t want to share her feelings right now, he could just have some dinner with her and try to have a nice night. He figured that would probably cheer them both up.

However, the longer he went without getting a reply, the more he worried. That was odd. It was a weekend, she hadn’t talked about making any plans with friends in a while. She should be home. She should be answering him, wrapping her arms around him like she always did when he brought her favourite dinner home. The house suddenly dropped a few degrees in temperature and a shiver ran down his neck as his steps echoed in the gloom. None of the lights were on, no one had been home for some time, it had gotten dark a little while before that.

“Naomi? Babe?”

Nothing. He trudged through to the bedroom, heart hammering as he walked into the room and was greeted with the sight of the unmade bed before him and the sound of the radio playing softly from the bathroom, the crackle of the bad quality speakers was the only thing that broke the silence. That was strange too. Normally the bed would be neatly made up, inviting and ready for their next night of rest, but she’d left it just the way it was after tossing off the covers.

The radio just seemed to tease him as it continued on. Well, did she make you cry, Make you break down, Shatter your illusions of love? He walked through to the ensuite and turned it off, looking around for signs of his missing girlfriend.

Santi pulled his phone from his pocket and called her, but after trying a few times the sound of the dial tone felt like it was mocking him. Now he was worried. Every instinct in his body was telling him that something wasn’t right. Naomi, wherever she was, wasn’t ok. His fears were only worsened as his eyes landed on the chest of drawers by the far wall of the room, the money he’d dumped there the night before was missing.

“Fuck!”

That wasn’t good. His mind raced with the possibilities of where she could be, of what exactly she was doing. His heart pounded so loud it sounded like it might burst out of his chest into a violent pile of confetti on the floor. There was only one person that could possibly help him now.

“Frankie, you there?”

“Yeah just a minute my wife’s- my wife’s just…babe, it’s Santiago! I’ll be a sec ok…ok….hey man, sorry my wifes giving the baby a bath, what’s up?” Frankie asked, finally indicating his availability as he talked with his wife on the other end.

“Have you heard from Naomi today?”

“Uh…yeah actually. She came by this afternoon. She wasn’t looking too hot, but I managed to talk to her for a little bit. I think it might’ve helped. She didn’t stay long though, I got her to eat somethin’ and drink a coffee then she ran off.”

“Did she mention anything about where she was going? Did she talk about what she was feeling?” Santi asked, heart sinking as he heard the tone in Frankie's Voice.

“She didn’t talk about much, you know how it is with her right now.”

It wasn’t like the two men dedicated all their conversations to Naomi, but lately they've both been concerned for her. They’d seen the way her eyes dulled and the way her voice wavered as she spoke because she was so far off into her own head. They loved her, and they’d do anything for her. It was horrible watching her sink into one of her lows, knowing there was nothing they could do to stop it while she was so insistent on keeping all of her feelings so close to her chest.

“Fish, there’s money missing from my drawers and she wont pick up her phone…I think she’s using.”

Santi could hear a sharp intake of breath over the phone and listened out as he could hear shuffling on the other end of the line. As he listened out for whatever it was that Frankie was doing he made his way back to the doorway and pulled on his boots, balancing the phone by his shoulder as he went. As he thought about all the places she could be, he heard Frankie cursing over the other end, his voice gravelly with frustration.

“Santi man, she went through my contacts and found a dealer. I’m so so sorry, I didn’t know she would do that. I just- I pulled up my tabs there and it was on this contact I have-”

“Fucking hell! Can you message him? Ask him what she ordered and where she went? Offer to pay him, I’ll give you whatever it is he wants. I just need to know she’s safe!”

Santi panicked as he wondered what the hell she was doing. Why would she go against her promises? All of a sudden all of his emotions mixed into one big bubbling cauldron in his mind, anger and confusion and hurt burned, but worry set a chill through his bones. Where could she be? Was she ok? Would she know her limits since it had been so long?

-

Frankie had come off the phone and minutes later he was driving down to Santi’s like a mad man. The truck cut through the night like a machete, it was loud and clunky, it would stir up the neighbourhood but it gave him the edge in the little traffic that was around. Everyone let him pass by quickly as he made his drive over. He knew Santi well enough to know he’d be tearing his hair out wondering what had happened to Naomi.

His head was filled with scenes from the time they’d first met. He remembered it clear as day, that night that she’d wound up at the same dodgy house in that seedy little neighbourhood. He didn’t like to do pickups, he much preferred the guys that delivered, but he was desperate that night. He was itching to feel something other than the sinking feeling of his demons and failures. So he and Naomi had both turned up at the house together and strolled out with their respective bags, finding themselves both suspicious of the other as they walked the same way back.

“Are you a cop? Is this some DEA thing going on right now?” Naomi had said, stopping abruptly as she eyed Frankie up.

He was about to cross the street, about to put some distance between them before he stopped and turned to her. He adjusted his cap back low over his eyes and shrugged, giving her an impassive stare from under the shadow of his hat.

“Do I look like DEA to you?”

She looked at him for a moment, making him shift uncomfortably as she stared before shaking her head. Something about the way she smiled coyly back at him made him snort, the way that she suddenly realised how ridiculous that was. He expected her to move on, to get on her way so that he could go on his own, but she wasn’t going to make it that easy.

“You got cigarettes?” She asked, looking pointedly at the bulge in his jacket pocket.

“Yeah. If I give you one will you beat it?” He said, in no mood to deal with a stranger any longer than he had to.

“Jesus. Sure thing, guy. You got somewhere important to be or something?”

“Yeah, gotta get back to the station,” he said sarcastically, offering out his almost full pack to her.

Naomi reached in and drew one out, quickly returning the pack to him before she got her lighter out. The red glow of the tobacco enticed him in and suddenly, without thinking, he was reaching for one for himself before he put his pack away. He searched through his pockets for his lighter, dangling the cigarette from his mouth as he looked, but he came up empty.

As he looked up he connected eyes with Naomi, she tilted her chin up as she took a draw then held out her lighter to him. He’d mumbled a thanks to her and wasted no time in taking a draw of his own, sighing as he felt the relief of the nicotine racing through his system. It wasn’t the high he was looking for, but it was an initial buzz, something to fog his thoughts and distract him.

“You look too together to be out here. What’s your deal?” Naomi had asked, breaking the silence.

Frankie parked up at Santis house and breathed out a choked sigh as remembered how things went from that fated night. He and Naomi had gotten to talking a lot after that, they couldn’t seem to leave each other as they made their way out of the bad part of town and toward a little abandoned park. They’d both sat on the swings and rambled about nothing in particular as they lost themselves in their bags.

It was Santi yanking the door open that brought Frankie back to reality. He looked through the gloom and to his best friend's wide, frenzied eyes. That wasn’t good. The last time Santi looked this panicked, their friend had ended up dead. He gulped and fished his phone out of his pocket, allowing Santi to see the message from the dealer.

“Do you know where she could be?” Santi pleaded, muscles taught as he grasped at Frankie’s arms.

“I have one idea…” he sighed.

-

“Rock on, Gold Dust Woman, Take your silver spoon, dig your graaaaveee,” Naomi rambled, slurring out the lyrics to her favourite song.

Her head was swimming. It felt like she’d put herself in a washing machine and she was spinning and spinning in a slow prolonged cycle, all warm and bubbly. The vodka and the coke were combining into a delicious high that had her jaw grinding and her limbs shaking absentmindedly as she lost herself on the little creaky roundabout. There were no more bad thoughts and images left, just a pleasant little humming that thrummed through her bones like electricity.

She didn’t notice Frankie’s big truck as it squealed to a stop just outside the old rusted fence. She didn’t see both men as they clambered out the truck. She only noticed them when the roundabout was stopped from its slow lazy spin and she was face to face with Santi and Frankie, their eyes boring into her like they might kill her.

Suddenly she felt a little more sober. She noticed the diesel-like taste of the coke and the lingering ghost of vodka burning at the back of her throat. She felt the bile rising in her stomach. Oh she wasn’t going to be well tomorrow. It had her racing to take another gulp of the vodka.

Before she could take the bottle fully to her lips it was smacked away from her hands, she let out a little scream of surprise as it dropped to the ground clattering against the roundabout. She tipped forward and struggled to try and get it back, but Frankie had it away from her in an instant. She growled out her frustrations and got to her feet, swaying as she tried to stand, climbing her way up Frankies legs like they were tree branches.

“Enough! Stop it, that’s enough,” Santi shouted, grabbing her away from his friend's limbs.

“Nooooo!” She moaned, struggling away from his arms.

“Naomi, what the fuck! Stop this, stop it now!” Santi pleaded, his voice hoarse with desperation.

He’d never seen her like this. Never seen her so out of control. He’d seen Frankie reach a similar level, fall into a hole exactly like this, but never her. Santi saw the way Frankie was looking at her now and cast his eyes away, he could see the horror reflected back. He knew exactly what this was like and he didn’t like seeing it sober. He was facing a fragment of himself and it was taking its toll, twisting his expression into one of horror.

“We need to get her back home…She needs to sober up,” Frankie said stiffly, looking back toward the truck.

“Noooo, I don- I dont- nooooooo. N’t need to go to truck. Just leave me here,” Naomi moaned, feeling herself come to some level of awareness again.

She looked up at the two men, twisting to look at Santi as he held her against himself and then looked toward Frankie. She hated what she saw. Frankie looked so stony, like he was about to run far away. Santi looked like he’d just come from a warzone, his expression was twisted and wrought with pain and anger and effort as he tried to heft her toward the truck.

“Please. Please don’t be mad. Just leave me. Just leave me,” she cried.

Santi shook his head and wrapped his grip around her tighter, starting to walk backwards as he did. There was no fighting him. He was so much stronger than her, she couldn’t win. Her limbs were far too weak anyway, they felt like marshmallow fluff as they dangled uselessly and heavy at her sides.

She resigned herself to being dragged back by him and let her head loll against his chest like a ragdoll. It almost felt pleasant as she soaked up his warmth and citrusy scent. It was only when she was locked into the car that she remembered the real gravity of the situation. Her hands were worrying away at Santi's shirt, clenching and unclenching, wild with the energy that burned its way through her system.

“Santi,” she mumbled, looking up at him, staring into his forlorn eyes.

“Yeah?” He asked, repositioning her as Frankie hopped in the front.

The words shrivelled and died on her tongue, lost in the taste of fuel. She didn’t know what she was gonna say. All she wanted was for Santi to play with her hair and whisper platitudes into her ear, to tell her it was all gonna be ok. But it isn’t going to be ok, she thought. She shook her head and retreated into the hollow at his side, closing her eyes and resting against his ribs.

Frankie grunted something from the front, but she didn’t catch it. She was too lost. She was floating in that horrible place now, starting to free fall into a come down. Now the voices in her head were shouting louder than they ever had before and were screaming like banshees. Vengeful angry voices of her past were playing over and over in her mind. You don’t deserve anything. You don’t get to have things work out. Something will go wrong. You’re nothing. You’re not even a thought in our minds anymore.

-

Frankie spent the rest of the ride with his hands pale, gripping the steering wheel like it might fall off. His eyes nervously glanced from the road, to Santi, to Naomi lying in the back sobbing away into Santi’s shirt. It scared him more than anything to see her like this. To see Santi like this.

He remembered the night he’d called Santi in a panic, explaining he’d broken his promise, he’d used again. Santi was there right away, holding him as he rambled and cried and cursed. It felt like a hazy nightmare to him, but all the memories were flooding back now. The desperate night clawing its way back and strangling him, making him want to dull the pain all over again.

More than anything, though, he desperately wanted to comfort Naomi. He wanted to tell her it would be alright, that they’d both be there for her no matter what. Healing wasn’t linear, it didn’t just happen magically and you were all better, no more problems ever again, it was a process that came with setbacks. But he couldn’t. He was shocked into muteness.

He pulled up to Santis house in stunned silence and stared straight ahead into the middle distance, lost in the haze of his thoughts. Naomi’s crying had abated and now she was resigned to twitching and clutching at Santi, moaning out nonsense here and there. Frankie pulled himself from the truck and got out, motioning to Santi as he pulled himself out of Naomi’s grasp.

“I need to get her in, Fish,” Santi sighed, looking to Frankie for help.

“I know, just…go easy on her, yeah? This shit’s difficult,” he said, voice cracking with emotion.

“I know, man. I just need to get her in, get her water and shit and then…and then-”

“I know. Figure it out in the morning,” Frankie said, patting him on the back.

It was exactly what Santi had said to him that night, We can figure this out in the morning man. And they had. Santi had let him stay in the house all night, then come to him in the morning with a coffee and a selection of strong painkillers. Santi didn’t judge, he had his own demons, he’d done terrible things just like the rest of them. He was the last person to lash out.

“Thanks for all your help,” Santi sighed, opening the door with a heavy creak.

“Of course. I just want her to be safe, y’know?”

“I know. I’m gonna keep her close tonight. I’ll message you in the morning,” he grunted, his voice straining as he lifted Naomi into his arms.

Frankie helped, running up to the door after them, holding it open so Santi could continue to walk her through the threshold like a drugged up bride. Then he gave his brother one last look as he left, they didn’t need to say anything more. Though it didn’t stop Frankie grunting out an “I love ya, man” as he closed the door over with a soft click. He could only pray it would be ok as the light of day roused them both.”

-

Naomi’s head felt like a coconut, like it was being hacked open with a rusty blade. Normally she wouldn’t sleep like that after taking coke, but her mind had been so exhausted she couldn’t help but slip away after Santi had brought her into bed and cradled her close long enough.

Fuck! Santi! She turned with a start and saw her boyfriend lying there next to her. His plush lips were parted and he was gently exhaling steady breaths as he slept soundly at her side. On of his thick arms was extended next to her, the other wrapped around his pillow, hugging it tightly like a worried child.

“Shit,” she murmured, looking at the way his brow furrowed in his slumber.

What had she done? Why did she have to go and cause all that trouble. She held her head in her hands for a moment, feeling the full weight of it before she made a move to shift off the bed, to where she didn’t know, but she felt like she had to get away from Santi. She had to get away from the burning shame that surged through her spine and thumped through her head.

“You woke me up with all that thinking,” Santi grunted, reaching out an arm to stop her leaving.

He always said that, always said her thoughts were so loud she’d wake him up with all that racket. It was a little joke they had. The joke didn’t seem so cute this morning though as he faced her. His eyes were serious and didn’t hold any levity, his jaw was set. Normally she’d be raking her eyes over his body appreciatively, but now she just felt guilty. He was still wearing the same tear stained black shirt from the night before.

“Naomi, sweetheart. You need to stop this. Tell me what’s going on.”

“Santi…please. I can’t. I don’t deserve you, I broke my promise, I used and I betrayed Frankie’s trust going through his phone and - oh my god Frankie! He was there last night wasn’t he?”

Naomi didn’t have full memories, she had shards. Sharp little barbs that were torturing her as it began to come back to her, riding that creaky red roundabout, climbing all over Frankie, crying into Santi’s shirt. Holy shit, she cursed. She could have screamed were it not for Santi there, lurking over her and drawing her into him.

“Baby it’s alright. Frankie’s fine, he’s worried about you, we’re all fuckin worried about you.”

“It’s not alright, I’ve fucked this. Fucked it like I fuck everything. My parents were right,” she wailed, trying to push him away.

Santi sighed and pushed her arms aside, battling her and making a point of keeping her close. He didn’t want to push her away. He just wanted her to know this wasn’t irredeemable, she could come back from this. He knew a little bit about her past, the way her parents treated her, the way they barely acknowledged her as a person rather than an emotional punching bag. He knew that that was what this was really about, but he wasn’t sure exactly what it was that had brought this to the forefront of her mind.

“Baby, talk to me,” he said, breath hot against her ear as he balanced his chin against her head.

“I’m sorry,” she finally whispered, clutching her head in her hands as a last desperate attempt to vanish into thin air with embarrassment.

“I know you’re sorry. I know. Just talk to me ok? Talk to me, tell me what all this is about.”

She spent a few more minutes in silence, leaning against the hard planes of his body before she could finally build up enough strength to sit up again and face him. His eyes were shining, tears were threatening to drop. She gasped, she’d never seen him like this. Stressed and stony faced sure, shouting and raging even, rarely, but never with tears.

“I just… it all got too much, Santi. My parents they- they made me feel like I was shit, that I was nothing and now I just feel like I can’t have anything. Like you’re gonna go away, Frankie’s gonna go away, you’re all gonna think I’m not worth it anymore and you’re all gonna leave because I’m not worth the effort. And I- and I don’t deserve you.”

Santi sat with her words for a little while. He held her and he considered her words while whispered into her ear, breathing kisses and compliments her way. Telling her how special she was to to him. Anything to try and get her into a state where she could listen to him properly, where she could get to an even keel again.

“You’re so good, baby. You’ve been the best thing to happen to me.”

“I love you so much, nothing can change that.”

“You’ve made all our lives so much better by coming into them. You give me a reason to come home, you give Frankie a reason to stay in check. We love you. We love you so so much.”

All of his words mixed into sweet honey, they killed the pounding in her head and chased the bad thoughts away. Finally after taking a few breaths, she felt ready to seriously face him. To be able to try and right the wrong she’s done. She hadn’t trusted him, she hadn’t allowed him to explain himself and tell her that it was ok. The voices of her past were wrong. And in doing so she’d made it all so much harder. Suddenly it was all so clear through the haze of her building hangover.

“Santi…I know I’ve said sorry a million times, and I can’t undo what I did last night. If you can give me another chance, if you think you can still love me after all that I want to show you I can be better. I was reckless last night, I just acted on complete impulse and I can see now that that was fuckin’ stupid, I just thought if you were gonna go meet your informant and go away, you might not ever want to come back. I just felt so dragged down by all the voices in my head and my chest just felt so- so tight with anxiety…I couldn’t see a way through. I see a way through now.”

Santi was shocked as she became coherent. He hadn’t expected her to come to her senses so quickly, but then that was Naomi. She was full of surprises. More than anything though, he was glad that he wasn’t going to have to give her a lecture. She had seen the errors of her ways and going forward, he hoped that she’d be able to see sense and talk to him if this ever happened again.

“You know you really scared me last night. When I came through and I saw you were gone, I really thought the worst. You had me and Fish in a panic trying to find you. Of course I want to give you another chance, of course I still love you, but you can’t do that to me ever again. You gotta promise me that, ok? You never ever just run off and get yourself into a state like that. Anything could have happened to you, anyone could have come along. I love you so much, I just want you to be safe. Can you promise me that? Can you promise you’ll never do anything like that again?”

