#and those big old buildings with broken windowpanes

[whoa-where-did-the-pancakes-go]

Girl help I'm getting fascinated by urban spaces again

[xbunnybunz]

Daybreak (5/?) [Wolf Keum x Reader x Alex Go]

Summary: The day brings to you Alex Go, and in the night, Wolf Keum. Your past is inescapable. They build you up and tear you back down, but this is what you need to survive.

Genre: Romance, Angst, Drama

—–

The shop is big, spacious, and refreshing. The windowpanes take up most of the wall space, dousing the entire café in golden afternoon light and complementing the cream and brown wallpaper and flooring.

The light purges the heavy thoughts from your mind. It’s an ethereal sensation, and the combination of the serene atmosphere and Alex’s presence help even out your breathing.

You stay close to Alex when he speaks to a waitress. There was a gentle hum of pop music over the speakers, you appreciated the way the songs blended into the sparse chatter and gentle tinkering of metal forks on ceramic plates.

You wondered how you didn’t know a place like this before, perhaps it opened recently? Your fingers raise to skim the engravings on the front desk. The discoloration on some of the dark wooden chairs told you otherwise. The divots in the polish whisper that you’ve been left behind, that time keeps going on, no matter how much you retract into yourself.

A small sigh slips from your lips and you divert your gaze to the floor, eyes sweeping over the pretty marble tile, catching the light through the windows and winking at you with a flourish.

Since that dreaded day, you had lived your happy afternoons in miserable loneliness in your bedroom, curtains pulled close to keep the sanctifying light off your cursed skin. You always knew the world would move on without you, but you had no idea it would hurt so much.

A gentle hand brushes your elbow and you look up.

“Come on,” Alex smiles at you, “Let’s grab a seat.”

You’re both seated in a corner booth, right by the windows. You like it because the way the sunshine hits Alex’s face makes his eyes glimmer with yellow flecks. His smile doesn’t seem half as blinding when the sun is right beside him.

“Haha, we got a good spot!” He laughs. His unending excitement with life is refreshing and the radiant energy that emits from him is amazing. So why can’t you get that damned streetlight out of your head?

You push it back again, but the darkness still seeps out, spilling over the table, the chair, the marbled floors.

“I really like how much sunlight we get in here.” You say, ignoring the tingling in your fingers. “I hope the food is as good as the vibe.”

Alex chuckles and hands you a menu from the stack propped up on the side. “Oh trust me, the food is the only real reason I keep coming back here.”

He pops the menu open and you eye the way he pours over the food selection, a wide smile on his face as he hums along with the tune overhead.

He’s so happy it’s strange, so happy you can’t understand it. Being so carefree was something you could barely remember. It was a breath of an old memory, calling out, beckoning and begging you to come back. But you can’t and you can only watch, enchanted, as someone else bathes in that blissful peace.

“Truth be told, Ben and I always get take-out here but this is the first time I’ve dined in. It always seemed like somewhere people studied, or took someone to impress them.”

He chuckles, scratching the side of his head.

“So I never had a good reason to eat in, until now.” He peeks at you shyly and your stomach flips at the expression he’s making, soft, endearing, and something else.

“Well, unless you brought study guides with you,” You raise an arm and prop your cheek on your palms, eyes meeting his with a spark, “I’m impressed.”

He ignites like a firework, all smiles, sparks and red coloring his cheekbones, and it’s amazing to watch, to feel, to know he’s so close you could almost touch him. Your fingers rebel, flexing out, but your arm stays anchored to the table.

“I, ah, that makes me really happy to hear.”

You can’t believe you’re the source of his happiness, but his grin right now is too earnest, too honest, and you wonder who the hell told him to wear his heart on his sleeve like that, who told him it was alright to smile at anyone the way he does.

“Ah, I really wanted to try this last time but Ben wanted the chocolate mousse instead. Let’s try this one today!”

You lean slightly across the table and peer at what he’s pointing at, and he follows in suit so you don’t have to move too far.

Up close, you can inhale his scent, lawn clippings and pine, a hint of something like pencil shavings. You peek at him through your lashes, watching the avid manner he spoke in, all drivel now that you were so close to him.

His eyes, aglow, alive, so endless and deep with a green hue you could watch them forever, embrace the way he understood the world through them, admire the way the corners of his eyes crinkled when he smiled too big, or laughed too hard.

You take in the way his eyebrows shoot up when he sees something he wants to order, or furrow when he complains and asks why it’s in French.

The way his lips curl, his cheeks push up, his hair falls, it’s all so expressive it almost hurts you to watch him, longing and captivated all at once.

“Ack! I’ll just get this one! It’s so hard to decide when everything looks so good. What about you?”

Alex glances up at you and catches you watching him, and the world shifts in an odd, enthralling way when his enthused expression melts into a calmer one, subdued compared to his previous energy, like a tiptoe around what was going on in his mind.

A moment passes, one, two, and his eyes trail down, down, down but you break the silence before his gaze can reach your lips. Look back down at the menu, and the tension is gone.

“The French toast looks good, we can both share so we taste more of the menu in one go.”

You pull back a bit, and his eyes follow you. Thrilled and confused.

“Sure, we can go with that.”

His voice sounds breathy, coarse. It raises the hairs on the back of your neck, but you just fold up the menus and recite the orders to the waitress who comes to pick them up.

By the time she leaves Alex has settled down again, though his gaze is still curious.

