#and I think about her mourning parents and the absolute fucking nerve of them

[brainwashedsmogbreathingprincess]

Not a day goes by where I do think of Claudia Eparvier (formerly De Lioncourt Du Lac) the love she never received and the way it appeared when she was no longer there, I think about her bloodlust and her ache to be full, her growth the fight she had to fight to actually claim her womanhood to be seen and heard and how little time she had with that feeling, I think about the love she found and how beautiful it was, how she was the most vampire to ever vampire, she got it when none of those self hating bastards did and considering how little time she had with it she speed ran that fucking shit.

[bunny-hoodlum]

Asynchronous With You: Ch 5

ship: naruhina

rating: teen (maybe mature later)

tags: Modern Day AU, Foster Siblings, Family, Angst, Unrequited Love, Poor Communication/Noncommunication, Found Family

summary: An awkward journey full of self-denial and missed moments between two foster siblings. Perhaps their love will find the right timing someday.

Neji met them outside the dorm gates. As generous as his dorm-mate Lee was, he couldn't ask him to step out for their sake.

They followed Neji to a nearby linear park that segregated the school grounds from the business park on the other side. It felt like a glass-less greenhouse, with polished granite beneath their feet and a vine-carpeted roof overhead. The benches were slabs of granite, as were the other fixtures, like an orb fountain in the center, with flawless skin of water running over its surface. The full trees muffled the night, with its crickets and distant chugging cars. The gentle, steady trickle contrasted against their footsteps, like two off-tempo drums and hers a mournful castanet.

Now that they were finally here, she was beginning to lose her nerve, she was forgetting what she had to complain about.

All that mattered was that she was healthy, right? All that mattered was that they were actually taking good care of her.

But the last thing she said to her, telling her to go home, saying that at least one of them should be loved by their parents, it began to eat at Hinata.

Could it be that she doesn't have any love to come home to?

Like resonance, her soul trembled and her ribs ached. The heel of her palm pressed against the skin between her wet eyes.

"I've become like them. I messed up."

The bench caught her before she could sink down to the ground.

"What're you talking about?" came Naruto's voice, barely reaching her ears.

"You mean Aunt and Uncle?"

Hinata nodded.

"What??" Naruto smacked his forehead rather hard. "How were you supposed to act?! They knew where you were! Nothing was stopping them from taking you guys back--"

"We don't know that." Hinata argued.

"Bullshit!"

"We don't," Her shoulders lifted, turning rigid. "They could barely take care of the two of us. It would've been the same if they had to take care of two daughters--"

"What about visits? What's so hard about keeping in touch?!"

She stayed silent. It wasn't that she hadn't considered that, it was that it was too upsetting to ruminate on any deeper.

"Ten years, Hinata. They had to have lied to her, right? Raised her believing she was an only child? C'mon, why aren't you angrier about this?!"

She wasn't sure if it was defiance that lifted her chin, but the eyes she chose to meet were Neji's as she implored him join in.

His eyes closed as he released a pensive sigh. "What's she like?"

"Don't change the subject," Naruto snapped. "Hinata needs to vent."

She prodded Neji with her stare. He shook his head.

"Who are you talking about?" Neji punctuated his rhetoric with a sidelong glance, causing Naruto to bristle. "This Hinata?"

"Yeah, this Hinata. Our Hinata. What the fuck, we've shared the same home for ten years! Hinata! You vent! You vented the other month about your-your shirt!" His face reddened as he brought up, perhaps, the worst example he possibly could.

"I was in a weird mood," Hinata said quickly, giving Naruto whiplash.

"A--A 'weird' mood?! What, like you just felt like messing with me kind of 'weird'??"

Hinata lamely shrugged her shoulders before curling in on herself like an armadillo. She could only imagine how exponential his irritation was to increase. She should've answered Neji's question right away instead of trying to convey her complaints to Neji, because now they were getting way off topic. Which was ironic for Naruto, who thought Neji was the one diverting attention away from her pain.

Neji pinched the bridge of his nose. "I don't know what the story is, and I don't think I want to know."

"Good. 'Cuz I don't want to talk about it." Naruto huffed as he crossed his arms.

Silence lapsed around them. Somehow Hinata was rather surprised their arguing managed to fizzle out on its own and so quickly. The past was almost laughable in how different it was from the present.

'That's right. It's always going to be rocky at first, but it takes time to get used to one another.' This was proof that she and Hanabi could grow into sisters no matter how much time had been lost.

"Her name's Hanabi. Her favorite foods are bananas and milk, and she hates the herb mitsuba. She's cheerful, cheeky, and surprisingly athletic. And... I really want to get to know her better." The tears fell swifter and harder on her lap as she re-conjured the heartbroken betrayal she had put on Hanabi's face.

She really hoped it wasn't too late.

Neji joined her side and rubbed her back, while Naruto kept his distance.

Even though he had been given Neji's explicit blessing years before, somehow it didn't feel appropriate for him to console her too.

Looking at them now, it was like those two had never grown apart, not even a centimeter. And they had been communicating with their eyes, he was sure of it. Speaking around him, because he wasn't actually a part of this.

They're what real siblings look like.

________________________

Taking the midnight train back home, Naruto spent the next thirty minutes absorbed in the things that amused him, from sexy two-minute shorts, to prank compilations and this one guy from Kaminari that totally bites at rapping. Absolutely no one, neither he nor his 745k followers know if he's a comedy channel where he's bad on purpose, or if he's just gotten popular for all the wrong reasons, but watching him never fails to inspire a deep gut-laugh from Naruto.

Because he wouldn't be laughing this hard if something was bothering him, especially not a whole host of somethings.

He ignored how arriving at their station didn't feel quite right, how following Hinata didn't feel normal.

He was surprised when she finally started talking to him, yet the weariness her voice instilled was not lost on him.

"Who was the first girl you liked?"

"Hm? Oh, guess that'd be Sakura-chan."

"I see. And how old were you when you knew?"

"Eight, I guess?"

"Eight," The number floated from her mouth in an amazed whisper, "Do you think somebody already likes Hanabi-chan?"

A blond brow perked up. "Is this that protective Onee-san instinct kicking in already?" When she giggled, his heart sank.

"I suppose it is."

And when the silence closed in on him again, he spoke up to keep it going. "Uh, what about you?"

Her steps faltered for a second, then picked up with an exaggerated bounce. "There's someone."

"Still? Like, ongoing?"

"Mmhm."

Naruto blinked rapidly, whiplash striking again. How? How did he not know his sister liked someone? "Since when?"

"Mmmm," She hummed that note a little too long that bordered on mocking him, and he was about to storm on ahead of her, until she said, "Third grade."

"What?!" Ineloquent as that was, he somehow expected her to answer him. He stood there as she traipsed away, waiting until he was finally fed up. "Well, who the fuck is it?!"

"Guess."

He jogged after her. "Kiba?" His mouth soured at the thought.

She crossed her forearms into an 'X', making the buzzer sound in game shows when the contestant got the answer wrong. "Bubuu."

"Shino?" He didn't know what to think about that if it were true. Guess they were both quiet and smart and a little weird. Is that what compatibility looks like?

"Bubuu," she went again.

What other guys was she in contact with?

Shikamaru was a good friend who came over to game sometimes, but he definitely didn't sense anything there. No, no way it could be him. And everyone was pretty sure Sai was asexual.

"Sasuke?" Why not? He was the school heartthrob nine years running. Didn't matter whether Naruto understood the taste of girls or not, they all wanted him. He kinda wishes he noticed sooner now, because he imagining a plain girl like her pining for someone unreachable and he really hates that for her. When she slows to a stop under the streetlamp, he thinks he's finally figured it out, though the truth ended up being really anticlimactic in the end.

She half-turns towards him, her face blank save for the edge of distaste clinging to the corners of her lips and eyes.

"Gross."

He reeled back. "Gross? Whaddya mean gross?" She continued on her way, forcing him to jog after her. "Hey, I can't believe you think he's gross! Are you just being a contrarian?" Her pace picked up faster. "Y'know, like what unpopular girls do when they can't fit in?"And faster. "You really think he's gross?" She was hurrying on ahead and he was trying to catch a glimpse of her face, just a little bit of veracity. "Hinata?!"

They arrived at the steps of their apartment.

"You have until graduation to guess!" She called over her shoulder as she ran ahead, her voice pitching high at the end.

She was upset.

Her footsteps resounded through the corridors like frantic clapping, but he wasn't being congratulated at all.

It was finally apparent to him that he hasn't paid attention to Hinata in a long, long time. That's why Neji was making fun of him.

He took the elevator to their apartment, and when he reached the hole between their bedrooms, he got down on both knees and crouched his spine. They haven't used this in years, he couldn't believe how small they used to be, this hole had to be over three feet from the floor. It was making his back hurt. "Hinata," He bit his tongue with a pause. "What happens if I can't guess by graduation?" Nothing. Just silence. "Hinata? Are you not going to talk to me anymore?"

"Yeah," If a ghost could croak, that's what it sounded like. "If you can't guess by graduation, I'm not going to talk to you anymore."

He palmed the wall as he drew to full height, then stepped away, neither urgency nor insult registering in his chest. He didn't know what was in there. Maybe nothing. He raised his voice a little, just enough so that she could hear.

"I'm going to take this another weird mood of yours, okay? There's no way you really mean that."

Hovering for half a second more, he didn't give her time to respond as he headed for his bed on the opposite side of the room.

Maybe Sakura had the right idea about family. Maybe it's better to just find your own.

________________________

AN: Lel, I totally forgot to add the summary and ratings thing in the last chapter. 😜😅 Hope you liked this one!

[cakesunflower]

Inevitable [C.H. One Shot]

Summary: What was meant to be the best day of Adeline’s life took an unexpected turn, and so running out of her wedding only to walk into a bar owned by her high school ex-boyfriend seemed like some kind of act of fate. Heartbreak, nostalgia, and lingering love had quite a time coming together to bring the inevitable.

A/N: YEEET this is my bartender!Calum x runaway bride!OC one shot that i started writing literally mONTHS ago. it’s a whopping 27,299 words so sit back and enjoy the words. hehe happy reading!

        The one good thing about New York City was despite it being full of so many people, no one really looked at anyone else twice. Or, well, maybe they did but they were quick to go back to minding their own business, not particularly caring of what some stranger in a bustling city looked like or was doing. Adeline was grateful for those kinds of people, especially in this moment, as she wandered down the street in aching heels and a dress with tulle that dragged behind her as she went. The loud city and hundreds of people surrounding her worked hard in occupying her mind, but her thoughts and memories of just an hour before were much louder.

        “—nervous about getting married?”

        Adeline paused as she picked up on the voice of Keith, her fiancé’s best friend since high school. She’d managed to sneak out of the bridal suite, somehow slipping past her best friends and finding herself in the small room that held vending machines. The ceremony was just moments away from starting but Adeline, who’d watched what she ate for months to fit into her dress, was in dire need of a snack. So she found the vending machine room in the hotel, popped in some change and got herself a small packet of M&Ms. Not exactly a meal, but it’d suffice for now.

        Who the fuck knew her little escapade would lead her to overhearing something that would ruin what was to be the happiest day of her life.

        “No,” Ian, her fiancé, responded after a droll snort. “Pretty excited, honestly.” His response had a small smile curling at Adeline’s lips, putting some ease at her own jitter nerves. “All that money her aunt left her? Can’t wait to get my hands on it, man. Adeline didn’t even make me sign a prenup or anything, which she’ll end up regretting.”

        Adeline blinked, heart dropping to the pit of her stomach as her lips parted in disbelief over what she was hearing. For a moment, she wanted to believe that she was somehow mishearing or misinterpreting Ian’s words, but that voice that had been gnawing at the back of her mind for the past few months was louder than ever before, screaming at her that it was right in its suspicions over Ian. The man she loved, or thought she did, had become someone completely different from when they first got engaged five months ago—and from when Adeline came into her Aunt Lorraine’s money after she passed away two months ago.

        It had been a devastating loss to Adeline, since her Aunt Lorraine was the only living relative she had. Her parents had died when she was young, no grandparents to take her in, save for Aunt Lorraine, who was her mom’s older sister and the only sibling from either of her parents’ side. Lorraine wasn’t married nor did she have kids of her own, but she took in Adeline and raised her. She was a wealthy woman, able to provide for Adeline no matter what, and losing her had been unbearable, wondering how the universe could be so cruel to take away the only family Adeline had ever known.

        She almost canceled the wedding, unable to go through with it without her Aunt Lorraine walking her down the aisle, but Ian had convinced her to do so. For Lorraine.

        Adeline was realizing, with her stomach churning in disgust and anger and grief, that Ian wanted to do so for Lorraine’s money.

        God. She should’ve noticed the change. She should’ve listened to herself when she started getting doubts about marrying Ian—but she’d chalked it up to nerves. She thought her moments of doubt when she’d ask herself if this was what she really wanted were just that—doubts. Because she loved Ian, didn’t she? They’d been together for three years, how could she so easily just want to throw away a relationship for that long?

        Adeline had felt guilty for even having those thoughts in the first place. But hearing Ian’s words right now, words that were telling her he only wanted her for money, washed away the guilt. She’d always had more money than him, thanks to her own job as well as being raised by Lorraine, and over the years Adeline had become blind and deaf to Ian’s remarks and insecurities pertaining to it. He’d always been stuffed about her making more than him, about her having more. But, shit, she didn’t expect for it to be this much of a big deal. She didn’t expect it to create a deceitful relationship.

        Her body tensed, clenching the M&Ms she had in her hand, as her jaw worked and the disappointed, dull ache in her chest transformed into fiery anger. She glared at the door that Ian was on the other side of, her back straightening with newfound resolution. She couldn’t regret not getting a prenup if she didn’t get married.

        Adeline glanced down at her feet. She wondered just how far she could run in these heels before her feet gave out.

        A blaring horn passing by jolted Adeline back into the present, blinking as she realized she was no longer at the hotel, but in the streets of downtown Manhattan. Adeline sucked in a breath, feeling the familiar burn in her eyes and grinded her teeth together as she kept moving, weaving her way through the other pedestrians. She knew it was normal to tear up in this circumstance, no fault in mourning over the absolute death of what was supposed to be the happiest day of her life, but she didn’t want to.

        She refused to cry. Her heart was heavy, her throat was dry and her head hurt but she refused to cry. She wasn’t going to waste her tears on a man who didn’t deserve them. But it would be a lie to say she didn’t wish Aunt Lorraine was here to help her through it.

        Adeline almost mistook a drop of water on her cheek as a tear that may have escaped her eye, but then the familiar growl of thunder rumbled through the sky, and Adeline looked up exasperatedly at the sight of the greying clouds gathering above the skyscrapers. Looking around, she noticed some people duck out to get cover, others pulling out umbrellas, and Adeline let out a groan. Today truly was proving to be utter shit.

        And then it started drizzling, and Adeline cursed as she gathered the skirt of her dress—praising herself for not going with too much puff—and picked up her pace, looking around for a safe haven she could pass the time in. So when her eyes landed on a neon sign that read Sensation, registering that it was a bar, Adeline decided she could use a drink or two to put her out of her misery and hastily approached the door.

        She stumbled in just when the rain began picking up, her skin and dress only slightly wet, catching the attention of the few souls scattered around the bar. And why wouldn’t she? She was practically glimmering in the beaded bodice of her dress, the sparkle of her makeup and glittering jewelry. Utterly standing out in the atmosphere of the bar with brick walls and band posters, classic rock playing through the speakers mixed with the sounds of the overhead TV playing some soccer game and pool balls clinking in the back.

        It was obvious she didn’t belong in her bridal get up. But, God, she didn’t care.

        Her rampant emotions left her feeling a bit numb, Adeline realized, as she forced her feet to move to head over to the bar on the left. It wasn’t too particularly busy at the moment, and Adeline didn’t care for the few eyes that she could feel on her as she neared the bar. She didn’t blame them for staring—so long as no one tried to talk to her. Holding a conversation wasn’t something Adeline thought herself to be capable of at the moment. Holding down a drink, however, was a different story.

        She plopped herself down on the far end of the bar, the dress flowing as she glared at the wooden bar top, feeling the pity and anger and sadness rush through her. It was simmering, like a pot of boiling water, ready to explode when it reached its peak. How desperately did Adeline crave one of Aunt Lorraine’s hugs where she felt at her safest.

        For a moment, the only person Adeline was angry at was herself. There had been a couple of times, only a few, where over the three years she’d been with Ian, Aunt Lorraine would express her curiosities to Adeline, asking her if she was sure if Ian was the one. Even after they got engaged, but Adeline had always stupidly dismissed her. The majority of her was convinced in her heart that Ian was who she wanted to spend the rest of her life with, was sure he felt the same when he proposed. But love turned out to be tricky, and it had just played a cruel joke on Adeline.    

        Beads of water could be felt on her skin as they traveled from the curve of her shoulder, down her collarbones and disappeared into the sweetheart neckline of her dress. Dark brown hair that used to be tied into an elegant bun was now loose as strands stuck to her tanned skin. Adeline momentarily wondered if her makeup was smudged, but then quickly deduced that she didn’t give a fuck.

        “Think you’ve made a wrong turn, sweetheart.”

        Adeline’s face immediately scrunched into a scowl, ready to tell whoever’s deep voice just drawled to fuck off, until she looked up. She stared at the man in front of her on the other side of the bar, a black half sleeved shirt fitted and tucked into black pants, showing off tattoos inking his golden skin. Blonde hair sat messily atop his head and familiar dark eyes widened slightly, whether it was because he was taking in her attire or recognizing her—or both.

        The incredulity slackened her jaw as she gaped at him in return, wondering if she was imagining him, wondering why her subconscious would conjure him up in the first place. But despite his different hair color, Adeline could never forget him or the accented drawl of his voice. Her back straightened, breath still in her lungs as she managed to sound out, “Calum?”

        Her high school ex-boyfriend let out a disbelieving scoff of his own as he braced his hands on the bar, dark eyes looking into Adeline’s lighter ones as he gave a shake of his head. “Holy shit,” was how he responded, his low voice carrying a matured rasp he didn’t have back when they were teenagers. He’d grown, obviously, since she last saw him when she was eighteen, he was nearly twenty. Grown into his features, seemingly taller, with a sharp jaw and eyes she’d always seen as both alluring and kind. With another scoff, he added, “I feel like I’m in an episode of Friends.”

        At that, Adeline pursed her lips, unable to keep the unimpressed expression from her face. She wasn’t quite in the mood to joke about her appearance—or spare a thought as to why she was dressed like this in the first place. No, she did not want to think about how she was meant to be getting married right now, did not want to give attention to the seemingly permanent heaviness in her chest where her heart was supposed to be.

        So she forced herself to look past Calum, at the shelves of liquor behind him, before stating, “I’ll take a Hennessy and Coke. Heavy on the Hennessy, please.”

        Adeline didn’t need to directly look at Calum to notice the raise of his eyebrows, biting her tongue for her snippy tone as she looked down at the wooden bar top that had scratches on it. Any other day, Adeline knew she would feel happy to see Calum, thrilled, even. But today didn’t feel like the appropriate day.

        Even if the blood in her veins seem to pick up at the sight of him.

        Fortunately, after regarding her for a moment as she felt his eyes take her in—glancing up only briefly to see the curiosity and confusion and a flash of something else swimming in his gaze—Calum turned to get her drink. Adeline’s light brown eyes trailed after him cautiously, pointedly ignoring the few men and women scattered around the bar, knowing their gazes were shifting to her every now and then. Instead, she watched the tattooed man fix her drink, just barely acknowledging the tug of something she could feel at him being in front of her.

        It had been, what, seven years or so since she last saw him—since they’d broken up. A high school relationship both had believed would go beyond yet it never did. A break up neither of them had particularly wanted, but with school and distance putting a strain on their relationship, it had been the mutual and right thing to do. Despite the amount of nights Adeline remembered crying in her dorm room because she missed him so much. So many countless nights were spent like that, alone and yearning, and heartbroken.

        Until she met Ian.

        But that all went to shit, too, didn’t it?

        Adeline found herself glaring at her hands, which were linked together at the bar top. More specifically, at the now empty ring finger of her left hand, where a faint tan line of where her engagement ring used to be resided after months of being occupied. Her finger felt naked, empty. She wondered if that would be a forever thing, the emptiness and betrayal that had taken up residence in the pit of her stomach, kind of like how this night was supposed to be a forever thing. Not anymore, though. The only forever thing on her hands were the tattoos on the insides of both of her wrists; roman numeral dates of her parents’ birthdays on her left, and the date of when Aunt Lorraine legally adopted her on her right.

        “Are you sure this is where you’re supposed to be?” Calum spoke up again, a cautious tilt in his voice as he placed the glass in front of her, his accent lurking beneath the smooth husk of his voice. Adeline’s gaze flickered up to look at him, took in the muted curiosity that didn’t do too good a job to hide the concern she wasn’t sure he should be feeling, and reached for the glass before downing half of the drink.

        The bitter Hennessy stood out against the sweet Coke, but Adeline welcomed the slightly burning taste as it ran down her throat and tingled her veins. And when she put the glass down, half empty, Adeline looked up to see Calum’s raised eyebrows before smiling wryly, “Here is better than there.”

        She put her phone on the bar top, feeling Calum’s eyes on her as she changed the settings to Do Not Disturb after receiving dozens upon dozens of messages from her friends, a couple family members she didn’t talk to much anyway, and Ian. She didn’t even bother looking at his messages, throat tight, and opted to only respond to her best friend, Gabby, to let her know she was okay and safe and that she just couldn’t go through with the wedding, promising details later. Once that reassurance was out of the way, Adeline refused to answer anyone else’s messages and calls, knowing Gabby would take care of it. No one else was important, anyway. It’s not like she had much family. The vultures definitely did not count.

        Adeline felt a burn in her eyes, mentally cursing herself for the tears that threatened to fall as she quickly blinked them back with a sharp inhale. Despite herself, she looked up, watching as Calum leaned back against the counter of liquor behind him, not having anyone else to serve as he crossed his arms over his chest. Adeline tried to ignore the way his biceps seemed to strain against the tight material of his shirt—yeah, he’d definitely grown since she last saw him—and kept her focus on her drink.

        Casually, she heard Calum inquire, “Get left at the altar?”

        Adeline released the thin black straw she’d been drinking out of, letting out an affronted and humorless scoff as she shot him a really? look. “No. I’m the one that did the leaving.” She caught the way his eyebrows twitched upwards, hoping to control his surprised expression but not entirely succeeding, and Adeline would’ve laughed if she had the energy. Instead, she let out another self-deprecating scoff. “I had a good reason—he turned out to be a gold digger.” Raising her glass, elbow propped on the bar top, Adeline smirked wryly, “Mo’ money, mo’ problems.”

        She wondered if he remembered her Aunt Lorraine—they’d always been fond of one another. Hell, at this point, Adeline could be sure that Calum was probably the only boyfriend of hers that Aunt Lorraine approved of. Calum tilted his head ever so slightly, eyebrows knitting together. “And you didn’t find out until the day of your wedding?”

        She didn’t need to be reminded of how oblivious she had gotten—especially from her ex-boyfriend. “Love is blind.”

        Calum pursed his lips as Adeline took another sip of her drink, gaze wandering above his head before landing on two pictures framed on the wall. She narrowed her eyes at one of the photos, consisting of Calum sitting around what looked like a fire pit, drink in his hand and grin on his face as he sat with three other guys—two of whom Adeline immediately recognized as Michael Clifford and Luke Hemmings, two other guys she had gone to school with, both of whom happened to be Calum’s best friend. She fought the smile that surprisingly tugged at her lips; he still hung out with them.

        “Adeline,” Calum sighed, the solemn tone in his voice tightening her muscles as she took in the sympathetic expression he wore, eyebrows furrowed together and lips tugged downwards. He gave a shake of his head. “I’m so—”

        “Please, don’t.” Her voice was hard, cutting in before he could finish his sentiment, just barely steady. Adeline’s light brown eyes met Calum’s dark, watching as he rolled his lips into his mouth, and she hoped the lighting of the bar didn’t give away how heavy her eyes felt with the tears that had gathered. Adeline just knew if she focused too much on her situation, she would break down right in this bar. “I don’t need anyone’s sympathy.” She swallowed, unable to get rid of the lump in her throat as she added in a whisper, “Please.”

        Calum lifted his chin, the muscle in his jaw jumping as she saw the acceptance settle in his features. Some relief relaxed her; Calum had always been one to listen to her. She appreciated it back then and she did now, as well, as he remained silent while Adeline sipped her drink. It warmed her up and for a while, she forgot that she was a bit wet from being in the drizzle for a couple of moments. That’s why she kept sipping her drink, hoping to become numb to the cruel joke that had just been played on her, hoping to forget the humiliation and heartbreak and anger that formed a rampant tornado in her head and stomach.

        “Do you—” She lifted her gaze right as Calum cut himself off, taking in the subtle furrow between his eyebrows as he eyed her. He looked conflicted, as if he was unsure if he wanted to finish his question. But when his dark eyes met hers, Calum let out a breath before stepping towards the bar and asked, “Would you like a change of clothes, Addie?”

        Her throat locked at the nickname that fell from his lips, grip on the glass tightening. She never thought she’d hear him say it again—didn’t think she’d want him to until the moment he said it. It rolled off his lips so easily, so naturally, and it tugged at her heart once again. But Adeline expertly pushed the feeling aside, gaze dropping to her clothes, biting the inside of her lower lip as she took in the dress.

        It was the perfect dress for the perfect day. But as soon as Calum mentioned changing out of it, it suddenly felt too constricting, entrapping her in the moment of finding out the truth about Ian. She needed it off, Adeline realized, the bodice suddenly itching at her chest and tulle weighing down her seated figure. Her perfect day was ruined—not that it was ever truly perfect without her Aunt Lorraine—and now her perfect dress felt like an ugly Halloween costume she needed to be rid of quickly.

        She finally looked at Calum, who was patiently waiting for her answer, and she nodded. Her voice was an unsteady whisper under the music playing throughout the bar, her emotions gradually taking a turn for the worse, as she responded, “Yes.”

        Calum nodded, looking to his right as he said, “I’m gonna head up for a couple of mins, alright?” He was speaking to the other bartender that was on the other end of the bar, who nodded before Calum looked at Adeline and encouraged, “Come on.”

        Her eyebrows furrowed slightly as he walked from around the bar, but Adeline grabbed her phone and stood up, the shuffle of her dress recapturing the attention of the other patrons of the bar. This time, though, Adeline felt her face flush as they eyed her not so subtly, keeping her gaze down and using her hands to grip the skirt of her dress as she walked to where Calum waited for her, her heels clicking against the floor as she went.

        She didn’t dare meet Calum’s, or anyone’s, gaze as he began walking, wanting nothing more than to push down the embarrassment that flushed her skin and churned her stomach. But, truly, it felt nothing compared to the ache in her chest she still refused to acknowledge.

        Calum led her to the far back of the bar, through what Adeline realized was the storage room stocked with bottles of different kinds of alcohol, before they reached a door that Calum unlocked with a set of keys he pulled out from his pocket. “Come on,” he murmured, and Adeline followed him up a wide flight of stairs that were surprisingly well lit, the click of her heels sharper than the music playing out in the bar.

        Adeline moved carefully, holding the tulle of her skirt bunched up in one hand while holding onto the railing with the other, Calum’s footsteps thudding a lot more heavily on the wooden steps as they went up. They got to the top landing, turning a corner and Adeline watched as Calum used another key to unlock yet another door.

        She followed him into an apartment, open and spacious, with wooden floors and bricked walls that gave it the kind of New York style Adeline loved. Her living room was the same way. It was bigger than Adeline would expect for it to be, yet the size of it was perfect for someone living on their own. The living room and kitchen were only separated by a counter, bar stools on the side of the living room reminiscent of the bar downstairs. Windows in the living room framed with parted curtains allowed for the view of the rained out city outside, glass stained with droplets that smacked against it.

        “Let me grab you a towel and, uh, something to wear,” Calum said after he shut the door, and Adeline nodded silently before watching him walk down a hall before turning into a room on the right.

        She idled awkwardly by the stools, becoming all too aware of the chills rising on her drying skin as she stood in the somewhat chilly apartment. Tendrils of hair that escaped from her now messy updo stuck to the back of her neck and the diamond earrings seemed to be weighing her down. But nothing like the weight that settled on her chest.

        “Here—hopefully you can tighten the sweats. And I, uh, got a hanger for you to hang the dress.” Calum’s voice pulled Adeline’s attention, the short chuckle escaping him as he approached her. In his hands was a folded pair of black sweatpants, a shirt, and a towel for her to dry off with, a hanger sitting on top. “The bathrooms right over there.”

        Adeline took the small pile from him, an appreciative smile quirking at her lips as she murmured a soft thanks. She moved around him, feeling his gaze on her and the ruffle of her dress as she approached the bathroom. Adeline put the pile on the counter as something clicked in her head, letting out a breath as she realized she wouldn’t be able to take off the dress by herself. Gabby had to zip up the back for her, and Adeline knew she couldn’t reach the back on her own. Damn it.

        “Hey, Calum?” She chewed on the inside of her lower lip as he appeared in the doorway a moment later, eyebrows raised in question and Adeline didn’t pay much attention to the drumming of her heart, knowing it was out of embarrassment. That’s all she was capable of feeling today—humiliation. His brown eyes met her lighter ones, and through the flush of her cheeks, Adeline asked quietly, “Could you, uh, help unzip me?”

        His gaze flickered down to the dress, forehead smoothing out in realization and Adeline pretended she didn’t notice the way his throat worked. With a quick lick of his lips, Calum answered, “Yeah, sure.”

        She held her breath despite herself as she turned, focusing her attention on the baby blue colored shower curtain in an attempt to ignore the feel of Calum’s fingers at her back. Adeline pressed her teeth together as she felt him grip the top of the dress before his other hand grasped the small zipper. The quick beating of her heart drove Adeline crazy, frowning at herself because seriously? She could feel Calum’s body right behind her, his heat radiating in their proximity, and despite the years between them, Adeline’s throat dried at the familiarity of it. A kind of warmth she had once loved being wrapped up in, even if it was all the way back in high school.

        Somethings she never forgot. Calum Hood was one of them, it seemed.

        The sharp yet quiet sound of the zipper coming undone rang in Adeline’s ears, and she pressed her palm against the bodice of her dress just in case as the now loose dress relaxed the narrow off the shoulder tulle straps of her dress. There had been a time where Calum knew her better than she knew herself—was he aware that him being so close was sending her heart into overdrive? That when she should, like perhaps a normal person, be grieving over the end of a three year relationship—the explosion of her wedding day being absolutely fucked—she was instead biting the tip of her tongue in an attempt to focus on anything but the warmth of his fingers on her back?

        God—what was wrong with her? In the span of two months, she’d lost her Aunt Lorraine and her fiancé. How could she be standing there getting overwhelmed by the mere act of an ex-boyfriend standing behind her?

        Granted, he was unzipping her dress, but that was besides the point.

        Adeline gripped the front of the dress close to her chest, even though she knew it wasn’t just about to fall around her feet, and she felt a chill slither down her now exposed back as she took a hasty step forward, putting some distance between the two of them. Her free hand grabbed the doorknob and, not quite meeting Calum’s gaze, rushed out, “Thanks,” just as he stepped back as well, allowing her to close the door before he could respond.

        Her soft whisper of, “Oh, my God,” felt loud in the quiet of the bathroom, but Adeline shook her head as she turned to face the mirror above the sink, inhaling sharply as she took in her reflection. Her makeup, for the most part, seemed to be intact—the waterproof mascara really having done its due diligence. Only the lipstick she’d worn had began to chaste away, and Adeline pursed her lips as she looked into the eyes of her reflection.

        Though she hadn’t shed many tears, Adeline could see the red rims of her eyes, strained from the onslaught of tears she had managed to hold back. The glow she had woken up with that morning, excited in the best way to get married to who she thought was the love of her life, had disappeared, leaving Adeline a dull reminiscent of who she had been just a few hours prior. Even the professionally done makeup failed to hide the impact of her life being leveled right before her, making her appear as hollow as she felt. In the quiet and privacy of the bathroom, reality settled, allowing Adeline to finally, deeply acknowledge how fucked up her life had become within a blink of an eye.

        It would be so unbelievable easy to fall into a heap in the corner of the bathroom, dress and all, and succumb to the torment in her heart that troubled her. Without any eyes on her, how easy would it be to just finally break the hell down.

        But as quickly as that thought came into her head, it was just as quickly thrown out of her head. She didn’t want to cry over Ian, despite knowing that she wasn’t going to cry over him rather than what happened to her. Adeline had never been one to care much for what other people thought, never listened to gossip whether it was among her friends or her family, but she already knew the amount of shit she was going to get from family that she barely talked to in the first place.

        She really wished Aunt Lorraine was with her.

        Adeline took in a deep breath, sniffing afterwards as she shook her head at herself. No. She wasn’t going to fall into an abyss of self pity—not in Calum’s bathroom anyway.

        So she let the dress fall around her ankles, stepping out of it and using the hanger Calum had helpfully provided to hang up the heavy article before hanging it on the hook on the door. Grabbing the towel, the soft material was gentle against her somewhat damp skin as she dried herself off, eyes landing on the clothes folded for her. Once again, Adeline’s throat tightened, memories of when they were in high school playing through her mind, moments of when she’d go to the soccer games in either his jersey or varsity jacket.

        How funny was fate, bringing her to her ex-boyfriend in the midst of running from her fiancé?

        Adeline’s fingers brushed along the soft material of the shirt. Yeah; fate was a funny thing, and something told her she shouldn’t take this turn of events with a grain of salt.

*****

        Calum’s fingers rhythmically tapped against the counter, a small attempt of grounding himself into reality to prevent losing himself to the thoughts swirling around his head. He had pulled his phone out to further distract him, and yet he kept glancing to the right in the direction of the hall, all to aware of the woman in his bathroom. If he was being honest, he was in a state of disbelief, had been since the second Adeline’s eyes met his and he realized who exactly the woman in a fucking wedding dress in his bar was.

        The past had slapped him in the face with the arrival of Adeline Grace, just as beautiful as he remembered her being—because even today, years after since he last saw her, she was a sight meant to only be admired. Six years separated the two of them and yet, the second he recognized her, she had sent his heart into his throat like she used to every time when they were younger. He didn’t try to think about her often, but that always failed, and she was present in his thoughts mostly when he lay alone in his bed at night and his head started picking apart every aspect of his life as a way of tiring him out to finally go to sleep. That’s when her face often flashed across his mind, the frozen image of an eighteen year old Adeline because that was the last time he’d actually seen her. Even in the age of social media, Calum didn’t give into his darkest desires of looking he up. He always figured it would only end up hurting him.

        Was this the universe’s distorted way of rewarding him for his self control?

        Out of all the bars in New York, Adeline just happened to walk into his—from her abandoned wedding, no less. Even in the face of betrayal and heartache, Adeline was a picture of beauty, and Calum felt guilty for regarding her as such when she was so obviously going through what could arguably be the worst day of her life. Still, Calum believed in things happening for a reason, he believed in the idea of the universe working in a person’s favor even if it didn’t feel like it at the time—and he’s had many of those—and no matter the circumstances, he couldn’t help but believe that his high school ex-girlfriend showing up to his bar on what was to be her wedding day meant something more.

        But he’d never say it to Adeline. Not today, or ever—he wasn’t sure. All he wanted to do was help her however he could; turning her away would never be an option, that much he knew. He’d kind of made that mistake already, hadn’t he, in some way?

        Soon enough, he heard the familiar creak of the bathroom door opening and he instantly sat up, locking his phone as he watched Adeline emerge. He propped his right elbow on the back of the stool, body turning as his gaze took in the sight of her in clothes that were far too big for her—his clothes. She used the drawstrings of the sweatpants to tighten them as much as she could, one shoulder of his plain red shirt hanging low on her collarbone; she was practically swimming in his clothes, and the silver heels on her feet only further mismatched her outfit.

        Calum figured she took a while in there because of her hair—which had been made into an updo when she arrived, and was now falling around her shoulders in waves, rid of the army of pins that had been holding it up. Out of the dress and in his clothes, Adeline looked small, despite the added height her heels gave her five-foot-six figure, playing with her nude painted nails as she slowly walked towards him, her heels clicking against the floor.

        “I, uh—” Adeline paused, vaguely gesturing towards the bathroom as she looked at him. She suddenly seemed shy, quiet, and it stirred something in the pit of Calum’s stomach. It wasn’t her, he knew, her demeanor taking a hit from what the day had already done to her. “I left my dress hanging just so it could dry a little.”

        Calum nodded, brown eyes taking her in. She was playing with her phone in her hand, her nerves acting up, and Calum pulled his lower lip into his mouth briefly because he knew she didn’t know what to do next. So he stood up, ticking his head towards the door. “Come on—let me get you another drink.”

        He heard her follow him out the apartment, waiting for him in the landing as he locked his door before the two of them descended the stairs and went back to the bar. Calum walked behind the counter as Adeline returned to her seat, and he felt his eyes on her as he made her another drink.

        When he placed it in front of her and Adeline took it with a gentle thanks, Calum let out a quiet breath. “Listen, Addie—” She looked up at him and Calum bit the inside of his cheek as her nickname slipped past his tongue without much thought. She didn’t seem bothered by it. “I know you’re probably not in the mood but just so you know—if you wanna talk about it, I’m here.” With a soft smirk, he added, “Bartenders are good listeners.”

        Her light brown eyes remained locked with his darker ones, fingers absently twirling the thin black straw in her drink. The light of the bar glimmered against her eyes, and he saw the gentle curve of her lips as she responded, “You’d been a good listener long before you became a bartender, Calum.” Her words had Calum’s smile returning, soft as his eyebrows drew together, taking a breath. Adeline’s gaze dropped, eyeing the drink in front of her as she pulled her lower lip into her mouth. “I don’t even know if there’s anything to talk about, y’know?” she spoke up and Calum braced his hands on the bar top. “I don’t know if he was a liar from the beginning and I just didn’t see it, or if something changed along the way.”

        Calum took a breath, chin lifting as he peered down at her. The dejected, conflicted expression on her face tugged at his heart. “I think you would’ve known something was off if he, y’know, had an agenda from the start.”

