#an excuse to try my new pens yes the sticky notes are to cover a mistake but also half a style choice

[fefnepz]

Day 97

[and-it-freezes-me]

Little Red Lies - Chapter 1

Or, AUgust 2021 Day 10 - Fake Dating

{Next}

Words: 5,439

[Booked tckts yet? virge wants 2 check u still need 2 places 4 reception dinner]

Trash Rat 22:57

[cant w8 2 meet ur new ~date~]

Trash Rat 22:58

Roman stared at the messages for several long seconds, then groaned.

[Of course I booked tickets. Yes I still need the +1 seat.]

Roman 23:04

[cant believe u havent even sent a pic or yk a name]

Trash Rat 23:06

[no shame if ur still </3 ovr remy]

Trash Rat 23:06

[even tho its been 2 yrs now]

Trash Rat 23:07

[Of course I’m over remy. You’ll meet my boyfriend when we get there. He’s shy.]

Roman 23:07

Roman seriously considered throwing his phone across the room and booking a plane ticket to Alaska rather than Manhattan. That way, he wouldn’t have to go to his brother’s wedding and admit that he was most definitely single and most definitely not over his ex boyfriend (of seventeen months - two years was an unfair exaggeration).

[u kno virge h8s not knowing whos coming to his wedding right]

Trash Rat 23:10

[I know, I know, I’ll apologise as soon as we get there. He’ll be first to meet my bf, promise.]

Roman 23:11

[book ur fuckin plane tckts ro, I know u didnt do it yet]

Trash Rat 23:11

Roman threw his phone across the room.

It bounced off of his Heathers poster and landed on his desk, which was covered in scripts, textbooks, empty takeout containers, balled up bits of paper, crumpled drinks cans, and pens, and Roman buried his face in his pillow and groaned.

Ten months ago, Roman’s sister had flown down to Los Angeles, dragged Roman out of bed and announced that he was actually Roman’s brother. Almost sooner than Roman had been able to take this in stride, Virgil had added that he was marrying his boyfriend in December and would Roman mind being one of his groomsmen? While Roman was still reeling from the bombshell that was the fact that their gremlin of an elder brother Remus was Virgil’s best man, Virgil had leaned forward and asked if Roman was doing alright because he couldn’t help but notice that his dorm room resembled ‘the result of an explosive going off in a pigsty’.

Roman had blinked dumbly at him, nodded, and then started pressing for details about Virgil’s wedding. Eventually, his brother had promised that he’d get Patton, his fiance, to call Roman to discuss every detail, from location to napkin frills, and Roman felt that he had managed to avoid the topic of how he was doing.

When he and Remy had first broken up, midway through last July, Roman had gone to pieces. He had spent the end of the summer holiday between his first and second years locked in his room and listening to the same few songs on loop until Virgil, who was three years older and had been packing his things to move into his new apartment, had put his fist through the wall between their rooms. Then Roman had put his headphones on. It wasn’t Virgil’s fault that he was too uncivilised to appreciate the wonders of ‘Michael In The Bathroom’, ‘Someone You Loved’, or ‘Impossible’, after all.

Then Roman had gone back to university, where he had tried to drown himself in reading for his degree, and instead ended up sleeping through lectures after all-night crying sessions. He had tried to submerge himself in his essays and instead ended up daydreaming about his ex-boyfriend in study sessions. He had tried to get involved in theatre productions, but every audition had gone sour, and he often ended up thinking about the few times he and Remy had met up over the previous year rather than learning his lines.

Everyone had said that long distance relationships would be hard, but Roman, the romantic fool that he was, had insisted that they could do it.

They couldn’t.

Eight months ago, nine months after the two of them had broken up, two months after Virgil had announced his wedding plans, Remus and his partner had flown into Los Angeles and tried to stage an intervention. This had involved Remus trying to seduce the campus security guard and almost getting reported to the police (Roman had always insisted that his mustache only made him look sketchy), followed by Janus sneaking past the pair of them and into the building. Remus had somehow managed to join him moments later, and the two of them had somehow made their way up to Roman’s floor without alerting anyone else of their presence.

Roman had been woken by a furious hammering at his bedroom door at a little after four in the morning, and had to wade through a mess of papers and laundry to find that the two of them had knocked on every single door on his corridor, unable to remember which was his. He had not been popular with his dormmates the next day.

Their intervention had involved sitting on Roman’s bed and sharing the leftover pizza that had been on Roman’s desk for the last three days, and telling him to wash the dirty clothes all over his floor. Then they had tried to persuade him to accompany them to a bar to hook him up with somebody, and Roman had quickly concluded that the pair was somewhat drunk.

He had vehemently refused, and when Janus had eventually rolled onto his back, dark hair dangling off the edge of the bed and onto the sticky patch of carpet that Roman had spilled soda on three weeks ago, he practically whined that Roman was being very difficult when all they were doing was trying to help him.

“Trying to help me? You’ve disturbed the people I live with at fuck-o’clock in the morning! I have class tomorrow!” Roman was sat at his desk chair, trying very hard to ignore the stack of textbooks he was supposed to have read and hadn’t.

Remus rested a hand on Janus�� hip to stop him from rolling off the bed, and raised a lazy eyebrow at him. “Cut the bullshit, little bro. We all know you haven’t been to class in… How long, Jan?”

“Two months, three weeks, and four days,” Janus sing-songed.

“How the fuck do you know that?” It sounded about right, anyway, and Roman had a feeling that if he denied it this would just take even longer. He spun around in his chair and picked up a pen from his desk. “It’s my business if I don’t go to class.”

“Called my sister. Jannie takes all your classes, you know…” There was the sound of shifting fabric, and when Roman glanced back, Janus was sitting up and tucked under Remus’ arm again, looking very much as though Remus had just placed him there.

“You’re right, Ro. It’s not my business if you’re not going to class.” One of Remus’ hands trailed slowly up and down Janus’ arm, so casually Roman could almost believe that his brother didn’t realise he was doing it. “But it is my business that my little brother isn’t taking care of himself anymore. You haven’t answered my calls since before winter break. You obviously haven’t been eating healthily - this pizza tastes like you fished it out of the garbage, by the way, and I would know - and you look as though you haven’t seen the sunlight since last July.”

The assessment wasn’t quite fair. Roman might have been skipping classes, but it wasn’t as though he had just been lying in his room and wasting away! “I went to the gym last week. And I auditioned for the musical in March. I’m fine, Remus! Can I go to bed now?”

“No! We’re going to a club!”

Janus had nodded enthusiastically at Remus’ words, then rested his head on his partner’s shoulder as Roman shook his head slowly. “I don’t want to go to a club. I want to go to bed. I have class tomorrow.”

“Nope.” Remus’ hand rose to tangle absently in Janus’ hair. “We’re going to a club, and you’re gonna find some hottie to fuck all the yearning for Remy right out of you. Then you’ll feel much better!”

“You’re pulling my ha-”

“Fuck no. We’re not doing that.” Roman pressed his palms into his eyes, then stood up and jerked his door open. “Can you go now?”

“Give me one good reason why you getting laid is a bad thing right now, Ro, and we’ll leave.” Roman had gotten as far as opening his mouth before Remus interrupted. “See? You can’t. You need to move on, man. Clinging to Remy is clearly unh-”

“I have a boyfriend.”

“-ealthy, and- What?”

Maybe it was because it was four in the morning. Maybe it was because Roman hadn’t been sleeping well anyway, and Remus had managed to step on the last of his fraying nerves. Maybe it was just because he wished it was true.

“I have a boyfriend,” Roman repeated, and felt a strange sense of satisfaction at the obvious shock on Janus’ usually impassive face. “Three months. Met just after term started. It’s pretty serious, actually.”

“Bullshit.” Remus looked half impressed.

Now it was irritation that flickered through Roman. Was it really so unbelievable that he could have found somebody else? “It’s not.”

“You fucked yet?”

“Remus…” There was a warning note in Janus’ voice, and Remus sighed.

“None of my business. Got it. Do we get to meet him?”

“He’s shy.”

“Which is another way of saying he doesn’t exist.”

“Asshole. It’s another way of saying that it’s four in the fucking morning and he’s asleep. You’ll meet him at the wedding, anyway - I’m going to ask him to be my plus one when Patton sends out the RSVP date.” The words had been out of his mouth before he had had time to regret them, and Roman had spent the last eight months trying to sidestep questions about his non-existent boyfriend.

He had later found out that Remus and Janus hadn’t really come down to see him. They had gone to Los Angeles to celebrate their two year wedding anniversary and decided they might drop in while in the area. (Just because they had eloped rather than holding a big party, Janus had commented idly, didn’t mean they couldn’t celebrate it).

But now it was December, and Roman was partner-less and running out of excuses. His lie had gotten out of control, and he had ended up asking Patton and Virgil to include his partner in the guest numbers. He had invented dates they had been on for his mother when she had asked, and he insisted that his boyfriend was shy and had practically no internet presence anyway, so knowing his name wouldn’t help anybody.

He could just say that the two of them had broken up and go home alone, of course.

But that would mean disrupting the meticulous wedding seating plan Virgil and Patton had been making for months.

Besides, Roman was fairly certain that nobody in his family really believed in his mystery boyfriend, and failure to produce one after months of insisting that they would meet… Well, he didn’t want to open himself to that sort of ridicule.

Of course, it didn’t look as though he had much choice.

He hadn’t managed to make many friends at college.

In his first year, Roman had spent a lot of time trying to keep on top of his schoolwork and working toward the various theatre productions the school had put on; all of his free time he had spent planning dates for when he and Remy finally visited one another, or else video calling his boyfriend. There simply hadn’t been time to make many friends during that.

His second year… Well, Remus had been right. He had spent most of his time in his room, eating junk food, watching sappy romance films, and missing Remy.

So far, he had spent his third year trying to bring his grades back up to something more respectable… And missing Remy.

He knew it was pathetic. It had been almost a year and a half since they had broken up, and he still missed being able to call someone to talk about nothing at all at two in the morning, missed planning extravagant dates, missed the feel of hands in his hair and lips on his.

At least his floor was cleaner than it had been last year. And he had eaten slightly less fast food this semester than the previous one.

Roman’s phone chimed again. With a frustrated groan, he made his way over to his desk.

[Looking forward to seeing you on Monday!!! <3 <3 <3 !!!]

Pops 23:25

Patton.

[Me too, Padre! I’ll bring some of that fudge from the shop you love!]

Roman 23:26

[eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee <33333333 Can you get some of the currents+salt? Vee loved it last time + I want to surprise him]

Pops 23:26

[Will do. Looking forward to seeing you too!]

Roman 23:27

Patton would probably be the most understanding if Roman decided to come clean about his lying - but Patton was the worst secret keeper Roman had ever met. He and Virgil had been dating for almost three years, and in that time the thin voice actor had managed to spill every single plot twist in every single show he had watched or acted in. Roman had no doubt that Virgil would know that he was bringing home fudge within the next hour. If he admitted to Patton that he had been lying about having a date for the wedding, Roman would get Patton’s kind - if confused - reassurances, and half an hour later he would get the mixture of mockery and horrible pity that would come with the rest of his family finding out that he still wasn’t over Remy.

Roman let his phone slip through his fingers and land on his desk once more. Three days, and then he’d have to come clean - until then, he could just avoid thinking about it. Collecting the overflowing basket from the corner of the room (he had been putting off doing laundry for a while now), Roman left his room and headed toward the building’s basement laundry room. Term had finished last week and it was almost midnight - he doubted anybody would be down there now. Most people had probably already gone home, or were making the most of the free time to go out rather than spend it doing chores.

The light was off in the basement when he got there, so Roman left it that way as he loaded his clothing into one of the machines.

Moving around in the dark was far more of a Virgil move than a Roman one, but he couldn’t help himself. There was something comforting about the-

“Sweet fucking Shakespeare!” Roman’s hand flew up to cover his eyes as light burst through the small room, quickly followed by the strong smell of coffee.

“Sorry! I was unaware that there would be anybody in here.” As Roman dropped his hand, blinking owlishly in the sudden light, the newcomer made his way over to the machine on the far side of the room from him. “Most people prefer not to fumble around in the dark.”

Remus or Remy would have made some comment about how fumbling around in the dark could be quite fun really. Roman just shrugged. “It’s been a long day.”

He had expected the other man to say something; instead, silence fell over the room, broken only by the sound of the powder tray being opened, filled, and closed again.

Roman didn’t mean to stare, but he couldn’t help it. He had seen the person in the room next to him only twice so far this term, and only knew his name because the mailroom was organised by room number rather than alphabetically, and the name Roman Prince was right next to Logan Ursa.

Logan looked more tired than he had on either of the other times Roman had seen him. There were deep bags under his eyes, the shadows almost deeper than Virgil’s had been at the height of his eyeliner experiments, and the black ponytail that hung halfway to his waist was missing, replaced with what could only be described as a thicket of tangled hair. It looked as though he had been outside even less than Roman had in the past few months: his skin was so pale it seemed to glow under the fluorescent laundry-room lights. There was a steaming mug and a thick book on the lid of the machine beside him, and Roman had the strong feeling that it wasn’t the first coffee Logan had had that evening.

The washing machine Logan had been loading began to rumble, and as the other student straightened up and picked up his book, Roman made himself duck back down to finish his own task.

He’d have to come back to collect his clothing later - Roman suddenly regretted deciding to get this done now, when it meant he would have to return at almost two in the morning, but there wasn’t much he could do about it now.

“Do you want me to leave the light on?” He was more trying to make conversation than anything else: Logan was perched on one of the machines in the corner, nose already buried in what Roman could now see was a heavy medical textbook.

“Obviously.” 

Yeah, he probably should have guessed that.

-

Logan was still in the laundry room when Roman returned to collect his clothing two hours later. He was still sat on the same machine, although now he was speaking into his phone in what sounded like rapid Italian. (It definitely wasn’t Spanish: Roman was almost fluent in Spanish). (The languages were similar, but although he could guess at a few words, he had no idea what was going on). (Not that he was eavesdropping, of course). Logan’s hair was even messier than it had been before, and out of the corner of his eye Roman caught him jerking his free hand through it once or twice.

Roman pulled his now-warm and dry clothing from the machine and dumped it into his laundry basket, doing his best to ignore the way Logan was practically shouting behind him, but couldn’t stop himself from startling at the wordless, frustrated yell that came from the taller man a few minutes later. He was halfway to the door, but paused and glanced at Logan, who was stuffing his phone angrily into the oversized hoodie he was wearing.

“Everything okay over there?”

“Family stuff,” came the snappish response. Roman watched for a few seconds as Logan knelt in front of his own machine and began jerking clothing from it, folding pants as though he wished he were ripping them to pieces instead, then throwing several dark shirts over his shoulder and stalking over to one of the ironing stations.

“Pretty loud family stuff,” Roman commented, then wondered why he was bothering. It had been clear from his first meeting with Logan that the other student wasn’t there to make friends: Roman had been carrying a large cardboard box into his room the day he had moved in, and bumped into him in the hallway. Logan had looked him up and down, said something like, “Keep the volume down. I’m here to work,” and marched past him as though Roman were no more interesting than a hat stand.

Sure enough, Logan didn’t turn to face him, instead ironing a shirt in a manner that strongly hinted that he wanted to make it beg for mercy. “None of your business family stuff.”

“Are you-”

“None. Of your. Business.” This time, Logan actually did glance over his shoulder, and fixed Roman with a scowl that suggested that if he didn’t drop it, his face was going to be the next thing under the iron.

Roman left quickly. He had done his best to be friendly, and if Logan wasn’t interested, that was his problem. He didn’t seem like the sort of person Roman would really want to be friends with anyway.

Logan’s haggard expression lingered in his mind as he made his way back up to his dorm room and began stuffing his now-clean clothes into his wardrobe. He should probably start packing - his suitcase was sitting open and empty against one wall - but he had plenty of time.

Besides, he was exhausted.

Roman had changed into a pair of sweatpants and gotten into bed by the time he heard the door to the room next to his slam shut. Clearly, Logan was still annoyed by whatever ‘family stuff’ had had him first yelling into his phone and then taking his frustration out on his laundry and somebody trying to be friendly.

How long could Logan hold a grudge? Was he the kind of person who would calm down after a couple of hours of sleep, or would whatever he had been arguing about be hanging over him for the next week or so? That would make the winter break uncomfortable…

Or maybe he wasn’t going home. He had looked pretty invested in the textbook he had been studying earlier, despite it being almost midnight and no longer termtime. Maybe Logan was going to stay in the dorms over the winter break and use the hours without lectures for private study.

That sounded like a lonely way to spend the next three weeks.

The idea struck Roman suddenly, and he sat bolt upright in bed, the kind of elation that only comes with golden inspiration coursing through him. He would persuade Logan to come back home with him for the holidays! If Janus took it to mind to ask Janine about him, she’d be able to verify that Logan didn’t socialise much; all he would have to do would be show up briefly for the wedding, and he could spend the remainder of the holiday studying all he wanted, away from ‘family stuff’!

He would ask Logan the following morning, and when he agreed, Roman would book the plane tickets home - he’d pay, of course. Or rather, he’d use the money his mother had sent him so that he could bring his fictional boyfriend home. Either way, Logan wouldn’t have to spend any money himself!

Laying back down, Roman pulled his thin blanket back up to his neck and rolled onto his side, satisfaction warming him more thoroughly than any hot drink could.

This was the best idea he’d ever had.

-

“That is the worst idea I have ever heard.” Logan glanced into the hallway over Roman’s shoulder as though expecting an audience for a practical joke. “I cannot believe you have wasted my time listening to you.”

“Is… That a maybe?” Roman tilted his head and gave Logan his best puppy eyes.

Alas, Logan’s heart must have been made of stone. “No.” He made to slam the door.

Well, Roman couldn’t have that. It had been difficult enough to get Logan to even open the door in the first place, and harder still to get him to listen beyond the initial “I need you to do me a huge favour, okay, but it works out for you too.” In hindsight, maybe he shouldn’t have led with that. But then he had explained, and for some reason Logan was still trying to close the door on him.

“Ow!”

“That was entirely your fault.”

“You just slammed the door on my foot!”

“You did put your foot there after I had begun closing the door. My point stands.”

Technically, Logan was correct, but Roman wasn’t there to quibble over technicalities. “You got the part where I’d pay for your flights, right? All you have to do is show up for one day in something resembling formalwear, and in return you get rent free accommodation and food all holiday! Plus company!”

“I have too much to do to pretend to be your boyfriend for three weeks for no reason. Find somebody else.” Logan made to close the door again, and this time Roman caught it with his hand.

“There is nobody else!” Roman was aware that he was beginning to sound desperate. “You’re like, the only person I know!”

“That sounds like your personal problem, not mine.” Several strands of hair had fallen from the impressive tangle around Logan’s ears and into his face, and he blew them out of the way. His breath smelled like coffee - bitter coffee. Roman wrinkled his nose. “Let go of my door.”

“Come on, Logan! What else are you going to be doing this holiday?”

“Studying! I have exams to pass!”

“You can study at my place. You won’t have to pay holiday rent there!”

“I won’t have to pay holiday rent if I go to my mom’s place, either! Let go of my door!”

Roman finally pulled his aching foot out of the way, but didn’t remove his hand from the wood. “You don’t want to go back to your mom’s place, though, do you? The phonecall -”

The glare that Logan sent him could have frozen the insides of a volcano, and his voice was suddenly cold enough to make Roman shiver. “Good day, Roman.” This time, Roman jerked his hand out of the way, and the door snapped shut in his face.

Shit. Maybe he shouldn’t have tried to use Logan’s ‘family stuff’ against him. He made a note of that for future reference, then hammered against the door again.

“Please, Logan!”

Silence.

“I’ll be forever in your debt!”

More silence. Maybe Logan would prefer something a little more extravagant?

“I’ll sing of your virtues from the rooftop every night for the rest of the year!”

Nothing.

Okay, maybe that had been a little much. Logan had made it clear that he was there to work and didn’t want to be disturbed in his caffeine fueled study crusades, so something excessive was possibly the wrong way to persuade him to do this.

Oh-

“I’ll pay for your coffee for the rest of the year?”

Roman held his breath and waited.

And waited.

Just when he thought that he had been wrong and that Logan really wasn’t going to be persuaded, the door opened the tiniest of amounts. Logan was still frowning at him, but some of the ice was gone from his expression.

“That’s your dealbreaker? Coffee?”

“I drink a lot of coffee.” A slight deepening in the crease between Logan’s eyes told Roman not to push the subject. “You need a date to a wedding. In return, you pay for my flight there and back, provide accommodation for the duration of the winter vacation, and keep me supplied with coffee for the rest of the year.”

“Well, a wedding, the reception, any pre-wedding parties, and keeping up the act while we’re around other people,” Roman corrected, counting on his fingers. From the irritated twitch of Logan’s left eye, he got the feeling that he hadn’t mentioned the reception or the potential stag night in his initial pitch.

“Blue Moon or Red Planet.”

“What?”

“The coffee. I like Blue Moon or Red Planet coffee. They’re more expensive, so I don’t expect them every time - maybe a ratio of three regular jars to one nice jar.”

Roman blinked. “Uh… Okay.”

Logan nodded once. More hair fell over his eyes. “I’ll draw up a schedule and provide you with estimated projections of my coffee habits for the rest of the year so you can budget accordingly. When do we leave?”

“Um… Monday.” Still reeling from Logan’s sudden and complete 180, Roman cast around for something to say, but the long haired man got there first.

“Monday. That gives us approximately two and a half days to draw boundaries and fabricate enough pictures and stories to give our deceit credibility.” Logan closed his eyes, and Roman realised that he was staring again. He hadn’t expected the other to take this in stride so quickly. “Given that I have work to finish today and you will likely need several hours on Sunday evening to pack… Have you told your family how long we have been romantically involved?”

“Uh, since January. But I told them you were shy, so we don’t have to have any pictures or anything - we can say that all our dates were just pizza and Netflix, and…” He tailed off at the incredulous look on Logan’s face. “What?”

“You expect them to believe that we have been dating for eleven months and you haven’t taken a single photo? Roman, I have listened to you belting the lyrics of more break-up songs than I care to count.” Roman shrugged, and Logan rolled his eyes. “You are quite clearly a romantic. Had we really been dating, the number of pictures you would have taken on whatever extravagance you planned for our six-month anniversary alone would be infinitesimal.”

He had a point.

Roman had already stretched his family’s belief in him to breaking point (and probably well past it) by refusing to share even the smallest thing about his ‘boyfriend’ over the past eleven months; if he didn’t get home on Monday with at least a couple of dozen photos to share, their charade would be over before it could ever really begin. “Right. You’re right. We’ll need to spend the weekend planning, doing a photoshoot - it’ll be fun!”

“You,” Logan started, already retreating, “obviously have a different definition of that word than I do. Eight thirty tomorrow morning, The Roost. Bring a notepad, your phone, and a couple of changes of clothing suitable for various weather conditions.”

“Eight thirty? A prince needs his beauty-”

“Eight thirty. We are going to do this properly.”

Roman’s phone was in his hand barely seconds after Logan’s door had closed (albeit more gently than before).

Groupchat: Princes and Co.

[Can’t wait for you to meet logan!]

Roman 09:58

[a name!!!!!!!!!!]

Trash Rat 09:59

[we have a name!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!]

Trash Rat 09:59

[such a nice name! can’t wait either, ro!]

Pops 10:01

[About time! I’ve been stalling on the place settings for weeks waiting for this name]

Emo Nightmare 10:02

[Was about to fly out to LA to strangle it out of you]

Emo Nightmare 10:04

[he was. i had to physically restrain him from doing so yesterday]

Padre 10:04

[bet u both enjoyed that ;);););););)]

Trash Rat 10:04

Several people are typing…

[Suck a dick, Remus]

Emo Nightmare 10:05

[we did, actually]

Pops 10:05

[would but janjans at work :((]

Trash Rat 10:06

[Didn’t want to know, didn’t need to know.]

Roman 10:06

[Pat!]

Emo Nightmare 10:06

[Logan Ursa??? 4th yr medic??? Coffee addict???]

Snake Eyes 10:06

Roman stared at his phone for a second. That was faster than he had expected.

[u knew????? jan u held out on me??? the luv of ur greyspec life???]

Trash Rat 10:07

[You told Janus?! I’m your brother! He’s not even related to you!]

Emo Nightmare 10:07

[No I didn’t tell Janus!]

Roman 10:07

[I’m omniscient.]

Snake Eyes 10:08

[Plus I just asked Jannie for a list of all the Logans you could have associated with.]

Snake Eyes 10:09

[You and your sister scare me]

Roman 10:11

[He has surprisingly little internet presence.]

Snake Eyes 10:11

[Told you. He’s shy]

Roman 10:12

Sliding his phone back into his pocket, Roman returned to his room and picked up his laptop, this time to actually book the tickets he was supposed to have booked weeks ago. He had no doubt that they would arrive on Monday to discover that his family had already unearthed everything there was to know about his fake boyfriend - should he break that news to Logan before or after they were on the plane? Making the man paranoid might make their weekend photoshoot a lot more difficult.

Their photoshoot! If Logan was really on board, Roman would have to make this as easy as possible for him - and the performance of a lifetime for himself. Given that he was expected to bring a notebook to their meeting tomorrow, they were going to have to do a lot of brainstorming, so he might as well start coming up with ideas now. He already had a few as he grabbed a notepad from the mess on the floor and started hunting for a pencil.

No matter what his fake date said, this weekend was going to be a lot of fun.

[jyunshiim]

𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐬; 𝙨𝙤 𝙡𝙤𝙨𝙩 *✬★*’☽* ✬ ⤷𝘒𝘪𝘩𝘺𝘶𝘯 𝘹 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘶

Genre → romance | angst | friends to acquaintances | friends to lovers | college!au |

Contains → fluff | angst | Kihyun x reader ft Changkyun

Listen to →  Compass

Word count → 4207 words

TW → –

Chapters → | Chapter 2 | 

Summary: Best friends since childhood, you and Kihyun had always been by each other’s side before things began to turn in a different direction on Prom night. From then, things changed when you both transferred to college/university. Bonds collapse, deception and fear; what will the future hold?

[ 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏 ]

９ ｙｅａｒｓ ａｇｏ． ． ．

You remembered your mother’s fingers tap against her arm as she leaned upon the ivory door frame of your best friends’ bedroom. “can I please stay a little longer, Kihyun and I haven’t even finished building the house yet,” you pleaded to your mother who had a smile painted across her face despite being tired from her job and taking care of you. “We have to go now, who will feed Kiwi?” She pretends to be concerned knowing it’ll lure you back home. “no, no I will feed Kiwi,” you immediately stand up and leave the little lego pieces on the floor. “I have to go and feed my cat now,” you from at a tiny Kihyun who sat distraught at the fact you were leaving him. The sky darkened and the nocturnal animals were ought to come out around now. “wave goodbye,” your mother nudges you gently and so you do, with a wide smile and your eyes full of hope.  

You and Kihyun met in daycare and ever since you became best friends. You did everything together and it went on into your senior years of school.