You don’t pay him any mind and rescind into the comfort of your soft leathery seat, not caring about the way it squeaks against your legs.

It’s a strange but comfortable silence. You think about how the quiet that occurs at home is so much more heavy and burdensome than the one now, wonder why that is, wonder how it’s so different, if the stillness should all be the same.

Maybe because it’s not stillness. There’s a sort of bubbly sensation in your stomach and chest, like pop rocks in your mouth, when Alex Go continues to ponder about you.

He doesn’t ask, but you can tell by the way he’s folding and unfolding his tissue and chewing on his straw. His mouth opens like he’s about to pose a question, but it evaporates into the air.

He does this until all the food comes, and only after everything is on the table do you ask,

“What’s wrong, Alex Go? Something on your mind?”

He looks shocked, like he has no idea how you read his mind, but relieved at the same time.

“Yeah actually, but I wasn’t sure how to ask without seeming… Intrusive.”

He pauses, doesn’t touch his food. Strange, because you swore you remembered him saying how hungry he was on the way here.

“You can ask me.”

Your voice is soft and reassuring, and you hope it’ll be enough to coax the question out of him. And it is.

“Well, I noticed that a lot of the times you seem really sad.”

He picks up his fork, spins it, but doesn’t eat.

“When I first met you, and that day at the market. On the way here, too. I know we aren’t super close or anything, but if telling me anything helps, I’d gladly hear you out.”

He scratches his ear. Scritch scratch. You’re taken aback, but you suppose you shouldn’t be surprised. You had cried the first time you met him and tried to pick a fight with a wall. But it’s the straightforward manner that he asks that shocks you the most.

You notice he’s still not eating, wonder if it’s nerves. You pick up your fork, making sure it clicks against your plate, and break off a piece of French toast. Almost like this reminds him there’s food on the table, Alex follows suit and begins to eat.

“There was a traffic accident.” You say. It comes out easier than you thought it would, easier than those times you choke up recalling the memories alone in your room.

“Not too far from here.”

Right by that accursed intersection, right by that damned flickering stoplight that had broken for reasons unknown to you until recently.

Alex looks up at you. He stops eating again and you curse yourself. His with eyes filled with a certain type of pity you’ve grown to detest, somehow it’s even more heartbreaking coming from him.

“I think about it a lot, about him a lot… I just can’t forget. It’s agonizing.”

Like a curse, the memory plays in your head, the stark contrast of streetlights against his silhouetted body.

“I wish I could’ve… Your hands ball up, your voice faltering. “I can’t help but wonder how things would be different if I had seen it coming.” There’s a pulse in your windpipe that makes it hard to breathe or speak. You begin to drift. Your eyes cast downwards and your wrists feel numb, a painful mark of the day that had changed your life and taken so much from you. You remember him, can’t ever forget him, see him in the distance, fading into a darkness you could not reach into. Then Alex’s voice pulls you out of your daze.

“It’s not your fault.”

You look up, eyes glassy with tears you hadn’t realized were forming. “What?”

“I said it’s not your fault.” Alex looks up at you, and those soft green eyes are harder now. “No one can protect everyone.” His knee brushes yours under the table and you stiffen. You can’t help it and he doesn’t notice.

“It’s easy to blame yourself for these things, I know.”

There’s a look in his eye, one of pain, one of regret, you know it because you regard those feelings as good friends, as bad friends, as longtime friends.

“But your friend, he wouldn’t want you to hold yourself back because of it. No one would wish that on someone they cared about, even if it’s hard for us to believe...”

You swallow, but the lump stays in your throat. The feeling is back, bitter and dark, crawling along your skin and piercing your mind with thick venom.

“What if you’re wrong?” You ask, voice barely a whisper. What if you wanted someone to blame for this?

“I’ve lost everything and I have no one else to blame except…” You fix your gaze upon Alex Go but all you can see is yourself, reflected in his eyes. You turn away, a grimace forming on your lips. “…I need to talk to him again, but hell, what if that’s not an option?”

The desperation in your voice inches up and out of your lips, it consumes your words with the darkness that has always lurked deep within your mind, taunting and keeping you up at night, harboring you to the bed in the morning with a grisly type of sickness.

“I hate living like this. But I just can’t move on, every day is reliving the same damn memory, but this is what I deserve.” You choke out a laugh, “Gone. Just like that. Because of me.”

“You’re wrong!”

Alex’s voice rises enough to cause some murmurs, but he doesn’t care. You raise your eyes, so far gone that the roaring fire in his eyes feel only like a flickering candle.

“What good does it do to hold someone else back because you can’t let go of the past?” He cries.

You know he’s right, but his words burn, they sting, they feel like an attack. You want to block your ears and drown him out, but you know it won’t work now. They’re already inside of your head.

So you just sit there with your hands in your lap, hiding the way they tremble like leaves in a storm.

“It’s hard.” You say, and it’s true. Anger is all you’ve ever known since it happened. “I can’t help it.”

Alex snakes his hand over the table, an invitation for comfort.

Your body bursts with adrenaline and you want so badly to press your fingers into his, aching for the warmth of acceptance, the precious grasp of someone who will hold you gently, treat you delicately. But you are at war with your mind and it is terrified of the light, flinching away whenever Alex Go opens his mouth to rain upon you the blessed sunshine you crave yet fear so deeply.

You have been functioning only on the fuel of fear and anger since the crash. You are accustomed to the way it sears at the back of your eyes and the pits of your stomach, so you pretend to not see his offer. He’s so lost in his thoughts he doesn’t notice.

