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chockfullofsecrets · 3 years ago

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D20 Fantasy High: Making Room

(Read on AO3)

Rating: Gen

Summary: She grunts, presumably shoving at him and not having much success given Fabian’s triumphant snickering. “I said make room-”

Riz pries himself up off the carpet, thinking of moving to help her, when Fabian lets out a startled squeak. Everyone goes quiet.

Fig leans off the bed with truly devilish glee in her tiefling eyes. “Guys, he’s ticklish.”

The Bad Kids try to plan a sleepover, Fabian needs to learn how to share, and Riz is maybe starting to get the hang of this whole friendship thing.

Wordcount: 2.1k

A/N: not to be entirely into D&D on main, but - hey, look, it’s another cool D&D campaign XD shoutout to @hypahticklish for expressing enough interest in this fic to make me want to write it <3

Loose spoilers for the end of Fantasy High Season 1, beware!

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Riz thinks he’s really starting to get a handle on this whole friendship thing.

Solving a mystery and getting thrown in jail and killing a dragon together aren’t exactly reproducible results, which kind of sucks, but - hey, the six of them are friends now, and they’re hanging out in Fabian’s room on a summer evening, and it’s novel enough to feel like a solved case all on its own.

What’s less satisfying is the amount of missed work they have to catch up on if they want to start as sophomores next year; no one bothered to worry about bringing them homework while they were in actual prison, but all their professors sure seem to care about it now. He gets the feeling that at least part of it is Aguefort trying to keep some degree of respectability after everything that happened with Goldenhoard, but any attempt to reason with him thus far has gotten nowhere but wild-eyed stares and increasingly obtuse lectures on chronomancy and time management. And sure, Riz prides himself on being able to untangle obscure information, but he’s not touching that with a ten foot pole.

They’re all sprawled out on Fabian’s floor, working through assignments with varying levels of fervor ranging from Adaine - actually working with a stack of textbooks nearly up to her shoulder next to her on Fabian’s desk - to Kristen - texting Tracker with a lack of stealth that makes Riz want to grind his teeth a little, even more so than the way she goes bright red and giggles every time her crystal pings - when Fig groans and rolls onto her back.

“You know what?” she says to the room at large, throwing her arms wide. Her hand knocks into her bard notebook, somehow both dusty with disuse and covered in scribbled ballpoint pen sigils. She flips it neatly in the air and elbows it away in Adaine’s direction, earning a half-annoyed yelp. “We should have a sleepover.”

Half of them blink uncomprehendingly, but Kristen drops her crystal in a sudden rush of excitement. “YES,” she shouts. Gorgug, propped against the wall next to her and dozing off over barbarian meditation manuals, startles. “I can show you guys so many cool camp things! We just need a bunch of different colors of yarn and some sticks and - yeah, we can probably skip the holy water to keep the sinners away-”

Riz has - he’s had sleepovers before, if Penny coming over to babysit and finding him crashed out on the couch after a night of reading old case files from his mom counts. He reaches up and straightens his cap, trying to make it look smooth. “Hey, Fabian, do you have coffee here?”

“Wait, wait, hold on a minute.” Fabian, sitting against his giant bed, waves dramatically for all their attention. He looks them over once he gets it, self-importantly adjusting his eyepatch. “Yes, The Ball, we have coffee, we’re not peasants - but sleep over where? Did I miss that part?”

“Uh, here?” Fig says, flinging herself upright. “You’re mom’s super hot - uh, cool, I bet she’d let us do anything.”

“Stop calling my mom hot!” Fabian yelps, glowering for a moment before his chest puffs with familial pride. “Well, we do have at least five guest bedrooms that we could house all of you in-”

“Oh, I don’t need a bed,” Gorgug says hastily. “I’d probably break it, I can just sleep on the floor.”

“Yeah, Fabian, no,” Kristen interjects, gesturing with her staff. Gorgug scrambles to remove the cups they’ve been drinking soda out of from her path. “We’re all supposed to hang out in the same room, that’s kind of the point!” She frowns a little, zeroing in on him. “Have you. Have you never been to a sleepover before?”

Riz hasn’t quite gotten around to making a conspiracy board of how all the specific issues of their messed up childhoods overlap, but he can read the way Fabian startles indignantly loud and clear. “Of - of course I have!” he blusters. “I just - why the fuck would you share a bed if you didn’t have to?”

Adaine scoffs. “Fabian, your bed is enormous, I think we could all fit on it with room for the Hangman left over.”

“No, it’s not!” Fabian scrambles up, chin still raised haughtily, and throws himself bodily on the bed - judging from the way his ankles hang off the edge, he’s starfishing out as far as he possibly can. “I’m - see, I’m a growing boy, I need my space! Cathilda says so.”

Adaine, having claimed the only chair in the room and therefore being the only one at eye level with the mattress, cranes her neck and laughs. “Fabian, you’re covering less than half of the bed. You can just say you’ve never been to a sleepover before, you know.”

Fig stands up and launches herself onto the bed too, landing heavily with the zippers on her leather jacket clanking behind her. “Yeah, you just have to - oof - make room-”

She grunts, presumably shoving at him and not having much success given Fabian’s triumphant snickering. “I said make room-”

Riz pries himself up off the carpet, thinking of moving to help her, when Fabian lets out a startled squeak. Everyone goes quiet.

Fig leans off the bed with truly devilish glee in her tiefling eyes. “Guys, he’s ticklish.”

The room erupts into chaos - Fabian shouting denials, Fig cackling evilly, and Kristen shooting up and banging her shins against the bed before scrambling around to Fabian’s other side. Riz hops up on the desk next to Adaine just in time to watch each of the other girls seize his outstretched arms and start to mercilessly tickle his armpits.

“GAHAHA - no, no, stoHOP-” Fabian flails helplessly between the two of them, still trying to sprawl out over the bed. He manages to wrench his arm free from Fig and shove her away even as he shouts with laughter. “Seacasters are not - ahaaa, haaAA - I’m not ticklish!”

“Oh, yeah?” Kristen taunts. “Then why are you laughing, you - ohshit-”

They’re trying to wrestle him down, but he’s too strong for Fig and too dextrous for Kristen. She lunges for him, red hair flying behind her, and falls straight into his lap.

Fabian catches both of Fig’s wrists in one big hand and uses the other to poke triumphantly at Kristen’s belly, sending her into a fit of cackling giggles. “Aha!” he exclaims triumphantly, struggling into a sitting position. “A Seacaster cannot simply be rousted from his territory!”

All of them know better than to say anything about his dad by now. “Gorgug, come help us hold him down!” Fig demands instead, kicking at Fabian with her platform boots and making him yelp in pain.

Gorgug pulls his headphones all the way off his ears and straightens just enough to take in the tangle of the three of them, looking dubious. “Are you sure? That sounds kind of mean.”

“It’s not a problem if he’s not ticklish, right, Fabian?,” Fig retorts. “And he’s breaking sleepover code by hogging the bed!"

Kristen, still laughing uproariously as she fails to save herself from Fabian’s tickling fingers, somehow manages to shoot Gorgug a pair of finger guns. “Get him, Gorgug!”

Gorgug still looks a little confused - Riz can relate - but he gamely climbs to his feet. “Well, okay.”

He pauses to knock gently on the bedframe, sighing in relief at the heavy thunk that echoes back. “Oh, cool, that’s pretty strong.”

Fig yelps as Fabian lets up on Kristen and starts prodding at her belly instead. “Gorgug, come on!”

“Oh, right,” Gorgug says, and sends the mattress an entire inch to the left as he scrambles on.

“Hell yeah!” Fig cheers as Gorgug climbs on the bed and sweeps Fabian up in a restraining hug. “Sig Figs solidarity!”

Kristen squirms out from between the three of them. “Hey, I’m here too!”

She flops down with a breathy sigh and hugs herself, grinning widely as she catches sight of the identical what-the-fuck expressions that Riz is pretty sure he and Adaine are wearing. “Ugh, I haven’t been tickled in forever.”

Adaine makes a considering sound as Kristen twists back to the battle royale happening behind her. Riz looks over at her, catches one of her ears twitching under the attention before she looks back. “I don’t think I’ve ever been tickled,” she murmurs, a little shy.

Penny’s tickled him before, and maybe his mom when he was little, but yeah, it’s been a while. He shrugs. “You think you’d like it?”

There’s another cry from the bed, and both of them whip around to look. Fig’s looming over a thoroughly trapped Fabian now - just barely, even with her horns - and wriggling her fingers evilly with gleaming eyes. “Are you going to say you’re sorry for breaking sleepover code?”

“There’s - there’s no sleepover code,” Fabian sputters, but he’s grinning sheepishly even as he squirms against Gorgug’s hold. “Gorgug, man, come on, you can’t just betray a fellow member of the Bloodrush team like this!”

“Oh - uh -” Gorgug looks pleadingly at the both of them. “But I’m in the Sig Figs too - does that mean one of you guys is going to be mad at me?”

Fabian barely blinks. “Yes.”

“YES,” says Fig, even louder.

“Oh, come on, you two.” Kristen sits up between Fig and Fabian, poking at both of their sides and cutting their protests off as they suck their lower lips between their teeth with identical wide-eyed looks. Then, with a curious tilt to her head, she reaches around to tickle Gorgug’s side too, grinning as he squeaks. “There are no sides in a tickle fight, everyone knows this.”

Riz forgets that Kristen has three little brothers, sometimes. It’s easy to, until she starts playing peacekeeper between the rest of them.

“Where are all these rules coming from?” Fabian questions indignantly. Adaine makes a sound of agreement next to Riz - is she writing these down?

Oh, who’s he kidding, he’s probably going to ask her for a copy afterwards.

Fig smirks. “Well, I think the person with their hands free should get to enforce the rules. Like so.” She reaches for the thin tank top Fabian’s wearing and scribbles her fingers over his belly, crowing in delight as he shrieks. “Not ticklish, huh? Who’s ticklish now, bitch?”

“You - ahaha, haaa, fuck - anyone’s ticklish when they’re being restrained!” Fabian insists through panicked laughter, wriggling for all he’s worth. Riz squints - maybe it’s just the rogue homework he’s been doing lately, but it looks like Gorgug’s not even holding him that tight.

He shrieks again as Kristen bounces excitedly and reaches for him too. “Nonono, NOHOHO - Kristen, ahaha! You said - eheheee, stop - you said no sihihides!”

“These are your hips, Fabian. And no sides doesn’t mean you can’t gang up on people,” Kristen sticks her tongue out in concentration, squeezing at one of his hips and then the other. “Hey, say you’re ticklish.”

“What? No - hahaha - shit, shiHIHIT-” Fabian starts to really thrash under their teasing - Riz catches him elbowing Gorgug neatly in the gut, but their barbarian absorbs the blow like it’s nothing. Riz tries not to feel jealous and doesn’t entirely succeed.

Kristen smiles beatifically from cheek to freckled cheek. “The truth’ll set you free, brother.”

Fabian shakes his head frantically, catching sight of Riz and Adaine by his desk through teary eyes. “The Ball - The Ball, help me, this isn’t - ahahaha, nonoplease - it’s not fair!” he pleads through the widest smile Riz has seen on him so far, which is saying something. “Don’t you care about justice?”

Fig looks over at them too, now, hair slipping from her braid and fangs on full display as she beams. “Yeah, you two, get over here or you’re next! You’re missing out on the sleepover fun!”

“Oh,” Adaine says uncertainly. “I didn’t know this was part of it.”

She looks over at Riz - not that he knows any better, but he’s absolutely not going to cop to it. “Oh, yeah, tickle fights,” he blusters. “Definitely part of sleepovers. To, uh, tire everyone out.”

Adaine looks out of the window at blue skies just barely starting to blush pink and gets a small, quiet grin on her face that he can’t help but return. “Oh, okay,” she says. “Riz, are you ticklish?”

Oh. Oh, no.

Riz stiffens. It doesn’t seem like anyone else has heard Adaine’s question, maybe he can get under the bed before any of them notice -

He. He could, is the thing, he’s an awesome rogue, but - out here seems pretty fun too. “That’s more of a hands-on investigation thing,” he shoots back, and leaps for the bed before she can catch hold of him.

He is, after all, an investigator first and foremost, and there’s more room to be made on that mattress.

#tickling #dimension 20 #fantasy high #riz gukgak #fabian seacaster #figueroth faeth #kristen applebees #adaine abernant #gorgug thistlespring #chocfic #i really don't know why i decided to start with writing all six of them but uhhhh i hope the characterization is okay?

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not-so-mundane-after-all · 4 years ago

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Alright, so- Inspired by my awesome friend @undertheknightwing who created this AMAZING list of Dad!Dick Grayson headcanons (go check it out!!!) I decided to write down the mess I have in my own head into this giant ball of fluff, humor and angst.

So let me present you:

The Graysonfam List of Headcanons and Analysis

It's a looong ass list of my headcanons, mixed with an analysis of some scenes, looking into the motives and behavior of the characters. It's in more or less chronological order and divides into groups: season 1 (+2x01), the time jump, season 2, season 3 hopes/predictions and future. If you want me to turn any of these into fics or you feel like you could do something with it, just let me know. And now... ENJOY!

SEASON 1:

The first time Dick thinks of Gar and Rachel as his kids happens during the events of 1x08 and 1x10. It's pure instinct and it doesn't come to him until much later when he realizes that not only he thought of them this way but he actually meant it.

When he and Donna start translating Kory's notes and it becomes clear that Rachel might still be in trouble, he's immediately on his feet, asking Donna for the keys to her car and ordering her to take the books with her, so they could continue on the way. He's acting fast, ignoring Donna's questions because there's no time for explanation, my daughter is in danger. He almost says it out loud - almost.

When Donna tells him the danger clearly comes from Kory, he wants to deny it. Kory adores these kids just as much as he does, she would never hurt them. But he puts his feet on the gas anyway, breaking every speed limit possible, because if one hair falls from Gar's and Rachel's heads, he will burn the world to find the person responsible, even if it's Kory (especially if it's Kory)

When they get there the first thing he sees is Gar being thrown in the air, and his mind short circuits to only one thing: Gar, my boy, my son. Is he okay? Thankfully Donna takes care of the rest so he's free to take care of the boy. He pulls him up, holding him tight by the shoulders and makes sure he's okay, but the words 'my son' are still circling his mind.

Speaking of Donna - when Dick starts telling her about Rachel the first time, she wants to cry from happiness. Over these past five years all she saw in Dick's eyes was pain and suffering. A storm of bottled up emotions, raging monsters of anger ready to get out. His body looked weighed down, as if he was Atlas holding the world on his shoulders. And now he's talking about this little girl who threw a brick at a cop car in Detroit and his eyes start to shine as if they were stars in the night sky. His smile grows when he brags about how smart and witty she is, how she's more intelligent than she gives herself credit for, how similar the two of them are. He talks about her bravery and her big heart and he sounds so damn proud Donna's heart is about to burst out of her chest. "I thought I couldn't do it." he tells her. "I fucked up so many times. But she had awakened something in me. I just can't describe it." She can but she doesn't say it - he needs to get to it on his own. (Over a year later, when the girl who turned her brother's world upside down tries to guide her back to the light through the darkness of afterlife, Donna finally says "I always knew he'd be a great father someday. You have no idea how much he loves you." "He told you that?" Rachel asks quietly, trying to hold back her tears. Donna looks at her and smiles. "He didn't have to. I saw it in his eyes.")

Then Dick gets to the part about finding Rachel's mother and suddenly something changes. He's trying to seem like he's happy for her, he says he's glad everything ended well and now Rachel can start a new life but Donna sees right through his facade. He thinks he can't be a part of this new life and it's killing him.

Which brings me to something very important I've noticed a long time ago - Angela's presence makes Dick hold himself back. That's why he decided to leave - Rachel had her mother back, a guardian who could take care of her from now on so he wasn't needed anymore. His job was done. But at this point he's already too attached to just leave like that and when he learns that danger isn't over he comes back immediately. But when he gets there he's met with a wall. Angela is very territorial (we all know why but Dick didn't know that) and Rachel is too overwhelmed by everything but let's be real - if Angela wasn't there Dick would be hovering over Rachel like crazy. But he doesn't. Why? Because he thinks it's not his place to do so. It's easier to go after Kory than to just be standing there awkwardly, wanting to help and comfort but not being able to.

He remembers everything Trigon put him through - every fucking detail. There is some stuff from the vision he wants to laugh at - Him and Dawn? Married? Maybe once upon a time he entertained that thought but he abandoned it long ago. There are things he's actually grateful for - seeing Gar and Rachel as they could be in the future, grown up, in college, happy. That's the one thing he doesn't want to forget. And Johnny - he doesn't want to forget Johnny either.

His mind was sort of awake, in two places at once, even though he didn't have any control over his body. He remembers chasing the kids around the house, Gar screaming "Real life horror movie!" as he and Rachel tried to run away from him. He remembers Rachel pleading with him when the others were beating the poor boy. He wanted to respond, wanted to let her know he can hear her but he couldn't do anything. He watched helplessly as his own hand pulled Gar up and finished what others started. He screamed and shouted but it was in vain. And then he cried and howled like a wolf watching as Trigon ripped Rachel's heart from her chest and crushed it in his hand, then placed the red gemstone in her forehead. He remembers her dark eyes and evil smirk. He remembers thinking it was over, feeling heartbroken and defeated. He gave up, let the darkness swallow him whole. He didn't want to see more, it was easier locking himself up in this vision because he knew Bruce laying dead in rubble wasn't real. And then she came to him. Back straight and head held high, piercing blue eyes locked on him. He remembers his tone when he spoke to her, taunting and dangerous but it didn't scare her. "We're supposed to save each other" she told him and he wanted to cry but Trigon had him wrap his fingers around her throat and choke her - another thing he would never do. He would never lay a damn finger on her and Trigon was well aware of that. But Rachel knew that too. And she wasn't scared.

He remembers the circus she brought him into. Empty stage, broken chairs scattered everywhere. He never wanted to come back here. And even though his body stood there motionless he was trashing inside, wanting to get out of here but more importantly wanting to get her out of here. Seeing Rachel on that platform, ready to jump, it was too much. He couldn't lose her, like he lost his parents. He didn't catch them but he sure as hell was going to catch her. So when she fell - he snapped. Got the control back, his muscles acted on memory and he jumped. He flew like he used to and wrapped his fingers around her wrists, holding her tight. He caught her. He would always catch her.

When they wake up all he wants to do is hold her. Relief almost sends him to his knees. But then Gar walks in, all bloody and bruised and all that relief turns into freezing agony and guilt. I did this, he thinks. It's my fault. But there is no time for apologies or explanation, Trigon is still there. Letting Rachel go deal with him on her own is hard but Dick knows she could do it - and she did. Seeing her walking out of that fog is one of the most beautiful views he saw in his life. And when he finally takes her into his arms he doesn't let go until Kory basically rips her out of his embrace.

He wants Kory to go with them. Kids need her. His idea of giving Gar and Rachel a new life included her. Included both of them, taking care of the kids together. Things between them are tangled and complicated but one thing that is neither of those things is their attachment to these two. But Kory just got her memories back, she has her own issues to deal with, she needs time and space - and he respects that, so do Gar and Rachel. But Dick would be lying if he said he didn't notice their disappointment.

The first day of their roadtrip across the country is quiet - mostly because they are all so goddamn tired. Dick pulls up to a motel before dark, deciding that the more sleep they get the better. They pick two rooms next to each other, Jason and Gar in one, he and Rachel in the other. Rachel immediately vanishes in the bathroom, so Dick has time to sit down and think (as if he wasn't doing it the entire day while driving). An idea is shaping in his head, memories of a beloved city in sunny California come to the surface of his mind and he knows this is where he wants to take the kids. But he has to make a stop at Gotham first, he needs to talk to Bruce and most importantly return Jason home. Rachel walks out of the bathroom in fresh clothes Donna left for her and crawls into bed without a word. He takes his time to tuck her in, then sits down on the edge of her bed. She's beyond exhausted, but she's safe, she's with him, everything will be alright. He will never let anyone take her away from him again. And when he's watching her fall asleep, holding her hand in his, three words come to his mind, words he's not ready to say aloud yet but he knows them to be true. I love you.

THE TIME JUMP:

Physical affection is something I think the show is pretty good at showing but I still crave to see more. It's clear that Dick struggles to be affectionate, whether that be through words or touch. And he doesn't even realize he's actually very good at it. Why? Because whenever he does it, he's acting on instinct. The biggest proof? All his hugs with Rachel in s1. Boy had no idea what to do, it was written on his face, but his arms went up nonetheless. He didn't freeze, he didn't push her away, but reacted accordingly. The hugs in 1x02 and 1x04 are the only ones he initiated on his own, but he still wasn't sure if he's doing it right. As the show went on he slowly eased into it, but was still taken by surprise when it happened (1x08, the first hug in 2x01). By the end of 2x01 he seems to be pretty comfortable with it but I think it's during the time jump when he really starts to understand the importance and power of physical affection and how these kids really need it. The pat he gave Gar on the shoulder in 2x03 or their hug in 2x09 felt really natural, same as the goodbye hug with Rachel in 2x13. All three of them got comfortable with each other during those first three months in SF. Which leads me to…

Cuddle sessions. Yes, this is definitely a thing at Titans Tower (*cough*Grayson*cough*household*cough). It starts that first night when Dick, Rachel, Gar and Jason gather on the couch to watch a movie. Rachel lays down and rests her head on Dick's thigh while Gar settles comfortably on his other side. Dick has no idea when it happened but he freezes for a moment when he realizes his hand is on Rachel's head, fingers carding through her hair. The girl seems to be asleep already but stirs when he stops and asks him to continue, so he does. Soon after that Gar's head lands on his shoulder as the boy starts nodding off. The sudden contact wakes him up and he pulls away awkwardly, apologizing but Dick tells him it's okay so Gar leans back against him. The feeling of having the two of them so close brings a sense of calm to Dick and soon he falls asleep as well. He wakes up in the morning with the two teenagers basically laying on top of him and Jason standing over them with a smirk and a phone in his hand.

After that it sort of becomes a thing and not just during movies. Whenever Dick sits down on the couch, whether to work or to simply relax, Gar or Rachel (or both) would find him and snuggle to him, at first hesitantly, but with more confidence as the time passes and they get comfortable with it. After three months of living together all Dick has to do is pat the spot next to him for them to jump on the couch and cuddle up, tho Rachel is the one who does it most often and with no hesitation.

Dick very quickly starts understanding how important it is for them so he starts returning the favor. A good job pat on the shoulder during training, a kiss dropped on the top of the head during breakfast, a comforting shoulder rub when they aren't feeling well, emotionally or physically. Gar loves when Dick ruffles his hair, he even leans into it sometimes, while Rachel's favorite things are forehead kisses and tucking her hair behind her ear (but neither of them would ever say that out loud)

Words are as important as gestures, which brings us to affectionate pet names. It feels normal and almost ordinary when it comes from a woman - Rachel has been called 'honey' by Melisa and 'sweetheart' by Dawn but she wasn't phased by it. But when Dick calls her 'honey' for the first time, she nearly drops her coffee mug. It comes out so naturally and he doesn't even realize he said it, but it takes her breath away and she needs a moment to collect herself. With Gar it's usually 'Bud', 'Buddy', or 'Tiger Boy' spoken affectionately and he's always beaming with happiness when he hears Dick saying that.

One night, shortly after Trigon, Rachel slips into his bedroom in the middle of the night, saying she can't sleep. The memories are too vivid, too real. Her lips are trembling and she looks like she's about to fall apart and that's all it takes for Dick to sit up, open his arms for her and with full awareness and conviction say "come here, baby girl". She falls asleep snuggled to his bare chest and Dick feels his throat getting dangerously tight. He'd seen many times, mostly on TV, images of parents holding their babies to their bare skin - something about creating a bond through skin-to-skin contact. He was never able to wrap his head around this concept, but now, as he feels Rachel's cheek pressed to his heart, her hand closed in his resting on his stomach, the understanding hits him like a speeding train, pushing a tear or two out of his eyes. It's something indescribable, feels profound and almost sacred. The love he feels in this moment is overwhelming.

Gar has nightmares too, he usually wakes up screaming. It scares Dick at first, how he reacts, because the boy pulls away, wide eyed and shaking, and doesn't want to be touched. Guilt overwhelms Dick because he's sure it's because of him, because of what he did to Gar while being under Trigon's control. He tries to apologize and Gar accepts it but explains to him that his nightmares are not Dick's fault and they are not even about that (Dick can feel the boy is lying for both of their sakes but lets him anyway). It takes a few tries and lots of pleading and building trust but one night Gar finally falls into Dick's arms, sobbing into his shoulder. He pulls the boy close, runs his fingers through his hair just like Gar likes it and whispers "it's okay, my little boy." over and over again until Gar's body goes limp in his hold and he can put him back to sleep. Neither of them mentions it in the morning, but Gar gives him a look full of gratitude, filling his heart with warmth.

One evening during their first week in SF they organise a 'bonding night' - Gar's idea. There's take out and board games and staying up all night, talking. At some point one of them suggests sharing any hidden talents (besides superpowers of course) and details no one knows about them. Jason admits to being a theatre nerd ("it's thespian you idiots!") and proves it by flawlessly rapping verses from Hamilton. Gar thanks to travelling with his parents can fluently speak few African languages, he also shares that during his time at the Doom Manor Rita taught him the basics of playing piano. When it's Dick's turn he gets up from the couch and vanishes for a few minutes, but eventually comes back with a guitar, saying he had learned to play during his circus days, but hadn't done it in a while so he might be a little rusty. He plays a few cords, trying to spark his memory and when the notes finally come to him, a beautiful melody fills the room (I always imagine it's Viva la Vida by Coldplay). And suddenly this melody is joined by an angelic voice - Rachel closes her eyes and starts singing quietly, recognizing the song. She only opens her eyes when she's finished and finds the three of them looking at her in absolute awe, Dick's eyes seem to be a bit watery. She gets a bit embarrassed and says it's nothing but they start cheering and clapping anyway. Gar asks her where did she learn to sing like that and she admits she used to sing in a church choir when she was little, but had to quit after her powers started showing. The night ends with a little jam session and lots of laughing.

Gar and Rachel grew up on golden era of Disney Channel shows (Jason knows them too but he'd rather be tortured than ever admit that) and once the news is out Dick is forced to sit through the entire run of Wizards of Waverly Place. But watching Rachel flawlessly impersonate the main character Alex, knowing every line word for word makes him grin like a madman and laugh so hard his stomach hurts and tears roll down his cheeks. He pulls her to him and she falls on him in a fit of uncontrollable giggles while Gar and Jason give her a standing ovation.

SEASON 2:

While hanging out together is important, Dick also makes sure he gets to spend some time with each of them separately. With Jason it's mostly through training - the boy isn't very keen on spending one-on-one quality time outside of the gym, but prides himself to be Dick's right hand man during lessons, having more experience over the other two. With Gar it's video games most of the time - Dick learned to play specifically for him and actually started paying attention to gaming lore. But it's not just that - Gar has a talent to anything tied to technology so they spend a lot of time together in the tech room where the boy learns to operate the Tower system. It brings both of them a lot of joy. Rachel, as the only girl in their little family, often needs some time away from the boys, so Dick takes her on walks in the mornings or a drive around the city, shows her his favorite coffee shop which soon becomes their favorite spot. They talk about everything and nothing, because conversations were the thing that brought them so close in the first place, and it just feels good.

Rachel also loves spending time with him in the tech room - but not like Gar, she's not learning to run it (although she picked up a thing or two) but she's simply there to keep Dick company while he works (can he even call that work if he hasn't been officially working as a detective for quite a while now? Not to mention his resignation has been sent to Detroit the day they arrived in SF). She brings him coffee or snacks, stands behind his chair with her arms around his neck, observing whatever he's doing (and asking lots of questions) or simply sits in the other swiveling chair, drawing in her sketchbook or turning around so many times Dick starts to worry she's gonna get dizzy. He asks her one time if she's not bored sitting here with him but she just shrugs and says she'd rather be here than anywhere else and his heart grows tenfold as he smiles at her

So remember how Rachel lost control and attacked Jason in 2x03? And how Jason shouted "Stay away from me you fucking freak!" right in her face? And how Dick walks in like 3 seconds later asking if everything's okay and the tension is HIGH??? Well, he might have not seen what happened, but he definitely HEARD the full thing, he was within the hearing range. The fact that he didn't attack Jason immediately is really impressive, if this was s1!Dick - Jason would be on the floor right now, probably with a swollen eye and few broken bones. But here Dick is trying to play it smart and investigate. If it wasn't for dr Light he would probably get to the bottom of this and had a conversation with both Jason and Rachel. I'm thinking of writing a one-shot AU where he actually does it (mostly thanks to Gar who is a terrible liar when caught of guard)

When the last cab drives away and the Tower becomes empty, save for him, Gar and that boy in the infirmary, Dick does not leave to meet with Adeline immediately - he goes to Rachel's room and starts scrubbing it clean from all the crosses painted all over the place. His eyes are burning, the bile in his throat is the size of a tennis ball but he doesn't allow himself to cry. At some point Gar joins him and wordlessly starts helping him. It takes them a little over an hour and when it's done they both drop down on her bed, sitting shoulder to shoulder. "She'll be back." Gar tells him. "I'm not so sure." Dick replies, not looking at the boy. Gar puts a hand on his shoulder. "She will. You just wanted to protect us. Deep down she knows that, she's just angry." Dick knows Gar's reasoning is valid, but looking at his own reflection in the broken mirror he can't help but think that in the long run Rachel will be better off without him. They will all be better off without him.