The tear that left his eyes didn’t escape her. It dripped down his cheek, leaving a wet shimmering trail across his skin and she couldn’t help but reach out and rub it away. She wanted to take the pain away. She didn’t want to bring anymore tears to that beautiful man’s face. So she sighed and nodded, watching as relief flooded into his features.

“I promise I won’t run off like that again. Never ever. I love you so much Santi, I’m sorry I couldn’t see how much you loved me through all the darkness…”

“It’s ok,” he sighed, holding her close again and smiling as he brushed a hand over her hair. “You can stop apologising now. It’s over. We can start to heal from this…we’ll be ok. It’s gonna be all ok.”

She smiled into his chest and then for the rest of the morning they stayed like that. They lingered between dreaming and being awake as they lay down and held each other in their arms, holding on tightly so as to remind the other that they were still there. They would hold on forever and never let go.

It was Naomi that made the first move, shuffling herself away from Santi before tugging him up, dragging his arm close to her chest. She grinned as he made a groaning sound and tried to hide herself away, but soon he relented. He laughed as she dragged him toward the shower and as the radio played, and the water in the shower poured a sweet watery cacophony of sound, it felt like all their troubles were washing away.

[cotccotc]

♡ 10:56 am ; safe space

set in the domus amoris universe !

genre/s: comfort, angst > fluff, established relationship au, hyunjin x gn reader

wc: ~2.6k

warnings: non-sexual nudity (mc, not hyunjin; vague descriptions of body parts), anxious/depressed/self-deprecating thoughts, in-depth description of a panic attack, mc has hair that’s long enough to brush

a/n: this one’s based on a suggestion by the lovely @crscendoforsung​ !! i wanted to make it a bit angsty for ya since,,,, i Know You :) it’s also a pretty exact account of an experience i had as well so.. that’s fun... lol. if you ever have a suggestion for the series feel free to check out the suggestion box !!

there are always going to be times where nothing seems to be going your way. sometimes days, sometimes weeks, sometimes years… and it’s hard opening up about those things. those things that eat away at your psyche until it seems as though there’s little to nothing left; the things you never say out loud for fear they might manifest themselves; the things you even dread telling the man you love for fear of worrying him. it’s times like these where you don’t want to be heard or seen, but rather to curl up into a ball and let everything you need to out of your system. it creeps up on you. right now, as beads of hot water pierce your back and your face rests in your trembling hands, you’re reminded of this feeling. it plagues your body, haunts your thoughts… and honestly, you’re not sure how it happened. but you know that if hyunjin sees or hears you, he’ll take on your troubles as if they’re his own. so you stay quiet.

you’re honestly just confused. angry at yourself. frustrated. you’d caught yourself staring into space again. it happens every so often, but each time it does you get more and more fed up with your lack of self control. your dazed, dissociated mind will get the best of you at times. it can get to the point where, like today, you can be in the middle of a simple, everyday task - taking a shower, brushing your teeth, sometimes even doing work - and you’d just be stripped of your attention span. and, it can last for as short or as long a period of time as it so chooses. it makes you feel like you’re out of control of your own body; as if the vessel in which your spirit is contained is caving from the outside in, crushing your spirit in the process.

heart racing against your thoughts, shallow breaths rising and falling at a staggering pace, fingers trembling as you fold your hands together and squeeze them closer in a weak attempt to make it all go away. you begin to wonder why you’re like this. how you can go from applying shampoo to your hair to feeling the water grow lukewarm as your mind wanders into oblivion. oftentimes, you blame yourself, citing a simple lack of intelligence for the way your head takes over like this. you don’t even know when it began. prior to moving in with hyunjin, of course, but… were you always like this? was this always how your brain decided to occupy itself? have you always been so spacey… so vacant, so stupid? why are you like this? why are you so broken? why won’t it all just slow down or stop? why don’t you just-

whoa. where did that come from?

these thoughts strike you, almost as if you’ve been slapped in the face. your cheeks heat up as a stinging sensation overtakes your eyes. tears. droplets of disparity, dripping down the drain. what feels like a chill courses through your body, making your bones shake and joints buckle. seeing stars, your knees give out, sending you to the porcelain floor of the bathtub. you sit with your legs folded, leaning over with your face in your hands. heaving breaths, hot tears, piercing beads of water shooting out from the showerhead to the sensitive skin on your back. shaking, shuttering, ashamed. especially since you’ve given up trying to stay silent.

you hear the bathroom door creak open. shit. but just like any other instance, you can’t seem to stop convulsing nor crying.

“baby…?” you hear hyunjin’s soft, youthful voice calling to you over the running water. “baby, are you okay?” he must’ve heard you fall.

you try to catch your breath. and, of course, you fail. just like you failed to pay attention to the task at hand, failed to conceal the breathy sobs over which your lover must now worry… you’re choking on your own futility. “no,” you whisper, your face still contorting in your hands.

before you can object, a hand reaches into the shower and shuts the water off before hastily pushing the shower curtain to the side. now, more than ever, you’re hyperaware of the volume at which you’ve been sobbing. the chill of the air rises over your naked form but is quelled by hyunjin’s warm hand against your back. he’s taken a seat next to the tub, a look of concern and shock spread across his face. you can’t even look at him. you can’t bear the fact that he can see you right now. your physical bareness doesn’t even concern you. it’s the emotional nakedness that sends you deeper into your descent.

but oh, what it’s doing to hyunjin.

he feels so helpless. so terrible. so guilty. he doesn’t even know what happened, and yet his only wish is to be able to go back and stop it from happening. guilt, responsibility, fear... it’s enough to force a tear from his own eye, as well. “what’s wrong,” he whispers, his voice trembling as his face tightens and lips quiver. you can’t help but let out another bout of choked sobs and convulsions. he leans into the tub, gently pulling your wet hair out of your face and draping his arm across your bare back. he presses a kiss to your spine, then rests his cheek against you. as more teardrops emerge from his eyes, he strokes your hair. “breathe,” he murmurs. under his breath, closing his eyes, he adds, “please, breathe.”

mind you, this isn’t the first time he’s seen you like this. maybe not in the same circumstances, but you’ve had similar episodes while out in public, while doing work, or even while trying to fall asleep. however, when he’s around, he’s able to help calm you down before things get this extreme. many times, his prolonged embrace alone is enough to drag you out of your daze and back to reality. but every time he holds you close enough to feel your heart fervently pulsing within your chest, his pangs for you. whenever your heartbeats are not aligned, he wants nothing more than to trade. 

you do as he says. you try to concentrate on your breathing. though your mind is still fuzzy, you rely on your senses. with the aid of hyunjin’s caresses and directions, you’re able to begin breathing at a semi-regular pace. though a stutter remains in your breathing pattern, everything seems to have slowed. he lifts himself from you, leaning toward your face to get a better look at you, regardless of the agony your aching expression puts him through. “you did so well,” he mutters. you sit up, wrapping your arms around yourself as the air hits your wet skin. “here,” he says, quickly rising to grab a towel from the metal rack on the wall. wrapping it around you, he holds onto your arms as you use the side of the tub to lift yourself up to a standing position. he helps you step out of the tub and onto the floor. despite the humidity of the confined room, the tile beneath your feet is chilling.

you sniffle, wiping your face with your hands. he takes two fistfuls of the towel and replaces your hands, patting your face dry. that’s when you notice he’d been crying too. you look into his pink tinted eyes with an overwhelming twinge of guilt. “i’m-” you croak. but he knows what you’re going to say.

“don’t be sorry,” he interjects, looking deeply into your eyes and cupping your face in his hands. “please?” you nod, averting your eyes from him. he makes you so happy. so comfortable. so at home. and yet, you feel so embarrassed. he’s seen you like this before. but the feeling never seems to lift. he licks his lips, placing a kiss against your cheek before travelling across your jaw and down to your neck. then, he begins patting you dry with the towel, gently brushing over your skin with the cotton fabric.

you’re so grateful for him. he shouldn’t have to do this for you. he shouldn’t have to care for you as if you’re a child; you should be able to do basic tasks. it’s all you can think about as he travels down your body, blotting the water off of you. so much so that it brings back the wetness in your eyes. you think you’re undeserving. you think you’re hopeless.

he stands back up, getting ready to towel dry your hair. that is, until he sees the single tear dripping down your cheek. his stomach drops. he wonders if his efforts aren’t enough. he wonders if he deserves to be the one who takes care of you. if he can’t do that, what can he do? at least that’s what he’s made himself believe.

so much unspoken.

“love, what’s wrong?” he asks, tilting your chin toward him with his thumb and forefinger.

“i…” you start. you don’t even know where to begin.

you glance away, eyes flicking to the clothes you’d picked out to wear after you showered - the main component being one of his t-shirts. he follows your eyes, hastily setting the towel down and grabbing the garments. “let’s put these on. i’ll help you.” you nod, sniffling. he gives you a bittersweet smile, crouching down to help you step into your underwear. once your undergarments and shorts are on, he picks up the t-shirt and smiles to himself. he didn’t quite recognize it as his own before. it’s a mixed feeling. he helps you into the shirt, his warm fingertips pressing against your waist as the fabric settles atop your form. his thumbs rub back and forth against the material. it’s a small gesture, but it’s soothing.

you shakily place a hand against his chest. “thank you,” you mumble, your voice still small and strained.

he gives you a half-smile before taking your hand in his and pressing a kiss onto your knuckles. you know he’s trying his best. and he knows you are too. that’s why he doesn’t prod. instead, he grabs the towel from the counter and a hairbrush with his other hand. “come on,” he says, leading you out of the bathroom and into your shared bedroom. he takes a seat on the bed, his back resting on the headboard. he taps a hand to his thigh. you climb onto the bed, then onto his lap, facing him. “close your eyes, baby.” and so, you do as instructed. his efforts are beginning to elicit more endearment than guilt out of you. it’s dawning on you that he’s enjoying the surface level elements of taking care of you just as much as you’ve relished in receiving them. he wraps the towel around the back of you, placing it atop your wet head. as he massages your scalp with the towel, rubbing and compressing your dripping locks, you hum in relief. it feels so warm. he makes you feel so warm.

you take a deep breath. he smiles at you, even though you can’t see it. he thinks you’re adorable. and he’s relieved you can breathe again.

after he’s done drying your hair, he tosses the wet towel down onto the floor beside the bed and grabs the brush. placing his other hand on your waist, he says, “tell me if it hurts. if i’m hurting you, i’ll stop.”

opening your eyes, you let out a small giggle. “you could never hurt me,” you reply. and, it’s true. he never has, and he never will. you pinky swore on it a long, long time ago.

a breath escapes his nose as his smile grows wider. “ok.” he tilts your head to the side. ever so gently, he begins brushing through your still-damp hair, carefully and slowly untangling any knots. eventually, he turns your head to the other side so he can reach more of you. once your hair has been fully detangled, he places the brush down on the bedside table in favor of wrapping his arms around you, pulling you closer to him. “all done.” you encase his neck in your arms, resting your head against his shoulder. the pads of his fingertips roam all over the expanse of your back, lulling you into a relaxed state of mind.

“thank you,” you whisper into his neck.

“you don’t need to thank me.”

“yes i do,” you respond, sitting upright. “you shouldn’t have to do all of this for me. but you did. but you do.”

he cuts you off slightly, hands passionately gripping onto your hips. “i do this because i want to. we take care of each other. you would do the same for me.”

you roll your eyes. not because you’re angry or annoyed, but because what he said is true. you would do the same for him, any time. but that’s because he deserves it. why do you? “yeah, but…” you trail off, eyes drifting to the side as that familiar tingling arises in your face. your lip trembles, signalling to hyunjin that, once again, his efforts were ineffective.

“baby, what’s wrong?” he whispers, placing a hand on your cheek to draw your face back to center. you look at him, your brow furrowed and a tear escaping your eye, reaching up to hold his hand as he strokes your cheekbone with his thumb. he wipes the salty remnants of your pain off of your skin, though the sentiment remains.

you climb off of his lap. he lifts the covers and blankets so the two of you can slip inside. laying down and facing him, you let out a deep sigh.

“it’s just… it happened again,” you say. he pulls the covers over your bodies and shifts closer toward you.

he tucks your freshly brushed hair behind your ear before placing his hand upon your side. “mhm.”

“and i couldn’t concentrate on anything else. i forgot where i was, and what i was doing…” you sniffle. you don’t want to send yourself back into such an emotional state, but you want to help him understand how you’re feeling. so, you do your best to explain. everything. everything from zoning out to your body becoming fragile, and even to the feeling of worthlessness that accompanies it all.

he comes close to crying again, but he pulls himself together for your sake. he doesn’t want you to feel guilty for feeling. instead, he pulls himself closer to you and presses a kiss upon your cheek. “i’m proud of you, you know,” he says before kissing your face again.

“why?” you ask, chuckling with a slight smile spread across your lips.

“because!” he objects. he tickles your side, prompting your smile to widen and laughter to continue. “you were brave enough to tell me.”

“i thought i was a baby,” you tease. you playfully grab his hands off of you… but you know you won’t get too far.

“you’re not a baby.” he climbs on top of you, pinning your arms above your head and placing a trail of kisses along your cheek and neck. then, with his hands traveling back to your sides to tickle you some more, his voice deepens. “but you’re my baby.” you can’t help but giggle, bombarded with kisses and blushing from the contact. your reaction only eggs him on. he smiles into the crook of your neck before leaving a series of kisses against it, tickling you all the while. 

sure enough, you’ve forgotten all about what had happened just an hour ago. it’s as if nothing occurred at all. not because you’re distracted, not because you’ve dismissed it, but rather because you felt comfortable enough with your lover to share your deepest, most vulnerable inner turmoil. and he received you with open arms, an even more accepting heart, and a trail of sloppily laid kisses that’ll leave a swarm of butterflies aflutter in your stomach for days to come.

he succeeded, finally. and the both of you couldn’t be more pleased.

another note: if you’ve experienced something similar to this, please know you’re far from alone, and i’m always here if you need someone to talk to. i hope this can comfort you in some way. love u ♡

tags: @magglesx, @crscendoforsung, @stayndays, @hanniiesuckle17, @leggomylino, @freckledberries, @pixielix, @skzctnightnight, @serenityswords-main​, @childofthecosmos, @changbinniee​, @kpopscape​, @skzwriternet, @hyunsins, @sleepylixie​, @ncityluvvs​ (send a 🍓 in my ask box to be added for skz !)

©️ cotccotc 2021 ~ all rights reserved. do not repost my work on tumblr or other platforms.

[needdatbag]

Drinking You

notes: Hi! This is my first fanfiction ever. I just wanna see if anyone might like it? Haha...Anyway, if you do, please leave a like or a comment. Hope you enjoy! Oh and this is only the first part. 

Summary: You encounter a stranger on your way back from the grocery shop and everything about him pulls you in. 

Pairings: Eren Yeager x Reader; Various pairings eventually

Warnings: NSFW; mentions of smoking.

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

Part 1-Stranger Danger

You were not ok. Today was a hellish Monday like you rarely encountered. Of course Monday sucked in general  but it’s a different kind of pain when you work in a department full of detectives. Everyone is stressed day after day and they don’t have any notion about free time, for them it is equivalent with supplementary work. It’s been 4 months since you started working as the main profiler of the team and you feel as if you need to step up your game. Everyone likes you but the fact that you’re new in the field is noticeable. You do your best all the time but experience is key after all. So here you are, after working hours, walking out of the closest store while holding a beer and a pack of cigarettes in one hand while the other is busy holding the phone to your ear.

’’I will take a look as soon as I get back to my desk, I was planning on checking the brief details we have about this case anyway. I took the file before I left and I will be making an idea about the whole deal tonight. We will receive the rest tomorrow, right? I mean I can get something but without all the information it might just be wrong or incomplete.’’

Your boss sighed and agreed with you.

’’I know. There is a reason behind this lack of information but I am afraid you’ll have to find out tomorrow. I will explain everything to you as soon as we have the OK from the fucking higher-ups. Do what you can tonight, L/N.’’

He was tired but you almost swore you felt a tinge of sadness in his tone. Your gut told you something was just starting. You gulped.

’’Don’t worry sir. You’ll have the draft for the initial report on your desk as soon as I get to work.’’ 

You said goodbye and hung up while tossing the phone in the pocket of the pyjama pants you wore. You came home half an hour ago, ate a quick dinner and realised you forgot to buy the two things you needed for survival on days such as this Monday: a beer and cigarettes. Unhealthy coping but you got over that thought in college. Regrets were a pain in the ass and you wanted none so you did what you wanted.

 As you were walking towards your apartment building you couldn’t help but think about this case. Your team was way on the edge when they received word about it. They were silent about it and that scared you. Because, even if you only knew them for 4 months, you knew all of them were loud, outspoken and chaotic. Your head always throbbed at the end of the day. But you almost missed that today because instead of debates and childish arguments, this day was extremely tense and everyone seemed to be at each others throats out of silly things. As if they disagreed on something you had no idea about. It felt as if a powerful untouchable presence was messing with them and it saddened you but it also stirred your curiosity. Who or what was doing that? 

You were so lost in your thoughts you didn’t notice the person walking right in front of you and you bumped into them dropping your cigarettes in the process and almost dropping your beer but you managed to catch it before it hit the ground. 

’’I’m really sorry. I wasn’t paying attention…’’ you said as you immediately bent down to pick up your cigarettes but the stranger beat you to it.

’’It’s fine.’’ he answered in a low pleasant voice and started walking away. 

WITH YOUR CIGARETTES.

It took a second for you to register what happened and move. He walked away so casually that it pissed you off.

’’Heyo.’’ you said while grabbing his shoulder and making him turn to you. He was tall, well built with medium length long brown hair and green eyes. He was wearing an open black coat with a black cotton sweater and light blue jeans with a pair of some black and white Nike shoes. ‘Well damn’ you thought, ‘this theif is hot as fuck’. But priorities were priorities. You were going to offer him a piece of your mind. And if needed, a piece of your very basic physical training. 

He first looked at your hand on his shoulder and then at you with a total lack of interest. Without any facial expression he asked:

’’What?’’

You took your hand off his shoulder and attached it to your hip in a somehow sassy position. Then with the other hand where you held your beer, you pointed at the cigarette pack he held.

’’Give me back my ‘candies’...Stealing is a crime, jerk. Instead you could’ve asked for a few. I would’ve... ‘’

But he didn't seem to pay attention to you anymore as he looked at something behind your figure. He started walking, right past you to the spot where you bumped into him.

You were speechless. You debated a moment if you should chase him again but you decided as soon as you remembered you didn’t have any money on you anymore to buy a new pack. You turned with a determined look on your face. He was picking something from the ground and as soon as you got close to him, right before opening your mouth, he held out his hand to you, holding a pack of cigarettes. He had another one in the other. And then you realised and your face started to redden. ‘Shit’

’’I have my own ‘candies’ though it seems they are the same as yours.’

