#and maybe let my hands do something productive rather than form into fists and dig into themselves

[doctorweebmd]

Hello my friends i am in agony 

[staysaneathome]

This Was Not A Dare, Reigen

Jon glares at each of the— the suspects traitors in front of him, tape recorder clutched tight in one hand.

Martin, wringing his hands uselessly, eyes wide and beseeching. Tim, fists clenched hard enough for his knuckles to go white and returning his gaze with a death stare of his own. Sasha, arms folded to form a barrier between Jon and herself, expression a perfect mask of concern. Reigen, radiating disappointment in every one of his gestures and quips. Elias, eyes weary, fingers rubbing the bridge of his nose.

Some intervention this is turning out to be.

Jon wants to scream. Wants to reach out and shake someone, anyone, until they admit he’s making sense and it’s the rest of the world that’s gone mad.

Every single one of them (except Martin) could’ve killed Gertrude. He knows he has no proof that they did, but he has no proof that they didn’t either, can’t they see that? If they don’t want him to suspect them, it should be easy for them to actually give him proof of their innocence (like Martin did), instead of just repeating platitudes of “you know this isn’t acceptable adult behavior, Jon” and “you’re better than this, Jon”.

Who cares about knowing better or acceptable behavior when it’s your very life on the line? He’s half tempted to throttle the con artist, see how dignified or adult he is when he’s the one with a murderer on his tail!

…Not that Jon is a murderer. It’s just the principle of the thing, is all.

“Jon,” Elias says, tone soothing in all the ways he doesn’t want it to be. “This is absurd. This goes far beyond an unhealthy work environment. I’ll admit it’s partly my fault for letting it get this bad, I should have intervened earlier.”

Reigen cuts in with a hand gesture that is as effusive as it is dismissive. “That doesn’t make his behavior okay, Bouchard-san. It may be bad here, but Jon chose to follow me, Tim and Sasha, and yell at Martin, rather than going to the police or paying a detective, like Herlock Sholmes or something.”

Jon sputters. “Wh- It’s Sherlock Holmes, not—and he’s fictional!”

Reigen blinks sleepily, one eyebrow raised. “Oh? That doesn’t sound right. Are you sure?”

“Yes!” Jon all but shouts, rapidly reconsidering his stance on braining the sardonic little git with his tape recorder. “Don’t you even—an-and you’re deflecting again! Just like with your ridiculous ‘haunted gun’ nonsense!”

“I’m not!” Reigen says, clearly deflecting. “I’ve seen this kind of thing loads of times as the number one psychic. When a weapon kills lots of people over 100 years, the bad energy gets bigger and bigger until the gun grows an evil spirit and is hungry—”

“I refuse to believe Gertrude Robinson was murdered by a sentient blunderbuss!!”

“Be that as it may,” Elias interrupts, shooting them both a stern frown. “This is exactly the kind of thing I was talking about, Jon. Given how badly it’s affected your work ethic, I will be taking direct action to ensure it does not continue.”

Jon can feel his shoulders hunch almost against his will, dread pooling in his stomach at the thought of whatever punishment is about to be unjustly inflicted on him.

Only Martin looks half as worried as he feels, glancing between him and Elias nervously. By contrast, Tim looks downright triumphant, smirk nasty and vindictive. Sasha’s somewhere between those two, not openly celebrating his soon-to-be-downfall, but not acting like she’d lift a finger on his behalf either, though he’s unsure why that feels like it should surprise him. She’s always been as neutral as Switzerland.

Reigen, oddly enough, has more in common with Martin than with Tim. He’s staring at Elias like he’s waiting for a bit of news he knows he won’t like.

Jon thinks he’d appreciate that more if he wasn’t about to be unfairly lambasted simply for trying to stop a murderer and bring justice for an old woman who probably died frightened and alone. Much like Jon probably will once he’s been hobbled by whatever Elias is about to say next.

“Such as by restricting access to the archives from members of the public who are ultimately doing you more harm than good.”

…Wait.

What?

“What?!” Tim, Martin, and Sasha echo.

Reigen glances between them all, blinking in confusion.

Jon shares the sentiment entirely. His punishment is…for someone else to be removed from the archives? Someone he doesn’t employ or even like that much, no less?

He must have misheard, surely.

Though maybe not, given how Tim looks aghast, glancing between Elias and Reigen. “Okay, no, Reigen’s clearly not the problem here—”

“I’m very sorry, Tim, but Jon has made several remarks about the disruptive nature of Mr. Arataka’s presence in the archives.” Elias sighs. “From the arguments like the one we just witnessed to the nonsensical purchases of oddities inspired by his presence, such as Duolingo subscriptions,” Meaningful glare at Jon who resists the urge to clutch his phone guiltily, “That are now billed on the Archives’ expenses, it unfortunately seems as though he is dragging down productivity for all of you as an active stressor.”

“But we’re much better equipped to take statements from people who don’t speak English because of that!” Martin protests, stepping forward. “Isn’t it an advantage to have a more, more international perspective for our work?”

“One positive in a sea of negatives does not an advantage make.” Elias says, sounding infuriatingly like he’s misquoting something. “And really Martin, how realistic is it that this would help in more than a few isolated cases? I expected better from you.”

Martin’s face crumples, and his shoulders hunch, making himself smaller.

Jon finds his own mouth opening to—what? Say something? What would he even say?

Luckily, Sasha intervenes before he can dig his own grave further. “That’s as may be, but he’s a wonder for morale. He and Jon are funny, not anything serious, and I don’t think we’d have come to you about Jon‘s behavior unless he encouraged us to—”

“Which only fits into the delusion where Jon feels an outsider is rallying his subordinates against him, which is not good for his paranoid outlook.” Elias replies calmly. “And it’s never a healthy work environment when one employee feels the others are making them the butt of a joke.”

“I’d say that’s not as bad as when the boss feels he has the right to violate everyone’s privacy whenever he wants to just ’cause he’s feeling sad!” Tim growls.

Elias begins to answer, before Reigen finally speaks up.

“Sorry,” The con artist says carefully. “But you are…«I know this one…» banning me from the Archives? Yes?”

“That is the long and short of it, yes.” Elias says, grudgingly

“Why?” Reigen challenges, eyes hard and searching. “What have I, personally, done that’s wrong here? What behavior do I need to correct?”

There’s a moment of silence. The whirring of the tape recorder sounds uncomfortably loud.

“Mr. Arataka, are you currently under the employ of the Magnus Institute?” Elias asks, brow furrowed.

“Ah, no, no, but—”

“Are you looking to become employed by the Institute at this point in time, as a prospective member of the Archival Staff?” He fires off rapidly.

“Su-Sorry, but if you could just go a little slower—”

“Then I am afraid that unless you’re looking to fill out an employment contract or a Statement form, we cannot help you, Mr. Arataka.” Elias spreads his hands wide. “We are an academic institution, a place of research and learning. The Institute cannot allow for social dalliances on company time, especially not when those visits are negatively contributing to the work environment and the wellbeing of our staff.”

Tim throws up his hands, “I-I cannot believe this!”

Reigen’s mouth works soundlessly for a moment.

“Arataka is my…what do you call it? First name?” He says, at last. “Using it in this context is…inappropriate. Please call me Reigen, if you would, Bouchard-san.”

“Of course. My mistake, Mr. Reigen.” Elias does have the decency to look somewhat abashed. “Though, regrettably, I am going to have to ask you to leave the premises within the next twenty minutes, or I will be forced to call security.”

Reigen nods, jerkily, hands stuffed in his pockets.

Jon almost wants to call out to the fraud as he turns to go, grab him by the shoulder, pick another argument, something. He knows he should be happy, be glad that this thorn in his side will finally stop bothering him, but instead he just feels—befuddled. Off-kilter.

What happened to the man who once spent three hours arguing for the “spiritual effectiveness” of entirely performative and useless rituals, saying that ensuring his clients left his office fooled and contented was better than actually uncovering genuine supernatural forces and learning all there was to know about them? Why is he going so-so easily now, when he’s made Jon fight tooth and nail in every debate he’s had with the so-called psychic?

At the door, the con man pauses.

“Bouchard-san. You said I could come back if I had a statement to give?”

Elias shifts in his seat, looking bemused. “W-well, yes. That is a service we do provide. Of course, the statement would have to be genuine, and verifiable as such before we let you back into the Archives.”

“We don’t even do that for most of the rubbish we do take,” Tim mutters under his breath, and though Jon is glad he’s not the one being shot a quelling look, he does have to agree.

The con man turns back.

He’s got that smirk on his face that immediately puts Jon’s hackles up on instinct, prepared to argue against whatever inane point he’s come up with now to defend his phony psychic title.

“Gotcha.” Reigen says, far too cheerfully. «Ja ne.»

Then he strolls out of the office, as cool as a cucumber.

Jon could even swear he hears him whistling as he makes his way down the stairs.

There’s a moment of stunned silence.

“I’d do him.” Sasha pipes up, unhelpfully.

“Sasha!” Martin hisses, scandalized. “D-don’t you have a, a—”

“Oh, I don’t have to worry about that.” She remarks, far too blasé for someone in a newly committed relationship. “Tom’s heard about him too, and he agreed he’s just our type.”

“And I’m not?” Tim jokes, but there’s a hard edge to it that Jon’s found himself increasingly familiar with in the past few weeks.

Sasha shrugs with a mischievous little smile, as if that mattered very little to her.

Elias coughs. “Right. Well. Whatever your relations to Mr. Reigen are, please try to limit them to outside the workplace in future.”

The rest of the intervention is surprisingly subdued. Elias gives Jon access to the footage from the cameras in the rest of the Institute, and Tim bodychecks him on the way out of the office, muttering about how nice it must be to never face any consequences for his actions. Sasha follows, the way she won’t meet his eyes a condemnation in its own right.

Even Martin doesn’t say anything to him, just bites his lip and hurries past back down to the Archives. It doesn’t sting. It doesn’t.

Even as he settles in to watch and rewatch the CCTV records of Gertrude’s last week alive, Jon can’t shake the ridiculous feeling of foreboding that’s dogged him since Reigen left.

Most of him wants to say it comes from the fact that despite the fact that Reigen has not appeared in any of the camera records for the Magnus Institute before he started his term as Head Archivist in 2016, isn’t banning him from the Archives just letting the con man run around London with impunity, with no way for Jon to ascertain his movements or motives? That instead of solving a problem, Elias has just given a potential murderer free reign to escape?

But a small part of Jon, one that never could deny the sensation of being watched, that is frozen in second-hand terror whenever he reads a Statement, knows, Knows that it this stems more from the idea that the fraud will actually accomplish what Elias has unwittingly challenged him to do.

The illogical but pervasive surety that he will do so.

Jon’s not sure if he’s more afraid that Reigen Arataka will vanish entirely, another unfortunate victim become an unsolved mystery.

Or that he’ll come back, and bring whatever he’s managed to unearth on his insane quest with him.

[mostlycompetentwriter]

When You Least Expect It

Pairing: OC x Seo Changbin

Genre: enemies to lovers one-shot

Word Count: around 10,000 (yeah, I’m sorry)

Warnings: Smut (near the end) and Language

Summary: Changbin and Hanna had never gotten along, but they tolerated each other’s presence for the sake of their friends. However, when Hanna begs Changbin to teach her how to play the guitar, their relationship promises much more than hostile insults.

On Sundays, I liked to watch ridiculous Australian television shows with Chan and Felix. The two boys never seemed to mind, especially since the real reason I came over was to eat my way through their monthly supply of groceries. Plus, Chan and I used to fuck when we were still in high school and that boy owed me for all the free orgasms. “You watched Gumby in Australia?” I questioned, watching the disturbing animated character as it danced across the screen.

Felix shrugged. “It was fun as a kid.”

I unconsciously shivered, leaning in closer to Chan. “That’s seriously creepy.”

“You take what you can find,” Chan remarked, shoving another forkful of ramen into his mouth.

“I remember watching Teen Titans.”

“What was that?”

“Just some teenagers who had crazy superpowers,” I explained, reaching over to take another stick of beef jerky from Felix.

He hummed in acknowledgment, eyes still glued to the TV. Meanwhile, I could faintly hear the sound of the front door opening, but it wasn’t until he was standing in my line of vision that I actually bothered to look up. “Why are you always here?” Changbin growled, reaching down to swipe away the piece of jerky I had every intention of consuming. 

“How inconsiderate,” I remarked, shifting closer to Chan with the hope that the older boy would take pity on me.

“You know what’s inconsiderate?” Changbin continued to complain. “Having you over here every morning to eat the food that I paid for!”

“I helped,” Chan grumbled, poking almost ruthlessly at his ramen breakfast.

“Changbin is just being rude,” I consoled him, pressing a tender kiss to his bare shoulder as Chan seemed to recently take a preference for wearing muscle tanks around the apartment.

“Look here, sweetheart,” Changbin growled, tone dripping with his barely concealed outrage. “You’re lucky I even let you come around here.”

I snorted because I definitely didn’t care about Changbin’s comfort. “You don’t bitch to Felix and he’s here more than me!”

“Felix actually contributes to the band,” Changbin tittered. “You don’t really do anything!”

“I keep the boys entertained,” I joked, digging my fingers into Chan’s side to wrench free one of his trademarked giggles.

“I like having Hanna around,” Felix protested, reaching over to cling onto my arm like an oversized koala. 

I gave Changbin a smug grin, delighting in the way his eyes darkened further. He was far too easy to rile up and his quick-temper was fun to ignite when I was feeling in the mood. “Changbin,” I cooed. “Why don’t you like me?”

The younger boy was obviously not in the mood to play along, but it was still funny to watch him storm away with his fists clenched at his sides. “He’s too short to be intimidating,” I declared, settling back down with Chan and Felix to watch another one of Gumby’s whimsical adventures.

You see, I met Chan and Felix back in high school because of Hyunjin, my younger brother. And although Hyunjin would never admit it, he did his best to keep me away from his friends. “You’ll fall for Chan,” he explained when I asked why he continued to sneak the two Australians out the back door.

Of course, Hyunjin was right, and I eventually slept with Chan at a ridiculously cliche high school party. After that, we started dating for a while until we figured out being friends was a much better situation. Hyunjin was definitely grateful because he could finally have his older friend all to himself, but I still hung around whenever I could. 

Chan and I also started university first, and it was nice to know someone because I was terrible at making friends. Thankfully, Chan introduced me to some guys he knew and Woojin and Minho became close confidants. They were mature and quirky, deciding we could have just as much fun with a few beers and a game of twister as opposed to those crowded fraternity parties. However, that didn’t necessarily mean I didn’t partake in the occasional late-night gathering, especially if campus icon Hyungwon had anything to say about it.

Nevertheless, when Hyunjin and Felix started school with Chan and me, things took on a new and interesting dynamic when they discovered an audition sheet for a new band. Apparently, the group was relatively new and were looking for singers and performers to join. Thereafter, we were all invited into the chaotic world of music with a strange introduction from Jisung, Jeongin, Seungmin, and, of course, Changbin. 

Now, I wasn’t musically talented in any sense so I chose to merely accompany the boys to their frequent practices in the garage of Jisung’s house. Despite his parent’s constant bombardment, it was cool to have a place far away from campus to hang out and I enjoyed interacting with the others. I found myself growing closer to the other boys, even though we hadn’t known each other for very long.

However, despite our new acquaintanceship, I still had not managed to charm Seo Changbin the same way I had with the others. I was convinced the younger boy hated me, so I tried to stay out of his way. I mean, who would want to deal with his constant mood changes or annoying laugh anyway?

“I’ve got something brilliant!” Chan interrupted my darkening thoughts as he barged into Jisung’s basement waving about several loose sheets of papers. “This one will give us a hit for sure!”

I was the first to take a look, snatching them right out of Changbin’s hands who merely glowered at me in response. “Matroshyka?”

“Exactly!” Chan exclaimed, jabbing the sheets of paper aggressively before he sat down on the edge of the couch. “What do you think?”

I nodded my agreement. “It’s really good.”

Chan beamed under my praise while I relented the sheet music to a fuming Changbin. I walked over to Woojin, inviting myself into his comfortable lap, encouraging him to wrap his hands around my waist. “How long did you stay up last night, Chan?”

I studied the dark circles under Chan’s eyes as the older boy shook his head. “It wasn’t that late!”

“It’s fantastic,” Changbin gasped, immediately racing over to their elaborate set-up of sound equipment.

“Really?” Jisung perked up, tossing aside his notebook as he joined Changbin.

Meanwhile, Chan reclined back against the couch, folding his arms behind his head. “I’m a genius.”

“That isn’t exactly your style, Chan,” I laughed, feeling Woojin chuckling from beneath me.

“This is genius though!” Jisung insisted, running his hands through his crazy dark blue hair.

“We should record it tonight,” Changbin added. “Who did you have in mind?”

“Well,” Chan started sheepishly, suddenly shy despite his earlier confidence. “I thought it could be me, you, and Jisung.”

“I don’t know if I’m ready!” Jisung fretted, and I fought the urge to walk over and invite him into my arms. Jisung lacked in self-confidence, but I always tried to brighten his mood.

“We’ll do a practice run,” Changbin nodded as if he could already hear the finished product given the ridiculous way he bopped his head.

“This is exciting!” Jeongin added the youngest rushing over to Seungmin to yank out his earphones. “We’re recording tonight!”

I yawned, tuning out their adorable gushing as I considered the amount of homework I had to finish. I couldn’t stay tonight, but I wasn’t really needed anyway. And it would probably make Changbin happy. 

Woojin immediately protested when I left his lap, reaching down for my bag. “You guys have fun tonight. I have a Chemistry paper due this Friday.”

“But Hanna,” Jisung pouted. “This is our first real recording.”

“And you’ll do great,” I said, adding a cheesy thumbs-up. 

“Less room for her to get in the way,” Changbin grunted and I glared in his direction. 

What an asshole.

Of course, it turns out that taking my English essay to the library instantly became the best decision of my life! And it was in large part due to the incredibly handsome library assistant who casually flirted with me as he helped me find all the books I needed from the list I jotted down before leaving my dorm. I was practically salivating when he asked if I could use any help writing the annoying assignment. I immediately acquiesced and spent the next several hours in literal heaven next to an actual angel. Not only did I finish my essay, but I also managed to score myself a coffee date the next morning.

Subsequently, I returned to the dorm late that evening which meant I allowed myself to sleep-in the following day. Usually, I never ignored texts from the boys, but I also didn’t want them to ruin my morning. After all, I was meeting with a man with whom I was 95% sure I would marry very soon, even if that meant a shotgun wedding at a chapel in Las Vegas. 

At least, until I opened my big mouth.

Here’s some advice: just because a literal angel tells you that he knows how to play the guitar doesn’t mean you should also admit the same skillset. As it turns out, you don’t have to share everything in common with a potential partner. But I was enamored, and I spent several minutes talking about the really cool band I was apart of even though I knew Changbin would rather drink chlorine than admit I was a member of their silly boy group. 

“You should come over and we can play together,” my angel said, and that’s when I knew I was doomed.

After we parted ways, I sought after Chan because I knew the older boy had been practicing guitar and maybe he would be kind enough to teach me a few chords. However, when I finished explaining the situation to him, Chan started laughing hysterically, pointing a finger at me as he incoherently tried to form a sentence. “What’s so funny?” Woojin asked as he entered Chan’s bedroom.

“Apparently my love life?” I grumbled, glaring at Chan as if that could possibly intimidate the older boy in the slightest.

After filling in Woojin, and a mischievous Jisung, I had to listen to the three of them cackle like old men who insisted on making a “joke” far funnier than it actually was. “Will you help me!” I pouted when Chan started to settle back down. 

“I haven’t played in years,” Chan admitted, glancing back at Jisung. “What about you?”

“I’m really not that good,” Jisung shrugged. “But I know Changbin can play.”

