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thebiasrekkers · 4 years ago

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Shadow’s Birthright | MYG

Chapter 06: Convergence

Plot: Riding in on thunder and lightning, two princes are born. But a crown cannot be shared. It can only be worn by one and one alone. The hands of man have separated the brothers, allowing one to live in wealth and comfort inside the palace while the other grows up among commoners. But Fate cannot be destroyed by the hands of man. A shared destiny reunites the brothers; one to become a king who descends into madness and the other will rise as a dragon whose journey has only just begun in order to claim a crown he does not desire to have.

Rating: NC-17 // NSFW

Pairing: Min Yoongi (Lee Yoon) x Female OC (Kalina Shuri)

Warnings: Historical setting, caste system, magic/sorcery, graphic violence, disturbing graphic images, religious tones, angst, slow burn, smut

Previous Chapters: Prologue 01 02 03 04 05

Links: FAQ || BTS Masterlist || Admin E’s AO3 || [ REQUESTS ARE OPEN ]

Word Count: 4,065

Tag List: @luxekook, @pinkpjmin, @btsaudge, @flowerwrites06, @stillcopingxx, @taevkimchi, @aroseforyoongi, @vivpurple7, @happilystrongthroughthedark, @sw33tnight, @nikkitane, @mini-coop25, @shrimpmsg, @ggukkieland

AN: Sorry this took me so long. Life decided it wanted to kick me in the face repeatedly. But I did warn everyone this was going to take a little time with the updates. Please be patient with me. I promise you that it will be worth the wait. If you would like to be added to the tag list, feel free to drop me a line!

P.S. Please bear in mind that while the historical accuracy will be mostly correct, I am setting this in a time period in Joseon history where there was no such thing as a king who had a twin brother. Obviously that’s where the fiction/creative freedom is going to come in. Everything else will be period accurate, trust and believe.

© thebiasrekkers (Admin E). All rights reserved. Reposting/modifying our work is prohibited. Translations are not allowed. Plagiarism/stealing is not tolerated by any means. Legal action will be taken in instances of theft.

“Things do not happen. Things are made to happen.” - John F. Kennedy

Yoon greeted his parents with the Crown Princess at his side. They both bowed deeply as they heard the King and Queen laugh in delight. The Royal Consorts also received bows from the Crown Prince and Princess. Finally, they turned and were given bows from the princesses and princes of the Royal Court. The officials and guards, as well as the rest of the palace staff, were present for the opening ceremony to celebrate Crown Prince Yoon’s first international liaison.

When they were finally dismissed, Yoon took his seat next to the Crown Princess, waiting for food and wine to be served. Various voices of praise and congratulations were given to Yoon, to which he simply nodded his head politely and smiled while returning his own charming forms of gratitude. He allowed the Crown Princess to serve him a cup of wine and he, in turn, also served her. Merriment and good cheer surrounded the palace.

It made Yoon sick to his stomach.

The conversation he had with his Father-In-Law still didn’t sit well with him. At his own behest, he politely reminded Minister Jang that he should keep his small-minded ambitions to himself. He didn’t need to drag the Crown Princess into his mess. Regardless of his own personal feelings, Yoon held a deep amount of respect for his Princess. Jang Chae-Ok had no ambitions or selfish desires for wanting to be Crown Princess. She was simply a childhood friend to Yoon who always remained faithfully at his side.

The Crown Princess was not blind to his relationship with Kalina. But she also did not question it. It was from this show of her character alone that Yoon promised he would not take a Royal Consort when he became King. He owed her that much for her understanding.

“I wish that I could accompany you, Your Highness.” The Crown Princess’s voice was sad, matching her expression.

He reached out to grasp her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “It will be a long journey. It is no place for a Crown Princess.” Yoon smiled. “I will be back before you realize I’m gone.”

She sighed. “I will miss you greatly.” She placed her hand over his. “Do be careful.”

“I will, Crown Princess.”

A loud gong resounded, drawing everyone’s attention. All conversation hushed as the head of the Artisan school approached. He bowed deeply while the others waited with anticipation for his announcement.

“Members of the Royal Court! We are here to celebrate the Crown Prince’s upcoming journey. We wish him great fortune but before he traverses out in the world, we want to be able to ease his worries and give him memories to hold on to as he travels to Ming. Things that he will be able to keep close to his heart and treasure if he should ever become homesick.”

Yoon smiled, despite his own internal dark thoughts. He loved his country. He loved his people. The skills they mastered in order to have these small moments to showcase their talents were clearly battles within their own houses. Some performers and artists had better skills than others, hence why they were allowed to appear at the forefront. Others were still in training to be able to climb up in the ranks along the way.

He secretly admired the drive that pushed these individuals along. Everyone had dreams, goals, and ambitions. People’s reasons for doing anything were threads that bonded everyone together to achieve common goals. No matter how small or big, they were to be appreciated. Even if one could not voice these appreciations aloud.

The Chief Artisan gave a wide gesture, spinning on his heels as the performers made their way into the grand courtyard. “We hope that our performers, both within the palace walls, and those who have managed to make their ways from the streets, will be able to soothe your soul.”

Everyone applauded as Senior Artisan stepped away, allowing for the in house performers to showcase everything they’ve practiced for days. Curiously, Yoon hummed to himself at the mention of street performers entering the palace. If they were skilled enough to gain the court’s attention, there was a good chance they would be given slots to enter the performance schools within the palace halls. It would be a golden opportunity to change their livelihoods for the better.

He was keen to see just what they were made of.

“I can’t believe you’re making me do this.”

Jimin clicked his tongue against the back of his teeth, silencing Taehyung’s whining. “Hyung-nim is filling in for Namjoon Hyung-nim.” His eyes narrowed. “Surely you don’t expect him to wear the dress, do you?”

Taehyung pouted. “No, but still!”

“Besides,” Hoseok cut in, patting Taehyung’s shoulders roughly, “we all memorized multiple parts in case something happens. We only had time for Hyung-nim to learn one. Stop being difficult.”

Yoongi smirked, shaking his head while readjusting the waistband to his costume. The large rosary that hung from his neck was heavy and the boots were a little bit cumbersome, but bearable. He would be able to switch his shoes out when it came time for the tightrope routine. Jungkook and Seokjin fawned over him, making sure he looked as proper as he could in performance gear.

Namjoon appeared, holding out a red and black demon mask to him. “I gave it some new paint earlier so it should be dry now.”

Taking the mask from him, Yoongi cradled it in his hands. “Thank you, Namjoon-ah.” He scratched at the cloth headband. “What will you be doing during the performance?”

“I’ll be narrating and helping the musicians out. Percussion, mostly.”

“I see.” Yoongi eyed the mask, taking note of the large white fangs protruding from the mouth carved into the wood.

Because of the depth of the role, he wouldn’t be able to take his mask off during the entire performance. Beneficial for him, but he hated that Namjoon wouldn’t be getting any credit. Yoongi knew how hard they all must have been preparing for this particular performance. A small measure of guilt wormed its way into his heart, but Namjoon’s laugh brought him out of his thoughts.

“Now I feel even more terrible, Hyung-nim.” Yoongi saw the concerned look on Namjoon’s face, even though he was smiling. “Seriously, you’re doing me a favor. I feel bad enough. If you keep looking like that, I’ll think I’m completely worthless.”

“I’m sorry, Namjoon-ah.” Clearing his throat, he nodded. “You’re right. I shouldn’t be feeling like this.”

“Thank the heavens you’re wearing a mask.” Taehyung pushed his headband up a little more. “Otherwise the audience is going to think you’re guilty of some crime.”

“It’s just nerves.” Jimin flashed Yoongi a reassuring smile. “Right, Hyung-nim?”

All he could do was give a small smile. “Yeah, you’re right.”

“Hayan Geutop Troupe?” An unfamiliar voice pulled all of their attention. They saw someone dressed in official robes motioning toward them. “You’re up next.”

No one could hide their excitement. This was the first time any of them would be entering the palace. Each of them were given temporary passes to gain access. Once inside, they all made sure they were looking their best. The sound of joyful laughter and music rumbled through the courtyard, causing Yoongi’s heartbeat to elevate with excitement.

“Hyung-nim!” Jungkook gently nudged Yoongi’s back. “Your mask! Don’t forget to put it on!”

“Oh. Right.” Yoongi slid the large Demon mask over his head, making sure the cloth headwrap covered every part of his neck from view except the front.

The sound of loud drums rang out through the courtyard. It was a little bit difficult to breathe with the mask on, but not impossible. If anything, Yoongi was more concerned with the mask falling off by accident. But Hoseok assured him that the bands were secured and redesigned to fit his head perfectly. It wouldn’t come off unless he pulled it off himself.

Admittedly, his nerves were a little frayed. Being around so many people at once, as well as so much noise, was teetering him toward sensory overload. But he continued to remind himself that he had a job to do. He just needed to get through the performance and then he could continue exploring the Crown City to his heart’s content. They were set to ride back out to the mountains at first light.

He hoped the shops would still be open before the lanterns were lit.

The large drum was hit, signaling for everyone to settle down. Yoongi took another breath, waiting for their group to be announced in front of the Royal Court. His vision was limited through the small holes in his mask - the rest of the world shadowed on either side of him. He could hear his own breath in his ears as he tried to peer out in front of him. But he wasn’t sure what he was even looking for. There was a strange pull at his heart; a feeling he couldn’t quite explain.

Like someone was calling to him.

No. Like multiple people were calling to him.

“Members of the Royal Court! I present to you a troupe of young performers who hail from the outskirts of the Crown City!” The Chief Artisan looked in their direction as some of the students in the palace artisan school helped to set up their stage. “The White Tower Troupe!”

There was a round of polite applause from all the members of the royal court. The other troupe members were helping to set up the first scene for their skit. Yoongi waited patiently, even though he offered to help. Taehyung and Hoseok insisted that he stand back and focus on the performance. It wouldn’t take them long to get the set pieces ready. Once everything was put together, Namjoon walked gently forward and bowed deeply to the Royal family seated at the large banquet table.

“Please forgive our lack of eloquence, Your Majesties, as we attempt to regale you with a story. It is one I am sure you are all familiar with, but allow us to perform it for you just the same.” He flicked out the large fan in his hand, a picture of a blue sky and a green field painted on it. “We humbly present to you...the Tale of Green Pearl and the Demon!”

Yoon felt Chae-Ok grab his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. He cast a sidelong glance in her direction, noting the soft pink flush that tinted her cheeks. He knew it wasn’t from the wine but more from her excitement. He smiled as she met his gaze.

“Oh, I love this story!” She looked back out toward the courtyard. “I’m interested to see how they will tell it.”

“As am I.”

