#and also seemingly occasionally when my next door neighbor showers

[sedgwickpdf]

my apartment is a torture chamber i will never sleep through the night again etc etc etc

[quokkacore]

with great power I [lee jeno]

summary: there are two things jeno loves most about his life. one being spiderman, the other being you, his best friend. there’s just one issue: after your father’s death, you decide you hate both spiderman and yourself.

pairing: lee jeno x reader

genre: superhero au, high school au, coming of age, best friends to strangers(ish) to lovers, fluff, ANGST, minor crack

warnings (for this chapter): language, violence, gun violence, the mafia, parental death, police presence, sexual references, bullying (ily san im sorry), the dreamies being dicks to each other, police corruption, towards the end jeno experiences something similar to sensory overload, americanized names, pop culture references, VERY jeno centric

song rec: we go up - nct dream // any song - zico // 21 questions - waterparks // talk (remix feat. megan thee stallion & yo gotti) - khalid // sunrise - ateez // i really like you - carly rae jepsen // dare - gorillaz // stray kids - the tortoise and the hare

word count: 10.5k

a/n: this is so late...... i blame attack on titan. but hey!! better late than never :] a huge thanks to @doderyscoffee​ for beta reading <3

main masterlist // story masterlist

chapter one: jeno and the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad week

Jeno despised Tuesdays. He was pretty sure that Tuesdays despised Jeno as well because all of his worst days just so happen to be Tuesdays. He was 96% sure that, if there was a god, his day off was on Tuesdays, or that the planets aligned in such a manner on Tuesdays that it caused universal despair and misery. If he was to take Donghyuck's word for it, his chakra attracted negative energy the most on Tuesdays.

When Jeno was 5, his goldfish Pippin had died on a Tuesday. When he had his ass handed to him on the playground by San Choi in the third grade, it was a Tuesday. And in the seventh grade, he'd failed his Spanish test, missed his bus and walked home in the rain only to find out that his Aunt Sunny was at work, he'd left his keys in his locker and that had to wait an hour before she got home to unlock it for him, all on a Tuesday. 

And wouldn't you know it, here he was, late for the first day of senior year, which was, of all days, a godforsaken Tuesday.

In his eternal wisdom, he'd stayed up gaming with Renjun until two in the morning, and because of it, slept through his three alarms, one set at six-thirty, the other at 6:45, the last one at 7:00. 

He'd woken up at 7:17, to the sound of his elderly neighbor's pet chihuahua barking at a pigeon, checked the time, immediately panicked, sped into the shower, gotten dressed in a haste, grabbed a few granola bars from the pantry, and ran out the door while trying to jam his backpack closed, and managed to catch the train at 7:40, which took about twenty minutes to get to his stop, plus a ten-minute walk to school, and class started at 8:10. Not to mention he’d have to stop by the office and pick up his schedule. At best, he’d be five minutes late to his first class. But tardies were tardies, regardless, and the last thing he needed was to lose his perfect attendance streak. 

He fished out his phone while standing on the train, waiting for his stop, scrolling through Instagram, and liking random pictures. A ping! from his phone caught his attention, then two, then a third. He smiled softly when your name popped up on his screen.

[7:48 AM]

y/n: pssst

y/n: shithead

y/n: where r u ????

[7:49 AM] 

y/n: i can sEE u online on ig u know

jeno: …… i'm on the train

jeno: woke up late

y/n: YOURE GONNA BE LATR

y/n: LATE*

y/n: ON THE FIRST DAY OF SENIOR YEAR

[7:50]

jeno: probably, yeah

jeno: it's the school district's fault, why would they make the first day of school on a fkn TUESDAY 

y/n: ohhh yeahh its terrible tuesday

y/n: [sent an attachment!]

[7:51 AM]

jeno: SHUT UP

jeno: you're not funny >:(

jeno: how dare you laugh at my misfortune

y/n: au contraire im hilarious

jeno: meanie :(

jeno: im gonna be late i hate it here

jeno: it'll end up on my permanent record and i'm not gonna get into college and then i'm gonna die,,,

[7:52 AM] 

y/n: sometimes ur worse than hyuck i swear 

y/n: FIRST OF ALL permanent records dont even exist !!!!!! its propaganda duh

y/n: also ur literally never late 

y/n: im sure o n e tardy wont do anything chill

y/n: dont be stupid youll be fine

Don’t be stupid. Too little, too late, he thought, already having got off the train at a previous stop. Now, he was looking for an unoccupied street or alleyway, which, for once, was easy, taking a deep breath before he did the exact opposite of what you’d told him not to do. Don’t be stupid. 

The buildings are low, he thought to himself, it’ll be easier to see me. 

Don’t be stupid.

Too late!

Thwip!

Jeno didn’t hesitate to use the web fluid to pull himself up onto the wall, climbing in a haste, before running and jumping onto the next building. He quickly built up a quick pace, using the web fluid occasionally to swing onto a building slightly out of jumping range. 

Signs in English, Chinese, Korean, and Spanish flew past him as he seemingly flew over the Queens traffic, leaving Flushing behind and crossing quickly into College Point quicker than he would if he took the train. He glanced to his left and caught a view of the bay, and far across it, the LaGuardia airport watchtower.

Jeno had lived in New York City his entire life. He knew Queens like the back of his hand, knew every dingy alleyway, every sketchy street, which restaurants to avoid if you didn’t want to get food poisoning, which convenience store aunties were the nicest and didn’t pinch his cheeks too hard. It was his home, and most likely would be for the rest of his life. 

But seeing it like this, flying past him below as he glided with ease from building to building would never cease to be a sight to him. It was like watching from the perspective of an outsider, seeing people in their cars, walking along the street gave him a brand new perspective. A Jeno’s eye view, he called it, since he was pretty sure he was the only one in New York City.

Another noise from his phone brought him back to reality. He shook his head, stopping briefly to catch his breath and fish out his phone briefly. 

[7:57 AM] 

y/n: let me know when u get here !!!

No time to respond, he put away the phone and continued his trek to school. He had less than ten minutes to get there. But he knew he was already at least five minutes away, much quicker than he would be if he had decided to stick to the train. He smiled a bit to himself, feeling ever so slightly smug.

The hustle and bustle of the city definitely proved challenging to find a place to land without many eyes, but he figured it out eventually, landing behind a dumpster in an alleyway behind a restaurant that he knew was about three or four blocks from the school. He figured it would be a lot better to take it on foot from here. The notebooks he was carrying in his backpack bounced up and down with every step he took. 

After what seemed like forever, the gates to the school appeared in his view, and Jeno felt a joy in his heaving chest, something he would have never thought would happen upon seeing the absolute hellhole that was Samuel Morse High School. 

[8:06 AM]

jeno: just did >:D

Picking up his schedule was both quick and insanely long. He couldn’t stop himself from tapping his left foot while the secretary found his schedule and handed it to him. “Kibum, please hurry,” He muttered, and Kibum raised an eyebrow at him, but his gaze was teasing. “That’s Mr. Kim to you, in school at least.” 

He handed Jeno his schedule a few seconds later. “Tell your Aunt to come pick up her casserole dish, by the way. She left it at my house after my last viewing party.”

“The Bachelor?”

“Please. We’re too classy for that. Drag Race.”

“Ah. I see.”

“Jeno,” Kibum said, staring up at him from his desk, his gaze now much more serious, “Get to class. Happy first day of senior year.”

“Thanks, Mr. Kim.”

He managed to make it to chemistry class at 8:09 with seconds to spare. His eyes quickly scanned the room upon entering, hoping his friends were in the class with him. He caught a few familiar faces, most of which, like San Choi's, he wished to avoid. No one paid him any mind. Everyone was still speaking to the people next to them, no doubt exchanging stories of summer vacation. 

  A hand shot up towards the back, waving at him. A smile stretched across his face as he registered your face, feet not hesitating to carry him towards the empty seat next to you. His heart skipped a beat at seeing your smile, and he tried his best to ignore it.

“Hey,” You greeted, “That was fast. I thought you said you were gonna be late.”

Jeno shrugged, eyes landing on the dark shade of the lab table. “The train was a lot faster than I expected, apparently.”

You wrinkled your nose. “Why do you smell so bad?”

“I, uh… ran a little.” 

You grimaced, and Jeno tried to casually sniff at his slightly sweaty clothes. It’s not that bad. “I still don’t understand why you won’t let me drive you to school. You’re literally next door.”

“I don’t know,” He answered, rolling his eyes, “Maybe it’s because when it comes to that truck, you are absolutely insane. You won’t even let me drink water in that thing.”

The truck in question, a faded red 1998 Chevrolet S-10, had been your gift to yourself for your 17th birthday. You’d spent two summers saving up to buy yourself a truck, and that was what you were able to get for what you had. To say it was a huge piece of junk on wheels was an understatement. 

The thing smelled like mothballs no matter how many air fresheners you bought it, the engine sounded like an old man having a coughing fit, and there was a very suspicious stain in the backseat that wouldn’t go away no matter how many times you scrubbed it. But for some reason, you treated it like it was your own baby. The amount of times you’d yelled at Jaemin for trying to put his feet on the dashboard was too high to count.

You mirrored his movement, eyes rolling as you sighed. “At least let me drive you home after school today. Maybe you can stay and we can finally watch Blade Runner.”

You’d been trying to get him to watch the film for almost a month now, begging and pleading because you insisted that he’d love it. He offered an awkward stare, before opening his backpack and pulling out a notebook. “Can’t,” He mumbled, “I’m headed into Manhattan. I have my internship afterwards.”

“Oh, yeah,” You said nonchalantly, eyebrows shooting up as you remembered, “Park Industries.” 

He was about to reply when Mrs. Baker, the chemistry teacher, finally entered. She’d been working at SMHS for 30 years and had never, apparently, been nice, if his Aunt Sunny’s stories were anything to go by. However, she had apparently always spoken as if she smoked two packs a day. She was rambling about the importance of making the most of senior year academically, adult responsibilities, college, and whatnot. You and Jeno exchanged glances often throughout the monologue, hoping it would end soon. 

“Enough of that,” She said after what seemed like an eternity, “Everyone quiet down, I’m going to call roll.”

Names were quickly called, and Jeno was ready to pull out a pencil and start working with you until Mrs Baker demanded a switch in seats, beginning to call on random names in an effort to deter everyone from speaking. 

"Please not with Choi, please not with Choi," Jeno muttered under his breath, glancing warily at San, who was staring ahead, looking bored. 

San had had it out for Jeno ever since day one, in first grade. For some reason, everything Jeno did seemed to annoy the other boy. He wasn't funny enough, or too nerdy, or too quiet. Jeno was always too much or too little for him. 

You touched his forearm, and he looked towards you. 

“You’ll be fine,” You said softly, trying not to alert the teacher, “You’re not gonna get paired up with him, and you can take it to the office if you need to.” “Yeah, because I’m sure Coach Peralta would be thrilled if someone tried to get his precious midfielder in trouble.”

“Choi, San,” Mrs Baker’s voice rang throughout the room, and Jeno braced himself for the worst, eyebrows furrowing with worry. 

“You’ll be sitting with… L/N, Y/N.” 

Jeno’s shoulders slumped, but your face remained impassive. You picked up your stuff, and pouted silently at Jeno in apology, before making your way to the front. 

“Lee, Jeno,” Mrs Baker called a few minutes later, “You’ll be sitting with Jang, Yeeun.”

He breathed out a sigh of relief. Yeeun is nice, Jeno thought to himself, I could sit with Yeeun. She wasn’t part of his main friend group, but he had tutored her in math during sophomore year in exchange for her helping him with Spanish, and they’d been pretty friendly ever since. 

“Hey,” Yeeun greeted as Jeno sat down, and Jeno smiled at her. 

“Remember, these will be your assigned lab partners for the rest of the semester. No changes, no exceptions.” Mrs. Baker sat down at her desk, before beginning to talk about something Jeno didn’t really pay attention to.

You exchanged glances with Jeno, and he gave you a look of sympathy as you gestured at San with your eyes. San was talking to you about something—probably bragging about some soccer achievement—but you weren’t paying him much attention. Jeno swallowed something growing in his throat as he looked at how your hair looked today. 

It was nothing relatively new, the same hairstyle you used on most days. But still, there was a bit of a shine to it. He wondered vaguely if you had changed your shampoo, the other day you’d been complaining about how itchy your normal shampoo made your scalp—

“You still haven’t told her about how you feel?” Yeeun asked quietly, and Jeno’s head snapped back to look at her, eyes wide.

“W-what? Me. Like Y/N…” He laughed nervously, trying to keep his voice down. He scratched the back of his head, avoiding Yeeun’s accusatory stare. “You’re hilarious, Yeeun. Tell another one.”

Yeeun shook her head. “You’d better hurry before someone else snatches her up, Jen. She’s not gonna wait around for you forever.”

 “I don’t like her, Yeeun.” 

“Keep telling yourself that.”

“Hey! Jeno Lee!”

“Hey! Jaemin Na! What do you want!” Jeno answered as he sat down, mimicking Jaemin’s tone next to him.

“Well, for starters, a million dollars, and second, a date with Yiren Wang, but I doubt you can help me with either of those, so...”

Jeno glanced at the rest of the table. Along with Jaemin, Mark,  Renjun, Donghyuck, and you were watching the interaction between the pair. “Where are the munchkins?” Jeno asked, noticing Chenle and Jisung’s absence. No one could really call them munchkins anymore. That nickname dated back to middle school, before the two underclassmen had gone through growth spurts.

“Eh, they should be here soon,” Renjun said, chewing on a french fry, “How’s your day been?”

“Pretty good so far, I guess. I got AP Calc with Mr. Washington later, though. That man wants me dead.”

You rolled your eyes. “He doesn’t want you dead. I’m telling you, you and Hyuck have been spending way too much time together. You’re being more dramatic than usual and Hyuck’s being more… weird than usual.”

“And just what is so weird about being enthusiastic about senior year, Y/N?” Donghyuck asked, shaking his head, “It’s our last year in this hellhole, I’m excited that we’re finally getting out of here. And besides—”

“Please don’t bring up the fact that you’re abandoning us next year.” Chenle seemingly appeared out of nowhere, sitting next to Renjun, Jisung following quickly behind him.

“Hi, Sungie,” You said with a smile, and Jisung smiled back. “Hi, Y/N.”

“What were you saying, Hyuck?” Jaemin looked at Donghyuck, who had taken the quick interaction as an opportunity to take a bite of his sandwich. His wide eyes darted to the slim boy, cheeks stuffed with chicken. 

“Oh,” He replied after swallowing, “This is gonna be my year. I’m getting male lead for the winter musical and no one is gonna stop me.”

“Do you even know what musical you guys are doing yet?” Mark asked, “What if it’s like… Shrek?”

Jisung made a face. “There’s a Shrek musical?”

Mark nodded, and Renjun laughed.

“I don’t know about male lead, if it’s Shrek. You should try out for Donkey,” The Chinese boy joked, “With those front teeth, you’re a shoo-in.”

The entire table was silent for a moment, before snorts and chortles started pouring out from everyone except Donghyuck.

“Fuck you, Huang.” 

Renjun flashed the friendliest smile he could muster. “Not if you paid me a million dollars.”

The subject remained on extracurriculars, everyone in your group except for Chenle and Jisung now wary of college applications. Donghyuck had been in theater ever since middle school, Renjun was in the robotics club and the debate team with Jaemin, who was also in the student council. Mark was on the math team with Jeno, and you had founded the film club. 

"You're not gonna believe who asked to sign up for film," You huffed, looking kind of confused. The rest of the table looked at you expectantly, and you pursed your lips, almost as if you were trying not to laugh.

"San Choi."

Renjun scoffed. Jaemin raised his eyebrows before letting out a single, humorless laugh. Jeno made a face, poking his plastic fork at you. 

"What is San Choi doing asking to sign up for film?"

"Fuck if I know. He said he needed one more extracurricular if he wanted to get into some college in Florida and he liked going to the movies, so he wanted to try out film."

Mark rolled his eyes. "I swear there's nothing in that guy's head but hot gas. It blows my mind."

"He's a dick," Chenle grumbled, "I'm still not over how he and Wooyoung taped Jisung to the flagpole last year."

Jisung scowled. "I thought we agreed to never bring that up again."

“Do you think they’ll finally calm the fuck down this year?” Jaemin wondered, looking wistful.

You took a sip of your coke and shook your head. “Doubt it. They’re not the hateful eight for a reason.”

The mood at the table turned tense, until Jaemin frowned at his french fries, before sighing and clapping his hands together dramatically. “I would like to hear,” He mused, “About the nuance that theatre gives the cinematic masterpiece that is Shrek when converted into musical form.”

Donghyuck beamed. “Oh, it’s amazing. You see…”

If it was difficult to get Donghyuck to stop talking in general, it was impossible when it was about theater.

The conversation continued on until the bell rang, and the eight of you had to go your separate ways. Jaemin and Jeno had the same class, so they both walked together down a relatively calm hallway. Jaemin looked both ways, before finally lowering his voice. 

“So, you’re going to see Mr. Park today?”

Jeno nodded, looking down at his shoes. “He said he wanted to give me an assignment. Says there’s something big going on.”

Jaemin’s eyes lit up with curiosity. “Did he say what kind of something?” 

Jeno shook his head, pouting slightly. “I’ll let you know tomorrow.” 

Once school was out, Jeno was getting ready to get onto the subway once again, this time heading towards Midtown. It was only day one and, as Jeno had predicted, Mr. Washington probably was out to get him, because he’d swamped the class with homework.

As he left the school, he spotted you in the parking lot, leaning against your car door, texting someone. He glanced at his phone. He still had plenty of time, he figured. He walked over to you, and when you looked up, you smiled. 

“Hey!” Your voice had that signature tone of enthusiasm to it, and Jeno smiled back immediately. 

“Hello,” He sing-songed. “So, I was thinking… are you free on Friday night?”

You looked somewhere above his head, furrowing your eyebrows before you perked up again and nodded. “Yep! Why?”

“I’m free after nine. Maybe then I could come over to your house? So I can finally get you to stop harassing me about Blade Runner.”

You grinned, pumping your fists enthusiastically. “Hell yes,” You answered, “Do you want me to get like, some frozen pizzas or something?” 

“Pizza sounds good,” He said. “Who are you even waiting for?” 

You made a face that made it seem as if you’d just gotten a whiff of rotten milk. “Well—”

Your response was interrupted when the school doors slammed open, and eight figures poured out, carrying themselves with confidence Jeno both envied and despised. He frowned, trying not to react at their loud whooping and laughing. The Hateful Eight.

“Oh.” Jeno averted his gaze, meeting your eyes again.

“Yeah. If you don’t hear from me later it’s because I jumped out of my truck because I don’t wanna work with—”

“Well, hello, gorgeous!” San’s voice filled the parking lot, and Jeno took a deep breath. Your mouth stretched into a tight-lipped smile at the unwanted ‘compliment’. 

“Hey, San.” Your friendly passive aggressive tone almost made Jeno smile. “I’ve been waiting here for like, fifteen minutes. You could have just given me your number and asked me to send you pictures of my notes, you know.”

He shrugged, turning his body so that his back was turned to Jeno. “Sorry, babe. Coach wanted to talk to us about the upcoming season. When he gets going, it’s hard to get him to stop. And besides, where’s the fun in just asking for pictures when I could come here, talk to you, and take the pictures myself?”

You didn’t respond, but rather pulled out your backpack and began digging through it. When you pulled out your notebook, you handed it to San, who flashed a wink at you. You barely held back a gag. 

“Thanks, Y/N. I’ll just be a minute.” 

He walked over to the hood of your truck, and just as you were about to continue your conversation, two figures slung their arms around both of Jeno’s shoulders, causing him to flinch. 

Out of the fifteen soccer players on the team, San and his best friends—seven of them, to be precise—were the worst. The others were pretty nice. But right now, seeing two of those seven surround your best friend made you uneasy. 

Wooyoung was loud. He was also a temperamental brat. His dad owned three used car dealerships over in Brooklyn, so naturally, he thought he owned the entire world. He wasn’t someone who would get too physical in fights, like San, or Jongho, or Yeosang. But when he was angry, he could easily get you to jump into the stratosphere by yelling at you once. Over the years, he’d made several teaching assistants and substitute teachers cry, only getting let off with a slap on the wrist every time. 

 Yunho was terrifying for completely different reasons. He was friendly, but a little too friendly to the people he wanted to control. He could read people like books and could easily manipulate whoever he wanted. But he wasn’t afraid of getting physical either, especially not when he was built like a goddamn Power Rangers Megazord. 

All in all, they definitely weren't anyone you wanted near you, near your friends. Especially considering how much they had it out for your friends. 

"Hey, buddy," Yunho said, looking down at Jeno with a wide smile. "How was summer vacation?"

Jeno gnawed on the side of his cheek as he considered his answer. "Um, it was okay." He looked at you to catch your eyes darting between San, Yunho and Wooyoung, like you were analyzing the situation. "I kinda stayed in and played video games most of the t—"

"Cool, cool," Yunho answered, carding his free hand through his bleach blond hair. "What about you, Woo?"

"Oh, dude, it was so cool," He bragged, "I went to Brazil for like, a month. I went clubbing with Instagram models and shit, it was wild."

You stared at him as he patted Jeno on the back rather aggressively. "Where did you go? Have you ever even left New York?" 

You knew the answer. Only a few times when the debate team went to compete in different states. Jeno spoke up again. "Well, yeah a few t—"

"Doubt it," Yunho scoffed. He craned his head back. "San, you done yet?"

"Almost!" San answered. Yunho turned to face you, and for some reason his smile seemed genuinely kind. “What about you, Y/N?”

You never understood why it was that the soccer team hated your entire friend group, but seemed to tolerate you. It made no sense.

So you shrugged. “Not a lot, I guess. Did my summer reading. Hung out with my friends.” You flashed a reassuring smile at Jeno. “Right, Jen?”

Immediately, he relaxed a little bit. “Yeah.”

San appeared from behind Yunho, Jeno and Wooyoung. “Thanks, Y/N. I owe you one.”

You waved your hand, wanting them to get rid of them quickly. “Don’t mention it. But next time, just text me for my notes. I have to get to work, so…”

“Oh! My bad,” He answered with fake remorse, before unlocking his phone and handing it over to you. “Here. For next time.”

You stifled a deep sigh, punching in the numbers hesitantly. “Just for homework, got it?”

San took his phone back, holding a hand over his heart and raised his head. “On a gentleman's honor,” He declared, and you bit back a laugh. Jeno looked like he was going to hurl.

“San!” The team captain—Hongjoong—called from a few feet away, “Are you guys done yet or what?”

“Coming!” San yelled back.

“Alright, we’ll let you go,” Wooyoung said, patting Jeno on the back again, a bit too harsh for comfort. “Bye, Y/N! See you around.”

 The three of them stalked off, leaving you and a very frazzled Jeno. “Dicks,” You muttered once they were out of earshot. “You good?”

Jeno shook his head, waving his hand dismissively. “I’ll be fine.”

You tilted your head, frowning. “Jeno—”

“I gotta go,” He said quickly. “I’ll see you later?”

You nodded, offering a lopsided smile. “Yeah. Be careful!” 

Jeno offered a deep bow, fluttering his eyelashes. “On a gentleman’s honor,” He sighed, adding a very bad British accent to it. You burst out laughing, eyes squeezing shut.

You didn’t catch the way Jeno’s shoulders relaxed at the sound.

I want you to know now

Baby, it could go down

I don’t wanna talk about it

Baby, let’s just go now

The train ride into Midtown didn’t take too long. He spent it digging through his backpack for his Park Industries lanyard, listening to music and thinking about you.

When you talk right to me 

You gon’ have to do me

Every time you think you’re leaving 

You running back to me

You’d met Jeno when you were six. Truth be told, he didn’t really remember. For him it was like you weren’t there at one point and by the time you were, you were thicker than thieves. It was a difficult time for him. He had just lost both of his parents, and was moving in with his Aunt Sunny and his Uncle Jinki, who were barely out of college at the time. He’d had to move to a new school and basically restart his entire life. You were the first sense of stability in his life for months. 

Your mom lived next to his aunt and uncle. So naturally, you went to the same school and went on the same bus. And somewhere along the way, you two clicked. You’d introduced him to Renjun, Jaemin and Donghyuck. You were there to comfort him whenever he got pushed off the slide by San or Wooyoung. 

He was there for you when your stepdad and stepbrother moved in when you were nine and you weren’t sure how to deal with it. He was there when your mom died when you were thirteen. He’d introduced you and your friends to Mark, Chenle and Jisung. 

And you were there when his Uncle Jinki got killed when he was fifteen. And because fate had an especially cruel sense of irony, it had happened on a Tuesday. You didn’t know, but at the time, he had just gotten his powers. Your comfort and words unknowingly had a secondary effect: he made the decision to use them for good, and… well. The rest was history. 

