#and selling your hair pays pretty well especially if its as thick as heavy as mine. so i might start doing that

[skenpiel]

wonder if i should sell my hair

[hanii-rose]

Ello Ello~! Can I get a garou with a s/o that was kidnapped in the past and has trama now, but acts so chill that you wouldn’t even notice? It’s ok if you don’t want to lol ( fluff please tho- )

Truth

Garou × |Fem|Reader

You sat on the grassy ground of your backyard, knees bent to one side, looking over your garden. The large sun hat you wore casted a calming shadow onto your eyes, allowing you to pick at your tomatoes with ease without the harsh sunlight glaring into your retinas.

You hummed a faint tune, relaxed and uncaring about the world around you. Not that it had anything interesting going on anyway. Your ruffled, beige skirt gracefully fell onto the the ground over your calves, sprawling onto the grass around you.

You eagerly plucked a ripe, juicy tomato from one of the stems it hung from, placing it into the woven straw basket where many of your other freshly picked vegetables remained.

A gentle breeze brushed past, sweeping your hair off of your shoulders. You gently held onto your summer hat and continued picking the ripest vegetables your garden had to offer, unknowing of a certain someone watching your silent movements.

Out of the blue, a sudden shade had been cast on top of your seated form and for a minute, you believed it was a big raincloud blocking the sun due to the large size of it. When you tilted your head up to inspect the sky, you were met with the face of a boy, a scowl on his features, likely due to the summer heat.

He stood above you, shielding the sun's rays, silently observing your expression from calm to surprised to calm once again.

"The hell are ya' doin'?"

"I'm just gardening. What about you, stranger?"

The unfamiliar male picked at the tight collar of his sweater, trying to enable air to pass into it. He raised a brow, a bead of sweat sliding down his temple to his cheek. Blinking at him in confusion, you shrugged, replacing your blank look with a gentle, happy expression.

It was his turn to shrug, rubbing the back of his neck whilst peering over your newly finished picket fence.

"Just out for a walk, huh?"

He gave a single nod, eyes darting from yours to look to the side.

"Say, isn't it a bit too warm to be wearing such a heavy sweater?"

The scowl from his face dropped, and he turned back to you with a look of annoyance on his face.

"What's it to ya'?"

You turned back to your plush tomatoes, chuckling at his childish words.

"At least I ain't half naked like you!"

Half naked, huh? You wouldn't necessarily call wearing an off shoulder top being 'half-naked' but to a boy, things like that are probably way different...

"That's what a child would say..."

You muttered under your breath but it must've been loud enough for him to hear it. He stopped scratching his neck, eyebrows knitted in utter irritation.

"Haaahhh?"

Plucking a shiny, ripe tomato from it's stem, you tossed it at the man, to which he caught expertly with one hand.

You giggled, your expression sly.

"Here, you can have this. My tomatoes taste really good, try one..."

You looked up at him from below, allowing him to get a better look at your face that had been partially hidden due to your large straw hat.

Your pretty, glossed lips took the shape of an attractive grin, sun kissed cheeks gleaming as the sunshine reflected off of them. Beautiful hair swaying as another faint breeze blew over, somewhat lifting the ends of your loose skirt and ruffling your cotton top.

The scene appeared vivid and bright and the boy in front of you seemed to be taken aback by your appearance, his expression no longer that of annoyed or irked.

"Tomatoes ain't that good..."

He stated, stoic and calculative.

You stretched out your palm to him, offering to take the tomato back.

"You can give it back if you don't want it."

You peeked over at him with one eye closed, a smirk itching to take over your lips.

"I never said I ain't gonna eat it!"

Mhmmm, that's what you thought.

"Well stranger, now that I've given you a peace offering, how about you give me a name?"

He looked up at the sun, contemplating your request, ultimately deciding to tell you. It was the decent thing to do anyways...

"Name's Garou."

You nodded, beginning to fill your basket once again.

"I see, I see..."

He waited, leaning on your tall wooden fence, arms crossed, tapping his foot.

You said nothing.

"Well, aren't ya' gonna tell me yers'?!"

Snorting, you grabbed the tin watering can that sat beside you, not bothering to give him a glance.

"Whatever, I'm leavin'!"

He started to walk, straightening himself out and biting into the red, delectable tomato.

"Y/N."

He halted mid-step, craning his head and looking over his shoulder.

"My name is Y/N."

Without a word, he walked off, disappearing over the horizon. What a strange fellow...

🍅🍅🍅 >>

"Yo..."

You craned your neck, tearing your eyes off of the worded pages of the neighborhood newspaper. Your knee length, white dress slowly swayed as you came to a halt on your large, metal garden swing.

"Oh stranger, you again! Back for another tomato?"

Garou folded his arms, leaning on the thick steady metal legs of the swing set.

"Are ya' gonna give me another tomato?"

You shrugged, closing the newspaper and placing it down next to you.

"Sure, if you want. They're really good, right?"

"I've tasted better..."

Garou picked at his nails with a bored look, uninterested in small talk.

"Ok, either way, I'll get you one. How about you sit down here while you wait?"

You patted the empty spot next to you on the large swing but he passed, walking away.

"Now, hold on mister!"

"Oh, c'mon! Sit down while I bring you some vegetables and then we'll talk!"

Before he could walk too far, you latched onto his arm, taut biceps tightening at the feeling of your smaller, smooth limbs around his. Hugging it, you pressed it close to your chest, somewhat leaning into him, squishing up against him. Garou's eyes had widened in surprise at your actions and he tried wiggling out of your grasp but you were unrelenting.

What? Wait...what? Did you just invite him for some vegetable tea-time? Him? The Hero Hunter? Wait, did you just invite him to something? How long had it been since a pretty girl wiggled around his arm for a chance to talk to him?

"Fine."

Oh, right never... Well, since your being so persistent, why the fuck not?

You happily dragged him back to your swing, pushing his shoulders down until he sat comfortably on the seat, legs spread and arms resting on headrest.

"I'll be right back!"

Scurrying off, you carefully began plucking the ripest and juiciest tomatoes your garden could offer and bringing them back to Garou.

"Here, these are perfect for eating."

With that, you handed him a straw basket containing three tomatoes and sat down next to him, placing your fingers on your lap.

"So, how are you today?"

You began, trying to elicit small talk from him.

"...Uh, good?"

"Why are you so confused about it?"

You giggled, asking him about his answer.

"W-whatever! Why do ya' have so many tomatoes?"

You tilted your head to the side, thinking about his question.

"Hm? Oh, well I think they taste good..."

Garou gave you a look, as if saying 'that's it?'

"I also sell them to the local stores. I'm a dropout so I have to earn a living somehow, ya' know?"

"But I don't think he could defeat Goku "

Ah, that makes much more sense. Garou gave subtle nods as you rambled on about your interests, favourite books and the nice grocery man down the street who pays extra for your vegetables. But seriously, what's with you? You grab a random guy off of the street and just start talking to him? Who are you?

"Oh, Y/N! I was looking all over for you in your house dearie, I hope you don't mind, I took a look around..."

Huh, who's this?

A middle aged woman, stood in front of the two of you holding a little ceramic pot in her chubby hands, a mouthwatering aroma erupting from inside of it. Her eyes glanced at Garou but took a sharp turn to look back at you, curly brown bob bouncing as she ecstatically spoke.

"I brought you some cabbage stew. I know how much you like my cooking!"

"Oh, Ms. Keiko, you really didn't have to..."

Garou watched as she handed you the pot, chatting away without a care in the world.

"Oh it's no problem, sweetie!"

"No, no, I can't have you cooking for me everyday. I can do it myself, really..."

You exasperated, somewhat irked because of her interruption.

"What do you mean? Oh, you young people think you can do everything yourselves! Honestly, the government should really do something about people your age, especially people like you."

You rubbed your arm awkwardly, brows knitted and lips pulled into an uncomfortable smile.

"Well, I'd best be heading back now! You know how it is, busy busy!"

"I'll just go put this inside, don't go anywhere ok?"

You ushered her off, nodding at whatever she said until she waddled into her own house across the fence. You breathed out a sigh of relief, turning back to Garou to see him munching on a tomato, uninterested.

The sun had set halfway and Garou had heard enough of your meaningless chatter, heaving a big sigh, he stood up abruptly, popping some bones.

You quickly rushed into your home, setting the pot of stew onto your counter to let it cool off. Rushing back outside, you sat down beside Garou once again, and the two of you began to swing, continuing your pointless conversation.

"Hm? Leaving?"

He nodded, holding his last tomato in his dominant hand, and tilting his head towards your fence door, uttering a bored 'see ya' and leaving. You watched him exit, turning to the sidewalk, giving you one last glance and taking off.

---

The sun moved quickly and the once bright sky had turned dim, little drops of milk decorated the rare clear sky. The streetlights shined brightly, yellow glow illuminating everything within its vicinity. A gentle breeze had blown past and you slumped back in your seat, the squeaking of the swing coming to a halt. Reluctantly, you stretched and pushed yourself off, standing up and giving one last look at your backyard, walking inside your quaint home and shutting the door.

You tossed and turned on your bed, sweating profusely. Twisting your beautiful face into a pained expression, eyes shut tight in terror of your own thoughts. The nightmares of your past haunting you while you slumbered, unable to run, confined within your mind.

The rope burns.

The bruises.

The blood.

The tubes.

The thunder.

You weren't going to get much sleep tonight...

It was all so vivid and dark, and the feeling of suffocation creeped down along your throat, setting itself within your chest, as you heaved and shook. You awoke suddenly, nausea and fright overtaking your form as you trembled, beads of sweat rolling down your sides as you hugged yourself, trembling and disoriented.

🍅🍅🍅>>

Since the last visit from Garou, vegetable tea-time had become a common occurrence.

Garou trudged through the woods behind your house, nearing it slowly, hands pocketed, back arched.

The days only got hotter and Garou found himself sweltering under the sun's powerful rays, anticipating a fresh, juicy tomato from your garden. He would never admit it, but this month had been a somewhat therapeutic time for him. Every time he sent a hero to the hospital, he gave you a visit, sometimes prompt, sometimes prolonged.

All of the blood and injuries had been washed away and packed before that, he wanted to avoid any questions regarding his whereabouts. He feared if you saw his true colours, you'd stop being so sincere with him. A week ago you had proudly declared that you were friends now in your usual rambles and Garou wasn't willing to take any chances ruining it.

Free tomatoes with a cute girl? Yeah, no way in hell he's lettin' you find out who he is.

As he stepped closer and closer to your home, nearing the fence, he spotted you in your usual spot near your rich tomato plants, an unfamiliar girl standing in front of you, carrying two or three compact cardboard boxes.

Hiding behind the blooming cherry blossom trees behind your home, he gave an ear to your conversation.

"My dad only buys tomatoes from you because he takes pity on you."

"Of course, please tell your father I'm grateful."

"I'm not finished! Nobody from class misses you. We all think you're a freak!"

"I'm sorry you all feel that way..."

"The neighbors only talk to you because you're alone all the time."

"Yes, they're so kind..."

"I think it would've been better if you had just stayed missing!"

"Y-you should bring these boxes to your dad now. Tell him I added some extra in there, just to be safe."

"Don't tell me what to do."

"Oh, you came today, good! How are you?"

With that, she turned around, her foot purposely on one of the adorable tomato sprouts, mashing it down with the heel of her white sneaker. After the baby-plant murderer left, Garou circled in, greeting you in a casual manner. You visibly brightened up and grasped his arm.

"S'all good... Say, who was that?"

Garou rubbed the back of his neck, brow quirked up, waiting for an answer.

"Remember the store owner I told you about the other day? That's his daughter. Cute, isn't she?"

Garou shrugged, perplexed. You seemed to like her and from the conversation, he could tell you knew her well.

"Hello, anyone in there?"

Then why was she speaking to you like that? And more importantly, what did she mean when she said you should've stayed missing? Was he missing something? Was there something he didn't know which everyone else did? Nah, you told him everything, it couldn't be that.

You waved your hand in front of his face, breaking him from his thoughts.

"W-wha..."

"I've been talking to you this entire time, what are you thinking so hard about?"

Poking his cheek repeatedly, you playfully provoked him and he swatted your hand away.

"Hurry up an' give me a tomato, lady..."

---

Sifting through the soil on the ground, you had found the perfect spot for re-planting that cute, crippled little tomato sprout that the store owner's daughter had squished. But holding it in place while simultaneously patting the soil down to fix it in was proving to be quite a challenge.

You needed some help.

"Oh, Garou~"

"Be a dear and help me with this? I promise I'll make it up to you!"

You sang, batting your lashes and twisting around to face him. He sat relaxing on the garden swing, chewing up a tomato you had given him. He looked at you, contemplating whether he should respond to your strange tone.

He glanced at you, then glanced at the half bitten vegetable in his hand. With one bite, it was gone. Rubbing his hands clean on his pants, he walked over to you, sqatting down to your level and holding the tiny plant in place as you stuffed it's space with rich soil and fertilizer.

"Thank you! You're such a big help."

Aren't you exaggerating just a bit, now? All he did was hold a plant while you did all the work. Nevertheless, your comment added to his ego and he swaggered back over to the swings, chomping down on another tomato, this time with a trail of juice running down his chin.

"Ah, it's dripping onto your beautiful sweater! Hold on..."

You stood up from your squatting position on the floor and took out a pink little handkerchief from your dress pocket. Adjusting your bucket hat, you patted Garou's chin, absorbing and wiping away any juice stains that may have clung to his skin.

"There, that's much better isn't it?"

"...Just like a child."

He nodded, cheek puffing out as he popped the rest of the tomato into his mouth, dirtying himself once again. You giggled to yourself, your fingers helping to muffle the noise.

He ignored you, poking his chin out for you to wipe again. You complied, of course.

Your day happily went by, without any interruptions.

All too soon, it was time for him to leave. The sun had fully set in the distance and the sky had once again been filled with glitter, sparkling in your eyes as you watched it together.

"I'm leavin'..."

You nodded, standing up and walking him to your fence door. Before he could fully step out, you pulled on his sweater with your index and thumb. He turned around slowly, facing you, confused at your foreign expression.

"Hm...?"

Your eyes fixed themselves down on your cobble walkway, trying to shelter your face from his observant eyes. Your free hand grasped and pulled on your skirt, nervously fidgeting in place. He could hear your heart pounding, hammering in your chest...or was it his?

The night had gone silent as you pulled him down lower, stepping up on your tippy toes and connecting a chaste kiss to his cheek.

He was left dumbfounded at your actions and you hesitantly released the fabric of his sweater, bringing it to your chest.

"I told I'd make it up to you, didn't I?"

The look on your face astounded him, leaving him stranded at your gate, as you dusted yourself off, looking up at him with a soft smile.

Garou blinked a couple of times, quickly shuffling to turn around, away from your stare.

"I d-didn't think ya' meant that..."

You looked away, embarrassed.

"W-well, I'll see you tomorrow."

He agreed, and you ran inside your home, standing near your doorway, looking at him walking away.

"Goodnight!"

You called from behind him and he waved with his back turned to you, getting farther and farther from you.

---

The cold air of the A/C hit your skin, calming you as you hugged your pillow close to your chest. Your eyes remained comfortably closed, happy thoughts streamed through your slumbering mind.

Tonight, you had slept soundly.

🍅🍅🍅>>

The booming crashes of thunder bellowed through the unusually quiet city as Garou sauntered past the glossy windows of the street, mindlessly observing the contents on the other side.

𝔹ℝ𝔼𝔸𝕂𝕀ℕ𝔾 ℕ𝔼𝕎𝕊: 𝕃𝕠𝕟𝕘 𝕡𝕦𝕣𝕤𝕦𝕚𝕥 𝕗𝕠𝕣 ℂ𝕚𝕥𝕪 𝕄 𝕜𝕚𝕕𝕟𝕒𝕡𝕡𝕖𝕣𝕤 𝕗𝕚𝕟𝕒𝕝𝕝𝕪 𝕔𝕠𝕞𝕖 𝕥𝕠 𝕒𝕟 𝕖𝕟𝕕

Clothing, accessories, toys and electronics all looked the same to him as he carelessly made his way to you. The heavy rain drops made it harder for him to move, his sweater becoming drenched and heavy with water, his usual hairdo slumped forward, impairing his vision slightly. He came to an abrupt halt in front of the big TV store, eyeing the news displayed in bold letters on the screen.

He's reading slowly, focused on the faces of the two bastards on the screen.

...𝕐𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕘 𝕧𝕚𝕔𝕥𝕚𝕞𝕤 𝕗𝕚𝕟𝕒𝕝𝕝𝕪 𝕣𝕖𝕔𝕖𝕚𝕧𝕖 𝕔𝕝𝕠𝕤𝕦𝕣𝕖

The images of innocent children flash by and somewhere in his cold, tattered heart he feels thankful for their safety. And then he sees it.

It was you. You, but...but, smaller. You...

Your picture. Dead expression, skin battered with bruises and scratches, large dirty cloth dangling off of your tiny shoulders. Innocent eyes, tearful.

Garou raced through the slippery streets of City M, the downpour only getting worse with every step he took. He could barely see in front of him, the streets had gotten so dark and hazy, the only thing ringing in his ears were the crashes of thunder that blew out through the atmosphere.

Finally!

Unimaginable winds collided with his form, pushing him back, street lights bursting, paper, signs and peices of wood dangerously flew around, nearly missing his body. He was almost there.

His harsh, observant eyes latched onto you, sitting on the floor, eyes tightly shut, your hands locked onto your ears, drowning out the frighteningly loud rolls of thunder. The lights seemed to be switched on, but no light was being emitted from them, leaving the room in a dark state. The power must have gone out.

He knocked on your door, holding onto one of the pillars of your home as to not get blown away. You hadn't responded. He knocked again. No response. Suddenly, a crash came from the inside, just as another boom of thunder shook the ground. He heard you shriek and without a second thought, followed the noise to your backyard, two large french windows open and banging against the walls outside. Climbing in, he grasped the handles, bringing them together and locking it securely, effectively closing it. The sounds outside had been muffled by the warm walls of your home and he turned around, studying the interior.