You grabbed your cigarettes slowly while touching his hand in the process. You got a chill down your spine. This time his eyes were fixated on you and all the courage from earlier was down the drain. You were embarrassed of course but the way his direct look intimidated you was surprising. Your gut was telling you something but you couldn’t quite understand it. You were busy staring right back into his cold green eyes. He looked away first and sighed. 

’’Well, if this is done, goodbye.’’ and walked away from you for the third time in 5 minutes.

Somehow that didn’t sit right with you. Your brain was telling you to just walk slowly home and finish the work you had left for today, take a shower and start everything again tomorrow, while your body was already chasing the long haired man, adrenaline pumping through your veins. You told yourself you just wanted to apologise for calling him a jerk but the truth was there was something invisible pulling you in his direction. Maybe it was your toxic curiosity or the silly fact that you two were smoking the same cigarettes, an old brand that made you forget things that screamed in your head constantly, or perhaps it was just the simple fact that he was a handsome stranger. Who knew? The only thing you knew was that you were a fool. But that never stopped you before. 

’’I’m sorry! I never meant to insult you….I should’ve just looked around...Usually I’m not such an airhead. I wonder how come I didn’t notice another pack on the ground.. heh.’’ you said while reaching him. You guys were walking in the same direction anyway. He didn’t say anything, he just looked straight ahead not really paying much attention to you but he also didn’t seem bothered by your presence.  As you reached a crosswalk and waited for the colour to change you watched his profile as discreetly as you could. He looked as if he was completely lost in thought but at the same time aware of everything surrounding him. He was close but far and that really tickled your brain. You groaned internally. 

‘I shouldn’t care, he is just a stranger whom I’ll never see again. Asking him for a coffee out of the blue would be weird too.. And he seems to be completely uninterested in my existence anyway, though I guess that is mostly because of my bloody pyjam..’

’’So what’s up with that pyjama?  he said out of the blue.

’’I don’t like to assume things but if you’re following me because you want to ask me out or something I think you might be my best friend's soulmate. He has the same Star Wars pyjamas.’’

Your mouth was hanging open. You looked down at your clothes and then back at him. He was watching you now as well. The light changed and he started walking as you followed.

’’I live on the other side of the road and this is what I usually wear at home, so no, I don’t really bother dressing up for a trip to the grocery store. And I’m just going home, I’m not following you..’’ 

You bit your lip as you hesitated before continuing wondering if you should say what you were going to say.

’’...and I also have a ..boyfriend.’’

You two reached the other side of the road and he suddenly stopped.

’’You’re lying.’’ he said calmly

Both of you stopped walking. You looked at him wide eyed. How could he know you were lying? He sounded so sure too. His expression seemed to change for a second when he saw your confused face, some sort of realisation hitting him while he shook his head.

’’Nevermind.’’

-He stepped closer to you and tilted his head, a few stray strands of hair falling randomly on his face. This guy was handsome, annoying but handsome. Even his skin seemed to have a special kind of glow, besides the fact that it was a beautiful tan colour and the combination with the kind of green/teal eyes that he had left you almost breathless in close proximity. Of course you lied. What boyfriend? You were working most of the time and you studied people for a living so of course you were overthinking everything about any guy that came your way. You either figured them too fast and they bored you or you didn’t even look their way. You were not easy to deal with either as you had a very straightforward personality on the outside but on the inside you were trying to keep everything from collapsing. You were confusing, caught between being intimidating, bad mouthed and weird or depressed and minding your own business in silence...and those moods were not exactly any guy’s cup of tea. 

So lately you always try to play the sweet girl card when it comes to guys, hiding your trust issues for another day. But this time you were not in control...of anything. It wasn’t even a big deal, really.

 You were just talking to a stranger. But his presence was dominating you effortlessly. And for some sort of reason you couldn’t even start to figure out why. Your brain was foggy, your breathing was irregular and your knees were suddenly weak when he got close to you.

‘What in the Twilight..’ you thought

You couldn’t read him while he seemed to have no problem reading you. And that bothered you the most.

’’You should go home..’’ he spoke in a lower, raspier voice ’’..I’m not as interesting as you might think. I’m a simple guy actually.’’

His words seemed so honest, his tone too. But something told you that he lied. Or that what he said might have been true. Once. But not anymore as his eyes didn’t meet yours when he spoke the last part.

You tried to ignore the sensation that formed in your stomach when he spoke so close to you in that voice that seemed to echo inside your head. You were getting a little lightheaded and for a moment you thought about the possibility of being physically sick. In this case this would've been the better scenario.

 ‘I should just go. Ignore everything about the way I feel now as if nothing will ever be boring again. Yes, I should ignore the fact that I don’t need to pretend because there is no point in doing so in front of this person. They see through me anyway. But that’s a bad thing and I’m not thinking clearly right now and he screams ’Stranger Danger’ and for God’s sake I work with the police...What should I do..His eyes are so pretty, his voice is so beautiful and I’m just a curious superficial fool.’

You took a breath and turned around while his eyes never left you. You started walking towards the entrance of your apartment complex and with every step your heart started beating faster and louder. Your ears were captivated by a weird inner buzz. You bit your lip and clenched your fist, your nails actually hurting the skin of your palms. 

‘Don’t do it. Don’t do it.’

But in a swift motion you turned around, fear, excitement, some sort of distorted happiness and an unusual laughing sensation taking over you.

’’Come upstairs for a coffee, Stranger-Danger?’’

His eyes were still on you when you turned around. After you finished your sentence he covered his mouth with a hand. He might have laughed at the nickname, you guessed. But he came anyway.

Later on you would come to realise that you saw something flickering in his cold eyes when you turned around. A cunning fire that hid behind that wall of ice. Who knows..?

It might have just been the fact that this was exactly what he was waiting for all along. 

But there was no coffee upstairs. 

The moment the elevator doors closed you started kissing, like there was an unspoken agreement that this was going to happen exactly then. The kiss wasn’t rough as you would have expected it to be, it was gentle just as a declaration or an apology. But that soon changed as both of you became consumed with each other. The kiss became meaner from both of your sides, egoistical, as if both of you were trying to steal more from each other than the other did.  He caressed your cheeks and then his hands travelled to your neck where he felt your skin and your pulse. His hands were cold but the touch of his fingertips on you felt as if it burned your skin, leaving scars even if there were none. You held on to his coat while he pushed your back against the wall. After you stopped kissing, he licked his lips and looked into your eyes. You looked back. Nothing said. He started kissing and biting your neck.

When you entered your apartment clothes started flying left and right and while kissing him, between undressing and tugging at each other's clothes , you could only be thankful that you were wearing the ‘good’ underwear you still had on and not some panties with silly patterns you usually wore at home. Somehow you two reached your bedroom but you had no idea how because you were blind to mostly anything around you but him. He picked you up, your legs now straddling his waist as he walked and you could feel his muscles. His body was very well defined, strong arms,abs and everything, beautiful large shoulders and prominent collar bones. ‘Weird’ you thought...because he didn’t  really seem like he worked out. His body looked as if it developed naturally this way. You only saw that at the guys working in your department when they trained, the girls too. Their body developed over the years thanks to all the training.

 For a second your mind wandered to what he did for a living.

You didn’t know anything about him... but the way his lips tasted, the way he smelled so fresh yet intoxicating, the way he made you so dizzy when he stared into your eyes, those things left you unwilling to think about anything else besides the feeling of his body on yours. You were drowning in him, his presence overwhelming you. The way you two moved against each other felt like a feverish dream in which you were dancing. He was leading and you could only stare into his eyes even though you knew this wasn’t like you at all. 

He was far too intoxicating to be your type, and he was far too in control for you to be his. 

While he laid you on the bed gently his hands traced mindless patterns on the skin of your legs moving higher and higher towards your thighs where he started to grab your flesh making you groan. He was either teasing you or enjoying feeling every inch of your body. He started kissing your inner thigh, sucking, licking and biting his way up to your core.

’’You’re going to leave marks.’’ you said breathlessly

He raised his head from between your legs  and with a teasing but cold voice he said:

’’Is that a bad thing? Your ’boyfriend’ won’t mind.’’

Your face started to redden at the mention of the ’fake boyfriend’ and you opened your mouth to protest but in a quick motion he reached your face and kissed you. He was trying to shut you up by kissing you ruthlessly, biting your lips and sucking on your tongue. You couldn’t get a break and when you wanted to fight back he was kissing you even harder. 

He only stopped when he ran out of breath. You wanted to retort something again but he beat you to it. Between pants of air he said:

’’You sure like to talk a lot don’t you ?...But I guess I’ll drink you anyway.’’

He effortlessly tied his hair in a messy man-bun that fit him weirdly well. The lights were off in your apartment but the street light coming from your bedroom's window was highlighting all the right parts of his silhouette. His abdominal muscles, his strong thighs, the movement of his arms as he fixed his hair, the veins on his arms, his slender but strong neck, his jaw, the right side of his face, his lips, his straight nose, his green eyes who looked directly at you without giving you a break. You were done talking now. 

He slowly leaned over your naked torso while still maintaining eye contact and you could feel his warm breath on your skin. He watched you as if he was silently asking if you’re not backing away so you just nodded, ashamed of the fact that you were more excited than embarrassed. It was what it was. Your mind was fuzzy and your body was needy. And he intrigued you. However that was the part you chose to snooze for now.

He started kissing all over your breasts in a soft manner but eventually he transitioned into biting and teasing all over them, especially your nipples. You began slowly moaning because of the sensations that were overwhelming all your senses. He was only teasing your body but you were already melting. When he started placing wet kisses on your abdomen, going lower and lower, you squeezed your legs together and he felt it so he grabbed and squeezed on the side of one of your tights just to let you know that he was aware of the power he had on you.

When he finally reached your most sensible part you arched your back at the sensation of his tongue. Sure, you had sex before but it was almost always dry and this was also the first time someone went down on you. Like they knew exactly what they were doing and where to touch specifically. It was as if he knew what you wanted without even knowing you. It was strange. Suspicious. Addicting. Dangerous.

 He trailed his fingers against your back while he ate you out. You were putty in his hands, your body flushed and high on the way his mouth felt. He teased your clit mercilessly, over and over, until you came multiple times. The good kind of torture.

As he slowly entered you he started groaning and placed your hands on his shoulders. You moaned at the sensation of being filled. It felt just right, as if your bodies just ‘clicked’ in every way. He grabbed your face with his hands while he started thrusting.

’’Just... hold on ...to me and... relax.’’ he told you between groans and sighs

You nodded rapidly, not really caring about anything anymore besides the pleasure and relief you were seeking. Your bodies were rocking in sync with each other, both of your pulses skyrocketing with every increase in pace. He was thrusting faster and harder now. Your hands were not on his shoulders anymore but outstretched above your head, his strong ones holding them pinned to the bed as he was losing himself in the sensation of you.

You two fucked as if both of you were running away together but from different things. When both of you reached your high his eyes seemed to light up when he looked at your face consumed by his presence. For a few seconds, while he lost control and pleasure overwhelmed him, you felt as if you saw someone else, still him but different. A real fire seemed to burn in those eyes during those moments but you only gazed at it a little bit and it was gone, replaced by that wall of ice that effortlessly unnerved you.

He collapsed next to you as both of you caught your breath.

You two sat in silence not feeling the need to talk, His fingers were mindlessly drawing battens on the back of your palm. You liked that. Somehow it warmed you. You turned your head in his direction. He was watching the ceiling and you could swear his expression was a little warmer now but something still felt melancholic about it. He turned his head and looked back at you. You really tried to memorise the way his upper lip was more prominent than the lower one, the way his eyes had such a nice, kind shape yet they looked at something beyond what you knew, the way his skin had such a pleasant warm tone, the way his hair fell on his face. 

Your eyelids started to become heavy. You were tired but you tried to fight off the request your body and mind had regarding some rest. You really wanted to say something before you fell asleep so you mumbled in a sleepy voice.

’’..The more I look at you...the more...I don’t see you...smoking...I don’t know..why...tho..’’

Your body became heavier and your eyes were slowly closing. The only thing you saw before drifting into the dream world was the faint image of a smile on his face. 

‘’I don't.’’ he said 

You woke up late the next day and he was gone, as if everything was nothing but a weird illusion. You pushed away the feeling of disappointment, told yourself to grow up and forget last night and took a shower, ate breakfast, dressed up for work in some brown dress pants, a white sweater and some dark red leather heels, grabbed your jacket and bag from the hanger and left for work.

‘I was right. He is a fucking jerk. He didn’t even leave a note or something. I don’t even know his name..but I guess it doesn’t matter. We’ll never see each other again.’

 You sighed.

You had more important things to do and worry about. How were you going to tell your boss, or The Captain as your crew called him, that you forgot the file you promised to look over, at work and you had no idea what the case that was assigned to your team and that was stressing everyone out, was about.

’’Captain Levi is going to beat the shit out of me..’’ you said out loud as you entered the building...even so...something bothered you as you could swear you placed the file inside your bag yesterday. You usually double check everything anyway.

You entered the HQ of the Survey Unit, your and your team’s unit and said a quick ’’Hello’’ to Jean, Sasha and Connie who were drinking coffee around Jean’s desk while discussing something intense. 

’’Hey, L/N...What is with the panicked attitude? Come drink a coffee with us and stop acting like the sky is going to fall. Need help with something ?’’

You took off your jacket and reached your desk. Nothing besides your cactus and your agenda that you usually left at work. The file was not here either. Hell. Your mind started going into overdrive.

’’The sky is actually falling Jean...and I’m the fucking sky.’’  you said while facepalming. How could you possibly lose the file?? A file with confidential police information.. You bent down and started searching for it under the desk but it was clear it wasn’t there.

Sasha was unpacking one of her sandwiches as Jean and Connie were both looking at you with a confused expression on their face. But their attention switched to Mikasa and Armin who entered the doors while being surrounded by a gloomy atmosphere. Mikasa looked as if she lost weight in the last two days while Armin’s dark circles were obvious testimonies of a sleep deprived individual. Jean and Connie went over to them discussing something you couldn’t hear while Sasha came in your direction. 

’’This really takes a toll on all of us...but I really pity Mikasa the most...I guess you read the brief details about the case...Having to arrest one of our own, someone who betrayed us and is also her step brother … Man..I would be stress eating like crazy..I still do it.. but anyway.’’

You snapped your head in her direction.

’’What? Mikasa has a brother?’’

Sasha raised a brow while chewing her food.

’’Yes. Though they are not related, she was adopted into his family when her parents were killed. His parents died too after a few years and they had to survive, together with Armin who was in the same situation. He and Armin had been best friends ever since they could remember. He betrayed us a year ago and went rogue...but we never knew how far he went.. The Military Police assigned him to us. I’m sorry... We never really spoke about this because it’s a sore subject…You must be confused.. Huh?’’

You were speechless. You never knew that. Not a single word about it. But you always that something was missing however you kept your silence about it. 

’’Why would the MP assign him to us? It’s cruel and it doesn't make sense..’’

Sasha shrugged and said:

’’My guess is that they need Cpt.Levi to catch him. After all, he trained him. The MPs are big mouthed but they were never able to tame Eren.’’

You raised a brow. ’’Eren?’’

Sasha nodded. 

’’Yeah, that’s his n….Y/N did you know you have something stuck on your bag?’’ she asked while pointing at the black bag you owned. It looked like a post it note.

‘What the hell..?’ 

You picked it up and noticed something written on it. The writing was a little bit messy and squarish.

’’MEETIIIIING!’’ screamed Hange from the conference room

 Sasha went ahead: ’’I’ll see you there. Hurry up.’’

The words written on the note were: ’’I’m sorry. You’re a kind person. Thank you.’’

There was no name but you knew it belonged to the stranger you met last night. You started breathing heavily.  It wasn't the fact that something felt off about the note but where it was placed. On your bag. 

The FUCKING FILE was IN the bag.

In your mind a memory flashed suddenly. 3 months ago, after working hours the whole team went out for some food and drinks. You and Armin discussed your favourite movie series. You froze while remembering the crucial detail of that conversation.

’’It’s kind of embarrassing but I even have pijamas with Star Wars..’’ Armin said while his face flushed red.

You placed a hand on your mouth remembering a part of last night’s events.

’’.. I think you might be my best friend's soulmate. He has the same Star Wars pyjamas.’’

’’L/N! Move it!’’ Cpt Levi’s voice snapped you out of your daze. 

You started walking shakingly thinking over and over again about the possibility of this all being a coincidence..but when you entered the conference room and saw the screen, your blood went cold.

 /Runaway-Eren Yeager/ Accusations / Terrorism/ Multiple Murder Acusations/ Insubordination/ WANTED/ Dead or Alive/

And right to all these accusations was the picture of a younger version of the guy you met last night.

Your ex-colleague.

You looked at the note in your hand. 

It made sense right now. He used you right from the start.

You felt like laughing but you sat down next to Jean, trying to compose yourself and paying attention to what your Capitan was saying. 

In your mind only one phrase kept repeating itself.

You just fucked the enemy.

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

That was my first ever smut scene...Am I going to hell yet? haha

[flowerfan2]

We’re getting close to the end, folks!  Chapter 17 of 20 is up.  This one features some cuddles/comfort, a trip to NYC, a sparkling holiday party, and a romantic dance.  Enjoy!

David x Patrick, A03, 5k this chapter.

Chapter 17

David is sitting outside on the lanai, drinking his coffee and ignoring Alexis’ texts.  He doesn’t know how to answer her question.  He’s not sure why she thinks that texting him about the same thing over and over will make any difference, when he clearly told her, three days ago, to stop bothering him about it.

The problem is that he’s running out of time to make a decision, although in a way that’s a decision in itself.  He knows that the adult thing to do is to talk to Patrick about it, but if a little more time goes by, he won’t have to.

It’s only a few days away from one of his family’s most honored traditions, their annual holiday party, which has now become the Rose Motel Group holiday party.  This year, it’s at a trendy club in New York City, and it promises to be even more spectacular than ever.  David is expected to attend, whether he’s working remotely in Florida or not.

Of course, his parents would understand if he didn’t come… but he’ll pay the price, he knows it.  His father will have that sad look of disappointment, and his mother will be hurt, but hide it under fancy words and an extra ridiculous outfit.  And he really can’t stand the thought of upsetting Alexis.

It’s not only guilt, either.  David misses his family.  For better or worse, they have continued to be close since their days in Schitt’s Creek, and it’s not all due to concern about David’s mental health.  David genuinely enjoys their company, most of the time, and he’s come to rely on them.  Especially Alexis.

