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333sth · 3 years

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dove. (frankie morales)

chapter i. previous.

pairing: frankie morales x ofc (’dove’) no use of y/n.

warnings: mention of ptsd/military service, language, violence, brief mention of torture/kidnapping, injury detail, fighting.

summary: frankie was going to propose, until dove found the ring and ghosted. even santi can’t track her down.

rating: mature. wc: 1.6k

Dove was a nickname coined by an old general during her training. He was a traditional man, though not disrespectful. It was a term of endearment that probably softened the influx of powerful women breaching into the male territory. He’d drawled, ‘I ought to call you Dove – I ain’t never seen a girl so swift, yet so fuckin’ lethal.’ She kept the boys in line too, he’d noted. When Benny got too reckless, or Tom’s temper ran away with him, she was the first to snap them out of it. In environments where peace was a very distant concept, she played the peacekeeper.

One time, during a two-month deployment in Nigeria, the group was shoved in the back of an ancient pick-up truck for six hours. Dove was wedged between Will and Frankie, sweltering in the humid air. The stale smell of sweat mixed with blood and diesel was permeating the air, and they were three hours from the nearest checkpoint. To pass the time, she asked them what they’d do if they weren’t special forces.

That was easy for Will – he’d be a teacher of some kind. Benny waffled about sports, making some brash comment about how he’s got to channel all his aggression somewhere. Tom and Santi couldn’t come up with anything that suited them more than the forces, which was not surprising. Frankie would still be a pilot somehow. Dove had never seen him more comfortable than in the pilot’s chair.

Dove dreamed of owning her own bar or café, somewhere relaxed and laid-back. A beach perhaps, somewhere quaint and peaceful, where the air is warm well into the late evening and the waves are gentle, collapsing onto the sand like white noise. She imagined the hum of conversation meeting tinkling music, beach lanterns dotted around the decking to cast an ambient glow beneath the stars. Maybe a chef on weekends could make bar snacks. Tom had snorted at that, throwing a jab about how she can burn the water they use to make their dried food sachets.

The men had recalled this conversation, desperately trying to fathom where Dove might have taken off to. It was met with an aching nostalgia for the type of teammate she was too. That conversation had been a tactic, a peaceful one, to prevent the terrible concoction of adrenaline, exhaustion and heat forming an argument in that truck. She was a natural tactician as well as a good friend.

Frankie had recounted each country they had been stationed and exactly how Dove had felt about them. She had loved Argentina, even when she got shot and Will spent three hours with his finger crammed in the wound to stop the bleeding. But she also liked Jamaica, Brazil and Hawaii. None of their contacts in the forces had any trace of her, not even Santi’s in South America. Her family were none the wiser – they brushed it off, her dad mumbling something about it sounding like her usual antics.

All he had was a scribbled note that read, ‘I need space. I’m safe. I love you.’ It was folded neatly in his wallet, like he was carrying the last piece of her that he had.

Mexico. That was where she was. A small town on the West coast that had enough life to keep her occupied, and the guarantee of anonymity.

If people asked, she was a retired nurse, which wasn’t entirely untrue. She told them she spent a lot of her career in humanitarian aid, to explain the occasional jitters on a rowdy Friday night and the nasty scars. There was a particularly gruesome one leading from the base of her throat up to her bottom lip from a knife fight. She told them it was shrapnel, flung from a collapsing building, and she was lucky it didn’t catch her jugular. The locals had gasped in awe at her heroism. She’d flinched against the memory of how her own knife buried into her attacker’s throat instead.

A few days into her move, Dove had found what could only be considered a derelict shed on the beachfront. It was probably the remains of an old boathouse. With some help from the locals, she had restored the ageing planks of wood. What was spare formed the bar and some rustic furniture. She pieced together a jumble of second-hand bar stools, chairs and lanterns that made for an eclectic combination. It had character and history in its walls, rather than some swanky, expensive build devoid of any personality. It was exactly what she had dreamed of, huddled in hypothermic temperatures or insomniac in her cot at base, sleep beyond her reach.

It didn’t change the fact that every time she entered her bedroom, the old polaroid of Frankie pinned to the wall hits her like a ton of bricks. Frankie knows she took it – it was pinned to the fridge at their home before she left. It’s quintessential Frankie, sat with his arms folded to his chest, biceps straining slightly against an old denim shirt that was getting a little too snug post-retirement. It was at a barbecue, his skin tanned and flushed from a day in the sun drinking, tousled hair peeking out from the sides of a dog-eared cap. Every time Dove glances at it, she wonders if he still has that hat.

‘Of course he has,’ the voice in her head snaps back. Any piece of clothing she’d suggest replacing would be countered with, ‘over my dead body’. The man was sentimental, a little too attached to his home comforts. She’d also bought it him in a seedy gift shop in the middle of nowhere as a joke.

“To add some variety,” she’d said. He would never let it go now.

Once, Veronica had eyed the photograph on her mirror and asked, “Who is he then? An ex?”

Veronica, or Roni for short, had lived in the town her whole life until university. When she graduated and moved home to save money, she needed a job. Dove needed a friend, so she took her on as a bartender. She was young and giddy, but harmless. More importantly, she was too self-absorbed to notice or even care that her thirty-something year old boss had bullet holes in her back.

“Something like that.” Dove had replied, rifling through her sorry excuse for a makeup bag. She’d closed the bar early to have a rare night off in the next town over, which had considerably livelier nightlife.

“You never talk about relationships. Or men.’ Roni observed, peering over Dove’s shoulder to eye another photograph. It was a group picture of the boys, huddled in the same fraying booth in their favourite bar back in Florida. “Looks like you were spoilt for choice.”

Dove scoffed, meeting her friend’s twinkling gaze in the mirror. “Shut your mouth. They were friends from work.”

“Were? Does that mean you can’t set me up now?”

“They’re almost twice your age. You’d tire ‘em out.” Dove set down the lip-gloss she dragged out for special occasions. “Come on, I’m not getting any younger either. It’s already passed my bedtime.”

Thankfully, that was enough to amuse the younger girl into linking her arm and hauling her out the door to the taxi, no more questions asked.

The hollering of spectators and thudding of skin slapping against the mat was reduced to a distant buzzing in Frankie’s ears. It was dimmed by the incessant ramblings of Santiago and Tom, discussing the files Santi had put together on Lorea. He could feel the reawakening of his rusty military senses as he follows the familiar tactics, mentally registering his agreement or noting what he might do differently. He doesn’t vocalise it though, because he hasn’t even agreed yet. Joining the debate would inadvertently signal his agreement. He didn’t want that.

There was a shadow lingering in the space on the bench beside him. It was an empty presence, not Will, who was hooked on the cage of the ring yelling encouragement to his brother. Not Benny, thumping his leather gloves together with his teeth pulled harshly over his mouthguard, judging his competitor with a predatory glint in his eye.

The opponent was a monster, but he lumbered like his limbs were filled with lead. Frankie notes that Benny, nimble and tall, will have a breeze tiring him out. Dove would have joked that it wasn’t worth coming, that they’ll be sat here until their asses are numb watching Benny play cat and mouse. His chest twinges. Sometimes it’s too easy to remember what she’d do, what she’d say. He wished he knew what she’d make of Santiago’s proposition. She always saw through Pope’s glamourisation and Tom’s greed.

What Frankie misses while he observes his pitiful surroundings is Tom and Santi descending into a hushed conversation. Tom nudges Santi, “You got anything on Dove?”

Santi sighs, long and solemn, “Maybe.” As Tom’s face quirks in interest, he holds up his finger, “It’s just a hunch.”

“A hunch is better than what we’ve had in the last year.”

Santi takes a sip of his beer, casting a glance at Fish, whose eyes are trained on the floor and the swirling contents of his cup. He knows him well enough to know his thoughts are the only thing that have his attention.

“I worry about him. We all do.” Tom whispers. “Getting busted just made things worse.”

“Don’t get his hopes up, man. It’s nothing solid. It’ll crush him if I’m wrong.” Tom nods solemnly before Santi continues, “A friend of mine saw an ex-Delta in a bar, a woman. He knew ‘cause of a tattoo she had on the nape of her neck.”

Tom’s eyes widen. In front of them, Benny lands a sickening punch on his opponent’s nose, complimented by an audible crack. He’s barely breaking a sweat, dancing around as the guy heaves and stumbles forward.

Santi’s gaze doesn’t break from the ring. “Mexico. I think she’s in Mexico.”

#Frankie Morales #frankie morales x reader #triple frontier imagine #frankie morales imagine #triple frontier fic #francisco morales #Triple Frontier #frankie catfish morales #Frankie morales fic #Frankie Morales x OFC #Pedro Pascal #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal fanfiction #benny miller #will miller #Santiago Garcia #santiago pope garcia #ben miller #dove fic

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uwuwriting · 4 years

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Cant help falling in love with you II Oikawa Toru

Wise men say

Only fools rush in

He liked to think of himself as a calculated individual. All his life he would plan things ahead and if something spontaneous happened then he was quick to morph his schedule around it. Very few aspects of his life were left to luck and destiny. Very few things could truly throw him off his pace. Girls were never one of those things. They came and went into his, always throwing bitter words at him when they realized that they too had to wait for their moments in his schedule. He never rushed with love. Mainly because he never truly fell in love. He could brag to his friends about his new girlfriend and how in love they are but they knew that it wouldn’t last.

Iwaizumi would scoff at his best friend’s antics. Makki and Mattsun would tease him about it, making bets on how long this relationship would last. Y/N, you, would only roll her eyes saying a simple “This isn’t love Toru” before going back to your lunch. Your words would hurt more than the other’s and he couldn’t tell why. He figured it must be that you have been one of his longtime friends, since you’ve been neighbors for years now. Then again, Iwa has been in his life longer, so why does he find himself ruining his well thought plans for you? Why does he find himself outside your house when he should be spending time with his beloved girlfriend? Why does he want to be the first to comfort you after your nasty break up? Maybe that was the first sign. He would be by your side without hesitation just like you were for him but for him it was different. It was the warm feeling of relief as you hugged him and cursed out your ex. It was that lingering sensation of home whenever he was near you. It was that never ending want to be beside you. It was his heart fluttering in his chest every time you hugged him after a game. It was the sensation of drowning when he saw you with someone else. He didn’t know what it was and he wouldn’t for quite some time.

But I can't help falling in love with you

Shall I stay?

Would it be a sin

An automatic voice announced the arrival of another flight, flooding the airport with swarms of passengers. Loved ones waited near the exits, tears running down their cheeks as they searched for their own. Somewhere in the distance he could hear laughter and luggage being dropped, sounds of muffled words and kisses, of heels clicking on the polished floor as they sped up. But he could also hear cries. Soft sobs and hiccups, promises to call each other once the flight lands, mothers telling their children to make sure to eat proper meals and go to sleep early, couples relishing their final moments together before one of them had to leave. He could hear those quiet sniffles and wobbly words coming from the people in front of him. All the boys had promised you not to cry at the airport, that they would wait until you are in the car to start their sob fest. Lies. Three high school graduates had been diminished to teary messes as they waved at the fourth member of their little gang.

“Oikawa you bastard!”

“Making grown men cry, shame on you”

“This is your fault Shittykawa.”

“Can I please say goodbye to him without you three ruining the moment with your blabbering?” You were answered with three glares before they turned around and walked to the nearest bench, Mattsun opening a tissue pack and handing one to the other two. Letting out a sigh to calm your heartbeat you looked at him. He too was almost crying, you could see the unshed tears in his eyes as he stared into your own. You wanted to start sobbing right then and there. You wanted to grab him by the collar and beg him to stay with you. To not leave you here alone. I don’t know what to do without you.

“Please don’t cry Y/N-chan. If you break down then I break down.” He said with a wobbly smile which was the last straw for you. Launching yourself to him, you wrapped your arms around his neck bringing him flush to your chest, nonsense spewing from your lips. Toru could barely hear what you were saying, your voice being muffled by his chest. It was a jumble of apologies, shittykawas and “be safe”. He buried his face in your hair, trembles of his own wrecking his body as the realization that he doesn’t want to let go hit him like a truck. He wanted to chase his dream -that was his plan- but he wanted you to be there with him. Hugging you tighter he hoped that you could lessen the burning in his chest. In that moment he knew what true love felt like and he wished he didn’t have to leave as soon as he had found it.

If I can't help falling in love with you?

Brazil is lonelier than expected. Sure he had made some new friends, his teammates were great, the two successful hookups he had were okay but nothing could compete with the hollowness in his chest. He called you every night. Every single night. And if he couldn’t call you for some reason he would make up for it on his way to practice in the morning. It was a nice routine the two of you had easily fallen into. Still, he would give anything for you to actually be there with him, laughing at his dumb jokes or scowlding him for over exceerting his knee. It’s hard being in love, that’s what one of his teammates had said to him. And he couldn’t be more correct.

Like a river flows

Surely to the sea

He checked the flight screen again. Flight 386 delayed. Just his luck. The flowers in his hands were starting to feel a little too heavy as the minutes went by. He had arrived at the airport earlier then when your flight was to arrive so he would be sure to be the first person waiting at the exit. That was an hour ago. He had called Iwa to chat for a little, promising to pay him a visit now that you would be here getting only a “I only want to see Y/N, Shittykawa.” Lies!! He was still on the phone with Iwa, letting out sigh after sigh as he waited for your delayed flight to arrive.

“Why did it have to be Y/N-chan’s flight that got delayed???” he whined to Iwa. “I haven’t seen her in months come on!”

“You call her everyday!”

“It’s different Iwa-chan. She’s not next to me!” A long pause stretched in between them and Toru was certain that his phone died.

“Don’t break her heart Shittykawa. She was already a mess when you left, don’t make me beat your ass.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” He smiled even though Iwa couldn’t see it. “I love her after all.”

Darling, so it goes

Some things are meant to be

People kept coming out from the exit but still after half an hour since your flight landed no sign of you. Toru was perched at the very front, his elbows resting on the metal bars that separated the crowd from the glass doors. Every time the doors opened his heart would leap in his chest, eyes darting from one person to the next, stealing glances at the corridor behind them just to catch a glimpse of your hair. He knew you were on this flight he was just being impatient. Ten more minutes passed before he saw it. He could never forget the Aoba Johsai colors on his old jacket. Not in this lifetime. His heart was beating in his ears at this point as the doors opened again allowing you to walk inside the main hall of the airport, hair disheveled but eyes bright as they landed on him.

Take my hand

Take my whole life too

Your grip on his shoulders never loosened as he picked you off the ground in a long awaited hug. He could feel your tears through his shirt just like you could feel his on your neck. You gripped him as if he would soon disappear. He held you like a lifeline and as stars start to burst, your lips met. The kiss was filled with emotion; longing, regret, relief, love. His lips were soft, kissing you with a gentleness you had never experienced before and leaving you breathless. Parting for air you both let out giggles and snorts before kissing again, I love you’s flying in each and every direction. Finally, after all these months, he felt at home.

For I can't help falling in love with you

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masterlist II rules

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duhragonball · 4 years

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Hellsing Liveblog Ch. 82-86

LIKE A BLOODY STORM

Atsuku LIKE A BLOODY STONE

So it’s come to this. This is the “Black Onyx” arc and “Sorcerian Part 1″, where we finally get the payoff to the Major’s 55-year plot against Alucard. Walter betrayed Integra, the Hellsing Organization, and the whole United Kingdom just so Millennium would give him a chance to beat Alucard, and he’s failing. Alucard doesn’t see any point in dragging this out, so he’s sucking up all the fresh blood in London to power up and bring and end to this. Also, if you’re just joining us, Alucard looks like a 14-year-old girl. Just roll with it.

But the Major was counting on Alucard doing this, and apparently his plan to “poison the tyrant’s wine” involves his last henchman, Warrant Officer Schrodinger, cutting off his own head and adding his werewolf blood to Alucard’s meal. Why would this matter at all?