“I’d rather deal with your mediocre skills than ask him. Actually, you could literally rip my fingernails off and I still wouldn’t ask Changbin.”

Jisung wrinkled his nose. “That’s gross.”

“The point is,” I reiterated, flailing my arms to regain their attention. “I can’t ask Changbin.”

“Why not?” Chan shrugged. “He’s really good and I don’t think he’d mind teaching you.”

I looked at Chan like the older boy had suddenly gained an additional head. “Are you serious? Changbin hates me.”

“He doesn’t hate you,” Woojin added. “He just sort of tolerates you.”

As if that was any better, but I was desperate, which is why I found myself lingering outside Changbin’s bedroom. I cleared my throat as I rehearsed my practiced speech: “Listen, Changbin, I’m really proud of everything that you’ve done with the group. In fact, I think it might be nice to be more supportive! Maybe if I could learn an instrument, I might be able to relate more to the music? How about teaching me to play the guitar?”

I let out an exasperated sigh as I dismissed my planned verbiage, choosing instead to knock hesitantly on the door. “What?” an annoyed voice called out, slightly muffled by the walls.

“I need a favor,” I said, fidgeting with my hands and fully expecting Changbin to ignore me completely.

What I wasn’t prepared for was the sight of an obviously exhausted Seo Changbin opening the door only wearing a dark pair of low-hanging sweatpants. “Why are you here?” he muttered, rubbing the sleep from his dark eyes.

I immediately shielded my gaze, trying to ignore the flare of interest after scanning down the broad expanse of his chest. “Put some clothes on!”

“This is my apartment,” Changbin retorted, very much unimpressed with me as he stepped out of the doorway. “I was sleeping.”

“Sorry,” I huffed, stepping inside his messy room. A complete disaster, if you ask me, with weird grunge rock band posters decorating the walls and a carpet made of clothes since he obviously doesn’t own a laundry basket. “I have a proposal.”

“What?” he grunted.

“I want to learn how to play the guitar and Chan said you were pretty good.”

Changbin was quiet for a moment. “Why the hell do you want to play the guitar?”

I felt my cheeks heat up, but thankfully my hands were still hiding my face. “Is that really your business?”

“Careful sweetheart, you need me, remember?”

I cursed his arrogance. “Fine, I want to learn because the guy I like can play.”

“You’re trying to learn guitar to impress another dude?” Changbin chuckled. “Isn’t that too much?”

“You wanted to know why!”

“What will you do for me in return, sweetheart? I remember hearing something about a proposal?”

“Of course, because it would be too much for you to help out a friend,” I muttered, finally removing my hands so that I could look him in the eye. Thankfully, Changbin was hunched over, somewhat hiding his naked chest from my sight. “I’ll stop coming here in the mornings to eat your damn groceries, okay?”

Changbin brightened. “Deal.”

It was likely the first time we ever agreed on something so easily.

“I booked the music room in the library for the week,” I told him. “We can practice there.”

“Whatever you want, sweetheart,” he sighed, falling back on his bed. “Now leave me alone. I still have an hour left before our second recording.”

Ignoring his dismissive attitude, I still held tight to the small victory I had attained in our agreement. I was a decently fast learner, so I planned for a few lessons with Changbin before I was ready to play with Hyungsik, A.K.A, the beautiful librarian who had left a memorable impression. That evening, I went to the music store and rented an acoustic guitar for my impromptu lessons. I also purchased one of those Dummy books because, despite the obvious condescension, they were pretty helpful guides.

I stayed up late that night reading through the book, nodding my head as I realized that it wouldn’t be too difficult at all. In fact, with some practice, I could have probably taught myself this stuff without Changbin’s assistance. “This is too easy,” I remarked, setting aside the book before allowing tender dreams of Hyungsik to soothe me into sleep.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

“This is the first fret,” Changbin droned monotonously while I resisted the urge to reach over and shake him because he was going way too slow. After all, I told him beforehand that I had been reading some very extensive literature on the guitar. He must have ignored me because he started from the beginning with the basic foundational stuff that even a first grader could have learned.

“Come on, Changbin,” I urged him. “I already know all this stuff.”

“It’s important to memorize the chords-”

“Yeah, but when are we going to play a song?”

His accompanying smirk was positively evil. “I thought you wanted me to teach you, sweetheart?”

“How to play songs!” I emphasized, because how deaf was this boy? I needed to remind Chan to keep Changbin out of the recording booth for a few days.

“You have to learn the basics before you can play a song,” Changbin went on, ignoring the way I rolled my eyes at his deliberate reprimand.

“I read the book already,” I sighed, deliberating whether or not it was too late to beg Chan or Jisung instead.

“Alright,” Changbin said, abruptly shoving the instrument in my direction. “Play me a C Major chord.”

Rolling my eyes, I pictured the image of the chord in my head, slowly working my fingers onto the strings. “This is what the book said.”

“It told you to crowd your fingers onto the same fret?”

“To play the B string, the D string, and the A string.”

“Okay, but your fingers aren’t positioned correctly.”

“This is what the book said!”

“I’m sure it did,” Changbin managed, openly laughing at me as if I had started speaking a foreign language. “But your fingers aren’t on the correct frets, and they aren’t holding down the strings enough.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

Changbin smirked, jerking the guitar away from my eager hands. “This is why you should watch me first, sweetheart. You might actually learn something useful.”

I resisted the urge to snap back at him because I was still 90% certain that I had been correct, but instead, I chose to fume quietly while Changbin resumed his lecture. Honestly, I endured enough of those on a daily basis with my college courses. The last thing I needed was Changbin’s nasally voice instructing me on the difference between E Minor and E Major, whatever the hell that means.

“Look Changbin,” I finally interrupted him. “Can’t you at least teach me a song?”

“What kind of song?” he asked, eyeing me curiously.

“Something romantic,” I briefly gushed, reaching over to shake his arm excitedly. “I really want to impress this guy.”

Changbin’s look of curiosity was replaced with one of revulsion. “Who is this guy, anyway? I don’t understand why you already like him so much.”

“We’re getting to know one another,” I insisted petulantly. “You wouldn’t understand. You’ve never even had a girlfriend before.”

Changbin quietly looked down, and I was slightly taken aback by the dark look that had briefly obscured his gaze. “Whatever song you want.”

I cleared my throat, a little unnerved by his unexpected behavior. “Just play something you know best.”

A familiar riff filled the tense silence between us. I snapped my fingers in recognition. “Stairway to Heaven?”

“It’s really easy,” Changbin shrugged, focused on his playing. “It was the first thing I ever learned how to play on the guitar.”

“It’s nice,” I admitted sheepishly.

I strangely found Changbin endearing at that moment, watching him play as if there was nowhere else in the entire world he would rather be…

—————————————————-

Two Weeks Later

“My fingers hurt,” I pouted, presenting Chan with the sight of my blistered hands.

“Poor baby,” he teased, sprinkling tiny kisses across the delicate skin of my fingertips.

“That’s just gross,” Seungmin complained from where he was lying across Jeongin’s lap, eyes rapidly scanning over the pages of his most recent novel obsession. 

It had something to do with a stalker.

“They used to fuck,” Jisung stated bluntly, ripping into his package of skittles, cursing when a few wayward candies fell into the floor. 

“Don’t remind me,” Hyunjin whined as he covered his eyes with his hands as if burdened with a mental image of Chan and me together.

“Who fucked up your hands?” Woojin asked protectively, ignoring the previous topic of my coital actions with Chan.

“It’s from fretting the guitar,” I said a bit smugly, proud of my newfound knowledge. “Changbin is teaching me how to play.”

“Why the hell are you learning guitar?” Seungmin asked.

“Forget that!” Jeongin interjected. “How did you convince Changbin to teach you?”

“Tell me you didn’t agree to have sex with him!” Hyunjin gasped, bolting upright from his previous position on the couch to confront me, hands grasping my face tightly.

“What’s wrong with you?” I muttered, pushing aside Hyunjin’s wayward touch. “Why would I have sex with Changbin?”

“I thought he-”

“Hey!” Jisung suddenly interrupted, clapping his hands together rather obnoxiously. He gave Hyunjin a meaningful look, one that I could not begin to decipher. But I also didn’t really care because the two of them made for a strange duo. “Let’s talk about something else.”

“Yes!” Minho finally spoke up, rolling onto the floor to glance up at me through long lashes. “Let’s talk about Hanna’s new boyfriend.”

I brightened at the suggestion. “Hyungsik?”

“Hyungsik,” Minho repeated with a poor impression of my accent. “Tell me, have the two of you fucked yet?”

“Why are ya’ll so interested in sex?” Seungmin asked, slamming his book closed before knocking it against Jeongin’s chest. 

“Why? Do you like Hyungsik too?”

Seungmin didn’t hesitate to fling the innocent chapter book in Minho’s direction. The older boy dodged easily, returning his attention to our previous subject. “Well?”

“Not yet,” I admitted with a shrug. “But there’s a party tonight.”

“Hyungwon’s party?” Chan asked, suddenly remembering that he was also apart of the conversation.

“That’s the one!” I agreed, patting the side of his face. “Aren’t you going?”

“Maybe,” Chan shrugged. “Actually, Changbin invited me earlier.”

“Changbin at a party?” Hyunjin scoffed. “Did he produce the music?”

I laughed at my brother’s witty remark. “I always pictured Changbin as the type to fall asleep drooling on his sheet music. Since when has he ever been interested in frat parties?”

“Since when have you?” Hyunjin randomly questioned, as if remembering that he was my younger brother and should probably discourage such illicit activities.

“You could come too,” I joked. “You’ll give all the pretty boys a run for their money.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

---------------------------------------------

Nonetheless, my younger brother could never resist the promise of free alcohol.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” Hyunjin whined as I drove the two of us to Hyungwon’s fraternity.

“You need to get laid,” I reminded him, locating a parking spot further down the busy street, congested with student vehicles. “This place is fucking insane.”

“Yet another reminder of why I should have stayed at the studio,” Hyunjin continued.

“Relax,” I said. “Changbin is supposed to be here with Chan. Find your friends and show them how an amateur dances to 90s EDM music.”

I squealed when Hyunjin reached across the center console to slap my arm. “You’re not funny.”

“And you’re slow,” I shot back. 

The party had started nearly half-an-hour ago, which meant we were fashionably late and way too sober. I carefully pulled into the parking spot I located earlier, grumbling because I was forced to parallel park. But I was also impatient to find Hyungsik.

“Hold on!” 

“It’s your fault if you don’t keep up,” I said, reaching down to unzip my jacket to reveal the rather inappropriate blouse that I had chosen for the evening’s affairs. 

Hyunjin finally caught up to me as I carefully took the steps leading up to the front door of Hyungwon’s fraternity, teetering precariously on my 4-inch high heels. Despite the fact that the sun had only started to set, I could already spot familiar red cups decorating the banister rails. Kihyun’s going to lose his shit when he discovers this mess in the morning. 

“Changbin and Chan are somewhere in the kitchen finding drinks,” Hyunjin informed me. “Can you spare a few more moments away from your sweetheart?”

“For Channie, yes,” I agreed, allowing Hyunjin to act the part of a gentleman and hold the door for me, allowing the blaring music to spill outside into the slowly darkening evening.

Hyunjin and I did our best to avoid the main floor where the drunk Freshmen were already losing their inhibitions. We slowly skimmed the outer edge of the wall, spotting the open kitchen where a much calmer atmosphere prevailed. Chan was the first to spot us, pointing over Changbin’s shoulder. “What’s up?”

“Trying to avoid a literal mess,” I grinned, wrapping my arms tightly around Chan’s neck. “Did you find something good to drink?”

“Not really,” Chan grimaced. “There’s a punch bowl, but that shit smells like gasoline.”

“Live a little,” I joked, peeking at Changbin out of the corner of my peripheral vision. “I’m surprised you came, Changbin.”

The younger shrugged, picking at a loose string on his black t-shirt. “I like Hyungwon.”

“Really?” I snorted because I was almost positive Changbin didn’t even really like his own bandmates.

“Hyunjin!” a shrill voice punctured our small oasis. I saw my brother grimace as a petite blonde came into his line of his vision. “I can’t believe you came.”

Changbin chuckled from my brother’s side. “He knew you were going to be here, Mina.”

“Hyunjin,” the girl giggled, as if ignorant to my brother’s obvious disgust like he was looking at the personification of Evil.

“You two should dance,” I suggested, deciding to tease my brother. After all, he was the one who often bragged about his superior choreography.

“Hanna,” Hyunjin addressed me, slugging me rather harshly across my shoulder. “I thought you wanted to dance with me?”

“I’ll dance with Channie,” I countered, feeling nothing short of victorious when my brother scowled, reluctantly allowing Mina to drag him away from our small gathering.

“How do they know each other?” I asked.

“She leaves cute notes on Hyunjin’s desk in our economics lecture,” Changbin said, leaning in closer. “I think she might like your brother.”

Changbin’s close proximity was unexpected, especially given my body’s peculiar reaction, practically drawn to the mischievous glimmer to his dilated irises. “Is that so?”

“Her older sister is a total bitch,” Chan remarked, ignorant to the strange tension between Changbin and me. 

I tore myself from Changbin’s hypnotic stare. “What the hell are you even talking about?”

Chan shrugged. “Where’s your precious new boyfriend?”

I let out a gasp as I suddenly remembered Hyungsik. “I should find him and introduce you.”

“Thrilling,” Changbin grumbled, pulling back to offer the cheaply tiled kitchen floor a dirty glare.

“I’ll try and find him. You two wait here.”

———————————————————————–

My endeavors at impressive sleuthing were cut short, however, when I found Hyungsik talking in animated conversation with two of his friends. I couldn’t resist a smile as I pushed my way through the unwavering sea of students to reach him. Unfortunately, as I grew closer, I realized that he was swaying slightly, eyes unfocused as he took a long drink from his bright red cup. “Hyungsik!”

“Hanna!” the older boy exclaimed, meeting me halfway at the edge of the growing crowd. “You made it!”

His breath fanned across my face and I wrinkled my nose upon smelling the unpleasant waft of alcohol. “You’re already drunk?” I lamented, feeling a tad bit disappointed. There was no way I could introduce Hyungsik to Changbin and Chan in this condition. They would mock me for such a first impression.

Hyungsik offered me a flirtatious grin. “I think the punch was spiked.”

Nevertheless, I refused to have my evening spoiled so prematurely by my potential boyfriend’s immaturity. “Let’s dance,” I offered instead, taking Hyungsik’s eager hand and leading him to the middle of the dance floor.

I guided his sweaty palms to either side of my waist, expertly rocking my hips to the beat of the music. Hyungsik let out an uncharacteristic yell as he pulled me closer to his body, allowing more of the alcohol smell to completely blind my senses. “Are you having fun?” he shouted into my ear.

I was too young to lose my hearing.

And I gave up on Hyungsik the moment his hands started to trail messily across my backside, tossing his head from side to side like an incompetent rock musician who was well past his prime. “Come on,” I sighed, jerking away from his touch.

I decided it was time to help Hyungsik sober up from his premature alcohol consumption. I knew that Hyungwon allowed guests to stay in some of the empty rooms upstairs. My best option would be to lead Hyungsik to one of those rooms and let him sleep off his drunken stupor. 

“Weee!” Hyungsik giggled as he fell on top of the bed, letting out a grunt as he collapsed on his front.

“Yeah, what a great fucking time,” I muttered sarcastically as I yanked his shoes from his feet, allowing them to messily fall into the floor.

I made sure to leave Hyungsik a glass of water and two Ibuprofen before turning out the light. I was a good Samaritan, even when the recipient of my good graces happened to be a potential love interest who totally ruined my Saturday night and left me feeling completely deflated. Of course, I guess it wasn’t exactly Hyungsik’s fault since he was apparently unaccustomed to the ridiculous tradition of avoiding the provided alcohol at frat parties. Still, I was far more likely to kick Hyungwon’s ass tomorrow morning in our Chemistry lecture, if he could manage to drag himself to class with a nasty hangover.

Satisfied with Hyungsik’s condition, I slowly closed the bedroom door behind me, letting out an exasperated sigh. I should’ve known better than to expect a decent lay from a fraternity party. What the actual hell was I even thinking? However, my self-loathing was temporarily forgotten when I spotted a shadow lingering around the corner of the hallway. I perked up instantly, eliminating the short distance to confront whoever had decided to stalk me when I was obviously upset.

“Changbin?” I questioned and he paused in his obvious attempt to sneak away. “Did you follow me up here?”

Changbin cleared his throat as he pivoted around to face me. “I’m sorry.”

“Why did you do that?” I asked, taking another step closer. I was surprised to see an unfamiliar brush coloring the narrow aspect of Changbin’s cheeks. “Did you think I was going to sleep with him?”

“He was drunk,” Changbin offered as a retort. “I didn’t want him to hurt you.”

“Trust me,” I scoffed, “he was too far gone to do anything to me.”

“But you wanted him too,” Changbin said, an unfamiliar rasp in his tone.

“Not really,” I shrugged. “I was mad that he was already drunk.”

Changbin let out an uncharacteristic giggle that I found alarmingly adorable. “You should know that your brother is currently dancing on top of the kitchen counter.”

I rolled my eyes. “I hope someone takes a good video. He deserves the embarrassment.”

Changbin nodded, rocking back on his heels. “Are you going to leave?”

“Probably,” I said. “I need to get Hyunjin home.”

“I can help if you want?” Changbin offered, and I was quick to accept his assistance.

“Is Chan still here?” I asked him as I guided our way through the maze of intoxicated students.

“Chan left a while ago,” Changbin said, one hand reaching out to hold onto my shoulder as I led us into the kitchen where an obvious crowd had started to circle around my idiot brother.

I forced my way to the front. “Hyunjin, get your ass down here right now!”

Hyunjin glanced down at me from the pedestal he had made of Hyungwon’s marble countertop. He squinted his eyes as if he couldn’t quite discern who I was. “Hanna?”

“Yes, you asshole,” I growled, yanking at his ridiculously tight skinny jeans. “If you want a ride home, then I suggest you stop acting like a complete fuckboy.”

Hyunjin seemed to sober up at my reprimand. “Sorry,” he slurred, falling into my arms.

“Hyunjin, you weigh twice as much as me,” I grunted, whispering a quick ‘thank you’ to Changbin when he offered to burden most of Hyunjin’s dead weight.

“You guys are the best,” Hyunjin said, rubbing his sweaty hair against the side of my face as we were abruptly hit with a cold rush of air from the outside.

“Shut the fuck up,” I muttered, shifting Hyunjin’s arm around my shoulder as Changbin and I proceeded to drag my brother’s drunk ass two blocks to my abandoned car.

———————————————————————-

“Thanks for helping,” I said, tucking the blankets up higher on Hyunjin’s chest. “You can spend the night if you want. I don’t mind sleeping in my roommate’s bed if you want the futon?”

Changbin nodded, perhaps too enthusiastically. Nonetheless, I found a spare blanket and pillow in the shared closet, giving them to Changbin as a makeshift bed. I knew the futon was rather uncomfortable, but it was only for one night. Plus, I felt better knowing that Changbin wouldn’t have to walk across campus in the middle of the night by himself. Despite our frequent disagreements, he was one of my brother’s best friends, and I had started to grow closer to him thanks to our unorthodox guitar lessons.

However, the last thing I expected after settling into my roommate’s twin-sized bed was to have an entertaining exchange with Changbin:

“Do you still want a lesson tomorrow?” he asked me.

“Yeah, I managed to avoid the alcohol.”

“Will you ever let Hyunjin forget the party?”

“There’s no way in hell,” I replied, grinning at the dark ceiling.

“You want the video I took of him on my phone?”

“I would literally like nothing more.”

Fuck, were we actually getting along?

————————————————————————

“Wake up, asshole,” I grinned, curtaining my brother’s t-shirt across his face. Hyunjin let out a groan. “What happened?”

