#as usual I check ao3 immediately after leaving the theatre and when I see nothing I assume it doesn’t exist

[guanuji]

WTF why didn’t anyone tell me other people are lowky obsessed with this movie

[threecrowsinatrenchcoat]

So Give Me Hope In The Darkness

Dukeceit Week Day 4: Free Day

Janus comes to him scared and broken. And there is nothing Remus wouldn’t do to help him. 

AO3 Link: [here]

Word Count: 8855

Warnings: violence, dehumanization/people as test subjects, implied past abuse.

@dukeceitweek <3

-

“Remus, the transport’s here. You ready?”

Remus looked up from where he had been meticulously finishing the last fold on the absolute best paper airplane he had ever made in his life. “The what?”

Roman, leaning against the doorframe of Remus’ office, sighed deeply. “For the love of all things Disney and musical theatre, Remus, check your e-mail on a regular basis.”

Remus glanced at his desk. His laptop sat half-buried in crumpled up reject airplanes, the screen dark, so he slipped his phone from his pocket to check his e-mail with instead and… oops. One official work order, sent over 40 minutes ago, and three more messages from Virgil that all read somewhere along the lines of “Jesus Christ Remus respond to this so we know you read it.” Which, of course, he hadn’t. 

“Uh…” Remus said helplessly. Roman scrubbed a hand down his face, then motioned for Remus to follow as he stepped back out into the hallway. Remus scrambled after him.

“I’ll fill you in, but we need to hurry,” Roman said.

“The hell do they need me for? Wasn’t it just another one of those underground lab bullshit raids? Those always turn up fucking zilch.”

“Not this one,” Roman replied and, well, shit. Now Remus was interested enough to shut up and let his brother talk. “They actually found, like, the real headquarters. Evil scientists and all.”

“Fuck yeah, good for them. Logan and Virgil have been working themselves to the bone...r. But why do they need me?”

Roman gave him a look. It was his it’s time to be serious now, Remus look. “They found a, uh…” he hesitated, looking for the right word. “A test subject.”

“Oh.”

Well that answered that.

By this point, Roman had reached the door that led out to the parking garage. He stopped at the door and gave Remus a pointed look.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Remus muttered. Quickly, he emptied out his pockets and shoved his phone, wallet, keys, a small notebook, a miniature lockpick set, and a pocket knife all into Roman’s waiting hands. The last time he’d tangled with an aggressive gifted, he’d gotten the entire contents of his pockets- as well as the pants themselves- reduced to a pile of molten plastic and ash. “Right. Here I go.”

“Logan will brief you. Be careful.”

“I’ll be fine, bro, chill out.” Remus patted Roman’s cheek- which his brother couldn’t do a damn thing about with his hands full of Remus’ stuff- then pushed the door open and made his way out to the intake dock.

There was already a small crowd gathered around, a safe distance from where the armored transport van had been backed into the receiving bay. Logan, Patton, and Virgil were there, of course. But the presence of a handful of armed officers was a surprise. Logan usually refused to allow the police department to send their thugs into situations like this. This sort of thing was what Remus was on the payroll for. 

“Wasn’t expecting a party,” Remus said as he approached his team. Logan turned away from his conversation with Virgil.

“Ah, Remus. There you are,” he said. “I take it you have read the work order?”

“I… skimmed it,” Remus lied. Logan looked unimpressed. 

“Well, just in case you missed anything important, let us recap. Virgil?”

“Uh, yeah.” Virgil stepped closer, looking troubled. “We found a gifted in there, probably a test subject knowing these bastards. He’s aggressive, borderline feral, and those jokers-” He jerked his head in the general direction of the uniformed police. “Didn’t fucking help the situation. I couldn’t reach him, but I don’t know if that’s cause he’s in a state of mind where logic and reason are completely out the window, or if he’s… like us.”

Remus nodded. His own powers would work where Virgil’s had failed, but only if this one wasn’t completely immune to the effects of other gifteds like he and Virgil were. He turned to Patton. “You got anything for me, pops?”

“Of course!” From the pocket of his white doctor’s coat, Patton produced a small capped syringe filled with bright blue liquid. “I had to guess at the dosage, though.”

Remus accepted the tranquilizer and shoved it in his pocket. It would be a last resort. Looking to Logan, he asked, “Any ideas on powers? What to watch out for?” He was not pleased to see Logan grimace.

“We don’t know yet. The base is still being swept, so it will likely be some time before we will know what, if any, information was found on this subject.”

There was a heavy thunk from inside the armored van that made Patton jump. 

“Sounds like we don’t have that kind of time,” Remus mused. “Somebody wants out.”

“He was restrained when we found him. Blindfolded, too,” Virgil offered. “So he needs either visual, touch, or both.”

“Really narrows it down there, Virge,” Remus said with a huff. There was another thunk. “I’m going in. Standard operating procedure?”

Logan nodded. Remus nodded back, then looked to Virgil. 

Virgil led him through the crowd of uniforms, snapping at a few of them to move back, and up to the back doors of the van. He met Remus’ gaze. There was another thunk.

“Ok, now!” Remus said. Virgil tore open the door. Remus threw himself at the gifted on the other side, and Virgil slammed the door shut behind him.

He hadn’t been sure what to expect, so when he collided with a much smaller body, his momentum sent them both sprawling across the back of the van. Remus was bigger and stronger though, and didn’t have the disadvantage of being blindfolded, so he flipped the smaller body easily beneath him, wincing slightly at the hiss of pain he heard, and pressed a palm firmly against the bare skin of his neck.

“Why don’t you take a nap,” he growled. His power reached into the body, weaving its way into the circulatory system to slow the heart. Or, well. It tried to. He couldn't get a hold anywhere.

“Fuck. You are like us,” Remus muttered; more to himself than to the other, who was becoming increasingly difficult to hold down as he writhed and struggled against Remus’ weight. With his free hand, Remus reached around to try and fish the syringe out of his pocket. But the movement put him off balance. The gifted threw him off with a sharp jerk and scrambled away.

They both staggered to their feet on opposite ends of the cramped space, and Remus got his first good look at the gifted. His long blonde hair was a tangled mess, and he was still blindfolded- though he tracked Remus’ location enough to bare his teeth at him. Some sort of restraint seemed to be keeping his arms behind his back. Remus kind of wanted to murder whoever had done this to him.

“Hey, look, I’m not trying to hurt you,” he offered, even though he knew Virgil had already tried using his literal powers of persuasion on him. “I swear, I’m just trying to help you. But you need to calm the hell down.”

The gifted had pressed his back up against the wall of the van. Talking wasn’t going to do shit. The sooner Remus ended this the better. He rushed the gifted again; the gifted spun out of his grasp, and his hand closed on… feathers? The fuck? Whatever. The gifted had cornered himself against the back wall of the van. Remus spun sharply and slammed his weight into him. Winded, and with his back pinned into the corner, there was a precious few seconds where the gifted made no move. That was enough time for Remus to slip the cap off the syringe and jam it into the gifted’s thigh. 

His muscles immediately went slack, and Remus carefully lowered him to the floor, mindful of the goddamn wings he could now see were strapped down tightly against the gifted’s back.

“What the fuck did they do to you?” he asked sadly. He leaned over to bang three times on the van wall to signal the all clear to Virgil. A sudden, sharp pain raced up his other arm, and he jerked back with a yelp. The gifted had apparently gathered enough strength for one last act of defiance and had lashed out to fucking bite him, what the hell? Remus pushed him back down to the floor, and this time he stayed down. 

One of the back doors to the van eased open, and Virgil peeked in. Remus turned to him, and the whole world spun.

“Ah, fuck,” he managed. “Venomous. Cute.”

And then he promptly blacked out. 

-

Remus woke up in one of the dimly lit rooms of Patton’s infirmary. Patton had a vendetta against fluorescent lights, instead opting for soft, warm lights that didn’t give everyone headaches. Remus was thankful for this every time he woke up here- which was often- but especially now. His head was throbbing, and he kind of felt like he’d been hit by Virgil’s big armored transport van. Which he had before (his own damn fault) so he knew exactly how it felt.

His phone buzzed. Wincing at the movement, Remus glanced over to the small table beside the bed where his phone sat amid the pile of his other belongings. Which meant he had been out long enough for Roman to stop by and leave again. His phone buzzed again, so despite his body screaming at him for doing so, he reached over and grabbed it.

His team’s groupchat was filled with missed messages from the past hour. He scrolled through the most recent ones with a slight frown.

Nerdy Wolverine 

Patton, please give us an update on Remus’ condition.

Daddy 

He’s gonna be just fine, kiddos, he’s just sleeping it off.

Daddy’s Favorite 

👏👏👏 

Surly Temple 

Oh joy.

Daddy’s Favorite 

You were just as worried as the rest of us, Dr. Gloom.

Surly Temple

You can’t prove that.

Daddy 

Calm down, kiddos.

Nerdy Wolverine 

Patton, I would also like an update on the subject.

Daddy 

Are you sure? There’s kinda a lot to talk about.

Nerdy Wolverine 

Something brief, then. I will come by the infirmary when this meeting is over.

Remus 

Logan, texting during a meeting??? 😱😱😱

Surly Temple

Remus!

Daddy’s Favorite 

Wake up, Sleeping Beauty!

Remus 

I lived, bitch.

Daddy

I’ll be right there! Don’t you dare sit up!

Remus was already in the process of sitting up when Patton burst through the door. He winced slightly at the pain, but moreso at the disappointed look Patton gave him. 

“Uh-uh, you lay back down, mister,” he said. Remus sighed.

“I’m perfectly fine, pops,” he whined, but laid back down anyway, because even Remus knew better than to argue with Patton.

“Maybe, but you know the drill,” Patton replied. Remus made a noise of protest, but let Patton take his vitals and check him over. Then after an eternity- or more accurately, about five minutes- Patton stepped back and said, “Alright kiddo, you’re all good. Take it easy though. Maybe go home after the debrief, ok?”

Remus sat up now that he was allowed to. “I can’t believe that little fucker bit me,” he scoffed. He glanced down at his arm, where it had been bandaged up. “What happened to him? Where is he?” 

Patton looked a little uncomfortable, which more or less answered Remus’ question. The agency would be forced to hold the gifted here until the illegal lab had been fully cleared out and all the paperwork filed; and, well, there was a good chance Logan’s bosses would send in government officials to “assess the mental stability of the liberated test subject,” which was really just shitty politician speak for “see if this could become a huge scandal and decide if it was better to just make it all disappear.”

“Fuck,” was all he said. Then he got unsteadily to his feet. “Where’s Logan?”

Patton put a hand on his shoulder to help steady him. “He’s in a meeting with the chief of police. They’re trying to take the case.”

“Teach won’t let ‘em,” Remus said proudly. “I’m gonna, like. Go sit in my office. Cool?"

Patton eyed him suspiciously, but nodded. Remus gathered up all of his stuff from the table beside the bed, and darted out the door before Patton could change his mind. 

-

When Janus woke up, he immediately became aware of three things, in consecutive order.

First, he was somewhere he had never been before. That realization did not come as a surprise. He, of course, distinctly remembered the whole… “getting dragged out of his cell by people he didn’t know” incident. Usually he knew better than to lash out, but… there had been so much noise, so much unfamiliar chaos, and in his fear, he hadn’t known what else to do. And of course, it hadn’t done him any good; it never did. And now he was here. Wherever “here” was. 

The second realization did come as a surprise, as he sat up on the cot where he’d been laid, and looked around the sparse, softly-lit room: he was completely unbound. His wings were still instinctively pressed against his back, but they twitched at the realization and slowly unfurled to their full span. He winced slightly as tendons snapped into their proper places for the first time in a very long time but then he sighed in relief as the fragile bones settled. 

He had only just begun to catalogue the state of the rest of his body when a voice startled him into the third realization: he was not alone in the room.

“Damn, look at you!”

Janus flinched so hard he almost hit the wall the cot was pushed up against. He brought his wings around him protectively, and turned his eyes on the man sitting on a plastic chair near the opposite corner of the room. He narrowed his eyes as he recognized the voice of the man from the truck. 

“Hey, hey, don’t ruffle your feathers at me like that,” the man laughed. “Sorry about before, man. It was the only way to get you off the truck.”

Janus didn’t say anything. But he shifted so he was crouched on the cot rather than seated, in case he needed to dart away quickly. That seemed to amuse the man further.

“Relax, I ain’t here for a rematch. You kicked my ass fair and square. I just wanted to see how you were doing.”

Janus glared.

“I’m Remus, by the way. You got a name, snake-bird?”

He stood up as he said it, and Janus instinctively flinched back. The man-Remus?- didn’t look like the bad people, dressed in baggy jeans and an alluringly soft-looking green flannel. The bad people always wore white coats or body armor, depending on what they were planning to do to him that day. But… maybe they were just trying something new.

The man hadn’t moved closer. He was watching Janus with a look that fell somewhere between sadness and anger, and it kind of made Janus want to curl up into a ball and hide. 

“I, uh… I guess they treated you real bad down there, huh?” Remus said slowly. “Look, I know you’re scared, and you’re probably super confused, but you’re safe now. I can at least promise you that.”

He didn’t wait for any sort of response from Janus this time, instead turning to riffle through the bag that had been leaning up against his chair. He withdrew a fluffy, pale yellow blanket. He looked between it and Janus, and while Janus wasn’t the best at reading facial cues, he thought for a moment that Remus looked… embarrassed. Then, he moved forward a few paces and set the blanket down and backed up again.

“Here, uh… that’s for you. If you want it. Anyway, yeah. I’m gonna just.” He edged toward the door. “I’ll leave you alone now.”

“Janus.” His name leapt from his tongue before he could stop it. His voice was raspy, and his throat was sore, and he was still afraid- terrified- but still he ground out the words that made Remus pause in the doorway to look back at him. “I’m… Janus.”

-

The file Logan put down in front of them was almost the size of the textbooks Remus used as doorsteps in college (rather than their intended use) and for a moment, they all just stared at it. Then, Remus said what they were all thinking: “Well, fuck.”

“I hate to agree,” Roman sighed. “But yes. That.”

“Of course there will be much more to go over after I have had the time to fully analyze these files, but I thought it imperative I explain the current situation to you all as soon as possible,” Logan said. He was seated at the head of the conference table. The rest of the team was seated around the table except for Virgil, who paced restlessly nearby. Everyone- even Remus- stayed quiet, because when Logan talked, everyone listened.

“With this file, and similar documents recovered both from the most recent site and from previous sites, as well as the recovery of a live test subject, our case is more than sufficient to ensure those responsible will not walk away from this.” 

There was a collective sigh of relief. Virgil, who had been working on this case alongside Logan for years, looked especially relieved. He collapsed into the chair next to Remus, and Remus leaned over to ruffle his hair with a grin. 

“You guys should be proud,” Patton exclaimed. “You worked so hard to see this through!”

“Well it’s not finished yet,” Roman pointed out. He nodded to the file in the middle of the table, that none of them had dared to open yet. 

“Roman is correct,” Logan said. For a moment, he looked very tired; then, he adjusted his tie, and continued. “We must first ensure we have indeed apprehended all parties responsible. There are more names in these files than persons in our custody. Additionally, there is the matter of the test subject-”

“Janus,” Remus interrupted. Everyone gave him an odd look, so he clarified, “His name is Janus. He told me.”

“...Janus, then,” Logan amended. “Janus is to remain in our care until he can be evaluated. If he is deemed capable, he will be free to go once the investigation is closed.”

Logan did not, nor did he need to, state what would happen to Janus if he didn’t pass the evaluation. The agency’s evaluation essentially just looked to see if a gifted could still be considered a “person,” or if they had gone “feral”- and not in the fun way. Feral gifteds got locked up somewhere and were never seen again.

Remus, like all gifteds, hated it; but the government viewed them as dangerous. And a gifted that wasn’t in complete control of their mind, and thus, their powers, was considered too dangerous to let go free. Regardless of what trauma had made them that way in the first place, and if, with proper care, they could heal from it. It made Remus sick.

“They’re not taking Janus,” Remus spat out, interrupting whatever Logan was going to say next. “I won’t let them.”

“Ree,” Roman said gently. “We may not have a choice.”

“No. You guys haven’t seen him- he isn’t aggressive, he’s just scared.”

“Do you know how many people it took to get him into the damn truck?” Virgil snapped. “Oh and also, he bit you? You’re immune to gifted powers and he still knocked you out?” 

“Think about it from his perspective. You’ve been trapped in literal hell for who knows how long, and then suddenly you’re getting dragged out by people you don’t know, blindfolded and tied up, to go who knows where? I’d bite too.”

Patton looked heartbroken at Remus’ words. Virgil didn’t look convinced. But it was Logan who spoke.

“We have time,” Logan said. “Until the investigation closes, he remains in our custody. We make the decisions regarding his care.” He cast Remus a meaningful look, and repeated, “We have time.”

Remus understood.

-

He left Janus alone for the rest of the day, because he figured the guy probably could use some time to calm down. He even managed to persuade Patton to put off any sort of medical examination for the time being- partly for the same reason, and partly because Remus would need to be there in case Janus reacted badly, and Remus still sort of felt like shit and he just wanted to go home and sleep.

So Remus had gone home, passed out for like 15 hours, and woke up feeling a little less like death and decay. 

The benefit of going to sleep at like 2pm was that, even after his stupidly long “I got bit by something venomous” nap, he still made it back to the agency at the crack of dawn. It was quiet, none of the police department’s goons hanging around, and Remus, with his years of practice, could sneak easily past Logan’s office. 

He peeked in through the little window in the holding cell door. Janus himself was nowhere to be seen- instead, there was a Janus-sized blanket mound curled up on the floor in the corner of the room. The sight made Remus smile fondly.

“Damnit, you’re actually kinda cute,” he muttered. And then promptly decided he was not going to overthink that.

Remus camped out outside the holding cell until the headquarters came to life. The mornings were always a flurry of activity, even moreso today what with yesterday’s events. He saw the moment the noise from the hallway woke Janus up- the gifted poked his head out from under the blanket, mismatched eyes blinking sleepily, and then quickly vanished into the blanket mound once more. It was stupidly adorable. 

An intern came by with a tray of food for Janus, and Remus stopped him from approaching the door.

“I got this, kid,” he said with an amused grin. “This is way above your paygrade.”

The intern handed over the tray with a look of relief and scampered off. Poor kid.

The blanket mound stirred when Remus stepped into the room, but there was no further indication that Janus intended to come out. He shut the door behind him, and walked over to crouch down near- but not too near- the blanket mound.

“Good morning, sleeping beauty. I take it you like the blanket?”

The blanket shuffled backward a few inches. Remus set the tray down on the floor in front of him.

“I don’t really know what kind of food you like, so hopefully there’s something here you'll eat,” he said, eyeing the assorted fruits, toast, and eggs that had been sent up. “But like, if you want something else, you can tell me.” There was no response, so Remus stood up slowly and backed away. “I’ll just… be over here, then.”

He dragged the plastic chair to the opposite end of the room to give Janus as much space as possible, and plopped down in it with every intention of waiting him out.

It took about forty minutes of idly scrolling through his phone before Janus emerged, slowly and warily, mismatched eyes darting between Remus and the plate of food. Remus glanced toward him.

“Go ahead. It’s yours. Cold by now, I’ll bet.”

It took a further ten minutes for Janus to make up his mind and emerge fully from under the blanket and approach the plate- but when he finally did, he downed the food so fast, Remus was surprised he didn’t choke.

“Guess you like everything,” he mused. “Fuck, did they even feed you down there?”

He wasn’t really expecting an answer, because Janus was moving back toward his blanket. But rather than vanishing again, Janus sat down facing Remus, with his back to the wall, wings draped around his body like a blanket, and the actual blanket across his lap.

“They did, sometimes,” he replied. His voice sounded a bit rough still, like it had been a while since he’d used it, and quiet enough that Remus had to strain to hear him from across the room.

“Shit, man, these people fucking suck. How long'd they have you?”

Janus seemed to consider the question, but ended up just shaking his head. “I don’t know.” He avoided Remus’ eye for a few minutes, but he looked like he had more to say; Remus just waited in silence until finally, Janus asked, slowly, “Why am I here? Who are you?”

“I’m glad you ask, bud,” Remus answered. He stood up, and Janus flinched back slightly, feathers puffing up a bit. Remus moved a few feet closer, and then sat down on the ground so he was level with Janus. “It’s kinda a long story, but the short version is that it’s our job to go after the kinds of people who do this sort of shit. And the people who took you are gonna go to jail for the rest of their fucking lives for what they did.” He hesitated for a moment, then added, “They ain’t gonna lay a finger on you ever again. I promise.”

Janus eyed him carefully, like he wasn’t sure if he could believe what he was hearing. Remus couldn’t blame him. And then he was gone, vanishing back under the yellow blanket. Remus cleared his throat awkwardly, and stood up.

“I, uh. Yeah. I guess I’ll leave you alone then.” He paused at the door, and glanced over his shoulder. “You want more blankets? Some pillows, maybe?”

A muffled “Yes,” was the reply. Remus, again, could not help but smile fondly to himself.

-

Sleeping on the floor meant that Janus could stay alert to anyone approaching his cell, by sensing the vibrations in the ground. By his third visit, Janus could easily discern Remus’ gait from that of the others that passed down the hall.

He brought pillows and more blankets, just like he said he would. And then he asked if he could bring a friend in.

“He couldn’t give you more than a quick once-over when you first got here,” Remus explained while Janus sat on the floor and inspected his new blankets, marveling at how soft they were. “But he wants to make sure you’re not hurt anywhere.”

“I’m not hurt anywhere,” Janus said quickly. It wasn’t totally a lie; he wasn’t hurt anywhere specific, he just sort of hurt in general. That was normal though. 

“Ok, I’m gonna pretend I believe that,” Remus huffed. “But even so. He’s gotta do it sometime soon.”

Janus cast Remus a sideways glance. He still wasn’t sure what to make of the situation, and he still wasn’t sure how much he could trust these people. The ones before had never shown him kindness- he’d been grabbed off the street in his early teens and treated like an animal ever since. This new place… it felt different from anything he’d experienced before, and that made him wary. 

Being shown kindness and then having it taken away was worse than having never been shown it at all.

“Okay,” Janus said finally, because he didn’t think he was actually being given a choice in this. 

“Okay,” Remus echoed. He seemed unconvinced, which sent a small spike of anxiety into Janus’ chest, because the last thing he wanted to do was upset Remus. The man had brought him blankets, for goodness’ sake. “I’ll text him.”

Janus decided to busy himself with nervously running his hands through his oily feathers. His wings badly needed grooming, but he didn’t know how to ask for brushes. Would they let him have brushes here? He wasn’t allowed them at the old place. He was so lost in that thought, that he didn’t sense someone approaching the door until it was being opened.

“Hey, pops, come on in,” Remus said. Janus glanced over, and was immediately gripped by panic. 

He didn’t recognize the man, and his expression of “cheer fading into concern” was an unfamiliar one, but it was the white coat he wore that Janus recognized. He knew what the white coat meant.

He got caught in his pile of blankets as he tried to scramble to his feet. He tripped and crashed to the ground; out of the corner of his eye, he saw Remus make a grab for him. But he was too quick, kicking off the blanket that had tangled up his legs and springing to his feet. He used his wings to balance himself and buffeted Remus over the head in the process.

“Janus- fuck-” Remus staggered back to avoid a second blow from Janus’ thrashing wings. The man at the doorway looked torn between rushing in to help and backing away. Janus bared his fangs at him, but he was shaking so badly, he felt like a small breeze could topple him.

The man took a step closer, hand held out, but Janus barely heard his words- “Oh gosh, kiddo, I’m not gonna hurt you!”- over the blood pulsing in his ears. His back hit the wall behind him, and abruptly his legs gave out. He slid down to the ground and curled his wings over his head. 

“Janus?” Remus’ voice sounded far away beyond the curtain of feathers. “Hey, you gotta talk to me here.”

“I’ve been good,” Janus managed to choke out. “I- Please don’t, I’ve… I’ve been good.” He curled further in on himself, fully expecting to be struck. 

But nothing happened. The door opened and closed. Then silence. Janus risked a quick peek through his feathers and found that the other man was gone. Remus sat a few feet away.

“It’s ok, he’s gone,” Remus said quickly. Janus did not lower his wings, but the shaking abated slightly. 

“I’ve been good,” he said again, a little more firmly this time. “You promised.”

Remus looked unnerved. He scooted a few inches closer and asked, “What did I promise?” 

“That they… they wouldn’t hurt me again,” Janus hissed. Then, softer this time, “I’ve been good.”

“You have been good, but that doesn’t have anything to do with… wait, did you think…” Remus looked confused, his brow furrowing slightly. “Patton isn’t one of them. Is that what you thought?”

Janus just glared.

“Oh, snake-bird.” Remus’ eyes softened. “Patton’s one of us. He’s ok.”

“He looks like them,” Janus growled. “White-coat.”

“White coat… oh, shit, man, I didn’t even think.”  The sudden volume of Remus’ voice made Janus shrink back into the safety of his own wings. “Oh, shit, sorry. Hey, come back. I’m sorry.” 

Janus folded his wings back with a huff, and gave Remus an unamused look. Remus gave him a soft smile in return.

“I mean it. Patton is one of us. I can tell him to take off his coat. He won’t touch you unless you tell him he can. And you can tell him to leave, at any point, and I’ll throw him out myself. Deal?”

Janus searched his face for a long time. Remus seemed… so distressed. What would be the point, of faking that? There would be no reason to fake any of this, would there?

(Or maybe there was, and he was just too blinded by the hope that his nightmare had finally come to an end to see it.)

But slowly, reluctantly, but unable to shake the small seed of trust in Remus that had just started to take root, Janus said, “Deal.”

-

After the small fiasco that was Janus and Patton’s first meeting, things actually went rather smoothly. Patton wasn’t able to give as thorough of an exam as he was hoping. Janus was too skittish for that. And he had flat out refused a blood draw, which Remus had kind of expected. 

But at the very least, Patton was able to sign off that there were no signs of physical trauma that demanded immediate medical care, which was really all Logan’s bosses wanted. 

Despite his initial reaction, it seemed like the experience with Patton actually helped Janus feel more confident in his new situation. He grew more comfortable exercising his new control over his body and his space, even going so far as to tell Remus to go away when he wanted to be alone. And when he asked for brushes for his wings one day, Remus left work then and there to go get them. When he came back, Janus was waiting at the door for him.

“Well then, eager beaver, I hope I got the right stuff,” Remus said. He handed over the bag. It was way more than the two brushes Janus had asked for, but Logan had given him the company card and, well, Logan should know better than to do that. 

“Anything is better than a rag and my own hands, which is what I usually use,” Janus said. Remus very politely did not make the joke he so desperately wanted to make. “Is that… a bottle of dish soap?”

“Sure,” Remus answered as Janus pulled the little blue bottle of Dawn dish soap out of the bag. “They use it to clean crude oil spills off penguins and shit and, like, a penguin's a bird, right?”

Janus sighed deeply, but he was smiling, and Remus would steal him the sun if it meant Janus would keep smiling.

“Anyway, uh…” Remus shifted awkwardly. “I can, like. Leave you alone, I guess. If you want. Unless you want… uh, never mind, I’ll go-”

“Would you help?” Janus asked. He glanced down at the bag in his hands, and added, with much less confidence, “Um. There are parts I can’t reach.”

“Yeah, of course,” Remus said immediately. “Just tell me what to do?”

Janus guided him to sit down on the ground, and then plopped down next to him. He carefully spread one of his wings out and, after a moment of hesitation, let it drape across Remus’ lap. Remus tried not to feel too overwhelmed by the incredible amount of trust Janus was putting in him right now. 

“Here,” Janus passed one of the bristle brushes to Remus- one of many that Remus had bought- and then chose one for himself. “Just go with the growth, please. But if you find any loose feathers go ahead and work them out. Gently, though.”

Remus obeyed. He brushed carefully through the feathers, marveling at their soft golden-brown color. Even covered in oil and grime, they were beautiful. But after a few minutes, Janus frowned. 

“Everything ok?” Remus asked. He was suddenly afraid he was brushing too hard, or hurting Janus somehow, even though Janus had given no indication that he was in pain.

“It’s just…” Janus sighed helplessly. “They’re so dirty.”

He looked almost on the edge of tears when he said it, which was enough to put Remus immediately into I will do anything for you mode. “Do you want to try the Dawn? One time Patton used it to wash a cat he found that was all grimed up and shit, and it worked real well.” 

Janus seemed to consider it. He glanced over toward the door that led to the little private bathroom attached to the holding cell, then shook his head. 

“There’s not enough space in there,” he said. “We’ll make a mess.”

“We can go downstairs,” Remus suggested. “There’s showers in the employee locker rooms. Plenty of space.” 

Janus looked skeptical. “Is that allowed?”

It was, technically, not allowed. Janus had not been evaluated yet, and he wasn’t really allowed out of holding until he was. But… well, if they were quick, no one would notice. What was life without a little risk?

“Sure!” he said. “It’s fine.”

“...Okay. Sure.” 

Grinning, Remus got to his feet and gathered all their supplies back into the bag. Then he beckoned for Janus to follow.

“Logan’s in meetings for most of the day, and Roman’s off on assignment,” he said. He eased open the cell door and peered out into the empty hall. “And Patton’s usually swamped with paperwork in the afternoons. Everyone else who works here is too scared of me to say anything.”

Janus didn’t question it. Remus led him down the hall and paused to make sure the stairwell was also empty before leading him down the two flights to the ground floor. Janus seemed nervous in the unfamiliar surroundings. He clung close to Remus, close enough that he almost ran into him at several points. Remus tried to give him reassuring smiles and the occasional word of encouragement. 

There were voices in the break room, so they had to go around to get to the locker room. It was usually empty at this time, and today was no exception. Remus held the door open and ushered Janus inside. 

“The showers are over here.” Remus pulled back the curtain and leaned in to turn on the water. “You a warm water person or a cold water person?”

“Warm,” Janus said quickly. “Please.”

As the water warmed up, Remus helped him to pull off his soft flannel shirt (one of many Remus had bought because the agency-provided shirts were those horrible starchy t-shirts and Janus had hated them.) Remus was amazed at how much healthier the scaled half of his face and body looked after just a week of proper meals and consistent rest.

“Are you sure this isn’t going to turn everything blue?” Janus asked when Remus passed him the bottle of Dawn. He still looked vaguely unconvinced about this whole thing. 

“Nah, it won’t, don’t worry!”

Janus sighed. “Ok, but if it does, I shall never forgive you.”

“If I turn your wings blue, I’ll buy you so many blankets, they’ll fill up your whole room. Ready?”

“Well that makes me want my wings to turn blue,” Janus said. He followed Remus into the shower stall. 

It took longer than Remus was expecting to wash out all the years of grime from Janus’ wings. It was especially difficult closer to the point where the wings met his back, because Janus couldn’t reach there on his own. Remus worked through those spots carefully, and it wasn’t until he was almost done that he realized Janus had gone silent. 