“I know.” He says. “But this isn’t fair to you.”

It sits in the air and curdles there, mixing with the inky blackness oozing from your pores and leaving behind a rancid odor of shame that only you could smell.

“I’m sorry.” You say. For being miserable, for making a scene, for blaming Alex, though he was not aware.

He smiles at you, always that damn smile. “You don’t have to be.”

But you are. You always will be.

You smile back at him, try to convince him he’s said the right things. “Let’s dig in.”

He grins at you, and his eyebrows quirk in that way that let you know he’s bought it.

“Let’s.”

[charming-2d-boys]

Can I please get Kurapika and prompt 16 “You met me yesterday,” “Yes, and I would die for you. Next question,” congrats on 500!

Of course you can and thank you! 😄

And thank you for requesting! I hope you'll like it! 🙇

16. “You met me yesterday.” “Yes, and I would die for you. Next question.”

-----

   “I don’t understand what we’re even doing here.” You said as you squinted, the sun shining brightly above you. You should’ve taken your sunglasses with you.

   “You insisted on coming with me.” Kurapika answered, shrugging.

   “Yeah, because I heard what happened to you and I wanted to help you. But what are we doing here? This town is pretty much in pieces and there are barely a few people living here, if you can even call it that.” The decaying buildings around you, the broken windows and that feeling of being watched... it made your skin crawl. There was something wrong here, you could just feel it.

   “Kurapika, don’t you feel weird?” You asked him quietly, eyes still darting from one broken window to another torn door.

   “Yeah, I feel it.” His response was just as quiet, yet his demeanour was a lot calmer than yours. He looked forward as you two kept walking, the sound of your footsteps being drowned by the amount of sand rolling in from the desert. There was no sound except for the wind and windowpanes being moved by it or the creaking of old, wooden doors as they moved along with the breeze.

   The moment you heard a crunch somewhere to your left, that’s when you tensed, feeling the cold sweat on your back trail down, making you shiver involuntarily. Even Kurapika seemed a lot more tense, though he tried to stay calm for the both of you. He quietly grabbed your hand and squeezed comfortingly, making you feel like some of the tension in your body melted away.

   “There’s this old man here who used to deal with the black market. He knows the ins and out and pretty much everyone.” Kurapika finally answered your earlier question. You almost forgot about it, but you appreciated the gesture. Maybe it was a bit late for an answer, but you really wanted to hear more of his voice. It had a strangely soothing effect.

   “Then why did he move here? Shouldn’t he be living in a big city, rich and everything?”

   “He became a living target after an ambush. He apparently got used some of the information that he gave to a client was pretty much made public. That made people want him because they thought he had done it. It was just bad luck, I guess.” Kurapika shrugged. The two of you went down another street, your eyes glancing upwards at all the windows, broken, boarded up, missing completely.

   Another crunch, this time, behind you. You looked and saw a few people, though they were too far away for you to discern anything about their appearance.

   “Kurapika!” You hissed, making him look behind as well as you looked at him, silently asking him on your next course of action. You barely managed to pull the both of you out of the way as something flew towards you, hand deflecting it at the last second. The both of you quickly went back to back, fighting your way through the attackers, dodging and pulling one another out of their grasps when they got too close. But there seemed to be more inhabitants here than you originally thought. Kurapika’s hand grabbed yours and you jumped over a few of those who you’d managed to defeat, running out of the maze-like streets.

   “Are you crazy? You could’ve died! Why would you do something so reckless?!” Kurapika yelled as you both turned another corner.

   “I had to save you!”

   “You met me yesterday!”

   “Yes, and I would die for you! Next question!” Kurapika grumbled at your answer before he pulled you inside an empty bar, going behind one of the overturned tables. You heard the multitude of footsteps fade away as you both tried to breathe in, careful not to be too loud.

   “Are you hurt?” You asked, glancing at him as you wiped the sweat from your forehead.

   “No. You?” You shook your head before the both of you slumped down against the table and drank some water from your flasks.

   “Let’s rest for a bit and then we’ll see what we can do.” You could only nod as you put your head on his shoulder, both of you trying to calm your racing hearts. This was insane. But it was also an adventure. One you’ve been longing for. And Kurapika was apparently the one to guide you through it.

[nightships]

The Captain’s Cabin Part 1 (again)

It’s been ages, but @everything-person sent a kind ask about a broken link! I have a sneaky feeling tumblr didn’t like my shirtless edit of our fair Killian that I originally uploaded with the fic. There is ALMOST CERTAINLY a better way to do this, and maybe i’ll get the energy to go fix the links in the old posts, but in the meantime here’s a re-upload of chapter one! reminder that it’s also on ao3. check my “jess writes cs” tag for the rest.

“The Captain’s Cabin?”

Emma squinted up at the sign, covering her eyes to keep the morning light from turning her blind. It was a ridiculous name, if she said so herself. (Never mind that this was their first day in town, and she’d been the one to choose the place.)

“I don’t know about this,” she said, sliding her eyes back to the blonde girl at her side. “We could just get back in the car and find a nice, motel-side Arby’s.”

“We just spent five hours in the car, not counting the five minutes it took to find that parking spot, Emma,” Elsa whined, “If I don’t get to eat whatever it is I’m smelling right now, I think I might cry.”

Emma ceded, but only because the smell of fried seafood was calling to her too.