David had managed to put the holiday party completely out of his mind until Alexis started texting him about it.  Apparently his father finally caught on to the fact that he hadn’t committed, and put her on the case.  It’s been easy not to think about it, or anything to do with his old, sad, non-Patrick life, here in sunny Florida where the Christmas decorations look wildly out of place on the palm trees.  Even Patrick’s thoughtful gift of a menorah hadn’t overcome David’s willful not-thinking-about the holidays, annual festivities included.

He’s so happy here, with Patrick and no one else, in their bubble of suburban domesticity.  They pretty much do whatever they want, no one stopping in to put demands on them, no one asking questions.  Sure, they spend some time working during the day, but they’re never more than a few feet apart, unless one of them leaves the house to run a quick errand.  It’s not very realistic, and it might well have backfired, but so far it hasn’t.

Frankly David finds it comforting that Patrick is here, safe from all the demons that have been troubling him.  Although now he has to rewrite that story a bit, seeing as Marcy’s heath scare happened here in Florida.  But at least Patrick is far away from the site of his employment melt-down and his ill-fated night on the town with his cousin, cocooned in this little bubble where David can keep a close eye on him.

He worries about Patrick.  Over the past few weeks the Patrick he used to know is making his appearance more and more, but he’s still not the same.  Almost worse than the quiet sadness he sees in his eyes when he thinks David isn’t looking is the tentative surprise he shows when something goes right.  

It’s ironic, David thinks, that now, more than three years after their break-up, Patrick is the more damaged one.  It’s not what he ever imagined, when he thought about their future.  In the hazy mist of his imagination, Patrick was always and forever steady, guiding David through the stormy waters of his turbulent life.  (David acknowledges that his imagination is prone to purple prose.)  But life didn’t turn out that way, and he can only thank the universe that fate and shitty weather in Milwaukee brought them together again.  

David finishes his coffee and goes into the house, toeing off his shoes just inside the door.  He makes a cup of deliciously scented jasmine tea for Patrick, and heads back into the bedroom.

Patrick is still in bed, curled up in a ball with the duvet almost covering his face.  He hadn’t wanted to get up when the alarm went off, muttering to David that he didn’t have to do any work until the afternoon, and burrowing back down into the blankets.

David puts the tea down on the nightstand and slides under the covers, spooning up against Patrick’s back.  He moves slowly, trying to gauge whether his presence is welcome or not.  He knows Patrick isn’t actually asleep – his eyes flickered open when David entered the room.  The fact that he’s still in bed despite this isn’t a tremendously good sign, but David knows all too well how sometimes just getting out of bed can seem overwhelming.

To an outsider, he thinks that Patrick probably seems fine.  He is taking care of himself, doing what needs to be done in the house, and even starting a new job.  He gives the impression to others that he is completely in control, friendly and capable – and David thinks that more and more, it’s not a façade.  But David sees these moments, too, when it’s all just too much.

He curls his hand around Patrick’s arm, gently.  “Hey,” he whispers.  “I brought you some tea, if you want it.”

No reaction.

“Or you can just nap for a while.”

Patrick stirs, inching back towards David.  

“Okay if I nap too?”  David asks.

Patrick takes David’s hand and pulls it to his own chest, tucking his arm around David’s.  David can feel Patrick’s heartbeat against his palm.  

“Mmm.”  David presses a kiss to the back of Patrick’s neck.  “Sweet dreams, baby.”  David closes his eyes and breathes in the familiar smell of Patrick’s skin.  There are a lot worse things to do than cuddle his boyfriend through a difficult morning.  David can handle this.  He’s starting to think there’s quite a lot he can handle, when it comes to Patrick.

He knows Patrick was up late last night, going down rabbit holes on the web.  At some point David had woken up and peered at the screen of Patrick’s laptop, so he knows he was reading about depression.  He hopes it helped.  The internet can be a scary place; he’d probably be better off talking to someone.  David would talk to him about it, if he let him, but ever since their first few conversations Patrick hasn’t wanted to discuss it.  

David has almost fallen asleep when Patrick turns over and squints his eyes open.  

“You don’t have to stay here with me,” he says, blinking at David.

The sentence seems to carry more weight than he intended, and David shakes his head and puts his arm around Patrick, pulling him close.  “I’m not going anywhere.”  David shifts on to his back, and Patrick tucks himself against David’s chest.

“You have work.”  It’s a half-hearted protest at best, mumbled against David’s sweater.

“I already told Rory to move my meetings to the afternoon.  I’m fine.”  David presses a kiss to Patrick’s head. “I’m exactly where I want to be.  It’s a perfect day for sleeping in.”

Patrick is quiet, while David rubs his back and shuffles closer until they are entwined just right, legs and knees and arms all pressed together.  

After a few minutes David feels Patrick’s breath slow, and his hold on David relaxes.  He’s about to drift off himself, when Patrick jerks himself awake again.

“You okay, honey?”

Patrick nods, his chin digging into David.  “Yeah.  Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry.  It’s all right.”  David strokes Patrick’s shoulder and back, making lazy circles, hoping it will help.  

“Thank you,” Patrick whispers, his hand flat against David’s stomach.  It’s the last thing David hears before he falls asleep.

When David wakes up, Patrick is gone, but the shower is running so there’s not much of a question as to where he went.  David drags himself upright and checks his phone.  Rory has indeed moved his meetings, one to this afternoon, one to tomorrow, and one he had taken care of all by himself.  Maybe there won’t be coal in his Christmas stocking after all.

David is in the kitchen sniffing various take-out containers to figure out if he can stand eating any of them for lunch, when Patrick shows up.  He’s wide awake and smells delightfully like David’s favorite body wash, so naturally David has to kiss him before anything else.  When they separate, Patrick is smiling sweetly at him, and David feels his whole body light up.  If there’s something better than Patrick’s fond attention, he has yet to discover it.

Patrick insists on making lunch, and they pull together a salad with some bagged lettuce, leftover grilled chicken and an overlooked cucumber.

“We have got to get something better for dinner,” David says, as they lean against the kitchen island and eat their food.  

“There’s an Italian place in a new shopping center that I haven’t tried yet, but it looks good.”  Patrick sends David the link to the restaurant’s menu, and David is checking out their desserts (they have cannoli, which is a definite mark in their favor), when Patrick’s phone chirps several times in a row.

“David?”

“Hm?”

“Why does Alexis want my measurements?”

David freezes, his good mood draining out of him.  “What?”

“Alexis wants to know my-”

David yanks the phone out of his hand.  “Let me see.”  He scans the messages.  The party isn’t directly mentioned, but there’s no getting out of it now.  He’s going to kill Alexis for pulling this shit and going around him.  “I can explain.”

“Okay, go ahead.”  Patrick takes a bite of his salad, then looks up at David.  “What’s going on?”

Time to bite the bullet.  “This Saturday night is the RMG holiday party.”

“Okay…”

“And my parents want me to come.”

Patrick looks… disappointed.  “Oh.”

David realizes his mistake instantly.  “Us – they want <i>us</i> to come.  But – you don’t have to.  I didn’t think you’d want to.”

“Do you want me to?”

David stands up from his chair and paces, to the patio and back, wishing it wasn’t raining so he could go outside and pace there too.  

“David?  Is that a hard question?”  Patrick is standing now, too, and there’s a tinge of anger in his tone.

“I don’t want you to feel like you <i>have</i> to come,” David says, coming towards him and gripping his arms. “I don’t want to rock the boat.  We’re good here.  There’s no reason to risk it.”

“To risk what?”  Now Patrick just sounds confused.

“Anything.”  David tilts his head back.  “I know I sound crazy, that’s why I didn’t bring this up.”

Patrick pulls them towards the couch, and they sit down.  David leans his head in his hands.

“David. Tell me what’s really going on.”

He sighs.  “What if you don’t like it?”

“The party?”

David looks up and rolls his eyes at him.  “No, not the party.  What if you’re mad, about why I didn’t say anything?”

“I don’t mean to dismiss your concerns, David, but you might be overthinking things.  Why don’t you just spit it out?”

“Fine.”  David straightens his shoulders and looks at Patrick.  “I like being here with you. I like the <i>us</i> we have.  I don’t want anything to mess that up.”

“Agreed, one hundred percent,” Patrick says, winding his fingers through David’s.  “Go on.”

“I don’t want to go to New York without you, and have people… talk at me about it.  Put thoughts in my head, about how it might not work.  And I don’t want you to come and have the same thing happen.”

“So, you’re afraid that if we leave here, and see anyone else, they’ll be able to convince us that what we have isn’t going to last?”

“All right, all right, I know that’s silly.”  David squeezes his eyes shut.  “Also I don’t want you to get upset.”

There’s a pause, and when Patrick speaks, his voice is quiet, his slightly teasing tone gone.  “Upset about what?”

David shrugs, his eyes still closed. “Things that might… upset you.  Strangers.  The city.  A crowded club.”  He can feel Patrick go still next to him.  “I don’t know if that’s why we keep to ourselves down here.  But if that was any part of it, if this is your safe space, I don’t want you to feel you have to leave.  Not for something as dumb as a holiday party.”

Patrick breathes in and out, audibly, and David opens his eyes.  Patrick’s looking down at where their hands are entwined, studying them, his lips pressed tightly together.  David reaches over and cups Patrick’s head with his hand, bringing them closer.  “I hope that was okay to say,” David says softly.

Patrick nods.  “Yeah,” he says, “yeah.  That was okay to say.”  He looks at David, and his eyes are wet.  “You’re right.  This is my safe space, here, with you.”

David feels his chest clench, and he nods back.  “I’m glad.”

Patrick inhales deeply, and blinks away a tear.  “But I don’t think your family’s holiday party is necessarily a dumb reason to leave.”

“No?”

“No.  I think it might be good for us.  Especially since Alexis is apparently finding me a really nice suit.”

*****

It sounds easy – Patrick says sure, they should go to the party.  But there are a dozen decisions to make after that, and by the next night, David is really wishing he had found a way to just say no.

When to leave is easy enough – there’s no way he wants Patrick to have to take Friday off, not with a brand-new job, so they’ll fly into LaGuardia on Saturday morning.  But will they come back on Sunday – Christmas Eve?  Or spend that night with his family and come back on Christmas itself?  Spend yet another night to avoid traveling on Christmas?  And how is it fair to Patrick’s parents, to make this special trip to be with David’s family, and not see them?

Add to that figuring out where they’ll stay (one night on Alexis’ pull-out couch is barely tolerable, but more than that, forget it), what social events David will agree to while there, and who is going to pay for the whole charade, and it’s a giant mess.

“Ok, I’ve had enough,” David says, when their dinner of take-out sushi has been completely dominated by debating the pros and cons of the various options, each of them trying to anticipate what the other wants and as far as David can tell, defeating the point of the entire conversation.  “Let’s play rock, paper, scissors.”

“What?”

“I can’t stand it anymore.  Whoever wins, chooses.”

“That won’t solve it.”  

Patrick’s right, it still doesn’t mean whoever wins will actually pick something reasonable, and not just what they think the other person wants.

“But you might be on to something,” Patrick continues, a thoughtful look on his face.

“Please, tell me, and put an end to this so we can get on with our lives.”  And pack, David thinks.

“On the count of three, put out a finger for how many nights you want to stay in New York.  No more debate, no more thinking about it.”

“Each of us puts out a finger for how long <i>who</i> wants to stay?”

Patrick glares at him.  “Don’t make this harder than it is.  The conversation is over.  Ready?”

David nods.  Whatever happens, at least then they can move on.

“One, two-”

“Wait, do we put out a finger on three, or are you going to say one, two, three, go?”

Patrick smacks David on the arm.

“Ow!”

“I’m going to say one, two, three, go.” There’s a twinkle in Patrick’s eyes when they meet David’s.  “Ready?  One, two, three, go!”

Both of them put out one finger.

“Oh, thank god,” David says, sagging forward, his forehead against Patrick’s.

“Why didn’t you just say that?”

“Can we please not talk about this anymore?”  David didn’t want to stay in New York any longer than necessary; he didn’t want to have any other days to worry about what his parents might want him to do versus what Patrick might want to do, he didn’t want to have to manage any of it any longer than he had to.  But he also didn’t want Patrick to feel like he was cutting David’s time with his family short, or that David was giving something up for him.  Because right now, all David really wants is whatever is best for Patrick, and what’s best for him and Patrick together.  And his gut is telling him that getting back to Florida on Sunday, and then spending Monday (even though it’s Christmas?  Because it’s Christmas?) together, alone, with no work and no family for a whole day, is what’s best for them both.

Patrick laughs.  “Sure.  And you know what’s great about our decision?”

“That it’s done?”

“Yes, and now we can just stay at Alexis’ place, since it will only be one night.”

“Thank god for small mercies.”

*****

They wake up at a painfully early hour Saturday morning and drag themselves to the airport, which is packed with Christmas travelers.  But everything goes smoothly, and by noon they’re in an Uber on their way to Alexis’ place.  When she opens the door she ignores David completely and envelops Patrick in a hug that goes on for so long, Patrick signals to David for help.  It’s unbearably sweet, and David is suddenly, overwhelmingly happy that they decided to come to New York.

Alexis gives Patrick a tour of her tiny apartment, and Patrick appropriately oohs and ahs over everything.  Alexis is especially proud of the little corner of her room that serves as an office, with its mood boards and tastefully decorated shelves.

“So this is where the magic happens,” Patrick says, and Alexis beams.

“Yes, Patrick!”  She sits down at her computer and pulls up a file to show him her latest spreadsheet achievement, when David sees a glossy looking envelope on her counter with Patrick’s name on it.

“What’s this?”  He picks it up, admiring the heavy paper, when he recognizes the ice blue logo.  “Alexis, why do you have-”

She plucks it out of his hand and does a little shimmy.  “It’s not for you, David.”  With a flourish, she hands it to Patrick.

Patrick exchanges a “what can you do” glance with David, and opens the envelope.  David crowds close, too excited to wait.

“It’s from your mom,” Patrick says.  

“It’s a lil’ couples massage,” Alexis says, practically bouncing on her toes.  “She specifically said to tell you that <i>there’s nothing wrong with treating yourself</i>.”  Alexis points with an impeccably polished nail to where it says that on the card, and David rolls his eyes, remembering the day Patrick reassured his mother that she wasn’t responsible for the dead guy in Room 4.  He <i>knew</i> she was being purposefully obtuse about the scone.

“Do we even have time for this massage thing?” Patrick asks.  “It’s for today.”

“Um, yes, we have time.  We absolutely have time.  This is one of the most exclusive spas in the city.”  David grabs Patrick’s coat off the couch; his own leather jacket is barely warm enough for New York in December, but at least it’s appropriate, unlike Patrick’s down monstrosity.  “Come on, let’s go.”

“I’m coming with you,” Alexis says, linking her arm through Patrick’s.  “Maybe we can make it a trio.”

“Not unless you are ready to walk out this door in thirty seconds.”

“Ugh, David.”  

Luckily Alexis takes only fifteen minutes to get ready to go, and they’re on their way.  Despite the fact that David has never heard of a trio massage (and he shudders to think of how expensive that might be), he doesn’t dissuade her from coming along.  He’s got barely twenty-four hours to hang out with her, and he’s going to soak up every one of them.

In the end Alexis drops them at the spa to do some shopping of her own, while David and Patrick are pampered to within an inch of their lives.  During the initial consultation with the massage therapists, they are fed chocolate covered strawberries and cucumber water.  They agree on the massage oils, and the music, and then are led to a dim room which smells delightfully like eucalyptus and jasmine.  David tries to keep his eyes open so he can watch Patrick melting into jelly on the table next to him.  It’s without a doubt the best massage David has ever experienced.  He can practically feel the oxytocin swirling in the air between them.

Afterwards they are helped into fluffy white robes, and then collapse together onto a wide, padded lounger.  “That was really nice,” Patrick says.

“Nice?”  David asks.  “Just nice?”

Patrick snuggles into David’s shoulder.  “Mmm.  I can’t think of words right now.  Full review later.”

David noses at Patrick’s hair.  “Okay.”

“Love you,” Patrick says muzzily.

“Love you too.”

They dose together, boneless and content, until a soft chime wakes them.  Reluctantly they find their way to the changing rooms, and then out into reality.

Alexis is buzzing with excitement and wants to immediately go back to her place to get dressed, but David insists that they find something to eat first.  It’s still hours away from when dinner will be served tonight, and as lovely as the chocolate covered strawberries were, he needs some real food or things will get ugly.

Luckily, they spot one of his favorite places to get a quick snack (it’s a chain with pretentious communal tables, but David has spent many hours here and he loves it anyway), so they load up on quiche and avocado tartine and mochas before returning to Alexis’ apartment.

When they arrive it’s fashion show time.  Because Alexis loves dressing up, she had agreed ages ago to let David keep some clothes in her closet – just a few choice outfits for when they were in New York together and felt like going out.  But David can feel Patrick hovering next to him, all the afternoon’s relaxing threatening to disappear, so he suggests they look at his options first.

Alexis beams and starts chattering about what she got for Patrick, and David leans in close, a hand on the small of his back.  “You don’t have to wear any of that if you don’t want to,” he whispers, as Alexis pulls out a silver shirt with a shiny gleam.  “You can wear what you brought.  Or what you’ve got on right now.”  David gives Patrick’s jeans-clad ass a little slap, and Patrick snorts out a laugh.

“What?  You don’t like this one?”  Alexis asks.  “You’re right, it’s too flashy.  How about this?”  She reaches airily into the closet, and David can tell by the way she’s standing, like she’s posing for a photo, that she’s presenting her top choice.  It’s a dark navy blue suit (Tom Ford? How did she get a Tom Ford suit for Patrick?) with a deep, rich purple shirt.  She holds it up to Patrick, and he nods carefully, then looks over to David for approval.

David pets it, and looks inside for a label.  The suit isn’t a Tom Ford, although it looks damn good.  And now that he examines the jacket more closely, he can see it has its own distinctive style.  “Where did you get this, Alexis?  And who made it?”

Alexis preens.  “One of my friends has a connection with an up and coming designer,” she says.  “She’ll be at the party tonight.  I’ll introduce you.”

“And we don’t have to pay for this, right?”  David asks.  The cut is classically elegant, and he thinks it’s going to fit Patrick like a glove.

“Nope,” she says, popping the ‘p’.  “She’s just happy to have someone wearing her clothes.”

“I’ll try it on,” Patrick says, and Alexis shows him to the bathroom.  When he comes back out, David can’t help but go to him, running his hands up and down his shoulders and arms.

“You like it?”  Patrick asks.  

