#also trying to finish her late birthday present which is not helping the wrist situation

[milkweedman]

Worst thing abt cleaning is that rubber gloves and wrist/hand braces really do not mix. Meaning that unless i'm basically just picking stuff up and moving it, either my braces get disgusting/covered in bleach/soap/whatever, or else i wear gloves and no braces, so my wrists and hands hurt really badly the whole time. Literally no way to win

[chiefnooniensingh]

I Won’t Hesitate (For You) Chapter 7

Chapter 7: But you can’t love me (anymore)

In this chapter: We meet Rosa's sister. In the present, Alex and Michael find each other a little bit more, but the mystery weighs heavily on Alex’s mind. Then something happens that changes the game drastically.

A/n: This chapter starts out nice but y'all know it can't last. Sorry! And OMG we're halfway!

As always, a special thanks to Aileen (@acomebackstory), Callie (@callieramics), @hm-arn, @royalshadowhunter, @ladymajavader and May (@merlinss) over on Tumblr for their continued support and cheerleading. I don't know if I would've finished it without you guys!

The title of last chapter was Here With Me by Daniel Blake. hmd23 guessed by Dido, which I will count as correct, because no one could ever have known I used a different performing artist. Congratulations!  (want to know where I got my titles and which music I listened to while writing this? click here)

Can anyone guess this week's title and performing artist?

also on: ao3

other chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6

June, 1929

Rosa’s sister woke up on the day of her 18th birthday, with only one thought in her mind: I’m going to find Rosa’s killer.

Her father had always forbidden her from looking for him, and over the years, she had stopped asking. They had moved on, literally, and started over across the country, away from painful memories. But she herself never forgot.

And now she was a grown-up. And her father couldn’t stop her.

The plans had been laid out for months. She’d been planning it with her best friend, who was not yet 18, but whose mother was more than willing to take the two girls all over the place to look for Rosa’s killer.

That’s one thing the killer never counted on; people who loved Rosa so much they would do anything, go anywhere, to avenge her, even nine years later.

But willing they were, and she had had nine years to build up hatred and pain and vengefulness in her heart. She was certain that if she ever found her sister’s killer, she would not hesitate to kill him. It should probably scare her how easy that thought came to her now. She was raised as a good catholic girl. Thou shalt not kill. But someone else had broken that commandment, someone had killer her sister and had gotten away with it. She couldn’t wait till he met his end and his day of judgement. She needed to know this man was no longer out in the world, killing other young girls.

She told herself she was doing it to protect other girls. It was a good reason.

It just wasn’t true.

Her father sat at the table, looking at her with sadness in his eyes. “Are you sure about this, mija? You can still decide…”

“No. I can’t,” she said as she opened the present her father had gotten her. As the wrapping paper fell away, a compass, a swiss army blade and a length of rope fell in her lap.

“So that you can always find your way home, so you can get yourself out of tight spots,” her father explained, pointing at the compass and the swiss knife. “And,” he said, his eyes darkening and his fingers touching the rope briefly, “this is for him. When you find him. Tell him Rosa said hello.”

Her eyes filled with tears, and she wrapped her arms around his neck. “I’ll be back, papi. And I won’t be alone. We’ll be safe, I promise.”

Her father looked at her, his eyes misty. “You grew up too fast, mija. I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you from this world.”

They wrapped their arms around each other and held tight, until the carriage arrived and took her away.

Liz Ortecho looked back at the house she and her father had called him for nine years. Arturo Ortecho was on the porch, waving at them as they drove off. She didn’t know when she would be back, if she would ever be back.

But one thing she did know.

She would not return until Rosa’s killer was gone from this world.

I’m sorry, Rosa.

Present day, 22nd of October, 1935

Alex woke up to soft pressure to his shoulder. He felt warmer, safer and better rested than he had in a long while. His body still ached from the trauma it had gone through yesterday, but his mind was back to normal. Everything was back into focus, sharp.

And Michael was still there, pressing soft kisses to his shoulder. “Good morning,” he murmured softly.

Alex hummed contentedly. “You stayed.”

“Well, you know. It was late and cold, and your bed is way more comfortable than mine.”

Alex rolled on his other side, looking at Michael’s criminally beautiful face. His dark eyes were sparkling as he ran a hand through Alex’s hair. Alex ran his hand up Michael’s chest, feeling the muscles contract beneath his fingers. “That’s why you stayed?” he whispered, leaning close, their lips only a hair’s breadth apart.

Michael chuckled softly. “Well, there may have been another reason.”

“Mmm,” Alex said, closing the distance between them. The kiss was soft, warm and gentle. Alex’s stomach fluttered as if this was their first kiss all over again. Michael ran a hand from Alex’s back down to his leg, hooking it underneath his knee and pulling Alex’s leg over his hips. Their bodies were pressed flush together now, and Alex was in heaven. His hands ran up Michael’s neck into his hair and his fingers anchored themselves into those curls. “Michael,” he whimpered softly, as Michael pressed his hips forward and Alex became very aware of him.

“I know,” Michael responded, a whine in his voice. “But, God, I missed you. I missed this.” His lips nipped at Alex’s between every word, and Alex’s heart positively ached to stay here with Michael forever. To pretend this whole situation wasn’t fucked up beyond belief, to pretend they were still underneath that tree and nothing of the pain and anger had yet tainted their souls.

“Me too, Michael. So much.” Alex rolled Michael onto his back and settled himself on top of him, taking his hands and pinning them above his head and leaning into another kiss. Michael groaned, their fingers entwining as the kiss deepened. “God, I hate this case,” Alex muttered.

“Me, too,” Michael said, but they didn’t break apart. They were drawn together constantly, an invisible force pulling them towards each other, a force that had grown in strength rather than weakened over the past ten years, and it was becoming exhausting to resist it. It was the force that had pulled them together underneath that tree so many years ago. It was the force that pulled them back together on this train. It felt almost…cosmic. Fated.

It hurt his head to think about the cosmos wanting them together, so instead Alex focussed on Michael’s lips and body, exploring every inch. Michael had acquired a few new scars over the years and Alex brushed his lips against every single one. He hated that he hadn’t been there for him, hadn’t helped him work through all the pain.

He regretted more than ever running off to the military after…well, after.

“God, Alex, if you don’t do something right now,” Michael growled, as Alex let his fingers tease at Michael’s underwear.

“What do you want, Michael?” Alex whispered in his ear. He felt Michael shudder beneath him.

“You know what I want,” Michael said through gritted teeth, bucking his hips. Alex pulled his hands away from Michael entirely, eliciting a very sexy, desperate groan from him.

“Then say it, Michael. Use your words for me.”

“I hate you.”

“Sure you do.”

Michael kept his jaw clenched for a few moments, then let out a piteous whine and closed his eyes. “Please, Alex. Touch me, please.”

With a smile, Alex bent his face close to Michael’s, barely brushing their lips together. “Good boy,” he whispered, and Michael moaned. Grinning ferally, Alex slipped his hand inside Michael’s boxers and wrapped his hand around him. Michael let out a drawn-out whine that was absolutely sinful and Alex knew his restraint was wearing very thin.

It was almost like muscle memory. Every flick of the wrist, every tap of his fingers…Alex remembered exactly what the surest way was to get Michael to the edge. Michael’s speech, normally so intelligent and eloquent, was blurred beyond recognition. Alex vaguely heard his own name, but otherwise it was just noises.

Alex pressed his forehead to Michael’s, their heavy breaths mingling between them as Michael’s hand searched for purchase and in the end just held onto Alex as tight as he could. “Let go, Michael,” Alex whispered, and immediately Michael complied. His entire body seized up and Alex was just in time pressing his lips to Michael’s to swallow the scream that ripped from his throat.

“Alex…” Michael gasped out. “Jesus Christ, you’re still amazing at that.” He kissed Alex hungrily, and Alex was suddenly very aware of his own raging hard-on.

“Well, it’s not like I’ve been celibate the last decade,” Alex said, pressing his hips against Michael to try and find some relief.

Michael’s grin turned positively sinful as his eyes travelled down Alex’s body. “Well, neither have I.” And without so much as a warning, he flipped Alex on his back and began to press kisses to his chest, slowly working his way down to where Alex’s happy trail disappeared into his briefs.

“Michael, you don’t have to…” Alex began, but then Michael’s mouth was already on him and his words became a long drawn out moan. Michael’s mouth did things to him and good God, the man had gotten very talented indeed. Alex twined his fingers in Michael’s curls and held on tight, the only purchase he could find in this tiny cabin.

Embarrassingly quickly, Alex was at the precipice. “Michael, I…” he choked out, but Michael just went to work eagerly, and Alex exploded so suddenly and so violently he swore he blacked out for a minute. Michael stroked his hair as Alex came back down to earth. “Jesus,” Alex muttered.

Michael laughed, pressing a kiss to his head. “Thanks.”

“You’ve learned some new moves.”

Michael snorted. “Yeah, well, 17-year-old me was not exactly knowledgeable in the sex department.”

Alex pressed a lazy kiss to Michael’s lips. “I don’t know. I remember it being very enjoyable.”

“We were both ignorant little shits.”

Alex snorted. “Probably.” He rested his head on Michael’s chest and they lay together in perfect silence, listening to each other breathe and wondering if they ever had to get up at all.

But it was becoming light, and footsteps were heard on the hallway.

They had to come back to earth, to a reality where a murder had been committed and Michael was still one of the suspects.

----

Alex was trying to focus.

It was hard, when outside, crews of work men were yelling at each other as they worked to move the snow out of the way of the train.

He was sitting on a dining car table, his back against the window, his knees drawn up to his chest and his notebook open on them. He had been going over the details for hours now, and at this point, every page was branded in his brain.

Yet he was missing something.

Something was right in front of him, something quite obvious, and he was missing it. He was sure of it.

Groaning with frustration, he slammed the book on the table next to him.

They were stuck in a snowy land of nothing, on a train with only so many places to be alone, and a murder had been committed in a locked room. This should not be so hard as it so clearly was.

Whoever had done it was exceedingly clever.

He stared at his knees as he walked through the case in his thoughts. Rosa Ortecho’s murderer. Murdered in his own bed. Stabbed 16 times. None of the stab wounds make sense. The door was locked. His wife was in there with him but claims to have been under the influence of barbital. The window was closed when they went to bed. The train stopped in Vinkovci around 3. Body temperature suggests that’s when the murder happened as well…

His mind snagged on something, an important detail that he was overlooking, that was preventing him from moving through the rest of the facts of the case. The window was open…

Before he could finish his thought, a scream echoed through the train, so filled with pain and fear Alex was on his feet at once. The thought, possibly the most important thought he would’ve had, vanished beneath his military training.

As fast as his leg would allow – it was still stiff from yesterday’s adventures and this morning…other adventures – he made his way to the cabins, where people were already congregating around Beth Otto’s cabin. She was sobbing violently, her voice pained as she yelled for help. Alex pushed Mimi and Max Evans to the side and clapped eyes on the sobbing girl.

