#anyways in the next few weeks ill be freaking out over books so if i post paper then that's why

[fdrsamericanflagduckfloaty]

Dino Bones, Battery Acid, and Pumpkin Spice <3

Dino Bones (real dino bones makes me think of pink ok): I want to be friends with you so bad please talk to me more

Battery Acid: you scare me and idk if that's a good or bad thing

Pumpkin Spice: you don't have a single coherent thought ever, I respect you

Dino: hhjhj merciiii <3 i joined a self-paced french course so in upcoming months ill probably be saying the randomest stuff

Battery: ...it's both really. is it the weird dead people obsession

Pumpkin: coherent thoughts are reserved for random tangents

i was gonna say dead middle aged men but then i realized no those thoughts are barely even english

[scripturiends]

gave me no compasses, gave me no signs

Read on ao3

Summary: It was the one time her hunch had been wrong.

In which Han Joonhwi is acting suspicious, and Kang Sol A intends to find out why.

Rating: T

Word count: 3,848

Notes: Title taken from Taylor Swift’s ‘invisible string’: “Time, curious time, gave me no compasses, gave me no signs; were there clues I didn’t see?”

~

As promised, here is the Solhwi fic that I had hoped to be up before Episode 7 airs. I went straight to work after receiving positive feedback from an interest check post. As I mentioned there, the story isn’t necessarily dwelling on the current timeline, but is, for the most part, still canon-compliant. I totally made up all the legal jargon, so please bear with me. And, like the show, I decided to do ‘cutscenes’ instead of one unilinear fic.

I had a lot of fun with this little project for the past two days, so I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it :) I’d also love to hear your thoughts, please do send me a message or feel free to comment, it would mean the absolute world to me. Thank you and let’s all look forward to Episodes 7 and 8 this week!

The fic is under the cut. As a sidenote, this fic is un-beta’ed. All mistakes are mine.

~

I.

Kang Sol A swears she only drifted off for a second.

She had been burning the midnight oil for the past few days, well into the weekend, so much that the tension was radiating into her atmosphere, so much that the heat was starting to get to her head. Her Civil Code paper may not write itself, but neither could she if it took every ounce of her energy just to even sit up. So she plopped down on her bed, head heavy on her pillow, still fighting the urge to doze off.

She blinked, slowly, and as her eyes fluttered at an alarming rate, they eventually closed — just for a moment, I’ll count to ten and then wake up again — and stilled.

Birds were chirping outside her window when her eyes shot open, and that’s how she knew she messed up big-time. She woke with a start, frantically shaking off the books and papers off her person and frisking for her phone, silently praying that she wasn’t too late for her meeting with her project partner Seo Jiho, who she knows absolutely despises latecomers.

Sol A felt something vibrate from behind her, and an incomprehensible sound escaped her lips as she checked her phone. There were mountains of notifications that prevented her from checking the current time: self-set alarms, e-mails from her professors, reminders about today’s meeting with Jiho, and missed calls from a certain Han Joonhwi.

Clearing all of them at once, she finally reads: 9:07 AM. She was supposed to meet Jiho at 9:15. Sol A breathes a sigh of relief, but her momentary celebration is cut short when her phone starts to ring.

Han Joonhwi was calling again.

She didn’t even get a chance to speak yet when the voice on the other end asked, “Breakfast?”

Sol A put him on speaker phone as she packed up her things. “Can’t,” she replied mindlessly. “I have to meet with Seo Jiho and I’m already late. Eat by yourself.”

A few seconds of silence went unnoticed as Kang Sol A zipped up her knapsack and wore it over her shoulder. She finally picked up her phone and switched back to the handset. “Don’t skip breakfast, you hear me?”

Still nothing. “Joonhwi-ah.”

“Walk fast,” was all he said. And then he hung up.

That caught Sol A off guard, but she heeded the advice anyway.

She made it to the study room at exactly 9:13, only stopping by the entrance to catch her breath and tie her hair back into a ponytail. It was silent, so she half-hoped that no one would be there, but half-expected nothing less from Jiho. So she walks in, footsteps heavy, only skidding to a halt when she sees Jiho staring someone down, someone whose back looked all-too-familiar.

“You like her, don’t you?” she overhears from Jiho. “Kang So-”

Jiho suddenly fell silent at the sight of Sol A, and the man opposite him suddenly turned his head towards her. She was right about who it was — it was none other than the person she spoke with on the phone just a few minutes ago.

If Joonhwi was surprised, he didn’t show it.

But Kang Sol A did. She blinked once, and with a hint of dubiousness, she asked, “Who likes who?”

The men shared a look, and she was met with silence again, which was beginning to irk her. But she bit her tongue, took a seat across Seo Jiho, and grinned cheekily at him. “Sorry I’m late.”

“You aren’t...” Jiho replied, trailing off.

“I am by your standards. I know you,” she said matter-of-factly. “For Seo Jiho, ‘on time’ actually means ‘thirty minutes early’. Which means I’m late.”

Sighing wistfully, Sol A added, “I learned that the hard way.”

She locks eyes with Joonhwi momentarily, but he averts his gaze, expression unreadable. Sol A ignores this and tries her luck once more, eyes flitting from Jiho to Joonhwi and back. “Who were you guys talking about?”

This time, almost with no hesitation, Joonhwi finally spoke up. “No one,” he answered. “My roommate was just practicing his cross-examination skills on me.”

He stood up, giving Seo Jiho a final staredown. “They’re very poor at the moment. Help him out, will you?”

Then, without looking Kang Sol A in the eye, he gave her a soft squeeze on the shoulder, and promptly left.

Sol A’s eyes followed Joonhwi’s back, and stayed there even after he left. His touch lingered on her shoulder like a ghost, but instead of comfort, all she felt was fear. Suspicion. Restlessness. That maybe he was hiding something, and whether it involved her or not, she was keen on finding out just exactly what it was.

II.

“I’m telling you, Yeseul-ah,” Sol A insists. “Something’s up with him.”

They link arms, walking past the school entrance and into the lobby. Jeon Yeseul turns to her, hair falling perfectly into place as she lets out an angelic laugh. God, Sol A thinks. Even her laugh is perfect. But past the admiration for her Aphrodite-like features, Sol A feels like she’s being mocked.

She pouts. “You don’t believe me.”

“I do!” Yeseul defends. “You think he likes Kang Sol B.”

Sol A slides her left hand off Yeseul’s arm and holds her friend’s right one lightly. “So why are you laughing at me, then?”

“Unnie.” Yeseul wraps an arm around Sol A’s shoulder. “Has it ever crossed your mind that maybe Joonhwi-oppa likes you?”

Sol A almost choked on her spit. Of course she’s thought about it — after all, she’s a hundred percent certain that it was the name Kang Sol that slipped from Seo Jiho’s mouth a few days ago. But none of the evidence so far points to it being herself. And anyway, it’s not as if he’s shown any interest in Sol A as a woman. In fact, all he does is tease her. And she’s okay with that. And Sol B already likes Joonhwi. And they seem to be a far better fit than Sol A and Joonhwi. And it’s not like she harbors any romantic feelings for him, either.

She pushes the thought away before it could become bigger.

Sol A denies, deflects, and defends. “That can’t be right.”

“Why not?” her friend challenges.

“Why would he be avoiding me if that were true?” Sol A counters.

“People do that when they feel awkward around their crush,” Yeseul rebuts.

This is starting to feel like a game of chess rather than a conversation between best friends. “I think he’s just scared I’ll tell my roommate or something.” Before Yeseul could say anything else, by some stroke of luck, Sol A spots Joonhwi from her peripheral vision, walking past Lady Justice.

Yeseul smiles kindly at Sol A. She doesn’t doubt its genuineness, but she feels like it’s laced with mischief. “Should we test your theory, then?”

What does that mean?

“Joonhwi-oppa!” Yeseul shouts, waving at him from across the room.

She’s not going to ask him, is she?

Yeseul runs to Joonhwi, a light skip in her step. “I have something to ask you.”

Wait.

“Wait,” escaped from Sol A’s lips, barely a whisper before it started registering on her what Yeseul was about to do. And when it does, she finally sprints. “Jeon Yeseul, wait!”

“Oppa.” Yeseul bats her eyelashes at Joonhwi. Sol A was in tow behind her, feeling small but unsure why.

“Oh, Yeseul-ah,” Joonhwi greets. His eyes lit up at the sight of his friend and classmate.

While it pained Sol A to just sit back and watch, knowing that Joonhwi had been purposefully avoiding her, she let the scene unfold, trusting that Yeseul knew what she was doing.

“You haven’t been going to the study group sessions lately,” Yeseul starts.

Sol A hoped it would get a rise out of him, seeing as he was the one who started the group to begin with, but was barely showing up these days. Instead, all he said was, “The pair project in Civil Code has been holding me up.”

Yeah, right, she thinks. A second-round judicial exam passer and a former police academy student having a hard time in Civil Code? Why do I find that hard to believe?

Sol A scoffs, and Yeseul pinches her side. “Sol-unnie and I are meeting the others for lunch. You should come join us.”

“Ah,” Joonhwi drawled out slowly, as if coming up with an excuse to say no. Sol A expects it to be his next move. “I wish I could, but-”

Knew it.

“Kang Sol B will be there,” Sol A blurts out, fully aware that it’s a total lie. Still, she had to try.

Something in Joonhwi’s mood changed, and his face hardened. Still not making eye contact with Sol A, he excuses himself from Yeseul. “I’ll take a rain check today, okay?”

And without another word, he left again, leaving Sol A with the same emptiness that she had felt in the study room the other day.

Yeseul finally turns to Sol A, crossing her arms. “You’re right. He’s being weird.”

III.

A few more days without Joonhwi’s company, and Sol A was starting to feel its ill effects on her. She hadn’t realized just how much she took him for granted until he was no longer around to challenge her ideas, to annoy her over the littlest of things, to calm her down when she’s freaking out, to be her drinking buddy, to be someone she could tell any and every stupid story to, with the utmost confidence that he’ll keep it to himself or that he wouldn’t belittle her for it.

They’d been through too much together now, and even their fateful first meeting all those years ago didn’t faze him from her. In fact, her little scheme, no matter how deceitful at the time, brought him closer not just to her, but to Byeol, her mom, and to an extent, even Dan.

So what changed? What on earth did Seo Jiho say to him, and what on earth did she walk into, that made him close himself off from her? Proximity may not breed familiarity, but right now she wishes nothing more than to be in his orbit again.

Arguably the worst consequence of the lack of Joonhwi in Sol A’s life right now is having no one to eat with.

During one of her all-nighters at the dorm, she found herself with an intense craving for some ramyeon. She removed her earphones, partly to pull herself back to reality, but mostly to ask her roommate to have a meal with her. As if Sol B would say yes, but it was worth a shot.

“I’m going downstairs for a bite. You wanna come?”

No response, as expected from Kang Sol B. Sol A inwardly rolled her eyes, spinning in her chair to tease her roommate, only to find the desk empty.

She scratched her head while walking, wondering where Sol B could be at this time of night. And without a heads up, too… She was getting worried.

But it seems like her concern was all for naught, because Sol B was right where Sol A was headed.

And she was there with Han Joonhwi.

She was laughing. It was the first time that she saw Sol B laugh, maybe ever, and to see that Joonhwi could be someone who could do that for her, made Sol A feel proud. Like knowing Han Joonhwi was a privilege, not only because of the way he could make people comfortable around him, but also because Sol A had once been on the receiving end of it herself.

She should be relieved. In fact, she should be happy. Because it means that her guess was right, which means she doesn’t have to keep digging anymore. She could just tell Joonhwi that his secret’s safe with her, and they could finally go back to the way they were before... Right?

And yet something about witnessing the pair interact as a mere bystander didn’t sit right with Sol A. There’s a pang in her chest that she can’t quite comprehend — maybe she just misses him, or maybe it’s something else completely. Because if Han Joonhwi has feelings for Kang Sol B, and they’re together right now, then that leaves only one explanation: he must be avoiding her, and for a completely different reason.

It was the first time her hunch had been wrong.

Needless to say, Sol A lost her appetite and trudged back upstairs lifelessly, a bitter taste in her mouth and an ache in her stomach that she couldn’t quite place where it even came from.

IV.

Come Friday, Sol A was too exhausted to even think about Han Joonhwi. Between the endless deadlines and papers to write, her job in the copy room, and the Seo Byungju case, her energy had been too depleted and her social battery too worn out to even care that her relationships could be falling apart.

The only thing she has going for her now is the Legal Clinic, the one place where she could bury her nose deep in case digests and law readings and she would absolutely never get tired of it, because it’s the one place where she feels like she’s making a real difference, especially when people’s lives are at stake. It was the remaining part of her life where Sol A felt like she was in control, so these days, all her emotionally-charged passion was focused on this one thing.

But of course that had to fall apart too, when Professor Yang asked for her to stay after class.

He cut right to the chase. “I’ll be meeting with my defense lawyer today so I need you to consult with the client in my stead.”

Count on Yangcrates to always give Sol A a heart attack in under two seconds.

“M-me?” she stuttered.

The professor’s face twitched, ever-so-slightly, which Sol A took as a sign to backtrack and confidently proclaim that she’s up to the task. She knows there’s nothing Yang Jonghoon hates more than a quitter.

“Ah, yes, of course,” she accedes, with a little more verve.

He nods once in her direction. “And take Han Joonhwi with you,” he commanded.

She’s doomed. Not that she wasn’t doomed before, but now that Professor Yang had to drag her personal life into this, she was really in shambles.

Sol A clears her throat. “With all due respect, Sir,” she laughs nervously, “don’t you trust me?”

Professor Yang takes a moment to think about it. Sol A wonders if today’s the day she finally gets a definitive answer. But Yangcrates is as sly as ever. “This is your chance to get back at him for the Bad FaMa case. Make him your assistant this time.”

He walks away, leaving Sol A dumbfounded once again, but not before he adds, “Under my orders, of course.”

Sol A’s knees buckled at the thought. Normally, she would find this predicament to be absolutely funny, a chance to bicker with Joonhwi and learn something from him at the same time. But he’s angry at her, and she doesn’t even know why, and even merely approaching him has turned into a problem.

Everything in Sol A’s life right now is a problem. She wonders if it's getting Joonhwi back that would fix everything.

Upon leaving the classroom, she spots him getting a drink from the vending machine. She has to slap herself twice, just to mentally prepare herself, to muster up the courage to approach him again.

“Come on, Sol,” she whispers to herself. “This isn’t hard.”

Shaking off the nerves, she takes a step forward, but in a momentary state of weakness, takes another step back. “So what if he’s mad? That’s his problem. I’ve never given him a reason to be angry. He should suck it up. Not me. Come on. Just do it.”

A step forward.

“Just do it.”

A step back.

“Goddamn it.”

One final step back to boost herself forward, and she’s running towards him, pretending to be as casual as possible. “Han Joonhwi!” she calls out to him.

His eyes widen at the sight of her, knowing he has nowhere to escape.

“Did you get my text? Professor Yang needs our help at the Legal Clinic.” She smiled at him. “Let’s go.”

Joonhwi scratched the back of his head, and Sol A just knows it’s about to be another lame excuse. “I can’t. I’m meeting Sol B for our Civil Code term paper.”

He can’t even look at her, and Sol A wonders just how bad she had hurt Joonhwi for him to feel like this towards her. But that only lasted for a second, when she realized just exactly what he said. Then, her pity turned into irritation, as she accused, “Liar.”

Sol A crossed her arms, and glared at Joonhwi. “Did you forget that I’m her roommate? She went home today.”

V.

Sol A sat across Joonhwi inside the Legal Clinic, her eyes narrowed to slits. A profound silence enveloped the room, interrupted only by a sharp inhale from her.

“You like Kang Sol B, don’t you?”

The only response she got was Han Joonhwi’s signature smirk, playful and taunting, one that said, ‘You don’t know me, and you never will’.

She hated that.

She slammed a hand on the table, and pointed at him accusingly. “Don’t look at me like that. I would have kept your secret if you just asked. Is that why you were avoiding me? Because you think I’d tell her or something?”

The same smile painted on his face, Joonhwi exhaled defeatedly. “Kang Sol A, I thought I taught you to never make any claims with unfounded bases.”

An eyebrow perched up on Sol A’s end. “It’s not unfounded,” she argues.

“Where’s your evidence, then?” he dared her.

Sol A had been waiting for this. She listed everything he had ever done — or refused to do, which was spend time with her, speak to her, or even look at her, which was absolutely the bare minimum — since the incident with Seo Jiho up to this very moment.

He waves his hand dismissingly. “That’s all speculative.”

If his goal was to rile her up, then it’s definitely working. “Then what about what I heard Seo Jiho tell you that one time? And most importantly, you straight up lied to my face.”

“Circumstantial,” he quips. “That would never hold up in court, especially not when the only witness is yourself. How are you going to be both the defense lawyer and the sole witness?”

Han Joonhwi should be at the edge of the precipice here, and yet he has managed to flip the situation over and turn it into an interrogation for Kang Sol A.

Nothing can hide her frustration anymore. “I would never be the lawyer in my own case. Look, it’s still evidence. You asked, and I gave it. Seriously, Han Joonhwi, what’s with you?”

Instead of a direct answer, he points out, “You rely on your emotions too much.”

Almost immediately, she shoots back, “And you rely on the law too much. This isn’t a courtroom. This is a human conversation.”

He purses his lips, unable to say anything, and Kang Sol A continues. “You’re too stubborn.”

“And you’re too nosy.”

“You’ve benefited from it more than once.” Sol A’s patience is getting thinner by the second. “Can’t you just tell me what I did so that I can either apologize for it or call you out for being wrong?”

“You and Sol B are hardly friends. What reason would I have to be afraid?” Amusement gleamed in Joonhwi’s eyes; Sol A was astounded by how he could stay so nonchalant about this. “Think.”

She glared at him, but still ceded. Damn his tenacity. “Fine, I’ll play along.”

She rolled her eyes, and in a blasé manner, started to think out loud. “I overheard Jiho ask you if you liked Kang Sol, and then you started avoiding me. Yeseul asked you to join us for lunch, and when I said Sol B would be there, even though she really wasn’t, you declined. So I thought it was her that you liked. But it doesn’t make sense, because I saw you two hanging out at the cafeteria that one night-”

His arrogant expression changed to one of shock. “You did?”

“-and then you straight up lied to me about your plans. Unless you two are already dating-”

“We’re not,” he interrupts once more. Sol A eyes him with suspicion. “We’re not,” he repeats indignantly.

“-it could only mean that you do like Kang Sol…”

Joonhwi starts slowly nodding, face a little flushed, but somehow urging her on to continue.

“...just not B. You like-”

“Kang Sol A.” Professor Yang enters the room, calling out her name.

She’s sure her professor asked her to do something, but she was unmoved. At this point, she doesn’t think anything could pull her out of her reverie for the rest of the day.

A veil that covered her eyes was lifted, and she had never been so pitiful of the blindfold that Lady Justice wore. The scales Kang Sol A carried, as heavy as the burdens she was facing, balanced with Han Joonhwi holding them up with her. She wanted nothing more than to take his hand right at that moment, to feel the heaviness in its entirety, and thank him for staying anyway.

They don't talk for the rest of the day, but Kang Sol A is unbothered.

Her questioning attitude may have always gotten her in trouble in school, but this was the one time she was glad to be wrong.

Epilogue

Han Joonhwi fell asleep on his desk again.

He normally finishes up all his revisions early, but because of his agitation, the cold table seemed to be more inviting than the bed, where he simply ends up tossing and turning.

Despite the stiff neck it was bound to cause, he’s been doing it for days, only being woken up by his constant 8:30 alarms. This time, however, it was his gracious roommate Seo Jiho who finally interrupted him from his slumber.

Jiho slammed a sealed instant ramyeon pack on Joonhwi’s desk. He groggily looked up at his friend, whose hair was still disheveled, and asked, “What’s this?”

“It’s from Kang Sol A.” Before walking away, he deadpanned, “Do your own bidding next time. I’m not your messenger.”

Joonhwi took the cup ramyeon, spotting the bright yellow sticky note on it, not unlike the ones he’d put on Sol A’s notebook, or occasionally, her forehead. He smiled to himself as he read the message, walking out to heat up some water for breakfast, but not before carefully displaying the note on his bulletin board for the whole world to see.

Han Joonhwi,

For a second-round judicial exam passer, you can be so dense.

I like you back, you idiot.

Now stop sulking and have breakfast with me.

Idiot.

~

Send me your thoughts/fic requests here!

[the-insomniac-emporium]

Serenade (Daniela Dimitrescu/Reader) Pt. 7

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Rating: T for language Warnings: None? I think? Please let me know if I missed something Notes: This is incredibly dialogue heavy, and I actually don't feel as confident about this chapter as some of the past ones? Hopefully y'all like it, I mean at least the ending is cute (or cheesy, depending on who you ask). PS: Not sure how many chapters there will be in total, other than at least 3 more (one of which ill, in fact, get a little h*rny again. actually, h*rnier). Past Chapters: Pt. 1: Nocturne, Pt. 2: Overture, Pt. 3: Accelerando, Pt. 4: Toccata, Pt. 5: Poco a Poco, Pt. 6: Elegy

Chapter 7: Harmony

“We need to talk, yeah?” Daniela asked, nearly stuttering, a sort of nervous that you had never seen her exhibit before. The first thing you think is that she’s really, really cute when she doesn’t know what to do. After that you actually process what she said. Relief floods your chest, followed by warmth, and you make a mental note to thank Bela the next time you see her. In the meantime, you were unable to contain your happiness. Out of instinct you move closer to Daniela, smiling softly, quietly reaching one of your hands towards hers. There’s no hesitance in her response. Instead of taking your hand she pulls you in for a hug, opting to rest her chin against your shoulder. Admittedly you’re a little surprised, but you return the motion nonetheless. “Oh, little songbird…”

Heart racing, you softly press against Daniela, turning your head so that you could place a single, brief kiss against her exposed collarbone. For a moment the two of you just stay like that, holding each other close. When you pull away, remembering that you still hadn’t said anything, you find that Daniela is blushing from the neck up. In turn, the sight makes you blush. You can’t help but reach out and run your fingers through her hair. Though you can’t see yourself, you know your eyes are filled with affection.

“I love when you look at me like this,” Daniela whispered, not entirely meaning to voice her thoughts. Then you’re blushing harder, smile small but sweet. “Mmm, you’re just darling, aren’t you?”

“Not nearly as much as yourself, my Lady. To be in your company is to be the luckiest soul in the world. I cannot even begin to describe the feelings of which you inspire in me,” you replied, trying not to stumble over your words, barely able to process any thoughts other than ‘pretty lady likes me ahh’. Thankfully, you still remembered a few tricks from language arts class. Who knew studying the classics could make you more romantic? At least one English teacher, probably. “I’ll have plenty of time to try, though… after we talk about things, that is. Is there somewhere private we can talk? I’m not terribly eager for your mother to overhear.”

“Are you sure we can’t talk about how much you like me for a while longer?” Daniela asked, faking a pout. When you perk a brow at her antics, she shifts a little, forcing herself to be a little more serious (at least for the time being). “If you insist, my sweet thing. I’d suggest my room-” she winks at you- “but I doubt we’d stay talking for long, would we? Maybe the library? Neither of my sisters tend to go there around this time of day, and I can hardly remember the last time mother went there.”

“Well, no one from the day shift is scheduled to organize things until later this week, so… sounds like a date to me,” you chimed, enjoying the way that Daniela’s face lit up in response. “There’s just one thing I have to take care of first. Wouldn’t want my roommates to think something has happened to me, now would we?” With that said you linked your arm with your partner’s, setting off towards the servants quarters.

—————————————–

“Oh thank goodness, we were starting to get worried!” Daphne exclaimed as you quietly ducked into your room. For a second you freeze in place, hoping to whatever higher powers may be that she hadn’t seen Daniela behind you. Certainly the vampire would have moved out of sight?... Despite your assumption, you do see Daphne hesitate for a moment, gazing at the now closed door. Thinking quickly, you give a little wave to draw her attention elsewhere. Seemingly it works like a charm, with her attention returning to you, and so you release an internal sigh of relief. Now you just had to think of an excuse for why you’d be staying up late.

“It’s fine- I’m fine, really. Just had to carry something for one of the Ladies,” you lied, trying not to be specific enough to possibly contradict facts you weren’t aware of. “I, uh, kinda have to go back out, though? There are some piano books I need to find before tomorrow morning. I’ve already found a few, but apparently there’s at least one that goes over some technical practice songs, and I think D-” you almost wince, but lean into it, stuttering instead- “th-think that Lady Daniela would enjoy the variety. Not sure how long it’ll take me to find the books, so don’t stay up waiting for me. I promise I’ll still get enough sleep to function tomorrow.”

“So the lessons haven’t been canceled? That’s good to hear,” Daphne said, nodding slowly. The words catch you off guard, and you tilt your head to the side in confusion. Noticing your expression, your roommate is quick to explain. “After whatever happened yesterday… we weren’t sure if we’d ever hear you play again. Not that we know what happened, just that Lady Daniela was, well, upset, and you stopped playing sooner than usual. But I suppose if the lessons were canceled completely… I doubt Lady Dimitrescu would let you go that easily, huh?”

Again, you shift awkwardly, wondering how Daniela must feel hearing all of this. But just like that Daphne shakes her head, clearing her thoughts, and gives a little shrug.

“Don’t stay up too late, okay? I know you already promised, but we both know you’ll lose track of time if you aren’t careful. If you aren’t in bed by the time the sun reaches its peak, I swear we are gonna have words!” Both of you laugh before Daphne waves you off with a smile. Still, you wait to open the door until she (and the other maidens) has her back to you. Better safe than sorry, right?

—————————————–

Somehow the room felt different in a million ways, now that you were here with Daniela. There was something about the way she moved, freely, eyes and fingers running down the spines of familiar books. Even if you had not seen it before, it felt like the library was overflowing with magic. What I would give, you think, to see the whole world tinted in shades of her. Again you find yourself blushing as you followed Daniela towards a small sitting area. One of the chairs is practically a recliner, with plenty of space, and you realize what she has planned mere moments before she acts.

Next thing you know, you’re being pulled closer to her, practically lifted into the air. Then you’re falling back, right on top of a giggling Daniela. By the time you’ve regained your senses, you’re in her lap, held just tight enough to keep you from getting up. She’s watching your face closely, smirking with pure satisfaction.

“Are we going to be able to talk like this?” You asked, a little unsure yourself, already distracted by the soft curve of her jawline. Even as you speak you’re eying her, imagining what it would feel like to trail kisses along her skin until she was restless… Thankfully she responds before your mind gets too carried away.

“Of course we are, little songbird. Probably. If you behave,” Daniela teased, gently playing with your hair as she did. You can’t help but laugh when she suggests that you are the one who needs to control yourself. “Alright, alright, I get your point. I just… I think that it’s easier for me to, fuck, I don’t know. Relax? It’s easier for me to relax like this, holding you, getting to kiss that lovely neck of yours-” she pauses to demonstrate- “and that means I won’t freak out like last time. Or so goes my thought process, anyway.”

“In that case…” You’re sitting perpendicular to her now, still holding on tight. One hand cups her cheek, gently caressing the skin, before you lean in for a kiss. The two of you enjoy yourselves for a minute, glad to have this time together, more glad to be reassured of each other’s affection. To think that you wouldn’t even be able to meet her gaze if not for Bela’s intervention… Eventually you pull back, knowing that you did need to talk. “I care about you, firefly, and I want things between us to be real, and healthy, but I…”

The words died in your throat, a lump you couldn’t quite swallow, when memories sprung up like weeds in your brain. Communication mattered to you for a thousand reasons, and you weren’t blind to the irony of one of those reasons making you freeze up.

“I haven’t… done this before, not for real,” Daniela replied, mistaking your paues for uncertainty. “Apparently being an immortal, blood-drinking princess is only attractive in the realm of fiction. Maidens only ever seemed interested in a fleeting rush, or a fraction of a chance at an escape. They didn’t care for romance.” Now her tone gets bitter, and her eyebrows furrow. You can see her shoulders tense up, raising a little, making you try to snap out of your own thoughts for a few moments. By the time she speaks again, you’ve started to gently rub her back. “Maybe I should have paid more attention to my novels. How often does the monster actually get a happy ending?” She says the words with a hollow laugh. Still, she’s relaxed a little under your touch, even leaning into it.

“You’ve… done some bad things. Hurt a lot of people, and I can’t pretend that doesn’t scare me,” you started to say, ignoring the heartache you feel when you see Daniela’s hurt expression. “But you’re more than that. You’re soft, cute, and mischievous. More than that… I can tell that you want something beautiful. We can have that, we can make that, for ourselves, with our own hands and our own desires. But we can’t use stories as a blueprint. We can’t rely on what we’ve read, not when everything the two of us do is brand new. Not when-” you close your eyes, fighting back tears, glimpsing fragments of your last relationship- “not when I’ve already been hurt by my own misconceptions. The things we read aren’t always real, or right, or anything like what we need. What we deserve.”

“Something tells me you’re holding back a little,” Daniela murmured, barely able to get the words out. It almost looks like she’s close to crying, but her cheeks are dry, and her voice is steady. “But you’re right. What we have is better than anyone could write, anyway. You’re my little songbird, and I’m not letting you go anytime soon. Even if I have to figure out this whole ‘communication’ thing. I suppose that means I should… come clean. About a few things.” There’s a clear hesitance to her voice, like she’s embarrassed, and she’s speaking slower than usual. A blush rises to her cheeks before she takes a deep breath.

“We don’t have to talk about everything right now, if you aren’t ready. We’ve already made good progress, I think, even if half of it might be because of your sisters. Well, sister, singular. Cassandra throwing me into that wall really didn’t help anyone. Except maybe the chiropractor I will inevitably need to see,” you joked, remembering your earlier conversation with Bela.

“Hold up for a fucking second, Cassandra did what? I’m going to replace all her paint brushes with stained carpet strips, and that’s if she apologizes. Nobody fucks with my baby,” Daniela snapped, expression as serious as can be. Normally you found her anger to be terrifying. Now that she was directing it at someone else? And on your behalf?... Maybe it was a tiny bit cute. Which you tried to show, by gently bringing her in for another kiss. Of course, Daniela isn’t quite as gentle, instead kissing you hard, holding you as closely as she can. There’s a bit of possessiveness in her grip, and it makes you tense up. But as soon as you do she’s pulling back, breathing hard, eyes weighed down with concern.

“Y’know, I think she was just mad that I made you cry. And if I found out someone made you cry, I would be pretty angry. Not that I’d throw someone, partially because I don’t think I could, but still. It’s… almost cute how much your sisters care about you. Almost, just not quite,” you said, eager to draw the attention away from your reaction. Like you had told Daniela, it was okay if you weren’t ready to talk about everything. “Speaking of that, I can’t believe I haven’t apologized yet. I panicked so much, I didn’t even realize I was yelling until you picked me up. No matter how frustrated I was, I shouldn’t have-”

“Don’t, please,” Daniela interrupted, eyes closing for a moment. “I can’t believe you’re apologizing. I pinned you to the wall, and not for the usual reason!” There’s a bit of panic in her expression, and you get the feeling that she’s beating herself up inside about it. Which, based on what you had thought about what you had done, was understandable.

“Consider this: We both fucked up, and we’ve both acknowledged it now, so we could just… not talk about our regrets? At least for now,” you countered, glad to see Daniela relax and nod in response. Leaning in, you shift to rest your head against her shoulder, wanting to enjoy her proximity more. “Hey… if I’m your songbird, and you’re my firefly… are we, I don’t know… officially a couple now?”

“I was under the impression that we already were,” Daniela said, clearly a little confused. While you technically agreed with her… there was another part of you that wanted to have a little fun.

“You never asked, and I know I never did either, so…” Now you’re looking up at her, smile wide, heart beating faster than normal. “Lady Daniela, firefly of house Dimitrescu, lover of romance novels, player of pianos, keeper of my heart… Will you do me the honor of allowing me to court you? To be yours, officially, in the pursuit of affection and happiness like the village- nay, the world- has never before seen? Will you be my girlfriend?”

“How’s this for an answer, songbird?” Daniela cooed. Then she was lifting your chin from her shoulder, turning her head and bringing you closer. Your lips touch, as gentle as can be. It’s a short kiss, but one radiating with love, that ends with your foreheads pressed against each other. In this moment, you feel like you could stay in her arms for the rest of eternity. “Yes. Absolutely yes, obviously, a thousand times. I could never say no to you, especially not now, with your eyes so desperate for the sight of me, and your lips so begging to be kissed. Now, how about we celebrate, hmm?”

Just as Daphne had predicted, you end up staying awake far too late, but you were all the happier for it.

[anders-hawke]

Signs

Episode: “Je Souhaite” | Rated M | @today-in-fic | Warning: if any of the symptoms of pregnancy are squicky for you, it would be best to avoid this fic. Also, a reminder that we use Fahrenheit in the U.S., so don’t freak out at the wonky temperature stuff, my Celsius loaves.

Scully feels a little guilty for sending Mulder home last night after teasing him all day about what she was going to do to him in bed, but she blames her upset stomach on being “forced” to skip lunch that day. Scully had waved him off after three hours of on and off vomiting, feeling like she sent the entirety of her pizza and soda into the toilet.

She’d sent him back to his apartment so he’d stop hovering, his incessant chatter only magnifying the headache beginning to build at the base of her skull.

Mulder had called as soon as he got home, leaving a voicemail for her to please not come in tomorrow if she’s still sick. Well, Scully had fortunately felt right as rain when she woke up, aside from the minimal gnawing feeling in her stomach.

She regrets eating two bagels with lox and her real cream cheese now. This must be her punishment for breaking the rule of saving it for the fair amount of bad mornings she encounters. Her stomach’s mutinying again at the smell of Mulder’s black coffee and she can feel another toilet session coming on.

“Oh, God,” Scully whispers, all intent to apologize and press a soft kiss to his lips going out the proverbial door as she sprints out the real one and hauls ass to the bathroom.

She must have a stomach bug, Scully reasons, trying to even out her breathing as she folds some paper towels and wets them before pressing them against her face and neck. She’s suddenly feeling strangely hot, evidence of her sick flushed away.

Mulder knocks three times on the bathroom door. “Scully?”

“Yeah?” she sends back, splashing her face with water. She groans as she feels another gag coming on.

“I brought you some ginger ale and—and some Pepto Bismol. And Tums. I know you don’t like the Pepto but, you know, I figured this called for all the stops.”

She can imagine the look on his face as he hears her vomiting again. Scully checks her watch when it’s over. It’s still only 8:27 in the fucking morning!? How the hell is she supposed to make it through the rest of the workday like this?

The door hinges creak and she looks over at Mulder. “I told you not to come in if you’re still sick, Scully.”

“I wasn’t! I felt fine this morning, and then I walked in the office and smelled your coffee and...”

He leans against the counter and crosses his arms, puckering his lips as part of his exaggerated thinking face. Scully stands up straight and shoots him a look. Mulder shakes his head and puts his hands up. “Look, all I’m saying is that it looks like the same thing happened last night. As soon as we got out the ice cream, you bolted to the bathroom.”

She sighs and shakes her head. “What are you getting at, Mulder?”

“Just that you should go home and at least take a nap or something. If you stay off your feet for a few hours and relax, I’ll be happy. Nibble on some crackers, catch a soap opera...” Mulder shrugs. “You’re clearly sick, Scully. If not for yourself, do it on the chance that it’s contagious.”

Scully places the wet paper towel on the back of her neck, holding it there. “Fine. But only because it might be contagious.”

“I mean—that doesn’t make it better, but thank you nonetheless. Do you want me to drive you? What if there’s a random smell that sets you off on the ride there?”

She rolls her eyes but tells him, “Fine.”

—

Mulder’s assertion that certain smells have been setting off whatever’s going on with her stomach seem to be proven true when she comes back to the office after a few hours of rest and relaxation to the harsh sight of a man whose... whose mouth suddenly disappeared and had to be surgically recreated. Not a twinge from her stomach aside from shock butterflies.

Scully’s relieved that she’s been able to keep down her lunch. To be fair, it was crackers with a little cheese and a full two cups of water to make sure she was hydrated, but any food is good food. She proudly announces to Mulder during their ensuing flight the next day that it seems whatever illness hit is gone.

—

It’s not cold in Creve Coeur, Missouri—certainly not in Spring—but Scully’s feeling every degree of the breeze through the open windows like it’s in the thirties. She’s shivering the entire car ride to the Mark Twain Trailer Park, and noticeably enough for Mulder to glance at her with concern before putting up the windows and turning the heat up.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just a little cold.”

He frowns at that but lets it go until they hit a red light, when he leans over and presses his hand to her forehead.

Scully quirks her lips in a smile. “What are you doing?”

“Checking your temperature,” he replies. “You don’t seem to have a fever...”

“I’m fine, Mulder,” she insists, leaning into his hand for the few seconds she gets the light turns green.

“Alright, but if you’re still sick, Scully, then you have to promise me that you’ll go back to the motel, okay? I brought the meds just in case, if you need them.”

She smiles softly and places her hand on his arm. “Thank you.”

“It’s what a good boyfriend does.”

—

Her stomach bug really does seem to be gone, which is a relief. However, she’s now insatiably hungry for two things: Mulder, and the bagels from the bagel place two streets over from her apartment. Well, she consoles, one is attainable, at least. And, boy, does she attain it. They’re both breathing heavily by the time Scully’s through with him, and even though they’re sticky with sweat, she curls her body around Mulder’s anyway.

Her breasts are tingly, which has never happened after sex before, but she chalks it up to Mulder’s harsh treatment of her only a minute ago as she nuzzles his chest. She inhales and sighs happily. “I love the way you smell,” she murmurs.

He laughs and she feels it against her cheek. “Coming from the woman who made me start using a different deodorant,” he jokes, squeezing his arm around her shoulders. “Your nipples are darker.”

“What?” Scully props herself up with her forearm to make proper eye contact as her brows furrow.

“Yeah. I don’t know. They’re darker. Feel a little heavier, too. You didn’t notice?”

She shakes her head and laughs. “Unlike you, Mulder, I don’t spend hours studying my boobs.”

He shrugs and rolls them over so he’s hovering over her on his forearms. “Your loss.”

—

“Fuck,” she swears, digging around in her suitcase, fresh from her shower. She’s only got one hand because the other’s holding her towel wrap together.