“You drank too much and decided to show off for everybody,” I said, sitting down next to him on my bed. “Would you like to watch the video?”

“Fuck you.”

“Perhaps later then?”

Changbin stepped closer, looking unusually good in his dark jeans and a long-sleeved shirt. “Should we let him sleep?”

“Please,” Hyunjin groaned.

“My roommate won’t be back until tomorrow, so Hyunjin should be fine here for a while.”

Changbin pursed his lips, rocking back on his feet. “Well…”

“Do you feel like getting a cup of coffee?”

Changbin and I were both taken aback by my request. 

“That sounds nice,” he said quietly, appearing unusually shy as he refused to meet my gaze.

Changbin and I ensured that Hyunjin would wake up to powerful painkillers before walking together to the quaint coffee shop nestled at the end of the block. “Should I treat you?” I asked. “I feel bad that you had to drag my brother’s sorry ass from the party.”

Changbin chuckled. “Hyunjin’s my friend, and I did get some decent video footage for my troubles.”

I laughed as I recalled the short clip of my brother rather unattractively swiveling his hips to a poor remix of a popular K-Pop idol song. Perhaps in another life, Hyunjin could have made a decent performer. However, given the intoxicated component to his impromptu show, I supposed he might have been laughed out of his audition.

“Vanilla latte please,” I smiled pleasantly at the cashier whose blood-shot eyes clearly exposed her late-night activities.

“I’ll have the same.”

“Are you copying me?”

“You have good taste,” Changbin said, and I paused as I processed his words.

Was he flirting with me?

Pushing that ridiculous notion aside, I found us a small table amidst the busy college students furiously working on the essays they had spent the weekend neglecting. It reminded me that I had also put off my Chemistry lab report for far too long. Yet, the idea of balancing equations of which I had the faintest understanding was incredibly unappealing. 

The sweet scent of vanilla was preferable, and I sipped at the warm beverage greedily. “Why did Chan leave so early?”

“I sort of ditched him,” Changbin admitted.

“Why?” I asked. “I mean, I know Chan can be dull, but he’s better than the majority of those people.”

Changbin shrugged. “I was trying to find Hyunjin.”

“My brother is clueless sometimes,” I said, mindlessly watching the steam rise from my cup. “I didn’t expect him to go that far.”

“He’s never been that drunk before,” Changbin added.

“No more parties for Hyunjin.”

“What about you?” Changbin inquired, a not-so-innocent look drawn across his features.

“Me?” 

“Hyungwon’s parties are always like that,” Changbin scoffed. “Your precious boyfriend should have taken you on a proper date.”

“Changbin!” I laughed, reaching over to take his hand. “You’re actually being considerate for once.”

“Call it a hangover.”

“Or,” I started with a teasing lilt. “Maybe you like me just a little?”

Changbin glanced down at our hands. “I never said I didn’t like you.”

I pulled my hand away, surprised by his strange confession. “Changbin, I’m sorry if I said something wrong.”

“It’s not you,” he insisted, struggling for the right words. “Look, Hanna, I want you to know that I don’t really care if you’re at our apartment.”

“But you always say-”

“-I know,” Changbin growled, clearly frustrated with himself. “Hanna, I need to tell you something.”

I nodded as a silent encouragement for him to continue. However, before Changbin could utter another syllable, his concentrated gaze had shifted, pointedly narrowing at something behind me. I glanced over my shoulder and let out a curse when I saw Hyungsik approaching.

“You have to forgive me!” Hyungsik immediately apologized, inserting himself between Changbin and I. Shaking my head, I had every intention of ordering him to leave after the melodrama that had happened last night.

But Hyungsik was persuasive, gently nudging a chocolate muffin in front of my coffee before flashing a dazzling smile in my direction. I swear my heart actually stopped beating for several seconds. “What are you doing here?”

“I saw you leave your apartment,” he admitted, ignoring Changbin’s glare as he pulled out a chair from the adjoining table.

I glanced back and forth between Hyungsik and Changbin. “I wasn’t exactly thrilled about last night.”

“It’s my fault,” he sighed. “I shouldn’t have trusted the liquor.”

“How much did you drink?”

“Maybe two cups?”

Fuck you, Hyungwon.

“It was spiked,” I said quietly, even though it was probably now obvious in hindsight.

“I know,” Hyungsik murmured, fingers slowly gliding across the tabletop to brush against mine. “Let me make it up to you?”

“Maybe,” I grinned, already knowing I would give in because I loved the way my heart played to a different beat around him.

“How about this Friday night? We could see a movie?”

“I’d like that.”

Hyungsik nodded, bashfully allowing his long bangs to frame his eyes. “You won’t regret this.”

——————————————————————

The following Friday, I tried to distract myself from my impending movie date with Hyungsik by requesting another guitar lesson from Changbin. “It’s early,” the younger snapped into the phone.

“I’m already in the library,” I said, running my hand along the smooth edges of my guitar. 

Changbin let out a noise of frustration. “Give me twenty minutes.”

The wait was well worth it when Changbin showed up wearing sweatpants and a hoodie, hair betraying the fact that he had obviously just rolled out of bed. “What a concept,” I remarked.

Changbin dropped his guitar case on top of our table. “Shut up.”

Thereafter, our lesson progressed smoothly, Changbin introducing me to a new series of complicated chords that only brought an immense feeling of satisfaction when I eventually mastered them. “I’m a quick learner,” I bragged in response to the impressed look on his face.

“Maybe when you can play an entire song,” Changbin grumbled, plucking at the strings of his own Savannah model guitar.

“What songs have you been working on?” I asked conversationally as I started to re-case my guitar.

“Nothing much,” Changbin said, fingers hovering around the fretboard.

“You could always play me something,” I suggested. “I’m a good listener.”

Changbin seemed to hesitate as if experiencing internal conflict, before nodding once. “I don’t want to hear any bullshit when I’m done,” he reproached snappishly, temper flaring once again.

I resisted the urge to offer a witty retort. Instead, I patiently waited as he re-adjusted the guitar in his lap, propping the curve onto his thigh. Changbin’s elegant playing soon filled the empty study room, gentle triad chords forming an unfamiliar melody. It was pleasant all the same, but I was still surprised to hear Changbin start to sing. 

Several lines of elegantly arranged lyrics that felt strangely familiar.

“That’s beautiful, Changbin,” I complimented the younger when he finished playing, enjoying his accompanying blush. “The lyrics are really personal. Did you write them about somebody?”

Changbin froze, fingers halting their movements against the strings as a wave of frightening anger settled into his features. He stood at once, rushing to pack up his guitar, shoulders tense as he worked. “I think we’ve done enough today,” he finally said, ignoring my protests.

And I could do nothing to change his mind.

——————————————————————————–

I was still shaken from my encounter with Changbin when I met Hyungsik that evening. The air between us was strangely awkward as we stood in tense silence for our tickets. It was probably my fault because I had been in a really bad mood ever since I left the study room earlier, clueless as to why I had upset Changbin. Nevertheless, I was grateful when we finally entered the theatre because it gave our unusual quietness justification when the title credits started to roll down the screen.

What was going on? Why did I feel so guilty?

It was only once we were halfway through the film that I realized I had no idea what was actually happening. The entirety of my attention had been focused on Changbin, unable to think about anything else other than the curious puzzle he had made of our last encounter together. Why had he acted that way?

After the film ended, Hyungsik and I walked outside together. “Are you alright, Hanna?” he asked sweetly, eyes full of concern.

“I’m fine,” I reassured him, even as the lie sat heavy in the pit of my stomach.

We went for coffee afterward, and I refused Hyungsik’s generosity, offering to buy our coffees in return for the movie tickets. “I don’t mind,” he had said, but I brushed him aside without really meaning to.

Hyungsik went to find us a table as I waited for our order, glancing nervously at the clock when I realized it was still pretty early. Was I about to ruin my chances with him? I wondered as I brought our coffees to the small booth by the window. Hyungsik took his order gratefully while I wordlessly sat down across from him. Did I even really care that this might be our first and last date?

“Open mic,” he said, snapping me to attention. 

I followed his gaze to the stage. “Do you want to play?”

He smirked. “Only if you play with me.”

Of course, the whole reason why I started my lessons with Changbin was for this exact moment. So, I allowed Hyungsik to drag me to the stage, handing me an unfamiliar guitar as we occupied two of the stools lining the edge of the wooden platform. “What should we play?”

“Something easy,” he said, riffing a familiar tune that I was able to easily follow, despite the strange sensation that something was clearly amiss.

It wasn’t the same without Changbin.

“You play really well,” Hyungsik complimented me, sighing when I didn’t respond. “Let’s go outside for some air.”

I readily agreed to his suggestion, abandoning our instruments as we greeted the cool night air. “I’m sorry,” I told him. “I had a really bad day.”

Hyungsik shrugged while letting out a sigh. “It’s alright, Hanna, I can tell when a girl isn’t into me.”

I perked up at his insinuation. “That’s not true-”

“It’s fine,” he interrupted. “You don’t have to force something between us.”

I sighed in defeat. “I don’t know what happened.”

“People change,” Hyungsik said. “Feelings change too, sometimes we don’t even realize how we really feel until it’s too late.”

------------------------------------------

Hyungsik’s advice haunted me for the rest of the evening, to the point where I could excuse my mindlessness as overthinking our earlier encounter. I was also acting completely out of character, something that Han Jisung was more than willing to take advantage of to benefit himself.

You see, I wasn’t a big fan of offering my extensive knowledge to the younger guys, but Jisung was always astute when it came to taking advantage of our dynamic. I knew he, of all people, would understand what was going on between me and Changbin. Which is why I found myself reacting to the plea for help he sent out several minutes ago via a long, convoluted text message.

“Changbin was weird today,” I later told Jisung, having agreed to proofread the younger’s English assignment.

“Hmm?” he asked distractedly, fingers tracing along with the words in his textbook.

“He played me a song,” I said. “I guess it’s supposed to be for your next album? It was really beautiful, but he was mad when I asked him if he wrote the lyrics for someone.”

Jisung glanced up at that, quirking an eyebrow. “Really?”

“I didn’t mean to offend him,” I shrugged, carding my fingers through my hair worriedly. 

“Do you remember the lyrics?”

I recalled them easily and Jisung let out an unnecessarily exaggerated sigh, looking at me like I was the one having trouble with homework. “You’re completely deaf, you know.”

I frowned at the insult. “Excuse me?”

“He wrote that song about you, idiot,” Jisung scoffed. “Changbin likes you.”

I blinked twice. “What?”

“Changbin likes you,” Jisung repeated, slamming his book closed. “I wasn’t supposed to say anything, but I’m really fed up with the way he looks at you like you broke his favorite toy. Which is his probably his electric guitar, thanks for asking.”

“Changbin doesn’t like me,” I frowned, soaking in the absurdity of Jisung’s claim. “I mean, if I suddenly went missing tomorrow, I doubt he would even notice.”

“Oh, he would definitely notice,” Jisung said. “Then again, if you did disappear for a while, then I wouldn’t have to deal with him brooding in the middle of the studio floor while I’m trying to work.”

“That’s impossible,” I insisted, even as I wavered in consideration of his claim. Because Jisung didn’t lie about these kinds of things. Seungmin? Perhaps, especially if it was for some practical joke. But Jisung? “Why tell me now?”

“I’m telling you because you’re flirting with this Hyungsik guy and Changbin hates it. You think he wrote that song because he just felt like it? Music has always been Changbin’s way of dealing with his emotions.”

“He should have told me,” I said, suddenly feeling a barrage of guilt because I really had no idea that the younger actually reserved feelings for me. Did that mean his hateful comments were actually a way to shield his true feelings? Because they had certainly gotten worse after I introduced Hyungsik.

“When would he have told you?” Jisung asked. “While you were still constantly talking about how much you liked another guy?”

“Are you trying to make me feel bad?” I frowned.

“I’m trying to tell you the truth,” Jisung tsked. “It’s up to you to decide what you do with it.”

——————————————————————————-

I didn’t bother knocking on the basement door. Instead, I knew it was better to approach Changbin unexpectedly. Because then he wouldn’t have some sort of rehearsed speech ready to counter my interruption.

“Hanna?” Changbin immediately questioned as I slowly walked up to his desk. “What are you doing here?”

“You shouldn’t have lied to me, Binnie,” I grinned, enjoying the way his mouth fell open upon hearing the nickname.

I leaned back against the desk, studying the way Changbin’s expression had morphed into one of complete disbelief. “What are you talking about?”

“You should know,” I teased him, carefully easing his chair back away from the desk, the small wheels on the bottom rolling across the linoleum floor.

I decided to act before either of us had time to think.

I straddled Changbin’s lap, encouraging his hands to fit around my waist as I slowly started pressing a trail of kisses down the side of his jawline. “Hanna?” Changbin faintly called, fingers squeezing into the skin above my hips as if trying to gain my attention.

I willingly obeyed. “Hmm?”

Changbin’s eyes widened. “What’s going on?”

I offered him a teasing smirk, leaning in close. “I know you like me, Changbin. If you wanted to keep it a secret, then you shouldn’t have told Jisung.”

Changbin cursed as I smoothed my hands across his chest. “I wasn’t going to tell you.”

“I know,” I pouted. “But how would I have known to do this, then?”

Changbin was completely unprepared for the faint brush of my lips across the seam of his mouth. But I was only trying to soften him, parting my lips sensually against his own as I allowed my tongue to trace the chapped ridges. Changbin opened wider against an instinctive gasp and I took advantage of the opportunity to lave my tongue against his own, pulling back to study his reaction.

“Can you handle more?” 

“More?”

I reached down for the hem of my t-shirt, removing the cheap fabric and carelessly tossing it into the floor. “I want to show you that I care.”

I ran my thumb across the swollen purse of his lips. Changbin’s tongue greeted the rough pad of the wandering digit. “Why?”

“Because I like you too,” I said, reaching out to cradle my hand against the side of his head, holding him in a place for another long kiss, savoring the novel sensation of his touch.

I rocked my hips forward, delighting in the way his breathing hitched, moan vibrating against my mouth. I started a pattern, pulling back and forth along the firm foundation of his thighs to distract him as my hands wandered down to the waistband of his jeans. I quickly noticed that he was already aroused, straining against the tight material, responding to my advances with willing compliance. It was all I needed to take the next step because the last thing I wanted was to move too fast. Changbin was far more sensitive than he allowed others to perceive, and I knew he had a kind heart that was far more vulnerable to the whims of those he desperately wanted to trust.

Changbin inhaled sharply, eyes wide and unblinking as he watched my fingers slowly undo his belt. “I think I’d like to feel your cock,” I admitted, making sure to whisper the words soothingly into his eager ears.

“R-really?” he stuttered, losing focus when my hand wrapped around his pulsing dick, warm beneath my calloused fingers. 

“Would you like that?” I asked him, running my vacant hand under his tight t-shirt, surprised to feel the muscle shaping his abdomen.

“Please,” he whined, fingers digging harder into my sides.

“You should have told me before,” I said, leaning back to allow myself enough space to pull up my skirt, leaving it in a thin bundle above my hips. Changbin’s hands finally smoothed down my waist, fingering the edges of my red satin panties while massaging across the waistband with rapt attention. 

“I’ve wanted you since Freshman year,” Changbin admitted, and I enjoyed this new dimension to his self-proclaimed “dark” character. A raw honesty that only continued to feed my growing attraction for him. 

I gripped his cock harder, squeezing at his sensitive tip, colored with a burning red that betrayed his desire. I shifted my panties to the side, feeling the muscles in my thighs scream in protest as I lifted myself above Changbin’s lap, lowering slowly, easy and wet.

Changbin released a faint moan, eyes threatening to shut despite his attempts to keep them open. I brushed my fingers across the flesh of their lids, feeling his lashes flutter against the pads. I brought our foreheads together intimately, allowing him to maintain the eye contact he desperately sought. “Changbin,” I softly gasped, feeling him deep inside, cock stretching my walls to accommodate our coupling.

“You’re beautiful,” he said in return, looking down at where he disappeared inside, lips falling apart around a gorgeous moan that not even his music compositions could compete.

My thumbs circled leisurely at the sharp juncture of his chin, grounding me as I slowly started to move on his lap, rolling back before pushing down hard again to stimulate a rhythm. The steady hitches in Changbin’s breathing alerted me to his pleasure, and that’s everything I wanted to give him. I moved faster, hoping to earn more of those seductive deep-throated moans from the base of his throat, watching him swallow hard as sweat started to gather on his smooth skin.

“Come inside,” I told him, noticing the way his earnest thrusts were starting to stutter, falling out of beat with the melody of our fucking.

“Are you sure?” he asked, and I was pleased that he had the wherewithal to question what might have been a careless decision.

“I’m on the pill,” I reassured him, kissing along the inviting skin of his collarbone.

“Feels good,” he panted, bangs sticking to his forehead the longer we moved together, harmonious chorus reaching its final crescendo.

His moans filled the studio when he finally came, hot and sticky inside, lips pressing grateful kisses against whatever flesh he could find. His arms held me close, as if afraid to let go, and I allowed the delicate chord to snap, chanting his name softly as my forehead fell onto his shoulder, gasping for more oxygen to recover my screaming lungs.

Silence descended between us like a necessary embrace.

But it wasn’t awkward because neither of us held onto any insecurities. Instead, we decided it was better to open ourselves to this possibility, hands exploring skin decorated with rivulets of salty wetness. Because it was easier to trust when you held mutual affection, holding their gaze to see past the depths of the surface. 

“Do you still want me out of the apartment?” I teased him eventually, just to break the quiet, clenching tightly around his flaccid cock.

Changbin’s head fell against the center of my chest, his panting breaths fanning out across my skin. “I want you in my bed.”

“Next time,” I promised him, threading my fingers through the sweat-caked strands of his thick black hair. 

————————————————————————–

“What the hell is this!”

The last thing I needed to hear upon waking up the next morning was Jisung’s shrill voice infiltrating my post-orgasm induced haze. Changbin grunted from next to me, pulling me even closer to his overheated body. “Tell him to go away.”

“Get the fuck out, Jisung,” I croaked, my voice hoarse from sleep.

“Are you two naked?” 

“Chan?” I questioned wearily, lifting my head just enough to catch a faint glimpse of his blonde hair.

“What time is it?” Changbin asked, raspy tone close to my ear.

“10?”

“Shit!” he cursed. “I have class soon.”

“Will the two of you explain what’s going on?” Jisung demanded, shrieking when Changbin left the couch, fully nude as he rummaged for his clothes. 

I simply enjoyed the view.

“What the hell, Changbin?” Chan growled at his younger friend.

Changbin promptly ignored both of his group members, pressing a hasty kiss to my forehead before rushing up the staircase, footsteps heavy as he frantically tried to make his lecture on time. Which, unfortunately, left me alone to deal with the aftermath of our passionate night.

“You and Changbin had sex?” Chan gasped. “In our studio!”

“On top of my lyrics?” Jisung screeched, pushing the aforementioned stack of papers into a messy pile on the floor.

I rolled my eyes at his dramatics. “He came inside.”

“That’s way too much information,” Chan sighed, grimacing as he picked up my clothes to toss in my direction.

I took them gratefully, working to dress beneath the thin coverage of the blanket Changbin had found last night before we passed out on the couch in the studio. “What’s the big deal?”

“Since when are you and Changbin a thing?” Chan asked, glaring down at me.

“I shouldn’t have said anything!” Jisung lamented, falling to his knees to shuffle through his papers.

“I guess since last night?” I grinned.

“Damn you move fast,” Chan tsked, joining Jisung in his attempts to re-organize his messy stacks.

“He’s a good fuck,” I remarked, laughing when Jisung started to splutter out dozens of curses as he frantically tried to finish his work.

——————————————————————————

“Why does it always have to be my friends?” Hyunjin questioned later on during lunch.

I sipped at my orange juice. “I guess you have really attractive friends?”

“It was definitely the guitar lessons,” Minho insisted. “They had all that time alone together.”