The bass drum resounded through the large space just as the troupe finished setting up for the first scene. The narrator who spoke walked off to the sidelines and took a seat on a plush cushion that was provided for him. Silence draped over everyone present as the actors moved to their positions.

“Many years ago, there was a humble man who lived a humble life. He had a humble trade and a humble wife. The wife bore him two children. A son named White Fang and a daughter named Green Pearl.”

Yoon watched as the narrator spoke about each character. One by one, they all appeared - their faces concealed with wooden masks painted in eloquent designs. Lingering off to the side was an actor clothed in black, red and gold garbs - a demon mask covering his face. Yoon felt his heart beating a little faster as he gazed at the person, unsure of why this strange sensation was lurching in his chest.

The narrator slapped his stick against the small drum cradled in his lap. “As the seasons changed and the children grew older, the father became ill. The wife sent for what physicians they could afford and the old apothecary said that there was nothing he could do. The wife was distraught, unsure of what would become of her or her children should her husband leave this world for his journey to the afterlife.”

“Seobang-nim! You cannot leave us like this!” The wife sobbed beside the husband, cradling his hand between her palms. “What are we to do without you? How are we supposed to live?!”

“Don’t worry, Mother,” said White Fang as he placed his hand over his mother’s, “I will find a way to cure Father. I will travel across foreign lands until I can find the medicine that will save Father’s life!”

Again, the narrator struck the drum. “White Fang left to search for a cure for his ailing father, leaving his mother and sister behind.”

Yoon watched the person portraying Green Pearl moving toward the backdrop meant to pose as a wide open field. A lone tree stood off in the distance where she clasped her hands together and prayed.

“Gods of Heaven, I beseech you! Please help my father. Please find a way to help him get better!” cried Green Pearl as she lowered her head, all but sobbing into her hands.

Heavy drums beat softly, signaling an ominous transition. Yoon watched as the actor portraying the demon slowly moved forward, until he was mere feet from the Royal Banquet table. The Demon whipped his head around to face the Royal family, causing everyone to lean back and gasp.

All except Yoon.

Maybe it was the optical illusion of the mask, but he swore that the demon was looking directly at him. His heartbeat escalated, a soft thunder against his chest, and he waited for the demon to speak. There was a line here. Yoon remembered it. A line where the demon spoke to the audience of his wicked scheme.

But the demon said nothing. All he did was stare. Had the actor forgotten his lines?

“A demon heard Green Pearl’s cries, intrigued by her earnest wailings.”

The narrator cut through the silence. This seemed to wake the demon up, causing him to swiftly shuffle back a few steps as he threw his arm out in a dramatic flourish.

“The sweet sound of sorrow nourishes my heart,” the Demon exclaimed, curling his shoulders forward. He pressed a hand against his face, fingers gliding over the white fangs on the mask. “It is the sound of easy prey. How I have longed to devour such a miserable soul!”

He heard the Crown Princess gasp as the Demon ran forward, leaping into the air and landing on the tightrope with amazing ease. Yoon quirked a brow, internally admiring the actor’s swiftness and balancing abilities. The Demon leaned forward, slinging his legs out until he was hanging upside down from the rope.

Green Pearl took a sharp intake of breath, clutching at the front of her dress. “W-Who goes there?”

“A humble and curious Demon. But nevermind me, Sweet Child.” The Demon spoke in a cooing and sweet voice. “What seems to be ailing you? What causes you to mourn so?”

“My father is ill and there is no way to save him. My brother has left to travel in hopes of finding medicine to cure him.” Green Pearl turned away from the Demon, looking off in the distance. “I mourn for my family and what is to become of them should my father pass.”

The Demon laughed, swinging his body so that he was now sitting upright on the tightrope. He rested a hand on his knee and leaned forward, drawing Green Pearl’s attention once more. “This is a simple problem with a simple solution.”

“It is anything but simple!”

“Oh, but it is!” The Demon hopped onto the rope, bouncing up and down in a playful manner. “Because I know how to save your ailing father!”

Green Pearl stepped toward the tree, her hand reaching up toward the Demon but she was far out of his reach. “What do you know? Please, tell me how to save my father!”

The Demon bounced on the rope a few more times before dismounting, landing just a few feet away from her. He placed his hands behind his back and paced, not really bothering to stray too far from her but not coming too close. “There is a flower that grows in the western mountains. It is said that creating a potion from this flower can cure any illness.” He spun on his heels just as Green Pearl tried to approach him, causing her to halt in her steps. “But it is an arduous journey. Many have died trying to claim this flower.”

“Can you guide me to this mountain?”

The Demon circled her, his steps slow and measured. “What will you give me if I decide to lend you my aid?”

“Whatever you wish to claim from me, Sir!” Green Pearl fell to her knees. “No boon is too great when it comes to saving the life of my father!”

The Demon knelt down before Green Pearl, lifting her face to meet his. “You will become my bride. That is the price you must pay if you wish to obtain my help.”

“If marrying a demon is the trade we are making, then I would marry you a thousand times.”

The Demon pulled Green Pearl up onto her feet, a hearty laugh bursting from his chest. “Then come! Let us be off! The day grows shorter and the journey will be that much harder for you when the night comes.”

A gong and more heavy drums rang out as the Demon and Green Pearl exited the stage. Troupe members hurried to change the set backdrop to suit the next scene transition.

“So Green Pearl and the Demon hurried toward the Western Mountains. The journey was, indeed, arduous. Many perils crossed their paths, but the Demon protected Green Pearl every step of the way. The harshest trek, however, was the path leading up toward the mountains. Wild animals impeded their path. Even the cold mountain winds attempted to blow the two off the krags so they would plummet to their deaths.”

With each scene change, a linen drape with a painted landscape was swapped. The serene music fit the pacing of each scene and the narrator’s strong voice pushed the actors to continue through the skit. Yoon knew this tale very well. Yet watching it unfold in this manner made the story seem brand new. He was particularly drawn to the Demon, unable to shake the tremors in his heart as the masked performer’s moves seemed fluid and natural.

“Finally, Green Pearl and the Demon reached the top of the mountain peaks. There was the mythical flower the Demon mentioned. It was a rich purple in pigment, the stem a soft green and nestled among a cluster of clovers. In the snow and cold temperature, there was no way that any vegetation should have flourished, let alone this single flower.”

Green Pearl reached for the flower, preparing to dig it up from the earth. Suddenly, she was stopped by the Demon’s harsh pull at her wrist. “W-What are you doing?!”

“Do not forget your promise to me, dear Child.” He pulled her flush against him. “You are to be my bride the moment your father is well. And not a minute later.”

“I haven’t forgotten our deal, Demon!” Green Pearl pushed away from him. “We must hurry back quickly!”

A soft bell tinkling sound issued from a row of wind chimes. The Demon laughed, grasping onto Green Pearl and jumping up toward the tightrope. Everyone watching sucked in their breaths as a stream of dark blue fabric followed after them. The Demon dragged Green Pearl behind him as the actors portrayed him using his powers to help them travel quickly. The two actors almost appeared to float across the thick line of rope.

“The Demon used his powers to transport Green Pearl and himself down the mountain. When they reached the foot of the mountain, they instantly moved through the fields. Within minutes, they were back in Green Pearl’s humble village. He safely brought her home and Green Pearl wasted no time preparing the flower into a medicinal tonic for her father.”

Green Pearl appeared next to her mother, holding out a wooden bowl. “This tonic will help Father. Please, we must hurry!”

The Wife started to feed the potion to the ailing Husband. In minutes, he started to rise up from his bed. He held his wife’s hands and she threw herself into his arms.

“Husband! You are well!” she cried as her husband held her close.

He laughed, stroking her back. “Yes, I am well, Pu-in. But tell me, what has helped me come back from the gates of the Underworld?”

“I traveled far to retrieve a flower that is said to cure any illness.” Green Pearl hugged her father’s neck.

“A flower?” He tilted his head to the side. “How did you come to learn of this flower?”

Green Pearl lowered her head. “A Demon told me. He guided me to the Western Mountains and I plucked the flower from the highest peak.”

Both the husband and wife looked at each other, clutching at their chests. The father reached out for his daughter’s hands. “You foolish girl! How could you make an agreement with a demon?!”

“Don’t you know that a deal with a demon only breeds disaster?!” The mother shook Green Pearl’s shoulders. “You have sold your soul to the Underworld!”

Green Pearl pulled herself away from her family. “I’m sorry!” She ran out of the house where the Demon was waiting for her. “We must hurry!”

The Demon grabbed her hand in his. “Let us leave this place!”

“Stop right there, you foul trickster!” The Father appeared, brandishing a wheat sickle. “Release my daughter, this instant!”

The Demon laughed. “The deal has been made, Human! You cannot break the contract!”

The sound of a gong exploded over the courtyard, causing the Demon to gasp. When he looked down, there was a sword plunged through his stomach. As he turned, the assailant stepped forward to push the blade through his gut even further. The Demon reached out with a bloodied hand toward the one who attacked him.

“B-Brother!”

White Fang ripped the sword from the Demon’s body, causing the Demon to fall to his knees. His head hung low and Green Pearl was instantly at the Demon’s side. He finally collapsed to the ground and Green Pearl clung to his shivering form.

“What have you done?!” she screamed as the Demon continued to tremble in her arms. “Why did you strike him?!”

“It was a Demon, Green Pearl!” White Fang dropped the sword from his hand and the satchel from his back. “They only breed misfortune!”

“Y-You fool,” sputtered the Demon, “I would have given her a good life.” A trembling arm lifted as he pointed at White Fang. “Because of your actions, you have now condemned your sister to death.”

“What?!” White Fang dropped to his knees. The husband and wife hurried forward. “What lies do you speak, Demon?”

The Demon turned to look up at Green Pearl. “I will not be able to give you a life you deserve.” He touched the side of her face. “But I will be able to stay with you in the Afterlife. Always.”

“I am sorry for the cruel nature of man! Forgive me!” Green Pearl sobbed, burying her face in the Demon’s shoulder. “I will see you on the other side.”

And then the Demon’s hand fell limply to the ground. Seconds later, Green Pearl collapsed next to him.

Silence filled the courtyard. No one spoke. Hardly anyone took a moment to breathe, Yoon included.

It was broken the minute that the King began to clap. The Queen soon followed until everyone at the Royal Banquet table rose from their seats and applauded. Yoon was still stunned, but he, too, clapped. The actors remained where they were - unmoving. However, the narrator stepped forward and bowed deeply to them. The tragic scene remained, but the story’s message still lingered in the air.

Even a Demon was deserving of love and a person could see beyond the surface to one’s true heart.

But when promises were broken, a terrible fate would await.

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megalony · 5 years ago

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Fatal attraction- Part 9

Here is the next part in my King! Ben Hardy series, thank you all for the lovely comments and feedback it means a lot. There is some angst in this part.