It's not until his first night in prison that Dick starts to regret his decision to cast himself away. He wakes up in the middle of the night with tears in his eyes, his mind still reeling from dreams of Gar and Rachel seven years in the future. They were adults, happy and independent - that's good, right? That's what he always wanted for them. But his tears start to fall when it comes to him, hitting him like a wrecking ball, that spending 7 years behind bars means he won't be able to see them grow up. Something like a panic attack comes next and he is barely able to pull himself out of it. He's suddenly overwhelmed by questions. My kids… will they be okay? Is Kory back at the Tower or is Gar still alone? What is he gonna do when that strange boy wakes up? Was there any food in the fridge when I left? I left Gar some money, but still… God, and Rachel! She has never been on a plane before, what if she gets scared and her powers start acting out? What if she gets night terrors again? Will Donna know what to do? His head is spinning, these thoughts are suffocating him. Only a breathing exercise Bruce had taught him years ago is able to help, but it takes longer than usual. Dick doesn't sleep for the rest of the night.

He's not sure how but when Dick sees a bird in a window of his cell, he knows it's no ordinary bird. It's a raven. It's her. He gets up on his feet despite his knees being weak and wobbly and he smiles, grins like an idiot as he calls out to her. Because it has to be her, right? But all hope leaves him when the creature flies up again with a croak and disappears from his sight, leaving him alone. Dick drops to his knees, feeling more exhausted than ever and curls on the floor, his body shaking from shivers. No one is coming. He brought it on himself. He is forgotten already. But then he hears quiet tapping and something nudges his hand. He opens one eye only to look right into a ruby red one. The bird is here, inside, right in front of his face. It flaps its wings and its feathers turns into dark smoke for a moment. "Rachel…" He breathes out, holding to his last shreds of consciousness. The raven lowers its head, snuggling it to his forehead and before Dick passes out again he hears three words said by this quiet, angelic voice he loves so much: Don't give up.

When they bring Donna back to the Tower and lay her down in the infirmary Dick feels empty and overflowed at the same time. He goes to strip off his new suit and change into something more comfortable but it's a struggle when his hands are shaking so much. He goes back to infirmary and passes by Dawn in the doorway, who walks out of the room with Donna's Wonder Girl belt in hand, not even lifting her eyes up at him. He closes the door and sits down, taking Donna's hand in his but he is able to sit there for only ten minutes before the feeling of her hand growing cold in his makes him want to run away. He makes his way back to his room but takes a step back when he notices two colorful heads in the training room. Gar and Rachel are sitting on one of the benches with their backs to him, talking quietly. Gar is hunched over and Rachel has her arm around him and her head on his shoulder. The sight makes Dick's throat tight. He walks up to them quietly and they only notice him when he's standing in front of them. They simultaneously lift their heads up, showing him their red, swollen from crying eyes and his heart can't take it anymore. He falls to his knees in front of them. "I'm here." he whispers as he takes their hands in his. "I'm right here." he whispers again and his voice breaks. Suddenly two sets of arms are wrapped around him when both Gar and Rachel throw themselves at him, sobbing into his shoulders. He holds them tight, kisses their heads and lets his own tears fall into their hair as he keeps promising them he is not leaving them ever again.

SEASON 3 HOPES/PREDICTIONS:

First few weeks without Donna and Rachel are absolute torture. Grief is normal, he's been through it before, it's nothing new (maybe more painful and guilt-ridden than he ever experienced). But not having Rachel around and how it impacts him on day-to-day basis after spending every day with her for the past few months is something totally new and unexpected and Dick is pretty sure he's never felt like this before. He's overprotective to the point of being overbearing and Gar points that out to him numerous times. He keeps making her breakfast, forgetting she's not gonna show up in the kitchen when the clock strikes 9 am. He keeps looking into her room like he's expecting to find her there. He constantly checks his phone as if she were able to call from Themyscira, where there's no signal, let alone phones. "Is it what sending your kid out to college feels like?" Hank asks him one evening and Dick almost chokes on his beer. Gar laughs so hard he falls off his chair.

Rachel does everything she can to not cry in front of Dick when they say goodbye to each other but the moment the plane is in the air, she breaks. It was one of the hardest decisions she ever had to make and seeing Dick so broken definitely didn't help. But she has to at least try to bring Donna back, she wouldn't be able to forgive herself otherwise. So she gets herself together and keeps telling herself to be brave. For Dick. For Donna. For her family.

Gar becomes the center of family's attention and he can't say he doesn't love it. That spot always belonged to Rachel after all, but he was never jealous, nor he resented her for that. She totally deserved it and she can take the spot back when she returns (but he's never gonna let her get away with not saying goodbye to him). He's the 'A-Student' now during training, Dick is putting some extra work to make sure he learns as much as he can. Kory helps him a lot with the trauma CADMUS gave him and works with him on the development of his powers. He tries turning into other animals and after a month of struggling he finally turns into a mouse. Kory walks with him sitting on his shoulder around the whole Tower like the proudest mama in the galaxy and Dick's beaming with pride for the entire week.

After Dick's off-hand comment that Rachel is missing on so much Gar starts to record vlogs on his phone about what's happening at the Titans Tower so Rachel can watch it and catch up when she's back. The material he gets is pure gold and even when others beg him to delete it, he refuses saying this is too good to be destroyed.

The day before Rachel's first attempt at resurrection she uses a freshly learned trick to come to Dick in his dream. They meet on the beach she's currently on, meditating. Seeing him for the first time in three months makes her want to cry but she promised herself to be strong so he wouldn't worry and she holds her tears at bay. She falls into his arms with the brightest smile and burrows her face in his chest. He's holding her tight, asking if everything is okay and she nods, not quite trusting her voice at the moment. "I can't keep you here for long, but I needed to see you." she tells him. She's not sharing any details about her plan, the less he knows the better, but he begs her to be careful and stop if it turns out to be too much for her. Dick pulls her to him one last time before she has to serve the connection and presses his lips to her forehead. "I love you." he whispers and she closes her eyes, hugging him tighter. "Come home soon." "I love you, too. And I will."

To find Donna's soul Rachel needs to go to The Underworld, which is a dark, scary place (well, for the most part). The search is difficult and the journey ahead of her is long. On her way she meets other people, souls who sometimes want to help her, sometimes otherwise. She sees Adamson and all the people who were after her, drowning in a river of fire, calling for help. One hand grabs her by the ankle and Rachel looks down right into the hollow eyes of her birth mother. She struggles to set herself free from Angela's hold but eventually the creepy hand lets go of her and Rachel runs away. Not all the meetings are painful though. She gets to see Melisa again - she tells her about Dick and Gar and Kory and everything that happened. "I found him, mom. I found the boy from the circus." she says and they both start to cry. Melisa tells her how proud she is and lets her continue her journey. But the most surprising meeting happens right before the end. Rachel knows their faces only from her dream and the blurry videos she found online. But the resemblance to Dick is undeniable - he has his mother's eyes, his father's hair. Mary Grayson takes her into her arms with tears in her eyes, saying how happy she is to finally meet her. They chat for a while, laugh and cry together like they've known each other their whole lives. "He's so lucky to have you." John tells her. "Tell him we're proud of him." Mary asks her when she is about to leave. "And come back to him in one piece." Rachel nods, holding back tears. "I will, I promise."

When Rachel arrives at Wayne Manor it's already dark outside. A black car pulls in the driveway. Dick, Kory and Gar are waiting by the main entrance and when the car stops they approach it and Dick opens the door. Rachel is sleeping in the backseat with her head falling on her shoulder and the view is so beautiful and adorable that Dick stops for a moment to just look at her with a dreamy smile on his face. He lifts his hand to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear and leans in whispering "welcome back, sweetheart". She smiles without opening her eyes and instantly lifts her arms to wrap them around his neck. They both laugh as he pulls her out the car. She steps away from him for a moment to hug Gar and Kory but sticks herself back to his side immediately after. Gar takes her bag and the car drives away while the 4 of them head towards the door.

She failed (or at least she thinks she failed) and that first night back she cries her eyes out into Dick's chest, apologizing over and over again. "It's okay, honey." he tells her, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Remember what I told you back at the airport? No matter how strong we are, we-" "We can't always change the world." she finishes for him and smiles through her tears. "I know. I've had those words in the back of my head every day." They lay in silence for the next few minutes, Dick's hand slowly stroking Rachel's hair. She hesitates a bit but then starts telling him about meeting his parents. He smiles at her through tears. "I'm so proud of you." he whispers. "You've grown so much. You're so strong. Going away was a good decision, it gave you skills and experience you wouldn't have gotten here. But now I'm just glad I have you back. I was worried sick." Rachel smiles into his chest. "I'm not going anywhere again."

As happy as Dick is to have her back, some part of him wishes Rachel stayed longer on Themyscira. Everything that's happening in Gotham is making him consider sending her and Gar away to some place safe and hidden, The Justice League has a lot of those. But his kids are Titans - they both remind him of that. "You didn't train us to hide." she tells him. "We can handle this." Gar adds. And Dick believes them. And he's so proud his heart can barely take it.

Donna's return comes as a shock to everyone - Hank brings her to the Wayne Manor one day, saying they bumped into each other at some restaurant in the city. "How-" Rachel asks with eyes opened wide in disbelief. Donna smiles at her. "I don't know. I got lost, but… I found my way back somehow." Dick slowly walks up to her, his eyes welling up with tears. "But the spell-" "It worked." Donna explains. "It just needed more time." After that he sweeps her into his arms and extends his hand to Rachel to pull her in as well. He holds them both as close as he can, kissing their heads and swears to himself to never lose either of them again.

FUTURE:

Thoughts about adoption appear in Dick's mind more or less when he brings Gar and Rachel to San Francisco, but they are more of an abstract dream than something that could be real. But as the time goes on those thoughts become more and more solidified and are too big to be ignored. He finally decides to talk to someone about it and that someone is Dawn, mostly because they've had this kind of conversation before. "It's a big responsibility - taking her in. But taking care of a kid is complicated, you know that better than anyone." These words stay with him every day, that's why he goes to her. He struggles to say what he wants to say but she understands and hugs him with tears in her eyes saying she knew he'd do it sooner or later and that she couldn't be happier for him. She helps him with paperwork and prepares him for meetings. He breaks the news to the kids the moment everything is ready. They're suspicious of the 'gifts' he hands them since it's neither's birthday today and there's no holiday. They share a curious glance as they rip off the shiny gift paper to reveal two folders of documents (while Dick almost dies from anticipation and nerves). Gar is the first one to react - his lips slowly stretch into the biggest grin imaginable. "For real? Are you serious? This is real stuff?" his voice grows louder and more excited with each following question and Dick can't help but laugh. Rachel stays quiet though. She stares at the papers in her hands with her brows furrowed. Seconds pass and she's not moving. It's like she's not even breathing. "Rachel?" Kory asks quietly, taking a step her way. And then the floodgates open. Rachel's face twists into a grimace as she starts sobbing uncontrollably. She covers her mouth with her hand to muffle it but there's no use. Dick walks up to her, terrified he did something wrong but then she throws herself into his arms, repeating "thank you" and "I love you" over and over again. Dick pulls Gar to him as well and hugs them both. "You're my kids." He whispers to them. "I love you more than anything in the world. And nothing will ever change that." By the time of Rachel's 16th birthday she and Gar are officially Graysons.

Dick and Kory get married the following year. It's a glamorous but small ceremony with reception held at the Wayne Manor. For the months leading to the big day the kids (with the help of the entire team and few other people) prepare something very special - and the idea comes from Uncle Clay. Turns out Clay, as the closest friend of Dick's parents, owns a small storage unit where he keeps some of the stuff from the circus, including personal things - like a box of journals of Mary Grayson, who had been writing them since she was a child. Clay tells Gar and Rachel a story about how Mary used to write poetry which then she turned into songs and sometimes performed them at the circus. He even still has some of her stage outfits. The three of them get the idea that Gar and Rachel should look through tapes with her performances and pick one song to sing together at the wedding - and that's what they do. They find a beautiful ballad where Clay accompanied Mary on the piano (he teaches Gar how to play it) and in secret the team prepares the whole show. The performance happens during the Bride and Groom's first dance. Gar enters the stage in a tuxedo, says a few words and starts playing. Dick and Kory start dancing slowly but stop for a moment when he starts singing the first verse. They have no idea what's coming next. Rachel, in Mary's dress stands in the crowd surrounding the couple. Hank comes to stand behind her and secretly puts a microphone in her hand. She comes in for the second verse of the song and that's when Dick and Kory stop dancing completely, too surprised to move. They watch in absolute awe as Rachel joins her brother on stage and they finish the song together. When Dick realizes he actually remembers this song from his childhood and that the dress Rachel is wearing belonged to his mother he breaks down in tears. After the song is over the kids join their parents on the dancefloor for a bone-crushing group hug (and to help you imagine this even better this is the song I imagine them singing)

The day Rachel and Gar get their college acceptance letters is one of the most stressful days in their lives. They're in the Tower's kitchen, both holding the envelopes in their hands, afraid to open them. "What are you guys waiting for? Open it!" Kory encourages them. They agree to do it on three. Dick holds his breath, gripping tight his wife's hand. The kids read the letters, fully focused. There's a stretching moment of silence, and then… "I got in!" "Me too!" A lot of screaming and laughing and jumping around happens afterwards, but even in the chaos of all of that Dick can feel a burning knot tightening in his stomach.

And I thought sending Rachel to Themyscira was hard, Dick thinks when they drop Gar and Rachel off at college on their first day. Thankfully it's the same college, but it's in Chicago and it's still half a country away from home. He's not sure how many times he checked already if they have everything they need, if they haven't forgotten to pack something, if they are absolutely sure they know their schedule and so on. Kory, standing next to him with her hands on her growing belly, laughs at him fussing over them. Gar and Rachel just smile and nod, seeing how stressed he is. Yes, Dad, we're sure we have everything. Yes, we checked. Of course we'll call. Yes, Dad. Okay, Dad - and so on. At some point they all start laughing at the ridiculousness of it all but suddenly Dick is getting choked up. His two little birds are leaving the nest and he should be handling it better than he does. Seeing him clearlyon the edge of falling apart Gar and Rachel give him a tight hug. "I'm sorry." he says. "I'm just trying to let you go a little. Let you grow up." "It's that hard?" Rachel asks him and he looks at her - tall, beautiful, confident, brave and smart. Perfect. But he also still sees that little kid he met in Detroit. "It can't be that hard." Gar adds and for a moment when Dick looks at him he thinks he's seeing double - the young, handsome and courageous man who is standing in front of him now and that overexcited cheerful kid who joined them on their little road trip. "It's impossible." Dick tells them, pulling them back into another hug. "It's fucking impossible." Soon they have to go or they will be late for their classes and Dick and Kory are left alone on the campus. "They'll be okay." his wife tells him. He has to swallow down a bile in his throat and push back some tears before answering. "I know."

Oh and remember Dick's old silver Porsche? The one he traded for a minivan? Yeah, he got it back (don't ask him how). Rachel owns it now. Graduation present. And don't worry about Gar, he's got his car too. Grandpa Bruce got him his dream ride.

Woah... This turned out WAAAAAAAAAY longer than I thought it would be. If you made it this far (and even if you didn't) I hope you enjoyed.

#dc titans #titans #dcu titans #titans season 3 #dick grayson #rachel roth #kory anders #garfield logan #donna troy #titans netflix #titans season 1 #titans season 2

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sooibian · 4 years ago

Text

Flambé - I

poster and edits/collage credits to @is-that-baekhyuns-shirt !

chapter two | moodboard by the lovely @pororodks

🍜 pairing: kyungsoo x fem!reader ft. baekhyun, mark lee

🍜 description: pull up a chair. take a taste. come join us. life is so endlessly delicious. - ruth reichl

🍜 themes: fluff, crack (ish), slight angst, a lil bit of spice (in the future), rivals to lovers au

🍜 word count: ~ 9.7k

🍜 a/n: writing this makes me feel lonely and hungry and that, my friends, is a deadly concoction of emotions so while i wallow in my misery, i dearly hope you’ll enjoy this creation. i'd love to hear from you <3<br>

🍜 reference notes: yt channels: maangchi, one meal a day, bore.d; netflix shows: midnight diner, street food: asia, chef’s table

🍜 tag list: @changshapatrol @j-pping @kyungseokie @exosmuttytalk @his-mochi-cheeks @littleflowercrown13 pls lmk if you’d like to be added/removed from the tag list!

Water bobs in frenetic bubbles in a massive ancient stone pot perched atop a fort of raging wood. Amidst brutal peals of thunder, a gushing stream rises from a nearby hill, obscuring the shrill cries of the sacrificial crab.

Chanting a spell, you lift the enormous crustacean by its pincers and lower it into the growling, pitch black utensil. Blubbering helplessly, it lodges its claws at the rim of the pot in desperation, seeking escape. The sound of your maniacal laughter reverberates through the cave as you thrust it back into the violent undulation with a heavy-handed flick of the bladed-spatula.

All of a sudden, you’re swept over with a wave of unconsciousness, your skin tingles, and boiling water begins to fill up your lungs.

You are alone at the bottom of the very same utensil.

“Help!” frantic, you stagger up, gasping for air. But the bladed-spatula wielding crab, now untied and hovering over you, roars jubilantly at your defenseless form.

Maybe the spell didn’t land, you think.

“Please, Chef!” you whimper as a last ditch attempt.

In one swift motion, it swooshes down to your eye level.

Bushy black brows sprout on its forehead, just a little over a pair of big brown circles for eyes. Then comes the nose, followed by a bloody red mouth that snarls at you.

zzzz…

“Late again?”

zzzz…

4:00 a.m., your phone blinks.

In a sleep befuddled state, you reach out for the wailing device. ‘Late again?’ Chef’s cold, deep voice sounds in your consciousness as you wipe the droplets of sweat off of your forehead.

Chef.

Doh Kyungsoo had insisted on the title and you’d boldly refused to call him that. What business does a man working at a Kalguksu stand in Gwangjang Market have, being called Chef. You’d seeked redressal with the higher ups. The owner.

Your aunt.

“Aegiya, he has something that you don’t.”

“A dick?”

“YAH! A degree in culinary arts.”

“Imo, haven’t you watched Parasite? Anyone can forge documents these days and if so then why is he here? He could very well land a job at Four Seasons like Hyunjin. Think, Imo. Think!”

“Exactly! With forged documents, he could be anywhere. But he’s here, no?”

“Maybe you’re just easier to manipulate.”

Finally, she said in her no-nonsense, stern voice. "Chef. You’re calling him Chef.”

Every time the egotistical madman opens that darned mouth of his, it makes you want to knock him down with a roundhouse and beat the living daylights out of him.

But, counting to five, you always resist the temptation.

Because one day, one glorious day, you’d take over your aunt’s business and the very first item on your agenda would be….well, the obvious. With a glimmer of hope, you flounder out of your comforter, muttering every cuss word you’d learnt…and crafted in the course of working with the devil himself.

“Ah 3000 is a bit too much for cucumbers", he says to the middle aged vendor, flashing a boyish grin.

The face of sourcing has drastically changed in the last six months since Kyungsoo’s arrival. Prior to his dictatorship, Imo had tie-ups with vendors who’d hand deliver the produce every single day, without fail. Guess Kyungsoo didn’t fully comprehend the benefits of customer loyalty. ‘There could be better quality ingredients out there, Sajangnim…economically priced, I might add’, he’d convinced your aunt using his military corporal voice. No matter if it meant awkward break-ups with the vegetables ahjumma or the prawns ahjussi: you were left to do the dirty work.

And required to tag along for the routine 5 a.m sourcing runs. Every morning, he’d greet you with an accusatory ‘you killed my cat’ expression.

Groaning, you shift your weight from side to side. If only he’d quit flirting with every woman in the market and hurry up! The purchases have long exceeded the capacity of your humble cart. Flailing your numb arms awake, you urge him to speed up with a nudge of the knee but he glares at you like you’d asked him for a kidney.

Kyungsoo has a tendency to overbuy but never does he help with a single bag. ‘I don’t like to sweat’ is his excuse. Which is pretty ridiculous considering he spends over ten hours a day overseeing a scorching frying pan at the stall.

But you know better than to argue.

Because as much as you loathe every fibre of his existence, he terrifies you a little. The man possesses the duality of a psychopath. As fierce as he is in the Market, ruthlessly competitive even, he’s quite the sweet talker. Incredibly charming. And you can bet your life on the fact that every ahjumma - whether or not a rival - would take a bullet for him.

“Ahdeul-ah”, the woman coos at him, making your insides violently contort, “you know how tight the market is these days. But I’ll throw in some more only for you.”

The additional weight of three kilos on your right arm ends your sourcing run for the day.

***

“Chef”, huffing, you say to him on your way out, “I had a late night last night.”

“And I need to be privy to this little nugget of unwarranted information because?” He paces ahead of you at his usual lightning speed.

“No, I meant, could we stop”, panting you continue, “could we stop for a quick cup of coffee.”

Halting abruptly, he turns around to look you square in the eyes, “No.”

“Asshole!” You murmur under your breath.

“I heard that.”

Monday at Choi Yoonsun’s Kalguksu stall was busier than usual.

It went by in a daze amidst the cacophony of a sizzling girdle, clanging of pots and pans and Imo’s relentless vocalization inviting guests to the stall. Having served thousands of bowls of Kalguksu and Kimchi Mandu, you rely heavily on muscle memory to get you through a workday’s demands.

Despite its massive chaos and commotion, you quite enjoyed working in the Market.

Not being particularly skilled at much and having nearly flunked out of high school, cooking was the one thing that defined you. It was your safe harbour. You’d lost your father in an accident at the tender age of ten and your mother was forced to work long hours to put food on the table. So you honed your culinary skills, little by little, because you thought it vital for your own well-being as well as your mother’s.

One cannot think well, love well, sleep well, if one has not dined well.

At the end of yet another rewarding day, you leave a wet towel soaking in vinegar for Kyungsoo to clean the iron girdle and proceed to tend to the dirty dishes yourself.

“Yahh!” Imo calls out for Kyungsoo and you, thumping her hand on the table, gesturing for you to join her.

“Ahh! Imo, there’s a huge pile of dirty dishes!” You cry out in response, only to turn around to find that ass-kisser already at the table, schmoozing with your aunt. Hastily taking off your grubby apron, you wash your hands and wipe them clean with a rag cloth. Straightening your black shirt, flattening unruly flyaways, you rush toward the table but she’s already up and ready to leave, “We’ll have dinner together tonight. I want to have a word with both of you.”

“But -”

“Sajangnim”, Kyungsoo interrupts, wagging a finger in your direction, face scrunched up in mock concern, “this one’s had a late night last night -”

“Chef! So I guess I’ll be seeing you tonight. As if seeing you every day of every week wasn’t enough already!”

An overtly saccharine smile spreads across your face and his jaw hardens in response.

“Aish….you two…I’m leaving now”, shaking her head, she sighs, “see you both in two hours.”

Kimchi jjigae, Pajeon, Tteokbokki, Jajangmyeon, some leftover Bibimbap with sides galore from Hong Lim Banchan Stall. Imo clearly has something important on her mind.

But the vibe at the dinner table just doesn’t sit right with you.

The reason for that could be the bespectacled black hole of negativity that’s seated besides you in all black clothing but there’s something off about Imo.

She’s being a little too nice.

Fear gradually starts to settle in your bones. Is she finally closing down? Is this delectable fare an attempt at softening the blow? After all, she’d settled her husband’s debts over five years ago and her sons were doing well for themselves. Quite well, in fact. The elder one, Hyunwoo, is an investment banker and the younger one Hyunjin went to culinary school and is working as a chef at Four Seasons’ Chinese restaurant. It only makes sense for her to trade the Market’s gruelling ways for some much deserved peace and quiet.

“We’re closing down the stall”, she says coolly.

It’s like a punch in the gut.

“Imo -”

“Aegiya”, she rests her chin on her hand, face clouded over with serenity, “the Market’s given me everything. It’s given me a sense of independence…a sense of pride. It put my family back together. I used to think that I’m nothing without my husband and my sons…but the Market gave me an identity. I continued to work even after my husband’s passing not because I needed the money but because this is something that I’ve created and I’m mighty proud of what’s become of it today. My name is a brand in itself. And a decade ago I couldn’t have imagined this even in the wildest of my dreams.”

A million scenarios cascading through your head drown out Imo’s voice.

Would you now have to go back to Bucheon? Or invest in a stall of your own at the traditional Gwangjang that would never accept your big and bold ways with cooking? And to start from scratch? With a new recipe? Kalguksu with a twist, perhaps? But you had no insight into your aunt’s special broth. She’d never let you or even Kyungsoo for that matter whip up the hand-cut noodles. The two of you only ever helped with the ancillary tasks.

You soon come to the realization of not being the only one caught in the eye of the storm. Kyungsoo’s unwavering gaze is scarily fixated on the bowl of jajangmyeon before him. His miserable state gives you a fleeting sense of relief and it’s in that exact moment that he chooses to say something unpalatable.

“Sajangnim, you’ve worked too hard. It’s time for you to reap the fruits of your labour. We’ll be fine, you don’t have to worry about us.”

Of course he’ll be fine.

Nearly all food stall owners in Gwangjang have been vying for him ever since the day he set foot into Choi Yoonsun’s with his phlegmatic personality. Whereas you had nowhere to go. The world conveniently assumes Imo hired you only because you were her poor sister’s daughter who she sought to help financially. Not because you had what it took to be there and survive.

“Did I say I was ready to retire?” She laughs, eyeing Kyungsoo quizzically.

“Here’s the thing..I met up with a friend last month. She was looking for a buyer for her little family run restaurant in Gangnam. So I took out a loan, made her an offer”, balling her hands into fists she sighs, “put in the deposit…and the place is pretty much mine now!”

“IMO”, you yell, “you didn’t have to scare me with that long winded speech! God, you’re so dramatic!”

“Well, it is a big move. I’m not sure either of you are ready to take the leap. It requires a tonne of work and I may not be able to pay half of what you earned at the Market for at least two months until we open. It’ll take the restaurant two years or so to break even and only then will I be able to afford scaling your salaries. On the other hand, what I can do is, help you secure a job at the banchan stall since you love seasoned spinach so much and Kyungsoo even stands a chance at managing one of the Pakgane stalls!”

Pakgane is the mung bean pancake stall that had gotten so popular that the owner managed to branch out of Gwangjang. So even your beloved Imo believes that you’d make for a better “help” and Kyungsoo, a Manager.

Ugh!

“I’m coming with you”, you say firmly, “I’ve saved up a little and Eomma will gladly pitch in, if need be…”

At this point, you’d expected Kyungsoo to be ready with his luggage considering the little sycophant he is but his expression is stoic, eyes still glued to the jajangmyeon bowl, filling you with insane hope.

He was going to jump ship…finally!

“Chef…”, you couldn’t resist, “you don’t have to worry about us…I’m more than enough for Imo. You may…”

He shoots you an angry glare making you chew on your unsaid words. But wanting to rile him just a little more, you excuse yourself and bring out a bottle of ketchup. Squeezing it generously atop the stack of pajeon, you snicker maliciously.

Ketchup.

The tangy, unassuming condiment is the sole reason Kyungsoo abhors your very existence. But as this dinner marks the end of his torturous regime, you celebrate with ketchup - lots of it - right in front of his nasty eyes.

Steam swirls in different directions and at every twenty metres a contrastive redolence tickles your olfactory senses. Experiencing Gwangjang as a guest is clearly a far richer experience compared to the donkeywork involved in life as a vendor.

A proper send-off is essential lest Kyungsoo decides to stay, even if it means creating a huge dent in your pocket. You plan on giving him a final tour of the Market where you could both say your goodbyes while receiving a premium fuel of vitamins, minerals and carbs.

Lots of carbs.

“Let’s start with Pakgane”, says Kyungsoo, with a skewered sausage in one hand.

Wanting to start with nothing less than the best in order to create a lasting impression, you shake your head in response. This was supposed to be a farewell he’d never forget.

With every step, the aroma of scallops drizzled with butter and cheese grows stronger. You start your tour by ordering two portions of the delectable street food which sets you back considerably but you’re far too elated to care, even refusing Kyungsoo’s offer to pay as the woman sets the scallops ablaze with a blow torch.

“Do you know what this technique is called?” Kyungsoo gives a little nod in the direction of the flaming food.

A teachable moment. How does his own personality not wear him off?

You’d made a firm resolve to not let any of his condescension bog you down so with a sweet smile, you reply, “No, Chef. I do not.”

“Flambé, minus the alcohol. Do you know how they manage that?”

The ahjumma calls out for you and you nearly jump to collect the order, the slight upward curl of his lips coming into your peripheral vision.

***

The Market supposedly looks the same as it did fifty years ago and you quite enjoy eating your way through it. The tour makes your heart grapple with nostalgia even though your partner’s vibe is akin to a mug of insipid coffee.

Although you’d spent only a little over a year at Choi Yoonsun’s, the goodbyes were long and hard. Some of the vendors squeeze you and Kyungsoo in heart wrenching hugs, the others give you a little cash to help you through the transition and for some of the food, you pay only with smiles and thank yous.

After a gastronomic fiesta entailing tteokbokki, pajeon (minus the ketchup - you did it Kyungsoo’s way), sashimi, kimbap, different types of banchan, a thousand more teachable moments, the both of you end the day on a sweet note with hotteok.

The ahjussi wishes you both luck, making you choke back tears.

Your moist eyes don’t escape Kyungsoo’s attention.

“Are you…. Is the hotteok spicy? No, I mean it’s obviously not…erm”

The dam of your tears explodes.

You were going to miss this place. Even the less appealing aspects of it. You were going to miss the kimbap unnie who greeted you with a hug everyday, also the snooty mandu ahjumma who could hardly stand the sight of Choi Yoonsun’s crew. You were going to miss washing dishes in the winters with water that was supposed to be ice and the sweltering summers that had you sweating through every layer of clothing.