Can we just talk? Can we just talk?

Talk about where we're goin'

Before we get lost, lend me your thoughts

Can't get what we want without knowin'

Just like when he met you, he didn’t recall an exact moment where he realized he’d fallen in love with you. He knew there was a world where he loved you, but wasn’t in love with you. And he knew that there was a world here he’d fallen in love with you—he was living in that world now. He realized he was living in that world maybe when he was sixteen, and had been stuck in it ever since. 

You were it for him. He’d had crushes before. But never something like this, where he was so aware of your presence around him. It wasn’t the way he was hyper aware of someone like San, or like Yunho or Jongho. It wasn’t out of anxiety or fear, where a shift in mood activated his fight or flight. He was aware of you in a way that only people who truly know each other do, where he could pick up on subtle changes in your behavior, but not out of fear. Rather, out of a desire to take care of you and to not have you worry about anything. 

I've never felt like this before

I apologize if I'm movin' too far

Can we just talk? Can we just talk?

Figure out where we're goin'...

As the train rolled into the station that was a fifteen minute walk from Park Tower, Jeno put away his headphones and took a deep breath.

The “Jeno Tingle” as his Aunt Sunny called it—Jeno hated the term—had taken him a few years to gain control of. And while he could never truly turn it off, he could at least tune it out enough to be more at ease. The only time he did so was at school or when he was studying, just because he wanted to feel normal, and because being aware of everything going on around him really messed with his concentration. 

Jaemin didn’t understand. “If I was able to tell whenever Seonghwa was behind me because he wanted to scare me into doing his chemistry homework, I’d never turn that shit off,” He’d said once. But truthfully, Jeno didn’t really care. Because while yes, he was still slightly scared of the “hateful eight”, he knew damn well that if things got to be too much, he could kick their asses if he wanted to. 

It was his friends he worried about. He couldn’t be around them 24/7. You, not so much. He knew you knew how to fight. Even worse, he knew that San had the hots for you so you were off limits to the rest of them, be it bullying or flirting. But for everyone else… Well. He couldn’t hover over them like some guardian angel. 

Now that the “Jeno Tingle” was on, it allowed him to sense everyone within a certain range around him. He could zero in on certain sounds with ease, and his reflexes became heightened. Halfway on his walk up Park Avenue, he jumped away from a chihuahua on its leash a second before it started barking at him.

When he entered the first floor lobby of the Park Building, he scoured the crowd of employees and visitors until he landed on one familiar face. 

He'd met Doyoung about a year after his dad started dating your mom. Things between your parents were starting to get serious, and Doyoung was four years older than you were. When they moved into your house, Doyoung as your new stepbrother became the de facto chaperone and babysitter. If you wanted to go to the mall with Jeno, he had to take you. Every time you dragged Jeno to the movies, Doyoung had to go also. 

To an extent, it wasn't that bad. Doyoung was cool, and he was smart—he was the one who got Jeno interested in computers and chemistry. He graduated high school at 16, and finished his bachelor's degree at 19. He'd also interned at Park Industries, and secured a job there almost immediately after college. 

To an extent, he was the whole reason Mr. Park knew who he was, because of one incident. It was relatively soon after he started the whole vigilante thing. Jeno, still figuring out how to maneuver on the webs that shot out of his wrists, had accidentally crashed into your backyard late at night, when only Doyoung was awake. He was standing in the back door while he was waiting for his dog to finish peeing. 

Initially, the older boy had freaked out, thinking that it was a burglar or something. When he yelled out that his dad was a cop and was asleep in the house, Jeno panicked, and pulled off his mask, holding up his hands.

“Woah, woahwoahwoah! Doyoung! It’s me, it’s me!” 

Doyoung’s eyes had widened to the size of saucers, paying no mind to the dog as it sauntered up to Jeno, before turning onto its back in a request for belly rubs.

"You're the spider guy everyone's been talking about!?"

"Spider man," Jeno had answered, voice cracking as he dusted himself off. He cringed at the sound of his voice. "...and yes."

Of course, his cover was blown, and he'd begged Doyoung not to tell anyone, especially not you. And while Doyoung had promised not to tell you, it didn't stop him from telling his boss. 

That had been almost three years ago now. The rest was history, and after that Jeno didn’t have to run around in bright red sweatpants and dollar store swimming goggles. Now, he had a nanotech suit that allowed him to activate protocols of the suit through voice commands using something top-secret Mr. Park called D.R.E.A.M technology. Direct Response Engaged As Machine—yeah, Jeno didn’t get it either. 

Doyoung offered Jeno a smile as he escorted Jeno past security, showing them his employee clearance pass. "Hey. How have you been?"

Jeno shrugged, recounting his day in minor detail as he was led into an elevator labeled authorized personnel only. 

This elevator only went up to the 35th floor, seeing as everything past that was only cleared for a certain list of people approved by Mr. Park and his security team, and everything past the 90th floor were Mr. Park's private living quarters. 

Now, as Doyoung led him to another elevator to head up to the 85th floor, which was always where Jeno got to meet with Mr. Park—which wasn't often, maybe once or twice a year—he wondered where he would be if he hadn’t surprised Doyoung that night. He would probably still be using those ugly red sweatpants as part of his disguise.

"How's Y/N?" Doyoung asked. 

"Oh, she seems okay. That guy who hates me keeps coming onto her though. He's a huge douchebag."

Doyoung frowned. "He's not harassing her, is he? Because if he is—"

"He just won't stop flirting, even though she clearly isn't interested," Jeno said bitterly, "He isn't physical or anything. Trust me, it wouldn't end well for him if he was."

Doyoung wasn't quite sure how to respond to the younger boy's dark tone. He looked down, clearing his throat awkwardly.

“So… how’s the apartment?” Jeno asked. Doyoung perked up instantly.

“Oh, now that Taeyong’s moved in and did his interior design thing, it looks great. He’s really done a great job at it.”

“When am I gonna meet this guy? He sounds cool.”

“He’s really cool,” Doyoung hummed, cheeks heating up. “Things are getting really serious.”

Jeno smiled at how flustered Doyoung, who was normally so level headed and calm, became at the mention of his boyfriend.

“You guys sound like a really good couple,” He said. Doyoung chuckled, waving his hand. “Oh, well—” 

 The elevator dinged, and Doyoung sighed. “I’ll tell you later. C’mon.”

The hallway it opened up to was lined with pictures of the company's history, starting from pictures of black and white of people in vintage clothing, to pictures in sepia tones to finally pictures of the current CEO at locations around the world: Chanyeol Park.

Jeno walked behind Doyoung as he led him down the hallway, before stopping in front of a door, and a friendly looking man in a suit. 

Junmyeon was a part of Chanyeol’s Security and Intelligence team, and often sat in on these meetings with Jeno. The chain of contact also included him. If Jeno couldn’t contact Doyoung (which rarely happened), he’d contact Junmyeon. And if he couldn’t contact either of them, or it was an emergency, only then could he contact Chanyeol. So far, that had only happened once.

"Hey, Junmyeon," Doyoung said, "Mr. Park's 4:30 is here." 

Junmyeon nodded, before smiling at Jeno and giving him a wave. "Hey, kid."

Jeno offered an awkward grin. "Hi, Mr. Kim."

Junmyeon rolled his eyes sarcastically. "Kid, you're making me feel ancient. I've told you a million times, just call me Junmyeon."

Jeno shuffled awkwardly, before nodding at the older man, watching as he pressed a button on his earpiece. "Hey, Yeol. Jeno's here."

The muffled response was barely heard, but Jeno automatically understood what Mr. Park said. Junmyeon turned to open the door, and let the pair inside. The “office”—if it could even be called that—opened up to more of a lounge, than anything. A wall of glass overlooked the Manhattan skyline, but Jeno knew that from the outside it looked only like a wall, due to camouflage technology developed by Mr. Park himself. As Doyoung and Junmyeon stayed back, closer to the door, Jeno took a few steps toward the man in question.

Chanyeol was standing a few feet in front of the glass window, working on a holographic model of a new piece of tech. His face was turned downward in a concentrated frown. He barely spared the teenager a glance as he said fondly, “Hey, kid.”

Jeno was used to this. Chanyeol wasn’t cold per se, but he wasn’t warm at all. He knew that Chanyeol cared about him, even if he didn’t really show it in a conventional way. Chanyeol was a very… eccentric man, so he had his own way of saying and doing things. 

“Hi, Mr. Park. Um… you wanted to talk to me?”

“Yep! Needed some help from the friendly neighborhood Spiderman… A little birdie told me about something going on in Queens.”

“Queens?” Jeno asked, gripping the straps of his backpack. “You mean, other than the usual stuff?”

“Other than the usual stuff,” Chanyeol repeated, nodding. With a wave of his hand, the hologram disappeared, and another one appeared in its place. This time, instead of a 3D model, a few pictures and another, smaller 3D model appeared. Chanyeol turned to face him, frown deepening. He pointed at the model—a long, shiny oval-shaped purple stone. It reminded Jeno of an amethyst, but instead of turning white at the base, it turned to an iridescent jade tone. “You know what this is, right?”

Jeno nodded, remembering seeing the rocks all over the news when he was a kid. “That’s… that’s a Chitauri stone. From the invasion a few years back.”

Chanyeol nodded, standing up straight. “These stones have the potential to power weapons with no need to recharge, or change them out. They’re an infinite, extremely strong power source, Jeno, and in the wrong hands can be very dangerous.”

Jeno took a deep breath, feeling his stomach sink slowly. Chanyeol sighed. “Cleanup of the city after the invasion was long, and difficult, and obviously the government and the company weren’t able to get everything. It caused a black market to pop up. Now, the NYPD has been investigating it for years, but they have their limits… that’s where you come in.”

“M-me, Mr. Park?”

Chanyeol gave him a crooked, reassuring smile. He pointed at one of the pictures, which was of a man who most likely didn’t know he was photographed. He was walking somewhere, face looking angry and stern.

“You don’t know who this is, right?”

Jeno shook his head, and Chanyeol turned his head to nod at Junmyeon. “You’re up, tough guy.”

Junmyeon huffed, before walking up to Jeno. He put his hand on Jeno’s shoulder as if he could tell that he was growing anxious. 

“Jeno, that’s Henry Duke. From what we understand on the intel team, he’s one of the cornerstones of the alien tech black market. He’s one of the top dogs. From what we understand, he likes to be present for all major negotiations that his group makes. A source of ours told us that there’s going to be a negotiation on Friday night not too far away from LaGuardia. We want you to go out there and just get a feel of what’s going on.”

“Just watch them, right?” Jeno looked at Junmyeon, who patted his back reassuringly. “Just watch. Don’t engage unless you absolutely have to.”

“You can do that, right?” Chanyeol said quietly, crossing his arms. “Because if not, then it’s totally—”

“Yeah, of course I can! Friday—shit, Friday. At what time are they supposed to be meeting up?”

Junmyeon furrowed his eyebrows, before answering, “Around eight or nine.”

Jeno bit his lip, thinking about the promise he’d made to you. It would just have to wait, he supposed. Chanyeol rarely asked anything this big of him.

“Alright,” Jeno agreed, “I’ll do it.”

Chanyeol grinned, clapping his hands together. 

“Perfect.” 

They discussed logistics briefly after. Doyoung would be on call with Jeno, his custom made suit allowing them to communicate, letting Doyoung see everything Jeno was seeing via a video feed coming from the ultra thin lenses placed in the white eye sockets of the mask. Doyoung would then report to Junmyeon, who would report to Chanyeol, who would probably report to the FBI. Jeno was only to engage if absolutely necessary.

After that, he set out on patrol. He usually found some discreet place to hide his backpack, and then went all over Queens looking for trouble, quite literally. Around five thirty, he stopped a robbery in Murray Hill. Then, around seven, he stopped a man from stealing a woman’s purse in Elmhurst. Nothing too much.

Around eight, he finally headed home, this time dressed normally, using the train and not web fluid. He walked home, tired, knowing that he’d immediately have to do that cursed AP calc homework. When he got home, he opened his backpack pocket to look for his keys, rummaging between his notebooks and other things. 

Shuffling through his stuff, he furrowed his eyebrows as he couldn’t find them. Thinking back, he remembered this morning, when he’d left in a rush… and had very obviously left his keys on his desk.

“Shit,” He muttered to himself. He rubbed his eyes tiredly, remembering that Aunt Sunny had said she’d be working overtime tonight. He could very easily sneak in through his window, but he was pretty sure he’d locked it the night before, and it was too early. People’s lights were still on—anyone could see him if they just looked up, and then he would be screwed. 

Huffing and zipping his backpack up, he marched up to your house, before ringing the doorbell. He shifted his weight back and forth, from his heels to the balls of his feet, until the door opened up. A familiar man with a face just like Doyoung's, but older, with graying hair and arms scarred and muscled from years of working on the police force stood in the doorway.

“Jeno?” Your dad offered him a warm smile. “Hey, kiddo, what’s up?”

“Hi, Mr. Kim,” Jeno said, smiling back. He shifted nervously. “I, um… I left my keys in my room this morning, and my aunt’s working late, so… could I… maybe wait here? Y/N’s home, right?” 

The man nodded. “Of course, of course. Come in!” 

Your dad had always been super friendly, even from the day Jeno had first met him. You'd told Jeno once that he was the only real father figure you'd ever had. Once everything settled after him and your mom got married, you started calling him dad altogether. And since you and Jeno were practically glued at the hip, he got along with your dad almost as well as you did.

“Okay.” Jeno stepped in and set down his backpack at the base of the coat rack next to the door, as he’d done a million times before. Jeno stepped into the living room, and sat down on the couch. He folded his hands in his lap and looked up at your dad.

"I think Y/N's in the shower, but she should be done soon. You can just wait here if you want… have you eaten anything yet?”

“Uh, I had a granola bar on the train, but that’s it.”

“We have some leftover pasta here, if you want—”

“Thanks, Mr. Kim, really! I’m fine.”

Your dad nodded, sitting down on his recliner. “So, have you started your college list, yet? Y/N said you wanted to stay here in New York.”

Jeno nodded, pushing some hair out of his face. “Well, yeah. It would make things a lot easier, I think. I might want to apply to NYU, but I think I’ll just go to community college, or something.”

Your dad shook his head. “You’re a pretty smart kid, Jeno. I think you could get into Columbia if you set out to. Plus, Chanyeol Park doesn’t give out internships to anybody. That’s your secret weapon.”

Jeno smiled. “Well, you’ve got a point.” 

Your dad gave him a friendly punch on the shoulder. “Come on, trying won’t hurt!” Your dad made a face, and then rubbed his knuckles. “Have you been working out? Those muscles weren’t there the last time I did that.”

Jeno laughed, trying to think of an excuse. “Oh, a little bit? The house needed some fixing up over the summer, and I wanted to help Aunt Sunny, so…”

“Jeno?” 

He turned immediately, eyes landing on you at the base of the staircase. You’d changed into an old t-shirt and pajama pants. Your hair was slightly damp. “What are you doing here?” You asked, with a curious smile.

His shoulders slumped, and he grinned sheepishly. “Terrible Tuesday strikes again. I forgot my keys.”

You grimaced. “Brutal, dude. You wanna come up?” Your eyes moved to your dad. “Or am I interrupting guy time?”

“Oh, definitely,” Jeno answered, playing along. He took a cocky tone as he rested his hands on the back of his neck. “Your dad was just telling me about how much the NYPD needs me.” 

You stifled a laugh. You dad seemed to be holding back a laugh too. "Hey, you're joking, but if you keep working out like that, and if by some impossible chance, the college thing doesn't work out… We might just be able to catch Spiderman if we finally got some brain cells on the force."

"Ugh, dad," You groaned, unaware of Jeno's gut twisting, "Not again."

"Yeah, Mr. Kim," Jeno said, scratching the back of his head, "He's not that bad."

Your dad shook his head. "Look, I don't hate the guy. In all honesty, crime rates have dropped since he started doing his thing. But he thinks he's above the law, and his methods can be a bit… unorthodox sometimes. He’s been undermining us for years and his tech is state of the art. Makes me wonder about what we should do to modernize the force."

Jeno looked downward, wondering what would happen if your dad knew the truth.

"Well, I guess we may just never find out. Jeno'd make a horrible cop. He couldn't hurt a fly if you paid him a million dollars."

But you came to the rescue as you grabbed his backpack, and soon enough he was up the stairs with you, heading into your bedroom, laughing to yourselves when you heard your dad jokingly call out, "Fifteen inch distance, you two! Door stays open!"

He sat on your desk chair while you lay on your bed, limbs splaying out. 

"So you left your keys."

Jeno groaned. "Don't remind me. I was in such a rush to leave, that I… I forgot. I'm so stupid."

You rolled your eyes, rolling over onto your stomach to look at him. "You're not stupid, Jen. You made an honest mistake because you were in a hurry." 

Standing up, you walked over to him and leaned against the desk. "Seriously, Jeno. What's gotten into you, lately? You freak out about every little thing. It's starting to worry me." 

Jeno shook his head. "I don't know," He admitted. "I think I'm just scared about how after this year, everything changes. Renjun’s headed upstate. Jaemin’s going to Boston. You want to go to LA. I think Hyuck and I are the only ones who want to stay here. I just… I don't want things to change." 

Your expression turned sad as he continued. "Everyone is expecting great things from me. You're smart, Jeno. You can get into an Ivy. Or, you have a Park internship, you'll be fine. What if I don't want things to be fine? What if I want them to just stay the same?"

You stayed silent for a few moments, trying to think of what to say. Jeno was relatively level headed for someone your age, but even he had moments of doubt and panic. It made moments like these difficult.  You sighed before grabbing him by the hand. Wordlessly, you tugged him over to the bed, sitting him down and leaning your head on his shoulder. He could feel the dampness in your hair seeping slowly into his shirt.

"I guess I understand what you mean," You mumbled, trying to reason with him, "But come on. You wouldn't really want everything to stay the same. You can't tell me you want to keep getting AP calc homework. And I definitely doubt that you'd want to have your ass kicked by San for the rest of your life."

Jeno looked at the floor. "You're right. But you know that's not what I mean—"

"I know," You huffed, "I'm just saying. Change… it's inevitable. The longer you fight it, the harder it is."

Jeno nodded. "This sucks."

"It does," You agreed, taking his hand in yours. "But at least we have each other's backs, y'know?"

Something of a smile appeared on his face. You were so close to him, leaning on him, stroking his knuckles with your thumb. He hoped you couldn't hear his heart pounding in his chest. 

"We really do, huh?" His voice turned quiet, with a bit of a sleepy lull to it. He allowed his head to rest on yours. "You're so comfortable. Can I like, use you as a pillow for the rest of my life?"

You giggled. "I'll consider it on two conditions."

"Oh, you'll consider. How generous of you."

"Yes, I'll consider. Now, do you wanna hear my terms or not?" 

Jeno raised an eyebrow. "Go ahead," He said, before putting on his best Marlon Brando voice, "Make me an offer I can't refuse."

Snorting, you lifted your head off of his. "Okay. One, you finish your calculus homework here before Sunny gets home."

He pursed his lips. "Okay, I could probably do that. What's the other one?"

"Let me drive you to school for the rest of the year." 

Jeno stared at you, and you nodded, eyes wide. "Trust me, Jen. You wouldn't need to wake up so early! And plus, you can't text the guy manning the subway asking him to give you five minutes because you need to find your keys."

Jeno gnawed on the inside of his cheek. You did have a point, and to be honest, he could probably refrain from putting his feet up on your dashboard.

"Deal." 

You grinned. "Awesome," You answered, before nodding towards his backpack. "Now get to work, Einstein."

The rest of the week wasn't that bad. Yes, you were absolutely batshit insane about your truck in the morning, but he soon realized he didn't really mind. Not when it allowed you both to spend some twenty extra minutes together in the mornings, and they were spent joking around and listening to your extremely varied playlist. 

On the other hand, he was saddled with more and more homework, greater and greater expectations. The looming threat of Friday's mission rolled around, and it made Jeno feel like time was passing much too slowly but also way too quickly. There was so much on his mind. He had chemistry with you on Thursdays in the afternoon, which also meant that San was there. Which also meant that sometimes, his heightened senses would pick up on San dropping a tacky pick up line which made Jeno want to punch him in the jaw.

Finally, finally, Friday afternoon rolled around. As he bid you goodbye and promised to see you later, he tried to ignore the feeling in his stomach. The feeling that something was about to go very, very wrong. He went out on patrol, ready for Doyoung to set up the call and tell him where he needed to go. It didn’t help that there wasn’t a lot for him to do that day. Crime had seemed to slow down altogether. 

When the time finally came, and the sun was beginning to set, Doyoung rang in at about 7, telling him the location. An old warehouse near LaGuardia airport, hidden from prying eyes. Jeno made his way to the place, avoiding security cameras Doyoung warned him about, and found a place to hide. There was a hole in the warehouse roof, which allowed him to peer right into the building without being seen. It was about thirty feet from the ground.

“Why is it always old, abandoned warehouses?” Jeno grumbled. He heard Doyoung laugh quietly. 

“Beats me,” Doyoung sighed. 

And so they waited. Jeno wondered vaguely if you were still working. He wasn’t sure. They made time talking quietly, until a black SUV rolled into the warehouse. “Woah, Doyoung,” He murmured, “Hold up.”

Jeno leaned forward, but quickly realized he probably wouldn’t be able to hear what was being said. “D.R.E.A.M, activate Heightened Intelligence Protocol.”

Activating Heightened Intelligence Protocol.

The protocol allowed Jeno to use the lenses over his eyes to zoom in on specific targets, as well as use a microphone embedded in the suit to pick up audio from far away and feed it directly into his ears.

He watched as three figures got out of the car, a fourth remaining in the driver’s seat. The trio stood in front of the car, and Jeno recognized the man in the middle as the man Junmyeon had been talking about.

“Alright, there’s Henry Duke,” He said, “The one in the middle.”

 “Got it,” Doyoung replied, sounding satisfied. “Now all we have to do is wait for the other party.”

“Did Junmyeon’s sources say anything about who it would be?”

“No. They weren’t able to find that out. Guess we’ll just have to wait and see.”

Jeno’s eyes never left the man. “Do you think it’s something international?”

Doyoung sighed. “I’m not sure. If it is international, then you need to be even more careful.”

“Got it. I think—Wait, here they come.” 

A second vehicle, this one another black SUV, rolled up not too far away from the first car. The lights turned off and the engine sputtered to a stop, and four men stepped out of the vehicle.

Jeno’s stomach dropped, and of its own accord, his mouth let loose a quiet, “What the fuck,” as he registered the person leading them. 

“What?” Doyoung asked, before realizing what—who—he was looking at. “...Is that my dad?”

“I think it is,” Jeno whispered, fingertips suddenly numb. Who was he kidding? They both knew who it was. 

“So,” One of the men next to your dad said, “You show us yours, we’ll show you ours?”

Henry Duke clapped his hands together with an impish grin. “I suppose. Reagan, get the case.”

One of the two men standing beside him started off toward the trunk of the car. “It caught me off guard when I heard that the force wanted to purchase these. Almost made me wonder if this was your attempt at a sting operation.”

“What made you change your mind?” Your dad asked. Jeno swallowed at how cold he sounded. This wasn’t your dad, and it didn’t seem like Officer Kim either. This was someone Jeno had never met before. 

“Honestly, Kim?” Duke raised an eyebrow, shrugging. “It was you. Your cooperativeness and willing to feed us information, as well as your… insurance agreement. And besides, you made a very interesting point when you said that the Avengers Initiative and Park’s alum Spiderman is ruining the way the law operates around here. That type of bitterness… hard to fake.”

Your dad huffed. “We’re fucking tired of it.”

The man leaning against the car your dad had stepped out of scoffed. “If this helps us catch the little asshole, then so be it.”

Jeno frowned. “I’m not little—”

“Jeno, shut up!” Doyoung snapped. 

“—Alright, then.” The man holding the briefcase—Reagan—clicked it open, as if it were a prize reveal on The Price is Right. Five guns, all modified to hold glowing Chitauri stones were placed carefully together side by side.

“You know the basics. No radiation. Keep it away from security scanners and x-rays. They will blow up. And second of all, these are at half the price, along with the promise from the chief of police that my business won’t be touched, and will only be distributed to officers in on the operation and have agreed to turn off their body cameras when they decide to use these weapons. Should this not be a sting operation, we’ll be back here to negotiate.”

Jeno leaned forward, watching anxiously.

“Yes, sir,” Your dad answered, nodding. “We have the money here.”

“Hand it over, then.”

That was when Jeno made his mistake. He leaned forward too much, and proceeded to fall right through the hole, bringing down some scraps of the roof with him. As he tumbled through the air, the zoom on his lenses caused him to grow dizzy as he had no idea what he was looking at. He caught himself before he could fall, clumsily commanding D.R.E.A.M to go back to turn off the current protocol. His vision returned to normal, and he swung up onto a rafter holding the warehouse up.