        Adeline let out a disbelieving scoff, lifting her gaze to look up at him through long eyelashes. “Would I?” she asked, the sadness in her eyes only showing off the emptiness she felt as she cupped her glass. “I have a habit of not seeing what’s right in front of me.” She dropped her gaze then, lips twisting to the side, and Calum’s throat worked at her words, stopping himself from finding a double meaning behind them, stopping himself from reading too into them. Now wasn’t the time. “Either I was too blind to see it from the start, or I wasn’t as worth as the money that came with me.”

        That instantly deepened Calum’s frown, a rush of anger coursing through his veins at the thought of some asshole ever making Adeline feel badly about herself. Calum could only hope he never made Adeline feel like that but, fuck, this wasn’t about him. “Hey, stop,” Calum said, shifting so he was leaning down, resting his arms on the bar top as he tilted his head to meet her gaze. She reluctantly locked her light brown eyes with his darker ones. “You’ve got every right to be angry and upset over this, but don’t blame yourself, alright? The only one who’s at fault here is—is—”

        “Ian,” Adeline supplied.

        The guy’s name sounded like an asshole. “Yeah, him,” Calum finished tightly.

        She looked at him for a few moments, and Calum hoped she saw the sincerity in his eyes as he maintained the gaze, fighting to not get distracted by how pretty she was—as always. Her nose ring glinted gently against the light of the bar as the corner of her lips quirked up, tapping her nails once against the glass. The sound was so clear, reminding Calum of how close they now were, leaning on the bar on their respective sides.

        Adeline took a breath, sitting up, adding some distance between them as Calum linked his fingers together. “At the end of the day, I’m gonna look like the bad guy,” she sighed with a somewhat bitter chuckle. She raised the glass, eyes meeting Calum’s. “I’m the one who ran out; I’ve got no doubt Ian’s gonna make himself look like the victim. The vultures are gonna take his side, probably.”

        She smirked by the end of her statement, and Calum felt his own lips tugging upwards despite the harsh truth of her words—mostly because of the familiarity he found. He clearly remembered Adeline’s nickname for her family, all money hungry despite having their own—but never as much as Adeline’s aunt. Standing straight, Calum shrugged. “I’m sure Lorraine’ll put ’em in place for you.”

        He wasn’t sure where he went wrong with his response when he saw the smile drop from Adeline’s face, features stoning as she lowered her gaze. Calum’s eyebrows knitted together as Adeline’s throat worked, lips pursing, and he so easily recognized the somber expression she wore. Right when he parted her lips, Adeline broke the news, “Actually, uh, Aunt Lorraine passed two months ago.”

        Calum inhaled sharply, quietly at her revelation, fingers folding into his palms as his knuckles pressed into the hardwood of the countertop. He clenched his jaw as Adeline kept her gaze on the glass in front of her, and Calum bowed his head briefly as he remembered Aunt Lorraine. She was one of the kindest women he’d ever met, but never let anyone push her around, was a hard ass when she had to be, and loved Adeline with every fiber of her being. She’d taken Adeline in when she was just four and lost her parents, and he got along well with her—she’d often tell Calum that he was her favorite of the boys Adeline had brought around before him.

        Knowing she was gone—knowing that Adeline lost the one parent she knew—twisted Calum’s stomach a lot more harshly than he expected. He hadn’t seen Adeline or Lorraine for years, but those years between them didn’t mean the loss of a woman he admired and cared about didn’t strike him painfully.

        “I’m—” Calum sighed, lifting his head as he shook it once, lips pressing together tightly before he muttered, “I’m really sorry to hear that, Adeline. I—Lorraine was an amazin’ woman.”

        “Yeah,” Adeline smiled, sad and fond, gaze flickering up to lock with his. She looked at him for a moment, her gaze heavy nearly knocking the wind out of Calum, until she said, “She loved you.” Her smile widened a fraction, almost teasing through the solemnity. “Thought you were the best of the bunch.” Adeline shrugged as she continued, “She didn’t want a funeral, just a cremation and then I, uh, spread her ashes at the old lake house.”

        Calum’s lips quirked up in a sad, nostalgic smile. He remembered that lake house—Lorraine would often invite him to join her and Adeline whenever they went up to it for the weekend. Throat working, Calum felt the words weigh heavily on his tongue as he slowly, cautiously asked, “How’d she pass?”

        His gaze flickered to the door as it opened and two people rushed in, running from the rain as they stood by the entrance to dry off. Adeline let out a long sigh. “Heart attack. She’d had one last year but, uh, wasn’t able to bounce back from this one.”

        Her lips twisted to the side as she kept her gaze low, eyebrows twitching together in a frown. Calum’s heart ached for Adeline. For losing her aunt and for losing this day. She’d already lost someone so important to her, and for her to find out her fiancé was nothing but a greedy scumbag on her wedding day? Calum wished he could make this better for her, make her smile just a little.

        Some things never changed.

*****

        “Do you believe in fate?”

        Dr. Boocz quirked an eyebrow, and Adeline knew she hadn’t expected the question. Still, Adeline was curious for her answer, and Dr. Boocz leaned back in her seat and crossed her leg over her left knee. “I believe in it to a certain extent,” she answered. “I think that some things fall apart so that better things can come together. But I also believe that if life is going bad, you have the free will to perceive it however you want. It’s like looking at the glass half full versus half empty. A person’s current situation can suck,” she laughed gently before continuing, “and sometimes it’s beyond their own control but the only way to help your mental health is to fix how you view the situation and what you’re going to do to better yourself.”

        Adeline nodded along before letting out a soft scoff through her nose. “A simple yes or no would’ve done the trick, Doc.”

        Dr. Boocz smiled, hands linking together at her knee, pen in between her fingers as she inquired, “Why the interest in fate?”

        Rolling her lips into her mouth, Adeline let her gaze wander towards the window. They were on the fifth floor of the building, the city around them, and it often distracted Adeline. Sometimes, though, it put her in a trance, allowed her to fall into her thoughts and sort through them while Dr. Boocz patiently waited. Her words swam in Adeline’s mind, chewing the inside of her cheek. Some things fall apart so that better things can come together. Ian’s face flashed across her mind and Adeline pressed her teeth together. Her relationship with him fell apart but in the aftermath she. . . Somehow ended up in Calum’s bar.

        She’d spent the past few days thinking about it amidst avoiding ashamed family members and cutting her communication with Ian short. Aunt Lorraine’s brownstone was left to Adeline and she hadn’t quite decided what to do with it yet, so she moved back into the house and Gabby, along with a couple of other close friends of Adeline’s, had gone to her shared apartment with Ian and packed up her things for her. She refused to let there be a chance of her running into Ian, knowing the odds of it were high if she went to the apartment, so she was grateful her friends offered to do so.

        That didn’t mean Ian didn’t try to reach out to her. He was pissed, she could tell from the texts she’d received before blocking his number. Gabby had temporarily moved in with Adeline just in case Ian showed up to the house so she wouldn’t have to deal with him alone.

        That all fell apart and yet Adeline ended up walking right into Calum.

        In between being angry with Ian and missing Aunt Lorraine, Adeline couldn’t seem to stop thinking about Calum. Out of all the places in the city, she ended up in his bar. Over the six years between them, neither of them ran into each other until the moment she walked out of her own wedding. Perfectly timed for them to see one another again during a time that left Adeline feeling so empty. Unsurprising because Calum. . . He never made Adeline feel like that. Even when they broke up, even when it was leading to the end of their relationship, the only time she had felt empty because of him was after they were no longer together. Like a piece of her was missing.

        She thought Ian filled it. Now she realized he had been a band aid that’s long since weathered away.

        “I ran into my ex,” Adeline finally answered Dr. Boocz, letting out a breath. “When I left my—my wedding. I was just wandering around the city and I ended up at a bar. Turns out it’s owned by my ex.”

        Dr. Boocz nodded. “And this ex—”

        “Calum,” Adeline supplied.

        “Calum,” Dr. Boocz repeated. “What was it like, seeing him again?”

        Adeline didn’t even have to think about her answer. “Good,” she said, feeling a small smile quirk at the corner of her lips as her brown eyes met Dr. Boocz’s. Adeline drummed her fingers on the couch pillow she settled on her lap, considering her words. “I mean definitely unexpected, you know? But good. We, uh, talked and caught up a little and it just—it felt natural. Nothing felt forced. It had always been easy to talk to him.”

        “Why’d you two break up?”

        “He was a year older than me, so he left for college first,” Adeline answered. “At first we managed the distance. But then I went to college and we got even more far apart. You know—geographically. And that effected our relationship.” She dropped her gaze, looking down at the nude acrylics on her nails, which she had done for the wedding. She had to go to the salon. “We tried to make it work but we got so busy with school and having a relationship kind of felt like it was just another thing to do, I guess. It was a mutual break up and we just—never saw each other after that. I don’t think either of us meant for that to happen.” Adeline inhaled deeply. “At least I didn’t.”

        Dr. Boocz hummed, twirling her pen between her fingers. “What I’m hearing is, you two didn’t break up because you no longer loved each other. Circumstances just seemed to work against you.”

        Adeline sighed, gripping the pillow to her chest. “Yeah, I guess.”

        “Do you believe fate brought you to Calum’s bar after walking away from Ian?”

        Forcing her knee not to bounce, Adeline nodded. “I think so. It’s like you said about the glass being half empty or half full. I can see it both ways. Empty because of what Ian did—full because I reconnected with Calum.”

        “But what would you rather focus on?”

        “The glass being full,” Adeline answered, feeling a small smile quirk at her lips. She let her gaze wander around the familiar office, the baby blue walls always comforting. “I want to reconnect with Calum more. Not for, like, romantic purposes but because I miss him. I didn’t realize how much until I saw him. He’d always been a good friend before we started dating and I regret not reaching out to him before all of this. I feel like I wasted time with Ian after finding out what he was really in for and that’s not something I want to do again.”

        Her words may be harsh, labeling Ian as a waste of time, but Adeline couldn’t entirely bring herself to care. She was so unbelievably angry, so heartbroken, and she would rather deem him as a good-for-nothing than acknowledge him as someone she had, at one point, genuinely loved. Adeline had never been one to believe that someone could just fall out of love with another within a blink of an eye, always thought the heart was so much more complicated than that. But when she had overheard Ian’s conversation with Keith, it was like a switch had been flipped. He made her feel like an idiot, humiliated her—why should she spend another second loving him? Especially when he didn’t deserve it?

        She’d had a few days to think about it, and although Adeline knew it would take longer to get over it, to get the ache in her chest to ease up, she wasn’t regretful of her actions. Only that she let it get this far so blindly.

        “That’s good, Adeline,” Dr. Boocz said, a smile on her face as she nodded. “But I want you to keep something in mind.” Adeline raised her eyebrows, listening intently. “It’s okay to reconnect but make sure you’re doing it for the right reasons. Take things slowly. Don’t fall into anything serious, romantic or platonic, while in a vulnerable state. Think about what’s good for you in this moment and what would make you happy, and not depending on others to make you happy.”

        Adeline pressed her tongue to the inside of her cheek, Dr. Boocz’s words swimming in her head. She knew her therapist was right, knew that she was in a vulnerable state and shouldn’t dive into anything. But Adeline genuinely believed there was no harm reconnecting with Calum; if their conversations at the bar were anything to go by, Adeline had felt comfortable and safe with him. But yeah; it would be foolish of her to fall into something new as she dealt with her relationship with Ian falling apart, especially after Aunt Lorraine’s death.

        Even if Calum wasn’t anyone new.

        The afternoon sun felt good on Adeline’s skin as she stepped up from the subway station and headed towards her street. Her music played in her ears as she walked down the sidewalk, Frappuccino in hand to sip from as she approached her house, only to stop in front of the three steps leading to the front door when she saw who was sitting on them.

        Adeline inhaled sharply as Ian stood up, a disgruntled scoff escaping him as he declared, “Finally. I’ve been waiting for fifteen minutes.”

        “What the hell are you doing here?” Despite the firmness in her tone, Adeline felt her heart beginning to quicken its pace, the sight of Ian not something she was prepared for.

        “Trying to talk to you,” Ian frowned, stopping just a few feet in front of her. She still felt like he was too close. “You left without a word, cleaned your things out of our place and you haven’t said shit to me. You have any idea how much you embarrassed me, Adeline, in front of all our friends and family? The fuck is wrong with you?”

        He took a step closer with every sentence, and Adeline’s grip on her cup tightened as she took a step back, teeth pressing together tightly. She wasn’t intimidated by him, by any means; she just didn’t want him too close, wasn’t comfortable with it. And despite the shock of his presence, Adeline didn’t lose her voice.

        “I embarrassed you?” she repeated incredulously, sharp eyes meeting his dark blue. How arrogant was he? “You’re the one who played me, who was only in it for the fucking money. I don’t care if people think I’m the bad guy—but I would be damned if I let you make any more of a fool out of me than you have already.”

        She found it in herself to walk past him, purposefully bumping her shoulder into his as she did so. But Ian grasped her wrist, turning her around as he demanded, “You’re gonna walk away from me, just like that? That’s how you treat people you love?”

        Holy shit—how delusional was he? Adeline genuinely wondered if he was living in some reality where he hadn’t done anything wrong, where she truly was the villain of this story. Adeline would’ve laughed at the surrealness of it all if she wasn’t so bewildered at his arrogance. Her jaw tightened and Adeline, without hesitance, successfully jerked her wrist out of Ian’s grip. He glared at her, one she returned with full ferocity, a fire burning in her eyes as she snapped, “That’s how I treat people who are scum. You’re a liar, Ian, and I refuse to waste another second on you. Get the fuck off my property before I call the cops.”

        The last thing she saw was the astonishment flash across his features, her harsh words slapping him across the face as she turned and stormed up the steps, keys already out to unlock the front door. Adeline didn’t look back, didn’t need a reason to, and slammed the door behind her before letting out a deep breath. She looked up at the ceiling, finally acknowledging the quick pace of her heart, exhaling slowly as she told herself to relax, to calm down. She had felt good about the words she had said, felt good in shutting the door in Ian’s face.

        It would take time, and it probably would be painful, but Adeline knew she would eventually move past the shit show with Ian. Closing the door on him was the first step.

*****

        Friday nights, unsurprisingly, were busy at the bar. Calum, although he hadn’t wanted to at first, had eventually decided to clear out some tables and chairs when it got really busy so patrons could take advantage of the space and dance to the music being played. He didn’t really care for it at first, but after a couple of broken glasses, he figured the cheapest thing to do would be to clear out the tables and chairs just for nights like these.

        He wasn’t bartending tonight, his two other employees staying busy, so he remained by the end of the bar as he chatted with his friends, though he kept an eye around the bar and was willing to step in should his employees need him to. As usual, people of all ages were frequenting the bar, mostly those in his age group, all ready to ring in the weekend after a long week of work. Calum stayed by his friends, sipping his beer, the enthusiastic atmosphere of the bar not one he wasn’t used to, obviously.

        “Hey, Cal—can I get another White Claw?” Crystal asked, and Calum gave her a quick nod before making his way towards the other end of the bar where her drink of choice was kept.

        He made sure not to get in the way of his working bartenders, the bar expectedly busy, and right when Calum stood straight after pulling out can from the small fridge on the ground, his eyes instinctively drifted over to the door. His heart stopped, the surprise momentarily freezing him in place when he easily recognized Adeline enter the bar. He found himself staring at her, blinking out of his trance only when Adeline’s eyes managed to land on his despite the people in between them, a small smile quirking against her lips under the red and purple lights of the bar splashing across her face.

        He watched as Adeline approached the bar and Calum stepped closer as well, another woman following behind her, and once she was within earshot, Adeline smiled, “Fancy seeing you here.”

        A smile lifted Calum’s lips through a scoff, arms folding on top of the bar as he raised an eyebrow at her. “I think that’s my line,” he returned smoothly.

        Adeline let out a laugh, one he hadn’t been able to hear much the last time they saw each other about a week ago. Her in front of him now, with that easy going smile on her face, made Calum feel a bit better than the last time she was on the other side of his bar. Patting the messenger bag hanging off her shoulder, she said, “I have your clothes.”

        Quirking an eyebrow, Calum felt his smile turn into a small smirk as he asked, “Is that all you came for?”

        “You make a mean Henny and Coke.”

        Calum laughed, a lightness in his chest, realizing that Adeline had brought a friend and he needed to go back to his. He stood straight, ticking his head over to the left. “You wanna join? I’m sure Mike and Luke’ll be happy to see you.”

        Her smile softened, straightening as well as she nodded and said, “Yeah, sure.”

        He made his way back down the bar, glancing over to see Adeline and her friend making their way through the mild throng of people. When he reached his friends, Calum handed Crystal her drink before nodding at Luke and Michael. “Look who I found.”

        Everyone looked to the left, and Calum watched as recognition instantly flashed across Luke and Michael’s features as they both put their drinks out and cheered, characteristically loudly, “Adeline!”

        Calum grinned, an amused chuckle escaping him as her eyes widened in surprise at their grand reaction, watching as they got up from their seats to wrap her in hugs. As that happened, Calum met Ashton’s gaze, who quirked a knowing eyebrow as he mouthed, “Adeline?” because he knew exactly who she was despite never meeting her. Of course Calum had told his best friend, the one he’d made in college, about running into his high school ex again. Calum kept a lot of things to himself—seeing Adeline again couldn’t hope to be one of them. His excitement had been almost childish, despite the circumstances.

        Once Adeline introduced them to her friend, Gabby, and she was introduced to the few people she didn’t know, Calum took it upon himself to prepare their drinks. He found himself glancing over in the couple of minutes he’d stepped away, watching as Adeline and Gabby animatedly chatted with his friends, Luke and Michael having given up their seats for the two of them to sit on. He looked at Adeline, who didn’t look as drained or hollow as she had the last time, a smile on her face that he enjoyed the sight of.

        “Cal told us you two ran into each other last week,” Michael grinned, leaning against the bar next to Crystal. “I thought he was just messing with us.”

        Calum rolled his eyes as he sipped his beer, watching as Adeline laughed and teased, “Calum’s a lot of things—I don’t think being a liar’s one of them.”

        “Hey, hey, don’t try to butter him up—you’re already getting free drinks,” Ashton joked with a shake of his head and a wave of his hand, eliciting laughter from the group as Calum flipped him off from where he stood at the end of the bar.

        Adeline’s jaw dropped with the laugh that escaped her before she moved with purpose. Calum watched, amused smile on his lips and eyebrows raised as she dug into her bag before producing a couple of bills that added up to the cost of her drink. She purposefully showed Ashton the money between her fingers, earning a dimpled grin from him before she leaned over Gabby and pushed the money in the front pocket of Calum’s jeans. He laughed as he watched her do so before she grinned at Ashton, “Drinks aren’t free, but the truth is.”

        Calum scoffed through a laugh, deciding he’d give her the money back later instead of doing so now and squashing the point she was making. Right now, although he was engaged in the conversations with his friends, Calum was still trying to wrap his head around the sight of Adeline sitting among them.

        It was dangerously coming close to how things used to be when they were back in high school, in addition to a few new friends, and it warmed Calum’s heart to see her so comfortable with them. She didn’t look like she was folding into herself, a bright smile on her face as she chatted and laughed and sipped her drink. When he realized he was admiring her for too long, too frequently, Calum tried to distract himself by finding things to do. He’d wash his gaze around the bar, making sure everyone was good, checked in with his bartenders to see if they were keeping up with the orders—really just doing his job to avert his gaze from Adeline every now and then.

        “Hey, Cal—we need another bottle of Absolut and one of Bacardi,” one of the bartenders, Bridgit, told him from where she stood making a margarita.

        Calum nodded. “I’ll bring ’em.”

        He excused himself from his friends and walked around the bar, heading to the door that led towards the inventory room. He offered smiles to the customers he recognized who frequented his bar enough as he went, using the key he kept on him to unlock the door.

        As he opened it, he heard Ashton say, “I’m surprised you managed to look away from Adeline long enough.”

        Calum rolled his eyes at the teasing tone in his friend’s voice, stepping inside the dark room. He switched the light on as Ashton followed him, and Calum muttered a resigned, “Here we go.”

        Ashton’s tone was conversational, a little too innocent as he said, “She’s sweet and very pretty. I can see why you dated her.”

        Wandering over to where the supply of Absolut was, Calum threw Ashton a frown over his shoulder before quickly looking away, grabbing for one of the bottles. “Those weren’t the only reasons why I dated her.” Why he felt the need to defend himself, he didn’t know. Ashton knew Calum wasn’t that shallow, yet the words still slipped.

        “Oh?”

        Calum did a mental count of how many of those bottles were left before moving onto find the Bacardi. They should still have a few of those sitting around. It was one of the kinds of liquor that went out fast. “We were friends before we ever got together. She was one of the only other people, back then, who knew me as well as Mike and Luke did. Probably more. When we got together, it felt. . .”

        Calum trailed off, jaw clenching as he grabbed the neck of the Bacardi bottle and pulled it out, feeling a tightness in his chest as he thought of the time he and Adeline were together and happy. It was all happy. Blissfully so, even if they had just been in high school.

        “It felt what?” Ashton asked, curiosity coloring his tone.

        Calum turned to face his friend once more, the words climbing up his throat, begging to let out. He thought of that first day he met Adeline: second period honors English on the first day of his sophomore year, and her freshman year, of high school, where they had been assigned to sit next to each other. She’d worn her silver framed glasses, hair tied into a French braid, looking like the prettiest girl sixteen year old Calum had seen. So he lifted a shoulder, voice drawn yet sincere as he answered, “It felt inevitable.”

*****

        One of Adeline’s favorite things about her job was that a majority of it could be done from home. She worked as a content editor for a popular fashion magazine—but mostly for the magazine’s online content, with a few projects in the physical versions. But because of her job, Adeline was able to do it from home on her laptop, not really needing to venture into the office where most of the other employees worked from. The only time she went was when there were important staff meetings or if her work was to be done on the physical versions—she preferred doing those in the office.

        She liked going into work; truthfully, Adeline didn’t really need a job, not with the inheritance she had from Aunt Lorraine. But her aunt had always told Adeline that working for her own money was something to be proud of, something everyone should be able to experience. It was why Adeline had many summer jobs as a teenager, anything from scooping ice cream to working in department stores. Just because she had money, doesn’t mean she couldn’t work for it, too.

        Besides, what the hell else was she supposed to do with her time? All of her friends had jobs, and she could only keep herself company for so long.

        But going into work lately had been somewhat of a challenge. Ever since she ran out of her wedding nearly two weeks ago, Adeline had become the topic of office gossip, given that several of her coworkers and boss had been in attendance. At this point, a lot of the talk was dying down—mostly thanks to Veera Waters, their boss, who had heard some employees not so discreetly talking about how trashy it was to run out of your own wedding, and berated them six ways to Sunday. Adeline had appreciated Veera stepping in because it put an end to any of the negative comments anyone was saying. It wasn’t everyone who felt that way, but Adeline didn’t need to hear it. She didn’t care what anyone else thought—but that didn’t mean she had a desire to hear any of it.

        “I need a vacation,” Adeline announced with a huff as soon as she sat down on the chair opposite of Gabby. She hadn’t need to stay at the office after the weekly staff meeting, so once she had her assignment, Adeline left to meet up with Gabby for lunch at one of their favorite spots by Bryant Park. “Badly.”

        Gabby smirked slightly as she sipped at her drink. “I told you, you should’ve just gone on your honeymoon instead of getting a refund.”

        Adeline snorted, arms resting on the rests of the chair as she crossed her right leg at the left knee. “Yeah, right. Spend a week in the City of Love by myself after breaking up with my fiancé? Fat chance of that happening.”

        An exasperated look crossed Gabby’s face. “Paris is the City of Love. Not Venice.”

        Of course Adeline knew that. “Not for me, it isn’t,” she retorted. She preferred the beauty of Venice over the beauty of Paris any day. Now she wouldn’t get to see it because Ian was a piece of shit.

        The waitress came by then, a familiar friendly face by the name of Holly, and Adeline rattled off her usual order while also asking for some wine. She needed it. “Seriously, though,” Adeline spoke up with a sigh. “I need to be out of this city so I don’t run into Ian. And I need to be out of cell range from the vultures.”

        Gabby made a face at the mention of those people. Adeline’s best friend knew first hand how money-thirty Adeline’s extended family could be. All the second cousins and great aunts or uncles who spent a lifetime trying to get on Aunt Lorraine’s good side to have a sniff of the money she had in her grasp. Now their attentions had shifted to Adeline, the sole inheritor of it all. And after talking to Aunt Lorraine’s most trusted lawyers, Adeline knew it was only hers to do with what she pleased. And she would be damned if she let it get in the hands of greedy family members who weren’t happy with the money they had and wanted to dig their claws in her deceased aunt’s vault.

        No fucking way.

        “What about the lake house?” Gabby suggested just as Holly returned with Adeline’s wine—and a basket of deliciously warm bread.

        Adeline’s stomach twisted at her friend’s question—one asked tentatively, she could tell. Picking up a piece of bread, Adeline tore it in half and reached for the little rectangle of butter. “I don’t know,” she answered honestly.

        Truthfully, Adeline hadn’t been to the lake house since she went to spread Aunt Lorraine’s ashes. Even though Adeline used to go to the lake house to spend weekend with friends, it was also the place she and Aunt Lorraine used to close themselves off to when they wanted to take a break from the city. It was their happy place where they spent time cooking, baking, swimming in the lake, visiting the small town it was near because sometimes they preferred that over the business of the city. But it had been two months since Adeline had been back, and although she yearned to go once more, she wasn’t sure if she was ready for it.

        “You wouldn’t be going alone,” Gabby assured her as she put down her glass. “We can make a trip out of it. Invite more people, if you want.”

        The idea was fun, Adeline could admit, and one she would’ve jumped at the opportunity for a few months ago. The lake house was full of happy, nostalgic memories, and Adeline knew Aunt Lorraine would want her to continue making more. Adeline offered a small smile to Gabby, bringing the piece of bread to her mouth. “Maybe. We’ll see.”

        It was a non-answer, but Gabby seemed to understand that was all she would get from Adeline and nodded in acceptance. When Holly returned with their food, Gabby asked, “So—Calum. What’s going on there?”

        Adeline glanced up from her plate of shrimp scampi, eyebrows knitting together. The jump in her chest at the mention of him wasn’t something she could totally ignore. “What do you mean?” Adeline returned, twirling the pasta around her fork. “Nothing’s going on anywhere. We only just reconnected.”

        “And are you gonna keep reconnecting?” Gabby questioned, a glint in her eye. With a teasing smile, she said, “If my high school sweetheart looked like that, I totally would.”

        Adeline felt her cheeks warm at Gabby’s reference of Calum being her high school sweetheart. Technically, he was. But hearing someone else say it was strange—and not in the bad way. Keeping her tone flat, Adeline said, “Do you really think I’m capable of pursuing something after ending it with Ian? Who I was with for three years, need I remind you?”

        Three years down the drain. God. Was any of it real? Adeline found herself wondering that more often than she liked. She wanted to be rid of him. To scrub her body clean of any trace of him. As much as she had loved him, as soon as the truth had come out, Adeline felt nothing but a burning anger when she thought of Ian, alongside the pain that came with a blindsiding heartbreak. Love was complicated but hate—hate wasn’t. And Adeline knew, despite spending years with him, loving him, her anger and hate won out.

        Gabby clicked her tongue with a roll of her eyes. “I’m not saying you have to pursue anything,” she said. “You told me you guys were friends before you dated, and from what I can tell, Calum seems like a really nice guy. Besides—” An almost excited glimmer appeared in Gabby’s eyes, a small smile dancing on her lips as she leaned forward. “Don’t you think it’s, like, wild how you left Ian only to end up at your ex’s bar? That shit’s from the movies.”

        Adeline swallowed her mouthful of pasta, lips twisting to the side. Gabby had only voiced exactly what Adeline had been thinking about since the moment she saw Calum. What were the damn odds of that happening? New York was a big city, sure, but to not have seen Calum for six years and only to run into him on her would-be wedding day? Adeline recalled her conversation with Dr. Boocz about fate, how Adeline herself wondered if that’s what this was.

        She found herself hoping for it to be true. No matter how cliché or fictional it seemed.

        But this wasn’t a movie. If it was, Adeline was desperate to fast forward to the end. Maybe then everything would stop hurting.

*****

        The looming brownstone looked almost exactly as it had the last time Calum had seen it years ago, except now the bricks were obviously weathered, but the greenery around the steps were bright and lively. He stopped in the middle of the small path leading up to the front steps, taking a moment to admire the house, the early afternoon sun making the bricks almost glimmer with the dew that still clung to them from the brief rain that fell early in the morning.

        For a moment, Calum wondered why he never stepped foot here until now. When he and Adeline broke up, it wasn’t like he never came back to the city—it wasn’t as though he didn’t know exactly where she lived. His own family didn’t live in the city anymore, having moved when he graduated high school. But Calum could’ve guessed Lorraine’s house was still here. Although his and Adeline’s break up had hurt, it was still mutual. They could’ve tried harder to be friends. If texting and FaceTime hadn’t been enough to keep together their relationship, maybe it could’ve kept their friendship intact. So why hadn’t they tried?

        Calum kind of knew the answer.

        As pathetic as it was. . . It would’ve been too difficult to just stay friends with Adeline right after the break up.

        But he could’ve tried. Which was what he—both of them, really—was doing now.

        Taking a breath, he headed up the few steps leading to the front door, raising a hand and ringing the doorbell. When Adeline had texted him, asking him if he wanted to come over for lunch, Calum had stared at his phone for a solid ten minutes, unsure if what he was seeing was real, before snapping into action. He was glad she wasn’t able to sense his eagerness through a text message that said Sure, sounds great.

        The door swung open, and suddenly Calum felt like he was sixteen again and he’d stood on this very doorstep to pick Adeline up for their first date. Back then, they’d taken the subway to Coney Island and had spent all day on rides and eating junk food that made their stomachs hurt later. It had been so worth it.

        Now, Adeline stood in front of him in jeans and a blouse tucked in, cheeks pink and a smile on her face that Calum realized, not for the first time, still tugged at his heart. Against the afternoon sun, Calum could make out the dozens of freckles that dotted her skin; across the bridge of her nose and spreading on the apples of her cheeks, while also spreading up to decorate her forehead. They had dated, they were re-establishing a friendship that had been absent for six years, but Calum wasn’t that prideful that he could never admit how beautiful she was. Undoubtedly.

        Her brown hair tumbled past her shoulders in waves, smile bright as she greeted, “Hey.”

        Calum returned it, finding it a lot easier to do so than he expected. “Hi,” he said as Adeline opened the door wider for him to enter. He stepped through the threshold, a scent hitting him that launched him into the past. His gaze landed on the dish of pasta resting on the glass coffee table—she was as obsessed with pasta as he was—alongside a dish of vegetable gratin, and even a little bowl of guacamole with chips. Calum felt a faint smile tug at his lips before he looked at the pasta once more. Glancing down at her with a quirk of an eyebrow, he asked, “Is that three cheese lasagna I smell?”

        A laugh escaped Adeline as she shut the door, her own gaze darting to a bag he held in his left hand. “Only if that’s wine.”

        His smile widened a bit as he pulled out the bottle of red. He’d asked Adeline if she wanted him to bring anything, and she’d suggested wine if he was in the mood to drink it, so he swiped up a bottle on his way over. He remembered she enjoyed drinking it when it was just the two of them hanging right in this living room and Lorraine wasn’t around.

        “Your wish was my command,” he told her, earning a laugh from her.

        “Oh, crap, I forgot the wine glasses. Sit, I’ll be right back,” Adeline said, gesturing towards the couch before she went down the hall and around the corner where the kitchen was.

        Calum put the bottle down on the table, but instead of sitting, his gaze wandered around the living room. It hadn’t changed much since he’d last been there. There was a staircase directly ahead of the front door, about ten feet away, and to the right was the living room with a burnt red sectional facing the TV that was placed in a wooden unit, surrounded by books and picture frames and trinkets placed in the shelves.

        Calum’s gaze caught on the pictures, many of them consisting of Adeline and Lorraine, with a few photographs of Lorraine with Adeline’s mom, and of a toddler Adeline with her parents before they passed. A tightness locked in Calum’s throat as he gazed at her young, smiling face. She’d lost all of these people, all of her parents. He foolishly, unrealistically wanted to get rid of all the pain she had suffered—was suffering through.

        Just when he was about to turn away, something else snagged at Calum’s attention, and he felt his lips curling when he noted the marks on the strip of wall next to the window that faced the street. It was right in the corner where the two walls met as he approached, a small huff of a laugh escaping him as he recognized the markings.

        They started when Adeline was four, each marking higher than the next, rising with her age. The last one was put when she was seventeen, putting her height at 5’4”. That was seven years ago.

        “I haven’t grown an inch since I was seventeen,” came Adeline’s voice, and Calum turned to see her enter with two wine glasses in her hands. She stopped in front of the couch, her light brown eyes taking in the sight of him, and Calum willed his heart not to betray him now. Her lips curved up. “You, on the other hand, look like you hit puberty three times over.”

        A short laugh escaped Calum, hand rubbing the back of his neck and, for fuck’s sake, was he blushing? He couldn’t remember the last time he did that—

        Alright, he could. It was in high school—because of Adeline, no less.

        “I’ve always been taller than you,” Calum pointed out, pushing aside whatever the hell was going on in his chest as he walked over to her.

        Adeline’s smile was teasing and Calum wasn’t sure if he was remembering the moments of when they were friends or more. “Yeah, but I never had to crane my neck to look you in the eye,” she said with a light laugh.

        True, but Calum had always liked the way his body towered over hers. He’d loved it when her arms would wrap around his waist and she’d rest her cheek against his chest, and he’d be able to rest his chin on the top of her head. He loved it and he missed it.

        Fuck, fuck, fuck. He wasn’t handling this too well.

        Clearing his throat, Calum sat down on the couch, Adeline joining him, and he looked towards the food again. Almost tentatively, he asked, “Did you master Lorraine’s recipe?”

        She glanced towards the three cheese lasagna that waited before them, a small smile dancing on her lips. Three cheese lasagna was one of Lorraine’s famous dishes, and she would make it every time she knew Calum was coming over when they were in high school. It had easily become one of his favorite dishes and he didn’t realize how much he missed it until now, until it was waiting for him and he could smell the delicious aroma.

        “According to her, I did,” Adeline told him, and he recognized the longing mixed with sorrow in her voice, though the small smile remained on her face. She picked up the plates, handing one to him as she said, “Let’s see what you think.”

        He made sure to get a little bit of everything Adeline had made onto his plate as she poured the wine, and Calum couldn’t help the small smile that danced on his lips when he brought a forkful of lasagna to his mouth, aware of Adeline’s eager eyes on him. The flavor exploded on his tongue, the taste of the cheesy pasta so achingly familiar, not even bothering to hold back the satisfied groan that escaped him.

        “This is fantastic, Adeline,” Calum praised, eyebrows rising as he looked at her, catching the relieved and thrilled grin on her face. With a smile, he told her, “You made Lorraine proud.”

        Her smile widened, and Calum knew he’d said the right thing. The two of them settled back on the couch, plates full, and as Adeline’s fork clinked against the plate, she said, “Go ahead. Ask me.”

        Calum looked at her. “Ask you what?”

        She shot him a knowing look, lips curving. “The question you’ve been dying to ask since I texted you about coming over.”

        If Calum had forgotten that Adeline knew him better than he thought, this would be a reminder. He scooped some guac up with a chip, looking down at his plate for a moment before meeting her patient gaze. She was right. There was a question in his head, begging to be asked, but he hadn’t wanted to jump the gun. But if Adeline already knew of his curiosity, might as well ask it.

        “How come you invited me over?”

        Her smile turned gentle, almost nostalgic, and Calum’s heart jumped. Her light brown eyes were sincere as she gazed at him, taking a deep breath before answering, “We’ve been. . . Out of each other’s lives for longer than we were ever in them. And that. . .” She frowned, giving a shake of her head. “I don’t like that. I hate that we just fell out of each other’s lives after we ended things, and I think it’s time we, you know, fixed that.” Her gaze turned almost hesitant, hopeful. “If you’re okay with it.”

        Adeline spoke quickly like Calum knew she did when she was nervous about something, wanting the words to get out before she could think twice about them. He noticed not because he noticed every little thing about her, but because he was hanging on to every word she said—hanging on to the fact that she, just like him, wanted to once again be a part of his life. To what extent, Calum didn’t know and he wasn’t about to ask. Not when this old thing was starting anew, not when she just left her fiancé. He was just so grateful that she seemed to be on the same train of thought as him.

        Then again, more often than not, they both always were.

        “I’m more than okay with it, Addie,” Calum told her, the nickname slipping out easily. Before he could talk himself out of it, he rested his fork on the plate and reached his right hand out, grasping Adeline’s left, and Calum wasn’t sure if that had been a good idea because as soon as his skin touched hers, the warmth spread through him like a wildfire, electricity sparking his veins and tingling to the tips of his toes. But he kept the easy smile on his face, focused on the way Adeline squeezed his hand, how hers seemed so small in comparison, and Calum’s heart was racing as he looked at her and told her what he’d been dying to say since the moment he recognized her in his bar. “I missed you.”

        He saw her throat work, her smile soft as she let out a relieved sigh. “I missed you too, Cal.”

        And then it was like there had been no time lost.

        As they ate, they talked about what had been going on in their lives for the past six years. He told her about buying the bar and starting up his business, and she told him the summers she spent traveling with Aunt Lorraine and getting a job at a top magazine. Calum told her about his dog, Duke, and Adeline had immediately said that next time lunch would be at his place so she could meet the little guy. They wisely stayed away from the topic of Adeline’s ex-fiancé and the whole wedding situation. Instead, they talked about moments of when they were in high school, the dumb shit they got caught up in—skipping out on classes or sometimes the whole day altogether, the soccer games he played in and she attended to watch. They even talked a bit about Lorraine, fond smiles on their faces and pain creeping into their eyes. He wanted to ease Adeline’s ache, wipe it from her face as they talked about lighter subjects.

        Too long. It had been too long since he saw her smile or heard her laugh. How could he have gone six years without it?

        As Adeline smiled against the rim of the glass, sipping her wine, something tightened in Calum’s chest. He’d never moved on from her, despite believing that he did. The years he spent in the beds of different women and in relationships that never went anywhere should’ve been proof enough. It didn’t click until he was right there, sitting with her, remembering all of the reasons why he fell in love with her in the first place. Dating her for a little over two years felt like nothing compared to the lifetime they’d assumed they had.

        A lifetime she was so, so close to spending with someone else. He tried not to think about it. Tried not to focus on the profound and selfish relief at that very fact not coming to fruition.