Taglist: @lunaticspoem @butlegendsneverdie @langdonzvoid @jennyggggrrr @rogermeddow @radiob-l-a-hblah @rogertaylorsbitontheside @chlobo6 @rogertaylors-lipgloss @sj-thefan @omgitsearly @luckytrashgooprebel @scarsout @deaky-with-a-c @killer-queen-ofrhye @bluutac @vousmemanqueez @jonesyaddiction @rogahs-drowse @milanosaurus @httpfandxms @saint-hardy @7-seas-of-fat-bottomed-girls @mrsalwayswritex @rogerina-owns-me @peterquillzsblog

Series taglist: @joseph-mozzerella @pippin248 @ellathefriendlyalpacaaa @lilharms

Series masterlist

Summary: Ben and (Y/n) are in an arranged marriage to form an alliance and they both want to make this marriage work. But when they have to get to know each other and there is a power play in their marriage, things aren’t going to be easy.

Enjoy.

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"We have to make an announcement sooner or later, why not tomorrow?"

"No, we don't." (Y/n) shook her head as her words were firm in an attempt to make the final decision on the matter but she knew better than to think Ben was just going to drop the subject just like that. Turning her head to the left, (Y/n) leaned her chin on her hand as her fingers of her other hand began to drum out a beat against the table.

For once, (Y/n) wanted Ben's mother to be here having breakfast with them because she knew he wouldn't bring this conversation up if she was sitting here with them. (Y/n) wanted this conversation to stop but Ben wasn't going top just drop this and they both knew it. As (Y/n) prayed for some sort of distraction, her breathing stopped for a moment when she felt Ben's light grasp on her chin. A flash of worry circled in her eyes that Ben didn't miss when he turned her head so she was looking at him again.

"You know as well as I do that we're going to have to say something soon. It's another pointless ball tomorrow and your parents are coming down for that, it's the best time to tell everyone." Ben dipped his head to the side as his eyes were pleading with (Y/n) but she wasn't agreeing.

"We don't have to tell anyone-"

"Love, you're already starting to show, you think no one's starting rumours right now? If we wait much longer everyone will know anyway and then we'll be questioned why we didn't make it official." Ben watched (Y/n)'s eyes dart around as if expecting someone to be spying on them before she folded her arms over her stomach like she was making sure no one could see.

Ben knew it wasn't ideal or fun and that it was awkward to have to make an announcement to everyone that they were expecting a child but it was custom. If they didn't acknowledge this or make it public knowledge then people would gradually notice anyway when it became obvious and they would be frowned upon and asked why it wasn't announced. The only reason not to announce a pregnancy was if (Y/n) was ill or it was early stages and they expected her to lose the baby.

But they were four months along now and they had to start telling people, Ben hadn't even told his mother because (Y/n) had begged him not to tell anyone just yet. It was beginning to worry him why (Y/n) was so dead set against people finding out. It made Ben wonder if (Y/n) was expecting this to go wrong or that she suddenly didn't want this anymore.

"Why do we have to make a big announcement? I don't want to stand there and have everyone gawk at me... can't we just tell your mother and let her spread the news around?" (Y/n) frowned as she slumped back in her seat with a look of discontent on her features.

(Y/n) had always felt awkward and out of place when any announcements were made when she was growing up. It had felt awful at their wedding when people had been staring and ogling them both and when their parents made speeches (Y/n) had wanted to disappear. There was no way (Y/n) would stand in front of a group of important people and tell them she was pregnant for them to clap and applaud as if it was some big achievement or some sort of impossibility she had overcome. Nor would she stand and have people staring at her or little whispers and rumours going around. She couldn't do that.

"I'm afraid that wouldn't work, love." Ben reached over and took (Y/n)'s hand in his own, grazing his fingers against her stomach before he pulled her hand to rest on the arm of the chair.

Ben knew why (Y/n) didn't want to make a big announcement and he understood, he didn't like the thought of people congratulating them and staring like they were the only people in the world to have a baby. But it had to be done, they couldn't throw all of the rules out of the window just because they disagreed with them.

He didn't see why (Y/n) was so dead set against people knowing, she didn't want anyone to know, not even their parents or any of the people she was close to here at the palace. The only person (Y/n) was fine with knowing was Ben and as much as he was relieved at that, it still made him worry why she wouldn't let people know. She was just beginning to show now and people were going to guess and spread rumours until it became apparent that they were expecting a child. Ben thought it better to tell people now than have them guessing.

"This isn't anything to do with anyone else, why do they have to know every aspect of our lives? You think I don't know what they're all whispering, wondering why we've waited almost a year to have a baby? That's what they expect, they think that's all I'm here for and I hate it, I don't want to tell them and have this baby be the only thing people talk to me about."

(Y/n) watched Ben's eyes widen over the rim of his coffee cup he had pressed against his lips. Her words shocked him but at the same time, they were the kind of thing he had been expecting her to say. Ben knew people were confused, he knew they had little capacity to understand that his and (Y/n)'s lives didn't revolve around giving the people an heir. No one understood that they had no great need to have a child and waiting was what had clearly been best for them. But now they were having a baby and people had to know sooner or later.

"What do you think people will talk to you about when they know your pregnant but you never said anything? I think that would be a far worse outcome than just telling them now and getting it over and done with. I don't make the rules, love, but we still have to follow them."

"Fine, tell everyone tomorrow and put them out of their misery since they clearly want this baby more than we do. But they'd better understand that this isn't going to be the topic of every conversation I have from now on, this baby isn't going to overrule my life or my decisions." Scraping her chair back against the wooden floor, (Y/n) stood to her feet and quickly left the table. Ben could make the announcement because there was no way (Y/n) would stand and tell everyone. Nor was she going to have every conversation be about how her health was and if the baby was okay and names and so forth.

(Y/n) wanted this baby but not for the sake of an heir like everyone else. She wasn't going to have everyone turn her life into the purpose of creating an heir and have that be her legacy. She wanted to work, she wanted to be as much of a Queen as she could without having the title. She was going to work and make improvements just like Ben was, even if he got more recognition for it than she did. This baby was going to be part of her life, but it wasn't going to be her life.

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"Darling, why didn't you wear a dress tonight?" Turning her head to the left, (Y/n) locked her tired eyes with her mother's intense gaze. There was a smile on her lips but a certain look in her eyes that showed she was confused and possibly disappointed that (Y/n) had chosen a black jumpsuit with green and white stripes rather than a dress.

"Because I chose to wear this." (Y/n) tried to force a smile but it clearly wasn't working and her mother knew it. "I'm not wearing a dress to one of these again." (Y/n) murmured the words under her breath as she turned her attention to all the people dancing. There was no way (Y/n) would wear a dress to a ball after the scene that happened last time because of it. Dresses weren't her style and if they brought about actions like the Duke's then there was no way (Y/n) would be wearing one.

She preferred her leggings and trousers over a dress and this jumpsuit was comfy, slightly baggy and didn't cling to her waist and giveaway her secret which was going to come out tonight anyway.

Leaning her head on her hand, (Y/n) rubbed at her temple to try and rid herself of the headache that was beginning to form like clouds gathering behind her eyes. (Y/n) had wanted to dance tonight since it was one of the few things she actually enjoyed about these balls but she didn't think she had the energy or the will to do so. Her head was pounding and her body felt like it was weighed down to the chair she sat in. Dancing would be far too hard to do right now.

With a sigh, (Y/n) reached forward and picked up her drink from the table before she leaned back in her seat and let herself slouch down just a little. As she took a sip of her drink, her eyes fell to look at her husband sitting next to her when he moved around.

(Y/n) rose a brow when Ben slouched in his seat more noticeably than she had, leaning his head on his arm that was resting next to her own. But what made (Y/n) want to smile was the fact that Ben had propped one of his feet up on the beam under the table which meant his knee was able to be seen over the table. He looked uninterested, bored and uncaring which was exactly the kind of look he wasn't supposed to have at one of his own parties.

"Sit properly, where are your manners?" Ben's mother hissed quietly before swatting her hand out at his knee but it made no difference when her son simply looked at her blankly.

"I'm bored, what would you rather me do, smile and wave?" Ben hissed back before he continued to stare at all the people around him in unamusment. Ben wouldn't sit and smile or look happy when he was bored out of his mind because there was nothing for him to do. They'd all eaten, he'd drank two and a half glasses of wine already and he didn't dance. What was he supposed to do except watch everyone stumbling over their feet or gossiping?

There was no one for Ben to talk to here except for (Y/n) and neither of them knew what to say right now or wanted to talk when the music was deafening. In twenty minutes the music would stop and Ben could make their announcement before making a quick exit with (Y/n) so they didn't have to listen to congratulations or murmurs and gossip spreading like wildfire.

With a small sigh, (Y/n) turned her head back in her mother's direction when she started speaking again. Her parents had arrived this morning and (Y/n) had spent the day with them, catching up and talking about everything that had happened since their last visit. It was comforting to have them around and talk to them and (Y/n) felt more at ease this time since her mother clearly knew bringing up the subject of children was now off limits.

But it did take time to feel at ease or happy because (Y/n) was used to not having them around and just sending letters every now and again.

Running her hand over her face, (Y/n) closed her eyes and tried to breathe through the uneasy feeling rattling through her. The room was too hot and everyone was packed together like sardines in a tin. It was unsettling and (Y/n) had felt overly tired and queasy all day, this wasn't what she needed or where she wanted to be tonight. She felt the need to run her hand over her stomach that was beginning to feel tense but she knew if she did that and someone saw, whispers would start.

Just as (Y/n) heard her mother start to strike up yet another topic of conversation, every muscle in her body tensed and her throat tightened to the point she couldn't breathe. Her hands clamped very tightly around the arms of her chair when she felt a small pain in her lower stomach.

This couldn't be happening.

(Y/n) felt blood welling in her mouth from her teeth suddenly puncturing through her tongue as she did her best to control herself and look nonchalant and unconcerned. But she could feel the panic shooting through her mind and it felt like stones were piling up in her lungs to the point she couldn't breathe. Maybe it was nothing, maybe she'd just been doing a little too much or the morning sickness was taking more of a toll on her than she first thought.

But what if it wasn't that? She'd felt uneasy last time and the stomach cramps she'd gone through had been as bad as if someone had repeatedly being stabbing her.

(Y/n) couldn't go through this again, she couldn't lose another baby. That wasn't fair, she had done nothing to warrant losing her first baby and there was nothing to suggest she might lose this one. She'd done nothing wrong and she was further along now than she had been last time. This baby had to be okay, (Y/n) didn't know what she would do if it happened again. Pressing one hand against the edge of the table in front of her, (Y/n) turned so she was facing Ben sitting on her right before she gently tugged on his sleeve. She couldn't stay here, she needed to go and if her paranoid thoughts were right, she would need a doctor.