“So, we have company.” Duke didn’t sound as amused as he had before. His face turned into a sneer. “Get him.”

In less than a second, before Jeno could say anything, five guns were pointed directly at him. He managed to swing away before any bullets could hit him. 

“Jeno, get out of there now,” Doyoung ordered. 

“What about the guns?” Jeno asked, swinging to another rafter. “They know I’m here, I might as well get them before I go—”

“No! Jeno, listen to what I’m telling you. You’ve done more than enough, and you need to let it g—”

Your dad aimed, and a bullet fired right at Jeno’s chest. For a second, he forgot that the chest area of the suit was lined with bulletproof material. While it didn’t shoot into his chest, it ricocheted right off him, and since he was in motion, it somehow caused the bullet to bounce back in the direction in which it came. 

The wind was knocked out of Jeno, but it was nothing compared to watching the bullet land in the middle of your father’s chest. On the other line, he heard Doyoung yell, followed by the sound of something falling. And then, as he made his way back towards the hole he’d fallen out of, he couldn’t rip his eyes away from the body as it crumpled to the ground. 

The others around him scrambled to get back into their respective cars. Jeno was back on the roof now, trying not to hyperventilate. “I’m sorry,” He gasped, “Do—Doyoung, I-I’m sorry, I didn’t want to—”

“Jeno, you need to get out of there, now,” Doyoung said, voice raspy. “GO!” 

So he did, and Doyoung cut off the call once he was out of the vicinity. Jeno didn’t blame him. He swung across buildings, feeling numb as he looked for the apartment complex roof where he’d decided to hide his backpack.

When he finally did, he changed in a hurry, before slumping against the wall and forcing himself to take deep breaths. 

Doyoung’s dad—your dad—was dead. And it was all his fault. 

He cried on the way down the staircase. He cried on his way to the subway. The entire time, he ignored people’s stares. Suddenly everything was too loud, and if he met someone in the eyes he’d just about break down in the middle of the station. 

As he got onto the train, Jeno thought about all of the things your dad had done for you, and for Jeno. All the times he'd taken you both to Coney Island in the summer when you were younger. The year Pokemon Go came out he took the both of you driving around in his car so you and Jeno could catch as many Pokemon as you could. 

He’d formally adopted you when you were thirteen. You were his daughter in nearly every sense of the word, regardless of blood. And now he was dead, because of a stupid mistake that Jeno had made.

What would you say if you knew? He didn’t want to know. Checking the time on his phone, he saw he’d gotten a message from you just three minutes ago.

[8:36 PM]

y/n: lemme know when ur outside!! :)

“Fuck,” He murmured, wiping his eyes. He knew he needed to stop crying before he got to your house, and he had about ten minutes before he got to his stop, and then another five minute walk to the neighborhood. He focused on taking deep breaths and taking long swigs from his water bottle in the meantime, trying to tune out the sound of other people talking and the sound of the train on the rails.

The walk was the longest five minute walk he’d ever taken. The flashing lights of convenience stores did nothing to calm him down. As the stores in his peripheral vision began transitioning into suburban homes, he felt his heart speed up again. The constant movement as he walked meant he missed his phone vibrating in his backpack as you rang his number.

After what seemed like an eternity, two familiar houses came into his line of vision, and his shoulders slumped as he spotted you on your porch, looking small and teary, curled up into a little ball. In one hand, you were clutching your phone.

His stomach twisted as he put on a confused tone, even though he knew damn well that you knew. “...Y/N?”

You stood up, running to him and burying yourself into his chest, crumpling into his arms. You would have fell over if Jeno hadn’t held both of you up. 

“Jeno,” You sobbed, “You’re n-not go-onna believe it.”

He brought a hand up to caress your hair, holding back tears of his own as he asked a question he already knew the answer to.

“Y/N, what happened?”

taglist: @decembermoonskz @itsapapisongo @lenaluvs​ @crescentjen​

[mosylufanfic]

“If we’re going to keep ending up in life-or-death situations, trust that I will save you every single time.” killervibe

I know how much you HATE angst, my friend, but . . . ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Also Caitlin has a house now. Because I say so.

Promise Kept

The rain pattered on her umbrella. Caitlin focused on the sound, which was not at all like the rain option on the white-noise machine in her bedroom. She wished she were there, listening to her white-noise machine, wrapped in her blankets, alone in the dark.

Not here, at the cemetery, listening to the last words of the funeral service.

The rain started coming down harder, and she focused on the water running off the polished wooden surface of the casket as it waited to be lowered into the ground. She remembered standing like this at another funeral, the wind cutting cold through her thin dress coat, Cisco's warm bulk next to her under the umbrella.

Now she was alone under the umbrella, and Cisco was in the casket. Which was now being lowered into the ground. She found her breath strangled in her throat. Cisco would hate that. Hate being buried, where he couldn't move, couldn't breathe . . .

Someone nudged her. She focused with a jolt, and Iris held out a rose, dripping rainwater.

Right.

Right. They were supposed to . . . 

She took it and a thorn that the florist had missed jabbed her thumb, a bright spark of pain in the middle of the grey numbness. She almost dropped it, but managed to fling it instead, vaguely in the direction of the casket. It hit the edge of the open grave and tumbled onto the wooden top with a splat. 

She let out a breath that was almost a sob. She wanted the flower back. She wanted to do it over again. Better.

She wanted to do so many things over again, better.

People were starting to leave. The funeral was done, and they were turning and leaving Cisco there, in the casket, in the soggy ground, alone.

**

If the funeral had been bad, the reception afterward was worse. Caitlin sat on a hard chair in the corner of the room, holding a sandwich and a cookie for the sake of having something to do with her hands. She wasn't hungry. She hadn't been hungry since -

"How did it happen?"

"Some kind of accident. Nobody's really clear."

"God, how awful. He was so young."

"His whole life ahead of him."

"His poor mother. She had two healthy sons and lost them both."

Caitlin looked up, across the room. Cisco's mom was weeping again, another woman holding her. A sister, maybe. One of Cisco's aunts. 

She lurched up from her chair and grabbed her coat. She couldn't stay here, listening to people speculating on what had happened, when she knew it was all her fault.

She was out the door and heading to her car when someone called out, "Caitlin, wait."

She stopped and turned. Cecile came up to her, eyes kind. "Are you going?"

She nodded jerkily. 

The other woman took her shoulders and looked into her eyes. "Nobody blames you."

She twisted out of her comforting grasp. "They should." 

**

He'd told her once, “If we’re going to keep ending up in life-or-death situations, trust that I will save you every single time.”

SHe couldn't remember the occasion. It had been a couple of years ago after they started helping Barry with the Flash, and she'd gotten into some kind of danger, and Cisco had gotten her out of it.

She remembered his expression, though, smiling but serious. A promise.

At the time, she'd smiled back and hugged him. She should have stopped him. Should have told him, If rescuing me would mean your death, don't do it. Promise me. Don't ever do it. 

But she hadn't, and he had, and now . . .

She went through the motions of getting showered and changed for bed as if she were a robot. The rain still drummed on the roof, occasionally punctuated by a sulky roll of thunder. Huddled under her blankets, she shivered. She'd been cold since the cemetery, although she rarely got cold anymore. 

She picked up a book and tried to read herself to sleep, but the words slid and twisted out of her mind. After three attempts at the same page of a book she'd read at least ten times before, she gave up and switched off the light.

After Ronnie had died, all she'd wanted to do was sleep. But now, the comfort of unconsciousness eluded her. She lay curled under her weighted blanket, staring into the dark, grief throbbing inside her like a broken tooth.

The rain was coming down harder now. She focused on the storm, on counting the seconds between the flickers of brightness and the roll of thunder. They were getting closer. The teeth of the storm must be right over - 

KER-CRASH

For an instant, her whole bedroom lit up white and simultaneously, a crack of thunder rattled her bones.

In the next instant, light and noise were both gone and she was lying in the dark again, listening to the rain, eyes wide.

Then a huge creaking crash just outside her window brought her upright.  "What - " she said aloud, reaching for her reading lamp. But the room remained dark, even when she twisted the switch again and then a third time.

Dammit. She must have lost power.

She fumbled around for her phone, unhooking it from the dead charger, and kicked her blankets aside. Making her way to the window, she leaned on the glass and squinted out into the storm. 

"Dammit," she said aloud. She couldn't make out anything clearly through the rain.

She stuffed her bare feet into a pair of rain boots and grabbed her raincoat from its hook by the side door. Taking the strong flashlight that Cisco had given her when she'd moved in, she opened the back door and peered out, squinting through the rain. 

Oh, no, it was the whole tree.

The lightning had split it down the middle, both sides tipping away from each other, a small fire among its leaves getting rapidly doused by the rain. She swore for the third time and started to step off the porch to get a closer look. 

A hand clamped around her upper arm and a voice shouted in her ear Stop!

She dropped the flashlight and froze. Had she heard -

No. 

It wasn't possible. 

Somehow, her flashlight hadn't gone out when she dropped it, and the beam of light speared across the yard, rain glinting as it fell through.

It rested cockeyed on the steps at her feet, but as she watched, it rolled. Just a little. Just enough to make the beam sweep slowly across her yard, finally coming to rest in the branches of the tree - 

And the thick, broken power line tangled in them, deadly as a black mamba.

She stared at it for ten seconds, heart beating in her throat. She looked down at the flashlight. 

No. Too much of it was metal, and her fingers might brush the ground when she picked it up. Best not to risk it. 

Very, very carefully, she shuffled backward into her house, calculating the distance from her door to the downed power line. Thirty feet? Maybe forty? She shuffled backward a few more steps just to be safe and collapsed into a kitchen chair.

She reached in the pockets of her raincoat and fumbled out her phone, looking up a number on the internet before dialing. 

"Central City Gas and Power,"  said the voice on the other end. "How can I help you tonight?"

"Hello," she said, her voice very level. "My name is Caitlin Snow, I live at 648 Bonneville Way, and one of my trees was struck by lightning about five minutes ago. When it went down, it took a power line with it."

"Did you touch it, ma'am?"

"No. No, I didn't."

"Okay. Is the tree or the power line in the road?"

"I don't - I'm not sure. Mostly in my yard, I think. My power is out, though."

"Yes, I'm seeing an outage in that whole area. Do you have children or pets?"

"No."

"Okay. Due to safety regulations, we won't be able to get somebody out there until this storm passes. Might be tomorrow morning. Are you going to be okay overnight?"

"Yes. I have emergency candles."

"Stay at least thirty-five feet away from the power line and the tree. in fact, I'd stay out of your yard completely. Even seemingly dead power lines can deliver lethal doses of electricity, and you don't even have to be touching it."

"Yes, yes. I know. I have - I had a friend who worked with electricity a lot and he always made sure I knew all that. I'll stay inside." 

She hung up and texted her neighbors about the tree. Then she set her phone face down on the table and stared into the darkness.

Without all the various lights and indicators, and no street lights beaming in from outside, the dark was velvety and all-encompassing. But after a few moments, her eyes adjusted enough to register variations in the depth that resolved into washed-out shades of her kitchen. The white of her microwave, the paleness of her counter, the darkness of the other chairs around the table. 

She registered motion out of the corner of her eye, but when she turned her head, it was just the curtains at her kitchen window. Fluttering.

But the air conditioning had gone out with the rest of the power.

She breathed in and out. "Who's there?"

Frost shifted under her skin, but for some reason, she pushed her powered side down. There had been something about that hand, that voice . . . 

She swallowed twice and on the second time, managed to say, "Who's there? Why did you stop me?"

For a moment, the dappled shadows by the kitchen window could have been a human form. An achingly familiar human form . . . 

I made a promise, remember?

FINIS

[momofaddict]

The Story of the End

November 26, 2019, Melody and I has planned a girl's day out. I sent the baby to the sitter, I had the day off from work, we ran a few errands, then enjoyed a nice lunch downtown. I had $150 cash in my purse from selling the laptop that she kept hawking for drug money, so my last errand was to deposit that cash and get it the hell out of my purse.

When we got home around 2pm, she said she was going to meet one of her best friends at the condo, who was already there waiting. She's a pot head and occasional Xanax user, but not an addict. I told her I loved her and she left about 2:30p. The condo is 10 min from my house.

She was supposed to pick up the baby at 5p. My son's ex who I'm still close with had been group texting Mel and me around 4:30. I'd been responding, but Mel hadn't. Not terribly unusual, but I got that oh so familiar sinking feeling, heart palpitations of worry started.

Just after 5p I text Melody and asked if she'd picked up the baby yet. No answer. I called a couple of times, no answer. She always got mad at me when I worried & blew up her phone, so I was trying to not do that. I texted again around 5:30 asking if she wanted me to pick up the baby. At this point I knew she'd used. No answer. I called a couple more times, straight to VM. I called the sitter at 5:45p. Nope, Mel hadn't picked up the baby. I'm on my way...

It was rush hour so I skipped the highway and took back roads. Mistake! Every light took forever, every driver was going half the speed limit. This only exacerbated my anxiety, which was starting to skyrocket. I prayed, "Please don't let this be it. Please let her be asleep and pissed at me for overreacting. Please don't let her OD and die!"

I got to the condo, & saw her car (was hoping I wouldn't, which would mean she's out and about). I parked in the fire lane, ran up to her condo and entered with my key. The place was tidy and quiet. I thought maybe she'd left with her friend that she was meeting there. I looked all over the house, seemingly no one was there. I walked to the back of the condo where there first a vanity area, then past that, a door to the tiny room with a toilet and shower. Then it hit me... I think the TV is missing. I ran out to the living room and confirmed it was gone. Initially I was pissed.

I'd left my phone in the vanity area and went to retrieve it... And suddenly realized the toilet room door was closed. I went to open it - locked. Insert major sickly adrenaline rush of complete terror. She'd never OD'd before so I was fucking scared.

I started beating on the door and screaming at her. Nothing. I looked under the door as best I could, I saw shadows. Was it her? Was it just dirty clothes on the floor? Why was the door locked if she wasn't there? So many thoughts and questions running through my head. I got a hanger to try to break into the door and called 911. I continued to try to break into the door with no luck whatsoever. Kicking, banging, screaming. It looked like one of those easy doors that all of us at one point in our lives have broken into, a knob with just a hole in it that you can stick a metal hanger in there and easily unlock. It wasn't coming open. Divine intervention, I've now concluded.

What seemed like forever, but was probably about five minutes later, a cop showed up. He too could not get the door open. A couple minutes later EMTs show up and I am escorted into the living room, but I didn't want to be by the bathroom anyway because I was so afraid of seeing something I could never unsee again.

They got the lock open, but something was against the door. it was like they were trying to be careful pushing open the door and we're taking forever doing it. I wanted to scream at them to break her bones if needed, I don't care just get that fucking door open!

At this point the babysitter who lives in the same complex rushed over when she saw the ambulance out front. I was a goddamn mess, screaming and crying harder than I ever had before. I told her to go look. She said Melody's head was in the toilet and she's blue. They pulled her out and I kept yelling at them I HAVE NARCAN RIGHT THERE BY THE BATHROOM!

Ms W, the sitter took me outside for air & one guy came out saying she's breathing. That was it for me, she's breathing and there's Narcan, she'll make it.

I went back in and the cops just kept asking me questions and asking me questions and I was in no mood for any of that bullshit. They had Melody laid on the bedroom floor. I couldn't see her, but the door was cracked and I could see them working on her. I swear to God it took them 15 minutes to finally administer narcan. Surely that was their second try?? But then I saw the thing that I did not want to see, CPR. I fucking flipped my lid!

They moved me to a spot where I couldn't see inside the bedroom anymore & about 10 minutes later they said they were going to transport her to the hospital. I asked if she breathing several times. All they would say is that they're working on her. They told me to wait outside while they transport her to the ambulance. I had my back turned in my ears plugged with my fingers because I didn't want to hear or see anything that would make me lose hope. I wanted to know that there was some hope that my baby was going to live. While I was waiting for them to get her in the ambulance, I called my son and told him to meet me at the hospital, that Melody had overdosed. He was on his way. I did breakneck speed to get to the hospital that was approximately 10 minutes away.

When I got to the hospital I waited for about 5 minutes until someone came and got me. They escorted me, not to my daughter's bedside, but to the "family room", a small, private room with couches and tissues. I stood in the doorway shaking my head, telling them no, I don't want to go in there, but eventually relented.

The first person that talked to me said they're still working on her, which of course gave me a small glimmer of hope, but why in the fuck was I in that little room?

Within about 5 minutes the EMTs, cops, and medical staff that have been working on her all flooded into that room. This was it, I knew it. They explained how hard they tried. I stopped them and said no I don't want to hear it, it's not true! I was bawling needless to say, head in hands. Finally I looked up and just said is she...? He just said I'm sorry. I lost it. Ms W (babysitter) came in about that time and I held on to that woman as tightly as I've ever held anybody in my life. I told her she's gone she's gone she's gone, my baby is gone! Everyone left the room that wasn't family except Ms W and a "counselor", who, long story short, it wasn't helpful even a little.

The counselor left the room at one point for about 5 minutes and my son walked in. I was trying to read his face to see if anyone had told him anything. He hadn't even had a chance to sit down and the counselor basically followed him in the room. I hadn't had a chance to say anything to him yet, when she extended out her arm for a handshake, introduced herself and said, "I'm so sorry for your loss." OMFG! My son looking at utterly and totally confused said, "Wait, what?" immediately started bawling. I asked everyone to leave the room and he and I just held each other and cried as hard as we've ever cried in our lives.

I went outside shortly after for some air. By the time I got back in, Melody's dad was there, my ex. We cried and held each other. It was by far the worst day of my life. At one point they asked if I wanted to see Melody. I decided I did not. My son and my ex saw her.

I had arrived at Melody's condo at 6 p.m. . By 8:45 p.m. I was leaving the hospital no longer a mother of a daughter. Goddamn heroin took her away from me.

Ms W kept the baby and we all went our separate ways. I thought I would want to be alone, but pretty much as soon as I walked into my empty house and Melody's cat walked up to me, I knew I didn't need to be alone. I called my best friend and neighbor and she came over immediately. She stayed for about an hour, I was exhausted, and thought I was ready to be alone. Nope! Being alone with my brain at that time just wasn't a good place to be. So I called my sister who lives fairly nearby. We'd been out of sorts lately because she had a mental breakdown a few months before, basically because my druggie daughter had a baby and she can't have children. She had literally told me that as long as Melody is in my house, she won't be there. But she and her husband rushed right over. We talked until I couldn't stay awake anymore.

Then came all of the busy work of trying to figure out arrangements for my daughter. How was I going to pay for a funeral when I just shelled out the last of my available credit card money to her grandmother's funeral one month before? That's a whole other story I'll save for another day.

The story doesn't end there though.

Two days later, Thanksgiving Day, D (the baby's father) came up on a train. As you know D has never been anybody's favorite person in this family. But he was so emotionally distraught, we tried to embrace him and help him as much as we could. Even my son who pretty much loathes the man hugged him and told him if there's anything he needed... The only people there were my son, my ex, the baby, D and me. We did our best to have a small Thanksgiving dinner together, because we didn't want to ruin things for the baby and we knew Melody would want us to continue with Thanksgiving.

The next day, D and I were the only ones at my house other than the baby. I tried to give him as much time as possible with the baby. We all also had to go to the funeral home that day and start trying to make arrangements. I wanted those closest to her to have an opinion on the arrangements. that was a total cluster fuck because after spending four miserable hours up there picking this and picking that for the arrangements, just for the funeral alone they wanted $16,000. That does not include burial, headstone, in a myriad of other things. Fuck that. But we picked a burial plot, because no matter the price, I needed her grave to be at that location, which is very close to my house. My sister helped me pay for that, $5800 (without the headstone), so at least that much was done. The $3000 headstone was purchased later. My God, these people really take advantage of people in mourning.

The next day was Saturday, two days after Thanksgiving. D had obviously been day drinking and was just going off at the mouth about how he's going to be okay, he's going to move back up to my city, get a job, get his life together, so he can take care of his baby. The thought of that sent shock waves down my body because I knew he would never be in a position to really take care of the baby. But I also knew he was talking out of his ass because he's getting drunk. he just kept talking and talking and saying the same things over and over. I think he was trying to convince himself.

Then randomly out of the blue, I'm standing in the kitchen washing a baby bottle and he opens my freezer and takes a giant gulp of vodka that I had in there. He turns to me and says, "Take care of my boy." It took me a full two or three seconds to realize what he just said and I said "what did you just say to me?" Take care of my boy. I immediately burst into tears grabbed hold of his jacket and I said what the fuck don't talk like that! He said there's nothing that I could do to stop him. I told him he's a fucking liar for all the stuff that he had said earlier that day about taking care of his own son. He goes yeah that's right I'm a fucking liar, just take care of my boy and he yanked away and went for the front door. I just said D don't do anything stupid, please, at least for your son. He started crying and saying how he's going to get the motherfuckers that killed his girl, & walked out the front door.

I'm not going to lie, at this point I thought it was a bunch of addict, drunk bullshit. Yeah right, he's going to set off on foot to go do something to these dealers? I gathered his things from my house, put them in a bag, set it on the front porch and locked the door. My daughter just died and he wants to pull this bullshit on me? I don't think so.

I had plans to run to Target and then go to my son's for dinner, so I continue with my plans with the baby in tow. Target is pretty much around the corner, and since it was Black Friday weekend, there was a cop car sitting in front of Target. I went up to the cop car and told the cop inside what just transpired, and told him I felt he was a danger to himself and potentially others. I told him he was on foot so he couldn't be far. He entered some stuff in his little cop car computer and said that they'd keep an eye out for him. I said I didn't care if it was jail or someplace else, he just needs to be taken off the street and put it somewhere safe.

As the baby and I were then on our way to my son's house, my phone starts blowing up with people saying that D is posting some pretty sick shit on Facebook. He had cut up his arms really badly & was showing them off on various pictures. Then he apparently got a hold of a roadkilled possum and wrapped it around his neck and posted one video naming his dealers by name and saying they're going to pay. Then he posted another video where he was literally eating or tearing apart this dead possum with his teeth. He had officially lost his mind. His last video talked about me and my ex and my son, thanking us for all we had done for him, but that it just wasn't enough, among other things. So while all this was going on, I decided to call 911 and let them know what's going on.

A couple of investigators called me while I was at my son's within 30 minutes of me calling 911. They just wanted more information about him. I found out later that they were trying to identify his body.

I got home from my son's house about 2 hours later and a cop was waiting in front of my house. He came inside and proceeded to tell me that a man fitting D's description was hit by a car while appearing to cross the interstate. They performed surgery on him but he did not survive. We later found out that he was on a bridge leading from one highway to another that was actually on the way to the dealer's house. The unfortunate person who hit him with their car said that he appeared to jump in front of her car. In that moment in time when the cop was telling me all of this, I was pissed. The baby was right there in his little jumper while I'm getting this terrible news, plus I just couldn't get my mind off the poor people that hit him with their car.

D's last FB post said, "Stop crying, it's a wrap, imma ghost." No question, he killed himself.

But there was that voice that said, that's it, no more addicts in my life. I never really considered that D would be a big part of the baby's life anyway. But now he's going to have no part and someday I have to tell this child what happened to his parents. And that's what I cried for.

As I've mentioned before D's family are pretty much pieces of shit. there was no way that I had the mental capacity to try to set up arrangements for his memorial too, nor did I have the money. I was still trying to raise money for Mel's funeral! So his ex from 11 years ago, the mother of his other son, bless her heart, took the lead on trying to make arrangements. His family did nothing to help. She set up a GoFundMe for $6,000 and only raised $2000. D had burned a lot of bridges and his short life. But she found a funeral home that would do the service, the embalming so he could have an open casket service before being cremated, the cremation itself, all for $3,000. I pitched in the other $1,000 out of my GoFundMe for Mel and a small service was held for him. The only family that came from Ohio and Georgia for his service was his sister. Oh but his mom left lots of sad face emoticons on Facebook, so she's clearly grieving horribly. Ugh. Wretched family! I felt so bad for his sister though. And even the mother of his other son. They were both tore up at the memorial. My guess is about 20 people showed up. D's other son, JC, was as sad as a little 11 year-old boy could be. That shit hurt my soul and I vowed to make sure that he and Melody's baby will be in each other's lives moving forward.

While making these arrangements, JC's mother and I also ordered matching necklaces for D's sons to wear that would have D's ashes in them. And just last week we spread some of his ashes on Melody's grave so JC, who really loved Melody, and Mel's baby (P) could have a single place to visit Mel and D.