        Even if he wanted to break her fiancé’s nose for hurting her.

        Calum had been at Adeline’s place for over two hours already. They’d finished lunch and were sipping from their wine as Calum finished up telling her about a Coldplay concert he had attended a little while back with Luke, Michael and Ashton.

        “I can’t lie—I’m kind of jealous,” Adeline mused once he was done, sitting with her back against the arm rest, left leg folded under her as the right hung off the couch, facing him.

        Calum’s right arm was resting on top of the couch, left hand gripping his nearly empty glass. “Because of the concert?” he asked with a light laugh.

        “Well, that too,” Adeline replied with a gentle roll of her eyes. “But mostly because, I don’t know, you’re still friends with Luke and Mike after high school and you and I aren’t. Or weren’t,” she corrected, shifting nervously where she sat as the smile on Calum’s face slightly faltered. “I mean, obviously the circumstances were different but I just—I don’t know, I wish it wouldn’t have been painful to stay friends after we broke up, you know?”

        She stumbled over her words, but Calum understood what she was trying to say all the same. Of course, he did—he felt the exact same way. And it was a relief to know she shared that sentiment with him. “Yeah,” Calum said, his voice sounding rough in his own ears. He cleared his throat lightly before saying, “We can’t change the past, but I’m more than ready to make up for the years we lost.”

        Her smile brightened her face and Calum could never get enough of it. Adeline sat up, leaning forward and holding her glass up. “Here’s to unplanned, but wholly welcome, reunions,” she declared, grin wide and eyes glimmering. Calum clinked his glass with hers before sipping his wine, gaze never leaving Adeline’s as he drank.

        When it was nearing five, Calum knew it was time to go, given that he had a shift soon at the bar. He was reluctant to leave, stalling by helping Adeline in bringing all of the dishes back into the kitchen. If she knew that’s what he was doing, she didn’t comment on it. Too soon, she was walking Calum to the door, their time together—for now—coming to an end. In his hand, he held a bag with a couple of Tupperware inside, filled with the leftovers of the delicious food she’d made.

        “Thanks for lunch, Addie,” Calum said as he faced her, back to the door as he looked down at her.

        Adeline smiled, brown hair framing her face as she slid her hands in the back pockets of her jeans, shoulders lifting. “Thanks for coming,” she returned.

        A question danced on Calum’s tongue, one he hadn’t asked anyone in years—one that was reserved just for Adeline because it had always been their thing. He wasn’t sure if he should voice it now, but maybe the nostalgia, or the excitement of finally, finally, finally seeing her again got to him. So Calum tilted his head ever so slightly, a half smile curving at his lips as he lifted his chin a bit. “So, when can I see you again?”

        Adeline’s eyes widened, grinning lips parting as she gaped up at him in absolute delight. Calum’s stomach tumbled. “Oh, my God—you didn’t,” she laughed, leaning forward slightly as she did so as one hand ran through her hair. Calum joined in on her laughter, admiring the flush of her cheeks. It was probably the wine, but he hoped it was a little bit because of him, too. “Wow, that—I haven’t heard that in a while.”

        It was silly, silly thing between them, dating back to the night of their first date when they returned from Coney Island and Calum had walked her right up to this door. He’d asked her, then, when can I see you again? and Adeline humbled him by letting out a laugh, as if it was the funniest thing he’d said because who even asks that anymore? before giving a teasing response of, Monday morning, by my locker.

        Ever since then, whenever they had a date night and he would drop her home, he’d end the night with that question. Sometimes it had ended up with Adeline sneaking him up to her room. Most of the times, she would give the same response—

        “Inevitably, in your dreams.”

        Calum’s heart jumped to his throat when he heard her utter those four words, the same teasing glint in her eyes he grew familiar with years ago. It had been a promise between them, a reassurance.

        Who fucking knew it would become a reality for some nights for the past six years?

        Adeline was smiling, biting her lower lip. Calum’s mouth was dry. He hadn’t felt this way since, well, since Adeline. What a dangerous, dangerous game they were playing.

        Willing himself to snap out of it, Calum returned her smile with a breathy chuckle, fighting the urge to clear his throat and indicate just how much of an effect her words had on him. He felt warm as he stepped forward, holding his arm out as he said, “Bye, Addie.”

        She closed the gap by returning his hug, fitting right under his chin as Calum rested it atop her head, and he found himself closing his eyes as she invaded his senses. Adeline could probably feel his heart thundering under the cotton material of his shirt, but he didn’t care. All he could focus on was the aching familiarity of her body against his, even in a hug, how warm and fitting she was. The scent of coconuts danced in his nose—fuck, she even smelled the same, terribly dizzying.

        It dawned on him, then, how much he could miss her and only realizing the extent the moment he finally held her in his arms again.

        Calum wasn’t sure how long they stood like that, hugging each other for the first time in years. The past two weeks or so since she walked into his bar, they’d only seen each other three times in total, most of their tentative communication being done so through texts. They never got to hug—not until now. Calum didn’t think he’d be forgetting the way her arms wrapped around his waist any time soon. Not that he would want to.

        Eventually, they moved to pull away, but their movements were slow, stalling. And they didn’t pull away—not all the way. Adeline’s arms remained around Calum’s waist, only lifting her head off his chest, and he only moved his head to look down at her, his own arm still embracing her shoulders. They were close—close enough for Calum to count all of her freckles if they had the time, close enough for him to see the two flecks of dark brown in the right iris of her light brown eyes without the help of the sun, close enough to feel her breath fanning against his lips, just like he knew his was against hers as well.

        What are you doing? What the fuck are you doing? The voice in the back of his head was loud, insistent, most likely reasonable in its questions and yet Calum silenced it for now. He couldn’t think of anything but Adeline, her coconut scent wrapping around him like a childhood blanket as his forehead pressed against hers.

        He watched her gaze drop, watched as it landed on his lips as her eyelashes grazed the tops of her cheeks, their noses brushing together. It hurt—his heart hurt because of how heavy and tight the longing was, how desperately he wanted to close the remaining distance between them and see if her lips felt the same way they had when they were teenagers. The air between them crackled like it had so many years ago, and that had to mean something, right?

        Calum squeezed his eyes shut, jaw ticking as he clenched his teeth together. He couldn’t do this. He wanted to so badly—but he couldn’t. In those stretching moments, Calum felt like he was at war with his head and his heart, wanting to so desperately kiss her but knowing he shouldn’t. They’d just gotten each other back and Adeline—she’d just been engaged just a few weeks ago. He didn’t want their first kiss to be a result of overwhelming nostalgia, didn’t want there to be any lingering pain for Adeline. He wanted to do it right, if it were to happen again. And right now, this—this wasn’t right.

        His body roared in protest, but Calum kept himself grounded with a tight grip on the bag in his hand as he dropped his other arm from around Adeline, swallowing thickly as he pulled his head away from hers while murmuring a quiet, “I should go.”

        Adeline blinked quickly, arms limply dropping to her sides as she looked up at him. She seemed dazed, almost, before pulling herself back and Calum hated to see the disappointment she was hiding in her eyes. Adeline stepped back, her hands sliding down her thighs as she nodded. “Yeah, yeah,” she said, throwing a quick smile his way. Calum didn’t try to see if it reached her eyes, he already knew the answer. “I’ll see you later.”

        Calum nodded, turning away to open the door, the late afternoon sun now bathing the homes across the street in golden. He stepped outside, glancing over at Adeline once more as he said, “Bye, Adeline.”

        She smiled again, this time softer, holding the door as she gazed at him. His heart jumped at the look in her eyes, gentle and. . . Longing. “Bye, Calum.”

        He went down the steps, not looking back even when he heard the click of the door shut. The smell of coconuts followed him all the way home.

*****

        “So I did something stupid.”

        Dr. Boocz raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

        “Well, I almost did something stupid,” Adeline amended, twisting her lips to the side. “But it was something you definitely told me not to do. Remember how you told me to, y’know, take things slowly? After I told you I wanted to reconnect with Calum?”

        Realization flickered across Dr. Boocz’s face. “Yes, I remember.”

        Adeline chewed on the inside of her cheek, lips puckering as she scrounged up the courage to talk about what the fuck she’d almost done just two days ago. It was all she could think about, having blurted it out to Gabby when she’d gotten home from work that night. Her best friend had been both amused and unimpressed, saying something about how it was bound to happen. That hadn’t helped. Adeline had then proceeded to finish the rest of the wine bottle Calum had brought before drowning in her conflicted feelings. She wasn’t sure if the mild hangover the next day was because of the wine or her thoughts.

        “I invited Calum over for lunch and we got to talking. Just, like, reminiscing old times and stuff and catching each other up on the past few years,” Adeline explained, twisting her fingers in her lap.

        A small smile curved at Dr. Boocz’s lips. “And how was that?”

        “Really fucking good,” Adeline breathed out with a smile. And it had been—God, it felt so good to sit and just talk with Calum, to be in his company. She’d missed it, missed him, so damn much. How had she gone six years without it? She didn’t think she could do that again. “It felt like we never left each other. It was so comfortable and normal and just like it used to be. But then, right before he left. . .” Dr. Boocz remained silent, patiently waiting. Adeline let out a deep sigh, leaning back against the plush couch as she confessed, “We almost kissed.”

        Dr. Boocz raised her eyebrows. “But you didn’t?”

        “No,” Adeline answered, the word semi bitter in her mouth.

        Her therapist, of course, noticed. “How do you feel about almost kissing Calum?”

        Adeline swallowed, picking at invisible lint from her jeans. “Disappointed but. . . Also relieved.” Knowing Dr. Boocz was going to ask why Adeline felt like that, she continued on. “I want to move on from Ian, and even though it hasn’t been that long, I don’t spend every minute raging about what he did. But it’s still, like, fresh. And kissing Calum would just—it wouldn’t be smart,” she reluctantly admitted. “And it wouldn’t be fair.”

        “To him or to you?”

        “Both,” Adeline said with a shrug. “I don’t want to get into anything, serious or otherwise, without completely being rid of Ian and any lingering feelings I may have.” Her jaw tightened, the mere thought of her heard harboring any feelings for him making her irritated, even if it was expected. They’d been together for three years, after all—she had said yes to spending the rest of her life with him. “And Calum, he. . . He deserves better than that. I won’t do that to—I won’t hurt him.”

        Dr. Boocz considered her words before asking, “Who stopped the kiss from happening? You or Calum?”

        Adeline’s eyebrow quirked. “Calum.”

        “It’s important that you realize you recognized how kissing him could’ve complicated things,” Dr. Boocz said. “Thinking about both yourself and Calum and what the potential result of a spontaneous kiss like that could be is good work, Adeline. And in terms of you not wanting to hurt Calum. . . There’s a chance he may have stopped anything from happening because he understood where you were at. He respected you enough to stop before it got too complicated.”

        Adeline’s heart jumped at that. She could easily believe that, where Calum was concerned. He’d always been so receptive of others, could read them so well. Still, with a short laugh, Adeline dryly said, “Or maybe he just didn’t want to kiss me.”

        Dr. Boocz cracked another smile. “I don’t think even you believe that.” Adeline’s cheeks flushed and Dr. Boocz let out a gentle laugh. “You didn’t do anything stupid, Adeline,” she then said, responding to the statement Adeline had made earlier. “You were acting on your feelings—there’s nothing wrong with that. Everyone does it. My advice to you is still the same: take things slowly and focus on yourself, whatever that may mean for you, healthily. There’s nothing wrong with reconnecting with Calum. From what you said, he was an important part of your life, and seeking him out after losing another important part is normal—”

        “I’m not, like, trying to replace Ian with him or anything,” Adeline quickly said, hoping she hadn’t given that impression. That made it sound like Calum was some kind of rebound, which he absolutely wasn’t. He was. . . He was Calum. He belonged to a part of her life that was meant just for him, and now he was reclaiming it.

        “I know,” Dr. Boocz nodded and Adeline believed her. “Life just happened to work out this way when it led you to Calum’s bar after leaving your wedding with Ian. Calum was your friend before he was anything else, right? Finding a friend in him again is normal. If it evolves into something more, and if you feel that you’re confident in letting go of Ian, then you do what’s best for you.”

        Adeline rolled her lips into her mouth, nodding along slowly to Dr. Boocz’s words. She was silent for a moment, mulling over what she’d heard, before another thought crept into her mind, one she thought about often since seeing Calum again. Looking at her therapist, Adeline said, “I think about Aunt Lorraine a lot when I’m with Calum.”

        Granted, she’d only been in Calum’s presence less than a handful of times, but that didn’t make what she said any less true.

        Dr. Boocz tilted her head, a gentle softness in her eyes upon hearing the mention of Adeline’s aunt. “How so?”

        “She liked him a lot,” Adeline said, a small yet fond smile curling at her lips. “I didn’t date that many guys before Calum, but Aunt Lorraine didn’t think any of them were anything special. It was different with Calum. She. . .” Adeline bit her lower lip, a familiar ache clenching at her heart. “She wasn’t like that even with Ian.”

        “She approved of Calum.”

        “She did. They got along well—they were like friends, you know? Calum and I talked about her when he came over for lunch and it just—it felt good to talk about her with someone who knew her kind of like I did,” Adeline explained, thinking of the conversations they had. She remembered the fondness in Calum’s eyes as he talked about Aunt Lorraine, how she was the first adult in his life that let him have a beer in her presence, how she didn’t treat him like a child like every other adult in his life did. Aunt Lorraine was always popular with Adeline’s friends. It’s why everyone loved her.

        “I mean, I can talk to Gabby about her, but Calum had known Aunt Lorraine since he was, like, sixteen. There’s more history there so I feel like he just. . . He gets it more.”

        Dr. Boocz nodded along. “Is it easier to talk about her with him?”

        Adeline thought about it for a moment. In the dark of her room at night, of course the tears came a lot faster when she thought of her aunt, when she thought about the fact that she lost the only parent she’d ever known. She had been so young when she lost her parents and because of that, their loss, although sad, didn’t inject Adeline with a paralyzing pain. Not the way Aunt Lorraine’s death did.

        Talking to Gabby about Aunt Lorraine helped; her best friend had some of her own fond memories with the woman. But the pain always threatened to overwhelm Adeline. But even though she only talked about Aunt Lorraine, in depth, with Calum once, it had felt. . . Doable. The pain was present, but it didn’t burn her like all of the times before. She didn’t understand it, but she appreciated it, nonetheless. Maybe it was because of how much Aunt Lorraine adored Calum, and how it wasn’t one sided. She was the only parent Adeline had, and even before they dated, Calum had been determined to get on her good side. It had been effortless for him—it even took Michael and Luke a minute to get on Aunt Lorraine’s good side.

        So yeah. It was easier to talk about Aunt Lorraine with Calum. Everything, Adeline knew, had always been easier with Calum.

*****

Hey, I know it’s last minute but it’s Ash’s birthday tomorrow so we’re gonna be pregaming at the bar at 8 and then going to the Blue Ribbon if you wanted to come?

        The second Calum had sent that text the night before, he’d let out a sharp breath as the panicked voice in the back of his head demanded to know what the hell he was doing. He’d offhandedly asked his friends if it was alright if he extended the invitation to Adeline, and they all replied their agreements, and Calum had ignored the knowing looks in the boys’ eyes as he texted Adeline. When she had replied that she would be down to go, relief and nerves pinched Calum’s stomach.

        Truly—what was he doing?

        It had been a week since Calum saw Adeline—through no doing of their own. Work kept both of them busy, honestly, so they hadn’t been able to see each other since he had lunch at her place. Calum wasn’t sure if that was a blessing or not, after their almost-kiss. When they texted throughout the days, everything seemed normal; neither of them brought up what had happened, and Calum didn’t know if either of them would. He realized that he was fine if they didn’t talk about it. They could blame it on emotions running high after their proclaimed reunion, they could blame it on the wine, whatever. So long as it didn’t seriously fuck up them finally being in each other’s lives again, Calum was fine.

        That didn’t mean his heart didn’t jump every time her name flashed across his screen. He felt like a teenager again.

        It was nothing compared to the feeling of seeing Adeline walk into his bar around 8:10, tight black jeans with a mesh top hugging her figure as her brown hair fell down her back like damn waterfall. Her grin was bright as she spotted them at the bar, walking over as they all greeted her over the music playing and she gave Ashton a hug while wishing him a happy birthday.

        Adeline came to stand next to him, the heels she wore giving her some height, as she looked up at him with a smile. “Hey, Cal,” she greeted softly, bumping her hip with his.

        And just like that, any tension in Calum’s body eased as he returned the smile effortlessly, wrapping an arm around her shoulder to pull her in for a side hug. Her own arm went around his waist. “Want a drink?”

        “Shots first!” Sierra exclaimed and upon everyone’s agreements, Calum lined up eight shot glasses and picked up the bottle of vodka, filling them up quickly and efficiently.

        They all clinked their glasses together, some of the drinks spilling over, before quickly downing them. Calum welcomed the burn in his throat that was already numbing, and as he put the glass down, he realized his arm was still around Adeline’s shoulders. Hers was still around his waist. Neither of them made the move to let go, and suddenly Calum’s body felt warm not from the alcohol he’d consumed, but because of the woman standing so close to him.

        He tried not to think too much of it. Though, that was a bit difficult given that Ashton, Luke, and Michael seemed to be eyeing them both knowingly. Calum regretted telling them of his slip up at Adeline’s house.

        They stayed at the bar for about an hour before deciding to head out to the Blue Ribbon, and Calum informed his assistant manager, of his departure before following his friends out of his busy bar. The eight of them, rather than taking an Uber, headed toward the 28th street station, going down the steps in a flurry of animated chatter with Metro cards in hands before waiting on the platform for the R train.

        They had a couple of minutes, and Calum’s gaze swept over to Adeline. She was leaning against a beam, a fond, somewhat tipsy smile on her face given that she’d taken a bunch of shots, listening to everyone chattering instead of engaging in it. Even standing there, under the harsh lights of the humid subway station, Adeline looked beautiful. So effortlessly did she rob Calum of his breath in a way no one had ever been able to, and Calum wondered if she was even aware of it.

        He walked over to her, leaning on the left side of the beam with his shoulder, peering down at her shorter frame. With an amused smile tilting at his lips, he asked, “You doin’ okay?”

        Adeline lifted her head and smiled up at him, a light laugh escaping her. “Totally,” she nodded and then huffed. “But it’s so hot in here.” Her brown eyes gave him a once over before meeting his gaze again. “How are you not sweating in that?”

        She was referring to the leather jacket he wore, which was a fair enough question. But the jacket was some kind of comfort that he wore when he went out on nights like these. “We’ll be in an air conditioned train soon, Addie,” he assured her with a chuckle.

        Adeline wrinkled her nose. “Unless it’s one of those shitty old ones that haven’t been renovated since the dawn of man.”

        “Oh, you’re not fun,” Crystal’s voice rang out, nudging Michael where they stood. Her blue eyes then found Calum and Adeline, and she brightened as she said, “Adeline—you’ll dance with us, right? Mike would rather be up there with the DJ than on the dance floor.”

        With a laugh that was drowned out by the approaching train, Adeline answered reassuringly, “Until my feet fall off.”

        The trip to the club wasn’t long, but the three minute subway ride seemed to drag on as he sat next to Adeline, their thighs pressed together, her shoulder brushing against his upper arm with every rattle of the train. But she was engaged in a conversation with Kaykay, and Calum was doing his best to not focus on how the warmth her touch gave him was much more preferred than the warmth of whatever alcohol was humming through his veins.

        Sometimes, he felt as though his lips were still humming from their near kiss.

        Calum clenched his hands into fists on top of his knees. He needed to get a fucking grip. He was losing himself; he could tell. And yet, even knowing that, he wasn’t that wary of it. All thanks to Adeline.

The short subway ride was followed by a five minute walk, and because they knew the right people, they were allowed right into the Blue Ribbon instead of having to wait in the queue outside. They walked up the steps and through the heavy drapes, the music thumping against the walls as they stepped into the main part of the club, the lighting an ever-present dim with the appropriate blues and purples flashing. Couches surrounded tables along the walls, and their group approached the one reserved for them as the women who worked there walked around carried several bottles topped with sparklers as people around them danced.

        As soon as they got to their table, the drinks were brought out, and when Calum moved to pour them for everyone, Luke swatted him away. “You’re always serving us, man. Chill,” he said with a laugh and Calum rolled his eyes, though the smile danced on his lips as he watched his friend pour more shots.

        The shots were taken right after cheering to Ashton’s birthday, their laughter nearly drowned out by the upbeat music blaring around them. Their table and sitting area were on a higher platform, but people were all around dancing, the DJ’s booth set up a few feet away to their left and the bar opposite of them, separated by dancing bodies.

        It didn’t take long for the girls to want to dance, and Calum watched with a small smile as Sierra grabbed Adeline’s hand and the two of them followed Kaykay and Crystal to dance, Ashton and Luke joining them. There wasn’t that much space right by their area on the platform, so his gaze trailed after them as they headed down the couple of steps for more room.

        “So—question,” Michael spoke up from where he sat next to him, sipping whatever mixed drink he created for himself. “Are you gonna ask Adeline out again, or are you gonna do what you did in high school and crush on her for two years before finding the balls to do it?”

        Calum pursed his lips after swallowing his own drink. He settled for a glass of whiskey that he planned to stretch out throughout the night. The shots they’d taken hummed in his veins and he could feel the lightheaded effects of them, but he didn’t plan on getting shit faced tonight, even if it was one of his best friends’ birthday.

        But he shot Michael a flat look, suppressing a sigh at the mention of his teenage behavior. He’d endured Luke and Michael’s teasing when it came to Adeline, fully aware of his feelings for her but never acting on them—until he did.

        With the rest of their friends busy dancing and the loud music serving as a tool for privacy, Calum let out a sigh. He looked down at his glass, the amber liquid looking darker thanks to the lack of light in the club, elbows resting on his knees as he ducked his head to mess with his hair. “I don’t know if asking her out would be a good idea,” Calum admitted, the words more bitter in his mouth than the drink he nursed.

        “How come?” Michael eyes, green eyes near translucent under the flashing lights. “Didn’t you guys, I dunno, have a moment the other day? Ask me, that’s not just a slip.”

        Calum licked his lips, tasting the spicy whiskey as his gaze wandered to where he could see Adeline dancing with their friends. He caught glimpses of her between people, but the smile on her face was too bright to ignore. Her brown hair danced with her and the lights made her skin glow—he couldn’t tear his gaze away. The day at her house. . . That wasn’t a slip.

        And maybe it was the sense of security Calum felt being in the blustering club, too loud and noisy. Maybe it was the fact that Adeline was too far away to have a chance of hearing Calum’s most inner, desperate thoughts. Or maybe it was that Michael, other than Luke, was the only one who knew Calum and Adeline’s history well. Maybe it was just the alcohol giving him courage.

        But Calum found his voice lowering, too quiet for this roaring setting, but enough for just Michael to hear as he said through a dry throat, “There’s never been anyone after Adeline.” He could feel Michael’s gaze on him, but Calum kept his eyes glued to his ex-girlfriend, who was laughing as Luke spun her around in a twirl. Calum was hit with the urge to go down there and dance with her. “Over these past few years, every time I tried to start something with someone new, I’d always go back to her. And now she’s back and I just. . . I don’t want there to be anyone else. Nothing felt right—not like my relationship with her did.”

        “If you knew what—who—you want, then what’s stopping you?” Michael inquired, not unkindly. His friends, Calum knew, sometimes had a hard time figuring him out. Truthfully, the boys were some of the very few people who knew Calum inside and out. They were who Calum was a hundred percent comfortable being himself with, and Adeline used to—still does?—fall into that category. Even so, sometimes his boys couldn’t quite decipher Calum’s feelings. Calum didn’t blame them; more often than not, he was in tuned with what and how he felt. But sometimes, even he couldn’t figure out what the fuck was going on in his heart.

        Calum took a sip of his drink. The whiskey didn’t even burn anymore. With a dry laugh, he told Michael, “She just broke off a three year relationship, Mike.”

        “Yeah, like, over a month ago.”

        Calum scoffed in mild amusement at the frankness of Michael’s tone. “They were going to get married. I don’t think a month’s long enough to just move on from that.”

        “Why don’t you let her be the judge of that?” Michael retorted with a raise of an eyebrow. “Besides, the guy ended up being a total asshole, right? Trust me—knowing you broke it off with a shitty person sometimes speeds up the healing process.”

        As opposed to breaking it off with someone you still loved—that sort of thing you didn’t get over. Ask Calum; he was still more or less—okay, totally—in love with the same girl after six years.

        Admitting that wasn’t as emotionally difficult as Calum would have thought. God, he was fucked.

        “Still—I don’t want to rush her or anything,” Calum said as a Travis Scott remix started playing. He frowned to himself then. “I’m not—I don’t even know if she would want to start anything with me. Being friends is one thing, but being in a relationship. . .”

        Calum trailed off, jaw tightening briefly as he watched Adeline sing along to the song, doing so right into Crystal’s camera as she recorded the two of them.

        He was vaguely aware of Michael watching him. Calum still couldn’t bring himself to look away from Adeline, and he heard Michael scoff. “Yeah, no. I don’t think you two can ever just be friends.”

        Despite himself, Calum snorted, lips curving wryly. He couldn’t help but agree.

        Their friends danced for a couple of more songs before they stepped back up onto the platform, smiles on their faces as Luke sat down diagonally of Calum and leaned forward to pour himself a drink. Adeline stood on the other side of the square table, hands on her hips as she looked down at Calum, unimpressed.

        “You’re so boring—why aren’t you dancing?”

        Calum was leaning back on the couch, drink still in the hand that rested atop his right knee, the ankle resting on his left knee. “When have I ever been known to dance, Addie?” he asked over the sound of the music.

        A small smirk tugged at her lips. Just like the rest of them, a thin sheen of sweat glistened on her skin from the dancing and she’d gathered her hair over her shoulder. “When you’re drunk enough,” she answered knowingly. Ashton snickered, muttering she’s got a point as Calum rolled his eyes. “You’re not—”

        Her words cut off and Calum’s foot fell off his knee, ready to stand to help her catch her balance as someone accidentally bumped into her. But Crystal was right next to her, grabbing onto her arm, as the guy who bumped into her turned to look over. “Oh, my bad, I’m—you’re shitting me.”

        Calum’s eyebrows knitted together as the guy, with dark hair and about as tall as Ashton, scoffed when his gaze landed on an equally unpleasantly surprised Adeline. Calum noted the way she took a step back as she looked at him, and upon hearing the stranger’s words, their table fell silent despite the lively club around them.

        Something twisted in Calum’s gut, having a feeling that he knew exactly who this guy was by the darkened look on Adeline’s face. His thoughts were only confirmed when Adeline merely stated tightly, “Ian.”

        Calum could sense all of his friends tense, exchanging looks, as Calum’s own body tightened. There was a sharp, blinding urge to put as much space between Adeline and her ex-fiancé as he could manage. His grip on his glass tightened; there was also an urge to throw it at the guy’s face.

        So this was the asshole who fucked Adeline over, who wanted her only for what was in her wallet and not for who she was. The mere thought seemed unfathomable to Calum, but he figured not everyone was like that. He hated that Adeline was involved with someone as, well, despicable as Ian. Hated that she almost married the guy.

        From what Calum could tell through the flashing lights of the club, there was no longing in Ian’s face as he gazed at Adeline. Just pure distaste and anger. Sure, it probably didn’t feel great to be left at the altar, but it was kind of hypocritical, wasn’t it? Given that he was only in it to fatten up his own bank account. Ass-wipe.

        “Adeline,” Ian returned, and Calum recognized the tight, mocking tone he spoke in. It only made him all the more tense, ready to jump in. “How’s single life treating you?” His gaze gave their table a once over, unimpressed, before looking back at her. “Run out on any more weddings?”

        Her response was quick. “Only the one with you at the end of the altar.”

        Ian’s lips curled and even though the music was pounding as loudly as his own heart, Calum still listened intently as Ian lifted his chin. “You sound pretty proud for someone whose family has apologized more to me than you did.” He clicked his tongue, the sound barely registering. “You’ve become such a disappointment to all of them.”

        Calum recognized the scowls on all of his friends’ faces, and Luke, who sat closest to where Ian stood, looked about five seconds away from kicking Ian’s feet out from under him. If Ian’s words had an effect on Adeline, she didn’t show it. “You think I care what they think? You and them—you’re all the same: greedy for wanting what you’ll never have.” Her jaw tightened, eyes sharp and unforgiving. “I’ve got nothing to apologize to you for. You were only looking out for yourself—you don’t get to be pissed that I did the same for myself.”

        There was a swell of pride in Calum’s chest as he listened to Adeline stand up for herself, to be utterly unapologetic for what she did. Leaving Ian when she found out the truth hurt her, Calum knew, but he also knew it was far better than remaining oblivious and going through with the wedding, only to find out the truth later. She had saved herself from more pain than what she already went through.

        The second Calum saw Ian’s eyes flash—and not from the trick of the lights—he was on his feet, glass on the table. He could feel some pairs of eyes on him, but his hardened gaze was on Ian as he took a threatening step towards Adeline and snarled, “I wasted three fucking years on—”

        “That’s enough,” Calum interrupted, arriving at Adeline’s side. She didn’t need him fighting her battles for her, he knew, but Calum couldn’t sit back and let this motherfucker talk to her like she was beneath him. He was physically incapable of it. So Calum took a step between them, and instantly Ian’s gaze went to him, the anger at Adeline and interruption not well received. Calum stared him down, jaw tight. “I’d walk away if I were you.”

        Ian scoffed, as if he couldn’t believe Calum’s audacity. Calum couldn’t help the slight machoistic and smug feeling of being taller than him. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”

        Calum felt a hand on his arm. “Calum—” Adeline started, not to give Ian his name but to probably tell Calum that it wasn’t worth it.

        But she didn’t get to finish, because recognition instantly flickered across Ian’s face upon hearing his name. He let out an unsurprised guffaw, clapping his hands together once as he looked at the two of them. Calum didn’t move, shoulders squared, as a new kind of aggravation settled in Ian’s eyes. Looking at Calum, Ian scoffed. “So you’re the infamous ex she’s been hung up over.” Ian clicked his tongue. Calum’s expression didn’t so much as flicker. “Gotta tell you, man, you raised her standards a bit too high. But it seemed to work out for you two, didn’t it?” His hateful gaze flickered down to look at Adeline, who now stood at Calum’s side. Ian’s lips curled into a bland smirk. “Walked out of our wedding just to jump right back into his bed, huh? Doesn’t fucking surprise me in the least.”

        Adeline was tense beside him, and Calum’s own anger was simmering in his blood at the blatant disrespect. More than anything, he wanted to connect his fist to Ian’s jaw, wanted to knock him right on his ass for the way he was talking to and looking at Adeline. But he knew the second he did that, he’d lose Adeline’s respect. And no matter how much he wanted to break Ian’s nose, it wouldn’t be worth it.

        So he clenched his fists, fighting the urge, teeth aching from how tightly he was pressing them together. But there was deathly calm look in Calum’s eyes that presented itself in the anger he felt, his gaze never wavering from Ian’s. “Walk away, Ian. It would be the smart thing for you to do—trust me.”

        Ian’s lips curled into a sneer, harsh gaze remaining on Adeline before he stood straight. He let out a scoff with a shake of his head. “Don’t worry, I was just heading out. Wouldn’t wanna be caught dead in the same place as her.”

        And then he was gone, and Calum’s blood was still boiling. But he focused on Adeline instead, who was still staring after the direction Ian had walked and disappeared from, and he couldn’t get a good read on her expression. Adeline took in a sharp breath then, blinking as if she was tying herself back into reality, and looked past Calum towards where their friends were silently sitting.

        “I’m so sorry about that, you guys,” Adeline said, her voice thick as she looked at all of their worried faces. Calum knew, just then, she was holding back her emotions. The encounter affected her more than she was letting on. “I’m sorry you had to see that. Just—please—don’t let it screw up this night.”

        Calum had the urge to hold her hand—to hold her—when he realized Adeline needed the reassurance that what just happened didn’t, in fact, mess up anyone’s mood. And Ashton seemed to realize that, too, as he spoke up in that reassuring tone of his, “It didn’t, Adeline. You’ve got nothing to apologize for. We’re not gonna let some asshole ruin the night.”

        And given that this night was to celebrate him, Ashton’s words seemed to have a calming effect on Adeline as her shoulders sank a bit, a small smile on her lips. “I’m, uh,” she ran her fingers through her hair, taking a breath. “I’m gonna get a drink from the bar.”

        She turned quickly, walking off the platform and towards the bar. Calum kept track of her as she went, his jaw still tight, as he heard Kaykay ask, “Is she alright?”

        Calum glanced back at them, pursing his lips. “I’ll check on her.” He turned to go before pausing and looking at them once more, gesturing vaguely with his hand. “Just—don’t look so focused on her. Dance. Drink. Pretend that shit didn’t just happen.”

        He left then, wandering down the steps and making his way through the crowd as he approached the bar where he caught Adeline leaning against it. Calum was vaguely aware of a guy or two nearby glancing over at her, probably debating on whether to approach her. He killed their train of thought by sliding up next to her and asking, “Do you wanna talk about it?”

        Adeline faced him, left elbow propped on top of the glass bar as she looked up at him with eyes glimmering with unshed tears. Angry tears. “I want to rip his eyes out with my bare hands,” Adeline seethed, and he wasn’t sure he’d ever heard her this pissed off before.

        Calum glanced down at her fingers, noting the pointed ends of her maroon painted nails. “You’d be able to do some damage,” he pointed out with a quirk of his eyebrows.

        “I mean—” Adeline scoffed in disbelief, before looking away and sniffling, shaking her head. “Who the fuck does he think he is? Treating me like I’m the bad guy in this whole thing? He hasn’t even fessed up to his bullshit manipulation even though I heard him myself and he’s trying to make it seem like I ran out on him without precedence?” The incredulity was heavy in her voice as she ranted quickly, and if Calum dug deeper, he could hear the hurt, too. But none of it was as prevalent as the anger. “And then bringing you into it—God, I hate him. I really think I do.”

        The bartender placed a drink in front of Adeline. Calum recognized it as Hennessy and Coke. Looking at her, he said, “No one would blame you if you do.”

        Adeline’s hand wrapped around the glass, another scoff escaping her, this time with a wry smile. “No one except for my beloved family,” she said. Calum clenched his jaw. There was a reason why Calum only ever met one other member of Adeline’s family. The rest were, like she always said, vultures. No wonder they sided with Ian in this whole ordeal. Adeline’s jaw worked as she looked down at her drink, shaking her head absently. “Aunt Lorraine was right. I never should’ve let it get so far with Ian.” She brought the glass up, sipping through the straw before muttering absently, “Total downgrade.”

        Calum wasn’t quite sure if he was supposed to hear that, but he did even over the sound of the thumping bass, and it had his heart skipping a beat as he watched her. Suddenly he felt as though he needed a drink, shuffling closer to Adeline when someone bumped into his back.

        The movement had Adeline looking up at him, throat working. “You didn’t have to jump in but, um, thanks, Calum. I appreciated it,” she said, her words bringing him a sense of relief he didn’t know he needed. He was just glad she wasn’t bothered that he got in between them.

        He offered a half smile, lifting one shoulder. “It was instinct,” he told her truthfully. Adeline’s gaze met his again, and Calum’s chest felt warm. “Someone was being a dick to you—I couldn’t just sit and watch it happen. I know you’re capable of defending yourself, but it doesn’t mean you have to.”

        She smiled then, grateful and adoring. They were silent for a moment, watching the ongoings around them, and Calum kept his gaze away because he could feel Adeline’s on him. Keeping his expression neutral had never felt so difficult. “Thanks for not bringing it up.”

        He dragged his gaze back to her then, eyebrows knitting together in confusion. “Bringing what up?”

        Adeline smiled wryly. “What Ian said—about you being the ex I’ve been hung up on.”

        Calum had a feeling if Adeline really focused, she’d be able to hear the way his heart picked up even under all the noise of the boisterous club. That statement from Ian hadn’t slipped Calum’s mind, turning it over and over as he already started analyzing it. Although his posture was casual—slightly bent to rest his right elbow on the bar top, leaning against it—Calum felt anything but.

        Somehow, he found the nerve to ask, “Was there any truth in what he said?”

        He could’ve sworn he detected some nervousness in her gaze as she peered up at him, free hand fiddling with the thin black straw in her glass. “What do you think?” she asked instead.

        “I don’t wanna answer that,” Calum told her with a short chuckle. “It’ll only make it sound like I’ve got an overinflated sense of self-worth in your life.”

        His response, for whatever reason, made Adeline grin around her straw, lifting her chin as she kept her gaze on him. She pushed herself away from the bar, moving to walk past him into the direction of where their friends were. But she paused briefly to say, “Your sense of self-worth in my life is exactly what it is.” Calum’s teeth pressed together, inhaling sharply as that glimmer returned in her eyes. Her smile was teasing, but her eyes were honest. “It might actually be more.”

        And then she was walking, and Calum was left staring at her dumbly for a moment. He was an idiot if he ever thought he’d move on from her.

        He joined all of them quickly after, and the night fortunately continued as if Ian’s interruption never happened. Calum even let Adeline drag him onto his feet to dance some, ignoring the need to have her closer to him than she was while they danced.

        Most of the night, though, they spent at their table with glasses in hands and their chatter creating a cacophony with the music playing. Adeline ended up sitting on top of the couch, leaning her back against the wall the couch was up against. And Calum was sitting on the couch itself, glass once again in hand as he leaned back on the couch, his body framed by Adeline’s legs.

        Nobody blinked twice when Adeline’s fingers started playing with Calum’s blonde hair, the dark roots gradually growing in. Nobody found it odd that when Adeline wanted to speak directly to Calum, one of her hands found its way under his chin from where she sat above him, and gave his head a tilt until he was looking up at her and she was leaning down to speak to him over the loud music, her hair sometimes framing them—shielding them from others’ views. Nobody made comments when Calum’s left arm wrapped around Adeline’s left leg, fingers trailing from her knee to her ankle and up again through the material of her pants.

        It looked right. It felt right. So they let it be.

        And Calum, for the first time in six years, felt what it was like to once again be complete.

*****

        The smell of earth—damp mud and wet grass—tickled Adeline’s nose as a gentle breeze kissed her skin where she stood on the spacious back porch of the lake house. She gripped the wooden railing as she took in the lake before her, glimmering under the early afternoon sun, the leaves of trees surrounding it whispering against one another in the wind. The smell of the city after a rain shower was different than the smells that rose at the lake house—and Adeline had missed this.