"I- I need to go." (Y/n) could feel her breaths increasing but she managed to control her words and keep her voice under control, she didn't need anyone thinking or suspecting something was wrong.

"Why, what's wrong?" Ben sat up straighter in his chair before leaning a bit closer to (Y/n). He rested his hand on her cheek but his eyes narrowed when he noticed how pale she was and how her skin was beginning to burn, not to mention the very tight grip she had on his shirt sleeve. For a moment, Ben wondered if she was panicking about telling everyone about the baby and didn't want to go through with it. But as he watched her, he realised she looked more ill than worried.

"I don't feel well." (Y/n) closed her eyes to try and see if it made her feel better and stopped her head from spinning but she had to fight off tears when another dull ache burned through her stomach.

"I'll come with you." Ben didn't fancy sitting here and continuing with this boring charade when he knew (Y/n) clearly wasn't feeling very well. He would rather escort her upstairs and stay with her just to make sure she was alright. No one would say anything or bat an eyelid at him leaving with her, they would just assume the pair of them had had enough for the night or didn't feel up to it.

"No." (Y/n) shook her head and Ben frowned at her response before leaning back when (Y/n) gripped the arms of her chair and pushed herself to stand up. Her eyes darted around the room when a few people looked in her direction, wondering if she was going to join in the dancing or maybe say something and make an announcement of her own.

"Excuse me." (Y/n) murmured, nodding her head at her mother before she moved around her seat to leave.

She felt Ben's hand trying to reach for her wrist but she was already walking away. (Y/n) pressed her lips into a thin line and tried to keep her back straight and hold her chin up so it didn't look like she was about to collapse or fall over. She didn't need anyone thinking something was wrong or more rumours to start spreading through everyone. When her eyes darted around the room just as she reached the doors, she noticed a few people were confused, but not many were paying too much attention.

When (Y/n) left the vast room and stood in the hall, she took a few deep breaths but suddenly pressed her hand to her stomach when she didn't feel so good. She tried to hurry in case she was about to be sick but she tried not to go too fast in case she tripped or gained any attention.

"Ma'am... is everything alright?" Amy pushed herself from leaning against the wall, her hands tightly knitted together in front of her as she scuttled over to (Y/n) when she noticed her. Amy knew for a fact that (Y/n) and Ben weren't supposed to be leaving the ball so soon when it had only just started little over an hour ago.

The young maid froze in place when (Y/n) batted her hand in her direction but Amy didn't know what that meant. She could only guess that (Y/n) was signalling to push her away, not wanting to be followed but Amy felt the great need to run after her because she didn't look well. But before Amy could move one step in (Y/n)'s direction, her eyes fell on Ben who was jogging down the corridor, clearly trying to go after his wife. Without saying anything, Amy pointed to the stairs that (Y/n) was trying to hurry up and Ben nodded in thanks.

Tipping her head down to face the stairs, (Y/n) kept one hand pressed forcefully to her stomach and the other gripped the banister she was using to drag herself up the steps. Her throat was tightening like she was going to be sick but her head was pounding like it was being battered with a hammer. She couldn't control the sudden shaking taking over her system that was making it harder to hurry.

"(Y/n)! Slow down, just wait for me for God's sake! What's wrong?" Ben used the banister to propel himself up the stairs two at a time and swung around the corner to head up the next set of stairs after her. He didn't know how (Y/n) managed to get this far when she clearly wasn't very well. He thought she looked pale and rather warm earlier but now she seemed to feel a lot worse.

When Ben got to the top of the stairs he realised (Y/n) hadn't gotten very far after all. Reaching her, Ben quickly circled his arms around (Y/n)'s waist when she looked like her knees were about to cave in beneath her but panic alarms were ringing in his head when he took in her stance. She was slightly doubled over, one hand holding the banister but her other hand was pressed to her stomach and that made his heart jump into his throat.

Tears were beginning to fall from (Y/n)'s eyes and she was breathing like she was a fish out of water, gasping for her last breath. When two guards hurried over to them, Ben shook his head and held his hand out to stop them getting any closer. (Y/n) clearly wasn't well and Ben was the only person she allowed to see her when she was ill.

"Go get a doctor." He ordered, moving his hand to signal for them to leave which they thankfully did in quick timing. "Alright sweetheart, look at me. I need to know what's wrong... can you walk?" Ben bit down on his lower lip as he looked around, they weren't too far from their room. If (Y/n) held the energy to walk he could get her back to their room and sit her down because standing in the corridor wasn't going to help.

(Y/n) let her weight fall into Ben when he clearly showed he was fine with holding her up and she leaned her head on his shoulder, looking up at him through torrents of tears.

"It hurts, s-something's wrong w...with the baby." (Y/n) couldn't help the way her breaths increased and how she hiccuped through her words. Her eyes snapped closed so she didn't see the way Ben's expression changed before he pressed his lips to the top of her head, desperately trying to calm her down as he slowly started walking the pair of them down the corridor.

"Okay, shhh. The doctor's going to come and help you, then we'll know where we are and what's going on. I'm not going to leave you and you're going to be fine, I promise." Ben held (Y/n) tightly to his chest with the arm that was wrapped around her waist and his other hand gripped hers that was no longer holding onto the banister. He noticed the way (Y/n) was leaning forwards like she was bent in half and he wondered if it was somehow to help the pain she was clearly going through.

(Y/n) started to shake her head at his words but Ben gently shushed her, they didn't know for certain that something was wrong with the baby, it could be something completely different. When the doctor got here they would know what was happening and where to go from here. Speculation was all they had right now and it wasn't always a good thing.

"I'm g-gonna lose them." A sob followed (Y/n)'s words which made Ben hold her tighter, especially when he noticed her hand rubbing over her stomach like she was saying goodbye and already accepting her fate.

"We don't know that."

(Y/n) tried to believe Ben's words as he practically dragged her with him down the corridor, but history and suspicion was telling her that this wasn't just a shooting pain that was going to disappear. Why did she think this time would be any different just because she had managed to tell Ben before something went wrong?

She was going to lose another baby, she could feel it.

#ben hardy #ben x reader #ben hardy imagine #imagine #BoRhap #royalty #fatal attraction

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xlady-saya · 5 years ago

Text

i’ve had a love of my own [ch 2]

Relationships: andrew/neil

Summary: Despite everything Neil could’ve imagined for his life, he never thought he’d be here, finally giving the world the interview they’ve always wanted.

It’s been decades, but even with his numerous accolades and sports wins, he finds that they’re the least important thing about his life.

Neil can’t help but laugh. Andrew would be so annoyed if he were here.

Of course, Neil only wants to talk about him, and the life they spent together.

Tags: interviews, post canon, major character death but not how u think I swear lol, neil is an old man retelling his memories about andrew, cheesy romance, post retirement, see more tags on ao3

Read on ao3!

"What do you remember most about the night you were inducted into the hall of fame?"

Neil's suit collar feels especially tight as he descends from the podium, his body pulling him in one direction and one direction only. The smile on his face feels too tight, but the hoard of smiling faces and applauding hands around him don’t seem to notice. The rabbit instincts, as Andrew would call them, surge up aggressively. Neil hates public appearances like this, especially when the event is partly focused on him. He can only hope his speech wasn't too terrible.

People shout out their congratulations as he passes, but they all blend together like an oil slick meeting water. Pretty on the outside, but otherwise devastating to the fragile nature of his mind. Bright lights above bounce off full champagne glasses, creating a blurry horizon he has to squint at.

Years of public exposure has done nothing for his dislike of crowds, and he chases the feeling of Andrew's protective bubble. Warm, safe, home.

It feels like that one time Nicky dragged him to a party hosted by the baseball team in college, and left him to go hurl his guts out over the side of the house. At a certain point, Neil had been so overwhelmed he had hastily retreated from the drunk mob into the safe haven of the bathroom.

It's an eerily similar feeling, except this time his safe haven comes in the form of Andrew, suave and bored as he leans against the back wall. Much, much better.

Neil nearly trips over his feet in an effort to reach him, but Andrew is always one step ahead. As if sensing Neil's distress, Andrew extends a hand, and Neil refrains from rolling his eyes at the muffled gasp he hears somewhere in the back.

Catching a glimpse of them acting like a couple is akin to seeing a shooting star in the daytime, according to tabloids. In Neil's mind, they all simply don't look hard enough. Sometimes just the way Andrew looks at him makes Neil feel like they should be behind closed doors, with how it radiates off both of them. He's not sure why people don't see it, because surely Andrew's denials aren't believable. He's incredibly affectionate, if all his gifts and gestures say anything. And more than that...

At the end of any given day, if someone checked, Andrew's fingerprints would be all over Neil. Some on the back of his wrist, trickling down his spine and ghosting over his lower back, dotted along his throat.

Skin deep, with heat that travels even farther.

He takes Andrew's hand gratefully, letting himself be pulled in by the relief of that unparalleled shelter.

"You call that a speech, Josten?" Andrew asks, though Neil catches the spark that sets his eyes aflame. Good—Neil missed it. These events sap the energy out of Andrew like a vacuum, and he knows he only puts up with them for Neil's sake. Neil is happy to be a compact little battery when Andrew needs it.

Neil readjusts their hands but doesn't pull away, giving Andrew a small squeeze to pair with his smirk.

"Like you could do better," he snarks, but moves against the wall anyways, shoulder pressed to Andrew's. They've both bulked up from years with the pros, but where Neil will always be somewhat lithe, Andrew is stocky and built like brick. Neil sighs, breathing in the scent of Andrew's cologne and the subtle mint of nicotine gum.

There are still some eyes on them, but people are mostly looking at the next speaker. Neil can't make out Kevin or Thea in the crowd, but that's probably a good thing given what's about to happen. "You didn't even give a speech," he remarks playfully, a hint for Andrew to chase.

Andrew purses his lips, not taking it until Neil leans further into his space. Neil knows he has the advantage here; he's dressed in a fitted suit, personally picked out by Andrew, with blue accents that match their team (and additionally, his eyes). However, that’s not Neil’s biggest advantage, considering he's wearing the watch Andrew bought him for Christmas—the one with a rabbit stamped cleanly into the back of the metal face. 'Now you can't use your dead phone as an excuse,' Andrew had said, but Neil had seen through it.

Neil nudges him cheekily, gesturing to the room full of people.

"Surprised you're even here," Neil adds, feigning shyness in another effort to break through Andrew's (flimsy) blockade.

It works. Neil's not sure if Andrew's gotten softer over time, or if he's gotten better at this. Though he guesses he's the same. There are not many walls left for Andrew to scale on his end either.

"Don't be stupid," Andrew replies, firm and sharp. It sends comfortable shivers down Neil's spine, Andrew’s sternness causing the joke to evaporate. Even the insinuation that he'd miss Neil's crowning achievement...he won't allow it.