"Y/N."

He walked over, kneeling down to you, grasping your shoulder as gently as he could. Eyes softening at your face, tear stained and hurt.

"G-Garou, I "

"I-im sorry..."

Another flash of lightning flashed through your windows and you jumped onto Garou, latching onto his torso, face buried within his broad chest, cold and wet from the rain.

---

The storm had frizzled away rather slowly and all the while Garou had held you in his arms, silently, face hidden in your hair. You had cried and sniffled, ruining his already wet sweater with snot. As the rain came to a stable pace of hushed pitter patters, you finally released him from your hold.

You cleared your throat, standing up and rubbing your sides up and down.

"I don't know what came over me..."

Garou steadily rose from the ground, towering over you, face blank, staring at you intently.

"Y-you're here for some tomatoes, right?"

...

"No."

You shook slightly, he noticed. Wobbling backwards, you tripped, teetering downwards until Garou had stopped you mid-fall by your wrist. He pulled back, flinging you into his chest, wrapping an arm around your shuddering body.

"I'm here for the truth."

You but your lip, afraid of coming clean. You had his it for so long, you knew he'd feel bad if you told him now...

"I...um, are you sure?"

He nodded.

"Let me get you a towel first. You're cold..."

---

And so you had begun to explain your childhood. The happy days in the sun, at the park, holding your mom's hand and playing with your little friends.

Subsequently, this lead to many individuals wanting it for themselves or for research. The earliest memory of your childhood was the worst. The day you had been snatched from the warm protective embrace of your mother, into the confines of a cold metal room, fit with a heavy metal door. Tubes and needles poked your sides, dug into you skin, filling you with unknown substances, heightening your senses to the point where it hurt to exist.

You always had a fascination with plants, able to care for them and somehow make them grow quicker and healthier. At first, everyone thought it was your natural green thumb and caring nature but soon you had found out about a power no one else possessed. Growth manipulation. It wasn't just plants. Little animals and insects could be effected as well. Some thought you were a freak, others deemed you a lucky child, blessed with special powers gifted from the heavens.

You were often experimented on, put aside and brought back. It seemed to be a never-ending cycle of loneliness and isolation that kept you silenced. If you didn't comply with your tormentors, they'd tie you up, burning your soft baby flesh in the process, when it rained the lights would go out and thunder would cackle throughout the empty metal corridors, resonating through your small metal room, entering your tiny being. It was horrific, the bruises you received, the blood you shed and the years of your life which you lost.

Seven years. It took them seven years to find you and the rest of the children. You were rescued at last by elite forces storming the illegal research facility, the House of Evolution, more like the house of horrors.

You had been given hope but alas, your mother no longer lived in the same city, no longer cried for you to come back, no longer wanted anything to do with a girl such as yourself. At the tender age of fifteen, you re-entered society, ready to go to school, make friends, study, live. But when the time came, you found it difficult to fit in. Everyone was so mature, so stable and unhurt. It pained you to know no one understood your situation.

Whatever the other teens talked about, you would have a hard time understanding, you had no idea about any of the new trends, never held a smartphone in your life, never went shopping for clothes, never had a boyfriend and you certainly never anticipated anything other than pain. Emotions were hard to deal with in your early years but as time passed and you grew older, dropping out of school and going for therapy, you slowly figured your way around the world, while still staying in your own little universe.

Sometimes, things which occurred in more recent days triggered your painful memories, which triggered your anxiety, which triggered emotions that were unwanted. One of them being fright, like now. Garou listened intently, nodding and opening and closing his fists on his lap, understanding bits and pieces of how you felt. Clueless and naive, almost unwanted.

He sympathises, but still experienced some pain at the fact of your secrecy from him. Weren't you friends? Why didn't you tell him? He never would've guessed you had been through something like this. You acted so...so indifferent. You explained it normally. When people knew of your life, they could react in two ways. Sympathetic to the point where it becomes disgusting or being disgusted by you themselves. Garou was your friend, you didn't want either from him. You wanted genuine emotions from him. He understood again, much to your relief.

"Still, ya' could'a told me..."

"W-well, isn't there something you're not telling me, Garou?"

He gulped, his throat went dry. He scratched the back of his head, acting aloof. He shook his head no and crossed his arms, roughly leaning back onto your couch, looking anywhere but you.

"You're the Hero Hunter, right? I'm not as airheaded as you, I actually watch the news."

"Yeah, so? If ya' knew all this time, why didn't ya' say somethin'about it, huh?"

"Because you hadn't said anything. And I guess, I didn't want anything to change. I liked that you came around for tomatoes. It kind of sounds like I used you since everytime you were here, I felt normal."

"It was like going through therapy all over again. But better, with you... I didn't care what you did, what mattered was that you came back to listen to me and my nonsense...I liked it that way. That's why yesterday, I...."

You leaned into his side, your head falling gently onto his shoulder, your fingers intertwined on your lap. Garou uncrossed his arms, stretching and coyly placing one around you.

"Ya' wouldn't mind if I asked for a tomato, would ya'?"

"Of course not! Let me get you one..."

"No, ya' ain't gettin' it. I want one today..."

He sat up straight, gazing deep into your sparkling eyes, hand grasping yours to keep you from moving any farther.

"Tomorrow and...forever. Now do ya' get it? I wanna listen to you jabber on about how some stupid anime character can't beat another one, or how the ugly store guy gave ya' extra money for yer' plants. I liked it that way too..."

He rose from his seat on your couch, slithering an arm around your waist and inching closer to your face, noses brushing tenderly against one another.

"I'll give you all of the tomatoes I have...forever."

With that, the two of you sealed your lips in an act of pure passion. The kiss was innocent and sweet, and it left a warm feeling burning in your chest.

"You should see the look on yer' face."

Garou whispered and you chuckled, wrapping your arms around his neck, fondly eyeing his features.

"Do you want a tomato or not?"

Raw sunlight streamed through your large, pristine windows, illuminating the two of you where you stood. If anyone had witnessed the scene, they would surely deem it ethereal. You felt that way and so did he.

"You're blushing, Garou~"

"Sh-shut up and gimme a tomato, woman!"

In a strange little way, you matched each other, supported one another and existed together, through your highs and lows, through his ups and downs. Suddenly, everything was brighter and easier. You went back to school, working hard, having the courage to do anything you wanted.

Garou found a resolve as well, he left for sometime, but returned to you in one piece, took up a job and continued living. This was not how you had imagined your future to be, but it was this situation that gave you a reason to finally live life the right way. You finally felt happy to be free. And that was more than enough for you. Garou was here, and you were right there with him.

_________________________________________

The fluff at the end BLEHHH too sweet for me. Also, I feel like the ending is so rushed??? Sorry this took months to finish. I was stuck in a prison known as math and had no way of escaping. Hope you enjoyed!

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Seconding the 'mob guys watching over Chris for Paul's suggestion!

CW: References to murder/mob organization stuff, references to parental death, grief, referenced past whump of a minor

Every Tuesday at 9 am, just like clockwork, Sean Malley lumbers into a coffeeshop nestled into the corner of a flat featureless strip mall. Contrasting to the pale concrete nothingness of its surrounding, the little coffeeshop is painted  a warm, rich brown along the exterior, with heavy platers spilling over with purple and yellow flowers every few feet until Sean reaches the door.

It’s a welcome bit of individuality along this ring of small strip malls and larger big-box stores kept out of the city proper by a pile of zoning laws too draconian to fight. He’s been coming here for ten years now, more or less, and has seen the little coffeshop through its earliest days struggling for business right to now, where he feels reasonably certain he’ll be dead long before they close this place for good. 

He moves inside, the light immediately warm and slightly dimmed. The scent in the air of freshly roasted coffee beans and baked goods. The cannolis they sell came from him, Sean’s proud of that - his wife had a favorite recipe and he’d given it to them after she passed, hoping for one batch for the service. They’d just kept making them, having one ready for him when he popped in, and... well, they’ve sold them ever since. Even call them Christa’s Cannolis, handwritten in cursive on a little placard. She’d have been tickled pink, he thinks sometimes, to see it. 

One of his knees comes and goes as it pleases these days, giving his step a bit of a shuffle-scrape. He’s smiling, though, and humming as he goes.

Life is good for Sean Malley, all things considered. 

Truth be told, he hadn't actually expected to live this long. Keeping close to Conor and his family had paid off in the early days - just as his instincts had kept him safe when the Garden erupted in in-fighting, too. When the Clean-Up happened, during the Garden’s most vicious in-fighting, Sean had seen half the men he’d watched start as snot-nosed dumbasses taken out one by one, clearing the way for Conor’s fucking grandson to make his play for power.

Those kids who’d run lookout gigs and then moved on to guard duty or work with the cargo coming in... one by one those kids-turned-adults, with families of their own, had been removed from the picture. Fifteen, all told, a bloodbath stretched out over six months - sixteen, of course, if you count how Paul’s murder went all wrong. 

The one comfort had been watching Conor’s grandson lay the groundwork for his own comeuppance the whole time - promising favors for loyalty and then killing the ones he’d promised those favors to. That’s no way to start yourself as leader, and... well.

Trash had been taken out, in the end. Riley Higgs had gotten rid of the poison - and the poison’s friends - and his crew’s a damn sight better than Conor’s grandson’s people had been. 

Riley, for one thing, understands that an organization like the Garden works, in the end, on trust. On being a family.

Don’t kill your family without a good damn reason, now do you? 

Now Riley... he had a good reason. And Sean had made sure Riley Higgs knew a few very important facts that kept him on the man’s good side, and very much alive when the dust settled.

Even if he had did have to live with a bum knee. And back. And his hip’s started twinging every time it rains...

"Morning, Mr. Malley!" His favorite barista calls out, giving him a wave from behind the counter. She's a pretty thing, just cute as a button. Probably in her late twenties but when you’re as old as Sean is, everyone looks like a child playing pretend. 

Still, it always brings a bit of sun in the old man's day to see her bright pink hair before he ever takes his seat. He always tells her she should move on from here, do something with her life other than serve old men their coffee and watch them while away the hours.

But I like it here, Melody always replies, giving a little shrug of her shoulders. I like our regulars, too. Besides, this place pays better than the job I’d get with my actual degree. 

"G'morning to you, Melody!" He calls back, moving to have a seat in his usual spot, sinking gratefully into the plush armchair by the bookshelf in the corner. His favorite coffee table book, a heavy thing full of photos of World War II, is already laid out on the side table next to it, bookmarked where he’d left off last week. "Busy day, today?"

Melody is already heading his way, coffee in hand just how he likes it, one of Christa’s Cannolis on a small plate in the other. Sean’s doctor has been on him about cutting out sugar, and he’s done it just about everywhere else, but he still has his cannoli on Tuesdays. Christa had been so proud of herself when she’d mastered that recipe... 

"Not really,” Melody says with a shrug, breaking into his thoughts. “Just the usual morning rush and a couple college kids, wandered outside but they left their drinks, I figure they’ll come back. One of 'em looks like he got mauled by a real weak bear."

Sean feigns surprise. "Oh, does he now?" He takes a sip of his coffee and sighs happily. "Not too hot. You had it out already, didn't you?"

"I saw your car pull into the lot," Melody says, giving a little it's nothing gesture. “I knew you’d be in, so I kept an eye out for you.”

"You're a doll, Melody, and this place would be lost without you." He presses the twenty-dollar bill into her hand, and when she protests, he shakes his head, adds another ten, and closes her hand firmly around the cash. "Take it, take it. I'm an old man on my own, who've I got to spend it on, huh?"

"You're not that old, Mr. Malley," Melody sighs, an old song and dance between them. “You’ve got grandkids who could use it, too, you know.”

"Ha! Trust that my grandkids never want for anything, Melody. Besides, live the life I've lived, and sixty feels like eighty-two. Go on, then. Cilly'll be along in a bit."

He sits back to drink his coffee as she heads back behind the counter, watching through the front window the cars that pass along the highway, the scattering of people getting in and out of their own vehicles in the parking lot. It's a perfect, and perfectly normal, Tuesday morning. Just like any other.

A perfectly normal Tuesday where one creature of habit makes it a point to get a quick look at another. 

A flash of red catches his eye, and he frowns, watching a bright red Northern cardinal alight on the bench placed outside the shop, preening one wing briefly and then seeming to look towards the lot.

Sean follows its gaze, silently chastising himself for being so utterly taken by a simple bird, but... Northern cardinals are more or less unheard of around here, especially in the city. This one seems to cock its head in his direction. 

"Someone," He mutters to himself, "is a bit lost."

There's a peal of laughter, as the door opens, the little bell on top chiming to announce them, and there they are.

Two young people walking inside, heads tilted together. One of them has thick, wavy black hair, one of those haircuts the younger people like so much now, shaved on the sides but long on top. The younger guys in the Family wear their hair like that now and then. 

Sean thinks he liked it better when everyone kept things neat and tidy, but times change, and the Garden can't stagnate just because an old timer's got opinions. Riley’s take is he’d rather is people look like they could be anybody anywhere, and Sean has to admit the kind of haircut he’d like to see would stick out like a sore thumb.

Both of them are wearing all black head to toe, the black-haired one in a tank top and baggy pants, a large yellow lightning bolt on a cord settled just below their collarbone. Honestly, if he gets past the hair thing, they’re cute as a button, too.

Really, though, he’s not here because of them.

He’s here to get a good look at the young man walking in beside them. 

It’s funny - it’s been nine - ten? - years since he last saw Paul Higgs alive, the day before he and his sweet Ronnie were gunned down in their own home in the night... but tears still prick at the corners of Sean’s eyes when he see the ghost of Paul in his son’s narrow face.

There’d been a joke when the little one first came into the world, that somehow Paul and Ronnie had put together a child where her genetics simply skipped out entirely. He’d been a little clone of Paulie from the start, and he’s different as a man than he’d been as a child lining toy cars up at their feet in the warehouse on Saturdays when Ronnie needed a break.

Sean pulls his phone out, idly scrolling - his daughter had helped him to get Facebook and a couple other things besides, including some kind of app that had his favorite card games. He pretends now to be fascinated by something he sees, but in truth he pulls his camera up and starts recording.

“It, it, it could change everything,” Paulie’s boy is saying, breathlessly excited, hands moving through the air in a blend of gesture and general happiness. “You see? Everything! Make it, it, it-it safer, make... make things better.”

“I know, I know,” The other one replies, deep voice warm and thick with love, and Sean sighs, missing his Christa now more than ever. He consoles himself with a bite of cannoli. “I already told you I’m in, Chris, okay? I’m going to help you. You don’t have to sell me on it.”

Tristan ducks his head with a shy smile, and boy if he isn’t Paul’s spitting image in that, too. Paulie hadn’t smiled much, not like his kid does - maybe that’s what he got from Ronnie - but in a smile like that, well... you could see where he got it from. If you’d known Paul, of course.

Which the kid didn’t, not anymore.

“It could, um, be dangerous though.” They’re barely audible now as they go back to where they left their still-steaming drinks, sitting down on a nearby couch. “Nat’s worried. And, and, and you know Jake-”

“Chris, you could walk across a crosswalk when the light starts blinking and Jake would still worry about you,” The other one teases. Sean knows their name, but right now it won’t quite come to mind, lingering on the tip of is tongue, never quite landing. “It’ll be public, yeah-”

“Telling everyone who... who, who I am.” Tristan starts tapping his fingers on his pants, a peculiar finger-twist-tap-tap-tap gesture that Sean once knew as well as anyone, when the boy was small. But it’s the words, with a hint of nervousness lining them, that get his attention. “The... the whole world’s going to, to, to to-to-... to... to know about Tristan Higgs.”

Now that gets Sean’s attention. He cuts the video, sends it to Riley, and starts a new one. It takes work not to sit up, or drop his cannoli, or in some other way give himself away. 

He knows, then?

How?

Sean looks down at his phone, looking over the scar on Paul’s boy’s forehead, the only remaining evidence of what had been much more visible the first couple times they’d seen him out after it happened. Sean and Cilly had figured maybe a fight - people get into them, really. Paul wasn’t exactly gentle as a lamb, and why would his boy be?

But now... he wondered. His instincts told him the two were related, and of course he knew from the time they’d worked with WRU pretty closely under the table that those memory things they did sometimes failed. Sean had done a fixer job once for someone whose pet had recovered memories too fast and killed a servant in a panic...

“Oh, Paul,” Sean murmurs. “What’d your boy do, hm?”

“I’m, I’m going to to to t-... to tell everyone who I am,” Paul’s boy is saying, leaning forward and taking the hands of the other one in his own, squeezing them tight. “I’m... will, will, will you come with me? When, when I... so someone’s there?”

“What? Holy shit, Chris, go to the Olympics? With you?” They inhale and exhale, blowing some hair from their eyes, and smile. “You should take someone who knows more than I do about all that stuff, Chris, take Jake, or-”

“Jake has has to stay here. To, to protect the house. But... will you come with me?”

Sean cuts the video, sends it to Riley, and this time adds a message.

Olympics are in Chicago this year. What’s Paul Jr. planning?

He feels eyes on him and glances up to find Tristan looking over at him, an expression of uncertainty on his face. Sean’s been watching him for years, popping up in places, the way you sometimes see the same faces at the corner store, the mom-and-pop, a coffeeshop like this one. Now, he watches Tristan look him over, knowing he’s familiar but not knowing why. Part of him, with a pinprick of an old, old grief, wishes Paul’s little boy would recognize him now. 

Most of him knows it’s better if he doesn’t.

Tristan looks away, and goes back to talking, but his voice lowers and now Sean can’t quite pick up what he’s saying beyond a few scattered words. He gets a couple photos of the lovebirds with their head together, sipping coffee, and sends those on to Riley, too.