“What?” Mulder asks around his toothbrush, exiting the bathroom. His tie is slung behind his neck and his suit jacket is waiting for him on the bed.

“I don’t have any panty liners.”

“Do you want me to go out and get some?” he asks, heading back to the bathroom to spit.

“Yeah, that would be great.” Scully walks past him into the still-warm bathroom and lets the towel drop as she uses the one wrapped around her hair to dry the wet strands.

“Alright. I’ll be back in a jiffy.” She drops the hair towel when he takes the singular step needed in the tiny motel bathroom to invade her space in favor of pulling him down for a kiss by the ends of his tie. “Mmm, settle down or the plan’ll be botched.”

“I was just thanking you,” Scully says, affecting innocence as she does his tie for him.

“For buying you panty liners? What would happen if I surprised you with some ice cream?”

“I would eat the ice cream.”

“Damn.” Mulder presses a kiss to the top of her head before heading out to put on his suit jacket. “Do you mind me asking why you need panty liners? Also! What brand?”

“Any with wings. And I need them because there’s been an unusual amount of vaginal discharge in my underwear and I don’t want to ruin any more of them.”

“Right.” He steps back in view of the bathroom and takes in her naked body.

Scully raises an eyebrow at him. “What?”

(Their books on pregnancy are buried inside their storage closets from a time best forgotten.)

“Nothing. I just like looking at you.”

She smiles at him, drying her hair again. “Get going, hotshot.”

—

Halfway through the flight home, Scully discovers something that makes her a bit worried. She’s not supposed to get her period until next week, so the blood on the liner she quickly tosses away with shaky hands can’t be because of that. She tries to forget about it as she walks back to her seat next to Mulder, but he must see something on her face that prompts him to ask if she’s okay.

“I’m fine,” she lies, managing to give him a smile. “Just tired.”

He seems to accept that and leaves her be. It’s not even a lie; she feels exhausted after everything that happened over the past few days. Scully makes a mental note to book an emergency appointment with her Ob-Gyn when they land, and closes her eyes.

—

“Dana,” Dr. Namin starts, disrupting her patient’s thumb twiddling.

Scully abruptly stands up as her doctor moves to stand in front of the exam table, computer and several documents in hand. “You don’t look concerned,” she says, following Namin to the exam table.

“Because there’s nothing to be concerned about at this stage except plenty of rest, hydration, and eating at least three good meals a day,” Scully’s doctor replies, opening up her computer and spreading out the documents. “We’ve done all the tests you asked for, but nothing came up. However, based on the symptoms you listed, I performed one more, and that’s where we found the culprit.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re pregnant, Dana. Plain and simple. Congratulations.” Dr. Namin slides one of the documents towards Scully, who takes it. “You’re about three and a half weeks along. You can take all the papers. There’s suggestions for all the prenatal vitamins you’ll need to take and how much water to drink in a day. Resources for managing symptoms, too.”

Scully nods dumbly, tears gathering in her eyes as she stares at the diagnosis. “Um, when should I come back?”

“Don’t worry about that right now, I’ll have someone give you a call with that information. Just relax and enjoy the news. I remember how much you wanted this, Dana. I...I don’t know how this happened, but the baby’s doing well. Minor bleeding is completely normal and you don’t need to worry. If it gets worse or doesn’t stop soon, then come back.”

“Okay,” Scully chokes out, smiling widely as she wipes away her tears and collects the documents on the exam table.

—

She spends a few hours at her apartment trying to figure out how to tell Mulder the good news but gets nowhere. In the middle of pacing around her couch, one arm unconsciously wrapped around her abdomen, her phone starts ringing.

“Scully speaking.”

“Agent Scully,” Skinner starts, and she immediately knows that Mulder’s done something stupid again, “could you check on Agent Mulder? He snuck into my meeting and was yelling at my chair.”

“Yes, of course, sir.”

“Thank you.”

Scully hangs up the phone and sighs heavily. Looks like God’s giving her a sign to just get it over with. When she enters the office, however, the woman Mulder keeps insisting is a genie is there, too. She licks her lips nervously and tries to ignore her.

“Skinner called me, Mulder. Is everything alright?”

Sitting at the desk, computer on, she has to wonder what he’s doing. “You don’t remember disappearing off the face of the Earth for an hour this morning?”

She gives her head a small shake as she tells him, “No,” truly starting to get concerned.

Mulder just shrugs with a little smile and gets back to typing with a nonchalant, “Well, I guess everything’s okay.”

Get it out, just say it, she thinks, trying to psych herself up. She sighs. “Mul—” But the woman’s still there in the office. “Could you give us a minute, please?”

“Sure,” the woman—Jenn, Mulder told her on the plane—says with a nod.

Scully steps closer to the desk, butterflies in her stomach. Jenn isn’t moving, and it’s making her annoyed, quite frankly. “Like, today?” she says, turning around, but the black-haired woman is nowhere to be found, not even in the annex. Scully turns back to her partner, extremely confused. “Where the hell’d she go?”

Mulder childishly imitates a genie disappearing and she feels the sudden urge to laugh at the thought that this man is the father of her child. “No...” she says, softening the guffaw trying to escape to a scoff-laugh. “It’s gotta—” She scoffs for real this time. “It’s gotta be hypnotism, or—or mesmerism, or something.”

And thus begins the verbal sparring. As he lists all the things he wants for the world, Scully thinks, again, of how this is the father of her child. Something suspiciously soft is trying to emerge from her heart as she responds, and she’s a coward to boot, so she leaves without telling him. Driving back to her apartment, Scully feels guilty at how little effort she put into trying to break the news to Mulder. She just—she doesn’t know what to make of the news herself, let alone how to explain it to him.

An hour into The Exorcist, hugging a pillow as she wishes Mulder was watching it with her, the phone rings. “Scully, do you wanna come over and watch a movie? I’ve got your favorite popcorn...”

She grins. “Of course. I’ll bring the drinks.”

—

They’ve both changed their clothes for the movie night, and when Mulder opens the door, they’re sporting matching grins. “Oh, zero alcohol content?” he faux complains, taking the case of six drinks into the kitchen. “Is this your punishment for me, Scully?”

She elects not to respond as she follows him and takes out the package of popcorn and a pot. “Can you grab the olive oil, Mulder?”

“Yeah, of course.” He puts four of the drinks in the fridge before reaching into one of the cabinets to grab the oil and put it on the counter next to the stove, which Scully’s turning it on.

“I’ll never understand why you won’t just microwave them. It’s faster.”

“Yeah, but if you do it in the pot, it tastes better,” she shoots back, opening the package and pouring the kernels into the pot.

“That’s just because of the oil.”

“Well, you can continue to eat shitty popcorn for the rest of your life if you want, but I’m going to eat my good popcorn.”

They turn to face each other as the kernels pop and hit the lid, a staring contest beginning. Scully wins when she licks her lips and distracts Mulder enough to get him to blink.

“Ha! I got you! I win!”

“That’s cheating!”

“I won!” she says in a sing-song voice, emptying the finished popcorn into the bowl.

Mulder shakes his head with a smile. “Why don’t you take the drinks and get comfortable. I’ll finish the popcorn.”

Scully nods and does as he suggests, but as she’s crossing into the living room, she pauses and turns around. “No butter, please,” she says, and he turns around with a scoop of butter in a bowl in his right hand, the handle of the microwave in the other.

“No... butter...?” She nods. “We always put butter on the popcorn, Scully.”

“Well, I don’t want butter this time,” she says, and makes her way to the couch, sitting down and placing the drinks on the coffee table. She hears Mulder sigh heavily and put the bowl of butter in the fridge before making his way to the living room, bowl of popcorn in hand.

He shakes his head as he grabs the movie case from the table and inserts it into the player. “Can’t believe you don’t want butter on your popcorn. Eugh. It’s un-American.” He steps around the table and sits down next to Scully.

She takes the case from where he left it and makes a face. “Caddyshack, Mulder?” she questions.

“It’s a classic American movie,” he insists, grabbing his drink and propping his feet up.

“That’s what every guy says.” Scully grabs her own and untwists the cap, tossing it onto the table. Mulder does the same, but his bounces off onto the floor, and she laughs into the bottle. “So, uh... What’s the occasion?” she asks, as if they still take the justifying movie nights thing seriously.

Last week’s was I thought you might need some help feeding your fish.

“I don’t know. Just felt like the thing to do. Cheers.”

Maybe it is time to turn over a new leaf, especially considering the baby growing inside her, cell by cell. They clink their bottles—“Cheers,” she says—and drink. Tell him, tell him, tell hi—

“I don’t know if you noticed, but I, um, never made the world a happier place.”

They nod together and Scully knows that this is the moment to tell him. She takes a deep breath. “Well, I’m fairly happy. That’s something.” A smile slides onto her face and she looks at him, a lot more than fairly happy now. “Actually, I’m ecstatic.” She gives a little laugh and reaches into her pocket for the piece of paper she’d stared at for hours earlier.

“Really? Is there a specific reason, or...?”

Scully pulls the paper out and looks at the blue highlighted text on the portion of the paper that’s not folded back for a moment before handing it to Mulder. “That’s why,” she says, voice trembling a little out of happiness.

She watches his face as the words sink in. He reads it again, murmuring, “Diagnosis: pregnancy (3.5 weeks),” as he does so, a grin spreading across his lips. “Scully...”

“I know,” she says, setting her bottle on the table, and before Mulder can say anything else, she cups his cheeks and kisses him, unwilling to fight the urge.

“Scully, this is wonderful!” He laughs joyously and kisses her again, setting the paper and his drink on the table. “I’m so happy.” He brings her into his embrace and buries his face in her shoulder for a long moment, both of them starting to cry. He suddenly pulls away and puts his hand on her abdomen under her shirt, his other arm still wrapped around Scully.

“I love you,” she tells him.

“I love you, too,” he replies.

[awhst-alt]

I HAD THE BEST BYLER DREAM LAST NIGHT AND I REALLY WANNA SHARE IT WITH YOU ALL

it's so long (literally 2k words) so im gonna put it under the cut haha <3

so basically this would take place after mike and will start dating or something, idk exactly the time frame (i picture them being like 18 or something and this is the summer before college) and will goes to this summer arts program for like 2/3 months (i dunno how long american summer is but something like that) and its all the way far from home so there is dorms and stuff and he's "not in hawkins anymore" (no pun intended)

mike and will decide after will finishes his school they'd go to college together (cuz they're gonna be comic book artists together bc thats boyfriend shit) so throughout these months he's practically just waiting for will (<333333)

so one specific scene i remember from my dream involved will and mike getting off the bus to the school and then they hug and then mike grabs wills hand and brings him behind the bus and then he gives will a biggg kiss bc he won't be able to kiss him for 3 months. then they say they love each other and will gives him another quick kiss and is like "two kisses". they agree they'd call each other every day.

so will goes inside and mike goes back on the bus and goes home.

and basically the whole day is a whirl, until the end of it, in which mike is sitting in the kitchen near the phone waiting for like 3 hours for will to call, and will doesn't end up calling.

AND THEN IT GETS SPICYYYYY

so meanwhile at the arts program will asks like the front desk or something if he can call mike and they say phone is offlimits and they don't let him call mike

so then will goes to sleep and he's paranoid that he thinks mike is gonna hate him or something like that

mk than the next day in class there is this girl (they didn't reveal her name in the dream, ill call her stella) so stella is basically looking at will the entire class but will doesn't know it

so when they exit the class stella's like "hi" and will says "hi"

then stella says "i like your painting."

will is like rlly weirded out so he goes "thanks?"

"i um- hope this doesn't sound weird but i have no friends, do you want to be mine?"

"sure"

and then end of scene (this does not sound like a normal conversation but it's my dream so it doesn't have to make sense"

so BACK AT HAWKINS mike is still sleeping even tho it's like 3 pm because yk depressed boyfriend shit but then the PHONE RINGS and mike gets out of bed frantically and goes to the phone and he picks it up and is like "will?" and then it answers "it's el, idiot"

i feel like this is important for context but el speaks english very well now and hoppers back and she lives with hopper and not the byers anymore. ANYWAYS

el says "how's will?"

mike says "idk he didn't call"

"he didn't?"

"no, he didn't"

"okay. well maybe he will call later"

"yeah mb"

"wanna come over"

"ok"

so mike hangs up and gets changed and goes to el's house bc they r a couple o' besties and when he gets there it's like a therapy sessions bc mike usally talks to will every single day and he can't for like 3 months (unless will calls, but he's not going to) so he accepts he's gonna be depressed for 3 months and he's just talking to el about how he's gonna miss him so much and no be able to see his face and that shit

so el's like "well do u wanna do something to take ur mind off of him"

and mike's like "no im not gonna replace will" (I SCREAMED IN MY DREAM SRSLY)

but than el says "okay. guess im gonna go to the mall by myself" (ig starcourt is rebuilt by now)

and than mike bolts up and is like "fine"

"we can by something for will"

"okay yay"

so then they go to starcourt yasss!!

anyways back at the art school will is having lunch and stella is with he friends (even tho she said she doesn't have any friends) and one of her friends is like "omg did you see _____ he's so hot"

and another friend says "YESS! but ____ is cuter"

"what abt u stella? who do u have ur eyes on"

she says "byers" BUT NOOOOOOO WILL IS MIKES MAN

and they say "ew that kid who came back to life"

she says "yea. but he's cute, and shy, and once i wrap them around my finger i can get them to do anything"

so then she goes to sit down next to will at lunch

"hi will"

"hi"

"hru"

"im good"

"okay. good." and she gets upset because will goes ask how she is but she keeps her urging rage inside. and than they have this weird conversation and will is uncomfortable the whole time bc shes all like flirting with him and will is seeing someone obvi

but then she puts a hand on will's shoulder and he's shaking and then says something (idk what it is it wasn't explaining in my dream) then will stands up and runs to the bathroom. so he's just sitting in the stalls crying.

okay back at starcourt this part wasn't shown in my dream but im just gonna make up that mike and el go looking around starcourt for something for will (sort of like the mike/lucas/will montage where they were looking for stuff for el) and then i guess they find something for will and i don't have the slightest idea what they could have got for him BUT THEY GOT HIM SOMETHING GOOD

so mike's all happy but they'res still that depression inside of him lol

so fast forward a week, it really isn't explained but ill just make up that will still hasn't called mike, and he's super sad and all sleeping in but decides to look through his good ol binder full of will's drawings and in the arts school will and stella have a few more interactions im sure which are still very uncomfortable

okay so it's lunch again in the cafeteria and somehow will and stella are talking again but somehow it ends in stella kissing will and will like pulls away immediatley and is like "what is wrong with you!?"

and she says "what?"

"i'm seeing someone!"

"oh i uh- i didn't know."

the whole cafeteria is staring at them

so will's freaking out almost on the verge of a panic attack "idk what to do, he's gonna hate me and-"

"he?"

will has the look on his face like shit shit shit oh fuck no

"you're gay?"

"i-"

and will runs off once again. and everyone in the whole cafeteria knows that he's day and ofc with everybody being homophobic will knows it's not good at all bc everyone's gonna bully him

so then the next day he goes to class and the teacher is like "does anyone care to tell me where ___ is?" (it would be like a math question like 'where x is' but in art idkkk) and then the teacher calls on "will? can you tell me where ___ is?" and they'res a pause and then the teacher says "or perhaps you'd want to find your boyfriend instead?" (giving me anne with an e vibes prolly cuz i did a rewatch last weekend but i won't explain more in case some people haven't watched it but) anyways will stands up from his seat, everyone is looking at him, and he's shaking and so concerned but then he goes "fuck. you" badass will yeaaaa thats my boy

so then he runs out of the classroom and out of the school in a really cool montage way but then he realizes he's like 2 hours away from home but he runs and runs and he goes to a random bustop (it's not even garanteed if it takes him to hawkins but whatever) he gets on and tries to go back to hawkins.

and soon enough, he gets there, and immediatley goes to the wheelers because he needs to see mike and apologize for everything. so he's at the wheelers, and rings the doorbell, realizing he's still in his uniform lol but karen answers and mike is upstairs in his room sulking (i picture it would be 8 pm by now) so will asks for mike and karen calls mike. mike groans obviously because he doesn't know it's his boy, but he comes down, karen gets out of the way and as soon as he sees will they have a really big hug and it's super sweet and my heart UFHEIOSKA

mike says his usual "are you okay?" and mike is still confused as shit but will says "i'm sorry i'm sorry i'm sorry" and mike says "you don't have to be sorry for anyrhing" but will says "ill explain"

so then they go to will's room, side-by-side on his bed and will starts explaining everything

(this is mostly improvised by me but it's still pretty similar to the dream)

"i hated it."

"the school?"

"yeah. there was no you, (mike blushes lmao), everything was terrible, i felt so lonely, they didn't let me call you-"

"what?"

"they said the phone was off limits. i wanted to talk to you so bad and i thought you'd hate me"

"i could never hate you, will, even if i tried." will smiles

"and then there was this girl, and she hit on me and i didn't know what to do bc i'd be the face of the school if i told her i was dating you and was gay and today she kissed me"

"WHAT"

"im sorry im sorry i didn't kiss back and i was so scared bc i never was in a relationship before and i was so scared it was considered cheating-"

and mike LAUGHSS

"what? mike? what's wrong?"

"if you don't do anything back, it's not considerd 'cheating'"

"oh. good. are you mad at me?"

"what? no! no never!" so mike opens his arms and says "come here" so will and mike hug or something like that and then mike says "do you need me to beat her up?"

and will says "you can't even beat eggs. besides, your noodle arms wouldn't be able to do harm to even a fly"

so mike laughs and says "i'm glad your home"

so will blurts "i cursed out a teacher"

"you? cursing?"

"yes."

"might have to start calling you a bad boy now"

will just smiles and says "i love you"

and mike says "i love you too"

AND THEN END AND IM SO PROUD OF MYSELF BC I LOVE THIS DREAM LIKE I CAN'T BELIEVE MY BRAIN THOUGHT OF THIS BUT IM OBSESSED

ALSO ONCE I FINISH WYBMFFAE ILL PROBABLY WRITE THIS INTO A FULL BLOWN FIC BUT AHIHFUSAH

edit: i have no idea what mike did with the present him and el bought for will but i guess they ended up giving it to him lol

[coldcocoamilk]

hey y'all lousy Levihan lovers - I got a new laptop, which means I can finally write comfortably again. we know what that means - a new fic.

as always, this fic is available on archive of our own at this link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/32169334/chapters/79707976

Title: I Went to College and All I Got Was This Lousy Degree

Summary: At the start of Hange's senior year, she's told that she must tutor the ill-tempered Levi Ackerman in Biology if he wants to graduate and keep his baseball scholarship. From that point forward, she does everything she can to keep it strictly business with Levi - until they keep running into each other, everywhere. It takes a little time and some self-discovery, but eventually, she finds herself falling for that baseball boy in the midst of her college career.

chapter 1 under the cut :)

1580.

The numbers were bold against her computer screen and seemed to be burning permanently into her retinas. What was that, like, two questions? It wasn’t fair.

“What did you get this time, honey?”

She turned the laptop to face her mother, who frowned. “It’s a ten point increase, at least.”

“I wanted a perfect score,” Hange moaned. “I hate the College Board. This is some crap.”

“Well, that’s three out of three. You’ve still done better than anyone I’ve ever seen,” her mother reassured her. “Can I take these cups?”

Hange looked over her desk at the array of cups, old bowls, and soiled paper plates. “Yeah, but I want the orange one. I’ll help you bring all this down – sorry about the mess.”

“You’ve been studying hard,” her mom reassured her. “I just don’t want any roaches to be drawn in.”

The warmth from the soapy dish water was soothing on her aching hands. Ever since eight that morning, Hange had been either typing, writing, or highlighting, and when her hands weren’t in use, her eyes flew across text resulting in the typical tension headache she felt directly behind her eyes. Now that it was six, and dinner was almost ready? Done. She was done. Hange thought that senior year would be the worst year for her, but so far, junior year was setting the bar pretty high with the combination of exams, state testing, entrance exams, and college applications.

“Leave the water in the sink. I made you some veggies,” her mom told her.

Perhaps it was weird, but one of the few things that Hange enjoyed out of her mom’s cooking was vegetables. Everything else was either too bland or too salty, too mushy or nearly burnt, but her vegetables were always well seasoned and just cooked right. Going vegetarian had been easy for Hange, especially since it was pretty much all she ate at home anyways.

“Are you going to Nanaba’s after dinner still?” Her mom asked as they ate their dinner together.

“Yeah, I’ll probably sleep there tonight, if you don’t mind,” Hange replied between forkfuls of carrots. “By the way, when does dad come back?”

“Wednesday morning, so you’ll have to take the truck into school, okay? And that’s fine, just check in with me at some point. Go ahead and take the truck tonight, too.”

“Yup, gotcha,” Hange replied, finishing her plate. “Thank you for the food – I really like that new sauce you’re using.”

Her mom beamed, a rare sight for her tired face. “I used balsamic dressing in it! I knew it’d be good.”

Hange grabbed her bag from the bottom of the stairs on her way up. It was way too hefty for her plans tonight, and besides, she really didn’t need her calc II book at Nanaba’s, anyways. She packed the usual: laptop, jeans, cute shirt, a long skirt, cardigan, flats, and some pajamas. Her deodorant and perfume got haphazardly thrown in there too, along with an extra hair tie and her chargers. On last thought, Hange reached for a couple of suspiciously heavy balled-up sock pairs, throwing them in there too. Nanaba would appreciate that.

The truck keys were on the counter next to Hange’s wallet, and she clipped them onto her belt loop on the way out. Everyone in the house had ended up with her trusty carabiner trick: can’t lose your keys if they’re always attached to your pants. Her logic was that if you lose your pants somehow, you’ve got more issues than your keys.

“See ya mom!” Hange called out to the house. Her mom’s jazz music was already audible from the bedroom, and the dishes from dinner sat soaking in the sink. It was always much more laid back when her dad was out on a business trip, and a nice treat in comparison to his uptight antics.

Dusk in southern California during April was always nice – it wasn’t chilly enough to warrant a decent coat, but it was warm enough that you could get away with a dress. Sure, the daytime was utter hell, but at night, her dad’s hoodie on the passenger side of the bench seat in his truck was a welcome blanket on her lap as she drove to Nanaba’s house just fifteen minutes away.

Nanaba had been Hange’s best friend since the sixth grade, and they weren’t planning on changing that any time soon. Once upon a chilly November evening, school had just let out and they sat waiting for their parents to pick them up. Fifteen minutes passed, then half an hour, then a full hour – somehow, the two had ended up being “those kids.” You know the type. Mom fell asleep or lost track of time, child has to try their hardest to remember the house phone number, mom freaks out and arrives in a panic. In that span of an hour, the two started an inseparable bond over Pokémon Sapphire on Hange’s Gameboy Advance.

Hange let herself in with the key under the mat, making her way quietly through the house and up the stairs to Nanaba’s room. She found her with a clear plastic bonnet on her head, cross-legged at the head of the bed on her laptop, and the room reeked of chemicals. “Yo,” she announced herself, dropping her bookbag on the bed and flopping down on it. “That time of the month again?”

“You make it sound like I’ve got my period,” Nanaba complained. “What score did you get?”

“A fifteen eighty,” Hange replied. “You?”

“Fifteen thirty,” Nanaba beamed. “My highest yet!”

“Yooooo!” Hange shot up. “I’m proud of you! That’s, what, a seventy-point improvement? You studied!”

“I took your advice and had my dad buy me that SAT prep book you kept talking about. It really did work, thank you so much,” Nanaba gushed. “I feel like I can finally relax, just a little. Next weeks is finals, but in a couple hours, it’ll be Sunday, which means I’m not studying for a whole twenty-four hours.”

Hange flopped back down on the bed. “Preach. You feel like going out tonight?”

Nanaba leaned against the headboard of her bed, the plastic cap on her head crinkling against the wall. “Nah, I don’t think anything is happening. Besides, I’m doing my hair. I need you to help me touch up the sides again.”

“All right,” Hange replied. “How long do you have left?”

“Ten minutes,” Nanaba closed her laptop and stretched before swinging her legs off the side of the bed. “We’re not going out tonight, but I do have a bottle, if you wanna.”

“I brought shooters!” Hange shot back up, immediately digging through her bag and extracting the balled-up socks. “Some different ones this time, for us to try. What did you get this time?”

Nanaba walked across the room and opened her closet, pulling a bottle of liquor out from a box labelled WINTER. “Eddy orange this time. Haven’t tried it yet, but I thought we’ve abused the lemon enough.” Glass clinked as she pulled out two shot glasses: one shaped like a miniature beaker, and a normal one that simply said BOOBS.

“Beautiful,” Hange grinned. “Today we’re trying… uhh… UV Blue, Jägermeister, and this weird peanut butter whiskey stuff.”

“Did you shoplift again?” Nanaba gave her a glance. “You know, it’s one thing to buy with a fake. It’s another to shoplift entirely.”

“Does it count as shoplifting if your parents don’t drink but keep getting gifted weird alcohol gift baskets from my dad’s customers so it all just ends up sitting in the liquor cabinet for years anyways?”

“God, your dad’s job is weird.”

“Yeah, I know.”

[ateezmakemeweep]

on one condition.

seonghwa x reader; a walk to remember au

word count: 19k

angst, fluff (tw: mentions of death and terminal illness)

park seonghwa had always been a troubled boy. 

and not in the cheesy, cliche 'bad boy' way, like he's parading around town with a motorcycle and worn leather jacket. 

in the 'he has absolutely no regard for himself or others' type of way. he doesn't care if he hurts himself in an attempt to prove he's the best nor does he care if he hurts anybody with his words or fists.

this all started fairly early in his life, showing questionable behaviors at the ripe age of eleven.

it started with skipping classes, asking to go to the bathroom and then meeting his friend's outside on the field; there had never been a child sent to the principal's office as many times as him that year.

by middle school, it had quickly escalated. 

vandalizing obscene objects and words onto the bathroom stall or spray painting on the back of the school. he was intelligent though, both naturally book and street smart, so he knew to wear black attire and a mask; he was only almost caught once.

his last few years of high school now consist of women and fighting.

because if he wasn't pounding into the newest girl of the week, telling her that that was fun but she knows where the door is, he was smacking some kid's head off the pavement for no other reason than that he could. 

that he had such uncontrollable rage in his body, probably from being stuck with and accustomed to the delinquent ways of his friends, that it was the only thing to make him feel better.

because he couldn't deny it, he didn't like who he was.

you had always been a good girl. 

and quite literally in the cheesy, cliche way: sweaters and a nonexistent dating life and your nose always in a book if you weren't at the church your dad preached at every sunday.

you didn't mind your simple, solitary life. 

you had gotten used to being alone and you didn't ever care when people made fun of you for it. because you liked your sweaters and reading and even spending your days after school tutoring younger kids.

it was a place you went every monday through friday, accustomed to the children and other helpers, mainly teachers, that were in the stuffy school library. 

you were surprised to see none other than park seonghwa walk through the doors one afternoon, looking around at the layout of bookshelves and tables like it's the first time he's ever seeing it.

you tried not to watch him float around the room, a blank expression on his face as he settled for standing in front of the main desk waiting for instruction. he was leaned against the wood with his arms folded and jaw set, a very obvious distaste and annoyance present on the boy.

you continued to work with the younger 7th grader who couldn't quite grasp the concept of solving for x, ignoring the way the head teacher pranced over and spoke hushly to the boy.

"and what exactly are you doing here, mr. park?"

seonghwa felt dread fill him immediately, resisting the urge to roll his eyes at the teacher who kicked him out of class everyday back in tenth grade.

"tutoring," is all he says, surprised and ready to punch the older man in the mouth when he lets out a scoff.

because apparently after your third strike for starting a brawl in the cafeteria, the only options were suspension or helping out the very understaffed, depressing after-school programs along with an extra research project.

"how long?" the boy asked the principal who sat across from him, a large man with kind eyes despite the destruction the student in front of him has brought into the school since the day he started.

"the rest of the year, mr. park."

seonghwa's eyebrow raised as he truly considered suspension. 

because at least that would only be two weeks of sleeping in and dicking around, not eight months of excruciating 'volunteer' work with bratty preteens and mundane class work. 

that's why he got up and went towards the doorway, throwing a mock wink at the man.

"i think i'll take the suspension, sir."

but the chipper man laughed like he was told the funniest joke he's ever heard, rising from his throne and walking over to pat seonghwa's shoulder. 

"you'll start on monday in the library."

and now he sees he severely underestimated just how tragic today was gonna be, sitting across from a boy who's just as pissed off as him about being here.

"what do you need help with?" seonghwa finally asks after five minutes of silence, leaning back in his chair as he observes the scrawny boy.  

"i don't know, i don't even need this stupid help," the younger boy snaps, the words already getting under seonghwa's skin. "they forced me to be here."

"well, that makes two of us," he mumbles, his eyes moving to the test paper sticking out of the boy's backpack marker with red x's. "but it seems like you do need help, kid. a 42 is shitty."

your eyes widen hearing those words fall from his mouth, clearing your throat and throwing him a chastising look when he meets your gaze; he only rolls them and moves his stare into the kid's beady, brown eyes.

"now don't waste my time and i won't waste yours. open your book," seonghwa demands, the coldness in his tone visibly throwing off the boy.

you feel your heart grow heavy at the student's dejected, frustrated face, your chest burning with the need to yell at and scold seonghwa.

because that's the last way to approach a child already struggling and getting in trouble by his teachers and parents. 

he needs to be shown the problem in different ways until he finds out which one works for him and that's through someone's patience, kindness and genuine desire to help them - which is exactly what you tell seonghwa when 4:30 rolls around.

"thanks for the advice, y/n, but i think i'll be getting this shit over with my own way," he says, glaring at you before he attempts to leave.

you're quick to squeak out "wait," walking around until you're standing in front of him.

"look, i know you probably don't wanna be here," you tell him softly, gently, like the way you talk to kids who also don't wanna be doing work they don't understand. "but you can't take it out on them. you need to at least be nice and try to help him not only pass but also understand it. that's the whole-"

"I could give a shit if the kid passes or not," he snaps at you, pinched glare roaming over your face. "we're all not perfect little angels like you, y/n."

he's known you since elementary school, has watched you parade around with ugly sweaters and books and entertain the kids people avoid because they either spit on you when they talk or go on for hours about nonsense.

some people might find that commendable, that you give everyone a chance and seem to be completely pure and good, but he finds it incredibly irritating - he always had, watching you grow up through the years and feeling some sense of pity for you. 

because no one could genuinely be that kind and unbothered by the fact that they have no friends. that they smile in the faces of their bullies and give even the weirdest of kids the time of day.

"that's not why i'm saying it, seonghwa," you tell him softly. "i just want you to take this seriously. these kids need help."

"they need help when you're the one tutoring kids for fun," seonghwa scoffs, feeling himself grow more agitated and bitter as he talks down to you. "i don't know if you realize how sad that is."

but then in a strange twist of fate, it feels like you're the one talking down to him. because you can only find it in you to shake your head at him and meet his tense gaze.

"more sad than you needing to be forced to help anyone but yourself?"

whether he wants to admit it or not, your comment rings in his head for the rest of the day. he knows he's selfish and a bit of a dick but hearing it put so bluntly to his face causes his chest to churn uncomfortably.

"what does that bitch know anyway?" hongjoong coughs out after passing him a joint. "she's been a tight ass since birth."

"and it's only gotten worse with age," san says before he lets out a thoughtful hum. "but you know... she'd probably be hot if she wasn't such a prude."

the two boys in front throw him a disgusted look, seonghwa blowing smoke directly in the boy's face. 

"you're that desperate for a fuck, huh?"

san swats at the smoke around his face, rolling his eyes at his friends glassy, red eyes. 

"no! i'm just saying."

seonghwa can only picture you in his mind, sporting your ugly green sweater and worn sneakers, bare face looking at him with wide, innocent eyes and softly spoken words.

"don't see it," the boy grumbles out, hongjoong snorting next to him as he reaches out to grab the joint back.

"you know he could be on to something though," the driver says, placing the paper between his lips. "it's always the quiet ones who are freaks."

"ha, like you'd know pussy boy," san says, earning a loud smack on his mouth. 

seonghwa can only smirk at his two friends, knowing damn well you're the type of girl who's probably gonna die a virgin.

"so what do you know about acute triangles?" seonghwa asks the boy, clenching his fists under the table because how fucking hard is it to remember this?

he'd been working with him for almost two weeks now and he's been slowly making progress. 

some would say that the improvement in itself was a good sign but seonghwa was convinced if the boy had someone more cut out for this, he would've learned it by now.

he wouldn't be staring down at the blank paper with a questioning gaze on his face or religiously spend the first thirty minutes in a tense silence.

"there are....three angles," the boy says, uncertainty laced in his tone; seonghwa can only nod his head because wow, yeah, good job.

"okay. and what about them?"

the boy swallows nervously, eyes boring in to his like he's gonna help him out - he only stares back blankly, raising his eyebrow challengingly. 

and once the student sees that, remembers seonghwa's harshly spoken words reminding him to pay attention in class so they can both stop this bullshit, he blurts out "i don't know!"

seonghwa lets out a sigh, running a hand through his hair before shaking his head. the boy lets out a loud, frustrated groan, throwing his pencil across the room and springing up from his chair.

"fuck this! this is so stupid!"

you watch as seonghwa just stares at the boy with a raised eyebrow, his arms crossed over his chest and you just know he's trying not to roll his eyes or scream back. 

before the man can say anything 'comforting' back, the younger student stomps off and rips open the library door.

several other kids softly murmur to each other before they get back to work, your eyes moving to seonghwa who hasn't uncrossed his arms. you quietly tell the student you're working with to try the next problem by themselves, walking over to seonghwa and taking the previously occupied seat.

"he's just frustrated," you tell him softly, hoping to ease the obvious tension on seonghwa's face and body. 

you had trouble when you first started too, remember feeling dejected and upset that the kids would get mad, and thinking that you couldn't help them.

his eyes flicker to meet yours but he's quick to look away, seeing the soft compassion and care in them; it always makes him uncomfortable when someone doesn't look at him in disgust or annoyance.

"what do you want from me?"

he misses your face fall ever so slightly, a quiet sigh leaving your mouth as you shrug your shoulders. 

"i just wanna help you, seonghwa," you tell him softly, knowing it's important for both of them to get something out of this. "it might help teaching him in a different way. maybe something he can relate to more."

"and how do you recommend i do that, princess?" he snarls at you, shoving his seat back and stomping towards the exit. 

you notice the head teacher's about to say something when you catch his gaze and shake your head slowly; to your surprise, he lets the boy go with a simple roll of his eyes.

you continue working with your student until 4:30 rolls around, your eyes occasionally moving to the empty table and library door. neither seonghwa nor his student ever came back and it causes a sinking feeling in your stomach.

you wait around for five extra minutes, cleaning the tables and putting your books away before figuring both of the unmotivated boys just ditched. as you're walking out the door to your car, you hear the familiar sound of a basketball bouncing off the gym floor.

so, albeit nosily, you peek your head in and feel your lips quirk up when you see seonghwa's tall frame next to the boy. the two of them are standing a few feet away from the hoop, a rare hint of a smile on the man's face as the both of them move around the floor.

"so this would be a....?" you hear seonghwa ask, the boy immediately responding with "acute angle! and it's less than 90 degrees," who then proceeds to take the ball from him and shoot; in a tragic turn of events, he misses.

seonghwa lets out a playful scoff as he catches the ball with ease.

"used all your brain power for that you can't even get it in, huh?" he teases, throwing the ball with one hand and watching with a cocky smirk as it shoots through.

"you're a showoff," the boy mumbles and you bite your lip so you don't let out a giggle, watching as seonghwa dribbles the ball away from the boy who chases after him. 

you leave the gym as chuckles ring through the air, feeling your heart tug at the fact in all the years you've known seonghwa, you think that’s the first time you've heard him laugh.

you're surprised to see his good mood carries over into the next day. 

sure, he's not being overly happy or nice but he's genuinely helping the student with his work, a focused expression and strong voice as he explains the problems slowly. 

you try to contain your smile, thinking maybe your hope in him isn't misplaced until you decide to tell him he's doing a good job.

"what?"

"you're working well with him," you say softly, turning to wave at the boy when you hear him say goodbye to you both. "he really seems to be getting better."

"yeah," is all he says, tone clipped and short. 

you look over to see his jaw is tight, body defensive and on alert so it's probably in your best interest to not mention you seeing them in the gym yesterday.

"it's hard at first for everyone,” you continue encouragingly. “but then i think once you break that barrier, it's gonna get-"

"why are you talking to me, y/n?"

his short, harsh tone causes your face to fall and for a split second, he feels bad. 

he knows you're just doing what you always do, showing people unwavering decency and kindness, but those are things he, both, can't relate to and finds makes him uncomfortable. 

he doesn’t want you to think just because he helped one kid out that means he's a reformed pupil.

"i just wanted to-"

"well don't," he says, picking up his bag and throwing it over his shoulder. "it's bad enough i have to do this. i don't need you talking down to me also."

"i'm not talking down to you/ it's called encouragement, seonghwa."

"then don't encourage me. just ignore me the way i intend to ignore you." 

you're left alone in the library watching the door slam behind him.

and true to his word, he doesn't look your way or entertain conversation with you for the rest of the week. anytime your eyes meet, he'd quickly advert them and makes sure to be out the door the second the clock strikes 4:30.

and today, as you rush to your car in the pouring rain, you mull over in your head what you could have possibly done to the boy to make him so wary of you. 

time and time again, you've just tried to help him. give him advice and make the whole process easier for him but he just lashes out.

then again, you haven't done anything to the general population at school and they still make fun of you. and it's for the stupidest of things: your 'grandma sweaters' apparently the bane of their existence or the fact that you're studious and care about your schoolwork.

you don't allow their words to get to you, though, because you were taught to always be kind and respect others. that if people are mean to you, it's because they're unhappy about something within themselves.

even so, a part of you has always been intrigued by park seonghwa, whether it be because of his obvious good looks or some feeling deep within you that knows he's not as bad as he portrays himself to be. 

through the rain as you think, you see the drenched boy, hood up and head down, as he walks on the sidewalk.

you don’t even think twice about pulling up next to him, roll down your window and ignore the way he side-eyes you.