        She kind of hated that she had hesitated so much on returning here since emptying Aunt Lorraine’s ashes, but after the shit show on Ashton’s birthday with Ian last week, Adeline’s need for a vacation had multiplied tenfold. And the only place she could think of to go to was the beloved lake house. She didn’t want to go alone, though, so she told all of the guys and the girls to come if they wanted. The lake house had five bedrooms because this had been a place where Aunt Lorraine would come to with her friends for mini girls trips—it was one of the reasons why she bought it, other than to get out of the city with Adeline when it got too much—so there was enough rooms for all of them if they shared.

        They were going to make a long weekend out of it, arriving on Friday and then leaving Sunday. But because nobody had been at the lake house for two months, Adeline figured there would be some cleaning to do despite most of the furniture being covered in sheets. So she drove the hour and a half drive out of the city on Thursday, a whole day before everyone was set to arrive, to tidy the place up.

        And adjust to being there without Aunt Lorraine.

        Adeline had already gotten started in cleaning up the living room and kitchen, putting away the sheets that covered the couches and tables and using the appropriate supplies to rid of any dust that had settled. The lake house was lovely, built with wood and stones of different shades of brown and grey, wooden beams supporting the structure. The walls of the living room had large windows that gave a view of the lake in the back, smaller windows in the connecting kitchen to provide the same view. There was no formal dining room, instead a picnic bench style dining table was set up in the living room.

        A TV was mounted on the wall with the fireplace underneath, and in the corner was a liquor cabinet Adeline had stocked upon her arrival—along with making sure the fridge and kitchen itself had food and drinks for her and her friends. She’d connected the TV to Spotify and was playing music to fill the silence while she cleaned, knowing if it was too quiet, she would lose herself in nostalgic thoughts she didn’t quite want to revisit.

        Adeline was about two hours into cleaning when, through one of the further back windows, she saw a car pull into the driveway. She shut off the vacuum, eyebrows furrowing together at the unfamiliar vehicle, before her heart jumped at the sight of Calum stepping out. She had given all of her friends the address of the lake house, but they weren’t due until tomorrow.

        Hastily, Adeline approached the door, pausing to peer down at her denim shorts and oversized grey Santa Cruz hoodie in a moment of insecurity. It left as quickly as it came, realizing that Calum had seen her at her worst while they were dating and, well, it was Calum. So she opened the door right as he was about five feet away from it, a duffel bag hanging off his shoulder.

        “You’re about a day early,” she said by way of greeting, though there was no stopping the smile from growing on her face.

        Calum chuckled, the sound raspy and delicious, as he stepped through the threshold. “Didn’t feel right, letting you come here and clean the place up by yourself.” She closed the door and watched his brown eyes take in his surroundings, doing her best not to focus on the sharp line of his jaw as he let out a low whistle. “It looks exactly the same.”

        “It feels the same, too.”

        Calum quirked a dark eyebrow. “Was it supposed to feel different?”

        Adeline offered a small, almost sheepish smile, playing with the sleeves of her sweatshirt. They were long and she’d had to scrunch them up to her elbows to work efficiently, but it was one of her favorite sweatshirts. It brought her a calming sense of comfort. “I was kind of expecting it to feel. . . Haunted,” Adeline admitted, her gaze darting around the place. There was a tightness in her chest, not painful, but still present. “But it doesn’t. It—it feels like home.”

        And it did. It felt home in the way the paintings Aunt Lorraine liked were still hung up on the walls, or in the way there were still candles set up on the ledges around the place that her aunt always loved lighting. Little touches of Aunt Lorraine were still all around the lake house, and even though she wasn’t physically there, Adeline still knew she was.

        “I’m glad to hear that, Addie,” Calum said, looking at her once more. “I—”

        He cut himself off as he gazed at her and Adeline blinked at the look on his face. Her breath caught at the way he stared at her—a way that was so intimately familiar and one she felt her heart flutter at the sight of. Adeline had absolutely no fucking clue what was going on between the two of them, but every time she thought about it—about him—it made her feel like that teenager again. She’d missed that feeling so much.

        When she was about to ask Calum if everything was okay, he beat her to it, his accented voice slightly thick as he stated, “That’s my sweatshirt.”

        Adeline looked down at herself, as if just realizing what she was wearing and, in a way, she was. Her breath caught in her throat as she realized that he was right—this sweatshirt was Calum’s, one she’d all but stolen back when she was eighteen and still his girlfriend. It had ended up with her at college, and Adeline never thought to give it back after they’d broken up. Could never bring herself to, so she kept it.

        She didn’t think he’d remember. It had lost his smell a long time ago.

        “Oh,” Adeline breathed, looking up at him once more. The look in his brown eyes—it was too much but it was everything. She didn’t know what to do with and she knew that he didn’t, either. She kind of felt awkward, but the way he was looking at her made her feel so warm. “Sorry I never gave it back—”

        “Don’t be.” Calum cleared his throat, blinking away the glimmer that had found its way into his eyes, replacing it with that boyish half smile that had her stomach flipping. Suddenly, he looked like that sixteen year old boy she met in second period English. “It always looked better on you, anyway.”

        If they flirted anymore without acting on it, Adeline was positive she’d burst into flames. Or tears. Either one.

        “Come on,” Calum ticked his head, the smile still on his face. “We’ve got some cleaning to do, yeah?”

        Adeline was more inclined to jump his bones but yeah, sure. Cleaning would do.

        He put his things away in one of the bedrooms since they had to clean upstairs anyway. There weren’t any sheets on the beds or pillows, so they got some from the linen cabinet and worked on two rooms each, the music that was playing on the TV downstairs filtering upstairs, too.

        One of the rooms Adeline was in was Aunt Lorraine’s old bedroom, and Adeline was surprised it didn’t hurt too much to be in there. Maybe it helped that none of Aunt Lorraine’s personal effects were in the room, other than decoration pieces. Besides, Adeline was already living in their house, had already found her way back to the lake house—the pain was there, sure, but it didn’t feel as paralyzing. Dr. Boocz would call that progress.

        Adeline cursed under her breath as she knocked her foot against a cardboard box poking out from under the bed, but she didn’t pay it any mind until she had the sheets on the bed and pillow. Once she was done, she pulled the box out, eyebrows furrowed, as she sat on the floor and leaned her back against the bed. The box wasn’t taped shut or anything, so Adeline opened the flaps and peered inside, eyebrows shooting up as she caught sight of a red photo album—one that had Adeline written across the front in gold cursive.

        She recognized the photo album; it was one Aunt Lorraine had kept since she was a child—since she had come to live with her after her parents’ deaths. Adeline waited for the burst of pain to shoot through at the thought of her aunt making this album, but it didn’t come. Instead, there was a warmth in her chest that she labeled as fondness, and a small smile curved at her lips as she opened it.

        The pictures started with Adeline as an infant, photographs she figured her mother had probably sent Aunt Lorraine. The pictures went as Adeline grew up, going from infant to toddler and so on. The smile remained on Adeline’s face as she looked at them, looked at the photos of her with her aunt and the genuine happiness on both of their faces, and she missed her. So much.

        She turned the page and suddenly the pictures weren’t just of Adeline or of Adeline with Aunt Lorraine—but of Adeline with her friends. A shocked laugh burst through her lips at a picture of her with three familiar boys, her frame already too short next to the giants looming over her.

        At that same moment, Adeline heard Calum’s voice. “Addie? You in here?”

        “Down here,” Adeline responded, raising her arm so Calum could see her sitting on the other side of the bed. She heard his footsteps, glanced up to see his tall body towering over her even now, raising his eyebrows.

        “What’re you doing?” he asked, gaze shifting to the album. “What’s that?”

        Calum sat down next to her on the floor, bringing his knees up as she peered at the album. A curse escaped him, eyes widening as he looked at the picture of the two of them, plus Michael and Luke, standing together and smiling for the camera. The photo was from the school block party that was thrown at the beginning of every year. “That seems like a lifetime ago.”

        He sat close to her, his woodsy, pine scent embracing her like a warm hug as she flipped through the pictures. It was strange seeing photographs of Calum without his tattoos—even if, for a long time, that was the only image she had of him. As opposed to now—much taller, ink coloring his skin, hair a different color and length as well. Everything about him was different and yet everything about him was the same.

        “These were all taken before you hit puberty the second time,” Adeline mused, wanting to keep the air light as she turned the page. They were getting to pictures taken when the two of them had been together.

        Calum chuckled next to her. “Exactly how many times do you think I’ve gone through puberty?”

        Her voice was serious as she answered, “At least three.”

        He laughed again, and the sound threatened to raise goosebumps along her skin. Adeline turned the page and Calum sucked in a breath as he said softly, “Oh, shit.”

        She immediately knew what he was looking at; the picture from his senior prom. The two of them had attended two senior proms, of course; one from when Calum was a senior, and then when Adeline was a senior in high school, and he was a freshman in college. He’d come back to town to take her to prom. The picture was taken in front of Adeline’s house on the steps, her in a long silver dress that shimmered even in the picture and Calum looking wickedly handsome in his black tux. Both grinning, arms around each other, looking every bit like the high school sweethearts everyone assumed would last forever.

        If their school crowned prom king and queen, Adeline always knew—admittedly arrogantly—that they’d win.

        Silence befell them as they looked through the pictures; next came Calum’s high school graduation picture in his blue cap and gown, diploma in one hand and the other wrapped around a proudly grinning Adeline. The next two pictures came in the same order; first of Adeline’s senior prom—this time she wore a royal blue dress—and then her own graduation picture, dressed in her cap and gown with Calum standing behind her, arms wrapped around her and a grin just as proud as the one she’d worn for him.

        Something in Adeline’s heart tugged, realizing they’d reached the end of the album, because after that, there hadn’t been as significant moments between them to capture—they had broken up just a few months into Adeline’s freshman year at college. That was where their story had ended. Until now.

        Adeline closed the album, hand resting on top of the smooth velvet of it as she tried to rid of the dryness in her throat. She was acutely aware of the man sitting next to her—the man who’d been a boy in the pictures they just went through. Her heart was flipping tumultuously in her chest, and she wondered if Calum was feeling the same thing, or any semblance of it.

        His warmth still seeped into her body from their closeness, his scent still around her, and Adeline tried to work up the nerve to look at him, half afraid whatever was raging inside her was just for her and he didn’t share in it.

        Because in her heart and in her mind, Adeline knew that this wasn’t just fondness for the past acting up. She knew she wasn’t in some vulnerable state and letting her emotions get the better of her. She knew that whatever she was feeling, she was valid in feeling it. Because Calum—he wasn’t just anyone. He was exactly what she needed, what she wanted, and Adeline could feel the anxiety creeping up on her that it was unrequited.

        She finally looked at him, her brown eyes meeting his darker ones, and the breath caught in her throat. He was so close—she could count all of his unfairly long eyelashes, could imagine the scratch of the stubble on his chin and around his mouth, could feel the slight brush of his curling hair against her forehead. Was he waiting for her to say something? That could take a while—Adeline seemed to have lost all coherent communication skills.

        Calum’s lips, so soft and pink, parted but he didn’t say anything. She could see from the subtle twitch of his eyebrows that he wasn’t sure what to say, either. But she waited. He’d always been the more articulate one of the two of them. His throat worked and then Calum rasped in a quiet voice that wasn’t meant to disturb the silence of the house, “When can I see you again?”

        A startled, adoring laugh threatened to burst out of Adeline, but she kept it down. Her heart was beating wildly—could he hear it? She knew exactly what he was asking of her, and Adeline could fucking cry from relief. But she didn’t. Instead, she took a breath, voice shaking with yearning and anticipation as she whispered, “Now. You can see me right now.”

        She saw the profound relief that crossed his face before he leaned forward, because of course by see he meant kiss and of course Adeline knew that as she met him in the middle, eyes slipping shut, and finally kissed the only man she ever truly, undeterredly loved for eight years.

        It felt like coming home.

        Calum’s lips were as soft as she remembered, his hand reaching up to cup her cheek and pull her towards him. Everything else slipped away except for Calum as Adeline sensed him lower his legs and draw her closer, and Adeline shifted until she was straddling his lap, hands gripping the front of his shirt. He kissed her like he would die if he didn’t, his touch warm against her as he deepened the kiss and, God, how had she gone so long without this? Without him?

        Calum’s hands dropped to the back of her bare thighs and, in one swift movement, gripped her and stood to his feet. The kiss never broke as Calum lowered Adeline carefully onto the mattress, his body between her legs as he hovered over her.

        He broke the kiss and Adeline’s heart was pounding, vaguely aware of the music still playing throughout the house—a Hozier song. But her focus was on Calum on top of her, the warmth of his body and the way her lips hummed from his kisses. His darkening blonde curls fell over his forehead as he looked down at her, his own lips pink and kissed, and he looked absolutely perfect. The tightness in Adeline’s chest eased and she couldn’t possibly begin to describe what she felt in that moment—what she’d been feeling since the second he kissed her. Home. That’s what he was to her. And she’d been away far too long.

        “I wanna say somethin’,” Calum spoke, his voice low and gruff as his nose brushed against Adeline’s. His hooded gaze was on her lips, his jaw popping briefly. “But I don’t want you think I’m only saying it because of—this.”

        Adeline didn’t think her heart would calm down any time soon. Her hand reached up, brushing back some curls from his forehead before cupping his cheek, her smile soft when he leaned into her touch. The back of her mind whispered its guess of what Calum wanted to say, but she needed to hear it from his voice. Her own tone dropping to a breathless whisper, she said, “Say it.”

        Calum’s gaze lifted so his brown eyes could lock with hers, lips parting as he took in an unsteady breath. His eyebrows twitched together, and Adeline knew he was working up the nerve, and she waited patiently with a thundering heart. And when he finally spoke, his voice was soft, but firm with absolute truth. “I love you.” Adeline sucked in a sharp breath and she wondered if he could feel the way her hand trembled against his cheek. A soft smile tugged at Calum’s lips, never breaking their gaze. “Never stopped, if I’m being honest. If there’s one thing I regret, it’s not coming back for you.”

        There was a sting in Adeline’s eyes and she didn’t want to cry, but Calum’s words had more of an impact on her than either of them could’ve guessed. Her heart was thundering under her chest as she looked up at him. “I think,” she began, her voice a shaky whisper as she tried to find the right words. “I think I was blinded by whatever sense of security I thought Ian gave me—so much that I almost went through with the biggest mistake I could’ve made.” Adeline’s throat worked as Calum hung on to every word she said, her lips curving up in a small smile. “But the truth is, it’s always been you.” A breathless laugh escaped her, hand sliding from her cheek to the back of his head, fingers tangling with his hair as a smile grew on his lips. “I love you, too.”

        He laughed then, too, breathless and overwhelmed as she was before closing the gap and kissing her, setting a fire in Adeline’s veins as she pulled him closer.

        They moved together, reacquainting themselves with each other’s bodies effortlessly as kisses broke only to get rid of the offending clothes. Adeline’s hands slid over Calum’s body, fingers dancing over the ink on his skin, feeling the muscles shift and flex under her touch as he kissed her deeply. The press of his bare body against hers, the unobstructed warmth as he touched every curve, was so, so wonderfully familiar but excitingly new, and Adeline couldn’t get enough.

        They touched each other like it was the first time and last time, finding home in the swells and dips, not mourning what they missed by welcoming the sense of belonging they found in one another. Every kiss, every touch, every drag of hips was slow but desperate and purposeful, her soft sighs and his deep groans a cacophony with the music still playing throughout the house. Calum’s rings chilled her skin that was deliciously scratched by his stubble and her nails dragged down his back seductively, needily, and it was everything they could’ve hoped for and more.

        Adeline craved him; his kisses and his touch and the way he fit so perfectly and, fuck, how’d she go so long without any of this? Even back in high school, Adeline knew Calum was someone special, way before they started dating. She knew he was someone she wanted in her life in any way he could exist. How fucking stupid to have let him go, to live six years without his smile and laugh and company and touch?

        Never again.

        They lay on their sides after, spent and breathing back to normal, legs tangled together under the sheets as Calum’s fingers played with hers. There was a pinkness in Calum’s cheeks, resembling her own, as she watched him watch the way their fingers lightly, gently played against one another’s. An unrecognizable ballad was playing softly throughout the house, but Adeline paid it no mind, too focused on the man laying before her.

        He loved her. He still felt the same way about her, and it was everything. The years and distance between them didn’t matter, not when being with him felt so right, like it was exactly where she was supposed to be. They found each other once again, after so long, and this time Adeline would be damned if she ever let this, ever let him, go.

        “It feels like nothing’s changed,” Adeline said softly, not wanting to disturb the intimate quiet between them.

        Calum’s eyes met hers, one corner of his lips curving up. “One thing’s changed,” he said in a low voice, and when Adeline quirked an eyebrow, he continued, “I know what life’s like without you. And it’s not something I want to experience ever again. It was—I hated it, Addie, being away from you. Not knowing where or how you were. Every day that I didn’t try to reach out to you—I hated myself for it.”

        Adeline didn’t want to dwell on that—both of their refusal of finding the other. She knew his reasoning was the same as hers; too afraid to disrupt the other’s life. And it was that fear that kept them apart, but no longer. There was nothing keeping them apart, nor would there be. Spending a life without Calum seemed unfathomable, and Adeline had no interest in doing so.

        “We’re here now,” Adeline said, moving her fingers so they threaded through Calum’s, holding his hand. “If there’s one thing Aunt Lorraine taught me—” Adeline took a breath, briefly preparing for that sting of pain. It was there, but not as prominent, as Calum squeezed her hand. “It’s to keep those important to you close.” A simple lesson, but one Adeline was finally understanding. She let out a soft laugh. “It’s about time I learned it.”

        Calum grinned, breathtaking and wide and allowing his crinkles to make an appearance. He kissed the back of her hand, eyes never leaving hers, before he asked with that smile turning boyish and teasing. “So, Addie—when can I see you again?”

        Her breath caught with the grin she wore, the flutter in her chest one she never wanted to be rid of. She didn’t think she’d been this happy since—well, since before Aunt Lorraine passed. How unsurprising that it was Calum, of all people, who brought that happiness back in her life.

        “Tonight,” Adeline answered through her smile, leaning forward and pressing her lips to his. “Tomorrow,” she continued, speaking between kisses as Calum’s hands found her hips and pulled her on top of him. The sheets slipped down a bit, but her hair provided a curtain for the two of them, lost in their own worlds as she kept kissing him and his laughter rumbled deeply through his chest, keeping her close.

She knew he wasn’t about to let her go any time soon—she obviously wouldn’t want him to, her own hands resting on his shoulders. His eyes were bright, a light shining in them that she had missed. Calum, this, the two of them together—it would always come down to this. They were inevitable. “The day after that. . . And every day after that, too.”

--

tags: @irwinkitten @loveroflrh @meetashthere @astroashtonio @loverofhood @captain-what-is-going-on @angelbabiesss @singt0mecalum @hopelessxcynic @lfwallscouldtalk @bodhi-black @findingliam-o @softlrh @highfivecalum @malumsmermaid @erikamarie41 @quintodosuniversos @longlastingdaydream @babylon-corgis @lukehemmingsunflower @miss-saltwatercowgirl @pastelpapermoons @conquerwhatliesahead92 @rotten-kandy @neigcthood @ohhmuke @mindkaleidoscope @5sos-and-hessa @trustmeimawhalebiologist​ @vxlentinecal​ @pettybassists​ @vaporshawn​ @lu-my-golden-boi​ @visualm3nte​ @isabella-mae13​ @dontjinx-it​ @lifeakaharry​ @neonweeknds​ @antisocialbandmate​ @ixcantxdecidexwhosxmyxfave​ @calpalbby​ @grreatgooglymoogly​ @sunnysidesblog​ @miahelizaaabeth​ @dramallamawithsparkles​ @kaytiebug14​ @hoodskillerqueen​ @bitchinbabylon​ @empathycth​ @xhaileyreneex​ @tpwkcal @sublimehood​ @madbomb​ @raabiac​ @britnicole11​ @outofmylimitcal​ @wildflower-cth​ @wildflowergrae​ @bloodmoonashton​ @vxidhood​ @gosh-im-short​ @notinthesameguey​ @mycollectionofnuts​ @cthwldflwr​ @everyscarisahealingplace​ @socorroann​ @talkfastromance4​ @calumftduke​ @musichoney​ @treatallwithkindness​ @partlysunnycal​ @dead-and-golden​ @kaeleykaeley​ @harrys-sun-flower​ @br-hoe​  

[phoenixyfriend]

The Naruto/Frozen Crossover

So I was planning on just doing an image ID thing for this post, but apparently the formatting on desktop is such a mess that it’s easier to just make a new post that’s text only. I can also like. Bulletpoint it so that it can be a little neater. All ideas were made with @firebirdeternal​‘s help, because they are the most efficient enabler I have.

Also I added some bits at the end.

Under a cut, because it’s Long As Heck.

I originally had two options: either Mid-teens Elsa and Anna being transported to ninja land sometime pre-canon and running into Haku and Zabuza... or just like. Born as a Daimyou's daughters.

Spoiler alert, we’ve got nukenin and I’m a sucker for an intrusive crossover, so transported to ninja land it is.

Suggestion from Birdie:

Mechanism for crossover: Elsa ices over a Wishing Well by accident after having Wished for someone else who understood her, Anna and her fall in and get Ice Mirror Portaled to Ninjaland, falling out of an iced over pond near a shrine that Haku recently prayed at for similar lonely child reasons?

Which I like! They don’t end up there soon enough to run into Haku, because I want a dramatic chase first, but I like it.

Obviously, Anna is forced to learn about Elsa's powers because it's the only thing keeping them safe

Or at least alive

(Elsa will do ANYTHING to keep Anna safe, and if that means she has to get her hands dirty...)

...neither of them knows Japanese, so, you know. There’s that.

I'm thinking that they end up in/near Kiri at first

And they aren't FAST ENOUGH to get away so Elsa panic-enchants a giant reindeer made of snow to run away across the suddenly-frozen ocean.

She and Anna have to ride and Elsa is probably crying the whole time.

Oh shit this is like. RIGHT after their parents die, I forgot. So that’s a thing! They are in mourning and all that fun stuff.

Point is, they use the powers for a Self Defense thing and BBY Haku is just !!! "Master can we rescue them for Ice Cousin reasons?" Zabuza: Yes, and only for those practical reasons and not because I collect endangered children like people collect pokemon cards.

I imagine that maybe they track rumors of a Yuki-onna down, or the Giant Snow Reindeer rides by and Haku’s just like Wat

The girls just tag along with Zabuza because. Like.

Do they like him? No. Do they trust him? No. Do they enjoy the fact that he considers them pathetic civilians? No.

However, Haku is Baby.

Zabuza is REALLY annoyed at them being Useless Civilian Royals “but Haku likes them so I guess they can stay.”

Age at meeting, three years pre-canon:

Zabuza - 23

Elsa - 18

Anna - 15

Haku - 12

Elsa is 90% anxiety/depression master combo BUT if Zabzua protects her then she's WILDLY dangerous so like. Whatever

Elsa's bingo book nickname options, uninspired:

Winter Witch

Winter Queen

Ice Queen

Snow Queen

Something about a Yuki-Onna maybe

She's Very Stately and kinda breakable but Winter is her Bitch

I mean like, the fact that, if protected, she can shut down the agriculture of a fucking country? That's an S-rank even if she's not that useful in a fight.

She's like. Jinchuuriki-level destruction. Generally speaking she wouldn’t. But she could.

Elsa: What the fuck is a chakra? Elsa: my snow monsters are self-sustaining. Elsa: I'm gonna build us a house.

Zabuza has NO idea how her powers work and it is INCREDIBLY frustrating but “there’s no chakra cost to keep these things going and we have shelters on demand” is too convenient to question after a while.

Haku: Delicate, deadly, incredibly fast ninja work. Elsa: I can't dodge a kunai but watch me wreck your entire country's ecosystem in under a day.

Elsa is a siege weapon.

Meanwhile, Anna is really, really into the physicality of ninja practice.

She's clumsy and she's not very good at ninja stuff, but she sure is determined!

Anna also gets on Zabuza's nerves because she keeps insisting that Haku get to be a kid.

Anna: Let's make flower crowns! Zabuza: No, he needs to train, not- Anna: FLOWER CROWNS

Consider: Haku saying Elsa-nee-sama and Anna-hime.

Or just calling Elsa “onee-sama.”

Anna is also younger than Elsa and way more Fun so she probably gets adjusted to Anna-chan or Nee-chan.

If Zabuza calls Elsa “Hime-chan” or “Elsa-hime” or, Sage forbid, “Elsa-sama/dono” then he’s VERY MUCH making fun of her and he’s probably getting his soup frozen that night.

At one point, Elsa... tries to like. Convince herself to have a crush on Zabuza or Kakashi or something until Zabuza just puts a hand on her shoulder and asks "do you even like men?" "...that's an OPTION?"

Zabuza urging her to try and ask out a Cute Kunoichi and Elsa's like.... I can't decide if she's bright red and a useless lesbian or uncomfortable and ace.

I am SO invested in the siege weapon thing.

SHE IS THE SQUISHIEST WIZARD.

It's not her fault that every single other combatant on the continent is Massively Dangerous in melee! She took a very traditional back-line build!

Enemy: Doesn't it GRATE to protect someone so pathetic, Zabuza? Zabuza: She literally froze an entire castle of enemies to death because they harmed her sister, so. No.

Most Ninjas: Sharp Knife. S-Rank Mega Ninjas: Gun. Elsa: High Yield Explosive Rocket Launcher. Literally loses fights to the Knife People, because she can't bring her power to bear on that scale. But if you can give her Time and Prep? No contest.

Long distance AoE

Like  you know how Nagato is literally dying of starvation due to illness and can't walk, but he's also capable of leveling powerful villages more or less on his own?

Elsa is the same Vibe.

It’s like sealing a bijuu in a civilian.

She's honestly both more and less powerful? Like it'd be hard for her to kill everyone in Konoha in the snap of a finger? But also, she could starve out the Country of Fire in a summer.

She WOULDN'T, but she could.

I always read Elsa as gay or ace but my brain keeps trying to ship her with dude ninjas and I have to yank it back on a child leash.

People insinuate that Zabuza is interested in Elsa and he's just "What? Ew she's like five."

"I'm eighteen."

"Five."

BUT

Elsa! Might mistake trust and companionship for a crush!

I can see THAT happening despite gay/ace.

Also like. I don’t think Zabuza is straight.

So mlm/wlw solidarity?

And Haku is probs genderqueer.

So Anna is THE TOKEN STRAIGHT.

Anna is like, the Straight Friend who will go to the mat for her queer friends. Like vicious. In-your-face barking like a mean dog at people who were being bigots.

You know how Elsa in the second movie uses her powers to make toys for kids out of ice?

Okay, so her practicing by making things with Haku.

But yeah, Elsa can't really do "throws ice senbon," but she can do Delicate Geometry Things since she apparently, canonically studies math for fun and loves fractals.

Haku: I can trap you in a prison of ice mirrors, and you are at my mercy. Elsa: LOOK AT THIS CASTLE I MADE???

Haku wants to do Pretty Things like Elsa

OH.

Elsa makes... snow bunnies..

For the ninja distraction reasons but also because it's a Soft Thing that makes her feel better about, uh, everything. And Haku likes bunnies.

Zabuza still takes The Dirty Missions but Elsa gets upset when he does something that hurts innocents and Nobody wants Elsa upset. Even Zabuza doesn't want Elsa upset.

When Elsa gets upset, overnight accommodations are suddenly Very Uncomfortable for everyone except her and Haku.

And then Anna gets upset, which makes Elsa even MORE upset.

And then things just keep getting colder.

Zabuza doesn't want Elsa upset for many reasons, not limited to: "Is actually capable of killing me from outside of Sword Range if she's mad enough, even if it’s not that easy" and "the Small Children would be unbearably sad if she died and honestly so might I."

She's more of a friend than a ward and he's not entirely sure he's okay with that.

Zabuza: "Ew, friendship."

He has absolutely no idea how to have a social interaction with people he isn't Bullying, Raising, or Threatening to Kill.

Elsa and Anna have no trouble convincing people they're related, at least. Different coloration with almost identical bone structure.

A tendency to burst into song when they feel emotions.

Identical weird accent that nobody can place.

FOOD

The girls are royalty, they don't know how to COOK.

But they also want food from HOME.

It's a lot of trial and error.

More error than not, since they have both no knowledge and also a language barrier to overcome. It probably takes YEARS before they can describe things like Unfamiliar Flavors well enough for people to say "OH that sounds like spearmint."

When they run into something they know that’s familiar, it’s life-changing.

Chocolate is more common in the elemental nations than in Arandelle and Anna may or may not cry about it.

Anna is loudly bossy, even at Zabuza.

Zabuza is gruffly commanding, to everyone.

Elsa doesn't actually like being in charge, but when she talks, people LISTEN.

(Haku is just happy to be here.)

Elsa radiates two things: Anxiety, and Natural Command, and she basically just fluctuates between those.

"I don't want to be in charge but also I'm vetoing this."

So, obviously, the main reasons that Zabuza keeps the girls around is that Elsa is a living siege weapon and he thinks she could be convinced to help him run a revolution in Kiri, and also that the Ice Queen schtick is like. Really good for Haku and Zabuza can’t really say no to the kid.

HOWEVER, Anna is clumsy and messy and all that, so Zabuza starts training her in Ninja stuff. Elsa joins in on the “I need to know how to Run Fast to get away from fights I don’t want to have in the first place,” but Anna’s the one that’s like “TEACH ME HOW TO SWORD.”

It’s honestly not that hard to teach her, she’s just really, really, REALLY enthusiastic.

Once or twice someone asks why she’s so bad at this yet running around with an A-rank nukenin and Zabuza’s just like “I’ve only had her for a year and a half, shut up!” because it’s not that he’s a bad teacher, it’s that she was a very pampered civilian until like a week before he met her.

He should get a MEDAL for even getting her to low Chuunin.

Zabuza: I'm taking a job from Gato Elsa, who has Training in economics and politics and bureaucracy: I have a better idea.

This is actually not entirely what I’d do but I wanted to make the joke first ANYWAY here’s an actual plot or something.

Oh, also by this point everyone is Canon Ages so Elsa’s 21 and Anna’s 18 and Zabuza’s 26 and Haku’s 15.

Elsa is getting paid to keep the water from interfering with construction, by way of....

ICE COFFERDAM

Elsa with Haku as her Guard while Zabuza is off running his own mission? Which Anna begged to go on because Cool.

Elsa also kind of keeps her involvement on the ice front semi-secret by claiming she’s there as an engineering consultant.

LISTEN canon made her like geometry, I can ENTIRELY believe she’d be excited about the bridge-building.

Gato has hired someone else on the danger level of Zabuza, who is Threatening to Team 7 + Haku? But then when things look bleak Anna and Zabuza arrive and then Scary Sword Man is on our side and oh dear that's a lot of blood.

Which, you know, fun!

Birdie suggested Raiga which I’m not feeling but I do feel the need to bring up as an option.

It’s also not Kisame BUT

Kisame: [giant lake dome filled with sharks]

Elsa: uhhhhhhhhhhh...

Giant lake dome: [is now a giant ice dome]

Anyway

Gato: I'm hiring an army. Elsa: [giant ice wall around his compound] Gato: ... these guys can walk up walls! Elsa: [adds snowman guards] Elsa: ... Elsa: [adds a ceiling]

Just puts Gato's entire mob in a fucking snow globe.

Zabuza shows up twenty minutes late with (Throwing) Star(buck)s just like "Oh, they dead? No? Want 'em to be? Okay cool I'm gonna go pick up Haku, I'll be back in like an hour."

Anna would... LOVE Naruto

ENERGETIC FRIENDLY GOOFBALL

"I found us a baby brother!" "No, we already have Haku." "BUT LOOK AT HIM."

Anna is only a year or two older than Itachi.

OH RIGHT

I wanted to make a joke about how Naruto also vibes with her because he's less judgmental that she can't really... talk properly.

Sasuke is Judgy and Kakashi is Paranoid and Sakura is Uncomfortable.

Meanwhile Naruto is just like "And I Shall Scream."

Anna, who learned Japanese from Zabuza (rude) and Haku (uber polite): WELL FUCK YOU, GOOD SIR Naruto: YEAH WELL FUCK YOU TOO, LADY Elsa, overly formal: I am... so very sorry.

Anyway, generic missing nin fights and all that.

Elsa gets injured in the process and after a variety of arguments, Naruto manages to convince them to take her to Konoha for medical attention.

Elsa is... usually the one getting injured.

Zabuza and Haku are FAST and Anna is at least learning (even if she’s only been doing it for three years), but Elsa is The Squishy Wizard.

If someone throws a kunai... she can’t... really dodge...

So yeah, gut wound.

Normally they find a nukenin medic to patch them up but Konoha is reasonably close and has some of the more skilled medics on the continent and they DID technically help the Konoha nin so like. Gah.

That’s Zabuza’s final thought. Gah.

Just “Fuck it, let’s save the ice queen.”

Elsa ends up in a half-literal-ice stasis state on the way there and it’s happened before (it is not the first time she’s been stabbed), but it’s always terrifying.

Especially to the Konoha genin who are just like WHAT THE HECK IS THAT.

So they get to Konoha, there’s a whole bunch of stuff about extradition treaties and “you are bringing a literal WMD of a woman into our town” and “we can’t just let MOMOCHI ZABUZA in.”

Anyway, it ends up being that Zabuza has to wait outside the village while Elsa is treated inside, and one of the Teenagers goes in. Obviously, it’s Anna, because Zabuza is INCREDIBLY UNCOMFORTABLE with letting Haku enter a village that’s known for having lots of bloodlines, and anyway, Anna’s the sister.

Bunch of stuff, she’s healing, etc, and then one day Anna comes in and is told “your sister had a bad reaction to the anesthetic, we couldn’t save her, I’m sorry, she’s gone.”

She flips out, gets shown the corpse, flips out MORE, gets escorted out to the village walls where Zabuza and Haku are waiting.

Horrified reactions

Zabuza doesn’t want to admit that it’s EMOTIONS because this is his FRIEND, he is clearly just upset about losing the living siege weapon.

Haku is just super confused and goes “But she’s not dead.”

“What.”

“She’s not dead, I can feel her, I can always feel her, it’s like sensing but just her, because we’re both ice. She’s alive, somewhere over... there?”

And points right in the direction of the Hokage Mountain, which for the purposes of this fic and also Drama is where ROOT headquarters is.

YEP we absolutely have that plot point.

Is Danzo overused as a plot device? Probably. Am I going to diabolus ex machina him anyway? Ye.

They kick up enough of a fuss that the Hokage gets called down.

He wouldn’t, normally, he’d leave it to a couple of skilled jounin and call it a day, except Naruto got involved so like. You can’t. Ignore that.

There’s lots of shouting.

Just like. A lot.

And then part of the mountain explodes!

AS ONE DOES

Elsa comes flying backwards out of the hole, catches herself on a spontaneous ice slide, gets to her feet.

Girl is swaying like MAD.

There are absolutely ANBU (both fake and real) coming after her.

At least one of them gets speared through by an ice spike.

Anna runs up to her, tries to hug her, gets batted away.

Elsa’s staring at her in sheer TERROR and starts muttering something about how Anna died years ago, this isn’t real, etc.

Nobody except Anna understands most of it, but Haku picks up enough to translate when Anna’s freaking out.

Elsa starts doing her Ice Castle thing in the middle of Konoha as a coping mechanism, mostly so she can get Up and Away and Shielded By Ice.

This is not a good look.

Especially because she’s singing, which Zabuza always thinks is a bad omen because it means shit is getting real and one or both of the girls are about to get a powerup or be beaten even harder than otherwise. When they start singing, things get More Dramatic And Extreme).

(Zabuza does not like Disney Musical Rules)

Danzo shows up.

There’s a bunch of arguing.

All the medics insist that nothing she was given at the hospital should have caused amnesia, psychosis, hallucinations, delusions, etc.

It’s. Not hard for Hiruzen to guess what happened.

Namely that Danzo, upon finding out that chakra dampeners didn’t do shit since none of Elsa’s powers come from chakra, decided to keep her drugged up and start using genjutsu to make her more malleable.

Because like. An injured WMD just showed up in your village. What are you supposed to do, not try to kidnap her and turn her to your side? Like, come on. What was he supposed to do?

Not that, Danzo. Literally Not That.

IDK how it gets resolved, probably Anna getting to her with the power of love, because Elsa is ultimately Super Disney.

I also don’t really know where to go from there other than “Maybe Jiraiya can get you home, but also I’m pretty sure Zabuza wants you all to get the hell out of here and take over Kiri” but who knows.

Also

IMAGINE ELSA MEETING GAI.

Imagine Ino getting a puppy crush on Elsa.

IDK that’s it for now.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Enough, Always: Izzy

CW: Newly adult child of whumper and whumpee, whumper in prison, references to romantic/intimate whump, referenced child emotional abuse, verbal abuse, brief gendered appearance insults with single line of brief homophobia at end, plus final crowning moment of badass for Izzy.

Izzy’s mother Savannah Marcoset has been locked in prison on a life sentence without parole for eleven years for abducting Izzy’s father Jax, keeping him captive, and forcing him into a horrifying facsimile of domestic bliss - and Izzy last saw her in person fourteen years ago, when her father escaped with her and her infant brother in one desperate final bid for freedom.

Newly eighteen and feeling the need for some kind of closure in one of the foundational aspects of her identity, Izzy decides to visit America - and pay a visit to her incarcerated mother. 

During the visit, she learns that Savvie Marcoset, in the end, couldn’t change - but Izzy fucking Gallagher did.

For the first time with her mother, Izzy finds her voice.

Jax Gallagher (referenced) belongs to @comfy-whumpee and is used with permission.

---

“Is this how you dress now?” Her mother’s voice is sharp-edged and still familiar, even fourteen years since Izzy last spoke to her face to face. It’s funny, how she barely remembered it, but as soon as she hears it, her heart starts to race, and it’s the feeling of her heart beating wings inside her chest. It’s the way other people might remember the sense of a warm hand to forehead, checking for illness, or laughter, or praise.

It’s a voice like a fever, a rush of chill down her spine and through her arms and thighs. Is it familiar from real memories, or because Izzy has heard it in interviews and documentaries and recordings, during her nights spent researching the woman who makes up half her genetics and absolutely none of her life?