“Hey, you good?”

“Mhmm.”

Remus leaned over to catch Janus’ eye, only to find his eyes were closed. There was a content look on his face.

“...did you fall asleep?”

“No.”

“You totally did!” Remus grinned. “You fell asleep standing up!”

Janus opened his eyes to glare at him, but the glare was tempered by the obvious half-dazed look of someone who had, in fact, just woken up. 

“...Ok, maybe I did for a moment there,” Janus huffed. The glare became a pout. “It just feels nice.”

Remus let his grin soften into a smile. “Good. I’m glad.”

The sound of the locker room door opening and closing startled them both. Remus pulled back the curtain just enough to look out into the locker room- and he immediately came face-to-face with Virgil. 

“Oh. ‘Sup, Virge.”

Virgil was eyeing him suspiciously. “What are you doing?”

“Uh… a smoothie?”

“That’s not… Remus, that’s not how that meme works. And you’re not even holding a smoothie.”

“Worth a shot.”

“Are you showering with your clothes on?”

“Sure, doesn’t everyone?”

Virgil’s eyes flicked toward the ground, then back up to Remus. “You realize I can see there’s someone in there with you, right?”

Remus also glanced downward. The curtain stopped about six inches off the ground. “Uh…”

“And I can also see the pile of feathers on the floor that you sure as fuck better not try and wash down the drain.”

“I’m not that dumb.”

Virgil sighed. “Hello, Janus.”

Janus hesitantly poked his head out from the other side of the curtain. “Hello.” 

“The fuck are you guys doing?”

“We’re not having sex if that’s what you’re thinking,” Remus said. Janus made a choked sound and vanished back into the showers.

“There is no universe in which I was thinking that,” Virgil growled. 

“No universe? Not even one?”

“What the fuck are you doing down here?”

Remus rolled his eyes. “If you must know, snake-bird here looked like a penguin in an oil spill. We’re washing his wings.” A pause. “Hey, since you’re here, wanna hand me a couple of towels? The big fluffy ones Patton hides.” 

Virgil walked away grumbling, but by the time Remus had finished rinsing the soap out of Janus’ wings and shut off the water, Virgil was waiting outside with a stack of Patton’s fluffy light blue towels. Remus took one and wrapped Janus up in it.

“What’re you up to, Emo?” he asked as he took a second towel and started toweling off Janus’ dripping wings. 

“Logan sent me to find you,” Virgil answered. He was watching the scene unfold in front of him with a look that Remus didn’t bother trying to decipher. “You weren’t answering your phone.”

“Probably ‘cause it’s sitting on my desk. What’s Teach need me for?”

“He wants to talk. Work stuff.”

“Oh.” Remus looked at Janus. “We should, uh. Probably get you back upstairs before he comes looking for me himself.”

Janus nodded. He gathered up the brushes and, after a moment of eyeing Virgil cautiously, reached over and snatched up one more of Patton’s fluffy towels and shoved it in the bag as well. At Virgil’s look of incredulity, there was nothing else for Remus to do but burst out laughing. 

-

As it turned out, Logan would probably not have been upset over Janus’ field trip downstairs, because when Remus finally made it to his office, the first thing Logan said to him was, “Would you be opposed to letting Janus stay in your home?”

Because apparently, Logan had pulled some strings with his bosses to get Janus out of holding; he had argued that spending his time in a home environment- instead of a type of confinement similar to what he’d endured for a large portion of his life- would vastly improve his chances of passing the assessment. The higher-ups had agreed, with the stipulation that Janus be released into the care of one of Logan’s team.

“Of course he can come home with me,” Remus had said, almost automatically. It was a chance to get Janus out of the box he’d been stuck in all this time. There was nothing that could make him say no.

Janus had seemed hesitant at first, but ultimately agreed to it. So the next day, they had packed up the mountain of pillows and blankets, the bag of brushes and stolen towels, the couple of books Logan had sent up to keep Janus occupied when Remus couldn’t, the snake plushie Virgil had apparently dropped off the night before, and the multicolored cake Patton and Roman had brought by for him that morning that was now half-eaten, and hauled it all over to Remus’ apartment. For a guy who’d been dragged out of hell with only the clothes on his back, Janus sure had a lot of shit to move.

Janus had balked at getting into a car, so Remus talked Patton and Roman into driving his stuff over for him, and then walked with Janus to the apartment. It wasn’t that far, and, Remus realized with a stab of guilt, it was probably the first time Janus had seen the sun in a long time. He kept pausing to close his eyes and tilt his head up toward the sunlight for a few moments at a time, before darting after Remus. Remus didn't stop him. 

It slowed them down to the point that when they finally got to the apartment, Roman had let himself and Patton in, brought all of Janus’ stuff up, and then left. Which was just as well- Janus had met Roman only once, and had seemed oddly jumpy around him.

“So, yeah,” Remus said, after showing Janus around. “You can just grab anything you need. I don’t really keep anything fragile in here ‘cause I tend to break stuff, so don’t worry.”

It was odd, seeing Janus standing in the middle of his living room, with his wings- which after their scrubdown, actually had a soft golden sheen to them- folded carefully against his back. But he seemed relaxed in a way Remus hadn’t seen before. Logan was right.

That evening, Remus got Janus settled into the bedroom.

“Where will you sleep?” Janus asked tentatively as Remus dumped all of Janus’ blankets onto the bed. 

“Huh? Oh, I’ll just be in the other room,” Remus replied. “I sleep on the couch half the time anyway, no big deal.”

“Oh.” was all Janus said. Remus made sure he was comfortable, and then went to pass out on the couch.

When he woke up sometime late in the night, he wasn’t quite sure what had woken him. Remus was, historically, a heavy sleeper. He’d once slept through a monsoon in a cheap tent. If he was tired enough, he could probably sleep through an earthquake. 

He turned his head to squint out into the dark apartment, and could just make out that the bedroom door was ajar. Remus stood up to go check on Janus- and then promptly tripped over Janus.

Remus yelped, and collapsed into the blanket nest that had appeared on the ground next to the couch; Janus yelped, on account of being tripped over, and scrambled out from under his pile of blankets. They both stared at each other through the darkness for a moment, and then both spoke at once.

“Are you ok-”

“I’m sorry-”

They both paused, and then Remus laughed.

“Shit, J, almost gave me a heart attack there. You ok?”

Janus looked a little sheepish. “Yes. I’m sorry.”

“Hey, it’s ok. What’re you doing sleeping there, though?”

“Um…” Janus looked down at his hands where he was clutching the snake plushie. It was stupidly cute. “I couldn’t sleep, alone. I thought I’d sleep better… out here.”

Remus blinked at him, still half-asleep. And it was probably because he was still half-asleep that he said, “Do you want me to sleep in there with you?”

Janus, after a moment, nodded.

“Ok. I can do that, snake-bird. It’s ok.” 

Remus helped Janus stand up, and they moved the blanket mound back into the bedroom. The rest of Janus’ blankets and pillows had been made into a nest wedged into the space between the bed and the wall. Remus smiled fondly. 

“Didn’t like the bed, huh?”

“I feel safer on the floor,” Janus said, looking embarrassed. “I can… sense vibrations in the ground. I know if someone’s coming up to me.”

“Oh. That makes sense.” Remus glanced between the nest and the bed, and shrugged. “I got the bed, then.”

He laid down, while Remus clamored over the bed to get to his nest and then promptly burrowed under the mountain of blankets. And as he was drifting off, Remus could have sworn he heard a soft sigh from Janus, of something that could, perhaps, be contentment. 

-

Janus had never slept so well before. Tucked into the space between the bed and the wall, in a room so unlike the cement-walled cell he’d spent years calling home- and with the soft snoring of Remus, the man he had tentatively come to trust, nearby, Janus slept through the night. And the night after that, and the night after that.

So when he woke with a start the fourth night, it took him a few groggy minutes to piece together why he was awake. He was still curled up comfortably under his blankets. Remus was snoring away in the bed above him. And then the people in the kitchen took another step toward the bedroom, and the vibrations in the floor raced up to Janus’ body. He sat up in a panic.

“Remus,” he hissed. No response. He reached up and grabbed at Remus’ shoulder to try and shake him awake. “Remus!”

Remus grumbled something incomprehensible, and did not wake. Starting to feel frantic, Janus crawled up onto the bed and shook Remus harder. At the same moment that Remus’ eyes fluttered open, the doorknob turned.

“Janus?” Remus asked, voice rough with sleep. Then the door was flung open. Flashlight beams fell across them both as men poured into the small room. Janus turned, baring his teeth, and spread his wings to shield Remus behind him.

“Take him, alive,” one of the men ordered. Janus squinted through the harsh glare of their flashlights to pick out who was speaking. “Kill the other.”

No. Absolutely not.

Janus caught the leader’s eye and summoned his powers to him. The man tried to look away, but even in the gloom, Janus’ powers held him rooted to the spot. 

“Sleep,” he snarled, forcing all of his power and will into the command. The man dropped to the floor.

In the seconds it took for him to wrest the leader’s consciousness away, the other men had fanned out around him. Janus whipped around to his left, but froze when he felt the cold muzzle of a gun touch the back of his neck.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” a voice behind him sneered. A man to his right reached to grab him. There was a crack and a grunt of pain behind him, and the gun fell away- Remus appeared on his right and swung what looked like a crowbar. There was another sickening crack, and the man grabbing for Janus immediately collapsed in a heap. 

The momentum of the swing propelled Remus up off the bed and into the next armed goon. They both fell backwards- Remus knocked his gun away, and as they hit the ground, a whack from the crowbar meant only Remus stood back up.

“Janus, get down!” he shouted suddenly. Janus turned- there was one man still standing, and he had his gun leveled at Janus’ chest. Janus froze. A gunshot rang out.

Janus felt himself hit his mound of blankets. Remus had shoved him off the bed. Hesitantly, he peered up over the edge.

Remus had bowled the man over onto his back amid the sheets and now sat on top of him, a hand grasping at the exposed skin of his neck. The man, rather than struggling against Remus’ grip, was clutching at his own chest. He convulsed, then fell still.

Janus put a hand on the ground. There were no more in the apartment. He climbed up onto the bed.

“Remus?” 

No response. Janus hesitantly reached out to touch his shoulder. At the same time, Remus slumped forward and slid to the ground.

“Remus!” Janus cried out in alarm. He vaulted over the bed and crouched down next to Remus. There was blood soaking his shirt.

“Remus, fuck. Why’d you do that?” Janus hissed. He gathered Remus up into his arms and tried to put pressure on the wound. Remus gazed up at him with glassy eyes.

“I promised,” he said weakly. Janus looked down at him.

“What did you promise?” he asked, probably sounding a little hysterical. Remus gave him a gentle smile.

“I promised they’d never touch you again.”

-

A neighbor had heard the gunshot and called the police, which was just as well, because Janus had no idea how to work Remus’ phone. The police had come and whisked Remus off to the hospital in an ambulance. Virgil came to take Janus back to the agency so that he wouldn’t be left alone in what had now become a crime scene. Janus made sure to bring his pale yellow blanket, the first one Remus had given him.

The investigation that followed revealed the intruders to be the extra names Logan had been searching for, and had returned to try and reclaim Janus before leaving town. With this, Logan could finally put the case to rest.

Remus was fine. When Janus was finally allowed to see him a few days later, he had just grinned and said, “Still not as bad as that time Virgil hit me with his truck.” Janus was not amused.

With the investigation closed, the agency could release Janus to be evaluated. Everyone gathered in Logan’s office to wait anxiously.

“He’s gonna be fine,” Roman said in what was probably supposed to be a reassuring tone. It did nothing to soothe Remus’ frayed nerves.

“Yeah, but what if something goes wrong, like they spook him or something-”

“If he can tolerate Princey randomly belting out Disney songs, he can tolerate anything,” Virgil scoffed. Roman glared. Patton stifled a giggle. Remus opened his mouth to reply, but in that moment, the door opened. Logan stepped into the office- behind him came Janus. 

“...Well?” Remus asked impatiently. His eyes were fixed on Janus. 

Janus glanced toward Logan. Logan gave a slight nod, and a smile spread across Janus’ face.

“I’m free to go.”

Remus sprang up and engulfed Janus in a hug. Janus clung to him tightly, and his tears of joy soaked Remus’ chest. 

[ombreblossom]

Whatever you do don’t open your eyes” for the prompt!

So, I’m not entirely sure what one says before posting fanfiction on Tumblr, but here we go! This is decidedly not horror at all, but uh. Maybe more fitting for something posted on the eve of Act 3, which will inevitably destroy us all.

I’ve never posted fanfiction before, and this is the single longest creative work I’ve ever written, fanfiction or not. Not to mention I haven’t written anything creative, really, in almost a decade. All this said, I hope you enjoy!

The Ins and Outs of Surprises

Content warnings for panic attacks, dissociation, and tooth-rotting fluff.

Summary: In which Jon has a little bit of a rough time with knocking and then goes on to have an unquestionably fluffy evening. Featuring: kitties, the author projecting mightily onto Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist (as is tradition), good-natured teasing of everyone involved, and loads (and I mean loads) of affection.

(An AO3 link will be added to a reblog.)

Jon whipped his head up from his laptop screen at the loud knocking on their front door. This was a situation in which The Beholding would have unhelpfully supplied information about acute tachycardia and panic attack onset signs—if he and Martin hadn’t averted the apocalypse and banished the fears, at any rate. They could scarcely believe their luck some days, could scarcely believe that they’d both managed to live to see an after, to see time march on once more unperturbed by cosmic terrors.

These days, Jon had to recognize the symptoms of an imminent panic attack and allay them himself. Well, Martin helped, kind and loving soul that he was. That Martin had stuck around after they’d ceased being two of a handful of fully conscious people left in the entire world was another thing Jon couldn’t believe sometimes, but he couldn’t be happier that he did.

The knocking continued to barge in on his thoughts every several seconds as he sat stock still at his desk, flanked on both sides by bookshelves filled to the brim of his and Martin’s books and various knick-knacks: Polaroids of the two of them with their friends leaned up against the spines of their books, souvenirs purchased from museums around London, and a collection of small ceramic cats of different breeds and colors. A brief vision of everything on those shelves coming tumbling down in what is solidifying as an inevitable scuffle ratcheted up Jon’s anxiety even more. 

He was tempted to get up and look about their flat for anything that could serve as a weapon, but there wasn’t much other than perhaps a chef’s knife, dull with constant, loving use, that Jon was likely to find, and he was just as likely to harm himself with it as the intruder. Jon’s hands found their clumsy way to his upper arms, gripping them tightly enough that surely there’d be half-moon divots left where his nails bit into his skin. His chest was starting to feel tight, as if someone were sitting on it in spite of Jon’s verticality.

On one hand, he wished desperately that Martin were here because surely they’d be much more capable of taking on an impending intruder together now that Jon was “powered down,” so to speak. On another hand, he was so grateful that Martin wasn’t here to possibly get murdered. Better him than Martin, who’d been through so much (and largely on Jon’s account).

All this, and someone was still loudly rapping on the front door. The regularity with which the knocks came didn’t suggest an urgency or an immediate threat, so why hadn’t the knocker announced themselves? Maybe this mystery person was just trying to get his attention? But who could possibly know The (former) Archivist lived here? Was this even related to his status as Doom-Bringer? Jon remained in his seat where he’d been sending correspondence to the copyright holders of the next drama he was arranging for his theatre club to perform, paralyzed by indecision and a million swirling questions.

The person demanding his attention pounded their door once more, but this time a voice rang out, clear as a bell in crisp winter morning air.

“—you please open the door? I had to leave my keys in the car!”

His heart stammered and shuttered in his chest—much like Jon himself when he was excited, talking in stops and starts about the latest subject that he’d found interesting, but there was everything wrong with this kind of excitement. Martin had always found it endearing, or so he claimed, but he was sure he wouldn’t find this endearing, seeing Jon wavering on the precipice of panic. Jon, mouth gone bone-dry, croaked a response: “M-Martin?”

A little louder, Martin shouted, “Are you there, Jon? I don’t remember you saying you were going out today.” He audibly jerked the door handle, clearly checking to see if the door was locked. Even knowing who was on the other side of the door didn’t stop Jon from panicking. All sorts of gruesome scenarios danced through his mind. What if someone was using Martin to get at Jon, making it seem safe to leave their home only to ambush him once he was exposed?

Suddenly, all noise outside stopped, and this sent Jon spiraling further. He hadn’t really been taking note of his breathing this whole time, but he felt the encroaching fuzziness that he knew came with dropping oxygen levels. 

“Mar...tin?” Nothing still. Martin hadn’t returned yet. Gripping his cheap particle wood desk that carried none of the same gravitas his elaborate oak desk had at the institute, Jon stood up. It was a precarious thing, his legs shaking and threatening to send him to the floor if he moved too quickly, but he needed to know what happened to Martin.

Just as he had been about to take his first wobbly step toward the door, Jon heard the faint sound of a key sliding into a locking mechanism. In no time at all, his dear heart was in front of him, saying something Jon couldn’t parse.

“—okay to touch—Jon?” He sounded worried for some reason, his voice pitching up just that little extra bit, something Jon knew happened when Martin felt powerless in the face of someone in danger.

Where was the danger? Who was in danger?

Something light brushed against his shoulders and stayed there. In the back of his mind, he was sure Martin had meant it as a comfort to focus on instead of the menacing fuzziness. “Why don’t you sit down, Jon. Everything will be all right. Hey—hey. It’s okay. Just sit down, love, and breathe.” So Jon did.

For a while, he drifted, sightless and senseless save for the tightness in his chest.

When he came back to awareness, Martin was there; he’d pulled another chair up close to Jon and pulled him into a loose embrace, loose enough that Jon could escape with very little effort if he needed to. Soft shushing noises filled the room.

Jon lifted his head from its position buried in Martin’s chest and immediately lost himself again in Martin’s eyes. Dark and speckled as soil and just as full of life. Jon had read enough comparisons to celestial bodies in his lifetime (and made similar comparisons himself once upon a time when their relationship was new and Jon had no idea how to close the distance between them, so up on a pedestal Martin went) to think them useful now. Martin’s beauty didn’t come from being a lonely, unreachable, incomprehensible light in the night sky. Martin was beautiful for far more mundane reasons. He celebrated life and the ups and downs of it all. He sowed seeds of happiness whenever he could and hardly anyone left his presence the poorer. Certainly, Jon recognized, he was somewhat biased, and, no, Martin wasn’t a perfect human being and had his bad days when being around people was too much to bear, when he’d snap and sneer and hide, but those bad days were fewer and further between as time went on.

Martin was talking to him, as it turned out. Maybe he should pay attention to that? Push through the words upon words criss-crossing and overlapping in every direction and orientation. Like microcurrents in the ocean just off the coast of Bournemouth. He’d been warned off from swimming too far from the coast by his grandmother when he was younger. Not that he would have regardless (too many tourists, too many people looking to see only what they wanted to see of his shore-side city), but Jon’s wanderings only made her more fearful of what lurked beyond their small bubble.

Focus, Jon. Focus.

“Are you with me? I’m starting to get more worried here.” Ah, there’s the helpless sarcasm. 

Not able to speak just yet, he leaned back, loosening Martin’s hold on him. Without really comprehending the in-between, Jon’s arms wrapped around Martin’s middle. There was a rather inviting spot on his chest that perfectly pillowed Jon’s head when the opportunity arose, but now wasn’t the time. He’d be lost for hours in the comfort of it all. Instead, Jon looked at him.

“I’m with you,” he said, the gravel that rumbled around in his throat more pronounced than usual.

A full sigh blew out of Martin as he glanced away from Jon. “I’m so sorry, Jon. I totally forgot about the knocking….” This was when the guilt set in. A momentary indulgence, Martin told him once when the world was still Wrong. Time to put a stop to that.

One of Jon’s hands pulled Martin’s face back into view and stayed flush against his cold cheek. “Martin, it’s all right. Most days it wouldn’t bother me, but today…. Something about today has me a little on edge. It feels like something’s about to happen, but I don’t know what.”

Martin still looked worried. “Something is happening today, but it wasn’t supposed to happen like this.” Mirroring his gesture, Martin raised his own hand up, thumb following the path of Jon’s cheekbones, gently passing over the scars left by Jane Prentiss’ worms.

“What do you mean?”

“You’ll find out soon enough. I promise it’s a good thing, though. No traps, no ulterior motives, no earthy manifestations of eldritch fear entities. It’s completely terror-free!”

“You promise, huh?” Jon said with a teasing lilt.

“I mean, as long as you discount the constant low-grade terror of living in a city with several million people and where anything can happen to you at any time.”

“I must say, Martin, you’re exceptionally reassuring today.”

“Thanks! I try.”

Jon just hmmed. 

With a hand still stroking Jon’s cheek and the worried look on his face softening by degrees, Martin said, “How are you feeling?”

Jon took a moment to honestly assess himself. He’d been trying to do that more often since distancing himself from the institute and everything it had represented to him. No more unreasonably late nights of work when he could just as easily spread his work out over the next day or several, and even when he couldn’t, Martin helped him make sure he stopped working no later than seven o’clock each evening. And while his pushing aside his bodily needs was a complicated matter with multiple causes, he’d been working on communicating when he needed to rest, when he was on the verge of pushing past his limits. (He’d been slowly coaxing Martin to do the same, though he’d just as often brush it off when Jon brought it up to him.)

After some examination, Jon replied, “I’m a bit tired, I suppose, but I’ll be all right once I get moving again.” He half-smiled at Martin, hoping to convey a sense of earnestness. Martin trusted him, he knew, and would take Jon’s words at face-value, but it didn’t hurt to lay it on thick sometimes.

The hand on his face was so soft. So pleasant a feeling it was, Jon nuzzled his face into that hand, eliciting a light-hearted giggle from Martin.

“Well, then,” he started, “Up we get! I’ve got something to show you. It’s a little chilly outside, so let’s grab your coat.”

Jon looked puzzled. “Outside? What’s outside?”

Martin gasped loudly. “It’s a surprise, Jon! How could you possibly ask me to spoil a surprise? The sheer audacity—I can’t believe it,” he exclaimed, clutching his chest and a look of profound offense on his face, completing the ensemble of mock outrage.

A warmth settled in Jon’s chest. This silly man was the person he wanted to spend the rest of his life with, no matter how long that ended up being. He let himself be overcome with affection and took the hand Martin had been using to stroke his cheek and brought it to his lips, placing a sweet kiss onto his palm.

“Oh, Mr. Blackwood, whatever can I do to repay you for this betrayal?” Jon crooned, that sloppy half-smile morphing into something a bit more mischievous. He would take any opportunity he could get to coax Martin’s infamous blush into existence, a handsome spreading of color across warm tawny skin, reaching as far as the tips of his ears.

With the expected flush rising on his features, Martin eyed Jon with a mixture of equal parts amusement, affection, and disdain. He gently removed his hand from Jon’s hold and walked over to their coat closet. “What you can do for me, Jon, is come over here and let me help you into your coat!” There was no heat in his words—no, Jon would tease that there was none left to imbue Martin’s words because it was stuck preciously under his skin—and Jon chuckled as he rose from his chair and followed Martin over walked over to where Martin was waving Jon’s pea coat in front of him expectantly.

“All right, all right,” he said, turning around to face the direction he came from, back to Martin, allowing him to guide one woolen sleeve then another over Jon’s arms. (Their bookshelves were intact, if disorganized, to his mild surprise.) Martin tugged on the collar, a signal for Jon to face him.

Though he managed to retain most function in his right hand, despite Jude Perry’s desolate flame ravaging it, it was sometimes painful to flex his fingers. Thus, it became customary for Martin to help him into his outer layers. Buttons were especially difficult some days, but Martin would grab Jon’s lapels and bring him in close enough that only several centimeters separated them and he’d fasten Jon’s buttons for him. Today was no different, though today it was more about the casual intimacy that underlaid the gesture than it was about the practicality of it.

Almost ready to face the damp cold outside, Jon asked, “What’s the rush about, Martin?”

A royal purple scarf suddenly in hand, Martin said, “Well, it’s getting late, and Georgie is still waiting outside with—well, waiting outside, and she and Melanie have a date soon, so we can’t keep her waiting.” Martin curled the scarf around Jon’s neck just so. “Not to mention how miserable it is outside. And I had to turn the car off to take the keys when you wouldn’t answer the door, so it’s probably cold by now, and….” He trailed off, looking at the ceiling with a far-away expression as if contemplating what else to tell Jon in this moment. “In any case, we are in a bit of a hurry, so get your boots on and let’s go!”

Aforementioned boots on and otherwise bundled up, Jon cocked his head to the side. “But, why is Georgie—” He stopped. He didn’t need to know right then. He knew Martin would answer his questions when he felt he could. This was knowledge that could wait. “Lead the way, then, dear.”

They turned toward the door hand-in-hand. Before opening the door, Martin looked back at Jon and said, “I meant it when I said this was a surprise, Jon. I want you to close your eyes and not open them until I say to, okay?”

The proposition of keeping his eyes closed for an indeterminate amount of time didn’t exactly appeal to him, but he trusted Martin. Before he could provide his assent, however, Martin pressed on.

“I know you don’t feel safe when you can’t see anything, but it’s only for a short walk to the car, and I’ll be there every step of the way to make sure nothing happens to you,” he assured. 

Jon could let himself be caught in Martin’s gaze forever, sunny and bright as it was. Now wasn’t the time, he realized. Later on, Jon would lead him to their overstuffed couch by hand and drape himself over Martin and press kisses underneath the line of his jaw and down the line of his throat, as he knew Martin loved.

“I trust you, Martin.” Jon closed his eyes and used his unoccupied hand to gesture to them with a flourish. “Lead on.”

A blast of cold, saturated air assaulted them as Martin opened the door. Taking their first steps outside, Jon tried to place the temperature, figuring it was no warmer than five or six degrees. It was still kind of novel, not having the exact knowledge he was looking for beamed into his head without his consent.

“Hold on, Jon. Stay right here for a moment. I have to close the door. Don’t want our heating bill to go through the roof.” Jon did as he was told, resisting the urge to open his eyes in spite of Martin’s insistence and already missing the solid presence of his hand. As if he were the one with omniscience, Martin yelled back, “Whatever you do, don’t open your eyes!”

Thoroughly thwarted, Jon waited for Martin to take his hand again before moving.

They parted the slow-moving air around them as they walked. Not forceful enough to be considered wind in his book but enough to siphon some of the scant amount of warmth his body produced away from him. People breezed by them, heeled shoes clacking against the sidewalk and snatches of conversations not meant for them drifting in and out of focus. “You said Georgie was here, right? Where is she? I don’t hear her at all.” 

“Georgie has been sworn to silence. Come on; we’re almost there.”

Martin pulled him forward, careful indeed to guide Jon around deposits of snow, soon to be gone, and depressions in the uneven sidewalk filled with slush. London and the surrounding area often got like this in the dead of winter; it didn’t snow overmuch, but when it did, rain soon followed, the temperature never remaining cool enough to sustain large amounts of snow for very long.

“Okay, Jon. We’re here. Keep your eyes closed for a little while longer.” Jon heard the tell-tale sound of a car door opening. The anticipation was roiling in him now; it was hardly bearable. He alternated between centering his weight on the balls of feet and then his heels—and back and forth—trying to dissipate some of the unease.

Just as Jon’s anxieties were building in intensity to a roaring crescendo, Martin spoke again: “You can open your eyes now, love.”

In front of Jon was a cat carrier—no mistaking it. He knew their shape intimately from all the hurried trips to the vet after The Admiral had gotten into food he shouldn’t have. The time The Admiral had eaten a sizable chunk of cold margherita pizza Georgie and he had left out on the table came to mind easily. Several frenzied Internet searches later, words like pancreatitis and anemia rolling around in their minds, they rushed The Admiral to an emergency vet. (It turned out that he hadn’t really eaten enough of the pizza to really worry about it, and the vet had a laugh at their expense, but the experience stuck with both of them.)

Someone had thrown a blanket over the carrier, making it difficult to make out what (who?) was inside, so Jon crouched down to get a better look. He could only imagine the look on his face right then.

A Maine Coon cat stared back at him, its amber eyes searching his and its head displaying a rich coat of golden yellows and deep browns. Jon was nigh speechless. “Who is this, Martin?” he whispered reverently.

Martin crouched down with him. “Well, as far as I know, she doesn’t have a name, not an official one anyway. I started feeding her a while ago on my way back from Tesco, and eventually she started following me back home. I wasn’t sure if she was actually someone’s cat or if she was a stray, so I always shooed her away before we got close to home.”

“That doesn’t answer why she’s here.” He wanted desperately to open the door of the carrier and run his hand through her fur, but Jon settled for poking his finger through the grate. The yet-to-be-named cat sniffed his finger from a couple angles and proceeded to rub her nose and face all over it. Jon nearly wept. 

“I can answer that one,” Georgie interjected, having been nearly forgotten by the other two. She came over and kneeled down with them, eyeing them both with mild concern. “Remember those couple times Melanie, Martin, and I all took off while you were working? Well, this guy was waffling on what to do with Goldie here”—Jon mouthed “Goldie? Really?” at Martin, who could only shrug helplessly—“and came to Melanie and me, your resident cat parents, for advice.

“We discovered pretty quickly that Goldie was a stray, or at least not microchipped. That made the decision that much easier. I walked him through all the different tests he’d want to get done to to make sure she was healthy and spayed and all that. The vet figured she’d been a house cat at some point, seeing as she was fairly clean and decently-well fed, even taking Martin feeding her into account. But no microchip, no tags, and no other indicator of who she belonged to, and the several weeks this guy had been asking around the area to try to find her owners with nothing to show for it?” 

Martin shot her a look. Georgie laughed, saying, “Oh, there was no way I wasn’t going to mention that. You talk a good game of resisting her charms, but you knew you were going to try to bring her home. You exhausted all your options trying to find her owners before we even showed up! The point is, we figured Goldie would find herself in good company with you two. Plus, I know how much you’ve missed The Admiral, Jon.”

This was too much to take in. He hadn’t been aware of any of this happening. In one sense, it was relieving: another piece of evidence to add the mounting pile that The Beholding had truly lost its grip on him. But how could Jon have missed all of this? Surely he joined Martin often enough in his London travels to have noticed him asking around about this cat.

“Hey.” Martin bumped their shoulders together. “I know what you’re thinking. I tried very hard to keep this from you in case it didn’t work out. I didn’t want to tell you about Goldie and get your hopes up only to find out that she had a loving family looking for her. And you’ve been so preoccupied with your theatre club’s new show; I wanted this to be a pleasant surprise.” Jon remembered the playbills scattered around his desk, a cursor left blinking, hovering over a supplicating email.

“You doing all right there, Jon?” Georgie leaned in closer to him, eyebrows furrowed. “We should get Goldie inside soon. It’s awfully cold.”

He’d heard enough. Standing up without warning, Jon waited for the other two to follow suit.