"do you want a ride?" you ask him quietly, surprised he's even heard you over the roar of the rain; but he's quick to shake his head silently and continue on his way. 

you let out a sigh before following behind him, asking him one more time because he really is drenched and it's starting to get dark and cold.

"you're gonna get sick," you say to him, causing the boy to stop in his tracks and stare you down.

"and what does that matter to you?"

you only raise your eyebrow at him, reaching over to open the door and smiling softly as an invitation. he rolls his eyes as he huffs, looking down at his drenched sneakers and feeling it seep into his socks.

some part deep within him feels ashamed to accept your kindness after the way he's treated you but he gets in and slams the door anyway. a real stand up guy he is.

"happy?" he grumbles. 

you only smirk as you hum softly, eyes peering down to the seatbelt buckle before going back to the road. you feel his gaze on you as you drive, a loud huff leaving him after you stop at the third stop sign.

"what?" you ask, looking both ways before taking your foot off the break.

"how the hell do you get anywhere," he grunts out in annoyance, feeling around in his pocket for a cigarette and agitated when he finds he doesn't have a pack on him.

"it appears i drive like a grandmother, too," you mumble, a snort leaving his nose as he shakes his head.

a few moments of silence pass before you stop at a red light. 

"i don't get you," he suddenly says, causing you to look over at him.

"what do you mean?"

"you really just... don't care about what other people think of you?"

you can't help but smile at the puzzled expression on his face, shrugging your shoulders as you look at him. 

"no."

his eyebrow raises, something about your soft, small smile causing him to squirm in his seat. 

"why not?"

"because why do they matter?" you ask quietly. "while i can, i'm gonna live the way i want."

a quiet hum leaves the boy's mouth, at the time not realizing how strange that sentence was coming from a teenage girl.

he just couldn't understand how a young person would want to live such a sad, quiet life between the covers of books and walls of church. how someone could go on smiling and being happy when they had no friends to make memories with.

"seems like a sad way to live," is all he finds himself saying, a smirk playing at your lips as your brain quips back with a sassy comment - but because you're you, your mouth doesn't open to respond. 

you simply shrug your shoulders again, looking back at the light just as it turns green.

the rest of the ride is silent as you make your way to seonghwa's, asking him a few times for directions until your car is sitting in front of his house.

"thanks, y/n."

"you're welcome, seonghwa."

he turns to you to see your gaze already on him, his eyes narrowing at you ever so slightly. you send him a small, innocent, almost unsure smile and he feels himself grow less guarded.

"i'll see you monday?" you ask, slightly uncomfortable by the silence as you two just look at each other with uncertainty. 

the boy next to you shakes himself out of his daze, stuttering out "y-yeah.”

he slams your door shut, not hearing your car pull away until he opens the door to his house.

after your tutoring session, you stayed behind at 4:30 to make a study guide for your student and expected to be the only one there - which is why you were surprised to hear footsteps coming your way and even more surprised when you met the familiar dark eyes of-

"seonghwa," you say as you put your pen down on the table. "what're you still doing here?"

"i could ask you the same thing," he says, peeking at the paper before taking the seat across from you.

that's when you knew he was about to ask for something, like a pardon from this 'stupid volunteer work' (as if you have the authority to do that) or to cover for him one day this week so he can go do whatever normal destruction he does on the weekdays.

because in all the years you've known park seonghwa, he has never initiated a conversation with you.

"i'm making a study guide for my student," you tell him. "she's still having a bit of trouble so i'm hoping this will help her."

he nods his head at you, resting his elbows on the table as he watches you write with concentration for a few silent minutes. 

"but i know you don't care about that," you say to him quietly before meeting his intense gaze. "so why are you here?"

he lets out a sigh, running his hand through his hair that seems to be out of nervousness - but in what kind of sick, confused world is a man like him nervous to talk to a girl like you?

"i need your help with something."

your eyebrow raises as you look at him, dropping your pen on the table and the noise echoes through the quiet, empty library.

"is... park seonghwa asking for my help?"

he rolls his eyes before blankly staring at you, the dead look in his eye causing you to giggle softly. 

"what do you need help with?"

your giggle and soft tone relax him ever so slightly, popping his neck to the side and you resist the urge to roll your eyes at his dramatics. 

"i'm- uh, i'm supposed to write a play for my class."

"okay..." you say as you nod your head. "and you need help...writing it? editing it? coming up with ideas?"

his mind starts to swarm with slight panic and uncertainty, completely out of his element and comfort zone. he doesn't know the first thing about writing fucking plays, you couldn't pay him enough money to even sit through one.

"uh...all of it," he says with a wince. "but i know you're like... a theater geek."

you can't help the snort that leaves you, shaking your head as you look at the boy in front of you. 

"a theater geek?"

"not like that," he says, tone desperate and unsure and you can hear how uncomfortable he is asking for help. "i just mean like you're probably...good at that stuff."

"ahh, because i'm a big fat nerd, right?"

his eyes close at the horrific turn this has taken; he can't even ask you for help without insulting you. 

"i didn't mean it like that, y/n."

you watch him for a few moments, hands in his hair as his leg starts to bounce and you decide to finally put him out of his misery. 

“i'm just kidding. i'll help you."

his head snaps up immediately, face once ridden by anxiety and panic full of surprise and relief. "really?!"

"really," you say with a smile. "but i'm only gonna assist you. you have to do most of it, okay?"

"yeah, right, of course," he grunts out, already bored and over this conversation.

"and you have to take it seriously. on the days we do it, you're gonna have to be focused, seonghwa."

"i wouldn't have put myself through this and asked you if i wasn't gonna take it seriously," he grumbles, watching you furrow your eyebrows at him and quickly realizing he's falling into his dick-ish ways before mumbling out an apology. 

"i mean, of course, yeah."

"thank yo-," he says before you cut him off.

"and on one more condition, seonghwa."

he raises his eyebrow at you, nodding his head as he looks at you awaitingly.  he knows it's probably gonna be something stupid like to try his very best or make it from the heart; but the last thing he expects to hear is:

"you have to promise you won't fall in love with me."

everything in him stills as he looks at you, trying to figure out if you're joking with him until he sees how seriously you're looking at him. he almost feels bad at the blatant laugh that bubbles out of him, his hand coming up to (fakely) wipe his mouth.

"uh...yeah, okay, that shouldn't be a problem," he says, humor and amusement heavy in his tone. it doesn't make you feel bad because you just nod your head and shrug your shoulders.

"okay!"

"okay," he says a few seconds later, a small grateful smile on his face. "thank you, y/n."

"you're welcome."

you can't help but smile back because it really seems as if he's trying to better himself now. 

apply himself more and show people that he's more than just some 'cool' guy who gets in trouble. he asked for help and that's the first step in anything required to get better and grow as person.

but sometimes people will ask for help, receive help, and it still won't be enough. 

because just the next day, you see him in the cafeteria with his group of friends. and perhaps it was ballsy of you in the first place to see him and hold his eye contact and greet him with a smile that only led him to divert his gaze.

that should've made it obvious that going over to him was not gonna be a good idea.

but you thought you were seeing a change in him, you were so excited to see him work with the students and take an initiative to do his project, so you walk over and say hi to him.

"hi, seonghwa," you say sweetly, waving at his friends who just look at you with a bewildered expression. "do you wanna start working on your play after tutoring today?"

the second him and his friends let out sarcastic laughs, you know he's about to disappoint you.

"i think you're lost, princess," he says, tone full of venom and spite. "we'd never do anything together."

"unless, of course, you're willing to show him what's under that sweater," his friend next to him says, his eyes roaming over your body and making you back up uncomfortably.

"hongjoong," the tallest one says warningly, like he's probably the only good one within this group.

"oh fuck off yunho, she needs a little fun."

your eyes never leave seonghwa's, the tight, hard look melting slightly since his bickering friends are now distracted. the change in them doesn't make you feel any better, instead nodding your head at him and quietly saying "okay, never mind then. sorry."

the fact that you apologize makes him feel like a piece of shit for the rest of the day, even caused him to lash out at hongjoong for saying that pervy comment to you and then get kicked out of his last class.

which is how he catches you right before tutoring starts at 3:15, grabbing you by the elbow and ushering you into the tiny computer lab against your softly-spoken protests. 

he closes the door behind him and turns to see you staring at him blankly.

"just hear me out, y/n."

"i don't think there's anything to hear out," you tell him softly. "you made it obvious you don't need my help anymore."

you're about to go around him when he grabs your arm again, your body stiffening immediately causing him to let go. 

"i'm sorry, i shouldn't...i shouldn't have done that."

it's like the fact that he knows it was wrong is making it worse. he knew it would hurt you and make him look bad but he did it anyway to prove a point to his friends.

"but you did," you say quietly. "and i know you don't care, seonghwa, but i really thought you were trying to be better."

he lets out a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose in annoyance; he really knows how to fuck things up.

"i was. i am. that's why i need your help. please y/n."

a group of kids come barreling through, the girl you're working with catching your eye as she takes a seat at the normal table. you meet seonghwa's gaze that's staring down at you, eyes regretful and tense.

you know it's only because now he's not getting something out of you, not because he genuinely cares about you being upset and disappointed.

"the drama teacher is really nice," you tell him softly, sending him a small smile as you tighten your bag around your shoulder. "you could probably sit in with her and get some pointers."

"but i wanted you to-"

he can't even finish his sentence when you move passed him and out the door, his body whirling around to see you wave at the curious younger girl. 

he watches you meet his gaze once more before they flicker back down to the table, your heart sinking every so slightly because you were stupid to think he was capable of changing.

seonghwa was shocked by how much it annoyed him that you were ignoring him. 

that anytime he tried to get your attention, you would just smile dismissively and busy yourself. that you no longer lingered at the end of the day or gave him words of praise and encouragement that used to piss him off so badly.

it, oddly enough, made the next few weeks drag on even longer, his afternoons now an even more dull and dreary experience.

that's why on friday, purely out of selfishness, he ended his session with the boy five minutes early and waited outside the library like some sort of creep; if this was the only way to talk to you, it appeared he was gonna do it.

you open the door to leave, fishing through your backpack for the keys buried at the bottom, and look up just in time so you don't smack right into seonghwa's large frame.

"hi."

you narrow your eyes at him, his body and face lacking its usual confidence and smugness.

"hi."

the two of you just look at one another, your eyes confused and awaiting while his hold a twinge of insecurity and nervousness.

you had been making it a point to steer clear of him these past weeks, dodging him in the hallways and cafeteria when you noticed him and completely avoiding his presence during tutoring.

"are you gonna make me beg?"

your eyebrows shoot up at his lowly spoken words, head turning to the side in confusion. 

"what?"

"i miss your stupid encouragement, okay," he blurts out suddenly. "and i miss talking to you. i want...i want you to help me with my play."

you let out a shaky exhale, crossing your arms over your chest and trying to gauge his mood. he could just be saying all of this to get what he wants and make his life easier.

"what's wrong with the drama teacher?" you ask him. "she's nice. i'll even ask her if you can-”

"she's not you."

you swallow the lump in your throat at his words, panicking slightly at how your heart and stomach just reacted; you should not be so effected by him after the way he's treated you.

"that's kind of the point," you tell him, voice strong despite the way you're shaking inside. "it seems as if that's what you wanted the other week."

he lets out an annoyed huff, taking a few steps closer to you and looking straight at you. 

"that was wrong and i'm sorry, y/n, i am," he says to you, watching your gaze soften as he all but begs you. "but i'm trying here. and i need your help."

you truly take the time to assess him, look him up and down to gauge if he really is trying -  you suppose you won't really be able to tell until you start working with him though. 

and you can't ignore the fact that, no matter how he's treated you or anyone else, he's here and genuine and asking for help again.

a sigh leaves your mouth as you shake your head at him, cursing the fact that's he's not only handsome but persuasive (or at least sly enough to pick the right victims that can't say no to helping people).

the silence that stretches between you two makes him ready to jump out of his skin, not knowing at all what to make of your flickering eyes and blank expression.

he nearly topples over when you mutter out “fine. but all the same conditions still apply, seonghwa. even if you're...embarrassed to be seen with me, we still have to do the work and-"

"i'm not embarrassed," he's quick to clarify, your eyebrow shooting up at his blatant lie. "i'm not," he repeats.

you shake your head at him before taking out your car keys and swirling them around your finger. 

"well, whatever, it doesn't even matter," you tell him quietly. "just get ready to start working next week, okay?"

the boy nods, thanking you one more time and feeling a twinge in his chest when you smile back and send him a little wave. 

he didn't expect to feel so much lighter after the conversation, no longer having a pit in his stomach or hearing that small voice in the back of his head scream at him.

but because he's not completely reformed, he distracts himself with one of the many girls interested in him or with his friends as they smoke and drive around their boring little town.

the boring little town that has an eerie little cemetery just a few blocks from his house.

most days when he walks home, he goes the opposite way because there's something very unsettling to him about death and dying and mourning. he hadn't dealt with any loss in his life properly, going off the rails when his dad left and then again with alcohol and drugs when his grandpa died.

he was actually buried right in that cemetery and for whatever reason that sunday night, something was telling him to pass by and visit.

he turns the corner and catches the sight of your hair, stopping in his tracks to watch as you open the old, iron gate and walk right in the dark cemetery alone.

"what are you doing," he mumbles curiously to himself, his interest fully peaked as he speeds up his footsteps to follow after you.

he watches you weave in and out of the headstones, backpack in one hand and blanket in the other as you stand in front of a tombstone and bow your head to pray.

if anything makes him more uncomfortable than death, it's religion. 

maybe because he's not sure himself what or who he believes in, fascinated by people who can fully put all of their faith in something that has no proof. 

regardless, he waits until you raise your head and lay out your blanket, placing a few books down next to you as you sit criss-cross style in front of the tombstone.

"so this is how you live on the edge huh? sneaking around a cemetery at night."

you jump at the teasing, deep voice, snapping your head to the side and smiling slightly at the sight of seonghwa. 

he's dressed in his usual all black, a sliver chain hanging from his neck and a beanie over his dark hair - devastatingly handsome, per usual.

"no sneaking," you tell him. "but that's you, apparently. i didn't even hear you come in."

he shrugs his shoulders as he sticks his hands in his pockets, eyes curiously taking in his surroundings. you watch him look around the cemetery with slight discomfort, his eyes focused on the back corner where a large oak tree stands.

"so were you actually following me?" you ask him, causing him to rip his gaze and look down at you. "or are you here to see someone?"

a few beats of silence pass before he answers.

"would it be weird to admit i followed you?"

a smile covers your face, teeth in your bottom lip as you try to contain a laugh. 

"not much weirder than me spending my sunday night in a cemetery, i suppose."

a short, deep chuckle leaves his mouth as he rocks on his feet, looking down at his boots so you don't see his own smile forming. 

"guess that's true,” he mutters lowly but you’re able to somehow catch it. he looks up when he hears your hand tapping on the blanket-covered ground. 

"you can sit, if you want."

for whatever reason, he accepts the invitation immediately. he keeps a good distance between the both of you, his butt just hanging off the edge as he can't help but stare at the headstone in front of him.

he wouldn't dare ask about it because how can he just so casually ask which dead relative of yours you're sitting in front of?

"my mom," you say quietly, because it's hard not to know what he's thinking. "she died giving birth to me."

his eyes widen at your confession, a low curse leaving his mouth. 

"shit."

you nod your head, placing your chin on your hand as you look at the death date. 

"yeah. it's always a little weird to see my birthday as the day she died."

seonghwa watches your face as you look at the tombstone, surprised not to see sadness or sorrow but the same look of compassion and pureness that always seems to be on your face. 

and now with the glow of the moon on you, he's realizing that you are kind of pretty. in a unique, natural way but pretty nonetheless.

if he thought he was surprised to be thinking these thoughts at a moment like this, he's even more surprised when he finds himself asking, "why do you come here then?"

the question holds no malice or judgement, just a genuine curiosity that you perhaps understand. while it's fairly common for people to visit their loved ones graves, it’s also something that some get uncomfortable with or don't understand.

"to talk to her, i guess. i think she'd wanna know what's going on in my life."

he mulls over your response in his head, nodding in understatement even though he doesn't really get it.

"what do you talk to her about?" and for the life of him, he can't understand why he's so interested in this. in you, all of the sudden.

you turn to look at him, slightly surprised that he's taking the lead in the conversation and showing an interest. you don’t want him to misconstrue your gaze on him so you quickly look back at the grave as you shrug your shoulders.

"anything really. i tell her about school or my dad's sermons or what i did during the weekend. sometimes i'll just read."

he nods his head again, looking over at the grave and wondering how much this piece of stone has heard about your life.

do you tell it how people treat you at school? how much you volunteer your time to help others and make them better? maybe even how you've been trying to help him but might see him as a lost cause.

he hears the sound of a paper rustling and turns his head to see you, pen in hand, scribbling down something on your book; even though it's nosy and intrusive, he peaks over out of curiosity.

"bucket list?" he asks aloud. 

a smirk pulls at your lips as you nod your head silently, scribbling down a #4 on the page.  "do you have one?" you ask him quietly, meeting his eyes that are boring into the side of your face.

"can't say i do," he hum, "although i definitely have a lot of stuff i wanna do."

"like what?" you ask, trying not to show just how interested you are in finally getting to know something about this elusive boy. it falls flat when you see him lower his head and shrug his shoulders, immediately closing himself back up.

"i don't know," he mumbles, suddenly feeling embarrassed and on the spot.

you let out a small giggle, turning the page and ripping out a piece of paper before handing it to him. he looks down in surprise before taking it from your hands, your fingertips brushing and he can't help but notice how cold your skin is.

"writing it down might help."

you place the pen in between you both, letting the book lie on your lap as you lean back on your hands; his eyes can't help but fall down to peak at the page.

"fall in love, get married, see the ocean," you hear his deep voice read before he sees ".....get a tattoo?!" he asks, voice raising slightly as he looks at you in surprise.

"is that so hard to believe?" you ask, a mock expression of hurt on your face. he chuckles trying to picture you with a sleeve of tattoos, your pastel pink sweater rolled up your arms and showcasing an array of colors.

"kind of, yeah," he laughs out, smiling when your own giggles rings through the cold night air.

"why do you even have one though?" he asks a few moments later, trying to distract himself from the way your giggle just made his heart swell. 

"don't only people who are like..." he cringes as he remembers you are both sitting surrounding by corpses. "don't you only make these when you're gonna die? get news that you have like a year left to live or something?"

and just like in the car that day, he doesn't think about how sadly cryptic your answer is. how odd the dreary words sound coming from the mouth of a high school girl whose only cares should be about prom or college acceptance letters.

"i could only have a year left to live," you tell him softly. "i could even only have a month left. you never really know, do you?"

he can only nod his head, furrowing his eyebrows because while your words ring true. 

"that's pretty fucking morbid, y/n."

a small chuckle leaves your mouth at his profanity, shrugging your shoulders as you turn around to look at him. 

"i guess but it's true though," you say, moving your hands side to side like you're showcasing a house and not a cemetery full of rotting bodies. "after all, look around."

a loud, surprised laugh leaves seonghwa's mouth as he looks at you, shaking his head half in amusement and half in astonishment - he’s never met anyone like you in his life.

"good point," he says, biting down on his lips desperate to quirk up into a large grin.

it's an odd place and time to spend the rest of the night sharing shy smiles and glances but it happens nonetheless.

by the end of the night, you're both convinced of something: you only further confirming your suspicions that this boy is so much more than the person he portrays himself to be and seonghwa thinking that maybe grandma sweaters and bucket lists aren't that bad after all.

the more you talked and spent time with seonghwa, the more you saw how great he was. 

you figured that night at the cemetery was a fluke, that if you ever dared mentioning it or tried to make it happen again he’d laugh in your face or feign confusion. 

so the surprise that ran through you when, at lunch, he plopped down in the seat across from you was truly overwhelming. you had looked side to side in confusion, thinking that maybe his friends all went out or that your budding friendship was all one big practical joke.

but his friends looked just as confused, eyebrows pinched together as they whispered and hit one another.

“your friend’s look confused,” you say quietly. “you should probably go back.” 

but without missing a beat, he just shrugs and takes out a tattered black notebook.

“fuck them.”

your eyes widen at his vulgarity, watching him with a curious, slightly cautious gaze before it softens as he meets your eyes. he holds out his book for you, a shy smile appearing on his face.

“i...wrote some of the beginning last night. do you wanna read it?”

the smile that lights up your face has that familiar twinge in his heart appearing, excitedly nodding as your fingertips brush when you take it. 

“the prologue,” you correct him gently as you read his opening lines. 

“the what?” he asks. 

a little giggle leaves your mouth as you continue to read, missing the way his eyes soften as he looks at you with admiration - but his friends don’t miss it. 

don’t miss the way he chooses to sit with you everyday for the next few weeks, the way your hands brush as you make edits on your paper and the way his eyes never leave you as you read over his corrections. 

“i’m gonna ask you straight up,” mingi asks when he’s over seonghwa’s one night. “what’s going on with you and church girl?”

the boy can only look up from his notebook, shaking out his aching hand as he raises his eyebrow at the boy. 

“what?” 

the taller boy can only roll his eyes, going over to the open window as he lights a cigarette. 

“you like her.”

“mingi...” seonghwa says warningly, not wanting to get into this right now; they’d been giving him shit every chance they got, poking fun at his newfound desire to succeed in school.

“i’m not giving you shit, i just wanna know,” the boy says, “because it seems pretty obvious.”

seonghwa rests his feet on his desk as he looks over at the boy, letting out a sigh when he sees how genuine and indifferent he looks. 

“i might,” he says because it’s a fact he’s been mulling over since that night at the cemetery. 

ever since then, he’s been overwhelmingly eager to see you and please you. 

he keeps wanting to show you time and time again that he’s capable of doing this work and tutoring the kids. keeps wanting to see that happy smile that lights up your face or your soft voice squealing about how good his play is coming along.

“you might,” mingi laughs out, blowing smoke out the window as he shakes his head. “you absolutely do.” 

“i’m gonna push you out that fucking window,” seonghwa grunts, a smirk crossing the boy’s face as he shakes his head.

“that’s not very holy of you,” his friend says, sarcasm and teasing in his tone. “what ever would y/n say if she found out you-” 

mingi’s words are quickly cut off by high-pitched yells as he watches a cup of pencils and pens go hurling towards him. 

and whether it be a twist of fate or just pleasant circumstances, tutoring sessions on one friday afternoon are cancelled for construction in the library. 

the both of you look at one another and somehow know it’s mutually decided that you’re gonna work elsewhere, even though it’s friday and there’s a party going on at his friend san’s house.

“we only have to work for an hour,” you tell him as you guys step outside the school. “i know there’s a party tonight.”

“do you wanna come with me?” he blurts out before he can even stop himself, shocking the both of you. 

the boy would laugh at the terrified, wide-eyed expression on your face if he wasn’t so thrown off by how quickly and impulsively he asked that. 

“i...uh...don’t think that’s a good idea,” you say quietly, eyes trained on the floor shyly. you nearly fall right down when you feel his hand on your jaw, lifting your face so your glossy, nervous eyes meet his.

“nobody would mess with you if i was there,” he says lowly, the protective, confident words causing you to swallow nervously. you only shake your head slightly, the feeling of his hand on your face so foreign and bare-minimum but sending your heart into overdrive. 

“it’s not that, i’m just... i wouldn’t do well there.”

i wouldn’t be allowed.

his eyes search yours for any hint of a lie, that maybe you actually wanna go but fear that stupid girls or guys would make fun of you for whatever idiotic reason they can think of tonight. 

your small smile assures him even further.

“i probably wouldn’t do well there tonight, either then,” he says, your eyebrows furrowing as you look at his eyes shining with certainty. you’re about to ask him to clarify when he removes his hold on your face, taking your smaller hand in his cautiously.

“what are you-”

“you drive here today?” he asks and you can only find it in you to shake your head. 

“we’ll walk to my house then?” 

you stare blankly at him before looking down at your intertwined hands, feeling a blush creep on your face as you’re successfully rendered speechless. 

you hadn’t really know what to expect or feel holding someone’s hand but it definitely wasn’t this feeling of closeness and warmth and excitement. 

when you look up and he sees the pinkness on your cheeks, he can’t help but smile. 

seonghwa looks down at you questioningly, raising his eyebrow and looking at you until you stutter out “ye-yeah that’s..good.” he intertwines your fingers and pulls you along the sidewalk, holding your hand and occasionally looking down at you the entire way to his house. 

he ends up missing the party that night in exchange for writing, editing and playfully rehearsing his lines with you. his chuckle fills the room when you dramatically read his lines, giggles leaving your mouth when he cringes at the fact he wrote some of this dialogue. 

he drove you home after the sun had set, your hands intertwined as they rest on the console. shy gazes and quiet giggles fill the car, your softly spoken “goodnight seonghwa,” ringing through his head for the rest of the night. 

and then much to his dismay, after three months of preparation and work with you, his play was due. 

you had worked together in the library one last time, your encouragement and assurance that he would absolutely get an a filling the boy with an unfamiliar feeling of pride and excitement. 

he had worked hard, you both had worked hard, and he’d never been so excited to hand in an assignment in his life; it all had paid off because he was able to showcase a big, 100% to you in red ink.

“seonghwa!” you squeal, clapping your hands in the empty library and throwing your arms around him without a second thought. “i told you you were gonna do amazing!”

he can’t even think about your words with your arms around him, the feeling of your body against him the final confirmation for him that he 100% absolutely likes you (as mingi so juvenilely put).

you feel his body stiffen and realize what you’ve done, quickly drawing your arms back and flushing as you quietly apologize. 

but just as the words leave, his arms are around you and your head rests on his chest. once you’ve recovered from the shock, you allow your own arms to slowly go back around him, the two of standing in the empty library wrapped in each other’s arms. 

it’s a strangely intimate hug for just a good grade on a paper, your arms tight and hearts pounding as you feeling a buzzing in the air changing everything you’ve worked to build over these past months. 

“do one more thing for me, y/n?” you hear him lowly ask in your ear. 

you meet his gaze nervously, biting your lip as you stare at him with a wide-eyed gaze. “what?” you squeak, your voice barely coming out. 

“let me take you on a date.”

convincing your father to allow you on a date was one thing but convincing your father to allow you on a date with park seonghwa was damn near impossible. 

“dad,” you whine for the twentieth time that day.

“y/n, i’m telling you, i’m not comfortable with this.”

“you’re not even giving him a chance, dad,” you tell him softly at the table, your eyes trained on the clock that reads 6:50. “he’s gonna be here in ten minutes.”

whether your dad approved or not, you were going on this date. 

you had gone your whole life without dating or boys or even having a crush and now you were overwhelming ready to try it out. despite your nervousness and despite the fact you have absolutely no experience, you’re excited.

seonghwa has brought out something in you that was suppressed for so long, that you only read about in books or watched in other couples - now with your shy smiles and intertwined hands under the table at lunch, you’re convinced that he’s your first love. 

“y/n, i’m uncomfortable with this for more than one reason,” he says, sadness and apprehension in his tone; it makes your heart sink a little bit. 

why does he have to bring this up now? why can’t he just let you have one night to be a normal teenager?

“why, dad?” you ask, voice far too even and calm even though you already know where this is headed. he can tell too, because he grabs your hand from across the table and squeezes it apologetically. 

“i’m not trying to upset you,” he says, “i just don’t know if you should start something when...”

“i’m fine though. i feel fine.” 

his face turns into one of shock and confusion, not once hearing you snap at him; that’s when he notices that you look...different. 

a short-sleeved dress over your figure with a hint of blush and mascara on your face. your eyes flickering to the clock and door before back to him and he feels his heart pull in his chest. 

“i know you do,” he says, pulling his hand back and running it through his thinning hair. “you didn’t tell him, did you?”

“of course not,” you quickly get out. “there’s no need to tell him.”

“no need to-” the words die in his throat so he doesn’t start a fight or upset you just minutes before your first date. 

he knows that if you actually accepted to go out with a boy, you have to like him and there has to be some sort of...connection between the two of you. 

“what if this gets more serious?”

a knock at the door causes you both to jump, your neck snapping over to see seonghwa’s handsome face through the window. 

“then we’ll deal with that when it comes,” you tell him, voice serious and hushed. “just... please be nice, okay? he’s important.”

and with that, your dad watches you open the door and greet seonghwa with a smile, ushering him in as you giggle when he says something lowly. you drag him over by the hand, seonghwa and your dad standing only a few inches away from one another a sight you’d truly thought you’d never see.

“hi sir,” seonghwa says, his voice deep but friendly as he outreaches his had. “it’s nice to meet you, i’m-”

“park seonghwa,” the older man finishes, taking the boy’s hand roughly and shaking it before dropping his hold. “i see your mother church every sunday but i can’t say the same for you.”

“dad,” you whisper, face flushing in embarrassment. 

“it’s okay, y/n,” seonghwa says quietly before he looks your dad in the face. “i...probably should go more but-”

“no need to explain yourself to me, i was just saying,” he tells him, watching the way seonghwa’s face falls slightly and you narrow your eyes at him. “where are you guys going tonight?”

“just dinner, like i told you,” you say, voice tight and arm grazing seonghwa in an attempt to bring him comfort; even if he doesn’t need comfort, you need his skin on yours to ground you. 

your dad meets his gaze, causing seonghwa to quickly confirm the plans.

“yeah, just dinner,” he says, comforted by your arm touching his. “i borrowed my mom’s car.”

a quiet hum leaves your dad’s mouth and seonghwa feels the nervous pit in his stomach growing, like he’s judging him for being a possible satanist who still borrows his mommy’s car.  

even if he was thinking that, he smiles warmly at the both of you before reminding him to have you home by ten. 

“will do, sir,” he says, already telling himself to have you home by 9:55 so if anything, he’s at least punctual. you all but drag seonghwa out of the house, waving to your dad and thanking the boy quietly when he opens the car door for you. 

he starts the car and there’s a few moments of silence before he lets out a frustrated sigh. 

“he hates me.”

you let out a soft giggle as you shake your head, tapping his arm playfully. 

“he doesn’t, he’s just...protective.” 

seonghwa only looks at you, completely unconvinced if the blank stare he’s giving you is any indication. 

“okay, maybe a little,” you agree softly, the boy rolling his eyes away from you despite the smile on his face. 

you watch him drive and admire his sharp features, wondering how and why on earth this boy asked you on a date in the first place. he turns to look at you when the light turns red, his eyebrow quirked up when he sees you’re staring at him. 

“what?”

“nothing,” you say, shaking your head before you shyly say. “i just can’t believe you asked me on a date.”

he bites his lip to hide his smile, taking his hand off the wheel and taking your hand in his. 

“you look pretty,” he says suddenly, causing you to sharply inhale and nearly choke on air. 

you never imagined someone other than a family member or elderly woman at church calling you pretty, completely thrown off and unsure how to respond. the pinkness creeping up on your cheeks is a dead give away that it’s effecting you, his eyes roaming over your face as his smile finally breaks through.

“really pretty.”

and so you don’t completely go mute and dumb, you tease “it’s just because i’m not in a grandma sweater.” 

he only rolls his eyes and taps you on the nose. “i’ve come to really like those grandma sweaters.”

a quiet giggle leaves your mouth and he can only smirk as he looks back at the road. 

the light turns green and your heart flutters ever so slightly when instead of disconnecting your hands, he brings it to his lips to press a soft, sweet kiss.

your hands don’t disconnect when he pulls up to the restaurant nor when you walk in and wait to be seated. 

you look around at the other couples in the area and that’s when it hits you that you’re one of them. that right now, you’re on your first date and have absolutely no idea what you’re doing. 

“what’re you looking at?” he quietly hums in your ear, watching you look around at the other young couples embraced in a handhold or back hug. 

“nothing,” you say quietly before looking up at him. “i just... i’ve never been on a date before.”

his lips press against your head and you hear him laugh against it, your eyebrows furrowing as you smack his stomach lightly. 

“stop laughing,” you whine.

“but you’re cute,” he hums lowly. 

he hears you let out a sigh and disconnects his lips from your head, taking your cheeks in his hands and ignoring the way your eyes widen at the contact.

“just take a breath for me, okay?” he says lowly, staring down at your wide-eyed gaze and feeling such an overwhelming desire to kiss you. “it’ll be fine. there’s nothing to worry about.”

“but i don’t kn-”

“seonghwa, table for two,” a female voice interrupts. his eyes widen teasingly as a quiet gasp leaves his mouth. “let’s go, baby.”

and, of course, he was right. 

it was fine. 

the second you sat down and looked over the menus, you fell into a natural and teasing conversation that carried on for the rest of the date. everything was always light-hearted and fun, never delving into serious topics or issues. 

he paid the bill after eyeing you the second you pulled out your wallet, a blush crossing your face as you quietly mumble out your gratitude. he took your hand in his, you shyly looking down and watching your fingers intertwine as he leads you through the parking lot.

“where are we going now?” 

you look up at him and see him watching you with a small smirk, probably from the permanent blush on your face, and relishing in the fact that he’s the one that put it there. 

"you’ll see.”

the two of you walk hand-in-hand across the street, tiny squeals leaving your mouth as seonghwa abandons the crosswalk signs and runs straight across. low chuckles leave his mouth as he tightens his hold on your hand, dragging you in front of him and shaking his head.

“you think i’m gonna let you get hit by a car?”

“i just don’t know why you couldn’t wait,” you say, amusement in your voice. “do you have to always prove you’re just such cool rule-breaker?” 

his eyes widen at your uncharacteristic snark, a smirk playing at his lips that only makes your small, smug smile grow wider. 

“rule-breaker, huh?” he hums. “is that what you really think of me? i got a 100 on my play, you know.”

a laugh bubbles out of your mouth as you roll your eyes playfully, your heart soaring because you just know how proud he actually is of that. something about it is so cute, that he now knows he’s capable of succeeding and doing well.

“oh right, i’m sorry,” you tease, looking up at him to admire his smiling face in the setting sun. you don’t know if it’s just because you hadn’t known him well or only saw him in bad situations but you never noticed just how sweet his smile is. 

you see the exact moment something in his eyes change, your gaze following his before you let out at tiny gasp.

to all the places this boy could’ve taken you, like some sort of underground ring or a crazy house party, you’re both standing in front of-

“a playground?” you squeal, trying to contain the childlike excitement building in you. 

“yeah, is that stupid?” he asks, an unsure smile on his face as he looks down to gauge your reaction. he watches your eyes traveling from the swings and slides, feet wiggling beneath you and feels his heart soften even more. 

your neck then snaps up to look at him, a shy smile on your face as you quickly shake your head. 

“not at all,” you say, tightening your hold on his hand. “i just wouldn’t expect that from you.”

“and why’s that?” he asks, dipping his head ever so slightly as his words fan over your ear. “it’s against the rules to go into a playground at sunset.”

your eyes widen when you look up at, a tiny scoff leaving your mouth. but before you can get the words out to chastise him, he pulls you towards the fence that is short and easy enough for you both to climb over.

“are you sure you’re okay?” seonghwa asks, bent down with his hands on your knees, watching you breathe heavily as you sit on the swing.

the two of you had run around the playground like children, racing down the slide and then chasing after each other when one of you lost. 

you squealed as he caught you around the waist, his hands digging into your hips and nearly making your heart explode. he was always quick to loosen his hold and take his hands off of you afterward, demanding a rematch as you watch him run up the steps. 

“yeah, i’m fine,” you say, leaning your head against the cold chain and flooding with relief. “just out of shape.”

a scoff leaves seonghwa’s mouth as he watches you carefully; you don’t look out of shape. 

“i’m fine, seonghwa,” you whine, feeling his gaze still on you. he only narrows his eyes, rubbing your exposed skin before standing up and plopping down on the swing next to you. 

the two of you swing in a comfortable silence for a few moments, admiring the dark sky and singing cicadas. head still on the chain, you turn yourself to look over at him and he must feel your gaze because he does the same, eyes roaming over you because he doesn’t like how lethargic you’ve become.

“thank you for asking me on this date,” your soft voice says suddenly. “i...i had a lot of fun.” 

he watches your cheeks warm with a smile, holding his hand out for you to grab again. 

you take it immediately, his eyebrows furrowing at how small and bony it feels in your hand - have you always been this small?

he pushes down the thoughts because he doesn’t wanna ruin this moment, be distracted from the soft smile on your lips and the pink on your cheeks.

“yeah?” he hums. “i felt some pressure, being that it was your first and all.”

a quiet giggle leaves your mouth as you shake your head. 

“well it was perfect so good job,” you say, “another 100.”

he snorts at your nerdy comment, turning his face away to hide his smile and look at the rest of the playground. 

he hadn’t come to this playground in years, remembering it so vividly from his childhood. how it seemed so big and scary, like some sort of deathtrap that he could only handle because he had someone next to him.

“i used to come here a lot, you know.”

“oh yeah?” you ask, voice happy and light as you picture a young, exuberant seonghwa. 

“mhm,” he hums, a lump suddenly in his throat as if it’s begging him not to say his next few words. some part of him wants to tell you, break down some unfamiliar, vulnerable side of him in an effort to show he really is trying for you. 

and what better way to do that than woefully spilling about his absent father? 

but then when he finally says, “i used to come here with my dad,” he wishes he hadn’t. it’s embarrassing and kind of humiliating to talk about these types of things with a person you’re starting to-

“that’s sweet,” you tell him softly, smiling over at him warmly. “he sounds like a good dad.”

“he left us a few years after.”

your body stills and veins run cold when those words leave his mouth, your heart tugging in your chest at the sad, short way he says it. 

“oh.”

an awkward chuckle leaves his mouth as your surprised response, rubbing the back of his neck anxiously in fear that he just ruined the vibe between you both. before he can try to backtrack, however the hell one could backtrack something like that, he feels your hand squeeze his. 

“i’m sorry.”

he looks over at your soft, sympathetic gaze and smiles sadly, feeling the overwhelmingly need to cup your cheek and brush over your soft skin.

“not your fault,” he says. 

you move further into his touch, swallowing at the way his eyes roam over your face.

“well, it’s not yours either,” you squeak out, unsure of what exactly to say to comfort him but wanting to so bad. 

because sometime within these months, you’ve discovered what a kind, sensitive person he actually is. how all of his troublesome behaviors and bullshit was just covering up for the fact he was sad and frustrated and maybe a little lonely.

he lets out a scoff, that overwhelming urge to kiss you coming back with a vengeance.