Hell, you were even going to miss Kyungsoo.

“No”, you sniffle, “No, no Chef, it’s nothing. Take care of yourself. As much as I’m glad that our fateful working relationship has met its rightful end, I truly, genuinely, wish you luck. And learn to smile a little more, yeah?”

“Are you dying?” Eyes glinting, mouth agape, he chuckles.

“What? NO! What? You’re leaving. What is wrong with you?”

“Who says I’m leaving?”

“You! You’re not coming with us to Gangnam!”

“Says who?”

“Your stupid face that looked like it was hit by a freight train when Imo broke the news last week!”

“I’m not leaving?” He draws his words out in a question.

“This is no time to joke, Chef. You are leaving!”

“Says who!”

“Your stu-”

“Stupid face? I wasn’t planning on leaving at all. I’ve even found myself a place close to the restaurant. Oh yeah, sorry for having misled you. It was really just - my stupid face.”

A month from Grand Opening

It’s not just about food.

Food only makes for a fifth of a restaurant’s success equation. Management and promotional skills are essential because a restaurant is, first and foremost, a business.

Mark Lee, the young consultant from PCY Associates had imparted this crucial business knowledge to your compact team of three aspiring restaurateurs in exchange for an egg sandwich and watermelon juice. The enthu-cutlet has been overseeing the legal set-up of your humble restaurant for a month now.

However, according to Mark, the crème de la crème of the success equation is customer service.

Customer service.

Here’s where the crusty Chef was supposed to take a backseat and you - a real people person, a socially adept charmer - were to sashay in and shine.

These ideas were a bit too much for that thick, globular skull of his so you tried to educate him with a practical example.

He’d added a rule to the first draft of the menu - a shared document for brainstorming purposes. It read ‘No ketchup for you.’ This rule (or insolence as you called it) went against your belief system as the restaurant’s to-be-anointed Manager (a girl can always hope). ‘Never say no to a customer’ being the foundation of customer service, you slashed the rule with a strikethrough.

But the next time you tried to log in, you found yourself locked out of the document.

“Chef, why can’t I find the draft menu anymore?”

He’s aggressively julienning leeks, pretending to not have heard you.

“CHEF!”

“What?” Finally, he looks up. The skin between his eyebrows pinched and his arm raised to level his brand new 1-piece chef’s knife (initials etched into the blade) with his profile.

“Why-why did you lock me out of the draft menu?”, you stammer, gaze trained on the cutting edge glistening with tears of The Leeks.

Kyungsoo’s been visibly getting jittery by the day as opening day approaches.

He deliberately places the knife to the side of the board and you take a gutsy step forward. He uses a cold, serial-killer voice to ask, “What makes you think that I locked you out?”

You lean over from the other side of the granite counter, face barely an inch from his, “Who else could’ve? Imo is technologically challenged.”

“Fine”, he sighs, “I locked you out.” His lips curl up in a menacing smirk, “What are you gonna do about it?”

Grinning, you stare right into his dark eyes and let out a shrill, high-pitched scream, “IMO!”

This throws him back a few steps and he’s rubbing and pulling at his right ear when Imo walks into the kitchen.

“Yah! Am I your babysitter? Whatever it is, I don’t want to hear about it. I am asking you”, she looks at you before spinning her head in Kyungsoo’s direction, “and you, to sort this amongst yourselves. For once!”

“But-but Imo!”, you protest.

“Aegiya, I really don’t want to ship you back to Bucheon.”

***

“Here’s your tax ID, liquor license… okay so this was a touch-and-go because the officer is transferring to another Department and the one that’s supposed to be coming in is a real piece of work….”

Mark Lee is here with the final set of documents.

Imo’s eyes are gleaming with excitement and sheer joy but she’s held a businesswoman-like composure. On the other hand, Kyungsoo looks very much like himself - like someone’s sucked the life out of him.

You bring Mark his usual egg sandwich and watermelon juice because there’s only so much your restaurant can offer at this point in time, feeling brutally overwhelmed with the volume of pending tasks until opening.

After practically inhaling his mini-meal, Mark dabs his mouth clean and says, “My work here is done. If you need anything you know where to find me. And good luck. Trust me, you’ll need it.”

Imo looks worriedly at Kyungsoo and then at Mark and at Kyungsoo again which prompts him to ask rather uncomfortably, “What do you mean ‘you’ll need it’?”

Mark’s dramatically long sigh is an indication of a sermon to follow. As he leans back into his chair, Imo and Kyungsoo instinctively cower like an invisible weight has been plopped onto their shoulders. The sight is beyond pathetic: they are like peasants before a feudal lord. It makes you want to smash the know-it-all smirk off of Mark’s face.

What comes after, though, isn’t a sermon but a sentence and a half that leaves the three of you shaken.

“The dining business here in Gangnam is hyper-competitive and most restaurants fold in six months. And if that sandwich is any indication…”

Kyungsoo valiantly advances to rescue your team out of the dark bubble of Mark Lee’s words with, “What’s wrong with the sandwich? She makes a perfectly good sandwich!”

What was supposed to be a compliment somehow sounds very wrong in your head, but before you could give him the death stare he leaps to damage control, “What I mean is, we all ate the very same sandwich for breakfast. I don’t usually dissect food for novices but the egg was perfectly cooked, mayonnaise was just the right amount and the seasoning was balanced, too. So I’m not sure what you’re trying to say. We’re serving perfectly good food here.”

“The thing is, this is something even my mother could make and dude, believe me, she’s terri…her culinary abilities are highly questionable. Also, do you think your friend would’ve sold you this place if it were thriving, Mrs. Choi? She’d inherited it from her grandfather and she sold it to you at a dirt cheap price because she was neck deep in debt. I’m sure you know, real estate here is three and a half times the country’s average. So not only do you have significant funds locked into a possibly deadweight property but also your plan clearly lacks vision. Gwangjang’s Choi Yoonsun can keep you afloat for four…maybe six months but Gangnam’s Choi Yoonsun has to create an identity for herself. Look around you, everyone’s serving good food”, Mark tilts his head in Kyungsoo’s direction, “Here, people eat with their eyes first. Now, I’m not saying family-run restaurants serving traditional cuisines don’t do well. A lot of them have been passed down for generations. What I’m saying is…..find your USP.”

Mark squints, looks into the distance, and pinches the air a lot during this damp squib speech of his.

So the menu isn’t very different from what Choi Yoonsun served in Gwangjang. Her USP has always been homestyle cooking with a twist. But that was the demand of a Market that upheld traditionalism and Gangnam, being precipitously everchanging, would be quite something to keep up with.

The weight of Mark’s words manifests on Kyungsoo’s shoulders. He lets out a sharp exhale and starts to clear the table, giving him plenty non-verbal cues to leave. You rush to help him out and meet his defeated form (crouched over the sink) in the kitchen.

The shuffling sound of your footsteps reaches his ears and he pivots to face you.

“We’ll be okay”, your voice is but a calm whisper prompting his creased forehead to slowly smoothen.

“We’ll be okay”, he forcefully echoes.

Grand Opening Day

A frisson of fear laced with excitement descends your spine.

Choi Yoonsun’s is enveloped in a pin drop silence save for the sound of Kyungsoo’s pacing. It’s grating on your nerves but Kyungsoo pacing is far better than Kyungsoo “going over the plan” for the umpteenth time.

The kitchen’s prepped for battle so you’re seated at the cash counter, cuddled close with Imo, placated by her soothing, motherly presence. The three of you are like ticking time bombs, ready to go off at any minute.

This, right here, is the perfect example of a pinch-me-it-doesn’t-feel-real moment. You allow yourself to feel the forces at play as your eyes take in every nook and cranny of the restaurant. The place is agreeably well lit and the ventilation hoods aren’t an eyesore either. The decor’s minimalistic with a sand and stone colour scheme and the floor’s been scrubbed spotless. Eight sturdy wooden tables, tactically placed, allow for movement and privacy yet the area has been optimally utilized.

Fifteen minutes for the ‘Open’ sign to light up.

Kyungsoo and you proceed to help each other out with crisp bright yellow aprons affixed with red name tags (handpicked by Imo, the aprons made you both look like dumpy chicks) and clear plastic masks and wish each other luck with curt nods.

***

Imo’s sons are the first to arrive with some friends in tow. They are served with Kyungsoo’s Yachae Twigim and Budae Jjigae, your Gyeran-mari and Kimchi Bokkeum-bap and of course, Imo’s famous Kalguksu and Kimchi Mandu. Makes you wonder if they’ve had enough of it but they seem to be greatly enjoying themselves. Some of Hyunjin’s friends from Four Seasons are here too, their mighty presence driving Kyungsoo to the edge.

But a few compliments from them are enough to soothe his nerves.

Among the flurry of patrons through the day were vendors and stall owners from Gwangjang along with their family and friends, Kyungsoo’s acquaintances who you knew nothing about and neither did you care enough to ask, Mark Lee with his very handsome boss Park Chanyeol also dropped by sometime around noon.

Your mother couldn’t make it to the opening. It stung a little but as usual, you sucked it up and went on with the highly stimulating day that anyway left you with very little time to mull over any unpleasantness.

***

By the end of it, you were pretty sure you’d wake up with blistered feet the next morning.

It’d been a splendid opening with sales tallying up to KRW 2500,000: nearly two and a half times the estimate. Imo breaks into a dance at the figure, even Kyungsoo lips stretch into a reluctant grin.

You intensely wish Mark Lee were here to witness this euphoric win.

Six months later

Mark Lee had been right.

Choi Yoonsun was miles from creating an identity in Gangnam. Regulars from Gwangjang could make it to the restaurant only twice or thrice a week, support from acquaintances had been gradually trickling, and some negative reviews floating around the internet about poor table turnover had also been driving potential guests away.

You tried to mitigate this by hiring part timers at minimum wage but for several reasons, none of them managed to stay: anti-social hours and Kyungsoo’s hostility being two of the key causes.

On your best days, the sales would total up to KRW 1500,000 and the weekday numbers had been dismal.

***

“Dooly-dooly!”

Your eyes light up at the familiarity of that voice. Mirroring its excitement, you run into the arms of its owner.

“Baekhyunnie!”

Kyungsoo peers over his glasses while scrubbing the iron girdle, studying the floppy haired, cheerful man with a wide grin plastered across his face that’s pranced into the kitchen at closing time.

Byun Baekhyun has been your best friend since time immemorial. Growing up in Bucheon, he’d been the only family you’d known besides your parents and Imo’s family. You weren’t even as close with Hyunwon and Hyunjin as you were with Baekhyun. Since work always kept your mother busy, his parents had practically been the ones to raise you and not once did they make you feel like an outsider.

“Yah! Quit calling me Dooly we’re not kids anymore! Have you eaten? Let me whip you up something real quick. Look at youuuu, when did you get this skinny! How long are -”

“Not to interrupt, but you’ve left the water running”, Kyungsoo drones, lazily pointing in the direction of the sink.

You clearly remember turning it off before darting to greet Baekhyun.

‘Sonofa-’ exasperated, you mouth to Baekhyun, whose eyebrows have shot up to his hairline out of vicarious embarrassment, before turning around to face Kyungsoo who seems to be scrubbing the iron girdle to gold. “Chef, you’re closer to the sink.”

“Reiterating. You’ve left the water running. If you wanna go on tittle-tattling, by all means….this wastage is on you.”

“Make yourself comfortable”, too exhausted to pick a fight, you whisper to Baekhyun, gesturing towards the closest table, “I’ll be with you soon.”

***

“It’s bad”, Imo sighs, burying her face in her hands.

11 P.M., two hours past closing time.

The sparse lighting in the restaurant is causing you an eyestrain to look at the scribblings on the register. Your neck and shoulder muscles are tense from all the chopping, stirring, and scrubbing: a slow day does not translate to an easy day. You notice that Kyungsoo is growing weary, too.

Or maybe discouraged.

You communicate with each other in evasive glances as if the restaurant not doing well is, somehow, on the two of you.

“Imo”, Baekhyun speaks first so as to allay the looming dread, “I’ve been reading the online reviews and those who’ve visited here have been raving about the food - especially the Kalguksu. They say you’ve brought the flavours of Gwangjang to Gangnam. There’s this one thing, though - ”

“Sajangnim”, Kyungsoo interrupts a zealous Baekhyun’s pitch, “I don’t think this is any of his business. We’ve been keeping track of reviews and such - ”

“Let the boy speak. He’s family.” She says softly, pressing her fingers to her temples, clearly clutching at straws now.

Kyungsoo clenches his jaw and nods in Baekhyun’s direction, indicating him to continue.

“There-there”, Baekhyun stutters, eyes fixed on Kyungsoo who’s vaguely fascinated with his cuticles, “are some complaints about slow service. Particularly between starters and mains.”

After an uncomfortably rich pause, Imo gently rests her hand atop Baekhyun’s “Baekhyunah, how long are you here for?”

“For as long as you need”, the apples of his cheeks rise as his eyes crinkle into a gleeful smile.

***

“Somebody is early. Also, the cart looks different…it’s..?”

Dressed in his usual black athleisure, round eyes framed with chunky glasses, Kyungsoo jogs lightly to match your out-of-character sprightly pace into the market.

“Bigger. I bought a new one.” You chirp, shooting him an out-of-character smile.

Even the dreary weather isn’t a buzzkill because today is supposed to be Baekhyun’s first day at work.

“How did you get Sajangnim to agree? She can be -”

“Miserly? Stingy? Close-fisted? Also, when will you stop calling her Sajangnim?”

“Just so that you can stop addressing me appropriately? Dream on. And I meant economical. Sajangnim is economical.”

“Chef, do you even listen? I bought it. With my own money. I figured since we’d need more ingredients now, we could use a bigger one.”

“And how did you come to that conclusion?” Impervious to his smug tone, you step away to pick up a one kg bulk pack of dried shiitake mushrooms while he’s examining a small batch of zucchini.

“Because Baekhyun’s gonna be working with us now.”

“Temporarily. And we’re suddenly going to start doing better because of an inexperienced, unemployed -”

The wheels of the cart hit his ankle when you swivel it, making him wince in pain.

“Oops! Sorry.”

“You did that on purpose!” He chides.

Half-shrugging, you say nonchalantly, “Serves you right. Baekhyun may be inexperienced but he isn’t unemployed. If anything, he’s doing us a favour. He’s whimsical like that.”

“I know”, he states, forcefully taking control of the cart, “I know he isn’t unemployed. He owns a Hapkido training academy for elementary school children and is on a break these days. I looked him up. I, personally, wouldn’t have hired him if it were my restaurant but I’m sure Sajangnim -”

“Chef?” You stop dead in your tracks.

“What?”

“You’re on…” you wanted to say ‘social media’ but the words sounded almost blasphemous to be used in front of a very uptight Doh Kyungsoo: a man with absolutely no online presence.

“What is it?” His eyebrows knit together in annoyance.

“Nothing, let’s go.”

“You know what else is different today?” He says on your way out, a mischievous smile tugging at his lips.

“Hmm?”

“You. You’ve showered.” He chortles, thinking he’s being funny.

But with a hardened expression, you let him know that he’s crossed a line.

“Too far?”

“A tad.”

“Let’s get you some coffee.”

“No.” You smile inwardly, relishing his apologetic tone.

“No?”

“We have to pick up Baekhyun’s apron and nametag.”

At first you thought you were imagining this.

A group of high school girls frequenting Choi Yoonsun’s must obviously be because they want to get healthy, homely meals instead of the trash served at fast food chains or the uneconomical subsistence of instagrammable cafes. They’re obviously not here for the charming server with an athlete’s body and a boyish grin.

“He should wear respectable clothing”, says Kyungsoo, indicating at Baekhyun’s skinny jeans and fitted black tee, hiss sharper than the sizzle of minced garlic in butter.

“Why, I don’t think his cleavage is showing”, you retort, scooping out a serving of rice from the cooker.

“You have absolutely no shame”, he states matter-of-factly, stirring the soup pot.

“What? Is my cleavage showing, too?” You ask in mock-surprise, fixing your apron theatrically.

“Forget I said anything.”

The aroma of Kimchi Jjigae had you salivating and you couldn’t wait to taste it for seasoning. Kyungsoo’s cooking amply made up for his drab, lacklustre personality.

“Chef, lighten up. Any publicity is good publicity.”

“You sound like a tabloid journalist”, leaving the soup to simmer, he turns around to face you, “What’s wrong with your hair?”

“I got a haircut”, scrunching your face you respond suspiciously, the fact that he noticed it despite the hair cover makes your heart palpitate.

Taking the unwarranted attention away from your hair, you ask hastily, “You think they’re here for Baekhyun and not your food, right?”

“Ye-yes”, he stutters, looking away.

“These people wouldn’t be here time and again if it weren’t for the food, Chef. You should know that.”

Moving closer to him, you lightly dust flour off of his shoulders.

“How did you get flour on your shoulders?”

His ears go scarlet.

Imo comes into the kitchen while Kyungsoo and you are preparing for the day ahead. Baekhyun has gone down to Bucheon to oversee the affairs of his training academy.

“There’s this new officer who’s reviewing all liquor permits issued this year. Be careful and make sure to check all IDs twice. I’m taking the day off. Will you two be okay by yourselves?” She swooshes out of the kitchen, not bothering with your incoherent replies.

“Can’t believe they’ve ditched us on a Friday.” You grumble, soaking clams in fresh water.

“We’ll be fine.” Kyungsoo reassures you.

***

It had been quite the day and nearing closing time, your feet were going sore. Baekhyun taking on the toughest role in the restaurant made you greatly appreciate his efforts. While most guests are civil, he’s experienced his fair share of rowdy ones firsthand and his ability to deal with them is unparalleled. He’s never, ever let any matter escalate to a point of embarrassment and has demonstrated the maturity to overcome every crisis situation with a smile on his face.

The fact that he’s only temporarily here suddenly starts to wear you out.

Kyungsoo sticks a handwritten note on the steel holder which reads - Yangnyeom - 2. It’s only been a little over eight months since the restaurant’s been fully functional yet the holder’s worn out more because of use and less because of time.

“About time we advanced to kitchen order tickets, right? Saves Baekhyun…or either of us unnecessary excursions to the kitchen. Also, billing will be simpler that way.” You offer while straightening your apron and getting ingredients ready for Kyungsoo to prepare the sauce.

“Yeah, it does”, he seems really out of it as he’s getting chunks of juicy chicken ready for the fryer. He’s moving around the kitchen rather clumsily, nearly tipping over the bottle of corn syrup.

“Wah, Chef, are you alright? Would you like me to do this?”

Resting his back against the wall, he slowly sinks to the floor, face buried in hands. “Yes, please.”

While you’re preparing a sauce the recipe for which you know like the back of your hand, his instructions don’t cease. The only thing you’ve ever liked about working with this man is that contrary to Imo, he does not believe in micromanaging. But right now it feels like you’re in the kitchen with her and not with Kyungsoo.

The tension causes you to lower the chicken into the fryer hastily resulting in specks of flaming oil to splatter onto your arm.

He’s quick to rush to your aid with a cold towel.

“Yah, Chef, you’re making me nervous, what’s with all this nitpicking?” You almost yell at him as he’s gingerly dabbing the towel on the affected area.

“I’m sorry, I am so sorry. It’s just”, he pauses briefly, worrying at his lower lip, questioning eyes peering into yours, before helping you with the chicken - slightly more confident in his movements now, “whatever you do, don’t get out of the kitchen. Table number four, those guys there, are weird.”

“Weird, how?”

“Rowdy, mannerless and drunk. Really, really drunk. Steamrolled by the ‘Friday happy’.”

“Ah, Baekhyun’s well-versed with their kind. Don’t worry, just be polite. Are you sure you don’t want me to intervene?”

“Positive and whatever happens?”

“Stay put. Chef?”

“Yeah?”

“It’s only thirty minutes to closing. We can get through this, okay? And don’t accept further orders!”

***

Twenty minutes after, you’re aimlessly scrolling through your phone to take your mind off the stabbing pain in your lower abdomen. Simultaneously playing a little game of inventing the kind of content Kyungsoo would upload if he were a user on these sites only to be jolted with the realization as to how little you know about the man.

As the restaurant’s occupied with boisterous conversations and raucous laughter, you’re counting seconds to closing. Multiplying three hundred with every bracket of five on the clock.

The din comes to an abrupt halt when you hear a middle aged man bellow, “Yah, punk, do you have a death wish?!”

Gradually moving closer to the door, you try to get a view of the scene outside.

You see a polite but firm Kyungsoo bow before the man, “We can’t serve you any more alcohol, sorry, we’ll be closing now.”

The other two men along with the nasty vermin have long passed out. You quickly call for a cab, subconsciously grabbing a hold of Kyungsoo’s knife in the process.

“DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHO YOU’RE TALKING TO RIGHT NOW?” He thunders.

Kyungsoo recoils as the man grows louder by the second. “We cannot serve you anymore alcohol, sir.”

It happens in a flash.

So fast you almost feel like you’re astral projecting.

One moment, the man raises a hand to strike Kyungsoo. Kyungsoo swerves. You dash out of the kitchen with the knife in your hand. Face to face with the man, you scream until your lungs hurt, “GET OUT! I SAID GET OUT OF MY RESTAURANT!”

The vermin’s companions stir at the sound.

With frightened eyes they take in the scene as their drowsy brain is still trying to assess the situation for action. They soon pull the man by his shoulders while Kyungsoo’s tugging at your knife bearing arm that’s still raised in combat mode, simultaneously apologising to the rowdy guest.

Wagging his sausage like finger at the both of you he warns menacingly, “You have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into.”

Slapping the tab on their table, you proceed to threaten him, “Settle this and get - the fuck - out of my restaurant before I call the cops.”

Throwing a couple of bills on the table, he staggers out, grumbling, “You just wait”, still wagging his finger and reeking of stale alcohol.

It was only then that your grip on the knife eases as Kyungsoo carefully draws it out of your hand and you see, just like you, he’s shaking too.

“What just happened?” He’s the first to speak as you sit across the table from him, dark orbs glinting in the dim light, forehead beaded with sweat. His hands are tightly wound together as he places them on the table. One day without Baekhyun and Imo and Kyungsoo and you had messed up real bad. By the looks of it, neither of you were ready to accept this fact.

“We did exactly what we were supposed to do. Stop worrying!” You say more to yourself.

He’s not convinced.

“Chef, that man’s reaction wasn’t something that you could’ve preempted or….controlled in any way.” Finding yourself getting mildly annoyed, you try your best to lay the edge off of your voice. All you wanted was for him to be alright because, technically, none of this was his fault.

“Would you have allowed him to take a swing at you?”

“He was far too drunk for that”, he exhales heavily and you notice his stance relax before clamping up again, “but you-you came out with a knife!”

His tone isn’t accusatory. He’s simply baffled.

“Fight or flight…”

“It’s my knife.”

“I’ll be sure to hide the murder weapon.”

He nods slowly.

“Do you need some water? Tea? A hug?”

You half expect him to scowl or groan or whatever it is that he usually does but he seems to be actually evaluating his options.

“A beer?”

“Down for Chimaek?”

Stood up to go into the kitchen, you awkwardly, and very, very slowly put an arm around his shoulders and give him a tight squeeze.

***

This was your first time having fried chicken and beer in complete silence - a few minutes felt like hours with the incident still hovering over both of you.

“Chef, you know we haven’t murdered anyone right?”

“The restaurant feels like a scene of crime to me. Also, what did he mean by ‘you just wait’?”

“Eh. Empty threats. Testosterone poisoning. Do you think they’ll throw me into prison for threatening him with a knife?”

“You should be sent in for pilfering stock”, he says gesturing at the tray between you, taking a chunky bite of the chicken, “you were going to take this home, weren’t you? It’s good, by the way.”

“Ah, this makes me happy”, you lean back into your chair, smiling discreetly at Kyungsoo’s messy fingers and mouth.

“A compliment from me makes you happy?” His eyebrows shoot up as he takes a swig of beer.

“Testosterone poisoning”, you say pointing an accusatory finger at him, “I couldn’t care less what you think. I’m pretty confident in my skills.”

“As you should be. Then what ‘makes you happy’? The thought of going to prison?”

“Yes”, you lie, “you think I’ll have a prison bitch?”

“I think you’ll be the prison bitch.”

You open your mouth to protest but what escapes is a mortifying burp.

Uncomfortable silence.

Meeting his eyes, you purse your lips, feeling your face flame. He smiles at you and says, ‘wait for it’, before belching. Loudly. Sending you both into fits of laughter.

“What happened here last week?”

Kyungsoo and you are seated opposite Imo like criminals before a cop in an interrogation room. Baekhyun is holed up in the kitchen, cleaning. For the most part, he avoids conflicts like these where Imo’s red hot beam of anger could be misdirected at him.

She’s glaring at the responsible child, Kyungsoo, to break first but since it was your idea to keep the incident from her you start to explain. By the time you’re done she seems angrier, but not at the two of you. Only after a tiny lecture on how you should learn to be more tactful in such situations does she spell out her real concern.

Turns out the man the both of you had a scuffle with last week is the new officer’s brother-in-law. Now, the restaurant’s received a notice from the liquor permit’s office for an “inspection” in the coming week. Although aware that this situation isn’t either of your fault, Imo is far from pleased with this development.

“Fix this”, she orders and disappears into the kitchen.

There’s only one person who can help you out of this mess, but neither Kyungsoo nor you possess the emotional capacity to deal with him.

“He’s our only option”, you deadpan.

With a heavy sigh, Kyungsoo dials Mark Lee.

***

Mouth stuffed with egg sandwich, Mark Lee garbles, “What do you want from me? It’s an inspection so let them come and - inspect.”

Imo’s taken off for the day and it’s just you and Kyungsoo trying to sort out the mess you weren’t entirely responsible for.

“You said we could call you if we needed help with anything”, Kyungsoo reasons with Mark who’s now ogling at him as if he just got spoken to in an alien language.

“Yes, but I don’t see how I can be of help here?”

“Tell us anything you know about this new officer. Don’t leave anything out.” You’re nearly begging at this point and Mark Lee, as always, is reveling in your misery.

He relaxes in his seat, swirling the glass of watermelon juice, “You know you can’t buy your way out of this right? He’s an uptight bugger and you screwed up! Big time! All you had to do was give his brother-in-law a bottle of beer.”

“Oh, we’re sorry we didn’t have his family tree handy”, Kyungsoo rolls his eyes, “Besides, were just trying to abide by the rules - ”

The helplessness in Kyungsoo’s voice causes you to lose your cool at Mark. “Yah! Quit being cocky and just tell us everything you know!”

“Oh-oh feisty”, his mouth spreads into an annoying grin, “okay so he loves his wife, obviously, it’s why he’s doing this. Has an eleven year old daughter who is the apple of his eye. Erm, let’s see, he’s spent his teenage years in Japan and the country is all he’ll ever talk about. Piss him off and this inspection turns into a review and if things continue to spiral you’ll have your permit revoked. So be careful.” His eyes lock with yours making you shift uncomfortably in your seat.

“What are you planning to do with this information, anyway?”

“We don’t know just yet”, Kyungsoo starts clearing up the table, as usual, and Mark knows that his time is up.

“Dude”, he leans towards you, whisper-chortling, as Kyungsoo retires into the kitchen, “did you drive him out with a knife?”

Nodding, you grin gleefully.

“Fiery! You’re totally my boss’ type.”

***

“So what are we going to do?” Rubbing your eyes and stifling a yawn, you ask Kyungsoo.

While the world sleeps, the market is awake. Buzzing with a contagious energy. Although you hate having to wake up this early, the moment you step into this space, you’re completely taken by its vigour and gusto for life.

It’s nothing short of a celebration.

Chefs, big and small, passionately scour every nook and corner for the perfect herbs, veggies, and meats. You may not know each other closely or even by name but you feel part of a community - part of a family. True to character, you won’t ever stop whining about this routine with friends and family and occasionally with Kyungsoo, Baekhyun, and Imo but you know it in your heart of hearts, you wouldn’t skip sourcing for the world.

“So he’s spent his teenage years in Japan right?” Kyungsoo muses, lowering a crate of mudfish in the cart for today’s special, Chueotang.

“Let’s recreate his teenage years for him. Japanese dorm meals?”

Kyungsoo stops abruptly, “That’s a thought!”

“We can set the menu today after closing.”

“How about a coffee now?” He asks, averting your gaze as a slight smile forms on his lips.

On the morning of the inspection, Kyungsoo sneezed. Once. Twice. And on the third strike he was sent home by Imo because “this is not a good look”. Or forced out of the restaurant - depends on who you ask. He whined a little, even shed a few tears but Imo steeled herself and drew him out, anyway.

Although the menu is simple, the concept is layered and robust. The exercise is, after all, being undertaken merely to impress the officer in question. Well equipped for the inspection, the restaurant’s closed for the day.

This is nothing Baekhyun and you can’t manage but, obviously, Kyungsoo feels otherwise. He’s been calling to check in in intervals of five but seems like the medication’s finally kicked in and put him in a state of deep slumber. Good for him. And for you.

Two hours until showtime.

Under your close supervision, Baekhyun is labouring over the fairly straightforward stuff: tako sausages, potato and macaroni salad and egg sandwiches while you’ve kicked off the recipe for rolled omelettes.

Egg mixture aside, you start the rice cooker, leave green tea to boil for salmon ochazuke while the frying pan’s heating up for yaki udon.

***

Once you’d gotten all the dishes down, done exactly the way instructed by Kyungsoo: rolled omelettes, yaki udon, tako sausage, potato and macaroni salad, egg sandwiches and salmon ochazuke, it was time for you to take on the simplest but the most provoking dish on the menu.