There was a moment when nobody moved. 

In a (in hindsight) hilarious attempt to force both Georgie and Martin up to their feet, Jon grabbed a hold of their collars and pulled, not too hard as to choke but enough to make his intentions known.

Jon advanced on Georgie first and threw his arms around her shoulders in a tight hug. This was familiar; this was safe. It took them a long time to return to a place where they would love each other like this after everything. He’d thought once that it would be impossible, too many misunderstandings and too much unintentional harm a seemingly unending flood under the bridge of their relationship, but here they were.

Pulling away slightly, Jon pressed a brief kiss to Georgie’s dry cheek, a pleasant contrast to their overwhelmingly wet surroundings. He stared deep into her eyes and said, "Thank you for your part in this, Georgie. For helping bring—heh—Goldie to us."

Eyebrows shockingly close to the edge of her hairline and eyes wide, she stuttered out, "Oh! Yeah, sure."

He turned on Martin next, who stood stock still close by, watching the scene with rapt attention. 

“Martin.”

Jon didn’t give Martin a chance to respond, stealing his words with a kiss. Several kisses, really, all short and soft and sweet, with little regard for location. Nowhere was safe: Martin’s nose, cheek, temple, jaw, hair. All had kisses laid upon them in pretty short order. 

As if just realizing he had an armful (and lipful) of Jon, Martin pulled him in closer. “What was that for?”

Jon let his smile take over his face. “For all the kindnesses you do me—big and small, extravagant and simple, whether you believe them to be or not.” And he pressed one more kiss on Martin’s forehead. “Thank you.”

“Oh,” he said. Wobbly, he continued, “Of course, Jon.”

Passersby walked around them. How Jon managed to forget this was a London street where people other than him, Martin, and Georgie existed was beyond him. He only noticed them at all because the chill of the languid London wind was starting to make a home in his bones. Better to work on getting everyone inside before the cold became too much.

“Where’s Melanie? I know she’d hate it, but I want to thank her as well.”

“Oh, Melanie would have loved to be here, if only to laugh at the hilarious conclusion of this rom-com movie plot we’ve all found ourselves in. But a meeting with one of the families she’s been working with ran late.” Melanie couldn’t talk too much about her work for fear of violating the confidentiality of the people she worked with, but from what Jon understood, she had essentially created a career adjacent to social work, in which she helped people living with the aftereffects of the fears’ full emergence reintegrate into society at large. She reasoned she was in a good position to help others shed the influence of the fears, given that she’d spent the last almost year before the Change doing the same. 

Georgie clasped Jon’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, though! I’m going to be telling her a~all about this.”

“Are you trying to give me a coronary? Melanie can’t know I have feelings.”

Georgie threw her head back and laughed. “Consider it our payment for the invaluable advice we provided throughout this harrowing process that Melanie will get to tease you about how disgustingly cute you two are later.”

The two bickered for a little bit like this as the sun sank further further beneath the horizon, Martin occasionally chiming in with support for whomever would create the most chaos. He may have been the love of Jon’s life, but Martin could still be a little shit when the mood took him.

Georgie was right earlier. It was cold and starting to get colder, and, frankly, all Jon wanted to do right now was pet this cat that he was legally obligated to rename to something more dignified. Something like The Duchess or Empress Dowager Cat or something else of equal stature would do. He’ considered having Martin help him decide, but if “Goldie'' was anything to go by, then perhaps it’d be better to leave him out of the proceedings.

Starting to move the blanket away from Goldie’s carrier, Jon said, “It’s about time we brought her inside, don’t you think, Martin? I’d like to get her settled in before dinner.”

Georgie stayed a couple extra minutes to help get Goldie, some food she and Martin had picked up for her on the way back, and a few toys into the flat. Jon offered to walk her to the tube station, and Martin offered to drive her back to the flat she shared with Melanie, but Georgie refused both and sent the two of them on their way to go bond with their new furchild.

As Georgie rounded the corner of their block and left their sight, waving to them all the while, Jon and Martin returned to the warmth of their flat. And there she was, lying against the grate of the carrier, not a care in the world. He and Goldie would become fast friends, Jon was sure.

-------------

Outerwear hung up to dry and boots neatly sequestered on their drying mat, it was finally safe to allow Goldie to explore their flat, which she accomplished in approximately 5 seconds, zooming around from room to room in a series of excited dashes. She stopped in the middle of the living room floor and made several pointed sniffs into the air.

Martin looked over to where Jon stood; he looked positively gleeful with a loose fist poorly hiding a still obvious smile. Frizzy fly-away hairs haloed around his head with some plastered to his face and the rest of his black, silver mottled hair in a hastily-done up-do. It was well known that Jon's hair expanded a good thirty percent in moist air, and today was no exception. It was so charming, seeing this man so unguarded, so unmade compared to his historically meticulous appearance. 

Choosing this moment of loving staring to make herself known once again, Goldie wound herself in around their legs in figure eights, rubbing her scent onto their closes and purring loudly. Jon couldn’t stop the high keening noise that escaped from his mouth.

"Are you all right over there, love?" Martin snickered.

"Quiet, you."

Jon turned to face him. It didn't happen too often, but every once in a while, Jon would gain an extra depth of color in a delicate line across his nose and cheekbones, a warmer brown than what otherwise lived there. Martin was wholly pleased to see the color now, and that it arose from something he helped make happen made his heart soar. 

"This is your fault, you know," Jon said mildly.

"What's my fault?"

He huffed. "These entirely embarrassing reactions I'm having."

"Oh, is that all? Sorry that I can't find it myself to feel guilty, then. I happen to love all these embarrassing reactions you're having." Placing a kiss on Jon's temple, he continued, "You're adorable when you're like this, you know."

"I know you think that, you incorrigible man."

“You are!” 

Jon laughed fondly at this. “There’s no sense in arguing with you about this, is there?”

“Not really!”

Seemingly sensing the end of their dispute, Goldie plopped herself down on Jon’s foot. It didn’t seem possible that she could purr any louder than she was a couple minutes ago, but Martin’s life had always taken one look at his expectations and summarily ignored them.

“Are you seeing this, Martin?” Jon whispered, the awe in his voice unmistakable. “Her Most Esteemed Empress Dowager Cat has deemed me worthy of her attention. I am honored to be in her presence.”

It took everything Martin had in him to not bark a laugh at that. “I’m sorry, dear. I didn’t quite hear you. What are we calling our cat?”

Their cat. Their cat that they’d be taking care of and cuddling together. Somehow the thought hadn’t occurred to him before, and it threatened to make him speechless now.

Jon muttered indignantly, “Like your name was any better.”

Martin gathered Jon into his arms easily, despite Jon’s defensive posture.

“Why don’t we come up with a proper name for her tomorrow. We’ll call her Goldie for now”—Jon started to protest, but Martin pushed on—“because that’s what she’s been answering to, but let’s just make dinner and enjoy her company tonight, hmm?”

A short moment later, Jon replied, “Yes, that sounds wonderful.”

They debated the relative merits of whipping up a quick curry versus spending a bit more time on a soup with a homemade broth and eventually decided on the former. The sounds of chopping potatoes and the clinking of glass jars containing garam masala, turmeric, red chili powder, cloves, star anise, and everything else necessary for aloo kurma spread throughout the flat. And if Goldie leapt onto the kitchen counter once or twice, knocking over bowls of ingredients and leaving inordinate amounts of fur in her wake, well. That was just fine with them.

[innittowinit]

Abandoned amusement parks are the best place for young children (chapter 5)

Fic summary: 

Techno, Tommy, Wilbur and Phil have been hanging out at the abandoned amusement park in the woods since they moved in. Techno likes knowing he's definitely alone with his brothers Tommy likes climbing on the old rides Wilbur likes having a place to play his music Phil likes spending time with his younger brothers

That is, until a group of brothers calling themselves the 'dream team' move in down the road. Will the sleepy boys give in and share the park or will they succeed in scaring the new kids off?

Chapter summary:

 the dream team talk how to maximize their attacks

the sleepy boys talk about no more fighting

Chapter word count: 1938 (a little shorter than usual sry)

AO3 

I am the author, please don’t re-upload this fic to any other sites/ reblog>re-upload

As the hazing summer weather beamed through the glass panes of their windows, the oldest of all the Dream kids, Bad, was recleaning out the scar on George’s cheek, making sure it was safe for him to go out for the day without him getting it infected, Covering it up with some gauze and medical tape once he was satisfied it wouldn’t be getting infected. Dream watched with ferocious intensity as he tried to memorise every movement, Bad wasn’t home very often, he had school and other things to deal with, so Dream was left to be the biggest brother most of the time. 

When he was little, he would have jumped at the chance to be in charge! It meant he was strong and trustworthy but recently, despite his confident facade, he did find himself getting worried a lot. Being the oldest meant knowing what to do when everyone else was scared, it meant being the bravest! And while he did have to admit he was a natural born leader, he didn’t always feel prepared. People were unpredictable and it scared him a little that it was his responsibility to judge them now. 

“Look” Bad sighed as he listened to his two youngest brothers rant on and on about how mean their ‘rivals’ were; as much as he hated to see them all upset and bothered like this, he was sure something must have happened to cause such a big feud. Kids don’t just fight for the sake of fighting right? When he was their age, he, skeppy and their other friend used to just prank people and play random games together. Maybe they did play fight, he couldn’t really remember..

“Are you sure that nothing happened to provoke them? I believe you muffin heads but maybe try to talk to them about sharing the park next time? Not everything has to be a war y’know……. And keep the gauze on this time! The doctor said you can’t leave it open until it’s fully healed. If you think those boys are actually dangerous I can go talk to their parents while you're gone, stay away from them though okay? I don’t want any more bumps or scratches.” 

As the boys all scrambled to grab their things before running out the door, they each gave Bad a hug, letting him know they’d call if they would be out late. The summer air lingered with an overwhelming feeling of comfort and familiarity as the three kids walked down the street, they hadn’t lived here long at all but they’d already made a name for themselves; they had even already made a group of enemies on the same street as them. This would be fun. 

Walking around in a thick green hoodie and a mask was proving to be more of a challenge that he had initially anticipated though, he wasn’t sure what kind of hell they had moved into but summer was so much more than summer. It was thick thick air, beads of sweat, and absolute torture. He felt his breath fog up and condensate his mask, leaving a coating of wet breath along the inside of the plasticy surface. It was disgusting but he’d rather pass out through heat exhaustion than take it off. Taking off the jumper was fine though, he did need to take extra care when pulling it off though since he couldn’t risk accidentally flashing his face.

Dream had always enjoyed the more violent games, he was an athletic boy, the most athletic out of all his brothers, and he loved trying to see if they could track him down or catch him. This usually ended up being games of hide and seek or bulldog that got taken too far, the scar on the cheek hadn’t been a big deal for them since they were so used to playing in such a rough manner. To them, this was all a game. They’d have a big war over the den but at the end of the day they’d still be friends, if he was being honest Dream was glad he had found other boys who liked the same kind of games as they did! 

His brother’s were fun but they were getting predictable, he knew how they’d react. He wanted new people to play with! He wanted the chance to team up with George and Sapnap and fight as one. 

This would be fun. They needed a plan though. 

“I think.. I think we need to prove that we deserve to hang out there too. There’s absolutely no reason why a little kid should be allowed there but we can't!” Balling his fist up and hitting it directly into the palm of his hand as he tried to think, Dream led the group in the direction of the woods. 

“Wilbur thinks he can talk about what they want as if we don’t exist! I say we declare war on L’manburg! Who are they to say where we can and cannot go!”

Sapnap, the youngest of the three but not by much -certainly not as big of an age gap as the sleepy boys had- had yelled out, waving his toy wooden sword around in mock anger. Really, he was a little upset about not being allowed into the park but it would be so much more fulfilling once they had earned their passage into it. 

Dream glanced at his brother and chuckled, George was holding a toy axe as well, himself having a nerf crossbow, which he had saved up all of his pocket money for a whole month to buy. After doing so many dishes to get the extra cash, he was absolutely going to try it out. 

“Dream you’re good at running, I’d say you should snipe them from behind a bush with your crossbow and when they’re weak you run in there. While they’re distracted George and I can charge in from another point. We shouldn’t attack today, George is still wounded and we aren’t prepared. Let’s just scope the scene and find an alternative entrance”

Admittedly, Dream had a tendency to underestimate his brothers. This was proof enough that Sap could be smart though, it would be an objectively bad idea to attack while they were weakened and the enemy was strong. They only had their ‘weapons’ to defend themselves with, in case the sleepy boys started throwing rocks again. 

In fact, he was still quite surprised that Wilbur even had thrown the rock. He had expected him to be an easy target, he was carrying a guitar around and he was so tall, Dream could definitely push him over if he wanted to play dirty. While it wasn’t ideal they had a tough enemy, he would be lying to himself if he said he wasn’t intrigued to see what would happen next.

Yes, this game was going to be very fun. 

----

“Okay everyone!” 

Phil called out, his three brothers all sat on a half-rubble brick wall. 

“So we all know that we’ve already had two people get hurt inside the L’manburg walls. Obviously nobody wanted this to happen, whether it was from losing your temper or just not paying attention to your surroundings, we need to do something about it” Phil clapped his hands together, he knew them well, if he made this into something fun they might actually take his advice. 

“L’manburg is not just a hang out spot, it’s not just a theme park either! It is our great nation! And, like every great nation, we need laws and rulers to keep us safe!”

Looking around, he saw how their faces perked up, even Techno, who didn’t usually enjoy roleplaying, seemed excited. It was a nice change, especially things were starting to get mundane, considering there wasn’t much of the park left unexplored -Wil had expressed a desire to want to check out the swampy area but Phil immediately shut down that idea, telling him that even if Wil ended up okay, Tommy would copy him and without a doubt get hurt.

“Wilbur will be your president, while I’m not here he’s going to keep you safe and make any tough decisions. Tommy, you will be the vice president” he had to keep himself from saying this role was just to keep the boy from getting upset at not being chosen for anything cool. 

“Tommy, this is very important, do you think you can handle it?” 

The young boy nodded excitedly, bouncing a little where he was sitting. 

“Okay, Tommy you need to help Wilbur make all the important decisions, and when anybody wants to join L’manburg you need to get Wilbur and then you can be in charge of making them go away” As silly as it was, at least he could trust Tommy to not throw rocks if he was told not to. 

“Finally Techno,”

“Oh my god, me too?” The teen chuckled 

“Of course, we need our warrior! Where would we be without our brave fighter!”

“Ah yes, the warrior. Tommy, I eagerly await your command. I’m so ready to fight people” Techno pulled his hair back, tying it at the back in a low ponytail as some small wisps framed his face. It was beautiful, everyone seemed to agree on that -unless they were overly masculine teenage boys- but Techno would kill anyone who dared say so in an instance.

He seemed to be stifling a little laugh, he was never into acting or theatre like his brothers were, while he was little he always preferred playing strategy games rather than make believe ones. That being said, he still loved seeing them happy and even though he doubted he would be doing it nearly as much as they would, he’d make an effort to play along.

The grin that shot across Tommy’s face was reason enough to roleplay, just a bit. 

“Okay okay so we need laws too! Wilbur, as the president, has already prepared a list” 

Phil sat down on the wall, it was cold and uncomfortable but against the humid air mixed with the slight smell of mildew from the slowly rotting park, it was nice. Last night, he had stayed up late with Wilbur, talking about this idea. If they gave Tommy a new place to hang out inside the park and called it the White house, he’d surely play there instead of doing whatever it is he does on the coasters. 

It still made Phil a little dizzy to think that they had been letting Tommy climb unsupervised while he wasn’t here, hopefully he had the mind to not go too high but knowing his brother, he would have taken the chance to climb higher. 

Wilbur cleared his throat as he got a piece of paper out of his pocket. 

“Dear citizens of L’manburg” 

Tommy giggled, which made Wilbur give him a little smile before he carried on with his speech.

“We will be a peaceful nation! I intend to rule this land without the need for any more people getting hurt. Any kind of weaponry, including collected rocks, are strictly prohibited inside L’manburg, the only instance in which we fight is if we are under attack! My fellow Sleepy boys, too much blood has been shed on this land, I hope you will all stand with me while I strive to steer this great nation in the direction of being more loving and accepting of our neighbours.” 

Phil chuckled as he watched his brothers, they all seemed so happy, most importantly though, they would finally have a reason to be more careful.

Hopefully nobody else would get hurt.

[mollymauk-teafleak]

be as you’ve always been

Alternate Title: everyone’s nb bitch, let’s get you some gender affirming underwear

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This is based on a request by the lovely @minky-for-short and some truly beautiful art of Caduceus which you can see and bask in here. Huge thanks to @tendermosses for letting me base a ficlet on their work and for always doing such amazing art for fjord and caduceus! 

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Please consider leaving a comment on Ao3 or reblogging to let me know what you think!

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Caduceus had known, since moving out of the grove and into the city, that his life went at a very different pace to most people’s. He didn’t know if it was because he was a firbolg, because he talked more to trees with lifespans of centuries than to people or because of brain chemistry reasons. But why's had never particularly concerned Caduceus, he tried to take people as they were, as long as they did the same for him.

And these people made decisions almost without thinking, they moved from one task to the next without pause, one word could send them careening onto a completely new train of thought while Caduceus was stuck on one three stations back.

And some did it so quickly, so without any kind of traceable logic, that all Caduceus could do was cling on as tight as he could and follow along in complete ignorance to see where he ended up.

But then he spoke to some of his friends and realised, to his mild relief, that no. That was just what Mollymauk and Jester were like.

He also realised that sometimes it led to very good things.

Molly and Jester were two of his closest friends and two of his most regular customers, given that the theatre where Mollymauk worked was just down the block and that Jester had an addiction to sweet things. They were usually there, talking together or with their partners, and Caduceus had grown to love the sound of their voices mixing pleasantly with the noise of the cafe.

That evening, a half hour shy of closing, they had both been sitting on the tall chairs against the counter, Jester’s short legs swinging happily halfway up, Molly’s lanky ones folded underneath him but they would have touched the floor if he’d let them. The discussion had turned to sewing, how best to work with the sequined and beaded fabric Molly needed to wrestle for the theatre’s next show without breaking his sewing machine.

Caduceus had been scoring tomorrow’s loaves with the elaborate leaf and vine patterns he liked to do, bringing his work out onto the counter because there were no other customers in and so he could listen to his friend’s chatter. Jester had been recounting a memorable night with some sequinned lingerie she’d bought the other week, how so many had come loose and turned up in places they weren’t meant to be that she’d had to buy new sheets, Molly cackling and snorting at all the appropriate places. Or, rather, inappropriate places.

Caduceus had murmured, not particularly minding whether they heard him or not, that lingerie mystified him a little but he’d always wanted to give it a try.

The immediate silence told him his friends had definitely heard. And the look they gave each other, barely concealed glee and eagerness, told him they intended to do something about it.

Which brought Cad to where he was now, legs folded almost up to his chest, in the cramped passenger seat of Mollymauk’s car. Caduceus didn’t know a lot about cars but it didn’t take much to see that Molly’s had gone beyond being on its last legs and was now running on pure willpower and prayers to the Moonweaver. It felt like the bass of the music pouring out of the speakers was going to be enough to shake it apart and Jester piped up from the back seat that the door handle had come off.

“There’s duct tape under the seat, babe,” Molly called back, unconcerned, learning forward to turn down the volume when he saw how Cad was wincing but being too awkward to say anything.

“You really don’t need to do this,” Cad insisted gently, “You’ve both been working all day, it’s getting late...”

“So have you,” Jester pointed out, voice a little indistinct through the strip of tape she was holding in her teeth, “And we don’t mind, it’ll be fun! We can help you pick out something nice! Anyhow, Beau and Yasha are at the gym until eight, Fjord too.”

“And Caleb has the kids,” Molly hummed, spinning the wheel lazily, far further than he should really have to just to take an easy corner, “This is a bonding exercise, Deucey. You need back up on something like this. You need your GNC club.”

“GNC?” Caduceus tilted his head.

“Gender non conforming,” Molly supplied, “You know, people who get it. Gender’s dead but friendship is not.”

“Your NB buddies!” Jester grinned, her head pushing in between the two of them, duct tape stuck to her horns, catching her homemade earrings with the plastic gummy bears, “Wait...your NBuddies!”

Caduceus considered that, his ears flapping a little as he took the tape off for Jester. He liked the idea of being part of a club. Even more, he liked the idea of being understood. He’d been worried about that when he’d first moved, breaking away from the grove where things were fluid and constantly changing as nature itself and entering a place where there might be rules and expectations in place that made sense to everyone but him. Where he would have to explain himself and define himself with terms that weren’t his own.

But here he was, feeling safe in a very unsafe vehicle, with friends to gladly cheer him on as he threw open the windows of the self he’d made a home in and tried new things.

Caduceus folded the piece of tape over and over in his long fingers and smiled.

“So what is it that mystifies you, exactly?” Mollymauk twitched some scandalous lace as they moved deeper into the boutique. Apparently this is where he and Jester had been coming for ages, enough that the drow behind the counter had known their names and greeted them with high fives.

“I guess...the concept?” Caduceus held his tail so it wouldn’t knock anything over, some of the displays were elaborate and delicate looking and full of things that would probably vibrate loudly if they hit the floor and that would be embarrassing, “I thought the idea of sex was to wear nothing rather than something. Where in the whole...process does this stuff come in?”

Molly nodded, managing to listen intently while dragging Jester by the tail so she wouldn’t dive headfirst into the costumes part of the shop, “Anywhere really. They make stuff you can still fuck in, if efficiency is what you’re worried about. But I think the function of this kind of outfit is to make you feel pretty, y’know? Get you in the right headspace, get you feeling yourself, yeah? It doesn’t always need to be about sex.”

“Sometimes I just wear pretty lingerie under my clothes cos it puts me in a good mood!” Jester bounced on the balls of her feet, ducking behind racks to sneak sips of the milkshake she’d smuggled past the cashier, “Helps me feel more like me.”

“Oh,” Cad said softly, tilting his head to consider the silk and satin and lace around them in a different way, “That sounds nice, actually.”

“Which is why it’s important to choose things you really like,” Molly nodded encouragingly, taking a sip of Jester’s shake and dodging the punch she aimed at his shoulder, “It’s a treat for yourself, this kind of stuff. And, when it inevitably shortens Fjord’s shorts by a good few inches because you’re going to look utterly stunning, that’s a bonus.”

Caduceus turned pink under his fur, a smile playing on his lips, “You think he’d like me wearing this kind of thing?”

“If you love yourself in it, Caddy, he will,” Jester beamed confidently.

“So...what’s catching your eye?” Molly prompted, seeing the excitement in his bright purple eyes, “They’ve got a good size range here, gaps for tails. Anything you like, they’ll have it to fit you.”

Caduceus looked around, ears lifting and whiskers twitching with interest. Anything he liked. No need to wonder if they would have things made to fit his tall, awkward body, no need to feel the pinching anxiety he’d grown too familiar with in clothing shops. A place where he could fit. And the only purpose was to make him feel beautiful.

“I like...green. And I like flowers.”

Molly and Jester shared that look again, the look of remembering when they’d had that moment of realisation too, when they’d discovered the world had space for them as they were. A look of delight at seeing it happen for their friend too and knowing they’d had a hand in it.

“Let’s get to work then,” Molly grinned.

Caduceus still had a little more time before Fjord came back from the gym. They’d checked and double checked the sizes on everything but Mollymauk still advised trying them on to make sure he was happy with them. And honestly, Cad’s excitement meant he didn’t want to wait.

So he stood in front of the full length mirror, after clearing away the clothes that were draped over it, with his hair gathered up in a thick bun at the nape of his neck, wearing little beyond the dull gold light of the sunset coming in through the windows. He’d bought three sets at the store and a few bits of jewellery to go through his piercings, actually a rather modest haul compared to what Molly and Jester bought for themselves but he was just starting out, after all.

There was one in green silk with garters and lace panels. There was a bodysuit made of mostly straps in a mossy blue colour that reminded him of water and looked pretty against his fur. But he quickly decided his favourite. The main material was sheer, meant to look like it wasn’t there at all, so the effect was that he’d laid a number of beautiful, intricately embroidered flowers across his body, teasingly concealing the barest amount.

That one he couldn’t quite bear to take off, even after he saw it fit him perfectly. Caduceus kept turning this way and that, grinning widely, seeing how it looked from different angles, touching the fabric, feeling how the stitches rose and fell under his fingertips. He looked like a dryad, wearing only sunlight and flowers, glowing from the inside out with an ethereal, untouchable kind of beauty.

And he liked it. He liked it a lot.

Caduceus had always felt mostly at home with how he expressed himself. He’d had eighty years to decide who he was and to know it was okay, that the Wildmother would always accept him and some individuals would not and that was outside of his control. Dysphoria was a word he’d learned the meaning of only after he’d moved to the city.

But this was the first time he’d been able to understand why Fjord looked at him the way he did, why he wanted him. Those dark nights when he’d lain awake with his head on his boyfriend’s chest and listened to the heart that was promised to him and wondered why, of all the people in the world, Fjord’s body stirred for him, those nights felt far away right now. Because he could see it for himself now. There was a connection in his mind, clear as day, that had been dark before.

He was beautiful. He was desirable. And this was good to know.

Caduceus mustn’t have heard the front door open, more in his head and in the mirror than in their bedroom. He mustn’t have heard Fjord throwing his bag down in the hall, his heavy footfalls across the old, creaking wood.

All Cad heard was the bedroom door starting to swing and his boyfriend’s call of, “I’m home, love, just going to showe-oh.”

Cad turned quickly, the magic broken, suddenly only able to think about the fact that he was wearing ridiculous lingerie with absolutely no warning, no rose petals or candles or glasses of champagne to try and pretend this was a deliberate surprise, “Fjord! Sorry, I...I was just…”

He faltered for words but couldn’t find any. Though it seemed Fjord was having the same difficulty. He was in his gym clothes, shirt still sticking to his chest and hair pushed back from his damp forehead with a simple band. And his jaw was on the floor. And his eyes...

“Um...Molly and Jester took me shopping today?” Cad explained, feeling heat rise to the surface of his skin for a different reason, “I thought I’d try something new.”

Fjord swallowed hard, his eyes wide and darting, unable to decide which part of Caduceus they wanted to stare at most, “Yeah? You...you look...I mean, god, Cad…”

Cad’s smile was back, flickering into life, “I look pretty, don’t I?”

Fjord gave a soft laugh, his eyes practically flooding over, “Pretty? Cad, there aren’t even words, love.”

Caduceus’ ears flapped and his tail curled in the air. He liked that. He liked the idea of things that could be said without words.

“Can I?” Fjord stepped forward, muscles coiled and ready, body telegraphing his need as clearly as a hunting animal.

“Oh please,” Cad breathed, “Fjord, please.”

It was well and truly night by the time they were done and Caduceus was pleased to learn he could feel just as beautiful once the lingerie had been eagerly pulled away. It was like a light had been switched on somewhere inside him and on it would stay.

He slept contentedly, easily, head resting on Fjord’s chest. His braid was undone, hair settling over his shoulders in waves made wild by his boyfriend’s fingers passing through it again and again. His lips were swollen pleasantly and flushed, his body would be full of well earned aches in the morning.

He was the most beautiful thing Fjord had ever seen.

He was ready for sleep himself, more than ready, but before he settled down to let himself drift away in his boyfriend’s arms, the only way he could ever really sleep completely peacefully, he had something to do. He pulled his phone out, fortunately within reach because his shorts had ended up hanging off the bedside lamp. Just a quick text, sent to two of his friends- Little Blue and Peacock according to his contact list.

thank you. seriously guys THANK. YOU.

And if Molly and Jester hadn’t been busy with their own partners, their own purchases, their own bliss, they would have seen it and grinned that grin again.

But there would be time in the morning.

[fieryanmitsu]

A Shoulder to Lean On | A3! Rare Pairs Week 2020 – Day 3 (Tasuku/Izumi)

And my entry for Day 3 of the A3! Rare Pairs Week is… Tasuku/Izumi!! For anyone who’s read my series “Intertwined Roots”, you’ll know that I absolutely love the same age group that comprises of Izumi, Tsumugi, Tasuku and Itaru. Honestly, Izumi paired with any of these three guys are my top Izumi ships, and I’ve been meaning to write a Tasuku/Izumi fic since I’ve written the other two ships already! So, I’m very glad that this week has kicked my butt into finally getting one out!

A SHOULDER TO LEAN ON

PROMPTS: One’s strength / One’s fear

CHARACTERS: Tasuku Takato, Izumi Tachibana

PAIRINGS: Tasuku/Izumi

My fanfic masterpost: Here

AO3: Link in my Blog Menu

“Seriously! What were you thinking?!” Tasuku growled, carefully examining Izumi’s rapidly swelling foot.

She winced as he placed the ice pack against her ankle.

“S-Sorry, I thought I could handle it.”

“How could you possibly handle anything if the boxes were piled so high that you couldn’t even see past them?” he demanded.

“It-It’s not like they were heavy! And no one was supposed to be over there anyway, so it’s not like I would risk bumping into anyone,” Izumi protested sullenly.

They were currently sitting in the lobby of a theatre on Veludo Way. Another theatre company had asked for Izumi’s help as an extra stagehand during their rehearsals. She had been moving some boxes of spare props and supplies to the storage area backstage when she had tripped over some uneven flooring and fallen, spraining her ankle on the way down.

Tasuku, who was guest acting for the play, had happened to come across her sprawled on the floor when he had come out of the nearby washroom. After he had helped her to the lobby – with a princess carry, much to her embarrassment – he had fetched an ice pack and was currently fiddling with a roll of bandages.

“It doesn’t matter if you thought no one was going to run into you. There were so many other issues with what you were doing! Like the potential of tripping and falling – which is exactly what happened,” he chided gruffly. “And have you considered that there was also a problem with the fact that no one was supposed to be in that area? What if I hadn’t happened to be there? You know that no one usually uses that washroom – I just happened to be using it because the main one was full. What would you have done if no one came to help you? You would have made your ankle so much worse! I can’t believe someone your age can be so stupid! You need to learn what your limits are and stick with it!”

Izumi couldn’t help but flinch at Tasuku’s harsh tirade. He could give Sakyo a run for his money.

“I’m sorry…” she apologized again, having nothing else to say for herself. Though a part of her wanted to refute that she did know her limits, but that she just hadn’t calculated for the uneven floor, she also knew that he was correct that she could have been more careful and carried less boxes at a time. She was also fortunate that none of the props had been damaged when she fell.

“Here. That should do it for now. You should ice it more and elevate it when we get home. We’ll have to find you some extra pillows or cushions or something when we get back to the dorm,” he said as he finished wrapping her foot in a bandage.

“Thanks, Tasuku,” she replied. “I guess we should call someone to pick us up? Hopefully Sakyo or Itaru are home… I don’t have enough cash on me for a taxi.”