Walter seems to understand, because he begs the Major to stop this, as if the Major could.

Desperate, he bisects Alucard with his wires, but it’s already too late for that. Part of the secret behind Alucard’s invincibility is that he gains a 1-up for each person’s blood he consumes. That’s what Anderson and Walter were banking on when they attacked Alucard before. At the time, he had separated himself from the souls he had consumed, which meant that killing him once -- however tough that might be-- would finish him off. But now it’s too late for that. You kill him now and he’ll just come back and dare you to keep going. And he’s taken the blood of like three million people at least.

So the Major observes that Walter’s window of opportunity has closed. According to him, there’s only been two chances to beat Alucard in a fight since Abraham van Helsing captured him in 1898. I assume he’s referring to Anderson and Walter’s respective efforts.

No, Walter was never the final stroke in the Major’s plan, just part of the endgame. All of Millennium’s resources were sacrificed to get to this moment. Enrico Maxwell’s 9th Crusade? The Major was counting on them getting involved, which is probably why he leaked and shared so much of his plans with the Vatican, even though his target was always London. He wanted the Vatican to send all their best warriors to compound the horror, all so Alucard would use his full power to destroy them.

And then, once Alucard’s full power was deployed, the Major knew Anderson would step in and use everything at his disposal to kill Alucard. This battle destroyed all of Alucard’s familiars, setting him up for Walter to take a turn. And maybe Alucard could beat Walter without taking in more blood, but that;s never been Alucard’s style. He sees himself as a loaded weapon at the disposal of Integra Hellsing. He’s not going to drag things out for no reason, and Integra ordered him to destroy Walter, not humor him.

And maybe Walter was aware of all this, but he still believed he could buck the odds and kill Alucard before the Major’s winning move. Walter’s a rook who fancied himself a king. I guess that’s always been his problem. This was never Walter’s story, and I guess he couldn’t handle that truth. If he couldn’t be the hero, then he was content with being the villain, but in the end he was never more than a plot device, supporting whichever side he was on at the time.

And finally, it happens, whatever ‘it’ is. Alucard somehow hears the Major saying that he’s lost. Is the Major saying it? I don’t think anyone else would be. Whoever it is, he starts flashing back to all the other times he’s heard that.

Then he seems to realize something’s gone terribly wrong, and he pauses to notice the rising sun, which has been a common theme with all of his past defeats. Then all these eyes appear on his body and begin winking out, one by one.

Okay, so what the hell happened here? Well, get comfortable, because this is going to take some time to unpack.

The key to all of this is Warrant Officer Schrodinger, a werewolf with the power to be “everywhere and nowhere”. This sounds like he’s just a teleporter, like Nightcrawler from the X-Men, or.... Majik from the X-Men. Well, it’s more complicated than that.

Let me explain the “Schrödinger's cat” thought experiment, because that’s one of those things that’s widespread enough in pop culture that it’s easy to take for granted. I think people understand it has to do with an imaginary cat being alive or dead, but that’s about all.

The really short version of quantum mechanics is that subatomic particles don’t behave the same way as big objects like apples or planets or people. It’s convenient to think of atoms as tiny little solar systems, with electrons orbiting the atomic nucleus. But the reality is that electrons don’t revolve around elliptical orbits like the Earth around the Sun. What happens instead is the electron zips around the nucleus all over the place, from all angles and directions. What’s more, the electron can be at any particular spot at any moment. So it’s less useful to think of an electron having an orbit around a nucleus. What you have instead is this region where the electron is most likely to be at any particular moment. And you can do the math and figure out what the shape of this region is. You can’t locate the electron’s exact position at any particular moment, but you can consider the region where it’s most likely to be in an atom, which will resemble a sphere or a vaguely dumbbell kind of shape.

This is what the Schrödinger Equation is for. Erwin Schrödinger didn’t just talk about cats all day. He postulated his equation in 1925 to work out the movements of electrons in atoms. It was groundbreaking work, and he won a Nobel Prize for it in 1933, and don’t feel bad if you have trouble wrapping your head around all of this. I’m a professional chemist and a lot of this is over my head.

The point of the “Schrödinger's cat” concept was to help visualize how confusing quantum mechanics really is. There are principles to subatomic particles that we know to be true, but they make no sense in our macroscale world. For example, a particle might have a probability of being in multiple locations at a given moment. It can only be in one place at a time, but until you actually perform the measurement to find out, it may as well be in all of those locations. This is something called “superposition”, and I guess we could say that this idea is the basis for our wolfboy’s powers.

So Schrödinger (the scientist, not the furry) suggested a thought experiment where a macroscale event could depend upon a subatomic condition. Like there’s some subatomic thing that could happen or not happen, and depending on the outcome, it would cause a poison to be dispensed that would kill a cat in a box. If the particle goes one way, the cat dies, but if it goes the other way, the cat survives. But both probabilities are equal, and supposedly both outcomes are true for the particle until you make the observation. Therefore, you can’t know whether the cat lived or died until you open the box to look! Indeed, according to quantum mechanics, the cat is simultaneously alive and dead until you open the box to see for yourself.

How does that make any sense? Well it doesn’t, and that’s the point Erwin Schrödinger was driving at. In our large scale, things like gravity and being one place at a time are things we take for granted. But on the quantum level, subatomic particles are governed by rules that seem completely paradoxical to us. And yet, we’re not talking about some alternate reality here. Those subatomic particles make up the atoms that make up us. Cats, boxes, bottles of poison, they’re all just a huge pile of subatomic particles, each following these seemingly nonsensical rules. They’re just organized in such a way that they give rise to bigger rules that make more sense to us. Things like classical mechanics, chemical reactions, cats liking to be inside boxes, and so on. As Erwin Schrödinger put it:

“It is typical of these cases that an indeterminacy originally restricted to the atomic domain becomes transformed into macroscopic indeterminacy, which can then be resolved by direct observation. That prevents us from so naïvely accepting as valid a "blurred model" for representing reality. In itself, it would not embody anything unclear or contradictory. There is a difference between a shaky or out-of-focus photograph and a snapshot of clouds and fog banks.”

In other words, we see the world as discrete outcomes. We read the black letters on the page, and not the indeterminate spaces in between, or the hazy, unfinished thoughts of the writer. That doesn’t mean the words on the page aren’t legitimate, or that the passing thoughts of the writer don’t exist. We have to accept the seeming contradiction of it.

So what does this have to do with Alucard? Well, Schrödinger (the furry, not the scientist) has the ability to be like one of these subatomic particles. Our were-boy probably can’t be literally everywhere, but he has this probability region of places where he can be, and it seems to cover at least half the world. He’s appeared in Brazil, London, Zorin Blitz’s psychic visions, and so on. He’s been shot twice in this story, but he just reappears like nothing happened to him at all. It’s not like he teleported away in the nick of time, either. We’ve seen his head burst open like a ripe melon. Like Schrödinger’s cat in the thought experiment, he can be alive or dead at any given moment, so killing him doesn’t actually matter. Warrant Officer Schrödinger can do all of this and he’s conscious of this ability. So as long as he’s aware of himself, he can observe himself and direct himself to be in any location he so chooses.

I would think getting shot in the face would interfere with this ability to control his power, but that’s probably where his werewolf nature comes in. Like the Captain, he can grow back from a nasty headwound, so that gives him time to picture himself someplace else, and in better health. Now that I think about it, that must have been a silver knife he used to cut his own head off.

So when Alucard drank all that blood, he drank Schrödinger’s too, and just like when he drank Rip van Winkle’s blood and got the power to fire that magic musket, Alucard absorbed Schrödinger’s ability to be “everywhere and nowhere”. Except that power only works when Schrödinger himself is conscious of it. And he’s not conscious of it anymore because he’s part of Alucard now. Alucard might figure out how to control this power, but until he does, he can’t choose a location and be in that one place. Instead, he’s “everywhere and nowhere” all the time. So he’s experiencing all of his past moments simultaneously, with no control over his current position.

That sounds bad, right? Well it gets worse. He drank all those other dead people’s blood too, so on top of his own perception, he has the perceptions of all 3 million plus of the souls he’s consumed. So that just further complicates matters. The bottom line is that Schrödinger’s ability is fundamentally incompatible with Alucard’s existence as a composite being made up of multiple absorbed lives.

And since Alucard can’t just cough up Schrödinger’s blood, it’s too late now. He’s got Schrödinger’s ability and he’s stuck with it, but he can’t control it, which means he just winks out of existence. As the Major puts it, he’s now neither live nor dead nor undead. He’s become like a series of imaginary numbers. You’ll need to look that one up on your own time, folks, I spent enough time talking about quantum mechanics.

And you have to hand it to Kouta Hirano, this is a really clever way to bring down an overpowered seinen manga protagonist. This whole time, all of these lower villains acted like they could just beat down Alucard if they applied enough brute force, but that was never going to get the job done. For the purposes of this story, Alucard has been, almost by definition, unbeatable. So the Major’s solution was to give him a new power, one that he would be unable to control. It wouldn’t kill him, but killing Alucard seems like a fool’s errand anyway. Instead, it just... makes Alucard go away, which is probably as close to destroying him as anyone could ever hope for. He might still be alive in some semantic sense, but he can’t carry out his duties to Hellsing and the Crown, so the Major seems to have at least brought down what Alucard is expected to be.

And there’s no way to stop it, because it’s already happened. Integra commands him to stay, but it’s useless. I like the way he signs off in the dub of the OVA, where he apologizes to Integra and says this is one order he cannot obey. It’s just out of his hands.

Then he vanishes, and all that’s left of Alucard is a bloody mark on the street, shaped like the Hellsing insignia on his gloves.

Wait, so does this affect Seras too, since she was Alucard’s servant vampire? Remember, way back in Chapter 1, Integra said that killing the head vampire would automatically kill any ghouls or vampires he creates. So maybe Seras is gone too?

Hell naw. Seras joins Integra in the Major’s command center, and she looks like she’s ready for some revenge. Does she know what’s just happened? I mean, she was furious at the Major to begin with, but she sensed Alucard’s return a while back when he floated up the Thames River. Surely she sensed her own vampire dad winking out of existence.

Meanwhile, Walter had a front-row seat for Alucard’s disappearance. At first he laughs with triumph. I guess he must be giddy with relief, since he wanted to kill Alucard, and for a minute there it looked like Alucard had him dead to rights. Imagine a guy’s about to murder you and then he just ceases to exist. But it doesn’t take long for Walter to realize how hollow this all is. He wanted to kill Alucard himself, and he bet everything just to get that one opportunity, and now he’s failed and he’ll never get another chance. His body is giving out and he’s betrayed everyone who ever cared about him and he’s got nothing to show for it.

Then Heinkel starts shooting at him with a sniper rifle. Yeah, she never left the battlefield after Walter killed Yumiko. The Captain stopped her from interfering before, but the Captain’s dead now and I guess she figures she’s got nothing to lose by trying again. And I suppose the sniper act proves she’s learned from Yumiko’s fatal mistake. Attacking Walter up close is dangerous.

At first, Walter seems to invite this. He even invites Heinkel to shoot him a few more times, as it’s a fitting punishment for a traitor. If you’ve only seen the TFS Abridged version of Hellsing, they actually use this as Walter’s death scene, but in the original version Walter takes a few bullets and then leaves. He says Heinkel can shoot him, but she doesn’t get to kill him. I don’t think she even heard him say that, but whatever.

Instead, he uses his wires to board the Major’s airship one last time.

So remember how the Major was protected from Integra by a reinforced glass barrier? Yeah, well Seras finds an 88mm cannon and shoots through it. It also shoots through the hull of his ship and rings a large bell on the outskirts of town. Right before she shoots, Integra orders Seras to “Search and Destroy” just like she always told Alucard. It’s kind of sad, but Seras has automatically succeeded her master as Integra’s weapon. I mean, it’s a triumph for Seras, but it comes at a heavy price for her. She’s probably too enraged by what’s happened to appreciate this moment on all these other levels, but there’ll be time for that.

So there’s no way the Major could survive a cannon like that at pointblank range, right? Wrong, the dude’s a fucking cyborg, and I guess Seras’ aim was a little off. I suppose the downside to using big-ass guns is that you have trouble aiming at small targets. Wait, no, what happened to all that “third eye” stuff from before? What’s wrong with you, Victoria?

Oh wait, she missed because she’s sad. Aw... :`(

So we knew the Major had to be something to have survived this long without aging, but we had already learned he wasn’t a vampire. He insists that he is still human, however, no different from a man with a pacemaker or an artificial limb. His mind remains his own, even if it should be a brain in a life support system or backed up on a computer. I’m not sure if either of these describes the status of the Major’s brain, but to his point, it doesn’t really matter. He describes himself as Alucard’s polar opposite. While Al is this beautiful monster who masquerades as a human, the Major is a human who resembles the grotesque form of a monster. I’m not body-shaming the dude, I’m just reporting what he’s saying. He’s taken a few fat jokes in stride, and I guess he’s got the same attitude about his cyborg body too. He doesn’t seem to care if others find this unpleasant, because it’s better than being a vampire with a diluted self.

Arguably, this whole campaign to destroy Alucard was the Major’s effort to prove his claim on being human. Alucard often said that only a human could defeat a monster like him, and the Major beat him, so doesn’t that prove he’s a human in the end?

So Integra whips out her other gun, the one she didn’t use to shoot at the Major’s glass case, and they start shooting each other at pointblank range. The Major’s a terrible shot, though, and yet somehow he manages to take out one of Integra’s eyes before she puts a bullet in his forehead. I still don’t understand how you can shoot someone in the eye and not kill them. Did the bullet just angle away from her brain or is the Major’s gun just really weak on stopping power?

Anyway, Integra’s shot kills the Major, but not right away, so I guess it’s not just his original brain in there. He’s just thrilled to have finally hit something after a lifetime of terrible marksmanship. It’s a fitting reflection of his win over Alucard, because he and the rest of Millennium were warriors who had never won a war before. In the end, I’m not sure the Major would have been disappointed if his plan had failed. He’d never won before, so I don’t think another defeat would have bothered him much. As it is, he dies contentedly, satisfied with his “good war”. What a shithead.

So yeah, we’ve got three more chapters to go and then we’re done. See you next time.

#2021hellsingliveblog #hellsing #alucard #seras victoria #sir integra hellsing #walter c dornez #the major #heinkel wolfe #warrant officer schrodinger #erwin schrödinger #uh... yeah #that's everybody #starting to run a little low on characters now

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echo-three-one · 3 years

Text

Chapter 44

The Road so Far

Lay your weary head to rest

Don't you cry no more...

The TWO of us, together

Alex

Hotel Lustig, Prague, Czech Republic

"Thank you, Kid." Alex saw Jack's mouth move as their eyes met. His eyes which were once filled with determination and optimism were now screaming for help and desperation. He felt like Jack didn't have any other choice. He had to do what needed to be done.

"Nooo!" Alex forced himself to get up as his possible last words weren't the ones he wanted to hear. Not here. Not now. He wanted to see him carrying a possible child. He wanted to still be a part of his life.

Alex had been assigned under Jack's supervision since he was moved to the CIA. It was Jack's optimism and dedication to responsibility that made him who he was today. He was a great mentor and Alex almost considered him as a father figure.

Even in the most inhumane situations, Alex had thrived to succeed in his missions and he owes it all to Jack. The man was a treasure trove of skills and knowledge and Alex was one of the lucky few whom he had imparted it with. He remembered how Jack saved them both in Brazil, buying them more time evading capture.

But there was one thing that Jack would have regretted before going. It was to meet his son. He'd probably be 20 by now but he was afraid to ever show up out of the blue. His divorce with his ex-wife was quite tragic. Because he had to do it just to keep them safe. That's why Jack was always reluctant about him and Samantha. He would never want the same thing to happen to him.

So in the absence of a son, he channeled his fatherly attitude towards Alex, and Alex admittedly hated it when he's being called a kid despite his age. But as time went by and they kept on being assigned together, he had grown accustomed to it and it kinda grew on him.