There was a knife sticking from her back.

“Jesus Christ,” a voice behind him exclaimed and he was nearly bowled over by Kyle Vale as the man rushed to get at the injured woman. “Miss Otto!”

“What the hell happened?” Alex asked, moving forwards into the cabin.

“I don’t know!” Beth wailed. “I didn’t see! I was cleaning my cabin and then suddenly I felt this stabbing pain! It was all I could do not to crash headfirst to the floor! When I turned around, they were gone! Please, get it out, get it out!” she screamed at Kyle, who immediately grabbed his surgical gloves and went to work.

While he worked, Alex examined the knife sticking out of her left shoulder. It looked familiar. He crouched down next to Kyle. “Put on some gloves, will you?” Kyle said impatiently. Alex did as asked. He watched closely as Kyle extracted the knife. Beth sobbed louder as it slid out, and as soon as it was completely clear, her shoulder began to bleed heavily. Kyle dropped the knife in Alex’s hands and set to work on keeping Beth alive. Alex sat back, examining the knife at a closer distance.

He knew this knife.

He hadn’t seen it in ten years.

“This is mine,” he muttered, and a deadly quiet fell over the train, as every head turned to him.

“Excuse me?” Beth asked

“This is my knife.”

“Mr Manes!” Mimi DeLuca exclaimed. “Are you saying you stabbed that poor girl?!”

Alex realizes his mistake, too late, it seems. Telling a train full of paranoid people that he was holding the knife that had stabbed a passenger, possibly even killed Mr Bracken, and that that knife was his, was maybe not the best move.

But this knife hadn’t been in his possession for over ten years. “I thought I lost it. It was the first thing I bought just for me.” Everyone was staring at him. “When I was packing for the army, I wanted to take it with me, but…it was missing, couldn’t find it anywhere. I thought my father may have found it and taken it, but now…I’m not so sure.” He raised his head to the group at the door, his eyes immediately finding Michael’s. “Michael?”

Michael’s eyes widened. “You don’t think that I…?”

“I don’t know what to think anymore! Every piece of evidence points to another person! And I had this knife on me last when I – when we – well! How else would it have gotten here?”

“How the hell should I know, Alex?” Michael spat, looking absolutely pissed.

“Did you take my knife, Guerin?”

Michael just threw him a very filthy look and stalked off to the other end of the train.

The silence stretched. Alex was still holding the dripping knife. He didn’t know what to do.

“Can I see that knife, Mr Manes?” Kyle asked, pulling him out of his reverie. Alex handed it over mutely, watching as Kyle studied it as well. “That’s what I thought. This is it, Alex,” he said, handing it back over carefully, “this is the weapon that killed Noah Bracken.”

Alex felt like the knife was burning in his grip.

A faint muttering went through the crowd. In the back, Alex saw his father narrowing his eyes at him suspiciously. He could feel the mood shifting, the looks he received full of accusation instead of admiration. He never thought he’d miss those.

He was looking at the knife in shock, still not fully able to grasp the full meaning of its presence. There was only one way it could’ve gotten on this train, and Alex hated every single moment he stood there, holding the knife like an idiot.

“Alex,” Kyle said softly, wrapping his own hands around Alex’s trembling fist. “Alex, let go of the knife now.”

He sounded scared. Alex looked up and glimpsed his own reflection in the side mirror; he was looking absolutely murderous. With that realization came the emotions; fear, anger, sadness and above all, a fiery rage.

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that fate had brought the two of them together only for Alex to have to arrest Michael. It wasn’t fair, it’s wasn’t fair, it wasn’t fair –

“I’m so sorry, Alex.”

Alex barely spared a look at Kyle. He dropped the knife, which clattered on the floor, and positively fled the cabin, leaving Kyle and Miss Otto to deal with the aftermath.

“Michael!” he bellowed, running in the direction that Michael had taken off in. Just as he reached the door to the dining carriage, the train lurched into motion, spilling him through the doorway and sending him sprawling to the floor. Cheers went up in both carriages; the snow was dealt with, and they were moving again. Michael scrambled to his feet, barely registering the pain in his knee as he looked around. Michael was standing by the window, his hands on the windowsill, his back rigid. Alex knew Michael’s body language better than anyone else’s. Someone might mistake him for angry, but Alex saw what was underneath. Michael felt cornered, trapped, and that made him possibly even more dangerous. “Michael.”

Michael’s shoulders tensed even more. “What do you want, Alex?”

“Please tell me it wasn’t you. Give me any other reasonable explanation, I beg you.” Alex didn’t like the desperation that dripped from every word, but he couldn’t take them back. Michael shook his head, his fingers digging into the wood. Alex swallowed, his heart growing cold. “It was you, wasn’t it?” His heart was racing, his blood thundering in his ears, he barely heard Michael’s soft, clipped reply.

“I took your knife, the day you told me you were leaving. I was in pain. And I wanted something to remember you. The knife was right there on the table at the Foster’s ranch. So I took it. I’ve been carrying it with me ever since.” Every word was a stab in the heart for Alex. Michael took the knife. Michael killed Noah Bracken.

“Michael – ” Alex said, his voice constricted.

Michael cut across him, whirling around and glowering at Alex so menacingly that he took a step back. “But I lost that knife the first night. I was coming back from cleaning up dinner, opened my trunk to look at it…and it was gone.”

The tightness in Alex’s chest eased slightly, allowing him to draw a shaky breath. He didn’t dare be relieved. “Michael, I’m – ”

“I get that this case is complex. And I’m sorry for the impossible position I’ve put you in by holding on to this thing between us…but you were so ready to think I did it. Why?”

“The evidence – ”

“Bullshit!” Michael yelled and Alex winced, his heart breaking. “Any and all evidence in this case is circumstantial at best! We both know it! It’s why you haven’t managed to pin anything on anyone! So why?! Why me?!”

Alex opened his mouth, but no words came out. He didn’t know why. He couldn’t justify himself, maybe he shouldn’t have to, but this was Michael. Michael was asking and Alex couldn’t deny him anything.

“So why don’t I make this easier for you, Alex! We’re done!” Alex felt as though something was tearing out his heart with a grapefruit spoon. His eyes filled with tears. “This…whatever this thing is…is over! We’re finished!”

“No, Michael, please…” He reached out to touch Michael, to plead with him, to please don’t do this.

But Michael threw him off, nearly spitting with anger. “No! Go away, Alex! I don’t love you! Go!”

Alex stared into Michael’s face as tears streamed down his own and even though it hurt tremendously to even stand here, he had to hold on. Michael’s eyes were filled with tears themselves. “You’re a miserable liar,” Alex managed to croak out, and then he spun around and ran out, before he broke down completely.

[tsukishima44]

Blooming Birthday Candle

Izuku just know this was a bad idea. Almost everything Class 2-A planned was a bad idea, but so far this could place in the first place. If their last prank to Aizawa Sensei they could be forgiven with a 10-page essay, he didn't know whether they could escape again today.

The date has come. 8th November, marking another year has passed by and solid proof that he was still alive, healthy, and happy with his husband, cats, and so many children (official and non-official). 

Shouta looked at the table calendar beside his king size bed, the perk of having a celebrity for a husband. 

It has been years since someone else other than his family, and Hizashi and Nemuri, celebrated his birthday. Last year, the bond between him and his students deepen more than his previous students. He finally found people who weren’t scared at him, not that his students weren’t but it was lesser. Last year they made a surprise party for him. Confetti, cokes, cakes mixed into one big of a mess. Aizawa let them partied until midnight, resulting in a bunch of sleepy kids in his morning class. 

He kinda worried about this year. The kids have been great. They passed their final tests, gaining their own provisional license, and clearly LoV didn’t waste more than two weeks before ambushing them even when they were studying. Their relationship between students and teacher were based on layers of trust and respect, which was a fundamental point in pro-heroes relationship. However, despite being on a highway to be a wonderful pro-hero, having a tight connection meant getting bolder and much more mischievous. Their last prank included him inside and that was a no no in his book. Shouta released them with a 10-page paper on describing the purpose of a prank and its use in making an ambush plan. 

This year Shouta’s marriage status has been revealed to his students. Most of them were shocked, as expected, but excited nonetheless. Shouta was 100% sure they would rope Hizashi in tomorrow’s surprise. 

A late night sound of keys jingling made him walked outside his bedroom to the living room. When the door opened, his three official kids bound inside full of happiness and tiredness. Eri quickly disentangled her hand from Shouto and ran up to his sweat pants. 

“Daddy! We are back!”

Shouta took her into his arms the way she loved it. She gave him a chuckle and a peck to his cheek. 

“Sorry it’s so late, dad”

Hitoshi said. Shouto beside him nodded. In their hands were several plastic bags from a super market in the area. They had offered him to buy their monthly supplies and Shouta gave them the money and told them to be safe, as most parents would. 

“No worries. Place the bags on the counter. I will put the groceries while you guys rest”

Both boys nodded. They retreated to the plushy sofa while he placed each content into cabinets and refrigerator. Eri became his little helper. When they finished, Eri guided his hand to come into the living room to watch some movies with Shouto and Hitoshi. The cats slipped in the crooks between their bodies. When the clock strucked 11.30, the door was opened once again to reveal his blonde husband. 

"HEYAAA!! I'M HOME"

Shouto and Hitoshi were startled awake. They had fallen asleep on the couch and was in the middle of dreaming when Hizashi came back. Eri, who also had followed to the dreamland had awoken with a start, but she quickly came to her sense. She looked to her left and right, trying to figure out where she was before she climbed down Shouta's lap and done the same thing to Hizashi, running to her dad's leg. 

"Papa!!"

"Hey there, little listener!!"

Eri loved it when her papa called her little listener because she was the only who was named so by Hizashi. As usual, Hizashi took Eri in his arms and walked to the couch. The DJ walked to Shouta's side, leaned down to peck him on the lips before taking a place beside the awaken boys. 

"Watcha' watching?"

"Detyective Conaaaa--"

Hitoshi replied while yawning and rubbing his eyes. He stood up and bounded to the kitchen to make a mug of tea. Since he had slept for an hour, he probably wouldn't be asleep for another 3 hours, a disadvantage of having insomnia as a part of your sleeping life. 

Shouto meanwhile stretched on the couch, hands upward and upper body curved to the right and left. Beside him, Mocha was also stretching her body. It was so eventful that Hizashi had took a picture to commemorate said event. 

"Shouto, want some tea?"

Hitoshi asked from the kitchen.

"Sure"

He said loud enough, then he snuggled back into the leather comfort of the sofa and melt there. Mocha turned into a puddle on his left side. Macha strolled to him to join the only female cat. He purred loud enough beside Mocha. Another 35 minutes later, he heard a series of knocks. 