The two of them stepped out of the misty morning and into the little dockside restaurant, Emma shaking her hair out of her hooded anorak jacket and Elsa flinging her braid back over her shoulder. The lunch crowd was still milling about, mostly older citizens and young parents, and the two were only too happy to take their time finding seats. The walls were stained dark, as if the warm drizzle outside had penetrated the wood, and covered in weather-worn treasures that undoubtedly came from the nearby sea. One side of the small building stood on ground level, but the other seemed to stretch out toward the water. It was nice, Emma had to admit, nicer than the dorky sign on the front had led on.

The two of them chose seats at the end of the long bar, despite all earlier protests about sitting for any prolonged periods (ever again, Elsa had promised, one foot up on the dashboard and the other hanging out the passenger window.) Elsa busied herself tracing the faces of old sailors and fisherman pictured on the walls, while Emma watched the tide coming in.

It hardly looked pleasant out, but she was certain those little black blobs in the distance were boats. She ran her hand over the windowpane to get a clearer view and squinted again, trying to figure out exactly what kind of vessels had caught her attention.

“Can I help the both of you?”

Emma swiveled on the little barstool and found herself eye-level with a toothy, if welcoming, grin. The man was standing on the other side of the bar, his black shirt emblazoned with the same logo from the sign outside the restaurant. She had no idea how he snuck up on her like that, but Elsa answered him before she could voice her question back.

“You definitely can. We’ve been in the car for far too long, and we need food.”

“I’ll have to see if we’ve got any laying around, then,” he said with a bit of a laugh, seeming to relax into his smile as he regarded Emma more thoroughly. "Where are you traveling from?”

“Boston,” the both of them answered, tiredness coming through in Emma’s voice and restlessness coming through in Elsa’s.

He clicked his tongue and handed both of them menus, leaning a hip against the bar as he played with one of the bottles on the counter top. “Quite a long ways away, but at least you chose a beautiful day to come up. It’s not always this nice out.”

“You call this nice?” Emma chuckled, wrinkling her nose as she nodded toward the window. “It’s about to rain.” “On the contrary, lass. I’d reckon the sun’ll be out before you’ve finished your meal.” His smile was challenging her now, as if he was about to reach out into the air and ask her to shake on it.

“Speaking of,” Elsa said, swiveling her menu toward him and pointing at a dish. “Can I get this with curly fries?”

“There’s no way,” Emma said, shaking her head at the man. He was leaned over the counter, arms folded out in front of him. She thought she could see the beginnings of a tattoo on the inside of his arm but refused to inspect any further, knowing his eyes had been following her a little too closely already.

“Ah, but there is,” he sang out. “When you’ve lived here as long as I, you tend to get accustomed to the signs.”

"Nobody’s that good,” She pressed, crossing her arms in front of her. He’d been keeping them (well, keeping her,if Elsa’s less-than-subtle looks meant anything) company ever since they’d ordered a meal, and since then she’d come to know quite a bit about him. His name was Killian Jones, and it didn’t sound like an American name because it wasn’t. He and his brother had come over from the United Kingdom a few years ago and started up business here. They had a sailboat, of all things, moored out at the end of the restaurant’s dock, and that apparently gave him the ability to predict the weather. “You have to have checked an app, or something.”

He shook his head again, eyes sparkling as they regarded her. “I could show you, if you’d like,” he said, a bit of extra something in his voice as he made the offer. “Liam’s not quite done with your orders yet, and it won’t take long.”

Emma gave him a challenging look of her own, then, wondering just how many tourists got an invite out onto his sailboat while their meals were made ready. On the other hand, though, her legs weren’t nearly stretched enough after driving for so long, and she did like the idea of standing again.

“Oh, go do it,” Elsa said, tearing her straw wrapper into tiny little squares atop the bar. “I’ll wait here for when the food gets out.”

“See? She’ll wait here, for when the food gets out,” Killian said, sweeping his arm out toward Elsa and raising his brow at Emma. “Come on, Swan, don’t make a man beg.”

Again, Emma relented, but only because she would never hear the end of it from Elsa if she acted like going with him was a big deal.

“What made you pick Maine, of all places?”

They were both leaned against the rail of his sailboat (which was more than a little impressive, Emma grudgingly admitted. With something like this at her disposal, she’d probably spend a few cloudy days on the water, too) and watching the little town ferry pick up passengers from the neighboring dock. It’d made three trips since they came outside,  passengers snapping pictures and laughing at the sea spray when they passed over particularly large curls of wake.

“I could ask you the same,” he countered, twisting his neck to regard her. She didn’t remember him coming to stand so close, exactly, but then the past twenty minutes had gone by without her thinking of a single excuse to run back to Elsa. (It definitely had nothing to do with the way he seemed to talk about the sea like it was his first love, that was certain.)

“It’s different,” she told him with a small laugh. “We’re not moving in.”

“We didn’t think we were either, to be honest. Liam and I had plans to sail up and down the coast, to pack up every time we thought we were getting too rooted down.”

“Guess that worked out for the two of you,” Emma countered, nodding back toward the restaurant. “Big change of plans?”

“You could say that.” His smile turned wistful then, almost dreamlike, and Emma found herself watching him as he turned his eyes back to the sea. She couldn’t tell if it was the way the sun was now warming their faces or simply the way he was born, but the ocean seemed pooled right there in his eyes, too. He turned to her then, catching her off guard once more with his closeness. “I’ll wager your food’s waiting for you now, love.”

