#and i hate roommate h even MORE for disturbing my sleep | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jaeminlore · 4 years ago

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Landslide | Mark Lee

summary: time makes you bolder. even children get older, and i’m getting older too.

words: 7.1k+

category: teacher!mark, single parent!reader, fem!presenting!reader, graham is the sweetest kid, mark is that teacher that lets kids pick earthworms during recess, friends to lovers, mark’s apartment is flooded so now he has to live in domestic bliss with his secret crush oh nooooo

warnings: talk of absent fathers

author note: it’s my birthday tomorrow so i wanted to give u all a present for supporting me for so long!! here’s to you <3 (cross-posted on /honklore)

Mark helps one of his kids press their palms onto the wall. When they release their palm, pink paint remains, making a sort of leaf to the tree branches painted onto the wall.

“Now write your name,” Mark advises another kid, whose orange paint had already dried.

“G-R-A-H-A-M,” the boy writes out with a large permanent marker. “Can I take a picture? For my mom?”

All the rest of the children begin to shout their agreements, also wanting to bring home a picture for their parents. Mark grabs his yellow Polaroid camera and takes a picture of each handprint.

He keeps all of the pictures in the chest pocket of his denim jacket. “Okay, guys— to the sink! Whoever has the cleanest hands gets to help me pass out snacks!”

“Why are we having snack time so early?” It’s Graham that asks, the little one always eager to be around Mark.

Mark ignores the boy’s paint covered hands poking at his clean jacket, and answers him as politely as he can. “Mr. Lee forgot his lesson plans today, so we’re going to watch a movie instead.”

“A movie?” Graham’s eyes widen.

“Yep,” Mark giggles. He crouches down to Graham’s level and whispers, “You wanna pick it?”

“Nature Nut!” Graham cheers almost immediately, causing Mark to wince.

Ah, yes, the wonderful little DVDs of a lonesome man teaching the watcher about bugs and weird types of slugs. Mark actually has the entire collection, and Graham happens to adore them just as much as Mark did when he was a kid.

“Alright, go wash your hands and I’ll get it started.”

It’s a little girl named Hana who cleans her hands the best, so she passes out organic fruit gummies to everyone while Mark puts in the DVD.

While they watch the video, Mark checks his text messages.

There’s one from Taeyong: “I’ve already got Haechan on the couch. Sorry, man. You can have the floor, but it’s not gonna be comfy :(“

Right. Mark forgot that Haechan lives in the same complex as him. His apartment is probably just as flooded as Mark’s is. Now if the landlord would just answer his calls and help him... maybe this situation wouldn’t be so stressful.

Mark didn’t forget his lesson plans; they’re just submerged in his bedroom with everything else Mark has left lying on his carpet. And maybe it’s his fault for not buying more storage bins, but a studio apartment can only hold so much stuff.

Serves Mark right for doing his lesson plans at home instead of at the school like most of his fellow kindergarten teachers.

He lets out a quiet sigh, careful not to disturb the children. He only has a short list of friends left to ask, and while he doesn’t think they’ll mind him asking, he really hates to put anyone in that position.

Besides, most of his friends have roommates or significant others and Mark doesn’t want to ruin their routine. He’d hate to intrude. And he could always sleep in his car for a few days, but the amount of stuff he had to pack because of the flooding has barred any chance of a good night’s sleep.

The video ends, and Mark gets the kids seated with coloring pages until their parents arrive.

One by one, he I.Ds the parents and tells the kids goodbye, helping them put on their coats and take home whatever library book they picked out earlier.

Finally, there’s only one kid left, and Mark is a bit embarrassed of his hyper-awareness to Graham. It’s not even his fault, really. Graham just has a beautiful mom, who happens to be Mark’s beautiful friend, and sometimes Mark gets eager to see you during pickup time.

Whatever. It’s no big deal.

The kindergartener already has his coat on. His curly brown hair is almost unruly as he continues to work on his coloring sheet.

Mark pulls at the hem of his sage sweater sleeves and wonders if his hair looks okay. Maybe he should invest in a little desk mirror; or maybe that’s vain.

“Hey, Mark! Sorry I’m late!” You rush in, holding on to your leather messenger bag. You fix your glasses before they fall off the bridge of your nose, and Mark is so focused on the movement that he almost forgets about your child.

Until said child is scolding his mother. “Mom! You have to call him Mr. Lee! It’s rude to call him Mark!”

“Your mom is an adult,” Mark reminds Graham (as soon as he finds his voice.) “Since she isn’t a student, it’s okay for her to call me Mark.”

Graham pinches his lips together, and then shrugs. “Fine. Mom, we watched Nature Nut today.” He runs up to you and wraps his arm around your middle. “Can we go to the park and look for slugs?”

“Sure,” you giggle. “But we need to get home soon, okay, Bud? I have to make dinner and then we have to clean up the mess we made last night.”

Graham turns to Mark and smiles naughtily, like the trickster he often is. “Mom said I could tear up her papers last night. She said it’s There-pee.”

“Ther-a-py,” you emphasize for the five-year-old.

Mark studies your face, and he can tell that you seem a little more stressed than usual. “Therapy, huh?”

You smile sheepishly. “Well, when your son catches you tearing up old love notes, you have to let him in on the fun, right?”

“You are a team,” Mark acknowledges. He wants to ask more; wants to dig into your heart and extract whatever is hurting you, but your son is standing between the two of you, waiting for him to say goodbye. Mark clears his throat and picks at his sweater again. “Anyways, uh, text me tonight? Let me know you two got home safe. And, I’ll see you both tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” you breathe. You smile at him and then take Graham’s hand. “Thanks, Mark. I’ll text you.”

Mark spends the night at a motel down the road. He texts a few of his friends and hopes for good news in the morning, or at least a confirmation from his landlord.

When you text him, a little selfie of you and Graham, holding up what looks like microwaved s’mores, his heart grows fond, and he forgets about his own problems for a moment.

Life has never been very easy for you. From the get-go, you have always been destined to fail, growing up with an absent father and an overworked mother. With a dead-end dream like yours (writing, of all things), it’s no wonder you clung to what little breaths of freedom you had.

He was handsome and bold, with a carefree smile and brown eyes that mirrored the sun. The lead singer of a band, with a voice like chimes. And you fell just as hard as one of your many protagonists. Perhaps the mistake always lay in the fact that you put too much fantasy into reality. You have always romanticized the littlest things, and that comes back to bite you more often than not.

You never expected one: to get pregnant your senior year of high school, and two: have to go through it alone.

Of course, most people you come to love leave eventually. It’s something you have always remembered; something that sticks in the back of your brain like gum to the bottom of your child’s Spider-man skechers.

Graham is the only constant in your life. Though you’ve been blessed with a decent job editing for a webazine company, and you can work from home more often than not, Graham is the real thing that keeps you alive.

He’s the most precious boy, with brown curls and big brown eyes. He favors his father, and though that should deter you, it reminds you of innocent days, and it gives a new meaning to brown eyes. Graham is not his father, and he never was.

Graham certainly got his love of learning from you. Though he likes science more than writing, you adore how eager he is to always get to school. It helps that Mark is his teacher.

Mark’s been your friend since freshman year of highschool, when the two of you both took the same creative writing class the local university offered. Though the two of you had differing end goals, you often studied together and encouraged each other. He was there when you found out you were pregnant, and he was there when you found out you’d be raising your child alone.

Now life comes full circle, and you see him twice a day. You could go out on a limb and say he brightens up most mornings, but you would still give that slot to your son.

Mark is standing at the doorway now, greeting all of his students and helping them take off their book bags and coats. He’s wearing monochrome today: red pants, a red sweater, and red shoes.

Graham lights up almost immediately, and you are thankful today that you decided to dress Graham in his red t-shirt. “Mom! We match!”

“I know,” you grin, squeezing his hand.

Mark glances at Graham, and then you. His cheeks showcase that same pink hue they always do, and while it should clash with his red garments, it doesn’t. “Hey, Mark.”

“Hey,” he grins, cheeks full at the sight of you two.

Graham spreads his arms and waits for Mark to help him take off his jacket. “Do you see that we match, Mr. Lee?”

“Yo, that’s awesome, Little Man!” Mark gives Graham a fist bump that seems to appease him, and you wait for Graham to run to his friends before addressing Mark.

“How have you been?”

Mark sighs. He brushes his hair away from his eyes. “Okay. My- uh- my studio apartment flooded so I’m staying at a motel until my landlord can get me estimates on when I can come back home.”

“That sucks,” you frown. “You know, if you need a place to stay, I have a pullout couch in my office. And obviously, Graham wouldn’t mind.”

Mark pales. “Are you serious? I didn’t mean to suggest anything, Like I know you work from home and you need your office.”

“And you’ll be at school until three,” you say. “I’ll work then. C’mon, Mark. I don’t like knowing one of my friends has no place to stay.”

Mark bites his bottom lip and scratches the back of his neck. “Yeah. Okay. I’ll drive over after I check out of the motel.”

“Great!” You smile. “I’ll order pizza.”

"Graham, clean your room," you say, struggling to push your desk against your office wall. "We're going to have a guest for a few weeks."

"Mom," Graham whines, "They aren't going to look in my room."

You begin to take the cushions out of the spare couch to start setting up the pull-out bed. "Mr. Lee is coming over, Graham. Don't you want to show him your collections?"

Graham's brown eyes grow wide. "Mr. Lee? You didn't tell me he was coming!"

"He's going to be staying with us for a little bit, okay? So I need you to be on your best behavior."

“Can I show him my worms?” Graham asks, alluding to the compost bin in the small backyard of your townhouse.

“Yes,” you say, thankful that he isn’t putting up much of a fight toward cleaning. You’re also thankful he isn’t asking any questions, as Graham always seems to have a few at the top of his tongue.

Graham cleans up his room quickly. You know for a fact that he’s just shoved all of his toys under his bed, but it’s enough until the weekend, when you’ll have more time to help him organize.

The little guy hoards rocks like no one’s business. You curse the day Mark decided to teach the kids about geodes.

“Wanna help me make up Mr. Lee’s room?” You half-yell, while grabbing spare bedding out of your linen closet.

Graham’s little footsteps are heard before he answers, and soon he’s at your hip with a quick, “He can have my Frozen pillowcase!”

You hesitate to tell Graham that his Frozen pillowcase is currently on one of your pillows, and you can’t give your guest a dirty pillowcase. “That one is in the wash, Buddy. Why don’t we give him your Spider-Man one?”

“So he matches my pajamas!” Graham is easily pleased, and he even takes one of his stuffed bears to add to Mark’s made-up bed. (“So he doesn’t get scared at night.”)

By the time the pizza arrives, Mark is just behind, so you keep Graham busy with a slice of cheese and a glass of diet pepsi (only half of a can, and only because it’s a special occasion) while the two of you bring in Mark’s stuff.

He surprisingly didn’t bring much, and when you ask about it, he grimaces. “My studio is pretty small so a lot of my stuff was on the ground and got mildewed. Other stuff was in bins so I just left it there. I only need clothes and my lesson plans, anyway.”

“Well, here’s the desk and bed. It’s not much, but there’s a lock on the door in case Graham ever gets too inquisitive — bless him — and curtains so the stupidly bright sun won’t wake you too early.”

“Those both sound like personal experiences, Y/n,” Mark teases. He takes off his jacket and throws it on the bed. “Yo! Spider-Man?”

“Graham picked it out,” you say. “He also relinquished one of his bears to keep you safe in the middle of the night. His words, not mine.”

“He’s so cute,” Mark mentions offhandedly. The fondness in his tone takes you back a bit. Not because the phrase isn’t true, it’s just that most people find your son annoying before they find him endearing. The change of tone is nice.

“He is,” you say. “And he’s dying to show you his room after we eat dinner.”

Mark gives you that same lopsided smile he often had in high school. Part of your brain shifts to his personal life, and you wonder why Mark himself isn’t in a romantic relationship. Not that he has to be, but the both of you are getting older, and Mark has always been one to express a fondness for having his own family one day. Maybe he just hasn’t found the right person.

It isn’t until Graham is peacefully in bed — after a very chaotic reading of Goodnight Moon by yours truly, and an argument that Mr. Lee cannot, in fact, sleep in the same room as him — that you actually have a chance to show Mark around the house.

“Here’s the guest bathroom. Graham almost always uses the bathroom in my room because he likes looking at the big tub. He will beg you to play with him, but if you’re busy don’t feel guilty telling him no. He knows what no means and he’s good about playing by himself.”

Mark giggles. “Okay. I don’t mind playing with him, though.“

You show him around the kitchen, where you left little spaces for him in the pantry. You show him the garbage bags and the T.V. settings and the list of compostable ingredients. “And also, please come and go as you please. Like, I completely understand that you’re here temporarily and you aren’t a babysitter or anything like that. I don’t expect you to be in charge of Graham any time outside of school.”

Mark blinks. “But if you ever need time away, you can ask me. I don’t mind babysitting.”

“I know,” you smile. “But Graham is my kid. I don’t need time away from him.”

You’re lying. Mark knows it. You’ve been in this single parenting thing for five years and you aren’t about to reach out for help now.

“Anyways, if you have any questions just ring me or ask me,” you say. “I’ve got to get to bed. Goodnight.”

“Thanks, Y/n.”

Mark thinks it’s sweet the way Graham insists on making his own breakfast.

You’re already up when Mark gets out of his (temporary) bedroom with his clothes tucked under his arm. You’re busy arguing with Graham. “You can’t fry your own omelette for the last time.”

Mark quirks an eyebrow at your exasperated face. You look stressed beyond belief, even though the day has just begun.

Mark tosses his clothes back in his room and walks into the kitchen. “Hey, Graham! Do you want to show me your rock collection?”

Graham spins on his sock-clad heels, eyes bright at the thought of seeing his teacher. “Mr. Lee! Yes! Let’s go!”

He grabs Mark’s hand with ease, leaving you room to finish making breakfast.

Graham’s room is fairly simple. The small wooden bed is covered in a green quilt, and beneath that, frozen-printed sheets that certainly don’t match. He has a tub of stuffed animals shoved against a small dresser.

Mark gets distracted by the framed picture on top of the dresser. It’s a picture of you and Graham’s father, a few months before you got pregnant. He’s smiling, and you’re holding up a peace sign. It makes Mark feel a bit sad, knowing that Graham’s dad never stayed around to see how wonderful he turned out to be. Then again, a lot of people in your life left as soon as they found out. In high school, no one wants to be friends with a teenage mother.

Mark reckons that if he had a family like this, he’d never take them for granted.

Graham pulls out a gemstone. It’s a murky green one that Mark has let him take home from class. “Do you remember this, Mr. Lee?”

Mark grins. “Yeah, bud. Thanks for keeping it so safe for me.”

Graham beams. He grabs Mark’s hand and pulls him towards his dresser. “Can we match? I want to look like you.”

Mark feels his heart swell. He wants to smother the young boy in affection, but he doesn’t want to cross a line. He’s your friend, sure, but he’s also Graham’s teacher. He can’t coddle Graham more than the other children. He already has a godchild to coddle. “I’m wearing yellow today. Do you have any yellow clothes?”

“Let’s look!” Graham yanks open one of the drawers and begins pulling out the articles of clothing one by one. “No, no, no... Here!” He finds a pair of yellow overalls, folded amongst the mess he made. “I’ll wear these!”

“Let’s clean up first, okay?” Mark grabs the overalls. “So it’s clean when you come home from school.”

Graham, looking like the last thing he’d ever want to do is disappoint Mark, begins to pick up each shirt with obvious intent. He tries to fold them, and does a somewhat decent job, so much so that Mark leaves it, thinking you’ll find it endearing rather than annoying.

He really loves that about you. He likes your patience with Graham. You’re so young, and in reality, he squashed so many early dreams of yours. No matter your lot in life, you never blamed your child. Mark thinks that’s why Graham is so open, so adaptable, so endearing.

He helps Graham get dressed and leaves him in his room so that he, himself, can get ready.

When he emerges from his shower, hair wet and clothed in yellow, he smells something amazing.

He doesn’t want to intrude on your morning with Graham. He already feels too indebted to you already.

“Have an omelet,” you say. Wisps of hair cover your face. You place a plate down in front of him.

Graham is already eating his omelet, slowly, while flipping through a picture book. He sounds out words he recognizes, but stays silent the rest of the time.

Mark takes out his phone and scrolls through his instagram feed just as your own phone begins to ring.

“Shit,” you curse, and then immediately apologize to Graham. You press the red button and tap anxiously on the tabletop.

“Everything okay?” Mark asks.

You run your hands over your hair and let them rest on the back of your neck. “Yeah is just—“

The phone rings again, and this time you pick it up. “What do you want? ... Why would you tell me that? ... Why should I care? ... Please stop contacting me, okay? Goodbye.”

You slam the phone down and leave the room. Mark watches you disappear down the hallway, sniffling.

“Mommy is upset,” Graham says. He looks at Mark, lip quivering. “At me?”

“No, Buddy! Of course not!” Mark reaches over the table to ruffle Graham’s curls. “Never at you.”

“When we tore up paper, she was crying.” Graham fiddles with his book page.

Mark wonders why your ex’s actions are being brought up five years later. Last he heard, you had fully healed from the breakup long before Graham’s first birthday. But now he’s about to be six, and you're suddenly upset?

He’ll have to ask you about it soon.

“Are you ready to go to school, Buddy?”

“Yeah!”

You cradle your face in your hands and try to ease the tears back in. You’ll never get this article proofread and sent if you can’t see the keys.

The door opens, and Graham runs in just in time for you to finish wiping your eyes. “Hey, kiddo! How was school?”

“Mr. Lee let us finger paint!” Graham holds up his palm, covered in dried paint, and grins brightly. “Can I have gogurt?”

“Yeah bud. Why don’t you put something on the T.V.? You can have your snack in the living room today.”

“Yes!” Graham takes blueberry gogurt out of the fridge and — after getting you to tear it open — runs into the living room. Sneakers and backpack still on.

Mark trails behind, clutching a messenger bag to his chest. “What’s going on?”

You sigh and close the laptop. The manuscript will have to wait. “Ben called. About a week ago. His girlfriend is pregnant. Called me to tell me he wasn’t going to leave her— like that would heal what he did to me. Then he called this morning to tell me they’re engaged.” You burst into tears then, and you feel so pathetic for doing this in front of your old schoolmate, that you hide your face behind your palms and allow your shoulders to shake. “Why weren’t we enough? Why wasn’t I enough?”

Mark scoots one of the chairs in front of you and sits, leaning his elbows on his knees. “Hey. Look at me.” With gentle hands, he grabs your wrists and pulls them away from your face. “It is not your fault he left.”

“But it has to be me in some way,” you retort. “He must not have loved me. Something, because now he’s going to raise her child after he left mine. Graham deserves a dad.”

Mark places his forehead against yours. The two of you used to do it all the time in school, mostly with immature giggles in the spaces between, but now it’s heavy with intention. “Graham has not felt even a little bit unloved in your care. You are all he needs, okay? You’re amazing.”

You nod, head still pressed to Mark’s. “Yeah. Okay. Sorry for getting too emotional, there.”

“Be as emotional as you want,” Mark says. “I’ll be here to balance you out.”

Your heart stutters at the words, like maybe they mean something more than he’s letting on. Of course it’s stupid to think Mark Lee would ever even consider you, but just the knowledge that he cares makes your soul feel a little lighter.

“I’m a mess,” you stutter, bringing your fist up to wipe at your nose.

“Nah,” Mark grins. He runs the pad of his thumb across your cheek and grins. “You’re alright.”

“It’s snowing!” Graham wakes Mark up by jumping on his chest.

Mark sucks in a breath, winded at the sudden weight, and grabs the boy, lifting him off of his chest and onto the mattress. “Hey, Buddy. Let’s not jump on sleeping people, okay?”

“Okay,” Graham says. He’s already lost interest in Mark, now crawling off of the bed to open the blinds. “Come look at the snow!”

“I see!” Mark rubs his tired eyes and checks his watch. “We might have a snow day, Graham.”

“Yes!” Graham pumps his fist into the air. “Let’s go tell mom!”

You’re sitting on your bed, chewing on a red licorice rope and flipping through a fashion magazine. You look up when Mark and Graham enter.

Mark likes seeing you like this: the domesticity of you in the morning, lazy and true. His chest sparks when he thinks this may be one of the only moments he can capture you like this, so he intends to commit the sight to memory.

“Did I hear snow day?” You grin at Mark, childlike wit in your own eyes — the same as your son’s.

“Looks like it.” Mark rolls up the sleeves of the sweater he slept in. “You want pancakes? I make some mean chocolate chip pancakes.”

