#approach bravely Pi Club

[mvssmallow]

Memento Vivere

Part XI

Masterlist

In his Real Life, the one where he lives alone in a high rise apartment that record company money paid for, he’d either wake up alone or with people he has no intention of seeing again, much less make small talk with in the morning. If it’s high profile enough, his manager can threaten them with signing NDAs on their way out. It’s not his problem beyond the doorway.

When he’s hungry, he eats. When he wants to play video games, he does. When he wants to go out, hit a bar, hit a club, he throws on his leather jacket and grabs his credit card. His manager and team are permanently hovering but they know that they go where he goes. It’s easier to ask for forgiveness than permission and he knows he’s everyone’s meal ticket so what’s the worst that could happen? Nobody asks questions, he doesn’t offer answers.

But that’s not how all the Jiwons live.

Some Jiwons can’t do anything with getting clearance from an entire army of people, including one who can’t even talk yet.

And that’s how he finds himself now, crouched on the floor helping Minji with the velcro tabs on her Mickey Mouse sneakers and trying to figure out why Hanbin’s packing two backpacks for them when they’re just taking the kids to the Zoo.

Snacks. Water. Sunscreen. Money. A spare change of clothes for both kids. All of Jae’s baby supplies and a camera.

Okay, that’s standard.

But then there’s a whole other black backpack with headache tablets, allergy tablets, a small first aid kit, alternate snacks in case the other options get rejected and spare adult t-shirt and hoodie.

Anyone would think that they were going to Antarctica and not a couple minutes into town.

One of Minji’s Snoopy plushies is poking out of ‘his’ backpack and he doesn’t even remember it being there two seconds ago.

“Er, Hanbin?”

“Hmm?”

“Why do we have to take Snoopy to the Zoo?”

Hanbin looks up from where he’s adjusting Jae’s stroller. “Because I don’t feel like dealing with another tantrum today.”

“Will she even play with it-”

“Don’t you remember what happened last time?”

No he doesn’t. He wasn’t even here last time.

But Hanbin continues on, not even pausing for an answer because, he realises with crushing guilt, the Hanbin here doesn’t expect him to remember anything important.

“She got tired and scared from the snake display and cried for like 15 minutes until we got her a new plushy.” Hanbin recounts without stopping his stroller adjustments. “We’re not getting her a new plushy every time she freaks out. She can have Snoopy.”

“Oh.”

Hanbin straightens up and rolls his eyes. “Yeah. Oh. You think she’s not going to try it again? I’ve got this kid figured out.”

“You make her sound like she’s an evil mastermind.”

“And this is why she plays you so easily.”

He feels like laughing at the melodramatics but Hanbin’s furrowed brows, pursed lips and accusatory tone has him thinking otherwise.

“Sorry.”

“Huh?” There’s a surprised lilt and comically big eyes staring at him.

Even when they were kids meeting for the first time, he always thought Hanbin’s eyes got too big whenever he was surprised by something. Not quite doe eyes. Not quite Bambi. But pretty close. It’s memories like that that really punches him in the gut when he least expects it.

“Um, sorry? I guess. I should probably be more tough with her?” His voice is wobbly and unsure, it sounds nothing like how a Dad should sound. Hanbin’s going to figure all his lies out in 3, 2, 1.....

“Yeah....okay.”

It comes out quietly, calmly, appreciatively and relieved. He really doesn’t want to think about how the Jiwon here treats this Hanbin at all. Not when he himself, a total selfish idiot on his best day, is doing the bare minimum and somehow hasn’t fucked everything up. How much worse is the Real Dad Jiwon?

There’s a dark raincloud following him around everywhere here and he’s had enough of it. Just for one second, he wishes Hanbin would be happy. Not Pretend-Happy-for the sake of Everyone else but Real-Happy-Just-For-Himself.

“Isn’t it a bit hypocritical that we’ve got so many plushies for Jae though?” He jokes to lighten the mood.

Please work. Please work. Don’t get pissed.

Hanbin’s face visibly softens and he shrugs, maybe smiling a little. “He’s the baby. He can have whatever he wants.”

Right on cue, Jae babbles out at the mention of his name and the word ‘baby’.

“See? He agrees with me.”

“Of course he would. You let him have everything.”

“As if you don’t.”

“Well, he is the baby.”

“You do this every time.” Hanbin says with an amused shake of his head.

“Do what?”

“Act like you’re surprised about how much baby stuff we need.”

“He’s so small! Why does he even need that much stuff?”

“I don’t know Jiwon, he’s your kid, why don’t you ask him why he needs his bear and duck toys everywhere he goes?”

“Maybe he just wants to be prepared.”

“Because you never know when a bear situation will arise.” Hanbin replies in a mock serious tone.

And then the weirdest thing happens; they both laugh.

It’s nice.

But then-

“HURRY UP DADDY!”

Yeah, okay. Then there’s that.

****

The day turns out nice.

Weirdly, exhaustingly, overwhelmingly nice.

It’s somewhere between the Polar bear enclosure and Tiger cave that he forgets he’s pretending to be a dad and somehow feels like he is one.

“Daddy? Up?” Minji asks, sweet as can be all the sudden, tugging on his sleeve before holding both arms up at him.

As soon as he bends down, she’s already climbing onto his shoulders with practiced ease and a terrifying amount of trust that he really doesn’t deserve from any of them. He grips her ankles tightly as she yells out tiger commentary at the top of her lungs. There’s a young couple next to them smiling and a slightly older one laughing at the, “Look Daddy! The tiger knows how to swim!”

It takes him a few seconds to recognise the warmth in his chest. He hasn’t felt it in a long time.

Pride.

They think Minji is his daughter. But she’s not. Hanbin should get credit for this.

When he looks over, Hanbin is already looking back at him with an easy smile that he wouldn’t mind seeing more often.

Yeah, that’s really really nice.

And maybe because things are going too well, his dark raincloud decides to swoop in again. The building migraine suddenly throbbing behind his eyes and no matter how hard he tries to ignore it, the grimace hits his face at the worst time.

“Hey, you okay?” Hanbin asks him, reaching up to lower Minji to the ground despite her protests. “The tiger’s gone over there now Min, go look.”

It distracts her long enough for Hanbin to peer worriedly at his face.

“I’m...okay.” He waves the concern off, hoping the movement to comes across as casual. “Just a migraine.”

“Okay.” Hanbin echoes, not sounding convinced at all. “It’s probably time for lunch anyway. Let’s go find a place to sit down.”

They end up on a shady patch of grass near the duck pond and as soon as he sits down, Hanbin is holding out a bottle of water and two Advils. He takes them wordlessly, still marvelling at how one person can change so much in one lifetime.

There’s a gentle breeze through his hair as he sits on the picnic rug and when he closes his eyes, just for a second, he can hear Hanbin talking to both his kids in that patiently gentle way that still floors him.

“Oh no, I left Jae’s dinosaur snacks in the car.”

He’s already standing up. “I’ll go get them.”

“No, I’ll go. You’ve got a migraine. Just stay here and watch the kids.”

He shakes his head, the migraine is still there but he could do with a walk right now. “It’s better you watch them. I’ll go, it’s easier.”

And God, he really wishes he hadn’t said that.

Because next to their Honda, was that Angel-Satan guy leaning against a familiar black Jaguar. His stomach drops so fast that he completely forgets about his migraine altogether.

“YOU!” He hisses. “What are you doing here?”

“Welfare check.” The guy says casually, shrugging and adjusting the dark black sunglasses on his nose. “So, how’s things Jiwon?”

Something about the casual sunny disposition irritates him and he can barely hold it in.

“Listen, I know you know something about what’s going on here, so can you just-“

Angel (it’s what he’s started calling this weirdo in his head), just rolls his eyes but stays exactly where he is.

“You like it here?”

“What?”

“Do you like it here? This family little set up you’ve got?”

“Yeah, it’s....alright,” He starts, caught off guard by the question and unsure how to answer something like that now. “What’s that got to do with anything? Just tell me what the hell is going on?!”