“It’s fine, I’ll take you home,” Tasuku responded, slinging his bag over his shoulder and shortening the strap so that it hung snug in front of his stomach.

“Huh? But, you walked here too, didn’t you?”

“Yeah. It’s only a 20-minute walk back to the dorm, so I can just carry you home,” he replied without batting an eye.

“You’re going to what?!” she exclaimed.

“We don’t have enough money for a taxi, right? I can just give you a piggyback. It’s such a short distance home, there’s no point in calling someone,” Tasuku responded. “Besides, it’ll be like resistance training.”

“You’re not serious.”

“Hurry up and get on,” he directed, turning his back to her and crouching down.

Izumi was dumbfounded by this turn of events. When was the last time someone had given her a piggyback ride? And to be given one now that she was a full-grown adult… A part of her still wanted to call someone, but what Tasuku had said made sense. They really were only a short walk home… Finally, shaking her head and not quite believing that she was going through with it, she slung her purse to sit behind her and put her arms over Tasuku’s shoulders.

Checking to see that she was securely clasped around his neck, he carefully stood up and wrapped his arms snugly under her thighs. Then, without another word, he walked them out of the theatre and into the night air.

For the next couple of minutes, they strode wordlessly down the sidewalk of Veludo Way. As they caught the looks of passersby, Izumi couldn’t help but feel bad for inconveniencing the man carrying her.

She hated this. Hated feeling this way – like she was a burden. Izumi didn’t know when it had all started anymore, but for as long as she could remember, she had always done her best to be helpful and useful. To prove her worth – as if she needed to remind the world that she existed.

This fear of being left behind and forgotten was one of the reasons that drove her to constantly take on jobs with other theatres. She wanted to ensure that she could learn as many skills as possible and gain as much experience as she could so that she could be of continued use to Mankai Company. She didn’t think she could lose that, too.

“Umm, sorry for being such a bother, Tasuku,” Izumi said quietly, her negative thoughts coming to a head. “It really was stupid of me to have been so careless…”

Tasuku didn’t respond right away. Then, she heard – and felt – him sigh.

“I’m not upset, okay? I was just worried. You… you have this bad habit of taking too much on your plate. You’ve been packing your schedule lately, too, and when I saw you on the floor… My heart stopped. If something serious happened to you, I don’t know how everyone would keep it together. We would probably fall apart.”

Izumi silently mulled over his words. It was rare for him to say so much and to be this honest with her. It made a warm feeling bloom inside the depths of her stomach, and she was glad that he couldn’t see her face, because she was fairly certain that she was blushing. Only just a little, though.

“Thanks, Tasuku… I… I just like to keep myself busy. I want to keep improving myself and do as much as I can for the Company. But, I guess I can get a bit overenthusiastic sometimes. Like with those boxes.”

“Well… it’s not always a bad thing. Just know that you aren’t in it alone, when it comes to Mankai. We all call that place home – none of us want to see it go under. You’ve got at least twenty sets of shoulders to lean on, and… mine’s always open if you need it,” Tasuku replied as he stopped walking to readjust her weight on his back. “Also… sorry about earlier. I was too harsh. I know I say more than I need to when I get, uh… heated.”

“That’s true… I do see you scold Tsumugi a lot. I guess this is just how you treat your friends,” she remarked with a chuckle.

Another silence fell between them as he started walking again, and Izumi felt disappointed that their conversation appeared to be over. However, to her surprise, he spoke again a moment later.

“… You know that I don’t see you as a friend, right?”

“What?! You don’t?!” Izumi exclaimed, feeling both shocked and indignant. “After all this time?! We’ve gone drinking so many times together, too! What the heck?!”

She felt Tasuku sigh again as she pounded his back with one fist.

“Look – I didn’t mean it that way. I just— I see you as more than a friend, okay?” he snapped back, resolutely keeping his eyes facing forward.

Izumi froze.

“Wait. What did you just say?” she asked slowly. She was sure she had heard him correctly, but she almost didn’t believe it.

“Nothing. I said nothing. Forget about it.”

“Huh?! No way! There’s no way I’d forget something like that!” Izumi retorted.

“Didn’t you just say you didn’t hear what I said?!” he growled.

“I just want to hear you say it again.”

“No.”

“C’moooon! Say it again!”

“No!”

“Saaaaay iiiittt!”

“I swear – I’m going to leave you here and you can walk home!” Tasuku finally snapped.

“You wouldn’t dare!” she taunted back, butterflies fluttering in her stomach at the familiar banter between them. “If you do, I’ll tell Tsumugi on you. I bet I could get him to tell me tons of embarrassing stories about you as compensation.”

“Okay, I’m really going to drop you.”

Izumi shrieked as she felt Tasuku loosen his grip on her legs and she started to slip down his back. However, he immediately caught her and bounced her up onto his waist again.

“You’re the worst! I can’t believe you just did that!” she scowled, wrapping her arms firmly around his neck – just in case – and definitely not because she wanted to feel closer to him.

“Serves you right,” he snorted.

“Fine, I’ll let you off the hook this time – since you’re carrying me home,” Izumi replied, her voice softening. “Thanks, Tasuku.”

Then, she stretched her neck forward and planted a quick kiss on Tasuku’s cheek before moving back and nuzzling her cheek against his broad and warm shoulder. She couldn’t help a big smile from crossing her face as she glimpsed – from the corner of her eye – his ears turning bright red.

I really do enjoy the relationship between these two. I’m just such a sucker for friends/lovers who banter with each other. It’s just so much fun writing Izumi keeping Tasuku on his toes, too, haha. I also have a lot of feelings about Izumi. I didn’t go too much into it here, but I hope to further explore my take on her in future fics!!

I’m happy I was able to get out three entries within the actual Rare Pairs Week! I just need to ride this wave of productivity and finish up the rest of the entries in the next week or two before I lose steam (and hoping real life won’t get in the way of my plans)!!

Thanks again for reading and please do leave a comment with what you thought! If you enjoyed this, please do help me out with a reblog!

Please stay tuned! Next entry will be that ItaIzu smut I was talking about previously back on Day 1, haha.

-Anmitsu

[roseherondale]

Kit Babysits Mina for the First Time

Summary: Kit babysits 8-month old Mina alone for the first time alone, and faces some trouble.

Word Count: 4404

Warnings: N/A

Read it on AO3 here

“Are you sure you don’t want us to cancel?” Jem regarded Kit with worry, but he just shook his head.

“You’ve had tickets for ages. We’ll be fine.” He promised, gesturing into the nursery where Mina was settled in her crib for her afternoon nap. Tessa emerged from within, beautifully dressed in a deep blue dress that reached her knees, and gently shooed them away from the door.

“If Kit says he’ll be fine, he’ll be fine.” She chided Jem softly, then turned to her adoptive son. “If you need anything you can call either or us or Magnus, okay?”

“I know, Tessa. We’ll be okay.” He knew she saw through his fake confidence, as she did with everything, and hugged him.

“Say the word and we’ll stay.” She whispered into his ear, giving him a final out. But Kit was a Herondale and they never gave up on a challenge. He just hugged her back tightly.

“Enjoy your play.”

“We will, thank you. Jem has never had the chance to see it and my other children had such a love for Oscar Wilde.” They were travelling to London to go to dinner and to see The Importance of Being Earnest, an Oscar Wilde play that Tessa had wanted to take Jem to see. She had told Kit many stories about her and Will’s children and her friends’ children, including Matthew Fairchild, her son James’ parabatai, and his dog, Mr. Oscar Wilde.

Jem stepped forward to hug him before they left. “We left a full list of instructions in the kitchen just in case. We know you know what you’re doing but it’s your first time babysitting alone, and it can’t hurt to be there just in case.”

“Thanks. Really, Jem, I’ll be okay. I’ve seen and helped you and Tessa do this every day.” Kit smiled, reassuringly.

“Okay, well thank you so much for your help today. We should be back by eleven. We love you.” Jem said and Tessa echoed him, placing a kiss on his forehead.

“Love you too.” Kit said. He had become a lot more comfortable with saying that, though he was sure that it was impossible to live with Jem and Tessa for a year and not love them. They were kind and attentive, and never made Kit feel pushed to the side, even though they had their own daughter. In a strange way, Kit was also theirs and he cherished the feeling of having parents who openly showed him affection.

They walked away from him, waving and disappeared around the corner of the corridor. Kit turned and headed back into the nursery, curling up in the armchair with the laptop Jem and Tessa had bought for him. She would be asleep for another hour, and although Jem and Tessa usually left the room for her naps, content to have the baby monitor beside them, Kit didn’t want to leave her side in case anything were to happen.

Magnus would have been there normally, with his and Alec’s children: Max and Rafe. Kit liked them too, not as much as Mina, but he often kept them entertained. Rafe was six and enjoyed playing with Lego. He was quiet, but content to sit and let Kit help him build castles and towers. Max was four, and too young for Lego, though at the age where he wanted to copy his brother, but Magnus and Alec had bought him some large building blocks which he played with happily. Kit would sit between them and help, keeping the kids entertained whilst Magnus caught up with Tessa and Jem.

However, Rafe had come down with a cold and Magnus was looking after him. He didn’t want to risk passing anything to Mina, and so had regretfully informed her that he couldn’t babysit. Tessa had seemed disappointed that they would have to cancel their dinner and theatre reservations, so Kit had stepped in and offered to look after Mina. It was something he hadn’t done before and the whole idea made him nervous. He loved looking after her, but was left with a constant fear that somehow, he would mess it up, like he did with everything else.

He watched part of a movie for a while with his earphones in, until he heard her moving around in her crib; a sure sign that she was waking up. Quietly closing the laptop and storing it under the chair so he wouldn’t stand on it. He leant over the crib, looking down at his little sister, who was wearing a top patterned with flowers, her dark hair messy.

“Hey Min-Min,” he whispered, and she stared up at him, large, dark eyes blinking slowly. “Hi, baby. Good afternoon.” He cooed in a way that he would be mortally embarrassed about if anyone, but Jem and Tessa had heard. “Do you want to go get some milk?”

She made a noise that sounded like “Ki-Ki” which Kit translated to mean “Kit-Kit” and was the way in which she addressed him. He gently lifted her and laid her on the changing table, to put her into a clean nappy. Once he had done, and dressed her in some leggings, he carried her down to the kitchen to make her some milk.

She clapped her hands, making happy noises as he carried her and he spoke to her the whole way down, mostly repetitions of her name and telling her that they were going to get some lunch. He remembered that Tessa had said about how talking to babies helped them feel secure.

They reached the kitchen, which was one of Kit’s favourite rooms in the house. Copper pots and pans hung from the wall alongside bunches of herbs drying from the garden. He placed Mina in her high-chair so she wouldn’t crawl away whilst he was warming her milk. His hand dragged across the wooden table. It was here that he sat when Tessa went into labour, and her nonchalance towards the situation freaked him out, it was here where he saw Livvy for the first time since Idris, here where he gave his mother’s heron necklace to Magnus to give to… He shook his head.

This was the table where he ate chocolate pastries that Jem bought him from the bakery, this was where he sat down for meals every night with his family, where he realised on his first night, how much he had missed out on family life before he moved here.

He took the bottle of milk from the fridge, where Tessa had prepared them earlier, and placed it in the electric bottle warmer Tessa had bought, excitedly, as it was a quicker method than warming it in water as she had done with her first two children. Kit chopped up half of a ripe banana as the milk warmed and placed it into one of Mina’s plastic bowls. He turned his attention back to Mina whilst he waited for the bottle to warm, chatting to her the whole time.

When the beep indicated that it was ready, Kit stood up, untangling his finger from her tiny fist. “It’s okay, Min-Min, I’m just going to get your milk for you.” He took the bottle out, shook it to ensure the temperature was the same throughout, and squirted a couple drops onto the inside of his wrist. It was warm; not too hot, and so he took it over to Mina.

“Here, baby, let me help you.” He tied a bib around her neck and then held the bottle out to her. She reached up and held onto it, taking it from him. She drank, thirstily, Kit keeping a watchful eye on her to ensure she didn’t choke on it. Once she had finished, he passed her the bowl of bananas and she giggled, grabbing them and pushing them into her mouth.

Kit pulled the notes that Tessa and Jem had left for him. He read through it all, checking that there was nothing he didn’t already know, and saw a note at the end.

 Dearest Kit,

Thank you for helping us out, darling. We love you – you are a blessing. If you need any help (and admitting that is a sign of strength, not weakness), please call us or Magnus.

Good luck,

Love Tessa and Jem x

 He felt his eyes water and immediately rubbed them. He was used to the kindness by now, but when they did simple things that showed him how much they cared, he was always surprised. He didn’t deserve all of this – he had been taken into a family and welcomed with open arms, and the fact that they trusted him with their daughter was so unexpected.

Mina was giggling over her bananas, her hands and face covered in a sticky mush.

“What mischief have you gotten up to, Min-Min?” He asked, humming as he used wet wipes to remove the mess from her. She laughed, happily, moving her arms up and down, tiny fists clenched. “How about we sit you down in the living room with some toys?” He suggested, hoisting her into his arms.

She kicked out with chubby legs, excited to be carried around by her brother but also at the age where she wanted to crawl everywhere. He smiled, placing her on the ground in the living room, and pulled out her toy box, placing some building blocks in front of her. They were some of his favourite toys to help her play with; she liked it when he built her castles to destroy.

He loved the living room. Above the fireplace, two paintings hung. One was of Will Herondale, his ancestor, Jem’s parabatai, and Tessa’s late husband. The other was of Tessa and Will’s two children, Lucie and James. On the top of the fireplace were several photographs of Tessa, Catarina and Magnus; of Tessa and Jem on their wedding day, of Mina when she was born, and his favourite: the four of them in the gardens of Cirenworth Hall, the house silhouetted behind them, taken by Clary, when Jace and his friends had visited in the summer. Mina was sat in Tessa’s arms and Kit was stood beside her, Jem behind him with his arms around his wife and his son. Kit had a copy of the photo in his bedroom.

For a while, things were fine. They built houses and she knocked them over, grinning and clapping her hands in delight, which, in turn, made Kit laugh with her. She picked up a brick, chewing on it and Kit tried to wrestle it from her, like he had seen Tessa do every day. However, when he finally got it away from her, she screwed up her face and began crying.

“Hey, Mina, it’s okay baby. Here, look at me, Min-Min, it’s okay. You can have it back; you just can’t chew it.” He said desperately, reaching across the bricks to her, but she pulled away from him. Her cries made him panic and want to cry too but he was the one in charge; he had to act like it.

“I’m a Shadowhunter,” he muttered to himself, “I fight demons, I can calm a crying child.” He stood up, and picked her up, so that her head was against his shoulder, and she beat her tiny legs against his stomach.

However, he was out of his depth. He had seen Tessa and Jem calm Mina with ease, but as he tried to rock her, she just screamed and hit at him with her fists.

Tessa and Jem shouldn’t have trusted him with their daughter. He felt his eyes well up. Kit had disappointed them, like he did with everyone else, and now he was going to have to face the consequences. They would send him away somewhere, maybe to the Shadowhunter Academy, and he would be all alone again.

He had to do something. Call Magnus or even Emma, so that they could fix this. He wasn’t cut out for it, and they had a lot more experience with kids. Of course, that would mean that Tessa and Jem would find out, and they would hate him.

His heartbeat quickened, and his breathing too, when suddenly, his attention focused onto the portraits. Will stared down at him, knowingly, and Kit’s eyes strayed down to their family photo in the centre of the mantlepiece. Tessa and Jem would never send him away. They may not be his actual parents, but they loved him much more than his father had, and they spent their time looking after him, and making him a part of their family.

He took a deep breath and calmed himself. Tessa had always said that telling Mina stories was a sure way to make her calm down. Kit cleared his throat and stared down at his sister.

“Alright, Min, I’m going to tell you a story, so you’re going to have to be quiet so that you can hear it.” He said, moving her slightly. Her cries seem to quiet slightly, and he let out a sigh of relief before he started his story.

“When I first moved here, before you were born, your mom and dad told me about my mom. They said she loved me so much that she had to leave me. Your parents had tried to help her, and she refused them, but she had this necklace. It was in the shape of a heron and your dad put a spell on it so that she could send a message to him if she needed to. For a long time, she didn’t, but then, she was attacked by some bad faeries and she was forced to. My mom… she passed away, but they kept the necklace.” Mira was crying still, though her tears fell silently. As he had been talking, he had brought her back to the nursery, where he drew the curtains, and placed her on the changing table. He changed her as he continued.

“They gave me the necklace and they told me about her and how she lived her whole life in hiding to protect me. I don’t remember her… Just vague memories of the song she used to sing. No, I’m not going to sing it,” he said as she looked up at him with wide wet eyes, “you’d wish I hadn’t.”

She giggled, thickly, even though she couldn’t understand what he had said, and Kit finished changing her, disposing of the nappy and wiping his hands with a wet wipe. He gently brushed away the tears from under her eyes and smiled at her.

“See, it wasn’t all so bad. You’re fine now, Min-Min.” She babbled at him, and he picked her up into his arms, pressing a kiss on her nose to make her laugh.

He took his sister back to the living room and pulled out the giant piano mat that they had. Jem had seen it and declared that he would try and teach his baby how to play. Mostly, she enjoyed crawling across it and Jem delightedly cheered her on, clutching Tessa’s arm and declaring that she would be the next Chopin. Kit thought that the most exciting part of the piano mat was Jem’s reactions and he secretly thought that Mina felt the same.

“Here you are, Min-Min. Compose a piece to show your dad later.” She giggled and crawled forwards. Kit had knelt beside her and absentmindedly hit some of the notes to make them clash or compliment each other. Every time he made them clash, Mina glared at him, pouting, and he was reminded of Jem.

Jace had been teaching him piano in the last year since he had left LA. It was something for them to do when he stayed at the Institute. He loved living with Jem and Tessa, they were definitely people he would consider as his parents, and his guilty feelings of replacing his own parents had gradually subsided with Tessa’s assurances that you can love more than one person without forgetting the rest. He had been visiting Jace a lot; he helped him with his fighting skills and took him on patrol. Kit had never been able to play an instrument before; his father thought it was a waste of time, and he wasn’t great at it, but he found himself enjoying it more than he had expected.

Jem and Tessa had unearthed an old piano for him and placed it in the newly renovated music room for him to practice. They respected and appreciated artistic, non-vital things, like music, unlike his father and encouraged him to pursue all of his interests, even if they weren’t related to being a Shadowhunter. It was a welcome change from LA with the Blackthorns where everything revolved around it. Kit liked the peace and quiet of Devon.

Mina had gotten bored of crawling around the piano mat, and had seized her stuffed giraffe, bouncing it on one note. Kit laughed, and drew her off the mat, and showed her an easy tune, moving her arm with the giraffe so that she would play it. She did and stared, wide-eyed, at him as if she didn’t know why the music sounded good. They kept doing it, until she dropped the giraffe.

She was easily bored and distracted, and Kit was more than happy to keep passing her different toys to entertain her. This time, she went for an animal puzzle where she placed wooden animal pieces into different sized holes. She had long since mastered the giraffe, which seemed to be her favourite animal, but she had trouble trying to place the lion in the meerkat hole and putting the elephant in the wrong way around.

He smiled as he watched her, finding it amusing the way she stared at the pieces with wonder, and then hit them against the bored repeatedly until they slotted in. Kit had never cared for babies, but Mina never failed to amuse him in the whole time she had been alive. Then again, Kit had never had a sister before, and he supposed that made her more interesting than a regular baby.

As dinner time fast approached, Kit carted Mina back into the kitchen. Tessa had prepared food for them in advance, and Kit heated up Mina’s sweet potato and chickpea mash, leaving it too cool so that it was warm, and then handed it to Mina with a spoon, after tying a bib around her neck, placing a small plastic cup of water beside her. She shovelled her food into her mouth. She was hungry, so she was more content to eat her food than make a mess with it.

Kit unwrapped his sandwiches and sat beside her, eating quickly. When she had finished, he wiped her face and brought her a yoghurt. He crunched on some crisps, and he washed the dishes quickly whilst she was preoccupied with her desert.

“Look at you, Min. Making such a mess.” He smiled, wiping her face again, and the tray of her high-chair. He placed her on the floor to crawl around, whilst he finished tidying the kitchen. At some point, Church wandered in, staring at Kit with wide yellow eyes whilst he prepared his food. Mina had tried to grab him, but used to her, Church had just jumped up onto a chair and then the table. This also gave him a better vantage point to watch Kit make his food.

“Ca-ca! Ca-ca!” Mina shouted, flapping her arms around. Kit understand that as baby speak for “cat” as she couldn’t yet pronounce Church.

“That’s right, Min. It’s Church the cat.” She babbled the same sounds again, and he clapped for her, making her copy him.

Church yowled in protest against the delay of his food and Kit hurried to finish spooning the meat onto his biscuits, whilst being judged by him, as usual. He placed the bowl on the floor where he ate, then scooped up Mina and took her away before she had a chance to crawl over to Church and bother him. Generally, he was fine with Mina; maybe sensing that Jem would be unhappy if he attacked her, or maybe it was because she was just so lovable, even the angriest cat in the world loved her. However, Kit didn’t trust him, given the amount if times he had growled at or attacked him.

Church started to eat, crouching down in front of the bowls, tail flicking slowly behind him to indicate that, although he was happy to be fed, he still didn’t like Kit. To protest, he stuck his tongue out at the cat’s back before leaving the room.

He took Mina to the bathroom adjacent to her nursery and ran a bath whilst she sat there, pulling out some toys. Watching her, through the door, so that he wouldn’t fill the bath up too much, he couldn’t help but smile at the sight of her babbling to herself as she played with her giraffe.

He checked the temperature with a thermometer and made sure that the bathmat was secure, swirling the water around to avoid hot spots that could scald her. Kit brought her into the bathroom and washed her hands and face before undressing her and gently lowering her in. She was at an age where she could sit up properly on her own, but Kit was ready just in case she were to slip. The bathmat allowed her to avoid that, though, and he began to wash her.

Part way through, she splashed him with the water, soaking his grey t-shirt. He laughed, and gently flicked some at her arm. She stared at the spot where it hit her, with wide, confused eyes and then started giggling, hitting the water with her palms. Kit used one hand to wipe the water from his face.

“Oh Min-Min, you really are trouble. Your poor mum and dad won’t know what to do with you.” He joked, as he finished washing her. She giggled at him and her voice was squeaky.

“You’re like a mouse. Min-Min the mouse.” He imitated her, making a squeaking noise that made her clap her hands in delight.

Kit gently lifted her from the water and wrapped her in a soft, fluffy towel. He dried her, then carried her to the nursery to get her changed into her pyjamas.

“Ki-Ki!” She called.

“Hey, Min. We need to shush now, it’s nearly bedtime.” She let out a large yawn, as if he had reminded her that she was very tired, even though she couldn’t understand him properly yet.

“How about I finish my story?” He suggested, and she babbled in what he took as agreement. He swaddled her in and blanket and held her, as he sat in the chair.

Then, he continued his story. “Before my mum passed away, she gave me to my dad, and he looked after me. He wasn’t anything like your parents though, and I was unhappy. I made do though; I learnt a lot about the Shadow World through the Shadow Market. Then, one day, the protection spells around our house went down and he passed away too.” Kit didn’t expand on it. He didn’t think telling a baby about his father being murdered by demons would be a good bedtime story.

“Your parents saved me and took me to the LA Institute. They had some other things to do before they could come back and look after me. I made some friends there; Livvy and Ty, and later, Dru. I met my cousin, Jace. You know him; the one that looks a bit like me and is completely full of himself, and his girlfriend, Clary. She’s wonderful. I think you’ll really like her when you’re older. Basically, whilst I was living at the Institute, a bunch of things happened, and I chose to leave.”

Kit paused for a moment, thinking. “I’m glad I did. Things didn’t work out for me there, but I now have new parents who love me and the best little sister in the world.” He gently tickled her under her chin, and secured her as he stood, lowering her into the crib. Scooping the giraffe from the floor, he slipped it beside her, and she held onto it, then he placed the blanket her.

She yawned, sleepily, and Kit pressed a final goodnight kiss to her head, before retreating back to his chair. When her breathing had slowed into soft snores, he went to the bathroom to empty the bath and clean the water from the floor. Watching the water trickle away in a miniature wave pool, he considered what he had said to Mina.

He was happy he left LA. Sure, he missed the ocean and the Shadow Market, and Ty Blackthorn, but he would rather get another chance at a family than to mope around the Institute, knowing that Ty wouldn’t return his feelings.

Kit had a wonderful life in Devon, and he realised that it was what he had always needed. He had spent most of his time in LA watching the Blackthorns being a family, and until he got Tessa and Jem, he never truly understood what he had been missing, and he realised now, more than ever, that he couldn’t have fit into their family, like he had imagined doing.

Once the bathroom was dry, and the towels were hanging on the rack, he turned off the light and headed back to the nursery chair, cuddling up with a blanket, and continuing to watch the movie.

It was there that Tessa and Jem found him later, fast asleep, mouth slightly open, with his head on his shoulder. They checked on Mina and found her sleeping just as peacefully.

Kit woke up briefly, when Jem lifted him into his arms and carried him back to his bedroom, but promptly fell back to sleep before his head hit his pillow.

Jem covered him in his duvet and Tessa placed the laptop on his desk, then they both bent to give their son a kiss on his head, and Tessa paused to smooth out his golden curls.

“We were lucky to find him.” Jem remarked in a whisper.

“We were blessed.” Tessa corrected. “We have two beautiful children, and each other.” They stayed for a moment, watching Kit breathe, then they left, hand in hand.

Thank you for reading - I really hope you enjoyed! This little family warms my heart.

Let me know if you have any other fic ideas you want to see, about them or Kitty. xxx

[aminiatureworld]

The Music of the Night

Ship: Geralt x Jaskier

Warnings: Someone gets stabbed

Premise:  The family goes to a music concert, courtesy of Jaskier, and Geralt gets to experience something he never has before.

Author’s Note: I was hoping to post every five days, but unfortunately with classes starting and the larger Medieval AU this fic was a long time coming. I was more liberal with Geralt and Jaskier being open about their feelings, or at least I tried to be.

Hope you enjoy this fanfic and thank you so much to the 42 people who liked my last Geraskier fanfic as well as the 6 people who reblogged it.  Know that every single one of you contribute so much to my happiness and my determination to continue writing!

Notes about pieces, historical accuracy, and other such things in end note. Ao3 link in reblog

            “Alright, are we ready to go?” Yennefer shouted down the hall. Geralt ground his teeth, staring at the array of weapons laid out in front of him. It was a very important night, one that Jaskier hadn’t shut up about for the better part of three months. A guild of musicians was in a town neighboring Yennefer’s newest stronghold, and the house’s resident bard had been adamant that this would be a perfect family outing, and that no one was getting out of it. This hadn’t entirely been surprising, and Geralt had begrudgingly agreed to the whole endeavor, not being a huge fan of enclosed crowds. When he’d realized that maybe going to a concert unarmed in the middle of what could only be described as the Continent losing its collective mind was a bad move, his intensely minute planning, something that both Yennefer and Jaskier teased him mercilessly about since he’d properly brought Ciri into the family, had spun out of control. Now there the Witcher was, staring at the various knives, daggers, swords, and other miscellaneous weapons that he’d found lying around the house, wondering which to take and which to leave. The two usual swords were among the bunch, of course, but somehow Geralt knew that Jaskier wouldn’t take kindly to them being brought, something along the lines of ruining the atmosphere. Still, he had to bring something and as the banging in the hall grew louder Geralt wondered how he’d ever easily made up his mind about arming himself before.

           “Geraltttt!” Jaskier’s voice came singing down the hall, followed almost immediately by the banging of the door. Rushing over, he planted a quick kiss on Geralt’s cheek, something which never failed to bring on a blush, and shook his head excitedly. “You look lovely in everything darling, I promise no one will be in the mood to glare.” Geralt smiled fondly, if a bit exasperatedly, at the bard, before shaking his head.

           “That’s not it. I, well, was trying to choose.” He gestured towards the table and Jaskier, turning around and surveying the paraphernalia, nodded thoughtfully.

           “Hmm… tough choice.” He brought his hand to his chin for a moment, before his eyes lit up and he picked up a dirk sheathed in black leather. “I’ll take this one!” Checking to confirm the blade was indeed steel, Jaskier smiled up at the, admittedly baffled, Geralt, who couldn’t understand the bent that Jaskier was taking.

           “Jaskier, I-”

           “Oh and of course the others will need something too!” Jaskier scurried into the hallway. “Guys!! Geralts got his weapons laid out, better get one!” There was an incoherent reply from Yennefer, and the quick footsteps of Ciri, who, running into the room, grabbed a thin knife, this one wrapped in ordinary leather with green silk woven into the hilt, an old gift from a grateful pawnshop owner if Geralt could remember right. Geralt frowned as Ciri ran back out of the room, but before he could raise a protest Yennefer had waltzed in, scanned the table, and ran off with an elegant dagger, a whirling pattern built into the blade. Geralt immediately gave a grunt of protest at that, but Yennefer simply raised an eyebrow and walked out. Jaskier, returning, walked up to the poor Witcher, who was running about three paces behind the entire ordeal, and gave him a smile. “Thank you for thinking of that! This should be a relatively calm affair, more serious you know, but hey, protection is always a must!”

           “I… those were for me.” Geralt shook his head. “I couldn’t choose which to pick.”

           “Well, we’ve whittled down the selection haven’t we?” Jaskier smiled indulgently. “Now hurry up and choose yours now, you know how much I’ve been longing for this, and nothing is going to stop me from enjoying tonight. Especially not a late indecisive witcher.” And, pressing a kiss on Geralt’s nose, and nearly falling on him in the process, Jaskier ducked out, leaving the slightly bashful Witcher to pick up a weapon, another dirk, this one wrapped in old worn leather with half rubbed off runes cut into it, and run after him.

           The venue was already quite crowded when they arrived, and the front seats full. Jaskier gave a dramatic groan at that, but Ciri, muttering a quick word of assurance, ducked off to find four seats. Geralt could barely make her out, as she slipped quickly and quietly between various patrons, but he trusted in her abilities not only to find a good spot but to be able to take care of herself. The latter part of that trust had been harder to build up, the first few weeks they were together Geralt felt as if he were walking on melting ice, worried about the various ways he might put his newfound family in trouble. It had taken a lot of lectures from Yennefer and coaxing from Jaskier for the Witcher to finally accept that Ciri wasn’t a waifish girl in need of coddling; after all, hadn’t she survived without him? Through war and death and a cult chasing after her? No, Geralt now knew that being a good adoptive father didn’t mean locking one’s daughter away, even out of paternal worry.