“I like <i>you,</i>” David says, and presses a quick kiss to Patrick’s lips.  “And you look amazing in this suit.”  He unbuttons another button of the shirt, liking the way the open neck shows just a little bit of Patrick’s skin.

“It doesn’t need a tie?” Patrick asks.

“No, you’re perfect just like this.”

“Yay!”  Alexis cheers, coming over and booping Patrick on the nose.  “I knew this was going to work!”

David decides on his black and white Armani short jacket, with a sharp collared white shirt underneath and slim black ankle-length trousers.  He likes the contrast with Patrick’s rich colored but still traditionally styled suit.  Alexis twirls for them in her dress, a silky blush colored gown that makes her look like a 50’s movie star. They’re finally ready, and they pile into a waiting Uber and head uptown.

The back room of the club is already crowded, and David can’t help but feel a little swell of pride at how RMG has grown.  Stevie waves to them from where she’s standing across the room with Ruth, but David doesn’t have a chance to get over to her before his parents descend.  There are hugs all around, and when the wave of familial affection finally recedes, David can’t help but notice that Patrick looks a little overwhelmed.

He weaves his arm through Patrick’s and leads them away, finding an alcove where they can catch their breath.

“You okay?” he asks, a palm to Patrick’s chest.  He can feel his heart beating a mile a minute.  This is exactly what he was worried about, this is too much for Patrick, too many people.  “We can leave anytime, we made our appearance, I’ll call a car-”

“No, David, I’m fine,” Patrick says, taking David’s hand.  “Really.”

David searches his face.  “Are you sure?  Because you seem a little…”

“David,” Patrick says firmly.  “I’m fine.”  He slides his hands around David’s waist, under his jacket, and David can feel the warmth of his fingers pressing against him through the thin fabric of his shirt.  David slings his arms around Patrick and leans his head against his shoulders.  “Your parents are very enthusiastic, but it’s great to see them,” Patrick says.  “Everything’s okay.”

“You’re fine,” David repeats, willing himself to believe it.  Patrick really is.  Nothing’s wrong.  

“Could it be, maybe, you’re a little nervous too?”  Patrick says, his voice gentle.

David wants to deny it, but realizes instantly that Patrick is right.  He feels a little fizzy, a little unsteady.  “Maybe.”  Patrick isn’t the only one who has been enjoying their little Florida bubble.  

Patrick hugs him closer, and then steps back, inclining his head out towards the party.  “Come on.  Alexis said there’d be crab puffs.”

“Crab cakes,” David corrects.  

“Crab cakes, then.  And baked brie.”

“I still don’t see any coherency in the hors d’oeuvre selection,” David gripes, back on solid ground.

“But you’re going to eat all of them anyway.”

“I am definitely going to eat all of them anyway.”

They’re grazing by the cheese platters when David sees a few familiar faces coming towards him.  This is going to be fun, he thinks, a smile tugging at his cheek.

“David, hi!”  

“Vanessa, you look radiant.”  She does, her dark skin set off by a metallic pantsuit and glimmers of gold around her eyes.  

“Most beautiful woman in the room,” rumbles her companion, a huge man with a barrel chest who towers over both David and Patrick.

“Patrick, meet Vanessa, my favorite gallery employee from back in the day, and her husband Rory, my current favorite employee.”

Rory laughs, his deep voice probably setting off small earthquakes somewhere.  “I’m not your employee, Rose.”  He holds out his hand to Patrick.  “Nice to meet you.”

Patrick turns to David, and the reveal was definitely worth it.  “This is your assistant Rory?  The one you bother all day long about your schedule?  The one you sent to pick out your clothes?”

“Mmm-hmm.”  David <i>knows</i> Patrick thought “Rory” was some college kid, he just knows it.  Instead he’s a thirty-five year old sculptor who wanted a day job for a steady paycheck.

“What, you don’t think I can be trusted with David’s clothes?”  Rory asks.  “I admit, I was surprised, too.  But I guess he had a good reason to ask me to go through all of his drawers.”

“Drawers?  My knits aren’t in drawers, where did you-” David sees the look on Vanessa’s face, and abruptly changes course.  “You made Vanessa do it, didn’t you.”

Vanessa laughs, and tucks her arm through her husband’s.  “I’m sorry, David, but come on – you send Rory an emergency text telling him to Fed Ex you extremely specific selections from your warm weather clothing, and you think I’m not going to get involved?  I’ve known you for years and you never let me into your closet before. It was an experience I was not going to pass up.”

Patrick is giggling into his glass of seltzer, and David has had quite enough of this.  “Fine.  Tease me if you want.  But I think we can all agree it was a successful mission.”  He hooks his chin over Patrick’s shoulder, his arm snug around him.

“From the way you two look together, I’d say so,” Vanessa says.

“Here here.” Rory raises his glass, and they all follow suit.  “To David and Patrick.”

“Oh my god, enough with that,” David says, and buries his burning face in Patrick’s neck.

Rory and Vanessa excuse themselves, but David has hardly had a chance to visit the buffet again when Patrick tugs at his arm.

“What?” he says, looking up from a particularly delicious egg roll.

“Come dance with me,” Patrick says, his eyes wide and warm, and David drops his plate on a table and follows him.  

“What brought this on?” David asks, as he loops his arms over Patrick’s shoulders and starts to move in time to the music.

Patrick shrugs a little and pulls David closer.  “My parents always dance to this song,” he says into David’s ear.

David feels his chest expand, and he presses a kiss to Patrick’s cheek.  “It’s a nice song.”  

<i>Moon river, wider than a mile</i> <i>I'm crossing you in style some day</i>

<i>Oh, dream maker, you heart breaker</i> <i>Wherever you're goin', I'm goin' your way</i>

David listens for a moment to the bittersweet melody.  “Is it a love song?” he finally asks.  It’s not as if he’s ever given <i>Moon River</i> much thought before.  

Patrick slides his fingers up the back of David’s neck, into his hair.  “I think it’s love for the journey, rather than a destination.”

<i>Two drifters, off to see the world</i>

<i>There’s such a lot of world to see</i>

David glances around, and now his parents are dancing too, along with a handful of other couples.  He nuzzles against Patrick.  “Not to quote my sister or anything, but… I like this journey for us.”

Patrick turns his head and finds David’s lips, kissing him sweetly.  “Me too, David.  Me too.”

[send-allmyloving]

Trigger Warning: depression, suicidal ideation, mentions of drugs/scars from s*lf-h*rm

[8:42 PM]

Depression has dragged you under its waves for the 5th time this week. You’ve been feeling like trash the entire month, ever since getting out of the hospital. Your boyfriend, Rei, has been supportive the entire time, even taking off a week from school to care for you after your discharge. You were supposed to feel better about that.

Instead it made you feel worse. Like you were a burden.

And you still feel like one. So you’ve decided not to tell Rei about your situation at the moment, and every time he calls you to check in while he’s away for the day at Yumenosaki, you push down your sadness and fake joy in your voice, thinking he’ll be gullible enough to believe it.

He doesn’t, but you still try regardless.

You’ve been doing that for the entire week, seeing how far you can pull off such a huge lie. You know you’ll break eventually, but you can’t let yourself drag him down under the waves with you. 

It’s getting hard to breathe. There’s an imaginary weight on your chest, and it’s pressing down even further onto you as you lie there on your bed, staring up at the ceiling with bloodshot eyes, your face wet from the tears you shed earlier.

You haven’t showered. You’ve been able to pull off looking decent with some dry shampoo and some deodorant, but you’ve not been able to get yourself to bathe for days. And you can’t bear the thought of having Rei help you take a bath, like you’re some sort of baby. You’re not.

And yet... you just wish that you could be cared for like that right now.

Your hair is a tangled, matted mess. Your skin feels cold and dry, and icky. You feel so...

Tired.

You just want to black out, slip away from reality, even if it’s just for a little bit, so you don’t have to feel like complete utter shit. Oh, what you’d give to take a few sedatives so you could relieve yourself from your suffering.

But alas, the pills are locked away, and so are the sharps. You can’t do anything, and so you’re left to lay on your bed in an old shirt and PJs, and feel like a fucking mess. 

Your hear the front door click and creak open softly. Your boyfriend came back from classes particularly early today.

Shit. What do I do? I can’t look this fucking weak. Not in front of him. Not after all he’s been doing for me. That’s just pathetic.

You sit up, doing your best to smooth down your hair and rub the grime from your face. You stretch out the crooks in your back and neck, and then you practice your smile.

No, not like that, that feels really fake.

Nope, too tight, he’s not gonna buy it.

God, that feels even more pathetic. Come on, (Name), you’ve done this before. Why can’t you do it now? 

You drag your palms over your face, sighing exasperatedly. There’s no way you can pull it off. Not with how you’re looking right now.

“(Name)?” you hear his familiar, deep voice call out to you softly, the padding of his feet growing louder as he makes his way to the bedroom.

Rei peeks in, crimson eyes searching through the darkness and finally landing on your figure sitting up in bed, your face still buried in your hands.

“(Name)...” he calls out again, even softer than the last, making his way over to you. You slowly raise your face from your hands, looking up to see him in front of you, kneeling in front of you at your bedside. He always looks so handsome; a pale face, slim nose, and blood red eyes, all framed by long, wavy raven locks of hair. Guilt wells up in your heart as you see his eyes darken with sadness as he looks on at you, lifting a hand to caress your cheek.

“C’mere,” he mutters, taking your hands to guide you up to your feet. You stumble a little, feeling your head spin; you haven’t eaten all day, and your body was completely weakened.

Rei puts a firm hand on your waist to steady you, helping you walk to the bathroom. He readies your toothbrush, handing it to you so that you can clean your teeth. You slowly but surely start to brush your teeth, Rei gently rubbing your back and shoulders in the process.

“Good job baby, I’m so proud of you...” he murmurs, kissing your head once you finish. He places a hand on your back, guiding you to the bathtub.

The tub starts to fill with water, and you stand before him as he carefully undresses you. It isn’t sexual; his hands are gentle, ever so slightly brushing your skin as he rids each old garment and throws it into the laundry basket. He’s caring, placing kisses to your cheek, your stomach, your knee; any patch of skin revealed as each piece of clothing is taken off is granted with a brush of his lips, especially the parts of skin marred with old scars from your past reckless coping methods; his way of telling you how much he loves you, even with the darkest, ugliest parts of you.

It’s quiet. Your bottom lip quivers; you take a shaky breath, trying not to let your emotions break down the floodgates with how overwhelmingly kind and loving he’s being towards you. Rei turns off the tap, and places you into the tub. The water is warm, and you wait, silently appreciating the sensation of the waves of water gently lapping at your skin as Rei rolls up the ankles of his pants before sitting at the edge of the tub facing you.

He rolls up his sleeves and takes the bottle of shampoo resting in the corner. He works at your hair first, wetting your hair before lathering the shampoo onto your head, gentle fingers massaging your scalp and running soothingly between your strands.

Then comes the conditioner. He works through your locks the same way, and you close your eyes, starting to relax under his touch. Rei chuckles softly, seeing your expression. He rinses off the conditioner, and reaches for the loofa and body wash.

This is when you start to come apart. He’s even lighter with his touch this time, making sure not to scrub too hard, slowly spreading the suds across your skin as he rubs your arms and chest, gently lifting your knees to work the loofa across your legs. 

Why is he being so careful? Why does he think I even deserve this?

You feel the tears prick your eyes, and your throat starts to tighten. You press your lips together, inhaling sharply. 

No, I can’t cry right now. Not when he’s already taking care of me like this... I’ll just look like a fucking baby.

But that doesn’t stop the tears from rolling down your cheeks. Not when Rei’s being so sweet with how his fingers run across your body as he rinses off the soap, caressing every part of your skin with the utmost affection and care. Your breathing becomes shaky again, and you hug your chest, squeezing your eyes shut.

“Hey.” You open your eyes to his deep and gentle voice calling out to you, seeing Rei lean in and brush a damp thumb across your cheeks, wiping away the tears that spilled before planting a soft kiss to your forehead.

“I love you,” he breathes, moving his hands down to rub your arms. “It’s gonna be okay.”

And that’s when you break.

The first sob slips past your lips, followed by a hiccup. And then another sob. And another.

You squeeze your eyes back shut, not being able to take in how he looks at you. One hand moves soothingly across your bare back, while the other slips under the water to take your hand. You cry, your body trembling, collapsing in on itself as you convulse from the sobs. He hushes you lovingly, slowly running his hands along your torso while he kisses the tears away.

Your sobs eventually fade, the warmth of the water and his touch soothing away your tremors. He pulls back calmly, reaching over to pull the drain.

You look up at him, and feel your heart tear at seeing the pain in his expression, how much he’s suffering to see you in such a state of misery.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, looking down at the sudsy water, tracing your hand over the bubbles, trying to distract yourself from the pang of guilt in your chest.

He places a finger on your chin, tilting it up and guiding you to look back into his crimson eyes.

He smiles softly at you. It’s a smile full of comfort. He knows what you’re going through. He knows it’s nothing you should be sorry for.

And he wants you to know it too.

“It’s not your fault, baby,” he reassures you gently, running his fingers through your hair once again. “It never is, okay?”

He caresses your cheek, and you close your eyes as his lips meet yours briefly. You nod in understanding, and he beams. “よしよし*,” he murmurs, patting your cheek.

Rei helps you out of the tub before getting the fluffiest, cleanest towel from the linen closet. He rubs it over your body, making sure every inch of you is clean and dry, before moving up to your hair. He tousles it, getting out as much of the water as he can, and occasionally lifting the hem of the towel to plant a kiss on your nose with a grin, and his heart leaps when he sees your lips spread into a little smile. He feels like he succeeded, even if by little bit, in making you feel better despite your mental state.

Wrapping the towel around you, he turns you around to face the mirror and reaches over to the counter to pick up a brush and the hair dryer. You look down, not being able to take in the sight of yourself, even after being cleaned so thoroughly.

Placing a chaste kiss to your neck, Rei turns the dryer onto the lowest setting, slowly combing through the remaining tangles as he dries out the leftover dampness. He’s mindful, as always, being as gentle as possible so as not to hurt you. 

He finishes, smoothing down your hair and placing a kiss to your cheek, lifting up your chin so that you make eye contact with him through the mirror. “Beautiful,” he mutters, hands trailing down to your sides.

Your cheeks burn, and you look away from him, too flustered by his loving gestures to find the words to respond to him. But you don’t have to, because he’s already busying himself with getting ready for the next task: dressing you.

Rei wraps his arms around you and picks you up bridal style, carrying you back to the room and sitting you onto the foot of the bed.

“I’ll be right back, sweetheart,” he whispers, planting a kiss to your cheek before leaving the room to get some clothes for you.

He returns only after a moment, hands full with clothing that he lays down on the bed before kneeling down in front of you and unwrapping the towel from your body, placing it on the side. First come the undergarments, fresh out of the dryer. He slips them onto you tenderly, fingers lingering near the skin of your waist before moving them away, clearing his throat, his cheeks tinged pink as he picks up a shirt for you to wear. You blush as well, fidgeting with your fingers as your mind races with ideas of what he was thinking about just then.

“Arms up,” he directs you. His voice is mellow, like an ocean breeze, and it makes you feel calmer. You barely even remember the episode you had earlier today. You obediently lift your arms, and he slips a shirt over you. It’s one of his, soft and oversized, just slightly falling off the shoulder. It smells like his lavender cologne, and the warmth of the cotton contrasts vastly against your cool skin. You feel comfortable and... safe.

Next comes your favorite pair of lounge pants. He guides you to stand up, his large hands settling on your hips, steadying your movements. He slides them up your legs until they settle around your waist. He’s precise, adjusting the hems of the pants so that you have the utmost comfort.

God. Why does he have to be so gentle?

And finally, your comfiest pair of socks. It’s cold outside, and you’ve felt frigid all day without your boyfriend by your side. He puts them carefully onto your feet, like he’s Prince Charming fitting you into a glass slipper; of course, it’s not as extravagant, but it’s just as intimate.

He leaves once again only to put the towel back on the drying rack, and is back in an instant, arms wrapped around your waist pulling you close to his chest. His hand cradles the back of your neck, massaging it, as you rest your forehead on his shoulder. His hand moves down to rub your back as he gently sways you in his embrace, kissing the top of your head.

He walks you backward slowly, so that you lie back onto the sheets. He crawls on top of you, arms on either side of your body. One hand slides up to meet with your hand, intertwining your fingers together. His long waves of hair hang loosely from around his face as he stares into your eyes lovingly, a warm smile playing onto his lips before he dips down to kiss you.

The first kiss is slow, soft, gentle. Each kiss after that is even more so than the previous, and each one is equally wholehearted, full of pure love and care. He’s patient with you, taking his time as he moves his lips against yours, drawing back only for a moment or so in between kisses to admire your serene expression. You’re relaxing into his touch, letting yourself be vulnerable only for him, because you know deep in your heart, that Rei Sakuma, the man you love, would never so much think of ever hurting you.

And he knows you trust him that much. He loves you with all his heart, and he’s vowed to himself that he would never let anyone, not even himself, lay a finger of harm on you.

Ever.

He trails kisses down your jaw to your neck, chuckling quietly against your skin as he hears you sigh in content.

“Did that feel nice?” he whispers, lips brushing against your ear as he speaks, his deep voice making your heart do somersaults in your chest.

You hum in confirmation, and Rei continues moving his lips across your neck before pulling away to place kisses onto your cheeks and nose. He snakes his free arm around your waist, rolling over so that you’re on top of him. He untangles his fingers from yours to stroke your hair, placing a kiss to your forehead as he slowly massages your scalp, smiling at how you close your eyes and lean into his touch. His other arm is wrapped around your waist protectively, occasionally slipping his hand under your shirt to run his fingers over your skin.

“Feel any better?” he asks you softly, pressing a kiss to your forehead as he continues to play with your locks.

You nod, moving to rest your forehead against his as you give him a tiny smile. “Much better,” you mumble, pressing another short kiss to his lips. “Thank you Rei. I love you.”

He beams, kissing your jaw before whispering back, “I love you too. More than you can imagine.”

You both lay there in silence for a couple minutes before Rei speaks once more, his voice ever so calm as he strokes your head.

“I bet you’re hungry. You haven’t eaten all day, have you?” he asks, concern flooding his face as he looks you over, soft fingers gliding across your cheek.

You freeze up at the question, swallowing nervously, guilt written across your face as you avoid his crimson eyes gazing upon you, your chest tightening in fear of the scolding he might give you.

“Eyes up here baby,” he murmurs, putting a hand on your cheek and coaxing you to look back at him. There’s no frustration in his expression. His voice hasn’t risen; in place of all the malice you were expecting, all you could see was the worry in his eyes being amplified.