Shouta looked up from the wide tv screen to his families around. None of them made a move to be aware of the sound of someone thumping their door. So Shouta prepared himself to relax once again. Probably he was just hearing things. The knock had sound so soft, he reasoned. 

Not a second before he tried to focus back on the actor, the knock had sound even more viscious than before, like someone was trying to knock down his door with a hammer. Funnily, it also accompanied with muffle angry comments behind the wooden door. 

Shouta stared back at his family with a single brow raised. How in the damn hell they were all looked like they hear nothing when Shouta was getting more and more annoyed by their impromptu guest? He was still staring confused at them, afraid that something will happen like a villain popped out from behind the television, when he answered "I'm coming!" and walked to the door. His husband rigid back was on his peripheral sight. Shouta didn't bother to check the fish eye hole on the door, he just hoped that the guy would walk away or something so he could interrogate his fishy families attitude or probably making them go to the ENT specialist.

"What c-"

"DAMMIT SENSEI CAN YOU WALK ANY SLOWER!?"

Rather than surprised, he was not at all pleased to encounter an angry Bakugou in the middle of the night. The blonde was in the middle of the pack, the leader of his school mates who were standing behind him. He looked well dressed with moss green jacket and broken white sweater. The blonde waste no time to explain before marching inside his apartment yelling 'idiots' and 'Half and half' all the way. Shouta's eyes trailing on Bakugou before he smelled smoke and a call of 'sensei' before he was drenched. 

-chapter break-

In 15 more minutes, the clock would signal the change of date into 8th November. Class 2-A had red marked tomorrow as Aizawa-Sensei's birthday and of course being a diligent students who respect and adore their homeroom teacher, they planned a birthday suprise just like last year. This year they have many help. Todoroki Shouto and Shinsou Hitoshi as Aizawa-Sensei's official sons helped as much as they could with afternoon preparation. Present Mic, their english teacher and homeroom teacher's spouse helped in making his husband stayed in the apartment. 

Class 2-A had made a cake, courtesy of their classmate slash chef Rikido Satou. The cake was quite big in size, has so many cats decorations and every cat things. For gifts Ashido had prepared something, probably another prank for their poor homeroom teacher. In the last minute preparation, Sero had changed the expensive candles with magic candles, the one which wouldn't die easily, and a flower candle, flower shape that bloomed and sing 'happy birthday' when lightened. Rikido placed the flower-shaped candle in the middle and the magic candles in one corner near the flower because they couldn't put it anywhere else with the amount of cat decoration there was. Anyway, they had came to the apartment, standing in the lobby while waiting for the others to arrive. Present Mic had told the staff to give them access to their penthouse apartment in the top floor. Tsuyu and Jirou came the last and they went up. 

When they saw the digital watch in Kirishima's wrist turned to 23.59, they lit the candles. It went nicely. One candle was enough to lit the others since it was huddled in the corner together. Unfortunately the fire also light up the flower and it started to sing the birthday song when it supposed to be lightened by their teacher. 

So they quickly knock the only door in the floor in panic. It was probably their mistake because Kouda was the once in charge for knocking. The knocks were too soft and could easily be misheard. Then it became even worse when Kaminari shouted.

"GUYS!"

17 pairs of eyes watched in horror as the magic candles were lit and created a big fire. Apparently, being jammed together made the fire accumulate and smoke starting to came out of it. The mechanical sound of birthday song was a nice touch in the horror situation they were in. Bakugou finally strode forward and thumped the door loudly. Their Sensei was out in one minute but it was too late. The smoke from the fire was too much that the fire alarm went off and the sprinkler turned on, drenching them all in the middle of the night. 

-chapter break-

Shouta thanked the heaven for turning off the fire that was turning his birthday cake into overcooked one. The water from the sprinkler had diminished the big fire and sadly drenched the cake, even the part which was still edible. The glazed Rikido had worked so hard had melted. Said chef looked disheartened at his now soggy and burnt masterpiece. 

Now Shouta stared at 17 kids in his living room, drenched with water and looking dejected as hell. Hizashi was still working on the hellish flower candle that wouldn't stop singing. He had tried to sink it into a bucket of water, crushing it, and yelling at it with his quirk and the flower still wouldn't stop singing. In the last effort, he put it into the trash bin and covered it with plastics and old newspapers. Then he simply placed it in a corner of the living room. Mocha, Macha, and Mango sat on their hind legs while staring at the mysterious black bag resembling a dark cult. 

Aizawa turned his attention to Shouto and Hitoshi who had distributed towels to their friends. 

"Explain"

"Uhh....happy birthday"

Hitoshi said, but it sounded more like a question. 

In front of him were his students kneeling, a ruined birthday cake, and the sound of Hizashi cursing at the bag in the corner. When Eri poked the burnt cake with her finger and licked it and made this particular face, he couldn't handle it. At first it was just a soft chuckle, then it escalated into a maniacal laughter that filled the room. 

His students were staring at him, shocked, when he wiped away a stray tear from the corner of his eye. 

"You kids really done it"

Shining eyes full of hope looked up to him and Shouta really couldn't blame them. It was really a surprise, not a very pleasant surprise but surprising indeed.

"Thank you for the cake"

Then they had stood and really tried to towel themselves dry for real. Hitoshi and Shouto gave their clothes for the boys to change and Hizashi bought new ones for the girls. Shouta himself went to change into another soft cotton shirt. When he came out, confetti were popped and the students, kids, and husband was there.

"Happy birthday!!!"

Shouta gave a sigh before giving them a small smile.

"Thank you"

The kids cheered happily. He padded into the living room to find it full of foods and snacks. The part-soggy-part-burnt cake was still there in the table. Beside it was another cake, definitely freshly bought from the bakery downstairs. Hizashi really worked fast in picking up necessary things. 

His husband wandered to his side and brought their lips into a soft, short, kiss. Shouta couldn't help smiling fondly and ignoring the catcalls from his students. Hizashi gently pulled their faces near. His green orbs staring lovingly at him.

"Happy birthday, Sho"

"Thank you, Zashi"

...and he was euphoric. 

"Sensei! We have a gift for you!"

It was Hagakure's voice. He leaned quick for another peck before padding to the dining room where the bakusquad were, minus Bakugou. Hagakure handed him a small black rectangle box topped with a beautiful golden yellow ribbon. Shouta murmured his thanks before unboxing it in front of them. His eyes widen in surprise when he saw a pen, the branded one, lying neatly inside the box. Beneath it was a card from his students wishing him happy birthday. He nearly cry. 

But then Ashido, eyes glinting mischievously, handed him another thing- 

"You see, Sensei, that pen actually has a purpose"

-a folder after he inspected it. Just a plain cheap plastic folder actually, with several papers inside. He took one of them out and read it. He scanned it quick and found that it literally said :

The one who signed below has agreed to adopt Ashido Mina, Class 2-A student, to be his unofficial adopted kid. (Aizawa Shouta)

Shouta turned to the next piece of paper and yeah. It said the same thing except the student name was changed to Ojiro. He was sure there would be 17 of it. He couldn't believe it. After he turned down their first prank, his students prepared his gift in purpose. He gave a small snort before placing the folder on the dining table and sat. he signed on the appropriate blank space above his name and put it aside. 

"Ashido"

"Yes sir!"

She spoke beside him, startled from happiness of seeing her homeroom teacher actually played along. 

"Make your unofficial father a coffee. There is still so many to sign and I need to be awaken for it"

Her eyes were full of sparkles. She gave him a salute before sauntering into the kitchen and brought him back a mug of fresh coffee. The whole night was spent partying and lounging in his livid living room, feeling beyond happy with his new unofficial kids. Hitoshi and Shouto actually pouted when Hizashi also signed the papers beside his signature. Only Eri getting confused over the definition of unofficial. Hizashi and he laid down soft blankets and pillows on the floor to cover the cold wooden tile for the kids to sleep. There was no way he would let any of them came home in 3.09 a.m. When the last awaken student, Tokoyami had asleep, he turned the light off. Eri had been placed on her bed before both boys went back to their friends pile of sleeping bodies and slept in the empty spaces. Hizashi came up beside him and smiled at them. Then he gently lead Shouta to their bedroom where he handed a big box. Shouta didn't hesitate to open it and gasped in surprise when he found a yellow hygger, a sleeping bag with arms and legs. Shouta hugged his husband of 7 years, murmuring a soft thank you in his ear. Hizashi replied with an equally soft 'welcome'. Then they both arranged themselves to cuddle together and slept soundly.

  In the morning they found the flower candle was still singing in broken tunes, probably because the battery was almost drained. Shouta let Shouto burnt it into crisp.

[yeetdam]

stars after the rain ☾ yedam

genre – romance, soulmate au

synopsis – set in a universe where everyone is born with two names tattooed on their skin. one name stands for their soulmate, the other for their potential killer. no one knows which person inked on them is their other half and which is their downfall, but that has never been an issue to you. after all, you were born with just one name. and, well, there’s only one way to interpret that.

wc – 8.3k

a/n – this is a completely self-indulgent fic pls forgive me this mess contains everything i dream of: best friend doyoung antics, slow burn-ish vibes and a cheesy rendition of the slow dance scene on the rooftop from high school musical 3 :’) either way, i hope you’ll enjoy this and pls lmk if there are any mistakes or if u have some feedback uwu

It’s bound to end in a tragedy when Doyoung barges into your room without any warning and sees it for the first time.

“That’s a cool place to have a tattoo,” he admits and points at the back of his neck when you turn to him with an irritated expression. The realization crashes onto you like an atomic bomb the moment you subconsciously mimic his movement and slide your hand up the back of your neck.

“Oh.”

In the blink of an eye, you frantically rummage through your drawers for your foundation. Lately, there’s been many things clouding your mind, be it the many exams you can’t afford to fail or the abnormal number of complaints Hyunsuk has sent you in a span of three hours. It’s not the first time for you to drown in all kinds of duties, but it seems like the pressure has got into your head worse than usual. You never fail to cover the ink on the back of your neck with either turtlenecks or foundation, so it just fuels your frustration when Doyoung sheds light on it.

“Hey, relax! We can join the party a little later, so take your time,” he says and puts a firm hand on your shoulder in an attempt to calm you. “Uh, do you want me to help? It must be hard blending that in every day.”

You snort. “First of all, I am relaxed. Second of all, I don’t do this every day, but I manage perfectly on my own.”

“Jesus Christ,” Doyoung sighs and retreats his hand, “I was just trying to be the empathetic best friend. But jokes aside, it really is a cool place to have your tattoo. My thigh can’t relate.”

“As much as I love being your best friend and am willing to listen to your problems anytime–” you successfully find the bottle and squirt a generous amount of foundation on the beauty blender, “–even that is too much information for me. What should I know next? Your other tattoo is on your butt?”

There is nothing wrong with covering up the tattoos you are born with. It’s not socially frowned upon if someone doesn’t make any efforts to hide the ink. In the end, it all boils down to your personal preference. You know a handful of people who waltz around with both of their names on display, and you are relatively sure that Doyoung would be one of them if his tattoos were on an appropriate part of his body.

