#and he’s described a few times as “weak” or “frail” so he probably leans on things if he has to stand for a long time

[sluttish-armchair]

Me: [sketching Winston’s body design] “I am about to make you so unhealthy-looking.”

[puts on glasses] Excuse me I’m going to armchair diagnose him with stuff in the tags

[therealvinelle]

Hi, I was reading a post here in Tumblr about how Edward has two gifts, he can hear thoughts and is super fast, so I wonder what is your opinion about this topic?.

Furthermore, what others power might the Volturi's leaders and guards might have?

Edward has one gift, and it’s telepathy. Being fast isn’t a gift.

Strength, speed and even senses is varied among vampires. Some, like Emmett, are on the extreme end, but that doesn’t make Emmett gifted, nor does it mean that the rest are at an equal level. The Cullens have clear variations between them.

Physique appears to play a dominant role in how these variations play out: Alice, who was malnourished and never made it past 4′10″, is the physically weakest of the coven, while Emmett at 6′5″ and a mountain of muscles is the strongest. This is made very clear during the baseball game:

“Emmett was hovering close to third (base), knowing that Alice didn’t have the muscle to outstrip Rosalie’s fielding." (Midnight Sun, chapter The Game)

There’s also the fact that it’s taken for granted that Emmett would be intimidating to other vampires, and he is dismayed when James is more worried about Jasper, who is lean.

I suspect this disparity exists simply because a large frame means more tissue to have blood in. Newborns, animal, and human-eating vampires all having a difference in terms of strength is proof that blood has the final say in a vampire’s prowess, so Emmett being able to contain more of it than Alice and therefore being stronger makes sense to me.

This isn’t the meta for me to get into that, but I don’t think vampires have muscles in the sense we do. Or rather, we can’t know that they do. Renesmée is proof that Edward retains his human DNA, or she would be a clone of Bella. Nahuel is proof that Joham retains a Y-chromosome. Does this mean that vampires have different cell types? Does a vampire’s stone-like skin still contain human DNA? One would think yes - except, if you rip a vampire apart, you get rubble. The parts are all solid. There’s also Carlisle theorizing that vampires digest blood by absorbing it through porous tissue, which makes me wonder why he dismissed his digestive system (my guess: vivisection fun times with Aro in Volterra. Carlisle couldn’t have done it on his own, and Aro is the only one mad and curious enough to be down for that). I’m getting off-topic - what I’m saying is, we don’t know how vampires work, meaning I can’t build this meta off of the assumption that they have muscles. I simply can’t know for sure that they do.

The important thing is that a vampire’s physique is a deciding factor in how strong they are.

There’s also Laurent’s warning about James, that he has “unparalleled senses”, meaning some vampires are better at sight, hearing, and smell than others. I can believe that, because we have canon examples of vampires being bad at tracking.

There’s Edward in Port Angeles, who couldn’t track Bella’s, his singer, scent to her location, and (I admit this one is conjecture but it’s so probable that I say it goes) Carlisle’s creator, who after taking care of the mob must have realized he’d bitten one of the humans, meaning a newborn would soon be loose in London. This is punishable by death by the Volturi. The fact that he didn’t return to finish Carlisle off means that he was unable to find him. I remind the audience that Carlisle was bleeding and suffering the effects by a venom intended to paralyze the victim. To put it this way, Carlisle wouldn’t have survived James, or anybody with a trace of tracking competence. By comparison, Carlisle was able to locate a dying Rosalie by the smell of her blood, even though there wouldn’t have been a trail for him to follow, as her body had not been moved.

When it comes to these disparities in strength and speed among the Volturi, I imagine Jane and Alec are the physically weakest members of the guard, and among the slowest. They’re prepubescent, meaning no muscle for them, and their height (a humble 4′8″ and 4′10″) implies very short legs. They’re simply not going to get as far as an adult would, not in the same number of steps. Renata at 5′0″ is another tiny vampire lady who likely isn’t very strong or fast.

That’s not to say I think these physically weaker members of the Volturi guard are necessarily useless in hand-to-hand combat, Alec at least is a boy stuck in a playful age, and the males around him are trained warriors. He’s probably picked up a few things over the years.

As for the others, Aro is described as frail-looking, which hints at him being quite thin. I don’t think he’s weak, if he couldn’t win a fight he wouldn’t be around, but I do think he’s probably below average in terms of strength. Caius I picture as a Harrison Ford type, so of course I’m gonna think he’s a bit burly, but this is me headcanoning and not actually hinted at in canon. Marcus is 19, so I imagine he can only be so strong.

Back to Edward’s speed.

He’s a 6′2″ teen, that’s code for “very long legs”, though I’m actually going to go ahead and posit that he’s not actually that fast. Strap in for this next part:

The guy was a teenager who lay dying for an undisclosed amount of time. The fact that Carlisle had the time to get to know his mother points to a few weeks, at least. And Edward was very ill:

Elizabeth worried obsessively over her son. She hurt her own chances of survival trying to nurse him from her sickbed. I expected that he would go first, he was so much worse off than she was. (New Moon, page 21)

Muscles atrophy quickly, never more so than when you’re a teen ravaged by fever, on your deathbed. And as I’ve explained above, I think your physique in life ties directly into your vampiric prowess.

I think Edward is certainly the physically weakest of the male Cullens, quite likely weaker than Rosalie as well, maybe even Esme.

Now, speed is not the same as strength. However, for humans, the two are connected. It’s the muscle fibers in our legs that determine our speed. Basically, type I fibers make an enduring runner, type II fibers make a speed runner. So, assuming that vampires retain their human musculature, one could argue that Edward had a lot of type II in life. However, Carlisle when he was human was able to outrun the mob he was with:

He ran through the streets, and Carlisle — he was twenty-three and very fast — was in the lead of the pursuit. (Twilight, page 158)

Carlisle clearly had a lot of type II fibers, and unlike Edward he was in peak physical condition when he died. He was also an adult who’d had more time to develop musculature, while Edward was a seventeen-year-old. If musculature was a deciding factor, one would think they would at the very least be of equal speed, though realistically Edward should be slower.

So, if it’s not muscles, what is it that makes Edward faster than the others?

It could be a matter of technique. Except, the way Bella describes movement when she wakes up as a vampire, it’s all very automated. Her body knows exactly how to do everything, and executes it without much input from her:

After that first frozen second of shock, my body responded to the unfamiliar touch in a way that shocked me even more.

Air hissed up my throat, spitting through my clenched teeth with a low, menacing sound like a swarm of bees. Before the sound was out, my muscles bunched and arched, twisting away from the unknown. I flipped off my back in a spin so fast it should have turned the room into an incomprehensible blur—but it did not. I saw every dust mote, every splinter in the wood-paneled walls, every loose thread in microscopic detail as my eyes whirled past them.

So by the time I found myself crouched against the wall defensively—about a sixteenth of a second later—I already understood what had startled me, and that I had overreacted. (Breaking Dawn, page 251-252)

Growling, crouching - those are all distinctly vampiric, non-human ways to act. Bella didn’t learn this, her body knew it of its own accord. When she later runs, she explains it as happening the same way - she just does it.

The way Bella experiences it, vampiric movement is like a package she downloaded, and that executes her instinctual commands with no need for her to actually know how to do any of this. Her grace is another example of this - Bella Swan may be in charge of her own consciousness, but the venom is entirely in control of her body.

Given these facts, I don’t think it’s technique that makes Edward a better runner than others. His technique is likely similar to everyone else’s. If it isn’t, if technique is what makes the difference, then who is and isn’t fast is an arbitrary process.

With that, we get to my controversial theory about why Edward is the fastest Cullen: he’s not.

Running and being fast is the only thing about vampirism that Edward enjoys. This is for another meta, but Edward is extremely depressed about every single other bit of it. Every aspect of being a vampire torments him.

Except the running. He enjoys all of it, especially being the fastest, so much. And as a newborn, he would have been faster than Carlisle.

But after that, when his newborn strength faded…

I honestly think that Carlisle decided to just slow down a bit when running with him, let Edward have this. It’s no skin of his back, and it makes Edward happy, so why not.

Esme joins the family, and of course she would be down for this. Nothing is more parental, more maternal, than losing at checkers to make your child happy, after all. Could also be she’s not very fast herself, but even if she were then she would downplay it to make Edward feel like Jesse Owens.

Enter Rosalie, who would think it’s completely ridiculous, yes, but she would also recognize this excellent opportunity to call in a big favor from Carlisle later on. There’s also the fact that I think Carlisle has a gift (yes, yes, meta is coming, people) that makes him very persuasive people. And also that for all that Rose gets a lot of bad rep, she is very generous and loves her family, if being fast makes Edward happy then alright.

Emmett is an easy-going guy, he goes along with things. Alice adores Edward and would go along with it. She also has tiny matchstick legs and couldn’t outrun him if she tried. Jasper could not care less.

Bella does get outrun by Edward after waking up, but she also did zero exercise in life (listing this in case musculature matter), had Renesmée devour her from within rendering her emaciated, and then died like a slasher movie murder victim. There’s not a lot of blood in her, and what little blood there is doesn’t have a lot to work with. She does defeat Emmett at arm wrestling, so I’ll concede that. However, there are enough extenuating circumstances surrounding Bella that I think my “Edward isn’t that fast” theory survives his ability to outrun her.

So, I believe Edward is the fast Cullen because Carlisle told a white lie in 1919, no one ever corrected that, and now it’s too late.

[ayo-cowbelly]

when the fire goes out, how do we stay warm? part 3/?

previous part ~ next part ~

masterlist

today i’m serving up an entree of zygerrians being assholes, with a side of dark obi wan and angsty inner thoughts- enjoy!

First of all, the canon timeline has been taken out back and shot- so we’re currently just blindly driving through the year 20 BBY. For this universe, it has been about two months since the original zygerria mission (which happened at the same time as canon). Just for reference i guess.

ALSO, QUICK NOTE ABOUT UPDATES: school just started for me, along with other things, so updates are going to be weird for this story. There are just a lot of things going on in my life, including writing, so I can’t promise when I’ll be able to update- BUT IT WILL BE OFTEN! Just not on a set schedule/general time frame.

p.s. lines from the tatooine slave code the discord and i came up with are mentioned- you can find the whole thing at @newswcanonprompts

~

 Obi-Wan has been periodically blacking out for about a week now. Maybe more, maybe less. He’s not actually sure how long it’s been. All he knows is that sometime, the Zygerrians had decided to tuck him away in this...

 What could he call his new accommodations? It looks like an old dungeon- smells like one too. The walls are crumbling, and there’s a leaky crack on the ceiling that has been keeping Obi-Wan a bit entertained. He watches the water drops slide down the wall, making him dream of rain. He wishes to be outside, to be free.

 For the first few weeks, when he was the queen’s attendant, he had been allowed to go wherever in the palace- as long as he followed the queen when she called. She probably allowed this small bit of freedom to show everyone her new Jedi pet. But then it all changed.

 Obi-Wan had been in his “room” (a small closet-like space with a cushion and a little pot to relieve himself) when he heard shouting and running. Peeking outside, one of the queen’s guards caught sight of him and yelled something in Zygerrian; the guard then pressed a button and Obi-Wan’s collar shocked him into unconsciousness.

 When Obi-Wan awoke, he was in this cave, his bare shoulders bleeding from where the guards must have dragged him. Usually, the queen’s attendants were dressed nicely, but Obi-Wan supposed he was a special case.

 They starved him, dressed him in his torn clothes, made him look weak- a showcase of Queen Miraj’s power, her ability to beat even a Jedi into submission.

 And Obi-Wan  has been beaten. He knows it, the queen knows it, everyone on this blasted planet knows it. His muscles are pretty much depleted by now, his bones getting more and more frail every day- and his spirit was just as crushed. After learning (he learned through punishment; teaching was done with whips on this planet) to be quiet, he eventually accepted that this was no place for his well-known banter.

 Obi-Wan Kenobi is not a silent person. But, that is who he has to be, if he is to survive.

 In his silence, he thinks of Anakin and hopes for his safety. He reflects on their only communication in the last few weeks, that one burst of emotion in their Force bond. Obi-Wan wishes he could tug on the bond, at least send Anakin an inkling of feeling, but it was impossible. He has no strength for such things, and if he did, he can’t try- Queen Miraj had put him in Force-dampening cuffs some time ago (they are rusted and old, probably because the queen was never lucky enough to have a Jedi in her grasp).  

 So he is left alone with nothing but a dreary cell and troubled questions for company.

 Is Anakin alright? Does he know Obi-Wan is alive? Does he still have that horrible haunted look that plagues Obi-Wan’s nightmares, the one from the arena?

  Is his brother free? Obi-Wan wonders that most often. He doesn’t know if Anakin is free, or if he’s just briefly escaped; then again, he also doesn’t know what exactly his former apprentice is running from. Chains? Nightmares? Fear? Darkness?

 Or maybe those are all the same. At least, they seem to have become one in this blurry hell Obi-Wan is now living in.

 The Darkness comes for him while he’s unconscious. Whenever the world fades, Obi-Wan is met with a black expanse that threatens to consume him.

 He finds it harder and harder to push it away. In fact, Obi-Wan’s vision is starting to dim, his bleary eyes starting to close…

 But before he goes under, the old metal door creaks open.

 “Hello, Master Jedi,” The Zygerrian guard jeers, the mocking evident in his tone. Obi-Wan feels he has lost any right to that title (what Master would let their Padawan be treated so terribly, what Master would embrace Darkness while he sleeps?).

 Obi-Wan just turns his head to the other man, fresh cuts on his cheek stinging from the movement. He does not reply.

 “Thought you were a talker. ‘Guess not,” The guard remarks as he slides a dish of something gray-looking across the floor. Obi-Wan doesn’t recognize him, this must be the first time they’re meeting (he probably wanted a glimpse at the queen’s new Jedi pet). “No response? Fine.”

 The Zygerrian leans cockily against the cell door, head tilted down to Obi-Wan’s pathetic body. “Can’t say I’m upset you’re quiet. I didn’t expect it- the newbies are always loud at first. It’s always so irritating, listening to their crying and screaming, but they learn soon enough.” The guard smiles wickedly, fingers tracing his whip. Obi-Wan has heard the screams in this place, the cries of children. He's watched as they go still, their tears giving way for the crack of a whip and their torturers’ cruel laughs.

 Obi-Wan has been making himself numb for weeks. But as the guard drones on, his fangs glinting in the darkness, a wave of red-hot fury courses through the Jedi. It feels similar to that day in the arena, when he’d come so close to killing Queen Miraj- until Ahsoka stopped him.

 Obi-Wan wishes he’d murdered her right there. A part of him wants to see the life in her eyes drain, and he wants it to be at his own hand. He wants to see her pay for what she did to Anakin, to Rex, to so many others- he will make her pay. Make her suffer-  

  Yes,something deep in him whispers. It’ll be easy. She will suffer. And when she dies, you will be the one to make her heart stop beating-  

 “Hey,” the guard’s raspy voice interrupts whatever had been filling Obi-Wan’s head. “Were your eyes always yellow-ish? I heard they were blue.”

 Obi-Wan doesn’t know what to make of that.

 ~

 The sunlight burns his delicate skin. Obi-Wan blinks rapidly, as he is no longer used to the brightness of day (honestly, how long was he in that cell? Nobody will tell him- maybe it’s a good thing he doesn’t know).  

 He is pushed roughly with a blaster. “Keep moving, scug,” one of his escorts, a particularly nasty-looking guard, says.

 “Where-” Obi-Wan coughs, his voice scratchy. “Where are we going?”

 “You’re going to see the queen.”

 “Then why are we outside?”  

 “Did you really think your disgusting room was in the palace this whole time? If you think we treat our royalty like that, you’re more idiotic than I thought,” another guard sneers, sounding almost offended.

 Obi-Wan sighs defeatedly. “I meant, why not just put me in a speeder and be done with it? Why parade me through the streets?”

 The original guard, the one who pushed him, barks out a laugh. “Why do you think? Now shut up and walk.”

 Obi-Wan realizes what the guard means. It's a show for the Masters. He can’t stop himself from looking around, making eye contact with the slave traders and their grins- they are all too happy at seeing a famous Jedi being led along in chains. Said Jedi wants to wipe the smiles off their faces, for they might think they are in power here, but he will show them what-

  No, he thinks, recoiling from the Dark thoughts. Stop- don’t go there, Obi-Wan.    He doesn’t want to think about his eyes, if they’re yellow or blue- he doesn’t want to, he wants the Dark to leave him alone-

 Or does he?

  Stop, stop, don’t think about it, GO AWAY- he screams in his mind, pushing the Dark away. It backs off for now, but Obi-Wan knows it will come back in his dreams.

~

 They finally reach the palace, and the guards grab him by the arms to lead him inside. Their sharp nails drag across his skin, some even giving him more cuts- but instead of thinking about it, Obi-Wan prefers to be numb, so that is what he does. Sinking into the Force (which he can barely feel, due to the cuffs he still wears), he lets himself be pulled along.

 Queen Miraj’s voice is what snaps him out of it. The blissful respite of the Force slinks away, despite Obi-Wan’s frantic grabs at it.

 “Master Kenobi, it is wonderful to see you again,” she purrs, eyes raking over his battered form. Seeing an exceptionally angry gash on his arm, the queen smirks. “I hope you are enjoying your new room.”

 He does not reply. He will not let her take his words; she has already taken his body, she will not have his voice. It is a lesson he has learned from the other slaves, one Anakin had drunkenly described years ago.

  Though he was drunk, Anakin sounded almost poetic, but devoid of emotion- it was how he always seemed when talking about Tatooine. “Peace in Silence, Defiance in Demureness… They teach us to be quiet. Watch instead of speak. Watching is how we learn. And, if the Masters don’t have your voice, then they cannot truly win.”  

 Obi-Wan didn’t, and still doesn’t, want to know why those teachings sounded like a mantra, a code engraved into Anakin’s very being, even after being freed.

  Can you ever wash away the sands of a slave?  

 How much of the Desert still lives inside Anakin?

 Again, Obi-Wan doesn’t want to know.

 The queen keeps talking. “No response? I thought you had better manners than that, Master Jedi.” They love to call him that, don’t they? The Masters love to remind him of his place. By calling him 'Master', they reaffirm the fact that it is      they    who are really in charge- he is nothing more than their toy.

 He ignores the queen’s taunts. She cocks her head, brows narrowing. “You might be wondering why I summoned you here. I imagine you have many questions regarding your… new arrangements.”

 Obi-Wan doesn’t say anything, instead just keeping his eyes trained on her. He watches as she clenches her jaw. Her voice does not betray her growing irritation- she had been hoping for an outburst. “See, a bit of time ago, your little Republic friends came here. They broke into my dungeon, took that little Togruta you’re so fond of, and then left. They also took away my prize, your little Chosen One…”

 Obi-Wan, who had been studying the wall, whips his head towards her. Forgetting to be quiet, he stutters, “They- they got Anakin-?”

 Queen Miraj leers at him. “Yes, they did; just in time, too, I suppose. He was not going to make it much longer.”

 A pink Twi’lek -probably the queen’s new attendant- is in the corner, staring intently at Obi-Wan. She is pressing her finger to her lips, signaling for him to be quiet. He ignores her. “What did you do to him?!”

 The queen smiles smugly, annoyance forgotten. She motions for her guards to restrain Obi-Wan. Once he is firmly held down, she replies. “It was easy to see that he was once a slave. He was already cracking. But I broke him.”  She sounds prideful, taking joy in the fact that she-

   No. Anakin is strong. He’s alright. He is alright. He has to be alright.  

 “You cannot break Anakin. He is strong, stronger than you will ever be.” The Twi’lek in the corner is frantically shaking her head at him, neck rubbing against her shock collar. But Obi-Wan cannot get himself to quiet. Not now, not anymore.

 “You think he is powerful? He is a slave, Kenobi. It doesn't matter where he is, who he calls Master- he will always be chained,” the queen snaps.  

 “He was freed.”

 She laughs at his protests, eyes glinting. “You do not understand. A slave is never free, Jedi. You can shower him in love, titles, and luxury- but I know what a child of the Desert looks like. Tatooine is a cruel place; it has a certain way of… rooting itself in its children. Some of them end up here, and they are easily recognized. Skywalker is just like them, scarred and broken. They will only be free when Death claims them, Kenobi.”

 Obi-Wan pushes at the guards, trying to get to the queen. He wants to wipe that cruel smirk off her face, drown it in blood- “You’re wrong!”

 “Look at how you refuse the truth- just like a Jedi. You know I am right. You know it, you see it in him, the cracks- and you never help, do you?”

 “Anakin,” Obi-Wan grinds out, “is not a slave. He is a Jedi, he is free-”

 The queen’s lip curls. “A slave,” she repeats, “is never free.”

 The Darkness rises up in him, louder this time. It rushes through his head, pounding against his skull. It wants to be let loose- so he lets go. The cuffs start to snap, and he pushes outwards into the room. The queen is slowly pushed back at her throne, and if these rusty old cuffs will break Obi-Wan will be able to crush her skeleton against it-

 Then, something slams into his head, and the world goes black again.

 ~

 He wakes up to the throne room, but this time, it’s a bit different. For starters, he’s kneeling, held in place by two ropes attached to the walls. More guards fill the room, and now the prime minister is standing diligently by Miraj’s side, scowling at Obi-Wan.

 His head throbs from where he was hit, blood trickling down his forehead. He looks down at his hands, seeing that they are now in cuffs that look brand-new.

 “You dare try to attack me?” The queen snarls at him, slowly walking down her throne’s steps.

 Obi-Wan looks at Miraj’s attendant, the pink Twi’lek. She is looking down, knowing what is coming.

 “Learn your place, Jedi scum,” She says menacingly, nodding at something behind Obi-Wan.  He tries to go numb, but these new cuffs work better; he can’t reach the Force at all. It is terrifying, and he can’t breathe, for now he is truly alone in this hell-

 He dimly registers the crack of a whip being ignited. His stomach sinks as he hears the whip coming down, and then he is  burning  .

[rosethesongbird]

Angelic Illness

Crowley looked on as his best friend of six millennia lay alone in a large bed. He shifted in the armchair next to the bed, serpentine legs desperately trying to find comfort. Aziraphale’s brow—normally so gentle, friendly, and soft—was knitted in a pained grimace, and moist with sweat. He inhaled a shuddering breath, exhale quickly becoming a wet, productive cough; then, a coughing fit. The demon quickly rose from his seat at the sight of the angel rising from the nest of pillows, face in the crook of his elbow, struggling to breathe. 

“Ngk— Come on, let’s get you sitting up a little.” Aziraphale nodded, still choking on air. Crowley supported him with one hand on his shoulder, the other hand fluffing up pillows so he could rest more upright. The coughs finally stilled, and the angel leaned back, breathing heavily. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, sighing. 

“Don’t be, angel,” said Crowley, frowning. “I’m sure you would get rid of this, if you could. And it’s no hardship for me. Not like there’s much else to do.” 

“I suppose you’re right,” whispered Aziraphale. After the Armageddon’t (as Crowley had named it), life had fundamentally changed for them. They both had the same desire to do good or evil, respectively, but no one to answer to whether it was done or not—so they were more like freelancers at this point. 

A soft, cautious knock came at the door. 

“Everything okay?” a head of curly brown hair poked in. “I heard you coughing, Z,” 

“I’m really quite alright, Dawn, and we really should get out of your hair, don’t you think Crowley—“ he said, breaking out into another coughing fit. Crowley’s jaw set with concern as he rubbed his friend’s back. 

“Nonsense,” said the gamine, walking over to the bed. “It’s my pleasure to be able to host you. Not counting the fact that if you were human I’d have you admitted. Although, I’m not sure if I should count you as ‘over sixty-five’ or not.” She smiled and sat down on the bed. “How are you feeling?” 

Aziraphale opened his mouth to answer, smiling. “And don’t lie. It’s not becoming of angels.” 

His smile fell. “Well, um, not—not very well, to be honest.” 

“Let’s take your temperature again, huh? What was it last time, Crowley?” 

“38.5,” said Crowley, a little too quickly. He was worried. 

Dawn froze for a moment while retrieving the thermometer from the cupboard. She laughed to herself. “I was really confused for a minute, then I remembered we’re measuring in Celsius like sensible people. Now open up, tenderheart.” The thermometer let out a small beep as she placed it under Aziraphale’s tongue. Her gaze lingered on the angel for a moment, before brushing white-blonde curls off his forehead. She turned to face the lithe demon. 

“Get any sleep last night?” 

“Don’t need to,” said Crowley. 

“I know, but did you want to?” Dawn asked, accusingly. Crowley only responded with a “Ngk,” and looked away. She was perceptive—an advanced nurse practitioner and American expat whose husband was one of the few stationed at the Tadfield Air Base. She had what she called “the spiritual gift of discernment”—upon first walking into the bookshop on a rainy day, she had immediately “discerned” Aziraphale’s angelic nature, and by “discerned” Crowley meant “she could see the wings for some reason.” Aziraphale had made quick friends with her, although, to be fair, he made quick friends with just about everyone who liked old bookshops. 

The thermometer let out a second digital beep, pulling him out of his thoughts. 

“Hm,” said Dawn. 

“What, what is it?” said Crowley. 

“39.7,” Dawn frowned. “I think this is bacterial,” she stated to no one in particular. “Have you ever taken medication, Z? Like, would there be any point in me giving it to you?” 

“I’ve never tried. Never needed to,” said Aziraphale, crestfallen. “But, I suppose it’s worth a shot.” 

Dawn ran her fingers through his hair. “I’ll be right back,” she said, a half smile on her face. The door closed softly behind her. 

Aziraphale sighed. “I really do feel awful, Crowley.” 

He looked awful, too. His face was sticky with fever-borne sweat, the usual pink flush to his cheeks was multiplied, the rest of his skin looking so pale it was almost grey, and the crinkles at the corners of his eyes that normally only appeared when he smiled were emphasized. His sparkling blue eyes were weary and dulled. 

“Well, Dawn said you probably had been sick for a few days by the time she noticed. I mean, have you ever been sick before, angel? Or did the bacteria or whatever make you stupid?” 

“I don’t think so,” said Aziraphale, grimacing and rubbing his chest. “I think I would remember feeling this bad,” 

“What you’d think is that you would have, I don’t know, mentioned something to your lifelong best friend before keeling over in a pile of dussssty old books,” Crowley’s agitation came through in a snakelike hiss. They always came out when he got upset. 

“It came on fast, Crowley! You know I would have said something if I—“ Aziraphale leaned forward into another coughing fit. The wet coughs sounded like they came from the very pit of his lungs, and were so strong they shook his whole body. Crowley reached over and began to rub the angel’s back again, drawing slow circles onto the tartan pajamas he had conjured up in a quick miracle on the way to Dawn’s cottage in Tadfield, the Bentley screaming down the country roads like a—well, like a bat out of hell. 

Dawn had called from Aziraphale’s phone, upon finding him unconscious in the bookshop. She had dropped in with a box of homemade macarons—telling Crowley later that she had intended to use Aziraphale as a guinea pig for new recipes, but he loved sweets too much and would never say which one he liked the best—only to find him lying curled up on the floor, shivering, sweating through his shirt and burning up in fever. Upon waking, he had started to cry (a sight Crowley had only seen a few times, and was not interested in seeing again) and Dawn had been concerned enough to call out of the rest of her day at work and take him to her home. Thankfully, in the past day he had grown much more coherent, but his symptoms had gotten worse. The wet coughing, the chest pain, the sound Dawn described as a “crackling on inspiration” when Crowley arrived and she was still in “work mode.” (Crowley thought he was going deaf when she thankfully explained that she could only hear it through the stethoscope still hanging around her neck.) Dawn had decided it was pneumonia, but none of the three were sure quite how Aziraphale got it in the first place. I mean, they were heavenly beings after all. Aziraphale had said that he felt too weak to miracle it away, so it was up to Dawn and Crowley to nurse him back to health. 

The cautious knock came at the door again, and Crowley was knocked out of his inner monologue to find Aziraphale now still except the rise and fall of his chest. He normally chose not to sleep, unlike Crowley who was quite a fan of closing his eyes and hallucinating wildly for eight hours each day. This illness was taking so much out of him that it was all he could do to stay awake for short bursts of time. 

Dawn entered, Crowley holding a finger to his lips in a “be quiet, the baby is sleeping” motion. She smiled. “I went ahead and called in some antibiotics, but they won’t be ready until later today,” she whispered. “Would you like anything for breakfast?” 

The demon cocked his head, thinking. It was early, about half past six, and the first light was beginning to peek through the curtain. “Cup of coffee might be nice,” 

“Cup of coffee it is, then. Oh, and I brought these,” she set out a bowl of cool water and rags, alongside a cup for drinking water. “That fever’s worrying me, I don’t want to let it get back up to where it was yesterday if I can avoid it. Think you can persuade him to take these when he wakes up next?” she handed Crowley a few pills. “Just aceta-uh, paracetamol, I promise. Nothing sketchy.” 

“I’ll do my best,” said Crowley. “Maybe they would go down a little better if they came alongside some sweets?” 

“Oooh, good idea,” Dawn remarked. “I normally wouldn’t encourage macarons for breakfast, but can I really deny a poor little angel his favorite?” 

“Exactly,” agreed Crowley. “Now you know how I’ve felt for the last six thousand years.” 

A laugh bubbled up from Dawn as she left the room. The bittersweet aroma of coffee snaked through the house.

—

Aziraphale didn’t wake up until it was nearly lunchtime. He had been stirring in his sleep, and started breathing faster and heavier. Crowley almost woke him up, but decided against it when Dawn didn’t seem exceptionally concerned. When he actually woke, however, was a totally different story.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale whispered. 

“Yep, I’m here,” he said, calmly. “What’s up?” 

“Oh, heavens, Crowley,” Aziraphale moaned, eyes glassy. “The books,” 

“What books? The bookshop’s fine, remember angel?” 

“Crowley, the books, I forgot,” the sick angel suddenly appeared frail to Crowley. He grasped at Crowley’s shirt in agitation. His hands were burning like holy water in Hell’s mop bucket. 

“Angel, you’ve got to calm down, I can get you whatever book you want,” said Crowley, confused. 

“No, no, Crowley, my books—“ said Aziraphale, breathing heavily, nearly choking. “The books are going to get blown up,” he grimaced in pain, with a sorrowful groan. “Crowley,” 

Crowley called out for Dawn. He tried shushing the angel. “That was a long time ago, Aziraphale. Your books are safe now, I saved them, remember?” 

“No, no, Crowley, help—“  he broke out in another fit of coughing, gasping for air. Dawn rushed in. 

“What’s going on?” She crouched at the angel’s bedside, opposite the worried demon. Aziraphale jumped and turned to look at her, searching her face. 

“I’m scared, I don’t know what’s happening,” he said, wheezing. “Have you seen my friend?” 

“Sweetheart, we’re right here with you,” she stroked his cheek with the back of her hand. “Oh, honey, you’re burning up,” 

“Aziraphale, look at me,” said Crowley, sternly. 

“Oh, Crowley,” said the angel, leaning into Dawn’s hand, cool on his feverish skin. “Please, would you take me home? But, I forgot my books,” he said, relieved at first to see his longtime friend then distraught again at the thought of the unspecified books being damaged. Hot tears began to fall from the blue eyes as he let out a sob. 

Crowley and Dawn looked at each other, yellow snake eyes meeting deep brown. Dawn’s hands moved to the angel’s back as he shook with sobs. 

“Angel, I promise to go find your books, but for now you have to take thesssse,” There was the hiss again. He handed Aziraphale the medication and the water glass, thin bony hands supporting soft pink ones. His hands were shaking worse than Crowley’s houseplants after a bad day. The angel cooperated but did not stop weeping. 

“Which books did you lose, my dear? I can go look for you,” said Dawn, now rubbing small circles on the back of Aziraphale’s neck. 

He sniffed and seemed to calm for a moment, before wailing “I don’t remember,” and going back into hysterics. 

Crowley looked at Dawn again, exasperated, and Dawn shot back a look that so clearly communicated “I’m trying,” that he decided not to speak. 

“Here, how about a snack to regain your strength so we can go look later,” said Dawn, softly. She turned and retrieved a plate with two macarons on it from the nightstand. 

“Oh, yes,” said Aziraphale, tears still falling inexplicably but demeanor significantly changed. “Yes, that sounds good.” His hands still shook as he took the plate, wiping his eyes with his sleeve. He quietly started eating the sweets as Crowley and Dawn both took a simultaneous sigh of relief. 

After the snack, Aziraphale thankfully fell back to a fitful sleep. 

“Well then,” sighed Dawn, brushing crumbs off the reddened cheeks. “That was exciting.” 