And somehow that was much worse.

“I’m not mad at you, my love,” he soothes, stroking your cheek lovingly before kissing your nose. “I’m just so worried about you. You mean the world to me, you know...” he whispers, before slowly guiding you both up to sit. “Can I make you something, hm? Anything you want. I can even order out if that’s what you want right now,” he offers you, his voice wrapped in a blanket of kindness as he speaks to you, cupping your face affectionately as he gives you the gentlest of smiles.

You hesitate to answer, looking anywhere but his face. You really couldn’t fathom asking him for anything else after all he did for you in the past half hour or so. It would be way too much to ask for.

Your boyfriend senses your worry, moving his hands away from your face to take your hands into his before taking a deep breath to speak.

“(Name), sweetheart... nothing you ask for is ever a burden to me. You’re not a burden to me. You never have been, and you never will be. Okay? I will take care of you no matter what. I love you, my dear.”

His sweet words melt your heart. He says each phrase slowly and surely, and as he finishes you feel tears prick your eyes again, watching him bring your hands up to his lips, placing a soft kiss onto the back of each palm.

He sees a tear leak from the corner of one of your eyes, and he reaches forward slowly, brushing it away with the lightest touch.

“Now then, my love,” he says, fixing a strand of your hair absentmindedly as he speaks, “Anything on your mind for what you want to eat?”

You take a deep breath, before mustering up a small smile as you look back up at him. “Surprise me,” you say, poking his nose playfully.

Rei grins, ruffling your hair as he stands up, taking your hand to lead you to the kitchen. He sits you onto a chair at the kitchen table, flashing you a smirk before walking away to collect the ingredients for the dinner.

As he starts to cook, he makes conversation with you to fight off the thoughts that threaten to plague your mind again; he just knows that you need it, so he doesn’t ask questions, just speaks. He talks about anything, from the chaos that Koga caused throughout the day, to how cute his “darling children”, the Ra*bits and 2wink, were behaving. He asks you about the latest serials you’ve been watching, and you tell him about the plot as he listens earnestly, throwing in the occasional commentary to show that he’s listening though his attention is focused on cooking. It’s the mundane things like this, these little conversations, the delicious scent of spices and herbs in the air as you watch him stir and simmer the ingredients together, that make even your worst days the slightest bit more bearable.

A few moments later, he’s sitting next to you, blowing a little on the hot fried rice that he prepared before guiding the spoonful towards your mouth. You eat, humming in satisfaction at the taste. Rei chuckles, placing a kiss to the crown of your head. “That’s my baby. I’m so proud of you,” he says, smiling brightly at you as he continues to feed you.

You continue to chew your food, your confused, lost eyes meeting with his ruby red ones as you silently ask him: why? Why would he be proud of you? You didn’t do much today.

He reads your expression easily, and he puts the spoon down, taking your hand once again, his gaze morphing into a more serious one. “Because even when you were being weighed down completely, you worked with me to get you cleaned up. You didn’t try too hard to mask your emotions. And look at you! You’re eating your food, you didn’t even say no when I told you that you should eat something,” he says ecstatically, grinning proudly at you as he gives your hand a gentle squeeze. “I know that even the smallest tasks can be incredibly hard for you to do when you’re like this, and I’m never mad when you can’t do them... but I’m just so proud to see that you’re trying. I love you so much, (Name). I’m so proud of you.”

You swallow your food slowly, eyes widening as you hear his voice break and see his eyes well up with tears. “Rei...” you whisper, reaching out to gently touch his face.

“Ah... sorry, I’m okay. I just got emotional is all,” he mutters, laughing quietly as he wipes at his eyes. “I just... I want you to be okay, (Name). And I won’t stop at anything to see you get that spark back in you again,” he murmurs, cupping your face in his palms as he rests his forehead against yours.

“Rei... I love you so much. Thank you. For everything. You’ve supported me through so much and I... I don’t know what to say...” you whisper back, breath catching in your throat, fingers curling through his wavy black locks as he litters your face with soft kisses.

“I’m just so glad you’re with me, Rei. But I don’t know how I can make it up to you for all you’ve done for me...” you breathe, feeling the anxiety rise up in your body, your mind starting to cloud with the stupid thought: you’re a burden to everyone. 

“I don’t want you to do anything for me,” he says soothingly, taking a hand off your cheek to rub your arm. “All I want is for you to stay with me. I want you to stay alive for me. That’s all I want. You can do that, yeah?” he asks, lips brushing softly against your eyelid, your eyes fluttering shut at the touch.

You’re hesitant, biting at your lip, before he plants a short kiss to your lips, drawing your attention back to him.

“I promise. That’s all I want.”

You breathe a sigh, leaning into his touch as he caresses your cheek. Silently, you nod.

“That’s a good darling. I love you,” he says softly with a smile, pulling his hand back so that he can continue to feed you.

You finish your dinner, and find yourself wrapped in blankets, sitting on the sofa. You’re holding your favorite stuffed animal and watching TV, greeting Ritsu as he enters through the front door, coming back late from his practice. Rei greets him enthusiastically, the younger one waving him off as he sits down at the table to have his fill of food. The environment is calm, and Ritsu comes around to lie down on your lap after having finished his dinner and getting ready for bed. He quietly asks if you’re doing okay, and you gently reassure him that you’re feeling better than earlier, thanks to his big brother. He yawns, making some rather amusing comment about how Rei must have been a bother with all his nagging, and you let out a breathy laugh, patting his head.

It’s finally time to sleep. Rei carefully guides a fast asleep Ritsu to lie down properly on the couch, tucking him in with more blankets before picking up your exhausted figure and carrying you to the bedroom. Rei holds you close under the blankets, absentmindedly stroking your hair while his free arm is thrown around your waist, occasionally leaning down to give you a lazy kiss on the lips.

“Rei?” you quietly call him, tugging lightly at the fabric of his shirt.

“Yeah? What is it baby?” he responds, voice deeper and raspy with sleep.

“Thank you... again. I love you.”

He smiles, crimson eyes glowing faintly with adoration in the darkened room as he gazes at you.

“You don’t need to thank me, angel. I love you too. So much...” he sighs, pulling you closer, resting his chin atop your head.

You slowly start drift off, safe and sound in his warm embrace, the scent of lavender and mint calming your mind, his presence shielding you from the impending doom of your nightmares and upsetting thoughts.

“Rest, my beloved,” he murmurs.

“I’m here.”

~

* Author's note: よしよし - gender neutral way of praising a child or lover, very much like "good boy/good girl" (please correct me if I'm wrong, this is just from what I know, my Japanese is very limited)

[fanfux]

Todoroki Shoto with a depressed S/O

A/N: Two posts in one week?? 2020 truly is all out of whack. I’ll see if I can keep this same length throughout all my headcannons. Hope you enjoy!

TW: Mentions of Depression

Todoroki's not exactly a warm person, but that doesn't mean he doesn't feel. You weren't ever going to get a massive emotional reaction out of him, but you eventually learned to understand him and his non-verbal language.

None of this changes when you get into a relationship with him. While he was much more open and vulnerable with you, he was still much more subdued than many of his associates

His love language is primarily with Quality time and things done together. Social activites for him can be draining, so he'd rather much just /be/ with the love of his life. You don't have to be doing an activity most of the time, so long as there's some skinship or general warm ambiance.

He treasures the small things with you. As corny as it sounds, but a cherished memory of his is when, after coming home from work - if he didn't get held up - he would come home and make dinner with you. The routine was comforting, and it always helped him unwind. He'll send you candid photos of whatever catches his eye as he goes about his day or night. Simple, yes, but it shows that he's always thinking of you.

He picks up on things, sometimes even before you do. He notices when you start to slip, or slow down. Make excuses all you like, but don't make them for him. He can see the vibrance begin to die as you slowly start to lose control, or the energy starts to leave you.

If you're unable to function as you're used to, he doesn't mind picking up the slack. Expect for chores to be magically done, and meals prepped for easy consumption. Even if your depression isn't as severe, or doesn't cripple you in that way,or at all, he's still more than happy to take that worry off your shoulders.

While, if you're in an unmoving state (or as I like to call it, slug mode), he'll lie next to you, either messing with your hair, wiping away any tears you might be shedding, rubbing nonsense shapes onto your back, arm or thigh, or with some part of him - usually his head - against you. Expect to recieve an occasional kiss against your temple or the back of your hand. If your love language is something else, he'll be doing his best to convey his love for you that way. Whatever he gets you, he's doing it.

Todoroki's perception sometimes feels like he can read your mind - like he can see those dark thoughts forming behind your skull. While he's not one for speeches or grand gestures, he'll tell you exactly how he feels, in a direct, yet heartfelt manner. He'll point out all the things about you that le loves, the parts he's proud of (even if you're not) and how important you are to  him.

Self-deprication, even in joke form? Absolutely not. While gentle, he's firm. He takes it very seriously, and the idea that those things are even on your mind is very upsetting to him. That ship does not sail with him. He's going to interrupt you or talk over you. Worst comes to worst, he'll put his hand over your mouth with a gentle 'No'.

Celebrates the small steps you make. Defintely not one for pictures and tears, but will indulge with you in some cheesecake, or a fancy dinner at home. Sometimes, it's a long, warm hug. He'll full front face you, look you in the eye and tell you he's incredibly proud of you and how far you've come from the very bottom of his heart.

He understands the need for distraction, but is strict with how, and how long.  Definitely will not allow you to spend an entire day on one activity. If you can't manage a shower, he'll take a bath with you. If you can't cook, he's competent in the kitchen, and is not above ordering takeout if things don't go right.

Incredibly mindful of the media you're consuming. Assuming you've opened up to him about your past or the things that have negatively impacted you, he'd steer you away from anything that might trigger a memory. If not, he'd queue up something positive or sufficinetly distracting.

Personally understands that you can't expect to be happy all the time, and that sadness, fear and anger aren't emotions t run from. You have to let yourself feel things, sometimes. Fully understands that he can't get better /for/ you, as much as he'd love to. As much as it hurts him, he can't coddle you and promise you sunshine and rainbows forever. Life is shit sometimes. He knows a thing about therapy and treatment, with his mother being a long-term resident in a mental hospital. Watching Rei slowly get better has made him a believer. He won't force you, but definitely encourages you to go. He's more than happy to listen to you unload, but he can't process all your shit for you, and there are times where he feels out of his depth.

[ilooklikeaburntchickenugget]

Rumors

A/N: Another one-shot for you guys, because I’m bored and though of an idea. Word count: 2021 Pairing: Gerard Way x F!Reader

If there was one thing Gerard has taught you, it was that having shitty thoughts and feelings were normal.

It was just especially difficult for you and your desk job to cope with that. He now had music, which was going extremely well. You were so proud of him and everyone else, but you weren’t happy. Not because of him, but because of yourself.

“Hey, Gee.” You stumbled into your small Jersey apartment at 9 pm on a Tuesday night, your boyfriend on the couch watching something.

“Oh, hey.” He smiled, looking over at you. He immediately noticed your mood. He knew you struggled with depression, but some days were worst than others. “How was your day?” 

“Meh.” You said putting your bag down and hanging up your coat. The harsh Jersey winter had finally arrived, a dusting of snow settled on the ground.

“Have you eaten?” He asked you shook your head.

“I’m not hungry.” You admitted, walking over to where he was and sitting next to him.

“Be honest with me,” He turned to face you, “How are you doing?” You knew better than to lie, Gerard was like a lie detector with you. Anything you said he could easily decipher whether it was a lie or wasn’t.

“Not well,” You leaned back, slouching on the old couch you two had, “I just feel so drained.” He nodded.

“Well, I’m not going to tell you it’s okay, because that would be a load of bull shit.” He said, “But how can I help?” 

“I don’t know.” You said, “Just, be close to me, maybe?” He nodded, throwing an arm around you and grabbing a blanket from one of the arms of the furniture, placing it over your two bodies. He gave you a long kiss on the head, relaxing into the Star Wars movie marathon that was on.

One of the things that you knew was causing this issue was Gerard’s fame. It was by no means his fault or the bands, but Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge had blown up. And next thing you knew, you were bombarded with co-workers, acquaintances, everyone you even remotely were trying to be friendly with you. But you were smart enough to know it was because of your relationship with Gerard. Two years and a lot had changed.

His fingers had found their way interlocked into strands of your hair, dancing with them and providing an even more relaxing feeling for you. “Tell me why you feel like this.” He told you, your eyes still fixated on the TV.

“I’m just sick of fake people, ya know?” You said, beginning to play with your fingers, “Feeling used.” 

“You feel used?” He asked, now concerned, “By who? By me?” 

“No, no, of course not.” You let him know, “It’s just, honestly? People want to ya know, know me for you. And I get that, you’re an awesome person, and now you’re famous, but still.” He nodded.

“I’m sorry.” He reassured you, sighing, “Maybe we don’t be as public about us?” 

“Yeah, but I don’t want to be a burden on you-” 

“I’ve thought about this for a while too.” He reassured you, “I want our life, our relationship, to be as normal as possible.”

“Are you sure, Gee?” “Yeah, I’m sure.” You leaned up giving him a kiss, him giving one back, and leaned back into him afterward.

“Thank you.” You said.

“No need to thank me.” He said, “We both need to be comfortable with this, right?” 

“Right.” You responded.

And that worked. For a few months. Until their fame blew up even more, and more and more.

Gerard and you had decided to make public appearances together very simple, by wearing sunglasses and hats. Trying not to get mauled by paparazzi. But one day, in particular, you went to the grocery store like a regular person, and within hours you were all over gossip news.

“What the fuck?” You muttered, looking on your and Gerard’s computer at the countless articles with your name splashed on the front, and picture placed right below.

Is Y/F/N Y/L/N pregnant?

Gerard Way expectant father!

Y/F/N Y/L/N seen grocery shopping, pregnancy rumors spark

You shut down the computer, huffing out of frustration and getting up to take a shower. Gee and the guys were on tour at the moment, and the only way this wasn’t going to drive you insane was to take care of yourself.

The warm water hit your bare skin. You took a few deep breaths but looked down at your stomach fat which was mistaken today for a pregnancy. Maybe I do look pregnant? You thought. I should lose weight. The thoughts continued to run in your mind. When was the last time Gerard and I had sex? It had been months. Oh no he thinks I’m fat too. He thinks I’m disgusting.

So there you stood in the shower for an additional 45 minutes, before getting out and drying yourself off. You stood in the bathroom mirror, looking at the fat rolls that laid on your side, the fat on your stomach, and your thick thighs. He doesn’t like my body.

You changed into sweatpants and a t-shirt, sitting on your bed. You checked your phone, noticing three missed calls from Gerard. You took a deep breath and reluctantly called him back. “Hey, are you alright?” He asked.

“Yeah, of course.” You put on the most realistic, regular voice you could.

“Did you see the reports?” Both of you paused. 

“Yeah, I did.”

“You know they’re some fucking bull shit, right?” He asked.

“Right.” You said.

“Wait, are you pregnant?” 

“No, Gee I’m not.” You sighed, “I’m just fat.” 

“You’re not fat.” He fired back. And that was enough for you to break down in tears. “Shit.” You could hear him mutter. “Listen I-” 

“You have to go, I know.” You said through tears.

“No, I’m not going fucking anywhere.” 

“Gee, it’s like 8 pm there. It’s time for you to go out there.” 

“I don’t give a single shit.” He said, “You’re not fucking fat, okay? You’re the most gorgeous fucking woman on this fucking planet and screw all the shit those asses say about you.” 

“Gee, I’m good.” 

“You’re crying.”

“Yeah, but I’ll get through it, okay? Just please, go out there and play.” 

“Fine.” He sighed, “But I love you. So fucking much.” 

“I love you too.” You whispered and hung up. You slumped under the covers, turning off your phone and lights and going to bed.

Thankfully, the following morning was a Saturday. You woke up, stretching out and yawning. Grabbing your phone, you turned it on only for texts to be flooding your screen. You sat up in confusion, checking some of them.

Did you see what Gerard did? Y/N, it’s insane!

The video’s gone viral!

What video? You thought, swinging yourself over the bed and to the computer. You quickly turned it on, logging in, and searched up Gee’s name, waiting for results to come up. There, lo and behold, all over the internet held a video of him on stage that had gone viral. So of course, you clicked on it.

“How many of you here are girls?” He asked, no music playing. Part of the crowd cheered. “Well, I want to tell every single one of you, that you are all fucking beautiful, in your very own fucking way.” The crowd roared. “And I’m sick and tired of the fucking bull shit, that the media likes to stir regarding women and their bodies.” The crowd went even wilder, “Because all women are beautiful. And all you guys, you guys are handsome. And everyone here is fucking hot.” Everyone managed to get even louder for that.

You knew it was of course him directing it at the rumors regarding you. And you were honestly quite thankful for it. But you were still worried that you weren’t enough in his eyes anymore.

You got ready for a day at home, which would most likely consist of cleaning and cooking for yourself, with maybe some reading or TV involved in there too. After cooking breakfast, you got a call from Gerard. “Hey, Gee.” You picked up.

“Hey, honey.” He said. “How are you?” 

“Good, how about you?”

“Alright.” He said. “I- I think we should talk about the rumors. I know you’re still upset, and I am too.” You sighed.

“Gee, I appreciate what you did on stage last night.” 

“It needed to be said.” He spoke with confidence, “Someone needed to at least. And you know I don’t give a fuck.”

“Yeah, I know Gee.” You said.

“What’s on your mind?” He asked. You didn’t answer, “Please, tell me. Please?” You sighed.

“I don’t know if I can.” 

“If you can?” He asked, “You can tell me anything.” 

“Do you still love me?” You asked, pain erupting in every word. He didn’t respond for a few moments.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” He asked, “Are you drunk?” 

“No, I’m not Gerard.” You said, “Do you still love me?” 

“Yes, of course, I fucking love you. More than anything.” 

“Do you love my body?” You asked next, “Am I unattractive to you?” You could hear him sigh.

“Why would you think that?” 

“Because I know I’m chubby.” You said, “And we haven’t had sex in forever. So I just thought-” 

“Your body is fucking beautiful.” He said, “You’re the most gorgeous woman on this planet, on the inside and the out. I love every inch of you and you better know that and understand that because I really do.” He took a moment to breathe, “And I swear, the first thing I’m doing when I get a break is taking you right there against the fucking wall. I’ve been dreaming about you every single day since I left.” You weren’t sure how to respond.

“I love you, Gerard.” You said.

“I love you too, Y/N.” He responded, “Are you okay now?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“I’m gonna be home in the next three weeks, okay? We have a break.” 

“Sounds great.” You lightly smiled.

“I do love you, Y/N.” 