In a split second, Alex remembered all the times they've been together. All the almost impossible missions they finished, all the times they thought they were goners but somehow they escaped it. All those things were soon to become memories to tell the people who will miss him.

A tear fell on Alex's eyes as he forced himself to get up and catch up on the two as they dove down three flights, ignoring the searing pain from the helicopter blast. He grabbed on to the ledge as he saw Jack and Nero, huddled together, followed by a burst of light with a loud booming sound just before they hit the ground.

A black burnmark was the only thing left on the ground as the place was blotched with a mix of debris and blood. Pieces of both of their clothes were everywhere as the smoke from the explosion dissipated.

The war was over, with Nero gone, his troops will surely retreat. But it cost one important person. A soul for a soul.

Alex couldn't feel himself as his whole body froze while looking at the aftermath of the explosion. He was trained to withstand any feeling but this was too much for him. He hadn't realized how loss hurts until he was able to see for it himself. It was devastating.

"Didn't realize it'd end this way." Price said.

"We were too caught up with Nero, we didn't realize the possibility of him being alive." he added.

"No." Alex finally said, it was hard for him to say as he could feel his heart on his throat.

"His eyes. It looked hopeless. It was the only way…" He said to them, frowning.

"What do you mean?" Roach said, extending an arm on his back for emotional support.

"He's the hopeful type. If he sees a good way out, you could see it in his eyes. What he did was the only choice he could think of." Alex sighed as the resistance team started to signal their victory. The city was cleared from Nero.

"He sacrificed his life because he had no other choice." He breathed, standing up and looking at the sky.

"I'll never forget you, Jack. Thanks for everything." he whispered, honoring his mentor and father figure.

The aftermath of Nero wasn't on the news. It was all just a story on how Prague was free from the militia groups that invaded their city as Alex turned it off and closed his eyes.

"How are you holding up?" Samantha plopped down beside him, leaning on his shoulders. Alex inhaled and looked for her hand, wrapping it against his and kissing it.

"Still devastated." He whispered as Samantha turned to him and looked at him straight in the eye.

"Jack wouldn't want to see you like that, you know." Her eyes were watery, but she was trying her best not to cry.

"You too…" he attempted to make her smile but they both ended up hugging each other for emotional support.

"Maybe he'll accept this every once in a while. The man would want to feel missed too." he whispered as they both curled up and let their emotions out.

The next day, it was back to usual at 141 except things were a little bit formal. With everyone in their black funeral attire, they gathered by the small park to honor a hero's sacrifice.

Alex stood by the podium and looked at the notable few people who attended. They were all familiar as Jack was always keen to introduce him to anyone he knows albeit professionally or casually.

"When I met Jack, my first impression of him was a stereotypical angry old man. Some of you may have thought of it like this toward Captain Price, no offense" he said as the crowd laughed a little, looking at the British captain.

"But once you get to know him, he's actually one of the best persons you'll ever meet. Every day felt like a school day. He might not point it out, but every move he made was a lesson in life. The man knew a lot of things that were vital for surviving this world. I once referred to him as a treasure trove of information." Everyone muttered their thoughts and nodded in agreement.

"He taught me how to stay positive even in the most trying times and how every decision is vital. He taught me how to think outside the box and utilize every resource you have, something that I admittedly didn't master but I'm always trying and he kept on telling me that there was no harm in trying. That's when I realized how lucky I was to be with him as my Commanding Officer."

"The man saved me multiple times and I owe him a lot for that. I'm actually blaming myself for his loss but the way he looked at me before he jumped was telling me that I shouldn't blame myself and neither should anyone. He told me once that when he goes, he doesn't want anyone to worry about him, as he'd probably be swimming in the clouds drinking unlimited liquor. And that's what he was looking forward to." Another chuckle from the crowd.

"So, for us who would not accept his death. He would want us to think that wherever he is right now, he's having a blast and we shouldn't be worrying about him." He smiled at the crowd as he stepped out of the podium and went back to the seat beside Samantha, hugging her before they both sat down. The ceremony continued with a few more words from Jack's closest friend.

Later that afternoon, Alex preferred to stay with Jack one last time before going home. He still had a few more moments to relive, and the rest of the squad, including the girls, were more than okay to join him.

"Hey guys. Thanks for waiting for me." Alex muttered as Samantha quickly joined him, locking her arm on his. It looked like everyone was also doing it with their partners.

"You guys should wear suits more often. But I'm not wishing for another funeral, okay?" Maxine said as the group chuckled.

"I used to wear these all the time. I look good at it, right France?" Soap nudged his girlfriend, making France blush uncontrollably.

"Yeah fine. You do." She replied nonchalantly. But everyone knows she's more than smitten.

"Now that this is over, what's next for us?" Roach asked the group, as they collectively shot an 'I don't know' look.

"Well. It's obviously an R and R for us." France said, proudly citing one of 141's rules.

"R and R?" Maxine asked.

"It means Rest and Recreation." Roach was quick to reply.

Alex looked at Samantha with a smile. R and R

sounded perfect.

"I'm actually finishing my psych exam tomorrow." France stated.

"I'll go with her for a check up as well. That nasty fall still bothered me." Soap added, holding on to France's waist and pulling it close to him.

"Well, looks like everyone's got plans." Roach grinned, looking at Maxine, suggesting that they had something for themselves as well.

Next Chapter : Epilogue - ONE's Sacrifice

Notification Squad my Beloved

@enderio @smokeywhalee @samatedeansbroccoli @ricinbach @bumblingbee1 @whimsywispsblog

#alex echo 3 1 #john soap mactavish #horrayfic #john price #gary roach sanderson #whateverittakes

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theculturedmarxist · 4 years

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@expatiating

>Literally anyone who lived in a communist or socialist regime: it was terrible..... 16 year old white girl on tumblr: yeah but that wasn’t real communism :///

You mean anyone like this, you stupid fucking asshole?

Oppressive and grey? No, growing up under communism was the happiest time of my life

When people ask me what it was like growing up behind the Iron Curtain in Hungary in the Seventies and Eighties, most expect to hear tales of secret police, bread queues and other nasty manifestations of life in a one-party state.

They are invariably disappointed when I explain that the reality was quite different, and communist Hungary, far from being hell on earth, was in fact, rather a fun place to live.

The communists provided everyone with guaranteed employment, good education and free healthcare. Violent crime was virtually non-existent.

But perhaps the best thing of all was the overriding sense of camaraderie, a spirit lacking in my adopted Britain and, indeed, whenever I go back to Hungary today. People trusted one another, and what we had we shared.

youtube

Learn from Cuba, Says World Bank

The island's economy, which suffered devastating losses in production after the Soviet Union withdrew its aid, especially its oil supplies, a decade ago, has yet to fully recover. Annual economic growth, fuelled in part by a growing tourism industry and limited foreign investment, has been halting and, for the most part, anaemic.

Moreover, its economic policies are generally anathema to the Bank. The government controls virtually the entire economy, permitting private entrepreneurs the tiniest of spaces. It heavily subsidises virtually all staples and commodities; its currency is not convertible to anything. It retains tight control over all foreign investment, and often changes the rules abruptly and for political reasons.

At the same time, however, its record of social achievement has not only been sustained; it's been enhanced, according to the WDI.

It has reduced its infant mortality rate from 11 per 1,000 births in 1990 to seven in 1999, which places it firmly in the ranks of the western industrialised nations. It now stands at six, according to Jo Ritzen, the Bank's Vice President for Development Policy who visited Cuba privately several months ago to see for himself.

By comparison, the infant mortality rate for Argentina stood at 18 in 1999; Chile's was down to ten; and Costa Rica, 12. For the entire Latin American and Caribbean region as a whole, the average was 30 in 1999.

Similarly, the mortality rate for children under five in Cuba has fallen from 13 to eight per thousand over the decade. That figure is 50 percent lower than the rate in Chile, the Latin American country closest to Cuba's achievement. For the region as a whole, the average was 38 in 1999.

"Six for every 1,000 in infant mortality - the same level as Spain - is just unbelievable," according to Ritzen, a former education minister in the Netherlands. "You observe it, and so you see that Cuba has done exceedingly well in the human development area."

Indeed, in Ritzen's own field the figures tell much the same story. Net primary enrolment for both girls and boys reached 100 percent in 1997, up from 92 percent in 1990. That was as high as most developed nations, higher even than the US rate and well above 80-90 percent rates achieved by the most advanced Latin American countries.

"Even in education performance, Cuba's is very much in tune with the developed world, and much higher than schools in, say, Argentina, Brazil, or Chile."

It is no wonder, in some ways. Public spending on education in Cuba amounts to about 6.7 percent of gross national income, twice the proportion in other Latin America and Caribbean countries and even Singapore.

There were 12 primary pupils for every Cuban teacher in 1997, a ratio that ranked with Sweden, rather than any other developing country. The Latin American and East Asian average was twice as high at 25 to one.

The average youth (ages 15-24) illiteracy rate in Latin America and the Caribbean stands at seven percent. In Cuba, the rate is zero. In Latin America, where the average is seven percent, only Uruguay approaches that achievement, with one percent youth illiteracy.

"Cuba managed to reduce illiteracy from 40 percent to zero within ten years," said Ritzen. "If Cuba shows that it is possible, it shifts the burden of proof to those who say it's not possible."

Similarly, Cuba devoted 9.1 percent of its gross domestic product (GDP) during the 1990s to health care, roughly equivalent to Canada's rate. Its ratio of 5.3 doctors per 1,000 people was the highest in the world.

The question that these statistics pose, of course, is whether the Cuban experience can be replicated. The answer given here is probably not.

"What does it is the incredible dedication," according to Wayne Smith, who was head of the US Interests Section in Havana in the late 1970s and early 1980s and has travelled to the island many times since. "Doctors in Cuba can make more driving cabs and working in hotels, but they don't. They're just very dedicated," he said.

youtube

This amazing video and documentary, produced by Neighbor Democracy, details the evolving communal organs within the Rojava Revolution, from security to health care.

This 40 minute video is an in-depth look into the inner workings of the commune system of Rojava and how they work in practice. Rojava is the colloquial name for the Democratic Federation of Northern Syria (DFNS), a multi-ethnic, pluralist, women’s liberationist, and radically democratic autonomous zone that has grown out of the context of the Syrian Civil War. While there is frequent and thorough reporting on the military aspects of the Revolution in Rojava, especially their fight against Daesh (ISIS) and the Turkish State, the social revolution as it relates to the everyday lives of the people living there is rarely given anything more than a cursory overview, even in radical circles.

This video is one attempt to make up for that gap in easily digestible information about the way the day-to-day autonomous organizing affects daily life in Rojava. It also closes with a call for people in the US and elsewhere to build communes along similar lines, while discussing some possible contextual considerations specific to North America.

The communes in the DFNS are birthed out of tireless organizing by everyday people, predominately Kurdish women, in an effort that started clandestinely in the days of the Regime, but has since led to structures that could fill the power vacuum left in the war. The people of the DFNS are working out in practice through trial-and-error the culmination of 40 years of theoretical and practical knowledge built through the Kurdish struggle, and most thoroughly laid out by the imprisoned PKK leader, Abdullah Ocalan.

The communes have many similarities to the neighborhood assemblies that were the focus of the late American communalist Murray Bookchin, who was an inspiration for Ocalan. There are an estimated 4,000 communes in Rojava today, run through direct democracy of all the residents (50-150 families). The work of the commune is divided up into committees which anyone can join. The most common committees are explored in-depth in this video, and their timestamps can be found below. Each committee covered in the video can be found in its own short clip on the Neighbor Democracy channel so that these short, easy-to-digest videos can me shared in discussions about specific topics relating to communal approaches to various aspects of life.

Marinaleda: Will 'free homes' solve Spain's evictions crisis?

In the wake of Spain's property crash, hundreds of thousands of homes have been repossessed. While one regional government says it will seize repossessed properties from the banks, a little town is doing away with mortgages altogether.

In Marinaleda, residents like 42-year-old father-of-three, David Gonzalez Molina, are building their own homes.

While he burrows with a pneumatic drill into the earth, David nonchalantly says it "should take a couple of years".

However, when his new house is finished he will have paid "absolutely nothing".

Free bricks and mortar

The town hall in this small, aesthetically unremarkable town an hour-and-a-bit east of Seville, has given David 190 sq m (2,000 sq ft) of land.

He and others are only eligible after they have been registered residents of Marinaleda for at least two years.

The bricks and mortar are also a gift, this time from the regional government of Andalusia.

Only once his home is finished will he start paying 15 euros (£13) a month, to the regional government, to refund the cost of other building materials.

Of course, most people do not know how to build a house, so the town hall in Marinaleda throws in some expertise.

It employs several professional builders and plumbers, a couple of whom work alongside David, to help him construct his house.

HOMAGE TO CATALONIA

This was in late December 1936, less than seven months ago as I write, and yet it is a period that has already receded into enormous distance. Later events have obliterated it much more completely than they have obliterated 1935, or 1905, for that matter. I had come to Spain with some notion of writing newspaper articles, but I had joined the militia almost immediately, because at that time and in that atmosphere it seemed the only conceivable thing to do. The Anarchists were still in virtual control of Catalonia and the revolution was still in full swing. To anyone who had been there since the beginning it probably seemed even in December or January that the revolutionary period was ending; but when one came straight from England the aspect of Barcelona was something startling and overwhelming. It was the first time that I had ever been in a town where the working class was in the saddle. Practically every building of any size had been seized by the workers and was draped with red flags or with the red and black flag of the Anarchists; every wall was scrawled with the hammer and sickle and with the initials of the revolutionary parties; almost every church had been gutted and its images burnt. Churches here and there were being systematically demolished by gangs of workmen. Every shop and café had an inscription saying that it had been collectivized; even the bootblacks had been collectivized and their boxes painted red and black. Waiters and shop-walkers looked you in the face and treated you as an equal. Servile and even ceremonial forms of speech had temporarily disappeared. Nobody said ‘Señior’ or ‘Don’ or even ‘Usted’; everyone called everyone else ‘Comrade’ and ‘Thou’, and said ‘Salud!’ instead of ‘Buenos dias’. Tipping was forbidden by law; almost my first experience was receiving a lecture from a hotel manager for trying to tip a lift-boy. There were no private motor-cars, they had all been commandeered, and all the trams and taxis and much of the other transport were painted red and black. The revolutionary posters were everywhere, flaming from the walls in clean reds and blues that made the few remaining advertisements look like daubs of mud. Down the Ramblas, the wide central artery of the town where crowds of people streamed constantly to and fro, the loudspeakers were bellowing revolutionary songs all day and far into the night. And it was the aspect of the crowds that was the queerest thing of all. In outward appearance it was a town in which the wealthy classes had practically ceased to exist. Except for a small number of women and foreigners there were no ‘well-dressed’ people at all. Practically everyone wore rough working-class clothes, or blue overalls, or some variant of the militia uniform. All this was queer and moving. There was much in it that I did not understand, in some ways I did not even like it, but I recognized it immediately as a state of affairs worth fighting for. Also I believed that things were as they appeared, that this was really a workers' State and that the entire bourgeoisie had either fled, been killed, or voluntarily come over to the workers' side; I did not realize that great numbers of well-to-do bourgeois were simply lying low and disguising themselves as proletarians for the time being.