“Just alright?”Angel echoes, tone disappointed and condescending. “Typical.”

“What?”

“Are you always this dense? Seriously?” Angel sneers now, crossing his arms in a way that’s threatening despite his smaller stature. “Actually, don’t answer that. I already know you are. It’s the whole reason you’re here to begin with.”

“I’m not dense! I get it! I know this isn’t right!” He snaps, running a tired hand through his hair. “This isn’t even my life. I’m not crazy. I’m a rapper, I live in Seoul, I have-“

“An album coming out, a girl and two guys you owe dates to, a manager who doesn’t really care about you as long as you’re on the charts and a family you rarely talk to. Empty chairs at empty tables and all that jazz.” Angel finishes with a wave of his fingers. “Yeah I know all about your other life, moron.”

He stumbles back, shocked by the truth for some reason, and it’s only when his hip hits the fucking Honda that he remembers Jae’s dinosaur snacks.

“I need to-“

“They can wait.”

“No, I need to get back. They’ll wonder where I am.”

Angel shakes his head, pointing to the very eerily still world around them. There’s a few families in the car park but they all frozen in mid motion.

“What did you do?”

“What does it look like?” Angel says. “It’s just suspended reality. So we can have our little chats without people thinking you’re nuts.”

“Is this real? Is this an alternate reality?”

“Something like that.”

He wasn’t expecting a real answer but that one sounds even worse.

“Why am I here?”

“To fix your mess.”

“What mess? Fix what?”

“I can’t tell you that. You can leave here when you figure that out for yourself. That’s how this works.”

“What about my other life? What about-“

“Suspended, for now.” Angel says, pushing off the Jaguar to stand next to him. “That sad little life will still be waiting for you when you’re done here.”

“What about the guy here? Me? Future me. Is it me right? I’m their dad right? Not some other guy?”

Angel smiles at the sudden panic in his voice. “Yeah it’s you. I mean, have you even seen your son lately? He looked like your twin even before he was born.”

He leans heavily against the Honda behind them, overwhelmed again but not in a good way.

“Do they know? That I’m not their real dad that usually lives here?” He asks quietly, as if the kids could even hear him from here. “Is this gonna mess them up too? Jae’s just a baby.”

“Ah. So now you’re asking some questions of relevance.” Angel says with soft pleased expression. “Too bad I can’t answer it.”

He wants to be angry but now he’s tired, the fight is gone and he just really wants answers.

“You can’t tell me anything? Not even who are you are or why you even know all this about me? No tips? Suggestions?” He chuckles bitterly, hoping Angel might spare him some sympathy.

“Do you really call me Angel in your head?”

“What? How do you know that?”

“I can read your mind, dumbass.” Angel says with a wide grin. “Anyway, No. I’m not allowed to tell you much else but you wouldn’t be here right now if you hadn’t messed up in your real world. Don’t make the same mistakes twice, that’s my tip to you. The rest is for you to figure out.”

Mistakes?

Which ones?

He’s made so many.

“Oh and Jiwon? The name isn’t entirely inaccurate even though it’s unoriginal as hell.” Angel adjusts his sunglasses again and then he’s gone, like a weird memory lost in the familiar roar of the Jaguar.

He’s not sure how long he stands there leaning against the Honda and breathing heavily. It takes a few good minutes before he slides back into the noise and activity of the world around him. It takes him three attempts to unlock the car door and find Jae’s dinosaur snacks.

“Feeling better?” Hanbin asks when he gets back.

It’s just a simple question but there’s Minji in her yellow overalls and Jae reaching for the T-Rex biscuits and Hanbin’s soft concern and a space on the red picnic rug that they saved for him.

This is more than just ‘alright’.

“Yeah, I’m good now.”

And it’s then that he realises: his migraine is gone.

[eurydicees]

true enough to be convincing, unruly enough to be real

summary: tamaki needs someone to date, just for a week. it’s not a big deal, it isn’t. kyoya can pretend to be in love with tamaki for a few days. what could go wrong? the classic tale of boys fake date, boy wears other boy’s jacket, said boy is suddenly maybe not faking it so much as actually falling in love. 

prompts: 3 + 28: fake dating + wearing the other’s clothes. for @wishiwasntstillhere ! i hope you enjoy :) 

pairings: tamaki suoh/kyoya ootori

words: 3,441

warnings: none

“We have to be convincing,” Tamaki says, waving an arm vaguely in Kyoya’s direction. He has a tendency to talk with his hands, every other word emphasized by a wave or a clap or a clench of his fists. “We have to go all out.” 

Kyoya closes his eyes, leaning against the headboard of Tamaki’s bed. They’re in Tamaki’s bedroom in the second Suoh mansion; Tamaki pacing in circles and the long-suffering Kyoya only half following what he’s saying. He’s still stuck on Tamaki’s words from five minutes ago: we should date. Oh, no, no— not for real, I mean— just pretend, for a bit. We should fake date, just for a week or so. 

“Stop,” Kyoya says, squeezing his eyes tighter shut. Judging by the lack of creaking of the floorboards, Tamaki has stopped pacing and is staring at him. “Why do we need to do this?” 

Tamaki sighs, and Kyoya looks over at him as Tamaki moves to sit on the bed. The mattress dips as he sits down, his hands going to rest on Kyoya’s ankles. “I kind of… Look, okay, there was this girl and she was asking me out and she was, like, so earnest about it, and I wanted to let her down easy, so—” 

“So you told her we were dating?” Kyoya asks, raising an eyebrow. “That’s the stupidest and most you thing I’ve ever heard.” 

Tamaki groans, pushing Kyoya’s ankles away from him. “I didn’t say it was you specifically, I just said that I was dating someone.” 

“Then why are you asking me?” Kyoya licks his lips, studying Tamaki closely. There’s no reason that it has to be Kyoya that Tamaki is fake dating. “Literally anyone else would be better for this.” 

Tamaki shrugs. “You’re the best liar I know, and…” 

“And?” 

“And I trust you,” Tamaki says, more in a breath than in words. He shifts, now sitting cross legged on the bed, pressing his hands against his knees. “You’re the only one I could pull this off with.” 

“Not Haruhi?” 

Tamaki shrugs. “I already asked her, and she laughed in my face.” 

Something in Kyoya’s stomach drops at that, and he doesn’t know what it is, or why it bothers him, but there’s a sinking disappointment in his stomach that itches like a word on the tip of his tongue. It shouldn’t matter; Kyoya doesn’t even want to do this. He should be laughing just as Haruhi had apparently done, when Tamaki asked her first. 

“Right,” Kyoya chokes out. He shouldn’t be so affected by that. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t care about any of this. “Fine. I’ll do it.” 

Tamaki breaks out in a grin. “Thank you, mon ami. I owe you one—” 

“You owe me everything,” Kyoya mutters. He inhales deeply. “What do you need specifically?” 

“I don’t know,” Tamaki admits. He drops his hands to his ankles, swaying forwards and backwards as he looks at Kyoya. He’s never been one for sitting still. “Just… what people in relationships do.” 

Kyoya narrows his eyes. “Tamaki. Have you ever been in a relationship before?” 

There’s a pause. Then, “You know the answer to that question.” 

Kyoya does know the answer to that one— no, neither of them have been in a relationship. Great, Kyoya thinks somewhat bitterly, his first relationship is going to be both fake and with Tamaki. He should be angry about that, but there’s a kind of swirl of confusion in his head instead, and he hates it. 

“Well,” Kyoya says, sighing. He leans his head against the wall, the edge of the headboard digging into his shoulder blades. “Things people do in relationships. They’re around each other all of the time, they make each other laugh, they… touch.” 

“Right,” Tamaki agrees. He’s still swaying, and Kyoya is finding the sound of shifting of fabric incredibly distracting. “They kiss.” 

Kyoya swallows. He can feel the tips of his ears heating up. “We’re not kissing.” 

“Please?” 

“No,” Kyoya says firmly. “We have to have some boundaries, at least.” 