           As Ciri waved the band over to a set of seats in the third row, Jaskier admitting that the choice was “not bad at all”, Geralt reflected for a moment on where he was now in life. He’d never thought at the beginning of his life he’d be a witcher, and he’d never thought at the beginning of his witcher life that’d he’d be destined for anything other than a lonely life, walking the Path with the cold determination of someone who knew no other way. How odd fate had proved out to be, and how grateful Geralt was that he’d been wrong. How happy he was that his life had changed, that he had changed, for the old Geralt knew nothing about either reflection or hope, not in the way current Geralt did, and as he slipped into one of the creaky wicker chairs set up around the semi circled stage, Geralt glanced at the family around him. Yennefer was enquiring after Jaskier the type of music that was to be played, the bard replying with a garble of songwriter facts and music theory that no one but himself understood, while Ciri was scouting the people around them, trying to determine where they were from no doubt, as she’d once confessed to Geralt seeing Cintran refugees always gave her pause, even if she no longer felt the urge to walk up and say hello. It was a happy sight, despite everything that had happened, the mistakes, the goings, the years apart. It was nice to have a night such as this, and as Jaskier turned to glance at the Witcher he seemed to wink, as if to say to Geralt, see, I told you this was a good idea. Geralt lifted his eyebrow, but he couldn’t stop the smile that spread across his face, and as the people hushed and the musicians came out Geralt found himself very happy he’d let that bard follow him around.

          Geralt wasn’t entirely sure what he expected out of this night. He knew that it wouldn’t be the same experience as tavern songs, that this wasn’t going to simply be a group of bards, that the singing would be minimal, and that the songs would be longer and more complicated. What he certainly wasn’t expecting was the sheer beauty that hit him. The song started with one musician playing a fiddle, a low pleasant sound, which rose up in a variety of trills. It put Geralt in the mid of early springtime, the birds just emerging from their nests, or coming up from where they’d left. It made him think of the fields right after a frost, buds beginning to dot the trees, the world coming to life again. Slowly the other musicians, of which there were about 60, began to join in with the lone player, adding to the effect of a world waking. The music chased away the rest of Geralt’s thoughts, and he found himself leaning forward, as if somehow he could envelope himself in the notes floating around the theatre.

           A glance over at Jaskier made evident that the bard was also feeling affected by the music, for the bard had clasped his hands over his mouth, though every once in a while one would float up, as if guided by the music, and Jaskier’s eyes would close. It was a side that Geralt hadn’t really seen before, for though he knew of course that Jaskier loved music, loved it in an all consuming way, he didn’t show it often, mostly joking that no one wanted to hear the intricacies of Dorian mode, or listen to him sing the praises of men and women long dead. A warm feeling filled Geralt’s chest, and he was almost choked by the sense of fondness that he felt, surrounded by what Jaskier loved best, watching him in his element. Turning back to the performers Geralt thanked every god he could think of and all the ones he couldn’t that Jaskier had brought the family, and that Geralt got to be around such a beautiful being and share in such a beautiful experience.

           The music continued, each song more beautiful than the last. After what Geralt could only call the springtime piece came what seemed like four, but Jaskier later told him was only one split up into different “movements”. Their, or rather its, tone was dark, and even when the song seemed faster Geralt only felt agitated, rather than happy. Deciding he didn’t like that as much as the first song, though Ciri rather seemed excited by the frantic energy of it, Geralt was glad when four guild members stepped out and began playing a calmer song, this one another split in four, why did songwriters do such a thing? The second part of the four songs was quiet and soft, almost like a lullaby, and when the third part started again at a bright tone Yennefer, who’d dozed off, jerked up in her seat, to the great amusement of both Ciri and Jaskier, who giggled so incessantly that someone behind them told them in no uncertain terms to either shut up or go home. After that was a song much more based in the flutes and the reeded instruments, which consequently sounded much more fluid and loose, bringing to mind a great city with lazy morals and interesting sights. Geralt was enjoying himself immensely, a happiness only added to by Jaskier’s occasional squeals of glee and raucous clapping at the end of each song, as well as a whisper in Geralt’s ear whenever the Witcher seemed to get lost.

           The night was fading away and as the musicians announced that this was to be their last piece the crowd moaned, and shouts of encore echoed through the hall. The musicians stood up and bowed, causing many in the audience to jump to their feet in applause, and some even to begin to walk out, much to Jaskier’s annoyance. “They’re going to miss the best of it.” He scoffed, sitting back down as the stage emptied. Emptied that is except for one woman. She paused, waiting for the noise to calm down, before placing her fiddle on her shoulder. “This is it.” Jaskier whispered, and then she began. Immediately Geralt was blown away. Although there was only of her, multiple notes were certainly coming out of the instrument, at a breakneck pace, which had Geralt in mind of a horse, frantic and wild. The song developed, as a sweet melody came out of the endless pounding of hooves, only to be brought down by another melody, this one thick with panic and fear. The momentum kept going, pitches rising, melodies crashing into each other. It felt more like a torrent than a song, so swept away Geralt felt, giving him an odd sense of dread. Suddenly everything smashed into one another, and the song dropped, giving one the lingering feeling of discomfort. Turning to Jaskier, Geralt looked at the bard with raised eyebrows, not entirely sure how to convey what he’d felt. Jaskier glanced back at him with what seemed like satisfaction. “Based off a poem,” he explained, “of a man trying to save his son, only to be chased by a specter, one who promises the boy happiness and luxury if he goes with him, only to take his soul and kill the boy.” He sighed, seeming much happier than Geralt felt, for a pit had begun to form in the Witcher’s stomach. “Imagine your writing being immortalized in such a way… one day that’ll be my piece Geralt, just you wait. I’ll be the one striking fear into your heart.”

           “I hope not.” Geralt responded, a bit brusque for he couldn’t get the image out of his mind. “It sounds like a terrible poem.”

           “Tragedy is immortalized better than glory. I’m sure you understand that. Besides, it’s just a story, and one that can bring all people together. You thought her playing was beautiful didn’t you?” He gestured towards the woman, who was receiving heaps of deafening applause. Geralt nodded slowly. He couldn’t deny the talent of both the musician and the songwriter. Still, the music sat uncomfortably over him, and as the family made ready to leave, he couldn’t help but let everyone pass in front of him, thinking of how even if the scenario in the poem itself wasn’t true, the general idea certainly was real enough.

           Outside the air seemed to clear a bit, and the group fell into happy chatter. Ciri was still on about how bombastic that second song had been; “I can’t believe how loud they got sometimes! It was like the roof was going to fall!” Yennefer said nothing, rubbing her eyes slightly, but the look on her face was one of contentment. And, of course, Jaskier seemed ready to burst, talking this way and that about all sorts of things. “Did you see the way the fiddle bows were all together? And the vibrato on that first flautist, I couldn’t believe it! Shame that vibrato isn’t exactly a lute thing. And I can’t believe how much work the composer must’ve put into those pieces! I mean, I can barely read two clefs, imagine being able to read four! Maybe I should consider that for the next big project…” His voice carried off, and Geralt smiled indulgently, knowing that for the next few months there’d probably be horrendous amount of noise as this bard tried to put all he’d seen to good use in his own music. Inhaling the cool, fresh air, Geralt began to feel the shroud of that last song shake off, reminding him of how beautiful he’d thought the first song was.

           The reverie didn’t last forever though, for as the group made their way out of the stables – Yennefer had insisted on no stays at the inns, for who would spend that much money when there was a perfectly fine home only five miles away – and into the woods the atmosphere seemed much more oppressive. When two men stepped out of the shadows Geralt tensed, wishing he’d brought his swords after all. “What brings you to stop in these dense woods?” Jaskier called out, swinging out of the saddle, a move which caused Geralt’s throat to constrict, and made him simultaneously want to protect and strangle the bard. The men said nothing, and Jaskier shook his head, shrugging his shoulders and holding his hands out to the tall, ragged figures. “Well if you say nothing I cannot help you, and will assume that you’re playing a rather insipid game of hide-and-seek. Now if you don’t mind it’s late, and I’d rather spend a cold night like this in bed than staring a statues.” Going to turn Jaskier stopped in his tracks when one of the men piped up.

           “Those are some nice horses. Nice clothes too.”

           “Oh you think so?” Jaskier turned around. “I’ll admit I do agree my fashion is impeccable, I’m glad you can see that. But unfortunately I think your judgement on horses is rather lacking. I mean of course Lyra is the loveliest girl, but honestly could you say Roach is anything close to nice?” He gestured towards Geralt, who gripped the reins. The men on the road had the sense to look slightly uneasy at the realization that a witcher was amidst the party, but “evidently they had a scarcity of sense, common or otherwise” Jaskier would later say, for they both looked back upon the bard, and the bulkier of the two drew a ragged sword out of its sheath.

           “We’ll be taking Lyra and Roach now. And the horses of those lovely ladies.” The second began walking towards Yennefer and Ciri, the former of who raised her eyebrows, and the latter of who looked extremely unimpressed.

           “Do what you want.” Jaskier threw his hands up, as if in surrender. “I must warn you however that one such lovely lady is unused to having her horse stolen out from underneath her, and I daresay mages aren’t known for their forbearance.” The two men halted for a second, and the one closer to Jaskier turned towards the bard. Geralt by now had begun to slide off Roach, looking backwards to make sure there were only two such men, and taking care to be as silent as possible. Jaskier looked as unruffled as ever, and even when the bulky man took a step towards the bard, he stayed in his position, leaning slightly against Lyra, arms crossed at his chest.

           “It’s no good lying to us.” The bandit, for that was most surely what these two people were, had a voice that could only be accurately described as gravely. He pointed his sword towards the bard. “I’ll have to teach you a lesson.”

           “How menacing of you.” Jaskier deadpanned, and as the man lunged and Geralt made for his weapon it seemed for a moment as if Jaskier was truly about to get struck.

           The surprise on the other man’s face was one of complete terror, as his compatriot dropped like a stone. Jaskier pulled his dirk, now drenched to the hilt in blood, out of the man’s ribcage, turning to Geralt, who was likewise frozen. The last bandit distracted Yennefer made quick work snapping her fingers, and in place of the man soon stood a very confused rabbit. Whirling off her own horse Ciri stepped towards the animal, who made a weird sort of strangled sound before bolting into the forest. Walking over to Geralt, Jaskier handed the Witcher the dirk. “Could you hold this for me? My handkerchief is in my pocket, and this doublet is newly made.” Careful to avoid using his right hand, Jaskier pulled out the square of linen, and wiped his hands and the dirk, before sliding the blade back into its sheath. “Thank you darling!” Jaskier planted a kiss on Geralt’s hand, causing the inevitable blush. The poor Witcher still felt like he’d somehow missed something, and as he looked around at the rest of his family, already back on their horses and starting to move on, the Witcher wondered how he’d become the pacifist in the family.

           The rest of the ride was quite a jumpy one for the Witcher, who kept expecting various monsters, highwaymen, and other of the sort to come jumping out of the trees at any moment. By the time Yennefer’s place was in sight, Geralt felt an immense sense of relief, and as the group all untacked their horses, Ciri, determined to be the fastest of the group, already combing Melusine, Geralt stayed silent, ears trained on the soft sounds of the night outside. The cleaning done and the hay placed in the stables, the family filed back into the house, Geralt at the rear, locking the bolt to both the stables and the house firmly behind him. “Did you enjoy yourself?” Jaskier immediately asked.

           “A bit too long for my taste, but you couldn’t deny the talent.” Yennefer yawned. “Thank you for having us attend Jaskier.”

           “Of course my dear Yennefer.” Jaskier dipped into a short bow. Yennefer snorted and walked up the stairs, the bath was definitely going to be hogged for the next hour or so.

           “I liked all of it!” Ciri declared, plopping down on the rug in front of the fireplace in the main hall. “It reminded me of the kinds of concerts my grandmother liked to see. I was glad to go to such a thing again.” She smiled softly, and Geralt and Jaskier both walked over to the girl, enveloping her in a group hug. Ciri hummed happily. “Thank you both.” And giving each of the two a quick hug she too went up the stairs, closing the room to her door with a bang, as was custom.

           “And you?” Jaskier looked over to Geralt. “Don’t you dare say anything about a filling-less pie this time. I know you lied through your teeth then, and I’ll know you’ll be lying now.” Geralt smiled, old memories swirling through his mind, how long ago that seemed now.

           “I liked it. It was…” he paused, trying to find the right words, “different. All the songs were different, but they all fit together. And I felt, carried away.” He lay back on the carpet and sighed. “I felt almost as if there was a spell in the air.”

           Jaskier nodded, flopping down besides Geralt. “That’s how I feel too about it. You hear this piece sometimes, and, I can’t even describe it but your entire soul is lifted up, and you just start to drown in it, but you don’t even mind, you want to be further enveloped, further dragged in. That’s what true music can do. Cast a spell without magic.” Geralt turned to look at Jaskier, who himself was staring into the fireplace. “One day I’ll do something like that.” He continued, his eyes warm and full of determination. “I’ll create something like that.”

           “I think you already have.” Geralt said, and Jaskier turned to smile at the Witcher.

           “Truly?”

           “Yes. I think, well, I’ve seen how people react to your music. Even those in the shittiest taverns in the shittiest towns. They seem, almost younger, as if their cares have lifted.” Jaskier’s smiled widened, and he pressed a kiss to Geralt’s jaw.

           “Thank you my dea, you have no idea how much that means to me.” Standing up, Jaskier reached out his hand and helped pull Geralt up. “Now be a darling and help wash this dirk, I know that you have your fancy way of cleaning these blades of yours. Then come to bed, it’s late, and I’ll chase away the spirits of the forest.” He laughed at Geralt’s expression. “What? You think I didn’t notice? That last piece seemed to send you out of your skin! And even before that idiotic attempted attack you look ready to throw yourself in front of everything.”

           “Cruel of you to notice.” Geralt replied, and Jaskier laughed.

           “Well then I must be cruel indeed, for I notice everything about you.” He kissed Geralt softly then, and the Witcher felt the familiar feeling of love and contentment wash over him, something he never thought he’d be able to feel in his younger years.

           “There’s nothing cruel about you. Even if you’re wicked with a knife.” And, returning the kiss, Geralt went quickly to take the dirk and wash it off, the music of the evening still in his head and the love for his current life in his heart.

End Notes: For all the music nerds out there, I know that these would all be considered songs rather than pieces, one of these are based off a full symphony, and another based off a string quartet, but seeing as I don't think Geralt would use such terminology, indeed most of said terminology didn't exist in the 13th/14th century, which is the time period I would put this series into the real world, I chose to refer to pieces as songs, composers as songwriters, and make vague mentions of most instruments.

String instruments such as violins, violas, and cello originate from the 16th century, most likely around the 1530s. I took creative liberties again, after all this is a fantasy series.The pieces that are vaguely referenced are as follows: The Lark Ascending by Ralph Vaughan Williams, Dvorak Symphony No. 9 "from the New World", Dvorak String Quartet 12 "American", Rhapsody in Blue by George Gershwin, and Erlkonig originally by Schubert for piano and voice, adapted for solo violin by Heinrich William Ernst and based off a poem by Goethe. The last one is my personal favorite of the lineup and I would highly recommend checking out both the piano and voice lieder and the violin solo (Hilary Hahn's my favorite).

Hope any of you found this enlightening and once again thank you for reading.

[spacegaywritings]

CoS - Chapter 7: Late Night bonding Time

Summary: The weekend rolls around and Virgil is excited to meet his bestest friend in town. Roman interrogates him and their relationship remains tense. They actually watch a film together on Friday and Virgil and Logan take a walk in the middle of it. Something is there. ao3 clicky Story under the cut:

The weekend finally rolled around and the roommates got together to watch their film as Patton had proposed. Virgil and Logan had spent some time together to make some snacks and arrange the things that Roman had picked from the store. Patton had his free day. Apparently, he worked on Tuesday, Thursday and the weekend. But Fridays were usually free for him every other week or so. This was about all Patton shared about his job. That and the fact he was usually away all night and came back super early. Other than that, he was apparently working with Dr. Picani to finish his thesis and that was about it. Logically, he did not have too much time on his hands even when staying at home since he would read and write and compromise his data - often with Logan’s help. Hence, he adored time off and would gladly spend it with his favourite people who just so happened to be his roommates. Patton was sitting on the couch, obviously banned from helping in the kitchen. After all, he just came from his research work and was done thinking for the day. It was cuddle time. Roman gladly leaned against his side and the two giggled as they shifted together as Patton simply pulled the tanned man against his strong chest and smiled warmly while Logan and Virgil brought the snacks over and decorated the table with several snacks. There were crisps and flips, some cut vegetables and cheese, bite-sized tomatoes (Virgil forgot the name for them but he liked them a lot), some breadsticks and dips such as hot cheese dip and guacamole. The guacamole was a Logan thing that nobody commented on. How would anyone condemn avocado and curse the tasty food worked into one of the greatest dips in life, after all? Personally, Logan thought that nothing was just as subtly tasty and so immediately the most drool-worthy and customisable dip that had ever come from human hands. When Virgil and Logan were done, they finally settled onto the couch and Roman explained which film he had chosen and started going a little ramble on the dramatic effects and the superior art of acting. ‘’I promise you will cry by the end of it! She is just that amazing!’’, he said in a booming voice. If he had not convinced anyone before with his blabbering and rambling, he surely did make a point by sounding as if he was debating about how much water consisted of oxygen and hydrogen. He surely was passionate about that and Patton just kept gigging about it while Logan mumbled something about not understanding acting and the whole concept. He still thought it was a masterful skill to carry out. The snacks were contributed. Roman settled with some crisps that somewhat tasted of bacon or spicy stuff while Virgil very much stuck to carrots and cucumber dipped into guacamole and similar things. Logan attended to salty nacho crisps with his beloved guacamole he seemed to only really share with Virgil. Not that anyone minded. Patton alternated between sugary chocolate things. They looked like donuts but in so tiny, the hole did not even fit a pinky through, It was entirely made of some sort of dark milk chocolate and the backside was flat while the top had sprinkle on it that looked like matte pearls of pure sugar and mouth-watering sweetness. Other than that, he sometimes helped himself to the cheese flips they had together. There was no dinner, they just ate all the snacks and little things they had in front of them. When the film was close to ending, the twist hit them and the protagonist finally made it to a better life. As Roman had predicted, Patton was smiling and ‘aww’-ing at the courageous actions of the character. She had finally grown out of her problems and taken the initiative to love herself and put her own needs and matters first. Currently, the protagonist was moving to another place and when she checked in at the counter, she was met with a smile by a nice person with dark skin and tired eyes. Work had to be hard in these positions. He gave her the documents back and greeted her with the scripted ‘’Welcome to our country’’-phrase he probably had to say to every person to pass through on his watch. She smiled and started tearing up while Patton squeaked and threw his arms around Roman to hug him. Virgil was curled up into himself and right next to Logan on the other side of the couch. When the It student heard the first sniffles, he blinked in surprise. Usually, Roman and Patton were the emotional ones who would sniffle and laugh and throw marshmallows at the TV while begging the characters to act other than their roles were scripted. Itw as a fruitless endeavour and nothing came from it, naturally, yet they always kept doing it. For this time, however, Virgil was sniffling. The sound came from the left side where Virgil was hugging his legs, snacks abandoned and face buried in his knees as his eyeliner started running down his cheeks. That was new. That was pretty new. Sure, when he had met him during this night (‘met’ was probably the wrong word considering Logan had come to his home, to his room), he had seen Virgil cry for the first and only time. It had not been pretty but tears never were. His mind was filled with confusion as Virgil wiped his sleeve over his eyes and tried to muffle his own sounds by blocking his mouth with his jacket part that covered his arm. Logan gently nudged him and Roman stood up after putting the snacks aside and he stretched with an exaggeratedly loud sigh that seemed stage-worthy. No wonder he was so dramatic when he literally worked in the theatre department of the university and acted alongside his students. ‘’I told you this film would be great! Did you like the ending? We h-a-v-e to talk about it’’, he declared quickly and Virgil shrunk into himself. The punk barely glanced over at Logan but there was no response and Patton seemed to just need a moment. ‘’Kiddo, you okay?’’ The ball flinched but did not move for a moment before his tear-streaked face rose from his knees. ‘’uh, sure’’, he proposed vaguely. His voice was rather shaky but it was forced into a more stable stance as he looked up and shrugged. Logan was not exactly the ideal interpreter of social cues but he was rather sure that the curled up position and the hugging of the own legs was a rather defensive action. Especially when he considered how much Virgil looked like someone threatening to fire bombs as he leaned over the wall of his precious castle just enough for others to see him. His words were still mildly blocked his knees. His legs seemed to extend arms for his words and embrace them rather than let them leave his proximity. The bookshelf artist did not exactly know what was up but he just suspected that maybe Roman was right about films having a special effect on people after all. Patton had been sniffling as well and Roman himself looked like used to be a balloon but finally let out some air that had left him tensed up and rigid. Logan softly ghosted his hands over the nape of Virgil’s neck and looked at him. He leaned in just a bit, then lowered his voice so it would stay between him and his friend only. ‘’Do you want to talk?’’, he asked softly, voice smothered into a breathless plead more than a proposition. The punk shrugged and let out a sigh. His hands moved up and down his legs as if to warm them into a little fire. Logan waited patiently until the other leaned closer and nodded. Patton and Roman were in the kitchen, obviously ushered away by the tension in the air and the intimacy Logan had displayed. Virgil gently let his right travel over to Logan’s side and he let out a breath of relief before he took his hand and squeezed it. Another big breath. Deep, hollow at the same time. He carefully dipped his head upwards, leaning a little against Logan’s side as his body staggered aimlessly like a confused, wasted bullet on a last warning shot. ‘’Promise I am fine’’, he muttered and cleared his throat. His words sounded as if they were covered by something that filtered the truth from what he tried to convey. It almost sounded ugly but his words seemed to make up for the missing shine. Or Logan just wanted to believe him and his words. His friend would not lie to him after all, now would he? He heard another heavy breath, like shackles around his tongue. The words were still trembling but his lips seemed to move with grace like a calculating performer, a dancer who was born to evoke and rolled into the world instead of being dragged into it or cradled close. Virgil licked his lips. His small, curved mouth smoothly moved, fleeing from his piercings until he retreated back into place and pulled at the rings with his teeth. The voice sounded again, nearly echoing like an angelic sound when Logan could catch it with his ears. ‘’I am..happy.’’ A scoff followed the soft words and Logan felt himself dipped into the velvet of yogurt-like sensations on his skin. Cool, smooth, luxurious to his skin and carefully travelling over his skin with slow movements as it draped itself over his body, covering his whole form. Then it was warm, so warm and loose like a burning heater in a cold winter’s night. It was crackling and sizzling, his heart whistled like boiled water ready for the last ingredient, the part that came from the outside - the teabag to make water more than it used to be, more than it seemed to be made out for. A sob broke from the punk but a smile was on his face and Logan carefully brought his arms around him. ‘’Being happy is good. It is good, you deserve to be happy, Virgil’’, Logan assured him. He did not know whether his coworker need it but he knew that it was true. He let his heart speak and for a moment, his mind was only the tool for providing words rather than the executive control of his actions. His mind was an agent to his heart, it acted for his feelings and pronounced what his deepest wishes seemed to be. It expressed thoughts he had never realised to be living in his pounding chest. ‘’I-...’’, Virgil started but his thrilling breath caught him off and he took another drag of air around him. It was so so thin to him, his mind started getting dizzy with too much already, ‘’you too, nerd.’’ Logan blinked at the words and felt his lips splitting for a quick snicker as his chest seemed to be punched with the impact of Virgil’s words. The element of surprise seemed to inhabit his friend and it never ceased to get to him. ‘’I am happy. I am happy with you and I am happy that you are happy, really.’’ It was Virgil’s turn to snort at the other and he glanced at him, a warm lambency flaring from him as he let his golden sunshine eyes rest on Logan’s appearance for just a moment. His head was twisted to the side so he rested the side of it on his knees and stared into Logan’s soul without effort, without even attempting to do so. It just was. It happened simply and honestly right then and there between the two students. ‘’I just.. I am happy to be here’’, Virgil explained softly, the words slowly dancing in the air between them, twirling and cheering as they seductively closed in and eventually settled in Logan’s blood pump. ‘’I have waited so long to be happy and now it is here and I can barely believe I deserve it, Log. Sometimes I just look around this place and it feels like a lie, it feels like a facade before it will all inevitably break down onto me and stop being good because life is not like that.’’ He sighed and gave the other another weak smile. ‘’It is so nice’’, he sniffled before he continued, his voice gaining more and more weight the more he said. The shaky sensation long gone and instead having been replaced by the density of truth, ‘’It is just so nice to come home and there is silence and community.’’ Logan nodded seriously. He had suspected it before and his heart clenched as his mind ticked his suspicion. Virgil had been mistreated in his life before. Neglected and isolated from happiness and stability everyone needed and deserved. ‘’Your previous roommates, they -’’, he started but cut himself off as Virgil leaned back against the couch and broke from Logan’s arms, determining the sweet contact of their union. ‘’They were your family?’’ Virgil bit his lip, the side where he had no holes pierced through his skin for aesthetic purposes. ‘’I don’t really um.. I mean.. no. They were not. Just people I met. I never met my biological parents anyway but as far as I know, the mother died pretty soon after I came to life and the father was in jail or still is. I mean, I know he still is but I don’t know whether he was even then but probably, if not on the way.’’ He sighed carefully and shrugged. ‘’Anyway, I do have a family kinda thing so I better give some sign of life and get ready so I can do the happy thing, you know?’’, he said and Logan narrowed his eyes, his mouth slightly agape. Virgil nodded. ‘’Yeah, kind of like that, you get me.’’ He gave him the softest of smiles, so faint and precious Logan was not even sure it was there but with that, the other got off the couch and disappeared into their shared room. It only took a few minutes during which Patton and Roman cleared the table and settled back with Logan again. ‘’Hey Logan, where is the kiddo gone to?’’, Patton asked as he cuddled up once more, this time between Roman and Logan and he let out the curly giggles that spiraled up the scale of adorableness as they went on. His faintly freckled hands carefully wrapped around the other two males who flanked him. Logan licked his lips and shrugged. ‘’According to him, there is a >>family thing<< he needs to attend’’, he informed. His words came out as neatly printed as they were flat. Just black and white on paper, it was just that simple. Patton’s eyebrows carefully knitted together s if trying to merge. It was a sight like two cars closing in so much that it felt dangerous and nearly painful to watch. The nerd averted his eyes and sighed. ‘’Aw! But we usually play board games together! Now we have to wait until I have time again’’, Patton pouted in protest. He knew it was a fruitless effort but his bottom lip slowly peeked out from under his upper one and his mouth quivered just a bit like a shaky line drawn by a person who was anything but sober. Roman huffed. ‘’Did he not know about that? This is tradition! First a movie and then games!’’ Patton sighed but shrugged, obviously defeated as his lips curled downwards and Logan’s chest tightened just a bit as he saw his best friend so upset over the minuscule inconvenience. Virgil was not the usual part of this ritual, this little tradition that happened whenever Patton’s work let them and they usually dropped everything just to spend this time together. It had been how Roman and Logan had met and eventually decided to somewhat be friends and spend them together by staying in a shared flat. Still, knowing that Virgil was about to be invited and absorbed into their history-heavy tradition that was the essential bonding time between them all, it kind of felt wrong, it felt like a void was there just building the yawn of a seemingly bottomless abyss. Logan knew that a bottomless abyss was nothing but a hole, a void, but it felt just like that. It was gaping and destructive and it seemed to grow in size and severity with every waking moment spent in this situation. Like holding Virgil’s right hand after he had held the left and was left with so little him, and so much pain instead, so much unfilled potential and so much that he could be, so much he could fill but did not because as much as he wanted to, he was not actually enabled to do fix up everything that was missing. Just on cue, the punk ducked out of the room and dipped into the living-room like a kid dipped their finger into the baking batter when their parents were watching but decided to let it slide with silence and comment with nothing more but thoughts. ‘’Hey, Log imma-’’, he started with a certain hop in his voice until he stopped, his tracks dead and his voice deflated for a moment. He continued with a more gloomy touch to his words, the excitement veiled by a certain blockade he had put up by now, ‘’what..is happened here?’’ Patton retreated his arms and looked over at Virgil and smiled with his lips spreading over his cheeks with a force that was clearly forced. It appeared to be effortless but it was hollow, lacking any sort enthusiasm. ‘’Oh kiddo, look! We usually play games after the film together and sometimes we watch another but it has been a bit of time so we started playing more than watching films, you know?’’ Virgil’s eyes lost all the light that had been instilled in him and a dark shadow hushed over his face in a moment of panic. ‘’Oh, ... oh fuck, I did not know! ‘’, he exclaimed immediately and guarded his chest with one arm wrapped around it while his other arm curled over his abdomen, his fingers buried in the exterior of his squishy sports bag that was strapped over his right shoulder and hung from there. ‘’It is alright. We can play next time when you have time! Logan said you are busy?’’ Virgil shuffled on the spot, his legs giving in a bit as they felt weak. His heart and his knees seemed to sink in wobbly powerlessness. ‘’Uh,, yeah.. I mean, yes. It- it is a fam-fa...family thing n all. I -.. I might be gone u-until tomorrow or or the day a-after’’, he explained with a shaky voice. The newbie inhaled deeply as he took a little speaking break, ‘’I um,... I am gonna sleep over and then I have exercise and uh, .. I might meet my partner and all and it has been a while and shit..’’ He looked down at his feet before he glanced into the vague direction of the three who happened to stare their eyes into his soul. Patton clapped his hands together and Virgil nearly jumped out of his skin, his head jerking up to face the source of sound with an antsy anticipation covering his usually nonchalant and slightly mischievous facial features. The master student noted it with just another moment of hesitation before he offered the other a sweetened smile and his hands pulled apart to face Virgil’s direction with his palms. He was harmless, really! Sharks killed more people than he ever did! ‘’Aw! Have fun with your friends and family, kiddo! I am sure they all missed you a bunch and cannot wait to see you again and hug you a lot!’’ The cheerfulness was back to Patton’s face. Maybe the genuine answer from Virgil had eased up his mood and straightened the worries and sadness he had held in his chest before the explanation had been provided. Maybe the panic in Virgil’s voice had him appreciate the fact that he was going to a place he wanted to be at, a place where he was welcomed and comfortable. ‘’uh..tha-thanks, thank you, really’’, he stuttered out quickly and carefully marched over to the door, taking a huge bow around the trio. ‘’Oh! Wait kiddo! Wait!’’, Patton called out immediately but his voice softened as soon as the first word had escaped his mouth and sent jolts through the addressed person’s body. ‘’Ah, sorry for being so loud’’, he apologised as he jumped to his feet and quickly retrieved a stack of papers from the table, ‘’there you go. The landlord gave us a seasonal update on rent. We don’t have to pay in December so we only have to pay our bills. I will send you the invoice and check it with you, don’t worry. You will not have to pay more than the rest of us.’’ Virgil carefully extended his hand to curl his fingers around the papers that were stapled together by the edge. On the right side, not the left side as it was per usual. A bright pink note was plastered over the contract, his name on it and some signs that made up a little message. ‘’I thought that it was yours. Given the name and the language nobody here understands.’’ Patton smiled at him and shifted on his legs for a moment, his face looking unruly, somewhat excited for something he had not revealed just yet. ‘’Kiddo can I get a hug before you leave? I just really want to squish you right now!’’ The punk bit his left piercing and shrugged before he put the contract away. Fucking Kyle was being a damn saint with their stupid initiatives. ‘’Go for it, strike me with your love, dad’’, he joked. Boi, did he not expect the impact of his words. Patton’s whole face lit up like Christmas decoration, especially the fairy lights that would illuminate a whole pine tree cut down for the sake of being a dying ornament. His freckles seemed to glow in lovely delight and his face scrunched up like a cute kitten sneezing or an adorable pooch expressing their affection for their caretakers. ‘’Aw!! kiddo!’’, he squealed and Logan covered his ears instantly, fearing more sounds to wreck his hearing abilities, ‘’of course I will!!’’ He threw himself, his body that was a steel wall dressed in a walking cotton candy hug of love and nostalgic kid dreams, into Virgil with a force that made the other drop his bag and lose the air in his lungs with an unironic ‘’oof’’ that was knocked out of him. Arms wrapped around him and quickly lifted him just a tad off his feet and Virgil mentally noted just how strong and unbelievably gay this moment was when he hesitantly drew his arms around the soft soft sweater-ed man that wrapped around him like a fluffy blanket on a cold winter night. ‘’Hey Pat’’, he chuckled and buried his face in the giant’s big collar that brushed over him with the comfort of a beloved childhood plushie you would hold dear from the good old days when all was good, if not better at least. The other replied with the soft soft puddle noises the giant let out. It kind of reminded him of videos with moms cuddling their toddlers and complementing their babies when they did something cute or funny, sometimes both. Patton made him feel all kinds of fuzzy warm feelings inside and it was so profound that whenever thy hugged, Virgil felt like life was a little more complete and less sucky. It was just ... it was okay when Patton hugged him. Everything was okay. The punk carefully patted his friend’s back. They were friends, right? He did not know whether he would just let some random person hug him but then again, they had met and Patton had instantly given him a hug (with much consent and secret euphoria, actually). Maybe it was a therapy thing but Patton just gave him these vibes of.. of home. A home he had not have when he was younger but now.. perhaps now he did. Patton took the pat as initiation to end the whole procedure and he carefully lowered the smaller student with a bright smile flashing at him. ‘’Sorry kiddo, I tend to overdo it a bit’’, he apologised with a sheepish smile playing on his lips like the sensual curves of an attractive datemate, ‘’you okay?’’ Virgil felt his heart thump so loud, he feared he ‘’Tell-tale heart’’ becoming a truth to his life. His cheeks were warm. Warm like Patton’s hugs and Virgil just felt so incredibly vulnerable to the touch, he could feel his eyes tear up. This was all so much. ‘’I am good’’, he squeaked in reply and carefully hugged his body when he was released and the punk ungracefully stumbled backwards with insecurity marking his trembling steps. Something unruly was in his demeanour but the candy man could not quite place it. Man... Patton was like the human manifestation of a marshmellow, he casually realised as he quickly found the strap to his bag and pull at it before it glided out of his grip and hit the floor just to be pulled into his hands again and finally be strapped over his shoulder with a quickened glance over the psychology student one more time. Patton was giving him a look. While not directly suspicious, it was bordering on scolding and it held that ..concern? Yeah, the dirty glass green eyes of this caring man were darkened by the heavy concern he felt for the other. It felt like a vague promise, the extra squeeze at the end of a handshake before a guidance counsellor would finally let you go back to class or return home. ‘’Really’’, he assured. His voice seemed to stumble like a drunk idiot who navigated themself through the streets when the streetlights were on but they forgot so their eyes were squeezed shut. The walking hug pressed his lips together and Virgil and he just stared into each others orbs for a moment. Eventually, Patton nodded and put his cheery smile back on. ‘’Okay kiddo! I would hate to hurt you!’’, he repeated softly. It was one of these things he said almost every time they talked. Sometimes they barely exchanged any content and he still said this. It was yet another of these things that made Virgil feel short of breath and it terrible need of a break from all these feelings and all this confusion in his chest, his lung... and his mind. Virgil let his lips twitch into one direction for a brief moment but his golden sunshine eyes seemed to gleam with just a grain more of enthusiasm. He turned to leave and walk away but Logan stopped him this time, calling out to him in a voice he has never heard and for some reason, it gave him a wobbly, foggy feeling. The art student turned around, worry glazing his honey eyes with a bit of hesitance. Something.. just something about how Logan called him felt so severe to him like a final goodbye. Logan was standing, still around the couch area and even Princey looked over at him, unable to ignore the tension in the air. ‘’Are you going to be safe?’’, he asked. Virgil’s eyes closed with a quick blink. He felt his hands adjusting the strap around his left shoulder and he nodded carefully. ’’They would die for me, Logan. I know it.’’ And then he left with the thud of the door and the rustling sounds of his clothing rubbing together and his sports bag falling against his legs as he walked. The three were left in a pressing silence. Roman was the first to speak up. ‘’Logan, why would you ask that?’’ The nerd did not answer and Patton simply sighed, his mind filled with horrible ideas and quotes from actual people that had talked to him, had talked to Emile about all their trouble and struggle. ‘’Now Roman, I guess this is none of our business’’, he chastised softly with a slightly more obvious scold to his tone. Logan straightened his shirt and flexed his shoulders while Patton returned to their couch and carefully cuddled up between them. ‘’I do not know’’, he admitted eventually as he let his body sink against Patton’s shoulder and sighed, ‘’Virgil is nearly as much of a mystery to me as he is to you.’’ The psychology student narrowed his eyes at his friends and gently brought his arms around both men’s shoulders. ’’Let him open up. I am sure you will get to know him better if you just give him time and space. He seems like a little mouse in a big city centre and that can be really scary and exciting.’’ The youngest of the three sighed and shrugged before he closed his eyes and leaned back against his best friend. He loved Patton. He did not know how the other was just so wise and still so clueless and oblivious at the same time but he was filled with glee about having him in his life and being able to lay down and relax on him and his advice. He could take all the time to dwell on his words and Patton would never, had never in their time together, pushed him into opening up when he was not ready. ‘’Hey pocket protector’’, Roman started, his voice unusually soft. It felt more like a breeze than a strong and impressive wind that - while short despite the intensity - would disappear upon its initial appearance. Now it was a gently nudge as little wake-up call instead of loud drilling sounds of an annoying construction side starting up way too early to be humanly acceptable. ‘’Are you gonna ask him out?’’ Patton nearly gasped as the body on his lap was instantly stiffening so much, it felt more like a wooden log on his body rather than a person cuddling with him and holding his hand like it was the most fragile treasure in the whole universe. He watched Logan divide his lips for a split moment before he closed them again, pressing his mouth shut and letting his eyebrows twitch together to bump into one another for a brief moment of extreme energy fueling their movements. It was kind of like giving a car too much gas at once. Silence weighed over them for a moment. It was a horrendous moment. Long and stretched like the abomination of a horror-borne monster that was exclusively made to disgust and terrify people just by being mentioned, hence triggering the mental image of it. It lingered, it stayed. Once it left, it was still resting in their minds, and if not there, they remained a large burden in their hearts. ‘’Roman, I do not..Ro-’’, but he was already interrupted by a certain thespian jerking into a sitting position and startling his human pillow enough to have him become an uncomfortable cushion to Logan at last. ‘’You do not what? Come on, Microsoft turd! I see you like him, you know it and Patton sees it too and you are sitting here, letting him go somewhere, you do not even know anything about him.’’ Logan sat up, preparing to speak but Roman was already fired up, cheeks warm and words flaming. ‘’You like him, just get it together and do something so you can get to know him. Logan, come on, you are such a disaster gay and I do not know how you are just sitting here, pretending to be all sad about it when you never really try to do shit with him. I do not even get how Patton puts up with living with a complete stranger. We know nothing about him!’’ Roman took a short breath, his cheeks puffing up in red rage, pent up like a fully blown balloon that was not tied up but let go and all came out at once, with long and loud farting sounds because this was about as much as Logan heard when the other continued. ‘’You are just letting him be over here and you know nothing, absolutely nothing. He could kill you in your sleep! I swear, he does not sleep and he is always on and about - I can hear him come and go at night, I am closest to the front door with my room. You invited him over to stay because you have the hots for him and you are still to scared to admit it when you could just say something and stop putting us at risk.’’ Patton gave Roman a gaze. He was in a house, a house that was on fire and the stairs were blocked and the elevator should not be used and the levels underneath him were already caught up in hot burning flames while he was staring down the window, seeing the concrete reach out for him. ‘’Now, let us not judge like this. He is really sweet and ever since he came, we got that precious sweetie handing us the contract with rent as collective winter gift’’, Patton softly advocated and Logan huffed in response. ‘’And that makes it possible for you to go home despite the holiday bonus being insecure this year. I mean, that is really good. And he cooks with me and gives really soft hugs. He cleans and has a job, he pays the pills and never lets anything slip up or lay around. Roman, he is really nice. If you are worried, you can get to know him too, you know? I bet he would be happy to make another friend and you would probably like him.’’ Roman glared at Logan and when he looked over at Patton, the fierce green in his eyes seemed to soften. The wind in his sails was taken out by the off-handed look on Patton’s face and he felt a hand reach out to his and squeeze it. ...It was his time to sigh and before Logan could fire out a response, Roman slumped back against Patton. ‘’I .. I don’t know him, man. I just don’t know him and I don’t trust him’’, he pouted, his arms crossed over his broad chest as he huffed at the air and let himself fall against Patton’s shoulder. ‘’And what if he is a mean guy? Because he certainly looks like a mean guy and I do not feel like welcoming one in our home! I mean.. come on.’’ The thespian took a deep breath and let his arms slide out of position just a bit. ‘’He is all creepy with his behaviour, all odd and mysterious and such and I do not like him! He is always so.. so edgy with me’’, he confessed, his words assembling around the ‘’edgy’’ as they emphasised it and held it up like the whole sentence was just made to make this point and nothing else. Logan carefully let himself rest back against the couch but he did not take Patton’s hand. Just the thought of it gave him the chills and he tried his best to keep his shoulders in place as the shiver ran down his spine and shook his upper body like a wind chime was rattled by the wind. ‘’Roman, you are being ri-.. you are being irrational. If he wanted to hurt us, he would have done this right from the start. He knows me, he works with me and we study together and it sounds very much like he is on a scholarship’’, he started. Roman nodded and Logan nearly smiled. There was still hope. ‘’He is being rather secretive and while that may raise suspicion, please be aware that I do work with him and share a room together with Virgil. We spend much time together and recent events lead me to believe that he is, indeed, a trustworthy person with a set of his own morals and principles. ‘ The nerd turned to look at Roman and he leaned over just a bit, Patton carefully nudging the other and offering his hand again. The actor took it and gave the caring elder a little smile before he gave Logan his most neutral expression. Emotions stormed within him but he did not push anything into the situation to fuel any more distress. ‘’I am sorry I called you Microsoft turd. It is just’’, he looked at his hand that Patton was not holding with one of his large and unbelievably welcoming hands. A strange kind of pain seemed to strike through him, a pain that was his but also not his at all. ‘’I do not know him and I do not want my friend to get hurt but he comes and goes at all times, we do not know any of his friends or his family. We do not know anything. I know you guys and you two grew up together. And he.. he just comes and suddenly we get rent for free for a whole month and a discount for the following. Those are weird things happening. And he is away so much for someone who studies. We... We just do not know anything about him and we wanted to change that to night and now he left.’’ Logan shrugged. ‘’I, however, did find out things about him after this film, Roman. Perhaps you find our time to be wasted, still, I do perceive our relationship to be more open ever since the day I brought him here. I may not be the most’’, he paused for a moment, possibly searching his mental library for suitable term to fit his expectation, ‘’socially-skilled person on this planet but I do recognise a person opening up to me. And he started doing this much more lately. I am sure I can have him talk a bit more to me but if you are concerned about this so much, I would propose another of Patton’s family nights or flatmate activities to warm up to one another - so to speak.’’ Patton sucked in a breath and released an audible smile as soon as he exhaled again. How were smiles audible? Well, it was obvious Patton magic. He just had his way with people to make things work. Maybe it was this affective presence that people talked about, apparently it gave people positive feelings and made them like you a lot - to simplify it by a bunch. Not that human beings and their interactions ever were that easy. However, Patton made them easy - or at least made them seem to be oh so simple when, in reality, they were not. Not even in the slightest, especially not when you were Logan who could barely fulfil surface interactions. But being Roman was just as hard, a person who was everybodies’ darling but somehow not really a dear to just one person, no matter how hard he tried. And Patton was just between them, sitting there and connecting them as he took their hands and squeezed them with his broadening smile. ‘’You know what, kiddos? You are starting to think just right! I will ask him whether he wants to make it this or next week. I will get my work thing together and see whether I can make it work, alright? You two, too?’’ He flashed them adorable smiles and Logan could not help but pull out his phone to check his calendar and try to peek into the work schedule so they would be able to see whether Virgil was working. ‘’Got the message! I am sure he will reply when he is not so busy having fun!’’, he added, smile swinging in his voice and Roman chimed in with a silenced battle cry. ‘’Alright! I don’t have rehearsals on the weekend until the end of November!’’, he informed and smirked at them, his fingers curling around one of the cartoon rectangles before him. ‘’Anyone up for a round of our favourite game?’’, he asked and drew his arms to his chest, holding the board game in front of his chest with the cover facing the others. He was grinning like a honey bear and Patton quickly caught on to do the same. ‘’No you’’ was about the greatest game they have ever played and, again, it was something Patton had come up with (since he had the adorable inventive mind of an unexpected genius) because he had wanted to get Logan and Roman to be friends or at least know each other a bit better when they had first moved in together. Now, it was a tradition and they all loved just relishing in the minutes and hours they would invest into the game.