“You’re telling me,” said Crowley. “Exciting” was not exactly the word he would use. Maybe “upsetting,” “very concerning” or “horrifying” would be better words. 

“I guess I didn’t realize quite how attached he was to his books,” said Dawn, chuckling. She wiped his face with a cool, wet rag. “Whatever they were, they were pretty important,” 

“Oh, yeah,” Crowley waved his hand. “I had to rescue the books a few times. The Blitz, the fire in the bookshop… The whole Library of Alexandria thing was really rough. Had to do a lot of damage control on that one.” 

“Oh, goodness, I can imagine.” 

A beat of silence followed as they both looked down at the sleeping angel. Even sick, a sleeping Aziraphale was practically the definition of “angelic,” between the white-golden curls, upturned nose, and softly parted lips.

“The medicine should bring down his fever,” said Dawn, standing from her place by the bed. “Which I’m pretty sure was the cause of… all that. Shouldn’t happen again, theoretically, but steel yourself just in case.” 

“Gotcha,” said the thin, tall redhead. 

“I have a random question,” she said, coming around to Crowley’s side of the bed.

“Shoot.” 

“Do they have… mothers? In heaven, I mean?” 

“Ngk, not really,” said Crowley, shrugging. “You kinda just… start to be.” 

“Hmm.” Dawn looked lost in thought. 

“Well, consider yourselves ‘mothered’ then,” she said, grinning at the demon. “Everybody needs a mama, especially in tough times.” 

She patted him on the shoulder before leaving the room.

Part 2 here

[kirishwima]

Good day, I fell in love with your head-canons and I hope you don't mind me asking for one that maybe long. If you do not mind can you do head-canons with the RFA+V and a MC who has a type of fragile bone and chronic fatigue disease; that causes her to have: frequent nosebleeds, easy bruising, can’t stand hot nor cold temperatures, headaches, feeling dizzy, and severe tiredness(after usual physical or mental activity)?

hi lovely! from what you’re describing, unless this is a congenital disorder i’m gonna go ahead and assume it might be leukemia (probably CML?), so just to have a name to use in these headcanons in case it’s required, I’ll be mentioning that. If you’d rather I don’t, just shoot me a message and I’ll edit it! xxi’ll also be using she/her pronouns since you specified them!

YOOSUNG:

* He was always aware of how frail MC seemed to be-from when she first entered the RFA chat and how she’d off-handedly mention new bruises she’d find on herself here and there, laughing them off and blaming her clumsiness, to how she’d seem so tired by nightfall, barely ever staying up for late night talks with him.

* When they met at the party MC was stunning, and Yoosung wanted nothing more than to be besides her all day and night-yet within the hour MC seemed worn out, shivering in her dress as she leaned against a wall looking out to the sea of pepole ahead of them.

* Yoosung had said nothing, simply came to lend her his jacket to wear and lean on the wall next to her, patiently waiting for her to strike up a conversation if she wished.

* She’d explained to him a little bit about her condition, how it manifested with symptoms like what she’d exhibited, self-conscious as she wrapped Yoosung’s jacket tighter around herself.

* Yet Yoosung never seemed bothered or confused like she thought he might-he simply nodded along, making little mental notes of what he should be careful with when going out on dates with MC. That’s....really all his concern was, lol.

* He’d be a sweet considerate boyfriend through it all, and would learn everything hee could of MC’s condition so he could take care of her in case of emergencies. Superman Yoosung to the rescue!!

ZEN:

* He’s a little worried when MC came to his home, the same bright bubbly sweetheart he met in the RFA chatroom, only looking pale and tired, wincing at the bright lights in Zen’s apartment.

* She excused herself, saying she simply had a headace, and Zen instantly guided her to the couch, shutting down the main lights in favor of the fairy lights he had strung around the TV once for a party and then forgot to take down-which worked in his favor now as they dimly illuminated the room. 

* He did everything he could to make MC comfortable-brought her tea, pain killers, let her rest her head on his shoulder as they chatted. She eventually told him about her diagnosis-how she’ll get headaches like this often and bruise with the slightest of touches, which made Zen flinch-he’d never want to bruise MC! Never!

* “So...if I kiss you...” he started, a furious blush on his cheeks, “would your lips bruise?”

* MC blinked owlishly up at him before smiling a menace.

* “I don’t know Zen...why don’t you kiss me and find out?”

* Sneaky MC, sneaky, but well darn played.

JAEHEE:

* The moment MC lets any of their symptoms slip in the RFA chatroom, Jaehee’s Mom Mode is on. She’s looking through google for potential causes and treatments, before MC stops her, explaining how this is normal and telling Jahee about her disease.

* With a name to the cause, Jaehee’s worries are not stilled. She’ll want to know everything she can about MC’s illness-if it’s leukemia, she’ll be shocked at the many types that exist, and gently prod MC for further information she can use to educate herself.

* When living together with MC she’ll be the most considerate girlfriend-she’ll always have handerkchiefs in her bag in case of a potential nose bleed, will have a perfect little rest area in the back of the cafe, one that’s solely MC’s to rest whenever they feel overwhelmed or fatigued, and any necessary medication will always be in their shared medicine cabinet. You’re never gonna forget to take any medication with Baehee around!

* All that aside though, she’ll be the gentlest girlfriend, running her hands through MC’s hair whenever she gets a headache, kissing her forehead when she complains about having to rest instead of helping Jaehee out at the coffee shop- “I’d rather you be well-rested and here to greet me when I come back home” she admits with a blush, and well, that’s enough to convince MC to lay back in bed.

* Just. Best girl 10/10 really

JUMIN:

* MC has to explain their condition to him when, a few hours after visiting him at his home for the first time, her nose starts to bleed. 

* He’s ready to dial up every doctor he knows as MC lays on the couch with a tissue in one hand, the other clasped on the bridge of her nose. She has to shuffle on the couch and grip Jumin by his suit’s sleeve to convince him to come sit down with her, to explain everything to him as he listens with a small frown.

* When MC’s done, he simply says “I don’t like this.”

* A million thoughts run through MC’s mind-does he not like her? Does he not like that she has this condition? What does he mean by-

* “I want you to meet my doctors. I...seeing you in pain hurts something in me, here” he says, pointing to his chest-there’s a profound confusion on his face, as if this feeling is as foreign as could be, “So I want them to treat you until you’re back in optimal health.”

* “Awe Jumin”, MC teases, “you’re worried for me?” 

* They weren’t expecting his awestruck reaction. 

* “Worry...” he repeats, his eyes glossy as he thinks, “yes, I suppose it is. It’s...it’s very similar to what I felt when V’s eyes-no, no matter. Yes, I am worried about you. Let me help you, please.”

* Even if MC explains that this is a certain diagnosis, that she’s already being treated for it as much as the doctors can help, Jumin will still insist she sees more doctors still, if only for a second opinion.

* It’s this man’s way of taking care of you MC please just roll with it for now and give him a smooch as a thank you

SEVEN/LUCIEL/SAEYOUNG:

* He’ll honestly be the most scared one out of everyone in the RFA. 

* After coming to terms with his emotions towards MC, to know she suffers from such a condition, to know there’s nothing he can do to help-people aren’t machines, he can’t simply hack his way around her immune system-he’s powerless, and that’s the one position he never, ever lets himself be in.

* It’ll take some time for him to get used to the thought and fully accept MC in his life-but whenever she needs him, he’ll be there in a flash. Sure, he’ll be a litttle confused at first, but he’s a care-taker by heart, and many of MC’s symptoms remind him of his brother enough to instinctively know what he has to do.

* When MC’s tired, when her joints start to groan and ache, he’ll know to gently pick her up off the couch and tuck her into bed, laying besides her with a hand around her waist until she settles down. He’ll hold the bridge of her nose if it starts to bleed, tease her light-heartedly until the bleeding stops.

* It’ll hurt him to see her in pain, more than he’ll ever show, but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t help her to the best of his capabilities. It’s what he swore himself he’d do after all.

V/JIHYUN:

* He’s also a care-taker by nature, but in a different sense than Seven-he’s gentle, very much so, but he’ll hide all of his own fears and struggles from his loved one in fear of burdening them further on top of what they’re already dealing with.

* So when he learns of MC’s condition, he’ll walk on eggshells around her for a while-he’ll never hide his love for her, he’ll always be there if she needs him, but he’ll feel distant, never talking about the smallest thing that bothers him.

* It’ll take a lot for MC to pull him out of his self-made cage, explain to him that burdens are made to be shared-that her physical condition doesn’t make her psyche weak, her soul’s not as fragile as he seems to think it to be.

* She’s not Rika, is what she really wants to say, but V knows what she means, and so eventually he’ll open up, holding MC close when sharing his fears or worries, some of them concerning MC’s condition sometimes.

* Despite it all he loves MC-and he’ll be the most caring boyfriend you’d ever imagine. Tired whilst on a date or getting a headache? Baby mint boy has painkillers ready for you and will carry you princess-style back to the car, even if everyone around them watches. Get a nosebleed whilst wearing your favorite new dress? Mr Minty will help you stop the bleeding then gently coax you into a different outfit whilst taking care of the blood stains by hand (bleach and cold water work wonders~). 

* Just. Best boyfriend material, really

-send me mystic messenger headcanons for character reactions!- 

[dazaineedshelp]

There was a subtle shift in the air between them. Maybe it was his inner cat, with eyes adapted to catch rapid movements of prey, or perhaps his repressed abandonment issues, but Atsushi just knew. He was not oblivious, nor blind.  

The polite smile that hasn’t reached his eyes when Atsushi offered him a freshly brewed coffee last Friday morning. The indifferent look, wandering all around the office, refusing to meet with his own questioning gaze. His posture stiffening whenever the boy entered the room, whether it was with armfuls of papers or a tray of still-warm donuts. Dazai was clearly distancing himself, not in general - from him, specifically. Aside from avoiding Atsushi, nothing much changed in his usual doings. Still messing around with Kunikida’s patience, still hanging out with Yosano at the lunchtime, still playing it witty with Ranpo while snacking more intensely than actually working.

And truth be told, why wouldn’t he?

Wet strands framing his pale face as the downpour kept roaring all around them. Atsushi brushing these stubborn curls out of his forehead, his palm somehow wandering down to cup Dazai’s cheek. So cold, why was his skin so cold? Silly, always forgetting to wear a proper scarf. His lips were chapped too, fractures rough under his fingertips. A few drops of autumn rain dripped from his hair and fell onto his eyelashes, and there was something so intense behind his gaze, something hungry in the way his breath hitched suddenly…

He flinched when a hand rested on his shoulder.

‘You seemed out of it for a while.’ There was a concerned tone lingering to Kyouka’s usual reserved voice. The boy just shot her an awkward smile and brushed it off with some light-hearted response, both going back to papers accumulated on their desks in hurry.

Atsushi could physically feel Dazai’s eyes rested on his back, but did not turn around once and rushed out of the Agency as soon as the clock struck six.

The cheerful ringtone cut through the silence of his apartment, sounding like a giggle at the funeral. He quickly put the foamy plate back into the sink and rushed towards the counter, but the name on the screen made his stomach drop.

He almost didn’t pick up. Almost.

‘Dazai-san?’

No response. Only raspy and uneven breaths. He could feel piercing anxiety hit the air out of his lungs, but he didn’t waver. Something was clearly wrong.

‘I am so sorry -’ a dry chuckle came out of the speaker. ‘Miss, click. That was just a. Misclick Atsushi-chan. My apologies-I’

‘Don’t you hang up on me! Give me the address, I’m coming to get you-’

Two squeaky beeps and then silence. Damn it.

He grabbed his car keys and run out of his flat and down the staircase, almost tripping over himself. Call it a sixth sense, but he was pretty convinced he knew the address anyway.

The cold breeze filled his lungs as he climbed out of his car, sending shivers down his spine. The bridge was empty, not a soul in sight, just a crescent moon illuminating the waves on the abyss-like waters. Atsushi felt a sinking feeling grasping his insides deepen, the darkest scenarios flooding his racing mind. If not here, then…

Down there.

A frail silhouette curled up on the top of breakwater proved him right. Atsushi didn’t even realize he was running down the slope, his legs seemed to move on his own, please don’t, oh my god, please just- When he reached the rocks, suddenly his body refused to keep going, paralyzed by the visions crumbling in his head. A shaky step forward, then another one, and another…

Dazai’s eyes were closed, the man clearly unconscious, but breathing. His chest would rise and fall, shallow puffs escaping his mouth, and Atsushi felt like crying out of relief. Now that he got that awful oh please don’t be dead you stupid son of a out of his chest, he was able to take a closer look at the ground, and once again, he felt like throwing up.

There were bottles, of course, quite a lot of them- vodka, a few beers, whiskey. But what made him sick were not the alcohol bottles, it was the smallest one, full of pills, that had slipped out of man’s coat when he shook him. Unopened, but clearly he tried, there were cracks and traces of teeth on the lid, childproof cap actually, and the boy just…

And the boy just threw the bottle into the ocean, cradled Dazai in his arms and brought him to the car. He avoided the holes on the way back, constantly fixing his mirror to look onto the backseat.

To make sure that he was still there.

If Atsushi was to describe the morning, it would be one word - awkward. After he tucked his friend in and put some water along with hangover medication on the bedstand, he sat in the gloom of his petit kitchen, desperately trying to figure out how to handle the next morning- to get out of the flat with the dawn and leave a heartfelt note? Or sit his half-alive friend through the wholesome preach while sobbing constantly? None of the options seemed realistic, not to mention that Dazai despised him now, disgusted by how he feels about him, so…

So he didn’t come up with anything that would actually work out and was surprised how quickly his overthinking made the time move. And now the sun was shining, Dazai started to stir around in the sheets, threatening that he is gonna wake up soon, and there was only one thing that the boy knew how to manage - the pancakes. Nothing can go wrong with pancakes, except maybe everything, because the man that probably hated him was laying in his bed, suicidal man, distant man,

the boy that he fell for.

But Atsushi made him breakfast anyway, because what else was he to do.

‘Hi.’

A small mumble escaped the mouth of a person behind him, and he stiffened without turning back. He decided on being distant, just as the man wanted it, but it would be impossible if he looked him in the face.

‘Good morning, Dazai-san. How do you feel today?’

‘Like I had dug a grave with my teeth last night,’ he chuckled and leaned by the counter, just a few inches from Atsushi, and he could feel how close they were- ‘whatcha cooking? It smells amazing.’

‘But you are not-’ he remarked, hyper-focusing on turning the pancake to the other side, ‘-so how about you go and take a shower, and I’ll finish the breakfast? I left you some clean clothes on the dryer.’

Usually, the response would be a loud protest about hurting his poor feelings, but Dazai just left without a word this time. No humming came from the shower either.

And then they were sitting in awkward silence, both munching their chocolate pancakes, not bothering to pick up a conversation. Too much unfinished business. Too much unsaid words stored on their tongues. Too much…

‘We should talk.’

Perplexed that the words had actually left his mouth, Atsushi shot an uneasy glance at Dazai, but there was no anger in his eyes. More like, defeat. They were completely numb, like when he told him to stay away, that he is disgusting, that…

‘Probably. I’m sorry for bothering you last night.’

‘You know that is not what I meant, Dazai, we need to talk about us not being able to work together, about the pills in your pockets, we were friends, so just-’

A strangled laugh broke in his desperate rant, and before he knew it, Dazai’s face was inches from his own, something dark in his eyes that made Atsushi shiver. He didn’t turn his gaze away.

As before, his lips were chapped and faded, deep eyeshadows and sharp cheekbones so close, raw, real, and Atsushi felt weak, so weak-

‘Were we friends, Atsushi? I don’t think I know such a thing. I’m not the best match for you, a warm, kind-hearted-’

- that he wanted to just bury his hands in the messy hair, bring this helpless boy close, keep him warm, safe-

‘-savior of Yokohama. I hurt, kill, bring doom, and you are not any exception-’

- and loved, because he was so scared, and now Atsushi noticed this void of fear, fear of the past, of the future-

‘- I would just hurt you, dear tiger boy. So,’ he finally leaned back slightly, his voice dripping with venom, ‘we’re better of without each other, Atsushi-chan.’

‘You’re scared.’

Silence. This time it was Atsushi who came closer to the man, almost pinning him to the wall, as he was too astonished to make a move.

‘The more you lie like this, the more I become aware-’

his voice was so shaky but he was not backing away, there was no turning back, now that he knew

‘- how terrified you are. Like there’s no new beginning for a person like you. Like there is - like there is no learning. But whatever you feel-’

he took a step closer, felt Dazai’s warmth and uneven breaths on his skin, looked into his wide eyes, reached out his trembling hand, to touch, make sure, no turning back

‘- you can tell me, and we will make it work. Because I care-’

their lips were so close he could feel man’s breath brushing his cheek, and he came only closer, voice turning into the whisper, now that

‘- and I know that you do too.’

Their lips met hesitantly at first, butterfly kiss so fragile and breakable, fluttering hearts and rushing minds. It quickly turned into the desperate passion, unsaid I missed you and Please, don’t let go whimpered by the way Dazai came undone with Atsushi’s tongue exploring his own, a wall coming to the rescue as his trembling knees almost gave in. The boy untangled his right hand from the brown strands and hugged him tightly, not breaking the contact. A small moan escaped Dazai’s mouth, and he was melting, dying and blooming all at once. He brought Atsushi even closer, their bodies tangled together, and-

and he, for a moment, believed in new beginnings.

[taehyungiesnoona]

02 | radiance

⇢ summary:  You never had a purpose in life. The night you decided to end it all, you encounter a ray of sunshine that makes you question your way of thinking. Jung Hoseok’s smile is the reason you’re decide to give life a try again.  

⇢ pairing: female reader x Hoseok

⇢ genre: angst,romance, soulmate!hoseok

⇢ rating: SFW

⇢ warnings: minimal use of profanity, depression, mentions of suicide, Hobi’s smile (yes, this is still going to be in the warning hehe)  

⇢ word count : 1.6k

⇢ A/N: finally the second chapter is here! so so so sorry this took foreverrrrr for me to post. writing has been hard for me lately but i think i might be posting shorter chapters so i don’t get too burned out. hope you enjoy! happy reading~

Chapters 01 || 02 || 03

»»———— CHAPTER TWO ————-««

“Who the fuck are you?!”

The words coming out your mouth seemed to sting the mysterious man a bit. He brought a hand up to his chest, looking to be appalled by your fowl language.

“Oh my god! That’s quite the mouth you have there.”

You continued to sit there on the ground, awaiting for his response to your rather rude but straightforward question.

“But if you must know, I am your hope. I am your angel…” he made a fluttering motion with both of his fairly large hands. “I’m J-Hope!”

“Your name is...J-Hope???”

From the few minutes of encountering this man, it seemed like all you were able to do was arch your brow up at anything that came out of his mouth. You took in his name slowly, trying to decipher if that was what his parents actually named him. Truly unique and even having just met him, was all too fitting. It suited him due to the personality to which he had displayed so far.

“Yes, you can me call me J-Hope. Or Hoseok….whichever you prefer.” He looked down to you once more flashing that gorgeous smile of his.

Hoseok...

Your gaze becoming lost in it once more, causing your heart to skip a beat. You had never seen a smile like his before. So pure, innocent and most of all genuine. What was this feeling you were experiencing now? You looked up at him, a bit starstruck as another question fell from his lips.

“What’s your name?”

Almost giving into his question, you began to feel a burning sensation coming from your forearm. Wincing a bit, you jumped back a bit on the ground causing Hoseok to do the same. Refusing to let him know you were in any kind of pain, you swiftly get yourself off the ground and rush past him, not allowing any further conversation to continue between the two of you.

Your body still feeling extremely weak but in that moment, you had to get away from Hoseok. To stop your heart from beating at the rapid pace it was, and to not think about whatever this burning sensation was. There was no way to really describe the pain you were now suffering from. The closest thing would be the same as placing your hand upon a hot stove. The covered flesh underneath your long sleeve shirt feeling as if it was being severely scalded.

Running as fast as your frail body would allow, you didn’t even care to stop. You could hear Hoseok calling after you several times.

“Hey! Hey, wait!”

For some strange reason, each time he called out to you your body felt like it was being pulled in by his voice. Almost magnetic in a sense. Your willpower though seeming to be greater than the enthralling that was being sent not only to your body, but to your heart. A million thoughts were once again flooded the cramped space that was the inside of your mind. Two things that stuck with you the whole run back home:

Who is he?

What was that back there?

Slamming the front door shut, you quickly bolted the lock and headed straight for the bathroom. Head spinning in all sorts of directions from the events that took place tonight, you were at a loss of words. How was it that from one moment you were on the verge of ending your life, to everything you once knew being completely thrown upside down? How was it possible for your world to be shaken by a simple smile? A nice gesture that you've seen countless times but never having the effects of this caliber.

Quickly flicking the bathroom light on with your index finger, you made haste to the bathtub and turned the faucet on allowing nothing but steaming hot water to run down. Grabbing the bottle of your favorite body wash, which to you smelt like Christmas, you poured a adequate amount to the water that was now filling up in the tub. Removing the clothing from your body, you dipped your toes into the bath allowing yourself to adjust to the temperature. It felt as that of a hot springs and you could not wait to full immerse yourself in it.

Slowly easing your body down, suds were now clinging onto your bare skin. You stretched your legs in the bath, resting your head on the back of it. It had been sometime since you had take a bath of this much pleasure. Being in the funk that had taken over the last few weeks of your life, you were only able to take really quick, military like showers. During that time all you wanted to do was sleep. Anything else was not too much of importance to you. The depression that was overtaking you, had a tight hold on your daily functions. Now having a bit more control of your state of mind, you made it your priority to get the most relaxation as possible. It had been long overdue.There was no ounce in you that wanted to rush this time you desperately needed. Though your hands were sure to be wrinkled once you got out, it didn't matter.

Your mind was at ease for the first time in weeks. You needed this.

Laying there still in the water for quite some time, you took it upon yourself to sit up and go on to washing your body squeaky clean. The bottle of body-wash still sitting on the ledge where you left it, your reached for it as well as your favorite loofah, the sponge itself being a cute pastel purple with an adorable horse on the top of it. You eyes trailed down your right arm to see something strange, something you never had seen before in your life. Eyes widening in shock, the breath coming out almost being taken away in an instance.

"What the-"

Placed upon your arm was a marking, its resemblance to that of a tattoo was uncanny. The redness still apparent on your skin but what was strange was that there was no pain from sitting in the scalding hot water. Your finger trembling as you slowly went to touch the marking that was now sitting on your forearm. Tracing around its shape with a careful hand, you gazed upon the image that was on your skin.This weird marking that for some reason was now on you was in the shape of a sun. Looking directly at it, you shuddered as if you could feel its radiance intensify on you.

Your instincts taking over immediately, you dip your arm into the hot water and begin to scrub against it with your loofah. Washing away at it, water splashing a bit on the floor, you grit your teeth as your motions become more intense. More furious. Clearly thinking that it would just rinse off your skin, you bring back your arm up only to prove yourself wrong.

“Aaahhh!” The frustration that was pent up inside you was now out.

There it was still, unbothered at all. Gazing intently onto it, you noticed that it looked as if it were a birthmark of some sort now, truly looking to be one with the flesh of your arm now. Once again becoming lost in the midst of your thoughts, you leaned closer in while you continued to examine it carefully. The beating from your heart thumping hard against the walls of your chest, an image coming to you.

Quickly standing up and rushing out the bathroom with just a towel wrapped around, you hurried to the living room, straight to the bookcase you kept in the far corner. Placed upon eye level was a picture of your parents. They looked to be fresh out of college, both in their early 20s. The photo seemed to be taken at night, your father’s arm clinging onto your mother’s hip. No gap was between them as they had huge smiles plastered on their faces. You found yourself smirking a bit at their happiness when your eyes shifted down their arms and onto their wrists, causing them to widen once more.  

There they were.

Upon each of their wrists was a tattoo like marking, much like the one that was present on your forearm. Instead of a sun, each on of them had two hearts, the meaning behind them you were unsure. But you knew one thing was certain. You remembered hearing the story from your father himself. That photo was taken the day the two of them met.

When they became each other’s soulmate.

Looking back down at your arm, that’s when it hit you. Had you found your soulmate? The one thing you desperately avoided to happen? Was that man...Hoseok...the person you were always meant to be tied to?

“How is this possible?” you mumbled, fingers trembling from the thought.

This was what you always wanted to avoid. Your introvertive ways was supposed to prevent this from happening. How did it so happen that he had to be there at that exact moment? Why did he stop the train from hitting you? Why?

Not wanting to think more on the matter, you scurried along back to the bathroom and threw your pajamas on. You could feel a headache beginning to form so you slid open the medicine cabinet and grabbed for the bottle of ibuprofen, shaking two pills from it and popped them into your mouth. To the side of the counter, there was a small cup which you picked up, filled with a bit of water from the faucet and drank allowing the pills to go down your throat.

Walking back into your room, you wasted no time in getting back under the fluffy comforter. Though you probably had more than enough rest, your eyes began to drift shut. Peacefully going off into a slumber, unconsciously knowing that a certain smile replayed itself in your dreams. His smile.

Hoseok’s.

[ TO BE CONTINUED]

a/n: if you made it to the end, yes i did include a gif of Hoseok’s sweet smile. i couldn’t resist. 

♡ masterlist

[mirkwoodshewolf]

The chain; Winchester brothers x teen sister reader

Here is the other SPN fic that I worked on while listening to the song “The Chain” by Fleetwood Mac. This idea has been running through my mind and while I have seen and read some other fics based on the same imagine I decided to go an alternative route and have The Chain be my inspiration, and I hope you all enjoy this piece of fanfic esp. you SPN fans.

Warnings: Torture (mentions of it), rape *word mentioned NO DETAIL*, swearing, murder *beginning part not gruesome but it happens*, fluff.

______________________________________________________

In the fiery depths of Hell, a demon knelt before a throne and stated.

“She is ready”. The demon on the throne smirked wickedly and he said.

“Bring her to me”. The small man turned and grinned maliciously as walking through the darkness and before the throne was a young girl around 16-18 years old.  The bags under her eyes almost made it seem like she had too much eyeshadow on and just one glimpse into her (e/c) eyes showed pure emptiness.  

She was skinny and scarred from the months of torture the demons had given her, and her hair was purely madden up like a rat’s nest but it still held some beauty to it like hair blowing against a fan.

“You are indeed ready,” the demons stated with a chuckle. He proceeded to walk around her as he muttered, “Nice. Very nice. Your appearance now matches the blackness in your heart and soul my child. What is your purpose now?”

“I will seek out the ones who betrayed me. Show them every ounce of pain that I have known”.

“Yes, what have I taught you?” The demon stated.

“My brothers abandoned me”. The girl stated soullessly.

“And what. Must. You do?” The demon hissed gleefully.

“I will rip out their hearts and crush them in my hand!” The girl hissed out as the fires of Hell raised up. 

All because of her.

For you see this wasn’t any ordinary girl, this was (y/n) Winchester, the youngest of the Winchesters. Nine months ago her and her brothers were working on a case for some demons and just when they thought all was good, a portal suddenly opened up in the middle of the house dragging in anything or anyone that it could.  

As (y/n) was about to be dragged in through the portal, Sam caught her hand and tried with all his might to not let go of either her or the table leg that he was holding onto. (Y/n) begged and begged for Sammy not to let go and he promised her that he wouldn’t.  But as he tried to pull her up closer to him, her grip was beginning to loosen up and she was sucked through the portal screaming for her brothers.

For nine months the demons tortured her. Not for information you see, but for sport. They wanted to see if they could turn her into a demon, but not just any kind of demon. An executioner.  For months they drilled her, tortured her, and broke her before finally cursing her with magic and force-feeding her potions to give her special abilities that demons could only dream of having. 

It was like they created a God of Hell. 

The demon let out a dark chuckle before finally telling her.

“Go and have your fun dearie. Enjoy watching your brothers die at your hand, remember they did this to you”.

“And they will pay for letting me go”. She stated.  (Y/n) then disappeared into green and black dust while the demon once again chuckled darkly and said.

“I’m going to enjoy watching every minute of this”. 

It was night time in Lebanon, Kansas and a bunch of young college kids were out camping.  A boy and a girl were currently in their tent making out with each other when a twig snap was heard outside.  The girl broke the kiss while the guy still kept kissing down the girl’s neck.

“Baby did you hear that?”

“I didn’t hear nothing” the guy answered as he kept kissing her body.

“Jerry I’m serious I heard something outside”.

“It was probably a deer, don’t worry Baby I’m here to protect you”. A growl was soon heard outside and that made the guy snap out of his ego state and hold the girl close to him.

“Did that sound like a deer?”

“Okay maybe it’s something else, get my gun out from my case”. The girl then opened up her boyfriend’s case and handed him his hunting gun.  He readied the gun in case if it was a bear.  The growling and soon a shadow came across the tent making the girl squeak and cling to her boyfriend then the tent opened and a roar was heard and both teens screamed loudly before laughter was heard.  The two of them looked up and the guy exclaimed.

“Really Aaron!? You’re a dick!” Jerry exclaimed.

“You guys should’ve seen your faces” exclaimed Aaron as he kept on laughing.

“That wasn’t funny Aaron we could’ve killed you!” Exclaimed the girl.

“Oh come on Monica lighten up. Besides your Superman there wouldn’t stand a chance to a bear compared to me”.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah just because you and your dad hunted bears for a living doesn’t mean you can rub it in our faces of how you could single handily take on a 400lbs bear”. Jerry stated.

“But still, I got you guys”.  It was then a bright light came up ahead from their campsite.

“Very funny Aaron” Monica mocked.

“What are you talking about?” he said.

“That light you can cut it with the pranks, you already got us just like you said”. Jerry stated bluntly.

“That’s not me I swear. Remember the car was parked down at the start of the trail”. The teens all piled out and Jerry grabbed his gun and they all ran towards the light. When they got there, they saw something coming out of it. Jerry readied his gun and when the light dimmed down and they shone their flashlights straight ahead, they saw that it was a teenage girl looking frail and weak almost as if she had been kidnapped and held hostage.  Monica said to her as she lowered her boyfriend’s gun.

“Hey sweetie, are you lost?” (Y/n) didn’t hesitate.She shot up her hand and a sword suddenly went through Monica’s stomach sending her down to the ground.  Her boyfriend Jerry in rage lifted the gun but (y/n) drew faster and a sword appeared through his chest and he dropped his gun and collapsed.

“Word to the wise, next time you see something coming out of a strange light, don’t hesitate to attack”. She then twisted her hand inward and both Monica’s and Jerry’s heads twisted 360.  The sound of their bones breaking echoed through the woods and Aaron scared for his life kneeled down begging for his life.

“Please take my money, take my guns in the car just don’t kill me”. (Y/n) looked at him skeptically and then said to him as she walked up to him.

“You look like a smart boy with good survival instincts,” she gripped his throat tightly forcing him to look up at her as she continued, “How would you like a job?” She leaned down towards him breathed out a green mist of magic and once Aaron breathed it in, his eyes became pure black.  She separated and smirked at him before walking away from them.

(Y/n) walked a few feet away from Aaron and smirked wickedly as her fingers kept wriggling drawing more power as she was now back on earth.  She had her target in sight thanks to her new found abilities and she couldn’t wait to use them on her own brothers as they died by her own hands. She and the now possessing Aaron walked on heading towards the Winchesters home base. 

The Bunker. 

In the “Dean Cave”, Sam was listening to Fleetwood Mac’s song “The Chain” with the same guilty look on his face that he’s kept for the past nine months. Every day he blamed himself for what happened that night, if he hadn’t tried to lift her up, or if he kept a stronger grip on his little sister’s hand, she wouldn’t have fallen through the portal into Hell.

He was her big brother, he felt responsible for her and he broke his promise and felt like he betrayed her.  So to fill his guilt every month passing since that day, he would at any chance listen to his sister’s favorite song “The Chain” by Fleetwood Mac.  She always loved that song and felt like that it described their family very well.

They were a pretty “fucked up” family. Always getting the black card and rarely having a good hand for very long according to her, but no matter what, so long as they had each other just as the song stated “They will never break the chain”. For family is the strongest chain there is, and that’s something not so easily broken. 

“You’re really doing this to yourself again Sammy?” Dean’s voice stated.

“You already know the answer to that Dean” he stated soullessly.

“And you know what I’m gonna say to you”.

“It wouldn’t matter. We both know it was my fault. Whether you like it or not. I was the one that was holding onto her, and because of my careless move, she fell through that portal”.

“Sam—”

“I’m her big brother Dean! I should’ve been there for her! I should’ve….”