This is what opiate addiction has done to my family and many, many families across the country. I am forever changed by this and I don't know what normal is supposed to be anymore. I said it before and I'll say it again, thank God for this baby. While I'll be 70 years old when he turns 18, he will have a stable home with lots of love, and I have that little piece of Melody with me forevermore.

[stereksecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, @nephilimeq!

Read on AO3

*****

Ruff Lovin: Doggie Style

"Here girl! C'mon Callie!” Stiles throws a ball across the room as Rascalé looks on bored, or even borderline unimpressed. Stiles sighs and crouches down to his lady, scratching her behind the ears. She leans into it tongue wagging happily before she sighs and puts her head on his leg.

"What's the matter, Callie the Collie?", Stiles muses as he pets her gently. She's been lethargic lately, gaining a little weight in the belly and she's been sleeping even more than usual. She lifts her head to look at him and licks at his chin before sighing and laying back down again. Stiles gets up and paces nervously.

It's been seven days of her decreased energy, which wouldn't be a big thing for any other dog, but Callie - a big brown, collie - normally keeps up with Stiles very well. She was a stray and he got all her shots, but he still hasn't had time to get her spayed.

He stops and looks at Callie who is lounging on her side with her legs crossed. She's a tough broad, but sometimes she likes to be a fancy lady. But even this was different.

When she sat like that, it meant she wanted to be waited on like a queen. She was usually pert and alert, adorably at attention. But now she was lain on her side, seemingly fighting off sleep.

Stiles hadn't noted a fever, or anything off about her smell or diet. Hmm... maybe Derek would have an answer?

Wanna go see Derek and Bruiser?" Callie perked up at the names and Stiles grinned, happy to finally see some life in his lady "Alright, Derek's an adult, he'll know what to do, and we'll get a couple of hours outside of this shithole."

“I heard that motherfucker!" A voice from nowhere says. Stiles grimaces, glaring at the far wall that he shares with the other apartment, Stiles can't stand the guy. He complains at every single little noise that Stiles makes. He swears he hears like a bat. Must be all the meth.

"What'd you say you little shit?”

Dammit, Stiles hadn't meant to say that out loud, but...fuck it.

"I said your sonar hearing must be a fringe benefit of all the meth! You meth-dicked bastard!" Stiles yells out grabbing Rascale's leash and sprinting out the door with her. He hears his neighbor open his door and soon sees a short stout man holding a bat.

"You wanna say that to my face, 418? Want me to kick your ass the same number of times as the apartment you live- Rascalé!"

Stiles groans, cursing the elevator for being so fucking slow. Rascalé yips and trots to Mether McMethyson and allows him to pet her hair. Stiles hated it, but he couldn't stay mad. She was literally the only reason he was still alive.

"Hiya lil Callie, aren't you the sweetest thing, yes you are! Who's a pretty bitch?" Methan Von Methenlowen says as he maniacally pets Stiles dog "You know overfeeding is a sign of dog abuse?"

Stiles attention snaps back to Methzel Washingmeth, yes, he's now switched to celebrities.

"The fuck? Fuck you!”

"Fuck you if you're over feeding your dog!" Mathbastian Meth says irritably. He's covering Rascalé’s ears while also giving her scritches, so she's unconcerned with the conversation.

“She's getting fat and it's not healthy.”

"Wait! She's not fat, she's full figured and beautiful, she’s just been a little tired lately.”

"Hell, I like big ladies,” Meth Mettrick Methis, shrugging like this is a pleasant and casual conversation they're having, "But when it's dogs it's no good. Get your shit together, if anything happens to her, I'm coming for you.”

Stiles can't think of a damned thing to say so he shrugs and nods, reaching his hand out hoping Rascalé will notice. She does after about 30 more awkward seconds of petting while Stiles stands next to the wall, trying not to freak the fuck out. As she walks towards him, Methedict Methold points menacingly at Stiles.

"And fucking get her fixed, her heat was stinking up the whole building and she left little bloodies everywhere. But it's not your fault is it, princess? You just have a piece of shit owner-" Even though his attention was back on the dog, Methie Methane (that one works on two levels... kinda) was pointing a finger at Stiles.

"What heat? She doesn't have- I mean, wait, bloodies?"

"Yeah, I know you just got her which is why I haven't beaten your ass for not getting her spayed, but if you wait much longer she's gonna get knocked up and newborn puppies are a pain in the ass, you understand mel?"

Stiles sighs and nods again, thanking the heavens when the elevator finally arrives He and Callie walk inside and as the door closes Stiles looks down at Callie who looks back at him and shakes his head.

"Fucking, LA."

 XXXxxxXXX

 Stiles moved to Los Angeles from Beacon Hills and grabbed the first single he could find in his price range. What he thought was a great deal at the time (his building was right next to the Magic Castle! He could see it from his house, how cool was that?) morphed into being 10 months into a 12 month lease with the methed out pet protection squad living next door.

Stiles found Rascalé under an overpass with no tags. He posted a few ads on Next Door and Craigslist and after no response he took her in. He'd gotten her shots, but getting her spayed was a more complicated (read: expensive) procedure and Stiles was still job hunting! He knew he'd have to find something soon, especially now that he and Derek were fucking, he knew he'd start to feel weird about the cash Derek gave him for helping out with his house. Stiles hums to himself as he enjoys the distinct change in air that happens just above Franklin. Maybe it's the altitude, but the smog seems less penetrating. Rascalé nudges Stiles' knee, seeming to notice his internal tangent.

"Well Callie, we're not exactly fucking, we just fucked the once, but I would very much like to fuck him again, you know?" He looks down at Rascalé who yips at him and then pulls slightly on the leash, wanting to reach her destination.

"Well aren't you the eager beaver? Bruiser's a fun dog, isn't he? You two are best friends, huh?"

Rascalé looks back at Stiles with her "bitch, please" look that Stiles swears she got from Derek. Fucking Derek.

Stiles smiles.

When Stiles got Rascalé, she was extremely undernourished. He fed her correctly and made sure she stayed active. He loved going over to Runyon trail and running to the tops of the peaks with her. It gave them amazing views of the city which Stiles hates just a little less in those moments.

He was on one of these runs through the trails with Callie one bright Sunday morning. On the way back to his shitty apartment, they saw a little black miniature pinscher wearing a leather vest with a broken metal chain in a pool beside him. He looked lost and afraid as Stiles hovered around him.

"Hey lil buddy, looks like you got away from your owner, huh?" Stiles had seen this before. Sometimes Rascalé would get too excited and get a little far away from him. He thankfully had an extending leash for her. This little pinscher looked small, but he was an energetic little bastard. Stiles knew when the dog started barking hell at him.

Ever the peacemaker Rascalé barked once and approached the dog, sniffing and saying hello or whatever it was dogs did when they met each other.

"Callie, you are a Jedi master." Stiles said happily as he'd finally been allowed to crouch down and pet the dog. He fingered his tags and saw the name was "Bruiser Hale" There was a phone number on the back so Stiles pulled out his phone.

A few minutes later a Grecian statue looking mother fucker came running up the hill, Stiles looked at his phone and then at 185 pounds of tanned muscle tone and definition jogging in real life slow motion towards him. He looked at his phone and thought about the soft, masculine voice coming out of this hard bodied hunk with his dark, nearly jet black hair and his sparkling hazel? Are his eyes fucking hazel?

"So fucking unfair." Stiles mumbled as the guy dropped to his knees, scooping the little dog into his embrace. Bruiser seemed just as happy and relieved to see his owner as he barked and licked the man's face.

"Bruiser, honey I'm so sorry I lost you!" the man - Derek Hale, himself- sighed happily into Bruiser's fur. He looked up at Stiles "Normally we come in the south entrance, but today we came in the north and I think he got a little overexcited and turned around. He's a small guy, but the chain I got wasn't strong enough. I'm Derek, by the way."

The man extended his hand and Stiles grabbed it, helping him up in the process. He was a good height, just about a nose taller than Stiles and Stiles could definitely work with that.

"Hi umm. I'm Stiles. Glad I could get Bruiser back to his dad" Stiles rubbed the back of his neck, thankful it was warm out so he could blame the trail and weather for the sweat beading on his forehead.

"Stiles, eh? That's... a name." Derek grinned and Stiles would have to remember to be indignant after he got done sunbathing in this man's smile. Impossibly handsome and kind of a dick? Sign Stiles up!

Funnily, Stiles didn't jump his bones right away.  He actually enjoyed Derek's company, which Derek assures him is no small feat. Since then Stiles and Derek had been jogging in the park with their dogs and occasionally Stiles would help Derek with some repairs on a house he was flipping. He'd taken to hanging there most weekends and as many weeknights as he could manage. Derek loved Rascal and she loved Derek and Bruiser. Stiles was glad to have a friend and Derek's place provided many benefits. The best of them all being Derek himself.

As they got closer, Derek started to show more of his true self. Stiles got to know his likes and dislikes. For example, Derek liked quiet, seclusion and working out. Derek didn't like clothes. The closer they got, the more comfortable Derek felt shedding his shirt, and then his shorts as he traipsed through the house to the outdoor shower. There were two heads and one day he looked at Stiles expectantly, like they were at the gym and not his open - albeit surrounded by security hedges -  backyard. Stiles tried to remind himself that he was grownup and nudity was no big deal and ever since he'd started hitting the trails his body was pretty damn fine. Also, what was going to happen, a NASA satellite was going to come by and take a grainy picture of his dick? Stiles shuddered and looked at the sky warily before taking a deep breath and dropping trow.

He felt the elevator eyes and grinned, slightly cocky that Derek wasn't the only one with something to bring to the table. The water was sun warmed and he could feel the heat emanating off the man beside him.

"Hey Derek, I've never asked, but are you seeing anyone? Stiles asked as chalantly as the situation would allow. Derek chucked.

"Hey Stiles, I'm single." He turns to face Stiles and Stiles swore he could feel the whisper of Derek's dick on his thigh. He wanted it in his mouth. "Tell me about your boyfriend.”

Stiles turned and faced Derek, taking a step closer allowing that whisper to turn into a full on scream. Derek lifted his brow in anticipation as Stiles smirked.

"Hey Derek, I don't have a fucking boyfriend so why don't you let me suck your dick?"

"Only if you let me return the favor." Derek replied with a lick to his own lips, and then Stiles'. And then Derek's tongue was in Stiles' mouth and the next thing Stiles knew he was on his knees giving Derek's dick a pep talk for the dicking he was about to receive.

Cut to now, where Stiles was standing in the street halfway between his house and Derek's, wondering if he should feel awkward about going over there? They were definitely going to have sex again, right? Both were free of significant others, and the last time was good. Should Stiles have called him after? He knew Derek was going out of town for "business" whatever the hell that was. Should Stiles know Derek's business? As far as he knew flipping the house was just a hobby, but now that he thinks about it who has a hobby like that? Was Derek loaded? He’d have to ask after sucking Derek's dick. No, before! That's classier, right?

Rascalé waits patiently as her owner reminisces in the middle of the intersection, but soon starts to pull Stiles out of harm's way. Stiles follows obediently and begins to ramble.

"I know I'm a slut, Callie, and I live in that truth several times a day, in several different positions. And I know Derek's a slut because men who are not sluts don't spank you and tell you to call them alpha on the first dicking. Or any dicking really, that right there is some kinky shit. No judgement!"

Callie leads the way as though she was being led by sense memory and Stiles follows along in fashion "It's just, I like him, you know? He's actually a great listener he's funny and charming and we have fun. Is sex gonna mess that up? Maybe I should sit and talk to him and we can figure out our future like adults? Because despite the fact I'm living in a drug den and have no real job, I am an adult!" Stiles pumps his fist in the air, and lowers it quickly. looking around to see if anyone noticed his outburst.

They don't. It's fucking LA.

"Fucking LA! Back in Beacon Hills I would have gotten a citation for public disturbance. Here, I'm the sane one! And you and I both know Derek's an adult, Callie He has condoms at the ready! He even sluts it up adult-style! Serious goals."

Stiles looks up the dead end street in front of him and exhales. He's going to be an adult with Derek and DTR before whatever it is they're doing blows up in his face (and not in the good way).

Stiles gets to the front door and lets Callie off her leash before unlocking the front door. She takes off like a shot towards where Stiles is sure Bruiser is and Derek watches as he walks up the couple of stairs in the foyer.

"They missed each other, huh? Derek asks, before he tums to get an armful of Stiles.

Stiles wraps himself around Derek, licking into his mouth rubbing his groin against any part of the man he can reach. Derek adapts like a motherfucking adult and carries Stiles to the mattress in the middle of the living room.

It's not until they're in the middle of round 2, when Derek holds him down with a firm hand in the middle of his back, pinning his chest to the mattress while fucking the life out of him when Stiles looks up and sees Rascalé looking at him with friendly Judgement that Stiles realizes he's gone terribly off course.

She's lounging on her side and Bruiser is pacing around her, licking her nose, in her ears and grooming her lovingly. Stiles cocks his head and Derek leans over him, breathing hotly into his ear as he slows his thrusts.

"it's kinda funny, huh? They're a lot like us." He rasps before licking the shell of Stiles' ear and biting at his neck. Stiles squirms, moaning loudly at the utterly welcome intrusion of this man on top of him and shakes his head.

"Wha- what the fu?" He can't finish his sentence until he finishes his orgasm so he prioritizes and waits until he's snug in Derek's arms. He ignores the little flutter he gets in his stomach and pays attention to the dogs again. Now Bruiser is sniffing Callie's... underneath-the-tail area ahem- and giving her little licks as she huffs contentedly and gives Stiles ~the look again.

Stiles is a little closer to understanding what it means.

"What did you mean when you said the dogs were like us?" He asks Derek, absentmindedly petting his beard. Derek kisses his neck (Stiles promises to swoon after he DTRs dammit!) and looks at the pups.

"They've been fucking for weeks. I mean I know we haven't been fucking for weeks, but still."

"Hmm." Stiles hums as his eyes sleepily begin to droop. His little lady was getting some and had her little doggy boo in check. Callie was always such a boss ass bit- wait.

"Whoa, Stiles, what's wrong?" Derek yelps. A second ago the frenetic young man was dozing in his arms and now he was up, pacing and pointing at Rascalé.

"Our dogs are what?” Stiles asks frantically. Derek stares at Bruiser who is torn between whether to start barking or just ignore the outburst like Rascalé has gotten used to.

"They're fucking. They've been at it the last few weeks. I can't believe you never saw them, it's kinda funny.”

"It's not funny, Derek! How does it even work, Bruiser is so tiny!"

"Hey!" Derek starts defensively, "He's a short dog, but he's got a tall attitude!

"What?" Stiles deadpans at the perturbed sexyness on the floor.

"He's BAE! Big Attitude Energyl See, I can 'millenial' too!"

"...

…

…

… What?!" Stiles rushes over to Rascalé, much to the displeasure of Bruiser who growls at him. Stiles.. hisses at Bruiser (Stiles will not be blamed for his lack of couth) and begins to pet Rascalé, rubbing her belly.

"Stiles, what's the big deal? She's a grown ass bitch, don't slut shame, Calliel"

"First off!" Stiles says, pointing accusingly at Derek, "stop trying to millennial, you're fucking 32, you were born in the damned '80s! Secondly. She’s not fixed, Derek! Methaddict Cumformeth said she was just in heat!"

Derek opens his mouth and then shakes his head, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration before opening his mouth again.

"I don't even… who… wait, why isn't Callie fixed?"

“I got her as a stray! She has all her shots and I was saving up to get her spayed. Don't poor shame me, this is not my fault! Why isn't Bruiser fixed?”

"Leave Bruiser out of this!”

"Bruiser was in it, Derek DEEP! He literally raw dogged my girl!" Stiles cradles the unconcerned Rascalé to him as he gives a still growling Bruiser the evil eye. Derek rolls his eyes.

"I was going to have you take him next week! Besides, no one is saying it's anyone's fault it's just surprising. It's kind of kismet, right?" Derek ponders, suddenly getting wistful, Stiles sneers.

"More like lazy ass parenting! Derek, the Dogfia already have it out for me I can’t let Callie bear the brunt of my ineptitude!”

"The Dogfi- wait is that the Dog mafi-”

"Derek, shut up and focus! What are we going to do?”

Derek looks at Stiles who gawps at him expectantly.

"Well?" Derek opens his mouth to remind Stiles he just told him to shut up. but Stiles steams ahead, “I will not be shamed for being an irresponsible dog owner. Callie is a bad bitch who can raise her pups by herself, but she shouldn't have to, Derek. Not because I was being a bad doggy daddy.”

"Jesus, Stiles! Doggy daddy?!"

"Enough out of you, Hale! Didn't I tell you to shut up?" Stiles points at Derek with wide eyes, missing (or ignoring) the slight kinky smirk on Derek's face, Stiles files away Derek's like of being bossed around for later if there is one.

Shit, if he took Rascalé back home, then Meth Newmethson would kill him and then probably steal his dog and get her also hooked on meth! Stiles pulls at his hair and looks at Derek frantically. 

"Derek, we have to move in together!"

 XXXxxxXXXxxxXXX

Derek Hale is in love.

Shit, he wanted to blame Bruiser. Before Derek adopted the dog, he was a cold, bitter and angry young man. He was a litigator and worked hundreds of hours per week (yes, he knows a week only has 168 hours, but he worked hundreds) fighting in court and caring little about the outcome except for him winning. He'd had a pretty Dickensian childhood. Parents were killed when he was young, he was in an orphanage until his uncle appeared from nowhere and took Derek as his ward. He found out his parents had extremely generous settlements and when he turned 18 he invested or put the money in savings while he lives off his lawyer money.

One day he won a huge settlement for his client and afterwards the kid of the man the judgement was against showed up at Derek's favorite coffee spot, dog in tow. He cried and yelled at Derek about how he'd ruined his family and now they had to move to the country because they couldn't afford the city or the school the kid was attending and Derek's heart melted. Well, not because of anything that dumb kid said, but rather the large chocolate eyes of the hound dog puppy the boy had with him. Derek had always wanted a dog but didn't want to become too attached. Now though, since he'd have to find a new coffee shop, he decided to treat himself to a pup. He'd need something small but feisty so he could take him on trips.

He met Bruiser when the then mini pinscher puppy trotted up to him, pissed on his shoes and quickly pranced off. Derek liked him instantly. He purchased not only the pup, but every butch accessory he could find. He loved Bruiser and slowly he found that love seeped into other things.

He loved time off. He started to actually use his vacation hours and now worked only 80 hour weeks which was nearly unheard of in his field, but he didn't care. He loved flipping houses, loved going in and making minor repairs and revisions and then relisting the house and seeing how much profit he could make.

He loved exercising and running the trails with Bruiser. He loved his body and loved using it. Bruiser always brought him the best tail. He'd used the lost dog trick many times and it usually ended up in a nice tug and tumble with some overly concerned dog owner in the woods.

And now he loved Stiles. He was a little surprised when he realized it, but not shocked. He’d never even considered fucking just one person at a time, much less having a boyfriend and settling down. Not until this long, lean boy with the honey eyes gave Derek a wholly inviting view as he trudged up the hill to where Bruiser had run off to. The boy was completely bent over in entirely too short jogging shorts. He was oblivious of his beauty, but not of Derek’s and he can’t say he didn’t like the attention. He was used to that, though. What caught him off guard was how friendly the boy was, and how interested in Derek he was outside of his good looks and sex appeal.

He was whip smart and funny and very handy, even offering to help with the house. Derek didn’t notice they hadn’t fucked yet until one day he came home to shower and felt Stiles’ eyes on him. As Derek turned to look, Stiles flailed and pretended to be watering the dogs after their run. Derek wondered for a moment why Stiles hadn’t come and jumped his bones when he realized he hadn’t jumped Stiles’! Hadn’t even tried! He considered Stiles... a friend?

That’s when Derek knew he was in love with Stiles. Well, as close to love as he could get anyhow. He liked being around him, loved his dog (even though Stiles did insist on calling her two names, “It’s a nickname, Der! She’s Rascalé the Collie, Callie for short!”

Derek should have known then, when he thought that explanation actually made sense, that he was head over heels for the boy.

And he knew it even more now when Stiles suggests they move in together and Derek… doesn’t mind that much. Of course he’s going to give Stiles shit for it.

“Stiles, what? Why do we need to move in together?”

Stiles jumps up, his dick bobbing just as righteously as its owner and paces towards Derek, poking finger armed and ready. Derek covers his nipples.

“The Dogfia out here is rampant!” Stiles says, poking Derek in the sternum. Derek rubs it, pouting and choosing to ignore ‘Dogfia’ for now. Stiles smirks and rubs the spot soothingly before narrowing his eyes again and getting back into a ~mood.

“I will not allow Rascalé to be a single mother because of me. And you shouldn’t want Bruiser to be a furry fuckboy!” Bruiser looks up from where he’s grooming Rascalé and barks once before going back to his task. “See? Even Bruiser wants to be involved in his pups lives!”

“I keep Bruiser well groomed.” Derek insists, crossing his arms over his chest in defiance.

“What?”

“You called him a furry fuckboy and I’ll have you know-”

“Dammit Hale, stop being adorable! This is serious!” Stiles says, plopping on the mattress next to Derek who starts to play with his leg hair.

“Is it though?” Derek asks causing the young man to huff, “We don’t even know if she’s pregnant.”

“Of course she is!” Stiles throws his hands up in exasperation, looking at Derek like he was missing the obvious.

“Oh yeah, how do you know?”

Stiles grows quiet suddenly, thoughtful in a way Derek hasn’t seen him very often, but when he does, it’s electrifying.

“It’s fate.” He says simply with a shrug. Then he chuckles to himself, “and honestly, it’s perfect for me. I have two months left on my lease and I gotta get out of skidrow west. So I stay here, we work on the house which should be done by the time the puppies are here. We’ll have a fun story to tell the new owner and then we can figure out what happens next.”

“Sounds like a good plan.” Stiles looks over at Derek suddenly. The smile takes over his face and Derek’s floods the entire house with joy.

“Yeah?” Stiles says cautiously as he takes Derek’s hand in his, “You ready to be house flipping puppy grampies?”

“I think I am.”

“Shit, I can’t believe that worked! Now I won’t get murdered by Mether Lawmeth!”

“Who?”

“Oh, it’s this guy that lives in my building who buys, makes and sells and consumes meth. I don’t know his name so I just change other names to make them meth related names.”

“Why ...why do you do that? Dammit Stiles, what’s wrong with your brain?!”

“Well, I’m pretty sure it’s still fucked out by this guy I met on the trails.”

Derek’s jaw drops and he laughs, shaking his head, “Son of a bitch.”

“Hey, those are our future grandpups you’re talking about!”

Derek shuts up Stiles’ crazy, crazy mouth with a kiss.

 XXXxxxXXX

 The next day they walk hand in hand back to Stiles’ place to start packing Stiles’ meager belongings. Derek leaves Stiles to start and goes to get his truck out of parking. When he gets to the fourth floor walk up, he can hear absolute bloody murder from the hall.

“How dare you allow this precious gift from Heaven to be knocked up by some trail trash, some… some… furry fuckboy!”

“I’ll have you know he is groomed regularly!”

“I’m calling the cops!”

“The dog cops?!”

“FUCK YOU, my cousin’s a cop and I’m going to call him and Callie is gonna stay with me until he gets here!”

“The fuck she is, get the fuck away from me, oh my god!”

Derek hears Callie growling and takes the steps two at a time until he sees Stiles wielding a can of Lysol and trying to shield Callie who is barking at Meth Guy… who has a fucking knife.

Fucking LA!

“Gary, put the knife down!” Derek yells, standing his ground as the guy turns to him wildly.

“What? How’d you know my name?”

Derek holds back a shrug. He took a shot in the dark, but he wasn’t gonna let Metholm McDowmeth know that. Dammit, Stiles was rubbing off on him.

“I know it because I’m a lawyer and you have more than a few warrants out for your arrest. So if you don’t want to go back to jail, you’ll put the knife down and let my boyfriend and stepdog leave in peace!” Damn, Derek was really all in. He could tell himself he was doing it for the show, but he loved Callie almost as much as Bruiser, he was committed. And when Derek commits, he goes full throttle.

“Fuck you, you Superman looking piece of shit!” Gary starts to lunge at Derek who lifts one eyebrow and goes apeshit.

He grabs the hand Gary swipes at him and kicks him in the chest, sending him flying past Stiles and further down the hall. Derek cracks his neck and fucking roars as he stalks down the hall towards Gary who is scrambling to get up.

“Stay DOWN!” Derek yells. He reaches Stiles and grabs him behind the neck, crashing their mouths together. He then sweetly bends over and pats Bruiser on the head while scratching behind Rascalé’s ears.

“Aren’t you a sweetie? Yes you are, Mama!” Derek says playfully as Rascalé licks his nose. He smiles at her before dropping the smile immediately and sneering at… Gary.