“where were you years ago,” he laughs out, thinking back to his middle school self creeping through the schoolyard and etching his rage onto the brick of the school. 

because for some reason, the boy had convinced himself it was all his fault.

that his dad had gotten tired of his bad grades and snarky backtalk and the fact that he never listened to him. it took him up until a few years ago, when the sadness turned to anger, that he knew his dad left purely due to the fact that he was just an asshole.

you smile sadly watching him stare blankly, knowing his mind is probably going to all sorts of sad places. to a time in his life where he blamed himself and didn't know how to properly cope. 

if you had known, you would've done what you did now. offer him your support and friendship and let him know someone will be there for him.

"i'm here now though," you remind him quietly, moving the swing back and forth, in sync with the way your thumb starts gently brushing over his hand. 

it's like he needed that touch to bring him back to reality, his blank eyes turning to look at you and wonder if you're even real.

the way he's looking at you causes you to nervously fidget, the intense softness of his gaze making your stomach and heart go into frenzy. so much so that you shyly look away, focusing on the way your hand always looks so small in his.

you feel him bring his swing closer to yours, holding himself right beside you and lifting your chin gently. his gaze immediately falls to your lips and you let out a shaky, nervous exhale, your eyes darting across his face because you've definitely read about this before.

the buzzing energy before a kiss, the way someone's eyes lower and tongues dart out to lick at their lips.

"i wanna kiss you," you hear him mumble, his eyes moving to yours and his heart dropping when he sees your wide-eyed gaze. he also sees a hint of curiosity though, a hint of the same desire and need in yours.

you swallow again, your own eyes falling to his lips before back up to him. 

"i... might be bad at it,” you whisper, voice caught in your throat.

if your statement didn't make his heart hurt in the best way possible, your eyes proved to be the bigger weakness. proved to make a smile spread across his face, a short chuckle leaving his mouth as he shakes his head at you.

"that's not possible," he hums, his gaze boring right into you, like he's waiting for any sort of permission. 

after you let out another shaky exhale and close your eyes, you feel his lips press lightly against yours.

and while it's a careful, slow kiss, it doesn't take away from the fact that it's perfect. 

that it makes your insides warm and flutter and brings an immediate blush to your face. that after a few moments, he pulls away and rests his forehead on yours and makes you feel like that was the nicest thing to ever happen to you.

you take a few calming breaths before opening your eyes, dropping them shyly when you see him looking right at you.

"see," he mumbles, placing a kiss on your cheek, and then the other, before a finishing one on the tip of your nose. "not possible."

a flustered, girlish giggle leaves your mouth that he can't help but also laugh at, rising from his spot on the swing before standing in front of you with his hand outreached.

"what?"

his lips turned into a frown before he kneels down in front of you again, placing his hands on your bony knees. 

"as much as i don't wanna leave you right now, i gotta get you home."

true to his word, he gets you home five minutes before ten, silently hoping your dad notices and logs in it the back of his mind where his lack of church attendance is also stored.

because even though he sleeps in on sundays and kissed his daughter two more times, he's really hoping he'll be okay when he comes to pick you for date number two next week.

date number two turned into date number six and then over the next few months, you both had started to lose count.

if you weren't together at your house, doing homework and midterm projects in the living room, you were at the cemetery or playground. 

leaned back against his chest on a blanket, his arms wrapped around your waist as he hums quietly against your head. his hands grazing the small of your back as he pushes you on the swing and watches you tip your head back in the air.

tonight's date, however, was a surprise. 

he had told you on monday to clear your schedule for saturday, silencing you with a peck of the lips any time you pressed him further. your constant questioning served to be of no use because even in the car on your way to the surprise, he wouldn't budge.

if anything, he made it worse by then whipping out a blindfold and securing it around your face at a red light.

"do you trust me?" he had asked, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. you only let out a sigh, lips turning into a pout because "of course i do." 

that right there sealed your fate for being completely blind for the next twenty minutes.

you feel the the car suddenly stop, the scent of salt hitting your nose through the open window and making your eyebrows furrow together; you had never smelt anything like this before.

"i'm gonna get out and open your door, okay?" he tells you, the sound of his door shutting quickly followed by yours opening. 

you reach out your hand for him to grab, a foreign softness under your sneakers when you step out. he guides you for a few minutes with your blindfold still on, letting out huffs and grumbles every now and then that were silenced by his laughter.

and then when you hear what sounds like crashing water and the loud chirp of a seagulls, you hear his voice from behind you tell you take it off. 

a gasp leaves your mouth that lights up his entire face.

"number three, see the-"

"ocean!" you squeal, turning around to throw your arms around him gratefully. his laugh is muffled against your head, lips pressing a kiss on top on your hair.

"thank you, seonghwa," you say, tightening your arms around him as you press your chin into chest, looking up at him with a bright, excited smile. he can only find it in himself to smile back, take your face in his hands and place another full kiss on your lips.

luckily, your kissing has gotten a lot better with practice. 

pressing up on the tips of your toes to deepen it, your mouths gliding and parting as a breeze from the ocean hits both of you. when you pull apart, his eyebrow raises mischievously, both at your new found boldness and the prospect of exploring the ocean, so he takes your hand in his.

"you're welcome, baby. now let's go."

he pulls you toward the water as your giggles ring through the salty air, squealing when you feel the freezing water on your bare feet and jumping in seonghwa's arms when a big wave splashes up and hits your leg.

he completely uses that to his advantage, tightening his hold on you and running further out into the ocean. he doesn't care that his pants get soaked and his feet go numb, because your loud laugh and squeals of his name have come to be his favorite sound.

you eventually jump down and deal with the consequences that are freezing bones and a wet dress, running away and splashing through the ocean before he catches you by the waist and twirls you around.

but then he notices that concerning, lethargic wave hit you when you grab onto his arm, something he’s been noticing more and more of these past few weeks together. 

he quickly ushers you out of the ocean, guiding you onto the towel that he laid out as he wraps his arm around your shoulder.

"what happened?" he asked, voice full of concern. "are you okay?"

you insist the you're fine. that the waves of the ocean were rough and that you're not used to it. 

you push him down when he asks again if you're okay, allowing your head to rest on his chest and watching the waves crash onto the shore as the sun sets below the horizon.

"i can't believe you took me to the see the ocean," you mumble against his chest, still in disbelief that this is the same seonghwa you've known your whole life. 

the same seonghwa who constantly wore a pissed off expression, punched anyone who looked at him funny and yelled at you during tutoring.

"i like to see you happy," he says, his words genuine, without a single hesitation which makes you burrow your head and smile into his wet shirt. "which is why i have another plan for us."

you perk up at this words, lifting your body and sitting cross-legged beside him. "another surprise?" you squeak excitedly, reminding him of a child on christmas day.

"yup, another surprise for my girl," he says teasingly, sitting up to peck your cheek. "and if you say yes, you'll be my tattooed girl."

he has to keep his poker face on but it proves to be a challenge with the way your face drops, eyes wide and skin paling as you stare at him blankly. "wh-what?"

"yeah, i figured we'd just cover number four too," he says sweetly, faking it just a little bit to sell his point. "so i looked up tattoo shops around here and-"

"what?!" you squeal out again, feeling panic start to creep in your veins. "seonghwa! i-i can't actually-"

"but why not, baby?" he asks, the smirk tugging at his lips uncontrollable. "it's on the bucket list."

"okay, yeah, but you don't have to do everything on it."

his eyes narrow at you, tapping you on the nose that you naturally scrunch. 

"i think you do when there's only four things on it." 

your eyes remain wide and panic-stricken, staring at him mouth agape like he's grown five heads.

"seonghwa," you manage to get out, "you have to be- you're joking, right? you have to be joking. i can't go home to my dad with a freakin'-"

your words halt when you watch him throw his head back in laughter, wrapping his arm around your shoulder as he pulls you into him. 

"of course i'm joking, baby. do you really think i'd bring you home with a freakin' tattoo?"

heat rushes to your cheeks as you push him over, slapping his chest playfully and yelling at him for being so mean and scaring you. he's quick to push you onto your back, holding himself above you and peppering kisses over your face and cheeks as an apology.

"that's why i got these," he says after he pulls back, fishing in the back pocket of his jeans and pulling out five white cards. your eyebrows pull together in confusion, lifting yourself up and gasping when you see an array of temporary tattoos.

"these are perfect!" you squeal, taking them in your hand and examining each of them as if they're not gonna fall off by the time you get home; after careful consideration, you pick out a purple butterfly.

"i want this one. you pick now," you tell him with a smile, laughing when he goes with the identical butterfly in pink. the both of you run to the ocean, securing your tattoos in matching spots with cold salt water.

"this is so nice, imagine i really got one," you say, twisting your wrist as you hold your arm out in front of you. you look over to see him watching you softly, feeling a blush creep up on your face.

"what?" you say, shy embarrassment suddenly in your tone.

"nothing," he says causing you to shrug and look back at your tattoo.

his brain screams at him that he has to tell you, that this night can't end without him telling you and that it’s most definitely not nothing.

ten minutes later, with your head resting against his chest watching the steady ocean waves gain, he quietly says your name. 

you hum questioningly against his chest, feeling your eyes grow heavy at the tranquility of... everything. of his presence and the ocean and the way your life just seems so-

"i love you."

and just like that, all the tranquility is gone.

you rip your head away from his chest, eyes darting to his to see such raw vulnerability and love shining in his eyes. you can't control the way your own widen, the way your heart and stomach twist and turn into knots and make you feel even more nauseous than usual.

because he can't love you. he can't. 

something could happen at anytime and take you away from him and then what's gonna happen? you can't be responsible for hurting him and making him feel sad, even if you're-

"now would be a good time to say something," he says lowly, feeling his heart sink at the evident panic on your face.

but then he starts to panic when he sees your eyes fill with tears, backing away from him slightly as you shake your head at him.

“y/n?” he asks, holding his hands out as he walks closer to you, proving he’s not a threat to you.

"and on one more condition, seonghwa."

he raises his eyebrow at you, nodding his head as he looks at you awaitingly. because he knows it's probably gonna be something stupid like to try his very best or make it from the heart. but the last thing he expects to hear is:

"you have to promise you won't fall in love with me."

"uh...yeah, okay, that shouldn't be a problem."

"i.. i told you not to fall in love with me."

his heart sinks at the flashback, watching tears stream down your face and not being able to help the way he reaches out and takes you in his arms. he thinks you're probably just scared and vulnerable, not used to the feeling of loving someone and giving another person your entire self.

but neither is he.

and that's why, with his lips against your head, he tells you not to be scared.

 that he'll wait until you're ready to say it back and that you'll learn to do this together. 

he thinks it must calm you down a little because your arms wrap around his waist and you burrow your face in his damp shirt, muffling your cries and sobs against his shirt.

but your cries and sobs only continue later the night, putting on a strong front for the car ride home. 

seonghwa kept his hand in yours, intertwining your fingers and occasionally bringing them up to his mouth to kiss; every time he did it, you looked over and smiled at him and tried to show through your eyes how much you loved him back.

but then the second you got home and your dad saw your face, he knew.

"did he tell you?" he asked gently, his heart breaking at the sight of your red cheeks and teary eyes. 

he watched park seonghwa fall in love with his daughter before his very eyes, the more evident it came the more awful he felt in his gut about it.

you can't even talk without sounding broken so you only nod your head, nearly collapsing onto the couch and hiding your face in your hands.

"you knew this was gonna happen," your dad says, not wanting to say i told you so but knowing from the start how reckless and tragic this was gonna be. "you have to tell him. be fair to him, y/n."

but nothing's fair. 

nothing about any of this is fair and you should've known life was getting too good. that you should've been expecting what tragic events were about to come.

“let’s take our bets now,” san says from his table at lunch. “is he gonna sit with her today?”

“when was the last time he sat with us?” yeosang grumbles, looking around the boy’s faces that hold a mix of anger and hurt. “he’s definitely not.”

they hadn’t seen much of seonghwa at all, really. 

missing him by the time they all gathered in front of the school after the final bell or going to his house on the weekends just for his mom to inform them he’s already out. 

and while most of them didn’t care, the older boy with hard eyes and a ticking jaw has been taking the ‘betrayal’ the worst.

“who knew he’d become such a little bitch,” hongjoong snarls. “and for her, nonetheless.”

mingi and yunho share a look, the two of them kind of caught in the middle; they’re best friends with hongjoong, have been by his side since elementary school and don’t intend on breaking that alliance. 

but they’re also close with seonghwa and see how different he is now. 

how much happier he seems because you’re in his life. they had even met you briefly after school and while you were a bit shy, there was something genuine and warm about your smile that they instantly liked. 

“she’s good for him, i think,” yunho dares to say, hongjoong’s narrowed eyes snapping to him. 

“how could she be?” the boy snarls, embarrassed that anyone he associated with could be connected to the snobby, holier than tho type like you. “i bet she doesn’t even put out.”

“i bet it’s not about that,” mingi says quietly, stiffening ever so slightly when he notices both of you come through the door. 

and like seonghwa always does, he sends them a nod of his head before sitting down across from you. your bumping arms and loving smiles make it obvious to everyone what’s going on between you two. 

hongjoong can only watch for so long seonghwa be a ‘lovesick bitch’ towards you. rolling his eyes when he watches him fawn over you, getting your food and drinks and not allowing you to lift a finger. 

(he doesn’t know it’s because seonghwa’s getting more and more concerned about how fatigued you’re growing throughout the day, something in his gut telling him it’s way more than you forgetting to drink water or not getting enough sleep as your excuses say). 

when he watches his friend tuck your hand behind your ear lovingly, a move they both would’ve laughed at before seonghwa lost his balls, he decides it’s time to get his friend back.

“what’re you doing?” he hears his friends ask from behind him but he only waves them off, stomping towards the table and rolling his eyes when you meet his gaze first. 

“seonghwa,” hongjoong says, annoyance already in his tone. the boy looks up and he stiffens, immediately recognizing the look in his friend’s eye.

“hey,” he says, voice tight and cautious. 

do not fuck with her.

“are you done with this shit or what?” 

the anger bite in the boy’s words has your head dropping immediately, eyes focusing on your lap as you try to properly prepare yourself for the worst case scenario.

that’s exactly what happens the second seonghwa asks “what are you talking about?” because it’s like hongjoong goes off the rail, scoffing as he looks at his friend. 

“you’re kidding, right? you haven’t sat with us in months. we haven’t even hung out.”

“i’ve been busy...” seonghwa says but it sounds more like a question, completely thrown off by his friends odd behavior - what is even getting so mad about?

“with what? your girlfriend?” the last word twinged with disgust.

seonghwa’s eyes travel to you and the second he sees how uncomfortable you are, he stands up and towers over hongjoong.

“we can talk about this later.”

“no, i think we should talk about it now,” hongjoong says condescendingly, everything about his tone and stance making seonghwa’s fists clench. because he can tell it’s making you more and more uneasy. 

“what the fuck is your problem?” seonghwa asks lowly, pushing his friend back. 

“my fucking problem is you dropped all of us the second this bitch came along.”

the first time you brokenly get out “stop,” is when seonghwa’s immediate reaction is to grab hongjoong by the collar of his shirt, the low mumble of student’s voices when they see the first inkling of a fight. 

“don’t call her that.”

a sadistic smirk crosses hongjoong’s face as he stares into seonghwa’s dark, blazing eyes, seeing just how quickly he’s about to lose his control. the boy’s eyes then flicker to you, looking at them fearfully.

“let me tell you, y/n. your pussy must be something, i-”

seonghwa lands a punch on the boy’s face before hongjoong’s back is slammed against the wall, a hand around his throat as his eyes blaze down at him. 

"you better shut the fuck up.”

“why?” hongjoong laughs out despite the crushing weight on his windpipe. “you mean we’re not gonna share? i think we’re all very curi-

you hear yourself begging seonghwa to stop when he drops hongjoong to the ground, giving him a few forceful kicks in the stomach before the rest of the boys jump up. 

they grab the back of seonghwa’s shirt as you join them, trying to block out the way hongjoong and him are screaming and cursing back and forth despite the pounding in your head.

whether it be from the chaos of fighting or you’re already weakened, fatigued state, your vision blurs and your brain feels foggy before you whisper out seonghwa’s name. 

you feel an unfamiliar pair of strong arms around you before passing out and your world turns black. 

yunho carries you out to his car, mingi attempting to calm down seonghwa who hasn’t stopped calling your name frantically, cursing hongjoong and saying how this is all his fault. 

the two boys are quick to ground him, tell him that that’s not what’s important right now and instead deciding where to bring you. 

seonghwa rakes his fingers through your hair, your head lolled in his lap and he feels sick looking at how pale and sunken your face looks. 

“baby, what happened to you,” he mumbles out, his long finger coming out to trail over your cheek.

the second yunho pulls up to your house, seonghwa picks you up bridal style and rushes to your front door. your dad catches the sight through the window and nearly collapses in fear. 

“what the hell happened?” the older man asks frantically, terrified and haunted by how you look lifeless in the boy’s arms. 

“she passed out at school,” seonghwa grunts out, mingi and yunho awkwardly standing in the doorway watching him barrel through your house and rest you on the couch. 

he kneels down and runs his fingers through your hair again, the lump in his throat making it nearly impossible to speak. 

“i-i don’t know happened. she said she was feeling tired but-”

“you have to go.”

his head snaps up at your dad’s words, the man watching him with hard eyes and a pale face. seonghwa can only squint his eyes at him, shaking his head as you takes your hand in his.

“with all due respect, sir, there’s no way i’m-”

“you are,” he says, his voice hard and firm and such a contrast to the peaceful way he speaks in church. “you shouldn’t even be with her.”

the statement takes seonghwa back, his eyebrow raising as he squeezes your hand before standing up. 

“what?” the boy asks, making his way over to your dad. “why?”

“seonghwa, maybe we should just-”

“no,” seonghwa growls, his head snapping to the doorway before back at the older man. “why shouldn’t i be with her?”

the pain and worry in seonghwa’s eyes is overwhelmingly obvious, the love and care he has for you completely genuine and real, but right now that’s not your dad’s concern. 

if you were a normal, healthy teenager, he knows the boy in front of him would be perfect. 

but you’re not normal or heathy and adding another person into this mix of hurt and worry and pain is something he just can’t do, even with the fact in mind that you love him and he loves you. 

he knows it’s not his call to make and he’s being incredibly selfish but he does what he thinks is best at the time.

“because she’s too good for you. she deserves more and it’s selfish of you to think otherwise.”

the room, the house, the entire world seems dead silent after those words leave his mouth, seonghwa not only taken back and pained by the fact he said it but because it rings slightly true. 

he’s known since this started that you were too good for him and he didn’t deserve you. he’s been trying to prove himself worthy by treating you well, listening to all your dad’s rules and just being patient and loving you.

“i...even though that’s true-” seonghwa begins to say but the older man takes a step closer to him, his face full of anger and frustration as he tells him once more to leave. 

that’s when mingi comes in and grabs seonghwa by the arm, the boy fighting against his friend’s hold as his eyes move back to your unconscious body.

“mingi, fucking stop,” he screams, fighting against his friend’s hold and feeling himself grow more and more anxious the further he gets from your house. 

the hold on him doesn’t loosen until he’s put into the car, the two boys jumping in front and turning to see him bouncing his knee nervously. 

“how am i not supposed to be there,” seonghwa says as he looks at your house. “she’s gonna wake up and i’m not gonna be-”

“she’ll be fine,” yunho says gently, mingi nodding in agreement before adding on that your dad is there and everything will be fine. that you just need to rest and that you can talk tomorrow.

when seonghwa visits your house, both, saturday and sunday morning, your dad turns him away. 

tells him you’re too sick and can’t be around people right now. even when he pleas for just five minutes, just to talk to you and see with his own eyes that you’re okay, he still says no. 

it’s not until the man slams the door in seonghwa’s face that he lets his hard exterior down, his body deflating and eyes stinging because he hates that he has to do this. hates watching you sit on the couch not meeting his gaze.

“y/n, i’m doing this for-”

“don’t say it,” you snap. “i’m going to school tomorrow and i’m telling him.”

your dad lets out a sigh, sitting down next to you on the couch and running his hands over his face. “the doctor said...”

“one day isn’t gonna kill me,” you say, “i’m already dying.” 

your dad’s face falld before he quietly mumbles out his approval and goes into the kitchen, both of you crying separately, pretending like the both of you aren’t doing so, and wondering why this had to happen.

the tears just follow into monday, holding them back all day when seonghwa catches you before first period and takes you in his arms. 

“you scared me so much,” he mumbled against your head, his tight hold on you nearly crushing you but you don’t care; you both need this and you’ll only need it more later. 

later being when the library cleared out after tutoring. 

seonghwa noticed you purposely lingering by wiping down the tables and slowly putting your things away. he didn’t say anything, instead choosing to lean against the wall and admire you moving slowly around the room.

the room where you guys got to know each other. 

where you went from strangers to friends and watched each other grow. 

where he remembers being so defensive and wary of you because he couldn’t believe someone like you actually existed. 

you feel his eyes on you and smile at him with a raised eyebrow. 

“what?” 

but he only shakes his head, holding his arms out in front of him and causing you to roll your eyes; who would’ve guessed that the man with every full intention of ignoring you would grow to be the clingiest boyfriend known to man?

not that you’re complaining. 

you’re quick to make your way over and wrap your arms around him, your head resting against his chest and his hold on you tight and warm.

“are you sure you’re okay?” he asks, not being able to shake the feeling that something’s wrong with you. 

your stomach plummets when you realize the conversation is about to happen, that nothing is stopping it and now you’re here finally about to tell him.

“i’m okay,” you say, standing on your tippy toes to press a kiss to his cheek. his smile quickly falls, however, when you add on. “but there is something i need to tell you.”

his eyebrows furrow at the seriousness in your tone, taking one look in your already glossy eyes and seeing something is seriously wrong. as nervousness floods through him, he takes you by the hand and leads you over so you both can sit down.

“what?” 

his panic starts to increase more and more as the silence between you stretches, your tongue licking at your dry, chapped lips and your pale skin nearly translucent. 

every time you try to get the words out, he sees you close your mouth and eyes well with tears.

“you’re freaking me out, baby,” he says, squeezing your hand before taking the other. “please, just tell me.”

“i’m...i’m sick,” you eventually get out, swallowing the lump in your throat because you know that’s not good enough. you know that when his eyes narrow and he says he knows, that your dad told him yesterday, you just have to say it.

your first set of tears and sobs finally come, your face falling into your hands as you shake your head over and over. he thinks that scares him more than anything, watching how fast you break down and sob out apologies, barely able to acknowledge his arms around you.

“y/n, what? what is happening? please tell me.” 

you pull back and wipe the wetness off your face, lip trembling and voice shaky when you’re finally able to gather the strength. 

“i have leukemia.”

the words don’t sink in at first, his heart reacting but brain convincing him that, no, that’s not what you could’ve said. there’s no way you could have cancer. 

“no,” he says, shaking his head as a humorless laugh leaves his mouth. “you’re- you’re perfect, you can’t-”

“i was diagnosed two years and i’ve stopped responding to treatments.”

you watch through tears and a breaking heart as his head falls into his hands now, breathing in and out like he’s trying to prevent himself from having a complete panic attack. 

there’s no way you could have cancer. there’s no way you could have cancer and be dying when you’re a perfect high school student. there’s no way you would’ve kept something like this from him.

“and you... you’re just deciding to tell me this?” he asks, his head snapping up so you can finally see the tears in his eyes. “why the fu...why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“i didn’t want you to feel weird or be different around me,” you whisper out quietly, “i was just gonna try to go on with my life and be normal and then just... die quietly or-”

he shoots up from his seat, the clattering of the chair falling back causing you to jump. you watch him pace around the room like he’s unhinged, his hands pulling at his hair as he shakes his head.

“die quietly,” he snarls out, his jaw ticking and tight and he wants so badly to punch something. “die quietly. what the fuck does that even mean?” 

you can only cry quietly watching him pace and digest the news, your head hanging low as the salty tears seep onto your lips. he’s walks over to you and kneels down, his hands on your knees as he looks up at you with teary eyes. 

“please tell me this a joke,” he says, his voice wavering and wet and broken. “please tell me you’re not...”

you can’t tell him that, so you don’t say a word. 

and it’s like that’s all the confirmation he needs to know his girlfriend, the first person he’s learned to love and the first person to ever see something in him, is dying.

he completely falls apart in your lap after that, cries wracking his body as your hands run through his hair. it’s the first time in two years you’ve ever felt scared to die. 

your condition worsens over the next few days, landing you in the hospital and seonghwa in a depression. he doesn’t leave his couch or eat for three days, his mom softly cooing and begging to tell her what happened. 

but it’s like he’s lifeless, his eyes void of anything but sadness, and it’s a sight that his mom can’t stand to look at any longer. 

she had noticed the change in her son immediately, used to his usual teen angst but quickly realizing this was so much more than that. 

she called out of work and sat down next to him, not saying a word but just stroking his hair the way she did when he was a child. 

she didn’t press him about anything, didn’t ask if something had happened with the lovely girl he had brought home weeks ago or if he wanted to talk about anything.

after an hour of just sitting with him in silence, he finally had the strength to say it aloud.

“my girlfriend... she has leukemia and she’s dying, mom,” he said, so straight-forward and matter of facty, like he’s not able to grasp that he’s talking about you. 

the woman feels her heart break for a moment, her eyes swarming with tears as she wraps him in a hug. 

“i don’t know what i’m gonna do,” he says once he’s able to speak again. “i... what am i gonna do without her? i love her.”

“i know you do,” she says gently, her heart truly aching for the both of you right now. “but she’s still here, seonghwa.”

the boy can only look at his mom watching him with her soft gaze, knowing his own face is a red, tear-stained mess. 

“what?” is all he manages to cough out.

“you should be with her right now, while you still can,” she says, not wanting to upset her son further but knowing he needs to hear this. “enjoy the time you have and make what she has left worth it. you both need that, don’t you?”

that was just the kick he needed to get off his couch and charge over to the hospital. barreling into your room and feeling tears come to his eyes again at the sight of you in a hospital bed. 

“seonghwa,” you weakly say, your lips quirking up when you see the boy standing in the doorway. your heart lifts when he smiles back at you, cautiously making his way over to you and whispering out an apology. 

“it’s okay,” you mumble out, leaning into his touch when he places his hand on your cheek.

“it’s not baby. i was an asshole.”

the last thing he expects to hear you do is giggle, sunken eyes shining as you look at his confused expression. 

“what could you possible be laughing about right now?”

“just that it takes me dying for you to admit that you’re an asshole.” 

and perhaps it’s too soon for you to be making jokes like that because his face falls as he backs away from you.

“that was a joke,” you say quietly, pouting in hopes that it’ll get him to lighten up. his lips only form into a thin line, teary gaze shooting around the bare hospital room before back at you.

“it’s not funny.”

you hold your arms out to him, uttering a tiny “come here.” he falls into them immediately, his head burying in your neck and you feel tiny, tears hit your skin ever so often.

“i’m sorry,” you tell him, feeling your own sorrow hit you. 

you’re not only sorry for your comment but sorry that you waited so long to tell him. sorry that you’re now putting him through this and that he’s gonna have to watch you grow weaker and weaker.

“please don’t,” he mumbles against your head. “you have nothing to be sorry for.” 

he knows by the look you give him that you think it’s a complete and utter lie but you really don’t have anything to be sorry for. he understands why you didn’t tell him and why you wanted to remain going on like a normal person.

because if you did tell him, he would’ve never dragged you all around the state on date nights and weekend getaways. he would’ve been far too concerned and nervous, fawning over you and choosing instead to do the same old thing you always did.

so you guys just agree to disagree, his lips crashing down on yours and you smiling against them before a very flustered nurse comes in and apologies for interrupting. 

given how much seonghwa never leaves your side, how from the second he gets out of school until he leaves (at his bribed time of 11:00 pm), you end up apologizing to every member of the staff. 

on the days you have the energy, you’ll walk hand-in-hand through the garden and slow dance with the elderly couple you’ve met; you guys had seen them dancing and they noticed your looks, smiling softly before all but forcing you to join them.

on the days that you have more often than not, when you feel tired and drained, he sits at your bedside or even crawls in next to you. 

your dad had walked in one night to see you both asleep on the tiny bed, seonghwa’s arms around you protectively with your head on his chest, and forgets that he never properly apologized to the boy.

“this is why i did it,” the man says to him the next day. 

they had left to get you soup you’d been craving, pushing seonghwa by his back and sending him a thumbs up despite the terrified expression on his face. 

“what?” 

the man looks at seonghwa as his eyes gloss over. 

“i didn’t wanna involve someone else in this heartbreak. i was... i was trying to spare you.” 

and while the boy can empathize with his reasoning, even feels slightly grateful for it, he finds himself shaking his head. 

“i love her.”

“i know,” the man says, putting his arm around seonghwa’s shoulder and squeezing it gently. how could he not when he sees the way you both look at each other? “she loves you too.”

“i know,” seonghwa says, smiling happily before taking a deep breath. “and that’s why i wanted to ask you something.”

and so it was a random wednesday night, summer break now in session and successfully keeping seonghwa at the hospital all day and night, when you completed your bucket list. 

when you whined at him to kiss you and his eyes lit up, like he was waiting for you to say something of the sort. 

“on one condition,” he says teasingly, his eyebrows shooting up playfully as your lips are just a few inches apart, so close to giving you what you so desperately want. 

“what?” you whine, your lips turning into a pout.

“marry me.”

the wedding was held at the church your dad preached out, a small group of your friends and family gathered for the celebration. it had been the happiest day of your lives, not a hint of a sadness or heartbreak despite the circumstances.

you ate and danced and sang like you were any other young bride, dragging seonghwa out on the dance floor who’s hold on you never loosened. 

he stepped on your feet and you got the cake in his nose but it didn’t even matter. you were able to get married and fall in love with park seonghwa and he was responsible for some of the best days of your life. 

seven months later, seonghwa finds himself walking through that same cemetery he (admittedly) followed you into. 

it was the place where he first realized there was something about you he was gonna fall in love with. where he saw just how much you were gonna effect and change his life. 

he had not only finally learned how to love but how to grieve. 

learned that he didn’t have to be destructive or hide behind his fake persona. that he had people in his life who cared about him and would be there to listen to him.

it’s how he’s coping day by day, knowing that the pain in his heart will never go away but that he’ll learn to live with it. that memories and reminders aren’t supposed to make you sad but serve as a way to carry on someone’s life.

with the blanket he has under his arm, he lays it out and places it in front of the grave. he drops down the flowers he’s brought every month since that devastating day and just begins to talk. 

“why do you come here then?” 

the question holds no malice or judgement, just a genuine curiosity that you perhaps understand. because while it's fairly common for people to visit their loved ones graves, its also something that some get uncomfortable by or don't understand.

"to talk to her, i guess. i think she'd wanna know what's going on in my life."

he mulls over your response in his head, nodding in understatement even though he doesn't really get it.

"what do you talk to her about?" and for the life of him, he can't understand why he's so interested in this. in you, all of the sudden.

you turn to look at him, slightly surprised that he's taking the lead in the conversation and showing an interest. but before he can misconstrue your gaze on him, you shrug your shoulders.

"anything really. i tell her about school or my dad's sermons or what i did during the weekend. sometimes i'll read."

he talks about his upcoming semester of school and how excited he is about it.

“i wish you’d be able to see me,” he says quietly, the lump forming in his throat making it difficult to breathe. 

he stands up to run his hand along the cold stone, his long fingers trailing over it before he moves back and looks over the engraving; a few moments later, he feels arms around his waist and smiles softly at the feeling. 

“you okay?” the soft voice asks him quietly. 

“yeah,” he says lowly, feeling the presence behind him move. “just telling her about school.” 

a quiet, soft hum rings through the air. 

“she’d be proud of you, you know.”

his eyes look over the grave once more before turning around, his eyes and smile softening. “i know.” he stands there silently, looking down at the headstone before picking up his blankets and saying his final goodbyes.

“see you soon, mom.” 

he turns around and meets your teary gaze, taking you in his arms and placing a kiss on the top of your head. 

“no crying, pretty girl.”

the doctors had called your remission nothing short of a miracle, transporting you to a different hospital where new treatments were being held. 

you all had been convinced that it was gonna be a waste, almost denying the treatment all together and letting the spot go to someone who’s family hadn’t come to terms with their loved ones death.

but then seonghwa’s mom came in and softly encouraged you to take it, her hand holding tightly onto yours like she knew you guys were gonna need each other come the time.

“you say that every time,” you sniffle, pouting as he wipes at the tears on your face. 

“because you cry every time.”

your soft giggle rings through the cemetery, your hands intertwined as you walk out of the squeaky gate that always reminds you of the night you shared your bucket list. 

(the bucket list that now has way more than four things on it). 

[ourloveisforthelovely]

Young Love

Harry Potter - AU

Summary: Prequel to “On the Mend.” 

This is how things began and fell apart between Regulus Black and yourself. The pain of losing your first love never fully goes away especially when you didn't' t see everything falling apart before your eyes.

Link to next part: On the Mend

Pairings: Regulus Black x Reader 

Rating: T

___________

“Regulus Black is staring at you again.”

Dorcas said with a smile. You looked up from the book that was propped up in front of you. It had been the fourth or fifth time that week that you had been told that Regulus was looking at you. You peeked over at the Slytherin table where Regulus sat with his friends. Sure enough, his dark eyes were on you. Those eyes that were captivating you more and more by the day. You were the first to smile. Regulus looked at you for a moment before giving you a small nodd. You frowned at Evan as he glared at you before muttering to Regulus.

Rolling your eyes, you turned back to Dorcas who was giving you a motherly shake of her head.

“Don’t even think about it. Regulus is good looking. There’s no doubt about it but it would never work. You’re in Gryffindor and he’s in Slytherin. There is also no way that your brother will let you date him.”

You nodded at Dorcas’ response immediately. There was no way that James would ever let you date Regulus Black. Since Sirius had turned up on your doorstep almost beat to death, James set a “no talking to any member of the Black family except Sirius” rule. You had been fine to set by that rule until you noticed Regulus’ gaze on you. It was more like, you enjoyed how he was looking at you. Nothing would probably come out of a look. Regulus was probably internally cursing you for “stealing” his brother.

“I don’t think that you have anything to worry about, Dorcas. It is just a look.”

“And a nod.”

Dorcas added. You laughed.

“Regulus and I have been in the same year and in many classes together. He has never once said a word to me. Why would he start now?”

(meanwhile)

“Why are you looking at the Potter girl for?”

Evan inquired. Regulus shrugged.

“Merlin, I just looked up and there she was. I wasn’t looking at her specifically. Maybe I am trying to figure out why she is friends with Dorcas Meadowes for? That girl is ghastly.”

Evan had to agree on that one. Nothing about the Gryffindor lesbian was attractive. Not that it would matter anyway to any man in the castle. They would never be able to provide what Meadowes wanted.

“It's best to not even think about Potter in that way. She’s nothing but a waste of your time. There are plenty of other pureblood girls who are more deserving. Why would you want to mess with her anyway? Her brother is the reason that your older brother turned out to be a blood traitor.”

Regulus groaned.

“If I look in another direction will it get you off of my back?”

Evan appeared even more offended than before.

“Forgive me for looking out for you.”

Evan went back to his conversation with Barty Crouch Jr. He decided it wasn’t a good time to fool with his best friend. Regulus, meanwhile, turned his attention back to you. Just when did you become so beautiful? The last time that Regulus checked you were just a little awkward girl that tagged after your older brother and his band of dick friends.

Now things were different. Your dark curls fell down your back framing your face. Regulus wouldn’t admit it but he found himself wanting nothing more than to touch your cheek and nuzzle his face in your hair.

It was a ridiculous thought and he knew it. The last thing that he really needed to do was develop a crush on the girl whose brother he disliked more than anyone in the world. Yet, here he was staring at you more and more each day.

He swallowed as your attention turned to him again. Merlin, you had lovely hazel eyes. This time he found himself smiling a little more. When you blushed, Regulus had to look down.

“I made her blush! Me! I did that and I didn’t even say anything to her. Is that good? Or bad? Wait, why the hell am I freaking out? It isn’t like I have a chance with her.”

He had to stop the uncharacteristically gushy mood and get back to reality. There was no way that his family would agree to such a union either. Walburga made it clear that she wanted nothing to do with the Potter family ever mentioned in her home again. If Regulus wrote home and said that he was in love with Y/n Potter, his mother would probably come to haul his ass home.

When Regulus looked up again, he frowned realizing that James, Sirius, and Remus had returned to the table. You sat laughing at something Sirius was talking about. Regulus couldn’t help feeling a bit jealous. He still wasn’t over his brother's abandonment. His attention turned to James as a swell of fury went through him. James Potter had it all! James had access to both Sirius and yourself. He had Sirius and his stupid jokes and you and your lovely...everything.

“Guys, I’m out.”

Regulus muttered in Evan’s general direction. Evan turned.

“You don’t have quidditch practice until later. Where are you headed?”

Regulus rolled his eyes.

“Well, mother, I am going to the library. Would you like to hold my hand while I go?”

Barty and Snape laughed at Regulus’ snide response. Regulus was, after all, the only one that could talk to Evan Rosier in such a manner. If it were anyone else, they would have been hexed.

“See you later.”

Evan said with a grin.

You, meanwhile, watched as Regulus stood. Had he always been that tall or were you really just paying attention to him for the first time. You turned your attention to Sirius who was busy pestering Remus about giving him chocolate. Regulus wasn’t as tall as his brother. Maybe a few inches shorter but still as handsome, in your mind. Had Sirius not been so into Remus, you might have allowed yourself to have had a crush on him. That would have also been like having a crush on your brother. Sirius was different in your mind. He was one of your best friends and almost like a second brother. A crush would have been so weird. Regulus, though, was free game.

Free game was a nice way to put it. Had Regulus always been this good looking? You watched as he talked to Rosier a bit more. When he rolled his eyes at something Rosier said, you couldn’t help but smile. Whether Regulus wanted to admit it or not, he did a lot of things like Sirius. The way he flipped his curly hair back and the way his eyes seemed to darken when he was focusing on something.

You wanted nothing more than to reach out and stroke your fingers through his hair. His hair was probably soft...soft and would twirl around your fingers perfectly...