Tamaki sighs, but then brushes it off with a shrug. “I guess that’s fair. Can we at least… kiss each other on the cheek?” 

“If you insist.” 

Kyoya finally meets Tamaki’s gaze, searching for some kind of joke resting in his eyes, some kind of laughter. But there’s nothing. Tamaki is deadly serious about all of this, and Kyoya can’t figure out how to feel about it. 

He hates it, he wants to hate it, this is a ridiculous scheme, and it’s going to crash and burn around them, and for some reason, he wants to try anyway. It’s just like it was with the host club, Tamaki says an idea and Kyoya can’t help but fall in line, just another captivated Ouran student following Tamaki, Kyoya’s own personal pied piper. 

“Thank you for this,” Tamaki says again, and Kyoya just nods numbly. “It’ll only be for a week and then you can publicly dump me, if you want.” 

“I wouldn’t do it publicly.” Kyoya says it absentmindedly, not really thinking about what he’s saying, but then his brain kicks in again, and he’s suddenly thinking about this ending. What are they going to do when it’s over? It’s just a fake relationship, but there are careful, tight lines in their friendship, and Kyoya has just agreed to cross all of them. 

He thinks back to what he had told Haruhi only a few weeks ago, that his friendship with Tamaki is based entirely on self interest. It’s not true, and everyone around them knows it. It’s just that they genuinely like being around each other; but Kyoya will turn over in his grave before he ever says that out loud. Even if they genuinely like each other, there are still lines. 

Then again, Kyoya draws careful lines in the sand with everyone he meets and interacts with. Lines between acquaintance and ally. Between business partner and friend. Between friend and family. Between friend and lover. Within those lines, too, there are promises that Kyoya makes to himself— you can never let a hand linger too long, or your gaze hover on someone for even seconds past friendly, or your thoughts center around one idea for too long. 

All of those rules go out of the window when he’s around Tamaki. 

When he leaves the Suoh manion and heads home, Kyoya can’t tear his thoughts away from Tamaki. He can’t stop thinking about this plan, about this ridiculous secret that they’re both now holding. Tamaki had seen him off at the door, kissing his cheek, like any good boyfriend would do, Kyoya, and Kyoya can still feel the warmth of Tamaki’s lips against his cheek. It’s the cold, Kyoya tells himself, and not a blush that lingers on his cheeks long after he’s left the Suoh property. 

He tries to shove the whole plan out of his head that night. He has to, just to be able to sleep at night, just to be able to stop thinking about Tamaki. He doesn’t think he’s felt this obsessive since he first met Tamaki and drove himself crazy trying to fulfill his every whim as they traveled around Japan. 

It’s not until the next morning, finding himself in a shopping center with the Hitachiin twins, that he realizes that fake dating Tamaki means that everyone around them thinks they suddenly get to judge their… relationship. 

Kyoya didn’t know what he expected, knowing them. He didn’t know why he thought for even a second that they wouldn’t care— it’s not necessarily judgement that he’s suddenly faced with, but it’s definitely a conversation he hadn’t meant to start, and didn’t particularly want to finish. 

He meets the others at the front door of the shopping center, finding that he’s the last one there. Hikaru and Kaoru both wave at him as he approaches, and Kyoya is about to wave back when he catches Tamaki’s eye. Tamaki is smiling, but there’s a knowing glint in his eye that Kyoya doesn’t really know what to think of. Is there a word for the kind of glow that’s hovering at Tamaki’s cheeks right now? Is there a word for the way that Kyoya’s heart is suddenly falling to pieces? 

He’s about to say hello, just treating everything as normal, and then Tamaki skips forward and kisses him on the cheek. It’s soft, the kind of touch that’s barely there, but it makes Kyoya shiver. Tamaki’s breath is warm on Kyoya’s skin. 

It’s not an act when his cheeks heat up and the tiniest of smiles finds its unwilling way to his lips. It’s not an act when his heart pulses; a green light asking for more. He wants to smile fully, bravely— and then he remembers. 

He remembers that this isn’t real, and Tamaki is feeling nothing. Kyoya swallows, steeling himself, and pushes his glasses farther up his nose. He’s not feeling anything either. 

“Hi,” he says quietly. 

“Hi,” Tamaki says, and it’s with the kind of grin that makes Kyoya burn with a fake romance. 

Kyoya finally tears his eyes away from Tamaki and towards the other two who are waiting for them; Hikaru is staring with wide eyes, while Kaoru has a kind of unimpressed look in the tilt of his chin. 

���Did you finally sort yourselves out, then?” Kaoru asks. “Are you dating yet?” 

Kyoya stares. “I—” 

“Yup!” Tamaki grins, then slides his hand down Kyoya’s arm to tangle their fingers together. His palm is sweaty as Tamaki squeezes his hand. “It’s new, though.” 

“Finally,” Kaoru says with half a laugh. “Haruhi and I had a bet on how long it would take. Oh, she’s gonna be in debt forever.” 

Tamaki rolls his eyes, but he’s still smiling as he leads the way into the shopping center. He doesn’t let go of Kyoya’s hand the entire time. Kyoya is pretty sure that his heart is pulsing in his wrist, dripping down into his palm; he’s pretty sure that Tamaki is holding Kyoya’s entire soul right now, and he doesn’t know.

“This is going to be easier than I thought,” Tamaki whispers, leaning closer to Kyoya, his lips hovering by Kyoya’s ear. “They’re falling for it so easily.” 

Kyoya can only nod. This is going too far and too fast— or, it’s barely going at all, except for the fact that Kyoya’s mind is jumping light years ahead of we’re just pretending and right to this is getting all too real. 

“So,” Hikaru starts, keeping pace next to Kyoya, who is still holding Tamaki’s hand like a life line. “When did this happen?” 

Kyoya swallows, glancing over at Tamaki. They should have gotten their story straight before they had gone out into the world holding hands. He can so easily imagine Tamaki turning to Kaoru, who walks beside him, and saying that they’ve been dating for years, all while Kyoya tells Hikaru that it’s been hours. 

“A few days ago,” Kyoya manages to say. He says it smoothly, somehow, his tongue so practiced at smoothing over all the bumps and inconsistencies in his lies. “Like Tamaki said. It’s new.” 

Hikaru shoves his hands in the pockets of his jeans, glancing at Kyoya from the corner of his eye. “So you haven’t been pretending you’re not together for years now? Because that was my bet and—” 

“Shut up,” Kyoya says, rolling his eyes. He looks away from Hikaru and towards the crowded walkways that they’re entering. “We were just friends, until recently. That’s the truth.” 

“Sure,” Hikaru says, grinning. 

It’s a subdued, or doubtful, grin, but Kyoya doesn’t get the chance to ask before Hikaru is bounding forwards, pointing towards the food court. Tamaki agrees enthusiastically, and the four of them make their way there. Tamaki never lets go of Kyoya’s hand— that much is real. 

They order food quickly, not bothering to think too hard about it. This is, as Tamaki put it, just a fun day out, pretending to be commoners. Kyoya, though, knows what it’s really about— it’s a test run of their fake relationship, to see how well they can fit themselves into the world and into their little friend group. It’s a test run to see if they can really pull this off; they have one of the more observant people they know and one of the more gullible people they know, and that’s a good range. Kyoya, if he weren’t so distracted by Tamaki’s hand resting on his knee, would almost admire the plan. 

He’s so distracted by the fact that Tamaki is tapping his fingers against Kyoya’s leg that he doesn’t notice when Tamaki waves a hand just the slightest bit too enthusiastically, sending an uncapped bottle of soda flying across the table. It spills open and out, right onto Tamaki’s shirt. 

Four people spew a string of curses as Tamaki jumps up, knocking over his tray with the half eaten hamburger on it, sending that spilling over onto the table, too. Kyoya grabs the soda bottle before it can do more damage, but it’s too late. Tamaki’s shirt is soaking wet, and while he grabs the thinnest of napkins to try and dry it, it’s a fruitless effort. Hikaru is just laughing, while Kaoru tries helplessly to hand over more napkins. 