“ENOUGH! Sam I’m also her big brother, you don’t think that I don’t blame myself too for what happened to her!? That I wouldn’t give anything to turn back the clock and do some sort of James Bond move to grab her and fling her back to you while I took the fall? We both were responsible for her the moment she stepped into our lives at just 8 years old. So if you think for one second that you’re suffering this guilt on your own, you’re not”. 

Suddenly there was a loud boom at the entrance of the bunker. 

Sam and Dean left the “Dean Cave” and came to the front entrance and kept hearing the loud banging from the other side.

“What the hell?” Sam muttered as Dean tilted his head to the side then soon the doors came off their hinges and shot towards the other side of the Bunker.  Sam and Dean jumped out of the way before the doors came at them and saw a teenage boy standing there breathing heavily but noticed that his eyes were pure black.

Dean took out his gun and fired a shot at the boy but for some reason as the bullet went into him, he actually pushed it out and his wound healed itself.

“How the hell did he do that?” It was then they saw a green and black light suddenly appear from the entrance of the bunker.  Sam and Dean turned their attentions to the light and readied their guns ready to fire. But they soon dropped their guards especially Sam as coming out of the light was their baby sister.

(Y/n) now wore a one piece black attire with an emerald green pattern all along the outfit. To her brothers she resembled the Marvel villainess Hela the Goddess of Death. A malicious smirk was across her face and as the portal behind her closed she said to her brothers.

“Hello big brothers”. They lowered their weapons and just stared at her in shock. “Wow utter silence I was expecting a bit more” she stated in an empathetic tone but it lacked the empathy.

“(Y/n), I love the new look”. Dean stated trying to ease in a conversation.

“Do you? I told you guys I could pull off her look one day”. I sassed at her eldest brother.

“How—how are you—”

“Oh my dear sweet, puppy-dog eyed Sammy,” she sneered at him.  “How I am back doesn’t really matter, what matters now is you boys kneeling before me”.

“I’m sorry what?” Stated Dean.  (Y/n) then looked down at her hand and out came a sword out of nowhere.

“Kneel” She stated slowly so that her idiotic brothers could understand. “Before your Queen and executioner”.

“Alright enough of quoting Ragnarok,” suddenly coming out from behind was Castiel wielding the Demon blade but just as he was about to stab her to hopefully free (y/n) from a possessed demon, she caught the blade and all three men were in shock. 

She was able to hold the actual blade and not even be burned by it.  She slowly turned towards the angel she once saw as another brother and smiled wickedly at him staring at him with her soulless eyes.

“This….is not possible”. Castiel said in shock.

“Cas darling, you have no idea what’s possible”. She then did something that no one under a demon’s control could do.  She squeezed the blade with an iron grip until finally it snapped and the blade shattered into a million pieces.

The magic from the blade forced Castiel backwards and exploded the front entrance of the bunker making the doorway completely disappear.  The brothers looked towards their little sister and they were thinking the exact same thing. 

They weren’t just dead, they were fucked. 

“Take care of the angel”. (Y/n) stated to Aaron.  Aaron then turned towards Castiel cracking his knuckles and stomping towards the angel ready to beat him into the ground with this new found strength he had. “You both however, are all mine”.

“(Y/n) listen, we know you’re still in there. You’re being controlled somehow”.

“Don’t you get it Sammy? This isn’t some demon doing this, it’s all me. And I’m about to do to you boys what those demons did to me ever since you let go of me”. She then raised her hands up to her head and much like Hela, the exact same helm of Hela’s grew onto her head and the antlers extended outward almost 12 feet from tip to tip then she made two swords appear into her hands as she walked towards her brothers.

She then levitated herself and immediately went straight for her brothers.  Dean and Sam jumped out of the way each grabbing whatever weapon they could find.  Dean grabbed himself a bat while Sam got a knife.

Dean swung the bat but his sister managed to fully flip over him like a skilled acrobat before she sliced the back of his leg with her sword making him cry out in pain.  He swung back around and did manage to hit his sister in the ribs.  She groaned and kicked him hard in the chest sending him literally through the wall.

Sammy then stabbed his sister literally in the back and begged to her as he held onto her in a headlock.

“(Y/n) please snap out of it”.“It’s too late for that Sammy boy”. She then punched him in the face three time before he released her and she grabbed him by the neck and sent him against the wall. Before she could use her newly created axe to literally behead him, she was tackled by Dean and he exclaimed.

“Come on (n/n), the baby sis I knew wouldn’t let demons get inside her head”. He then began pouring Holy water all over her but instead of the usual burns it would cause to demons or possessed people, it didn’t do squat. (Y/n) then quickly pinned Dean to the wall, grabbed him by the throat and sneered in his face.

“Here’s the difference between me and those weaklings. I own magic that demons wish they could possess but are too weak to unlock, I however wasn’t. Nothing you boys got can kill me!” She then punched both ways across Dean’s face before kneeing him hard in the gut and then flipping him over towards Sam making both boys collapse to the ground.

“Damn it she’s stronger than I imagined” Dean groaned in pain.

“Split up, she can’t go after both of us at the same time”. Sam suggested. Sam helped his brother up and they soon ran down the labyrinth of the Bunker.  (Y/n) shook her head solemnly and she said.

“I thought you boys would be happy to see me alive?” But that fake sorrow that she spoke of quickly turned cold as she said, “I’m getting tired of these games”. She then walked down the hallway. 

As (y/n) walked along the corridors of the Bunker, both Sam and Dean were at separate hallways keeping their eyes on her to make sure she wasn’t heading towards the other brother.

“Dean~ Sammy~ come out, come out wherever you are”. She called out. “Oh Dean-o, do you remember teaching me how to drive Baby? That is a time I will never forget, you never let anyone else drive your car, you rarely ever let Sammy take it for a spin, but then one day you decided to give me my first driving lesson with Baby. I can’t tell you how happy that made me to hear you say that one day Baby would come to me should anything happen to you and Sammy. Looks like I’ll get her after all”.

Dean wanted to say something but he knew if he did, then his sister would find him instantly.

“And Sammy, my favorite big brother. All these years since I came to you guys, you promised me you wouldn’t let anything happen to me. You promised you’d protect me, to love me, that no matter what you would never let anything happen to me, yet you failed”. Her voice came out.

The Winchester siblings kept walked through the corridor and when Sam came to the end of the corridor, he peeked out from the corner of the wall to see an empty hallway but when he turned around he just barely missed his sister’s axe which would’ve cut off his head.

Sam and (y/n) went a few rounds at each other when he disarmed her and placed his knife right at her neck.

“You lied to me Sam, you promised me you wouldn’t let me go and yet you did. You threw me away, like I never existed. They tortured me, mutilated me, raped me. I cried and prayed for you to save me! But you never came”. Her voice shook in sorrow as she told Sam what happened to her before her tone turned ice cold.

“(Y/n)….I know there is nothing I can say that’ll make what happened go away, I know that I failed you, and deep down I know I deserve this”.

“That’s the first thing you’ve said since I came back that we both can agree on”. Sam then grunted out as sticking through his side was a large dagger.  She smirked wickedly and continued, “You’ve always let your emotions cloud your judgement”. She then released the dagger and Sam collapsed to the floor as blood stained his flannel like a sponge absorbing water.

She watched with pride as her brother struggled to get away before she finally walked up to him and pressed her foot onto his back and rolled him over before coldly stepping on his wound making him scream out in pain.

(Y/n) prepared an axe once more but then just before she could execute she turned over to see Dean standing before them with a gun now drawn.

“Same ol Dean, always willing to sacrifice yourself first to protect your little brother”.

“Please (y/n) don’t make me do this”. She only smiled at her eldest brother and not hesitating to summon a spear that literally embedded into Dean’s shoulder and sent him against the wall towards his Man cave.

“I thought your motto was always “shoot first, ask questions later” Dean-o? Guess this time you’ll have to stand there and watch as your little brother dies first, but don’t miss him too much, you’ll soon be joining him and then you both will finally be reunited with dear old dad”. She then turned back towards Sam and said to him, “This is for failing as a big brother”. 

It was then a song began playing on the stereo. 

(Y/n) turned towards Dean to see that he was able to play his stereo and playing through the speakers was Fleetwood Mac’s “The Chain”.

“You may think you’re some freaky Hela wannabe, but if I know my little sis I know that her music taste is just as good as mine. And I know that she can’t resist this song”. (Y/n) looked towards Dean and walked towards him and sneered, “That weak bitch is gone, locked away, caged like an animal inside the new (y/n). And to be honest I’ll kill you first because you are starting to become a pain in my ass”. She raised up her axe but then something happened. 

Her arm was beginning to shake. 

(Y/n) looked to her arm and saw that it refused to obey her command of beheading Dean Winchester. She tried again to carry out her attack but again her arm refused to move.

She then felt a sudden pulse surge through her.  She cried out and stepped back from her brother and continued to groan and cry out as pain soon came throughout her entire body.

“No. NO YOU DON’T! YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO BE OUT OF THE WAY!! HE TOOK CARE OF YOU!!” (Y/n) kept screaming as she held her head in pure agony and slamming herself against the wall.

“That’s it. That’s it (y/n) fight it” Sammy stated.  Dean took the spear and took it out from his shoulder groaning in pain but finally getting it out of then before he collapsed, Sam caught his brother and the two of them came up towards the stereo and Sam turned it up louder.

(Y/n) continued to have a battle with herself and soon almost like The Exorcist, sharp spikes began shooting out of her body as she kept screaming and crying in sorrow and agony.

“What the hell is happening to her?” Dean questioned. Sam then set Dean down on the ground and Dean turned to his little brother and said, “What are you doing?”

“I need you to stay here Dean”. Sam stated.

“You’ll be skewered if you get anywhere near her!” Sam smiled softly before turning towards his little sister and walking towards her.

“STAY AWAY!!!!!” She screamed out as a sword shot out and just grazed Sam’s cheek.  Dean tensed up fearfully but Sam stood strong and said.

“Don’t be scared, it’s alright”. The spikes continued to shoot out of her as Sam got closer to her and each attack just barely missed Sam by a thread. “I know you can hear me whoever it is that’s kept her all this time, my little sister won’t hurt me. Not anymore”. More swords soon came out and three managed to graze a bit more through Sam than the previous one from earlier.

(Y/n) now on her knees with her head all the way back groaning and letting out incoherent cries as tears filled her eyes.

“It’s okay (y/n)….I promise you”. Sam collapsed from exhaustion and from the amount of blood loss but he stayed conscious as he was now leaning up against his little sister. “I’m so sorry (y/n). There hasn’t been a day that’s gone by since that day where I would’ve given anything to take your place. I know I failed you, I failed you as not only your brother, but as your best friend. I failed you,” he raised his hands up and embraced his baby sister and said to her, “But I promise you, I will continue on for the rest of my life trying to amend that mistake, and mend our bond. No matter what it takes, I’ll never let you go again, I promise”.

Tears fell down (y/n)’s eyes as she now leaned her head up against Sam’s broad shoulder and cried and embraced him back.  She then held on even tighter as her cries soon turned into hysterical weeping.  Sam wrapped his arms tighter around his sister and held her head over his heart.

“It’s over (y/n), it’s over. You’re here now, I’m here, you’re back with your brothers. It’s over. They can’t hurt you anymore”.  

Dean watched sadly as his brother comforted their little sister and hearing such agonizing sobs coming out of her broke him in ways that no demon torture he’s ever experienced could muster. 

He slowly got up and walked towards his brother and knelt down in front of him and hugged his sister from behind and whispered in her ear.

“It’s okay kid, it’s okay”. Both Winchester boys kept their arms wrapped around their little sister and no more words were spoken, only kisses and comforting hums as the song was coming to an end. 

Now healed thanks to Castiel, the boys watched solemnly as Castiel began to use his angel grace to ease their sister’s mind into a peaceful slumber.  As he put her to sleep, Castiel stroked (y/n)’s head softly before standing up and walked back towards her brothers.

“What did they do to her?” asked Sam.

“It would seem the demons that had (y/n) captive these past months, were the minions of Macavity. A cunning demon with dark powers that Lucifer and Crowley wanted for themselves but were never given the chance to obtain. It would seem when (y/n) came to them, they pushed her to extreme pain in order for her to obtain the dark power. They manipulated her, made her believe we abandoned her in order to fuel her hatred and anger and unleash the magic within her”. Castiel explained.

“So you’re telling us that all that hatred, all that rage literally came from her?”

“With the help of his minions and maybe even Macavity himself, but in other words yes”. Castiel explained in better English. Sam and Dean sighed heavily and turned back towards their little sister.

“Poor kid, if them bastards ever show themselves I’ll put them through so much torture, that they’ll be regretting ever thinking about using her as their magic bag” Dean sneered towards the end.

“What can we do for her now?” asked Sam.

“A whole lot of patience, reassurance and Tender Love and Care. There is a chance that side of her could come back and finish her mission, there’s no known cure for curing the torment Macavity’s demons did to her, they are not like other demons we’ve faced before”.

“Whatever it takes, we’ll be there for her. All of us, there’s no way I’m gonna let my little sis go through that again”. Dean stated. Sam nodded in agreement as well as Castiel.

The boys then all piled back into their sister’s room and Sam set himself down beside her and brought her close to him.  He felt her grip his shirt tightly in her sleep and he stroked down her hair as he kissed her forehead gingerly. Dean set himself on the other side and leaned gently against his sister’s head rubbing her arms soothingly before taking her hand and kissing it, while Castiel sat at the foot of her bed watching the brothers comfort their sister but he used his angel grace to speak to her telepathically into her dreams.

Telling her that he and her brothers weren’t going to leave her ever again, that they won’t ever leave her side and are going to help her get through this. 

Because no matter what comes after this day, that will never break The Chain of their family bond.

[harleyquilt]

Together and Apart

Summary: A glimpse into moments of Ayato and Hinami’s life together as they grow up through the years. Both the best and worst times...

Words:  9836

Notes: I...don’t feel too confident with how corny this is at some points, but there’s a lot of fluff and it’s all written for my wonderful, amazing wife and plum @lilacflamesss for giving me her account to read smut. If that doesn’t define friendship, I don’t know what will. Hope you enjoy and feedback is appreciated!!

She stared at herself in the mirror, a bruise just below her eye and her jaw to her left was scraped, a few scratches left behind. Biting her lip, Hinami applied the cream one of the older ghouls around the compound had given her to make it heal a little quicker whilst the rest of the cuts and bruises she got from the training session healed. She winced slightly at the stinging burn that erupted from the light brush of her finger, but she squeezed her eyes shut and rubbed it in, telling herself she wouldn’t cry. Not again.

After so many cold nights, she had wasted so many tears crying over the circumstances of her life, crying over her weakness and the hopelessness of her wish to achieve the strength she desired in order to save those she had already lost before. It was pathetic, really, but after meeting the boy called Ayato, his appearance almost exactly like his older sister, she learned to pull herself together and promised herself no more wasted tears. He was right, after all, that if she was going to spend all her time weeping like a child, she might as well leave, but Eto’s words still rang through her ears. No, she wouldn’t leave - in this weak state, leaving won’t help anybody, not even herself.

Hinami looked down at her bruised and cut knuckles as this thought passed through her mind and noticed them fade slowly, feeling the skin tighten and the blunt pain grow smaller by the second. She touched the now healed skin, feeling that it was a little more rough. Nothing like the clean soft hands she had when she was first taken here. She will grow strong and she took some satisfaction in knowing that with every little wound she was given would eventually heal, and with it, she will become stronger. With a small pained smile, she let out a sigh and looked up, seeing Ayato looking at her from the doorway.

He indeed resembled his sister so much, especially with that slight frown, but he was also incredibly different in his own way. His dark hair was wild, the ends curled up slightly and his eyes were sharper, holding more coldness rather than the gentleness she had seen in Touka’s. He never held a smile on those lips of his, Ayato always either frowning or pouting. It was like his face was broken permanently and though Hinami took some amusement in this thought, it only ever made Ayato grimace more when she mentioned it. And then there was his body. Others may still continue mocking him for his height, despite his constant bursts of anger and violence, but Hinami always admired how lean he was, the rigid muscles of his chest and biceps usually hidden behind his baggy clothes he always wore.

Hinami looked away in an instant when she realised she had been staring at that moment, especially with those thoughts in mind, and she felt her cheeks heat up at the thought. It wasn’t as if she had a crush on him, he was just simply...attractive. She couldn’t be blamed for admiring his appearance, right? Either way, Ayato still stood at the door, biting at his lower lip with lowered eyes as if he were about to confess and Hinami was about to ask what was wrong, but he ended up speaking first.

“You look like shit.” He said, his eyes still avoiding hers and Hinami relaxed with a smile, walking over to sit at the end of her bed. “I mean, are you ok? You’re so weak and frail that-”

“It’s fine, Ayato-kun.” She beamed at him, smiling cheerfully in hopes to rid him of any guilt. After all, he was the one responsible for her training. “I’ll heal.”

He wavered then, like he was about to step into the room and join her, but he paused and opened his mouth, about to speak. Hinami patiently waited for a response, but the next thing she knew, he had turned away and headed off to his room down the hallway. He was quick, but Hinami could still see the pained look in his eyes as he turned, that look he always seemed to have after training sessions like this. He never held back and he was as rough as he could be without causing too serious an injury and yet, he always seemed deeply regretful after this.

It was sometimes hard to remember that the one most single thing that reminded Hinami most of Touka from Ayato wasn’t the appearance, nor the scowls or crude words, but the kind hearts they both shared. She just wished he was more accepting of it.

. . .

Hinami’s eyes roamed across the page in her book, taking in every word as she imagined the fantastical world being described in the novel. She could almost feel the cold rain, see the endless traffic and look up to see the pale moonlight above in the night sky. It was as if she wasn’t sat on a thin dirty mattress in a shoebox room, the only solace she could find being the view of the ocean from her window. With reading, she could escape this prison she had led herself into and imagine a world where she wasn’t herself. It was nice for a short while, anyway.

She leaned back against her pillow, sighing as she held her book up above her, narrowing her eyes at that one particular kanji that always caught her off guard. With time, she learnt to try and teach herself the more difficult words by herself, but it was still difficult at times and with these moments, she often felt the homesickness she always tried to ignore creep up on her again; she’d remember the quiet days where Kaneki and Touka sat by her side as they tried to help her through the list of words she had written down whilst reading. Touka would usually comment on how these books were unnecessarily complicated and tried to opt for something simpler, like manga, whilst Kaneki would continue to teach her different ways to read the new words with that beautiful smile of his.

And now...she was alone.

Shaking her head, Hinami got off her bed and smoothed out the creases in the skirt of her dress and took the book into her hands. Perhaps going outside might help her keep her mind off on unwanted thoughts. After all, the weather was lovely and she’d rather not waste her day stuck in some dreary room again. She smiled and hurried out her room, but it wasn’t long before she bumped into someone in the hallways. At first, she thought it was Ayato - it wouldn’t be the first time - but instead, it was Eto.

With a slight gasp, Hinami took a step or two back, bowing slightly whilst mumbling a quick apology. Eto rarely moved around the Aogiri base and usually kept herself at the big old tree that grew in the garden area at the centre of this base, only ever really with the company of Tatara and Noro. Hinami tried her best to stay out of Eto’s way, knowing full well she was busy with future plans and such, especially considering how busy the executives alone had to deal with. Or perhaps they just dumped most of the work on Ayato...Either way, it was startling to actually see Eto here now.

“Hinami-chan! Exactly the person I was looking for.” She wrapped an arm around Hinami’s shoulders, tugging the nervous girl closer to her. “Come, let’s have a nice stroll whilst the weather is still pleasant.”

Hinami had no choice but to give a small timid nod, tightening her clutch on the book she held against her chest. Eto still looked the same as she did when Hinami first saw her as Takatsuki Sen, with her wild green hair that went down to her slender waist and those wide eyes that had probably witnessed more than Hinami was willing to know, and yet she was nothing of the woman Hinami had first assumed her to be. It only made her more uncomfortable when she was near now, knowing she was now the infamous Eto that was treated as queen around these parts and was known for her unpredictability and cynicism.

“So Hinami, about what we talked about last time when I asked if there was any particular gifts you had.” She had that look in her eyes, that look of wanting something and it sent a chill through Hinami. She could only manage to nod again. “The hearing, right? Well, if you couldn’t tell already, I think we could use something like that here. Of course, I know I brought you here so you can become strong, but it’d be a waste if we let this rare talent of yours to go to waste.”

They were outside now, walking through an archway of trees where the sunlight spilled through the cracks in the branches, different flowers lining the cobblestone pathway into the large greenhouse. Inside were an array of different rose bushes that gave off a sweet fragrance that filled the room. It was beautiful, but her attention was quickly brought back by Eto’s voice, who was still talking about how useful her hearing will be.

“I must confess, I’m a little jealous.” Eto giggled, hopping onto one of the waist high walls that surrounded the rose bushes with ease. “At fourteen, I could barely hear anything that was simply a room away. With training, I’m more than certain your hearing will outmatch even the most adept ghouls here.” She balanced on her toes as she walked, smirking to herself as she set up this plan to turn Hinami into another weapon for her to use. “We’ll still need to focus on building up your other strengths, which I’m sure Ayato will have no problem with, but since I doubt you barely have the capability to kill a fly, I want this to be your focus for now.”

Hinami winced at her words. Barely have the capability to kill a fly. It’s been nearly a year and it wasn’t as if she had made a massive amount of progress in becoming the strong woman she needed to be, yet it still stung when someone like Eto reminded her that she was still the weak child as she was when she first came here, crying every night at the pain she felt.

“Understood, Eto-san.” Hinami bowed again and Eto gave her a satisfied smile, jumping off the wall and skipped past her, humming a small tune as she did so. She mentioned something about starting the training when the next mission comes about, but Hinami hadn’t paid much attention, instead walking towards the roses, admiring the beautiful colour of it’s petals.

“You look down.” Hinami jumped at Ayato’s voice, letting out a loud yelp as she turned to face him. He became startled himself, eyes widening whilst he stepped back. “S-Sorry, did I-”

“It’s fine, sorry.” Hinami turned her back to him, pressing her hands against her cheeks. She was sure she looked as flustered as she felt. Where did he even come from? “Were you there the whole time I was with Eto?”

Ayato nodded and rubbed the back of his neck with Hinami turned back around, his eyes still facing the floor. He seemed oddly bashful, or at least more so than the other times Hinami saw him. Maybe it was because she had startled him?

“Yeah, I hang around here sometimes, I didn’t think Eto and you would end up coming here.” There was an awkward pause then, Hinami desperately trying to come up with something to talk about, but to her relief, Ayato spoke once again. “So you have good hearing or something?”

“Yeah, I can hear an extraordinary amount just by focusing my hearing.” Ayato raised his brow at this, with either skepticism or confusion, making Hinami chuckle a little. “Ok, to be specific, I can tell how many people are in a room, their mass, what they’re saying and by the sounds of their actions, I can easily predict what they’re doing too without having to be anywhere near the room.”

Ayato stared at her then, with what Hinami hoped to be amazement as his eyes were now wide and his jaw hung agape slightly, his frown showing he was still trying to figure out how she was able to manage all that. He cleared his throat and blinked hard, shaking his head a little.

“You can do all that? That’s…” It seemed he was about to say something then, but stopped himself. “Impressive. It hardly seems realistic, though.”

“Oh, sure it is. I could even show you how!” Hinami giggled and she stepped forward. He flinched and she hesitated, a worried look in her eyes and Ayato sighed, pouting as he told her he would try. Her smile returned instantly. “Now close your eyes.”

“Haah, why would I do that? How do I know I can trust you?”

“Shush, just do it.”

He grumbled something about her being annoying and he shut his eyes, still frowning. She almost wanted to flick his head for always looking so grumpy, but instead, she placed her hands over his ears. He froze at the feeling of her hands against him and it relieved Hinami that he at least didn’t open his eyes, since she was feeling quite embarrassed herself.

“For some reason, I don’t think covering my ears will help me hear better.” She shushed him again and he sighed with some frustration.

“Now focus.” She spoke with a hushed voice, trying to pick something he himself could try to pick out. “There’s children outside, but you need to figure out how many there are and what they’re doing.”

“How am I-”

“Seek them out. Don’t think too much about it, just try to listen until you can find what you need.”

Ayato felt more confused the more she spoke, but he did as she told anyway. Even with his ears covered, he heard certain noises. A bird chirping, flying over the greenhouse. No, the children would be further away. Then he heard something creaking - the old swing that hung from a nearby tree. Not there either. He tried to concentrate his hearing, squeezing his eyes and he heard...running. But it wasn’t just one person, no, it sounded like...six. Six feet, meaning three children. They were laughing, their feet scuffing against the gravel. They were playing tag, by the sounds of it.

“Three children playing tag.” He opened his eyes and saw Hinami respond with a big smile, her eyes lit up. She took her hands away and took him to one side of the greenhouse, pointing out to the far distance where three children were playing in front of the base’s entrance. He could barely hear their childish shouts now.

“Woah.”

. . .

Ayato watched her from the distance, seeing Hinami stretch a few times before she slipped off her faded green cardigan. It had one or two noticeable holes on it, but it wasn’t like she could go out and buy something new. Perhaps he could ask Miza to help her out, especially now she was turning fifteen and had started to grow out from her usual clothes. Ayato shook his head, deciding to focus on the training session, but just as he was about to turn around, he caught sight at the fresh scars poking through the top of her tank top.

He cringed at the sight, knowing full well the toll Hinami was taking from the kagune training - especially since she was a chimera - Eto was making her do. The wounds wouldn’t be that bad had she not have been pushed past her usual boundaries during the training. After all, her attacks, once trained some more, would pack a lot of punch with both her rinkaku and koukaku. It was no wonder Eto was training her to use it more effectively, but to add to all this, she was now also making Hinami tag along in more dangerous missions with Tatara always trying lecture her into spilling blood.

Though Hinami couldn’t do it. Not at first anyway. Since she had arrived to this base, Ayato knew she was too soft for such a rough place and yet she never allowed it to get the best of her. Even so, he could’ve never imagined her doing such things the way Aogiri did and for a while, she didn’t. Or, well, that was the time she was still held back as support, but eventually, the higher ups wanted more from her.

At first, Ayato had tried his best to help. He still remembered how he would cruelly kick Hinami off to the side, a memory he’d rather not think about, and would kill the people Tatara had asked Hinami to kill. He was willing to hear any lecture from Tatara with him responding with the usual short tempered response just so that he wouldn’t have to witness Hinami be forced to do the one thing she couldn’t. Of course, this couldn’t last forever, as he had always remind her, and one day, she returned with a splatter of blood staining her clothes that had torn holes behind where the kagune was released.

However, at the moment, the only thing he had his focus on was the deep regretful look in those usually lit up eyes of hers. They were bloodshot from the crying she had done on the way back from the mission, the tears stained on her dirty cheeks and instead of comforting her, he could only stand there in silence as she walked past, not knowing what it was he could say that could bring any comfort to her now. Was there anything he could’ve said?

“You okay?” Hinami brought his attention back and he gave her a small nod, turning away as if nothing was wrong. “I’ve been doing what you’ve been suggesting and started training myself in my spare time.”

“You don’t have to push yourself.” He said quickly, his voice barely a whisper, but he knew she heard. “You’re just going to strain your body and you’ll be even more helpless when you do.”

He turned around and saw her stand there awkwardly. Her hair was also getting long, he noticed whilst she tied it up, her fringe now covering her eye. She was in a white tank top and green leggings, Ayato noticing her body was a little more...shaped. Biting his lip, he tried to avert his focus and took off his jacket, leaving him only in a black shirt and he stepped forward, raising his fists. Hinami did the same, taking the same stance as he had taught her some time ago. It took a while to adjust, but it seemed she was making some significant progress in these session of theirs.

“Ready?” He asked and she gave a nod, pressing her lips together.

She ran forward and threw her first punch, Ayato easily dodging it, but she quickly turned her body and gave another punch, Ayato catching her wrist this time and twisting it behind her, Hinami grunting at the roughness of his actions. With her free hand, she elbowed his side and Ayato winced, his grip loosening and giving Hinami the chance to take her hand back and step back. Ayato made the first move this time, not giving her the chance to focus and one of his punches slammed into the side of her jaw. She stumbled down onto her knees, a hand against her cheek as she looked back at him with a glare, Ayato ready to kick her down.

As his foot came down, Hinami rolled to the side, the kick missing her and she leaped up with her fist ramming into his stomach. Ayato let out a gasp, the air being knocked out of him and before he could straighten, he felt Hinami land a kick right into his face, a dull ache all across the side of his face as he landed right down onto the floor. Her attacks were a lot stronger than last time.

“Ow.” Ayato groaned, watching Hinami crouch down to him on the floor.

“I’m sorry! Was that too much? I didn’t hold back and-” Ayato slowly got back onto his feet, Hinami’s voice going off into a mumble and got back onto her feet too, fiddling nervously with her hands. “It doesn't hurt too much, does it?”

Ayato watched her wait for a response, her eyes filled with such worry and concern. Ayato let out a sigh and pinched her cheek with a soft smile growing on his lips. He walked past to get the towel on the side, rubbing the bruise that was already beginning to form on his cheek.

“If you keep worrying like that, you won’t get far in these training sessions.” He then looked back, watching her head drop at his comment. “Good work.”

For a brief moment, he saw her light up again, her hand raised to hide the smile she wore and he couldn’t help but feel a flutter in his stomach at the sight. His smile was still there when he came back, pride flowing through him as he took the stance again.

“Ready for round two?”

. . .

The first thing he noticed when he went back to the dormitories was the distinct smell of coffee. He already knew it was Hinami making another cup of coffee for people, though why she always did so around the time he returned from Eto and Tatara’s endless errands still confused him. Regardless, considering Hinami’s room was only a few doors away, it was always the first thing he noticed when returning to his room.

He dumped his exhausted body onto his bed, face landing into the pillow and he let out a long moan of frustration. There were a few things he wanted to do before finally being able to sleep, but suddenly he couldn’t remember a single one of them for the life of him. He could already feel himself drifting away, half his body still hanging off the bed and the thought that he could still hear Hinami’s voice in his head.

“Ayato-kun.” He heard Hinami whisper next to him and he yelled out in sudden fear before accidentally falling off the bed, Hinami jumping back a little as she watched Ayato lay unmoving on the floor. “I killed him…”

He mumbled something against the floor and when Hinami asked with a giggle what it was he said, instead of answering, he just got up and sat on the bed, slapping his cheeks to wake himself up. He finally looked at Hinami, who was dressed in short sleeved white blouse and a navy blue skirt that went up to her knees. In her hands, Hinami carried two cups of coffees for both of them. With a smile, she sat down on the bed next to him and offered him his cup, which he took with a small thank you.

She sat watching him, noticing the bags that hung under his tired eyes and the deep frown that seemed to be carved into his face at this point. Though that wasn’t saying much, considering how grumpy he always had been. Still, when he looked back at her after taking a long sip, his eyes always softened, his face relaxing a little and she’d always smile in return. The last thing he wanted was an unfriendly face after such a long day doing dangerous missions.

“You cut your hair.” Ayato commented, reaching up to perhaps touch her before he pulled his hand back, placing it firmly back around the mug. “It looks good.”

She blushed, as usual, but only shrugged, taking a sip of her own coffee. She hadn’t expected him to notice, but she supposed it wasn’t anything meaningful.

“Miza did it for me, saying it would make it easier in combat.” She laughed then, Ayato’s heart quickening at the sound of her giggles. “Besides, I thought it would be a nice change now that I’m sixteen.”

Ah, right. She was sixteen now, wasn’t she? Two years had already passed between them and yet Ayato couldn’t help but feel like it had been a lot longer than that. They had spent a lot of their time together when she first came here, Ayato being responsible for her training as the new member of the group, but that reminder only stung him more as he realised that now that her training was complete and his list of assignments only growing with each passing day, they were spending less time together as he would’ve wanted. He would never admit it though, so instead of mentioning anything of his thoughts, he just repeated what he said before and took another sip.

“Do you like it?” Her question confused him at first until he realised she was referring to the coffee.

“It tastes...nostalgic. It’s nice.” He could tell that she knew what he had meant instantly with the way she smiled in relief. “I suppose this was the result of aneki teaching you. I always liked the way she made hers.”

He smiled to himself then, remembering all the way back to the days when he still lived with Touka, waking up to her yelling at him to get up and that his coffee was ready for him. He may not have acted like it, but he honestly really enjoyed those days of comfort, both of them seeming to move on from the past they’ve been burdened with. And yet, eventually, Touka became involved in the human world more and more and it frightened Ayato to think that they were only being led down the same path of ignorance that their parents had followed before, so he did the only thing he could think of and left, hoping he could become strong enough to watch over Touka when she would inevitably fall into the same trap as their father. Even so...The things he had done, could he even call her his sister anymore? Did he have that right?