“Y/n! Make Remus give me the candy!”

Sirius whined, pulling you from your thoughts on Regulus. You turned to your friends with a frown.

“Sirius, you’ve had enough candy. You ate three of Remus’ chocolate bars last week.”

James nodded, in agreement.

“She’s got a point, Padfoot.”

Sirius scowled at James before turning to you.

“You’re supposed to be on my side.”

You smiled and gently patted his shoulder before speaking in your best “calming a child” tone.

“I’m always on your side but I also care about your general health. I’m already worried about Remus developing diabetes. We won’t need two with the same illness.”

Sirius reached out pulling you into an uncomfortably awkward hug. Your face was smashed into his shoulder as he cuddled you like a baby. From your place, you could see Regulus watching with a confused expression on his face before turning and walking from the great hall.

“Pads, can you not kill my sister?”

James asked, taking a sip of his drink. Sirius let you go and pinched your cheek.

“She’s just fine.”

Everyone had gone back to their conversations as you leaned over to Sirius.

“Can I borrow the map?”

Sirius raised an eyebrow.

“Where are you going?”

You innocently twirled a strand of your dark hair around your finger.

“I need to go to the library but I want to make sure that boy from Hufflepuff that likes me so bad isn't’ there and no I don’t want you to go scare him.”

Sirius didn’t think a thing of questioning your request any further as he fished the map out of his pocket and handed it to you.

“Well, if you need my services, you know how to get a hold of me.”

You nodded before standing up and gathering your books. Bidding your friends a farewell until lunch you slipped out of the great hall. To your pleasure, none of Regulus’ friends looked up. The last thing that you wanted was for any of them to have any reason to follow you.

Hiding in a corner, you searched over the map until you found the dot labeled as “Regulus Black'' in the library. You had to smile at how you really didn’t lie to Sirius after all. The only part that wasn’t true was the boy in Hufflepuff. Instead, you were after a Slytherin that you had little to no chance with.

The walk to the library was a lot longer than you expected. Stepping inside, you didn’t Regulus right away. You innocently looked over a book cart of newly returned books as you scoped out the room. There was no sign of the dark-headed boy that had you in such a mess.

When you finally saw him, he sat at a table on the other side of the room. You took a breath before heading over in his direction.

“I must be mental”

You thought. Regulus didn’t see you nor look up from the book that was in front of him until you sat down. His eyes widened, clearly surprised. You sat for a few seconds taking in his expression. Regulus didn’t smile. In fact, he looked quite annoyed by your presence.

“Hi.”

You finally said. Regulus blinked. This was the last thing that he was expecting and he really had no idea what to say for a moment. His quiet observant nature was kicking into full gear.

“Hello.”

He finally replied.

“Did my brother send you for something after he finished trying to smother you?”

You felt the blush quickly returning to your face. Maybe Regulus really wasn’t looking at you for any reason earlier. Now here you were making a huge fool out of yourself.

“Um no. I...uh...I really don’t know what I am doing so I’m just going to go…”

You stood as Regulus sat up quickly.

“You don’t have to...unless you want to that is.”

You sunk back down into the chair. Regulus’ icy expression eased as he looked down at your hands. Even your fingers were adorable

“What the hell is happening to me?”

Regulus thought as he tried to think of something nice to say. He decided to go into a spill about how he thought that you were the most adorable creature ever. That may come off as desperate. If he told you that he enjoyed watching you then he would sound like a creeper.

“I’m surprised that you are willing to even talk to me.”

Your voice pulled Regulus from his thoughts. He made a mental note to thank you for getting him out of his head later.

“What? Why would you say something like that?”

You shrugged and started twirling your hair around your finger again. The blush started coming back with a vengeance.

“Because of who I am...my brother...your brother…”

Regulus held a hand up.

“First, you aren’t your brother. You don’t make his decisions nor are you my brother or make his decisions. Sirius made his choice. You had nothing to do with that. You didn’t come to our house and shove him into a car or something.”

You smiled when Regulus smirked.

“Even though I despise my brother I am glad that he got out.”

Your smile faded.

“He misses you.”

Regulus looked down. This was news that he didn’t want. He had a hard enough time walking past Sirius when his older brother was screeching his name.

“Can we not talk about my brother or your brother for that matter?”

“That sounds fine with me.”

The two of you sat in the library for the next two hours not being disturbed by a soul. No one even seemed really interested in the sight of Regulus Black talking to Y/n Potter. It was you that stood first.

“I have potions to get to. I’ve had fun today.”

Regulus nodded.

“Me too. Would you like to do this again? I mean, we will have to keep it on the down-low because of my friends and family...your brother too.”

You knew that he was right on that one. If James found out that you were seeing Regulus, he would flip his lid. He would probably try to fight Regulus, which would turn into an epic “whose wand is bigger” pissing contest.

“You’re right. That is probably for the best.”

Over the next few months, you snuck off to see Regulus as much as possible. You weren't sure where the line from friends to lovers was crossed but you had fallen for him in no time. Maybe it was the day the two of you were walking through the forest and you tripped on the root of a tree. Regulus and his quick reflexes had you in his arms before you could even come near to hitting the floor. That was the day that Regulus kissed you for the first time. His lips were on yours before he let you go and you didn’t complain. You wrapped your arms around his neck and enjoyed the moment that you were craving so badly.

Regulus was the first to pull away. He looked down at you with a sly smile before leaning his forehead against yours.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a long time.”

“Me too.”

You replied with a smile. It wasn’t until you heard a stick snap did Regulus jump away from you. His wand was out ready to hex whoever the fuck was spying on your private moment.

“Who is there?”

Regulus snapped. A moment later, Sirius stepped out with a hand over his face.

“Just ignore me. Go ahead and go back to what you were doing.”

Regulus shoved you behind him as if he was just waiting for James Potter to come out and be ready to fight. You, meanwhile, poked your head around your boyfriend’s body to look at your best friend who was awkwardly looking up at the sky.

“Hey, what do you know...the trees have leaves. Look at that.”

Regulus was scowling at his brother as Sirius finally looked back down.

“What are you doing here?”

Sirius held his hands up. He knew that Regulus was ready to fight and that was the last thing that Sirius wanted to do.

“I was in the common room, minding my own business, just looking at the map when I saw your names together and was...well I was worried. I didn’t know the two of you knew each other. It looks like you know each other really well or that is one hell of a way to get to know someone.”

Regulus looked confused.

“Map? Names? What are you talking about?”

Sirius realized what he had done and grinned.

“That’s not important. What’s important is what you two are doing. How long has this been going on? Do our parents know...or James for that matter?”

Regulus intertwined his hand with yours and shook his head.

“No, to both. I think that Y/n and I would both be dead if they did know. I suppose that you are going to go and tell them now.”

Sirius put his hand back over his eyes but peaked through his fingers to see which direction to go in.

“Just take care of her, Reg. Tell who about what? I don’t know a thing.”

He gave you a smirk and a wink before heading off in some random direction of the forest. Both Regulus and yourself stood watching as Sirius disappeared behind some trees yapping about getting lost and not knowing anything.”

Regulus had raised an eyebrow as you turned to him.

“Do you think he will tell?”

Regulus shook his head.

“My brother may be a lot of things but a snitch isn’t one of them. Now, where were we?”

(2 years later)

You stood at the top of the Astronomy tower waiting for Regulus to come for your date. Over the past few weeks, he had been a little more distant than normal. Regulus was always distant to a degree but this time it was different. He didn’t seem to be like himself at all. You figured that it was about the whole being a death eater and you not supporting it but you weren't for sure.

“Hey.”

You turned around as Regulus stepped out of the shadows.

“Reggie.”

You ran to him and threw your arms around his shoulders before burying your face into his chest. He held you for a moment before backing away.

“I need to talk to you, Y/n.”

You noticed right away that something was amiss and had a bad feeling about where this was going. Did the dark lord require him to do something bad? Why was he telling you? He knew that your brother and his brother were in the order! This would be cruel to expect you to keep any more secrets about Voldemort’s evil doings.

“What’s wrong? Did you have to kill someone?”

Regulus shook his head.

“Not this week. I saw my parents over the Easter holiday and...well...Y/n I don’t know how to tell you this but saying it straight out. I’m getting married.”

The expression on your face immediately made every fiber of Regulus’ being snap. His heart broke as you took in his words.

“To who? I thought we were getting married after school...remember running away to Ireland before your parents could say anything.”

Regulus sighed.

“My parents arranged a marriage between myself and Ambrosia Parkinson.”

“Tell them no!”

You snapped, as the tears began to fall. Regulus winced. He hated seeing you cry and now that you were doing it because of him he felt worse.

“I can’t say no, Y/n. My parents...they are counting on me, Sirius...I have to be the heir that he wasn’t. I'm doing any of this to hurt you. I don’t want to do this. I want to be with you.”

You held a hand up.

“If you want to be with me then fight for our love. Tell them about us. Be a man and tell them no. You’re throwing away two years that we have spent together…”

“Hiding from everyone.”

Regulus finished your sentence. You nodded as he reached out to hold you, however, you slapped him away. Your hands slapped his chest wanting to smack some sense into Regulus.

“Yes, we have been hiding but I don’t regret it. You can’t do this to me, Regulus. I’ve given you everything.”

Regulus sighed and pulled you into a hug. His lips were on your forehead as he nuzzled his face against your hair.

“This isn’t going to hurt just you. You're going to make some man very happy one day and I am going to have to stand back and watch it, darling. I am going to see someone else make you happy the way that I have. That beautiful light in your eyes….it will be on someone else and I’ll hate him for it.”

You pulled away as you tried to take in the stupidity of the situation.

“I mean it, Regulus. Tell them no!”

He shook his head.

“I’m not. I’m sorry. One last kiss?”

Your face instantly showed the disgust that you felt for him.

“You come here and tell me that you are marrying some horrible toad of a woman then you want one last kiss? Goodbye Regulus. I curse the day that you spoke to me!”

You shoved Regulus away before storming down the steps of the astronomy tower. Never again would you look in his direction at the Slytherin table. He could have the ugly girl who was named after fruit salad. If Regulus wasn’t man enough to tell his parents whom his heart really belonged to then there was no hope for anything!

____

@fairywriter-oracle

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[lovely-necromancy]

A Cure for Insomnia CH.9

TW Purposeful misgendering of MC, and overall skeevy first POV.

MC is agender and here I started this chapter with the POV of someone out right misgendering them.

Capital He/Him pronouns are associated with Slender.

He was angry, but then again when wasn't He. You've wasted too much time on “laying low”. And now He's getting impatient, you're starting to hear whispers about potential replacements and incompetency. First you fuck up your mission then you gave Him the subpar sacrifice of that dumb hippie. He didn't want her, He wanted her. Her being your current and original target.

The girl who moved to town in the middle of March, YN. Didn't wait for the month to end or come the first week of the new one. Such a strange time to move...almost as if she was running away from something. He had taken an interest in her immediately. You didn't see what was so special about her, just another mousy girl in a small town, very obedient from what you saw.

Maybe that's what caught His attention. A new little puppet to add to His collection...but His urgency with this task didn't really fit. You knew for a fact He wasn't human but...could He have desires of the flesh? Was this a twisted perversion of your god's? The fuzzy feeling in your head gets painful at the thought.

'Ok, you aren't after some ass.' you think trying to appease Him.

It doesn't work, your apology is almost as worthless as you are to Him in this moment. You've really been testing Him lately, understandably this is your last chance so to speak. Bring Him YN or you won't be His problem much longer.

A chill runs down your spine at the ill intent you feel through your contract.

You're working on it, really you are. But she's so stupid and air headed it will take a while to break her for Him to be able to properly mold her. Not to mention she seems to have acquired a new guard dog. One that seems to have problems staying still, yet will spend hours watching her.

You'd seen him around town a few times in the past week or two, he has two other companions who aren't as bad about keeping low profiles. Yeah, you'd seen each of them at her house at one point or another. The short one seemed to have a nasty habit of slinking into her home in the dead of night as she slept. He didn't seem to go in during her drives, only when she'd be there. The tall one would come in the early morning or middle of the day, either to retrieve his partner or to snoop around inside for a bit before leaving. Aside from his partner he never seemed to leave with anything, never went in with anything either. They weren't leaving traces so they couldn't be your replacements.

Even if they had been they didn't seem too tough, you could over take them easy. Show Him you were still good for something.

But worst of all was her fucking mutt. He'd just circle the outside of the house, inspecting it. For what you have no clue, but he kept at it like he had a keen eye and could detect the slightest change of the home. One day he started looking off into the tree line and you'd almost swear he knew where you were. And while his nearly all black eyes made you think he was your replacement, intimidating you, your god suggested otherwise.

Reminding you that they weren't breaking her down for Him. That was your job.

Not only was the twink annoyingly thorough when at her home but he seems to have followed her to work today. You hope this isn't a new habit for him, you'll need to catch YN off guard at some point and you can't do that with that stupid twitching bastard around.

He bought two books and YN had seemed surprised when he came up to chat with her after finishing the first one. She's not your normal type but you can't deny she is cute talking so excitedly, you really wish that fucking mask was off her face so you could see her plump lips move. Come to think of it, twitchy was also wearing a mask. Is that why she talks so freely with him? Was all you had to do to get close to her was wear a mask? Or did she have a little crush on this guy?

No, she's speaking the same way she would with one of the Hornets. He however has a certain look in his eye while they talk. Maybe someone does have a crush...Or maybe he's just a disgusting stalker like you are. Were, like you were that is before your god saw the potential in you. And blessed you as one of his followers.

If he is a creepy little stalker tailing her you could let him do the breaking, and then you'd swoop in for the kill. Would that take too long? Better yet would your god even be happy with the idea. He can get very touchy about plans, down to the tiniest details too. You've witnessed first hand what He does to those who leave gaps for targets to get through.

Reprogramming doesn't seem pleasant. But that'll be the least of your worries if you don't get a move on with delivering Him His choice of offering. In the years you've been of service to your god...you don't recall Him ever choosing his offering. A target yes of course plenty, but His next puppet or a special meal. No this was big, testing your worth probably, very big.

'And you're failing.' that voice isn't yours.

'How, astute.' He's chatty today. That's always a bad thing. For you anyway.

You turn your attention to the bookshop across the street, coffee shops make such great covers especially when you add a laptop and act as though you're writing a novel, no one spares you a glance. It's five and that means quitting time, maybe YN wouldn't go home right away. You could run into her and plant some seeds of paranoia in her.

Mess with her head, have her freak out and cause a scene in town to discredit her further in the future. Your typical MO. After all she is just the simple new girl in town, and small town residents don't trust easy.

'This should be fun.' you think as you pack up your computer and notebook.

Heading to your car you wait in the parking lot for a moment, making it look as though you were busy with your phone while you waited to see that ugly yellow car drive in one direction or another. It doesn't take long before you catch sight of the brightly colored Kia taking the road towards the general store.

Wonderful, one humiliating panic attack in public coming up. This was something you could manage perfectly on your own. Though maybe once your god was more pleased with you, you'd ask for His assistance in giving her a few more hallucinations. After all the faster she's broken down the faster He gets what He wants.

Once at the small store you park one space away from her Kia. Normally for targets you prefer if they don't notice your car but it's not like there's room to go else where in this parking lot. Just as you're about to make your way inside, you hear more murmuring.

How the hell are you supposed to do His bidding when all He seems to want to do is keep interfering? It's getting so frustrating that you're starting to question your god's intelligence.

For your insolence you are hit hard with the worst migraine you've ever gotten since taking up a contract with Him.

'You are not the only one following them.' is the biting retort.

Moving your head despite the pain, you scan the store through squinted eyelids as you stand just out of your car. And you catch sight of him, that twitching guard dog from before. He hasn't noticed you but he seems to be sharing a cart with YN.

Did she get a boyfriend? Were you just unaware of that detail this entire time? She seems too relaxed with him for that to be anything else. They look too domestic together, you'll have fun ripping them apart. She'll probably cry like the bitch she is when you do, that's a very nice picture.

'Leave.' what now?

'Leave before he catches on to you.' The twitchy twink? You could take him in a fight, kid is practically all bones, why should you leave?

Instead of an answer your migraine intensifies. For the first time in years you are racked with so much pain that you would've collapsed on the ground if your car hadn't been near to steady yourself.

A chime of a bell sounds, “Hey pal you alright there?”, it's just Leo. Luckily you've never shopped at his store so likely hood of him knowing who you are or mentioning this to anyone isn't high.

“Ah...yeah,” you say through the wincing, “real bad migraine.”

“I got some Excedrin-”

“I'll just come back later.” you cut him off and get back into your car. Movement isn't easy for you under all this pain but you can feel His presence in your mind gaining control. You'll either wake up back in your bed or on the forest floor covered in blood and ticks. You really hope it isn't the last one as you black out just as you turn onto 3rd Avenue.

Leo comes back into the store almost as soon as he ran out.

“Everything ok?” you ask. You'd seen the man run out when you turned around to ask if he had gluten free vegetable stock.

“Yea, some tourist must'a got car sick or somethin'.” you nod at his gruff reply.

“Oh, do you have any gluten free vegetable stock?”

The old man eyes you warily.

“Kid don' tell me ya got on one a those fad diets.”

“No it's for the Picnic next week. I wanted to make an all diet friendly foragers pie.” you said shaking your head, which snaps right twice. Behind you you hear a muffled clucking coming from Toby.

Toby had hung out at the shop with you today. After he read through The Son of Neptune the two of you had discussed the series for a bit before you almost let some spoiler slip through. Toby couldn't help but laugh when you pushed him into a reading nook to finish reading the series before you ruined it for him. He got two thirds of The Mark of Athena done before you clocked out for the day.

While leaving he mentioned he needed to go shopping and asked where the grocery store in town was because he hadn't seen one in the area. You offered to take him to Leo's shop because it had everything you could need and was a small local business. Like most things in Kepler but there was a Trader Joe's that opened up in town, and they don't have much to offer when you cook from scratch. So here you were shopping together.

“I think we have organic no clue if it's vegan though.”

“Gluten free.” Leo rolls his eyes in dismissal and goes off to find the organic broth for you.

“Was there anything else you needed to grab?” you asked turning to look at Toby.

He had a list with him and had been ripping small tears to cross off what he'd gotten. He nods once then twice as his eyes find items he had yet to find, until they stop near the bottom of the list. Toby's dark brown eyes roll so hard you're pretty sure they rolled to the back of his skull. He lets out a dramatic 'agh' sound at whatever was on the list. Before crumbling it and tossing it into the cart.

“Atomic Fireballs and eggs. Can you grab the candy? Some people get pissy about their eggs.” he says cutting his eyes to the cooler containing eggs. This is probably a regular argument with the group.

With a small nod and an “mmhmm” you run off to the candy isle. You smell the cinnamon candy before you even see the container on the shelf. Before running off back to Toby and the cart, you pause debating if you should grab some M&Ms or chocolate chips to make cookies for tomorrow's movie night. You had stress eaten the snacks you bought last week only having the Surge left for Kirby, like hell you would drink it yourself.

After the week you've had baking sounded really nice. The mind numbing activity would probably be therapeutic since you haven't baked in so long. You grab two of the bigger bottles of mini M&Ms they always taste better to you, plus mini cookies tend to be a bigger hit than their regular sized counter parts. On your way to the front of the store you pass an end cap for chips. Seeing the white cheddar popcorn you like you grab a bag to replace the one you ate earlier in the week.

You should be set now, as long as Leo had the broth. If he didn't gluten free broth seems like something the Trader Joe's would have.

Toby's already at the counter with Leo, who had a box of broth off to the side. Noice. You place the Atomic candy on the counter with the rest of Toby's items. Leo looks between the two of you but brushes off whatever thought or comment he had.

“This it for you kid?”Leo has already begun ringing him out.

You see the movement of Toby's mouth open while he double checks the cart, he closes it when he sees the wad of paper. He must have forgotten something. Going over your own list you double check to make sure you have everything before it's your turn.

“N-n-n-no, can I-I-I get two boxes of condoms? St-s-st-standard and Large.” Toby's popping his knuckles a little more aggressively than normal, well what you've equated to normal for Toby.

'Oh.' the add ons sort of surprise you, but his exaggerated sigh from earlier makes more sense. Why did you even think that eggs caused that sort of reaction? It was probably because he was gonna have to ask for condoms in front of you. His new friend, nearly a stranger. Toby's agitated tics and stuttering are very valid right now.

You miss the look Leo gives you but Toby doesn't and when Leo looks back at him his tics get more frequent.

Looking to Toby when his 'mrrow' tic keeps repeating, you see the tips of his ears are a soft pink. A stark contrast to their normally grayish white complexion. Wanting to help but knowing he's most likely just embarrassed you decide to say nothing and ignore the situation. Thankfully Leo doesn't make any type of comment either as he finishes ringing out Toby and hands him his receipt.

“This it kid?” He says as he starts checking out your items.

“Um...ah, what's the pizza today?” this week isn't your normal pizza week but with the Picnic being next weekend you probably won't do pizza next week. And you have to have a slice ready for Chonk, least he decides to see what human taste like.

“Spinach and mushroom, a white pizza.”

“Yea I'll take one of those then please.”

“Garlic crust?” How very dare this man. What kind of question is that.

“Of course.”

He leaves to the back of the store yet again to retrieve your pizza. There's a silence that falls over the store as he leaves, leaving only you and Toby out front. Not an awkward type of silence but you definitely aren't going to risk a glance at Toby right now.

“I threw in an extra for that stray you've been feeding.” He says as he returns. Toby having calmed down a bit scoffs at the stray comment.

“That isn't a-a-a stray it's a fucking dem-mon.”

“Ok like that's fair, but he is kinda cute.”

“I don't care what it is, just keep it away from my store.” Leo finishes ringing you up. “Bad for business to have a wild animal rooting through the garbage.” Leo doesn't care about that stuff he also fears Chonk, and all his trash panda glory.

Once you settled your tab with Leo you and Toby go out to your car. You place his items in the backseat while you take the trunk, so no one goes home with the wrong item. Stars forbid you end up with the condom bag and have to awkwardly give that to Toby or even worse Brian or Tim. You've had four interactions with the man but already you can hear Brian's teasing banter.

Getting situated in the car you hand your phone to Toby to pick the music. You'd left your entire library open this time and not just the home page, you wanted to see if he'd pick something different or just go with the last thing played. He did scroll a bit before just clicking the last played playlist. Well at least he looked, maybe you'd make a playlist and see what he liked. He could just enjoy the songs.

While you're stuck at the light waiting to turn you remember consciously that Saturday Night Dead is tomorrow. You wonder if the trio would be joining you all. Wouldn't hurt to ask.

“Hey so are you guys coming over to the Cryptonomica tomorrow night?”

“Tim and Brian are.” Toby's eyes glance at the window as he picks at the skin around his nails.

“Oh. Why aren't you coming?” you hope you don't sound too pushy.

“Hi, I'm Toby I have Tourette's.” He says in a deadpan.

“Nice to meet you, I'm YN I have Autism.” you sass back cutting your eyes to him, “and I have tics too remember.”

“You can sit beside me. The gang never mentions my ticcing or stimming during a movie and I sit in the corner to be less of a distraction.”

From the corner of your eye you can see he peeled off a bit of skin and is now bleeding. When you slow down at the light you reach over him to the glove box and pull out a box of band-aids. Tossing the box in his lap you focus back on the road. There's a cracking sound when Toby's shoulder pop from a tic but other than that you two fall into a lull in the conversation.

From the corner of your eye you see Toby put the box in the cup holders between you. This little shit, just because he doesn't feel pain doesn't mean picking his skin is a healthy fidget.

“...I..I'll think about it.” he's still picking at his skin but maybe reassurance will help him calm down.

“Well, I hope I see you tomorrow then,” you can't help the grin on your face, you're just a touch giddy at the fact you've made a friend this fast. “No pressure though.” can't be too pushy you might scare him off.

You hear a huff as he turns more of his body to look out the window. He isn't upset his energy feels calm almost excited, it's nice to meet someone who isn't so confusing with their actions. Though you'd wish he wouldn't try to hide them. Maybe you both have the same idea of not wanting to overwhelm the other right away. You get the feeling this situation...your blooming friendship with Toby, it isn't something he's use to.

Getting to the RV you help Toby carry in the groceries, despite his protests that he can do it. It was just machismo of course, because once inside the RV you noticed how clean it was for three bachelors and their huge dog living in it. Sure there were dishes in the sink but dishes are a care chore that never ended. There was very little clutter that you saw but you also weren't paying close attention since you were just helping bring in groceries and not here for a visit. It would be rude to look, you think.

Once all of the boys' bags were brought in and either on the counter or table you saw a majority of them had blood smears all on the handles. Fucking Toby, you gave him band-aids for a reason.

“Tobais you're bleeding.”

“Thanks Captain obvious.” you want to smack him.

“Do you guys have a first aid kit?”

“Nope.” he sounds so smug when he pops the 'p' sound.

“Ok, then I'll go get the band-aids out of my car and you wash your hands.”

“Don'-uwu- Don't worry about it.”

You have to bite your lip so you don't laugh but the small stream of air coming from your nose let Toby know you were laughing. Despite his mask you can see his pout clearly when he turns to you.

“I...I'm sorry, I know I shouldn't...but it's too,” your giggling is breaking down your ability to speak, “cute.”

The grumpy face sort of melts off of the boy in front of you, but you can tell by the vibes he's still touchy. You try to calm yourself but quickly realize you aren't giggling anymore because of his tic.

“C'mon it isn't even that funny.” he says gruffly, before looking off to the side.

“No...it's,” you keep shaking your head as the movement doesn't stop. The loop won't stop and you're starting to tear up from the muscles in your abdomen seizing up then relaxing in repetition.

Toby seems to realize what's happened.

“No fucking way.” is all he says as he comes closer to your still giggling form. “A giggling tic?” You can only nod, you're starting to get light headed. Toby noticing you starting to crouch down, helps ease you to sit. He stays by your side as you both wait for the tic to cease.

He even tries rubbing a hand on your back to soothe you into calming down. You'll need to tell him physical comfort doesn't really help you. It's still sweet of him to try.

Unlike a laughing fit that will have a gradual die down of the action, your laughing tic has an abrupt stop. But you feel just as tired and even more sick than someone who just got out of a laughing fit. Breath coming out hitched though you try to gasp in more air to soothe your impending headache. Your face is red and covered in tear stains, once again you are thankful for your mask. This isn't a tic you get often but you probably hate this one the most, just from how drained it leaves you.

Toby continues to rub circles into your back as your breathing starts to even. Eventually he gets up to grab you some water. You notice it's quiet in the RV, not even Connor is around Brian must have him today.

“That was probably karma.” he says as he hands you the glass. Looking up to him confused he continues, “For teasing me about my tic.”

“But I w-wa-,” you take a large gulp of water for the raspiness of your voice, “I wasn't teasing. I just thought 'uwu' was a cute vocal tic.” you say indignantly.

Really you had only thought the verbal tic was cute. Also it'd been a while since you heard 'uwu' said aloud so it caught you off guard.

“Not as cute as a giggling tic.” who's teasing who now.

“Haha, don't get used to it doesn't happen often.”

After settling down from you tic it's time to head home. You really don't want to over stay your welcome. The fatigue is also starting to set in and you want to get home before it really hits.

Toby is nothing if not a gentleman you've noticed. And he continues to be on brand as he walks you back to your car.

“So thanks for that.” vaguely motioning as if to say 'y'know' with your hands rather than your words. Toby knows, you can tell from that boyish glint in his eyes.

“Hope to see you tomorrow night.” you say getting back into your car.

“It's sounding better now.” there's a pause, “Get home safe.” he slaps the interior of your window before backing away from your car altogether.

With a final wave you back out back onto the old dirt road and drive on home. When you get home you realize you never patched up Toby's hand, now you have a small bloodstain on your door.

[goldenraeofsun]

Remember Me, Honeybee

Part I

Two hours into the farmers market, and Dean’s had enough. Even the gorgeous day outside, sunlight streaming down from a cloudless sky, does nothing for him.

Next to him in their produce stall, Sam rearranges their vegetable display with all the intensity of Bobby Fischer facing off against the Soviets. He adjusts an eggplant a few inches to the left, eyes it critically, and moves it back where it was.

Yesterday, Dean got sunburned from too many hours in the sun harvesting. But before he could even think about a shower, a visitor pounded on their door because some neighbor ratted them out to local Fish and Wildlife. So on top of dealing with a peeling forehead and an aching back, Dean had to take care of Ms. Rosen nearly breaking and entering to get at Sam or his watercress - she wasn’t really clear on which was her priority.

Sam, the cowardly sasquatch, bolted the moment her car tires pulled up to their farm.

It took an hour to get Ms. Rosen to leave. First, Dean had to show her Sam’s pet watercress plants at the edge of their property. According to Ms. Rosen, they’re an invasive species, which Sam could’ve mentioned to Dean at some point. Then, Ms. Rosen explained the $150 fine - all the while heavily implying she could dock a few bucks if left alone in a room with Sam.

Dean forked over the money. Sam’s virtue got to live to see another day.

At least Becky gave Dean plenty of blackmail material. If Sam pisses him off one more time, guess who’s getting Sam’s phone number faxed straight to her field office?

Dean was looking forward to sharing the whole story with Cas when they pulled up to the farmer’s market that morning. But his favorite beekeeper, potter, and candlestick maker is notably absent again.

As Hannah steps away from her stall to replenish her display, Dean seizes his chance. “Be right back,” he calls to Sam as he darts out behind their table.

When she catches sight of him, Hannah turns her back to lift a crate of soaps that would’ve left Dean sore for days. Goddamn angel strength.

“I may be a dumb human,” Dean starts, “but even I know that angels don’t get sick.” His voice drips with disdain. “Where’s Cas? The real reason, this time. Not that BS you fed me last week.”

Hannah sighs, her normally refined tawny wings fluttering in barely-concealed agitation. “He’s… indisposed.”

Dean folds his arms over his chest. “Cas has been here, rain or shine, every market for two whole friggin’ years. Is he,” he forces out the words, dread trickling down his spine, “dying or something?”

“No.” Hannah shakes her head. “He’s not mortally ill. He’s just indisposed.”

Dean gawks at her. “What the hell does that mean?”

“You have customers,” Hannah says shortly.

Dean waves off a soccer mom armed with a bushel of kale and a hungry leer. “Sam’s handling the orders.” He points at the line in front of Sam, and the lady walks off in a huff.

“Is that right?” Hannah asks innocently once Dean’s attention darts back to her.

“Cut the crap,” Dean says sharply. “Why hasn’t Cas shown for the past two weeks? The real reason. None of that indisposed bullshit.”

Hannah sighs. “You’re keeping me from my own customers.”

Dean raises his eyebrows. “So you’d better talk fast.”

Hannah makes a face like she smelled Sam’s post-Chipotle farts. “Castiel was cursed.”

“What?”

“Keep it down,” Hannah hisses, leaning in. “He - well, it’s a long story. Our cousin, an archangel, cursed him.”

“For fuck’s sake, why?”

Hannah’s lips purse. “Gabriel has been very hard to contact for the details. He apparently thought Castiel was moping too loudly or too frequently. ”

“Moping?” Dean echoes, his brow furrowing. “Cas always seemed fine to me.”

Hannah shrugs. “Ask Gabriel. Now, if you don’t mind,” she lifts her nose into the air, wings straightening, “I have customers.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean retreats to his vegetable stand, his head swimming.

Dean never saw himself as a farmer until his health nut little brother decided to ditch his high-paying (and stressful) lawyer job to play Green Acres, and Dean, naturally, followed since there was no goddamn way Sam knew his way around a tractor. Sam was more likely to mow down his own gigantor foot than move a clod of dirt. Luckily, to Dean, an engine’s an engine.

At the farmers market, Sam’s booth was placed next to Cas’s. On their first day, Cas walked over with a complimentary jar of honey. He was stilted and awkward, sure, but he was also the first one to welcome them into the fold.

Lost in thoughts and worries about Cas, Dean almost gives a customer a twenty dollar bill instead of a one, blanks on when their summer squash will be in season, and accidentally rings up asparagus as broccoli.

“Look,” Sam says after apologizing for Dean’s latest mistake, “why don’t you head back and check on the tomatoes? It’s winding down here.”

Dean dubiously eyes the hubbub of people browsing vegetables.

Sam gives him a light shove towards their truck. “Just go. I know you don’t want to be here, anyway.”

Dean grimaces. “It’s that obvious?”

“To everyone and their grandmother,” Sam says under his breath.

Asparagus Man at the front of the line nods gravely.

“Thanks,” Dean says sourly to both of them.

“Go check on Cas,” Sam says as he gestures for the next customer to step up to the register. “Swing by and pick me up in a few hours.”

* * *

At the foot of the unpaved driveway up to Cas’s house, Dean cuts the engine. He taps his fingers on the steering wheel, debating with himself. Cas might not want visitors.

But Dean brought pie.

Homemade, of course. And if it was supposed to celebrate Sam’s birthday tomorrow, what Cas doesn’t know won’t hurt him. Sam likes cake better, anyway, because he’s a freak.

Dean grabs the pie, shoves open the door, and strides up the dirt road to Cas’s house before he can talk himself out of it for good.

This is what you do for sick friends, anyway. Charlie drove all the way up to the city with chicken noodle soup, Settlers of Catan, and prime gossip on Benny’s on-and-off-again thing with Andrea when Dean had the flu a few years ago.

Dean is just being a good friend. It’s not weird.

He knocks on Cas’s cobalt blue door, his heart beating double-time behind his ribs as the seconds wear on with no answer.

Dean dawdles on Cas’s welcome mat. He tries again. Cas’s house isn’t exactly small, with its pottery studio in the basement and wax room in the back. Cas might be in his nest, on the can, or in his garden by the hives. Hell, with this mysterious curse, Cas might not be home at all - but stuck in some angel hospital being poked and prodded by docs. He probably should have squeezed Hannah for more details.

The door opens as Dean contemplates, for the hundredth time, bailing with his tail between his legs.

“Hello?” Cas says, peering curiously at Dean.

“Cas,” Dean says, relieved. From one cursory look, Cas seems normal. His hair’s fucked up, of course. His dark wings are equally unkempt, feathers sticking out every which way. All typical Cas.

Cas blinks. His mouth opens, closes, and opens again. But no sound comes out.

“You’re up,” Dean says stupidly. Of course Cas is up, or he wouldn’t have been able to answer the damn door. Dean shifts his weight to his other foot. “Hannah mentioned you’d, uh, been cursed,” he says awkwardly.

Cas relaxes a fraction. “Ah, yes, I was.”

Dean gives Cas another once-over. “I just found out this morning, so I thought I’d stop by. Bring pie." He holds up the pie as evidence. "See how you are. But you look good.”

Cas squints at him, his head tilting. “Thank you?” he asks like he had a half-dozen responses in his head and chose that one at random.

“No prob.”

Cas’s gaze darts down to the pie in Dean’s hands for the first time. “Would you like to come in?”

Dean grins. “Yeah,” he says, stepping inside. “I’ll take this to the kitchen. I’m starving. Do you wanna eat it now?”

Cas gestures him forward. “This way.”

Dean throws him a funny look but follows him to the kitchen he’s been in about a hundred times before - for Cas’s annual Spring Equinox party, for a handful of dinners with other farmers in the area, for water breaks in between weeding Cas’s bee-friendly garden.

Afternoon sunlight from the beautiful day outside streams through the large windows that overlook the back porch and garden. It illuminates the kitchen table, absolutely covered with what looks like all of Cas’s beekeeping books.

Dean clears enough space for pie and strides over to the drawer for the baking utensils, saying over his shoulder, “I hope you’re hungry.”

When Cas doesn’t answer, Dean hastily turns back around - only to find himself practically nose-to-nose with Cas.

Dean takes an instinctive step backwards, his ass smacking the drawer closed again. “Dude,” he says in a strangled voice. His heart pounds in his chest at the close proximity and intense look in Cas’s eye. “We talked about this. Personal space.”

Cas retreats, his brow furrowing. “My apologies,” he mumbles. “I must have misread the situation.”

“I - yeah - I guess,” Dean stutters as he grabs plates and stacks two forks on top.

Cas falls heavily into a seat at the kitchen table. Silently, he moves enough books around for them to sit and eat.

Dean eyes the haphazard piles as he takes his own seat. “D’you have a problem with one of the hives or something?”

Cas shakes his head. “I don’t think so,” he says, his brow furrowing. “But it’s hard to tell.”

Dean snorts as he cuts them both slices. “I thought you knew everything about bees.”

Cas shoots him a dour look. “I did,” he says pointedly.

“Did?”

Cas fusses with a pamphlet on colony collapse. “I’m trying to catch up, but there is a lot of information to learn.”

Dean frowns. “Catch up to what?”

“To where I was,” Cas says, head tilting.

Dean sets the pie server down to focus on Cas, since he’s not making any goddamn sense. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Cas looks at him like Dean’s the one who lost his mind. “I don’t remember how to take care of them.” After a beat, he clarifies, “The bees. I’ve spent the better part of two weeks relearning how to maintain the hives, harvest honey, check if there is enough honey to harvest...” he drifts off, looking more than a little lost.

Dean blinks. “That’s the curse?” He grimaces as he forks off a generous corner of pie. “Dick move on Gabriel’s part. That’s your goddamn livelihood.”

Cas tilts his head, eyes narrowing. “He didn’t just make me forget the bees.”

Dean chews at Cas thoughtfully. “What else? Please tell me you forgot that time with the goat and a hooker.”

Cas stares at him. “I don’t remember anything.”

Dean’s next bite of pie freezes halfway to his mouth. “What do you mean anything?” he demands.

“I didn’t think it needed explaining,” Cas says waspishly, as all the pieces finally fall into place for Dean. “I thought Hannah told you about it.” His feathers rustle against the back of his chair.

“Hannah only said you were cursed!” Dean flails, “Not that you have goddamned amnesia. Do you know what pie is? Do you know who I am?”

Cas blinks, a little taken aback by Dean’s reaction. “I retain my general knowledge. I know what pie is,” he says. “I don’t remember eating it, but I know it is meat or fruit wrapped in pastry.”

“Oh my god.”

Cas’s gaze falls to the uneaten pie in front of him. “And, no, I don’t know who you are.”

Dean blinks, all the blood draining from his face. He forces out, “You’re serious.”