“Ok, Pal! Whatever you say, you crazy piece of shit!” Gary starts to crabwalk back to his apartment with Derek looming over him. When they get to the door, Derek pushes it open to give room for Gary to go in. Gary starts to stand again, but then stops when he hears another growl from Derek.

He crawls the rest of the way into his apartment and Derek closes the door. He turns around to an armful of Stiles.

“C’mon!” Derek insists happily as Stiles plants kisses all over his face. “Let’s go get your shit.”

“Yeah! But first let’s fuck really loudly and piss off Gary some more!”

Derek nods in agreement and carries Stiles into his place.

 XXXxxxXXXxxxXXX

Stiles could barely believe the turn life had taken for him. Instead of sitting in his shithole apartment listening to Gary complain about every ethnicity he could think of while also, you know, doing meth; he was now walking hand in hand with his new boyfriend and their two dogs, one of which was gonna be a mama any day now.

It’s only been a couple of months, but Stiles has never felt more valued or loved. True to his word (part of the agreement that he and Stiles finally set up when they decided to DTR like fucking adults!), Derek treated Rascalé like a queen and so did Bruiser. She was getting big and this was probably the last walk they’d be able to take before nesting down.

Stiles thinks about the pups and how life couldn’t be more perfect.

“Derek, Derek Hale! That is you, you fucking bastard!” A blonde man with piercing green eyes walks up and sneers at Derek who is blushing. Stiles furrows his brow looking between the two confused.

“Hey Jackson, umm, nice to see you? I hope you’re well.”

Jackson’s jaw drops as he looks incredulously. “Well? You hope I’m well? Were you hoping that when you ghosted me after giving me the best sex I’ve ever had… outside in a park?!”

“Woah, hey Jackson, this is Stiles, my boyfriend, so maybe be cool.”

“Boyfriend?” Jackson finally looks at Stiles as though just realizing he was there. Stiles wants to be annoyed at the guy, he’s intimidatingly gorgeous, but Stiles can also tell the beauty consumes him. Hell, he’s outfitted in the latest hiking gear and even has sweat proof foundation on. If he wasn’t being a dick, Stiles could love him. Hell, Stiles probably loves him more because he is a dick. “How’d you two meet? Did Bruiser get “lost”?”

Jackson does little air quotes on ‘lost’ and looks at Derek who is melting beside him. He's nearly a puddle as Stiles looks between the two stricken.

“Wait.. Derek, what? I mean-” Stiles looks at where his hand is joined with Derek’s and then back at the man in question. Then he laughs.

Jackson’s shit eating grin falls and his face morphs into something like disgust. Stiles bends over laughing and wipes tears from his eyes.

“You think I didn’t know about Bruiser’s training? I had to take him on a walk and he brought me back this tall dark skinned god!”

“That was Boyd.” Derek says pinching the bridge of his nose and shaking his head. “He’s the only one I saw twice.”

“That’s right baby, and I’m the last, right?”

Derek looks back at Stiles and nods.

“Yeah, definitely.”

“Good!” Stiles pecks Derek on lips and looks back at Jackson, “It was great meeting you Jackson. When you get your head out of your ass, give us a call. I’m sure we can set a new goal for your best evers.” Stiles winks and drags their pack down the trail.

“You knew?” Derek asks timidly. Stiles chuckles.

“Yeah, I knew, and I felt weird about it at first, but then I realized that out of all the trade, I was the one you kept. Plus, my dog loves you and she basically call the shots.”

Rascalé waddles ahead and looks back at the boys as if to keep up. Bruiser yips happily, running in circles around his lady and Derek and Stiles follow behind hand in hand.

“Such a boss bitch.”

 Rascale' and Bruiser

 Ferdinand…………………………………… Josephine…………………………………………...

[idkthisisjustforfanfic]

Chapter 1 - Seed and Spark

Harry Styles was kind of a dick. At least, that’s how he acted towards me. You see, growing up down the road from someone should make them care about you--not in some romantic way--just in the sense that our moms started their own book club and our older sisters were inseparable from the age of eight, when my dad’s work had us relocate to the U.K.

You’d think that kind of family bond would make Harry so much as look at me inbetween the moments he was sucking face with my roommate, Quinn, the unequivocal love of his life. But I guess it was kind of silly for me--a girl with a big mouth and an ever bigger ass--to think that he would ever so much as smile in my direction.

When my mother told me that Harry and I would be attending the same university, at first I thought it might be nice to have a friendly face around campus, perhaps even someone to sit with in the dining hall when the tons of new friends I would make were in class or just busy.

I thought that maybe this would be a turning point for us--maybe Harry would see me as more than just the annoying kid he grew up with--maybe he’d even take a liking to me, enough to spend movie nights with me and Quinn or study with me in the library.

But, as usual, I couldn’t have been more wrong.

“You’ve got something on your cheek,” he said with a monotonous delivery, his back against the wall as he sat on Quinn’s bed, directly mirroring my position.

I sat with my computer in my lap and looked up at him, unsure if he was speaking to me. When I realized that Quinn was nowhere to be found, I assumed he was.

I brought my hand up to my cheek, brushing off a crumb from the chips I’d been eating. I rolled my eyes at him, only mildly offended by the fact that that was the first thing he’d said to me all night.

He looked back down to his mobile, his fingers scrolling as he let out a sigh, “you’re welcome.”

I stared at him for a second, wondering how long he’d been staring at me. I’d been lost in a paper that was due in less than an hour, but the distant hum of water from our bathroom let me know that Quinn had disappeared to take a shower.

Quinn Markos was pretty much your image of a girl who’d been popular her whole life--the kind of girl who probably had a date every weekend and never failed to make the rest of us jealous. Harry had only started being nice to me when he realized I was rooming with one of the hottest girls on campus, but as soon as Quinn seemed mildly interested in return, his kindness was rescinded.

I’m not sure if it was the fact that my blatantly American ways seemed to annoy the living daylights out of Harry, or if it was just that 7-year-old me spent most of our school holidays trying to convince him to ride bikes with me, have a lemonade stand, or do other things that he acted like were the epitome of uncool. But for some reason, the more Harry pushed me away our entire lives, the more I wanted him.

I know, I know. How pathetic can one ex-pat be? Fall in love with your neighbor down the street who wants nothing to do with you? Okay, so maybe that’s the reason I figured going to university with Harry would maybe shift the dynamic between us. Perhaps he’d finally see me as more than just Harper Coleman--the girl with curly blonde hair and hips the size of a flat screen TV.

Maybe he’d see me in this new university student light and be flat out shocked at how smart, funny, and entertaining I was. Or maybe he’d continue treating me like a pesky house fly as he spent increasing amounts of time in my room, only addressing me when I was in the way or when I had something on my face.

Quinn appeared from the bathroom--a towel wrapped around her tiny frame as she smiled at Harry. Quinn and I were friends, you could say. She was nice to me and I was nice to her. Occasionally we’d grab some food together or study together, especially if we ended up in the same class. Despite that, Quinn and I couldn’t be more different, which made us good roommates.

Her long brown hair was straight and always tamed, she was short, standing a few good inches below my 5’8 frame. Her hips were normal sized, she had the perfect nose, and more importantly, she was pretty and funny and cool and she always seemed to have a guy chasing her.

That’s why, when that guy was my neighbor and proverbial childhood crush, Harry Styles, I momentarily questioned what I had ever done to the Gods in the sky to deserve this kind of torture.

It wasn’t until the spring of our first year that she really started hanging out with Harry--and now, only a week into our second year, they were clearly going strong.

“I heard there’s a movie in the first floor lounge,” I said casually, hoping that my desperation for social interaction didn’t strike them as weird. To be honest, for someone as outgoing and loud as I was, making friends at Uni hadn’t been the easiest thing.

When I first moved to the U.K. as a six-year-old, people were much more infatuated with my American accent and blonde hair. Now, I was just another eager girl who--much to my father’s displeasure--was majoring in Theatre and Performance Arts and spending too much money on alcohol on the weekends.

If it wasn’t a Friday or Saturday, most of my time was either spent in class or at the coffee shop in the student center where I worked. If I wasn’t in either of those places, I was at rehearsal for this semester’s play.

The novelty that I had once possessed--similar to that of shiny new toy--had long worn off, especially for Harry.

Quinn let out a sigh and turned to me as she combed through her wet hair. “I think Harry and I were going to just stay here and do some homework--but you should go!”

Harry--who’s eyes met mine at Quinn’s mention of his name--simply nodded. “Yeah, you should go.”

I stared at him straight faced, not bothering to mask my displeasure. He would rarely speak to me, unless it was in an attempt to get me out of the room so he could shag my roommate. I gagged just thinking about it.

“Maybe I’ll stay and finish this paper,” I shrugged, my eyes locked on his as Quinn grabbed some clothes from her closet, disappearing back into the bathroom to dress.

“Will you ever give us some time alone?” He hissed at me, his voice much quieter now to keep his girlfriend from hearing our conversation. He dropped his phone on her bed and rested his head against the wall--dramatically. His hair--which was shaggy and fell just about his ears--seemed soft enough to touch.

“You have plenty of alone time, I go out almost every night on the weekend,” I shot back at him, offended by his accusation. I was proud of the fact that I kept busy--even if that meant closing down local pubs with Millie, the one friend I’d made so far.

“Yeah, asshat,” he rolled his eyes. “We’re out on the weekends too. I mean when we’re just hanging out, you know--when we could get busy.”

“You’re disgusting,” I rolled my eyes at him, hopping down from my bed as I shut my laptop. It wasn’t that I wanted to give Harry alone time so he could sleep with someone other than me--it was more so that I didn’t want to sit here and listen to them giggle all night. Sometimes it seemed that they did it just to annoy me.

Harry--seemingly pleased with my sudden movement and the fact that I was gathering my belongings--smiled at Quinn as she returned from the bathroom, fully clothed. “Maybe we can watch a movie here, babe,” he said as she climbed to join him on the bed.

I pulled an old sweatshirt over my head and shot Harry daggers, but he simply smirked at me in return. Quinn cooed in response as she snuggled next to him.

“Catch ya on the flipside,” I saluted them both before closing the door behind me.

**

Millie reached her hand into the popcorn that sat on my lap, munching away as she stared at the screen in front of us. For a welcome back event, the movie night had a decent turnout, if you count the couple in the back making out and the two first years who sat beside Millie and I.

“I just wish he didn’t pick Quinn, of all people,” I whispered at my friend, who’s hair was up in a bun on top of her head. She was also wearing her pajamas--I was glad I wasn’t the only one.

“Of course he picked Quinn,” she whispered back at me, her eyes still on the movie. I hadn’t been paying much attention--instead, I chose to ruminate over the conversation Harry and I had had--eye rolling included. “She’s pretty, she’s popular--” Millie shrugged and brought her eyes to me.

“She’s not that intelligent,” I continued her sentence for her, causing her to let out a snort like laugh, gaining us glares from the other movie watchers.

I constantly told myself that this entire situation would be different if Harry weren’t being dangled in front of my face like a piece of meat. Had he been dating someone who--I don’t know--didn’t sleep in the same room as me every night, this might have been easier to tolerate. Hell, if Harry were dating someone different, I might not even know about it, meaning I could continue my daydream of the two of us in peace.

“She’s fit,” Millie shrugged. “That seems to be all Harry is concerned with.”

I let out a groan and let my shoulders slump. It wasn’t my fault that I liked Harry--in fact, I’d always felt kind of helpless when it came to my raging crush on him. I remember the first time I realized that he gave me butterflies--right after he pushed me off of my bike in his backyard.

Gemma, his older sister, helped me up but then promptly tattled on him--but when his mother asked if I was hurt, I swore I wasn’t. I didn’t want him to get in trouble.

That seemed to be pretty stereotypical for me and Harry--he’d be a jerk and I would just let it slide, hoping that one day, eventually, he’d realize that he loved me too and we were destined to be together.

I just thought that day would have come by now.

Millie--who didn’t have the slightest clue as to why I was pining over someone who treated me like chopped liver--was always quick to come to my defense should she be present when Harry was a jerk.

One time she told Harry that his hair looked stupid (it didn’t) and one time she locked him out of my room when he went to get dinner. It really was the little things that made our friendship so great.

I’d met her first when I started my job at The Counter--I had just about spilled coffee on a fourth year and got myself fired on my first day, but as we got to know each other and she told me about the theatre group on campus, I knew she was a keeper.

I’d been too scared to join by myself--being a first year and all that--but she apparently knew some of the older kids from a class she’d had and she convinced me to join.

“Still got that paper to finish?” She asked me as the movie ended, the other kids standing to leave the lounge as we sat planted on the floor.

“No, I sent it before I came. It wasn’t a whole 8 pages but it’ll have to do.”

She laughed, sprawling out on her back as she let out a sigh. “Sorry Harry was such a wanker before.”

I nodded, staring off at the rolling credits on the screen even though the lights were now on. “Don’t be, I’m used to it.”

“But you shouldn’t have to be,” she corrected me, her blue eyes watching me closely.

I thought for a second, mainly because I didn’t know what to say. I hadn’t ever known a different version of Harry. For as long as I can remember Harry had been the cool one--the one that I was always chasing.

He was the one who didn’t want me, the one who sat as far away from me in the cafeteria as possible--the one who only spent time with me with our mothers arranged a play date. As soon as we were out of primary school, he basically only interacted with me at family parties or neighborhood events. One time he was the only one in the hallway when I dropped all of my books and he just kept walking.

Millie and I parted ways--agreeing to meet for breakfast in the morning before class. I climbed the stairs back up to the fourth floor, grateful that I couldn’t hear Quinn and Harry laughing or whispering as I neared the our room.

I reached for my key in the pocket of my sweatshirt and slid it into the lock, twisting it open.

There was a moment of silence, before I heard “Jesus, Harper!” as I walked in to the sight of Quinn’s bareback as she sat on top of Harry. His voice was annoyed--as it usually was--but I cursed them in my head for not making more noise.

Most people--when they have sex in their shared dorm room--are at least decent enough to be loud in order to not be walked in on.

“Sorry, fuck, sorry!” I yelped, jumping back and slamming the door as quickly as possible. I could hear Quinn chastise Harry for yelling at me, as she often did, but it was no use.

I let myself slide to the ground, slumped against the wall as I tried to wash away the image of Quinn Markos riding the only boy I had ever truly loved.

**

The student center was busier than usual, and the line at The Counter was nearly out the door prior to the afternoon class rush. Luckily for me, I didn’t have an afternoon class on Mondays, which meant I got to spend my afternoon getting yelled at by angry students and forgetting how to properly make a skinny latte.

A little whole milk never hurt anyone.

“That’ll be three ninety-five,” I smiled at the customer in front of me, swiping the plastic card she handed forward. I grabbed her receipt, shot her a smile, and waited for the next customer to look up from his phone.

I would recognize the top of Harry’s head anywhere. I didn’t know--based on how often he avoided even looking at me--if he would recognize me in a green apron and a stupid green hat with The Counter’s logo on the front.

“Hey,” he said quickly, stepping forward to lean on the counter.

“What can I get started for you?”

“Just a large coffee, black,” he said abruptly, his eyes on mine as as I punched a button on the cash register.

I turned my back to him without another word, grabbing a cup from the stack and placing it below the coffee spout. I pressed a button, letting it fill nearly to the brim as I wondered what he was thinking.

“Sorry about last night,” he said suddenly, still watching me closely as I turned around and reached for a lid. I snapped it on, brought the coffee back to the register and handed it to him.

“It’s fine, that’ll be two seventy-five.”

He reached for his wallet and took out a small bill, handing it to me. His fingers grazed mine and I utilized  the calm, cool, and collected face I practiced in the mirror for moments like these.

“Keep the change,” he said with a small smile before walking away.

I stared at his back--momentarily forgetting that there was another customer in front of me waiting to be served. Harry walked with the confidence of a star quarterback--if they had American football in the U.K., that is. He was just as popular as Quinn--I guess that’s why they fit so well together.

“What was that about?” Millie appeared beside me, handing a coffee to a customer and swiping a card on her register.

“I don’t know,” I watched as Harry sat with a group of friends a few booths away, smiling as Quinn cuddled into him.

I’d told Millie about the Worst Moment of My Life, of course, seeing as she was the only person I really spoke to on campus aside from Quinn. She was almost as traumatized as I was, minus the whole ‘one person in this sexual encounter is the person I’m supposed to end up with’ thing.

It had been a while since I experienced kindness from Harry Styles--and not in the usual sense. There were moments where he would say ‘bless you’ when I sneezed or even handed my the salt and pepper in the dining hall when I asked, but that was rather infrequent and never came without a sneer or a grunt.

This--however--the true moment of pure humanity that I just experienced--this was a once in a decade type of thing. The last time I really remember Harry exhibiting any type of emotion rather than utter annoyance towards me was when we were fourteen. Harry had long been ignoring me in school and most of our encounters happened on our walk home (which was often filled with silence) or when we were dragged to family dinners.

I had started dating Fin Devens, a blond-haired boy who’d asked me to dance at a school function and who played on the football team. He and Harry weren’t exactly friends, per se, but they were casual buddies and lunch time pals. Harry--who suddenly took an interest in my dating life--had been telling me for weeks that I shouldn’t date him.

When Fin Devens kissed Maisie Whitley in the park, Harry told him off in front of everyone the next day in school. It only made me love him more.

And it was strange--it wasn’t like Harry was super popular and I was a nobody. I had plenty of friends in school and was voted most talkative in year 6. People always liked me--except for Harry.

“Excuse me?” A voice sounded from in front of me, pulling me out of my primary school daydream and back into the crowded student center. “Can I get a tea?”

“Shit, yeah, sorry,” I smiled apologetically at the woman who was definitely old enough to be a professor and reached for a cup.

If walking in on Harry and Quinn resulted in Harry actually being nice to me for the first time in six years, maybe it wasn’t the Worst Moment of My Life.

**

I was never one to turn down a good time. If there was anything I learned in my first year at Uni, it was that I could handle a decent amount of alcohol before throwing up, and that parties in the senior housing complex were always just that--a good time.

Millie groaned behind me, already complaining about the heels she had strapped to her feet. Friday nights at London Metropolitan University were perhaps my favorite part of the university life. Minus Millie and the theatre group, Friday nights were definitely my favorite.

“Come on, stop complaining,” I said to Millie as I climbed the stairs. The elevator, unfortunately, was out of service, meaning we had to climb the 8 flights to our intended destination. Millie let out another whine but picked up her pace, almost bumping into me when I walked right into Harry’s back at the top of the 8th floor landing.

“Oh, hey!” Quinn smiled at me as she turned around to see us. “I had no idea you guys were coming, we would have waited for you!”

“You guys are hanging out with Preston and Katie?” Millie chirped from behind me, the look of confusion on my face was hopefully not as pronounced as hers.

“Yeah, Katie and I are in a biology class together,” Quinn explained, her hair perfectly curled as it fell around her beautiful face. Harry stood with his hand on the small of her back--when I noticed it, I did my best to not frown.

“You’re taking a biology class?” Millie pressed further, still shocked at Quinn’s connections and apparently, her cognitive abilities.

I placed a hand on her shoulder to quiet her. “That’s great! We were at Millie’s beforehand, I should have texted you to check if you were coming out tonight.”

At this, Harry let out a groan and rolled his eyes. If there was anything Harry disliked more than me, it was the fact that Quinn seemed to actually like me. We might not be the best of friends, but she was always more than willing to invite me along on their excursions.

Sometimes I questioned if she knew about the history between Harry and I--I mean, she knew we grew up together, she knew our families were extremely close--but it often seemed like she had no clue how much Harry really disliked me. He never seemed to keep it a secret--but it also didn’t seem like he had outright told his girlfriend.

Harry nudged Quinn forward, Millie and I followed behind as we rounded the corner in the hallway and walked towards the flat. Outside the door were two guys I’d known from a previous class--both smiled and greeted our group as we walked inside.

The flat--which was dimly lit save for a rotating plastic disco ball that sat on the kitchen table--was filled with students from our school, all of whom seemed decently intoxicated and happy to be back for a new school year filled with partying. Music played through speakers near a TV as I scanned the crowd for familiar faces.

Millie hugged a friend from our theatre group beside me as Harry and Quinn pushed through the crowd--heading straight for the kitchen to get some drinks and greet the others.

“Hey,” a familiar voice sounded from beside me as an arm slung around my shoulder. A quiff of dirty blond hair sat on top of Niall’s smiling face. “Didn’t know if you’d come out tonight.”

I let out a laugh and turned to face him. “Would Harper Coleman miss the first 819 party of the year?”  

Niall brought the beer can he held to his lips, taking a sip before shrugging his shoulders. “I guess not--it’s just that Harry didn’t say you’d be here.”

I raised my eyebrows in an unsurprised fashion. “Harry does his best to ignore my existence,” I reminded him, stepping closer to Niall to allow a small redhead the space to squeeze behind us.

Niall Horan was known on campus as a bit of player, in the most charming way possible. Harry met him during our first year, and though I didn’t know him well, I knew he was also always up for a good time. Harry had reluctantly introduced us in this very flat, eye roll included, and Niall proceeded to get extremely drunk and touch my butt every chance he got that first night.

He was cute--and when we first met, I thought that maybe he’d finally be the person to distract me from Harry. But--again--Harper Coleman was terribly wrong.

“Don’t know how he manages to do that,” Niall smirked, grabbing a beer from the hand of another party goer--offering it to me with a wink. “Here.”

Millie--who completely supported my unrequited love for Harry--also totally supported the fact that Niall seemed like he would marry me if I said ‘I do.’ I took the beer graciously, my eyes wandering the room to see where my friend had wandered off.

I spotted her in the corner of the living room with Preston and Katie--the two who currently lived in flat 819. Flat 819 was always occupied by seniors, and it had the reputation of being the best party spot on campus. Preston and Katie, two seniors who were dating, shared the flat with two other friends--Hollie and Niall.

“How was your summer? First week been alright?” He asked, his eyes scanning my face as if he could tell I was somewhat distracted. It wasn’t that Niall wasn’t cute and funny and nice--in fact, he was all of the above. Most girls would be extremely pleased if Niall Horan were showing them attention at the first 919 party.

This girl, however, had her eyes glued to the hand of her betrothed that slowly slid it’s way up and down Quinn’s back as they whispered to each other in the corner.

“Good, yeah,” I smiled back up at Niall, trying my best to focus on him. He returned my smile, his eyes still searching my face for anything. “Would you excuse me?”

“Oh, yeah, sure,” he nodded, surprised by my sudden shift in attention. I took the beer with me, shirked away from his arm around my shoulder, and pushed through the people in the living room to find Millie.

Katie spoke animatedly beside her, her hands flying in every direction as she laughed. Millie--who was thoroughly enthralled--didn’t notice my presence until I clamped a hand on her shoulder. I apologized to Katie and pulled my friend away, hoping that the bathroom down the hall would grant us the privacy I needed.

“Niall is at it again,” I told her quietly as I flipped on the light switch.

“Yeah? Are ya into it?”

“I don’t know,” I sighed, taking a seat on the side of the bathtub. Millie checked her makeup in the mirror, adjusting the crop top she wore before turning to face me.

“A little one night stand never hurt anyone,” she wiggled her eyebrows in a suggestive manner, laughing when I rolled my eyes at her crudeness. “I’m just saying, you won’t know if you can get over Harry until you try.”

“Who said I’m trying to get over him?” I defended, taking another sip from the beer can as Millie brought her phone up to read a message.

“Okay, well--you know what I mean--swim the sea, realize what else is out there! There’s more to life than a moody kid with poofy hair and a bunch of tattoos.”

I stood from my spot on the edge of the tub, taking another sip and letting the cheap liquid slide down my throat. I didn’t know if Millie was right, but I figured the only way to find out was to keep drinking and to do my best to forget about the moody kid with poofy hair and a bunch of tattoos.

**

“That’s what I’m sayin’ though!” Niall laughed as he leaned against the wall in his bedroom. “This album,” he held up the vinyl in its case and waved it in front of my eyes, “is one of the best pieces of music I’ve ever heard.”

I wasn’t quite sure how I’d wound up sitting on a ratty old armchair in Niall’s dark and dirty bedroom--but I could guess that it had something to do with the drinks I’d consumed and the current MIA status of Millie.

“I don’t know,” I shook my head. “Unless it’s got a 7 minute power ballad, that just can’t be true.”

Niall threw his head back in laughter, placing the vinyl back down on his dresser. He took a step closer to me and smiled. “You, Harper Coleman, have the biggest set of balls I’ve ever seen on a girl,” he nodded. “Critiquing a band like U2? I don’t know who you think you are.”

“That is quite possibly the best compliment I’ve ever received,” I brushed hair behind my shoulder in an exaggerated moment of confidence. Niall, whose blue eyes didn’t light as much of a spark in me as Harry’s green ones, let his gaze flicker from my eyes to my lips, and before I could stand up to let him kiss me, the door to his bedroom opened.