Moving on to further education, you and Kihyun attended the same schools including high school. High school was full of surprises and also many arguments too; friendships aren’t all as smooth as it seems. Kihyun waited at your locker after every lesson you had so you could both sit together with your other friends. Kihyun’s  5’7 slender physique leaned against the cool steel of the locker, his phone sitting in the curve of his hand, scrolling through what seems to be his text messages. He texted you around 3 minutes ago and huffed impatiently – he wasn’t the most patient person in the world - wondering where you were since your class finished exactly 3 minutes ago. The hallways were congested to the point where pushing pass was necessary. The scattered ‘excuse me’s and ‘sorry can I get past please’ were ever so repetitive but it got you through your high school experience up until now. You see Kihyun at your locker, his head resting against the steel.

“what took you so long?” his voice was fruity and oddly comforting to listen to. “my teacher wouldn’t shut up about our late assignments and was setting us more, I had no control over that,” you respond instantaneously as his arm draped around your shoulders. “right, I’ll give that to you,” he tuts and rolls his eyes playfully.

The pair of you ambled through the hallways towards the cafeteria and set your belongings down onto the round table and onto the chairs beside you to reserve them for your other friends since they were coming from the other side of the school. “Jooheon and Changkyun take so long to get here, I’m going to get food, do you want anything?” he asks you waiting to respond. “oh umm- yeah maybe like a sandwich or something?” you suggest. “That’s not enough, I’m buying you a meal,” he informed politely. – of course he’ll buy you a meal –

Jooheon and Changkyun finally make their way to the table where you sat, keeping it occupied so no one else sat there. “Yo where did Kihyun go?” Jooheon asks as he gets out a Kimbap roll from his bag and rips open the packet. You point at the queue where Kihyun was and notice a girl being pushed closer to him by her friends. “There they go again,” Changkyun sighs, “Let me go and help him.” Changkyun always knew these girls will throw themselves at whatever guy they would want to get their attention from and Kihyun hated it.

“o-oh sorry, I’ll keep moving forward,” He apologises to the girls knowing what they were doing. “It’s okay Kihyunnie,” the girl purred; Kihyun could swear he just threw up in his mouth. He ignored her until Changkyun came to save the day. “Kihyun how you doing?” his American accent ringing through the cafeteria. “Ah yes, the English card,” Jooheon nods whilst munching his roll. “Oh is this for me? Thanks, I’ll pay,” Changkyun says as he swipes his card and takes both trays with him and places it on the table. The girls look shaken behind them but in return Changkyun flashes a smug smile before seating himself next to you. “I hate them, they think they can do anything to get what they want,” Changkyun sighs, “you bought bought her lunch again but not for me, how sad,” He tuts, “ you need to pay me back since I paid for it actually so next ones on you alright?” he jokes with Kihyun before sliding the tray in front of you. “Thank you but you didn’t have to,” you pick up the cutlery that was on the tray. The girls walk past, their face painted with disgust whispering something to one another. Was it about you? The 4 of you sat together and talked about your lessons and gossiped about your teachers and also talked about that group of girls who have become an infection to your school. Luckily it was very soon until the end of the entire high school experience since prom was in a few months.

After you lunch break you didn’t have any classes left so you were contemplating whether to go home or stay to study. “Hey Kihyun, are you going to go home or stay to study?” you ask him, your honeyed tone captivating his attention. “Probably, I have a test to study for, do you want to go to the library or to some café?” he asks you. You think for a moment. It’d be more logical to stay at school and study in the library; “the library, I don’t think I can focus at a café,” You grab your books and notes from you locker and make your way to the library and find a table to sit at with Kihyun. The library was slightly fuller than usual, the tables had spaces for 4-6 people but it was only you and Kihyun sitting behind a shelf of books. You set your books and notebooks out for your Business class and open your text book which has an assortment of coloured sticky notes which were highlighted and extremely condensed down. “how?” Kihyun stares in awe at your study notes. “what? My notes?” you point at them “they’re really helpful, that extra effort its worth it” you smile softly at him. “yeah I know but how do you do it, I don’t even know where to start from.” Kihyun sighs. You delve into your bag again and grasp a hold of your transparent stationary holder which was filled with sticky notes, pens and bookmark sticky tabs. You pull your seat closer to Kihyun’s and move your hair behind your ear to help him and teach him how to take notes. You open his law textbook  and ask him what he needs to learn or understand so you knew where to start. “easy right?” you smile as you pass him some notes and memo sheets and he nodded his head, making himself believe that he new what he was doing. You turned back around to look at you textbooks, your eyes scanning the text book although Kihyun’s eyes often glanced away from the paper and pen and was captured by how focused you were, how you would unconsciously tuck your hair behind your ear, how your eyes scan the text you were reading and then articulate it into something concise yet informative. He needed a quick break to grab some water but you didn’t notice that he left since you were focused on studying. He placed a plastic cup on your desk and tapped your shoulder. “make sure you drink? Water is good for your brain” Kihyun smiles at you before sitting back down. “o-oh thank you!” you take the cup and drink the water, “I was going to have a short break anyway to get some water, how’s your notes going?” you ask him looking over to see a few notes here and there but he tried to cover it. “u-uh it’s, going okay.” You stand up to see the other side of him, he was doing quite well and learning how to take notes like you. “see you are doing good, isn’t it so much easier?” you ask him. He nods and hums his response. “don’t worry you’ll get the hang of it,” you nudge him softly.

An hour and a half passes and it was time to go home. You gather all your belongings organising them and putting them back into your bag, reaching for your jacket to which you find isn’t there to your surprise. “o-oh,” you sounded confused “ did I bring my jacket with me?” you ask Kihyun who had already shoved his textbook into his bag. “Oh um, You didn’t bring it with you from the cafeteria you might’ve left it there,” he shrugs “ we can go and look for it now?” He suggests and you agree with him, opening the doors to the library to leave. The school was oddly quiet. Probably because everyone leaves incredibly quickly but you and Kihyun make your way to the cafeteria and nothing was there. “ugh,” you grunt sounding annoyed “ whatever, I’ll look tomorrow and lost and found,” you drag yourself out of the cafeteria and head towards the exit.

“hey dumpling,” Changkyun calls out to get your attention. “stop calling me dumpling, It’s not cute or endearing,” you sigh “why are you still here?” you ask. “seems like someone lost their jacket,” he holds it in his hand, “ you have to get it though,” his smug smile appears gradually. You sigh and try to grab however he pulls It away from you and decides to mess with you and hold It above his head. “awh look at you, you can’t even reach it, that’s so cute” he chuckles. “just give it back, I want to go home” you whine before giving up, “I’ll walk home COLD then.” You turn around and walk knowing he’ll give it back; “okay okay hey, HEY, take it,” he says as he drapes it over your shoulder and Kihyun follows hands in his pockets. Walks home with Kihyun and Changkyun started to become the norm since the start of high school until now. You knew that once you move, everything will change and it haunted you so you enjoyed the moment whilst it lasted.

You arrived at your house and you wave your friends goodbye. “when will your mum make that soup again?” Changkyun asks. “I’m not too sure, I can ask her to make it on Friday?” You suggest. They both look at each other and nod their heads in unison.

It was late in the evening and you open your laptop; 9:45pm. You sigh. It’s been exhausting but you spent all evening tidying, cleaning and also resting after your meal. You lean back into your desk chair, the squeak startling your puppy Lucas. He hid under your bed from the sound then soon after leaving the dark abyss under your bed with a squeaky red ball. You open a word document that had over 9 thousand words for a project that you were doing for your business class. You’d study all night for your classes, some nights on call to Kihyun or another one of your friends, Irene. Tonight, you felt like being alone for some reason, perhaps because your best friend was a distraction?  - I’m probably a distraction too – you think to yourself. You look at your computer and think to play something just to get your mind off school for once. You had a selection of things to do for your classes but a slight break from school wouldn’t hurt. The bright screen of your PC lit up your dimly lit room, your window open to let in the winters breeze as well as the moon beaning outside of your window tonight. You grab your headphones and plug them into the headphone jack and you see Changkyun playing the game you wanted to play.

“Yo look at who’s on,” he says in his annoying mocking tone. “you’ve seen me play before, don’t act so surprised,” you scoff, “is Kihyun playing today?” you ask Changkyun. “I don’t think so, he said he had some notes to finish and study, what a loser,” Changkyun laughs “ I mean, he lives up to that name doesn’t he,” making you laugh a little. Changkyun had always been there for you and for Kihyun, making you and Kihyun always make up by doing the most absurd things he could think of. He comforted you as well as Kihyun.

Whilst you wait in the lobby, your phone screen lights up blue with a notification from Kihyun. It was a text message.

“hey my wifi died but I was going to message you to ask what you are doing?” Kihyun texted you. You responded back almost immediately; “ I’m online playing with Changkyun hbu?” you ask. The response was delayed by a couple minutes. “I’m studying atm, if only if could go online I’d play with you” he responds with a sad faced emoticon. “I wish you could too, maybe have an early night and rest, I’ll go in a bit too,” You message him. “I’ll go whenever you do,” – that’s new, he never used to wait for you– “I mean the rounds are really long but we can call if you want,” you tap at your screen. “ it’s okay, just message me okay,”

You start a round with Changkyun, immersing yourself into the game and occasionally yelling when he’d kill you or when he’d win. “hey! That’s not fair I was drinking!” you squeal when he sneaks around the corner and gets his final kill. “no! how?” you growl. “I have never heard you grown on voice chat,” Chankgyun burts into laughter “it’s cute don’t worry, it’s like a little tiger cub.” You hand reaches for your phone to text Kihyun; it had been at least 30 minutes since you last messaged him. “hey Yoo, you still awake?” you press the blue send button and wait for the response. You kept your phone unlocked and settled it onto your desk beside your pink bunny plushie Kihyun got for your birthday which was placed next to a framed photo of you both. You glanced at your phone every second but he hadn’t opened it or read the message, perhaps he fell asleep waiting for you? “Oi why are you so quiet? Did anything happen?” Changkyun noticed the drastic change in your behaviour. “oh it’s nothing I was just waiting for Kihyun to reply but I think he fell asleep.” You lock your phone after sending him a goodnight. “yeah probably, he doesn’t study for this long so many he just fell asleep and it is 1am-” he reminds you. “1am! Shit I need to go to bed,” you scurry around and put your things away, “I’ll play with you tomorrow or something whenever Kihyun is free, I’ll be going to bed now Goodnight!” you frantically leave the game and wash up and get ready for bed. You lean against your oak headboard, your phone between your hands and scroll through your Instagram. The girls who tried to shoot their shot posted and you felt a pit fall in your stomach making your mouth go bitter.– Why do they think they’re so entitled?– you scoff before locking your phone and setting it onto the wireless charging pad you got from Irene. You lay in your bed letting the cool air in your room circulating settle onto your skin making the little hairs on your arms raise. You close your eyes, your eyelids were heavy, and sunk into your mattress letting the cotton sheets intertwine with your body the warmth sheathing your body. You let out one last sigh before drifting off into a sound slumber.

6:30 am. You twist and turn until you turn your alarm off dragging yourself to your bathroom from your bedroom and push the tap up letting the water run until it went warm. You tiredly reached out for your toothbrush and toothpaste, squeezing the white paste from the tube then setting it down on the sink. Lucas whimpers at your feet wanting you to open the garden door for him so whilst you brushed your teeth you opened the garden door for him and continued your morning. You got dressed as usual and went to the kitchen to see what was for breakfast. It was an omelette roll and some sautéed vegetables. You quickly ate your breakfast with a cup of coffee and looked at your phone. “Good morning, sorry for not replying last night but studying is so exhausting! Are you taking the bus today?” Kihyun messages you. “yeah I am,” you reply sipping the bitter, lukewarm liquid from your cup before pouring it down the sink, “is it near my house?” you furiously type before bolting to your room to grab your bag, Airpods and your jacket. Before you were about to dash through the door, you remembered your lunch. “ugh whatever, I’ll just buy lunch,” you say to yourself before running to the bus stop.  You got there on time and go onto the bus; you search for Kihyun and there he was at the back, his bag reserving a seat for you before the girl from the day before spotted it thinking it was for her. – How humiliating– you slowly walk towards him.

“hey,” she flutters her lashes forcing her cutesy tone, “can I sit here?” she asks. Kihyun locks eyes with you and gulps, “oh um well- AH you are here!” he looks at you as you walk towards the two. You could see her eyes fill with fury and her blood could be heard boiling within her. “hey, did you save the seat for me?” you decided to pull her leg a little. She scoffs and turns around to realise that there are no seats, and she has to stand so she walked away and held onto the rings to keep her stable. “She won’t leave me alone,” Kihyun whispers to you, “what do I do?” you let out a soft laugh. “Don’t you know you get encounters like this because you’re single and prom is soon?” you shake your head “how naïve” you nudge him. “oh yeah true, you have a point.” He looks down at his phone scrolling through his feed and you glance over at him. “so, Kihyun, do you like anyone?” you hum leaning into him, trying to see his face, being playful like you usually are. “I-I don’t think I do,” he nods, “why are you asking?” his voice sounded apathetic when he replied. “did I say anything wrong? You sound really… off?” your playfulness disintegrated, and you were confused at his rapid change in emotion. “no you didn’t, I-I just didn’t have coffee this morning, I’m still a bit tired,” he clears his throat and looks outside, “Don’t worry about it, I didn’t mean to upset you.” He hands you a little chocolate truffle wrapped in gold.

The bus stopped at your school and you both got off however the girl shoved past you causing you to drop the wrapped chocolate on the floor which she then stepped on looking back to make sure you were looking. The evil in her eyes burned bright. Kihyun didn’t see what just happened since Changkyun ran up to him and began talking. You stand still for a second as people push past you, why was she so against you? –what did I do?– “Hey sleep well last night?” Changkyun asks you, his joyful voice added to his charismatic personality. “it was great, I had a nightmare that you broke into my house to get your final kill,” you laugh softly, “that wasn’t a good dream…” you roll your eyes. “wow, Kihyun do you hear this? She dreams of me,” Changkyun provokes you to react defensively, joking around with you. “You’re making it sound so wrong,” you yell. “you finish early right? Do you want to go for lunch together?” Kihyun’s honeyed voice asks you. “Of course, if you’re paying,” you smile endearingly. “Okay, I’ll pay” his arm wraps around your  shoulder before Changkyun decides to open his mouth again. “why don’t you just hold hands?” he jokes again “ you both look like a couple anyway,” He bites at his coffee straw. “No we don’t!” You laugh but only 2 of the three of you laughed at the harmless joke. “awh no, I have class,” Changkyun, “it’s fine you both can go we can hang out another day.”

Time was inching closer to your lunch break. It was nearly time to leave, just a couple more minutes. You eyed the time like you life depended on it, you were itching to leave the dingy classroom – I can’t wait to go to university– the ringing of the bell saves you from you thoughts eating you from inside. You dash out the door, or so you thought you would however Kihyun stood there waiting for you with your jacket he got from your locker. “Let’s go,” he smiles before putting his hand on your back and guiding you towards the exit. “damn you were quick,” you prodded his arm. “ well, you can always count on me, we’re like each others-“ he thinks for a moment, “we’re like each others Compass.” Kihyun’s words always sounded poetic one way or the other. He really knew how to sway you with his words, probably from all those years he made you feel comfortable and content whenever you had a hard time. “There’s this restaurant place down the road if you wanna go?” he points down the road. “oooh yeah sure, let’s go!” your ecstatic energy surprising Kihyun as you cling to his arm. He hesitated but the corner of his mouth curled into a smile and his hands rested in his pockets to seem as if he were chilled out in this situation when in fact he was yelling inside, at the top of his lungs.

The interior of the restaurant was simple yet pretty to look at. It was Bohemian inspired; the stained wooden chairs and tables and the white curtain like bunting on the plants above the ceiling. It also has an element of a rustic style too. You and Kihyun walked in and were seated; you look at the menu and your eyes scan down the laminated card. You point out a soup that you want and a drink too, “ these look really good!” you smile at him as he tries to keep himself at bay. “mmh yeah it does, I’ll get the same as you then!” He calls the waitress and orders what you wanted.  Lunched passed my sooner than you’d expected but you both get out your cards to pay.

“what are you doing?” Kihyun sounded perplexed to say the least. “paying for my lunch, what else Kihyun?” He pauses at you, eyeing you up and down then whisking the card away from you. “Not today, my treat okay?” he goes to a waitress as you wait at the table. He left his bracelet on the table so you swiped it into your bag to give to him later. When Kihyun turns around, it was like the gates of Heaven opened up; there was a luminescent glow outlining his angelic features, features that were carefully sculpted by groups of angels. He was just perfect. Whilst he leads you out, you both walk to the bus stop before he pauses and begins to speak. “you know you asked me if I like anyone,” he starts off getting your hopes up thinking he’ll tell you something that’d make your heart happy, “well, do you like anyone?” his head tilts like a little puppy would when they’re confused. “hmm..” you think, unconsciously smiling to yourself, “maybe maybe not Kihyun,” you shrug giggling at his ‘O’ shaped mouth. “You are unbelievable, did you know that,” he tuts, “whatever don’t tell me, the bus is here anyway.” The bus stops and he gets on scanning his pass and you follow and do the same. There were no seats so you both had to stand; he stood behind you and held the rings above and you held onto the railings. The bus jolted and you lost your balance slightly although managing to get a hold of yourself but at the next stop, a group entered the  vehicle and it was cramped. There was a middle aged man toppling onto you and as the bus jolted again he nearly crushed your petite frame until Kihyun shielded you. You looked at him. What an angel.

“Hey, Kihyun…” you whisper and he lowers down slightly to hear what you have to say with a cheerful bright smile on his face that beamed like a sun on a summers day, “you wanna know who I like right?” you giggle into his ears. His ears burned a pinkish-red; “I really really like Changkyun.”

––

➠ Chapter 2

[hyuniebaby]

Focus (3)

Pairings: Baekhyun x Y/N x Junmyeon

Genre: a little smut

AU: College student! Baekhyun, Professor! Junmyeon AU, college!au

Warning: masturbation

A/N: This part isn’t as important as the previous part. I just wanted to introduce some of the friends of baek and oc. There’s not much happening, just their friends teasing them. This part also mentions that Baekhyun can’t get oc out of his mind 🤪

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11

Baekhyun is a big flirt but he does NOT sleep around. He likes stability. He likes people who are constantly there. So when he woke up after sleeping with you, he didn’t know what to do.

His previous experiences allowed him to stay in bed until his partner wakes up, but you two weren’t in a relationship. Wouldn’t it be too awkward if you woke up cuddled to him? Is he supposed to be a one night stand? He didn’t want to be a one night stand though. Sex with you was mindblowing. He would even dare say it was the best sex of his life.

Baekhyun also dislikes awkward situations. When he’s with his friends usually when something awkward happens, he’d be the first to break the ice. But in this case it was different. Yes, he flirts with you most of the time you’d cross paths but he doesn’t really know you well enough. It was all flirting and no getting-to-know-each-other-deeply. Will you be mad if he left? Will you freak out if he stays? He doesn’t know! It was driving him insane.

But still, he doesn’t like awkward situations so he opts to leave before you wake up. He doesn’t want to be a jerk and just go out and leave though. He wanted to remain friends with you because he’s going to have to spend a whole semester with you. With this in mind, he grabs a pen and paper and writes a note for you quickly, afraid that you’d catch him doing this. If you do, this situation will be more awkward.

When he’s done with the note, he places it on your bedside table. Then he grabs his clothes and quickly wears them. He spares a glance at you before he reaches the door. You looked so peaceful, so beautiful. As if a spell was casted on him, he walks back to your bed and places a kiss on your forehead. And then he leaves.

When he reaches his dorm, he was surprised his roommate, Jongdae was still awake. After all, it was three in the morning. Jongdae squints his eyes on him. “Where have you been?”

“Uhh... I... uh...” Baekhyun doesn’t know how to answer. He scratches the back of his head while he tries to come up with an excuse.

“Nevermind. Tell me about it tomorrow when you’ve gathered your mind.” Jongdae dismisses him. Baekhyun sighs with relief. He goes to his room and lies on his bed. Still tired from the activities that happened, he falls asleep with you in his mind.

Baekhyun dreams of you. He dreams of you sucking him off in his car. Your mouth choking on his dick while you massage his balls. You sucked him off until he came and swallowed all his cum.

He wakes up with a jolt and realized he had a wet dream about you. He stares at the clock and realizes it was already noon, good thing he doesn’t have classes today. He stands up and showers. Thoughts of you still running in his mind. His body instantly reacting to the thoughts of you. As if his body has a mind of its own, he reaches for his member and strokes it.

You were naked and on all fours. You were so wet for him. Baekhyun inserts two of his fingers at once in your pussy. You moan out his name. Once you were fully prepared for him, he slams his dick inside you. He fucks you hard and fast, the bed creaking as he does so. His hands go to your tits, pinching your hard nipples. One of his hands then travels to your clit while the other continues to play with your boob. You were both nearing your climax. You tell him to cum in you. His thrusts go impossibly faster after you say that. After a few thrusts, your walls clench on his shaft. You felt so good.

He moans out your name as he releases. You were driving him crazy. How was he supposed to face you after he masturbated at the thought of you?

When he finished cleaning and dressing himself up, he goes out of his room to grab something to eat.

“The prince has finally woken up,” Jongdae loudly says.

Baekhyun ignores him. He grabs some ramen from the cupboard and starts heating up some water.

Jongdae takes this opportunity to talk to Baekhyun.

“So, what happened last night?”

Baekhyun sighs, he knows Jongdae won’t leave him alone if he doesn’t start talking.

“Last night, you looked...” Jongdae’s eyes widened at the realization, “I know! I know! You got laid!” He exclaims.

Baekhyun nods in confirmation.

“Wait... You have a new girlfriend?”

“No!”

“But you don’t sleep around!”

“I know! That’s why I don’t know what to do in these situations!”

“You’re too pure,” Jongdae coos.

“Fuck off.”

“So who’s the girl?”

“I’m not sure if you know her. You don’t really interact with sophomores.”

Jongdae gives him a look that screams “So what?”

“She’s Y/N.”

“Y/N? As in Y/L/N Y/N? The one with friends who are always dressed to kill? I’ve worked with her before, we trained together for some Chemistry quiz bee or whatever.”

“She was in your quiz bee team?!”

“Yeah, yeah.” Jongdae casually says. “But isn’t she too... plain for you?” Jongdae knows Baekhyun’s type. He’s been his friend since high school so he’s basically met every single one of Baekhyun’s past lovers. He knows that Baekhyun adores pretty women. Pretty, sexy, slim. Modelesque.

In Jongdae’s eyes, you were very timid. Smart, timid, simple. He has only ever seen you talk so much whenever you’re with your friends. You don’t even talk unless spoken to. You would never make the first move. Could it be? Could it be that Baekhyun made the first move?

“She’s cute okay!” Baekhyun pouts.

“Fine, fine. Geez. So how was it?” Jongdae moves his eyebrows up and down.

“Fuck off Jongdick.” He turns around to continue making his ramen.

Jongdae laughs out loud at Baekhyun’s lame attempt to insult him.

“Guess I’ll find out myself.” He teases.

Baekhyun has never whipped his head so quickly at a statement. “Don’t you dare!”

Jongdae raises his hands as if surrendering, trying to look serious but failing to wipe the smile off his face. It was either (a) the sex you and Baekhyun shared was amazing or (b) Baekhyun’s getting so whipped about you but he’s oblivious about it, Jongdae thought, but he doesn’t say anything.

He lets Baekhyun be, trying to come up with a plan to approach you. He’s free the whole day after all.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

You wake up with a jolt, body feeling sore from yesterday’s activities. The first thing you looked at was your clock. It was 9:00 AM. FUCK, your classes starts at 9:30. You’re going to be late! The ride to your college takes up 20 minutes so you only have 10 minutes to prepare. As much as you wanted to skip shower, you can’t, you were sweaty and sticky. You already know your day is going to go wrong, great, just great.

You try to walk to the bathroom as fast as you can, as fast as anyone can move when their body especially the nether regions is sore. You opt to wear a skirt today, not wanting to go through the pain in wearing jeans. You grab a sweatshirt and put on your shoes and dash outside your house. Disoriented because you were running late, you didn’t even notice the note Baekhyun left on your table.

You ran so fast after paying for the cab, people gave you weird looks. You didn’t care though, afraid you’d get scolded by your professor in Analytical Chemistry. He was old and very strict about time. When someone comes in late, he “targets” them the whole day, asking questions that were far advanced than what should be discussed. It was scary and you don’t need scary today.

You opened the door forcefully and all eyes looked at you. Thank god, your professor wasn’t there yet! You release a breath of relief and sat towards your usual place. Your friends immediately facing you.

“I forgot to set my alarm!” You instantly said before they could ask. It was amusing to them, you were never late.

“It’s okay to be late you know,” Seulgi says.

“And be Mr. Jung’s target? No thanks! I’d rather die.”

Your friends laughed at your exaggeration.

“Look who decided to skip the jeans and finally wear a skirt to class,” Mina notes as she sits beside you. She came in a few minutes after you. She woke up late too but she lives just around the block so she looks a lot less haggard than you did. “You only wear skirts outside the classrom. You look better in it, you should do it more often.”

Before you could respond, all of a sudden Joohyun gasps and your group of friends look at her. “Is that a hickey?” she whisper-yelled while pointing at your neck. All your friends whip their heads to look at you.

Your hands immediately went to cover your neck. “It’s a mosquito bite!”

Of course no one believed your excuse. If you were them, you wouldn’t too. They bombarded you with questions. “Who did it?”, “How was it?”, “Home run?” You were flustered. As if on cue, your professor enters the room. Your friends immediately stopped talking and faced Mr. Jung but not before giving you a look that says “Tell us all about it later.”

You know there was no winning with them. They would tease you all day until you caved in. So you half listened to Mr. Jung’s lecture and half thought of how to tell your friends about it without telling them it was Baekhyun who you slept with.

You didn’t want to dwell so much on Baekhyun because, well, he left before you woke up. And although he had no obligation to stay, you considered him as a friend. And friends talk, right? Just to be clear on how they move forward after that...

You know your friends are crazy about Baekhyun, but quite frankly, they are crazy about all guys who have amazing bodies and stunning smiles like Kim Jongin, Park Chanyeol, even your professors Mr. Kim Junmyeon and Mr. Kim Minseok. You aren’t as vocal as they are but you have to admit, these men have a way of making you feel giddy just by looking at them. If your friends were to know you did it with Baekhyun, they’d be so jealous but they wouldn’t mind. They‘d be supportive. Boys are just boys anyway.

[nsheetee]

Physics Teacher!Doyoung x Art Teacher!Reader

Genre: High School Teacher AU, Enemies to Lovers AU || fluff, slightly crack-ish

Summary: Doyoung is ecstatic to start working at his first job in Neo City High School... until he runs into you, the eccentric new art teacher that quickly gets under his skin. When you and Doyoung are forced to chaperone the Valentine’s Day dance, you have to put all of your differences aside in the name of stopping high schoolers from grinding on each other and protecting the fruit punch from being spiked.