Job done, he settles back to finish his cannoli and drink his coffee. Tristan and-... Laken, his name suddenly supplies, only an hour after he’d started trying to remember it - get up and leave, Tristan’s arm around Laken’s waist.

Good for the kid, Sean thinks, with a smile. By this age Paul had an elementary school son running around, but you know, it’s good to take your time on these things, and it’s nice to see that all the shit they’ve had to stand back and watch still wraps up nicely into Paul’s boy living a pretty nice life indeed.

His phone dings just as Cilly enters - right on time at 10, like clockwork - and he glances down to open the message from Riley.

I’ll get one of our guys to look into it. This might give us the out on the business I don’t want to be in I’ve been looking for. Kid looks good, looks like Paul. Family genes run deep.

Sean greets Cilly, even older than him but a sight more spry, and glances out the window. The bird’s gone from the bench, of course. The day is bright and shining.

-

In Laken’s car, they’re halfway back to the house Laken shares with their roommates when Chris suddenly sits straight up. “Mr. Malley,” He breathes out, green eyes widening.

Laken jumps - he’d been silent, preoccupied and in thought - and nearly jerks the car into a curb. “Damn, Chris! You scared me. What’d you say?”

“The old guy, in, in, in the the the the-the-... the coffeeshop, who kept looking at, at me.” Chris rocks forward, hands on the dashboard, his eyes staring ahead but not at the road, they’re looking far ahead... or behind himself, back in time and not space, when and not where. “His name’s Mr. Malley. I, I, I knew-... my dad knew, my, my, my dad, my dad-” 

He winces, the headache splitting him apart, and Laken hits their turn signal, pulling into the parking lot of a generic fast food place, swinging into a parking space and turning to look at him. 

“Chris? You okay?”

Chris’s face has gone pale, cold sweat breaking out. It still happens, sometimes, and when they lean over to touch his shoulder he flinches back from them, instinctively.

Laken exhales. “Okay. Ride it out, Chris. Let the memory go if it’s hurting, it’ll come back to you. They all come back now.”

“No! No, I, I, I want-... Mr. Malley knew my dad, I went to-... work, with, with him sometimes, his his his wife babysat me, I... I know him. I knew him. I knew-” He turns to look at them, and they fight the urge to try and touch him again.

Not yet.

“Do you... do you think, think, think he knew me?”

Laken swallows. “I don’t think so. Wouldn’t he have said something, if he recognized you? If he was your dad’s friend? Are you absolutely sure that-”

“Yes, I’m, I’m sure. I know it was him. I, I, I know, he, he, he gave me me me Dinotopia books... for Christmas one year...” Chris jerked in a breath and let it out again, hands going up over his head, folding himself in half until his forehead rested on the dashboard, pressed to the cool molded plastic. “He, he, he, he came to their funeral, he hugged me, he said, you’re too young to to to to have to lose so much, and everyone said-... everyone said stuff I hated but but but not him, he said, he said-”

“Chris, please, don’t hurt yourself doing this-”

“He said grief gets worse before it gets better, and and and and he said-... he said... he said don’t let anyone tell you that R-Ronnie’d want you to to to be strong, she’d want you to scream your head off if you want to, your dad’d be proud if if if if-if... if you told us all to go to hell, and... and and and and it felt like he was the only person who who who knew them at all that day, everyone said, said, said stupid things but not him, not-... not him and not Mr. Cilly, not-... not my Aunt Jo, not anybody, but he-”

Chris chokes on a sob and when Laken throws their arms around him he melts into it this time, crying against their shoulder, the two of them uncomfortably arched over the center console and the gear shift. 

“It’s okay,” Laken whispers, running their fingers over the slowly growing fuzz of his hair. “It’s okay. Let it ride, Chris. It’s okay.”

“He, he, he was my dad’s b-b-best friend-... Why d-didn’t he, if he saw me, why wouldn’t he-... I s-see him all th-the the the time, why doesn’t he know who I am?”

“Maybe he’s like Akio,” Laken says, and feels him trembling under their touch. “Maybe he’s always thought you were dead.”

“I w-was,” Chris whispers “When I, I, I was Baldur. When I was training. When... when I... was good. I was dead.”

“Chris-”

“I was dead,” Chris says, and they kiss his head, helpless to think of anything else to do. “When my p-parents died, I died, too. Mr. Malley made m-me feel like I I I wasn’t. Why didn’t he kn-know me? Why didn’t a-anyone know I was alive?”

“I don’t know, baby. I don’t know.”

“Hurts,” Chris whispers. “Why, why, why didn’t anyone help me before she she she-... before I was-... why didn’t anyone help me?”

Laken’s own eyes burn, and they draw circles on his scalp with their fingertips. “I can’t answer that,” They say, low and soft. “I’m sorry. But you know you have people who can and will help you now.”

For a while, Chris’s only sounds are sobs, and Laken can only make soft soothing nonsense noises and feel like shit that it’s not enough.

“Ev, everyone knew she-she hated me,” Chris whimpers, and sounds younger than he ever has, and Laken wants to throw a punch or scream and they can’t do either, only sit in the car and glare at people who look in as they walk past. “Everyone.”

“Chris-”

“Everyone knew, why, why, why why why didn’t they stop her?”

-

Back in the coffeeshop, Sean and Cilly are in the midst of an argument about a baseball game that happened 30 years ago when his phone rings. He holds up one finger and picks it up, lifting it to his ear.

“I have a job for you,” Riley says, with his cheerful hint of brogue. Funny, to remember that this part of the family only came here a few decades ago. “It’s a job I know you’ll enjoy.”

“Watching Paul’s boy is my retirement gig,” Sean says amicably. “You know I don’t do the dangerous stuff any longer, Mr. Higgs.”

There’s a silence. “I’m going to do some looking into what you sent me. But in the meantime I need to give you a job, and you’re going to do it.”

“And why is that, Mr. Higgs?”

“Because you’re going to want to do this.”

“What is it, then?”

Another pause.

“I want you to find Joanne Botham.”

Sean thinks of the dour, angry woman who had ignored Tristan in his funeral suit, gathering mourners around her while she sobbed over Ronnie’s loss, Ronnie’s own son alone on a couch staring off into space until Sean himself had sat down and told him, don’t let ‘em say your mom’d be proud of you bein’ stoic today, kiddo. Ronnie’d want you to scream if you felt the urge. 

The kid had looked at him like he’d been given water in the desert, a starving man offered a bowlful of broth. Mr. Malley?

People will say a lot of real stupid stuff to you today, Sean had said. His eyes had gone to Joanne Botham, and Ronnie’s sister’s icy glare when she looked at her own nephew had made his blood run cold with anger even then. Likely in the future, too. But you just remember Paul and Ronnie weren’t saints. And they’d never want you to be, either. I’m sorry for your loss, Tris. No one on God’s earth has loved their kid like yours loved you. Should’ve seen his face when he told us your mom was pregnant with you. Could’ve lit the world with all the sunshine there.

A clap on the back, a whispered thank you, and that had been the last day Sean Malley had ever seen Tristan Higgs alive.

Until, of course, Riley had told him there was a boy living in a pet liberation safehouse who looked remarkably like Paul. Until, of course, Riley had shared that he’d known Tristan Higgs was alive all along. Until, of course, Sean had been told he couldn’t make a move because WRU was protecting all the players who had stolen his friend’s kid. 

Until... now.

“Mr. Higgs?” His voice drops, and Cilly sits up, alarmed at the sudden change in tone. 

“You heard me. Find Joanne Botham. I have a feeling we are about to get the opportunity we’ve been waiting for.”

The phone goes dead on the other end, and Sean slowly sets it down, finishing his second cup of coffee in a gulp. Then he looks at Cilly, and starts to smile. 

“Riley’s got work for us,” He says, and when Cilly’s eyebrows raise he doesn’t wait for him to ask for more. “Don’t worry. You’re going to like it. Finally get to do what we should have done ten fucking years ago.”

---

Tagging: @burtlederp , @finder-of-rings , @endless-whump , @whumpfigure , @astrobly @newandfiguringitout , @doveotions , @pretty-face-breaker , @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @boxboysandotherwhump  , @oops-its-whump  @cubeswhump ,  @whump-tr0pes  @downriver914 @vickytokio @whumpiary @orchidscript @moose-teeth @nonsensical-whump

[darkhymns-fic]

Promise Me a Sweet Dance

Nobleman Lloyd only had eyes for the clumsy maid named Colette. But that just wasn't how things worked in Meltokio. Could he ever hope to get her attention anyway?

Fandom: Tales of Symphonia Characters/Pairing: Lloyd Irving/Colette Brunel, Zelos Wilder, Kratos Aurion Rating: G Mirror Link: AO3 Notes: Written for Colloyd Week, Day 5: AU/Crossover day! I decided to go with a Nobleman/Maid AU I made with @frayed-symphony​ ! We're actually in the middle of making a mature doujin with that same concept that you can check out more here! This story takes place before the events of the doujin. 

--

“It’s simple, my most pitiful bumpkin. What you just gotta do is sell yourself! Allow me to demonstrate.”

Zelos would always go the extra mile to save his friend from disaster. And he did so with a generous sweeping motion with his arms, flicking back his braided hair, his dark frock moving as gracefully as his body. From seemingly out of nowhere, a red rose appeared in his right hand, illuminated by the rays of the sun. Then he finished it all off with a wink. “Soon enough, the hunnies will be falling all over you!”

No response. Nothing at all.

Zelos decided to do away with his professional winking, opening both eyes instead so that he could look clearly ahead. “Yo, Lloyd!”

The garden grove just in front of Zelos’ mansion was pristine, and a bit gaudy. A perfect quiet place to invite any of the proper ladies to tea, with its expensive outdoor furniture, the tables and chairs seemingly molded out of gold, with even silken umbrella above it to shade such ladies’ soft skin from the sun – but he had sacrificed those opportunities to instead train his best friend in the art of courtship.

And there he was, head on the white table, taking advantage of that expensive shade! If it weren’t for his fine clothes, he could have easily been mistaken for the gardener himself, sleeping right on the job. “Mmph…five more..”

Zelos’ eye twitched. He threw aside the rose, peeved that no one had even been around to see him do that amazing trick! “At least don’t drool on the stuff! That’s an antique!” He paused. “I think.”

Lloyd muttered right out of his stupor, blinking into the brightness of the sun when his head left the comfortable shade. “Muh…?” He rubbed at his eyes, yawning so wide it took up half his face. “Did ya say something?”

“I was giving you a lesson for the past twenty minutes! Have you really not been paying attention?”

Zelos never knew he could be heart-broken by such a stupid face, the guy’s brown eyes so wide in its innocence. “I thought you were just telling me one of your weird stories again…So I took a nap.”

“I’m not appreciated at all by you…”

Lloyd waved away his friend’s complaints as he stood up. “I already gotta go anyway. You can tell me more about uh, all that stuff later! I’ll even drink a whole bunch of coffee to make sure I’m awake.”

Zelos sighed. “Whatever. You know, if it weren’t for your old man and those clothes, you’d just be like any other peasant boy!”

Lloyd frowned. “You make that sound like it’s a bad thing.” His white jacket still chafed his neck at times, and the whole outfit felt too heavy to wear on a hot summer day! The cuff links sometimes weighed down his sleeves, and the silken fabric that sat just beneath his neck could feel suffocating, especially in the humidity. What he wouldn’t give to wear some looser clothes. The only thing he liked about his jacket were the red collar strips that extended from his neck, their edges inlaid with metal clasps. It was probably the coolest part of his stuffy outfit.

Zelos sighed. “Seriously…if you told me that you were born in a log cabin out in the boonies, I wouldn’t even be surprised at this point. Why don’t you just go play out in the woods if you want to so much?”

“Sounds better than being stuck in the palace all day…”

“Now that’s where you’re wrong, my young friend.” Zelos turned from Lloyd with extreme huffiness – an act that one could only achieve with practice. “Being in the company of Princess Hilda compares to nothing else…”

“I guess so if you usually just hang out with me all day.”

“I have other friends!”

This, Lloyd highly doubted. “Well, go find them! I’m leaving now!” And just as Lloyd was rushing off, ready to jump a fence or two as it beat having to politely walk through the upper streets of the city, Zelos whistled.

“Hey, hunny, didn’t forget about the party, did you?”

Lloyd froze in mid-step, the sun beating down on his thick jacket. He groaned, turning back to face Zelos. “I told you I don’t like those.”

Zelos was grinning. “Not like you have a choice, you know. All the important noble families have to be there.”

“That’s why it’s dumb.” At that, Lloyd’s frustration resurfaced, taking some of it out on the leering Zelos. “Everyone just talks down at me while I’m stuck inside that room for hours!”

“Ah, but you forget one important thing. A lot of pretty girls go to these.” The grin grew even wider, it was almost scary-looking. “This can be your big chance!”

“Ugh, they don’t pay attention to me anyway with you around.”

“Ha! I knew you were jealous. That’s why I was trying to teach you earlier! After all, picking up women is a professional art-”

“T-That’s not the point! I’m going for real this time!” And to make sure he’d stay true to his word, Lloyd used the table he had just sat on as leverage, stepping on its surface to use its height and vault over one of the fancy green hedges that lined Zelos’ garden.

“Lloyd! Don’t dirty my stuff like that! Barbaric!”

But Lloyd had been done listening, cutting through other noble’s gardens as a shortcut back home. His mind was swirling as he ran. Besides…I only want one person to pay attention to me…

--

Lloyd always avoided going in through the mansion from the front door. There were servants there, ready to open the door for him or take his shoes, or any other number of awkward things he didn’t want to endure. As he snuck across the lawn, crouching low to avoid any eyes, he eventually made it to his bedroom window.

The houseplants on its sill, ivy leaves reaching up for the sun, always let him know he was in the right place. The mansion was so big that he still got lost, especially from the outside where every wall looked the same. He didn’t want to make the mistake of accidentally jumping through the window of his dad’s room again.

With an energetic whoop!, Lloyd grabbed the windowsill and leaped inside with barely a thought. He at least knew what his room looked like! Kinda big, with his dresser pushed to the right wall and his bed near the back. There were also one or two wardrobes, but he only filled the second one with projects he had learned to make from a local craftsman in town. And maybe a few non-noble clothes here and there…

What he didn’t expect was to leap right into the maid who was busy cleaning up the space before him.

“Aah!”

Her cry of surprise was the only thing that warned Lloyd before he practically barreled straight into her. She had been kneeling somewhat, probably sweeping up the floor when he had just appeared. His legs wobbled as they tried to find their footing to avoid her, but then the maid stood up, apparently moving to the exact same place he had been retreating to.

“Colette!” he yelped before stumbling with her, both falling flat on the floor.

“Ow…I’m sorry.” The girl wriggled underneath the boy’s weight, her maid cap half-askew. Its ribbons were already entangling themselves into her hair as she shifted. “I messed up.”

Lloyd had to take a few seconds to get his bearings and lean up. His hands were placed against the floor, lifting his body with a groan. “Agh, how did you mess up though? I was the one that just crashed into you.”

From her position, Colette looked up with a smile. Her green maid dress was also now much more wrinkled, some of the front already covered with dust – or had that been from her dusting his room earlier? “Heh, well I was supposed to be finished with my shift today, but I took a long time cleaning things…I dropped the dustpan a few times so I had to keep re-dusting…”

“…Okay, that makes a bit more sense,” Lloyd said. He looked down at her with a grin, enjoying the sight of her smile, the way her braided hair unraveled from her cap slightly. He then noticed where his hands were, just a few inches from either side of her head.

Even then, it took him a long time to sit up, reluctant to leave her. She still smiled as he did so – maybe she had been too worried to tell him to move. “Er, anyway, I’m sorry too,” he said, standing up and reaching out a hand for her to grab.

Colette hesitated at first, then reached for it. He pulled her to her feet easily, eliciting a small giggle from her. “It’s okay, Master Lloyd. I’m fine!”

He scratched at his hair, the nervousness in his chest growing. “Just calling me Lloyd is fine…”

“Oh? But…it’s not right if I do that though, isn’t it? Or Master Kratos might get upset.”

He sighed. His dad would be a weird stickler for this stuff. “Guess so… Well, how about this? You can say all that master stuff when he’s around but when it’s only me, just call me Lloyd!”

“Hm, well if that’s your order for me to do so, then okay!”

“It-it’s not an order…” This hadn’t been the first time he had asked her to call him by his name, and he knew it wouldn’t be the last. He decided to give up. “Um, forget it.”

He looked again at her dress, its front red ribbons also a bit messed up because of their earlier fall together. “You know, I don’t really think my room is that dirty anyway. How come you stayed so late?” Usually Colette would leave by mid-afternoon, retreating back to the servants’ quarters of the home.

“Ah, I took a bit of time earlier feeding Noishe in the stables today.” Which meant that she had spent a lot of the time both petting and hugging the giant dog. “And also, I just wanted to give it my best! I know I haven’t been doing so well lately, so I want to prove myself!” At that, Colette stood up tall, confidence in her being. It made Lloyd smile. “Sorry, maybe this is a bit weird to tell you…”

“It’s not! I’m not your boss.” Lloyd gave a thumbs-up. “Just my dad…and uh, maybe by extension I’m supposed to be. But, just barely.” Yeah, that made sense.

She smiled back, looking brighter then he usually saw her. “Sorry, I hope Master Kratos will forgive me for last time.”

“Honestly, he should have dodged pretty easily from that pie you dropped onto his hair,” Lloyd recalled, remembering one time at dinner when Colette had tried serving the dessert. “And he wasn’t even mad, so don’t worry!” Even if his dad never really reacted to much in general…

It had just been one month since Colette had started working for the Aurion household, but she wasn’t like any other person he had known. She was flighty, she dropped her fair share of dishes, and she seemed like she would be better at handling weapons instead of a broom (remembering quite clearly when Colette had nearly socked him with the broom handle one time on accident – it had been strong enough to punch a hole in the wall). She was just different.

And he liked her a lot. He wished he could just tell her. Yet he wondered if there would be any point to it if she didn’t like him back. At least not how I like her.