Neko Manma. Or, cat rice.

“Ah, Dooly, shall I bring out the jar of bonito flakes?” Baekhyun prompts.

“The one Chef brought us this morning?”

He hums in response.

“I think we should use the store bought one instead.”

“But he’s worked on this recipe all week. You sure you wanna do that?”

“Positive.”

“He’ll flip out.”

“I’ll deal with it. We’re altering the recipe for Neko Manma, this ones too pretentious. Doesn’t sit right with me.”

“So, what do you want to do with it?” Baekhyun’s tone is wary and questioning.

“Rice, soy sauce, store bought bonito flakes and just a faint drizzle of butter. Nice and clean.” You respond confidently.

“Are you really sure?”

***

“Why are you here?” You hiss at Kyungsoo while Imo is outside, busy greeting the motley of high-headed officials, giving them a brief of the restaurant, herself, her team, and going over the licenses and documentation.

Face flushed, Kyungsoo’s lips are swollen and his eyes are runny, puffy, and bloodshot. He’s clearly in the need for some rest.

“To see if everything’s in order.” His voice is hoarse.

He starts to closely examine the entrees laid out, a smile of approval gracing his lips until he stops short of cat rice.

“These bonito flakes -”

“I didn’t use the fresh ones. I thought -”

“There’s no miso soup?”

“No, Chef, I reckoned -”

“No grilled fish? Are you being lazy?”

“Chef, no, I am not being lazy. The original recipe just didn’t feel right. So i changed it up a little -”

“Changed it up? That decision was not yours to make!”

“It’s just a side, it’s not going to matter so much!”

Absolutely livid, he runs a hand through his hair and laments. “If we weren’t this close to serving i would’ve dumped this into the bin because that’s where it belongs.”

“Chef, please”, your voice quivers, “let me explain! This was supposed to be the lightest dish on the menu. We ended up styling it with… overwhelming ingredients, so I -”

“I’m utterly confused! What on earth led you to believe you’re qualified enough to teach me? I’ve trained at a diner in Tokyo for two whole years. I know exactly what I’m doing here!”

Eyes brimming with tears, you glance over and Baekhyun who has ‘I told you so’ written all over his face.

"Kyungsooyah? When did you come in? What’s going on here?”

Imo’s bewilderment cuts through the tension.

“Sajangnim, I was feeling slightly better so I thought of dropping by to wish you luck."

Courtesying, he quickly dashes out through the back door.

***

The inspection has been revoked. Unofficially, atleast. The restaurant is to receive a written order in a week’s time.

The officer was impressed to the extent of apologising for his brother-in-law’s behaviour. He even lauded Imo on teaching her staff to stick to the establishment’s principles which made you wonder if he was fully aware of the facts of the case: knife and all.

He also mentioned how, as a student, he’d eat a bowl of Neko Manma before every exam because at the time, to him, anything else was unpalatable.

And that, this was what he considered to be the perfect recipe.

You go through the rest of the day as if sleepwalking. How stupid could you have been believe you were “on good terms” with Kyungsoo or that this was an equal and productive partnership. The fact remained that he still thought of you as someone frivolous: some air-headed moron who has no idea what she’s doing.

Someone beneath him.

You made an effort to appreciate this victory but the day had only left you with a bitter taste. Your mother had been right. You’ve always been too soft. Too trusting. Letting people in too easily and allowing them to walk all over you.

Now, Kyungsoo’s always been like this: controlling, stubborn, absolutely thorough. He never deviates from his well laid out plans. But today was different. Today, you expected something out of him. You expected him to trust you. You expected him to understand your reasoning, to give you a chance. To comprehend the fact that you could have a mind of your own and that not everything has to be exactly by the book.

You loathe yourself for expecting this out of him.

Sailing rough seas together doesn’t bloom friendships. You were stupid to think of him as a friend while, in all these months, his opinion of you had remained the same.

Contrary to the Gwangjang days, you’d long stopped wishing him gone. In some farthest corner of your heart you were even grateful that he chose to say.

You’ve been so stupid.

Two months later

The kitchen has been fervent but hushed.

After all this time, Baekhyun, Kyungsoo and you seem to have found a rhythm. You don’t need to verbally communicate to get through a workday.

But, you used to.

Sometimes unnecessarily even. Kyungsoo and you hardly saw eye to eye on most things but there would be some semblance of friendly workplace banter. He’d say a little something about a perfectly done piece of meat or a well seasoned soup. Baekhyun would take wickedly funny pot shots at some of the customers (to the utmost horror of Imo). Imo would sporadically push morsels of whatever was being prepared into your mouths.

Baekhyun receiving feedback in the form of grunts has shut him up altogether. And the busyness of the restaurant has seemed to have blinkered Imo into not being able to perceive the tension between Kyungsoo and you.

It’s a dance to no music.

Furtive glances. Measured smiles. Curt nods. Exceptional dishes. Decent earnings.

That’s it.

Maybe that’s how it should’ve always been.

“Ready to go?” Baekhyun asks, dressed in a well fitted black shirt and slacks.

You’re mopping the floor. Clearly not ready to go.

When you make this known with a sharp glare, Baekhyun giggles.

Nothing good can come out of that impish smile of his. But before you can sink your claws into him and drag him back, he’s already chatting up Kyungsoo who’s fixing the chairs.

“Kyungsoo, you coming?” He says a little too loudly and you groan. But you know Kyungsoo all too well. He’s one to decline offers involving socialising with you (unless of course, the offer is put forth by his dearest Sajangnim).

’You can do better than that’, you mouth to Baekhyun.

Incurious about Kyungsoo’s answer, you’re fully prepared to chomp Baekhyun’s ear off for inviting him.

“Sure”, Kyungsoo says plainly.

Sure?

Without taking the where-what-why route like normal people do? Just..sure?

“Great! We’re going out for drinks since it’s Dooly’s birthday today.”

“Oh. Happy birthday.”

“Thanks. But, Chef, you can’t come. I don’t want you there. I’m sor-”

Swallowing the apology crackling at the tip of your tongue, you dash into the kitchen, your periphery catching his lowered gaze and tight smile.

Regularising the erratic thrumming of your heart with deep breaths, you shove the mop into the storage area, take off your apron and throw it in the laundry bag (which you were to deal with the next morning), straighten your outfit, fix your hair, dab some rosy tint onto your lips, throw your tote bag over your shoulder, run back out, grab Baekhyun by purposefully lodging your nails into his arms, and take off.

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paperbodiesamongthestars · 4 years ago

Text

The Farm Stand

Days 10-11: peaches, hug

Read it on AO3 here!

It was Steve’s idea. Billy could have said no, obviously. He was a grown-ass adult, and now that he had his own apartment and a hefty government stipend and never had to see Neil again, he generally did what he wanted. But it was Steve’s idea, so he said yes. He complained a lot about it, but he also got up at the ass-crack of dawn and pulled up in front of Steve and Robin’s apartment half an hour before he had to. He knocked on the door. When Robin opened it, he held up the tray of coffees in his other hand.

“Oh thank God,” she said. “Steve can never figure out that stupid fancy coffee maker until he’s had at least one cup of coffee.” Billy raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, it’s a real catch-22,” Robin said, eagerly taking the coffee he handed her. Billy followed her to the kitchen, where Steve had just resorted to banging his forehead against the cabinets above the coffee maker. Billy crossed the room, tentatively grabbed the back of Steve’s t-shirt and pulled him away from the cabinets, and handed him the hazelnut-flavored abomination he always ordered. Steve stared at it for a long moment, and then took it, raised it to his face, and inhaled deeply.

“I love you so much,” he breathed out, eyes closed, and Billy knew he was talking to his dumb coffee, but it still sent a little thrill through him. Apparently it was enough for him just to be in Steve’s general vicinity when he said it. God, he was pathetic.

“Are you actually going to be ready to leave in half an hour, dingus?” Robin’s voice was skeptical. Steve swallowed the huge sip of coffee he had just taken and looked at the clock on the stove with wide eyes.

“Half an hour?” he asked, alarm in his voice. Robin stared at him.

“You were the one who said that we absolutely had to leave by six thirty. ‘Otherwise we’ll miss all the good produce, Robin,’ you said with your stupid huge Bambi eyes. I swear to God, if you’re not ready to leave at precisely six thirty, I will—“ Steve didn’t wait to hear the rest of the threat. He took his coffee and vanished down the hallway toward the bathroom.

Heather knocked on the door fifteen minutes later, far too energetic for how early it was. Billy leaned on the counter, sipping his coffee and watching Robin and Heather shoot little smiles at each other until Steve reappeared at six twenty-five. He had on one of his dumb vests, and his hair was only partially tamed, and Billy wanted to call off the whole trip and steer him straight into his bedroom, and into his bed. But the trip was Steve’s idea and Billy was probably never actually going to follow through on his feelings, so he got into the passenger seat of Steve’s car instead.

The ninety-minute drive was surprisingly bearable. Steve had chosen music that did not completely offend Billy’s sensibilities, and Robin and Heather mostly kept their hands to themselves in the backseat. Conversation flowed easily, and Billy wondered once again how exactly he had ended up as a part of this little friend group.

Shared trauma creates bonds, he could hear his therapist saying, but was it really shared trauma when he had been the source of it for everybody else? He tried to shut down that particular line of thinking, and was grateful a few minutes later when Steve pulled him back into the conversation. The four of them were in the middle of a spirited discussion about where they were getting lunch after this (Billy and Heather were voting for pizza, while Steve and Robin were dead-set on burgers—they were absolutely going to end up getting burgers, but it was still fun to argue about it) when the car slowed and Billy was surprised to see a faded wooden sign announcing that they had arrived at The Farm Stand.

Steve pulled into a parking space and got out, stretching out after the drive. He glanced around the parking lot and nodded approvingly at how empty it was.

“I’m telling you,” he said, “this place is going to be jam-packed in half an hour. Good luck getting any morels or peaches then.” Robin shook her head as she climbed out of the backseat.

“It’s way too early in the year for peaches, dingus. I can’t believe you made me get up this early for out-of-season produce.”

“Just you wait,” Steve said. “I’m going to make a peach-rhubarb cobbler that is going to blow your mind.” Billy followed them toward the produce stand, taking in the expanse of fields beyond it.

“Have you ever been here before?” Heather asked, falling into step beside him. Billy shook his head.

“It’s nice this time of year,” she said, “although this is the first time I’ve been in years. We came out here every year during elementary school for apple picking, so I was pretty over it after that. But they have all kinds of animals, and beehives, and they do tours of the orchards and stuff.” Billy hummed in response. He didn’t care all that much about fresh produce or farm animals, but he did care about how excited Steve was to be here. He watched as Steve made his way through the produce stand, asking enthusiastic questions and seemingly buying a little bit of everything. Eventually, Steve was satisfied, though he kept tossing longing glances back at the few things he hadn’t purchased. With some difficulty, Robin persuaded him to leave his haul in the trunk of the car while they walked around the rest of the property.

“It’s not even supposed to get all that warm today, Steven. Everything’s going to be fine. Put your stuff away so we can go look at the horses.” After a final, token protest Steve did, and they wandered over to the paddock. There was a miniature donkey in with the horses, and both Robin and Heather cooed over it. They wandered around for a while, until Robin and Heather decided to go on an orchard tour, and Steve wanted to visit the beehives and sample some honey. Billy followed Steve because that was just what he did now, apparently. Besides, Robin and Heather were almost surely going to spend the whole tour finding places where they could sneak off and make out, and Billy didn’t want to cramp their style.

Steve was apparently just as passionate about honey as he was about produce, and Billy wandered off in the middle of his enthusiastic discussion with an equally passionate beekeeper about the different types of honey available for purchase. He eventually stopped in front of a large enclosure, which housed several miniature goats. There was a pair of baby goats running around with the others and as he watched them play-fight, Billy felt a familiar prickling behind his eyelids.

Come on, he thought to himself, not here. Because this was a thing that he did now. Crying about stupid shit. About nothing. He hated it.

Not about nothing, he heard his therapist say, voice calm and measured. It’s a kind of displacement. You refuse to grieve for yourself, for the things you’ve lost or never had, so those emotions find another outlet. Billy didn’t care what she called it—it was still dumb. Pathetic, even. And now here he was, crying actual tears over baby goats, of all things, right out in the open, where anyone could see him. Where Steve could see him. He sniffled a little and wiped a careless hand over his eyes, hoping he would be done before Steve reappeared. So of course Steve chose that moment to seek him out, as if summoned.

“Hey, check it out, they had—are you ok?” Steve’s voice was all concern, and it only made Billy’s eyes well up even more. “What’s wrong, B?” Steve asked gently. Billy didn’t know what to say, so he didn’t say anything. Steve, of course, kept talking. “Do you hate it here? I was worried you would hate it. We can go if you want to. I can find Robin and Heather…” Steve looked around, as though he was going to go get them right now, and Billy’s desire to reassure him won out over his dignity.

“Nothing’s wrong,” he said, voice choked with unshed tears. “I don’t hate it here. I just…do this sometimes now.”

“Yeah?” Steve asked carefully. Billy shrugged and gestured helplessly at the baby goats.

“They’re just so small,” he said, and then he was crying harder.

“Come here,” Steve said, and then he was setting down his bag of honey and his hands were on Billy’s shoulders and he was pulling him in for a hug, which wasn’t—they didn’t do that. Billy had been all over Steve Harrington in high school, constantly in his space, but things had changed. Now, after everything, he did his best to maintain a careful distance from Steve, largely because he no longer trusted himself to stop touching Steve if he ever really got started. It had only taken a week or two of Billy tensing up at Steve’s touch and Steve looking faintly wounded every time for Steve to start keeping his distance as well.

But now here they were, Steve’s arms solid and warm around Billy, and Billy’s arms instinctively coming up around Steve’s waist. Billy froze, expecting Steve to pull away fairly quickly, but he didn’t. He held on until Billy felt himself actually relaxing into the hug, melting against Steve and tucking his face into Steve’s shoulder. Billy figured he could let himself have this, just for a minute. Tears still slipped down his face, dampening a spot on Steve’s shirt.

“That’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen,” Steve murmured into his ear.

“The baby goats?” Billy mumbled. “I know.” Steve pulled back far enough to look Billy in the eye, and smiled.

“No, dumbass,” Steve said, voice full of affection. His eyes were wide and warm and he brought a hand up to brush away some of Billy’s tears. “You crying about baby goats.”

#harringrove #my writing #harringrove April challenge #a lil farm trip #just fluff

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jonnyparable · 3 years ago

Text

Cottage Hills : The Red Chamber Part X

Peace. Won feels peace as he flies above his hometown of Shang Tao. Misty mountains, and temples shrouded in rolling clouds. He sees his home. The large ancenstral estate where generations of Moshus have lived. Suddenly he hears a woman screaming his name. Visions of the dreaded Red Chamber fill his mind, and he falls.

The fall forces Won back to consciousness. He slowly opens his eyes. He's back in the woods. He feels groggy, and nauseous. His head is pounding again. Was that a dream? But he wasn't asleep. He looks around. He's suspended from the ground and he can't move. Slowly he remembers what happened to him.

The Goddess :

"Welcome back, Won."

Won:

"Wha-what's happening? You! What are you doing to me?"

The Goddess :

"I'm returning your past to you. Your true past. "

Won:

"No! That's not my past! You're just making me see those cursed nightmares again! Why are you tormenting me!? "

The Goddess :

"Those are not nightmares, Won. For too long you have been blinded by deceit. Come, let's try again. The past must be reckoned with! Do not resist the truth! "

Memories of Five Gardens

The Goddess extends her hands and gently touches Won's temples. He feels a warm peace wash over him and the woods around him fall away. He is enveloped in a cloud of smoke and light and when it fades, like watercolour ink on silk, a scene unfurls before him and a familiar room fades into view. He is back in his family home. He's in the main hall, a stately and elegant room. He sees a family posing for a portrait.

Won:

"Who...who are these.. Wait... That's my father... And that's me... Is that.. Is that my mother?"

At the mere mention of his mother, Won suddenly feels a sharp pain in his head, and the world around him begins to fade again.

The Goddess :

"Do not resist these memories, Won. Do not give in to the pain! You must persist! Remember!"

The Bamboo Garden

Won forces his way through the pain and soon, as though a wall is falling, brick by brick, the world around him fades back into focus. Clear as day, as though he is right there, reliving these memories. The sights, smells and sounds are all suddenly familiar to him, rushing back to neatly fill the gaps in his mind.

They are in a garden, in spring, surrounded by tall bamboo stalks. They hear a child crying. And they walk over to find Won hiding behind a pagoda lantern.

Won:

"I... I Remember this day... The spring day I broke father's jar of beetles. The beetles all flew away. And he beat me harshly... I was crying and hiding from him in the garden when... When ...mother came to find me. But I was so scared... I refused to come out. So she...she sat with me, and played my favourite song on her flute."

The Peach Garden

They follow the melodious sounds of a flute coming from the peach garden. Beneath the falling petals of a blossoming tree, Won sees his mother, as if for the first time in years. Won suddenly remembers everything about her. Her elegant blue dress, her jasmine perfume and her dark, wavy hair. Even the tiny, modest pearl earrings she used to wear. He recalls the many days spent with her in their home's many gardens. More importantly he remembers how much he loved her.

Won:

"That day, she told me that we would go into the mountains together, once it got warmer, to catch the beetles that flew away. She always knew just how to make me feel so full, and happy... And so safe. I remember her so vividly now...How had I forgotten...?"

The Lotus Pond

The scene around them fades away, and changes. It is summer now. They hear the sound of cicadas chirping, and water trickling. Dragonflies flit about as they walk out onto an expansive lotus pond.

Won:

"The lotus pond! I... I remember this place... The lotuses swaying in the summer wind... as mother taught me to dance with fans that day for the first time...Mother.... She was always so kind to me... I don't understand... Why did I forget all this, why did I forget her? No, wait. Why are you showing me this? Stop! These are illusions, they're not real! My real mother left us, she ran away! She never loved me!"

The Willow Pavilion

With a rushing wind, the leaves turn golden. It is autumn now. As leaves fall gently to the ground around them, they come out upon a pavilion on the other side of the lake, flanked by two venerable willow trees.

Won:

"This place. We... We used to come here in the autumn. Mother loved the willow trees this time of year. She told me the leaves looked like threads of gold flying in the autumn breeze. She told me in her hometown in the mountains, trees like that grew everywhere, and she would take me to see it one day. But she always looked sad when she said that... She said father would never let us leave the house.... No! father loved me! He alone cared for me!"

The Goddess stares sadly at Won, she can see he is in great turmoil. Confused by these memories flooding back, and trying to resist them. Suddenly, they hear footsteps behind them. They turn to see Won's father walking up to the pavilion, and he scowls bitterly as he watches him and his mother. In each of the memories, in every season, he was there. Watching. With only contempt on his face.

Won :

"Father? But... No! ENOUGH! These are lies! Mother is the one that hated us all! She never loved any of us! That's why she left! That's why! You lie!"

The Goddess :

"No, Won. She loved you, very much. Your mother was a most kind hearted, and loving woman. Your father married her for her talents, her beauty and her lineage. And the union was not a happy one. But when you were born, your mother saw in you a reason to have hope. She loved you immediately, and all she ever wanted was for you to be happy and free. She spent her days pouring her love out for you. Your happiness, your joy, was all she ever sought in her life. In her world, she loved you most. "

The Goddess :

"But love was of no value to your father. As a member of the Moshu family, he wanted only to raise you in the ways of sorcery and the dark arts. He taught you to create poisons from a young age, and to use dark magic. From young, he tried to pour into you his forefathers' desire for vengeance, all their contempt, their bitterness. He tried to poison your young mind to be filled with thoughts of only vengeance. But as a child, you resisted and feared him. So he would treat you with immense cruelty, to remove the weakness he saw in you, weakness that he blamed your mother for.

Your mother saw all this. And her heart bled for you. She knew that if she did not act, in time, your father would raise you to become as cruel, unhappy and vengeful as he was."

Won :

"No! Father... Father was good to me... He was wise... He.. ! Stop, this is a trick! All this... I... do not wish to see anymore..."

The Goddess:

"Just one last garden, Won."

The Plum Garden

It is winter now. Darkness surrounds them, and the winter moon casts a pale glow in the garden as he sees him and his mother. Won knows this place well. He watches helplessly as the scene where his nightmares always start, begin to unfold before him all over again...

#the sims 2 #ts2 pictures #ts2 screenshots #ts2 neighborhood #ts2 scenery #harvest moon back to nature #sims 2 #cottage hills #sims 2 simblr #harvest moon tree of life #The Red Chamber

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typinggently · 3 years ago

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I have never watched that show. How much background info I should look up to enjoy your Sam x Dean fiction?

Dearest, that’s so sweet ahhh 🥺🥺 Honestly, I’m so honoured that you’re willing to dive into unknown waters for me 🌹🌹🌹 I wrote up a short introduction! ✨

The basics are as follows: Sam and Dean are the sons of John and Mary Winchester, with Dean being 4 years older. After Mary’s supernatural death when Dean is 5, John sweeps his children into his car and leaves the burning corpse of their normal life behind, with a sweltering pain inside of him. Driven by fear for his sons and the burning need for revenge, John raises his sons as hunters and in motel rooms. There is, and that is crucial, no resemblance of a normal life for any of them after Mary’s death.

If we’re speaking in very basic terms, Dean is the daredevil womanising Marlboro Man, complete with muscle car and leather jacket, and Sam is the more soft-spoken smart one who eats salad and has glossy-soft hair. (However, of course, Dean is fiercely family-oriented, protective, good with children. Sam started out with a rebellious streak and is still capable of great violence when he doesn’t keep himself in check. Also Dean’s the type to gaze dreamily into his girl’s eyes and hold her hand as she rides him and Sam’s one night stands are mostly of the ‘rip off your shirt and hit it from behind’ kind.)

~🖤~

Considering there are 15 seasons to choose from, people have (naturally) picked up certain elements that they find most enjoyable. There’s a good deal of people who watch it as a (romantic) comedy.

I personally enjoy the American gothic horror, the way those two are entangled beyond comprehension and, at times, indistinguishable from the monsters they hunt. Even if my fics have different topics or are lighthearted and honey-dripping, the base note is always this: their relationship, due to nature and nurture, is incredibly obsessive. Their world has been reduced to the two of them in the confines of the car or the ever-changing motel rooms, ever since they were little. Dean’s purpose in life was to protect and care for Sam, Sam’s purpose in life was to let that happen. There’s some resentment in that, sometimes you can feel them rebelling against this tangled, claustrophobic mess, but even if they fight and snarl and break up, they always return to one another and heal those cuts in their bond, which, in essence, only means that they settle back into their entangled, Janus-like double soul.

~🖤~

I’ll give you a brief summary of the first five seasons (the core of the show, at least to me), just to illustrate my point. Despite all else that happens, I think that is the foundation of the show, and thus, probably all you need to know to understand what I have in mind while I write.

🔥.1.🔥

The story begins with Sam at college, trying to establish a life away from the road and, in essence, Dean. That attempt of normality burns on the ceiling in the person of his girlfriend Jessica, repeat performance of when his mother’s body lit up his room 21 years ago. Dean picks him up and he goes back to the car, to the life he tried to leave behind, and, essentially, to Dean. They follow a trail of breadcrumbs and coordinates John leaves them to eventually get back to him. They find John, find the demon that killed Mary, and, as the turn of a new chapter is right at their fingertips, get bulldozed by a truck.

🪦.2.🪦

Season two has Dean dying. John can’t let that happen, so he finds the demon responsible for taking everything (his wife, his life, his son) from him to trade his own soul and the only thing that could kill said demon for Dean. John dies, Dean lives, and has to live with that guilt. Just like John, he turns to hunt down the demon responsible for taking everything (his mother, his life, his father). Sam starts having visions, a power grows inside of him that he can’t begin to understand and is incredibly frightened by. The demon sweeps in to steal him away, and Dean comes just in time to catch Sam, powerful and dying, in his arms. Just like John, Dean goes to trade his life. He’s promised one year on Earth, eternity in hell after. Reunited, revived, they find the demon responsible for taking everything and with the help of their father’s soul, kill him. John goes to heaven, Sam goes on living, Dean knows he’s going to hell.

⏳.3.⏳

In season three, Sam lives and has to live with what Dean did. He desperately tries to find a cure, a solution, anything. He finds Ruby, instead, a demon who promises him all three. It doesn’t work, the overly-powerful demon Lilith who was promised Dean after one year, comes and gets him. Sam watches helplessly as Dean is torn apart, then holds him, warm but cooling, in his arms.

🩸.4.🩸

Season four finds Dean finding himself breathing underground. He digs himself out of his own grave and finds Sam and has to find out that Ruby found him first. It’s now that we learn who found Dean and raised him out of hell: Castiel, unkillable, unfathomable, unbelievable. Dean, who never believed in God, now has to learn that there’s a biblical plan laid out for Sam and him. Meanwhile, Castiel, who always believed and is starting to doubt, tries to find God, who’s responsible for it all, but vanished. Meanwhile, Sam is drawn closer and closer to Ruby, by Ruby. While Castiel raised Dean out of hell, Ruby found Sam on Earth and wrapped herself around him, offering a shoulder to cry on and a wrist to drink from. Sam, who wasn’t strong enough to save Dean, quickly gets addicted to demon blood, which makes him stronger than humanely possible — and, in Dean’s eyes, less human. He falls for Ruby and falls for her scheme, which leads to him breaking the seal that kept Lucifer contained, starting what will lead to the end of everything. Ruby’s life ends with Sam’s arms wrapped around her, holding her still as Dean sinks her own knife into her.

⌛️.5.⌛️

Season five leads to the end of the world, with Heaven and Hell trying to convince Sam and Dean to follow the plan written for them: Sam is destined to be Lucifer’s vessel, give over his body to him, while Dean is meant to do the same for Michael. They are meant to fight and kill each other, and thus decide the fate of everything, heaven, hell and earth. They refuse. Dean refuses to let Michael enter and use him, forcing heaven to manipulate their half-brother Adam to step into his big brother’s shoes. Sam invites Lucifer in, but refuses to do as he’s told and breaks the Devil’s hold over him to sacrifice himself and Adam and save everything. It ends with Sam, Adam, Michael and Lucifer trapped for eternity in the cage Sam broke the seal of, and Dean, on Earth. Alone.

(Not quite, of course. Following Sam’s wish, he finds a life for himself, a woman and a child that isn’t his but close enough that Dean can pretend. Outside, in the dark, Sam watches.)

~🖤~

Voilà, that’s it. Sam and Dean kill and die for each other, sell their souls and humanity to save one another or repent for the fact that they couldn’t. There are many, many other stories interwoven there, for example the story of the amulet Sam was meant to gift their father when he was little, for protection. When John doesn’t show up to receive the gift, he gives it to Dean. For decades, the amulet is kept right against his heart, until it stops beating and Sam takes it off, to keep it warm and safe against his own chest. When Dean returns from hell, Sam, who was never able to believe that Dean was really gone, gives it back. Its journey ends where it began, in a motel room with Sam and Dean, when Dean, who finds his faith and hope to save them and the Earth crushed, takes it off and throws it away.

(And a quick look at s6: Dean has the orange juice for breakfast, scent of freshly cut grass life Sam wanted for him for one year, until Sam comes to collect him again. After spending an eternity in the cage with Lucifer (and Adam and Michael, who presumably sat in their corner and made out while Sam was being skinned like Marsyas), Sam was lifted out (by Castiel), but lost his soul and the memories of his torment in the process. What does it mean for one to lose one’s soul, what happens to that person? Sam stops sleeping, he stops caring what other people think, he stops caring for other people in general. He’s an incredibly efficient hunter and spends most of his (limitless, sleepless) time hunting, exercising, or having sex. Despite this empty, cold shell his brother has been reduced to, Dean drops his life of dinner at eight and slow morning sex to join Sam, and gets broken up with over the phone for being too attached to Sam.)

~🖤~

This got quite long after all, but I hope this got the idea across! Those two are very fascinating characters and I love them dearly. Twisted little clowns.

#this got long even though I tried to be brief u.u #clown boys #wincest

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peggyrose19 · 4 years ago

Text

Everything Was Falling Apart Pt. 2

Part 2 here we go! This might end terribly, we’ll see. More angst, as I’m sure you all expected. What will they decide? Who knows. Certainly not me. I just let them do what they want. Anyways. This is kinda mixing the timelines/storylines of both Clandestine and SW so it might be a tiny bit confusing to follow? Idk, I tried my best to make it make sense. Last part was more from Finn’s perspective so this time you get Logan. Whee. That was not intentional, it just happened. Did I mention I just write what they tell me to? Well, I do.

Part 1 is here if you haven’t read it yet.

Also I lied, there will be a part 3 hehe. I just really love leaving you guys in suspense. Sorry not sorry :)

Characters belong to the amazing and lovely @lumosinlove and AU belongs to the wonderful @heyitssmiller.

Logan missed him. He tried and tried to ignore the feeling but he did. Finn was constantly on his mind, with his soft hair and green eyes and loving smile. He missed Leo too. But that was a different pain. The kind of pain that never left. The kind of pain that stuck in his mind when he closed his eyes at night, curly hair stained with blood, brown eyes wide and unblinking flashing past his eyes.

He was in Australia for Leo’s birthday. It was warm there, the seasons opposite to what he was used to. He woke up and found he couldn’t get out of bed. He just lay there and thought about blond curls and dimples and a laugh he’d never hear again. Finn texted him. He didn’t answer. And when his tears had soaked through the pillow, he rolled over and tossed it off the bed, falling into an uneasy sleep until morning.