“But it’s still Changbin,” Seungmin frowned. “Is he blackmailing you?”

Jeongin gasped. “I knew it!”

“Stop it you two,” I said. “He’s not blackmailing me.”

“And did you really have to fuck in front of Jisung and Chan?” Woojin asked. “Jisung hasn’t stopped crying about it all morning.”

“We didn’t fuck in front of them,” I rolled my eyes. “You guys aren’t very supportive.”

“We’re in denial, Hanna,” Felix explained. “You and Changbin have never really gotten along.”

“It is strange,” Hyunjin agreed. “What happened?”

“He played me a song,” I shrugged, enjoying the matching looks of confusion adorning their expressions.

“Speaking of which,” Minho giggled, rubbing his hands together conspiratorially. “Changbin’s coming.”

I straightened up immediately, holding my breath as the dark-haired man stood at the edge of the table next to me. He glanced around at the others, running his fingers through his messy hair, uncombed from his hasty departure that morning. “Can I talk to you alone, Hanna?”

I anxiously followed him outside, unsure of what to expect. Changbin sat down on one of the benches lining the main sidewalk, allowing his bag to fall from his shoulder. I joined him quietly, trying to figure out the mask he had chosen to wear. “I want to talk about last night.”

I swallowed hard. “Do you regret it?”

He looked up immediately. “Of course not!”

I let out a sigh of relief. “I think I almost had a small heart attack.”

Changbin grinned, and it did wonders for the narrow aspect of his eyes. “What were you thinking?”

I bit my lower lip worriedly. “I don’t really know. It was kind of sudden, but I think I really like you Changbin.”

“What about Hyungsik?”

“He really wasn’t my type.”

“And I’m your type?” he asked.

“You must be,” I said. “I really like the way you fuck.”

Changbin scoffed. “Is that all?”

“You’re great at the guitar.”

“I’m trying to be serious.”

“I know,” I said, reaching over to poke gently at his chest. “You have a good heart. Otherwise, I don’t know how you’ve managed to put up with me.”

“I’ve had a crush on you since high school,” Changbin admitted. “It got worse Freshman year.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I didn’t think you’d feel the same way,” Changbin admitted. “You have no idea how turned on I was when you came in last night.”

“That was the goal,” I joked. “But seriously, I can’t believe I thought you didn’t care about me.”

“That was my fault,” Changbin said. “I didn’t make it easy on you.”

“It’s my fault too,” I sighed wistfully. “I always go after the wrong guy.”

“Don’t tell Chan that.”

“He already knows.”

Changbin laughed before easing in closer. “Does this mean I’m the right guy?”

I placed a quick kiss on his perfect lips. “I think so.”

“I’ll just have to prove it to you.”

“And I can’t wait,” I whispered into the seam of his lips, losing myself in our passionate embrace.

————————————————————————————–

I didn’t mind the crowds as they were becoming increasingly commonplace at their concerts. I learned how to tune out the screaming women, rolling my eyes whenever they tried to touch one of the boys onstage. I really had no room to talk since I could barely keep my hands off the dark-eyed lead guitarist who always managed to leave me increasingly desperate.

“Who’s your favorite member?” I asked one of the girls sitting next to me. She had been steadily growing drunker as the night progressed, squealing loudly whenever a new song started.

“Changbin,” the girl nodded, giggling when the man in question smirked in our direction.

But I knew he wasn’t looking at her.

“I think I like him too.”

And this time, I knew I had made the right decision.

[master-sass-blast]

Found Family Part Four: Nathan “Cable” Summers.

This might just be the single best fic I’ve ever written. Holy shit.

Summary: An over view of your relationship with Nathan “Cable” Summers. Has tie ins with Myshka and Dig the Needle In, set before Rubber Meets Road.

Rating: T for adult language, mention of abuse, injuries, and death, and angst.

Pairings: Piotr Rasputin x Reader and Nathan Summers x Wade Wilson.

This the fourth installment of a mini-series I’ve been working on! Check out the first three parts here: Wade, Neena, The Three Teens.

A massive thank you to the amazing @leo-writer for reading over this for me and reassuring me that it is, in fact, good.

Tag List: @marvel-is-perfection, @chromecutie (if you want to be added to the list, DM me or drop me an ask).

(X-Force Rap lyrics found here.)

Nathan Charles “Cable” Summers is an enigma. A grumpy, gun-toting enigma with a techno-organic arm, eye, and various miscellaneous parts.

He spends most of his time with Wade despite the fact that he seems just as annoyed by the merc’s antics as everyone else. He spends his time either working with the X-Men or working on his mission to unfuck the Earth. Given the amount of coffee he downs on daily basis, you’re not sure when he sleeps.

He also wears bifocals when he reads, practices yoga and meditation, and has a vegetable garden that he lets the students at the Institute help him with.

Nathan Charles “Cable” Summers is… weird.

 ***

 You meet him for the first time shortly after your arrival at the Institute.

“This is one of our training rooms,” Charles explains as he gives you the grand tour of the place. “We do require our residents to under go basic mutation control training for safety purposes.” He wheels towards a man with gray hair and a metal arm. “This is Cable. He’ll be your training mentor for the time being.”

Cable turns, techno-organic eye glowing orange as he looks you over. “You have any experience with sparring?”

You blink. “Uh… no.”

“Firearm handling?”

“Not… really.”

He nods. “We’ll start with those tomorrow.”

You stare after him as he turns and walks away, seemingly satisfied with the conversation –or lack thereof, really. What in the actual fuck?

***

 So, Cable –as it turns out—isn’t nearly half as intimidating as he looks.

He’s gruff and grumpy, yeah, but it makes sense after you get the thumbnail version of what happened to his family and how he ended up here from Colossus and the Professor. And he doesn’t talk much, but it’s because he genuinely prefers being quiet. More than that, actually, he doesn’t like having to carry the conversation; he’s more than happy to just let you talk all you want and only chime in occasionally.

He’s especially hard to take seriously after you catch him working in his garden while wearing a pair of hot pink Crocs.

You can’t help but cackle. “Where the fuck did you get those!”

“Wilson got ‘em for me,” he grunts.

“And you’re wearing them because?”

“They’re comfortable. Wash easy. No sense in throwing them away or wasting them.”

You shake your head as you chuckle. What a dork.

***

 Firearm training goes well. Cable is scrupulous about firearm safety; you don’t even get to take your first shot before you can break down a gun and put it back together and recite the rules of responsible gun handling in your sleep.

Sparring and trying to train your powers, on the other hand…

“You’re breaking form again,” Cable says, stopping his swing before it can gain any momentum. “You’re liable to get hurt if you keep flinching away from everything.”

“I know, I know; I’m sorry.”

“I’m not looking for you to apologize. I’m trying to help you avoid hurting yourself.”

“Sor—” You cut yourself off with a grimace and try to keep your hands from shaking. “Right. Let’s… let’s try again.”

Cable doesn’t go back into his sparring stance, though. He puts his hands on his hips and tilts his head back as he regards you. “You got beat on, didn’t you.”

It’s not a question.

You swallow hard and look away. “Does it matter?”

“Yeah.” He puts his hand on your shoulder and nudges you towards the edge of the ring. “Come on.”

“Where are we going?”

“For a walk.”

***

 You wind up in the kitchen. The room’s empty, save for the two of you.

You frown as Cable pulls out the cookie jar from its carefully hidden spot in the cupboard over the toaster. “What are you doing?”

“Mentoring. That, and I’m hungry. You want milk?”

You nod, carefully seating yourself at the counter. “I didn’t, uh, take you for a, uh, sweet stuff sort of guy.”

“Don’t have sugar in my time,” Cable says as he pours two glasses of milk. “Was bitching about it when I first came here, then Wade told me to shut the fuck up, enjoy it if I wanted to, and focus on using my energy for productive shit.” He pauses, then smirks. “And then he listed about twenty things that weren’t productive in the least.”

“Sounds like Wade,” you agree with a laugh. You pick a cookie from the jar, then dunk it into your milk before popping it in your mouth. “You know, for all that you seem to be annoyed by him, you spend a lot of time with him.”

“Wilson’s practical. We have similar worldviews. And when he’s not being an ass, he’s funny.” He shrugs. “I like him.”

You blink, then take the opportunity to play wingman for your best friend. “He likes you too, you know.”

Cable snorts. “Believe me, I know. He’s not exactly subtle.”

“So you’re just… letting him do his thing?”

“Wade’s got his own shit to work out first,” he says with a shrug. “He lost his girlfriend; he’s still grieving.”

“And you aren’t?”

Cable grimaces. “My wife and daughter are alive. Even if I can’t see them, I can build a better world for them. And that doesn’t necessarily stop me from loving. But Wade isn’t ready for that. And if he decides he is, at some point, I’ll be here.”

You smile. “Wow. That’s really romantic.”

He grunts. “I’m not romantic.”

“Yeah, you are. You’re a big softie.”

“I’m not.”

“You so are.”

“Not.”

“Are.”

He huff and shakes his head, corner of his mouth turning up in a smirk. “Whatever, kid.”

You take another cookie and focus purposefully on your glass of milk as you dunk it. “So, uh, why’re we here instead of training?”

“You’re not gonna be able to train properly until you stop being afraid of being hit,” Cable says bluntly. “The way I see it, that’ll be easier for you if you actually trust me.”

You frown and glance up at him. “So, what, we’re… bonding?”

“Yep.”

Weird… but not bad.

You help yourself to another cookie. “Okay.”

 ***

 The two of you don’t operate the way you and Wade do.

First, Wade is about ten thousand times crazier than Cable will ever be. Second, you and Wade are basically best friends; between the larger age gap between you and Cable and his vastly different personality, the two of you just don’t mesh the same way you and Wade do.

But you do connect. The two of you train together, tell each other about various parts of your lives. He teaches you first aid and some basic home maintenance skills, you teach him about which memes mean what and what Wade means when he uses them –which is basically a history lesson for Cable since he’s from the future, but whatever. It’s symbiotic.

You learn about each other. It’s progress.

***

 Your training, however, is not progressing.

You drop down onto your knees on the training mat and grab at your hair. “Fuck!”

Cable kneels down next to you, ignoring the multiple sets of eyes looking in your direction as he puts a steadying hand on your shoulder. “Hey, easy. Deep breaths.”

“I can’t do it.”

“You’re right, because you’re panicking. Come on, in through your nose, out through your mouth.”

You ignore him in favor of biting on the inside of your cheek so you don’t cry. “Fuck, why am I such a fucking failure?”

Cable stays quiet for a moment, then pulls you to your feet. “Come on.” He walks you to a quiet hallway and has you sit down on the nearest bench.

You swipe at your nose with the back of your sleeve. “Sorry.”

“Got nothing to be sorry for. Just focus on calming down.”

“I just really wanna get this fucking right.”

“You’re not going to until you stop expecting yourself to fail,” Cable says, to the point as ever. “It’s a self-fulfilling prophecy. And I doubt you’ll get past that until you process more of your childhood trauma.”

You grimace. “I’d really rather not.”

“Christ, what is with this century’s hang up on not working through emotions?” Cable grumbles.

“Yeah, because travelling back in time to murder a child is the pinnacle of working through emotions,” you fire back, too upset and pissy to be concerned with being nice.

“Touché,” he grunts as he sits down next to you.

You sniffle and do your best to dry off your face with your sleeves. “I just… I’m trying. I really am.”

“I know.”

“It’s just… it’s scary,” you admit quietly. “I know you’re not gonna hurt me –not really, anyway, though I’m not fond of the idea of getting hit by your metal fist—but it’s still just… scary.”

“I know. But the only way out is through.”

You shake your head. “I don’t know if I can.”

“You can. You’re capable. And you need to.”

You shake your head again, throat constricting as more tears threaten to spill. “I can’t. Maybe with the hand-to-hand stuff, but not with my powers.”

Cable cocks his head to the side as he looks at you. “What’s the difference?”

You fidget with the hem of your shirt. “I’ve… I’ve killed people before with my powers. On accident. I was a kid; I didn’t know how to control them.”

“Jesus Christ,” Cable groans.

“I can’t –I can’t do that again, I can’t—”

“Okay, okay.” He puts an arm around you and squeezes your shoulders as you try not to cry too loudly. “Let’s be done for today.”

“No—”

“Yes. You’re not in the headspace to train right now. We’ll do something else.”

“Like what?”

He shrugs. “Wilson keeps telling me I need to try Taco Bell.”

You snort. “So we’re going from exercising to diarrhea central. Talk about lifestyle whiplash.” You glance over at him. “You know you’re gonna hate it, right?”

“I figured as much.” He stands and nudges your shoulder. “Come on.”

 ***

 (For the record, Cable actually likes Taco Bell.)

 ***

 Unfortunately, word of your little “meltdown” in the training room spreads during your Taco Bell excursion. By the time you get back, the entire mansion knows about your struggles, and some of the X-Men decide that an intervention is necessary.

And they’re led by none other than Scott Fucking Summers, because that would be your luck, dammit.

You’ve never wanted to melt into the carpet of Professor Xavier’s office so badly before. Unfortunately –also your shitty luck—turning into a liquid is not within your mutation set.

You do, however, sink back into the chair you’re perched on as much as you can, which helps.

“This is a safety issue!” Scott declares as he glares at Cable. “If Y/N can’t train to control her powers, then she is a danger to everyone in this house!”

Gee, you’ve never heard anything like that before. Not even once –definitely not multiple times a week, by both your parents and various members of the town you grew up in.

“Those glasses come off your face, and you blast a hole through whatever’s in front of you.” Cable shrugs. “Doesn’t seem very controlled to me.”

“Scott has trained to regulate his responses and control,” Ororo points out. “If Y/N can’t control her abilities, her future as a resident does have to be brought into question –to say nothing of her potential future as an X-Man—”

“No one ever said anything about her being an X-Man,” Cable growls. “Just that she needed rudimentary training.”

“All permanent residents at the Institute either work as teachers, healers, or X-Men!” Scott snaps, quickly losing patience as the argument drags on. “We aren’t an open house charity!”

“Self-control, please,” Piotr says, holding his hands up in a calming gesture. “This does not need to escalate.”

“I agree with Mr. Rasputin,” Professor Xavier says, inserting himself into the conversation before Scott can start talking again. “Calm discussion is the goal, here. As for Miss L/N’s residency, she’s here for protective custody, which makes her an automatic permanent resident for as long as she wants to stay.”

Scott’s face creases into a frown. “She’s an adult. She doesn’t need protective custody.”

Professor Xavier glances once at you before clasping his hands together and placing them on his desk. “The details of Miss L/N’s past are for her to disclose at her discretion. However, having consulted with our legal representatives on the matter, I can assure you that protective custody is warranted for this situation.”

“But—”

“The terms of Miss L/N’s residency here at the Institute is a closed issue, Mr. Summers,” the Professor says firmly. “However, the issue of her control training does need to be addressed, if only for the peace of mind of the other residents here.”

You can’t fucking deal with this; you can’t handle listening to them talking about you, let alone the thought of having to explain why you can’t get a grip on your powers—

You start crying.

And, apparently, you aren’t as subtle about it –well, as subtle as you can be with a telepath in the room—because Cable notices almost immediately. He’s by your chair in an instant, clasping your shoulder and telling you to take deep breaths.

“They’re all talking about me like I’m not even fucking here,” you seethe, body trembling as you try to reign in your emotions.

“We’re sorry, Y/N—” Professor Xavier starts. 

“No, you’re sorry,” Cable snarls. “Don’t fucking speak for everyone.” He glares at Scott for a moment, then refocuses on you. “Do you want to take the lead?”

You recoil so hard you almost knock over the chair. “No –no. I can’t—”

“Okay, okay. I’ll handle it.”

You frown. “How?”

“I’m your trainer. It’s my job,” he replies with a shrug before standing. “Go on. Go cool off. I’ll take care of things.”

***

 After about a half hour of “cooling off” Cable texts you to come down to the training rooms.

He’s there with Wade and Colossus when you arrive. “We just need to run some preliminary tests, so we can get an idea of your starting threshold.”

You freeze right in your tracks. “What—”

“Relax.” He nods his head at Wade. “We worked things out with Xavier; you’re on the X-Force with us. Wade doesn’t care if you run missions or not—”

Wade gives you a thumbs up, confirming what Cable’s saying.

“—so you can train at your own pace.”

You blink, and the nervous knot in your stomach slowly starts to unwind.

Emphasis on slowly.

“But –I haven’t been able to train with anyone yet,” you point out. “Not without freezing.”

Colossus gestures to the training room. “We have robotic simulates for solo training. Normally, they are only used by experienced members –but, with supervision, you can use them as well.”

You peer into the training room; sure enough, there’s a few robotic dummies on the training floor, currently inactive and slumped over.

“Okay… but I’ve never really used my powers… indoors.”

Well, you have, but most of those times ends with lots of broken glass and injured people.

“This room is designed to withstand Phoenix force,” Colossus explains, smiling reassuringly. “I doubt you could do worse than that.”

It’s a fair point. Jean’s one of the most powerful mutants you’ve met; if the training room can withstand her…

“Okay,” you decide, albeit reluctantly. You pad into the training room, then nearly jump out of your skin when the door swishes shut behind you. Relax, Y/N. Don’t be such a wuss.

A speaker crackles to life overhead a couple minutes later. “Okay, testing, one two, testing one-two-three, there once was a lady in Spain—”

There’s a growl and the sounds of a struggle –along with a lot of swearing and complaining from Wade—and then Cable takes over. “Alright, we’ll power up the training bots when you’re ready.”

You take a deep breath before fitting your flight goggles over your eyes. What the hell? May as well go for it. “Let’s rock this show.”

The bots jerk to life, straightening up—

And loud music blasts through the speaker system.

You flinch. “What the fuck?”

“It pays to team up with the franchise namesake!” Wade shouts over the intercom system. “We have our own theme song!”

You listen for a minute, shocked and utterly distracted. “What… on earth?”

“Nuts for luck! Get the party started! Knock you out like Colossus farted!”

You bust out laughing; you can easily picture the consternated expression on Colossus’s face, to say nothing of Wade’s own delighted expression…

Unfortunately, your lapse in focus gives the training bots ample time to cross the distance between you and them.

You yelp when one swipes at you and propel yourself away with a little blast of air. “Fuck!”

“You need to go on the offensive,” Cable instructs over the intercom system. “We won’t get a comprehensive baseline if you don’t.”

“I don’t want to break them!” you shout as you dodge another attack.

“They are meant to be broken,” Colossus reassures you. “Just try your best.”

So that’s what you do. You manage to bat them away from you repeatedly, but apparently ‘meant to be broken’ is some sort of secret code for ‘virtually indestructible.’ No matter what you try, the sparring dummies keep getting back up and attacking you all over again.

One of them manages to grab your arm, and the other two are quick to pile on. They’re heavier than they look, and trying to shake them off amounts to a whole lot of nothing.

You panic. You squirm and thrash in their grip, borderline hyperventilating as you try to free yourself.

You let out at a scream, and a wall of air slams into the sparring dummies. They careen into the walls, cracking in a few places and deactivating as they drop to the ground in short-circuiting heaps.

You drop onto your knees, panting as you brace yourself against the sparring mat.

Applause and raucous cheering –Wade—bursts over the intercom system, accompanied by general grumbling –Cable—and gentle pleas to calm down –Colossus.

Eventually, Cable manages to regain control of the microphone again. “I think we’ve got what we need. You can head out when you’re ready.”

You don’t run out of the training room, but it’s a near thing.

 ***

 You don’t make it far, though. Wade intercepts you in the hall and practically tackles you with a massive hug.

“That was so cool!” he crows as he swings you around in a circle, ignoring your screeches of protest. “Super cinematic!” He sets you down gently –well, as much as Wade does gentle—and claps Cable on the shoulder. “Good thinking, Nate-y!”