Colette glanced toward the window Lloyd had jumped through earlier and stiffened. “Ah! It is getting late…I should go.” She bowed before him, then stopped in mid-bow to do a curtsy instead. That only made her feet confused somehow, for she began to wobble before she was done in either action. “Ah!”

Lloyd caught her just in time, one hand on her waist, while the other grasped her hand. “Careful! You don’t need to do that either for me.”

Colette looked shy then, glancing to the far-right wall. “If that’s what you wish…”

“That’s not-” he started, then stopped. His hand rubbed her waist, then let her go when he realized what he was doing. “Sorry. Um, see you tomorrow, Colette.”

Trying to right up her cap again, Colette turned to Lloyd. Her smile seemed more natural this time, less practiced. “Yeah…see you tomorrow… Master Lloyd.”

When she left his room then, shutting the big door behind her, Lloyd let out a long breath. He really, really liked her.

And he knew he couldn’t do anything about it.

--

Lloyd had completely forgotten all about the party until his father handed him the invitation, the paper dangling in front of his face.

“Your friend Zelos handed this to our doorman,” Kratos intoned. His neat and prim frock of white and grey looked too classy sometimes, along with his purple neckerchief. Though staring at that always made Lloyd’s neck itch. “Seems as if you’ve been avoiding these lately.”

“Eh, you can throw that away.” Lloyd leaned back up from his chair, seated at his antique desk that was already riddled with scratches and marks. Any other noble would have gasped at the sight of such needless damage. (Lloyd just liked to draw and he sometimes pressed the pen too hard on the table). He was dressed in much easier  clothes this time, a black thread-worn shirt and rolled up trousers while his noble outfit was thrown into the corner somewhere.

“It’s prudent for you to fulfill your duties,” Kratos continued, still holding the envelope high. “You have responsibilities.”

“For what? Watching Zelos get drunk again?” Lloyd turned away. “I’m good.”

“I’m not asking you, Lloyd.” And with that, Kratos let the envelope fall onto the desk. “You need to understand that you cannot always do as you please.”

“Argh, but what’s the point of these stupid high-class parties?” he argued. That’s all he and Kratos usually did. Ever since his mother passed, it had been hard to find much common ground with his dad since. “I thought you didn’t like those either!”

Kratos closed his eyes, shook his head. “It’s important to make yourself seen as reliable – relevant, even. The world does not cater to you for shutting yourself away.”

“I know that! And that’s not what I’m doing!” Lloyd turned away, refusing to look at either father or envelope. “I’m not like any of them. All they to do is talk down on me because of…”

Kratos’ eyes shifted. Lloyd recognized that look. A small warning. “Lloyd.”

But instead, Lloyd shook his head “Ugh, but you should get that! After all those people would say about mom! Why should we deal with all their stupid rules?” He stopped, held his breath. Dammit.

He didn’t hear Kratos say anything at all at first. He thought he’d hear a reprimand, a hard shouting of his name. Lloyd knew he had messed up by mentioning his mother, but when he turned back, Kratos was already walking off.

“I have to be at the palace tonight. Do what you will. You’re old enough to make your own decisions.” He turned down the hall, disappearing behind a corner, leaving the door open to Lloyd’s room.

Lloyd felt guilty and ashamed, as if he were a child. It was just frustrating. Everything was frustrating. But how could Lloyd stand there as everyone made blunt remarks about his mother being a commoner? How could he stand there and hear them talk so badly about both his parents like this? About himself?

The envelope stayed on his desk. He could just imagine Zelos’ smirking face as he handed it over. Ugh. Maybe he’s just trying to help…Maybe.

But why couldn’t he be just a normal person? Not this fancy stuff. Not this whole section of rules for a people that didn’t even care about anyone other than themselves. Why did he have to be a part of them?

Because if he didn’t then maybe… Colette would look at me. He blinked, wondering at himself. How…how did his thoughts end up there?

It was because she wasn’t working at the household today. Apparently, she had been called somewhere else. He didn’t realize how badly he missed her until now.

Taking the envelope in hand, Lloyd left his chair, reaching for his clothes. Maybe he did need to go. At least to get Colette out of his head.

Was this how Dad felt? he thought. Maybe one day, he could ask.

--

“Lloyd!! Bud! Hunny! You made it!” Zelos vaulted forward to grab Lloyd in a very touchy bear-hug. “The barbarian finally leaves his cave to join civilization.”

“Gah, get off me!” Lloyd shouted, shoving the guy away. A flock of women, dressed in high-finery, were standing just outside the great doors of the party hall, laughing at the scene before them. The building was reserved for such gatherings, looking close to a min-castle even to Lloyd’s view. Already he could hear the music drifting in from indoors. The same harpsichords, the same pianos and violins, all of them playing the same tune as last time…

“First off, rude,” Zelos said, wiping away the front of his coat. “Second, are you not happy to see me? Come on, let me show you the sights! And by that, I mean these lovely girls right here~”

Lloyd flushed slightly, which only made the girls laugh more. Half of them wore curls, and held fans to their faces. But something about their laughter also felt so biting. “I-I’m fine, I’m just here to stay for like a few minutes-”

“Aw, don’t be shy!” Then Zelos widened his eyes, as if hit by a lobbed Exsphere to the head. “Ohh, or are you trying to sneak off to meet someone? That’s it, isn’t it?”

Lloyd was now very, very lost to Zelos’ ramblings. “Huh? I never said-”

“Very proud of you! But first, you gotta at least drink up. Believe me, it makes the afterparties that much sweeter~” And with that same leering grin that made Lloyd’s discomfort grow, Zelos grabbed the boy’s arm, bringing him inside the building.

These places were always too big, always too full of people. Chandeliers were hanging above Lloyd’s, their lights so bright it made Lloyd blink. Much of the middle hall was wide, open for those who would dance with one another to the boring music, their high heels clacking against the polished stone. There were also dining tables in another corner of the grand room, laden with platters of turkey, beef stew, gravy and some other foods that Lloyd couldn’t pronounce too well.

This was probably the only thing Lloyd would like about a party, and he would have gone straight for the food if his route to escape wasn’t cut off. “H-Hey!” he exclaimed, his voice soon drowned out by the people milling around him. They were all dressed in clothes decked out in golden trims or frills, sewn with pearls or ribbons. Material as soft as velvet brushed against him way too closely when people introduced themselves to him, or Zelos mostly.

“A pleasure to see you! I’m the Earl of Sybak, and I wanted to speak with your family on possible expansion…

“I am of the Altamira Resort, speaking for Lord Regal Bryant! We have a few trading opportunities we would like to speak about with your father…

“Master Zelos! How cute of you to bring your busboy! You even dressed him up!”

Zelos was laughing so obnoxiously, Lloyd’s ears were hurting. “I confess, I do have a heart of gold. One must in these trying times.”

Lloyd tried to wait for an opportunity when Zelos and everyone else would stop noticing him. This eventually happened after about a half hour, and when he felt the time roll by, Lloyd carefully stepped away. Perhaps a few of the nobles tapped his shoulder, thinking he was just a more immaculate waiter that forgot his serving platter, but even these people, he eventually brushed off.

Well, at least there was food! Yet once he broke free from Zelos’ crowd, he nearly bumped into someone else on the way out.

“Uh, sorry!” he said reflexively, then took a moment to see who it was exactly.

Wearing small glasses perched onto a hook-shaped nose, the strange noble held a wine goblet in hand, swishing around the liquid as he spared a glance at Lloyd. He was strange because he has a weird smile, unlike Lloyd would usually see in people. “In a bit of rush are we?”

Beady eyes blinked behind those glasses. A wrinkle formed in the man’s forehead. “Ah, I recognize that family crest. Of the Aurion Household?”

Lloyd didn’t know who this person was, but his high-pitched voice wasn’t doing his ears any favors. “Er, yeah? Sorry, do I know you?”

A laugh, one that seemed piercing, yet no one around them both turned to look. Maybe this guy was a regular to these parties. “Oh, I’m just a humble man. Lord Rodyle. I once worked with your father many years back. Different times back then.”

Lloyd knew he wasn’t exactly the brightest, but he caught that particular word. “Worked?” he repeated back.

The man smiled, but there was nothing kind about it. “Of course, ever since that embarrassing incident, Lord Kratos has rarely spoken to us. Perhaps I cannot blame him.” A pause, just to make that strange smile on his face ever stranger. “All men have their weaknesses.

“What…what are you talking about?” Lloyd asked, knowing that to be a mistake.

The man called Rodyle hummed pensively, until he turned to the right, gesturing to someone. “Ah, just who I was looking for. You know more about the Aurions, don’t you? I’m afraid my memory is a bit rusty, hehe.”

Another man moved through the crowd, just past Zelos’ own bunch. This noble had eyes so dark they seemed to absorb whatever light passed through. His grey hair was slicked back neatly, with not even a stray lock out of place.

“Ah, that name… A name that’s fallen into disgrace.” The man turned to face Lloyd and whatever he had thought about Rodyle being unkind, it felt nothing compared to the feeling he got from this person instead. “And you are the offspring?”

Offspring? What the hell?

“…I have a name,” Lloyd said, voice low. “Give me yours and I’ll give you mine.”

The man chuckled, not nearly as piercing as his friend, but it slid through the air to settle inside Lloyd’s ears, like a serpent. “Amusing. But I suppose I must remember my manners. I am Lord Kvar, of the Asgard District. I happen to know this matter quite personally…and I know your name already, Lloyd Aurion.” He smirked.

Lloyd tried to not let the man’s voice get to him, especially as he addressed him that way. Even over a decade later, Lloyd could never help how the last name just…never fit him.

“Is there something you want from me?” he asked, even though his tone got just as low.

Kvar smirked, noticing it. “It just fascinates me. Ever since that one incident, I suppose it’s safe to say any business between our region and the Aurion holdings are null and void. I hold no more hopes on waiting around for the man to come to his senses.”

Lloyd was not liking where this was going. Zelos was still too busy talking with his hunnies to even notice that his friend was no longer standing next to him.

“But when a nobleman of his ranking goes for a lowly subject from my region, and does not even have the honor of giving me compensation, then I have the right to be a little peeved.”

“Oh, so true,” spoke Rodyle, sipping his wine pleasantly.

“And since that woman worked for me, it was only necessary I make sure to keep my reputation intact. She was quite willful for one of common birth, but that still did not save her from such frail, poor health.”

Lloyd clenched his fists. He had been so young when his mother became sick, but he remembered still. She had needed medicine, but the medicine had been locked in shipment in another part of the country, and once it could finally get through customs-

“It takes quite a bit of paperwork to get such valuable treatment. And with having such a busy schedule, I just simply could not find the time. The few clerical errors, I admit, did not make this easy, but important matters cannot be stopped for a lowly strumpet-”

“Shut up!” Lloyd shouted, then pushed this Kvar creep away from him. “Don’t you dare mock my mom!”

“Ghastly!” spoke Rodyle, one hand on Kvar’s shoulder, still smirking. “Is this how children are taught nowadays?”

“More like it runs in the family,” Kvar straightened, eyes narrowed. “That woman was the exact same way.”

Lloyd reached for his shirt collar, gripping it tight. “I said shut up!”

“Lloyd! What the hell are you doing?” He felt another arm grip his shoulder, making him loosen his hold on Kvar. Of course Zelos notices now. “Calm down!”

“Oh yes, take this boy away,” Rodyle sneered. “He just assaulted us after a friendly chat!”

Lloyd gripped his fists, marched towards both men. “I’ll show you friendly, you bastard-”

“Hey, enough!” Zelos pulled him back again, then smiled at the crowd that was slowly gathering. Even the music had stopped momentarily. “Just had one cup too many, nothing new here! Back to the festivities!”

“I didn’t even drink anything!” Lloyd argued, but Zelos was gripping his shoulder so tightly that it hurt. He moved him away from the crowd, neared to the back wall with its tall windows.

“Hey, I just saved face for you. You trying to ruin everything?” Zelos spoke in a whisper. “What’s your problem?”

“Those-” Lloyd gestured towards the direction of the men who seemed to have vanished. He saw other people instead; one man with unruly red hair and arms as thick as stairway banister, and a woman in high-heels that was with him, her eyes painted with dark kohl, an azure mink wrapped around her shoulders. They also briefly looked at him before turning away. “Wherever they are, those guys just started talking crap about dad and…” And are the reason mom is… He shook his head. “I didn’t ask you to help me anyway!”

Zelos sighed. “Hunny, you're giving me a headache.” He pushed Lloyd further towards the back of the hall. “Cool off in the kitchen. Have a couple of cookies. Just don’t mess up more than you have.”

“Why are you talking to me like I’m an idiot?” Lloyd said through another shove.

“Because you’re acting like one.” Any hint of the laid-back bachelor left Zelos’ voice. “Kitchen. Now.”

With that, Zelos patted his back then walked back to the main hall. Lloyd could already hear his loud voice greeting everyone again and apologizing for the interruption.

I’m always an idiot, aren’t I? Lloyd thought venomously. What did it matter anyway? I’ve never belonged here. Seeing a door ahead of him, he didn’t care where it actually led to. He reached for it, pushing inward. He just wanted to escape this suffocating party. This was so stupid…Why did I bother…

Then he heard a familiar yelp of surprise. “Aaah!”

Lloyd blinked, already moving forward with the door, unable to stop his momentum. “Colette?!”

This time though, there was a kitchen counter nearby, one stacked with an array of cakes, pies and other confectionary. The maid, Colette, leaned against it and caught herself. Lloyd did the same, though he was in front of Colette, hands reaching to grip the counter as he did so, leaning over her.

“Uh…” Lloyd blanked out, wondering what was happening suddenly.

“Lloyd!” She shook her head. “Sorry, I mean Master Lloyd! Sorry, I didn’t mean to get in the way…”

“You don’t need to call me- I mean, it’s not your-” He shook his own head in turn, still confused. “Agh, never mind. What are you doing here?”

“Oh…well, I’m working here for tonight.” She giggled. Lloyd noticed a few patches of flour on her cheeks, and some on the front of her chest too. “I was helping with some of the baking…and I was going to serve it too…”

“Wait, that’s why you’re not at home?” he asked. He finally had the sense to stop locking her against the counter and leaned back, hands slightly raised. “That’s cool… I didn’t know you could cook.”

“Oh, only for fruit pies and cakes,” she said happily. “They’re my favorite so I learned how to make those. Everything else I just sort of burn, hehe.” She clasped her hands together, fiddling with her flour-stained fingers. “How come you’re here, too?”

Lloyd looked away in embarrassment, his voice getting stuck in his voice. “Dad said I had to… But I think I just messed up things instead.” He sighed. “I’ve never fit in with these people. I should have just stayed home.”

Colette looked at him silently, still fiddling with her fingers. He mentally kicked himself. Now he was just making her uncomfortable. “Sorry, um, I won’t get in your way so I’ll just-”

“I think it was right, what you did,” she said, raising her head to him. “What those men said. About your mother… That was wrong of them.” She flushed, nervousness moving through her hands again. “I’m sorry.”

Lloyd stared. He wasn’t even sure what to say. But he tried to anyway to not let the silence stretch on. “Uh, th-that’s okay. But wait…I was like half the room away and the room is huge. How did you hear us?” He’d get it if she just heard him shouting but the rest…

“Ah, I just have good hearing. Like, really, really good!” She stood on her tiptoes, proud of her ability. “At least when I focus on it. I heard them speak awful things… I know people who’ve worked for them before, and they’re…very bad. Like, there’s this man named Remiel who I briefly served and-” She flushed again, bowing apologetically to Lloyd. “I’m sorry! I shouldn't have said that.”

“No, don’t worry! You’re right, they were total jerks!” Lloyd grinned, and soon Colette was grinning back, moved by his reassurances. “I think I was still pretty stupid for trying to punch them…but man, I wished I could have.”

“Maybe one day you’ll be able to!” Colette said in full support.

“Uh, yeah sure! If you think I can!” That was so nice. No one had ever cheered him for punching a guy before! “Thanks, Colette!”

She nodded again, smiling, but he saw she was hesitating in something, mouth partly open before shutting herself down.

“What is it, Colette?”

“It’s just…” Another furtive glance. “I lost my mother too. Because of an accident. Um, I was too young to really remember but…just…I wanted to mention…”

Lloyd's first thought was to reach out to take her hand, the one that she had clutched at her right arm. But he stopped himself, not wanting to seem creepy or weird. Instead he said, "It’s okay. I’m sorry about that.” He looked away to the shut door, where the party was still going, where the music was still playing.

Another nod, the silence stretching between them. Then Colette raised her head up to him, the shyness still there, even as she looked at him so plainly. "Hey...do you wanna go for a walk?"

Lloyd thought he was just hearing what he wanted to hear, and it wouldn't be exactly the first time that had happened. But Colette was looking at him earnestly, even with the flour of her baking still all over her. There was the urge to wipe that away, but still he kept his hands at his sides. It wouldn't be right, would it? For a nobleman like him to just start doing that for a maid, even if she was…

He ignored such thoughts and smiled brightly at her. "Heh, sure. Lead the way."

--

It wasn't the first time Lloyd had ever been out here in the backyard of the large mansion where the party was held. He had gone here a few times by himself, bored of the people, of the music, and eventually, even the food. But he had never gone outside with someone else next to him.

It was an outdoor garden, more simple than Zelos' own, and this didn't have any wooden stables like the one back home (where Noishe would sleep in), but there it did have a cobbled pathway, along with a small fountain in the middle. The falling water was the only constant sound in the stillness - if he didn't count his heart pounding between his ears.

"I like to go out and watch the stars when my shift is over," Colette said to him as they walked, her black dress shoes clicking over the stone. Lloyd saw the brightness of her white stockings displayed against the night, and hastily tried to move his gaze away. But luckily, she didn't seem to notice.

"I do too. My dad actually would talk with me about the stars a lot!" A pause afterwards, the brief warmth from that memory turning chill. "He, uh, hasn't done that since mom died."