All of a sudden, his smile faded and his frown returned, Ayato almost scowling. His grip tightened around the cup and he closed his eyes, his jaw clenching and Hinami figured it must’ve been from being reminded of the memories he would rather forget. She knew of the things he had done to Touka, heard Irimi and the manager discuss it one time, and at the time, Hinami felt a deep hatred towards Ayato for the things he had done to his own sister. However, seeing him now, she knew he held nothing but regret for the actions he had done in the past, and he always spoke of Touka with a joy Hinami rarely saw from him at all. He wasn’t nearly what she had imagined him to be at first.

“You know, she always talked about how she made these coffees for you and how you would always end up burning your tongue, since you would drink it far too quickly.” She looked at him, hoping her comment would lighten him up, but he only seemed more pained at her words. “She misses you. She never held resentment against you either. I hope one day we can meet her again.”

“She’d want to see you, that’s for sure. I mean, if you could anyway…”

“Right, I can’t, can I? Leave the base without permission that is.” She sighed and finished the rest of her coffee, Ayato doing the same. “I really do miss the others. Onee-chan, onii-chan, Banjou and even Tsukiyama of all people.” She let out a sad laugh, leaning back against the wall. “But I can’t until I’m strong. I can’t be a burden, not anymore.”

Ayato stared at her then, eye’s a little widened and Hinami sat a little confused at his reaction. He almost seemed offended, of all things, but she couldn’t imagine why. That is, until he finally said something.

“But you’re...stro-” He stopped himself before finishing, feeling his cheeks heat up and he shook his head, turning his back to her. “You’re not a burden. It’s not healthy to think like that and...It’s not true.”

Hinami was a little startled by his words, realising it was anger in his reaction. His tone was soft, tinged with an almost pained sadness, but he didn’t really care that much, right? Hinami was the biggest burden to him, after all. This must be simple kindness to comfort her, but it was still strange to hear such kindness from him. It wasn’t as if he was never kind, he was just always so unwilling to show that side of him.

Before she could give any kind of response, he got up and took her mug from her, murmuring that he was going to wash them up and head to the showers, not even glancing back on the way out. She wondered for a moment if she had upset him in any way, but decided it may just be best to leave it until she next saw him, considering he was tired enough as it is. She just can’t seem to stop being trouble for him.

. . .

The prison cell was cold. Dim. Plain. It had been a few months now and still, she could never find comfort in this new home of hers. She grew more frail as the weeks passed, her limbs stiff and her body grew thin. She missed the feeling of the sun against her skin, or the cold rain on her face. It had been so long since she knew the comfort of a simple breeze, or seeing something more than the concrete walls that surrounded her day in and out. She would be driven to insanity if it wasn’t for the books onii-chan had given her and her one tether of hope that he’d see her again. But...it had been so long now and that one tether was slowly beginning to snap.

It was stupid really, how she ended up here in the first place. The one time she had finally been given the chance to save the man she loved and put use to the strength she had built up year after year and she still somehow ended up failing. How pathetic. And now she couldn’t do anything for anyone, besides perhaps giving the small amount of information that still deemed her as valuable. At first, she even contemplated the chance that someone may even come to save her, but the mere thought made her laugh at the ridiculousness of it. Who would save a weak girl who was nothing but a burden?

When not reading the same usual stories from the same books or writing her thoughts down on the paper she was given every now and again, she would often think about the people she missed. There was the manager, Kaneki, Touka, Irimi and Koma, Nishiki, Banjou and his small group, Miza and Naki and she couldn’t help but especially miss Ayato.

They had spent so many years together that it was strange now not to be by his side. It amused her to think of how he grew soft over the years now that she was looking back to them growing up together. Most may have hated him in her place with how roughly he treated her, but she knew he was a kind person deep down and it only made it more special to see him finally show that side to her at times.

One time particularly came back to her; it was a cold night and she had caught the flu, but she tried her best not to let that get in the way and decided she’d make a coffee for her and Ayato, as she almost always did, but when she arrived at his room, realising he must be running late, she ended up lying down and fell asleep. She woke up briefly and noticed she was being carried by Ayato, a wet cloth on her burning head and he took her to her bed, wrapping her up in every blanket he could find in the room. After that, he had stayed with her until she fallen asleep again, despite the fact that he was struggling to stay awake himself. She still thought back to that memory fondly, knowing that even when having to deal with her so much, he never treated her cruelly or held resentment.

It was painful to think that she may never see him again, to never walk through the greenhouse together where all the roses grew or have the usual small conversation they always had with their freshly brewed coffee late at night. Remembering Ayato brought as much pain as it did comfort and it only reminded her that if she was just simply strong enough, none of this would even have to happen. Who knows what Ayato must be thinking right about now, but Hinami hoped he wouldn’t feel too responsible over her to do something reckless. The same for anyone else. Maybe...It’d just be better if she was forgotten.

How long has it been now?

. . .

Ayato was still packing his backpack, grumbling about how Kaneki always gave him the worst of the missions. He was to be sent deeper into the underground to find some one eyed ghoul from decades ago. He’d be lying if he said this whole mission seemed useless in the long run, but he couldn’t exactly say no to the new ‘king’ of ghouls. And so, with a louder even more agitated sigh, he zipped up the bag and set it aside, ready for tomorrow where he’d be leaving with the small group of his at dawn.

That was when he heard a knock at his door.

“Ayato-kun?” Hinami peeked her head in and smiled when she saw Ayato. She then turned her gaze to his bag and flinched slightly. “Already packed, I see. I only heard about your mission today and, um, I just wanted to return this.”

She held up his jacket that he had given her all the way back in Cochlea when he, and the others he had asked to help, came to save her from her very near death. Since then, they had seen very little of each other. The time they did spend together was precious, but they never really talked about what had happened really, though she was sure Ayato was as unwilling as her to dwell on the mistakes of the past. Either way, after hearing that she wouldn’t be able to see him for another...well, who knows how long he’ll be gone for? She immediately felt the need to talk to him again, to take this chance to finally spend some time together, just as they did back in Aogiri.

“Oh, right.” He took the jacket, looking between it and Hinami. “You could keep it, you know. I don’t really need it.”

“Nonsense! It’ll be cold down there and I don’t want you getting a cold.” He tutted and she was afraid she had annoyed him already, but he ruffled her hair and placed the coat besides his bag.

“Is that the only reason you came here? I thought you were reading with the kids.”

“Well...I wanted to say goodbye before I lost the chance.” She averted her eyes, growing nervous. “I wish we had more time together.”

He didn’t expect that.

“I have some time now. I won’t be leaving until tomorrow.” What was he saying? “If that’s okay with you.”

He placed a hand on her shoulder and she jumped a little, looking up to see him gazing at her with soft eyes and a small smile. How long would it be before she got to see this face again? Without thinking, she reached up and brushed a strand of his hair away from his face, noticing it was getting long again. When she realised what she was doing, she freezed and quickly took her hand away, laughing awkwardly whilst coming up with the excuse that there was something on his face. He took a deep breath and pulled her closer, his arms moving to wrap around her small frame.

“Don’t look so sad, I’ll be back soon. Besides, it’s just me, you have the others.” She hesitated for a moment, but she returned the embrace, burying her face into his chest. “I’ll miss you too.”

“I’ve never noticed before, but…” she tightened her grip, listening to his rapid heartbeat, “you’re so warm.”

She felt him laugh and he squeezed her tighter against him and parted, Hinami already missing the loss of contact. He mimicked her actions and pushed back the fringe covering her eye, his eyes locked onto hers and he leaned forward, pressing his lips against her head. She was hoping for more, desperate for him to stay this close, to stay close to her, but she was only disappointed to see him move back, his eyes now set on the door. Turning back to see where he was looking, she found a subordinate of Ayato’s standing by the door awkwardly.

“The king has asked to go through some final things with you, Ayato.” Ayato nodded begrudgingly, Hinami noticing his lips twitch with annoyance.

The subordinate leaves and Ayato takes the jacket from his bed, Hinami hugging herself as she watched him grumble to himself. He turned to her, noticing her downcast eyes and sad frown and he lifted her head by the chin, wiping away the tears she didn’t know were rolling down her cheeks.

“I’m sorry.” His voice was hushed and she smiled back, sniffling.

“It’s fine. Really. You should go, the kids are waiting for me anyway.” He patted her shoulder one last time, hesitating slightly before he finally forced himself away from her and left. “It’s fine…”

. . .

When he arrived at the furthest tent in the small base the ghouls and humans had set up for the injured, he immediately spotted Hinami sleeping in one of the beds near the corner. A doctor was checking her and pulled the curtain across to give her more privacy. As he walked towards her, he noticed the other injured ghouls around him, most missing limbs or were bleeding profusely, all of them beaten black and blue. He cringed at the sight, thinking about the state Hinami must be in.

He had heard from Touka of the fight she went through. To defend Touka and the weaker ghouls, she stayed behind to keep off the CCG attackers. From the whispers of some of the CCG personnel, it was told that she fought like a demon, tearing through the onslaught of attackers that tried to get near her. Despite his worry, he was feeling a swell of pride until he found out about her leg. Suzuya, that makeshift reaper, sliced right through it. It gave him great relief to know that Kaneki came in time to save her from death, but of course, the price was too high. No doubt Hinami was drowning in guilt right about now. She could never shake off the feeling of being a burden to others.

The doctor came out from behind the curtain where Hinami was, Ayato trying to catch her attention. He caught a glimpse of Hinami’s severed leg that was propped up on the bed, covered in several bloody bandages. Squeezing his eyes shut, he forced his attention away to ask the doctor if he was permitted to her now.

“Oh, you must be Ayato. She was asking for you.” She offered a strained smile, looking back towards Hinami’s bed. “Just try to be gentle to her, she’s still shaken from what happened underground.”

With a nod, Ayato walked over to Hinami’s bed, pulling the curtain completely around to give them more privacy. The last thing they needed was people watching their reunion after so many weeks. He just wished it was on better terms. However, as soon as he looked at Hinami, he noticed she was already asleep.

Dark shadows hung beneath her eyes, her skin more pale than it was before he left. She had thinned too, her cheeks more defined and her hair clotted with mud and blood. As far as he could see, besides her leg, she didn’t have any other major wounds, but her state and no doubt her mental health was what worried him more. Still, he wasn’t going to wake her up for his sake. He sat down in the seat besides the bed and watched her breathe slowly, stirring slightly in her sleep as her brows furrowed every now and again. She looked exhausted and drained of life, but he still thought she was the cutest girl around, not that he was willing to admit such a thing to her.

There was so many things he wanted to tell to her, the things he saw underground, the plans the others were making and how sorry he was that he wasn’t there to help her in her time of need. Of course he wasn’t implying that she wasn’t strong enough to handle it herself, but since losing her in the auction raid, he wanted nothing more than to stay by her side in whatever battle she had to face. And yet, he still failed to keep to this promise he made to himself and hated how close she was in facing death. He shuddered at the thought that if Kaneki wasn’t there, the first news he heard after returning from the underground would have been that he’d never get to see her beautiful face again.

He raised his hand, pausing for a moment before he stroked her cheek with the back of his hand. Licking his lips and pressing them together, he then got up from his seat and cupped her face, leaning down to rest his head against hers.

“I’m an awful person.” He whispered, rubbing small circles with his thumbs. “I completely forgot to say goodbye before I left.” He laughed to himself then, Hinami stirring in her sleep. “I also didn’t get the chance to…”

He brushed his lips lightly against her cheek, planting another light kiss to the corner of her mouth. It was then that he felt Hinami’s hand over his, her wide eyes tearing up as they gazed into his. He was about to move back, but as he did, Hinami leaned forward and her lips pressed awkwardly at the side of his mouth. She let out a small squeak and pulled back, hiding her face in her hands.

“I-I’m sorry! I don’t know why...You’re b-back. When did you-” As she spoke, he moved her hands away from her face and she saw his face was a deep shade of red. He probably felt as embarrassed as she did, but neither wanted to move away.

“I got back recently, with three kids too.” He snorted, glancing away. His hands still held her wrists, his body leaning over hers. Hinami thought it was best not to ask about the kids right now. “But how are you doing?”

He moved back then, though Hinami was willing to protest against it, and he moved one hand to her wounded leg, a pained expression replacing the soft one he wore before. She tried not to look at it, the wound nothing more than a reminder of her mistakes, but Ayato seemed more regretful than she was.

“It’s fine. It’ll heal once I’m able to eat more food.” She spoke quickly, her voice quiet, shrinking back from him. “I guess right now I’m pretty useless, huh-”

“You’re not useless. You’re strong, Hina. Stronger than anyone else I know and-- I--”

“Ayato?”

She was cut off by Ayato’s lips against hers. At first she gasped, unsure what to do and the kiss started clumsy, it being more of a peck than anything and when Ayato moved back, expecting her to get angry or something, she only rests her hand against his cheek and pulled him in again. He kissed her so lightly, his hands gently grabbing onto her shoulders as she ran her fingers through his hair. He was so close and she didn’t want to let him go. Not again.

He could feel his heart slamming against his chest, his hands shaking as he moved them to the nape of her neck, deepening their kiss. His tongue moved to part her lips, Hinami letting out a small whine and her hands gripped his hair, tugging it slightly. He had to wonder if any of this was real, that he was holding the girl he thought he could never have, but now he never wanted to let her go. There was nothing more he wanted than to show her that she wasn’t useless, that she was important and valued. He hoped he could show her that.

After awhile, they finally parted and they stared at each other for a few seconds in silence, both breathing heavily until they started to laugh, Hinami resting her head against his shoulder whilst continuing to giggle with delight. She sighed then, looking back to her leg and hearing the chatter from outside of the tent. For a moment, it was almost like they had escaped this war. Or rather, she hoped they had.

“Do you have to go?”

“Probably. We still need to get Kaneki from that...What is it? A long poop?” Hinami laughed again, whacking the side of his arm. “It won’t be like I’ll gone for months again, don’t worry.”

“Just be safe. Please.” He kissed her again and straightened, smiling down at all. “Promise me, Ayato.”

“Hey, you’re talking to the guy who got shot down by missles and survived. You just worry about making sure you can eat more. I liked your chubby cheeks.” He pinched her and before she could protest, he was leaving, telling the doctor she needed more food. “Bye, Hina.”

She missed how he called her that.

. . .

It had been a week now. The room was quiet, except the constant beeping of the heart monitor that continued its steady beeping. Hinami watched the line move in the same rhythm as it had done the past six days, but she couldn’t help think that at any moment it would stop, leaving nothing but the sound of the flatline boring into her skull. It was a horrid thought, yet it never left her mind, the fear that it could occur haunting her day and night.

Ayato’s face always remained the same - he was relaxed, the oxygen mask fogging up with every breath he took. Produced veins crawled over his skin and some days they’re more noticeable than others. His hair was greasy with sweat and was stained with blood, a few bruises still healing across his body. The last time she saw him, the first thing she noticed were merely the bags under his eyes and now...it was hard to look at him sometimes, thoughts of the horrors he must’ve faced still leaving her stomach churning with nervousness and her mind dizzy with fear. The only thing she could do right now was cling onto his hand, praying he would eventually open his eyes.

She kept telling herself to keep her hopes up, that there hasn’t been signs of him worsening, but with each passing day, it became difficult to keep up the facade of optimism that held her back from falling apart completely. Though of course, she should really be focusing on Ayato’s recovery. She didn’t want to be selfish, not again, but she missed feeling his arms around as he told her it would be ok. God, if he were to die now…

“Hinami.” She turned to see Touka walk into the room, offering Hinami a sympathetic smile. When she neared, she gave her a long hug, taking a seat next to her. “How’s he doing?”

“Nothing bad but nothing good.” Hinami kept her head against Touka’s chest, this hug being the only comfort she’s had all day. “Why did this have to happen?”

“Hey, look at me.” She pulled Hinami back and pressed her palm against Hinami’s cheek, a stern look in her eye. “He’s going to make it. He’s a Kirishima, we don’t go down easily. Not without a fight. It looks bad now, but with time, it’ll get better.”

“And if it doesn’t?”

“It will.” Her voice was never hesitant, never wavering in uncertainty. Hinami always admired that of her, wishing she could be as cool headed. “And when he does, he’s going to scold you for not looking after yourself. Look at you, you’ve been in the same clothes for three days now and you need proper sleep.”

Hinami looked back at Ayato, the thought of leaving and something possibly happening whilst she was away…

“Don’t worry, you’re not going to miss anything.” Hinami finally and reluctantly agreed and got up, her body stiff and weak. Touka helped her to the cafe area where Touka bought her a coffee. It didn’t taste as good as hers, but it still gave her the little energy she needed.

“How are you, onee-chan? And onii-chan? I should’ve asked sooner.” Touka laughed and told her it was fine, Hinami relaxing a little more. She hadn’t realised how long it had been since she just sat down and had a simple conversation with Touka. “How about the baby?”

“Well, since the whole battle, Kaneki has been trying to spend more time with me, despite his duties. I think almost leaving us scared him about not being able to see me enough. Saying that, that all changes when I suggest cutting his hair. And the baby is still doing well, or well from Kimi’s tests, that’s all we can assume for now.”

“Onii-chan always was afraid of losing you.” Hinami chuckled, blowing her coffee before taking a small sip. “Must be nice having someone to go home to.”

“You know, I never asked. Did you and Ayato end up together? You make a really cute couple!” Hinami choked on her drink, Touka smirking at her reaction. “I’ll take that as a yes then.”

“Uh, well-- you see, that isn’t-- the thing is…” Her voice trails off, raising her hand to hide her flushed face. “W-We kissed when I was healing just before the Clowns attacked, but, well, I wasn’t sure if anything was official. Things just keep getting in the way between us.”

Touka leaned back in her seat, nodding and raised her own cup to take a drink. She then lifted her eyes to meet Hinami’s and tapped the edge of her mug, as if she was thinking up something in that mind of hers.

“Do you love him?” She said it so casually that Hinami had to question if Touka was just teasing her. “You’ve already spent a lot of time growing up together, from what I’ve heard from Ayato. Are you fond of him?”

“I-I,” she stammered, unsure on how respond, “I g-guess? I’ve never really thought about it.”

“It’s just natural?” Hinami nodded and Touka’s usual smile returned, placing her mug down. “Well, I know Ayato definitely loves you. I’m surprised you don’t notice the way he looks at you.”

“O-Onee-chan…”

“I’m serious! He’s crazy about you. The first thing he asked after yelling if I really did get married to Kaneki was if you were ok. The look in his eyes! He’s definitely in love with you.”

“Ok! I get it!” Hinami buried her head into her hands, shaking her head. One part of her wanted Touka to stop talking, but another was curious if she was actually speaking the truth. How had she not notice-

“Excuse me.” A nurse came over to their table, Hinami’s blood suddenly running cold all of a sudden. She sat up, her body tense and her heart beating in her ears. “Are you Touka Kirishima, Ayato Kirishima’s sister?”

Touka nodded quickly, standing up with the same look of fear that Hinami had. She immediately asked if he was ok, and to their relief, the nurse told them he was before he led them back to his room. All the while, Hinami could barely focus on her surroundings, her thoughts screaming at her with both worry and excitement. A million questions crossed her mind, too impatient for an answer and when she finally saw Ayato’s room, she sped up, moving past Touka and the nurse to the door.

There, in his room, was Ayato sat up in bed. Hinami stopped in her step, gasping with her hands over her mouth and tears already threatening to fall from her eyes. Her knees buckled and she leaned against the doorframe for support. He looked at her, his mask now off and his eyes wide with confusion. They weren’t the usual colour of deep blue, but the black and red of the kakugan. She stumbled forward, hands shaking as she reached out to caress his cheeks, which were rough and uneven with the RC veins and she stared for a good few minutes, trying to take in the fact that he was alive.

“H-Hinami?” Ayato croaked, his voice coarse. “You’re here.”

“Of course I am, dummy.” She cried, pulling him into a tight hug. She never wanted to let him go again. “I’ll always be here for you.”

“No need to be so corny.” Despite the words, he hugged her back, burying his face into the crook of her neck. “I feel like death, but it’s nice when you hold me like this.”

“Hey, lovebirds, what about me?” Touka laughed between her tears. Ayato stared at her, completely overwhelmed with the fact they were both waiting for him. Touka walked over and gave Ayato a bone crushing hug, leaving him pleading for mercy. “That’s what you get for trying to sacrifice yourself like some goddamn hero!” She pulled his ear with an annoyed scowl. “Don’t ever do that again. And apologise to Hinami!”

“For what?! I just woke up, woman.”

Hinami burst out laughing at the sight, insisting it was fine, but Ayato did apologise anyway, Hinami holding his hand in return. After a quick examination from the doctor, they spent the next hour just chatting, some moments more serious than others. Overall, every time Hinami saw Ayato speak or simply look at her, even with his kakugan eyes, she felt the swell of joy drown out all other thoughts.

There was still this never ending battle against so many things and there was so much lost time to make up for, but somehow, now that she had Ayato by her side once again, along with the other people she loves, she now had that reassurance that maybe things will turn out well. She would learn from her mistakes, she won’t look back at the past and she’ll help in anyway she could. This tragedy had hope yet.

. . .

Ayato sighed, closing his eyes as he took in the warmth of the sun. Summer had finally came round and it was incredibly hot. He hated the warm whether, preferring the colder winters where the days were shorter and gave him an excuse to stay at home when the weather was too dangerous to go out in. The heat only made things uncomfortable, the days too long and the streets too crowded. Even so, Hinami had managed to convince him to go out with her, since the three underground kids were insistent that they wanted to play outside, considering how they never actually got to see the sun.

So here he was, lying on the side of the hill under a cherry blossom tree. He heard someone nearing him and he sat up to see Hinami walk towards him. She was dressed in some white shorts, along with a blue tank top, a light white lace cardigan and sandals that tied around her legs. Her fringe was pinned back, her now longer hair tied up into a bun and a big grin on her face. Well...there was some benefits to summer.

“Did you really have to wear black in summer?” She huffed, taking a seat besides him and he grinned back, resting an arm around her shoulders. “You must be hot.”

“No need to flatter me, Hina, but I guess I am pretty hot.” She jabbed him with her elbow, hating how he made this joke every summer. “I mean, what do you want me to do? Not wear anything at all?”

“Well, if you insist. I won’t argue.” She pressed a hand against his chest, straddling him before pushing him down onto the ground. She leaned down, kissing him deeply. “Though I’m worried others might steal you from me if they saw this body of yours.”

“I never took you to be the jealous type.” He pushed her around, his body leaning over hers and he kissed alongside her jaw, stopping at her ear. “Besides, who wants someone with all these scars. I must admit, Hina, you’re the only one who’s into them. Is this like some exclusive kink?”

“Hey, there’s nothing wrong with these scars.” She brushed the tips of her fingers against his cheeks, where faded lines from the RC veins still remained. “I’ve told you this many times.”

It had been two years since that moment of time. Ayato did eventually recover from the seemingly permanent kakugan and veins that ran across his body, along with the times where the kagune had taken control and wrapped itself as a kakuja around Ayato’s body and with the cure created, thanks to Kaneki’s immunity, they were able to help Ayato heal in a lot more rapid pace. He still at times feared that he would lose control again, especially now he lived in an apartment with Hinami, but Hinami would always reassured him otherwise. With some time, he was finally able to relax a little and for the better.

“I know…” He never took his eyes off Hinami, loving how she never seemed to hesitate whenever she said this. He honestly didn’t know what he did to deserve her. “It’s never boring to hear you say it though.”

At this, she smiled, leaning back up to press her lips against the fading scars on his cheeks, knowing full well how sensitive his skin was there. He gasped for a moment, pulling back with a smirk and Hinami giggled at his face, pulling him down for another kiss. It still amazed Ayato that this was even happening, that he’d have her in his arms after thinking he would lose her so many times before. But it was real and she was there, always standing by his side no matter what. After so long, they could finally be...happy.

And he hoped that fact would never change.

[kivaember]

Backstory Drabble for Bluebird Who Led The Coeurl Home

While writing part 2 to Aymeric meets WoL’s family, I realised that I should probably do some backstory to Atani and Aruci, since they’re popping up in it extensively. So, enjoy this ‘how did those two meet’ drabble! There’s a but of HC and lore-bending for Azim Steppe stuff, you know how it goes. 

Aruci Qalli was in a bit of a slump.

He sighed heavily as he slouched against the rough bark of a low-bent, ancient tree. It was the only tree on a hill which overlooked a large patch of flat plain, its spindly branches drooping down in a tangle that resembled a very brittle net. No one knew how old this tree was, it’d been here longer than any tribe’s oral history, and it always looked half-dead, but it never withered. It sat crooked and leaning, sprouting the occasional off-yellow leaves and brown flowers, but it kept on living.

No one dared to cut it down. The aether here felt… settled, and there were many superstitious tales about it. Some said the tree was an arrogant Xaela who challenged Nhaama for her place in the sky and was rooted to the earth for eternity in punishment. Some said it was an old memorial placed before Xaela and Raen were two separate people, and that to destroy it would bring the Gods’ wrath upon you. Some say it was the remnant of an Elder God, withered and old and weak. No one could agree on the tale, so this little tree was revered and feared both, and left alone.

It meant it was a good place to sit and sulk in peace. Hidden in the shadows that its drooping, brittle branches gave, Aruci stared across the flat plain. His mind was empty of any and all inspiration. No matter how much he tried to force it, his imagination was as dull as dirty water, and trying to stir the waters for creativity just dredged up useless silt. Which, normally, would be okay. Everyone had dry spells when it came to creativity, but Aruci didn’t have time to endure a dry spell.

The Qalli’s Coming of Age ceremony was in less than four turns of the sun, and while everyone else preparing for it had already composed their songs and were practicing them, Aruci had nothing. Just a few odd words and a melody that barely sounded acceptable to his horns. If he failed to demonstrate the proper creativity that a Qalli man should have, he’d have to wait until the next Summer to try again, and that would be humiliating. Only the truly tone-deaf or ill-talented had to retake the Coming of Age ceremony. He might as well crawl off to another tribe!

A flicker of movement in his peripheral drew him out of his sulking and he went still, his gaze snapping to the flicker to see – a tiger.

It was a powerful, stocky thing, with bulky shoulders and rippling muscles beneath his dull orange coat. It was large enough that it could fit its jaws around Aruci’s mouth without difficulty or disembowel him with a slash of those massive paws, so Aruci remained quiet and still, relieved that he was downwind of the monster. Steppe Tigers were a challenge even for experienced warriors, and Aruci, on the cusp of adulthood and trained more as a crafter than a hunter, would die within the first thirty seconds if it tried to fight him.

He supposed he could climb the tree, but it was a low, skinny thing, and somehow he doubted the tiger would care much about being cursed by gods if it knocked the thing down trying to eat him.

Aruci frowned when he realised something off about the tiger. It was limping. Indeed, its flank was wet with dark blood, and it kept the weight off that hindleg. Dangling from its jaws too was some rough-leather pack, probably stolen from some unfortunate corpse. Aruci slowly shifted to squat on the balls of his feet, supposing that if it was wounded he could just run away. Steppe Tigers were powerful, but they were ambush predators and didn’t fare well against long-distance pursuits. It’d have to sprint up the hill too, so he could…

“…aaaaaaaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!”

Aruci and the tiger tensed at the banshee screech echoing across the plain. Bewildered and wondering if some evil spirit was descending from the sky, Aruci looked wildly around – only to see a lithe Xaela woman come charging up the hill the tiger had come from not too long ago, her armour proudly displaying the colours of the Borlaaq.

“YOU THIEVING FUCK!” the Borlaaq howled, spotting the tiger now frozen in place – probably too bewildered to react, “GIVE ME BACK MY JERKY!”

And in what Aruci could only describe as hunger-fuelled madness, the wild Borlaaq lunged at the Steppe Tiger with her fists swinging. He threw himself to his feet, torn between desire to intervene and desire to just watch this absolute disaster in the making, staring open-mouthed as the Borlaaq slammed into the tiger so hard the pair of them tumbled into the grass, rolling and tumbling over each other with shrieks and roars.

The Borlaaq was wrestling the damned tiger.

“GIVE IT!” she snarled, clenching her fingers into the pack and wrenching it hard. The tiger stubbornly clung on, twisting underneath her and smashing a heavy paw against her shoulder. Bright blood bloomed where its sharp claws tore through her huntress tunic, splitting the fabric from shoulder to sternum. The Borlaaq didn’t seem to notice, releasing the pack to try prying the tiger’s jaws open instead. The tiger batted at her again, and this time she flinched – then snarled, digging her fingers into its snout then-

Proceeded to yank the beast into an unforgiving headlock.

“DROP. THE. JERKY!” she roared, twisting them around to she was positioned at the beast’s back, choking it out as it uselessly thrashed on the ground. It was almost comical. The Borlaaq was tiny, smaller than the Steppe Tiger, but through sheer rage she was pinning it down and determinedly strangling the poor monster to death.

She was…

She was amazing.

As the tiger’s thrashing slowly died down, the pack tumbling from its slackened jaw, Aruci found himself staring at the woman with wonder in his eyes. Blood ran bright red rivulets over her tunic, the fabric split over to reveal pale, blood-streaked skin and the swell of her breasts. Her dark hair was in wild disarray, tumbling over her sharp, forward sweeping horns and framing a surprisingly delicate face that was twisted into a ferocious snarl. Her eyes were bright blue and blazing like a beast’s, her arms were thick with toned muscle and her body was tight and compact, with a thick, powerful tail. She was raw power, it was breath-taking to witness.  

There was a loud, sickening crack when the Borlaaq wrenched the tiger’s head, and the beast slumped, dead. With a breathless laugh, she climbed to her feet, standing triumphantly over the tiger’s corpse, bloodied and slick with sweat, a wild grin on her face. It was as if Nhaama herself had descended on the Steppe, terrible but beautiful and filled with righteous fury… or hunger, with how determined she’d been to get that jerky.

Aruci was instantly in love.

He watched as the Borlaaq gathered up her pack, slinging it over one shoulder before contemplating the tiger. She shook her head, but bent over, trying to arrange its hindlegs to drag it, and with a jolt Aruci realised she was going to leave. No, he couldn’t just let her walk away without at least getting her name! She may not think much of him, being a frail crafter and singer, but just knowing her name and holding that memory of witnessing such raw strength would be more than enough.

Forgetting entirely about the song he needed to compose, Aruci scrambled through the drooping tree’s brittle branches and half-tumbled down the hill, towards his Nhaama.  

[pb1138]

Til Death Do Us Part

Cable x Sick!OC OC is Vanessa’s younger sister and she’s dying from cancer. Wade has been taking care of her but Cable steps in.  Hella angst. Blood mentions. Really not a lot of explicitly described romance (meaning, like, a lot of it is subtle. Idk how to explain.)  4k-ish words.

Deadpool 2 Spoilers, but really why risk reading Cable fics if you haven’t seen it yet? I’m just saying

“Wade, what the fuck are we doing here?” Cable was getting annoyed. He and Wade had been on their way back from a job and he was fucking tired. Yet here they were in some random-ass apartment complex.

Wade waved a hand at him, adjusting the bag on his shoulder. “Just a minute, Sgt. Barnes.”

Cable sighed and stood back as Wade fumbled in the bag for a minute before he pulled out a set of keys. He fumbled with them for a minute before he unlocked the door and nudged it open slowly. “Vik? You here?”

Cable quirked an eyebrow, surprised at how gentle Wade’s voice was. They walked in and Cable looked around. It was a decent apartment, not anything great. Beige walls. The entry way had little paper lantern string lights taped up around it and the hall lead all the way to a back room, a kitchen in the middle. To the left was a living room, nice, a big tv, a mirror with smaller decoration mirrors under them. There was a dining table underneath the mirrors, directly in the middle, and it was littered with textbooks and pens and mail. A student, Cable guessed. This was a big college area of town after all. There was a door off in the corner with a metal sign on it that read “Starfleet Officers Only.” The door was shut. “Wade, what the fu--?” but Wade waved a hand and cut him off.

Wade took off his mask and gloves and set them down on the table that was underneath the mirrors. He flicked a lamp on and headed back to the room and paused, gently knocking on the door. After a moment, he opened it slowly, poking his head in before he entered. Exasperated and kind of curious, Cable followed him, looking inside.