Tamaki swears again, tossing the napkins onto the table. He sits down with a humph and sighs. Kyoya, so quickly that he’s almost unaware of it, finds himself sliding an arm around Tamaki’s shoulders— this is what a boyfriend would do, right? Hold Tamaki when he’s upset? Kyoya thinks he’s guessed right, because Tamaki leans into his touch, burying his face in Kyoya’s shoulder. 

“My shirt’s soaking wet,” Tamaki moans. 

The vibrations of his words against Kyoya’s collarbones make him shiver, and he sighs. “You should be more careful.” 

Tamaki sits up again, slowly, but doesn’t fully pull away. Instead he rests his cheek against Kyoya’s shoulder, eyes closed. Across from them, Kaoru is grinning. 

“Cute,” he says, and Kyoya glares at him. It doesn’t deter him at all, and Kyoya just finds his face muscles growing tighter and Kaoru’s smile growing wider. 

“Shut up,” Kyoya mutters. 

It’s all a part of Tamaki’s game, though, and so Kyoya can’t find it in himself to be mad. If Kaoru thinks they’re cute, then they’re pulling this off well. That’s the important thing; not this stupid fluttering in his heart everytime Tamaki’s hand gets close to Kyoya’s knee. Kyoya swallows down any reservations, only to turn his head and press a light kiss to the top of Tamaki’s head. It’s tender and private and it comes so naturally that, for a moment, Kyoya forgot it was a performance. 

Tamaki doesn’t react to the kiss at all, except for the tiniest of smiles. 

“Cute,” Hikaru says, in an exact, smiling imitation of how Kaoru had done it. Kyoya hates them both. 

Lucky for him, though, no one at that table has a good attention span, and so none of them focus on that kiss for too long. Instead, Kaoru points out one of the department stores that he had wanted to check out while they were there, and the four of them disentangle themselves from the mess, throw away their napkins and half eaten food, and start to leave the food court.

“People are staring,” Tamaki complains. He’s walking next to Kyoya, so close that their shoulders brush every now and then, Tamaki leaning into every touch. Hikaru and Kaoru walk in front of them. 

“It’s because you’re covered in soda,” Kyoya says. He thinks that it’s a perfectly reasonable thing to say, but that just makes Tamaki pout more. 

“I know.” Tamaki sighs, crossing his arms tightly around his chest. It does nothing to cover up the stain. 

Kyoya looks over, scanning the disappointment on Tamaki’s face and the hunched over way he’s carrying himself, and then sighs. “Here. Take my jacket. If you zip it up, no one will be able to see anything.” 

“Are you sure?” Tamaki asks. He says it slowly, but he’s already brightening up. “You won’t be cold?” 

Kyoya shrugs. “It’s May. I’ll be fine.” 

“Thanks,” Tamaki says, grinning.

Kyoya sighs, but it’s not a tired sigh— it’s an exasperated, happy sigh that only a lover can make. He shrugs off his jacket and holds it up for Tamaki to put on. Once it’s on, Tamaki turns to face Kyoya, his smile like a wound in Kyoya’s composure, and puts his hands to his waist. 

“How do I look?” he asks. 

“Fine,” Kyoya says, rolling his eyes. “The whole point is to zip up the jacket, Tamaki.” 

Tamaki laughs at that, unbothered by the tone of his voice. He zips up the jacket and then poses again, hands on his hips, smiling. “Now?” 

“Good,” Kyoya says. He looks more than good, but Kyoya will be damned before he says that out loud. Fake, fake, fake, he chants to himself. “Let’s catch up to Hikaru and Kaoru, I think they already went inside.” 

Tamaki nods. He starts walking forward, and then pauses to look at Kyoya. He puts his hand up in the air between them, and Kyoya feels a boiling smile working its way through his chest when he takes Tamaki’s hand. 

The four of them spend the rest of the day like that, wandering through the shopping center, making their way through every department store and every chain store and every miscellaneous merchandise stand. Somehow, the day passes quickly. Kyoya had expected it to drag on, to be painful to spend so much time somewhere like a mall, but by the time that they start leaving, he finds that he had actually had fun. 

They part ways at the front of the shopping center, where Hikaru and Kaoru go off to Parking Lot A. Kyoya and Tamaki walk together to Parking Lot C, Tamaki swinging their interlocked hands in the air between them. 

“This was fun, don’t you think?” Tamaki asks, smiling at Kyoya. 

“It was,” Kyoya admits. 

They’re still holding hands, though no one is around them, and Kyoya can’t help but hope that Tamaki doesn’t notice that there’s no reason to pretend anymore. He can’t help but hope that Tamaki keeps holding his hand. It’s a deep, selfish desire that Kyoya cannot say out loud. 

“This is my car,” Tamaki says, stopping in his tracks. Still, he doesn’t let go of Kyoya. “Hey— thank you. For today.” 

Kyoya frowns. “What do you mean?” 

“Pretending,” Tamaki tells him, as if it’s supposed to be obvious. Now that he says it, Kyoya feels sick with how unobvious that had been to him. “I know we agreed last night, but I didn’t really think you would. Thank you.” 

Kyoya swallows. Tamaki hadn’t expected anything of him. Looking back over the day, Kyoya is suddenly wondering how much of what he had done had just been because he wanted to. Did he— did he want to kiss Tamaki so tenderly when his head was resting against Kyoya’s shoulder? Did he want to hold Tamaki’s hand? Did he— 

“Yeah,” Kyoya says carefully. He can’t afford to break face now. “Anytime.” 

Tamaki nods, smiling. It’s a bright smile, but something about it is different from the ones he had been giving Kyoya earlier. He lets go of Kyoya’s hand, patting the pockets of his pants until he finds his keys. “I promise you can break up with me in a few days.” 

“I look forward to it,” Kyoya chokes out. He takes a deep breath, then moves a few steps backwards. “I’ll see you at school.”

Tamaki finds his keys and gives Kyoya a wave as he unlocks his car. Kyoya has only just turned and begun to walk away when Tamaki calls out his name again— Kyoya’s heart jumps onto his tongue, stupidly quickly, enough to make him almost say, I love you, even though he’s not really sure if it’s true yet. 

“Kyoya!” Tamaki calls again, and Kyoya turns back to him. “Your jacket!” 

Tamaki has unzipped the jacket, and the wet stain on his shirt has since dried off. Kyoya’s jacket hangs tightly against his shoulders, though they’re probably about the same size, and the black fabric is a dark shadow against Tamaki’s pale skin. Even in the concrete limelight of the parking lot, he looks radiant.

“Keep it,” Kyoya says, and Tamaki frowns, as if he can’t hear. “Keep it! It— it looks good on you.” 

Tamaki grins, and he blows a kiss towards Kyoya. It makes Kyoya glow, deep inside, and that’s not something he can fake. 

Oh, he’s so screwed.

[kyndaris]

Coast to Coast

With the international borders closed, my choices for holiday were severely limited. Reminded again by management that my leave was approaching unacceptably high levels, it was with a great relief that my mother suggested a trip up north - towards the border New South Wales shares with Queensland. I was glad for any excuse to go. Particularly as several celebrities had made their home up on the northern coast. 

The first day of our trip dawned with heavy clouds. Departing a little later than anticipated, we, which encompassed my mum as well as my grandmother, made good time until we hit Turramurra and the start of the Pacific Highway. It was here that the heavens decided to unleash a torrent of rain as we drove onto the slipway.

I’ll admit, there was a brief moment that I thought we would fishtail wildly as we hydroplaned across a slick part of the bitumen. Fortunately, disaster was not in the cards and we maintained control. Not long after, we were safely out of the storm and eager to speed north.

We stopped for a short break, just after Gosford, and grew a little concerned that the battery for the access key to our smart car was running low. What if it stopped working? How would we start the car when we were several hundred kilometres away from civilisation? With these worries in mind, we next stopped just out of Newcastle for a couple of pies at Heatherbrae’s: Diggers, teak and kidney, and steak and mushroom. We also got a caramel tart to sweeten the deal. Bellies full, mum zipped back to a local Bunnings Warehouse to DIY the battery for the access key.