"I'm sorry," Colette said to him, and it didn't sound just like a repeated condolence like he would expect. It sounded like she really meant it, like she always did with her apologies, as if she was the source for all of the world's troubles. “Did she also like the stars?”

“I think so…” Something about the way she asked him too made him want to talk more, especially with the stars overhead. And it seemed like she would want to hear it.

“I used to live with my mom before we moved here. At this old town called Luin. Though I don’t remember much of it… Dad would live there too. But then she got real sick and…we just moved here. Her grave’s still over there.” When was the last time he’d visited it? It felt so long ago. “So uh…I haven’t always been a noble person, but I guess I still was one because of dad.”

“I see,” Colette commented, thoughtful with her words. “He must understand how hard it must be.”

But…did he? Lloyd wondered about that. “It's okay… so, uh, have you always lived in Meltokio?" he asked randomly. They stopped in front of the fountain, their warped reflections within its depths.

"No, I used to live in a small village called Iselia. It's very different from here." She said so with a nervous laugh, but it brought out a redness in her cheeks that Lloyd couldn't stop staring at. "So much more people! And you can't see as many stars...but I still try to count them when I can."

"Count them? How do you count all these?" Lloyd looked back up the stars, remembering brief explanations of patterns and constellations. He wondered if his dad remembered that too.

"I just start from one end of the sky to the next! I never finish before I get too sleepy."

He grinned. "We should try counting them together. I bet we could get the whole sky that way!"

"Heh, really?" Colette looked over at him with excitement - until something tempered in her expression and she turned away. "But you're so busy. I wouldn't want to keep you."

You could, he thought, and managed to stop himself from saying it out loud. "It would be nice to spend time with you," he simply said, wondering if that was any better. "I mean, if you wanted to."

Colette looked like she was struggling on what to say next, even as a smile sprouted on her face. "I would, but… I don't know how to act around nobles. And they always say we shouldn't."

"Who cares what people say?" Lloyd tried not to let his tone get too sharp. It wasn't Colette he was mad at. "I mean...isn't that why you invited me out here?" Or did you just feel sorry for me?

Colette clasped her hands together, still sullied with flour. "I'm not as graceful or as pretty like the noble ladies though. I can't talk as well as them… and I can't even dance like they do."

"Huh? What do you mean about dancing?" That had felt out of place from everything else she mentioned. "Did you want to dance?"

Something from what he said got Colette blushing much more fervently. It rushed to her ears half-hidden by her hair, rushed to her neck where the collar of her dress was slightly unbuttoned. Did that happen when she was baking earlier? "I-I've always wanted to but never learned how."

At that, Lloyd grinned, index finger pointing at himself. "That's fine. I can teach you!"

"Oh! You know how to dance?"

"Well, not really. But how hard can it be?" He had seen enough of high-class dances to get the gist of it. Just hold hands and move your feet in a small circle. Simple!

Colette looked eager, and that only boosted his confidence. "Okay! Um, I'm not sure if I have the right shoes for it."

"Don't worry about it!" Lloyd reassured, then walked up to her. He couldn't let his nerves get the best of him now, even his heart still beat pretty fast. "Just give me your hand here...and uh, your waist?"

Colette tilted her head. "How do I give you that?"

"I mean, like, I can just…" So much for nerves, but then he let himself reach out this time, one hand holding against the small of her back. His other hand held hers, then raised them both up, outstretched and to the side. "Okay, I think this is how we start."

Colette's face was still very red, but she wasn't moving away. In fact, with her free hand, she reached out to grasp his shoulder. "I think… this is what I'm supposed to do too?"

"Y-Yeah! Good call." He swallowed, stood up straight with her, then...had no idea what to do next. Shoot, I never paid attention to this stuff before…

Colette waited patiently before letting her right foot move to the side. "Maybe we do this next?"

"Right!" Lloyd instantly agreed, following her direction with his own. But wait, he had heard about how he was supposed to be leading instead. After a while, he wasn't exactly sure who was leading who anymore, but they were going slow in their circles, just inches away from the fountain.

They did this for some time until he felt something heavy on his foot. "Ouch."

"Ah sorry, I didn't mean to step on you!" Colette said with another apology. "I was trying to catch up."

"Am I going too fast?" he asked. He tightened his hold on her waist. "Sorry, guess I'm not as good of a dancer as I thought."

"Ah no it's okay! I think you're really good." Colette didn't sound like she was just humoring him, at least going by how much she was smiling at him. The moonlight highlighted her braided hair, her cheeks that were still a bit stained with flour. "I'm happy you could teach me."

"Well in that case… there's other dancing moves we could try!" Because while it was nice being with Colette, dancing in circles was already getting a little boring now. "Like um...doing a twirl!" Now how would they do that?

"Oh, I know what you mean! I think you're supposed to lead the other person like this." At that, Colette stepped back and somehow used their connecting hands to motion him to move away.

"W-Whoa," he could only utter as he found himself twirling out slightly, his red ribbons nearly hitting him the face (that happened a few times before and it did actually hurt) then twirl back into the position they were in before, his hand on her waist again. "Hey, I did it!"

"Hehe, yeah!" Colette said back, so proud.

"Though I'm not sure if it was supposed to be me...but whatever!" Then he thought up something else. "What about this now?"

"What about wha- ahh!"

Lloyd dipped her slightly, like he would see Zelos do with one of the random ladies he'd take out. But Colette was shaky, nearly making Lloyd lose his hold. He spread out his stance slightly so that he could hold her with more stability. He probably looked awkward but luckily no one was around.

"I had you, Colette! I wasn't going to drop you."

“I know, I’m so sorry.” Colette looked up at him, one hand clutching at his shoulder more tightly. The light of the stars reflected in her eyes. Blue…“I’m…not a very good maid, I know…I mess up so many things…”

“What? That’s not what matters. And I’m the one that just started a fight not even five minutes ago.” Lloyd smiled at her, still holding her close, the sounds of the fountain still drowning out most sounds. “Besides, being a maid isn’t all you are.”

“Heh, yeah?” she giggled. Her braid fell back, towards the ground. If any closer, it would have dipped into the fountain water. Maybe he should pull them up now. “Thank you…for doing this with me. No one really looks at me as anything but a maid.”

“Well, they’re wrong then.” He nodded, getting a better grip of her waist. “You’re Colette.”

Her eyes grew softer, along with her voice. “And you’re Lloyd…just Lloyd.” Was she closer to him? The stars were brighter now. “And sometimes you’re silly…”

“Hey…where did that come from…?” he whispered back, but didn’t say anything more when her mouth pressed over his. Or his pressed over hers? Did it even matter?

What mattered though was that she was kissing him, the seconds passing as the sound of the fountain continued on in its constant dance.

It had been brief. He pulled back gently, finding his own blush reflected in her cheeks again.

“Ah…um…” Colette started before laughing nervously. “I didn’t…mean to.."

“You sure?” Lloyd asked, before once again leaning in, his hand pressing more against her waist, to bring her closer. “Because I think I did…” When did he ever become this smooth? But it didn’t matter because he was kissing her again and she was doing the same, noticing him… She sees me.

And maybe he should have noticed when the sounds of the garden changed. Because he could hear more clearly of the people inside the party, along with its music. 

It took him a moment to realize that meant that someone was opening the door to the garden from the house.

“Okay, bud, what part of just staying in the kitchen did you not get?! I know you're out here!" And there was Zelos' huffy whine, shoes going up the stone path. "You can stop moping now. Now let's get you back out there and-" 

A pause. Lloyd turned to see Zelos blinking within the muted lights from the mansion's windows, dumbfounded. “Uh…mingle?” A beat, mixed in with the chirping of crickets. “Why are you standing like you’re about to do a split?”

“Ah!” Colette yelped, her body moving again. “I’m sorry! I didn’t-!”

Lloyd tried to warn her. “Colette, wait! I’m gonna- whoa!”

He tried to save them both by reaching out to the fountain. But that was his first mistake. The rim of the fountain was too low, so he couldn't really grab at it at all. Instead, his forward momentum had only brought them both towards the fountain…

...until they fell right in it too.

The calm of the night completely crashed along with the furious sound of splashing water. The water wasn't deep, both already sitting up, their clothes drenched, along with pretty much everything else.

"Agh! Colette! Are you okay?" he asked while coughing up water at the same time. "I'm sorry!" He couldn't believe how badly he had messed this up.

Colette was seated across from him in the fountain, until her body started to shake. She must have been cold now...until he saw her smile. Wait, she was laughing?

"That...that was fun!" She said between fits of giggles. And for some reason, it only made him laugh too. 

"You have a weird idea of fun," he said back, even if he couldn't deny how much fun it felt like right now.

"And you're a mess!" she said pointing at him...then suddenly splashed him with more water!

"Hey! Well, so are you!" And then he did the same to her, watching as she tried to shield herself, her maid's cap drooping on her head. "Take that!"

Both were too busy playing that they had long forgotten about Zelos who stood there, confused and maybe a little irritated that they already forgot about him in the first place.

"You know what? Fine. Just have fun at your kiddy pool!" Witht that, he turned away. But both noble and maid showed no indication of hearing him, still busy splashing each other. He sighed.

"I guess he knows more than he's letting on," he said with a smirk, and left the two to continue their very weird way of having fun with each other.

[welcome-to-the-whumpfest]

The Meeting Room

Prologue   /   Part 1   /   Part 2   /   Part 3

__________________________________

How long has it been? One, two months? Angel doesn’t know. He hasn’t been outside the attic in God knows how long! He’s desperate for a hint of light, but not desperate enough that he would beg for it. No. He has stayed strong, stronger than they expected. He hasn’t broke and has no plan to. Other than Sir and Mistress, Angel hasn’t seen another soul since his arrival at this disgusting house. He’s so utterly sick of this place, he’d do anything to get out.

Well, almost anything.

The world shifts a tad when Sir enters the attic. He has that usual gleam in his eye, like he knows something Angel doesn’t. Sir loves feeling like he’s in control. It excites him. He feels powerful. However, it’s times like these that he’s at his weakness. His mind isn’t focusing on his proximity to Angel or the fact that he’s left a certain part of his body too close to Angel, completely unprotected. Unfortunately for Sir, Angel’s never one to pass up on an opportunity to take a shot at his captor.

Sir is too careless with his movements as he reaches towards Angel’s wrists – which are manacled above his head while he sits on the ground. A surprised and pained groan escapes Sir as Angel grips his chains lifting himself off the floor with enough momentum to kick his captor directly between his legs. Frustratingly, he’s lost so much strength, it doesn’t have the desired effect. No severe damage is done, but that doesn’t mean it is painless. 

Retaliating ragefully, Sir grips his firefly by his hair, yanking his neck back, exposing it. Then he shoots some magic into his prisoner’s collar, tightening it. Angel doesn’t care. It was bound to happen anyway. Good behavior doesn’t get rewarded; only bad behavior gets a reaction. Angel had tested it out. After getting bored, the crafty prisoner decided to see if being good – not attacking Sir when he put his guard down – would end up with a positive aftermath. He was wrong. Sir only seemed to enjoy hurting his firefly.

Angel doesn’t know why he expected anything different from a psychopath.

As his brain starts short-circuiting due to lack of air, Angel closes his eyes. He has been choked and strangled so many times after Sir discovered his dislike of neck touching. It is getting old. Angel is more fed up with his captor then the other way around, which he can’t seem to understand. It is the same thing every day: beat, choke, retaliate, beat. What was so exciting about that? Angel couldn’t understand it.

Angel’s eyes suddenly open. This isn’t right! He’s never been strangled this long before. Is-is Sir going to- to kill him? His face is turning blue due to lack of oxygen. Wait, when did he get out of the manacles? There’s something pressing into him. Oh, he’s being carried. The attic’s entrance… ‘s getting… clos… er…

*****

When Angel wakes up, he’s muzzled. Muzzled for crying out loud! The first thing he registers other than the harsh straps of the muzzle squeezing against his skin, is the muffled voices. Unfamiliar voices. A sliver of hope arises in his chest. Maybe, he can get out! The wish instantly vanishes when he makes out the chains around his wrists that are connected to a table where Sir is sitting in a chair above him. Ignoring the rattling of chains above him as he rubs his eyes, Angel blinks a few times before his blurry vision returns to normal. The room is vast with expensive furniture, a chandelier, and divine pictures. There are candles littered everywhere giving the room a dreamlike illumination. Still, it’s uncomfortable. It’s clear this is not Sir and Mistress’s house. Angel presses a palm to the ground to push himself up but stops abruptly when he feels the texture underneath his hand.

It’s a rug!

He hasn’t felt anything soft in so long. When the muffled voices start transforming into words, Angel knows his senses are finally coming back. That means it’s time to fight. Time to form a plan. Time to escape, and if that’s not possible, make Sir as miserable as possible.

It’s time to work.

“Sir you really must see the Collector’s toy. It’s the most gorgeous little thing I’ve ever seen!” A woman with a lavish, scarlet gown speaks with a pleasant air to Sir.

“So, I’ve heard.” Sir smiles that smile Angel knows all too well. “One moment.” Once the woman walks to the opposite side of the room (which is cluttered with important looking men in suits and women in gowns) Sir focuses his attention on his firefly, who is finally awake, looking as perfect as ever on the gorgeous rug beneath him. “Aren’t you a beauty.” Sir says under his breath, mostly to himself. Then his voice reaches his usual tone, “Now, little firefly, I’m going to leave momentarily, so don’t cause any harm until I come back.”

Angel makes sure not to give away any emotion or idea lingering in his eyes at this news. He doesn’t nod; he just stares at his captor expectantly. Every fiber of his being hates this muzzle, these chains, and sitting on the floor. It’s humiliating, especially in front of all these people who think they are worth so much more than he is.

He doesn’t think like a slave, pet, or whatever these revolting people think he should be. The only thought on his mind is escape. If he has to take down everyone in this room with him, he will in a heartbeat.

When Sir leaves, Angel remains chained to the table above him. Unsure if he should stand up or continue to observe the room from here, Angel notices something appalling. He’s not the only one in chains.

There are other individuals in muzzles, chained to their captors or tables above them. Angel isn’t having any of this, but he must be patient and careful in escaping. Suddenly, all of the people in formal attire, gather to the far end of the room. They seem to be looking at something. A large, burly man (a bit round in Angel’s opinion) appears to be the center of attention. His voice sounds like a king’s, able to control a room with a single word.

The man seems to be enjoying the attention; he wears a blue, velvet suit with a dark navy bowtie. He reeks of wealth. Everyone is gossiping about the man, and Angel is able to pick out his name, or at least what he’s called: The Collector. Nothing good can come of a title like that.

Sneakily, Angel slowly raises an arm to his muzzle. There’s a buckle he can undo easily enough. What? Did Sir expect him to obediently keep it on? That man is duller than he thought, but if he took it off, he’d still have the chains to deal with. More importantly, the collar around his neck. That’s when Angel sees it – on the floor just a little ways ahead of him – a bobby pin.

For once in his life, Angel is grateful for growing up on the street. He could pick the lock on his collar in his sleep. Easy! The chains may not be so easy; it would be too noisy. He’d have to come up with another idea for that.

As he crawls forward, at an agonizingly slow pace to reach the pin, he glances up making out what the Collector is showing off. Angel wants to throw up! Cornered in the room is a boy around his own age. He has thick, brown hair, which he is purposely pushing over his face in a pathetic attempt to hide. Angel can see him shivering from the opposite side of the room. Everything about this is so wrong!

Snatching the bobby pin, Angel leans back to hear the Collector’s voice over the whispering crowd. He’s talking to the boy. “Look up. Let them see your pretty face.” Of course, Angel can’t see his face from where he’s sitting on the ground, but he can already imagine the fearful look the poor boy must be giving. He’s never seen anyone shake that badly.

That means the boy… he’s broken.

Angel is really going to throw up! Trying to rip his thought away from the unfortunate boy, he starts fiddling with the pin as unassumingly as possible. The collar will have to be the first thing to go.

As the crowd packs together a bit tighter to get a better look, some of the audience members glance around at the other muzzled individuals. Now that there is no line to look around, a few of the wealthy stray and begin walking around. One man in particular with dark skin and nearly black eyes is coming far too close to Angel’s location. A tighter grip of uneasiness sickens his stomach. Angel looks down at the ground, slowly drawing nearer to the table and hiding the collar behind him - hoping that no one will notice its absence. If he can pick lock the chains from the table, he might have a chance.

But he’s running out of time!

The man is gradually nearing him, Angel quickly works on the chains attached to the table. A faint “clinking” sounds from the right one. Now for the left –

“Well aren’t you a mischievous one?” The dark man is now directly before Angel; he’s crouching down to get a better look. Stealthily holding the right chain to the table, he hopes the man won’t notice that it’s no longer attached. Slim chance of that. “You’re certainly a beautiful little thing, aren’t ya? Too bad Sir isn’t selling ya. I’d pay a pretty price for your stunning eyes alone.” Angel keeps his eyes away from the man – since that’s what the other muzzled ones do – and uses his muscle memory to try and unlock the left chain. He almost has it; he just needs to keep this man’s attention long enough. That isn’t a terribly difficult task seeing as though the man hasn’t stopped talking and is assumed to be a chatterbox. Wealthy people always are. “Who am I kidding, even me with all my money, couldn’t afford ya.” Reaching an arm out, the man pets Angel’s black waves with a heavy hand. Angel has to hold his breath to keep his hate out of his expression.

The Collector has stopped talking in the distance and the crowd has grown louder. As their volume rises, a sense of urgency sinks into Angel’s forcedly calm hands. The man is growing closer and closer to him. He can feel his warm breath tickle his eyelashes; he stinks of wine and expensive cologne.

The next events happen in the blink of an eye. Swiftly and in one motion, Angel frees his left wrist, wraps both the chains around the man’s neck, and brings them against his head – attempting to unbuckle his muzzle. He can only hope that no one notices the choking noises that the man is making; luckily for him, the man is far too surprised to fight being put in this hold, and now he’s securely tied still. Now, if only Angel’s can get his Advances to work – they have been suppressed for so long that it is a struggle to reawaken them – escaping would be so much simpler.