Come to think of it, Andrew's probably thought about it more than Neil. Neil worked so hard for this moment, to make a name for himself in the sport he adores. And he's proud of himself, he is, and he deserves to be in the hall of fame with how much he's fought. Yet now that he's actually here, surrounded by people who want nothing more than to sing his praises, all he needs is...

Neil giggles, whispering in quiet Russian. "You're proud of meeee."

Andrew huffs, but Neil powers on. "Admit it or...you know what will happen, don't you?"

"Neil."

"You look really handsome tonight—"

"Neil, I'm serious," Andrew tries, and while Andrew isn't the type to blush, the way his entire body stills might as well be equivalent to a fire. Neil's hand drifts to Andrew's lower back, because casual touches are second nature to them now. Instead of pushing away from the touch, Andrew's back bends for him, and Neil's gives a subtle press.

Truly, this is Neil's favorite tactic, complimenting Andrew. He'd learned in their last year of college that Andrew can't handle it, and the blond can try to say he hates it all he wants. But Neil never hears a 'no,' does he? "I love seeing the way the suit jacket fits over your shoulders. It reminds me of how strong you are. You're my anchor, you know? You always keep me safe, I feel like I can do anything if you're there. I love knowing this is real, that you're here with me and you'd fight to keep us—"

Neil jumps when Andrew turns on him, but his triumphant grin sits firmly in place.

Andrew leans him in to cut him off with a kiss, like he's accustomed to, but that's not something he's willing to give the paparazzi today. He takes Neil's hand again, glancing around. "We're leaving," he says, because he knows that's what Neil really wanted all along. Duh, Neil already knows Andrew is proud of him. "I've had it with this place."

Neil's body sings at the word choice, at the words unspoken: 'but not with you.'

"Mhm," he agrees happily. When Andrew had been inducted into the hall of fame, they'd ditched the ceremony even earlier than this. So it's about time. "What's the plan?"

Andrew doesn't miss a beat. He tilts his head in the direction of the far doors, and Neil zeroes in on them. He'd clocked all the exits when they first arrived from force of habit, so he follows along with Andrew easily. "Reporters are at the west wing entrance, we'll have to sneak out the service entrance past the kitchens. It's handled."

Neil smirks broadly, and lets Andrew lead the way. One advantage to being so short? It's a hell of a lot more efficient to duck down behind people. "Did you already make a deal with the wait staff?"

Andrew's expressions in public are still quite reserved and closed off, but Neil can feel the smug energy radiating off his back as they push through the kitchen doors. None of the staff even bat an eye. In fact, some of them are trying extremely hard to not look at them.

Neil looks at Andrew, brow raised.

"You'd be surprised what a couple autographs can get you," Andrew says, pulling them around a corner to survey the last stretch between them and the outside world. They should be in the clear, but the last thing they want is to run into a security guard or overactive publicist walking through these back hallways. Neil can't contain his excitement though, his leg thumping uncontrollably against the linoleum. Andrew pauses when he notices, and there's that flash of amusement Neil loves so much. "Control yourself, bunny."

"Stop making me wait," Neil shoots back, because he rarely has the opportunity to be this rebellious. As much as he cusses out reporters and fights people on the actual court, he misses the giddy mischief of sneaking around with Andrew. It's like making out on the roof all over again, or trying to be quiet during movie nights with Andrew's hand caressing his thigh.

It's exhilarating, and he can read Andrew's physical cues so well by now. The shift of his feet, the tension in his shoulders...It's like when he's about to block a shot with his bare hands, except this time he pulls Neil down the hall in a sprint.

He knows he's supposed to be quiet, but the best he can do is muffle his laughter with his free hand as he lets Andrew carry them out of the venue.

If Neil bumps into a cart of metal trays, they're long gone before anyone can react to the sound.

The Lotus comes to a stop in the empty parking lot of the old football stadium. It's one of their favorite places to escape to, a project the city keeps claiming it will repurpose but never does. The lampposts lining the giant lot still work, but there's not a car in sight, the old building dark and menacing. To Neil, it's just...theirs.

Neil stumbles out of the small car, missing the backseat of the Maserati. He wishes they were driving their new Maz instead, but it's Andrew's signature car, and they knew they'd need to lay low.

Ha. To think they'd be invisible in a car like this.

Again Neil has to right himself, his pants still sitting halfway down his thighs. He's glad Andrew thought ahead with bringing them a change of clothes, but the cramped space isn't the best for changing into jeans. He has a feeling Andrew did that on purpose, forgoing Neil's sweats.

Doesn't help that Neil's legs are jelly for other reasons.

Andrew slides out of the driver’s side with a lot more finesse, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand as he comes around. Helpless, Neil drops his arms and lets Andrew pull up his pants.

It's the little things.

Neil smiles when Andrew sighs, loading some of his weight on top of Neil. He won't call it a recharge, Neil just knows. Neil plays with the loose strands of hair at Andrew's nape, at peace in the piercing cold, no real landmark in sight apart from the decaying stadium. It's weird; it reminds him a lot of when he and his mother would camp out in abandoned lots. Vantage points from all sides, but the risk of exposure and openness were high too.

Here though, more than ten years later, Neil basks in the vulnerability, because nowhere feels unsafe with Andrew in his arms like this. He lets Andrew sway them back and forth for a bit, and yeah, this is preferable to the sounds of clinking champagne glasses and excessive applause.

His publicist will give him shit for it later, but he wouldn't exactly be Neil Josten if he didn't cause problems.

Neil smiles into the distance, watching the flickering of a nearby lamppost. "The movie starts in an hour," he says eventually, and Andrew nods into Neil's neck once before pulling away. There's no disappointment in his eyes, and he taps Neil's watch to the beat of a song Neil can't place.

Instead, he just zips up Andrew's open fly, smirking at the unimpressed stare he gets. "You're a nuisance."

"I know," Neil says proudly, and watches as Andrew goes back to the driver's side. He looks a lot cozier and harder to recognize now, dressed in Neil's Palmetto hoodie and jeans.

"C'mon, we need to grab food still," Andrew says, and at the reminder, Neil's stomach growls. If they had stayed an hour more at the event they probably would've been fed fancy catered meals, but that would've messed with their Friday tradition of greasy drive in food.

Neil knows they’re showing a double zombie movie feature today, and he does not want to miss it. He straps in just in time for Andrew to hit the gas, and doesn't even speak up about all the traffic laws they break to make it there on time.

"How mad do you think Kevin is?" Neil asks when Andrew is passing him his soda. He fits it snuggly in between his thighs, jumping from the cold. It can't be helped; the lone cupholder is reserved for Andrew's milkshake, in danger of overflowing from whipped cream.

Andrew turns back to the cashier at the drive thru, and their eyes are still on the verge of popping out of their sockets. They must be new. The other coworkers regard Andrew and Neil with warm familiarity, a little too used to the two famous athletes rolling up for food their nutritionist would not approve of. Andrew takes their bag from the worker without much acknowledgement of his shock, peeling off before they can so much as stutter a sound of disbelief.

They'll get used to it.

Greedily, Neil digs through the bag.

"I think he expects it by now," Andrew answers, uncaring. His eyes flick to the side when Neil's rummaging pauses, and Neil sends him a suspicious look.

"Two fries," he states, not quite a question, but a confirmation of what he's seeing at the bottom of the bag. Two orders of fries.

Then, in the privacy of their car, Andrew lets his feelings shine through. He rolls his eyes, but the edge of a smile plays on his lips. "Don't act like you don't eat half of mine. I got you your own for once."

A 'hmph' escapes Neil's mouth, and he holds a fry in front of his face. He can't exactly refute Andrew's claims, he is a notorious fry fiend, but...

He doesn't have to like it.

"Aren't I sweet?" Andrew says, mockingly, and Neil hates that the answer is actually yes.

"Salty," he corrects, surrendering to pop the fry into Andrew's mouth.

That's all he's getting from Neil's stash though.

The Lotus roars as Andrew pulls away from the stand and up the nearby hill. Most people at the drive in come early, eager to get spots closer to the screen, but they have a special spot far away from the throng of people. The hill only houses one or two other cars who have the same idea, spaced out far and free to talk or fool around in the backseats.

Neil never pays them any mind; it's hard to give attention to anything that isn't Andrew once the blond actually starts talking, offering theories about the plot or characters on screen he may or may not actually believe.

Neil has a suspicion Andrew just likes giving him more reasons to talk too.

The first movie is older, remastered but still carrying that grainy quality old horror movies have. The colors are subdued, almost rusty, and Neil's fixated by the way the flashes dance on Andrew's skin. Whether it be splotches of red or the ominous sunset, just before the eerie music begins, the scenes reflect in Andrew's golden eyes to the point where Neil can hardly follow the story.

Not that it matters, it's zombies. What more is there to get?

"Are you satisfied with the effects for once?" Andrew drawls, though surely he knows Neil's been staring at him for the last ten minutes. He doesn't put up a fight anymore when it comes to that, instead playing with Neil's salt ridden fingertips and drinking his milkshake.

Smiling, Neil lets his eyes drift to the screen. A show of gore and fake blood has him nodding, not nearly as affronted as he usually is. The woman on screen is a good actress, though movies will never get true anguished screams exactly right.

"Mm, practical ones are better," Neil says, commenting on the lack of CGI. Another good thing about older movies: they had to build the monsters themselves, had to spend a lot more time on the makeup and fake guts. It's slightly more unsettling, considering what Neil has seen and done, but less annoying than the computer generated stuff.

When Neil zones out too long, he feels a fry poke his cheek, and he opens his mouth automatically. Andrew watches him with a small smile. Neil's not sure when Andrew grew more comfortable smiling, but somewhere along the way they both got used to it. It's a subtle, quiet expression on the blond, but that's how Neil likes it. Andrew's personality will never be loud, never cheery like Nicky's or Matt's. But it feels like a secret, something reserved for those that mean a lot to the blond. Neil can never feel anything but pride when he sees it, when Andrew lets himself express a bone deep contentment for those people in his life.

For Neil.

"What is it?" Andrew asks, and Neil waves at the screen, bored with it all of a sudden.

"I'll never understand the point of people who approach the first zombie," he says, and he says this every time. And alright, he knows that's the only way to truly kick off the plot but it always rubs him the wrong way.

"It's not like they know it's a zombie, Neil," Andrew replies, in reference to the next unfortunate victim to approach the zombified man in the park. The zombie had been stumbling around, and the older lady simply couldn't help but ask if the man was alright. Being a good samaritan will get you killed every time.

Neil throws Andrew a look, aware that Andrew isn't so much inviting Neil's rant as much as he's poking it hard with a stick.