You shift your gaze away from his arms and clear your throat. “Uh, yeah. Just let me get dressed and I’ll help—“

“No need,” Mark insists. “Enjoy your quiet time. Graham and I will make the most delicious pancakes you’ve ever tasted.”

“With lots of chocolate chips!” Graham shouts.

You give him a pointed look. “But not too many.”

Graham huffs. “But not too many,” he repeats.

Momentary splashes sound from your bathroom, followed by Graham screaming “It’s a dragon! Run for cover!”

Mark giggles from his place on the couch. He’s got mushroom-patterned socks on, and he’s tucked up into the cushions, nursing a can of Monster. “How does he still have so much energy?”

You sigh and pull your beanie down over your forehead. “You’d think a snow day would tire him out. Thanks for constantly carrying him up the hill, by the way. I know you’re a teacher, but sometimes I forget how good you are with kids.”

“I do have a godson,” Mark reminds you.

“But Mikey is a baby,” you say. You only know the baby’s name because of Mark’s constant snap stories about him.

“Most babies and kids want the same thing. Affection and attention.” Mark scoots over to the edge of the couch and pats the cushion.

You sit next to him. “I guess that’s true. You’re really good with Graham. He’s not this open to other adults.”

Mark is clearly blushing now; you can see his pink cheeks even in the light of the television. “He’s great in class, always helping the other kids.”

“He wants to impress you,” you say. You pop open a can of orange soda and take a sip. “He thinks you’re just the coolest guy.”

Mark laughs and shakes his head. “Didn’t you hear, Y/n? I’m handsome and cool.”

“Oh, of course,” you nudge his shin with our own sock-clad foot. “How could I forget? Mr. Ladies Man in high school.”

This makes Mark blush even harder, because he most certainly was not a ladies man in high school. In fact, he was a nerd in all senses of the word, part of the debate club with a few other boys. He had a few dates here and there, but nothing ever stuck.

“Shut up,” he mumbles. “My time is gonna come.”

“Hasn’t it already?” you ask before you can really process your own words. But of course he knows that he’s grown into his face, right?

Mark is positively handsome, eyes bright and lashes long. He’s so warm and comforting to you. He must be just as comforting to everyone else.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re handsome, Mark,” you say plainly.

“You mean that?”

“Of course I do,” you say. “Why would I lie?”

Mark opens his mouth, perhaps to call you out. To tell you you’ve been too honest, but he’s interrupted by your son.

“Mom! I’m ready to get out now!”

“I should go,” you say, still looking at his eyes.

“Yeah,” he says. His sweater has small spots on the shoulders where snow has fallen and since melted. He shivers.

“You should take a shower. You’ll catch a cold.”

“Okay,” he whispers. “Yeah, I’ll do that.”

Haechan comes over the following Saturday night to hang out with Mark, and you’re surprised at how much he truly hasn’t changed since high school.

He’s still got infamously perfect eyebrows, and his voice is still high despite its blunt sarcasm. “Nice place.” He raises his brows as he looks around.

“Who are you?” Graham is sitting at the kitchen table, watching Minecraft playthroughs (kid-friendly ones you’ve watched through yourself) on your phone to entertain himself while you clean.

“I’m Haechan, Mark’s friend.”

“This is Mr. Lee’s friend from school,” you say, detailing your words so they’re easier for your son to digest.

Graham stares at him for a moment, not quite judging but not quite accepting either. “Okay. Do you want to see my rock collection?”

Haechan looks genuinely excited, and accepts before you can come up with an excuse for him. Graham tells Haechan to stay in the kitchen while he grabs all of his rocks.

“How have you been?” you ask the taller man. “Like, with the flooding and everything?”

“Well, I’m on a couch at Taeyong’s, which is good since he doesn’t charge rent. But that means I’m near Mikey, and that baby has some lungs.”

You laugh. “I remember when Graham was a baby. I was so young, and my mom told me it was my responsibility to wake up and take care of him whenever he cried in the middle of the night. I was so pissed at her for making me do that, but those were some of the best nights to bond with him.” You realize you’re rambling and shake your head. “Whatever. Baby screams are loud as hell.”

“You can say that again. I’ve been talking to my friend Johnny about taking his spare room and paying rent. I dunno how many more sleepless nights I can take.”

“Why would you need to pay rent if you’re just crashing?” You wipe down the kitchen table to keep yourself busy.

“Didn’t Mark tell you? Our landlord is in heaps of trouble because the pipes weren’t up to code and that’s why they busted. The damage is basically too expensive to fix, so we’ve got to find new places.”

You stop cleaning. “Mark didn’t tell me that.”

“Oh.” Haechan scratches his brow. “He probably didn’t want to worry you. He feels really bad that he’s stayed with you this long.”

“It’s only been a month or so,” you counter. “Besides, Mark’s a great housemate. He cleans and keeps Graham occupied. Plus, now I have someone to watch corny game shows with.”

Haechan grins. “Oh. Okay, I get it.”

“Get what?” Mark, finally out of the shower, steps into the kitchen and immediately tackles Haechan in an energized hug.

“Nothing!” Haechan’s voice cracks

You shoot Haechan a weird look, and change the subject. “Where are you guys going?”

“To play video games at Johnny’s.” Mark says, and the thrill in his voice makes you think of high school. Of the debate team bus rounding the corner. Of you standing there, waiting to congratulate him with a big hug and a frosty from Wendy’s.

You miss it. “Have fun, okay? I’m probably going to tuck in as soon as Graham does, so just let yourself in.”

“You’re leaving?” Graham comes in, and his arms are filled with smooth and rough stones and gems he’s both found by himself and bought at random general stores while traveling.

“Not before I see your rocks!” Haechan says with so much enthusiasm, you think he’s telling the truth.

Graham giggles and drops the rocks onto the ground. Of course, he wants your guest to sit on the floor and count rocks. You’re almost embarrassed.

“ ‘ Okay, Y/n?” Mark laughs at your expression. Then he places his arm on your shoulder, thumbs the skin of your upper arm.

And once again, it’s high school. It’s senior year graduation and Mark is the only one who congratulates you. It’s his comforting touch, him coming over in the middle of the night after you texted him a picture of your first sonogram. It’s that same comforting touch. That little “I’m here,” and it melts you on the inside, leaves you in the shell of an eighteen girl again. Scared, and worried, and a little less alone.

“Yeah,” you manage. “I’m okay.”

The television plays Cartoon Network reruns on a low hum. Mark is curled up in a blanket, nursing a bottle of water and thinking over Haechan’s words.

You’ve liked her since high school, dude.

Which is a complete lie. Seriously, Mark didn’t have a crush on you in high school. He would know if he had a crush on his best friend. You’ve been his friend since freshman year, and that’s all you’ve ever been.

Now in college, it was different. In college, Mark was alone in a dorm with Taeyong, and you were one of the only people from high school he stayed in contact with. In college, he would bring you your favorite snacks and drinks, and other things you would forget to buy because you were a part-time student and a full-time mom. In college, you would pull all-nighters with him, working on your exams while Graham was asleep, then using energy drinks to get through the next day.

Mark even remembers the time your mom caught the three of you fast asleep on your rug, with unopened monster cans and an empty milk bottle beside you.

Throughout your entire pregnancy he was warned not to stay friends with the pregnant girl — it’d be too much for him, he wouldn’t want to become the new father, and all kinds of other stuff people would mumble to him when you weren’t around.

But you never expected him to be anything other than your friend. You never asked him for the help he gave — though you thanked him always — and you never once assumed he’d take the role of Graham’s dad.

And now… now he finds himself wishing you would.

“Mr. Lee?” Graham creeps up without him even realizing.

Mark jumps, sets his water — and thoughts — aside. “Hey, Bud. It’s really late. What are you doing up?”

Graham sniffs, and Mark realizes that the boy is crying. “I had a nightmare.”

Mark holds out his arms before he can think, and lets the five-year-old crawl into his lap. He wraps them both in his blanket and turns the television up just a little more. “Was it scary?”

“You left.” Graham says, voice less watery, like he doesn’t know the weight of his words. He’s focused on the rerun of Adventure Time that’s playing. He’s not even remotely interested in his nightmare now, with his tears dried up, and his eyes drooping back towards slumber.

“I’m going to leave one day,” Mark says, because he thinks it’s important that Graham knows.

“You should stay with me and Mom,” Graham says. He yawns. “We like you so much!”

Mark’s heart stutters. He tries not to think about it.

When Graham’s bed is empty the next morning, you freak out. He’s always in his room in the morning. Even if he wakes up before you, he stays in and plays with his toys.

You’ve already got your phone out, and your mother’s number called, when you walk into the living room.

Relief floods your system. Mark and Graham are asleep on the couch, snuggled up serenely like they didn’t just cause you to have a premature heart attack.

You hang up before the call to your mom can go through and stand there, watching the two boys sleep. Graham has both his arms wrapped around Mark’s forearm. It’s such a sweet picture that you take out your phone and snap one.

The flash is on.

Mark scrunches his nose and winces. “What the–”

“Sorry!” You whisper. “You both looked so cute, I couldn’t help it.”

Mark smiles, still sleepy, and finally opens his eyes. He peers at you, copper brown under fluttering lashes and you’re almost intimidated into looking away. “He had a nightmare.”

“Oh?”

“About me leaving.”

“Oh.” You frown. “I’m really sorry about that. I keep telling him that you’re moving out soon, but I don’t think he fully understands.”

Graham stirs. You reach down and pick him up. Your knuckles brush across Mark’s warm, sweater-clad chest and you suddenly wish you could cuddle with him, too. You shake the thoughts away and focus on your drowsy son. “You’re staying at Grandma's for a few days, remember?”

Graham rubs his eyes and perks up. “And I’ll see her cat?”

“Yes,” you confirm. “But we’ve got to get you dressed because she’s coming in a few minutes.”

“Mark Lee!” Your mom’s voice embarrassingly rings through the apartment, and you realize Mark has taken it upon himself to open the door. “Y/n told me she had a temporary roommate but I never thought she would finally ask you!”

“Oh my gosh…” you mumble, buckling Graham’s overalls and hauling him up into your arms. “Mom! His apartment flooded so he’s staying here. Don’t be weird about it.”

“But he’s so handsome,” your mom coos. You’re concerned she might reach forward and pinch Mark’s already ruddy cheeks.

“Thanks,” Mark laughs. “But she’s right, I’m just squatting until I can find a new place.”

Your mom harrumphs. “Well, I don’t see why you can’t stay here forever. Y/n doesn’t even use that office room. And even if she did, the two of you could just share a room.”

“Mom!” You plunk Graham into her hands and grab his overnight bag. “You have to leave.”

“Did I say something wrong?” She sounds worried, but there’s an undisclosed mirth in her eyes that makes you think of your freshman year, when you did have a crush on Mark.

“You said everything wrong,” you say, kindly pushing her out. “Have a good time, Graham. I love you! As always, Mom, call if you need me to come get him.”

“Yeah, right!” She yells over her shoulder. Graham is already giggling, so you close the door with confidence.

You turn back to your roommate. “I’m sorry about that, Mark.”

“It’s fine.” He smiles, but it’s reserved. “But speaking of me finding a place… I know Haechan told you that I can’t go back to my own apartment. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

“It’s okay,” you say. You want to say “You can stay here as long as you want, and long as you’ll let me keep you,” but that would reveal too much, and you don’t want to lose the one good friend you have.

“And I was thinking I should move out soon anyway.” Mark pulls his sweater sleeves until they cover his hands. He’s hiding. He’s shielding himself the same way he did in junior year, when he got turned down by his crush to go to the prom. “I don’t think it’s good for Graham to get this attached to me if I’m just going to leave.”

“Oh,” Your sleeves are too short, but you want to shield yourself too. “Yeah, that’s… that’s probably a good idea.”

Mark stands there for a beat, like he’s waiting for you to say something more. Like he hasn’t just taken your heart and pushed it aside. Like this hurts a lot less than it actually does.

But any word out of your mouth would be tearful. It would be honest. It would ruin everything. “I’m going to go on a run.”

There’s a cricket outside that won’t stop chirping against your window. You blame it for your insomnia, choosing to ignore the anxiety of eventually losing Mark. It feels so horribly childish, since you’ll see him when you drop Graham off at school. And you’ll see him whenever the two of you go out for coffee on weekends.

But you won’t see him in the kitchen, reaching for the pancake mix so his shirt rises up and you can see the dimples in his back. You won’t see him humming along to the radio while he works on his lesson plans. You won’t feel his warmth when the two of you stay awake, nursing spiked lemonade and giggling at the commentary videos you find on YouTube.

He’ll just be Mark again. He won’t be home anymore.

Startled by the realization, you get out of your covers and rush to your door.

It opens before you can even reach for the doorknob, and there’s Mark in his pajamas, biting his lip and avoiding your eyes.

“I don’t want you to leave,” you say.

Mark confesses, “I love you.”

You open your arms and he dives in, face pressed into the space where your neck meets your shoulder. Warmth envelopes you and the scent of pine fills your nose.

Mark is timeless. Youthful glory and childish pride. He’s a pinch on the side and a push on the swings. Like a rock that actually skips on the first try. Like shoes that you can slip on when they’re still tied. And he’s here, in your arms, squeezing you like you’re something valuable enough to lose. He’s confessing love like you aren’t the worst possible candidate for his heart.

“I can’t offer you much,” you start, but Mark bumps his forehead against yours, boyish and playful — football fields and bright red lockers and secret notes on bathroom walls.

“I’ve known you for years, Y/n,” Mark’s voice is a low rumble. Copper eyes blinking at you like you’re something to second glance at. “I know what I’m getting into. I want you. I want Graham. I want everything this is, and everything we’ve been for the past month. I don’t want this to end.”

You close your eyes, because his are too honest. He’s open and vulnerable and gentle — a child on the first day of school, ready to make friends. You take a deep breath, try to remember what you were like on your first day. Rosy cheeks and shy glances. Knobby knees and a trusting heart. You reach out for whoever you once were — the Y/n with a heart open and willing to be loved. “I don’t want this to end either. I’m in love with you, Mark.”

His grin lights up your world in its entirety. Gold flecks in onyx black disappear as he smiles, too thrilled to keep his eyes open. And when he kisses you, warm lips against cold ones, you feel like a puzzle has just slotted into place.

It would only make sense that you would grow to love the boy you grew up with.

#Nct fluff #nct fanfiction #Nct angst #Nct scenarios #mark lee fluff #mark lee imagines #mark lee angst #mark lee fanfic #mark lee scenarios #mark lee x reader #nct x reader #destwrites

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honklore · 4 years ago

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landslide | karl jacobs

(kindergarten teacher!karl, single mom!reader, oh no karl’s apartment gets flooded so he has to stay at his best friend from high school’s house who also happens to be the mother of his favorite student, karl just being soft and sweet and a great friend, um talk about the baby daddy being a loser essentially, the beast team is there playing the role of karl’s friends from school, graham is the sweetest child, slight angst, fluff, friends to lovers, SOFT KARL, warmth, comfort, romance coded but very light)

listen to: landslide by fleetwood mac, never grow up by taylor swift, growing up by river run north, rainbow by kacey musgraves

Karl helps one of his kids press their palms onto the wall. When they release their palm, pink paint remains, making a sort of leaf to the tree branches painted onto the wall.

“Now write your name,” Karl advises another kid, whose orange paint had already dried.

“G-R-A-H-A-M,” the boy writes out with a large permanent marker. “Can I take a picture? For my mom?”

All the rest of the children begin to shout their agreements, also wanting to bring home a picture for their parents. Karl grabs his yellow Polaroid camera and takes a picture of each handprint.

He keeps all of the pictures in the chest pocket of his denim jacket. “Okay, guys— to the sink! Whoever has the cleanest hands gets to help me pass out snacks!”

“Why are we having snack time so early?” It’s Graham that asks, the little one always eager to be around Karl.

Karl ignores the boy’s paint covered hands poking at his clean jacket, and answers him as politely as he can. “Mr. Jacobs forgot his lesson plans today, so we’re going to watch a movie instead.”

“A movie?” Graham’s eyes widen.

“Yep,” Karl giggles. He crouches down to Graham’s level and whispers, “You wanna pick it?”

“Nature Nut!” Graham cheers almost immediately, causing Karl to wince.

Ah, yes, the wonderful little DVDs of a lonesome man teaching the watcher about bugs and weird types of slugs. Karl actually has the entire collection, and Graham happens to adore them just as much as Karl did when he was a kid.

“Alright, go wash your hands and I’ll get it started.”

It’s a little girl named Hana who cleans her hands the best, so she passes out organic fruit gummies to everyone while Karl puts in the DVD.

While they watch the video, Karl checks his text messages.

There’s one from Chris: “I’ve already got Chandler on the couch. Sorry, man. You can have the floor, but it’s not gonna be comfy :(“

Right. Karl forgot that Chandler lives in the same complex as him. His apartment is probably just as flooded as Karl’s is. Now if the landlord would just answer his calls and help him... maybe this situation wouldn’t be so stressful.

Karl didn’t forget his lesson plans; they’re just submerged in his bedroom with everything else Karl has left lying on his carpet. And maybe it’s his fault for not buying more storage bins, but a studio apartment can only hold so much stuff.

Serves Karl right for doing his lesson plans at home instead of at the school like most of his fellow kindergarten teachers.

Besides, most of his friends have roommates or significant others and Karl doesn’t want to ruin their routine. He’d hate to intrude. And he could always sleep in his car for a few days, but the amount of stuff he had to pack because of the flooding has barred any chance of a good night’s sleep.

The video ends, and Karl gets the kids seated with coloring pages until their parents arrive.

One by one, he I.Ds the parents and tells the kids goodbye, helping them put on their coats and take home whatever library book they picked out earlier.

Finally, there’s only one kid left, and Karl is a bit embarrassed of his hyper-awareness to Graham. It’s not even his fault, really. Graham just has a beautiful mom, who happens to be Karl’s beautiful friend, and sometimes Karl gets eager to see you during pickup time.

Whatever. It’s no big deal.

The kindergartener already has his coat on. His curly brown hair is almost unruly as he continues to work on his coloring sheet.

Karl pulls at the hem of his sage sweater sleeves and wonders if his hair looks okay. Maybe he should invest in a little desk mirror; or maybe that’s vain.

“Hey, Karl! Sorry I’m late!” You rush in, holding on to your leather messenger bag. You fix your glasses before they fall off the bridge of your nose, and Karl is so focused on the movement that he almost forgets about your child.

Until said child is scolding his mother. “Mom! You have to call him Mr. Jacobs! It’s rude to call him Karl!”

“Your mom is an adult,” Karl reminds Graham (as soon as he finds his voice.) “Since she isn’t a student, it’s okay for her to call me Karl.”

“Sure,” you giggle. “But we need to get home soon, okay, Bud? I have to make dinner and then we have to clean up the mess we made last night.”

Graham turns to Karl and smiles naughtily, like the trickster he often is. “Mom said I could tear up her papers last night. She said it’s There-pee.”

“Ther-a-py,” you emphasize for the five-year-old.

Karl studies your face, and he can tell that you seem a little more stressed than usual. “Therapy, huh?”

You smile sheepishly. “Well, when your son catches you tearing up old love notes, you have to let him in on the fun, right?”

“You are a team,” Karl acknowledges. He wants to ask more; wants to dig into your heart and extract whatever is hurting you, but your son is standing between the two of you, waiting for him to say goodbye. Karl clears his throat and picks at his sweater again. “Anyways, uh, text me tonight? Let me know you two got home safe. And, I’ll see you both tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” you breathe. You smile at him and then take Graham’s hand. “Thanks, Karl. I’ll text you.”

Karl spends the night at a motel down the road. He texts a few of his friends and hopes for good news in the morning, or at least a confirmation from his landlord.

When you text him, a little selfie of you and Graham, holding up what looks like microwaved s’mores, his heart grows fond, and he forgets about his own problems for a moment.

You never expected one: to get pregnant your senior year of high school, and two: have to go through it alone.

Graham certainly got his love of learning from you. Though he likes science more than writing, you adore how eager he is to always get to school. It helps that Karl is his teacher.

Karl’s been your friend since freshman year of highschool, when the two of you both took the same creative writing class the local university offered. Though the two of you had differing end goals, you often studied together and encouraged each other. He was there when you found out you were pregnant, and he was there when you found out you’d be raising your child alone.

Now life comes full circle, and you see him twice a day. You could go out on a limb and say he brightens up most mornings, but you would still give that slot to your son.