Almost an hour later, we were back on the road, a little grouchy and saddled with plenty of problems to complain about. Fuel running low, we stopped again at another service station to fill up. And then I switched with my mum - taking up the mantle of driver for the last leg of our journey for the day.

Unfortunately, during the drive up to Coffs Harbour, we entered another storm front and I slowed down drastically to make sure that we made it safely to the hotel. After all, we had just experienced a terrifying experience of what it was like to break suddenly while the road was covered in water just several hours ago. In any case, it’s must better to be late than to never arrive at all.

Our accommodations at Coffs Harbour were humble, serving its purpose as a functional place to stop and sleep. Though we had driven upwards of 500 kilometres, we had arrived with plenty of time for dinner and soak in the ambiance. As such, we headed to the Mermaid Beach House, which had only opened quite recently. Although it didn’t have a view of the water, the food was delicious and the menu finely curated to match the strengths of the chef and owner. It was also incredibly close to where we were staying and we would have plenty of time to stop in at a local Aldi or Coles to pick up additional supplies for our more domestic trip.

Friday dawned bright and early and with plenty of sun. After breakfast, our bags packed, we were determined to have a day full of adventure as we made our way up to Byron Bay. Our first stop, however, was to the Pacific Plaza. Why? Because Bravely Default II had just been released and I needed to pick it up. I even brought my Nintendo Switch along to try the game out and make sure that my cartridge worked (spoilers, it did). 

Game in hand, we hit the road once more, stopping at the iconic BIG BANANA before detouring to the Forest Sky Pier for a view of Coffs Harbour in its entirety from on high. Woolgoolga was our next stop and we took a gander at the impressive Sikh temple and museum located there. By now, it was lunch time and my grandmother was desperate for Chinese. As such, we stopped at the RSL club at Maclean. As we were in a small country town rather than the big city, the wanton soup my grandmother ordered was disappointing to say the least. In my wisdom, I just got a bit of fried rice and salt and pepper pork.

Still, we managed to survive lunch and headed towards Ballina. The reason? To snap a photo of a huge prawn (that’s shrimp for you Americans out there) sculpture sitting outside the entrance of the Bunnings Warehouse. That done, it was nearly four by the time we limped into Byron Bay. 

After checking into our holiday apartments, my mother and I further stocked up on important vittles and set out, far too early, to the local lighthouse for the moonrise. Granted, the website I initially looked up was completely wrong. But how was I supposed to know that? Still, after hanging around for an hour or two, we did get to see the moon - a somewhat lacklustre experience compared to the setting of the sun. 

And so ended a quiet Friday. I’m sure the next day, I’ll be able to catch a glimpse of the Hemsworth family and possibly Zac Efron and Matt Damon...

[countrymadefoods]

“Not at all. Because food itself, as well as restaurants, played a significant role in helping to support Reverend King and his colleagues. After Rosa Parks’ arrest in December, 1955, for refusing to give up her seat on public transportation, the Montgomery Bus Boycott became a powerful form of protest. African-American residents of the Alabama city walked, coordinated car pools, and arranged for a variety of alternate means to get around the city.This was an expensive venture that cost money for gas, vehicle maintenance, security, and other logistics.”

”Georgia Gilmore, who worked at the counter of the National Lunch Co., had already been refusing to take the bus because of mistreatment by drivers for two months when the boycott was initiated. So she was more than willing to join in fund-raising efforts. She started by coordinating bake sales. Southern classics such as sweet potato and peach pies, as well as other treats — pound, red velvet, and 7-Up cakes — were sold at “local stores, groceries, laundromats, and beauty shops.”

“Mrs. Gilmore was the only one who knew the contributors in her group, though, with secrecy being essential to shelter them from arrest and/or losing their jobs. So, when she would arrive at boycott organizational meetings with the money that had been raised and people asked where it had come from, “Oh, nowhere,” she would reply. “Her brave group of women bakers became known as the Club from Nowhere.”

“When Mrs. Gilmore was eventually fired from her own job and subsequently blacklisted for her involvement in the boycott, Reverend King himself — who would hold meetings at her house over hearty meals — encouraged her to use her legendary cooking skills to cater from home. He even offered financial support when she needed to remodel her kitchen to meet city requirements.”

“In Premilla Nadasen’s Household Workers Unite: The Untold Story of African American Women who Built a Movement, the Rev. Thomas E. Jordan remembered Mrs. Gilmore: “I think [she] was one of the unsung heroines,” he said. “[Had] it not been for people like Georgia Gilmore, Martin Luther King, Jr., would not have been who he was.”

”In Atlanta, Paschal’s Restaurant and Coffee Shop — opened by brothers James and Robert Paschal in 1947 — was considered to be the cause’s unofficial headquarters. In The People’s Place: Soul Food Restaurants and Reminiscences from the Civil Rights Era to Today, Dave Hoekstra wrote that Reverend King himself had approached the establishment about hosting meetings. “How could we refuse?” James Paschal asked rhetorically in his memoirs. “We had the resources and the place. We believed we had been called to be part of the Movement.”

“Dooky Chase’s Restaurant served much the same role in New Orleans. “Leah Chase’s place was important because it was one of the few places you could have meetings of white and black people together,”... Mrs. Chase remembered, in Mr. Hoekstra’s book, that then-lawyer and activist and later U.S. Supreme Court justice Thurgood Marshall “would come and eat his gumbo and crawfish on the floor,” because of the number of gathered supporters. And she noted that Martin Luther King, Jr., “didn’t come to eat or drink ...It’s like he was always on a mission.”

“Those who once belittled restaurateur Mrs. Chase for being just a cook “[didn’t] realize I’m feeding a lot of people so they can do what they have to do,” she told Mr. Hoekstra. That was the way in which she, Mrs. Gilmore, and the Paschals were able to support Reverend King and the movement...But nonetheless, “[you] have to make a difference,” Mrs. Chase said. “Martin Luther King died for me to work.”

A look back at Paschal's, the soul food restaurant that became a hub for the Civil Rights Movement

“Started in 1947 near the Atlanta University Center, Paschal’s restaurant would go on to become a hub of civil rights activism, with the founders employing student sit-in demonstrators, bailing protesters out of jail, and providing food and meeting space to multiple organizations. Some participants referred to it as their second home, and the restaurant even earned the moniker “Black City Hall.”

“In his book Southern Food & Civil Rights: Feeding the Revolution, historian Frederick Douglass Opie describes this new Paschal’s as a white tablecloth restaurant for middle- and upper-class African-Americans who saw it as their first choice for a Sunday meal. It wasn’t by chance that Martin Luther King Jr. and other activists saw Paschal’s as a natural meeting place and de facto headquarters.”

“Restaurants like Paschal’s were successful because they were a part of their community, Opie says. And while plenty of other business owners avoided sticking their necks out by associating with controversy, Paschal’s was part of a trend of black-owned restaurants that played a fundamental role in supporting the civil rights movement, such as Dooky Chase’s in New Orleans and the Big Apple Inn in Jackson, Mississippi.”

“The Paschal brothers provided bail money and food for students jailed while protesting Jim Crow laws in Atlanta,” Opie writes. Once students were released, they’d head straight to the restaurant to meet up with their families for free chicken sandwiches and sodas. Hours were extended to accommodate the reunions. “Many times, the bailed-out marchers sat bent over chairs,” James Paschal recounts in his memoir. “Their heads rested on the table or their tired bodies dropped in heaps on the carpeted floors in various corners of the restaurant.”

(via A look back at Paschal's, the soul food restaurant that became a hub for the Civil Rights Movement | Creative Loafing blog)

[unworthy-stars]

Formaggio- HFH North Italy Week 2k17

This is my forst submission for the North Italy week hosted by the @hetaliafandomhub​ . I had said this earlier to Hub Epsilon and Pi that I dedicate this to the Hub Gods because they deserve it to the full.

We love you.