Wade was kneeling by a full sized bed with teal sheets and a black blanket with some kind of school crest with a big H set in front of four colored squares on a shield with a lion, snake, badger, and a raven above a little banner that read “Draco, Dormiens Nunquam, Titillandus.” There were several posters about the room of equal nerdiness, even a skull with ridges on the forehead above a banner that reads “taH pagh taHbe’.” He looked back at the bed where Wade was now holding a hand, thin, frail, pale. Wade was reaching behind him to a small black end table with an Eiffel Tower lamp and opened a bottle of water, bringing it to the hand in the bed. Cable watched as a brown-curled-haired head lifted up and Wade helped the water bottle find its destination. It was a girl. She drank slowly, and Wade had to help her support her head. After a moment, Wade took the bottle back and capped it, and the girl looked towards Cable. His heart nearly stopped, she was so oddly breathtaking despite also being obviously very unwell. She had large doe-y brown eyes, a simple nose ring, and thick pink lips. Her hair was a little unkempt but it framed her face well, with a few ringlets here and there.

She looked at Wade, cleared her throat, and whispered hoarsely, “Who’s that?”

Wade smiled slightly and glanced at Cable. “Just some old creep I picked up off the street. Said he likes them college aged and on the verge of death.”

She let out a weak chuckle and started to lean forward, but Wade rushed to help her sit up. She smiled weakly at Wade and then looked back at Cable. “I’m gonna go out on a limb here and say…you’re Cable.”

It wasn’t a question. He smiled slightly and nodded, crossing his arms across his chest. “I am.”

She smiled slightly and nodded. “I thought so.” She looked at Wade and held out her hand.

Wade jumped as he remembered and he pulled the backpack on the bed and dumped its contents. She squeaked in delight upon seeing the bags of chips, sodas, bag of Jolly Ranchers, and three or four video games. She practically beamed at Wade and leaned over, hugging him in thanks. He smiled at her before he stood up and started moving around the room, picking up dirty laundry and the likes. She sighed and waved her hand at him. “Wade, you don’t have to do that.”

“Well obviously you won’t do it,” Wade joked.

The girl sighed again before opening a bag of chips, watching him. Cable raised an eyebrow. It wasn’t like Wade to be this motherly towards others. I mean, he’s shown a tendency to care, yeah, but usually there’s more jokes, more insults, more bitching. But Wade seemed downright content to be doing it. After a few minutes, Wade scooted past Cable with a basket of laundry and disappeared into the rest of the apartment. The girl was looking up at him, slowly eating chips. Cable could see her more clearly now that she was sitting. She was wearing a tank top that hung a little loose on her body, but he could see she was on the thinner side. Her arms were just as pale as her face, if not more, and her right arm had medical tape wrapped around it. He glanced around the room again. Under her end table, he noticed there was some kind of medical device with an oxygen mask attached to it. There was a nearly empty box of Kleenex actually in bed with her, and the waste basket in the corner was nearly full of used tissues. He guessed this wasn’t just some random cold.

Wade came back with a cup of hot green tea and he set it on the end table. He sat on the bed and took up a brush and began to brush the girl’s hair. She groaned in frustration and tried to smack his hand away, and the action almost seemed to wind her. “Dammit, Wilson, I can brush my own fucking hair.”

“Maybe I just like touching it. It’s not like I have any beautiful golden locks of my own to brush anymore.”

She sighed dejectedly and set the chips down, taking up the mug. She sipped it slowly, looking at Cable over the rim. “You don’t talk much,” she said after a while.

He shrugged. “I’m not even quite sure what’s going on.”

The girl feigned hurt and looked back at Wade, a hand to her chest. “You don’t talk about me?”

Wade set the brush down. “Wade Wilson doesn’t kiss and tell.” The girl chuckled a bit before coughing, a little too roughly. Wade put his hand on her back, grabbing a tissue for her. It took her a minute to recover, holding the tissue to her mouth before she sit back up and smiled faintly at him. Wade smiled back, concern in his eyes. “Do you want anything to eat?”

She thought for a moment before she nodded. “I could fucking kill for some Bdubs.”

Wade smiled and nodded, standing up. “Alrighty then. We’ll be right back.”

The girl smiled, pulling a tv remote from the depths of her blanket and she waved as Deadpool walked out, pulling Cable along with him.

Xxx

“Wade, what the fuck is going on? Who is that?”

Wade shushed him, pulling the door shut gently behind them and locking it. He waited until they were safely back in the car to answer. “That, my silver fox friend, is Vik.”

Cable waited for Wade to expound upon that but when he didn’t, he punched him in the arm.

“Um, ok, ow.” Wade rubbed his arm for a minute before he sighed. “She’s Vanessa’s sister.” Cable frowned in confusion but let him go on. “And she’s sick. Not like Ozzy Osbourne sick, but like me before I got all pretty sick.”

“So you take care of her.”

“Yeah.” Wade was frowning now. “I try to come by every few days, a week at the least. I bring her food and snacks and stuff to keep her entertained and I tidy up a little. She puts on a brave face but she really can’t do it herself anymore.”

Cable looked out the window then back at Wade. It was weird as hell to see him being so serious about something for a change. “So, if she’s so bad, why isn’t she in a hospital?”

Wade tightened his grip on the wheel. “She has no health insurance. And she says even if she did, she doesn’t wanna waste the last few months she has being sick. It was stage 4 when they found it, and they said treatments probably wouldn’t help anything anyway.”

Cable scowled. This goddamn era and their fucking health insurance. It’s criminal. After a minute, Cable shifted in his seat and put his hand on Wade’s shoulder. “I wanna help.”

Wade looked at him, mildly surprised, before nodding. “Alright.”

They went and got her a giant order of wings, onion rings, nachos. Anything Wade thought she’d want, they got it. It ended up being nearly $150 before Wade’s $50 tip to appease the angry workers, but Wade insisted it didn’t matter.

When they got back, Wade grabbed a few plates from the cabinet and they turned the corner into her room. She wasn’t in there, her blanket tossed to the floor, a spatter of blood on it, the bathroom door shut. Wade dropped the food on the floor and ran over to the bathroom, knocking gently on the door. “Vik? You alright kiddo?” When there was no response, Wade opened the door and slipped inside, shutting it behind him.

Cable stood there awkwardly, not quite knowing what to do, so he picked up the food Wade dropped and set it on the bed. He took the blanket from the floor and went to look for the laundry. He found it at the end of the hallway and set about getting it turned on. By the time he came back, Wade was helping the girl back into bed. She didn’t look well, paler than she was before, a smudge of dried blood on her chin. She sighed in relief as Wade got her settled and got a new blanket for her and then gave her a plate and dug out all the boxes of food. She smiled weakly at him and then at Cable and whispered a tiny thank you. She let Wade make up the plate for her and picked at it for a while before deciding she wasn’t hungry enough just now. Wade took it from her and set it on the table then took the rest of the food and put it in the fridge. After he came back, he helped her lay down and made sure she was comfortable before moving her phone and remote up near her head. She smiled at him and he smiled at her before he leaned over and kissed her hair. “If you need me, just call.”

She chuckled weakly and said, “You’re so desperate for attention.”

Wade chuckled and tucked her in before he stood up to leave, gesturing for Cable to follow him.

Xxx

A few weeks had passed. Cable had come with Wade a few more times before he just started coming on his own. The girl had some good days where it was barely noticeable she was sick, and she had even more bad days where she could barely get up in time not to piss her sheets. Cable had learned that her cancer had started in her lungs, but she had dismissed it as a bad cold. By the time she had realized something was wrong, it had spread throughout her body. She was a student, taking practically every foreign language they offered, but when she found out she was sick she stopped going. When she had to quit her job, Wade took it upon himself to make sure that her rent was paid and that she always had all the food she wanted. Cable finally asked what all her posters were about and, when she admitted most of them were Star Trek, he had to admit he had no idea what that was. She was practically offended and insisted they watch every episode of every Netflix-available spinoff. Cable didn’t mind. Honestly, he liked being around her, even when she was too sick to breathe around the blood. She also seemed to light up when watching the shows. It seemed to help. And for some reason, Cable could think of nothing he wanted more than to help this kid.

This particular day was not a good day. When Cable walked in the apartment, he could feel it. There was no sound of her tv, no phone videos playing, just silence. It was the same feeling he had when he had seen the door to his apartment kicked in, before finding his wife and daughter. Worry settled into his gut and he rushed back to her room, pushing the door open. His stomach dropped out his ass when he saw her, lying facedown on the wrong end of her bed, a small pool of blood around her mouth. Cable had dropped the bag he was carrying and rushed to her side, brushing the hair out of her face. “Hey, hey, kid, come on wake up.” He patted her cheek gently, shaking her a bit. After a painstakingly long moment, she started, blinking around before focusing on Cable’s face. She smiled faintly, her teeth stained with blood. Cable sighed in relief and brushed her hair back. “You scared me, kiddo.”

She chuckled weakly, her voice raspy. “Imagine that, me scaring the big, scary Cable.”

He wiped at the blood on her cheek but sighed when it wouldn’t budge. “You need a shower.”

She shook her head, blinking slowly. “There’s no way I can stand that long.”

Cable nodded and stood up, backing towards her bathroom. “A bath, then. I’ll get it started.” He went into her bathroom, letting the door swing nearly shut behind him and started the water. He leaned over the tub, breathing heavily, hands shaking, and he had to sit down to let the relief and the anxiety wash away. After a few minutes, he got up to go back to help her up. She had managed to sit up on her own, but that’s as far as she got. She was swaying a bit, her hands shaking. Cable frowned when he saw her. The blood was more extensive than he thought, having dribbled down to her stomach and onto a considerable amount of her bed. Cable smiled gently and walked over, offering her his hands. “Come on, hun.” She reached for his hands and let him pull her gently to his feet, but her knees buckled and she fell against him. He caught her easily and hooked his arm under her legs, carrying her to the bathroom. “Don’t worry, I gotcha.”

Thankfully she wasn’t wearing a lot of clothes. She had a sports bra, boxers, and fuzzy socks on but no more. He sat her on the edge of the tub and got her a wash cloth so she could get some of the blood off. He knelt in front of her and took her socks off, marveling at how cold her toes were. He waited a moment for her to finish with the wash cloth before he helped her stand so she could push her boxers off, sure to avert his eyes, and he sat her back down. She chuckled weakly as she pulled her bra over her head. “I didn’t take you for a shy type,” she mumbled.

He smiled slightly, still looking away. “Gotta protect your modesty.”

She snorted, reaching up to take his arm for support. He helped her stand and gently maneuvered her into the tub and shut the water off for her. “Boy have I got news for you. My modesty died a long, long time ago, Cabe.”

He rolled his eyes and stood back up, setting about gathering a towel and her robe. He set them on the drawers by the tub and retrieved a stool from the closet, sitting on it with his back to the tub. They sat in silence for a while, disturbed only by the occasional movement of water. After a while, he jumped, feeling her hand against the small of his back. He turned and looked at her, letting her take his hand in hers. She smiled faintly at him, leaning her head against the wall. He smiled back, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. “You scared me, kiddo.”

She closed her eyes for a minute before she stroked the side of his hand with her thumb. “Scared myself, honestly. But, don’t worry. I think I got some good time left in me yet.”

He looked down at their hands and sighed softly, leaning over to kiss her knuckles. He looked at her with a slight mist in his eyes. “Good,” he breathed. He sat there for another minute before he realized her sheets need changed. He got up and went into her room, cleaning up. Once he was done he sat on the bed and looked around for a while, wondering how he got here in his life, how he managed to fall in love with a dying 22 year old kid. He could almost laugh from the fucking irony. A few minutes later, he heard her weakly calling for him and he went to help her out of the tub, to dry her off and get her in her robe. He carried her to her bed and set her down before bringing her clean laundry basket over to her so she could find some clothes which he helped her put on. He got her situated and then went to make her some tea, just like he knew she liked it and he sat on the bed with her as she drank it. After she finished it, she gave it to him to put on the table before she leaned into him, and he instinctively lifted his arm so she could lay her head on his chest. He held her close, stroking her hair as she drifted off to sleep, and suddenly he realized he never wanted to let her go.

Xxx

“So, a wedding huh? Kind of seems pointless if you ask me.”

“Well nobody’s fucking asking you, Weasel.” Wade glared at his friend, joined closely by Dopinder. Weasel raised his arms in defense and for once in his life actually shut up. Mostly because he knew if Wade was getting annoyed, Cable would downright hurt him.

Everyone had shown up. Domino, Peter, Colossus, Negasonic and Yukio, as well as a few other friends of either Cable or Vik. Wade had gotten Colossus to get Xavier to let them use the lawn of the X Mansion, and it was downright beautiful. The seats were simple but covered in gentle lavender drapes which match the aisle, and at the end of each row were small bouquets of green and white lilies. The alter was a white trellis adorned with about 4 dozen various flowers, and Cable stood under them, almost nervous.

Wade, Cable’s unwillingly appointed best man, stood beside him, a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry buddy, you’re gonna do great.”

Cable sighed heavily and rubbed his face. “What the hell did I do to deserve this?” he grumbled.

Wade just grinned and hugged his arm. “You were born.”

Cable sighed before Yukio came to the end of the aisle and waved at everybody, then at Wade and mouthed, “Hi, Wade.” Wade wiggled his fingers in return.

Everybody stood and turned as the processional music began and Yukio weaved down the aisle, throwing flowers as she went. When she reached the end, she scooted over to sit by Negasonic who wrapped her arm around her.

And then Vik and Domino came around the corner. Cable let out a breath and covered his mouth, eyes tearing over. She was beautiful.

She had to be put on oxygen, so she was wearing a cannula that lead down to her exposed leg where a small portable oxygen machine was strapped, but it was hardly noticeable. Her hair was down and had been curled, bouncing against her shoulders as she walked, slowly, leaning on Domino for support. Her dress was strapless, white with a dark green ribbon that cinched her waist, and the bottom of the dress stopped at her knees and tapered backwards down to her ankles. She was wearing dark green ballet flats that matched her ribbon. She was focusing on her footing for the first few feet up the aisle, clinging to Domino (who was wearing a slinky, light blue dress) for dear life before she figured out how to balance her breath and she looked up. Cable let out a breath and dropped her hand, beaming wider than anyone had ever seen him smile in his time in this era.

Her eyes were drawn a little wide with her makeup but they were filled with happiness and a few tears. She let out a breathy laugh when she saw him and she grinned from ear to ear. When she got to the alter, Domino passed her to Cable who was more than glad to support her weight for her. Domino slipped behind her, close enough to catch her if need be, and Wade stepped in front to begin the ceremony. And it was beautiful. Vik managed to make it through her vows with ease, and Cable actually cried a few times. When Wade pronounced them man and wife, Cable scooped her up in his arms, kissing her with every ounce of love he had in him, and he carried her down the aisle, eyes only on her.

Xxx

They enjoyed five months of blissful matrimony before Vik finally passed away. She had been getting progressively worse, with less good days, but she insisted that having Cable by her side made her feel better. When he woke up that morning, he knew before he even looked. She was gone. He had gotten up and walked into the bathroom before he fell to his knees, screaming in agony.

The funeral was four days later. It was tasteful, intimate. Everyone had pooled their money together to give her the best—a beautiful casket, the best flowers around, everything the best quality. Cable hadn’t spoken since she died, not to himself, not to Wade, not to anybody. He was silent during the service, didn’t give a eulogy, but once she was in the ground and everyone had gone, he again fell to his knees. It began to rain, like some fucking movie cliché, but it was fitting. Vik was too good to have the heavens ignore her passing. He dug his fingers into the dirt, trembling with anguish. He sat there for an eternity before he settled down, and then another eternity before he was ready to go. He ran his hand across the top of her sleek headstone, letting out a shuddering breath.

“Good bye, Vik,” he whispered. And then he was gone.

[inktae]

the raindrop prelude

↳ pianist au

◇ pairing: yoongi | reader ◇ genre: angst and fluff ◇ word count: 14.859 ◇ warnings: implied smut, mentions of alcohol ◇ author’s note: this is a revamped version of a story I wrote ages ago, which some of you might have read already (was simply titled raindrop back in the day). the plot remains the same, only the writing was heavily tweaked, almost entirely rewritten. If you did not read it before, I sincerely hope you enjoy!

Since music is a very important part of this story, I suggest playing the songs on this playlist whenever they’re mentioned. :)

You feel exhilarated.

You would never be able to describe such feeling properly, and you are sure other musicians would agree. Being up there, hands surfing above the keys while the music floats seamlessly, turns your body weightless and takes your mind away from it, faraway from the dullness of reality. It drifts and glides away smoothly, silently, towards a remote place where you can finally shine.

Your senses are still heightened and your heart is still pumping vigorously as you leave the stage, fingers starting to tremble. They feel numb and sore after torturing them for almost ten minutes, and the pleasing sound of applauses still rings in your ears as you trudge in the direction of the bathroom.

You did it. Be proud. The cutting words are deafening in your head, mixing with the echo of the melody your hands conjured up only a few minutes ago. That voice, both sharp and unrecognizable, faintly resembles that of your best friend, your colleagues and your teachers, but you are unable to believe them. You just can’t.

The tears sting in your eyes as you wash your face, looking into the mirror and glancing at the carefully placed hairstyle, at the modest but elegant dress that still makes you wince and shrink every time you remember the price. You look okay, but all of that is overshadowed by the eyes full of resentment, the furrowed brows and the flushed cheeks and ears that burn with frustration.

“That fucking sucked,” you breathe in a strained voice, and for a slight moment you sound like your mother and father. You echo their voices perfectly, their eyes shining through your disappointed, angry gaze and their sternness transparent in the pursed lips that show everything but happiness.

They were unable to come, but you know that’s what they would say. You know it with a conviction that only leads to an unsurprised sigh when you look at the results a while later, your name clear on top of the white sheet, written below two other pianists.

Up on the stage you almost felt like glowing, but it will never be more than a mere illusion.

/

“You beat seven contestants. Seven,” Taehyung repeats, lifting his mug of hot chocolate and taking a sip. He flinches right away, hissing as he puts it down. “Fuck, that’s hot. Really, don’t be too hard on yourself. You should have seen the audience, they were completely entranced—”

“Tae,” you warn him, lifting your hand to stop his ridiculously rapid speech. You’re usually able to decipher his fast-paced words, but your darkened mood and muddled thoughts have narrowed down most of your senses to barely functioning levels.

“I know, I know, the conservatory,” he says, voice lowering as he looks at you intently, with that gaze he tends to wear when he is raking his brain to comfort you. “The judges are awfully strict, you know. Do you want me to tell you again how they rejected me? It always makes you crack up when you’re drunk.”

“Don’t,” you crack a brief smile, the gesture quickly disappearing. “You know how badly I want to get in. You also know that the person who got first place has a big chance. Maybe the second one too, if they keep trying hard. But third place? it’s a terrible spot. It’s like they’re telling me hey, you’re not bad, but not good enough either.”

Taehyung sighs, his eyes dropping from your fallen expression to stare at the steaming brown liquid. The coffee shop is bustling with sound, alive and cheerful and it’s probably the sunny, cloudless day that’s making everyone smile more than usual. It’s beyond frustrating, how everyone is able to see something you cannot perceive — the colors are dulled in your vision, dimming down to scales of grey as you drown yourself in the destructive thoughts that keep popping up.

“What am I not seeing, Tae?” you wince at your own frail tone, weakness easily blossoming through the brief silence. You have always found it easier to put on an angry veneer, but it seems like your subconscious has different plans today. “What is it that I don’t have and they do? I practice just as much as the rest. I… I don’t understand.”

Taehyung shakes his head. “You’re not missing anything. You’re really good, and I wish you could see it the way I do.”

“Then tell me. Tell me why I have never gotten first place after so many years of working my ass off, even when my parents—”

“I have an idea,” Taehyung stops your self-pitying rant, eyes suddenly wide as he presses his hands against the surface of the table.“Would you like to get extra piano lessons?”

“I— we already go to a music academy,” you frown. The school you’re both attending is not exactly the greatest or the most reputable, but it’s the best you can afford. Taehyung is most definitely aware of that, being a broke student himself. “Spending more money won’t make me get first place.”

“No, no, listen to me—” Taehyung’s mind seems to be reeling, eyes growing more and more excited by the second. You cannot help but lean back, suddenly intimidated by the fire of determination shining through. “They’re not normal lessons. This pianist I know— he’s… remarkable, but I think he’s retired. I’ve heard his classes are very cheap. I have his number, I can give him a call if you want.”

“I don’t know,” you bite your lip, silently dwelling on his words as he stares at you closely, as if begging for your permission. Taehyung may not be a pianist, but you know him well enough to trust  his judgement when it comes to musicians. He has an exceptional ear to notice real talent, and you know not to underestimate the weight of his words.

You hate the way your curiosity has been piqued already, especially after hearing the word remarkable come out of his lips.

“At least give it a try?” Taehyung tilts his head, giving you strong puppy eyes and a charming smile. “I promise he’s unlike any other pianist we’ve met before. Maybe a fresh opinion will make you figure out what you think you’re lacking.”

You barely have to say a word before he notices the resignation shadowing your face. His smile is subtle but triumphant, eyes glinting as you formulate the question.

“How cheap are we talking about?”

/

Your feet halt in front of a foreign house, and the frigid silence that expands across the unfamiliar neighborhood almost makes you turn around and run away.

Holding back a loud sigh, you glance at Taehyung’s text again, making sure you’ve got the right house number for the tenth time before lifting your hand to ring the doorbell.

The man’s name is Yoongi, and he is probably the cheapest piano teacher you have come across in your entire life. Had he not been recommended by your closest best friend you would have backed away in fear of being scammed — it is simply too good to believe, as not even children lessons are offered at such price, and the fleeting thought almost makes you take a step back. It would not be too farfetched if he actually thought you were a young, inexperienced kid looking to learn for the first time, which would undeniably lead to a very embarrassing moment once he takes one long look at you.

You’re beginning to consider leaving for good when he suddenly opens the door, and you can almost feel the floor tilting under your feet when you find dark, hardened eyes staring back at you in heavy annoyance.

“Are you Taehyung’s friend?”

His voice is gruff and tight, and it sounds even deeper in real life. You know it all too well — you have easily watched more than fifty videos featuring him.

Holy fuck.

“Suga?” you can’t help but ask, voice wavering as a thick rush of nerves stirs under your skin. You can feel the goosebumps raising all over your body as he narrows his eyes at you, showing nothing but stark aversion at the word.

“I don’t go by that name anymore. Are you a crazy fan or Taehyung’s friend?”

“I’m… yeah, I’m Taehyung’s friend,” you swallow, trying to get rid of the sudden lump settling itself in your throat. Your thoughts keep switching between holy fuck and I’m going to kill Taehyung, because he definitely knows you have been obsessed with Suga’s pieces and interpretations for quite a while. The fact that they are even friends is too outrageous to comprehend.

You keep your mouth shut, holding back the swarm of questions that threaten to leave your mouth. Wide eyed, you cannot help but gape as Suga — Yoongi — takes a step back, allowing you to enter his house. His house.

“Are you coming inside or not?”

You nod swiftly, walking so fast you almost trip over your own feet. Your heartbeats are quick and thunderous against the back of your ears as he closes the door shut, and a leaden and slightly awkward silence follows as he leads you through a darkened hall. Your mind finally calms down, the only remnant a subtle fury that stirs weakly as you remember Taehyung’s words over and over.

He was never clear about Yoongi’s identity, and you perfectly know why. After Suga retired five years ago for unknown reasons and disappeared for another couple of months, he decided to start giving piano lessons, an opportunity many prodigious young pianists jumped at. Everyone wanted to become Suga’s pupil, to be taught by one of the most talented pianists of the modern age and to receive a trifling piece of his immeasurable wisdom.

You remember the exorbitant prices, numbers only affordable by rich, snobby kids that went to the best academies of the country. You remember the number of students growing smaller as the months went by, and hateful hearsay about Suga’s heinous attitude started running wild across the music world. According to the rumors, students were forced to quit after enduring weeks of harsh, rude advice that even made some of them stop playing piano altogether.

You remember his name and popularity slowly fading, and even the burning gossip vanished as Suga’s reputation dwindled and shrank, until all that was left were the alluring memories of his past. They were only kept alive by a handful of pianists who desired to be like him during his peak, still unforgettable despite the scandals.

You’re one of those pianists, and now that you finally have him in front of you, the only thing you can feel is absolute terror.

Yoongi leads you towards a wide room by the end of the hallway, its walls bare and lifeless and painted in faint turquoise. There are no signs of homely decor or furniture, and only one thing stands out among the emptiness: a black grand piano, placed next to large windows that allow the intense light of the afternoon to drench over the shiny, dark surface and the white and black keys that are begging to be touched. The piano looks absolutely pristine, as if it has not been used in ages.

He drags a wooden chair out of its hiding place against one of the corners of the room, placing it next to the piano. Utterly silent, he takes a seat, a look of absolute boredom on his face as he lifts his eyes to your anxious ones.

“Sit and play.”

“What?”

“You heard me,” he sighs, full of exasperation. “Play something. I need to see if you’re worth my time.”

“Oh,” this was a terrible idea. You struggle to keep your thoughts at bay, trying not to let them cloud your judgement as they threaten to make you forget every single piece you know by memory.

Yoongi is eyeing you with clear disinterest, gaze opaque and emotionless. His hair is slightly unkept and his eyes are bloodshot, as if he hasn’t gotten enough sleep in weeks. And even if he looks dangerously close to passing out at any second, his stare is still hard and attentive, following your every move as you sit with the right posture in front of the piano.

You gulp soundly as your fingers hover over the keys for a couple of seconds, foot barely touching the pedal as you try to find your focus. You force all of your worries away, and the silent presence of Yoongi helps you give your entire attention to the soft melody your fingers start to produce, a sound that is almost enchanting within the eerie quietness of the room.

Aeolian Harp. You immediately feel yourself getting lost in the music, body swaying almost imperceptibly as the song grows more intense and the melody changes into something hopeful, nostalgic, like a long lost promise that has jumped back into your life. Your fingers follow every technique perfectly, smoothly dancing on top of the keys and successfully masking their shakiness.

But your usual frustration comes back at full force, and you can almost hear it crackling as you press your fingers a little too sharply over the keys. You do not let it stop you, arduously focusing on the beautiful melody as the song finally reaches its end, gradually becoming softer until you finally play the last notes.

You try not to freak out when the music vanishes into the thick silence, slowly directing your gaze at Yoongi with trembling hands.

His expression is completely neutral, showing absolutely nothing. Firm gaze on place, he stands up.

“Get up.”

You blink confusedly, heart racing. Maybe he’s kicking you out already, which would not be too surprising, but the thought still makes you freeze all over.

“What?”

“Get up.”

You swiftly do as he says, eyes following him as he takes a seat where you were seconds ago. Not sure of what to do, you sit where he was before, watching in awe as he places his slender fingers above the keys. It’s a beautiful sight, one you never thought you would be able to see up close, and it keeps you engrossed even through your soaring nerves and slight shakiness.

Then he starts playing, the same song you chose. A gasp involuntarily escapes your mouth as the melody starts to float around you, enveloping you in a warm embrace as he closes his eyes and allows his hands to do all the work, as if he does not even need to direct them.

You don’t know how, but it sounds completely different. Your eyes drink the sight eagerly as your ears pleasingly soak in the perfect melody, so full of him, and you can’t help but tear up as your chest swells with raw emotion. You have since calmed down when he finishes the song, heart beating placidly and muscles entirely relaxed.

The Suga persona completely disappears the moment the song ends. His sharp stare comes back just as easily as it left, features deadly serious as he looks at you again.

“And that’s how it should sound. Notice the difference?”

You nod quietly, feeling your throat tighten. He only sits there, glaring at you as if struggling to convey how terrible you truly were.

“Playing an etude on your first class with me was brave, I’ll give you that,” Yoongi gets up, averting his eyes from your shaken up figure. “Well, you’re free to go.”

“What— oh,” you feel your heart sinking as you realize the meaning behind his words. It should not be disappointing — if anything, you should have expected this outcome, but the pain throbs all the same, one you know very well. You do not bother hiding it this time.

You get up, not meeting his eyes as he leads you back to the main entrance of his house. You feel your cheeks heat up in embarrassment as you imagine the look on Taehyung’s face, his eyes wide with pity and a frown in place as you quietly tell him about the humiliating rejection.

Yoongi opens the door and you nod silently, still not able to look at him straight in the eye.

“Thanks for the opportunity. Goodbye,” the awkward phrase only meets silence, and you start walking away from the door before he can say anything to your face.

“See you next week,” his curt words make your feet halt, and you almost lose your balance as your befuddled mind tries to process their meaning. “And try to think about the difference between your interpretation and mine, I won’t forget to ask.”

You turn around briskly, but he has already shut the door close. Yoongi misses the wide grin you direct at his house, face bright and full of hope.

Maybe you’re not a lost case, after all.

/

“You look happy today.”

“Hello,” you sing cheerfully, a vague blush heating your skin as your smile meets Yoongi’s signature frown, scowl never vanishing as he allows you to walk inside. “It’s because I figured it out.”

“Oh? You finally know the reason you suck?” Yoongi asks flatly as he walks in front of you, not turning around. Your smile vanishes, but you try not to let his dry words jab painfully at your chest. He saw something in me. Do not let his words bring you down.

“I… I know, yes,” you clear your throat, entering the music room. You gaze lovingly at the piano before sliding your eyes towards Yoongi, who takes his seat on the chair placed beside it. He signals at the instrument, making you stride in his direction before sitting down.

“Well?” he lifts an eyebrow, waiting for you to continue.

“Oh yeah, uh, it’s because I always hurry to finish the song,” you explain, glancing at the keys as you slide your fingers over them. They’re cold against your skin, and the itch to press down is making your fingertips tingle. “That makes me screw up the tempo. My teacher doesn’t agree, but I don’t think he’s right—”

“Stop, stop—” Yoongi lifts a hand, and the sigh that leaves his mouth is heavy with frustration. You bite your lip in apprehension. “Your tempo is good. It’s more than good, actually. Your technique is perfect, do you hear me? it’s fucking perfect.”

“Oh,” you can only stare at him, mind completely blank. You know your technique is good, but to hear that it’s perfect from none other than Suga himself—

“And even with all of that, you still suck,” he spits his words with a harshness that forces you to look away, hands tightening on your lap as your breath hitches. “Do you know why that is? It’s because of your attitude. You’re this sad, little girl that pities herself all the time, that thinks she deserves to be praised because poor her, look at that shy girl that never gets first place. She deserves better. The thing is, you’re not outstanding, there’s nothing going on in your personality that makes people really listen to you. There’s only… boredom and fear and nervousness in your music, in the way you carry yourself. And people can see that, can hear that. When I listened to your song, I heard nothing but insecurities. And you can only rely on your techniques, because you’re scared you’ll suck if you allow yourself to let go. And damn you’re right.”

You loathe yourself for crying.

It’s impossible to stop the few tears that slide down your cheeks and drop on your lap. There’s a tightness curling around your throat that keeps you from taking normal gulps of air, and all there’s left of you is a silent, weepy mess with unshed tears threatening to fall under reddened eyes.

“How do you even know about me—”

“You think I don’t do my research? I need to know who my students are.”

“Well, you know me, and I also know you now,” you are able to lift your eyes this time, humiliation quickly turning into seething rage as your gaze hardens. You can only see his blurry face through your tears, but you are still able to make out the bored look on his face. “You’re a fucking asshole that hates himself, and the only way he can deal with his crappy self is by being a dick to others. I’m done here. Good luck trying to find more students that are desperate enough to want to get your useless help.”

You’re pleasantly surprised to see a flicker of emotion cross his face, slowly snapping out of his lackluster daze. He does not say a word, though — as always, he only stares in petrified silence as you get up on wobbly feet.

“You say I pity myself, but you should look at yourself in the mirror,” the jaundiced words leave your mouth before you turn around and leave the house in a quick sprint, face hot and flushed with restrained anger.

You call Taehyung as soon as you go back to your house, and you all but explode into a frenzied, graceless rant that leaves you short-winded and more enraged than before, if possible.

“Holy shit. I’m so, so sorry. I knew he was an asshole but I didn’t know he’d be like that—”

“Fuck him. And the worst thing of all is that he’s completely right, Tae. Every single thing he said.”

And that is the reason why it hurts. The fact that he could see through your facade so easily, even though he barely knows you, is like a merciless punch to your chest, making all the air fly out of your lungs and leaving you painfully breathless.

“You’re not going back, are you? I’ll have a word with him, but if he made you feel too uncomfortable to face him again then you should definitely stop showing up. We can figure out something else, don’t worry.”

You open your mouth, ready to agree with him, but the unexpected thought that springs to the front of your mind makes you stop for a moment, lips parted in quiet awe as the idea grows inside of your head.

“Hey. Are you still there?”

“Oh, I’ll show up,” you blurt out, feeling strangely confident. “He’ll regret taking to me like that. He might be one of the best pianists of this country, but that doesn’t give him the fucking right—” you have to take a deep breath the moment your voice turns sharper, stopping yourself before your previous anger blinds you again.