Together with all this there was something of the evil atmosphere of war. The town had a gaunt untidy look, roads and buildings were in poor repair, the streets at night were dimly lit for fear of air-raids, the shops were mostly shabby and half-empty. Meat was scarce and milk practically unobtainable, there was a shortage of coal, sugar, and petrol, and a really serious shortage of bread. Even at this period the bread-queues were often hundreds of yards long. Yet so far as one could judge the people were contented and hopeful. There was no unemployment, and the price of living was still extremely low; you saw very few conspicuously destitute people, and no beggars except the gipsies. Above all, there was a belief in the revolution and the future, a feeling of having suddenly emerged into an era of equality and freedom. Human beings were trying to behave as human beings and not as cogs in the capitalist machine. In the barbers' shops were Anarchist notices (the barbers were mostly Anarchists) solemnly explaining that barbers were no longer slaves. In the streets were coloured posters appealing to prostitutes to stop being prostitutes. To anyone from the hard-boiled, sneering civilization of the English-speaking races there was something rather pathetic in the literalness with which these idealistic Spaniards took the hackneyed phrases of revolution. At that time revolutionary ballads of the naivest kind, all about proletarian brotherhood and the wickedness of Mussolini, were being sold on the streets for a few centimes each. I have often seen an illiterate militiaman buy one of these ballads, laboriously spell out the words, and then, when he had got the hang of it, begin singing it to an appropriate tune.

youtube

Feel free to unfuck yourself you class cuck.

#communism #socialism #anarchism #you're a fucking moron and should shut your fucking mouth

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kazbrkker · 4 years

Text

Chapter 8: Second Chances

Chapter summary: Aftermaths of the Wolf’s escape & two painfully, oblivious pining idiots.

Warnings: mention of stitches, old scars. (3502 words)

28 October 2019, 2330 "Alexis" and "Alex" | Codename Aces CIA with SAS and Urzik militia Sakhra, Urzikstan

"Stop moving," Alia grumbled exasperatedly for the fifth time. Her nimble fingers were supposed to make stitching up Alexis' gnarly forehead gash easy—if she could stay still. Then again, nobody could sit still through that without anaesthetic.

Begging for a distraction, Alexis' teeth scraped against her pale lips and her fingernails subconsciously dup deeper into Farah's arm with every stitch.

"I don't know why you do this without painkillers," Alia mumbled absentmindedly, every movement meticulous. It went unanswered, for Alexis refused to supply the 16-year-old with more horror. A few more stitches later, the young girl leaned back and smiled.

Thank Heavens. High pain tolerance, sure, but needles... Alexis was wise enough to stay far away.

Alexis' impatiently patted the medical gauze, nodding at the decent patch-up. Of course the Marines had professional medics on deck, but when Alexis awoke, she felt responsible for Alia's red-rimmed eyes and loud sniffles. So, pain be damned.

Alia scowled, swatting her nosy hand, "No! Do you want an infection?"

"I am older than you," Alexis reminded.

"Yes. More stupid too."

Bewildered, her neck craned towards Farah, jaw-slacked at the commander's blatant shrug in agreement. Overwhelmed by the thunderous support, "This is a mutiny of some sorts..."

"Uh-oh, your boyfriend is coming," the young girl loudly announced. Her accusation reeled stares from closer bystanders.

Heat found its way to Alexis' cheeks, spreading under Farah and Alia's teasing grins. Dizziness soon trickled in, forcing her to blink rapidly in an attempt to concentrate past the nasty headache. "Alex is not my boyfriend."

"Did I say it was Alex?"

Farah huffed, bumping fists with the younger. The conniving duo displayed megawatt smiles when Alex and Kyle came into hearing distances. Holding a box of ration packs, Kyle gestured for them to take their pick. That knocked their smugness off.

Alex plopped beside her, eating out of his rations. "Tell me you feel better," he more than demanded, giving her battered state a once-over. His eyes lingered on her forehead.

"Am I supposed to lie?"

A shadow flickered past his face, "Should I bench you?"

"Yes, if you wish to die in your sleep," her quick movements to snatch away his wristwatch communicator intensified the pain. "Although blunt force trauma is not as deadly as this headache."

"Crack another joke and I'll deliver you to Price," Alex threatened at her lightheartedness. Though his menace soon faltered at her radiant grin.

"Boss is not in a good mood," Kyle chimed in.

"Mutiny..." Alexis mumbled. "Fine, no more jokes about concussions."

The group chatted about their game plan for tomorrow when a rude growling stomach sounded. It certainly didn't go unnoticed by Alex, who willingly gave up his rations. Packaged pasta had never tasted better, she mumbled gratefully, "Have I ever told you how amazing you are?"

Alex laughed, "Now I know you hit your head too hard."

"Would you be open to the idea of getting matching injuries?"

"Are you flirting with me?"

"No, it's just in season," Alexis shook her head, bemused. "Shut up and eat your veggies, you're giving me another headache."

The scorching look of triumph was clear in Farah and Alia's expressions and for the same reason, she purposefully evaded their eyes.

"I thought the CIA frowned upon dating in the circle?" Kyle asked casually.

The unexpectable question forced her to choke, coughing loud enough to render someone patting her back. Alexis flushed at his concern, aware of the stutter in his pats. Both CIA agents were red, and boy, were Farah and Alia having a field day.

Alexis prayed her face was the usual controlled indifference. This wasn't the first time someone mislabelled their friendship, so why was this suddenly a big deal? "Yup. They hate it."

Kyle's lips formed an 'o' upon realisation, "Sorry, I thought you two were..."

Alex cleared his throat, "That's a popular opinion."

"Maybe everybody has a point. You did call her baby–" Alia cheekily added.

You little...

Alexis gently slapped a hurried palm against her mouth, muffling the jocular giggles from the young woman. It didn't stop her from cheekily winking at the group. Other than the two in cynosure, the others wore matching grins.

Perhaps they were playing matchmakers, but right now, her priority was to dig herself a hole.

From the unreadable look on Alex's face, he felt the same. When Alia tried to wrestle out of her grips, she thought the reddish hue on his face was a figment of her imagination. Yet if it wasn't, he sure didn't spare her the glory with this knowledge, as his head swiftly lowered to observe the hardwood floor panels.

Witnessing him this taciturn was a rare sight. Before she could entertain her illusions that maybe her friends were onto something, Price yelled for Kyle.

The tension in the air snapped.

"Get some rest. We need energy to catch the Wolf tomorrow," Farah gave a friendly side hug, saving Alex from Alia's nagging reminders about her stitches. He replied with a salute.

And then there were two.

"She's awfully like you," Alex smiled. Spitfire personality, dauntless and stubborn.

"Hopefully not, I'm a horrible person," she joked wearily, eyes losing in a battle against the slurry languor that washed over her. Coupled with the splitting headache, she wrangled between climbing upstairs to find a bed or staying here. The latter almost won until she was hoisted up.

"Don't bother, you're not walking," came Alex's reply and she obliged. When she reopened her eyes, Alex had already sat her down a bed to unlace her boots. She carelessly slithered her sweaty top off her skin.

They squeezed into a tightly-confined shower, sighing in bliss as warm cascades of water enveloped them, splashing the warfare away. Her arms looped contentedly around Alex's neck as he started to wash her blood-crusted hair, careful to shield her head wound.

"Hi," Alex wore a suspicious smile.

She sighed, "Here we go."

"Damn right. You have an immaculate talent for making people worried."

"Why thank you..."

Goosebumps raised as he silkened down her arms, tracing the red streaks clearly shaped from her nails. The way his dark eyes fastened on her made her heartstrings twitch nervously, "You could have died."

She laughed humourlessly. "You think too little of me."

"I'm serious, never do that again. You run into anything you can't handle..."

"I had him under control," she retorted.

"Clearly not enough."

"The bastard got to me. My fault, okay? I messed up. I don't need another reminder," she snapped, and the hands in her hair stopped. "Shit, I'm sorry. I didn't mean that."

"Sure you did," he nodded, not in the slightest offended. The fact that someone managed to one-up her caught his attention instead, "What did he say?"

Now Alexis suspected he could read minds. "Why did you think he said something?"

"Call it a hunch."

Alexis sighed, not fond to revisit her failure. "Alex..."

That was her warning, and he took it. "Just saying, I've never seen Price that worried."

She closed her eyes and shook her head dismissively, "He's just annoyed he'll have to answer to Maddox and Forbes. I'm a prized possession."

The cubicle echoed with their laughs.

Alex worked past the scars that littered her body, leaving trails of soap bubbles. He could pinpoint them with his eyes closed, yet with today's new additions, he had more to commit to memory. His thumb brushed over a spot on her upper right thigh, smirking at the slight shudder he induced but more so at the memory.

Was she nervous?

Hearing Alexis' hoarse voice confirmed his suspicions, "Remember this?"

"'course, you took a bullet for me," Alex said, still glazing over the raised bump.

August 2016, Brazil. 30 grand bounty over their heads. They played a dangerous game of cat and mouse with the entire city. A mercenary almost tore through his kneecaps until she knocked him out of the line of fire.

A charming smirk reappeared, "Few things say "I love you" like a bullet to a non-essential area."

She snorted, punching his chest. Cloudy mist floated around them, the water was too hot, almost scorching. Or maybe it was his warmth, she guessed. Her mind was foggy, only thinking how much endurance she had to not bask in the feeling of his coarse hands.

Then again, she was a soldier. Willpower was all she got.

Maybe not, her hormones decided. As hard as she tried to toss the raunchy thoughts, Alex made it difficult. Especially his arms... she was a real sucker for strong arms. The temperature was sweltering and with their bare bodies practically pressed together was not aiding.

"Switch," was all she said before she forcefully flipped them, leaving her under the running water—hoping it would clear her mind. Hasty fingers weaved in his wet hair, her turn to bathe him.

"Nasty scar," she picked up their conversation, "Scares people away."

"Maybe you should revaluate your definitions of a partner," Alex scoffed, "Scars are god damn sexy."

"In theory, I must be sexy as hell."

Hm. You have no idea.

The bullet scrap on her arm healed nicely by now—still an open wound, though it no longer hurt when she raised her arms. Useful to know, as she foamed his hair. Her gaze traced the numerous tattoos across Alex's body, eventually landing on his chest.

Her favourite tattoo of his—a butterfly.

Butterflies are the universe's proof that second chances exist, this stuck with her ever since she read that somewhere in a digest.

A similar tattoo rested along the sides of her ribcage, accompanied by an eye on top of it. The idea struck her when she finally made Lieutenant. It felt symbolic, a parting gift to her old life.

She always had a sneaking suspicion Alex wanted a matching tattoo but was too afraid or embarrassed to say it. He'd chat her ears off about parallel tattoos, as if she didn't pick up on it. So it was no surprise when one day, he suddenly showed up with a butterfly stuck on his chest.

It was a sweet gesture and thus made her way more resolute to not jeopardise their friendship. Tattoos were sacred to a man like Alex, who never stood a chance against Command. He'd make sure to find something he loved in every location he went, and inked it. His way of establishing control over his job—by remembering parts of the good.

Her finger skimmed past his butterfly before grabbing the showerhead to drown his hair clean. They were two people engrossed in good memories among warfare. And it felt liberating.

That was until she noticed he was looking at the prominent area on her chest.

Burnt flesh, the size of his palms, staring back at them.

The entire atmosphere shifted. A shiver of glacial magnitude rushed from her toes and her heart sank. The scar's jaggedness made her feel even more self-conscious.

Hot poker on her skin, an iron branding from the mob. If she closed her eyes, she could envision the exact scene. Fear not, if the mental baggage wasn't enough, there was a physical one.

"You deserve the best, you know that?" She didn't know which irked her more, the sympathy in his tone, or that he placed her on a pedestal.

I'm damaged goods, the thought fed her demons. So why do I deserve the best?

She peered at the man in front of her, every word earnest. He'd say it a million times and yet she wouldn't believe him.

Perhaps it was the head injury or hormones, but her eyes soon welled up with tears. Within seconds, what started out as small sniffs transformed into full streaks of tears. The tears blended into the stream of falling water but it was unmistakable.

The sight broke Alex's heart. Shattered it, really.

Silently, Alex switched off the faucet and dressed her. Every step jerked new tears that stained his bareback. At her quiet sobs, he berated what an idiot he was for reminding her.

The contact of soft mattress made her flinch. With tear-stained eyes, she gaped at the man who Omar Sulaman promised to kill and it almost made her whimper pathetically.

The malice thoughts stopped whispering when warm touch on her face descended her back to reality.

Alex.

"Yeah?" She hadn't realised she said it out loud.

"Stay with me," she implored. His head was already nodding, but it didn't satisfy her.

A hand shot out anxiously, "No, not this. You can't ever die on me." Her sudden request puzzled him. "Promise me."

"I promise," he said. "What happened, Alexan– Alexis?" Her birth name sat heavily on the tip of his tongue, almost escaping in his concern.

Over time, she'd built a reasonable resilience from Alex's relentless questionings, yet today her defenses lowered. "Back there... He said he'd kill you, he'll make me watch," she swallowed the rising bile. "And I let him go... Fuck."

Alexis felt like an utter failure. Not only did she fail to extract information about the stolen gas, but more people would suffer as a result of the Wolf's escape.

Losing the usual silver lining from her interrogations made her dangerously close to spiral out of control. In her mind, she unjustly tortured a man. And it was vile—even if that man was Omar Sulaman. Now, she found the line between her and her torturers blurred.

Though she didn't specify, Alex placed two and two together. "The Wolf?"

She merely nodded, still gripping his arm painfully like he'd slip away. The desperation her pleads carried haunted him.

"I'm going to fucking kill him," He saw red, only able to suppress his anger by making this promise. Without hesitation, he levelled their faces together, mumbling reassurance of I'm not going anywhere.

In the moonlight, Alex could still see the faint tint of pink that stained her nose—he compared it to the pink chrysanthemums he saw earlier today. How could anyone still look this enchanting while sobbing was a mystery to him, though he was staring right at the answer.

She never ceased to amaze him.

"I'm with you, okay? Always." This sentence never lost its genuineness. He'd do anything for her—the world begins and ends where she says so.

She felt his lips move against her ear, and her racing heart slowly composed itself from his assurance. Losing composure was uncommon for her, but even in this exception, she was sagacious enough to know the air between them had long changed.

Refusing to play host to her desire, her head stay lowered. She opted to wipe her tears and joked about how she didn't want his ghost to haunt her, hoping a distraction would alleviate her pounding heart.

Despite her prayers, Alex tilted her chin upwards to meet him, "Never happening."

They were so close. "Even when you're a ghost?"

"Mhm. I'm pretty hard to shake."

"You'd definitely be one of those annoying ghosts... With no sense of boundaries."

The magnetic allure of her lips called to him. On its own accord, his thumb ghosted ever so slightly over her parted lips, stealing a sharp breath from them both. They were dead silent.

And something in Alex warned him to reduce his voice to a whisper, afraid that he might scare this moment away, "Boundaries... You want it...?"

Everything was electrified. His touch, his gaze. Alexis worked hard not to crumble under his intense stare.

Then it happened, his gaze fell on her lips. She definitely didn't imagine that.

"Do you?" she deflected. Mildly embarrassed that her voice had the abraded texture of stone against stone.

Even when her lungs screamed for air, Alexis still forgot to breathe. She was busy listening to the angel and the devil warring inside her, pleading to her rationality. It was clear which side won when she closed her eyes.

Her world was pitch black. Senses put into overdrive. The touch along her jawline felt like it burned. She thought if this was what being set on fire felt like, she'd gladly pay the price.

His breath fanned across her nose. And then their noses touched.

Alexis felt horrible for her overworking heart, rapidly pumping oxygen to her brain—she certainly dared not to breathe, terrified to screw this up. Maybe there was a screeching voice inside her head, but it was fogged by her desires.

Tingles rushed through her when his lips brushed her own, the velvety feeling of it already so addictive. Alexis closed her eyes, waiting for the impact, and then–

A sharp knock forced them both apart.

She almost got whiplash from how fast she turned to the door, making her clutch her head in pain. The silhouette of Kyle Garrick stood in front of them, head still bowed while reading a prescription off a medicine tube.

"Nero- no, Neosporin," he cluelessly recited. "Antibiotic cream." When Kyle finally raised his head, a look of doubt crossed his face upon the flustered duo.

He awkwardly tossed the tube to Alex. "Okay... Weird vibe. Alia said to apply it or else."