Word Count: 3k

a/n: happy birthday to the bunny prince! I hope your bday is filled with love, and cheers to the future! also, I hope everyone enjoys reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!

doyoung loves school

always did: as a child, in high school, and in college

he honestly loved to learn and was studious, his parents always bragged about his grades and long high school resume filled from top to bottom with achievements and scholarships

but doyoung was glad to finally hold his college diploma in his hand, marking the end of his student days and signaling the beginning of his professional career

as a high school teacher

many of his friends warned him that teaching in a high school would be draining, that it would kill doyoung’s spirit within the first school year 

doyoung didn’t listen, his friends have never been teachers so what could they know?

he walked into his very own classroom on teacher prep day, a few days before the actual first day of school

he breathed in the musty smell of old carpet and the sharp tang of dry erase markers 

ah, yes, perfect

doyoung neatly arranged his desk; his favorite fountain pen had to be exactly 10cm from his computer keyboard and the computer monitor had to be facing up at a 19 degree angle so doyoung wouldn’t have a double chin while looking at the screen

yes, he did use his trusty ruler and protractor to measure it all out, and then neatly placed them into the top drawer of his desk 

doyoung has always been tidy, very articulate and precise

what else would you expect from a man who studied math and physics for five years?

just before leaving his room to meet with his boss, the principal, he’s startled by a knock on his door

you stand at the entrance to his classroom, a bright smile on your face and your hands clasped in front of you as you bounce on your toes

your outfit consists of a long, dark orange skirt that nearly touched the floor and teased the sandals that are strapped to your feet

you wore a bright yellow shirt with a short blue scarf wrapped around your neck, some wooden jewelry laying on the scarf and also dangling from your ears

doyoung is sure his mouth is open in disbelief but he can’t seem to regain enough control over his face to hide his surprised and mortified expression

“hi! you’re kim doyoung, right? the new physics teacher? I’m Y/N.” your voice is chipper and bright

“are you in the correct place, ma’am? this is neo city high school.” doyoung asks 

you tilt your head slightly, wondering why he’s asking such a question

“oh!” you exclaim, moving your wooden necklace and blue scarf out of the way to show doyoung your teacher badge, “I’m a new teacher this year, just like you! I thought I would come say hi.” 

doyoung is sure his mouth is, once again, slacked open 

looking down at himself, he sees a very big contrast in what you look like and what he looks like

doyoung wears a crisp white shirt that’s buttoned all the way up, a blue tie around his collar and his own teacher badge perfectly centered in the middle of his chest

he ironed his slacks this morning and even shined his shoes

is this not the dress code for teachers at NCHS?

he’s sure he read the dress code section of the teacher’s manual, stating that professional attire is required

but as he watches you dance into his classroom from his desk chair, skirt swinging around your legs, curious eyes glancing all over his room... he’s not sure what to do

should he tell his superiors?

he doesn’t get to think much before you sigh and close your eyes, holding out your arms on either side of you as if you can feel some nonexistent wind pass by you

“wow, you have such a nice classroom. the windows and the view, I wish my classroom was open like this.”

“may I ask... what class you teach?”

“art” 

doyoung immediately does not like you

maybe he’s a bit biased (okay, very biased) but he has never liked art

the atmosphere of an art class is not his cup of tea

why are there no written rules for art?

why was he always instructed to “paint with your heart and soul, not your brain”?

why did his high school art teacher scold him for drawing the golden ratio for every single assignment if there are no rules!?

it’s the only C doyoung ever received and, yes, he’s still salty about it

“oh. my. goodness.” doyoung is pulled out of his path down memory lane by your exclamation 

you stride over to his desk, finding a seat next to his computer and accidentally moving it with your hip

doyoung gasps when his perfect 19 degree angle is ruined, and his hands come up to grip the hair at the back of his head when you pick up his favorite fountain pen, turning it over in your fingers

“uh...” doyoung trails off, not sure how to politely tell you to get away from his stuff

“I love this pen!” you exclaim, “this is a Monteverde, isn’t it? wow, I never expected anyone else to appreciate good quality pens, especially not physics teachers.” 

your comment flies over doyoung’s head, he can only focus on how you keep annoyingly clicking the pen and randomly drawing on his clean sticky notes that he placed exactly 17cm from the edge of his desk

in what feels like only seconds to doyoung, you draw an intricate lily on a sticky note and stick it to his computer monitor 

haphazardly dropping the pen back onto his desk, you hop off and wave at your fellow co-worker as you walk out of the room

doyoung can only stare at the mess you left behind; you were only in his classroom for a total of three minutes and yet, it looks like a litter of puppies were let loose 

doyoung’s distaste for you didn’t end there

once school started, he could see the increasing amount of students that absolutely loved you and your art classes

he heard about how you walk around in flip flops and sandals, even when the temperature started to drop outside

he heard about your habit of humming jazz while painting, tapping your foot and bobbing your head along to your own music

he over heard students talking about how you’ve never once worn the same set of jewelry, and betting on how many different sets you actually have

doyoung isn’t sure why he’s so intrigued by you; you have absolutely nothing in common and doyoung doesn’t understand your eccentric way of living

but the universe keeps pulling you to each other

for example, how you both come to school at the same time, punching in for work on the same minute, awkwardly giving your “good morning’s” to each other before you go to your respective classrooms

or how you both have your break during 3rd period, and go to the teacher’s work room in the office to grab a cup of coffee and whatever delicious pastries the office ladies brought in that day

even when you both run the after school clubs (doyoung helps run the robotics club, you help run the art club) you’d somehow bump into each other despite the club rooms being on opposite sides of the school

other than the first day you met, doyoung has no reason to be angry with you

but he is, for some reason he can’t get you off of his mind, and it’s infuriating

maybe doyoung is infuriated because you don’t seem to be affected by his presence in the same way that he’s affected by yours

he always pushes that thought out of his mind, but today, when you’re both called to the home economics room, it’s more apparent than usual

you’re already talking to mr. lee when doyoung walks in, your smiling face and comfortable posture with your co-worker makes that fire in his stomach ignite, and he just wants this to be over with as quickly as possible

“ah, doyoung you’re here, great! I have a favor to ask both of you” mr. lee, or ten as you both know him, rests his elbows on the desk and clasps his hands in front of him, “I need you two to chaperone the valentine’s day dance tonight”

“there’s a valentine’s day dance tonight?” doyoung asks and ten sends him a deadpanned look

“yes? it’s been on the morning announcements everyday this week”

doyoung crosses his arms in front of his chest and looks away, a bit embarrassed that he’s been caught not listening to the mandatory morning announcements

(doyoung always wears crisp dress shirts to work, and you about die when his arms bulge through the shirt with his actions, his chest seeming to stretch wider than the ocean and shoulders looking as solid as a rock)

(maybe you gulp a bit, and maybe you try not to pant at the sight, also)

“didn’t you tell me that you and principal moon usually chaperone the valentine’s day dance?” you ask, moving your attention away from doyoung’s chest and turning to ten

“yes, we do, but this year mr. moon’s wife surprised him with a dinner date and he says he can’t let her down”

“and why can’t you chaperone?”

“my cat went into labor”

you and doyoung look at ten with dead stares, trying to comprehend ten’s words

ten scoffs and rolls his eyes, slamming his palm down onto his desk

“well? is no one going to congratulate me? I’m going to be a grandpa by the end of tonight!”

“congrats...” you mumble out, “but I’m sorry, I can’t chaperone tonight.” you try to quickly think up of a valid excuse as to why, but nothing of value comes to mind

“yeah, neither can I” doyoung speaks up, turning around to walk out of the room

“wait” ten speaks up, making doyoung turn back to face both of you, “if I remember correctly, I covered for both of you when you couldn’t show up to the bi-yearly meeting last month. you both owe me, and this is how you’ll repay.”

you and doyoung visibly sulk in your spots

it’s true, ten did cover for you when you couldn’t go to that important meeting, and by the look on doyoung’s face, it looks like ten has him trapped, too

so that’s how you and doyoung end up at the gym after school, watching the student council committee set up all the decorations and the dj set up his equipment on stage

the theme is “love under the sea” 

doyoung cringes when he saw the banner reveal over the front of the gym, and you can’t help but wince at the overused theme

the decorations are lovely, though; different shades of blue lights glow from the the ceiling and cast a blue hue to everyone below, the stage is covered in blue tinsel and large balloon figures of seashells, crabs, and mermaids

even the drink and snack tables have underwater themed cookies and chips, with large bowls of blue fruit punch centered on every table

so far, chaperoning is easy; you and doyoung have to make sure no one gets hurt and that there’s enough helium for the hundreds of balloons that were blown up and are currently rolling around on the floor

but then, students start to arrive

ten assured you and doyoung earlier that no more than 100 students would show up the whole night; groups of people would come in and out for the three hours that the dance would be going on

but of course, tonight is the night that everyone decides to come to the dance

although the student council is having the time of their lives with the amount of money they’re receiving in ticket profits, yours and doyoung’s eyes bulge at how over 100 hundred students are already waiting in line to enter the gym

“wait, wait” you run towards a group of girls who just paid for their tickets, “you have to take your shoes off before going in”

“why?” they give you an almost disgusted look, and you entertain the fact that you have to look up at them to look them in the eyes

“your heels could scrap the gym floor, please take them off” you look down at the girls’ shoes, confused on how they can balance on such tiny leverages 

“but, it’s part of my outfit” you give the girls one long, hard, blank stare until they roll their eyes and step out of the heels, immediately shortening themselves by four inches and walking away

doyoung’s night also doesn’t start out smoothly....

he walks into the boy’s bathroom, hoping to relieve himself before the dance actually got underway, but instead is frightened by a pair of students playing tonsil hockey against the urinals 

“mr. kim!” they shout and doyoung covers his eyes and turns away, for some reason feeling like he’s in the wrong even though the public restroom is not supposed to be used for making out

“the dance started 10 minutes ago and you’re already doing that!” doyoung shouts and the students apologize, heads bowed as they scurry out the door

about an hour into the dance, you and doyoung finally find each other through the chaos of the school gym

“either ten lied to us or today is just an anomaly; there has to be at least 300 students here right now” doyoung tries to speak over the music, but you still have to lean in to hear him

“we need to call other teachers to come help, it can’t just be the two of us here.” you reply, but doyoung barely pays attention

you face is leaning into his, but your sporadic eyes and looking somewhere else 

the blue hues of the lights shine off of your cheekbones and permeate through your hair

doyoung thinks you look good in blue, and he could keep looking at you for a while longer

until something behind you catches his eye

“oh, no...” doyoung trails off, and you look turn around

in the middle of the dance floor, right in front of the dj’s speakers, a swarm of students gather around and you can faintly see through the dim lights of the gym that a grind circle ensues

“oh, no...” you mimic doyoung as the group of students “dance” to the music, almost gyrating and squirming against their partners

it’s almost too painful and awkward to watch

doyoung makes the first move to separate the circle, trying to push his way through, the swarm of students stick together like a group of flamingos; they’re so congested that it would be easier to move through a vat of molasses

the teens stick to each other in their dance moves and you feel sorry for doyoung who tries to yell “no hands on knees. I said DO NOT PUT YOUR HANDS ON YOUR KNEES” at the crowd, the music swallowing him up

as you watch on, your eyes latch onto a group of guys who surround one of the drink and snack tables

you would’ve overlooked them, but the way they’re suspiciously eyeing their surroundings makes you curious

you walk closer, only to see one of the guys carrying a shiny flask, holding it upside down over a punch bowl

“woah, woah, woah, what do you think you’re doing?” you call out as you march closer, frightening the group of students 

“nothing, we’re just getting a drink.” maybe if you didn’t see them pour alcohol into the punch bowl earlier, you would be fooled by their lies, but you give them a disappointed look

“really? that’s why you have a flask on you?” you ask the student with the alcohol, and all of their eyes widen into dinner plates

the night only erupts into more chaos after that

you and doyoung never have enough time to stop and call ten or any other teacher to come help you, too busy dealing with teenage antics

at one point in the night, “under the sea” plays, and you and doyoung are pulled into a conga line of students as they travel around the gym, and someone from the yearbook committee snaps a picture on a polaroid camera

as the night comes to a close, students leave to go home and the gym floor becomes visible once again

you sit against the wall, holding the polaroid in your hand and silently smiling at yours and doyoung’s surprised expressions, his hands on your shoulders and a bad, red flash in both of your eyes, only adding to the candidness of the whole scene

doyoung slides down next to you and hands you a cup of the spiked punch, which you had moved to a different room after you reprimanded the boys who spiked it

“for me?” you ask as you accept the cup

“yeah, I think we both deserve it for dealing with tonight” you and doyoung do a silent cheers and hit your plastic cups together before downing all the punch

“wow,” you cough a bit, placing a hand over your mouth “high schoolers don’t play around, huh” you look at the cup, wondering exactly how much alcohol was in it before setting it down on the floor, deciding not to think to much about it

the dj was hired from 7pm to 10pm, and although doyoung’s watch says it’s 9:57pm, the dj still plays songs even though only you and doyoung are here to listen to them

“this is for the chaperones tonight,” the dj suddenly speaks into his microphone, “you guys did a good job.” 

a slow song starts to play, you and doyoung don’t recognize it, but doyoung laughs awkwardly at how you’re both put on the spot, even if there’s no one here to witness it

“well, let’s dance, doie.” you stand up and hold out your hand to him

maybe it’s the energy and confidence from the alcohol, or maybe this is something doyoung has always wanted to do, but he takes your hand and guides you to the dance floor

your hands rest on his shoulders and you try not to feel giddy at the thought of finally getting to feel them after looking on from the distance for so long

you blush at your own thoughts, or maybe because of doyoung’s hands traveling around your hips and pulling you closer to him

for a minute, you and doyoung just sway a bit

the music is nice and the blue hue from the lights makes doyoung’s eyes and skin shine, you can’t pull yourself away from him

“you know, I’ve actually never been to a school dance before.” you don’t know what possesses you to say it out loud, but doyoung’s eyes widen at your words

“me, too.” 

at that moment, doyoung realizes that maybe you two do have something in common

and as you lean your head against his collarbone, humming the already familiar melody of your first song of your first school dance ever

doyoung knows he doesn’t mind getting to know the parts of you that aren’t that similar to him

it’ll be worth it

[ragewerthers]

A Few Minutes

Summary: Gladio can see the way Ignis is working himself to the bone, going above and beyond what is asked if him.

The only thing Gladio asks of him... is just a few minutes.

A/n: Hello there! This is a fluffy little fic that got away from me for my friend @bgn846​!

I hope everyone can enjoy it and the fluffiness of these two amazing boys!!! :D

You can also read on AO3 at: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22231738

Enjoy! :D

Word Count: 3159

-------------------------------- Glancing over from his spot on the sofa, Gladio let his eyes wander from his book on Ancient Solheim to the tense back of his partner.  It was just starting to crest into evening.  Gladio had long since changed into a nice pair of black sweats and a grey tank, more than content to relax for the remainder of the evening.  Sadly… he was the only one.

Ignis was sitting at his desk in the living room, his laptop open, papers piled around him in organized chaos and enough pens, highlighters and sticky notes to rival any office supply store.  The man had been working all evening, almost from the time he’d gotten home.  Apparently there was a rather important delegation coming from Altissia in a few days and once again he had taken on a workload that would’ve crushed a lesser man.

It didn’t help that there were others who seemed to heap their own workload on him, but that was a battle for Gladio to tackle another day.  Perhaps a day when Ignis was away and Gladio could unleash his wrath on a few Councilmen who needed to learn that Ignis wasn’t their own personal assistant.

However, for now, his focus was on the present.  His frown growing by the second the longer he watched Ignis.  He hated seeing the way Ignis’s shoulders seemed stiff with tension, the way his hand kept coming up to rub at the back of his neck or his lower back.  The only break he’d taken was when Gladio had brought over a plate of dinner he’d made up for him, getting a tired smile and a soft kiss to his cheek for his troubles before Ignis was once more focusing back on his work.

Gladio watched as Ignis leaned back in his seat, his spine making a few unnatural crackling noises as the poor Adviser brought his hands up to scrub at his face, glasses lifting and settling on top of his head.

It was when Ignis began looking around the desk with a bit of confusion, mumbling about his ‘missing’ glasses, that Gladio realized that enough was enough.

It was time to intervene.

Marking his spot and setting the book on their small coffee table, Gladio slowly rose from his spot on the sofa and made his way to stand behind the confused man, his hands settling on shoulders that felt like they were made of stone.

“What’cha doin’, babe?” he murmured softly, watching as Ignis continued to shuffle his papers around, seeming to grow more and more irritated by the moment.

“I can’t find my bloody glasses,” he growled out, Gladio having to bite back a smile for a moment as he let his partner continue his search.  “I have work to do and this silly little hiccup is going to put me behind schedule!  How does a person lose their glasses?  Surely they didn’t just get up and walk off my face without my noticing?”

Ignis turned slightly in his seat to look up at Gladio, his glasses still perched lightly on the top of his head, green eyes mixed with perturbed exhaustion.  “Have you seen my glasses?”

The question was so innocent and so endearing that Gladio really couldn’t help himself as a soft chuckle escaped him, Ignis’s expression changing to a moment of shock before he glared.

“Well… if it’s merely a joke to you and you only came over here to laugh at my plight then perhaps you shou-...,”

Gladio brought a hand up, raising it over Ignis’s head and lightly tapping the dark frames of the man’s glasses, just enough to have them tipping forward and plopping down with a soft little thunk onto his nose once more.

“........ oh.”

This time the look of shock and awe was too much for Gladio and a deeper laugh rumbled from his chest.  His reaction caused the poor Adviser’s cheeks fo flush up as he adjusted his newly found glasses.

“Right.  Well.  If you’ll excuse me… I have work to do,” he tried to dismiss, turning back around to his laptop, trying to ignore the chuckling Shield behind him.

“Oh no you don’t,” Gladio chided, his laughter ebbing as he reached his arms to wrap around Ignis’s shoulder.  “You literally just lost your glasses because they were on top of your head, Iggy.  I think you need a break before you lose anything else.”

Ignis huffed as those strong arms constricted around him a bit and he shook his head.  “Gladiolus… it was a momentary lapse on my part.  I’m fine to continue and if I don’t get these notes organized tonight I will have next to no time to do it in the coming days.”

“Mmhm,” Gladio hummed with absolutely no conviction.  “I’m sure Lord Visco and Lady Beldan would be upset because their notes haven’t been completed.  But that’s on them.”

“They asked me to do it, Gladio.”

“No.  They told you it needed to be done.  There’s a difference, Ignis.  If they can’t do their own workload then they shouldn’t have the positions they have,” Gladio pointed out, leaning back once more and letting his hands settle back on Ignis’s shoulders.  “Come on.  You’re tense as a board, your eyes are turning red and you barely ate anything for dinner.  Do you know how long it took me to read the directions for preheating that?”

The last remark had its desired effect, a little surprised snort of laughter escaping Ignis before the man brought his hand up to cover his mouth.  Gladio chuckled and ducked down to kiss the crown of his head.  “Come on, Iggy.  Just relax with me for a few minutes.  Then you can get right back to whatever you’re doing,” he promised, his thumbs rubbing gently into the knots that were already forming in Ignis’s neck.

A soft little groan escaped the bespectacled man and for a moment, Gladio thought perhaps he was winning.

Until…

“No.  Really now, Gladio.  I have to finish this and I will not be swayed,” Ignis mumbled, though his voice sounded a little less sure then it had a moment ago.

“Iggy…,”

“No, Gladiolus.  I have to do this.  Thank you for helping me find my glasses, but I really must continue,” Ignis said, already bringing his hands back up to begin typing once more on his laptop.

Well… considering gentle persuasion hadn’t worked, perhaps Gladio had to bring out the big guns.

“You know if you keep continuing you’re just going to be grumpy tomorrow,” he said offhandedly, feeling Ignis tense under his hands and smiling as he knew this tactic was already having an effect.

“I don’t get grumpy, Gladiolus,” Ignis grumbled, typing a little more roughly on the laptop.

“Yes you do.  You become a grumpy little Moogle butt,” Gladio cooed, his hands soothing over the planes of the man’s shoulder, sliding lower and lower.

“You’re being absolutely ridiculous!  I’m not a child, Gladio,” Ignis snipped, shivering at the gentle soothing to his back as Gladio’s broad hands continued to move lower still.

“Well you’re acting pretty childish, refusing to take a break,” Gladio mumbled, his smile only growing as he watched Ignis’s hands faltering over the keys.  “And you’re definitely still sounding like a grumpy Moogle butt.  And there’s only one way to cure that, I’m afraid.”

“Oh?  And what, pray tell, is the cure all for grumpy Moogle buttiness?” Ignis drawled before jumping in his seat as fingers gave a quick scribble to his sides, his arms instantly snapping down to block the sensation.  “Gladiolus?!”

“Hmm.  Nope.  I’m still detecting a bit of grumpy Moogle buttiness.  I think I need to give you a bit more of the cure,” Gladio teased, his fingers starting to wriggle a bit more incessantly against Ignis’s poor ticklish sides.  A spot, he had learned, that the man was highly susceptible to.

It only took a few seconds for the giggles to start, Ignis squirming in his seat as he tried to bat at the hands tickling against his poor sides.  “Stahap!  Stop, Glahahadio!” he snorted, unable to cover the sound as his hands were too busy trying to keep the Shield at bay.

“Not until you agree to take a break with me.  Just a few minutes.  Is that too much to ask?” Gladio murmured, letting his fingers sneak forward slightly, tickling at the sides of Ignis’s stomach and making the poor Adviser’s legs kick out under the desk as he attempted to curl forward.  The man’s laughter intensifying to the cutest giggle fit Gladio had heard.

“B-but… ihihihit’s importahaha-ah!  Stahahap it!” Ignis squeaked, shoulders scrunching as Gladio ducked down to nuzzle his stubbly cheek against Ignis’s exposed neck, earning him a new round of adorable laughter.

“So is your health, Iggy.  And I refuse to let you work yourself sick,” Gladio murmured softly, slowly ceasing his attack to simply soothe his hands against Ignis’s slightly heaving sides.  Turning his head he pressed a soft kiss to the man’s neck, earning himself another little breathless giggle, though he could feel the fight slowly leaving the Adviser.  “Your health is worth more than paperwork, Ignis.  All I ask is for you to relax for a little bit.  Let me take care of you.”

He continued to soothe his hands along Ignis’s sides, feeling how the Adviser slowly started to melt under even that little touch.  A few more kisses pressed under Ignis’s ear, his arms wrapping around the mans middle, chin resting against his shoulder…

“Alright.  I… suppose I could take a short break.  Don’t want to become a grumpy Moogle butt,” he chuckled, Gladio smiling brightly as he heard the acquiescence.

“Thank you.  Now… first things first.  You… go change.  I want you in your most comfortable pajama’s and Ramuh help you if I hear you trying to sneak messages on your phone,” he growled playfully against Ignis’s ear, making the man giggle and scrunch his shoulder up once more.

“I won’t!  I won’t… promise,” Ignis murmured, turning his head to press a little kiss to Gladio’s lips.  “But I’m afraid you have to release me if you want me to go change.”

“In a minute,” Gladio murmured softly against his lips, giving him a soft squeeze around his middle.  “Gotta make sure you know what you’re hurrying to get back to.”  He gently captured Ignis’s lips in another soft, languid kiss, feeling a hand moving up to gentle trace against his jaw.  It was only a few seconds, but as he leaned back, the dazed look in Ignis’s eyes would’ve made him believe he’d been kissing him for years.

“R-Right… yes… I’ll… be right back,” Ignis rasped, Gladio chuckling as he finally unwrapped his arms from around Ignis’s waist and stepped back to allow him to move.

Ignis practically dashed to their bedroom and Gladio found himself feeling just a bit proud at getting that reaction.  Glancing down he took in the amount of work Ignis still had to do.  How much of it was his own and how much of it still had other names and other handwriting on it.  The extra work Ignis had been heaped with.

Shaking his head he moved away from the table, going back over to the sofa and making sure the pillows were fluffed up, their throw blanket was at the ready and that the TV was turned on to one of those cooking competition shows that Ignis absolutely adored.  The man never admitted to liking them, but Gladio knew better.  He would see Ignis’s fingers twitch as people used their knives or the way he would mumble under his breath when he thought the contestant was picking the wrong spice to use.  He couldn’t help smiling as he thought about it, his smile only growing as he felt arms wrapping around his own waist from where he was bent over, adjusting the last pillow.

“That was quick,” he teased softly, standing back to his full height and feeling Ignis hiding his face between his shoulder blades, noticing a distinct lack of glasses.  Hopefully he had simply set them aside instead of losing them again.

“Yes… well… you gave me plenty of reasons to get back here as soon as possible,” he mumbled against Gladio’s back, his words muffled and vibrating against the Shields spine, making him shiver a bit.

“I’m a master of my craft.  What can I say?” Gladio chuckled, feeling Ignis nuzzling into his back more and wriggling a bit in his hold.  “H-Hey.  What’re you doin’ back there?” he said lightly, turning his head a bit to try and glance back at his partner even as the man’s arms held him a little tighter around his waist.

“Payback,” Ignis murmured, Gladio feeling the smile against his back a moment too late to do himself any good.  Soon he felt Ignis’s fingers lightly pinching and massaging against his lower ribs, making him buckle and giggle in the worst way possible.  His own arms attempting to wrap around himself to protect his weak spot.

“Nonon-ahaha!  Dohon’t!  Ihihig-nis!” he squeaked through his laughter, trying to wriggle free.

“You’re lucky I’m so forgiving,”Ignis murmured after a moment, stopping his small torment to simply hug Gladio closer.  “Remind me to thank Cor for giving me that little tidbit of info about you.  It’s saved me countless times.”

Gladio still had a few residual giggles escaping him even as he was able to stand back up to his full height, his arms slowly unwrapping so he could soothe his hands along Ignis’s forearms.  “He is an asshole.  He has his own weak spots though you gotta be quick to get a reaction otherwise he can turn it off.  It’s… unnatural,” Gladio chuckled.

“Oh?  And where would the Marshal have these weak spots?” Ignis asked, Gladio instantly hearing the tactitions mind going to work, but he wasn’t foolish enough to get himself caught up into that.

“Oh no.  You wanna find out, be my guest, but I’m not going to be the one to get Cor on my bad side,” he murmured, slowly turning around in Ignis’s arms to see the man leveling him with a pout.  Without his glasses and with his hair down and soft, it made him look even younger and Gladio felt his resolve waver.

“If you can get his neck… right against the back of it you’re gold.  Saps him instantly.  My Dad told me about that, but you cannot tell him I told you,” Gladio said earnestly, even going so far as to lower his voice incase, somehow, the Marshal would still be able to hear him betraying such a secret.

“My lips are sealed,” Ignis murmured, his pout instantly morphing into a bright smile as his eyes sparkled with mischief.  However, under that mischievous smile, Gladio could still see the dark circles that had settled under is partners eyes, the way his shoulders still seemed tense and his back rigid.  Even dressed down in soft grey sweats and a faded green t-shirt, Ignis still needed a chance to relax and Gladio wanted nothing more than to give it to him.

“Come on, you little imp.  Let’s get you relaxing for a bit,” he offered softly, soothing the man’s bangs from his forehead and watching how Ignis’s eyes fluttered shut at even that soft contact.  Gladio could feel his heart constrict with so much love for this man, he wasn’t sure he would ever be able to properly express it.  

Moving his hand away he watched the slight flicker of discontent pass over Ignis’s face, but he made sure it was short lived.  Ducking down once more he pressed a few soft kisses to his brow, his nose, his cheeks.  Tender pecks meant to soothe and relax him.  Ignis’s hands were now settled loosely against his hips, his own hands resting just over the Advisers upper arms.  Placing one last kiss to his lips he began to step back, allowing his hands to sweet down Ignis’s arms, gently holding onto his fingers as he led him toward the sofa.

“Just a few minutes of rest.  I promise,” he murmured once more, not wanting to break the little spell he could see he’d been able to capture his partner in.