“Haha. Funny,” Doyoung deadpans before he whips out his phone. “I meant what I said, take your time. Plus, I realized I still gotta call someone.”

“Give me five.” You hum and apply the liquid on your skin. He exits your room and makes sure that the door falls softly in its lock to give you a moment of peace. A frown paves its way onto your face as you build up the coverage until there is no trace of black on your neck.

Showing the inked names on your skin and just talking about the concept of soulmates in general isn’t a social taboo. However, there are quite a few people who rather avoid the topic at hand, including you. Truth be told, every cell in your body knows that Doyoung is dying to discuss this topic with you and there are too many moments you recall where he looks as if he’s about to explode if he doesn’t bring up his soulmate. However, he never did that. Doyoung wears his heart on his sleeve and so do you, but here’s the thing: Doyoung is better at swallowing them down.

So as his best friend, the least you can do is go with him to that one goddamn party even though there are other things you’d rather do at this late hour of the day.

(A prime example of what you’d rather do is giving Hyunsuk a piece of your mind because receiving fifty-seven emails about not understanding biology, whining about the new TA and his harsh grading and inquiries about what to get Seunghun for his birthday in the span of three hours is not okay.)

Whenever you go out in public, you are usually seen with a turtleneck or a scarf. Covering up your tattoo with a foundation is your plan c) when desperate times call for desperate measures. Also, there is a reason why you barely go to parties.

Parties fall under desperate times.

Although there isn’t anything in Yeji’s house that is illegal to consume, the living room is sweltering hot, the music obnoxiously loud, and the entire scenario is equivalent to a frat party minus the alcohol, drugs, and making out.

Instead, a dozen bottles of pretty much every soft drink you can find from the convenience store just three blocks away and a broad selection of chips and chocolate and cake are found on the tables.

“Wanna bet that you could never finish cola with salt in one go?” Jaehyuk suggestively raises a brow at Doyoung and holds up the red cup in his hand.

“If I win, you owe me bubble tea for an entire month. Wherever and whenever I want.” You fight the urge to smack yourself as you see the sneaky grin etched on Doyoung’s lips. For a moment, you debate whether to stand up your comfortable position on the couch and knock some sense into him. But then again, you remind yourself why you’re even here in the first place. Though you know most of the people here, you don’t really talk to them. Doyoung was your only friend present.

You’re only here for Doyoung’s sake. You’re going to let him have fun and let him regret his life decisions in the aftermath.

“Aren’t you feeling lonely here?” you divert your eyes from Doyoung to the guy who drops himself on the couch beside you. He’s a new face, you figure, dressed in an unbuttoned, red flannel shirt, a black graphic tee underneath and ripped skinny jeans. Strands of jet black hair fall into his face, but they fail to hide the genuine twinkle in his eyes as the corners of his lips subtly tug upwards.

“Well, you’re not wrong,” you mumble and are very glad that you’re no longer focused on Doyoung if you consider the gagging sounds he’s emitting, “I’m not a huge fan of these kinds of occasions.”

“Let me guess,” he muses and takes a sip out of his cup, “That guy forced you here?”

A chuckle escapes your lips when he points at Jaehyuk who’s laughing maliciously at a kneeling Doyoung.

“Actually, it’s the guy who looks like he needs life support, but close enough.” you lift a brow at the flannel guy. “Is there a reason why you’re staring at me like that?”

He shrugs in response. “I’m just happy that I managed to lift up your spirits a little bit.”

There it is again, the glimmer in his eyes. You can’t lay a finger on what exactly it is, whether it’s playfulness or an underlying risk. All you know is that it's a gamble. You either take the leap or you keep it safe. It’s not the first time that you end up in such a situation, but this time, it’s a little but different. The only thing that is stopping you is the uncertainty of reading him.

But maybe, maybe it’s not that bad.

“You know,” you start and fiddle with your fingers, “I’m fairly sure that you’re the only one who can enlighten me here.”

Your hunch is proven right. It is not that bad. Not bad at all, actually.

For the next hour, you two stay seated on the couch and talk about all kinds of things. Sometimes, when you bother to care, you laugh at some mishaps that occur right in front of your eyes, like Chaeryeong tripping over her own feet before she crashes into Mashiho and makes him fall flat on his face.

“Wanna grab something to drink?” he asks after a while and swirls the last few ounces of liquid in his cup. “Besides, I think I need a refill.”

“Sure,” you reply and you both enter the kitchen. The room is empty apart from the two of you, and though you can still hear the music blasting through the closed door, your ears don’t ache as much anymore.

While you grab ahold of one of the opened bottles of cherry cola and pour it into an unused red cup, you watch him roll up the sleeves of his flannel from the corner of your eye. He has pretty hands, you figure, and maybe it would’ve been better if you didn’t stare at them for so long. It’s only a subtle flick of his wrist as he fixes his sleeves, but you don’t fail to notice fine black lines on his left wrist.

Before you ponder longer about it, he asks you, “Hey, can you pass me the cherry cola?”

You nod wordlessly and hand him the bottle and don’t leave his hand movements out of your sight. Once in a while, your eyes flit to the fridge behind him, to the few strands of jet black hair that sick out messily or to his eyes. Curiosity has never been a trait that really defines you, but sometimes, you can’t help but try to decode the name on his wrist.

Still oblivious to your underlying intentions, he continues rambling about his favorite music producers. “Cha Cha Malone has this really distinctive tone in his productions…” he places the edge of his cup on his lips with his left hand and suddenly, your blood runs cold.

Though there is the slight possibility that you are suffering from hallucinations, you are pretty damn sure it is not an illusion. The kitchen sheds enough light to see everything clearly, from the slight bags under his eyes to the coffee stains on the table. The lights aren’t blinding, but they’re enough to decipher the fine black lines inked on his left wrist.

Your name.

“... and I feel that– hey, you look like you saw a ghost. Is everything alright?” he furrows his brows in concern, but when he follows the trail where you’re looking at, he gets the gist. You notice him tense up and are pretty sure it’s not a trick of the light when he pales, something akin to guilt paints his face.

“Come to think of it,” you mumble and avert your eyes from his wrist. “I didn't catch your name. Who are you?”

He hesitates, chews on his bottom lips first before he answers. He looks like a deer caught in the headlights and it just fuels your thought that the worst case scenario has become a reality. You hope it isn’t what you think it is.

“I’m Bang Yedam.”

You stare at him in disbelief, unable to force any coherent words past your lips. A shiver runs down your spine, and though there is less to be scared of because your name is inked on his wrist too, you're still wary. Obviously, the one who is destined to end your life won't have your name tattooed on them.

But with your circumstances, you can't help but include that possibility.

Yedam doesn't hide his panic anymore as he tries to justify himself. "Look, I'm sorry I haven't introduced myself earlier, (y/n). Doyoung told me not to–"

"Doyoung? What does Doyoung have to do with this?"

When all you're met with is silence, you ask again with something akin to fury laced in your tone. "I said, what does Doyoung have to do with this?"

He diverts his gaze to the counter behind you with pursed lips. Knowing that he won't spill the truth, you try to find the remaining puzzle pieces to complete the mystery by yourself. Your efforts are in vain though, because there is nothing you remember that could serve as a link to what Yedam said–

("I realized I still gotta call someone.")

"I need to go," you say when it dawns on you and you set the cup on the table. A jumble of emotions rages in you, be it the anger that flows through your veins or the whirlwind of irritation and disappointment and despair flooding your senses. You don't stop when Yedam calls after you and tries to make you stay.

You rush into the living room to grab your belongings, completely ignoring Doyoung who is still oblivious to your discovery. It's when he takes a closer look at your trembling hands and pessimistic face that the joy falls from his face.

"Hey, why are you leaving already?" he asks, concern laced in his voice as he tries to touch you, but you swat his hand away.

You huff. "Mind your own business, I really don't appreciate your stunt."

"What?" he furrows his brows and tries to figure out the meaning of your words. "I don't understand–"

"(y/n), please don't go– oh God." Yedam slows down to a halt at the sight of you and Doyoung. The boy beside you widens his eyes when he sees Yedam and then, the realization strikes him like lightning.

"O-oh, that was what you're talking about. Look, I can explain–"

You don't stay a while longer to hear his reasoning.

There is a reason why Doyoung has been your best friend for so long. It isn't the first time for you to fight and if you're being honest, your ego isn't that big to not forgive him. Doyoung can be awfully nosy and loves to stick his nose into someone else's business. Therefore, it doesn't surprise you that you invite him over on an afternoon after he left fifty voice messages and over a hundred text messages in your inbox.

"Please don't start your explanation with 'I was trying to do you a favor'." you sigh in distress.

"I was trying to do you a favor," he bluntly says and it costs you your willpower to not invite him out of your place. Doyoung sends you a crooked grin before he turns serious. "Okay, real talk now. I was just... surprised when I saw Yedam's name on your neck. And since I already knew that one of Yedam's tattoos is your name, I thought it'd be a good idea to make you two meet. Turns out to be that I was a fool."

"You're always a fool, please," you deadpan and snicker when he shoots you a death glare.

"Hey! I was trying to be an empathetic best friend here! I just breathed and here you are, clowning me. That is disrespectful!"

He attempts to throw you off your chair by aiming a pillow at you. Instead, he almost knocks down the succulent on your desk. The next few minutes, you bicker for a while and start an impromptu tickle fight to lighten up the mood. It's when you both lie on the carpeted floor and your heartbeats have fallen back into a steady rhythm that he addresses the problem at hand.

"Why don't you want to give him a chance?"

"My gut says it won't end well," you reply slowly.

Doyoung shuffles to the side to get a good glimpse of your face. "You know, the chance is high that Yedam's your soulmate. He's got your name too, after all. And he's willing to give it a shot, y'know? One meeting doesn't sound bad and won't be the end of the world."

You hesitate, considering the implied proposal with a frown. "It's complicated."

"So you're willing to let the glorious chance pass by?"

"Yes."

Taken aback by your rapid answer, Doyoung adds in a quieter tone, "Not many people manage to find even one of the two people. Even less find the one who wears their names too. You should definitely consider it, (y/n)."

"I get where you're coming from, but..." your voice trails off.

Doyoung watches you with expectant eyes. "But?" he drawls.

But you don't understand.

"You're not gonna stop bugging me until I say yes, are you?" you say instead. Although you'd trust your life to him, you don't want to burden him with your tattoo dilemma. He may not let it show too much, but you know he has his worries and he doesn't need to break his head about the meaning of your only tattoo too.

"Do you want the truth or a fabrication of lies?" he asks with a suggestively raised brow, making you roll his eyes at his silliness.

"Fine, I'll meet up with him one time. He shouldn't get his hopes up, though."