She almost gets up and leaves right then. 

Almost. 

But Izzy Gallagher fought for this trip, had declared herself able and willing to do this, had more importantly convinced her father she needed to do this. She can’t just give up because it didn’t start well.

Even if he wouldn’t judge her, or at least he wouldn’t show it, Izzy Gallagher sets her shoulders and declares herself her father’s stubborn strong daughter, and not her mother’s weak and frightened one.

She steels herself against the instinctive uncertainty, the rush of anxious shouldn’t have done this, shouldn’t have tried. Instead, she gives her mother a faint smile as a plastic-and-metal chair is pulled out and she sits down across the small round table, just enough space there isn’t any danger of accidental - or, hopefully, purposeful - touch. 

The walls are beige, the top of the table is a wood so pale it might as well be. There are bars on the window that lets in a pale and faded winter sun. There are some others, nearby, people younger or older than she sitting at other round tables, seeing mothers, wives, aunts, sisters. Izzy wonders if all of them are scared, or if none of them are. If it’s only her who has to remember how to breathe, in her mother’s presence.

She can do this. She told him she could do this.

“Um.” Izzy looks down at herself - just a band shirt and faded jeans worn with holes, her still-knobby knees showing through, the boots a birthday gift from Nana she’d thought would help her crunch through the grayish snow in the parking lot, a light hooded sweater over it all - and then up again. Her mother’s eyes are still wide-set in her face, which is less rounded as time has passed. 

Those eyes are still overbright, and very blue.

It’s been so long since Savannah Marcoset saw her eldest child, and Izzy can’t ever remember having been the focus of her mother’s all-consuming interest before. It feels like standing in the eye of a storm, where everything is still but the air carries weight, electricity, and threat. 

“Mostly,” Izzy says, finally. “Mostly this is how I dress. I mean, I couldn’t wear gray, could I? They wouldn’t let me leave.” She tries to sound lighthearted, then winces. Bad joke.

Her mother, in what looks almost like flat gray scrubs, with a high-cut V-neck and a waist without a drawstring, smiles back, apparently unoffended. There’s a shift - subtle as a cat moving onto its back paws in grass, eyes focused on a nearby bird. Izzy has always been sensitive to changes in the tension of a room, and her own eyes - hazel leaning towards brown, her father’s eyes through and through - move to a nearby guard, reassuring herself with his presence.

Savannah Marcoset is firmly locked in prison for life, with handcuffs and ankle-cuffs that ensure she can’t make herself a threat here, and still the soft nearly-buzzed hair at the back of Izzy’s neck stands up, and she feels like she is being inspected, a bit of bacteria in some scientist’s microscope.

“I had hoped for a little more color, is all,” Her mother says, tilting her head to the side, giving an impish little smile. “As you can imagine, there isn’t exactly a surplus of art here. You look lovely, Isabella.”

Izzy swallows against a lump in her throat. Absurdly, she feels outnumbered, one-to-one. “I, yeah. Thanks.” She tries for a responding smile, maybe half-successful at it. “You have-... you have art classes here, I read.”

“You read up on me.” Her mother’s expression changes a little, opens up. She sits up a little straighter, then, and there’s a flash of still-white teeth in her smile, now. “You know about me. I would have thought you wouldn’t be allowed to know a thing.”

“I’m, um.” Izzy’s hands fold in her lap, and she rubs over the shredded white threads along a hole that’s worn over one thigh, the softness of a patch of fabric she’d sewn herself beneath. “I’m eighteen now, so. I get to pick what I know, more or less.”

“You’re eighteen?” Her mother’s surprise is genuine, and she glances sideways at the clock as though it will become a calendar, back to Izzy. “When did that happen?”

Why that question hurts, she doesn’t know - but it does. It’s not like Savannah Marcoset has anything to do here but remember, and yet-... she didn’t.

“About three weeks ago, actually,” Izzy says, and hears herself sounding embarrassed, like she should have not grown up at all, if that wasn’t what Savvie wanted, or expected. Like the turn of the Earth is her fault, something she did on purpose just to spite Savvie by stealing time. 

“Oh. Well.” Savvie folds her hands with a soft rattle as the cuffs knock into the shiny, sealed tabletop. She leans over, and Izzy can see the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes, now, the hint of them around her lips. Her jawline seems stronger, more carved, she is a statue version of a parent that Izzy remembers as a kind of terrifying whirlwind. Her hair is less overwhelming, the deep brown graying at the temples, pulled back simply against the nape of her neck. It isn’t so long, as it once was. Savvie pauses, waits for Izzy to look her in the eyes. “Happy birthday, Isabella.”

The name is wrong - it’s always been wrong - but Izzy smiles, anyway. “Thanks. Eighteen is a bit weird, it doesn’t feel any different than seventeen did, but-”

“My no-contact orders were signed here, in the US,” Savvie says, interrupting her, thinking this through. “So you, what, had to be eighteen to come see me? Have you wanted to before?” She leans forward, and Izzy leans back, feeling her back press into the chair behind her, letting her right hand drop to rub at the seam of her jeans on the outside of one thigh. Her heart beats harder. “Did he keep you from seeing me?”

He.

“No,” Izzy says, and her voice is thin at first, but she clears her throat and the second try is stronger. “No, he didn’t. He would have, if I’d have wanted to, before. I just didn’t ‘til now. We’re, um-... we’re doing an American holiday, more or less.”

Shit. She shouldn’t have said-

“‘We’?” Savvie’s expression brightens, with real interest now. Her eyes pin Izzy like a butterfly to a display case, jam tiny needles through her wings, hold her fast. “He’s here? Jax is here?”

“He’s not,” Izzy lies, smooth as silk, without hesitating. She’d planned for this question, prepared for this. She’d sat up til two in the morning prepping for the ways her mother might try to talk about her father, and more importantly, the ways that Izzy wouldn’t give her what she wanted. She’d just been hoping to hide it better for longer. “He didn’t come with m-me here. It’s just me, Mom, and some friends.”

Savvie clicks her tongue against her teeth. “He didn’t think I was too dangerous, for you to speak to?”

She can’t help her slight, sardonic laugh at that. “You’re in prison, Mom.” It feels weird, to hear herself say Mom out loud, as though that was ever what Savvie had been. She was four the last time she said Mommy to Savvie’s face, and even then it had been an apology Izzy can barely remember now, her own sense of a small voice saying, I’m sorry, Mommy, I won’t do it anymore, but she can’t remember what she’d done to get in trouble.

Breathe, probably.

“You’re in prison,” She repeats, and her heartbeat settles a little, reassuring herself with the words spoken out loud, made real. “You’re the least dangerous you’ve ever been, to us.”

Savvie sits back, less pleased now. “I was never dangerous. Did he tell you I was dangerous to you? I never was. That was a lie he made up, so they would help take you and your brother away from me. I only ever wanted us to be a family, Isabella.”

“Mom.” Izzy’s voice wavers, and Savvie might smile a little at the sound, but if she does, it’s because she sees the wrong reason for the waver, or… maybe she enjoys the annoyance, the anger, as much as she would fear. “We both know that’s not true, none of that is true.”

“I wanted a family,” Savvie says, in a low voice, not quite a whisper. Regretful, mournful. She trails a fingernail along the top of the table, and Izzy tenses at the scrape of it. Barely audible but it grates on her nerves nonetheless. She swallows, presses her lips together, tries not to watch it move.

Fails.

Savvie’s nails aren’t painted - in Izzy’s blurry remaining memories of her, Savvie’s nails are always painted colors - but they shine, perfectly filed edges moving, catching a hint of light. 

“Your dad,” Savvie says, in that same mournful, grieving tone, “didn’t want you at all. Did you know that? He never did. He hated the very idea of you, and your brother. He thinks I don't know that he cried over the concept of you. No… you were never wanted by anyone but me, until he realized he could steal you to hurt me. He could always be cold that way. He took you and hoped I would-”

“Stop.” Izzy struggles to say it. Even now, with therapy a constant foundation of her life and a stronger one than her mother’s terrifying rage, it’s hard to make herself say the word. She has to fight to make it audible, but it’s still clearly surprising - Savvie goes silent, watching her with those unnerving wide blue eyes. “Please-... stop. I, I know how he felt. You can’t-... you can’t rewrite history, Mom. I know… I know how it was, or I know enough.”

“It’s the truth, Isabella.” Her mother’s expression is so earnestly sincere. Izzy licks at her lips, suddenly dry and chapped, and thinks that if there were a lie-detector test, her mother would pass it, stone-cold. No way to tell she didn’t believe her own words. She might, actually, believe the story as it leaves her mouth, believe it so utterly she can lie without even knowing she’s doing it. “That’s all I ever wanted to do, is have the chance to tell you the truth. But he got that no-contact order and made sure you would only ever know how he saw it.” Savvie smiles with wistful regret, every inch the mother mourning her lost children. 

Izzy knows better. 

Jamie, her little brother, fifteen and with no memory of his mother at all, might fall for this. She's a stranger to him. But Izzy remembers the hours locked alone in the dark, and the sound of her father screaming in pain. 

She swallows trying not to think too much about that memory. “It’s not about-... there aren’t two sides, Mom. This isn't like any other divorce. You held him prisoner.” She’s falling into a trap, and she can feel it but she can’t stop herself. Her mother hasn’t tried to so much as reach for her - it wouldn’t be allowed, the guard would step forward if she did - but Izzy still feels like she has been pinned, claws sliding into her shoulders and a heavy weight holding her to her seat. A bird that didn’t see the threat in time to take flight. "You-... held us all-"

“Well, now he’s made sure I’m a prisoner, hasn’t he? Must be nice, to pin all your problems on the Big Bad Witch in prison who can no longer defend herself. But, of course, everything is always my fault.” Savvie shrugs as she cuts Izzy off, almost idly. 

"Mom, he has-..." Izzy feels unmoored. Drifting, like this can't be real, this conversation. This can't be real. "You abducted him, you-"

"Everyone has problems, sweetie." Savvie's head tilts a little more, eyes moving over Izzy’s face with an awful, palpable weight. “Don't try to make it a competition." Something gentles, then. The hard planes of her mother's face soften. "You know, you look like him.”

Izzy warms, a little, at that. She shouldn't and she knows it, but still, she does. She smiles, slightly lopsided, and raises one hand to touch the silver rings in the shell of her left ear, two of them right next to each other, one for Jax and one for her brother Jamie. “I hope so,” she admits. “I’ve always wanted to.”

The moment of gentleness in her mother’s expression slips away, replaced by a brittle frigid chill that washes over Izzy, a wave that breaks against her. 

Oh, no. I cared more about him than her. Even now, fourteen years on, she still shivers in an old fear.

“He is handsome,” Savvie says, tapping her fingernails again, scraping them along the table. The sound is starting to grate on Izzy’s nerves. “He always was, even in the earliest days. He never knew it, I don’t think. I tried to tell him.”

He didn’t want to hear it from you.

“He hears it enough now,” Izzy says, and her heart goes cold with dread as she realizes she’s nearly given away something much, much worse to say than accidentally admitting her dad came on the trip with her.

Damn it, Izzy, don't let her know about Kieran. 

Savvie doesn’t seem to notice the clue. She just keeps tapping. “Do you play music, Isabella? I wondered if either of you would have talent, in the end.”

It’s an abrupt change of subject, and Izzy doesn’t see it for the trap it is. 

“I play-... um. I can play some things,” Izzy hedges, shifting uncomfortably from the simple truth that she can play almost anything, if she hears it a couple of times, remembers note-for-note the songs on the radio or the forbidden ones she still hides in playlists buried in playlists, the soft strains of violin that draw her but she would never admit to. “I’m-... in a band, actually.”

Savvie’s eyes are back on hers, then, that unnerving total focus. “What do you play in that band? Is it a real band, or just noise?”

Izzy rubs at the back of her neck, flushing in embarrassment. “Um. I guess it’s about fifty-fifty noise and real. I play bass guitar, actually.” 

She’d read somewhere that bass guitar was easy, and figured if she played that, no one would realize the music was inherent in her, demanding expression. She could say she wanted to be in the band because of her father, who had been in one once upon a time, too. She wouldn’t have to admit that the music didn’t come from Jax, but from Savvie’s blood in her veins. She could pretend, with the bass guitar, to be worse at it than she really was without ruining the songs. 

Her mother snorts, derisive. “Anyone can play that,” She says, waving one hand in dismissal - but the other has to come with it, and it’s a reminder that, no matter how Izzy feels in the moment, there is no real danger here. “That hardly counts. Can you play a real instrument?”

“It is a real instrument.”

“Hardly.” Savvie looks disappointed, and it’s weird - she hasn’t seen her face-to-face since she was four, and she hasn’t said a word to her in that time, and still… the disappointment hurts, a little. “You weren’t allowed to do music, were you? He forbade you, because of me.”

“No, he absolutely didn’t.” It’s Izzy’s turn to lean forward, her hands closing into fists in her lap now, an old habit from childhood she’s mostly broken but it comes back, now, as her irritation rises in eternal defense of Jax. “He’s always supported whatever I wanted to do-”

“Because he doesn’t care enough to make sure you’re doing something worthwhile.” Her mother’s sigh cracks open a dark door inside her, it’s familiar even to her fading memories. It’s a sigh she knows from birth. Before Izzy can respond again, she changes the subject, deft as a dancer. “What are you doing for school, then? Are you going to go to college?”

Izzy blinks, thrown off track. “Um. Yes, I do plan on it, I’ll be going to university next autumn-”

“You’ve got the accent, too. Guess they’ve painted over everything they didn’t like, didn’t they?”

“Wh-what?” Her heart stops as her mother’s voice is sharp again. Her fists tighten, pressing down into her thighs until they nearly ache. “What’d you-”

“You look like him, dress like the dime-store version of him - honestly, Isabella, look at you, you look… grimy. You even talk like him. What is this, trying to look like the daughter he might have actually wanted? Is that it?”

Izzy swallows, sitting back again, thumping into the back of the chair. Someone nearby is crying, soft, muffled sobs. Someone else is whispering, in vicious intensity, in fury. The guards are impassive. There’s no sign they even hear Savvie speaking at all. “It’s just who I am-”

“No, it isn’t. I saw your name, Isabella Gallagher. You were born a Marcoset, but he was happy when he changed it, wasn’t he?” Savvie’s eyes won’t let her look away. She feels completely captured, the center of Savannah Marcoset’s world, the most terrifying place on Earth, somewhere Izzy has never once been. “I asked you a question, Isabella. He was happy to have you change your name, wasn’t he?”

“Yes.” She’s not sure why she answers. The anxious shivering inside of her is stronger than it should be. Her voice is a whisper, a rush of air with only a hint of sound. “But it was-... my idea-”

“I’m sure he let you think that. I feel sorry for you, you know. I really do. He must care for James so much more than he does you, don’t you think? My beautiful son wasn’t old enough to even speak to me, but you… you’re a reminder, aren’t you? Oh…" Savvie's lips purse, in a sort of smug smile. "Oh, you are. God, what torture it must be for him to be around you."

She’s supposed to be stupid. Izzy has watched all the documentaries that mention the case, she read an awful unauthorized true crime book she found in a thrift shop once that just had a little teensy chapter on Savvie buried between other femme fatales. She’s done her research, to understand the woman she was going to meet as best she could.

Savannah Marcoset is supposed to be… well, stupid.

Izzy wasn’t prepared for cunning not being the same thing as smart. And she didn’t think through what eleven years in prison, with almost nothing to do but think, and no chance of leaving ever for the rest of her life, might do to hone her mother’s ability to wound. That Savvie might have taken a blunt instrument and whittled it into a blade.

“I-I’m not-”

“You are.” Savvie hums, and the tapping of her nails is going to drive Izzy up the fucking wall. “Even just being alive, you are. And your hair, well…” Savvie’s eyes go up to Izzy’s hair, the same deep chocolate brown as Savannah’s own, a shock of curly brown that falls over her forehead and against one side, nearly shaved on the other side and along the back. “You can cut it, but it’s still my hair. You walk around a living reminder of what he stole from me, just to hurt me, what he didn’t even want. You were never wanted, Isabella. That’s why your birth is part of my crimes, don’t you think? You and James both. You’re a crime I committed against him, right?”

“A crime-” Her voice cracks, but if she sounds uncertain, it’s only her nerves, her inability to stand up for herself sometimes. It’s not fear. She is not afraid of this woman, and she doesn’t believe her. 

Okay, a little afraid.

But she doesn’t believe her, she doesn’t. She knows better, because she knows how hard her father has worked to build the life around her, the one she’s living now. She knows how many times he has held her after nightmares - hers and his both. She knows he could have left her and James behind, but he didn’t.

Every chance he had to set them down, he chose to hold them instead. 

Most of all, she knows the way her father has carefully, day by day and year by year, taught her that love is not the same thing as danger.

Her shoulders square, and her back straightens. “You keep saying that, b-but… there’s a difference between not wanting someone who will be hurt to, to be there to be hurt, and caring about someone. There’s-... you can’t see the difference, is all, but I can. I know-” She swallows. “I know how it looks like when he loves someone, and you don’t.”

“Hm.” Savvie’s fascination flags, a little, at that. Her stare is unnerving, unblinking, but Izzy feels the anger coming off of her, hidden and still plain as day. “Changing the subject, I see. So much of you is just a walking reminder. You’re just a tragedy on two legs, aren’t you, Isabella?”

Part of Izzy thinks wryly, how long ago did you think of that and how long have you been waiting for someone to say it to? but the rest of her can’t find the breath to say it out loud. “You can’t make my life worse than it is, Mom. Not anymore. I didn’t come h-here for this, I came here for-”

I came here to see if you could see me, even now, or only a reflection of what you can’t have. I guess I have my answer. 

Savvie hasn’t stopped talking. “What of you is even yourself, Isabella? Are you just… trying not to be me? Do you not want him to think of me?” Her smile widens. Flash of teeth. For a second, just one brief second, Izzy sees fangs. “Oh, sweetie. You can’t ever change that, no matter what you do. I was important. I ruined his life, remember? There was a whole court case about it. Two, really. It’s why I’m here. Because I’m the Big Bad Wolf, or so I’m told.” She snorts. “You should have worn red, Isabella. Or something.”

“Or something,” Izzy whispers, looking down at her hands, at her knuckles gone white, her fists. The round clock is ticking on the wall, and it’s only an hour. She told herself she could last for an hour, when she walked in here. She told herself she could make it, and she would.

“Isabella-”

“You didn’t, by the way.” Where the words come from, she’s not sure. But they come out sure, and strong. "You didn't ruin his life. It’s better, it’s good.”

“Oh? Is it?” Savvie feigns disinterest, but she’s so bright and sparkling, pulling Izzy in. “What about it is so good, Isabella? What does my husband do, in his whole new life without me? What can he do? Show me how I’m wrong.” Savvie’s presence is heavy, it takes up too much space, feels like Izzy is pressed against the wall, suffocating. How did they live like this, surrounded by her on all sides, all the time? How had Jax ever survived so long alone with her? 

Her voice trembles more than she wants it to when she speaks. “What?”

“You say I’m wrong - about him, about you.” Savvie is a shark, and Izzy is blood in the water. She seems bigger, suddenly, or maybe Izzy is smaller. Younger. Has too much hair for her age and a frilly dress she hates and she has to be good, and so quiet, and do exactly what she is told or her father will be hurt, and it will be her fault, because it’s always, always her fault-

Savvie’s voice is not quite a whisper. “Tell me, Isabella, all these things I am so wrong about. Even if you believe his side of the story, he’s all I thought about, the only thing that mattered, right? So I know him better than anyone else, don’t I? And you’re mine. I know everything about you, without even trying."

“You don’t-... know anything about me.” Izzy knows she’s getting quieter, and knows as she retreats, her mother presses forward, thrilled to play a game she hasn’t played in… in eleven years, more or less. “And you don’t know a single thing about him.”

“I know every fucking scar on his body.” Izzy’s stomach flips, but Savvie is leaning forward again, and the blue of her eyes is overtaking everything else around them. Plain beige walls and plain table and plain bars over plain windows can’t compete. The gray of everyone’s prison outfits, her own black-and-slightly-less-black, none of it is a good enough distraction, enough to tear her away. “That’s what I know. You’re sweet, Isabella, and it’s lovely of you to try and be the dutiful little daughter all over again. But I know things you don’t, I always have. I know I still do. He hasn’t told you half of it, and he won’t.” 

It’s a strike, a feint and then a jab, and if this were a real fight Izzy would be ready for it, but words are so much harder to defend against. “I was a little kid, I didn’t need to know it, I didn’t want to. I don’t need to know-”

“You had colic, for a month or so.” Savvie cuts her off, raising her voice a little. One of the guards behind her shifts, might look at them from behind the dark of his glasses at the volume. “When you were little. Cried like a banshee, day and night, no reason. I could hear you in my practice room. Still think you know everything?”

“This isn’t-... I don’t know why you’re telling me this."

“I had my responsibilities, sweetie. I mean, I was a new mother, but I was still a person. I didn’t need to change all that much, really. Jax spent half his time trying to keep me away from you, your own mother, and the other half trying to shut you up.”

“You could be-... he said you were up-upset, sometimes, um, you c-could be-”

“Violent? Never. I was tired, maybe - we both were. Jax has never slept well."

Because of you.

"Oh, here we go. One of my favorites of his little insults… does he say I was unstable? I’m sure I’ve heard it all. Probably in court, no less, he very much enjoyed getting on stage to put on his little show. Taking the jury around and around in circles acting like I never did anything kind for you.” Her eyes move back to Izzy’s hair, shaking her head slightly, one lip curling upward in a sneer. “I certainly would have been kind enough not to let you make yourself look like that.”

“Mom-”

“Shut up, Isabella. I am talking to you, and I am not done yet.”

Izzy’s mouth snaps shut, teeth clicking together, her nails digging into her palms. Her eyes flicker to the guard, trying to catch him, but no, she’s going to last the whole hour, she promised herself she could do it, she promised. 

Besides, it's… sort of harder than she thought, to look away when Savvie is talking.

“We ended up getting my, well, Isaac’s servant Hannah to help with you. Because of the colic. He asked for her, really. I was prepared to bring in someone else, but Jax had his demands, and when he really wanted something, well.” She shrugs, calmly, casually. She is talking about a reality that never existed, moving all the pieces around until the past suits her and not the court documents. Until her story is the one circling Izzy’s head, and not the story she knows has to actually be true. “How could I refuse?”

“He asked-... but when he wanted-”

“What did I just say?”

“Mom, I need to-”

“Let. Me. Finish.”

“N-No, I don’t want to hear this-”

“You know what he started to do? Once we had Hannah around, a few days a week? When the steward began to come as well? Do you know what the number one change your father made to his life was, once that happened?”

“Mom, please. Please don’t do this.” Her voice is nearly gone, and Savvie leaps.

“He started getting the hell away from you.” Savvie throws her head back and laughs, loud enough to make people look over at them. Izzy wonders, face burning in embarrassment, what they see. Do they know who Savvie is? Is she really famous, here, like Izzy thinks she is? Does everyone know they’re watching Savannah Marcoset push her daughter under the water and watch her struggle to breathe?

But… the words hurt. He got the hell away from you. “He did-... he did what?”

“Fucking escaped you. He thinks I didn’t notice. Everyone always thinks I don’t notice, didn’t know things. Your father - my Jax - thinks I’m a fucking idiot, I get that now. But I saw that, him handing you off to Hannah or the steward and get as far away from you as he could without-” Savvie lifts her hands to tap at the side of her neck with a slight, almost dreamy smile. “Everyone says I’m the bad mom, the bad parent, but I’m not the only one who shoved you aside every chance I got.” Savvie hums, almost idly. She’s playing, Izzy thinks dimly. Cat with a ball of yarn. Somehow the words hurt a little less when the realization comes. “That’s the thing, though, isn’t it, Bella-”

“Izzy,” She whispers, but her mother doesn’t hear her, or doesn’t care.

“You know you are, fundamentally, his fucking nightmare. Your father sat up there before judge and jury and told everyone that I only had you so I could control him just a little bit more. Did you see that, in the documentaries you watched? Did you hear about it? Did he tell you that you only existed to be a weapon, that you're just a pretty little tool in my toolbox?"

She doesn’t want to answer any of those questions, and keeps her eyes down, focuses on the knuckles of her hands. How they sit over her lap so nicely, if you ignore that they are fists. Her face still burns bright red, and her eyes are hot with tears she blinks rapidly away before her mother can see them fall.

“He’ll say I didn’t love you.” Savvie’s expression is chilled, disdainful. “But your father had whole days he could barely stand to touch you. He had days he couldn’t even look at you. You ran around after him begging for, what, for someone to pat you on the head and say you were good just as you are? No wonder he couldn’t give you that.”

“He did give me that, over and over-... how you’re saying it isn’t how it happened, you’re not remembering what actually happened, Mom-”

“I think, deep down, you know it’s because no matter what you do with your hair, or your clothes, he is always going to look at you and see me. That’s the fear, isn’t it? That you're me, or you will be. That’s why you’re here, why you flew all the way across the fucking Atlantic to pay Mommy a visit. You wanted to see how much of you is me. How much of me is in you. How much of a fuck he can even give, in the end, for my daughter." She laughs again, and Izzy flinches. "He must hate you, deep down, and part of you knows it. Am I right?”

Izzy can’t answer at first, and her mother clicks her tongue, falsely sympathetic.

“Oh, sweetie. It’s okay. I can’t do a fucking thing to you, or him, or anyone now. But I’m glad you came to see me. I'm glad to see that you're just the same, easy to break as ever. You'll end up with exactly the love you deserve, Bella. Won't you?"

Izzy's eyes are blurred, struggling to focus. What rises in her isn’t fear, or doubt, or even sadness. It’s anger, the same simmering slow burn that that comes whenever someone tries to push her and her father down, when they have to force their way back up. "N-no-"

"Yes. You'll get what you were born for, one way or another. Don't worry, sweetie. You're not like me at all. You're just… a mirror, and the reflection isn't even a good one." Savvie laughs, cold and cruel, delighting in the pain on her daughter's face. "Here I was worried you’d be angry, but I don’t think you can be. Is that too much like me, too?”

“No, I’m… I get a-angry sometimes, I can… it’s not like that-”

“Not like what? Speak up, Bella. Stop mumbling, you were always a mumbler. Most children shout, you know.”

“Most children don’t get locked in closets if they do.” Izzy is still whispering at the start, but the words come more strongly as she works her way through them, eyelashes heavy with tears she tries to pretend don’t exist. “Most-... most kids can throw a fit without their dad getting hurt, and most kids get to leave the h-house sometimes, and if I-... if he couldn’t-... it was because of you, not because of m-me.” 

“Tell yourself that.”

“I do. I do tell myself that. I only have to tell myself that because of you, and you-... you just wanted to be his whole life and the only thing in it and you’re n-not, and this isn’t even about hurting me, is it? All of this-... telling me about, about him-...”

She can remember it, can’t she? Faint traces remain, of asking for Jax and being told by her Aunt Hannah that he needed some time, of asking and having her Papa Stewart give her a hug instead, of asking and asking and then learning not to ask…

“You aren’t telling me this to hurt me. You’re telling me this to hurt him.” Izzy raises her eyes, aware of the bright red blotches on her cheeks, aware of the tear tracks, aware of her hands in fists and the zinging anger in her that simmers underneath her fear. “You want me to take this out into the-... into the world, back to Dad, and tell him what you said because it’ll hurt him to hear that you said it, and you’ve been in prison for eleven years and missed most of my life and nearly all of my little brother’s - who you haven’t asked me a single fucking question about, by the w-way - and all you can think about, even now, is the… the one who got away from you.”

The balance shifts, some of the glittering brightness fades from Savvie’s eyes, the fascinated sadism seeps out of her expression. “Isabella-”

“Izzy. I’m called Izzy. And you know that, because you’ve known it ever since the trial. And maybe I was-... was hard, for him, when I was a baby and I can’t fix that or make it any better, it’s all already happened and I’ve had to learn not to feel guilty about it since I was four years old, but of the two of you, only one has ever bothered to give any solitary fucks about who I am! I came here to see if you could-... if you could change, or rethink, or even just, just feel something about me, and all you can feel is the parts of me that are him!”

“Isabella-”

“You shut up! You do it, now, and you listen to what I have to say! I was sc-scared, all the time, because of you, not him. He was the one who came to let me out, and he was the one who held me when I was scared, and even if he didn’t want to be near me, he still tried! You don’t-... you don’t get to change the story and make it not what it was, Mom, I know what it was.”

“You know what he told you it was.”

“No. I know what it actually really was. There is no other alternative world where you’re the good guy, or better than he was! Maybe I was a hard baby to l-love, because of whose baby I am, and I-I carry that forever… that I'm not the kid he would've wanted to have... but he tried, and if he didn’t love me at first, at least he tried until he learned how! But… but I know he did. I know he loved me, and Jamie, so much that he did the scariest thing he could imagine by running with us and having to hope we could make it to Grandpa before you could catch us again. I think you don’t know him at all, and you’re going to die in prison still not knowing, and that’s why you’re doing this now. It is killing you that you could lock us up and put that thing on his neck and keep us trapped and you still don’t know any of us at all.”

“I made every single scar-”

“Scars aren’t who someone is! They’re just marks of you being shitty to him! They don’t say who he is now, or how his mind works, or how fucking brilliant he is at being a dad! You know some marks on his skin, but I know who he is when he’s safe, and strong, and happy, and you will never know that man. You won’t ever know what he looks like really in love, and I do, and it is absolutely nothing like he looked around you!"

Her eyes flare. “Bella, what are you talking about, in love? With who? Who would-”

“I came here to see if-... if any part of me really is you, and it’s not, because all the parts of me that matter are from him and Grandpa and Papa Stewart and Nana and my aunties and none of the important bits are yours at all! No one loves you, because you can’t love anyone, but I can, and he can, and Jamie can. You are never ever going to see him again… and I’m going to walk out that door and give him a fucking hug."

She shoves her chair back, making a metallic screech along the floor that makes her mother wince, adrenaline pumping through her veins. It’s a kind of fight, this, she’d been pinned to the mat and fought her way back to standing in the end. 

“I am proud of him, for all he’s done to make an even better life for Jamie and me, and I am proud of him for finding Kieran, after you - and Kie’s a better bonus dad by a million years than you ever were a mom - and… and he’s proud of me. He’s proud of the person I am and not just the person he thought I was supposed to be. That’s more important than, than anything, is that he and I-... we can be proud of each other, and you can’t be proud of anything but yourself.”

Savvie looks startled, now, struggling to regain the surety she’d felt before. She can’t stand or the guard will come, and so she stays seated, and looks up at Izzy, no taller than her father but wiry still. “I think we’re done here,” Savvie says coldly. “You’re clearly too swept up in your father to be worth talking to.”

“Maybe,” Izzy shrugs, shoves her hands in her hoodie pockets, finds the comfortable weight of her phone, switched off for during the visit like the guards had asked. Wonders if her dad, sitting in the rental in the parking lot, has started pacing yet. If he’s watching the clock, waiting for her text to come through, bouncing his foot like he does sometimes. If he’s pretending to read or texting Kieran or if he’s just staring at the squat building that stretches wide on either side, waiting for her to come out. “Did I disappoint you, then? How I am, just me?”

“Oh, sweetie.” Savvie shakes her head, ruefully. Her expression shifts into mournfulness, just a few seconds too late for it to be convincing. “I had high hopes for you. But he ruined you, in the end. Absolutely ruined you.”

“That’s… that’s probably good. I don’t think I’ll come back, Mom. But I might-... I might write a letter.” Why she throws the offer out, she doesn’t know, only… only some part of her will always, always want to keep hoping that this will change.

Savvie’s eyebrows raise. “I might answer it. Can you fix your hair, if you ever come again? And wear something… nicer than this?”

Izzy blinks, rolling her eyes back to look up at her hairline, down to look at her shirt and jeans, and then back to her mother. “Why? Because it’s shorter than you want it to be? Because you don’t like my clothes?”

“Because you look like a lesbian, Isabella.”

Izzy blinks, too thrown to find the words at first, and then she shrugs, rubbing her thumb along the side of her phone in her pocket, her palms aching where her nails had dug in so deeply, over very old scars. She can’t quite help her smile. “Oh. Well, fuck, Mom, my girlfriend will be shocked when she hears you feel that way.”

“Your what?”

Izzy turns and walks away, past the other tables with crying or hurting people, or people who look like they want very badly to hug and can’t, and she doesn’t look back.

The door clangs open and slams shut behind her, the hallway stretching out ahead, and she walks down two sets of stairs and around a corner before she sees the big heavy doors that lead out into the world, the huge parking lot warmed by sunlight with no trees to break the glare of it. She gives the guards manning the checkpoint a little wave of one hand, pushing the door open, and moves into the glaring, brilliant light, turning to face the corner where her father has been waiting by the rental.

He’s definitely been pacing.

She smiles and heads towards him, giving him a big wave. He’s moving towards her before her hand is even fully in the air.

If her mother’s words are designed to shatter, her father’s love - starting with his desperate attempts to protect her, his whispered be brave for me, Izzy as they boarded a train, written across every single day of her life - is a foundation too strong to be broken.

Her mother, Izzy thinks, can’t understand love like that.

But Izzy does.

And it's more than enough.

Always.

---

@astrobly @finder-of-rings @burtlederp @wildfaewhump @whump-tr0pes @moose-teeth @orchidscript @sableflynn @pretty-face-breaker @raigash @vickytokio @eatyourdamnpears

[wokestraightpuffy]

Hallo, i hope you are alright and that my ask aren’t annoying but I wanted to ask do you have any c!puffy headcannons? —🤡

YOURE NOT ANNOYING AT ALL !!! NEVER THINK THAT ILU VERY MUCH. MUAH /p

as for c!puffy headcanons, i am not the best person to ever organize their thoughts properly but ill try my best >:’D

ahaha. this got. super complex and way too long and more of like an introspective study to puffy now instead of harmless fun headcanons so, uh. under read more <3 (also reminder this is all /rp and /dsmp)

* i like to think that she has a hero complex, but its a bit different since she never really sees herself as an ‘important’ part of the story, not the main character but a support one, hence ‘im fine with being the side character’ or how she’s said she doesnt care what happens to her and would gladly sacrifice(?) herself if there werent other people she had to protect. girl u need therapy urself <3

* though very open with how she feels and never afraid to say when someone/something is upsetting her, ‘opening up’ is still a whole mountain climb for her, apparently. like, she’d rant about the egg, get mad at the eggpire, let off some steam by committing arson or exploding stuff, she’ll rarely ever talk about how much the stuff that upset her actually HURT her. does that make sense? LIKE, she’ll lash out, she’ll get mad, she’ll take NO SHIT thrown at her face, but to show the kinda vulnerability of dealing with that? to cry about it talk about those feelings with someone? I think she’d rather eat her own foot lol

* adding onto the thing above, she doesnt necessarily actually realize this about herself. less of actively doing it and rather growing... used to the ‘cycle of violence’ in the smp as they call it. and the fact that rarely have people really asked, that no one’s actually available for that, w her losing her closest friends, bad and ant, sam being busy w the warden stuff... and niki. yeah. there’s foolish, but i doubt she’d ever see venting to someone she considers her son appealing

* also. puffy is just sometimes... really bad at conveying sadness. i think she’s a rare crier. id go as far to say that shes even more emotionally constipated than dream, lol (but maybe not while the guy’s in his prison arc) and that she’d be the type of person to tell you its okay to cry but beat herself up over something if she let a tear slip in a heated moment

* speaking of sadness. she’ll only ever actually Be Sad if she’s alone or with someone she doesnt necessarily care the opinions of. yknow how she mourned for tommy and blamed herself? those dialogue bits? yeah, those are only times shed actually be vulnerable

* puffy’s go to response to the egg and how its fucked up her relationship w her friends is pure fury. but, going off of her line about ‘failing bad and ant’ i like to think that she probably hates herself the most about it. THAT IS A STRONG WORD LOL BUT YEAH. she yells and curses and gets mad, but sometimes i wonder if the words she had spat before were more directed to herself

* THIS GIRL HAS SELF-IDENTITY PROBLEMS. CAN WE GET A HELL YEAH FOR THAT CHAT? outside of having no goddamn clue about where she came from, how she got here and who she even is, scrounging up a role for herself in a server with a war on the background and traumatized kids got her resignedly coerced into thinking that she is only a Parent. Only good enough when she’s actually doing something Useful for people. SO. when she finds that ship? of having a crew and having a curse? OF FINDING OUT SHE MIGHT HAVE/ HAVE HAD A MOM THATS WAITING FOR HER?  the sense of control she has on herself is absolutely crushed. shattered, and she’s left to pick up the pieces w no one to talk abt it with <3

* adding onto the above, it’s why the line ‘I’m supposed to be mama puffy. me.’ hurts me so much! so yes! please cry with me :D

* also to add more on the fact that she thinks she’s only worth something when she’s being useful, puffy literally contemplated leaving the server, thinking that it wouldnt matter leaving since no one really needs her anyway, since she’s failed so many people. bad and ant, tommy, dream. shes said how foolish can take care of himself on how tubbo and ranboo have each other, how she and niki have drifted so far away from each that it might as well be a break up.

HOOOOOOOOOO OBOY . anon youve really given me the perfect chance to ramble huh? sorry for the rather incomprehensible brainrot, here’s more lighthearted headcanons about puffy asdhfkd

* she cannot stand still sometimes. she always has to be doing something extra, walking when the prime path is right there? shed rather go through tedious little holes or hop and balance onto fences to get where shes going. she’ll mindlessly fix up the path when there are holes or mismatched wood, and one time went on a long, long LONG journey cleaning up the paths tommy purposely DESTROYED near lmanburg and even added cobblestone sidings which werent there before

* puffys a bit of a sentimental person. writing in her log to clear her thoughts sometimes and cared enough to try and preserve lmanburg with the glass sheet and trying to find possible surviving artifacts of history to respect it, even though she’s never been a part of it. its also why, when doomsday happened and lmanburg got permanently poofed, she began to appreciate the buildings that are still standing and began taking more pics 

* she’s not used to being... what do you call it, um, cared for? she’d deflect compliments sometimes, when shes having a particular bad day, like, she’d laugh nervously and change the subject, sometimes she’d outright deny it, most days she’d jokingly say ‘staphhh it’ and add a very genuine thanks. my point being is, do something for puffy that is mildly nice and she’d keep that moment in her heart forever. 