“Calm down, tiger. Well, you do what you need to do. Should I be scared?”

“Not really. You’ll see.”

The following week is a hasty blur. You do not leave the house and you’re aware it’s more than worrisome, keeping your entire focus on your piano as you practice from the first glimpse of the sun to the second the moon replaces it. Your fingers get used to the incessant glide over the black and white keys and your ears only hear the sounds they forge, ignoring the keen ringing of your phone that faintly reminds you that you are human and that you need to eat if you want to keep going. You can only be thankful for the thick walls of your narrow room, forbidding the sounds to filter outside and keeping annoyed neighbors at a safe distance.  

You’re almost a shell of your former self when the day comes. Even though you’re a bundle of nerves, you keep silently wishing for the lesson to actually last more than an hour — after all, you paid him one month ahead, which should not go to waste.

You are aware of your worn out appearance and sleep deprived eyes the moment Yoongi opens the door to his house, looking at him through droopy eyes and muttering a hello in a coarse voice.

He probably looks even worse than you. The bags are heavy and dark under his eyes as he looks up in half-hearted incredulity, slowly taking in the sight in front of him. You can only smile dryly, stepping inside and prancing towards the music room without him as a lead.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

You turn around, frowning. “I paid, didn’t I? I’m here for my lesson. And I hope I get a real one today.”

He seems about to burst, eyes full of spite as his own frown strengthens. “How dare you show up after you spoke to me like that—”

“You insulted me, I insulted you,” you bite back without a second to spare, words already formed on the tip of your tongue. “I think we stand on fair ground here.”

Yoongi cannot form an argument against that. He broods silently as he follows you towards the piano, movements clearly tense as he takes a seat on his chair. He stares in his usual unnerving silence as you prepare in front of the intimidating instrument, taking your time and breathing deeply.

“I haven’t even told you what to do yet.”

“I’m going to play a song I’ve been practicing all week,” you declare, keeping your eyes on the piano as you gently place your fingers on top of the keys. “You’ll probably tell me I suck again, but I want proper advice this time.”

You cut the conversation as your fingers press down, and the room is rapidly overcome with the soft, beautiful melody of the piano. Liebesleid has always been one of your favorite pieces, one you know you could never do justice, but it does not hurt to try your best as you allow your frustrations to pour out. You can imagine them uncurling under your chest and surging through your arms, reaching your fingertips as they eagerly slide across the keys.

The technique is decent, probably close to perfection as Yoongi pointed out, but that is not what you want. You wish to see in him something other than his usual boredom, a spark in his eyes like the one you saw when you talked back to him last week.

You’re probably the first one to call the music prodigy Suga an asshole, so you cannot feel too surprised at that kind of reaction.

The song finishes and you’re breathing slightly faster than before, hands aching as you turn to him expectantly. You try not to feel too disappointed the moment you meet his neutral gaze, lips pursed before he sighs deeply.

“That wasn’t—” he stops himself at the way you’re looking at him, his eyes suddenly turning wary. “Look, you need to treat the keys softer. You looked like you were about to punch them sometimes. And you still looked tense. Your posture is right, but you can allow yourself to relax a little…”

His advice is actually helpful, and you earnestly absorb everything he says even if a few sharp words slip out here and there. Just like last time, he shows you how the song should sound like, leaving you in quiet awe all over again. You still have a hard time believing how easily he merges himself with the piano, as if he and the music were one, face softening and resembling the Suga you use to know and admire. As soon as his fingers press down he leaves that grumpy, tired person behind, allowing the passionate musician to replace him and shine in all his splendor. He looks absolutely entrancing and beautiful.

The natural lighting of the room seems a little duller than before once the song comes to an end, and his frown and pursed lips emerge back in an instant. The magic vanishes and it’s impossible to drag it back, gone so fast you start wondering if it was all part of your imagination.

You keep practicing under his guidance for the rest of the hour, struggling to stay collected under his sudden bouts of annoyance. You can tell he is trying to control them, though — continuously swallowing back his brusque words before they are able to go too far, which you are silently thankful for.

You feel widely satisfied when the lesson finishes, and the smile you give him is genuine when he takes you to the door. You have to hold back a laugh as he shuffles uncomfortably on the spot, obviously not used to such a gesture from a student of his.

“Well, thanks for trying. You were almost nice, I appreciate that.”

He narrows his eyes at your amused words. “Yeah, right.” he grumbles, looking away. “See you next week. Remember to practice the song I told you, I’ll notice if you don’t.”

“I know, I know, you’re the genius here,” you roll your eyes, and for the briefest second you see the ghost of a smile threatening to curve his lips.

You cannot help but think you would like to see a real one someday.

/

“So. How’s it going with Yoongi? A little bird told me you’re improving at the academy.”

“Oh?” a subtle, proud smile takes over your lips. “Well, he’s still a bit of an idiot, but he’s actually being helpful, so I can’t complain.”

You don’t miss the frown that settles over Taehyung’s forehead. You’re both lounging around the usual coffee shop, relatively close to the music academy you both attend every week. You can get a glimpse of his saxophone case lying against his chair, which he likes to take almost everywhere he goes — according to him, it makes him feel a confidence he does not own otherwise, and you can vaguely relate with that. If you could carry your piano everywhere, you would probably do it as well.

“Still, you shouldn’t take any shit from him. Remember that if you feel too uncomfortable you should just—”

“It’s okay, really,” you wave your hand absentmindedly. “I might have cried that first time, but I can handle him now. He knows I don’t put up with his bullshit.”

He lays back against the chair, staring at you with deep curiosity. You feel like averting your eyes, getting steadily flustered at the thoughts that might be running through his head.

“What is it?”

“Nothing, it’s just… interesting. Never thought you could handle him like that,” he muses. You shuffle awkwardly, letting out a nervous laugh.

“Ah… it’s nothing, really. I guess we’re kind of… getting along?” you wonder, hating the way your tone shifts away from its previous casualness, pitch involuntarily high. Taehyung’s knowing gaze is blunt and unwavering, but he does not keep pressing on the subject, fortunately.

Almost two months have passed since your first class with Yoongi, who ended up being one of the pianists you have admired for years. He is still as grouchy and bad-tempered as ever, but there is a softness in his eyes that was not there before, one that particularly glows when you play a satisfying piece that has him nodding silently, as if he wants to acknowledge your improvement but decides to hold himself back.

You suspect that is just part of his peevish personality. No flattery has ever left his lips, and his mouth has never curved up in a smile whenever you’re around, but you do not allow yourself to feel any sort of disappointment. It only makes you want to keep working harder, to prove him he was not wrong when he saw a sliver of potential in you.

It will all be worth it once you finally manage to pull out a compliment from that reticent mouth. Praise from none other than Suga himself would vanish all the doubt that makes your hands falter when they shouldn’t, would give you the final push to go up that stage in the conservatory auditions and would actually make you believe you are deserving of a spot.

You know you should not rely on his opinion, but you doubt you could ever reach a point where you can feel confident all by yourself.

Not yet, at least.

/

It’s during the ninth class when it happens.

You ring the doorbell, struggling to hold the songbooks against your chest with your free hand. Today is the day he is finally teaching you something new, a moment he delayed until he felt somewhat satisfied with the songs you already know by memory.

You’ll be learning an emotional piece, he said, striking against your weak point. You have always had trouble expressing emotions through the piano, and you genuinely wonder how can something like pouring your heart into the music be taught. It is a foreign concept to you, and you have always thought of it as a skill only a lucky few are born with. Being able to weigh all sorts of sentiments in the melodic sound that flies smoothly out of the piano is simply too otherworldly.  

Yoongi does not come to the door right away, which makes you frown. Taking a step closer towards the door, you finally hear it — the sound of his piano.

It is with brimming curiosity that you press your ear against the cold, wooden surface, barely breathing as you try to let the faint music sink in. You immediately recognize the song as one of Chopin’s pieces, one you have never learnt but always respected. It is simple yet haunting, a song that is mildly challenging but could turn incredibly difficult if you do not express yourself correctly.

For a while you simply stand there, listening with full intent as you close your eyes and let the melody transport you somewhere faraway, a place full of delicate colors that slowly start turning dark and somber. Even though the melody is dimmed down by all the surfaces separating you from the music room, the sentiment is still as clear as day, utterly gentle in the way he produces every single note with care and attention. More than playing it, it is as if he’s living the song.

By the moment the song ends your heart has risen to your throat, forming a tight knot. It takes him no more than five seconds to come to the door, barely allowing you to compose yourself before he opens it and stares you down with hooded, darkened eyes. He analyzes your features in pure confusion, as if he completely forgot you were showing up.

He seems more disheveled than usual, wearing sweatpants and a wrinkled t-shirt that looks slept on. His hair is one tousled mess, and it is easy to tell he only got out of bed mere minutes ago.

“Fuck— okay,” he mutters, mostly to himself, as he runs a hand through his blond hair. “Come in.”

You keep to your spot as you look at him curiously, wide eyes still gazing at his bedraggled form. He lifts his eyebrows questioningly, taking a step back as he waits for you to move. Clearing your throat, you nod mutely, passing the threshold as he closes the door shut behind you.

“Are you okay, Yoongi? We can just… if you can’t teach today—”

“It’s fine,” he mutters brusquely, not meeting your gaze. “I told you I’d teach you a new song, didn’t I? We’ll do that today.”

You follow him through the familiar hallway until you reach the music room. As always, it is only occupied by the clean, dark piano and the chair, already positioned next to it. Yoongi takes a seat in front of the piano, not uttering a word as he waits for you to sit next to him on the chair.

Your muscles tense up as you feel the atmosphere thickening, nerves gradually rising. Something about his attitude seems off, a shadow clouding his brooding eyes that makes him look shakier than usual. The strange sensation only grows stronger as he positions his fingers on top of the keys, lips forming a straight line.

He looks at you then, eyes intense under the natural light pouring through the windows. The way he locks his gaze with yours does not allow you to look away, heart beating wildly as you wait for him to move or speak.

It feels like an eternity passes when he finally blinks, clearing his throat as he looks back at his hands. You notice they are slightly trembling.

“The song I’m about to teach you is called Raindrop. Do you know it?”

“Chopin’s Prelude, Op 28, No. 15, yes.”

“Did you hear me play it before?”

“Yes,” your voice comes out smaller than before, a whisper that is too loud in the uncomfortable silence of the large room. “It was beautiful.”

“But do you really know what the song’s about?”

He looks at you questioningly, voice gruff and heavy with an undecipherable meaning. You nod, watching intently as he starts to play the first notes.

“They say it’s called Raindrop because of the repeating A flat, which can be heard constantly throughout the first section. It sounds like the gentle patter of rain, don’t you think?”

Yoongi plays smoothly, naturally, and the feeling of reverence strikes again as you perceive the melody much closer now. This time you are able to catch subtle details that you missed before, making goosebumps rise all over your skin as his fingers slide carefully over the keys.

You have witnessed him play the instrument for two months now, but it always feels like you are listening to a new side of him, one that’s more tender, softer, full of a sentiment he keeps tightly locked down. This time he seems to be playing with something resembling fear, hands moving with the kind of care that reminds you of a mother and her newborn baby. Like the song is particularly precious to him, and he feels undeserving to be the one producing the sounds.

The song rapidly turns darker, and his deep voice mingles with the somber melody.

“It’s said that Chopin wrote this song after he dreamt of death and drowning, in a day filled with raindrops after a storm that made him worry for his loved ones. He composed it during the night, inspired by the sounds of nature, creating a melody full of loneliness and contemplation.”

The song grows stronger and immensely sorrowful, and you are almost scared at the way Yoongi pushes the keys. It is as if all the pain buried inside him is finally leaving him, and your eyes widen when you see sudden drops fall on top of the keys.

He continues to play, the song finally slowing down and softening into a resigned, drowsy melody, like he has finally accepted the sadness inside of him. The last notes are high and melodious, but there is something in the way he plays them that still holds a deep melancholy, one that has your eyes watering involuntarily.

He finishes the song, so softly the sound is barely audible, and he’s crying.

Despite the wetness on his face he does not let his guard down, keeping painfully silent and closed off. For a while he allows the tears to stream down his face and you are not sure of what to do, feeling utterly clueless as you forget about your own unshed tears. You blink, vision becoming clearer as Yoongi hangs his head low in what must be quiet embarrassment.

You bite your lip, hesitantly lifting your hand to place it on top of his arm. Your movements are tense, unsure. You do not know how to show him comfort — the man is still like a closed shell, one you have not been able to open yet despite the tentative friendship you have formed over the past months.

Your touch seems to bring him back to reality. He gets up hastily, shaking off your hand in the process.

“Sorry about that. Let’s switch places, you are going to learn that song now.”

You slowly take his seat in front of the piano, eyes settling on the few keys that remain humid with tears.

“Yoongi…” you murmur, swallowing.

“I’ll be right back,” he leaves in a sprint, not giving you a second look. A long sigh rushes out of your mouth, unable to ignore the way your heart constricts under your chest. It mixes with the frustration of knowing you will probably never get a glimpse of what’s going on inside that head of his, troubled with pernicious thoughts he might as well never share.

The fact that you’re hurting for something — someone — you cannot understand is just as maddening, if not more. And just like you always do whenever your heart feels heavy, you place your hands on top of the keys, and begin to play.

When Yoongi comes back you are already learning the song, slowly but surely. The melody is clumsy and unsteady as you slowly drag your fingers through the keys, nodding to yourself as you stare intently at the sheet. Your focus is broken the moment you feel Yoongi’s hand on top of yours, his fingers softly arranging yours.

“You had two fingers wrong,” he points out softly, and you nod, unable to say anything. He continues guiding you throughout the rest of the song, and you can’t deny that it is more difficult than you previously thought — it requires every ounce of energy and concentration to get the tempo right while pouring the right amount of emotion in each section, one more sorrowful than the other.

“Come on, feel the melody, let go,” he murmurs, tough demeanor long gone. It is what you always wanted, for him to let go of his fiery tone and hot-tempered presence, but it only manages to spike a heavy twinge of worry. He sounds void, as if the song washed away all of his emotions and left nothing of value inside.

His guidance is tough to follow, but you manage to learn most of the song after what feels like ages. Yoongi sighs in silent resignation when he decides it is more than enough for the day, getting up and looking at his watch.

“You’re not focusing, it’s useless to continue,” he mutters dryly. You hold yourself back from opening your mouth and letting him know it’s because of him, keeping painfully silent as you follow him to the front door.

The second you walk out a sudden thought sparks inside your head, one that might not be too reasonable considering the current situation — but it makes you stop and turn to him all the same, wide eyed as he returns your stare questioningly from his spot on the threshold.

“Do you want to come with me?”

He frowns. “What?”

The heat that takes over your face is strong and violent, and there no way he misses it. “I mean— Taehyung and a few other friends from the academy are going to meet up with me in a bit, and… I don’t know, you look like you need—”

“I don’t need anything from you. You’re just a student. What the hell are you implying?”

You take a step back at his harsh words. There’s a tightening in your chest that makes your heart jump painfully, pursing your lips at the stinging feeling.

“Forget it. Nevermind,” you force out a smile, feeling more embarrassed by the second as you turn around to walk away from his house.

“Wait,” his voice is almost inaudible, but you hear it. Looking back at him, you take note of his sheepish gaze that struggles to meet your own — it is almost endearing, if not for the still somber shadow that clouds his expression. “Wait a moment— I guess… Taehyung will be there, right? I guess I can show up for a bit. Just… give me a second.”

Your eyes widen and you try to contain the way your face lights up, though your hopeful voice gives you away. “Sure! Sure. I can wait.”

He lets you in again as he flees upstairs for a change of clothes. You let your smile grow once you’re all alone, and it’s a feeling that reminds you of the time Yoongi accepted you as his student. Maybe his shell is not as unbearably tough as you believed.

Fifteen minutes later you’re walking down the road, side by side, and your heart stirs in a nervous gallop as you shoot Taehyung a quick text explaining the situation. In mere seconds your phone is bombarded by his astounded replies and long strings of shocked emojis that make you snort discreetly, but you choose to ignore him. You focus instead on the silent steps of the person walking by your side, a dreamy expression in place as his eyes look up lazily at his surroundings.

The tiredness is more present than ever in his droopy eyes, and his lips have not conjured up any kind of smile yet — but there’s still something beautiful about him, something that is not just about his soft, attractive features that broke many hearts when his celebrity status was on its golden age.

You cannot pinpoint what it is, but it keeps you strangely engrossed. You can almost hear the melody of the raindrops pouring out of him, loud and clear and broken, and your chest swells with a feeling you’re not sure you want to dig into.

/

“Sir, it’s an honor.”

Hoseok gets up, and you hold back the urge to hide under the table. He kneels in front of Yoongi, completely shameless, and holds his hands reverently — as if he’s touching polished diamonds with his fingers.

“Pianist hands. Suga’s hands,” he mumbles, looking up at Yoongi in exaggerated admiration. You swat his hands away, flushing furiously at his boldness. He simply gets up with an easy smirk, not showing any sort of embarrassment — you faintly envy him for that. Taehyung and Namjoon are holding back their laughter, quietly sitting on the booth of Hoseok’s favorite bar the four of you regularly visit.

Yoongi looks beyond uncomfortable, and you decide it’s time to step in.

“I’m sorry about that. This is Hoseok, he plays the bass,” you intervene, giving said boy a warning look. Hoseok takes Yoongi’s hand again, shaking it gently this time.

“Sorry man, I was only joking. I’m Hoseok, nice to meet you.”

“Yeah, sure, same,” Yoongi replies awkwardly, clearing his throat. You lead him to the booth, taking a seat in front of your three friends. Taehyung smiles gently, seeming to notice the thickening atmosphere and Yoongi’s still shaken up demeanor, which almost makes you sigh in relief — the boy could be too overwhelming if he wanted to, and you are sure that’s the least Yoongi needs right now.

Namjoon takes Yoongi’s hand calmly, smiling politely. “I’m Namjoon, drums.”

“I’m Yoongi—”

“We know,” Hoseok interrupts. You kick his leg under the table, making him grumble.

“So, beer?” Taehyung wonders, making everyone nod. Yoongi is the one most enthusiastic about it, probably eager to forget about the disastrous afternoon you both shared earlier. Hoseok and Namjoon take it as their cue, leaving empty handed and coming back with five beers in their hands.

The passing of time loses its meaning as the atmosphere gradually lightens up, mainly thanks to the drinks that slowly but surely disappear. Hoseok’s voice grows louder and Namjoon’s laughs become too boisterous, and other people present in the bar start turning their curious eyes to look at the group of musicians that seem to be talking too loud over the music.

You inevitably keep glancing back at Yoongi, a warm feeling expanding all over your chest as you watch his features start to relax and the tiniest glimpse of a smile curve his lips. It’s small, but it’s there, and that’s more than enough for today.

Hoseok and Namjoon get up three rounds later, reluctantly saying their goodbyes as they have band practice early in the morning. Their dazed, shiny eyes show a glimpse of tipsiness, cheeks flushed with the mix of heat and alcohol.

“I should go too, guys,” Taehyung clears his throat. He looks noticeably more affected by the beer than the rest, which does not come as a surprise. He has always had low tolerance, and you cannot help but grudgingly agree when he gets up.

“We got a long day tomorrow, Y/N,” he slurs, glancing at his phone confusedly as he tries to write his password. “You should go too.”

You feel your skin flushing even more as you give Yoongi a quick glance. He does not look entirely drunk, but not too sober either. “Ah— I think I can stay a while longer.”

Taehyung glances between the two of you, the hint of a smile making his lips twitch. “Okay. See you tomorrow. Goodbye, hyung.”

Yoongi waves his hand, not saying a word as the two of you watch him leave. The air shifts in the blink of an eye, thickening with something that makes your breaths hitch.

You stare silently as Yoongi slides out of the booth you were sharing before, deciding to take the seat right in front of you. His pale face is dusted in a faint pink, mouth turned softly upwards in a barely there smile that still manages to make your heart race.

“Well, I should thank you.”

His words, deep and soft, make you raise your eyebrows. “Thank me?”

Yoongi nods, letting his back drop against the plump surface of the booth. “I needed this. Today… is not a good day,” he sighs. He grabs one of the beers Taehyung didn’t finish, drinking whatever was left.

“Can I ask why?” the question is so hesitant Yoongi seems to notice, gaze connecting with yours and making you want to jump out of your skin.

Yoongi snorts. “What is it with you and the piano?”

“What do you mean?”

“You seem to love it, but there’s something that is also making you hate it. I don’t now what it is, but I’ve always been curious. Ever since I met you, I’ve always wondered why…” he lets his voice fade away. His eyes start searching inside yours, rummaging with a boldness that has you leaning back, as if he’s trying to read your thoughts. You squirm in your seat, breaking the connection and trying to breathe deeply in the sudden heavy air that surrounds you.

“My parents… they— they always wanted me to become a piano prodigy. But I could never make their dreams come true,” you laugh, voice lacking any humor. “And even though they still want me to play the piano, it’s been a long time since I saw anything close to pride in their eyes. What can I say, I’m just your average pianist.”

“Bullshit,” Yoongi’s word makes your eyes snap up, and the sudden anger that boils in your blood makes you open your mouth, but he never allows you to speak. “It’s your fear of disappointment that’s stopping you from becoming whatever you want. I need to ask a question, though,” he drinks from another beer again, emptying it in a matter of seconds. “Do you really want to become a pianist?”

“Of course I do,” the words jump out of your mouth instantly, not needing to think them through. They feel natural on your tongue, an indelible truth you have known since the beginning of your memories. Something about your tone seems to convince him, nodding silently in that familiar way that shows quiet appreciation.

Nevertheless, you are not prepared for the bomb that Yoongi suddenly drops in the already heavy atmosphere.

“My girlfriend died in a day like this, five years ago.”

Your mind turns blank. You gape at him, a bit shamelessly, as your chest constricts under a foreign swirl of emotions. Yoongi’s eyes settle on the surface of the wooden table, his mind somewhere far away.

“Raindrop… it was her favorite song.”

You try to come up with something to say, but you fail miserably. Not even a quick I’m sorry, not even a word of comfort. Your ability to form sounds have vanished from your throat entirely, as if your vocal chords suddenly stopped functioning.

You and Yoongi leave a few minutes later, the daze of the alcohol long gone after the heavy words he uttered, still clear and sharp and forming a cloudy wall between your bodies. He walks beside you towards your bus stop, and his gaze finally finds yours when he notices your shy, curious eyes that continuously keep going back to him.

“Don’t worry about me. I’ve accepted it already,” he blinks as he stares at you, making you aware of his sudden closeness. You’re fully conscious of his body heat now, almost overpowering amidst the strange atmosphere. “Worry about yourself. We have to prepare for your audition in two months, don’t we?”

Your heart jumps at his tone, surprisingly tender. You nod mutely, and then his mouth does something you never thought you would see so soon, almost blinding you as the strange feeling you have been trying to avoid finally bursts in your chest and expands all over your body.

He smiles. A true, honest smile, wide and flaring with hope and quiet contentment. And just for a fleeting moment, gone in the blink of an eye, you can almost see that mesmerizing, hopelessly romantic pianist back in his eyes. It is even more beautiful than you imagined.

Your brain is barely able to process the way he leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek that lingers on your skin for the rest of the night.

“I believe you can do it,” the words get lost in the chilly air as your bus shows up. He is gone in a matter of seconds, still smiling as he disappears in the darkness of the night.

The rest of the night dissipates in a weightless daze, your feet barely touching the ground as you head home. You manage to fall asleep quickly, but Yoongi’s smile and mellow words ground themselves in the depths of your dreams, mixing with the painful sound of raindrops in a storm.

/

Something changes during the tenth week.

You grin the moment Yoongi opens the door, but you’re only met with hardened eyes. Any trace of the hopeful, tender pianist you saw last week is now completely gone. He lets you in without a word, and your mind starts racing with worry as you follow him to the music room.

“Have you practiced Raindrop?” he asks without so much as a glance, voice lacking any spark or interest. He sounds bored, just like the first time you two met.

“I have—”

“Then get on with it.”

You part your lips to snap back at him — after all, you believed you two had come to the silent agreement not to speak rudely to each other; but the look in his eyes is as stern and glacial as you have never seen it. Something in the way he looks, like a tickling bomb that is about to burst, tells you that maybe today is not the day to fight back, and that his inner turmoil is probably more than enough for him.

The class is painful, and so is the next after that one, and the next. There is only one month and a week left until your audition, and it’s as if your improvement has met a tall, infinite wall that does not allow you to move on, one that is just as sharp and resilient as this new, unwelcome semblance  of his. He only becomes more irked and irritable as the time goes by, only spewing short and hurtful sentences that only manage to numb your supposedly emotional performances.

There is one month left until your audition when you finally break.

That week you arrive early, and it is no surprise when he receives you with his usual glare. It still feels like a sudden pressure on your chest, swirling uncomfortable and tightening your lungs as the hopeful feelings that rose the night he smiled at you continue crumbling down, vanishing like dust.

“New song,” he spats as you enter his house.

You follow him hurriedly, eyes wide as you stare at the pack of his head. “What? I thought I’d be playing Raindrop at the audition—”

“You can’t,” he sits on the chair, pointing at the piano. “New song.”

“You know what? Fuck you, Yoongi,” you hate the way your voice wavers, eyes immediately blurring with angry tears. He shows no sentiment as he acknowledges your shaky form. “I’ve tried to keep up with your bullshit— I don’t know what tantrum you’ve been pulling, but it’s been four weeks now, for fuck’s sake! Whatever it is that’s troubling you, deal with it, and don’t use me as your punchbag. It’s not fair…” your voice fades, and a couple of tears finally fall and roll down your cheeks.

It is through a teary gaze that you see Yoongi getting up, confidently striding in your direction until he’s right in front of you, and then he’s holding your face between his hands and pressing an insistent kiss on your lips—

“No,” you push him away, heart beating so hard it almost jumps out of your chest. You exhale a shaky breath, cleaning your eyes hastily to stare at him clearly. Your thoughts halt when you find his eyes — there is something raw and intense in them that takes you aback, but it is not enough to stop the anger bubbling in your chest.

“How dare you? after everything I’ve put up with— how can you expect me to suddenly forget about your shitty attitude—”

“You’re right, you’re right,” he interrupts, voice hoarse. “Yes, I was an asshole. I just… I don’t know how to deal with… this,” he looks so lost, so troubled — and you have to contain yourself from walking up to him, hands turning into tight fists at your sides as your nails dig painfully into your skin.

“What do you mean?” you ask, not sure if you want to know the next words.

He finally looks at you directly in the eye. He looks small, vulnerable. “Well, you.”

He comes closer again, and this time you let him take one of your hands. It is almost scary— the way he’s looking at you straight in the eye, gaze surprisingly open, not hiding himself anymore.

“This is the first time I have… feelings for someone after what happened five years ago, and I don’t know how to deal… I’m so sorry. I didn’t want to hurt you. I know I keep fucking up… I just don’t know how…”

“It’s okay, Yoongi,” the way he sounds breaks your heart. It is proving harder for you to just stand there, only able to hold his hand tightly as he tries not to drown in his thoughts.

“Do you want to take a walk?” your sudden question makes him snap out of whatever reverie he was dwelling on, confused eyes staring down at you. “Let’s get some fresh air.” you give him a tentative smile as you gently tug at his hand, feeling inevitably afraid of his rejection.

Yoongi nods, and your breathing feels a little less tight. “Yeah, let’s go.”

He leads you to a small, quiet park near his house, where the winds are strong and make you shiver. But the slightly biting air falls to the back of your mind thanks to Yoongi’s presence, inevitably comforting as he gradually calms down. He takes a seat on a bench that’s located in front of a small, shallow pond, and you join him as both of you stare curiously at the family of three that feeds the ducks at the other side.

“I keep losing my composure around you. It’s embarrassing,” Yoongi snorts after a few minutes of stillness. He’s staring down at the water, peaceful except for the soft waves left by the trail of ducks. “Meeting you only made me realize how emotionless I’ve been for five years. Times goes by so fast…”

You allow the silence to stretch between you for a few seconds, taking a deep breath before talking, your voice as soft as the wind. “Is that why you quit? Because of her?”

Yoongi nods, looking down at his hands.

“She was also a musician, a very talented one. She was the one that believed in me when no one else did,” Yoongi explains in a low tone, eyes glazing as he gets lost in his memories. “Suga wouldn’t have existed without her, and when she passed away… I just couldn’t find another reason to continue being that person.”

You nod, understanding. A million thoughts are running through your mind, some more sympathetic than others. A small, loud part of you is begging you to reproach him for shutting himself down like he did, but you remind yourself how useless it is to voice them out loud. The past is the past, and he probably knows that already.

“I’m glad you’re feeling something now,” those words are the only ones you’re unable to keep inside, escaping your lips and making you lower your head in slight embarrassment.

You don’t meet his eyes, but you can hear the smile in his voice. “Yeah, me too.”  

Time flies that evening as the conversation flows, exchanging mindless words as the somber topic of his ex-girlfriend fades away. He listens intently as you talk about music and friends, and you smile in quiet amusement as he mentions the highlights of his past. For once, Yoongi’s words are not tight or constricted.

You know it is too soon for him to free himself after so many years of inner conflict. Even so, a minuscule part of you hopes that maybe he is not going downhill anymore — and that you are the one helping him take a step forward, closer to the sunlight. Down a path inevitably filled with ups and downs, but leading him where he truly deserves to be.

You leave when the sky starts to darken, with the promise of seeing him again that weekend. It makes your heart beat fast and loud — for once, you will not go to his house for a stern lesson of repeated practice. You will go to see Yoongi, the quiet, sensitive man hidden under the hard shell of a pianist that once was as great as the sun.

/

“I want to show you a song.”

“What? I thought this wasn’t a lesson—”

Yoongi shakes his head, containing a smile as he lets you inside his house. “It’s not a lesson. Come with me.”

You walk through the already familiar path towards the music room. You were not sure of what to expect for today, but Yoongi sitting in front of the piano and signaling for you to join him was definitely at the bottom of the list. You were sure he would want to do something different than the usual, but his eyes are glinting with something special and his smile, though small, looks strikingly earnest.

And instead of the chair, he pats the spot next to him on the bench.

“Oh, I can just stand up, don’t worry—”

“It’s okay, I want you to sit with me.”

The nerves begin to spark, heightening your senses as you join him on the bench. His right thigh and arm brush against your side when you sit, muscles tense as you watch him position his fingers over the keys. He takes his time, touching them lightly and delicately, as if they were made of glass.

“Every year, around this month, I play Raindrop until I can’t feel my fingers anymore,” he says in a soft voice. “But… it’s different this time. It’s truly amazing, how meeting you taught me that maybe it’s not wrong to want to move on.”

He begins to play, and you recognize the melody immediately — it’s one of your favorite pieces by Handel, Chaconne in G Major. The melody starts happy and cheerful, full of hope. For once it feels light and joyful, which is strange coming from Yoongi’s fingers, as his songs have always been tainted with melancholy and a dark heaviness weighing over his fingers.  

You smile in surprise as his fingers dance above the keys — like they’re playing a game, one he is actually enjoying as his body sways softly to the music.

The switch is almost confusing when the song suddenly changes its tone. Even though you know the melody by heart, you’re still taken aback — the sadness is there again, and you hate how well Yoongi is capable of transmitting that grief, your heart clenching as the distressing melody spreads across the room.

You feel completely engrossed in the music as it slowly changes again, tempo gradually growing. The switch is not immediate this time, but you can still perceive how his feelings start to change through the music, from sorrow to anger and frustration, to finally reach its cheerful melody again.

The melody permeates all over your chest and roots there, rapidly overwhelming as the song transforms into something new and powerful, hope bursting and seeping out of his fingers as the piece finally reaches its end.

You can only stare as he puts his hands on his lap, long fingers tightening above his thighs.

Finally looking up at him, you find yourself at a loss of words when you meet his radiant smile.

“Do you like that song?”

“Yeah, it’s one of my favorites. At first it took me a few listens to realize how… intense it is.”

“It reminds me of you.”

The confession almost makes your heart burst, skin heating up pleasantly as you try to hold back a blissful smile.

“I know we were practicing Raindrop, and that it was probably going to be the one we’d be taking to your audition, but I think this one fits you better. It has a happy ending, doesn’t it?”

You nod, still smiling impossibly wide. Feeling suddenly bold, you take his hand, lightly squeezing. He clasps it tightly, and a sudden need to bring him closer numbs your senses.

You are not sure of when or how it happens, but then his body is completely flush against yours, in a hug so tight it almost leaves you breathless. It is almost painful — how desperate he seems to hold you against him, as if he were too afraid to let you go. Still, his closeness feels like heaven, arms encaging you in a comforting embrace.