For some reason, you find yourself walking into the café fifteen minutes earlier. You blame it on the fact that there surprisingly was no traffic jam, although it's rush hour. As it turns out, you're not the only one to arrive earlier than expected, because Yedam enters the coffee shop five minutes after you.

He notices you right away, seated in between red and black cushions at the far back of the room, but doesn't steer towards you instantly. Instead, he stands in line and orders two drinks before he approaches you. An uncertain, shy smile adorns his face and contrary to the first time you met him, he's different. His hands shake so much that he spills one cup a little bit when he sets them down and he can't bring it over himself to look you in the eye. Yedam's treading lightly, abnormally careful about his own actions.

"I got you hot chocolate. I hope you don't mind," he mumbles and slides the cup towards you.

There's the need to tell him not to worry and loosen up. However, you don't manage to do so. What you do manage is a quiet "thanks" before you take a sip of it.

Well, at least Doyoung wasn't lying when he said that the café served delicious beverages.

Awkward, heavy and pressuring don't even come remotely close to describe the silence hovering above you. Even an innocent bystander can tell that neither of you is exactly comfortable in your shoes.

"So." Yedam's ears perk up when you clear your throat. "You wanted to meet me."

"Yeah…" his voice trails off as he taps his fingers on his paper cup. This time, he's wearing a blue wool sweater with sleeves so long they cover up his palms. You fight the urge to ask him if you could see his left wrist.

"Uh, give me a second to mentally prepare myself." he stammers before he starts anew. "I'm going to be honest here. I was happy when Doyoung called me and said he knew someone who wore my name. I had a great time that night and I, um, guess that things wouldn't have ended like that if you figured it out in a different manner."

"I'm going to be honest too," you confess. "I had a lot of fun that night, well, before it started to go downhill. It's just, I don't think I'll be able to cope with this." You gesture on your own wrist. 

Something that hits very close to desperation is written on his face. For the first time, he looks at you directly and tries to read you. "Listen, I'm not trying to force anything on you. I know not everyone cares about the marks and that's fine. I just..."

He hesitates, tries to find the right words. Judging by the tone of his voice and the quiet sigh that escapes his lips, you know he doesn't belong to the group of people who don't care, unlike you – and he is very well aware of that too.

"You just?" you probe. Though you are quite sure what words will follow next, you need to hear them come out of his own mouth.

Yedam glances at you unsurely, wariness audible in his voice when he speaks up. "I was just hoping to, uh, get to know you. It doesn't have to be something long lasting, I swear. If you feel uncomfortable, we can break it off at any time. I was hoping that we could at least try."

There are many, many red lights blinking in your mind. This suggestion is nothing more than a very, very bad idea. In your case, the journey doesn't even matter. It doesn't matter if you end up being more than friends. What matters is the result. And, well, the result is inevitable.

Amongst the many, many stop signs that practically scream DON'T DO IT, there is one brain cell that begs to differ. Yedam looks at you expectantly, pleadingly even. His desperation is visible in his eyes as if they held stardust which reflects his every emotion.

You inhale deeply through your nose in an attempt to steady your frantic heartbeat. It's bound to end in a tragedy and you should care more, but you don’t have the heart to reject him.

Hopefully, you don't sound so unconvinced and scared when you respond.

"Trying sounds good."

Yedam is careful. He's so careful it genuinely surprises you. He doesn't push you to anything, works his way to more personal questions (though so far, the most personal question he's asked you was how long you've been friends with Doyoung) and tries his best to cater everything to your needs. It's by the fifth time you meet up in person when he finds the courage to ask for your number. Truth be told, you can practically see him pondering five minutes about each text he writes before sending it to you. The absence of emojis in his messages just confirm how nervous he still is.

It's still awkward when you talk and most of the time, it's Yedam who asks questions. Yet he's quick to pick up certain likes and dislikes, like your favorite ice cream flavor or your least favorite type of music.

It goes without saying that Doyoung practically demands regular updates. He was over the moon when you told him how your first date ended and even paid you bubble tea. That was how happy he was for you.

"He's not as bad as expected," you say as you nonchalantly look for good Netflix movies to watch.

Doyoung snorts in response. "Of course I knew that already. I've known Yedam for a good while now and seriously, all he does is sing the High School Musical soundtrack and swoon about music producers."

"He sings?"

You practically feel Doyoung rolling his eyes as if it was the most obvious thing on earth. "Duh. That guy's a singing god. But you have my word, (y/n), I'll end him and twist out his intestines if he hurts you. You really don't have anything to worry about."

"The only thing I worry about is you becoming a potential murderer," you say in a monotonous voice. (In a way, it’s ironic, given how there is bound to be someone who wears Doyoung’s name with the negative connotation.)

That causes your best friend to laugh in an exaggerated manner. "Very funny. In all seriousness though–" he grabs a handful of chips and stuffs it in his mouth, "–how do you not know that he sings? Even though you know he produces his own songs? I thought you talk lots."

"The thing is–" you shuffle to the side and hope he won't spit any crumbs on you, "–he's the one who talks. I just listen and answer his questions."

Doyoung sends you an unbelievable look that's equivalent to 'Are you serious?' "Then ask some questions back, you fool!"

"I don't know what to ask though!"

"What? You truly are unbelievable." he groans and throws his head back. "I guess I have to step up my game and help out a poor soul, huh?"

You throw him an offended look. "I am not an imbecile!"

"I never said that, dumbass," he tuts. "But back to the point. Yedam likes music, just recommend him some songs and he's gonna love you. Or have a High School Musical marathon with him. For all I know, attend a concert with him or just let him show you his own songs– the possibilities are endless! You always meet up at that café and although it's nice and cozy there, it's getting boring. If you only knew how panicky Yedam gets when I bring you up in our conversations: pitiful! That's what it is!"

"I don't know if that'd be a good idea–"

"Listen, I have no idea why you are so against getting close to him and since we already had this talk, I'm not gonna bring it up again. But for the love of God, if you already agree on trying, then put in some effort yourself!" he exclaims and with every word, his hand gestures become bigger. It even reaches the point where you're certain that he's going to hit you in the face.

Nonetheless, he’s right. You desperately need to step up your game.

Yedam is confused when you send him a link while he’s talking about something you don’t bother listening to. His irritation is visible in his scrunched brows, in the way his gaze switches from you, then back to his phone, and in the little hitch in his voice.

“They say your music taste tells a lot by yourself.” you shrug and try to sound as casual as possible. “And, uh, perhaps I heard that you like listening to new songs.”

The confusion morphs into a small yet genuine smile once he sees that it’s a link to a Spotify playlist. “You’re not wrong about that. While we’re at it, here.”

Your phone vibrates, signifying a new text message. Just like him, you fail to hide your amusement when you see the link to his own Spotify playlist, followed by a SoundCloud profile.

“Let me guess, the SoundCloud one is where you post your own music?” you joke lightly but when you look up and meet Yedam’s bewildered expression, you gulp. “Did I say something insensitive?”

Yedam hastily shakes his head. “No, not at all! I’m just surprised that you remembered that I produce some songs too.”

“I mean, it’s hard not to forget that when Doyoung gushed about that for a good hour and you like to swoon about how much of an idol Cha Cha Malone is to you.”

He looks at you with a stunned expression. “Do I really talk that often about him?”

“No. I just remembered that, that’s all.” you smile lightly. Regardless of whether or not Yedam buys it, the apples of his cheeks are dusted red and he looks down as if he hopes for the floor to swallow him whole.

Quickly realizing that the atmosphere might turn into an embarrassingly long and awkward silence, you scroll through the Spotify playlist and chuckle when you recognize songs you haven’t heard in a while yet.

“Do you have something against my music taste?” Yedam asks, partly wary, partly sounding as if he was ready to brawl.

“No, of course not!” you explain once you calm down. “It’s just, it’s been a while since I heard the Jonas Brothers. Also, uh, I’ve never seen High School Musical and you have a lot of songs in it.”

Yedam looks like he's about to jump out of the window and his eyeballs might have fallen out of its sockets after your confession.

"What did you even do in your childhood?" He acts as if it was an unforgivable crime and then adds with conviction, "First of all, the entire soundtrack is on the playlist. Second of all, what are you waiting for? We need to catch up with things you should've done when you were a child!"

“What are you–” Before you get to finish your thoughts, he grabs ahold of your hand and leads you out of the café. “Where are we going?”

“My place,” he replies without looking back at you as he picks up his pace. “You need to watch all movies. I refuse to leave you uncultured.”

Your attempts of not having to watch any of the films prove themselves futile. That, and the other, unexpectedly childlike side of him make you stay. Even if you planned on running away, you couldn’t anyway. With the way your hands are intertwined, it’s hard to do so. Though by now you’re practically rushing down streets and occasionally bump into a pedestrian or two, the incredulous look on their faces when they see you hand in hand is something you don’t miss. 

You don’t know whether the feeling bubbling in your gut should feel warm.

When Doyoung said that Yedam knew every single song from High School Musical, he meant every single song.

You tried, you really tried to pay attention to the storyline. However, it’s not that easy when five minutes into the movie, the first song comes up and Yedam belts out every single note in a theatrical way. You find yourself anticipating the next song so he’ll sing more rather than the actual plot progression.

When Doyoung said that Yedam could sing, he meant he could sing. It would’ve been nice of him if he had warned you beforehand how angelic Yedam’s voice was because your jaw dropped to the floor the moment he started to sing. You didn’t know what you expected, but you certainly did not expect to be swept off the ground in a span of 0.08998 seconds.

“Did I just ruin your fun?” Yedam asks carefully, a bashful smile plastered on his face once the first song came to an end.

The question startles you and you blink at him in awe before you feel the heat creep up your cheeks. “What? No! I mean, no. I was just surprised that your voice is that nice,” you manage to choke out.

His smile widens, and your face flushes a deep red.

“So you don’t mind me singing along?”

“I prefer your voice over that guy right there…” you pause. “Wait, what? Forget what I said.”

“Me? Forgetting that? You wish,” he beams and erupts in laughter when you cover your face with your hands. “But if that’s what you want, I’ll sing along.”

You find yourself listening to Yedam singing anything your heart desires many times after.

While you still have no idea what exactly the plot of High School Musical is up until now, you indulge in the heavenly voice of your human jukebox even more with every passing day.

Depending on his mood, you discover the many facets of his personality. On days where he’s tired and you happen to stop by just because you’re casually in the neighborhood, he shows you his self composed songs. Although the bags under his eyes are impossible to miss, he keeps his head held up high and urges you to comment on all of his songs despite rather wanting to hide under the covers.

On days where you’re tired and happen to be lounging on his couch, he loves to lull you to sleep. His voice is soft and gentle, just like his hands playing with your hair as you hide your face in the crook of his neck. Then there are days where it seems as if stole the sun’s job or had drunk too many energy drinks and jumps around like a lunatic while belting out the melody of My Heart Will Go On.

Today seems like a day where he’s just emitting happiness.