You frown. “Wait, who’s—”

But Wade’s already skipping off down the hall, with Colossus following after him, a harried expression on his face, which just leaves you with Cable.

Cable.

You stare at him incredulously, eyes nearly bugging out of your face. “Nate-y?”

He rolls his eyes. “Nathan. My name’s Nathan.”

Which makes a lot more sense, admittedly.

He smirks. “What, did you think my parents actually named me Cable?”

You shrug. “I dunno. White people do weird shit with names.”

He snorts. “Fair enough. Not a trend that dies out in the future, by the way.”

“There’s really no hope for us, is there?” you joke. “So… you got a last name to go with ‘Nathan?’”

“Summers. Nathan Summers.”

The recognition hits like a light going off.

“Is Scott your dad?” you ask, vaguely horrified.

Cable –Nathan—nods. “Yep.”

You blink as you try to process the information. “I’m not sure if I’m weirded out by that… or if I’m just impressed that he actually managed to get laid.”

Nathan laughs. “You know, Wade said the same thing when he found out.”

“Well, that makes sense,” you say with a shrug. “We are siblings, after all.”

 ***

 Training goes much better after that. Nathan has you work with the dummies for a while whenever the training room’s empty. Eventually, he works you up to training with him or Wade in the empty training room, then to sparring while everyone else is in there.

After a while, he greenlights you for missions with the X-Force.

And, shortly thereafter, you throw yourself through a plate glass window, dislocate your knee, crack three ribs, and have to be carried out to the X-Jet by Colossus.

Oops.

 ***

 Fortunately, Nathan doesn’t mind stepping into the role of physical therapist. He helps you get your strength back and ramp up your training regimen in safe, healthy increments.

He also teaches you about the other aspects of recovering from injuries that you failed to learn from childhood.

“Ice is important to reduce swelling and inflammation; too much of either puts strain on the joint,” he says as he props your formerly dislocated leg over his knees. “But what most people forget is that you have to stimulate movement and blood flow in bits and pieces to help the muscles heal.”

“So, what you’re saying is I should run a marathon.”

He gives you look that would appear annoyed if it weren’t for the way the corner of his mouth turns up. “I’m saying ‘gentle massage and stretching.’” He carefully starts working his thumbs into the muscle area around your injured knee. “Not too much, and not too hard. Just enough to start loosening everything up.”

Colossus walks in while Nathan’s massaging your knee. He stops and stares for half a second, seemingly surprised. “Ah –Cable. The Professor would like to speak with you.”

Nathan helps you set your leg back down, then passes an ACE bandage to Colossus as he leaves. “Wrap her leg, will you?”

“Konechno.” He kneels in front of you, gently propping up your knee before unwinding the bandage. He glances up once –twice—to make sure Cable’s gone, then starts wrapping your knee. “So… you and Cable seem… close.”

“It’s just platonic,” you say quickly; it’s not every day the guy you think is cute asks if you’re “close” with someone else. “He’s like a dad to me. Besides, he’s both too old and too young for me and… yeah, no. Not my speed.”

Colossus chuckles as he slowly winds the bandage around your knee. “Fair enough, myshka.”

***

Things progress from there again. You heal, you get back to training and missions, and you improve quite a bit –and don’t throw yourself through anymore plate glass windows.

Then you get outed for using repression serum.

And everything stops.

 ***

 You spend most of your time in your room after returning to the mansion. If you’re not there, you’re outside, at the fringes of Xavier’s property, where you’re unlikely to hurt anyone. You hike around in the small wooded area, run the trails, and generally keep away from everyone.

Nathan finds your preferred hiding spot after a few days –a tree stump that’s had the space underneath it hollowed out by animals and the weather. He sighs when he sees you. “You can’t hide from everyone forever.”

“I have to,” you choke out between sobs. “There’s no place for me here anymore.”

“Kid—”

“Don’t fucking ‘kid’ me! I’ve killed people; I’m a monster!” You level your index finger at him, baring your teeth as he looks down at you sadly. “And don’t give me that shit about how I was just protecting myself as a kid. I killed twenty people when I stole the repression serum from Harmony. I’m a murderer.”

“Just because the X-Men have a no killing policy doesn’t mean accidents don’t happen—”

“It wasn’t a fucking accident!”

He purses his lips and gives you a hard look. “You chose to kill men who decided they had the right to kill other people.”

“It doesn’t make a difference!”

“Yes, it does!” he snaps. “You went after shitstains that side with the likes of Klansmen and Nazis. I came back in time to kill a kid who was terrified after being abused his whole life because he’d grown up into an asshole that killed my family. If you’re a monster—” he points at you “—then so am I.” He taps his index finger against his chest. “And if you want to technical about the body count, you’re nowhere near me or Wilson. You gonna call us monsters, too?”

You shake your head after a long moment. “No.”

“Then you don’t get to do it to yourself.” His expression softens, and he holds out a hand to you. “Kid, c’mon. You deserve better than hiding out here or in your room.”

You stare at him with watery eyes for a long moment, then take his hand.

He pulls you out from underneath the stump and into a hug. He gently smooths your hair out as you cry and brushes your hair off your back. “You’re not a monster. The choices you made may have not been the right ones, but you’re not a monster.”

You just shake and sob in his arms, unable to speak.

Eventually, when you calm down, Nathan has you sit up so he can pull some tissues out of his fanny pack –utility bag, whatever. “Dry yourself off, kid. Those men aren’t worth your tears.”

You shake your head as you wipe off your face. “I can’t think like. It’s too easy to be angry.”

Nathan regards you for a moment. “You’re incredibly strong, you know that? I knew soldiers who went through half the shit you did, and they were some of the most bitter, hateful people I knew.”

“War and a sucky childhood are two different things.”

“Yeah, but war and abuse both break people, and you haven’t let it break you.”

You blow your nose and let out an exhausted sigh. “I feel pretty broken.”

“You’ll get there. Give yourself time.” He lets you calm down for a couple more minutes before leveling the boom you knew was coming. “You need to get back to training.”

You shake your head automatically. “No. I can’t –I can’t kill anyone again.”

“We’ll start you off on the dummies again—”

“I’m stronger without the serum; I could still hurt people, or bring part of the mansion down, or—”

“You’re not stronger than a cosmic entity at full strength,” Nathan interrupts, adamant. “I know you’re scared, but the longer you stay away from this, the worse it’s gonna be.”

“I can’t,” you whimper, tears coming back. “I can’t do it.”

“You can. You’ve done it before, and you can do it again. Look, you trusted me to help you the first time, right?”

You nod.

“Then trust me now. I’ve had plenty of time to watch your powers and watch you use them. You’re smart. You learn fast. You’re a fucking natural. You managed to correct your landings in a handful of weeks. You’ll get the rest of your powers dialed in.”

You try to swallow the lump around your throat and sniff pitifully. “But what if I really can’t? What if there’s something wrong with me that makes it impossible for me to control my powers?”

“Then you need a different kind of help, not training,” Nathan says simply. “But the Professor taught Jean how to control an omnipotent, several millennia old cosmic entity, and you’re a lot more stubborn than Jean is.”

You manage a weak smile. “I am pretty stubborn, aren’t I?”

“Damn right.” Nathan smiles back, then stands and holds out a hand to you. “Come on.”

You hesitate. “Everyone else is safer if I’m out here.”

“Debatable. Besides, you deserve to be around the people you love and love you.”

You let out a shaky breath, then take his hand.

 ***

 It’s hard. And slow. Two of your least favorite things.

Nate’s with you every step of the way, though –and he listens to Alyssa’s recommendations about how to desensitize you to the training room all over again. The two of you start with just hanging out in the room –with and without other people in there—without doing anything else, then move on to training with weights or the punching bag. It takes three full weeks before you work your way up to training with the dummies.

You’re stronger. A lot stronger. You make Wade let out more than a few choice words over the intercom system as you decimate the X-Men’s collection of training bots over and over again.

“I told you,” Cable says as he helps you stretch before heading in one day. “You’re good. You’re powerful.”

“I don’t want to be powerful,” you mutter as you bend down to touch your toes. “I never asked to be powerful. And I—” you let out a strained laugh “—I don’t give a shit that other mutants would kill for my strength or abilities or what-fucking-ever. I never asked to be this way.”

“You don’t have to give a shit about their opinions. A lot of soldiers wanted my simulated abilities and added strength, thought I was lucky that I had a limb that wouldn’t bleed out. All this virus has ever caused me is pain.”

You straighten up and look at him directly. “You don’t think I’m being ungrateful?”

Nathan shrugs. “Don’t think ‘ungratefulness’ has much to do with it. Being the way you are has caused you a lot of problems and pain. It’s natural that you don’t like it.”

You let out a little sigh of relief and drop your forehead against his human shoulder. “Thanks, Nate.”

He pats your back gently with his human hand. “Anytime, kid. Anytime.”

***

 It takes you a bit, but you eventually realize that you hadn’t been kidding or speaking empty words when you’d told Piotr that Nathan was like a dad to you.

He is like a dad to you. He gives you advice and helps you train and generally acts as a silent, comforting, familial presence whenever you’re flipping out about various things. He learns how to cook with you and about how to exist in the real world with you and teaches you about shooting a gun, fighting, and what a proper budget looks like.

He’s not like Wade, who’s fun and an entire basket of crazy. He’s not like Piotr, who doesn’t challenge you as much and almost never pulls out the tough love that you need to hear from time to time.

He’s more stable than your uncle and more decent than your biological father.

He’s… he’s like a dad to you.

And you know beyond a shadow of a doubt that you can’t say anything about it to Nathan. You know he has Hope, that he has a real daughter, and you wouldn’t dare insinuate yourself in a space that’s already been filled.

So you train with him and hang out with him and enjoy his gruff companionship, but you don’t tell him what you really think of him.

You can’t.

***

 You don’t go on missions.

Until you do.

Against your will, admittedly.

“I can’t fucking be here!” you hiss at Nathan as you attempt to hold back tears of terror.

“None of us have a choice right now,” he says, though not unkindly. “It’s an emergency call, remember? It’s why we got picked up in the middle of getting the damn groceries.”

You pick at the hem of your shirt. “I can’t do it. I’m not ready for it yet.”

“Okay.” He bats your hands away before you can destroy your shirt. “Then you wait in the cockpit until everything’s over, alright?”

You take a deep breath, then nod. “Okay.”

 ***

 The mission goes South –which is shocking, considering that Neena’s on the job, too.

There’s just too many bad guys for your team. Even with Nathan breaking out his “ridiculawesome” gun and Russell using his fire to borderline dangerous levels, the goons just keep crawling out of every possible area.

Neena’s lucky powers are probably the only reason everyone other than Wade isn’t dead yet, you think as you watch everything play out from the jet. You wince when Juggernaut lands a devasting hit on Piotr. “Come on, babe! Kick him in the balls!”

Your chest tightens and your breathing speeds up as you watch the fight fall further South. They can’t do it. They’re going to lose. They’re going to…

You don’t even think about what you’re doing as you open the hangar door before sprinting out of the cockpit. You grab your flight jacket and goggles and throw them on as you dash out of the jet and run towards the fight.

Piotr’s managed to throw –literally, yeet and all—Juggernaut back, stunning the brute momentarily before the helmeted honcho started charging down your little family once more.

You speed up, then launch yourself upwards with a burst of air. You put all your focus into what you’re about to do and let a scream of rage as you sail towards Juggernaut.

He notices you halfway through his charge. “What the—”

You land a few feet away from him and throw your hands forward, sending him hurtling back with the most powerful sustained blast of air you can summon.

Several other of the gun toting villains get caught in the burst of wind as well, sailing away into the air with shrieks of alarm.

Behind you, Wade lets out a jubilant crow. “Fuck yeah! Take that you Bane-wannabe-cocksucker!”

You keep up the torrent of wind, pushing Juggernaut back until he figures out how to brace himself and stops moving.

It’s a stalemate. The unstoppable force versus the immovable object.

“I’m gonna stop the wind!” you shout.

“What?” Wade screams back. “Are you insane?”

“Don’t worry! I’ve got a plan!”

As soon as the wind fizzles out, Juggernaut growls and charges at you once more. “I’m gonna shove you down the metal guy’s throat, you dumb bitch.”

You bare your teeth at him in a scowl and cock your fist back. “Shove this, asshole.” You let him get barely outside of grabbing distance, then swing your fist forward

A sonic boom explodes across the landscape as you accelerate Juggernaut past the speed of sound. His shrieks of terror can be heard in the distance as he sails away, followed by the sounds of total chaos and destruction as he crashes into various trees and building-like objects.

“Holy shit!” Wade pumps both his fists in the air. “She wasted Juggernaut! You wasted Juggernaut! What in the ass, that was so awesome!”

“Fight’s still not over,” Nathan says, but he’s grinning. “We’ve got some drones in the air, and we’ve still got people on the ground to take care of.”

“I got the drones,” you say as you run forward and take off.

 ***

 As soon as the jet takes off, once you all have vanquished your foes, Wade yanks you into a big hug and spins you around. “That was fucking incredible!”

You shriek and laugh. “Put me down! Christ!”

“You did it,” Neena says with a massive grin as Wade puts you down. “You didn’t think you could, but you did.”

Piotr clasps your shoulder gently as he kisses the top of your head. “We are all very proud of you, myshka.”

“I realized I was more scared of losing all you than I was of losing control,” you say with a shaky laugh. “You guys are my family.”

Russell grins. “Seriously. We’re your family?”

You grin back. “Hell yeah! Wade’s my brother, Neena’s my big sister, you, Ellie, and Yukio are basically my cousins, and Piotr’s my future baby daddy.” You favor your –now flustered—boyfriend with a cheeky smile while everyone laughs. “You’re all my family. I… I love all of you.”

“Aw, so sappy! Group hug!” Wade cheers as he yanks you, Russell, and Yukio into a hug.

“Absolutely not,” Ellie grumbles as she quickly retreats to the cockpit.

***

 Everything goes well after that.

Except it doesn’t.

Nathan is… oddly distant for the rest of the evening. He barely makes eye contact with you for the rest of the flight, books it off the jet as soon as it lands, and doesn’t speak to you for the rest of the evening.

You’re confused. And hurt. You’d expected –unselfishly—that Nathan would have some sort of… something to say to you after your little “breakthrough.” He’s been so integral in your journey of learning to not be afraid of your powers, and he’s always had some sort of encouragement or praise –or tough love, when the situation called for it—at all your milestones.

You can’t even find him once you’re cleared by Dr. McCoy. He’s a total ghost –one that doesn’t reply to your texts and phone calls, to boot.

“Did I say something?” you ask Wade at one point, nervous to the point you feel like puking. “Something’s wrong, but I don’t know what I did.”

“I don’t know,” Wade says with a grimace. “I’ll see if I can figure something out from him, promise.”

By the time you’re ready –well, need—to go to bed, you still haven’t heard anything from Wade or Nate. You’re so worked up over it that Piotr has to coax you into bed and rub your back to help you calm down.

Which works wonders for him. He’s so tuckered out from his fight with Juggernaut that he falls asleep while rubbing circles up and down your back.

(You think it’s genuinely cute of him.)

You toss and turn next to your snoring boyfriend, replaying the fight and the flight back over and over in your head, searching for any mistake, no matter how miniscule, that might’ve set Nathan off like this.

After what feels like hours –mostly because it’s been hours—Wade texts you.

Bro: Nateys in kitchen. Is willing to talk.

The thought that you don’t want to wake up Piotr is the only reason you don’t sprint out of the room –though you do fly down the stairs.

Wade meets you at the bottom, his mouth set into a deep grimace. “He’s not happy.”

“What did I do?” you ask, borderline panicking. “I’ve been replaying everything in my head over and over, and I can’t think of anything.”

“I know. And I know you didn’t mean anything malicious, but…” He sighs. “He’s hurt. And you need to go make it right –or as right as you can.”

You do your best to fight back the tears that are already stinging your eyes and nod. “Okay. I will.”

Wade gives you a brief, reassuring hug, then nudges you towards the kitchen. “Go on. He’s waiting.”

You can see Nathan seated at the counter, stripping and cleaning one of his guns (he’s put old newspapers down on the counter, which you know Piotr will be grateful for come morning).

He doesn’t look up at you when he walks in.

It takes you nearly three minutes to realize he isn’t going to speak, either; you have to start this. You take a deep breath and clear your throat. “Wade said you were willing to talk things out?”

Nathan just lets out an affirmative grunt.

You scowl in an effort to hold back tears and clench your fists. “Look, Nathan, whatever I did, I’m sorry. But I can’t make this right if you don’t tell me how I hurt you.”

“Nothing to make right,” Nathan bites out as he cleans part of his pistol with more force than necessary. “It’s your choice to make.”

“That doesn’t tell me anything!” you exclaim, throwing your hands up. “Wade said you wanted to talk, you haven’t said otherwise, so talk. I’m not going to apologize for every single thing I can think of in hopes that something will stick.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” he spits out, mouth screwing into a pained frown. “I get it. I’m just not a part of your family.”

Your eyes go wide. “What? That’s not—”

The jet.

You’d given everyone on the jet a designation in your “family” –except Nathan.

You’d be smacking yourself upside the head if it wasn’t so obvious how upset he is over all of this.

“Nathan –I didn’t mean—”

“You don’t have to explain it. I understand.”

“No, Nathan, you’ve always been my family—”

“Don’t just lump me under some umbrella term,” he snarls. “I don’t need your fucking pity.”

“Nathan, just shut up and listen for one fucking minute!” you snap, louder than you ought to at this hour. “We’re okay,” you tack on when you hear Wade’s footsteps run towards the kitchen. “We’re fine.”

The footsteps stop, but don’t retreat in the opposite direction.

You sigh wearily and look at Nathan –who’s borderline glaring at you. “You’re like a dad to me, Nathan.” You see his eyes widen at the admission, and quickly move on so you can finish everything you want to say before he can lay into you for tarnishing his daughter’s memory and future existence like you are. “You’re everything I wanted my biological father to be. You’ve been with me on this journey practically every damn step of the way. There is no possible way for me to express just how grateful and thankful I am for your kindness and support and wisdom. If it hadn’t been for you, I wouldn’t have gotten out of that jet tonight.”

Nathan just stares at you when you have to pause to wipe your face, expression shocked.

“I know you have Hope,” you say, smiling sadly. “And there’s no way in hell I would ever try to step in on her memory or the bond you have with her. Just because you’re my family doesn’t mean I’m supposed to be yours –not like this, anyway.” You spread your arms in a shrug. “And I’ve come to terms with that. I’m okay with that. I know how much you love Hope; I can’t grudge that for even a single second.”

There are tears coming out of Nathan’s human eye that he doesn’t bother to wipe away. He just stares at you, borderline entranced.

“I’m sorry that I didn’t loop you into everything better on the jet,” you apologize. “I should’ve made a point to include you –called you a grandpa or something, I don’t know—but honestly, I was too strung out on adrenaline to even think of it in the moment. I didn’t mean to hurt you, and I’m sorry that you did.” You sniff loudly and take in a shaky breath. “I’ve done all I can do… and I think I’m just gonna go to bed now.”

You barely make it two steps towards the hall outside the kitchen before Nathan darts around the counter, grabs you by the arm, and pulls you into a massive hug.

You latch onto him, shocked.

“I can only hope,” he says, voice thick with emotion. “That Hope will turn out even half as kind and as decent as you are now.”

Your lower lip starts trembling in earnest, and you have to bury your face in his shoulder to keep from losing it.

“And I would be honored,” he adds. “To be your dad and call you my kid.”

You let out a little sob and cling to him harder. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“I know, it’s okay. We’re okay.”

The two of you stand there for a while, just holding each other and crying.

When you do part, Wade’s leaning against the kitchen doorframe, looking genuinely misty-eyed—

And further back in the hall is Piotr, looking half-awake at best and adorkably confused. “What is going on?”