Karl is standing at the doorway now, greeting all of his students and helping them take off their book bags and coats. He’s wearing monochrome today: red pants, a red sweater, and red shoes.

Graham lights up almost immediately, and you are thankful today that you decided to dress Graham in his red t-shirt. “Mom! We match!”

“I know,” you grin, squeezing his hand.

Karl glances at Graham, and then you. His cheeks showcase that same pink hue they always do, and while it should clash with his red garments, it doesn’t. “Hey, Karl.”

“Hey,” he grins, cheeks full at the sight of you two.

Graham spreads his arms and waits for Karl to help him take off his jacket. “Do you see that we match, Mr. Jacobs?”

“Yo, that’s awesome, Little Man!” Karl gives Graham a fist bump that seems to appease him, and you wait for Graham to run to his friends before addressing Karl.

“How have you been?”

Karl sighs. He brushes his hair away from his eyes. “Okay. My- uh- my studio apartment flooded so I’m staying at a motel until my landlord can get me estimates on when I can come back home.”

“That sucks,” you frown. “You know, if you need a place to stay, I have a pullout couch in my office. And obviously, Graham wouldn’t mind.”

Karl pales. “Are you serious? I didn’t mean to suggest anything, Like I know you work from home and you need your office.”

“And you’ll be at school until three,” you say. “I’ll work then. C’mon, Karl. I don’t like knowing one of my friends has no place to stay.”

Karl bites his bottom lip and scratches the back of his neck. “Yeah. Okay. I’ll drive over after I check out of the motel.”

“Great!” You smile. “I’ll order pizza.”

"Graham, clean your room," you say, struggling to push your desk against your office wall. "We're going to have a guest for a few weeks."

"Mom," Graham whines, "They aren't going to look in my room."

You begin to take the cushions out of the spare couch to start setting up the pull-out bed. "Mr. Jacobs is coming over, Graham. Don't you want to show him your collections?"

Graham's brown eyes grow wide. "Mr. Jacobs? You didn't tell me he was coming!"

"He's going to be staying with us for a little bit, okay? So I need you to be on your best behavior."

“Can I show him my worms?” Graham asks, alluding to the compost bin in the small backyard of your townhouse.

Graham cleans up his room quickly. You know for a fact that he’s just shoved all of his toys under his bed, but it’s enough until the weekend, when you’ll have more time to help him organize.

The little guy hoards rocks like no one’s business. You curse the day Karl decided to teach the kids about geodes.

“Wanna help me make up Mr. Jacobs’s room?” You half-yell, while grabbing spare bedding out of your linen closet.

Graham’s little footsteps are head before he answers, and soon he’s at your hip with a quick, “He can have my Frozen pillowcase!”

You hesitate to tell Graham that his Frozen pillowcase is currently on one of your pillows, but just you can’t give your guest a dirty pillowcase. “That one is in the wash, Buddy. Why don’t we give him your Spider-Man one?”

“So he matches my pajamas!” Graham is easily pleased, and he even takes one of his stuffed bears to add to Karl’s made-up bed. (“So he doesn’t get scared at night.”)

By the time the pizza arrives, Karl is just behind, so you keep Graham busy with a slice of cheese and a glass of diet pepsi (only half of a can, and only because it’s a special occasion) while the two of you bring in Karl’s stuff.

“Those both sound like personal experiences, Y/n,” Karl teases. He takes off his jacket and throws it on the bed. “Yo! Spider-Man?”

“Graham picked it out,” you say. “He also relinquished one of his bears to keep you safe in the middle of the night. His words, not mine.”

“He’s so cute,” Karl mentions offhandedly. The fondness in his tone takes you back a bit. Not because the phrase isn’t true, it’s just that most people find your son annoying before they find him endearing. The change of tone is nice.

“He is,” you say. “And he’s dying to show you his room after we eat dinner.”

Karl gives you that same lopsided smile he often had in high school. Part of your brain shifts to his personal life, and you wonder why Karl himself isn’t in a romantic relationship. Not that he has to be, but the both of you are getting older, and Karl has always been one to express a fondness for having his own family one day. Maybe he just hasn’t found the right person.

It isn’t until Graham is peacefully in bed — after a very chaotic reading of Goodnight Moon by yours truly, and an argument that Mr. Jacobs cannot, in fact, sleep in the same room as him — that you actually have a chance to show Karl around the house.

Karl giggles. “Okay. I don’t mind playing with him, though.“

Karl blinks. “But if you ever need time away, you can ask me. I don’t mind babysitting.”

“I know,” you smile. “But Graham is my kid. I don’t need time away from him.”

You’re lying. Karl knows it. You’ve been in this single parenting thing for five years and you aren’t about to reach out for help now.

“Anyways, if you have any questions just ring me or ask me,” you say. “I’ve got to get to bed. Goodnight.”

“Thanks, Y/n.”

Karl thinks it’s sweet the way Graham insists on making his own breakfast.

You’re already up when Karl gets out of his (temporary) bedroom with his clothes tucked under his arm. You’re busy arguing with Graham. “You can’t fry your own omelette for the last time.”

Karl quirks an eyebrow at your exasperated face. You look stressed beyond belief, even though the day has just begun.

Karl tosses his clothes back in his room and walks into the kitchen. “Hey, Graham! Do you want to show me your rock collection?”

Graham spins on his sock-clad heels, eyes bright at the thought of seeing his teacher. “Mr. Jacobs! Yes! Let’s go!”

He grabs Karl’s hand with ease, leaving you room to finish making breakfast.

Karl gets distracted by the framed picture on top of the dresser. It’s a picture of you and Graham’s father, a few months before you got pregnant. He’s smiling, and you’re holding up a peace sign. It makes Karl feel a bit sad, knowing that Graham’s dad never stayed around to see how wonderful he turned out to be.

Then again, a lot of people in your life left as soon as they found out. In high school, no one wants to be friends with a teenage mother.

Karl reckons that if he had a family like this, he’d never take them for granted.

Graham pulls out a gemstone. It’s a murky green one that Karl has let him take home from class. “Do you remember this, Mr. Jacobs?”

Karl grins. “Yeah, bud. Thanks for keeping it so safe for me.”

Graham beams. He grabs Karl’s hand and pulls him towards his dresser. “Can we match? I want to look like you.”

Karl feels his heart swell. He wants to smother the young boy in affection, but he doesn’t want to cross a line. He’s your friend, sure, but he’s also Graham’s teacher. He can’t coddle Graham more than the other children. He already has a godchild to coddle. “I’m wearing yellow today. Do you have any yellow clothes?”

“Let’s clean up first, okay?” Karl grabs the overalls. “So it’s clean when you come home from school.”

Graham, looking like the last thing he’d ever want to do is disappoint Karl, begins to pick up each shirt with obvious intent. He tries to fold them, and does a somewhat decent job, so much so that Karl leaves it, thinking you’ll find it endearing rather than annoying.

He really loves that about you. He likes your patience with Graham. You’re so young, and in reality, he squashed so many early dreams of yours. No matter your lot in life, you never blamed your child. Karl thinks that’s why Graham is so open, so adaptable, so endearing.

He helps Graham get dressed and leaves him in his room so that he, himself, can get ready.

When he emerges from his shower, hair wet and clothed in yellow, he smells something amazing.

He doesn’t want to intrude on your morning with Graham. He already feels too indebted to you already.

“Have an omelet,” you say. Wisps of hair cover your face. You place a plate down in front of him.

Graham is already eating his omelet, slowly, while flipping through a picture book. He sounds out words he recognizes, but stays silent the rest of the time.

Karl takes out his phone and scrolls through his instagram feed just as your own phone begins to ring.

“Shit,” you curse, and then immediately apologize to Graham. You press the red button and tap anxiously on the tabletop.

“Everything okay?” Karl asks.

You run your hands over your hair and let them rest on the back of your neck. “Yeah is just—“

The phone rings again, and this time you pick it up. “What do you want? ... Why would you tell me that? ... Why should I care? ... Please stop contacting me, okay? Goodbye.”

You slam the phone down and leave the room. Karl watches you disappear down the hallway, sniffling.

“Mommy is upset,” Graham says. He looks at Karl, lip quivering. “At me?”

“No, Buddy! Of course not!” Karl reaches over the table to ruffle Graham’s curls. “Never at you.”

“When we tore up paper, she was crying.” Graham fiddles with his book page.

Karl wonders why your ex’s actions are being brought up five years later. Last he heard, you had fully healed from the breakup long before Graham’s first birthday. But now he’s about to be six, and you're suddenly upset?

He’ll have to ask you about it soon.

“Are you ready to go to school, Buddy?”

“Yeah!”

You cradle your face in your hands and try to ease the tears back in. You’ll never get this article proofread and sent if you can’t see the keys.

The door opens, and Graham runs in just in time for you to finish wiping your eyes. “Hey, kiddo! How was school?”

“Mr. Jacobs let us finger paint!” Graham holds up his palm, covered in dried paint, and grins brightly. “Can I have gogurt?”

“Yeah bud. Why don’t you put something on the T.V.? You can have your snack in the living room today.”

“Yes!” Graham takes blueberry gogurt out of the fridge and — after getting you to tear it open — runs into the living room. Sneakers and backpack still on.

Karl trails behind, clutching a messenger bag to his chest. “What’s going on?”

Karl scoots one of the chairs in front of you and sits, leaning his elbows on his knees. “Hey. Look at me.” With gentle hands, he grabs your wrists and pulls them away from your face. “It is not your fault he left.”

“But it has to be me in some way,” you retort. “He must not have loved me. Something, because now he’s going to raise her child after he left mine. Graham deserves a dad.”

Karl places his forehead against yours. The two of you used to do it all the time in school, mostly with immature giggles in the spaces between, but now it’s heavy with intention. “Graham has not felt even a little bit unloved in your care. You are all he needs, okay? You’re amazing.”

You nod, head still pressed to Karl’s. “Yeah. Okay. Sorry for getting too emotional, there.”

“Be as emotional as you want,” Karl says. “I’ll be here to balance you out.”

Your heart stutters at the words, like maybe they mean something more than he’s letting on. Of course it’s stupid to think Karl Jacobs would ever even consider you, but just the knowledge that he cares makes your soul feel a little lighter.

“I’m a mess,” you stutter, bringing your fist up to wipe at your nose.

“Nah,” Karl grins. He runs the pad of his thumb across your cheek and grins. “You’re alright.”

“It’s snowing!” Graham wakes Karl up by jumping on his chest.

Karl sucks in a breath, winded at the sudden weight, and grabs the boy, lifting him off of his chest and onto the mattress. “Hey, Buddy. Let’s not jump on sleeping people, okay?”

“Okay,” Graham says. He’s already lost interest in Karl, now crawling off of the bed to open the blinds. “Come look at the snow!”

“I see!” Karl rubs his tired eyes and checks his watch. “We might have a snow day, Graham.”

“Yes!” Graham pumps his fist into the air. “Let’s go tell mom!”

You’re sitting on your bed, chewing on a red licorice rope and flipping through a fashion magazine. You look up when Karl and Graham enter.

Karl likes seeing you like this: the domesticity of seeing you in the morning, lazy and true. His chest sparks when he thinks this may be one of the only moments he can capture you like this, so he intends to commit the sight to memory.

“Did I hear snow day?” You grin at Karl, childlike wit in your own eyes — the same as your son’s.

“Looks like it.” Karl rolls up the sleeves of the sweater he slept in. “You want pancakes? I make some mean chocolate chip pancakes.”

You shift your gaze away from his arms and clear your throat. “Uh, yeah. Just let me get dressed and I’ll help—“

“No need,” Karl insists. “Enjoy your quiet time. Graham and I will make the most delicious pancakes you’ve ever tasted.”

“With lots of chocolate chips!” Graham shouts.

You give him a pointed look. “But not too many.”

Graham huffs. “But not too many,” he repeats.

Momentary splashes sound from your bathroom, followed by Graham screaming “It’s a dragon! Run for cover!”

Karl giggles from his place on the couch. He’s got mushroom-patterned socks on, and he’s tucked up into the cushions, nursing a can of Monster. “How does he still have so much energy?”

“I do have a godson,” Karl reminds you.

“But Tucker is a baby,” you say. You only know the baby’s name because of Karl’s constant snap stories about him.

“Most babies and kids want the same thing. Affection and attention.” Karl scoots over to the edge of the couch and pats the cushion.

You sit next to him. “I guess that’s true. You’re really good with Graham. He’s not this open to other adults.”

Karl is clearly blushing now; you can see his pink cheeks even in the light of the television. “He’s great in class, always helping the other kids.”

“He wants to impress you,” you say. You pop open a can of orange soda and take a sip. “He thinks you’re just the coolest guy.”

Karl laughs and shakes his head. “Didn’t you hear, Y/n? I’m handsome and cool.”

“Oh, of course,” you nudge his shin with our own sock-clad foot. “How could I forget? Mr. Ladies Man in high school.”

This makes Karl blush even harder, because he most certainly was not a ladies man in high school. In fact, he was a nerd in all senses of the word, part of the debate club with a few other boys. He had a few dates here and there, but nothing ever stuck.

“Shut up,” he mumbles. “My time is gonna come.”

“Hasn’t it already?” you ask before you can really process your own words. But of course he knows that he’s grown into his face, right?

Karl is positively handsome, eyes bright and lashes long. He’s so warm and comforting to you. He must be just as comforting to everyone else.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re handsome, Karl,” you say plainly.

“You mean that?”

“Of course I do,” you say. “Why would I lie?”

Karl opens his mouth, perhaps to call you out. To tell you you’ve been too honest, but he’s interrupted by your son.

“Mom! I’m ready to get out now!”

“I should go,” you say, still looking at his eyes.

“Yeah,” he says. His sweater has small spots on the shoulders where snow has fallen and since melted. He shivers.

“You should take a shower. You’ll catch a cold.”

“Okay,” he whispers. “Yeah, I’ll do that.”

Chandler comes over the following Saturday night to hang out with Karl, and you’re surprised at how much he truly hasn’t changed since high school.

He’s still got infamously perfect eyebrows, and his voice is still monotonous despite its humor. “Nice place.” He raises his brows as he looks around.

“Who are you?” Graham is sitting at the kitchen table, watching Minecraft playthroughs (kid-friendly ones you’ve watched through yourself) on your phone to entertain himself while you clean.

“I’m Chandler, Karl’s friend.”

“This is Mr. Jacob’s friend from school,” you say, detailing your words so they’re easier for your son to digest.

Graham stares at him for a moment, not quite judging but not quite accepting either. “Okay. Do you want to see my rock collection?”

Chandler looks genuinely excited, and accepts before you can come up with an excuse for him. Graham tells Chandler to stay in the kitchen while he grabs all of his rocks.

“How have you been?” you ask the taller man. “Like, with the flooding and everything?”

“Well, I’m on a couch at Chris’, which is good since he doesn’t charge rent. But that means I’m near Tucker, and that baby has some lungs.”

You laugh. “I remember when Graham was a baby. I was so young, and my mom told me it was my responsibility to wake up and take care of him whenever he cried in the middle of the night. I was so pissed at her for making me do that, but those were some of the best nights to bond with him.” You realize you’re ranting and shake your head. “Whatever. Baby screams are loud as hell.”

“You can say that again. I’ve been talking to my friend Jimmy about taking his spare room and paying rent. I dunno how many more sleepless nights I can take.”

“Why would you need to pay rent if you’re just crashing?” You wipe down the kitchen table to keep yourself busy.

“Didn’t Karl tell you? Our landlord is in heaps of trouble because the pipes weren’t up to code and that’s why they busted. The damage is basically too expensive to fix, so we’ve got to find new places.”

You stop cleaning. “Karl didn’t tell me that.”

“Oh.” Chandler scratches his brow. “He probably didn’t want to worry you. He feels really bad that he’s stayed with you this long.”

“It’s only been a month or so,” you counter. “Besides, Karl’s a great housemate. He cleans and keeps Graham occupied. Plus, now I have someone to watch corny game shows with.”

Chandler grins. “Oh. Okay, I get it.”

“Get what?” Karl, finally out of the shower, steps into the kitchen and immediately tackles Chandler in an energized hug.

“Nothing!” Chandler’s voice cracks

You shoot Chandler a weird look, and change the subject. “Where are you guys going?”

“To play video games at Jimmy’s.” Karl says, and the thrill in his voice makes you think of high school. Of the debate team bus rounding the corner. Of you standing there, waiting to congratulate him with a big hug and a frosty from Wendy’s.

You miss it. “Have fun, okay? I’m probably going to tuck in as soon as Graham does, so just let yourself in.”

“You’re leaving?” Graham comes in, and his arms are filled with smooth and rough stones and gems he’s both found by himself and bought at random general stores while traveling.

“Not before I see your rocks!” Chandler says with so much enthusiasm, you think he’s telling the truth.

Graham giggles and drops the rocks onto the ground. Of course, he wants your guest to sit on the floor and count rocks. You’re almost embarrassed.

“ ‘ Okay, Y/n?” Karl laughs at your expression. Then he places his arm on your shoulder, thumbs the skin of your upper arm.

And once again, it’s high school. It’s senior year graduation and Karl is the only one who congratulates you. It’s his comforting touch, him coming over in the middle of the night after you texted him a picture of your first sonogram. It’s that same comforting touch. That little “I’m here,” and it melts you on the inside, leaves you in a shell of an eighteen girl again. Scared, and worried, and a little less alone.

“Yeah,” you manage. “I’m okay.”

The television plays Cartoon Network reruns on a low hum. Karl is curled up in a blanket, nursing a bottle of water and thinking over Chandler’s words.

You’ve liked her since high school, dude.

Which is a complete lie. Seriously, Karl didn’t have a crush on you in high school. He would know if he had a crush on his best friend. You’ve been his friend since freshman year, and that’s all you’ve ever been.

Now in college, it was different. In college, Karl was alone in a dorm with Chris, and you were one of the only people from high school he stayed in contact with. In college, he would bring you your favorite snacks and drinks, and other things you would forget to buy because you were a part-time student and a full-time mom. In college, you would pull all-nighters with him, working on your exams while Graham was asleep, then using energy drinks to get through the next day.

Karl even remembers the time your mom caught the three of you fast asleep on your rug, with unopened monster cans and an empty milk bottle beside you.

And now… now he finds himself wishing you would.

“Mr. Jacobs?” Graham creeps up without him even realizing.

Karl jumps, sets his water — and thoughts — aside. “Hey, Bud. It’s really late. What are you doing up?”

Graham sniffs, and Karl realizes that the boy is crying. “I had a nightmare.”

Karl holds out his arms before he can think, and lets the five-year-old crawl into his lap. He wraps them both in his blanket and turns the television up just a little more. “Was it scary?”

“I’m going to leave one day,” Karl says, because he thinks it’s important that Graham knows.

“You should stay with me and Mom,” Graham says. He yawns. “We like you so much!”

Karl’s heart stutters. He tries not to think about it.

When Graham’s bed is empty the next morning, you freak out. He’s always in his room in the morning. Even if he wakes up before you, he stays in and plays with his toys.

You’ve already got your phone out, and your mother’s number called, when you walk into the living room.

Relief floods your system. Karl and Graham are asleep on the couch, snuggled up serenely like they didn’t just cause you to have a premature heart attack.

You hang up before the call to your mom can go through and stand there, watching the two boys sleep. Graham has both his arms wrapped around Karl’s forearm. It’s such a sweet picture that you take out your phone and snap one.

The flash is on.

Karl scrunches his nose and winces. “What the–”

“Sorry!” You whisper. “You both looked so cute, I couldn’t help it.”

Karl smiles, still sleepy, and finally opens his eyes. He peers at you, stormy green under fluttering lashes and you’re almost intimidated into looking away. “He had a nightmare.”

“Oh?”

“About me leaving.”

“Oh.” You frown. “I’m really sorry about that. I keep telling him that you’re moving out soon, but I don’t think he fully understands.”

Graham stirs. You reach down and pick him up. Your knuckles brush across Karl’s warm, sweater-clad chest and you suddenly wish you could cuddle with him, too. You shake the thoughts away and focus on your drowsy son. “You’re staying at Grandma's for a few days, remember?”

Graham rubs his eyes and perks up. “And I’ll see her cat?”

“Yes,” you confirm. “But we’ve got to get you dressed because she’s coming in a few minutes.”

“Karl Jacobs!” Your mom’s voice embarrassingly rings through the apartment, and you realize Karl has taken it upon himself to open the door. “Y/n told me she had a temporary roommate but I never thought she would finally ask you!”

“Oh my gosh…” you mumble, buckling Graham’s overalls and hauling him up into your arms. “Mom! His apartment flooded so he’s staying here. Don’t be weird about it.”