Truth be told, you don’t know when exactly you’ve let down your guard. The current scenario is too sickeningly domestic for your liking – with you leaning your head on his shoulder while his arm is lazily draped around you. The third installment of High School Musical running on screen doesn’t quite suit your taste either, yet you don’t make any amends to put some distance between you.

“Do you know how to dance?” Yedam asks casually, eyes glued on the screen. Currently, Troy and Gabriella are at the school rooftop and it seems as if the next song is going to start soon.

Your eyes narrow at him. “What are you planning?”

“I’ll take it as a no. But that’s fine too.”

“Yedam, seriously, what are you planning?”

There’s a gleeful twinkle in his eyes when he faces you. Before you can ask again, he stands up and pulls you up with him.

“Just trust me on this. It’ll be fun,” he interrupts you in the middle of your doubts. That shuts you up for good, yet it doesn’t hinder you from sending him warning glares.

You stay blissfully unaware of his ulterior motives until he firmly grabs one hand and puts your other on his shoulder, followed by planting his free hand on your waist. He shoots you a fond and reassuring smile to soothe your panicked self. Then slowly and surely, the first guitar strums come out of the speakers before Gabriella starts singing in the background.

A quick glance behind Yedam to the screen, where the lovestruck couple is also in the same position as you, is enough to let you know in which direction this is heading to.

“No. No. No. I can’t dance, much less slow dance–”

“I’ll guide you. Just keep your eyes on me,” he muses and tilts your chin so you lock eyes.

There are so many cells in you that are screaming at you to look away, but you’re unable to do so. There’s something behind the fragments of fondness in his eyes that you can’t quite decipher, but either way, you get lost in his eyes and your breath hitches.

“Let me guide you,” he repeats in a tone that makes you melt in a matter of seconds. You’re pretty sure your legs would’ve given up at this point if it weren’t for him who takes a step back and tugs you with him.

It goes without saying that you feel like a newborn baby deer that’s still clumsy on its legs. In the first few tries, you’re uncoordinated, stiff as a board and step on his toes a few times, and you’re not able to look away from him. He winces when you misplace your foot and you shoot him an apologetic look in return, but after some time, you get the hang out of it. Midway through the song, your legs no longer feel as if they’re going to mutate into jelly as you sway through the expanse of his living room.

“Look, you’re doing just fine,” Yedam reassures warmly before a grin etches across his lips; as if he just came up with a brilliant masterplan. “Wanna try a spin?”

“No,” you shoot out like a bullet and cause him to giggle. “This is enough for today.”

“Fine then, maybe next time.”

The rest of the song is spent in comfortable silence, warm smiles and occasionally knocking over a book or two when you happen to bump against the shelf. When the song comes to a slow end, you find yourself coming to a standstill. It’s just then when you realized how dangerously close Yedam really is. His breath hits your lips and you pick up the slight scent of spearmint.

You’re not the only one who notices. Yedam’s gaze switches from your eyes to your lips. Confliction is prominent in his face. Even though you’ve grown more comfortable around him, a feeling similar to home even, he’s aware he can’t cross all your limits yet. He doesn’t dare to prod further, lean a little bit closer and you know he’s wordlessly giving you the shots.

At this point, your heart practically hammers against your chest and you wouldn’t put it past him to hear it too. Perhaps, you’re in too deep and for a moment, you slowly move closer until it’s just a matter of a few millimeters separating you.

That is until you’re aware of the fact that you’re clinging onto his hand as if he were your lifeline. The realization causes a knot in your stomach. Suddenly, the doubts flash your mind; the fear that initially overcame you when you first met him at the party, when you found out who Yedam was.

There’s nothing wrong with Yedam. He’s nice and talented and genuinely cares. Yet at the same time, you’re not certain if there’s nothing wrong with him. You can’t be fully certain of him and that realization strikes you like lightning once more.

You try to ignore the sadness that washes over him for a short moment when you pull away.

“I’m sorry. It’s just a little complicated to explain,” you mumble apologetically.

“It’s fine,” he replies in the same manner.

There’s no doubt that you can see the genuineness in his eyes, but you can’t tell whether he was really telling the truth or was trying to manipulate himself into thinking that it truly is fine for him.

Surprisingly, as well as to your luck, he doesn’t bring up the episode again. In fact, he acts as if it never happened and honestly, you wouldn’t want to have it any other way. You’ve become a little more cautious ever since, but you would be lying if you said you didn’t want him performing a little bit of skinship on you. He still sings for you, proudly shows you his latest songs and becomes cozy around you whenever you watch a movie.

Just like any other day you’re at his place, you’re sitting on the couch and currently scrolling mindlessly through your inbox while Yedam is on the other end of the couch.

“I really like you.”

You hope you misheard what he said. Yes, you definitely misheard it, you’re positive of that. The intensity of his gaze when your eyes meet begs to differ though.

Honestly, the day was bound to come sooner or later. After all, you’re not that oblivious. Yedam is similar to you, you like to think – he wears his heart on his sleeve. But whereas you let your bad sides show, he puts all the good in him on display.

“How are you so sure that we’re soulmates? Do you have any other reason besides the fact that I wear your name too?” you ask after a moment of silence. It costs you your entire willpower to not lash out on him and say once more that you’re not interested in something more than what you already have, but he wouldn’t believe that.

And frankly, you’re not sure if you would believe yourself either.

“I do,” he responds, voice full of conviction. “I say it so easily because I found the other person already, and I know that he’s not my soulmate.”

“Again, what makes you so certain about that?”

Yedam purses his lips and hesitates before he sits directly next to you. He opens his mouth several times, but no words come out.

Then suddenly, without any verbal warning whatsoever, he turns to you completely and tugs on the collar of his sweater, pulling it so far down until he exposes a strip of skin underneath his left collarbone.

You gape at the sight, hope you’re hallucinating. You really hope this is just a trick of the light. It must be one.

The pitch black ink contrasts with his skin, and though the letters are fine lines and easy to miss if you don’t pay attention, the name leaves a burning image in your head and a foul taste in your mouth.

Kim Doyoung.

“I wouldn’t put it past him to kill me if he really wants to. And trust me, he’ll definitely have a reason to do so.” Yedam chuckles dryly as he covers the tattoo.

Although you already know the answer, you ask flabbergasted. “Does he know?”

“That I wear his name? Unless he wears mine, which I highly doubt, no. He would’ve confronted me about this by now if he knew.”

It explains a lot. No, it explains everything. It explains why Yedam oozed confidence and was sure that you were bound to last a lifetime. It explains why he looks at you as if you were the center of his world without a doubt. It explains why he’s not afraid of you. He’s only been treading lightly because of you.

You sneak another glance at him and the sight causes something in you to break. Yedam is sitting right beside you, watching you carefully and pleadingly even. The specks of glimmer he holds in his eyes, the ones that reveal his feelings, aren’t even specks anymore. They’ve dissolved and you’re looking right through him. He wears his emotions on full display now, the desperation is prominent more than ever.

He’s treading lightly yet is needy for an answer and slowly reaches out for your hand. Before it can get so far, you turn away from him and croak out a weak “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t trust me?” you wince at the hurt laced in the undertone of his voice.

“It has nothing to do with me trusting you. It’s me, okay? It’s just–”

“–complicated, I get it,” he spits out the words as if they were acid and suddenly, the couch feels much lighter.

“Yedam, I didn’t mean it like that!” you stand up and grab the hem of his sweater in an attempt to bring him to a standstill. “I’m sorry.”

Yedam stands still, but he doesn’t turn around to meet you. He takes in a deep breath and sighs audibly, but you don’t miss the hitch in his breath as if he’s trying to contain something else.

“No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have–” he pauses, stabilizes his shaky pitch before he reaches back and detaches your grip, “Nevermind.”

He leaves you alone in his living room and it costs you your entire energy to not break down onto the floor.

He doesn’t text you anymore and as much as you itch to contact him, you don’t muster up the courage to actually do it.

Doyoung also noticed the shift in your relationship. Fortunately, he doesn’t pry further and never brings up Yedam in your conversations. You’ve never told him any details but you’re relatively sure that Yedam said some things to him.

Either way, Doyoung remains a great friend. He tries his best to lift up your spirits – even bought you a gallon of your favorite ice cream flavor along with a lifetime supply of candy of all sorts. Once he realized that his wallet was suffering, he resorted to cooking your favorite food, even if that almost resulted in him burning down the kitchen.

However, as much as Doyoung might distract you from your pity party, he’s not a permanent fix. You know it and he knows it. Therefore, it really doesn’t faze you when he brings up the last person you’d want on your mind (to your dismay, he’s the only person on your mind).

“He’s also miserable right now, you know?”

When you don’t respond, he sighs and drops on the seat next to you, seeing it as his cue to continue. “He’s waiting for your call. I don’t know what went down between the two of you, but you better sort it out. Not only am I running out of ideas to get you out of your house, but I’m also pretty sure you two will end up as living corpses if you don’t fix it soon.”

You lift up your head and purse your lips. “It’s not going to end well.”

“You always say that.” he rolls his eyes, sounding more fed up this time. “Yedam didn’t tell me a lot and I know you get turn hyperventilated whenever it comes to your tattoos, so I’m not going ask about that. I never did and never will, get it? All I know is that Yedam dished out his soulmate situation from start to finish. You should trust him too, wholeheartedly.”

“I would’ve done that if I could a long time ago!”

“If I could,” he mimics, two octaves higher than your actual tone, “You can! I don’t want to guilt trip you or anything, but it’s only fair if he knows too. He’s poured his heart out to you, why can’t you do the same? Just think like this: say we live in a world where soulmate tattoos don’t exist, would you like him?”

“I…” your voice trails off.  

Seemingly satisfied with your reaction, Doyoung sighs and stands up.

“I think you know the answer too. Talk to him, please.”

Come to think of it, you’ve never invited Yedam over to your place. That’s about to change when you send him your address and find him at your doorstep later in the evening. The sun is long gone and in its place shines the moon along with the stars. Their light is enough to taint your living room in a soft glow and it’s enough to notice every single one of his features.

He’s tired, looks like he hasn’t slept well in days, yet frankly, there’s something oddly comforting about his presence.

“You called?” he asks to break the ice.

Truth be told, you’ve rehearsed what you wanted to say many times a few hours ago. You could’ve also practiced weeks before but you doubt you’d ever get rid of the uncertainty laced in your shaky voice when you start to talk about that topic.

You fiddle with the hem of your sleeves. “I realized something. You never asked to see my tattoo.” It’s not what you rehearsed, but as long as it leads to the point, it’s alright.

“I didn’t want to pressure you,” he responds.

You observe his expression, narrow your eyes in a brief moment of contemplation before you slowly undo the scarf you’re wearing. Yedam is quick to guess where this is heading to and quickly stammers, “Wait, you don’t have to justify yourself in front of me!”

“No, I want to,” you say with conviction and turn around so he can see the black ink at the back of your neck. Although the room is just dimly lit, you know that he can see it clearly. For a moment, you get goosebumps as his fingers ghost over the ink, but you let him bask in his fascination.