"Excuse me, I'm already wary of normal people walking around," Neil points out. And that's justified in his mind, given what he's been through. People are weird and should be avoided unless absolutely necessary. Neil's therapist, who he's begrudgingly getting used to, might not agree but Neil's not quite ready to fully tackle the issue yet. Instead, he gestures to the way the poor lady's face is now being eaten. "I see someone stumbling around like that? I'm not going near them! At minimum you should consider them drunk and violent."

Or at the very least: real fucking annoying.

"I think you have more survival experience than most people," Andrew says, but Neil knows he's not actually defending the character's stupidity. Andrew agrees, and his smile grows when Neil huffs.

For effect, Neil slumps back into his seat, arms crossed. When Andrew tries to reach for his hand, he playfully swats it away, doing his best to not show cracks in the mask he's wearing. It's a skill he learned from his boyfriend, the complete lack of expression. Problem is he can seldom keep it up for longer than a few minutes.

Neil eventually smirks, right on cue, turning over in the passenger seat so his body is facing Andrew. It's not nearly as seductive as he wants it to be, what with the food wrappers and wrinkly clothes, but he knows it's enough to be infuriating. "You think it's hot," he sing songs, and Andrew sighs.

This time, when he reaches out, Neil doesn't refuse the offered hand. On screen, more unassuming citizens are devoured.

The image of the crowd reminds him of the banquet, of his switched off phone that's probably blowing up with questions about where they are. It's another world at this point—the expensive suits, dinner, the rehearsed words.

Here in their car, sitting in the dark in his hoodie with his boyfriend's hand in his, Neil feels far more spoiled. That doesn't mean he's not appreciative though, and the weight of his accomplishment sits warm in his chest, flowing through him to remind him it's not a dream. He's alive, he's here, he's with—

"Yes," Andrew interrupts Neil's train of thought, voice nearly a whisper. "But your downfall is obvious."

That gets Neil's attention, though he does preen from the compliment. "Hm?"

Andrew shifts in his own seat, and for the first time that night, Neil realizes how tired the blond must be. His muscles slump with exhaustion, his eyes blinking away the strain, but it's a good tired, the kind you feel when you can finally relax and sink into your bed. Home. Neil experiences that a lot, when it's the two of them, and the scope of the feeling is only intensified by Andrew's words.

"You'd go back," he reminds Neil, because that's now something that can't be debated. Neil's breathing stutters, and he hears the unspoken words: for me.

It's no surprise that no matter how things change, Andrew's first instinct will be to chip away at something, to present a flaw to protect himself. Neil's not sure he's even aware he's doing it, the need to value himself as something lowly and not worth fighting for.

Neil will keep proving him wrong, time and time again.

"That's not a downfall, that's strengthening my team," Neil quips, and Andrew huffs a laugh, rolling his eyes.

But Neil won't let him get away with that. He picks the buzzing insecurity swarming around Andrew's head right from the air, and crushes it until there's nothing left. At least for the moment; with them it always comes back, they just get better at dealing with it.

"I mean it," Neil says, and it's not him being a shit like back at the banquet. This isn't a barrage of compliments to make Andrew flustered, and from the way the blond stills, he understands that. Neil's tone holds an almost dangerous quality, ready to slash anyone who would dare refute it. It's hollow, haunting; he would've been a much better actor for horror films than the ones in this movie. "Andrew, if you're with me, I can do anything."

That hasn't stopped being true, and he doesn't think it'll ever be the case. He won't ever be without Andrew.

Andrew doesn't tell him to be quiet or stop, just lets the words settle between them and mix with the suspenseful music from the screen. There's a muffled scream below from an open window as soon as the jump scare happens, but neither of them flinch. Andrew's gaze bores into him as the blond shifts in his seat, mirroring Neil's awkward pose.

They're both still so compact though, they make it work. Neil pulls their hands up onto the center console, rubbing the back of Andrew's palm.

"Hey," he says stupidly, after he's been staring too long. Andrew's gaze turns sleepy, gooey, if Neil will be so bold. Andrew doesn't respond to his earlier claim, and Neil knows parts of Andrew's language well enough to know that the silence speaks more towards his agreement than anything.

Andrew may not accept all of it, but he'll hold it close, he'll remember it and chew on it as much as he needs to. That's all Neil can hope for.

"Hi," Andrew whispers back, during a lull in the on screen violence, and Neil scoots as close to him as he can. He doesn't want to miss a single syllable, a breath.

Without much else to say, Neil lets the giddiness from before rise up, finally speaking on it. His smile is too much to smother, but he tries and fails. "We're in the hall of fame together."

In an instant Andrew's smile falls, but it's an obvious show. And he calls Neil dramatic; it's a shared behavior. Neil laughs uncontrollably from it, from the way Andrew shakes his head up at the roof of the car.

"Junkie," he mumbles, because there's not much more to explain.

Or so Andrew thinks. Really it's less about Exy in that moment for Neil. The part that makes him so overjoyed, that pushes him over the edge into bliss...

"I'm proud of you," Neil manages through the laughter, and repeats himself with a few reallys thrown in for good measure. But still, Andrew doesn't get it. Or he does, and he's being a shit on purpose.

"Tonight was about you, you know," the blond tries, tone suffering, but the itch of a smile threatens his blank facade again, and Neil's main job is to poke and prod it out of hiding. It's a fun game, no longer difficult. Not that he ever minded, not that he could mind anything about what makes Andrew...Andrew.

Neil looks up at the ceiling too, as if he can see through it, like he can see far beyond their universe and beyond the cosmos. They're so insignificant, he knows, but funny how these moments never feel swallowed up by the weight of it all. One day though, he supposes they'll fade into that nothingness, and that's why it's such a comfort to him, to know their names will be next to each other in some way beyond gravestones. "I know, but I just like to remind you. Everyone is going to remember you now."

Andrew is one person he doesn't want to ever be forgotten, for how he makes Neil feel...it would be criminal for that to even be a possibility. Neil huffs a laugh; Andrew's more the type to wax poetic, to say sappy bullshit and then try to act like he hasn't. But here Neil is, heart singing.

There will never be a way to leave that feeling behind as evidence, so everyone who ever doubted Andrew will know, but Neil can wish...Neil can dream. He can do whatever he wants.

Andrew tilts his head, his free hand casting itself forward, gesturing to the world beyond the screen, beyond the ends of the planet. "There’s no point in being remembered like that. When we’re gone, we’ll just be gone."

And in some ways, Neil agrees, or at least understands. Legacies only mean so much, can only withstand so much time. There will be other sports heroes, new rookies and players with their own accomplishments, their own time in the spotlight. But that's not what Neil means, not what he believes in. His fame is meaningless, it will wither and die. So will Andrew's. But...but, he's not afraid now to have that spark of want, the need to preserve as much as possible.

Though if he's being honest, and he won't tell Andrew because he's sure to refute it, there will never be as good a goalie. Neil knows that.

Neil grins gently, squeezing Andrew's hand to call his attention back to where it belongs. Andrew listens, always bends for Neil in some way. Andrew extends his free hand across his lap, and in sync, Neil lifts his leg to drape it across the console. Andrew catches his ankle gently, thumb resting in the dip of bone. Neil shivers; he's been treated with such care for years, but it's never easy to fathom all the way. Andrew's hands are weapons, and yet he cradles Neil like glass, like he's not the tainted mess he is under these clothes.

"Normally I would agree, but you’re kind of my loophole," Neil whispers, shrugging in that infuriating way, the one that communicates clearly that nothing Andrew says can convince him otherwise.

Andrew is familiar with it, and is no longer dead set on fighting Neil every step of the way.

"You're ridiculous," the blond says instead, tracing through Neil's jeans, over the memorized lines and scars of his calves. Neil wonders if he likes to do that especially in these moments, to remember Neil is real. He's not going anywhere. "I don't ever know what to do with you."

"Kiss me? That might help," Neil offers, and in the next moment Andrew is meeting him halfway over the console. Neil wasn't even aware he'd shifted so close, but then he's surrounded by just Andrew. There's a hand in his hair, tangling the curls, and his mouth opens for Andrew's like a switch has been pulled. It's automatic, a craving satisfied. Over the years, Andrew's kisses became predictable, the taste of him no longer surprising or laced with desperation. Despite all that, Neil thinks they're even better now.

It's an exhilarating feeling, to know someone so, so well, down to the press of his tongue and the slot of his lips.

Neil sighs when Andrew pulls away, breath hot and eyes lidded, and alright, maybe they're not completely predictable. Neil is always taken aback by how quick his body is reduced to jello, barely keeping himself upright.

It makes him brainless, makes him ramble, so it slips out again. "I want everyone to remember you," Neil breathes into Andrew's mouth, chasing him as he pulls back. Andrew's hand on his chest stops him, Andrew's stare as intense as ever.

It's quiet; Neil has no idea what's going on around him, either with the movie or the crowd. That's unheard of for him, isn't it? But he's not scared, or nervous. Eventually the instinct will come back, the urge to check the locked doors and look behind the car for things lurking in the shadows. But right them, it's just the two of them, wrapped up.

Andrew tugs on his leg, pulling Neil forward until his thighs hit the console, and looks disappointed they can't be glued at the hip. It's cute, but Neil bites his tongue on the comment. Andrew must sense it, because his eyes flash back up to Neil's face, reaching up to cradle it. Neil can predict that trajectory too, the way Andrew's fingers brush the burn marks.

"Idiot," Andrew says. "Only you get to remember me like this."

Damn you, Andrew.

The edges of Andrew's lips quirk up, triumphant in the face of Neil's stunned silence, but Neil refuses to admit he's won. Only...partially.

Neil will hold these moments for himself, close and free from prying eyes. He'll do that for as long as he can, covet them until he can't keep it in anymore. He supposes that's the best compromise either of them could ask for.

The swell of need in his chest intensifies, and he reaches forward to tug on Andrew's sleeve. It feels so dumb; he's allowed to touch more than this, he's allowed to grab and cradle Andrew's skin. But it's too much in the moment, and he tugs again, like he's right back in college.

"Home?" he whispers, unsure. Andrew looks around them, back at the screen and then at the moon hanging high in the sky. Technically, this is a double feature, and it feels almost wrong to pop this bubble around them. Neil's not sure he wants the moment to end either, not even when the credits for the first movie roll and early birds start to peel out of the lot. Headlights ghost over them, but the only move Andrew makes is to lean down and lower his seat all the way.

Neil, smiles, and knows exactly what to do.

They reach a silent agreement as Neil hops into Andrew's seat, fitting snugly against him as the new movie opens up:

No. Not yet.

Neil notes with amusement how the reporters sit, slightly more relaxed, like they're not quite ready to let go of their professional personas in favor of pulling their legs up. Soon enough, they'll get there. Neil's barely begun to scratch the surface, and he hopes their matching looks of disbelief will fade too.