"Thanks, Garrick," Alexis grimaced at her slightly pitchy voice, "Um. Get some rest, yeah?"

"Mhm. As you were..."

The door closed after him. Tensed at the shuffling sounds behind her, her brain replayed the scene much to her protest.

"Still want me to stay?" Alex said in a low voice. She hadn't realised she was still staring at the empty doorway.

What was that? She never loathed her noisy thoughts more than this moment. Oh fucking fuck, shit. I'm so stupid.

No... Why am I embarrassed? He initiated the stupid kiss! She reasoned, digging for some form of consolation to find the courage to snap around, preparing herself for what might come next. But she wasn't expecting the smug smile he so proudly wore. She then wondered if she should feel relieved or nervous.

But as a wave of dizziness forced her to grab a handful of bedsheets, she inwardly spoke gratitude that she didn't have to decide.

What was this? What were they, really? Too many questions and too little answers.

"Come on, it's past your bedtime," Alex pulled her back into the bed and started to administer the medication on her cheek wounds. Today was already a heck of a day, and with the soothing circles rubbed into her skin, she surrendered to her tiredness.

"Night..."

Upon her steady breathing, Alex tossed the tube across the room and it landed accurately on his vest with a soft thud. His finger outlined a path from her forehead and hovered hesitantly above her lips. The very same one he should have already felt.

Thanks, Garrick.

A frustrated sigh escaped him, loud enough to make Alexis nuzzle deeper into him, an arm draped over his waist.

He laid back down, replaying their scenes from earlier. A bolt of lightning might as well strike him now—maybe that would explain the bursting feeling in his chest.

"Wow," he mouthed in realisation. "I'm a damn idiot."

Years ago when she tipsily ended up on his doorstep desperate for him to take the pain away, he willingly obliged. No denials that he had the biggest selfish reason to say yes.

Fuck, it was a strange feeling to finally get all that he dreamt of. That night, he was too busy planning a confession in his head to sleep. But by dawn, the demons inside him questioned if he truly deserved someone like Alexis.

Someone like her? For him? It was too good to be true. His mind raced with the "What ifs?"

"What if our jobs clashed?"

"What if I put her in danger?"

"What fucking if the long distance fucks everything up?"

Their friendship would be in shreds. And she was one of the– the most important person in his life. No way would he lose her.

So he pushed her away—looked her in the eyes and lied. For Heaven's sakes, he wanted to punch himself. And he knew he made the right decision because when their friendship took a hit for a few weeks, the loneliness was unparalleled.

He didn't want to feel that way again. Ever.

Alex might have kept their friendship, but at the cost of everything. He liked to picture how different things would have been, if not for his cowardice. He thought about it frequent enough to imprint a permanent gnaw in his heart.

Now, here it was. A bloody second chance. His second chance.

Alex peered down to the butterfly tattoo on his bare chest, smiling. The universe's proof, alright, he whispered, "Gotcha."

The night ended with Alex falling into dreams of the woman he loved.

‧͙⁺˚*·༓

a/n: they're such stupid fools... & omg i hate this chapter so much idek. btw what do yall think alexis’ real name is?

taglist: @flyboidameron @wanderlustgiant (wanna be tagged? lmk!)

#call of duty x oc #call of duty x reader #alex modern warfare #cod alex #echo 3-1 #john price #captain price #kyle garrick #farah karim #hadir karim #kate laswell #oc: alexis #fanfiction #call of duty #modern warfare #ysrwrites: kl #please read tw carefully #killer instinct

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makomori · 4 years

Text

ONE | NEW TERRITORY (Brand New Story)

USHIJIMA WAKATOSHI x OC

Nishimura Yua has to take her nephew to his first rep practice with the Tohoku Tigers at Shiratorizawa Academy. Ushijima Wakatoshi is filling in for the assistant coach on said team.

She’s recovering from a nasty breakup and he’s reeling from a stunning finals loss against the Jackals.

Yua’s drawn to his composure and honesty.

Wakatoshi finds her warmth and tenacity intriguing.

It’s the start of a Brand New Story; can they heal from past hurts and endure new challenges in order to help each other trust and love again?

Length: 2.4k words

It's been nearly a month since the Schweiden Adlers lost to the MSBY Black Jackals in the V.League finals. Wakatoshi is reflecting on his performance when he receives an interesting proposal from his old coach.

Much love to @chuckhansen for encouraging my chicken little ass to post this. After 24601 years, I finally finished a chapter! And it’s about your favourite opposite lefty, Ushijima Wakatoshi! I absolutely ADORE him, and I’ve been running with this idea since March. The title is from Exile Generation’s song, “Brand New Story”. I highly recommend checking it out b/c it’s an amazing BOP.

This is eventually going to be a multi-chapter, Ushiwaka x OC fic b/c our Super Ace deserves all the love in the world! This is definitely a rough draft, and I welcome constructive feedback or any reactions! I’m catching up with the manga, so I’ll be making changes along the way. I hope you enjoy reading b/c I had so much fun writing it. 🥰🥺

Wakatoshi’s morning jog was hard. Physically, he could have easily run for another ten kilometers, but his mind kept pulling him back to the safety and warmth of his unmade bed. Annoyed that a steady and peaceful rhythm was out of his reach, he grudgingly circled back to his complex. But by the time he made it up the steps to his apartment, he was breathing hard.

Looks like he needed more rest after all.

Before going in, Wakatoshi took note of the nearly empty bowls of kibble and water beside his front door. He needed to refill them soon. There were several stray cats in the neighbourhood, and he always tried to feed as many as he could while he was home. They gravitated to him when he first moved in, which he thought odd because he didn’t have any experience with cats, or any animals, as a child. He enjoyed their company, though, as they were independent and showed affection once a bond was formed. He wasn’t the easiest person to interact with, so he appreciated the simplicity of his relationship with them.

Sighing, he unzipped his sweater and tossed it absently on the dark green counter top. The apartment was bigger than initially wanted, but his mother insisted that he’d regret it if he chose something smaller. She said that it was always good to have extra room in case people came over. He wanted to tell her that he wouldn’t have much time to entertain considering he would be on the road for games. However, when he realized the extra space would mean that she would always be comfortable during visits, he quickly put an offer in for the apartment.

The troublesome feeling of guilt tugged at him as he thought of his mother. He hadn’t spoken to her in a few weeks. Not since the Adlers loss to the Jackals in the V.League finals. Actually, he needed to touch base with several people in addition to her. Leaning against the counter, he thumbed through his phone until his messages popped up.

20 unread texts stared at him earnestly. The latest one was from Kageyama.

We should practice soon. Let me know when you’re free.

No apologies or words of comfort. He appreciated that. It seemed that Kageyama had already cut his losses and was getting ready for next season. He only knew of a few people that bounced back that quickly; Kageyama’s stubbornness and adaptability was an invaluable asset on the court.

The next message was from Romero.

Hey, Lefty. Drinks on me next time.

Wakatoshi wasn’t a huge drinker, but he enjoyed spending time with Romero. He was supportive and sociable, traits that he hoped would come easier to him one day.

Tendou was next.

Don’t get too down, Toshi-kun! I’ll buy you all the Hayashi rice you want the next time I’m in Sendai.

That made him chuckle. Tendou must be really worried about him if he was willing to take a break from his chocolatier apprenticeship just go out for dinner in their hometown.

The rest of the messages were of a similar nature. Sympathies and offers to hang out when he was available. People were genuinely concerned for him, and he was grateful. He hoped he didn’t worry his them too much with his lack of response.

Normally, he responded to any messages immediately, but he wanted a bit of peace after a long season. A month, however, was pushing it. After downing a glass of orange juice, he decided to respond to them methodically after a short nap and a hot shower. He flopped ungracefully on the couch and stretched his long legs out, calves protesting slightly at the movement.

Wakatoshi closed his eyes and hoped sleep would come, but his thoughts were pulled back to the final set against the Jackals. Everyone knew the match would be a close one. The players on both teams were talented, competitive, and exceedingly stubborn. The Adlers had been the champions for the last three years, but the Jackals were eager to claim that title for themselves. Once the team found out who their opponents were, they prepared to play hard through all five sets.

Because the Jackals would do the same.

Wakatoshi was more than excited for the match, as he always relished the chance to play the best of his contemporaries. He was especially looking forward to paying Hinata back for snatching his last chance to go to the Spring Tournament seven years ago. Wakatoshi couldn’t wait to test the redhead’s newfound skills against his own. They had both evolved into formidable players since their last encounter.

But the Jackals still surprised him, despite having played them twice during the regular season. He had spent hours analyzing their strengths, weaknesses, and overall playing style. The Adlers were deadly in their precision and technical prowess, but the Jackals matched that with their unpredictability and tenacity. Miya’s charisma leant itself well to his unconventional spikers. Bokuto, Sakusa, and Hinata were the personification of baseless confidence and relentless determination. Wakatoshi’s most disliked traits.

The Adlers won the first two sets: 25-22 and 25-23.

The coaching staff was fairly confident that they team would take the final set and the match itself, with his, Houshiumi’s, and Romero’s spikes at textbook perfection. But Wakatoshi knew better. From across the court, he felt the energy shift in the Jackals’ team huddle. He could tell Hinata was rallying his team with some choice words; Bokuto was getting worked up, along with Sakusa. They weren’t going out quietly, and frankly, Wakatoshi would’ve been disappointed if they didn’t put up a fight.

The Jackals took the next two sets: 28-26 and 25-23.

Like most players Wakatoshi didn’t like being pushed to the fifth set, as switching courts halfway could effectively kill any hard-earned momentum. He scored the first few points of the set, connecting with Kageyama’s tosses like he always did. But a feeling a dread crept to the front of his mind once he felt that shift of energy again.

It started with Hinata and quickly spread to the rest of his team. The time he spent with Oikawa in Brazil had changed him. He was faster, smarter, and even more fearless than the first time they played. Wakatoshi had to stop himself from admiring his skill and presence. Miya had a grin on his face every time he set to the redhead. Few setters had the chance to work with a wing spiker like Hinata.

The Jackals disrupted the flow of the game with two hard volleys to the back corners of the court on the second hit. The placement confused the back-line players because the ball’s trajectory was on that razor-thin line of in and out. Indecision cost them two crucial points. Then, Sakusa forced him to dig for a few a tips that were just outside of his reach.

And shockingly, he was forced to tip when he realized that he couldn’t power his way through an impenetrable three-man block. It was sloppy and picked up with ease by the libero. This was new territory for him, and he normally wouldn’t have minded, but the unforgiving pace of the fifth set didn’t allow him enough time to adjust to their tactics.

The Jackals won the final set. 25-23. Hinata’s final kill blasted through a hole through his, Sokolov’s, and Romero’s outstretched arms.

Wakatoshi had never been one to dwell on the past, but he couldn’t help but remember his final loss against Karasuno seven years ago. He looked over at Hinata, who was currently dog-piled under his teammates and coaching staff. Their celebration was drowned out by the roaring and unruly crowd, shocked at the defeat of the defending champions.

The little redhead managed to best him again.

No. He was the Little Giant now.

Wakatoshi was still recovering from the outcome when Romero gently nudged his shoulder and said it was time to line up. The man’s darkly stubbled face was sweaty and flushed, probably not unlike his own. But he gave him a solid thump on his back and complimented his spikes before walking past, and it was all Wakatoshi could do to hold his head up high and line up with the rest of the team.

That was a month ago, he thought angrily, resting his forearm over his eyes. The pressure was somewhat comforting. Move on. He hated that he was still dwelling on this loss. That wasn’t like him. He felt out of place for the last month, unsure of how to process his feelings. He hated that even more. Why? He was already a champion, so why was this loss different? Was it because he failed in his duty as the Adlers’ Ace?

Or was it because Hinata beat him again?

His last coherent thought before he finally drifted off to sleep was a fierce promise that he would continue to push forward and improve.

No matter what stood in his way.

Riiiiing. Riiiiing. Riiiiing. Riiiiiii—

Wakatoshi turned over, causing the phone on his chest to fall face down onto the floor. The loud thud brought him back to reality. He rubbed his eyes gently with the heel of his hand. How long had he slept? And who was calling him? He briefly considered ignoring the call, but then remembered his decision to reach out to people again. Might as well start now. But by the time he reached his phone, the ringing had stopped. His brow furrowed when he saw the name pop up for the missed call.

SAITOU-SENSEI.

Curious, Wakatoshi sat up and pressed the call button.

“Hello?”

“Saitou-sensei, it’s Wakatoshi-kun. I’m sorry I missed your call.” He smiled when the warm, familiar voice echoed in his ear.

“Oh, not to worry! I’m sure you wanted some peace and quiet after a busy season.”

“Yes,” he stated, leaning back on the plush cushions. “It’s good to be home.”

The excitement in his coach’s voice was instant. “Ah, I was hoping you’d say that! I know it’s last minute, but would you be interested in helping me coach a middle school rep team on Saturday?”

“Coach?” He echoed. Saturday was two days away.

“Just for this Saturday,” his sensei clarified. “My assistant is sick and having an extra pair of hands at practice is never a bad thing.”

Wakatoshi nodded in agreement. Having two coaches was always a benefit to the players. He learned as much from Saitou-sensei as he did Washijiou-sensei during his time at Shiratorizawa. “Where are you holding practice?”

He could hear the smile in sensei’s voice. “Home court. Shiratorizawa Academy. It’s from 1 to 4 in the afternoon.”

Wakatoshi’s eyes widened. He was going to already going to say yes because it was Saitou-sensei asking, but that solidified his decision. “If it’s acceptable, I’d like to be there at 11 to warm up. I haven’t played in a month.” He paused and tried to think of another way to help. “I can set the net up as well.”

“That would be great because I don’t have a manager yet.” Sensei sounded relieved. “I was planning on coming early and doing it myself, but I’m in Tokyo until Saturday morning.”

Wakatoshi shook his head. It wouldn’t take long for sensei’s young team to realize how lucky they were to have him as a coach. He was always willing to do everything to ensure everyone would have a good experience. “Please leave it to me.”

“You’re still reliable as ever, Wakatoshi-kun. I’ll take you out for dinner as a thank you.”

Wakatoshi’s ears grew hot. He never expected anything in return for helping. “T-that’s not necessary, sensei,” he murmured, rubbing the back of his neck. “This is the least I can do for the years you spent coaching me.”

“Ah, now you’re embarrassing me!” Sensei’s laugh was infectious. “It was a joy to help you grow into the player you are now. You played a hell of a game last month.”

Wakatoshi’s fingers tightened over his phone. Did he really play his absolute best? If he did, it still wasn’t enough to win against Hinata and—

“Don’t be too hard on yourself.”

Sensei’s steady voice effectively cut through Wakatoshi’s negative thoughts and insecurities. “I know you hate losing.” The smile returned to his tone. “But when you do, there’s no shame in losing to the best of them. It just happened to be the Jackals that day.”

Wakatoshi swallowed the lump forming in his throat. He didn’t realize how much he needed to be reassured that losing didn’t mean he was inadequate or lacking. He was just used to shouldering the burdens and pressure that came with being a top player. Not to mention the high expectations he set for himself. But that left no room for failure, and it was exhausting.

“Besides, you love playing more than you hate losing, right?” His sensei sounded hopeful, imploring. “I’m sure you’ll feel better once you get back on the court.”

Wakatoshi’s eyes widened. His love for volleyball was lost in the wake of self-pity. Suddenly, Saturday couldn’t come fast enough. He missed practicing until his arms and hands were red. He missed the satisfaction of hearing the ball land in the opponent’s court after a spike or a tip. And he missed growing and learning with his teammates.

“I-I’m looking forward to it,” Wakatoshi said softly. “Thank you, Saitou-sensei.” He still wasn’t the best at expressing his feelings, but he knew that sensei understood him enough to understand that he was grateful for the words of encouragement.

“Hey, now! You’re a coach now too, Ushijima-sensei. Get used to it. You’ll be hearing it a lot from the players on Saturday.”