Surprisingly reluctant to leave the peaceful, salty air out on the docks, Emma nodded, letting him lead her back inside. Most of the lunch rush had taken off by then, and it was almost too easy to hear her friend’s voice carrying through the restaurant as they stepped back through the doorway.

“- she’s not really my sister, even though she looks it, but we always take this big sisterly road trip in the spring to celebrate meeting each other. She pretends she hates long trips, but I know that - Emma!”

Emma’s eyes widened considerably as she saw her friend chatting up a dark-haired stranger, one whose head looked exactly like Killian’s from the angle she had on him. He turned then, a lighter shade of blue eyes meeting hers. He was wearing the same shirt as Killian, too, but all brotherly resemblance ended below eye level.

“You must be Emma,” the man said, straightening up off the barstool and reaching out a large, square hand. “Liam Jones, privilege to be at your services today.”

Emma could see Elsa’s bright eyes behind him, switching frantically between delight and panic. She had always been terrible at improvisation, especially when it came to someone she wanted to impress. Emma only smiled and shook his hand warmly, not missing the gigantic plate of curly fries that Elsa had placed between them. (She didn’t miss the look Liam gave to Killian, either, but she found herself wishing she’d seen it from Elsa’s perspective instead. As it was, he was standing too close to her for her to see.)

“Nice to meet you. Are you the one I need to thank for the sandwich waiting over at my seat?”

“I am, especially since my second-in-command was nowhere to be found,” Liam said pointedly, aiming his smirk at her instead of his brother this time. She managed not to blush, but there was no hiding the snort that came from Elsa at her seat.

Seeing the food on her plate reminded Emma of their reason for visiting, and she found herself lingering there long after her plate held nothing but crumbs, swapping travel stories with the two men who held the sea in their eyes. It was comfortable, just as much as her ride together with Elsa had been, and suddenly she found herself wondering what else they might have missed if they hadn’t pulled off the interstate to fuel up in the little seaside town.

(Elsa, for all her part, wasn’t even trying to be subtle as she offered Liam the last long curly fry on her plate, complaining when he told her it’d be ungentlemanly to take anything more from her plate than he already had. Her argument was that he’d made them, after all, and deserved to spend a little time savoring the dishes he made. They didn’t even notice it when Killian snuck the thing off her plate and ate it himself.)

“So,” Killian finally asks, stepping up to tackle the question they’d all been dancing around, “How long are the both of you in town?”

"Oh, we only planned on stopping for a few-” Emma felt the point of Elsa’s shoe dig into her shin then, effectively cutting her off before she could say anything drastic. Emma swiveled back and gave her just as deliberate and obvious a look, wondering what the hell had gotten into her.

“A few days. Maybe a week or two,” Elsa supplied, sipping at her water and refusing to meet Emma’s eyes. “We don’t really have to be back any time soon.”

Emma let it go after a moment, but only because she didn’t want that to be the last smile she saw on Killian Jones’ face.

[takivvatanga]

a new home.

“Ern here.” The phone is answered much faster than she had anticipated. Two rings. Only two rings. She’d hoped for more. Some time to get the words into order in her head, to try and remember how to breathe. Assire tenses, her free hand pressed against the cool glass of the phone booth. She opens her mouth to speak, but no sound comes out. 

“Hel-lo?” The male voice on the other end of the line rise a little. Harsh. Irritated.  You can do this, she tells herself, desperately. You have to do this.  “I-” “Who is this? Speak up, I can’t hear ya.” “Good morning.” That’s a good way to start, isn’t it? Only it’s not morning at all, it’s barely still afternoon! This was a mistake. He’s going to hang up on her, surely, take her for some kind of prank caller, a waste of his time. Assire pulls the folded piece of newspaper out of her pocket, unfolds it awkwardly, squints at the notice that she has circled in red marker. 

FURNISHED ROOMS FOR RENT NO BOND REQUIRED SHORT OR LONG TERM CALL ERN 

“Listen up, I ain’t got no time to muck about. You gonna tell me what you’re after or not?” Is there a hint of amusement there? Assire doesn’t like being laughed at, but it’s still better than having someone, even if it’s a total stranger on the phone, angry with her. Her hands are shaking, her heart is beating quickly in her chest. I can do this. “I’m calling because of the room.”  

It’s a seedy part of town. Dark and damp and crowded and somehow menacing. Dirty streets, dirty windows, dirty houses. Graffiti scrawl, broken bus stop benches, debris collecting in the gutters. A couple of men sitting outside a derelict house drinking cheap beer and smoking cigarettes. Assire feels their eyes on her, speeds up her steps.  “Wanna make some pocket money, sweetheart?”, one of them hollers, and Assire feels a little bit sick. “Please don’t”, she whispers under her breath as she clutches the straps of her backpack more tightly. She doesn’t like to be seen, especially not like this. 

The sidewalk is still slick with this morning’s rain. Water seeps into her shoes through the cracks in the worn rubber soles. Her feet are cold and damp. Horrid. She needs new ones, badly. If only she could afford them. There’s a pair she loves in the window of a shop she passes on her way to school every morning. They are yellow, bright, shining yellow, with little patent leather bows across the toes and the most delicate, most elegant little heels. They cost more money than Assire would ever dare to dream of having, let alone spending, and they are terribly impractical. But she adores them nonetheless. One day, she tells herself, one day I will be able to get as many shoes as I want. I’ll have a whole wardrobe full of them. My feet will never get wet again.  A good thought.  She can do this. 