This is the prompt for day no. 2: Photography with optional AU Gakuen Hetalia.

This is Formaggio

"Say 'formaggio', fratello mio!" Italy Veneziano held the old camera in front of his face.

Italy Romano sighed but said the familiar word trying to pull a smile. After the staggering flash hit Italy Romano right in his eyes he continued to sew the oair of trousers he worked on for the 'Home Economy' class. They turned out to be more stylish than expected.

"So, fratello, have you decided about last semester's project?" Veneziano asked with a bright smile on his shiny face.

"I'll probably do something in my orbit, like a dissertation on Westerner's policy or perhaps about the importance of the first production section in our lives. What I must worry about now is the club's presentation. There's not enough time to teach the other goofs how to dance the tarantella!"

"Ugh...I'm sure you'll do great! After all you guys are excellent dancers!" Veneziano smiled.

"It will settle itself somehow...grazie mille fratello!" he placed his HB pencil on top of his ear and looked his prompts.

"La tua felicità è la mia felicità!" he kissed Romano's tanned cheek, grabbed his camera and ran outside their dormitory.

Italy checked the photo he had shot previously. His brother was really good-looking and his beauty was perfectly refelected by the device. The sunlight fell on Romano's brunet hair making it look shiny, unlike his grumpy expression. He was about to finish his assigned homework and he wished to be left alone, something Veneziano didn't grant. The photo was interesting by the sewing macchine's presence too. An old Sainger was considered to be a wonderful antique.

As he was walking inside World Academy W, he came across a pretty familiar sight; China feeding a cute panda bamboo leaves. China wasn't in the same class as North Italy, but he was a close friend from the Asian class. China noticed him too and smiled. His slanted eyes made his cheekbones almost touch his thin eyebrows.

"Nǐ hǎo Yìdàlì! Nǐ hǎo ma?" he waved at him.

North Italy walked to his peer's side and sat next to him "I wanted to ask you if I could take a picture of you and your adorable panda!"

"Of course and you can! Why did you even ask? Japan always takes shots of me and I myself can't count how many 'selfies' I have shot! Go on!" he embraced the oanda and with a childish smile he looked at the flashing light.

"Grazie mille Cina! I really appreciate it!" he let the camera hang on his neck "What theme have you chosen about your project?"

"Endangered species! I know it is common but I really want to sentisise people about it!" he was always so cheerful.

"That's really cool!" he suddenly saw France pass by the nearest corridor "If you can excuse me..."

North Italy ran to catch up with his colleague. Fortunately France was really recognisable. He wore diverse clothes, yet always in fashion, and his golden locks never were out of perfect condition.

"France! Wait!" he exclaimed hooked on France's shoulders.

"Huh? Italie! Didn't expect to see you before class!" he tried to make N. Italy relax "What's all the fuss? Big brother is here to help!" he caressed his brown, towards red, hair.

"I just wanted to take a picture of you!" Italy smiled and showed France his camera.

"Is it for the Newspaper Club? Not that I mind if you keep it private..." he scratched the back of his neck "You can always take pictures of me. J-just wait for the next break- right now I have a really important meeting to attend. It concerns the Gourmet Club!"

North Italy wouldn't miss the opportunity to interview the holly trio of cuisine even if the end of the world occured. Moreover he needed Turkey's photo too and seeing two beautiful countries together was the chance of a lifetime.

He decided to secretly follow France to their meeting point. Apparently Turkey was always waiting for the other members. He was known for his punctuality, as a sideffect of his perfectionist ideology.

France greeted his friend by kissing both of his cheeks, a common European way of greeting. Turkey responded right away and started to chat with the other club member.

N. Italy took a photo quickly and ran away trying to remain unnoticed. Giggling he hid behind the trash bin, which was located two corridors away. He checked the picture; they looked lovely as always.

"Hello," said a quiet soft voice.

Veneziano turned around. A familiar, yet unrecognisable, country had approached him. He was experiencing something like a deja vu.

"You must be Canada, America's brother!" N. Italy remembered.

"Oh yes I am...have you seen my glasses?" he asked kindly.

"I've just arrived here, but I'm more than eager to hel- they are in your cardigan's top pocket!" he touched them.

"Oh mon Dieu! Thank you...I am really silly!" he wore them again and showed Veneziano his teeth, smiling.

Italy took a photo of Canada smiling. The flash hit Canada right in the eyes so he closed them immediately.

"What was that for?" Canada pushed his glasses closer to his forehead.

"Surprise!" he exclaimed and ran away again.

Veneziano moved to the toilets. Almost no one entered but lots rpefered to hang out outside them. That particular day Russia was eating his lunch resting his back on the wall outside the boys' bathroom.

"Ciao!" Italy waved at him bravely.

Russia noticed the Italian and waved back "Privet! Want some pirozhki?" he showed the opened lunch box.

"No grazie, I have already eaten!" he sat by him.

Russia curled up and brought the lunch box next to his crooked nose. Russia, despite his large size (or even because of it) felt quite insecure around his peers. Nevertheless he was considered to be very sociable when forced to socialise.

"Could you please say 'formaggio' and smile for the camera?"

"I suppose so...why do you want a picture of me Italy/" he lifted his head.

Italy pressed to button and five seconds after the click sound the flash gave lightness to Russia's round head. He blinked a few times and rubbed his eyes after.

"Because you are pretty!" Italy smiled once again with his always-closed eyes.

"Oh..."Russia flushed brightly "Spasibo! I feel flatterned!"

"You're welcome! And your food looks tasty!" he stood up and moved to his next encounter, at the wall of the girls' bathroom, Belarus.

Belarus wasn't particularly clingy to her brother that day, given that she would normally be at her brother's side. However that day she was almost three metres away by her own will.

Italy approached the young lass. He lowered his position and looked her in the eyes.

"Want to see it?" Italy took off his camera, which was hung on his cheek and presented it to his classmate.

Belarus grasped the device. She checked all its sides and proceeded on checking the image gallery. She squeeled at the sight of her beloved brother's picture however she quickly scrolled to right and saw the other countries' pictures. She laughed. She actuslly laughed.

"May I have a picture of you?" Italy asked.

"Of course!" she said still laughing.

This was Veneziano's favourite picture. He greeted the maiden again and walked to his friends' dormitories.

N. Italy was well-known to have been hanging out with Germany and Japan. They together formed the Newspaper Club which was created to inform all World Academy W students about current events, achievements and interviews.

On his way back though he entered the art room. He loved art and he was really good at it, especially at painting according to Reinessance's movements. In the art room he came across two recognisable figures, America and Greece.

"...and this happened before Jesus?" said America surprised.

'Well...yes! And many more...but I like this one in particular!" he pointed at a marble statue.

"Dude, I remember bringing one of those to the surface! They are really cool! Literally your ground is precious!" America claimed.

"I suppose so...it was all my mother's..." he snorred.

Italy took a picture of them looking at the magnificent statue and walked on the tip of his toes back to the exit. He didn't want to interrupt such an intellectual converstation. And he was afraid that he would be carried away by it too.

Thus he went quickly to Germany's bedroom and stopped his research there.

~*~

Dancing, awarding, explosions and Johan Strauss II could be mixed only in a World Academy W school year ending presentation! All the colours, the fragancies and the unbelievable sights were all gathered in the school gymnasium where all projects could be seen and all club presentation took place.

"Did you see Russia's project?" said England.

"Yes I did actually! It was exciting! I didn't know about all these musicians!" Hungary replied.

"How could you have not known? They are quite famous! Just...not for being Russian." Austria added.

"Since our projects are finished, we don't have to see them again right? We could just- oh my glob! Merlin's beards, is this me?" England moved quickly to the white wall.

No one had noticed before but the wall was covered by photos of each student of the Academy. England's specifically was taken when he was serving tea to Liechtenstein and Monaco. All of them looked really fancy and elegant.

Ameica's and Greece's photo was standing next to England's but it was surrounded by a mysterious aura like they were performing something mystic the moment the picture was taken. But what secretive could they do in the art room?