“But he’s so handsome,” your mom coos. You’re concerned she might reach forward and pinch Karl’s already ruddy cheeks.

“Thanks,” Karl laughs. “But she’s right, I’m just squatting until I can find a new place.”

Your mom harrumphs. “Well, I don’t see why you can’t stay here forever. Y/n doesn’t even use that office room. And even if she did, the two of you could just share a room.”

“Mom!” You plunk Graham into her hands and grab his overnight bag. “You have to leave.”

“Did I say something wrong?” She sounds worried, but there’s an undisclosed mirth in her eyes that makes you think of your freshman year, when you did have a crush on Karl.

“You said everything wrong,” you say, kindly pushing her out. “Have a good time, Graham. I love you! As always, Mom, call if you need me to come get him.”

“Yeah, right!” She yells over her shoulder. Graham is already giggling, so you close the door with confidence.

You turn back to your roommate. “I’m sorry about that, Karl.”

“It’s fine.” He smiles, but it’s reserved. “But speaking of me finding a place… I know Chandler told you that I can’t go back to my own apartment. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

“And I was thinking I should move out soon anyway.” Karl pulls his sweater sleeves until they cover his hands. He’s hiding. He’s shielding himself the same way he did in junior year, when he got turned down by his crush to go to the prom. “I don’t think it’s good for Graham to get this attached to me if I’m just going to leave.”

“Oh,” Your sleeves are too short, but you want to shield yourself too. “Yeah, that’s… that’s probably a good idea.”

Karl stands there for a beat, like he’s waiting for you to say something more. Like he hasn’t just taken your heart and pushed it aside. Like this hurts a lot less than it actually does.

But any word out of your mouth would be tearful. It would be honest. It would ruin everything. “I’m going to go on a run.”

There’s a cricket outside that won’t stop chirping against your window. You blame it for your insomnia, choosing to ignore the anxiety of eventually losing Karl. It feels so horribly childish, since you’ll see him when you drop Graham off at school. And you’ll see him whenever the two of you go out for coffee on weekends.

He’ll just be Karl again. He won’t be home anymore.

Startled by the realization, you get out of your covers and rush to your door.

It opens before you can even reach for the doorknob, and there’s Karl in his pajamas, biting his lip and avoiding your eyes.

“I don’t want you to leave,” you say, just as Karl confesses,

“I love you.”

You open your arms and he dives in, face pressed into the space where your neck meets your shoulder. Warmth envelopes you and the scent of pine fills your nose.

Karl is timeless. Youthful glory and childish pride. He’s a pinch on the side and a push on the swings. Like a rock that actually skips on the first try. Like shoes that you can slip on when they’re still tied. And he’s here, in your arms, squeezing you like you’re something valuable enough to lose. He’s confessing love like you aren’t the worst possible candidate for his heart.

“I can’t offer you much,” you start, but Karl bumps his forehead against yours, boyish and playful — football fields and bright red lockers and secret notes on bathroom walls.

“I’ve known you for years, Y/n,” Karl’s voice is a low rumble. Green grass eyes blinking at you like you’re something to second glance at. “I know what I’m getting into. I want you. I want Graham. I want everything this is, and everything we’ve been for the past month. I don’t want this to end.”

His grin lights up your world in its entirety. Gold flecks in emerald green disappear as he smiles, too thrilled to keep his eyes open. And when he kisses you, warm lips against cold ones, you feel like a puzzle has just slotted into place.

It would only make sense that you would grow to love the boy you grew up with.

#karl jacobs fluff #karl jacobs x reader #karl jacobs fanfic #mcyt x reader #mcyt fanfiction #mcyt fluff #pixiecap//

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jewish-space-laser · 5 years ago

Text

Miles & Black Coffee - Part Two

“If you’re thinking about taking the high road,

I can tell you that you’re doing it wrong,

There’s a better of way of letting it all go,

‘Cause you’ve been running from the feeling too long….”

-Highroad by Sir Woman

Hiya everyone! Sorry this is up a bit late, inspiration really just runs on its own clock. I’ll keep this short- giant thank you to @oh-honey-styles @andwhenshesays @for-fucks-sake-h for beta-ing and being so so SO supportive. If you haven’t read their fics yet, go check them out! As always, I adore feedback! (4.1k words)

xoxoxoxoxoXO Tile

You and Harry would never be friends. You were up and down, night and day, oil and water. You just didn’t mesh. He was your roommate’s insufferable older brother, and that is all he would ever be. Well, at least that’s what you thought before….

the one with campfire conversations, cabin getaways, and enemies that were never really enemies after all.

Read Part One here!

TUESDAY

Charlie was still sleeping soundly on her side of the bed when your alarm went off, so you tried your hardest to sneak out of the room without making a sound. Spending all day in the sun yesterday had been amazing; your heart felt full, your muscles were relaxed, and you were ready to do it all over again.

Unfortunately, you also felt a bit gross. Between the warm weather, lakewater, and sunscreen, your skin was feeling like it needed it a good rinse. The thought of showering in the showerhouse wasn’t exactly thrilling, but it was that or the garden hose, so you gathered up your shower caddy and a change of clothes before making your way out of the main cabin.

It was a beautiful morning, the perfect setup for another day of summer. Dewy blades of grass tickled your ankles as you cut across the lawn, a pleasant chill running through you at the contact. You’d tried to wake up early enough to have the shower house to yourself, not wanting to have an awkward run-in with anyone before you’d had a chance to fully wake up.

From the look of it, you’d succeeded. You listened for signs that anyone else was out and about, but all you could hear were the sounds of birds chirping and bugs buzzing, the nature around you having yet to be disturbed by rowdy college students.

Smoking on the boat the night before had turned out to be a great idea. The group had stayed out till the moon was the only light in the sky, only turning in when none of you could stop yawning. You hadn’t slept that deeply in a long time; it felt amazing to be so rested after a full school year of late nights and early mornings.

When you finally reached the shower house, you moved to pull the door open to have it swing forward and smack into you. You stumbled backwards, balancing yourself against the wall as you stared wide eyed at the person who’d nearly knocked you over.

“Whoa, sorry,” Ryan rushed apologetically, “I didn’t think anyone else would be up this early.”

“That’s okay,” you gulped, “I didn’t think anyone else was awake, either. I wanted the showers to myself.”

“I was thinking the same thing,” he chuckled, running a hand through his wet hair, “I’m all finished though, so it’s all yours.”

“Thanks,” you giggled, “how was the water pressure?”

“Honestly?” He shrugged. “Better than I expected, but not great.”

“Lovely,” you sighed, slinging your towel over your shoulder. Ryan dragged his eyes down your frame quickly, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. You blushed as you realized that you were still in your pajamas. At least they were somewhat cute, little blue shorts with rubber duckies printed all over them and a plain white tank top.

The two of you were quiet for a moment, switching places so you were standing in the threshold of the shower house. He was too cute, sleepy eyes squinting in the sun as it grew brighter out.

“So, um, I was thinking of checking out this hiking trail today,” he blurted, cheeks tinted red, “Archie was going to come with me, but he drank his weight in white claw last night, so I’m thinking he might be too hungover to stomach it.”

“Where’s the trail?” You questioned.

“It’s on the other side of the lake, about two miles north. We were just gonna borrow a couple bikes from the shed,” he explained, playing with his hair some more, “but anyway, I was like, well, I was wondering if maybe you would wanna join me. I’d hate to go alone.”

“I’d love to!” You said eagerly. When he smirked at your excitement, you tried to play it cool. “I mean, uh, yeah. That sounds like it could be fun.”

“Great,” he chuckled, “I was thinking of leaving around eleven, gives us time to relax and have some breakfast. The trail itself should only take a couple hours, but there are a few detours I wanted to see. Is that cool with you?”

“Sounds awesome,” you nodded.

“Fantastic. I’ll find you in a bit?”

You nodded, bidding him farewell as he made his way back to the guest cabin. The moment the door shut behind you, you let out a quiet squeal. It hadn’t even been twenty-four hours, and already you had a date with a cute boy. Plus, you were genuinely interested in the hiking trail; if it was anything like the forest around the cabin, it was sure to be gorgeous.

Ryan was right about the shower pressure. It was enough to make you feel clean and refreshed, but certainly left much to be desired. At least there was hot water.

By the time you made it back to your room, Charlie was up and about, playing upbeat music on her phone speaker and digging her toothbrush out of her bag.

“I can’t believe I forgot to brush my teeth last night,” she pretended to gag, “I literally passed out so hard. Didn’t even hear you get up this morning.”

“It was a long night,” you laughed, feeling amused as you watched her flit around the room to get ready for the day.

“And it’s gonna be another long day,” she sighed, “long, but fun. Olivia and I were gonna tan on the docks for a bit, if you wanna join?”

“Actually,” you tried to act nonchalant, “Ryan and I are going on a hike.”

You sat on the corner of the bed, sucking your lips into your mouth to keep your giddy smile at bay. You were really excited though, and Charlie seemed like just the right person to gush to.

“Ryan, huh?” She said, face scrunching up in confusion. “I would’ve thought you’d want to spend as much time with Harry as possible.”

You widened your eyes, letting out a loud burst of laughter that had you wheezing. “Harry? No way!”

“You and him aren’t a thing, then?” She asked, zipping her suitcase shut. “He was asking after you at the bonfire yesterday, and then insisted that he should check on you when you didn’t come down.”

A frown formed on your face. You specifically remember him saying that he’d just been using the restroom. Why would he want to check up on you, anyway? Surely he was just using it as an excuse to bother you. It was his favorite activity, after all.

“Well, no, we’re not a thing,” you said firmly.

“Ryan’s cute, too,” Charlie shrugged, “James and I had a moment yesterday, too, so hopefully we both get our cute summer romance this week.”

“Ooooh, James?” You waggled your eyebrows, happy to change the subject. Charlie flushed, biting down on her lip.

The two of you gossipped for a while longer, with Charlie organizing all of her belongings while you lounged on the bed. It was nice chatting with her; you weren’t the closest, but you’d always gotten along really well.

New romance, new friends, sunshine and nature. You could already tell that this was going to be a week to remember.

~~~

By the time you made your way into the kitchen, almost everyone had already had breakfast. Dishes were piled high in the small sink, streaks of what looked like pancake batter smeared across the countertop. You hated when people didn’t clean up after themselves, but you chose to ignore it for now.

What you couldn’t ignore, however, was Harry, who was sitting by himself at the table. He was also pouring a bowl of cereal, which wouldn’t have been a problem if your name wasn’t written across the box in black sharpie.

“Is that your cereal, Harry?”

You had a hand planted on your hip, eyebrows raised expectantly as you awaited his answer. He lazily glanced up from his phone, looking you over from head to toe before shrugging.

“Dunno, found it in the cupboard,” he muttered, jamming a spoonful into his mouth.

“Interesting, interesting,” you droned, biting the inside of your cheek, “did you stop for a moment to think that it might belong to somebody else?”

He shrugged again, not bothering to look away from his phone this time as he chewed slowly. You could tell he was holding back a smirk from the way his dimple indented into his cheek. He knew what he was doing, he always did.

With a huff, you walked over to him and snatched the box off of the table, turning it around and pointing at your name in bold letters.

“I wish you’d asked,” you snapped, opening the cabinet with more force than necessary to grab a bowl.

“Just figured we were all sharing food,” you heard him say.

You wanted to rip his breakfast out from under him, anything to get a reaction, but you just took a deep breath insead. Getting you worked up is exactly what he wanted, and you’d never give him the satisfaction

“If you’d read your sister’s e-mail, you’d know that any food that isn’t labelled is up for grabs. That cereal has my name on it.”

“Sorry,” he shrugged again, “I don’t really look at my e-mail.”

“Clearly,” you rolled your eyes.

He didn’t respond, and even though your skin was crawling with irritation, you figured it was best if you stopped talking. Even though he was being a pest, this behavior was relatively tame for him, and it would be a shame to ruin a perfectly good morning with a fight.

Well, that’s what you told yourself before you opened the fridge.

“Harry,” you warned through gritted teeth, “did you finish off the milk… and then put the empty carton back?”

“No,” he locked his phone, crossing his arms over his chest and grinning, “there are a few drops left in there.”

That was it. The absolute last straw.

“You are literally the most inconsiderate person I’ve ever met,” you seethed, shaking the empty carton in his direction before throwing it into the recycling bin. It didn’t seem to phase him.

“I think-”

“I don’t really care what you think,” you interrupted.

“-that you’re being dramatic.”

You were scowling so hard that your cheeks were beginning to hurt, but you couldn’t help it. Not when he was pushing your buttons in all the wrong ways. You dumped your bowl of dry cereal back into the box.

“I’m not being dramatic,” you hissed, “you’re just being a dick, but what else is new.”

“You really need to calm down,” he snorted, “a bunch of us were going to break out the kayak and race across the lake, do you wanna join?”

You weren’t sure where he’d gotten the idea that you’d want to spend more time with him, so you just shot him a dirty look, deciding to just skip breakfast. Sure, you were starving, but anything was better than spending one more second in Harry’s presence.

“I have other plans,” you snarled, turning your back to him and leaving the room.

“Really?” He asked, following you down the hallway. “Do they involve… I dunno, pulling the giant stick out of your ass?”

You practically growled, stopping so suddenly that Harry nearly ran into you.

“No,” your voice was strained, “Ryan asked me to go hiking with him, if you must know.”

For the first time all morning, the unbearable smirk on his face dropped into a frown.

“Just the two of you?” He prodded.

You narrowed your eyes at him. Why was he suddenly so interested?

“Yes, just the two of us,” you sighed, turning to walk away again, “now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to be as far away from you as possible.”

He didn’t follow you this time, but you could feel him watching you go up the stairs. It bothered you to no end that he could get you so riled up. Next time, you would walk away at the first sign of trouble, because he truly wasn’t worth your energy.

Once you finished packing up a drawstring backpack with the hiking essentials, it was just about to time to meet Ryan, so you made your way over to the guest cabin. On the way there, you saw Harry pulling a kayak off of a metal rack, passing it to James like it weighed nothing. He looked a bit ridiculous, with his tie-dye shirt and a bandana in his hair.

“Hey,” you jumped at Ryan’s voice, “you ready to head out?”

You didn’t spare Harry a second glance when Ryan started raving about this amazing waterfall that he wanted to see. The day could only go up from here.

~~~

The rain had come out of nowhere.

It had been blue sky for miles for the entire hike, but the second you got back to the bikes at the trailhead, dark stormclouds had already started sprinkling. It had quickly turned into a downpour, soaking through your thin t-shirt in record time. Ryan wasn’t much better off as he pulled his helmet off, hair matted down on the top of his head.

Not to mention, it had been extremely buggy. Even with bug spray, they had been relentless. You were sure you had at least twenty bug bites all down your arms and legs.

Despite everything, you’d enjoyed yourself. You’d stayed out even longer than you planned, sitting by the waterfall and chatting. As soon as Ryan found out that you skipped breakfast, he’d given you half of his sandwich. He’d been a complete gentleman, taking your hand frequently to help you over a rough part of the trail, and even though neither of you specified, it felt like a date.

Conversation with him was easy, which was a major improvement from your awful morning. In fact, you barely even thought about Harry all afternoon, so distracted by Ryan and his nature commentary. The only time he’d come up was when you stopped for lunch.

“So what’s the deal with you and Harry?” Ryan had asked.

“Ugh,” you’d snarled, taking a pull from your water bottle “can we talk about literally anything else?”

“Oh,” Ryan had raised his eyebrows, “so, you’re not together?”

Immediately, you had choked on your sip of water, slapping your chest until you stopped coughing.

“Together?” You guffawed. “What on earth gave you that idea?”

He had blushed crimson, playing with the hair on the back of his head. “He talks about you a lot… and sometimes I notice you watching him.”

His comment had confused you, but you’d shrugged it off, assuring him that you and Harry weren’t, and never would be, together.

Now, the two of you were ditching your bikes in front of the cabin and sprinting towards the door to escape the awful weather. You found yourself giggling as you stumbled into the kitchen, wet, muddy footprints trailing behind you as you dropped your pack to the ground. It landed with a loud squelch, which only made you laugh harder.

“I had a lot of fun today,” you said, “I’m really glad you invited me.”

“Really?” He chuckled, catching his breath. “I thought it was a bit of a disaster, between the mosquitos, the rain… the mud….”

You both laughed, shaking your heads at your bad fortune. You were being truthful about having fun, though. Even though the day hadn’t gone according to plan, it was exactly the kind of adventure you’d wanted.

“Whatever,” you shrugged coyly, “I had good company.”

Ryan’s cheeks flushed crimson, and a sweet smile crept up his face. Even with mud caked across his neck, pine needles in his hair, and angry pink bug bites down his arms and legs, he still managed to look adorable. When his eyes darted down to your lips, you stepped forward.

“I’m really glad we’re both on this trip,” he said softly, placing a hand on your waist.

“Me too,” you whispered, leaning in closer.

Just as your lips were a hair away from brushing together, a crash from behind you had you jumping apart in alarm. You yelped loudly, your heart stopping for a beat before you spun around to face the culprit.

Of course it was Harry.

The first thing you noticed was his sunburn; all he was wearing was a pair of light gray sweatpants, so you could see how pink his chest had gotten. He resembled a deer in headlights as he stared at the floor below him, which was currently covered in the broken remnants of a shattered plate.

“Sorry,” he slurred, tip-toeing out from where the ceramic shards had scattered. Once he was clear, he stumbled over to the broom closet, swinging it open harshly as you and Ryan watched on awkwardly. After digging for a few seconds, he emerged with a broom and dustpan that looked like they were older than you.

“You scared us,” you bit out, heart finally slowing down to a normal rate.

“Oops,” his shoulders lifted in a shrug, He turned to start sweeping, but quickly did a double take. “What hap-… you guys look horrible. Why are you covered in mud?”

Irritation took over you as you watched him gape drunkenly at where you and Ryan were standing. Not only had he interrupted what was sure to be an epic kiss with Ryan, but then he’d nearly given you a heart attack by sneaking in and dropping the plate. Sure, it was an accident, but that didn’t make you feel any less angry. And now here he was, telling you that you looked horrible.Your foot started tapping against the floor rapidly on its own accord.

Just as you were about to chew him out for being a complete thorn in your side, he stumbled forward and hissed, lifting his bare foot into the air.

“Harry, you’re stepping on glass,” Ryan warned, rushing forward with a worried expression over his face, “and you’re barefoot. Why don’t you start getting ready for bed… I’ll clean this up, okay?”

He took the broom from Harry, shooing him away from the mess. You knew it was the responsible thing to do, but part of you was still disappointed that your moment with Ryan had been ruined.

“Will you help me up the stairs?” Harry asked you sheepishly, half-limping over to you, “can’t get the glass out of my foot….”

“Well, don’t try to take it out here,” you sighed with an eye roll, “let’s go up. We’ll have to clean it, too.”

“Aww, y’gonna take care of me?” He smirked.

“Don’t push your luck,” you snapped. He held his hands up in surrender, but you still wanted to slap the smug look off of his face. You turned to Ryan, who was still sweeping the plate shards into a pile, and shook your head apologetically. “See you tomorrow?”

He nodded, a sad little smile on his face. You made yourself a promise that you’d kiss him next time you were alone. It was only the second day, after all; you were positive that you’d find another moment. For now, though, you had to deal with a certain drunken fool, who was currently limping down the hall, tripping every other step as he tried to grip the wall for support.

“Hold on, you dimwit,” you sighed, rushing forward and slipping a hand around his waist.

“Ooh, we’re getting cosy,” he hummed. You weren’t going to dignify him with a response.

Harry’s skin was warm to the touch, a bit sticky with sunscreen but still smooth. You tried to ignore the shock that ran through you when you felt his back muscles shift… you knew he was in good shape, but you hadn’t expected him to be so… firm. Your mouth went dry.

He leaned practically his entire weight on you, nearly forcing your knees to buckle. Fortunately, you were able to find your balance and walk with him, taking one stair at a time.

“Now who’s being dramatic,” you muttered.

“What’s that s’posed to mean?” Harry slurred, frowning in your direction. He had one arm slung over your shoulder, and the other hand gripping the railing as he hopped on one foot.

“You called me dramatic this morning,” you reminded him, “and now here you are, needing help up the stairs because of a teeny piece of glass….”

“Heeeey,” he protested, stopping in his tracks to look down at you properly.

A scoff escaped you as you rolled your eyes, gesturing for him to continue hopping. You were nearly at the top now.