“What the fuck?” a familiar deep voice sounded as Niall stepped back. I side stepped him to find Harry at the door, his brows furrowed as he took in the sight of me and Niall--alone in his room.

“Can I help you?” I shot back at him quickly, silently cursing the fact that he always seemed to pop in at just the wrong moments.

“Quinn wanted me to tell you we were leaving,” he said quickly, looking from me to Niall before slamming the door behind him, not even giving me time to respond.

“Sorry,” I breathed out, looking back up to Niall--who now seemed thoroughly distracted and somewhat disappointed.

“S’good,” he shrugged. “But I’m gonna go get another beer.”

And with that, he left me in his bedroom, alone with the desire for a spark between us that I knew just wasn’t quite there.

[tenebris-melodiam]

Stefano Valentini x Reader: Facade - Chapter 4

Pairing: Stefano Valentini x Reader/Female Protagonist (18+)

Warnings: Light swearing

Current Time: December 19th, 2015

=2=

Tired eyes creaked open, the blur of the dark room surrounding you filling your vision. You parted your lips, a gurgling mumble leaving your throat as you lifted your head slightly from your pillow to give a quick look around the darkened room. You blinked slowly, trying to rid the blur from your eyes as you fumbled around for the phone that rested upon your bedside table. Once you had the device within your fingers, you slowly brought the illuminated screen to your face, just barely able to make out the time: 4:33 A.M. It was only now that your mind began to register what exactly had woken you—the loud, rhythmic thumping coming from the floor beneath you, and the feeling of your bed vibrating along to the beat of the incessant music. You rolled your eyes, tossing your phone into the wrinkles of your bedsheets as you brought yourself to sit upright; this was the third night in a row that your downstairs neighbors had been partying throughout the hours of the night, and you were beginning to grow weary of it.

Knowing that you weren’t going to be able to fall back to sleep, you slung your legs over the side of the bed and rose to your feet, the sound of cracking toes and popping bones reaching your ears as your body hastily grew accustomed to its new position and relaxed itself. You gave a quiet groan as you shuffled yourself into your bathroom, your fingertips running through the messy muff of hair atop your head as you made your way over to your bathtub—you didn’t care how early it was, any time was a good time for a hot, relaxing bath. Hell, perhaps you might be a rebel and put some bubbles in there this time. You made sure that the drain was properly plugged so water couldn’t make a desperate escape, and then unleashed the torrent of warm water into the porcelain tub to allow it to fill.

You gave a quiet grunt as you tugged your pajama shirt off over the top of your head, lazily allowing it to drop from your grip and onto the floor next to your sink, and then proceeded to do the same thing with your pants and undergarments. Before you knew it, you were clad in nothing more than your birthday suit, and it struck you that you might want to do a bit of light reading whilst relaxing in your bath—after all, maybe it would help drown out the damn music that was still vibrating your apartment. You made a quick trip out into your bedroom to locate your phone, and then grabbed your favorite book from the drawer of your bedside table and hastily made your way back into the bathroom. By this time, the tub was about a third of the way full, and you hummed to yourself as you rummaged around underneath your sink for that bottle of liquid you kept for emergencies like this. Once you found it, you popped the top off and threw several long ropes of it into the water—almost immediately, the water began to form a thin layer of bubbly film upon the top, which eventually evolved into large, mountainous hills of foam.

Growing rather tired of wandering around naked, you cautiously slipped one foot under the pile of foam and into the warm water. It sent a shudder along the entirety of your figure, goosebumps forming on your flesh as your body began to make itself used to the change in temperature. You reached over and turned off the faucet before slipping your other foot underneath the foam, and gradually eased the rest of your lower body beneath the surface of the water. Once you were comfortable, you gave a sigh of pleasure and leaned your head back against the head of the tub, but not before making sure that your book and phone were safely placed on the windowsill that was to your left.

After allowing yourself to soak for a good five minutes, you heard something that you hadn’t experienced all night: silence. The seemingly never-ending thumping of music had ceased, and now the only sound that filled your ears was beautiful silence; well, aside from the occasional drop of water that fell from the metal mouth of the faucet. However, that was most certainly something that you could put up with. You reached up onto the windowsill, grabbing your book within your hand before bringing it down in front of you and opening up to where your bookmark was to continue reading.

After losing yourself within the contents of your book, you were drawn back to reality by the sound of your phone going off upon the windowsill. You glanced over to your right to take a look at the analog clock sitting upon the corner of your sink, and you now saw that you had spent nearly thirty minutes in the bath already: 5:01 A.M. You grabbed your bookmark, sliding it neatly between the pages of your book before shutting it and placing it back upon the windowsill, and then replaced it with your phone. You flicked your thumb across the screen to unlock it, not even bothering to look at who the message was from, and then opened your messaging app to read it properly. To your surprise, you had not one, but two messages—one from Vincent, which had been received at 4:56 (you must have been too deep into your book to hear your phone) and the most recent one, which was from Stefano. God, they were both such early birds; you decided to read Vincent’s message, since it was the one that had been received first.

[Vinny]: Boss called me this morning. I don’t think he knew it was me lol… he sounded pretty drunk. Not to mention he called me “Rebecca” which is the name of his wife. I’ve never been sweet-talked by my boss before, but damn. He and his wife must have some crazy bedroom life by what he was saying lmao

[Me]: Thank you for the lovely bit of info at the end there, Vincent. I guess you and I both had an early morning. The idiots beneath me were partying from like 9 to 4… didn’t get any sleep. They’ve been doing this for 3 days now. So now I’m just sitting in the bathtub to try and get some form of peace.

After thumbing the send button and watching the little speech bubble pop up on your end of the conversation, you returned to your inbox and pressed down upon Stefano’s name in order to see exactly what he had sent you. It was an image that had to be downloaded, and the name was simply “Preview”; you cocked your eyebrow curiously, and then allowed it to download—when the image finally revealed itself to you, you felt a small smile creep upon your lips. It was one of the photographs that he had taken of you at the third photography session you had done with him two days ago; it was a bust shot, but it was certainly one of the most beautiful photographs you had ever seen of yourself. You always hated how you looked whenever your picture was taken, but Stefano seemed to be the only photographer that was able to remedy such a negative outlook on your pictures.

There was no doubt about it—this photograph was going to be your new photograph for any columns that you made. You made sure to save the image to your phone, and then began to thumb down a response for the man to read.

[Me]: This is absolutely beautiful, Stefano. I hope you don’t mind, but I’d like to use it as my new image to go alongside my columns in the paper! However, why did you name it “preview?” What is it a preview of?”

[Stefano]: You’ll come to find out in due time, I assure you. I’m also quite flattered you wish to use it as your column image—please do so, by all means.

Once you had read Stefano’s response, you sighed deeply and placed your phone back upon the windowsill. The water within the tub was beginning to get a bit cold now, so you dug around beneath the water to unplug the drain before rising to your feet. You figured it would be a good time to take a shower now, especially since you were covered in bubbles and hadn’t done any real washing, so you stepped out of the tub and onto your rug, which grew dark as it soaked in water that dripped from your body. You stepped over to the glass door that led into your shower, opening it to turn it on and allow the water to heat up a bit. Thank God this apartment building had the water bill included as a paid amenity.

=2=

By the time that you were fully ready for the day, it was about eight thirty in the morning. You had taken your time, seeing as how you didn’t really have to be anywhere in a hurry, and you had spent a majority of your time laying upon your bed thumbing down responses to both Stefano and Vincent. You knew that Vincent could be rather talkative via text messages, but you had no idea that Stefano would almost be an equal match for him. You had partaken in several small conversations with him before, but this was the first time he had continuously spoken to you in a non-formal style. You supposed it might have something to do with the fact he had begun to rant about the other columns that he had read that had been released over the course of the past few weeks—they, like yours, were centered around the solo show that he had hosted, and as always, they weren’t singing his praises.

[Stefano]: It simply amazes me how ignorant the masses are, (Name). They appear to willingly ramble on for years about how a photograph of nothing more than a field of grass holds beauty and wonder, yet they refuse to acknowledge the exquisite beauty in the artwork I pour my heart and soul into.

[Me]: I know, Stefano. I don’t understand them, either. I’ll tell you what… how about I come over to your place? We can talk in person there, and maybe do a photo session if that would make you feel better?

[Stefano]: You’re too kind, (Name). I suppose I wouldn’t mind the company. What time do you think you’ll arrive?

[Me]: Hmm… I could be there in about ten minutes if I took the bus. Well… granted the bus isn’t off schedule. We all know the Krimson City bus line isn’t very reliable.

[Stefano]: Ah yes… damnable thing. Well, I will expect you over sometime soon.

You took a glance up at the top right corner of the screen to see that the time was now eight fifty-three, and you quickly got up out of bed. Thankfully the bus typically arrived at around nine, and there was a stop just outside your apartment, so all you had to do was make your way down the stairs. You made sure all the lights and such were turned off as you made your way through the apartment, and then grabbed your heavy coat from inside your coat closet near the entry door. After hastily slipping it on, you grabbed your bag and your keycard, and then made your way out into the wintery city.

The bus, which pulled up to the stop right as you got to the bottom of the stairs, welcomingly allowed you inside with the help of your bus pass. Once you had taken a seat, you noticed at it was nearly empty, save an elderly woman in the very back of the vehicle and a young man who was staring down at his phone. Wait, why did that young man look so familiar?

“Vincent?”

The man looked up from his phone, only to have a huge smile spread across his lips. He rose to his feet and made his way over to you, plopping down upon the empty seat to your left and giving you a nudge on your shoulder.

“Hey! What are the odds we’d see each other on the bus, huh?”

“I dunno, but it’s pretty nice! Where are you heading, Vincent?”

“Well, I’m just heading down to the library. Thought I’d do a bit of reading there, since I haven’t had any time, y’know? But what about you? Where are you going so early in the morning?”

“I’m just going over to Stefano’s place. He’s all worked up about the other critics and their columns, so I thought I’d give him some company.”

As soon as you answered your best friend, you realized the dire mistake you had made. His eyebrow cocked as a sly grin came upon his lips, and he stared at you as he brought his cheek to rest upon your shoulder—this was something he had done throughout all the years you had known him, so it wasn’t something that particularly bothered you. You knew you were in for some teasing, however, since that was the only time he ever acted like this.

“Giving him some company, hmm? What kind of company are we talking about here?”

“Vincent, it’s nothing like that…”

You shoved him gently, which he greatly over-exaggerated and acted as though you had rammed him full force with your shoulder. This elicited a laugh from the both of you, and you continued to talk about things going on in your daily lives as the bus made various stops around the city. Eventually, the elderly woman ended up getting off of the bus, leaving only you, Vincent, and the bus driver as residents within it. You heard Vincent say something about the next stop being where he had to get off, and you saw his eyes light up as he gave a smile.

“Oh yeah, I entirely forgot! I know you don’t like big parties with tons of people, but on Christmas Eve, we’re heading over to the club on 51st Avenue. Do you want to come along?”

“Mmm… probably not. I just get worn out too quickly when I’m around tons of people like that. Even going to your bar is sometimes a bit much, y’know?”

“Yeah, yeah! I just wanted to ask was all. It’s not a big deal, (Name). But, you better be home at midnight, cause I’m coming to your apartment afterwards and I have a surprise for you!”

You felt the bus come to a stop, and Vincent rose to his feet as he turned his attention to the now-open door that led out onto the snow-covered sidewalk. He then looked at you one last time and placed a hand on your shoulder to say goodbye, and you noticed him wink before hurrying to the front of the bus and hopping out onto the sidewalk. You rolled your eyes—Vincent always was pretty silly around you, but you loved him all the same. You saw him wave through the window as the bus began to drive off, and you waved back at him to give one final goodbye. Now you were the only one, aside from the driver, left upon the lonely bus.

Thankfully the feeling of loneliness wasn’t prolonged for much longer—your stop was directly after Vincent’s, and it felt good to step off of the bus and into the cold air of the city. You wandered a bit down the sidewalk, passing a few people who were on their way to who knows where, and then stopped once you got to the doors that led into Stefano’s building. You looked up, unable to see the top of the building from where you stood, and then pushed the door open to head inside. As you entered, you were greeted by the young woman sitting behind the main desk, and you gave a wave of your hand in response to this before making your way through the lobby and in front of the elevator. Your forefinger pressed gently upon the button with an upright arrow upon it, and you had to wait several minutes whilst the elevator made its way to the bottom floor.

When the doors opened, several residents within the building made their way out, one of which accidentally (or so you’d like to think) nudged you with their shoulder as they walked past you. You shot them a glance over your shoulder as you made your way into the now empty elevator, and pressed the button that would take you to the penthouse suite that Stefano was housed in. The doors pressed shut, and your journey upwards began—thankfully it wasn’t too terribly long, and before you knew it you were walking down the hallway that led up to the artist’s entry door. Once you stopped outside his door, you curled your fingers into your palm and rapped upon the door a few times to alert the resident within. It only took a few moments before the door was opened to reveal Stefano, who was clad in a black suit and red undershirt, and giving you a welcoming smile; as you walked past him, you couldn’t help but think of how dashing his current attire made him look.

“You look very nice today, Stefano.”

“Oh, only today? What about all the previous times we’ve met, hmm?”

“N-no, no! I didn’t mean-“

“I jest, mia cara. Come, allow me to prepare you a drink—is there anything that might suit your fancy at the moment?”

You responded that you would just like some water for the time being, and then watched as Stefano walked into the confines of his kitchen. You decided to head into the living room, where you took a seat upon the couch; it wasn’t long before Stefano exited his kitchen and made his way beside you, gracefully setting your glass of water upon a coaster before taking a seat upon the opposite side of the couch. You leaned over, gripping your glass within your fingers before bringing the rim to your lips and taking a small sip of the chilly liquid within. Once you had set your glass back upon the coaster, you looked over in Stefano’s direction.

“So… are you still upset about the other columns? I know you were pretty worked up about them before I left.”

Stefano gave a quiet hum, and you saw his gaze turn to the framed photographs that rested around the living room. He was silent for a while, but then gave a small smile and gestured in their direction.

“Look at them, (Name). Look at them and tell me you cannot see beauty in them. Glistening crimson contrasting with gentle, pale skin… to me, such a photograph brings wonderful jubilation. And yet those goddamn philistines continue to make a mockery of me and my work.”

You saw the smile that had previously been upon his lips morph into a scowl, and you noticed the whiteness upon his knuckles as he curled his fingers harder into the palm of his hand. It was upsetting to see the artist in such a state of distress, but you kept quiet for the time being—you were going to do nothing more than listen to him, since that seemed to be what he needed right now.

“It has been this way since the day I began my career. With each wonderous picture I take, fifty more fools flock to them and degrade them—degrade me. I have read every article, every column… I have taken every word to heart, though I do not show it. The time I take to make sure every detail is perfect I cannot even begin to fathom, and yet a photograph that has been taken a million times before accumulates more praise. What beauty is there in repetition, (Name)?”

He turned his gaze to you, his brows furrowed and a look upon his face that told you he was pleading for an answer. As a follower of his art for years, you knew he had to have suffered from the ungodly amount of criticism thrown at him, and you had already had a small taste of what he had endured for years. It wasn’t pleasant, to say the very least. You gave a quiet sigh, then laced your fingers together before setting your hands upon your lap.

“I’m honestly not sure, Stefano. People don’t like change… they like things to stick to the norm, and grow anxious when things begin to alter. I suppose that’s why a picture of the same sky we see every day is so pleasing to the masses—they’re used to it. It’s something that’s ‘normal’, and thus makes them feel normal. People aren’t used to seeing blood and death, and so they shame it.”

You heard Stefano give a deep sigh, and he turned his gaze to the floor beneath his feet. You bit your lip as you tried to think of what else to do; you didn’t enjoy seeing him this distraught, you were certain about that. Unsure of what else to do, you scooted yourself across the couch to the cushion beside him, and hesitantly placed a hand upon his shoulder—you felt him tense up slightly at this, but he soon relaxed against your touch.

“If it means anything… I’ll continue fighting for you. I know I’m just one person going against what feels like the world, but dammit I’ll keep doing it. You’re a wonderful artist, Stefano… and people need to recognize that.”

The room was silent for quite some time, and you eventually heard Stefano release a soft breath through his lips. He sat upright, cleared his throat, and then looked in your direction—once more, he had his normal, content expression upon his face. You had to wonder just how much pain he was hiding behind that outward façade, but you knew that you shouldn’t press the issue any further. You grabbed your glass from the coaster upon the table once more, then brought it to your lips to take another sip of the water that it held.

“You know, I must admit that your columns ease the constant criticism that society has thrown upon me, mia cara. Reading them puts my mind at ease, just as your words of praise do. I cannot express my gratitude enough.”

You felt a very faint heat begin to arise within your cheeks, and you knew that it was coming from the fact that Stefano enjoyed reading your columns. After all, you worked hard on them, and if he approved of them, then that was all that mattered. You took yet another drink from your glass, leaving nothing but crystalline cubes of ice left within it now, and then placed it back down upon the table before beginning to speak.

“I’m glad they can bring you happiness, Stefano. Now… how about we try to take you mind off of all those imbeciles, hmm? Care to do a photoshoot with me?”

You would have sworn you saw a spark ignite within Stefano’s eye, and you noticed the smile upon his lips only broadened as he hastily rose to his feet. Seeing how quickly he paced across the room to turn on his photography lights was certainly something to behold—he certainly was enthusiastic whenever it came to doing the thing he loved most. He gestured for you to make your way over to where he currently was, and you willingly did just that. After all, you wished to see him content at the very least, and if allowing him to take photographs of you did that, then you would never refuse.

=2=

Before you knew it, nightfall had already taken hold of the city. You had been so preoccupied with Stefano and his photography that time had seemingly slipped away from the two of you, but you didn’t mind this whatsoever. Of course, you hadn’t spent the entire day doing nothing but taking pictures—after a few hours, the two of you had returned to the living room of his studio and spoke about various things, which included interests that the two of you had (you were quite surprised to learn that Stefano had an affinity for older musicians, such as Doris Day and Frank Sinatra, and that he possessed the ability to play the piano).

Now, however, you were unfortunately about to leave the artist’s abode and begin the journey back to your own apartment. You slipped your coat on over your shoulders, making sure to zip the front of it up before slipping the strap of your bag over your shoulder. Stefano had been kind enough to accompany you to the doorway of his studio, and he stooped over to open the door for you to make your way through it. You thanked him, wished him a good night, and then began to take your leave down the hallway. However, you were stopped by a call of your name, and you turned to see that Stefano had stepped outside his studio and made the short walk to stop in front of you.

“I almost entirely forgot to ask you about this, but do you have any plans for Natale, (Name)?”

You cocked your head slightly, unsure about how to answer his question. After a few moments, Stefano gave a chuckle upon realizing that you weren’t aware of what Natale meant.

“Ah, forgive me. Do you have any plans for Christmas?”

“Oh! Well… Vincent, erm, my best friend, asked me if I wanted to go clubbing that night, but I’m not one for loud places with tons of people. So, I said no. But uh… to directly answer your question, no. I don’t currently have any plans. Why?”

“Well… perhaps you might partake in an evening here at my studio? I could prepare dinner for us, and we could enjoy each other’s company.”

You swallowed hard, your heart suddenly giving several hard thumps within your chest that made it rather difficult to breathe for a moment. You weren’t quite sure why, but you didn’t really care about it at the moment—you were more concerned with the offer that Stefano had made you. Once your body managed to allow you to breathe properly once more, you gave a smile and a quick nod of your head.

“Of course! I’d greatly enjoy an evening like that, Stefano. What time would you like me to come over?”

“Hmm… I believe six should be fine.”

“Alright! I’ll uh… I’ll see you then, Stefano. Have a good night, okay?”

“I shall do my best, (Name). Buona notte, mia cara.”

You gave him a soft smile, then turned around and began to make your way down the hallway towards the elevator. For some reason, you felt extremely giddy, and you couldn’t shake the feeling of happiness the entire way back to your apartment. Whenever you finally did arrive home, you sighed happily and threw your bag down near the entrance, then hung up your coat and flopped down onto the couch with a smile still plastered across your face. You felt silly—you were acting like a teenager that had just met their favorite celebrity, but you were too overjoyed to care. You were going to spend a nice, quiet evening with the artist you admired the most, and that was all that mattered to you.

You grabbed your remote from the table in the center of the room, turning on the television to one of your favorite channels and relaxing against the plush couch beneath you. It wasn’t long before sleep claimed you as its own, the background noise of the television providing you with some vivid, interesting dreams whilst you slept peacefully throughout the night.

=2=

Author’s Note (1): Apologies for the excessive summation throughout the chapter. I promise I’ll make it up in upcoming chapters.

Author’s Note (2): Yes, Stefano’s interests and ability to play the piano are head canons of my own.

Author’s Note (3): Thanks to all of you who have kept up with this story so far. The comments and reviews I have received really warm my heart, and they help me keep going forward with my writing. I love every single one of you, and I’m so glad I have the opportunity to make you guys happy.

[lattaescript]

To Succor a Calico Cat

Pairing: Jimin x Reader

Word Count: 4.1k

*Prompt-:“Person A and Person B are lifelong rivals and neighbors, but when an issue in the apartment building occurs, Person A ends up having to room with Person B” 

Since your days as a middle schooler in Busan, you and Jimin didn’t really share a friendly rivalry. But a certain calico cat makes your paths cross again…

“A calico cat has three colors.”

He then bitterly chuckles.

“It’s funny. I do art for a living, but I see more colors in you than in my life.”

-Artist!Jimin and Artist!Reader, Architect!Jimin InteriorDesigner! Reader feat. a very special calico cat

-I maaaay be really inaccurate with their professions but like bear with me here lol

-A lil angst…but…Fluff? Fluff. Short entry for @nightbts writing contest!

As you opened the door to the veranda, you sighed a cloud of white as you shivered from the early cold morning while clutching onto a hot cup of coffee. The neighborhood buildings as well as the flower pots and the nearby bicycles yet untouched for the day were all dyed in light orange from the sunrise. You breathed in the fresh crisp air and enjoyed the scenery when all of a sudden you heard a chuckle.

“You tryin’ to film a movie or something?”

You closed your eyes to revel in the pleasant air for just a little while longer. And then you turned to the source of the evil here to ruin your morning...yet again.

“Good morning to you, Park Jimin,” you grumbled as you tried to force a civil smile (but to no avail) to the guy leaning against the next veranda to your left.

It had been 6 months since you moved to Seoul, the heart of Korea. And it had been 6 months since you became neighbors with your archnemesis since middle school in Busan, Jimin. Park Jimin was the guy who stole your spotlight since middle school. Your parents, your teachers, and your friends were all smitten by him– him and his “creativity handed to him by God”. He took 1st place in just about everything- all the art contests your school could possibly hold, social life, and even academics. But you didn’t quite care much. He was the ingenious kid who was born to stand out, and frankly, you just wanted to enjoy the quiet student life in lieu of the bustling nature of being surrounded by the mass- or so you deeply ingrained in your heart. When Jimin was accepted into the top art university in Seoul, however, you failed to contain the jealousy you had for him. One day, I’ll be in my own place where I belong. Geniuses have it easy.

But several years later, you felt your dignity crumble as your neighbor happened to be that same Park Jimin, and that same Park Jimin happened to be working at a very famous spatial design company as an architect while you were working in a small and humble interior design firm. You really, really did not want anything to do with him after high school, but alas, fate was a cruel thing, was it not?

He seemingly didn’t change at all. His aura flaunted with confidence– rather, cockiness, and his flamboyant appearance and persona seemed to match that of his in high school. Except with time, he seemed to also grow a shadow of an adult, and as much as you hate to admit, he exuded maturity, but to everything and everyone other than you, it seems. He was so nice to the landlady of your apartment, helping her with fixing broken things around the apartment or help the elderly man who lived 4 doors down walk down the stairs. And yet, when it comes to you, he fails to lose the impertinent childish demeanor. But you were also equally as petty– maybe all the comparisons to him and you since middle school did take a toll on you.

And now, with your proximity closer than ever, you had to deal with the silent taunting that came from the occupant of the veranda next to you.

You side-eye him to see his smug look at you.

God. I hate him so much.

You hurry and head back inside to get ready for work.

But as it was, you weren’t having a field day at work either.

“Miss Y/N, you are never going to make it if you keep this up,” your boss sighs as she crinkles her nose and massages her temples. She was reviewing some ideas you came up with for a client, and clearly she wasn’t happy with it.

“I’m so sorry ma’am, but I–”

“Clearly this shows how much of an amateur you are. Our clients aren’t looking for something like this,” she waves to the file you handed her.

“This demonstrates your lack of ability to think outside the box. It’s like you grew up in a bubble. Now, bring me an actual plan next time.”

“…Yes, ma’am,” you mutter as you look down to the floor.