“I love you too, Gee. Bye.” You two hung up.

The next few weeks went by slowly, day by day slugging yourself in and almost immediately crashed onto the bed. One night, after passing out almost immediately post changing. You snuggled into the covers, falling asleep instantly.

It wasn’t uncommon you woke up in the middle of the night, but when you felt a shift in your bed you knew it wasn’t insomnia. You stirred a little bit, groaning slightly. “Hey, babe.” You heard a familiar voice. You still weren’t completely in your conscious.

“Hey, Gee.” You responded out of instinct rolling back over.

“Try to get some sleep, okay?” He asked you could feel him shift under the covers.

“Mhm.” You murmured into your pillow, falling right back asleep.

But of course the next morning, you noticed the slant in the mattress as well as the warmth which radiated from the usually empty side of the bed. “Gee?” You asked, rolling over slightly to face him.

“Hey,” He muttered, still half asleep.

“You’re back.” He nodded against the pillow. “Oh, well, I missed you.” He lightly chuckled.

“I missed you too, sugar.” You two laid there for a few content, silent moments before speaking up.

“How long are you back for?” You asked next.

“Four days.” He said, smirking immediately after.

“What?” You asked.

“I think I made a promise.” He got up, getting above you and smiling down, giving you a kiss.

“Gee,” You said, pulling away, “Can I get five more minutes of sleep?” He sighed, slumping back down next to you.

“Really? Now?” 

“Yes, now, Gee.” You smiled, knowing you had just pissed him off.

“If you’re hard you can always-” 

“No, I’ll wait.” He sighed again and you lightly laughed. “You find this funny?” 

“I don’t find it funny,” You clarified, “I find it absolutely hilarious.”

“You’re so beautiful.” He smiled. You groaned.

“Thanks.” You said, “You’re gorgeous too Gerard.”

[lonestarbabe]

Eye of the Storm: Chapter 3: The Road You Take Alone

*Can be read as a stand alone (AO3)

Carlos tries not to let his mental health spiral out of control.

Carlos isn’t used to waking up to an empty bed, and he misses hitting a limb when he stretches his body too far onto the other side. Even though T.K. still technically lives with his dad, he’s been spending a good deal of time at Carlos’. Carlos has gotten used to having him around, so when he’s gone, it’s too quiet, and Carlos can hear his thoughts rage in the stiff air of his mind, forming hard peaks like beaten egg whites. His thoughts are becoming unruly. They’re angry and anxious. You’ll never be happy, they tell him. Something will always make you feel dissatisfied. Things always go wrong, and you never know when the awfulness will strike, so you have to be prepared for all the badness that will come. If you aren’t prepared, bad things will happen.

His head pounds as the thoughts crescendo. His bed is lumpy under his body and his sheets are oddly scratchy. Usually, his bed is a safe little oasis, and the worrying doesn’t start until his feet reach the floor, but his thoughts are bolder today; they have no regard for those blessed moments of aimless contemplation that he loves so much. There’s no time for you to be tranquil. The world is unhinged, and you’ve got to find a way to fix it, or at least your little part of it. I just want to relax. No time for that. You’ve got to start your day. Five more minutes. Start your day. Two more minutes. Start your day. One more minute. I won’t say it again: start your day.

There’s so much he has to do, he knows that, but his mental to-do list is disjointed like building blocks after a child has torn them and scattered them across the room during a tantrum. He needs to piece them back together, but it takes so much energy just to do that let alone tackle the items on the list. The world is an overwhelming place when you can’t even process your own thoughts. I need to get going or I’m going to waste the entire day. Listen to yourself. You’ve got to hurry up and get something done before you give up on trying. I can do this. Getting my shit together can’t be that hard, can it?

Order is not something that Carlos likes to do; it is something he has to do. It keeps me from losing my head. Nothing feels right when left to chance, so each morning, he shakes the question marks as well as he can. He plans and he prepares for the day ahead. He lists the things that are likely to go wrong, and he thinks of ways he’ll address them when they happen. He reminds himself that he can handle the obstacles because, at one time or another, he has prepared for them all. But there are too many variables, and you cannot alphabetize a list if you don’t know the first letters of the items on that list. You can make deductions and guesses, but you can’t know. It is fruitless to try to control the inevitable mystery that comes with being alive, but Carlos tries. If he thinks about a thought long enough, he can work it to death. Once it’s dead, he can feel okay. For a while.

He’s got his thoughts under control most of the time. He’s learned to work through them efficiently, shoving them out of the way each morning and each night before they can drag him too far down into the abyss of rumination. While he’s taught himself to work through them quickly, some days, thoughts are sticky. They are gum glued to the ground with superglue, waiting for an unsuspecting shoe. The thoughts cling to his mind, oozing over the information he actually needs, and he has to work just a little bit harder to scrape them off of the walls of his brain.

Thank god people couldn’t see thoughts because if they could, they’d see that Carlos’ thoughts are twisted remnants of what thoughts should be. They’re the warped pieces of metal left after a plane crash— they don’t have much function, but their sharp edges can cut you. He doesn’t want today to be one of those days that brings those destructive thoughts to the forefront of his brain, but Carlos feels darkness sneaking into his brain with about as much stealth as a cat with a giant bell weighing down her steps. Somedays, it slips in without a trace, but it doesn’t matter because no matter how it comes, it always gets in.

He wishes he didn’t have the day off work. The space in his schedule leaves too much room for intrusion. Distraction has always been the thing that keeps Carlos sane. Work, working out, going out with friends are some of the things that keep him on his toes and feeling level. Distraction can’t take away all the darkness, but it can hold it away until it finally crawls back into bed with Carlos one quiet morning.

He should have known that the darkness would come on like this. The darkness – that’s what he’s always called it, but he isn’t sure whether the name makes it sound worse or better than the clinical name. You wouldn’t expect it from him, the depression, but it’s a familiar foe. He’s usually the one that people use as a strong pillar, and he hates how weak the darkness makes him feel. His depression comes in waves, and it comes unexpectedly. Some things may trigger the depression, sure, but it can come when he’s feeling good, just as it can come when he’s already feeling bad. It usually doesn’t last long, but it waxes and wanes and hangs over him even when he can’t see it.

It’s time to get up, his brain persists, urging him to suck up the lowness in his core and get on with what he has to do. Stop lazing around and do something. You could get so much done today if you just did it. Why are you like this? What’s stopping you other than yourself? Do something. Anything.

He drags his feet over the side of the bed, and the ground comes against his heels too fast, and he has to balance himself to not tumble back into bed. Oh, but I’m tempted. I could give in to the urge, wrap myself in blankets, and close myself off to the world. As the urge to do nothing calls to Carlos, his need for order also beckons. He has a routine for a reason because that routine keeps him from spiraling. One missed part of his routine can turn into pacing his apartment for two hours replaying his whole morning in his head to catch any discrepancies.

Somehow, I’ve got to get through this day. Carlos has learned that when a day seems impossible, you have to take it one step at a time, but he’s never been a one step at a time kind of guy. He’s good at taking tiny, careful steps because they feel safe and require the precision he’s programmed himself to give, but those baby steps grate on him. They bring out the obsession and make him exert way too much energy for what should be easy. He becomes consumed by little details that shouldn’t matter until he can’t think anymore.

The perk of a small apartment is that it doesn’t take long to pull his body to the kitchen and drag his feet down the stairs. Carlos feels like a robot as he prepares breakfast. Prepares is a strong word for what he does, but on days like today, pulling a toaster pastry from a shiny aluminum packet counts as preparation. The treat should taste like cinnamon sugar, but it’s cardboard against his tongue. He finishes it, and then he eats its waiting twin because he knows that’s what he should do. He washes his breakfast down with instant coffee that looks and tastes like mud.

He doesn’t have to clean the dishes because he’ll use the mug for more coffee when he’s showered, but even though he ate neatly and didn’t make much of a mess, he wipes down the counters as he usually does to simulate a normal day. Because I need to act normal. You’ll never be normal. But I can try.

After he cleans up breakfast, fatigue pulls at his eyes. I could just go back to bed. I have nothing to else to do, so I might as well just give up. What else am I going to do with my time? Going back to bed won’t make him feel any less tired, though, so he decides to force himself into the shower. He stands under the hot stream, letting it purify his thoughts more than his body. He stands there until the hot turns cold, and he’s so deep in his thoughts that he doesn’t notice the change until his teeth begin chattering.

Carlos forces himself into new clothes, and he doesn’t know what to do next. He’s restless. You have so much to do. Your life is a mess. Start by trying to clean that up, and then, we’ll go from there. If you can’t get your act together, you’re hopeless. Cleaning— I can handle that.

Cleaning isn’t Carlos’ idea of fun, but it seems like the natural solution to messiness, and maybe if he can get his living space spruced up, he can sort out the clutter in his head. He’s diligent when he cleans. He doesn’t just scrub surfaces; he uses three different products to make sure every square inch is wiped off as well as humanly possible. It probably doesn’t make much of a difference, but putting so much effort into something keeps his brain from scrambling. He dusts every crevice, and he vacuums using all the attachments to make sure no corner goes untouched. He even wipes down the bottom of his table just because he can imagine how much dirtiness must be under there. Cleaning is just the right amount of mind-numbing to pass the time without making Carlos have to think too hard. Since he’s cleaning, Carlos decides, what the hell, he might as well do some laundry, knocking all the dirty details of life off his list. Getting stuff done normally feels good, but Carlos doesn’t feel much of anything.

The morning blurs into the afternoon, and Carlos only notices the difference when his mom calls just a little after one. Carlos dreads the conversation as much as he’s glad that it will give him something to do. Carlos loves his mom, but she doesn’t stop talking whenever she calls, and she usually comes to him to vent. He doesn’t think she realizes that she’s doing it, and mostly he doesn’t mind, but he’s already feeling drained. Even with tiredness pulling at his brain, he answers the phone because it’s his mother, and how can he not answer the phone? She won’t stop calling until he responds, anyway, so he might as well get it over with. “Get it over with,” what a way to talk about your mother. You can’t try to be just a little nicer? She gave birth to you. The least you can do is listen to her. How much energy could it possibly take? Suck it up and do your job as a son.

His mom’s worked up about Carlos’ brothers’ grades. She gets worked up about his brothers a lot, and it’s not so much that the twins do anything that wrong. Mostly, they’re her last babies, and Ana is having a hard time accepting that all her children have become adults. Carlos’ brothers have never been academic, and he knows no matter what Ana says to them, they’re not going to change. “There’s something wrong. They’re not as diligent as you were,” Ana complains. “I don’t know why they’re so easily distracted.” Carlos wants to tell her, Of course, they aren’t as diligent as I am. They’re not anxious nutcases who try to be angels to keep from causing any negative emotions in other people. They don’t have to be diligent because they’re allowed to be regular kids. They aren’t responsible for their mother’s emotional balance. “They’re smart kids, but they’d much rather make jokes than do their work.”

“That’s hard,” Carlos tries to sympathize, “but they’re hardly kids anymore. They’re in college. You can’t micromanage their grades. I know it’s a challenge for you, but sometimes, you need to let go a little bit. You’ll always be their mother. College isn’t going to change anything.”

Ana tuts, “They still live in my home. They’ll follow my rules. They shouldn’t disrespect their mother. I may not be educated, but that doesn’t mean I’m a fool. I know plenty. It would serve them to remember that. I’ve been on this earth over a half-century!” Carlos’ mom has always been insecure about her lack of higher education. She’d always been good in school, but going to college had not been in the cards for her, and now, she feels lesser with all her children having more education than her. She’s proud of them, Carlos knows— she’s always been so proud of her children— but he can tell that she thinks about all the things she might’ve done if she’d found a way to go to college. In most areas, Ana is confident, but in others, she’s full of insecurity. Maybe that’s how all people are. A bit of confidence and a world of insecurities.

Carlos is quick to reassure Ana, “No one thinks you’re a fool. We know how smart you are, but when you’re young, the wisdom of your mother isn’t that appealing. They’re probably just trying to find themselves. They’re testing their limits, and it won’t always turn out well for them, but they’ll learn. They’ll come back to you when they need your help.” Carlos doesn’t know that. He’s not a psychiatrist, but it sounds like the right thing to say. Ana probably won’t see it that way, though.  She never sees things your way, and I don’t blame her. You’re crazy and unstable and act like you’ve got it all under control when you can’t even reassure your own mother properly. What good are you if you can’t accomplish the one thing you’ve been practicing for pretty much all of your life? Get it together Carlos.

Ana goes on, and Carlos knows the conversation has only just started, but he already wants to make an excuse about why he can’t talk any longer. But I can’t do that to her. “I’ve indulged all their interests. It wasn’t easy, but I made sure they could do all the sports they wanted. All I ask is that they keep their grades up, and I don’t like that they aren’t keeping their end of the bargain. I’ve made sacrifices, so many sacrifices.” Carlos always felt a pang of guilt for all the things his mother had sacrificed. They’d never had a lot of money, and Ana had given everything for her children so that they could have whatever opportunities they wanted.

All his life, Carlos has tried not to take too much. I need to be careful what I ask for. If I can’t get it myself, I shouldn’t have it at all. He’d gotten a job as soon as he could. He’s saved his money and paid for as many of his own expenses as possible. She’d never asked him to do it, but he knew how much she gave to her children, and he never wanted the burden of depriving his mother. He hated to see her not having the things she wanted because of her children, so he made a vow to pave his own way. Yet, she’s still given him so much that she will never make him give back. And you don’t deserve any of it. What have you done to deserve it other than being a bitter son who resents his saint of a mother?

He knows that way she makes him feel isn’t normal, and it probably isn’t healthy, but it’s too late to set boundaries, and he knows that she isn’t doing it on purpose. He feels selfish whenever the bitterness pops up. She loves you unconditionally. How can you be mad at that? What kind of a monster resents his mother who has only tried to give him the best? She’s not perfect, but no person is, so why hold her to some unachievable standard. There must be something wrong with you if you cannot accept her how she is. She’s not the problem— you are.

“I know, Mamá, but it’s normal for them to want to stray from the nest.” Ana would never be the kind of mother who took a back seat, even as her kids grew up and started families of their own. So much of her identity is centered around caring for her family, and the changing way she cares for them has made her feel like she’s lost her purpose. She’s one of the most self-sacrificing people that Carlos knows, and even when she’s given all that she could possibly give to her children, she wants to give more.

“You never did. You were always such a good boy.” At what cost? I tried so hard to be what you wanted that I forgot how to be myself. Until he had joined the police academy, Carlos had been unsure of what he wanted. What his mother wanted for him had become such a big part of his mindset that it drowned out what he wanted for himself. He became a chameleon to please her, to boost her confidence, and make her feel like a successful mother, and it was hard to learn to be himself again, which is why sometimes he feels better when he keeps a distance from Ana. He loves her, and he’ll always be close to her, but he also needs a life of his own, or he will go crazy.

“I’m a different person, so I needed different experiences. There’s nothing wrong with that. It just shows that we all have different abilities.” We all don’t feel like we have to change ourselves to be what other people want. “The twins are fine.” They’ve never been that into academics, and they are mostly still in school to continue with sports, so Carlos never expected them to get good grades. “They’re not failing, are they?”

“No, but they can do better.” Not while being happy, Carlos wants to argue. He doesn’t want his little brothers to go through the same turmoil that he has.

“You can’t force it.” Carlos knows better that the more you try to force something, the more out of control you become. Not that knowing that stops you from trying to force control. You can’t help it, can you Carlos? You keep trying to capture something that was never meant to be held. You’ll always come out a loser like that.

“I know that, Carlos, but maybe you should talk to them.” I should have known that this is where the conversation was headed. She always wants me to be the voice of reason, the cool older brother who gives them wisdom that they wouldn’t listen to if it comes from their mother.

Carlos tries to keep the agitation out of his voice. “And say what?” He shakes his head, but she obviously can’t see it. “They’re not going to listen to me either. They think I’m uptight.” Carlos’ family always jokes that he should relax a little, and he does relax. He can be spontaneous and flexible, but it’s harder to be that way in front of his family because they’ve come to rely on his rigidity, his ability to never bend under pressure. It’s all just a façade, but they don’t need to know that. They don’t need to know about the insanity in my head. They would look at me differently if they knew, and I can’t afford their perception of me to change. He’s afraid of what they would think if they knew the truth. What would his mom do if she knew that Carlos wasn’t okay all the time? She would probably blame herself, and Carlos couldn’t have that.

He imagines coming clean, sometimes. It is so lonely to handle the weight of his dysfunction on his own. He likes to fantasize about blurting everything wrong out in one go and not giving a damn what everyone thinks. It would be cathartic, and he wouldn’t feel like he has to hide so many parts of himself because that’s what he is doing. He’s hiding because it’s easy to hide than to own his imperfections. He doesn’t want anyone to see him as broken, especially when they sp desperately need him to be solid.

“They do not see you that way. They look up to you. You’re their big brother. They’ll listen to you. Just tell them to shape up. I’m worried about them.”

“That’s a bad idea. I don’t want to get in the middle of this.” As the oldest boy, Carlos usually takes his role as an older brother in stride, but he’s so exhausted, and he doesn’t think there’s anything he can say that will please everyone involved, least of all himself. He’s not up for handling this family drama, especially when he doesn’t really understand what the drama is. “I don’t think it will help for me to say anything,” Carlos adds so he sounds less defiant, but he’s got to hold his ground on this one thing or he’ll be sucked into a mindset that makes his obsessions and his worries worse.

He hears Ana sighing loudly on the other end of the phone, “Do you think one of your sisters can talk sense into them?”

“Mamá, I don’t think anyone is going to change their minds. They need to take the initiative for themselves.” But she won’t listen to me on that. She can be so stubborn sometimes, and I don’t know how to make her hear what I’m saying. You might as well give up talking because she’s never going to change.

To Carlos’ surprise, his mother laughs. “You sound so much like your father sometimes, Carlos. He always believed that you kids would sort yourselves out if we gave you the room to experiment.” He can hear her smiling over the phone. She always smiles when she talks about Carlos’ dad. “I was never able to be like that. I worry too much. You’re all my babies, you know. Even now that you’re old. I remember holding you in my arms. You were a big baby, but even a big baby is so tiny. I was afraid the world would break you.”

“I got stronger,” Carlos says,

“You were always a sensitive kid. I’m glad you grew out of it. The world is hard on sensitive kids. And foolish ones. Your brothers are foolish ones. They’ve got a lot of ambition. They’ve got good ideas, but they have no sense about how cruel the world can be. You’ve seen the bad. You saw your father’s flaws more than they did. He gave you kids your freedom, but he liked things a certain way.”