You lose all restraint as you press a soft kiss against his cheek, heart hammering against your chest when he turns his lips towards yours, slow and hesitant, as if waiting for your lead.

He is asking for permission, and your heart grants it to him.

The kiss starts slow and deep, almost languid in the way he softy parts his lips to flick his tongue against yours. The pace is slow, unhurried, like you have all the time in the world to kiss and get to know each other’s bodies. His warm hands caress your back under your shirt, making you shudder against him as his lips move smoothly, lovingly.

It does not take long for your movements to become insistent, and your thoughts turn fuzzy and erratic as long sighs and brazen touches are exchanged. You are only able to focus on how hot your skin feels and how alleviating his fingertips feel against it, and it is with intimate smiles that you both get up so he can press you against the piano, the sudden, clangorous sound of the keys making you chuckle against his mouth.

Outside of the music room the sun starts to melt, and the glowing colors of the sunset drip inside as clothes fall to the ground and gasps of pleasure turn headier. Strong hues of orange and purple reflect on your sweaty skin as you both get lost in each other; and for once, his fingertips leave no bitterness in their path.

By the time you both come back to reality the sun is long gone, and you stare at the darkening sky in a silent daze as he presses soft kisses against your lips. You can only smile lazily, allowing him to help you get down the piano. You hiss when you feel your lower back starting to hurt, a pain you had not noticed before.

“Are you okay?”

You nod, looking up at him with a glazed look, still soaking in the deep contentment. Yoongi leans in for another kiss, but the shrill noise of your ringtone breaks the moment. You grab your phone amidst the heap of clothes lying on the floor, cursing in surprise when you see the time. You start putting on your clothes hurriedly, berating yourself under your breath.

“Oh god, have more than two hours passed already? I’m late, I’m so late,” you mumble frantically. Turning to Yoongi, you flush when you realize he is still completely naked, staring down at you as his eyes flicker from your face to your phone repeatedly.

“Hoseok and Namjoon have their first stage with the band tonight,” you sigh. “I promised I’d go. Um, you can come if you want—”

Yoongi shakes his head, giving you a tender smile that does not manage to reach his eyes. “It’s okay, go ahead.”

You stare at him for a few seconds, trying to find anything in his expression. “You sure?”

Yoongi nods. He is still smiling reassuringly, giving you one last glance before he picks up his clothes to cover himself.

“I… I’ll go, then,” you approach him slowly, pressing a timid kiss against his lips. He barely moves as you step away, your eyes completely fixated on his as you start walking away.

“It’s fine, go,” he insists, making you nod as you finally turn around and head to the door.

You walk with a heavy heart towards the place of the concert, not knowing the origins of such an unsettling feeling. It keeps pressing down your chest, tainting your thoughts with a strange darkness that does not allow you to think freely of Yoongi’s touches, still fresh and lingering on your skin.

You try to ignore it, even though the nagging voice never quiets down from its spot in the furthest corner of your mind. It almost reminds you of the darkened melody in Chopin’s prelude, mixing with blurred nightmares during the night.

/

Three weeks go by, and your nerves gradually grow as the days pass. Not that long ago the day of the audition seemed minimal and faraway, but as your fingers become familiar with the melody of Chaconne the date slithers dangerously closer, almost palpable under your worn out hands.

Yoongi is, fortunately, earnest in his continuous support — his strict behavior has long since softened into subtle smiles and longing stares, which eases your anxiousness into a manageable amount of fear. Nevertheless, there is still something not quite right stirring the air, a tenuous feeling that makes you frown when he is not looking and keeps you awake most nights, struggling to find something under every word that leaves his mouth.

Yoongi has been keeping his distance for a reason you cannot comprehend, and he never bothers to hide it. Pecks never turn into real kisses, and his touches are so quick and faint you wonder if they’re only part of your delusional mind. You force yourself to believe there is are no ulterior motives to it — it is probable that he is only holding himself back so you can keep your entire focus on the audition. He is seeking it as badly as you are, after all.

Those three weeks easily dwindle into one, and it is terrifying to think how in seven days you will be proving worth in front of an intimidating, experienced jury that has already seen more pianists than they could ever count. The day of your final class with Yoongi is a cloudy one, sky filled with dense, dark clouds that forbid the sunshine to wash over the ground and your gradually freezing body.

That uncanny feeling you have been trying to push down is not as subtle this time. His eyes are hooded and turbid looking, features downcast and clearly lacking hours of sleep. It makes you wonder if he played the piano all night — which he admitted to doing quite frequently — or if he simply lied down on his bed and stared absentmindedly at the ceiling, until his eyes closed on their own accord.

“Hey,” he gives you a quick smile, lips dry and slightly cracked. “You can go ahead and start practicing, I need to go upstairs. It’ll be five minutes.”

You nod, walking inside as he closes the door. You watch in hushed apprehension as he strides up a set of stairs that lead to an upper floor you have not seen yet, eyes glued on Yoongi’s disappearing form.

You release a loud, weary sigh, looking around the hallway before heading to the music room. A surge of curiosity zips through your body the moment you spot the opened door of the living room, not giving it too much thought as you walk inside and look around in silent wonder. It serves as a good distraction — you are pretty sure your hands would not work with the same fluency as usual right now, not while knowing that Yoongi seems to be dealing with an internal turmoil again. Chaconne would probably turn into a messy, vacant melody if you obliged your hands to play.

The living room is wide and tastefully decorated, in a simple yet detailed style. It is not very colorful, but fresh and clean thanks to the high windows that grant full access to the natural sunlight. You walk around, eyes sliding through the shelfs full of trophies and pictures of the past. Many first places occupy his memories, shades of striking gold many pianists would be envious of. In most of the pictures he is seen alone, except a handful where he is accompanied by two older people that hold a faint resemblance to him — his parents, probably.

You continue wandering until something out of place catches your attention: a picture frame left forgotten on the couch, with a folded white paper lying on top of it.

You are not a noisy person, but it is as if your feet move on their own accord. Quickly approaching the couch, you keep your senses awake and searching for any noises outside of the room as you grab the paper first.

There are only a few lines written, but only one makes your eyes read it over and over. The words are full of pain, palpable in a way that almost stings the tip of your fingers, and it is with trembling hands that you put it back, the phrase resounding in your head over and over.

You pick up the picture, not surprised at all when you see a beautiful, glowing face staring back at you, with a wide and happy smile stretching her kind features and honest eyes twinkling with mirth. She looks young and brimming with life, and the thought aches your chest mercilessly — for her, for Yoongi, for the mournful words he wrote for her.

I’m sorry. I love you.

The sudden realization hits your body and weakens your muscles, sending a cold, uncomfortable shiver through your frozen limbs. You are only making it worse for him — even if Yoongi believed he could move on, looking into your eyes is probably bringing back wistful memories of the girl he loved, of the girl he loves.

It all makes sense now, if you really think about it. The confusing feelings that are leisurely growing between you both are only ripping his heart apart, not sewing it back. Being with you is making him forget her, and you can only imagine the struggle he is probably facing — it makes your own heart break, for him and for yourself.

And you cannot be the one that pushes him down a path he is not ready to take.

You leave the house without a second thought, even though your own mind is screaming at you to stay. It’s for him, you think in earnest as you look up at the cloudy sky. Just like you, it looks like it may start tearing up at any given second. He doesn’t need someone like me in his life right now.

/

“Hello?”

“Did I wake you up, hyung?”

Phone against his ear, Yoongi blinks up at the ceiling of his bedroom in a sleepy daze. The room is dark and he can barely see through the murky veil, but one look at the curtains tell him that the sun is probably high in the sky on the other side. He slowly tosses around, yawning as unconsciousness tries to drag him back again.

“What do you think?” Yoongi grumbles, sitting on the bed grudgingly as he runs a hand down his face. “I’m awake now. What do you want?”

“Always so lovely,” Taehyung coos, sounding too lively for Yoongi’s current state. “Well, I’m glad I woke you up. Get ready, I’m picking you up in ten minutes.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

Taehyung waits a few seconds before answering. “Y/N’s audition is today. Didn’t you know?”

Yoongi can feel the uneasiness start to settle in his stomach, finally walking him up as his free hand grabs the sheets tightly. “Of course I know.”

“Then get ready. We’re going.”

Yoongi sighs, sounding completely spent. He does not want to talk about it, not when the thoughts have been piling up inside of him all week — letting them out would only be bothersome and draining, and he is already too worn out to deal with that sort of thing. “She doesn’t want to see me, Taehyung. Just… let me sleep.”

“I swear to god, you two are way too dramatic,” Taehyung mutters, almost sounding as exhausted as him. “She’s been sulking as much as you, hyung. Can’t you just get out of that bed so we go and see her? I’m sure it would mean a lot to her.”

“She’s been avoiding me all week. And I’m pretty sure you know how I’ve been trying to reach out to her, I don’t want to stalk her.”

Taehyung lets out a distressing sound, making Yoongi wonder if he had a similar conversation with you already.

“I don’t know what made her act like this, but one thing is clear: you’re the one that actually made her think she has a chance today. Even if she doesn’t want to talk to you, I’m sure you’ll give her even more courage if she sees you.” Taehyung’s words are strong and serious, a tone Yoongi rarely hears on his voice. “Please, hyung,” he finally adds, and something in the way his voice softens makes Yoongi’s resolve start to waver.

He sighs, allowing the static silence to take over for a few seconds. Taehyung is dangerously good at convincing others, which is one of the reasons he has Yoongi’s number in the first place. He tries to sound annoyed when he replies, blatantly ignoring the fast beating of his heart.

“I’ll go get ready.”

Almost half an hour later he is finally staring up at the facade of the conservatory with a restless Taehyung by his side. Yoongi feels inevitably sheepish as people around him start to recognize his face, throwing not so subtle glances that make him lower his head automatically.

“Sorry, forgot that could happen,” Taehyung snickers, grabbing his wrist and dragging him towards the stairs that lead towards the tall, intimidating entrance doors. “Ignore them, let’s go.”

Taehyung seems to know his way around, which Yoongi thanks immensely — he is suddenly overcome with countless memories and a heavy dash of nostalgia, sounds and images flashing past his sides at full force and overloading his senses. The tall boy drags his limping form through the mighty hallways, once a second home to Yoongi but now buried deep inside his bright past.

They find the backdoor of the auditorium in no time. Yoongi restlessly waits for Taehyung to open the doors, frowning when he notices the younger doing the same.

Taehyung is staring at him pensively, a look Yoongi does not like. He nods towards the door, waiting for Taehyung to move.

“I’m not going in,” Taehyung finally says, in quick, nervous words as he takes a step back. “I think she’s the third one—”

“Don’t be ridiculous, you’re her best friend,” Yoongi interrupts, befuddled.

“She already knows I can’t stay. In fact, I need to go right now,” Taehyung pats Yoongi’s back, who is still staring up at his friend in silent indignation. “She will appreciate you being here a lot, hyung. Don’t worry.”

“Taehyung— for fuck’s sake— come back here!” Yoongi blurts, a little too loud for the steady silence. Heads turn to him as his eyes follow Taehyung’s retreating form, almost running away from Yoongi as he waves back with a brilliant smile on his face.

Yoongi can feel his breath quickening already, heartbeats frantic and thoughts running wild.

He is here already, isn’t he? Even if your abrupt decision to disappear from his life makes his chest ache, he still desires to see your performance today — that never changed, and he doubts he will ever turn back an opportunity to see you play again. He is not nervous about you failing. He trusts you can do it, that you can shine above every other single contestant.

He still wants to see and hear the magic fly from your fingers, at least one last time.

Yoongi takes a seat far away from the stage, carefully choosing a secluded spot where no one will be able to spot him. All the lights are focused over the piano and the judges, and the nervousness oozing down the tall, jagged walls is both familiar and contagious. He stays completely still as he watches the first contestants, valiantly stepping under the spotlight before sitting in front of the piano with notable confidence.

Yoongi can’t lie, they are good. Yoongi follows their interpretations critically, aware of their flawless techniques and raw talent as they sway to difficult songs that show off every single one of their strengths. They remind him of you that first day you came to him — bursting with practice and talent but void of emotion, only focusing on following the music sheet as perfectly as they can. For him, it is perfectly clear that the only thought in their heads is to get it over with, eyes glazed with images of their future triumph and not their present.

Your turn finally comes and Yoongi shuffles in his seat, eyes intently following your every movement. Even if your steps are slightly nervous, you still look radiant, even more than usual, face glowing with determination as you politely smile towards the judges. You do not notice Yoongi’s presence.

You sit and place your fingers on the piano, and when you start to play, the air completely leaves Yoongi’s lungs.

It’s not Chaconne. Yoongi gapes and listens, completely still as his fingers dig into the fabric of the armrest. His heart is beating too fast, too painfully, and he wonders if you can hear it through the soft but unmistakable melody of Raindrop.

It sounds completely different from any interpretation he ever performed of the song, which he has done countless times. The melody is tender and fresh under your fingertips, and Yoongi can see the tinctures and variations of the music surrounding you, bright and pale and so calm he can almost notice the judges in a trance, just like every other person present in the room.

The melancholy is there, deep and palpable. While Yoongi always mixes it with sorrow and regret, yours is almost filled with a strange sort of contentment, like a sad memory you’re gingerly transforming into something beautiful, something that deserves to be remembered with a smile and not tears.

Yoongi feels completely engrossed, easily forgetting where he is as the melody glides over the auditorium. His throat unavoidably tightens and his eyes burn with tears he does not want to let out, quietly listening as the song approaches its end. Even through a teary gaze, he is unable to contain the gentle smile that curves his lips.

There is no other way he could describe your performance. Gentle and beautiful, like the hope under the sorrow, the dawn that rises over the darkness.

And for the first time, he feels moved.

/

I did it!! Oh my god that was so fucking scary. Call me as soon as you’re free.

You send the text to Taehyung with trembling fingers, letting your back fall against the wall of the empty hallway as you clean your clammy hands against the fabric of the dress. The adrenaline is still hurtling through your veins and your breathing is ragged, but you could care less about your knackered appearance right now — it’s over. It is over and you’re happy, relieved, feeling weightless after having carried the unbearably heavy nerves all week long.

Someone calls your name, then — a familiar voice that makes you snap your head up in disbelief. Your wide eyes find Yoongi’s shiny ones and you almost drop your phone, heart speeding up again under a very different kind of nervousness.

“Yoongi? What are you doing here?”

He hides his hands inside his pockets, seemingly timid as he takes a tentative step in your direction.

“Well… Taehyung tricked me,” he admits, giving you an embarrassed smirk. “I didn’t want to come, afraid I’d bother you even more— but after listening to that, I can’t regret that I came.”

“Oh,” you can feel yourself flushing hotly, fingers tightening around your phone. You know you should be annoyed at Taehyung, but you can only focus on Yoongi’s acute stare as he looks at you with something that resembles reverence. “Yeah… Raindrop.”

“Why did you change the song?” Yoongi asks, light curiosity in his voice.

You smile softly, even though the gesture is tinted with sadness. “You don’t even know why I left, do you? I’m sorry about that— I found your letter last week.”

It takes Yoongi a few, long seconds to realize, lips parting in recognition. “Oh.”

You nod. “It’s okay, though. You still love her, and it was silly of me to think I could have a chance with you—”

Yoongi frowns. “Hey… that’s not—”

“Wait, let me finish,” you interrupt, voice sounding a little strained. “I found the letter and the picture. She was beautiful, Yoongi,” you smile genuinely, and he can only nod, listening intently. “I… decided to do some research about her after that, and learned that not only was she beautiful outside, but inside too. It was admirable— all the things she was doing for herself and others. All the campaigns, all the people she helped. I don’t know how I didn’t hear about her before.

It kinda bothered me, how a lovely person like her is not recognized among musicians. I felt so inspired, I just… decided to dedicate my audition to her. It had to be Raindrop, of course,” your smile grows. “But I didn’t want to make it painful. I wanted to celebrate her life, to turn the sadness of this song into something beautiful, just like her.”

Yoongi parts his lips, but nothing comes out. He finally figures out what to say after a few laden seconds. “Thank you.”

“It’s okay, I wanted to do this. I hope it wasn’t painful for you. I…” you take a deep breath. “I’ll go now. See you around, Yoongi.”

“You got it all wrong,” he says before you’re able to leave. He’s chuckling, and the lighthearted sound takes you aback, your eyes finding his as he takes another step closer. “That day, with the picture and the letter… I was planning to take it to the cemetery later. Yeah, I was feeling a little shaken, but I was not mourning— I already did plenty of that back in the day. I was just saying goodbye,” he explains, words rushing out of his mouth. They make your body feel light, the confusion making you frown.

“What do you mean?”

“What you hear. I was finally ready to take a step further with you— only if you wanted to, of course,” he clarifies, eyes intent and voice as clear and confident as it has never been. “I was only saying goodbye. And I love her, of course I do. But I’m not in love with her anymore.”

The meaning laced in his words is deep and transparent, making your heart flutter in sudden realization. His words fall into place like the missing pieces of a puzzle, finally vanishing any doubt that ever grew inside your head.

He loves her, but he is willing to open up again — and he has granted you the honor to lead the way for him.

You can only take his hand, giving him the biggest smile you can muster.

“Come with me, then. There’s a song I want to show you, and it kinda reminds me of you…”

[superhiro]

the weight of your world

Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood Relationship: Edward & Alphonse Elric Summary:  Finally reunited with his body, Alphonse is thrilled to be able to walk on his own two feet again, but with atrophied muscles, there is only so far he can get on his own. Fortunately, Edward will always be there to offer his support.

Read on AO3!

“Do you need me to carry you?” Edward asked, eyes filled with a palpable concern as he watched his little brother slowly fumble along the sidewalk.

“I’m fine, brother.” Alphonse said with a small laugh. “You keeping me from falling is all I need.”

Finally having his body back meant that he had the ability to walk with his own two legs again and he wanted to take advantage of that. His bare feet could feel the tickle of the soft blades of grass, the rough scratch of the pavement, and other pleasant textures he didn’t even realize he’d missed feeling so much. Even if his frail body made the steps tough, he revelled in the sensations each time his foot would touch the ground. It had been so long since he’d felt anything that every simple thing seemed wondrous.

Ed hesitated to agree with Al, but nodded after a moment’s contemplation. “Alright, Al, as long as you’re sure.”

Ed’s left arm was wrapped around Al, his hand gripping securely just below his shoulder as a form of support. His right hand was entwined with Al’s left in another attempt to keep him upright. Al definitely appreciated the help and didn’t even try to protest that he didn’t need it. He wasn’t crazy. He knew that with his body so weak he could never make it to the hospital on his own. His brother was the person keeping him going, as he’d always been. Al smiled at the thought, grateful for all the help Ed so easily gave.

Major Armstrong was a few paces ahead of them, patiently leading the way. He’d practically teleported in front of them when Ed suggested they head to the hospital, offering to escort them for the short fifteen minute walk. Though it wasn’t much of an offer since he wouldn’t take Ed’s ‘we’ll be okay on our own’ as an answer. Alphonse didn’t mind the extra company though. Armstrong didn’t once tell them to hurry up, letting them move at whatever speed they deemed comfortable and he deeply appreciated this gesture.

Al’s gaze went down to his flesh and blood legs, only barely visible at his ankles below the long, navy military coat he’d been given to wear. They were so skinny!

He could only imagine what the nurses and doctors at the hospital would have to say about the state he was in. His skin was almost as pale as a sheet of snow, and if he uncovered himself the jutting of his ribs, spine and other bones could clearly be seen. His golden hair was so long it reached down to the middle of his back and covered part of his tired eyes. He had to hope that his condition wasn’t as bad as it looked. He didn’t want to be stuck sick in a hospital for long when there were so many possibilities now that he was free from the suit of armour.  

“We’ll get you better in no time, Al.” Ed reassured, as if he had been reading Al’s thoughts.

Or… wait… maybe Ed could tell what he was feeling by the look on his face! He could make expressions now, after all! He wasn’t impossible to understand like he was when his “face” was an intimidating metal helmet that could never be altered.

Al’s grin spread wider, and god, it felt amazing to actually be able to smile. Even if that small action alone took a great deal of effort. “I know we will, brother. I’m not worried anymore. You did it. You got my body back and saved all of Amestris too.”

Any guilt present on Ed’s face as he watched Alphonse struggle to walk was wiped away at those words. His expression softened and his lips quirked up into a small smile. “We did it. I’d be dead if it weren’t for you, Al.”

“Yeah…” Al muttered, mind racing back to the horrific image of Ed pinned to a stone slab with no way to fight back as Father slowly stalked up to him. He couldn’t even describe the depths of the panic he’d felt, the hopelessness inside him, as he was left trapped in one spot as the life of the person who was practically his other half was threatened. He felt his eyes begin to sting and his vision blurred slightly. It took a moment for him to realize that it was tears causing it. He’d almost forgotten what crying felt like.

“Al? Alphonse, what’s wrong?” Ed froze in his tracks, smile fading away and replaced with a look of serious concern.

Al let out a shaky laugh. “I’m fine, brother, I’m just… really glad that you’re okay. I was so worried about you.”

Ed breathed a small sigh of relief and temporarily removed his hand from Al’s to gently wipe away a tear that had fallen from his little brother’s eye. “Well that’s nothing to cry about now. And if anyone should be crying because of what happened back there it should be me.” He paused, expression pained as his fingers carefully swept Al’s bangs away from his eye and behind his ear. When he spoke again, his voice was soft and quiet. “What you did was so reckless, Al. I thought…”

The smile fell away from Al’s face. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be there to help you defeat Father. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

But it was worth it. To save you, I would have done anything.

Ed’s hand moved up to give Al’s head a pat, an action he’d done a hundred times while Al was in the armour, but the younger could never remember the feeling of until now. It was tender, reassuring. “Just don’t do anything like that again, okay?”

“I promise.” It’s all over. No more sacrificing ourselves; from now on we both just live.

They locked eyes with each other and soft smiles returned to both of their faces. Ed moved his hand to wrap back around Al’s and he led the way onward once again.

It was a triumph that Al was finally back to normal and walking but…

… How far away was this hospital again?

Several paces, even with Ed supporting him, felt like miles. It had never been so difficult for him to move before he lost his body. Still, he’d definitely take this fragile body with all its underused, atrophied muscles over the suit of armour. Even if he was weak, it was worth taking every painful step.

It felt like a betrayal when his legs started to shake.

Ed – of course – noticed the change immediately. “Al… I really think I should carry you. You probably shouldn’t-“

“I’m fine!” Alphonse snapped, then winced at his own outburst. He didn’t want to yell at Ed. He shouldn’t be yelling at Ed. “S-Sorry… Please, let me keep going.”

Ed seemed less than enthused about the idea, but one glimpse at the pleading look on Al’s face was all it took for him to relent once again. When Alphonse took another unsteady step, he felt Ed’s grip tighten, and it was admittedly a necessary action.

Al’s steps, if possible, became even tinier then what they had previously been, and each one took more out of him then the last.

“Are you alright back there, Elrics?” Major Armstrong asked, stopping in his tracks several feet ahead of them.

“Yeah, we’ll be fine.” Ed said.

“Are you certain you don’t require my assistance?”

“Nah, don’t worry about it, I can handle my little brother on my own.”

Alphonse couldn’t help but smile again, and gave Armstrong a little nod when his eyes fell back on him. Armstrong muttered something about brave and supportive brothers and waited for them to catch up to where he was before he started walking forward again, at a slower pace this time.

Al’s gaze returned to his feet as he moved. One step at a time.

Left foot. Right foot. Left foot. Right foot.

It ached. It had been so long since he’d ached like this.

He wondered if it was bad that he almost enjoyed the pain.

In his favorite fantasies about getting his body back, he was able to run fast through the green grass below his feet and laugh loudly as the wind rushed around him. He would run until he arrived at a Café, or the Rockbell home, or a table at a fancy restaurant, and then he’d stuff his face full of food until he couldn’t physically eat anymore. He’d later be able to wrap his brother in a tight, warm hug, and would stand taller than him like he used to. He’d be perfectly capable of making it around on his own and could finally do all he’d dreamed.

The reality wasn’t quite like the fantasy, but he was more than willing to take what he could get.

Exhaustion came over him within a mere few minutes. His lungs were stuffed up and he was unable to breathe properly. His breaths were as deep and heavy as they would be if he were running a marathon.

Ed was patient when Al stopped to catch his breath the first time.

The second time, worry filled his eyes, but he didn’t protest when Al started moving again.

When Al stopped a third time, finding it more difficult to move than ever, he knew his brother was done staying silent.

“Al, come on, just let me carry you.” Ed begged.

"But brother--"

"I know you want to walk on your own, but can't you wait a little longer? You're exhausted and you shouldn't be straining yourself like this. There will be plenty more chances to walk on your own after you start getting better."

Al hesitated, remaining quiet as he pondered the offer. He so desperately wanted to make it to the hospital on his own two legs. He had imagined this moment for five years and to remove himself from the ground and the sensation of walking in his own body was painful to consider. However, they should have arrived at their destination at least several minutes ago and it was him that was causing this walk to be so slow. Guilt surged through him as he thought of Ed’s right arm and the pieces of metal lodged into his skin, along with the other injuries scattered over his body. The sooner they got to the hospital, the sooner Ed would get patched up too.

He’d have other chances, a whole lifetime of them. This was the most logical solution.

Alphonse gave up fighting, leaning his weight more heavily against Edward and offering a small smile. “Okay…”

“Okay? You’ll let me carry you?”

"Yeah, as long as you're in the condition to be doing that."

Ed laughed, as if his own injuries meant nothing. Knowing his brother, he probably hadn’t even considered them until Al mentioned his wellbeing. All his attention was solely on Alphonse and how he was faring. “Don’t worry about it, Al! I’m in perfect condition!”

Al rolled his eyes, sincerely doubting those words. If only Ed was as concerned with his own wellbeing as he was with Al’s. He just got a part of his body back too, after all! He should be making more of a fuss about it. It was obvious the newly returned arm was a difficult and exciting adjustment, even if Ed would never admit to it. He just had to act tough and like nothing was off for Al’s sake. What would Al even do with his idiot brother…?

Ed simply grinned, wide and bright, his gaze trained on Al’s face. He didn’t need to explain why he was so full of joy, it was clear. Ed was seeing Al roll his eyes for the first time in years. He could actually see the face of his little brother after all the work they went through to achieve this. Al felt a pleasant warmth and giddiness inside of him. It was nice for Ed to really see him again… It had been a long time since he’d seen his brother so happy…

Ed slowly and carefully removed his hands from around Al before bending his knees and squatting in front of him. Alphonse took that as his cue to climb onto Ed’s back, wrapping his arms around his neck and holding on as tightly as his frail limbs could manage. Ed stood back up with little trouble and looped his arms around Al’s legs securely. Even if Al wasn’t holding on at all, there was no chance that Ed would let him fall.

“You okay back there, Al?” Ed asked, when he tentatively started to walk.

“Yes, thank you, brother.” Al replied, noting how they were already going noticeably faster than they’d been before, but still leisurely enough that it would be several minutes before they arrived.

Major Armstrong looked back at them and his expression softened when he saw their new method of moving. His eyes watered slightly, giving away how touched he was at their actions. Al’s cheeks burned at the attention. He averted his gaze from Armstrong and searched the area to see if there were any other bystanders who noticed him being carried by his brother. Thankfully, the several people swerving around the area seemed to have other things on their mind. It was a little strange to be stuck getting a piggyback ride in public, though it’s not as if he could do anything to change that.

And if he was honest… it actually felt really nice.

He pushed his nonsensical embarrassment down and focused instead on how it felt to finally have contact with his brother again. It was miraculous to experience this sort of reassuring body heat after years of being unable to feel another person’s touch. The sensation sent an overwhelming yet pleasant tingle coursing through his veins that he immediately cherished. He always had found great joy and comfort in being so close to someone that he loved. It was one of the reasons he’d so desperately wanted to bring back their mom. Adjusting to a life without the warmth of her hugs and other little affections had been far too difficult for him to bear.

His ability to feel anything at all was snatched away because of that longing, and since he’d been stuck in the armour, he’d missed physical contact with his brother just as much, if not more than he missed his mother’s touch. And while his long awaited hug with Ed unfortunately had to wait a little longer, this was almost just as special.

When they were kids, before the weight of the world had fallen onto their shoulders, Ed used to piggyback Al all the time. He’d run around outside over the big, green hills of the country-side as fast as he could while carrying him and Al would giggle excitedly as they went. It was like some sort of carnival ride that Ed loved giving him the ticket for. Anything to make Al laugh…

Alphonse smiled softly and rested his head against the back of Ed’s shoulder. It was so peaceful, comforting…

I missed this.

I missed him.

His eyes began to grow heavier and he allowed them to slowly fall shut. He could actually do that now! After enduring endless nights, visiting locations all over Amestris and witnessing displays of horror that he could never forget, he needed to rest. His eyelids shutting him off from the rest of the world and encasing his vision with darkness was an undeniable blessing.

Still, he wasn’t going to fall asleep.

He was just feeling what it was like to close his eyes… resting them for a bit… that was all!

They were so close to the hospital!

He could make it there….

It would be pointless to lose consciousness now…

Within minutes, Al’s mind was no longer protesting as he unconsciously drifted off into the first real sleep he’d been able to catch since he was ten years old. His arms went loose around Ed’s neck, but true to his beliefs, Ed had a strong enough grip on him that even if he weren’t holding on at all, there was no chance of him falling.

Edward grinned as Al’s quiet snores drifted into his ears and he was struck with an incredible fondness that only Alphonse could stir inside of him. His little brother must have been really tired to fall asleep right on his back before they even arrived at the hospital. Though after the day they had, Ed couldn’t blame him. A nap sounded awesome….

But sleep for himself would have to be put on hold. Al was what mattered. Alphonse, who was actually sleeping and completely safe against him.

It was so surreal and wonderful to feel Al’s living, breathing body once again after years of only the cool metal of that old suit of armour connecting him physically to his brother. It didn’t matter that Al was weak and there was a long road of recovery ahead of them. Ed would carry Al to the place where he’d get his strength back and hold onto him as tightly as he could because he really was here. His baby brother was back.

I missed him.

I missed him so much.

The world had almost ended that day, but all that mattered to Ed in that moment was that Alphonse was alive and getting some much needed rest. Ed’s world was going to be okay.

He let out a small, relieved laugh and spoke in a whisper, “Sleep well, little brother.”

Everything will be alright now, Alphonse.

I’m never letting you go again.

[tacitusauxilium]

Marie x Fuuka Part 3 Drabble

Continuation from this drabble that Tacitusauxilium continued from my own.

=============================================

Its not that Marie likes being aggressive, she just dislikes impatience and indecisive people. Fuuka, sadly tends to fall one either scale, depending on the situation. In the case of Shinjiro, Marie could tell she was being indecisive. It had been 2 days already since their talk. Marie could still feel her cheek being a little sore but didn’t mind it. She had touched a few nerves, but she knew it had to be done. Fuuka needed to face the reality of what is, not what she wants it to be.

And its not like Marie doesn’t understand her, far from it. Marie fully understands how she feels. She told Fuuka a year ago about herself, who she really was. Formerly, Izanami, the Shinto Goddess of Creation and Death; reborn after events that went out of control and reincarnated her desires into this form; into Marie. Though Izanami didn’t count on Marie gaining her own consciousness, personality and wishes of life; a mistake, but not one that Izanami herself cared about. After the guest of the Velvet Room, Yu Narukami dealt with her, Izanami faded back to the collective unconscious, and Marie inherited her power and freedom from going through a similar fate as her original.

Though Marie didn���t just gain her powers, Marie also gained Izanami’s memories; memories of a happy life, that turned to ashes too quick, and the suffering that came with it from the land of the Dead. Marie felt Izanami’s longing to return to Izanagi, to try and make things back to how they were. But that’s not how that story ended.

Life guided them to different paths, and Marie felt that anguish in part of her own. She wanted Yu Narukami…but he already had another, long before she confessed. Who it was, Marie didn’t really care at the time. What she cared about was the pain. It hurt, Marie admitted that she was beyond hurt and angry, but overtime cooled off. One factor that helped was accepting things for what they were. It was hard, but she got over it, and decided to focus on herself.

That’s when she met Fuuka 2 months later at the red fog event and got her number. Marie had an apartment in Inaba, but the weather station she works with is well, not in Inaba, and talked with Fuuka about renting an apartment somewhere closer to where they both work. It was easy to find a suitable place for two, and she later met Shinjiro.