Belarus's, Russia's, Romano's, Switzerland's, Seychelles', Taiwan's, India's, South Africa's, Nigeria's, Brazil's, Peru's. Everyone's photo was taken and placed on the white dull wall of the gymnasium. It filled the room with awe and happiness.

Hungary had never seen Austria play chess, but the photo captured the moment perfectly. Neither had Belgium ever seen Sweden play with Sealand. Nor Moldova had ever seen Australia with his koalas taking a selfie with New Zealand holding a kiwi.

North Italy

Project Theme: Difference Notes:  La tua felicità è la mia felicità

The End

[3one3]

The Sequel - 903

Old Ways

André Schürrle, Juan Mata, other Chelsea/BVB players, and random awesome OC’s (okay they’re less random now but they’re still pretty awesome)

original epic tale

all chapters of The Sequel

“Hey man, do you know where Chris is? She’s not answering her phone.”

“Try Dirk’s paddock. Last I saw her was out there playing games with him. Tell her this one is ready in 10 minutes.”

“How many are left?”

“Him and two more.”

“Ugh. All right.”

Cartagena, petit in stature on the crossties in the very open, high-ceiling grooming area but far from slight or small in his impression, even with an oversized wool cooler covering much of his body, eyed André with a plain mix of suspicion and disdain. The player interrupted the curry job happening on his chest, and that was wholly unacceptable. Chest scratching via currycomb was the gray stallion’s favorite thing in the whole world. He stretched his neck out to its maximum and tilted his head and wiggled his lips and made savoring sounds. All he ever wanted from humans, besides hay and grain and water, was chest currying. André noticed the horse’s displeasure. He reached out to pat his nose just before Tom resumed making circles on his chest with the ovular grooming tool.  Cartagena had been around for a long time already, but he didn’t really know him the way he knew his wife’s other horses. The horse in the next grooming stall, with Isandro, was even more foreign to the player.

Christina, Heiner, and Holger teamed up to persuade the syndicate that owned the lion’s share of Rio to invest in a mount for Stefanie. They’d been passively scouting potential horses for her for months and she had a chance to try one of them at Madrid Horse Week. Christina wished she could watch the pair in person before a decision was made, but Heiner and Holger said it was a good match, and Stefanie was already in love with Color Up, or Pacha, as he was called around the barn. A Chacco Blue son out of a Contender mare, the young bay stallion had buckets of talent and a curious, disbelieving personality. The girls all thought he was a cuddle bug in hiding, and the guys thought he was cautious and untrusting. He was just 6 years old and had a lot to learn about himself, not just show jumping. A half sibling of his with the same dam-sire was already competing at the top level and doing well, and tons of other Chacco Blue progeny dotted the orders of go at big shows, though his daughters were thus far more successful on balance than the sons.

Pasha’s greatest asset was a direct inheritance from him. He had a beautifully tight front end. He jumped everything square and tidy, clean as could be. The Oldenburg first got on the radar of the trio of trainers at the Young Horse Championships earlier in the year. Christina only saw him on video, while the other two watched him in person. He competed under one of Christian’s associates. Pasha was “one for the future”, and the trio of trainers would have to help Stefanie bring him along the right way. He needed someone to trust, and he needed patience. What he had to offer was, on all visual evidence, a great willingness to learn.

The first two things he learned at Stall Schürrle was that Goose wasn’t very welcoming and the girls always have treats. Tom moved Kyle’s retired old schoolmaster across the aisle next to Pasha so that he wasn’t alone in the otherwise unoccupied block of stalls. Goose hated everyone though, and bared his teeth and pinned his ears when the new youngster tried to visit through the bars between them. Kimi and Optimus were nicer to him outside when he was introduced to their paddock. Dirk did try to kick him in the face from the other side of the fence though. That’s why Christina was still outside when André was looking for her. She walked down with Isandro when he was going out to bring him in for Stefanie, just to see how he was getting along with her apathetic “baby” and his adorable sidekick. The newest of the gold medal winners in the barn was trying to fight him from next door. She climbed into his paddock to “scold” him but ended up just playing with him instead, “to distract him”. There was some kind of bullfighting scenario going on out there when André arrived, in the snow.

“Is this what “training like a multiple times Olympic champion” looks like?” he questioned with facetious skepticism from the fence line. His wife had told him a few days earlier, on her recommitment to her old work ethic, that she ought to train like a multiple times Olympic champion if she wanted to be one. The rider was running back and forth with her arms out beckoning her best equine friend and then bolting in the other direction when he got close. Dirk was like a really, really big dog. The actual dogs were on their way, at maximum speed, down the lane to greet André. They had their Barbour blankets on and kicked up snow such that they, combined, looked like a very small snow blower.

“Yes,” Christina verified. “We’re training for the winter Olympics.” There was a big smile visible between her fur pouf-festooned beanie and the scarf wrapped many times around her neck. She nearly slipped and fell every time she stopped or started her short little sideways run, despite wearing rubber galoshes over the foot part of her paddock boots. Her Holsteiner was mostly just moving his front feet, and had no traction trouble.

“What sport?”

“Bobsled? I dunno.” The rider was laughing and out of breath. Dirk’s ears were tall and forward, and his eyes bright. He could play her game all day, whatever it was. Calvin was standing behind him, just watching, and probably worrying that something terrible was about to happen to him. André could tell he wanted to come over and visit with him but was afraid of the commotion going on in between.

“Tom says Cartagena is ready in a few minutes.”

“Mkay.” Christina took a deep breath and stood up straight, abandoning her game posture. Dirk stretched to literally sniff out the situation. He clearly didn’t trust that the game was really over. He thought she was luring him in and would then dart away, out from under his nose. “Relax, you idiot. I’m trying to pet you.” She held her gloved hand out, and he snorted, on alert, wide stance. The hot air from his flaring nostrils made a little cloud around her hand. It took a couple of seconds for him to decide that he wasn’t getting played. His human let him sniff her open palm, and then rubbed his nose, and eventually up under his forelock. The snow was still coming down in a picturesque kind of sprinkling, so he had little flakes in his mane. Some of the other horses had hood attachments for their heavy-duty turnout blankets. Dirk didn’t like them, and he didn’t seem to get uncomfortably cold. He’s so handsome with a snowy backdrop, Christina thought wistfully. I wish I could leave him out here to play. “Time to go in, dude. We have to work still. You’re next after Cartagena. Also I’m sweating.” She tugged her waffle knit scarf down a little for ventilation. She didn’t know she’d be running around getting warm when she put her down jacket on to go outside.

“Training is over?”

“This part is. How did round-two crisis talks go?” Please say well, she willed, turning around to head for the gate. Dirk’s halter and lead were on a hook next to it. He followed her, and so did Calvin. Luckily they weren’t the kind of pasture buddies who get so attached that they can’t be left alone. The Hannoverian would definitely try to follow his friend out, but wouldn’t have a breakdown when he was pushed back and left behind.

“It wasn’t a crisis talk. It’s not a crisis until Watzke and Zorc call Marco and Nuri to the offices to talk about what the players want. It was just the regular team meeting. It was...not pleasant. We’ll see what happens at the weekend. Are you coming in now?” André stopped petting Spencer and Lucky to unsnap the chain for the gate as the Pied Piper approached with her followers. He wasn’t in any mood to talk about the team talk. Real Madrid beat his club 3-2 and it should have been a hiding. No one took anything positive from the minor rally. He didn’t play a single minute. He felt extra bad about it after watching Christina retweet a video of Juan absolutely destroying defenders on a crazy, dancing run the night before, all day long. It was as if she was sitting around looking for every person who posted it just so she could retweet it again. She even posted it on her Instagram. Bosz still wasn’t fired.

“Yeah, Dirk too. Watch out, puppies. G’d up idiot stallion coming out.” Christina reached around the post for the halter and knowingly took the second one, not the one on top, without having to look. Calvin had already come in, worked, and been put back out, so his was logically on top. The silver plates on both of them just said Schürrle on them, not their own names, but Calvin’s was much too big for Dirk’s finer head. Christina paused after fitting his over his ears and snapping the throatlatch to get a hello kiss from her visitor, whom she did not expect to see at the barn, much less out in the cold. “How come you’re braving the elements?”