Ignis gave a little nod at this, his eyes partially hooded as he followed.  Gladio easily settled himself on the sofa, laying across it with his legs outstretched before giving Ignis’s fingers a little tug.  Before long he found himself with a cuddle hungry Adviser draped over him, the man’s head nestled against his chest, right over his heart and his hands tucked under Gladio’s back.

“Comfortable, Iggy?” Gladio rumbled softly, one arm resting over the back of the sofa while his other hand worked to soothe and gently massage against the length of Ignis’s back.

A shaky response and a little nod was the only confirmation he got as he felt Ignis unwinding.  It always started slowly.  First, his breathing would calm.  Soft, deep breaths that seemed to deflate him more and more.  Then his legs would slowly start to tangle with Gladio’s, as if his body was already betraying his future plans to move anytime soon.

Then his back and shoulders would slowly start to soften, his muscles relaxing under Gladio’s gentle guidance.  A few kisses to his hair always seemed to complete the transformation from stern, rigid Adviser to pliant, cuddlebug Iggy.

“Feeling better?” Gladio asked, his hand having snuck up to lightly soothe and card through Ignis’s hair.  His brow furrowed a moment when no answer was forthcoming and he glanced down once more.  “Iggy?”

The man was out cold.  His cheek smushed against Gladio’s chest, lips slightly parted and looking so gods damn adorable Gladio cursed himself for not having his phone nearby to take a picture.

Carefully he shifted his arm on the back of the sofa, nabbing the blanket he had ready and draping it over the both of them.  He himself was always warm, but Ignis had a tendency to get cold.  The last thing he wanted was any discomfort to wake the poor man who was in desperate need of this time to relax.

His hand returned to soothing against Ignis’s scalp, keeping the Adviser blissfully content with every soft touch and gentle brush of his fingertips.

Someone on the television mentioned paprika and Gladio swore he felt Ignis’s fingers twitch between his back and the sofa and he couldn’t help a little chuckle.  He knew he would have to wake the man here in awhile.  Knew he’d have to keep his promise to him.  But for this moment he allowed himself to be greedy.  Allowed Ignis to be greedy and get the rest he deserved.

“Sleep tight, sweetheart,” he murmured softly, feeling the way Ignis sighed at his soft endearment, his arms wrapping protectively around his partner.  “We still got a few minutes.”

[ravenwritesstuff]

Shelter (1/?)

Fandom: Frozen (modern AU, no magic) Pairings: Kristanna (Kristoff/Anna),previous Hanna (Hans/Anna) Rating: T for now, M for sure later. A/N: Just going to drop this chapter here. I have the second one written and the whole damn thing plotted but probably will never finish it (kind of my MO), so if you at least want the second chapter lemme know. I’ll post it, too.

...

Her hands shake as she sets her phone back on the counter. The pen in the other hand trembles above the pad of paper next to it as she looks at the date and time she had scribbled during the call.

We got in.

The thought loops in her brain and as the initial shock of it fades a smile rips across her face.

“Who was that, mom?” A sticky-faced first grader asks from the folding table across the kitchen, feet dangling as she does her homework.

Anna presses a hand against the butterflies in her stomach - feeling the words that will change their lives bubble up.

“It was the house people.” Now she has two identical pairs of eyes on her and she sees the mirror spark of excitement ignite in them at her words. “We got in, babies! We’re going to get a house!”

She lets her daughter knock her to the floor into a pile of giggles and tries to not let the fact that her son does not join dampen her joy.

….

“We’ve got all your papers in order now.” Gerda, her coordinator slips the last signed page into Anna’s folder with smile. “So now we have to discuss how you’re going to cover your sweat equity hours.”

“Oh. I am ready to get started right away.”

Gerda, a woman old enough to have heard this same sentiment a few thousand times, smiles.

“Now this is hard work.” Her tone is gentle. “And you have two young ones.”

“They’re in school during the day - and there are after-school programs I can enroll them in if I need to.”

She hears her own voice - so eager it hurts.

“We require four hundred hours.”

“I know and I am ready to do whatever it takes -”

“I know you are, dear. That’s why you were selected.” Gerda clasps her plump hands on top of the desk across from Anna. A well worn crease forms between her brows. “I’ve seen a lot of people come through here wanting to conquer the world in a week, but this is the long haul. We’re talking at least a six-month commitment, probably closer to a year, and on top of working towards your certification and raising children on your own -”

“I can do it.” She has been rebuilding her life from the ground up for the last four years - building a house cannot be that much different. “I can do it.”

Gerda’s lips purse. “It is just very important that you understand the length and seriousness of this commitment before we begin. If you back out at any point there will be no recuperation for any of the hours you put in.”

“I won’t back out.”

“Ms. Arendal - “

“I won’t.”

Two breaths then: “Fine enough. Then if you feel you understand what is required of you all I need is a signature here.”

Gerda pushes one last page to Anna’s side of the table. Anna signs.

“All right then.” Gerda takes the page before the ink even dries and passes a thick packet to Anna. “Here is your work assignment as well as rules and regulations. I am available for questions during normal office hours - but your best bet will be to direct your questions towards your site supervisor.”

Anna flips open the first page and finds a name.

Kristoff Bjorgman

“Got it.” She closes the packet and smiles. “I can’t wait to start.”

….

“And remember today you are going home with Miss Ariel and Melody.”

It’s a brisk Tuesday morning, spring not quite ready to stick, as Anna waits for the crosswalk signal to change. Her palms are clasped tightly around small mismatched-mittens as the red hand flashes to a white stick figure.

“We know, mom.” It’s her son, Aiden, and she doesn’t even have to look down to know he is rolling his eyes. Six-years-old going on sixteen - she winces but lets his sass slide this time. They’re running late as it is.

“Miss Ariel will help you with homework and feed you dinner and I’ll be over to pick you up as soon as I can.”

“It’s going to be so fun!” Brantley says from the other side of her, red braid swinging. “Can we have dessert?”

“It’s a school night. Miss Ariel has the same rules we do about desserts on school nights.” Anna squeezes her daughter’s hand, palm warm through the worn wool.

“It’d probably be something dumb like fruit anyway.” Aiden pulls his hand away as they step onto the opposite sidewalk.

“Nuhuh! Mom tell him to stop being such a grouch.”

Anna’s head swims. It is not even half past seven in the morning and she is already exhausted. Gerda’s warning about taking on too much pops into her mind, but she shoves it aside. She has to do this - not just for her children but for herself, too. She needs to prove to herself that she can do this.

“Aiden - honey - this is just how it’s going to be for a little while ” She has already explained ad nauseum to the twins that she cannot take them to the job site. As expected - one took it better than the other.

“Yeah? Well it sucks.”

Anna bites her lip. Aiden knows better than to use that word and she knows he is just trying to get a reaction out of her, so she tries to not let it show that it does. Instead she looks at him - his auburn hair poking out at all angles. How he has both the best and worst qualities of his father will always amaze her.

“It will get better. Things will just be a little harder for awhile.”

Aiden mumbles something under his breath, but she does not catch it. She does not even try. When they get to school - only Brantley kisses her goodbye.

….

She parks two blocks down the street from the site and runs.

“Are you Anna?” She hears a voice ask when she finally stumbles onto the site.

She turns towards the sound and is nearly blinded by the low afternoon sun. She squints and shields her eyes (from the sun and something else) but she still cannot make out more than a large shadow. The air is brisk but she is sweating, nerves working against her. It takes all of her courage to not step back.

“Yes. I am. I’m Anna.” She swallows panic.

“You’re late.”

She deduces that this must be the site manager - Christopher? She cannot quite remember from the papers, learned panic erasing her train of thought, and she can’t quite get everything in focus when her head and heart are spinning.

“I know. I’m sorry. My last client likes to talk and - “ She makes excuses all while digging her heels in against retreat.

He isn’t that kind of guy.

At least she doesn’t think so.

At least she won’t let him be. She takes a deep breath.

“You can pick up trash today.” He cuts her off before she even has a chance and it catches her off guard. Her tongue ties. “The dumpster is over there.” He points. “Ask someone to make sure before you throw any scrap in there. It may be useable, and don’t forget to check in to get your hours.”

Just as quickly as he appeared, he is gone and she is left slightly dumbfounded. She was uncertain just what she had expected as a welcome but that certainly was not it. She squares her shoulders anyway and looks around. The site is not exactly messy but she can tell there is clean-up to be done. She checks the time on her watch, makes note, and sets to work.

….

She’s lugging a discarded pallet towards the dumpster, muscles straining, hands burning.

“Hey!”

She hears the call but does not respond. No one here knows her well enough to hale her.

“Hey you!”

It is closer now, close enough that she looks up from her task to find someone striding towards her. The setting sun lights sets the fringe of blonde hair poking out from under his hard hat on fire. Frost edges his breath, pours from his mouth and she had forgotten how cold it is getting with the sun’s retirement. She’s only been on site an hour but she knows that this is the man who greeted her (site supervisor and from what she can tell total jerk) and the look on his face is none-too-happy.

“What are you doing with that?” He asks as he approaches her, adjusting the worn tool belt at his hip

“Taking it to the dumpster?” it comes out far more as a question than she wanted.

“Don’t. It doesn’t go there.”

“Where does it go?”

He is close enough now that he grabs the pallet from her hands as if it was a butterfly’s wing and she meets hard brown eyes. She tries not to flinch but her inside are quaking.

“I can take it if you’d just tell me -”

“If you wanna know you can follow me.”

He turns on a heel and she is left shaking in her thrift store work boots for one moment at his abruptness before she finds the strength to follow.

------

The next few hours go without incident. Everyone else on site seems to at least be pleasant and she hopes that whatever Christopher’s problem is that it will be resolved by the next time she sees him, but she isn’t holding her breath. She has experience with men and the depth of their moods, catered to them for longer than she should have, but she is done with that now.

By the time she goes to pick up the twins from Ariel’s she has all but put the gruff site manager out of her mind.

------

The next morning she is introduced to a new level of soreness. Even her fingers ache which is not good considering she had to give two facials and three Swedish massages today. She pops four Aspirin with her coffee and stretches at the kitchen counter.

“What’s the matter, momma?” Brantley swings her feet as she spills more cereal than she eats.

Anna smiles through a wince. “Nothing, baby. Just sore from yesterday.”

“From building our new house?”

“No. Not our house,” Anna looks at the clock. They are running late. “I have to help build another house before I can build ours.”

Aiden snorts. Anna pretends not to notice.

“When do you get to build our house?” Brantley asks and Anna wishes she had an exact date, but she doesn’t.

“I’m not sure baby, but I am working really hard to make it as soon as possible.”

“That’s so dumb.” Aiden swings his leg too hard and kicks Brantley under the table (whether on purpose or on accident Anna will never know) and Brantley yelps.

“Mom! Aiden kicked me!” Brantley’s eyes already well with tears and Anna wishes she could climb back into bed and start over.

“He didn’t mean to. Did you Aiden?”

Aiden shrugs and stares into his cereal. Brantley’s bottom lip trembles. Anna wants to set herself on fire, but instead she goes and ruffles her daughter’s hair.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. The table is small and he didn’t mean it. Did you, Aiden?” Anna pulls out her mom voice and it brings just enough attention from her firstborn for him to shake his head the negative.

Brantley sniffles. Her cereal bowl is almost empty.

“How about two more bites and then brush teeth, okay? We have to leave soon.”

Brantley shovels two spoonfuls of mostly sugary milk into her mouth and skips down the hallway of their apartment to the bathroom. Aiden stirs his spoon.

“You too, kiddo.” She takes the one step to the table (small kitchens had their benefits) and reaches to ruffle auburn hair, but he dodges her touch. He shoves back from the table.  

He starts down the hall, but not before she hears him mutter: “If you’d just made it work with dad you wouldn’t have to build a dumb house.”

A secret part of her heart crumbles.

If only she had….

She shakes her head. No. That wasn’t an option then and it isn’t an option now. She grabs their cereal bowls and takes them to the sink to scrub them. She may not have much control over her world, but she can control if her sink is clean or not.

She focuses on that.

------

She has never wished to die. She never will, but today - oh - today - she pops six Aspirin.

Aiden will not get dressed. Brantley forgot to finish a page of her homework and is certain now she will mess up her marks and is sobbing. Anna wants to cry, too, but there are things to do and clocks to punch and she has to try to pretend she care when all she wants to do is quit. She wants to curl up and sleep for decades, but she won’t.

She can’t.

She doesn’t.

It is a miracle they all get out the door with pants on.

------

It’s her fifth consecutive day on site and she has managed to avoid Christopher until now. She’s kept a careful distance since her first day, deferring instead to the assistant supervisors, not wanting to incur his wrath or be perpetually stuck on trash duty. He approaches her as she sands a windowsill.

“You should wear gloves.” He nods at the bandages on her hands where blisters had popped up from the rough work. “It helps.”

She is dumbstruck at first, surprised, then: “I don’t have any.”

He is doesn’t ask why. That level of sensitivity she can only attribute to him being used to that on this job.

“There are extra pairs in the bed of my truck. It’s the blue chevy right there.” He gestures with his head. “Help yourself, just make sure you return them.” He points at the tool in her hand.“While you’re at it go switch out your sanding block. You’re using the wrong grain. You should be using medium.”

And with that he is off and she is left with her head spinning. She watches him go join some other workers as they put finishing touches on the framework and sits there with mind whirring. She only allows herself a moment though before she shakes herself out of it and moves. She won’t over think it, this random kindness, even though she wants to. No. She will do what she is told. She will get a house for her children.

But when she finds his truck and the leather gloves just as he said there would be (women’s sizes included) she can’t help but wonder if she had judged him a little too quickly.

------

She forgets what time off means. She thought she had known busy as a single parent before she started with Habitat. Gerda’s warning resonates now, one week in.

I’ve seen a lot of people come through here wanting to conquer the world in a week, but this is the long haul.

It is a Saturday morning. Every inch of her body throbs. Her friends Belle and Adam had agreed to take Aiden and Brantley so she could be on site today and log some real hours.

She rolls to her side and plants her feet on the ground with head swimming.

Tears well in her eyes unbidden. She pushes them back.

This is just the first chapter of this new part of her life.

She has had many new chapters, new parts.

Each has brought their own pain.

This is no different.

She stumbles to the bathroom, sun still sleeping, and flips on the light. She grabs the Aspirin and dry swallows four tablets.

Today is going to be a very long day.

_____

It is lunch on site (her first yet) and she forgot to pack one. Between trying to get the twins ready for the day and her exhaustion she had forgotten to pack food (not that the selection in her cupboard was great but it was better than nothing). She is four hours into an eight hour shift and all she has to eat are the fruit snacks she had stashed at the bottom of her purse for the twins.

She eats them quietly on the outskirts during break, trying to not draw attention, trying to not worry about her aching stomach. Then:

“Hey. Why are you eating all by yourself?” It is the lovely young woman she had noticed from one of her first days on site but had not yet met.

Anna just shrugs. She’d kept to herself since arriving, not mixing with the others, not sure if she was allowed to or if she was okay with allowing herself to.

“Get your behind over here!” The other woman waves and Anna hates to deny but also hates to let them know her failure, to let them know she has no lunch to eat.

Still she goes, uncertain how to deny, and sits as far aways as she can without being rude.

She has seen all of these workers at different times during the week, but they are all here now. She does not know if they are staff laborers or placement seekers like herself. Still, she smiles and tries to act like she belongs.

“Hi,” she waves low from her lap and everyone smiles.

“I’m Tiana,” the invitation giver offers introduction, dark curls falling into hazel eyes.

“I’m Anna.”

“You getting yourself a house?”

Anna blinks, the abruptness of her new acquaintance startling, but she nods her head.

“Good. I am too. Fact is all of us are. You are either going to see me or Naveen - that’s my husband - on this site till one of us drops dead or catches on fire.”

She looks at the ragtag group for the first time in earnest. She’d been so focused on the work that she had failed to notice how many of them  have the same second hand clothes and dime store boots she does For the first time she breathes a little easier. She’d known that others would be working on the site but she had somehow missed the connection that they might be just like her.

“I’ve only just started but it feels like I’ve been at it for years.” Anna laughs a bit, but it falls flat.

Tiana’s face is serious.

“Days like that come often, but you have to remember why you started. Write it down. Stick it to your bathroom mirror and don’t let anything stop you.”

This woman’s determination sends shocks through her and she sees the mark of struggle on her face the same as she feels inside. Anna thinks of her children. She thinks of the life they had before she’d left their father. She remembers that final night when -

She clenches her fists and forces a smile. “Don’t worry. I won’t forget.”

Tiana smiles knowingly and shares her hard boiled eggs with her.

------

The spa smells like lavender and money. She knows she is lucky to have landed this job out of school but still she cannot help but feel the weight of it. The clientele, the volume, the pressure to bring in more clients.... It alls adds up.

Ariel comes in between appointments, a lunch break she wishes she could just push through and work but has to take.

“How are you?” Her lilting accent is unnoticed by Anna, by everyone else at the spa who used to work with her. They are used to it.

“Fine.” She takes the salad Ariel offers her. It isn’t quite warm outside yet, but where they sit on the bench a few doors down from the spa the sun makes up for the difference.  

“Yes?” The way she phrases it as a question makes Anna feels defensive,

“I’m. Fine.” She stuffs salad into her mouth as if to prove a point.

“Okay.”

They eat in silence for several strained bites, then:

“Aiden isn’t doing well.”

Anna has to hold back the REALLY?! that is brewing beneath her skin because she knows. She knows more than Ariel wants to imagine, and even the silent admission from someone else make it more real somehow. Ten million doubts and questions assaulted her at once. She is not enough, she cannot be enough, she is failing her children, if she had just made it work with -

She shuts that train of thought down.

Ariel shut that down with her preternatural understanding: “I know.”

They eat more salad before she continues with:

“He asks about Ha - uh - his father.” Ariel stumbles a bit, her native tongue different than Anna’s and there are moments of translation - transition - where her polite nature wars with her curiosity.

Even with her friend’s tacit strategy - it is salt in the wound.

All she has done in the last three years is try to get past that - try to get past him - but she has made her choices and he is one of them. She has come to accept that. She chews and swallows a hefty bite of romaine.

“He’s mad at me. He doesn’t remember anything. He doesn’t understand.”

Ariel is silent then. They haven’t covered much of her marriage, but enough that Ariel understands what she means. She reached out and grips Anna’s forearm, stills her eating, and looks her dead in the eye.

“You did the right thing.”

Anna wants to melt into the reassurance, to snuggle down tight and swallow it so that all she feels inside and out is safe and warm and right, but all she feels is cold. All she feels is worn. All she feels is sore.

She looks back at the salad Ariel brought her, suddenly uninterested.

“I know.”

“Have you ever - you know - thought about talking to him about it now that he is older? Telling him why his father isn’t around and where he is now?”

Anna shakes her head. Those who know her best, who know the truth, occasionally ask her this, but she is not ready. It is just easier to take the blame than it is to tell her children the truth, to let tell them their mother is a coward and their father a criminal.

“He wouldn’t understand.”

Ariel is quiet for a moment, taking a few bites, then: “He is your kid so you have to do what you think is right, but I think if you ever tried to explain you would be surprised.”

Anna stabs at her salad, suddenly very not hungry.

“Yeah?” She mumbles. “Too bad I hate surprises.”

-----

She is massaging one of her (very few) regulars when there is a gentle rap at the door. The spa typically never interrupts a session unless something is urgent. She murmurs a quick reassurance to her octogenarian client (whom she is fairly certain is asleep) before slipping into the dim corridor where the salon coordinator relays the news.

Aiden is in the principal’s office.

Again.

She takes the call and arranges a meeting - head pounding.

She returns to the small, dark room she works on and to the massage she had been giving but she can hardly focus. Her mind is a dizzy whirl of schedules and conflicts and she is just not sure how she can make this all work.

But she can.

She will.

She has to.

[swankymikehanlon-blog]

The three times Mike saw Stan and the One time Stan saw Mike

“Hi Stan.” Mike stood in front of the grey stone protruding from the dry soil. Flowers, lilacs and hydrangeas to be exact, were clasped in his left hand while an old book laid asleep in his right. The wind had felt like icicles stabbing his exposed flesh and he had to close his eyes a couple of times so they wouldn't sting. 

“I, uh, I brought you your favorites this time.” Mike kneeled down on both knees and looked at the flowers in his hand. Under the winter sun, they looked beautiful, but soon they would wilt. As the others always do. 

“I found a book. And it’s beautiful. You’d like it.” Mike whispered as he took out the flowers from the week before and put the new ones in. He laid the old ones to the side of the of the stone and let out a distasteful and dreadful sigh. He felt his lip twitch as he read the written message over and over again.

Stanley Uris

A son, a friend, and a lovely young boy.

1999 - 2017

He reached across and gently traced the name with his ring finger. He still wore the ring Stan got him for his birthday. Underneath the band, the words “Everlasting”. 

Why? Well they both originally wanted to tattoos of the saying on their left shoulder blade. But they were quite underage. So they both saved up and bought identical rings with ‘their’ word.

“Oh yeah, the book.” Mike chuckled as he retracted his hands away from the cold stone. He looked at the book, cover so simple yet so alluring. He opened the book and flipped to a page that had been marked with a light blue sticky note. 

“I want to read this to you. And I want to read so much more.” Mike looked at the gravestone with sadness. He palmed the slighlty rough page he had opened to and began reading.

The only regret is that I waited

longer than a breath

to scatter the sun’s reflection

with my body.

New stars burst upon the water

when you pulled me in.

On the shore, our clothes

begged us to be good  boys again.

Every stick our feet touched

a snapping turtle, every shadow

a water moccasin.

Excuses to swim closer to one another.

I sank into the depths to see you

as the lake saw you: cut in half

by the surface, taut legs kicking, the rest of you sky.

Suddenly still, a clear view

oh what you knew I wanted

to see.

When I resurfaced, slick grin,

knowing glance: you pushed me back under.

I pretended to drown,

then swallowed you whole.

Mike started to feel an ache in his chest. He closed the book and stood up. He dusted the top of the stone and kissed the fingertips of his hand before placing them lovingly on top. His feet walked off, but his soul remained. His soul remained with his lover.

“You will never guess what happened!” Mike excitedly took the old, wilted, flowers out of the vase and placed the new, fresh ones in. Today he didn’t bring a book, but rather a letter. He opened it for the third time. The first time he opened it was in front of his grandfather who had begun to cheer in joy. The second time he opened was on the car ride here. 

“Dear Mike Hanlon, 

I am delighted to inform you that the Committee on Admission has admitted you to the class of 2018. Please accept my personal congratulations for your outstanding achievements.” Mike finished with a wide smile. He held the paper with fragile hands as he flipped it over to the stone, acting if it were really Stan.

“I can’t believe I got into Stanford. You always did believe in me.” Mike turned the paper around and read it over again. He felt his smile grow wider when he scanned the handwritten signature at the bottom of the page. But, the more he looked at it, the more his smile started to fall. He got accepted, that was the good part. Put Stanford wasn’t in Derry, Maine. It’s all the way across the country.

Mike just sat there. Acceptance letter still in his now clammy hands. He didn’t say anything. He thought. He though a lot. After a little bit he placed the letter next to the gravestone and the flowers. And continued to think.

The chilly day turned into the unforgiving night sky before Mike’s eyes. He only realized it got late when the contrast between his breath and the sky was visibly noticeable. 

“Why’d you take him?” Mike asked. He looked up at the stars, barely twinkling. They looked like little obscure lights mocking the tears that streamed his face. His sniffles were no louder than the chirp of the crickets in the forest behind him. 

“Why’d you take him?” Mike asked again. 

The moon had no answer. Neither the stars. Neither the black blanket that held both things together. And Mike thought.

Maybe there was no answer. Maybe there was no answer at all.

And that night, Mike Hanlon was sad. So was the moon. The only difference was that Mike had no clouds to cover his forlorn face.

His coat reached down to his ankles. His leather clad hands had been tucked away in the depths of his coat. The scarf of color red and soft brown kept the winter air from getting to his neck. It was 8:00 a.m on a Sunday morning. Mike had brought flowers, this time his favorite. Roses. He placed them into the vase but kept one in his hand. He twirled it around, gently, before smiling.

“I’m leaving today.” Mike bit his inner lip. Words wanted to claw their way out of his throat. But he was a knight in shinning armor, and he would not let them win. So he just coughed and swallowed the lump that grew in his throat. 

“I’m not going to see you for a while.” He let the sentence drip out of his mouth like it was a snake. He shook his head and dug his heels into the ground.

“I’m doing this...not only for me. But for us. This is for the both of us. And I’ll make you proud. I promise.” Mike felt the corners of his eyes getting damp. The cold air stung, but he didn’t care. He stepped closer to the grave and leaned down to trace the letters that read his lover’s name. One last time. He closed his eyes and recited something personal.

“Dear Stan...The day I met you. Was the day, I knew...I knew what love was. It was a long time ago. We were just kids. I mean, we’re still kinda kids, huh?” Mike chuckled, a chuckle that seemed to mean something other than happiness.

“But, I remember being scared to admit, to myself, that I loved you. I didn’t know what to do. But then one day...October 14, 2015, you kissed me. And I felt, I felt like euphoria. Like I was luckiest boy to ever live. And then I fell in love with you even more. So the years passed. And you’re gone now. But I continued to love you. I will always continue to love you. You were my first love. And I was yours.” Mike slowly took off the band on ring finger, and let out a breath. 

He kissed the ring and read the engraved writing before putting the rose through it. He placed the rose and the ring on top of the gravestone before standing back.

“I will always love you. My love for you...will always be everlasting. Sincerely, Mike Hanlon. They boy who was taught love by ‘Love’ himself.”

Stan wasn’t lonely. He had the trees. And the delicate birds. And the graceful night sky to keep him company. But Stan still felt a void. A void that would soon be filled. 

He was writing, nothing really, just a few notes. 

Draw another picture of the Blue Finch that visits you at precisely 10:00 a.m

Try on you’re old clothes

Watch another Alfred Hitchcock movie. 

Just the same thing as any other day. He hadn’t aged. Not one bit. He still looked like the same boy. The same boy who had loved Mike Hanlon to death. But then he heard footsteps. Footsteps other than his own. And he stopped, frozen, tapping of his pen ceased. 

“Hello?” 

That voice. The voice Stan had been longing for, for what seemed like centuries. The voice that reminded him of Honey and Tea. The voice that would give him goosebumps in the earliest of the a.m’s. The voice that he hadn’t heard in years.

“Mike?” Stan had stood up, chair almost falling to the ground. But he didn’t care. He didn’t care because Mike Hanlon stood at the door. Hands by his side with an expression of shock. He looked the same. He wasn’t old, no wrinkles seemed to plague his face and no teeth had fallen from his mouth. He still looked like the teenage boy Stan had knew very well.

They both stared for another minute before running to each other. They hugged. And they kissed. And they would never let go.

The moon became sad with me. Days of eternal misery had vanquished my hopes. But I saw him again and the sun smiled. And so did I.

Well, there’s that. And if anyone is confused over the ending, Stan had been in a type of ‘peace’. Yes, lmaoo totally from Vampire Diaries, but if you want to assume they were in some type of heaven, you can. All I’ll say is that ended up together. The poetry that is mentioned is from a book called “Prelude to Bruise” by Saeed Jones. 

[omnical]

I Sing the Body Electric... (1/?)