The building is old, peeling plaster and faded glory, with big windows, most of them either haphazardly curtained or blind with dust. It looms above the street corner like a silent sentinel. It might have been glorious, once - but whatever allure it once held has long dissipated, like a dream in the pale morning light. The door is dark green, the paint peeling, the heavy handles shiny with use. A man stands outside, leaning up against the wall, his face indiscernible beneath the shadows of his cap, his coat collar pulled up against the cold and damp, slowly smoking a cigarette. Assire raises her hand, gives a little wave, forces a smile. She doesn’t know what else to do. At least she’s on time. That’s something, at least. The man looks up, pushes back his cap. His eyes are small, placed a little too close together in his jowly face. He looks like a man who has seen things. Assire wraps her arms around her body, bites down on her bottom lip. “What do you want, girl? Nothin’ to see here.” “No, I’m… I called, yesterday. For the room.” “You? You’re a bit young, chicken. I don’t rent to kids. Although I might as well given how some of the people here behave.” He spits on the ground, and Assire barely suppresses a shudder. “I’m almost seventeen.” “Almost seventeen, eh? Still too young. Go home, girl. Back to mum and dad. They’re probably worried about you. Playing runaway ain’t what it’s cracked up to be.” “I’m not.” Assire’s voice is surprisingly forceful as she says it. Determined. Why do people always have to judge, make assumptions? She’s been on her own for months now. She can’t go back, and even if she could...she’d rather die. Life is hard, sure. Much harder than she could have anticipated. But it is her own. Out here, drifting in this big, dirty, damp old city, she and only she decides her fate.  Even if it ends badly. I want to live my life my way. Mine.  “You’re not what?”  There’s amusement in his voice, a twinkle in his eye. He hasn’t chased her off, yet. That is something, at least. Assire can’t quite work him out, but that doesn’t mean much - she can never quite work anyone out. She’s trying, though. She’s always trying. 

“I’m not playing. And I can’t go back.” “Proper little runaway then, eh? Sorry, girl, can’t have that kind of thing here. Probably got the cops looking for you. Unless your folks don’t want you home. But you don’t look like that type.”  “Please.”  Assire starts to rummage through her backpack, quickly, anxiously. She pulls out a folder of documents, holds it out to him with trembling hands.  “Everything is in order. I have...papers. To say so. To prove that… I can be on my own.”  I exist. I have papers to prove I exist. To say I’m real. 

She has never had papers before. Now she has too many of them. Letters and statements and declarations, all stamped and signed and terribly official. Unsupported Youth, not a Runaway. There’s a difference. The man - Ern - takes the folder out of her hands, flicks through them briefly. “So you do. So you are. Bit early, to be out on your own at sixteen. Sad.” “Seventeen”, Assire corrects him. “Well, almost. And it’s not sad. It’s not anything. It just is.” “Accommodation supplement payment, I see. No job, I suppose. Probably not going to school, either.” “No, that’s not true. I do both.” There’s pride in her voice as she says it. Those two things, going to school, to a proper school, with proper science and a library full of books, and her part time job are her biggest achievements to date. Neither are easy, but she is managing. Assire is getting by, all on her own. No matter how tired she gets, no matter how little she has to show for it all. One step at a time. 

“Do you, now? An enterprising little runaway, then. Listen, you're not doing anything illegal, are you? I mean, not like I can stop you, but just… don’t make it harder than it already is, yeah? Think about the future, stay on the straight and narrow. You’ll thank yourself for it, one day. Trust me. There you go, bit of free life advice from old Ern, how about that. Now, let’s show you the room, eh?” 

 It isn’t much, but sometimes it doesn’t have to be. Sometimes, not much is better than nothing, and that is enough. Even if it’s dingy and has the musty smell of having been closed up for too long. Even if there’s mold blooming in the corners of the ceiling. Even if there are cracks running down the windowpane. Even if there’s barely enough room to turn around, between the narrow bed and the rickety desk and the wire frame clothes rack. 

“It ain’t no mansion, but it’s not too damp and all the light switches work. Shared bathrooms down the hall, shared kitchen downstairs. Parking can be a bit of a problem but you don’t have a car, do you now, little runaway?” Assire shakes her head. Her eyes are bright, even here, in this tiny, dark, desolate space. Full of possibilities. This isn’t where her story ends, that much she knows. No. This is where it starts. 

“Don’t get me wrong, this place can get a bit...rough. Some of the other tenants - not the kind of people I’d want sharing a house with my daughter, if I had one. But if you keep your head down and stay quiet and keep that door locked nice and tight, you won’t have a problem. And if you do, well, give me a call. I’ll sort it out. So, what do you reckon? Good enough for you?” Assire nods enthusiastically, covers her mouth with her hands, hiding a smile that is slowly growing wider. 

I did it! I really did it! A room all to myself, I can get out of that awful emergency accommodation finally. My own room! Assire, all of almost seventeen years old, has never had her own room before.  “More than good enough. Thank you. Oh, Thank You.” “Nevermind, girl. Someone gotta watch out for little runaways like you. Might as well be old Ern here, eh?”  “Thank you. So much.” 

Assire steps towards the window. Halting, hesitant, tentative. Something inside of her shifts, falls into place. Outside, it has begun to rain. Inside, it’s starting to feel like home.