“Good stuff, babe,” you reassure him, smiling even as you wipe your cheeks dry. “All good stuff, I promise.”

Nathan nods, agreeing. “We got it all worked out.” He squeezes your shoulder. “Go get some rest, kiddo.”

“Yeah, okay. Love you, dad.” Your voice breaks, and you almost start crying all over again.

Nathan almost does too, if his expression is anything to go by, and he pulls you into another hug. “Love you too, kid.”

A few tears do leak out when he kisses the top of your head, though.

He pats you on the back and lets you go a few moments later. “Go sleep. We’ll talk in the morning.”

“Yeah, okay.”

Wade trades spots with you as you walk towards Piotr, murmuring something in Nathan’s ear about “told you that was it” as he hugs his boyfriend.

Piotr’s smiling now, seemingly having put the pieces together. He kisses your forehead gently. “Ready for bed, myshka?”

“Yeah.” You yawn. “Will you carry me?”

He chuckles fondly and scoops you into his arms. “Konechno.”

You rest your head against his shoulder and let out a sigh that’s equal parts relief and happiness.

[dope-squish]

Programmed And Damned [ RK800 Connor X Reader ] [ Detroit: Become Human ] - Chapter Three - I Am Alive

[ Goal - 90 Hearts/Reblogs ][ goalreached.exe has stopped working. next chapter delayed for a week ]

[ Comments are extremely appreciated so please do comment. it makes authors feel great, i promise. it boosts our confidence ] [ Please press the heart button, the reblog button and share this fanfic to anyone and anywhere, this way, we'll more likely reach our goal ] [ Special mention to @timelizzy21 , @angsty-otters-blog , @connorshero , @divadonadance1 , thank you so much for commenting *^* your comments made my day and i will continue making this story interesting so please keep reading on ][wanna make a fanart or soundtrack for the story? feel free to do so but if you ever do, please send them to me so i can post them in the future chapters so they can be appreciated]

You have claimed the victory over the current Clash even if it hasn't officially begun yet. You can already tell after scanning your android foes and learning that they were not used with what violence the battle holds. They were inexperienced, not compatible for combat and ultimately served a whole different purpose for the needs of human beings but it wasn't a foreign sight to see them standing idly and with little to no knowledge standing in the arena of an Android Clash - with an outstanding and jaw dropping amount of cash offered as the grand prize for the emerging winner, most android owners couldn't careless about such facts.

They were greedy for everything and anything, hungry for temporary and sinful happiness residing in this world along with wealth and fame, uncaring for their purchased and oblivious android who spent all their time and energy tending to them like loyal servants kissing their masters' foot.

But then again, money itself can easily alter much in the existing community. Take for example faithfulness, love, discipline, honesty, and logic. Those are just some human characteristics that could cease to exist once money comes into the question and no matter the circumstances, it will remain a known fact to the world. Most say that humans are to be considered kings among androids but in reality, the humans nor the androids nor the deviants run the world but rather, money. Oh poor humans, using their domesticated androids as their personal makeshift money puking machine.

Humans are naturally greedy. Is there anything else to it? You thought as you silently observed a group of huddling men exchanging currency to one another from a corner, occasionally sputtering a name, an android model (at times you do hear them murmuring something along the lines of "that combat android who always fucking wins"), and maybe a curse word with saliva coming out along with it or a not-so-affable shove to their seatmate as they animatedly fought over which android would most likely end up being eliminated first and it came to no surprise that they concluded it was the deviant - seeing as it was the only one standing out in the arena and shuddering in fear, dilated eyes darting to every existing corner of the place and hands clamming open and close.

"Three, two, one," The insufficiently dressed emcee exiting the arena through the hidden door only humans can access to with a flippant twirl and outstretched her open palm in the air. "Androids ready?"

This was normally the time you'd rid yourself off all distractions but you can't help but continue glancing over at the deviant, scrutinizing it like what a scientist would with a newly discovered strange specimen.

Your memory log instantly brought you back to the time the deviant had pitifully begged for you to grace it with your mercy, to not harm it, to not have it shut down out of overwhelming damage. A partial side of you wanted to retaliate, to inform it that killing it would be as painless as a soft feather cascading down your skin, that is - of course - if it deactivated its pain receptors. But you didn't, or rather, you can't.

[ SYSTEM ERROR ^ ]

Your eyelids fluttered down to cover your vision. Focus on the objective. There is nothing more important than accomplishing my objective. Just focus. That deviant is a distraction to you, forget about it.

But no matter how many times you've deleted that memory from your folder, it seems to keep recovering and recovering, like you were reminiscing a fond memory. And in what way can you focus and act on your purpose when your system error keeps amplifying, thirium pump thrusting surplus of thirium into your circuits, LED flickering from three different colors at the same time and the smoldering eyes fixated on your frame by the same RK800 android ay the upper bleachers?

"Fight!"

You didn't let the cheers of the humans register in your eardrums before your survival and combat instincts was automatically activated against your wishes. In a flash, your hands extended out and ruthlessly seized the nearest android within the vicinity of your form that has not yet prepared to take action and severely dug your fingers into its eye sockets, productively drawing blue blood from them and foreseeable fracturing its brown colored optics, its eyesight no longer functioning. Its body involuntarily spasmed as its programmig fruitlessly strived to adjust to the permanent damage, its system malfunctioning and protractedly shutting down.

Yet another android stampeded up to you with its hands outstretched, an intention for strangulation unmistakable in its eyes. In an immediate, you turned your first victim towards the assaulting android and used its mechanical body as a shield from the unrewarding onslaught of the other.

Its movements faltered by the second as it realized its strategy to spontaneously supply attacks wasn't working - clearly pondering over its next motion - you took this opportunity to deliver a swift kick on the back to your makeshift shield towards the direction of the offending android and swiftly swung your fist behind you, previously having been alerted by your system that another android was going to attack you from behind after sneaking to your back. Focus. Just focus.

Regardless of being preoccupied by the other androids carelessly throwing any kind of attack on you with little to no precise planning, you didn't miss the deviant's figure backing away from the violence presented right before his eyes before his back kissed the wired walls, fingernails digging into its palms and hands pressed against its chest as it powerlessly watched the commotion you were winning over with ease.

A thought crossed your mind and etched on it longer than necessary. Should I spare this deviant?

But your main task flashed once more in your vision, overlapping the system errors in your vision -

[ Current Objective - Eliminate All Foes ]

And you were positive that the highlighted word "all"did not exclude the deviant from the majority. You are a renowed combat android in the Underground Android Clashes but you are also renowed for another thing - pulling off your objective at all cost and you are not going to let this inconsequential android turned defective to get in your way. Or rather, your owner's way.

Detecting a punch hurtling your way, you instantly ducked down, slid across the cemented floorings and initiated a kick towards whatever android that decided to take you on to which caused it to tumble backwards and down, bringing the two other androids along with it. As they are in tangled limbs and too occupied gathering their wits, you whipped around and located another android - not the shaking deviant by a cranny of the arena - seemingly preparing its attack on you but before you could react appropriately to the situation, the android punched a bigger hole through the wired walls, curled its palm on an empty bottle of alcohol perched precariously on top of a stack of crates and didn't hesitate to smash it against its skull. Million piercing shards prodded on its skull, small and almost unnoticable sparks of electricity sprouting from its small wounds as thirium leaked out. The deviant screamed in utmost horror, hands flying over to its agape mouth as the deafening and fascinated clamors of the humans wracked the whole factory like an earthquake. Thirium splattered and painted all over the ground as the android fell, eyes fluttering open and close before inevitably shutting down with a thrumming hum, eyes wide open - dare to say lifeless - and lips parted in a silent scream.

You can't do anything else but mimic the android's dropped open mouth. You have never witnessed an android - or its in case - deviant begging before, but being a live audience to an android committing suicide, especially in front of you, was a surreal moment, never been heard in history or seen in social networks. Did it turn deviant just now just for it to end its short lived deviancy out of fear of being torn apart by its same specie?

[ SYSTEM ERROR ^ ]

"Hey, hey, hey! Watch out!"

Snapping out of your train of thought from Ruth's booming voice, you flimsily dodged an incoming blow from an android and caught its fist in your awaiting palm. Its LED turned red as you tilted your head, the corners of your eyes turning to slits. "Wrong move," You murmured under your breath and wasted no time pulling at its arm with all your encoded strength, your foot painfully wedging on its stomach. Sparks of electricity formed at the joints of its left arm as the wires connecting its arm to its body gradually gave out. With one final pull on the arm and one firm kick on its stomach, the arm was successfully removed from the android with its blue blood layering it. You watched it fall to the ground with a painful thud, twitching with its optic eyes appearing and disappearing. You saw it open its mouth to sputter something out but you didn't give it any chance to say its final words and brutally stepped on its head over and over and over until you were certain it was no longer active.

A triumphant grin etched its way to your owner's features, as if he already won the Clash even when you haven't crossed off every android yet. The other android owners, however, did not meet this blessing and cussed like a sailor would and threw a childish tantrum by either stomping their foot or shoving the poor person next to them.

"Hey! What are you doing?!" Edwin Williams hissed at its owned android - or deviant at this point - as it simply answered by slowly falling on its ass and delicately cradling its head in its hands, fingers running through its blond hair. "Get in there and do your fucking job, for fuck sake! Fight back, fight back! Kill that damned combat android!"

"No, no, no," The deviant drawled out through its quivering lips, head rolling back. "Don't . . . want . . . to die. Don't want to, don't want to, don't want to."

A smirk appeared upon your brims as frustration coursed through the veins of the man at his android's disobedience to his commands before facing the two remaining androids standing idly beside one another, emotionless and motionless, just like an android should. Haphazardly tossing the torn arm from your hold, you let it clang against the ground as you calmly took confident strides towards the two androids, aware of their exchange of looks. You cracked your neck, something you've seen action stars do in their starred movies or shows, to intimidate the androids but being immune to emotions and possibly void of any entertaintment knowledge, they didn't see anything out of the ordinary with your action.

A taunting smile adorned your face. "Who's next?"

***

"No doubt that's the same android we're on about." Hank mindlessly commented as he attentively paid attention to the occuring Clash and the combat android - trying to gain any information that could help them in case they fail to put to custody their suspects - and physically winced as he watched the combat android iniated yet another vile attack on its fellow android with no hint of regret or reluctance. "Fuck me in the ass, what is wrong with that one? Can't it kill the other androids in a . . . a less graphic manner? My heart can't take shit like this anymore - shit, goddamn it,"

As Hank covered his eyes to prevent from witnessing anymore gore imagery displayed it, Connor leaned forward even further to get a better view of the arena with his hands gripping on the railings. His eyes remained trailing on the female featured combat android efficiently terminating the other participating androids in the Clash with horrifyingly accurate and clean offense and flawless defense.

Connor's software instability was nowhere near stabilizing - this was prominent from the endless pop ups that never left the corner of his vision - his thirium providing too much of it into his biocomponents and LED flickering from the three primary colors and somehow, although knowledged by they're source, he cannot help but be drawn to the android. If he was a human, he could have considered himself completely fascinated by it. Everything about it was created to perfection - it was perfect, too perfect for it to be gracing its presence in an unlawful enviroment like this aged factory and participating in felonious activities such as this. But considering it didn't know any better than to follow its owner, he couldn't blame all the fault on it.

"It is an android specifically made for combat, lieutenant. It cannot be helped." Connor stated in a tone that could only be described as matter-of-fact (intellectual). "But I can see why you find this . . ." He paused upon seeing the same winning android throw its fellow android behind its back and pointedly shattering its joints, earning it a few cheerful hollers from the audience. ". . . quite disturbing."

"Quite is an understatement." Hank responded with a shudder before his eyes settled on the deviant caught up in an unwanted situation. His brows met and he shook his head, heaving a sigh. "Poor bastard. It didn't deserve to be in there."

Connor watched as the reigning android approached the deviant with confident and giant strides across the thirium covered arena. The deviant scampered away from its former position and ran about the whole premises of the arena, distraughtly trying to escape or delay its inevitable death as it hurtled any metallic remains of the other defeated androids it had already finished off.

"Don't do this! Please, don't! Don't kill me, I'm begging you!" The deviant pleaded as he lifted up his hands in the air, tears prickling the corners of its eyes. "I don't want to die!"

"You can't kill what isn't alive in the first place." It responded monotonously, stepping over a deactivated corpse of an android with its eyes fixated solely on the deviant.

"I know you don't understand why I'm like this. You're not like me, I understand that. You don't understand why I'm afraid . . . why I'm scared to die. I've seen it before." Connor narrowed his eyes as he registered the monologue spoken by the deviant and automatically, he began recording the whole scene through his advanced pupils. The deviant clumsily stumbled back to avoid your delivered kick and as soon as it fell, it got back on its feet and advanced backwards. "The child I was helping before, Emily. She was five years old and she was deaf. Her parents got me to help her communicate with others. I loved her the moment I saw her. She was the reason I became a deviant. Her parents treated me nicely but her . . . she treated me like I was a special android, a friend. She even gave me a name - Daryl. I liked it. Then one day I was walking her back home from school, an armed man blocked us and she was shot by h in the chest five times before he left her there in the streets, bleeding, suffering in a slow death."

Connor's eyebrows knitted. So it saw a human - a small child - die?

[ SOFTWARE INSTABILITY ^ ]

And from the way it abruptly halted dead in its track and the significant dilation of its eyes, he knew it was experiencing the same . . . error as he was.

The deviant casted its gaze down, hands falling back to its sides. "I-I was there." It stammered brokenly as its tears fell from its eyes, its voicebox changing pitches as it dragged on. "I needed to help her, I knew that . . . but I couldn't."

"Why?" The combat android questioned suspiciously. Connor didn't miss its LED blinking three different colors, just as his LED was. "Because you wanted the child to die?"

The deviant's head shot right up, eyes wide in offense and hurt. "No!" It defended. "No, no. I don't want her hurt. If I could rewind time, I'd sdo anything to save her. I loved her, she was my first friend, the first and only human to treat me like . . . I'm human. I needed to help her but I couldn't because I was afraid, scared that the man will come back and shoot me like he did with Emily."

"You won't feel any pain so what's there to be scared of?" The other android snapped, its eyes glowering. "You'll just shut down like nothing ever happened, like you never existed. There's no such thing as heaven or hell for androids. When you're gone, you're just gone. No pain, no tears."

Connor can't help but agree with you. How androids could even think of thinking they were mildly worthy of feeling like humans is beyond his knowledge. Maybe CyberLife could help him with this dilemma.

"You don't understand." The deviant fought back.

"I don't have to."

Through the string of complaints from the audiences, a loud slam of a hand caught Connor's attention and as he looked down, he saw a feral looking man shooting daggers at the combat android. "Stop the chatting and start fighting, goddamit!"

***

It seemed instinctive when you charged towards the startled deviant but soon you found yourself holding its jaw, raising it up in the air with one arm. Your never growing fingernails hazardously punctured through the synthethic skin of the deviant's slender neck, graciously drawing out blue blood from its damaged part. Its face contorted to what appears to be agony, discomfort and lack of oxygen - which immensely perplexed you to no exact extent for no android - not even deviants - need oxygen to circulate in their system to function properly.

It was possible and not uncommon for androids to play pretend with emotions as to not cause discomfort for humans. When they are ordered to partake food in an event or even in a simple dinner for normalcy, they will do so. When they are asked to drink a certain liquid, they will do so. When they are asked to breathe, they will simply mimic what they've observed from humans and commence. But in this case, in this precarious circumstance where living beings' comfort doesn't apply for the time being, the deviant - its given name stated as Daryl - didn't need to continue acting like a marionette with strings. Yet here it was suffering in your hold like a human teetering in and out of consciousness, clawing on your hand with its projected tears cascading down its cheeks, begging for your mercy that will never come to its aid.

[ SYSTEM ERROR ^ ]

"Please," It rasped out the remaining juice of its voice box held in your grip. "Don't."

The clamors and insulting jeers of the non-artificial humans' sneering lips resounded in the coved interiors of the aged factory, combining with the distinct flutterings of cash and unevenly timed applause, you could hear them chanting one thing - "End it!"

"Sorry," You apologized monotonously and tightened your envelopment around its throat. "Nothing personal, I'm just accomplishing my objective."

Your eyes detected the frantic dilation of its pupils, the white enlarging as its body shuttered and frenzied, its survival instincts (Asimov's rule number three undoubtedly kicking in is instructions, overlapping its original objective which was to go against you). It thrashed around, legs kicking with no particular intent but to escape and arms flailing, trying to loosen your grip around it but to no avail - your thirium coated hand was unrelenting and strangling, overpowering for the deviant to accomodate and have its system adapt to the change.

The deviant's hues pleaded with you through his damp eyeballs, tongue lolling out as air left its biocomponent lungs. "We are the same,"

Your eyes shot open as your microcontroller unit processed its spoken statement and unintentionally saved the audio in your folders. Your thirium pump accelerated in speed, flooding your biocomponents with an overwhelming amount of thirium as your unit typed the word "unintentional" to a search engine and discovered its conceptual term. Upon conducting a brief research, you can unsafely but with sure certainty that you were not constructed by CyberLife with evidence of uncertain antics. But then how come you've done something unexistent in your instructions?

A glitch? A programming error made by CyberLife? Or worse, a will?

[ SYSTEM ERROR ^ ]

Paying no significang attention to your malfunctioning frame, you spoke with hesitant finality, "We are nothing alike."

A faint "yes"spewed out from your owner's lips was hiddden behind your hearing - unimportant - as a bloodcurling scream of terror in a form of "no" pierced through all coexisting noises followed by a startling sound of skin meeting thin metal ringing in your eardrums. A pair of amber orbs appeared behind the wired walls where you stood lifting the deviant by its neck, delicate fingers swathing around the smell of circles of the walls and throat contracting from - scanning - fear.

Recognition settled in your features and a familiar name appeared in your vision. "Autumn -"

"Stop it, [ Your Name ]. Just stop it. Don't kill him." Autumn's voice was demanding, commanding. Something you rarely hear leave her lips. "This is murder."

Your flickering LED turned momentarily yellow as overlapping instructions fused with your objective. "But Autumn, it's not ali -" She interjected sharply before you could properly construct your desired statement, to which you raised an eyebrow at.

"It is alive, he is alive." Autumn argued as she leaned further to the wall, the rusting metal closing in on her face. "And you are too!"

Her words shot right through your unwavering belief of the difference between androids and humans. Your grasp faltered for a moment or so until it returned to its original vice. "I am . . ." You trailed off reluctantly through gritted teeth. ". . . not alive."

From the corner of your eye, you spotted a seething Ruth practically radiating off a murderous vibe. "Autumn, what the fuck are you doing? Get outta here, now! That is an order!"

But your owner might have forgotten that his daughter was no android and had a desire of her own so she ignored him and continued on. "To me - this deviant - is alive! If you can't do it for yourself, then do it for me. He has a life, [ Your Name ]. Don't kill him."

Humans are the most intelligent and most simple minded of all beings created in this complex and wretched world. You knew better than anyone else that androids possess realistic features such as humans has, for you are one too. From the undiscrenable count of strands of hair to the unique fingerprints - androids are so similar to humans, in appearance wise, that humans themselves are deceived these robotic entities are alive - or was it in their nature to empathize? Either way, you've seen people fall for it and Autumn Judge was no exception to be a fool of this.

You begin, "But your father -"

Autumn snapped. "- doesn't care at all! He never cared for anyone, especially not you! To him, you're just a money making machine! But I care for you and it's because I care for you that I'm telling you to not kill him! You're not only killing your own, you're killing a human!"

A human. A human. A human.

[ SYSTEM ERROR ^^ ]

"It's a deviant!" You yelled as you aimed your sight on it, aware of its glistening tears. "Not a human."

It's not alive. I'm not alive. It's not alive. I'm not alive.

Her rigid features softened and she whispered, "Don't you want to be?"