He was in England for Finn’s birthday. It rained the whole day and he sat unmoving by the window, phone in his hand, thinking of his wide smile and bright eyes and the absence of both the day they’d said goodbye. He couldn’t bring himself to dial the number.

He would have forgotten about his own birthday was it not five days before Christmas. And if his sisters hadn’t bombarded him with messages and questions of when he would be home again. He called them all, faking a smile for them, and promised to be home for Christmas next year. But he had a feeling they saw right through him. Everything was falling apart.

The night Logan flew into JFK airport, he received a voicemail from Finn. It surprised him; Finn had given up contacting him months ago after too many messages had gone unanswered. He pulled it up, pressing play absentmindedly, knowing he wasn’t going to reply, telling himself he was listening to it only to know what he’d said.

But this time something in Finn’s voice pulled him up short.

Hey Lo. I miss you.

It’s been a year since… well. But you know that of course.

I just- I know you’re in New York. Don’t tell me you’re not, we both know it’d be a lie. Can I- can we… I want to see you. Please. It’s been so long. Just… give me a call when you land. Or don’t. Whatever. I just- we need to talk.

I love you.

Logan stood frozen, unaware of the world, everything falling apart around him. The people rushing around him, the announcement being made, the whir of the baggage claim starting up all went by unnoticed. He just stood, staring down at his phone, at the voicemail and the name Finn O’Hara beside it. Finn’s words rang through his head. That was not what he had been expecting.

With shaking hands, he dialed the number.

Finn answered on the first ring.

“Hello?” his voice asked, uncertain and quiet and as familiar to Logan as the green of his eyes, ingrained forever in his mind. Unthinkingly, Logan released a soft sigh.

“Hey, Finn,” he said quietly.

“It’s really you.”

He took a shaky breath. “Yeah.”

“I didn’t think you’d call.”

“Me neither. But your voicemail… fuck, Finn. I- yeah, I’d love to see you.”

“You would?” Finn’s voice rose.

“Yeah. I miss you.”

“Coffee tomorrow?”

Logan forced his nerves down, refusing to get his hopes up about anything. “Sounds good.”

He could almost hear Finn’s smirk as he added, “Or whatever the fuck it is you drink. Cause it certainly isn’t coffee.”

“Fuck off,” Logan let out a startled laugh.

Finn laughed a little too. “So, tomorrow. Does 9:00 work? And there’s a cafe just down the street from my place if you wanna go there. I can send you the address.”

“Sounds good,” Logan managed, voice tight.

“Alright. I’ll see you then Tremz. Don’t bail on me.” He said it jokingly but they both heard the truth beneath it.

“I won’t,” he promised softly.

Finn hung up with a soft click and Logan stood rooted to the spot. He wasn’t sure what to think. Finn had called him. He had called Finn. And Finn had answered. They’d talked. They’d made plans. After a year of not speaking, of not seeing each other, not even being in the same time zone, they were going to coffee tomorrow.

He wasn’t sure he was even going to make it there.

But he had promised. He had promised Finn he would show up and so he would.

He would not fall apart.

Logan woke the next morning having slept a total of two hours. Each time he drifted off, his thoughts betrayed him again, turning back to his date with Finn over and over until he wanted to reach into his mind and pull them out simply for a moment of peace.

He dressed anxiously, changing half a dozen times before forcing himself to stop. For the next hour, he paced the small hotel room, television playing in the background, running his hands through his hair, never quite able to break the habit.

Finn had texted him the address the night before. It was only a ten minute walk and so, at promptly 8:45, Logan left the hotel and hurried down the street, following the blue line on his phone.

It took him only seven minutes to get there. He loitered outside for a moment, watching the city. The streets were crowded like always, cars and pedestrians all trying to get somewhere in a hurry. An old conversation passed through his mind as he waited, a night out with Finn and Leo before they’d gotten together.

“Should we have gone left?”

“We’re literally following the blue line.”

“I know, but that way looks shorter.”

“New Yorker, forever in a hurry.”

The conversation brought the sting that normally accompanied thoughts of Leo. But it faded a bit as he remembered that night, Leo asking them questions about their histories, how they’d met. Neither of them had told the true story of how they’d met, that night at the party, both drunk and flirty and not quite thinking straight. He remembered Leo’s smile, the dimples he’d fallen in love with the first time he’d ever seen them. He remembered Finn’s bright smile and care-free attitude, getting sappy and losing coherent speech with each drink he consumed. And he wished, just for a moment, he could go back to that night.

A hand on his shoulder shook him from his thoughts. He startled, whipping around on instinct. But as soon as he caught sight of the person now in front of him, he froze.

Finn looked nearly the same as he had a year ago. His curls were unruly as ever, falling around his eyes, just a little bit longer. His eyes were dimmer, more subdued than they usually were. No smile graced his face, but he wasn’t frowning.

“Hi,” Finn said softly and Logan nearly melted.

“Finn.” Without a second thought, Logan crashed into his arms. Finn held him close and it was as if no time had passed at all. Their bodies molded together the way they always did, and the feeling of home nearly made Logan cry. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed physical contact until suddenly he was being held again, for the first time in probably a year. Without a word, he buried his face in Finn’s shoulder, hair brushing his cheek.

“I missed you so fucking much,” Finn whispered fiercely into his ear. He pulled away, but kept his arms around Logan, as if afraid he would run if he let go.

“Me too.” He sniffed, telling himself it was just the cold air making his eyes water.

“C’mon, let’s go inside. I have so much to fill you in on.”

They went into the café, charming and small, and got in line, Finn asking Logan question after question about where he’d travelled and what he’d seen. They skirted around the reason he’d left, pretending it had all just been a long vacation. They ordered and sat down, Finn only teasing him a bit about his ridiculously sweet coffee, before continuing his questions.

It was only after they’d exhausted talk of Logan’s travels that silence fell between them.

“I wish Leo was here,” Finn said eventually.

“Me too.”

“He could’ve made us those amazing muffins of his, remember those?”

Logan smiled. “Yeah. Brought ‘em in our first day of the mission. Mon dieu, those were good.”

“Yeah, they were,” he agreed.

“How have you been?” Logan asked. “And tell me the truth. You’ve been bombarding me with questions since we got here. I don’t even know what you’ve been up to.”

Finn sighed. “It’s been really fucking hard. That’s the truth. Because not only did I lose Leo, then I lost you too. And you don’t- you never answered my calls or my messages. I needed to talk to you and you wouldn’t pick up. I had to go through that without you. You were the only other person who knew how I felt, and we could’ve helped each other. But you refused to even look at me, and-” Finn shrugged helplessly- “I’ve tried really hard to forgive you, Lo. But I’m not sure I can. You haven’t made it easy to love you.”

“You still love me?”

“Of course I fucking love you! I never stopped!”

Logan was taken aback by the outburst. He glanced furtively around the room to see if anyone was looking at them, but no one even glanced their way. Finn noticed and sighed.

“Logan, I don’t want to go another year without talking to you. It was torture. I know… I know that we can’t be us again, not the way we used to be, not without Leo. But can we at least be friends? Tremz, I miss my best friend. Please. Don’t walk away from me again.”

Silence fell between them and Logan surveyed the man before him. The man he’d once loved with all his heart, once vowed to himself to never let go, to protect and love and cherish. That had been a year ago. A lot had changed in that year.

But as Finn waited for his answer with bated breath, Logan realized he didn’t want to run anymore.

#angst #more angsty angst #love you guyssss #hehe #mentions of death tw #mentions of blood tw #lumosinlove #clandestine #o'knutzy #sorry not sorry

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managedmischiefs · 5 years ago

Text

bloodied jeans//spencer reid

here’s another fic for y’all! let me know what you think! give it a like or a reblog or just read it and be like omg

requests are open if you wanna see me write anything specific, or if you just wanna talk

genre: angst, a lil fluff

warnings: guns, blood, stab wound, me not knowing specific details of the angels/demons episodes, season nine finale spoilers, yet again! an overuse of pet names but get used to that warning

word count: 6.2k

///

"Be careful out there, okay?" I hear Spencer say over the phone to me, the way he always does. "The unsub is armed and dangerous, Rose. We don't-"

"I will, I promise. I've got a vest, you've got one too. We'll be okay." I promise him, glancing over at Emily, who gives me an uneasy smile.

There's an all hands on deck situation in Texas with an armed unsub hiding out in some restaurant. There's been shots fired inside and there's cops waiting outside for the BAU to arrive.

"I'll be there soon," I tell Spencer and hear sirens over his line. "I love you."

"I love you too," and then he hangs up.

Emily doesn't bother to say anything as she drives, just keeps her eyes on the road. Spencer and I always get nervous when approaching situations like this one. We started working at the BAU together and fell in love instantly, but it took us years to confess our feelings. But now that we've been dating for four, going on five, years, we're very protective of each other. Both of us have and will jump in front of a bullet for the other and it's gotten us in trouble, but we love each other.

We arrive at the scene and find the rest of the team gathered at the hood of Hotch's car. I smile and stick myself to Spencer's side, feeling his arm wrap around my waist. As Hotch discusses a plan to get in, Spencer kisses my temple, whispering a promise that we'll be okay.

But just as soon as he does, shots ring out. Spencer immediately tucks me under him and covers my body with his as everyone ducks. Local police start to fire back at the unsub and the team all rush towards the restaurant to get in the action.

I draw my weapon and duck behind an opened car door, waiting for the right opportunity before sticking my head out and firing my weapon. I'm unsuccessful at first, just hitting a window and breaking glass.

I hear JJ fire from beside me and I look over just in time to see her roll her eyes at something. But I'm stunned because I had thought Spencer was right beside me and I'm thrown off guard. We never separate from each other. Hotch doesn't like it because he thinks being together in the field will cloud our judgement ion dangerous situations, but it makes the opposite happen. We've defused bombs, saved children, talked guns and knives out of the hands of unsubs- with minimal injuries to either of us. We bring out the best in each other but I need Spencer beside me to ease my anxiety.

"You good?" JJ shouts at me over the echoing gunfire.

"Looking for Spence," I respond, but I'm sure she already knew that. She sends me a shrug before moving to fire her gun towards the unsub again. She grimaces and sinks back down when no positive results are seen.

This gunfire continues on for what seems like forever, but in reality, it only ensues for, at most, a minute. The cop between JJ and I has been shot down and we tried to revive him but it was no use. My mind is spinning and I don't see this ending any time soon. The unsub keeps reining fire down on us and I'm not sure where he keeps getting ammo from. But, as far as I can see, he's shot three police officers and doesn't plan on stopping.

"Morgan!" I shout aimlessly, hoping he's near by. And just like that, he's right by my side, gun clutched in his hand. "We need a plan. Where are the others?"

"I'm not sure. We're all split up." Morgan tells me, looking around frantically, ducking down when a bullet comes dangerously close to us. "But we gotta stop this guy. Snipers are setting up right now on those buildings up there. I'm thinking we could get a good shot at him."

"Good," JJ nods, gasping when another shot comes close to us. "Let's hope snipers get here soon. This unsub isn't stopping."

Surely enough, snipers arrive just seconds later and I watch them set up. At this point, JJ and I have both run out of bullets and we have nothing left to do but wait it out. We watch intently as the snipers scope out their target and try to get a good shot. It's a hopeless feeling, to be shot at and know that there's absolutely nothing we can do to try and defeat this unsub. If me and JJ try to move to get more ammunition, we'll get shot. The unsub is shooting aimlessly and we're likely to get shot if we break our cover and neither of us are willing to risk that. The best bet is to wait it out but it's a crushing feeling.

The more the moments pass, the more I wonder about Spencer. Is he okay? Where even is he? Morgan didn't mention him and he said everyone was split up. Did his revolver run out of ammunition? It's likely. His gun only carries six bullets at a time. Is he okay?

The snipers try once to take out the unsub once and fail, then try again, and fail. The gunfire on the police lapses for a moment and I think for split second that they've got him, but then it continues. I curse loudly, ducking further behind the car door.

"Hang in there, Rose," JJ calls, mimicking my position, eyes stuck on the snipers.

And with just one more shot at the unsub, the gunfire ceases. There's a moment of hesitation among everyone where we wait for it to begin again, and when it doesn't, there's a collective sigh of relief. Clearly, the snipers must have been successful at their jobs. Thank god.

We all rise slowly, guns drawn despite the lack of ammunition, and some start to drift towards the restaurant to retrieve the unsub. But the first thing I do is look for Spencer, like I always do. He's always my first priority. He's tall, he's over 6', he's not hard to find. So when I don't spot him immediately, I panic.

I go to my right and see an empty area between the two cop cars, and even further right is empty. Then I start running, past where JJ and I were, to the left of our positions. I almost miss him at first, and I probably would have if it weren't for his black converse poking out from around a car tire. I find him leaned against the tire helplessly, eyes drooping closed and his mouth half open, tongue sticking out.

"Spencer?" I squeak out, rushing over and dropping to my knees beside him. "What's wrong?" I place my hand in his and instantly feel something warm and wet, and I don't need to look to know what it is.

Silent tears pour down my cheeks as I inspect him, looking for a gunshot wound. The source of the bleeding is his neck and Spencer's trying to lift his hands up to meet mine, but I shake my head at him. "No, no, sweetheart, relax. Save your strength. Relax. Hands down. Medic! Medic!" I scream as loud as I can, hoping someone will hear it.

I press my hand against his neck in the weakest attempt to curb some bleeding, watching his chest start to heave. "You're doing so well for me," I encourage him. "Just keep your eyes open. Keep your eyes on me."

Spencer's head starts to lull, turning to me. He can just barely keep his eyes and he surely doesn't have any control of the rest of his body, just laying there limply. But he's breathing, for now.

"Come on, keep your eyes on me, baby, that's all I need. Medic! Could you talk to me? I'd love that, sweetheart," I press my other hand atop mine and grimace at the amount of blood covering my fingers. "Could you talk to me, bub? Tell me a fact you've got in that big brain of yours."

"R-Rose," he manages to stutter out, but I can barely hear him.

Three paramedics finally rush over and get to working, pushing my hands away from Spencer and telling me to "step aside," but I refuse. I'm hysterical as I cry for my dying boyfriend, holding my bloody hands in front of me like I'm the one who shot Spencer. "I'm his girlfriend and I'm federal agent, I have to-"

"Rose," I suddenly hear Morgan behind me, "just come over here."

"No! I have to be right here!" I resist it when he grabs my arm. But then he just wraps his arms around my waist and drags me away. I kick and scream for Spencer as I sob, breaking down in Derek's arms with my boyfriends blood staining my hands.

The team looms over us as Spencer gets loaded into an ambulance and rushed to a hospital. Morgan just holds me and lets me cry, rocking me back and forth. But eventually he picks me up and carries me into the back of a car, presumably Hotch's, and they drive off.

"He's gonna die," I cry, feeling Morgan wipe the blood off my hands with a rag, but it barely does anything. My hands aren't slick but they're still red, a reminder of the horror I just witnessed. I may not have Spencer's remarkable memory but I'll never get that image out of my mind. "Spencer's gonna die and it's all my fault!"

"He's not gonna die," Morgan tells me firmly. "He got shot in the neck, that's not a bad spot. He's gonna go into surgery and lose his voice for a few days- that's it."

"He could be paralyzed," I counter stubbornly. looking up at him. Spencer always liked my stubbornness, he said its a good quality to have so we can debate about topics, but it just seems to frustrate Morgan. Who is he to be frustrated right now? "And he lost so much blood." I look down at my clothes to see that they're covered in Spencer's blood too. These are going in the garbage at my earliest convenience. "I'm gonna lose him."

"Shh," Morgan pulls me into his chest again and despite the fact that I'm upset with him, I need someone to hold me so I just melt. "Just relax. Reid is gonna be okay."

I practically sprint into the emergency room but Morgan catches my waist before I can start yelling at an innocent nurse, reminding me that we already know Spencer is in surgery and he will be for a while.

"Here," Hotch says, "here's your go bag. Clean yourself up. I know you don't wanna go to the hotel and shower but at least change out of your vest and clean up the blood on your hands and your face."

///

After a while of waiting on eggshells, I take Hotch's advice. I go to the bathroom and wash myself up, changing into sweats, and like I promised myself, I throw my stained clothes in the trash. My hands are still stained red and I'm sure they will be for a while. But I feel a tiny better as I pull my hair into a tight ponytail, getting the gross and dirty strands out of my face.

I resume my seat in the waiting room, knees to my chest. The team is away, finishing up the case, leaving me to my lonesome. It's a painful thing to go through alone, to say the least.

"Anyone here for Reid?" A nurse says after hours of waiting.

I jump up quickly, rushing over to her. "Yeah, yeah, I am. Is he okay?"

"Come with me," she smiles, leading me away from the waiting room. "The surgery went well and he's going to be just fine. His throat is probably going to be sore for a while and it might be challenging to speak at first, but he'll be just fine. The anesthesia is wearing off and he should be waking up very soon." She stops at a room and gestures inside. "You're welcome to see him. Visiting hours end at midnight."

I thank her softly and then she walks away, leaving me with Spencer. I walk in and even though he looks like a mess, I smile. He's alive and that's enough for me. There's a bandage on his neck and his curls are flopped over his forehead, hands resting at his sides. If I didn't see him almost bleeding out, I would've thought he was peaceful.

I bring a chair to the edge of his bed and sit down, sliding one of my hands in his, squeezing gently. I don't get a response but I'm not expecting to, not for another minute or so. I lean down and press my lips to his knuckles, leaving them there for a couple seconds. My own exhaustion is starting to settle in now as my adrenaline disappears from the long gun fight we had.

My phone buzzes in my pocket and I check it to find a few texts from the team, all asking how Spencer is doing. I respond to them, letting everyone know that he's out of surgery and he's okay, but not awake yet.

Just as I'm setting my phone on the bedside table, I feel Spencer's hand start to tighten in mine. A smile comes to my face and I scoot in closer, my eyes filling with tears again. "Hi," I whisper, reaching forward to sweep his hair off of his forehead, "hi, bub, you waking up? Can you hear me?"

There's a groggy sound in the back of his throat and then he coughs, grimacing at the painful feeling. I jump up and grab the cup of water with a straw from the side table, holding the small plastic cup to his lips. "Drink, my love, nice and slow. It'll help you. Your throat is gonna be sore for a while,"

Once he takes a few sips and then pulls away, his head falls back against the pillow again and he lets out a small sigh of relief. I set down the cup and wipe my tear stained cheeks, sitting on the chair once more and grabbing his hand. "How are you feeling?" I ask, moving as close as I possibly can without actually being on the bed and risking hurting him, even though that's where I wanna be.

Spencer scrunches up his nose. "Did you get hurt?"

I let out a little laugh, rolling my eyes at him. "You're the one laying in the hospital bed and you're asking me if I'm okay? You're incredible. How'd I ever get so lucky to find a man like you?" I tease, leaning down to kiss his knuckles again.

Spencer chuckles, very gently turning his head to look at me. His eyes are open now, bloodshot- but still beautiful. He gives me the weakest smile I've ever seen from him. "I'm just amazing, what can I say?"

I laugh, nodding. "That you are." I reach up and push his hair back again. It's growing out and he constantly complains about it in his eyes. "How are you feeling? And you've gotta answer me this time. No flattery."

Spencer sighs, squeezing my hand just a bit tighter. "Sore. Really sore. It feels like someone's squeezing my neck. But it's not painful. And I'm just tired- really tired."

"Alright well," I'm cut off by my phone buzzing on the bedside table, "just relax. Close your eyes and try to get some sleep." When he doesn't immediately do as I instruct, I furrow my eyebrows. "What's wrong? Do you need something?"

"You changed your clothes," Spencer observes, his eyes scanning up and down my body. There's a small pout on his lips.

"Um, yeah," I look down at my sweatpants and remember the red handprint on my thigh that was present just a few hours ago. "They were bloody so I threw them out,"

"That's a shame," Spencer quips, his voice cracking. "Those jeans looked really good on you,"

I bark out a laugh, tossing my head back. "I'll buy a new pair of jeans, Spencer. Go to sleep, you crazy boy," Spencer gives me another weak smile before closing his eyes and letting out a small breath. I reach over and answer it to Morgan's stressed out voice. "Hey, Spencer just woke up and-"

"The unsub has a partner." Morgan says quickly, cutting me off.

I furrow my eyebrows and start to rack my brain for any evidence I can remember from this case. "We didn't profile a partner. There's been no evidence of a partner until now. How?"

"Yeah, well, there was plenty of evidence of a partner at the crime scene. Garcia found out his name and he works at the hospital and we think he's coming for Reid." My eyes instantly move to Spencer and I'm not sure if he can read my panic but he can sense that something is amiss.

"Okay, tell me about this dude," I squeeze Spencer's hand as a way to reassure him that everything is going to be okay. But his eyelids flutter open and I know that he's trying to listen in to this conversation.

"His name is Cameron Delgado, and he's been stalking all of us. Like, he knows medical details about all of us, especially Reid." Morgan tells me. He starts telling me about his involvement with the unsub and how we could have possibly missed it until now.

As just a precaution, I jump up a grab the bin of Spencer's personal belongings and sift thorough it, getting his gun, cuffs, and his badge, tucking them into the waistband of my sweatpants for good measure. The confusion and panic is evident on Spencer's face now but I just shake my head at him.

"We're five minutes away. Hang tight, Rose. Is Wonder Boy okay?" Morgan asks.

Before I can even respond, a male nurse wanders in and my senses are spiraled into overdrive. I stop responding to Morgan and focus on the nurse's every little move. Morgan's yelling over the line, wondering what's going on and why I'm not responding, but I ignore him.

He glances at Reid's chart for a moment before picking up the insert for his IV. He's about to add something before I speak up. "What is that?" My assertive tone makes Spencer's eyebrows pop up, because I'm never aggressive in situations like this. I've always been known to be patient and calm. But this is my boyfriend's life we're talking about and I'm not risking anything. Even if this is just a nurse doing his job, I'm going to be safe rather than sorry.

The nurse looks at me, surprised that I'm asking anything or questioning his medical expertise. "Um, it's a painkiller." He says, about to add it, but I put my hand atop his, effectively halting him. "M'am, please-"

"What's it called? The medical name? What's it called?" I glance at Spencer and I think he's starting to catch on. But the downside is that I think the unsub is catching on too.

The unsub spits out some name that I can't even begin to re-pronounce and Spencer starts to shake his head. "No, no, I'm highly allergic to that. I'll go into shock, I've almost died because of that. Don't give me that!"

Cameron, the unsub, shrugs his shoulders and smirks. "Doctors orders." And then pushes the IV.

I quickly whip out my gun and cock it, seeing Spencer ripping out his IV in the corner of my eye before any of the medication can get in his system. "Cameron Delgado, put your hands up, you're under arrest," Does this gun have bullets in it? Let's hope so.

Cameron puts his hands up and laughs. "Oh, come on, little lady. You're not gonna shoot me."

"You just tried to kill my boyfriend so I'd think twice about that." I snap, not letting my face falter. "Now, do you wanna do this the easy way, or the hard way?"

"How could you possibly have a hard way?" Cameron laughs, looking to Spencer as if he's going to give him some sort of male support for his sexism. But Spencer is starting to decline significantly, given the loss of vital fluids and antibodies from his IV. "Oops, it looks like your plan backfired. Maybe he won't die from an allergic reaction but maybe he'll die from an infection, or shock, or what's that thing called? Sepsis? I wouldn't know. I'm not a real nurse, or a doctor. Not like your fancy boyfriend here. But you wouldn't let your fancy doctor boyfriend die. Would you? But you took an oath. You wouldn't call in a nurse to readminister an IV while you've got a gun pulled on an innocent nurse, would you?"

He's right. I would never put an innocent life in danger, but I don't want Spencer to get worse. So I need to get Cameron out of the room. Either Spencer will hit the nurse's button or his pressure will drop and a nurse will be notified. But I have to move quickly. Spencer's condition is getting worse and if his BP starts to drop, a nurse will come in and that defeats the purpose of this whole thing. I need to get Cameron out of the room ASAP. But how?

"Maybe I would," I tell him, just a bit softer. "Maybe I'd call in a nurse to help Spencer. You'd like that, huh?" There's a twitch of his eyebrow and I know I've impacted him in some way. I start to lower my gun in the slightest because even though he hasn't pulled anything, I'm almost positive he's armed somehow and I'm not wearing a vest. But I have to get him on my good side to get him out of the room. "Women are generally nurses, right? You're not actually a nurse." Now that my gun is facing the floor, I step towards him. At first, he steps back, but then he lets me advance him, blinded by sexual desire for me. "You just like to look at them."

Cameron scoffs, his eyes darting over to Spencer. "C'mon, lady, your boyfriend is right there. He's-"

"Oh," I roll my eyes, and my next words feel painful on my tongue, "he probably doesn't even realize where he is or what's going on. It's fine."

There's a lazy smile that etches itself across his face and it's one I recognize instantly, from the days I used to have one night stands in college, and even from Spencer. He's turned on. And despite the fact that I probably look like hell with my ponytail and sweats, he wants me. And I'm realizing that this is probably why this unsub wasn't involved with the other murders- he'd probably take too long with the women and the other unsub couldn't afford being caught because Cameron wanted to bang them.

"So why don't you go show me what you think women are really worth?" I keep my voice low, partly for sensuality, and partly because I don't want Spencer to hear. I feel guilty enough that he's struggling without his IV and that now he has to hear me seduce a serial killer. "It won't be hard to find an empty room in-"

"You're lying, Fed!" He quickly pulls out a knife and slashes across my stomach. I'm stunned for a second but my adrenaline doesn't let the pain catch up to me. Cameron darts out of the room and I follow, just barely hearing one of Spencer's many monitors starting to beep.

I chase after Cameron and he winds up to be a surprisingly slow runner so it doesn't take much. But the moment he catches up to me, I'm dodging swings from his knife. I know I have a gun but there are innocent people around and I can't just go shooting for the unsub. I'm fighting as best as I can, throwing punches and trying to get him defenseless. It's not easy by any means, what with civilians around.

I kick in his knee and make him fall, swinging my leg around his neck. I catch his wrist in my hand and try to wiggle the knife out of his hand, but he swings it around and plunges it into my calf. I curse loudly and the pain actually registers this time, but this means that he's given up his only weapon. So, without a second thought, I pull the knife out of my leg and slide it across the floor as far as I can, getting it across the entire hallway until it hits the nurse's station desk. Cameron is completely in my control now but still thrashing around. My pain is starting to register which means I'm losing my energy, and in my lapse of focus, I'm pushed to the floor.

Cameron is seemingly covered in my blood, smirking deviously as his hands wrap around my neck. I try to push him away but I'm losing blood and starting to get weaker. "This," Cameron snarls as his hands tighten at full force around my throat, "is what women are worth to me."

My vision starts to get spotty but just in time, there's a screeching pop and Cameron has a bullet in his head, falling to the ground beside me. I let out a breath of relief, chest heaving as I try to replenish my lungs with the air it had been deprived of. My vision isn't even fully restored before I'm pushing myself up and trying to get back to Spencer's room to make sure he's okay. Patients and nurses are starting to poke their heads out of rooms to see if the commotion is okay again.

"Rose!" I hear someone shout, but I ignore them. Morgan and Hotch come into view, then JJ and Emily a moment later. Morgan puts a hand on my waist and stops me, eyes widening. "You're bleeding a lot, you need to get checked out."

"I'm-" as soon as I speak up, a wave of dizziness passes over me, "Sp-"

"Spencer's okay," JJ promises, speaking as if I'm a child. I wonder if this is how Henry feels when she talks to him. "But now you're not. You got stabbed and choked and right now you need to see a doctor. And Spencer is not the kind of doctor I'm talking about,"

"No," I shake my head, my stubborn side pushing to the surface again, but grab onto Morgan's hand when my hips start to involuntarily sway.

"Nurse!" Hotch shouts as he sees the inevitable coming. A combination of the stress, the gunshot, the blood loss, and the choking hit me all at once and I black out, falling right into Morgan's arms.

///

I'm not sure how long I'm out for, but when I wake up, there's a nurse checking my vitals. My head is pounding and my stomach is aching, and my first thought is Spencer. How is Spencer? Is he alive? Did he get an infection? Did any of that medication get into his system?

"Oh, you're awake, Agent." The nurse smiles at me as she sees my eyes open. "Are you feeling okay? Do you need anything?"

"Spencer," I choke out, my voice raspy. I grasp at the uncomfortable blanket around me, scrunching up my nose. "My boyfriend. Spencer- is he-"

The nurse smiles and holds up her hand. "You've had lots of other agents come through here and they've all told me he'd be the first person you'd ask about. He's asking about you too. He's doing wonderfully, recovering perfectly. He's more worried about you than himself, actually. He tried to get out of bed a while ago, actually, to see you and some of your coworkers had to tell him no."

"You're awake!" I look to the doorway and find Penelope standing there with a huge smile, holding a tray of food in one hand and multiple phones in the other. "Spencer made me promise to be there when you wake up but he also made me promise to get you lots of food so I was conflicted on what to do but-"

"Pen, it's okay. I'm okay," I promise with a weak smile. "I just wanna see Spencer." I look back at the nurse, the weak turning desperate. "Can I go see him?"

"Well," she sighs, "your stomach is just bandaged, you didn't need stitches there, but you have twelve stitches in your leg. A doctor will have to check you out for you to be discharged, and then you can see Doctor Reid. So I'll notify your doctor. Eat up, and be careful of your throat, it's very bruised. I'll be back soon."

The nurse leaves and Penelope takes her spot beside me, moving the hospital tray over the bed. "She's serious." She tells me, sitting down on a chair. "Spencer won't stop asking if you're okay and if you have the appropriate number of red and white blood cells or if they're giving you penicillin, because you're allergic, but you obviously know that, duh, and all these other questions. He's really worried about you."