Wakatoshi frowned. He was only filling in and didn’t deserve that distinction. “But it’s only for the day—”

His sensei laughed again. “Well, that still counts! I’ll see you on Saturday.”

“Goodbye, sensei.”

Wakatoshi placed his phone on the coffee table. The heaviness he felt in his chest throughout the last month was gone. Instead, he felt restless. Just like all the other times he took on a new challenge. It had been a long time since he trained anyone. Perhaps he could show these young players that falling short of a goal wasn’t the end of the world. And having a solid support system was essential to growing as an individual and as a player. After embracing his newfound insights, a smile threatened split his face in two.

He was definitely getting into it.

#mywriting #ushijima wakatoshi #wakatoshi ushijima #ushiwaka #ushijima x oc #ushiwaka x oc #hqfic #hqfics #ushijima fics #ushiwaka fics #userairika #ALSO I CAN'T BELIEVE HQ IS OVER #I'M WRITING THIS FIC TO COPE HAHAHA #wakatoshi x oc #chuckhansen

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multific · 5 years

Text

Paradise

Tom Hiddleston x Reader

Requested by: scorpionchild81

Request: Imagine winning a ticket to a luxury cruise, disaster strikes and you end up shipwrecked on an island with none other than Tom Hiddleston…

You thought that this was your chance, you finally won something!

A not just a bar of chocolate or something, but a ticket for a luxury cruise. And you just couldn’t wait to be on the ship. You won the ticket when you went with a friend of yours to shop at a mall, there was a young woman trying to get people to spin the wheel and win. You and your friend thought why not. She won a coupon while you won the ticket.

The only downside was probably that you had to go alone. But other than that, your prize included everything.

It was a month and a half trip on the Atlantic Ocean, the trip would start from Portugal and it would go over to America, the first stop is Brazil and then Miami and then it would be back to Portugal. It honestly sounded like the best vacation one could have. Being on a luxurious ship that offers everything you can wish for, beautiful rooms, restaurants, shops, and scenery, really sounded like a dream.

It was almost as if it was too good to be true.

And it was.

Because on the fourth day of the ship, everything went downhill.

You got woken up by an awful loud sound and then the alarm went off. Everyone was yelling, panicking and running around.

Everything was chaos.

At some point a person pushed you and you ended up hitting your head. Just as you reached the dock, you saw what caused the panic, fire.

The loud sound you heard was an explosion and then came the fire.

You heard crying, shouting as you ended up falling over the railing and into the water.

Luckily for you, you found a piece of wood to hold yourself up.

You were on the open water for a day, trying to find other survivors was impossible, since after you fell off, the ship another explosion hit, but this one, blew the whole ship up. The whole ship was gone in a matter a minutes. Leaving everyone dead.

You were devastated.

You watched hundreds of people die, a huge ass ship sink and the fact that your whole life was ruined wasn’t even your biggest concern. All you could think about is the bodies, as you floated with them in the water. Reminding yourself that all of them had lives, families. So, this is what they call ‘survivors guilt’?

Another day passed on the piece of wood. Now you floated far away. And honestly? You were ready to die. Thirst will get to you quick or exhaustion.

Then you heard a faint noise, it made you pick your head up, but as you couldn’t see anything other than water, you blamed it on your imagination.

Then you saw it, in the corner of your eye, an island.

The revelation lit a fire inside you as you basically raced there.

And once you were on land, you flopped down in the shade of a tree, you slept what felt like days, hunger and thirst woke you up.

You sat on the sand for a good minute before going into the forest and finding a water source and a coconut to eat. You were extremely lucky to be able to find a water source that is safe to drink and food at the same time in such a short amount of time.

***

You didn’t know how long you have been on the island. On an island in the middle of the Ocean. Every day, you’d go to the beach in hopes of seeing a ship or plane, to see someone who will help you. After all, it wasn’t that small of an island, it had a mountain and when you climbed up there, you noticed that the place was bigger than you originally thought. The water has washed some wreckage from the ship to shore, from those materials, you were able to build yourself a shelter, but after a few days you found a cave in the mountain, and now you were living there. It rained a lot on the island. Which was a great way for you to collect water. You even found a pond and river in the forest, but you saw enough episodes on Discovery Channel and you knew better than to immediately jump into the water. After you made sure everything was fine with it, which was, you decided to go there every day to clean yourself and to collect water.

You managed by yourself, but one thing never left you, the nightmares. Whenever you thought back, all those people, children as well. Just… dead.

One night, it was the worst storm since you have been there. You sat back at the furthest part of the cave, trying to keep yourself warm with your found clothes and blankets. You watched the entrance of the cave with fear and alarm. Then suddenly out of nowhere, a man appeared in front of the cave. He was breathing heavily, clothes dirty and wet, he had facial hair, which was an obvious giveaway that he had been there for some time now.

Both of you froze as you just stared at each other. You grabbed your defense knife so if he tried anything, you’d be ready. But he didn’t, instead, he was the first to talk.

“Are you from the cruise as well?”

That’s when you recognized his face. You saw him, wearing a nice blue suit, shaved, eating with the rich. You heard that he was an actor, but even so, you were glad to have at least one person with you.

“Yes. How did you get away? Are you alone?” you asked, putting your knife down, he came a bit closer to you, the storm was too loud outside. He sat down on the opposite side of the fire. He looked tired and relieved that he found not only shelter and warmth but a person too.

“I’m alone. After the cruise blew up, I was knocked into the water. I survived, but I have this.” he said as he pointed at a very nasty looking cut on his chest.

You stood up and opened a luggage, looking for the first aid kit you found earlier in one of them.

When you pulled the white box out, you heard him letting a sigh out, probably relieved that he would get help. You patched up his cut as best as you could. You prepared him by saying that you had to sew the cut together.

“My name is Y/N Y/L/N.” you said while you applied the finishing touches, trying to keep his mind off of the pain. It was rather hard to do so since you weren’t a nurse and he was grunting and moaning in pain.

“Tom Hiddleston.” he got his name out during another groan.

When you were done, you put everything into a bowl to wash it. When you looked back at him, he was sleeping. The exhaustion and the pain got to him.

***

The next day you were there when he woke up. You gave him some food.

“I don’t know how long I have been here. What about you?”

“About a week I’d say. I tried to keep track but I just couldn’t.” he said as he looked at you. “But you made a shelter, I never did. I walked around this island, trying to find something or someone. Then yesterday, during the storm, I was looking for shelter and then I thought I saw light coming from here. I’m glad I was right.”

Hearing someone talk was like a blessing, having someone to talk to was even better. You and Tom talked for a very long time. You both shared your stories and basically helped each other get through and over the trauma.

If it wasn’t for the tragedy, you would have never been able to sit down with him like this and talk.

And you were glad you had the opportunity since he was a very sincere and kind person. And the fact that he helped you a lot was only a bonus.

You made the most out of your situation, you built a house in the forest near the river, a small wooden house, but it fitted perfectly with the weather and was a lot warmer than the cave.

Since Tom and you were the only ones on the island, you became close. He helped you hunt and skin animals, when you asked how he knew about those things, he said that he had a role like that once.

You soon became friends.

But as one night you finally had enough, you decided he needed to shave. He said he never did it with a blade, so you had to do it.

As you sat in the cabin, next to the fire, shaving the man, you admired his face.

Sure, he was handsome, but without his beard, his cheeks were more visible so was his jawline, and those eyes, those blue eyes had you mesmerized.

He smiled when he noticed you staring at him, but that smile soon turned serious when he noticed just what state you were in. You looked like you were under some kind of spell.

You slowly moved closer to him, staring at his lips then into his eyes. You stopped for a brief second, waiting for him to pull back and reject you, but when you felt his hand on your back, pulling you closer, you weren’t afraid anymore.

As your lips melted into his, you completely forgot your situation, you completely forgot the place you were at, all that mattered was how perfectly his thin warm lips felt against yours.

The next morning you woke up naked, on the floor and in his arms.

You wanted to sit up or at least change your position, but he held you way too close and tight. All you could do was wait for Tom to wake up while you stared at the wall thinking.

You wondered if he’d wake up regretting last night. You wondered if he even saw you that way or he just let you do what you wanted to.

And when he finally woke up, you didn’t even know why you were so nervous, even if he said he wasn’t certain about his feelings, he didn’t turn you down, instead, he said he was interested where it will take the two of you.

Sure, the two of you had different backgrounds but the tragedy brought the two of you together, the two of you were able to find heaven on earth and changed the hellish place into a paradise of your own.

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thebookofus-depravity · 4 years

Text

Skinny Bone Jones

Chapter 1

Chapter 2 coming soon!

9k words

This is my baby Park Jaehyung and an AU in which y’all are dealing with the coronavirus together in LA. Jae grew up with Y/N and you were childhood friends. You stayed close but haven’t seen each other in ages. Now you’re both back.

Teeth rotting fluff, possible smut in future chapters (lets see if I have the balls to post it), Y/N has a strong proclivity for a certain guitarists hands. And honestly, who can blame her? TW: Confrontation with a nasty old ex, Coronavirus, Quarantine, overbearing parents.

...

This fucking sucks.

Closing your laptop, and shoving it off of your lap to the side of your bed, you are struck by exactly how warm the underside of your Netflix Machine was in contrast to the chilly room. Well, 3 hours of To Catch a Predator in, and sure, your old 2011 Dell dinosaur is going to be a little mad at you. I've got to do something today. Anything.

Week 3 of your quarantine is coming to a close and on this breezy LA Thurs-Fri-Turday (who the hell knows anymore) you can feel the last tendrils of your sanity escaping with the setting sun. It just doesn't stop setting. And rising. And setting. And rising. Tortuously slow some days and before you can even get out of bed the next. Not that you get out of bed much.

Alright. That's it. I'm gonna do something. I have to. It's time to make some art, bake some cookies, go for a run, tell someone around me how much I value them, topple the patriarchy. I am going to get up and do something with my life and damned if I get in my own way again. I am unstoppable. I am formidable. I am inevitable.

Rising from your rumpled bed clothes with the steadfastness of a slightly anemic Viking (whoa I’m woozy, I shouldn't have stood up so fast. Shit, when's the last time I ate?) you cross to the large bay window that faces the street. You throw your curtains open, ready to face the day, only to be faced with… stars starting to twinkle at you out of the inky blackness. Dammit. I'm gonna have to defeat systemic oppression tomorrow.

Squinting from behind your glasses, you see that the stars are not stars at all but helicopters blinking down at you. You haven't seen real stars since your trip to Big Sur last summer. Although you moved to LA when you were 7, you have vague recollections of the Korea that you loved as a young child. Your parents had picked up and moved to the States after years of struggling through VISA's and citizenship red tape. Your mom and dad had originally meant to get married and have you in the US. The land of opportunity.

You now chafed slightly under that blanket of opportunity as you are far too aware of the responsibility you have been given to make the absolute most of it. From the ripe old age of 8 you had been conditioned to follow your dreams to their fullest. As long as those dreams were to become a doctor, lawyer, or marry a CEO. Your parents cared about you greatly and you knew that. They only want security for you, happiness comes from security. Now 25, you can't quite remember the last time their overbearing nature had been quite this...potent. You were in your final year of medical school at USC and there was nowhere to run. It was time for you to begin your foray into the 'real world' of residency. The same post-undergrad 'real world' that you had watched all of your non-premed friends crash land into. They had all distanced themselves from you, both figuratively and literally; intentionally and inadvertently. Divorced, Beheaded, Died: Divorced, Beheaded, Survived. You had watched you friends get married, have kids, sabotage marriages, buy houses, do well, do poorly. And here you were in some kind of bubble both safe and isolated from all of the uncertainty beyond the classroom.

Jokes on you, Jessica, now we're all screwed, you find yourself thinking for the upteenth time over the past month. You had been watching the Coronavirus since December and knew exactly what was to come. You did all that you were capable of as a not-quite certified medical professional and tried to convince people of the reality of the threat, convince them not to panic, and to exercise a reasonable level of preparedness. Well, that didn't work. You found yourself sunk into a deep well of frustration and futility at the action and inaction that was being exhibited throughout the States. For the first weeks of quarantine you found yourself glued to your phone, helplessly watching the tragedy unfold and the stupidity that was ensuing. By week 2 your empathy had burnt out and you knew you couldn't watch that world anymore. K-drama's it is. After completely obliterating Crash Landing on You, Itaewon Class, and rewatching Descendants of the Sun for the eighth time just because it's so. damn. cute!, your parents started to get a little concerned.

Your stomach growled and you realize you, in fact, haven't eaten since early this morning. As you consider what the consequences of emerging from your cave of a bedroom might have, you resign yourself. Five minutes later you are hovering in the kitchen with a bowl of leftover whateverthefuck in hand, you turn to see both of your parents at the bar stools staring at you with a look of concern that you haven't seen in years. Shit, I keep forgetting, they think I'm functional. Your parents had shipped you off to Health Careers College Prep school, a boarding school in Sacramento, when you were 16. Upon graduation there with your high school diploma, nurses aid, and dental hygienist's certificates, you immediately started at USC premed. You hadn't lived at home since your Jonas Brother's phase. As much as your parents loved you, they didn't really know you. This had been overwhelmingly obvious when the USC campus closed and you returned home to open arms and your bedroom frozen in the clutches of 2009. Your parents had welcomed you home with tearful hugs and a new gift for your room. I know how much you love that Kevin- boy. And your room is so old. Come. Come. Already wary and wondering who the hell is Kevin? you allowed yourself to be led to your old room and set your bags down with a deadened thump. You tried so hard not to laugh, You really did. They're trying so hard. But like, Where did they even find this monstrosity? You had been staring up at the largest poster of Kevin Jonas that you had ever seen every night for 3 weeks and it was starting to get to you.

Regardless of the decor (purple fuzzy lamp shade included), there were so many parts of living at home that were so foreign to you. Although everything was completely the same, you were worlds different and it was disorienting. Your bed seemed smaller, the walls shorter, the colors dimmer. Everything that made that house your home was still there, only you had changed. It was like you were in a coma and had just woken up, the rest of the world unchanged but with 10 more years under your belt. Your therapist would tell you that you were reverting into a childlike state because of trauma and surroundings. Hush, Mollie, I don't need that right now. I need food.

Food was honestly what was keeping you sane and civil. Your parents own a pho shop just down the street that was still taking carry out and delivery orders for pho, crawfish, whatever they had lying around. You had been helping out in the kitchen and with deliveries since you had been home. As freeing as the drives have been, you really come alive in the kitchen. You had been watching your mom make pho and dumplings for years and although she sent kimchi to your apartment every month or so, you missed your moms cooking. And her kitchen. You immediately took to cooking just like you had when you moved off of USC campus and into an apartment with some friends. You had 12 burners! That all worked! A convection oven! Two of them! Kitchen Aid's! You had no problem opening up shop at 8am every morning to prep the dough and get the stock boiling and all of the other things that her mother and father had been doing for the past 20 years.

Returning to your room after rinsing out your bowl and chopsticks, and exchanging goodnight's with your parents you sit on your bed and tell yourself to go to bed. You have to be up at 7am for the kitchen. You need to chop scallions for the pork and chive dumplings so it has time to coagulate. Come on, Go to bed. No phone. It was a pitiful attempt, really. You had been pulling med-school grade all-nighters since your junior year of high school and nothing was stopping you now. Turning on your side for easy access to your charger, you plug your phone and coast through Instagram, Youtube, Twitter, Tinder for an indeterminate amount of time before your eyes start to get heavy. Instagram was just filled with all of your peers from USC recklessly meeting up with friends for picnics and drives and all of the other things they thought they were free to do because they were young and healthy and beautiful. Fuck off. Youtube provided a lovely escape from the actual outside. Mikey Chen showed you around TaiPei's street food scene, Binging with Babish gave you a new hand pulled noodle recipe to try, Bon Appetit made you glad you weren't Claire Saffitz. Tinder was a joke but an adequately funny one. Instead of your bog standard USC fuckboi's you were able to talk to fuckboi's from Korea, Dubai, Indonesia, Guatemala, Brazil. How fun. You had downloaded it 6 months prior after yet another guy in your department was just 'too busy, i'm sorry' to make the date that you had planned. You generally tried to avoid Twitter as it was just an echo chamber of panic and 24 hour news cycles and didn't do much for your anxiety. See, Mollie? I'm being smart.