* also funny story regarding the above. u know how karl is notorious for stealing her materials? and how puffy was contemplating doing something in retaliation for them? karl says hi for once when she joins the server and she goes ‘alright fine youre safe for saying hi’ LOL THIS WAS PROBABLY A BIT META WISE but something about this implying that the bare minimum or LESS is enough to make puffy forgive someone is very sad and funny at the same time for me. girl really said ‘oh you said hi to me? thats nice all the crimes youve ever done towards me is now forgiven. <3’ (this is a bit of an exaggeration on my part, ofc, i just think its funny LMAO) 

* ironically, despite being the ‘captain’, whenever riding a boat with someone, she prefers being on the backseat and letting them drive. ig shes just there for the ride i suppose, her and her uber drivers :3

 * she either has a rather unhealthy obsession with baked potatoes or she just doesnt wanna waste eret’s massive potato farm

* idc what cc!puffy says is c!puffy will always and forever be 5′2″ in my HEART. u are the shortest member, u cannot change this <3

* shes really fond of animals/ neutral mobs. she often baby talks to them and they help boost her mood a lot when shes having a bad day :D

* up to this day, the little secret rooms she’s created around the server have all been yet to be discovered, unless the one under bad’s house has been found. she rarely ever really keeps tabs on them, and more often than not they are just collecting dust. she still visits sometimes and cleans them up ofc

* she still genuinely thinks dream can change. cc!puffy’s line about that, ‘i’m his last hope.’ really makes me think about this a lot. 

* ive seen people talk abt it a bit but the headcanon that puffy acts as the server mom to fill the ‘void’ of her missing her mom makes me cry at night /hj

* she really likes her rainbow onesie! i headcanon that eret gave her that along w the sunglasses, but she started wearing that less when she found her old captains uniform. shes never really said why, though, and nobody ever really bothered to ask

* god bless this woman but sometimes the server members get on her nerves sometimes so she goes out of her way to traverse along far away from the main community to maybe commit a few crimes. let off some steam. these take a few days but she always returns

i probably have a lot more hcs but i cant remember them >_> THIS IS A LOT ANYWAY. HOPE U ENJOYED MY BRAIN VOMIT. IF U READ THIS FAR ILU THANK U

if there are mistakes it is bc i am crying and cannot see my keyboard and also i am sleep deprived /hj

[jeonggukingdom]

splinters of love • day X [myg]

pairing  ⟶ min yoongi x fem!Reader

summary  ⟶ a collection of drabbles (one for each day of April) based on prompts by an online prompts’ generator site. Specifically  ⟶  • day X ↳ in which you’re both single parents and your kids have turned into best friends in the past few weeks but your child is misbehaving again and Yoongi decides to make a comment on your parenting skills that may or may not break you down to tears. For which, he decides to make it up to you.

genre  ⟶ angst, fluff, parents!AU

rating  ⟶ G

word count ⟶ 1.901 words

warnings  ⟶ a little bit of angst because Yoongi doesn’t know how to phrase stuff, also Yoongi being an absolute heart-melting softie. Mentions of death and cheating.

series masterlist  ⟶ here  (links on mobile may not work, if you’re looking for all the works in this series, you can click on the “!splintersoflove” tag and you’ll find them all there!)

Suzy’s laugh is crystal clear as she runs after her friend Mina, her little arms outstretched to grab her, capture her and win the game and possibly claim the little toy in the other little girl’s grasp.

A small smile graces your lips as you watch her like this, all happy and carefree under the spring sun, her long raven hair swept away by the gentle breeze.

She looks so much like her father it hurts to look at her most of the times.

The thought of him turns your thoughts bitter, makes bile rise from your stomach up to your throat, almost making you gag onto thin air.

You are barely aware of the mellow voice talking to you, definitely not registering what he is saying but you know he is there, you can sort of feel the warmth of his body even though he is not even remotely close enough to do so.

You haven’t been with a man in four years, ever since he left you. You are touch-starved and the man standing right next to you has a charming smile, a softness to his features that makes your insides twitch every single time.

But you never let your gaze linger for too long. You can’t do relationships anymore, that is what you decided, and especially not with someone that has just as much, if not more, baggage as you do.

Min Yoongi has a soft smile on his lips and you hate how that brings heat to your cheeks as you meet his eyes and he tilts his head a little to the side.

Your kids have become friends pretty quickly and spending time together at the park as become something like a routine for the four of you and you are happy she has finally made a friend and that, well, she happens to be the daughter of a single father that at least can understand the struggles of being a single parent.

Sometimes you see the pain in his eyes, the worry reflected in those dark irises that in some occasions look so much like your own it startles you.

His pain, though, must be thousand times worse than yours. He lost his wife, the love of his life, in a tragic accident and he has been mourning her ever since.

You, on the other hand, have lost your love one to a younger and prettier girl.

You shift your gaze to your tangled fingers as thoughts of him start filling your head in a way that cuts your breath out of your lungs.

You are so engrossed in your own bitterness that you don’t see it happen, you only hear the aftermaths.

Suzy has not only reached Mina, she has pushed her down and stole her toy and sadly, it is not the first time this has happened.

You rush to them, try to pacify Mina while apologizing to Yoongi, your eyes stern on your own daughter.

She cries too in the aftermath of the mess that she created, hitting all your nerves in the right places.

It takes a few minutes to calm both of the kids down but when they are smiling again, it seems like nothing has happened and you watch your daughter grasp Mina’s hand and force her into a little jog that has them both giggle.

A soft sigh leaves your lips as you stand up, Yoongi still standing right next to you with a frown on his features.

“Sometimes I wonder if Suzy is just seeking some attention when she does stuff like this.”

It’s a simple comment yet it sends you reeling because it strikes a nerve, it cuts through an already open wound like a sharp knife and then it twitches and twitches inside of it until you are out of breath and on the verge of tears.

The thing is, when you were younger you used to say you didn’t want kids. Why? Because you didn’t think you’d be a good mother.

And now… now you know you aren’t a good mother, that you aren’t giving your daughter enough, that you are not enough.

Doesn’t matter how much you try, how much you read about being a parent it just doesn’t seem to work, it doesn’t seem to be enough.

You tried to be a stern parent, you tried to be a lenient one and nothing works and maybe Yoongi is right, you do not give your kid enough attention but how are you supposed to when you have a full time job and nobody to help you with her?

The tears break through your control before you can stop them and you hear Yoongi take in a sharp breath and then his feet move, slide across the gravel so that he can stand in front of you, peer inside your eyes.

“Fuck, I’m sorry, did I cross a line? Of course I crossed a line I… I’m sorry I didn’t meant to,” he rambles, his voice soft as he looks at you in utter panic.

“It’s ok, it’s not your fault, it’s me.” The words tremble on the tip of your tongue, they come out as a strangled whisper and he grimaces at the pained expression you offer him, shaking your head as you try to gain some composure back.

Pathetic.

“I know I’m not a good mother,” you don’t know why you say it but you do and saying it out loud breaks your heart in thousand of pieces and before you can register what is happening, Yoongi’s hands are tenderly grasping your face so that you have no choice but look inside his eyes.

“No.” He says, firm, “That is not what I meant at all. You are a good mother, _______. But sometimes we are not enough because they only have us and they need both a father and a mother.”

He sighs as you nod your head in agreement because of course, you know this. But you can force your ex-boyfriend to be a father. You can’t if he doesn’t want to because even if you legally could, you don’t want to make Suzy feel like she’s a chore, like she’s unwanted. She deserves better than the hurt that would come from that.

“When Seohyun died I had no idea what to do with Mina, not a single clue. And I seek help. That’s what I wanted to suggest, _____.”

His true intentions sink in then and you ponder over them and you quickly realize that you need it. Hell, you need all the help in the bloody universe and so you nod your head, take the number he gives you almost in a trance and at the same time, you take up his offer of making it up to you over a cup of coffee.

It all happens in an instant and next thing you know, two weeks have passed, you’ve had your first session with the therapist and now you are standing in this Cafe waiting for him to show up.

You don’t know what to expect, you don’t know what this sort of date actually means and nervousness ties your guts into deep and convoluted knots.

But when he shows up and offers you one of his gummy smile, those insides seem to melt and you find yourself smiling for him, relaxing to the point you simply cannot stop talking.

You talk about Suzy, Mina, your therapy session, all the things you’ve learned already thanks to him, you talk about how hard it is to be alone in all of this, you talk about work and so many other things and time absolutely flies. So fast you don’t realize it’s getting dark until your phone chimes with an unread text and you glance towards it and notice how late it is.

“Would it be too out of line for me to walk you home?” Yoongi asks and you should definitely say yes and retreat before your heart starts beating all funny in your chest but you realize a little too late that it is already doing it.

So you say yes, against your better judgment, and he offers you one of those heart-melting smiles that has your lips turning upwards in return.

You walk in silence and it is comfortable, you walk side by side and his shoulder sometimes brushes against yours and even that, is comfortable. Familiar, in a way.

You feel like a teenager all over again and it is both exhilarating and absolutely terrifying because you are afraid of falling in love, of letting go and lose control because what if you get hurt again? What if you let a man inside your life and then he leaves you and Suzy behind as well? What happens then? How do you pick up the pieces of your heart and mend it back together alongside with the one of your daughter?

Your mind is reeling but when you come to a halt in front of your house, your resolve melts away the instant you turn to look at him and you find his soft eyes already fixed on you.

You should tell him goodbye, thank him for everything he has done for you so far and turn around, forget whatever this was but you don’t.

You don’t step back when he leans forward, you don’t stop him when he silently asks you with his eyes if he is going too far or not, you don’t push him off when his hand comes to caress your cheek and you don’t turn your head to the side when his lips come in contact with yours.

It happens so slowly and yet so fast at the same time and then your mind is spinning, spinning so fast you might actually be sick right here, right now.

But you don’t, oh no. You grasp his shirt, you pull him into you with a need that could only come after years of deprivation and he clings onto you just as badly, just as desperately until you are breathless, panting in each other faces with shock reflected in your eyes.

“Wow,” he whispers and you whisper it back, a shy smile on your lips as your eyes drift to the ground.

“I haven’t kissed anyone after Seohyun…” his voice trails off and your heart skips a beat.

“Me neither,” is your meek response and it makes him smile, nod his head a couple of times.

“I’m scared, Yoongi.” You admit after a few seconds and you expect him to laugh at you or maybe try to convince you that you shouldn’t but instead, he nods again and then sighs as if understanding where you’re coming from completely.

“I know,” he bites his bottom lip, his eyes closing for a second, “I feel it too. That and guilt for wanting to move on from her, to build another family without her. Frankly, I am terrified,” he laughs at his words, shakes his head and you instantly know he is talking about his daughter. Of course, your fears are mirrored inside his heart and mind too, how could they not?

“What do we do, then?” You ask in a soft whisper that sounds too hopeful to your own ears but that grants you a soft smile from his part.

“We take it one day at a time.”

And so you do.

Copyright © 2020 by jeonggukingdom. All rights reserved. Do not repost, do not steal, do not translate without consent.

[hermadnessmacwrites]

A Game of Puzzles (Making the Pieces Fit) Chapter 4

Summary: With the war over and Sasuke home again, Sakura is more hopeful for Team 7’s future than she has been in a long time. She’s quickly disappointed to find that nothing in the Village fits quite like it used to—not her old bedroom, not her clothes, and definitely not Team 7. Join Sakura as she scrambles to understand her place in this new team dynamic.

If she has a place there at all.

-OR-

It takes three dorks a painfully long time after moving in together to realize that they all belong together.

It’s the first time Sakura remembers October 10th ever being this...jovial.

The streets are always crowded this time of year, but the laughter seems oddly out of place. Gone are the mournful monochromatic clothes she’s used to. Everything she looks at—the clothes, the storefronts, the people—is so bright she has to work to avoid squinting.

“Oooh, Sakura, look, there’s a dango stand!”

Brightest of all is Naruto. He’s actually wearing less orange than usual, having been convinced into a pair of dark tan pants, but his expression more than makes up for the loss. Each street vendor and colored lantern is taken in with equal amounts of awe. He looks like a kid at his first birthday party, which…

...it’s a painfully accurate description. Sakura tries not to think about it.

“Didn’t you just eat like five bowls of ramen?” she teases. Naruto opens his mouth and closes it, looking for an excuse, but Sakura elbows him lightly in the side. “Just kidding, let’s go grab some. I heard they were going to add a new flavor today, too.”

Naruto’s eyes widen comically. “For me? Really?”

“Of course it’s for you,” Sasuke cuts in from behind them. Walking three across really isn’t possible in these crowds, but, like most genin teams, Team 7 feels most comfortable navigating public spaces in a loose triangle formation. “It’s not like Konoha has anything else to celebrate today, right?”

The pointed question isn’t lost on Naruto, who visibly deflates. Sakura spins to glare at Sasuke and catches a flash of a frown as his gaze drops to the pavement. It’s not Naruto that Sasuke is annoyed with, but that’s exactly who he’s hurting with his bitterness. It doesn’t take much for Naruto to swing to extreme sadness when he’s this happy, which Sasuke knows. She had hoped he would mind his temper today.

“Hey.” Sakura draws Naruto’s hand into hers and gives him her best smile. “Why don’t you take Mr. Killjoy and find a spot to sit for a bit. I’ll bring the dango over, okay?”

Naruto’s smile starts small, but quickly grows as she holds his hand.

“Yeah, I’ll keep him out of trouble,” he agrees, “Could you grab a couple different flavors?”

“As many as I can carry,” she assures him. Sakura sends one last pleading look at Sasuke before they disappear. She’s pretty sure he rolls his eyes at her, which isn’t exactly a promise to behave, but it does mean that he got the message. Probably. Hopefully.

Once Naruto is out of view, Sakura takes a quick second to get her emotions back in check. Sasuke’s right. The Village’s abrupt one eighty in its treatment of Naruto grates her nerves if she lets herself think about it for too long. They’d gone from disdain to reverence in the span of six months. Technically this is a festival celebrating the end of the war, but there’s been a fair amount of Uzumaki branded treats and well-wishes from strangers as well.

At least she had apologized.

A couple deep breaths later, Sakura’s pushing through the crowds towards the stand. There’s a line forming, but the vendor calls Sakura forward as soon as he sees her. Embarrassed, Sakura ducks her head in a small apology to the people in line as she moves past them. She doesn’t want to make more of a scene than she already is, and she really wants to get back to her team as soon as she can.

“Could I get two Hanami dango, a mitarashi dango, and a”—she cranes her neck to get a better look at the name of the new flavor from the poster on the side of the cart—“and one Uzumaki dango, please?”

“Absolutely! Would you like a Team 7 dango as well?”

“Oh!” There’s nothing about a Team 7 dango on the sign. Is that actually a thing? Did he make that up when he saw her? “Um, yes, please. Thank you.”

By the time Sakura’s done counting out her coins, the dango are being shoved towards her. She scrambles to put her money pouch away and grab her sweets without holding up the line any longer. Four of the dango end up in one hand while a white, pink, and orange dango ends up in the other. It takes her a second to realize that this is supposed to be the Team 7 dango. The anger kicks in a second later.

To be fair to the vendor, she’s never actually seen blue dango before. Then again, she’s never seen a red habanero dango before today, and that’s definitely one of the flavors on the Uzumaki stick. Choosing the white dango for Kakashi feels like a dig at Sasuke. Sakura bites the orange dumpling off the stick and chews furiously. There. Now it just looks like a partially eaten Hanami dumpling.

That “Team 7” roll better not be on the actual menu. For the vendor’s sake.

Sakura finds Naruto and Sasuke sitting on top of one of the tables in an eating area, of all places. She has no idea who’s idea that was. It’s an extremely rude thing to do with so many people looking for seats, but Sakura doesn’t really want to be joined by the type of people who are deterred by her teammates’ antics right now.

Naruto spots her first and starts waving wildly—as if she could have missed the pair of them. Sasuke turns to see who has caught Naruto’s attention. When he recognizes her, he pulls one of his legs off the bench and onto the table so she’ll have a place to sit. Naruto follows his lead, pulling both his feet off the bench and into a criss-cross position. So they were trying to deter people from sitting with them.

She’s not even mad.

“One mitarashi dango, one hanami dango, and one Uzumaki dango,” she declares, handing over her loot. Naruto cheers, promptly digging into the hanami stick as soon as it’s in his hand. He’s two dumplings deep before Sakura’s even fully seated.

Sasuke’s eyebrow raises as she nibbles on her own dango. “You got two hanami dango for yourself?”

Busted.

“Uh, one of them is for you?” she tries. At Sasuke’s unimpressed expression, she relents, “Fine. Yes, I got two hanami for myself.” He still looks skeptical for some reason, so she tries for classic misdirection, “You might actually want to try the red dumpling from the Uzumaki dango, though, I’m pretty sure it’s spicy.”

“It is?” Naruto pauses his munching on the mitarashi stick to take a bite of the red dumpling before recoiling immediately. “Ack—it is! Why is it spicy?”

Sakura laughs. “I think the colors represent your family. The orange and yellow are pretty self-explanatory, so the red is probably for your mom. For the Uzumaki hair, I’m guessing. I don’t know why they didn’t choose cherry or something, though—that would have gone better with the rest of the flavors.”

“Her nickname was the ‘Red-hot Habanero,’ so that’s probably it,” Naruto explains, his smile dimming. It’s Sasuke’s turn to glare at her, and she winces, appropriately abashed. She always manages to stick her foot in her mouth when the conversation turns to parents. “Anyway, you should try it, Sasuke. It’s not sweet, like, at all, so I bet you’ll like it.”

Sakura figures the odds are skewed sixty/fourty in favor of Sasuke rejecting the offer, but Sasuke doesn’t actually say anything at all. Instead he bends down and bites the rest of the dumpling right off the stick that Naruto’s holding. Some of the drizzling sauce clings to his lower lip, and his tongue darts out quickly to wipe it clean.

She’s not even the one holding the stick, but Sakura is absolutely certain her heart fucking stutters to a stop at the sight. Poor Naruto looks appropriately shocked. His lips are parted in a gentle “o” of surprise, and his eyes are, dare she say it, looking a little glazed over. He rallies quickly, though, shoving the rest of the Uzumaki stick right under Sasuke’s nose.

“Try the orange one next!”

“Ugh, no.” It’s Sasuke’s turn to recoil. “That one probably is sweet, dumbass.”

"Come on," Naruto wheedles,"Just take a little—wait. Wait, are you saying my mom tastes better than I do?"

"Why do you have to phrase it like that!"

The words are different, but the cadence of her teammates bickering is familiar enough that it quickly fades to the background of her attention. She works through the rest of her "hanami" roll at a leisurely pace, scanning the crowds as she does. There's so much laughter. Even actual festivals haven't been this boisterous for years.

Most of these people weren't on the war front. It's easy to resent them for that—for celebrating the anniversary of such a trying day. Victory is not a reward granted, but a luxury paid for in blood and flesh by the pound. She understands the relief, but is this much pomp and circumstance acceptable? Does a life saved by a black market kidney still deserve celebration?

Sakura doesn't know.

A child screams, high and piercing, shattering through the joyful murmur of the crowd. Her teammates' argument grinds to a halt. Sakura swivels to locate the source, and, in her periphery, she notices the majority of the adults around her do the same. Chakra flares around her as ninja spread their senses in search of a threat.

"Kenta!" a petite woman scolds, bending down, "What did I say about screaming?"

"Not to," the child mumbles. He's small enough that a picnic table nearby obscures him from Sakura's view.

"Unless?" the woman prompts. If Kenta answers, it's too quiet for her to hear.

Everyone in the vicinity, ninja and civilians alike, visibly relaxes. It's sobering to realize how on-edge they all are despite the upbeat atmosphere. Life has not been kind to Konoha's residents.

How self-absorbed of her.

No, the civilians around her didn't watch Neji die. They didn't despair as the Ten-tailed beast appeared in the battle-ground. To say they didn't know fear—didn't know suffering—is terribly short-sighted.

Konoha is a thriving militaristic society. Has been for decades. But having the pointiest sick doesn't ensure safety. Often the wielder becomes a target of others struggling to create their own rags to riches stories.

Or revenge. Pointy sticks are great at poking avengers into action.

Point is, Konoha has been leveled three times in Sakura's short time on this earth. If the civilians don't get to celebrate the peace she fought for, maybe she doesn't get to celebrate the Village they rebuilt.

Food for thought.

Sakura lays her finished dango stick on the table. The untouched dango stick sags in her hand with her increasing disinterest. Her recent train of thought is more than enough to derail her appetite entirely despite the fact that dango is one of her favorite treats.

"You okay?" Naruto asks immediately. He glances at the dango dangling in her grasp pointedly.

Sakura doesn't even have to force the smile. His concern forces its way through the heavy stormcloud of her thoughts like the sunbeam he is. Sweet. Naruto's just so sweet.

"I'm fine.” She fans herself with her free hand. "Just kinda hot, yeah? It's killing my appetite."

Naruto's expression clears immediately. "In that case, let's go get some shaved ice soon! I think I saw a vendor on our way in."

"I did not sign up to wrangle the two of you on a sugar high," Sasuke interjects sourly. Sweet sauce is smeared across his cheekbone, and there might be a crumb of fried dough occluding one nostril. Sakura chokes on a giggle which clearly earns no points from Sasuke. "No more sweets."

Sakura raises her hands in surrender, but Naruto isn't as quick to acquiesce. They start bickering, again, and as Sakura watches a dango skewer slides dangerously close to Sasuke's eye. Idiots. That does explain the out-of-place dough and sticky sauce, though.

The reprimand on her tongue withers at the enthusiastic sparkle in Naruto’s eyes as he advances further and further into Sasuke’s personal space. And Sasuke—brooding, angsty Sasuke—has a smile playing at his lips as he avoids the sticky dessert. He’s making a good show of being annoyed by his teammate’s antics, but if he was really done he’d be slapping the blond away. Angry Sasuke wouldn’t lean back unconcernedly on his only hand like that, and he certainly wouldn’t let Naruto rest his stump on his shoulder as he pesters him.

Bright. It’s so, so bright out today—ridiculously sunny for October—but no amount of sunblock would protect her from their megawatt smiles.

If the fight gets enthusiastic enough to disturb the table, she'll step in, Sakura decides, turning her head to give them a little privacy.

Or the illusion of it, anyway.

Sakura’s not sure how her teammates are able to ignore all the attention they’re attracting. The picnic table they have selected is on the outskirts of the eating area, but they might as well be on center stage. Her skin prickles under the weight of the public’s stares.

Logically, she knows the curious civilians don’t mean any harm. It’s rare that Team 7 is out in the public eye for such an extended period of time. That doesn’t stop the shinobi buried deep beneath her medic persona from sharpening her kunai warily. Sakura doesn't resent the instinct exactly—that's what keeps her alive—but she does try to shake it. The eyes on her aren't dangerous.

Just oppressive.

It’s in pretending to look out across the crowd—and ignoring the alarming number of heads that whip away from her that she does—that she notices them.

A trio of girls sit at two tables away from them at a diagonal. Four older women share the table, but there's enough space between the two to make it clear that they're separate parties. And anyway, the women are laughing, with clenched eyes and wide smiles. The younger ones, though, they're tittering. The sound is sharper than the murmuring of the crowd around them, which is probably why they stood out to her in the first place.

In their mirth, they haven’t noticed Sakura’s attention. One of the girls has a blush dark enough to match the hair of the girl digging an elbow playfully into her side. She can’t see the face of the final member of the trio, but her shoulders shake in obvious laughter under long, black hair. Suddenly the girl’s arms come up in an exaggerated stretch before dropping to her hips so she can make a show of twisting and stretching her back. Not bad for a civilian. Sakura would have almost believed her if not for how quickly she turned back to her friends after a less than sneaky peek at Team 7’s table.

Any amusement she might have held for the girls’ antics slip away immediately. Clearly the trio isn’t looking at Sakura, or they would have noticed her attention. The number of times they’ve all slid glances her direction is too high to be a coincidence, however, which only leaves one option.

The boys.

Now it’s abundantly clear what the brunette is being teased about. It’s been a while since the Academy, but Sakura has sent her share of moonstruck looks a certain Uchiha’s way. She knows what it feels like—what it looks like—to laugh and tease over crushes. Her eyebrows narrow fiercely for all that she tries to keep her expression neutral. The only real question left is: which boy are they looking at?

Four years ago, the answer would have been Sasuke hands down. His sharp features and aloof personality are easily misread as the mysterious persona of at least fifty percent of the love interests in romance novels. Barely dodged war crimes have tamped down the general enthusiasm for Sasuke, though there is always the chance the girl thinks she has a thing for “bad boys.”

Sakura hopes not, for her sake. Sasuke’s particular brand of “rebel with a cause” needs at least three years of serious training and an instruction manual the size of one of her medical textbooks to have any chance of walking away unscathed. Even then nightmares and traumatic events are pretty much a given.

Naruto laughs, loudly, and throws his head back enough to give a clear view of the syrup that drips down his chin. The brunette’s expression softens, and Sakura can hear the lovesick sigh she heaves from twenty feet away. So Naruto is the object of her affection. The realization makes her stomach twist.

There’s a sharp crack, and Sakura’s dango drops to the grass beneath them. She blinks, confused. The bottom half of the stick is still clenched tightly in her fist. It takes longer than it should to notice the splintered edge of the stick and piece together what happened.

“Are you alright?” It’s Sasuke that asks this time.

“Yeah, I’m—I’m fine.” Sakura bends down to grab her dango from the ground. She hadn’t planned on eating it anyway, but the grass coating the dumplings means that’s not an option for later anymore. “I just, ah—”

Before Sakura can come up with an excuse for her ill-timed use of super strength, the tittering behind them grows in volume enough to catch Sasuke’s attention this time. Sakura’s eyes flit to the trio of girls automatically, and they are looking at her now. Great. Even the blushing brunette has joined in the action, so Sakura knows that the laughs are meant for her. She grinds her teeth together. They’re civilians. Sakura can’t go around just laying civilians out because she feels like it.

“That’s enough time in the sun,” Sasuke declares, sliding off of the table top. He shoots a viscous glare over his shoulder. Sakura shouldn’t find so much satisfaction in how rapidly the giggles grind to a halt, but she does. The knots her intestines have tied themselves into loosen enough that she can take aim with a sharp smile of her own.

“Guys…?” Naruto asks. He can tell that something is going on, but doesn’t have enough information to piece the story together as Sasuke did. Blonde eyebrows furrow lightly as he glances from his teammates to the girls’ table.

The brunette has the audacity to sigh again. Every muscle in Sakura’s body tenses for a fight, and she doesn’t even pause to think about how ridiculous her reaction is. It’s not like she has any sort of claim over Naruto. Sasuke is the one who has been messily sharing finger food with him this whole afternoon. If anyone has any right to feel the sudden rage coursing through their body, it’s him. How dare that girl assume she has a chance when Naruto is clearly taken?

Sure enough, Sasuke’s expression has doubled in intensity. Disgust and possessiveness mix in equal measure on his face as his lip curls up and over his teeth. He probably doesn’t even realize what an overprotective boyfriend he looks like, and Sakura can only watch smugly as the girls wilt under his glare. Serves them right.

“We’re getting out of here,” Sasuke declares, firmly. He turns away from the trio before hefting Naruto off the table and over his shoulder in one fluid motion. Naruto squawks in surprise, understandably, but Sasuke’s malice is clearly not directed at him, so he allows himself to be carted away with only token protests. “Let’s go, Sakura.”

The urge to gloat is irresistible. Sakura tosses a taunting wink that the girls are too shell-shocked to react to before falling into her place at her boys’ backs. The rage and, okay, she’ll admit it, jealousy that bubbled up so unexpectedly earlier washes away in the face of her contentment. Maybe neither Sasuke or Naruto are hers in the romantic sense, but they’re hers in all the other ways that matter.

Sakura will guard their backs for as long as they let her with a smile in her heart.

Read the rest of the chapter on ao3

[devil-in-the-d3tails]

It’s the End of the World as We Know It - Chapter 4

summary: During the international quarantine in your first-ever pandemic, the people around you slowly begin to disappear. As the world grows quieter and quieter, you find yourself all alone-- no power, no friends, and only one goal: to find whoever of your friends might be left and reunite with them.You're naive to think anything can be that simple. As you're faced with ever-increasing loneliness, you run into some boys who apparently went to the same high school as you. Will you join forces with them to figure out your strange circumstances together, or will you brave loneliness in a world that is slowly crumbling apart?

Link on AO3!

words: 3,721

rating: M - Mature

genre: angst/humor, romance, adventure, apocalypse AU, reader-insert

warnings: sort of depressing content, a smidge of violence, cursing

a/n: there's finally some ACTION y'all!! i had so much fun writing this chapter haha, reader is really finding her footing and putting an end to the bullshit! thank you for reading!!

- Fuck Outta Here -

“You huh?!”

You slam on the brakes, and Kuroo and Bokuto yell in surprise-- Bokuto didn’t put his damn seatbelt on, so his face smushes right into Kuroo’s headrest, earning you a glare from the dark-haired boy.

“I said don’t freak out! Keep driving, what are you doing?!”

You look in your rearview mirror-- the street is empty. Were they running from anyone chasing them?

“Dude, you were whispering at me when you ran out, and you guys were like, running on your little tippy-toes trying to be quiet, and nobody’s behind us right now. Were they asleep, or something?” You demand, and Bokuto gasps.

“You’re so smart-- how did you figure that out?” Bokuto exclaims, and Kuroo just looks even more annoyed. “Oh, your groceries were there, too! Like, just chillin on the floor.”

“What? No way!” You exclaim,

“Bokuto, shuuuuut iiiit,” Kuroo groans at the same time, and upon a fierce glare from you, he pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Yeah, they were asleep, but there’s no way in hell I’m going back in there. I get why you were scared-- one of ‘em looks like a damn school shooter, and the other one looks like a roided-out football player.” Kuroo huffs out a breath, trying and failing to get some wayward hairs out of his eye. “I’m surprised we got out alive-- I’m also surprised at how bad Asahi is at hiding weed. Did his parents just not give a shit?”

“So you were willing to stay in there to look for your weed after you knew they were there, after you saw them, but you’re not willing to go back in for my groceries? Meaning, shit that can actually help us?!” You exclaim, having fully turned in your seat to face the boy beside you. He looks at you for a moment, blinking twice to make sure he heard you correctly.

“Uh-- yeah!” He says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. You throw your hands in the air incredulously.

“Kuroo, you yourself said that food is hard to come by right now-- why would you prioritize weed over food?!”

“She’s kinda right, bro.” Bokuto says, and Kuroo rolls his eyes.

“You guys were so down to be heroes and shit and protect me from those guys if they turned out to be in my house; where’s that energy now?” You fling the car into park, and move to open your door.

“Woah, woah, woah!” Kuroo exclaims, and lunges across the center console to yank your door closed again. “The fuck are you doing?”

“I’m going to get my shit! I looted it, fair and square!” You shoot back, and you realize how incredibly childish you sound, and also how close Kuroo is to you. He sets his jaw, and heaves a sigh.

“[Y/n]...” He leans back, and shares a look with Bokuto, who already looks guilty. “They had guns with them.”

Your heart sinks. Well, that changes everything.

“I didn’t wanna mention your groceries, ‘cause I had a feeling this exact thing would happen.” Kuroo explains, and scratches his eyebrow. “It’s not a bad thing how you’re so hell-bent on proving yourself and proving you’re not scared or whatever, but that mentality is gonna get dangerous. Like, right now, you’re really willing to storm in there and go get some-- what, some poptarts? Totinos pizza rolls?”

“I didn’t know they had guns before.” You mumble defensively. “...and there weren’t anymore Totinos left in the store in the first place…”

“Aw, man.” Bokuto mourns under his breath at the last part of your sentence.

“Even if they didn’t have guns, you were willing to storm in there after those guys hurt you once before.” Kuroo shoots right back.

“Well, she has us now, Kuroo.” Bokuto pipes up, and you both turn to him in surprise-- he’s been uncharacteristically quiet this whole time. “She’s right, dude, we were all down to be her bodyguards this morning, but now there’s actual danger, we’re not willing to back her up?”

“There’s always been danger, but it’s exponentially worse now.” Kuroo says, and you haven’t heard anyone use ‘exponentially’ in a sentence ever since AP Calculus.

“If she wants to go back in there, I’m going with her.” Bokuto says, and crosses his arms to give you an encouraging smile. Your heart warms at the sight-- his smile, his encouragement, is all you need in this moment to get the courage to go back and take what’s yours.

“Let’s go.” You say to Bokuto, who nods once, and slips out of the car. You give a pointed look to Kuroo, his handsome features unreadable. You open your door, and step one leg out, when Kuroo speaks up.

“Wait.” He says, and you turn back hesitantly, unsure of what he might say. “You’re forgetting your mighty hammer.” He holds it out to you, and you’re so irritated to find the corners of his lips twitching up.

You swipe the hammer out of his hand, narrowing your eyes at him before slamming the door closed to stalk around the car to join Bokuto. You really weren’t expecting to get pissed off this early in the morning.

“Let’s do this!” He says loudly, and you leap to slap your hand over his mouth.

“Shh! We don’t wanna wake them up, dipshit!!” You hiss, and Bokuto’s eyes widen.

“Awww, fuck, I’m sorry!” He whispers as you pull your hand away.

A car door slams closed, and you turn to see Kuroo sauntering towards you two with his hands in his pockets. “Yeah, be quiet, dipshit.” He leers, and Bokuto actually squares up. You cross your arms.

“The car’s still running, so we need someone to watch it.” You say, channelling the bitchiest ‘you-can’t-sit-with-us’ attitude you can. “Plus, I have Bokuto and my ‘mighty hammer,’ so we’ll be fine.”

“Who’s gonna steal the car?” Kuroo gestures around him, and playfully swipes Bokuto’s arm away, the latter of whom delivers two harmless jabs to his side. The two boys laugh, but you won’t forgive Kuroo that easily. “C’mon, let’s go, grumpy.” Kuroo strides past you, ruffling your already messy hair on the way.

You have no choice but to follow behind them, and the closer you three jog to the house, the tenser you become. Steeling your nerves, you refuse to be intimidated by these guys a second time. They’re asleep, and are clearly heavy sleepers if they can’t be disturbed by the two jocks stomping around with you, so that gives you some comfort.

They didn’t close the door behind them when they rushed out, so Kuroo just has to gently ease the door open and you three slip inside silently. It seems like this house has been untouched— they probably sought shelter here last night, since your home was basically useless in terms of keeping warmth in. Your eyes dart to the hardwood floor, and you look up to hook Bokuto with an accusatory glare. He responds silently with an expression like a hurt puppy, his face reading, ‘what? What did I do wrong??’

“You said the groceries were on the floor!” Your voice is just barely a whisper, and based on Bokuto’s continued distress, you can tell he can’t hear you. You fight back a loud sigh, and tip-toe over to him, yanking his shoulder down so that his ear is on level with your lips. You repeat yourself, and Bokuto straightens up, understanding now.

“They’re upstairs! Next to those guys, in Asahi’s room.” He whispers back, and your heart sinks even lower. This is going to be riskier than you thought. You can practically feel Kuroo’s ‘I-told-you-so,’ hanging in the air, and upon glaring at the tall boy, it’s painted all over his face, too. You jerk your nose in the air, absolutely refusing to pussy out now.

The three of you cautiously ascend the stairs-- they’re on the left, as opposed to the right, like in your home, and it sort of trips you out how similar but different the two houses are. At the top, Kuroo passes you and nods to the door at the end of the hallway, slightly ajar with snores emanating from the inside. You suck in a breath as you follow him, and jump a little as Bokuto grips your hand without warning. You whip around to face him, and he gives you a smile and a thumbs-up. That just warms your heart, and you feel a little bit of confidence from the exchange-- you nod to him, a brave smile pulling at your lips.

The room itself is pretty average, just like any other high school boy’s room you knew. There’s a few volleyball posters on the walls, and clothes are still spilling out of the hamper. You’re getting less and less shocked at how everything seems to be frozen in time, since everyone just disappears without a trace, these days.

Sure enough, there’s a handgun resting on the floor next to the red-head, and another similar one resting on the bedside table by the brunette. The sight of actual guns sitting before you is jarring, to say the least— you don’t feel particularly confident about your hammer anymore.

The taller brunette is sound asleep on the bed, and the red-head is slumped on the floor, sitting against the desk with his head drooping down. You swear you can see a bit of drool hanging from his mouth, but your sole focus is on the three bags resting against the closet doors.

That’s your stuff-- you share a glance with Kuroo and Bokuto, take a deep breath, and cautiously tip-toe to the bags, picking them up as quietly as possible. As you straighten up, you keep your gaze trained on the red-head, and you successfully retreat outside of the room-- Kuroo and Bokuto follow behind you with bated breath, but it’s when you start to carefully descend the stairs that shit hits the fan.

In an instant, a bullet ricochets off the wall in front of you, and you duck down, effectively losing your footing to end up tumbling down the stairs. You hear Kuroo shout your name from above, but once you’re on solid ground, you spring up to your feet, and are met with Bokuto crashing into you. He barrels into you, and you tumble to the floor once again, landing on your back with Bokuto sprawled out on top of you.

“Get-- get off me, you fuckn-- mammoth!” You wheeze out, and Bokuto scrambles to his feet. After scooping up your groceries (with the exception of a few wayward items spilling out in the midst of the crash), you are pulled up by Bokuto, and Kuroo swiftly passes you, a slew of “shitshitshit”s running from his mouth as he sprints out the door.

You don’t have time to look behind you, up at the stairs where the red-head scrambles after you three, frantically cocking his gun, clearly very inexperienced in the art of shooting. Instead, you race after your even more athletic friends towards your van, which is still running and not stolen-- another thing Kuroo was right about, you think somewhere in the back of your mind.

Speaking of, the dark-haired boy rips open the backseat door, and after he tosses his bag of groceries inside, he frantically turns back to you just as you’re sprinting up to him.

You’re maybe two feet away when strong arms wrap around your middle, halting you in your panicked sprint, and your grocery bag tumbles out of your arms in front of you. Furious, you twist around in the grasp of whoever is holding you, only to come face-to-face with the red-head.

“You!” You both exclaim at the same time, and the guy narrows his eyes dangerously. You don’t have the patience to find out what sort of masochistic shit he has in plan for you-- instead, you summon all of the strength and frustration that’s been building up inside of you the past few days, and deliver the strongest punch you’ve ever dealt straight into his nose.