“The truth is, this is the only tattoo I was born with,” you confess after a moment of silence.

He gulps. “What?”

“I only wear your name, Yedam. You’re smart, I’m sure you understand the weight of that.” You turn around but don’t find the courage nor the energy to look him in the eye. The silence is heavy, unbearable, and literally nothing about it lifts the pressure off your shoulders. You don’t need to see him to know how the revelation shatters his view on everything in millions of shards.

“Look at me, please,” he pleads instead, and when you shake your head in response, he gently cups your face. You have no other choice but to do as and are startled when all you see is not pure horror, but soft, pure and wholehearted adoration in him.

“God, (y/n), I wouldn’t ever do anything to hurt you. Believe me when I say you mean so much to me. You have no idea how hard I’ve tried to have you voluntarily open up to me. and now that I see the situation from your view, I get why you were so unwilling at first. But trust me when I say I only want the best for you and would never put you in danger.” The raw vulnerability in his voice makes you believe him for a while and keeps you from breaking out in tears.

“You don’t know that.”

“Oh, I do know that. Did you already forget? Doyoung is my potential killer,” he says matter-of-factly and sends you a broken smile, “So before I kill you, I’ll make sure that he ends me first.”

“Great, and then my best friend ends up in jail.”

This time, he genuinely laughs. You, on the other hand, can’t bite down the small smile that paves its way on your lips from that weak joke.

“You’re right, I can’t guarantee your safety from me,” Yedam admits once he’s calmed down and tucks a strand of your hair in place before he goes on, “But I can guarantee that I’ll do anything in my power to make you happy. Have you even looked at my SoundCloud profile? Ever since I met you the majority of my releases are love songs!”

“So you admit that the songs are all about me?” you playfully raise a brow at him.

“Of course they’re all about you.” he breathes out as if the weight on his shoulders was lifted off of him. Yedam still looks like he could need some sleep, but there is no longer a sign of restlessness. He is at ease, and it shows the most when he adds fondly, “It doesn’t have to last forever. We can break it off if you feel unsafe. I hope we can at least try.”

The course of this conversation is oddly reminiscent to your first date in the café, you think. Back then, you were more than convinced that the only way this would end was as a tragedy. Back then, you just said your answer out of pity, one might say. But that was back then, and this time, you’re more than serious and more than convinced when you respond with a smile.

“Trying sounds good.”

[assbuttyourlife]

When We Were Young - Chapter Seven

Pairing : Misha/OFC

Warnings : Fire, trauma, PTSD, family members’ death (including child), therapy, flashbacks (not in every chapter), injuries, cheating. Long fic. Angst, fluff. Smut will come later in the story (but there is a bit of implied smut in this chapter).

Words : 4303

Summary : After her grandmother’s funeral, Lily must return to the place she lived in when she was young and has to confront the ghosts of her past. She will run into an old friend that she thought was lost forever. 

Note : Sorry if there are mistakes, this chapter was not beta’d. (If you wanna help me I’ll be glad as english is not my native language)

Also Vicki is mentioned in this chapter, so I’ll say it again : I truly respect Misha and his family, this is just a fiction.

CHAPTER 7 – BAGGAGES.

Peter waited a few seconds for her to say something, but when she didn't he stepped forward.

“Can I come in?”

“No. I have nothing to tell you and this isn't a good time.”

“Why?”

When Lily didn't answer and he heard glass clinging inside her apartment, Peter understood she may not be alone, so he rushed inside.

“Is someone with you?”

“NO! … Actually yes but-”

She stopped when the two men stared at each other, standing quietly in the center of the living room. Misha was surprised when he saw the tall dark blond man coming in Lily's apartment, as he expected to see Katie. Lily didn't know what to do, should she say something? It was quite intimidating to see them both like that. Misha wasn't small and he was well built, but Peter was even taller and had larger shoulders. He also had quite a jealous temper and she knew exactly what he was thinking right now.

Misha decided to break the ice and extended his hand, ready to welcome their unexpected stranger guest even if he just wished to be alone with Lily.

Peter ignored him completely and turned to Lily. Rude!

“I see you didn't waste any time!”

“Are you freaking serious right now? You've got some balls to come here after what you did and accuse me! We broke up, Peter, I told you it's over and I don't have to justify myself to you about anything. I can forgive a lot of things, but not cheating. Please, leave.”

Ah... so ex-boyfriend (or husband?). Misha could feel anger slowly growing inside of him when he thought that guy hurt her.

“Lily, is everything okay?” He dared asking.

Peter's eyes darkened, full of rage, when he turned to look at Misha.

“Who the fuck are you and what are you doing here with her?”

“Peter, that's enough!” Lily stepped in front of her ex-boyfriend and put her hands on his chest, trying to hold him back. She knew how jealous he could be, and she really didn't want this to happen tonight.

“Like I said, it is not a good time. Can we do this tomorrow? I promise I won't run. Just... Not now, please.”

She knew he couldn't resist her pleading tone, but she silently prayed for Misha to stay quiet, because she also knew if he opened his mouth again, Peter would make a fuss.

He looked at her in the eyes.

“Who is he?”

“An old friend, nothing more. I'll explain tomorrow. Just go. Please, Peter... Don't make things complicated, I'm begging you.”

Luckily, Misha didn't make a sound, he was just standing on his spot frowning at the man. Lily slowly led him back to the front door.

“Come back tomorrow. We'll talk.” She said coldly. She really didn't want to talk to him after what he did, but if it could make him leave now, she was willing to try it. At least it would give him the occasion to take his things back and go for good.

“Lily... You know I love you right? You know I never wanted this!”

As good as it felt to hear him say he still loved her, and as much as she wanted to say it back, she had to bite her tongue to not yell at him. How could he dare saying that to her after cheating on her? He fucked a woman but didn't want it? How ridiculous was that? She felt like she could slap him right now, but she took a deep breath instead.

“I know. We'll talk tomorrow. Goodnight, Peter.”

She kissed his cheek, nicely pushed him outside and closed the door before leaning against it. She deeply sighed when she looked in the peephole and saw he was gone. That was close.

She went back to the living room where she found Misha still standing in front on the fireplace, a questioning look on his face.

“Ex-boyfriend?”

“Yeah... We broke up last week after I found him in bed with another woman.”

He scoffed. “Classy!”

They sat back on the sofa and she explained everything.

She met Peter ten years ago in a nightclub. He was a nice guy and a really good person, they danced, they drank, they had fun, and she liked him a lot, but she hadn't want any commitment at the time, so they just dated when they were bored, lonely or horny. Two years later they couldn't deny the feelings they had for each other despite how hard they tried, so they decided to have a real relationship. They still lived in separate places though, but Peter spent most of his time in Lily's apartment.

And last week, after coming back home from her grandma's funeral, he didn't hear her entering the apartment, and when Lily heard female moans coming from her bedroom, she went to check and saw Hayley on top of him, completely naked, enjoying herself.

And he has the balls to say he didn't want it.

He tried to explain and justify himself, but there was nothing he could say to fix this. She felt dirty and betrayed. She knew she couldn't trust him anymore. They yelled at each other, she threw some of his clothes in a suitcase and slammed him out of her life. Katie was here to pick up the pieces of her broken heart, as usual, but the wound was still open.

“I really have a thing to pick the worst boyfriends ever. It's a gift.” She commented sarcastically, finishing her third glass of mojito.

“Thank you very much...” Misha replied looking at his laps, almost vexed.

Lily slammed a hand on her mouth and laughed, realizing her mistake.

“God I'm sorry, it's the alcohol... Excluding you of course.”

Misha suddenly had doubts, remembering their time together. It wasn't a picnic every day and they had some issues like every couple, especially because they were still young and had such different families and backgrounds, but he thought they were good together... They always were so confident about their feelings for each other, probably because they started as very good friends when they were just kids, so the base of their relationship was already strong. But what if he was a jerk and didn't even know it? What if she thought he was lame and never told him because she realized it after she dated other guys?

“Would you tell me? I mean... If I was a bad boyfriend...”

Now that was ridiculous. Lily gave him a soft smile, realizing he may seem strong and confident today, but he obviously still had some trust issues. Overthinking was his specialty when he was young, and it got him in trouble a few times.

Lily had never dated someone like Misha ever again though. She didn’t know what it was exactly, but he had something special that she never was able to find again in any other men.

Her mind wandered and she suddenly remembered her sixteenth birthday.

******************************************

June 9th 1990 – Northfield CT.

“Happy birthday.” Misha said, kissing her lips softly.

There were cuddling on her queen size canopy bed, it was late on a sunny and warm Sunday afternoon.

Lily had the larger room of the farm, situated in the tower's attic. The ceiling was high, which allowed her to suspend white veils to make a canopy above her bed, with a lot of lights. It was a bit kitschy, but she always wanted it and she hated being in the dark, so the little lights were always on, floating above her bed like fireflies. On the wall, just above her pillows, she hung the dream-catcher her grandfather made for her when she was little.

She had turned sixteen today, and she couldn't be happier, her heart exploding with all the love she felt for the guy next to her.

“Thank you.”

She kissed him back, letting her hand travel up along his bare arm to grip on his blond hair. She deepened the kiss and pushed her tongue through his lips, exploring his mouth hungrily.

She couldn't get enough of him, she needed to feel him love her again. She hooked one leg around his waist and started grinding her hips against his thigh. She heard him grunt inside her mouth, and he broke the kiss, staying only inches from her lips, breathing her air.

“You really do know how to drive me crazy, don't you?”

“Shut... up.” she laid a quick peck on his luscious lips between the two words and reached for his waistband, trying to unzip his jeans.

He grabbed her wrists and pinned them above her head, on her pillow, making her gasp from excitement.

“God, Lily, you're getting good at that... But as much as I want this too right now, we need to go.”

She whined, desperately swaying her body under his.

“Please Misha... Let's just say it's my birthday present.”

He kissed her lips quickly once more.

“You can have that present later. Promise. I have something to show you first.” He let her wrists go.

That picked her curiosity for sure.

“What is it?”

“Well... your actual birthday present. Follow me.”

He grabbed her hand and they climbed down the tower stairs, rushing outside.

“Moooom! Lily and Misha are leaving!!!” They heard Ryan whining from the kitchen.

They stopped in their track and turned around to face him.

“You little weasel!” Lily spat to her little brother, squinting her eyes.

Mary went to check outside, an open recipe book in her hand and flour all over her apron.

“Where are you two going?” she softly asked her daughter.

“I wish I could tell you, mom, but apparently it's a surprise.”

Mary observed Misha suspiciously when Rebecca’s head popped behind her shoulder.

“I asked Misha to go get some strawberries for the pie; they're just going in the orchard. They won't be long.” She winked at Lily who tried her best to stay serious.

“Alright... Birthday dinner in an hour. I cooked, so don't be late.”