( Next )

Summary: All her life, forensic pathologist Dr. Angela Ziegler has dabbled much with the dead. After a bout of self-realization, she decides it was time she learned how to deal with the living.

And maybe ask her colleague out for a date somehow.

Genre: AU, Romance. Dark humor. Oh, and ghosts and psychics (anyone a fan of pushing daisies?)

Characters/Pairings: Angela, Lucio, Fareeha (mentioned), Pharmercy

Rating: T, mentions of body gore and third party violence, dark humor.

Links: AO3

Victim died from a singular sharp force: a penetrating wound to the head, resulting in cranial injury.

Left side, approximately 1.53 inches superior to the left orbit.

No murder weapon discovered in the crime scene.

Angela hummed, tapping her lip with the pen.

She paused the voice recorder and wrote her thoughts down on a yellow notebook, leg bobbing, her mind sinking deeper into concentration. By her elbow, a steaming cup of coffee remained untouched, and a nine-hour-old, empty sandwich wrapper laid crumpled up in a ball. Empty coffee cups littered her desk, alongside a mess of sticky notes with crucial thoughts written on them, such as: ‘the nasal cavity?’ and ‘lentil soup’.

Her uniform smelled freshly of antiseptic and murk from the examination they had performed earlier today. It sunk into her skin, her hair; lingering under her nose. Nothing she wasn’t used to, but being used to the smell did not mean she wouldn’t enjoy a long, hot shower back home. Finally, wiping biscuit crumbs off her wobbling keyboard and cracking her long, crooked fingers -- Angela got to work threading the details together. Her peering blue eyes did not break away from the notes and sketches she accumulated, as she typed down her meticulous observations regarding the case. And after what felt like hours, Dr. Ziegler sat back stiffly, curled hands hovering above the keyboard as she skimmed through her official autopsy report, eyes straining from overexposure to the monitor light.

She needed a few more moments of scribbling and typing and biting her pen. Playing the recorder again, keeping it on repeat; she listened to the sound of her voice, crackling and interspersed with static:

Body was found by janitorial staff at 1:30 PM.

According to the man in question, he was lying face-down on his desk, his pose suggesting a struggle, which explains various points of discoloration on his skin…

Blunt force trauma found on abdomen… bruising prominent beneath the left rib –

Where was his position when he received that bruise again?

Angela hummed, her thumbs tapping a random rhythm on the keyboard's space-key.

Once she reached the end of the tape for the third time, marked by a soft ‘click’, afternoon had already come and gone, her desktop monitor the only light bathing her in blue. She hid the recorder in the drawer, her free hand busy alternating between drafting a few rough sketches on paper, and typing exact details on the autopsy report. The doctor took a moment to grab a folder for Case #765 on top of a pile, opening it and flipping over to the photos of the crime scene: dried blood splattered outwards in every chaotic direction on the victim’s mahogany desk; his leather writing pad askew, probably because of how the body fell upon its expiry. She pinched her pen idly between her nose and upper lip, noting how neat the rest of the victim’s desk looked otherwise. She wondered what Satya would say about that particular pattern of blood. It looked like a bunny rabbit.

“Doc Ziegler?”

Cutting herself off in the middle of her thoughts before it drifted too far, Angela reached out to grab her coffee cup, not minding its ice-cold contents, and re-read her notes during their Internal Examination. Angela could only imagine what kind of weapon the murderer used. Or get an idea of what it was, at least, after seeing the results of the death blow herself. This seemed like a tricky one.

“Doc?”

Now if she were to make a guess, it would have been an extremely sharp knife with a serrated edge or…

Angela blindly grabbed for her pen, cocking her head when she realized, during her feverish thought process, she had lost the blasted thing somewhere and could not for the life of her remember where…

“Yo, Dr. Ziegler!” Angela blinked rapidly when Dr. dos Santos’ face appeared in front of her peripheral vision, her blurry sight sharpening until she could see the quirk of his eyebrow and his amused smirk up close. “Busy?” After a pause, a few seconds spent allowing her mind to buffer as she forcefully snapped herself back into reality, Angela jumped in her chair and uttered a small and startled ‘oh’. Her speeding thoughts halting violently in its tracks, not unlike a race car screeching out of the road in a rabble of chaos. She blinked again and, similar to the spread of colored dye blooming in water, her mind began to consciously feel the kinks and aches in her bones ignored for too long. A beat, and she realized her stomach had also released an embarrassing rumble on top of it all. She sent Lucio a sheepish look.

“Doctor, I’m sorry, I -- ” Angela shoved her skewed glasses up her nose, “You startled me.”

Lucio shook his head and rested hands on his hips while he regarded his frazzled mentor. There were biscuit crumbs dotting the corners of her mouth, and her blonde hair stuck up in several different directions all at once. Her clothing was rumpled and frayed, high heels pushed to the corner of her desk, leaving her feet covered in wrinkled stockings, and -- there were coffee stains on her shirt. He sighed, wondering who was really looking after who, in their professional relationship.

“So,” he said, elongating the word into a drawl, “Please tell me you ate lunch?”

Dr. Ziegler cleared her throat, “Yes, of course I had lunch.” she said, wiping crumbs off her chin. “I had something hot and soup-like almost an hour ago, and – “

“I don’t think coffee counts as ‘lunch’, Angela.”

Angela groaned in defeat and closed her eyes, watching bright spots dance beneath her eyelids as her body melted into the chair like putty. She breathed in deep, then stretched her legs out with an exhale. “Just finishing up on some paperwork, that’s all. You know how I get carried away sometimes.”

“How about all the time? And I think ‘carried away’ wasn’t exactly the term I was looking for. Try ‘workaholic’, or ‘perfectionist’.” Lucio leaned his hip against Angela’s desk, crossing his arms, and peering down at her with a mock frown, his neon green headset bunched up around his neck. Even if Dr. Lucio dos Santos was many years younger than her, and technically working under her, Angela hunkered down into her seat feeling much like a child under the watchful eyes of a parent. “When was the last time you took a ten-minute break, young lady?”

“I am not working too hard,” Angela groused. She sat back up in her seat with a grunt, feeling her back and neck pop. “This is just regular me, doing my regular me things,” She shot him a look. “Mom.”

“Don’t give me lip, young lady, you know you’re wrong about this,” Lucio said, “As your colleague, you know I respect and look up to you. But as your friend? You gotta start taking care of yourself, Angela.”

Angela huffed through her nose and began to get her hands busy, stacking the mess of reports which covered her desk into a neat-ish pile, and actively trying to avoid the look Lucio was giving her. “Just be glad I am out of my funk, Dr. dos Santos. I am happy, motivated, and ready to take on the next seventeen cases.” Even the smile on her face felt fake. “Bring it on.”

“Uhuh.” Lucio wryly glanced at the mess of documents under her desk. “Angela, I’m sorry I gotta tell you this, but you have got to get a hobby. Doing something other than work might help you more with this midlife crisis thing.”

“I am not having a midlife crisis thing. I’m not that old, doctor. And–” Angela raised her eyebrows, denial written plainly across her face, “I do have a hobby,” she said with a shrug, “It just so happens that my hobby is related to my work.”

“Your hobby is dead bodies.” Lucio muttered.

“Solving problems. Discovering the unknown.”

“… About dead bodies.”

“Now, if you would kindly excuse me,” Angela threw her entire weight into tossing a giant, teetering stack of documents on the floor next to her feet with a huff. “I was, in fact, about to go and take my break.” she said, dusting her hands together, “Want to have lunch with me, doctor? It will be my treat.”

“It’s seven-thirty in the evening, Doc.”

“Oh, well, time flies I suppose.” Angela said, opening one of her desk drawers, then absentmindedly shoving Jim Jam wrappers and empty coffee cups inside. As if that would make her trash disappear in the morning.

After six months working in King’s Row Forensics Department, the terrifying sight of Dr. Ziegler’s desk hygiene was common enough for Dr. dos Santos to see. He learned early from older residents how futile it was to drag Dr. Ziegler away from a job, and Dr. dos Santos no longer stared at her and her atrocious, self-destructive habits in awe. Their student-mentor positions didn’t stop Lucio from chastising her about her work ethic, especially after witnessing drawn shadows prominent under her eyes everyday, and her smudged make up only completed Angela's usual look. Now one of Lucio’s many fears was finding Angela Ziegler in their morgue someday.

However.

Dr. dos Santos peered at her above the rim of his glasses, and noted the glow about her cheeks with a raised brow.

"Now that I think about it, I haven’t seen you this excited about solving a case since…”

“I am always excited about solving cases.”

“But where was that Doc Ziegler who was ‘tired of it all’ and who ‘wanted to do something new with her life’?” he asked, “Someone who wanted nothing to do with ‘death and dead stuff’? Don't give me that look, you know what I'm talkin' about."

"Lucio--"

"Where was that Angela Ziegler who was planning to quit and maybe try being a football coach or a field medic or something?”

“She is still here, and she happened to get a grip on reality after a lot of thinking.” Angela said, ducking her head, as if that would hide the dusting of red on her cheeks. “Besides, I am already finished with this case. The precinct needs it urgently tomorrow, and, you know…” she stumbled on her words.

“And?”

“I had to finish it quickly.” Angela finished lamely, her voice raising an octave higher as if that would make her sound innocent with her intentions. “Detective Amari was asking about it this morning, and I felt compelled to help her crack this case as soon as possible.”

Lucio felt both his eyebrows reach up his hairline. “Oh. I see. I see.” he said, a twinkle reaching his eye while he casually turned to check his nails, trying to appear more interested with its polish rather than the conversation itself, “Detective Dimples is an awesome source of motivation, isn’t she? Hoping to share a hobby with her, huh?”

“Oh, Lucio!” Angela almost jumped out of her chair, smacking his shoulder with a manila folder. “Don’t call her Detective Dimples.”

“Hey, you were the one swooning over her ‘smoky voice‘ and ‘beautiful smile’ a few days ago.” Lucio laughed, rubbing at the spot she slapped. “Admit it, doc, you’re too gay to handle another meeting with her.”

Angela exhaled, and schooled her features before she became too flustered; raking her fingers through her hair, and hoping the red flush now covering her neck down would fade before another nosy nancy came into the office.

Relax. You are a doctor. You are a professional.

She straightened up in her chair, and folded her hands together in her lap. “I wanted to make sure I handed it in right away, that is all.” she said, managing an impressive professional lull in the tone of her voice. “I didn’t want to make our relationship with the precinct worse than it already is. And secondly,” Angela’s brows pinched in annoyance, and pointed at her office with a sharp jab of her forefinger: “‘Detective Dimples’ stays inside this room, doctor.”

“Detective Amari’s bone structure and cheekbones are so sharp and prominent–“

“Lucio.”

“It makes me want to take up anthropology. Oh Detective.”

“Lucio!”

“Fine, fine, I promise I won’t bring it up again.” he said, trying not to double up in laughter, his poor attempt almost making him slip off her desk. “Professional reasons my ass, though, I know you’re her favorite in the lab. Always asking about you and your ‘thoughts’.” he waggled his eyebrows, “You should ask her out instead of doing this–” he motioned his hands at her vaguely, “Weird flirting ritual thing you’re doing. I doubt you can woo her by talking about dead bodies, Doc Ziegler.”

“I do no such thing, doctor.”

“You need to get out there and get a life. Any life. Get a hobby. Get some friends. Ask Detective A out on a sweet date. Live a little.”

“I do have friends. You’re my friend, yes? Sometimes I even read books.”

“Thrilling.”

“And the detective and I do connect, socially, but just as acquaintances and nothing more.” Angela said, pulling her fingers thoughtfully, “I am a grown woman, doctor, I have complete control of my life.”

“Last time you spoke to her, you struck up a conversation about bile.”

“Well, I thought it was fascinating.” Angela grabbed the rest of her documents and began to rearrange them in a tray next to her monitor, this time with less gusto, feeling herself hunch over as her mind began to conjure up depressing thoughts. “I don’t think I am her type, anyways.”

“Oh, nonsense.”

But it was true. Whether Angela liked it or not, why would anybody consider dating a frumpy, high-strung workaholic, who liked to open up dead bodies for a living?

Dr. Ziegler and Detective Amari were connected through their profession only, no matter what her feelings were. They barely did anything beyond striking awkward pleasantries and empty conversations with each other. Trying anything more proved too much for her to handle. She found it difficult navigating through compelling words above work jargon, while stuttering and pushing through her infuriating and terrifying feelings. Not even the universe was kind enough to let them to meet on different circumstances, thus, they only ever saw each other to discuss murder cases among... other things.

Angela’s eyes, tired and unfocused, turned to look back at the autopsy report, wishing she could get sucked back into its world, where things had more clarity and sense and nothing was embarrassing.

Angela wondered when speaking with the dead became easier for her than dealing with the living.

She checked the time on her digital clock, blinking when she read it was now seven-forty six in the evening. The lights from the city cast a glow over the smoggy horizon, and as Angela listened carefully, she could hear police sirens echo off from a distance. She wondered if it was going to be another case they would eventually find through their doors.

Another body, another life ended.

She felt a hand on her shoulder ground her, all teasing gone from Lucio’s voice. “You won’t know unless you try, Doc.”

EDITED (26/09/17): Just the pacing and switched some words :) Thank you!

[shotsoftruth]

Sticky Notes, a Luke Hemmings AU

Part 1 / Part 2

Part 3

Noa’s alarm blared incessantly and she rolled to the other side of her bed, feeling around for the snooze button. Turning onto her back, she stared at the ceiling for a few minutes to psych herself up to getting out of bed. Ashton had told her he had a meeting with Luke today, and she wasn’t sure she was ready to face him again.

Ready or not, here he comes. She decided, hauling herself out of bed and putting her glasses on, dragging her feet as she went into the bathroom for a shower. She was not a morning person. The warm water helped to loosen her muscles, still stiff from sleep, and she stepped out much more awake and ready to face the day. With one hand she ran her fingers through her soaked hair and with the other she pulled up a playlist on her phone, attaching it to her bathroom dock (Yes, she had a dock specifically for the bathroom.) and plugging in her hairdryer.

In fifteen minutes her hair was dry and she was teasing volume into it with a comb, deciding against putting it up and shaping it into big, loose curls instead. Before returning to her bedroom, she put in her contacts, grabbing her glasses on the way out of the bathroom.

Humming the last song that had been playing as she got ready, she looked through the options in her closet, eventually deciding on a black pencil skirt and blazer with a red collared shirt underneath and black skinny tie. Not exactly big business attire, but not unprofessional by any standards.

Do I dare? She asked herself, eyeing her precious black Christian Louboutin platforms. They had been her first splurge as Ashton’s head consultant, she’d put everything she had into helping Ashton start his company and worked hard to be able to treat herself to those shoes. Thus, she saved them for special occasions. However, they’d give her the boost of courage she needed to face her boss’ awful business partner, so she pulled them down and set them on the table by her door- god forbid she leave them on the floor where Duke, her leonberger, could reach them and chew them to bits.

She ventured into her kitchen and started a pot of coffee before returning to her bathroom to put on her face, sharp eyeliner and red lipstick to match her shirt and the bottom of her shoes. I look rather impeccable, if I do say so myself, she thought as she wandered back into the kitchen, as if she didn’t say the same thing to herself every other morning. Humming, she poured her coffee into her travel mug and added a shot of caramel syrup and milk into it, grabbing a muffin from the bowl on her counter and stuffing it into a sandwich bag. She made sure to refill Duke’s food and water before going back to her entryway, throwing her phone and breakfast into her purse and putting on her shoes before exiting the house and going to work.

--

“Good morning Noa!” Ashton greeted Noa as she walked past his office. “You look very nice today!” She gave him a smile and a wave before opening the glass door to her office and entering, firing up her computer as she ate her muffin. Luke would be in at 11 AM with his consulting team and his lawyers, as well as a very important contract. This gave her two hours to get some work done before the meeting she was dreading so.

Ashton’s lawyer, Jack, entered the building at 10, giving Noa a wave before beelining to Ashton’s office, probably to give him legal advice on the contract they would be presented within an hour.

As the hour wore on Noa grew more anxious, unable to focus on her work as the meeting approached. Ashton’s company was successful, but this merge was definitely the biggest thing to happen in its short history. She could feel the buzzing energy throughout the building, practically listening to the “Did you hear?”s and “Luke Hemmings merger,”s despite the thick glass door and office walls cutting off the sounds from the rest of the office. It was all anyone had been talking about for two days, but as the hour of reckoning grew near Noa found herself tapping her pen incessantly on the glass surface of her desk rather than tapping her fingertips on her keyboard.

She jumped, distracted from her thoughts when her office phone buzzed. She looked up and into Ashton’s office, him nodding at her and picking up his laptop as well as some files. She gathered her own things and met him and Jack outside his office, the three of them walking to the boardroom, which was on its own floor and only accessible by the board members and consultants of the company. Ashton liked being in the open to all his employees, but there was far too much legal hassle for the boardroom the be walled and doored in glass like the rest of the office.

Ashton took his seat at the circular table and Noa took hers to his left while Jack started up the projector. Apparently the contract had been sent to Ashton hours ago and it was decided everyone in the meeting would be able to watch changes being made to the contract rather than dealing with writing in notes on a hard copy and retyping it.

Noa shot the consultant team group chat a text at 11:45 telling them to meet them and they were there within 30 seconds. Noa wasn’t the most conventional of people, much preferring to text her team rather than e-mail them for the small things.

“Nervous?” Amanda asked, taking her seat next to Noa.

“A bit.” Noa replied.

“We all are.” Ashton butted in. “Does the entire office not have anything else to talk about? All I’ve heard for two days is ‘Luke Hemmings-’ then silence once everyone’s realized I’m in the room. Definitely doesn’t help anyone’s nerves.”

“It’s nothing personal, Mr. Irwin.” Another consultant, Harris, replied. “It’s a small company so word travels fast, everyone’s just a bit excited about this recent development.”

“You should probably have a company-wide meeting about it when everything’s said and done. Or, at least send out an e-mail. A lot of employees feel left in the dark.” Amanda added.

“Alright. We’ll talk.” Ashton replied, standing from his seat. “If you’ll excuse me, I am going to wait in my office to greet our… esteemed guest.”

Noa let out a short laugh, as well as the rest of the consultants as they had heard of the bizarre power trip of a meeting between Luke and Noa. “Esteemed guest” didn’t even begin to cover what Luke thought of himself.

Everyone made small talk as they waited, most about weekend plans as it was Thursday and most of the office would be going out tomorrow. Noa watched as Luke stepped into the office with Ashton and four other people.

“Round table?” Luke questioned.

“Ashton hates sitting at the head. Something about everyone’s role in the company being equal.” Noa explained, closing the folder she’d been leafing through.

“Mr. Hemmings, you’ve met Noa Lexington already,” Ashton began and Luke focused on her, his baby blue eyes darkening to a sapphire with an otherwise unreadable expression. She gazed right back, giving him only a polite nod and quick, close-lipped smile. “This is my lawyer, Jack Richmond, and our consultants, Amanda Forest and Harris Lane.”

“Pleasure,” Luke replied. “I’m Luke Hemmings. These are my lawyers, Richard Smith and Charlotte Hugh, and my consultant, Olivia Tucker and her intern Evan Jones.”

Everyone took their seats, Ashton to the left of Richard and Luke to the right so they could watch the document be edited and printed directly from the computer to avoid any sabotaging. began going over the contract, the lawyers doing most of the talking unless one of the consultants caught something they did or didn’t agree with. Harris managed to crack a few jokes, easing the tension and earning a laugh from Ashton’s side of the table and even Luke’s lawyers, however Luke himself and Olivia remained deadpan and serious. However Noa could see a smile fighting its way onto Evan’s face, though he only sat and observed.

“Luke,” Ashton said eventually, well after the two CEOs determined they should be on a first name basis. “Lighten up mate, we want to get along with the people we work with, yeah?”

Luke looked taken aback, staring at Ashton for a short while before shrugging. “Different,” He said. “But alright.”

The work continued and Noa furrowed her brows as employees started to pop up in the text. “Wait,” She cut in. “All employees of Irwin Music Management previously at Hemmings Records are to transfer back to the record label?” She asked, reading the text

“Well, of course, seeing as the only reason you hired them was to get this contract.” Luke replied.

“No, absolutely not.” Noa said. “We value our employees, we did not hire yours because they are a pawn in trying to partner with you.”

“Mr. Irwin explicitly said in our meeting two days ago that he was stealing my employees specifically to grab my attention to partner with him. Now that he’s gotten what he wanted, I want my employees back in return.”

“Find new ones.” Noa replied sternly. “Mr. Irwin simply found employees he admired and wished to hire while trying to get in contact with your company. It also just happens to be the reason we’re on your radar, that’s not our fault. We keep the employees.”

Luke and Noa stared at each other for what seemed like forever, neither of them wanting to back down.

“Noa, this is negotiable-” Ashton started quietly.

“No,” She interrupted. “It’s not. They transfer, they lose their trust in both the companies. They’ll think we’re using them as pawns and Irwin Music Management is better than that. We hired them because we wanted them here.”

“Very well.” Luke said finally, after yet another drawn-out staring match, and Noa watched on the projector as Richard deleted that portion of the document.

Noa’s phone lit up on the table and she peered over at it.

Amanda: Is it just me, Harris, or could you have cut the sexual tension between Luke Hemmings and our lovely Noa with a knife just now?

Harris: With the staring they do? Absolutely.

This is highly unprofessional, Noa thought as she rolled her eyes at her phone.

Noa: Very funny. Shut up and listen to the lawyers.

Before long, the contract had been finished and both Ashton and Luke watched Richard print off two copies. Both were signed and the CEOs shook hands. “I’m glad we could come to an agreement, Mr. Hemmings.” Ashton said.

“Likewise,” Luke replied. “I expect great things from this partnership and your company, don’t let me down. Contract says I get your firstborn if you do.”

“Did you just attempt a joke, Mr. Hemmings?” Harris asked.

“Perhaps.”

“A for effort, it could use some work though.” Noa commented. “And stay away from Ella, you can have my firstborn if Ashton lets you down.”

Ashton cleared his throat to shut everyone up and turned his attention back to Luke. “Apologies, but is it alright if Jack shows you out? I need to meet briefly with my consultants.”

“Of course. Good luck, Mr. Irwin.” Luke said, grabbing his things, which included his copy of the contract.

“And to you, Mr. Hemmings.”

“Goodbye, Miss Lexington. It was great to see you again.” Luke added, his attention now turned to Noa.

“See you soon, Mr. Hemmings.” She replied.

The group exited and Ashton turned back to the consultants. “Alright, now that we’ve finished this,” He said, holding up his copy. “How do I tell the rest of the office?”

“I’ve got a sheetcake waiting in my mini fridge already, you just have to break the news.” Amanda said. “I had an intern pick it up this morning.”

“You are amazing.” Ashton said.

“Seriously.” Noa added, “I wish I’d thought of that.”

--

With the help of Noa and the rest of her team, Ashton had everyone in the small company occupating the large employee lounge area in no time.

“I’m sure you’ve all heard the rumors,” Ashton started when everyone had settled down. “And some of you must’ve noticed Luke Hemmings popping in and out of here over the last few days. This is not a company merger, as some have been speculating. We simply partnered with Hemmings Enterprises to better the opportunities for both companies. I can promise it’s an excellent move for Irwin Music Management and we will be seeing the benefits of it in almost no time at all. A partnership with a large and esteemed company such as Mr. Hemmings’ has been a long time coming, as Noa and I have been shooting for one like it since we started the company…”

--

“Good companies have good partners.” Noa said simply, rubbing the sleepiness from her eyes as she and Ashton went through yet another sleepless night of work at her shitty apartment as they didn’t have an office space yet.

“Partnerships like what?” Ashton asked, only half hearing the question.

“Like these.” Noa said, flipping her laptop around so Ashton could see.

“Companies like Hemmings Records?” Ashton asked.

“Probably not that one, but ones like it.” Noa said “Hemmings wouldn’t be my first choice, he’s living off of blood money and an inherited company. But if we were to partner with someone as big as that, it would do wonders.”

“One day we’re going to make a big partnership like that.” Ashton said. “We’re going to be so successful. You can pay off your student loans and get a better place, maybe even a big dog like you’ve always wanted. My wife won’t ever have to be the sole provider for me again, I can give her everything she wants. Even kids.” He continued. He’d been having an especially rough time at home lately, as he wanted nothing more than to give his wife kids like she wanted, but they just weren’t in a stable financial place to provide as parents.

“Yeah,” Noa said doubtfully. “One day.”

--

Clapping pulled Noa out of her thoughts and she realized Ashton had just finished speaking. He beamed at her and she gave a smile with equal enthusiasm back. Amanda cut into her sheetcake and passed it around while the office celebrated.

After about an hour, Ashton sent everybody back to work. Noa stepped in her own office and rolled her eyes when she saw a pink sticky note on her keyboard.

You look lovely today. Congratulations on the partnership.

-Jack

“What?” Noa asked, pulling off the sticky note in confusion. She thought it would’ve been from Luke again. Her computer lit and a message from Ashton appeared on the screen telling her there was something for her in his office.

“Your lawyer is flirting with me, Irwin.” Noa said when she entered Ashton’s office, dropping the note on his desk.

“Are you sure that isn’t meant for me?” He joked.

“Funny. What do you have for me in here?”

“I think one of Hemmings’ consultants or lawyers left this for you. It was left on the boardroom table. I don’t know, I didn’t look to see what it is.” He replied, handing her another sticky note. “Trade.”

“Ha, yeah, you can have Jack’s. I don’t want it.”

“He’s a pretty good looking guy, Noa.” Ashton said, wiggling his eyebrows.

“He’s so boring, Ash.” Noa said “Have you ever had an actual conversation with him? Outside of business? He’s like a robot.”

“Okay,” Ashton replied in a singsong voice, “If that’s what you really think.”

“Robot, Ashton.” Noa repeated as she exited his office.

The sticky note Ashton had given her were actually two sticky notes, she discovered when she sat at her desk once more.

Noa,

She peeled the two sticky notes apart, discarding the one that only said her name.

If looks could kill

(I am referring to both your ensemble and those glares you love to give me when I’m not giving you your way)

-Luke

She shook her head, amused, and shot Ashton a message on his computer.

Noa: Your business partner is flirting with me, too.

Ashton: Are you also sure that one is not meant for me?

Noa barked out a laugh, closing her messenger and getting back to work, the sticky note from Luke forgotten on her desk.

[charmingturkeysandwich]

Knock, Knock Ch.24/27: The Aftermath

We’re getting closer to the end, friends! This chapter had more angst than I’ve planned, but I still love it. And I hope you do, too! Question: does everyone know the game Hangman? As I was taking the photo above I realized that might be a regional thing (and also realized how gross the concept is; like seriously why the fuck was I playing this as a child?!). But when I was in the hospital my mom and I played it a lot, hence it making its way into this story. 

If you read, let me know what you think? And thanks to @emmaswanchoosesyou for unintentionally(?) providing a line of dialogue. :)

Read on AO3.

Start from the beginning on Tumblr.

It’s funny how sometimes you just want to reach through your rib cage and rip out your own lungs.

OK, so funny probably wasn’t the word. But Emma was trying to see some form of lightness in her current situation. And, yes, she was failing horribly.

She couldn’t talk, not really. It came out all scratchy and wasn’t really worth the pain, so she’d taken to writing notes. Except her hands had suffered minor burns from coming in contact with hot objects, so that hurt, too.