For some reason, you screech, “Fuck outta here!” as you deal the blow.

He yelps in surprise, and tumbles back, which gives you enough freedom to spin out of his grasp, only to be caught in Bokuto’s arms as you reach for your groceries strewn on the asphalt.

You’re lifted off your feet, groceries still strewn on the damp street, as Bokuto hurls you into the backseat of the car, slams the door closed, and leaps over the hood of the car to slip into the driver’s seat. Kuroo isn’t in the passenger seat, you realize, and your gaze darts out your window to spot him rushing back, scooping up your groceries to toss them into the open passenger door, where they tumble onto the floor of your car.

“Kuroo!” Both you and Bokuto yell just as the red-head recovers, his hand clasped over his now bleeding nose, blood trickling through his fingers and down his chin to stain his already filthy white shirt. The red-head raises the gun to Kuroo, who freezes in fear-- you scream, and just as you are about to shove your door back open to help, the red-head pulls the trigger, only to be met with an empty click!

“Fuck!” The red-head yells, and Kuroo actually laughs in his face-- if that wasn’t surprising enough, he slaps the gun out of his hand before he has a chance to reload, and promptly punches him, certainly harder than you had, and your face splits-- miraculously-- into a smile.

Kuroo turns, and dashes inside of the car-- as soon as his ass hits the seat, Bokuto slams his foot onto the gas as Kuroo hauls his door closed.

Bullets shatter the windows in the very back a second later, and all three of you scream and duck down as glass rains down behind you. Bokuto swerves the car, but keeps speeding ahead nonetheless, and you turn around to see the tall brunette, standing proudly in the street, gun raised and smoking. It looks like a shot out of a movie, with your shattered back window as the frame that keeps zooming out. The red-head is just barely beginning to stand, and they get smaller and smaller as you drive further away-- from your home, your biggest fears, your childhood. It’s all ruined, disappearing with every house you pass, and eventually Bokuto swerves around a corner, and it’s gone forever.

[-]

The brunette slowly lowers his gun, and lets out a disappointed sigh. The rain starts up again, drizzling on the two boys left behind in the car’s exhaust.

“Tendou,” He begins in his deep voice, which so rarely gets used to deliver pleasantries.

“I know, I know,” The red-head says, his voice blocked off slightly from his grip on his bleeding nose. “I should’ve been on watch. Sorry, Ushijima, but I’m fucking exhausted.”

“Our food is gone. Now we have to find more, and we are back in the same situation we were in three days ago.” Ushijima says evenly, and Tendou can hardly believe this is the same man that’s been starving with him for the past few days. He’s still so calm and collected-- well, he is a natural-born leader, he supposes.

“Relax. We can find them again, and take all our shit back. I’m sure they have a cute little hiding place somewhere with even more food for us. Shouldn’t be too hard to find.” Tendou assures, smiling his same unsettling smile he’s had since elementary school. Ushijima isn’t put off by it, though-- he never is.

He stays unbothered as he shakes his head.

“No. I’m tired of chasing after them. Let’s look around these houses, and then we’ll look for more grocery stores.” Ushijima says decisively, and picks up Tendou’s gun to hand over to him nicely. “You need to remember to keep this loaded, especially right now when there’s crazy people after us.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Tendou begrudgingly takes the gun from his friend with a sigh. “Not my fault I didn’t grow up knowing how to shoot a target from miles away.”

“I can only shoot a target with extreme accuracy when it’s about ten or maybe even twenty feet away.” Ushijima responds, confused as to why Tendou would give him so much credit when it comes to shooting. He pauses, then asks, “Are you alright?”

Tendou blinks, a little surprised at Ushijima’s sudden caring tone. “Yeah, I just need a towel or something-- it should stop bleeding soon.”

Ushijima nods, and pats him on the shoulder. “Let’s find some bandages, and then we’ll look for food.”

Tendou nods as he follows Ushijima back inside the house.

“Kyotani’s gonna be pissed…” He mutters under his breath.

[-]

“Ho-holy shit!” Bokuto yells, swerving around another corner without letting up on the gas.

“I know!!” You exclaim as you sway in your seat, the adrenaline just now beginning to ebb away. Your hands are shaking, but you’ve never felt more empowered. “I literally punched a guy in the face!!” You laugh, and pinch your cheeks to make sure this is real.

Kuroo laughs with you, wiping sweat off his brow, and turns around to look at you with that grin of his.

“‘Fuck outta here’? When did you become an action hero?” He teases, and you giggle, tossing your hair over your shoulder playfully.

“I guess I’m just that bitch.” You declare, and Bokuto laughs boisterously from the front seat.

The rest of the ride goes smoothly as the three of you shake out the rest of your jitters from earlier. It turns out, this is the safest and most at ease you’ve felt since the quarantine started two months ago-- Kuroo and Bokuto are some of the nicest guys you’ve ever met. You sort of can’t believe your luck; if you hadn’t run into them at the grocery store, who knows where you’d be right now?

A dopey, happy smile stays on your features the whole rest of the way back to the gym. Even though it’s started raining again, you feel on top of the world as you gaze at your two newfound friends in the front seat.

“I know I’m sexy, but you don’t gotta keep staring.” Kuroo pulls you out of your little daydream with his teasing, and you roll your eyes, but don’t stop smiling.

“Thanks, you guys. Seriously.” You say sincerely. Bokuto looks into the rearview mirror to give you another one of his heart-melting smiles.

“Ehh, don’t mention it.” Kuroo rubs the back of his neck as Bokuto turns onto a dirt road you don’t recognize.

“Uhhh… Bokuto? Where ya goin, bud?” You ask.

“Shortcut!” Bokuto declares proudly. “This side street cuts through all that traffic on the main streets.”

“Nice!” Kuroo praises, then snickers. “Except there’s no traffic right now, dude.”

“Oh.” Bokuto blinks, and blushes. “Sorry, um… force of habit?”

It actually tears your heart in two just seeing Bokuto even slightly deflated, so you leap to comfort him.

“No, don’t worry!” You lean forward, wrapping your arms over his shoulder to hug him from behind. “It’s the scenic route!”

Bokuto blushes even deeper, but his spirits are definitely lifted as he presses on. Trees drape over the unfamiliar road, and you pass by lots of beautiful shrubs and grassy areas which have only grown larger since the huge absence of people. You sit up quickly as a blue Toyota comes into view-- you’d recognize that stupid Death Star foam antenna tip anywhere. As Bokuto drives closer and closer, you have no doubt in your mind that that’s your father’s car just up ahead, the front completely crashed into a large oak tree.

“Stop! Stop,” You exclaim, but don’t wait for Bokuto to do as he’s told as you rush out of the car. Luckily, he was already slowing down as you tumble out, much to the displeasure of the boys inside the car.

You don’t quite feel your legs as dread and worry settles over you the closer you walk to the car. Had your dad been killed in a crash? Was he injured, and didn’t have the strength to call for help, and then died when you didn’t come looking for him? You cover your mouth as you feel tears prick your eyes as all sorts of terrible thoughts and scenarios overwhelm your brain, but when you finally reach the driver’s seat, you’re met with nothing.

There’s no blood stains, only a now-deflated airbag, and you notice that the seatbelt is still clicked into place. A chill goes up your spine-- it’s as if your dad just… disappeared.

“Yo, what’s going on?” Kuroo’s voice coming up behind you snaps you out of your little trance, and you turn to Kuroo and Bokuto in distress. They frown at your expression, and you can’t help the sniffle that escapes you.

“This is, um… this is my dad’s car.” You say, and your voice is so small. Kuroo and Bokuto exchange a glance, unsure of what to say. You don’t expect them to have any words of comfort, anyway-- you’ve all lost those closest to you, so you’re all familiar with this feeling but… seeing your dad’s car, how it’s crashed in such a peculiar way with zero trace of your dad ever being there… it hurts so much more when you don’t even have a body to bury, or ashes to hold onto.

You bite your lip, and open the driver’s side door to flip the sun visor down, revealing a picture of you, your dad, and your mom on vacation, clipped in place next to the mirror. With a sad smile, you gingerly take the photo, and run your fingers over the faces of your mom and dad.

A warm hand rests on your shoulder, and you look up with teary eyes to meet Bokuto’s bright ones. He’s smiling, if only to comfort you.

“Let’s go.” He says gently, and you suck in a breath, and nod. The three of you pile back into the car, and you tuck the picture into your jacket’s inside pocket, placing your hand over it just to make sure it’s safe as Bokuto continues the drive back to the gym.

[shadyscroller2]

all depending

Tags: BBC Sherlock; minor character death, grief, hurt/comfort, bed-sharing, first kiss, fluff

Summary: When Mycroft suddenly passes away, Sherlock experiences heavy grief. John is there for him through thick and thin. After all, there’s no one way to deal with grief. It all depends on the person. It all depends.

READ ON AO3

It had all started on a bleak day, as it should have. It was raining for days, the quiet pattering on the roof loud and yet just soft enough to notice.

That was the only sound in the flat that day. The landlady, Mrs. Hudson, was being particularly quiet because she liked to read her novels on rainy days. Thus, there was no reason for her vaccuum to run, nor for her Spanish music to blast on her radio as she scrubbed the grime from her sink.

Then that's when the phone rang. It wasn't the house phone. It was Sherlock's cell phone, buried deep into his pocket, the ringer loud enough for John to hear across the room, where he was trying to type up their latest case on his blog. The sound was just shrill enough for John to lose his concentration, and he had stood up and crossed the room to tell Sherlock to get off the microscope answer it already.

"I'm busy," Sherlock said, even though John hadn't said anything yet. "Can you get it for me?"

John huffed, rolling his eyes, but he obliged the man anyway. He reached into the pocket of Sherlock's dressing gown, and pulled out his ringing cell phone.

Then John pressed answer.

"Hello?" John asked.

"Hello. Is this Sherlock Holmes?" the person on the other end asked. A monotone voice. Matter-of-fact. Business-like.

"No, this is Doctor John Watson," he said. "Can I take a message?"

The next few seconds were filled with absolute dread, like something had reached in and clenched the guts of John's stomach so hard that he nearly doubled over. The blood rushed in his ears, flowing from his face and leaving it white as a sheet.

John's mouth fell open. His throat felt dangerously dry, but he still somehow found the strength to reply.

"Oh, oh my God," John said. His voice was hoarse. "Thank you. Right. I'll pass on the message. Thank you."

Sherlock had heard the tone of John's voice, and he looked up from his microscope as John hung up the phone. John's hand was shaking, and his forehead slightly sweaty. Face deathly pale. Something was definitely wrong.

"What is it?" Sherlock asked, and even he was unable to keep the concern out of his voice. "What's wrong?"

John couldn't answer. He looked at Sherlock. Furled his lips. How was he supposed to tell him what the call was about?

"John, please tell me," Sherlock said, halfway out of his seat. "You're worrying me."

John swallowed hard. Best to just get it out, then.

"It's Mycroft, Sherlock," John whispered. "He's dead."

John never knew where the call had come from, and he didn't want to know. It could have come from Mycroft's office, a business associate, or even from the Prime Minister. He didn't care. But from what the other person on the other side had gathered, Mycroft had been on his way to meet with the leader of a distant land, and it was a trap. A missile had been launched as soon as Mycroft's plane was approaching. It was too late to stop it. There was nothing that they could do.

The funeral was small and quaint, just like Mycroft would have wanted it, probably. He loved to act like he was drawn to things with style, but it was also no secret that he would not want any attention or for people to mourn for him when he was gone. That was just Mycroft's way.

Mr. and Mrs. Holmes sat in the front row, their mouths drawn tight, with Mrs. Holmes sobbing loudly into her handkerchief. Mr. Holmes held his wife tightly, with only a hint of a tear gathering in the corner of his sorrowful eyes. Sherlock sat with them, and he looked like a statue, his face completely impassive. But John knew better.

When John had told Sherlock the news in the flat, standing above the kitchen table, Sherlock did not speak for a total of three and a half minutes. Sherlock had been calculating, thinking, trying to will his internal walls to remain upright, trying to find the most logical response to such news.

But in the end, it hadn't worked.

Sherlock's screams had echoed off of the walls, thundering in John's ears, as John had wrapped his arms around Sherlock to keep him from falling out of his chair. It sounded like Sherlock had been shot, like his heart had been ripped out of his chest and smushed until all that had been left of it was a red smear on the wooden floor.

Mrs. Hudson had run up the stairs, bursting the door open, and looked at the scene before her with utter shock and confusion. Sherlock was clutching onto John like he was a heartline, long fingers digging into John's back as he struggled to remain upright. Sherlock couldn't speak, sinking deeper and deeper to the floor with John just trying to hold him and to soothe him. Eventually, Mrs. Hudson left them alone, demanding an explanation to be told to her when they were both decent.

Now Mrs. Hudson sat on Sherlock's right side in the church pew, her small hand gently holding Sherlock's, and her other hand dabbing at her eyes. Sherlock made no move to hold her hand, to reciprocate. It was like he was the one that was dead.

Few people gave eulogies. Business people, professional coworkers, those who had admired the long hours and admirable work Mycroft always put in. The priest simply spoke his way through the service, using that grating yet also calming voice when speaking to the small crowd that had gathered.

After the service, John led Sherlock out of the church, his hand clutching the other man's arm, knowing that Sherlock wouldn't want to stick around for refreshments. They breezed past Lestrade and Molly and Mrs. Hudson, and John gave a comforting hug to both of Sherlock's parents. Sherlock simply stood by like a spectre, emptily accepting hugs and sympathies from friends and family.

That night, Sherlock still had not talked. He had not eaten. He had not slept in days. John had sat next to him on the couch, and he had looked at him intently, trying to look at Sherlock in the eye.

"You need to eat, Sherlock," John said. "You need to sleep. Please."

Sherlock's eyes ticked up to meet John's. They held his gaze for what felt ages. But this time, Sherlock's gaze held no heat, none of the intensity that was usually there when John and Sherlock's eyes met. Now there was just emptiness.

John took the spoon from the soup that he had placed in front of Sherlock, and held it out to him.

"Eat," John said, and he wasn't asking. "Now."

Sherlock looked down at the spoon, then back at John's eyes. Slowly, his mouth opened, asking to be fed.

John fed him the whole bowl, and none of them said a word the entire time. It was almost intimate, to have John feed Sherlock constantly, never breaking eye contact, holding the spoon to Sherlock's lips until Sherlock had licked all of the soup from the metal.

Once Sherlock had eaten it all, John put down the bowl, and he carefully placed a hand on Sherlock's back, looking to meet him in the eyes.

"Hey," John said softly, gazing at him. "You know I'm always here for you, right?"

Sherlock looked down at his feet. Nodded slowly.

"Good," John said. "Because I can't imagine what you're going through now. I really can't. I mean, if I had lost Harry...I don't know what I would have done."

Sherlock didn't respond. He didn't even nod his head this time. He just stared down at the ground, his face set like a stone, eyes still completely empty.

"Anyway," John said after a moment. "You can. Um. Talk. If you'd like. I-I wouldn't be against the idea. Like I said, I'm here for you. So. If you have anything you want to say..."

John knew that Sherlock wasn't going to talk, but he had to make it clear that he could. John looked at Sherlock, who was still looking down at the floor.

After a moment, John patted Sherlock on the knee softly, rubbing his tumb across the other man's kneecap.

"Goodnight, Sherlock," John finally said, and he stood up from the couch, and went to bed.

It rained for a solid two weeks, and John was sure that this was the longest stint of rainfall ever to happen in London.

Cases did not come. Lestrade did not call, did not text. Mrs. Hudson came up every ten minutes to check on them, bringing tea on a tray, and she always stayed to talk about the latest gossip from her book club. It had occurred to John long ago that she was giving Sherlock the gift of stable constancy. To let him know something will always remain the same.

Sherlock didn't speak much, and when he did, it was to yell at the telly or when he was talking to himself when working with his experiments. But almost always, John would find him sitting still in his armchair, staring straight ahead as if trying to study something plastered on the wall.

John had dealt with many cases of grief over the years. Many who had just lost a loved one would choose to push their emotion down and remain strong, or some would automatically seek and accept comfort from their friends and family. But to tell the truth, there was no one way to deal with grief. There was no specific way one would show their sadness or sorrow. It was all different, like a variety of emotions, each of them none the same from the other.

But John had never seen a case like this, where Sherlock wouldn't talk, wouldn't eat, wouldn't sleep. This behavior would be regular for Sherlock, if he was working on a case. But he wasn't. He wasn't doing anything. There was something going on in his mind, something profound, and John had no fucking clue what it was.

That night, John sat with Sherlock on the couch and watched a James Bond movie, with John snacking on popcorn while Sherlock sat straight up the entire time, face completely straight. John said nothing about it.

Then that was when it happened. A nerve-wracking sob shook Sherlock's body, bending him over at the stomach, and Sherlock cried out in agony, nearly falling from the couch. John immediately reached out and caught him in his arms, pulling Sherlock close to his body. With his free hand, John muted the movie, and he tugged Sherlock close to his chest.

Sherlock cried and sobbed and sniveled, and it was unlike anything John had ever seen Sherlock do. It had been so sudden, like a dam breaking, the floodwaters bursting out from the walls and taking everything in its path.

John rubbed Sherlock's back soothingly, thinking that he had no clue what he was doing. Was he really helping Sherlock? Was anything that he was doing helpful at all? Or worse, was John only making it worse?

Sherlock clawed at John's shirt, trying to seek grounding, and John gave it to him, resting his chin in Sherlock's curls. Doubting himself be damned, John was going to do the best he could.

It felt like hours, but Sherlock finally quieted down. John got up, and got Sherlock a roll of tissues. Without saying a word, Sherlock blew his nose, and he wiped away his tears.

"Are you all right?" John asked, but he knew the answer. Sherlock was not all right. His brother was dead.

But nonetheless, Sherlock nodded. It was slow, soft. It was obvious that Sherlock didn't believe it.

John leaned his head down, touching his forehead to Sherlock's. "I'm not going to leave you," John said softly. "I'm here, Sherlock. Please, talk to me. Okay? Just talk to me. I'm not going to leave you. I'm going to stay right here. I'll sleep here next to you if I need to. Okay? You understand me? I need you to say you understand."

Sherlock didn't make a sound. His head was leaning against John's shoulder, his eyes staring out to the other wall. Then, "I understand, John."

John nodded. He rubbed his hand up and down Sherlock's arm. "Okay," he said. "Okay."

Weeks later, on another rainy night, John was sleeping in his bed when he was woken up with the soft creak of his door.

Light streamed in, spreading across the floor, and into John's eyes. John blinked blearily, and he looked up to see who was at his bedroom door.

Sherlock's unmistakable figure was standing at the doorway, slouched, exhausted. John knew Sherlock hadn't slept in weeks, and when he did, Sherlock would have nightmares and scream out so loudly that he'd wake up Mrs. Hudson and John.

"I couldn't sleep," Sherlock droned, a statement said as if Sherlock knew John had already guessed. "Can I come in?"

John was already wide awake. "Please," John said. "God Sherlock. You look terrible."

If it had been any other time, Sherlock would have likely responded with a smart-ass comment like, Well I see your charm still has not left you. Or Do shut up.

Not this time.

Sherlock climbed into John's bed, pulling the covers over his body, and it was like they had done this many times before. And while John would have loved to think that after all of this time pining after his flatmate, he had finally gotten Sherlock into his bed, John knew that this was simply not the time.

Sherlock laid still, straight, very obviously making sure not to make physical contact with John. Sherlock seemed to know that he was crossing some sort of line between them, something that neither of them had ever the courage to do. So it was not a surprise that Sherlock was being so very careful not to compromise their dynamic that they had worked so hard to make.

John and Sherlock didn't speak or talk. There was nothing to be said, nothing to be done. John was almost convinced that Sherlock had just come up here so he wouldn't be alone tonight. Completely understandable.

Minutes passed. John was starting to drift off again. But then Sherlock spoke.

"I have dreams about him," Sherlock said, and John knew he meant Mycroft. It didn't have to be said. "Times back to when we were children. I would be running across the river, looking at the fish, and Mycroft would be telling me not to fall in. Then I would fall in anyway, and Mycroft would have to jump in after me and save me."

"He sounds like a caring brother," John said softly.

Silence followed. Sherlock didn't respond. He was thinking.

"Then sometimes I see Mycroft, and he's playing with me and teaching me his mathematics that he'd be learning in school," Sherlock said. "It was a game that we'd play. I would see if I could learn a lesson before he did. Sometimes I would be able to. Most times I wasn't. Mycroft would always be there to teach me."

John didn't say anything this time. He waited for Sherlock to say his piece.

"Then when I overdosed for the first time," Sherlock said, and his voice cracked. He cleared his throat. "When I overdosed, Mycroft was there first. In the drug den. He dragged me out, took me to the hospital. Paid for everything. Didn't ask for anything in return. And do you know what I said to him then, John?"

John turned his head just slightly, looking at Sherlock's face in the dark. It was contorted. Tear-stained.

"I told him to piss off," Sherlock choked out, and he inhaled sharply. "That I didn't need him. But he was just...he was just trying to help me. He always...always did. And I...and I...I told him to go away. I pushed him away, John. I always pushed my big brother away, and now it's too late for me to tell him that I'm sorry."

Tears were streaming down Sherlock's face, and he was sniveling again. John considered reaching out again. But he let Sherlock cry. Let him get it out.

"I-I-I-I..." Sherlock stammered, crying, choking on tears. "I'm so so sorry..."

Sherlock's body was shaking now, his deep voice broken, his hair frizzled. John didn't know what to do. What could he do? How could he possibly help?

"Oh, Sherlock," John said softly. "Oh, I'm so sorry."

Sherlock didn't respond. He cried softly, broken sobs in his throat, his body wracking itself. It was like he was having a small seizure.

John turned his body. Wrapped his arms around Sherlock's torso. Lifted Sherlock up so that he was in a seated position on the bed. Tears had stained the pillow that Sherlock had been lying on, and John reached across the bed to get the tissues. He gave them to Sherlock, placing them in his hand. Sherlock blew his nose.

"Please tell me how I can help you," John said, because he had no idea. Sherlock Holmes is not like most people. Or is he, really? Sherlock is human, that much is clear. Was his case similar to what John was used to? Or was Sherlock a completely different specimen altogther? It was difficult to tell.

Sherlock looked up into John's eyes, bloodshot red, his beautful colorful orbs clouded by sadness and tears and mourning.

"Just..." Sherlock said, murmuring, making it difficult for John to hear. "Just stay. With me. Please."

John wrapped his arms around Sherlock's body. "Always, Sherlock." John said, whispering. "Always. I'm not going anywhere.”

They woke up the next morning in John's bed, with Sherlock entangled with John's body, and his head leaning against John's shoulder. None of them said a word about it. None of them mentioned that for the first time since Mycroft's death, Sherlock had been able to get more than an hour's rest.

Grief did not go away overnight. John knew that. It took time, a lot of time, sometimes years. Sometimes therapy. And everybody handled it differently. John should know. He went through it when he had thought Sherlock had died. After he had jumped off of Bart's. There wasn't one way to go through with it. There was no one path of healing.

But sleeping next to another human body had been comforting to Sherlock. That much was clear. And it helped him, immensely. It was stable, and it was safe. Sherlock needed that.

So from then on, they never slept in separate beds again.

At the end of each day, it was already a given that they would be sharing a bed. Neither of them brought it up. Neither of them made a fuss. Neither of them questioned it.

Nothing was said about it when a week passed and Sherlock's things were moved into John's room, his sock index mixing in with John's and his dressing gowns hung on a hanger above the door. It was not mentioned when John went out and bought a larger comforter so they wouldn't have to hog the sheets all night. It was something that just went without saying. Don't bring it up.

Every morning, John woke up with Sherlock in his arms, his hand placed at the small of the other man's back, and the other hand buried in Sherlock's curls. Sherlock would wake up seconds after John, and every morning they would lie and look at each other, staring at each other, before one of them would move and that would be the end of it.

Sherlock still did not take cases. But he was talking again. Lestrade came over in the afternoons to check up on him, bringing folders of cold cases that had been sitting on his desk for ages. Sherlock always accepted them, and then left them in the corner to collect dust for the next few days. Every time Lestrade would come around, John would pull him aside, and thank him for coming to check up on Sherlock.

Lestrade would always wave his hand, and say, "I just want him to feel better."

"Me too," John would reply.

"We care about the bastard more than we should."

"Yeah. I know."

"He'll be all right, won't he?"

"He will. He just needs time, I think."

"God. I can't imagine. Losing a brother like that."

"I know. Yeah."

"I hope you'll take care of him, John. There's not a doubt in my mind that you will."

"You know me. I'll always be here."

Then Lestrade would pat John on the shoulder, give him a wave, and he'd be on his way.

Weeks passed. Sherlock was getting better. Slowly. Surely. Definitively.

Then two months had passed since Mycroft had died. Sherlock finally picked up a cold case folder, flipped it open, and stared reading. Then in the next second, Sherlock closed it. Tossed it aside. Well. Progress was progress.

The next day, Sherlock opened the folder again. Read through it again. Made it to fifteen minutes before flipping it shut. He took notes on what he noticed.

Then the day after that, Sherlock would make himself a piece of toast, a cup of tea, and sat down once more. He solved the case in two minutes after that. Then he opened up another folder.

Since Mycroft had died, Sherlock had picked up his violin a total of five times. He would often scratch out harsh notes from the strings, sometimes sharp enough to leave John's ears ringing. Nobody stopped him, though. How could they?

Then there were times, in the dead of night, when Sherlock would be at the window and looking out over the city of London, and he would play a melancholy tune that would nearly bring John close to tears. It was one of the rare times that John was able to get a glimpse at what Sherlock would be feeling.

"I owe you a sincere apology, John," Sherlock said one night when he was pressed against John in the dark, snuggled up against him, and ready to fall asleep. "One that's long overdue."

"Mm, really?" John asked. "What is it?"

"I'm so sorry," Sherlock said. "About faking my death. Making you believe that I was gone. I...I know what it's like. Now. To mourn."

Yeah, well, I'm in love with you, so that makes our circumstances a bit different. John thought, but didn't dare say that out loud. That would qualify as insensitive. A Bit Not Good. Not to mention much too revealing.

"I can't imagine what you must have felt," Sherlock said, and he sounded sincere. "To believe that I was dead. That I wasn't coming back. That I was really gone, and everything that might have been said wasn't said, and now it was too late."

John knew Sherlock was speaking out of personal experience, but John could still feel a stab of pain in his chest as Sherlock spoke. Because it was all true. John very nearly died during those two years. If it hadn't been for Mary...

No. Best not think about her now. Her, or her child that had turned out to be an elaborate lie to keep John engaged to her until marriage, and she would be able to steal everything they owned. Luckily, John had found out before it was too late. Imagine what would have happened if they had actually been married. God, the horror.

But now it was over. Now John was here with Sherlock in his arms. And while they were not together formally, while they hadn't kissed or shagged, the feeling was there. John knew it, and he knew Sherlock knew it, too.

Sleeping in the same bed was not the orthodox way of friendship, and John understood that. He knew that his and Sherlock's relationship was special, one that no one else had with anyone. It was difficult to qualify them as anything. Even from the moment they met, they meant more to each other than what was normal for friends. For anyone.

Sherlock cleared his throat now, as if preparing to speak some more.

"I missed you," Sherlock whispered into the dark, and John's heart skipped a beat. "Through those two years. I missed you. I really did. It was like I wasn't home. And the feeling was...unpleasant to say the least."

John gulped. Wrapped his arm tighter around Sherlock.

"I missed you, too, Sherlock," John replied, murmuring. "More than you'll ever know."

"I know," Sherlock said, then turned over, and fell asleep. And that was the end of it.

The next morning, around two and a half months after Mycroft's death, John and Sherlock were both up early. They walked around London together, watching the sunrise over the buildings and into the sky. The bright orange and pinks mixing into the blue was enthralling. Beautful.

They walked to the cemetary, just because they could. John stopped at a vendor and bought flowers to lay on the gravestone, carrying them the entire way.

Neither John or Sherlock talked about their converstation, their revealing I missed yous that were uttered in the night air. It might have been a love confession. It might not have been. John had a feeling they'd never really know what it was.

When they got to Mycroft's gravestone, Sherlock laid a hand on Mycroft's etched name, tracing his fingers across the M. Then the Y, all the way to the S in Holmes.

John watched as Sherlock knelt down in the grass, placing the flowers on the ground, and ran his fingers again over Mycroft's birthdate, and then the date of his death.

The dash between the birth and death date struck John like a knife more than anything. It was Mycroft's entire life, shortened down to just one line. It was almost poetic how meaningful Mycroft had somehow made that one little dash. That one little dash that represented Mycroft's years of life.

John was so caught up in his thoughts that he almost didn't hear Sherlock speak.

"Why," Sherlock said. He wasn't talking to John. He was talking to Mycroft. "Why the hell did you get on that plane?"

John's heart ached. Sherlock's body shook slightly, and it almost looked like Sherlock was merely cold.

"You didn't have to die, you know," Sherlock said. His voice was not weak. It was strong. Sherlock was angry. "You didn't have to leave me. You didn't have to...you were the strong one, Mycroft! Always the strong one. Why didn't you think to check for any bombs or missiles? Why didn't your plane detect it in time? You're posh, you're a Holmes! How could you have been so stupid?!"

"Sherlock..." John said softly. "Sherlock, please." But Sherlock ignored him.

"You had enough money to have the best sensors in the whole of the United Kingdom," Sherlock hissed. "You knew...you could have saved yourself, if you hadn't been so...so stupid. So stupid, I can't believe you were so stupid."

John laid a hand on Sherlock's shoulder, but Sherlock didn't relax. He stared at Mycroft's name with burning anger.

"You didn't have to be on that plane," Sherlock hissed, eyes wet. "You could have been..been..alive. You would be here. Being my...insufferable big brother who teases me, and deduces with me. My big brother who knows everything, who's smarter than me. Well you're gone now. Who do you think could possibly replace your pompous posh arseface who has me followed? Nobody. That's who. And now look where you are. Six feet into the bloody ground. You arent' alive. And I wish...I wish that you were."

John furled his fists. Sherlock's knees collapsed to the ground. There was not a tear on his face.

"I wish you were alive," Sherlock whispered finally. Then he stood up. Looked down at the gravestone. He didn't move again.

John looked up at him, studying his face. Sherlock just stared emptily at the stone. At his brother's name and deathdate and the dash.

Sherlock inhaled then. Softly. "I'm ready to leave now," he eventually said. He looked down at John. Met his eyes. "Let's go. I think I need...a coffee."

"Are you all right?" John asked.

"I'm fine," Sherlock said. He sighed. "I need a coffee. Maybe a biscuit."

John nodded. "Right. Me too," John said. "It's getting pretty cold out, actually."

Sherlock nodded back. John glanced down at his feet. "We can come here again whenever you want to," John said. "Anytime."

Sherlock nodded again. "I know," he said. And then they walked to Speedy's for coffee and a biscuit.

John could remember Mycroft. He could remember their first meeting, with Mycroft leaning on his umbrella and assesssing John like he was a fascinating science experiment. Like John was the bacteria and Mycroft was the scientist.

John could remember Mycroft scolding his brother in Buckingham Palace for wearing nothing but a sheet. And while John was mostly checking out Sherlock's bare arse nearly the whole time, he can still remember the firmness of the Mycroft's voice. The brotherly, and also motherly and fatherly tone that Mycroft had used.

Mycroft was Sherlock's caretaker. He had been, ever since they were children. That much was true and obvious.

John didn't know the reasoning behind why Mycroft always was the one to take care of his younger brother. Maybe their parents weren't around much. It would make sense. Sherlock mentioned once that his mother was a mathematician, and his father must have been something important as well.

Mycroft had to play Mother, Father, and Brother all at the same time. And Sherlock had grown used to it. It was always Mycroft who would dry Sherlock's tears after the bullies at school had been particularly mean to him, and it was always Mycroft that would remind Sherlock that caring is not an advantage when Sherlock was betrayed by a friend.

It was always Mycroft. Always him. The one who cared so deeply from the beginning, and the one who had stuck with Sherlock since before Sherlock even knew how to walk.

So yes. Of course. It made sense why Sherlock would miss his brother. It made sense, also, why Sherlock was extremely dumbfounded by his brother's death. His strong brother, taken down by something that no one had any control of. His brother, who could cover up a mishap in a second, who could track anything using only a computer, who seemed to take control of any room simply by waving his umbrella around.

How could he be dead?

It was the first sunny day in a long while. It was bright, and for once, there was something to be happy about.

John had been let off early from the surgery where he worked, and he was on his way home. He had gotten the shopping done, and he was going to cook Sherlock a nice meal. Maybe Sherlock would eat it. Maybe not. Who really knows with him, anyhow.

John opened the door, and he put the groceries on the table. He took everything out. Put them on the counter.

"Sherlock," John called, and only silence responded to him. "Come on out. I'm making your favorite. You can start a movie if you'd like."

Silence. John rolled his eyes.

"Well if you're not hungry, you can just say so," John said. Still nothing. "Or if you want me to make something else, that's fine, too. Just let me know."

Nothing.

John looked around. Now he was confused. "Sherlock? Are you here?"

John walked around the apartment. Checked his room. Checked the bathroom. No sign of Sherlock.

Then John eyed Sherlock's room. The door was closed. As it always was.

"Sherlock?" John called. He walked to Sherlock's door. He opened it.

It was a mess in there, with papers strewn all over the floor and old cases nailed to the wall. John walked forward, but something cracked beneath his foot. A glass syringe.

An empty syringe.

Recently used.

Oh Christ.

John looked up, and for the first time, he saw legs sticking out from behind the bed, still and unmoving.

Sherlock.

Oh, God.

"Sherlock," John breathed, and he rushed over, bent down, and John was checking his pulse, checking his pupils to see if they'd dilate. "Oh God Sherlock, what... please tell me you can hear me."

Sherlock stirred. Groaned. He needed to get to a hospital.

John pulled out his cell phone. Dialled 999.

"Please, I need an ambulance at 221B Baker Street," said John, his heart pounding. "My flatmate's overdosed. I-I don't know how long he's been out. My name is Doctor John Watson."

It took eight minutes for the ambulance to arrive. John sat in the back with Sherlock as he was wheeled into the bus. John clenched at his hand. Turned over his arm.

Oh God.

All up and down his wrist, there were dots where the syringe had entered. Over and over again. Some old, some new.

For all John knew, Sherlock had been doing this for months.

"Sherlock, please hang in there, please," John said, and he begged, pleaded.

The entire thing was like a dream. They wheeled Sherlock into a room to have his stomach pumped. To get it out of his system. To get him rest. It was all a blur, and John had no idea what to do or what to think.

Somewhere in the back of John's mind, he had hoped that Sherlock was getting better.

Time passed. Hours. Maybe days. All that John knew was that he was not leaving.

John didn't know what happened. But then the doctors came out, and they said that John could see him.

Sherlock was awake when John went into the room. His eyes averted away from John's. Shameful. Tired. Sorrowful.

"I'm sorry, John," Sherlock whispered. "I-I...I don't know why I...I...I can't handle this..."

"Hey, Sherlock, look at me," John said, and walked up to Sherlock in the bed. Then he found that he had nothing to say. What could he say, really? How could he react?

Sherlock was mourning, yes. He must have felt it become too much. What he did was wrong. After all, how much justification can grief really give a person? Should John be mad? Probably. Should John be forgiving? Understanding? Maybe. It goes two different ways. It's difficult to tell.

John wants to tell Sherlock not to apologize. But he can't. John wants to tell Sherlock that it's all fine, and that it was his fault for leaving Sherlock alone. But he can't.

Sherlock is not a child. He's mourning the death of his brother. Just because Sherlock is mourning doesn't mean that he isn't capable of himself. Doesn't mean that Sherlock couldn't be left alone. Right? Oh Christ. This was all so complicated.

Sherlock was looking up at John, waiting for John to continue his sentence. John didn't know what to say. So he settled for, "I'll always be here for you."

And that seemed to be enough for now.

Once Sherlock was released from hospital, John took him back to the flat, and never left his side. John fed him from the spoon, then took naps with him in bed. John did everything that he possibly, humanly, could.

Sherlock flushed the rest of the drugs down the toilet. John didn't even have to tell him. Sherlock said that it had all been a slip-up. His brain had gotten the better of him. The thoughts had begun to come back. Sherlock had just wanted it to be quiet.

John took care of Sherlock over the next few weeks. They talked. They took it all slow. It was almost like it was normal again.

And every night, they would find comfort in each other's arms, an unspoken connection that was lifesaving. For both of them.

"This isn't what most friends do, Sherlock," John said just as they had settled into bed one night. Sherlock stirred in John's arms. Turned to look at him.

"What do most friends do, John?" Sherlock asked, and he looked up into John's eyes.

"I don't know," John responded. "They, well, sleep in separate beds, for one thing. And most friends don't know so much about each other."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, we know...stuff..about each other. Intimate stuff."

"Such as?"

"Like...like I know that you like to have your head rubbed every night before going to sleep. And you know that I always sleep on my side but I'll always wake up on my back."

"Well, John, we've been sleeping in the same bed for about four months now," Sherlock said. "That's all pretty understandable to me."

"Yeah, but Sherlock-"

"Does the closeness bother you?"

"No-"

"Because I could have sworn that you might like it."

"Sherlock-"

"Am I wrong?"

John looked at Sherlock, and for the first time, there was something there in Sherlock's eyes, something that John hadn't really seen before.

Intensity. Hope.

Desire.

John gulped.

"No," John said. "No, you're not wrong."

Then Sherlock closed the distance between them, and he kissed him, like it was nothing, and it felt so easy. Easier than it should have been.

John kissed back, almost lazily, but his heart was beating wildly, his pulse thrumming, and it was unlike anything he'd ever felt before.

Sherlock curled an arm around John's waist, pulling him closer. John plunged his hands into Sherlock's curls, nipping at his bottom lip, moaning when Sherlock licked at the underside of John's tongue.

They kissed for ages, well into the night. When they finally pulled away, they smiled. Turned over. Went to bed.

And that was the end of that.

There are five stages of grief.

Denial. Anger. Depression. Bargaining. Acceptance.

The teacher in John's Psych 101 had said that they could happen in any order. It all depended on the person. What their path of healing was. Sometimes Acceptance came first, and then Denial after that. Sometimes the griever went back a stage. It all depended.