Standing up now, Angel eyes the nearest door. He can reach it! Taking a few steps forward, he feels the man before him start to grow heavy and more frantic. Thrashing about, the man’s long arm manages to snag the side of the table making a loud sound. At this, a few audience members turn.

Then. The room explodes with noise.

[alitheamateur]

The Grind-Chapter 15

He escorted me through the tinted glass doors into the predicted booming music filled bar room, people packed from wall to wall, over to a tall tabletop nestled in the corner. Very gentlemanly, he pulled out the empty chair to offer my seat.

“Alright, Liv Elliott, can I get you a drink? What’s your poison?”

“Thanks, uh, I’ll just have a beer, please.” I answered, quivering with slight nerves. He maneuvered his way through the crowd headed in the direction of the bartender, while I waited fretfully alone with my thoughts. He seemed to be nice enough, and clearly easy on the eyes, so much so that my agonizingly neglected sex life was taxing me towards the direction of just sleeping with the man tonight for the hopeful intent of an orgasm.  But, he wasn’t my Colton. My emotionally confused, tormented, asshole Colton.

Snap out of it, woman. The guy dumped you. Very cruelly so. MOVE ON.

Drinks in tow, Luke two-stepped and squeezed through the crowd, making his way back to me.

“A beer for the lady,” he served with a wink. But it wasn’t the same wink that so long ago made me weak. It wasn’t like.. don’t say it, you pathetic fool. “You look stunning in the neon lights, you know?”

Dear God, please be joking with that line, man. He let loose a smothered laugh. Sweet relief. He wasn’t serious.

“Thanks, I think?” I accepted the cheesy, sarcastic compliment. “Tia mentioned you were a personal trainer. That must keep you pretty busy.”

“I do my fair share of push-ups, I guess, yeah. But I enjoy it, honestly. Especially when my clients see the results their looking for. It’ all worth it then, ya’ know?” Okay Luke, so you’re kind, and not a total airheaded muscle bag. Noted.

“Yeah, I’m sure the downtown housewives have a fit over you, huh?” I winked. “Ha ha ha, very funny. I’ll have you know I have several house dads on my clientele list as well, thank you.” He chimed matter of factly. “But, enough of me for now. I need to hear all about the glamourous, successful, posh life of the rising journalist, Liv Elliott.”

Wow. What load of shit had Tia been feeding this poor fellow? “Not much to know, sadly. I’m a bit of a workaholic these days. I was recently promoted at the newspaper I work for, which has definitely added to my work load.” I tapped my index finger on the dampened bar napkin beneath my sweating brown bottle. It did sound a bit tragic when I heard myself say it aloud. I was a soon to be 23 year old single woman, living in a bumbling metropolis, no children, no heavy responsibility other than a steady job which most of the time felt more like a paying hobby than an actual career, and I spent the vast majority of my life tucked away at my desk, or in my lonesome apartment with my nose tucked into my computer. Aside from the occurrences when Tia would suggest dinner, or the occasional appearance at a newly opened nightclub, which I was strangely enough beginning to enjoy a bit.

“Nothing wrong with dedication in my book! I admire that you take what you do seriously. And the fact that you’re a complete knockout just adds to the allure.” Luke said with eyes zeroed into my own.  Swallowing the last swig of my drink, a pang of guilt flinched in my belly. I was genuinely enjoying the banter of small talk the evening had consisted of thus far, but the feelings didn’t go much deeper than that. Not to say necessarily I wanted to be there with Colton instead, because every ounce of remaining conscience within me advised otherwise. I felt it wasn’t wise to be out without anyone yet, considering the state I was in. After returning from the short visit back to Indiana, sure my emotional state was frequenting more on the border of happiness, and almost contentment rather than the doom & gloom of before. But, I was far, far from ready to dive into the dating pool again. The proven dangerous, unruly, painful dating pool. My heart not quite nursed back to it’s original state, and ready to open up to the next Pittsburgh man. Regardless of how purely genuine and handsome that man may be. Luke didn’t deserve to be trampled on, and strung about by an unstable mess of a woman living in a never-ending state of confusion.

“Oh gosh, Luke. Thank you, really.” I tucked a curled strand of hair behind my reddening ear. “Can I be super honest with you right now? At the risk of sounding like a total heartless wench…”

His look narrowed behind stringy eyelashes, and he leaned in. “Uh, sure? Yeah. Shoot.”

Flashes of  what I imagined would’ve likely been a stable, routine, safe and steady relationship with the confused man across from me sparked through my thoughts. All the attributes any sane woman would hunt out in a partner, yet all the things to me that seemed, dull and tedious.

“You have been nothing short of a total charmer since our introduction tonight. And I-” I began before Luke interjected with a cautious smile, and knowing nod.

“Ohhhh, I think I know where this is headed.”

“Any woman, I mean literally any woman, including my clearly stupid self, would be lucky to be in your company. Which is why, I couldn’t look at myself in the mirror again if I carried this far enough to let you get hurt.” My saliva thick with nerves and what I hoped wasn’t regret as I let my date down as easily, and earnestly as I knew how. “You have no idea how bad I sincerely wish I could slap the ignorant decision I’m about to make right out of me… But, I’m just not ready, ya’ know? I’m kind of a pile of wreckage at the moment, and you don’t deserve to have to glue it all back together.”

He bobbed his head lazily and relaxed back into his chair. “As much as I don’t like it, I understand it. Tia kinda informed me that you were still reeling a little from your last relationship. But, since you were honest, can I be the same with you?” He asked politely.

“God, of course. Please!”

He pursed his mouth seriously before beginning. “The loser who did whatever he did to screw you over so badly, is a mindless asshole, who is apparently blind as well. I’ve spent all of a couple hours with you Liv, and even I can see what kind of woman you are. So, don’t sell yourself short, okay? Whether you give him another chance, or someone else who comes along, make sure he deserves you. And hell, by the way Tia talked you up, she might make her own play at you before it’s over.” I laughed at his response, especially his dig at my proud bi-sexual friend, who never hesitated to playfully suggest I take a walk with her on the other side of the sexuality fence.

As the conversation came to a close, Luke took my hand into his, and ushered me kindly to my car outside. I kissed him tenderly on the cheek before he reached down to open the handle of my door.

“If you think it’ll keep Tia off your back, I could always tell her our night ended at your place with hours of relentless love making, if you want.” I puckered my mouth in sincere contemplation of his suggested lie, but considered it be best for both our reputations if we kept it honest.

“As tempting as that little strategy of yours sounds, I think I better just suck it up and take the scolding from her. But thanks for lookin’ out for me.” A thoughtful smile slid onto his lips as he closed to door after I slid into the seat, before he jogged carefully across the crosswalk.

 Following my date with Luke the night before, Tia had texted begging to meet up for brunch at a place closely located between the center of our apartments. I groaned at the backlash I’d no doubt have to suffer at her hand after I spilled the details of how things had played out with her set up. She’d arrived at the restaurant before me, and was seated at an umbrella covered, mosaic table on the front patio, already sipping leisurely on a mimosa. When she saw me approaching, she raised her hands to a cheerful clap, obvious that she hadn’t spoken to Luke yet. Or maybe, talking to Luke was exactly why she was so unreserved with her merriment towards me. Had he decided to go ahead with his salacious fictional story about what had happened a few hours ago between us?

“I ordered you a drink. Now sit, and spill, LC!” She’d decided that would be her given name for me, given my middle name was Caroline.

“Hello to you, Miss Nosey. Whatever happened to not kissing and telling?” I was giving it my all to avoid crashing her excitement.

“Don’t you dare! I need to hear everything!” She gasped with an exasperated eye roll.

When the waitress came back to our table, delivering my fluted glass and jotting down our order, I was thankful for the 3 extra minutes I had that allowed to me to escape her insistent questioning.

“Alright, but when I start talking, you have to swear you won’t interrupt. Just let me say my piece, okay?” I arched a pinky at her in expecting hers to return in a swear.

“I already don’t like what I’m hearing, ma’am….” She sighed between sips.

“He’s like, beautiful. Like Tom Cruise in Top Gun kind of beautiful. And he was so damn polite, Tia.  The perfect gentleman. But, not in a stuffy way, ya’ know?”

“Yes, Liv. I do know. Which is exactly why I wanted you to go out with him to begin with. Go on…” She cocked an obvious displeased brow at me.

“And trust me 100% when I tell you that after I spent some time with him, I really, really tried, Tia. I wanted something to spark, I wanted to feel that little flutter in my belly around him,” I stressed in a contrite tone. “And I know if it had been any other normal, remotely rational female, that it would’ve happened that way…” Before I finished my plea, I downed the hefty remains of my mimosa hoping for an extra ounce of liquid courage. “I’m just n… not ready, I don’t think. I mean, I feel a million pounds lighter than I did 6 months ago, definitely. But, I don’t feel quite ready to move forward with dating anyone just yet.” I ended my thought, hoping there was a sliver of her that would understand where I was coming from. “Do you hate me?”

She huffed dramatically. “Oh fuck, Liv. Stop it! You  know I don’t hate you. Its your life, and I’d never encourage you to do something you don’t feel up to. And, just because I know you’re driving yourself crazy with it, I just want you to know its okay to still love him. Colton, I mean.” I halted any movement as her words registered to me. Breathing included. “I know you despise him for what he did, and rightfully so. The shithead deserves it. But, it’s okay to love him, too. Don’t beat yourself up over that. Love is this stupid, weird, jolting roller-coaster that makes no sense. And whoever you strap into that seat with, whether it be Luke, or Colton, or some rando you haven’t even met yet, it’ll be right. You’re smart, LC. Trust yourself. And if you happen to strap in with someone who turns out to be a vicious psychopath, then I’ll be in the seat right behind you to throw the dude over the side, alright?”

The girl was a God send. I was so unbelievably thankful for my dangerously loyal friend. Something that now made my life somewhat whole. Almost as whole as the veggie omelet I inhaled, after a side order of cheese grits, of course.

“You’re the best. Like, the best of the best, you know that?” I complemented.

She shrugged daftly, smearing cream cheese heavily over her blueberry bagel. “You don’t deserve me, Elliott. What are your plans today?”

I hadn’t thought much about an agenda for today past the brunch with Tia, but I’m sure it’d consist of something along the lines of a yoga session in the living room, maybe a little research for the next match I had to cover, and lastly spending way too much time pruning in a bubble bath.

“Nothing as of yet. Where are you headed? Work today?” I supposed.

“No, I actually have the day off so I’m gonna head over to the Temple for an extra workout.” Tia was referring to Temple Fitness, the gym close by where she was a member.

“Do you have anything coming up? Like, fights, I mean?” She was still striving to get her feet wet in the world of fighting, so competitors weren’t exactly banging her door down with opportunities.

“Not yet, damn it. But my trainer keeps me in shape at all times, just in case something comes along,” she informed me.

Then, a strange glimmer lit inside her blue irises. “As a matter of fact, why don’t you come down with me? When’s the last time you put a workout in, you delicate little pansy?”

As much as I didn’t appreciate her brutal sarcasm, she was actually right. Not to discredit the wonders of hot yoga, but I hadn’t actually had my heart rate elevated in, well, nearly a year. With Colt out of the picture, I’d lost my running partner. Who was also my bedroom partner, which had been my definite first choice in the cardio department.

“Hey, I resent that remark, thank you very much! No matter how accurate it may be. I’d just be in the way though, Tia. You’re training, and I’d just be, standing around.” I laughed off her suggestion.

“There’s plenty of equipment, you bimbo. Ellipticals, treadmills, a pool. Plenty of things to keep you busy, and get your saggy little tush in shape,” Tia winked. “Or, the fancy MMA columnist could maybe do a little training herself to see what a day in the life of her subject is really like.”

I was instantly intrigued at the bold proposal. I’d gotten to sit the sidelines on everything Colton underwent in the days leading up to his match, but nothing remotely close to suffering it firsthand. We’d learned in school that there was no better way to “know” than to “do.”  I would truly have the insiders point of view if I dabbled around with all that entailed in the life of a mixed martial artist, along with that added bonus of gaining what I very much lacked in muscle mass. Not to mention, the education of a bit of self-defense, which wasn’t a bad idea now that I no longer had my own personal body guard to escort me through the ruthless streets of the city. Damn, Tia and her endless ideas that sent my boxed zone of comfort crumbing around me.

“God, I can’t believe I’m agreeing to this. Is there anything you can’t talk me into? Like, it’s getting ridiculous. Stop forcing me to be all, spontaneous and what not.” I spat sarcastically at her.

“Well, I haven’t talked you into bed yet, my oh easily persuaded friend. I’ve spared you,” Tia gawked foolishly across the table. I can only imagine the pink cloud of mortification overcasting my gaping jaw.

What crazy plan had she wrangled me into? My hesitant agreeance already a hard to swallow regret. But, she couldn’t drag me into too much trouble with just a bit of exercise, right?

tags: @torialeysha @eap1935 

[mochalattaehyung-blog]

Seoul ☕️ Namjoon

✩ 1840 words | Namjoon x reader one shot

✩ A quaint little café seems innocent enough, but when you see the cute musician in the corner you to not expect to be whisked into a whole new frenzy of emotions

↠ A/N : I may or may not have stole a couple of quotes from films for this, but I think it’s cute and I hope you like this ☁️

-

It’s a cold morning, the kind where your own breath visibly floats around you with the cool air, every rooftop covered in a thin layer of twinkling frost. You don’t miss the shiver that runs through your veins as you wrap your woolly scarf further around your neck and face, just wishing the sun would peak out a little bit from its place behind the greying clouds.

It’s Tuesday afternoon and all of your lectures for the day have finished. Sadly, the depressing white walls of your dorm just wouldn’t do any longer and you decided to leave the clammy place in favour of an expedition through Seoul. You’ve always loved this bustling city, full of energy and people. It’s never lonely here, whether that’s a good thing or not. You must say that whilst it is one of your favourite places, it’s also one of the least. At night it becomes a struggle for you to understand the maze-like streets and in the early mornings car horns just never seem to leave you and peaceful sleep alone. You suppose love and hate are alike, mixing together in a fiery passion which calms the storm inside of you every now and then. Seoul isn’t a bad place to be.

Whilst you roam the streets, you find yourself drawn to a beautiful café across the road. It’s shrouded by trees of the birch kind, trimmed to suit the sleek style of Seoul. Few leaves fall at the door of the café, the whole building seemingly lined with gold. A large, thick window pane with white lettering on it reveals the name to be ‘Honey Café’, and much more inside. You can see tables which seat couples and families alike, everyone focusing deeply on muted conversations and steaming drinks. You feel opposite, your own breath providing your steam out in the cold atmosphere. Slightly reluctant due to a lack of money, you decide that it’s worth a try.

The minute you enter the place, you feel elated somehow. The whole place smells like a pot of honey; golden and warm. You feel a shine on your lifted cheeks as you smile, the sweet smell mixing with the sound of coffee beans hitting each other in the barista’s hand as he pours them into the grinder. Behind the counter, the staff seem happy enough to work at their own pace, their nimble fingers creating beautiful concoctions which seem to tame all of your questioning thoughts.

What captivates you most is the music, loud and in the present. It leads you to find the source, a man sitting on an oak stool, dimples forming on his tan cheeks as he strums away at a guitar, singing along to a beautiful song who’s melody you immediately fall for. It balances the harmony of the place, but also intrigues your mind.

The man seems so happy and content to be sitting there, simply singing away mindlessly. He’s wearing a thick green cardigan, along with a cute smile that warms your eyes. His eyes are focused solely on nothing. His skin is like golden syrup, pouring everything into this one song that flows like water through the café. To the customers, it’s merely a sound, but without it people would definitely notice.

He looks up, completely missing you and instead looking out of the window. Your heart stops it’s exaggerated beating. This isn’t some romance film, Y/N. You aren’t going to lock eyes and become soulmates. Shaking your head, you join the queue towards the counter. With the music still teeming in the air, leaving the café seems a stupid and vague concept. How can you leave this heavenly like place this?

Soon enough, it’s your turn to order. Knowing full well that the bitter taste of coffee is one that you despise, you decide on hot chocolate. Slightly embarrassed of your childish order, you pay for the drink with blushing cheeks and find a seat on one of the tables. It’s round and pretty, with coiled metal legs that catch your foot and cause you to trip—still pretty though.

The man begins another song, pausing a little to rest. He looks around again, smiling at a few people that clap at him. You decide to form a plan that will get him to possibly notice you. After every song, you’ll clap just a little louder than everyone else. Thankfully, you chose a rather close seat to the window, and he seems to look out of it a lot, which gives you moderate hope.

Sipping on the hot chocolate, it comes to your realisation that the liquid is far too hot, causing you to jump as the scalding liquid meets your lip. Turning red at the collar, you scratch your nose nervously in hopes that no one saw. Especially not the man. He seems like the guy that probably likes the kind of poetry that everyone posts online and never reads again, but he actually reads it. He’s the kind who annotates books and actually takes art into consideration rather than just taking a meaningless picture. You realise that your rather in depth opinion of him is a little far fetched, scoffing at yourself.

When his next song begins, piano drifts into the once thick silence, his skilful hands creating a mixture of notes that form a rather pleasant tune. When he begins to sing, you find yourself humming along to the new found tune, enjoying the downcast but still tempting medley of notes. You finally feel warm as the chocolate drink runs down your throat, the big white mug creating a sense of belonging. You only get these kind of mugs in places like these, it’s like a trademark and you feel honoured to be a part of it. As weird as it sounds.

You don’t realise the darkening sky and faces leaving the café, the whole ambiance of the place becoming a blur. In the end, the orange sky creates enough of a shadow for the street lights to turn on and you realise just how long you’ve been listening to this man sing. He still hasn’t noticed you, favouring the floor rather than looking anywhere else. You finish the last of your drink and are just about to pay when a tap comes to your shoulder.