“I’d hardly joke with a stranger,” Cas says frankly.

Dean lets his fork drop back to the plate with a clatter.

Cas peers at him curiously. “The curse erased all my personal memories, but I was assuming we were friends, is this right? You know your way around my house, and Hannah wouldn’t have divulged my condition to just anyone.”

“Yeah,” Dean says gruffly, “we’re friends. I - my brother and me, we have a stand next to yours at the farmer’s market.”

“Oh,” Cas says. “Work colleagues, then.”

Dean snorts. “A little more than that.”

Cas bites his lip. “But you told me to respect your personal space. If we were -”

“Woah!” Dean cuts in before Memento can come up with any more bright ideas, “We’re close friends, alright?” he says before Cas can get another word out, “But not… like that.”

Dean doesn’t even know if Cas goes for humans. Most angels don’t. Cas never mentioned any romantic partners, and Dean never pressed. Better to keep that box locked up tight. Cas never shied away from giving his opinion to Dean or anyone else. He’s the most blunt, sincere person Dean knows - angel or human.

If he felt anything for Dean - the barest speck of more-than-friendly feelings, he’d have said something.

“Oh,” Cas says, and, behind him, his wings droop the smallest fraction.

Dean scans the table and pushes Cas’s worn copy of The How-To-Do-It Book of Bee-Keeping by Richard Taylor his way. “Test me.”

“What?”

Dean shovels more pie into his mouth. “As’ me anyfin’,” he mumbles.

Bemused, Cas opens the book to a random page. “How do you use a bee escape?” he reads aloud.

“Do you know what they are?” At Cas’s headshake, Dean holds his fingers about three inches apart, “They’re little plastic doodads with little bee-sized holes in the middle. You slide ‘em in the hive right before you’re about to harvest. Once they’re fitted, you smoke out the bees, one comb at a time. Once they’re out of the way, you can scrape off the honey.”

Cas’s eyes narrow. “Do you also keep bees?”

Dean can’t help his loud laugh. “God no,” he says as he closes his mouth around another bite of pie. “I’m just a farmer. But I’ve helped you out a few times.”

At least twice a month since Dean moved to this corner of semi-rural America, but who’s counting. Honey is only harvested once a year, but Cas can always use an extra set of hands in his garden. Or around the house. Dean’s worked off more than one argument with Sam by kneading clay in Cas’s pottery studio basement.

“So you know all this from me,” Cas says dubiously.

“Sure do,” Dean says, smacking his lips as he debates another slice of Cas’s get-well-soon pie. “You’re a good teacher, and once you get on a roll about the bees, it’s kinda hard to shut you up.”

“Sorry?”

“Don’t be,” Dean says as he cuts himself another (smallish) slice. “I look hot in a beekeeper suit, anyway.”

Cas frowns, confused. “Do most humans find baggy coveralls and heavy veils sexually appealing?”

Dean snorts. “That was a joke.”

Dean doesn’t mention that he finds the beekeeper getup hot as hell as long as it’s Cas wearing it.

It’s just - Cas doesn’t usually bother with the veil since he likes to have a full range of vision when caring for his bees. Dean once let a whole comb drop on his foot at the sight of Cas bent over, wholly concentrated on the hive, a barely-there smile hidden in the corners of his mouth. His blue eyes were luminous in the bright sunlight, and every few seconds he would lick his lips, probably to wipe away the beads of sweat gathering on his upper lip.

“Oh,” Cas says, a faint blush touching his cheeks. His gaze drops to his plate, and his wings sag behind him.

Dean mentally kicks himself. Cas might still have all a whole encyclopedia shoved in his brain, but jokes will fly right over his head like so many of Cas’s precious bees. Since Dean started hanging around, he had been getting better with the jokes and references, but Total Recall Cas got that goddamn factory reset, so Dean has to cool it for now.

“Forget it,” he tells Cas. “I’m an asshole.”

Cas squints across the table at him. “You are not.”

“Huh?”

Cas carefully spears off a bit of pie. “You came by to check on me, offer me food,” he slips his fork into his mouth, eyes closing as he savors the tart cherries and buttery pastry, “stay and talk.”

“I, mean, yeah,” Dean says, wrongfooted, “we’re friends. ‘S the least I could do.”

Cas has another bite. “This is really good.”

“Thanks,” Dean says before he crams the rest of his slice into his mouth. He studies Cas as they both eat, an uncomfortable foreboding settling deep in his stomach. Now he sees it, how Cas doesn’t look at him with any familiarity. It’s more like, to Cas, Dean is some fucked up jigsaw puzzle slash zoo animal. Eventually, Dean has to ask, “Are you going to get your memories back?”

Cas shakes his head, his expression hardening. “I’m not sure.”

Dean’s mouth falls open. “Are you serious?” He braces both elbows on the table. “But you were cursed - there’s gotta be a way to break it. That’s how curses work, right?”

Cas exhales a slow sigh. “Gabriel did say there was a way to break it.”

“And you haven’t yet?” Dean demands, almost offended on Cas’s - his Cas’s - behalf. “You’re okay forgetting your whole life?”

Cas’s eyes narrow. “Are you insane?” he hisses, his feathers puffing up like an angry cat. “Of course I am not ‘okay,’” he says, air quotes and all, which Dean hasn’t seen since he told Cas they were lame. (He felt bad about it for a week afterward and gave Cas a free apology pumpkin. First of the season.)

“I am able to navigate the outside world as well as a human toddler,” Cas continues heatedly. “What do you think I’ve been trying to do for the past two weeks?”

Dean huffs an impatient breath. “What have you tried so far?”

Cas grimaces. “Gabriel said it could be broken like all curses could be broken.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“I have no clue,” Cas says frankly. “I spent a week in Heaven’s archives and libraries. The most common way to break curses is by consuming a stone taken from the stomach of a goat -”

Dean makes a gagging noise.

“-or bathing in the blood of a virgin at the new moon.”

“Not any less gross,” Dean says emphatically. “Where the hell are you going to get virgin blood? Are they talking about, like, a whole virgin? Or does born again count?”

Cas shakes his head. “The new moon was four days ago.”

Dean frowns. “Did you have to do the blood thing?”

From the look on Cas’s face, Dean isn’t going to make him watch Carrie anytime soon.

“So I went to more obscure magic,” Cas continues. “I tried bathing in a natural source of water. And then I ran a bath and filled it with salt, since salt repels evil.”

“All I’m hearing is lots of bathing so far.”

Cas rolls his eyes. “I lit sage in every room and burned three types of wood. I wore an evil eye bracelet. I sprinkled consecrated water blended with honey over the threshold.”

“No dice?”

Cas throws him a baleful look. “I have ants now.”

Dean snorts. “Well that sucks,” he says, since what else can you say when your best friend swaps all his memories for a Bug's Life?

Cas sighs. “From my notes and research, I can’t leave the hives completely unattended, so I’ve spent the past few days trying to figure out how not to kill them,” he says, gesturing to the rest of the kitchen table. “Once I’ve determined if the bees will survive on their own, I can look back into the curse.”

Dean purses his lips. “Have you prayed to Gabriel? Tried to convince him to take it back?”

“Every day since it happened,” Cas says, his face somber.

“Alright,” Dean says, grabbing Cas’s empty plate, “I can’t help with the curse stuff since I save the teen witch adventures for Sabrina. I can help with the bees, though, if you want.” He gets to his feet and dumps the plates in the sink.

Once his back is turned, he frowns as he thinks his words over. Who knows if this Cas actually wants him around? This Cas doesn’t know him from Adam.

To the dishes Dean says, “The next beekeeper is a few towns over. I could give him a call for you, if you’d rather have him. Cain’s mostly retired, so he’d probably have the time to show you the ropes.”

“Is Cain an angel?”

Dean laughs over the splashing water. “No, he’s a crotchety old bastard who would rather live with bees than people. You get along.” He sets the rinsed plates out to dry and faces Cas. “I’m sure you have his number in your phone too, come to think of it.”

Cas meets Dean’s cautious gaze with his usual soul-searing stare. “I wouldn’t mind if you helped me. Maybe I could call Cain if there are any advanced problems we can’t figure out together.”

Dean smiles. “Sounds like a plan.” He jerks his head towards the backyard. “You wanna get suited up?”

“Now?” Cas asks, alarmed.

“No time like the present,” Dean says as he walks out of the kitchen without waiting for Cas to follow. “Come on, we’re wasting daylight.”

* * *

Cas stares at his beekeeper suit, hanging in its usual place on his screened back porch, next to his gardening gloves.

“You okay?” Dean asks. “You’ve got a spare in your shed, so I’ll grab it on the way.”

Cas picks up the suit like it’s about to bite him.

“’S a good thing I’m here,” Dean says as Cas slowly unzips the front. “It’s always a bitch to get your wings covered.”

Cas’s wings slump. “I have a feeling this is going to be more trouble than it’s worth.”

“Hey,” Dean says, taking a step forward, “no, it’s your bees. You love them.”

Cas frowns. “But I don’t remember how.”

Dean grins. “Then you’re a lucky son of a bitch who gets to fall in love with something all over again.” He sighs wistfully. “What I wouldn’t give to erase Star Wars from my brain and watch it again for the first time.”

“What is Star Wars?”

“A trilogy of movies from the 70s and 80s,” Dean says, his smile widening.

Cas nods. “I’ll have to rewatch them, then.”

“Damn right,” Dean says. “I gave you the DVDs for my birthday last year, so they should be around here somewhere.”

“For your birthday?” Cas asks, eyebrows rising. “Isn’t gift-giving normally the other way around?”

Dean shrugs. “But I’d been bugging you to watch ‘em with me for years. Trust me, it was an awesome birthday.”

Cas opens his mouth like he’s not sure where to poke holes in Dean’s story first, so Dean reaches for the wing covers. “I think we should do the hard part first.”

“You’re currently the expert,” Cas says as he sets the suit aside.

Dean frowns as he takes in Cas’s black wings, reflecting muted tones of magenta, purple, cobalt, and green. Normally, Cas rocks the sex wing look - a few feathers askew here and there like someone raked their fingers through them - but now his wings look more like Cas stuck his alulas in an electrical socket.

Without thinking, Dean says, “It’s gonna be hard to get them in the wing covers. They’re a little messed up, dude.” As Cas’s face falls, Dean adds quickly, “Nothing a little grooming can’t fix.”

Cas flushes. “I haven’t been able to reach my whole wingspan on my own. Hannah offered-” he breaks off, his gaze skittering around to settle just over Dean’s left shoulder. “But I don’t know her, not really, so I was uncomfortable accepting.”

Dean takes a step back. “I mean, you don’t need to do it. I’ll have to touch a couple feathers to get these on you, if you’re okay with that.”

Cas swallows. “No, you’re right. My wings are a mess.”

Dean’s fingers practically tingle with the urge to reach out and smooth down the closest feathers, but he shoves his free hand deep into his pocket instead.

“Can you help me?” Cas asks.

Dean quietly dies inside.

Cas’s wings flutter in anticipation, and Dean is so, so weak.

“Yeah,” Dean says gruffly as he drops the wing cover and approaches Cas’s back. “You sure, man? I - I’ve never done this before.”

Cas turns his head. “Never?”

Dean clenches his hands into fists. Don’t touch. Not until he says so. Dean can keep his goddamn hands to himself. Cas deserves that much.

“Do you want me to walk you through it?” Cas asks softly. “I know how, since it’s only personal memories about my life that seem to have been affected.”

“Ah,” Dean hesitates, a hundred and one wing kink porn videos flashing through his head like popup ads. “No,” he coughs, “I know the mechanics.”

Cas’s eyes narrow. “Are you sure?”

Dean fidgets in place. “‘S like picking beans, right? Don’t pull on them too hard. They’ll come off if they want to come off. Make sure nothing is sticking out at weird angles.”

Cas makes a face. “Did you just compare my wings to legumes?”

“Maybe?” Dean says defensively. “Look, I know vegetables, and I know what your wings are supposed to look like. What else do you want from me?”

Cas’s mouth opens, but no words come out. With a sigh, he faces forward, presenting his wings for Dean.

Dean inhales a deep breath. Christ, his hands are goddamn shaking. Get a fucking grip, Winchester. He lightly touches the base of Cas’s left wing.

Cas shivers, the feathers rippling.

Dean yanks his hand back.

“Sorry,” Cas says sheepishly. “You took me by surprise. Please continue.”

Gently, Dean grazes the base of the wing again. The feathers rustle like under a moderate breeze, but Cas doesn’t tell him to stop, so Dean keeps going. He feels along the surface of Cas’s wings, most of the feathers slipping, glossy smooth, under his fingertips - until he catches the first snag. Nerves rocketing up to eleven, Dean tugs lightly on the first feather out of place.

Cas sucks in a breath.

It comes loose, and Dean has a fleeting, stupid thought to steal it for himself. But he lets it flutter to the floor.

Dean soldiers on, biting his lip as he tries to keep himself from grabbing handfuls of feathers and burying his face in Cas’s wings. Meticulously, painstakingly, he combs through the mess. As he moves closer to the second joint, Cas’s feathers, which had been subtly shifting the whole time, stiffen.

“You okay?” Dean asks.

Cas nods, stilted. “Please continue,” he says, his voice rough.

Dean frowns. If Cas is uncomfortable and doesn’t want to tell him, Dean’s not going to be the asshole who turns a blind eye to the signs. He withdraws his hands, and Cas’s wings -

They flare out, seeking Dean’s touch.

Without thinking, Dean blurts an astounded, “Dude.”

“Apologies,” Cas says, and, from this angle, Dean has primetime viewing of the back of Cas’ traffic light-red neck. His wings retreat to fold stiff as a board behind Cas’s back.

“Hey, no,” Dean says as he lays a hand along Cas’s wing, petting it gently. “I just wanted to check in with you.” He grins lopsidedly, not that Cas can see him. “Communication is important.”

Cas coughs. “Indeed,” he says, and his voice still sounds off. “Please continue. I,” he breaks off, turning a little in place so Dean can see half of his face, “I was enjoying it.”

“Good,” Dean says with a little too much enthusiasm. “I - uh, me too.”

Cas blinks. “You were?” He frowns. “Grooming is… boring. A chore.”

“Not for humans,” Dean says as he picks up where he left off. “We don’t have big fancy wings to lug around everywhere. They’re-”

“What?” Cas waits, clearly expecting an answer.

Dean sighs. “Cool,” he supplies lamely. “Your wings are cool.”

Dean can’t see Cas’s face with his back turned, but his wings fluff up ever so slightly, so Dean counts it as a win. “I’m glad you think so,” Cas says quietly.

“’Course,” Dean says, easy as pie. He pulls on another feather, and, when it doesn’t come out, tucks it back into its proper place, “I’ve never seen an angel with wings like yours. Malachi’s got dark grey ones, and I thought they were your shade of black, but they’re not. Plus, he’s an asshole.”

Cas chuckles. “I don’t see how him being an asshole has anything to do with his wing color.”

“No, but, if you ever run into him - an angel with dark grey wings - now you know.”

“So you’re only looking out for me.”

“You don’t know this yet,” Dean tells him conspiratorially, “but I’m awesome.”

“Yes, I’m beginning to see that for myself.”

Thank God Cas can’t see Dean’s face. Equally embarrassed and pleased, Dean rambles, “You should also watch out for Metatron - the white-winged dude who runs the thrift shop down the road. He’s been angling to set up shop at the farmers market for fucking ever even though he has a storefront for all his crap. Whoever said white wings meant purity was full of shit because Metatron’s a douche.”

Cas laughs, and Dean nearly slumps over in relief.

He can still make Cas laugh.

“Hannah, she’s okay,” Dean continues as he combs through the rest of Cas’s secondaries and coverts before he gets to the primaries, large and built for flight, and completely within Cas’s reach to groom himself. “But her partner, Duma, hates you for some reason, so I’d steer clear of her.”

Cas’s wings dip a few inches. “It doesn’t sound like I’m on good terms with many angels.”

Dean lightly runs his palm over Cas’s flight feathers - while he’s back here, he might as well. “I guess not,” he admits because Cas is right, “but they’ve all got massive sticks up their asses, so you’re better off.”

“They’re family.”

“They’re dicks,” Dean corrects. “Come on, you’re goddamn cursed with amnesia , and not one is here helping you out? Dick move for dick angels,” he finishes.

“Hannah visited.”

“Like I said, Hannah’s okay,” Dean says as he straightens up.

“At least you’re here,” Cas points out.

“Yeah,” Dean says bitterly as he brushes out bits of fluffy down near the base of Cas other wing, “After two weeks.”

“You said you didn’t know.”

“I should’ve.”

“How?” Cas asks, sounding baffled.

Dean scoffs as he cards his fingers through the shorter feathers near the bone of Cas’s wing, “You didn’t show at the farmers market. You always show.”

“But-”

Dean shakes his head. “I should’ve known something was up.” He yanks a little too hard on a feather, and the brittle shaft breaks between his thumb and pointer finger. Dean lets it fall to the floor in disgust. “But Hannah said you were sick, and I didn’t know if you were the type who wanted company or everyone to stay the hell away. And then I talked to Sammy, and he said angels don’t really get sick like we do.” He exhales a slow breath, consciously holding himself back from tearing any more feathers out. Cas doesn’t deserve that, especially after all the shit he’s dealing with.

“We do get sick,” Cas says, his voice breaking through Dean’s morose reminiscing of the past week, “But never with the type of illnesses that can be treated outside of Heaven.”

“That’s what Sammy told me,” Dean says heavily.

“You were worried?”

Dean pokes him in the muscular part of the wing. “Of course I was worried.”

Cas’s head tilts, but not enough that Dean can make out his expression. “Because we’re friends.”

Dean swallows. “Yeah,” he says quietly, “because we’re friends.” He tugs on a few more feathers, and one comes loose. He holds it between his fingers for a beat, rubbing his thumb along the vane. With a sigh, he moves onto Cas’s other flight feathers. He gives them a few long strokes, unable to help his smile as he feels at the power, the potential, all hidden in Cas’s wings. But, eventually, he has to straighten up.

“All done,” he says with forced cheer as Cas turns around to face him.

Cas blinks a few times like he’s coming out of a trance. “Thank you,” he says gruffly.

He spreads his wings.

Dean’s breath catches in his chest, and his awe must show all over face, judging by Cas’s barely-there smirk. But, dammit, Dean’s going to enjoy the sight. Cas never puts himself on display like this, preferring to play the nerdy beekeeper in a trench coat rather than an almighty Angel of the Lord.

Cas turns his head to inspect Dean’s work. He gives an experimental flap, sweeping all the old feathers littering the floor up into the air. “Thank you, Dean,” he says sincerely. He folds his wings back, and Dean’s heart aches for something he never had in the first place.

“Don’t - don’t mention it,” Dean chokes out.

A fluffy piece of down drifts down to settle on Cas’s nose. He goes cross-eyed to keep it in view.

Dean cracks up. Grinning, he reaches up to brush away the offending bit of down.

Cas catches his arm in an iron grip, his own face oddly intense.

“Cas?”

But before Dean can finish his sentence, Cas pulls him closer and seals their mouths together.

Dean lets out a muffled (completely manly) noise of surprise against Cas’s lips before muscle memory takes over. As Dean kisses back, Cas makes a light soothing rumble in the back of his throat, his touch gentle and warm. Dean’s other hand grasps desperately at Cas’s shirt, anchoring him in place. An electric, bubbly feeling is exploding in his chest, a wild kind of joy Dean normally would tamp down, tell himself, watch out for the other shoe to drop.

Other shoes like Cas’s missing memory.

Dean freezes, and it takes him a long moment to realize Cas isn’t moving either. His grip on Dean’s arm has gone slack. Dean opens his eyes to find Cas’s eyes wide open and glowing with an electric blue light.

Fuck.

Dean’s watched his fair share of angel-on-angel porn and more than his fair share of angel-on-human porn, and kissing’s not supposed to do that.

Dean takes a stumbling step back. “Cas?” he tries.

But Cas doesn’t move. He doesn’t give any sign he heard Dean at all.

Dean falls forward, tripping over his feet. He grips Cas, hard, by the shoulders. With his heart in his throat, he gives Cas a small shake. “Cas?” he tries again, and his voice sounds alien to his own ears, loud and breathy with his panic. He shakes him harder. “Cas!”

Several agonizing seconds pass, and the light slowly dims from behind Cas’s eyes, leaving behind his normal blue.

“Dean?”

Dean’s knees nearly give out with relief. “Hey,” he says weakly, “Nice to have you back, buddy.”

Cas blinks a few times. He swallows, a strange expression coming over his face.

“You okay?” Dean demands. “What the fuck was that?”

Cas stares at him. “That was the curse breaking.”

Read Part II here!

[fandom-imagines-stories]

Cabin Fever

Jesse Katsopolis x Reader

Words: 1853

Summary: The Tanner’s are on vacation at a Ski Lodge in the mountains. Everything is fine until a snowstorm traps the family in their cabin. When Jesse’s wife, the reader, starts acting strangely, the rest of the family is determined to find out what the problem is. 

Notes: All the Full House things!

-

You fell back against the bathroom wall, breathing heavily. While the rest of the family spent the morning getting breakfast at the main lodge, you’d spent it with your head in a toilet. You’d told Jesse that you had a headache, but soon it would be harder to hide the morning sickness. You still hadn't told anyone that you were pregnant. 

It’s not that you weren’t happy. You were over the moon to be having a baby. The problem was that you had no idea how your husband would react. Jesse was finally at a good place with his band and a fussing baby didn’t exactly warrant rock and roll. You’d barely even been married for a year and now everything was going to change. How could you tell him?

“Aunt Y/N, we’re back!” DJ greeted, stomping the snow off her boots. You quickly washed off and put on your family-friendly smile as the rest of your nieces came inside. 

“I brought you a muffin.” Stephanie grinned, handing you a muffin that had several chunks missing. She smiled sheepishly. “It looked really good.” 

“Hey babe,” Jesse put an arm around your shoulders and kissed your cheek. “How are you feeling?” You convinced him with a smile. 

“Better.” You ignored the churning in your stomach and the family decided to play Go-Fish around the fireplace. Of course, Michelle tended to cheat, hiding cards behind her back, but none of you said anything. The cabin phone rang and Danny went to answer it. 

“So at breakfast, I met this boy- total babe- and he made me a cup of hot chocolate.” DJ gushed. 

“Must be love.” You laughed, taking her queen of spades. Danny came back with a grim look. 

“That was the main cabin,” He began, “due to the snowstorm moving in, all of the roads out of the park are closed. And they advise everyone to stay in their cabins until the storm blows over.” The girls definitely weren’t disturbed by the news. In fact, they were excited to get to stay for another few days. But you just felt even sicker. How many days could you hide when everyone was stuck in that cabin together? 

-

The rest of the morning continued without any spells of illness. You just felt awful about keeping something so important a secret. You had to figure out how to tell him. Jesse hummed to himself as you lay on the bed, reading one of the books you found in the cabin bookshelf. He drummed his fingers on the window sill, watching the snow wildly blow through the air. 

“Man, we’re going to be stuck here for a while.” He sighed, flopping back onto the bed at your feet. “Are you sure you’re feeling okay?” 

“Hmm?” You looked up from the page you weren’t really reading anyway. 

“Are you sure you’re feeling okay?” He repeated, placing a hand on yours. “You feel cold.” He shifted up so he was sitting beside you, wrapping a blanket around the two of you. 

“I’m okay, Jess, I promise.” You laughed nervously, laying your head on his shoulder. You curled your legs up underneath you and wrapped your arms around his middle. His shirt smelled like coffee from when he spilled on himself that morning. You felt your worries melt away, at least for a little while. 

Your relationship with Jesse was definitely not “love at first sight”. In fact, you had been the lead singer in a band competing against Jesse and the Rippers for a gig. You were engaged to the bass player and had blue streaks in your hair. Jesse and the Rippers ended up getting the job and your fiance spray painted your band’s logo on their drums for revenge. He also slept with four different groupies that week. After that, your hair was normal and your band broke up, along with your engagement. Jesse found you in a drunken pity party one night and gave you a ride back to your apartment. The rest is history. 

How different your life could have gone. If you had told your old fiance that you were pregnant while you were still part of the band, he would have done far worse things than leave you. Not that Jesse would ever hurt you… but having that paranoia didn’t go away. Your eyelids started to droop and from the sound of Jesse’s steady breathing, he had fallen asleep. Why were you so scared? He’s your husband for gods’ sake. 

You slowly got up from the bed, careful not to wake him up. You went into the cabin’s unbelievably small kitchen, where Danny was making grilled cheese for Michelle. 

“Hey,” He greeted merrily, “Do you want one?” The smell alone made your very empty stomach growl. He must have been able to tell by your expression and started to butter another piece of bread. “You look a little pale, are you feeling okay?” 

“Do I really look that bad?” You laughed uncomfortably. 

“Jesse said that you weren’t feeling well this morning, and I hope that you’re feeling better. We don’t want everyone getting sick while we’re stuck here.” 

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that.” You muttered to yourself. He set the golden-brown sandwiches down in front of you and your niece. As soon as the food reached your lips, you felt your stomach turn violently. You stood up abruptly. “Excuse me.” 

You ran to the nearest bathroom and fell to your knees, throwing up the few bites you had been able to eat. 

“Michelle, stay here.” Danny said, knocking on the bathroom door. “Y/N?” When you were finished, you weakly stood and opened the door. “What’s going on? Are you okay?” 

“Danny…” You sighed. “I’m pregnant.” 

“Oh.” His eyes went wide and he nodded with understanding. 

“Aunt Y/N is going to have a baby?” Michelle exclaimed from behind her father’s legs. 

“Shhhh!” You whispered. “Michelle, I haven’t told your Uncle Jesse yet.” 

“I can keep a secret.” She grinned. You blew out a long breath. 

“I’m in trouble.” 

-

Two more days past and the snowstorm continued. No one had left the cabin and you were running out of firewood. The adults drew straws to see who would go to the main lodge to pick some up. Following in your bad luck, you drew the shortest straw. 

“We’ll go together,” Jesse stated with a shrug. “It doesn’t look too bad this morning.” 

“I honestly don’t mind going,” Danny said quickly, giving you a concerned look. 

“I’m sure we’ll be fine.” You gave him a warning look back. So far, you had been able to keep Michelle quiet about the pregnancy. You were going to tell him. You just had to figure out the right moment. 

The two of you grabbed your coats and boots and bundled up before heading out into the snow. The wind blew harder than you thought, making it difficult to see even a few feet in front of you. You locked hands with your husband and trudged through the drifts. The main lodge was only about a five-minute walk away from the cabin, but the further you walked, the more it felt like an hour. 

“I think we’re almost there!” Jesse shouted over the roaring wind. Your hand fell from his and lifted up to your head. 

“Not now.” You whined, falling back into a snowbank. The past few days were bad, but this felt different.  It was as if the nausea was on steroids. 

“Babe?” Jesse suddenly noticed his empty hand and started to panic. “Y/N, where are you?” He couldn’t see anything through the blizzard. 

“I’m over here.” You groaned. 

“Sweetheart, where are you?” He searched until he saw the bright red of your scarf. “What is it? What’s wrong.” 

“I just need to get inside.” He helped you stand up again and rushed into the lodge, calling over one of the workers to grab you a blanket. He sat you down on one of the big leather couches in front of the fire, rubbing your hands in between his to warm them up. 

“What the hell happened out there?” He asked, moving his hand to move the hair out of your face. His blue eyes were frantic, quickly draping the blanket over your shoulders. 

“I’m okay, Jess,” You assured him, but another wave of nausea made it feel like your insides wanted to become your outsides. 

“Cut the crap.” Any sternness in his voice only came from how much you scared him. “You’ve been feeling sick ever since we got here. Is it just a fluke, or is this something we should be worried about?” 

“I mean… it’s definitely not a fluke.” The sickness started to subside and you smiled. “Jesse, there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you.” Now he looked even more worried. “It’s okay.”

“Well you’re starting to freak me out here,” He exclaimed, moving to sit next to you. 

“Jesse, I’m-” 

Suddenly, everyone else in the family burst through the doors, Joey and Danny clearly out of breath from chasing the girls. 

“Michelle told us and we just couldn’t wait for you to come back!” Stephanie squealed. 

“Besides, I thought I saw you fall and we had to make sure you were okay.” DJ added. “I’m really happy for you too.” 

“I really tried to stop them, Y/N.” Danny grimaced. “And don’t either of you ever run out into a snow storm like that again.” DJ shrugged. 

“It’s starting to die down.” 

“Would someone mind telling me what’s going on!” Jesse shouted over the commotion. Everyone froze. 

“You don’t know?” Stephanie’s jaw dropped. 

“I haven’t had the chance to tell him.” You said through a gritted smile. 

“Tell me what?” Jesse exclaimed again. You took his hand and tried to force down the butterflies. 

“Jesse, I’ve been trying to figure out how to tell you. With your music going so well, I wasn’t sure how you would react, but you’re going to find out sooner or later.” You laughed nervously. “Jess… I’m pregnant.” 

The room fell into complete silence. You could almost hear the snow falling. 

“Y-you’re… you’re… we’re going to have a-” Jesse fell back against the couch. Your heart was pounding. He was upset. 

“I know that this gets in the way of the band and that it’s sooner than we thought-” He kissed you before you could finish and the family cheered. 

“Gets in the way?” He shook his head, a smile spreading across his face. “How could you think that?”

“So you’re happy?” You sighed with relief. 

“Happy?” He laughed. “Are you kidding? I’m over the moon!” He jumped off the couch and lifted you up, spinning around and making you laugh. 

“Congratulations guys.” Joey beamed. 

With grins on all faces, everyone headed back to the cabin where you waited out the rest of the snowstorm. It raged on for another night, but with a wonderful husband to keep you warm and the best nieces in the world to make you laugh, you didn’t have to worry about getting cabin fever.

[dastardlydandelion]

Please post the sickfic prompt turned corpse disposal. 😂

sure! that one’s p bloodless, i can post that one. 

ao3 link 

content warnings: implied/referenced child abuse, implied/referenced spousal abuse, minimally described fresh dead body, illness description 

Billy isn’t sick.

Billy doesn’t get sick. He really doesn’t. Hasn’t had so much as a cold in years, albeit he’s claimed one as cover here and there whenever coke overuse made him maybe sorta sniffly and Neil started to eye him up like he might be suspicious.

Billy isn’t sick.

If he’s feeling achy, well, he’s just sore because Neil laid the belt on him pretty hard two days ago after he got sent home from school midday Monday, written up and suspended. If he’s coughing, well, it’s just because he’s been smoking more than usual. Neil’s been stressed out lately, so that means Billy’s stressed out too.

“No,” his father says sharply when Billy takes a seat at the breakfast table.

And Billy blinks at him, confused but careful.

“You’re not going to sit with us and cough all over the food like a human biohazard. I raised you to show more courtesy than that.” Neil gives him a stern look. “Go back to bed.”

“I’m not even—“

“Go back to bed, Billy.”

Billy hears the warning heighten in his father’s tone. He doesn’t argue. He hauls himself back to his bedroom and it’s whatever. He wasn’t really hungry anyway.

* * * 

Okay, so Billy is sick.

He got himself suspended because he felt something coming on. He knows his body. He was feeling off kilter and sluggish, uncomfortable in the chest when he inhaled too deeply. So he put his boots on the desk in history class and flipped the teacher the bird when she asked him to sit properly. Even went the extra mile and sneered, told her to blow him when her jaw hit the floor.

He figured it’d buy him enough time to recover without having to call in sick, or get in trouble for skipping class. A suspension was one indiscretion and only likely to invoke one punishment. Skipping multiple days would’ve been multiple indiscretions and more likely to invoke multiple punishments.

In retrospect he should’ve just called in sick because the whole point of avoiding that route was avoiding having to admit it, but he can’t really hide it. Whatever he’s got came on hard and fast, doubled-down by Monday evening. It hasn’t gotten any better. Billy feels bad all over, the cough is near constant, and he’s shaking with chills. Puts his leather jacket on before he buries himself under the blankets and still can’t get warm.

And the coughing, ugh, the fucking coughing. Billy knows he’s being loud. He tries to hold it in but he just can’t. Spasm after spasm squeezes his lungs until they’re aching for air. His chest feels like it’s full of swamp muck and all he can do is ride it out, clutch at his ribs until he makes it to the oxygen on the other side.

Billy should get up. He should make himself get off his ass, go buy some cough drops or at least refill his glass of water. He’s going to make it happen. He’s definitely going to make it happen…just maybe not yet.

He never really gets around to it. Spends most of the afternoon slogging through coughs and trying to get comfortable even though it doesn’t really matter which way he tosses or turns, he’s still cold to the bone, chest stabbing with every burdened breath. The day drags and Billy catches snippets of the other members of the household moving about, knows it’s evening when Neil sticks his head in.

“I dug this out of the cabinet for you,” he announces, holding up a blue container. “Vapor rub. It’ll calm your cough down. Help you sleep.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

His father pads across the carpet, sets the container down on Billy’s nightstand, right within reach. He hovers uncertainly, eyes narrowed. Opens his mouth to say something and maybe he does, but Billy doesn’t catch it, snapping upright to bury another flurry of coughs into his closed fist. It’s a forceful fit and before he knows it, his father’s thumping him on the back. He’s probably trying to help but the heel of his hand connects with one of the bruises the belt buckle left and Billy can’t stop himself before he flinches.

Neil retracts his hand, leaves without another word. Billy rakes in breath at the coda of the coughs, air scraping against his roughshod throat. He goes as deep as he can even though it hurts, snatches the container of vapor rub.

Billy begins to unscrew the lid and notices some of the ointment is crusted under the lid. It flakes off. This stuff looks old. Billy checks the date on the label. Sure enough, it’s been expired for close to a year.

He throws it across the room in frustration, watches it bounce off the wall. Lies back down and pulls the covers up to his chin.

At some point Neil bangs on his door and demands he cut out the racket, probably thinking Billy rebuffed his generosity. Billy’s too exhausted to bother explaining the shit’s expired. Instead he turns his face into the pillow and smothers his fits into the fabric, hoping it muffles the sounds.

* * * 

Sometime later Thursday morning, Susan knocks on his door. Billy contemplates pretending to be asleep. Really, he wishes he was. He’s feeling pretty rundown but he can’t seem to get more than a wink before he wakes up coughing.

But if he doesn’t answer it now, she’ll probably just bother him later. So Billy plods to the door and pulls it open.

“What?”

“Um,” Susan begins eloquently, blinking at him as she fiddles with the thin object in her hands. A thermometer.

“Neil tell you to do this?”

“N-No, but, uh. It’s probably a good idea to check your temperature. No offense, Billy, but you don’t sound so good and you’re awfully flush…”

“If I cared, I’d check myself,” he snorts irritably. “Try to stick that under my tongue and I’ll break it in half. Save your mother hen shit for Max.”

With that, he slams the door in her face. They’ve no love for each other. On infrequent occasions Susan will forget this and make some half-assed attempt to get closer to him. Billy’s always quick to remind her where they stand. It doesn’t take much.

Afternoon rolls around without Susan bugging him anymore. Billy isn’t a big reader but he doesn’t feel up to much else between increasingly productive coughing bouts that leave him hacking up gross, greenish globs into his small wire mesh trashcan. So he flips through some music magazines and the book he’s supposed to read for english class until he gathers enough energy to kick himself into gear.

He didn’t bother changing out of his clothes yesterday so he doesn’t need to change now. Just sprays himself with some cologne, figures he probably smells because he’s sweating nonstop. Discomforting drenching cold sweats like getting caught outside in icy rains, an experience Billy was blissfully unfamiliar with until Neil decided to leave sunny California behind.

He browses the small medical selection at Melvald’s, grabs a couple bags of cherry flavored lozenges  and a bottle of cough syrup. Covers a couple fits with the crook of his elbow on the way to the counter. He swallows the gunk that comes up because there’s nowhere to spit it into and scrunches his nose in disgust, feels like freaking slime sliding down his throat.

It’s the town cuckoo who rings him up. Or that’s her reputation anyway but she doesn’t seem particularly nutty to Billy. Hell, seems less weird than Susan does when she’s doing shit like talking to the spiders she takes outside.

“Time to go, Little Creepy Crawly,” she’d singsonged last week, shaking a daddy longlegs out of her tissue on the front porch. “Go be free.”

“You need fucking friends,” Billy had told her after the fact. Sound advice, he’d thought. Susan only ducked her head and disappeared into the next room.

Town Cuckoo gives the amount. Billy digs through his wallet and comes up two dollars short. Ugh. Fucking brandname linctuses. Shit’s a ripoff but there was no generic equivalent on the shelf.

She tells Billy it’s on the house, forehead crinkling just a bit as she studies him, eyes all melty with sympathy. Screw that shit. Billy isn’t anybody’s charity case. He gives her a pointed glower as he stamps a five down on the counter, takes the two bags of lozenges, and leaves.

He eats through half of the first bag until his throat tingles with menthol and artificial sweetness, and actually manages to sleep for a few solid hours. He knows it’s been hours because when he wakes himself coughing, it’s dark out. Nighttime.

Billy curls inward with the spasms, tries to catch his breath between stabbing pains. This sucks so much. He’s hacking up more gunk. Attempts to rub some of the discomfort from his heavy, congestion leaden chest to no avail.

He just keeps coughing and coughing and he knows before long, Neil’s going to get in his shit about the noise so he forces himself to throw off the covers. His bruises are still healing. He doesn’t need any more.

Billy crams his feet in his boots and drags himself down the hall. To his surprise, Susan’s sitting at the kitchen table. She’s crying. The sobs wrack her whole body the way the coughs wrack his and her cheeks are blotched cherry red just like his lozenges, tear tracks shining under the kitchen light. It throws him, really. He’s lived with Susan for years and he doesn’t think he’s ever seen her cry. She just. Doesn’t show much emotion at all, let alone displays like this.  

Billy watches it the way he’d watch a car crash. Susan doesn’t even notice him until he’s coughing again. He curls his fist around his mouth, muffles them as best he can. Fumbles for his car keys when he’s made it through to the other side.

“Where could you possibly be going?” Susan asks, her voice thick, like there’s a bubble in her throat.