“I was hoping you were almost done and interested in sneaking into the house for a nap.”

“Sneaking into the house?”

“Well if you just walk in normally then Mausi wants to show you whatever he made today, and play some game, or eat snacks with him or whatever. If we sneak in then we can go straight upstairs and have a nap,” the footballer explained. He waved Calvin back so that he could close the gate right behind Dirk, even though his wife had the situation under control. She could lead one horse out and turn him around while keeping a hand on the gate and closing it before the other one could escape. She did it without thinking.

“By “take a nap” do you mean do things in bed other than nap?” A sideways glance conveyed her meaning about his potential hidden meaning.

“No. I’m tired, Prinzessin.” André patted Dirk’s blanketed flank on his way to falling into step beside her and playing with the faux fox fur ball bobbing atop her head.

“Oh. Well I would love to nap with you if I could. I have him and Cartagena and Rio left to do.”

“Are those the fleece-lined pants Rafa gave you last year?”

“No. It’s not cold enough for those. I went with the half chaps today though, obviously.” Christina gestured down at the brown suede chaps on her lower legs. They were a lot warmer than her field boots, and riding in her winter paddock boots meant there was room for thick socks inside that would never fit in the field boots.

“I’m freezing.” Her human partner had a longish parka on with a cashmere hat, and tennis shoes that didn’t really keep the wet out. Horse and rider walked in the middle of the path, which had been mostly cleared through a combination of salt and traffic, and he was forced to walk on the side, where there were a few inches of snow. I want to go get under the covers with her and be warm and relax for a while, he lamented. I know I could talk her into it but I also know I shouldn’t. She wants to train, and it’s making her happy to do it on a real schedule again.

“There’s hot cocoa mix in the lounge. Or are you gonna go nap solo?”

“I don’t know. What are we doing later? Are we eating home?”

“We’re having super herby skillet roasted chicken with toasted wild rice and mushrooms, onions, and carrots.”

“That sounds nice.”

“It was, yesterday, when I made it. Hopefully it still is,” Christina laughed. “I’m willing to forego leftovers if you want to go out though.”

“I want whichever dinner gets you on the couch with me sooner.”

“It’s only three. I’ll be home in a couple of hours. There’s plenty of time for the couch before dinner.” She let her left hand swing around a little to feel for André’s right one, but it was in his coat pocket. They texted about the match earlier in the day while he was on the plane back from Madrid. She didn’t think he’d want to get into it again. It just worried her some that he was so desperate for a nap. It wasn’t like they had to wake up early for the flight, and they didn’t train when they got back to Brackel. It was a meetings-only kind of day for them.

“Yeah. I’m going to get a head start, I think. Mausi was mad that I only stopped at the house to change before coming out here. I should go see him. Tim called me about the London property. I should call him back.”

“What about it?”

“I think he has someone who wants to lease it.”

“Oh.”

“I’ll find out and then we can talk about it,” the footballer assured. “I’m gonna go. Have good rides, Prinzessin.” He stopped at the double doors at the back of the barn to give her a kiss and pat Dirk’s neck once more. Walking down the shed-row and through the narrow gate in the hedge was a much faster and more direct route back to the house than going inside with them and going out the courtyard doors and around the hedge, though the second one was completely clear of snow and the other was not.

“I’m gonna have to put him on antidepressants if that team doesn’t get its head out of its own ass soon,” his wife told her Holsteiner. “I can’t even try to temper my frustration by apportioning some blame to him, because it’s not like he ever gets a chance to play. You and me will need to win some stuff next week to make him feel at least a little better. You ready to get back in the game? Ready for minutes?”

“Did Schü find you?” Tom asked as they arrived in the grooming stall next to Cartagena. Pasha was already in the ring with Stefanie.

“Yeah.”

“Don’t clip him in. He’s coming over here.”

“You can’t tack up a horse in Isa’s crossties?”

“No. My stuff is here.”

“Men.” Christina shook her head disapprovingly at Dirk and handed his lead to the groom. The Dutch stallion got a quick smooch and scratch on his muzzle before she grabbed her helmet off the hanging bridle hook and put it on in place of her hat, which she tossed onto the bench across the aisle. “I’ll be like 20 minutes. Can you make sure Socks gets wrapped when he comes in? I don’t know that he really needs it, but just in case...”

“Kyle is in there putting out quilts and bandages for 5, fresh from the dyer.”

“Make sure Dirk gets the black ones. No poultice.”

“Yes, Master.”

“Black on black Back On Track. Say that 10 times fast.”

“Rather not.”

“K. Let’s go, Mr. Kingpin.”

Cartagena did not acknowledge his brand new, random nickname she pulled from her general association of the city of Cartagena with drug trafficking. Nor did he bristle at the fact that she told Tom she wanted the Back On Track pillow wraps for Dirk and not for him. They came with special fibers in them that promote blood flow, which reduces or prevents inflammation. All of the horses were treated in some way after jumping, as nearly all of them did that day. Some had to have their ice boots, some just got cold hosing, and some were rubbed down with liniment. If it were a big jumping day or one with a hard gallop in the field, Dirk, Nick, Rio, Calvin, and Dezy all spent some time with the Game Ready wraps, plugged into the magical machine. After whichever appropriate treatment, there was wrapping. Some were wrapped completely dry with traditional white “shipping” quilts, or pillow wraps as they’re also called, and burgundy or black stable bandages- like polo wraps, but longer, thinner, and stretchier, to provide more consistent tightness up and down the leg over the bulky quilt. Some were poulticed first, with wet brown paper bag wrapped loosely around the clay-like stuff to protect the quilt. There were other gels and products that could go on before the wrapping too. Dirk and Nick were always wrapped with the Back On Track-brand black quilts and matching black standing bandages.

Christina’s collection of quilts included multiple brands and sizes, as front and hind legs require different widths, and because she’d accumulated them over decades. Her grooms needed a ton of them. They can’t be re-used without washing, and they were used constantly. The regular ones were used for shipping too. So putting out the wraps for later was no insignificant task for Kyle. It required a lot of hunting and matching. Christina, Tom, and Isandro all abided by the same rule- no mismatched wraps of any kind, because it can result in uneven wrapping, which is bad for the legs. Helpfully, most of the quilts and bandages were marked in some way. Some were embroidered with “MARTIN” or “SCHÜRRLE”, or the name and a number corresponding to the other one in the pair. Some had names and/or numbers added in permanent marker. There were a couple of sets of standing bandages made by adidas, with the three white stripes just on the last 12” or so of the wrap by the Velcro. Those were easy to pair.

That she had specific wraps on her mind as she pulled Cartagena’s halter off and got ready to head into the indoor was a further sign that she was back to working the way she used to, before her out of the saddle life got in the way and made her crazy. It wasn’t something she really needed to be thinking about. Her grooms knew what to do and what she wanted. But she liked to feel as if she was on top of everything, not leaving anything up to others. It wouldn’t be Tom’s mistake if Dirk didn’t get the treatment she thought was best for him. It would be hers, for assuming Tom anticipated her thinking. The rider almost forgot she once ascribed herself that level of responsibility, until Juan talked to Sid Lowe about it and inadvertently reminded her. That wrapping was on her mind in that moment instead of her husband’s football depression was a big change too. While she felt absolutely gutted for him and wanted to do whatever she could to improve his mood and empower him to perform well, she was able to drop that subject entirely the second she set eyes on her next mount- the next horse she needed to work with and train, not just exercise. For a long time, she would have been able to think of nothing outside the typical spiral of “ugh” that began with a Borussia Dortmund foul-up and ended in “and he uprooted our entire life to bring us here for this garbage”. It was a lot easier to work and train while thinking about how on top of things her guys were in terms of caring for the horses than it was to do anything while she dwelled on all the wrong turns taken by her co-pilot.