“Is there a first aid kit somewhere?” You asked, relieved when he removed his arm.

“Yeah,” he scratched at his head, “I packed one, but it’s still in my room.”

Honestly, you were a bit surprised that Harry packed a first aid kit. You’d never stricken him as the responsible type; Callie had always seemed more put together despite being younger.

You followed his hobbling figure into his room, which was much cleaner than you expected. He clearly hadn’t changed it much since he was young, evidenced by the lego figurines lined up on his shelves. There was also a cute framed photo of him and Callie at her high school graduation, which was admittedly adorable.

Getting the splinter out of Harry’s foot hadn’t been a problem, but cleaning it was another story. First, he insisted that he could do it himself, but then he accidentally got neosporin all over his bedsheets. Then, he wouldn’t stop flinching away from you when you tried to stick on the bandage, claiming that he was ticklish.

“Can you please just cooperate,” you sighed.

“Can’t help that it tickles,” he giggled, twitching away from your hand again, “your hands are too soft.”

If he pulled away from you one more time, you’d rip your hair out. This was not how you foresaw ending your night.

Eventually, finally, he stayed still long enough for you to finish. You glared at him as you gathered up the bandage wrapper and used alcohol wipe. He was gazing at you with wide eyes, bandana slightly crooked on top of his head.

“Did I interrupt something downstairs?” He asked all of a sudden, sheepishly looking out the window.

“Yeah,” you exhaled, shaking your head in frustration. “You know, Harry? I don’t understand what I did for you to hate me so much.”

He squinted his eyes in confusion, as if he had no idea what you were talking about. As if he hadn’t spent countless hours intentionally getting on your nerves.

“What’re you talking about?”

“Please,” you laughed sarcastically, “It hasn’t even been two full days here, and you’ve already called me a wet blanket, eaten my food, and ruined the end of my date. You do nothing but antagonize me… why?”

He opened and closed his mouth several times, and it was then that you remembered how truly drunk he was. He probably wouldn’t even remember this in the morning. You don’t know why you’d asked him about it in the first place.

“I mean, I…” He stuttered, apparently unable to articulate his thoughts.

Truthfully, you didn’t even want to know.

“Maybe we should just stay away from each other,” you told him, “I’m not a huge fan of you, and you clearly have a problem with me….”

He looked completely taken aback.

“Just… go to sleep, okay?” You pinched the bridge of your nose. “I left the painkillers out, so… take those in the morning if you want.”

You were waiting for him to say something, but he just sat there, silently gaping at you with cloudy eyes, so that’s how you left him. He was still staring at you when you fleetingly made eye contact on your way out the door, but didn’t say a single word.

From what you knew about him, that was out of character. He always had something to say, another jab, another comeback, absolutely never letting you have the last word. And his eyes… the way he’d been staring at you, like he was offended and guilty and confused. You’d never seen him look like that before.

As you got ready for bed, you tried to shake the entire interaction off. He was drunk, he probably had no idea what you were saying. The entire conversation wouldn’t even matter in the morning.