Maybe Neil hit her. Billy’s seen it so he knows it happens sometimes even though he’s pretty sure it’s not often. Not like how Neil hits him. Or hit his own mother. Susan is probably Neil’s favorite, obedient like a well trained dressage horse following all of his cues. Isn’t anything like his own mom who defied Neil like a wild mustang he couldn’t tame, who went braless and smoked hash with the hippies, screamed her lungs out at Neil in furious harpy volumes and called him names no matter how mad it made him. Who did her best to give back as good as she got even outmatched, even if it made him madder, throwing things or fists or swinging Billy’s Little League bat.

Susan is submissively behaved and tepid tempered, always wears her bra under the clothes Neil buys her in the fashions he prefers her in. Susan speaks softly and sweetly, never stays out unscheduled and doesn’t smoke anything at all, always smells like floral perfumes and lotions, never ever, ever like cigarettes or marijuana or other men’s cologne. When Neil hits Susan she goes slack and sloth and silent, and does not lift a finger to fight. It is the only thing she and Billy have in common.

“Nowhere,” he answers. “Gonna sleep in the car before Neil gets on me about making noise.”

“Billy, it’s too cold for that…besides, Neil isn’t going to wake up yet.”

“How do you know?”

What, does Susan think she’s a fucking fortune teller now?

Sure enough, she doesn’t have a straight answer for him. She stumbles over syllables that don’t shape into sentences and the last thing Billy feels like doing is indulging her.

“Pfft. That’s what I thought. By the way, you’re ugly when you cry.” Billy glares at her until she turns away, timid, bowing her head. He heads out to the Camaro, gets in the driver’s seat and pulls it back.

Yeah, it’s cold out but he can’t get warm inside under the blankets anyway. Neil’s already in a bad mood. He’d only barked about the racket last night but his father’s bite is worse than his bark and Billy knows better than to expect a second warning.

* * * 

Friday morning, the frosty air scrapes Billy’s throat raw and makes him cough so, so hard. He’s beyond done with this shit, fuck everything. He takes shallow breaths to avoid the pangs of going too deep. The coughing still brings up gunk he spits out and he can feel the congestion crackling in his chest like thick, goopy molasses drowning his lungs, sticking between every rung of his ribcage.

It’s actually. Kind of. Beginning to concern him.

Is being sick normally like this?

Billy hasn’t been sick in so long, he seriously doesn’t know. But it’s been days and he’s not feeling any better. He feels worse. He really does. Breathing has become a grueling travail. Even to his own ears, his exhales sound wet and ratty. The coughing was a nuisance when it first came on but now it’s just downright exhausting.

But.

Well. He’s gotta be okay. He’s too young to be like, seriously sick. It’s probably just one of those things where it’s going to get worse before it gets better. A lot of things are like that, right?

Everything gets worse before it gets better. He’s fine. He’s definitely fine.

Billy goes inside. Everyone’s at the breakfast table and he doesn’t take a seat because he’s a biohazard and Neil already looks dour. Susan’s pouring him coffee. Max nibbles at a piece of toast. She has a cut on her cheek that wasn’t there when Billy saw her yesterday. Doesn’t look bad, just a simple scratch stretched under her eye, but when he peers closer is that…is that a bruise?

Yes. It’s pretty small. Faint. He would’ve missed it entirely if the thin red thread of her cut wasn’t so stark against Max’s pasty skin.

He’s smart enough not to ask in front of Neil. He doesn’t say anything. Gets the juice from the fridge and pours himself a glass. He’s two sips in before he has to set it aside, covering his mouth as another fit takes hold.

Neil is glaring when he makes it through. Right. Don’t cough around the food. Billy isn’t even sitting with them but whatever. He’s not gonna poke the bear. Heads off to Max’s room and waits.

Eventually she comes in to get her backpack, frowning at his presence. “What’re you doing in here?”

“What happened to your face?”

“Geez, Billy, you sound terrible.” Her nose crinkles.

“I asked you a question, Max.” Billy impatiently twirls his finger, slightly annoyed. He already knows he sounds bad, doesn’t need to be reminded.

Max turns away from him with a shrug, starts stuffing her textbooks into the bag. “I fell on the pond yesterday when I was playing with my friends. Where I fell…the ice wasn’t smooth. It was rough and it scratched.”

Billy narrows his eyes and measures her up. It isn’t a particularly unlikely story. But he wants to be sure.

“You’d tell me if it was Neil, right?”

“…of course I’d tell you if it Neil.” Max looks up from messing with her stuff and faces him with clear resolution in her gaze. “Neil hits you all the time so if he hit me, you’d be the first person I’d tell.”

Billy keeps his eyes on her as he goes over what she said. She doesn’t look like she’s lying. She doesn’t sound like she’s lying. Besides, Neil’s striking hand probably would’ve left a bigger bruise and he can’t place anything on it that would’ve scratched her skin like that. Neil’s fingernails are short and blunt, smoother than Billy’s, which get jagged when he bites. He doesn’t wear rings beyond his wedding band, and his is smooth silver, no shiny rock cut in the middle like Susan’s.

“Alright,” he concedes, turns to leave.

The coughing fit hits heavy, like a wrecking ball to the chest. Billy hangs onto the doorframe with one hand, covers his mouth with the other. It’ll pass. It’ll pass. It’ll pass.

Christ, he’s sick of being sick.

It passes. Billy keeps his grip on the doorframe as he works on drawing in air.

“You okay?” Max asks from behind.

And he can’t actually answer that just yet, still catching his breath.

“You sound really gross, like you’re literally dying.”

“I’m not…I’m fine…even run you to school, if you want.” Billy relaxes his grip on the doorframe and turns back to her.

“Oh.” Max perks up at that, eyes bright. “Yeah, can you?”

She lowers her voice as she adds, “I’m mad at my mom. I don’t really wanna ride with her.”

Billy doesn’t ask what for. It’s probably something stupid. Susan getting after her for not zipping up her coat or touching yellow snow or some other dumb shit. He’s too tired to care, really.

“Sure I can, s’what I just said, isn’t it? Finish getting your stuff together, bus leaves in five.”

* * *

Billy does’t go home for a long time. After dropping Max off, he just sits in the parking lot for awhile, rests his head against the steering wheel while the heat blasts from the vents. He’s got it all the way up and he’s so sweaty his hair’s plastered to the back of his neck, but he’s still freaking cold.

He doesn’t know what he did to deserve this.

Or.

Okay, maybe he does.

Eventually he pulls out of the parking lot, drives around listening to music just to be doing something. Winds up in another lot, an empty lot, where the rumor is they’re going to build a mall next year. Billy hopes so. Hawkins is mind-numbingly boring. Sometimes he just wants to scream about it, set fire to the fucking cornfields and scream at the top of his lungs.

His lungs aren’t really up to screaming right now though. Neither is his throat, really, tender from coughing spasm after coughing spasm tearing it up. Billy doesn’t know if he’s even been this sick.

He’s even considering bringing it up to his dad, maybe even. Asking Dad for help. And that.

That means he’s either desperate or delirious, and neither is a particularly reassuring thought.

Fuck.

Billy despises the fact it even crossed his mind. He can’t go to Neil. He won’t. That’s stupid. Neil would probably just dig him out some more expired vapor rub. Definitely wouldn’t take him to a doctor, at least not until the bruises heal. Maybe he’d compromise and get him the cough syrup Billy didn’t have enough cash for…

Between musings, Billy finds himself squeezed in another fit that pummels his chest like invisible fists. It’s so bad he’s left battling for just a breath of air, so forceful for one very scary second he’s even worried he won’t get it. That the coughing will go on and on, and he’ll never take another breath again. That they’ll find his body right here in the empty lot where maybe the mall will be one day.

Except the coughing eventually does subside and Billy does manage to get some air. But the fit spooks him a little. Takes enough out of Billy that he decides he’s probably going to have to go to Neil. Shit.

He puts it off as long as he can. Doesn’t even go home until he knows everyone is done with dinner. To his surprise, Neil isn’t watching tv. Billy heads down the hall. The light is on under Max’s door. The light is on under the master bedroom door too. Billy hesitates before knocking.

Does he really need to go to Neil?

Maybe he was exaggerating when he was worried earlier. Billy’s hand retracts from the door. It's promptly clamped around his mouth for what must be the hundredth time. He’s hacking hard into his palm, chest throbbing.

He doesn’t actually mean to open the door. But he grabs the knob for support and jerks when the metal is shockingly cold under his fingers. The next thing Billy knows, he’s stumbling over the threshold.

Susan whips toward him, eyes as wide as dinner plates and mouth frozen open in horror. At first Billy thinks it’s him. She’s so disgusted she’s horrified by him and his biohazard germs and any second Neil’s going to pick his head up from the bed and bark at Billy for intruding without so much as a knock, and then—

Then his eyes fall to the long bloodied baiting needle in Susan’s suddenly trembling hands.

“S-Self d-defense,” she quavers, backing away, that needle outward in her shaky, shaky hands almost like she thinks Billy’s going to advance on her. “It was s-self defense, B-Billy, I had to.”

Because Neil’s still motionless, facedown on the bed even though his son’s still coughing, making a racket and expelling biohazard bacteria in his very bedroom. He’s still coughing, fuck, his eyes are watering, but they aren’t so watery he can’t see what’s right in front of him. Billy plants a hand down against the dresser and tries to breathe.

“Self defense,” he rasps at the end of the fit, blinking at the acupuncture kit open inches away from his hand on the dresser.

“S-Slightly preemptive self defense,” Susan amends, swallowing. “Make no m-mistake, I had to. I had to, he— he was right on the verge of a b-blowup. You know your father, Billy.”

That is true. Billy knows his father well. He doesn’t speak to Susan as he shuffles up to the bed. Gulps down some of the gunk in his throat, grazes his father’s cheek with his fingertips. There’s blood welled up in a hole at the base of his skull but he’s warm, kinda, so maybe Susan didn’t kill him after all. He moves his fingers to feel for a pulse.

It isn’t there. Neil’s dead? Neil’s really dead?

“Dad?” he tries. It comes out a hoarse squeak. He clears his throat and tries again. “Dad? Dad, c’mon.”

Billy jostles his father’s shoulder. It yields no response. The bare skin is still warm, deceptively so. There’s not so much as a flicker of life beneath it.

“Holy shit,” Billy gasps.

Susan presses back against the wall, eyes still very wide, clutching that baiting needle so tight her knuckles are blanched. Her hands shake and shake.

“What are you going to do?” she asks in a whisper.

“What am I going to go?” Billy echoes. “I— I don’t know! What are you going to do? Call the cops?”

Because even if her self defense was preemptive, to use her description, maybe it’d still fly. Billy has bruises. Maybe Susan has some too hidden under that deep cranberry dress.

“Cops?” Susan’s mouth tightens as her head gives a firm shake. “Of course not. Don’t you know what police are like? Your father would’ve fit right in.”

Billy considers this as he coughs, stuffing them into the sleeve of his leather jacket. He can’t say his own experience with the law has ever been positive. And Neil was a security guard. What’s a security guard if not a wannabe cop?

“You planned this,” Billy heaves out when he’s done coughing.

“I’m….I mean, y-yes, but I—“

“What was your plan?” Billy interrupts. “Where were you going to go from here?”

“I didn’t expect you to show up,” Susan says, soft and frowning.

“I live here,” Billy points out and he laughs. Strange, strained laughter peals out of him until it triggers another bout of coughing because. What. The. Actual. Fuck.

“Oh, Billy…do you want some water? Maybe you should sit down.”

“Where?” he rasps between coughs. “Next to my dead dad?!”

“Keep your voice down,” Susan urges, waving the needle like a conductor’s baton. “Max is still awake.”

Billy wipes the perspiration from his forehead with the back of his hand. Stares at Susan as he does his best to take even breaths.

“You’re wheezing.”

“You’re deflecting,” he fires back. “What are you going to do?”

“Um, uh…chop him up,” Susan admits quietly. “I’d p-planned to chop him up.”

“That’ll make a mess,” Billy blurts out, blunt.

“Messy, yes, but it’s the easiest way. I can’t exactly carry him.”

Billy touches the small of Neil’s bare back, skims his fingertips between hair thin acupuncture needles. He probes at the small of his own back, winces when dull pain pulses through the bruise. His throat is thick with something other than phlegm and his heart is racing rabbity fast. In this moment, Billy makes a decision.

“Not by yourself.”

Susan gapes.

“Where we taking him?” Billy asks.

“I…I honestly didn’t have an exact location mind, but farther away. Not here in Hawkins, the town is too small.” Susan swallows again and tugs at her sleeve. “I planned to bag his parts in pieces and drive a few hours out and spend the night disposing of the bags in different areas.”

That makes sense, he thinks.

“Sometimes I go to this gay bar about two hours away. Pretty big dumpster in the back.”

Billy tries to hit it at least once a month, if he can save up enough of his allowance for gas. Sometimes he collects enough chump change from idiots at school who forget to close their lockers, and isn’t above duping people outta their dough by turning on the charm, either. His interest in girls isn’t exclusive, he finds a helluva lotta guys interesting too. It’s just nice to get out of fucking Nowheresville even on the nights he doesn’t end up fooling around with anybody.

Susan looks absolutely bewildered.

“Gay bar,” he repeats slowly. “You know. Pride pub, homo hub?”

“I know what a gay bar is, Billy. Why on earth are you going to one?”

“Gee, I don’t know, maybe it’s because I’m secretly a drag queen bingo champion,” Billy scoffs in annoyance and it turns into a cough. The one sets off a fit.

“Billy, um…I don’t, um. I’m not judging your preference in partners or your private life, but you’re too young to be going to the bar. Any bar. It’s not legal, you’re a teenager.”

Jesus, he can hardly breathe. He feels like he’s going to fall over. Maybe he actually should’ve sat down next to his dead dad.

“Oh dear. I’m— I’m going to get you some water.”

Billy doesn’t fall over. He has good stamina. He’s hard to knock over, prides himself on that fact. He makes it through the fit upright. His chest is sore from the stabbing and he’s a little dizzy, perhaps from fatigue or breathlessness, but he’s steadfast.

Billy accepts the glass Susan holds out to him upon her return. Her fingers feel like icicles as they brush his and he suppresses a shiver. Takes slow sips and finds a little relief. Eventually sets the glass down on the dresser when he’s done.

“Technically, it’s not me who goes to the bar. You’re right, I’m not twenty-one yet. But Jason Scott on the other hand, well, he’s twenty-five.” Billy fishes his wallet out and frees his fake ID from its fold. “Looks pretty legit, right?”

Susan silently studies the piece of plastic and worries her lip between her teeth.

“But we don’t actually have to go into the bar to put my dad’s body in the dumpster anyway. I mean, going inside would really be a pretty bad idea…”

“Indeed it would, but I’m glad you showed this to me. It wouldn’t be smart to put Neil anywhere you or I associate with at all. But if you’re not actually associated, it’s an option.”

“It’d take less time than the way you were gonna go about it. Cleaner too.”

Susan nods her agreement. “However, I still might…mm, Billy. I’m not sure if you’re going to like this. But in order to prevent him from being identified, I think I’m going to chop off his head…and his hands. Well, perhaps those I’ll just burn with the clothes iron, um. Either way, his fingerprints need to be destroyed.”

Billy’s gut lurches as he soaks it in. It sounds logical. He can’t deny that, but something about the idea of his dad’s decapitation doesn’t sit. Kinda gives him the heebie-jeebies. And that’s weird. That’s really weird because he’s okay with everything else.

Well.

Okay, maybe he’s not okay with it, but. He understands it. It’s Neil. Of course he understands the bruises she may or may not be hiding, the fear in her heart regardless.

“Do you have to chop his head off? Can’t you just smash his face in?”

“I considered that,” Susan says, nodding again. “Those cast iron lion bookends on the shelf are nine pounds each. I weighed them this morning.”

Billy likes the sound of that better. Neil is going to be dead and disfigured either way. He’s not sure why it makes a difference. Maybe it doesn’t, really. He thinks he might have a fever. Maybe the fever’s just getting to him, making him a little loopy and pulling his thoughts in less than rational directions.

“I could do that part,” he offers. It’d probably take him less time to bash Neil’s face in than it’d take Susan. He has more physical prowess, after all, more power to put behind the blows.

“Are you up for that?” she asks, eyeing him skeptically.

“Yes,” he snaps, somewhat defensive. He’s sick but he’s not helpless.

Billy’s claim isn’t undermined by the brief bout of coughing that overtakes him. He halts the reflex to clutch his ribs. Not now, not in front of her. Especially not with what they have to do.

“There’s two bookends,” Susan points out, seems a little nervous as she watches him cough. “We could take turns.”

With that, she disappears from view. Billy hacks some more gross globs into his hand and for convenience’s sake, just wipes it off on his jeans. When Susan comes back, she has one of those big black contractor trash bags. Spreads it out on the bed beside Neil’s form.

They roll him together and Billy doesn’t know what to make of what he feels when he actually sees his father’s face, features devoid and dead. Very, very dead. Tears do not sting his eyes. They just well up watery because he’s coughing again, battling for breath again, so, so wrung and exhausted, lungs like sodden sponges sopped with sputum.

Then he’s holding the bookend, cast iron artistically sculpted, the maned king of the jungle bearing his teeth in a roar. Billy looks at his father’s dead face and hesitates for only a heartbeat. When he brings the heavy object down, he puts all the force he can muster behind it and it makes an utterly atrocious noise Billy will never forget, but—

Some part of him has always wanted to do this. For that part of him, it is the only thing he’s ever truly wanted. And when Susan takes her turn Billy watches her face and realizes, oh, going slack and sloth and silent with the taste of Neil Hargrove’s hand isn’t the only thing they share at all.

* * * 

They wait until late to don gloves and roll Neil up in the shower liner. They stuff him in the bed of his own truck for transport. Billy takes the torso end because it’s heavier, Susan hefts him under the legs. Billy drives because he knows the way even though it’s the last thing he feels like doing.

It goes mostly okay. He only has a paroxysm bad enough to make him pull over once.

Susan reaches across the seats and rubs his shoulder. Billy’s too busy getting his breath to shrug her off.

“I’m sure you’re not going to love this idea, but I think it’s time to see a doctor. This could be bronchitis, Billy, or even pneumonia.”

“Pneumonia isn’t real,” Billy grouses tiredly. “It’s like the boogeyman. Just some story old people made up so their grandkids wouldn’t play in the rain and track mud all over the house.”

“Uh…um.” She blinks owlishly, forehead creasing. “No, that’s not quite accurate…”

“I’m screwing with you, Susan.” Because that’s easier than conceding to her.

It would’ve been one thing with Neil. As fucked up as things were, Neil was his dad. Neil was supposed to take care of him.

But Susan. Susan is different. Susan is mostly Max’s weird mom who displays about as much emotion as a mannequin whenever she isn’t (wasn’t) dancing on Neil’s puppet strings or talking to the spiders as she shakes them free from soft tissues. Albeit tonight is a game changer. They’re very literally partners in crime now.

“We could even go to the ER after this,” she suggests uncertainly, wary edge to her tone.

“That’s for emergencies. I can wait.”

“If you’re sure.” Susan hums in her throat and draws her hand away.

They have good timing. The bar’s been closed for almost an hour by the time they get there and all the cars have cleared out. Billy backs up to the dumpster so he and Susan can stand on the bed and lift Neil in that way, rather than having to drag his deadweight out and struggle to raise his cumbersome bulk up over the side.

He doesn’t want to be out here any longer than he has to. Whole thing gives him the heebie-jeebies. He feels like a cop is about to pull up any second now and frankly, it’s cold as fuck. He’s cold as fuck.

Not as cold as the unearthly chill that seems to pierce through the plastic liner when Billy lifts his father’s trunk for the second time tonight.

“Do you feel that?” he irresistibly asks Susan, watching her adjust her grip on Neil’s legs and searching her face for the eeriness he’s feeling.

“Feel what?” Susan asks, frowning.

Death itself? Billy doesn’t know.

“Nothing, it’s…just cold, I guess.”

“Oh, Billy, I think you have the chills.”

And he knows he does but it’s not the same thing. He doesn’t comment any more on it. Together they get Neil up on the metal rim of the open dumpster, push him over. Garbage crunches and crinkles beneath his deadweight. Billy feels another coughing fit coming on and manages to suppress it until he gets back inside the truck.

“Do you want me to drive home?” Susan asks.

“No. I know the way better, it’s easier if I do it.”

“You could, um. I mean, you could direct me if I get a little turned around. You’re looking pretty tuckered out.” It’s dark but Billy can hear the frown in her voice.

“Alright,” he sighs out. “Fine.”

Because she’s not wrong. He’s drained at this point. Shoving his dad’s body in the dumpster spent the last store of energy he had. He and Susan swap places. She doesn’t have much trouble once she actually gets back on the main road.

“Thank you,” she murmurs eventually. “If I had to do this myself, I’d still be in the middle of it.”

“Yeah…sure thing, I guess.” She killed his dad. No big deal. Billy blinks, isn’t sure what else to say.

“…so, um…you like the fellas, huh?” she asks, voice light and not a bit unkind.

“Uh-huh." He shrugs. "Guys, girls, I mean, I'm not that picky. A hole’s a hole, a mouth’s a mouth, fingers are fingers.”

Susan chokes on a scandalized gasp and Billy gets a chuckle out of it, even as it turns into a cough.

“That’s, uh. T-That’s certainly crude.”

And it’s funny really, that Susan seems more creeped out by a boorish comment than she did by holding his dead dad’s corpse legs.

By the time they get home, Billy’s so beyond spent he knows he can’t even make it to his room. Doesn’t bother to try. Collapses on the couch cushions without attempting to take his boots off. Smothers what has to be the goddamn millionth round of coughs into the throw pillow.

When he picks his head up, Susan’s standing there, fiddling with the thermometer again, fretful expression on her features. Oh, fuck it. Fine. Billy bites the bullet and takes it from her, begrudgingly jamming the thing under his tongue.

[littlemissaddict]

Sick Day

Summary: Luke fakes an illness to stay off school to work on a report he forgot about. (Requested)

Word Count: 1.9K

A/n: To the anon that requested I’m sorry this took so long it ended up being longer than planned but I hope this is what you were looking for.

Monday mornings, Luke hated them with a passion. It wasn’t because he had to get up early, that he could deal with, it was that it was the start of a new week which meant that he had five full days of school ahead of him. That was what he hated. He hated being stuck in a place he didn’t want to be, learning things that he couldn’t care less about and it wasn’t like he couldn’t do the work either, he could, his grades were good. The only reason he hadn’t dropped out yet, other than the fact that he thinks his parents would freak out if he did, was that Julie had convinced him to stay and well he couldn’t say no to Julie. Alex and Reggie liked to joke about it, once even accused him of being whipped because he couldn’t say no, that had left a lot of embarrassment on his part but what could he do, he loved Julie and he would do anything to make her happy, even if it meant sticking it out at school for the next year or two.

“Luke, Luke” 

He groaned hearing his mom call his name, it was the same every morning, she would make sure that he was ready for school before she left for work. Her head popped round his bedroom door not long after that.

“Good you’re awake. I’m having to leave early for work today so please make sure you’re on time today. I really don’t want another call from the school telling me you’re not there” she says and he nods in response. She watches him for a second longer before say goodbye and heading out to work. Luke waits until he hears the front door close before he pulls himself out of bed and heads to the bathroom. Half an hour later Luke’s grabbing his bag and heading out the door, he’s running a little late but he’ll make it on time. He hopes.

He makes it to his locker just as the bell for first lesson rings, grabbing his books and heading to class. He slides into his seat in record time without so much as a warning from the teacher, which is a bonus. The whole morning seems to drag, he spends most of his lessons in a daze, his mind wandering to the song him and Julie were working on over the weekend. He was thankful when the bell went for lunch, packing up his books and practically sprinting out of the room where he found Reggie waiting for him by the door.

“Hey man, where were you this morning?” he asked falling into stride with Luke as they made their way to the cafeteria.

“I was running late” he said simply and Reggie nodded, it wasn’t a secret that Luke didn’t like school but he knew Luke wouldn’t go back on his promise to Julie. Once there they grabbed some food and headed over to where Alex, Julie and Flynn were sat, they where having a discussion about some report they all had due and Luke didn’t think much of it until her heard that it was due for their English class.

“What hold up since when did we have a English report due?” he asked no one in particular but he hoped one of them would have the answer, they all stared at him in disbelief.

“Please tell me you’re joking?” Flynn asks but Luke just shakes his head.

“Luke it’s due Friday, we’ve had about two months to work on this” Alex says, still not quite believing that Luke managed to forget about it.

“Well I suppose I’ll just have to work on it tonight, it shouldn’t take that long right” he grumbles and he hears Alex gasp beside him.

“Luke you can’t just throw something together and hope for the best like you usually do. It’s worth half of your grade” Alex tells him and that’s when Luke begins to panic. He knows his parents have been off his back lately about the band because he hasn’t been skipping school and because his grades are up so he really needs to do well on this report. He’s so caught up in his thoughts that he flinches when he feels a hand rest against his arm but when he looks down he see’s that it’s Julie and he relaxes a little. 

“It’s gonna be okay Luke, have you at least read the book?” she asks softly, he nods confirming that he has and she smiles “good that’s most of the work done, how about I come round tonight I can help you plan it and then you can spend the next couple of nights after school working on it” she says and Luke lets out a sigh of relief.

“Thank you Julie” he says giving her a quick hug before joining the conversation with the rest of the group.  After his last class of the day he meets Julie by her locker.

“We still good for tonight?” he asks making her jump as she hadn’t realised he was there.

“Every time, really Luke” she moans making Luke chuckle “and yes, I’ve messaged my dad to let him know that I’m going over to yours so as long as I’m back for dinner it’s all good” she smiles closing her locker and they make their way to Luke’s.

When they get to Luke’s, he call out to him mom to let her know that Julie’s there and they’re going up to his room to study, he doesn’t wait for a reply just heads up the stairs with Julie following. When they reach his room he drops his bag by his desk and then flops down on his bed making Julie laugh at how dramatic he’s being, she perches on the edge of the bed, careful not to sit on the boy as she pulls her book out of her bag. 

“So we should probably talk about what you remember of the book the you can decide what you wanna write about” Julie suggests and Luke sits up reluctantly agreeing. They talk about the book for the next hour, discussing the different parts and what they mean or what they think they imply and Luke makes sure to make notes because he’s only going to forget it all when he comes to write the report.

“Hey that would make a good lyric” Luke says interrupting Julie as she speaks, explaining one of her points about the book.

“No Luke, just write it down and move on you don’t have time for this” Julie warns, knowing that as soon as he gets distracted it’s very hard to get him back on track and she wants to make sure he’s got this. Luke grumbles but does it anyway not wanting to annoy Julie when she’s offered to help him.

Julie’s dad picks her up around 6 just before Luke’s mom calls him to let him know that dinner is ready, he eats dinner with his parents and they ask him how school is going. He makes sure not to tell them about him forgetting about the report knowing that it’ll only cause an argument, that they’ll blame it on him spending to much time focusing on the band. After dinner he goes back up to his room to make a start, he pulls out his notes feeling much better than he did at lunch but he knows he’s got a lot to do and he doesn’t think that he’ll be able to finish it in time. That is when he comes up with a plan, a plan involving him to fake sick so that he can spend the day off school to work on the report, he knows his dad will have gone to work already by the time he gets up so it’s just his mom that he needs to convince.

He wakes the next morning and he’s nervous, he really hopes this plan is going to work because there’s a lot riding on him finishing this report. Like clock work his mom pops her head round his door to check that he’s up and ready.

“Luke what’re you doing you’ve got school” She scolds when she sees that he’s still in bed.

“Mmm but I’m not feeling too good” he says, his voice small, he’s laying it on thick as he peaks at her from under the duvet, only his head visible. She makes her way towards him, sitting on the edge of the bed as she rests the back of her hand against his forehead.

“Well you do feel quite warm and your face is flushed, I do hope your not coming down with anything” she say more to herself than him “I guess you can have today off, see how you feel but I expect you back at school tomorrow if this turns out to be nothing” she sighs closing the door on the way out of his room. He waits until he hears the front door close before moving over to his desk where he switches his laptop on and sends a text to the group chat letting them know that he won’t be in school while he waits for it to load.

Pulling out his notes he places them on the desk next to him, silently cursing himself for his own bad handwriting when he can’t quite make out what he’s written. Still he makes a start, trying his hardest to stay focused. He manages to work for nearly the whole morning before he feels like he’s losing his mind, looking between his notes and the laptop he runs his hands through his hair, tugging slightly in frustration. If only he hadn’t forgotten about this stupid report then he wouldn’t be in this situation right now he sighs reminding himself to relax, stressing is not going to help anything. After a few deep breaths he gets up stretching out his body as he’s been sat hunched over the laptop all morning before he heads to the kitchen in search of food.

Hunger settled, he heads back to his room to carry on working on the report but he finds a message from Julie telling him that she will come over after school to see how he’s doing. He smiles at the text and finds it gives him enough motivation for him to keep on working.

By the time Julie gets to Luke’s house after school Luke has almost finished and he can’t be happier, he’s worked hard all day so he’s happy to have break and he can’t think of any better way to spend it than with Julie.

“So you weren’t really ill were you?” Julie questions taking a seat on Luke’s bed, watching him by his desk.

“No” he admits looking at her sheepishly “I um I was working on the report instead. I didn’t think I’d get it done just working on it after school so” he explains and Julie nods.

“Well let’s just hope your mom doesn’t find out” she says raising her eyebrows at him and he pulls a face at her words, yeah that’s definitely the last thing he wants. She doesn’t stay long after that as she wants to get home before Luke’s mom does so that she doesn’t have to explain why she’s there when he’s supposed to be ill. 

When Friday rolls around Luke surprises his friends by not only being early for school but by handing his report in, on time, as well and he can’t help keep the smug smile on his face at the looks of disbelief on their faces.

[crash-cinematic-universe]

Holographic Sand is a Kickass Band Name

pairing: peter maximoff/OC(graciella decuerpo) (high school AU/not canon)

summary: peter learns that a fuckton can change in the course of a week

warnings: none? bad language and peter is simp but thats it

notes **please read**: Heyyyyy how are you doing? good? that’s great. so ik this fic is a peter/oc fic, but honesty i only use her name a few times and a few defining features but like. thats it. so you can totally just imagine urself in her position. also this fic is 5,550 words exactly. that’s the most ive ever written and I am SUPER fucking proud. I think i might become one of those blogs where i write super huge monster fics that im proud of instead of just writing to fill requests.if u dont want that then just lmk and i will not do that. i dont know. maybe. also this fic is peter centric because uh it is. anyways enjoy <3

taglist: @creator-appreciator, @simonsbluee

--------

Monday

           Peter sat across the room, his arms crossed neatly on top of his knees as he rested his chin on his forearm. He wasn’t paying attention to the lesson being taught in front of him, in fact, he wasn’t paying attention to anything at all. No, Peter was lost in his head again. Peter’s mind was a chaotic minefield of music and cheesy one-liners and random facts that he seems to just know. But this time, he wasn’t envisioning himself beating up a police officer or playing with Pink Floyd. This time, he was picturing a perfect world where nothing ever happened yet nothing was ever boring. Peter had built a utopia in his mind-- a kingdom created to his exact preferences. A blissful tower of joy and happiness and energy and satisfaction. A paradise where he stood on top of the world with Graciella DeCuerpo, the pretty girl from algebra  class, standing right next to him.

          Now, Peter was well aware that the pretty girl from algebra  class had no idea who Peter was. The pair had never exchanged more than a few words, but somewhere within those few words, Peter managed to decide that she was his soulmate. He’d created an image of her in his head that would make God weep tears of envy, the perfect personality for the perfect person.  Peter willfully ignored the fact that he was setting himself up for heartbreak as he imagined how nice it would feel to have her fingers intertwined with his. 

           All of Peter’s friends thought he was ridiculous, ‘you can’t love someone you don’t know,’ they’d say. Peter would only scoff and shake away their words. He absolutely can love someone he doesn’t know, it’s getting the other person to reciprocate those feelings that’s nearly impossible. However, that doesn’t stop him from fantasizing at night. That doesn’t stop him from imagining the various ways he’d confess his love to the pretty girl who doesn’t love him. Or maybe she does. Peter doesn’t know, he could never know; unless, of course, he worked up the courage to talk to her. 

          Scott constantly teased Peter about his one-sided infatuation, but Peter paid no mind to him. He was 100% content with his perpetual pining for someone who probably didn’t know his name. He was totally okay with the unending ache in his chest that would appear any time she walked by or met his gaze. Peter was alright with his ceaseless yearning and the eternal feeling of disappointment that overtook him every time he snapped out of one of his fantasies. He was a-okay with all of that.

          So, there he was, spacing out during biology class as Professor Hargreeves struggles to teach the silver teen about photosynthesis. The Professor looked at Peter with desperate eyes, soon deciding that having his usually energetic student be quiet and still was the silver lining of the situation-- no pun intended. Professor Hargreeves droned on as Peter glanced at the clock, counting down the minutes until 7th period. Counting the seconds until he got to see the pretty girl in algebra  class once again.

Tuesday

          6th period was always the worst part of Peter’s day-- the dreaded english class. There were many contributing factors to Peter’s hatred for this class; the professor was a bore, the material itself was uninteresting, and Peter could never seem to sit still or retain any of the words he read in english class. Worst of all, english class seemed to go on forever, leaving Peter to impatiently wait for the bell to ring and release him to 7th period. At the end of the period every day, he was practically vibrating in his seat. 

          “Can anyone tell me what Juliet’s suicide is supposed to symbolize?” the Professor asked expectantly. Peter couldn’t care less about the symbolism of some chick’s suicide-- he’d much rather be studying the features of his algebra  class infatuation. 

          She sat next to him yesterday. There were at least 5 other open seats and she sat next to him. Yes, Peter read too much into it and yes, Peter spent the entire class period trying to make himself seem naturally cool, but he didn’t care. Peter would act like the most desperate, pathetic, lovestruck loser in the world if it meant that she would like him. They didn’t talk, they didn’t exchange a single word, nevertheless, Peter was in a state of euphoria for the entire class period. 

          Sometimes Peter feels like a stalker. He watches her whenever he can-- he doesn’t follow her around or anything, but if she’s around, he’ll stare at her. He has her features memorized, the curve of her nose, the dark brown irises surrounding her pupils, the way that she always seems to have chipped black nail polish on. He sees the small things. He sees the way she bites her nails when he gets bored and he sees the way her leg never seems to stop bouncing. She hums the basslines to songs as opposed to the melody. 

          English class came to an abrupt end as the bell cut off the Professor’s teachings as well as Peter’s distant daydreaming. Peter was out of his seat within seconds, his notes and books quickly being swept up in his arms as he walked out of the room. The hallways are crowded and chaotic and busy, each individual student attempting to get to their locker then to their class on time. Peter watches as kids swing their lockers open, fatigue and weariness apparent on their faces as they disappear into their classrooms. Peter reaches his locker hastily, the few small posters of classic rocks bands adorning the inside of his locker door. A playful giddiness overcame his body as he made his way to algebra  class, a small smile left on his face.

          Graciella shows up across the hallway, her bright red hair catching his eye in a sea of brown and blonde and blue. His stomach flutters as they get closer and closer to each other, finally meeting outside of the classroom. Her eyes rise to meet Peter’s, and instead of pulling away, Peter keeps looking. She smiles at him before disappearing inside the classroom, and Peter felt his knees get weak. With a deep breath and a triumphant smile, he walked into the classroom.

Wednesday

          Lunchtime; possibly one of the most enjoyable parts of Peter’s school day. Peter is free to kick back and stuff his face full of whatever junk the school board deems nutritious enough for highschoolers. Usually, he ate lunch under the bleachers with his friends, but in some sick twist of fate most of them were absent. So, Peter was left to eat alone in his usual spot.

          The quiet was comfortable, refreshing. The gentle summer breeze would blow every few minutes and Peter would listen to the rustle of the leaves. There’s a certain tranquility to being alone; Peter can lay back and relax and just… think. No stress, no panicking, no--

          “Hey, uh, Peter, right?” Peter’s eyes snap up so fast he’s afraid they would detach from his head and fall out. His breath faltered and his hands began to shake a bit-- why was he so freaked out? She was just a girl; sure, she was the prettiest girl he’d ever seen, and yeah, he was madly in love with her, but that’s besides the point. 

          “Uh-- uh, yeah, P-Peter. That’s, uh, that���s me,” He chuckled awkwardly, desperately trying to stay cool. Peter was an awkward person, but he’d rather die than fuck up his chances with Grace.

          “You dropped this on your way out of class yesterday, I, uhm, didn’t get to return it to you until now,” She holds out a small key chain with three small keys hanging off of it-- Peter’s house keys, along with the key to his mother’s car. He quickly takes the key chain from the red-haired girl in front of him.

          “Holy shit, uh, thanks! I couldn’t get into my house yesterday so I guess you saved me from another broken window,” Peter held up his hand and showcased the scattered pattern of small cuts on his palm. Grace laughed lightly before gently running her fingers over the cuts on Peter’s palm.

          “Oh fuck, dude, these look pretty bad. Maybe keep a spare key hidden under your welcome mat or something,” Peter doesn’t fully process Grace’s words; he’s too preoccupied with trying not to collapse at the feeling of her fingertips on his palm.

          “Hey, you okay? You look… pale,” Grace pressed the back of her hand on Peter’s forehead in an attempt to check for illness, but that just made Peter’s skin erupt in goosebumps. 

          “I, um, I’m fine. I’m just st-stressed about the algebra  t-test on Friday, I th-think,” To be fair, Peter was stressed about the algebra  test. Peter may or may not have spent the entire class staring at Grace instead of, you know, learning the material.

          “Oh! Well, if you want, I can help you study. I’m also kinda worried about it, and I study better with other people,” Peter silently thanked god for what was happening to him.

          “That would be fuckin’ fantastic,” Grace smiled a smile that made Peter shiver.

          “Cool! Uh, I’ll give you my phone number and we’ll meet up tomorrow. One day isn’t much time to study, but it’s better than nothing.” She pulls a pen out of her backpack and rips a small piece of paper out of one of her notebooks. Peter watches as she scribbles down her phone number and hands the paper to him.

          “Thanks. For everything, the keys, the studying-- everything.” Grace smiled.

          “It’s no problem, Peter, really. I’ll call you later,” And just like that, she walked away. Peter was left alone under the bleachers, a wide smile plastered on his face as he read the piece of paper in his hands over and over and over again.