[mikes-on-prometheus]

Happy (very late) Birthday Roman!

Roman just wanted to spend his birthday with his boyfriends. His boyfriends however seem to be doing everything in their power to avoid him.

Romantic lamp/calm

Wordcount: about 1300

Warnings: insecurity, keeping secrets, forgetting a birthday

Read on Ao3

(I wanted to post this on Roman’s birthday but stuff came up and the ending gave me a lot of trouble which is why it’s so rushed but hey it’s stll june so-)

Roman had woken up alone on the fourth of June which in and of itself was a strange occurrence. Usually, at least Virgil would still be in bed with him, curled up and snuggled into one or more of the many blankets he hoards.

But as he reaches across the bed he feels nothing but cold, no body heat remaining. His boyfriends had abandoned him, left him all alone in the big, empty, cold bed! Considering that they all had a free day it was an atrocity. How dare they leave their Prince to wake up alone on his birthday of all days? But oh well. He’d just have to track them down and give them a piece of his mind until they returned to bed with him to snuggle.

By the time he had gotten dressed and used the bathroom he’d noticed that he couldn’t hear his boyfriends chatter downstairs like they usually did during breakfast and he doubted that he’d slept in so late that they had already finished eating. It was barely 9 a.m. for goodness’ sake! He padded out of their room, calling out for them softly. He got no reply until he reached the bottom of the stairs, immediately met by Patton pulling him into a hug and pressing a kiss to his cheek, then the other and lastly his forehead.

“Morning Ro! Listen I know it’s your free day but the theatre called. They wouldn’t tell me why but they need you to come in as soon as possible.” he told him, sounding kind of rushed.

“What? But- I thought we were gonna hang out together?” he asked, trying not to let his disappointment show too much.

“Yeah but it’s fine. We didn’t have much planned anyways. I’m sure it won’t take too long, just come home when you’re done.”

The joy that Patton’s smile usually sparked inside his chest was suddenly hard to feel. Surely they hadn’t forgotten right? The date was circled in glittery red ink. He knew because Roman himself had taken the pen to the calendar at the beginning of the year just like he did every year. He didn’t get much more time to ponder it as he found himself being ushered out of the house by Patton who proceeded to press his keys and a blueberry muffin into his hands.

Well, at least he got his favorite kind of muffin.

By the time he arrived at the theatre, conveniently on the other side of town, it was nearing ten and the issue that apparently needed him so badly had been resolved. Though he'd tried to excuse himself and get home as soon as possible some friends convinced him to at least get a coffee from the green room to celebrate his birthday.

---

It was almost noon when he unlocked the door to the house he shared with his boyfriends. Of course he had enjoyed the time with his friends but his desire to snuggle up to his boys had only grown while he was away.

"I'm home!" He called down the hallway, only to be met with silence. As he wandered further inside he called out for his boyfriends but there was still no answer. He heard some clattering in the kitchen and went to check it out but just as he was about to enter he was pulled into a hug by Logan who came out of the kitchen at the same moment.

"Salutations, Roman. I am leaving to get groceries. You should come with me, your car has a larger trunk." He decided, effectively distracting Roman from the mess in the kitchen that Patton and Virgil were desperately trying to clean.

Logan let Roman go, only to grab his hand and pull him back to the door, ushering him to the car. Roman sighed, resigning himself to his fate.

"Why even me? You always say Patton and I are too impulsive for you to bear going grocery shopping with." He questioned as they arrived at the store a few minutes later. 

"Patton is even more impulsive than you are and I did not wish to go on my own because of the volume of our shopping list. I would have asked Virgil but he seemed especially anxious today." Logan was pulling out said list as he spoke, waving Roman off to get a cart once he had it.

Logan kept the list with him and went from aisle to aisle, having organized the list in order of placement in the store.

Roman meanwhile stayed with the cart, following Logan like a lost little lamb as he did his best not to get distracted by anything.

It was easier said than done. There were so many interesting things he wanted to check out! But to be fair, he managed not to get distracted too often and Logan seemed to have noticed his efforts because when they passed by the snacks he wordlessly dropped a bag of Roman's favorite hard candy into the cart. And Roman had seen the shopping list. The candies had not been on it and Logan very very rarely got anything that was not on the shopping list. So he behaved and helped put everything in bags once Logan had scanned them, opting for the self check-out.

Their way home was mostly silent aside from the music coming from the radio. That was, until Logan spoke up.

"Roman?"

"Yes mi amor?" Roman asked, tilting his head just a bit so he could still keep his eyes on the road.

Instead of saying anything else Logan held a piece of candy to his lips which he took happily.

"Thank you!" He chirped around it before they fell back into a comfortable silence.

They brought their purchases inside together but Logan insisted on putting them away on his own since Virgil had attached himself to Roman the moment he came in.

"Well hello to you, my dark and stormy knight. Miss me?" He chuckled at his boyfriend's antics. He wasn't usually this cuddly.

"Haven't seen you all day, got anxious. Ran out of meds, too jittery to drive myself to the pharmacy" Virgil explained, voice muffled from where he was trying to bury his face in Roman's chest.

"Oh. That's- uh. I could drive you if you want me to?" He offered, internally deflating a little. He had hoped to be able to just relax now, even if his boyfriends have forgotten about his birthday but the hopeful look Virgil gave him made him feel a little better about leaving home again.

---

"What's eating at you?" Virgil asked as they sat in the car, on their way to the pharmacy.

"Oh, it's nothing. Just- i dunno. Tired i guess." He shrugged, not wanting to make Virgil feel even more anxious or guilty about forgetting his birthday.

"Is this about your birthday? Because we didn't forget. I can't tell you anything but we didn't forget but you couldn't be home or you'd see what we've been working on and then Pat would be sad and Lo would be disappointed because his plan failed and then you'd know."

"How- how did you know?" He asked, changing a quick look over at the other.

"I know you. I know your insecurities. I could tell you were anxious or worried about something and i know Lo and Pat don't really pick up on stuff like that easily. And i know they didn't mention anything about your birthday to you so-" he cut himself off with a shrug, sinking deeper into his hoodie as if to hide in it.

Roman smiled and reached out over the middle console to grab his hand. "Thanks, Vee. I thought you guys might have forgotten."

"We'd never. But I'll tell the others to at least mention something next year so you won't have to worry okay?"

So that happened. Roman spent most of his birthday thinking his boyfriends forgot about it. But having Virgil’s reassurance made it all better. Sure he was still insecure but he knew Virgil wouldn’t ever lie to him about something like this. So it was alright, he supposed. He gave Virgil a smile and continued on to the pharmacy. 

He had two boyfriends and some sort of surprise waiting for him after all.

---

Taglist: @3-has-charm @bubbliee0 @letthefandomsbegin @emthetimelady @ilovereadingandilovebreathing @stormcrawler75 @treehouseart

[audliminal]

Broken Lines, Shattered Souls

Chapter 2 of 4

I posted this on Ao3 last week but forgot to post it here too, like a fool. But I’m back with chapter two y’all!

Wordcount: 4916   Pairing: Eventual LAMP   (link to AO3)

Warnings for this chapter: Insomnia, self-hatred, depression, self-destructive behavior. Also contains a vague description of a car accident/hospital stay. It’s hurt-comfort, so... y’know.

Roman has two parents and they love him. He knows they do, even though they never really say it in so many words. He knows because they show him, because they go to his theatre performances, and because they look at his report card and smile proudly, even though it’s far from perfect. They love him because he is their son, and he knows it.

Roman knows his parents love him, because they show it; because they make his favorite foods when he’s feeling bad, and because they’re always willing to plan their weeks around Roman’s performances, no matter how big or small they are. Roman knows they love him, even as they scold him for still being up, when the red of his alarm clock is blinking back some ridiculous time -and how is it 2:30 am already? - and fret over his slipping grades. He knows that his parents love him more than anything in the world, but they also don’t understand him.

They don’t understand him when they make their quiet little comments about how he should be focusing on schoolwork, even as he works on his stories and drawings, as he works on his biggest passions. He knows this because they never know how to compliment him in the lobby after performances (all they ever have to say is “wow, your part had so many lines”). Roman is the child of an engineer and a nurse, and they do not understand the artistic passions that drive their son’s life.

Most of the time, Roman is fine with this. He knows that his family can’t be expected to understand everything he cares about, but still, it hurts when they stare blankly in the face of his enthusiasm, and it hurts when he gets so little praise for the parts of his life that he truly cares about, where he’s putting all his effort.

That’s how Roman meets his boyfriend, after all, desperate for a tutor, desperate for someone to help him bring his grades up. He wants nothing more than to impress his parents, to show them his report card and smile, not in a consoling way, but in the surprised way of somebody who’s truly been shown something amazing. And Logan is practically a genius, so of course, it’ll work, and then it turns out that they get along so well, and he has such pretty eyes that Roman can’t help asking him out.

Roman wasn’t really expecting him to say yes.

But Logan does say yes, and they go on dates and it’s so much fun, and Roman’s acquisition (and indeed choice) of a boyfriend seems to impress his parents even more, and it’s so great because Logan is everything his parents are, and more. Logan is smart and dedicated, and he cares about things like math and science. But he also understands literature and has strong opinions on Shakespeare, and they disagree on so many things, but that’s okay because at least Logan cares. And Logan always finds something interesting to comment on when he comes to Roman’s performances.

And of course, Roman isn’t able to date Logan for very long without getting to know Patton, who’s Logan’s best friend, so he ends up not only getting a boyfriend out of the deal but also a best friend, because really, Patton is one of the kindest people in the world and Roman loves him near immediately.

And when they’re all together, things seem mostly perfect, and Roman is happy and relaxed and feels like the world is his to conquer. But at night he goes home and sits in his bedroom, all alone, trying to balance the weight of his parents’ dreams as well as his own, and if the effort leaves him a bit tired in the morning, well, sometimes these things are necessary. It isn’t like sleep comes easily for him anyways, and his parents are always saying that if he isn’t going to go to bed, he might as well be doing something productive (the fact that they’re usually talking about doing chores isn’t important).

Things change a bit in the summer before senior year, though, as they find out about Patton’s changing soulmark and the horrifying self-hatred he’s harboring that they somehow both missed. It’s shocking and it hurts because Roman knows so well how Patton must feel, so he dives into the work of distracting his friend, even as Logan pushes himself harder and harder to find the answers to counter Patton’s self-hatred. There’s talk of therapy, but they’re all still teenagers and don’t know the first thing about bringing it up to parents, so in the meantime, Roman makes a vow to support his best friend as best he possibly can. Roman’s own schoolwork starts to fall out of priority, and the looks on his teachers' faces betray their concern, but every smile Roman manages to coax out of Patton makes it all feel more than worth it.

Still, this isn’t a balance that Roman can maintain forever, and he catches the time on his clock growing later every night when he finally makes it to bed.

So Roman starts to arrive at school every day, bleary-eyed and wishing he could get just a few more hours sleep but he ignores the weight in his eyelids and powers through his classes, determined to ignore the parts of his brain that are screaming for soft pillows and warm blankets.

Of course, sometimes Roman slips and zones out, and misses his teachers saying important things, or he loses track of his conversations with Logan and Patton, but Logan is always there to fill in the gaps of his notes, and neither of his friends seems inclined to say anything when his mind starts to drift. So, it’s easy enough to ignore the tugging at his eyes. And if Logan seems to get a bit annoyed when Roman struggles to wrap his mind around basic math concepts, well, is it too horrible if Logan just thinks Roman is dumb? He is dating Roman, after all, and the thing is, Roman knows that Patton and Logan aren’t going to be around forever. They all have hopes and dreams, and he and Logan may be dating, but they aren’t soulmates, after all, so neither of them has any real reason to stick around forever, even if Roman finds himself dreading the thought of them leaving. Life, after all, has a sort of impermanence to it, and Roman can hardly count on them to stay with him when even his own parents have a wildly different idea of who he should be.

So Roman does his best to cherish their time together while they still have it, and when Logan and Patton start talking about colleges to apply to, he smiles, even as the image of all of them in wildly different places fills him with an unfamiliar feeling.

“I mean, I’d absolutely love to go to Julliard, but I’m not really good enough, so…” Roman finds himself answering, the very thought of himself making it into Julliard drawing a brief strain of hope out of him. Beside him, Logan hums and looks down at his notebook.

“So, you’re planning on majoring in drama, then?” and Roman watches as Logan sifts through papers, and then he’s pulling out three sheets of paper and handing one to each of them. Roman examines the paper, startled to find a table of colleges, with a series of checkmarks beside them. At the top, all three of their names are typed out, and Roman stares as the world around him seems to shift entirely.

“I’ve been looking into what colleges might work best for each of us, to see if there was anywhere that might fit us all. Patton, this August you mentioned you were thinking about psychology, but I’m aware that your intentions might have changed since then, so let me know if there’s something else you’d like me to check for.” Patton nods excitedly, glancing down at the paper. Roman’s still reeling, trying to understand the meaning of what’s been placed before him, but Logan doesn’t seem to notice his confusion when he turns to address him.

“I presumed that you’d be planning on drama for your major, Roman, but I also did some research into English and music departments, just in case. And you should absolutely apply to Julliard if you want, Roman. There’s certainly no harm in it, and- well, you’re the best actor at our school for sure. Aside from that, I thought it might be nice to apply to at least a few schools together.” Logan’s fidgeting hands betray a hint of nervousness as he continues. “I thought it might be agreeable if we could find a school that worked well for all of us, so I’ve been doing some rudimentary research.”

“Rudimentary,” Roman snorts as his head starts to wrap around what Logan’s proposing, and he reaches over to claim one of Logan’s hands with his own, and grab the notebook with the other, so he can flip through the pages of scribbled notes it contains. “How long have you been working on this Logan?” Logan flushes, and Roman feels his face break into a full-on grin, his heart feeling lighter than it has in months.

“Well, I think that’s a lovely idea!” Patton exclaims; his face flushing with delight. “I didn’t want to admit it, but I was starting to worry about the thought of being so far away from you guys next year.” Roman watches as some of the tension releases from Logan’s shoulders, and in the face of their clear joy, Roman chokes down his disbelief. Instead, he smiles and agrees, and spends the rest of his lunch doing his best to maintain his attention as Logan lists off all the colleges he thinks would work best and all the pros and cons of each one.

Unfortunately, doubt isn’t quite so easily destroyed, and when Roman completes his homework that evening, throwing himself into his latest project is all he can do to keep the nagging thoughts at bay. After all, Logan is supposed to be the logical one, and Roman can’t imagine why he would be willing to settle for a school that would fit all of them. Roman had been sure he’d be headed for MIT or some other fancy school of import. So, he works and works, desperate to quiet his brain, and the clock blinks back its angry letters in the dim light until exhaustion finally overtakes him and he stumbles his way over to the welcoming embrace of his blankets.

The balance begins to tip after that, and Roman catches himself, for the first time, nodding off in the duller moments of his class. Teachers seem to notice too if the irritated looks are anything to go by, and the glares worry him enough that he dives into his assignments with a desperate vigor, determined to complete them so carefully that each of his in-class transgressions might be ignored.

Roman finds himself staying up later, fighting beneath the weight of both his homework and projects, until he’s collapsing against his desk, exhaustion poking at the corners of his eyes, even as a hundred different stories stare up at him from the blank paper in front of him, and a hot kind of shame stabbing at his chest. He never seems to get any closer to finishing anything, no matter how much time he puts into his work, and he hates it. Artists -successful artists- need to be able to finish their work. And yet Roman’s been doing this for years by now, and he still can’t seem to finish anything, can’t keep his attention on a single plot for long enough to even dream at being able to write “The End.”

No, instead Roman has piles of half-finished sketches and pages of nonsense; of characters without homes and plots without people, of brief, vague ideas that have yet to formulate themselves into anything solid, and of clear, well-illuminated scenes, suspended in stasis and all alone, without any story to fall back onto.

The only reason Roman even manages to apply to any colleges, in the end, is because Logan is there, narrowing down the best schools for them all, and he lets his boyfriend guide him through the process of applying, desperately working to perfect his application essays in the free time that only seems to be draining away before his very eyes. He’s relieved when Logan only briefly mentions applying to Julliard again, and Roman is able to brush it off, pretending he has it handled. He doesn’t even bother to look up the application process, though. After all, there’s no way that some half-baked creative like him would be accepted.

By spring, Roman finds himself intimately familiar with the feeling of forcing his eyes open, no closer to completing any of his stories and his schoolwork somehow still not entirely finished. He’s used to the effort it takes to push himself up into a sitting position, neck creaking as he stretches, and his limbs full of a vague kind of ache. He doesn’t have to check the time to know that he’s only got a handful of minutes to get ready before he needs to head out the door, so he drags himself into a standing position and throws on a clean shirt. Roman’s mornings stopped including enough time to plan his outfits in mid-January, and now it’s April and the memory of having an actual style is so distant it’s nearly forgotten. Instead, Roman pairs his shirt with his most comfortable pair of jeans focused only on the hope that he can make it to class on time today.