Neil puts down his water, throat already aching, but if that's the price he has to pay so be it. He's been feeling extra lethargic today, underwater and tied at the ankles, but it's not enough to dissuade him. Rubbing his throat, he smiles. "We ended up really sore from sitting like that all night, but we didn't regret it," he says. The purr of the Lotus is so loud in his mind he almost expects for someone to roll up to the building in one.

Andrew had driven them extra careful that night.

Blake jots something down in his notepad, skims it, then crosses out something else. A question he no longer needs answered, perhaps. When he looks up, Neil is waiting. "That's where you went? You got a lot of flack for that disappearance."

Oh he did, lots of speculations; a feud with Kevin Day, a PR war, a statement about the sports climate.

Really, he'd just wanted some snuggles.

"I've caused worse scandals," Neil says, brushing it off. Compared to all the other segments he's had in the tabloids and news media over the years, including the reveal of his bloody family business, the hall of fame incident is far from important.

And honestly, Neil doesn't care about any of that. Rayah seems to sense that the sports talk won't get them anywhere, and she offers him a laugh. "Andrew wasn't very social, was he?"

Ah, good. They're learning.

Neil's demeanor changes, happily steered in the direction of Andrew, and he leans back. An understatement.

"Neither of us were," he replies, examining his nail beds. That's not entirely it though, and he knew it then too. He's not sure why he never called Andrew out on it, maybe because it was so obvious he didn't need to. "But...I think in that case he was just trying to protect me. I was tired from all the preparations all week. Even when I was young, Andrew wasn’t really keen on letting me stretch myself to my limits."

In fact, after his freshman year of college, no threats in sight, Andrew's protectiveness was even more apparent. Neil endangering himself was a thing of the past, and Andrew made sure to keep it that way. After Baltimore, Andrew simply wouldn't tolerate it. He was aware of Neil's exhaustion, his fatigue, and while he never babied Neil, he wouldn't stop himself from intervening when he could sense Neil would not.

The stress of the hall of fame ceremony sapped Neil clean of any energy, that final speech pushed him to the edge. So Andrew took his hand, and pulled him away from it.

The two reporters share a look then, and Neil gets that surge of annoyance. Andrew would tell him to calm down, that it doesn't matter, but well...

Andrew isn't here, and Neil can be as angry as he wants when people misinterpret their relationship.

After a while, Rayah clears her throat, cutting the tension. At least she has the decency to treat him with the same respect he's giving them and not lie. Neil was never one for politeness. "I'll be honest, it’s hard to imagine someone like Andrew Minyard being that way. He sounds so gentle when you talk about him."

Though the insinuation was clear: to everyone else, he was the exact opposite.

"He had a lot of sides to him," Neil responds, because it's better than the petty response of well he was. He supposes that's not fair, not to them and not to Andrew. He plays with the watch on his wrist, now a little dated and not nearly as shiny. He's pretty sure the time is off now, so he's still the rabbit, running late.

"He could be so caring, but he never gave up his firmness, or his no bullshit nature. Believe me, if he didn't agree with me, he would've let me know. He had a way of snapping me out of bad decisions...not always kindly," Neil says, still grinning.

"You sound like you didn't mind," Blake says, though the confusion is still clear.

Neil had been deceived and led astray so much in his life, forced to swallow lies and spit them back out. Being with Andrew was so freeing; he never had to worry about those things ever again.

"No, I...I loved that about him," he says quietly. He's having a bad time with words, nothing new there. It's hard to make it sensical without having experienced the relationship first hand. He wishes Dan were here, she's able to convince people of anything. Still, he pushes, he needs to explain this if nothing else. "No one ever bothered to see Andrew beyond the hard exterior. Like you said...you can't see Andrew as gentle. Well, he was seldom anything but around me as we got older. I trusted him not to lie to me, and to take care of me, and I did the same in return."

He realizes his voice is taking on a desperate quality, but he can't help it. He could fill books with anecdotes, times where Andrew held him close or was just an absolute pillar of comfort. Try as he might today, he knows he'll never say enough.

People will still remember Andrew primarily as an unfeeling ghost, as the person who punched other players or was quick to anger, though that was far from the truth. Unless Neil makes his case here, that'll never go away.

"It's not that either of you ever provided proof," Blake says, and flinches at Neil's glare. It's a fiery thing, he hasn't used it in a while, but he assumes it's still just as acidic from how guilty the reporter looks. He stutters, and backtracks as best he can. "And based on what you said, I totally get why! It's just—"

Rayah, who is far better at making a case for the public's idiocy, is quick to lean forward. "There were only a few moments people ever saw him act like he cared as much as you say," she tells him, and it's followed by a wince. "One of them...wasn't exactly happy."

Oh.

In an instant, Neil knows exactly what they mean. It was all over the place, wasn't it?

He almost forgets that; he was too busy drowning in his own terror. It was over forty years ago and yet the memory is so strong, the same pain shoots up Neil's legs. The nausea is faint, a reminder of how unbearable and sleepless the following few nights were. He remembers a sickening crack and the shout of people, the flash of cameras.

And Andrew.

Always Andrew, running towards him.

Yes, he supposes it's hard to challenge that moment between them, to categorize Andrew's actions as anything other than fierce protectiveness and worry. Yet when Neil thinks of that incident...what the public saw barely scratched the surface.

He can still feel Andrew's hands digging into his shoulders, can hear the slow footsteps walking into their home...

The room is quiet for a beat too long, and Rayah and Blake exchange a look. It's Blake that eventually clears his throat, and Neil regards him slowly, trying to shake off the beast of a memory.

It's over, it passed. But...it was important, so...

"Are we allowed to ask about that day?" Blake asks, voice small and gauging Neil's reaction.

He sighs; he can't exactly avoid it. There's lots more stories to tell after the fact that won't feel the same without the context, but there will be some conditions.

Neil nods once, tightly. He spreads it out in his head, and an old beat of paranoia surges up in him. Stupid. He's not that dangerous anymore, no one is watching him, no one is looking for him. But it has him looking at the door anyways, wondering if the room is bugged or lined with cameras he can't see. Well, he'll just be careful.

He flattens his hands across the blanket, chewing on his words. "I suppose it would be a disservice to what I'm trying to do if I didn't talk about it," Neil answers, gesturing to Rayah. "Go ahead."

Neil braces himself before taking the plunge, and gets lost in his past once again.

"The day you were injured, what was it like?"

#andreil #aftg #all for the game #andrew minyard #neil josten

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candidlytaron · 7 years ago

Text

Chapter One: ένα

Πρώρο Μέρος (Part I)

PRELUDE:

SO CLOSE, YET, SO FAR

Her emotions are mostly kept at bay The songs she writes in secret She wishes that one day she will say The things she had been keeping

His emotions concealed and he tries to shut down All the things he had been feeling But if it wasn't for that chance encounter He might have never gotten the true meaning

Guilt hits her, and regret hits him All the things that could have happened So she finally expressed her heart And the willingness that she's been trapping

• • •

Remember the words you told me, "love me 'til the day I die?" Surrender my everything 'cause you made me believe you’re mine Yeah, you used to call me baby, now you calling me by name Takes one to know one, yeah You beat me at my own damn game

— 5 Seconds of Summer • Youngblood

• • •

THE DRUNK MEETING

ISLA

With her signature side-swept hairdo and long, black gown that has a slit on her left leg up to her thigh, she is like a masterpiece framed and caged in a glass the moment she sets foot in the red carpet. Blinding lights flashes at her with incoherent babbling from the paparazzi trying to beckon her to look straight at their cameras. Isla tries to look at every camera present, but there's just too many. After all, the flashes from their individual DSLRs makes it hard to determine where the cameras really are. It's about an hour and a half before showtime, and she needs to address interviewers and fans that are waiting for her behind the barricade, screaming her name.

She is beckoned by an interviewer from a famous gossip site, and she comes forward to entertain her. After she's asked a few typical questions (for example, how she reacted and felt the first time she found out that she was nominated. Winning, or just simply being nominated in this award show is already such an achievement, let alone be nominated at about four categories, which, she is) the auburn-haired girl shifts the topic into something that's quite stressful to answer.

"I heard Taron Egerton is going to be here. Do you have plans on meeting him?" She asks.

Right. That very name that just makes her heart skip a beat. Taron Egerton is her celebrity crush, and had been an avid fan of him since she began her career, and this may be the day where she finally gets noticed. Her faint obsession with the young lad has been revealed on few of her interviews, but enough to get the word across. Taron Egerton is Isla Constantine's celebrity crush.

Isla stammers, and her breathing begins to grow heavy. But she is an actress—of course she should be pretty good at hiding her anxiety as it occurs. All because she wasn't informed that he is going to be in the same place, breathing the same atmosphere as she is. All she knew was he's nominated for an award or two, but she wasn't that quite updated on news about him because of her busy schedule.

But all she can do now is pretend that she knew he was coming. This is where her acting skills becomes extra convenient. "Yeah, although I'm a bit shy. I have no clue how he'll react if we meet," which is true. It's either he recognises her and think that 'oh, this is that famous actress who has been obsessing with me' or he doesn't at all. Isla can't tell what is the far more embarrassing scenario.

She's nervous now, especially on the fact that has crawled on her spine the moment she found out about Taron's unexpected presence.

Delilah Heely. International supermodel.

Delilah and Taron had been going out for quite a while now—almost a year and a half—and although Taron has been a very secretive person since the start, the word still managed to get around because of paparazzi works and Delilah with her social media posts that slightly angers Isla. Because, god, let's face it—jealousy is an understatement to express how she usually feels whenever Delilah uploads a lovey-dovey photo of her and Taron. How gross, she would often mutter to herself. As if she stands a chance with the Welsh actor.

"If he was present here at this very carpet near us, and I'd bring him in, would that be okay?"

Isla feels her heart drop to her stomach. Here she establishes that she is beyond unready to meet her favourite actor as much as she would love to. She takes a quick glance behind her to check if the lad really is around, taking the interviewer's words as kind of a hint, but he's nowhere to be seen.

She faces back to the camera and the interviewer and confesses: "no. I'm really nervous."

After a few more typical questions, the interviewer bids Isla her goodbyes to move on to another celebrity present in the red carpet. So Isla moves on to her fans and approach the barricade. The high-pitched screaming grows even louder as she walks towards the metal bars, and the girls at the front row are nearly shoving the upper part of their body inside the red carpet, phones in their hands and waving for Isla.

"Isla, over here!" One fan screams, and it reminds her of the paparazzi that tried to make her look at his camera from a while ago. Except now the fan is actually pronouncing her name right, and it doesn't sound harsh. And the paparazzi was calling her Iz-la the whole time. "Isla! Can we take a picture?" The fan says, nearly shoving her phone on Isla's face. A bit annoyed, but she takes the black iPhone from her hand and smile for the picture. She then gives back her phone and do the same for the others, even conversing with them for a bit with simple 'how do you do's, a very typical Isla greeting to her fans, it has nearly became her signature and a source of teasing done by her fan girls and fan boys.