“Sure! Thanks mom!”

She could always count on Rebecca to ease the situation. She was such a cool and understanding mom, always taking Lily’s side when it came to flirting with her son. Mary wasn’t against the idea of them flirting, but she was far from imagining what was actually going on between them. She would be pissed if she knew they had a more mature relationship. Mary was born in a very religious family, praising no sex before marriage… If she knew that Misha was sneaking into Lily’s room every night, she probably would lock her daughter for the rest of her life.

Misha started running again, pulling Lily with him by the hand. They ran all across the domain until they reached the pond. Lily was out of breath, she hated running.

“A heart attack? That's your birthday present?”

Misha laughed softly.

“Running is good for health, you'll thank me later.”

“I sure will...” she raised a meaningful eyebrow.

“Your present is on the willow tree. Find it.”

Lily glanced at Misha and went to scan the tree, still out of breath, and saw nothing. How was she supposed to see something on such a huge tree among all those leaves anyway?

“Okay... You lost me. I can't see anything unusual.”

“You have to look at the back of the trunk, you lazy ass!”

She frowned and walked behind the tree, and she stopped dead when she saw the words 'Will you marry me?' carved in the trunk.

Misha walked towards her, leaned against the tree and took her hand. She didn’t know what to say, or how to react. Her mouth was just hanging open but no words could escape.

“I literally have nothing to offer, I can't even give you a nice ring, but I love you, I have plans, and I'd love to share them with you forever, if you want to.”

She was speechless, she didn't expect that a second. They'd never talked about such a huge commitment. Misha was moving a lot with his family, so she never thought he was the kind of guy to think about marriage, especially so early.

She didn't care about all the things he could buy her or not, she loved him too and that was enough for her. He knew how to make her happy and that was the most important thing. Nothing could ever change that, and she suddenly thought about how perfect life would be if they could be together forever.

“I… I didn’t expect that.”

“I know… Last time I left with mom and Sasha was torture, and I surprised myself thinking about a life where I wouldn’t have to leave you constantly. That’s when I understood what I had to do.”

She looked at him with shiny eyes, deeply touched by the fact that he felt the same as she did. She hated being away from him too, she felt incomplete when he was far.

When Misha saw she wasn’t saying anything, he started doubting about his idea, thinking that maybe it was too much for her, but he didn’t show his fear. It felt so perfect in his mind that he never thought she could actually not say yes…

“Misha… we’re sixteen.”

“Yes, I know how old we are, thank you. I’m not saying we should do it right now. I just want to know if the idea of spending our life together is as mush appealing to you as it is to me. We can wait after we graduate from college and have a job, but I want to make sure you won’t just… go away from me.”

But what if she wanted someone better? What if she wanted a rich man who could take care of her and offer anything she wanted? What if she was ashamed of being with someone like him?

His hand started to moisten so he suddenly let go of hers.

“I… I will understand if you don’t want to.”

He looked down at his feet and her heart broke a little when she realized he was scared because of her hesitation.

“My mom is going to have a heart attack...”

She pressed her hand on her mouth, giggled, and a single tear fell from her eye.

Misha looked up and his face lightened when he saw the happy expression on her face.

He chuckled, relieved to see she was starting to consider the idea, and amused because she was definitely right about her mother.

“Is that a yes?”

She threw her arms around him and kissed him tenderly.

“Yes.”

*************************************************

Lily looked at Misha and had trouble realizing that the man facing her was the same that proposed to her twenty two years ago. How fragile life can be… who would’ve thought they would be here today? They were supposed to spend their life together, and now they were basically total strangers.

“You were not a bad boyfriend, Misha, I swear. I wouldn't have said yes if you were.”

She remembered that day, near the willow tree, and her heart clenched. They were still facing each other on the sofa.

He smiled, remembering too, his chest constricting when he thought he married someone else and she didn’t even know yet.

“I hope so.”

They never had the occasion to tell anyone about their plan to get married, they were torn apart a couple weeks later, and now that she thought about it, it was probably a good thing. Her mother would have definitely had a heart attack. She knew about them dating because she surprised them kissing one day, and she was smart enough to notice when two people were in love, but she didn't know much more, and Lily doubted she was ready to hear it.

They didn't plan anything, they were way too young, but when they used to talk about it, they always used to say they would get married after college. Misha wanted to go to law school first, and start a political career “to change a few things in the world”, and Lily wanted to be a professional dancer at that point. They both chose another direction after all.

“Do you know someone burnt your carved proposal in the willow tree?” She remembered last weekend when she broke down crying at the pond.

“I know... I did it.” Misha looked down at his feet, almost ashamed of himself.

“What? Why?”

“I used to go back there every year, on June 30th, like an anniversary if you want. I used to go to the cemetery to your family’s grave, and then at the farm.”

Once again, Lily thought fate was a bitch. If they had carved each family member’s first names on that grave, he would’ve seen her name wasn’t on it, and he would probably have kept searching for her.

“I did that for five years. The fifth year, I went there after I graduated, and I remembered we used to say we would get married around that time, and I totally lost it. I went to the tree and I was so mad that I wanted to tear it down, but of course it was impossible… so I just burnt the carving with my tiny lighter. It took forever and I burnt my fingers a few times, plus that was stupid because I was already dating Vicki, but I just wanted to make it disappear. I never went back in Northfield after that.”

“Vicki?” She tilted her head.

Damn it! Well done Misha.

He hadn't plan to drop it just like that. Why was he feeling so bad about this? He had nothing to feel guilty about, he thought she was dead, he had to move on, right? She did the same after all.

He couldn't take it back though, it was time to tell her, so he just admitted it directly.

“She's my wife... I'm married.”

Oh.

She straightened a little on the sofa and put her feet on it, folded her legs and hugged her knees, but she stayed quiet and her expressionless face was making him feel even more uncomfortable.

She expected him to have a girlfriend or something, but she couldn't deny the tiny sting she felt in her chest at that moment. It wasn't jealousy or anything, she did not have those feelings for him anymore, but she was just … surprised, she guessed.

Since she still wasn’t saying anything, Misha decided he would drop the last part too, at least she would know everything after that and his conscience would be clean.

“We have two kids.”

Damn... How come it never crossed her mind that he could be a father too? That’s what normal people do, right? Probably because she never had children herself.

She played it cool, she actually was a bit curious about this.

“Oh... How old are they?”

“West is two and a half and Maison is eight months old.”

She was a bit startled, but she thought he must be a great father. He never really had his father around and she knew it was something that made him sad, so she supposed he was doing everything to avoid this situation with his own children.

“West and Mason...” She tested the names.

“Yes... Maison spelled like... the French word for home.”

She smiled weakly.

“That's poetic. I like it! How long have you been married? How did you meet her?”

Come on Lily you sound like it's an examination!

“It's been almost twelve years. We umm... we met in high-school.”

Wait... what?

Misha was with HER when he was in high-school, how was that possible? Was Vicki someone who went to school with them? Was he cheating on her too???

“In high-school? Do I know her?” she asked innocently, trying to hide her discomfort.

“No, you don't. We moved to another state after we found out you were all gone. I met her in my senior high-school year.”

Oh right, they didn't finished high-school when it happened.

“Ah.” That was actually a relief. She couldn't really picture him with any of her old female classmate.

There was still something bothering her though...

“So you started dating her in high-school?”

That was a little... upsetting. Lily wondered how he could have been so fast to move on. It took her years to be able to start a new serious relationship. Maybe she was just a pathetic romantic woman and thought their relationship meant more than it actually did.

“Not as soon as I met her. But yeah... I found her... intriguing. You'll probably understand when you meet her.” He laughed and kept looking nervously at his fingers. He still didn’t know why, and it was stupid, but he felt like he had to justify himself.

“I was honest with her, I told her about you and she understood. And I knew I needed to move on so... By the end of the year we were dating.” He looked at Lily, hoping that he didn't sound like a total jerk, but was soon relieved when he saw her smile.

“Do you have pictures? You can't just throw a bomb like that and not show me.”

He scoffed and reached for his phone in his pocket, searched for a picture where they were all three on it and handed her his phone.

“God, your son is super cute!” He saw her smile widening and knew she was sincere.

“Of course he is, he looks like his dad!”

She handed his phone back.

“Where are they right now?”

“Vancouver.”

“Why didn't you bring them with you?”

“Because I needed to do this alone... I needed to be sure everything was fine before involving them.”

“Everything is perfectly fine with me at least.”

He didn't say anything for a few seconds; he just frowned and looked at his knees absentmindedly. Something was obviously bothering him.

“Isn't it fine with you?” She pressed, suddenly a bit worried.

Still nothing... He looked at her like he wanted to say something but couldn't find the right words, and that made her worry even more.

“Misha, what is it?”

“Did I mess this up?”

Uh?

“Did I move too early and missed the occasion to be with you like we planned to? You came back to the farm and I could’ve been here but I left… again.”

Lily fidgeted uncomfortably on the sofa. That was a weird question; he wasn’t supposed to feel guilty for anything, especially not because he moved on and found happiness!

“No! Misha no... It was just… fate, I guess? I left for France right after they were done with me at the hospital. You couldn't have crossed my way. The moment they told us no one survived was the end, we only got back to the farm like... two minutes at the end of the main road, just to say goodbye, and then I stayed in France for twelve years.”

He tilted his head and smirked.

“You lived in Europe?”

“Yep. Grandma had a good friend in Nice and she decided to move there because it was just too hard for her and for me to stay in Northfield among the memories of our lost family. She knew I needed to start over or I would lose my mind. She needed it too.”

“So, you... speak French?”

“Oui Monsieur... Et couramment s'il vous plaît!” she winked.

“Holy shit that's kinda sexy! I didn't know! You ate baguettes and stinky cheese and you kissed people to say hello for twelve fucking years?”

She burst out laughing.

“You have no idea how scared I was the first time someone kissed me like that... Like, ew what do you want? Get the hell away from me!”

“I wanna know everything. I'm serious.” Misha pointed his index finger at her.

They spent almost the whole night sitting on the sofa, talking about their lives.

Lily was so happy he made things so easy. It didn't feel awkward at all, it was like seeing an old friend after a few weeks being apart, not twenty-two years!

She talked about her experience in France, they laughed a lot at all the silly things that happened to her there because of culture shock. She explained how she met Katie, how they became like sisters, how they fought to be the best at what they did to be able to work at the Seattle Symphony today. Then she told him a bit about her job.

Misha talked about how he ended up being an actor, and about his family.

They exchanged pictures, they laughed, they cried, and it felt good. It felt like home again.

Misha left at 5.30 am, exhausted but satisfied and happy. He couldn't stay longer; he had a convention to attend on the weekend. He promised to call her, Lily thanked him, they hugged and it was done.

They still had a lot to learn about each other, they couldn't catch up on two decades in one night, but they were both happy to have found each other back. That night, when Lily went to bed, she felt complete again.