Your co-workers stare at you- some in pity, and some in relief it wasn’t them. At this point, you just wanted to give up and throw everything away but rent and paying back art school fees were actually a thing in life.

If the day couldn’t get any worse, as you start to head home, cold drops started to precipitate, and exponentially increased its speed.

Shit.

You didn’t bring your umbrella with you because you were too preoccupied with that damn Park Jimin to check the weather forecast.

Dammit Park Jimin this is all your fault.

As you cursed him you proceed to helplessly run, getting drenched in the freezing autumn rain anyways.

“God, I’m fucking freezing,” you shivered as you try to reach for your keys to open your door.

While you were desperately fumbling for your keys, you suddenly hear a soft whimper from below. You look down to look at the source of the sound, and next to the residue of rain dripping from your body was a small, shivering tri-color cat. You admire its coat of orange, black, and white as well as its exquisite green eyes but you found a color that did not belong. Your eyes widen at the sight of the color red.

“Oh, you poor thing, you’re bleeding!”

You bend down to the cat to check on it. It seemed like the cat could not move.

“Okay, let’s get you inside.”

You opened the door, and carefully carried the cat inside.

After you hastened to dry yourself, you placed the cat on top of a warm blanket, and proceeded to check more on it.

“Okay, it just looks like a scratch. The rain probably shocked you, huh?”

You gently swabbed at the wound with cotton wet with warm water, and the cat flinched. It weakly whimpered, gently moving its shaking paw towards you to signal its pain.

“I’m sorry. It’s gonna be over soon, just bear with me, okay?” You pet the cat softly as you try to reassure it.

After making sure the wound was cleaned, you carefully wrapped a bandage around the wound.

“There. You should be better soon!”

The cat purred in relief, and licked your hand myriad amount of times in gratitude.

“That tickles!” You giggle. You felt a heavy burden lift off your chest as your eyes soften at the cat.

You suddenly hear a ring from your bedroom.

“Oh, that’s my phone. Be right back, okay?”

After you took care of your phone call, you headed back to check up on the cat again. But there was no said cat.

“Huh?”

You looked around the entire living room. There was no sign of the calico cat.

“Huh, did it really just up and leave?”

You looked around your entire apartment twice and finally accepted that it left.

Hmm. Guess it’s fine now. Hopefully it’ll stay safe.

You scan the living room one more time and left to finish drying off.

Jimin sighs as he climbs up the stairs to his apartment. His face felt stiff from smiling the same smile for 5 hours straight at a company social dinner. Sure, he had it all– good connections, good position…but does he really have to sit in the same room with those arrogant ass middle-aged men? Those same men that mocked him with jealousy behind the scenes for being young and successful simultaneously? All he wanted was to go home, take a shower, plop on his bed and sleep. He stopped in front of his door only to be guested with a stranger.

A calico cat.

“Hmm? It’s…a cat. Haven’t seen you around here.”

The cat pleadingly meowed at him.

“Oh, you were injured…and someone took care of you, eh? But you look like you are starving though. Lemme give you something, hold on.”

Jimin then let the cat inside his abode, and he searched his fridge something soft for cats. He prepared a meal for the cat by warming up some chicken broth and crumbling pieces of bread. He set it in a bowl and placed it gently next to the cat and waited for him to eat. The cat’s pearly green eyes glittered and started nibbling quickly on the food.

“Wow, you really must have been hungry, huh,” Jimin chuckled.

Jimin stared at the cat whilst petting its royal coat of fur.

“A calico cat has three colors.”

He then bitterly chuckles.

“It’s funny. I do art for a living, but I see more colors in you than in my life.”

He then gets up, and stretches.

“Mm. I’m gonna go take a real quick shower– I really need one. Finish that up, okay?”

The cat meowed in response.

Jimin heads to the bathroom, and proceeds to take off his clothes when he turned on the water. But after an extended amount of time, the water wasn’t getting warm.

“Fuck…”

Jimin changes back into his clothes and rushes out of the bathroom.

“I gotta call the landlady– huh?”

Jimin expected the cat to still be eating the food, but instead, he found no cat and he found a completely clean bowl.

“Well. He ate that fast and he just left, didn’t he? Oh well, as long as he is fed, I guess. More importantly, the water…”

And Jimin hurriedly looked for his phone.

The next morning, you were rudely awakened by a knock on the door.

“…But it’s my day off today,” you grumble half conscious.

But the knocking incessantly continued. You reluctantly get up, pat down your hair, and trudge towards the door.

To your surprise, it was the landlady– together with Park Jimin.

“Um. Good Morning, Y/N,” the landlady hesitantly started.

“Oh, hello. What happened?”

The landlady was a fairly kind lady who usually hated intruding upon her own tenants aside from giving them occasional home cooked side dishes or cupcakes. She was that kind of lady. And when she happened to intrude upon her tenants like this, it was usually either a problem in the apartment or rent. You payed rent this month– it was most probably the former.

“Y/N, I’m so sorry to ask you this, but Jimin’s water heater has broken. Would you mind having him stay over for a while? It seems like they can’t fix it until next Tuesday, and most of the other tenants aren’t here over the weekend,” the landlady apologetically asks.

You and Jimin looked at each other.

He leans on your door, indifferently waiting for your response.

Reasonable desires to reject his stay bubbled up to the horizon- until you saw the landlady look at you in desperate hopes you’ll say otherwise.

“Listen. You. Will sleep on the sofa.” You succinctly hissed to Jimin while he pushed his bags inside.

“Fair enough.”

Jimin immediately swished passed you and plopped on the sofa.

“I’m only going to stay here to sleep and take a shower here for a couple of days. I’m busy after all.”

“Are you implying that I’m not?” You scoffed.

Jimin looked at you with his eyebrows raised.

“Nah. Just thought, you’d appreciate me not being here often.”

You paused your inner rage for a short second. Where was his usual rudeness?

“Oh…well no I–”

“By the way, do you have food in your fridge? I’m starving. Or do you usually get take-out? Mind getting something for me? I pulled an all-nighter last night and didn’t eat dinner.”

Ah. There it is.

You exhale in exasperation. This was going to be a very long couple of days…

True to his words, the next day, he was barely in your presence. This only served to fuel your irritation more since it screamed out the comparison between the difference of working status between the two of you.

You sighed for what seemed like the hundredth sigh and take out your laptop.

“Well. People who aren’t geniuses have to work hard. I’m busy too, y’know,” you spoke to a non-existent shadow of Jimin you conjured.

Jimin came back home at around the evening, but he came back earlier than you had since you went to the market to get groceries.

You come back to see Jimin making himself at home while he munches on a bag of chips on the sofa while watching some kind of variety show.

“Oh. Welcome home. Did you happen to get the groceries I asked you to get?”

“Yes. I did,” you grunt as you struggle to put the groceries down on the kitchen table.

“Oh? You did?” His eyes widen.

You close your eyes in frustration. His surprise in his completion of his request irritated you more than the request itself.

“Jimin– as much as I honestly dislike you, you’re still a guest. And as long as you are a guest, I have to make sure your stay here is damn great, 10/10 would recommend. Okay?”

Jimin stares at you for what seemed like years. His face stilled until it finally broke out into a wide grin.

And that was the moment your heart skipped a beat.

What…the hell? Nuh-uh. No way. No way in hell did I just think he was-

“Okay. Then in order to make my stay great, 10/10, you wanna join me?”

He pats on the seat of the sofa next to him.

“This show’s really funny.”

“Huh? But I have to make din–”

“Please? For a guest?”

Ohhh shit. What have I done?

You could not focus on the show at all. The parts you did listen to were all drowned out by his laughter. But you were just mainly confused to why you were watching this with him. You stared at Jimin who was so busily invested in the show. And you wondered- who really was Park Jimin? The more you thought about it, the more it became a wonder. You didn’t really know much about him after all. The way his cheeks touched his eyes as he laughed made you feel something. It was less closer to the irritation that you felt for him during the past few years.

The entire time was awkward- at least for you. And you felt your fatigue hit you as you yawned. You quickly cover your mouth hoping that Jimin didn’t notice, but it seemed like you were too late as Jimin started snickering.

“You tired?”

“Yeah– cause of somebody. It’s getting late, I should start preparing–”

“Lemme do it.”

“Huh?” Your eyes widen in shock.

“I know how to cook. I’ve been living by myself for quite a while now. Besides, I was the one who made you watch it with me. There are no rules that guests can’t pay their price, right?”

He smirks at your speechlessness. “Pasta, right? I saw the groceries earlier. I’ll have you know– I make one hell of a pasta.”

You couldn’t help but smile at that.

And as it turns out, and as much as you begrudgingly admit- he did make a hell of a good pasta.

Your time with Jimin turned out to be more enjoyable than you were willing to admit. He cooked for you when he could, and when he couldn’t he at least helped you. Pretty soon, it was just natural for you to take the spot next to him in the sofa and watch his favorite comedic variety show. Your laughs had echoed his.

But one day, you came home to find the room dim.

Huh. Guess he’s coming home late tonight.

And you convinced yourself that you felt relieved because you also felt another emotion that you didn’t feel like addressing.

You were in your bedroom working on a project idea at 2 AM when all of a sudden you hear the door unlock.

I’m just gonna check if he ate dinner.

You told yourself that as you made your way out to the living room. And you were surprised to see a Jimin leaning next to the door. His head was resting on the wall but the rest of his body was slumped, and it seemed that his body was slowly reaching the ground by the second.

“Ohhhh heyyyy Y/N. Wow, you still up?”

“God, are you drunk Jimin? How much did you drink?” You quickly run up to him and support him up by pulling his arm around you.

“Hmmm? Not much I dun think? Just a couple of shots with those smelly assholes,” Jimin slurred as he smiled.

“Just a couple shots, huh. Okay, let’s just get you to bed, kay?”

You manage your best to get him to the sofa. Your arms nearly give out as you release him on the couch.

“Actually, you want to go to my bed? I can–”

Jimin quickly grabs your hand.

“No. It’s okay. Just stay for a minute.”

“O-Oh. Um…okay.”

He inhales and exhales while still gripping your hand.

“I’m tired. Honestly…I’m so tired. Those jealous ass fucking higher-ups. Geniuses don’t get tired, they say. Who the hell are you to tell me I don’t work hard just as much as you do?”

A pang of guilt pierces your heart.

“…Jimin…”

He bitterly chuckles. “Yeah. I know you think that too. But I feel like shit. Like every human does. Cause you know what? I’m human too. But you…But you…” Jimin mutters.

You quietly clutch his hand. You couldn’t say anything- you didn’t really know what to say.

After a few moments, you heard a constant of breathing. You found that Jimin was fast asleep.

You felt your eyes hot with tears.

I’m such a fucking terrible person.

Your hands shake as you squeeze Jimin’s warm hands.

“I’m so, so sorry, Jimin.”

Jimin awoke to a heavy pang to his head. He crinkled his eyes to the unwelcoming sunlight. He found himself toppled with more blankets than he remembered.

Jimin rubbed his eyes and slowly became more aware of his surroundings.

Next to him was a cup of water, some aspirin, and a note that says, “There is breakfast I made in the kitchen.”

Jimin stared at the note for a while before everything hit him all at once.

“Shit…”

When you got home, you found Jimin on the sofa. He was startled by your entrance, and he uncharacteristically fidgeted and became hesitant on what to say.

His cheeks were tinged with pink, and you swore to make sure that you save the image in the archives of your memory.

“Um. Hey, Y/N. You’re back.”

“Oh…hey. Um. Yeah, I’m back.”

A breeze of awkwardness flowed between the two of you, and both of you were stammering to keep the conversation going.

“Hey! So. Apparently they are almost finished fixing my water heater. They should be finished by tomorrow afternoon. Aren’t you glad?”

“…Oh. Tomorrow’s already Tuesday, huh.”

Not met with the reaction he expected, Jimin came to a loss of what to say.

And after a very, very long pause-

“Sorry.”

Both of your eyes widen– both of you had simultaneously apologized to each other.

“Why are you apologizing?”

“Wait, why are you?”

Both of you stared at each other for a moment, and started laughing hysterically at how ridiculous it sounded.

“Oh God, we’re so weird,” you sigh between your giggles.

“Yeah, we definitely are,” he agreed.

And at that moment, the two of you hear a very familiar “meow”.

You turn to the source of the sound.

And a very familiar calico cat stares at the two of you with its very familiar pearly green eyes and white tail.

“Hey, that cat!” Jimin echoes your thoughts.

“You know that cat too?”

“Yeah, I fed it once. Were you the one that gave it that bandage?”

“Yeah, I did. Where did it come from though? Oh wait, where is it going?”

The cat turns around and turns to the two of you again.

“Oh, does it want us to follow it?”

And the cat swiftly turns. You and Jimin both try to follow it, only to stop in front of the veranda.

“Huh? The veranda? But where did the cat go?” Jimin questions.

You quietly open the door to the veranda- and you and Jimin were greeted with quite the surprise.

The dark sky spreaded with a myriad number of stars, each shining with their own dignity. It was a view that took the breath out of both you and Jimin, as the two of you had your jaws open and eyes never wanting to leave the wondrous view of the diamonds adorning the sky.

“Hey. I’m really sorry for my preconception of you,” you started.

“Hmm?” Jimin looked at you, puzzled.

“Last night, I realized that I’ve been such a terrible person. I didn’t realize my own jealousy was clouding my judgment to see you for who you are.”

Jimin stared at you for a while before grinning at you.

“You don’t remember, do you?”

He looked back at the stars.

“It was during high school, and there was a certain art contest.”

In your junior year of high school, the pieces of the said art contest were posted in the hallway.

And well, Jimin was first place, and you were second. You didn’t have any qualms against that; it was what it was. So you silently nod, and was about to head back to class when you heard a scoff.

“So…you aren’t angry? Annoyed by the slightest?”

You turn around to see Park Jimin. He had an expression of chagrin, and you were puzzled as to why. Shouldn’t he be happy if he were first place?

You raise your eyebrows. After a moment, you just sigh.

“Not even in the slightest,” you state, and you walk away.

“…Huh. I… don’t really remember.” You crinkle your eyebrows at the distant memory. Jimin chuckles.

“Yeah. Before, I was content that I was being called a genius with such emptiness. But at that moment, I realized how powerless I really was. I was only human, and a human with an inflated ego.”

He looked at you endearingly.

“People called me genius, but you were the first one to treat me like a human,”

He sheepishly smiles. “And I was really desperate to catch your attention.”

And this Park Jimin, the slightly awkward man that is standing right next to you, was perhaps the Jimin he desperately wanted you to meet. And he didn’t really know how to so all he could do was act like a boy who teased a girl because he liked her. After all, you bet, he never had to do the approaching– he was always approached. Both of you just needed some kind of push to become honest with your feelings.

The two of you stood close to each other. On normal days, he would stand in the next veranda, making teasing remarks at you and you would steam fury in response. But tonight, things were different. He was standing next to you, in the same veranda, and the two of you were ever so close you swear you could hear each other’s heartbeats.

You smiled. You no longer denied that your heart was indeed beating way faster than normal for no one other than Park Jimin. And that emotion that you have tried to deny for the past couple of days were closer to blooming than being extinguished.

“You know, I want to understand you better, Jimin.”

“Really? Then, maybe we can go out on a date? I mean, if you want to, of course,” Jimin shyly asks. His cheeks turn rosy as he gives you the signature eye smile he was always so popular for. You scoffed at it when you were younger. But this time, you just might fall for it.

“Sure. I would like that,” you softly say.

And when the close proximity between the two of you reached zero as your lips touched his, a shooting star flashed quickly in the background.

“You know, we could film a movie like this,” Jimin sneakily whispers.

You laugh as you slap his arm jokingly.

You ended up spending the entire night on the veranda, and saw the sunrise greet you. You and Jimin were wrapped together tightly in a blanket, and defeated the cold autumn morning air. You saw the landlady walking down and you waved to her.

But for a moment, you think you see a familiar white tail.

Hmm?

But as you rub your eyes again, the image of it was gone and you see the landlady wave back. You blame your lack of sleep as you smile and slowly close your eyes and drift off to your dreams.

Calico Cats bring good luck.

-Ahhh idk this turned out way differently than I expected lol. 

-Anyways I just did this for fun and it was kind of a breather against all my midterms and working on pt. 2 for hhdd

-I hope Darcy likes this :) Thanks for the writing opportunity!

[1upmushrooms]

“Fazbears: 1985″: The Stupid Ass Thieves Guild.

“Monday. Monday, Monday, Monday.” Porter muttered as he laid stretched out in his bed. 

The old strategy of staying up late in a gambit to exhaust himself to sleep was causing several problems he didn’t need at the moment. This new idea was only one out of several tricks he’d been trying in order to finally fall asleep naturally. Thankfully, this strategy seemed to work wonders. 

“Monday...mon....mmmzz.” Porter slurred, his mind finally being put into sleep mode as Saturday night began turning into Sunday morning.

When he finally woke back up, it certainly wasn’t by choice. Indeed it was instead due to noisy neighbors caroling to each house...well, each house besides his.

“Fuckin’ people singing in the morning.” He muttered, thankful that they skipped his house.

Getting out of bed, Porter begun what he now defined as his morning ritual. The steps were fairly normal.

Step One. He’d do a good ten minute exercise routine of his choice, some days it’d be a jog in place, other days it’d be pull ups, it all depended on his mood really.

Step Two. He’d have his clothes laid out on his bed and then enter the bathroom for a brief shower.

Step Three. He’d put on his clothes, as neatly as he possibly could. Back in Chicago, people he knew would often claim that the one way to figure out he was stressed out would be if he didn’t have enough patience to straighten out his attire.

Step four. He’d make sure no one was watching him, yes even when he was alone, and he’d crouch under his bed to pull out a heavy box titled “Nostalgic Shit”. Upon opening the box, Porter would find about at least $5,134.00′s worth of bills in there. Fazbear’s pay was ok when it came strictly to paying bills, but he still needed something for food, gasoline, emergencies, etc. To make sure not even a single dollar was missing, Porter would count every bill, twice. 

Step Five. He’d then write the number down in a book that was also in the box. If he needed to take money out, Porter would subtract his withdrawal and then write the remaining amount in the book. Once all that was done, Porter would put everything back in the box, close it, and shove it back under his bed.

Final Step. He’d prepare a small breakfast, the most common being an egg and a cup of coffee, and then finally he’d do another exercise routine of his choice.

As the routine was being performed the phone rang, more than once. Porter didn’t pay attention to the total number of rings, hell he didn’t even realize it was ringing at first, but he was sure someone had tried calling him three times. At least that was his estimate.

Porter sat down in his chair and, after finishing his last drop of coffee, picked up the receiver. 

“This is Porter.” He greeted, sitting the mug on an obligatory desk coaster.

“Hello AGGH,” Scott groaned, “Ugh, hello hello! You, errg, you there Porter?”

“What happened to you?” Porter asked, a bit surprised to hear Scott in pain. 

 “Fazbear’s got robbed the other night and uh, I was the, ow, unlucky guard who got hit.”

“Did you try to hit them?”

“I didn’t get the chance I mean, agh, they-they ganged up on me before I even knew they were in the building. I didn’t even hear them crash in.”

“They?”

“I mean, it was one person but I didn’t-couldn’t tell if it was a guy or a girl because they were uh, dressed up in black and all.”

“How hard did they hurt you?” 

“I’m not too damaged, I think. I, the reason I called was because Francis put me on night shift again and, I, I, I wanted to know if you can take my place. I’m really not fit-”

“No problem.” 

“R-really? No problem at all?”

“Yeah.” Porter before getting suspicious, “Why did you think I’d say no?”

“I, I was scared you’d say something, like, ‘No way am I coming in on my day off to do this stupid thing’ or something similar.” 

“Oh.” He said, “Right.”

Scott had a point, that sounded almost exactly like something he’d say, if there were a few curse words peppered in of course. 

“If you don’t mind me asking uh, wh-why are you so cool with filling in for me? I mean uh, no offence, you don’t really seem like the guy who’d do nice stuff like that for nothing.”

“I have my reasons.”

For starters, Porter had actually grown fond of Scott since they first met so he was far more willing to do him an occasional favor than say, Jake or any of the new guys. However, the sheer awkwardness that reveal would inevitably cause convinced him to go with reason B.

“For example, have there been robberies going on before I joined this place?” He asked.

“Y-yeah. At least two from like, I think, months apart.” Scott said reluctantly.

“You remember anything unique about them?”

“Not really uh, well...oh wow.” Scott realized, “I just now remembered. The other robbers were like, really good lock pickers. Like, they’d manage to pick it with no effort and they’d creak it open as noiseless as possible.”

“I’m starting to think these robberies are all connected.” Porter said, “Either it’s the same guy or...waittaminute.”

“What?”

“The guy I caught.” Porter said, “He said something about being told by someone that it was easy to steal cash from Fazbear’s. I think someone’s sending these guys to the pizzeria. My thief just slid by me and immediately headed for the manager’s office, which ended badly for him. Your thief quickly took you out first before getting the cash.”

“That’s interesting.” Scott admitted, “But it all still sounds like, coincidental man.” 

“Did your thief have a gun on you?” 

“Um yeah, they-”

“Mine didn’t.”

“...Ok, that’s a bit weird I’ll give you that but come on.”

“Even if we accept that it can’t be a group doing this, aren’t you open to the idea that it’s one guy who’s obviously learned from his past mistakes?”

“Yeah.” Scott admitted, “This has been the weirdest conversation I’ve had so far in my life.”

“Well then you clearly didn’t have the talk with your parents.” Porter snarked, “But seriously, I think it’d be best if I fill in for you after all. I have a feeling that our ‘friend’ will show up tonight and you really don’t sound like you can handle another night of that right now.”

“Thanks Porter. Alright, I’ll tell Fr-”

“Don’t bother. Let it be a surprise.”

“I can’t do that.”

“That’s what he does.”

“Because he’s a manager, not some security guard.”

“Well, find Jessie and tell her then.” Porter snapped, “However, I don’t want you telling either of them what we’ve been talking about.” 

“Why not?” 

“...Well, what if it turns out you’re right?” Porter lied, “Wouldn’t want to look stupid would we?”

“Umm, I guess?”

“Ok.” Porter said, “Just tell Jessie that I’m filling in for you tonight and if a thief comes around, well they’ll get a surprise of their own.”

“Sounds like a plan! Tell me what happened tomorrow will you?”

“If anything happened, I’ll be sure to do that.” 

Soon they said their farewells and Porter was back to silently sitting in his chair, wondering just what in the hell he had gotten himself into and lamenting that it was all too familiar to a guy like him.

--------

When Porter strolled up to Fazbears at 11:50 PM, he was unsure as to who he wanted to see exit the building, Jessie or Francis. He relaxed himself a little when he saw an olive skinned hand open the door.

“Hey there!” Jessie greeted happily as she exited the pizzeria.

“Jessica.” Porter greeted with a little wave. 

 “Well, it’s all ready for ya.” She said as Porter walked through door, “Hope you don’t get into too much trouble, heh.”

Porter gave a nod as he headed into the security office and signed in. He didn’t even notice that she was outside the security office door.

“Hey, Porter.” 

He had just put on his security belt when he turned around to face her.

“I really appreciate you coming in tonight.” She said, “Scott really needed to heal and I was afraid Francis-”

“It’s not a big deal.” Porter said, “I did what anyone would do.”

“No.” Jessie said seriously, “No one here would anyway. You were quite literally the last person he turned to.”

That was a bit unexpected, though maybe not entirely shocking.

“The last? I knew Jake turned you down but what about Andy?”

“Was ‘sick’.”

“Morris?”

“Had to take care of his children.”

“Not even Tristan?”

“Didn’t even have to ask him. Just by the way he greeted me I knew that guy was drunk off his ass.”

“Fuck.” Porter cursed in disbelief.

“I know.” Jessie said, “And to think I hired those guys so situations like tonight would be easier to take care of. That’s why I was so grateful you offered to take Scott’s place. Seriously, thank you so much.”

Porter stood there for a few seconds and then gave a thumbs up.

“As long as I’m getting paid.” Porter said, sitting down in front of the monitors. “Just curious, was Francis ok with me filling in for Scott?”

“He doesn’t know.” Jessie said with a smirk.

“Oh my.” Porter said, “When will you tell him?”

“I’ll let that fucker find out for himself.” She said deviously, “See you tomorrow Porter, and thanks again!”

Porter waved goodbye as Jessie exited the place and locked the door behind her, leaving Porter the only one there.

“Let the waiting game begin.” 

For about two hours Porter sat at his post, watching the monitors for anything even seemingly out of the ordinary. Part of him hoped there wouldn’t be a visit from the stupid ass thieve’s guild. The other part couldn’t wait to deal with this asswipe. 