Your hopes are at their highest, hand coming up to fix your hair just in case. Turning around, surely enough it’s the man. He seems to have clambered over here, limbs much longer than you had previously given him credit for. He’s immensely tall, creating a nice height gap between the two of you. His scent is earthy, not that you smelt him of course. You would never do that.

“Hello.” You decide to say, taking note of his small stutters. His voice sounds deep, but you are too caught up in your curious obsession for the mysterious man to take note of the finer details. His long fingers are intertwined, fiddling and fussing. It’s adorable, you almost find yourself cooing.

“H-hi. I noticed you clapping at my music. Not many people really care about it.” His voice most certainly is deep, like a crackle of firewood mixed with the intensity of a crashing wave. You decide that you need to start thinking poetically, since your stereotype has stuck to you so dearly. Perhaps he would’ve appreciated that ensemble of descriptions.

“It really fit with this place, were they your songs?” You ask, engineless interested in the boy in front of you and his music. The questions is merely a catalyst to an endless conversation which has him erupting into a frenzy of his adoration towards music and how each song was created. You find yourself on your third hot chocolate when he has finished the music talk, filling your mind with all kinds of new information. The way he wrote his song, Seoul, has you mind blown. It did exactly with your perception of the city’s balance between love and hate, making you strike up your own string of theories which have him laughing.

“You really like my music?” He says, almost seeming deflated as he asks the question. He probably hasn’t had too many good replies to it, which dampens your mood a little. The sky is almost pitch black, spade a few wisps of grey clouds.

Before you can answer, his voice fills the silence of the almost dead café, “Have you ever seen the hell in someone’s eyes, and loved them anyway?” He looks at you with that teddy bear face of his that you have definitely not associated with a million different stuffed animals of yours, dimples coming from his round cheeks which makes you smile warmly. He is charismatic, he is gentle. He hates poetry, which shocks you.

“What do you mean?” You say, resting your heavy head onto the palm of your hand, the other gripping your big mug. You study him for the hundredth time tonight, his sandy blonde hair falling into a comma-likely style on his forehead, converse clad feet tapping against the tiled floor. Both of your innocent nervousness mixed with the stuttered sounds coming from the radio work together to create a perfect night. This is one of the best moments of your life. With the street lights illuminating his face from the enormous window tin sit by, you feel like a star. You feel love for the first time. And it’s all that the movies made it out to be. Perhaps even more.

“When I asked you the question, your eyes just seemed so conflicted.” He says sincerely, sipping on his own small mug of coffee. The cup seems so tiny in his large hands, but he holds it with so much care that it comforts you. All of these strange emotions make you wild, why does the way someone holds a cup comfort you?

Namjoon, is his name. The man that over thinks and worries and stresses. The man that isn’t afraid to tell you those things. They boy who loves all kinds of movies, especially the romantic french kind. The hopeless chef who can’t cook to save his life. The music producer who used to sell his music to make a living and is now seconds away from being signed to a label and beginning his dream. The man that seems too incredible to exist. Namjoon.

“I just wish people would have paid more attention to your music, it took me on a journey, Joon.” You sound so lovesick that it hurts. A bell rings and you realise it’s the one on the counter, and the way employee is ringing it to signal that he is about to close up. Giving him a small apology and a smile, the two of you leave the café, your new favourite place. Holding all of his gear, he moves everything to one side of his body so that his left hand has the chance to grip yours.

“What if I take you on a real journey?”

[animalkingdom-an0nymous]

Technicolor Beat- Part One

A Soulmate AU

Disclaimer: This features an original character by me @animalkingdom-anonymous and all plotlines are original content. Gifs and photos are not mine unless stated otherwise.

Subject: J X Indigo (OC)

“What if soulmates were real? What if there was one person out there for everyone? What if they were halfway around the world? What if they were a mere three miles up the coast?

Growing up, my parents always taught me to believe that soulmates weren’t real. There was no such thing, it was all make believe. I didn’t know any better, didn’t know how to disagree, so I went along with whatever they said.

Maybe it was because my mother was a pill popping lush who never got off the couch.

Maybe it was because my father was a drunken, disgraced cop who constantly reminded me that he never wanted me.

Maybe I was just too scared to disagree with them.

But here’s the thing, soulmates existed. They were a real thing, but I wouldn’t realize or understand that until I was ten years old. Until I found my own soulmate.

Well, technically, I didn’t find anyone. I felt it.

With soulmates, it’s all about proximity. If you’re within fifty miles of your counterpart you can feel them, feel their moods and their emotions. It’s not necessarily a weight that you feel inside yourself, it’s more of a warmth. A sense of not being alone. I felt him, whoever he was, for the first time when I was ten years old and I’d felt him every day since.

Thirteen years later and nothing had changed.

My name is Indigo Parrish and this is my story.

I slung my black Calvin Klein backpack over one shoulder as I bounded up the stairs to my apartment, keys jingling in my hand. It was nearly six and my shift at the cafe ended late thanks to the asshole who decided to spill his large iced latte all over the display case. I smelled like a mix of mocha and coffee beans, in desperate need of a hot shower before I had to meet my best friend, Tiny. We made plans to go to her favorite dive bar and it was somewhere in Oceanside, a town she had become familiar with when she was still heavy into coke and guys that were too old for her.

My phone vibrated in my pocket just as I unlocked the door. I stepped inside and locked it behind me before answering. “Tiny, listen, I’m gonna be a few minutes late. I need to take a shower, I smell like coffee and broken dreams.”

“I love coffee!” My best friend of ten years chirped happily into the phone.

“Nice try, I’m still gonna be late.”

“Boo, you whore.”

I laughed and hung up, undressing as I made my way down the short hall to the closet sized bathroom. Okay, so maybe my apartment was a shithole and maybe I could hear mice scurrying around inside the walls sometimes, but the rent was cheap, my neighbors were quiet, and anything was better than my parents’ house.

My anxiety began to rise just thinking about the two people who brought me into this world and I tried as hard as I possibly could to put a lid on it. I didn’t want him to feel that I was all riled up and upset because, in turn, he would get all riled up and upset. It was Friday, for fuck’s sake. I wanted us to enjoy our weekend even if we weren’t together.

We’d never been together.

However, I knew he was close.

It had been a selling point for the apartment, honestly. The second I stepped foot into the cramped space for the first time he felt closer than ever before. We’d spent a decade feeling each other but it always felt far away. This? My shithole apartment? This was where I could really feel him. Three years later and I never regretted moving in.

Tiny was the only person who knew my soul had found its counterpart. She was the only person I could trust with the information because she was the only person in this world who had my back. She believed in them, but anyone who truly believed in soulmates had to keep it on the downlow. There were some serious anti’s out there who refused to acknowledge that they existed. In fact, some people were so anti that they went as far as killing people who claimed to be soulmates. Just last week I saw on the news that a couple was burned alive in their home in Santa Fe after revealing they believed fate brought them together.

It was a cruel world.

I knew I believed in soulmates when I was ten years old. I’d been at the park by myself, my father too drunk to remember that he brought me there and leaving without me. I’d been sitting on the swings, kicking my legs back and forth when I felt this sudden rush of something inside me. I’d later realize it was adrenaline, but I was so panicked at the time, alone and scared, that I burst into tears. A man had been there with his daughter when he saw me having some sort of nervous breakdown. He’d rushed over, asked where my parents were and, after realizing I’d been left alone, he asked if that was why I was upset.

“No,” I said as I wiped fat tears from my cheeks. “Something’s inside of me. I feel weird.”

The poor guy looked so confused. “What do you mean? Where?”

I hit my hand against my chest three times. “Here. Something’s wrong.”

The man’s face lit up in realization and he started laugh which, in turn, made me cry harder. But that man changed my life. He told me everything about soulmates, about how he had met his when he was fourteen years old and they were still together. He told me all about how they had to keep it a secret, but that it was a good secret because they loved each other.

“Why a secret?” I asked him towards the end of our conversation.

He had lifted his hat off revealing a long, jagged scar that went from his forehead down to his temple. My ten year old self had been terrified, but something resonated with me that day. This man had his face permanently disfigured all because he wanted people to know that he found the person he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. All because he didn’t want to settle. Even at my young age I knew, I knew, my soulmate was someone I needed to protect.

“Not all secrets are bad.” He smiled.

I never saw him again after that, but not a day went by in the last thirteen years that I didn’t think about him. His name was Simon and he changed my life.

I hoped Simon was happy with his wife and daughter.

I hoped someday I could be that happy, too.

Soulmates were a pretty straightforward concept. You could feel what the other was feeling. There was no telepathy, nothing Sci-fi about it. You could just… feel the other one. It was interesting and overwhelming, but the older I got the easier it was to manage. Although I had to admit it was a shock when I realized I could feel him get aroused and even more of a shock when I realized that he could tell when I was, too. It was embarrassing, but there was a part of me that felt as though it was easier knowing I wasn’t going through it alone. He, whoever he was, had to be just as uncomfortable as I was.

Though his emotions were never light I welcomed them anyway solely because I liked the feel of him. Sometimes his sadness and resentment were so heavy it made my chest physically ache. But he had his moments of peace. It never reached the point of happiness, but late at night when I lay in bed I could feel a certain weight lift off me. I wondered if he was asleep, if that was the only time he had any peace and quiet in his life.

Don’t get me wrong, there were days when it was so frustrating I could have screamed. There were days where I dismissed myself as crazy and told myself soulmates weren’t real and it was all in my head. I was just the dumb, crazy little girl my parents told me I was when I was a child.

Those feelings never lasted, though. They were dark, yes, and my mind was probably dangerously twisted from the constant back and forth. But there was always something to pull me back from falling over the edge of sanity. There was always something holding my hand, pulling me back, pulling me towards that warmth again.

It was him. I knew it was.

But I still thought I was crazy sometimes.

After my shower, I was quick to change into a pair of curve hugging jeans and a simple white t-shirt. Nothing fancy considering we were going to a dive bar. Wiping the condensation off the mirror, I looked at my own hazel eyes staring back at me. My long brown hair was pulled up in a loose bun, strands falling and framing my face. My thick brows looked the way they always did… thick, and my plump mouth had nothing more than chapstick on it. After swiping on a bit of mascara, slipping into my white Vans, and grabbing my keys I was good to go.

* * *

“I swear you don’t listen sometimes. It’s like I do all the work and all you do is lay around and smoke weed, and do coke, and fuck around with Renn by the pool. If you’re not here to do exactly what I tell you to, then why are you here at all? Craig, are you listening? Craig?”

I glanced over at my uncle who was zoned out and looking at whatever was playing on the tv. He was always the one who never paid attention in family meetings. I knew Pope would give him a play by play, but this was Deran’s job and Deran’s rules.

He was going to get what he wanted even if he had to sucker punch Craig for it.

It would be a routine job, the same old shit. In and out in under three minutes, ditch the cars, ditch the clothes, take the cash, and go. It was easy enough but going over the basics was smart, especially with Craig who was always too fucking coked out to pay attention.

With Smurf still in prison and Baz dead it was just the four of us. We were making it work pulling easy jobs that brought in quick cash. But it was never a big payoff. There were still bills that needed to be paid and properties that needed to be managed. We needed a serious hit. A big hit. Or else I would fuck everything up and Smurf would be right.

I’d sooner drown in my own fucking blood that ever admit she was right about us.

Hell, I didn’t even like my uncles but I wanted success so bad I could practically taste it. We could do it without her, we had to do it without her.

I shoved my elbow into Craig’s ribs. “Dude, listen the fuck up.”

He turned and glared at me, clearly pissed off that I’d interrupted his tv time. “Why don’t you shut the fuck up, kid?”

I clenched my jaw and cocked my head from side to side, cracking my neck to relieve some of the tension. I couldn’t let my anxiety ramp up, not after feeling hersnot too long ago. I wondered what was bothering her, if she was alright. She wasn’t normally an anxious person, she was actually pretty relaxed most days. I could always feel that warmth in my chest when she was happy and as much as I loved it, it killed me that I couldn’t be there with her. I hated knowing that I wasn’t the one making her happy, but even more than that? I fucking loathed the thought of anyone else making her happy.

You’re her soulmate, I thought to myself as Deran rambled on about money and guns and we had to move quick and keep our heads low. No one will ever make her as happy as you do.

Although there was no way of knowing if I was actually going to make her happy considering I’d never heard her voice or seen her face. But I always liked to imagine what she looked like. I pictured a brunette, someone with an easy laugh, someone that liked the same movies as me.

“Jesus, J, you there? Or did Craig get you into the coke, too?”

I clenched my jaw as my uncle looked down at me with raised eyebrows.

“I’m here, sorry. I didn’t sleep well.”

He huffed, moving slowly across the living room as he scrubbed a hand over his face. “Well, if you’re too tired then maybe you should skip this one, kiddo. I don’t want you to lose any sleep.”

I bit back my temper, grinding my fucking molars. “I said I’m here.”

He clapped his hands together in response. “Great, now where were we?”

After going over the plan three more times we called it a day. Deran needed to head to the bar, Craig needed to pick up Nicky and get more coke, and Pope… went off doing whatever it was that Pope did. I went back to my room, closing and locking the door behind me as I thought about her, wondering if she had a good day. I assumed she did considering how light my chest felt. If it was a good day everything felt light. A bad day? It felt like my bones weighed a ton and there was a weight on my chest.

But today wasn’t a bad day.

I wonder if she felt my temper earlier, I mused silently. As if she could hear and answer my question, warmth bloomed in my chest, spreading over my shoulders and down my arms to the tips of my fingers. I knew she did.

There were times when I didn’t think she could possibly exist. Maybe my family was right, maybe soulmates were bullshit and it was just media propaganda. It was make believe and there was never just one person out there for us. But the older I got the more I believed. Because why else would I wake up in a panic in the middle of the night? Because she was afraid. Why else would I get this strange, bashful, vulnerable feeling in October of every year? Because it was her favorite month, it was her birthday month. It held something significant and I felt it.

She was real, she was out there, and she was waiting for me.

Sometimes she felt so close that I wondered if she was down the street.

My phone vibrated in my pocket and I pulled it out, looking down at the ID. It was Smurf. Again. She’d been pushing me to go see her for the last four days but now I was dodging her calls. She was awaiting trial for Javi’s murder, but she just kept saying she would get out. She would come home. Things would go back to the way they were before.

I fucking prayed every day that she was wrong.

“J!” Craig’s heavy footsteps thudded down the hall to my room. “Get dressed, we’re heading to the bar.”

“Nah, I’m gonna stay here. Tired.”

He was already shaking his head. “No way. Come on, man. Smurf turn you into her little bitch boy or do you want to come have a beer?”

Fucking Christ, I thought to myself. It was bad enough living with this fucking family, the last thing I wanted to do was drink with any of them. I just wanted out.

“Whatever. Fine. Give me ten minutes.”

“Five.”

I flipped him off and his laugh echoed down the hallway.

* * *

The bar was crowded. Shoulders were being bumped into and Tiny had her finger wrapped around my belt loop as we headed towards the bar.

“Two shots of Jameson!” I shouted over the overlapping conversations around us.

The bartender was a blonde guy wearing a red velvet shirt. Tiny mentioned earlier that she thought he was cute but he didn’t seem to pay much mind to the petite, raven haired Panama native that was my best friend.

“This is my favorite little place.” Tiny drummed her fingers on the bar and shook her ass to the beat of the music. It was clear that she’d pre-gamed pretty hard before I met up with her, not that I minded. She was the definition of a free spirit.

“That guy from last weekend showed up tonight.” She smiled over my shoulder, her nose crinkling up and making her little diamond stud twinkle in the dim lighting.

Tiny was, of course, referring to the guy (David? Daniel? Dick?) that she met here last weekend. She’d vowed not to exchange numbers with him but told him if she saw him at the bar again she’d let him buy her a drink.

“Looks like it’s my lucky night.” She winked at me. Her brown eyes looked like big saucers as he walked up to us with so much swagger I actually almost gagged. He wasn’t my type and his cologne was way too heavy for my taste, but he was right up Tiny’s alley.

“I believe we had a deal.” He laughed, revealing teeth that were so white they probably could have glowed in the dark. It was seriously like in that episode of Friends when Ross wore the teeth whitener for too long.

“Okay,” I said with an awkward smile. I knew it was my cue to leave and let her have her fun. To be completely honest, I didn’t mind. I was tired, work sucked, and after having a shot or two I would want nothing more than to go home, roll a blunt, and slide into bed. I’d been on my feet since nearly six and, though I wasn’t complaining about coming out and having a good time with my best friend, I was someone who appreciated their alone time.

I was heading towards the exit when all at once it felt like I couldn’t breathe. Slamming my hand against my chest, it felt as though the wind had been knocked out of me and my vision blurred around the edges. It was like nothing I’d ever felt, completely overwhelming, and all at once I knew.

He’s here.

My eyes widened at the realization and I whipped my head around, looking for someone I wouldn’t even recognize. I had no clue what he looked like, who he was, his fucking name. But I could feel him. It was like he was standing right in front of me and I wondered if he felt the same way. Could he feel what I felt? That overwhelming, stifling warmth?

We’d been doing this for thirteen years, unwillingly sharing our emotions and feelings with each other. We’d always been so close yet just out of reach, just far enough away that maybe it didn’t feel completely real. Now? Now he was so close I could almost taste him, so close I could nearly feel his breath on the back of my neck.

I can’t do this.

It felt like too much. It was too much too fast, unexpected. I wasn’t ready to face him, whoever he was. What if he didn’t like the way I dressed or the way I looked? What if I was disappointed with his name or his job? They all sounded like such shallow, trivial things. But the simple truth was that they were basic things that people either accepted or they didn’t.

What if we couldn’t accept each other?

You’re soulmates. Don’t you sort of have to accept each other? It’s in the metaphorical soulmates handbook. My head was swimming and I was confused, anxiety tugging at my heartstrings. Jesus, screw the whiskey. I needed three shots of tequila and a horse tranquilizer.