Yet, for some reason, the image of his wide eyes and crooked bandana were all you thought about until you drifted off to sleep.

~~~

If you made it this far, thank you! What do we think? Any thoughts, theories, questions, comments? Let me know! Until next time, xoxoxoxoxox Tile

#harry styles #harry styles fanfic #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fic #harry #styles #hs #enemies to lovers #love triangle #m&bc #miles &black coffee #m&bc2

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shinwnn · 7 years ago

Text

college! jinwoo au

sokay jinwoo is s u p e r well known on campus because he's essentially the guy that’s always fun to be around and exudes confidence

he’s studying linguistics bc he’s fascinated with languages but also he just loves to talk and everyones always making jokes about how he’s so good with languages because he loves the sound of his own voice so much that he never shuts up

he also works at the campus radio station bc he just loves music so much!! AND he’s worked his way up to being a host so getting to play music & talk is basically the dream for him

everyone always tunes in during the hours that jinwoos hosting bc his taste in music is honestly amazing and he has the best radio voice and it makes everything he says sound interesting

you also listen to his show bc he honestly has never played a song you didn’t either already love or instantly fall in love with

but also you’re really beginning to hate this boy because the only reason you actually know him is because he lives right above you in the dorms

and he hosts the L O U D E S T parties that always happen to go till 4 am

usually you and your roommate fight over who has to go up and ask them to quiet down but tonight your roommate is out with some friends and its already 2 am you’re just laying in bed listening to the nonstop thudding sounds coming from above you & ur almost about to die because you have a 7:30 class tmrw

finally you force yourself out of bed and and into the hallway toward jinwoo’s room and you're so tired you're basically already half asleep

when you knock on the door and jinwoo comes out to see sleepy you in an oversized sweatshirt and leggings trying to form a coherent sentence ( it came out more like “the sound.. .too much.. please. stop.. the sound… theres a lot of it”) he can’t help but think you’re about the cutest thing he’s ever seen

and maybe if your eyes weren’t half closed and you weren’t entirely annoyed with the boy, you would’ve also thought he looked cute in his skinny jeans, t-shirt that was just a little bit too big, and perfectly messed up hair

but right now you're pretty much only focused on keeping yourself from completely collapsing in his door way

he feels really bad because you look like you're about to pass out but then his party has expanded to basically the whole floor and he’s lost the ability to control the noise level

he looks around for a few seconds and without saying anything goes to try to shuffle people into rooms and closing the doors in attempt to quiet things down a little

in the meanwhile you're still standing there in the door way wondering if you should go back now but for some reason your feet aren't moving and wow the floor looks really comfortable right now

but then before you can go to ur final resting place on the floor, jinwoo is back in front of you and he notices that you're like not stable so he puts his hands on your shoulders to try and hold you up and he's like “sorry about everyone. i don’t know if i can do much more about the noise, but i hope that helped a little bit???... also are you okay???”

and no ur obviously not okay bc all you've wanted for the past 3 hrs is to go to bed but everything like 20x quieter now and its so peaceful so you just offer a sleepy smile and nod and turn around to head back toward ur room and ur bed

but then suddenly someones linked their arm with yours and its jin jin trying to be cute and gentlemanly and walk u back to ur room but mostly he's like 90% sure ur gonna collapse in the hall on the way back

ur initial reaction is !! heLLO STRANGER DANGER?? you've only talked to this boy like twice ??? and u sort of tug ur arm away

but jin jin reacts really quickly and like gently pulls u back and he's like “you look like you could use the help. c’mon-“

but even half asleep u does not want the pity of a random cute boy who throws loud parties and disturbs ur sleep so u slightly perk up and are like “ what’s that supposed to mean? are U trying to say I look BAD?”

and jin jin is kind of flustered and taken aback but immediately recovers bc pls this is park jinwoo

“actually i think you look pretty cute and id rather not wake up tomorrow morning to find that you tripped down the stairs to your death while going back to your room because you were too tired.”

so ur like annoyed but ur also like ,,,, fine, maybe i do need someone to make sure i don't die before i get back to my room and also you're kinda leaning into him while u guys are walking and its really nice not having to carry ur own weight

when u guys get to ur door jin jin leans against the frame as ur unlocking it and before u go in he decides to throw away any shred of pride he has and goes for the literally cheesiest line bc he’s never seen anyone look as cute as you do right now

“so, what about a good night kiss?”

u look up to see the brightest smile u have ever?? seen?? like how is he glowing right now but also ur like “did u really just say that”

and u see him get kinda embarrased and ur like woW IS PARK JINWOO THE GOLDEN BOY OF THE SCHOOL ACTUALLY BLUSHING RIGHT NOW??

he’s not really use to rejection bc he hasn't really met a girl he would put himself out there for (but lets be real even if he had, no one would've rejected him what are u doing??)

so he just looks down at the floor and puts his hand on his neck like “ha h a, , yeah, probably shouldn’t have”

but he looks really cute all flustered and you dunno why, tho its probabbly bc ur so tired that u don't actually know if any of this is really happening, but u give him a peck on the cheek and a quick good night before u go inside to ur sweet, sweet bed

n jin jin is just standing outside of ur room, stunned bc WOW ur an angel did that really just happen to him

by the time he gets back to his floor, the partying has pretty much died down to nothing since he really killed the mood when he started pushing people into their rooms for your sake

so he just goes to his room and his roommate mj is laying in bed on his phone (super calm for a change) and jin jin all but jumps on him like “you wouLD NOT BELIEVE WHAT JUST HAPPENED”

and ofc mj immediately is as awake as ever dying to know what

after telling mj every detail he basically goes to bed thinking about u being cute whereas youve been knocked out for the past 20 minutes without so much as a thought about it

the next day you’re up by 7 bc u want to get some food and coffee before class so you hit up a cafe on the way to the lecture hall and order your food and sit down at one of the tables to wait

you're running on about 4 hrs of sleep right now so you're not exactly at your prime and you're leaning on your arm while scrolling through your instagram when suddenly your hair is being ruffled and you hear “morning sleepyhead!”

you look up to see jin jin smiling his goofy smile and you’re like “okay firstly, never touch my hair ever again. secondly, why on earth are u up so early, u probably went to bed like … an hour ago”

so he’s like telling u about how he’s helping out around the studio during the morning radio show today and you guys start talking about his radio show and he finds out you listen and it makes him feel all warm and happy for some reason

and you guys start talking about music and you guys have pretty much the same taste and he slips in that he’s been working on some music with his roommate and a few friends and he just gets so excited talking about it

when he can tell that you’re genuinely interested and you ask him questions about their group (which he says is called astro) you can literally see his eyes lighting up and you’re losing track of time bc this is honestly one of the nicest conversations you've had in a long time with one of the nicest boys like, ever

but then u get a notification and see the time on your phone and it’s freaking 745!!! ur already 15 min late to class and you're still like 10 min away from the hall so you grab your things and are like

“shoot im sorry i totally forgot about the time im late to my lecture”

and while you're cleaning up you just keep rambling about how you're screwed bc the class isn't recorded or anything and you don't know anyone you can get notes from and you had like 4 hours of sleep yesterday (which u remind him is his fault) and oh my goodness why is everything bad happening to you

and jin jins just sitting and sipping his coffee looking at you with most amused look on his face and you're still all flustered from being late and u go to throw ur trash away and

when ur back jin jin has ur book bag over his shoulder and his hands are in his pocket as if this is like a normal thing that u do everyday and ur just like ?? are u robbing me? give me my bag and hes like

“no, cmon i’m walking you to class”

and u don't have time to fight it and really you don't mind at all so you just head out the door toward your hall when u remember that he has to go to work and then u forget that you're totally late for class bc now you're worried for him being late for work and u try to grab ur bag from him and are like “o my goSH JINWOO ur gonna be LATE for WORK”

but he completely ignores u and just keeps on walking and ur like ARE U LISTENING and he finally turns around and is just like

“i can afford to be a little late, they wont miss me. plus i’d much rather be with you”

and ofc be freaking winks at u and ur like oh my goodness that was cute but u just roll ur eyes and are like “okay fine, but don’t get used to walking me to places”

and u suddenly remember last nights events very clearly ending with u kissing him on the cheek and u get embarrassed

and it only gets worse when he's like “why? i thought i was pretty good at it, especially after the kiss you gave me for it last night. i was getting ready to transfer majors to physical education so i could work on my stamina and walk you to even further places. it was supposed to be our tradition, walking places. man it was gonna be good”

and ur annoyed bc you've never met someone so irritating yet likable. how does that even work? i dk, but park jinwoo does

when u guys get to ur lecture hall ur suddenly not in a rush at all to go inside bc as much as u hate to admit it to urself, you’d much rather hang out with jin jin

so now ur just standing face to face and he’s looking at you smiling his angelic smile and now its ur turn to contemplate what to do before you leave

and u just wrinkle ur nose before finally deciding to give him a quick peck on the cheek again and then ur just like “maybe that can be part of the tradition”

before he can say anything you've already grabbed ur bag and run into the hall and left him smiling like an idiot

when he gets to work he's still so happy and he’s in a good mood everyday but today it’s just like, intensified all his coworkers can tell he's happier than usual and they’re just like “had a good morning jin jin?” and he's like “GREAT MORNING”

meanwhile ur sitting in class like omg did i actually just do that? also why?

and then like 20 minutes later ur like okay i like park jinwoo

after you get out of class you head back to your dorm to work on some essays for a couple of hours and you see that it’s around the time that jin jin is hosting so you tune in

and after the song that’s playing ends you hear jin jin’s voice and he’s talking about his theory on how toy story and finding nemo are connected and all u can do is roll ur eyes and laugh

but then u hear him go “you should be out of class by now, so i hope you're listening. this next songs for you sleepyhead”

u can hardly believe u just heard him say that and find u urself blushing & even more so when u realize the song that’s playing is pretty u by seventeen

right as you hear the last lines of the song “does she love me, does she love me not…” you get a text from jin jin

“pretty cool huh? i think that deserves a thank you”

to which you reply “you want me to thank you for passive aggressively dedicating songs to me?”

he eventually gets you to agree to let him take u out for dinner and you're so amazed with how comfortable you feel around him and how easily he makes u laugh

it’s just really perfect since u guys started officially dating

a lot of the songs being played during jin jins hours have suspiciously been love songs so much so that he started getting complaints and u had to force him to start playing other things

and as far as those parties that last till 3 am, lately jin jins been finding it a lot more appealing to just sit on the couch with you sharing a blanket and exchanging sleepy kisses as you listen to music

#jin jin #park jinwoo #jinwoo #astro scenarios #astro au #college

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ladygloucester · 7 years ago

Text

Redheaded Scots and Red Velvet Dresses

Hi!

I’ve been kinda stuck with my main work, so I thought of untucking a bit with some good old fashion smut. Hope you enjoy it!!

“I already told you, I’m not going to that stupid party, Geillis. I’m on call tomorrow and have zero interest in going to the hospital with two hours of sleep in my back.”

Claire dropped on the couch crossing her arms and staring blankly at the tv. Her blonde roommate looked at her with a crooked smile and arching an eyebrow.

“You’re telling me you rather binge watch that silly medieval tv show for the thousandth time than coming to a party? Seriously?”

“That’s exactly what I’m telling you. And it’s not medieval. It’s XVIII century.”

“Whatever.”

A tense silence settled between them, Geillis’ deep green eyes piercing Claire’s. Then, her stance changed and smiled again.

Then I’m calling cave on you,” she sentenced mimicking her posture.

Her roommate’s eyes darted to hers, in complete and utter astonishment.

“Really? You’re calling cave for me to go to a party?“ Geillis nodded and Claire dropped her arms, defeated. The first time they had met, Claire had been doing speleology in a marine cave. She had broken her leg and unable to call for help or swim the distance between the cave and the shore, she had given up and waited for someone, anyone, to have the same silly idea she had had, emerge from the water and find her. Two days and almost completely dehydrated, Geillis had found her on the sand, helped her to the shore and taken to the hospital. Since that day, besides becoming best friends, Geillis had used the cave whenever she wanted to get her way. She knew how and when to call it: that trip to Paris she didn’t want to do alone, not after Dougal had dumped her for the thousandth time; that time she went skydiving and realized she was to scared to go by herself; and the best time, that Saturday she made Claire go with her to an illegal body painting contest in Edinburgh that almost got them both in jail. Fun times.

“You’re incredible. Fine. I’ll go. But don’t think for a second I’m having any fun or staying a minute over 1 am.”

She stood up and lightly pushed Geillis on her way to her bedroom. Since she had begun her internship at the hospital, clothes had become a frivolous concept she had no time to pay attention to. Not that she didn’t appreciate a nice Balenciaga. But spending days in a row with her blue scrubs played down the importance of going to work with a pretty outfit…. that would most certainly covered in blood, puke or any other disgustingly non washable substance that had already ruined two pairs of designer heels and at least three painfully beautiful jeans. So sneakers, cheap jeans and a t-shirt was almost her daily uniform, so finding something to wear to a party started to prove itself a dull task.

While she was going through her drawers, Geillis appeared carrying two black dress bags with a name she didn’t recognize.

“Louis de la Tour? I don’t think I…”

“This is what you’re wearing tonight. I haven’t told you because I wanted you to come because you liked my company. But since you hate me guts and care naught for me, I’m telling you already. It’s a costume party.” And before Claire could protest, she kept talking. “A XVIII century costume party.”

A smile spread on Claire’s face as she took one of the bag and opened it. Inside there was a stunning red dress with a more than generous neckline and an amazing volume skirt. She stared at the fabric, caressing it, and looked back at Geillis.

“In the other bag there’s the rest of the things you’ll need for the dress. A corset, undergarments… You know better than I do.“

“Geillis, I…”

“Just shut up and try not to look to pretty. Dougal’s coming too and I don’t want him staring like a fool at your lovely bosom.”

Claire grimaced and shook her head, reassuring her.

“I’ll have a turtleneck close by for emergencies.”

The cab driver that picked them up was flabbergasted when they got in and tried to fit with their dresses into the back of the car. In a chaos of silk, petticoats and lace, Claire and Geillis managed to seat without wrinkling the skirts too much, and arrived at their destination fifteen minutes later.

As they traveled, Claire stared at the city, disappearing progressively, skyscrapers and office buildings leaving room for wide grass fields, sparkling under the red sunset. She had no idea where they were going, but her doubts came clear when they finally parked in the front garden of a, of course, XVIII century manor.

As they stepped out of the taxi, she soaked in the beauty of the large, slender, white marble pillars flanking the marvellous entrance hall. The stairs leading io it were covered by a deep red velvet carpet, and several guests were already making good use of it. It really felt like a journey through time, and the feeling became more powerful when both women entered the mansion. Men wearing powdered wigs, dress coats in the most assorted colors and pants that ended on the knee, only to give way to sleek white stockings held in place by colorful garters.

Being raised by an archaeologist, Claire was especially fond of every single thing that estimated her historical instincts. Intently, she noticed every detail of the hall while Geillis pulled her arm trying to make her move faster. The moulding that dressed the upper walls, the heavy curtains covering the wide French windows, the fluffiness of the Persian carpets under her feet.

Geillis clicked her tongue and pulled from her harder, almost making her trip and letting lose a few curls of Claire’s precarious bun.

“Jesus H. Roosevel Christ, Geillis!” She hissed recomposing herself and catching up with her pace. “You almost dislocate my shoulder, why are you in such a hurry?”

“I’m not in a hurry. I just don’t want to be seen staring at the walls as if I just left the village on a stagecoach.”

The sun was already setting when they entered what it appeared to be the ballroom, and the chandeliers had been lit, dozens of candles illuminating the richness of the chamber and playfully creating whimsical shadows on the walls. The floors were covered in mahogany wood, making her heels tap with a joyful sound. Geilis left her impatiently and wandered around the room, a moment Claire took advantage of to appreciate the exuberance of her outfit. Matching her eyes, her friend had chosen a emerald green low-cut dress, lavishly ornate with lace and totally flattering. The contrast with her creamy skin made the perfect combination, and Claire knew then why she had put so much effort in looking that stunning.

Her walkabout came to its end when a tall, older man emerged from the crowd. His hair was extremely short, but you could tell by the strands of grey that showed here and there that he had seen easily over four decades. Geillis was, just as Claire, in her early twenties, and even though she had always understood the appeal of an attractive forty-something, there was something in Dougal that made Claire distrustful. Probably was the way he looked at her whenever they met, as if he was about to jump her and forget about his actual date.

Not a compelling quality in a boyfriend, for sure.

With that in mind, Claire decided to distance herself from the couple before he insisted in greeting her. Slowly, that was the only way she could move in that amazing but consistently uncomfortable dress, she took two steps backwards and began to turn around, when suddenly a solid whirlwind of tartan, red curls and white linen crashed against her, making her lose her balance. But before she could regain it, two strong hands grabbed her waist and steadied her.

When their eyes met, the man who had collided with her froze his hands in place, even though their service was no longer required. Two piercing blue eyes, the same color as a summery sky reflected on a stream, stared into hers. A few coppery curls had fallen over them and she felt, for a second, a stinging need to weave them away. Claire stood there, trapped in time as if clocks had all dropped their hands and seconds ceased to exist. But they really hadn’t.

“But… what are you doing there? Come!” A high-pitched, almost annoying feminine voice came from a few feet away, tearing them both out from the enchantment. His hands painfully left her back and a slight blush covered his cheeks, as he passed his fingers through his curls to set them back again.

“Sorry, mistress. Didna mean to…” A deep, rich voice reached her even in the growing racket that had begun as guests entered the ballroom.

“Don’t worry, I was… Just walking backwards, actually. Probably not the best way to walk in a crowd.”

He smiled politely and nodded, before lingering just a second more than necessary and going in his way to the origin of the disturbance. Claire nodded back, flushed and feeling her heart pounding against her corset. Over six feet tall, the owner of those flashing red curls was wearing what she interpreted as a traditional Scot outfit. Kilt and everything. The tartan fell all the way to his knees, reached by two sturdy but apparently well-made leather boots. A white linen shirt, crossed by the plaid fabric that covered his shoulder kept in place by a silver brooch, completed the look. She strained her eyes to try and decipher the pattern of his kilt as he was leaving, the exact same moment he chose to look over his shoulder and catch her redhanded. She quickly took her gaze away, but not before she could sense the shadow of a smile in his full lips.

Nice. Caught squinting at a guy’s ass. Way to go, Beauchamp, clearly this can only get better.

Trying to calm down and enjoy the party, she turned the opposite way and visited the bar, that consisted of a splendid cedar table with a server on the other side of it.

“Whisky. Neat, please.”

She gulped the first glass and got herself served with another before roaming the room. Geillis and Dougal had already disappeared.

At least someone is having a party.

Without her roommate around, she realized she knew no one at that place. But it didn’t actually matter. The lushness of her low V-cut dress and the brightness of the red fabric began to catch the eye of several men and in no time, she found herself surrounded by smiles, knowing winks and a lot of flattering words. Fortunately she had brought a fan, dazzlingly decorated, to cover in part her charms and shoo away the nuisances.

Even though it was a XVIII century costume party, clearly the DJ had nothing in common with Mozart or Bach. Rock began to reverberate in the design speakers that were camouflaged around the place, and the guests had no trouble dancing around in their best galas. It was awkward to feel like you had traveled over two hundred years back in time with that soundtrack. But after many requests, Claire finally gave up, left her empty glass —how many times have they refilled it?—and threw herself into the music.

It didn’t take much for her to lose track of time. Dancing became very welcomed distraction she hadn’t had since she began her surgery internship at the hospital. Lots of concentration, late hours and even longer ones studying were pretty much what her days were made of. She didn’t realize how right was Geillis, and how much she needed to go out and remember what it was to have a night like that. The heat, the music, the people… it was exhilarating, and she yielded to all of it.

But then, the crowd opened slightly and her eyes traveled through the corridor amongst them. Leaned against one of the tables, with a glass of whisky in one hand and his legs crossed at the ankles, two exquisitely blue eyes under a mass of red curls stared at her, completely fixated. Claire felt her chest and cheeks flushing while she looked back at him still dancing. He took a sip of the glass, and quickly, almost inadvertently, he licked his lips, as if to rescue a castaway drop of liquor.

Claire had an internal debate. Why didn’t he come along? Why was he looking at her like that, as if this was some kind of private show? Because if that Scot was able to do something, was to make her feel as if they were alone in a room full of people. She was arguing against herself when her own curls, tucked up in a bun, began to fall over her shoulders. Absentmindedly, she took the hair slide that had kept them (as best as it could) in place and let them spread around her face and neck.

Ok, so he has a thing for curly girls…

She couldn’t help a flirty smile when his eyes grew wider, or as wide as those two feline eyes could, and his lips slightly parted at the sight of Claire’s hair running wild. Apparently that was all he was waiting, because a second later he was crossing the room in confident strides until he was standing in front of her, in a turbulent sea of people dancing. Even though she wasn’t small, he towered over her at a close distance.

“Where did you leave your date?” Claire couldn’t help to tease. He answered with a crooked smile.

“Ye mean Laoghaire? It wad’a been a date if I had any interest in her. My sister set me up, she has very… clear ideas. Not that I share most of thaim”.

“So you left the poor girl, is it?”

“Poor…” He repeated astonishedly. “If ye kent Laooghaire ye wouldna call her poor. Trust me.“

Claire chuckled and realized he was standing still.

“You don’t dance?”

“Not really my strong suit…“

“Then you shouldn’t be in the middle of the dance floor…” She teased again, looking at him from under her eyelashes. He arched an eyebrow and began to move, slowly and in a very contained manner that, probably without him knowing, made him even sexier.

“If that’s what it takes to speak to ye…”

The conversation was severely reduced, and the heat pulsating throughout the room made his curls stuck with sweat to his forehead and temples. The distance between them was merely inches, even though they weren’t touching. Whenever he spoke to her, he would come closer to her ear. The proximity of his body began to raise her temperature, and the feeling of his hot breath against the skin of her neck, brushing his hair against her cheek, was starting to drive her mind into more than friendly thoughts of dancing companionship. Unable to break eye contact from those charged pools of turmaline, she felt like the prey hypnotized by the predator.

And yet, instead of doing any obvious advances, he would make her laugh until her ribs hurt and she had tears in the corner of her eyes, while shielding her from other people pushing her and careless elbows. Without touching her, his arms would create a safety bubble inhabited only by the two of them.

“Care for another drink?“ She nodded smiling and he parted ways in the search of a nice scotch whisky.

While Claire was waiting for his return, Geillis approached her with Dougal on her arm. She could instantly feel his eyes on her breasts, slightly bright because of the sweat. Geillis elbowed him on the side and he diverted his gaze with a grunt.

“Dougal, always a pleasure,” she snorted and arched an eyebrow.

“Don’t mind him. You having fun?” Geillis asked as she started to dance to the rhythm of a new song.

“Sure. Better than I expected, I confessed.” Claire smiled and directed her eyes to the large Scot ordering drinks at the end of the ballroom. Geillis followed her gaze and let out a astound chuckle.

“Really? Do you know him?”

“Yeah…” She answered puzzled. “Do you?”

“Actually…”

“Good evening…” An unexpected low voice came across to her. Claire turned around and was met by a two dark eyes, squinting because of a polite smile. Dressed as a English military of the XVIII century, this man was clearly older than her. Something in his gaze made her instantly uncomfortable, even though his demeanor couldn’t be more respectful. She made a graceful bow and smiled back.

“Good evening indeed.”

He closed the distance between them, narrowing the space between their bodies and his mouth and her ear. She shivered, but not the same way she had before.

“I see you have a particular good eye for Scots. But, here’s the thing. That great, redheaded one you’ve been talking to… Let’s say he’s not free to roam around the likes of you. He has… other tastes, if you know what I mean.”

As well-mannered as he was, Claire felt disgusted by the way he was talking to her. He didn’t even shout, near as he was. He faced her again, slowly, deliberately, and slightly drop his eyelids staring at her chest. He made a disapproving noise with his mouth and shook his head, crooking a smile.

“Too cheap, I’m afraid. Easy as a…”

Claire didn’t see it coming and certainly neither did the English man. The fist that collided brutally against his jaw tore him away a few steps, but he didn’t fall to the ground; instead, he clashed into the crowd and the people around supported him, caught by surprise. She followed the fist to the arm, then to the shoulder, only to discover the owner was said great, redheaded Scot. He had let his hand fall to his side and was shaking it. But what Claire didn’t expect was the utter look of disgust and hatred he was directing at the mant.

When he managed to regain balance, he touched his chin, checking it was still in place, and smile viciously at the Scot. Then he looked back at Claire.

“I told you. His tastes are different.“

Dougal, who had been staring at the whole scene without batting an eyelash, jumped to get ahold of the angrier and angrier redheaded man, who was already trying to get free to, probably, launch another punch into that odious face.

“Dinna, lash, juist let it go,“ Dougal hissed. He grabbed him until the man in the redcoat left the ballroom, and then he released him.

The younger man shook his head, his curls flying around, and snorted before turning away and disappearing into the crowd. Claire looked at Dougal, raising an eyebrow in a questioning way, and he shrugged.

“He’s my sister’s son.”

Claire blinked twice, completely caught off guard and looked at Geillis, who was already tidying up Dougal’s costume. She shook her head slightly, not knowing what else to say, and Claire took off the same way the nephew had. That hand was probably broken and if not, it was going to be painful as hell either way. Following his steps, a large door opened before her, leading to the back garden. The air was chilly, and goosebumps flooded her exposed skin. She took advantage of the height of the stairs to locate him. Not that he could pass unnoticed. Tall and bright as he was, it took her just a few seconds to find him pacing in a secluded part of the garden.