“We don’t have to talk about this.” It isn’t that Carlos minds talking about his dad, but he knows a conversation like this can cause his mother to spiral. She tries to hide her mental distress when it happens, but Carlos sees it. Like mother like son. He notices the way she becomes quiet and the way her eyes are red more than they aren’t.

“I want to,” she admits. “Your father could become… withdrawn.” Your freakshow comes from both sides then, huh? “He’d focus on one thing, and everything else would become background noise. You and Glo were old enough to see that.”

“I remember, but that’s not how I remember him. I remember him cooking us meals and running around with us at the park. I remember him reading us books and helping us imagine our futures. I remember hugs when we were scared and soup when we were sick. Everyone has bad days, but Papá’s were mostly good.” Some people are better at hiding bad days than others, but we all have them, especially in my family.

“I never told you kids how he died.” Carlos can barely stand to hear how choked his mother’s voice is. It sends a ripple of fear through him.

Carlos feels his heart skip a beat. He’s not sure why she’s bringing this up now, but nothing that she’s saying is a surprise. She’s never said the words. She’s refused to admit that their father didn’t die in his sleep, but the kids all know. There’s a quiet understanding between them that he’d drunk himself to death. Carlos had never really seen his dad his drunk. His dad had always kept his addiction secret, but there had been signs. Looking back, he always knew. Everyone around them knew, but they didn’t mutter the words. They kept what was behind closed doors behind closed doors, and that never helps anyone.

“We know,” Carlos says so his mother doesn’t have to say it. She’s been denying the true cause of death for over a decade, and Carlos is afraid of what will happen if she says the words out loud. It’s why no one in his family has ever brought it up. “Glo and I figured it out.”

“He wasn’t a bad man.” Carlos only ever saw the part of him that was good. Come on, you knew. You always knew. You pretended you didn’t, but it was clear as day that your dad had a problem, and you should have done something about it. You should put the pieces together sooner and tried to do something about it. Now, he’s not a good man or a bad man; he’s a dead man.

“I know. He was sick,” Carlos says. Just like me. Just like you. Just like all of us. “He did the best he could.”

“I wanted to protect you from it,” Ana says, and Carlos isn’t sure if she’s trying to justify the lies or is slipping back into the delusion. No, you wanted to protect yourself, he wants to shout, but he bites his tongue because he’s not going to fight with a woman who tried to give him everything in her power. Making her unhappy wasn’t going to make him happier.

“It’s okay, Mamá. You did the best you could. You don’t have to be sorry,” and just like that, he absolves her. He always absolves her, even if it means condemning himself. Isn’t that just what a decent son is supposed to do?

When his mother is done talking, Carlos hangs up the phone. He stops fighting the thoughts growing louder in his brain. He gives in to the urge he’s been resisting all day, and he goes back to bed. Because what’s the point of staying up any more. What else do I have to do? Sleeping will make the day go quicker, and right now, that’s what Carlos needs.

When Carlos wakes up, he doesn’t feel refreshed. He’s still thinking about the conversation he had with his mother, and he thinks that maybe he should call his brothers after all, but he doesn’t. Instead, he calls his oldest sister, Gloria, because as the oldest sibling, she knows very well how it feels to be given more responsibility than you are prepared to carry. “Did Mamá call you?” Carlos asks after a brief greeting.

Gloria laughs, “She called me first. It was unusual. You know you’re the favorite.” You’re only the favorite when something goes wrong and needs fixing.

“You know that’s no true.” If I am the favorite, it’s because there’s so much of me that I hide. She’s only seen the parts of Carlos Reyes that she needs to see. I’ve buried all the rest because doing so will make her happier. Carlos knows that if his mother knew that he’s not as level-headed as he pretends to be, she wouldn’t feel the same way about him. She wouldn’t turn to him for help, and she wouldn’t talk to him as openly. Telling the truth could destroy the relationship with his loved ones as he knows it, so he chooses to keep silent.

“You’re all she can talk about with her friends. She’s so proud.”

“She’s proud of us all,” Carlos assures his sister.

“That’s what favorite children always say,” Gloria teases.

“You can take a turn being the favorite, Glo. She wants me to talk to Gabe and Dave again. Their grades aren’t high enough for her liking.”

“You set the bar too high and now the poor kids are expected to be straight-A students.”

“Like you were any better.”

“Maybe not,” Gloria says, “But she knows they have trouble in school. David especially.”

“Meanwhile, Gabriel is the one who jokes through his studies.” Gabriel distracts David, who has a hard enough time focusing on his studies in the best of circumstances, so having the two boys together can do more harm than good.

“You didn’t call to talk about the twins, did you?” Gloria asks astutely.

“No,” Carlos admits. “I’m not interested in trying to get their grades up. As long as they're not failing and doing decently well, I don’t see a need to get involved.” He can be honest with Gloria because he knows that she feels the same way that he does.

“Why did you call then?” Her voice is gentle, and it reminds Carlos of when his mom used to sing him to sleep.

Carlos sighs. “I don’t know. I guess I just wanted to check-in. I’m worried about Mamá.”

“She seems okay,” Gloria reassures him.

“She talked about the way Papá really died today, Glo.” There’s a long pause, and Carlos can hear his sister breathing over the phone, but she doesn’t say anything. “Glo? You still there,” he adds to try to get her to reply.

“She actually said the words?”

Carlos’ brain sinks a little. “Well, no. She didn’t say it explicitly, but she admitted that she never told us the truth about what happened.”

Gloria sounds indignant, “As if we didn’t know. The denial has never been for us.”

“I know that.” He crosses his arms over his chest like a petulant child.

“Did you tell her that?” Gloria’s voice has raised just enough that Carlos knows this conversation has gone off course. He doesn’t know why he chose to do this to himself, on a bad day especially. He doesn’t have the energy, but since it’s too late to get out of the situation, he has to find it. When he needs to, he can always embezzle it from other parts of himself that need less upkeep. When he has bad days, sacrifices must be made.

Gloria sounds annoyed now. “Of course, you didn’t. You never tell her how you feel.”

“What does it matter to you?” It’s his life and his feelings. He can tell them to whoever he wants.

“Because you shouldn’t censor yourself anytime she has a mood. She’s not going to stop having them just because you cater to her and I know it’s a lot for you to manage. You’re not responsible for protecting someone else from themselves.” But that’s what Carlos has always done. He’s a protector by nature, and when he sees someone in trouble, he steps in.

“Be nice. She’s your mother.” Gloria’s frustration with her mother is obvious. It’s not that she’s not sympathetic, but she’s never experienced what Gloria has experienced. She doesn’t understand how hard it is to rise above your bad days.

“And I love her, but she needs professional help. Too much of her life is centered around being our mother. She can’t rely on us to fill in all her gaps. She needs a life of her own. I hate seeing her when she gets bad, and she’ll keep getting bad unless she decides to make a change.” If Ana knew that she was talking about her this way, it would devastate her, and just the thought of her overhearing this conversation makes Carlos want to end it, but he lets Gloria say her piece.

“Well, that’s never going to happen.” That’s the problem. He knows that she’s never going to seek help on her home, so it’s either he tries and fails to help her or he doesn’t try at all. Trying feels better than doing nothing.

“So what then? You have to be whatever makes Mamá happy?” Isn’t that what I’ve been? How can I be anyone else at this point? She needs me, and I can’t let her down. Carlos knows that they don’t have healthy boundaries, but that’s just how his family is.

“I don’t always choose what Mamá wants.” For as many concessions he makes with her, there are some that he is unwilling to let her cross for his own sanity. “She didn’t like the idea of me being gay.”

“She always accepted your sexuality.” That’s the simple way of putting it. His mom has never been anything but supportive. When he told her, she hugged him and said that she loved him no matter who he loved, but he had always had a feeling that her initial acceptance had been because it would make her a bad mother not to accept him, and being a good mother is the thing that she has always most wanted to be, often to the point of too closely resembling the stereotypical image of a mother.

“I know she always loved me just the same, but it took time for her to get used to it.” He doesn’t remember her saying bad things about gay people, but he had seen her smile fall just a fraction when he told her the truth.

“She’ll get used to other things, too. Your relationship with her can evolve if you let it. It might be better for everyone.”

“I can’t stop worrying about her.” The worry is lodged in his mind. It is one of his oldest friends, and no matter how far he goes, it is part of him. He’s spent so long concerned about his mother that not exhausting so much energy worrying would leave a hole in his life. As messed up as it is, he doesn’t know who he is without his fears. If he let them go, even just some of them, he thinks that things might get even worse. No one else seems to understand the way he needs to indulge the worry to feel safe.

“And I’m not asking you to, but you don’t have to deal with everything alone, hermanito.”

“Yeah maybe,” Carlos says because he’s too tired to argue with her about her. “I’ve got to go Glo,” he says as an escape from the conversation. “T.K. is calling.”

“Okay, Carlos, go talk to your man. I love you.” He’s lucky to have Glo. She’s always trying to look after him when he’s trying to look after everyone else.

“I love you too. Talk soon,” he says before hanging up and putting the phone beside him. The phone is silent now, and he misses the noise, but he is relieved that he doesn’t have to listen anymore just the same.

He lays back on his couch and flips the TV on. He turns to his favorite crime drama, the one that got him interested in law enforcement, but he doesn’t pay attention. He lets the scenes pass through his brain mindlessly without leaving a dent in his memory. He stays there for hours, only getting up when he’s hungry or needs to use the bathroom. He lets the hours blur until his mind is so numbed that he needs to do something just to remember there’s a world outside his apartment.

To find a connection to the outside world, Carlos has T.K. over in the evening because starting the next morning, T.K. has to work for two days, and Carlos doesn’t want to wait that long to see him even though he’s not in the mood to be around people.

When Carlos opens the door to his apartment, T.K. throws his arms around Carlos. He tilts his head up for a kiss. He smells sweet, and maybe time with his boyfriend is exactly what T.K. needs. “You don’t know how glad I am to see you.” T.K.’s hold is firm and the weight of T.K. against his chest knocks out the breath that Carlos has been holding.

“Long day?” Carlos asks. T.K. opens his mouth, but he looks at Carlos’ face and closes it again; T.K. swallows hard, pushing the words on the tip of his tongue down to his stomach. He can tell that something is wrong with you. Get your act together. He doesn’t want to hear about all your issues. Keep that shit to yourself and don’t bother your boyfriend about it.

T.K. says, “You look tired.” Tired was too light of a word for the utter depletion Carlos felt in his bones. You’re so whiny. Could you shut up for just five seconds? You’re giving me a migraine.

He’s not going to like that answer because for some reason he wants to learn everything about you, even the worst parts of Carlos Reyes. “That doesn’t answer my question.” They could circle like this forever, redirecting each other’s words because neither wants to burden the other with what they both try and fail to hide.

Carlos doesn’t miss the way T.K.’s eyes are overcast, but he watches T.K. tug a smile onto his face as he pulls back whatever he might’ve said if he hadn’t noticed that something was off with Carlos. Carlos feels guilty. You’re the worst boyfriend. You can’t even support him when he needs you. I’m trying. Not hard enough. T.K. pecks Carlos’ lips. “I missed you, that’s all,” T.K. adds, and Carlos can’t help but worry that there’s more to it than that. He wonders if his perception is off. Maybe he’s making a lot out of nothing. He tends to do that. You sure do.

They order pizza and put on a movie when Carlos can’t find many words. T.K. picks at the pizza and Carlos doesn’t pay attention to the movie. Aren’t we a fun pair? By the time the credits roll on the screen, Carlos has no idea what just happened as T.K. gives his impromptu review of the movie. T.K.’s excitedly talking, and Carlos doesn’t process the words he is saying, but it feels good to hear T.K. being so full of life when Carlos feels so depleted.

“Yeah,” Carlos says distractedly to something that T.K. says. “That’s true.”

T.K. gives Carlos a confused look. He chuckles. “You’re not paying any attention to me, are you?” His voice is light, but it still makes Carlos feel like shit. Guilt spikes in Carlos’ bloodstream. I should be more attentive when we get to spend time together.

“I’m sorry, Ty.” How many times can you say “I’m sorry,” before it starts to lose its meaning? It’s always the same old story with you Carlos. Try something new for once. I’m so bored.

T.K. shakes his head, “Don’t be. You know I don’t mind talking to myself.” But you shouldn’t have to, Carlos wants to say. Your boyfriend should be more attentive.

“I should still listen.” That’s right you should, but you’re so selfish. You try to do things for other people, but it’s only because you’re greedy for their love.

“Really, it’s fine. I get it.” He doesn’t get anything. “Are you okay?” T.K. asks, and Carlos knows that he should be able to talk about it— the depression, especially. He remembers T.K. telling him once about everything being gray, so he knows T.K. gets how it feels. Carlos’ depression is different than T.K.’s, though. It’s fueled by pathological obsession and worry more than anything else. Still, he thinks T.K. might understand or try to understand more than most people would. He wouldn’t be one of those people who tries to understand and then doesn’t listen. Carlos has met many of those. They hear the word depression, and they start to assume. They think depression is laziness or intense sadness after the loss of a loved one. They think it is just a feeling. “I’m depressed,” they say when they are feeling sad, but they don’t consider what it must like to have depression. It’s not a passing mood Sometimes, they have a deeper understanding, but very few can understand the nuances, and even though T.K. may get how Carlos feels, Carlos doesn’t think he can talk about it. His throat feels like it may close whenever he starts to say the words, so he shuts up.

It’s a strange role-reversal when Carlos tells T.K., “I’m fine.”

T.K. raises his eyebrows, probably because he knows that people who say they are fine are usually lying. “We’re both hypocrites, aren’t we?”

“Yeah? How’s that?”

“We both want honestly about how we are, but we both don’t want to give it.” That might be the closest thing T.K. has been to admitting he’s not fine. It might be the closest he ever will be. Carlos gets it. It’s hard to accept that you might not be okay, especially when other people need you to be okay. It seems simpler to pretend that you’re fine. The thought takes the air from Carlos’ lungs and not in the way that feels like a release.

“I’m not trying to push you to talk about anything, but you know that you can talk to me, right?”

“Of course,” Carlos lies, trying to force a smile.

“Do you need to talk now?” T.K. pushes him just a little further. Carlos shifts his body further from T.K. on the couch, and T.K. sags against the cushions. Maybe now he knows how he makes you feel all the time, the malicious part of Carlos thinks.

“No, I’m good.” He can hear the waver in his voice. I’m so tired, and I can’t shake the drowsiness no matter how hard I try.

“Carlos—” T.K. tries to say, but Carlos will have none of it. He doesn’t want his thoughts or his feelings to be dissected because they’re not something he can share with other people. They’re his alone, and he’s not going to burden anyone else with them if he doesn’t have to.

“Drop it, T.K.” Carlos’ voice is authoritative, and maybe that’s the wrong move because T.K. has never listened much to authority. But to Carlos’ shock, T.K. almost backs down. Almost.

T.K. bites the side of his cheek. “I’m just worried.”

“Well don’t be,” Carlos can’t help but say harshly, and he regrets the words the minute they leave his mouth.

He feels hopeless because he wants to make everything better, but there’s no easy fix for not being okay. There’s no way to wake up and immediately exterminate the termites that chew at the core parts of your mind. You have to swim through a boiling, sludgy roux as it begins to curdle and drag you down with its soiled weight. You have to pull back your skin to see what’s happening inside. You have to hope that something changes even when change is an upside-down mountain that you somehow have to climb.

Carlos isn’t sure he has the energy to climb, at least not right now.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you,” T.K. says, sounding sincere, but it irritates Carlos to hear the worry in his voice.

“You don’t have to worry about me,” Carlos insists, taking on a calmer voice. Try worrying about yourself, he wants to tell T.K., I’m not the one slowly killing myself. No, you’re just worrying yourself to death.

“I’m not an expert, but that’s kind of being in a relationship, isn’t it? Worrying about the other person and wanting to make sure they’re okay.” T.K. puts his arms around Carlos and leans his head up to whisper in Carlos’ ear. “I’m here if you want to talk.” T.K.’s breath is hot in Carlos’ ear, and it warms Carlos to know that he isn’t alone, but it also doesn’t make a difference because there are some things that Carlos needs to keep to himself. He likes to think he’s saving T.K. from the pain of knowing what Carlos struggles with, but deep down, he knows that what keeps his lips pressed shut is the shame that comes with not being the strong, unwavering pillar of support that he wishes he could be. Carlos wants to be that person that doesn’t bend under pressure. He wants to be the effortless kind of okay because most of the time, he is okay, but he has to fight to be that way.

“It’s been a long week,” Carlos admits, but he doesn’t know how to explain the week wasn’t long because it was awful. It’s dragged for no other reason than there’s something off inside Carlos’ brain.

“Jenkins being an asshole again?”

“He’s always an asshole,” Carlos replies about his least-liked coworker. “But no, Jenkins hasn’t been worse than usual. It’s just been hectic,” Carlos explains because that sounds like the most normal reason for not being your normal self.

“How so?” Carlos doesn’t feel like talking, but he doesn’t want to reject the efforts that T.K. is making, so he figures he can just give a little and maybe that will create harmony between them.

“You know how you have a really busy shift and then when your mind stops being pulled in so many different directions, you get really tired, and then you don’t know what to do with your time?” T.K. nods, encouraging Carlos to go on. “It’s like that. I’m crashing after a long several shifts.”

“But you can handle it?”

“Yeah,” Carlos assures, kissing T.K.’s forehead and running a hand through his hair. “All I need is time to recover before my next shift. It helps to have you here.”

“Babe, I’ll be here whenever you need me to be.” But Carlos would never ask that of T.K. T.K. leans his head on Carlos’ shoulder. “I know how hard your job must be. You see some crazy things on patrol.” The funny thing is that it isn’t mostly the things he sees at work that get to Carlos. There will always be incidents that cut deeply, but for the most part, he’s good at compartmentalizing the bad things that happen on the job.

T.K. sits up and leans closer to Carlos, and he kisses the spot just above his collarbone. His lips are soft and warm from the coffee he’d just had, but Carlos can barely sense the warmth. “Is there something I can do to make it better?”

Carlos cannot tell T.K. how he is feeling because this mental tumult is the road he takes alone. It is a road of shame and self-doubt. It is a road of feeling unprepared for each new day. It is a treacherous road that’s just dirt, rocks, and inclines. Carlos wouldn’t want to bring anyone he loved with him down that road. Yet, he knew they would all go down it if he asked— if they knew it existed. They wouldn’t just go down it with him; they’d help him pave it. They’d help him put guardrails on the edges and streetlights in the dark corners. They’d form a community around the darkness. But Carlos isn’t ready to put his secret little road on the map, so all he can do is try to stay on his feet and continue on a lone journey down the road.