Just wonderful.

Miraculously she hadn’t broken her legs – Killian did well to remind her exactly how lucky she was to have escaped that particular injury (“why are you calling me the lucky one? I’d say it’s you, considering if my legs were broken you’d have been the person in charge of helping me use the restroom,” she’d scratched out, her voice somehow Julia Child and Morgan Freeman at the same time).

He’d been distant. He was taking care of her, of course – in addition to David, Mary Margaret, and Regina, the three of whom were also tending to poor Belle (alongside a massively apologetic Will).

Belle was doing about the same as Emma, though with fewer bruises, cuts, and sprains (Emma was ever the Princess of Stupid Ideas with Painful Consequences, it seemed).

Sleeping was Emma’s current favorite pastime. Not because it brought much rest – no, with all those wires and tubes hooked up to her, with all the pain and discomfort, all the noises of the stupid hospital, her sleep was never really all that high quality. But it meant she didn’t have to talk to anyone, didn’t have to apologize again for her stupid/heroic behavior, didn’t have to watch the people around her worry and fuss and dote.

It hadn’t been the wrong decision. Despite his fucking crazy, Emma still stands by going up to check on Jefferson. She had to at least try to help. At first it had seemed so minor, so it wasn’t like it was life-threatening. She hadn’t known from the start what she was getting into. And when it escalated, well what was she supposed to do exactly, just say fuck it and let the psycho burn down her home? Yeah, it burned anyway (burned to the ground, nothing left but beams and brick and dust), but she had to know that she’d tried to save it, to save the only place she’d ever really felt OK.

And, you know, other people lived there, too.

Killian didn’t leave the hospital. Ever. The nurses would try to kick him out and he’d always get snippy with them. “Where the fuck am I supposed to go?” he’d growl out, not an ounce of politeness left in him. “My home burned just like hers. I’m staying here.”

After his little outburst, Emma had written him a little thank you on a sticky note and stuck it to his arm. He’d smiled and folded it up, putting it into his pocket before scooting his chair closer to her and laying his head on her bed, time to get some sleep.

She’d run her IV-laced fingers through his hair until his breathing evened out. Whether or not he was actually sleeping, she couldn’t be sure. But hopefully he was faring better than her in the rest department.

Mary Margaret was exhausting. She was pregnant and shouldn’t even be on her feet the way she was (probably? That’s how pregnancy worked, right?), but she was constantly on the go. She’d buy Emma and Belle better food, better drinks (even though they didn’t exactly like putting anything down their throats quite yet). She’d bring fresh flowers and prettier bandages to cover their burns and scrapes. She was absolutely hell bent on providing comfort and relief in the form of material goods and any attempts to make her stop only made her cry. So Emma gracefully (not) accepted each new offering, vowing via notebook that Mary Margaret was making a difference.

David was a different story. He and Killian were mostly still riding the Rage Train.

Jefferson had – thankfully – been moved to a different hospital, air lifted to the city where they had a dedicated burn unit (and a psych unit – just saying). He’d been in bad shape. Obviously. He’d thrown accelerant on himself, had been standing directly in the fire. His burns were the kind that stayed with you. Forever.

(So much for a cleansing.)

His legs had been broken. His pelvis, too, if she were to believe the chatty nurses roaming about the halls. It was a miracle he was alive.

A miracle that David and Killian did not appreciate. The two of them spent time researching how to sue him. They came up with “fantasy” plans for how to kill him and get away with it. They even tried to blame the ex for “not getting him proper treatment” and their landlord for “renting to a goddamn psychopath.”

Emma was pissed at Jefferson, and with every right to be. Duh. But what kind of recourse was going to do any kind of good right now? The man was clearly suffering mentally. It takes a lot of wrong in your brain to resort to arson, to completely dismiss the consequences of your very unhinged actions. She was angry and annoyed and caught in a never-ending why me kind of depression spiral about the whole thing, because obviously Jefferson’s actions affected her. Directly.

But suing him wouldn’t take it away. Even him dying wouldn’t change the past. He needed help. And Emma needed to never think about the bastard again. A concept David couldn’t seem to fucking grasp.

“Please,” she croaked. “Just... pretend he doesn’t exist.”

“But he did this to you, Emma! Your life is just… gone. And all because of that idiot!”

Emma rolled her eyes and shrugged and grabbed her notepad, scribbling in childlike chicken scratch: say his name one more time and I’m going to find an IV needle and STAB YOU WITH IT.

He stopped talking about it after that. Out loud and in front of her, anyway. But his rage, his fury was still permanently etched into his scrunched up face and lifeless eyes.

It was like he couldn’t see that Emma was still here. You know, right fucking in front of him.

(Sometimes anger gets in our faces. It makes us do the wacky. Just like love.)

 She was taking a “nap” (reliving the time travel episode of Castle in her head) when an all-too-cheerful sounding set of heels started clicking on the shabby linoleum floor of her shabby hospital room.

“First you land yourself on the no-fly list, and then you jump out of a burning building? Damn, girl, you’re making my life look positively dull.”

“Ruby!” she practically growled, her voice particularly yucky after a few hours without water.

“Oh, dear lord please don’t do that again. I’ll have nightmares.” Ruby always knew how to lighten a mood, make the best of a truly shitty situation. She and Emma shared that way too soon and highly inappropriate sense of humor and it was just what she needed after the doting, brooding, and outright ignoring of her the last three days.  

Emma grabbed for her notepad and pen, only causing a little pain as she jerked at her IV port, and started scribbling.

What the hell are you doing here???

“Um, my best friend jumped out of a burning building. Did you miss that part? Of course I was coming to see you.”

You sent your love via text through Killian’s phone. With a lot of emojis.

“No emoji is a substitute for this face.”

“Well, you’re not wrong about that,” a smooth British voice called from the doorway. It seemed Killian had returned from his hourly walk/excuse to avoid Emma.

“So, Jones, has the fire convinced you that you should move to Seattle? Victor is itching to get you in on his poker night after last week.”

“We played poker?” Killian looked truly shocked by that information, which was particularly amusing considering how much he’d won – while apparently blacked out.

“Oh, you played good, sweetheart.”

The two of them spent some time catching up, Ruby seeming to sense that Killian wasn’t in any mood for joking about the recent incident that was the reason she was visiting in the first place. Emma just listened and smiled and gestured a few times in response to a question.

It was just nice to hear her voice. And to hear Killian’s voice… you know, without the twinge of blind rage or deep depression.

He’d seemed to be feeling far guiltier than Emma could wrap her head around. What exactly could he have done differently that would have changed the outcome of the day? Literally nothing. It all would have gone the same, except he’d be hurt, too. But he was feeling bad and it was making her feel bad and there was just something so odd about feeling the person you want right beside you –

And realizing they don’t seem to be there at all.

-

He needed to tell her.

A lot of things, actually.

(There was nothing like a near-death experience to get your damn priorities in order.)

First of all, he needed to tell her about the step he took without her permission. But, you know, she was probably going to want to slap him. And he owed her that. So he couldn’t tell her that when she was laid up in a hospital.

And he needed to tell her she was wonderful and perfect and all he ever needed in his life.

Sure, she probably realized he felt that way. She probably suspected that he felt the L word for her. But they never talked about it. They’d had some heart-to-hearts, they’d confessed their feelings and whatnot, but there was always the hint of humor, the possibility that it wasn’t all real and important and solid.

He knew it was. And he suspected that she knew he knew that. But why didn’t he fucking tell her? Why didn’t he confess how terribly much he loves her and how he plans to stay at her side every day for the rest of forever? Why didn’t he make sure there was absolutely no possibility for miscommunication?

Oh, because he was scared. Scared she might run or worse, that she didn’t feel the same way.

But she did. She fucking did and he knew it and why didn’t he just take the leap?

Nope, instead he watched her leap – off a fucking building, not knowing if she’d survive long enough for him to spill his guts.

And now he was just so angry at himself and annoyed at her and positively raging at the lunatic who couldn’t handle his own shit and put them all in this situation in the first place. In other words, he was in no state for a mushy, lovey speech.

And she was in no state to hear it. It wasn’t clear whether she was trying to avoid speaking with him or if she was just reacting to his own coldness, but she’d been fairly uncommunicative. She’d reassure him with little notes and he’d keep them close, but he couldn’t control the fire in his chest every time he thought about how she was almost taken from him, about all his own shortcomings, and especially about fucking Bucky and how much he wanted to strangle that bastard with his fucking breathing tubes.

OK, yes, he was overreacting. Emma would lecture him beyond belief if he were speaking out loud (and if she had the ability to talk at length), but he was just so mad. And it was easier to be pissed off at a violent, mentally unstable neighbor than it was to cope with being irrationally angry at yourself.

Ruby’s visit provided some perspective. With Emma not able (and/or afraid) to lighten the mood, Ruby was a breath of fresh air. He was able to forget, if only for a moment, about all the bullshit of the past few days. He was able to feel like he was just sitting in his living room, hanging out with his two very favorite ladies.

But that sense of home quickly vanished when he remembered his home had done just that – vanished. Gone were the couches they’d lounged on, the TVs they’d watched, the video games they’d played.

(Gone were the walls on which they’d knock for communication long before they were face-to-face friends.)

It was all gone.

It appeared he’d gotten a little lost in his dark thoughts, because Ruby had moved on from joking and catching up with him to apparently playing hangman with Emma on the nurse’s white board. Emma had gotten an entire song title correct without a single body part drawn and therefore was celebrating by doing a little dance from her bed.

Which resulted in a tugged wire and a pulled cord and all of a sudden there was a steady beeping and a very cranky nurse storming in to fix everything.

“Damn, Emma, you’re on fire today with your clumsiness,” she joked, Emma raspily chuckling in response.

Killian, of course, was not amused by anything that contained the word fire.

“What, too soon?” she asked him, a look of mock innocence crossing her still-laughing features.

At least Emma was smiling.

 It was the next morning that Emma found out she could be discharged. They needed to check all of her wounds and do a few more tests on her lungs, but everything seemed normal.

Well, normal up until the nurse made the mistake of asking Emma if she was excited to go home.

She stared blankly at the poor lady and then reached for her water, gulped down as much as she could and responded, “Would be if I had one.”

Which appeared to be the moment the nurse realized that Emma had been in the fire that destroyed her apartment. And she therefore had nowhere to do. Not officially, anyway.

She had somewhere to go. She and Killian were both invited to stay several places. Ruby, of course, had offered her flat in Seattle, but that was the first suggestion they steadfastly turned down. Regina, Robin, Mary Margaret and David, even Belle’s family had offered them places to stay. Only Will had forgone extending an offer – and that was because he was so desperately wrapped up in helping Belle to recover the hideousness (and their brief disagreement, too).

“I’m thinking we go with Regina. She’s got the big house, after all,” Killian joked to Emma as he was packing up her (recently purchased) clothing and toiletries.

“If that’s what you want,” she responded flatly.

“Swan, I was kidding. I just kind of assumed we’d go to David and Mary Margaret’s.”

Emma rubbed at the little hole in the crook of her elbow, the place they’d just removed the IV (a sure sign she was imminently free from this hospital hell). “I mean… well, I was thinking that maybe we shouldn’t stay together.”

Her sentence didn’t quite compute. “What do you mean ‘not stay together?’ What else would we do?”

“Well it’s not like we lived together, Killian!” Her sore voice was probably on its last leg, so to speak, with this influx of talking, but Emma showed no sign of wanting to switch to the notepad instead. “Just because we lived in the same building doesn’t mean we have to go to the same ‘emergency shelter.’ Plus you can barely look at me and it’s making me feel like shit. So maybe you should just go work out your anger at me or whatever somewhere else. I’m sure Robin would be happy to have you.”

He got the distinct feeling that if she’d had the ability, she would have stormed off at the end of that sentence (she so very much loved to have the last word). But instead she just plopped back down on her lumpy bed and hung her head.

And he probably should have thought a little longer about what he said in response. But, you know, emotionally charged situations and all – they’re not great for critical thinking. “But we can live together now. I mean… why wouldn’t we? We have to find new places. What’s so wrong with finding the same one? It would certainly make the process a lot simpler.”

The room was uncomfortably silent for the span of two walkers scratching by the open door of Emma’s hospital room – and three announcements over the PA system.

“OK, so you want to move in with me because it would just ‘make things easier?’” Emma put air quotes around those last three words, and that was about the time Killian realized he should have kept his damn mouth shut (he’d been right to not confess the mushy stuff – it certainly doesn’t come out very mushy in his current state). “I’m not interested in taking an important step in our relationship just because it would be less of a headache. Speaking of headache, I have one. And I’m tired. And I’m hungry. And I’d like to be somewhere that doesn’t make me want to commit murder. So could you please go find David for me and, I don’t know, call Robin while you’re gone to let him know you’re coming?”

Emma stood from the bed and hobbled over to the duffle bag with her things, grabbing one of the sweatshirts he’d gotten from the hospital gift shop. She refused to look at him, but as soon as he took a breath to respond, she countered, “Killian, please. I can’t do this right now.”

So he leaned over, kissed her cheek, and left.

-

“What kind of idiot suggests moving in like that?” Emma rasped, Mary Margaret quickly grabbing the empty bottle in her hand and running off to fill it with more water.

“Well, I mean – he does have a point?” Ruby suggested, her voice light and laced with a tone of please-don’t-kill-me-for-stating-the-obvious.

“OK, yes. I mean, he kind of does. We were probably going to get to that stage, anyway. So it does make sense. But he’s barely talked to me since I was in the hospital!” Mary Margaret returned with the water and Emma sucked down half the glass before continuing. “He was cranky for days and distant and I get it, but you don’t go from ‘I’m basically just tolerating you’ to ‘let’s consolidate a life together’ in a few hours.”

“Well, as Belle said yesterday, you also don’t usually go from brunch with your BFF to half-dead in a hospital bed in a few hours, either, sweetie. The situation is pure garbage, and he probably did it all wrong, but you can’t stay mad at him for this.” It was the first time in three days that Mary Margaret had actually voiced anything other than how can I throw more things at you to make you feel better.

Of course, just when Emma was at her low, Mary Margaret decides to stop doting. Just fabulous.

“You know, he hasn’t even said ‘I love you’ yet? Who moves in before you say you love them?” Emma countered, her argument seeming flat even to her own ears, considering it would take being blind, deaf, and perhaps not human in order to not know that Killian loved her.

(Or that she loved him in return.)

“Emma, you’re not exactly the easiest person to please. Or the easiest to know what you want, I should say. I’m sure he was playing it safe. And I’m sure the second he saw the fire trucks, he regretting playing it safe.” Ruby took a deep breath, closing her eyes as if to channel the energy of the sea or some of that floofy shit she’d taken classes in back when she lived by Emma.

“I know I joke a lot. And I know I don’t say too much about Victor. But one day he was on call and he was paged after an accident. It had been some kind of mess between a couple of cars going too fast and a tractor trailer that had fallen asleep at the wheel. Anyway, the passenger of one of the cars looked just like me, apparently. Or enough that Victor’s heart dropped at least. He did surgery on her, but there was no saving her. He had to call time of death on her and he had to tell her brother and her boyfriend that she was gone. It was that night that he picked me up from the apartment building, still wearing his scrubs, and told me in a very matter-of-fact tone that I was the best thing to ever happen to him and he’d like to come home to me every night. He was tired. It was midnight – and not the romantic kind. But it was real. He’d had enough fear of losing me entirely that he was no longer afraid to push me away. Mad at him was better than dead in his book, I guess.”

(Always ending on a light note, that Ruby.)

The girls were all quiet for a few moments, Emma feeling their stares through her eyelids as she squeezed her eyes shut and tried to figure out any way she could stay mad at Killian instead of herself. (She was failing.)

“Now can we please call Robin to bring him over? I’d made up the guest room for both of you.” Mary Margaret was scowling at Emma when she finally opened her eyes. Ugh. How did she go and fuck up so quickly?

“Fine, but someone else is calling him.”

-

A strange number popped up on Killian’s phone. Who would be calling him that he didn’t have in his phone book?

That’s when he remembered that Belle and Emma had left their phones in the apartment. You know, the one that had burned down. And rather than trying to rush new iPhones and deal with insurance and all that crap, Mary Margaret had just picked them up some Tracfones from the local dollar store. Meaning they both had new numbers, at least for the time being.

He answered expecting to hear the rasp of Belle or Emma, but instead it was David’s voice on the other line, apparently having borrowed Emma’s new phone. “You’re being summoned, Jones.”

“Summoned?”

“Yeah, the crazy girl has admitted her crazy and requests your presence. And I swear if you refuse I’ll bop you on the head because, yes, she was wrong, but she also almost burned to death this week so how about we give her a pass?”

“Only for you, Dave.”

 Robin had been expecting that Killian wouldn’t stay long, his things already in Robin’s jeep before Killian had even requested a ride to the Nolans’.

“Oh, I figured one of you would crack. Like you could actually be away from each other.” Robin scoffed and rolled his eyes and Killian felt a lot like punching him for his attitude, but then again why would he? It was technically a compliment to his and Emma’s relationship that it was so obvious they should be together.

(Well obvious to everyone except Emma apparently.)

The ride to David’s place was mostly full of idle chat, comments on the football matches he’d missed and on how smitten Will was. It was, again, a relief to have some to just talk to, someone he didn’t constantly feel guilty about lying to or about failing to keep them safe.

As much as he was looking forward to seeing Emma, to hopefully holding her and allowing the tension of the past few days to dissipate, he was also dreading this. They were going to have to talk. They’d both need to apologize, or something in the general vicinity of apologizing, and they’d both need to be honest. Her own honesty would probably be fairly minor – probably just admitting she was scared, which, you know, duh. But his? She really could hate him for making such a decision for her.

Robin opted not to come inside, citing the fact that he and Regina actually were planning to watch a movie together that night (Oh, now I see why my bags were already packed), but he did ask that Killian pass along his well wishes to Emma.

And, of course, he wished Killian good luck.

(Which he’d need.)

“Killian! Fancy seeing you here!” David called out the front door, waving a bottle of beer at him to usher him inside more quickly.

“Yeah, well, we’ll see if I stay,” Killian groaned. He probably should have told Robin there was a chance he’d end up crashing his date with Regina. Just to give him fair warning and all if Emma were to kick him out. Again.

“Oh, you’re staying. Probably for quite a while, I’d imagine. My wife has already hung pictures in the guest room to make you both feel welcome while you’re sorting out your living arrangements. So you’re in this for the long haul.”

“Shouldn’t you two be focused on the baby and not us?”

“Well at this point you two need about as much supervision as children, so we’ll call it practice.” David clinked his bottle against Killian’s, took a sip, and wandered back into the kitchen.

“Ah! He’s here!” Ruby shouted as she bounced out of the living room, a glass of wine in her hand.

“Should we really all be drinking when Emma can’t?” Killian questioned.

“She can tolerate us all better when we have a buzz. Now, Mary Margaret and David and I are off to do some baby shopping! Leaving you and your lady all alone. But the kind of alone where you talk, not the kind where you get kicked out of airports. Savvy, pirate?”

“Aye, Captain.”

Ruby looped her arm through Mary Margaret’s and the two mumbled their goodbyes to Emma as they joined David out in the kitchen. There was some shuffling and talking and the scuffle of shoes before the outside door creaked open and shut.

And he was alone in the house with Emma.

She was perched on the couch, her less-bruised elbow leaning on the armrest, one leg curled toward her chest and the other extended across two of the three cushions.

“Can I sit?”

“If you can fit. I’m not moving my leg. It hurts like a bitch.”

“Shouldn’t you be icing it? Or taking pain killers or something?”

“Nah, I’m toughing it out. You know me.”

“That I do,” he mumbled, tipping his head away from her so he could roll his eyes without her seeing.

“Don’t you roll your eyes at me, mister. I know I’m frustrating but, you know, it’s been a bad week for me. Being on fire and all.”

Her voice was still hoarse and weak, but he could sense the smile, so he turned to meet her eyes as he sat down at the opposite end of the couch. “Yeah I suppose I could cut you some slack. But, you know, you only get to use this so many times.”

“No way, buddy. This one’s good for the rest of our lives. Very little can trump burning building. I’ll always have that card in my pocket.”

It was uncanny how quickly they could fall back into their easy, joking manner. He reached out and put his hand on her ankle, running his fingers along the bruises.

“So. The rest of our lives. That’s a thing you think about?” Easy joking was nice, but unfortunately, it was time for a Real Talk.

Her response was not only shocked, but almost offended: “Of course I do! It just kind of seems like… you don’t. Didn’t? Or something. I don’t know.”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Well why wouldn’t I?!”

It seemed they’d come to an impasse. Apparently when you were both just supposed to know that you were Serious (not just boyfriend and girlfriend but actually going somewhere else kind of serious), there really were significant chances for miscommunication.

“I love you,” Killian finally said, reaching out for Emma’s hand. “I love you so much it apparently makes me stupid sometimes. I shouldn’t have been so angry at the hospital. I mean, I was never angry at you, but I’m sure it was hard to watch me be angry near you. A lot. And I’m sorry that seized the worst opportunity to ask you to live with me. And I’m sorry it took you jumping out of a burning building and spending four days in the hospital for me to tell you I love you. So very much. Basically from the first time you yelled at me, in case you were wondering.”

Emma smiled and squeezed his hand tighter, shifting her leg forward so she could scoot closer to him. “I love you. Definitely not since I first yelled at you. But I still love you all the same.”

Little fireworks went off in his chest. Despite already knowing how she felt, despite the fact that none of this was a surprise, just hearing the words made him do a little happy dance all the way down to his soul.

And that’s when his voice of reason woke up from his nap and gave him a little tap, tap, tap to the brain.

Better tell her now, buddy.

Deep breaths. He needed to take some deep breaths.

“Would you still love me if I did something big and somewhat life-changing without your knowledge?”

“Did you already buy a house? Because I swear to God, Killian, if it’s ugly I will smack you.”

“No, no. Um. OK, so you know how I had meetings with the insurance guy and my lawyer and all that?”

“Yeah? Obviously? That was only a few days ago. And miraculously I didn’t suffer any memory loss from my recent… incident.” Emma smiled and giggled a bit (as much as she could when she sounded like what he imagined a talking bulldog would) and it made him all the more ashamed of the imminent confession.

“OK, yes, you remember. And I told you why I was going – but only part of it. The papers are in my bag and I can show you later, you know, if you don’t kill me – which, at this point I would understand if you did and – ”

“Killian. Spit it out.”

He paused one last time, exhaling out and preparing for the worst.

“I made you an equal partner in my business.”

Emma’s eyebrow shot up and her eyes roved the room as her mouth fell slightly open. After a few more seconds of silence passed, she started physically looking around the room like a leprechaun were bouncing around with a damn pot of gold in his hands. Maybe she had been taking more medicine than he’d thought?

Then she finally spoke: “And?”

“And what?”

“That’s what I’m asking you.”

“Did you not hear me?”

“Equal partner in the business, right?”

“Yes.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“That’s what I’m asking you!” she growled, choking a little from raising her voice. She reached for her glass of water and downed a little bit before turning back to him.

“Did you sign a contract with the devil for my soul in exchange for half your business?”

“Um. No?”

“Then why the fuck are you freaking out?”

“Well why aren’t you?! I asked you to move in with me a few hours ago and you reacted like you were going to run me over with a car. But I give you half my business and you’re just cool with it?”

“Well I do half the work. Why wouldn’t you give me half your business?”

This fucking woman. Just when he thought he knew her enough to predict her reactions, just when he thought he’d prepared himself for all the worst…

She goes and gets all understanding and reasonable on him.

“So you’re OK with it?”

“Did you not want me to be?”

“Well I assumed because I did it without your permission – which was stupid, yes, but I was scared you’d say no – that you’d be really angry.”

“I’m a little weirded out that you could do that without at least, like, my signature? But I’m not angry. I mean, not at you. I’m a little angry at the fucking universe because these injuries and this obnoxious voice are both messing with our schedule. Summer is almost fucking here. We need to execute our very well-crafted plans!”

Her frustration was palpable. She really was all-in when it came to the business.

And apparently also with the relationship.

How weird was that?

(His favorite kind of weird, of course. The kind named Emma Swan.)

[celestialvoid-fanfiction]

Overprotective Boyfirend

Peter has a tendency to slit the throats of the people that Derek sleeps with, so when Stiles shows up to a pack meeting with a scratch on his throat, Derek get protective of his mate.

But it wasn’t Peter and the reason behind the scratch surprises Derek.

You can also read it on AO3, here. For @toofarforward

There was a moment of tense silence when Stiles walked into the loft. Not from anything he had done, but because all eyes were drawn to the aggravated red scratch that ran across the pale skin of his throat.

They all that their questions, but no one got to ask because as soon as Derek saw it, he snapped. 

He leapt across the loft and grabbed Peter by the front of his shirt before hurling him against the far wall.

Peter hit the concrete with a solid thud before falling to the ground. He groaned as he rose to his hands and knees, coughing violently.

Derek pounced on him, grabbing his shirt and hurling him to his feet before pinning him back against the wall.

"You bastard," Derek snarled.

"What did I do?" Peter asked, shocked.

"You know damn well what you did," Derek barked, his eyes livid with rage and glowing crimson. "Kate deserved it, Jennifer too, but don't you dare touch Stiles."

 "I have no idea what you're talking about," the older man argued.

"You have a tendency to slit the throats of people you don't agree with," Derek pointed out.

"You think I tried to slit his throat?" Peter asked. "Derek, if I had 'tried' then he wouldn't be standing here; he's be dead in an alley with his throat slashed."

Derek pulled Peter forward and slammed him back against the wall again. The alpha's fangs dropped as he growled at his uncle.

"Derek," Stiles shouted, finally getting the man's attention. "Peter didn't do this."

Derek's grip on his uncle didn't falter, but his eyes did as he looked at the boy, stunned.

"I, uh... I walked into a tree," Stiles explained.

"A tree?" Erica repeated, not quite believing him.

"Yes," Stiles insisted. "A tree."

"A tree that had a branch and the perfect height to scratch your neck?" Isaac pushed.

"What is this? The couch of disbelief?" Stiles asked, pointing at the two omegas. "Yes, I walked into a goddamn tree!"

"And you didn't see this tree that had a branch at the perfect height to scratch your throat?" Erica asked.

"No, I didn't see it, I was distracted," Stiles replied.

"Distracted by what?" Isaac inquired, leaning forward and bracing his elbows against his knees as he listened intently.

"I was distracted by the many thoughts I have of all the creative and disgustingly gory ways I could kill you all because you wouldn't shut up," Stiles growled, glaring viscously at Isaac.

The omega sat back, biting into his lips slightly to stop himself from speaking.

Stiles may only be human, but he still had the power to scare the hell out of them. 

Stiles drew in a deep breath and turned his attention back to Derek before repeating one last time, "I scratched my neck when I walked into a tree."

The alpha nodded slightly before turning to look at Peter. He let go of the man's shirt, shoving him slightly as he did.

Peter stepped around Derek and made his way across the loft, trying to ignore the alpha's low, threatening growl.

 Hours later, Stiles sat at his desk. His eyes flickered between his computer, textbooks, note books, cue cards, and study notes that Lydia had given him as well as those he had written himself. His case board had been reserved for all things supernatural so his wall was overcome with colourful sticky notes and coloured strings that connected different pieces of card. Among the mess of papers and books on his desk, pens and highlighters of all kinds and colours were scattered haphazardly.