Training overtook her and she walked determined towards him. He acknowledge her looking at her sideways, but didn’t stop. He was muttering something she couldn’t understand, until she realized it was gaelic. Claire grabbed his arm and tried to stop him, but he got loose and kept pacing.

“I can’t understand a single word you say, but if that hand…”

“What did he tell ye?” He asked dryly. Claire’s brow furrowed and shook her head.

“Nonsense, he just…”

“What.”

“Ok, ok… Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ, what’s the fuss? He just told me you…” She realized she didn’t know how to put it with words. She sighed, looking at his large height and prayed he didn’t have any more punches in him. “He just told me you’re gay… But that’s ok! Don’t feel bad about it or anything…“

Blood left his face and Claire felt the night had become even colder.

“So that’s what he’s speeting noo, is it?”

“I don’t understand…”

“He’s the one that chased after me. He… I rejected him and he… since that day… He tells every woman he sees me with ‘I have other tastes’. That’s what he tald ye, aye?” Claire nodded intimidated by the situation. “I kent. Bastard… One day there’ll be no one close eneugh to save his sorry arse,“ he hissed under his breath, shaking his hand.

Claire saw the bloodied knuckles and grabbed both his arms, forcing him to face her and stop toting.

“Let me check that hand, it’s…”

“It’s ok, I’ve seen warse.“

“I don’t doubt it,” she tried to light it up a notch. “But I’m a doctor. Well, a doctor in training, at least. Let me see it.”

He stared at her for a second, sighed deeply and sat on a nearby pedestal missing its statue. He gave up and allowed her to examine his hand. Only palpating it and by the way he was clenching his jaw, probably he had at least two knuckles broken. For a second Claire tried to imagine the strength he had applied to that punch, and realized the other side of the fight was probably on his way to the ER with a broken jaw.

“Two knuckles are broken, probably more. You shouldn’t have given him the satisfaction.” She added while taking out a white handkerchief of one of the hidden pockets of her dress, making him smile while she tucked it around his hand.

“That dress is full of… surprises,“ he mustered. For the first time in the whole night, his willpower faltered him and Claire caught him staring at her breasts, ample and pulsating with every gasp of air. It was only a second, but she noticed and when he looked back in her eyes, he was blushing like a teenager. “i… I’m… I just… It’s… I mean, it’s distracting, you ken… Blessed Michael defend us! Ye have no idea the effort I’ve put tonight to keep my eyes above your neck,” he defended himself.

Claire erupted in laughter and he looked at her slightly offended.

“You shouldna wear things like that, they’re… Well, it’s hard to think nearby,” he kept trying to build his case.

She couldn’t stop laughing, so she didn’t noticed him standing up only an inch from her body. When she realized the proximity, she tried to take a step backwards, but his hand on the small of her back stopped her from succeeding. She didn’t pull away again, just staring into each others eyes, in the silence of the night as her laughter faded. His other hand traveled from his lap to her temple, pushing a way a rebellious curl behind her ear. He then lowered his fingertips, soft and light as a dove’s wing, on the side of her neck, painfully slowly.

Claire felt her pulse racing and she closed her eyes, panting. There was something extremely erotic in the way he had been treating her all night. That distance between them, almost non existent but always enough for her to reject him had she wanted to. The brush of his hair on her cheek when he talked to her ear, making her tremble under the heat of his breath. Each movement was deliberate and calculated and yet, seemed completely effortless.

His fingertips slowed down when they reached her shoulder, passed over her collarbone and set course to souther terrains. They slowed enough for her to retreat. The pressure of his hand on her back was almost formal, and she knew she could release herself from that embrace any time she wanted to. But damn if she did. Then, that same hand pulled her closer, erasing the distance between them. His fingers landed on one breast, caressing it so delicately she couldn’t help a moan escaping her lips. She rested her forehead against his chin, feeling the golden stubble against her skin, but apparently, all the willpower he had used to keep his eyes away from her charms had finally run out. Grabbing her hair, he pulled her face up to his and his mouth crashed against hers.

His lips were demanding. Having been restrained for so long, when they found hers they devour them without mercy. His teeth sank into the softness of her lower lip, making her closed eyes roll backwards in pleasure. His tongue followed through, first caressing it then exploring her mouth, playing inside of her, making her knees tremble. He turned around with her and lifted her by the waist in a swift movement, almost completely effortless, to settle her on top of the pedestal he had been sitting on a few seconds earlier.

Her hands began to unbutton the shirt to gain access to his chest, and conquered every bit of skin and soft fuzz on it. Without leaving his mouth, his own hands traveled up to the front of her dress and untied the laces that held it in place, uncovering the white corset underneath it and cursing under his breath when confronted with more obstacles.

“A Dhia…”

Claire couldn’t help a smile as he looked disturbed by the amount of effort it was going to take to finally uncover her breasts, but that Scot was nothing if not thorough, and when he finally untied his new archenemy, she shivered as the cold wind hardened her nipples. He took a second to admire her roundness and perfection, before lowering his mouth and paying them the attention they deserved.

Her head fall backwards in pleasure as his lips captured one nipple, playing with his tongue against the sensitive flesh. Her hands grabbed his curls and pressed him closer to her. First one, then the other, the redheaded man suckled and teased her breasts, licking their curves and giving her goosebumps in every inch of skin attended.

His mouth set course upwards, kissing his way up to her neck and back to her mouth. Claire finally separated her legs, allowing him into that closer place where each part of their bodies were in contact with the other. Even under the folds of wrinkled fabric, she could feel his desire, at least, matching hers, intoxicatingly brushing against her inner core.

Finally surrendering to being unable to think cohesively, she abandoned herself to her instincts, to the soft firmness of his mouth ravishing hers, to the urge of his hands discovering every piece of exposed skin and claiming it for his own. The roughness of his linen shirt against her bosom made her feel as she would combust herself if she didn’t find release soon. So in a bolder move that she expected, Claire surrounded his hips with her thighs, pushing him unimaginably closer to her. He moaned into her mouth and she moaned back in return, unable to wait any longer for the contact to be full and ultimate.

She lifted her skirt and went on to do the same with his kilt, without any opposition, while his hands lowered her dressed from her shoulders, baring new territory for him to enthrall with his kisses and the teasing of his teeth. Her hands finally found him as he gasped for air, settling his forehead on her shoulder. His length filled her hand, pulsating, while she directed it straight inside of her. The same surprise she had gotten when she found no underwear under his tartan was equal to his when he realized she was following the XVIII customs in full detail.

He accepted the invitation extended by her adventurous hand and teased her entrance before thrusting in one move and stopping inside of her to allow her to adjust to him. Claire could feel his hands around her waist, and his breath panting against the skin of her neck. Slowly, he set a pace guided by the rhythm her hands began to mark on his hips, but unable to stay under such restrain any longer, he pulled her hips closer to his, eliciting a cry from her and covering her mouth with his own to keep her silent.

His thrusts pounded against her flesh, making it swollen and so sensitive she felt every nerve of her body concentrated in that tiny amount of space. His cock filled her emptiness as no one ever had, pulsating inside of her and reaching further and further along. The grip of his hands on her hips nailed her to the stone she was sitting upon, angling them perfectly for him to tease her most receptive spot whenever he pushed inside of her. But when one of his hands released her grasp and found its way to that sweet place between her legs, Claire knew release was about to wash all over her.

Their eyes met, as if somehow their bodies were in outright synchronization, as if they knew what their masters didn’t, and he increased the pace while caressing her to oblivion. The orgasm came like a wave in a sunny beach day, warm, full, unexpectedly enticing. He followed through seconds later, feeling her clutching around him and driving him into utter pleasure in her arms.

For a minute, they stayed embraced, panting into each other’s skin. Her head resting on his chest, his chin on top of it. When they finally parted, their anatomies already missing what was being stolen from them, they looked at each other with different eyes. He helped her with the laces, trying to recompose her dress as best as they could, then she helped him tucking his shirt inside of his kilt and placing the plaid fabric over his shoulders.

In them most gentlemanly way, he offered his hand to help her off the stone base and she gracefully accepted it with a smile. Then, as if hit by realization at the same time, the looks on their faces switched content and satisfaction to shyness and sudden regret.

“I can’t believe…“

“I should hae asked…“ They spoke at the same time, went silent and laughed more relaxed. He arched an eyebrow with a crooked smile, took a step backwards and bowed.

She asked to her movement with a balletic bow of her own, and this time she was the first to offer her hand out.

“Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp.“

“James Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser. Your servant, madame.”

#outlander #outlander fic #jamie x claire #jamie fraser #costume party #modern au #outlander in the xxi century #ladygoutlanderfic

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solarmason-blog · 8 years ago

Text

came back to me | sebson

WHO: Mason McCarthy & Sebastian Smythe, ft Sabia WHAT: Reunited and it feels so good. WHERE: Outside Mason & Spencer’s room, a student lounge, Sebastian’s room in Notos. WHEN: Wednesday, 2/1, about 1 AM. WARNINGS: Brief mention of disturbing imagery, mention of Elliott’s attack (& the events that followed).

Sebastian was incredibly edgy. He'd flown through the night, left on the earliest flight permitted. He'd had to make promises to his father-- lies, about no longer visiting the McCarthy Compound and "straightening up" his Bloodline Act. But what mattered was that he was home. Well, not his home, per se, but Campus. NYADA. Mason. He stared at Mason's door, hands shaking. What was he going to say? An apology didn't seem to truly explain nearly a month's absence. He was so aetherdamn tired that he didn't have the energy to worry passed being able to raise his hand to knock on the door. Maybe things would be different now. Maybe Mason wouldn't be happy to see him. Or maybe things would be okay. He supposed he wouldn't know until he knocked on the fucking door. Why was such a simple motion so hard? He raised his hand and rapped twice, lightly. "Mase?" It was one AM here. He'd left Paris at midnight. But it was one AM here. What part of him said it was logical to bang down Mason's door at this hour? Mason started awake at the sound at his door - maybe just a drunk neighbor at the wrong room, but then, no, his name. Mason frowned, squinted at the time, then squinted at Sabia, who was not asleep but was definitely doing a great job pretending to be. "Some familiar you are. Could be a murderer, 'n' you don't even care," Sabia flicked he ear at him and with once more glance to completely-conked out Spencer, Mason kicked his covers off. He wasn't worried about it being a murderer - even in his mostly asleep state, he was worried that it was a friend or his sister in trouble, needing his help. What other reason was there to knock on someone's door at one-oh-three in the morning? Mason rubbed his face as he made his way to the door - he kicked something on the way, and thus it was his dully aching pinky toe that was on his mind as he opened the door. And saw Sebastian. Mason blinked. Rubbed his eyes again. Okay, so he was still dreaming. He had to be. Mason squinted at him sleepily. "Am I still asleep? 'Re you gonna grow bunny ears and hop away? Or get killed while I stand here helplessly again?" Mason yawned; his subconscious needed new material. Sebastian waited anxiously, hand moving up to grip the door frame as he heard movement inside. What was he going to be greeted with? But Mason... had no reaction. "Again?" he asked softly, confused. "Mase... babe? You're not dreaming. I'm back. I'm home." He watched as Mason yawned. Biting his lip, Sebastian reached out, touching Mason's hand gently. Would the physical touch help to make him realize he's not dreaming? That he's very, incredibly awake?

Mason frowned. "Look, if this is an illusion or some shit--" Mason started, eyes going wide as Sebastian took his hand. As Sebastian took. Sebastian. Every inch of Mason's body was suddenly awake and Mason only had time to look from their hands to his face before he launched forward to hug him so hard they nearly knocked into the wall on the other side of the hallway. "WherethehellhaveyoubeenareyoubackforrealImissedyousomuchwhatthehell--" Sabia, properly awakened by the sudden shift in Mason's mood, emerged at the door to Mason's room. She studied the scene and gave a soft little woof, her tongue lawling out of her mouth. It served as a reminder that there were other things happening--like a sleeping roommate, for one, and and sleepng hall for another, but Mason was too happy to care. Too happy to care about that, about the fact that he hadn't even bothered to grab a shirt, too happy to care about anything other than the fact that Sebastian was there. Still, he stepped back and took Sebastian's face in both hands, studying him intently. "Where the blazes have you been, Sebastian? You look awful. " But Mason was still grinning, because Sebastian was back, Sebastian was home, Sebastian was here. Sebastian had a good explanation for everything, and Mason could finally catch a break. Sebastian arched a brow as Mason cursed-- what the fuck was that? But he seemed to truly wake up then, stumbling back as Mason lunged at him, thankfully catching him before the hit the wall. His hands met bare skin, every inch of him heating up as he took in the sight. He flushed as Mason held his face, biting his lip nervously. "It's a long story." He chuckled a bit, adding, "And gee, thanks. I've been on a plane for seven hours." Seven hours to think about how this was going to go. He'd been too nervous to portal... it wouldn't have given him time to prepare. "I've missed you so much," he whispered, pulling Mason closer to him again and wrapping him in another hug. "I'm so fucking sorry I've been gone."

Mason laughed weakly and hugged him back, burying his face against Sebastian's neck. His brain was caught in a loop: Sebastian'sbackSebastian'sbackSebastian'sbackSebastian'sback and he couldn't even begin to think about what was seven hours away that Sebastian would be coming back from. He wanted to be angry - he had been angry, and sad, and worried and lonely and just about every other emotion possible relating to a sudden disappearance of one's best friend, but the relief made them all take a back seat. Sebastian's back. "You're back," Mason mumbled, eyes still shut tight. "If this is another dream I'm going to be so mad," Mason laughed weakly and pulled back, only so he could keep looking at him, like if he took is eyes or hands off him he might disappear again. "Where were you? I thought I wasn't ever--I thought you--" Mason shook his head sharply. "I missed you so much, Seb, and now you're just--you've missed so much and--Aether on ice skates," Mason let out a wet laugh and shook his head. He released Sebastian only long enough to shut his door - with Sabia on their side, who went over and nosed at Sebastian's hand, chewing it lightly in greeting - before he held out his hand to Sebastian. "Let's go find somewhere to talk. Holy Aether, you're back. "

Sebastian laughed, shaking his head. "Babe, I promise. You're not dreaming. I'm here." He wanted to ask why and what Mason had been dreaming of if it had to do with him... but he didn't think now was the time. Mason hit him with question after question that he didn't have time to answer before the next one fired. He smiled down to Sabia and she toyed with his hand and gave her a light scratch behind the ears. He looked to Mason's hand and smiled, fitting his own into it. It felt so damn right to be back, to be close, to have Mason with him once more. He followed Mason along, not sure where they were headed, but as they wandered down the hall, he dropped Mason's hand only long enough to tug off his lacrosse sweatshirt. "Here," he said, handing it over. "You have to be freezing."

"What? Oh," Mason looked down at his bare chest and blushed brightly, all the way from his cheeks down his neck to his collarbones, all of which where very entirely visible because who cared about clothes or climate concerns when Sebastian's back? Mason took the sweatshirt and pulled it over his head; it fit and it was warm and it smelled like Sebastian and something else that Mason figured was probably plane, but Mason didn't care about that, either - it was like getting a permanent, fuzzy hug from one of his favorite people in the world. "This is mine now," Mason decided, looking back at Sebastian with a wide grin. "So I have something to remember you by next time you freaking disappear on me!" Mason punctuated the sentence with light fist taps to Sebastian's shoulder - in the second-worst case scenario in Mason's mind, Sebastian had deserved far worse. But he didn't, so Mason pulled the sleeves over his fingers before he linked arms with Sebastian. Aether and Ancients. "You're here," Mason said, smile still in place, as he led them to the floor's lounge. He pulled Sebastian to the couch and sat them down on it, then continued, "but you weren't before? You weren't just seriously avoiding me for reasons I hadn't figured out?" Unasked went the questions that had been turning over in Mason's mind: you don't hate me? We're still friends? You didn't get eaten by a manticore?

Sebastian smiled, liking the idea of Mason laying claim to his sweatshirt. "Works for me," he smiled, shrugging. He sighed softly shaking his head. "I'm not going anywhere. Not again." He flopped on the couch with Mason easily, pulling him into his side and wrapping an arm around his shoulders. He shook his head, sighing softly. "Mase, come on. You know that's not me. Why would I avoid you? I've missed you like all hell, come on." He moved his head to press a kiss to Mason's temple. "My father sort of... didn't like my visiting the compound. He thought a few weeks with family in Paris would do me well. I wasn't permitted any contact. I didn't mean to worry you, Mason."

Mason let himself be tugged; he was picking at the corners of the sweatshirt until Sabia jumped up onto the couch and laid bodily on top of him and demanded that her ears be scratched, and it was just him, and Sabia, and Sebastian. "It's harder to know what is and isn't someone when the someone isn't there," Mason murmured, accepting the templekiss but going very still as Sebastian continued to speak. "Wait. Wait, hold on." Mason sat up slightly, earning an indignant yip from Sabia (who had just gotten comfortable again, thank you) as he turned to look back at Sebastian. "You--this is because of me? Because--because you came home with me?" So it was his fault. Mason stared at him beseechingly, hoping that this was a joke somehow, but Mason could see that it was not. He had been prepared for retribution from the Fabrays, had been waiting for Quinn's wonderful little vacation to come with a higher price than it had, but this...this was Sebastian. It was so easy, sometimes, to forget that he wasn't just Seb, wasn't just Mason's best friend, that he was Sebastian Smythe, that that meant things to people. "Aethergod, I'm so--I'm so sorry. " Mason shifted to be sitting up on his own, resting his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. It wasn't fair. Mason knew, distantly, in that objective way he looked at his own life when it was falling apart, that he should've known better -- that he should've considered the consequences. Okay, he thought to the universe, I get it. He took a breath and kept his eyes closed for another moment. Another person hurt because of Mason's whims. They'd taken Sebastian from him and he hadn't even known, nevermind known why. Sabia whined and wriggled in through the gap between his arm and his face, aggressively licking him until he had to pull back and wrap his arms around her. He still couldn't look at Sebastian, because how could he, when the evidence of time spent with his family was so visible, when two minutes ago Mason hadn't felt anything except stupid blissful joy and now that was gone because he thought he could have everything. When the hell was he going to learn that was never going to be true?

Sebastian’s eyebrows knitted together, shaking his head. "Mason..." he groaned softly as Mason pulled away, curling in on himself until Sabia nudged her way through. "Hey, no. You see him all the time. I just got back." He realized Sabia didn't understand him after he spoke, but it was too late now. "Mason Larch, don't you dare internalize the bullshit that my father pulled. It had nothing..." that wasn't true. It did have to do with Mason, but... "it was my fault, not yours. Please... babe, hey. Please." He nudged his way passed the wolf, reaching over to turn Mason's face toward him as he leaned closer. "Just stop. Mason, please. I can't... I can't deal with you blaming yourself for this because it wasn't you. Just... please."

Mason looked back at him sharply, a dozen retorts ready on his lips, but it was the 'please' that killed them, coupled with the look on his face. "Fine," Mason said, pushing him to lay back down as he had been before, so Mason could take his spot back - he rested his head on Sebastian's chest and wrapped his arm around his waist and did his very best to keep his mind present, to keep from 'blaming himself' - at least for right now, at least while Sebastian was there with him. He tightened his grip. He's mine, Mason thought, jaw tightening. You can't have him, Thomas Smythe. He allowed himself one moment of irresponsible and pointless anger, and then set it aside, along with every single other thing he hadn't been dealing all that well with. "It's nobody's fu--nobody's fault," Mason huffed finally. Sabia nestled back against him, ears flat against her head - she was privy to his mind, to his emotions; he would've pet her, reassured her, but Sebastian had been gone because of him, and Mason wasn't quite ready to make anybody else feel better yet. He stayed quiet, willing himself to listen to Sebastian's heartbeat, to take stock of the fact that whatever the reason for the absence, he was back now. "I'm sorry you got in trouble," Mason finally said, voice quiet and something more like his usual tone, if very very quiet. "Was it as awful as I'm imagining?"

Sebastian let Mason press him back down and he relaxed a bit, hand absent mindedly running through Mason's hair as he did. He could very nearly feel the possessiveness in the way he held him close. "I didn't get in trouble," he said, not even sure he believed himself. But he wasn't a child, after all. He'd like to think only children got in trouble. "Well, it was my mother's side of the family, so it wasn't completely terrible. They're all very dramatic and needy, but it's better than being stuck with the Smythes any day. They're all just thirsty to climb the ranks and obsessed with being model little Bloodlines. I think he hoped they would knock some sense into me." Sebastian pressed another kiss to Mason's forehead, sighing. "How have you been, babe?"

"Awful," Mason muttered, too tired and emotionally whiplashed to keep anything but the truth from coming out. "There's--I think I got in enough trouble for the both of us," Mason admitted with a heavy sigh, settling against him. "But...I'm glad it wasn't...I'm glad it wasn't so bad for you," Mason added, a little softer, peeking back up at him. "Did they? Knock sense into you, I mean?" Mason smiled a little, half-teasing. "Did the make you pass some Bloodline Approval test before you came home?"

Sebastian’s heart fell as Mason spoke. "What happened?" he asked, tone cautious and slow. When Mason asked if they'd managed to knock some sense into him, he snorted. "'Course not, babe. You know better than that." He looked down to Mason, giving him a little half smile. "I think the school only excused me for three weeks. I certainly didn't pass any test. I told a lot of lies, but that's about it." Sebastian kept carding his fingers gently through Mason's hair as he spoke. "But seriously, Mase, what's been going on? What do you mean that you got in trouble?"

"I did something dumb," Mason admitted with a sigh, relaxing in spite of himself at the feel of Sebastian's fingers in his hair. "Well. Madison did something dumb and I--helped." He sighed again; he didn't want to tell Sebastian, but given that the past three weeks had been overwhelmed with the burning desire just to talk to him, he didn't feel like he had much of a choice. "Madison has a Watch Eye, for the next three months," Mason explained quietly, back to fidgeting with the hem of the sweatshirt. "Because she--we--tried to..." Mason trailed off and closed his eyes. "We tried to help." Mason looked back at Sebastian. "Do you remember...um, okay, jeeze. I don't know if now's the best time, 'cause you just got back and you were on the plane for seven hours and it's like the middle of the night. What're the odds that you'll let me leave it at 'we were trying to help'?" Mason looked back at Sebastian with a winning grin.

Sebastian felt a small flare of irritation as Mason mentioned Madison having been the one to actually get them in trouble. Couldn't she have just left her brother out of it? "She..." he faltered. "Wow. That's some serious shit." He sighed softly, nodding. "Definitely understanding that you tried to help someone with something, but things like that don't usually get you Watch Eye-d. And no, the odds aren't looking good, babe." His heart fluttered as Mason gave him a beautiful aetherdamn smile, his resolve melting momentarily. "Well... wait. No. No, you need to tell me."

Mason pouted but nodded, settling back against him. He stayed quiet for a little while, chewing on the edge of his lip; when he spoke, his voice was quiet. "What do you remember about...About those students that were attacked on campus last November?"

Sebastian shrugged, stretching up the arm that wasn't currently draped around Mason to tuck it under his head. "To be honest with you, not much? I mean, I read about it... but, it stopped. So it didn't seem like something to overly concern myself with, you know?"

Mason chuckled weakly; how he wished, sometimes, that he could do that too. "Um. Well. We sort of...know the people who were attacked." Mason took a breath. "And I helped one of them, and the other approached Madison, and I couldn't let Madison do something on her own, yknow?" He sighed softly, reaching up to pet Sabia gently. "I should have just stopped her. It didn't feel right, but..." Mason sighed again.

Sebastian tilted his head, confused. "Helping a victim of an attack does not a Watch Eye earn, Mason. What aren't you telling me?" He listened as Mason elaborated a little more, but still wasn't quite sure what to make of it. "Should have stopped her? What did Madison do?"

Mason sighed, buried closer against him. "You're gonna be mad." Mason took a deep breath, and as evenly as he could, continued. "Elliott was the one who reached out to Madison. His attacker controlled him and made him attack himself, with a knife made from--ironically, from this material they invented so shedim could get the LNflu vaccine." He snorted lightly. "It can...pierce their skin. Madison somehow got it in her head to...that security wasn't doing anything, or wasn't moving fast enough. So she...we...Sort of stoletheknife." Mason cleared his throat. "And then there was this...this person who found out and wanted it back so we went to meet them with a fake, which they didn't like too much, and then there was someone else who sort of hacked our phones and cleared everything about it, except for Tina because she didn't just open the stupid text message, so it wiped her whole freaking phone right before field studies and AMATs and--" Mason was getting worked up. Sabia rumbled lowly and he took a steadying breath. Breathe. "So...next thing we know they're accusing Madison of having... Attacked Elliott to beginwith. And they wanted to talk to me because I'm her freaking accomplice." Mason sighed heavily. "So. We got in some well-deserved trouble." Sebastian stayed silent for a long while as he digested everything Mason was saying to him. "You got in trouble for stealing something that was made solely for the purpose of being able to hurt a race of people?" he asked, trying to be sure he understood. "That's completely idiotic, Mason. No one should have a weapon like that to begin with." He didn't exactly like that Elliott had approached Madison after being attacked because, of course, she would try to help him without regards to her own safety and well being. "The two of you probably should have come up with a better plan that trying to steal it, but... I understand why you did it." He abhorred the idea of he and Madison meeting up with someone about this knife-- it sounded ridiculously dangerous-- but it didn't seem like now was the time to chastise them. "I'm glad you're safe," he said firmly.

Mason relaxed, at least a little, because some anxious part of him was able to still slightly. Sebastian wasn't mad at him. He was worried - he could tell that from the way his grip tightened - but he wasn't mad. "We shouldn't have come up with any plan at all." Mason said with a shake of his head. "Or if we did, it should have included Security." Mason snorted softly. "It was completely idiotic. Because we're complete idiots."

"I..." Sebastian hesitated, trying to figure out what he was trying to say. "I... I don't think the two of you were idiotic. I mean... it wasn't the best plan. It's idiotic that you're getting the Eye for trying to save people. Makes no aetherdamn sense to me, but what do I know?" he sighed, biting his lip. "I agree. Security would have been a better route. Probably a lot of things that could have been a better route... but what's done is done. We'll get through it."