Of course, Marie isn’t blind to feelings. She knew that despite Fuuka being Shinjiro’s, ever since Shinjiro began to push her away, Fuuka began to look at her direction. It was subtle at first, but Marie could feel Fuuka’s glances, checking her out, asking to bathe together at the hot springs, sometimes cuddling together at night because Fuuka couldn’t sleep, and of course, learning about Fuuka’s past romances.

She had 5, though she only pursued 3. Minato, Junpei, Yukari, Mitsuru and Shinjiro. Yukari and Mitsuru she didn’t pursue, but the other 3 she did. According to Fuuka, Minato was cut short due to his sacrifice, and Junpei was not what she had hoped it would be (Fuuka described it as embarrassing). It made sense that she had bet it all on Shinjiro. It was her last hope, so to speak.

Unfortunately, she bet on a broken game; and she hated it. Like trying to pull on a lever that doesn’t work, just to see the lights go on one last time, Fuuka tried for nearly over a year to make things work…it didn’t. Marie wanted to say something, but Fuuka kept side-lining the issue. She didn’t want to get aggressive on Fuuka, she trusted her decision. But she’s glad she did what she did 2 days ago. Sometimes, enough is enough, and Fuuka had to let go before she hurt herself more than she already is.

That’s when Marie got a call, and a familiar tune she recognizes easily; a tune she picked for Fuuka’s number. Having finished her lunch no more than 30 minutes ago (plus doing the dishes), Marie plopped on the sofa and answered the call “Yo Teal, what’s up?”

“Marie? It’s Fuuka. Can you come get me? I…I am at Shinjiro’s. And…I NEED you to do something for me.”

Marie wanted to groan, and yell, and many other things involving her mouth and fists. But at the same time, she should have expected as much. ‘Goddammit Teal’ “Fine. I’ll be there soon.” She hung up and grabbed her bag. “Can’t believe her, seriously…?” grabbing the key to the apartment, she locked the door and ran off.

It took her about 25 minutes, give or take. Marie wasn’t counting nor she cared. She ran over to the apartment complex Shinjiro lives in and found Fuuka just outside of Shinjiro’s room. “Teal.”

Marie could tell Fuuka definitely tried to do something with Shinjiro. Her hair is unbraided, and her clothes are put on, but not quite where they should be. And the hickies, mostly the hickies. Marie sighed, already feeling a headache coming. “Teal-“

“Stop.” Fuuka said “…We didn’t.” she bit her lip. “…We couldn’t. In the end, you were right. There’s passion, but not love. If there was, its long gone in a pool of self-pity, that I can’t clean up. Not anymore.” Fuuka said that, but even she couldn’t believe she was saying it; despite it being the truth. It hurt. She wanted to cry again…but not now. “I’m…” she turns to Marie, eyes welling. “I want-no, NEED for you…to erase Shinjiro’s memories of me; and mine of him.”

As she finished, Fuuka closed her eyes, and braced herself for Marie’s screaming. She could hear it right now.

“Alright.”

And there it-Eh? Fuuka had do a double-take. She opened her eyes. “…Alright…?” Fuuka couldn’t believe it. “…No screaming? No telling me I’m wrong?”

Marie shook her head. “…It isn’t worth it. I’m not in the mood, and its clear you and Hobo were able to accept things.” She shrugs. “I mean…I don’t like doing that. But if both of you want this, then alright. I’ll do it.”

Fuuka was half-tempted to pinch herself because it sounded too good to be true. Marie would normally reject her offer, telling her to think about it. But it seems Marie trusts her decision. She probably realizes, Fuuka already thought about it.

Her heart filled with joy; she could only do one thing. She embraced Marie in a hug and leans on her. “…Thank you Marie-chan…” she nuzzled onto her chest. “Thank you…”

Marie’s cheeks turned a faint pink. “Jeez Teal, you sure love your hugs.” She returns the hug and holds Fuuka gently in her arms.

Fuuka oh so wanted so bad to just stay there and hug Marie, bask in her warmth…but it had to end.

Reluctantly, Fuuka lets go of Marie. She stares deep into her green eyes, almost as if conveying her feelings.

Marie gently patted Fuuka’s head. “It won’t be long. Can you wait here?” Fuuka nods. “Ok…” Marie took a deep breath and went inside.

The apartment wasn’t as dirty as Marie expected. Heck, it’s a lot cleaner than she recalls the last time coming in. Still…seeing Shinjiro lying on the sofa, it hurt to see the man Marie remembers as bulky and strong to have come to be so frail and weak.

Marie wanted to pity it, but she knew Shinjiro wouldn’t want that. “Hey.” Shinjiro had his eyes closed, but he still greeted Marie. “Took you long enough.”

Marie snorted, and sits on the smaller seat next to the big couch Shinjiro’s in. “You knew I was coming huh?”

Shinjiro grunted. “Fuuka is many things. Hiding secrets is not one of them.” Marie had to chuckle at that.

“That much is true.” Marie etches a small smile. “Remember when she tried to hide that birthday surprise, but you just knew because of how she was acting?”

“Heh…” Shinjiro chuckled. “Yeah…I still pretended, for her sake.” He sighed. “For what little it mattered though.”

Marie sighed. “So, you know what I’m going to do.” Shinjiro nods.

“Its fine…its…” Shinjiro bit his lip “Its for the best. Fuuka’s too attached to me. Far more than she should have…I should have fought back and not let that happen, but she reminded me too much of Miki.” He scoffs at himself “Some fool I am.”

“Nah.” Marie shook her head. “Naïve, probably…but not a fool Hobo. You thought you could love her, but it’s hard to when you don’t really love yourself.”

“Tell me about it.” Shinjiro agreed to that. “Part of me hates the fact that I gave up. I know I let Aki and Mitsuru down.” He sighed. “But the thing is…this was going to happen sooner or later. Nothing could have prevented that.” He opens his eyes. “I guess I knew…which is why I didn’t really try. Why prolong the inevitable?”

“Teal tried.”

Shinjiro sighed. “Yeah…she did. To no avail. We both knew that.” Marie silently nodded in agreement.

Neither of the two said anything for a few minutes; their silence not one of fear, rather, uncertainty.

Shinjiro finally decided to break the ice. “…How is…Death like?” he asks.

Marie shifted her position a bit lightly, crossing her legs. “…Many see it as the end, and…I guess in a way, its true. Your life as you know it; ends.” She shook her head. “But your soul, the essence of who you are, that never dies. Think of it as release of all that is ‘normal’ of you. The need to eat, the need to sleep, the need to drink…all gone. Whatever physical burdens you have are gone and no longer ail you. The pain goes away, and you feel…free; like when you’re floating on the water, but lighter than that. You feel weightless.”

“…Sounds promising already.” He joked, though a coughing fit soon followed. “Fuck…” he cleared his throat. “Sorry about that.”

“Its fine.” Marie shrugged. “But the realm of the dead varies. I…well…Izanami, had domain of Yomi, but there are many realms of the dead. The River Styx, The Aztec Underworld, the Greek Underworld…yeah, I did mention before that all the mythologies were real at one point. The realms involved are also real. Each region and their Gods handle death in a different matter, but ultimately, once the punishment, if it’s necessary, is done for that deserve it, they go back to the endless cosmos of the collective unconsciousness.” Marie explains. “Then you can choose to return to the world you were born from and be reborn…but as someone else entirely. The person you were, and all its memories will vanish…or you can choose to go to another world, and retain your memories; or just…chill floating as a soul that learns from other souls in the realm for eternity if that’s your thing. Some do that, some don’t.”

“Hmm…so would I be going to Yomi?” Shinjiro asks. Marie shook her head.

“Only the sinners go there, and Shinto culture and its Gods view Sin differently. I can tell you won’t go to Yomi. You didn’t do anything wrong. Bad decisions don’t mean you’re a bad person Hobo.”

“Heh…” Shinjiro smirked at that. “So, Takaya’s rotting in Yomi then.”

“…I guess.” Marie recalls that name being mentioned before from Fuuka. Some organization that her group had to fight. S…strategy? Spaghetti? Stratos? …she’ll ask Fuuka later. “But you’re good. So…at least you have that. You’ll be at peace, and you can look for your Miki.”

“…Shit, death is looking real promising.” Shinjiro closes his eyes. “…Can I ask one last thing? Consider it my final request.”

Marie nods. “Yeah…shoot.”

“Fuuka. We both know she loves you.” He sighed. “That girl falls in love so quickly. Minato, Junpei, Takeba, Mitsuru, me…the girl gets smitten too damn easy. Show her affection and she practically cling you like a puppy.” He chuckled “That’s a good comparison–” he coughs again “Dammit…so my request is simple. Love her Marie. She deserves that after the way her parents treated her; after Natsuki treated her…heck, how I treated her. She deserves a lot, and…You’re the only who can anymore.” He coughs again. 

“Everyone else that she could have something with, is already taken, or long gone.” He turns to Marie, opening his eyes. “I know you love her too. You got nobody else after all.”

Marie couldn’t refute that because it was true. The one love she had, Yu Narukami, taken. And everyone else from the IT were taken as well. Any options she had were closed before she could open the door. Fuuka is much like herself in that regard. Neither of them has other options. In the end…they have each other. And Marie is okay with that. She does love Fuuka dearly to her heart. Her innocence, her love for technology and sci-fi, her enthusiasm in general is contagious. How could Marie not come to love her eventually, with all the time they spent together?

Marie closed her eyes and smiled. She nodded. “I was going to talk to her about it later. So…yeah. I can do that. I’ll love her real nice Hobo.”

Shinjiro sighed, smiling. “Then there’s nothing left to talk about.” He closed his eyes. “Alright…go ahead.”

Marie nodded, and with the tip of her index finger, she touches Shinjiro’s forehead. Marie glows a faint white, and so does Shinjiro.

Slowly, Marie erased all memories of Fuuka from Shinjiro’s mind. From their meeting, to their cooking lessons, to their inevitable accident…their first kiss…and their last memory together of a failed passion.

All gone.

“Sleep.” Marie whispered, and Shinjiro falls into a deep sleep. Marie isn’t sure if her hearing was wrong, but she could have sworn Shinjiro said ‘Thank you’, to her.

Whatever the case…it’s done. Marie got up and bowed to Shinjiro. “May your dreams be filled with happiness Hobo, and your death…it will be painless. I ensured that at least.”

With one last look, Marie turns and walks out of the apartment, closing the door behind her after locking it. Fuuka is waiting for her outside, staring at the city.

“…Is it done?” Fuuka asked, her voice trembling. Anticipation, fear…? She doesn’t know. Marie leans on the rails next to Fuuka, and nods.

“It’s done…you’re no longer a presence in his story.” Marie said.

“…Good, good yes…good.” Fuuka quivered, gritting her teeth. “…I…I’m happy…a-about that…”

Marie sighed. “You’re not a good liar Teal-“

“Let me have this Marie. Just…please.” Fuuka practically begged as tears rolled down her eyes.

Marie said nothing, instead she embraced Fuuka in a hug, and Fuuka practically clung to her as she let out what little tears, she has left for Shinjiro and herself.

Eventually, Fuuka stopped, and sniffed. Marie handed her a napkin, and Fuuka blew her nose. “Thanks…” Fuuka tosses the napkin onto a trash can nearby. “I’m…” she glances at Shinjiro’s door. “…I’m ready to go back.”

Marie offers her hand to Fuuka. Fuuka takes it, gently intertwining her fingers with Marie’s. “I’ll cook tonight, if that’s ok.”

Fuuka nods “Yeah, I…I would appreciate that.”

The journey back to their apartment was a quiet one, but at least Fuuka didn’t seem sad anymore, from what Marie could tell.

After arriving, Fuuka took a nap, and Marie cooked dinner, deciding to use her time to do so. By the time she was done, Dusk started to settle in, and in the early hours of the evening, Fuuka came out of her bedroom, and took a long bath in the bathroom.

When she came out in her nightgown and underwear, hair loose, she sat on the sofa, next to Marie, who had taken a bath sometime before after she finished dinner and is in a pair of underwear and loose tank-top.

Marie isn’t really much for subtlety, not that Fuuka minded. It let her view Marie all she wanted, and Fuuka enjoys what she sees. But what’s on her mind isn’t just her desires of passion, but desires that she had chosen to ignore; but no more. 

“Sleep well Teal?” Marie asks. Fuuka nodded to her.

“I did.” She bit her lip. “Say…Marie-chan?”

“Yeah?” Marie mutes the show she was watching and turns her had to look at Teal, with Fuuka doing the same to her.

“I want to talk.” Fuuka leaned closer to Marie. “…About us.”

[darnloveablecharacters]

Far From Home, Part Twelve: Miracles

Series Summary: Reader is torn from her reality and dumped into the middle of a war. Will she make it home? Or will she find where she belongs? A Rogue One Reader Insert Fanfiction. Gifs and recognizable characters are not mine, but the story and all of the mistakes are!

Far From Home - Masterlist

Chapter Notes: So, the song here happened to be playing when I was writing one of the earlier chapters... and I realized that it really fits the world they’re living in. Boom. Moment of Clarity. :-) Song is ‘When You Believe’ which is performed beautifully by Mariah Carey and Whitney Houston. It is from the movie, Prince of Egypt. If you haven’t seen/heard it.... worth a google for the song alone. But the movie is pretty great too.

Warnings for this chapter: PTSD  

To say the presentation of K-2 went well, was an understatement. General Draven actually smiled. Like, legitimately smiled.

It was terrifying.

He congratulated Cassian and I for “bringing such a valuable asset to the cause.” In General Draven speak, I think it means he loves us and wants to adopt us.

Probably not.

I’m still going to think it.

After the presentation, I was disappointed to find out that Boe Boe and Rhayna had been given another mission and were due to leave in an hour. I wasn’t cleared for off-planet missions yet, so I was grounded and would be working with the team of mechanics to keep the ships up and running. I was torn between feeling grateful and bored.

You haven’t even started yet.

I left with Boe Boe and Rhayna chatting happily. Cassian stayed behind to discuss his next mission with the General. I couldn’t help the pang of sadness that he would probably be leaving soon as well.

And you wouldn’t even let him kiss you.

We sat down on some crates just outside of the hangar, and Boe Boe provided snacks while we waited for their ship to be loaded with supplies.

God bless this Gran, he always has food.

Sitting in a peaceful silence, Boe Boe nudged me. “So, I couldn’t help but notice. What’s going on between you and Captain Andor?”

I choked on the food in my mouth.

I take back my blessing.

When I could breathe again, I tried to play coy, “What do you mean?”

Smooth.

“Oh, come on, don’t play dumb.” He held out a finger to count. “He hand-picks you for your first mission.”

He did?

Boe Boe holds out a second finger. “When he brought you back injured, he nearly killed anyone in his path with his expression alone as he carried you to the med bay.”

I looked at Rhayna and she just shrugged.

Thanks for the support friend.

Time for the third finger. “Every moment when he wasn’t working on that miserable droid, he was in the med bay watching over you. I don’t think he even slept until you woke up the first time.”

He… watched over you.

I was almost nervous to hear what may come next, but Boe Boe held his fourth finger and said. “Last but not least, he re-programmed that droid for you. No one has ever done it before, but he did it so your first mission wouldn’t be a failure.”

Wow.

“So, I believe there’s something going on there. And as your best friend…” This earned a glare from Rhayna, “I have the right to know.”

“We’re just…” I said, biting my lip trying to figure out how to describe the dynamics of Cassian and I. It bothered me that I wasn’t even sure what to call us.

“Friends?” Boe Boe said, suspiciously.

“Lovers?” Rhayna said with a grin.

“Partners.” I decided.

They both groaned.

“Fine then, keep your secrets.” I smiled as Boe Boe threw my words back at me.

“I give it a week before she confesses her undying love for him.” Rhayna said, winking at me.

“Nah, they’re both stubborn. My bet is at least a month.” Boe Boe challenged.

Feeling a blush creep into my cheeks, I watched as they set the terms. Apparently, my love life is worth fifty credits.

Not bad.

It was late by the time Boe Boe and Rhayna had departed. Exhausted, I decided to head back to my room to get some sleep and prepare for my first day working with the mechanics. It wasn’t until I stood in front of my door that I remembered the nightmare. This would be the first night I would try sleeping again without the medication, and I felt sick knowing what may be in store for me.

Remember what Cassian said.

I took a deep breath. “The nightmares mean there is still hope for us.”

Good girl.

Steeling myself, I walked in the room and went to bed.

The nightmare started the same as before.

K-2SO was at my side, and I was pointing my blaster at the man in front of me.

“You have a one-hundred percent chance of dying if you don’t shoot now.” K-2 said.

This time, when I looked back, it was Boe Boe who was pointing the blaster at me.

I looked desperately back at K-2. “There has to be another way.” I pleaded.

“Your own death is an option.” Was his cold response.

I could feel the tears start to fall as I turned back to my friend and squeezed the trigger.

Your friends will die because of you.

“No, I can save them.” I said, rushing to Boe Boe’s side.

You can’t help them, you’re weak.

As I watched Boe Boe’s life fade, I realized that I believed the words.

I woke up screaming again. I was alone this time, and I couldn’t stop the tears from falling.

It was just a dream.

“Is it?” I choked out between sobs.

It’s all in your head.

“What if they die?”

You can’t save everyone.

“Then what’s the point?”

There was no answer, and it bothered me. I needed to get away. I threw the covers off myself and ran out of my bedroom, desperate for air. I was fortunate enough to find that the halls were empty, the majority of the base inhabitants fast asleep. Even then, I didn’t want to take the chance that someone may see me in my distressed state, so I took a less direct route outside.

I burst through the door that led outside and stopped, gasping in the cool air of the night. To my immense relief, there was no one in sight. Once my breathing stabilized, I sat in the dirt leaning against the temple wall. I pulled my knees up to my chest and wrapped my arms around them trying to relax. As I always have when I am frightened, I asked the questions.

What do you know for sure?

“My name is Y/N. I am 23 years old. I live on Yavin 4. I am a Captain in the Alliance to Restore the Public.”

Why?

That one was new.

“I…. I want to help.”

Who?

“All of them. Everyone who lost their homes and families to the Empire. Boe Boe. Rhayna. Cassian…”

How?

A tear escaped my eye, and I hugged my knees closer to my chest. “I don’t know.”

That’s not good enough.

I wiped the tears off my face, then took a deep, steadying breath. “I’m going to fight for them. I’m going to do anything I can, whatever it takes, to help them find their peace.”

Good girl.

I don’t know how long I sat there, thinking of the friends I had made since I arrived at Yavin 4. Knowing that they were out there somewhere, gave me comfort. Eventually, I thought of what Cassian had said trying to comfort me in the med bay.

He said that you’re safe now. You’re home.

In the time I had spent on Earth, I had never felt the warmth that began to spread through me in that moment. This world may be dark and terrifying in every way, but the people here had swiftly worked their way into my heart. I had found my home, after all this time.

I smiled, comforted be the sudden realization. It was in that moment that a song I had heard as a child popped in my head and I couldn’t help but sing it to the trees.

Many nights we've prayed, with no proof anyone could hear. In our hearts a hopeful song, we barely understood.

Now we are not afraid. Although we know there's much to fear. We were moving mountains long before we knew we could.

There can be miracles, when you believe. Though hope is frail, it's hard to kill. Who knows what miracles you can achieve. When you believe, somehow you will. You will when you believe.

In this time of fear, when prayers so often prove in vain. Hope seems like the summer birds, so swiftly flown away.

Yet now I'm standing here. My heart's so full I can't explain. Seeking faith and speaking words, I never thought I'd say

There can be miracles, when you believe. Though hope is frail, it's hard to kill. Who knows what miracles you can achieve. When you believe, somehow you will. You will when you believe.

They don't always happen when you ask. And it's easy to give in to your fears. But when your blinded by your pain, can't see your way straight through the rain. A small but still, resilient voice, says love is very near.

There can be miracles, when you believe. Through hope is frail, it's hard to kill. Who knows what miracles you can achieve. When you believe, somehow you will. Now you will. You will when you believe.

By the time I finished the song, I felt better.

“Y/N?” I jumped, startled, when I heard Cassian’s voice.

Sneaky sneaky.

“Captain Andor, I didn’t realize you were here.” I said as I stood and brushed the dirt off my clothes.

“I’m sorry.” He said dipping his head, “I didn’t mean to startle you. I just, didn’t expect to hear a voice out here at this time.” He kept his focus on the dirt.

He heard you.

I felt my cheeks flush. “I just needed some fresh air.”

He nodded, and I could tell that he truly understood what I meant. He looked up at me, curious. “That song, is it yours?”

I shook my head. “No, it’s just something I heard when I was young.”

He smiled. “It’s beautiful.”

The song? It couldn’t possibly be the singing.

“It seemed fitting for the everything that is happening.” I said, feeling strangely uncomfortable.

“It is.” He agreed.

At least you both have one thing in common. Small talk is not your strong suit.

We stood there for a few moments in silence. The more time passed, the more uncomfortable I felt.

Maybe you should say something to him.

“I’m tired. I’m going to head back and get some sleep.” I said, yawning.

Oh, good. What better words could there possibly be to describe your affections than, ‘I’m tired.’

Cassian remained silent for a moment, then chuckled. “Good night, Captain Y/L/N.”

“Good night, Captain Andor.” I said, walking away.

You’re hopeless.

I made it back to my room and entered the bathroom. Gripping the sink hard, I glared at myself in the mirror.

He wanted to talk to you.

“Even if that’s true, which it probably isn’t, now is not the time.”

Because there are hundreds of opportunities in a rebellion.

“Shut up brain, I’ll talk to him. Just not now.”

He heard you sing.

“Poor guy.”

He’ll be on a mission before you wake up again, what if he doesn’t come back?

I flinched at the thought. “There’s no guarantee that any of us will ever come back.”

Then you’ll just let him go without ever saying anything.

“Stop, it’s just not the right time.”

Then when is the right time?

“I’m not even sure if he feels that way about me.”

You’re obviously not paying attention. Fine then, don’t complain to me if you never get another chance.

“Go to bed brain.”

Fine

“Fine.”

I left the bathroom and laid down in my bed sighing heavily. As much as a tried not to, I thought about Cassian. In reality, we have only even been around each other a handful of times. However, every time we have met at any point, my life has been changed dramatically. It makes sense, in a way, for me to have feelings for him. He, on the other hand, would not be so affected by my presence. His life wouldn’t have changed by my showing up.

Are you so sure about that?

“All of this is really just a Tuesday for him.” I said, allowing myself a sad smile.

Think about what Boe Boe said.

“He was just making fun of me. He knows that I like Cassian.”

Think about the way he acts around you. Every move he makes when you’re around.

I thought about all that has happened between us in the few times we’ve spent together. The more I focused on the details, the more it dawned on me. Every move he makes around me, in its own way, has been protective.

Except for when he pointed a blaster at you.

“That’s true, but then he lead me to his ship. He brought me here when he had no reason to.”

Then he imprisoned you.

I covered my face with my pillow, frustrated.

“Who’s side are you on exactly?”

Just admit it to yourself at least. You’ll feel better.

“I love him.” I said, without hesitation.

Wow.

“Wow.” It was then, after saying it out loud, that everything clicked into place. The feeling of home, the reason for joining the rebellion in the first place. It was Cassian. It was always Cassian.

Told you, now go talk to him like a grown up.

I rolled back out of bed, wondering how I would even start the conversation.

How about, ‘Oh, by the way. I love you.’

“Maybe something a little less terrifying.” I mumbled. I opened the door and nearly jumped out of my skin as I came face-to-face with K-2SO. “K-2, don’t do that!” I said, breathless.

“I am merely standing here. It was you that came running out of the door without thinking to check if someone was on the other side.” He said.

I glared at him. “Why are you here?”

“I am here to help you in any way I can.”

Didn’t see that coming.

I smiled at the droid, “Thank you, K.”

“Cassian told me to.”

Ah.

“Oh.” I said, then remembered my reason for leaving the room in the first place. “Where is Captain Andor now?”

“He departed five minutes ago.”

“Oh.” I felt my stomach drop as the disappointment flooded through me. “Did he say when he would return?”

K-2 cocked his head to the side. “He did not say. Just that I need to help you while he is away.”

I nodded at this, trying to hide my sadness. “I’m on light-duty for a while, meet me in the hangar tomorrow morning.” I said, dismissing the droid.

“Very well, Captain.” He said, and walked away toward the hangar.

I slid back into my room and, once again, slumped down onto the bed. The disappointment was overwhelming, and it made me feel nauseous.

“I’ll tell him when he gets back.” I said, praying that I would get the chance.

You better.

“I will.”

[whole30problems]

Day 20: 1/20/18

Soooo... we are considering not finishing this Whole30. I’ll get into why, but let me first just say that I realize this seems like a really lame cop out. And I think it would be if this was the first time I was doing Whole30. But I already did the whole thing once so I know I’m capable of it - so it doesn’t feel like giving up to me, it feels like considering my options knowing how I’ll feel in both scenarios and trying to make the more mature move instead of focusing on the guilt that I think people will be disappointed in me or make fun of me or whatever might happen.

Actually, lemme just tell you about my day because I think then you may understand where I’m coming from.

Breakfast

I woke up at 5am again, sneezing and with a constantly runny nose (I should have taken a picture of how many tissues I used in the next hour; I think it was probably like 30). For some context on this: I have woken up between 4-5am every single day for the last... I think 2 weeks? We finally acknowledged today that it seems like I might be allergic to something in the apartment, because it seems like as soon as I leave home I’m fine, and as soon as I come back (like right now, as I type this, I am sneezing again, and I have not sneezed in hours) it starts up again. So that is stressful thing #1.

So I woke up at 5, put in a few hours of work (stressful thing #2: work is crazy right now for a bunch of reasons and I know someone’s going to yell at me about work/life balance but I work at a very early stage startup that is doing a lot of cool things and this is not the time for me to have a work life balance so just don’t yell at me about it. But yes I basically work 24/7 currently and it’s exhausting), and sat around sneezing and feeling miserable. 

Erik woke up eventually and offered to make some of those yummy smashed potatoes out of leftover cooked potatoes we have in the fridge. I said that sounded great. Then he came out of the kitchen with ONE plate with a couple potatoes and a sausage on it. I asked him where my breakfast was and he said he didn’t realize I wanted any. “What made you think,” I asked him, “That I would be making my own breakfast at some time in the future? I’ve been awake for hours and I’m starving. I also literally can’t stop sneezing long enough to even make it into the kitchen, PLUS I’m in the middle of a bunch of work.” (I am a joy to build a life with.) So he made me some breakfast:

Then he went off to skate (his current passion) and was so excited because this is the first day in months where it’s warm enough that he can go do it outside. He came back only an hour later, which is always a bad sign because it means something went wrong. It turns out the skate park was closed (and still full of snow), and he crumbled. The problem is, as I may have described here before, that January removes everything Erik loves. He’s not allowed to have beer. He’s not allowed to eat any comfort foods. He doesn’t have any free time because he’s constantly doing the dishes (or helping with other household chores that I don’t have time to do because I’m cooking every second of the day that I’m home). And he can’t spend any time outdoors, which makes him totally insane.

So on days like this, where he thought he might have something nice to do and then even that got taken away from him, it’s really not easy for him to bounce back. To his credit he tried, but it illuminated for me yet again how miserable this diet is making him. It’s just withholding one more thing that has the potential to make him have a good day. So there’s stressful thing #3.

Lunch

We went to see a couple apartments (as I think I mentioned the other day, we just found out we have to move), and since this was my first time really moving around today I noticed that a subtle lower back pain from yesterday had blossomed into what felt like a full-on muscle sprain. It was bad enough that I was limping a little because it hurt every time I moved my leg (back injury: stressful thing #4). When we got home from looking at the apartments, we did some stretching, which helped a little, but when I stood up from the floor I got really dizzy and that thing happened where I blacked out for a few seconds and couldn’t see anything and had to hold on to Erik until it passed. (Concerned family reading this: I promise I am fine, this is not something that happens often.)

This is when Erik totally lost his mind. He started expressing some concerns that I guess he’s had for a while, which is that I’ve basically been sick the whole time we’ve been doing Whole30 (as he put it, "I’ve never seen you this frail in the entire time I’ve known you”) and he strongly feels I should consider whether or not this makes sense for me to keep doing. I argued that I don’t see how eating less healthy would make me feel any better. What, if I was drinking regularly and eating pasta all my problems would be solved? And I really don’t know the answer to this - I don’t know if these things are a coincidence or if my diet really is hurting me somehow - but I do know that last year at this time I felt great, and for whatever reason I do not feel great now. I do have more energy at work, yes, which is nice, but I think that’s just because I’m not drinking and I’m not eating sugar and I’m going to bed earlier. But I feel sick, and weak, and exhausted at the end of the day, and I can’t sleep. So something certainly doesn’t feel right. Stressful thing #5.

Anyway, we argued about that for a while and then I made us a greek salad, which was really good!

It’s just romaine, hardboiled eggs, tomatoes, and kalamata olives. The dressing is olive oil, red wine vinegar, lemon juice, garlic, and salt and pepper. While I was making this admittedly very simple and quick salad, I was also heavily guilting my husband about not offering to make it. But the problem is, he hates cooking more than anything in the world, I think maybe even a tiny bit more than he hates seeing me in pain, which is certainly a lot. So I made lunch while I moaned every time I had to move because my back hurt, and constantly blew my nose because it wouldn’t stop running, and generally gave him a hard time. The thing is, I joke about this a lot here, but this kind of intense diet really is tough on a (or at least our) relationship. It’s so much work, and it’s neverending. Erik has done the dishes 3 times today, and somehow there are still dishes in the sink. There’s always groceries to order or something to clean or something to cook. And it is very much not making us enjoy the limited time we have together at home. Stressful thing #6.

I took a nap after lunch and that helped (so did the heating pad I put under my back).

Dinner

We did have one really nice part of our day. Remember that angel Duncan who cooked us a Whole30 dinner last year? He did it again this year, and this time he had help in the form of a second angel, Sarah:

They hosted us for dinner, and made us a delicious salad, a spatchcocked (??) chicken, and a truly amazing slow cooker curry cauliflower korma that you should 100% make. This was the best dinner I’ve had probably all month (half because it was good, and half because I didn’t have to make it). We brought the La Croix. They wouldn’t let us clean up any of the dishes after dinner. Like I said: angels.

They read the blog, so we talked a lot about how it’s going and the pros/cons. And while we were talking about it, I realized... there aren’t really any pros this year. In addition to all the health problems I’ve been having, I also still haven’t dropped more than those original 5 lbs (and I’m convinced that was just from getting rid of alcohol). And we’re just... so... miserable.

Duncan also made us a “second course” (since we’re not allowed to have “dessert”) which was a sort of smoothie made from bananas, coconut milk, cinnamon, and nutmeg. Oh my god it was heavenly.

On our walk home, Erik and I had some real talk about the Whole30. He told me how guilty he felt eating that paleo crack bar the other day because it had raw maple syrup in it, and how it got him thinking that so many of the Whole30 rules seem so silly because we already know (from doing it + reintroduction last year) that a bunch of the forbidden foods don’t make us personally feel bad. I also think I’ve been relying on the Whole30 too much as my sole (theoretical) method of losing weight or staying skinny when really what I should probably be doing is exercising. And, ya know, sleeping.

I think we just don’t... really believe this is the right diet for us. And we actually DO eat relatively healthy (much more than we used to before Whole30). We went down the list:

We almost never eat bread or pasta at home

We almost never order in food

We eat breakfast every day, and it’s usually some variation of the eggs and meat/veggie we’re eating now

We’ve both cut down on our caffeine

We’ve both massively cut down on our sugar (outside of my one vice, Pumpkin Spice Lattes in Nov/Dec)

I eat way less cheese than I used to, and Erik eats way less fast food than he used to

We’re not perfect, but we don’t have any serious dietary reactions to anything we eat, and we’re relatively thin, active people. I just don’t really know what we’re trying to get out of this anymore. It doesn’t really feel like it has a point this year. Last year, we had a goal: finish the Whole30. Prove that we can do it. Now it just feels like a dumb project we’ve finished already.

I feel pretty confident that even if we choose not to continue doing the Whole30, we can still use January as a healthy month (no alcohol, little to no sugar, more veggies, and actual exercise) and get more out of it if we’re not stressed and miserable all the time.

So there you have it. I don’t know what we’re going to do but I can tell you that I’m leaning towards giving up on this. We have enough stress in our lives without a self-imposed diet that seems to be killing both of us slowly. I still super believe in the Whole30 and think it’s worth doing once to learn what works and doesn’t work for your body, but I think what I’ve learned this time around is that rather than doing something extreme like this again, a smarter thing is just to take what you’ve learned and incorporate that into your life in a sustainable way. I’d like to be healthy year round, not just in January.

And Erik would like to eat a pizza.