"Yeah, well," I let out a sigh, my neck aching as it rolls to face her, "he had to watch me seduce the unsub. Spencer had to take out his IV and I needed the unsub to leave the room so I had to seduce him and now I feel like I need to bathe in holy water."

Penelope grimaces, her face contorting with displeasure. "Ew, ew, ew. I can't imagine being you. Disgusting, Sorry, not sorry. Just eat, and hopefully, the doctor will be here soon. I've brought you new clothes so you can change into ones that don't have blood on them, and I'm gonna text the team to let them know you're awake and then you and Boy Wonder can reunite and live happily ever after. Yay!"

I laugh lightly, reaching for the bottle of water and cracking it open. "Yeah, hopefully, there's no more crooked cops that wanna kill us and we can get on a plane and go home. It's time for me to convince Spence to use his vacation time."

Penelope frowns at me, putting down her phone. It's only seconds later that the team is walking into the room with smiles on their faces, clearly happy to see that their second injured team member is doing okay. "Hi, guys, thanks for coming,"

"Of course," Alex smiles, patting my uninjured leg. "You know we're always here for you."

"I just," I give a small smile and let out a sigh, "wanna get out of here."

"You wanna see Reid." Hotch fills in my missing sentence. "But he's fine, I promise. He just really wants to see you too. Soon. Your doctor is on his way. So get some rest, eat some food, and we'll be on a plane soon."

The team gives me final smiles before leaving my hospital room, only Penelope staying. She smiles, adjusting her seating position. "Pen," I smile, "you don't have to stay here. You can go home or-"

"I'm not leaving you alone in a hospital where Spencer was almost killed and you were stabbed. Absolutely not. I'm traumatized. I know I wasn't here and you should be the traumatized one but- I'm gonna stop talking now," She throws her hands up in surrender, making me laugh. "So I'm staying here until you get discharged unless you need me to get you anything."

"Okay," I nod slowly, "thank you."

It takes a painstaking half hour for the doctor to show up in my room. But he's smiling and tells me the same story that the nurse told me about Spencer. But he thanks me for protecting the other patients and staff by taking down the unsub before he could hurt anyone. He checks out the stitches in my leg and tells me everything looks good, then hands over the discharge papers. I've never signed a document so quickly in my life.

"Alright, we're gonna take out your IV and then you'll be good to go. Just don't be harsh with your neck, Agent, there's internal and external bruising. And, of course, be careful with the stitches in your leg. Don't run or do anything like that and make sure to clean it every day." I grimace as the nurse pulls out my IV, meaning I'm completely free to go.

"Thank you," I thank them both, swinging my legs over the bed. Penelope is holding my clothes out to me with a huge smile. "Go change, hot stuff, and go get your man."

I jump off to bed and throw my arms around her shoulders, squeezing her in a hug. "Remind me to throw a Penelope-Garcia-Appreciation party on our next day off, okay? Actually, don't. It'll be a surprise."

"You're the sweetest. But you can dote over me when you're not stressing over our resident genius. Get changed and I can bring you over to his room." Penelope pats my back and forces the clothes in my hands. "Off you go."

It's a bit of a challenge to change my clothes with stitches in my leg and a gash in my stomach but the promise of getting to see Spencer is enough to get me through. I'm pulling my hair into a bun as I walk back into the hospital room, smiling at Penelope. "Okay, take me to him, please, I can't wait any longer,"

"Yeah, let's go, beautiful," Penelope leads me out of the cold room and down a hallway. We take an elevator ride down a few floors and then we come out to a familiar floor and I completely abandon Penelope because now I know where I'm going. I rush, as best as I can, to Spencer's room.

He looks up the moment he hears my shoes against the tiled floor and smiles, sitting up the tiniest bit. "Hi!" He grins, eyes instantly tearing up. "Are you okay? What-"

"I'm okay," I promise, sitting on the side of the bed and wrapping my arms around his shoulders. "I just wanted to get back to you," I mumble into his shoulder, wary of his bandaged and injured neck

"You saved my life," Spencer breathes out, arms wrapping around my waist but not too tight. "You chased that unsub and you- you saved me."

"Yeah, well," I pull away and smile at him weakly, "you did have to watch me seduce him so I guess saving your life made up for that."

Spencer scrunches up his nose, pushing a fallen piece of my hair behind my ear. "Yeah, I heard some of that. I don't think I heard all of it because after I took out my IV, my head started spinning."

I place a hand on his cheek, smiling as I notice his eyes have their shine again. "You don't do that to me again, okay? You can't- I was so scared out there." Tears start pouring down my cheeks uncontrollably. "I couldn't find you and I was calling your name and then I found you and you couldn't even talk and I was covered in your blood and-"

"Hey, hey," Spencer cuts me off, pulling me back into his chest as my body shakes with sobs, "I'm sorry. I didn't try to get shot, you know that but I'm not gonna try to get shot again, I promise." I laugh, nodding against the uncomfortable fabric of his hospital gown. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have left you like that. It was an accident. I'm not gonna leave you in the field like that ever again, I promise."

I nod once more. "Okay," I whisper, "I'm holding you to that." I lift my head once more and let Spencer wipe my tears with his thumbs. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm okay, my neck is sore. Not too much pain though, not yet at least. I'm just tired," Spencer lets out a small sigh.

"Okay, well, why don't you get some sleep?" I suggest, leaning down to kiss his cheek before slipping off the bed. "Hotch said we're leaving as soon as you're discharged and that should be soon. So get some rest and I'll be here when you wake up."

I move the table away from the bed and pull the book off of Spencer's lap, effectively removing his main distractions. I'm about to drag over a chair, but Spencer grabs my hand before I can. "Don't go," he begs softly, squeezing my hand. "Will you lay with me? You've been away for hours and I know you'll be right there but I want you right next to me."

"Yeah, of course, I will," I nod, gently climbing onto the bed, kicking off my shoes. I situate myself under the thin sheet and rest my head on Spencer's chest, finding comfort in the steady beat of his heart. But I look up at him and sit up just once more, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. "I love you."

He smiles, kissing me again. "I love you too." And so, I rest my head on Spencer's chest and close my eyes, drifting off to a peaceful sleep with my boyfriend right beside me.

///

"Rose?" My neck aches as I turn it too quickly when my boyfriend calls my name. But he's pointing to a pair of seats while holding a blanket, eyebrows raised. "Good?" I nod, giving a thumbs up.

He nods back, putting the blanket down to claim the two seats. Rossi slips past me and claims a seat by himself, already pouring himself a drink. "I'm glad our two favorite lovebirds are okay," he says as he passes me, patting my shoulder.

I sit beside Spencer and pull the blanket over my lap, making sure it's evenly distributed between the two of us. I'm half asleep already but Spencer is, not surprisingly, reading a book. So I cuddle up to his side after moving the armrest up and rest my head on his shoulder, letting my eyelids flutter closed.

"Hey," Spencer whispers, setting his book down a moment later, "you know what we should do when we get home?"

"Hotch already approved vacation time for us," I mumble, too tired to entertain his playful tone.

"You should buy a new pair of jeans."

"I hate you."

"You love me."

"I saved your life twice so I guess I must."

"That was weirdly backhanded," Spencer chuckles, and the simple and oh-so-familiar sound brings a smile to my face. "But, you know, again, thanks for doing that,"

"I'd do it every day of my life. You know that,"

"I know," he sighs, slumping back in his chair, book long forgotten. "So what about those jeans?"

#spencer reid #dr spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #mgg #matthew gray gubler #matthew gubler #gublernation #matthew gray gubler fic #matthew gray gubler fanfiction

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cagestark · 5 years ago

Note

Winterironspider, Peter and Tony get feisty while waiting on delivery and when they answer the door to hot af delivery driver Bucky, well...

1k because I love you and I know you aren’t feeling well. :(

“Jesus, Pete,” Tony mutters, lips brushing against the younger man’s bruised neck. He stops, punctuating his sentence with a wet, sucking kiss, feeling the soft neck beneath his lips strain and whine. “What are you doing to me, kid? I feel like I’m in fucking high school again.”

“You were like, twelve in high school,” Peter breathes. He arches prettily to give Tony more room to paint bruises over bruises.

Tony opens his mouth and drags his teeth over the tender skin. Peter groans, hips jerking where he’s kneeling over Tony’s lap. “It’s a figure of speech.”

But an accurate one. Tony can’t remember the last time he made out with someone like this, not even when he was a teenager and first began having sex—probably the side-effect of having mostly casual sex with much older partners. He wouldn’t go so far as to say that he feels virginal, but this, this with Peter? It’s refreshing. It’s different. It’s slow and savored.

They’ve been pressed chest-to-chest on the leather sofa in Tony’s main room for upwards of an hour, aimlessly kissing every exposed inch of skin. There is a laziness to it though, a contentment that Tony rarely feels (inside or outside of the bedroom). Neither of them work to undress the other or explore anymore than the skin just beneath the hems of their t-shirts. The arousal in Tony’s belly has simmered lowly, stoked by Peter’s hips as he drags their hard cocks together.

Peter whines softly. Tony soothes him with a kiss, their lips raw and sensitive. “What is it, baby?”

His lover breathes a little laugh. “I’m—I’m close.”

“Gonna cum in your pants for me?” Tony teases. Peter groans, burying his face in Tony’s shoulder and biting hard enough for it to sting. To make up for it, Tony tightens his hands around Peter’s hips and draws them together with more force. “No, no, don’t be like that. Do it, kid, I want to see you—”

“Boss?” FRIDAY interrupts. “The food you ordered for delivery is in the lobby. Shall I send the man up to the penthouse?”

Peter groans again, but it is a much less happy sound.

“Give me five minutes, FRI,” Tony says, palming Peter’s ass.

“The elevator reaches the penthouse in forty-five seconds—”

“Close down the elevator, it’s out of order now. I said so.”

“Tony, don’t make the poor guy walk up ninety floors,” Peter groans, though the urgency with which his hips rut against Tony’s own doesn’t cease. “That’s ridiculous. Our food will be cold.”

“I’ll tip him five hundred dollars.”

“Ninety floors—!”

“What, a thousand? One thousand dollars? Jesus, whatever I have to do to make it worth his while, I don’t care. I’ve got to see you cum, kid.” He drags their mouths back together, swallowing the desperate sounds Peter makes. So much time spent stoking the fires inside them and now it feels like someone has turned up the burner. Flames lick at Tony’s gut and make his head swim, shimmery, blistering heat. Nothing exists except this, nothing except Peter’s strong thighs tensing around him, his socked-toes curling alongside Tony’s calves as he nears his orgasm, the noises in his throat.

“Boss, can I restart the elevators? It’s a fire hazard to keep them inactive, and—”

“Yes, yes,” Tony gasps to her. “And mute! Come on, kid, give it to me. Fuck, you’re so sexy. Are you gonna say my name, Pete? Gonna cry out for me—?”

A noise. Tony’s head turns, hands tightening on Peter’s hips and his heart drops at the sight that greets him. The delivery guy, dressed in a polo and khakis and a hat drawn low over his strong brow. None of that does anything to disguise the broad, strong figure, nor the handsome face, pale eyes widened as he takes in the sight of the two of them on the couch, sweating (likely from the trek he made up ninety fucking floors, Jesus Christ, how long has it been since FRI stopped those elevators?).

Tony goes to open his mouth, to alert Peter to this attractive stranger’s presence or to tell the guy to get the hell out, but then it’s too late. Peter keens, one hand clutching desperately at the leather sofa, back arching beautifully as he cries out, hips jerking helplessly. Across the room, Delivery Guy (shocked as he is, Tony notices that he hasn’t looked away, can’t look away from the sight of the two on the sofa) licks his lips.

No one can say Tony isn’t a bit of a voyeur. Where his hands have tightened on Peter’s hips to push the kid away, suddenly he draws him closer, thrusting up into the warm cradle of his thighs.

“There you go, Pete, good boy,” Tony says, eyes locked with the man across the room whose jaw clenches.

“Tony,” Peter moans, dragging out the name. He sags against Tony’s chest, for a moment obscuring Tony’s vision of Delivery Guy, and when he looks again, the man is gone.

The plastic sacks of food sit beside the door in the foyer. While Peter cleans himself up in the bathroom (“I can’t believe you let him watch,” Peter had lamented, already growing shifty, the bulge in his jeans growing far too large for his innocent, outraged act to fool his older, more seasoned lover), Tony rifles through the bag to find the receipt.

Delivery Guy is James B.

“Hey kid,” Tony calls out. “What do you think about getting take-out again tomorrow?”

Peter comes out of the master bedroom wearing a pair of Tony’s sweatpants, low on his hips. He flushes—Tony’s meaning is unmistakable. The kid clears his throat, struggling to remain nonchalant. “Maybe I’m a little preemptive but, uh—take-out sounds good.”

Tony grins.

#winterironspider #nff #cagewrites #drabble

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im-fairly-whitty · 5 years ago

Text

Title: Forget Me Not by @im-fairly-whitty (Ao3: im_fairly_witty)

Fandom: The Witcher (Netflix/Books/Game)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Wordcount: 11731

Summary: You meet up with your soulmate in dreams once or twice every year your whole life, giving you the chance to grow up together and befriend each other no matter where you live. The catch is you only remember what happens in those dreams if you’re currently in one, or if you meet in real life and you BOTH want to be with each other, meaning your waking lives carry on as they would have otherwise with you none the wiser as to whether or not you have a soulmate out there.

This leads to unexpected and wonderful tearful reunions between soulmates discovering each other in waking life, but if your waking selves don’t get along or have emotional constipation (cough, Geralt, cough cough) you and your soulmate can only watch helplessly from your dream meetings as your waking selves make things terrible for both of you without even realizing it.

Additional Tags: Geraskier of course. Instant friendship, but a bit of a slow burn romantically, because Geralt's had five year old Jaskier for fifteen minutes (and if anything happened to him he'd kill everyone in this room and then himself) but romantic feelings don't start until later when they're both adults. Hurt comfort, wump, First Kiss. Happy Ending because RIP season one but I'm different. Also young Jaskier is a national treasure who must be protected at all costs.

For @geraskierweek: prompt 1, Soulmates

Geralt is eighty five years old when he meets his soulmate for the first time in a dream.

He knows it’s a soulmate dream too, he’s never dreamt anything nearly so vivid or calm, only ever having had muddled nightmares if anything at all. But now he finds himself standing in a field of wildflowers, a slight breeze brushing over the loose black shirt he’s wearing. An unseen sun warms his skin in the perfect pleasantness of a calm summer’s day.

And Geralt feels sick to his stomach. Because he does not want a soulmate, had been convinced that he didn’t have one after decades of nothing.

But as he walks across the field he hears the soft gurgling of a brook and sees exactly why it’s taken so long for his first dream to come. Sitting on the bank of the stream, shoes and socks stripped off with his feet splashing in the water, is a five year old boy.

Geralt’s sick feeling doubles as he silently watches the boy from afar, suddenly far more furious at destiny for what it’s just done to this poor child. Matching him up with a monster. The boy should be meeting someone his own age right now, a childhood friend seen fleetingly in dreams once or perhaps twice a year as they aged together. Not a witcher.

Geralt jumps as the little boy looked over his shoulder, spotting him. For a moment Geralt considers just turning and leaving, just walking away and out of this poor child’s dreams for good.

But then the boy’s eyes light up in a look of eager happiness and he waves excitedly, jumping up and running over to him before he can get away.

“Hi! My name’s Julian! What’s your name? Do you know what this place is?” The little boy asks excitedly, jumping up and down with seemingly boundless energy. “There’s so many flowers, I love them!”

“I’m Geralt.” Geralt says a little stiffy, mind reeling a bit. Because he can’t remember a single time in his life that a child has greeted him with anything other than fear, and it’s stunned him as easily as Axii.

“Hi Geralt! I’m Julian!” says Julian brightly, having apparently already forgotten his previous introduction in his excitement. He grabs Geralt’s hand before he can react and pulls him along. “Come see the stream I found!”

Geralt swallows as he lets himself be tugged along, at a loss for words or thought. Instead he finds himself listening attentively as Julian drags him to stand in the shallow water, proudly showing him wet rocks and pebbles of slightly different colors.

It’s only been a few minutes when Geralt feels the dream already starting to fade, they never last long for the first few years he’s heard. But by the time Julian disappears from sight Geralt is absolutely heartbroken for the child, having already come to love him in the kind of way that would have him burning a village should he come to harm.

And Geralt is absolutely furious to know that he will have no memory of the dream once he wakes up. That neither of them will remember their encounter until the next time they meet.

***

Julian is eleven when he finally realizes why he can never remember Geralt when he wakes up.

“You’re my soulmate aren’t you.” Julian not so much asks as simply states, looking up at Geralt.

The two of them are sitting cross legged in the wildflower field they always meet in, braiding long strands of grass to see who can make the longest one. Sometimes they explore together, sometimes they sit on the bank of the stream to splash around, sometimes Julian manages to get Geralt to tell him a story. They’re always very exciting stories.

“Hmmm.” Geralt grunts, not looking up from his grass braiding.

“My mum says if you meet your soulmate in your dreams not to bother telling them your name, because neither of you will remember when you’re awake.” Julian says, reaching over to pick a flower to weave into his grass braid. “That’s why I only remember you when we’re here, isn’t it?”

“Hmmm.” Geralt says again. But Julian knows it’s the “yes” kind of hmmm. They’ve met enough times over the years that Julian knows what all the hmmm’s mean now.

They continue to braid for a few quiet minutes, the soft breeze rustling through the wildflowers.

“How come you’re so old?” Julian asks, looking up at Geralt. “Aren’t soulmates supposed to be the same age?”

There’s a kind of almost smile on Geralt’s face which means he’s supposed to be chuckling, but then a little bit of a sad look too.

“It’s because I’m a witcher.” Geralt says, not looking at Julian as he plucks another long blade of grass. “It means I’ll live for hundreds of years and still look about this age.”

“Oh, like elves.” Julian asks, nodding sagely.

“Yeah, a little bit like elves.” Geralt says with a shrug, but now his little smile stays.

Julian’s nose wrinkles, “Does that mean it’s not going to be until I’m like fifty that we meet in real life? So I look as old as you do?”

Geralt actually laughs at that, reaching over to ruffle Julian’s hair. “I do not look fifty. Thirty at most.”

“But you’ve got white hair!” Julian says defensively, warming to his argument. “Only really old people have white hair, everybody knows that Geralt.”

“A fair point, little lark.” Geralt says. His smile dims a little. “And I don’t know when we’ll meet in real life. I hope we don’t.”

“What?” Julian cries, jumping to his feet, throwing his grass braid into the air for emphasis. “But we’re soulmates! We gotta meet in real life too so we can be real life friends! How else are we gonna remember each other when we’re awake?”

“My life isn’t one that you want to be in.” Geralt says gently. “I’m always in danger, I’m always having to fight monsters and travel hard. You wouldn’t be able to come with me, it would be too dangerous and I would be too unkind.”

“But you’re always nice. You’re my best friend!” Julian insists, crossing his arms.

“It’s easier here.” Geralt says simply, going back to his braid. “I don’t have to worry when I’m here. But if we meet in real life you’ll be frightened of me, I’ll have two great swords on my back and be in dirty armor and look angry all the time to scare off people who want to hurt me.”

“I won’t let anyone hurt you.” Julian says seriously. “I’ll make them be nice to you, I’ll tell them how great and kind you are and then you won’t have to worry.”

“I’m sure you would.” Geralt says with a sad smile, holding up his finished grass braid to Julian as they feel the dream start to fade.

***

Geralt is ninety five the year that Julian’s mother dies. He holds the fifteen year old on his arms as the boy cries bitterly into his shoulder the entire dream they’re together, having had no other shoulders to cry on when he was awake.

***

“I ran away from home last month.” Seventeen year old Julian says.

Geralt looks over at him where they’re both lying in the grass, hands behind their heads as they stare at the blue nothing sky.

“Did your father finally throw you out?” Geralt askes. “Or did you finally hide enough money for Oxenfurt?”

“A little of both.” Julian says, voice deceptively easy. “Got caught sleeping with a maid and figured it was time to get out while I still could. I didn’t fancy being beaten within an inch of my life like Mother.”

A long moment of quiet passes between them.

“Are you safe? Where you are?” Geralt asks, looking over.

“Not really.” Julian says quietly, reaching down to pluck a blade of grass and starting to slowly break it apart in his fingers. “I’m pretending to myself that I am, but I know I’m going to get stabbed if I hang around much longer. I’ll probably wise up in a day or two, once I get over my pride.”

“Did you buy a knife like I told you to?” Geralt askes, knowing perfectly well how futile giving advice of any kind is, but having to try anyway.

“I didn’t.” Julian says, rubbing his eyes tiredly. “I was even looking at one in the marketplace, thinking how much I wished I knew how to use one properly.” he looked over at Geralt, sharing the moment of sad irony with him. “It’s utter rubbish, this not being able to remember business. At least when we meet I’ll suddenly have the knife wielding skills of a bandit from what you’ve taught me.”

Geralt chuckles a sad kind of chuckle that ends in a sigh.

Another minute of silence.

“And don’t say we’re not going to meet, because I can feel you thinking it and we are.” Julian says, raising up on one elbow to glare at him more easily.

“We aren’t going to meet.” Geralt said, shaking his head tiredly. “You’ll see me coming a mile away and be too terrified to even get a look at my face. As you should be.”

“I won’t!” Julian insists. “We’ll end up in the same seedy tavern someday, soon too now that I’m traveling, and we’ll see each other across the crowd as I’m playing my lute and suddenly I’ll remember how to wield a knife and you are going to remember you owe me a drink.”

Geralt only keeps shaking his head. “You only get your dream memories back if you both want to be together Julian. You know I don’t want a soulmate. My life isn’t the kind that’s supposed to be shared, there’s not a chance that I’m going to see you in real life and want you around me. Neither of us will remember.”

“You can’t convince me I’m unattractive Geralt, I have an extremely healthy self image.” Julian says, stretching in a comical attempt at a sexy pose.

“You’re a child.” Geralt scoffs.

“Not for long.” Jaskier says, raising an eyebrow. “Give me a few years and I’ll look as old as you, and then when I find you I’ll keep badgering you until you let me stay, and then boom. Soulmate memories.”

Geralt snorts. “If I had an entire week I could not explain to you all the ways in which that is extremely unlikely.”

Geralt closes his eyes, but he can feel Julian watching him from across the grass.

“If we already remembered each other, would you come get me?” Julian asks quietly, the barest hint of a shake hidden in his voice.

Geralt opens his eyes, looking at him steadily. “If we already remembered each other I would have come to get you the day your mother died, and then killed your father for good measure.”

“Okay.” Julian says, voice still quiet as he curls up a little in the grass, still laying on his side.

Geralt can smell the fear starting to seep off the boy as he feels the dream start to fade around them, pulling them back to real life.

“You’ll be alright.” Geralt says, reaching over to grip the boy’s shoulder comfortingly. “You’re stubborn and you’re quick on your feet if nothing else, you’ll survive.”

“Geralt, I-” Julian’s hand grips his.

And then the dream fades.

***

Geralt is ninety nine the first time he finds himself in a soulmate dream where he finds that he’s even more upset than the very first time he found himself in the wildflower field.

“Geralt!”

He looks over and see Julian...no, Jaskier, sprinting toward him. The young man slams into him at top speed, grabbing him in a hug that is buzzing with energy and excitement.

“We met!” Jaskier cries, his eyes actually filling with excited tears. “We met! We met! I can’t believe we finally met, and Gods Geralt you never once mentioned how lethally attractive you are in real life! I thought I was going to die when I saw you! And-”

There are too many things in Geralt’s head that need to be said, too many competing emotions warring to get out first.

But Geralt does the most important thing first and wraps Jaskier into a protective bear hug, holding him close. Jaskier returns the hug eagerly, quieting for just a moment despite practically humming in excitement.

“We didn’t remember.” Geralt says quietly, pulling out of the hug enough to look Jaskier in the eyes, then anger surfaces for its turn out in the open. “And what are you doing Jaskier? Why on earth are you following me around? You nearly got slaughtered by elves on your first day! Do you have a death wish?”

“But that’s the thing Geralt!” Jaskier says eagerly. “I can tell there’s something special about you! I saw you in the tavern and I could tell!”

“You know we’re soulmates?” Geralt demands.

“No, no, no memories at all, but still it feels like...” Jaskier bites his lip, searching for words, which doesn’t happen often. “I’m not sure what it feels like, but it just feels like I’m supposed to be around you, I feel like you can keep me safe. I haven’t figured it out yet obviously, but maybe I will soon!”

Geralt feels his heart ache, remembering the disgust and irritation he feels toward Jaskier in real life without his true memories to assist him.

“I’m sorry for hitting you.” he says quietly.

“Oh that’s alright.” Jaskier says with a grin. “I supposed I deserved it, but I did warn you I was going to be stubborn!”

“Jaskier there’s no way this is going to work.” Geralt says, shaking his head. “I’ve already decided to shake you off when we reach town tomorrow, you’re too slow on foot and you sing too much.”

“You are so grumpy in real life, you know that?” Jaskier says, narrowing his eyes and jabbing a finger at Geralt’s chest. “Like, unbelievably grumpy, and mean! Do you have an entire witcher mutagen dedicated to being taciturn in real life that doesn’t affect you when you’re asleep? I swear you’re like a whole different person!”

“I’ve only known you for a few days in real life.” Geralt said, dropping his arms to his sides with a sigh. “You’re seeing what the world sees of me. I never let that guard down, ever. I can’t afford to. That’s the reality of being a witcher, I can’t ever be vulnerable or that’s the end of it for me.”

“I’m sorry.” Jaskier says, his eyes dropping. “I’m sorry your life’s been like that.” He looks up with a flame of anger in his own eyes. “I hate the way people look at you, the way you save all of them and then they treat you like garbage. I’m going to make them see who you really are Geralt, I’m already working on songs to do it.”

“Your songs that are already changing the truth of what actually happened to us?” Geralt said with a smile.

“Yes! And they’re going to be fantastically popular.” Jaskier says, absolutely convinced.

“Also,” Geralt says, his smile disappearing and raising an eyebrow as his grip on Jaskier’s shoulder tightens. “You are utterly shameless. I can smell you constantly reeking of lust around me when we’re walking around together, have you ever once in your life tried to be subtle? That’s the biggest reason I’ve decided to shake you off tomorrow.”

Jaskier grins sheepishly, “In my defence you haven’t told me how old you really are?” he tries. “I’m still out there assuming you’re a foxy mid to late thirties.”

“Will it really make a difference when you find out I’m ninety nine?” Geralt asks flatly.

“No.” Jaskier says, his grin no longer sheepish. “Oh, and happy hundredth by the way if you haven’t told me by then.”

“No changing the subject.” Geralt says sternly. “We’re likely never going to see each other again in real life after your obnoxious performance, so I hope you’re satisfied with our one death outing together.”

“Oh, we’ll meet again.” Jaskier said happily.

“And how can you be so sure?” Geralt says dryly.

“Because I’ve already decided I’m going to stalk you across the continent like a lovesick schoolboy.” Jaskier says proudly. “And my awake self decided that all on his own.”

“That’s because you are a lovesick school boy. One who’s going to get himself killed by following me.” Geralt says, shoving at Jaskier’s shoulder as they begin to walk across the meadow to their usual spot by the stream.

“Honestly though Geralt, why have you kept me around even this long? You have to like me at least a little.” Jaskier asks, looking at him curiously as he follows.

“You’re the first human I’ve ever met who doesn’t smell like fear when they look at me.” Geralt says with a shrug. “It’s intriguing. Novel.”

Jaskier makes a sad kind of noise, looking at him and then wrapping him in a second hug.

“Geralt, here I was fishing for compliments and you have to hit me with that?” Jaskier mumbles against his chest.

“Well I’m never ever going to say it in waking, so I might as well.” Geralt sighs.

“Just you wait, we’re going to make it, I know we will.” Jaskier says, looking up at him with a smile full of determination. “I’ll track you down again, you’ll see.”

***

Only nine months and one dream pass before Jaskier manages to find Geralt again in real life. He is extremely smug.

“Just you wait, Witcher.” Jaskier says, using the name he’s picked up from using in real life. “By the end of the year we’ll both have remembered.”

***

If Geralt had known three years passed without a single dream he would have been worried, but of course he has no way of knowing that until he finds himself standing in the field of flowers again.

Jaskier is standing a ways off, arms folded tightly as he stares off into the nothing distance, his shoulders tense.

“Jaskier.” Geralt calls, and the bard turns, a look of sheer relief breaking through his worried expression as he runs to Geralt.

“Why was it so long?” Jaskier asks, face buried against Geralt’s neck as they hold tightly to one another. “Why haven’t we seen each other in so long Geralt?”

Geralt takes a long moment just to breathe in Jaskier’s scent, which is riddled with fear and unease, then kisses his forehead, aching because he knows there’s no good way he can apologize for how he’s acted in waking life. Because of course they have seen each other, quite often in fact, but Geralt hates seeing it with remembering eyes. His gruffness, the constant shoving Jaskier away both figuratively and literally. The way that Jaskier puts up with it all with a smile.

Things aren’t always bad, they’ve had good times too, but not nearly enough to make up for it in his opinion.

“I don’t know.” Geralt says slowly, almost having to remember how to use long sentences again after so long in his customary waking gruffness. “Perhaps it’s because we’re together often in real life. The dreams don’t feel like they have to pull us together any more.”

“It’s been three years Geralt and we haven’t remembered a thing yet.” Jaskier says, his voice sounding a little hoarse against Geralt’s neck. “I, I guess things are pretty normal for us only having known each other three years though, right? Loads of people probably act like we do. With me hanging on and you hating everything...”