Thursday

          30 minutes. 30 minutes until Grace Reaper DeCuerpo, the prettiest, nicest, funniest girl Peter had ever met would show up on his doorstep. She would be inside his house for god knows how long. She would sit next to Peter-- either on the coffee table in the basement or on the floor of his bedroom. Needless to say, Peter was freaking the fuck out.

          The plan was simple: Grace shows up, they study, they get comfortable, and she goes home. Yet, in those four simple steps, so much could go wrong. Wanda could interrupt, his mother could lose her temper, Lorena could start crying-- worst of all, Peter could embarrass himself and drive her away. 

           Peter was in the middle of reorganizing his record collection for a third time when he heard a knock at the door. His blood went cold and an electric excitement ran through his veins. Peter checked his hair in the mirror one last time before running to the door. He stood silently, staring at the chrome handle hesitantly. This was his one chance. His only chance to make his perfect kingdom real-- Peter really, really, really didn't want to fuck it up. With a deep breath, he slowly opened the door.

          "Hey, Peter!" Her voice was smooth and melodic and it made Peter's heart light up. He’s about to respond with something smooth and witty when a squeaky voice chirps behind him.

         “Hi!! Are you the pretty girl Peter talks about?” Peter can physically feel his face turn bright red as he turns to see his six-year-old sister, Lorena, standing behind him. She’s wearing a purple princess dress that has a syrup stain on the sleeve. Grace laughs before stepping through the doorway. 

          “Lorena!” Peter groans in annoyance, a pleading look on his face. The young girl just giggles before scurrying away, her dress flowing behind her.

          “‘The pretty girl Peter talks about’, huh?” Grace grins at Peter cheekily. Peter runs his hand through his hair before motioning to the staircase.

          “God, Lorna is quite the kid. Well, uh, we can work in my room,” He sighs. “And Grace? Uh, m-maybe don’t let Lorena change your opinion of me,” She just smirks before walking past Peter.

          “Too late,” She called before disappearing down the stairs. Peter could hear the faintest trace of a smile in her voice. His heart skipped a beat as he quickly followed after her. 

          She was wearing a Pink Floyd t-shirt and holding a backpack with various pins on it-- her left ear was pierced in three places and her right in five. The earrings she was wearing were black, or maybe grey; her bright red hair blocked Peter’s view of them. She was wearing rings, some odd words engraved in the metal. Peter couldn’t read them from where he was standing. She was wearing a skirt with fishnets, her hand buried in the pockets that seem to have been sewn in herself. She has callouses on both her hands, but Peter knew that already. Her appearance would put Aphrodite to shame-- suddenly, Peter was much less confident in himself than he was before. He ran his hand through his hair again before reaching the basement.

          He held his breath as Grace looked around his room, her gaze lingering on the plethora of stolen signs and band posters covering the walls. She placed her backpack on the floor and walked over to Peter’s record collection, her fingers carefully flitting through the different albums. She seemed… impressed. It was then that Peter realized it had been silent for much too long.

          “Y’know I can, uh, p-play some music if you want me to. You can just pick a record and, uh, I’ll... play it,” Peter winced at his words, cursing himself for being so awkward in front of the girl he’d been pining after since the beginning of the year. He felt like everything had spiraled out of control, and he watched idly as it happened. Then, Grace shot him a smile and pulled out a record.

          “You have a good taste in music, Silver,” No one had ever called Peter ‘silver’ before. He liked it a bit more than he should. “Although, that’s not really a surprise. I had a feeling you were cool.” 

          “You think I’m cool?” Peter asked, shocked. He wasn’t sure he heard her correctly.

          “Oh, totally. I see you in the hallways sometimes and you always seem so… carefree. Genuine. I don’t know, I guess it’s just… you, ya know? You’re naturally cool.” Every syllable that rolled off her tongue shot euphoria through Peter’s veins. Grace DeCuerpo, the girl Peter Maximoff had dreamed of for almost a full year, was telling him that she thought he was cool. Naturally cool. 

          “I know a lot of people who would disagree with you on that one,” Peter joked. There was truth behind his humor, but of course, he didn’t want to get into his insecurities now. “They think I’m a total loser, which isn’t totally wrong I guess.”

          “Well those people are stupid,” She stated matter-of-factly with a smile. “Speaking of stupid, we should probably get to work.” Peter nodded before sitting beside her on the floor. 

          For three hours they poured over their algebra  books. They quizzed each other and checked each other’s work; Peter’s proficiency in simplifying radicals aiding them both. Every now and then their hands would brush against each other, or the conversation would stray away from school and into their personal lives. Peter learned that Grace had two brothers, one of which passed away when she was younger. Peter talked about Lorena and Wanda and his miraculous abilities in the same way that she talked about her hometown and her own abilities. The conversation was smooth and natural-- Peter didn’t feel like he was being too annoying or too chatty and there was seldom an awkward pause. The pair were content in their time together, not a single moment went by where one wished the other would leave. 

          Eventually, Grace had to go home. Peter wished that she could stay forever, but of course, that would be considered kidnapping. He walked her to the door, although Peter didn’t feel like he was walking. He felt like he was floating.

          “Well, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow, Silver,” Grace said softly as she turned to face Peter. She looked him in the eye and he could feel his stomach flutter. 

          “Yeah, I guess so,” She opened the door, but before she left, she froze. She turned to look at Peter once again. 

          “Peter?” she said. “You’re not a loser.”

Friday

          Peter could tell the second he walked through the front door of his high school that something had changed. The energy that radiated in the halls shifted from a dull buzz of boredom to a rush of anticipation. The students in the hallway looked the same as always; tired and anxious and wishing for the day to go by quickly. However, Peter wasn’t wishing for the end of the day, and he certainly wasn’t tired. He was determined and energized and absolutely terrified, because that morning Peter Maximoff made the most important decision a seventeen-year-old could. He decided that he was going to ask Grace out on a date. 

          Peter made the choice to keep this from his friends-- it’s not that he didn’t trust them, it’s just that Peter knew he would be teased for his infatuation. It’s happened before and it will happen again. He walked down the hallways with a brave face on, his eyes forward and his heart racing. Truthfully, the silver teenager was terrified of… well, everything. The looming image of a harsh rejection forced itself into his mind; the idea that she would laugh in his face made his heart break a tiny bit, even though it wasn’t real. Peter simply shook those images away and walked on. 

          The day flew by much faster than Peter was comfortable with, and for the first time ever, he was dreading algebra  class. He was terrified that he would walk through the door and have everything be exactly the same-- he feared that Grace would go back to not knowing who he was, just like before. Peter was alright with never being her boyfriend, but he didn’t want to be a stranger. He didn’t think he could take being a stranger anymore. 

            So, there he stood, staring at the door to his algebra classroom from across the hall. He felt confident and prepared himself for the task at hand. In four long strides, he entered the classroom. Grace was sitting next to an empty desk, her eyes stuck on the small notebook full of doodles on her desk. Peter watched as her eyes raised to meet his, a wide smile forming on her face as she motioned him over. 

          “Hey, silver! I saved a seat for ya,” she called, and Peter felt his knees get weak. He then decided that he would wait until after class to ask her out. 

          “You did?”

          “Of course,” She grinned. “I like you, dude, you’re my friend,” Peter’s heart fluttered as he sat down beside her. Grace shot an odd look his way before reaching out and placing a hand on his arm. “Hey, you look stressed. Don’t sweat it, silver, you’ll do fine. We studied for, like, 3 hours yesterday. You’re gonna ace it,”

          To be frank, Peter had forgotten all about the test. The real reason he looked so stressed was because he happened to be sitting next to the love of his life, and the love of his life happened to be touching his arm. 

          “O-oh! Uh, yeah, thanks. I was just nervous because of… the test,” The bell rang and class began, the professor strictly laying down the rules that were to be followed while the test was in session. Peter could feel the lingering touch of her hand on his skin. It made his head feel fuzzy.

          Peter soon came to learn that sitting next to Grace during a test was a huge mistake. He couldn’t focus on anything other than her-- it didn’t help that she kept shooting him glances from where she sat. The numbers and letters on the paper in front of him seemed to rearrange before his eyes, instead spelling out various taunts. He feels a little pathetic for how easily Grace can unravel him, but hey, he’s a teenager. 

          The silver-haired boy’s eyes were struggling to decipher the words on his page when a small folded square landed on his desk. It came from Grace’s direction, and a small smirk had formed on her lips as she solved equations. Hesitantly, he unfolded the paper and read the neatly written message.

          Hey silver :)

          Peter smiled softly. He quickly pulled a pad of post-it notes out of his backpack and scribbled down a quick reply.

          I have no idea what I’m doing. I think Professor Stedman decided to write our tests in hieroglyphics this time.

          He flicked the note onto her desk and quickly turned his face downward. Class would be over soon, and Peter knew he couldn’t turn in a blank test. He uses his enhanced speed to do his assessment in seconds. Sure, he was almost certain he’d barely reach a passing grade, but hey, he had bigger matters to focus on. By the time he finished, another note landed on his desk.

          That bad, huh? Looks like we better study longer next time. 

          Peter’s heart swelled a bit. He really thought the study sessions were a one-time thing. He’s overjoyed to know he’ll get to see Grace semi-regularly, even if he never manages to ask her out.

          I think I’d rather hang out with you without the looming threat of schoolwork. 

          That’s the closest Peter could get to asking her out. He put deep thought into every word, he examined the phrasing and checked the spelling of every word. His english teacher would be proud.

          That can be arranged ;) 

          Peter had no idea that four words could make him feel so much. He had no idea that 17 letters could make him want to scream in the middle of a silent testing period. His hand was shaking and his careful planning was abandoned as he scribbled back a reply.

          Oh yeah? What did you have in mind?

          Patiently, he waited. He waited for Grace to finish writing her response and he waited for her to toss the note back over. He didn’t wait for more than a few minutes, but it felt like hours. He was panicking, and he was sure she could tell. She was probably joking, right? She was probably writing an awkward clarification-- she was probably explaining that she would actually rather die than be around him for non-academic reasons. He braced himself as the yellow post-it landed on the center of his desk.

          My aunt owns a drive-in a few miles from here and she gave me keys to the projector room and the gate. She managed to snag a copy of The Exorcist-- I thought you’d like to join me during my midnight escapade tomorrow night.

          Peter’s heart stopped. For a moment, he thought his eyes were fooling him. Maybe this was all some sick joke. Maybe he was being set up. Maybe he’ll get in her car tomorrow and she’ll drive him into the woods and murder him. To be completely honest, Peter wouldn’t mind if she murdered him. Peter wrote his reply.

          Really? You want me there? I might be a drag. You could probably find at least 20 other people who would probably be more interesting than me.

          Grace frowned at his response, and suddenly Peter decided he never wanted to see her frown again. She wrote confidently, her words solid and sure.

          You? A drag? Impossible. I don’t want to be alone, and I don’t want to be with anyone other than you, Maximoff. 

          This note was his undoing. He couldn’t help himself, he read it over and over and over again-- he almost forgot to respond. He wanted to hold onto it forever, he wanted it to be framed and hung on his wall. Hell, he wanted it tattooed on his arm. Peter had never been so happy while taking a test, that’s for sure. He wasn’t sure exactly what to say; he went from heartfelt responses to witty retorts. Finally, he decided to be totally and completely honest.

          I wouldn’t miss it for the world.

Saturday 

          There was seldom a time in his life where Peter Maximoff felt wholly content. Even in the most peaceful moments, there was always something bothering him, there was always something to pull him back to reality. However, sitting in the back of Grace’s dad’s convertible with the seats down and the roof pulled back, his head resting on her shoulder as they watched a cheesy horror movie, Peter was as close to nirvana as he’d ever been. 

          Life had always been so hard for Peter. He’s always had to fight for his seat at the table, to claw his way into a state of mind that wasn’t a hellhole. It seemed as if the world was plotted against him; he was ostracized from society and taught that he, along with his closest family and friends, were monsters. He never met his father and his mother spent so long fighting her own battles that she forgot to love her kids. Peter had to steal to stay fed, and he had to do his best to raise his little sisters to be good people. But right there, right then? That wasn’t hard. Peter didn’t have to be anyone or do anything-- he just had to exist next to someone who wanted him. That was the easiest thing Peter had ever done.

          Peter wasn’t exactly sure how he got there. Of course, he knew that they had driven to the drive-in, but he wasn’t sure how he was the person next to Grace. They had spoken for one day, maybe two, and somehow he landed himself in the most perfect spot in the entire universe. Less than a week ago, she didn’t even know his name. Or, maybe she did. Maybe she was just like Peter-- maybe she had spent the past year pining for him, and finally she worked up the nerve to just talk to him. Maybe. Peter isn’t complaining either way.

          “Can I ask you a kind of cheesy question?” Peter is startled by the sound of his own voice. Grace sits up and glances at him.

          “Shoot,”

          “Do you-- well, uh, don’t read too much into this, but, do you believe in love at first sight?” God, he sounded awkward. 

          “Nope,” She said bluntly. Peter wasn’t expecting that answer, but he wasn’t exactly disappointed by it. “I mean, it’s kind of a stupid idea, ya know? Like, isn’t there a million poems and sonnets and books written about how love is this weird complicated monster of a feeling? I don’t think you can really love someone just by looking at them. You can love the idea of a person, sure, or maybe the look of a person, but you can’t love that person. Because a person is so much more than ‘first sight’,” she sighs. “I don’t know, maybe I’m being a killjoy. It just seems dumb to me-- dumb and, I don’t know, exclusive,”

          Peter stops to think for a moment. He steps out of his lovesick chaotic hellbrain and looks at his feelings from an outside perspective. He thinks back to the kingdom he created in his brain-- a kingdom built on a foundation of sand. Or, less than sand. Holographic sand, because the sand he built his kingdom on wasn’t real. He made a mental note that ‘Holographic Sand’ is a kickass band name, then resumed his impromptu soul-searching. She was right-- he could see  that now. Scott was right, too. You really can’t love someone you don’t know, because if you don’t know them, you fill in the gaps. You fill in the gaps with what you think fits, and then the other person stops being them and starts being parts of you. Peter suddenly felt weird.

          “I’m sorry if I said something wrong,” Grace interjects after a while. Peter hadn’t realized he’d been silent for so long.

          “You didn’t say anything wrong. On the contrary, you, uh, you made things a little bit more… right, in my brain. You somehow managed to take a little chunk of chaos and tame it, which is scarily impressive,” he joked. “Remind me to ask you your opinion on the meaning of life and the root of true happiness,” They’re joined in a chorus of laughter and Peter realizes that his little brain kingdom didn’t hold a candle to the red convertible he was sitting in. She slings an arm around his shoulders.

          “Y’know, I might not know the meaning of life, but I am pretty close to true happiness right now,” She says, softer than before. “Maybe the root of true happiness is you, Maximoff,” She chuckles. Peter smiles. He doesn’t want the ruin the moment-- god, he is desperately trying to keep himself from fucking it up, but he feels obligated to tell her about his year of pining.

          “Hey, uh, can I tell you something kinda pathetic?” He cringes at the way his voice trembled on the last word. 

          “Go ahead, Peter,” She used his name this time. Peter thinks she knows he’s about to say something mildly serious.

          “I’ve liked you since, like, the beginning of the year. You seemed so… cool. So nice. I saw you in the hallways and my stomach would get all twisted up and my head would hurt a little bit. It was like I was allergic to you, but I enjoyed it. That sounds weird. I’m sorry,” He stopped for a moment, attempting to take the buzzing mass of words in his brain and string them into a sentence. “I was too afraid to talk to you, so I, uh, asked around. I got other people’s opinions of you and then built a little version of you in my brain. I realize now that, uhm, the little brain version of you is like, way way worse than actual you,”

          When you talked to me the first time, you threw me off. I wasn’t really nervous about the test-- I mean, yeah I was nervous but that’s not why I looked so pale. I just wasn’t expecting for you to talk to me, like, willingly. So I lied because I was embarrassed. And I lied again in class yesterday. Because I was embarrassed,” He stopped talking. Peter felt like he was digging himself into a hole-- he felt like he killed the sweet sugary mood. 

          “Why are you telling me this?” Grace asked. She didn’t sound angry. She sounded a little confused, and she sounded like she was trying to help Peter decipher his brain. 

          “I don’t know, I guess I just feel bad. I feel bad for, uh, for not being honest I guess. I feel bad for being a coward,” Yep, definitely killed the mood.

          “Peter, you shouldn’t feel bad for being afraid, you know,” She assures. “I would’ve done the exact same thing in your position. Hell, I did do the exact same thing in your position,” That caught Peter’s attention.

          “What?”

          “You didn’t drop your keys in algebra. You dropped them somewhere in bio and my friend found them. She was gonna take them to the office, but I wanted an excuse to talk to you, so I said I’d return them,” Peter couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He was being pranked, he had to be. “Being awkward and weird is like a requirement in high school. Don’t sweat it, Maximoff, really. We’re all the same in that way, I think,”

          Peter felt a wave of relief wash over him. He was feeling too much at that moment, he was letting the bad drown out the good. He didn’t want to remember the day in a sad light.

          “I like you. A lot. Even if you are awkward and weird,” He smiles softly. Slowly, ever so slowly, he intertwined his fingers with those of the girl beside him. It was a simple display of affection, but it made Peter feel like he was floating.

          “I like you too, dork,” Peter smiled widely before placing his head back on Grace’s shoulder. Peter wasn’t paying attention to the movie, in fact, he wasn’t paying attention to anything at all. No, Peter was lost in his head again-- but this time, he wasn’t standing on a false kingdom with a false version of the girl he liked. No, this time, he was thinking about the very real girl beside him. He was thinking about the perfect world they had created in the small car they were in; a perfect world where he felt so much emotion and so, so safe. They had built a utopia in the back seat- a blissful tower of awkwardness and comfort and clumsy confessions. A paradise where he sat in the back seat of a Ford Galaxie with Graciella DeCuerpo, the pretty girl from algebra class, sitting right next to him. 

[green-and-grey-kenaz]

Solace in Plato

Language: English

Characters: Nico di Angelo, Will Solace, Chiron

Summary: With the now rather alarming prospect of actually reaching adulthood being a reality, Nico has agreed to tutoring under Chiron's guidance. When Plato is suggested as something to study, Nico is not impressed and avoids it. A few weeks later and Will Solace asks him whether he's actually read Plato or just an abridged version.

Just a little fic exploring their relationship and Nico's internalised issues with being gay.

Word Count: c. 2 500

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/32634607

“I hate Plato.” Nico muttered, staring at the book placed in front of him as he sat in the library of the Big House. Having not had any formal education since the ‘30s, Chiron had taken it upon himself to help educate Nico should he wish to get exam results - which would be useful for getting a job or Athena believe it, going to University. Neither was a prospect that he had ever really considered possibilities but the alternative was staying here and helping out with the new recruits while Will went to University in a few years time or doing the same thing but in New Rome.

Because Will insisted that he wanted to help the world, not just demigods. Nico didn’t deserve him.

So he’d agreed to go along with this and when Chiron had asked him if there was any subjects he thought he might take at University (and after Nico had suggested undertaker, mortician or detective based on a TV show Will had told him about, don't ask) he had begrudgingly admitted that he had more than a passing interest in Classics. Try as he might, his childish obsession with mythomagic had left him with more than a passing knowledge of Classical characters and he got a strange, warm feeling in his chest when he knew the answer to ‘how do we kill this obscure monster’ and no one else did.

Based on these answers, he had a somewhat tailored learning with Classics in both Italian, English and the Original Ancient Greek (his Greek was amazing for his age - a by-product of being a half-blood - but apparently his English reading skills were that of a kid and his Italian not much better, Hades knew why) and more than his fair share of biology and chemistry. Will had been only too delighted to help him with the sciences, although was suspiciously absent when it came to physics and math, but that was OK, really, and he probably wouldn’t make a good mortician anyway because he shouldn’t pick careers based on how many spirits he could raise, tempting as it was. The rest of his schooling thought? That fell to Chiron.

And today? Well, apparently they had progressed onto Philosophy and a man who's work made Nico's stomach plummet. Plato.

“Why is that?” Chiron asked, a patient expression on his face. Nico just glowered at him but like Will, he seemed impervious to it. It was irritating when people did not cower and cave in to his glares. He was used to inspiring fear in others.

“Do I need a reason?” Nico his arms, leaning back on the chair, returning a dark gaze to the book as if he could cause it to wither and crumble under his gaze. If he could do it to food, why not books? Plato sat cheerfully happy there without so much as a speck of mold coming to grace it.

“When discussing philosophy, it can be rather helpful.”

“Well I just don’t like him. Pick some other philosopher.”

Chiron had stared at him for a good few seconds before relenting, choosing some other book and asking no further questions about it. Nico hated that he could feel just how his heart rate had picked up, thundering in his chest as if it would crack open his rib cage. He knew people suspected… that the people he tolerated as friends already knew and accepted him for his inclinations… for what he was… but he wasn’t ready to confront the proof that he was different. Wrong, a voice always threatened to whisper in his ear. An abomination. A freak of nature. Nico knew that he couldn't read Plato, not with Chiron standing there and dissecting the merits of this particular work. It was never easy to look in the mirror and see just how messed up you were.

Despite the time it took for his heart to return back to normal, he did manage the text they’d chosen and perhaps sensing his unease, Chiron had used it as a chance to work on his reading more than the philosophy. He even finished the lesson with a kind smile and was informed that his modern language skills had far approached where they should be for someone his age. This followed with a suggestion that he could go into translation work. It was tempting, he would be better able to hide away in a darkened room as a translator than becoming an academic (sadly, these days academics had more obligations to teach), so Nico nodded and promised to think on it.

Two weeks later found Nico sitting in the shadows of the forest while Will quizzed him on anatomy which counted as studying for both of them. Annoyingly Will was refusing to sit anywhere other than the sunlight and so had coerced Nico into what they had settled on as being called ‘a potential threat to his aesthetic’, or in other words, dappled shade. It had promised to be a rather lovely day until a topic best avoided reared its head.

“Why do you hate Plato?” Will asked suddenly, looking up at him with those bright eyes and that warm smile that made something in his stomach twitch and his throat clench. Nico knew he shouldn’t feel so ill at ease with these feelings. They hadn’t put a word on it but it was a thing that they were doing. Having feelings together, exchanged smiles and moments of laughter when he thought no one was watching. Once, Will had even placed his hand down a mere inch from Nico’s and he had let his little finger flicker to just once lightly tap against Will’s in thanks for the silent support. He’d felt sick with guilt afterwards, but what was new? The little moments of happiness more than made up for it.

“I just do. And Chiron shouldn’t have told you that.” He muttered, shifting to move back under the full shade of a tree, pulling his legs in to his chest as Will closed the book. Right, study was over. Nico wrapped his arms around his legs, finger shifting the skull ring as he felt the pressing anxiety to run and escape the potential fallout. How many people knew? No doubt his unnaturalness was being spoken of throughout camp as he sat here. They would prove Jason wrong that times had changed. Their eyes would follow him, judging and radiating hate for someone who was so different. He’d have to leave and go back on the run, abandoning all he had built here. Nico closed his eyes as the feelings became overwhelming and claustrophobic, grass yellowing beneath his feet.

“He was concerned.” Will said softly, shifting over to sit next to Nico and breaking his silent panic.

“I’m not talking about it.”

“Is it Plato’s Sympo-?”

“No.”

“Hm. That’s what Chiron thought as well.” Nico could hear amusement in Will’s voice and concern. He dropped his hands from twisting the ring, suddenly subconscious of his tell and instead twined blades of dead grass between his fingers and yanked. His hand opened to let the picked grass tumble back to the earth.

“Did you read the original or just hear an abbreviated version?” Will pressed.

“Have you read it?” Nico challenged, ripping up more grass.

“Not until last week. Chiron sat me down with it and we discussed it.”

“Then you know why I can’t stand Plato.”

“Abbreviated version, huh?”

Nico looked over to Will who did not look disgusted, upset or any of the other myriad of emotions that he would have expected. Did he not read the whole mankind were once male and female, now split and eternally trying to recombine with their other half? Which left them and whatever they had rather in the dirt. Because if there was one thing that was worse than knowing he wasn’t right, that there had been some huge mistake with his creation, it was knowing that someone as good as Will Solace had the same affliction. Sure, he could be annoying but Will deserved more than that. He shouldn’t be a broken half. If anyone deserve to be able to become whole once more, it was Will. Will, who was staring at him like he expected some answer and Nico shrugged, yanking more grass.

“So what? I was like eleven. Not exactly likely to go and read the actual version. I deserve credit for even doing that much.” He couldn't actually remember how he'd heard it. He had found out that it was from Plato's Symposium after he knew the story, that much he knew. He assumed either he had read it very young or perhaps some ghost had told him. Most of his pre-Camp Half Blood lessons had come from ghosts in one form or another.

“Perhaps you should. I rather liked the bit about the straights all being nymphomaniacs and adulters.” Will smirked.

Nico frowned, his body freezing as he blinked very slowly trying to make what Will had said align with what he knew. A frown tugged at his brow.

“What… do you mean…?”

“Well, the whole bit about there being people made of two parts, either two men, two women, or a man and a woman, always trying to get back together. And the same sex ones generally being the better lot. Well, more the two men combos because they weren’t necessarily the most progressive in Ancient Greece. But in the end, that’s just a story that Plato had Aristophanes, who was a comedic playwright, tell. It’s not really anything to be taken too seriously.”

How had no one told him that? A dark anger settled into the pit of Nico's stomach and he found himself wanting to track down whichever spirit had lied to him and- Will continued speaking, his voice too light for Nico to continue his thoughts and the seething hatred dissipated.

“Honestly, read it if you don’t believe me. Chiron sat me down and took me through the whole story, every boring line after every boring line. I’m not supposed to tell you this because he’d rather you told him when you’re ready but he kind of clocked that you and I-” Nico shot Will a death glare and Will held up his hands.

“I was going to say get on well! And yeah, considering your aversion to Plato, he thought it might be you heard a misrepresented version of that story. We both know about festering wounds so agreed you should learn the truth of the matter. Preferably not by forced study so I kind of had to get an impromptu philosophy lesson. I think Chiron intended me to be rather more subtle about his involvement but my assessment is that it is better to know that you’re not alone and that it’s OK.”

Nico did not want to stare at Will. He did not want to look shocked nor rattled. He focused on plucking more grass and trying not to feel pleased that Will could sit in silence, knowing he needed time to speak and for it not to feel awkward.

“I just.” Nico frowned. The story had not exactly haunted him but it had lodged itself into his chest as further proof of all he had been raised to understand. It felt like a screw had been loosened somewhere deep within. “It isn’t saying that… well…?”

“No,” Will smiled. “And, I mean, the best thing about it is Plato actually wasn't arguing for the gays or the straights. There’s just like this collection of discussion by some old dudes on the meaning of love and then Socrates comes in boom at the end and we get Platonic love , or the basics of it. Big advocation for love being about the search for the meeting of minds rather than physical stuff, which I think is a rather good way to look at it. It goes on to being about then true love is a love of knowledge. That’s what the whole thing is kind of about. I think. Most of it went over my head.”

“That… doesn’t sound so bad.” Nico admitted, his hands winding around some grass but not yet pulling. He focused on the texture of it in his palm and it ground him.

“Besides, it’s not like it’s the be all and end all.” Will continued. “It’s just some guy arguing about love two thousand years ago and what do they know?”

Nico hummed, chin resting on his knees as he stared out at the camp below them. Will moved to sit closer, mirroring his position merely a foot away. If either of them leaned just a bit, their head might rest on the other one’s shoulder and Nico did not shift away.

“I just… As long as I can remember I’ve always been told that love is between a man and a woman. I just seemed inescapable. It didn’t matter who was teaching…” It wasn’t easy and words caught in his throat.

“Look, I know it’s complicated and none of this is going to be easy but I just want you to know that if you need to talk about something, you have me. And if you don’t want to talk to me about it, then Chrion is there too-”

“No.” Nico said hastily, blinking in surprise at that. “That is… I’d rather talk to you than Chiron. About things.” He noticed that at some point, Will had placed a hand, palm upwards between them. Hesitantly, Nico slipped his hand down, ghosting his fingers over Will’s. He did not move or even look at him and somehow feeling safer in that knowledge Nico let his fingers intertwine.

It was better than the grass.

“But when I’m ready. There’s… I’ve got a lot to figure out about all this but I know whatever I think, I enjoy what we have and I don’t want to not feel this.” He twisted their hands so Will’s was on top now and his fingers brushed against Will’s knuckles and down the proximal phalange before circling the knuckles again. Will’s thumb brushed against his and Nico felt his body begin to tense against the warmth and sparks of feelings. In moments like this, it was hard to believe that what they had was wrong.

“I don’t want to not feel like this either.” Will smiled and the distance between them seemed less, although Nico could not say how the gap had closed.

If they really were two halves of a whole, Will had to be his better half, Nico reflected as he felt his head drawn to rest feather light on his… on Will’s shoulder. Yes, it felt like this might be completion or at the very least something that Nico had not felt for an even longer period: contentment.

[eddiemilkman]

- Random Writing Prompt #1 -

Hey there! I’m pretty new to this platform and just trying to find my way around it for now, but I do wanna make a quick low quality post just to fill up a bit of space. I went on this website https://www.servicescape.com/writing-prompt-generator (This one here) and decided a fun thing to do when entering this cite was one of those funky prompts. So I did! And here's a portion of it. It’s late and I have a test tomorrow so I don't wanna stay up too long, but here’s a bit of writing to get a feel of what I’m all about. Hope you enjoy. (Also an important thing to note: I’m not a huge spelling or grammar buff so there’s probably mistakes and I’m sorry.)

ᴘʀᴏᴍᴘᴛ #862: ᴡʜᴇɴ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜɴɢ, ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅꜱ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀ ɴᴇɪɢʜʙᴏʀʜᴏᴏᴅ ʙᴏʏ ᴡʜᴏ ʟɪᴋᴇᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴀᴍᴇ ᴛʜɪɴɢꜱ ᴀꜱ ʏᴏᴜ. ʙᴏᴛʜ ᴏꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ᴅɪʀᴛ ᴘᴏᴏʀ, ʙᴜᴛ ɪᴛ ᴅɪᴅɴ'ᴛ ꜱᴇᴇᴍ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴀᴛᴛᴇʀ; ᴀꜱ ʟᴏɴɢ ᴀꜱ ʏᴏᴜ ʜᴀᴅ ᴇᴀᴄʜ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ, ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ᴡᴀꜱ ᴀʟᴡᴀʏꜱ ᴀ ᴍᴀᴋᴇ-ʙᴇʟɪᴇᴠᴇ ᴀᴅᴠᴇɴᴛᴜʀᴇ ʀɪɢʜᴛ ᴀʀᴏᴜɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴏʀɴᴇʀ. ʜᴇ ɢʀᴇᴡ ᴜᴘ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴀ ꜱᴛᴀʀ ʙᴀꜱᴋᴇᴛʙᴀʟʟ ᴘʟᴀʏᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ, ɴᴏᴡ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʜᴇ'ꜱ ᴡᴇᴀʟᴛʜʏ ʙᴇʏᴏɴᴅ ɪᴍᴀɢɪɴᴀᴛɪᴏɴ, ꜱᴇᴇᴍꜱ ᴛᴏ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ꜰᴏʀɢᴏᴛᴛᴇɴ ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ʜᴇ ᴄᴀᴍᴇ ꜰʀᴏᴍ. ʏᴏᴜ ʜᴀᴠᴇɴ'ᴛ ᴛᴀʟᴋᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ʜɪᴍ ɪɴ ʏᴇᴀʀꜱ, ʙᴜᴛ ᴀ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ꜰᴀᴍɪʟʏ ʙʀɪɴɢꜱ ʜɪᴍ ʙᴀᴄᴋ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏʟᴅ ɴᴇɪɢʜʙᴏʀʜᴏᴏᴅ, ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ʀᴇᴄᴏɴɴᴇᴄᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ʀᴇɪɴᴛʀᴏᴅᴜᴄᴇ ʜɪᴍ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ʟɪꜰᴇ ʜᴇ ʟᴇꜰᴛ ʙᴇʜɪɴᴅ.

ᴘᴀʀᴛ (1/??) ᴘɪᴄᴋʟᴇ ᴄʜɪᴘ ᴇᴀᴛᴇʀꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ᴘɪᴄᴋʟᴇ ᴄʜɪᴘ ꜱᴇʟʟᴇʀꜱ

When we were young, my mother told me Gary was going to be a total tool. And I didn’t believe her at all. Gary was my friend so I couldn't imagine him growing older and not being good ole Gary. The Gary you could laugh and pig out with. The Gary who would holler and bark so loudly in class, the teacher would have to put him out in the hallway with nothing but his worksheet and pencil bag. He never acted like he was better than anyone else. When the washing machine would run busted, he would flip his shirt and wear it the next school day just like all of the rest of us. 

That's why when he was accepted into that fancy-schmancy college for scarf wearers and coffee drinkers, it knocked me straight on my ass. I was happy, and everyone strung up a plastic smile at his going away party, but when he left everything was so...colorless. I wouldn’t deem it tool behavior, but it did solidify my mother's suspicion of him one day up and ditching me. He was my other half and then just dipped out on me for prestigious people who read Shakespeare and go to those cafes where there's wifi. He didn't even know those people! He left his comfortable little river to swim out through the mouth into an ocean of unfamiliar specimens. Sharks and dolphins, all aggressively fighting for a reward neither of us would daydream of.

We both sort of assumed we’d be stuck sweeping the Quick Mart or selling rolled joints to middle schoolers until the end of time. Middle schoolers would never stop loving the abuse of weak drugs and the Quick mart floors would never not have puddles of vomit and booze. That sounds more like a secure job than something you can go to college for. You can turn around one day and boom, the stock market or something crashed (?) I don't know much about business. Anyways yeah, you get my point. Pickle chips and fake cheese the color of a school bus will never go out of style. Stupid businesses that make those fancy indoor bike things will. What if everyone one day woke up and said “wow, I can always just run outside…”. Then what would happen? Those who went to college and got that stinky degree would be thrown out on the street, eating away their stress by scarfing down pickle chips!

I never thought of Gary as a pickle chip eater rather than a pickle chip seller. I mean when we would scribble down our future on printer paper it was incredibly detailed and surprisingly dull for children. The fortune we manifested during a game of M.A.S.H read to us as a mere fantasy. When we reached middle school it was clear we weren't going to live a life of golf courses and acceptable day drinking. We sort of realized this a few weeks into middle school, when we would be lined up against a brick wall while tall beefy police officers with their beastly dogs raided lockers for weed and patted us down for pocket knives. We were treated like deadbeats so we sort of expected it from ourselves and assumed the only way out was if one of us won the Powerball or….if the other one won the Powerball. I thought that was the plan… Man, being a failure alone sort of sucks come to think of it.  

I wouldn't call myself a loser, just not a massive winner-ly type. I’m a goal-getter and I'll give myself that. I did land that job at Quick Mart restocking shelves, which is a little bittersweet now. 

Gary always popped into my head every other week. I guess I’m just hung up on the stuff I never got to say. Why didn’t he suggest we attend the same college? Why when it came to our future planning was he loud, but in reality, disappeared so quietly?

“CHAS!” A voice echoed behind me. So sharp and stern, mean and crippling. Ugh...Lester. “You’ve been sweeping that corner for 5 minutes! Quit bleeding the clock and go do some actual work!” 

I grip the handle of the broom and grunt. Fucking Lester. If there's anyone from high school I didn't want to land a job with, it's that joker. He was scrawny in size but a huge talker. It's crazy how the smallest of people always squawk the loudest. I do what he says because he’s a loudmouth and will probably rant and rave about me to the boss about how I leave all of the work on his tiny frame and he needs someone “competent”. Well, I need someone who doesn't act like a total ass-hat, but my needs haven't been accommodated yet so neither will his. I began toying around with some boxes of wafers on the shelf, just straightening them for no good reason. Sedated by boredom, I find my mind slowly drifting into other places. Where was he? Was he skipping around a college campus, holding onto his textbooks that he had to pay for?! Who pays for his pencils and books and highlighters? I bet he has that little bottle of white paint you slap over pen mistakes because your assignment is just too important for there to be scribbles on. 

“GET THE HELL OUTTA 'HERE!” 

My body suddenly jolts at the commotion from over near the cash register. Lester was using his thin little arms to violently push a grey round figure into the glass door. The man stumbled over his torn sneakers and gripped the doorframe. Lester used his small fist to pound on his fingers while simultaneously kicking him in the thigh. Once the man let go, Lester used the collar of his worn bomber jacket to throw him out onto the sidewalk. He shuffled from the door with hesitation, breathing like a wolf. 

“Damn” I whimper meekly through the gaps of the shelves. 

“That’s it, we’re closed.”

“Uh, Larry’s not gonna-”

“That meth head is gonna freak the hell out again. That joker comes in high as a plane every other day, and asks me if he can use his ‘coupons’ which I’ve told him a trillion times are fake and obviously printed out on a home computer-”

“Let him have it”, I squeak “he’s probably just really hungry”

“An iced tea, Slim Jim, and a loaf of bread should fill him up just fine! He treats shopping here like its extreme couponing. The worst part isn't the fake-y coupons, but when he wigs the hell out on me when I deny him. You weren't here when he sprayed me with fake cheese?”

“I think I was late that day”

Lester rolled his eyes. 

“‘Course you were. God forbid your 6-foot ass came and protected me from crazy meth addicts.”

“Can we give him the spoils in the back?” I ask as I make my move over to the back room. The pile of “spoiled” food had built up to a mountain of American waste. I was ready to cut a slice into my unofficial take-home pay to get a hungry guy some food. I mean at least he was crafty and wasn't trying to come to rob the place.

“He’s gonna come in here with a gun one of these days.” I from the back room. “And get sent to the joint for a 3 dollar slim jim and pack of Oreos?” Lester strolls in behind me.

“3 square meals a day...” I mutter. Prison never sounded so bad. Free food, chess, television if you’re good. I was a good guy. I'd probably be on kitchen duty or do something fun. 

“Well, I wouldn't put it past him...that crazy weirdo”

*Yah so this is the basic rundown of how I write and what maybe most of my posts will look like. As you can see its a umm....*ahem* easy read? I’m not that artistic with my writing sorry. Maybe ill improve one day.*