Roman laments the lost sleep as he makes his way to school, wishing that there was simply more time in the day, for Roman to get everything done. He flinches in class when he receives his homework back- more than half the answers are wrong; one should never do math when dead tired, but there’s not really been another choice lately. He shoves the papers into his backpack before Logan can see them, knowing full well what his boyfriend will think if he sees the horrid grades -the words ‘not good enough’ bounce through his mind, a repeating echo of all of his failures- and tries his best to pay attention, even as exhaustion murmurs at the edge of his mind, drawing him further and further down.

His head hits the desk in the middle of third period with a dull thunk. Luckily, the teacher either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. The bell wakes him thirty minutes later, drawing his head up as he blinks the sleep from his eyes, trying to remember where he is.

But when the class is over, and Roman is gathering his things so he can head to lunch, his teacher calls his name before he can leave, and Roman is forced to blink back the bleariness and focus on the words his teacher’s saying.

“This is the third time you’ve fallen asleep in my class this semester.” He says when the rest of the class has filed out the door. “And you’ve been making obvious mistakes on your homework. I know you’re not interested in the class, but you need to manage your time better, Roman. Even if you don’t care about your grades in this class, colleges will.” The exhaustion drains from his body in an instant as the teacher waits for an answer. In its place, adrenaline begins to course through him, making him cold with fear. But he can’t think of a coherent answer, and in its place he’s stuck staring at his teacher, wondering if this is what a deer feels like when watching a car careening straight at it.

The teacher doesn’t say anything at first, clearly waiting for a response, but when it doesn’t come, he sighs.

“Roman, I don’t think you understand how important this is. You’re coming dangerously close to failing in this class.”

The words slam into him with the force of a jet plane, and suddenly Roman can’t breathe. He can’t talk, can’t do anything but stand there as the teacher waits, still demanding a response that he doesn’t have. Time passes, and even as he stares blankly at the wall of his teacher’s classroom, the cracks in Roman’s life web out even further, and in the barest instant, everything shatters, the ground disappearing from beneath Roman’s feet, and he is left plummeting down into a nightmarishly dark abyss. The teacher watches him. He cannot respond. There is nothing left to say, nothing left to do. Roman will fail. Roman already has failed.

Eventually (has it been minutes? Hours? Days?), the teacher lets out another frustrated sigh; gives up and walks away and Roman is left standing alone, desperately trying to restart his brain, just enough so that he can stumble his way out of the damn place, just enough so that he can find somewhere safe to break down.

He doesn’t make it very far. Roman bursts into tears in the hallway; collapses against his locker as the weight of his every failure comes crashing down onto him. There is no saving him, no fixing this final of disasters. Barely a month left in school, and Roman does not know how to drag his grade back up from the ditch he dug for it, not in time for it to matter. So, Roman cries.

Passing students give him weird, concerned looks, but Roman can’t bear to choke it all back down, so he tries his best to ignore the judgement in their eyes, shifts further out of the way, backs himself up until he’s pressed against the wall, shaking apart at the seams.

Patton finds him later, and Roman can’t tell whether it’s been a few minutes or an eternity, but Patton quickly folds himself onto the floor next to Roman’s shaking form, curls around him like a blanket, and whispers soothing sounds into his ear. It only makes Roman cry harder.

“What happened?” Patton asks, when the tears finally stop coming, and Roman feels like he can maybe think again. His voice is soft and gentle, and Roman doesn’t know how to explain it, so he just whimpers, curls into Patton’s arms, and tries to forget.

Eventually Logan appears, and together he and Patton manage to coax Roman up, off the floor, and they slowly make their way out to Logan’s car. Roman lets them buckle him in without protest. He’s so very tired, and he doesn’t think he can keep his eyes open any longer.

Roman rouses back to some level of awareness when the car comes to a stop. He’s still tired, exhausted and drawn, and he lets them pull him, support his weight together, as the three boys stumble towards the door. Vaguely, he thinks he feels someone touch his side, frowns in confusion, before the word key drifts through his fuzzy sleep-drunk mind. Then, everything starts to go dark, darker, his exhausted brain dragging him down into unconsciousness once more. It will be weeks before he realizes that both his friends ditched class for him.

The sunlight, sneaking its way through his blinds, is what finally pulls Roman back to awareness. He is warm, wrapped in blankets, and the exhaustion is still there, but it has definitely receded; has lessened its death grip on Roman’s life. He feels numb.

He lays there, mind feeling strangely silent, heart slow and relaxed, and mulls over the confusion, works his way backwards in time through his memories. He was tired, so tired. Logan and Patton had helped him to his room, practically dragged him there. Before that, he had been crying. He remembers it vaguely, some horrible distress that had been gripping his heart so tightly he couldn’t breathe. He thinks, tries to remember further back, but a haze has settled over his brain and he cannot remember. His heart is beating slow, calm and relaxed. He cannot remember the last time he pulled himself into wakefulness without the help of coffee. His stomach rumbles.

Roman pulls himself up into a sitting position. He is hungry, he suddenly realizes, stomach rolling with displeasure at the missed dinner he had lost to this sleep. Briefly, Roman wonders what day it is. He finds that he doesn’t really care. Pushing himself up, further, out of bed, proves to be surprisingly difficult, his limbs like dead weights, his head heavy, his mind still foggy with the remnants of his exhaustion. It will take more than one night of rest to cure Roman of his bone-deep exhaustion.

Ambling steps make for a sufficient enough means of getting Roman to the kitchen, and dully he remembers that his parents are both away on a business trip. There is no one to judge him, no matter how much he stumbles. With a final burst of effort, he makes it the last few feet, collapses into a kitchen chair and blinks up at-

Logan, who’s sitting beside him, perched on a chair of his own, nursing a warm mug of tea and completing a crossword puzzle out of that book he carries everywhere. Just a few feet away, Patton bustles around in the kitchen, looking very much like he owns the place. Both of them look the very image of a peaceful domestic life. Roman’s brain stalls, confusion seeping in. He does not think he remembers living with them.

“Morning, Roman.” Logan suddenly murmurs, drawing Roman’s eyes straight to his own, where the slightest of frowns is visible. “I hope you slept well?”

“What-” Roman begins. Stops. Gathers his thoughts. Starts again. “Why are you here? I don’t remember-” What Roman is supposed to remember, he doesn’t know. Everything still feels so strange. Logan raises his eyebrow at him.

“No?” He asks. “That is- rather concerning. You must have been even more exhausted than we estimated.” Patton bustles over, just then, and slides a steaming mug in front of Roman. He glances down, stares at its clear brown contents.

“This isn’t coffee.” Roman states. He usually drinks coffee in the morning, but this isn’t-

“No,” Logan agrees. “I rather think you should be taking some care to avoid coffee for the time being.” A pause. “Tell me, Roman. On average how many hours of sleep have you been getting lately?” The question is unexpected. Roman doesn’t know how to answer, so instead he leans back and begins to sip at the tea.

“I...” Roman shifts with uncertainty. “I usually get to sleep by three?” Something clatters to the ground, and Roman glances over to see Patton standing frozen, spatula now on the floor. Roman forces his gaze downwards, to the ground.

“And when do you usually wake up?” Logan prods further.

“Five?” Roman offers, cringing beneath the weight of their combined disappointment. Patton makes a noise then, and moments later arms are wrapping around his shoulders, holding so tightly that Roman can hardly think.

“How long?” Patton breathes beside him. “How long have we been missing this?”

“Forever?” Roman finds himself asking, realizing with horror that he can’t even remember a time when he didn’t feel tired. “Pretty much since-” he cuts himself off; they don’t know about the accident.

“Since what?” Logan presses. And when did he make his way around the table?

“I don’t know... Since I was a kid, I guess.” He doesn’t want to tell them. He can’t tell them. “It didn’t used to be so bad though.” Time has always felt so strange to Roman. Like a speeding car, it comes at him so fast but in the mirror looking back, it feels like he’s already wasted decades of his life on dreams that’ll never come true.

Logan sighs, leans forward from his spot beside Roman’s chair, reaches out to grab his hand. The fuzziness is almost gone now, and Logan’s eyes capture him for a long moment. Nobody moves. The clock ticks forward but it seems like time is frozen for one precious moment. And then Roman looks away, and everything resumes.

“Roman, you need to sleep. If I- if we had realized...” Logan trails off. Roman breathes in relief. He really doesn’t want to know how that sentence would end.

“I can’t.” Roman says. “There’s too much to do and not enough time, and now I’m failing math-”

Oh.

“Failing?” Of course, he remembers it now. Roman’s been skipping out on his math homework more often than not these days and there’s just not enough time left to fix it. He can’t meet Logan’s gaze. Logan, who’s the smartest person Roman’s ever met; Logan who never gets less than a hundred percent on any assignment, and Roman dares to be failing algebra? If he didn’t hate him before...

“Roman, you idiot.” Logan breathes out. “Why didn’t you tell me? I would have helped you in an instant.” The response catches him off-guard, and he blinks back up at his boyfriend, who stares down at him. The sorrow there reminds of his mother’s eyes when he woke up in the hospital. He only sort of remembers the actual collision of the other car slamming into them, but the aftermath still makes him nervous to think about, even all these years later. His mother still walks with a limp, and even though the scars on Roman’s arm have mostly faded, the name that had once graced the flesh had never returned, even past the scar tissue. He still remembers the tests, the fear and concern in his parents’ eyes as doctors explained that he might have brain damage and the insomnia that had followed him ever since. Roman doesn’t mention any of that, though; isn’t ready for the vulnerability which that would require, so he just shivers and glances down.

Roman doesn’t know how they do it, but he ends up back in his math teacher’s classroom, that Monday. Patton stands behind him, a reassuring weight on his shoulder, as Roman stammers out his apology and asks what he can do to fix his grade. He doesn’t know what to expect, is trying desperately to prepare himself for derision, for refusal. Instead, his teacher only asks one question.

“Why didn’t you talk to me sooner?” The question is genuine, and Roman doesn’t know how to express how sorry he is, so he just tries his best to answer. It ends in soft, embarrassing tears that usher themselves forth as he struggles through an explanation of how he kept telling himself it wasn’t as bad as it seemed. Somewhere in the middle he accidentally admits to how worthless he feels, and Patton’s hand tightens on his shoulder. But maybe it needed to happen, because after that, the teacher stops demanding answers, and just works out a plan, a series of assignments and exercises, says that Roman can do them to make up for all his missed homework. His teacher tells him to try to get as much of it done as he can, and then makes him promise to stop by on every Friday afternoon, just to check in on how far he’s gotten.

Once they make it out of the room, it becomes Logan’s job to keep him together. They get together whenever they have free time; spend it alternating between their houses, and working through every problem, and when Roman balks beneath the weight of all the work, Logan catches Patton’s eye from his place beside them, and they drag him away from it all, offering him moments of distraction just when he needs it most.

Logan walks him through every problem with a guiding, calm voice. He talks with Roman every night, calling him over the internet, and telling him about his research, reads him ancient stories until he finally falls asleep each evening. Patton offers him encouragement, warm and bright and brazenly confident that Roman will succeed, even when he’s struggling. Patton takes him to the meeting with his teacher that Friday, and when they leave, Patton pulls him into a hug, long and warmer than Roman’s felt in so long.

Months later, Roman will laugh with Logan and Patton. He will joke about how stupid he was not to ask for help sooner. Months later, in the heat of summer, Roman will come to a decision and tell them the truth. He will confess in the dark of night and tell them everything that led to the faded scars on his arms and will admit to them the name that he had, once upon a time, on his wrist.

“I don’t even know if they’re still out there. Maybe they got a new name, but I-” Roman will trail off.

“I for one am glad you didn’t get a new name. After all, you might not have asked me out if you did, and I find that I rather enjoy your company.” Logan will respond, his face flushing slightly as Patton beams beside him. And Roman will take a deep breath and know that everything is far from perfect- there are still nights where he lays awake for hours, and occasionally he still catches the whisper of self-doubt on Patton’s face, but at the very least, it seems they’ll always have each other. And after all, isn’t that worth all the stars in the sky?

[chuuseokies-blog]

My Heart’s On Fire (how about yours?)

Summary:  The entire team that works on “Romeo and James”, a retold version of Shakespeare’s masterpiece “Romeo and Juliet” is full of lovely, funny and kind people that Dan actually enjoys spending time with.But evil takes human form in Philip Michael Lester, the only person on planet earth that Dan would very gladly gift a one-way ticket to Mars, so that he shall never return. (Phil, and Donald Trump perhaps.)

Or: The one where usually, people don’t fall in love with the person that caused their life to fall apart, unless they’re in a cheesy rom-com. Then again, usually people aren’t Dan Howell.

Word Count: 7k

Warnings: internalised biphobia, mentions of cheating, use of the f-word (only once)

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the people mentioned. Any smiliarity to real persons (except the YouTubers) is purely coincidental.

Read it on AO3!

It’s here! My (not very) long awaited PBB fic that I spent months annoying my friends with annd about a year and a half working on (”but Lucie”, I hear you say “how is it only 7k words when you were writing it for that long?” well, I’m very good at keeping things short and compact. Also, depression and graduation and uni.)

And yes, the title is a line from “All Star” by Smash Mouth, I have a problem, sue me.

A massive THANK YOU goes to Vivi for the absolutely amazing and stunning art she did. You can check it out here, but I’ll link to it again at the end so you can avoid spoilers.

Another THANK YOU to Skipper, my amazing beta, support system, one-woman-motivational-team and friend, who did an amazing job picking out all the mistakes I made (a lot) and telling me to get off my arse and write. You’re a true hero.

Shoutout to the granny phannies gc for enduring me being annoying with this fic, you’re all amazing!

For Monica - because god knows, I’ve been spoiling and teasing you enough.

Dan Howell has not signed up for this. Okay, maybe he had signed up for a casting, and he has definitely been happy to actually get the role (honestly, playing Romeo Montague in the actual fucking Globe Theatre was something he had never dreamed could become true), but he has not signed up to having to deal with him.

The entire team that works on “Romeo and James”, a retold version of Shakespeare’s masterpiece “Romeo and Juliet” is full of lovely, funny and kind people that Dan actually enjoys spending time with.

But evil takes human form in Philip Michael Lester, the only person on planet earth that Dan would very gladly gift a one-way ticket to Mars, so that he shall never return. (Phil, and Donald Trump perhaps.)

And if fate hadn’t already fucked with him by having his girlfriend decide to break up with him on the day of his 26th birthday, it is certainly laughing its arse off now, as Phil plays Dan’s counterpart, James Capulet, meaning the two have to act like a goddamn loving couple for extended periods of time- and Dan’s about to lose his mind.

See, Dan doesn’t mindlessly hate Phil, oh no, he actually has a fairly good reason for his vitriolic demeanor, even though Louise doesn’t seem to believe the entire mess is Phil’s mistake. It isn’t exactly like Dan had asked Phil to become inappropriately jealous of the younger one’s success and decide to ruin his entire life based on the director’s choice of cast, leaving Phil to play the- in Dan’s opinion- slightly less important role of Romeo’s lover, despite having auditioned for Romeo as well. Dan just had been better, and Phil is obviously a bitter bastard with too much envy.

Speaking of the devil, the door to Dan’s dressing room opens and the blue-eyed bastard enters, without having made the effort of knocking, which pisses off Dan just a tiny bit more. Not that he’d ever show it, he’s an actor after all.

“Uh, Hazel told me to remind you that we’re starting rehearsals again in ten minutes,” the other man says, and there’s a short silence before Dan harshly nods once, not bothering to look at Phil.

“I know. Close the door behind you.”

Phil simply sighs and leaves again. Needless to say he does not close the door, which makes Dan’s anger rise even more.

He doesn’t know why Hazel has decided to send him, of all people, to get Dan. Everyone working in the theatre knows about their disliking of each other, despite being able to act all lovey-dovey on stage. Dan likes to think that they were both very good actors, being able to pull that off.

With a bitter taste in his mouth, Dan angrily chucks his half-eaten apple into the bin besides his mirror and all but stomps out of the room to get to the rehearsal on time. Bloody Phil, bloody director, bloody three flights of stairs that he has to run down in order to get to the stage.

                                                           ***

Upon entering the theatre, Dan’s greeted with a picture of pure chaos. Hazel is stood on her director’s chair yelling at the background extras to concentrate and please stop staring at Phil, the main stage light keeps going out, causing the chief light technician to let out an array of curses. It’s honestly a miracle nobody has started crying and/ or set something on fire yet.

“Dan, there you are.” Hazel says, clearly relieved to see him, before switching back to her professional voice: “Okay everyone, let’s go through the first meeting scene again. Ladies, please try to concentrate and not to stare at the actors, thank you. Places please!”

This is easy for Dan. He walks up the stage, to his position and immediately falls into the role of Romeo. The lines fall off his lips as if he actually were at that party, his movements fit those of his counterparts, and all the hate he has for Phil turns into love, the hardness into softness. Their interaction is soft, gentle, warm, nothing like the cold looks they shoot each other off stage.

The scene ends with them standing very close together, chests almost touching, and as soon as Hazel yells “cut!” they take a few steps back, cross their arms and go back to glaring. It’s almost like the temperature has dropped a bit as they listen to their director point out the tiny mistakes they did make, but Dan’s used to that by now. After all, he really hates Phil Lester.

                                                        ***

At lunch, Dan sits alone, like he usually does. Hazel is talking to Jack, Dodie and Evan are out to grab some Starbucks and even Duncan is gone, probably calling his wife. Dan’s about to bite into his sandwich when he sees someone sitting down across from him. It’s Phil, of course it’s Phil, the universe hates him.

“What, is that table your property now?” Phil asks in response to Dan’s confused yet angry glance. “Everywhere else is full.” He adds and sets his cup of coffee down on the wood.

They eat in silence for a few minutes, and Dan thinks he could cut the tension with a knife if he had one right now. It’s awkward and uncomfortable and Phil is shifting on his chair like a schoolkid that’s scared of being caught without homework.

“You know,” he starts suddenly, causing Dan to look up in surprise. “You did really well, I’ve never seen anyone nail their performance at the first real try.”

Dan lets out a small huff. He really doesn’t like to admit it, but Phil is an incredible actor and this is a huge compliment, coming from him. So, Dan hides the fact he’s actually humbled under twenty layers of narcissism and sarcasm: “I am a professional, after all.”

Phil rolls his eyes in annoyance. “As am I, but you’re still incredibly good.”

“Thanks.” Dan simply mutters and to him, that indicates the end of this conversation.

The following silence is more awkward and tense than the previous one, if possible, and Dan really, really wants to leave. But before he can, Phil gets up.

“I’ll go to my dressing-“ he starts, and that’s when it happens. His elbow hits the half-empty cup of coffee, knocking it over and sending the lukewarm liquid right over Dan’s script.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” Dan yells, jumping up, furiously dabbing at the soaked paper with his bare hands. The script is ruined, he thinks, and then he realises what is going on here.

“You’re trying to sabotage me!” he accuses, looking at Phil with what can only be described as white fury. “This is all just a spiel, complimenting me and then ruining my script on purpose! You’re jealous I got Romeo’s part, that’s why you- you. Ugh!”

Phil, now visibly pissed, interrupts him: “I am perfectly happy with my role, thank you.” He snarls. ”And how often do I need to tell you, what happened that night-“

“Yeah whatever. Fuck you.” Dan cuts him off, not believing he would dare to bring up that night right now, and stomps off, almost steaming.

                                                        ***

“It’s like his only goal in life is to ruin mine!” Dan exclaims, plopping down on Louise’s couch and angrily hitting his pillow. His makeshift bed isn’t exactly comfortable to sleep on, but he has to make do with what he can get, after what happened. And currently, his best friend’s couch is the only place he can crash.

Louise sits down next time him, hands him a cup of tea and starts patting his back: “Okay love, calm down. I’m sure he didn’t mean to knock that water over and “ruin” your script. Besides, didn’t you say you knew all your lines by heart anyways?”

“All lines, but that’s beside the point. The thing is-“

“No Dan,” Louise interrupts, ”you were wrong to go off on him like that. I’ve met Phil, he’s actually a really nice guy, there’s no way he’s trying to sabotage you.”

Dan lets out an exasperated sigh. “But-“

“No buts, Dan. You’ve overreacted, quite a bit actually.” Louise says again, and now she has that stern look in her eyes, that one only Mums can pull off. Dan hates when she does that to him.

Maybe she is right, he thinks. After all, there’s no reason for Phil to purposefully ruin his script, Jack wouldn’t change his mind about the cast. And it did look like he was trying to apologise before Dan started yelling obscenities at him.

Later that night, when everyone else is asleep, Dan almost seriously considers apologising to Phil the next time he sees him, but then remembers what he did to Dan, how badly Dan had been hurt, and how messed up the whole thing had been.

So no, Dan thinks, Phil Lester doesn’t deserve any kind of apology from him, not after what he’s done to him.

                                                        ***

The next few days go by uneventfully. Their rehearsals fly by, the whole crew works like a well-lubed machine by now, even the extras have stopped staring at Phil and start doing what they’re supposed to do.

It’s almost a miracle, but everything is so good for once that Dan catches himself laughing at a few jokes Phil makes and starts acting warmer, sometimes even outright friendly, towards his colleague.

Everything seems perfect, for a little while, until that one fateful day at the end of July.

It starts calm and harmless, like any day does. Dan gets up, eats breakfast with Darcy, Liam and Louise, takes his goddaughter to school and goes to work. Nothing seems unusual.

That is, until Dan hears a sharp knock on his dressing room door and gets up to open it, and he almost shuts the door again when he is met with her face.

Her. Laurie. His ex-girlfriend.

“What do you want?” he asks, not even trying to conceal his disgust.

“Why so brisk, love? I found some of your things in my flat, you know, like those childish games you love so much, and I thought I’d give them back to you, because that’s just how nice I am.”

She almost purrs those words, voice sweet as sugar, almost sickening. Dan feels like throwing up into her extensions. Instead, he takes the box, almost rips it out of carefully manicured hands.

There’s a moment of silence, Laurie smirking at him, her eyes wandering up and down his body, almost predatory.

Dan sighs and rolls his eyes. “What more do you-“

“Dan, can I talk to you? I just have a short question about the-oh” Phil’s stood in the doorway. Of course, as if nothing worse could happen, Phil is now in the same room as Dan and his ex. Fuck.

Laurie, upon hearing Phil’s voice, turns around and leans into him, strokes his upper arm as if to feel his biceps.

“I guess I’d better go.” Phil says, but before he can make a single move, Laurie starts talking again, voice thick with fake affection.

“Why go, sweetie? You’re always more than welcome here, right Danny? I’m sure we can make ourselves at home and get real comfortable, what do you say sweet pea?”

She starts circling Phil like a cat, never taking her eyes nor her hands off him, stroking his chest, his back, his shoulders. Dan goes from wanting to throw up to wanting to cry while throwing up. And also murdering someone.

“Laurie. Leave this theatre, now.” He all but growls, feeling the anger rise in his chest, threatening to spill over. Miraculously, Laurie gets the message and turns to the door, but not before giving Phil a wet, obnoxiously loud kiss on the check.

“Call me, handsome.” She winks and with that, she’s gone.

Dan clutches the box and turns around, facing the wall. He can hear Phil coming closer.

“Dan, I am so sor-“

Dan drops the box on his table with a loud bang.

“No, you know what? This is your fault. This is all your fucking fault! If it weren’t for you bloody arsehole, my girlfriend never would have cheated on me! Phil I KNOW you did this on purpose! You fucking arsehole seduced my girlfriend and slept with her and let my sorry ass catch you in the act! Honestly, go fuck yourself!”

Phil, who had looked genuinely concerned, furrows his brows in anger. It’s almost like he grows two feet as he raises his voice and starts screaming at Dan: “I should go fuck myself? If anyone here did anything on purpose, it’s your slut of an ex-girlfriend! She seduced me, Dan! I had no clue she was anyone’s girlfriend, let alone yours, until you barged into the room and started yelling profanities at us! And I tried, I bloody tried to explain myself to you, and to apologise, but you just wouldn’t have it! Your fucking head is way too far up your own bloody arse to even think, for one second, that the world doesn’t revolve around you, damnit! I’m so done with you and your shit!”

With that, Phil turns and runs out of the dressing room, slamming the door behind him. It’s eerily silent for a second, before Dan starts sobbing, sits down on the floor and hugs his knees to his chest.

He feels awful. Not only because after so long, he had to face the woman that ripped his heart out, but also because he fully well knows Phil is right. He knows Laurie had been cheating for the better part of a year before he had caught her in the act, and he understands none of the men she slept with had the slightest idea she had been in a five year relationship.

Dan knows all of this, and feels worse than ever before, as his sobs silence and he stands up with shaking legs to seek out Phil, to finally apologise to him.

                                                        ***

Dan finds Phil sat on the stage, legs dangling off the edge, arms crossed. He’s shaking as he sits down next to him.

“What?” Phil asks briskly, voice cold and hateful. Dan takes a deep, long breath.

“I wanted to apologise for my behaviour. It was wrong for me to accuse you of doing this whole thing on purpose when I fully well know you hadn’t met her before… that night, but it hurt so bad that I let my anger out on you, and I’m sorry for that. And I’m also sorry for not listening to you when you tried to explain and apologise.”

Phil lets out a surprised huff.

“I guess… I guess I should apologise once more, for what I did and for not understanding why you were so angry at me. I mean, dating someone for what, six years, and catching them in the act with someone else? I’m so incredibly sorry you had to go through that, and even more sorry that I’m indirectly responsible for this.”

Dan nods in understanding. They fall silent, barely daring to breathe. It’s incredibly awkward, almost painful.

Dan sighs quietly.

“So… ugh this is such a cliché, but can we start over?” he asks quietly, staring at the tips of his shoes.

At that, Phil lets out an actual laugh, a happy one, full of relief. He turns to Dan, looks at him and extends his hand.

“Hey, I’m Phil.” He says, smiling. Dan takes his hand, shakes it, introduces himself with a nervous laugh and lets Phil’s hand go again.

So, there they are, sat next to each other on a stage in an empty theatre, too uncomfortable with the situation to say anything, too nervous to just get up and leave.

Dan mentally scolds himself. How could he think this would all be resolved with one encounter, one small apology? Sure, he realised that the whole incident isn’t Phil’s fault, but their issue, Dan thinks, isn’t over yet. Nobody can go from spitting obscenities at each other to becoming friends within mere minutes, after all.

                                                        ***

The following rehearsals are awkward, to say the least. Phil seems to think that their talk on the stage a few days ago makes them friends, all of a sudden, but Dan still has to swallow down bile every time he looks at Phil’s lips and remembers the way they had looked sucking on Laurie’s collarbones, has to suppress disgusted gagging whenever Phil’s slender fingers touch him and he imagines the way they made his girlfriend, his one true love, scream in ecstasy. It’s still easier said than done, looking at the man that ripped the floor from under his feet that night and completely ruined him. It’s even harder to act in love around him, trying to push the image of Laurie and Phil together aside, despite said memory being ingrained into his mind forever.

The others notice, of course. Hazel has a stern chat to him about concentrating and getting whatever is bugging him out of his system, even goes as far as threatening to let his understudy take over (PJ, in Dan’s humble opinion, is an amazing actor but doesn’t get Romeo’s character quite as much as Dan himself does). Duncan keeps asking if he’s okay and then offering Dan to come over and distract him with Mario Kart. Evan makes bad puns, as usual.

After a particularly bad rehearsal, Phil pulls Dan aside, a concerned look on his face.

“Are you okay?” he asks and, oddly enough, sounds genuinely worried about Dan’s wellbeing.

And so, because Dan can take only so many messed up or even forgotten lines, he starts explaining. And as he admits how he still can’t get that night out of his head, how badly he’s trying to forget it, the look on Phil’s face changes from concern to understanding.

“I should’ve guessed.” He mutters, when Dan finishes. Then, Phil takes a deep breath.

“When I was in uni, I caught my then-boyfriend in bed with someone else. We broke up immediately, obviously, but the guy he had cheated with and I shared a few classes. Every time I saw him I wanted to punch the living daylights out of him, even though I knew it hadn’t been his fault. Me and my ex had never told anyone we were dating.”

Dan stops properly listening when Phil says the word boyfriend so nonchalantly. Instead, he cocks his head to the side and raises an eyebrow questioningly.

“Boyfriend?” he asks, properly confused. How can Phil have been with a man before but then sleep with a woman?

“Yes, boyfriend.” Phil says, taken aback at Dan’s reaction. “This really isn’t important but I’m bisexual, Dan, I like men and women.”

At that, and he really doesn’t know why, Dan feels his heart skip a beat. He remembers the way Laurie would snarl at two girls kissing in a café back when they were in second year, remembers how she’d always dismiss it as “just a phase” when someone in their course had been dating people of both sexes. Phil’s honesty and openness startles Dan quite a bit.

“Okay, cool, cool cool cool.” Dan stutters, voice hoarse. Why is he so taken aback by this? He’s not a homophobe, for god’s sake!

“Anyways, I get it,” Phil starts, unbeknownst of the thoughts racing through Dan’s head.

“It can’t be easy for you to see me all the time but please, let’s at least try to get to know each other a bit better, maybe even become friends or something; we can’t let this get in the way of our acting. Let’s go for coffee together and chat a bit and then we’ll see, okay?”

Days later, after they’ve somehow gone for coffee twice a day, the image of lips-on-collarbone starts to be replaced by an image of lips-on-cup, lips-around-straw. Dan stops remembering that harrowing night every time he looks at Phil. Instead, he’s reminded of the way his tongue pokes out when he laughs, and how the small lines around his eyes get more prominent every time Phil smiles. Hatred and disgust are slowly being replaced by a feeling of familiarity, joy, and what Dan can only describe as friendship.

Perhaps they’ll be okay in the end, Dan hopes.

                                                        ***

As it turns out, they are okay, until Dan goes and fucks it up.

Everything goes smoothly until the first rehearsal of that scene, the one scene Dan had guessed from the beginning would give them the most trouble, if for vastly different reasons than they end up being.

It’s the first day of dress rehearsals, the first time everyone is wearing their full costume (until now, most of them had merely worn their characters jacket or hat, or had brought important props with them on stage), and Dan staggers into the theatre, slipping on his lacy, fingerless gloves and glancing downwards to see if the rips in his jeans are still in good placement (they are).He shows up five minutes late as usual.

“Dan!” he’s greeted by a very cheerful Phil, who looks- well- absolutely angelic in his costume.

It’s all held in various shades of blue, contrasting with Dan’s own mainly black dress. Phil’s jeans are embroidered with roses, the chestpiece adorned with silver glistening threads in a fishnet pattern. The jacket he’s wearing almost looks like a gown, with the way the soft, sheer fabric flutters around him.

“Looking good, Lester.” Dan says, clearly astonished. He’s seen all of those pieces before, but never together. It’s odd, really, how clothing that could look so out of place when paired with other things, can look so amazing now.

“Not so bad yourself,” Phil answers, smiling, and tugs at the strings on Dan’s sleeves. “Ready to climb some vines and snog me?” he then adds, wriggling his eyebrows suggestively. Dan snorts.

“You’re too full of yourself,” he grins, and Phil opens his mouth again to answer, but is interrupted by a yelling Hazel.