He was in the middle of memorising Egyptian pharaohs and their contributions to the ancient society – new buildings, new laws, new traditions and trade, or memorable fights and assassinations – when he felt warm arms coil around his body.

He jumped and yelped, flailing as he spun around.

Derek gently shushed him, nuzzling his face into the curve of Stiles’ neck.

Stiles let out a heavy sigh and tried to steady his pounding heart.

“Holy shit,” Stiles gasped. “You know you could have knocked.”

“I came through the window,” Derek confessed.

“Then you could have made noise,” Stiles argued.

“I did,” Derek countered. “I also called you fifteen times and sent many messages. Scott did too. It got to the point where you weren’t responding and we were worried, so I came to check on you.”

“I’m studying,” Stiles announced, gesturing to the mess of work before him.

“You were completely absorbed and unresponsive,” Derek corrected. He snuggled into Stiles’ warmth, littering kisses across the patch of skin that the collar of his shirt left exposed. “I think it’s time you took a break.”

“But I’ve still got so much to revise,” Stiles whined, picking up another pile of notes.

Derek shook his head and sucked at Stiles’ neck hard enough that it threatened to bruise. The pressure made Stiles melt in his arms. The boy hummed as he lolled his head to the side and exposed his neck to Derek.

The alpha smiled as he made his way across the pale skin, sucking, nipping and kissing the warm flesh. He didn’t leave a mark, scared that if it bruised it would either hurt Stiles or spark an uncontrollable instinct in Derek, and the last thing he wanted was to hurt his mate or worse: bite him.

Derek slid his hand beneath Stiles’ shirt, his warm hands feeling the ridges and seams of Stiles’ surprisingly toned abs.

“Okay,” Stiles whispered. “I cave.”

Derek smirked as he span the boy around in his desk chair and hoisted him into his arms. He carried Stiles over to the bed and lowered him onto the mattress before climbing onto the bed and straddling the boy with his thick thighs.

Stiles’ arms slid up Derek’s back, clawing at his shirt and grabbing handfuls of the man’s raven black hair as he crushed their mouths together in a passionate kiss.

Stiles hummed as he melted into Derek’s warmth, opening his mouth and heeding to Derek’s dominating tongue. He let the man ravish his mouth, gently balling Derek’s jacket into his fist and pulling the man closer.

Derek took advantage of the boy’s dropped defences, drawing back slightly and bringing his lips to Stiles’ jugular. He littered the skin with sloppy, open-mouthed kisses. He nipped and sucked at the skin, just hard enough to reduce the boy to shuddering moans.

Derek heard a mew. He pulled back slightly and looked at Stiles.

The boy seemed to panic.

Derek turned his head to look at the small ball of pure white fur that sat on the bed next to them, staring at them with wide blue eyes.

“This is Nagisa or ‘Nagi’ for short,” Stiles introduced. “She’s Kira’s cat.”

Derek stared at the cat.

“Kira’s parents are renovating their house so Kira’s staying at Scott’s to study for finals, and – well – Nagi doesn’t get along with dogs, werewolves included,” Stiles explained. “She won’t let Scott anywhere near Kira so I offered to take care of her until their house is ready. I mean, having a cat under your feet is hard enough on a daily basis and can be catastrophic during renovations, not to mention you don’t want her drinking dirty water, getting covered in paint and plaster or getting somewhere she shouldn’t be.”

“Stiles,” Derek interrupted, turning his bright eyes back to the boy. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” Stiles apologised. “Also, she’s the one who scratched me. But it’s not her fault! She was asleep and I panicked because she was so quiet. I mean, when dogs sleep they snore or dream and make funny noises or twitch, but cats – well, Nagi at least – is just quiet and still, and I panicked because I thought something had happened. So I kind of pounced on her and startled her, so she scratched me.”

Derek smiled. He craned his neck and pressed tender kisses to the bright red scratch.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles whispered.

“It’s okay,” Derek assured him. “I’m glad you told me, but I’m even more glad that it wasn’t Peter.”

“If it was, then you would have found his bloody body beaten within an inch of his life with a baseball bat wrapped in wolfsbane and barbed wire.”

Derek couldn’t help but chuckle as he leant forward and brought his lips to Stiles’ in a chaste kiss.

“God, I love you,” Derek whispered, a bright smile lighting up his face.

“I love you too,” Stiles replied, leaning up to press a kiss to Derek’s lips.

Nagi interrupted their moment as she meowed again and rose to her feet, arching her back as she stretched. She strolled across the bed and began to brush up against Derek, purring as she rubbed her fur against him.

Stiles stared at her, confused. “She likes you.”

“Is that really so strange?” Derek asked.

“Well, cats and dogs don’t usually get along and you’re a werewolf,” Stiles explained. “Wolf being the operative word.”

“Well, wolves and foxes don’t usually get along but Scott and I seem to be proving that to be wrong,” Derek countered, leaning in for another kiss.

Stiles’ stomach was next to interrupt them, letting out a loud gargle.

Derek lean back, looking at Stiles surprised.

A bright blush lit the boy’s cheeks as he buried his face in his hands.

“When was the last time you ate?” Derek asked, concerned.

“Before the pack meeting,” Stiles muttered into his hand.

“That was twelve hours ago, Stiles,” Derek scolded.

“I’ve been studying,” the boy countered.

“That’s no excuse,” Derek growled, sitting back. “Here’s what’s going to happen: you’re going to text Scott and say sorry for not answering his calls and tell him everything’s okay, then you’re going to call your dad like you usually do while I go and feed Nagisa and get dinner for us. Then you have ten minutes or so to write any last study notes, save everything on your computer and put everything away. Then we’re going to have dinner and date night, like usual, and I don’t care if we have to watch a crappy documentary instead of a movie, but you’re not studying any more tonight, got it?”

Stiles pouted and nodded.

Derek leant forward and brought their lips together again in a brief, tender kiss. He sat back and made his way towards the door.

Nagi pounced off the bed, the small bell on her collar tinkling as she pranced after Derek.

“The cat food is in the cupboard,” Stiles called after him. “Just empty a tin into her bowl and she’ll be okay.”

Derek muttered something and walked away.

Stiles smiled and sat up on his bed. He rummaged through all his notebooks and study papers before finally finding his phone.

Derek hadn’t been joking: his phone was lit up with notifications: missed calls from Scott, Lydia and Derek, voice messages, texts from Scott, Derek and his dad, and a couple of photos from Kira and Lydia’s day out shopping – mostly funny plaques that they wanted to buy, anything pertaining to werewolves, and occasionally a Batman comic or a really cool looking book on the supernatural he knew was super expensive but they bought for him anyway.

He quickly sent a thank you text to Lydia for the stack of Batman merchandise and books on the supernatural that she had brought him as a reward for studying. Then he sent a text to Scott that assured him all was okay, his phone was on silent and buried beneath stuff on his desk so it wouldn’t interrupt him and he was perfectly fine aside from studying a little too much. He stacked away his study notes and saved the opened files on his computer before shutting it down. Then he called his dad.

“Hey, kiddo,” his dad greeted. “How are you doing?”

“Good,” Stiles answered. “To be honest, I’m a little panicked that I don’t know enough.”

“The finals aren’t the end of the world, Stiles,” his father assured him. “You’ll be okay. You’re a smart kid who gets straight A’s, there’s no way you’re going to fail. Have you been eating?”

“Yes,” Stiles lied as he turned off his bedroom light and made his way downstairs.

“Have you been taking breaks?”

“Taking one now,” Stiles replied.

“Is Derek there?” his dad asked.

“Yes,” Stiles answered. His dad was one of few people who actually knew Stiles and Derek were dating – although the others were bound to know now after seeing Derek get so worked up at the pack meeting this morning. “He’s cooking dinner for us now.”

“That’s right,” his father muttered. “It’s date night. You two watching a movie?”

“Maybe, haven’t decided yet,” Stiles replied. “He has offered to watch ‘boring documentaries’ to stop me worrying about studying.”

“He’s a good man,” his father sad softly. “He’ll take care of you.”

“Yeah, he does,” Stiles muttered dreamily as he glanced around the doorway and watched Derek move gracefully about the kitchen.

“Don’t you dare let him slip away from you,” his father said firmly.

Stiles couldn’t help but smile. “I won’t.”

[spiritgriffon]

Smile- a Yu-Gi-Oh fanfic

Author: Rachael D.J AKA Leopaaahh..! I didn’t change my username back!

Ok, I didn’t forget, I got attached. I just want to stay this way for a few more days!

Let’s try this again;

Author: Rachael D.J AKA Deep Eyes White Dragon AKA the dragon formerly known as LeopardGal6

Pairing: Kaiba Seto/Atem, Prideshipping

Genre: Family, Hurt/Comfort, Tragedy, Romance

Chapters: Oneshot

Warnings: End-of-Manga & DSoD spoilers! Vaguely implied rape, vaguely implied pedophilia, blatantly stated child abuse, mental illness & character death.

Words: 7,316

Summary: Daimon has been a butler for the Kaiba household for many years- he remembers laughter and tears, redemption and despair. But above all, he remembers Seto.

Rating: M

Read it on FFN and Ao3

Notes: Last year, I wrote a story called Blue Blossoms. It was the first time I'd ever written a story in preset tense. I swore it would be my last. I lied. This story features Daimon and scenes from season zero, backstory from season three, and events that only happen in the manga and Dark Side of Dimensions. Canon? What canon? Also, before anyone asks- no, I haven't abandoned The Isolation Game, I just really loved DSoD and wanted to write something that tied into it. ...And yes, I know that Kazuki Takahashi posted something on his Instagram that expands on the end of DSoD a bit- he also says that this is only one possible ending. Keep that last part in mind here.

(A few notes on names; Miyazato is a Japanese surname meaning Shrine Village. Ishida is a Japanese surname meaning Stone (Rice) Field. Aika is a Japanese female given name meaning Love Song.)

 Daimon remembers the first time he met Kaiba Seto.

 That isn’t even his proper name yet- legally, he is still Miyazato Seto, and this won’t change until the paperwork for him and his brother goes through over a week from this day. But the driver introduces the children to Daimon as Kaiba Seto and Kaiba Mokuba, and for an instant the boys exchange a shy glance, before Seto says a polite ‘Nice to meet you’ and gives Daimon a small, shy, honest smile.

 Daimon remembers the first time he sees Seto talking to himself- he’d completed his schoolwork for the day and was strolling through the gardens. Daimon remembers his laugh- loud and uncontrolled and so full of joy. Daimon remembers asking him what was so funny, and he replies “My friend!” and for an instant Daimon is worried that someone has broken in, but Seto clarifies that he is the only one that can hear her, and Daimon relaxes. Seto is such a curious and bright child- an imaginary friend is hardly surprising.

 Daimon doesn't remember his first heart attack. He does remember waking up in his bedroom with young Seto at his side, and the way the room smelled of fresh oranges- he remembers Seto handing him one, and the way his hands were coated in sticky juice- Daimon’s hands were too weak to hold it on their own. He remembers waking up the next morning to the sound of Seto’s laughter- out his window, he can see Seto playing in the freshly fallen snow, tripping over a black trench coat at least three sizes too big as he runs after his brother.

 Daimon remembers the pictures- scribbled hastily on his schoolwork or over an hour on a proper piece of drawing paper. Despite Seto’s ten-year-old talent, Daimon remembers the boy’s eyes- fierce and kind at the same time, lavender or purple with flecks of crimson and blue pointedly added in. Daimon keeps the pictures in his room, kept neatly in a sealed box. Every last one of them.

 Daimon remembers asking Seto about the boy. Seto calls him his friend- someone who has been gone for a very long time and he misses terribly. Daimon assumes that this was a boy he knew in his old home, but Seto insists they’ve never met. Daimon asks Seto how he can miss someone he’s never met- to which he gets a serious look on his face and says flatly “Because that’s the way it is.”

 Daimon doesn’t remember when the pictures stop.

 Daimon resumes his role as teacher two months after his heart attack. Seto is as bright as ever, but he no longer looks up at the corners of the room, smiling at jokes unheard. Instead he cringes, face buried in his collar. After a week of silence,  Daimon asks if anything is wrong. It’s his friend. “She’s not real. I know she’s not real, but she won’t stop telling me she is.”

 Daimon learns that while he was away, Seto had been diagnosed with paranoid schizophrenia. Daimon knows that keeping Seto on his medication and aware of reality is for the best. He also knows that Seto is miserable.

 Daimon remembers Seto’s eleventh birthday- he is too ill to see him in person, so instead he writes a card. Daimon writes it in English- he remembers how happy Seto was to learn how to write his name in a new way. Daimon had promised to teach him how to write in cursive as soon as he was able to read his textbook cover to cover. Daimon remembers using a blue ink pen. Daimon remembers how Seto loves the color blue.

 It is nearly a full year later when Daimon returns to the Kaiba mansion- Mokuba appears overjoyed to see him again. Seto says everything he should say- but there is no feeling behind it. Gozaburo invites Daimon to dinner with the family and spends most of it bragging about how fast Seto is learning- he’d taken over Seto’s education personally, after all. Daimon remembers the bandages just barely peeking out from Seto’s collar and sleeve- not at all suspicious on their own, but he remembers Seto’s face when he notices they’re showing. The way he yanks his sleeve down and holds his breath after, as if he’d seen a ghost and not a piece of latex sparks a seed of worry, and he makes a note to get Seto alone after dinner.

 Seto can barely stay awake through the end of the meal. Daimon knows by the dark circles under his young eyes that the boy needs his sleep and vows to ask him about the bandages in the morning. Daimon has an episode that night and has to return to the hospital.

 Daimon is still ill on Seto’s thirteenth birthday, but he insists that he will go see Seto come Hell or high water. His old room has been gutted- most of his personal belongings are now in the Kaiba Medical Center where Daimon now lives, but the box of Seto’s pictures is nowhere to be seen.

 Gozaburo is out of town on important business and Mokuba has the flu, so Daimon has Seto to himself for the day. Daimon spends the day teaching Seto cursive, just as he’d promised so long ago. Daimon can feel the tension in the air when he arrives, but by the time night falls the air has cleared and Seto is even laughing a bit- until it happens.

 Daimon had had a box of stationary under his bed, and when Seto leaves to get a drink of water, Daimon finds the box still there, but with a very different prize inside.

 Cards. Duel Monsters cards, none of them of any particular value, save the “Blue Eyes White Dragon,” hand drawn by a young child with care.

 Seto walks in on this and freezes. Daimon asks “Seto-sama, are these yours?” to which he hurriedly sets down his water so roughly it nearly falls and snatches the cards away.

 Seto blurts out at least three excuses at once, a maid must have hidden them here, he was so very sorry someone had disturbed Daimon’s box and he’d been meaning to throw them out for weeks, really he’d just been too busy-

 Seto is manic, and Daimon’s voice can’t reach him through the cloud of panic, but Seto reacts to the hand on his arm as if he’s been slapped in the face.

 “Seto-sama, what’s wrong?”

 Seto’s eyes are red and watery in the harsh fluorescent  light. “Nothing. Nothing is wrong. I’ll just throw them out, it’ll be okay.”

 Daimon frowns. “Why would you do that?”

 Seto’s eyes drift down to his hands. “Because… Duel Monsters in a childish game. Mokuba and I aren't allowed to play childish games.”

 “Seto,” Daimon says as he reaches out a wrinkled hand, but as it enters Seto’s line of sight he flinches, so he drops his hand back to the bed and says “look at me.” Seto obliges, the mania cleared from his face and instead a resigned submission. “I don’t think Duel Monsters is a childish game.”

 His posture is still defensive, but there’s something glimmering behind his eyes, not quite hope, too scared to be hope, but something close. “You don’t?”

 “No, Seto-sama. I beat the world champion of Duel Monsters once, you know.”

 It’s a subtle change, the way Seto’s shoulders lower, the way his head raises, But Daimon remembers it clearly. “You did?”

 “Yes. It was a private match, not in a tournament, but I beat him best out of three.”

 Daimon can see how Seto’s expression changes, the way his lips barely part and the slow unintentional whistle as he exhales. Daimon feels the unconscious tug at his lips. “Do you want me to teach you how to play?”

 Seto’s expression changes, his brows furrow, causing deep lines in his young skin. “I already know how to play,” he pouts. “Mokuba and I used to play it all the time.” His face is almost comically sour, but it’s the most honest expression he’s worn all day.

 “Then we can jump right into a round,” Daimon says with no room for objection.

 The two play late into the night, until Seto finally falls asleep in his chair. Diamon could see them- the bandages on his neck and arms, and he thinks he may see one under the hem of his shirt as well when he falls asleep and it rides up a bit, but Daimon can see how fragile Seto’s happiness is, and despite his every instinct telling him to find out what happened, Daimon’s selfish heart can’t find enough strength to break Seto’s smile.

 By the next month, Daimon is suffering cascade organ failure. Simply spending a day outside the KMC is too much for his body to handle. He sleeps most of the time, but he awakes every so often to find young Seto has come to visit- at first almost every other day, then once a week, then in a bare few months he only comes to visit once, and the next time he is awoken it’s by a lawyer. Kaiba Gozaburo is dead. Kaiba Seto is the new president. Kaiba Seto is now fifteen years old.

 Seto had turned sixteen by the next time they met- his hair was bleached, and Daimon guesses he’d done it himself- there is a distinctly green tone to it. There is no shyness or fear in his eyes- he no longer puts up a defense, this smile is a threat. Seto says “I have a job for you, Daimon,” and though he replies of course, anything for you, Seto-sama, part of Daimon’s heart simply can’t comprehend this dangerous stranger as the bright boy he had grown to love as a son.

 Daimon has spent the last year in a sealed chamber- his lungs and heart have been replaced by artificial organs, but even so, he can only survive for three hours outside of intensive care. This would normally not be a problem, but the driver nearly running over a high school student was not in the plans.

 Two and a half hours after leaving the KMC, Daimon knows that this is the end. He’s known that he’d outlived his time in this world already- he is not afraid. Daimon has but two regrets- leaving Seto now, though he knows in his heart that it is far too late for him to save that kind boy, and the second…

 Well, there is something awfully familiar with that high school student. Mutou Yuugi, sixteen years old, a few months older than Seto, though one would never guess it by looking at the two. Puberty was hitting the poor boy late- his voice broke every few sentences and Daimon guessed that even Mokuba was taller than him.

 He was kind and gentle, and Daimon noticed the way he bit his lip and his brows arched down during their game of Duel Monsters. There was something buried just beneath the surface- a hidden strength, covered by self-doubt, the same that caused him to over think his moves and lose the game, though he had the advantage. Daimon thought he had a good read on Mutou Yuugi.

 Just not on what made him so familiar. One mystery he’d never solve.

 Minutes after the duel ends, Seto enters with Daimon’s personal medical staff. Daimon is ill and faint, but there’s a distinctly odd note is Seto’s “Yuugi? What are you doing here?” that's a fair bit too chilly to be hopeful and yet far too familiar to be uncaring.

 Seto has another job for him just days later- this time, to defeat Mutou Yuugi in a proper duel. Seto looks straight ahead in the car as he explains what will happen- supposedly, the “weak” persona he’d seen earlier was only a split personality, and the real one would only come out when challenged. “I’ll warn you. Don’t lose. He punishes losers,” Seto says, a shallow smirk on his mouth as his eyes glisten. “‘The Sensation of Death.’ That’s what he called it.”

 The change in Yuugi’s demeanor is instant and undeniable. Self-doubt was utterly replaced by overconfidence- no doubt he truly had skills to back it up, but Daimon guesses he wasn’t quite as untouchable as he thinks himself to be.

 Daimon loved a good game- he was never one to stop midway through just because his body complained. But with Seto standing behind him, hand on the IV line, he feels no pain. A real challenge like this is rare- he completely lost sense of time, until the fog of battle clears, and he feels his body begin to fail.

 It is laying there, helpless, as the boy he had dedicated his life to steps over his prone form and leaves him to die, he realizes Seto was truly gone. This was no barrier of protection- something in him had broken- something in Seto’s heart, Daimon had allowed to break.

 Daimon remembers the careful touch on his arm, looking up into the boy’s eyes- lavender, speckled with crimson and blue, strong and kind and sad and utterly lost all at the same time. Daimon remembers the feeling of a smile tugging at his cheeks- this boy could bring back Seto’s smile. They may have just met, but Seto had been missing him for a very long time. They had a bond that Daimon could not understand, but he could feel- as for why, well, that’s just the way it is.

 Everything had gone dark then. Some unknowable amount of time later, Daimon realizes that he is back in the KMC. Something was happening, and it was quite loud, but Daimon still feels ill and returns to rest.

 It was well over a month later when Daimon returned to consciousness. Daimon remembers it feeling more like a nightmare than reality. Seto is in a coma. He has been for weeks. He’s shown no signs of recovery.

 Daimon remembers reading Seto’s chart, and so much has changed since the last time he looked after his master’s health.

 Paranoid schizophrenia. Bipolar disorder. Asperger's syndrome. Dangerously high blood pressure. Hypermobile joints- and the beginnings of arthritis in at least two fingers, even at his young age. And prior to his catatonic state, severe insomnia. He’d stopped taking any medication weeks before the beginning of what the doctors were calling his “breakdown”- the beginning of Death-T’s construction coincided with the increase of Seto’s erratic behavior. Apparently, this had started with the night he’d been found asleep on school grounds, and had devolved into such incessant nightmares that Seto had been going three or four days at a time without sleep.

 All of this comes to Daimon secondhand- from the staff and files. None of it seems real- not until he sees Seto in person.

 His hair is cropped short- it’s brown again, but not close to the length he liked. He stares ahead, eyes lolling from left to right, searching, searching, but unresponsive. He’s neither unconscious nor brain dead, according to the doctor’s findings. He’s dreaming. He’s been dreaming endlessly, night and day, for three months. This is good, they say. REM sleep is when the body is best able to heal itself. Daimon knows this is true, but Seto’s vacant look makes his heart ache.

 Seto has grown taller since he last awoke- his clothes are far too small. They fit awkwardly on his large, bony frame- too short on his limbs and too baggy over his torso. The doctors decide to give him a full examination on the six month anniversary of Death-T, and Daimon sess what he’d been afraid of for years.

 Scars. Dozens of scars, little light brown lines scattered over the surface of his arms and shoulders like scattered straw, two deep russet lines encircling his neck like an abused dog, and dozens of little white crescent marks on his arms, his shoulders, but mostly down around his hips and lower back. Four lone ones on his belly, all in a line. But nothing on his face or hands. Kaiba Gozaburo knew how to hide his tracks.

 There was no way to know if Daimon could have stopped this.What Daimon did know was that he hadn’t tried. Daimon remembers taking Seto’s clammy hands in his and apologizing for what he’d let happen. Daimon didn’t beg for forgiveness. He neither wanted nor deserved it. He begged instead for Seto to wake up. Seto only stared ahead.

 It was two weeks to the day after that, when things get noisy again. It was dark out- one, perhaps two in the morning, when the man runs into the KMC. He staggers drunkenly, leaning on walls and chairs and kicking cabinets as he dashes around the room as fast as his impaired body will allow. Daimon remembers the man- tall, very tall, with a dark coat he into which he shovels handful after handful of pills. What he does not take he discards on the floor- once, he steps on a bottle and falls into a computer with a great clatter. “Fuck,” he says in English with an impeccable American accent. His voice is a deep baritone that Daimon feels is familiar but does not immediately recognize. He makes a note to turn this drunkard in once morning comes. KaibaCorp. needed better than prescription-stealers that disturbed patients to this degree.

 In the end, the helicopter and prescriptions are both discovered missing hours before Seto is. He’d taken damn near every stimulant in the west wing.

 This leads to four days of pure panic- Mokuba was two days late for his check in from New York, none of his staff could be reached- through hotel staff insisted he ordered room service two to three times a day, Seto had woken up, been spotted by exactly one member of the house staff and run off while she went to get a doctor, and somehow managed to steal a helicopter. And for four days, nothing changed. Daimon remembers the constant buzz of anxious activity, and then the fall of dead silence, and knowing at least one of the brothers had been found- and then the fear, the dread, the impatience for someone to return and tell him what was going on, and then-

 “For the last time, I do not need a doctor, I need a lawyer! The Big Five-”

 “Kaiba-sama, you have been in a coma for over six months-”

 “Do I look like I’m in a coma now? This needs my immediate attention!”

 “Nii-sama, please! Just let them-”

 “Listen to your brother, Kaiba! He’s righ-”

 “Who let YOU down here? Ugh, get rid of the bonkotsu and I’ll stay here until he’s gone.”

 “WHY YOU-!”

 “Sir, I’ll need you to come with me.”

 Daimon remembers seeing the brothers walk in hand-in-hand, the way Seto’s sharp mouth scolded the doctors and gently sparred with Mokuba, and how he followed his brother’s guide completely. Daimon remembers the look on his face, as his sentences drifted off and an unfocused look glazed over his eyes, and how a simple “Nii-sama? You were saying?” brought Seto’s world back into focus. Daimon remembers the almost unnoticed touch, as Seto began to drift off and ghosted his fingers over his brother’s, and though no-one else did, Daimon saw the reassuring squeeze of Seto’s fingers, and the way Seto’s thumb ran over the back of Mokuba’s hand- to anyone else who saw, it was Seto comforting his little brother after a horrible ordeal- but to Daimon? Seto needed his brother just as badly as the other. He wasn’t well yet- but he also wasn’t the same broken child that stepped over a dying man that he’d lost interest in. He was Kaiba Seto, and he was sick, and he may never be the same as he was before, but he would get better. Finally, he would heal.

 Daimon sees Seto often after his return. After the first week, Seto’s “fading” spells cease almost entirely, and he is able to fully resume his duties as president- however, his six months of inactivity had taken a steep toll on his body. Between his lack of proper food and sudden growth spurt, Seto had gone from somewhat gangly to severely underweight, his reflexes had been greatly slowed, and he was having even more joint pain than before. Seto comes into the KMC twice a week for physical therapy, and always stops to talk to Daimon. Daimon gets the feeling he is being more talked at than talked to, but hearing about Yuugi’s ongoing feud with the math teacher and Mazaki’s inexplicable domination in the arcade, how dare she replace his high score, she wasn't even a serious gamer , and the time the bonkotsu was drawing something called a “fursona” in history class, and the design was so terrible that Seto didn’t know whether to turn him in or give him art tips and he couldn't decide which until after the bell rang and then he’d been so distracted that needed to get notes from Yuugi and it was all the bonkotsu's fault, and the other three Seto had taken to calling “The Peanut Gallery” in English- to Daimon, Seto sounded more alive than he had in years. The years had changed him- he’d always had a bit of an acidic side, even as a child, but now there is an edge of bitterness to his every word, a challenge in his jokes,  an unspoken threat in his laugh. His air of utter self confidence rings hollow to Daimon’s ears- Seto brags about how superior his new advancement in Solid Vision tech is to anything KaibaCorp.’s Competitors have, to which Daimon points out that yes, it is a brilliant design, but his current duel disk still had many flaws- Daimon’s honest answer makes Seto waver.

 For so long Seto had been surrounded by danger- those who sought to tear him down and those who only existed in his life to agree. Those who had pushed Seto to the point of creating Death-T and those who’d enabled him to do so were equally to blame, in Daimon’s mind.  Seto had built a wall of ego out of fear and pain to hide behind, and it was so very fragile. Seto had lived a life of criticism with himself as the only consistent support- both honest validation and criticism from another was a new experience, especially from the same source, and simple remarks were enough to shake Seto to the core.