"We?" Mason echoed, looking up at him for the first time since he began to talk about the whole thing. Mason was suddenly, sharply overwhelmed by appreciation and love; Quinn had wanted to help but couldn't, not really, and Marley was dealing with Samhain (which, Mason realized, he would need to tell Sebastian about) and Madison was in the same situation he was, maybe even worse. Mason buried his face against Sebastian's chest again, the word keeping time with the thrum of his heart: we, we, we. It felt so nice to be a we again. "I missed you so much, Seb."

"We," Sebastian repeated, not sure how to react to the tone of Mason's voice. He wondered what else was going on inside his head but didn't want to push, was almost scared to ask. How had he left Mason alone to deal with all of this shit? He should have been here for him. One thing that he knew for sure was the he was never going to allow himself to be carted off again. He'd rather deal with the familial fallout than be away from Mason and his friends. "I missed you too," he said softly, adding, "It's been so hard being away form you, Mase. It was like fucking torture."

Mason nodded against him. A keen awareness was pressing against him - he'd been lonely. Not alone, and he hadn't even had time to wallow, but aether it felt so good to have Sebastian back. We. "We have so many movies to watch," Mason mumbled against his chest. "I went to your room every Monday but you weren't there and my texts weren't going through. I thought maybe you were finally sick of Commons movies." Or of me, he didn't add aloud. "I tried to read more of Harry Potter but it wasn't the same." It had just made him sadder.

Sebastian nodded, nuzzling the top of Mason's head. "We do. Mondays... Mondays have hurt." He could hear the stress in his voice, knew he wasn't going to be able to pretend that he was fine. Shaking his head, he murmured a soft never. He'd never tire of movies with Mason. "You're my favorite part of the week, Mase." Perhaps it was true that absence makes the heart grow fonder, because being away had made him desperate to be even closer. "I'll read more to you. We can do homework together? Watch a few movies on not-Mondays?" Sebastian sighed, feeling a thickness in his throat. He was almost nervous to be away from Mason again, for some reason. It had been so long and it hardly felt real to be home. "I'm not quite ready to have any sort of distance between us again. I know that's unrealistic, but I've missed you so fucking much. Everything has been terrible. Why don't you guys just come back to my room and we can get some sleep?"

Mason nodded easily. He had so much to tell Sebastian, so much to be told - aether, they were best friends, and now seeing him only once a week for sure seemed absurd. "Okay," Mason agreed. Inwardly, he was worried about it - he hadn't slept well since he'd come back from The Compound, and he didn't want to disturb clearly-exhausted Sebastian, but...but the three weeks had felt like three years or thirty, and he couldn't imagine just going back to bed. On top of him, Sabia made a low noise of disapproval: Classes, pup, and your things? Mason wrinkled his nose at her. "I have class at nine tomorrow. Don't let me miss it, 'kay?" Mason looked back at Sebastian and smiled again, wider and surer. "Everything has been terrible but you're back now and that's one not so terrible thing." Mason patted his chest gently and then sat up, yawning as he did a great stretch. "Sleep now. We'll worry about everything tomorrow, right?"

Sebastian smiled a bit and nodded. As Mason grinned, Sebastian brushed a hand over his cheek. "Of course, babe. Won't let you miss anything." He sat up as Mason did, watching as he stretched with a dazed smile. It was so good to be back. "Yes. We'll start to figure things out. We'll make a plan. It will be okay." Sebastian stood up and offered Mason a hand. "We should grab clothes for you, unless you just want to borrow some stuff to wear tomorrow."

"Who needs clothes, " Mason whined, but Sabia woofed at him sharply to remind him: he did. He needed clothes. "Guess I should probably let Spence know I wasn't kidnapped, too," Mason agreed, linking his arm with Sebastian's as they moved to the door. Aether, finally; it was like something had been missing, like he'd been going around with only half his vocabulary or only part of his body. Sebastian was something key, something important, and as he reemerged from his room, messenger bag packed with clothes and a toothbrush, note left for Spencer, he found himself cautiously optimistic. Maybe he was right this time and everything really would be fine. Mason locked his door and joined him again, linking their arms once more - after a second of hesitation, he leaned up and pecked Sebastian's cheek. "Welcome home, Seb."

Sebastian narrowed his eyes to Sabia when she barked to Mason, seeming to chastise him for his comment about clothes. He certainly didn't need them, but it didn't seem that the wolf agreed. He waited patiently in the hallway, looking down to her as Mason gathered his things. "You're not a very good wingwoman, you know. Not that you'd be mine, but rather his. And it would be nice if you didn't woof at him so--" the pointless conversation was cut off by Mason coming back out into the hall. Sebastian smiled as he took his arm, heart hammering in his ears as he flushed when Mason kissed his cheek. "Thanks, Mase," he smiled. "C'mon. Let's get back to my room. Talk some more? Try to get some sleep?"

"Sleep sounds good," Mason admitted, linking his free arm with Sebastian's again. He was still wearing the lacrosse sweatshirt, but now he had a tank top beneath it, and socks on his feet beneath his shoes. "Talking..." seemed dangerous. "Maybe we can hold off on the heavy stuff till morning?" Maybe they could hold off on it forever? "Also, Sabia says if she was meant to be a wingwoman, she would have wings." Mason tilted his head, an amused, curious smile on his face. "What were you two talking about?"

"'Course we can, babe," Sebastian said, giving Mason's arm a gentle squeeze. He smiled a bit, looking toward Mason. He looked really damn good in his sweatshirt. It was almost... domestic. And made his heart beat a little faster. Narrowing his eyes as Mason mentioned his conversation with Sabia, Sebastian huffed softly and stared at her. Traitor. "A flying wolf would be quite interesting. But no. And nothing. We weren't talking about anything. You look pretty tired," he added, hoping for a subject change. Mason didn't need to know-- wouldn't want to know his flirty thoughts.

Sabia yipped at Sebastian lightly, something that made Mason laugh. Aether. "Whatever you say." Mason yawned and shook his head. "I was in a dead sleep 'fore you showed up. I'm allowed to look tired." He'd probably looked tired before that, too. "You don't look too hot yourself,"

"What was that?" Sebastian asked hurriedly, wanting to know what the noise had been conveying. Was she telling Mason even more things he didn't need to know? He bit his lip, glancing over. "Yeah, I know. I'm sorry, Mase. I should have let you sleep until morning. I could have waited. I just... I guess my heart ran away with me." Sebastian shrugged a bit and sighed. "Well, it's been a rough few days. I've missed so many fucking things. I missed a job interview, Quinn's birthday, classes, you..." he held the door open as they walked outside, making their way to Notos. "I just didn't want to have to miss you any longer, I guess."

Mason smiled to himself, bumping hips with him gently. "No, that's not what I meant. I'm--I'd definitely rather be awake and see you than sleep and not," Mason promised with a wide smile. He snugged closer in the cool of the night and yawned again. "Quinn will just be happy to see you, I bet. Not as happy as me," he added with a smile. "What job interview? Can you make it up?"

Sebastian chewed at the inside of his cheek. "Well, I just... sleep is important." He kissed Mason's temple as he leaned in closer. "I wasn't trying to interrupt said sleep, but like, impatience?" Chuckling he glanced up at Notos as they approached. He hadn't even went up to his room, instead leaving his suitcase at the front desk and running off to Mason's. He missed his bed. He missed his room and his brews and not being watched 24/7. "I'm probably going to have to take something to get some sleep. A lot on my mind." Sebastian ran his free hand through his hair. "I know I've said it a million times, but I fucking missed you so much," he murmured softly.

"Make it a double?" Mason said, peering up at him. "You don't have to miss me anymore. 'Cause you're here," Mason beamed up at him, sleepy but happy; he only released him so Sebastian could pick up his suitcase, and then he wrapped his arm around Sebastian's waist again. "I'm really glad you're home."

"'Course, babe," Sebastian murmured with a yawn, nodding. He snatched his suitcase and smiled when Mason moved back to his side nearly instantly. "You say that, you know? But for some reason it still doesn't quite feel real." Smiling, he said, "I'm glad too, Mase. Thanks for not being salty about how long I've been gone." He tugged Mason into his arms when they were in the elevator, completely uncaring of how... snuggly it was. He needed to feel grounded. "I should probably try and shower and get all the plane off of me, but fuck I'm tired." He pulled back as the elevator door opened at his floor and headed to his room.

"You do kinda stink," Mason teased, wrinkling his nose lightly, playfully. "How 'bout you start the potions and shower quick and then we can go right to bed?" Mason felt some of the tension ease out of him as the returned to his room - he didn't know how many times this past month he'd stood on the other side, hoping that this time Sebastian would answer. "Imma be salty though. When I'm more awake. Except not as much as I could've 'cause it was my fault." Mason moved over to Sebastian's bed and flopped across the bed, burying his face in the pillows. Aether, Sebastian had a nice bed. Sabia leaped up next to him and settled down, nosing at his cheek affectionately. She liked it here, too.

Sebastian groaned loudly as he unlocked the door, making a big show of rolling his eyes. "It was not your fucking fault, Mason Larch. You were an excuse for my father to be an asshole. Do not internalize his bullshit. That's my job." He watched as Mason made himself at home on his bed. He took the suggestion with ease, liking that Mason had come up with such an easy solution. He took a deep breath as he walked into his potions closet, having missed his own space terribly. He grabbed a cauldron and started tossing ingredients in, moving it to a hot plate to start a simmer. "Gonna hop in the shower, babe." Sebastian made quick work of hopping in the shower, not realizing until after he got out that he hadn't grabbed pajamas. "Mase?" he called out. "Can you toss in some shorts and stuff?" Sebastian highly doubted Mason would appreciate him bopping around in a towel. "Or close your eyes so I can grab shit myself?"

Mason was asleep, snoring gently. Sabia, however, was not. She slid off the bed and grabbed a mouthful of laundry from the corner - ew, ew, ew - and scratched at the bathroom door. She didn't know or care what shorts were, or if she had any in her mouth.

Sebastian was incredibly confused when he heard a strange scratching noise at the door. Keeping the towel firmly around his waist, he opened it up, peeking out. He tilted his head curiously, gaze moving downward until he was met with Sabia. Arching a brow, he took the clothes from her mouth-- yoga pants were close enough-- and thanked her softly. "He fall asleep on me?" Smirking a bit, he thanked her softly and stepped out of Sabia's line of sight to slip them on. "Should I wake him to give him that brew?" he asked after he slipped them on. "Or let him sleep?" He toweled his hair dry, tossing it and heading back out toward the bed.

Sabia hopped back up on the bed, nosing at Mason, nipping at his ear until he stirred. "Hrn?" Mason frowned in confusion, one hand automatically petting Sabia's fur. "Where...oh. Seb," Mason smiled sleepily and tugged Sabia down to him, ignoring her huff of dissatisfaction. "Hi. Time is it?"

Sebastian smiled a bit as he watched Sabia and Mason, nose wrinkling as she woke him. There was his answer. Sebastian grabbed a glass and doled out some of the brew, walking it over to the bed. "It's late, babe. 2:30. Drink this," he added, pressing the glass into Mason's hand.

"I don't need a--" Sabia interrupted Mason with a low growl. "Okay, okay. Thank you," Mason added, knocking it back in one gulp. "C'mon. Sleep time." Mason squinted up at him. "Your hair's all..." Mason reached a hand up toward his head.

Sebastian arched a brow as Sabia growled at Mason's protest, incredibly curious as to what was going on. He drank some of the brew himself and moved to slide in bed next to Mason. "Yeah. The hair's making choices." Smiling, he snuggled down into the sheets, the cool fabric against his bear chest having him humming contentedly. He'd missed his fucking bed. "Ugh, the fucking light," he groaned.

Mason chuckled softly into the pillow, patting his still-damp hair gently. "The hair's making good choices." Mason yawned and turned slightly, taking in the problem Sebastian pointed out. "The light," Mason agreed. He could've cast something to put it out, but he had to brush his teeth anyway, and the potion was already working through him. He couldn't magic. So he slid out of bed and grabbed his toothbrush and paste and hit the light. He disappeared into the bathroom for a moment and then he leaned back in the doorway and watched Sebastian. This was good. This is exactly how it was supposed to be. Sebastian was back. He finished brushing his teeth, kicked his socks off and returned to the bed, nestling beneath the covers. "Hi," he said, barely more than a whisper. "You're home."

Sebastian huffed, unhappy when Mason squirmed away, but knew he had to go get ready for bed. Their eyes remained locked together in a silence he didn't really understand as Mason brushed his teeth. It felt right. Then again, being with Mason truly always had. He could have stayed there, content, for hours. But soon Mason was back and wonderfully close. "Hi," he replied softly, a small smile teasing the corners of his lips in the dark. "I'm home. I'm not leaving again. Not without you." The words tumbled from his lips so easily, no thought put behind them other than raw honesty. "I mean, if I ever have to leave again, I'll tell you. Or won't go. Or would try and take you."

Mason shook his head, shifting to let Sabia have some room to curl up between them. "Can't take you," Mason mumbled, patting Sebastian's face gently. "You're here now. No going anywhere else." Mason closed his eyes and snuggled closer, letting out a soft sigh. "Not 'llowed, 'kay?"

Sebastian hummed contentedly as he felt the brew slowly overtaking him, like being wrapped up in a large, warm blanket. He smiled pleasantly at the idea of Mason not allowing him to go places. "Mmk, boss. No leaving." He yawned, burying a hand in Sabia's fur as she nuzzled between them. He loved having the two of them around.

"Gnight, Seb," Mason mumbled, letting out a contented sigh. Everything was okay. Everything was fine. Sebastian was back. All the other crap - Coleman, Samhain - was nothing but a hazy distant blur. Before he could say or think about anything else, he was asleep again, more relaxed than he'd been in months.

"Night, Mase," Sebastian said sleepily, reaching out to find a connection with some part of Mason. His hand hit something, an arm, maybe? But it was enough. Just to remember that he was here and everything would be fine. He'd start piecing everything together tomorrow. They'd figure it out. It would all be okay.

#para: all #para: 078 #para: came back to me #para: sebastian

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allthewaydead · 6 years ago

Text

Taylor McTaylor sat on the porch of her neighbor’s house, watching the sky turn purple as the sun was going down. A full moon rising from a horizon of trees over a lake across the street. The bass from the music playing inside she could feel slightly vibrating her chair. Her roommate Mary was standing not too far away on the front lawn in a group of five or six people, drunkenly fraternizing with anyone in her vicinity. Taylor was only on her second beer, she didn’t feel like getting too drunk tonight. There was a black cat on the sidewalk in front of the house that starred at Taylor. In her 2-Beered-State-of-Tipsy she returned its gaze by getting lost in its eyes. The cat’s eyes seemed to be a piercing green through the distance between them.

The front lawn and house inside was littered with young adult twenty-somethings because her neighbor was moving away and his friends were throwing him a going away party. Strange they made him have it at his own house, though Taylor wasn’t complaining because she lived next door and probably wouldn’t have come otherwise. She wasn’t really a social person; even with her roommate. Mary treated her like they were best friends but this was never a reaction to Taylor’s input as she liked being alone in her room most of the time. A girl standing on the lawn who noticed the black cat sitting near her bent over to pet it. She scratched its chin and it enjoyed it for a second before the cat looked back at Taylor and suddenly skittered away through the people up the porch stairs and past Taylor into the open front door of the house.

Taylor reached for the cat to pet it but it slipped by her. She felt rejected. She got up and followed the cat into the house and the crowd of people.

I’m gonna pet that cat.

She watched the cat darting around people, in between their legs, into the kitchen and out of the back sliding glass doors.

Aw what the hell? It knows what I want.

She followed the same path the cat took, only not between people’s legs almost getting stepped on. Out in the backyard the scene wasn’t much different. A Lawn full of young adults getting drunk and probably more. But Instead of a sidewalk with a street the lawn ended in a wall of trees, a small patch of forest behind every house on this street. And there was the black cat, looking back at her as if it actually was taunting her before proceeding into the forest via a small trail that lead out of the yard.

Taylor passed everyone in the yard, still holding her beer, and followed down the same trail. Things got a lot darker out past the borderline of trees, though she could still make most things out clearly. She walked until she could barely hear a murmur from the party and she came to a small circular clearing. The cat was nowhere to be seen.

“What kind of game are you playing here, cat?” Taylor now spoke out loud since no one was around.

“There she is.”

Taylor’s ears perked up and she spun to face where the voice came from. There were two man in cloaks standing just on the edge of the small clearing she was standing in.

Damn it, cat. This really was some sort of set up!

Taylor joked in her mind but she was immediately full of fear, these guys didn’t look like they were playing. Even if it was a joke she wouldn’t appreciate it slightly. Though Taylor was never one for showing her emotions on the surface, especially things like love or worry though hate and anger were usually exceptions. She froze in place knowing as soon as she started running they would start to chase her, and she was pretty sure she wouldn’t be able to out run them. Maybe her beer in one of their faces would slow them down enough for her to get a head start. The men began to take several steps towards her and the silence was broken…

“Taaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaylor! What are you doing out here? Are you peeing???” A loud voice shouted from behind Taylor on the trail she came in on. It was Mary. And somehow, since Taylor had left on this little excursion following the cat, she had apparently had several more entire bottles of vodka. Mary stumbled into a run past Taylor and into the arms of one of the cloaked and hooded men. He almost fell back she slammed into him so hard.

“Who are these cute guys you’ve snuck away with?” Mary grading their looks positively even though their faces were barely distinguishable under the cloak’s hoods.

The man grabbed her and threw her off of him towards Taylor. She landed at Taylor’s feet. Taylor was hesitant to help Mary up, thinking that would be when they would rush her. The man who threw Mary reached into his cloak and pulled out a large knife.

“Come with us, or your friend dies.”

Aww, man, I knew I shoulda just stayed at home on my friggin’ computer.

“What do you want me for?” the question just sort of slipped out of her mouth, before she could even think if she wanted to know the answer. Both of the men began chuckling a slow and disturbing chuckle. They took another step, shortening the already lacking distance between them.

“Sorry, I musta tripped… coz I need another drink…” Mary said as she attempted to push herself off the ground. Her body wanting to move but head seemingly weighing 500 pounds, as she just kept her forehead in the dirt. “Taylor are you still there? …Weren’t we at a party?”

The men made their way toward Taylor. Taylor still frozen, not wanting them to hurt Mary because she was too wasted to defend herself. She thought she could hear a car horn far away, getting closer. The men’s smiles grew more apparent the closer they got. There was a huge crash and the men exploded in a spray of blood and chunks as a car smashed down on them. Landing flat in front of her. The headlights exploded on impact, the hooded bent up like the engine tried to escape from under it. Smoke poured out of the hood of the car.

When the smoke began to clear, she could see there were… two people sitting in the car. She looked up at the clear night sky full of stars.

What…?

The doors of the car opened up. Out of the passenger side, a young man with curly red hair who smiled at Taylor. Out of the driver’s side, however, a person in a black suit and tie with bright green dress shirt. They had on a bald dark grey mask that resembled a scarecrow but made of flesh: there were dark black rings around the burning green eyes, the brow twisted in an angry stare, and the mouth stitched shut in a wide smile ear to ear.

“Dead Jack, at your service!” The masked man belted out as he walked around the opened car door and extended a gloved hand to Taylor, who hadn’t moved an inch, “Or whatever shit people say.”

There was a moment of silence. Then Taylor turned around and ran away, back to the party at full blast.

Dead Jack looked down at Mary passed out in the grass, “She left her friend…"

Taylor flew past people in the backyard. Halfway between being speechless, and not liking to make a big deal about things. She also wasn’t even sure if what she’d just seen had actually just happened. Maybe this was what it was like to lose your mind, there was no history of mental illness in her family but she could hope. She didn’t stop; she ran through the back of the house, through the kitchen, and into the living room. She stopped and looked around. She didn’t want to run back home next door. Taylor didn’t want to make a big deal and then everyone know she was crazy. She saw a hallway to her left, with random people scattered up and down it leading to the bathroom at the end of it. Taylor could just go in there and hope to not have any more hallucinations, wait till the party was over, go home, go to sleep, then tomorrow maybe call a doctor. Or maybe this was a one time thing. Or if the masked man was real, hope that he wouldn’t think to check the bathroom.

Jack and his companion walked through the back door of the house.

“Jaems, shut the door.” Jack ordered with a positive tone without looking back, scoping the party out. Everyone in the house all turned to look at them in a wave that swept the room. His Red-Headed sidekick, Jaems, was holding Mary in his arms passed out, so he lightly shut the door shut behind him with his foot.

“What’s the matter? You guys never seen a redhead before?” Jack looked back eyeing Jaems’ locks, “…Damn, that shit is kind of embarrassing…” he turned back to the crowd, “Ok you guys, stare away.”

Jaems sat Mary on the kitchen table, forcing people sitting at it to hurriedly pick up their drinks.

“Dude, this isn’t a costume party.” One of the party patrons said walking up to Jack as his smugness transitioned to fear; his eyes tracing up Jack’s tie to the hideous mask he wore. There was a crack in his voice, “Besides…. What the hell are you?”

Jaems quietly watched as he still stood beside the kitchen table, relatively fitting in compared to Jack.

“I’m the one and only, bitch.” Jack delivered, he stepped in, starring down the party goer with his bright green eyes.

“W-why did th-that chick run in here all freaked out? Why are you chasing her?” The young man retorted.

“She’s just a little shocked. I tend to… drop in on people unexpected.”

A young woman’s aggravated voice sounded from somewhere in the middle of the crowd, “We’re calling the cops asshole.”

The young man questioning Dead Jack was pushed out of the way as Jack walked toward the woman threatening him with lawful action.

A man stepped from around the corner, between Jack and the woman, and had a rifle in his hand that he waved up and aimed directly at Jack with no hesitation.

“You messed up now, buddy!” The aggravated woman taunted Jack, “This is Tyler, this is his house and this is his going away party because he’s going into the army! Bet you regret being stupid now, dumbass!”

Jack’s head slowly bobbed over to look at Jaems, “You try and be polite by not killing everybody in your wake just coz you can, and this is the thanks you get… ‘S-M-H’, as they say… err, type.”

“Get the pistol out of my belt and hold it at the ginger.” Tyler instructed the young woman, and she grabbed a small handgun from somewhere on his back and pointed it at Jaems.

“Look at this guy who brought a gun to a knife fight.” Jack said pulling a large knife from the sleeve of his jacket like some magician handkerchief gag.

The entire party had gone still. There was a visual shuffling away of everyone in the room when Dead Jack pulled out the knife. “You wouldn’t shoot a guy with a knife would ya?” Jack took less than half a step forward and Tyler pulled the trigger.

There was a silent but psychic gasp shared by everyone in the room. Jack slowly looked down at a new hole piercing his shirt as his left hand slowly lifted to it to examine it. Jack didn’t fall or stumble, he was still standing. He looked up from the gunshot wound in his chest and around to Jaems, and back to the stunned crowd.

“Well, aren’t you going to shoot him too?” Jack said waving his hands toward Jaems like a presenter for a gameshow prize.

“Please don’t.” Jaems said, quietly and more as a suggestion.

Tyler and his righteous girlfriend looked even more frightened than the rest of the party.

“Ooooh, don’t worry… Tyler was it? I know it’s not an easy to take a life, but you gotta do what you gotta do.” Dead Jack snapped his fingers and ran his index and bird finger over the gunshot wound, a green spark followed where he traced seemingly sewing up his wound and shirt, “And I have empathy for you because I know it’s even harder when the life you take isn’t taken and it comes back to take you.”

Jack held the knife up to the young man.

Headlights shown from outside through the front door and windows, hardly catching anyone’s attention. There was the sound of tires screeching and doors slamming outside.

“Come on outside, Mr. Dead Jack!” A voiced sounded from outside.

“The cops!” Tyler shouted more relieved than ever and turned around bursting through the living room crowd towards the front of the house, “Dad! Dad!”

“Pfffffttt! That was embarrassing… right?” Jack tried for the sympathy of the crowd to no avail.

“Oooooooh! Mr. Scary-ass Mask man you gonna get it now!” a very flamboyant young man stood out from the crowd, “These police gonna hit your ass with a bazooka! You not gonna hurt this girl!”

“Look it’s been fun, but where is Taylor? It’s getting harder to stay here without killing all of you.” Jack said and walked towards the crowd who all began screaming and running out of the front door onto the front lawn.

Jack’s vision darted through the riot searching for Taylor, but couldn’t make her out among the hysteria. Before he knew it the entire party had vacated and it was just him, Jaems, Mary passed out on the table and the young who was just chastising Jack. He stood in the way of the hallway leading to the bedrooms.

“Is she back there, Dr. Flamboyant?” Jack asked with a zing.

“I told you that you’re not gonna hurt her.” Dr. Flamboyant said grasping a broom from against the wall near the hall entrance, and thrusting it at Dead Jack, but not close enough to hit him as if he was trying to ‘shoo’ Jack away.

“I’m not trying to hurt her ass-hat.” Jack said but was interrupted by gunfire outside and then he added after a pause, “They are…”

“Bring the girl out here and maybe we will let you live!” the voice from outside called.

“That don’t sound like no cops…” Dr. Flamboyant said loosening his stance and turning toward the open front door peering out it to the people yelling out the threats and orders.

“We had some men find some of our other men in the woods out back. Said they’d be ran over by a car.” The man outside continued to speak.

There were several white vans parked on the street in front of the house, glowing under the light of the street lamps and rising moon. And in front of the vehicles were about thirty hooded people, all holding various weapons from machetes to automatic rifles.

“You brought a cult?” Dr. Flamboyant lost some of his enthusiasm.

“They’re not mine.” Dead Jack turned back to Jaems, still beside Mary on the kitchen table. “Get the girl, and I’ll be back.”

“What about this girl?” Jaems asked about Mary.

“They say it’s the work of The Dead Man Jack.”, came from the Cult Man outside.

“We can’t be taking in all the strange we come across.” Jack said in a fast low voice, like they were parents having an argument in front of their children.

“BUT… I am not afraid any Dead Jack-Ass.” Cult Man yelled.

“She’s just really drunk and we can’t leave her here for those guys to find.” Jaems shot back.

“Fine, if you can carry her you can keep her.” Jack turned and walked out of the front door.

Dead Jack strutted out on to the porch to meet thirty-something weapon toting cult members standing on the front lawn. Standing there starring back with his green eyes and stitched shut smile. He put his hands on his hips to convey minor annoyance. “Wow, you’re a lot of cult-guys… Do you guys give out the cloaks, or do you each have to make your own?”

“I don’t believe the story I’ve heard about you, sir.” The Leader of the militia said, “I’m familiar with theatrics and my friend that is all you are, with your scarecrow mask and the nice suit. It’s a nice blend of intimidating horror and intimidating handsome. I’ve got to hand it to you.”

“Ooooh, thank you that’s so nice! I think I look good too.” Dead Jack flipped a small compact mirror up from seemingly nowhere, a magician sleight of hand, and began acting like he was checking his nonexistent hair.

“Our god is a real god. And he has sent us for the girl before you find her. So if we bring in your punk-ass mutilated corpse, I can’t even imagine how he will reward us.” The Leader bragged.

“Ok, now you’ve just made it weird.” Jack said, sticking the mirror back into the inside of his jacket.

“I grow tired of this conversation, and our Lord awaits. Release the cyclops!”

“Cyclops?”

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