“Okay everyone, we need full concentration here. This is THE scene, the one scene everyone knows. This has to be spot on, every single time you perform this, okay? Places please!”

The lines come easy to Dan, almost like second nature. He gets into the character, moves swiftly along the stage, climbs the fake vines moving up the balcony with ease. The scene goes amazingly, the chemistry between Dan and Phil on point.

And then, seemingly suddenly, Dan surges up and plants his mouth onto Phil’s- and almost pulls away again.

The moment his lips touch the other man’s, he feels a shiver run down his spine. Phil tastes like mint, tea and something very sweet that Dan can’t quite place. His lips are soft against Dan’s own chapped and bitten ones, moving in synch.

Dan feels something he hasn’t felt in years, something almost like lust and longing. Suddenly, he feels Phil grab him by his collar and pulls him up a bit, almost hungrily.

They kiss with a passion Dan has never felt before, and all he can think is closer and more and yes, never stop.

Too soon there’s a piercing shriek of “James!” coming from the nurse, their cue to break the kiss up, but Dan can’t bring himself to do it. It’s Phil who remembers to pull away, firmly pushing to keep Dan from chasing him. His eyes are wide in shock, glistening with something, his lips wet with spit, bruised, quivering. He stammers out his next line, voice shaking, breathing heavily. Dan answers, barely even remembering his line, mixing up words.

They catch themselves and make it through the rest of the scene, somehow, both furiously blushing, still with shaky hands and shaky voices.

When the scene ends, and before Hazel can lecture them sternly, Dan walks over to Duncan, to bring a distance between himself and Phil. He can’t bear to look at the other man, let alone stand directly next to him. He feels painfully awkward, hunches his shoulders in defence, starts picking at his nails.

What was that? He thinks, What did I do, why did I feel that?

And then, sharp and cold, a single thought burns into his mind:

Did I mess everything up?

                                                        ***

A few days later, Dan finds himself on Louise’s couch again. She gives him a mug filled to the brim with hot tea and gives him a serious yet worried look.

“We need to talk”, she says, and Dan immediately feels panic rise in his stomach.

“Oh my god what happened? Is the baby alright? Are you alright?” he asks in quick succession and sets a hand on Louise’s belly.

She just smiles gently and bats hits hand away: “Actually, this is about you, not me or the baby.”

She turns to him, that distinct Mum Look on her face that Dan’s only seen when she scolds Darcy.

“Listen, I love you, but you’ve been acting really weird lately,” she starts, softly. “First you’re all angry at this Phil guy, and then suddenly everything is glitter and rainbows, which was good- you deserve happiness! But you’ve been so distant and distracted these past few days, I can’t help but wonder… did something happen?”

Dan can’t bring himself to say anything, can’t bring himself to admitting what happened, refuses to even think about it (although he does, every second of his waking moments, and then dreams about it).

Louise sighs.

“You know, I’m always here for you. If anything happened, you can tell me! We’re friends after all, and-“

“It was the kiss, okay?” Dan bursts out.

At that, Louise merely raises one of her perfectly groomed eyebrows, suspicious.

Dan can hear the desperation in his own voice as he tries to explain himself: “I… I don’t know, I just…we rehearsed this really big kissing scene the other day and I just felt… weird doing it,” he admits, shoulders hunching up with every word he says.

“Disgusted-weird?” Louise inquires, her voice soft and caring. “Did you have a problem with Phil being a guy?”

Dan just shakes his head.

“Maybe you were scared?” Louise suggests and at that, Dan’s heart skips a beat.

He starts to think, starts to remember the last time he’s felt something even remotely close to what he’s felt when his and Phil’s lips locked, and suddenly he has something like an epiphany.

Dan remembers being 20 and seeing this beautiful, stunning girl. He remembers how he’d always try and be close to her, impress her with his intellect, woo her.

Then, he remembers the way he felt when she did finally kiss him, how he’d wanted nothing but her, how his only thoughts had been closer and more and yes, never stop.

He gasps, shocked, his voice shaking and barely audible as he mutters his next words:

“I… I think I might have feelings for Phil.”

                                                        ***

It takes a while for Dan to fully admit it to himself, but he does have feelings for Phil.

The same Phil that he once hated with everything he had, the same Phil that always pouts and demands an “all or nothing” whenever Dan beats him at Mario Kart.

Phil, who’s a man.

And honestly, that’s the part that freaks him out the most.

Dan’s not homophobic, he really isn’t. He has an array of jobs playing gay men to prove that.

Still, it unsettles him that suddenly, he himself now has feelings for another man. It makes him lay awake at night, legs hanging off Louise’s too short couch, remembering those days in school when people would push him into the lockers, spit at him, call him “faggot” and other, equally bad slurs, all because he had joined the drama club and was unfortunately tall.

Dan is absolutely and utterly torn up about his feelings because ultimately, his bullies were right.

But he’s not gay, is he? After all, he has liked women in the past, loved them even. He’s never felt anything for any other man before that surpassed friendship even in the slightest, and suddenly Phil comes along and makes him question everything? It’s unfair, really.

So, because Dan is Dan, he goes on a Wikipedia Odyssey at three in the morning, and what he finds surprises him.

There’s just so much. Dan knew about homosexuality before, has even heard of bisexuality because Phil mentioned it once. But pansexuality? Demisexuality?? The Kinsey Scale??? Those are all fully new to him.

He takes several online tests about the scale, finds out he’s most likely a 1. “Incidental Homosexual Behaviour”, one website calls it. Dan snorts and calls it “Philsexual”.

He reads article upon article, lands on a YouTube playlist about coming out, reads the synopsis of some ground-breaking anime about ice skating (mentally adds it to his “to watch” list), reads up on Tom Daley and his experiences with being out in the public eye.

There’s so much, and it’s so incredibly interesting, an hour passes like the blink of an eye.

Dan doesn’t sleep that night.

                                                        ***

The next morning, at rehearsals, Dan is so exhausted and sleep-deprived, he forgets that he’s supposed to feel awkward around Phil and talks to him like normal. Phil seems confused at first, at the sudden reappearance of their friendship, but goes along with it.

It takes four hours, five rehearsals of the ending scene (five times of kissing Phil, who sadly isn’t allowed to show any reaction) and six cups of mediocre coffee for Dan to open his mouth and mess everything up.

Phil’s sat next to him on a bench and does nothing but eat a sandwich, but Dan is completely and utterly mesmerised by him, can’t help but stare at his blue eyes, let his gaze wander along his jawline…

And that’s when it happens.

“Do you maybe want to go out with me?” he blurts out, and upon realising what he just said, immediately clasps a hand over his mouth.

Phil stares at him, eyes wide, mouth slightly ajar, a bit of lettuce on his chin.

“Uh, I mean, uh…” Dan stammers out, when suddenly Phil’s eyes crinkle and his lips form a bright, happy smile.

“You mean as a date?” he asks, and now it’s Dan’s turn to gape at Phil like a fish out of water. He can’t do anything but give a small, weak nod.

“Good”, Phil grins: “I’d really like that.”

                                                        ***

“Daniel James Howell, if you don’t stop throwing clothes around, I swear to god! You’re worse than Darcy!” Louise scolds, hands on her hips, angrily staring at the mess Dan has made in her living room. Various shirts and button-ups are strewn around the room, a bottle of cologne lying on the carpet, open and slightly leaking. Dan stares at the two pairs of jeans in his hands, a wrinkle between his eyebrows as if deciding which to wear is the hardest task mankind has ever had to face.

“I just don’t know what to wear!” he exclaims, desperate for help and maybe a glass of wine. Or two, really.

“Okay, let me just-“, Louise plucks one pair out of Dan’s grasp, folds it and lays it neatly on the couch. Then, she crouches down and plucks a black button-up out of the mess.

“Here, wear this.” She says, in her no-nonsense mum voice. Dan complies and goes into the bath to change, fix his hair and maybe do something about those damn bags under his eyes.

An hour later, he finds himself waiting outside a small café close to the theatre, nervously stepping from foot to foot. Phil’s late. Like, really late, at least ten minutes late. Without him even being able to do anything about it, Dan’s thoughts start spiralling. What if Phil changed his mind? What if he actually just agreed to go out with Dan as a spur-of-the-moment thing and ultimately doesn’t want to? What if he got run over by a bus or bitten by a goose? What if-

“Dan!” shouts someone, and Dan whirls around to see Phil jogging towards him, wearing a ridiculously shiny silver coat and clutching something that almost looks like flowers.

Before Dan can react, Phil reaches him and pulls him into a short but firm hug.

“These are for you”, he adds, smiling softly, and handing Dan the bouquet of lilies.

Dan feels a blush crawl up his cheeks and ducks his head. “Thank you”, he murmurs, almost inaudible, and smiles at the ground.

When Phil removes his coat inside the café, Dan almost chokes on his own saliva. His shirt is satin black but adorned with a floral pattern, his long legs clad in equally dark skinny jeans. He smiles one of his glowing smiles and puts his coat next to him. In all honesty, Phil looks like sex on legs, and Dan’s heartbeat immediately quickens as he takes a seat across from his date (his date), who’s already scanning the menu. Oh god, Dan thinks, I’m going to hell.

Conversation, Dan’s surprised to find, flows quite easily. They quickly get into their usual banter about the West End, their families (Phil excitedly tells Dan that his brother, Martyn, is planning to propose to his girlfriend, Cornelia), what they did before they landed the roles in Romeo and James.

Now, there’s just the added bonus of coffee, cupcakes being shared between them and the golden October sun illuminating Phil’s eyes though the slightly stained window.

Phil is in the midst of talking about something particularly funny that happened back when he was in Uni, when he suddenly stops in his tracks, leans over the table and glides his thumb along Dan’s upper lip. “Frosting”, he whispers, staring into Dan’s eyes and licks the cream off his own finger. Dan sees his gaze flicker down to his lips again, feels himself leaning in, ready to close the gap and-

“Would you like any more coffee?”

Dan internally groans. Phil, as if awoken from a trance, snaps back and stares at the waitress.

“No, just the bill please”, he says, pupils blown out so wide his blue iris nothing but a small rim. “I’m paying”, he adds, leaving no room for Dan to protest.

He turns back at him and smiles, but the moment, the chemistry and tension from before, is gone.

                                                        ***

“I’ll walk you home”, Dan says when they’re outside again, about to part ways. “It’s the same direction anyways.” (It’s not. Louise’s flat is on the other side of London- but Phil doesn’t need to know that.)

Phil nods, smiles gratefully and leads the way. Conversation goes as smoothly as before, but Dan can’t help but feel like something’s off.

Deep within his own thoughts, he almost doesn’t realise when Phil stops in front of an apartment building and pulls out a key.

“Uh, I live here,” he says awkwardly. Then, he takes a large breath as if he’s bracing himself for something: “Do you maybe want to come up for a glass of wine or something?”

Oh. Well, that certainly comes as a surprise. Before Dan can think, before he can panic because this is Phil, and Phil is a guy, and there’s so many things that could go wrong just now, he gives a simple, quick nod. Phil exhales, a breath Dan didn’t realise he’d been holding, relieved.

The flat is quite spacious, Dan notes as they enter, and looks around wonderingly. “I do YouTube on the side,” Phil mentions as he sees Dan’s reaction. “It pays okay, I mostly do it for fun though. You’d be quite good at it too, I think,” he adds from another room, and returns with two glasses of wine in his hands.

“Cheers”, he smiles as he hands Dan one, sits down on his couch and pats the space next to him, signalling for Dan to sit down as well.

For quite some time, Dan anxiously awaits some kind of move from Phil’s side, expects the older to lean in or lay an arm around his shoulders or do anything leading up to what Dan knows will happen, but there’s nothing. They talk, and talk, the sun sets and then they’re both on their fourth glass, giggling happily at something unimportant.

“Shhhh,” Phil suddenly says, looks at Dan, then laughs again. He takes Dan’s hand into his. “D’ya hear this?” he whispers and lays Dan’s hand on his own chest. “You make my heart-“, he hiccups “you make my heart do that… flippy-over thing.”

Phil smiles, and Dan smiles, and then Phil’s lips are on his, a bit sloppy but still soft and gentle, so different from that very first kiss they shared on stage. He tastes like wine and cherry lip balm and something that Dan can only recognise as Phil, because his head is swimming, and he doesn’t even know if he feels this giddy because of the alcohol or because of Phil, finds himself wanting more and more and more, unable to form any coherent thought.

He’s kissing Phil, for real, without an audience, and it’s the most wonderful thing he’s ever done.

                                                        ***

Epilogue.

Islington, London, England

June 2020

Phil Lester, awoken by the impending rays of sunlight streaming into their bedroom window, yawns and rolls to his side, facing the sleeping form of his boyfriend Dan. He smiles fondly and tugs a curl behind the younger one’s ear.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” he murmurs quietly and presses a chaste kiss to Dan’s forehead. “Get up, today’s a big day.”

When his boyfriend finally stirs and opens his eyes, the usual spiel of “nooo, it’s too cold” and “five more minutes love, please!” begins, but Phil is used to that by now. In fact, he kind of loves having to bribe Dan with promises of breakfast and cuddles, although he’d never admit that to anyone but himself.

Minutes later, Phil’s in the lounge, clutching a steaming mug of coffee while Dan quite literally blocks the bathroom for half an hour like he does every morning. There’s still confetti and glitter from the surprise party they held for Dan last week. We need to clean up; Phil thinks and smiles when he hears Dan sing in the shower, because even after three years this domesticity still gets to him. It’s a miracle, really, that someone like Dan could love someone like Phil back.

Today’s a big day. It’s opening night for the new play Dan has the lead in, a modern piece about two people who fall in love over the internet and build a career together (a bit unrealistic, in Phil’s opinion), and Phil remembers the box, safely tucked away inside a rolled-up shirt he very well knows Dan hates, at the back of Phil’s drawer. Tonight, the box will be taken out of its hiding place and the ring placed inside it will hopefully adorn Dan’s fourth finger.

Yeah, today’s a pretty big day.

If one had told Phil of three years ago he would, at one point in his life, put on his finest button-up to propose to Dan Howell, of all people, he probably would have laughed and gone upon talking about how annoying Dan was, and how far he must have a stick up his arse. Current Phil, however, doesn’t really feel like laughing when his heart is pumping this fast with nerves. By now, he would use any word but “annoying” to describe Dan, and the only thing he has up his arse is Phil himself.

This is it, he thinks, as he locks the door to their flat and lets his hand glide over the bulge in his pocket. Taking Dan’s hand in his own and mirroring the younger one’s excited smile, he knows that he wants nothing more than this.

Three hours later, he feels like he knows nothing anymore. Dan is backstage, getting ready for the play, and Phil is quivering in his seat. They’re in the first row. Dan loves spoiling his loved ones almost as much as he loves being spoiled. His fright doesn’t go unnoticed by Louise, who’s seated between him and Darcy, holding her daughter’s hand.

“Are you alright?” she asks, turning to Phil and laying her free hand on his arm. Phil merely shakes his head.

“What’s wrong? Did something happen?” Louise’s husband, Liam, now asks, leaning over to him, brows furrowed. Phil lets out a breath he hasn’t realised he’s been holding.

“I’m going to propose to Dan tonight,” he whispers, voice barely audible and threatening to break. Good god, he is terrified.

“Phil, oh my god, that’s amazing!” Louise whispers excitedly, a grin spreading across her face. “How are you gonna do it?”

Phil smiles, happy to tell her about his plans.

Hours later, when the premiere is done and the actors have bathed in the applause, Phil will take Dan out to a restaurant, one of those incredibly fancy ones that require reservations a year in advance. He will use the new play as an excuse because of course, Dan will ask questions.

After dinner, they will take a walk along the Thames, water glistening in the moonlight, and Phil will briefly wonder when they did become such a cliché.

He will stop Dan, suddenly, look at this wonderful, wonderful man in front of him, take a deep breath and start talking:

“You know, every time I think back to that time we met, when we really didn’t get along I ask myself, how didn’t I already love you back then?” He’ll start, and smile at the memory. “Because now, it seems impossible to me to not love you, you’re perfectly imperfect in everything you think and do and are, and I don’t want to spend one day without waking up next to you, or hearing your laugh or looking at your ethereal beauty because… I love you, so much. More than I have ever loved anyone or anything in my whole life so-“

Then, Phil will get down on one knee, seeing the surprise on his lover’s face, will hear his beautiful gasp and see him tear up.

”- Daniel James Howell, love of my life: will you marry me?”

And then, Daniel James Howell, in his ethereal beauty, will whisper a single word, the happiest of all words:

“Yes.”

                            And they lived happily ever after.

So, this is it, thank you so much for reading!

I hope you enjoyed it, feel free to reblog, leave comments or message me if you want to, I’d really appreciate it!

Again, you can find the art here, please show Vivi some love, she truly deserves it.

Find me on Twitter! (feel free to follow for Top Bants)

Find Skipper on Tumblr and Twitter

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Thank you, again!

- Lucie

[shin-hoseokk]

color theory

Title: color theory

Word count: 2788

Ship:  wonkyun (wonho/i.m)

Description: 

“Very good, Changkyun, you don’t usually paint with red do you?”

“No Sir, red never appealed to me, until now”

Tags: alternate universe - college/university, art school, minor character death, infidelity, mild smut, angst, changkyun is an emo art student, wonho is his stupid boyfriend

cross-posted to ao3

The air in the field was warm and pleasant. Hoseok and Changkyun lay side by side, surrounded by lush, green grass and fragrant, yellow daisies. They were only a couple miles from their college dorms, but it felt like a completely different world.

Changkyun turned his head to look at the boy next to him, he had dragged him out of his dorm with the excuse of “looking for inspiration”. In reality, he had just wanted to spend time with him. He reached for his hand. His rough, paint stained hands colliding with Hoseok’s smooth, un-calloused skin.

“Is this a date?” Hoseok turned to face him.

Changkyun bit his tongue and thought for a moment. The smell of grass and sunshine was intoxicating, pushing him to be bolder than usual.

“Yes, I suppose it is. Is that okay?”

“Yes”, Hoseok smiled.

That night, Changkyun painted daisies, cheerful, bright and warm. He never usually painted with yellow, but the memories he made in field brought new meaning to the color.

-

The sun shined through the grimey windows of Changkyun’s bedroom. He woke with a yawn and rolled out of bed. The beams of light illuminated the dust that danced through the air like fairies. He clumsily reached for his phone and found it on the stack of old textbooks he used as a bedside table.

He padded out the the bathroom he shared with his roommate. He was momentarily blinded as he flicked on the florescent lights in the cramped bathroom.

“Mmph….. Too early”, he mumbled and reached for his toothbrush.

He brushed his teeth and quickly rinsed out his mouth with water. He stepped out of the bathroom and made his way into the kitchen. He was pouring milk into his bowl of rice puffs, when he noticed the note stuck to the cracked marble counter.

Had to dash to class, I didn’t want to wake you up

Last night was fun….. Wanna get lunch?

-Hoseok

Changkyun held the note in his hands and grinned down at it.

“Woah.. dude are you okay?”, his roommate, Jooheon, who was crashed on the couch, called out to him.

Changkyun looked down at himself, apart from wearing nothing but a pair of boxers and one sock, he seemed fine.

“Your neck dude, you might wanna get that checked out”, Jooheon smirked and resumed watching the TV.

Changkyun looked at his reflection in the microwave door. His face and neck was covered in dark purple hickeys and bite marks. Suddenly last night’s events came rushing back to him.

Leaving the bar with Hoseok, struggling to get home because they were both too drunk to coordinate their steps with the line of the pavement. Stumbling into his bedroom and being pushed onto the bed by Hoseok’s warm hands. Hoseok’s fingers in his hair, in his mouth, inside him. The pleasurable burn of being stretched open and the addictive rhythm of Hoseok’s hips slamming against his ass.

“Changkyun? You alright dude?”, Jooheon’s question pulled him back to the present.

He grinned sheepishly as he rushed to the bathroom to check the rest of his body for any more memories from last night and left his bowl of cereal forgotten on the kitchen counter.

He held onto those memories and took them all the way to his art class that afternoon. His brush was dipped in a rich, seductive red. He tried to recreate the passion and urgency with his careful strokes. His art teacher walked behind him and made a noise of approval.

“Very good, Changkyun, you don’t usually paint with red do you?”

“No Sir, red never appealed to me, until now”

-

The shrill sound of Changkyun’s ringtone blared throughout the lecture theatre.

“Uh, sorry guys”, he took the phone and switched it onto silent mode before checking who was calling.

It was his mother. His mother never called him during the day, unless it was an emergency. Changkyun gathered his books and quietly slipped out of the theatre. He dialed his mothers phone number and held the phone to his ear. The glass screen of his phone was cold against his flushed cheeks.

“Changkyun”, his mother answered, sounding panicked.

“Mom, what’s up?”

“Its your father, he was in an accident” she said

“What do you mean?”, Changkyun’s breath became short and quick.

“I know it’s a lot to ask, but you should really come to the hospital tonight”

He paused and sucked in a deep breath of air. The phone in his hand was no longer cold, but instead warm and slightly sweaty from the heat of his palm.

“Okay mom, I’ll see you soon”

One over-priced uber later, Changkyun was sitting in the florescent lights of the hospital waiting room. His mother was wearing down her shoes, pacing up and down the linoleum floors. He held his head in his hands, shaking with nervous energy. The constant electrical hum of the building kept him awake.

He reached for his backpack and pulled out a sketch pad. Most of the drawings in it were rubbish, but drawing soothed his nerves. He took the pencil out of the spiral and flipped to a new page. He began sketching a portrait of his dad, soft grey lines creating the familiar shape of his eyes and the cheerful curve of his smile.

He looked up around the room, the color grey was everywhere, the cushion chairs, the hands on the clock, the nurse’s desks. He usually avoided the color when created art, the neutrality and uncertainty of it scared him. He glanced back down at his drawing. The grey outlines of the pencil were more daunting than ever. Was his dad gonna be okay? Would he die in this lonely hospital? Changkyun didn’t know, he didn’t have the answers. The color was mocking him, bringing new doubts and uncertainties to the front of his mind. He ripped out the page and closed his sketch book.

-

The priest’s voice echoed through the church. Changkyun sat in the first row of pews next to his sobbing mother. His black suit tie was too tight, he felt like he was suffocating.

It was a small funeral; his father didn’t like many people. He was a quiet man and he always preferred the company of a beer and the evening news as opposed to friends or workmates.

Sitting above his father’s coffin was a bouquet of white roses and green leaves. The vibrant hue of the leaves stuck out against the black canvas of the roses. The more he looked at the leaves, the more calming they became. The leaves were a mix of a dark moss color and lighter, pea green. They fell across the coffin like a table cloth. He focused on the composition of the leaves and suddenly he didn’t feel like he was choking anymore

That night, Changkyun sat himself in front of a canvas and painted. He painted until his fingers hurt and his formal dress shirt was stained with green-tinted spots. The color calmed his over-active mind and momentarily soothed his anxieties. His mother would scold him for painting in his suit, but art was his escape, it was the breath of fresh air he so desperately needed, and that made it all worth it.

-

Changkyun unlocked the door to Hoseok’s apartment, the warm air and familiar smell of his boyfriend welcomed him like a hug. He slipped off his coat and his shoes and made his way to the kitchen. He was greeted by the beautiful sight of Hoseok leaning over the stove, broad shoulders complemented by a tight black turtleneck, stirring a pot with a wooden spoon.

Hoseok looked over his shoulder and grinned at him.

“Changkyunnie, welcome home”, he abounded his cooking and padded across the wooden floor to wrap his arms around Changkyun’s waist. Changkyun’s arms found purchase around Hoseok’s neck, and his face pressed into the soft juncture between his neck and shoulder.

“Did you miss me hyung?”, He shifted to press a kiss right below Hoseok’s ear. He felt his boyfriend shiver and moved his hands to slide into the back pockets of Changkyun’s jeans.

“Of course, it felt weird coming home and not being covered in secondhand paint stains”

Changkyun let out a small laugh and leaned up to kiss Hoseok properly.

He melted against the taller man immediately. Their lips slotted together like puzzle pieces, a perfect fit. Hoseok’s lips were warm and soft, a touch Changkyun had craved for a month as he was staying with his mother, caring for her after his father’s untimely death. Sure, they had texted and called almost everyday, but nothing compared to feeling of security and love Changkyun felt when he was wrapped up in Hoseok’s strong arms.

Hoseok tilted his head and deepened the kiss, his tongue slipping into Changkyun’s mouth. Changkyun tighted his arms around Hoseok’s neck, pressing their chests together.

He pulled away momentarily to look at his beautiful boyfriend. Hoseok’s thick lips were slick with spit, his soft brown eyes were hooded with lust, or admiration, Changkyun can’t tell. He pushed Hoseok’s hair back, the blue tipped strands felt like silk between his fingers.

“Your blue has faded”, Changkyun stroked the hair at the back of Hoseok’s neck.

“I like it better this color”, Hoseok stated, “Its calmer, it doesn’t make me look like a jellyfish”

Changkyun kissed him quickly on the lips before tightening his fingers in his boyfriend’s hair.

“Show me how much you missed me hyung”

Hoseok grinned down at him and obliged, sliding his hands to grip Changkyun’s ass and lift him on to the kitchen table. He stood in-between Changkyun’s parted knees and moved his hands up his thighs.

Changkyun arched his back to press against Hoseok’s chest and moaned softly when he felt Hoseok’s lips attach themselves to his neck. He tilted his head to give Hoseok more access and slipped his fingers under the hem of his turtleneck.

“It feels like years since I’ve touched you, have you been working out more?”

Hoseok let out a hum as he lifted his arms, letting Changkyun strip off his sweater.

Changkyun was always stunned by Hoseok’s body, he swears his boyfriend was sculpted by the gods. Changkyun has tried to paint Hoseok countless times but a combination of Changkyun’s heated stares and Hoseok’s wandering hands meant they had always gotten carried away.

Changkyun admired the body in front of him, Hoseok’s sculpted abs, firm pecks and strong arms never failed to turn him on. He smoothed his hands up his toned abdominals and pressed his thumbs into Hoseok’s nipples.

He smirked when he heard the quick gasp Hoseok emitted. His smirk disappeared when he noticed the faded purple bruise just above his collarbone. He pushed Hoseok away from him slightly so he could see it clearly. Suddenly it made sense why Hoseok was wearing a turtleneck when it was so warm in the apartment.

Changkyun slipped off the table and placed his feet firmly on the ground

“Are you kidding me?”, he asked plainly, although the anger was evident in his eyes.

“What are you talking about Kyunnie? I thought we were having fun”, Hoseok looked genuinely confused and Changkyun felt bad for a second, but one look at the hickey on his boyfriend’s neck quickly dismissed those feelings.

“Don’t play dumb with me Hoseok, I know I didn’t leave that there”, he pointed accusingly at the mark.

The color drained out of Hoseok’s face and his eyes became big and watery

“Changkyun please, let me expla-“

“Who was it, Do I know them?”, He cut him off completely, not wanting to hear any bullshit excuses fall from Hoseok’s quivering lips.

“Changkyunnie calm down, let me talk to you”, the desperation was clear in his voice.

“Don’t call me that, tell me who the fuck it was”, Changkyun felt a ting of guilt as tears rolled down his boyfriend’s cheeks.

He knew Hoseok was a sensitive soul, he cried at the end of children’s movies on a regular basis. Under all the hard muscle he was a big softie and that is what Changkyun loved about him, but now, the shivering man in front of him only pissed him off.

“Hyungwon”, he sobbed out.

Changkyun was shocked. Hyungwon was a good friend of his, they were roommates in Changkyun’s freshman year. He was the first person Changkyun felt he could really trust. Well, the joke was on him because he was completely wrong.

“You’re fucking kidding me, Hyungwon?”, he pushed Hoseok away from him before he had a chance to answer. He stormed out of the kitchen and back to the entrance, where he gathered his coat and began to put his shoes on.

Hoseok followed him out, “It wasn’t even good sex, Changkyun, I was just lonely and I missed you”

Changkyun snapped, “Oh, so it didn’t count because it was bad sex? My father was literally dying while you were fucking my friends. Letting them mark you up and thinking that I wouldn’t notice? Fuck you, hyung.”, He reached for the door and took one last look at Hosoek. Hoseok and his soft eyes, thick lips and his unique blue hair. The face that he had touched and kissed and loved for six months.

He twisted the handle and stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

The walk home was cold and windy, Changkyun tried so hard not to burst into tears when Jooheon had opened the door and asked him what was wrong.

“Its nothing hyung, don’t worry about it”, he pushed past him and locked himself in his room.

He rummaged through all his art supplies and found every tube of blue paint he had. He flicked the light switch in the bathroom.

Changkyun looked at himself in the mirror. He looked like shit, hair mussed by the wind, cheeks and nose tinged red from the cold and eyes threating to spill over at any second.

He unscrewed the first tube of blue paint and squeezed the entire thing into the sink. He watched with sorry eyes as the paint bled into the drain, the color lightening as it mixed with the water. He recalled the contrast between Hoseok’s red eyes and light blue locks as he unscrewed the next tube and squeezed it into the basin.

He continued until every paint tube was empty and his face was streaked with tears. He collapsed onto the floor and let himself drift into a fitful sleep, completely emotionally exhausted.

Changkyun dreamt of waves, swirling currents of blue and green, threating to sweep him up and carry him far, far away. Engulfing him into a cerulean hell, but the water filling his lungs felt like a warm hug.

He woke with a start and checked his phone

1:34 am

He stretched out his limbs and removed himself from the bathroom floor. Eyeing the mess he had made in the sink, he turned on both taps and watched the blue paint swirl down the drain.

- Changkyun slipped the key into the new lock and twisted. He pushed the door open and let a grin fall over his features as he stepped into his new apartment. Jooheon followed behind him, carrying a cardboard box with him.

Jooheon set the box down, “I’m not gonna lie dude, I’m pretty upset we wont be living together anymore”

Changkyun let out a heart laugh, “Don’t worry man, I’ll still be around”

He had worked countless double shifts at the campus coffee shop to earn enough to rent a nicer, newer apartment off campus. He figured he deserved it, he had had a rough year. He had his first serious relationship, his first serious heartbreak, his dad had died and he was starting his final year of college.

Jooheon smiled and gave him a slap on the back, “These walls are looking a little bare, I’m sure you’ll fill them up with some of your art work though, right?”

Changkyun looked up at the walls. They were eggshell white and they stretched out like the huge, expansive canvases he used for his art class. It was like a clean sheet of sketch book paper. The white was a bit bleary, but for Changkyun, it symbolized a new begining. A new chapter in his life.

He glanced at the wall one more time, and then back to Jooheon

“Nah hyung, I think they look great”, Changkyun smiled.

This year, he had learnt the colors happiness, bright, cheerful and warm. The hot shades of passion and the varying hues of depression. He understood what grieving looks like, and then what healing looks like. And now he was learning the colors of a new beginning.