 “The Duel Disk does need work before launch,” Daimon says, and Seto’s face is vulnerable and hurt, “but I know you’re up to the task, Seto-sama. Things like this take time.”

 Seto presses his lips into a thin line and looks directly at him for a few moments, before his smirk returns and he pronounces “Of course I am. I know that.”

 Seto knew many things- but he needed to hear them all the same.

 Daimon remembers the days leading leading up the the launch- Seto had created a promotional tournament dubbed “Battle City” and was constantly busy. Daimon remembers the glimmer of excitement in his eyes- due to his coma, Seto hadn’t been able to attend last year’s worldwide Duel Monsters championships as he had planned or even this year’s nationals- losing his title to Insector Haga by default, who had then gone on to not even make the top fifteen, had been something that bothered Seto greatly. This tournament was Seto’s chance to return to competitive dueling- and his chance to face Mutou Yuugi again, which he honestly seemed more excited about. The last time the two had faced each other had been before Seto was completely recovered- he was positive that he could win now that he was back at full strength.

 Daimon remembers Seto’s small smile the night before the tournament- anxious and giddy with an undeniable edge of danger.

 “I’ll crush him,” he says.

 “And then what?” Daimon asks, and for a single second Seto’s smile falters, he looks lost and unfocused and an instant later his smile returns.

 “Then I’ll know,” he says. Seto doesn’t say what he will know- but there’s a breathless lilt to his voice that leads Daimon to believe he has more than a vague idea.

 The next time Daimon sees Seto is the night after the tournament ends. Daimon remembers awakening in the dark, only the faint glow of the computer monitors lighting the room, barely able to see the room’s other occupant. Seto sat silently, elbows pressed into his knees and mouth hidden behind crossed fingers. His eyes are downcast, seeing nothing.

 “Seto-sama?” he asks, to which the only response was a quiet shuffling of Seto’s feet on the cold tile. Seto has something to say- Daimon can almost hear a silent, frustrated scream in the air. Daimon waits.

 “I don’t believe in the impossible.,” Seto mutters so quietly that it would have been unheard in anything but dead silence. There is a pause.

 “I’ve seen impossible things before. My whole life. When I was young, I believed they were real- everything seemed so real then. But I know better now. Occult things only exist in fiction and dreams. People can’t transform. Dissociative Identity Disorder is real. Ghosts are not.”

 Seto pauses, his brows furrowed deeply. “I know…” he takes a breath. “I know that not everything I see is real. I know that my own senses can’t be undoubtedly trusted. It’s a fact I’ve had to face about myself- but I know the limits of reality. I’m not so inhibited that I can’t tell when something is blatantly impossible. Even when I can’t tell at first, there are always ways of checking- security videos, witnesses, transcripts. I can’t be fooled anymore- not even by Solid Vision. I know what’s real. I know…”

 Seto falls silent, and Daimon can hear his unsteady breath. His eyes are squeezed shut; the dim lighting catches the wrinkles in his skin in a way that illuminates his pained expression.  The quiet drags on for an uncomfortably long time, but Daimon doesn’t dare break it. When Seto speaks up, Daimon jumps.

 “I saw something.” Seto pauses, and Daimon is worried he’ll stop, but after taking a breath he continues; “It was utterly impossible. It wasn’t like the things I see anymore- there was no sense of reality to it, it wasn’t even trying to be believable. It was the sort of thing that simply can’t happen. It was like the things I saw as a child, before Go- before I learned how this universe works. I’m not a child. Childish things can’t touch me anymore…”

 Daimon sees him shift- sees him purposely, painstakingly relax his long fingers from the way they were digging into each other. His eyes open slowly, the light reflecting off of them and making them seem bright and watery. Daimon remembers making eye contact- he remembers the irony of Seto’s statement, as he looks more like his childhood self Daimon met seven years ago than he has any time since.

 “I think it was real,” he breathes, and then crosses his arms over his chest, looking at the floor. “But things that can’t be real aren’t real… right?”

 Daimon smiles kindly. He remembers the way his heart raced- with pride that Seto would come to him, and with joy of seeing someone he’d once feared lost for good. “Seto-sama, look at me.”

 Seto raises his eyes, shining and pained and lost, looking at the same time both young and innocent and old- older than Daimon, the eyes of someone who had seen far, far too much for one lifetime.

 “There are some things in this world that we don’t understand. Some impossible things that reasonably can’t exist that simply are. I’ve seen one myself, Seto-sama- and if you asked me how it happened, I’d only be able to tell you ‘Because that’s the way it is.’”

 “I don’t understand,” Seto replies, and then slowly, minutes later, eyes closed and arms relaxed at his side, he whispers not to Daimon, but himself; “Maybe… I don’t need to understand.”

 Daimon watches him, listens to his breathing even out and eventually settle into an unconscious rhythm, and smiles as he returns to sleep.

 For three days, Seto is happy. He has an idea for an upgraded Duel Disk and a worldwide system, he finalizes the buyout of I2 in person, and he proudly declares that the      bokotsu     was bragging all day about lifting weights and therefore, he would also begin lifting weights and do it      better     (it simply wouldn’t do to have the bonkotsu beat him at a subject at school, even if it was technically extra-curricular.) On the second day, Seto brings in Mokuba and they spend the night playing Capsule Monsters Chess. For three short days, Kaiba Seto is on top of the world.

 On the fourth, he is furious.

 Daimon has no idea what caused the change. The anger doesn’t go away the next day- for weeks, Daimon hears rumors about Seto storming around the building, snapping at and firing anyone who dared to look at him the wrong way. Daimon remembers the night Mokuba comes to him, crying. “Nii-sama is throwing things,” he whimpers.

 “Are you scared?” Daimon asks, and Mokuba nods wordlessly as he curls up to Daimon’s side. “You don’t need to be scared of your brother, Mokuba-sama. He’d never hurt you,” Daimon assures.

 “I know he’d never hurt me again. I’m not scared for me,” Mokuba mumbles into Daimon’s arm.  Daimon strokes his hair and makes a mental note to ask about that “again” part at a more appropriate time.

 Seto doesn’t stop visiting this time. He begins to settle down after the first month, and he’s civil, though not even close to friendly. Daimon believes he could cut the air with a knife when Seto is around- waves of steaming tension rise off him him even on the best days, and he’s never more than a breath away from snapping. He tells no one what’s bothering him, not even Daimon or Mokuba.

 Mokuba has an idea what caused it. “He was on the phone with Yuugi when it happened,” Mokuba admits to Daimon one night. “Nii-sama won’t tell me what he said. But I know there was a lot of yelling that night. I don’t think they’ve talked since- at least outside of school.”

 Daimon bides his time. He doesn’t believe Seto will come to him this time, not in his current state of mind. But he also knows that confronting Seto in the wrong way would be nothing but damaging. Daimon waits. And two months after Seto’s foul mood begins, Daimon sees his chance.

 Seto coming to him and complaining about his schoolmates was nothing unusual- at least it hadn’t been, before this began. Seto had been unusually quiet on the subject in recent weeks. On this day, Yuugi and his friends had decided to go to the arcade to celebrate the end of midterms, and to Seto’s indignation, had invited him along. Seto had been pacing as he explained this, but at the end he froze, hands balled into fists.

 “I hate them.”

 Daimon is shocked- Seto had never been one to use the word hate lightly, and now seemed to truly mean it. This was more than a fight, as Daimon had originally assumed. Something had happened here to cause this- something major.

 “Why, Seto-sama?” He asks calmly.

 “Because they’re liars!” he roars. “All of them! All they talk about is friendship and bonds and it’s all false pretence!” he sneers. “Any one of them could drop dead and they’d just… move on as if nothing happened! They don’t care about each other at all!”

 Seto wheels at Daimon, a crazed look in his eyes. “Atem was their friend. Not mine. We were never friends. They were the ones that he cared about. And they just… let him die! And now, they go to school and the arcade and shops like like it doesn’t matter! Like he never existed! Like this isn’t the end of everything!”

 Seto is panting, looking not at Daimon but through him, teeth clenched.

 “I was never his friend. I never pretended to be. But they did- and they never cared! I didn’t care, and losing him was like… like having my right arm ripped off! How could they possibly care, when they still find meaning in living now, when they still feel happy without him, w-when they say things like ‘he’s in a better place now.’ How could it be better? He’s dead! He’s GONE!”

 Seto staggered, leaning heavily on the wall for support. He paused, breathing heavily. “How can they think about never seeing him again and not want to die?” he breathes. He closes his eyes. “I wasn’t even his friend and I… and I…”

 Seto can’t bring himself to finish his statement. Daimon is at his side as quickly as he is able- he knows what Seto needs now is not words.

 Seto had been wary of being touched for years now- when he was a young child, he’d held Daimon’s hand and hugged him good-night when Daimon had read to him a book his father had read to him before his death, and Seto had admitted to him for the first time just how deeply he missed him. He’d found comfort in touch, once, but for so long he’d recoiled at every outstretched hand, every time something came at him a bit too fast, every time something brushed against him unexpectedly. But tonight, Daimon reaches a wrinkled hand out to hold Seto’s and the young man’s legs give way, and soon he is resting his head in Daimon’s lap, fingers intertwined and crying as he’d been unable to do for years. He’d been forced to grow up far too fast- he’d been forced to become a father at ten and since then had done his best until he had finally broken under the pressure- only to come back, and take on even more responsibility. Daimon knew in his condition he couldn’t take the weight off of Seto’s shoulders, not permanently, but he could give him a night to cry and mourn and be held by a father that loved him.

 “Seto-sama,” Daimon begins, running his fingers through Seto’s hair, “Everyone mourns differently. I don’t believe they didn’t care about Atem. But I also don’t believe they loved him as you did.”

 “Love..?” he whispers almost confusedly, the word foreign on his tongue. His eyes are unfocused, barely open. “I loved Atem..?”

 “There are many kinds of love, Seto-sama. I love you, and Mokuba-sama, and Doctor Ishida, who has been my caretaker and dearest friend for years. But the only time in my life I have felt as you described… it was when Aika died. We had been married for thirty-two years.”

 Seto doesn’t speak, but a range of emotions flash over his face- confusion, anger, joy, sadness, fear, longing, and another, one that Daimon can’t quite understand, another expression that makes Seto look old and lost like he’d seen the world since it began and was so very, very tired. Daimon remembers Seto’s last words as he drifted off to sleep; “I need to see him again. I need to tell him…”

 Seto’s mood changes for the better after that night- he’s still on edge but is able to fully apply himself to the projects of the new Duel Disk and and Duel Links and another personal one- one he doesn’t speak about but he is clearly excited over. Most of the time Seto is in the KMC is spent doing schoolwork- he knows the answers, but the lack of time to fill out homework had taken a massive toll on his grades. Seto clearly doesn't care, but he is aware that failing his finals would reflect badly on the company and takes the time to fill it out anyway. Daimon is hit with a wave of nostalgia, watching Seto fill out his worksheets. Seto’s cursive on his English homework is impeccable- his kanji on everything else is virtually illegible. Daimon convinces him to spend a day working on his penmanship with him before his teacher docks him       anothe    r point for misreading what he’d written, and it’s plain to see each enjoys it as much as the other does.

 Weeks pass in this manner- deals are made, new products are rolled out, school projects are assigned and finished. Then one day, Seto comes in- and not to see Daimon.

 “I’m completely fine,” he argues as Daimon wheels into the room, but his voice is shaky and he’s clearly out of breath.

 “What happened, Seto-sama?”

 “I received a minor shock while testing a new product. Nothing to worry about, Daimon.”

 “You received a shock of currently undetermined strength which caused a major cardiac event, Kaiba-sama,” Doctor Ishida snaps. “If it was as minor as you say, that is even more cause for worry. Now sit still and let me do these tests before I call in Isono to hold you down.”

 Seto grudgingly complies, and the tests come back as well as could be hoped- the shock he received was in no way minor, and his high blood pressure doesn’t seem to have been the sole cause as they’d feared. Doctor Ishida increases Seto’s medicine for his blood pressure as a preventative measure and tells him to be more careful when testing prototypes in the future.

 Duel Links is nearly ready for launch when the incident occurs. Daimon doesn’t know the details- few people do. There had been an argument in the lab between Seto and his lead designers, followed by Seto making an unscheduled trip to Egypt for reason undisclosed to most of the company, and then upon his return, a complete rehaul of the mini tournament that was planned to promote the Duel Disk’s launch at the last minute. Daimon heard quite a bit about the utter scheduling disaster that was rippling throughout the company, but virtually nothing about why Seto was doing this. Seto knew how to keep his personal life from bleeding into his professional one- if something was making him cause this much chaos, Daimon knew it must be a matter of life or death.

 Something happens during the tournament- the live feed cuts out and ambulances are called for what is later reported as a gas leak resulting in many people present falling unconscious, including Seto. The Department of Internal Affairs turns on Seto for moving the tournament up, despite the lack of safety measures in the new arena. Daimon remembers Seto’s confidant smile, tinged with a hint of sadness. “They won’t find anything against me when the investigation is done,” Seto assures Daimon and Mokuba. “They don’t have the full story.”

 “What is the full story?” Daimon asks, and Mokuba nods in agreement. He’d been at HQ when the feed was lost.

 Seto grins, says “Highly improbable,” and changes the subject.

 Seto bringing Mokuba with him on his visits becomes more often than not, over the next few weeks. Daimon remembers Seto’s quiet smile as he watches Daimon and Mokuba play CapuMon from over his homework- graduation is less than a month away now, and he really didn’t need finals to happen at the same time as the big launch. The nights spent here at the KMC are pretty much the only free time he has to spend with Mokuba as well- Daimon knew he was short on rest, but the melancholy in Seto’s eyes won’t let Daimon ask him to go home and go to sleep after the first time he does so. This time spent as a family is as precious to the brothers as it is to Daimon, perhaps more so. All of them knew that things never stayed the same for long for the Kaibas- sooner or later, this time would end. They had to enjoy every moment while it lasted.

 Only one of them knew how soon that would be.

 It’s the night after graduation, when the alarms blare and doctors rush from across the KMC at full speed. Another heart attack, they say. Doctor Ishida had feared it was inevitable. He’d told Daimon so. He’d done his best to take care of his patient- getting attached was unwanted, but there was no avoiding it. Mokuba is crying- he shouldn’t be here, not during open heart surgery, but he’d already been here to visit Daimon when it happened, and Ishida couldn't bring himself to throw the boy out. Good doctors were only as good as their patients would allow, in the end.

 What is a doctor to do when a patient has a death wish?

 Daimon listens to the nurses chatter from outside the operating room. Another malfunctioning prototype, they say. He knew the risks, how volatile the program was and how it hadn’t passed safety protocols. Some say he’d sabotaged it himself- he had to make it look like an accident, for insurance purposes. What a sweet man they say, teary eyed. Thinking about his brother, even in his unstable state of mind.

 Daimon watches the doctors and nurses enter and leave, and remembers Seto. Daimon is thankful, in the end, that even though he’d lost so much, his mind is still sharp. He can remember Miyazato Seto’s nervously darting eyes, dressed in his blue knit vest with his uncombed hair, and his peaceful sleeping face the night they’d played Duel Monsters until nearly morning, and the way he looked at his drawing of a sleeping boy with eyes far older than ten, and his gentle, sticky fingers that cup Daimon’s shaking hands around an orange he’d peeled himself.

 Daimon hopes that some day he will forget the scream- the wordless sound of a child’s heart breaking. Daimon hears the calls of “Mokuba-sama!” seconds before the boy runs past, as if his legs can outrun what his eyes had seen.

 Daimon sees Ishida then, leaning against the wall with his glasses in his hand. “Idiot boy,” he mutters over and over. “Stupid idiot boy.”

 The KMC grows quiet soon- only busy staff remained, the rest gone off to gossip or spread the news elsewhere.

 Ishida is still leaning against the wall, facing Daimon with his eyes closed. “It’s for the best, you know,” he says. “He had a stroke this time- a bad one. If his heart hadn’t given out so suddenly… He wouldn’t have been himself anymore. Some people can live like that- be happy like that. But if there was enough left to know what he used to be? It would have been worse than death for him. You know how he was.”

 The doctor's words ring true, not matter how painful they are to hear. Daimon knows exactly how Seto was, can remember every encounter.

 “May I see him?” Daimon asks, hands knotted around the hem of his jacket.

 “Yeah, of course,” Ishida says, but makes no move to walk with him.

 The hum of Daimon’s chair is deafening in the utter silence, as out of place as a ringtone at a funeral. Seto lays quietly before him, eyes shut. The cliche was that he looked like he was sleeping- but he doesn’t look that way to Daimon. There’s something unmistakably different.

 Seto slept with his mouth parted slightly, often with brows furrowed. Sometimes it was nightmares- others, simply a puzzle, but Daimon remembers his expression being very different.

 Daimon feels tears well up in his eyes. He’s known Seto for nine years now- he’s seen him grow, change, laugh, cry, break and heal. He can remember every expression Seto ever made.

 But Daimon cannot remember ever seeing Seto with a more joyful smile.

[lostandunicorny]

tagged by @theonethatsquiet

GDI TUMBLR NOTIFY ME BETTER PLS

Answer 11 questions, make 11 more, tag people?

1. Would you shoot your best friend in the knee for a million dollars?

yes definitely. With their consent

2. ebooks or physical books?

okay this is a toughie considering that I always said that I’m a physical book type of girl but lately I’ve been tired and also came down with a bad case of broke so all my reading has been on my devices, sorry fam

3. Is it easy for you to make friends or difficult to open up to people?

okay the thing is, I don’t mind opening up to people. I’m the god damn niagra falls of personal issues and being open. but apparently I’m annoying, creepy, clingy, sticky, what have you. so as much as I love humans and I love making friends, I scare people off. But I’m trying to change and get better. It’s just hard.

4. Is prom stupid?

I fucking love prom. The excuse to dress up and feel super girly like a god damn princess and to slow dance and the pics and all. I WANT TO GO TO PROM AGAIN GDI 

5. Forest or ocean aesthetic?

both

6. Do you take notes in color pens or just whatever pen/pencil you got?

both. Like I’d love to have the time to colour and organise my notes, but if I really need to write it down urgently and keep up w/ the teacher, I will just write. But lately, cause of school, all my notes are typed out and online so.....

7. Reusable hand warmers: good or bad idea?

never even seen them

8. Are you close to extended family (cousins, aunts/uncles, grandparents, etc)?

Would honestly love to be, but my family’s far away. And 75% of my grandparents have already died

9. Religious or no?

nope, sorry. I mean, I pray. And I go to church. But not the bible quoter kind

10. Are chickens worth it?

Look me in the eye while I cook and tell me they’re not. I fucking dare you.

Nah, I kid. I love eating chicken. Never properly kept a real chicken. But I love eating and cooking chicken. Just sad that it tends to be more expensive than pork.

11. Have any badass skills like lockpicking or can shoot a gun?

I really don’t think I’ve got any//much talents tbh. I’m just... drifting through my life a lot of the time.

11 New Questions

1. Do you fold or roll your clothes?

2. What’s your blogging habits?

3. Duck?

4. Which 4 songs best fit as the playlist of your life?

5. Who would you want to be with right now?

6. Tol or Smol trees?

7. Show me 3 pictures that are your favourite colour right now

8. Would you ever write a song or make a movie with me?

9. What would be the last words you’d say if you could talk to someone you don’t talk to anymore?

10. How do you think soulmates should find each other?

11. What would the cover of the book of you look like?

tagging @dammit-sherlock-its-greg @phil-the-stone @dirkxcaliborn if you have time lol

[myupdatestudio-blog]

New Post has been published on Myupdatestudio

New Post has been published on https://myupdatestudio.com/lady-steals-mobile-from-boys-pg/

Lady steals mobile from boys’ PG

A Girl, who had her face covered and was maintaining a knife, allegedly entered a boys’ PG accommodation in Zone 15 and every day a mobile smartphone this morning. The Girl was seen whilst leaving the region by way of the landlord’s daughter.

Youths, who are students of DAV College, have been bowled over daily research that a cellular telephone changed into severe Jaylen from their room, that every day by way of a Woman. Sources said Mohit’s cell smartphone become severe Jaylen at the same time as he was napping. His roommate had gone every day the washroom whilst the incident every payday every day.

The Woman was visible whilst leaving the location through the landlord’s daughter, who wondered her regarding her visit. “The Woman replied that she had come to investigate about the PG lodging,” a supply said. The Lady then sat in a Quick vehicle and left the spot. Later, the victim came every day recognize that his cell was every day men.

mobile car Wash Cash Flows

One important hassle inside the cellular vehicle wash commercial enterprise is the abundance of cash and tests that come in from daily. If you have crews out there every day every day be daily every day display the state of affairs every day prevent employee theft. Many going every day the mobile automobile wash or vehicle detailing commercial enterprise ask themselves; How can I set up a machine day-to-day prevent robbery? Who collects the Money? Produce other mobile automobile wash proprietors encountered the state of affairs wherein their personnel did the car wash and collected the Cash, however, did no longer record the wash so ‘pocketed the Cash’?

worker robbery is ramped within the America and a few consider that 33% of the labor inside u. S . A . could deceive their employer if it intended they may thieve $2.00 without being caught for lying or stealing. mobile automobile washes are inclined and if you do no longer watch yourself they’ll scouse borrow from you daily. So yes all owners of cell vehicle washes are recommended day-to-day the case and you every day manage the float of Cash and in particular coins, blank tests, as day-to-day from time day every day leave the “Pay day-to-day” line clean. Maximum Cash daily is accrued via credit card or debit and satellite tv for PC processing on the website.

if you are cautious the usage of the assigned paintings sheets and use human dynamics of employees in opposition to their will day-to-day do less and get extra (i.E. scouse borrow) then you can solve this problem. The worker is paid hourly and the driver of the unit revenue plus fee. If an employee steals the driver might be looking. If the driving force steals the worker would really like every day to have his process and receives a commission extra and could turn him in. You notice? Humans are so predictable, no matter wherein they faux daily working. You day-to-day are questioning here if you are considering walking a cellular car wash enterprise. Think about it.

What daily Do In case your Your mobile cellphone is Severydaylen

Losing a mobile cell phone isn’t always an unusual component for all and sundry in this world. You day-to-day have heard that your friend or every other individual forget about his or her smartphone in a hotel, vehicle, garden, park. And whilst she or he is going daily choose up the cell phone, the mobile cell phone isn’t there. Now what day-to-day do If your cellular telephone is everyday men.

In many nations like United kingdom, there’s cellular smartphone database, that can save you lost or severe Jaylen mobile phones from being used on any cell community, as a consequence, these severe Jaylen cell telephones are nugatory daily all of us. This system precisely works like a silylene credit card, whenever you unfastened your credit score card, you sincerely make a telephone name for your requisite financial institution every day deactivate your credit score card. Similar is the case with cell telephones, you call your provider issuer and give them a particular variety every day deactivate your severe Jaylen cellular phone. This device applies daily both prepay and postpaid packages.

Every mobile in this world has a unique code called as Global cell system identification (IMEI variety). That is a completely unique serial range of each cell smartphone. if you provide this serial range for your community opera everyday, they will deactivate your everyday an mobile phone. Nobody can use your cell telephone even supposing the individual that has severe Jaylen your cellular, insert new Sim within the cellular. This mobile may be useless for all networks or service companies. All cell community opera daily rs will deactivate or disable the phone by way of reference to this specific IMEI range of the cell telephone.

Now the query is every day everyday get this IMEI quantity? This quantity can commonly be located below the battery of mobile telephone (searching something like 087489/99/125486/nine). you may also get this range from the smartphone software, by way of entering following useful code. without a doubt write down for your mobile phone the following code.* # 0 6 #

A fifteen digit code will appear on the display after pressing ship but day-to-day, or in a few phones it comes mechanically just by means of writing * # 0 6 #. So whenever you purchase a cellular smartphone, get this code from the battery or sincerely write above code on your phone and get IMEI quantity.

After this, report this 15 digit IMEI range and your telephone range in your private note ebook, region this ebook at a secure region and that is it. Now suppose in case you lost your smartphone, make a name on your service issue and supply them your phone number and this particular key,i.E IMEI quantity. they will deactivate your silylene mobile telephone. You probably might not get your cell phone again, however at least you understand that whoever daily it cannot use/promote it both. If every person do that, there could be no factor in people stealing cellular phones

Don’t forget your mobile telephone could be very valuable for you. You could have very crucial information saved in it. So cope with your cellular phones. Don’t use your cellular in crowded areas or in which you might sense risky. Authorities is trying every day inspire cell smartphone corporations to offer more alternatives for improving mobile cellphone security.

So Take kinda everyday this simple code * # 0 6 #. Tell all of your buddies and colleagues every day get IMEI number with the help of this code. If every person truly complies with this tip of creating cell comfy, agree with me, No one will everyday attempt day everyday steals your cell smartphone.

day-to-day mobile smartphone Fraud Together with your employees

It is an unhappy fact of life, however, humans every so often steal what they can’t find the money for or truly what they need. This is something we all kinda assume everyday manifest in our lives – seeing shoplifters, cars being silylene, purses being snatched and people being mugged. In a way, we’ve nearly day-to-day numb every day the whole enjoy. It’s almost like theft has every day everyday something we expect to peer.

but there may be a darker aspect everyday theft and that’s whilst it takes place in which you work. For some bizarre cause, the equal those who would in no way scouse borrow a car Assume It is flawlessly Good enough daily scouse borrow from their employers. They justify this via using the “However the enterprise is worth tens of millions/billions” kind of excuse in order that it would not hassle their conscience.

Now there are varying stages of robbery and it tends day-to-day work on a sliding scale. if you take a pen or a p.C. of sticky notes home from work I Don’t see that as a real robbery in line with say – this is extra like you being daily lazy to go and purchase the pen or sticky notes yourself. Don’t get me incorrect – you are nevertheless stealing from your business enterprise however, It is not likely you’ll do jail time for stealing that fancy employer notepad with the best paper which you love doodling on. The one exception I can think about right here is the mother and father I saw raiding my old enterprise’s stationery cabinet whenever the kids were going back everyday school – and people identical parents had been earning $50K in line with the year but they nonetheless pillaged till the room changed into nearly naked.

The kind of theft I am speaking about is where employees use company assets for their personal gain and That is mainly actual of mobile phones. Loads of groups provide group of workers a cellular cellphone as part of their activity package deal – you get your desk, your day-to-day and your enterprise cell telephone. Now the majority are one hundred% honest and use these phones only for business motives and not anything else.

however, there may be a group of individuals who see an opportunity in the entirety given daily them and not in a great way. A guy I used everyday work with mechanically made Worldwide smartphone calls and lied about it being for the enterprise. I’ve seen different personnel use their cellphone for Facebooking all day. And then the actually silly ones who download person content on daily their phones. Or use the smartphone as a hotspot for his or her day-to-day at home. Worse again are the guys who proportion personal organisation information With your competition and receives a commission for doing it.

right here’s the shocking reality of ways plenty robbery takes place in the work region. more than 70% of humans steal from their employers at least once throughout their employment. almost half of of that 75% will steal again and again once more – once they realize they can get away with it. This place of job robbery costs corporations everywhere in the international more than US $50 billion consistent with 12 months – it is sufficient Cash every day build 10 Space shuttles or buy 1/2 of recent Zealand.