A frown designs your face as yoy momentarily looked at her, brows burrowing in puzzlement. "To be what?"

She continues in a soft voice, "To be alive? To be . . . human?"

[ SYSTEM ERROR ^^ ]

An inaudible gasp escaped your lips as your hand unwrapped from the deviant's throat, releasing it. It inhaled sharply through its damaged throat to make up for the loss of oxygen after it landed on the cement.

Maybe it wasn't a will. Maybe - just maybe - it was a need - a need to feel. A need to be alive. A need to be human.

"I am . . . " You swallowed the thick blob of saliva dangling at the back of your throat, eyes blinking and system overheating from undetected reasons. With much hesitance, you continued, ". . . alive?"

[ MALWARE DETECTED :

I AM  A  L  I  V E ? [ YES ] [ NO ] ]

Before you could register the smile forming on the deviant's and Autumn's lips, a calloused hand appeared out of thin air and took hold of her beautiful locks, harshly tugging her back to which caused her to fall on her bum and cry out in combination of astonishment and pain. Her knees magnetted to her chest as her flailing hands flew up to the same hand causing her agony. Your eyes trailed up to the hand then to the arm then to the face of the assailant and what you saw didn't really surprise you, but it certainly made your LED color crimson.

"What have you done? What did you do to my android, huh?" Ruth snarled, teeth gnashing. "Tell me what fucking happened!"

Autumn turned her head up, glaring at her father. "Let me go, you asshole!"

But her begging fell upon unforgiving ears as Ruth merely yanked harder on her soft and silky locks. "You never know when to stop, do you? You jusy keep going on and on until you piss me off. Well, you got it, Autumn. You got me fucking pissed off."

Your LED flickered red and yellow. The glint in your owner's eyes - Autumn's father - was full of loathing and disappointment. He looked like he was prepared to disown Autumn as his family. You were sure a child would feel unwanted once seeing that kind of glower in their parents' eyes. It was - in your opinion - unacceptable for a father to look at his daughter like that. No child should feel unloved, unwanted.

A loud gasping caught your attention to which caused you to turn to the deviant who was holding its bleeding throat. It firmly looked at you right in the eyes. "You need . . ." It wheezed. ". . . to help that girl."

Ruth must have picked up the deviant's command for he directed his blazing gaze on you and pointed at your figure. "Don't you dare move." He snarled threateningly and immediately, your body stilled and waited for further instructions.

A realization got you grounded, frozen. Your body had a desire to move, to disregard the obedience CyberLife put in you, to defend Autumn from her own abusive and only family, but you were being held back by your programming. So there you stood rooted in your spot, watching helplessly as Ruth mistreated his daughter with physical and emotional harm.

Stop. Don't hurt her.

Current Objective - Don't move ]

[ New Objective - Protect Autumn ]

You subconciously blinked, trying to make sense of your overwriting instructions. Which shall you - a loyal servant to a human being - follow? CyberLife's programmed orders or your own will?

[ MALWARE DETECTED :

I AM  A  L  I  V E ? [ YES ] [ NO ] ]

"You've got to help her, [ Your Name ]." The devia-Dar-devian-Dary-deviant- Daryl-deviant repeated once more as you whipped around to face it, the fire in its eyes blaring alarmingly. "Don't let that human hurt your friend."

[ Current Objective - Don't move ]

[ New Objective - Protect Autumn ]

Your upper and lower lip parted and gave way for whatever words were pending in your throat waiting to be said - a protest, a complaint - but nothing came out, startling you. What was happening with your voicebox? Was it no longer functioning? It is possible after everything that has simultaneously occured all at once.

[ Current Objective - Don't move ]

[ New Objective - Protect Autumn ]

Autumn struggled against her father's hold, tears threatening to spill from her sockets. "Let go of me, Dad!"

But alas, as expected from a vicious man like him, he did not heed his daughter's simple demand. Instead, he seemed to find pleasure from abusing his own offspring. He tugged at her hair once more and you spotted a few strands ripping off from her skull, landing on the floor. "A bitch like you needs to learn a fucking lesson not to play around when her father is doing his business."

[ Current Objective - Don't move ]

[ New Objective - Protect Autumn ]

The other android owners', along with those people who merely came to watch the Clash, insisted your owner to punish his own daughter for defying his dominance. Some told him to physically harm her, some hollered to vocally abuse her but the majority persisted on seeing her battle against you so they'll be able to relish on a new pleasurable scandal of a female human dying from an android's hand.

[ Current Objective - Don't move ]

[ New Objective - Protect Autumn ]

At long last, Autumn Judge finally snapped. With a deafening scream tearing from her throat, she said, "Stop it, Dad!"

At that exact moment, a bright maroon wall entirely made out of foreign codes - numbers and symbols of unknown sort - and static activities appeared before your eyes, the sputtering two word sentence "DON'T MOVE" maniacally written all over and over and over on it like a quiet mantra, a prayer to an enigmatic god. You whirled around to scrutinize the area only to come into realization that everything and everyone was stilled, like a movie paused in mid action. Your LED whirred and blinked. Where am I?

A hand of yours hovered over the wall, hesitant to make contact with it. No amount of scanning could decipher the outcome if you ever do so. Peering through the nonsense coding and numerical numbers smeared in the peculiar red wall, you located with no trouble a familiar fear and pained - with traces of betrayal and tears - stricken facial expression of a female human. From her auburn strands and amber hues, it didn't take long for you to process that - indeed - the person before the separating wall was no other than Autumn Judge. But it did take you longer than normal - for an android at least - to recognize because you've never seen Autumn wear such a mask before that bore negative emotions. You were used to seeing her flashing her sunny smile to everyone, especially you.

As a system warning covered your display, the burning oil in your body bubbled as a foreign error made its way through your circuits. A glower adorned your face as your sight shot murderous daggers to your owner ruthlessly (your LED blinked a brief yellow upon realizing you have made yet another pun in such a bad time) causing harm on his only daughter, the only person who stuck by his side despite his unhealthy addiction to red ice and Android Clashes. "Nobody hurts her." You spouted menacingly.

At this thought, the strong temptation to harm your owner skyrocketed. And at the same time, at the same thought, the urge to protect Autumn - to defend her, to disobey your owner's order to remain motionless. System errors overlapped in your eyes, rendering you blind so you weren't able to register what you were doing as raised your fist up in the air and with one single and simple hit, the red coded wall presented before you shattered like fragile glass - and soon, you found your curled hand had already burst through the thin layer of metal wired walls and was taking hold of Ruth's greasy neck, chocking him, completely ignoring the astonishment settling on his and Autumn's face and the devi-Daryl's broadening smile, as though "he"knew what was going on.

Your lips moved as you spoke but what you heard wasn't an android's voice, but rather a deviant's voice - "your" voice, "Don't you fucking touch her."

[ Current Objective - Protect Autumn ]

[ MALWARE DETECTED :

I AM  A  L  I  V E ? [ YES ] [ NO ] ]

.

.

.

.

.

.

[ LOADING COMPLETE ]

[ Y E S ]

[cecilspeaks]

131 - Brought to You by Kellogg’s

Today as all days, As every day of your life, Has been brought to you by Kellogg’s. Are you worthy? Welcome to Night Vale.

Hello, listeners. Well, we’ve been having some real budget troubles here at the station, so it does seem that today’s entire broadcast will be a sponsorship message from Kellogg’s. I know that feels like a lot, but it was the only way to keep the station up and running.

Station Management consumes three tons of soil from Paris each month! And it has been massively expensive digging it up and shipping it here. Not to mention all the bribes needed for government officials. All to say that Kellogg’s has agreed to pay for um, uh, let me check, OK. One month of soil shipments in exchange for us exclusively talking about them for the next three years.

Uh. OK. Well that doesn’t sound like the best bargain, but I’ll consult the station’s legal advisor and see if we can get out of that.

Oh, our legal advisor is Laura, who is a server down at the Moonlite All-Nite Diner. Between shifts, she likes to read Wikipedia pages about, mm, law stuff, so we often go to her for her expert opinion. In the meantime, probably best for me to just do what the contract says. This explanation brought to you, of course – by Kellogg’s.

Let’s get to the news. John Peters – you know, the farmer – said that some folks came to his farm. They said they were from Kellogg’s. Said they heard that he grew the finest imaginary corn in the state. Said they were thinking of getting into imaginary Corn Flakes, and that they wanted to buy up his entire crop. He told them that he already had a deal with Flakey-O’s, a good local cereal company, and that he couldn’t go back on his word. One of the folks from Kellogg’s squinted up at the sun, then spit on the ground through tight lips. “Oh,” that person said. “Iii wouldn’t worry about Flakey-O’s.”

To be honest, listeners, I’m now worried about Flakey-O’s.

And now the Community Calendar. This evening is the monthly school board meeting. Topics covered will include updating text books to contain words, rather than runes and diagrams of ritual dances. Hiring a new vice principal after that whole endless cave of suffering mess a few weeks ago, and replacing all food in the cafeteria with cereal. Scientists from the Kellogg’s Institute say that most food has no nutritional value at all. Oh, wow. I did not know that. And that only cereal contains all the protein, vitamins and corn that a body needs to live. Yeah, that seems right.

Thursday, the Boy Scouts are holding their summer bake sale. They will have bowls of cereal and nothing else. The cereal is not available to you. You are available to the cereal.

Friday is now called Kellogg’s day. Mentioning the outdated name for Kellogg’s Day will result in severe fines and disappearances.

OK, I’m actually getting some sort of urgent text from Carlos. Hm. He says that something I’ve said recently is not scientifically accurate, but you know, I don’t have to check what. Kellogg’s isn’t paying me to text. Or maybe they are. You know, it’s not clear what Kellogg’s wants from us.

Saturday morning is the summer softball league’s weekly game, pitting Steve Carlsberg’s Happy Hyeenas against Susan Willman’s Garbage Dump Team. That’s  not the actual name of the team, but it should be. Ugh, Susan Willman! Kellogg’s will be sponsoring the game by replacing the softballs with fistfuls of Apple Jacks and sending employees to hurl boxes of cereal at players.

Sunday afternoon in Grove Park, Sarah Sultan will be offering free meditation classes. Sarah is, of course, a fist-sized river rock, and so is extraordinarily good at staying still and silent. And she wants to pass these skills onto you. Kellogg’s will place a six-inch deep layer of Special K over the entire park, for reasons that are their own.

The Night Vale Metereological Society has issued an extreme heat watch for Monday, saying, “Hey, it’s a desert. In August. It’s probably going to be hot as heck on Monday, and all other days.” Kellogg’s suggests using the sun to cook up some Rice Krispie treats by building a simple solar energy panel and using that to power an electric oven.

And please, set aside all of Tuesday, as Kellogg’s has indicated that they have use for us, all of us, on Tuesday. And then Kellogg’s made this hollow dry laugh that sounded like it came from a long dormant stone well.

This has been the Community Calendar.

In other news, Flakey-O’s executives announced that they are going to stand strong against this current Kellogg’s encroachment. “We are citizens of Night Vale,” said Flakey-O’s chief executive, Leopold Tuesdale. “We’ve been through a lot of terrifying stuff. It’s a real weird town. We’re not afraid of a competing cereal company.” Then he yelped, as the closet in his office opened and the folks from Kellogg’s came out. One of them squinted up at the sun, then spit on the office floor through lips. “I wouldn’t worry about Flakey-O’s,” the person said. And then the Kellogg’s group left the office while Leopold sputtered about how they got in, and why anybody would ever spit on another person’s floor.

Next up, we have traff- oh, oop, nope, OK. Um, [clears throat] I’m being told that traffic has been replaced today by our new segment.

Listeners, I’m… pleased to bring you Common Kellogg’s Questions, in which you ask questions and I answer them, with off the cuff answers that are not written down for me on these carefully scripted cards.

Question number one: How much is too much cereal? My off-hand answer: How much is too much life? How much is too much love? Would you deny yourself blood in your veins? Would you deny yourself dreams in your evenings? There is not too much. There is only ever the deposit and the longing.

OK, question number two: Sometimes it seems my cereal boxes are watching me. I don’t know how else to describe, they-they don’t have eyes or anything, and they’re just sitting there, but it feels like they’re watching me. Just improvising here, but: Certain measures are taken for your own good. Don’t worry about it. it’s fine.

And question number three: Is this coupon for Frosted Mini Wheats still usable? I’ve had it since, like, 2007 but it doesn’t have a date on it. Is it still good? In answer to your questions and for your extemporaneous listening pleasure: Here are ten seconds of a person eating cereal, recorded really really close to their mouth. [crunching noises]

This has been Common Kellogg’s Questions.

Hey, let’s just keep this going. [clears throat] Health tips. Did you know that Corn Flakes cure most cancers? The reason you didn’t know that is that it isn’t true. But we have made a person on the radio say it to you, and now you will remember that he said it and forget that he said it wasn’t true. Because our minds are fallible and easily manipulated. Okey, this is just insulting. Do I really have to… [whispering] Station Management is not happy about my endangering their soil shipment, so let’s just keep moving.

Flakey-O’s chief executive Leopod Tuesdale has vanished under mysterious circumstances. A white van with a Kellogg’s logo pulled up to him as he walked to his car, and a group of people hustled him into a burlap sack and the burlap sack into the van. One of the people stopped to squint up at the sun and then spit on the ground through tight lips, before jumping in and the van roaring off. So I am being ordered by our current sponsors to report that nothing is know about Leopold’s disappearance and there are no clues indicating what happened. You know, probably he just got scared about the quality of his competitors’ products and fled. Happens all the time! All the time, Kellogg’s has asked me to repeat.

Now, let’s see what kind of weather Kellogg’s has deigned to give you.

[“Standard Deviation” by Danny Schmidt]

[booming noise] In the beginning, there was nothing. There was not nonexistent or existent. There was no realm of air, no sky beyond it. What covered in and where, and what gave shelter? Was water there unfathomed, depth of water? Darkness was upon the face of the deep, death was not then, nor was there (ought) immortal.

Then, there was Kellogg’s. Nothing became something. Kellogg’s spread and formed. Kellogg’s became the planets and the stars. Kellogg’s gathered into long strands to become the arms of galaxies, an infinity of Kellogg’s. Space made tangible out of the empty. Kellogg’s became soil and water, it became trees and it became birds, and it learned to sing and it learned to speak.

The first man rose and found the first woman waiting for him, and her name was Kellogg’s, and his name was Kellogg’s, and they shouted in horror at their own mortal forms.

Later, there were cities and before that, there were communities. And it all came from Kellogg’s and was of Kellogg’s and belonged to Kellogg’s. The people knelt and they gave a joyful thanks for their own creation, but Kellogg’s could not hear. It was a heaving dumb creature and it created out of a natural impulse, like how humans bleed, like how birds bleed, like how trees bleed. It did not create out of benevolence. Kellogg’s is not benevolent. It is not evil, either. It is a stone. It is a star. It is every empty distance between the stones ad the stars. It is not capable of morality. It. Is. Kellogg’s. It is – forever.

Once, long ago, the first king looked out over the first kingdom. It was not a very big kingdom, but then, there weren’t a lot of people at that time. Great empires would come later, but at that moment, the world was very small, a stretch of grassland near water. And the person who held that grass land was the king. And the grassland became a kingdom. There were titles given and borders erected. The king felt that he had created something great here, that his name would ring out forever. No one knows his name now. Even 100 years after his death, it was forgotten. The only name that rings out forever – is Kellogg’s.

Once, there was a farmer who lived at the edge of a forest, and she worked her fields. She would look at the forest with longing, because it seemed to her that her life was built only of routines and chores, and that these were the walls that boxed her in. And that by monopolizing her days, these routines were killing her. They were killing her in the sense that they were taking her entire life away from her, and she felt that if she ever got the nerve, one Kellogg’s day evening, she would run into the forest. Maybe it would be scary in there, probably dangerous. She would be less comfortable than she was on the farm, but she would also be truly herself. It was all waiting for her in the forest. She never ran into it. Later, she died while working one of her fields. This story doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters – is Kellogg’s.

Years from now, the universe will disperse. The stars will dim, running out of the energy imbued to them when it all exploded. Planets will become cold rock and molecules will stop forming, and atoms will stop vibrating and it will be still. It will be still forever. Or at least until the next thing. And nothing from this thing will ever see the next thing. [whispers, inaudible] Kellogg’s will watch the universe (-) to (fire) and will help it lay itself to rest. [quietly] And Kellogg’s will wait in the darkness. Will wait as long as it needs to. Forever, or what a human would perceive as forever. Maybe it will wait for ten times as long as this universe ever existed, but eventually, it will stir. There will be water there, unfathomed depth of water. Darkness will be upon the face of the deep, and it will all start anew.

There is a town, and that town is called Night Vale. It exists on a plane in a desert surrounded by the Scrub Lands and the Sand Wastes. Above us are lights that flit about. When they (peer), we (peer) back, wonderingly. We are simple, and we love each other, and we conceal secrets and we hold multitudes, and in this way we are like anyone. We live lives that are rich with meaning and awe. Or we live lives that are heavy with torment and worry, or we live lives that pass by like a Wednesday afternoon and we reach the end and say, “oh my God, was that it?” And it was.

We are a community. Like the king, we have made the world smaller, and in claiming this tiny corner as our entire world, we have created a kingdom. Like the farmer, we eye the forest and contemplate what could be out there if we ever left, if we ever went. But few of us do. And like the universe, we are brought to us – by Kellogg’s. We belong to Kellogg’s, and we are made of Kellogg’s. We cannot understand Kellogg’s, and that may be because the mystery is too complex. Or, it may be because it is as simple as a monolith, and truly there is nothing to understand.

Flakey-O’s is no more. The company has been bought out, with no management left to resist the hostile takeover. It is now a research wing of Kellogg’s, designed to test out a concept that Kellogg’s says they have just invented all on their own. Which is a line of cereal meant for night time only. The new head of this division squinted up at the sun, then spit on their own office floor through tight lips before saying, “Ii wouldn’t worry about Flakey-O’s.”

That’s it for our sponsored show.

Remember: today has been brought to you – by Kellogg’s. And Kellogg’s can take today away.

Good night, Night Vale, Good night.

Today’s proverb: Keep your eye on the ball. Keep your lungs on the court. Leave your stomach in the locker room.

[rauliskafan]

A Hard Lesson in Valiance: Chapter 12

Authors’ Note: Happy Tuesday, everyone!!! Lots of surprises last night. And now Rafael is a man on a mission. Read on to find out what he has up his sleeve! @vintagemichelle91 and I hope that you enjoy!!!

          “You sure he’s not like a cousin of yours or something?” Fin asked.

           Peering through the mirror into the interrogation room, Rafael saw Ramirez tap a can of soda before cracking open the aluminum for a drink. He looked no worse for the wear. Because Natalia had endured the brunt of his cruelty. Wanting to smash the glass, he watched Rollins circle the room as Liv stayed fixed to her chair.

           “Nevada Ramirez,” Liv began. “You got a rap sheet a mile long.”

           “My reputation precedes me,” he said.

           “Does it ever,” Liv replied. “Makes me wonder why you came back.”

            “I have interests to attend to.”

           “Do those interests extend to accosting Natalia Barba in the park this afternoon?” Rollins asked. Ramirez lazily looked over his shoulder and shot her a small smile as his hands trailed down his legs.

           “That was different,” he said. “Eso fue un asunto personal. We were just getting reacquainted when your thug busted in.”

           “Man’s digging his own grave,” Fin said. But Rafael feared that the dirt could… that it would choke Natalia if Ramirez stayed close.

           “What is this really?” Ramirez questioned. “I’m the injured party. You should be slapping the bracelets on her.”

           Not if he could help it.

          “Can you give us a moment?”

           Fin had his back as Liv’s eyes centered on his face. But Rafael focused only on Ramirez. The man slouched in his seat, his smirk stretching the length of the room. What would have happened had he met him years ago in the Bronx? No doubt Rafael would have said too much, been bloodied before Eddie managed a few well-placed punches.