[raendown]

Pairing: KakashiSakura Summary: From the end to the beginning, some things never change.

Happy birthday to @mydarlingl0ve! This one’s for you!

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

He holds her hands in his last moments. Old and gray and so very tired, ready to go on to the next world. His wrinkles have wrinkles and his hands shake. He’s lost vision entirely in one eye but the other focuses on her, only ever her. An oxygen mask keeps the secret of any last words he manages to whisper but his intent is clear as he reaches out for her. Sakura takes his hand in both of her own.

“I’m here love, I won’t leave.” She bends her already bent back and kisses his brow. Strange how his white hair seemed to darken to gray with age. She loves him all the same.

Through the mask she can just make out his smile, a beautiful echo of that rakish grin that she fell in love with so many years before. This one is fading, faded, gone. It hangs on his mouth like a shirt left on a hangar, forgotten. His gaze bores in to hers for as long as she sits still, unmoving to match him. If she doesn’t move then she can pretend that he hasn’t slipped away between her very fingers, gone at last.

“Wait for me, will you?”

 -

The ocean greets them with peaceful waves and gentle breezes, the smell of salt in the air and the blue, blue sky for endless miles. None of it is half as beautiful as she is, standing framed in the doorway with the wind pulling at her skirt. In moments like this the decades melt away and all that he sees is the soul deep down inside of her, that beacon that calls him home no matter how far he wanders along the path of life.

Kakashi watches his wife breathe deeply, letting it all back out with a lusty sigh, and wants nothing more than to pull his fingers through her hair to finds the lingering traces of pink.

“We earned this!” She says, spreading her arms wide to greet the seaside below them. “Sometimes it felt like we’d never get here.”

“Retirement takes a while, love.” He watches as Sakura tilts her head back to smile up at the puffy clouds, exposing the long line of her throat.

“Think of all the places we can go now! We finally have the time to go see all the things we’ve always wanted to see. Where do you think we should start after this? The mountains? The desert?”

He comes up behind her and wraps arms around her waist, not quite as trim as when they met but still a perfect fit in his embrace. She giggles as he hums in to her neck, a low note of want rippling from his lips and on to her skin.

“Let’s start with the bedroom,” he suggests. Sakura turns in his arms and laughs, granting him the mercy of a single kiss before twisting out of his grasp and dashing ahead of him back in to the hotel room. He is smirking as he closes the balcony doors. “Wait for me, will you?”

 -

 “She’ll be fine.”

“I know.”

“She’s planned every moment of this.”

“I know.”

“She’s a big girl now, Kakashi.”

“She’ll never be anything but my little baby girl.”

Sakura laughs and leans in to his side, looking through the window with him to watch the back of the car heading west on its first big adventure. The girl inside is only eighteen years old, off to college in another city. It’s her first big adventure too.

“You’re crying aren’t you?”

“You shut your mouth. I’m leaking man juice.”

Laughing, Sakura reaches down and entwines her fingers with her husband’s. “That’s the most disgusting thing I’ve ever heard.” There is so much love in her words that all the edges are worn away before they even reach him. Kakashi sniffles as the car finally putts out of view, looking over to the woman standing with him.

“You’re sure she’s got everything?” He asks. Sakura huffs.

“I went over everything she packed myself.”

“So…that isn’t her wallet sitting on the windowsill?”

Sakura looks at the window and back to him. They hang suspended for a long moment, barely held together by love and clothespins and eighteen years of packing lunches. Then Kakashi is snatching up the wallet and dashing for the door, keys in hand as he flies towards his own beat up silver car. Sakura flies after him, scrambling for her shoes.

“Wait for me, will you!?”

 -

 The ceilings are too low. His hair brushes against cobwebs as he climbs the creaky staircase, wary of the third step that wobbles and threatens to toss him down in to the maw of the lower floor. At the top the railing is dusty and crooked. He pats it anyway as he passes by, fingers leaving patterns in the dirt like code to be decrypted.

She waits for him in an empty room, sunlight streaming through a cracked windowpane to fall across her face and illuminate her head with a pink halo. Their two year old rides high on her hip, sucking the edge of a blanket as she blinks around at the bare walls.

Sakura turns to him with the brightest smile he’s seen on her face in years. He wants to frame that smile, hang it on the wall before anything else.

“This is ours,” she says, breathy and happy and so full of life. Kakashi nods, smiling out the doorway at the worn wooden floorboards.

“It’ll take a bit to fix her up.” He runs a hand along the doorframe in contemplation before reaching out for her. “Someday it’ll be almost as beautiful as you.” She laughs, a sound of sheer joy torn up from too many memories.

“Ours, Kakashi. No rent. No landlord. No crazy old couple on the other side of the wall. This is our house. We own this. It’s…it’s perfect.” She’s got tears in her eyes but they don’t fall because she’s still too busy laughing, spinning circles while the baby giggles on her hip.

He wants to bottle the moment. They’ve scrimped and saved and pinched their pennies. They did their time in bad apartments in terrible neighborhoods, good apartments with kind landlords, even heading back home to spend a year in her parents’ basement. And this house is what they have to show for it. It’s got cracks and dust, rot and rust, and he’s never been more proud of anything in his life. Here is where he will put down his roots and build a future with his family.

“Where should we start?”

Her eyes light up. “I have so many ideas! We should put a garden out front! Vegetables, to save money on the groceries. And the porch would look ten times better with some paint. The kitchen too! Those pictures of last summer would look so good in the hall way, don’t you think?”