You flick open the little bird app and scroll for just a minute. A particular notification picques your attention. Jae tweeted. Well, Day6 tweeted, but we all know who runs their twitter. Your throat tightens with nerves as the post loads. You worry about him more than you'd like to admit but with tours cancelled and travel suspended, you know how hard it can be for people whose livelihoods revolve around entertainment and travel. The post loads and you let out a sigh of relief to see Jae surrounded by his band mates and smiling. Brian starts speaking Korean and delivers his message about their newly acquired tiktok. Brian gestures for Jae to speak and Jae delivers the same message in English. Ah, he went back to blonde. It looks good on him. Wait is he- oh god, he's wearing a crossbody fanny pack. Jae, you're old. Stop. Shifting to get more comfortable, you let the video loop a few times before closing the app. Jae's okay. You roll over onto your side and set your phone to the side. Jae's voice echoes through your ears for the next few minutes but you resolve yourself against it. I'm not getting fucking tiktok. I'm a grown ass woman. That app is for 12 year olds. And Jae. Resolved, you burrow into your Jonas brothers duvet cover for the night.

Sweating and on the verge of tears, you wake with a start. The dream was already slipping from your consciousness with a blessed haste but the uneasy feeling that the nightmare gave you seemed to coat the inside of your skull and taint it's entire contents. A thin light filters through your still open window and your eyes creak open. Morning? Sure, why not? Rolling over, you flick open your phone and are greeted by an all too unfamiliar, 5:17am. It's too damn early. Even for you. You still have an hour or so to kill before you have to get up but you didn't fancy the idea of trying to go back to sleep after that dream. Propping yourself up on a few of the approximately 67 pillows that litter your twin sized bed, you open your phone. 3 new emails from USC congratulating you on your graduation and asking for some documentation of something or another or evaluation of some class you hadn't thought of in weeks. Skip. 2 emails from residencies that you had applied to before the coronavirus urging you to reapply in the fall. Great. You couldn't even bring yourself to feign concern over the missed opportunity. 1 email from Twitter informing you that Jae had tweeted. Again. You follow the link to another video of his side project EaJ. You had been following his new releases and you were surprised by the tenderness and vulnerability that they showed. He was always such a funny guy, it was the only side that he really showed much to the media. Sure, fans got glimpses at concerts, but not many knew just how deep the well ran in that man.

Today's Tuesday, apparently. The next episode of How Did I Get Here? comes out today. I'll have something to listen to while I food prep. You never admitted to yourself how pleased you were when he started the podcast. You missed hearing his voice on a regular basis. Hollered up into your window, whispered between giggles in the back-most church pew, hurled across crowded hallways. Of course, the voice was different than it is now. Pocked by pubescence and the LA accent, you remember a far squeakier Jae. He was the first person you met when you moved into the neighborhood at 7 years old. He was 9 so of course, he took it upon himself to show you exactly where you could and couldn't go and what taco trucks would give out fare for free to little kids on weekends. You remember those years fondly as finally having the big brother you never had. Skinny Bone Jones, you called him. He stood up for you when the kids in middle school called you smelly for bringing kimchi in your lunch. He called you smelly just for being you. He was well liked in school and by extension so were you. You had the cool big brother. You were more than happy to play second fiddle and be his backup. Tagging along to parties, helping him record his yellow post-it note covers on Youtube, letting him know when his hair looked stupid.

And so it stayed until Jae actually made it on KPop Star. As much as you loved him, you didn't think he would ACTUALLY make it. Sure, he could sing. He had a beautiful voice but that wasn't enough. The boy danced like a drunk chicken and was 6ft tall and 120lbs soaking wet. He didn't even know Korean. What was he thinking? He was thinking he was going to prove you wrong. And he did. You watched as Skinny Bone Jones transformed into Park Jaehyung with a perfect balance of immense pride and terror. You knew you wouldn't lose your friend entirely but during his trainee days he had very limited access to the outside world, and you just weren't a priority. Honestly, you would've been offended if you had been. He has a mom, dad, an older sister, bandmates, college. It only makes sense that the steady stream of communication turned into a trickle. It wasn't until Every Day6 that you were more of an insistent presence in his life. You burrowed your way back into his inbox with the tenacity of the annoying little sister that you were. You were worried. You watched him on After School Club and in the deluge of content that Day6 was serving their slowly growing fanbase. He looked tired. You once again rekindled your relationship but it was different now. Instead of you leaning on him for social support, you became his confidant. He was struggling. Burnt out, and questioning so many things, he didn't want to go to his bandmates because he didn't want them to worry. His parents would pull him immediately if they knew exactly how rough his condition was, his 'friends' from college had proved fake. He now had Alpha Phi Omega blocked because they wouldn't stop asking for favors: Day6 tickets, Twice merch, Got7 tickets. He felt alone but you reached out and he was able to lean on you. The trials passed and he was happier than ever and Day6's growing popularity meant good things for his lobster funds.

You stayed in contact over the years and shared with each other the going on's of your lives. You had even managed to go to the Gravity World Tour date in LA. Jae got you backstage and you were able to meet the rest of his bandmates that you had heard so much about. It was an act of God that you managed to keep your composure. I mean sure, he's just Jae but you're still backstage at a concert for the first time! Your cheeks still redden when you remember how Jae caught you ogling at YoungK. Heart in your throat, and voice barely above a whisper YoungK had walked directly over to you and asked what you were doing backstage. After a solid 15 seconds of pointing listlessly at your Press badge and making just the strangest of noises that were meant to approximate speech, Jae finally caught wind and rushed over, knocking your sense back into you and introducing you to the members.

Oh! Y/N! It's so nice to finally meet you! Jae talks about you all the time, I'm so glad you were able to make it! Your cheeks inexplicably reddened further to a violent shade of pink but the boys slowly defanged themselves in your mind. They're truly lovely people and you're glad Jae has them. That being said, you still can't quiiiite look Brian in the eyes and Jae thinks it's hilarious.

The Gravity tour feels like ages ago as you shrug on some jeans and a tee shirt for your walk to the shop. August 2019 at the Novo may have only been 8 months ago but it seems like a different reality. The Novo will be closed for the forseeable future and concerts are cancelled. That stings but not as much as the radio silence from Jae. First it was his tour schedule that rendered communication difficult and now the virus. You know he's busy and it's been a weird few months for the entertainment industry, but a 'Hey I'm alive.' would be nice. From his podcasts and twitter you've been able to keep some thread attached but you feel it stretching thin as the months stretch on. You really don't want to be annoying. You're sick of feeling like a fan. Yeah, you support Jae and Day6 and would call yourself a MyDay, but that's not all you are. You know him. You dragged him through the mud when he convinced you to try sledding down a muddy hill on a trash can lid. You set up his camcorder for his covers when he still had that stupid swoopy hair. You posed as his angry girlfriend when a crazy fan wouldn't leave him alone. You're starting to feel like just a fan and not a friend and it's only exacerbated by the glee that you feel when you get the notification from dive studios that How Did I Get Here? has updated. I miss my friend.

Not bothering to flip the sign on the front door from closed to open, you shoulder open the front door of the shop after fumbling with the keys. Tying an apron securely around your waist, and flicking on your noise cancelling headphones to a comforting thrum, you wash your hands and begin to chop the largest pile of scallions you've ever seen. Crunching through the pile, you start Jae's podcast and everything is gone but him. You can almost imagine him in the room with you, perched on the counter talking your ear off about the Mandela effect or how weird elbows are or something equally as ridiculous. Today he's talking about soul mates. As you listen to him joke and banter and pontificate, your eyes well up. It's just the scallions. You know damn well it's only partially the scallions. You miss Jae. And you're in the middle of a pandemic. And your family barely knows you. And you're not sure if you even want to be a pediatric oncologist. Fuck. Jae's words turn into white noise in your ears as you toss your headphones to the side and place the knife on the butchers block, perhaps more aggressively than necessary. You pause the podcast and let yourself sit in the feeling. You're lonely and sad. See Mollie? I'm letting myself feel things. Making room for every emotion. You cast your mind around and recall all of the little wounds that prick a little too deep today. You feel a squeeze in your abdomen and your eyes shoot open wide. Shit, my period. I've got to be PMSing. Even Jae recognized the trend in your emotions before you did. The week before your period, you were notoriously mushy and weepy and indulgent. Well, that's one mystery solved. I'll be okay. Mollie's voice echoed through your brain with her familiar argument that hormones only heighten the emotional distress, not fabricate it. These feelings are valid and aren't fake just because you're hormonal. You steadfastly ignore that point, wipe your eyes, and pull your headphones back on. You finish up the pile of scallions and a few other morning chores before the podcast ends. It's Jae's sign off that sends the bowl of mandu filling that you were holding clattering to the floor. "I'm coming to you from my childhood home, so if the audio is a little finnicky… blame Byron." Jae's home.

…

After sweeping up a pound of pork, beef, mirin, soy sauce, and chives and disposing of it, you stare at your phone- hands shaking slightly. Jae. What the fuck. You rip off your apron and your mind races. Should I call him? Should I go see him? I can’t believe he’s right here. 2 houses down. Fuck. Your rational brain knows that it’s okay to feel excited about Jae being home. But the sneaky little bitch that lives in the back of your brain is telling you that if he wanted to hear from you, he would’ve called. You feel a little bit of yourself fragment at that, but you push it to the side. You open up your phone and slide over to his contact in your phone. What greets you is your last text conversation.

Jae: I’m so glad you had fun, Y/N! But if you ever look at Brian like that again, I might have to put a ban on you at our concerts. His head was way too big.

Y/N: Look at him like what?! I didn’t do anything and you know it!

Jae: Of course you’re didn‘t. You totally weren’t drooling over my bassist.

Y/N: Fuck off.

Jae: Gladly, love. ;)

8 months ago. Sure you’d DM’d quite a bit since then and called a few times. But it just seemed so sparse. You don’t want him to just humor you. You’re an adult and perfectly capable of being alone. You’re not going to text him just yet.

You finish up your morning chores and head back to your house, pausing for perhaps just a little too long in front of the sandstone house with the tan shutters and shoes out front. You knew that house so well. You knew how much weight the tree outside the upstairs bedroom window could hold. You knew where the kimchi refrigerator was tucked away in a back corner of the garage. You knew there was a blonde boy in there that you wanted nothing more than to run inside and get a hug from.

You shower and let the hot water run over you, hoping it will relax the knotted up muscles in your back. It’s not like I can go see him anyway. We’re in quarantine. He probably just got back to LA and just hasn’t gotten the chance to-. You run the same conversation over and over in your head until you can’t take it anymore. You need someone else’s voice in your head. Curling into your covers, you sigh and go to the App Store. A few short minutes later and you hate yourself more than you ever have. Tiktok. Here we go. You watch the video of Day6 introducing themselves to the social networking platform once, twice, three times until your eyes start to ache. All of a sudden you’re met with a new post that pings up. Your breath catches in your throat as you see Jae standing in his living room, attempting to keep up with Amber Liu’s dance challenge. You can’t help but giggle as he flails to the left, to the right, oversized black hoodie always falling into his face. BM would be proud. Express not impress. You find yourself shocked at the weight that he’s gained. He looks healthy and happy. You remember the conversations in middle school about how much he hated being skinny. The evenings in the weight room in high school. Failed doctors appointments. He looked good before but you see that in recent months his chest has been swelling and not just with pride. His shoulders sit a little bit broader than you ever remember in the past and you’re happy for him. Good for you, Jae.

You like the tiktok and let it loop a few more times before sighing heavily and opening your messaging app.

Y/N: I got TikTok for you, ya little shit.

You chuckle but leave the text unsent. You’ll think of something better later. You toss your phone to the side in the face of the mountain of laundry on your bed that needs to be taken care of. As you hang the last of your shirts, your phone pings. You pick it up to a notification from Jae.

Skinny Bone Jones: Language!

Skinny Bone Jones: Do you think Amber approves?

You feel a flare of indignation wash through your limbs at the mention. Apparently it had sent. Oh well. As the thrill of a reply ebbs out of you, it is replaced by a rising indignation. How dare you?! Not tell me you’re in town and pretend like you didn’t?! Really?!

Y/N: I don’t really care what Amber thinks.

Maybe that was a little snippy. You love Amber, truly. But how can he have time for TikTok but not me?

Skinny Bone Jones: Yeah? Do you still care what I think?

Your heart catches in your throat. So he’s caught on that you’re pissed.

Skinny Bone Jones: Y/N, can I call you?

You swipe up to the phone icon and call him on auto pilot. Talk to me, Jae.

“Y/N?” you hear Jae’s voice.

“Jae.” Your voice comes out whispier than you meant it to. You try again.

“Jae! How are you?”

“Oh, y’know, just got off a plane that smelled like bleach and got to my house that isn’t really my house anymore, left my guitar to be sanitized, was “strongly encouraged” to make a TikTok by my company, and then got my head bit off by my best friend. Just quarantine things.” There is a touch of acid in his voice but Jae mostly sounds tired. Your empathy comes surging back and you sigh.

“I’m sorry Jae. I just- I didn’t know you were in town until I listened to your podcast this morning. I was a little hurt that you didn’t call or anything.”

“Look, kid. I just got home. I’m a diva. You know I require at least an 18 hour period of naps and boba to function properly. I’m a KPop Star now.” You laugh at the callback to your irate spiel a few years ago about how fame had changed him and he was a diva and just ‘wasn’t the Jae you knew’ anymore. It wasn’t his fault he was allergic to everything and turned down all of your food suggestions.

“Jae, you’ve been a diva since day one.” You quip back, tension resolving as you fall back into a familiar playful banter.

“And don’t you forget it, Y/N.” There's a slight pause before Jae continues,

“This diva is really sorry he didn’t call you. It’s just been a lot the last few days. The tour just got cancelled. And our album comes out in a few days. Our team has been going crazy trying to figure out how we’re supposed to publicize in this climate and I just-“

“Jae. Chill. When I preordered mine last week, it was the most popular album on the site. It’s gonna sell. Don’t worry too much.” There’s a beat of silence in which you can hear the air whoosh out of Jae’s lungs.

“You-You preordered Demon?” Jae sounds shocked but endeared at your admission and you laugh.

“Of course? I’m really pumped to hear that sexy, soothing voice of Wonpil’s. Maybe I’ll even get a Dowoon photo card this time! I keep getting Jae ones in my other albums and I give them to my little cousin.” This isn’t entirely true. You have 3 of Young K, 2 of Dowoon, and 1 each of Wonpil and Sungjin. You’ve been waiting for a Jae photocard for ages. You would die before you told him that, though.

“You little shit. If you don’t want to see my face, why are you following Day6 on TikTok?” Jae ribs back.

“Brian. Duh. He’s fine as hell.”

“Yah! Haven’t you found a boring ass Orthopedic surgeon or some shit, yet? Why do you have to terrorize me like this?”

“Why? Haven’t you found a Twice member that’ll marry you yet, Skinny Bone Jones?”

“I’ll have you know, I gained 10 pounds the past 8 weeks! I’ll be big as BM soon!” You can picture the expression of childlike pride in his face even if you can’t see it.

“You look really good, Jae. I’m proud of you. You’ve been working really hard.” The sudden sincerity catches the both of you off guard and you clear your throat.

“Thanks, Y/N. That means a lot.” A comfortable silence is followed by a lengthy conversation recounting the previous weeks, the various states of the other members, your own eviction from college, and the status of the shop.

“You know, Y/N, if you or your family need anything I’m more than happy to help. I mean I know how hard it can-“ You cut him off before he can go any further.