John hadn't paid attention in class long enough to know how to identify the signs and stages of grief. He didn't know if Sherlock had gone through all of the stages in the past five months since Mycroft's death.

One thing was for sure. It took time. Grieving the loss of a loved one can be a painful process. Correction. It is a painful process. But John would like to think that because he was there, it was a little less painful for Sherlock.

Sherlock had started going on cases again. Just the other night, they had gone on a chase across the Thames, tracking down a petty theif with a gun. John engaged in a shooting match with him and won. John had missed the feeling of adrenaline in his veins. And when they got home, Sherlock had pinned John against the wall and snogged him breathless until John felt positively weak in the knees and Sherlock had to hold him up.

Sherlock was also starting to laugh again. It was the most beautiful sound in the world, and it was the best sight to see Sherlock smile. It was refreshing. It was nice.

And no matter what it was they were doing, both John and Sherlock made it a point to go to Mycroft's grave every Wednesday to change out the flowers. Sherlock always said a few words. Sometimes they were angry. Sometimes they were joking. Sometimes Sherlock just stuck with the words, "I miss you, you prat." It all depended.

Mr. and Mrs. Holmes have stopped by frequently as well. They seem to be doing fine, too. They have had their own friends in Sussex to care for them, and to talk to. It was obvious that they were still healing, though. And that's okay. They all were, after all.

Before Mr. and Mrs. Holmes would leave, they would always give Sherlock a long hug, telling him how much they love him. Sherlock hugged back, now. He'd always respond with, "Yes. I know." But that seemed to be enough.

Life went on, as it always seemed to do, regardless of what happened.

No matter what happened. Life moved on.

[d20-eggroll]

Revelry Arc Audio Masterpost

The Revelry Arc wrapped up in the session tonight! Mostly. Anything else is going to be taken care of in text/off-schedule snippets. I have two finale sessions to trim stuff from and the second half of the mummy story to finish so I will add those as they’re finished. I haven’t been keeping up with trimming games well like all year but at least I’ve got this arc.

The Revelry Begins - The party arrives at the shindig

The Lonstar - “This is the police! The joke’s too funny!” “I’M NOT GOING BACK TO JAIL-”

The Revelry Continues - Somehow we didn’t crash it in the first breath.

Monkey Dragon - Keydance likes climbing.

Day 2 of the Revelry Ends - Or completely crash it by the second day! It was temporary. We’re good. Except KD she’s freaking out a bit.

The Mummy’s Jinx Pt. 1 - So this shit happened and it wasn’t even the only time we ended up summoning something dangerous to this party. Pt. 2 is significantly longer, so still a WIP.

KD’s Parents Appear - And they’re SO EMBARRASSING, GEEZE.

Before Shit Got Real - Day 3 of the Revelry had some really upsetting stuff that happened but it had some laughs too.

Bad Delivery, Bad News - Revharr fucks shit up royally with KD’s mother. The rift this causes was a huge stumbling block.

The Medusa - KD meets her Mom’s ex-girlfriend

Apparently In Mourning - After taking Morgana’s scale from a fake Revharr KD goes about looking at resurrection options for her evil sister.

Keydance and the “Revharr” Fight - Minevera, disguised as Revharr, hits some serious nerves with KD and manages to take their existing fight and warp it in to full-blown SHE HATES HIM.

Backmouth Loudmouth - We spent the whole day trying to get stuff done. We also spent the whole day failing to get stuff done.

Keydance, Disaster Bi - Gawk at a pretty lady, suddenly feel self conscious about being so much older than your man.

She Wasn’t Far Off - Keydance puzzled out that Revharr isn’t Revharr, but finding the real one isn’t as big a relief as she hoped.

Keydance HATES Her - I am still absolutely convinced this bitch is Morgana too LMFAO

Pre-Theivin’ - At this point we were still thinking we had to steal the All Ray ourselves to protect it from Morgana Na-Ra’Ul’s forces.

The Blue Brothers - The Gleaming Streamers are KD’s old friends who are good lads in general.

Do you guys HAVE to be like this???? - NSFW trims from the day that would have been the heist.

Silly Shit - The SFW stuff from the same day

WHEN THE DM IS PROFICIENT IN PLAYING YOU LIKE A FIDDLE - The start of what happened instead of the heist. KD actually turned out to know Koho was Morgana and dragged her feet as much as possible hoping she’d be gone before the party could possibly catch up, but she did NOT want them to know.

Facing Morgana Again - Despite the foot dragging Morgana was still there pacing around waiting for the party to show up. KD talks to her sister to no avail before getting her ass royally kicked.

Kazzi Humors Morgana - After taking out all the lackeys she brought, Morgana actually seems more keen on trying to manipulate than fight. Kazzi ends up getting charmed.

Two Sisters - Keydance makes a lucky move to keep her sister in place and throw her friends through a teleportation portal. She fully expects to be killed at that point and Morgana was fully capable of doing so... instead she’s alive and burdened with a lot of emotional knowledge.

The Revelry Winds Down - Things are starting to wrap up for the party as far as the big exciting stuff goes. It should hopefully be pretty normal from here on out, or as normal as these things ever are.

Telling Mom - KD corrects the misinformation Revharr delivered earlier during the festivities, but not to much joyous effect.

Leaving the Revelry - I guess we technically bail on the party a little early, but we’d done our duties and are on a bit of a demon motivated time crunch so.

Communing with the Guardian of the Land - Keydance goes to see her grandmother and finds out how history loves to repeat itself. New actors, same play.

[camistired]

the peculiar one

chp. 3 // welcome to river-hell

not edited

january 23, 2019

word count: 3138

song: antidote by faith marie

one / two

-

I couldn't sleep. The feeling of dread washed over me, making my eyes stay stapled open as I lay on my back. The soft sound of the TV show I was watching on my phone bounced off the walls but never met my ears. All I could think of is what will happen in the few hour ahead.

I didn't hate school, surprisingly. I do excellent in my class besides the two I seemed to take a little longer to comprehend. It was the people at the school that made me feel this way. The whole group of people that I knew to be there, it all just seemed like a scene from 'Heather's' or 'Mean Girl's'.

Either way, I was not willing to be Cady or Veronica in this situation. I turn over to see my phone had turned off. I got out of bed and walk over to my bathroom, opening the medicine cabinet to grab my sleeping pills. I take one, seeing as I already took my dosage earlier and it was still not even working. I lay back down and eventually lost myself in a dream world. And a strange one at that.

I open my eyes to see myself in a basement of sorts. I gag as the smell of blood and rotten blood fill my nose. I look around to find an empty chair, ropes loosely hung around the back of it. I hear the faint sound of crying making me turn to see a woman with her head hung low.

When she looked up, her face was impossible to identify. It's as if the world scratched out her face to show absolute nothing. Her cries seemed to echo off the walls louder. Footsteps slowly made their way down, only to be met with another faceless person. It's as if the world didn't want me to see that these people were out there, somewhere, in the world.

The womans cries and got louder and louder, my ears ringing as it seemed to get to a pitch only a dog could here. Than it all just- stopped. The cries were gone, the scratches on their faces seemed to be changing hues every second, and the room slowly turned into nothingness.

My eyes pop open as I stare at my ceiling. The only words coming to mind were; what the fuck? Obviously sleep deprivation and my imagination are never a good mix for dreams. I look over at the clock on my wall to see it's only 6:17.

I groan inwardly and have up on sleep. What's the point? I'll have to get up in an hour anyways. I sit up and decide to rewatch 'The Breakfast Club'. It's genuinely one of my favorite movies from the eighties. Hell- one of my favorite movies in general.

I sat silently as I watch the opening as I relate to certain things and people. Obviously I relate myself more to Allison, being a bit of a basket case myself, but I can easily put myself in the others perspective. I also silently wish I could have a group of friends like theirs. Seemingly strangers with nothing in common, to all of a sudden be close to the hip and making jokes about each other's difference's. Who wouldn't want that?

I eventually get lost in the teen drama that I didn't even notice the sun rise or it being nearly an hour an twenty minutes later until my dad knocked on the door and peeked his head inside my room.y head popped up and I lock eyes with him, smiling softly. I pause movie as I focus on his words, unfortunately only catching the end of his sentence.

"- So with that being said, are you excited for your first day of high school?" he asked and all I can do is nod.

"Yea, I am. Who knows, maybe my nerves are just everywhere for nothing?" I try to be optimistic about today, but I'm just uneasy.

He smiles assuringly and giving me a thumbs up before turning out of the room and leaving, closing the door behind him. I quickly hop out of bed, and decide to pull on just some black jeans and a green t-shirt. I lace up my boots as another knock was heard, but this time by the window. Luna hissed from under my bed, making me chuckle.

I stood up and see Jughead by my window with a goofy smile on his face. I roll my eyes and open the window for him, "There's a front door you know."

"I know, but where's the fun in that?" He responds, climbing through my window with ease.

I roll my eyes, grabbing my glasses and sliding them on my face. "But if you use the front door, it doesn't look like I'm trying to sneak you into my room."

"You know a couple years ago you would have said something different." He chuckles at me as I stick my tongue out at him.

"That's then, this is now." I grab my backpack and pet Luna as she jumps on my bed.

Jughead went to do the same but instead he only got hissed at. He immediately retracts his hand and I laugh softly at the scene before me. "Don't take it personal, she doesn't like people."

"She likes you." he points out, heading towards the door. "I swear it's like somehow, someone was able to put your personality into a cat."

"Well I'd like to meet that person one day and thank them." I cut in front of him to head downstairs. I'm immediately hit with the smell of food. I sit my bag down at the leg of the dark wooden table. I grab a plate and grab a bit of everything that was available. I sit down at the table and start eating.

"You know not to expect this everyday, right?" Lila tease as she sits down across from me with her own plate of food. I nod to her as I continue to eat.

"Can I at least expect this every now and then?" Jug ask as he sat down next to me. His tone was teasing, but I knew he was almost completely serious.

"Sure Jug. Just let me know when you decided to move in with us and when you decided you get to choose what's for breakfast." Mar joined the teasing as she sat down next to Lila, who was stifling her laughter while also trying not to choke on her food.

"Okay, would you prefer a day or week's notice before I start to move in?" He asks his cousin after swallowing his food. I let out a small squeal while trying to stifle my laughter, only to cough as I choked on my food.

I heard a burst of laughter around me, only making me laugh more after I stopped coughing. After everything has calmed down, Jughead, Daniel, and I headed off to school. Daniel actually met up with a friend of his half way there, so now it was just me and Jug.

The silence between the two of us was a bit tense, but not knowing from what we didn't act on it. We slowly approached the school, the tension only seemed to be rising. Maybe I was the only one to truly acknowledge it causes when we walked through the doors of the school, he smiles as if nothing was wrong and offered to take me to the office to get my stuff.

I trailed slightly behind him as he lead the way to the office. The tension still there but than again it seems like I'm the only one to truly notice it.

Mabe it's just my nerves? That'd make sense, right?

I got my schedule and Jug offered to show me to my locker. I thought about this tour around Riverdale High, but I decided not to attend seeing if I needed directions, I'm sure Jug wouldn't mind showing me.

We had a few more minutes before class started so me and Juggie just stayed by our lockers – which were right across from each other's. We talked as if whatever I thought was wrong, wasn't wrong. It was if I imagined it all, and maybe I did. However, I felt much better now than I did walking to the school.

And before I knew it, class had started.

☾

I wasn't sure how I ended up where I did. I had lost Jughead a while ago, so now I'm sitting next to Archie with Daniel sitting behind me with his friends. Students were told to go to the gymnasium for something about a school dance that I honestly don't know of I cared about or not.

I look up front to see Cheryl standing at the podium, staring at the crowds of teens.

"Let's have a moment of silence for Jason." The room falls silent. I look up around, seeing if I can find Jughead, only to make eye contact with him as he shifts before looking back at his laptop.

"Thank you for that moment of silence. Many of you were lucky enough to have known my brother personally. Each and everyone of you meant the world to Jason. I loved my brother. He was and always will be my soulmate. So I speak with a confidence only a twin could have. Jason wouldn't want us to spend the year mourning." I make eye contact with Jug once more, after he finishes rolling his eyes.

"Jason would want us to move on with our lives. Which is why I've asked the School Board to not cancel the Back-to- School semiformal." The room erupts in cheers as I look over at Archie as he maked eye contact with a younger teacher.

"But rather, to let us use it as a way to heal, collectively, and celebrate my brother's too, too short life on this moral coral. Thank you all." Cheryl finishes as everyone seemed to clap. I watch as Cheryl walka away, letting everyone clean out the gymnasium before lunch started

☾

I sit under a tree at lunch time, surprisingly, not with Jughead. We got seperated as everyone was piling on top of each other to get out of the gym. I was looking down, drawing, as I heard someone approach me.

I slowly look up and my eyes meet with an unfamiliar brown pair.

"Hi. I'm Veronica Lodge. And who might you be?" She introduces herself, smiling brightly down at me.

"Uh.. Alexandria. Nelson." I reply, timidly. I knew who she was and who her parents were. It's probably weird that I know so many things about these teens parents, and they don't even know the half of it.

"That's a pretty name," Her smile never fell, in fact I'm pretty sure it grew when I hummed a small 'thank you', "You're welcome. Anyways, I saw you over here alone and wanted to invite you to come sit with me and my friends."

I look over at the table she was sitting at and see that Betty and Kevin staring over at us before I look up at her again.

I'm probably about to make a big mistake..

"Sure. Beats sitting here alone."

I gather my stuff and follow her back to the table with Betty and Kevin. I wave slightly as I sit down and take my sketchbook out again, and decide to continue some old family pictures.

There was an awkward silence, that I was blind to Betty and Kevin sat shifting from my presence at the table. Veronica glared at them as she probably thought that I didn't notice. However, I did notice but didn't show it.

Someone cleared their throat and I look up to see it was Veronica. I sit up straight and place my pencil on the table, turning slightly to look at her.

"So. I have a few questions. If you feel uncomfortable, you don't have to answer."

I nod slightly. She seems nice, nothing like her supposed manipulative father that I've heard about.

She smiles slightly and looks at my book, "So.. You're an artist?"

I nod once more,  "Yeah, I guess. Right now I'm just drawing an old picture of my mom bwck when she was in high school. It just helps keep my mind of things."

I slid my book towards her and show her the picture I'm recreating. I'm currently on the details, already having the main base line work done.

She nods  before grabbing the photo and analyze it, before putting it down and points at my mom, who was in the middle between my dad and Alice.

"Is that your mom?" She asks hesitantly. Noticing her being tence about asking the question, I just smile softly.

"Yeah.. That is."

"She's very beautiful."

"Thank you." I sigh slightly, "Her beauty ran throughout her. She was kind to everyone.. She thought everyone deserved a second chance.. Hell, push your luck, you may even got a third. She protected the ones she loves. Sometimes I don't even know how I could be someone better than her."

I shake my head as I stare at the picture. I feel tears welling up in my eyes as I stare at her. Ehat sucks is that she could be dead somewhere and we wouldn't even know. She's been gone for years, and no one knows what could have happened.

"Oh, I'm sorry!" Veronica panicked as she saw the tears fall down my face.

I shrug it off, wiping the tears away, "You didn't do anything. You have no reason to apologize."

I take the picture from her and place it back in my sketchbook.

"Thanks for inviting me, Veronica.. But I think I've over stayed my welcome." I glance over to the two looking at me before I say my goodbyes and got up to go hide somewhere.

I walk into the building and I find yhe music room empty. I look around before walking inside, closing the door behind me. I place my stuff by the door – after I grab my notebook – and go over to the piano, running my fingers over the keys. I sit down on the bench, sitting my notebook out in front of me.

I slowly start to play the piano as everything slowly started to become natural again. I smile softly before closing my eyes as I let my hands run over the keys.

"Finding refuge in my own lies.. ‘How are you?’ ‘I'm doing alright’.. Small talk is a great disguise– just let me be, just let me be.." I sang softly as I played the notes on the piano, "Empty thoughts start cloud my mind.. Am I only living, living to survive? Shake it off, but I lost the drive– just let me be, just let me be.. Let me be o-kay.

"No knows what goes on up inside my head.. There's a new kind of poison and it's starting to spread. No knows what goes on up inside my head, they don't think I need help but I'm scaring myself.. I just want be okay.. I just want to be ok."

I lost myself in the song, I didn't even notice the door open to whomever noticed me singing.

"All the voices in my head are coming to life.. They're getting louder and I'm, I'm terrified..! How do you tunf tom your own mind? Is this what I've become? Take back, what have I.. done?"

I didn't even noticed that I've started crying until a tear fell on my hand. I pull my hands away from the keys to wipe my face, chuckling to myself. I let the room become quiet before clapping was heard from behind me. I instantly pop up, making the bench fall at my sudden movement, as I look into a familiar pair of bluish green eyes, making my releax a bit.

"How long have you been there?" I ask, immediately fixing the bench before grabbing notebook and shoving it back in my bag. Jughead smirked teasingly.

"I didn't know you could sing." He dodge the question, looking at me sling my bag over my shoulder.

"You didn't answer my question, Jones." I pressed as I look at my shoes timidly. Anything seemed more interesting than the teasing male in front of me.

"How have I known you for years, but never realise you could sing?" At this point, he seemed genuinely confused. He was no longer teasing, but seemed more disappointed in himself for reason.

"It's something I did to help calm my nerves for a short while. As well as playing the piano." He nods and wraps a arm around my shoulder, "Let's go get this day ocer with."

☾

"So, Pop's?" Juggy asks as we walk along the bleachers outside. It was after school hours, it was still open due to after school activities. We just decided to stick due to pure boredom.

"Jug, you practically live at Pop's. You can wait another thirty minutes." I tease him as he groans playfully, making me laugh softly.

"Hey, Alex!" I hear someone call. Me and Jug turn to see Ronnie waving her down, in her new Riverdale Vixens cheer outfit, next to Betty, who is also wearing her outfit.

"Ronnie. Hi! What's up?" I call back, using my hand to keep the sun out of my eyes.

"Are you coming to the semiformal?" She asks, curiously.

"I dunno! School dances aren't really my thing!" I reply, squinting my eyes as my hand doesn't do much protections for my eyes.

"What do you mean? From what I heard, you're last school dance was probably a school Christmas party!"

"She's got you there." Jughead mumbles in my ear, making me elbow him in the stomach. "Ow!"

"C'mon! You can even bring mister Jason Dean behind you!" She points over to the beanie clad boy behind me.

"I'll think about it! I'll let you know my answer later!"

She nods before walking away with Betty. I turn to continue walking with Jug.

"Another school dance. Maybe this one can make up for the Valentine's Day one." He jokes.

"Is it wrong I wanna go?" I whisper, hoping he wouldn't hear, but he's right next to me, so of course he does.

"No. It's not." He stops and turns to me, "Let's make a deal. If I go with you to the dance, we have to leave early and go to Pop's."

I nod, "I'm ok with that."

He smiles as I smile back. He wraps his arm around my shoulders as we walk towards the actual school building, going inside to end the school day.

[wacem]

Alone in the Dark

An Until Dawn fic by Wacem Chapters: 1  2

Read it here or check it out on AO3 where everything is definitely formatted properly, because I suck at Tumblr.

Chapter 2

Chris --- 5:51 AM Tunnel to the Sanatorium

Wood slammed against wood, jolting Chris back to his senses. That was the trap door. Had to be. But surely Sam hadn't doubled back already, so who-- 

A far-too-familiar screech filled the chamber like a physical thing. Chris cried out in abject terror, but his voice was utterly lost in the deafening wall of sound. Every muscle in his body froze solid. His hands balled into fists beneath him, clutching Ashley's hoodie like his life depended on it. His expended lungs gasped a fresh load of air through the fabric of Ash’s clothing and stuck that way, his body too rigid to even breathe. The screech faded away in a chorus of echoes and was replaced by the click click click of claws against stone right above him. The wendigo was back. Returned to the scene of the crime. Why? 

Obviously, to collect the rest of its meal.

Ashley? No. No, no, no. He couldn't let that thing have her. It was bad enough that it had her head. The wendigo could take the rest of her over his cold, dead body. Which, admittedly, looked like an extremely likely outcome. But, for all his heroic intent, he still couldn't get so much as a fingernail to quiver. His body was locked up tighter than Fort Knox. People always talked about Fight and Flight, but nobody ever mentioned their derpy little brother Freeze. Maybe it was because it didn't rhyme, but more likely it was because freezing in the face of danger-- utilized to stunning effect by such apex predators as goats, deer, possums, and now… Chris Hartley-- was usually a great way to get dead. The stranger's voice whispered through his mind. They can’t see you if you’re standing still. 

So maybe he'd accidentally stumbled into the one situation in human history where freezing as a fear response wasn't a death sentence. Yeah, well… I wouldn't recommend testing that out, the stranger sneered.

Fuck you, dude, I'm trying.

There was a soft thud by his head. Something sharp jabbed into his spine and immediately recoiled with a screech that almost sounded surprised. The pressure returned, poking, prodding up his back. Chris’ eyes screwed shut. He badly needed air, but he still couldn’t get himself to breathe. There was a soft ffffwwip sound as claws scraped along the nylon of his coat, followed by a bizarre, wet clicking from the thing’s throat a couple feet over his head. After what felt like ages, the thing’s long fingers tangled through the fuzz of Chris' hood and hoisted him into the air by it, like it was holding a kitten by the scruff. Ashley's hoodie tore out of his grasp, and he'd have rather lost one of his hands. But he had little opportunity to even think about it. His stomach lurched into his throat, replacing the cry of dismay that threatened to rip through the embargo of paralysis; he collided with the floor yet again as he was hurled to one side like an unwanted Raggedy Andy. He shook, rattled, and rolled, end over end, and the stone floor absolutely battered him until he smacked into the wall, and his momentum came to an abrupt halt. He felt something snap, but he wasn't sure what, because his whole body was a distracting injury. He thanked his lucky stars that his vocal cords were still too petrified to give sound to his pained moan. It came out as a sharp hiss instead. 

His glasses were resting skee-jawed on his face, and it took a moment to regain his bearings, but when he did, he hazarded a glance up. From where it lay, the flashlight was facing the wrong direction for him to see anything more than vague shadows, but the creature was definitely distracted by something. A horrible, wet, rending noise filled the small chamber. Slowly, carefully, Chris straightened his glasses, pushed them back up his nose, and propped himself stiffly on one elbow to see better. It was Ashley. The thing was eating her. Or what was left of her. It buried its teeth into her leg and jerked its head back, tearing off her calf muscle and slurping it into its mouth like spaghetti. Chris’ gorge rose into the back of his throat, and it was everything he could do to swallow it down again. But beneath the overwhelming nausea and disgust was an undercurrent of righteous indignation, frothed into a boil by a raw fury that was almost wholly alien to him. His hands clenched into fists. That was Ashley. She might be-- Chris swallowed hard, forcing himself to think it-- dead, but she was still a human being, and she deserved better. She deserved respect. As if it wasn’t enough that this thing had killed her, now it was positively relishing desecrating her body. Something inside Chris snapped. It was too much. 

Well, what exactly do you intend to do about it, tough guy? If you so much as stand up, it'll see you, and you're a goner.

The hand not holding him up drifted carefully through his pockets, looking for anything that might help. The first couple pockets turned out useless-- glasses cleaning cloth (huh… how long had that been there?), pill bottle, pocket knife. He considered the pocket knife for a moment, but his Voice of Better Judgment just scoffed. Then his fingers brushed an unfamiliar object and instinctively wrapped around it. It took him a second to figure out what it was, but when he did, his heart soared with hope. Josh's lighter! He'd forgotten to give it back after defrosting the lodge's lock about a century ago. The wendigo didn't like fire, right?

I seriously doubt a tiny lighter flame is the sort of fire the old guy was talking about. 

No, but those old storage drums over by the ladder were leaking something, weren't they? They had flammable hazmat stickers on them…

Yeah, okay, genius. Incinerate the way back to the lodge. Great idea! And if the crap in there is explosive? The concussive force has exactly nowhere in this tiny chamber to go except through your soft, little body. You really feel like blasting yourself to smithereens? To defend the honor of a corpse?

Honestly? Despite the persistent effort of his obnoxious Voice of Better Judgment to try to talk him out of this, he found that the answer was simply… yeah. He did. Because it wasn't just a corpse. It was all he had left of Ash. And if there was one damn thing he could do right tonight, it was to give the Browns something to bury. As hard as his brother's closed-casket funeral had been when he was a kid, seeing Josh absolutely disintegrate at the twins' funeral, there was zero doubt in his mind… an empty casket was worse. There was no resolution with an empty casket. Visiting an empty grave just left a hollow ache in your heart because you knew they weren't really there. You were only mourning a headstone. A rock. It couldn't hear you. Tears just rolled off of its cold, uncaring surface and sank into the empty soil beneath. He wouldn't let that be all that remained of Ashley. He couldn't. 

Slowly, he drew the lighter from his pocket. His thumb found the sparkwheel, and he silently prayed the damn thing would light on the first try. That was the only chance he was likely to get. Chris licked his lips anxiously. Before his nerve could falter, he flicked the lighter and suppressed an exclamation of relief when it caught.

Snik! 

The creature dropped whatever unrecognizable appendage it had been devouring and, faster than Chris could possibly perceive, whirled towards him and shrieked, blasting the putrid stench of death and blood directly into his face. He couldn't stop the scream of horror that ripped out of his chest. Every muscle in his body threatened to lock up again, but he knew if that happened, he was dead. Before panic could get in the way, he threw the lighter toward the drums. 

The wendigo was on his arm like a pitbull, teeth tunneling through the fabric of his coat, sweater, and shirt like they weren't there and ripping into the meat of his forearm. The weight of the monster flattened him onto his back and jarred his ribs excruciatingly. This time his scream was one of agony. The thing's jagged teeth plunged down to the bone, the power of its jaws threatening to snap his arm in two. He punched frantically at its head with his other hand, yelling and wailing mindlessly, but he might as well have been hitting a bowling ball, for all the good it did. The wendigo just bore down harder, and Chris definitely felt the bones in his arm crunch.

"Aaughaah!!" He started kicking madly, like a trapped animal, utterly mindless of his injured ankle. He was dimly aware that the lighter should have ignited something by now and hadn't. And that snuffed his last, pathetic hope of getting out of this alive; he was fighting the inevitable, now. And with him died the knowledge of where they were. Even Sam, if she survived, couldn't know they'd gone down into this trap door. They'd just… disappear. Exactly like the twins. So the Browns would not only be burying an empty casket, but they'd be doing so not knowing if she was really dead. 

And your parents will be doing the same to you. 

He screamed louder and fought harder, aiming a punch right at the thing's big, gray eyeball. The wendigo released his arm with a huff of displeasure and wrapped its gangly fingers around his throat, lifting him into the air like he weighed nothing. Chris' screams were abruptly cut off in a choked gasp. Both arms came up, but only one hand was actually able to pry at the monster's claw, but he might as well have been prying at granite. His feet ran through the air wildly, looking for purchase on anything. The contact of the thing's claw against the burns on his neck and jaw made him want to scream, but he couldn't. The wendigo drew him close to its face, looking him dead in the eyes. There was a flicker of something in those eyes, and Chris could feel it reflected in his own. Was it… recognition? There was something vaguely familiar about those stretched features. Something behind the cataracts of its eyes that he knew. Then the creature snorted, its face contorting in rage as its mouth stretched open and unleashed a scream that pierced his soul. 

And the moment was over. Whatever recognition he thought he felt was gone, and the monster slammed him hard against the wall behind him. The back of his head collided with stone, and white spots exploded across his dimming vision. His limbs went limp as he struggled to maintain consciousness, but it was difficult. Both the impact and the fact that his chest muscles were madly spasming to try and draw in oxygen made his ribs hurt so much he wanted to cry. Darkness engulfed his vision fully. His face felt tingly, full, and hot. For the first time since Josh's fucked up game, he could barely feel the burns on his jaw. His empty lungs cried out for new air, but his gaping mouth could not oblige. He tried kicking again, more weakly and attempted to wedge the fingers of his good hand between the claw and his throat, but it was no good. He felt the wendigo wrap its other hand over his head like a cowl; its long fingernails dug agonizingly into the soft flesh of his neck. He closed his useless eyes, waiting for the end to come. 

A massive thunderclap filled the chamber. Searing heat licked his face and hands. His back slammed into the wall again. A fidgeting weight smashed against his chest and face and then disappeared. A disorienting feeling of weightlessness swept over him, then a sharp pain lanced up from his ankle, and his legs buckled bonelessly beneath him. Blind agony made him scream when he landed on his ravaged arm. He could feel the air surging through his ragged throat, but he could hear neither the scream nor the ensuing coughing fit. All he could hear was that damned ringing he'd grown to detest. 

Chris rolled miserably onto his back and stayed like that until he felt a little less like puking. Then he opened his eyes and realized his glasses were gone. The cavern was filled with orange light; he guessed Josh's lighter must have found its mark after all. It just took its sweet time getting down to business. 

Not that he could see, but there didn't seem to be any sign of the wendigo. Slowly, agonizingly, he managed to get his feet under him, hugging his mangled arm to his throbbing side. Before endeavoring to straighten upright, he felt around the cavern floor with his good hand until his fingers stumbled across familiar plastic. He slid his glasses back onto his face with the practiced ease of a man who's done it since kindergarten. Miraculously, they weren't broken. Absolutely filthy? Yes. But not broken. He could deal with that. He straightened up as much as his broken body would allow and quickly looked around. His earlier impression held up. The wendigo was gone. Not killed, he noticed with a pang of regret. There was no corpse. But at least the explosion had driven it away. The cavern was rapidly becoming unbearably hot. Embers had caught on Ashley's clothing, igniting little fires. 

"Oh, shit! No, no, no," he felt his mouth saying.  

Chris dropped to his knees by her side and batted at the flames to put them out. It burnt his hand to blisters, but the whole reason he'd done this was to salvage something recognizable of Ashley. He bit his lip to keep in a pained sob he couldn't hear, but the flames spread too quickly across the fabric for one meager hand to keep up. With how fast the fire spread across her, she must have been dragged through whatever was coming out of the barrels. Soon, she was engulfed, and Chris had to back away or get swallowed up with her. 

He sat there for a while, just watching her burn. Her clothes peeled away to nothing, revealing charred and boiling skin beneath. Her delicate fingers curled and blackened with the heat, her nails cracking and falling apart. Everything that made her her was stripped from her, bit by bit, and Chris could only watch, powerless to stop it. He'd failed to protect her, even in death. He'd failed to secure for her the basest modicum of identity and decency. He'd failed, because he was a failure. In everything. Every damn thing he touched turned to ash in his hands. 

"Ash to ashes," he muttered. "Ashley to ashes." The words repeated in his mouth nonsensically for some time before he could hear them. Then, when he could actually hear what he was saying, giggles bubbled up inside of him, completely humorless, frantic. Hysterical. It wasn't long before they decomposed into sobs. She’d looked out for him all night, even when he was too exhausted to look out for himself.  She’d saved his life. More than that, she’d had his back for as long as he’d known her. He told her he had hers. He should have had hers.

But he didn’t.

And now he never would.

[canardroublard]

Fictober day 3

Grace and Frankie, Grace/Frankie (in an angsty, introspective, pining sort of way), set after 3x05 “The Gun”. (cw:oblique references to homophobia)

"How can I trust you?"

Frankie never said the words, after finding out about the gun. But Grace almost wishes she had. Anything would've been better than two hours of 'She'll Be Comin' Round the Mountain'. Better than the vanishing act.

The house was quiet without Frankie, Grace realized as she finished pouring her martini before wandering towards the living room, very pointedly not looking at the chair in which Frankie's....thing, dummy, whatever, had been sitting when she'd shot it. For once, no one was rhapsodizing about Judy Chicago's vagina ceramics, which, really, she did not need to hear more about. Or singing, or humming, or Tibetan throat singing. Just...silence. The waves breaching onto the sand before slinking back into the dark ocean.

Trust, she reminded herself. That's what this came down to. As she settled onto the sofa, pausing to dig out the TV remote, which Frankie must've lost down the cushions and forgotten about, she tried to think of the last person she'd trusted completely.

Not her kids. Between the unsubtle hints about putting her in a home and that weird, alpha dog rivalry that existed with Brianna, there wasn't absolute trust there. Not on either side, actually. It was a little sad to consider; her kids probably didn’t trust her.

Her parents? No. They weren't awful, or even actively unpleasant, but her mother was distant, her father no closer, neither comfortable with discussing emotions with their young daughter, especially when she started having feelings they couldn't or wouldn't understand.

Robert gave her pause. No trust at the end, of course. Some part of her had known that something was going on with him. But how could she marry a man she didn't trust? Then again, even at the beginning, she’d held back. She trusted him not to hit her, to keep a roof over their heads. Her feelings, though, were still hers alone.

Feelings were dangerous things. Grace realized this around age twelve, when she became addicted to the smiles of her friend Mindy, and longed to taste that smile for herself. When she'd worked up the nerve, one day, and Mindy had shoved her away and screamed ugly words at her. Something died inside her. But instead of mourning that thing, she'd buried it in a shallow grave, and told herself that feelings were breadcrumbs on the forest floor; tempting, but leading to certain doom. To be strong was to resist them.

So it shouldn't have mattered that when she thought of 'trust', it was Frankie's face she pictured. That some days she longed to taste her smile. No, this throb of wanting, aching loneliness was just another feeling. The sort of feeling that led to screaming and ugly, ugly words. But with enough vodka, reminders of how Frankie was wrong and Grace right, and some time, she could make it go away. She'd done it before. All her life. She was a goddamn fucking expert.

Grace took another drink. Alone. Feeling nothing. Strong.

[megsiplier]

92 truths about me

yoooo so i was tagged by the lovely @deadpoolinne​ to do this 92 truths tag! i’m always a slut for oversharing so this looks like a good time

LAST: [1] drink: water [2] phone call: probably one of my parents? idk i never call people [3] text message: a group chat of a couple friends; we’re meeting up later [4] song you listened to: reflections by misterwives [5] time you cried: those recent medical disaster(s). hoo boy [6] dated someone twice: nope [7] been cheated on: im boring answering these types i apologize in advance [8] kissed someone and regretted it: nope [9] lost someone special: there’s a whole list, lmao [10] been depressed: relatively recently. i’d say less than a week 11] gotten drunk and thrown up: nope! i can hold my liquor lmao LIST 3 FAVOURITE COLOURS: [12] pale pink [13] periwinkle blue [14] black IN THE LAST YEAR HAVE YOU… [15] made new friends: yes!!!! [16] fallen out of love: never have been soooo [17] laughed until you cried: all the time. did so last night [18] found out someone was talking about you: mhm [19] met someone who changed you: i’d say so, yeah [20] found out who your true friends are: oh boy yeah [21] kissed someone on your facebook list: i hate fb. also no [22] how many of your fb friends do you know in real life: don’t have one [23] do you have any pets: no :’( getting one when i move out tho!! [24] do you want to change your name: nahhh [25] what did you do for your last birthday: my 18th was shitty man. nothing [26] what time did you wake up: around 8ish i think? [27] what were you doing at midnight last night: ft’ing @lum1natrix​ [28] name something you cannot wait for: i can’t tell u yet ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) [29] when was the last time you saw your mother: last night [30] what is one thing you wish you could change about your life: nothing [31] what are you listening to right now: the sound of the clock in the kitchen [32] have you ever talked to a person named tom: ...yes? why the hell [33] something that is getting on your nerves: this is long enough already [34] most visited website: youtube and tumblr! [35] elementary: the category title is “in the last year have you.” what [36] high school: yeah?? graduated last year [37] college: currently in college now [38] hair color: it’s like?? dirty blonde rn but im dyeing it blonder soon  [39] long or short hair: v long [40] do you have a crush on someone: nope [41] what do you like about yourself?: ??? [42] piercings: had my ears pierced but they closed. getting a nose ring soon [43] blood type: ????? no idea [44] nickname: meg, megs [45] relationship status: single [46] zodiac sign: leo [47] pronouns: she/her [48] fav tv show: criminal minds! (and stranger things) [49] tattoos: none rn! i definitely want a couple tho [50] right or left handed: right

FIRST… [51] surgery: my feet were kinda fucked up as a kid [52] piercing: ears [53] best friend: soph [54] sport: i swam competitively for a decade! [55] vacation: hmm, probably like florida or smt [56] pair of trainers: how the hell would i know

RIGHT NOW… [57] eating: nothing [58] drinking: nothing [59] I’m about to: make breakfast [60] listening to: nothing. just the clock. and there’s a mourning dove outside [61] waiting for: for my friends to fuckin respond so we can confirm plans lmao [62] want: food [63] get married: right now?? no [64] career: forensic psychologist/behavioral analyst for the fbi!

WHICH IS BETTER… [65] hugs or kisses: hugs bc i’ve never been kissed [66] lips or eyes: lips??? is that a thing. are lips attractive to some people. eyes [67] shorter or taller: taller. not that hard tho, i’m only 5′1″ [68] older or younger: typically older  [69] romantic or spontaneous: can u not be both. isn’t spontaneity romantic [70] nice arms or nice stomach: i mean im a both kinda girl but arms [71] sensitive or loud: how about neither [72] hook up or relationship: i’ll take both, honestly [73] troublemaker or hesitant: absolutely troublemaker. 1000% 

HAVE YOU EVER… [74] kissed a stranger? nope (again, sorry, i’m v boring) [75] drank hard liquor? mhm! [76] lost glasses/contact lenses? i’ve lost contacts before [77] turned someone down: oh yeah. all the time [78] sex on first date? i’ve never but like, depending on the person im down [79] broken someone’s heart? probably [80] had your own heart broken? nahhh [81] been arrested? nope! [82] cried when someone died? i mean yeah [83] fallen for a friend: nope!

DO YOU BELIEVE IN… [84] yourself? hardly, i should tho lmao [85] miracles? i mean? i don’t believe in them but im not ruling them out either [86] love at first sight? absolutely not [87] santa claus? never really did tbh, even as a kid [88] kiss on the first date? sure why not [89] angels? Like winged angels? ofc. have u ever seen chica. cmon man

OTHER… [90] current best friend’s name: i have a handful of em. closest to traci & soph [91] eye colour: super dark brown [92] favourite movie: the man from u.n.c.l.e!

i tag: @lum1natrix​ | @septiceyespeed​ | @panromark​ | @mikeybuckybarnes​ | @martziplier98​ | @serenefreakgeek​ | @dreamsoffallingstars​ | + anyone else!