Kakashi is laughing as he walks over to hold her face between his hands.

“You’re always running so far ahead,” he chides her fondly. “Wait for me, will you?”

 -

 Just his hand is bigger than the tiny head that rests in his palm. It boggles his mind that something so small can exist and every moment he is terrified that some small twitch will crush her, take away this tiny bundle of perfection.

“Did we really make this together?” he asks.

From the bed, Sakura regards him tiredly. Drying sweat plasters her pink hair to her forehead, darkening the strands and tamping down the frizz she always complains about. Her forehead is lined with stress and effort, his limbs shaking with exhaustion. Her smile is still brighter than any of the harsh lights in the ceiling above them.

“Excuse me, which one of us did all the work?” she grouses.

“You are a queen and a champion,” he tells her, sparing her a moment’s glance before his eyes draw back to the child in his arms. “Hey baby girl, did you know you’re mommy is the bravest mommy in the world?”

Neither of them mention the tears they’re both crying, the small hitches of breath or rapid blinking. There’s so much happiness in the both of them – too much; it spills past her lashes and drips from his chin on to teeny, delicate little fingers.

“Thank you,” he whispers. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.” He’s been saying it all day and he won’t stop saying it for years to come. He’ll never stop thanking her for this life they built together, for the incredible happiness that having her in his world has given him.

Sakura hums a low note and by the time he dares to look up again she has fallen asleep at last, pulled down in to dreams she always says aren’t half as good as reality. Kakashi smiles between his wife and his newborn child.

“Well how about that. You both fell asleep. That’s not fair you guys, I want to sleep too.”

He is loathe to put the child down, so he simply crawls on to the hospital bed and places her in the space between them, more careful than he has ever been with anything in his entire life. A yawn cracks his jaw.

“Wait for me, will you?”

 -

 She captures the starlight in her eyes and there are times when she is so bright he can hardly stand to look at her. He does it anyway, can’t help it, would rather be blind than look anywhere else.

The lace on her shirt flounces as she skips ahead of him on the boardwalk, her happy chatter filling the empty night around them. She always had a way of making him feel so high off the ground and he hopes his feet will never touch the earth again.

He’s going to do it. This is the night. The moment. All the big plans he’s made fall away like cobwebs while she dances and skips before of him. He stops underneath a broken streetlamp and pretends it isn’t because he only ever wants the light to shine on her. She deserves to have the whole world shine for her.

“Hey,” His voice calls her back. “Don’t get so far ahead.”

When she turns he is down like he is only tying his shoe. It’s his grin and the shape of his hands that tells her he isn’t doing anything of the sort. She clasps both hands to her mouth as he lifts the ring, fingers shaking almost hard enough to drop it.

He looks up at her with such nerves in his eyes and she will never, never, never love another.

“Wait for me, will you?”

 -

 School sucks, her friends are dumb, and this whole town has gone to hell – but she has Kakashi. Her best friend is the only thing that makes it worth coming to class every day.

They should be in class now but the summer heat buzzes around them and it’s too much trouble to move. They make a nest under the bleachers and lay together, picking words from the air and trading them slowly, lazy in a chorus of crickets.

“Dad says we’re moving.”

“What!?” Her languor is broken in four words. He says it so casually, as though he hasn’t just shattered her entire world. Kakashi doesn’t move at first. He stays spread out in the grass with his arms behind his head and his eyes focused upwards.

“His sister’s really sick. He’s got to go take care of her and he’s taking me with him. We’re moving away next month and I don’t know how long we’ll be gone.”

It feels like the earth has been pulled from underneath her and the sky will come falling down at any moment. Kakashi is her center, her best friend, her whole world. She doesn’t know what she will do without him or even who to be.

When she says nothing Kakashi finally sits up, his face both worried and eager. He rolls on to his knees before her and takes her hands.

“Hey, it won’t be forever. I’ll come back, I promise!”

Tears stain her cheeks almost immediately and she watches the way his face crumples for them. She does not expect the way he leans forward, pressing his lips against her own in a fumbling first kiss, fingers clutching and heart pounding and head spinning like a top. When he pulls away she stares at him in awe, watching the blush spread across his pale cheekbones.

Kakashi ducks his head shyly but his eyes don’t leave hers as he whispers.

“Wait for me, will you?”

 -

 The air is filled with raucous noise and her squeal of delight is lost among the many others as she hurtles around the slide, small feet fluttering through the sand. She loves to play chase and there are so many kids on the playground today! Half of them she’s never met but instinctive friendship is a trait of all children, not to be bred out of her for years more to come.

The one she likes best is a little boy with silver hair only a few years older than her. He looks like he’s made a hat out of the moon and his long legs make him fly as they chase each other in circles around the swings and the sandbox.

Sakura’s hair bounces around her faces as she almost trips, hands reaching out and only just missing the hem of the boy’s shirt. He peeks back over his shoulder with laughter in his dark gray eyes, leaping ahead towards the trees.

“Come on! I’ll show you my secret fort!”

Delighted, she lets loose another squeal as she struggles to keep up. He flies, flies, flies across the grass and she thinks him a bird, so free and graceful. Her small body just isn’t enough to keep up yet and she reaches out a hand once more.

“Hey!”

He’s getting farther, almost out of reach. She doesn’t want to lose him, desperately wants to see the adventures that he has waiting for her.

“Wait for me, will you?”

And he does.