Geralt bites his lip, realizing that Jaskier had gotten so used to glossing over his emotions around Geralt in real life that he’s even doing it here now.

“You scare me in real life.” Geralt said, being the first to be honest. “I keep thinking I’m going to break you or scare you off like everyone else, I don’t understand what you see in me to keep following me and being kind and it frightens me. That’s why I still have so many walls, I’ve never had a real human friend, and I’m afraid of how fragile I think you are.”

Jaskier makes a small choking sound, nearly a sob as he looks up and Geralt sees tears in his eyes. “We are friends then?” he asks, voice hoarse. “In real life I mean, I always keep hoping we are or, or will be, but I just don’t know what you think about me really so I just keep joking around it and-”

“You’re the truest friend I’ve ever had Jaskier.” Geralt said firmly, putting a hand gently to his cheek. “You just picked the worst possible person to try befriending. I promise.”

“O-okay.” Jaskier said, tears sliding down his cheeks as he gasps for breath a little. “Okay. It’s just so hard to tell with you sometimes.” He wiped fiercely at his eyes. “Gods, sorry, I swear I’m not this distraught in real life, honestly I’m alright, I’m perfectly pleased to keep worrying away at you for the long haul. It’s just so...so disorienting to be back here I suppose, to remember. I just wish we both remembered already.”

“It’s alright little lark.” Geralt said softly, sitting in the grass and pulling Jaskier down into his arms. Holding him tight, as if it could make up for three years of only rough and brief touches in passing. “This is my fault, I always told you I’d be miserable company in real life.”

“It’s not all bad you know.” Jaskier swallows, resting his head against Geralt’s chest. “Really it’s not. You’re always so kind to people who really need it, and you make the worst jokes when we’re alone on the road together, and you’re so soft with Roach, and you’re terrifying at Gwent. And I know you really do care about me, because you’re always saving my skin every single time I need it, and I know you make sure I get the best parts of our food when we’re running low, and I know you bought me those boots last month because mine were falling apart so don’t even pretend it was because they were cheap anyway. I know they weren’t. I know clothes Geralt.”

Something warm gently flickers in Geralt’s chest as his bard lists so many things Geralt hadn’t considered as being good. They were just things he felt he needed to do. But coming from Jaskier they did sound good. It almost makes him feel better.

“So you’re not miserable then?” Geralt asks hesitantly.

“No! No, not by a long shot.” Jaskier says, wide-eyed as he looks up at him. “Geralt these are the best years I’ve ever had in my life, I get to go adventuring with you and see sights no one in Oxenfurt’s ever seen, and then I get to go hole up for the winter in a warm classroom and write songs while you hibernate up at your witcher castle. This is the dream Geralt.”

“You should have better dreams.” Geralt says softly. “These years are the prime of your life, you should be spending them doing something else.”

“If you remember to tell me all that again when we wake up I’ll do it.” Jaskier says, a mischievous glint in his eye.

“Speaking of better dreams,” Geralt says flatly. “would you actually die if you didn’t jump in bed with everything that moves? As glad as I am that you appreciate me dragging you out of every fire you light under yourself, I sometimes forget I’m supposed to be fighting monsters, not cuckolded husbands.”

“Do you have any idea how much sexual frustration I deal with on a daily basis just from being around you?” Jaskier replies seriously. “When you walk around looking like a marble statue in black leather and a loose ponytail? And that’s just when you have clothes on.”

Geralt rolled his eyes. “Well, good to see you’re feeling better.”

“I’m serious Geralt.” Jaskier says, curling closer to him, looking down at the grass. “I’m not just sticking around for the song material anymore. I’ve...really fallen for you. You could at least pretend to notice.”

“You’re still so young.” Geralt shakes his head, resting his chin gently on Jaskier’s head. “You get obsessed with things all the time, I know you’ll get bored and move on eventually.”

“I won’t. Not from you.” Jaskier says firmly, one hand holding tightly to the front of Geralt’s shirt. “And you can’t keep using my age as an excuse either, I know for a fact that you don’t sleep with prostitutes your age when we visit the Passaflora, so you can stop pretending that’s a valid excuse not to be attracted to me at this point.”

Geralt only chuckles. “I’m only telling you what I really think in waking life Jaskier, you can’t get mad at me for it here.”

“Well, what do you think here?” Jaskier asks, looking up at him, their faces only inches apart now.

Geralt thinks for a moment, looking into the young man’s cornflower blue eyes. He can’t deny that in waking life he has considered more than once how attractive the bard is. But even in waking it’s not something he’s considered at length, far more concerned with the constant challenge of keeping his curious human companion in one piece than anything else.

“What I think here is that you are still young.” Geralt says gently. He kisses Jaskier’s forehead and the bard heaves a sigh.

“You’re the worst soulmate ever, you know that?” He says, squinting up at him accusingly.

“I’ve never claimed to be anything else.” Geralt says, a little too soberly.

“What if we don’t see each other again for another three years?” Jaskier asks, smelling nervous again.

“That’ll probably mean we’re still traveling together fairly often.” Geralt reasons. “You know, if you leave me alone maybe we’ll see each other here more again.”

“Not a chance, witcher.” Jaskier says. “Not a chance.”

***

By the time they’ve traveled together for the better part of twelve years in waking life they’ve seen each other four more times in dreams. Which is not nearly enough, and somehow far too much.

“I’m going to ask you to escort me to Cintra tomorrow night for the betrothal feast, I got invited to play at it.” Jaskier says quietly against Geralt’s shoulder. The two of them are standing in the field of wildflowers together, simply holding each other after years of distance.

“I’ve been gone three days after a selkimore.” Geralt says with a smile. “How are you so sure I’m even alive?”

“Well now I know you’re alive.” Jaskier says, looking up at him with a grin. “I’ll remember.”

“You won’t.”

“I will.” Jaskier says, as if it’s a fact, not a wish. “And when you’re back you’ll probably be covered in all kinds of filth like usual and I’ve got a bath and everything all planned to butter you up to make you come with me.”

“I won’t like it.” Geralt warns.

“You don’t like anything.” Jaskier points out.

“I like you.” Geralt says.

Jaskier looks up at him with his thirty one year old eyes and tilts his head a bit. “How do you mean?”

“In waking life.” Geralt says simply. “I’ve started to really...like you. Unironically, I love having you around me.

“You absolute bastard! I knew it!” Jaskier cries in delight, taking hold of Geralt’s shirt collar. “And yet you still pretend we aren’t friends, but you do like me. I see you listening to all my songs from the back of the tavern, and the way you smile just a little when I talk too long even though you aren’t listening, and you are going to agree to come to Cintra with me aren’t you?”

“I probably will.” Geralt sighed. “When was the last time I told you no?”

“You tell me not to do things all the time, I just don’t listen.” Jaskier says with a smug grin.

“When was the last time you asked me for something and I didn’t eventually do it. Even if I didn’t outright agree.” Geralt corrects gently.

“Do you think...do you think we’ll remember soon?” Jaskier says, eyes wide in hope.

Geralt thinks they might, he really does. Even when awake he’s taken to being far more protective of the bard, keeping him close whenever he can, wanting him to stay. Wanting him. Even if he can’t even admit it to himself while awake.

But he just can’t bear to get his bard’s hopes up when he knows he can’t guarantee anything upon waking. For them to remember both of them have to want to be together, and for years now they’ve only been waiting on him.

“Perhaps.” He says with a shrug. He rests a hand against Jaskier’s face and the bard leans into his touch. “But I hope so.”

“Geralt, can I kiss you?” Jaskier asks, as calmly as if asking whether it was raining outside.

“If you like.” Geralt says.

Their first kiss is as gentle as the breeze whispering through the wildflowers at their feet, as calm as the small brook that flows past them.

The dream fades before they have the chance for a second one.

***

Geralt is sitting in the wildflower field with his head in his hands. Even in dreams his constant waking headache hasn’t left him, in fact it almost seems worse.

Because it’s been five months since Cintra, and everything has gone exactly wrong.

He hears Jaskier appear behind him but doesn’t move. Footsteps through the grass, and then the pleasant warmth of Jaskier draping himself over Geralt’s back, slim arms wrapping around his neck as the bard kisses just behind his ear.

“Well, I assume it’s safe to say that neither of us saw that coming.” Jaskier says with a tired chuckle. “You left in a marvelous huff before I could ask, why did you claim the law of surprise? Really Geralt, after seeing all that, what on earth were you thinking?”

“That you would think it was a terribly funny joke when I inherited a new second hand crown or a fine jacket from it. That we’d both get a laugh from it after such a trying night.” Geralt says hoarsely, having no reason to lie.

“Geralt...” Jaskier says, at a loss for words.

Geralt doesn’t move as they sit in silence, because they both already know that if he hadn’t invoked the law of surprise then he wouldn’t have stormed off on his own, that he and Jaskier would have stayed together, that they just might have remembered each other by now.

And instead they are now alone in waking life, who knew how far apart. For who knew how long this time.

Geralt feels his hair pulled loose out of its half ponytail and Jaskier’s long fingers begin to comb through it. It eases his headache a bit and he closes his eyes.

“But why did you run so fast and so far?” Jaskier asks quietly. “You’d disappeared before I’d even gotten to my feet Geralt, you were long gone by the time I got back to the inn. No one says you have to actually take the child for your own, you could just be a sort of godparent couldn’t you? Just visiting every now and then like a kind uncle, they won’t even be born for-”

“Because I can’t stand it when destiny gets her hooks in children, and this time it’s my fault.” Geralt growls. “When that baby is born they’re going to be caged in at every side by destiny. No matter what they do, they’ll never be able to escape being a child surprise. They aren’t even born yet and their choice is already stripped from them. Because of me.”

Jaskier’s fingers go still in his hair.

“Is that why you hate the idea of soulmates so much?” Jaskier asks quietly.

“This, no, this isn’t about that.” Geralt shakes his head, but Jaskier is already gone from his back.

The bard moves in front of him, sitting down in the grass and looking at Geralt, trapping his gaze. “Is this why we haven’t remembered each other in waking life yet?” Jaskier asks, and Geralt can’t quite tell what emotion it is flavoring the bard’s voice this time, but it’s something sad. “Because deep down you think I’m trapped in this, so that’s why you keep pushing me away? That I have no choice but to be herded back to you by destiny? Is this because I was a child when we first met?”

“That isn’t what I-”

“No, you know what? It’s my turn to talk.” Jaskier says, and the sadness in his voice is so close to anger now that Geralt wishes he was anywhere else but here. “You always say that you don’t believe in destiny and that everything’s up to chance, but we both know that’s not true. I don’t love you because destiny told me to, I love you because you’re the best man I’ve ever met, here or awake. You’ve been the only person I can always rely on, even when you pretend you hate me.

“And think of Urcheon and Pavetta! They had it exactly the same as us, he was already grown when Pavetta was born too, and they still loved each other and remembered their soulmate dreams when they met in person. And now they’re together despite the greatest odds all because of destiny, and after what we both saw at that feast don’t you dare tell me that their love for each other isn’t real.”

“And now they owe their unborn child to a witcher.” Geralt says sourly.

“And why is that so terrible?” Jaskier cries in frustration. “You’re a lovely man Geralt, why is being connected to a child such a terrible concept to you?”

“Because I was a child surprise Jaskier!” Geralt shouts, he doesn’t remember getting to his feet, but now he’s standing over the bard. “Where do you think all the old wives tales of witchers stealing children come from?”

“But those are just tales, they don’t-” Jaskier says weakly.

“Every witcher was a child surprise.” Geralt says hotly. “That’s where we all come from. A life is saved and the law of surprise is demanded in return, and when the child is old enough to walk they’re whisked away, no matter how hard the parents beg. Because it’s destiny. And then seven out of ten of those little boys dies in terrible agony. Because it’s their destiny. My mother couldn’t have kept me back if she wanted to, I don’t even know if she wanted to Jaskier. My entire life has been set by some great unseeing hand and I hate it, and now it’s used me to get its claws into the unborn heir of Cintra, all because I couldn’t keep my idiot mouth shut. Do you perhaps, in all your sage acceptance of fate, see how that could perhaps possibly upset me?”

“Geralt, I didn’t know.” Jaskier says, face pale.

“No, you didn’t.” Geralt snaps. “Because as lovely as things are in this bloody field while we’re asleep, in waking my life is a terrible, dangerous, dark thing. Destiny decided before I was even born that I was to face pain and death every second of my unnaturally long life. I’m always going to be at the end of a blade, and the only thing that’ll keep me from being on the wrong end is if I treat everything around me like a threat. That is why we haven’t remembered each other in waking Jaskier, because you don’t belong in a life like that. I refuse to trap you in that with me.”

The breeze that is always brushing across the wildflower field has disappeared, leaving things unnaturally silent as Jaskier stares up at him. Wide blue eyes gazing at him, mercilessly soft. Geralt wishes that Jaskier would jump up too, that he would start yelling back at him, shove him, give him something else to react against. But he doesn’t.

“Do you love me?” Jaskier asks, watching him.

“What do you mean?” Geralt says.

“Do you?” Jaskier asks.

“Of course I do.”

“Good.”

“What do you mean, good?”

“Because I love you,” Jaskier says simply, picking a pale yellow wildflower from the grass by his knee. “and if we both still love each other that means we’ll manage to find each other again once you come to your senses.”

“Jaskier, I-”

“You don’t get to bad mouth destiny for supposedly taking away my choice and then go and try to take it away yourself.” Jaskier says, getting to his feet.

Geralt finds himself powerless to move as the bard tucks the flower behind his ear and kisses his cheek. Jaskier wraps his arms around his neck.

“I’ve been in your life for twelve waking years witcher,” Jaskier says gently in his ear. “And I’m not a child anymore. By now I know exactly what I’m getting myself into every time I tag along you know, I choose to be around you. I want to be with you. I’ll see you again.”

Geralt closes his eyes, gritting his teeth. Then he sighs, resting his head on Jaskier’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry.” Geralt says.

For yelling at him? For trying to force Jaskier’s hand? For abandoning him without a word in waking life? Or just for destiny tying them together in the first place? Maybe all four.

“Everything will be alright.” Jaskier says, kissing the corner of his mouth. “With us and with your child surprise. Even if it takes a while to get there.”

“Don’t you ever get tired of me?” Geralt asks. “How can you stand to be around me, even when I try driving you away?”

“I can always tell you don’t mean it.” Jaskier says, looking serious. “Deep down I think I know it’s not the real you when you act like that. But you’re lucky my waking self is convinced we’re soulmates and that we’ll wake up any moment, because sometimes you really are a prick Geralt.”

“You really think we’re soulmates when you’re awake?” Geralt asks, looking him in the eyes.

“It’s a ridiculously optimistic wish I can’t manage to make myself let go of.” Jaskier says with a shrug. “But we both know I’m a bit of an idiot.”

“Hmmm.” Geralt agrees.

“Not nearly as much of an idiot as you, but we make a fine pair I’ll admit.” Jaskier says with a grin.

Geralt moves to kiss him, but the dream fades before he has the chance.

***

The next time they meet he kisses Jaskier before he has the chance to say anything.

“Well. Hello, you.” Jaskier says, breathless but smiling as Geralt finally releases him from the kiss.

“Didn’t get to kiss you last time,” Geralt says, burying his face against Jasker’s neck and breathing in the bard’s scent. “Wanted to get it done first this time.”

“Well I certainly have no objection to that.” Jaskier hums. “I miss you you know, it’s been a few years. I’ve started courting a countess in your absence if you can believe it.”

“How terribly unfortunate for you.” Geralt says. He laughs as Jaskier smacks him.

***

“So. Yennifer.” Jaskier says quietly.

The two of them are curled up together in the long grass, Jaskier’s back against Geralt’s chest. The bard traces his fingers aimlessly over the arm Geralt has around his waist.

“Hmmm.” Geralt says, burying his nose in Jaskier’s hair, as if that will somehow keep them from the topic. But this is the first time they’ve seen each other since the djinn, so of course they’re going to talk about it.

“You know for not wanting people to be attached to you through cosmic means, you’re terrible at it.” Jaskier says.

“I really don’t need a reminder.” Geralt grumbles, closing his eyes tiredly.

“Why did you bind yourself to her?” Jaskier asks, words crisp. As if trying his hardest to keep them unemotional.

“She saved your life Jaskier, I couldn’t let her die.”

Geralt nearly whines as Jaskier pulls away from him, sitting up to look him in the face.

“She framed you for something that nearly got you executed, and then she tried to rope me into a dark ritual that went so badly it ripped an entire manor to pieces.” Jaskier says flatly. “You’d known her all of a few hours. You absolutely could have let her die.”

“Jaskier.” Geralt sighs.

“Is it because she’s older than you?” Jaskier says, his tone back to the flat clipped tone that means he’s hiding his emotions. “Is it because she’s powerful? Because she hates you? Everything I’m not?”

“Jaskier, no.” Geralt says, pushing himself up with a frown. “Yen is a good person, she’s just very old and hurting.”

“So you want her as your soulmate instead because she’s like you.” Jaskier says. “Because you can’t want things for yourself if they don’t involve something dangerous enough to kill you. That’s why you really like her isn’t it? Because chasing after her gives you the same rush as hunting monsters, it’s all you know how to do.”

“This is not about replacing you.” Geralt says, reaching for his wrist. “You’ve been with plenty of other people, that countess of yours kept you occupied for several years, why am I not allowed the same?”

“Because I don’t bind their souls to me with a djinn wish!” Jaskier snaps, yanking his arm away and getting to his feet.

“Jaskier, please, I’m sorry.” Geralt says, kneeling in front of the bard, hands up in surrender. “A djinn can’t kill its master, the only way I could think to save her was by binding her to me. It’s magic that can be undone, it’s not the same as destiny. I couldn’t let her die after she saved you. I would have broken if you’d died because of me.”

Jaskier crosses his arms, swallowing hard as he looks away. But he doesn’t say anything.

“And you’re right,” Geralt says, pressing on in the way he only ever manages when he’s not awake, when there’s only Jaskier to hear him. Where not even he will remember what he said in a few hours. “I am attracted to her because she’s like me. We have a lot of the same pain, a lot of the same fears.”

“Oh? And what is it that Yennefer of Vengerburg is so afraid of?” Jaskier says hotly.

“That she’ll never truly be loved, that’s she’s so far from human that no one will ever be able to need and care about her.” Geralt says.

“You can’t honestly believe that about yourself.” Jaskier says, looking at him with an expression of sad anger.

“I do when I’m awake.” Geralt says quietly. Because what else can he say?

Jaskier clenches his jaw, making a muffled irritated sound as he turns and stomps a few steps away, rubbing his face before turning back.

“How can you be so thick?” he cries, sharply gesturing at him with both hands. “How Geralt? How can you possibly be this dense? Why must you always see something simple and think to yourself, how can I make this as complicated as possible instead, hmmm? Is that something they taught you in Witcher school, all those apparently eons ago since you’re sooo old that you’re beyond the reach of human love and reason? You drag yourself into every terrible situation you can find, and then you have the audacity to be shocked when it has less than optimal results. Every single time.”

Jaskier is rambling. Which Geralt knows by now means less that the bard truly means what he says, and more that the man is trying very hard not to cry.

Geralt silently gets to his feet and catches Jaskier, pulling him into an embrace despite the bard’s protests and struggling. Jaskier hisses and pushes at him, hitting his chest, but then the bard goes limp in his arms, beginning to cry into Geralt’s shoulder.

Geralt says nothing, having nothing he can say. So he just holds Jaskier as the man sobs, looks up at the blue nothing sky.

“I hate these dreams.” Jaskier says thickly, face buried against Geralt’s neck. “I hate them. Everything is simpler when I’m awake, I hate remembering that things could be better, I wish I could just forget.”

“You don’t mean that.” Geralt says, his heart breaking.

“Don’t I?” Jaskier says, looking up at him with red rimmed eyes, tears running down his cheeks. “When I’m awake at least I have the luxury of thinking you’re an unrealistic fantasy, I can think every second I have with you is the best I’ve ever had. When I’m here I’m reminded every minute of what I don’t have, and even worse that you do care. It’s like having two hearts to be broken instead of only one Geralt.”

“Jaskier...please...” Geralt says helplessly, words failing him as surely as if he were awake. “If I knew how to fix this I would, you know I would.”

“I don’t know that anymore Geralt, that’s the problem.” Jaskier cries. “Because all I’ve ever heard you say in waking is that you don’t want to be needed, and when I’m here all you ever talk about is how much you don’t want me in your life with you. What am I supposed to think Geralt?”

“I...”

I’m not good at this.

I’m only pushing you away to protect you because I really do love you.

I need you.

But Geralt can’t figure out how to get the feelings from his brain to his mouth, leaving him stumbling for words as Jaskier watches him.

Geralt feels the dream fading around them and it only blocks his speech worse as he panics.

Jaskier disappears from his arms.

***

The next time Geralt finds himself in the wildflower field he is immediately consumed by a prickling feeling of guilt and panic that curls in his gut. Because even in waking he’s been consumed by uneasy guilt for the last two weeks, convinced he’s made a truly deep mistake but not quite knowing why underneath all his justifications.

If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands.

...I’ll see you around Geralt...

And now he knows exactly why, with excruciating clarity.

He sees a figure in the distance, watching him. Jaskier’s shirt is whipping in the stiff wind that races across the wildflower field, stronger than it’s ever been before, ripping petals off stems. The blue nothing sky has become a dark grey nothing sky above them, and sharp, dangerous shadows stretch across the field from nowhere.

“Jaskier!” Geralt shouts, starting toward him. He has to reach him, he has to make things right, fix what he’s done. He’s messed up far too badly this time, he has to fix this.

Jaskier doesn’t move, just watches him approach as the wind picks up even stronger, ripping up blades of grass and dirt that pelt against Geralt as he picks up speed.

“Jaskier, I-!”

Jaskier turns away from Geralt and walks away.

He takes two steps and vanishes completely into thin air.

Geralt stumbles to a halt, shielding his face as he shouts Jaskier’s name, not even hearing himself above the howling of the wind. He tries to push forward but is knocked to his knees. He squeezes his eyes shut against the gale, hunching down to dig his fingers into the ground to try and anchor himself, but everything feels like it is slipping, being ripped away from around him as he tries desperately to-

***

Geralt jolts upright, already half to his feet in a blind panic before the sleep clears from his head. He looks around and sees his camp. He’s awake. He’s alone. His pulse is racing from his dream.

He pants as he sits back down on his bedroll, forcing himself to take deep breaths as his heart beats far too fast for a witcher.

The noises of the forest night gently ease back into his senses as he rubs his face. The chirping of crickets, the whispering of a night breeze in the tree branches above him, the soft noises of Roach, who is watching him with worried interest from where she is grazing a few yards away in the dark. His campfire hasn’t even burned down to embers yet, so he gets up and throws on another log for the flames to eat at, trying to ignore the cold sweat covering him as he shakes slightly.

Because he hasn’t been able to sleep for three days now. Not even meditating helps for long.

Because every time he truly slips into unconsciousness he ends up in the same nightmare, and he doesn’t even know why it’s a nightmare. He’s always standing alone in the middle of a torn up field cast in a dark reddish light, strewn with the dead wreckage of uprooted grass and flowers. There is a dried up streambed and the air is dead still around him, feeling nearly suffocating.

And that’s all there is. Geralt’s never even seen the field before that he knows of, but every nightly visit fills him with such a sick feeling of loss that he wakes up shaking.

The night before it all started he’d actually woken up crying.

Though he doesn’t remember what it is he dreamed of that night.

“It’s got to be a warning.” Geralt says to Roach as he pulls a waterskin from his pack, voice not shaking. “If it’s the same vision repeated. But I don’t know what for, I never see anyone or anything. There’s not even buildings...just...dead flowers...”

He sits heavily on a log near the side of the campfire, drinking from the waterskin as he tries to pull his thoughts back together. But as he does his mind turns immediately to the other thing he’s been desperately trying not to think about.

Because he may be haunted by a dead field in his dreams, but when he’s awake all he can see is the back of a red doublet. All he can hear is his own angry words ringing in his mind. Jaskier’s unsteady ones in reply. Playing over and over and over and over-

“What am I supposed to do?” Geralt growls, throwing his hands up at the sky. Roach startles a little at his near shouting but Geralt isn’t even sure he’s talking to her anymore. To himself? Maybe. “I can’t sleep, I can’t think, I’m alone...”

Didn’t he want to be alone? Isn’t that what he’s been claiming his entire life?

“He was going to get hurt.” Geralt says lamely, his worn out excuse sounding pitiful. “He’s already spent too much of his life around me...he should be somewhere else...”

Nevermind that after so many years of company Geralt is always miserable without the bard beside him, no matter how much he tries to deny it. No matter that he knows for a fact that he’d hurt Jaskier worse than any monster they’d faced over the years when he’d shouted at him on that mountain.

The part that really hurts though is that Geralt knows he hadn’t even blamed Jaskier for things that were really his fault. He’d targeted Jaskier knowing he would take it, that the bard was the one person in the world who always stuck by him no matter how he treated him.

And it made Geralt sick. He’d finally crossed the line. Crossed the line and lost what he hadn’t known he had.

No, because that was a lie too. He knows he loves Jaskier, has for years. He’s just too much of a coward to accept it. Not when there is so much love bursting out of the bard, a frightening amount of care and affection waiting right in front of him. Something that Geralt can’t stand to lose, and therefore couldn’t risk touching, in case he harms it.

Geralt snarls at himself, starting to gather up his camp. Roach knickers curiously as he saddles her and packs everything into saddlebags, then goes over and stomps out the campfire. There was no use hanging around if he wasn’t going to be able to sleep anyway. That and he needs to get on the trail before he loses his nerve.

“Come on Roach.” he barks, pulling himself up into the saddle and digging in his heels.

Roach winnies and starts off under the light of the moon as Geralt steers her back to the main road.

If Geralt rides hard they could be back to the mountain in a day or two and he can track Jaskier from there. On foot the bard won’t have made it too far in three weeks, Geralt knows Jaskier prefers staying days or even weeks at a time in each town when Geralt isn’t with him. If he’s lucky he might be able to track him down in three or four days time.

He only hopes he won’t be collapsing from lack of sleep by then. He still has no idea how to treat his nightmares, should probably contact Triss or Yen about it before he goes mad, but Jaskier at least he knows how to find.

He has no idea what he can possibly say to the bard when he does, but even riding in the right direction makes him feel a little better. He just tries not to think about how long he’s been riding in the wrong one.

***

Jaskier has been bleeding for three weeks, but it’s the kind that no one else can see.

He bleeds into his lyrics, he bleeds into the notes he sings. Late at night he lays in bed, staring blankly at the wall of his inn room, feeling his sadness seep down into the sheets under him. Leaving him feeling hollow and cold.

The coin is good. People are moved by his music. The inn rooms are good. Paid for by the coin.

He supposed he could have found himself good company as well if he’d been able to look anyone in the eye.

Instead he is sitting outside in the dark. Alone. He sits under a tree near the empty market square of the town he’s been staying in for a week now, only the low flickering glow of hung lanterns to keep him company as he watches the night around him. It must be close to midnight, but he’s been sitting here since sunset, his lute laying silently in his lap, watching the night with him.

Because Jaskier does not know why it hurts so much, why being chased off by Geralt of Rivia has cut him to his very core in a way nothing else ever has. Especially since, despite the cheerful face he wears, Jaskier is no stranger to grief and disappointment.

Jaskier had longed after Geralt from the moment they met, back when he was practically still a child. They’d become good friends, despite what the Witcher often claimed, and Jaskier had always thought something was different about them. There must have been with the way Geralt allowed him closer and longer than anyone else in his life. Jaskier knew that Geralt cared about him underneath all of his emotional barriers, in recent years he’d even thought...had even suspected that...

Jaskier takes a slow, deep breath of the cool night air. He has been still so long that his body feels a step distant. As if he is merely a spirit watching invisibly with the trees as the night air brushes through the sparse grass in the empty marketplace. He wonders if this is how Geralt feels when he meditates.

He’ll never know now. Not now that Jaskier is finally realizing that it’s over. That he will no longer track down the Witcher, can never again follow behind him. Because if after all this time, after all these years, Geralt truly wants him gone...then Jaskier will finally give up.

So why does it feel like something deep inside of him has broken?

Jaskier watches as a figure makes its way down the street toward the square, a large man who is moving slowly. Jaskier watches with a detached kind of interest, this is simply the latest passerby to wander through the square this evening and Jaskier sits in the deep shadow of the tree, tucked safely out of sight.

But as the man moves closer Jaskier feels a prickle of unease. The man is moving more strangely than he’d realized, slowing every few steps as if...smelling the air...

Jaskier’s pulse quickens as his brain starts flipping through his mental catalogue of beasts and monsters, one that is quite extensive after decades of traveling with a witcher. He suddenly feels very foolish for indulging his dramatic side by staying out so late alone, his warm inn room with its lovely lockable door feels as if it is on the opposite side of the continent.

In the dark of the night Jaskier makes out the creature stopping, as if it can hear his pounding heart, and then Jaskier breaks into a cold sweat as whatever it is heads directly toward him, eyes reflecting unnaturally in the weak light of the lanterns.

Jaskier stumbles to his feet, clutching his lute in one hand and drawing his silver dagger with the other. A gift from Geralt he’s worn for the better part of twenty years now, having been taught to use it after a life on the road.

“Stay back.” Jaskier says in as clear a voice as he can manage, brandishing the dagger. “I’m armed with silver and I have no interest in a fight tonight. Take yourself elsewhere.”

The figure stops, hands held up. “Jaskier, it’s me.” Says an all too familiar voice.

Jaskier feels a raw place inside of him ache as Geralt cautiously edges a bit closer, enough to be illuminated by the light of a lantern.