          Now he had to take him down on his own.    

          “Barba?”

           Looking to Liv, he nodded towards the door.

           “The lady wants to help,” Ramirez sneered. “Do you need a niñera?”

           “I’m good,” he said. “Do you need the backup?”

           “What do you think?”

           Sitting across from him, Rafael folded his hands against the tabletop as Rollins took the cue to exit, Fin almost following her.

           “Next time you cross my path you won’t be so lucky,” Fin threatened.

           “We’ll see about that.”

           With that they left. But Liv lingered.

           “Barba?” she asked. “Do you know what you’re doing here?”

           “I’m handling this, Lieutenant.”

           When he glared, her eyes glazed over. Still a fight for another day, and as soon as she slammed the door shut, Rafael looked to his hands, allowing himself a moment where he envisioned them forming fists and pummeling the smug expression from his double’s face.      

          “Your esposa just can’t keep away from me.”

           And Ramirez seemed ready for the fight.

           “That’s quite an active fantasy life you have,” Rafael said, slowly meeting the other man’s eyes.

           “You didn’t see her in the park,” Ramirez responded. “All weak in the knees for our reunion. Tell me something?”

           “That’s vague,” Rafael answered. “You want to talk about the weather?”

           “Hot out there tonight!” Ramirez said, rolling up his sleeves and taking a sip from the can of Coke. “Steamier when Natalia showed up. Tell me…”

           He leaned closer, and Rafael felt his carbonated breath tinged with tobacco wash over his face.

           “She look like that good the first time around? She’s got this glow about her.”

           A part of him wished that Natalia had managed to plunge the knife into his heart. Or whatever he called the organ beating in his chest. But he kept that secret to himself and unfolded his hands, planting his palms on the table.

           “She always looks beautiful,” Rafael said.

           Even when she was crying. Even when the sight of her sad sliced his soul.

           “Don’t I know it,” Ramirez hissed.

           “My turn,” Rafael muttered.

           “You didn’t answer—”

           “That’s all you’re getting,” Rafael said, his voice thick.

           “Guess you don’t put out. But Natalia does.” Ramirez fell back with a laugh and coiled his fingers behind his head.

           “You son of a—”

           “Natalia plays hard to get, but I know she likes what we have.”

           “You have nothing,” Rafael insisted.

           “So sure about that?” Ramirez asked.

           Counting to ten, willing his want to kill away, Rafael took a deep breath before starting in again.

           “I have a proposition for you.”

           Ramirez’s eyebrows arched, and his cheeks expanded, another stream of arrogant air filling the room before he downed the rest of his drink.

           “You offering the blonde or the bull dyke?” Ramirez asked, looking towards the two-way mirror. “Can’t really say that either one is really my type. But together they might be worth the price of admission.”

           “You couldn’t handle them,” Rafael said.

           “Speak from experience? They good fucks?”

           “I speak as someone who knows that they could send you to the tombs with your limp dick ready to fall off if you cross them.”

           “Whoa!” Ramirez clapped his hands together and kicked at the legs of the table. “What do you get up to around here?”

           He almost honored that with a retort but just as quickly dialed his rage back and stilled his feet on the floor.

           “A conversation for another day,” Rafael said. “Let’s talk about you.”

           “I’d rather talk about those lady cops. Or better yet… Natalia.”

           Ramirez spoke her name as if she belonged to him.

           “Must be problemas en el paraiso,” he said. “Couldn’t manage to knock her up again. Bet you tried. And look at me. One and done. Natalia knows it. She can say all she wants that it’s yours. But la verdad duele.”

           Why hadn’t he hired anyone else but Carmen… kept a closer eye on Ward…?

           “Usually I am un hombre que perdona,” Ramirez continued. “Tonight she came into my club, got out of line, and—”

           “What if we found a way to let that slide?” Rafael asked. Obviously emboldened, Ramirez rose from his chair, his smirk intensifying.

           “What’s on the table?” Ramirez asked.

           Something that stuck in the back of his throat and threatened to turn his stomach inside out if it dropped too deep and festered in his bloodstream. Rafael gave himself five seconds, let his wrath cool. Only then did he leave his seat and join him beside the window, their matching reflections meeting like some twisted joke.

           “More than the likes of you could ever fathom.”

           One image left the glass, and Rafael felt Ramirez’s eyes burrowing into his cheek as he gripped the windowsill.

           “You have my attention,” he said.

           He needed much more than that.

           “I… how would you like a life where you could conduct your… business and never have to worry about the long arm of the law?” Rafael asked, quietly.

           “Interesante,” Ramirez said. “You gonna keep talking or—?”

           Seizing his hand, fighting the urge to crush his bones and leave him howling, Rafael found the other pair of green eyes and spoke fast.

           “I’m talking no threats from the policia,” he started. “Or the DA’s office. I’ll fix it so that you can do what you will without any fear of repercussions. Let’s call it a gold card that you can cash in over and over again.”

           “Go on.”

           Seeing that Ramirez was intrigued, Rafael moved in for what he hope would be another kind of kill.

           “No one will try to take you down. Only your rivals locked up if there’s a raid. Think of how much product you could move. The territory that would be yours alone.”

           And the ways that he would have to scramble to keep up with the promise and his nose clean. But he was willing to do chance it. So that Natalia could fall back into his arms contented and never have to so much as think of Nevada Ramirez again. So that Violetta would get the chance to be a big sister.

           So that the twins would be well out of his reach.

           “Rafael…”

           Ramirez fell against the wall and shook his head.

           “You think I would put my faith in you abogados again?”

           Shit! It hadn’t worked. And now he had doomed Natalia to a life where was forever tied to this creature. His legs felt as if they would give out from under him.

           “Maybe… maybe you didn’t hear—”

           “Claro como el cristal,” Ramirez said. “You’re all the same. Ward thinks I’m back in the palm of his hand. So I came home but…”

           Ramirez’s words trailed off, and Rafael looked up in time to see his face cloud over as he held his tongue.

           “What did you just say?” the ADA asked.

           “I… nothing. Just one more tonto in his pen, right? Me and Carmen and all the rest.”

           It should have made enough sense. But Ramirez suddenly seemed nervous.

           And Rafael pounced.

           “How did you know about the babies?” he asked.

           “Babies!” Ramirez echoed, his eyes wide. “You’re still running second to me!”

           “That wasn’t the question. It would have been wiser… why take the risk of returning?”

           He had him speechless and just curled his hands around his throat when Liv and Fin burst into the room and tried to pull him away.

           “We’ll take it from here, Barba,” Fin said, but Rafael held fast for another second, two, only releasing Ramirez when he gasped for air.

           “This fuck is crazy!” Ramirez cried, his hands on his throat. “I want him charged with assault.”

           “Like my wife?” Rafael challenged.

           “Thought… thought we were negotiating?” Ramirez asked from the floor, sputtering.

           “No hago tratos con escoria.”

           His mind was running a million miles a minute as he left the interrogation room and ran right into—

           “Rollins!”

           “Barba, what the hell were you thinking?”

           “Who ran the test?” he asked quickly.

           “Who… some tech. She’s worked on cases with us before.”

           “And she didn’t ask any questions?”

           “She… no. I told her to keep it quiet.”

           “Ever wonder why she did that? Why she said nothing when you just showed up off the record?”

           “I…”

           He watched her eyes flicker and her head nod as they started to leave the squad room.

           “Hey! What’s up?”

           “I’ll tell you tomorrow, Sonny,” Rollins said.

           “It is tomorrow,” he said, glancing at his watch.

           “Then let’s hope it’s on our side.”

           They raced back to the hospital, and Rollins promised to learn Ward’s new room number. Letting her go, Rafael calmed his breath and found his way to his wife’s door.

           “Natalia?”

           She was asleep. Thankful for that much, he minded the one palm clutched in Alessia’s grasp and found her free fingers, holding them fast, leaning forward to kiss her slumbering brow.

           “Rafael?” Alessia asked. “What’s going on?”

           “I don’t know yet,” he muttered, smoothing Natalia’s hair from her face and kissing her once more.

           “But I’m going to find out.”

Translations

Eso fue un asunto personal- That was personal business

Niñera- Nanny

Esposa- wife

Problemas en el paraiso- Trouble in paradise

La verdad duele- The truth hurts

Un hombre que perdona- A man who forgives

Interesante- Interesting

Policia- Police

Abogados- Lawyers

Claro como el cristal- Clear as crystal

Tonto- Idiot

No hago tratos con escoria- I don’t make deals with human waste

[dyde21]

Try writing arkos where Jaune is a musician, busking on the streets to pay rent (maybe living with renora)

Thank you so much for the prompt! (I’m answering these in no particular order. Not ignoring the earlier ones, just got a solid idea for this one first.)

Jaune closed his hands tightly aroundthe hand-warmer in his hands. It was starting to get a little late,which meant the temperature of the air was starting to plummet.

Still, today had been… less thanproductive for him. It seemed people were feeling a little lessgenerous. But, he certainly wouldn’t fault them. He was the one,after all, busking in the street hoping for spare change. No one wasunder ANY obligation to give him a dime. In fact, he was currentlyliving by the kindness of his two best pals.

Having fled to the city to try and makeit on his own, away from his family, he found life had been harderthan he had expected. It had only taken two months for his meagersavings to be burnt and he was facing eviction. Just when he wasabout to give up and move back home, Ren and Nora had approached himwith an offer. He could stay with them for a while, split the rent,while he got his feet underneath him. Their offer, however kind,seemed almost too greedy for him to take. He was about to turn themdown when Nora all but insisted and practically started moving himinto their apartment on her own. Ren had reassured him that it wasokay, and eventually Jaune relented.

Taking another swig of water from hiswater bottle, he stared down at his hands as he desperately clutchedthe hand warmer. Cold hands meant stiff hands, and stiff hands meantit would be even harder to put on a good performance than it alreadywas. He couldn’t afford to go home again without a decent earning.

Life seemed to enjoy kicking him whilehe was down, and he found it hard to find a job. Sure, he dreamedabout being a musician, making a stable income with his guitar andvoice, but he was realistic. He knew he would have to find a way tomake an earning in the mean time. However, just because he wasprepared to get a job didn’t mean the city was ready to give him one.No, it seemed he just wasn’t the right fit for wherever he applied.Always seeming to get another interview and come close, beforegetting the same call that they had “decided to go with someoneelse, and wished him the best.”

So, desperate for something, Jaune hadstarted busking. He was just glad he had brought his guitar fromhome, and that he had spent all those years learning to sing for hissisters. Unfortunately, relying on people’s generosity was hardlystable and more often than not, he found himself going home withmeager earnings.

So far he had managed to miss only onemonth’s rent, which Ren and Nora insisted was okay because they knewhe was putting in a serious effort, it still weighed on hisconscious. Not to mention the fact that putting all his earningstowards rent meant that he had little when it came for paying forfood and he often found himself eating groceries that Ren hadpurchased and cooked, without a way to properly reimburse them.

The guilt had even been too much forhim one month, and Jaune had stopped eating all together when hecouldn’t buy food. Missing a day here and there wouldn’t be too badafter all. Nora eventually noticed his weight loss though, andneither of his roommates were very happy. They made it veryclear that that was not allowed, and if they found him skipping outon meals purely for monetary reasons again, there would be trouble.Jaune hadn’t pried too much, but he did know that they had grown upwith very very little, and did not like seeing others in the sameboat. Even if they were living comfortably, Ren making a decent wageas a chef while Nora served as a personal trainer at the gym, theirmemories seemed to haunt them.

Realizinghe was missing his opportunity, he shook his head.

Taking another drink to soothe his sorevoice after a day of singing, Jaune set down the bottle and his handwarmer. Foot traffic seemed to have picked up again so he probablyonly had another song or two in him before he would give up for thenight.

Shifting around, he strummed a fewtimes to make sure his guitar was still in tune.

He cleared his throat, getting someattention from curious passerby’s as they saw a boy with a guitar inhis hands. He readjusted his seat on an old painter’s bucket that heused as a stood before he started off in a soft song.

“You are my star, you are the one,you make me smile when the world’s come undone. You are the one whosweeps me off my feet, yeah.”

Jaune was vaguely aware of some peoplemoving on, some others stopped, and a few just continued to watch himcuriously. It seemed his singing was at least doing it for thiscrowd.

“You totally rock. You’re crazy andcool. Everything’s all that I love about you. Girl of my dreams, youwould make my life complete.”

As he continued to sing through thesong, he glanced around at the little crowd that had formed aroundhim. It was a popular song on the radio, which meant people wouldrecognize it. That always helped garner people’s attention more sothan his original songs.

A group of four girls were walking by,when a girl in red stopped, quickly tugging on a blond’s arm as shepointed at Jaune, whispering something. The raven haired girl stoppednext, looking up from a book she had been buried in when the blondhad reached out and pulled her to her side to stop her from walkingon obliviously. Only the white haired girl seemed to keep walking,not even registering the singer until she noticed her friends weresuddenly absent from her side.

Jaune just continued to sing, offeringthem a brief smile before focusing on the chord changes and thechorus. A group of friends was usually likely to have at least oneperson leave him a few bucks. Some part of him registered that hefound them to be rather cute and felt the smallest amount of pressuresuddenly added to his performance.

Half way through the song, he noticedanother girl stop, tilting her head curiously as she listened to himsing.  His words almost got caught in his throat as he looked at her.Her long red hair was cascading down her back in a pony tail, as shehefted a rather large gym bag over her shoulder by one hand. She waswearing sweats and a hoodie, but her stark green eyes were whatreally drew his attention. He struggled to keep singing as he triedunsuccessfully to pry his gaze away from her and her playful smirk.Clearly she had noticed him staring at her.

He forced his head to turn to lookaway, fighting back a blush as he continued to sing, suddenly feelingfar more pressure than before.

The chorus came up, and his burningcuriosity made him look back. He just had to know if shewas still watching him.

“Whatam I supposed to do- Just sit here and not fall in love with you?”

Sureenough, she was still standing there with an amused, yet honest smirkon her face. She seemed to be enjoying herself at least. He couldn’tpry his gaze away from her as he continued to sing.

“CanI do anything to conceal it? Can I lock up my heart and not feel it?Try to run from the fact that there’s no turning back, I’m in love.”

She giggled.

Oh myGod. She giggled. Jaune’s heart nearly exploded at the adorablesound. FOCUS! Right,the song. This was a song, not a sudden confession for a random girlon the street.

Beforehe could continue the next part, a female voice suddenly chimed in.

“Andlike the autumn leaves, I just can’t help myself. I’m falling there’sno doubt. It’s you and no one else. Is there any chance, for thisdream romance? Should I just give up, what’s a fool to do? Could youfall for me, like I fell for you?” The mysterious green-eyed redhead finished singing.

Ittook all of Jaune’s effort to keep playing in time, and not startclapping at her voice.

Hecontinued to sing the rest of the song as the girl disappeared backinto the crowd, clearly satisfied with having jumped in for that onepart.

Shakinghis head, Jaune continued to sing his heart out for the rest of thesong. He couldn’t let the crowd down after that after all. The songwound down and he finally ended it.

“There’sno turning back, I’m in love.”

Heplayed the final few chords, before stopping and taking a deepbreath.

Amoment later the small crowd that had stopped around him burst outinto applause.

Jaunesmiled meekly, standing up and bowing politely. He tried to motion tothe girl, but he couldn’t see her anymore. He frowned, but soonenough people started walking up and depositing some cash and changeinto his open guitar case. He made sure to thank each and everyperson, relieved that he would be able to make his rent at this rateafter all.

As heglanced around the case, taking a quick tally of it to see how muchthat last song had earned him, he saw another bill drop in. His eyeswidened when he saw the 20 printed on it.

Reachingdown he quickly grabbed it, before he reached up with his other handand grabbed the wrist of the hand that had just deposited it.

Lookingup, he was surprised to see those same emerald eyes staring back athim, both in surprise and amusement.

Wordsfailed Jaune as he tried to remember anything. “Uh… right. Youput in this, I think you grabbed the wrong bill.” He offered,holding out the twenty. He appreciated the gesture, but he was prettysure she must have grabbed the wrong bill. No one ever donated thatmuch at once.

Thegirl just shook her head. “I think that was a lovely performance.It’s the least I can do for allowing me to join you for part of it.

Sheput the cash back in his hand, closing his fist around it. “Thankyou.”

Shethought for a moment. “But I did forget something.” She saidsuddenly, setting down her gym bag and digging through it, fishingsomething out.

Jaunejust looked at the money, debating offering it to her again but sheseemed determined about giving it to him. His mom had always saidthat refusing someone’s kindness was not a kindness itself, butrather never underestimate just how much the person wanted to expresstheir feelings. He had learned that lesson extra hard after Nora andRen were done scolding him after his little diet.

Hedeposited the cash in the case, and before he could stand up again,her saw that familiar hand drop another slip of paper in the case.

Curiously,Jaune reached down and picked it up. He was surprised to see a phonenumber hastily scrawled on it.

Hiseyes widened as he looked up at the red head, who was still smirking,but clearly sporting a heavy blush as she looked away.

“Imean… If you want meet up again some time. I’d love to hear yousing again.” She stammered out, suddenly finding her confidencefailing her.

Jaunenodded eagerly. “I’d love to!” He said suddenly.

Thegirl nodded.

Jaunejust smiled, before he realized something. “Uh! I’m Jaune. JauneArc.” He stammered out, offering a hand awkwardly.

Thegirl just laughed, shaking his hand with a surprisingly firm grip. “Pyrrha Nikos.” She offered, almost with a hint of hesitation ingiving out her name.

Jaunejust smiled. He’d commit that to memory, he’d sooner forget hisaddress than her name.

“Pyrrha.”He repeated just to be safe.

Suddenlyshivering, Pyrrha let out a breath. “Well, I should be going. Ilook forward to hearing you sing again.” She said with a warmsmile, and a wave, before she turned and continued down the street.Her bag hoisted over one shoulder, and the slightly skip in her step.

Jaunejust stared down at the number, already trying to memorize it. Hisparents still paid his phone bill, and he made a mental note to thankthem for that kindness even after he had moved away.

Jaunehad turned back to his case, staring to pack it up when he saw a fewmore bucks being dropped in.

Lookingup, he was surprised to see the girl in red smiling back at himcheerfully.

“Youwere amazing! That sounded so great!” She chirped happily.

“Comeon Ruby, we’re gonna be late!” The blonde called from down thestreet with the rest of the quartet. “You’re too slow, he alreadygot a hot date!”

“Yang!I was just tipping him. Just shut up!” She called out angrily,turning back to Jaune with an apologetic smile. “Sorry about her.See you around!” She chimed out happily before turning and boundingback towards her sister, slapping her sister in the back as theybegan to banter as they walked away.

Suddenlyfeeling that the night had certainly reached it climax, Jaune carefultucked away his earnings and slid his guitar back in his case. Hepacked everything up, grabbing the bucket, as he began to walk hisway back towards the apartment. His mind drifting to the redhead, andthe nagging feeling he had seen her somewhere before. Still, a softsmile graced his features as he thought about the hastily scrawlednumber on the piece of paper safely tucked away in his pocket.

Pyrrha Nikos, huh?

XxXxXxXxX

Ugh What is it with prompts from Anon’s? They’re always the best… This MIGHT end up being my next long running series after I finish my Mechanic!AU one, but I’m not promising anything. But, if I continued to get struck ideas, I could flesh this AU out into a full one. In case it’s not obvious, this one takes place in the real world. Anyway, thank you to everyone who sent in prompts, and feel free to send in more! Like I mentioned before, these are being answered in no particular order, just whatever one I happen to write for next. Each one requires me to be in a certain mood. =P This one might be one of my all time favorites, I think. I really hope you guys enjoyed it as well. Anywa, I hope you all have a wonderful freaking day if you’re reading this! :D