Now, Isla's fuse is short and she can get a bit annoyed because of the fans' aggressiveness, but she's still grateful for her fans and, according to most, one of the few that actually treats them right. She knows how it is to be a fangirl, so she treats her fans the way they deserved to be treated, one critic said. At times she would really have to object to some fans' requests but she knows how to explain herself and fortunately, the fans are understanding, but some just can't bring themselves to comprehend and, in modern slang, tend to unstan.

After she takes pictures, chat a little and even do video greetings for fans, she leaves the barricade and head inside the theater where the award show is going to be held. She isn't at ease as she makes her way to the theater, anxiously keeping an eye on every four corners of the lobby in case the Kingsman actor shows up as unexpected as him actually coming in the show.

The coast is clear for Isla. She searches for the seat with the signboard of her photo and name on it. She places her clutch down on the seat but she continues to walk in search for Taron's, and she discovers that he's about a row and four seats away from him; she's practically invisible. Thank god, she thinks as she heaves a sigh and head straight back to her assigned seat.

The show begins, and one out of four categories that Isla is nominated for is announced, and it's one out of four awards for her as she climbs up the stage when her name is read on the envelope and announced that she has won.

Shakily, she delivers her acceptance speech. Not because her favourite actor is around, but because she's still not used to speaking in front of people as herself. There's still stage fright lingering on her stomach despite all her theater experience, because there's a huge difference between acting and dialogues that are memorized from a script and impromptu speaking in front of about twenty-thousand strangers when you least expect it.

"...thank you so much. And to my fans, this is for you!" She says, concluding her speech and raising the trophy up as she walks down the stage and everyone applauds her.

She heads back to her seat from backstage and see Taron looking at her. He smiles as if he is congratulating her. Her heart beats out of her chest at the sight of him and his grin, but can't bring herself to believe that that actually happened. Maybe I wasn't the one he was smiling at, a cynical part of her mind whispers, but deep within she knows that the smile is for her. She hopes that it was for her. She blushes, satisfied about the very first interaction she's ever had with him, even if it's just as simple as a simper and a nod.

But her eyes shifts to the brunette girl with a knowing face beside him, perhaps, also clapping a bit for her, and her heart taps against her ribs rapidly.

"Good girl, Isla," her manager, a middle-aged man named Christopher Carolos says, clapping cheerfully. Isla has no plus ones to invite because her parents are across the country, nor does she have a significant other, so she picked her manager to be her date instead since she feels like she owes him a lot for her success. Frankly, she wishes that she would have someone to flaunt in award shows and premiers the way other artists do.

"I feel like you are going to wipe out those awards," he continues.

She laughs. "You are just saying that because you're my manager. Of course you would think that I'm amazing. You love your own, right?"

The tall man leans over to say something, because the crowd is getting louder with their cheers because of another celebrity being announced as a winner. "It's true, Isle. Stop doubting your potentials," he tells her. And he's been telling her that over and over again like a broken record because as much as winning a Tony, and now this award, she still feels like she isn't good enough, and even she doesn't know why. Perhaps it has something to do with her experience in theater workshops, where she was repeatedly undermined by her peers until she believed it herself that she sucked. The confidence is still a work-in-progress up until now. It's strange how it takes years and years to build confidence up just to have one harsh criticism knock it down in a matter of seconds.

You don't belong here, they told her, and it echoes in her head almost everyday. Now, she has proven them wrong by winning awards and praises from critics, but for her, it still isn't enough. She's also unsure how she's going to build herself back up again but she keeps telling herself that she's making progress, but even she knows that that's a lie, because you can't fix something without knowing what the problem is first. It's like apologizing to someone without knowing what you did. There's little to no sincerity. Most of the time it's done just to get it over with.

• • •

Christopher was correct with his prediction, and Isla brings home all the four awards that she has won, however the show hasn't ended yet. There are three more categories to announce. Similarly, Taron has already won two out of two. And now they await until the end of the show for the after party. They were told that it's going to be amazing.

Isla excuses herself to go to the washroom. She, then, gets out of the theater, into the lobby and make her way into halls where the lavatory is located, where she hears a couple arguing and the man's voice sounds ever so familiar for Isla.

As she walks toward the halls, the fighting gets louder. And when she realises who it is, she presses her back on the wall to avoid being seen, then carries on to the sink located outside of the loo. She can still hear them, and she tries her very best for this supposed-to-be private conversation slur in her hearing, but she fails to do so—everything, every word is still crystal clear.

"We are through, Taron," Delilah says and she sounded as if she's choking back tears. "We're done."

"Okay," Taron replies, calmly. As if he's been expecting for her to say it. "Okay. If that's what you want."

Then Isla hears footsteps so she runs inside the women's room. She takes a peek outside, the door blocking most of her sight. And when she sees that there are no people outside, she runs back out to the washroom, looking at herself in the mirror in pure disbelief. Her jaw nearly dropped to the sink.

She had just witnessed a break up. And not just any break up. It's Taron and Delilah's. It makes her wonder if this will be up in gossip sites first thing tomorrow, but nevertheless, she is apparently the first one outside the relationship to know. And it's none of my business, she thinks, and she is correct. For some reasons, she thought she was going to celebrate on the inside when this happens just like any insensitive fan would, but now she just feels so bad for Taron. He didn't deserve to be treated like that, she thinks. He deserves way, way better. As if her input would make any difference. Someone better like me, her delusional mind continues but she shakes her head, trying to convince herself not to think something so insensitive at a time like this. Plus, she doesn't even know whose fault is it in reality. She can't give any judgments.

When she gets back, she turns to Taron's seat and see him appearing like he's breathing heavily. The seat next to him is now vacant. She badly wants to approach him and comfort him, but he doesn't know her, and he has no clue that she heard them fight. They don't actually know each other for Isla to suddenly become best of friends with Taron just because of his break up. And besides, if she does and Taron lets her in, everyone is going to think that she's insensitive—taking this opportunity to attract her celebrity crush to date her, now that he's in a vulnerable state, even letting herself be a rebound after a one and a half year of relationship. Oh god, I'd rather not, she thinks at the thought of that possibility. She might not be living to please anyone (her words, on one interview she did with Ellen) but she doesn't want to come out as a bad person either.

She lets herself drop to her chair and Christopher leans to whisper. "What's going on? You look like you've just seen a ghost."

She didn't realise that she mimicks Taron's expression mixed with her own emotions towards what she just eavesdropped on.

"I think I might have just witnessed a break up," she says, a little shaken up. She hugs herself, gaping at the cold air and shivering.

"Whose break up?"

She heaves a sigh. "Taron and Delilah's."

Christopher's mouth is now in an 'o' shape, and he laughs. "Does that make you happy?"

Isla sighs loudly. "I'm not." She answers honestly. "Even I didn't expect that I would feel this way. I'm not going to be insensitive knowing that he's hurting. Although he does a pretty job to conceal that."

• • •

The afterparty looks like a rave after a marathon that throws colored powder on you and it stains your clothing forever. Isla thinks she isn't dressed appropriately to head to the moshpit, though, but who isn't? Everyone is in formal clothing but that doesn't stop them. She's just making an alibi to stay because she just doesn't feel like pushing her claustophobic self in the sea of people and jumping on her heels. Her feet is already killing her because there are no chairs in the venue. So she stays on the cocktail table, leaning her elbow on it with a drink in her hand, occasionally rubbing her lower legs and wincing in pain.

Suddenly, a brunet guy with the same drink approaches her, and he looks extremely fucked. "Hey," he greets. "What is up?"

Isla recognises that familiar accent anywhere, and turning to face the guy sends shock in every part of her body like she's been electrocuted. She's not ready for this, and she doesn't know when she ever will be. But apparently, the time needs to be now.

"Taron," she gasps, but not enough for the boy to hear her. "Are you all right?" She still asks, even though she damn well knows that he isn't. Physically and emotionally.

"Yeah. I drank about six strong shots today. My girlfriend broke up with me, for fuck's sake," he replies, slurring in every word that he says. "I don't know anymore, but this drink is amazing," he continues, raising the cocktail glass as if Isla can't already see it.

Isla realises that Taron is extremely drunk, therefore his congeniality is up high, so is his honesty. And he probably won't remember any of this interaction when he wakes up with a strong hangover tomorrow. Isla is surprisingly fine with that because she isn't at ease either. She just wonders how many people he's told about his fight with his girlfriend accidentally, and her concerns are raised. At least she can keep her mouth shut, but what about the others?

Isla takes the cocktail from Taron's hand and down it in one go. He looks at her as if he can't believe what she just did. "What the fuck?"

"You already had too much to drink," she says. Taron tries to grab her glass but she draws it away. "Ah. No."

She is unsure either why she appears a little too confident talking to him. Probably because he'll have no memory of her bossing him around like this at their first official meeting. She just wants the best for him but he would never understand that now that he's heartbroken—that is, if he's conscious about what's going on, which he isn't, she hopes. Otherwise, this will be such an odd memory for Taron.

"My girlfriend broke up with me," he repeats. "Let me have this!"

"No, Taron," she says, sounding like a best friend—scratch that, sounding like a mother. "I will not let you have this. Plus, it's my drink."

Surprisingly, he nods. "Yeah, you're right." Then he pats her arm. "You...you're right. I'm going home. I'll see you whenever, Constantine." It brings Isla to shock that he somehow remembers her. But she doesn't blame him for calling her by her surname. There will always be hesitations before trying to say her name out loud. "Is it Iz-la or Isla, like Island without n and d?" asked one of the interviewers when she was still at her starting point.

Isla gets goosebumps tickling her spine as she feels Taron's hand squeeze hers as his goodbye. Then, he leaves the place. And Isla in complete shock.

• • •

Isla scrolls on her Twitter feed that rages with fan accounts dedicated for her. She has this habit of following back and replying to their messages as she believes that one of the greatest gifts an artist could ever give to their adoring fans is recognition. Although there are conditions: They better not be rude to other fans nor any other artists. Otherwise she, with no hesitation, will unfollow.

She sees someone retweet a TMZ article about Taron Egerton getting drunk with a video attached. And her she feels like someone has pinched her heart at the sight of the gossip article, to which her fan quoted with "What the hell happened?"

With a heavy heart, she looks up if the word already spread like a wildfire, googling Taron Egerton and Delilah Heely. And true enough, it already did.

CHAPTER TWO

#taron egerton #taron egerton fanfiction #taron egerton fanfic #taron david egerton #eggsy unwin #kingsman #please help me #im going to pass oUT THE FUCK

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