“We’re okay Jae, honest. I know you’d be good for it but we don’t need anything right now. Business is good at the pho shop and we’re okay.”

“Okay, okay. Just know I’m here.”

“I mean NOW I do, no thanks to youuu,” you wheedle, whining about his failure to let you know he was in town.

“Come on, Y/N, I said I was sorry!” He laughs but you can hear the desperation of sincerity in his voice.

“I know, Jae. I’m just kidding. I just really missed you.”

“I missed you too Y/N.”

You get off the phone upon the realization that you needed to go to the shop and prep for the dinner deliveries. Sometimes you abhorred that you were “essential”. You run downstairs and tell your parents the good news about Jae and inform them you’ll be back soon.

“I know you’re excited, Y/N, but remember we can’t be going and visiting people like that. Only essential work.” You roll your eyes slightly but assure them that you know. As if you hadn’t been telling them the same thing for weeks. I had to convince you not to go play mahjong in the park, eomma. You might be excited, but you’re not stupid.

You had just started filling the mandu when you hear the bell over the door chime. Pardon me, are you stupid? We've been closed for weeks, why do you think it would be okay to just walk in? You wipe your hands on your apron and start to walk to the counter.

"Hello? I'm sorry, we're only open for call-in deliveries." You round the corner and lift your head from your hands to see the form of the gangliest, tallest, loveliest man you've ever seen in your life.

"Special delivery." Jae remarks smoothly, arms open wide in invitation and head cocked to the side as if he was bracing himself for the crash landing that was to come.

"Jae!" you yell, and launch yourself from behind the counter and into his arms. His arms fold around you and everything else melts away. Your face burrows against his chest and you inhale. He smells like home and cinnamon. You can feel tears welling up in your eyes with the tide of emotions that wash over you. Jae's hand cups the back of your head into him and he hugs you just as tightly as you hug him. You press yourself into him with everything you have and in the deafening silence and warmth all that you can think is I love you.

"Y/N" He whispers, not loosening his grip on you.

"Mmph." you respond weakly.

"My shirt's wet." You jump back from him a bit and see that he's correct. Your eyes are leaking. All over his white shirt. Oops.

"Oh! I'm-I'm sorry." You laugh a bit and swipe at your eyes before patting at his shirt in futility.

"It's okay, love. Come here." He welcomes you back into his arms and you wrap your arms over his neck this time.

"I missed you." You whisper, voice cracking a bit.

"I know you did." You jump back from him. Bitch.

"Hush. I missed you too, you idiot. Why else would I be standing here right now?"

You cast your eyes around in a panic. He's here. He's right here. In the store. Here. He shouldn't be here. He should be in quarantine with his family. You're unessential to him.

Sensing the realization in your eyes, he pushes past you, walking to the back and puts on the latex gloves hidden behind the counter.

"I figured it was about time to get a 'real job' like everyone keeps telling me to." He smiles smugly and picks up the knife to start chopping the bok choy. You stand there in shock for one second, two seconds, three seconds until you realize he’s about to cut his fingers off.

“Jae! Stop!”

“Look, Y/N, I don’t care what you say, I’m going to do this. I want to help. And I’ll be damned if I’m not allowed to see you in the time I’m finally here-“

“No, Jae. Stop. I know I can’t argue with you. I’d be thrilled if you’d work with me. But Brian is gonna kill me if I let you cut your damn hands off.”

“I… what?”

“You’re a guitarist Jae. We can’t have you cutting off your pretty little fingers. And if you keep chopping it like that, that’s exactly what you’re going to do.”

Jae looks down at his hands and stretches his fingers wide as if considering them for the first time.

“Pretty?”

You roll your eyes, but unbidden, your eyes are still trained on his hands. They really are pretty.

“Just. Let me show you.” You show him how to tuck his knuckles up against the blade and chop in smooth rocking motions so as not to take off his fingertips.

You work in relative silence for the next hour, packaging meals and portioning combos as your mom and dad peek in and out to pick up the orders. You can feel a warmth flowing through you as you take in your surroundings. The loneliness of the past weeks leeches out of you and dissipates into the warm atmosphere, homey smells, and murmur of conversation. It’s almost as if your limbs wake up bit by bit, like a tree waking up after a long frigid winter. You feel yourself stretch and shine and the bubbles of contentment flow through you. By the time the last combo is out the door, you find it really difficult to take the smile of your face.

Jae seemed to be in the same boat. On more than one occasion you caught him staring at you. Every time you caught him he just shook his head and laughed in that infuriating way of his. But you really couldn’t be irritated at him. It was impossible. He was your happy fairy, even if you wanted to kick him in the shins every two minutes for saying something dumb. Mom and dad said goodnight to Jae in the same way they have been since he was 10. “Tell Mrs.Park I say hello and don’t be a stranger.” Right after they leave and you’re washing the last dish, while Jae sits on the counter telling you about production for Day6’s new album, the phone rings. Before you can tell Jae not to answer it, he’s already taking the man's order. Fine. One more can't hurt. You weren’t anxious to end this day and return to bed alone, so you welcome the post-closing distraction. Cobbling together a plate from the leftovers you were about to bring home, you grab your keys and beckon Jae to follow you.

“No need to bug mom and dad, we can take this one.”

As you walk outside toward where your little yellow bug is parked, you feel Jae move behind you. You can feel his body close to yours and you stiffen instinctually. You’re not used to skinship anymore and you can feel the blood in your veins carbonate as Jae’s breath ghosts across the back of your neck. You stop dead in your tracks, eyes wide, flush creeping up your neck as you feel his hands- those damn hands- ghost along the side of your left arm. You squeak when his fingers brush against the back of your hand, lacing his fingers with yours. Your world spins. Fuck is he holding my hand? Do I want this to happen? He’s so close to me. Can he hear my heartbeat?

“Jae-“ you begin to say, with absolutely no idea as to where the statement would go after.

Luckily you don’t have to think of any sort of decisive move because Jae immediately snatches the keys from your now limp left hand with a cackle, running ahead to the car.

“I’m driving!” You little fucking- oooh!

You’re thankful for the cool evening breeze and dim street lights or you were sure to get a ribbing for the blazing red cheeks that you were sporting. You climb into the passenger's seat with the food on your lap and do your best to sink into invisibility. It doesn’t work. You’re convinced that he can hear your brain jackhammering away at the night's events.

Did I want that to happen? Did that happen? He was so close to me. He felt so warm and the way he touched me. Running your hands over your arm, you could feel his touch like it had raced a burning path down your whole left side. Do I… like Jae?

You glance over at him now and again as he puts the car in drive and begins the route to the destination. Jae, of course, is jabbering away about how everything has changed since he’s been gone and, “Omigod, is that ANOTHER pinkberry?” You find yourself nodding along passively while actively trying to figure out what the hell was going on in your brain. Much like his podcast, his voice became white noise by which you asked yourself questions you weren’t sure you wanted the answers to. Of course I love him. But do I like, like him? Never in your life have you felt more like a horny, confused teenager but as you glance over and watch Jae with one hand on the steering wheel, wind blowing through his hair, you know one thing for sure- Jae isn’t a kid anymore. And he isn’t your brother.

It isn’t until you pull into a neighborhood about 10 minutes later that you remember that you’re here on a delivery. Yanking yourself from your reverie, but with unease still firmly lodged in your thoughts, you address the task at hand.

“Jae, where are we?”

“Uhhhh, 3051 Driver Rd.”

Driver Road. You know this neighborhood but you can’t quite place where. If your previous safari into your possible romantic interest in Jae wasn’t jarring enough, you feel panic rising through your system like so much bile. Why do I know this neighborhood? Jae, unaware of any turmoil on your part, pulls up to the house in question and when your headlights wash over the yard your heart sinks into your throat. You’re going to be sick. 3051 Driver Rd. This is where Sean lives.

You had met Sean Avery in your sophomore year of premed and had fallen head over heels in love with him. He was tall, attractive, ambitious, and he wanted you. You were star struck. It wasn’t until a year of ‘dating’ later that you unearthed the whole messy truth of his long string of side pieces and general douchebaggery. If that wasn’t enough, in the past year you heard the report of him almost catching a case with a high school senior in the area. You knew now that he was nothing but a predator and a coward. You had managed to avoid him since your explosive breakup but now it seemed you had very little choice.

“Sean fucking Avery” you seethe in the seat next to Jae.

“What did he do to you?” Jae asked, taken aback by your sudden vitriol.

“Shit, that wasn’t in my head was it?” Jae laughs a bit but sobers up quickly at your expression.

“Y/N you look really pale, are you okay? I don’t know your history with this guy but hey, you don’t have to deliver this. I’ll do it. Don’t you worry, love.” Jae places his hand on the top of your head and ruffles your hair a bit in an attempt to be comforting. The attempt helped. Your heart pricks up a bit at Jae’s term of endearment but it feels more deadened than it should. You’re sick of feeling like this. Of letting Sean steal your joy from you. It’s been too long for that shit. Pulling yourself together a bit, you shake yourself out of your head and steel yourself.

“No, Jae, I’ve got this.” Jae looks at you with slight concern but shrugs nonetheless.

“Alright, well, I’m going with you okay? This dude really must’ve done a number on you if this is your response. And I’d like to see the bastard.” Jae’s eyes glinted with something dangerous that you’ve never seen in him before and it causes the same fire in you to spark. Let’s do this.

With Jae by your side, you march up to the door with the delivery order and set it on the front steps. The doorbell is deafening in the still night and you have to remind yourself to breathe. You jump as the door swings wide and a pathetic looking man sporting a robe and a beer belly peeks from the inside. All of the breath that had been waiting in your lungs released and you feel your head go a little bit light with the realization that this was the man that you were in love with. 7 years later, gone was the debonair gentleman who could sweep you off your feet. In his stead stood a balding, fat, stiff man in boxers and a moth eaten robe. He grunts in acknowledgment of the presence of other humans but it’s obvious that the Neanderthal hasn’t recognized you. He retrieves his food and goes fumbling in his robe pocket for his wallet. He fishes out a card and hands it to you. You take it from him and process the payment.

Declined.

“Sorry, Sean, your card- it declined.”

He huffs and makes a sound in the back of his throat that you can only describe as gross as you hand it back to him.

“It what!? What do you mean declined?” He stumbles forward a few steps and you automatically flinch backward into Jae. Jae’s hand comes up to your shoulder to ground you, a reminder that he’s still there. Sean’s movement wafts a smell of body odor and brown liquor. He always was a mean drunk. You decide to cut your losses while you can and keep the transaction as minimal as possible. No games.

“Your card, Sean, it declined. Do you have an alternate form of payment?” Sean whips open his wallet and roots around for a minute before retrieving a few crumpled up bills. He extends the cash but before you can swap his card for cash, his arm whips back. Looking at you sideways, suspicion drips from his slurred speech,

“How do you know my name?”

Shit. Fuck. Dammit.

You watch helplessly as the cogs turn in his inebriated brain and recognition washes over his face.

“Y/N! It’s you! What do you want from me now, bitch? Trying to take my money now too? Get out of here!” His voice steadily rises in volume and you can feel the walls of your panic closing in on you. Suddenly Jae steps in front of you, arm outstretched to the belligerent man.

“You’re talking to me now. You’re done with her.” Jae holds himself with a confidence that you had only seen from him onstage.

“Just pay for the food and we’ll be going.”

“And who the fuck are you?” Sean spits back, as if Jae were something distasteful that he had found on the bottom of his shoe.

“I’m Jae. Y/N’s boyfriend. Now I’d really love to take Y/N home tonight before it gets too much later. So if you can just pay for your meal, we’ll get going.”

Sean crumples up the bills and throws it into Jae’s chest.

“Good luck with that bitch, kid. You’re gonna need it.” And with that he retreats inside and slams the door shut behind him.

Jae immediately rushes to your side and wraps you in a big hug. Although similar in mechanics to the hug earlier that day, this one was far different in intent. You could feel it in his soul, that hug was meant to squeeze all of the fragmented pieces of you back together again and hold them until they stuck. You can feel your heartbeat slowing to match his and your breathing slowly regulates.

Mollie is gonna have a lot of fun with this one.

Jae escorts you back to the car and there’s a thick silence that you can’t quite bring yourself to cut as he puts the car into drive. You know he is forming his own story of what happened between you and Sean in his head and you can’t tell if that’s better or worse than just reliving it and telling him the whole story- cops and testifying and court and all.

Once out of the neighborhood, Jae heaves a sigh and chuckles a bit.

“Well he seemed lovely.”

“Uh huh. He’s a real peach.”

Jae looks over at you with an expression of dual concern and amused what-the-fucker-y. Did that really just happen?

There is a beat of silence and solid eye contact before you both start cracking up. Unable to restrain yourself any further, you both dissolve into a kind of healing, deep belly laughter that shakes the entire car. Pulling up to your house, Jae throws the car into park and then turns to face you.

“You don’t have to tell me anything, you know? It’s not my business. You’re my business. But asshats like him aren't. Just that I’m around to keep them away from you.”

You sigh deeply, still recovering from the laugh attack, before giving him a brief bulleted list of the sheer shenanigans that Sean had pulled on you all those years ago. You watched as Jae’s face contorted over the course of the story, hardening into yet another study in fierceness that you were yet to see from him.

“I really am okay, though Jae. He had me pretty fucked up for a little bit but honest, I’m okay. I did the therapy, I fought my battles. I just hadn’t done the last closure step of actually looking him in the eye and saying goodbye and good riddance. And I probably never would’ve if it weren’t for tonight.” You reach out and grab his hand instinctively.

“Thank you, Jae. I really appreciate you doing that with me. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.”

“You would’ve gotten your ass handed to you is what you would’ve done.” Jae states, deadpan.

“Jaeee!” You laugh, hitting him on the arm.

“Oh, so now you can throw a punch? Okaaay, nice.” This little shit.

Banter aside, Jae takes the key out of the ignition and gathers his things to get out of the car. As he closes the door, you hear him mutter “You need to pick better guys. You’re too great to end up with someone like that.”

You don’t have any kind of answer to that, but you feel a lightness in your chest as his eyes burn into you. Jae walks you to your front door and all you can hear in your head is an echo of Jae’s declaration of “I’m Jae, Y/N’s boyfriend.” Is that what I want?

You end up at your front door far too soon and the twinkling of the helicopters in the sky signals to you that it’s more than time for Jae to go home. Your heart sinks into your stomach at the thought of him leaving and you inwardly groan.

Jae gives you one last hug goodnight and you know before he even releases you that this isn’t enough. Not even nearly. Your feelings, whatever they may be: love, like, general affection, haven’t been correctly quantified and expressed. This has been the best day you’ve had in months, and he was the deciding factor. You were grateful to have him there on your front door step, in his arms. But maybe, just maybe, if you’re able to express to him exactly how you feel about him in this moment, he’ll be able to help you out and translate exactly what this feeling means for your future together. Without thinking about it too much, you retreat from the hug and angle your face up to his so that your noses are almost touching. You sit like this for just a second. That sickening second that would allow him to retreat and tell you you’re an idiot for even thinking it. But he doesn’t retreat. Instead, your lips are brushing against one another in just the barest of whispers of a kiss. His lips are so soft. It’s over in an instant and as the chilly night air cuts between the two of you, you are all too aware of how disproportionately warm your face and neck have become. You smile up at Jae and he carries a similar, if not slightly more shocked, half smile.

As if reading one another’s minds, you both understand that it’s wise to let one another think about the night's proceedings before any further rash decisions are made. In an attempt to preserve the spell of the night sky and the kiss and the chirping cicadas, neither of you say another word to one another but instead exchange content smiles that convey more than a goodnight ever could. With a slight bow of his head and a glide of his hand down the length of your arm, Jae walks backwards down your front steps and slips into the night, shaking his head slightly, trying and failing to conceal his smile. You watch him from the porch as he skips up to his house, before slipping into the warmth of your own home.

...

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