Sure enough, as the clock turned to 2:00 AM Porter heard the familiar barely audible sound of the door creaking open. He immediately rose from the chair and silently leaned next to the door of the office. 

“Go who’s back fuckface?” A gruff voice snarled as he barged into the room.

His smug face contorted into confusion as he saw no one at all. That face of confusion then contorted into one of terror as Porter grabbed the thief by the neck and slammed him up against the lockers.

“Expecting someone else?” Porter asked, loosening his grip just a little so the thug could breathe easier.

“Yo-You-You weren’t su-su...” He sputtered frantically.

“I’m the fill in guy for the last one you beat the shit out of.” 

Just by the shape of this man, Porter could tell it was a different guy. He was much bigger and taller than the pipsqueak he dealt with last time. Not that being big meant this guy was good at his job.

“Quick question.” Porter said, “Did someone tell you this place was easy to steal from?”

“Yeah.” The man said darkly with a smirk, “His name was ‘Fuck U. Prick’.”

“Ha ha.” Porter said with a very flat delivery. 

Just then a balled up fist got plunged into the thief’s stomach, causing him to gasp for air.

“It’s ok that you got confused. I probably didn’t ask you the right question.” Porter said, “How bout this? I know that someone’s been ordering people like you to rob this place. Tell me why.”

“I just heard that this was an easy way to grab cash from simple word of mouth buddy.” The man said, “And your paranoid ass ain’t gonna change the facts.”

For five straight seconds Porter stared blankly at the thief as he removed his hand, and then gave him a quick knee to the groin. Once the thief doubled over, Porter then grabbed the guy by the head and repeatedly slammed it against the lockers. 

“STOP STOP!” The thief pleaded, “I’LL TALK I SWEAR TO GOD JUST PLEASE FUCKING STOP!”

Within a few seconds, Porter’s hand was now back on the man’s throat and he was propped back up at the locker. Before he talked, Porter noticed something had dropped out of the thief’s pocket. It was a silver door key that matched the one given to the Fazbear staff. How convenient. 

“Some guy contacted me on Friday, telling me that there was a shitload of money here waiting for me to grab on Saturday night.” The thief said dejectedly, “He told me to take out that one guard and I’d be able to get all the money in the manager’s safe. That’s all.”

“Why’d you come back if that was all?”

“The guy on the phone said that it’d be easy to rob on Sunday too. A total cake walk he said, since it’d be the same guy guarding.�� The thief explained, “I mean let’s be honest, that pussy was probably gonna be even easier to deal with since I roughed him up the first time.”

Just then Porter had a sudden urge to snap this guy’s neck right then and there. Fortunately, common sense convinced him to do otherwise. 

“The guy didn’t give his name did he?” Porter asked, already knowing the answer.

“What do you think?” The man grunted, “You didn’t really assume he’d be that stupid did you?”

“Weren’t you even a little suspicious about this guy who claimed that a pizzeria was loaded with cash and easy to steal?”

“I can’t afford to be suspicious.” The thief said viciously, “I’m always having to pull these kinds of jobs for cash. Heh, this is the only time I got caught to-”

“Listen up.” Porter warned, “When you’re down at the station tonight, you use your phone call to get in touch with your contact. Tell him that he better not send anymore of you assholes here, or else I’m gonna start treating you guys a whole lot nastier. Ok?” 

The thief nodded in defeat as Porter threw him to the floor. He then picked up the phone as the thief moaned in pain.

-------

“Some luck you have.” Jessie said shakily, watching the police escort the thief out of the building. 

Porter had told her everything at this point, from the theory he had, to the thief’s story, to even the silver key the thief had. It would’ve been somewhat hard to believe, had she not heard the thief admit everything to the police. 

“You must’ve at least been worried this guy would get the jump over you or something.” She added.

“I was a security guard back in Chicago for a while remember? I’ve dealt with worse.” Porter said, “I tried not to wreck too much stuff this time around.”

That caused Jessie to laugh as she turned to Porter.

“A few more dents on an already dented locker is much better than a broken chair, I’ll give you that.” She said, “Now I’m even happier that you filled in. I can’t, I can’t even imagine what would’ve happened had Scott been working here.”

“It was still unprofessional for Scott to have someone else fill in without telling me.”

Neither of them really wanted to deal with Francis tonight, Jessie especially. But Porter reminded her that he was still the manager and that he deserved to know. Granted, that wasn’t the reason Porter wanted Francis over here but still...

“I’m sorry sweetheart.” Jessie said sarcastically, “You clearly haven’t been told what just happened here so I’ll fill you in. We nearly got robbed by the same guy who robbed us last time, the same robber who already beat the shit out of Scott, and instead of thanking Porter for being here to stop another robbery you’re taking the piss out of Scott for not telling you?!”

“I deserve to be told who’s filling in for who.” Francis snapped, “And you should’ve informed me.” 

“Like you informed me about the malfunctioning camera’s right?”

That shut Francis up for a while as he angrily muttered to himself. Jessie  headed to the door as Porter followed her.

“I can’t promise anything.” Porter said, “But I think these guys are gonna stop hitting us for a long time.”

“You really are a godsend, Porter.” Jessie said with a smile before leaving the pizzeria. 

For the first time in a while, Porter looked almost flattered. It didn’t last though as he quickly walked back into the security office where Francis was pacing around.

“And you!” Francis said pointedly, “Why didn’t you tell either of us this idea you had today?! We could’ve used that information to he-”

“I don’t trust managers. Not when it comes to situations like these.”

“Is that so?” He asked with a scoff as he continued to pace.

“Do you remember that bar and grille in Kansas City my Dad used to own?”

“Ha, which one?” 

“Fair enough. It was called like, the ‘Shallow Swallow’ or something equally stupid. Anyway, a while back there was this shady ass manager named Rick who realized ‘Hey, the building for this bar has been sought after by some really rich fuckers. If I can sell the place, we’d be swimming in green rivers.’”

“Rick was a bit of a dumbass wasn’t he?” Francis asked.

“Dumb or not he tried his hardest to fuck shit up so the bar would have to be sold. Didn’t work out well for him.”

“Your father sure made an example out of him.” Francis said with a laugh, “What’s your point, Porter?”

“I dunno, the way you’ve been running things around here so far....it’s almost like you want this place to shut down.”

Francis screeched to a halt as he turned to face Porter. Just then a thin smile was on his lips.

“The thing about friendly threats Porter,” He said, “Is that they only work with you’re sporting a grin.”

Just then he walked straight up to Porter’s face with an icy stare.

“This isn’t your Father’s business. This is mine, and I’ll do whatever I want with it.”

“It just became my Dad’s business when I got on board.” Porter reminded him, “He wouldn’t be too happy if I lost my job because of you-”.

His little speech was cut off by Francis’ howl of laughter.

“If you think your Daddy’s gonna send his pals over to beat me up because of your job, you really don’t know your Dad the way I do.” 

“Ok, call him up. You’re so confident that he’ll take this well, pick up the phone and tell him.”

Just then, Francis’ shit eating grin faded and an angry scowl took its place. 

“The thing about bluffs Francis,” Porter said, “Is that they only work when you don’t immediately back down the first time someone calls them.”

“Fine.” He said bitterly, “I got the message, alright? There won’t be anymore robberies around here. But don’t you ever get confrontational with me again, you got it?”

“Fair enough.” Porter said as he walked towards the monitors.

Francis then walked towards the door before stopping.

“One more thing, no more of this ‘Francis’ shit.” He demanded, “From now on, you refer to me as ‘Mr. Afton’.” 

[birdsofchristmas]

Chapter 4: The Great Tree of 2003

Everyone remembers that one great scene featured in every contemporary Christmas movie, played almost in rotation each year after November 12th rolls around. The scene is set: A lightly snowy evening in New York, the camera shows us images of the Empire State Building, the Statue of Liberty adorned in red and green lights then finally to people skating at Rockefeller plaza and cheerful music. At the center of it all the most magnificent Christmas tree you’ve ever seen.

I imagine my dad took these movies particularly to heart in his childhood, as In the months leading up to Christmas I’d notice our hikes into the woods became more more frequent, and his demeanor during the course of the hikes seemed to be increasingly calm. At rocky bluff summits he would have a thousand-yard stare towards the outlying gulf islands on the horizon, while owls and squirrels scurried in the surrounding evergreens.

Indeed if there was any tradition that made any sense to my dad during the Christmas season, it was having the best tree in the living room money could buy- or as was the case one year, the best tree axe could chop. Each year’s tree seemed to be an improvement on the previous years, either in size or shape or shade of green, confined merely by the height of the ceiling.

They were balsam firs mostly, occasionally a dense and hardy spruce if he could afford it that year. One year it was my dad’s favorite type of tree, which would later become known in our house as “the really great tree of 2003”, depending on who you asked (my sister preferred to call it “the great year Adam almost burned down the house”).

In 2003 we’d moved into a new house for the 4th time in as many years. To this day I swear my dad had chosen the latest house not by its geographical location, not by proximity of friends and schools, views of the mountains or even the available acreage, but for the height of Christmas tree he could drag into it.

The house was high on a hill with a view of a small farmland acreage, halfway up what felt like a mountain the top of which lead to Westwood Lake and the downslope leading to a formless void of a swamp adjacent to the highway and an apple orchard, now home to the Nanaimo SPCA facility.

The prominent feature was a staircase in the foyer, ascending to 3 bedrooms and a balcony overlooking the outside deck and an open recreational space. On the other side there was the living room and the chimney. The ceiling next to the staircase reached two stories high, from one floor of the house to the next.

I was sitting at the computer playing games as I often did in those days, when there was a banging and scratching at the door, finally a kick and a pounding as the door swung open fast enough to swing the whole rotation of its hinges then hit the wall. Standing at the door was a thick, dense series of needles and branches, then my dad’s gruff half-laughing voice he only used when he was particularly proud of himself.

“Awwwright boys,” he said, “Come lookat this tree I found! Help me bring it in!” The poor beast of a tree was laid down defeatedly with its roughly sawed trunk facing inward and the leader pointing down the driveway, extending the whole length from the front door to the sidewalk.

After a good amount of struggling and arguing with the tree we stood it up in one of those cheap stands from Canadian Tire. At first it didn’t fit in the stand so my dad sent me crawling under with a crude serrated steak knife to saw slabs off the very bottom of the trunk, until the thing could fit.

Finally the thing stood up, and my brothers and I stood in awe up to our ankles in pine needles on the carpet. I think I got the worst of it, with my arms scratched as if I’d been attacked by a cat, covered with thick resinous patches of sap. Stood up to its full height the tree was too tall even for the lofty heights of our proud ceiling. The top one foot or so was hunching over as if Charlie Brown had just pinned a giant red ornament to its head. A few minutes later dad returned with a ladder half the height of the tree and sent me up with the steak knife to saw it down until it fit.

I thought I recognized the tree from a Forestry section I studied in 4th grade. “Where did you buy this thing,“ I said, "It’s a douglas fir! There aren’t places you can buy a douglas fir is there?”

“I didn’t buy it”, he said still in his purposely gruff voice, “I got it from Mount Benson!”

Now, Mount Benson is a beautiful place, home to acres upon acres of some of the finest dense forestry on Vancouver Island. It’s just not the first place I’d imagine when thinking about the best place to pick up a Christmas tree. A hardware store maybe, outside the Country Grocer as part of a charity fundraiser, heck even out of the back of some random dude’s backyard on the corner of a busy street but not off a mountain.

It must have been a magnificent sight to behold the first time James Douglas caught sight of the towering evergreens that would later become his namesake. Unlike my dad, I highly doubt Douglas’ first thought in seeing the fir trees standing in a rich green forest in all their glory was “man, that would make a great Christmas tree!”

I haven’t even mentioned the cost of taking a tree off a mountain yet. I’d estimate the price of buying a tree to be in a store about $30-$60. The cost of stealing a tree, if you factor in the fines and the possible jail time, to be upwards of $5000 - $10,000. My dad must have thought it was a heck of a good tree to justify such great risk! Believe me, I had a lot of time to consider these things in the 2 or so hours afterwards I’d spent in the shower washing off all that sap.

Later that afternoon I was sitting back at the computer when I heard the same scratching and rustling sound I’d heard earlier when my dad first brought the tree to the door. I turned around and my heart lept out of my chest as I saw the tree falling towards me, landing directly on my head and shoulders and pushing me out of my chair to the ground with its bristly sharp branches. As it did I felt a bump on my shin as our cat Stuffy bounded out of the trees branches with fright.

“Stuffy, you little shit”, I grunted angrily as I pushed the tree aside and crawled out, covered in a fresh new series of sap tattoos. The cat looked at me wagging her tail slightly with a playful look on her face seemingly oblivious to the consequences of her desire to climb inside and explore the tree.

I reached for a shoe to throw at the cat, tossing it towards her as she pounced into the kitchen. A patch of sap on my hand caused the shoe to stick momentarily before being launched into the air, causing it to misfire and hit a tall standing lamp which also proceeded to lean towards me and fall on my head. It was as if every freestanding object in the house was out to get me suddenly, I’m half surprised the walls of the house didn’t fall on me in that moment too.

The next day my dad came up with the genius idea to tie a rope from the top of the tree to the ceiling, cementing the tree’s month long placement in our house as well as it’s reputation as an infamous tree throughout the surrounding neighborhood. “Do you remember the tree the Ropers had that one year,” the neighbors would whisper among themselves in chuckling tones in the following years, “do you suppose they just cut it down themselves? I didn’t think the thing would even fit in the house! Oh and you should have seen it in the window! Looked like the thing had grown up from the basement through the middle of the house!”

To be honest I can’t really say I blame the poor tree for falling on me. I assume this was a final act of grand retribution, after all my dad had robbed it from a peaceful life with fresh air and a charming mountain view, home among thousands of other trees sharing in the calmness of the forest, the kind of life most anxious humans could only dream of. And I probably deserved it.

[adamroper]

A Christmas Foot part 4: The Great Tree of 2003

Everyone remembers that one great scene featured in every contemporary Christmas movie, played almost in rotation each year after November 12th rolls around. The scene is set: A lightly snowy evening in New York, the camera shows us images of the Empire State Building, the Statue of Liberty adorned in red and green lights then finally to people skating at Rockefeller plaza and cheerful music. At the center of it all the most magnificent Christmas tree you’ve ever seen.

I imagine my dad took these movies particularly to heart in his childhood, as In the months leading up to Christmas I’d notice our hikes into the woods became more more frequent, and his demeanor during the course of the hikes seemed to be increasingly calm. At rocky bluff summits he would have a thousand-yard stare towards the outlying gulf islands on the horizon, while owls and squirrels scurried in the surrounding evergreens.

Indeed if there was any tradition that made any sense to my dad during the Christmas season, it was having the best tree in the living room money could buy- or as was the case one year, the best tree axe could chop. Each year’s tree seemed to be an improvement on the previous years, either in size or shape or shade of green, confined merely by the height of the ceiling.

They were balsam firs mostly, occasionally a dense and hardy spruce if he could afford it that year. One year it was my dad’s favorite type of tree, which would later become known in our house as “the really great tree of 2003”, depending on who you asked (my sister preferred to call it “the great year Adam almost burned down the house”).

In 2003 we’d moved into a new house for the 4th time in as many years. To this day I swear my dad had chosen the latest house not by its geographical location, not by proximity of friends and schools, views of the mountains or even the available acreage, but for the height of Christmas tree he could drag into it.

The house was high on a hill with a view of a small farmland acreage, halfway up what felt like a mountain the top of which lead to Westwood Lake and the downslope leading to a formless void of a swamp adjacent to the highway and an apple orchard, now home to the Nanaimo SPCA facility.

The prominent feature was a staircase in the foyer, ascending to 3 bedrooms and a balcony overlooking the outside deck and an open recreational space. On the other side there was the living room and the chimney. The ceiling next to the staircase reached two stories high, from one floor of the house to the next.

I was sitting at the computer playing games as I often did in those days, when there was a banging and scratching at the door, finally a kick and a pounding as the door swung open fast enough to swing the whole rotation of its hinges then hit the wall. Standing at the door was a thick, dense series of needles and branches, then my dad’s gruff half-laughing voice he only used when he was particularly proud of himself.

“Awwwright boys,” he said, “Come lookat this tree I found! Help me bring it in!” The poor beast of a tree was laid down defeatedly with its roughly sawed trunk facing inward and the leader pointing down the driveway, extending the whole length from the front door to the sidewalk.

After a good amount of struggling and arguing with the tree we stood it up in one of those cheap stands from Canadian Tire. At first it didn’t fit in the stand so my dad sent me crawling under with a crude serrated steak knife to saw slabs off the very bottom of the trunk, until the thing could fit.

Finally the thing stood up, and my brothers and I stood in awe up to our ankles in pine needles on the carpet. I think I got the worst of it, with my arms scratched as if I’d been attacked by a cat, covered with thick resinous patches of sap. Stood up to its full height the tree was too tall even for the lofty heights of our proud ceiling. The top one foot or so was hunching over as if Charlie Brown had just pinned a giant red ornament to its head. A few minutes later dad returned with a ladder half the height of the tree and sent me up with the steak knife to saw it down until it fit.

I thought I recognized the tree from a Forestry section I studied in 4th grade. “Where did you buy this thing," I said, "It’s a douglas fir! There aren’t places you can buy a douglas fir is there?”

“I didn’t buy it”, he said still in his purposely gruff voice, “I got it from Mount Benson!”

Now, Mount Benson is a beautiful place, home to acres upon acres of some of the finest dense forestry on Vancouver Island. It’s just not the first place I’d imagine when thinking about the best place to pick up a Christmas tree. A hardware store maybe, outside the Country Grocer as part of a charity fundraiser, heck even out of the back of some random dude’s backyard on the corner of a busy street but not off a mountain.

It must have been a magnificent sight to behold the first time James Douglas caught sight of the towering evergreens that would later become his namesake. Unlike my dad, I highly doubt Douglas’ first thought in seeing the fir trees standing in a rich green forest in all their glory was “man, that would make a great Christmas tree!”

I haven’t even mentioned the cost of taking a tree off a mountain yet. I’d estimate the price of buying a tree to be in a store about $30-$60. The cost of stealing a tree, if you factor in the fines and the possible jail time, to be upwards of $5000 - $10,000. My dad must have thought it was a heck of a good tree to justify such great risk! Believe me, I had a lot of time to consider these things in the 2 or so hours afterwards I’d spent in the shower washing off all that sap.

Later that afternoon I was sitting back at the computer when I heard the same scratching and rustling sound I’d heard earlier when my dad first brought the tree to the door. I turned around and my heart lept out of my chest as I saw the tree falling towards me, landing directly on my head and shoulders and pushing me out of my chair to the ground with its bristly sharp branches. As it did I felt a bump on my shin as our cat Stuffy bounded out of the trees branches with fright.

“Stuffy, you little shit”, I grunted angrily as I pushed the tree aside and crawled out, covered in a fresh new series of sap tattoos. The cat looked at me wagging her tail slightly with a playful look on her face seemingly oblivious to the consequences of her desire to climb inside and explore the tree.

I reached for a shoe to throw at the cat, tossing it towards her as she pounced into the kitchen. A patch of sap on my hand caused the shoe to stick momentarily before being launched into the air, causing it to misfire and hit a tall standing lamp which also proceeded to lean towards me and fall on my head. It was as if every freestanding object in the house was out to get me suddenly, I’m half surprised the walls of the house didn’t fall on me in that moment too.

The next day my dad came up with the genius idea to tie a rope from the top of the tree to the ceiling, cementing the tree’s month long placement in our house as well as it’s reputation as an infamous tree throughout the surrounding neighborhood. “Do you remember the tree the Ropers had that one year,” the neighbors would whisper among themselves in chuckling tones in the following years, “do you suppose they just cut it down themselves? I didn’t think the thing would even fit in the house! Oh and you should have seen it in the window! Looked like the thing had grown up from the basement through the middle of the house!”

To be honest I can’t really say I blame the poor tree for falling on me. I assume this was a final act of grand retribution, after all my dad had robbed it from a peaceful life with fresh air and a charming mountain view, home among thousands of other trees sharing in the calmness of the forest, the kind of life most anxious humans could only dream of. And I probably deserved it.

to be continued...

[princess-ellie-bun]

I hate posting these things.

I hate talking about my dreams or my love life

But last night's dream shook me to the core so hard I woke up at 6 am but didn't get out of bed until noon

My nasty ex

My first abuser

The reason I don't blindly trust people, even friends of friends

My bitter, ugly ex boyfriend

The star of my dream

I thought it was fine. I was going to see my friend in Texas

I love her, she is brilliant, amazing, deserving of so so much love

In the dream I was going to surprise her for her birthday

End of May, it's hot, I wear dresses and skirts and genuinely feel cute

At the airport I feel eyes on me

But that is normal, it's the airport, I probably look odd with my cute blue skirt and purple top, it's fine

But I see a shock of orange hair

I get a bit creeped out and head to security to get checked for my flight

I feel eyes on me again when I find my terminal and sit with my DS for a bit

I get a street pass from a familiar face but I brush it off, there are many many people here

I board my plane and a few rows behind my seat is the mop of curls from before

I am on high alert for the whole flight

I touch down in Dallas and get off the plane

My friend's boyfriend is here to pick me up because we planned the surprise together

He thinks it was a brilliant idea

We talk and laugh as he picks up my checked bag even though I protest

He says I look like Death is approaching so it's no big deal

I frown but go along with it

I follow him to his car and as I get in I see that orange head passing through the lot

I kind of gasp and my friend's boyfriend gets worried

It's fine, I'm fine. I didn't sleep on the plane so I'm tired and jumpy, that's all

He drives me to his friend's house where we will stay the night, have a hot meal and get ready for the next day

It's a quaint little house you wouldn't expect a college guy to like but it's nice

I get to shower first and nearly have a heart attack finding the window open despite the ac being on

I run to tell the boys but they brush it off saying that he had cracked it a bit cause it had smelled in there, I can close it if it makes me feel better

I did just that and latched it for good measure then started the shower

I was still jumpy come morning when I got breakfast ready for the boys and did my makeup

We got ready and left for my friend's house to give her the biggest happiest birthday

I felt excited but on edge after what I saw the day before, but it could have been a coincidence

My friend was so happy to see me

We had a blast just seeing one another in person and talking and getting ready for a night out on the town

She set me up in her room on the futon cause she refused to let me sleep on the floor or in the living room

She let me meet her animals and I could feel myself relax

What happened the day before was just a coincidence

But I wasn't quite so sure after our first bar hop

A car followed us from the first bar to the second

My friend would get her birthday shot and the bartender would say that whatever drink I would get would be covered

I didn't like hearing that ao I would only ask for an unopened bottle of water and ask one of the guys to get me a drink

I stayed by my friend most of the night because I was a light weight and didn't want to bother her friends that much seeing that I don't know them all that well

But she encouraged me to dance and flirt with a few of the girls around knowing I had the confidence to never see them again

By the fourth bar, eyes were on me and I didn't feel safe

I refused to leave the tables reserved for us

My friend would occasionally send a girl my way to just talk with

One of them was really motherly and fussed that I had had too much to drink and not enough to eat and refused to let me up

She just put her arm around me and held me close, it was nice until I felt the pickle of eyes again

When she asked me about the people I came with and I told her she got really protective almost

She pulled me even closer and when my friends said they were going to go to another bar she asked them if they could take me home

I blinked at her but she just put her number in my phone and told me to message her when I was home

I shrugged and everyone agreed that the light weight should rest

I smiled and shook my head but aquiessed

They took me home, I texted the one girl that I was safe and hoped she had a lovely night despite babysitting me, and my friend made sure I was comfortable before telling me they were heading back out

The night was still young and all that and I didn't really mind that much, this was her night after all

I was awoken by a window shattering

I was frightened and still a bit drunk so I stayed where I was

Heavy boots sounded through the house as if the person wasn't even afraid of being found out

The footfalls filled me with despair

The head of orange hair wasn't just a coincidence

The man in the house was here for me and I feared what he would do once he found me

I texted my friend to let her know someone was here but she didn't respond

I also texted the one girl and she tried to ask me the address but the footfalls stopped outside the door

I sent a very quick apology and hit the call button so someone would be able to hear my plight

I asked her to stay with me as the door opened

The light flicked on and standing in the doorway was fear itself

He was taller that I remember with a bit more muscle but his hair was still an orange mop and his face just as I remembered it, twisted and angry

He said a quick hello filling my name with as much flame and poison as he could

I blinked and tried to play drunk or dumb saying to turn the light off, it's bed time

But he just lunged across the room

The dream changed and I was in a back yard under orange street lamps running and ducking and crying

Trying to alert neighbors in houses seemingly too far away

I got to the gate and made to climb over when he grabbed my wrist, wrenched me down, an bellowed at me

I woke up crying, positively wrecked.

I couldn't breathe

A nightmare, truly

I honestly don't want to sleep tonight