Jaskier’s hand trembles on the dagger, and then he sheaths it. He turns and walks away without a word, feeling a clawing sense of deja vu as he walks toward his inn.

“Jaskier, please.” Geralt’s voice says, and of course the Witcher keeps up easily, walking by his side as Jaskier refuses to look at him.

After three weeks of bleeding he just doesn’t have anything left to give. He is drained, he can’t even look at Geralt.

“Jaskier-”

He jerks as he feels a hand close on his wrist. He feels tears start to prick in his eyes as he yanks his arm away, turning to look Geralt square in the face.

“Why are you here?” Jaskier demands, his voice nearly a snarl as he looks up at the witcher. “What do you want, Geralt?”

Geralt stops, looking stung. Good, as he should. The brute probably hasn’t even given what he did a second thought the whole time Jaskier’s felt like dying.

“You shouldn’t be out here alone.” Geralt says, sounding gruff and oddly off balance.

“Go back to whatever contract it is you’re working and leave me alone.” Jaskier snaps, struggling to keep down the hot tears he can feel rising. “I left, just like you wanted, alright? Now go.”

“I didn’t...I...” Geralt struggles for words, huffing in frustration as he rubs his face.

Jaskier can’t tell for sure in the dim light but he thinks he sees dark circles under the witcher’s eyes, as if he hasn’t been sleeping. He’s...never seen Geralt look this worn out before...

He swallows, trying his best to push away the concern rising in him as he starts to notice signs of distress all over Geralt. Bags under his eyes, his hair loose and unbrushed, armor dusty with hard travel but clean of the viscera that would mean he’d been getting work. Things that perhaps only Jaskier would notice.

“You didn’t what?” Jaskier asks, hating himself for still caring enough to be worried, his voice losing a bit of its heat.

“I didn’t...mean it.” Geralt says, his voice sounding a little hoarse as he gets the words out.

“Didn’t mean what?” Jaskier demands, folding his arms as tightly as he can, as if that will shield him from this distressed witcher who has tracked him down in the middle of the night. Who doesn’t look at all like he’s working a contract. Who looks as tired as Jaskier has felt for weeks.

“What I said.” Geralt says, swallowing as he looks away, as if unable to meet Jaskier’s gaze. “On the mountain. I was angry. I was unfair to you.”

Jaskier feels stunned, unable to say anything.

Geralt...is apologizing.

“I know I’m a terrible companion-” Geralt says, continuing in the silence.

“You are.” Jaskier says, his voice higher than it should be.

“But...everything feels wrong without you.” Geralt looks up, catching Jaskier’s gaze with his steady golden amber eyes. “I’m not good at this. I’m not good at words like you are Jaskier. But I’m sorry, I didn’t mean what I said.”

Geralt looks like he is biting the inside of his cheek, as if he’s scared. Jaskier has seen Geralt upset, uneasy, surprised, hesitant, even startled. But never scared, and he finds it scares him.

“I...” Geralt swallows, looking like he is bracing himself for something painful. “I need you Jaskier. And I know that I’ve made things so difficult, and I know that you have no reason to forgive me, but I don’t think I can pretend anymore that I...that I don’t care for you. Even if that means you might be in harm’s way. Because you’ve been by my side for decades, and I don’t want to continue without you.”

Jaskier feels as if the ground has dropped out from under his feet, as if he’s been slammed back against the wall behind him. His head is an overwhelming mess of fragmented thoughts and emotions, because what on earth is happening?

He presses a hand tight against his mouth as he turns away from Geralt, unable to handle his gaze a moment longer as he tries desperately to think, to pull together some of those words he’s so well known for. He can do this, he can come up with some scrappy, witty reply. He can shrug all of this off with a joke that will clear everything up and they’ll be on their way again.

Just like he has for the past twenty two years now.

But instead Jaskier’s chest shudders and he feels hot tears spill down his cheeks as he begins to cry. His shoulders tremble as he tries to stifle the emotion down behind the hand he has painfully tight against his mouth, his other arm still held against himself as if it could hold him together.

Because he’d thought he’d been bleeding for three weeks, in a way no one else could see, but suddenly he thinks perhaps he’s been bleeding for far longer than that...that perhaps he’s been bleeding for years. And he suddenly doesn’t know if that’s something he can go back to. Because Geralt says that he cares for him, which Jaskier knows for this vocabulary sparse witcher means love.

And if Geralt loves him, can Jaskier really chance losing himself entirely should things go wrong again? Because if he forgives Geralt this time, if he allows himself to want the witcher this time, Geralt will have all of him. Jaskier won’t be able to hold back, he knows it, he won’t be able to keep the vulnerable parts of himself safe anymore.

And that scares him more than he’s ever been scared in his life.

He braces his free hand against the wall as he shakes. It feels as if some secret part of him, some reservoir of extra years of sadness and longing and hurt he hadn’t known about have come loose, flooding him with an overwhelming wave of unexpected emotion. But where is it coming from? He wildly wonders if perhaps he is dying. Because this is what he imagines dying would feel like.

“Julian. I’m sorry.” Geralt says, his voice full of so much pain and concern that it makes Jaskier cry harder. He feels the faintest pressure ghost over his shoulder, as if Geralt had nearly reached out for him but then pulled back. “Do you want me to go? I’ll leave if you want me to. I’m sorry, I don’t, I didn’t mean....”

“Don’t!” Jaskier says, the word coming out in a teary panic. “Don’t leave.”

Because as much as he wants all of this to somehow disappear, even if he can’t bring himself to turn around just yet, the one thing he knows that will not be able to stand is if Geralt leaves him like this.

He bites his lip hard as he feels warm, hesitant hands on his arms. And then Geralt pulls him against him in a tight hug, arms wrapped around Jaskier’s chest protectively. Jaskier leans back against him, holding onto Geralt’s arms like a lifeline, fighting to get his breathing under control as the physical contact anchors him, somehow making everything seem less like it’s spinning out from under him. Geralt has never held Jaskier like this, but it still somehow feels familiar, it feels safe and right and has Jaskier wishing it could always like this.

“I’m sorry.” Geralt says again quietly, his voice right next to Jaskier’s ear. “I just don’t want to lose you.”

“I don’t want to lose you either,” Jaskier says, his breath finally under control. He feels a cool breeze sweep past them. “But it’s so hard to keep this up Geralt, I can’t stand only remembering how much I really love you when we’re asleep, when we’re waking it’s like-”

Jaskier’s breath catches as the same instant that Geralt’s does, memories of a wildflower field rushing through him. Years of friendship and love and trust revealing themselves like a flower unfurling. His fingers dig into Geralt’s arm in shock as the witcher’s embrace tightens almost painfully, because of course if Jaskier is remembering, they both are.

“W-we’re awake.” Jaskier chokes. He turns in Geralt’s arms, looking up at him. “We’re awake.”

“We’re awake.” Geralt says, his voice thin with shocked wonder.

“We’re awake!” Jaskier cries, throwing his arms around Geralt’s neck as his tears begin anew. But this time he is laughing through them as Geralt crowds him up against the wall, kissing him hard and desperate.

“I haven’t slept in a week.” Geralt says between kisses, his voice raw with emotion as his hands roam Jaskier’s body, as if checking to make sure it’s really him. “I thought I’d lost you, the field, it’s all ripped up, I didn’t know where you’d gone.”

“I’m sorry.” Jaskier gasps, carding his fingers through Geralt’s white hair even as he pulls him closer. “I’m sorry Geralt, I was so hurt and angry, I couldn’t stand it anymore when I didn’t think you cared anymore. But you’re here, we’re both here and we’re awake and we remember. You really want me with you then? If we both remember?”

“I’ve always wanted you with me little lark, I just took too long to realize it.” Geralt says, burying his face against Jaskier’s neck and breathing in his scent.

“I can’t believe we aren’t trapped in that wretched field anymore.” Jaskier says giddily, nuzzling against Geralt’s temple as he runs his hands down the witcher’s sides, just because he can. “We can get something to eat together, we can see a sunset, we can sleep in a bed, we can be around other people.” His eyes light up. “I have my lute! I can play you songs instead of only singing!”

“We’ve already done all of those things.” Geralt says with a fond smile, kissing stray tears off of Jaskier’s face.

“But now we can really do them. Together. Because we’re finally both here.” Jaskier says, taking Geralt’s face in his hands and kissing him softly.

“I’m sorry it took me so long.” Geralt says, eyes closed as he rests his forehead against Jaskier’s. “I’m sorry I hurt you, little lark.”

“Hush. No more apologizing.” Jaskier says, stroking his thumb against Geralt’s cheek, his heart flutters as the witcher leans into his touch. “This is all I’ve ever wanted, you’ve already given me the best proof you can that you really mean it.”

“What do we even do now?” Geralt says with a chuckle, shaking his head a bit with a smile. “We won’t fade away in less than an hour, what do people even do with so much time together?”

Jaskier smiles as the witcher’s last last words are drowned in an enormous yawn. He wraps his arms around Geralt’s neck, gently kissing down the side of his throat.

“First you are going to carry me back to the inn and we are going to sleep until tomorrow evening because you look ready to fall over, darling.” Jaskier says softly. “And when we wake up we’ll still be together, and we will still remember we are together.”

“Mmmm.” Geralt hums appreciatively, hoisting Jaskier up into his arms with little effort. “And then?”

“I’m sure we’ll think of something to occupy ourselves.” Jaskier says, resting a hand on Geralt’s chest and leaning up to bite at his lower lip. “I’ve got some very time consuming ideas we can try. I have the room paid for through the end of the week, fresh heartbreak sells very well you know.”

“I’ll make it up to you, I promise.” Geralt says soberly, holding him closer as he begins to walk toward the inn.

“You already have.” Jaskier says softly, resting his head against Geralt’s shoulder.

There are so many things that must still be discussed, how this changes things. But Jaskier can’t find himself quite caring at the moment, instead closing his eyes he basks in the warm feeling.

Because he feels that he is home. A home that he will finally never have to leave again.

#the witcher #geralt #jaskier #dandelion #geraskier #wit writes #apparently my 'oh let me write a quick little thing' ideas come in 500 words or 10k #no inbetween #I wanted to see if I could make a soulmate au that had plausible reasons for not recognizing each other right away instead of relying #on bad communication #and here we is #and geraskier weeks has been so fun to read I figure I might as well throw mine into the ring too

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meetevieinthehallway · 6 years ago

Text

and i can’t give that to you.

in which harry suffers from seasonal depression and she doesn’t know how to help.

there’s a thrum of guitar strings.

she hears it— and sighs.

she isn’t sure if she should breathe happily or sadly; there’s various possibilities of what she would find if she followed the sound until she unveiled the outcome.

she shivers because the gentle pluck of guitar strings is beautiful—he always plays so beautifully—but it’s a low toned, melancholic song and she’s torn between some unknown battle of duality.

she closes the door behind her body with her foot, the grocery bags in her hands making her arms begin to burn as she waddles to the kitchen. she sets them down and sighs, trying to ignore the guitar but she can’t and she shouldn’t.

his love huffs.

she blows air from out between her lips and her head drops to her chest. she turns, looking over her shoulder at the stairway— the music is coming from the top of it, their bedroom.

he hasn’t moved since i left, has he?

a glimpse at the clock confirms the three hours that have passed since she left, and her heart throbs at the possibility that he hasn’t shifted from his spot in their bedroom.

she kicks her shoes off and away and she’s mulling in her head some kind of speech but it helplessly dissipates as she walks up the stairs.

“haz?”

the plucking doesn’t cease and she isn’t sure if she wants it to anyways.

hesitancy.

always, always hesitancy when it comes to times like these.

moments like these are unsure and tentative for her; she can never know if she’s making the right choice because he turns so stoic and blank in the winter and she can never gauge any reaction.

even her steps are hesitant as she sighs outside their bedroom doorframe before walking in slowly.

his profile is to her.

he’s shirtless and sitting in the middle of their bed and his guitar is in his lap and he looks so fucking sad and gorgeous at the same time.

his eyes are downcast on his instrument and he seems lost in his music, so much so that he doesn’t react when she’s standing a foot into the room.

“haz?”

he jumps.

the dimples at the bottom of his back move and momentarily deepen and she sighs again—she feels like that’s all she does nowadays—because she hasn’t seen the dimples in his cheeks in what feels like forever.

she misses his smile.

his face turns so his eyes meet hers and she smiles small, hoping that his guitar playing was a sign of motivation— in any way.

“sorry.. i—... uh.”

hesitancy.

even he felt it.

“d-did y’just get home? would’ve... would’ve helped with the groceries—... putting them away.”

she smiles small, looking up at his curls as she steps closer. “’s okay.” she whispers. her hand moves to run through his hair, twisting it around her fingers, and his eyes flutter closed as his guitar is forgotten about. “you.. you showered?”

his eyes open. he nods, looking at the glimpse of pride that washes over her face and he draws his bottom lip in.

you’ve disappointed her that many times?— that a fucking shower makes her proud?

“that’s good. that’s—... that’s great, bub. h-how—” she sits next to him, hand falling to his thigh, “—how do you feel?”

harry looks into her hopeful eyes that beg for any indication of betterment, and he sighs. the truth is that yes, he does feel differently than he has been, but he still doesn’t feel happy, good.

he hates continuously disappointing her— but he can’t lie.

“i feel okay.” he whispers. he reaches slowly with his fingertips until they’re touching her skin, wrapped around her wrist and his touch burns her.

“scale from one to ten?”

he bites his lip.

he doesn’t like the number system.

his therapist had suggested it a long while ago, and his lovie likes it so that’s why he tolerates it.

to him, there was no way any value could replace a feeling, because some days his sadness could be a one but his loneliness could be a seven and averaging those together brings about a four and that seems wrong, off.

averages and means and medians have never been a solidified concept that most see it as—

it’s a summarization. a non specific, lacking of details summarization.

he doesn’t like summarizations.

but he does it for her— she says it’s a simplistic way for her to understand where he is in his own head, so she can try and help.

but nothing about this—him, being with him—is simplistic.

“four.”

she smiles small.

he’s been a two for the last couple of days.

he looks down on his guitar and his finger bounces on the string closest to him, “maybe a five? like—... a four ’nd a half.”

she smiles a bit brighter, squeezing his free hand. “okay.”

he smiles weakly but it doesn’t meet his cheeks or his eyes and he’s quiet for a long while and his fingers pulse in her hand. “do you wanna... do something today?”

she can tell it’s forced.

she can clearly see the reluctance on his face as he asks that— because he doesn’t want to go out.

but he’s being considerate because he knows it must be driving her crazy to be cooped up in here, taking care of her husband who barely wants to speak or move.

so she shakes her head.

“no, i didn’t necessarily have anything to do.”

he swallows.

harry slips his hand away from hers and her heart sinks, her bottom lip between her teeth as she watches him adjust his body to pluck at the strings again, his face further from her view.

“y’sure?” he’s mumbling and hasn’t taken her hand again, and she squeezes her fingers into a fist.

she nods. “yeah.”

but she isn’t sure.

this is when she is reminded to have faith—

where he’s looking away with saddened eyes and a rounded back and blinking away tears and not talking to her.

she prays every night after he falls asleep that he gets better—that spring comes sooner—because the outside winter air mingles with her husband’s sadness and she feels so lonely and cold and alone even when he’s next to her.

he’s heard her.

he’s heard the prayers— he’s seen her desperation.

google searches of how to make winter seem more lively, best ways to live with someone with depression, how to be a more supportive wife.

phone calls of her worried tone and hesitant breath and falling tears as she swallows down emotion and swallows down the advice from her mom, girlfriends, best friends, anyone.

tears at his therapy sessions where he admits he doesn’t take his medicine some days but throws it away— and he sees her shoulders deflate and he doesn’t have to know her inside and out to know that she’s belitting herself— that she thinks she is a failure.

he breaks every time.

it’s one of the only emotions he feels besides emptiness— heartbreak for his wife who feels like she isn’t enough.

she shouldn’t have to take care of him— not yet, anyways.

they’re fucking married, a team, a relationship that gives and takes equally and yes, takes care of one another—

but not like this.

not like this—where she can’t get through to him—where she struggles to coerce him to eat, to take his medication, to breathe, to let his emotions out.

he hates himself.

it comes with the depression, he thinks, the absolute loathing—

he hates that his depression is bringing her down.

harry sharply snaps at her sometimes and he hates himself every time he uncontrollably does so— his heart throbbing as he’s watching her inhale sharply and look away and back out and away from his space with a soft i’m sorry and teary eyes.

he always breaks into his own tears after he does so.

and she holds him, she holds him like he didn’t just yell at her for trying to help him— and he hates himself.

i don’t deserve her.

dumbass— you never have deserved her.

shut up, you don’t need to remind me.

but don’t i?

“what?”

he jumps a bit, his daze breaking as his fingers halt and he turns to her with furrowed brows.

“huh?”

“y’mumbled something.”

his eyes widen— he didn’t think his thoughts could escape his head like that; but he’s underestimated this fucked up brain millions of times in his life.

“i...”

he doesn’t know how to respond.

he’s staring at her and he can’t help but realize how utterly beautiful she looks— but how tired she is.

“nothin’... just, a lyric idea.”

“oh.”

he breathes.

—

the wind is fucking loud.

it’s loud and obnoxious and is causing the windows to rattle and harry is getting really fed up.

he knows better— he knows better than to let an uncontrollable force of nature piss him off, but it’s pulling him away from unconsciousness and causing an ache to pound in his skull.

or at least, add to one already there.

he groans when the branches knock at the window and squeezes his lids tighter, a frown falling onto his face as he wakes fully.

he grumbles, arm lazily flinging up to his face to drape across his eyes when he realizes the television is on and bright and he groans, eyebrows furrowed under his warm skin.

“h?”

he jolts. harry jolts up and his arm leaves his face and he pushes up slowly, rolling over and landing on the other side of his frame.

he squints.

she’s crying.

she’s wiping her tears quickly but he knows she’s crying because the dim light of the silenced tv illuminates the redness of her eyes as he blinks away the blurriness of sleep.

“sorry..— did the tv wake you?” she whispers, staring at the screen and praying he doesn’t notice the wobble in her voice.

he’s never seen her cry like this. she looks blank— like she’s unfeeling, unmoving, and his attention immediately jumps.

“you’re crying.”

she sniffles, shaking her head and placing an easy smile on her face as she glances to him. “i’m okay.”

he props himself up on his elbow. “no.” he murmurs, shaking his head. “lovie, you’re crying.”

she hasn’t heard lovie for such a long time.

it makes her cries choke her and she sobs once, pulling her lips into her mouth. she’s still looking at the television with saddened eyes, her fingers trembling in her lap as she shakes her head.

“love.”

she nods.

“you—... you can talk to me.”

he whispers and it breaks her.

“you can... am i—... am i the reason you’re crying?”

“don’t—..” she chokes, meeting his eyes and shaking her head. “don’t say that, harry, of course not.”

“it’s true, isn’t it?”

she’s quiet. she swallows once, hand reaching quickly for the remote, fingers nimbly moving to the off button.

the room goes black.

he sighs.

“go to sleep, harry.”

she rolls so her back faces him, and she tucks herself under the covers and sniffles.

he’s about to lay back down himself and let his drowsiness take over— but he stops himself.

he reaches over and twists the lamp on instead.

“no.”

her eyes flutter closed and they’re squeezed tightly.

“you’re sad. it’s because of me and...—” he places a hand on her shoulder and she moves to face him, letting the tears roll freely down her cheeks. he shifts greatly, sitting up so he’s sitting on the mattress and looking down on her, noticing the saturated pillow under her head. “i’m the reason you’re sad.” he whispers, folding his legs to sit cross legged.

“you aren’t, h.”

“please don’t lie to me.” harry’s eyes are pleading, hands folded in his lap. his shoulders are slouched, and he’s finally looking at her. “you’ve... you only show me your strength, but... i know you’re sad— that i make you sad.”

she swallows and looks at the comforter as she sits up and rests her back against the headboard. she doesn’t respond.

“do you regret marrying me?”

“what?”

he swallows. he looks down and away from her, wanting to hit himself for how desperate his brain is moving and thinking and spitting.

��...do you?”

his eyes are wet.

“are you crazy, h?”

“yeah. i am, that’s why i asked.”

she breathes through her nose and lets her eyes close, and she shakes her head.

“you... that’s not— you’re not crazy, harry. you know that.”

“i... i don’t know that.”

he hates himself.

he hates that he’s turning her sadness back into talking of himself— but he’s so far down that it pains his chest and it’s hurting the one person he loves more than anything.

“i act like i’m crazy.”

“you’re depressed; you aren’t crazy. and i don’t regret marrying you, why—”

“i hurt you.”

harry says it tremblingly and shakes his head, curls bouncing around his temples.

the room falls quiet and he hears the wind hit the windows again and a chill crawls through his spine and pushes on his throat to release his next words.

“i ask you that because i hurt you every day and you stay and i don’t.. i can’t comprehend how you don’t hate me.”

his eyes water.

it hurts to say but there’s a weight lifted off his chest the more he rambles and word-vomits and he lets his feelings run marathons across their sheets.

“i see... i see you. just because i’m sad and in my own head doesn’t mean that—... that i don’t see that you’re unhappy, that when i snap it makes you hesitant and when i don’t respond to you your heart breaks.”

the tears are flowing down her cheeks as she stares at the blanket, drinking in his emotions and there’s a weight lifted off her chest the more he rambles and word-vomits and he lets his feelings run marathons across their sheets and it hurts but he’s talking to her and—

“that’s why you’re crying.”

“harry—”

“no.”

he snaps at her and she flinches and he sniffles when he witnesses it— the turn of her face like he’s sent a flame to her cheek.

“and that.” he says, nodding at her. “you see it? you’re afraid of me, you have to tip toe around me like i’m a bomb and— you... god you are so good to me and i treat you so badly—”

“stop it.” her voice is trembling.

“—i am the worst husband—person—in the entire world—”

“stop!”

her voice is loud and it cuts through the room and breaks the rhythm of his speech. his eyes turn round and wide as she yells and his breathing is labored and his tears are pooled in his palms.

“i stay because i’m in love with you and because i want to take care of you. ever heard of in sickness and in health, harry?!”

“but i’m not taking care of you, love.”

“i don’t care!” she’s still yelling and now he’s the one who is flinching. “you’re sick, harry. when i have the flu or summat do..— do you get upset that you’re not taken care of?!”

he sniffs and wipes his cheek with the back of his hand.

“...no.”

“no. you don’t. because we love each other and care for each other and you act selfless when you’re in love with someone.”

he looks at her eyes and he can’t see her irises because the water is blocking his view.

“you just said it.”

“said what?”

“you act selfless when...— when you’re in love. that’s how it should be.”

she pauses.

“i’ve been so in my own head that—... that i fail in putting you first. you...” he shakes his head. “i have never loved anything more than i do you. you’ve stuck with me for so long and...”

harry swallows.

she swallows.

“i treat you terribly and... i don’t know how you haven’t left.”

it’s quiet.

“leaving you is worse than being sad for a little while.”

he sighs deeply, his body moving up and down with his sighs. her eyes are so sad and it causes more tears to pour from his eyes and suddenly he feels himself unable to catch his breath.

“i don’t make you happy.”

he’s sobbing now, harshly, and his hands land on his eyes as he cries into his palms. she sits up slowly, her fingers reaching to his wrist, her other joining when she sits fully.

“harry.”

“i want you to be happy and— ... i can’t give that to you.”

he’s shaking his head and his hands are still covering his eyes—pressing and pressing in hopes for the tears to just fucking stop—and she’s absolutely helpless; she can’t calm him and he’s trembling in her gentle touch.

“harry, breathe.”

he’s hyperventilating, breathing ragged and his chest is bouncing violently. her hand comes to his back and she’s rubbing slow, soft circles to attempt to lull him. his hands fall off his face and into her lap, his fingers reaching to wrap in her hand and he’s trying not to fall away from her. harry’s staring at their joined hands with widened eyes, gripping tightly, tears falling to his skin and hitting him at his forearms.

“love, shhh,” she’s shushing him through her own tears, helplessly trying to make him breathe. but she can’t pull her hands out of his grasp.

his eyes meet hers and he shakes his head, lips pulled in and he’s exasperated.

“this life is not what i promised you.” he cries, voice strained. “i want you to be happy and i don’t make you happy and i’d rather you leave me and be happy then stay here and be sad all the time—”

“shh,” her voice is quiet and her forehead falls onto his but he’s talking over her. “harry, i’m not leaving.”

“all i do is pull you under.” he whispers and he sounds angry— angry at himself and this fucking situation and his grip loosens on her hands. “you...” he hiccups and her hand lifts to his cheek and he whimpers and leans into her touch. “you’re so good, and-and..” he waves his hand dismissively, saying it sourly yet sadly “some other guy—some normal guy could make you so fucking happy—”

“i love you.” she cuts him off and he sniffs and meets her eyes. “i want to be here, here with you.” she whispers, tilting his chin up, “i’d rather be with you for a million winters than none at all.”

he swallows and looks down.

“hey.” she’s whispering. “look at me.”

he obeys and lifts his eyes again.

“the winter months are awful.” she murmurs. “but you always come back to me in springtime.”

he sniffs. “but i don’t—” he shakes his head.

“h.” she sighs, and he quiets. “i am sad when you are. you’re half of me, love— i’d be worried if i wasn’t.”

look at how sad you made her— how long until she leaves? don’t you wish you were normal?

“listen, h.” she pulls him back because she can feel his mind drifting away— his eyes turned more watery and his jaw tightens. “being not okay for a season... just makes the happy moments between us even better.”

his hand moves to hold the side of her neck.

“life is hard, bub.”

“i-i know.” he swallows. “i know but ‘s not much easier with me.”

“but...” she lifts his chin up and his eyes meet hers. “but you make it a journey.”

“it just takes a bit of time to find our destination.”

—

there’s a thrum of guitar strings.

she prays it’s better than those nights ago.

she can’t stop replaying it in her mind, the way he’s been crying and speaking and begging her to leave for herself but also beg her to just stay— with his tears in his palms and his face in her neck and she’s overwhelmed because for him to break down like this is unlikely.

but there’s a silent, indirect agreement between them two as she’s swearing she won’t leave while her own tears coat her eyes— that they’d live day by day, and do their best to talk and feel and cry and express, just as he has been. she had lulled his teary and achy body back to sleep with her every time she awoke to his sobbing, humming and her hands rubbing at his shoulder blades, and he had gently kissed at her collarbones before resting his forehead against them before he’d slip back away to momentary piece.

the wind hasn’t hit their window panes since.

it would all be okay— at least when spring came.

but now?— she has extreme déjà-vu as she pads up the stairs with her socked feet.

the air seems thinner today, like she can breathe easier, but now her throat feels tight again because she doesn’t want to see him in a ball in the same spot again like when she sees him through the dark.

day by day.

“haz?”

except this time the music halts.

she frowns because typically he’d be so zoned out that he wouldn’t acknowledge her entrance, her voice, but she reaches the top of the staircase and walks towards their room.

what if he’s sad and he’s been waiting for her to come home—

what if he just threw his guitar on the ground because he tried to write lyrics but he can’t—

what if—

“h? are you okay, love—”

she pushes the door open to their bedroom and she stops.

harry moves away from the mirror quickly, shifting so he’s standing in front of her with his hands behind his back. he’s blushing, and he’s looking at her and scanning her body with a shy smile on his face, a curl falling in his eyes.

“hi.” he murmurs.

“... you okay?” she questions him, drinking in his shirt covered torso and baggy sweats.

“i’m okay.”

her eyebrows are pinched in the center. his skin seems more glowy today, radiance oozing from his pores and irises and— the bags under his eyes are more purple but his little smile is a sight she can get definitely used to. she hesitates, frowning at his expression.

“you are?”

“yeah. i uh—” he sways gently, in a way that settles his nerves as his cheeks blush. “i’m... i’m okay..”

“you seem hesitant, bub.”

“no, no. i—... i’m alright i’m just...” he trails off.

“is there a number you—”

“six.”

she falters, a shocked look falling onto her face as she stares at him. she falters again, though— he looks so unbelievably proud of himself, of his own mind, but weary simultaneously and her face smiles brightly, slowly moving to bounce on her toes as to not outwardly explode in excitement.

“that’s — that’s fantastic... just—... great.”

he nods. then a soft look of revelation falls between his eyes.

“oh, and... uh—”

his hands behind him move to his front and he’s holding a small bouquet of yellow tulips between his twitching fingers and he doesn’t know what to say so he pauses before parting his lips.

“‘m sorry if they’re a bit wilted... i uh.. got them this morning.”

she’s shocked.

she’s gobsmacked and her lips are guppying as she’s trying to discover any phrase or word that she can respond to him with.

“you... what—...”

“after you left i—... just...”

he’s looking at the floor now because it embarrasses him to look at her directly, when she’s staring at him with those beautiful eyes filled to the brim with awe. there’s a twinge of disappointment he feels for himself—that for him to go out and buy her something as simple as flowers is a godsend—because she’s looking at him the same way that she did when she saw him with wet hair—

a look of pride, happiness, and somehow that diminishes any dismay he feels for himself.

“just thought... you deserved something good.”

his foot rubs atop his other.

“so...”

he thrusts them forward, away from his body and he finally meets her eyes.

“for m’wife.” he’s blushing and biting the inside of his cheek.

her smile melts to an endeared one at the same time her heart turns to a puddle.

“you... got me flowers?” she walks forward and takes them between her fingers, eyes peering at him with awe and astonishment. “why?

he bites his lip and shrugs softly, smile cute and little on his face and it doesn’t meet his entire face, but his dimples pop out like flowers do out of the ground.

“happy first day of spring.”

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