It could be my only chance at actually seeing him, finding my counterpart, and I was running away with my tail between my legs because I was just too afraid. Shaking my head, I cast my eyes down to the floor as I weaved through the throngs of people in the bar. Some were playing pool, some were dancing, all were loud. My anxiety was making everything feel heightened and I figured if he couldn’t feel me before he could definitely feel me now. My palms were sweating and my temples were pulsating. I just need fresh air. I just need to get outside. My lungs were starting to burn, a panic attack quickly approaching as I shouldered my way through the crowd, eventually making it out the door to the sidewalk.

It was mostly empty aside from a few people milling about. I took a few steps to the edge of the concrete and bent over, placing my hands on my knees while I hauled in a few deep breaths and tried to even my breathing. My heart was beating a mile a minute and I shook my head, wanting to laugh and cry at the fact that I had just bitched out instead of facing him.

The strands of hair that escaped my bun were sticking to my forehead from sweat and I damned myself for wearing jeans instead of shorts.

What a shitshow this turned out to be, I thought with a humorless chuckle. I come out with my best friend and the night ends in a full blown meltdown. What was more embarrassing than that? I honestly figured the poor bastard was better off without me, I was clearly borderline certifiable and couldn’t even go out to a bar without feeling like I couldn’t breathe.

Eventually, after my heart rate slowed and my breathing returned to normal, I straightened up and rolled my shoulders a few times to relieve some of the tension. It was time to call it a night and I turned on my heel, preparing to walk for a few blocks, get some fresh air and then eventually hail a cab home.

I took two steps forward, my Vans scuffing against the broken concrete when someone stepped directly in my line of vision, blinking at me from a few feet away. He was a few inches taller than me, sandy hair curling just slightly at the ends and a navy blue sweater covering his upper half. His jaw was distinct, his shoulders broad, and he had eyes that reminded me of the ocean; stormy, dark, trouble looming just under the surface.

It was him. I didn’t know how I knew, but I did. I could feel it in my core. I was standing in front of my soulmate and he was looking right at me, our expressions mirroring the other’s.

“You.” The word was barely audible, coming from low in his chest.

You. This. Us.

[readbookywooks]

8. "No!" I cry, and spring forward. It's too late to stop the arm from descending, and I instinctively know I won't have the power to block it. Instead I throw myself directly between the whip and Gale. I've flung out my arms to protect as much of his broken body as possible, so there's nothing to deflect the lash. I take the full force of it across the left side of my face. The pain is blinding and instantaneous. Jagged flashes of light cross my vision and I fall to my knees. One hand cups my cheek while the other keeps me from tipping over. I can already feel the welt rising up, the swelling closing my eye. The stones beneath me are wet with Gale's blood, the air heavy with its scent. "Stop it! You'll kill him!" I shriek. I get a glimpse of my assailant's face. Hard, with deep lines, a cruel mouth. Gray hair shaved almost to nonexistence, eyes so black they seem all pupils, a long, straight nose reddened by the freezing air. The powerful arm lifts again, his sights set on me. My hand flies to my shoulder, hungry for an arrow, but, of course, my weapons are stashed in the woods. I grit my teeth in anticipation of the next lash. "Hold it!" a voice barks. Haymitch appears and trips over a Peacekeeper lying on the ground. It's Darius. A huge purple lump pushes through the red hair on his forehead. He's knocked out but still breathing. What happened? Did he try to come to Gale's aid before I got here? Haymitch ignores him and pulls me to my feet roughly. "Oh, excellent." His hand locks under my chin, lifting it. "She's got a photo shoot next week modeling wedding dresses. What am I supposed to tell her stylist?" I see a flicker of recognition in the eyes of the man with the whip. Bundled against the cold, my face free of makeup, my braid tucked carelessly under my coat, it wouldn't be easy to identify me as the victor of the last Hunger Games. Especially with half my face swelling up. But Haymitch has been showing up on television for years, and he'd be difficult to forget. The man rests the whip on his hip. "She interrupted the punishment of a confessed criminal." Everything about this man, his commanding voice, his odd accent, warns of an unknown and dangerous threat. Where has he come from? District 11? 3? From the Capitol itself? "I don't care if she blew up the blasted Justice Building! Look at her cheek! Think that will be camera ready in a week?" Haymitch snarls. The man's voice is still cold, but I can detect a slight edge of doubt. "That's not my problem." "No? Well, it's about to be, my friend. The first call I make when I get home is to the Capitol," says Haymitch. "Find out who authorized you to mess up my victor's pretty little face!" "He was poaching. What business is it of hers, anyway?" says the man. "He's her cousin." Peeta's got my other arm now, but gently. "And she's my fiance. So if you want to get to him, expect to go through both of us." Maybe we're it. The only three people in the district who could make a stand like this. Although it's sure to be temporary. There will be repercussions. But at the moment, all I care about is keeping Gale alive. The new Head Peacekeeper glances over at his backup squad. With relief, I see they're familiar faces, old friends from the Hob. You can tell by their expressions that they're not enjoying the show. One, a woman named Purnia who eats regularly at Greasy Sae's, steps forward stiffly. "I believe, for a first offense, the required number of lashes has been dispensed, sir. Unless your sentence is death, which we would carry out by firing squad." "Is that the standard protocol here?" asks the Head Peacekeeper. "Yes, sir," Purnia says, and several others nod in agreement. I'm sure none of them actually know because, in the Hob, the standard protocol for someone showing up with a wild turkey is for everybody to bid on the drumsticks. "Very well. Get your cousin out of here, then, girl. And if he comes to, remind him that the next time he poaches off the Capitol's land,  I'll assemble that firing squad personally." The Head Peacekeeper wipes his hand along the length of the whip, splattering us with blood. Then he coils it into quick, neat loops and walks off. Most of the other Peacekeepers fall in an awkward formation behind him. A small group stays behind and hoists Darius's body up by the arms and legs. I catch Purnia's eye and mouth the word "Thanks" before she goes. She doesn't respond, but I'm sure she understood. "Gale." I turn, my hands fumbling at the knots binding his wrists. Someone passes forward a knife and Peeta cuts the ropes. Gale collapses to the ground. "Better get him to your mother," says Haymitch. There's no stretcher, but the old woman at the clothing stall sells us the board that serves as her countertop. "Just don't tell where you got it," she says, packing up the rest of her goods quickly. Most of the square has emptied, fear getting the better of compassion. But after what just happened, I can't blame anyone. By the time we've laid Gale facedown on the board, there's only a handful of people left to carry him. Haymitch, Peeta, and a couple of miners who work on the same crew as Gale lift him up. Leevy, a girl who lives a few houses down from mine in the Seam, takes my arm. My mother kept her little brother alive last year when he caught the measles. "Need help getting back?" Her gray eyes are scared but determined. "No, but can you get Hazelle? Send her over?" I ask. "Yeah," says Leevy, turning on her heel. "Leevy!" I say. "Don't let her bring the kids." "No. I'll stay with them myself," she says. "Thanks." I grab Gale's jacket and hurry after the others. "Get some snow on that," Haymitch orders over his shoulder. I scoop up a handful of snow and press it against my cheek, numbing a bit of the pain. My left eye's tearing heavily now, and in the dimming light it's all I can do to follow the boots in front of me. As we walk I hear Bristel and Thorn, Gale's crewmates, piece together the story of what happened. Gale must've gone to Cray's house, as he's done a hundred times, knowing Cray always pays well for a wild turkey. Instead he found the new Head Peacekeeper, a man they heard someone call Romulus Thread. No one knows what happened to Cray. He was buying white liquor in the Hob just this morning, apparently still in command of the district, but now he's nowhere to be found. Thread put Gale under immediate arrest and, of course, since he was standing there holding a dead turkey, there was little Gale could say in his own defense. Word of his predicament spread quickly. He was brought to the square, forced to plead guilty to his crime, and sentenced to a whipping to be carried out immediately. By the time I showed up, he'd been lashed at least forty times. He passed out around thirty. "Lucky he only had the turkey on him," says Bristel. "If he'd had his usual haul, would've been much worse." "He told Thread he found it wandering around the Seam. Said it got over the fence and he'd stabbed it with a stick. Still a crime. But if they'd known he'd been in the woods with weapons, they'd have killed him for sure," says Thom. "What about Darius?" Peeta asks. "After about twenty lashes, he stepped in, saying that was enough. Only he didn't do it smart and official, like Purnia did. He grabbed Thread's arm and Thread hit him in the head with the butt of the whip. Nothing good waiting for him," says Bristel. "Doesn't sound like much good for any of us," says Haymitch. Snow begins, thick and wet, making visibility even more difficult. I stumble up the walk to my house behind the others, using my ears more than my eyes to guide me. A golden light colors the snow as the door opens. My mother, who was no doubt waiting for me after a long day of unexplained absence, takes in the scene. "New Head," Haymitch says, and she gives him a curt nod as if no other explanation is needed. I'm filled with awe, as I always am, as I watch her transform from a woman who calls me to kill a spider to a woman immune to fear. When a sick or dying person is brought to her ... this is the only time I think my mother knows who she is. In moments, the long kitchen table has been cleared, a sterile white cloth spread across it, and Gale hoisted onto it. My mother pours water from a kettle into a basin while ordering Prim to pull a series of her remedies from the medicine cabinet. Dried herbs and tinctures and store-bought bottles. I watch her hands, the long, tapered fingers crumbling this, adding drops of that, into the basin. Soaking a cloth in the hot liquid as she gives Prim instructions to prepare a second brew. My mother glances my way. "Did it cut your eye?" "No, it's just swelled shut," I say. "Get more snow on it," she instructs. But I am clearly not a priority. "Can you save him?" I ask my mother. She says nothing as she wrings out the cloth and holds it in the air to cool somewhat. "Don't worry," says Haymitch. "Used to be a lot of whipping before Cray. She's the one we took them to." I can't remember a time before Cray, a time when there was a Head Peacekeeper who used the whip freely. But my mother must have been around my age and still working at the apothecary shop with her parents. Even back then, she must have had healer's hands. Ever so gently, she begins to clean the mutilated flesh on Gale's back. I feel sick to my stomach, useless, the remaining snow dripping from my glove into a puddle on the floor. Peeta puts me in a chair and holds a cloth filled with fresh snow to my cheek. Haymitch tells Bristel and Thorn to get home, and I see him press coins into their hands before they leave. "Don't know what will happen with your crew," he says. They nod and accept the money. Hazelle arrives, breathless and flushed, fresh snow in her hair. Wordlessly, she sits on a stool next to the table, takes Gale's hand, and holds it against her lips. My mother doesn't acknowledge even her. She's gone into that special zone that includes only herself and the patient and occasionally Prim. The rest of us can wait. Even in her expert hands, it takes a long time to clean the wounds, arrange what shredded skin can be saved, apply a salve and a light bandage. As the blood clears, I can see where every stroke of the lash landed and feel it resonate in the single cut on my face. I multiply my own pain once, twice, forty times and can only hope that Gale remains unconscious. Of course, that's too much to ask for. As the final bandages are being placed, a moan escapes his lips. Hazelle strokes his hair and whispers something while my mother and Prim go through their meager store of painkillers, the kind usually accessible only to doctors. They are hard to come by, expensive, and always in demand. My mother has to save the strongest for the worst pain, but what is the worst pain? To me, it's always the pain that is present. If I were in charge, those painkillers would be gone in a day because I have so little ability to watch suffering. My mother tries to save them for those who are actually in the process of dying, to ease them out of the world. Since Gale is regaining consciousness, they decide on an herbal concoction he can take by mouth. "That won't be enough," I say. They stare at me. "That won't be enough, I know how it feels. That will barely knock out a headache." "We'll combine it with sleep syrup, Katniss, and he'll manage it. The herbs are more for the inflammation - " my mother begins calmly. "Just give him the medicine!" I scream at her. "Give it to him! Who are you, anyway, to decide how much pain he can stand!" Gale begins stirring at my voice, trying to reach me. The movement causes fresh blood to stain his bandages and an agonized sound to come from his mouth. "Take her out," says my mother. Haymitch and Peeta literally carry me from the room while I shout obscenities at her. They pin me down on a bed in one of the extra bedrooms until I stop fighting. While I lie there, sobbing, tears trying to squeeze out of the slit of my eye, I hear Peeta whisper to Haymitch about President Snow, about the uprising in District 8. "She wants us all to run," he says, but if Haymitch has an opinion on this, he doesn't offer it. After a while, my mother comes in and treats my face. Then she holds my hand, stroking my arm, while Haymitch fills her in on what happened with Gale. "So it's starting again?" she says. "Like before?" "By the looks of it," he answers. "Who'd have thought we'd ever be sorry to see old Cray go?" Cray would have been disliked, anyway, because of the uniform he wore, but it was his habit of luring starving young women into his bed for money that made him an object of loathing in the district. In really bad times, the hungriest would gather at his door at nightfall, vying for the chance to earn a few coins to feed their families by selling their bodies. Had I been older when my father died, I might have been among them. Instead I learned to hunt. I don't know exactly what my mother means by things starting again, but I'm too angry and hurting to ask. It's registered, though, the idea of worse times returning, because when the doorbell rings, I shoot straight out of bed. Who could it be at this hour of the night? There's only one answer. Peacekeepers. "They can't have him," I say. "Might be you they're after," Haymitch reminds me. "Or you," I say. "Not my house," Haymitch points out. "But I'll get the door." "No, I'll get it," says my mother quietly. We all go, though, following her down the hallway to the insistent ring of the bell. When she opens it, there's not a squad of Peacekeepers but a single, snow-caked figure. Madge. She holds out a small, damp cardboard box to me. "Use these for your friend," she says. I take off the lid of the box, revealing half a dozen vials of clear liquid. "They're my mother's. She said I could take them. Use them, please." She runs back into the storm before we can stop her. "Crazy girl," Haymitch mutters as we follow, my mother into the kitchen. Whatever my mother had given Gale, I was right, it isn't enough. His teeth are gritted and his flesh shines with sweat. My mother fills a syringe with the clear liquid from one of the vials and shoots it into his arm. Almost immediately, his face begins to relax. "What is that stuff?" asks Peeta. "It's from the Capitol. It's called morphling," my mother answers. "I didn't even know Madge knew Gale," says Peeta. "We used to sell her strawberries," I say almost angrily. What am I angry about, though? Not that she has brought the medicine, surely. "She must have quite a taste for them," says Haymitch. That's what nettles me. It's the implication that there's something going on between Gale and Madge. And I don't like it. "She's my friend" is all I say. Now that Gale has drifted away on the painkiller, everyone seems to deflate. Prim makes us each eat some stew and bread. A room is offered to Hazelle, but she has to go home to the other kids. Haymitch and Peeta are both willing to stay, but my mother sends them home to bed as well. She knows it's pointless to try this with me and leaves me to tend Gale while she and Prim rest. Alone in the kitchen with Gale, I sit on Hazelle's stool, holding his hand. After a while, my fingers find his face. I touch parts of him I have never had cause to touch before. His heavy, dark eyebrows, the curve of his cheek, the line of his nose, the hollow at the base of his neck. I trace the outline of stubble on his jaw and finally work my way to his lips. Soft and full, slightly chapped. His breath warms my chilled skin. Does everyone look younger asleep? Because right now he could be the boy I ran into in the woods years ago, the one who accused me of stealing from his traps. What a pair we were - fatherless, frightened, but fiercely committed, too, to keeping our families alive. Desperate, yet no longer alone after that day, because we'd found each other. I think of a hundred moments in the woods, lazy afternoons fishing, the day I taught him to swim, that time I twisted my knee and he carried me home. Mutually counting on each other, watching each other's backs, forcing each other to be brave. For the first time, I reverse our positions in my head. I imagine watching Gale volunteering to save Rory in the reaping, having him torn from my life, becoming some strange girl's lover to stay alive, and then coming home with her. Living next to her. Promising to marry her. The hatred I feel for him, for the phantom girl, for everything, is so real and immediate that it chokes me. Gale is mine. I am his. Anything else is unthinkable. Why did it take him being whipped within an inch of his life to see it? Because I'm selfish. I'm a coward. I'm the kind of girl who, when she might actually be of use, would run to stay alive and leave those who couldn't follow to suffer and die. This is the girl Gale met in the woods today. No wonder I won the Games. No decent person ever does. You saved Peeta, I think weakly. But now I question even that. I knew good and well that my life back in District 12 would be unlivable if I let that boy die. I rest my head forward on the edge of the table, overcome with loathing for myself. Wishing I had died in the arena. Wishing Seneca Crane had blown me to bits the way President Snow said he should have when I held out the berries. The berries. I realize the answer to who I am lies in that handful of poisonous fruit. If I held them out to save Peeta because I knew I would be shunned if I came back without him, then I am despicable. If I held them out because I loved him, I am still self-centered, although forgivable. But if I held them out to defy the Capitol, I am someone of worth. The trouble is, I don't know exactly what was going on inside me at that moment. Could it be the people in the districts are right? That it was an act of rebellion, even if it was an unconscious one? Because, deep down, I must know it isn't enough to keep myself, or my family, or my friends alive by running away. Even if I could. It wouldn't fix anything. It wouldn't stop people from being hurt the way Gale was today. Life in District 12 isn't really so different from life in the arena. At some point, you have to stop running and turn around and face whoever wants you dead. The hard thing is finding the courage to do it. Well, it's not hard for Gale. He was born a rebel. I'm the one making an escape plan. "I'm so sorry," I whisper. I lean forward and kiss him. His eyelashes flutter and he looks at me through a haze of opiates. "Hey, Catnip." "Hey, Gale," I say. "Thought you'd be gone by now," he says. My choices are simple. I can die like quarry in the woods or I can die here beside Gale. "I'm not going anywhere. I'm going to stay right here and cause all kinds of trouble." "Me, too," Gale says. He just manages a smile before the drugs pull him back under.